At Home

A week ago, I went with my friend, Ursula, to Ikea.  The impetus for this was as follows:  I was at the apartment next door, home of Ursula and Sergio, when Ursula placed crackers into a zip-lock bag.  I pounced and asked, "Where did you get those bags?"  A regular zip-lock bag cannot be found on the supermarket shelves in Italy.  She replied that they were from Ikea and that she needed to go soon to pick up coffee and napkins.  I asked if I could tag along on her next trip.  

In addition to zip-lock bags, I had a list of items that I wanted to buy to have my apartment here feel more like "me"... more like my "home".  Included on the list-- glass jars for my morning oatmeal and tea; colorful potholders; a short glass vase for the table; an outdoor mat; new sheets.  And, of course there were the extra items I picked up while there, like the heart napkin holder in the photo.  Isn't that what Ikea is all about?  

The questions of what creates a "home" and where I feel the most "at home", have been on my mind for months. (And, the question of feeling "useful" again, but that's a separate issue!)  When I first bought my own house in Bloomfield, I had clear notions of the home I wanted to create.  All the photographs on the walls were ones I had taken of significant people and places. Each handmade item had a story.  Homemade cookies were always in the freezer.  Flowers were on the table. Good quality soap was in the bathroom.  I wanted a feeling of love. Of course, some of those aspects are easy to recreate anywhere; but, the essence of "home" is something else.  

After the Christmas holidays of 2019 and before the "lockdown", I began to feel homesick.  I missed all of my belongings and the activities that I did with ease and confidence.  I emailed my friend, Ed, who had traveled extensively.  He called and said, "I'm surprised it took you this long."  I blurted out, "I just want to throw two sticks of butter in my KitchenAide and bake a damn batch of cookies!" We had a serious conversation about being connected to a place, about routines that mattered, and how it was normal to miss all of that. I had read articles written by people who were traveling long term, and each one said that they didn't even think about the items they had packed into storage.  Turns out, that is not my case at all.  

After almost a year, my apartment, which is beautifully appointed, does contain more items that I selected.  I like remembering each purchase and the conversations with shop owners. The apartment is modern and my taste tends to be more "country", so now there's a happy blend.  This is only a small step, because "home" is more than objects.  A casa.  Dove cantera' il mio cuore? 

(Note-- After I wrote this rumination, I listened to a podcast by an American journalist working in Beirut and reporting on the explosion of 4 August. Her apartment was badly damaged.  She had multiple cuts requiring stitches.  Her story, and worse, is multiplied throughout the city.  Perspective.)

Capoliveri and Laundry

Several weeks before my trip to Isola d'Elba, I purchased a watch from the Locman store in Florence.  The headquarters for Locman is on Elba, which I did not know until I was chatting with the store manager, Simona. Because Simona was so friendly, I emailed her before I went on my trip and asked for advice.  She replied that I had to go to the town of Capoliveri at night.  

While there were many places on my Elba list that I did not visit,  I made sure to see Capoliveri. The hotel manager, Massimo, who advised me to relax on the "sunbed", did help me plan this small adventure.  He arranged for the taxi, selected and reserved a table at the restaurant, La Taverna dei Poeti, and suggested the time I would need to explore and eat dinner. 

Capoliveri sits on a hill, 167 meters above sea level and overlooking Porto Azzurro.  Many people visit this town to wander, shop, enjoy an aperitivo or dinner, or attend a performance. While one cab driver said no one actually lives in the hill town,  I found evidence to the contrary-- many clotheslines filled with laundry hanging in the alleyways.  One aspect of Italian life that I find so intriguing is that laundry is not private.  

In a country where few people seem to have clothes dryers, there is no alternative but to hang clothes to dry, either outside in the warm weather, or inside when necessary.  In my neighborhood in the Oltrarno, clothes are draped over balconies and outside windows. Once while on the island of Burano (near Venice), I walked away from the main street with all the shops selling expensive, hand-made lace, and laundry was everywhere!  There was even a clothesline strung in a small passageway connecting two streets.  I am always touched by this glimpse into our real human lives, especially amidst all the tourist attractions. Also, there doesn't seem to be much modesty about one's undergarments on public display!

