Natale: Christmas in Bologna

Be sure to check out the Chocolate Show in Piazza Maggiore in late November and the Medieval Market in Via Saragozza in Early December. I bought all my presents to bring to the States there.
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Tasting Truffles: Borlenghi al Tartufo a Savigno

La Sagra Del Tartufo in Italiano

I highly recommend this yearly festival where truffles are sold by weight. Their smell is so strong that throughout the afternoon I tasted them in the air. Lunch and dinner are served in large tents and every preparation has a taste of truffles: salame, sandwiches, bread, cheese, oil, etc. It's also a great place to rummage. Vendors sell antique books, trinkets, kitchenwares, art, fabrics, and clothes. Another reason to check this festival out is that it is directly on the regional wine route. A drive through Emilia Romagna wine country is splendid on an early fall day when all the vines have changed color.
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Ferragosto August 15th

Ferragosto is a Catholic holiday. The meaning is still obscure to me; all I know is that it is related to the assumption of Mary. However for most it’s a day off, or rather, the most important day of a period of four weeks of vacation. Simply put, it’s a day to party. Most are at the beach, some are in the mountains and, wherever people are, they are all gone from the city.

On the afternoon of Ferragosto I took the train to a town situated at the base of the Bologna hills where my friend Daniela picked me up. From there we drove a good 20 minutes increasingly upward, winding slowly into the hilltops for a local festival in Grizzana Morandi. This festival turned out to be something so particular and provincial that it was beyond the scope of anything I could have previously imagined.

I felt like one of them. Since we were all dressed up like inhabitants of Sherwood Forest such as Robin Hood and Maid Marian, I became a character in the Middle Ages and, at the same time, l had the vicarious thrill of briefly becoming a local of this hill town today. I had found myself in the middle of a yearly festival where local towns compete for the best of show in a costume wearing, historical theme-oriented parade. This small festival in the Appennini is generally accessible only to Italians and, to be more specific, to people who are in the know. I was the only tourist there and was lucky to have friends with family who live in the area. The locals had heard I would be coming and were ready for me with a dress, bonnet, and apron. Besides the parade of costumes there was also a cook-off between the various groups. I was never quite sure of what the contest's criteria were. Perhaps the authenticity of the costumes, showmanship, and a variety of animals all boosted a team's points. Though I had only just arrived in Italy weeks before, my group had worked hard for a year to organize and prepare its presentation and the costumes were rented from a theatrical institute in Bologna. Somehow I fit right in regardless of my lack of preparation and even felt strongly about my team making a good show. When I put on the milkmaid's bonnet over my blond hair I instantly stirred up some attention. I was happy to oblige when asked to stand right up in front of the procession and wave to the judges. Could I pose next to the superior race asses that pulled the carriages through the town? Could I throw gold foil wrapped chocolate money to the crowd? It was such a hot day that I had melted chocolate all over my hands and my white frock in short order. No matter, we all kept smiling and waving and throwing gold coins to the villagers of our make-believe Sherwood Forest. It was all very cinematic and I vaguely remember someone carrying a radio that played background music of Bryan Adams singing the Robin Hood movie theme.

A mention about these asses. They are called Asini Romagnoli and are a particular breed that is special to the region. Their hides are a warm ochre color and there is a big black stripe that leads along the line of their spines all the way down to the ends of their tails. Not only are they beautiful, they are just down right friendly. While posing for pictures, my "asino" friend kept nuzzling my face and shoulder and begging for another rub.

Though the competition was fierce -- Flintstones with bone embellished hairdos and feet propelled carts and classic contadini with some incredible grub including an entire roast pig -- our group won the competition hands down, which led to joyful dancing on bellies full of lambrusco wine, sliced pork, pasta, and polenta. Did I mention desert? Ciambella, torta al riso, fruit tarts the size of dining room tables, and...oh yes, more wine! Friar Tuck ended up looking much like Bacchus after a few pours of wine on tap, not to mention all those grapes on his head. Indeed, we were all bowing to Bacchus that night.
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First Impressions

7/23/07
In the plane on the way to Bologna for the first time I sat next to three Russians: two dark young men in a highly festive mood and a gorgeous blond woman who was so tall and big-boned that I would guess her shoes were special order. They were on their way home after working on a cruise ship for four months. This enthusiastic group kept me entertained with charming beginning English, Russian seaman songs, and continuous requests for rounds of free cognac served by fresh-faced German stewards who had yet to blow out 19 candles on a birthday cake. About four hours into the flight, despite their raised eyebrows, our generous staff kept the cognacs coming.

