Greve, Mi Manchi

.There are many places in the world I've been fortunate enough to explore. Some are loud, some are busy, some are quiet and rural. Greve doesn't seem to be any of those things. In my last day in the little town, I found myself walking around on the sun drenched sidewalks admiring the trees and little shops that line the streets and the charming dirt roads that mark the end of the town and the beginning of the

quaint vinyards that border it. That lovely last day marked my last few hours in Greve. Fortunately, we still had one more concert to go. This concert, however, didn't take us to a far-away church or a castle on top of a mountain, but rather, most fittingly, right the the Greve piazza itself. I wouldn't have had it any other way. The night was balmy and surprisingly cool (as far as Italian evenings are concerned.) The concert went as most concerts do, aria after aria in a continuous stream of swift cadenzas and impressive sustained high notes. This time was just a little different though. This time, we got to sing for all of the people we saw on a daily basis, but never really had the chance to make music for.

The evening started out as all concerts previously had: with the Soave trio. One tip we learned in our three weeks singing this trio together...it simply cannot be quiet enough. Fortunately, this was easy seeing as we were in the middle of an outdoor piazza and all of the sound got swallowed up by the buildings and concert go-ers of Greve. Congrats, we finally got it right! Naturally, my wonderful colleagues put on a beautiful show, but even more beautiful was the pre concert photo-shoot.

Nothing gets you into the opera spirit like a few well balanced glamour shots.The concert ended with a rousing rendition of "Va pensiero" the unofficial Italian national anthem. This status became fairly clear when most of the Italian speaking audience members sang along by heart while the rest of us onstage tried to hide our cheat sheets with lyrics on them discreetly in our dresses and lapels. We then learned the hard way that it's custom to sing "Va pensiero" twice, the second time parading through the aisles making it all too easy for the Italian onlookers to see that our words were clearly anything but memorized. Fortunately, despite a very enthusiastic conductor, we all made it through with no casualties and only a few minor bug bites to show for it. All these hardships were worth it though, because soon it was time for the reception!

If there is one thing Italians know well, its definitely how to throw a party. Nevermind the fact that it was 11:30 and Greve normally closes down at about eight. Clearly we were a special exception. We were all particularly excited when the lovely boys of Greve whom we'd met at the wine tasting paid us a visit. Leigh and I being the social beings we are, we decided to spend some time getting to know them a little better. The experience was really a fascinating one. We shared some chianti (classico...of course) and stories about life in Italy and the U.S.

They were particularly interested in teaching Leigh Italian, and were very amused by her confusion with the vocabulary and her twangy pronunciations. Its okay though, because teaching me how to play at least a partially successful game of fooseball was equally if not more impossible. They were warm, engaging and interested in everything from American history to the influences of twelve-tone methods on music (something I have very limited knowledge of, admittedly, but hey...I improvised!) Davide even let me teach him new words, though his vocabulary was already quite extensive so the only new word I really seemed to be able to muster up was juxtaposition. Looks like I have some studying up to do!
We greatly enjoyed getting to know these people we'd really only seen in passing, and even forcing Tommaso into an impromptu photo shoot. Leigh and I being the confused souls that we are, we couldn't quite coordinate our poses, so we just went with the flow and appreciated whatever showed up on the camera lense. As we chatted, the boys thought it would be funny for some strange reason to keep throwing the wine cork at me. Strange Tuscan custom? Um...I really don't think so. I got to keep the wine cork as a souvenier at least. Now every time I smell the Chianti soaked into it, I will immediately think "ahhh...Greve!"...and Mario...of course ;)

