Venice, Burano, and Murano

Gondolas along the Grand CanalThe last time I was in Venice was during the winter. It was overcast, bone-chillingly cold, and all-together rather dreary. Surprisingly, that doesn’t really diminish the city’s splendor. There’s just something magical about Venice and I think it’s one of the must-see cities in Italy for any first-time traveler. This time the weather wasn’t exactly ideal, but we managed to get nearly a full day and a half of partly sunny skies – and no fog, a veritable miracle for this coastal island.

Because my friend Z hadn’t yet been to Italy, we immediately made it a priority to get to Venice. Despite the glut of tourists, the mind-boggling labyrinth of alley-size streets and canals, and the never-ending supply of vendors trying to sell you their mass-produced knock-offs, there’s just something magical about the “City of Water.”

The iconic lamps in St. Mark's SquareThe Winged Lion of St. MarkOnce a trade capital of the world, Venice now survives almost solely on tourism – in fact there are fewer Venetians actually living within the city each year. Between the rising cost of living, the city slowly sinking into the sea, and the constant hum of the thousands of tourists that pour into the city every month, it’s just not that appealing anymore to the locals. There’s the diehards, of which you’ll see a few when you inevitably get lost on some tiny back street, but most of the people you see are tourists.

The Campanile in St. Mark's SquareThe view from our hotel near St. Mark's SquareStill, it’s great fun to just putter about the city, getting lost and browsing through shops, tasting a little tidbit here and there, and conversing with the shopkeepers. It’s even better when you speak Italian (even if it’s not the right dialect), because then they’ll want to bend your ear for as long as possible. As most travelers know, there’s no better way to get to know a city than to talk with the locals. You’ll get the best recommendations, the best prices, and it just feels so much more authentic to speak the native language with the people – especially when every other voice around you is English, German, French, or Japanese.

Because the weather was so sketchy last time I was there, I never made it out to the islands of Burano or Murano. The Venetian archipelago consists of many big and small islands, the most famous of which are Venice itself, Burano, and Murano (and Lido, but we didn’t get off the vaporetto there). Burano is most famous for its strikingly colored homes that encompass all shades of the rainbow, but it’s also historically known for its exquisite lace. Although there’s been an influx of mass-produced junk from China, if you look carefully you can still find the handmade creations from Burano’s residents. Like most artisan crafts, however, it’s a dying trade.

Z and I were lucky enough to stumble across a woman hand-tatting lace in her shop. She was quite delighted when we spoke to her in Italian, instead of English, and spoke with us for several minutes. She happily granted permission for me to take her photograph and I was even happier to record the moment. When we returned a short time later she had departed for the day to rest – what a lucky happenstance to have caught her during that short period of time!

The colors of the houses on the island of Burano are amazing. The community has managed to find a happy medium between a chaotic mish-mash of color and something truly psychedelic. I’m not sure I’d ever be interested in living in a lime green house myself, but it sure is fun to look at!

Elaborate glass sculpture in a piazza in MuranoMurano is world-famous for its glass-blowers. As kitschy as it is, it’s a must to go see a glass-blowing demonstration if you’ve never seen one before. Usually the artists just bust out a quick glass prancing horse, but this artist actually took the time to blow a quick vase to demonstrate the technique. I was quite impressed. I’ve taken a glass blowing class before and had quite a good time. I look forward to my next lesson in Annapolis this summer. Equally as impressive was the woman who provided a narration of the man’s techniques to the assembled audience. She provided commentary in English, Italian, German, and French, with a little bit of Russian and Japanese to boot – talk about a tongue twister! We were all mightily impressed and applauded her when she finished all the languages.

Glass lantern outside a cafe in MuranoThe glass horse and vase from the demonstrationI think Z and I both ended up buying most of our gifts for friends and family in Venice and Murano. It’s just so easy to find such amazing little trinkets and jewelry. I couldn’t resist buying myself a little glass clock and a jewelry dish on top of all my gifts for everyone else.

For just a quick 5 hours away by train from Civitanova, Venice was definitely one of my favorite destinations while I was in Italy. I’m not overly fond of the tourist traps that polka-dot the city, but it’s easy enough to steer clear of most of them (just stay away from St. Mark’s and the Rialto). I’m not sure if I’ll ever return. I know I won’t ever make it a point to return myself, now that I’ve seen Burano and Murano, but I don’t think I could resist showing the city off to another friend if they wanted to go. No matter how much it might drive you crazy, there’s something special enough about Venice that just keeps you coming back. 

Campagna (Countryside)

View of Civitanova Alta from my host family's country houseOfficially I’m now back in the United States – but according to this website I’ve still got several weeks of updating to do. The last month in Civitanova was simply so packed with traveling, visiting, and spending time with my host family and their friends that there simply wasn’t time to both edit photos and post updates.

