Aria Condizionata, Berlusconi, e birra (guess what these things are)

Yesterday I experienced the world-famous Italian strike/demonstration.  But this one was different that the one I wrote about in Torino, which was a one-day national strike in which all major transportations (train and buses) shut down to protest high income taxes.  So, there exist three main workers unions in Italy.  The one which put on the demonstration yesterday (all around Italy) was called the CGIL, and is supposedly the farthest (politically) union from Berlusconi (the most anti-Berlusconi).  Here, in Tuscany, though, everyone it seems is anti-Berlusconi.  Monica wears shirts that say "I didn't vote for him" in 5 languages.  And Andrea tells me that all of Tuscany hates him.  Only the south and the north (especially Milan, where Berlusconi comes from) fell prey to his tactics when he bought up television channels and cunningly used them to gain political power.  Today, he has been president of Italy for 20 years, is the richest man in Italy, owns a whole lot of television channels and some newspapers, and until recently, Catholic bishops supported him (b/c he somewhat defended Christian values on his platform despite his backwards personal life; this is awfully similar to the way that Republicans gather votes in the Bible belt) unfortunately. (I don't think bishops should be supporting any politician at any time.)

The strike was basically a parade of noisy Sienese people (Andrea and Monica were constantly talking to people they knew) who paraded through the streets in a big mass.  I joined.  We started at the bus station, paraded through the streets to the Piazza del Campo (the main one) and then into a smaller piazza finally where a stage was set up for several speeches which followed. This particular strike (which occurred nationally via the CGIL) was in protest to Berlusconi's proposition to raise tax rates in order to pay for Italy's developing financial crisis (similar to the crisis currently being experienced in Spain and Greece).  Income taxes are already high in Italy, and I would think, although not an expert, that a better solution would be to cut unnecessary spending (military comes to mind as many Italians are anti-military).  

Funny thing I think: Andrea was telling me that one year ago Berlusconi was hosting Quaddafi (the bad guy in Libya) in Roma and they were great friends.  Really odd: Berlusconi had an expensive tent set up somewhere in a park in Rome where Quaddafi stayed. Security was intense for this 'event.'  Really strange: As a spectacle of their "friendship", Berlusconi presented to Quaddafi several Italians who then proceeded to convert to Islam (as a display of openness to Muslims, I suppose).  What a way of doing foreign relations, huh?  And the kicker: In weeks past, Berlusconi has been bombing Libya. 

What can you do?   Che cosa ci puoi fare?

'Nother funny thing.  We were in the car yesterday (mind you, with the windows down, A/C was off, as usual) when Andrea and Monica were talking about how they thought their new post lady was exceptionally weird.  When I asked why, Andrea explained that she always has her windows rolled up and the air conditioning on.  She must not like working in the country, he said.  ....I never realized that this might be weird to them.  Thinking back to the spring and summer months of South Carolina and how we have the A/C blasting as high as it goes.... But here A/C is either regarded as silly or a waste or simply unnecessary.  Granted, I don't think even the worst of heat in Tuscany can measure up to the heat we get in Columbia, SC.  Still, it's something to think about.  Not yet, in any vehicle or house in Italy have I felt the cool breeze of A/C.  And I'm still alive.  Also, Andrea often states that it's humid, but compared to Columbia, it's pleasantly dry. 

Alcohol

Last night, a famous symphony from Israel/Palestine played in Siena. The theater was booked solid, and as a courtesy, the theater set up a live display (with projector and speakers) of the concerto in the Piazza del Duomo (actually, right next to the cathedral).  Since Teo and I didn't have tickets, (Andrea, Monica, Camilla and boyfriend Fillipo had gotten theirs long ago), we hung out in Siena. 

Over a beer, we got to talking about the drinking culture in our countries. The drinking age in Italy is 16, but he told me it is easy to buy alcohol in bars even younger, at 14.  Contrary to my expectations, teenagers in Italy do drink to get drunk in their early years.  However, by the time they are legal to drive (age 18), usually the excessive drinking stage has passed.  In contrast, in America, as we know, the binge drinking lasts throughout the college years. 

So which is better?  Learn to drive and then learn to drink.  Or learn to drink and then learn to drive.   ?  

