Tutti i Santi Ognissnati

Tonight we are holed up in an Agriturismo (farm-stay) in Campofilone, Le Marche. There is a thunderstorm raging outside, stretching its vast electric fingers of far out across the Adriatic. The rain has been heavy; sporadically we have to mop the tiles by the door to stop it from creeping into the bedroom.

We’ll head out in about an hour to hopefully find some dinner. The majority of our afternoon was spent driving along the coast road searching in vain for an open Supermarket. We couldn’t figure out why they were shut. We now know enough Italian to know the days of the week, times, open/closed etc and all signs (literally) suggested they should be open. Hungry and confused, we wondered whether they just have extreme lunch breaks locally. A “normal” lunch break for Italy is midday to four-ish, the stores close up shop- most inconvenient!

As it turns out, when we returned from our fruitless hunt, today is a national public holiday. All Saints Day or Tutti i Santi Ognissnati in Italian. Why didn’t anybody tell us? Hang on, they probably did, we just didn’t know what they were rattlin’ on about. Today is also the first of the new season, making the storm very befitting.

On Saturday we left the West Coast and the region of Campania and drove north east to the East Coast and Le Marche. We started out early (painfully), to avoid the traffic and to cram in a four hour stopover in Pompeii before the five hour drive.

Pompeii was magical; it was like someone picked us up, shrunk us down and matrix-ed us into Age of Empires or Civilization. Not wanting to tackle the crowds we didn’t join a recommended tour group but chose to semi-wing it. Map and iphone in hand we had a wonderful morning adventuring through the roman ruins. Roman history, Pompeii included, falls into the category of things I don’t seem to know enough about. I am hungry for information!

The city is so well preserved by the volcanic ash that it isn’t at all difficult to imagine it in all of its glory. There are still many layers unexcavated, we even saw archaeologists on active digs at the site; one scrubbing down a clay vase in a city fountain. Fascinating.

A note to the squeamish: stop reading now.

Before leaving Atrani we ferried and walked our way to a few other destinations; Capri, Positano and Amalfi. In Positano we had a wonderful meal at a beachside seafood restaurant. One of us ordered the squid ink risotto, jet black, gloriously flavoured with Parmagiano and threaded with squid meat, it was devilishly good. Frighteningly though, it had a similar effect on ones digestive system, that eating too much beetroot at a summer BBQ might. 

Salute!

We have a half bottle of Gaja Sperss 2000 breathing downstairs, I’m wrapped in a brand new cashmere (the real stuff) shawl, we’ve just been sipping Prosecco on the banks of Lake Como and I'm about to tell you how we are having a difficult time splurging. After scrimping and saving for so long, we are finding it extremely difficult to spend our money. Truly.

I guess that means our parents (and our Dolomite Accounts) trained us well.

Today’s wine and shawl aside, our trip has been riddled with moments of indecision. Pros and cons weighed and in most instances the object of desire being left behind (and quickly forgotten) for the next cashed up tourist. I think we are trying to find a balance.

We left Burgundy on Sunday morning and drove through Lyon towards The French Alps. We spent the night at a chalet style apartment with divine views of Mont Blanc.

The mountain seemed to make a mockery of Australia’s cherished peaks. Epic is overused in current vocabulary but I’ll use it here with no hesitation. Straining our necks skywards we could just capture the sheer immensity of the Mountain. For me, it made the scale of Everest and K2 inconceivable. Everywhere we turned cried out to be photographed and framed. It’s like we had view-finder goggles on. The valleys were scattered with timber framed alpine villages, some rising steeply up the neighbouring mountain sides. Milky green glacial rivers and streams ran along the motorways, often fed from waterfalls cascading towards the valley floor.

It’s a shame the weather gods did not favour us. Thick cloud cover continually rolled through the Alps, hiding the mountains and villages. Call me paranoid but this seemed to happen every time I got the camera ready.

After watching the sun rise from behind the mountain we gathered up our belongings and drove into Italy.

We are starting our Italian sojourn in Mezzegra, a small hillside town in Lombardia, on the west bank of Lake Como. Our townhouse is on a very steep property with its own olive orchard. Built in 1690, we are told it was where Mussolini stayed the night before he was shot.

