Adventures in AndreaLand

Black Tuesday

Well here it is, the day intended to make heros out of unimaginitive boyfriends and spinsters out of us poor single girls with no man to lavish us with ass fattening chocolate, wilting flowers and little fuzzy bears holding pink fuzzy hearts. Amateurs. I received some yummy cupcakes from my cute gay neighbor and delighted in every one of those ass fattening chocolate delights. They didn't taste bitter at all.
And thanks to all of you who called for updates on the snowstorm, I survived the Winter Snow Blast 2006 just fine with tequila and wine. Jen and I partied it up with the Seattle crew as accumulations grew and spent the greater part of Sunday watching the snow fall, bad tv and eating Mexican delivery. It was lovely.

Epifannies

I recently had a late night epiphany that we are to either accept things or find them unacceptable. So then why is there always so much gray matter moving oozing expanding hiding and seeking the secret spaces of justifiabliity?
I've also realized that when one is an unemployed professional graduate thesis draft dodger, it is possible to consume inordinate amounts of crack cocaine coffee while discussing random blither with crazy strangers and devoting many many many hours to the repeated nonadventures of Jerry Kramer George and Elaine.

Seriously, though

I'm back in nyc the city that never sleeps big apple gotham city island of manhattan bought from the natives for some shells from long island. Sherry came back east with me to welcome in the year of the dog party down at Chad and Morgans many kisses at midnight and cheers with good friends. Then J&Z took the chinatown bus from Philly for a visit and brought me a yummy warming bottle of amaro that was wearing a hat and sweater! We had several days of sunny and 60 soooo nice but I have a feeling it was a cocktease and feb is going to spank us not the good way.
So now I'm back to real life whatever that means hunting for jobs like on an african safari in my christmas cashmere. Its really too bad I cant gain employment taste testing all of the wonderful little restaraunts in my village because Im doing a damn good job at it. Cuban corn fresh dumplings crispy crepes. Adios 2nd Avenue Deli. Or a movie reviewer since Im watching a ton. Match Point is great. Narnia did not disappoint. Highly recommend Modigliani and March of the Penguins (can you imagine how these little suckers have survived??). I find Belle du Jour kinda freaky. And I'd do Mr AND Mrs Smith.

Back to the Left

It has been brought to my attention that some of you may actually still be wandering around andrealand... so here is the latest update in its least descriptive quasi fictional watered down saccharined up form.  I am back on the left coast in the quaint fishing village of Seattle, named after Chief Seattle of the Suquamish culture. Ironically, I arrived on Thanksgiving, the American holiday of celebrating colonization and domination with gluttony and sloth. We are thankful they didn't have guns. We are thankful they couldn't drink grain. We are thankful they still let us gamble. (I was banned from thanksgiving grace a long time ago)  Despite all the gorey details, I had a lovely meal with lots of laughter wine cornbreadstuffing with my family later cuddling with Sherry and it felt very good to be home.

We went to see Rent the movie and while the music is still great it somehow didnt quite transfer to the big screen. Roger really on the hills in Santa Fe was just too much. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes is a great way to measure Big Jims patience. He walked out after twenty minutes.

I am thankful for my beautiful wonderful supportive family and friends who make each day a better one. While I may not have received thirty one spankings on my oh so special day, I did have thirty one million reasons to be grateful.

tbc....

Soon.

I heart NYC

So I after an exhausting two days of travel via taxis buses trains planes from Firenze Rome Brussels Amsterdam Paris I am finally back on American soil. I arrived Tuesday night and while I am still unpacking reorganizing and trying to get settled back into my apt after 3 months absence I am also trying to mentally adjust back into my own culture. And its weaker coffee.
Following the wonderful weekend in Venezia, J&Z made their way back to Firenze. It was great to have my friends stay with me for my last week to share lovely dinners and blood for the mosquitos (they loved Zach poor guy). We saw the magificently perfect David by Michelangelo whose hands are exquisite Jesse cooked delicious dinners for us and I gave them my last tour of the Villa. Last week at the Villa was super sad. I wrapped up my projects submitted my ideas for a working loan policy and tried to soak in the mystery of the place and the lovely experience I was given. Certainly a small cast of characters I spent the past 2 months with and knew Id miss each one in their own way. They took me to a wonderful lunch on my last day pasta and laughter at a restaraunt on a hill overlooking Firenze on the road to Firesole. Had one last dinner at Nuti my favorite pizza place with Jesse girls night out. My last wood and fireroasted pie slightly burned so yummy came heart shaped. I looked up and the old ragged chefs and cute young waiters were all standing all proud. Last goodbyes to my gay boyfriends at the internet cafe (who brought me biscotti so sweet) and the sexy old man at the corner bar who poured me one euro glasses of good red wine and didnt speak a lick of English. So guess I did make some friends after all....
We spent the weekend in Rome many ruins bridges churches and laughter playing our new favorite game Where's Jesse Zach Andrea among the tour groups. Long Roman Catholic holiday weekend for Italians Pope spoke so city was packed. Met up with my beautiful N'Awlin friend Jenny B who I am fairly certain is suffering from PTSD following Katrina. Unbelievably humbling and infuriating to listen to an individuals story of the storm unmediated by the media. And such a fascinating description of humanity forced into survival mode. Soo much wine grappa amaro pasta and fried cheese homemade by an ancient Italian woman with many stories of catching up laughing and even dancing at a club where Zach shook it down. Next day headache and more exploring Piazza Spagna Piazza del Popolo hillside Gardens dodging perverts Augustus Tome St Peters Square strolled the Tiber under arching trees turning golden the market of Campo di Fiori Piazza Navona Pantheon and along the Colisseum at night. Jenny and Pierluigi made us a delicious mushroom ragu pasta dinner with olive crostini goat cheese sweet tomatoes and berry pie. Such a happy send off.
Last 2 days had 24 hour layover bw Brussels and Paris so decided to head over to Amsterdam for 18 relaxing hours. Spent a mellow Halloween night sitting along the sparkling canals listening to live jazz enjoying cafe chocolate and the northern lights. Next day train back to Paris to catch flight home arrived in NYC in the night so nice to sleep in my own bed for the first time in 3 mos. Woke up to sunny crisp windy golden northeastern fall morning grabbed some Mud and explored the city a smidge. Heard 17 different languages listened to an old man play his guitar sing his soul out You are my Sunshine in Wash Sq Park sharing the experience with 57 strangers who all seemed to welcome me home.
Ive also had calls and emails from those who arent strangers welcoming me back, thanks y'all and I look forward to seeing you soon.

