Liberation, a lion, a Saint, ham hocks and a rosebud…

San Marco-The Winged Lion



April 25^th is a special day throughout Italy and  particularly in Veneto. Not only is it the anniversary of Italy’s liberation from Nazi fascism rule during World War II, it’s also the day commemorating Venice’s patron saint, St. Mark. San Marco, as he is proudly referred to around town, is represented in Venice as the winged lion, often holding an open book with the Latin inscription Pax Tibi Marce Evangelista Meus—Peace to You Mark My Evangelist. The regal lion can be found in the most conspicuous places around the city and region of Venice, and can still be seen carved into the historical walls of foreign ports scattered around the Adriatic and Mediterranean were La Serenissima—the Most Serene Republic of Venice once ruled.

How Saint Mark came to rest in Venice: It is said that in 828 A.D. due to the tension and the mercenary competition between La Serenissima and the Islamic regions to the south, the remains of Saint Mark were taken from Alexandria, Egypt and smuggled onto a boat stocked with pork meat. Not the most noble means of travel, particularly for a Saint, but quite an ingenuous idea on the part of two Venetian mariners—Bon or Good from Malamocca and Andrea known as Rustico or Rustic from Torcello. The shrewd captain and his first-mate knew that hiding dear Saint Mark among a bunch of ham hocks would keep the non-pork consuming Islamic customs agents from further investigating their cargo, and open up their nautical route back home to Venice, and a heroes’ welcome. In fact it is written that Doge Giustinian paid them 100 pounds of silver; a large sum that would enable them to finance the construction of St. Mark’s oratory on the island of Torcello, and become Venetian legends.

Il Bòcolo-The Rosebud

Il Bòcolo: Shakespeare couldn’t have written a better tale.

There once was a noble young woman by the name of Maria Partecipazio who fell fast in love with a kind, yet poor troubadour named Tancredi. Of course that didn’t sit well with Maria’s father. So one night while the two were having a clandestine rendezvous in her family’s gondola, Maria whispered the perfect solution into her handsome poet’s ear. Tancre, she syllabled quietly so as not to be heard by the family gondolier if you were to join the military and become a war hero then I’m sure my father would let you marry me! Well the poor guy was pretty smitten and knowing a troubadour made fewer ducats than a soldier he followed his true love's suggestion.
Before he knew it he was part of Carlo Magno’s distinct order and fighting the tough battle against the Spanish Moors. But, as all good tragedies go, he never made it back. What happened was that while he was fighting the good fight—apparently in a garden—he was injured and fell on a bed of white roses, turning them deep red. Minutes before he expelled his last breath he plucked a long-stem rose from the bush and handed it to his companion and fighter of the cause, Orlando. It took all the strength Tancredi had to ask Orlando to deliver the rose tinged with his blood to his beloved Maria.  
Soon after, Orlando arrived back in Venice; it was April 24^th and the eve of the patron Saint’s celebration.  In keeping with his promise, Orlando delivered the rose to Maria along with Tancredi’s final message of love. Nowhere is it written, but it is understood that Maria was quite distraught for having sent the only man she loved off to war, and to his death. The following morning, on the 25^th of April, the young noble woman was found dead with Tancredi’s rosebud placed upon her heart.

 From that moment on il bòcolo became the Venetian symbol to pledge one’s love and each year on April 25^th thousands of maidens, young and old, are handed a long-stem red rose by their enamored knights.

Makes Ruining the Manicure Worth It!

Marie's Rose Garden

There was a time when the only flowers my manicured hands cared to touch were those boxed, potted or delivered in a stylish vase by a florist. The thought of actually growing them never graced my somewhat urban professional mind…isn’t that why we have gardeners? I used to think.  Yet, from the moment I closed the door on my ivy-hedged apartment in sunny Southern California and headed toward my new home, a two-hundred year old fixer upper in the fertile Venetian countryside, I let my heart—and my gardening gloved hands—take a shovel to that city girl mindset and dig into the dirty task of transforming my new home’s rustic garden into a quaint haven of tranquility.  

Rake, trowel, hedge-clippers and hoe at my side I tackled the L-shaped stretch of land that had been the wellspring of nutrition for the hungry souls who had inhabited my home before me. This traditional Italian orto—or vegetable garden—had been producing fennel, tomatoes, potatoes, arugula, zucchini, eggplant, squash, figs, plums and grapes as far back as World War II, and was generous enough to leave me with mounds of rich, dark-as-ground-coffee soil to nurture its metamorphosis into a tree-lined, butterfly-beckoning, flower garden.  

I imagine there are many of you who might greet my spirited enthusiasm for soil and gardening with a roll of the eyes; you probably view mowing the lawn or plucking weeds as just another chore you’d prefer to pay someone else to do. But I also know there are many more of you who prune, plough and plant with passion, and will nod their heads at my comparison of a fist full of rich soil to that soothing, lung expanding scent of the underbrush in the woods or forest. My fellow gardening fanatics could give good reason to why something as mundane and dirty as soil can bring such deep pleasure—and I hope they will jot down their thoughts here—adding to my motivation for having become so addicted to planting the turf. Not only do I look at sod as material to cultivate and harvest with, I see it as the tool that comforts a gardener’s mind and soul.  Because once I’ve set the stringy bare roots of an English rose, a young pomegranate tree or a mix of erbe officinalis into the ground and I've tucked them into bed, fed and watered them, all that is left for me to do is wait for spring to raise the curtain and release the scents and flavors of my garden.

Now mind you, I still enjoy the occasional ring of the doorbell and the voice of a bouquet carrying delivery person crackle the word “fiorista” through the intercom, but what I find more delightful than filling up my favorite crystal vase with cultured roses or lilies is filling it with those I’ve grown in the garden. When that happens I know I got it right.

I would have liked to post a photograph of the rustic garden I’ve just described, but since I don’t have one handy and I moved from that lovely home more than four years ago I’ve chosen to share a snapshot taken in my current home's rose garden in the spring of 2009. Sorry, but it’s still too early in the year for more recent blooms, and I can assure you these same rose bushes have begun to stretch their shoots and are promising another spectacular year!

Buon Anniversario Italia!

March 17, 2011

150° Anniversario dell'Unità d'Italia

The 150th Anniversary of the Unity of Italy

Italy to Los Angeles and Back manda i suoi sinceri auguri all'Italia ed a tutti i suoi cittadini di Buon Anniversario!

Italy to Los Angeles and Back sends its sincere wishes to Italy and all her citizens for a very Happy Anniversary!

Will we ever learn that we do not rule the earth?



Photo courtesy of
 http://www.framework.latimes.com/



This morning I woke up with an idea for a lighthearted blog about Venetian culture, but after having scrolled through numerous international news reports on the nuclear reactor leaks in Japan and having viewed even more photos of the unimaginable devastation there, I felt a sincere need to turn my thoughts in another direction.

 As I sit here safe and warm in my home, my morning coffee within reach and I use my keyboard as a tool to share my thoughts with you, there are an incalculable number of people in Japan who through grave misfortune were fortunate to have survived the rage of the earth. Thousands have lost everything: homes, schools, hospitals, businesses, and worst of all their loved ones.  And as if all that wasn’t enough, they now face toxic waste spewing into their lives.  At a time when both of my governments—the U.S. and the Italian—intend to increase the number of nuclear energy plants instead of investing those funds in more clean renewable energy it makes me wonder if our captains really know where they’re taking our ship.

I don’t want to make a political post of this—for those of you who know me that would be my first thought—instead I want to keep it on a reflective, sensible level. I understand the need for energy; I understand the cost of dependence on other countries for petroleum based fuel. But I also understand that as intelligent and skilled as our engineers are in developing safer energy production, and as much as we have been told by the experts and our governments that other forms of energy won’t satisfy our over consumption—I am the first to admit that I take switching on a light, a stereo, or running an army of household appliances for granted—we remain vulnerable, and always will be, whenever nature decides to throw her weight around.

I, like anyone who has ever lived in a seismic area, knew the moment I read 8.9 on the Richter scale that that could only mean devastation; coupled with a tsunami it had become an apocalypse beyond my imagination. While glued to the shocking images of a tidal wave ripping a country apart, my thoughts raced back and forth across the globe between California and Italy. Both wear scars left by the rumbling of the earth and both will forever live with the threat of more to come. While California has taken advanced steps in renewable energy by increasing wind and solar production, she still houses active nuclear power plants in San Luis Obispo and San Onofre, and though after the Chernobyl accident in the mid 80’s a popular referendum caused Italy to close down her nuclear plants this government now plans on ignoring that popular vote and retrofitting a few of the old ones while building at least one within 100 kilometers of the highly populated and UNESCO  blessed city of Venice.

Though it is said that the Japanese were as prepared as any country could be for an extraordinary earthquake, the images show that we must demand that our leaders rethink how much they want to gamble with the odds of beefing up nuclear energy.  We’ve always been taught about checks and balances; well in my opinion the scale just tipped over!

My history of Ciao...and then some!

