Even further north

Zack, I don’t think we’re in Italy anymore?

Phew. I am still riding the post-trip high and navigating the post-trip fog. My brother, Zack, came to Italy for 8 days and I was determined to get us to some areas in Italy that are more off the beaten path. Cue Bolzano, Dimaro, Parma. Since we were up north (again, where the trains are faster and smoother), we managed to fit in Verona and take a pause in Milan. 

My favorite part about travel is when it spills from the weekend and into the workweek. It feels like such a gift to explore when most people are in the office. We saw so much, eavesdropped on good conversations, and were able to “fare una pausa” (take a break) and relax. Here’s just some snippets… 

Bolzano was unlike anywhere I have been before in Italy – so much so that it didn’t really feel Italian at all. The food is distinct, German is the preferred language. The architecture felt more Freiburg than Firenze. It makes sense, after all, since Bolzano became a part of Italy in 1918 after being in Austria previously. 

While it didn’t feel Italian, it was beyond charming. The dolomites envelope the compact city, and there are funivia (cable car) on the borders of town, taking you up to the mountains. We took a funivia up to Soprabolzano (literally, above Bolzano). I had seen these amazing rock formations on the way up, and there was a sign indicating it was a 30-minute hike to the “terra piramidi” or earth pyramids. 

Well. We wandered down some dirt paths and some steep trails for over an hour (in our leather boots and jackets) and finally got a teeny view through the pine trees. Later, when we took the cable car down the mountain I realized just how far these rocks were from the top of the mountain - we had basically hiked halfway down! 

After a tiring hike back up we took a slow train to another village. Here we tried some cakes that reminded me very much of Germany. Creamy and decadent, they made for the perfect end to a haphazard hike. Though it was sunny, the air was so icy. It felt like the last taste of winter.

That evening, we tried some local Bolzano faire. The restaurant we went to served exclusively beer and meat, two things I haven’t had a lot of in Italy. Despite being so far north, the weather was nice enough to sit outside. The whole time we kept saying to each other how different Bolzano was – but in a good way.

After Bolzano we headed to Dimaro to see the cousins of my cousins. I had only met one of the cousins before (probably about 16 years ago), but in true Italian fashion they welcomed us into their tiny village with open arms. Just when we thought we had seen the Dolomites, we took the winding path to a teeny, tiny village where you are truly smack dab in the middle of the sharp peaks. All you can see are snow-capped, scraggly mountains, and the town is aptly located in Val di Sole, and true to the name, it was soaked in sun from morning until night, with only the occasional mountain breeze. 

Bruno, one of the cousins who owns a hotel in the area, gave us the local tour of the town, pointing out his family history and notable things. Bruno only speaks Italian, and he was incredibly patient and spoke very slowly to me. What a wonderful family in a wonderful place. 

After Dimaro, we went to Verona. Many of my Italian friends had told me that Verona was “incredibly boring”, but I was still so excited to see it. I am so glad we went - it is saturated with color, history, and hospitality. Beyond seeing casa di Giuletta and the arena, there is so much to explore. A cathedral dripping in color and frescos, winding streets leading to a focacceria (and a panini with radicchio and gorgonzola, mm), and some good thrifting. We had a lovely birthday (!!!) dinner in town, where our waiter told us the zucchini we were eating was from his Nonna’s garden. Folks, don’t sleep on Verona! It is well-known and charming – perhaps best experienced in the off season. 

We stopped for a day and a night in Milan. I can say, with confidence, the people make Milan. We shared a spritz with friends and had a 3-hour dinner with my cousin Luigi and Giulia. But, to be frank, after you’ve seen the dolomites and Verona, the city falls flat. I know I waxed poetic about Milan a few blogs ago - but! - the common thread in that post was that I spent the weekend with lovely people. Milan is, however, an interesting perspective of a vastly different culture. It is fast-paced, full of smog, and luxurious. A mix of London, Paris, and New York. I just can’t put my finger on it. I always have a good time, but feel like I need a long shower to wash the city out of my hair after. 

And lastly, PARMA! I had been hooked on Parma for a while, and given the proximity and fast trains, we made it our last destination. It was the kind of destination that I knew I would love, and I didn’t want to do much research before arriving. I just wanted to get off the train and be swallowed up by the food capital of Italy (the world??).

