Olive picking in Tuscany

I rode in 1^st class!  My EU Rail Pass says it’s first class, but I’m pretty sure that the ticket people never really look.  Well the guy in Venice looked and booked me a first class train from Venice to Florence to Camucia.  It was wonderful.  I was in my worn out clothing, with my dreads sitting among business men and women in suits.  We got a little packet of cookies or crackers and a glass of wine too!  And the train ride was beautiful.  Italy has so many hills, valleys and solo farms on hillsides tucked away.  

Deborah picked me up from the station right from picking olives.  She took me to her house, a rustic Tuscan house.  I’m not sure how old it is, but it’s old enough that she isn’t allowed to alter it without permission from the town.  Almost all of the houses in Camucia are historically significant, dating from the middle ages or more.  Deborah’s house still has the original bread oven, wash basin and animal stalls.  I’m sure there is more I missed that was ancient, I mean just the trees alone are invincible.  You never know, maybe the house was originally Etruscan.  The house is two stories; she converted one of the animal stalls (on the ground floor) into the kitchen.  You have to walk outside to get to it.  The other two animal stalls she uses as storage space for olives and tools.  Soon she will be converting one of the rooms into a bedroom and connecting them to the rest of the house.  She only recently had electricity and water installed in the 90s.  Before then, she just roughed it; pumping water from the well, taking showers with sun warmed water and using candles at night. Sounds lovely. 

That night I also met Charlie.  He’s a quirky guy.  He was a nuclear physicist professor, working for Rutgers.  He’s retired now, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less sharp than he used to be.  He kept me on my toes with all different topics of conversations.  After spending two weeks together, he was trying to figure out a good job for me.  He said I had too much potential to just be a baker.  I’m pretty sure I will never own my bakery until I am retired anyway.  But retired from what is the question.  He thought city manager.  I don’t think that job suits me.  I don’t want to get myself involved in politics, and I’m pretty sure (unless it’s a small city) that job would be a lot of brown nosing and shifting through political agendas.

 Charlie and Deborah are beautifully in love.  It was so nice to see them dote on each other and tease and bicker.  They are also proud grandparents and parents.  I was overwhelmed with all the stories of their children and grandchildren. I loved hearing about Charlie’s grandson writing about music (he’s only 10) and about Deborah’s granddaughter terrorizing her parents in the early morning.

Deborah has also adopted some stray cats.  The momma cat has been around for a few years, and this year she had kittens in one of the storage rooms.  So Deborah cooks for them every morning.  She cooks up chicken with onions, carrots, garlic, chicken broth and bread.  It smells delicious and I’m sure it is.  She says it’s cheaper to buy left over chicken parts than to buy cat food.  And she’s right, it’s also better for the cats.  On the last day I was there she took the kittens to get neutered.  She is planning on taking them to Paris with her.  They are pretty much domesticated.  They have known her their whole six months of existence, so the move shouldn’t be that hard.  The momma cat, on the other hand, is wild.  She will stay the winter, per usual.  The momma cat will get spayed before Charlie and Deborah leave for Paris, but she has to see if Momma is pregnant again first.  I love people that take care of strays, and take them to get fixed.  It’s so important.

Let’s get to the bulk of my stay: picking olives.  It really isn’t all that hard.  I liked it and thought it was relaxing or as Deborah puts it “zen.”  I love it when the trees have ribbons of olives.  You can just pull them   off like you are milking a cow.  Of course not all trees are like that.  I also really enjoyed being on ladders and up high.  We are not allowed to climb the trees and the ladders must be securely fastened with a bungi cord.  I would prefer not to fall on my working vacation.  No one has ever fallen out of a tree at Deborah’s farm but it happens every year on other olive farms around them.  

While we are picking there is endless prater in the trees.   What is said in the trees stays in the trees.  I didn’t say much, I prefer to listen.  Some of the workers that Deborah has had before sang.  I am not confident enough in my signing ability to do that, it’s like karaoke all over again.  I didn’t do it Korea unless I was a bit drunk.  And drunk picking, on a ladder, just sounds like a bad idea.   