For the last day of our Easter vacation we went out into the countryside near Civitanova Alta to the “country houses” of both my host family and of some family friends. When I first arrived in Italy these type of group gatherings were truly overwhelming. In all honesty it probably didn’t help that my first group gathering in Italy was a children’s birthday party in a small basement room. With that many screaming children running about it was pure torture – and I did little more than sit in a corner of the room waiting for it all to end so I could get out of there.

How we roll...But as I became more accustomed to Italian culture – and most importantly, learned more of the language – these parties became much more fun. Everyone is always so nice and so welcoming. It’s impossible to feel like a stranger in Italy because everyone is always trying to meet you, talk to you, help your practice your Italian or help them practice their English, invite you to an outing, etc. In the US it seems really difficult to break into established groups of friends when you move to a new area. In Italy it’s hard to not get involved with too many people so you still have time for yourself!

This is where the magic happensOn this particular day we went first to my host family’s house and then to their friend’s house to make pizza – a truly group affair in this country. Before I arrived in Italy I didn’t think that Italians really ate that much pizza. Much like most people assume Americans are constantly scarfing down cheeseburgers and French fries, I assumed it was a stereotype. But, no – not really. Italians really do eat that much pizza. And it’s the ideal party food. When a large group of Italians get together you can guarantee there will be at least 12 different kinds of pizza and enough to feed an army.

Also, Italians aren’t nearly as particular about their toppings as most people assume. Here in the US I’m always hearing in foodie circles about how, “Real Italians don’t do this” and “Real Italians don’t do that.” That’s just really not the case. Sure, there are traditional pizzas like margherita, cappriciosa, quattro stagione, neopolitano, etc. But in the last ten years far more diverse toppings have arisen – and yes I’ve seen every single one of these on a pizza: hot dogs, french fries, tuna and mayo, eggplant, zucchini, eggs, potatoes, and more. Now, some of these I’ve seen on pizzas in the US….but hot dogs?! I was truly blown away by that and French fries.

An Italian dinner tableBut first, at my host family’s country house, we had an amazing meal prepared by my host mother, Mariella, and her mother, Maria. We had brought back some amazing food from Puglia the day before and the two of them made quite the feast. We all sat around one of the biggest tables I’ve ever seen and devoured everything they prepared. While they were cooking, however, Angelo (my host dad) and I went out to do one of my favorite activities in all my time in Italy – forage wild asparagus. It’s the perfect time of year for it and after Angelo taught me how to spot the tiny little stalks within the dense thicket of the underbrush we found quite a nice handful. I love foraging – it’s like the modern day treasure hunt. I think we were probably out there for an hour or two, tromping around the trees and bushes, communicating in half-Italian, half-English, and becoming increasingly excited the more we found.

Foraged asparagusWild asparagus plantWe came back with enough for Mariella to make her amazing asparagus risotto later in the week. It was easily the best risotto I’ve ever had in my entire life.

After our foraging we came back for lunch with family and had some Pugliese lamb cooked with potatoes, tomatoes, herbs, and these little things called lampascioni. They are the bulb of a flower in the hyacinth family and are kind of like shallots, but have a very unique and distinct flavor.

She also made a dish of orecchiette, radicchio, walnuts, sausage, and cream that was truly out-of-this-world amazing. I am always surprised at how much radicchio  Italians eat, especially cooked since it’s so incredibly bitter after being heated, but this was a perfect utilization of its inherent bitterness. It worked so well with the creaminess of the pasta, the savory bite of the sausage and the crunch of the walnuts. This is definitely a dish I’ll be trying to recreate here at home.

After stuffing ourselves silly on this and several different types of wine from Puglia, we went over to the friend’s house to make pizza.

At some point I was standing outside drinking a glass of wine and someone asked me if I wanted to play bocce ball. I had never before played bocce ball, didn’t even remotely understand the rules, and everyone else playing spoke only Italian – so of course I said yes.

I teamed up with Simone, friend of the family and co-owner of said country house along with his adorable wife Giusi (pronounced “juicy” – yes, she really is this cute), against my host dad Angelo and another friend. I never imagined that throwing balls across a lawn could be quite so much fun! The true concept of the game isn’t nearly as basic as it seems – just trying to get your ball as close as possible to the original marker and keeping your opponents away, it involves some interesting strategy.

Plus, if you’re Italian it involves a great deal of arguing over whose ball is actually closer, how the other person cheated, why the person’s throw shouldn’t count, why you need to be able to throw again because some exigent circumstance prevented you from throwing the way you truly meant to throw, and on and on and on…. It was a riot. And, as the wine kept flowing freely it became even more fun as the afternoon went on.

