Neighborhood Places

"Grazie, cara."  "Carissima." "Ciao bella".  These are common salutations in Italy, phrases I hear routinely from strangers, shop owners and friends.  It is part of the Italian charm, what makes people feel welcome quickly.  Combine these with the joy of being in a favorite neighborhood spot, and you will think you are at home. 

On my second day in Florence (September, 2021), I wanted to get some lunch, so I went outside to see what I could discover.  From my apartment, I walked a few minutes to Piazza Tasso, but nothing intrigued me.  On to via del Campuccio, which has no restaurants, but connects to other streets with cafes.  On the corner of via dei Serragli there were tables outside, a few people and the sign of "Caffe Mi Piace" ("I like coffee") over the doorframe. It looked like a good choice. I poked my head in the door, said "Buongiorno", and surveyed the platters of vegetables, pastas, rice and meat that were on the top shelf.  Everything looked tasty and fresh. The owner asked if I wanted a "plate of the day."  Certo!  

The "piatto del giorno" is a mixed plate of what the chef has prepared for the day.  This cafe is owned by a husband and wife, and the wife does the cooking.  My first visit, and on each subsequent visit, I sat outside  within a small area equal to several parking places that was surrounded by plants. The portions are generous and the couple is proud of the food they prepare.   Grilled radicchio, broccoli, beans, rice.  Fresh bread. Sparkling water.  On my first visit, I spoke with a woman seated nearby.  The owner brought me a small pastry and when she said she wanted one too, he replied it was only for tourists.  They clearly knew one another and laughed.  

When I returned the following week, the owner smiled and said, "Ciao, bella." There it is- the sweet recognition and a way to say "Welcome back".  He turned to his wife and asked if she remembered me.  She scowled and said of course.  When I started to choose what I would have for lunch, she said to me that she would prepare the plate.  Ok.  I went to sit in the sun.  When I finished eating and went inside to pay, the husband of the couple asked for 8 euros instead of 8.50.  A small "thank you" for my return visit. 

When visitors think about aspects of Italy that they love, surely this scenario comes to mind-- a warm greeting, wonderful food, a reasonable price, the feeling of belonging.  Certainly, all over the developed world this exchange and opportunity exists.  A local coffee shop, wine store, or favorite pizzeria.  What makes the experience so special in Italy? 

Shortly after the second visit, I sprained my ankle and couldn't easily walk to Caffe Mi Piace.  But, when I again returned, I was greeted with "Ciao, amica" by the husband, Roberto, and a friendly smile from the wife.  (He is clearly the more gregarious of the two.)  I sat at my usual table in the sun and was served a generous meal of seasonal specialities.  Other people ate lunch outside, some with a mixed plate, others just had pasta.  Many people picked up food to go.  A few ordered a panini, or just a quick coffee.  Roberto seemed to know everyone.  

Tomorrow the weather will be warm and sunny, even though it's mid-November.  I'll go back to Caffe Mi Piace, sit at my usual table, and enjoy being a "regular" in the neighborhood.  Grazie, cara.  

Happy Anniversary

One year ago today I woke up for the first time in my apartment in Florence.  When I walked out of the door, through my neighborhood and reached the Arno River, I was amazed that I was here; some days, I still feel that way. To mark this anniversary, I decided to complete early morning "grocery shopping" in a few of my favorite spots, instead of going to the nearby supermarket.

My first stop was two blocks away at the fruit and vegetable vendor who sets up his food everyday at the side of the ancient door of San Frediano.  I bought peaches, apples, tomatoes, lettuce, onions, one red and one yellow pepper. The vendor gave me a stem of grapes, saying "Buon Appetito". And, before I paid, he asked if I needed basil or parsley.  The herbs are always gratis.  On my return, I stopped for fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, a multi-grain roll and schiacciata (similar to foccacia). I limit my consumption of prosciutto, but today is a special occasion!