While picking you end up with endless hurt hands.  Not anything serious, just scrapes and little prickers.  I also got picking calluses, on my thumb tip and the whole length of my pointer fingers.  The other fingers have some calluses too, but my pointer fingers are cracked and discolored.  I love working with my hands and getting evidence of a job well done.   Part of the job also involves getting leaves in your eye, every day.  That was a bit irritating, who knew that olive leaves were so sharp? Deborah pointed out my ladder bruises the last day I was there as well.  I guess I just look like a mess.  No nude beaches for me.  But with all these little annoyances you look up from picking and you see the beautiful country side.  Deborah’s farm is situated on the side of a valley and you can see the ruins of a fort and a castle tower from her hillside.  And don’t forget all the other olive groves.

At night we would listen to music, do the daily crosswords together or just read before a late dinner.    Deborah’s son has an indie band, and they have made records.  We listened to the records quite a few times.  She is excited to see him succeed with the band he has in Paris.  Charlie prefers his classical music, but tolerates the noise and pokes fun at Deborah when she is singing to it. 

Every night Charlie would set the table.  Now you might think this is a boring fact, but he always set it different.  Every time.  Deborah says he has never duplicated a table setting since they have been together (12 years!).  I loved that quirky habit. 

 I cannot believe the amount of wine I drank while in Italy.  At lunch we had a glass or two and at dinner more.  When in Tuscany do as the Tuscans do.  So I did.  After working all morning in the grove Deborah would make us lunch and then, after more picking, an amazing dinner.  I swear that lady has an endless supply of energy.  Her meals were always fantastic.  I have never met a person who could cook so effortlessly and have it be gourmet quality every time.  I always had two servings at lunch and dinner.  I’m surprised I didn’t add on weight when I was there, almost everything was drizzled with fresh olive oil.   After all that amazing food we would have a fire and then go to bed.  The house is heated by a central fire place, and let me tell you, It did not keep that house warm.  But that is what blankets are for.

Let’s talk food.  What did I eat: prosciutto, cheese, espresso every day, artichokes with lemon and olive oil, fresh arugula salad, tomatoes from the garden, fennel, the best hummus I have ever had, lemon cream pasta, lamb ribs, steak, sausage, fresh baked bread, chicken cooked in white wine, cauliflower, more cheese, pumpkin soup, apples, figs, bananas, truffle Parmesan spread, wild mushrooms and the list could go on forever.  I never even thought about taking pictures.  I was so hungry I just dug in.  If you don't come to Italy to eat you are definitely missing out.

While I was at Deborah’s we pressed olives for oil four times.  Usually the small farms will combine their olives to press.  You want to press the olives as soon as you can after you pick them.  The mills smell amazing.  Olive oil saturates the air.  It is an interesting process.  They weigh them, then move them to be sorted and cleaned.  The machine that cleans them takes out the leaves and twigs.  Then they are heated, not too hot, and finally ground and pressed.  The process creates a bright green olive oil (something about the oil still being oxidized?) and a black watery sludge bi-product.  It was fun to go to the mill.  All the old men, and the farmers hang out and chat about this and that.  It’s almost like a party.  At night when they are pressing the olives they have food and wine in the back room.

While I was in Tuscany I got to meet a few other wwoofers.  Originally I was going to work on Louise’s farm, but she had to take her daughter to England for a few days for some exams.  So I ended up on Deborah’s farm, but before Louise left for England she had a dinner with the wwoofers that were staying with her.  There were two couples, one from England and another from America.  It was nice to meet the others and talk about their experiences.  I also got to meet Louise in person and her daughters. 