Ciao Italia

Elegant Decay

Last weekend I met up with Jesse and Zach again (my friends from seattle, not saved by the bell), this time up in Venice. I had been debating weather or not to spend my last weekend here in Florence, but had been told that Venice was a must-see and most of all, I really wanted to see the Biennale. I am sooo glad I went... Along the way I met a bubbly girl from San Fran who had also gone to NYU and randomly, spent a year living in Kirkland. So we chatted and laughed throughout the 3 hour train ride. J&Z's best friend Rick Steve (the super nerdy travel guru) describes Venice as "A puddle of elegant decay." I laughed at the absurdity of this description, until I arrived in the fog and had to take a water taxi to the Rialto Bridge, zooming along the Grand Canal past stacked 18th century houses and ornate villas, as if it were the main arterial. I soon learned that in fact, it was. In Venice, streets are replaced with salty green water, cars with water taxis and kitschy gondolas and sidewalks with narrow alleys between old buildings and over 400 bridges that connect over 100 islands that make up the city. I was at first dissapointed to see the city was covered with damp fog, but realized that it only contributed to the overall magical effect and mystery of an ancient city that seems to float on  water. I found our quaint hotel down an alley behind the fish market and we all set off to explore. Venice is infamous for getting lost in and apparently even its lifetime inhabitants often lose their own way. We made our way to beautiful St Marks Square, along the busy narrow streets filled with street vendors selling Murano glass and tourists from everywhere. St Marks was beautiful and the facade of the Basilica is guilded ornate and provides a beautiful backdrop for the entertaining stage that is the center of the square. Although I live in and have visited cities filled with flying rats, I have never seen anything like what I witnessed with the pigeons at St Marks. Millions of themthey are everywhere and it is the most amusing sight to watch the tourists who think its funny to put a little bread in their hand, until they immediately find themselves with pigeons landing on their head hands arms chests children screaming freaking out. Even though it made my skin crawl (bird flu is all the talk these days) I couldnt get enough of watching stupid innocent people so sweetly start to feed them then quickly become part of Hitchcocks worse nightmare... we had a delicious lunch quick rest then later feasted again until late in the night and wandered aroun the quiet foggy streets. Sunday up early to catch the free breakfast (ie bread in many forms) and make our way to Venice's 51st Biennale, an international art exhibition that occurs every two years since 1895, with different pavilions and over 40 countries represented. Unfort right now in art painting is dead. It was heavy with video installation which is ok but requires a lot of time but also many interactive pieces that the viewer walked in or around including one pavillion where the entire piece was a giant wooden treehouse structure to climb up and around. We managed to hit every pavillion in the Giardino and barely make it to the train station that evening to head back to Firenze. Two days was not nearly enough time to explore the delicate floating mysterious city that is slowly sinking into the marsh and fog it once so elegantly rose above.

Rick Steve isnt such a jackass afterall.

Baggage

Last night I talked to Mommie on the phone, and the sound of her voice soothed my soul more than any pile of scrambled eggs with prosciutto and asiago and smothered with truffle cream. (Which so far has been a great homesick remedy)  She was curious if her birthday present was going to be from the Tuscan region and when I said that it was but that I was concerned about the weight limit on the small planes she wanted to know how much I weighed these days. My luggage was my concern, not necessarily my new fat ass. Which got me thinking about these new strict weight limits airlines are imposing to combat rising gas prices. Even carry-on items are now being weighed and steep charges are incurred if you are over the limit. I was almost not allowed on my flight from Paris to Pisa. But really fat people seem to have no problemo. So you can gain all the weight you want on your backside but god forbid you support the economy and try to bring home a nice bottle of wine. So just a warning to those of you who are hoping for presents, you can blame the airlines, rising gas prices, and essentially george bush, because I can bring very little back with me.

When I explained to my mom that my own rising weight was hardly my fault, living here in the land of delicious wine, pasta, cheese and gelato, her response was, Oh Andrea I know, I could drink wine with every meal!

Nothing like a moms wisdom to make one feel better.

Countdown

I thought it would have been easy- Ghostbusters- but maybe some of you are just too young. Of course CB knew it...

