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Ten-day drive from Rome to Milan gives a delicious taste of the country
Sunday, August 13, 2000 By Anita Dufalla, Post-Gazette Art Director
I am not of Italian descent. I hate tomatoes. Wine makes me sick. So why in the world would I choose to vacation in Italy?
Who could resist the rich culture, the history, the warm weather and the Italian Riviera? When my friend and I arrived at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport in Rome, we didn't have to go through immigration or customs. Instead, a military officer carrying a machine gun walked through the baggage area with a drug-sniffing German shepherd. What if the shepherd smelled the scent of my female greyhound and took a liking to me? Scary.
We picked up our rental car, drove out of the very congested airport and traveled north along the Italian Riviera, navigating with two maps bought in advance from a bookstore in the 'Burgh.
As we drove, mountains provided a striking backdrop to burnt-orange stucco houses with terra-cotta roofs, sandy fields and vineyards. Rows of olive trees graced mint-green fields.
At times we traveled the Autostade, a toll-road with no speed limit. As we drove 100 mph, cars still sped by us. Mercedes, Alfa Romeos and BMWs dominated the Autostade, overtaken only by an occasional Ferrari or Lamborghini.
At other times we traveled one-lane highways with a breathtaking view of the sparkling topaz water.
Porto Ercole
Our first stop was in Porto Ercole, one of the most frequented spots on the Riviera. About 100 miles northwest of Rome, this seaside village seemed untouched by time. Tender sea breezes kissed our faces as we beheld the palette of colors of the tropical flowers adorning the countryside.
We pulled into a gas station to refuel and ask directions to our hotel. Since just about every gas station in Italy houses a coffee and espresso bar; the aroma filled the air.
The roads to the village were narrow and steep. Scooters zoomed by us constantly. Small bug-like cars were everywhere and we even saw three-wheel vehicles.
Pittsburgh's overcast skies faded from memory as the sun's lemony glow enveloped us. Enormous yachts filled the port. As we strolled through the village, its friendly people greeted us with "Buongiorno, buongiorno!"
Porto Ercole has four forts perched on its cliffs, Forte Filippo, Forte Stella, Forte la Rocca and Forte S. Caterina. Although we were able to communicate easily with the local people, neither of us could speak or read Italian, which did cause a mishap.
We ventured accidentally into the one fort that was not open to the public, Forte Filippo. The maid had left the massive iron gates open, allowing us to enter. We discovered that she had departed and locked us in. We were trapped! We walked the entire length of the moat trying to get out. I knocked on every door of the fort, trying to find some sign of life. Finally, I awakened a woman who told us, "Just press the buzzer."
Dining on the coast
The Italians have a love affair with food. From the first flirtation of the aroma to the passionate embrace of the tongue to the food, eating is a romantic encounter. Meals are savored and never hurried. Typically seven or eight courses, meals are of lavish proportions, igniting a series of tantalizing climaxes that culminate with the stomach's sweet satisfaction. One night we drove to Orbetello, a neighboring town, for dinner. We arbitrarily chose a restaurant where no English was spoken. I used my small phrase book to say emphatically "no pomodoro" (no tomatoes) over and over again before ordering anything.
Since we couldn't read the Italian menu, we decided to be adventurous and told our waitress, "You choose for us." She blankly stared as us, then repeated several times, "No English." I frantically searched my trusty phrase book and pointed to the word "choose" in a phrase about choosing an auto mechanic. The waitress nodded, finally understanding me, and laughed.
The meal turned out to be the freshest seafood, including calamari that didn't taste like rubber bands, mozzarella cheese like no other I had ever eaten, black pasta, gelato, and of course, coffee, coffee, coffee.
One weekend night, we drove farther north to the inland town of Grosseto. The town was in the middle of a giant party. The main street was blocked off, and parking was limited. Italians bring a new meaning to parallel parking. If there isn't enough room, they wedge cater-corner in the space -- or why not just park on the sidewalk instead? It was not a street fair but the regularly occurring weekend social -- everyone was just hangin'. People walked back and forth, up and down the street -- teen-agers, moms pushing strollers, young and old chatting and eating. We ate hazelnut ice cream cones loaded with chocolate as we walked, blending in with the crowd. Hands holding cigarettes gestured with animated expression as the Italians spoke.
Pisa
We said goodbye to Porto Ercole after a three-day stay and traveled up the coast, stopping briefly at Pisa. The travel agent had told us that Pisa was touristy and unsafe, but we went anyway. We had a delightful time. Street vendors, horses and buggies and coffee shops lined the street. Tourists from all nations were viewing the Leaning Tower, snapping kitsch photos of their friends holding it up.
A little Leaning Tower of Pisa history: Bananno began building the Leaning Tower in 1173, but the effort was abandoned after the completion of the third floor, because of soil subsidence, which caused its well-known lean. Giovanni di Simone resumed the work a century later and got as high as the sixth floor. The bell tower that sits on top of the structure was built by Tommaso, son of Andrea Pisano, in the mid-14th century. In 1990 the tower was closed to the public because of construction work to stabilize it, and you can no longer climb the 294 steps of the spiral staircase.
Alongside stood the marble Cathedral of Pisa with the same decorative columns used also in the tower. Construction of the cathedral began in 1063, combining architecture of Arab and Byzantine elements, Lombard classical and oriental influences, creating the Italian Romanesque style. The interior of the cathedral was a marble masterpiece with magnificent panels of sculpture.
