Random Italian Scultptures #2

One of the many leftover sculptures from previous exhibits in the town of Pietrasanta--the current exhibit, by Mexican sculptor Javier Marin, was amazing and pictures will follow, but this morning we're off to explore Cinque Terre, the 5 beautiful villages cut into the rock cliffs along the Italian coast.--JT

Under My Own Tuscan Sun*

August 31, 2008

I wake up this morning -- our first night a rural beach town after a week in busy Florence -- and roll aside the shutters. Squinting, I see a hazy, calm morning outside. But I don't want to look just yet -- my eyes weren't ready for this after a 9-hour slumber. It's the best sleep I've had in a week. In Florence we had to close up the windows and shutters and use the air conditioning, as the noise of every conversation and argument and dropped bottle and zippy motorbike from the busy street below echoed up to our second-floor bedroom as if it were happening right there. But here, there isn't even air conditioning if we wanted it. So this morning, I breathe easy, with no hint of the pain of a dry throat.

I head into the kitchen to look for the Moka pot that's surely there; I find two. It's a ritual I've had for two weeks now: Rinse out the pot -- never soap, as that would get rid of the layer of coffee oil that die-hard Moka pot fans proclaim is necessary for the proper function of the pot -- fill the bottom with water, put the coffee into the basket and gently tap it down with a spoon, screw on the top of the pot, and put it on the stove. As I start the process of puttering around the kitchen while waiting for the coffee to boil, I open the door in the kitchen and look out. A man sits in a chair next to the neighboring stream which I wouldn't have guessed held fish. Two women a few houses down are already out on their balcony, perhaps taking their morning espresso with the morning sun.

We have a leisurely breakfast, then pack up and head to the beach. We're surrounding by all types of groups: Small families, big families, groups of couples, groups of singles. We were warned it would be crowded on this last day of August and therefore the end of the European holiday season. But by our standards, it's hardly crowded -- there are enough people milling around to provide constant people-watching, but few enough that no one ever encroaches on your sand space.

The beach is beautiful: fine sand, calm surf, orderly rows of tents and chairs. Behind us the skyline is that of the Apuan Alps, whose marble has provided material for Italian sculptors for centuries. Many people complain about the private beach system in Italy, but we decide we don't mind it, as we're quite happy to have the comfortable chairs, sun umbrella, beach bar, and facilities at our disposal.

We're instantly calm when we land in our chairs -- this is a vacation we've anticipated for weeks but that only took shape a few days before it started. We have nothing close to the tan (or physique) of most of the people around us who are leaving today after spending weeks here. But we find peace at the sea nevertheless -- the license to people-watch, read a book, nap, stroll, run, socialize, keep to ourselves. After a couple of hours, John decides to go into the water. He likes to float in the sea; when I join him a half an hour later, I quickly spot his head and two feet undulating in sync in the water. The beach is relatively empty now; it's lunchtime in Italy, and that's not taken lightly. Many people return to their hotels or villas or homes for a feast.

Unremarkable hours pass, perhaps a little too quickly. Soon it's nearly dusk. We start to talk about evening plans, but it gets complicated, so we just go for a walk on the beach. Nearly everyone is gone now, and we don't understand. The sun is falling into the sea and the light on the water is phenomenal. The day's heat is gone -- it's perhaps even brisk. This is the best time to be walking along the beach. Finally we see a woman just arrive, strip down to her bikini, and walk straight in the water to her waist. She knows what a precious time of day this is. When we finally make it back to our beach, we realize the woman has been walking just behind us in the water -- what a fantastic way to exercise.

We head back to our house, a spacious apartment about two kilometres from the beach. After showers and a quick bit of research, we head to the nearby town of Pietrasanta, which we learn upon arriving was a brilliant choice, no matter that it was random. It's nearly 9 p.m. and the town's main piazza is alive with people and light. We're anxious to look around but we're also hungry. We quickly settle on a restaurant based entirely on the fact that the people at its outdoor tables are grazing on antipasti that includes a huge basket of salami -- at least 10 different kinds. It ends up being a good choice. We take our seats in the restaurant's side garden and settle in for what ends up being a two-hour, three-course affair, including, of course, the antipasti, a pasta course, and a meat course, washed down with a bottle of the restaurant's delicious house red.

We leave the restaurant entirely too full. Just a couple of doors down we gaze into a gallery at a perfectly clear sculpture of a telescope. It takes a minute to register that I'm looking at it through an open door -- the gallery is open. In fact, most of the galleries in town are open, despite it being past 11 p.m. on a Sunday. Indeed, more people are strolling now than before, including Italian women decked out in designer dresses and towering heels. We take in the art, most of which is amazing. The piazza and a local church have been taken over by the gigantic works of Mexican sculptor Javier Marin -- eight horsemen mounted 10 feet in the air march through the center of the piazza; three huge sculpted heads are perched around the square; the church displays human forms that require much more thought and introspection than we were able to give them. It's absolutely phenomenal.

We later learn that the town is quite famous for its sculpture displays, and its studios house the likes of Fernando Botero and others. There are many marble quarries in the nearby Apuan Alps and much of the stone ends up in town workshops where artists produce new sculptures or replicate the masters. We're also overwhelmed by the town's duomo, or cathedral, San Martino, whose roots go back to the 13^th century. Its marble columns, frescoes, and paintings leave no doubt that we are in Italy.

One gelato later, we're in the car heading home. There we quickly get ready for bed, completely exhausted by our day of relaxation. We fall into another slumber, so we can wake tomorrow and do it all again.

