Italian radio is pretty good, so we usually start our trip with some Radio Italia. However, they talk a lot on the radio, and while I start out thinking that listening will be good for my Italian skills, after ten minutes my head is spinning from their quick talking and fake laughing. Inevitability, I find myself rummaging through our well-worn CD pile. In any mood, the go-to CD has become the Hot Party 20 Summer Hits: a knock-off, copyright infringed, CD of popular songs sung in English by Italians. Italians have a hard time pronouncing the "th" and "h" in English, so it makes for enjoyment on lots of levels. After a long day of struggling through with my baby Italian, it just feels right to sing along with an Italian singer covering Kid Rock's "All Summer Long." Nothing says road-trip now than the refrain "And we were trying different t-ings, and we were smoking funny t-ings ... singing sweet -ome Alabama all summer long."
Travelling with four children around Europe in a small French car is not for the faint-hearted. Jam-packed into our little rented Renault (a.k.a, "the frog") and zooming around Italian highways, our drives are anything but relaxing. Two children require travel-sickness medicine before any trip longer than one hour, and still we still have the occasional need for an "Oh my God Mom, I am going to vomit" bag. Another child--freshly out of diapers-- requires frequent potty stops. Not that the stops are without their own cultural value: on one trip coming out of the German-speaking part of Italy, the gasoline mart where we made a stop to use the restrooms had various Marilyn Monroe pen drawings, I Love Italia trinkets, and bottles of "Porn Wine" on sale. Before we had any time to process the varied offerings, we were stuffed back into the car, mouths filled with Ritz crackers.
Since kids look at driving as something to do only for an end -- much like some think about making laws or I think about step-aerobics class -- every restaurant, must-see museum, and sleeping arrangement needs to be carefully mapped out before our excursion. In Italy, we have taken to staying at agiturismi, little farms or vineyards that have rooms or apartments for rent. They are affordable and [usually] clean, and the owners often provide tours, offer products from their land, and serve breakfast for a modest fee. The Italians who run these agiturismi are often very happy that I speak any Italian, and compliment me on my excellent Italian skills by saying that "I speak wonderfully" [I don't] and that my Italian is "perfect" [it isn't]. Some days, the undeserved compliments are alone worth the price of the room. It is a far different experience than when I speak in Mantova, where not too long ago the local butcher--in response to my apology for my mangled order-- said, "Yes, your Italian is ugly."
In planning which agiturismo to stay in, I spend a lot of time looking through listings on the Italian agiturismi site, and on the United Kingdom trip advisor site. The first ratings all start out as fives -- some are clearly written by the owner in tell-tale an Italian-writing-English English "[first position floor was spacious with view panoramic"]-- and so I discard the first reviews. The more interesting of the reviews are those with one star, and I go to those first. On the Italian agiturismi site, I have noticed that the Germans often give one star for inadequate breakfasts or, as one put it, "breakfast[s] that are made with just stuff found in the kitchen" [they want their homemade breakfast pastries, those Germans]; Italians will give one star if the place is hard to find and/or the road to the place "kills the car"; Americans rarely give one star. In fact, Americans are alone in the number of their five-star-giving experiences, suggesting that vacation life is simply better for Americans, or that grade inflation has softened our ability to give a failing grade. Americans tend to "pass" a place even when it is terrible. One review I read detailed the dirty sheets, noisy bedroom, lack of sleep, and surly owners, and gave the place three stars. I have taken to ignoring most American reviews.
My favorite, though, is when the owner responds to the one-star reviews. The best by far is dear Bobo, the owner of an Italian restaurant in Florence called Antica Trattoria, a well-reviewed restaurant listed on trip advisor, who berates reviewers who give him only one star. To a recent one-star reviewer [a Canadian] Bobo replied, "Some people don't deserve a real place, if not a turist place. And We are proud to be a different place, not turtist, but where turists "IN THE KNOW" are welcome!! God bless you... We don't need this kind of people like us.With Love, Love, Love BOBO." I am tempted to go to his place when we visit Florence, to eat his famous Florentine steak, toast to his tenacity, and commiserate about those difficult Canadians.
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Love your blogs. You have been away too long! Tell us about Ireland. Ray wants to hunt there. I'll just watch and have someone else cook the pheasant.
ReplyDeleteSorry about car sick kids. When I was little, it wasnt allowed and you just opened the window! Still your adventures are all fun when the story is told.
Where to next? We are all waiting for a new adventure.