Italy Archives - Page 2 of 3

Finding Hidden Italy in Le Marche

Photo By: Heather von Bargen — Morning Fog

A founding legend of Italy’s Le Marche region says that in the early Iron Age (Ninth century BC), a group of the Italic Sabines headed west, over the Apennine mountains. They were part of an ancient ritual, ver sacrum, or sacred spring, whereby all the babies born in the spring after a year of hardship were consecrated to the god of Mars. As children, they lived under Mars’ protection as sacrani. When they reached adulthood, they were sent away from their community to establish a new one elsewhere, guided by a spirit animal sacred to Mars. Strabo tells us that a woodpecker (picus in Latin) guided these sacrani to their new destiny in southern Marche.

Another legend relates that some Pelasgians, ancient Greeks, coming from the North, asked Mars to give them a sign after not finding a suitable place to stay. A woodpecker appeared. Following it, they were led to a fertile place to settle in Le Marche.

Le Marche, the Italian plural word for the Marches, means borderlands, and served as a buffer zone between the Papal States and their northern neighbors. This diverse area bordered by the Apennine mountains, Umbria and Tuscany to the West; the Adriatic to the East; Emilia-Romagna to the North; and Abruzzo to the South, is worth seeking out.

Medieval hilltop towns overlook the rolling countryside of patchwork farms and woods. A heritage of high-quality craftsmanship permeates the area known for its ironwork; shoe manufacturing, (Tod’s is headquartered here); and papermaking, (Euro bank notes are printed in Fabriano); to mention but a few. Twenty-five villages have been designated as borghi più belli d’Italia, (the most beautiful villages in Italy) and host frequent festivals and reenactments.

Le Marche has fewer tourists, friendly locals, 400 museums, 200 Romanesque churches, 150 castles, and 33 archeological sites. Ten percent of the territory is protected as parks and preserves. Excellent local meats, seafood, cheeses, pastas, produce, truffles, and wines add to the allure.

A complicated history; competing and changing loyalties; mountainous terrain; rivers that challenged north-south travel; a tenant farming culture that encouraged independence; and ingrained humility; all combine to make Le Marche today: Italy’s best-kept secret.

My husband Matt and I went in off-off-season February. We were not there to visit Urbino, the UNESCO World Heritage Renaissance city in northern Marche, or to swim in the dazzling Adriatic, or to hike in the mountains. We had planned to do all of that in the spring but pushed up our trip because I had seen an ad for a restored farmhouse on eight acres at a reasonable price and we wanted to see it.

Savvy travelers rent vacation homes in Le Marche lured by the peaceful countryside, relaxing atmosphere, and incredible views. We prequalified for an Italian mortgage in case we found a home that we could enjoy in our spare time and rent out to visitors.

Online pictures of Le Marche showed impossible blue skies, paper-white clouds, and vibrant sunflowers. I assumed they had been photoshopped. Thick gray clouds threatened rain as we drove the two-and-a half hours from Rome to our Airbnb in Loro Piceno in south-central Marche.

Below us, wispy fog wafted in the valley. On either side, sloping squares of green and brown fields were bordered by olive trees. Smoke curled upwards from chimneys. A neighbor’s dog barked occasionally. Magpies darted about, landing on nearby trees. The cold, clean air carried the promise of the nearby Adriatic.

During our week in Le Marche we encountered no other tourists. We found generous residents, resilient and recovering from three earthquakes that struck the region in 2016. We found hilltop villages with medieval secrets. We found an almost reverential respect for the environment. We found ancient Roman ruins right by the main road. We found honest, delicious food and unpretentious wines at affordable prices. We found warm welcomes. The guys at Saputi, a winery where we showed up unannounced, who made us sandwiches and taught us about local wines. Gabriele at Osteria Scherzi a Parte who made an international toast to us with his entire restaurant. Palmira at Ristorante Casa Mia who, after a four-hour lunch, hugged and kissed us goodbye and ordered us to come back.

Three months later, in early May, we returned to Le Marche. It was almost evening and Matt and I were unpacking in the farmhouse we had initially traveled to see, having bought it earlier that day. We heard a noise from outside. Rhythmic and insistent, almost urgent. I looked out the window. A stubborn woodpecker was pecking away at the eave above our bedroom.

The Best Souvenirs are not Things

In Umbria, the green heart of Italy, my husband Matt and I took a cooking class with Wendy Aulsebrook at the Antonelli San Marco winery. We learned how to hand-roll fresh pasta dough, flip a frittata without making a mess, and how easy it is to roast a delicious chicken. We brought Wendy’s cookbook of Umbrian recipes and techniques home with us.

Italians eat frittate all day long, warm when freshly cooked, then at room temperature. Since we’ve returned from Umbria, I make frittate weekly, using any leftover vegetables and herbs I have on hand. It’s an easy dinner when nothing else is thawed, and a treat for breakfast. Every time I put my plastic cutting board on the frittata pan, flip it over, and slide the frittata cleanly back in the pan, I think of Wendy, our cooking class, and Umbria.

A few weeks ago, I looked through Wendy’s cookbook for a dessert recipe. Crostata di Filomena, (Filomena’s Jam Tart) looked not-terribly-difficult. After mixing flour, eggs, olive oil, vanilla, baking powder, lemon zest, and sugar by hand to make dough, I kneaded the mess until it became a mass. I rolled it on my pastry board for what felt like a good workout, and then stretched the dough in my tart pan. I spooned organic blueberry jam from Costco atop the crust. Matt helped me roll out and cut the decoration strips for the top. Thirty minutes later, I took the tart out of the oven and tried a tiny slice to make sure we could serve it to our company.