The other thing in Italy are several liberties with alcohol that we don't have in the states.  Like the liberty to walk in the streets with a bottle of alcohol.  To sit down next to a fountain in your favorite piazza and have a Birra Morretti or even share wine with friends.  We in the states can't do that. Nor can we buy alcohol or certain days and certain times.  

Upon telling Teo that he's lucky to have more liberal municipal laws, he told me that Italy has plenty of nonsensical ones: it's illegal to walk shirtless in a city, and it's illegal to drive shirtless. 

Andrea, Monica, and friend demonstrating

Lavoratori (workers), members of CGIL

Andrea got pretty angry during the strike

March through Piazza del Campo

Living 'Sustainably' with the Fantaccis

I'm sitting here during my pausa (siesta) after lunch, and have decided to write a little about my current whereabouts. I'm at my second wwoofing site, having been here now for a week.

I am currently living in my own small apartment which is part of an old house built in the 1850s (the walls are 1.5 feet thick). The family of four - Andrea (who I work for) is the father, Monica the mother, Camilla (24-yr old daughter, student), and Teo (typical 16-yr old boy, student). Although not a farm, the family has a good sized orto (garden) and also tries to live sustainably in the countryside outside of Siena.

Here are some examples of how they live...

• they have 10 chickens which they feed kitchen scraps as well as organic feed
• water collection from rooftop feeds an enormous concrete cistern which we emptied and cleaned the other day (Initially I estimated that nothing less than a pressure washer and hydro-vacuum would be necessary to clean this monster. We did it with buckets of water and rags.)
• since the stored water is not necessarily potable, they fill glass jugs when they go into the city (it is free public water)
• solar panels for heating water. Also other solar panels upload electricity onto the grid. (Unfortunately, the electric company will not let them use their own power on an exclusive line; but they do get paid for the energy they contribute).
• they recycle paper, plastic, glass, and metal
• no clothes dryer; they use the Tuscan air
• the orto produces a good quantity of produce. So do the prolific fig trees and pear trees. No commercial fertilizers used. Only an anaerobic mixture of chicken poop.
• they make their own bread -traditional tuscan bread with only mother, flour, and water - in a brick oven attached to the house (original)
• they jar fruits (fig jam, pears) and tomato sauce from the orto
• roof is traditional clay roof, bought locally, and lasts a long time
• they use homeopathic medicines
• rechargeable batteries
• the car runs on methane. Plus, Teo drives a moped into the city often.
• no air conditioning. windows often left open, but it is always cool inside. I think the stone walls/clay roof helps.
• the family is very conscious of the origin of the food they eat. They try to buy organic often. And on Wednesdays, they buy from the weekly outdoor market in Siena. They also go to the grocery store, "Co-op"

Also, you know how there are certain things that you always keep on your dinner table because you use them so often. This family always has these seven things on their table:

1. Glass jug of water
2. Red wine
3. Salt
4. Tuscan bread
5. Balsamic vinegar
6. Extra virgin olive oil
7. Another jug of water

While we're in to listing things, here are some of my tasks so far:

• gathering wood in the forest to make posts for a fence around the orto (and later scraping the bark and staining)
• cleaning out the big outdoor underground cement cistern (this water for garden only)
• cleaning out the two big water tanks used for household
• removing vines from on top of a 4-ft wall around the orto (this wall is from the late 1700s and was built without cement or binder; very sturdy; the previous owner planted things on top though which would have eventually weakened it)
• general orto maintenance
• chopping firewood

I'm guessing you're tired of list, but I'm not.

Things I've done with the family:

• eat lunch and dinner together everyday
• talk about Neil Young, Simon and Garfunkel, etc (Andrea and his sister Lucia saw Neil Young when he came to Rome in the 80s)
• big concert in Siena last Friday by famous Tuscan artist, Silvestri. Music was awesome. He plays piano and guitar and has a band. Played everything from lullabies to heavy rock stuff. Anti-Berlusconi from what I can tell. I thought he was awesome. So did the crowd - ages 2 to 95. Really diverse following.
• dinner at a friend's house, an artist friend named Francesco, who happens to be well-known around Siena. Incredible dinner. Art nice too. That reminds me, I need to talk more about food.
• Dinner with a small community of 13 people who live nearby.
• Card games, native ones, and poker
• yesterday we went to the weekly market and then "Co-op" - grocery store. (noticed that the back wheels on the grocery carts were also swivel wheels - unlike in the US - making steering a bit difficult). I bought nutella.
• wii sports

All-in-all terrific family. Andrea only speaks to me in Italian to help me learn. He worked in a bank for 30 years (hated it), retired, and now raises a family out in the country. I speak English to Teo to help him learn.