Fruit, wine, bread, pizza

After putting away the perishables, I walked to Carduccio to get a cappuccino.  I sat and read a few articles about the wildfires in California. Then, to Enoteca Millesimi for a bottle of wine to share with friends. I included a few minutes of quiet in the church at Piazza Santo Spirito. My final stop was at S.forno Panificio to see the specials of the day.  I selected a slice of fig cake and small piece of pizza, even though I had already purchased food for lunch.  The pace of daily life can be very enjoyable!   

Cappella Frescobaldi, inside the church at Santo Spirito

How am I feeling about this year abroad?  This question has a complicated answer.  The start of the year held great promise, and many of my plans were realized.  I traveled in Italy, joined organizations, made new friends. I shopped locally and visited every museum. My kids came to visit for the holidays and we were all in Barcelona together to bring in the new year. By mid- January, I felt homesick, and made a plan to return to the US to visit friends and family.  I was excited!  Friends were coming to visit in the spring. All was well! Then, we received news of my mother's illness and the start of the pandemic.  Needless to say, everything changed.  

I left Italy on Friday, 13 March and returned on Friday, 29 May.  My time back home was not what I hoped. Kindness from friends helped me to deal with my mother's illness. She did not live long after my arrival; though through a grand grace, I was with her when she died. I stayed on in Florida for several weeks, then booked flights to visit my children. Eventually, I returned to Florence. My neighbors and apartment owners helped to ease my quarantine, and after two weeks, I set out to re-explore the city and reconnect with a few people.  On the one hand, much was the same, and on the other hand life felt very different. What are my goals now? Since then, my days have been up and down. I took a few trips which I enjoyed.  Travel with my neighbors is always wonderful.  In between, days can be lonely. Visitors from the United States are still not allowed in Italy.  When will this improve... chissa'... who knows? My appointment for "permission to stay" was changed four times and is now on 17 September.  A residence card will allow me to stay in Florence for another year. This second year in Italy, unlike the first year, is filled with questions and no answers.  

Laundry Day 

Lists

While in the Maremma, we could see the distant outline of Isola d'Elba, an island I was interested in visiting. Back in Florence, I read about all the island offered- a variety of beaches, hiking, snorkeling, sunshine, and Napoleon's villa during his one year exile on the island.  Elba is accessible via public transportation from Florence.  This was a good destination for a seaside vacation.  I  read  lists of "best" hotels and selected Hotel del Golfo, with its own sandy beach and swimming pools.  Then, I wrote a couple of lists to take with me-- other beaches to visit, historical sites to see, restaurants to try.  I was ready!  

The journey took five hours with two trains, a ferry and a taxi to reach the hotel.  I arrived in the late afternoon, checked in to my room, changed for the beach.  A swim followed by a late dinner facing the sea ended the day.  My list would wait. 

The next morning after breakfast, I stopped by the front desk and met the hotel manager, Massimo.  He patiently talked with me about my list.  He opened a map on his computer and showed me the different beaches, explaining the process to reach each one via bus.  The beach at Sant'Andrea was an hour one way, then a walk to the beach. Napoleon's villa- also an hour by bus.  Of course, I could rent a car or a motor scooter.  I declined.  After fifteen minutes, Massimo looked at me and in a kind voice said, "Madam, please go enjoy the sunbed and relax.  This list is stress.  If you want stress, you can come behind this desk.  Please, go to the sunbed for me, since I cannot go myself."  I nodded in agreement.  

On the walk back to my room, I reconsidered my list.  Did I really care about seeing Napoleon's villa?  No.  Did I need to take a bus to another beach when I had a beautiful beach right here with my own sunbed and umbrella?  No. So,  I put away the list, gathered my beach bag and walked to sunbed #84, where I happily remained for the next six days.  

Efficiency

In order to remain in Florence for a long-term stay, a non-EU visitor must go to the "questura" to apply for a "permesso di soggoiorno". This means an individual has an appointment at police headquarters to apply for a residency permit.  Due to both the backlog of applications and three months of lockdown, my first meeting has been postponed three times.  This means my first appointment will now occur in mid-September, more than one year after I arrived in Florence.  No one here seems surprised or worried by this fact, except for me.