Filomena’s Jam Tart was half-eaten by the time I thought to take a picture of it. It was crisp, flavorful, all natural, and not too sweet. The leftovers did not last long. If we had not taken Wendy’s class, I might have seen a recipe like this and thought it was too much effort. Who knew there was a right way to roll dough? Well, probably many people. But I was not one of them until we traveled to Umbria and took a cooking class.

I wear my Antonelli souvenir apron when I cook, but the memento that means more to me is my old towel that Wendy taught us to hang from our apron strings, or the emails I still exchange with her. I dry my hands on the towel and think of the sun setting over the vineyards. My favorite keepsakes are things I have learned because I’ve traveled, the imprint my journeys have made on my personality, and the friends I’ve made along the way.

Wendy’s Onion frittata recipe:

2 small white onions
6 eggs, preferably organic free-range
2 Tablespoons (40 g) freshly grated Parmesan cheese. (Please do not use the green can.)
Salt & Pepper to taste
1 Tablespoon (20 ml) Extra Virgin Olive Oil

(Can substitute onions for vegetables such as: tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, mushrooms, potatoes, asparagus, peas, artichokes)

Prepare ingredients:
Peel onions, slice in half lengthwise and then slice finely.
Break eggs into a medium-sized bowl and beat with a fork for 1 minute.
Add parmesan, salt and pepper; beat.

Cook frittata:
Heat olive oil in a 9” or 24 cm pan.
Fry the onions over medium heat for 2-3 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon. Then add enough water just to cover the base of the pan. This ensures the onions are well cooked and prevents them from burning.
Continue to sauté until the onions are soft and golden, about 5-10 minutes.

Remove pan from heat and add the beaten eggs.
Return pan to heat and cook over a medium heat stirring gently with a wooden spoon for 5-6 minutes, or until set. (I use a small spatula.)
Loosen the frittata from pan by running a spatula around its edge.

Remove pan from heat, place a large flat plate or flat lid over pan, and hold the two together firmly and turn over in one swift movement.

Return pan to heat; slide frittata into pan so that the cooked side remains uppermost. Cook for a further 5 minutes.

To serve: Transfer the frittata onto a serving plate and serve either hot or at room temperature.

Frittata with aromatic herbs: substitute the onion with 1 clove or garlic, peeled and finely sliced, and 1 sprig each of the following herbs: basil, parsley, thyme, and marjoram. Wash, dry, and finely chop the leaves of the herbs. Add garlic and herbs to the beaten eggs.
Cook according to recipe above.

Buon appetito!

Visit Italy’s Smallest Pasta Factory

On every package of their artisanal pasta, the Martelli family invites visitors to tour their small factory in Lari, Italy. In this medieval village 19 miles southeast of Pisa, the family has made pasta with passion and tradition since 1926.

My husband Matt and I accepted the invitation and drove the bucolic roads in the Pisan hills to Lari where the 11^th century Castello dei Vicari dominated the town center. Across the narrow stone street from the castle, the three-story tall yellow Martelli building was impossible to miss.

We had made an appointment with third-generation Luca Martelli. When we arrived he was operating the pasta cutter in the foyer. In his forties, he wore glasses, yellow overalls, and a baseball cap that gave him a youthful appearance. Long spaghetti noodles draped over rods advanced on a conveyor belt, were cut in half, and expelled from the machine. Luca expertly guided the freshly-cut noodles into an old wooden box.

“Ciao, Benvenuti!” Luca greeted us. He turned the machine off and held up a spaghetti strand to show us a slight bend at the end, similar to a shepherd’s crook, from where the noodle had dried over the rod. “That’s how you can tell if pasta is handcrafted,” he said. “If it has a bend, someone put it through a cutter. Spaghetti that is straight and all the same length is mass-produced.”

Luca handed me the pasta strand. “Here,” he said, “you can feel it.” The noodle felt coarse, almost like sandpaper. “That texture is what makes our pasta so special,” he said.

Next he hefted a circular bronze die through which the pasta is slowly extruded. “This makes the pasta rough and increases the porosity. It holds sauce much better.” To save time and increase production, industrial pasta makers use teflon or brass, which renders noodles smooth so that sauces slide off. “That is one thing we do differently,” Luca said.

He led us down a few stairs and through a door to the two-story pasta making room. The heat and humidity blasted us. “Ciao! Benvenuti!” An older man, dressed in a yellow jumpsuit, grinned and approached us. Luca introduced us to his father, Dino, who took us to the far end of the room towards the extruder. It was Tuesday, spaghetti day.

Spaghetti noodles descended from the extruder above our heads to below our feet, looking like a twenty-foot long blonde wig. The attached pasta machine cut the long noodles and hung them over rods that moved forward on a conveyor through the pre-dryer. After the pasta was pre-dried, Dino lifted and placed the rods in three rows on a trolley.

“There are only two ingredients in our pasta,” Luca said. “Italian hard durum wheat semolina and local water. A nearby mill grinds our specially sourced grain to our specifications. Here, we knead the wheat slowly with cold water to Dino’s instructions.”

“Our philosophy,” Dino told us, “is to produce high quality pasta in low quantities.” Only family members work every aspect of production, keeping it small. “We make in one year what Barilla manufactures in three hours,” Luca added.

For 87 years, the Martellis made only four pasta shapes: Spaghetti; Spaghettini; Luca’s favorite, Maccheroni di Toscana; and le Penne Classiche. Martelli Pasta is the only factory that creates penne without ridges. Their noodles do not need the texture provided by the “rigate” to hold sauces. In 2013, they added Fusilli di Pisa. The spiral, resembling the leaning tower, celebrates the tradition of pasta making in the area.