Anyway, had to head up to Cinque Terre again before I left so met up with my friends Jesse and Zach who are on their own big Euro adventure. It was a wonderfully hot and beautiful weekend so I am so glad I was able to visit that magical place one last time. Stepped off the train and in honor of Ms Cohen, had a big cone of pistachio gelato...soo good. Layed around in the hot sand, napping and listening to the waves crash while waiting for them to meet me. It was sooo great to be around old friends, lots of laughing and catching up on tales of our adventures.  We picked up some local wine pesto archichoke dip and cheesy focaccia and had a picnic and got ready for dinner. Went to a popular seafood restaraunt and laughed some more over a steaming pan of spaghetti with mussels and clams and grilled swordfish jumbo prawns and baby octopi. There was something quite disturbing about the tiny purple baby octopi with their innocent faces and squishy heads. A little too spongebob squarepants for me. We tossed one to a cat who was prowling around the streets and even he was having no part of it. More gelato- hazelnut this time- it did not dissapoint.

The next day over breakfast on a beachside restaraunt, we debated the hike or just laying around in the sun. The beach won unanimously so we spent a hot afternoon with another wine cheesy bread and yummy dip picnic listening to the waves gently roll in and swimming in the sea hardly imaginable in the middle of October. I even got a massage from a tiny woman with very strong hands for $20. After a quick dinner of pesto lasagna it was hard to say goodbye and jump on the train but had to give a tour of the Villa first thing Monday morning so knew I couldnt play hooky. Jesse and Zach stayed on and are touring around the north making their way to Firenze at the end of the week.

Its weird to think I have less than two weeks left here at the Villa and in Firenze. Although the transisition hasnt always been easy as I start to feel more comfortable and feel the symptoms of Lady of the House set in it will be difficult to say goodbye. The sun still sets brilliantly yet a bit lower in the sky so as my favorite season begins to chill the Tuscan landscape with the colors of warmth I will make every effort to be appreciative of each of the few remaining days left of this wonderful adventure.

And also get in a litle more shopping.

CNN who?

I cant believe that the army of critics out there did not correct me when I wrote about Bangladesh but clearly meant Pakistan. Whatever, I said I watched a lot of CNN but guess I didnt note that I usually write after a lot of wine.  Nothing terribly exciting to report about the week, well, there could but it could be bad.

Egon: There's something very important I forgot to tell you.
Peter: What?
Egon: Don't cross the streams.
Peter: Why?
Egon: It would be bad.
Peter: I'm fuzzy on the whole good/bad thing. What do you mean bad?
Egon: Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light.

Those of you who know know what I mean by this. And those of you who dont, should. In any case, Im off to meet Jesse and Zach up in Cinque Terre for the weekend. Ciao for now.

No Comment

My dear friend Fifi came to visit me over the weekend and it was a much needed infusion of girlie time chatting laughter late night deep discussions and gluttenous luncheons. I was in much need of spending some time with someone on the waaavelength and despite the nasty fall weather that rolled in with her plane from London, we had fun. Churches frescoes pasta pizza wine and walking, we even took in some contemporary art which I had been craving for quite some time. Donne Donna exhibition at the Galleria Tournabuoni- Ofili and Golden in Firenze were unexpected but unrepenting. Later, we decided to check out the nightlife and since even accidental eye contact seems to be an open invitation to come on over and annoy us,  we developed a highly sophisticated look to detract unwanted attention from overeager Italianos. The look involved thinking about poor Princess Diana, her drunken driver and that whole mess, and we would avert our eyes purse our lips shake our heads clearly indicateding "dont even try." As much as we were cracking ourselves up, it actually worked. Later we went on a bloody massacre killing the army of bloodsucking mthrfckrs that have invaded my apartment. Although it was a fun game to throw my thick book - The Agony and the Ecstasy- at those nasty mosquitos, it was a bit disturbing to see our own red blood splattered all over my white walls.

Sunday arrived with sunshine and blue skies a warm perfect fall day and it was sad to say goodbye. After putting Fifi in a taxi, I had a nice long talk with Sherrybaby while in a phone booth at San Marco square, among families, elderly and several police officers on a bright sunny Sunday afternoon. It was then that I was visually violated by a "rubber" for the second time in this quaint Renassiance town. At first I thought he was just a weirdo in thin sweatpants with an itch and bad manners but as he circled the phone booth and kept on his rubbing it became clear that he was engaging in some self love and wanted me to see it. Note to the men out there: NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT!!! Not quite the "whacker" that had showed it to Caty and I years before, but disturbing nonetheless. I knew the Poor Princess Diana look would not work in this case, so I ignored to the best of my ability until he finally went away.

I was in the middle of noodling on a clever synopsis of the weekend, while eating pasta cheese and wine and watching CNN, (The only english speaking channel I have, so am currently up to date on all foreign politics but had no idea that Katie Holmes was knocked up..) when the images of the devastation and loss of lives in Bangledesh became overwhelmingly saddening. So before exiting my carefree rambling about my daily observations while living abroad, I wish to say a prayer for the people whose lives have been lost destroyed or shaken. And a special heartfelt wish that the little babies now without families will find safe shelter warm food comforting arms and know growing love from this day forward.

Strike Over

Many thanks to those who heeded the warning of the authors strike and sent lovely emails. But come on, did you really think it would be that easy to stop my writing?...

This past weekend I went on another excursion outside the city walls of Firenze, which has proven to be by far the best experience of this Italian adventure yet. Taking many peoples advice, I headed for Cinque Terre, a group of five tiny fishing villages spread out appx four miles along the rugged cliffs of the Mediterranean. The "Italian Riviera". The train ride up was only 2.5 hours, during which time I feasted on Vanity Fair magazine, which actually cost more than my ticket. And worth every euro.