Eventually Simone and I won – because we are, of course, true masters of the game. It in no way came down to pure chance or luck. It was all carefully planned strategy and inherent skill…

All in all by the end of the night I was so stuffed with great food and wine and had laughed and conversed with so many different people that it made most Thanksgivings pale in comparison. This was one of my favorite days spent in Italy – with good people, good food, and good wine. It makes all the challenges and obstacles one faces in assimilating into a foreign culture fade into the background for a brief moment, and makes you remember just how much fun it can be to celebrate life with a people who make a practice of celebrating life every day.

Ostuni, Cisternino, Noci, and Polignano a Mare

After departing Alberobello we headed further south to Ostuni – entering the heel of the boot of the Italian Peninsula. Ostuni is frequently referred to as the Citta Bianco because it’s houses and structures are almost entirely white. As a big fan of the color white in general (if I could my entire house would be white), I was happy for the opportunity.

Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t really cooperating and we were rained on for most of our time there. Nevertheless, the city itself is absolutely beautiful. Most of it really is a striking shade of white. I can imagine that with a backdrop of azure sky it would be breathtaking.

I, of course, found another ceramic shop loaded with handmade pottery from local artisans and couldn’t resist getting a perfectly white ceramic owl – or at least an interesting artistic interpretation of one. I’m really looking forward to getting back home and getting my hands into some clay. There’s so much inspiration here in Italy that I just can’t wait to start creating something new.

Because it’s so-called “shoulder season” for much of Italy, many of the shops and sites were still closed from the winter, so we essentially just walked around for a couple hours and grabbed some coffee.

After leaving Ostuni we went to a little town called Cisternino. In Puglia they have this custom of creating half-restaurant/half-butcher shops. You go to a meat case, like you would see in any supermarket, and select your meat and specific how you want it cooked. You pay for the meat by the pound according to the cut. Then, they go back to their kitchen, cook it, and bring it out to the restaurant portion of the place. I admit, it was a little bizarre, but I kind of like the idea of seeing exactly what you’re going to be eating before you order it. I had a steak with decent flavor, but it was a tad-overcooked for my liking.

After Cisternino we drove to Noci to stop for the night. Honestly, at this point I was kind of a bear. I was exhausted, grumpy, and feeling incredibly claustrophobic after being stuck in a minivan with 8 other people. By the time we got to the hotel I collapsed into bed and was out like a light.

The following morning I didn’t see much of Noci aside from that on the walk toward the minivan. It was Easter Sunday so the vast majority of the city was in church. I did see this crazy fish-fountain thing that was frightening to me, but seemed normal to everyone else. Leave it to Italy to have some freaky narwhale-shark looking creature in a piazza and everyone thinks it’s normal. Looks like a demon dolphin or something.

After Noci we headed north to Polignano a Mare, an amazingly beautiful city by the sea. I had thought we were simply driving back home to the Marche region, so when we pulled up to this rustic city on the sea I was amazed. The city itself is rather small, but the fashion in which it juts out of the sea creating these grottoes is just beautiful. Apparently, in the summer time there is restaurant in a series of grottoes carved out of the base of the rock. It’s all lit up with lanterns and candlelight and it is terribly romantic, according to the people I was with who’d visited before.

After a relatively quick bite to eat in Polignano we started our voyage back up north to Civitanova. The drive was interesting – something unavoidable if you’re in a minivan with three boy band-obsessed teenage girls. I’m pretty sure I know the lyrics to at least 4 different songs from The Wanted and One Direction after a few hours in the car with those girls.

So, Italian-Easter adventure complete, I feel completely blessed for having had the opportunity to visit such beautiful parts of the country. Italy has really started to grow on me and I can’t imagine not ever returning. I’m hoping that if I keep up on my Italian I can hopefully return more frequently and really start to enjoy the culture in depth.

Because, of course, three months in a country isn’t nearly in-depth enough…

Alberobello and Trulli Houses

Our second stop on the Easter weekend trip was in Alberobello in the region of Puglia. Alberobello is most famous for its large collection of trulli houses. A trullo house is a round dwelling with a conical top constructed from local materials – they are iconic of this region.

The houses provide contrast to the verdant landscape, but with harmony. It really is one of the most beautiful areas I’ve seen in Italy.

There are many stories about why the people of this region began building the trulli houses, but most seem to fall back on the theory that the houses managed to evade taxation. Most people have heard the colloquialism that in Italy, soccer is the second most-loved sport in the country, trailing right behind tax evasion. In fact, some estimates indicate that nearly 25% of Italians fail to pay their taxes.

The original trullo houses were constructed without mortar, so the idea is that they were dismantled whenever the tax collector came about. Seems like a lot of effort to go to to avoid paying one’s taxes, but to each their own, I suppose.

