Radicculous

Every week on our – would rather have our fingernails removed without the aid of painkilling drugs than do this – journey to the mineral powder company we take a road called the “Strada del Radicchio.”  Yes the road is named after a bitter red vegetable that is synonymous with this part of Italy.

We all know (at least that is the assumption I’m working on) that different areas of Italy are famous for different wines and different dishes but the regions are also famed for local vegetables and here in the Veneto it’s radicchio that rules supreme.  Before I came here I only thought of it as a much loved salad ingredient and only knew of a single variety but my time in Treviso has been a bit of a radicchio learning curve. 

There are a bewildering number of varieties of the vegetable and every town in the state seems to lay claim to one.  The round version that is most readily available in Australia known at Radicchio di Choggia – a small town on the Venetian mainland.  A pale variety is the claimed by Castelfranco, a small town near Treviso, slightly further afield  Trieste has its own radicchio and course there is a Radicchio di Treviso which looks like an oversized red endive. Every Autumn the coming back into season of radicchio is a cause of major celebration and many town piazzas are carpeted in the stuff welcoming it back into culinary lives of the people. According to my sources (uncle Wiki) radicchio has been cultivated in the region since the since, at least, the fifteenth century and recently farmers in the area have sought to have the certain varieties given protected geographical status (whatever that means.)  In fact the famous red colouring is a relatively modern occurrence with a Belgian agronomist (whatever that may be) engineering the pigmentation.

I’ve always loved the vegetable for its bitter taste and deep red colour and it was rare salad that didn’t involve some radicchio.   Since my arrival in the Veneto I have been introduced to the many other uses of the vegetable.  Indeed at times it feels almost as any dish is incomplete without a radicchio component, it’s in lasagne, risotto, in pasta dishes, on pizzas,  in sandwiches, on chicheti (venetian tapas) and the list goes on.  Being here for a while renders you at the mercy of the stuff – it really is everywhere, so much so a good few of my expat friends have reached a stage of Radicchio overload and refuse to eat any more.  T who has been here for two years now can barely look at the stuff let alone eat is.  I hope never to get to that stage and intend to broaden my radicchio repertoire beyond salads – I’m currently wondering what curried radicchio would be like..... 

P.S. credit for the title of this post goes to JH - I blatantly ripped it off him.

Out of town

At the end of a narrow street you are
greeted by the dome

 My Friday lessons being cancelled was a bit of a double bonus – first J and I wouldn’t be making painful journey to the mineral powder company and two I got myself another long weekend.  To celebrate I hopped on a train and spent the weekend kicking around Florence.  I first visited the place about 16 years ago during my first Italian sojourn and I haven’t been back since, then I was a backpacker staying in hostels and saving every penny or lira as it was then, for museum entries and cheap meals.  This time thanks to lastminute.com I was able to splash out on a reasonably priced hotel.  Having booked the weekend on a whim I was rather dismayed to read the weather predictions were for three days of rain but you know it takes more than precipitation to kill my mood.

After so long in Treviso, Florence at first seemed like the big city – which it most definitely is not.  Traffic suddenly seemed deafening and the crowds overwhelming.  Thankfully my hotel was on the river in a more peaceful part of town.  Not only famed for its beauty Florence was the centre of the renaissance and as a result of a couple of rich families playing a game of artistic one upmanship the city is a treasure trove of art, sculpture and architecture.  With the Uffizi and Academia being just two of a seemingly inexhaustible supply of museums where does the bewildered traveller start?  Me? Well I started in a very Raji fashion at a junk market (I visited both the Uffizi and Academia on my last visit and so felt I could give myself a free pass this time.)  I love riffling through stuff other people no longer want so if there’s a flea market about you will most likely find me there -  in fact I could write a book called flea markets of the world except I want to keep the good ones a secret.  The Florentine one while small was packed with some gems; old postcards and records, furniture from anywhere between the late 1800s to now, clothes and various household goods. The flea market allowed me to indulge my love of early 20^th century ceramics with the purchase of a pair of gorgeous art deco coffee cups – the fact that I managed the haggle in Italian will make the using of them all the more satisfying. 

Brunelleschi’s dome is, of course the famous symbol of the city and walking about the city you catch glimpses of it at the end of the endless narrow streets.  The cathedral that it sits atop is a beautiful piece of renaissance architecture given that the heavens threatened to open any second I decided against climbing to the top of the dome and focused more on viewing the interior.  Inside I found it quite plain but then again next to the rich decoration of San Marco everything seems plain. 