As the train approached the end of the journey, I could feel with every fiber of my being the closeness of the Sea, although I could not yet see or smell it. The final stretch was thru a long dark tunnel, with teasing peaks of blue rushing by like the surreal windows of unimagined dreams. When the train finally came to a stop in Monterosso, the last village, and I stepped out on the platform and could see nothing but rich lapis turquoise emerald sea stretching out before me and inhaled the the salty breeze and felt the hot afternoon sun vibrating thru clear blue skies I was overwhelmed to tears. Maybe corny, but this Seattle girls soul was parched in need of lake ocean or sea that the slowmoving brown Arno of Firenze had not been quite quenching. Upon seeing the pink and orange almost tropical buildings fuschia bougainvilla and even sand outlining the beach I knew I had to find a way to stay the night, despite the many denials I had already received from overbooked hotels. I happily found the shitty hotel recommended by my neighbors, clearly pushing the limit of the two star system, I dropped off unecessary weight and started immediately on the hike that connects the five villages.

The path was far more treacherous than I had imagined, along rugged mountain terrain on steep cliffs up stone steps traversing thru vineyards that ran up the vertical hillside with deep dropoffs. But each step of ascention brought with it a widening view of hot sun sparkling on the horizon endless calm Mediterranean waves softly crashing below. Thru wild mountain blackberries fruited cactus refreshing pines ripe red currants carefully tended to grapes purple yellow wildflowers while bees buzzed birds sang butterflies alighted. It was out of a dream yet felt invigoratingly real and empowering and humbling all at once. In all the churches I have been to in the past several weeks I have never felt this touched by something more powerful than myself or felt more grateful to be part of this earth. My mind body spirit senses were overwhelmed by the power of this place and a tangible energy and as I was reminded recently that spirit runs thru all things, this could not have been more evidenced.

With mad determination I managed to reach all five towns- Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, Riomaggiore each one a tiny cluster of bright colored buildings blending with Medieval stone structures and proud castles watching guard all impossibly nestled into the jagged cliffs spilling out into the calm Sea. I only fell once, a good hard fall quick lesson in patience that was worth the bloodshed. Completely exhausted and famished, I trained back to Monterosso to feast on the local cuisine of seafood olives mushrooms pesto lemons wine. Sadly, my options were limited as a diner of one...

After a failed attempt to adopt a wild cat for the night, I slept hard, awoken only by unfortunate rainstorms. My wishes of lazy Sunday beaching in the sun were replaced by beachcombing in the rain but I aborbed the sound of the crashing waves and collected pretty rocks and ate pesto lasagna and fragola gelato and milked every moment before heading back to rainsoaked Firenze.

Cinque Terre is beautiful amazing magical and everyone should go but please dont tell anyone wouldnt want to spoil such a treasure.

Lezioni di questa settimana

For this weeks lessons,

Last night I learned that if I stay a little too long at work chatting with a friendly coworker, I may just catch the most beautiful sunset where the dark purple hot pink sky swirls circles dances around a spot of light bright blue until it swallows it up like the night greedily consuming the day.

I also learned that such a sunset is all the sweeter when shared silently with an old Italian woman whom you know has seen more brilliant sunsets over Firenze than you should ever hope and whose dark eyes hold more secrets than you would ever care to know.

I learned that the random little street that I pass every day leads up to a quaint little park and the steps leading up to the top surrounded by tall pines with views overlooking all of Firenze are carved thru with an enormous mosaic landscape sculpture of a swirling dragon lizard creature with eyes of crushed blue aqua glass and tail which winds up the hillside and ends in a goldfish pond and open gaping mouth that competes to swallow up the sunset.

Italian pizza is by far the best tasting pizza one has ever tasted and to order it in a restaraunt and not at one of the ubiquitious cafes is the best way to experience one. It comes on nearly paper thin perfectly burnt crust and I would highly suggest tomato mozarella gorgonzola mushroom.

Ive learned that if anyone should have an inclination to send a care package, it might want to include:  Mamouns Falafal, a US weekly or People magazine (is it true that Brittney cant breast feed because of her fake boobs?), Blue 9 cheeseburger, season two dvd set of Deadwood, fabric softener, Cafe Habana corn, Mommies chicken and dumplings, charmin toilet paper, a methadone like substance to replace my soft cheese addiction, and an unlimited gift certificate for beautifully hand crafted Italian leather shoes which are an art form all to themselves.

Ive also learned that Italians go on strike for just about anything. Not that long ago, security workers at the Ufizzi stopped working because the exhaling of too many tourists started to bug them. So Ive decided that in light of this open strike atmosphere, andrealand is going to go on strike until more people start to send emails or create postings and let the author know how they are doing.

Cinqueterra is one of the most beautiful places to hike and I am off for there tomorrow morning.

Jaded

Ok so I've become the typical jaded new yorker. After only a little more than two weeks, I needed to get out of this beautiful but tinyrenaissance town. A girl can only take so much sepia toned renaissance architecture, amazing churches and beautiful paintings of mary and the darling baby jesus. So I took everyone's advice and headed on over to the beautiful Tuscan town of Siena, which should not be missed. Upon arrival, after a 90 min train ride of listening to three germans and their constant gutteral chattering and eating of ripe tuna fish sandos, and a confusing figure it out for yourself nyc style bus ride, I arrived in the quaint town of Siena.  A lovely town of sepia toned renaissance architecture, amazing churches and beautiful paintings of mary and the darling baby jesus.

I made my way to the famed Piazza del Campo, the large shell shaped piazza of pink brick and sat in the warm sun, taking it all in. I tried to sit quietly by myself and write in my journal, but after catching a (Im sure very nice) japanese girl videotaping me and then a creepy old man in red lederhosen snapping a photo of me, I decided to explore, knowing something in this town had to be more interesting than a girl sitting alone writing in her little black book. I made my way down to the main palazzo to discover that the belltower was actually open for exploration. So after waiting for nearly an hour in line (at which point it became battle of the wills between myself and my bladder), the verde line came on and it was time to ascend the 503 narrow stone stairs of the tower that had been built some time around 1344.