Deborah, Charlie and I also had dinner with the Jersites (from New Jersey) or the Guerrero family.  They bought the farm next door to Deborah a few years back and every year the whole family flies into Tuscany and picks all the olives in a week or so.  It is impressive, because they have a lot of trees.  So when they were finished picking they invited us over for their celebration dinner.  It was so interesting.  The Guerreros are Italian, but American.  It was a great mix of cultures.  We had wine (they made) and prosecco (sparkling white wine) lots and lots of grilled meat, bread, potatoes and great company.  Later that week the great aunt came to pick with us.  They were a very nice family.

I don’t know how I almost over looked the Books!  Deborah inherited her grandmother’s library and it filled my room (and a few others).  There were books everywhere; it made me want to stay forever.  I read Sense and Sensibility, Brown’s Fairy Stories, and The Piano Tuner.  Anytime I wasn’t picking olives I would be reading.  Charlie made fun of me on my day off, because all I did was read.  

I was lucky enough to go to Arezzo while I there as well.  Arezzo is an ancient Etruscan city.  And it’s beautiful.  The churches are full of frescoes and gorgeous architecture.  Unfortunately we arrived at night, to meet some of Charlie and Deborah’s friends, so many things were closed.  It was nice just to walk around and enjoy to old city streets in the romantic street light.  In the summer they have a Medieval festival called Joust of the Saracens.  It, of coarse, has jousting, turkey legs and locals dressed up in traditional garb. Deborah and Charlie's friend lives in a renaissance era apartment.  It was beautiful with thick walls, a kitchen in the basement and vaulted ceilings.  Just wonderful.  I guess they also have an amazing cellar that they are currently turning into a library.  The people we met were after my own heart, books, academics, interesting conversation.  We went to pizza after a few drinks at the house.  I was not impressed with my pizza.  I’m not sure why, but I just didn’t find it exciting or all that tasty.  Oh well.  I’ll try other pizza places when I go back to Italy in the future. 

We were unlucky enough to get a couple of storms.  Deborah and I tried to pick one morning after the storm, but we were getting soaked just from the leaves and olive dripping on us.  So we took the day off.  She took me Cortona, the main city in the area. 
Cortona is beautiful, just like everything in Italy.  It’s a walled city on one side of a mountain.  At the top there is a castle/fortress that is more like a ruin now.  But there is also a beautiful church.  I wish I had gotten a photo of the inside of the church, but lately I’ve been thinking it’s a bit disrespectful to take pictures inside sacred spaces.  So I gaze in wonder at the colorfully painted church and rely on the internet to inform you of how beautiful it is.  I also went to the museum.  This was founded by two brothers and has an eclectic assortment of things.  It has the history of Etruscan artifacts in the area and a collection of art of local churches, coins and even clothing.  I was amused.

That night we had a power outage because the winds were so bad.  Deborah had everything we needed for a power outage: flashlights, candles, a fire, a stove that is gas powered.  That night we ended up making our dinner on the fire.  One down side was that the plumbing didn’t work.  So Deborah went out to the pump and brought up a bucket of water.  Charlie was not such a happy camper.  Which I understand.  He likes his internet and lights.  The next morning the power was back.

At the very end of my stay I transferred houses to Louise’s; my original host.  It was nice to have a change in pace.  Louise and Deborah do things much differently.  Deborah is more old fashion with her picking and Louise is more modern.  She uses aluminum ladders and prefers picking from the ground.  She also prunes as she goes, making picking easy.  If you can’t reach the branch, just cut it down.  It was nice to see a different way to pick.  But I think I like being on a ladder, more than being on the ground.  Louise was so talkative, I learned a lot about her family and how she ended up in Tuscany.  Her girls were nice as well.  We had lunch and dinner together and we decided the last night I was in Tuscany I would help cook a meal for a few people.  I made Thai soup, and Louise made a chicken curry.  Deborah and Charlie came over and it was a party.  What a great ending to Tuscany.  

The next day I was loaded up with the olives (to be pressed later that day) and headed to the train station.  I hope I can do this every year.  I really enjoyed myself.  My goal right now is to try and convince Mom and Dad to go with me next year. 

