Spring Break

Pizza With Gusto : ‘Gusta Pizza’

Posted on by Sarah

“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” ― Paul Theroux

[Sketch 5 : Florence]

It was evening when Megan and I entered the Floretian pizzeria called Gusta Pizza (for which we had long been searching) and stepped into bustling chaos. The small square room was filled wall-to-wall with customers, primarily students, who were queuing to either order their pies, pick up the piping hot pizza, or be seated at one of the few tables which were veritable islands in the ocean of people. However, the purpose of the lines weren’t evident at first and it took us a few minutes to reach the above conclusion and then elbow our way diagonally across the restaurant to the end of the ordering line (what a privilege!) and order our meal. Then we swam to the counter and fought for a place to wait amongst the other wide-eyed, hungry patrons.

Just beyond the counter behind a thin layer of eye level glass there were two men preparing the pizzas: rolling out soft dough and decorating the empty tableaux with a mix of fresh ingredients. The man closest to us would alternately pause to call out the numbers of the completed orders, but he could barely be heard above the buzz of the feeding frenzy and because it took a decent amount of time for the destined owner to reach the counter there were copious amounts of shouting, confusion, and more shouting. Yet,the hustle and bustle was so fun! The waiters obviously enjoyed swaying through the crowd; serving the seated customers gaily chatting in a mix of Italian, English, and Italiash (?) and munching at their remaining slices, oblivious of the elbow wars taking place around them. The scene was so beautiful! It was Italia.

  

  

 

[Top : Me with ‘excited to be in Florence’ face that looks like a yawn; The best gelato I have ever eaten]
[Bottom : The River Fiorne; Il Duomo]

Tales of La Spiaggia and Focaccia

Posted on by Sarah

It is not down in any map; true places never are. – Herman Melville

[Sketch 4 : Monterosso al Mare]

A small stretch of pebbly beach bounded by a rocky coastline entered my line of vision as I walked down the main street of Monterosso al Mare. I was just returning from a hike in the foothills behind the town and sought a quiet place to eat my lunch. As I approached the shore I could make out two, perhaps three, other people enjoying the serenity who didn’t seem to mind if I joined them. In one swift movement I plopped both myself and the brown, paper bag containing my lunch on the ground and I positioned my body so that my back could rest against a piece of driftwood.  I placed my limonata fresca on the convenient log behind me and inhaled deeply. The air was clean and fresh and cooled the sweet sweat left on my arms from the ascent of late morning.

On said hike I climbed to a height from which I could see Monteresso as a colorful splash on hills of green, yet I could not see any of the other towns from where I was located, for Monterosso is, in fact, one of five towns that make up the Italian national park of Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre translates to “five lands” which is an accurate description of the five peninsulas that jut out into the Mediterranean sea, each crowned with a distinct jumble of orange, yellow, and red colored buildings. I was staying in the town farthest from Monterosso called Riomaggiore, but could easily hop between all of the towns by train which I had done earlier in the day.

Sharp hunger pains piqued by the delicious smell of warm focaccia called me back to the present. I dug my toes deeper into the gray rock and sand mixture and began to unwrap my lunch. Fresh, chewy mozzarella, crisp, juicy tomato, and thin slices of salty ham in the bread greeted my tongue with each bite of the focaccia. My fingers quickly became coated in grease, but I paid them no mind and continued to chow down on the sandwich taking sips every now and then from my lemonade made from lemons grown in the surrounding landscape. Munching contentedly, I settled back and watched the sea. The waves arriving on shore with an aggressive vehemence were demanding my attention and I gave it willingly. The continual recession of the swirling waters left behind a thick, white foam just as fluffy as the whipped cream I had atop my tiramisu the previous evening and I yearned to plunge my feet into the fray. I rose and went over to the crash zone unprepared for the cold sting of the water.

A swim would be so welcome, but no one else on the beach had dared to try it. The dark clouds that had formed in the eastern part of the sky began to shed small droplets of water and as they slowly collected on my face I pondered diving in…

 

 

 

 

 

Rolling off the Screen

Posted on by Sarah

“Traveling tends to magnify all human emotions.” — Peter Hoeg

[Sketch 3 : Monaco]

The day began in Nice. The day began in my blue and white striped dress with a Panama hat thrown in. And it began with the warmer-than-Paris sun breaking over the  Mediterranean Sea.

Yet the day was destined to be spent in Monaco. Our chosen mode of transportation to reach the world’s second smallest country was the local bus where, at the hefty sum of a euro fifty, one can reach Monte Carlo in about an hour. One can also enjoy views of la Baie des Anges of Nice slowly being left behind and glimpses of approaching coves as the bus progresses up the coastline. And for this reason my one conseil [advice] is not to take the train from Nice to Monaco because you would miss the magical landscape.