The aspect you're missing is the food. I need to write about the food.

So do you like lists? I doubt it. You'd rather read stories I think. Tell me in the comments.

Fennel,cabbage, and eggplant

The house (from 1800s)

Teo, me, and 1/2 Camilla

Andrea at his best

L'orto (garden) from the side

Explaining Pignano

The place I've been at for nearly 4 weeks is called Villa Pignano. And it is really strange. Set on the top of a Tuscan hill, an old castle hosts guests in a fancy hotel of sorts. Some 30 or 40 people work at the villa and more or less dine together for lunch and dinner. Although not always the case, a week ago there were 8 wwoofers here (people like me who work for our meals and quarters). We all sleeping in the woods in a teepee and tents (see pic below). The workers, some of whom live in cottages near to but separate from the main castle, include a baker (Zak), a farmer (Ranieri), a horse person (Joanna), an herb specialist (Mara), a barman (Gregorio), the gardener (Lupo), not to mention countless others for laundry/kitchen, general upkeep. The community is incredibly international (Australia, Ireland, Romania, US, Argentina, El Salvador, etc). Some people are temporary. The boss (although not the owner of the villa) is a sort of matriarch figure, her name is Pushpa (her spiritual name), who leads and organizes virtually everything. There is so many other things I could explain, like names, and what the wwoofers do, and what kind of amenities we enjoy, but I think I will save those for personal conversation between you and I, if you care to hear.

Here are some pictures...

Ventotene-then and now, coming to America...(a blog for my family)

I've not forgotten the places I've been, especially L'Isola di Ventotene, from which my grandparents emigrated in the 1950s when they left for the "land of opportunity."

Ventotene is small, according to wikipedia, having only 1.3 square kilometers of land area. Evidence of its volcanic origins can be seen in the steep cliffs, the black beach sand, and the endless hillyness in general. Being so small, I can hardly imagine growing up there or living an entire life there as many have.

Before

But the Ventotene I have experienced is worlds apart from the Ventotene experienced by my grandparents. Theirs was a close-knit community. Everyone knew everyone. Families were large. Families had plots of land outside the city center for cultivating.

Now

What I experienced was a tourist depot for Italians. Indeed most of the tourists were Italian, I suspect because it is still in its infancy of its age of tourism. Today, expensive restaurants occupy the peripheries of the main piazza. Hotels line the main beach with chairs and umbrellas for their guests. Souvenir shops attempt to sell ceramics with classic scenes of the landscape. And teenagers on vacation wander the streets at night and dance at the outdoor kiosk/discoteca.

Ventotene will never ever again be what is was before tourism. Tourism will continue to encroach in the coming years until any sense of the lifestyle that existed before is lost.

In reality, I haven't a clue as to how my grandparents lived there for 40 years before moving to NY. Did people wake up early and tend their gardens? Were the women in the kitchen and doing laundry? Was there a siesta after lunch until the heat gave way? Did the kids play in the caves? Were their heated arguments in the bars? Did the entire town gather in the piazza every night for a social hour?

Many times I asked myself, "Why would my grandparents want to leave such a place?" Especially, after having lived there for 40 years. Zia Serafina explained to me that after the war, although there was economic development in some parts of Italy, the island was not one of them. Being off the mainland and having no significant export item, the net movement of wealth was always away from the island. Nonno inherited a bar, and I would suspect he was pretty content with that job. But like I said, there was no money to be spent on beer, so profits were probably low.

Top: Former residence of nonno & nonna

Bottom: Location of nonno's bar

At a certain point, Nonno and Nonna acquired both permission to immigrate to the US and a loan from a family friend in order to take a ship to America. Before leaving, they left their house (a building occupying a side of the main piazza) to nonno's brother, and other belongings such as the bar and probably a garden to other people. My grandfather, I am positive, thought he would get rich in America. He knew there were opportunities. He also knew he had determination. (In his mind, I think, he was sure of success.)

