La Dolce Vita

I'm in Roma but in two days I have to go homa. That's rich.

I was at the Vatican today. It was really amazing. What was so amazing is that I had to wait in line for two hours and then pay €4 to the wealthiest city-state on Earth, to go into a Basicilica for 45 minutes. St. Pete's Church is the largest in the world, and full of the greatest works of art on the planet, but c'mon. I was pressed up against other people's dandruff, gelled hair, pimples, bad teeth, bad hair cuts, bad clothes for too long. When I got out of there it was the real treat of the day!

I was admiring the Pope Mobile in the parking lot when an old guy with a ceareal bowl hat came up to me, made the sign of the cross, and said with a smile, "you toucha my car, I breaka you face." true story.

Then I stopped a nun to ask where the men's room was and she said, "sorry I don't work here."

Some of the best in Roman dishes, in English for my non-gastronomicly inclined friends and fam.

Spaghetti alla Carbonarra (bacon eggs and cheese)
Spaghetti alla Vongole (clams and parsley)
Artichoke and ricotta fritatta (best artichoke dish I've ever had!)
Gnocci with mushrooms, tomato, parsley, and pecorino
Gnocci al Ragù
Roman pizza which is different than Naples but delicious in its own way.
Pistachio Gelato

That's all I can remember at the moment Oh.. I had this Bruchetta with tomatoes and garlic and olive oil. Amazing. They know how to do tomatoes over here.

Lots more to say on Rome so stay tuned.

Pecse

So much things to say!

This is the second draft of a piece that I wrote two days ago but lost it in the technical vortex of the internet.

But to bring it all back...I was in Sicily up untill a two days ago. I'm in Rome for the moment but more on that in a minute. Sicily is an island. Not just geographically but metaphorically as well. It's about 30 years behind the rest of Italy in terms of its modernization and it seems to live life on its own warped sense of time. It was lovely to be there to say the least. Palermo was a place of extreme contrasts in its feel as a town. Sweet and sour, old and new, light and dark, rich and poor. I spent two pretty rainy days there but still managed to get a few hours of sun here and there. The buildings in Palermo are like the town; layered and layered with wave after wave of styles of each succssive occupier. There is a distinct feeling of Muslim presence there, with the spices in the markets that are unique to the Sicily (cinnamon, cumin, fennel, corriander), there are Moorish domes that cluster the skyline behind rows of palm trees, and there is a contagious energy in the markets where the men chant the product and price down the alleys to attract business. I may have mentioned that I was buying bags of strawberries from a guy that was yelling, " Fragola...Fragola..Fragola...Un Kilo, Due Euro....," I spent alot of time walking up and down the street markets checking out all the piles of olives, oranges, fennel, cheeses, and salumi. No discussion of the Sicilian markets would be complete without the fish. The tables of ice were packed with the local daily catches which were always sword fish with the severed head displayed so that the blue-grey beak sticks three feet up in the air. Baby octopus, shrimp, bream, spiny lobster, all kinds of fresh sardeen and anchovy. They were all kept slick and fresh looking by the men wearing full length yellow rubber aprons who watered down the catch with garden buckets. The pastties are some of the nicest I've seen in italy so far. Everything seems to be made out of almond or pistachio paste and dusted with sugar.

Palermo's favorite street side snack is the boiled spleen sandwich. There are carts on most corners with steaming tubs of this most pungent meat simmering away in its juices. The sandwich itself is a sesame bun (they love their sesame seeds here too) with some meat piled on, and then some ricotta all wrapped in a paper napkin. It tastes like a liver sandwich with a few rubber bands thrown in for texture. As the song goes, when you're in Palermo huddled under a statue of Neptune, standing in a puddle in the rain, with your lips wrapped around a steaming spleen sandwich...that's amore.

Italy is the South of Europe, and Sicily is the South of Italy, and the South like anywhere has a different attitude toward life than their elsewhere. There is a strange accent, balms breezes, soulfull cooking, gentler people, and an absence of hurry in the daily pace of things. The cliche of the Italian grandmother stirring a pot of sauce probably started there. Just off the busy streets, you can hear and smell people living their lives in a way that's hidden in NYC. There's laundry hanging everywhere, and road side shrines to the Big Man upstairs that look more like a Vegas advert for an Elvis Prestly Museum. (lots of Christmas lights, silk flowers and religious action figures.)