I am forever grateful for my stubborn nature, for it proved to be an amazing experience. Over 320 feet high, one is rewarded the steep and sometimes clausterphobic trip up with unbeleivable 360degree views of the carved Tuscan landscape that has inspired sensitive artists for as long as written history. In all directions, one can see the winding medievel streets carved thru the ancient walled city, green rolling hills and blue skies dappled with puffy white clouds. I took many pictures, as did the others, but it was interesting to note how very few actually stopped to take in the views with their own imaginations. Snap snap click away went the nikons and canons but seldom did they pause and breathe it all in to preserve for their own memory to come. I am wondering if when they pull it all up on their digital memory, will they be able to remember the smell of the ancient warm breeze or the sound of the drums in the piazza below and the taste of the air that has already circulated through the mouths of noblemen and commenwealth alike.

In addition to the spectacular views, I was most struck during the experience on my way down the steep steps trying to hold on by the way that after hundreds of years the human touch can wear down hard rough stone and make it smooth buttery soft rounded and ready for the next trusting hand to come and make its path their own.

I explored siena some more, ate some gelato, and made my way back to the train to travel back 'home' to Firenze in perfect timing to catch the sunset on the warm Tuscan landscape made famous in Bertoluccis cinematically stunning if not great Stealing Beauty. Today I was going to try to make it to Sunday mass, but fearful of spontaneous firey combustion in such a sacred place, I layed out in the sun and tried on sexy italian lingerie instead.

Is anyone tired of me saying Tuscan landscape yet??

Piu Lezioni

Week two, more lessons learned...

No matter what, Italian women should never ever ever dye their dark hair blond (See Donatella Versace). Italian people in general look surprisingly cool with dreadlocks and have developed a very interesting neo-mohawk-mullet look.

I wont mention any names, but a particular British-American aristocrat who was raised in Florence happened to have a strong affinity for the soft skin of young chinese boys and the black sticky tar of opium.

Wild boars are so prolific in this region that in old Italian art they symbolize the sin of lust. They also show up on quite a few menus.

The most common solvent to clean old European paintings is spit.

One can easily consume inordinate amounts of dairy on a daily basis. This can come in the form of pasta sauce, smooth yogurt, cold gelato, and the creamiest of asiago cheese that in no way resembles the hard dry kind only available in the US. And none of these come in a low fat option.

I can easily pass as a Canadian. Or a Brit. But then one guy in France asked if I were Mexican so maybe I just have an ethnically ambiguous look.

Italians should never ever ever attempt to make Mexican food, especially enchiladas. They should leave that to expert chefs. Or Mexicans.

Our villa is way bigger and our garden is way better than Harvard's.

Italian mosquitos love my blood much more than their American vampire cousins.

Freed from its preferred vices the mind is free to explore the places it needs to.

Time and space cannot separate thought and spirit.

Its ok to be vulnerable.

Sweet & Juicy

Today as I walked to the Villa in the crisp warm early morning air making my way on a dusty path across the sloping sixty acres that make up the estate through olive groves cypress trees and purple wildflowers while tiny lizards darted back into the long crunchy grass I stopped and picked a fig. A soft plump purple fig with tight skin that had grown ripe under the warm Tuscan sun on a tree with large dark green leaves that had probably stood for centuries. I was careful to twist the fruit just right to the left making sure none of the sticky white stem nectar glued me to it tearing it open to reveal the sweet white red flesh tiny crunchy black seeds that I readily devoured knowing it had been pleasuring palates for millennia.

In the afternoon I sat on a stone bench next to an ancient Roman fountain that undulated with goldfish frogs glistening against itself in the hot sun surrounded by red lillies and pink roses and carefully manicured hedges with views overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany while I read the decades old love letters between two men whose love could never be brought to fruition. The slight breeze in the air was thick rich clean green and oh so sweet from the tiny white flowers of the towering trees that watch over the potted lemons oranges peaches. I discovered the hedges were made up of the leaves of dark crisp laurel crown of loyalty among the Romans and as bayleaves taste of sweetness in homemade soup.

Later I enjoyed the delightful combination of dry crunchy breadsticks dipped in creamy hazelnut chocolate Nutella...

And since this hot internet cafe is neither sweet nor juicy and whitney houston is starting to bug me,  I must go. Happy Birthday Seema.

Just the facts, maàm

So it has been brought to my attention that despite this blog and my superfluous use of adjectives, many of you dont really know what the hell Ive been up to. So here goes... last week was my first full week of interning at the villa, which is about a 25 min walk from my apt, mostly uphill, hopefully combating my affinity for cheese and wine. I spent the week familiarizing myself with the extensive collection, the interesting and sometimes scandalous history of the family who left it to NYU, and the complicated politics between NYU and the Italian govt, who control it as the collection is considered cultural property so therefore protected by the Italian State. I had a meeting with a woman who is organizing a conference here in a few months to discuss the different management styles of Italian and American museums and watched an enormous recently conserved fifteenth century tapestry be hung on the wall of the ballroom. This week I am continuing my research on loan policy, making a site visit to I Tatti, Harvards villa here in Florence, giving a tour to NYU students of the Villa and gardens, and perhaps assisting in the washing of another tapestry. So far the best part of working with such a small staff of six is being invited to be part of different projects. Ive learned that at the end of Oct students are allowed to sign up to help harvest the olives and get to keep a bottle of the oil theyve helped produce. I hope I am here long enough to help with that.