In all of my travels both domestic and abroad I've never come across a place quite as peculiar and special as Greve. It's not a place you can read about in stories, all romanticized and sweetly quaint. It's not a place you can imagine even if I could describe every pebble, branch and flower with the most eloquent of prose. It's a place where the trees seem to be there right when you need a little shade, and where the dirt roads aren't really all that dirty. It's a place where people aren't afraid to take their time. Where kids stay out until midnight doing cartwheels by the swingset, not worried about strangers or bug bites or bedtimes. Its a place where the weather is warm and the people can talk for hours about nothing in particular. Greve is a simpler place than I am used to. You may walk down the street in Greve one day and feel an eerie sense of calm in the air. You will then stop and think to yourself "something is off here." But when you look around you'll see that everything is exactly where it should be. There are ducks in the river and cats on the rooftops and bees in the flowers. Most importantly though, there are people in Greve who want nothing more than to stop and talk and laugh and listen. Greve, you've been so sweet and friendly

and warm

and cozy

and hot

and hazy

and wonderfully perfectly different.

Dear Greve,

I promise,

tomorrow I'll miss you.

Greve,

Mi Manchi

I Love You, Cloud.

Italy is home to many beautiful monuments. It's easy to list a plethora of spectacles this beautiful country has to offer. Things like The Sistine Chapel, The Florentine Duomo and countless Renaissance masterpieces immediately come to mind. However, at about 1 p.m. or so, when the heat is beating on you turning your face the same color as the tomatoes in your caprese salad and the

sweat on your back is so bountiful that your silk shirt becomes completely transparent, the thought of walking another half mile to see the eighteenth marble sculpture of the day is almost as sickening as the thought of bathing in a tub of extra virgin olive oil. By Sunday, this pretty much summed up ourfeelings about another tiring excursion. But, being the troopers we are, Philip, Sam, Paige, Leigh and myself hoofed it out to the bus station in Greve to start what we thought would

be only a semi-long voyage to Siena. When we got to the bus stop we were greeted by what was surely the most uplifting sight since Noah and the olive branch...that's right my friends, above us was a soft, billowy perfectly puffy cloud. We were cool, we were shaded and we were ready for this adventure to begin. The plan: go to Florence train station via bus from Greve and then hop on the first train to Siena. Unfortunately, the lovely Tuscan countryside had other plans in mind. Upon reaching the Florence train station, we immediately rushed to a ticket window and purchased our tickets to Siena. Success! Well...almost. Upon reading the train departures, we found that a train to siena wouldnt leave for another hour and a half and wouldn't arrive until late in the afternoon. What's worse? The last bus to Greve left at 8 p.m. This left us a solid 45 minutes or so in Siena assuming all went according to plan (and our luck being the way it was...perfection was certainly a long shot.)

Alas...no Siena today! But what to do what to do? It seemed so unnatural to be in the Florence train station and not take a train ANYWHERE. We gazed at the train board and finally decided on a destination. "Hey guys...wanna go to Pisa?" Well...why not? Another set of tickets purchased, a swift walk to the platform and we were on our way...to Pisa? Ah well, at least spontaneity never killed the cat...I think. Well, for better or worse, off we went! And, for a while at least, everything seemed to be going well! That is, until the conductor came around to collect our tickets.

"Scusi, you did not validate your ticket." Um, validate my ticket? "Yes, you stamp at the platform to validate. It will be five euros please." Five euros? Really? For not sticking my ticket into that stupid random yellow machine to get it splotched with ink? Well, thanks to the unfulfilled ticket purchase to Siena, there were five euros that I did not have. Thanks to Leigh, we made it out of that one unscathed. A note the foolish who think they are wise...NEVER assume you know what you're doing in Italy

because more often than not there will be some random unneccesary detail that isn't communicated and you'll end up paying alot of money and getting sufficiently frustrated...and always validate your ticket!