Luca wheeled a trolley of pre-dried spaghetti into an elevator and pushed the up button. The three of us climbed up the stairs to meet it. When we reached the second floor, the humidity stifled us even more than in the production room. Luca brought the trolley to a hallway lined with drying rooms. He opened a door, turned off a large fan in the drying room so he could push the trolley in to dry.

“Drying pasta slowly at low temperatures is another thing we do differently,” Luca said. “We dry our pasta at 91-95º Fahrenheit for 50 hours, depending on the weather.” In contrast, industrial pasta dries in ovens for about five hours at 212º Fahrenheit. Slow drying at low temperatures enriches the grain flavor, improves digestibility, and enhances the pasta’s texture so it’s harder to overcook.

He turned the fan back on, checked the temperature and humidity of the dryers, and showed us the date stamp on a drying room door was 1969. “Our pasta machine is from Eisenhower’s era,” Luca said. “The elevator cable is from an American truck from World War Two. We maintain our equipment every August when the factory closes for two weeks.”

Luca took us downstairs, through the pasta cutting area, and across an alley to the packaging building. Shelves filled with pasta reached the ceiling. Mario, Laura, Lorenzo, Chiara, and Giacomo, all dressed in yellow shirts, hand-weighed, packaged, and boxed spaghetti in Martelli’s distinctive yellow paper packets. “Yellow is the traditional color of this area,” Luca explained. “Blue boxes were common elsewhere but in this region, pasta was always wrapped in yellow paper. We carry on that tradition.”

The Martellis don’t sell their pasta directly to the public. A list of worldwide importers is displayed on the door of the packaging building, and a shop in Lari around the corner from the Martelli buildings carries their pastas. They export as far away as Hong Kong, South Africa, and the United States. Award stickers adhered to the window illustrate the demand and honor for Martelli pasta.

“Can you join us for lunch?” Luca asked. “We’d be honored,” I said. He brought us to the yellow Martelli family home across the alley. Luca’s mother Lucia was preparing pork cutlets in the kitchen. Luca ushered us to the patio, just off the kitchen, overlooking their backyard and the Tuscan countryside.

Dino came outside and took us around the backyard to a door which led to a brick terrace. To our left was an old city gate. The Castello dei Vicari loomed on our right. The Martelli home was built along the fortified city wall. Dino demonstrated how defenders on the terrace would have shot at intruders.

Dino brought us inside to the eat-in kitchen where a steaming pot of spaghettini sat on the big table. Chiara, Mario, Dino, Matt, and I sat and Lucia scooped generous portions of spaghettini into bowls. “Buon Appetito!” She said.

Lucia’s spaghettini tasted earthy and delicious with a firm texture. I asked how she made it.

“It’s just spaghettini with olive oil, thinly sliced clams, garlic, and a little parsley,” She said. For secondi she served the pork cutlets with lentils and a salad. Chiara gave us the Italian secret for staying trim.

“We eat pasta and a bigger meal at lunch and have a light dinner, always fresh food,” she said. “And of course, we work all day.”

After lunch, we bought eleven pounds of Martelli pasta to bring home. When that’s gone, I will order more on www.gustiamo.com. When my yellow bag arrives, I’ll know who packaged it and why it is so flavorful.

For More Information:
Martelli Pasta
Via dei Pastifici, 3
56035 Lari
www.martelli.info
Tel. +39 0587.68.42.38

Where to Find Idyllic Italy Without Tourists

If you drive two hours northwest from Rome you’ll find rolling hills striped with grapevines, delicious local cuisine, medieval hilltop towns, Renaissance art, and no tourists in the off-season. You’re not in Tuscany, but it’s southern neighbor, Umbria, Italy’s green heart.

Landlocked in the center of Italy, Umbria is a region of scattered jewels rather than one giant gemstone. The region’s capital, Perugia, has a rich artistic and cultural heritage. Assisi is the burial place of St. Francis and a pilgrimage town. In March, my husband Matt and I went to the countryside near Montefalco to relax, drink wine, cook Umbrian food, and make chocolate.

Travelers, especially Americans, overlook this idyllic Italy. Indeed, after the 2016 earthquakes that struck Amatrice (a two-hour drive from Montefalco) and Norcia (a one-hour drive), even Italian tourists avoided the area. Almost all of Italy is a seismic risk at some level. Before leaving, we registered with the State Department’s Smart Traveler Enrollment Program, just in case.

We rented a house for a week at Casale Satriano in the vineyards of the Antonelli San Marco winery. Views of grapevines, olive groves, and rolling hills greeted us at every turn. Distant hilltop towns defined by their towers surrounded us. Only birdsong and the occasional tractor broke the silence. A resident cat adopted us and brushed up against my leg each evening when the sun cast a golden glow over the valley at sunset.

Montefalco was an easy five-minute drive. We parked outside the city walls and walked up to the charming piazza fronted by restaurants and shops that offered olive oil and wine tastings. At Oro Rosso, we shared a local lasagna to start followed by turkey for Matt, and pigeon with guinea fowl for me, all homemade, all fresh local ingredients. The wine, of course, was excellent, and all were reasonably priced.

Corks threaded on strings hung from the doorway to La Scimmia, the local bar a quarter-mile walk up from our apartment. Wine for sale lined one wall, snacks on another. One gentleman sliced cheese and meat for sandwiches and made coffees. He insisted on sampling us a tasty cheese platter to try with our espressos. The wine by the glass was excellent and I thought I mistranslated the price we paid for it all. No, it really was that inexpensive.

Antonelli San Marco, Cucina in Cantina, Montefalco, Umbria

Australian Wendy Aulsebrook runs Antonelli San Marco’s Cucina in Cantina program. We met Wendy and her associate Leonella our first evening, having reserved a wine dinner. Luckily we were the only guests this time of year. Over salumi made from the winery’s free-range pigs, then homemade farro pasta from local organic wheat, Wendy recommended restaurants and wine bars in neighboring villages to try.