After a pretty awesome dinner where yet again my eyes were greedier than my stomach I was intending to have a bit of a night time walk and find a nice bar for a pre bed digestive but walking through Piazza dei Signori I was delighted to find that the Palazzo Vecchio was still open.  I’ve always thought museums should be open in the evenings and when I lived in London I would often visit museums at the end of the day – in the last hour when they were usually empty and of course free.   So Instead of a drink I digested while wondering around the sumptuous rooms of the Medici palace being so late I practically had the place to myself and could get lost in the paintings and the admire amazing craftsmanship without feeling the need to move on.   

Day two and the rain that had mercifully stayed away the day before arrived and when I woke there was a light but consistent drizzle.  My first stop was coffee and a wander around the central produce market which I can only describe as the Queen Vic Markets on steroids.  As I took my morning coffee surrounded by market workers with tired craggy faces I felt a bit out of place sipping my cappuccino as they, nearly all to a man, drank large slugs of Jameson’s – I’d like to think that by 9 am they have pretty much done a full days work....maybe?  The markets themselves are a wonder to behold with colourful veggies and great stacks of dried mushrooms and tomatoes.  A host of olive oils that I wish I had the ability to bring back with me.  As well as all the wonderful local produce there was a healthy smattering of ethnic stalls selling jackfruit, different varieties of chilli and other goods rendering the produce market reason enough for this foodie to move to Florence.  

   

The Tower peaks out from behind the cathedral

After the markets I caught a train to Pisa to see the tower. As famous as the tower is and as many images as I have seen of it I was surprised that on actually seeing it there in front of me my first reaction was “blimey! it really does lean.”  Even without its precarious tilt the tower would be another jewel of the renaissance but in my opinion the lean gives the thing a bit of character – almost as if it’s saying I’m not going to be like all the others.  No one seems to mention the cathedral which is surprising as it’s stunning and unusually for renaissance churches it has a beautiful mosaic above the main alter.  The town itself was lovely to walk around (would have been better without the rain though) and full of surprises – like a large mural by Keith Herring – I’m sure many people know it’s there but it was a complete surprise to me. 

After a good few hours of walking the drizzle that had turned into rain finally defeated me and it was back to Florence and a brief rest before venturing out for dinner.  Now being a solo traveller there often times in new places when I’m out at alone.  It seems a shame to miss out on the night time vibe because you don’t have a partner to drink with.  After years of practice I can now say that I have a bit of a nose for a good friendly bar and that night I found another one of those, a lively place where the bar staff are make you feel at home and chat.  Unfortunately I was so tired from two days of walking and not much sleep in the days leading up that I couldn't stay for more than one drink before I had to get back to my hotel and collapse.

The Sun finally came out

It was strange walking about and having memories from 16 years ago – that was the place where I got gelati, that was the hole in the wall place that did the awesome sandwiches and the so cheap it’s practically free wine.  I didn’t remember so many tourists or maybe I just wiped them from my memory but the place is awash with them – not that they don’t have a right to be there I just wish they would walk a bit faster.  After three days of walking I’m ready for a rest.  As I write this on the train back to Treviso I realise that it’s been a while since my legs have that post sightseeing tiredness – it’s always a pleasant feeling but never the less I’m looking forward to a shower, bed and of course visiting the next place.

One year and all that

Last week I took a Saturday wander to the mountain town of Asolo.  It was a lovely warm sunny spring day and my thoughts turned back to my last visit this way which was in my first few weeks here when I seemed to spend every weekend in this part of the Veneto.  Thinking back to those first few weeks it hit me – I’ve been here a year – what do I do now?

I can hardly believe it but this blog is now a whole one year old.  I started this as a way of letting dear ones keep up to date with the events of Raji world and ease my guilt about sending what I always feel is a self indulgent email detailing adventures – yes I understand the notion of a blog is self indulgent but you dear reader do have the choice of venturing to the rajisphere or not.  I never gave a thought to complete strangers finding my adventures worth reading but to my great surprise I have a bit of a following so I would like to take this opportunity to extend a welcome to my German, Russian, Ukrainian and American readers – it’s good to have you aboard.  To celebrate the one year this blog has a whole new look and a new subtitle – I figure I can no longer call it adventures of a year in the Veneto. 

As with these kinds of anniversaries one has a tendency to look back over the year and assess just what the hell it’s been like.  Looking back from the position of now being quite established here I would be lying if I said it hasn’t been hard.  Travelling through countries alone has never been a problem for me but living in a place without a support network was harder than I had imagined.  Many things were surprisingly easy and fell into place quite fast – finding work and a place to live etc (although sufficient credit needs to be given to forward planning.)  Staying in one place has been a strange adjustment, prior to this Italian year I hadn’t managed to stay in one spot for more than five months, looking back my life over the past few years has been very chaotic so having a base has been refreshing even if at times I have craved an adventure.  Small town life has also been a bit of an adjustment.  