Continuing a theme, we asked our gracious hosts Natalie and Mario where we should have dinner. As it was Monday and most restaurants were closed she suggested a local Trattoria. She called on our behalf and made us a booking. Trattoria Nana is the kind of local eatery you wish was just around your block. Fresh, cheap and authentic. As soon as we’d scoured the menu, picking up on the dishes Natalie recommended we try, we were already deciding to book for another evening.

We shared an entree to start, Pizzoccheri; a highlight of our trip thus far. As the smell of butter wafted towards us, we knew we were in for treat. Homemade buckwheat pasta, chard stalks cut fine, plenty of sage and potato cooked until soft all combined with an oozy, buttery and cheesy sauce. Wasn’t much to look at, but it tasted seriously good. Wash that down with a glass of vino di casa (Bonarda @ €4 for a half litre) and we were well on our way to foodie nirvana.

For mains we shared Coniglio (rabbit) and Cotechino (slow cooked pork sausage) and for dessert Tiramisu and Fromaggi Misti. Molto molto benne! The cheeses are made by the family who run the restaurant, some of the best I’ve tasted. Of the three served our pick was a three day old sheep’s cheese that you eat dressed with a little extra virgin olive oil. It was zesty, had a fine crumb and really made the local oil sing.

It’s dawned on me that those of you who receive the blog via email, might not be enjoying our photo stream. Click the link to the blog home page to have a look.

Over and out.

Spreekt u Engels?

Goedeavond!

We crossed a border; well at least we think we did. There was no line in the sand, no customs and no passport control. Only ghostly stands of abandoned booths. Quite unnerving really. This is now the norm across the EU and for us, our crossing from France to Belgium could have almost gone unnoticed, if not for the sudden change in language on road traffic signs.

We drove to Belgium today. It’s only an hour from Lille (north east France) and is a UNESCO world heritage listed town. We haven’t had time to explore yet, so I won’t go on too much. Only to say that as we arrived in town the sun was shining down on the biggest antiques fair I’ve even seen. I think I’m going to like it here.

Back to Champagne for a minute.

On Thursday we were hosted by the generous people at the Martel Champagne Group at their winery in Reims. They own the likes of Pol Roger, Taittinger, Ruinart and two big local brands Casanove and Martel. Not having heard of Martel in the Champagne sense (there is a non-related Cognac of the same name) we weren’t sure what to expect.

We were welcomed by the Asia Pacific brand manager Renaud, the wife of the group’s owner Angeline and the facility manager Thierry (a cellar-master-esque role). A surprisingly illustrious trio for two lowly office types (no baby, your role is not lowly, I was just making a point).

As the introduction was made through work, there was a fair bit of shop talk. Highlights for non-industry types include a tour of their expansive underground cave system, a taste of whatever we wanted (I wanted the delicious oak aged (it works) premier cru Victoire) and a walking tour of Reims by Renaud.

The caves under Reims are an astonishing reminder of grand feats of the past. The ones we visited were up to 18 metres under the heart of the city and parts of them date back to the third century. The caves were dug out for the mining of chalk which forms the subsoil of the region. This chalk is also attributed to the mineral tang often found in Champagnes finest.

On our tour of the streets with Renaud, he pointed out the Reims Cathedral. Reims was the capital of France for a while (I have no idea how long for, or when) and the Cathedral was the largest in the country. When Paris was made the capital in (insert your researched date here.) a replica of the Reims Cathedral was built in Paris. Now the more famous and larger of the two, Paris’s Notre Dame was built in part, in the image of Reims Cathedral (don't quote me).

It was breathtaking and awesome (in the traditional sense of the word) and I was particularly taken with the Chagall windows in the back. His work always reminds me of a book I read as a child- The Thief and the Blue Rose.

Renaud recommended we try a local delicacy for lunch, so we headed to a local Bistro for a late meal. We ordered Andouillette, a pork sausage that is a speciality of Troyes (see previous post). I won’t go into to it too much; the thought of it alone makes my stomach churn. Only to say, to our untrained, close-minded Australian noses, the sliced sausage smelt of a particularly disgusting pig transport truck on a stinking hot day. Another awkward French to Aussie conversation ensued about why we didn’t eat it. Le sigh.