After secretly looking at laundry and strolling around the town, I ate a wonderful meal at La Taverna dei Poeti.  The waiter said it's the oldest restaurant in town, dating from 1909.  Now, the decor is modern, with a fresh, innovative menu. Dinner lasted over two hours, and I had to hurry to meet the taxi driver.  The streets were crowded and there was a line at the gelateria.  Everyone was enjoying the cool night air, the freedom to walk around after long days of "lockdown",  and the lights sparkling on the hill below.  

Colors

The soap of Acqua dell'Elba perfectly matches the color of the water surrounding the island. This is a grand design of marketing genius, and a soothing color wherever it is found. 

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.  

Neighbors

When the electricity in the apartment fails, the immigration appointment is cancelled, and you have wonderful neighbors who say, "Take the bus tomorrow and join us at the beach",  you pack immediately.  

During the first month in my apartment in Florence, I met my next door neighbors-- first I talked with Ursula over the garden fence, then a couple of weeks later,  she and Sergio invited me for dinner. We quickly formed a connection and have shared many local activities, meals, and travels. They met my kids on Christmas Eve, and we had lively conversation over a holiday aperitivo. 

The beach that my neighbors frequent is in the Maremma, the coastal area of Tuscany that borders the Tyrrhenian Sea.  At one time the area was marshland and infested with mosquitoes carrying malaria.  By order of Fernando I de'Medici, the area was drained.  Now, centuries later, the hillsides are beautiful with many agricultural fields.  To reach them, I took two busses and they met me at the bus station in Grosseto. We ate a wonderful seafood lunch, stopped at a winery, and did some exploring before going to Il Pino B&B, near Vetulonia, in the municipality of Castiglione della Pescaia.  This is the Tuscany of post cards-- pine and cypress trees, sunflowers, rolling hills, and the sea!

The B&B was up a dirt road, through a grove of olive trees. ( http://www.ilpinobeb.it/en/#home)

We were greeted by the friendly owners and their equally friendly dog, Leopoldo, or Poldo for short. The grounds are filled with flowers and giant agave plants. My accommodation was a two-floor small apartment, with a kitchen and a patio, pictured below.  For my first night, Ursula suggested that we eat dinner on the patio, so we could watch the sunset over the hills. (NB- The pool in the photo is about a dozen steps from the patio- just a bad perspective in this photo.  For the two mornings I was there, I got up extra early to swim before breakfast, which I think the owners found amusing. But, the second morning the cover was off the pool before I had to ask.) 

We had two warm and sunny beach days.  There are different beach areas-- the public area where people bring their own beach gear, and the private area where you pay for chairs and umbrellas.  That's the side my neighbors chose, and it was very comfortable.  We brought lunch with us, though there was a cafe to purchase coffee, salads, pasta, snacks, gelato.  Before we ate, Sergio bought three small bottles of wine to accompany lunch.  Italy, right? 

For dinner that evening, the choice was either seafood or meat.  Since I don't like most shellfish, my neighbors decided on a favorite place in the area-- a farm that produces all their food, and serves dinner several nights a week. ( https://www.biotodo.it)

Golden light on the fields before sunset. 

Antipasti.  Not for vegetarians!! 

Our dinner on the grill! 

Dinner was a feast-- antipasti, zucchini salad, eggplant, tomatoes, bread, wine, mixed grill (pork for me and Ursula, steak for Sergio), dessert and grappa.  The total cost was 20 euros each.

After the second beach day, we returned to the B&B to shower before the two-hour drive to Florence.  We stopped for dinner at the medieval, walled village of Monteriggiani.  Another fascinating piece of history!  In the car, I said to Ursula that she and Sergio could start a tour company.  She replied, "So far, we've only shown you 1% of what we know."  Sign me up for the other 99 percent, per favore!