Well, for better or worse, we finally made it to our destination. Welcome to Pisa. All in all, it was a charming little town. Not as small as Greve, but not as bustling as Florence. It was actually nicely refreshing. Since we had already been confused and touristy all day, we'd really just embrace it and step into the role. We took pictures with everything, clogged the streets and struck funny poses for no reason at all. After all...we really only had about two hours before our train left again for Floren

ce. Philip decided he wanted to take picutres imitating every statue

we passed by. The rest of us decided against it. Nope, there was only one thing on our list of things to do...go see the leaning tower of course! Now you may wonder why I have no pictures of this. The truth is, when I was thinking back on Pisa to write this, I hardly remembered seeing the tower at all. It just wasn't the focal point of this calamitous trip to Pisa. We looked at the tower for about ten minutes...took the necessary "holding up the tower" pictures (coming soon), and then headed back to the train. Well...at least we thought we were heading back to the train. Being the adventuresome types that we are, we decided to opt for the more "scenic" route if you will. We walked to the very outskirts of town and then began walking back in the general direction of the train station. Little did we know we were a solid ten minutes too far east (or west) from where the train station actually was.

When did we realize this? Just about fifteen minutes before our train was scheduled to leave. Leigh...in her professional fishing gear shirt and nifty sperry topsiders...was leading the way. We were walking as fast as we could but for some strange reason didn't seem to be getting anywhere. "Well guys..." Yes Leigh? "Time to start running."

Fantastic.

For some unclear reason, we seemed to have gone to Pisa on a day when there was construction EVERYWHERE. Naturally, that left very little room on the street for casual walkers and train sprinters to coexist peacefully. On behalf of all of us, I sincerely apologize to all the kind people we so rudely knocked out of our way...especially that nice family with the two little blonde kids eating gelato, I hope nothing spilled. We ran for a good five minutes from the bridge across the Arno all the way back to Pisa centrale, down the stairs, up some more stairs and finally onto our platform. Our train wasn't there yet. VALIDATE YOUR TICKETS GUYS! Ironically, we had the same conductor going back to Florence as

we did coming to Pisa. He saw my beautifully validated ticket and chuckled a little. At least I learned my lesson. But lets not count our tickets before theyre printed. Once we got back to Florence we still had to catch our bus back to Greve. And, once we were actually on the bus to Greve, we had to make sure we actually got to our destination. An hour and a half later and still not to Greve, we all started to question if we were going to make it back at all, or if our bus driver was lost. Fortunately, in Tuscany, one can go the wrong way down a one way street and not only make it out alive, but also somehow end up exaclty where you need to be.

Seeing the bus stop at Greve after a long convoluted voyage was a lot like seeing home after being at college for too long. Traveling the world on a whim certainly comes with its prices. We all came back with significantly fewer euros in our pockets, alot more sweat drenched into our clothes and a little pinker skin to show for it. From trains and buses and tourist brouchers, the world looks friendly and small. Paintings seem smaller in person and buildings

look a little more worse for the wear. Everything is perfect from far away. But in the grit and grind you remember the little things like the calories we burned running to the train, how delicious water tastes when its 99 degrees outside or how perfectly beautiful a shady cumulus cloud can be.

Thanks for the shade, thanks for the adventure and most of all, thanks Greve for being so wonderful to come "home" to.

I love you, cloud.

Liz

How Does your Light Shine on the Road to Lamole?

Sadly, in the music world the phrase "another day another dollar," isn't quite the philosophy we subscribe to. Instead, we prefer the slightly modified version, "another week another concert." This week's song fest brought us atop a mountain to another lovely place here in Chianti callled Lamole. Much like Greve, Lamole is a sleepy, quaint little town famous for its scenery and of course (these Tuscans being the alchies they are) their wine. While we did enjoy a glass or two of Lamole's finest, most of our time in the town was spent in a little Catholic church performing the works of composers such as Mozart, Mussorgsky and Bolcom. The one thing I will say about Lamole...ITS ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN. This, luckily for us, meant we got to experience something we haven't had the privelege of experiencing in almost two and a half weeks...a nice, hilly breeze. If I left Lamole remembering nothing but that breeze, then my friends, let that be enough. In true Italian fashion, the concert, scheduled to start at nine, commenced fashionably late (around ten). Needless to say...it was a long evening. One would think sleeping in the next day would be a given. Not in Greve, my friends. Every Saturday, round about six thirty a.m. trucks and tents make their way to the little piazza and begin laying a canopy over the sun soaked bricks.

Behold...the Greve market!