Trevisans have proved a hard nut to crack being used to the casual inclusiveness of Australians having to negotiate a more reserved population has been difficult.  Many of my expat friends are here due to relationships and these connections have helped them find their social way.  Italian society is so family focused that my living solo, without family or relationship has rendered me a bit of an exotic creature, at times I have felt more like a visiting alien than an expat.  It is only recently that I have begun to feel a little more established here.  

As for life in a little town where nothing happens well that has proved quite pleasant, Treviso is such a pretty peaceful place that while the life is a million miles away from the world of gigs, exhibitions and festivals of Melbourne I haven’t felt the boredom that I had expected.  Ok this is in part due to long working hours – when you finish work at 9.30 at night all you have time and energy to do is go home, eat and fall asleep while reading.  Of course having Venice so near has kept me occupied.  Whenever I get an attack of the lonelies or find myself needing some thinking time I always head to Venice for a bit of a soul revival.  Even after a year I still feel excitement whenever I step out of the train station to see the city in front of me – I had expected to become inured to its beauty but it still takes my breath away and perhaps always will.      

I’ve learnt many things about myself this year – one that I can cook!  This probably sounds stupid but before necessity demanded that I get down to some serious ethnic cooking I used to describe myself as burning water!  Two that I enjoy my own company, I’ve lived alone for a full year now and still enjoy it – pottering around by myself, knowing that any mess is my mess, playing music that I like it’s all been fun, yes there I times you wish there was someone to talk to but on the whole solo living has much to recommend it.  Three; I’ve learnt that I really, really need a home, a sense of family and some stability – this has been yearning that has been growing for some time now and as much thought as I’ve given problem I still have no idea of where my home is – should I go back to Aus, can I make it in Italy or try somewhere new?  I had hoped that the truth would reveal itself over the time but I’m as confused as ever and now very tired of the problem – if anyone can help me out on this one I’d love to know!

Italiano

Having dark hair and dark skin I am often mistaken for Italian and there’s been many a time when a local has launched into conversation with me thinking I'm able to discuss the finer points of Italian life.  Until recently I’m sure my expression was more akin to startled bunny than the sophisticated woman of the world look that I try to project!  But lately my language skills have been showing unmistakeable signs of life.

As an English teacher I’m used to seeing people getting to grips with a new language and I am deeply in awe of anyone who does it.  My own endeavours with Italian have always seemed doomed to failure and often at times I feel as if I’ll never say a sentence without making some howling error – resulting in at best miscommunication and at worst outright derision.   I’m not naturally a good student and always manage to find some kind of activity to avoid head in exercise book time (I must just clean the oven, do the shopping, make a cake etc, etc.)  I’ve often felt a bit of a fraud for giving my students tips and suggestions for study that I never do myself.   At the end of a draining 12 hour day the last thing I want to do is open an Italian text book and get down to some book learning. 

When I arrived here last year many of my Italian friends had a good laugh at my attempts at the lingo so much so that I seemed to have developed a block or lack of confidence in my ability to get to grips with the language – word of advice people encouragement is not mockery.  But as I say to my students you need persistence and an understanding that it’s ok to make mistakes.  I have suffered for my language attempts – yes I have been watching Italian television, yes it’s pretty bad and I am a little embarrassed to say that I got a bit hooked on masterchef Italia but for the most part it’s the history channel that’s been my language immersion vehicle. 

Slowly from the soup of noise words, then phrases and finally sentences began to emerge.  I have begun to notice that I longer look at encounters with officialdom with trepidation; exchanges at the supermarket have become more conversational.  A few weeks after Christmas on a night out with friends we bumped into an Italian friend who speaks near perfect English (and when I say near perfect I really mean it, not only is he grammatically acurate, but has a shockingly perfect accent and can use colloquial English correctly.)  That night for the first time and I’m not sure why we spoke in Italian and yes I made many mistakes but my meaning was clear.  The next day J beamed and said my language skills had come a long way in the six months she’s known me.

Last week and after a story too long to go into I ended up at a birthday party where not a soul spoke English – in situations such as these my only tip is get in there and speak to as many people as you can.  For the first time I noticed that not only was I speaking Italian without much difficulty but I wasn’t thinking in English and then translating into Italian!  That’s the mythical step I tell my students about!  When an English speaker did turn up we still spoke in Italian.  This guy was a passionate traveller like myself and we talked about places we had both been to and places we’d love to visit – so beyond the where are you from, what are you doing talk that I was convinced my Italian was stuck at.

After an evening of Italian with not a word of English I had the pleasant confirmation that indeed my Italian has “got somewhere.”  While I’m nowhere near discussing the metaphysical significance of Murakami’s parallel worlds I can now at least hold a conversation.  There are those with whom I’ll always speak English – once you start in one language you seem to continue but let’s hope I continue to make progress.