Once nearly extinct, winemakers in Montefalco revived the indigenous Sagrantino grape in the 1970s. By 1992, Sagrantino di Montefalco wine had acquired the highest government quality ranking of DOCG. The dark, full-bodied red is made with 100% Sagrantino grapes and ages well. Area producers also make white wines from the local grapes Grechetto and Trebbiano Spoletino, and blend Sagrantino with Sangiovese to make Montefalco Rosso.

The next day we lunched at Wendy-recommended Osteria Antiche Sere in Bevagna, a beautiful medieval riverside town. After a walk through Bevagna, we drove to Spello, an ancient walled village with views over the plain. We ended up at Drinking Wine, a wine bar Wendy liked. In the middle of the day, off-season, we had it to ourselves.

L’Alchimista in Montefalco became our favorite restaurant. Too cold to eat dinner on the piazza, we ate indoors, which quickly packed with locals. Not only were we the only Americans, we were the only tourists. Fresh butter and wild sage ravioli was our highlight, although Matt loved his hand-chopped hamburger. We returned for lunch and ordered the ravioli again, it was that good.

We were given a souvenir apron with our cooking class and I use it often. It has long ties that Wendy taught us to cinch in the front to tuck a towel into so you can always dry your hands. We learned how to make an onion frittata, (without burning the onions) and fresh pasta. Rosemary focaccia’s dents are from pressing it out with fingertips. The best roasted chicken I’ve had, zucchini sauce for the pasta, red wine cookies, panna cotta, and potatoes with vegetables rounded out our meal. Paired with fantastic Antonelli wines, of course!

In Spoleto, an ancient hill town known for its Romanesque architecture and arts festival, we encountered tourists for the first time. Spoleto is a larger city with historic sights galore. We were on a mission to find a scolapasta, a pasta colander basket Wendy and Leonella had used. We trudged up steep narrow lanes amid dozens of small souvenir shops, none of which had a scolapasta. We found one instead in a tiny store outside Montefalco’s city walls.

We received another apron at the chocolate-making class we took at the Perugina factory’s Chocolate School near Perugia. For three hours we made chocolate truffles and bars (and a huge mess) at our stations in the kitchen. The chef spoke Italian but we understood enough to leave with 36 truffles each and two kilos of chocolate bars. Afterwards, we toured the factory and stocked up on my favorite Baci chocolate kisses at their shop.

The Paolo Bea family has roots in Montefalco that date back to the 1500s. Today, under Giampiero Bea’s direction, they make highly-esteemed natural wines “by observing and listening to nature.” They use only indigenous yeasts; they don’t use any chemicals or additives, and don’t accelerate the winemaking process. Their respect for nature extends to the cantina— Giampiero designed their beautiful new winery to let air circulate through the building. As a small producer reliant on the weather, their production is limited—each bottle is numbered. But their wines are worth seeking out, much like Umbria.

Erica in Italia drives in Sicilia

Tree branches scraped the side of my brand new rental car. I was driving on the shoulder, partly to avoid huge potholes, partly to avoid colliding with oncoming traffic. Twenty minutes into my drive to my agriturismo near Vittoria, I surmised that Sicilians had their own driving rules.

The center line, if visible, was merely decoration and crossed by traffic in both directions of the two-lane highway. Hugging the shoulder meant a car passing either way was less likely to hit me. If I stayed in the middle, cars would fly past me on the right shoulder, while oncoming autos approached in my lane. At one point, I closed my eyes and hoped I would not crash.

Driving had been my biggest fear traveling solo to Sicily. I have terrible navigation skills, I cannot parallel park, and don’t like driving. I had confident-sounding GPS, roadside assistance, and if I damaged the car, I’d pay, at most, 1200€. Nothing to worry about, I kept telling myself, eyes glued to the road. Just do what everyone else is doing.

So I drove on the shoulder. I careened around corners. I sped much faster than a reasonable person should given the road conditions and the warnings of radio-controlled speed monitors. An hour later I pulled into the gates of my peaceful agriturismo, Baglio Occhipinti.

The next day I drove ten minutes, an easy four turns on three roads, for my appointment at COS Vittoria, where Giusto and Joanna showed me how they make their amazing biodynamic wines. Giusto invited me to lunch with him, an offer I would never refuse, even though it meant I would have to follow him to the restaurant.

For a half-hour I kept my eyes on Giusto’s Fiat 500 as we drove up the mountain to Ristorante Majore in Chiaramonte Gulfi. I sped around switchbacks and slowed down for stop signs until we reached the city piazza where, as luck would have it, we pulled into two adjoining parking spots.

The next day, Google maps had me turn very sharply left and up into what I thought was a gravel driveway. I had been on a normal two-lane road. “You are on the best route,” she told me as if sensing my skepticism. I was headed to an appointment with another winery, Valle dell’ Acate, and not wanting to be late, I turned. I reached the top of the hill and was surrounded by fields. The day before, Giusto and I had taken a farm road out of his winery, but his was level. This road was bouldered, rutted, pot-holed, and in many spots, missing. I bumbled along slowly and heard the unmistakable sound of my car undercarriage scraping rocks.

After one nasty stretch, I looked at the GPS. Several kilometers to go. I considered turning around but there was no place to do so without ending up entangled in grapevines, and I did not think I could get back without damaging the car. I calculated how long it would take roadside assistance to find me.

I saw a car approaching in the rearview mirror behind the dust my Audi was kicking up. Oh good, I thought, if my car gets stuck, they can help me, the road was too narrow for them to pass. Instead, he tailgated and honked furiously. I crept to an area I could pull over and he shot past me.