The Baptistry, a cylindrical domed structure, sat beside the cathedral. Extremely delicate sculptures, lacework arches, statues, spires, columns and spires create this marvel.
Portofino
We traveled farther north along the coast and saw more cliffs, more vineyards, more olive gardens -- and olive gardens/golf courses. People were teeing off between the olive trees.
Our hotel was located on a cliff in S. Margherita. The curvy roads were dangerously steep and narrow, but scooters weaved in and out at high speed.
One morning we took a 15-minute boat ride to Portofino. The seaport had many unique shops -- hats, hosiery, high fashion, art -- and lots and lots of places to eat.
Portofino's version of the "fast-food" restaurant is a deli/cafe that sold soda, beer and hard liquor, sandwiches, fruit, dessert and espresso that delivered an atomic jolt.
Flea markets with inexpensive Italian designer knock-offs were everywhere in this mountainous town.
On the boat ride back, we spoke to local schoolboys, communicating only in American catch phrases. Michael Jordan, "Magnifico!" Nike. "Splendido!" The boys were tickled that I taught them to wear their ball caps the American way -- backward.
Milan
Milan, the fashion capital of Italy, was our final stop. Driving in this chaotic, crowded city was much worse than in New York City, so we decided to walk. Many woman had dyed purplish-red hair. The women were very, very thin. I am a size 6, and I looked fat next to them. The men I encountered fit the stereotype. As with most other women, they stared, pinched and ogled me. Cell phones were attached to every ear -- even those of children. Businessmen wore the finest suits, tailored exquisitely.
High-fashion designer boutiques of Versace, Missoni, Krizia, Dolce and Gabbana sold clothing only the rich and famous could possibly afford. Our concierge directed us to a shopping area 20 blocks away, where we peons could afford to shop.
The exchange rate was more than 2,000 lire to the American dollar, and Italian bills were in very high denominations -- lots and lots of zeroes. I felt like a millionaire! Such a place! Such deals! Leather was less than half the price in America. Purses, shoes, skirts, wallets were bargains. Italian clothes were extremely revealing and risque. Bras with clear plastic straps were all the rage.
We ended our day by taking a small slice of the culture home with us. We had our hair cut by Fabio. Don't get excited, ladies -- six out of seven Italian men are named Fabio.
Milan Castle
In the heart of Milan stands the Sforzeco Castle, better known as the Milan Castle. Built between 1355 and 1358, it now houses artifacts dating from the fourth century to 18th century.
We had the chance to visit just a few of the 38 museums inside. We could have become lost inside this massive structure, viewing the intricate details of the masters. Leonardo da Vinci's frescos, Michelangelo's sculptures, 18th-century furniture, tapestries, musical instruments and costumes filled the rooms.
A detailed history of Milan from the Middle Ages to the present day is contained in the museum. Each room had fliers explaining exactly what you were looking at, but most of the English versions were depleted. It did not stop us from appreciating the beauty and relevance of everything we saw. The intricate details and craftsmanship of each piece were amazing.
The Sforzeco Castle exhibits Michelangelo's last work, the unfinished Pieta Rondanini (1556-64), in which the body of Christ lies heavily against the Virgin Mary. The touching despair of the Pieta is said to parallel Michelangelo's own struggle against death. As we observed the Pieta, a guard hovered, making sure no one got too close to the masterpiece.
The Duomo
We had ventured into many of the abundant churches in Italy, all lavishly detailed with gold and inlaid marble. None could compare with the splendor of the Duomo. Built in marble in the late Gothic style, it spans more than 520 feet long and 305 feet wide. The religious heart and symbol of the city of Milan, the Duomo was dedicated to the birth of Virgin Mary. It is Italy's tribute to five centuries of artists, artisans, architects, builders, engineers, wealthy and ordinary citizens who contributed to it.
We were in awe of the long stained-glass windows, 10 panels wide and 10 panels deep. The cathedral is adorned with more than three thousand statues, and Perego's Madonnina sits atop its highest spire. Tourists are allowed to examine the Duomo's spires and statues from the roof terraces.
A historic restaurant
While enjoying a leisurely stroll in the city on our final night in Milan, we wandered into a restaurant called the Bagutta. We entered in front of the kitchen and walked down a long corridor with framed caricatures, political cartoons and small paintings. The restaurant was quite large and had art collections in each room. We were seated in a room where a variety of artists had actually painted on the giant walls.
This time we were a bit more savvy about ordering our food, pointing to the meals of others and pointing to the names of foods in the trusty phrase book. We chatted away to the waitress, speaking in smiles and gestures. I am an artist, and the ambiance made me feel right at home.
As we left, our waitress gave us a book on the restaurant, making sure it was, indeed, the English version. In 1926, two years after it was founded, Bagutta became the meeting place for writers, journalists and painters. Anyone who arrived late to the casual meetings was fined. The fine later evolved into financing the first Italian literary prize, the Bagutta. To this day, the national award winner receives the cash award and the Bagutta, a big coarse china dish.
We sat in the Bagutta reminiscing about all our Italian adventures. I became saddened. The Italian meals that seemed much too lengthy now seemed too short, as I did not want this night to end. Our visit to Italy was only 10 days. With so much to see and do, we decided we just had to come back again.
Take it from a Polish girl, don't let a little thing like a tomato -- or a bigger thing like a bottle of wine -- stop you from indulging in all that Italy has to offer.
Anita Dufalla is Post-Gazette art director.
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