Oh how lovely you are, you silk tarps that house precious little knick knacks. But...can't I just sleep for a little while? Not on Leigh's watch! (In her defense, she did give me 'till about ten...which is more than reasonable.) As soon as we stepped outside, there was really only one appropriate thing to do...

Eat.

There were beautiful arrays of vegitation and fruit straight from the Tuscan country side. Green beans, zucchini, onions, tomatoes of course. Even some yellow melon-y things! But...it was Saturday! Healthy eating is like practicing sometimes, and noone practices on the weekends! (uh...that one can stay between us.)

No no, my friends. Instead we chose a much more appropriate Saturday breakfast choice...a jar of nutella. Obviously. As a saving grace, we also bought apples. Every one knows that if you spread nutella on apples, it makes it healthier, right? Right.

But, nutella aside, we still had a whole marketplace at our disposal. And, seeing as it only happens once a week, it would be silly not to take advantage. First stop: The Everything Fried Truck. So I may have made that name up (Leigh says its called the chicken truck) but tomato tomahto, right?

Whatever the name may be, the merchandise in this truck is pure gold. No, actually. Everything had a golden color. Because everything, yes, everything, is fried. We opted for the fried polenta with a side of french fries and, of course fried vegatables. Maybe we were feeling guilty about passing by all that tasty produce earlier. Problem solved! Why all vegetables aren't fried in a tempura batter is simply beyond me. I'm thinking of starting a new "Deep fry your veggies" movement. Slogan: "All the phytonutrients, twice the guilt!"

...it'll catch on.

After our quaint little meal, the next step was naturally to try on clothes. All the shoes at the market were too small for us, so we decided the next closest thing would be to try on ridiculous pants in a variety of colors. Leigh tried on a pair of definite winners, a rusty shade of burnt apricot made out of billowy linen. (She even got to use the sketchy van thing as a dressing room!)

As one may imagine, all that food, so little sleep, and so so many crazy pants made Leigh and Liz two sleepy girls. Most of the afternoon was spent unconcious. Fortunately (as explained in a previous post) mid-day sleeps are perfectly acceptable. Oh Italia, how I love thee!

Next thing on the list...WINE TASTING!

Now, I've never been to an actual wine tasting. After Saturday night...well...I've still never been to an actual wine tasting. What we went to, I'm sure, is one hundred times better. The lovely festa was put on by the chivalrous boys of Greve. And oh how wonderful they are! They did their very best to explain to us the differences between Chianti Classico and Chianti...um...not Classico? That part was lost on me. They also told us the Chianti legend. Something about Siena and Florence and roosters in black boxes. I'll have to take notes next time.

As it was, though, the wine was delicious, though they all started to taste the same to me after wine #3. Eventually, the formalities stopped and the guitars came out. Mario, Tomasso, Simone, Davide and Lorenzo took turns figuring out chord charts while we all struggled to remember the words to Hotel California and a plethora of Beatles songs.

In some evil turn of events, the boys tried to teach me how to make Pasta con Pomodoro, which is really just pasta with tomatoes and onions. Mario laughed at me for how funny I sliced the tomatoes, but judging from the giant scar on my hand, I don't think anyone was surprised that I'm not very skilled with sharp objects.

The night simmered down around two a.m. Fairly successful! Unfortunately, none of us remembered to bring the front door key to our hotel, so we ended up spending the night on the floor up in Casa Nova. Leigh did take snap a few pictures from the 7 a.m walk back, but I've decided to spare my lovely blog the travesty of those less than flattering photos. Now you may think we decided to take it easy and have a nice restful Sunday...but come on now...we're in ITALY! Be prepared for some over the top documentation of the less than fortunate Sunday excursion.

Until then, my friends.

