10 lbs Later...

Okay, so I probably haven't actually gained 10 lbs since I got to Italy, but likely very close to it. Still, I wouldn't trade it for anything. Our three weeks in Italy were a culinary treat that I will remember forever, and I hope everyone gets to experience the gluttony of pizza, pasta and gelato multiple times a day at least once. If you haven't yet, put it on your bucket list, and I promise you won't regret it.

Food aside, the past two weeks in Italy encompassed both some soaring highs and some barrel-scraping lows. After emerging triumphant from our adventures in the balsamic vinegar capital of the world, Ez and I found ourselves in Venice, land of canals, tourists, and canals full of tourists. Unfortunately, our first day there happened to be the storm of the century, but because our rain gear was packed at the very bottom of our well-stuffed suitcases, Ez and I dressed... well... poorly. I somehow convinced Ez that even though it was raining, it would be really hot, so he wore shorts and a rain jacket. I wore a sundress. Predictably, we both got soaked. Lucky for me, my dress dried quickly and it was pretty easy to find a hawker who wanted to sell me a plastic poncho. Unlucky for Ez, he was wearing never-drying khaki shorts, and spent the day soaked and cold, and understandably unhappy.

The next few days in Venice turned out to be beautiful, thankfully, and we explored the canals, churches, and even some of the gorgeous islands beyond the city in the Venetian lagoon. We even made it out to Padua for a day trip, where we ate more gelato and where I got to listen to Ez sing "I come to wive it wealthily in Padua" over and over again, because that is all he knew about Padua.

After Venice we headed north to a small town on Lake Garda called Saló. It was a miserable travel day-- we went from train, to bus, to waiting for 2.5 hours for another bus, to realizing we missed that bus, to calling a cab, to waiting for that cab, then to finally arriving at our country bed and breakfast in the hills overlooking Saló, a good 7 hours after we left Venice (which was only 120 miles away).

But, as often happens after a crappy travel day, we awoke the next morning to realize we were in the most beautiful place in the world. Our B&B was set back in the hills overlooking the lake, and we were surrounded by green meadows dotted with wildflowers, the Alps visible in the distance. It was the definition of quaint. Even our innkeeper was perfect... he was an elderly Italian man who seemingly never left the mountain, just drank his coffee overlooking the lake and tended to his guests. Seriously, he didn't even know what the internet was. When I asked if there was internet access, he didn't know what I was talking about until I pointed to the computer, at which point he said "Oh I don't know about that" and gestured for his cook to come help me. And, speaking of the cook, our B&B had the BEST food I have ever eaten, period. Ez does a good job describing it here.

Our day in Saló was also fabulous. We played cards at a lakeside cafe, munched on juicy olives, and Ez drank a beer while I sipped on my new favorite drink, the omnipresent Aperol Spritz. We also got gelato three times, but who's counting.

Our lakeside bliss, of course, was then followed by the worst day ever... our day in Milan. Now, maybe it was just because it's muggy and deserted in August, or maybe we were just bound to have a bad day, but Milan just seemed like an awful, awful place. Nothing was open, everything was ridiculously overpriced, and our hotel reception guy was a mean, sexist jerk. Maybe that last part wasn't Milan's fault, but it really didn't help. Anyways, not much to report here because we literally walked around miserable, starving and offended all day long.

After 24 hours, we emerged from Milan, hellbent on saving the trip which had seemingly taken a turn for the worst (24 hours seems like a lot when you're traveling I guess). We hopped on a train to Vernazza, one of the "Cinque Terre" (5 towns) on the West coast of Italy. Okay, that helped. Milan who? We swam, sunbathed, danced, ate, hiked... it was perfect. Just look at the pictures, I don't really need to say much.

Finally, our last(ish) stop was Florence, where we marveled at the Duomo, snuck pictures of The David (don't tell), and walked across the Ponte Vecchio (famous medieval bridge). As a highlight, I ordered an iced coffee at a cafe overlooking Pitti Palace, and they brought me a cold cappuccino in a martini glass dusted with cocoa powder and garnished with coffee beans. Oh, Italy.

And the grand finale... for our last day in Italy (literally hours before our flight), we made one last effort to find the illusive town of Panzano that had escaped us just 2 weeks prior. Being fairly sure we had the right town this time, Ez and I hopped on a bus, and after winding through the breathtakingly beautiful hills of Tuscany and then Chianti, we finally arrived in Pananzo-in-Chianti. In true Sarah&Ezra fashion, we probably got as lost as we possibly could in the two-street town, trying to find Ezra's hero-butcher, Dario Cecchini.

Of course, his butcher shop was right in front of where the bus originally let us off, so when we made it back there after 45 minutes of wandering around, we were pretty excited that not only had we found it, but it was just as everyone had promised it would be. Dario himself was there, and as we entered the shop we were bombarded with glasses of free chianti and a hearty spread of bread, cheese and salami. Ez and I headed up to the restaurant above his butcher shop for lunch, ordered wayyyyyy too much food, and then left just in time to catch our flight out of Florence.

