One Thousand Italian Miles...

An impossible night's sleep in the Bergamo airport (near Milan) left us with aching backs as we began our Semana Santa tour around the giant boot. The nightmare was quickly forgotten as we hit the road in our blue Fiat rental car and cruised through rolling green hills and along the coast to Cinque Terre (Cinco Tierras or Five Lands).

We think our good fortune may have been cemented during our first day in Riomaggiore, one of the five towns that lay among terraces on the northern Mediterranean coast, when an older Italian man farming in his garden threw us three lemons from his tree. In our first of many attempts to communicate using the Latin similarities of Spanish and Italian, we understood… "Due limoni, mala fortuna, pero tre, buona fortuna!."

Evan joined us that night for what would be our third trip together since arriving to Espana. Our 10 blissfully sun-kissed days continued as we adjusted to the slow-pace of the small fishing village. We meandered through narrow alleys winding behind buildings in a Moroccan-esque, organized chaos, all of which eventually led to a bench with a new view of the horizon. Autumn yellow, mandarin orange and sunset pink apartments stacked like pillars resembled picture frame mat boards, bringing out the brightest of the landscape's portrait. Each bordered the bold green shutters that stood out like punctuation marks from every building, appearing to pass straight through to the steep hillside behind them. Our eyes climbed up the cliffs to the cathedral resting atop them, and then down to the crystal blue sea as we departed from the shore in a ferry that led around the five towns.

We kissed Riomaggiore's blue sky goodbye and began driving to Florence as rain clouds rolled in. Maneuvering around the notorious Italian roads puts nerves to the test, but Ryan got us to the center stazione safely to meet Steinar (another Eugene pal who's been living in Northern Italy for two years). A light drizzle refreshed our sunburned faces as we strolled the crowded city. Before long, the sun shined again, reflecting off tan buildings and tan river. Dozens of monuments and statues stood tall among throngs of tourists; we couldn't help but notice the variety of penes depicted on the tall Greek Gods and Romans etched in stone. Mostly stubs (so they wouldn't break easily over time), but a few demonic figures surprised us with their serpent resemblance.

Small markets provided us fresh ingredients, a consistent quality of Italian cuisine, and we took advantage to cook pesto in our second hostel's kitchen (situated in the Tuscan hills between Florence and Siena in an area called Chianti, famous for its red wine). The rental car allowed the four of us to cruise at our own pace and pause any time we noticed a view of grape vines extending towards the horizon. We spent our fourth day in Siena, enjoying the small town charm and reveling in the brightness of our favorite crayon color that surrounded us. We couldn't leave Tuscany without stopping at a vineyard -- even if the grapes weren't yet growing --and tasting a variety of Chianti. That evening we feasted at a local spot in Tavernalle, run by a son/mother team, the latter pushing 80 but still creating AND washing authentic dishes!

Our intuition to choose the longer, scenic 12-hour drive along the Adriatic Coast to Conversano (near Bari) proved wise in the end: the 5.8 earthquake had our alternative highway route from Roma to Bari closed for two days beginning the day we headed south! We couldn't believe the news each time another one hit -- four in total causing 300 deaths and tens of thousands without homes.

We spent three nights with Claire's friend Mauro, who spent a year on exchange at South Eugene High, along with his warm, inviting Italian family. Their generosity and eagerness to laugh with us over homemade Italian dinners made us feel at home, something we'd been missing for months. Consistent with the differences that exist between Northern and Southern Spain, we chatted about the distinct dialects and cuisine found in the area known as "the heel" (of the boot), a region relatively overlooked by tourists.

Mauro took us to Alberobello, a village full of strange fairytale houses called "trulli", each built with pointed stone roofs and whitewashed. Then to a deserted beach where a few fishermen dissected sea urchins, a delicacy eaten raw in towns on the Adriatic. We stopped by his grandparents' farmhouse, built in the 12th century and complete with olive press and cheese dangling in the cellar; the brightly painted ceilings and sepia tone portraits of relatives brought us back a few centuries. A few more huge dinners and hours lounging where sand meets clear sea had us feeling rested when it came time to leave for Rome at dawn on our eighth morning.

We had to make it five hours north to get Blue Box Bene (our appropriately named Fiat) to Rome by noon and avoid a late fee. We sighed with relief as we handed over the keys, having covered over 1,000 miles unscathed on Italian highways. Roma is like walking through a dream; around each corner a monument aches to tell its ancient story, but none of us have enough time to listen to them all. We wandered through parks, passed the Spanish Steps and Fontana di Trevi, where water barrels out of fishes and mouths of Greek Gods. The Panteon and fountains in Piazza Novona were unreal… it's impossible to describe all we saw. Luckily, photos can do it better. We visited with Evan's cousin Courtney and Italian husband, Domiano, "mangiando" Rome's most famous thin-crust pizza before checking out the nightlife in Piazza de Fiori.

We cruised to the Vatican Friday just as the Pope began his Good Friday mass in Saint Peter's Square. The thousands of people who'd normally be forming a 3 to 4- hour-long line for the Vatican Museum were listening to him, and we were inside in five minutes! We walked with jaws dropped through countless hallways lined with statues and covered with paintings as far as the eye could see. The Sistine Chapel was stunning; not an inch of blank wall in the enormous room Michelangelo even painted draped curtains and used shadows to give a rounded appearance to the ceiling). The hundreds of thousands of art pieces were sensory overload, and could have easily filled numerous museums if they hadn't been so tightly crammed together.

We rented bikes and peddled for hours around green parks, tiny alleys and more monuments on our last day in Roma. Unsure as to how we'd cram in the dozens of sights left unseen, cycling seemed like the perfect way to visit as much as possible. We wrapped up our short stay by energetically exploring more areas than we would have seen on foot, while feeling the wind in our hair. Rome has the greenest surface area of any metropolitan city in Europe (as far as parks, trees, fields, etc.). Who knew? We circled the Coliseum a few times, but the long line deterred us from entering. Instead, we crossed the river and climbed twisty cobblestone streets to a blooming park overlooking the city, and back down again to a colorful neighborhood full of art galleries and cafes.
The four of us parted ways over pasta and smiled at the success of our 10 Italian days. We held on to those lucky lemons until we departed, hoping to toss them into the Fontana di Trevi where millions of people have tossed two coins: one for good luck and another to return to Rome. With or without the fountain, the impression Italy left on us ensures our return is inevitable. We're determined to invest all the time necessary to learn Italian and listen to each monument's story.

"La suerte consiste basicamente en sentirse aforunado;
Luck consists basically in feeling fortunate" -Tennessee Williams

For photos of Incredible Italia check out:
http://picasaweb.google.com/clapoma/OneThousandItalianMiles#