Finally, white-knuckled and bone-jarred, I arrived. Oddly, there was no sign for the winery. I looked behind me and saw that it faced the other way. Google maps had sent me the back way.

The next day I got lost trying to find my Airbnb in Agrigento. I parked illegally in a piazza until my kind host arrived to fetch me. I then spent one hour trying to find the parking lot 500 meters from my Airbnb. I maneuvered though the market, navigated one-ways in a warren of narrow chaotic lanes, and remembered Sicily’s famous painted carts. These roads were once mule and donkey cart paths.

The next day, I parked illegally three times, getting the hang of Sicily’s rhythm, and optimistic that on a holiday weekend I would not get a ticket. I headed north for Erice, never so relieved to drive the autostrada, a four-lane highway.

I ascended steep switchbacks to Erice, grateful the Europcar lady upsold me to an automatic transmission. I got lost despite directions from my host, Massimo who came to find me. I would follow him through the tiny lanes of Erice to a legal parking spot. Thankfully, the Audi had distance sensors that emitted beeps from all directions in a variety of tones as I wended my way though improbably tight corners and narrow streets.

My joy at successfully parking on the left side of the street turned to dismay when I opened my door and it hit the curb. Crunch. Massimo winced. I looked down, two tiny scratches in the paint. I mentally noted to try covering them up with my Sharpie marker.

The car had twelve miles of fuel remaining when I returned it at the Palermo airport. I never had to put gas in it, my fuel option choice ended up being a good one. I took pictures of the car, in case they charged me for damage. The two camouflaged scratches were imperceptible. I never had to parallel park. And now that I’ve driven in Sicily, I can do just about anything.

Benvenuta a Sicilia

My arrival in Catania, Sicily did not bode well. I hauled my bags back and forth in the airport arrivals terminal searching for Europcar. Hertz and Avis were represented, but no sign of Europcar. In my best Italian I asked the woman at the information desk. Of her rapid-fire, Sicilian-accented response, I understood “outside, and to the right.” I exited the terminal to the right, strode past hopeful taxi drivers, and when the sidewalk ended, continued down the street, thankful it was not raining.

I finally spotted a green Europcar sign on a bleak-looking building near a parking lot. Rather unusually, I did not have to wait in line. Carla helped me with my reservation. She asked where was I planning to drive in Sicilia. I recited my itinerary: near Vittoria, then west to Agrigento, then north to Erice, returning the car at Palermo’s airport. “Che belli,” she said, “Brava.”

Rather than the Fiat 500 or similar I had reserved, would I like to upgrade to a brand-new Audi A3? “We just received it today. It’s an automatic,” she said, “it will be good for your drive.” I told her I could drive a stick-shift, but was intrigued by the Audi. How much more? Allora, well, we have a special promotion, it’s only 20€ more per day. Sì Sì, va bene, that’s fine. I caved in. My last Fiat 500 was sufficient, but something with faster acceleration might come in handy in Sicily.

She tried to upsell me on a roadside assistance package. “Of course, even without a package, if anything happens with the car, just call this number. We will still help you.” When I declined the highway-robbery priced one, she talked me into an option that for the low price of 3€ a day, waived any charges if Europcar had to come to my rescue for an event I had caused, such as locking the keys inside it. Sì Sì, va bene.

The fuel tank option was next. I had an early flight out of Palermo. In fact, I would be returning the car before Europcar opened—and was paying an additional 45€ for that privilege. I asked her if the gas stations would be open that early in the morning. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, “I am not familiar with Palermo.” She told me their price for diesel was very good. Not taking any chances with an early-morning flight, I capitulated. Sì Sì, va bene.

I had already reserved the medium-level protection package that provided 50,000€ insurance and reduced my liability to around 1200€ if I totaled the car. That amount seemed manageable given that I was terrified of driving in Sicily. It would hurt but not too much. Carla tried to get me to the premium level. No, No, grazie. I suspected that in me she had seen a first-time driver in Sicily, a tired, lone, American woman, and thought I was her ticket to win the internal contest for the number of upsells to a single client.

She presented me with an addendum to sign, written in English and Italian. I agreed to always lock the car; never to leave it unattended; always leave it overnight it in a gated, supervised lot; and never leave any valuables in it. I raised my eyebrows. “It’s perfectly normal for Catania,” she said, as if her explanation made me feel any better. I signed it, my fear of driving in Sicily escalating to downright anxiety.

She handed me the key. “It may be in stall number three,” she told me. “Ask one of my colleagues at the lot.” I walked to the parking lot that was shared by several rental agencies. Still dragging my bags, I looked for Europcar. After several minutes, I spotted a Europcar trailer. Reaching it, I could not find stall three. I left my heavy bags outside and entered the trailer.

Two male employees were engaged in a heated discussion that I guessed was about soccer. They did not stop when I entered. I stood at the counter, evidently not conversation-stopping gorgeous. Finally one of them turned to me in abject annoyance. I inquired in Italian where I might find the black Audi A3. He looked at my documents. “Number three,” he said, as if I could not read. “And where is number three?” I asked. He pointed in the direction I had just arrived.

I walked out, retrieved my luggage, and backtracked to the elusive numero tre, which, when I eventually found it, was not my Audi A3. I walked up and down the aisle, unlocking the Audi’s doors with the keys, I popped the trunk, unwilling to break the silence with the panic alarm. Finally, down and over a row, I found my Audi A3.

Mirrors adjusted, radio off, and navigation set, I drove out of my stall and tried to ascertain how to exit the fenced-in lot. No signs or arrows provided a clue. I turned left and drove down the narrow aisle until it ended. Reversing, I made a five-point turnaround surrounded by rental cars. The Audi’s distance sensors shrieked. I cannot get into an accident before I’ve left the parking lot, I thought. Thirty minutes in Sicilia, I was ready to leave it.