Before I sign off from Italy though, I do want to say one thing. The other night I had a dream where I needed to exchange my new bathing suit because it was too big. When I got to the store, I was severely disappointed, because all the bathing suits in my size were actually spaghetti noodles. I was fine with this, but then I noticed that the spaghetti suits were all covered in bolognese. Deal breaker. I decided just to keep the one I had.

So, 10 lbs later (or thereabouts), I find myself sitting in an apartment in Copenhagen awaiting the many adventures ahead. First item on the To Do list: find a gym.

Si Mangia, Si Perde

Translation: One eats, one gets lost.

This is not a clever idiom that you hear everywhere you go in Italy that means something romantic but, rather, it is the theme of our our trip. We have spent the majority of our time here looking for food, eating food, waiting for the bus, taking the wrong bus, and winding up back at our hotel just in time to look for food again. It's a good thing we like each other (and food) so much.

Our first stop was Rome: an ancient city, a medieval city, a renaissance city, a modern city, and a city with sprawling suburbs that we got to see up close and personal when we took the bus from our hotel all the way to a car junkyard instead of the colosseum. Luckily we are both fairly well-educated and could tell the difference! Just kidding.

We made it!

Second, we found ourselves in medieval Siena, home of tourists, gelato, and people who get really excited for bi-annual horse races. (Thanks to our lovely friend and tour guide Laurel, we also found out that Siena has a lively rivalry between its neighborhoods, and come the horse race in 4 days, there may be some fighting in the streets). We got lost in Siena within our first 5 minutes, as the streets, beautiful and breathtaking as they are, make no sense at all. But, even though not all streets lead to Rome (or Siena in this case), they do all lead to food, so we managed okay.

Gelato in Siena

Our most recent stop was Modena, a small city in Emilia Romagna near to what we thought was the small town of Panzano, the home of Dario the Butcher, who Ez was dying to meet. We really had no other reason to come to Modena other than to find Dario, so it was pretty *funny* when after a prolonged 7-hour train ride and then 1 mile trek to our hotel in the middle of nowhere, Ez looked online and discovered we had come to the wrong Panzano. For more on this story, you can read Ez's blog. Fortunately Modena turned out to be fabulous-- no tourists, extremely nice people, and yes, very good food. I highly recommend it, especially if you like balsamic vinegar and Italian sports cars (it is the home of both).

Quaint Modena

On the language front, things are going fairly well. I figured that with my romance background and the month or so I studied Italian while commuting to work this summer, I’d at the very least impress Ez with my skillz. Unfortunately, Italians aren’t fluent in Spanfrenchuguese, which is apparently what I actually speak instead of Italian. I’ve gotten better though, and definitely understand it when I’m spoken to for the most part. Today when buying train tickets in Italian, the woman asked me if my native language was Spanish, which I will take as a win.

I know I've mentioned a bit about food already, but I think I should talk about it even more. As many of my dear ones know, I hardly ate anything in the weeks leading up to The Big Day, more because of nerves than fear of fitting into my dress, but I suppose it was just an overwhelming time in general. Well, I’m delighted to report that I am making up for it, and then some. A typical meal for us here begins with bread, meat and cheese, then some veggies soaked in olive oil, and then a huge plate of pasta which contains meat, cheese and olive oil, and then an entire pizza (also with meat, cheese, and olive oil). And yes, that is just my meal alone. Multiply that meal by two, add 1 or 2 gelatos, 2 or 3 slices of foccacia or pizza bianca, an espresso snow cone with whipped cream, and that will have brought me to about 2pm. Okay, that would be the entire day, though I guess that isn’t much better.

Seriously though, our days of gluttony are nothing compared to what we’ve seen some Italians eat. For a meal, it’s common to eat an entire antipasto plate of meat, cheese and oil-soaked veggies, then a rich, creamy, meaty pasta, then a meat dish with a couple of sides (I’ve seen plate-loads of creamy potatoes and spinach), a bottle or two of wine, then a huge plate of dessert (mostly tiramisu), espresso, and a digestivo. Also, if you order a pizza, you are served an entire U.S.-size medium pizza all to yourself, not pre-sliced. And, you are expected to eat the whole thing. It’s the only time I’ve felt guilty for not eating an entire pizza by myself. Asking for a to-go box feels like the walk of shame.

And finally, the most important thing Italy has taught me thus far: to paraphrase Ben Franklin, lactaid pills are proof that there is a benevolent force in the universe that loves me and wants me to be happy.

I guess I’ve also learned a thing or two more about traveling—getting lost is pretty okay when you’re with someone you love and there’s no shortage of food no matter where you end up.

Lots of love!

-Sarah
Venice, Italy

Actually, Sarah in Italy!

Back to the blog after 2 long years!

Stay posted, more to come. For now, just know that I am eating lots of pasta, usually at midnight after I've woken up from a long jet-lag nap. Other highlights include hopping on busses and taking them to random places and then figuring out how to get back to the hotel, churches decorated in human bones, and granita, the most delicious thing I've ever eaten.

For a more clever account of it all, go here.

I will write more later!