It’s easy to enjoy Parma. Wide streets, muted colors, a restaurant on every street. I had read you can’t go wrong in Parma - it is full of many a trattoria, ristorante, bar, e osteria. We went to a little tapas place called Mama! For lunch, and promptly ordered a plate of prosciutto crudo e cotto. The bread came in a leather bag, and we paired it all with a local white wine and salads. It was so salty and filling in the best way that we didn’t manage to finish. Our waiter literally shook his hands in the “che fai!” manner at us, and boxed it up. It is a mortal sin to not finish your prosciutto in Parma.

The next day we took a parmigiano reggiano cheese tour at a local farm with the son (and grandson) of cheesemakers. They started off showing us the grass- the most alluring shade of green- and the cows. 

The cows can only be a particular few breeds and born in bred in the area. The grass  has to be free of any pesticides. The Italians believe the cows and landscape to be the key to the global success of parmigiano. “Stressed cows make bad cheese,” our tour guide said over and over. To assure happy cows, the ladies at this factory get massages (!!!!). Other factories play Giuseppe Verdi for the cow’s enjoyment.

The inside of the factory was impeccably clean, and the cheesemakers were always splashing water on the equipment. They actually are forbidden from using certain cleaners - some machinery can only be cleaned with the whey leftover from the cheesemaking process. We got to watch some very muscular cheesemakers lift the cheese from its vats. In the initial stage, it is rather tasteless, and squeaky! As we moved on in the factory we saw the cheese floating in the salty brine, the beginning of when it takes on its characteristic granular, savory taste.

We were lucky to see the owner of the factory - a 92 year old man who still drives! Must be all that cheese. I have to up my consumption immediately. 

And lastly, what our tour guide called “heaven” - the room where the cheese ages. It was mesmerizing to see the entire process. After trying some cheeses paired with lambrusco, I had such a deep appreciation for the cheesemakers (who work 7 days a week their entire career) and parmigiano. Parm is the most replicated cheese in the world - but if it is not from this area, made with these food principles- it is not parmigiano. 

With an absurd amount of cheese in tow, we headed back to Viterbo (and Zack got to experience how inefficient the trains are further south in Italy). 

The next day, we met up with my cousin Fabrizio and his friends in Rome for a last very Italian experience to cap off the trip. We got in line for dinner at around 8:30 and waited for over an hour in the cold, as passersby gave us the stink eye for taking up so much of the busy Trastevere streets, and the neighbors closed their shutters loudly. 

Finally, we sat down around 10:00. But, let me say - the carbonara at this restaurant was so good that I don’t even want to say the name in fear that you all will go and make the line even longer. But, it’s not really a secret. The carbonara at Da Enzo is a favorite of even those born and raised in Rome. It’s creamy without tasting buttery, the sparse guanciale is crisp and brightens the whole dish. O dio. 

Despite filling portions, the table had ordered 6 more bowls of pasta so we all could try cacio e pepe, amatriciana (my new obsession), and gricia. Basically, the whole evening, the Italians were either eating or talking about food. Promptly after dinner, they started planning their Sunday lunch for the next day, expressing worry because their friend who was cooking is a “bad cook”, and “is it okay to tell him that he is a bad cook?”

A drink or two later, it was 2:00 am, and when Zack and I said we need to sleep, a friend of my cousins said to us, “You’re in Italy! You need to enjoy life! It is so American to want to sleep.”

And so, after a late night we woke up too late to get Zack espresso but we did make the train. It was a bittersweet end to a wonderful trip.

When my friend Enrica met Zack she said to me, “It must be so nice to speak your dialect with him.” Initially, I had laughed - the state doesn’t have the richness in dialect and differences in language that Italy does. But when Zack left and I was left to wander around Rome before returning to Viterbo I found I related more deeply to what she said to me. Seeing family after nearly 6 months away from home, being able to speak quickly, to express myself unencumbered, and to reminisce on my life in the USA was such a gift, especially on my birthday. 

And now! Time for a quick jaunt to Malta (si, Malta!). 

sleepy roman kitty

A presto,

Liv