I was in a little island paradice to the south called Syracusa that is the sunny perfect, forgotten plot that songs are written about. Blue waters, fishing boats, almont cookies that melt in your mouth..There was a plesent lack ouf tourists in Sicily and even more so in Syracusa. Lodgings were not as easy to come by but I made a good deal with grey haired B and B keeper for a night in a nice room to myself. We made our deal tracing the price into the bed spread with our index finger. She wrote "40" and I wrote "35" and it was done. Not a word of English spoken thank you very much! The other discount hotels were just not an option in the off-island spots. There is a point when you cross over from campy backpacker discount hostels to one-day's-rent-away-from-homeless-wino-hotel. You go from, "I hope the beds are comfy," to "Are those cigarette burns in the mattress? I wonder if someone ever died in here?" From, "I hope they're good coffee in the morning," to ,"I hope I wake up with both my kidneys!" So I chose to pay the extra few bucks.

I had some plates of pasta in Syracusa that I had to stop myself from eating too fast. Like when the plate gets to the table and you realize that you have'nt looked up or broken your concentration on the food for five minutes. One dish was Spagetti da Ricci (with baby shrimp and fresh wild sea urchin.) And the other was someting that translated into "Eat Fest" that was a spagetti with baby shrimp, cherry tomatoes, smoked sword fish, parsley, and crushed almonds. I wish I had more time to hang in Sicily! I got that recomendation from a guy named Enzo who had an anti-Bush poster in his wine shop. I stopped in, slagged off on Bush for a drink or two and he sent me to this amazing restaurant. Sicily.

On this, the day of my daughter's wedding..

Palermo, Sicily

"That's what Pauli did, he offered protection to guys that couldn't go to the cops"

"I swear on the souls of my children that I will not be the one to break the peace we've made here today."

"I know it was you Fredo."

"sicilians are the best liars, a man's got 17 pantamimes..."

"Consiglietti..."

"You take care of that thing? No not that thing, the other thing?"

All joking aside, in the short time I've been in Palermo, I've become a made guy! So if you need a favor and I can help there may come a day when I will ask a favor in return.

Sicily seems to be the last stop on the Italian geographical reach south because it is incrediblty ancient and beautiful. The last place you should see before leaving the country and the continent for that matter. The coast is dotted with quaint little fishing villages and jagged volcanos that rake the clouds. Palmero itself has what I like to see in a town, a little third-world dodginess, lots of markets, an absence of tourists, great food, and palm trees. The markets here are filled with the freshest of everything: fish still curled on the ice from rigermortis, olives of every shade and variety, lots of spices, pine nuts, raisins, strawberries. They have lemons the size of a small child that if dropped from a tree would kill you dead. True story. I've been eating lots of pasta with sardines, pine nuts, and raisins. Lots lots thick little pizzettas, many many espressos (you'd have to peal me off the ceiling by 10AM on any given morning!)

I've been busy taking loads of photos and I have something in the neighborhood of 30 rolls to have developed when I get back. I really hope they come out nice.

I wish I had more time to explore Sicily but I have only two or three more days befor I have to get to Rome and see the Pope about some things.

I'll have heaps more to say about the food and architecture her that was both influenced heavily by the Moors, hence the heady spice markets and sweet and sour flavors in everything. The cannoli and Marsala here are the best anywhere, as they are both of this place. I'm doing my best to grab a few cook books in the local cuisine as well.

Till then

La Cosa Nostra

I'm off on the night ferry to Sicily this evening. Should be a 10.5 hour steam over to the old country where my Jewish mafia ancestors used to run the bagel rackets. There's said to be some mean cannoli and Marsala there to name a few good bites. It was hailing and thundering last night in Napoli and the gentleman who runs the desk at the hostel in the morning, a student named Luca, came in with his helmet beaded with water and soaked to the skin said, "It's uh snowinga on the Vesuvius uh!" True story because when it weather cleared today you could see the white peaks of the Volcano right across the palm trees on the bay.

I've eaten a pizza a day since I've been here and my associates and me agree that this little Pizzeria da Michele was the best. There were no tourists at this one and the pizza with a soda cost all of €5. The other two shops were equally excellent: Pizzaria di Matteo and Pizza del Presidente, but Michele has a little more sauce and their crust was perfectly blistered and chewey. Only one or two basil leaves per pie though.

There's a great book called "The Dark Heart of Italy" that I spied on the shelves of the bookstore in town that has lot's of great chapters on all that's weird or wrong with Italy. Everything from Gov't corruption to the shadiness of the football leagues. I read it for a while and it made a great contrast to the picturesque authenticity of the old world that people have loved about this place for centuries. I recommend it to all who would travel through here.

Naploi has been a slightly chaotic, horn-honking, traffic clogged, trash strewn, graffiti splattered joy ride to be sure. I've been warned by every Italian north of the Volcano to keep my jewelry hidden and my wallet in my front pocket. Luckily I'm not much for pearls and my wallet looks more like something you'd throw away than something you'd steal, but I've got my NY eyes sharpened to the scene and pulled the change off the stylus.

Pompei, by the way, was one impressive ruin. This was no little town, but a thriving city the size of a university campus with a highly evolved infrastructure of roads ans sewers, theaters, basilica, prisons, and taverns. Most of the buildings are perfectly in tact save for the roofs, and you can still see ancient political adverts written in red on the city walls. The marble in the theaters was as it was two thousand years ago, I'm sure. The museum in Naploi where they hold all the bronze and pottery recovered from the site was a vast and boggling catalogue of artifacts made by artisans practing at the height of their craft. One of the nicest places to stoll around in Pompei is on the out skirts of the ruin near the unexcavated areas where you're out of the way of the herds of classes and tourist inspecting the area. The old roads around the perimeter were wet and green from the moss and shade trees where a few homeless dogs would wait for someone to walk by and keep them company. Someone like me. I threw this one yellow Sheppard a pine cone and he ended up following me around with his tail wagging for almost two hours. If I didn't feel like throwing the stick he would just drop it at my feet and bark until I changed my mind. It was lots of fun to have a pet for the afternoon. The good company of a dog is hard to beat.

P122@

Buon Giorno and Bon Jovi

Just got off the train from Bologna where things were beautiful and collegate. Its home to the oldest university in Europe maybe the world if you dont count the school of redundancy school up there in Lipshitz, Germany.

Bologna (pronounced Bol-on-eey) was as old school of a university town as it gets. Many tightly radiating streets that whose sidewalks are all covered by arching and vaulting porticos. There was a youthfull buzz there that reverberated loudly off the clay toned brick and stone walls of the place.

I ate some great food there and some not so great food. To begin, I had as my first meal a plate of torelloni alla bolongese. About as good as it gets in that department. Later that night I was at a gelato shop (dessert before dinner) that used all natural seasonal stuff in their ice cream where I got a recommendation for a spot for dinner. I should have listened to my bro Andy on where to eat that night but I was led astray and I wish I could do it over agian. I was introduced to the chef who was a man of genuine friendliness and hospitality, and he invited me back later that night for a tasting meal. When I had finished the lovely dinner of five courses, I just thought to myself that I was underwhealmed. A classic out-to-dinner pitfall where you can't see the merchandice before you sign for it. Anywho it reminded me of getting a meal in SoHo where you pay for the privelage of being seen in a flashy modern restaurant in the heart of coolsville. I kept thinking to myself that the ingredients were the best part of the whole thing, and I could have done just as well at the stove. To make up for gouging my wallet I had a plastic container or this fresh pasta called Strozzapretti (wring the neck of the priest in Italian seriously) and some pesto and parm. It was better than my dinner and cost me €3. I dont want to jab the chef too hard because he was so cool to me but I just wish I hadn't had to pay so much. It stung a bit.

One of the coolest things I've done in Italy so far though was visit the Ducati Motorcycle factory in Bologna. There was a city bus that ran out there that only cost a €1. The museum was amazing! They had every Ducati racing motorcycle ever made from 1941 to the present day Superbikes. The old models were georgeous Pee-wee Herman style bicycles with little motors mounted over the crank with hand painted racing numbers on the plates over the headlight. They were one of a kind and looked it as well. I was drooling all over the floor at these 20 odd bikes. I took pictures of all of them but they were lit by an illumiated runway on the floor so I hope I got mu exposures right! The modern super bikes were basically red, white, and green missiles with handlebars. 250hp monsters that hit over 275mph!!! The factory was just as cool because all the bikes are made by hand so they can only produce about 200 a day as oppposed to a Japaneese factory that hits the 1000 mark on a day. The factory was still and quiet on the Saturday I visited. Pneumatic tools of every kind were hanging from coiled air cords above the assembly lines that ran back into the darkened ends of the shop. The factory was clean, well lit from natural sky light, and smelled like new car, or new bike. THere was a soundproof dynamo chamber where each motorcycle is boldted down to a treadmill of rollers and wound up to its highest rpms to make sure everything is running perfectly. A new bike starts at something like €17,000. I bought a Ducati coffee cup and a few post cards with a classic graphic of a little white dog with his toungue out running next to a little shinny enginge. The text says " cucculo" which means puppy.

I'm in Naples at the moment which deserves its own essay so I'll retire for evening. I did have my first Neopolitan Pizza tonight though. Definitly better than the Olive Garden. They also have a classic pastry here called sfogliatella which is a piece of paper thin dough rolled into a short little cone and filled with the most delicious sweet ricotta and orange zest. It looks like a crispy golden clam shell. I'm going to stop right here as I'm afraid I'm starting to sound like Racheal Ray or, some other TV clown.

On a related thought. I can't explain how glad I am to have not heard a word about any American celebrity, TV show, or politician in the last few weeks. I haven't missed digesting that useless information for a minute. I hope I have the dicipline to tune out the shit end of the media when I get home. The fact that I can't understand Italian even helps shield me from this whole world of advertising which is also not lost on me.

later skaters
dave

Grapes of Wrath

I'm getting over a cold at the moment, kinda crabby because of it, but still grinnin'. My last day in Florence was spent on a day trip to the little hill town of San Giminano. I spent the afternoon wandering around in a little piece of italian country side. It was most tranquil and the weather has been a perfect 65 degrees under cloudless skies and no humidity. The kind of day where you're plenty warm in the sun and chilly in the shadem you take your jacket on and off 17 times. I had two chilled glasses of Vernaccia di Sangiminano in the town itself. Its been pretty cool drinking the wine that comes from the ground underneith your feet. Each glass was only 2 or 3€ so its easy to get pretty loose on the stuff. There was some great photography yo be had at the bus station; two old gents just sitting out side with canes, hats, and coke bottle glasses. As usuall I was too chicken to just walk up and get a good photo. I usually just sneak one from the side, through a window, or if I can actually speak the language and Im feelin kind of bold, I'll ask. The photos I really like are pretty personal and lately its been tough to ask for the permission because I feel like a dumb american tourist. There are rivers of tourists here by the way. Not so much in Bologna where I am now, but there were so many Asians in Florence I was half expecting to see Godzilla poke his huge lizzard head around a church flushing a crowd of picture snapping tourists out of the brush. As far as the photo thing goes, its all in my head as I know but I like to moan...

In Bologna where I now write. Im actually late for a tasting meal at this restaurant called Ceasare. I was introduced to the chef by an awsome woman who owns this artisanal (sp?) gelato shop with her husband. She's actually an artist with work in museums around the world and he's a former carpenter. But I was sent there by my friend in Florence and from the gelato shop I asked for a good restaurant recommendation. After a cone of some serious pine nut gelato, she walked me around the corner and introduced me to the chef. He invited me into the little kitchen where he started filetting fish so I could smell the difference between two different breeds. He was amazingly friendly and in his broken english offered me a table to sit at so I could read through his cookbook and have a glass of Prosecco. More hospitable people I could not find. I'm due back there at the moment for a meal which he calles his "fantacy" which means he will make the choices for me I think.

Tomorrow I'm going to check out the Ducati Motorcycle Factory for a tour. Its supposed to be the biggest employer in the state.

The web sited for the two excellent places I've met the chefs so far are:

Cibreo's Teatro del sale in Florence: www.teatrodelsale.com or .it not sure on that.
and www.artefood.com for the place Ceasare in Bologna

I actually have'nt used either so bare with me.

ciao for now as they say, they don't say, but you get the idea..
dave

buon giorno

I met two great gals from the land of Aus. Megan suggested we take a bus down to the heart of Chianti and hire some scooters for a wine tasting tour. We set out early this morning to a town called Greve in between Sienna and Florence and arrived around noon. We went to the market and bought a tub of pesto, sliced salame, a soppresatta that made slices a big as 12 inch records, a big block of focciacia, and a wedge of pecorino fresco, and headed off for the rental shop. They told up upon arriving that the scooters weren't ready but we were free to rent mountain bikes instead. We did and saddled up for a day on tour in the legendary Tuscan wine country. We only made it to two different wineries as the terrain was very rugged and getting to the hilltops where the villas were located took a good half an hour of gear grinding and panting. When we did arrive though we were rewarded by genuinely kind people eager to tell us everything there is to know about the special wine of that region. Chianti classico it seems was one of the first wines in Italy to wear the DOCG label, certifying its authenticity and origin. We drank sips of reservas, grappa, olive oil, and then settled down for a picnic beside an old farm building whose roof had become dirt again hundreds of years ago leaving a crumbling white stone wall as evidence of a building. There were combed expanses of grape vine, wild rugged olive groves, stone walls and winding country roads all in view from our perch up on the the hill ridge. There was a smoky blue cast over the land that was illuminated by the amber afternoon sun. No sounds of traffic of commerce, just the welcoming bark of farm dogs, birds, and the occasional lizard flashing through the dry roadside grass. I slept like a rock on the bus ride home. Its funny where saying hello to a stranger will take you in your day.