I figure he was probably a lot like a bus driver that Lisa and I met in Torino. It was a day in late July and all the buses were on strike until 9 pm. After it was over, Lisa and I took a bus to a place where we were meeting a CouchSurfer. But when the bus let us off, the driver got off too to take a break. Upon asking if the strike had been successful, we entered into an interesting conversation. (I understood about 50% b/c he spoke fast-ish Italian.) He was content with his actual labors (he worked 7 hours a day on a bus), didn't mind it. And also would have been content w/ his pay if the government did not take 50% for taxes. He said it was not enough to support his family with education and all the other expenses. When we told him we were from the states, his eyes opened wide and he said we were so lucky. Turns out, he had applied for a green card and was waiting for his acceptance. He was trying to move his family of 4 (or5) to the states. We proceeded to tell him that many Americans would consider the Italian lifestyle very desirable as well. And that Americans work too much. And there are all sorts of other problems. And we have taxes too. But he wouldn't hear it. America, to him, was the answer to all his problems. I understand his position, I think, but I daresay he had blinded himself a bit.

I figure my nonno was a bit like that guy. America was an luring advertisement in his mind, a solution to all his problems...

Little did he know he would become a barber for the rest of his working life and would be paying of debts to the "family friend" for years to come. At the same time, I doubt that he ever viewed this as a failure. For the one thing, I've noticed that Italians take pride in their work (this contributes to why they never rush things), even what we Americans would consider the "bad" jobs. Here in Italy, the baker, the butcher, the bus driver, the grocer, and the garbage man all do their jobs (usually) quite well. And more so than quality of work, they acquire a contentedness regarding their labors. It is a certain attitude that I believe is a quintessential part of the Italian lifestyle: That is, their work does not govern their lives (as in America). Work is never a priority within someone's life. It is a necessary essential. It is important but never urgent.

Finally, I have one more story of an encounter with an Italian that reminded me of nonno...

Lisa and I were on a quiet street in Verona (possibly my favorite town of those visited) when we stopped into a Salumeria (cole cut/cheese shop) to buy sufficient food for a supper. As soon as the salumeriere discovered we were American, he was so happy (to meet any foreigners) and was really interested in us. He was also very proud of his products, and gave us free samples (generously) of prosciutto crudo (the aged ham) and parmesiano. He showed us pictures of his grandchildren and wanted to know what we thought of him. Of course we bought some ham and parmesian. But he also insisted on giving us free bread. And on our way out, free kit kat bars. He was incredibly jovial and we left the shop feeling meraviglioso (wonderful). He had no reason to be nice to us. He knew he would never see us again.

Since then, Lisa has told me that the man was a lot like nonno. Very generous. Not really worried about money. More interested in joviality, good times, family, meeting people. And I picture him now in his bar on Ventotene pouring wine for a friend having marriage issues, and saying, "no, don't worry. It's on me."

Now, I'll leave you with pictures from Ventotene....

Federica, Maria, and Felice fter an awesome dinner made by Maria. And good discussion, aided by the dictionary sitting between Lisa and I. I think Maria and Felice look a bit similar to what my grandparents probably looked like when they were young.

This trip was made possible by Zia Serafina. Thanks for cooking delicious lunches and introducing me to everyone on the island. James North, thank you for your brotherly attitude and your frequent analysis of Italian culture ("ehh, I'll do it later"). Cale, don't worry; you will get many Italian girls kisses on the cheek next time.

Ranieri's Wisdom: organic farming

During the first week at Borgo Pignano (the "gn" in Pignano is pronounced like an n with a "~" over it in spanish; Think "gnocchi"), I worked under the very knowledgeable, very Italian Ranieri, whose wisdom I will now reveal. One of my favorite people I've met in Italy, Ranieri speaks no English, but is always willing to work through a conversation with me until I understand the hard words. He says agriculture/food has been taken away from the people by governments and big companies. He's anti-Monsanto.

Ranieri keeps quite a farm. Not huge but very productive. He's innovative with techniques. In his second year operating the farm, he had a big insect infestation, especially with the squashes. So, the next year, prior to planting, he let loose what I think he called a bunch of "Egyptian chickens" (Zak says these were actually pheasants.) For a month, they were allowed to roam and take care of all the insects and grubs around the enclosed farm.