A week before the second postponement of June 23,  I thought a "bad weather day" provided a good opportunity to re-organize and photocopy the required documents.  Basically, I have to provide the same paperwork I submitted to the Italian consulate in NYC in June, 2019, when I applied for my visa. Some copies of these same papers were mailed to the questura the week that I arrived, in order to even establish an appointment.  Included in the required documents are-- apartment lease, Italian health insurance, tax returns, financial statements, passport, visa, and four passport-size photographs. To organize the documents took some time: I spread everything out on my bed and compiled the papers in categories, each secured neatly with a paper clip. I walked to the nearby photocopy shop  and was the first customer after their lunch break.  The guy in the shop was efficient and completed the copying in minutes, returning each section neatly in paper clips, the same as I had presented them to him.  Honestly, I was surprised at the ease of copying, because life here is not efficient. 

As many people around the world know, there is much to love about Italy. Generally, though, life is not efficient.  That is an aspect of living here that I do not enjoy! In the autumn after my arrival, I attended a group hike.  While hiking I spoke with a gentleman from Canada.  He and his partner vacation regularly in Florence and he told me that his partner gets angry about how long everything takes to accomplish.  I immediately agreed and illustrated with an example of doing laundry. Just the day before, it took me all morning to wash and dry sheets and towels.  Two separate loads of wash, which I completed in my apartment.  Then, a walk to the laundromat to dry the towels.  Wait 40 minutes, and return home.  The towels are never completely dry, so they have to go on a drying rack anyway.  (Alternatively, I could have only used my drying rack, completed the laundry in stages, and skipped the laundromat.  The result then -- sheets need to be ironed, towels are crunchy. ) I lamented about how quickly I finished the laundry in New Jersey, barely giving it a thought. The Canadian responded with the question he asks his partner, "Here in Italy, what would you have done with the time you saved?"   

My sheets are on the drying rack. 

(NB- On the day I organized the papers, I did go out for lunch.  Another neighborhood spot for salad, pasta with sausage, tomatoes, capers called "Rigatoni della Signora"  and a glass of red wine.  Perfetto!) 

Across the Courtyard

My apartment in Florence is on the ground floor by Italian standards and the first floor by American standards.  Instead of a balcony, there is a small garden area and patio.  Outside of the living room is a cafe table and outside the bedroom are two wicker chairs and an umbrella.  There are roses, an olive tree, and bamboo that covers the back fence.  My garden faces the back of another apartment building.  There are walkways between apartments, what my mother called a "catwalk". Sometimes I see my backyard neighbors sweeping, or more commonly hanging laundry.  One woman and I wave to each other whenever we are both outside.

Last week, I saw someone new cleaning the catwalk. She's petite, young looking, with very short blond hair- almost a buzz cut. She doesn't resemble anyone else I've seen in those apartments. I saw her again the day after.  I wasn't sure if she saw me, and we didn't look at one another at the same time.  Then, two days ago, she was leaning out of a hallway window and our gaze met.  We waved and shouted an enthusiastic "Buongiorno"!  And, that was it.  (The window is on the left with a green shade.) 

Today, I was sitting outside eating lunch and reading the newspaper on my phone.  You know how you get that feeling that someone is looking at you?  Well, I glanced up from my phone, and there was the woman with the short hair leaning out of that same window and waiting for me to notice. We both smiled, waved, and shared the customary "Buongiorno!"  That moment got me thinking about how much I like that greeting. As with most Italian words, I love the way it sounds. It's widely used, both informally among friends or to complete strangers. To me, the phrase is always said with warmth, as if the person truly wishes you a good day.  The American greeting of "Hello!" does not achieve this depth.  Forget, "Hi! How are you?" which doesn't necessarily signal any interest on the part of the greeter.  Even worse, is the awful "Hey there!" which seems especially distant. 