I drove the maze of aisles in the parking lot. A kind-looking gentleman smiled at me and pointed to my left. I waved grazie and took the exit.

15 Things to Know to Rock Your Trip to Italy

Italian women stride on cobblestones in stilettos but you lack that skill. Save your ankles and wear comfortable walking shoes.

Italians dress like it’s their job. Leave your shorts and sweatpants home.

Dress modestly to enter churches. Your knees and shoulders should be covered; shorts and baseball caps are not allowed, and no stilettos on the marble please.

Please, seriously, use your inside voice. Don’t be that loud American. You’ll make us all look bad. If you think I’m silly, listen to the Americans at any restaurant in Italy.

Expect everything to take a little longer. You’ll be pleasantly surprised if it does not. I have twice waited for more than an hour to get our pre-reserved rental car. It averages at least 15 minutes. They don’t do the “Gold Canopy” walk to your car and drive away.

Be careful when crossing streets in big cities. Pedestrian crosswalks are just decoration. Make eye contact with drivers before walking into the street.

Trains are generally reliable, clean, and a great way to get between cities. Check schedules and buy tickets at Trenitalia.com.

Pack washcloths if you use them. Try E-Z Towels that expand with water. B & Bs and some hotels probably won’t have them.

Check the opening hours of museums you plan to visit. Most of them close one day a week. Buy advance tickets online to avoid lines. For the Last Supper, get a guide. You’ll only have 15 minutes there and the guide will make the most of that time.

Go to a market! But don’t buy scarves or handbags there thinking they are Made in Italy. More likely, Made in China. Get almonds or pistachios instead!

Go to the grocery store for snacks and souvenirs. Pick up Italian olives, sea salt, pasta, cheeses, coffee, wines, chocolate, candy, nuts, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Pocket Coffee (trust me), spice mixes, limoncello, risotto, pesto, honey, and tomatoes.

You’ll see a cord hanging in bathrooms. I’ve been told it’s in case of emergency, so don’t pull it unless you’ve fallen and can’t get up. Just in case…

You’ll probably see a towel warmer in the bathroom too. Not only is having a warm towel the best thing ever, it’s also great to dry your laundry on.

Download a translation app. I’ve used Collins Italian-English for years.

I’ll cover Food in Italy separately but you’ll definitely want the Italian Food Decoder so you know what you’re ordering.

Head for the Hills in Italy

If you’re headed to a city, especially the ones I featured last time, I highly recommend that you also visit a nearby region to give you a best-of-both-worlds experience. You don’t have to speak Italian to enjoy it, you’ll get a more authentic feel for the place, and in our experience, it’s always less expensive than the city.

Vineyards at Villa Monteleone, in the Valpolicella Wine Region

After a visit to Venice, rent a car and hit the highway E70 west to the Valpolicella Wine Region for a few days. You don’t have to love wine to enjoy this area. The people here are friendly, the towns pretty, the food phenomenal. But the wines are AMAZING. It’s only an hour or so by car and a pretty easy drive. We went in March. It was cold and rainy the entire time. We still had a great trip.

We stayed at Villa Monteleone and you should too. It’s in a great location, quiet and overlooking Lucia’s vineyards. It is super-comfortable, reasonably priced, and Lucia is an excellent hostess. She’ll recommend where to eat, make reservations for you, and every restaurant will be terrific. You are free to roam her vineyards, and try (and buy) her wines. Lucia will help you make appointments with other winemakers or arrange other activities in the area.

You do not need to speak Italian to enjoy what is probably the most memorable and fabulous meal I’ve ever had. We drove in the rain up a mountain, (it was probably just a hill), and were relieved to find the owner Natalina still serving lunch at Trattoria Da Nicola. They have no website, +39 045 776 0180 is her phone number. Please go. I will not forgive you if you visit this area without dining here. We have told all of our friends that if we win the lottery, we are taking them here for dinner. I spoke no Italian when we came and Natalina did not speak much English. She’ll just cook you what she thinks is good and you will love it!

A stay in this area puts you close to Lake Garda with its diversions and beauty. You can also fly out of Milan, which is usually cheaper and has more flights.

Speaking of Milan… We did the opposite structure for our trip to the Langhe hills near Alba. We spent 6 days in the Langhe and a weekend in Milan. We had met a winemaker from this famed food and wine region and tucked away the notion of visiting this beautiful UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We stayed at Ada Nada and again, you should too. Anna Lisa has rooms in the main agriturismo building, but she also has a small casa up in the vineyards that we rented. I would get up early, drink coffee and take pictures from the patio. We ended our days drinking wine on the patio with a sublime sunset view.

Anna Lisa will give you a tour her family’s winery. She can also make dinner reservations, suggest activities, and her breakfasts are terrific!

She recommended we visit Silvio Pistone and his sheep. Silvio is a shepherd who makes wonderful natural cheese. We met him and his sheep, an endangered species native to the Langhe, and enjoyed a cheese tasting meal in Silvio’s fairy tale cottage. (Read my published story about Silvio here.) He speaks very little English but guides can translate for you.

Small independent wineries dot the landscape and are open for tastings. It’s better to email the ones you want to visit in advance for appointments, although depending on the time of year, you may be able to show up. This story reveals some of our favorites in the area. Every town has an enoteca where you can try hyperlocal wines. If you prefer to leave the driving to someone else, you can hire Piedmont Food & Wine Tours or Sonia Speroni.

Alba smells like chocolate. It is home to the Ferrero factory where they make Nutella and other confections. Alba has a large market on Saturday mornings, and, like the rest of the region, Alba boasts high-quality restaurants. The SlowFood movement was born in this area, and Alba hosts the White Truffle Fair each fall. If you’re into food, wine, and gorgeous scenery, this is your place.