Many pleasant things grow like weeds, naturally, in Italy. Among them, blackberries, mint (peppermint and a lemony kind), fennel, and edible leafy plants.

Male zucchini flowers are the ones not connected to a zucchini fruit. These can be harvested and cooked. I'd collect dozens every morning to be fried up for lunch.

Female zucchini flowers are connected to the fruit. If you pick them, the fruit will stop growing. Zucchinis are tender when picked small (about 6-10"). This one needs one more day.

Staking tomatoes without purchased materials. The stake is bamboo. And the ties we used are a plant that grows wild which works well as twine.

Staking tomatoes with local supplies. I think the tomatoes were San Marzano.

Squash plants are set in holes 6 to 10 inches deep. Then drip hose feeds the holes.

The main line for the drip irrigation with valve leading to a line.

At least one squash of every variety is left to grow indefinitely and never picked until end of the season. Then it is harvested solely to acquire next year's seeds.

For row crops, slight trenches dug with hoe. Then seeded. Then covered with mulch containing straw and compost/manure.

La Panetteria: making bread

First of all, I apologize for the lack of organization on this blog. While the former posts were written awhile back, I've only just uploaded them today. And instead of filling you in on what has occurred before and since those posts, I would rather like to tell you about my latest endeavor.

I am now in my third week at Villa Pignano, near Volterra in Tuscany. Week 1 saw me in the organic farm, harvesting, staking tomatoes, weeding. Week 2 saw me (or rather us, as I was working with the awesome Zsolt from Hungary) picking blacberries at the crack of dawn (6 am -that's right!) and then making jam after the siesta which follows lunch. Week 3: I'm in the kitchen for half the day and an apprentice to Zak Stern (formerly of Miami, FL), the resident baker.

Interestingly, most of Zak's bread is not Tuscan, which is known to be rock-hard and is not famous despite the "Tuscan wheat" produced here. Instead, most of his bread is sourdough.

Today I learned about the basic process of sourdough bread making:

To make bread:

1. Make the dough. Ingredients are simple. You need: mother, flour, water, and salt. Basta! That's it.

2. Let it ferment.

3. Shape it.

4. Bake it.

You say: What is mother?

I say: Mother is old dough, dough from last time.

You say: But how did you make the mother?

I say: You make with mother with mother, flour, and water.

You say: Well where do you get the mother from if that's what you're trying to make!?

I say: Let us first examine the case of the chicken and the egg.

Basically, when you make sourdough, you never use all the dough for the bread, as you must always save some to inoculate the next batch of dough with the bacteria and yeast from the original dough. Therefore, Zak's mother doughs contains descendants of yeast and bacterial organisms which he brought over from Israel when he moved to Italy.

Sourdough is unique for three reasons. First of all it is a dry dough, 65% water compared to 75% for the baguettes or other breads. (This 10% makes a big difference actually when working with it.) Second, sourdough gets its yeast from the mother instead of from a package you buy in a store. Thus, it contains many strains of yeasts. (not only a single strain like you would find in the wet or dry-dormant yeast - packages you get from the grocery store) . Finally, sourdough bread is SOUR. Why? The mother is infested not only with yeast but also with various bacteria. This is inevitable and not at all bad. These bacteria, though, make it sour. For example, Lactobacillus (a bacterium) produces lactic acid when it is fed sugars (found in the flour). Acids are sour to our taste.

Talking for the sake of talking

Italians talk not because there is something important to say. They talk b/c they like to hear themselves. It is enjoyable to them. This of course makes them more inclined to talk to strangers than say, an American. And wholly cow, they love answering questions. Feel free to ask for directions. Now don’t expect to understand what they mean. Where were they pointing? Likely, they were just waving their hand in no particular direction. Remember, they talk for the sake of talking. I AM CONVINCED that they will give you directions (albeit the wrong ones) even if they have no idea – solely so they may have the pleasure of vocalizing themselves.

I need to start talking about some of the places I’ve been along with some highlights, mostly conversations. But it is nearing the time for this bus to Volterra (I’m on the way to my first farm). I’ve enjoyed this time to write, as well as the gentlemen in this café who enjoy harassing the neighborhood children when they walk by with cigarettes in their mouths (“Fumare e’ male. Non fumare!” – Smoking is bad. Don’t smoke.) Half surprised they haven’t lit up themselves b/c everybody smokes in this country.