Will I ever meet the new woman across the courtyard?  My Italian is still limited, and we would have to shout to converse.  Allora, for now, we'll stick with wishing one another a good day.
🧘‍♀️🌸

Out for Lunch

On Monday morning, 15 June, I decided that I was going out for lunch each day during the upcoming week.  I have a friend here in Florence who goes out for lunch every day.  When she first told me this, I was surprised and curious. She said she looks forward to it. This was so unlike my past day-to-day life as a teacher, where sometimes it seemed that even eating lunch was a bonus. Going out to a restaurant for lunch was reserved for the weekend or vacation.   

Now, here I am back in Florence after a three-month lockdown.  The city is void of tourists.  Many restaurants are open and have created lovely outdoor green spaces to allow for social distancing.  The weather is pleasant, in between some spring thunderstorms.  Being out for lunch has so many bonuses-- great food, no dishes, a chance to practice my Italian, people-watch, and maybe run into a friend or meet someone new.  Additionally, the price of lunch in Italy is less expensive than the price of lunch in my old hometown. 

For my first lunch out, I thought I would stroll to Piazza Signoria (near the Uffizi).  Once I started to walk, I decided to eat someplace nearby.  A few places were closed on Monday; however, as I headed to Piazza Santo Spirito, I saw that Trattoria La Casalinga was open, tables outside, and NO line.  This is a rare situation as this restaurant is always crowded and reservations are needed.  I sat at a table outside and ordered arugula salad with mounds of parmigiano shavings, followed by roast chicken and potatoes. My meal concluded with a macchiato decaffeinato.  As I was eating, my friend's boyfriend (who I just met on Saturday!) strolled by and waved.  It was all wonderful and I will certainly return. 

Then, because I was already out, I stopped at the market in the piazza to get flowers, popped into a favorite boutique and bought a new skirt and top, and selected a cantaloupe from the greengrocer.  If I had prepared a salad at home, I would have missed out on so much!

The next day, I tried the very cool restaurant Amble'.  I've walked past their courtyard before, though didn't connect the name and the place.  Lunch for me was a salad with tuna and egg, accompanied by aqua frizzante and a glass of chardonnay.  The courtyard is a great place to people watch-- a variety of people sat down to eat and also some good-looking Italian men strolled past.  Interestingly, this restaurant has a radio station!  The waiter told me that normally there are dj's, live performances, and literary readings.  He said that possibly those will return in another week.  Here's the link to the radio station-- https://www.amble.it/radio.

(I imagine you are curious about the prices. Generally, when you eat in a restaurant, there is a 2 euros table charge per person, called a "coperto".  My costs in euros--first lunch 22.50; second 15.50. It is possible to eat for much less if you order simply pasta or a panini, or much more if you order steak!)

Sunglasses

On the first Saturday after my quarantine, I had a "lunch date" with a friend. I wore the designer sunglasses that my daughter secretly placed in my backpack before I left her apartment in the US to return to my apartment in Florence.  I also wore my new Italian watch and a fresh hairstyle.  The sun was shining as I walked to Piazza Santo Spirito, and I began to understand why Italians value a good haircut and great sunglasses. I had  a bounce in my step and extra confidence; when a couple of heads turned as I walked past, my spirit was even lighter.  Is this what is meant by sprezzatura?

A couple of days after I returned to Florence,  I finally had the energy to clean out my backpack.  When I discovered the sunglasses, I sat on my bed and cried. The last few months had been such a mix of emotions. For every positive, there was a negative.  For the first month I was with a good friend at his beautiful home, but waiting for news about my mother's health.  When I could get to see my mom, she lasted only three more days, but that was followed by good times with my brothers. I navigated airports and planes during the pandemic to spend time with each of my kids, and the days with them were wonderful.  No distractions, no arguments, just lots of hiking, shopping, cooking, talking. Alone in Florence again, I missed all the company of the previous months. 

The sunglasses, however, just might be part of my daughter's plan to help in my transformation of being more "chic" here in Italy. At her apartment, she wanted me to try on some of her sunglasses and pick out a new look.  Little did I know that the pair I liked the most would take the trip with me.  I do love her attention to fashion details, and I'll do my best to pay attention, too.