After the considerable bazar [chaos] of boarding the bus (it seemed like all the tourists in the world were going to Monaco that morning), we were finally en route, flying down the road lined with red tile roofed residences that had palms trees guarding their front doors. As we wound our way around sharp bends and passed sports cars and motorcyclists cruising at high speeds, we caught blinks of inlets of a deep blue dotted with white boats.

I felt like a proper heroine set against this tropical backdrop and with each new glimpse of the sea my heart leaped within me. Or was that my stomach? It was starting to growl so I eagerly pulled out a fresh and flakey pain au chocolat that was crumbling satisfactorily into my lap and with each bite left little pieces of chocolate to melt on my tongue.

My hunger tamed for the moment, I took note of my fellow passengers who were mainly tourists with an odd assortment of locals in the mix. These habitués to the South of France came and went with the collection of bus stops on the highway while the bulk of us sat in anticipation for the terminus. I turned my gaze back to the window and in looking out over the road the sun almost blinded me. This brilliance called to mind the event of possible burning, but the scent of fresh cream wafting off of my face reminded me that I had already applied sunscreen that morning and would have nothing to fear. My braid tucked neatly beneath my hat began to tickle my neck and as I contemplated the morning’s events and those to come I longed to simply absorb the beauty of the moment and remember it forever.

  

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 [Left to Right : Baie des Anges, Nice – Monaco – Friends ❤ ]

Confessions of a Spring Breaker

Posted on by Sarah

“Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends… The mind can never break off from the journey.”
– Pat Conroy

Dear blog readers,

I recently took note that it has been a full 27 days since my last post! Is it true that I’ve let almost an entire month go by without writing? I would have updated you all earlier, but it appears that my travels got in the way. However, now I have the opportunity to treat you to tales from my two weeks away from which I just returned this past Saturday.

The line-up :
France:  Lyon, Aix-en-Provence, Nice
Monaco
Italia : Cinque Terre, Florence [Firenze], Rome [Roma]

I shall to endeavor to describe my most poignant memory from each destination visited so that you can get a taste of what traveling through the south of France and Italy are like without having to worry about hairy travel itineraries or living out of a backpack for two weeks. I will start with my first two stops : Lyon and Aix-en-Provence and follow throughout the week with a post for each of the other places.

[Sketch 1 : Lyon]

It was night one of the trip and my beginning-of-spring-break-when-I-still-had-energy, adventurous spirit prompted me to boldly try Lyonais cuisine. There are many different types of meat which fall into this category, but my dinner happened to manifest itself in the form of Andouillette. Have any idea what that is? I didn’t either.
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Sitting comfortably at the table after finishing my first course of soupe à l’oignon and a petite salade, I was enjoying both the subtle warmth radiating from the fire in the corner stove and the cool, evening breeze wafting in from the square. Little did I know what was in store for my taste buds. When the smartly-dressed server returned with my entrée I was pleased with the presentation of the dish and hungrily gazed at the contents : it appeared to be a sausage covered in a creamy mustard sauce. And my eyes served me correctly, for it was indeed a sausage covered in a creamy mustard sauce. However, this was not a typical mélange of meat and the odor that greeted my nose did not immediately tempt me to dig in. Although I began to question what I had ordered, I willed myself to cut off a piece and take a bite. And after doing so I then forced myself to eat the entire dish. Instead of getting into nitty-gritty details about the taste of Andouillette, let’s just say that I was later informed that it is a sausage composed of the entire digestive system of the pig. Oink.
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 [Sketch 2 : Aix]
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A few days later, I found myself a two hours south of Lyon in Aix-en-Provence, a beautiful and somewhat petite city in the south of France where two friends from home study and who I was able to visit while there. These same friends gave Megan and I a suggestion for an activity just outside of Aix : hiking Mont Sainte Victoire. What a lovely idea! We could bring a picnic and spend the afternoon on the mountain that Cezanne famously painted.
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Twenty-four hours later we found ourselves sweatily sticking to the scratchy chairs of the local bus that we had been rushing down the mountain in order not to miss. The bus was relatively empty and its few occupants all looked a bit sunstrained and haggard; myself included. It had been a warm day and although the sun was still a little ways from setting it felt like ages since we had set out that morning for the hike. My feet were toast and I could feel a slight tan coming on around my neck. There was nothing that I wanted more than a shower and a (very) long drink of water, but I still had to sit through the 20 minute bus ride back to Aix. However, this was no big deal, as I could take this time to cool off as we weaved our way across the countryside back to the Cours Mirabeau.
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What exactly had passed in the interim between the morning bus ride to the Mont and the bus ride back?  Well, Megan and I encountered a 900 meter climb that led to a summit with a view of the Mediterranean Sea in one direction and the Alps in the other with Aix visible in a valley between the two. It was unbelievably breathtaking and the weather was perfect for your basic amost-1000 meter ascent. It is true that Megan and I were slightly unprepared for the steepness and difficulty of the hike, but as the French say, ça valait la peine [it was worth the effort] and I am so glad that we did the climb.
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Lyon
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Aix

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