Ciao

Liz

Burgers, Beer and Some Bellini

My lovely friends and family, yesterday started as any other. A morning run through a vinyard, a few hours in a master class, some lessons and coachings and a little practicing for good measure. One of many lovely things I will say about Italian culture is this: "riposo" time is genius. Every day from about 2 to 4, every thing shuts down. Schools, businesses, even some restaurants...entire cities go dark and sleepy Greve is no exception. Naturally I want to immerse myself fully in this way of life, be it linguistically, culinarily or otherwise and...well...it would just be rude not to take part in such an integral part of daily life. I simply don't understand how New York runs without this beautiful glorified nap time. I may have been a bit gluttonous with my riposo, but two and a half hours later and I was raring to go. Lucky me, friend Leigh was way ahead of me.

"Wanna go hiking?"

...um, YES!

Now many of you may think this hiking trip would consist of tranquil dirt paths and trails through vinyards. Leigh and I, however, like the live on the edge (aka we took a wrong turn and ended up hiking along the highway).

Italian. Drivers. Are. Nuts.

They go an average of 90 mph on tiny roads with what can only be called death curves.

fortunately, Leigh and I are quite skilled at pedestrianism and made it through unscathed. Some vespa riders even waved at us...or at least we assumed they were waving, they could just as easily have been angry crude hand gestures meant to scare us off the road. Either way, we took it in stride and excitedly waved back to a few of them.

Greve is a quaint little town in the heart of Tuscany. So quaint, in fact that it tends to get a little eerie. I would call it the Italian equivalent of those little towns you see on fifties TV shows with white picket fences and mom and pop shops that line main street. We decided that Greve must have some sort of dark secret. We theorized that all of the homeless and less fortunate of Greve are hidden underground and left there to make the famous chianti the little town is known for.

Sure enough, we stumbled upon a whole bunch of little well-like thingies. By well like thingie, I mean botomless pits that look like they reach all the way down into the end of the earth

Naturally, I tried to climb down there, but to no avail. I'm sorry oh ye Greve captives...I will not give up the fight!

Of course, as one can imagine, all of that hiking and humanitarianism can get a person pretty hungry...and all we wanted...the only thing in the world we desired...

Burgers.

No pasta need apply.

Now fear not, fellow Americans, we didn't have to sell our first born children in order to make this dream a reality. We found the perfect fix to quell this nearly insatiable craving.

Behold, the pizza burger.

Best. Burger. Ever.

sorry Big Nicks, but this beauty came stacked with fresh ground beef that tasted like salsiccia, two slices of cheese, two slices of fresh tuscan tomatoes and a handful of arugula on grilled ciabatta bread. All bread in Tuscany is saltless, which make the other parts of the burger particularly tasty and special

A burger after a hike like that definitely merited a nice chilly Italian beer.

And, of course, a picture with the lovely chap who made it.

Thank you Greve....

in a BIG way.

A domani, ragazzi

Liz

From Verazzano, With Love

My friends, as is wont to

happen in the music world, by the end of our first short week the time had come for a

concert. Now in America, common emotions that arise during times of performance may in

clude stress, nerves, concerns with what to wear and if we remember all our words. In Italia, these such worries don't seem to exist. Why, you ask? Well, because this concert just so happened to take place in a castle...on top of a mountain. Oh...ya

know...no big deal. Um...WHAT! The view was something I had only really seen on the travel channel and I'd always thought they used T.V magic to make it look perfect. My friends...I was wrong. This place was flawless and it made us feel invincible. Puccini, Mozart, Wagner...No match for the Castle Verazzano. The evening began with a Champagne reception followed by a beautiful concert on the veranda. After the concert of course, is when the real fun began. Being a castle on a vinyard, of course there was a fantastic reception complete with all sorts of Tuscan treats and Verazzano's own wine. Italia...I have arrived. The night was hazy, so pictures will soon follow. A few highlights however..

• Eating fantastic food
• letting wine get the better of me and buying a raffle ticket
• Winning a painting with said raffle ticket...?
• Magically becoming proficient in Italian and convicing the artist to autograph it for me.