My social life hasnt been terribly exciting, Ive spent a lot of time reading (just picked up The Agony and the Esctasy, a novel-bio about Michaelangelo, who was born and raised in Florence) and writing in my journal and cooking for myself. Ive eaten at restaraunts a few times (although Im tiring of the oh poor lady eating alone look) and so far my best meal has been an appetizer of thinly sliced pears with chunks of soft cheese drizzled with honey and homemade ravioli stuffed with spinach and gorgonzola covered with a creamy sauce of walnuts and truffles. The Italians have perfected the art of making gelato, which seems to come from heaven. I prefer the creamy coconut and dark forest fruit combo.

Ive hung out with the neighbor kids a few times, who bbq on their big patio, they are nice and its quite amusing to spend time with 20 year olds. I think one of them may have even been putting the moves on me, who thinks my age is "hot". Im flattered but no grazie.

Im hoping to not become too jaded by being surrounded by Italian art every day and am making a conscious effort to visit the many museums that fill this small city. Yesterday was Palazzo Pitti, the Medicis summer villa, and will make it to the Ufizzi when the tourist crowds die down. Also there is an exhibition of machine models created from Leonardos sketches that I hope to see soon.

So there you have it folks, the everyday adventures in andrealand.

McFirenze

Ok so I admit it, its true. When I woke up this morning to church bells and loud opera (from where Im still not quite sure) the only thing on my mind was a certain Mc and it had nothing to do with a drunken Irishman. Despite the fact that it passes my mouth maybe once per year the only thing I could think about was a bacon, egg and cheese on a fluffy, greasy biscuit and one of those crispy potato pockets and perhaps a cup of coffee that was deeper than a half inch. So I made my way a few blocks down the street to the only McDonalds I knew of, only to find their breakfast menu consisted of a McPanna, which is the same damn sando of ham and cheese on flat bread that Ive seen in every storefront for the past nine days, and have eaten more than once. Alas, (and that word is for you JenLev), I went to my local grocer and bought proper breakfast ingredients. And as a result, made the best damn cup of perculated espresso in the whole world. I also learned its good to read packages carefully because my Kelloggs Cornflakes turned out to be chocolate flavored. McWhat?!?!

I then spent the next two hours doing laundry, which was quite necessary, but required the assistance of the housekeeper because no matter what, the vague pictorals made Ikea assembly instructions seem like copious manual. I thought the neighbor boys were exaggerating, but no, an extemely small load of laundry took over 2 hours and at times I believe it was boiled. And for whatever reason, Euros dont much believe in dryers. So all, including jeans and towels, is crispy and crunchy line-dried. Mommy knows how much I love that.

I apologize for the very uninteresting blog, but sometimes one just needs to be domestic and cant forever live in the glorious and glamorous life of the Renaissance. Although apparently she can still do laundry as if living as such.

Leziones

After one week in Firenze, here are some things I have learned:

Italians really love their bicycles and vespas, even tiny children and very old ladies ride on the backs or fronts or wherever they can fit. This morning I saw an entire family perched on their tiny scooter.

They love these forms of transportation almost as much as they love their cell phones, tight jeans, fancy sunglasses, thick black eyeliner, cheesy American television, incredibly high heels on cobbled streets and ironic tshirts printed in english. But the tshirts are seldom ironic, mostly nonsensical, and often misspelled.

Geckos make great pest control in museums.

No matter how hard to try to speak the language, if you have blond hair and blue eyes Italians will speak to you in English.

If you don't shave for a week, one can easily start to smell like an old Italian man.

Strangers playing Italian guitar on ponte vecchio while the sun sets its warmth over the Arno is one of the sweetest sounds.

The vocal intonations of American teenage girls is one of the most grating sounds.

Seventeenth century homoerotica is hot.

Target and Walmart epitomize what is wrong with America and I miss them both deeply.

When you are hungry and homesick its good to eat a big plate of scrambled eggs mixed with prosciutto and creamy asiago cheese.

I like poetry.

Wine can cost $4 a bottle and still be really good.

It is a precious luxury to have internet access at home.

I'm not as tough as I like to think I am.

Things rarely turn out like you expected.

casa dolce casa

So I'm no longer homeless. I'm managed to get myself a great big apt to myself which is part of a huge old Renaissance palazzo and it happens to be 5x my nyc studio. Every room has big windows that open up to a courtyard and rooftops and the building is filled with young noisy college kids that make it just a little less lonely. They've even invited me to go out with them, despite my elderly status... perhaps next time.

After getting settled in, I spent the past weekend exploring this unbelievable city that despite the noise of Vespas, american tourists and random love of neon, has managed to preserve the ambiance of its Renaissance past. If I put in my ipod (which I've only recently mustered the courage to use due to the aforementioned deadly vespas) and squint just right, walking down the very narrow and winding cobbled streets of terracotta walls, I can somewhat imagine that it hasn't changed much in the past 500 years. Except also that I'm a female allowed to walk the streets unaccompanied by a chaperone with no laws forbidding it. 

I spent the entire weekend walking, exploring, thinking, trying to take it all in. I walked up to the Piazza Michaelangelo, (no whackers this time), with its stunning views overlooking the city and wrote some and tried to sketch it but there's a reason I only study art and don't try to create it myself... I visited the Boboli Gardens, acres and acres of lush trees and winding trails and hidden statues that have stood for centuries. Some areas were so quiet and isolated it felt like I was deep in a Renaissance forest all by myself, while other areas were exquisitly designed and beautifully manicured to perfection with ponds filled with goldfish and a promenade of cypress trees.