Venice the beautiful Venice

Venice the beautiful Venice.  It is a striking city. It’s full of boats, bridges, decaying buildings, art, architecture, great food and tourists. Venice gets something like 60,000 tourists a day.  And I saw them all.  They were everywhere.  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to live in Venice just because of that.  It is a beautiful place to live, but I would declare a day, just one day, where tourists couldn’t enter the city.  Only residents could.  I think that is the only way I and many other people would get any peace and quiet.  But you don’t move to Venice if you don’t like tourists.  So I guess I am not moving to Venice.

I wanted to couch surf, but the hosts in Venice are just overwhelmed with people asking for a place to stay.  In the end two people replied that I could stay for one night, but I really don’t think you can get to know someone in one day.  It’s always better to stay a couple of days so you can spend time with your host.  So I ended up getting a hostel, a little bit outside the city.    The hardest part, for me, always seems to be finding the mysterious hostel.  These entities I can never find without internet and a lot of help from several people.  I ended up taking a taxi… around the block.  I didn’t care by then.  I had been walking around unsuccessfully looking for internet and the hostel.  I found it and just chilled out the rest of the night.   The guy at the desk was super nice, even though he made fun of me for taking a taxi a block.

The next day I found a café outside the hostel and then headed off into the big wide world of tourism.  The   bus was packed, a guy was checking tickets to make sure everyone had paid, and then when we got off and there were more people.  Like a river flowing in two directions.  One river of people went over a huge bridge and the other went toward little bridges.  I took the road most traveled and soon double backed to where there were less people.  I just wandered around for 3 hours, marveling at the bridges, boats and beautiful things everywhere. 

There were people hawking things everywhere.  My favorite thing they were trying to sell was the venetian masks.  They had specialties shops along with the carts with the mass produced versions.  I wanted to get  one so bad, but can you imagine putting one of those into a suitcase for the next 4 months and not have it get crushed or broken. Sadly I could not buy one with good conscious.  So I got post cards instead and was horrified at the price of stamps.  Two Euros per post card!  

I started to look for a little non-touristy restaurant to have a late lunch when I ran into Marta.  The first thing she asked me was if I spoke Spanish.  “Si”, then a stream of rapidly spoken Spanish after.  Yup I speak Spanish, kind of… dear lord.  This made me feel more inept than in Spain.  It turns out she was having a hard time finding a place to stay.  Venice is quite expensive.  I ended up booking a hostel outside of the city, because the hostels inside the city start at 75 Euros (around $100).  She had been wandering around, going from hotel to hotel, looking for a place to stay.  In no way was she going to spend 100 Euros a night for a one star hotel.  So in the end we booked her a room at my hostel and she came and stayed with me, in my room. 

She was a strange and lovely lady.  Marta is in her 50s, but acted like she was 30.  She took a month tour of Italy to visit her cousin and to unwind after months of taking care of her sick mother.    She didn’t mind my Spanish was sub-par. She liked talking and liked the company. I liked her company as well.  We spent the next two days together; walking, eating and taking boats together. 

 I felt like I hindered her trip a bit.  After walking around all day I like to have an early night, so I usually head back to the wherever I am staying around 6.  She wanted to stay out and see the romantic night life of Venice, but really needed a companion to get around comfortably.  So we stayed out a bit, drink a beer on the canals and then head back.  Not a bad compromise.

While I was in Venice I didn’t eat very much pasta.  I mostly ate street food, like croissants, sandwiches and calzones.  I don’t like to dine alone, so I usually just grab something I can eat while walking around and looking at things.  Marta, even though she was on a budget, wanted to have a good Italian meal.  So we sat down and had a delicious dinner on the first night we met.  She had lasagna and I had gnocchi with a Gorgonzola cream sauce.  I had this with a traditional Italian drink called a Spritz.  The pasta was good.  The drink was horrible.  The drink is prepared with prosecco wine, a dash of some bitter liqueur such as Aperol, Campari, Cynar, or, especially in Venice, with Select. The glass is then topped off with sparkling mineral water.   Yuck, between the two of us we couldn’t finish it.