When we told some Italian friends we were going to Grottaferrata for a weekend they looked at each other quizzically and asked us why. Forty minutes by car from Rome and convenient to Rome’s Fiumicino airport, Grottaferrata is a hill town with views of olive trees and grape vines in the foreground and Rome in the background.

We stayed at Tenuta Cusmano, as should you. Maurizio there is a gem and will take excellent care of you. Tenuta Cusmano is peaceful and gorgeous, with a garden area around the outdoor pool. Just off the main road through town, yet silent at night, and the views of Rome are stellar.

Maurizio suggested we drive around the nearby lakes and see Castel Gandolfo, the Pope’s summer residence, although Pope Francis did not use it. (In October 2016 it ceased being a Papal residence and is now a museum.) Maurizio recommended where to eat local foods, where the best views were, and even where to park.

Wine has been made in this area since the 5^th century BCE. Frascati is the local white wine made here, enriched by the volcanic soil. We could have toured wineries in the area but instead, we drank it paired with fabulous seafood. We had such a great lunch at La Cavola d’Oro we returned the following evening for dinner. If you’re looking for a place to enjoy a three hour lunch and espresso, avoid tourist crowds, and get a glimpse into Italian life, head for the hills near Grottaferrata.

Buon viaggio!

Venice, Florence, Milan, or Rome?

What cities should I visit in Italy?

My snapshots of the big four will help you narrow it down.

Venezia is my favorite “big” city in Italy, but that’s because we usually go in the dead of winter when there are no crowds. Nicknamed La Serenissima, the most serene, no other city compares. It’s so quiet without car noise. Church bells, dogs barking, and the occasional boat motor punctuate the silence.

We don’t do touristy things. We get lost, we watch the garbage guys haul trash to boats, we watch residents dance tango Thursday nights in the campo (square). If your version of Venice happens in the high season or if you are hell-bent on seeing all of the sights in one visit, you’ll have a different experience. Twenty million tourists visit Venice annually. Try to go when they’re not.

Venice has six districts (sestiere). St. Mark’s Basilica, the Bridge of Sighs, the Palazzo Ducale and the Piazza San Marco are all next to each other in San Marco. The farther you are from San Marco, the less tourists you’ll encounter. Only about 60,000 inhabitants still live in Venice but it’s easier to mingle among them and get a local feel if you’re away from the fray. We stay in small B&Bs in a residential neighborhood 20 minutes from the chaos that is Piazza San Marco. One is Campiello Zen, the other, Ca’San Giorgio. (Get the room with the altana rooftop terrace.) I’ve heard people say they don’t like Venice because it’s too busy. Then I ask where they stayed. Invariably, right by the Piazza.

Two must-dos: 1. Have cicchetti (snacks and wine) standing at the counter like the locals. 2. Ride the waterbus down the Grand Canal at night to see the palazzi lighted up.

Read my stories about Venice here.

Firenze (Florence) is my husband Matt’s favorite city. Probably my runner-up. Again, we go in the off-season. We had David to ourselves. We took a food and wine tour with a group called De Gustibus that blew me away. Florence is largely pedestrian-only and peaceful.

Florence is a small city with a lot to offer. Along the Arno River with its Ponte Vecchio, Florence is beautiful and romantic. The food and wines amaze, the architecture inspires, artistic treasures abound, and the leather shopping is superb. Easily reached by train, Florence and the surrounding area make a fantastic vacation.

View of Firenze and the Arno from Piazzale Michelangelo

In Florence, I recommend staying in a B&B near the Piazza della Signoria. Unlike Venice, in Florence, you are better off staying someplace central. Everything in Florence is within walking distance. Stay in the old town zona pedonale where cars are not allowed.

Two must-dos: 1. Get timed museum tickets to the Uffizi Gallery and the Galleria dell’Accademia to avoid lines. 2. Wake up early to catch the sunrise over the Arno River.

Milano is cosmopolitan. I quit counting the Rolls Royces. It is the shopping mecca for people who spend more money than I do and wear clothing I would not be caught dead in. Milan does however, have the Last Supper, and the Duomo. And both merit a stay in Milan. Airfare into Milan is sometimes cheaper. I’m sure there are things for young children to do, but I would not bring kids to Milan.

You don’t have to be Catholic to admire the Duomo, but you do have to see it to grasp its grandeur. Go to the rooftop terrace. The Duomo has a cool app you can access for additional information during your visit.

The Last Supper is faded, yes. Go anyway. You should get goosebumps. You will need timed tickets in advance. If the website does not have any available, call. They speak English and have more availability. Get a guide. They will point out things you would never see otherwise and would not understand if you did.

In Milan, we’ve actually stayed in hotels near the Duomo. It’s a flat, walkable city but you can get around to the other attractions by metro, taxi, and bike rental (if you’re braver than I). I loved the nH Collection Milano President. (Free Prosecco with breakfast!)

Two must-dos: 1. Milan’s bars put on epic Happy Hours. For about 10 Euros you can get a cocktail with a meal-worthy snacks buffet. Go to the Navigli canal area and bar hop with the Milanese. 2. Find the Primo Carnera sculpture on the Duomo rooftop. He was a famous Italian heavyweight boxer immortalized in the coping near the exit stairs.

Roma is amazing. Not in the summer. Not in a Jubilee Year. Go in the dead of winter. You’ll thank me when you see the pictures of the Trevi fountain full of tourists. If you do nothing else, go to the Pantheon. It’s incredible. The Colosseum in winter is spectacular. Rome is a historic city that exudes atmosphere, in the off-season.