*Disclaimer: I actually am reading Francis Mayes' Under the Tuscan Sun right now, hence me pretty much ripping off her writing style.

Random Italian Sculpture #1

We're too busy doing nothing at the beach to write long blog posts, so this morning you simply get my camera phone pics of a sculpture in the garden at the Florence conference hall I was at last week. Nope, I don't know anything about it--time to go swimming.--jt

Not a bad view

This is the view I expect to see a lot of over the next week (the mountains are the Apuan Alps, a longtime source of Italian marble used by Romans, Michelangelo, and many more). The weeks of work in Paris andFlorence are over and we, after some map fiascos and some interesting roadside encounters (more on that later) have finally relocated ourselves to a Tuscany beach town along the Mediterannean sea. Sadly, the cute villa we rented isn't walking distance to the beach but KT can handle the short drive there without hitting too many Italians on motocyles. We got in late Saturday and took a quick look at the private beach club in which we have an umbrella, chairs and lounger reserved--the folks running it were very nice and we can't wait to do nothing for at least a few days (if not the whole wee). Maybe today we'll actually take a picture of the sea. Or just read in the shade til we fall asleep!
Ciao--JT

Making the Most of Telecommuting

Hi from Paris! Why are we here? Why not! A colleague graciously offered us his place while he's on vacation. (Funny enough, they're in England -- but not at our house. But there are other people staying at our house. Nevermind. Long story.) We had planned to take a vacation the last week in August and the first week of September, but this was a bit earlier than we planned.

So, we've brought the office with us! Both of us have our laptops with us, and so far we've both put in (mostly) full workdays, with JT working from the desk in the bedroom and KT from the dining room table. We even have a rabbit to take care of, who is, as I type, hopping round the living room carpet. (He seems to be afraid of the hardwood floor, so it's like he's in a 4' x 6' playpen.) We've been to two of the big weekly outdoor French markets, eaten untold numbers of baguettes, walked along the Seine, had a crepe, and embarrassed ourselves speaking French. The pressure was really off when, on the trainride here, I pulled out my "Top 10 Paris" book and realized we've already seen 8 of the 10 things, and don't really care about the other 2. So, nothing to do but enjoy the fact that we can telecommute from anywhere. And, nothing to do but eat cheese.


(To be explained later.... Also, here are photos so far, with no captions yet, so use your imagination. The rabbit is the pet, not dinner.)

Are we there yet?

As KT noted in an earlier post, we recently did the London-Cambridge bike ride. I was in surprisingly decent shape the next day but became much sorer the days after--likely due to sitting around the office. The ride was probably the hardest physical challenge I've undertaken, although playing a summer soccer game in DC's 100 degree, 100% humidity exhausted me and left me delirious in a much shorter time. In case you're interested, some kind person charted the course on a biking site--I've embedded a version of the map below, but if you look at the original map you can also chart the elevation (click the tab for "Show" and pick "elevation profile"). First, the map makes clear the 50 mile ride we expected, which became a 55 mile ride, was actually 58 mile. Throw in the rides to train stations, starting line: 60! And as the elevation chart makes clear, it wasn't flat. We steadily rose throughout the first half of the route, eventually ending up almost 400 feet above the starting elevation. Not much of a climb for Tour de France riders, but enough to get us walking up a few of the steeper hills.

The day was sunny and hot for England--low 80s--so that added to the challenge. I must admit, there were several points where I didn't think we would finish the ride. We stopped at all the rest stops, many of which were located at pubs, and made sure to drink enough liquids--water, not beer! Okay, we actually did stop for lunch about halfway at a pub and perhaps had a pint. Yea, that's the reason we took so long to finish--not because I was so slow!

We fortunately had no flats or major mishaps, though others did. One woman took a tumble off her bike trying to avoid a car towing a boat. We helped clean up her scrapes and calm her down. She soon sped ahead us and likely beat us by hours to the finish line. Another woman cracked her old bike's frame in half straining up a hill--she too finished before us, but because she hitched a ride on the race marshall's van.

Toward the end, we clustered with a small group of similarly slow riders. At the last pub stop, we talked to some of them and learned one was a microbiologist at a nearby lab. She was excited to get our cards. One can't avoid science in Cambridge.

As we entered downtown Cambridge, one of my legs started to cramp up. I had the agonizing thought that I would have to stop mere yards from the finish line. But I couldn't allow that to happen, could I? Of course not.
--JT

KT has put together a photoalbum of the ride, including my favorite picture of the guys who did the bike ride in pink tutus: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/ktindc/LondonCambridgeRide

London - Cambridge 2008

http://www.bikely.com/

Here Come the Girls

KT will fill you in more on the rain-soaked but fun-filled 4-day Cambridge Folk Festival she attended but one highlight from Saturday, the day I attended, was hearing New Orleans legend Allen Toussaint. The producer-singer-songwriter is in the rock-and-roll hall of fame and puts on a great show (Here's a NPR story on him and an interesting bio from his label). He might be best know for writing "Working in the Coalmine", which he sang at the show, but his latest claim to fame is that he's the writer for song that Boots, a UK pharmacy company, used to sell makeup in a TV commercial. The ad was fueled by a catchy song, "Here Come the Girls", that subsequently shot up the British charts, which is amusing since the song barely made a ripple when Ernie K-Doe released it in the 1940s. A New Orleans paper tells the tale of how the song was resurrected, years after his death. Sadly, Toussaint did not sing the belated hit (perhaps because he doesn't own the rights?). --jt

Here's the Boots ad:


And here's the full Ernie K Doe version: