Driving like an Italian.....for the payoff

MAY 11 CRESPELLANO—Although I spend much time here ruminating on all of the differences of our two countries, how long I will be unemployed and the meaning of life, the payoff is days like Sunday.

The slate gray skies and cool, damp weather cleared out of the Emilia-Romagna region and gave way to bright sunny skies. Cats were doing fairly well and we had a good old lie in. With the blast shields down and covering the windows we didn’t know what time it was and slept in until about 10:30. Reveille, in the form of Mimi burning rubber, peeling out on my back, was followed my pure pandemonium: Today was Stefania’s father’s birthday and Mother’s Day to boot. House had to be cleaned before we left, clothes ironed, flowers bought, presents wrapped.

Being on Stefania time, we got a half hour-late start. Cell phones were ringing inquiring as to ETA. (Makes me think of someone else I know.) I was driving and have adopted Italian ways—I try to take the two roundabouts on the way to their house in fifth gear. The plains leading towards Crespellano and the snow capped Apennines were beautiful. The poppies are now blooming; they look like a million red butterflies fluttering in the green fields interspersed with drainage ditches and ancient brick structures. Did the usual Castle Run (Star Wars reference) in record time—tear down the county highway towards San Giovanni in Persiceto, take out two roundabouts, cut right around the town, zigzag around the cemetery, go past the carwash, sprint over the plains to Calcarra and the Ponte Samoggia, jog right for 100 yards on the Via Emilia, hang a left and burn rubber towards Crespellano. Come in the back way, curl around the town square past where Lori and Luca were married, stop at the train tracks, wait, then hang a right, drive straight for about a half mile and whip into Stefania’s parents’ house. Whew.

We hit the door and could already smell the tagliatelle in ragu’ sauce. Both home made, of course. White frizzante wine and no bread with pasta my friends! Then breaded and lightly fried cotelette with steamed cauliflower. Red wine this time. This was followed by cheese and dessert etc. etc. I’m losing weight by the way. Presents were opened then we adjourned to play with the youngins, write some emails then the kids helped me take apart my bike and lube some of the parts that needed to be....well.....lubed.

Luca and Lori soon had their mini minivan loaded and headed home to Modena. We joined Stefania’s parents on jaunt through the hills near Monteveglio where there friends have restored a house on a steep hillside. His name is Dario and he worked as a tailor for many years then put in another career as a machinist at Weber who made parts for Fiat. He is basically one of those enegizer bunny/McGyver types who can do it all. He restored most everything himself, built a new garage, was finishing a stone wall (he carried every wheelbarrow full of rocks from a stream by himself) when we arrived. He also planted a small vineyared on the steep hill that runs up to his house and makes his own wine. His daughter is a good artist who made all kinds of sculptures that adorn his house.

The sun was going down and the scene looked like something right out of Under the Tuscan Sun. Of course I had forgotten my camera but took pictures with my phone. We all headed up the hill to the village where they were having a Sagra or local festival. Stef bought a ring from a local craftsemen. I tasted some great cheese and just generally people watched. As the sun crept below the hills we went to a local pizzeria (1993 2nd place in world championships) to eat.....pizza. This one was great. The crust is what is really different here. The dough is different and they use wood-fired ovens, fresh tomatoes and if you’re lucky, real mozzarella di buffala.

Wrapped up the evening back at Dario’s with shots of limencello, a lemon liqueur. Stef had to get up early the next day so we bid our goodbyes and left early. Her parents are happier than two pigs in mud since he retired last year; so they kept on hanging out telling funny stories.

Next time: my adventure at immigration.