If you want to see the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican museum get tickets ahead of time or get a guide. Otherwise you will wait in line for hours. Plan an entire day for the Vatican.

Rome is large but walkable. There is a metro but it serves mainly the suburbs. I strongly recommend staying across the river in Trastevere. Specifically at the Rhea Silvia with reasonably priced, large, lovely rooms; fabulous service and a great location. Breakfast is at a local restaurant around the corner and immerses you into Romanity.

Two must-dos: 1. Take a walk to see the monuments and fountains at night. 2. Buy prosecco from a vending machine on the sidewalk. How cool is that?

More helpful hints on where to go coming soon…

I Love Italy Because it Loves me Back

I fell in love with Italy on my first trip there in 2006. My husband and I went to Rome and Florence. The locals we met were gracious and welcoming. Their language sounded like poetry. The light was ethereal. The food was approachable and fabulous. The wonderful wines did not give me a headache-even when I overindulged. The art was sublime. I returned home and studied Italian. I bought Marcella Hazan’s iconic Italian cookbook and a pasta maker. I use Erica (Heather in Italian) as my “coffee name.”

Italy reels from the earthquake that destroyed entire cities and killed hundreds in the Lazio and Marche regions. When I heard about the earthquake, I thought about everything I love about Italy. What is it about this country that has me obsessed? Trying to explain requires a writer with more talent than I.

There is nothing like walking through Rome on a clear autumn evening. The famous fountains and statues are illuminated. With no one around, I sat on Bernini’s fountain in Piazza Navona and admired the ankles of the river gods he sculpted so elegantly. Less illuminated, but more atmospheric was a walk past dark ruins I could touch through an iron fence. I wondered what secrets they could tell. I got shivers and felt a presence. There is no place like Rome.

One spring morning in Rome my daughter Catie and I heard violin music. I looked out the window of our B & B and on the piazza below, a gentleman played violin for us. Later that day, I took her to the Pantheon. This gorgeous domed temple for all the gods, built in 118 AD is lit only by a hole in the roof.

I always eat at Vinando when in Rome. It’s a local restaurant in a beautiful little square and has fried potatoes my husband Matt talks about ten years later. We plan to eat there next month. The food is always fresh and delicious. The service is always family and friendly. The wine is always good.

Watching the sun rise over the Arno River was an unforgettable experience. Florence was quiet. I was the only one on the famous Ponte Vecchio. I watched the sun and the clouds reflected in the still river. Later that day my daughter and I would take a wine tour with people we became friends with.

Matt and I had ordered tickets to visit the Uffizi Museum. I was near tears to see Botticelli’s paintings of the Birth of Venus and Primavera. We sat and admired Michelangelo’s David-just the two of us-for thirty minutes. Just last week, I read an article in the New York Times Magazine about some cracks David has in his ankles. The museum needs to install a base to keep him level in the event of an earthquake or he might topple and crash into thousands of pieces. In typical politics, it has not yet been done. I wonder if this recent earthquake will encourage the powers that be to protect David for the world.

Catie and I drank with locals until closing time at a small bar in Venice. (My ability to navigate us back to our B&B without falling in a canal still mystifies me.) Matt and I drank with the staff well beyond closing time at one of our favorite restaurants in Venice. We returned the next day for lunch and they were out of limoncello. We had drunk it all the night before. Most of the Italians we’ve met are affable and their enthusiasm is contagious.

The sun reflected like diamonds on the Tyrrhenian Sea along the Amalfi Coast. It was blindingly beautiful. Matt and I wandered the side streets of Ravello and ended up in a wine bar. The owner gave us two wine glasses that we wanted to buy. He wrapped them neatly in paper bags and insisted we give him nothing. He gave us the recipe for the tomato bruschetta he was making. Our driver Michele introduced us to finocchieto, a local digestif made from the fennel that grows abundantly in the South. He gave us his grandmother’s recipe. Generosity from Italians should not surprise me, it’s the depth of their generosity that does.

In Brindisi, on the heel of Italy’s boot, a kind stranger called a cab for the four of us who had vainly waited in pouring rain. Near there, we met Vincenzo Lucarella to taste the fabulous olive oil his family has made since 1889. Thankfully, I can buy three-liter cans from his US distributor.

On a recent trip to Mantova, I had coffee every morning at the local bar. My Italian is improving. I understood some of the talk about politics, soccer, kids not calling home, who is selling their house. Italy has the best coffee; it has the best water.

At a restaurant tucked into a mountainside in the Valpolicella wine region, an older widow named Natalina brought us a blanket to dry rain off from the rain and made us a tableside lunch we rave about six years later. It’s the only time I’ve liked mushrooms. If we win the lottery, we’ll take our friends here for an extraordinary experience.

In the Chianti wine region, a winemaker named Lorisse walked Catie and me through the new vineyards he was planting. He showed us how he tied the vines to wires, and how deep he dug the holes. We hauled several bottles of his wines back to our hotel. I still order it online. Five years afterwards, I’m planning a return trip to see how his baby vines have grown.

In the Langhe hills of Piemonte we met Silvio who makes heritage cheese from the sheep he loves. We spent time with several families carrying on a tradition of quality winemaking. We learned how to make regional pasta with rabbit sauce. In Venice, we met Paolo who binds journals by hand. He showed us how he does it using a needle and thread. We met Toni, owner of the gourmet shop Pantigruelica who introduced us to the special Parmigiano-Reggiano Vacche Rosse. Italy’s almost ubiquitous commitment to quality is refreshing.

I learn Italian because I want secrets revealed. I’m always amazed at how patiently Italians will wait for me to butcher their language to say something many would most likely understand in English. They appreciate my efforts, correct my pronunciation, and teach me what they really say. It’s the Italians who make Italy such an amazing place.