I started my work yesterday, mostly being toured around by the collections managers, through most of the 60 rooms, each one filled with paintings, sculptures and randomly assorted pieces from the medievil and renaissance periods, mixed together with pieces from the 19th cent pieces, sometimes in 18th cent frescoed rooms, along with birdcage ceiling fixtures, seashells and homemade decopage, in a stunning and overwhelming collection. I was given interesting facts about the former occupants and their personal history, but the villa itself seems to breathe the air of a former time and era when plays were put on in the lush green gardens and the statues were witness to the life of the priveliged. I was even allowed to sort thru a box of bric a brac with the archivist, finding Mr Actons old calling cards and reading glasses and vials of prescriptive juices.

But now I need to head on down the hill and find myself some pasta and good thick cheap wine.

Vagablond

ìBonjourno! Today I arrived in Firenze- via planes, trains and many automobiles later via Paris and Pisa. I would love to say that I,m sitting comfortably in my cozy flat overlooking the Arno but the reality is I,m pretty much homeless and staying in a hotel for now. So much for nyu hooking a sista up. At least its a cute little hotel that I,ve stayed at before with my dear Caty, so filled with fond memories (as well as bright frescoed walls).  The wine and gorgonzola ravioli helps. Mommy is worried that my love of vino and creamy sauces will affect the size of my arse- but after walking the city for hours in search of a place to live I can assure her that the homeless here have both great figures and even better wardrobes.

The past month has been crazy and wonderful and much needed in many ways. Home was home- green fresh alive and nourished my heart head soul like the best bowl of chicken and dumplings. New bonds were created and old ones grew stronger and I returned to NYC for a few days to start my life as a baglady infused with the energy that is drawn from the unknown. At first NYC was almost too much for me after life in the fishing village- as I ventured out for my first cup of much needed thick iced Mud the sirens people cars honking buildings crumbling jackhammers and smell of urine incense dogs and too much life in one place made me recoil. But later when I made it to wash sq park and heard Bush (the band not the idiot) playing in a rally to save CBGBs and watched families trannies students beggars and professors dancing together in their love of punk and heard 37 languages being spoken and saw 98 ways that different people can coexist, I knew that NYC was home in my heart as well.

Paris was wonderful, but how could it not be? To spend some time in the city of lights with my beautiful friends and eat good rich food and have sweet red wine and flavored vodka in a hot sticky smoky club and talk until the sun comes up is more than a girl can ask for. Paris was warmer than I,ve ever enjoyed and we layed by the Seine and laughed in the parks and even visited the musee d,orsay for the first time. Three friends, three countries in three months, that is the plan.

So now I,m here in Italy, to begin yet another adventure. Driving up the long dusty magnificent path through the cypress trees that lead to the villa was overwhelming, even though I,ve seen it a million times in pictures. To be surrounded by rolling hills and olive trees and purple wildflowers that smell sweet in the humid breeze is a lovely start to the months to come, as was a delicious dinner I ate in a familiar restaraunt while Pink Floyd sang I wish you were here. Ciao.

Twelve Steps

Yesterday I was loathe to awake to a brilliantly sunny morning only to head on in to my fifteenth consecutive day of work. My summertime temp job of bagging ice,  grilling salmon, hauling china and groping hot young dishwashers started out fun- but seven weddings, five company bbq's and two gay birthday parties later, I'm exhausted and over it. Gina called me at 10am and told me to get home as she had no intention of going to work and called in sick so I was out. I drove into the driveway- only to find two dirty sweaty treetoppers hauling the arbor property line away with their brown muscley arms. The black haired green eyed punked out greaser style one looked butterfly inducing familiar. Its funny how the past can sneak into the neighborhood trees and whispers tales among the blackberries of late stupid teenage nights and stories gladly forgotton.

Apparently part of the twelve step program is creating a list of those you have wronged, seeking them out and asking forgiveness. And apparently I was on this list. The aforementioned black haired green eyed one approached me and profusely and sincerely apologized for a silly teenage incidental that resulted in outraged gossip and titillating scandal among the lake washington kangaroos. As my man Willy once bemusedly sang, ain't it funny how time slips away...

The rest of the day was one long hot afternoon of girly laugher and hometown vacation time. Gina and Samora and Bogie swam in the Kirkland marina (I was having no part in the greasy bay with floating bandaids and toe tickling milfoil that brought be so much joy as a child). We had juicy pink cocktails and salty french fries in the early afternoon and tried on 80's power suits in the consignment shops. Then we headed out on the boat and picked up Sherry and Piper and sipped iced white wine in Lake Sammamish while being cruised by horny underage boys. Piper said she had been contacted by a twelve stepper recently, who had stolen money from her in high school.

The sunset was beautiful but my friends are more so.

These Boots

They say that in order to really know someone you need to walk a mile in their shoes. I think what they really meant was you need to spend some time in the neighborhood and on the streets in the place that shaped their formative years, where they first rode a bike, kissed their first boy, earned their first speeding ticket. Driving around on the roads where I grew up is both amusing and alarming. In the short time I've been away I've forgotten about automobile life on the 'burban streets. For instance, when someone breaks to let you in, even on the speeding freeway, you must cheerily wave your hand, signaling visible appreciation. This is quite common and probably the most extreme case of deadly politeness- Yes, hello hi, yes you back there 17 feet behind me going 75 miles an hour in the celadon green subaru, thanks so much for allowing me to slide on in front of you and not just plow right into you in my 'hurken monster truck. See my hand? Elbow-elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist- up high in the window so you can see it- thanks gobs! Now let me get back to this cellphone call and change my dave matthews cd.