One of the most interesting cultural quirks of Venice is the boats.  Venetians use them like cars.  And it makes perfect sense.  It’s easier to get to your destination by boat than it is to get there on the roads (that have no cars).  The ambulance, police, gas delivery guys, mail…. You name it, they take it by boat.  The second day Marta and I were in Venice we decided to get a day pass for the public transport boats.  What a wonderful idea.  We took the one down the main canal, then we took another boat to Lido and another around the little islands outside Venice.  The islands were so pretty, with their brightly colored houses and old style buildings. 

It was a very relaxing day.  At the end of the day we took a night boat down the main canal again.  Venice is so pretty at night.  We had free entry into the casino, so we got off and went in there as well.  The guys there were amused by us.  It’s obvious that we weren’t gambling, but just being tourists and looking around.  The casino was lovely.  It had a covered dock that taxis could pull up to and a courtyard that was manicured.  Inside it was all brocade walls, velvet curtains and red carpets.  I was quite impressed.  So was Marta.

Marta Left in the morning and I left in the afternoon.  My last meal was calzones and a beer in a secluded part of Venice.  I sat on the steps and watched the locals take their boats around and just enjoyed the view and the quiet.  Bye Bye Venice.

Goats, frirends and views in Lisbon, Portugal

A twelve hour train ride to Lisboa (Lisbon), Portugal was not fun.  I thought I loved trains.  Turns out I love sleeper trains at night and any train during the day, but a night train without a bed is miserable.  The train got delayed at the border as well, adding time and hassle to the trip.  The twelve hour train ride turned into 14ish hours, but the extra hours were good.  Otherwise I would have arrived at Lisboa at 7:10AM, coming in around 9AM meant things were open and I could do touristy things before I met my couch surfing hosts.

So I saddled up my bags and headed to metro, randomly picking a metro stop that look touristy, biaxa-chiado .  And score!!! I found the coast, windy streets and a castle.  Lovely.

I walked around a bit taking pictures and enjoying the view of the coast and some spectacular buildings.  Who knows what they were for, but they were pretty.  Then I found signs to the Saint George Castle.  I walked up the hill along all these beautiful houses.  A lot of the houses are in poor repair, but even so they are usually covered in painted tiles.  It is so gorgeous.  Most houses use blue tiles, but many have green, rust red and yellow.  The walk to the top was short but sweaty, carrying 30 kilos of luggage will do that to you.  I needed the exercise after 10 days of doing nothing.   This is what it must feel like to have a kid and be pregnant.  Not too bad, but it required a few sit downs.   The view at the top was wonderful.  I was not disappointed.   Take a look.

After my adventure walking up and down stairs and all around the castle I headed back down the hill and found a plaza.  Walking around I eventually found the main boulevard and walked to the area of "parque."  Of coarse this had a manicured lawn and lovely places to sit.  I sat and read a book for a while.  I'm pretty sure people thought I was homeless.  There were quite a few homeless people in the park, and they had all their stuff with them too.  It was a new experience.  The guy that hawked hats to tourists left me alone and the tourists just gave me a wide berth when walking by me.  After a bit of reading I met up with my host, Goedele, and she took me to met her girlfriend and see her home.

I was in for a surprise; the girls had picked up a goat from veterinary school and were taking care of it.  The goat was called Cabbage, I called him Cabbage Head, and he was only a week old.  It was so cute running around in diapers and needing to be fed formula three times a day.  It was so young it sucked on fingers (looking for mom) and didn't like to be left alone for too long other wise he would talk.

I met Susana too and she was just a sweetheart.  After chatting for a little bit about school and what she likes to do she made a yogurt cake for tea time.  I also met the cats, Jakie, Frankie and Jay.  I was surprised that they didn't bother my allergies.  Jay was just a big puddle of love while the other two didn't know me very well, so they avoided me.  This avoidance ended at night when one would sleep with me in my bed. 