Typically one cone indicates on room, so a house with multiple cones typically has a room for each. Because of the construction style it was difficult to put windows into the houses, so they can be quite dark inside. Some of the houses also have subterranean levels, with the added benefit of the earth’s insulation to keep them cool in the summer and warm in the winter.

Many of the dwellings also have whitewashed symbols on the roofs with various meanings. Some of them are old astrological signs, others are Christian symbols adopted after the religion became popular in this area. Still others are old magical symbols warding off malevolent spirits or welcoming positive energy. My favorite is the tree that represents the connection between heaven, earth, and hell. I do not, however, believe heaven or hell are actual places, so I like to think that the tree represents our higher moral calling, our baser instincts, and the person we are every day.

The houses are now protected under the UNESCO World Heritage Site regulations, so they are usually well-maintained and rather beautiful. I like that the area has, for the most part, maintained its original character without being too diluted with modern buildings.

We walked around Alberobello for a couple hours and then had lunch at a subterranean restaurant. The door to the restaurant was absolutely miniscule and opened to the tiniest stairway – actually, it would be more accurate to call it a ladder. At any rate, I was terrified to see what type of coffin-like place we were entering – and quite pleased to see that it opened up into a cavernous restaurant completely in contradiction to the panic-attack inducing front door.

After Alberobello it was off to Ostuni, Cisternino, and Noci…

Fracchie

I think one is always aware that there will be vast cultural differences between another country and one’s native land. That awareness, however, doesn’t necessarily prepare you for the sight of 30 or so wooden cones the size of full size trees being lit on fire and drug down the street by children.

Yep. Viva Italia.

My host mother is originally from Puglia. When I first arrived in their house the beginning of March, we discussed Easter plans and possibilities. Z and I had already talked about going to Naples together for the long weekend, but when my host family told me about the incredibly unique celebrations in Puglia and presented me with the chance to see parts of Italy difficult for tourists, I had to jump at the chance.

We ended up spending an amazing weekend tooling around the southern Italian countryside in a big minivan with another family. Stops along the way included San Marco in Lamis, Alberobello, Ostuni, Cisternino, Noci, and Polignano a Mare. The first stop, in the little mountain town of San Marco in Lamis is where they hold the festival of Fracchie.

If you look for Fracchie on Wikipedia, you’re directed to a tiny little paragraph at the bottom of San Marco in Lamis’ page that says they tie bundles of sticks together, put them on small wagons, set them alight, and then race them around the town…apparently the author has never actually been to Fracchie.

Does this look like a “bundle of sticks” to you? Something you would set upon a “small wagon” and then “race” around the town?

I think not.

The cones varied in size from just two feet long to behemoths the size of large trees. Literally. The construction of the larger cones involves taking the trunk of a large tree, splitting it down the center multiple times (kind of like the end of a hot dog in the microwave too long), and then shoving other sticks into the openings. You can kind of see the construction in this picture here:

Some people also put decorative paper into the cone as well – because you want the stuff you light on fire and drag around town to be pretty, right?

The builders take great pride in their work, and for good reason – they’re judged. Each cone belongs to a group of some kind. They’re all numbered and are judged on the construction, how well they burn, and how well they roll down the street.

The smallest cones are for/from groups of children. Let me tell you, it’s an interesting sight to see 10 five year-olds all pulling on a rope with a two-foot burning cone on the other end. Definitely not something you’d ever see in the United States. The largest cones are pulled by large groups (15-20) of young men in their teens and twenties.

Oh, and every once in a while they stop the cone and beat it with another stick to help it burn better, also flinging hot coals soaring into the crowds of spectators. I swear I honestly don’t know how nobody catches on fire at this event.

And what is the point of all this festivity, you ask? Apparently it marks the procession of the Virgin Mary to Jesus’ tomb after he was crucified and the burning cones light her path. Every few burning cones that paraded down the street, there would be some kind of religious iconography depicting Mary, or monks chanting, or little girls dressed up as the Madonna, or a big freaky statue thing of the Madonna.

I honestly think they just do it to light stuff on fire and drag it through the streets, but to each their own.

Hey...who brought the American girl?The dozens of burning cones made the sky so hazy we could hardly see the moon and the air was so heavily laden with smoke and ash it made for an interesting evening. If you ever want to know what it feels like to smoke a carton of cigarettes, try visiting San Marco in Lamis on Good Friday. The next day we were dousing each other in Febreze to try and cut the stench of campfire. My camera smelled like smoke for two days.

Bizarre as it was and my paranoia of people spontaneously catching on fire aside, it was a pretty amazing event and I’m really glad I got to see it. Sure beats the hell out of all those tourist traps every other American seems to find themselves in when in Italy.