Photo of album cover with title song "Ciao Amore, Ciao" by Delida

While living in Los Angeles, and just before I moved to Italy, I beefed up my vocabulary by slipping in the word ciao—here and there—when greeting friends and family; a simple acknowledgment that wasn’t new to me. I had often heard it used while strolling down the boutique lined avenues near my office in Beverly Hills or while enjoying a California Cobb salad at my favorite Rodeo Drive sidewalk café. I was charmed, and somewhat entertained, to see fashionably dressed men and women greet their friends with this foreign four-letter word and accompany it with a double-cheek kiss. So cosmopolitan I thought, and knowing I would soon be immersed in the Italian way of life I felt it was my right to dive in and make the greeting mine! At the time I wasn’t very concerned about how it was spelled, or where in Italian history it originated. I just liked the way it sounded when it rolled past my lips.

When I moved to Italy it didn’t take me long to learn that this little word was bursting with vowels and wasn’t written the way we Anglophones pronounce it. Phonetically it sure seems to call for a ch and it certainly rings out like the twice repeated name of those fluffy purebred dogs; or Purina’s bestselling moist and meaty; and I mustn't leave out the noodle dish that brings red-lanterns, chopsticks and fortune cookies to mind. So one would naturally think that the friendly greeting would be spelled the same way as these others: c-h-o-w.  But, that’s not how the Italian language works.

It is common knowledge among Venetians that the word ciao derives from an expression in the Venetian dialect—yep they get credit for this too—s’ciàvo or slave; schiavo in Italian. (Note: “ch” in Italian has a “k” sound, and “ci” has a “ch” sound like chocolate) At its inception this tiny word, which is as much a part of Italian culture as pasta, referred to the people of Slavic origin, hence slaves.  The greeting s’ciào corresponded with the slaves' acknowledgment to their owners as your servant or at your service.  I’ve been told by my Venetian friends and family that over the centuries the greeting spread and was used as a form of respect by all classes of society before being shortened to the word as we know it today. It is curious to think that in our contemporary times ciao is considered an informal greeting reserved for close family and friends. No one I've spoken to seems to know when that transformation took effect. However, today when making new acquaintances it is considered proper etiquette to use the greetings buon giorno (good day) and arriverderci (until we see each other again) and never ciao.  

As anyone who has been to Italy can testify ciao is used by Italians dozens of times in any given day: It is echoed across school yards by backpack carrying children heading to their classrooms, waving goodbye to their mothers, and racing to catch up with their classmates screaming out the same; by women in the marketplace, weighed down with bulging bags of fresh produce, who chant the greeting across ice covered fresh-fish stalls to grab the attention of an old friend; by businessmen and women who glancing up from reading the local newspaper spot a colleague enter the local bar where their morning ritual calls for a marmalade-filled brioche washed down with a steaming cup of espresso before they head off to the office; or by carefree groups of friends whose salutations fill the air and bounce off the majestic façade of St. Mark’s square as they call it a night. Yet, if anyone were to ask me what my favorite ciao of the day is, I’d have to tell them that it’s the one that comes with a kiss and the word amore tagging along. Ciao...a sweet welcome or farewell that lets the giver and receiver know they are among friends. Ciao!

Playful Differences & Similarities of Italian vs. American Life

Twenty-four years. I simply can’t believe I’ve been living in Venice for twenty-four years!

January 31, 1987 was a warm, sun drenched day in Los Angeles when I kissed my family and friends goodbye at the Los Angeles International airport. I had all I needed with me: a one-way ticket, a few treasured belongings boxed and stored in the cargo hold of a PanAm jet, my wedding dress wrapped in a garment bag and held high above my head, and the man of my dreams by my side. I was leaving my world behind and was headed for the unknown.

We landed the next day on a fog covered winter morning in the city by the lagoon; two bone-chilling weeks would pass before the sun I left in Southern California finally came to our aid and turned the gray Venetian sky blue. It was a grim introduction for a young woman who was used to spending her workweek in a high-rise Beverly Hills office and her weekends sitting by the pool. But it was my new world and my new lifestyle, and it turned out to be the best choice I’ve ever made. Thank goodness my wonderful, patient partner never tired of me asking the question: Why? You see everything was different and being new to all this, and the nothing is impossible analytical type, I’m sure there were times when I drove my future husband crazy.

While tripping over the language (for the longest time I avoided using a spoon because it was too hard to pronounce cucchiaio…way too many vowels) I was prepared to pull everything I saw wrong with Italian bureaucracy into shape. Just give me six months I said, and I’ll have this place organized. How arrogant of me to think my way would be better! That’s not to say there isn’t a lot that could be done differently here, even the Italians will tell you that, but it took me a few years to realize there is a reason why countries, cultures and people see and do things differently, and that what works for one may not be right for another. And there are so many, many things I would never want to see change.