After tea we had to take Cabbage Head to Susana's parents house.  So we packed up everything and walked the goat (on a cat leash) to the point where he was going to be picked up.  Walking a goat is a difficult thing.  In the beginning Cabbage Head really like it.  It was probably the 1st time he had been able to stretch his legs in a while.  Living in an apartment really isn't a good idea for a goat.  The girls only had a small back room to keep him in and he kept on trying to jump on everything and nibble things.   In the end the walk was a bit much for him.  He was scared of the cars and it was tiring to go up and down all the roads.  We all took turns carrying him when he refused to move.  But despite being a bit contrary, he was a celebrity.  People kept on giving second glances, taking pictures from their cars and coming up to pet him.  It was an experience.

After getting him and Susana safely in the car, off to the farm, we headed off to see some more of the city.  Goedele took me to the part of the city where she and her friends would go at night.  There we found a drinks stand in a park.  She introduced me a traditional Portuguese liqueur, very similar to port.  We sat under the oldest tree in Lisboa and chatted for a bit and sipped a bit.  After this we went to a burger joint that serves a nice array of vegetarian and non-vegetarian burgers.  It was so good.  I didn't end up getting a vegetarian burger, but when I saw what Goedele had gotten I kinda wish I had.  They had several different ones to choose from.  I got a cheese and wild mushroom burger and Godele got a felafel burger.  yum yum yum...
 
In the morning we went down to the coast and saw Belem tower and the area near there.  There were tons of sail boats on the canal and it was just a perfect day.  After a bit of site seeing we went to Casa Pasteis de Belem.  This place is famous for their egg tart pastries.  We both had coffees and a pastry each.  I'm glad I don't live in Lisbon, I would eat these every day.  They were crunchy and flaky on the outside crust, with a rich and sweet interior.  

After a bit of excitement in my mouth we headed back to shop for dinner and lunch.  I promised the girls I would make them Korean pancakes for lunch.  So I did.  This was the second time I've made them, and both with squid.  The girls really like it. The timing was perfect, Susana was just getting home from the farm and after lunch we could spend the afternoon together. 

 
We went out and about and saw some more beautiful views.  The lighting was perfect at this time of day.  Everything had a golden glow.  After walking around for a bit we headed back and made dinner. Well Susana made dinner, Goedele and I were stuck to our computers.  We started the night with three different Portuguese cheese with crackers, honey, walnuts an wine.  After we ate all of that we had an almost forgotten Bacalhau, a traditional Portuguese dish.  This has salted dried cod, olives, olive oil, potato, eggs, onion, garlic, cheese, salt and pepper.  It was pretty darn good.  But we were all so full from the wine and cheese we didn't hardly eat any.  Lunch for tomorrow.

I was making bread at the time with FRESH yeast, while Susana was making dinner.  I had never used fresh yeast before.  The stuff is amazing, its gooey and smells so... yeasty.  I burnt the very top of the bread in my usual, forgetfulleaveitintheoventillitisdone, manner.  Even though it was just the tiniest bit chard, it still tasted pretty good.  Susana had brought me home milled wheat flour, from her mom.  So I should have had everything for great bread, but we ended up with ok bread.  Oh well.  I feel like whenever I bake bread in a new place it takes at least two times to get it perfect.

The next day was pretty chill.  Goedele and I went to a park with flea market.  They had some pretty cool stuff and I got to see more of the city.  After lunch and saying goodbye to Susana we left to get me off to the airport.  It was perfect timing, almost too perfect.  I didn't have time to mail my postcards.  I guess they will get mailed in Venice.  I had brought lunch with me, and the security guard took it.  I think He was really just hungry.  Lisbon was the best city I have been to so far.  I'm pretty sure having the girls as company is what made it amazing.  I can't wait to go back and see them again.