Daniela, a woman who I had never met but to whom I had spoken on the phone thanks to a common friend, came to pick me up at the airport. My first impressions of her were attractive, very THIN, and stylish. She is fifty-one with the free flowing tresses and the close-fitting clothes of a twenty year old. Born in the heart of Bologna, the musical lilt of her local accent turns her dialogue into a dance. She has long chestnut colored hair, slightly freckled amber skin, and two large moles on her face, both in the right places (one above the lip and the other above the opposite eyebrow).

My second impression of her -- in a RUSH. Along with her aunt Fiorella who was waiting in the car in a no parking zone, Daniela packed me and my two overweight suitcases up into her minuscule car and we took off after my day long journey and my 3rd (or was it 4th?) round of drinks to go look at an available bedroom for rent in an apartment that belonged to some people she vaguely knew. Needless to say, I was completely unprepared to go apartment hunting in that moment and remember very little about the place or about what was said in rapid-fire Italian. I do remember doing a lot of nodding and smiling. Though I had no interest in the place at all I had to feign congeniality, mostly by holding my head up and forcing myself to stay awake.



8/12/07
The first three weeks here have flown by and I'm still smiling. My memory of these past few days is tangled up in a web of new words, winding streets, sorry exchange rates, summer heat reaching to 100 or so without AC, and the numerous kindnesses I have received. So far I've gotten lost almost everyday, I've had my ATM card blocked for 24 hours, been locked out, opened an Italian bank account, bought a cellphone, and found an apartment near the Porta Santo Stefano -- the last of which was by far the most challenging since I refused to go through an agency and pay a 1000 Euro fee. Daniela kindly agreed to let me stay at her place an extra few days so I could find the right apartment. Actually it was a good experience for me to have a couple of full weeks living in her home to see what Italian family life is really like. Lively is the first word that comes to mind.

I've signed the contract for my new place (in blood it seemed due to the fact that there are hidden fees for everything). At first the bureaucracy of it all gave me a fright, but now I'm calm with the knowledge that I have my own beautiful little place in Bologna and that I can most likely make some extra bucks tutoring English. However I have become extremely conscious of my water, gas, and electricity usage. This is a new awareness for me that feels very un-American, and almost cheap, but things just cost more here. We're really lucky in the States not to have to fret about long showers and lights left on. For the most part people don't even have bathtubs here but choose to have showers instead because it's more economical. Ditto for clothes dryers: they just don't seem to exist -- too much electricity, a dear resource that Italians buy from Switzerland and France.

I'm now in the process of gathering housewares from new friends and neighbors so I can throw out the aluminum trays and plastic cutlery I started with. I carry my mini-dictionary with me everywhere and, thus, have learned to use more intelligent words than this "thing" and that "thing" for every object I refer to. My best blooper yet was when I told a friend that I still needed silverware for my apartment. I translated it literally to the Italian word "argenteria," which means sterling (think wedding silver). It was as if I had asked her to loan me her finest China.

Yesterday I went by train to visit the site of an ancient Etruscan Village called Marzabotto that was built 500yrs before Christ. The excavation of the original stone walls, all extraordinarily intact, is still in progress but it was easy to imagine what everyday life there was like before the Celts destroyed it in 200BC. There was a main drag and many workshops where craftsman and smiths produced wares. Oddly, the location recalled Taos, NM for me in that a large plain looks up to rolling wooded mountains on all sides. The guide said that the site is little known for its ancient history but, rather, is remembered because the Germans bombed the nearby town during WWII killing 1800 people -- a memory that is much more recent. I wonder how many people died there at the hands of the Celts? While there I scavenged a nice little herb plant (a kind of wild mint) to take home and plant in a pot. I hope it flourishes and will make my little terrace smell as aromatic as Marzabotto does.
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