 (Lunch outside at Piazza Santa Spirito with Salvatore, Kimberly's boyfriend; Kimberly, taking the photo; and me.  In true Italian style, we sat together for hours!)  

Prosechino

Today, Friday, 12 June, was my first day out of the 14 day self-quarantine required on my return to Florence and my first day out of the "lockdown" of the last three months. Admittedly, my particular situation was unusual in that during this pandemic, I flew to four states, beginning with a trans-Atlantic flight from Rome to NJ.  After a month in NJ in quarantine with a friend, I flew to Florida to be with my mother during her final days, and then to Denver and Chicago  to visit with my kids.  Traveling during a pandemic is not relaxing, so this first day of true "freedom" required celebration: a hair appointment and lunch at a neighborhood osteria.

At both Wave hair salon and Osteria da Fulvio, I am a regular customer. In both establishments, I knew I would have a warm welcome:  a smile, a heartfelt "Buongiorno" and "Com'e stai?" In the hair salon, the stylists know my name, a bit about my decision to live in Florence, and I know a little about their personal lives.  At the osteria, though, I am always addressed as "signora", but it is the complimentary Prosecco that signals recognition.

When I finished at the hair salon and we said our good-byes, I took a few photos along the Arno and walked to Osteria da Fulvio. I have eaten lunch here alone and with friends.  I hoped that when I walked in the owner would remember me, since I had been away for three months.  Once I removed my sunglasses and mask, I received a smile and another "Buongiorno"!  After a brief exchange, I was asked, "Vuoi  Prosechino?" Would I like a small Prosecco?  "Si, grazie."  From a tap behind the bar, Fulvio poured a complimentary glass of Prosecco, his offer of thanks for being a regular.

A move to a new city means that for a while, maybe a long while, a person is not known anywhere as a "regular."  This situation in which no one knows you, can create a positive "devil may care" attitude, or a negative state of loneliness.  When I first arrived in Florence in September 2019, I experienced both feelings.  Now, though, I am happier to be recognized with a smile and a complimentary Prosechino.  (Note- In this word, the "ch" is pronounced as a "k".) 

🥂🍾

Walking Through History

I attended a meeting of an international women's league in Florence that was held in a stunning rooftop apartment with an important address: San Felice, 8.  This is the same address of Casa Guidi, the apartment in which Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning lived from 1846-1861, when Elizabeth died.  There is a statue of the bust of Robert Browning in the foyer, and their apartment is now a museum. The building is on a small piazza, with the church Chiesa di San Felice (10th century) next door. Restaurants and artisan shops line the adjacent streets.  As in much of Florence, there's a mix of very old and new.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casa_Guidi


When I left the meeting to walk home, even though I had walked this path many times, I decided to really pay attention to all of the historic monuments I passed in 20 minutes.  And, exactly how old was each of these historic buildings? The first palace I reached immediately around the corner from Piazza San Felice was the grand Palazzo Pitti, dating back to 1458 when it was owned by the prominent banker, Lucca Pitti. (The palace was bought by the Medici family in 1549.) The old palace is now a prominent museum, along with the lush Boboli Gardens which is also open to the public.

As this was January, the restaurants and bars near the Palazzo Pitti were empty, and the street was peaceful. I continued, and chose the street Sdrucciolo De' Pitti across from the Palazzo Pitti,  to reach Piazza Santo Spirito. (If I had chosen a different route, I would have reached the Ponte Vecchio, dating from 1345 and the only bridge not destroyed during WWII.) In this piazza, along with many bars and restaurants, is the Basilica di Santo Spirito. This church has a plain facade, with an iconic shape originally designed by Filippo Brunelleschi, but completed in 1487, after Brunelleschi died.  Of course, Brunelleschi is most famous for his design of the Duomo, which seems to peek around every corner throughout the historical center.