For some reason our bus back to Greve from the vinyard wa

s a no show, so we all ended up piling into cars with some of the local Greve boys...I believe ours was named Mario. After a slightly confused bilingual conversation about philosophy we reached Greve...the painting is still taking up space in my room. If anyone has ideas as to how

to ship in home, they are much appreciated.

A domani

Liz

Travels to a Foreign Land as Relayed in a Letter to Simon

Day 1

My dearest love. I am writing you via blackberry on the train from Rome to Florence. Words cannot describe how long this day has been. I will start from the beginning, as time is not a constraint for me at this very moment. My day started with a jolt from my blackberry alarm clock. I was a little sad all night, so sleep was hard to come by. I got out of bed at seven and started this marathon adventure. We packed up the rest of my stuff, struggled with the backpack zippers and headed out. Of course our highway exit was blocked off, alas! Sooner or later we made it to the airport. After checking through with some slightly over friendly security guards, I was on my way to philadelphia. In the seat next to me was a very animated woman heading to Napoli of all places! She asked me how old I was and saw my giant backpack and naturally inquired what I was up to (in a raspy yellow smoker's teeth kinda way). I told her all about our backpacking adventure and she went nuts!(In a good way) we had a great conversation the rest of the flight. Simon, I hope all the people we meet are as animated and caricatury as she was. If they are, I really believe our trip will be even better than we so idealistically fantasize. I made it to philadelphia and got a little lost. I walked a solid mile to and from baggage claim only to walk outside to the international building and check it through again. My layover was six hours. The philadelphia airport is sketchy. I had six whole hours to perfect my lexicon of sketch. (If I have to hear gross men tell me I have pretty eyes one more time I'm going to take the ace bandage off my wrist and glue it to their faces permanent blindfold style.) Fast forward Six hours later...on the plane to roma! Smallest. Plane. Ever. I was sitting next to a rather tall guy to exacerbate this limited claustrophobic cargo carrier they shoved us in. The good news...the guy was cute. The bad news...he didn't understand a word I was saying. At first I though he was just weird, eventually I figured out there was a smidge of a language barrier when he whipped out what I'm sure must be the italian equivalent of war and peace. Eight cramped hours later...plane landed! Woot! I hate when people clap after landings by the way...its just weird. Oh, I forgot to mention the currency exchange lady and I made friends! She asked me to sing for her...it was awkward. Then she went off on a tangent about how she wanted to go home to Bei Jing. Eventually I had to just take my money and go. Anyhoo, Rome. Get to airport. Try to look like a badass. Follow clueless people. Eventually get to baggage claim. Get bag. This was a celebration in itself considering italian airports are not good with the whole "we have your luggage" thing. Walked around for a while looking for the train from the airport that would take me to the train station. I was told specificallly several times it was a train. What do I do? Get on a bus. Ugh. A few brief seconds of "liz what the f*** are you thinking" and the bus was moving. Ah well, it is what it is, just ride this confusion train (er...bus) and let the chips fall where they may. The first stop was definitely not the train station and I wa scared stiff when two ladies started clawing at eachother. The good news? I understood all their curse words. By some miracle of God, Romulus and Remus (there are posters of those two crazy kids everywhere) I ended up at roma termini (the train station). VICTORY! Kinda. Finding a ticket in that place is like searching for the holy grail having been given only Dumbledore's sorting hat and a map of the lost city of atlantis. After consulting almost every passer by who spoke even a little English...I got a ticket to florence. Don't ask me how, its a moment in my life I'd rather keep hidden in my deep dark past (aka some british girl helped me). I'm now here on treno 9520 to firenze passing through the hazy roman country side. I haven't slept since sunday and have only eaten two apples in over 24 hours. I'm sweaty, gross and messy but I feel more alive and real than I ever have before. I can't wait to share this with you. Love and miss you madly.

Ti amo

A blog is a blog is a blog is a blog

Dear friends, family, and lizards alike,

I have created this blog of sorts to document my journeys on this lovely continent I get to call home for five lovely weeks. I shall miss you all and hope this will keep us in touch. While I'm away, I will blog every day and send all my travels to you.

love and nutella

Liz