Another thing I've noticed is that pedestrians run the show. If a driver notices a pedestrian even remotely near a crosswalk visible from a half mile away, they will slow down in anticipation of the cross. Slow, breakhard, glance, crossing?  Here,  go right ahead, and please take your time, and let your 6 year old child drag 10 feet behind you, all the while looking directly at me because he knows he's making me wait. Even on busy streets (and 'burban busy I mean over 35mph) drivers break to let someone cross, even if the pedestrian is on the other side of the street. My old hometown has set up construction-orange hand-held flags along posts throughout the city, to hold while crossing and better alert drivers of your higher order of pedestrianess. Gina decided they make great wakeboarding man-down flags for her boat.

Lastly, if you want to ride on the most energy-efficient form of transportation (including walking) ever created- the bicycle- you simply must wear a helmet. It is the law. Even for grownups. Not only will you readily be stopped and fined by local police (on bicycles themselves), on the lovely bike trails which run for miles, you will be shamed. Shamed and mocked vocally by fellow bicyclers- hey! where's your helmet?- who must feel both hot and ridiculous in their large plastic aerodynamically shaped alien helmets. I recently made a trip to the microsoft campus for work and was amazed by the number of people in full-on bicycler's gear (or do they call themselves "bikers?"), all decked out armstrong-style just to ride home from work.

But this is also the same crowd who fancy the bald on top, long pony in back look and whose style du jour includes spiderman tshirts, khaki shorts, birks, white socks. I'm just sayin.

goodnight. drive safe.

Left Coast

Sunday morning, 7am and I am up with the chickens. Literally. No, not the moans of the mangy flying rats suburban park-goers call "pigeons," who inhabit the roof of my NYC prewar studio and wake me up with the pathetic hum of their need to breed. This morning I awake to the sweet chirping and cool breeze of pacific northwest woods waking green lush wet alive. It feels good to be home.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful friends who made this past week very special and memorable, with healthy doses of rich confection, awkward speeches, vodka breaks and warm embraces. There were several wonderful surprises (so great to see you Val!) and a few as-to-be-expected. I break from New York feeling much love and look forward to my return in the fall. But in the mean time, I will enjoy my time here in the quaint fishing village with all the nice white people in their khaki pants and jean tuxedos. Fully emersing myself in the suburban way of living, I need to jump in an suv and go run some errands so I leave you with a poem created in my honor by legendary poet and published author, Deborah Schwartz:

  O Andrea! Our Andrea! Hot summer's almost done;
       The Heritage dinner's in the past, I heard Golf & Tennis was fun;
       Autumn's coming, early closing, 3:30 Happy Hour,
       Picnics by my favorite statue - Cat: dignified: Ape: dour.
       But O Visa! Passport! Ticket!
       Your papers are all in order,
       Soon you will leave the isle of Manhattan,
       And fly across the water
       O Andrea! Our Andrea! stay and answer the Membership Line;
       So many grandmas still waiting for their senior memberships to arrive;
       And who will lead us in that next great Mailing House/Museum fight?
       Who will remain at the bar until the bar closes for the night?
       Here Andrea! dear Co-worker!
       We drank a little more than we ought to,
       Then cut a rug at the summer staff party,
       Now you're flying across the water.
       Our Andrea will surely write us about her Florence goings-on;
       My Co-worker! now my best source of gossip will be gone;
       Who will do impressions of Nonna; who will have your super smile;
       Who will shake that sassy shimmy; Who will have that West Coast style.
       Though not Jewish, O Blankenstein!
       Few could have served this Museum better.
       Now you'll set all of Italy on fire
       After you've flown across the water.

The Countdown is On...

According to DGM, I have two days and a wakeup left. Today it finally hit me as I took a taxi along the west side in to work that my days at the Museum are limited- and its feeling bittersweet. Denial has been much, much easier. I sure will miss all the nice Jewish people with their funny little food habits and affinity for neurosis. But I will not miss this sick sweltering heat that makes hot and dirty a bad thing.

Risparmi la data

Subject: Risparmi la data
>
> Large friends of Andrea,
>
> We ask that you conserve Thursday date, the 28 July in order to come with us to the (email for details) in Battery Park City for one celebration of goodbye for our beloved friend, Andrea. Here a lot drink will occur perhaps and merriment and there will occur as well possibly a level of dance.
>
> Andrea soon leaves the comfort of the Museum. And that what is more, leaves the state and country, moving to the warmth embrace of Florence, Italy. Here, she studies and catalogs the beautiful Italian art. She drinks much wine while in Italy, but its wine will be sweet with the taste of memories of time passed to the Museum. Aide us to fill up her glass with much memories, therefore to make her drunk with nostalgia -- enough to last her an entire stay to Florence.
>
> After when Andrea is sufficient in nostalgia and perhaps is to dance, we will move the positions towards another place of the convivial merriment.  This place of the convivial merriment is still however to be determined, but a lot probably will be situated from the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
>
> We pray you remain for further information. We hope that you join us in saying the goodbye, or, as they say in Italiano, Arrivederci!
>
> -FOAs (friends of Andrea)
***guest post by Deborah Schwartz of Debcentral.com fame

First Post Ever!

Well I'm no Debcentral, but thought this would be a great way to keep in touch with everyone and give updates on all my upcoming adventures.
Stay posted- cheers!!