I walked across Piazza Santo Spirito, onto via Sant'Agostino, through Piazza del Carmine and reached the church called Santa Maria del Carmine.  This church was originally built in 1268, then renovated after a fire in 1711. The church is free to enter, but the masterpiece frescoes by Massacio and Masolino inside the Brancacci chapel require a separate entrance and a fee.  The frescoes, commissioned by Felice Brancacci in 1425, are believed to be the first masterworks of the Italian Renaissance. Fortunately, they survived the fire!  (NB- There is a 30 minute viewing limit for the Massacio frescoes. However, I went on a rainy afternoon in November, and I was the only person in the chapel!)

After the piazza, I walked on a quiet side street with more shops and restaurants. The now modern Hotel Horto Convento, used to be a convent. (My family stayed there for Christmas and it's lovely.) Finally, I passed through the arch of the 13th century gate of San Frediano.  The gate still has its large wooden doors and metal locks.  The architect is believed to be Andrea Pisano, who also designed the famous south doors on the baptistery in the Piazza del Duomo.

The remaining couple of blocks are filled with modern every-day life. I say hello to the young guy who works at the salume shop.  The recycling bins are full. The shoe repair is closed for the evening.  My apartment building is only two years old, but the street is named after Benozzo Gozzoli, a famous Renaissance painter.  Everywhere is a reminder of the artistic and political past of the city and the country of Italy.  How does this mix of old and new influence a population?  Like me, do long-time residents still wander into churches to marvel at the beauty, or do they just hurry along, leaving the discovery to tourists?

Charleston, SC

Despite war, a widespread fire, and a major earthquake, Charleston is a beautiful and prosperous city. I arrived Wednesday afternoon after two separate stops for pecans. (A clerk in one store was funny and gave me a "redneck shotglass" - a plastic beer cup that holds at least 8 ounces!)

I've booked a room for three nights at The Planter's Inn, which I read about on a travel website for women. It's a luxurious hotel in the middle of the historic district. It's quiet, conservative, lavishly appointed, and fully staffed to immediately meet any request. I wanted to stay in an extra special place at the start of the trip so I would have less to worry about, and fortunately I got a great package at this hotel. Like many of the nearby buildings, the hotel is on the historic register. It's also across the street from the open market. A few people told me the market was a site of slave auctions, but a tour guide on a carriage ride said it was where produce and dry goods were sold, probably by the slaves. (http://www.girlsguidetotheworld.com)

True to my goal, I've gathered a few stories. First, I spoke with a couple who make the sweet grass baskets that are sold in the market and along the streets. I asked the couple how they each learned the craft. She learned from him. He learned from his mother. He told me that in a true "weaving" family, the children have to learn. They don't have to make a living at the craft, but they have to learn. He's been weaving for 37 years, since he was seven. The patterns for the baskets aren't written down, to prevent another family from stealing them! I didn't buy a basket from him, but bought one today from someone else after a bit of haggling.
(http://www.sweetgrass-baskets.com/history.htm)

For dinner the first night, I followed the recommendation of several people and ate at Hank's. The she-crab soup was delicious, but the crabcakes not crabby enough! After dinner, I ducked into a nearby candy shop to get out of the rain. There, I met a family from Vancouver. He's working in Charleston, but wanted to bring the "girls" along to visit. ("Girls" here means his wife and daughter. I didn't say a word!) As Canadians, they happily went to the beach that day, even though the locals found it "chilly"! The second couple I met at the bar next to the candy shop. They were drinking, waiting for the rain to let up; I ordered a coffee. They glanced at me curiously, I guess trying to figure out my story. Eventually we started talking. They're from Indiana. Turns out they were staying at the same hotel as the Vancouver family. The conversation was about winter in the midwest and the difference between raising boys and girls. (They have three boys.) The husband/father was perceptive and amusing in his comparisons.

Today I toured the Magnolia Plantation and the Nathaniel Russell House. Architecture, furnishings, paintings, gardens beyond imagination. Here's a tidbit- Nathaniel Russell and his wife were both older when they married. She was wealthy in her own right. So, they had a pre-nup in 1803! When they moved into their house in Charleston, they brought their two teenage daughters and 18 slaves.

The crape/crepe myrtle are blooming, streets are clean, restaurants and shops modern and inviting, everyone polite. Have a good day, ma'am.