I have been asked countless times in the last twenty-four years by both Italian and American friends: Where do you like living the best, and what are the differences between your two countries?  I honestly love them both. How lucky am I to have two fabulous countries to call home?  I’ve made a short, playful list to give you an idea of the differences and similarities I’ve come across in the last two decades; differences that are now the norm for me. I’m sure there are many more, so feel free to add some of your own!

Italy                                                                                 

Coffee is not sold in paper cups                              

It is considered uncivil to set a lunch or dinner table without a table cloth               

Most Italians take a long vacation in August                                              

Beer with pizza and sandwiches; Wine with everything else; Milk is never served with meals                             

The majority of couples decide to only have one child

Grandparents take the place of daycare                                           

Soccer is the number one sport and has an 11 month season                                                           

Public transportation is used by all                                     

Consumers often seem to have fewer rights than the service providers                                                   

Old buildings are cherished and restored                             

You bag your own groceries and pay for the bags                                        

Slow-food is a way of life                                                    

Everyone drives as if they’re in a Ferrari                                         

People don’t really care what you do for a living                 

Baseball makes no sense to Italians                                    

It is acceptable to leave work in the morning to pick up your family’s daily supply of fresh baked bread

In larger cities people walk more than they drive

Pets are welcome in most restaurants                                                                     

Public schools are considered better than private                 

No one is without good healthcare

Meetings are scheduled to schedule meetings

Similarities between U.S.A. & Italy                                          

                                                           

Women love shoes and handbags made in Italy

Most women work outside the home

Everyone loves gelato and pizza!    

Pets are like family members

Basketball fans love the Lakers (this would be more Italy/L.A.)

SUVs are popular

Most don’t trust politicians

Everyone has a cellphone, or two

Glee!                     

People dislike call centers

Most high school grads go on to college     

Bruschette, risotto and pasta!

Gyms, yoga and wellness centers

Facebook

Italians love the U.S./Americans love Italy!                                                

A Gondolier and his Gondola



Maria beginning to take shape



For a Venetian gondolier getting a new gondola is a very special occasion, and one that usually happens once or maybe twice in a lifetime. Some might compare it to buying a new car, but for these seafaring men it is much more. With only a handful of squero or gondola boatyards left in Venice it can take almost a year to build one of these sleek vessels, and once the boat is ordered the waiting period to begin building it can last more than two years. My husband Roberto’s time came in July 2009 when the head artisan at the San Trovaso squero, one of the oldest and most characteristic boatyards in Venice, finally said “tocca a te—it’s your turn”.



The partially engraved Nardin Family Crest



In the ten months that followed that joyful day we observed the incredible skill and craftsmanship that go into building a gondola. From the varieties of wood (oak, walnut, cherry, larch, elm, linden and spruce) that were bent, shaped, curved and carved into 280 perfect pieces and puzzled together to form the structure of the gondola, to the seven coats of black paint that were applied by hand to the smooth wood surface, to the brass and iron ornaments that make each gondola traditional yet unique. We were witnessing a work of art in progress.  

Then one sunshine filled morning in May 2010, before Venice’s calle or alleyways began to buzz with their usual foot traffic, Roberto arrived at the squero.  He had left the house earlier than usual that morning and seemed as excited as he had been on our wedding day, or when our children were born. He had waited a long time for his new gondola and today was il varo or the launch.

When I joined Roberto a few hours later our guests, friends and family members had begun to arrive.  The bigoli in salsa—pasta with anchovy sauce; tramezzini—finger sandwiches; whole salamis to slice; fresh bread and pastries were lined up on the banquet table alongside dozens of bottles of wine and prosecco. Roberto had decided that, though it was before noon, this was the menu worthy of his colleagues’ appetites and the celebration. I greeted our guests, and placed a small bouquet of flowers on the gondola’s loveseat. Then I was directed to break a dangling bottle of prosecco tied to the back of the gondola. I blinked back tears of joy at seeing Maria glide elegantly into the water with my husband standing tall at the stern. She was...no, they were bellissimi!

A varo is a rare occasion in Venice, and one never seen by those not fortunate enough to be at the right place at the right time. That is why I would like to share that moment with all of you here. Please take a couple of minutes to take a look at Maria in her finished form, and step inside the intimate world of a gondolier and his gondola. Our dear friend Alison Victoria made a special trip from Rome to celebrate with us, and film Christening of a New Gondola: Varo.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhtrC3_92KE

A dusty shot, but not yet finished!