Also I had the good fortune of finally meeting a food writer and oracle of all things Italian and edible, Faith Willanger. She is a wonderful woman who seems dead set on helping me meet some of the chefs in Italy that are doing some great food. She handed me one of her books called Eating in Italy and a list of phone numbers of chefs in Michelin Three Star restaurants as well as a few One Star spots out in the country in Pulia. She gave me the name of her driver in Naples where Im to meet up with him so that he can chauffeur me out to the country for a visit to some of these remarkable places. All this and a mean cup of Coffee to boot. I cant wait to see whats going on in these kitchens and the possibility of getting back here to spend a few months in one of these places seems great. I didn't expect to be hit over the head with inspiration in this place but I have even if it fades I'm glad for the time of temporary satori.

luca brazzi sleeps with the fishes

Chubby flying babies

Some hosteling adventures from days past. When, two days ago, I arrived in Florence there were next to no hostel beds available. I ended up in a pretty decent little hotel that did not get my reservation information for some reason. It was after midnight and my eyelids were heavy so I agreed to pay the extra 10 euro for the private room with two beds and the flickering single light bulb in the bathroom. Twenty minutes after I unpack theres a knock at the door. The hostess in a combination of Spanish and Italian (we spoke well in Spanish as she spoke no English) told me that there were three gentlemen who were cued in the doorway behind her in need of a room. I took a look over shoulder to see three young dark haired student types peering back at me. If they could stay with me I would get a discount in the morning for my trouble she explained. I was just in need of a place to sleep and was of no mind to send anone to the same fate so I let them in as they looked around the little room as we all shook hands and nodded smiles at each other. One of the kids who spoke English told me they were from Rome and came to Florence to see a concert of a local musician that was a lot like Bob Dylan. After I helped park the car of the English speaker which involved a half hour of winding around the early morning streets of Florence we got back to the room where all three kids took off their sneakers and packed into the little queen sized bed. It was like the Italian Three Stooges from the view I had from my spacious bed.

Just a day in the life of my usual .5 star hotel.

Lunch in Sienna today was another work of master craftsmanship. Papardelle with wild boar ragu, a plate of garlicky grilled artichokes, and a thick slice of pecorino fresco. I ordered a Chianti for my meal and got a whole bottle. I don't know how the waitress thought I could drink all that but at 7 Euro I wasn't going to argue. I finished nearly the whole thing and got back into the piazza with the world swirling above and around me.

Sienna is a beautiful town of tight high walled streets that rests on a crest of three mountain ridges. In the middle of the town is a wide expansive piazza that is shaped like a clam shell complete with a gently sloping grade toward the hinge. In the summer they have a massive horse race around the piazza with the whole town looking on. Every coffee shop has black and white photos of the horses rounding the sharp corners of the piazza with at least one horse in the midst of a full-on train wreck and the jockey air borne. The town is what I pictured Florence to be in my mind with its medieval look and quiet streets that look out onto the undulating Tuscan countryside.

There was a little fry shop in the piazza that was making these little munchkin like donuts that were sprinkled with caster sugar. The batter was something made from rice or rice flour but the middle was just set and this was yet another incredibly delicious treat in my daily menu.


buonizzil capizzil

Bob N. Weeve

city by the sea

Arrival in Venice is as close to arriving on a distant planet as I think I'll ever get. Its about time I sat down to empty my head from the last few days of being in this water world of a city. Comming from a long train along the foot hills of the Slovenian Alps, to palm trees and ocean air, I stepped off the train station steps into a an ancient space station. Thirty feet from where I dropped my pack was a teal green canal that seperated me and my few belongings from a jade dommed white stone temple. People where waiting and watching the vessels of every kind putter and bob by on the water carrying every kind of cargo off in both directions. There was a new language echoing off the stone walls where eddies of space people dissapeared around hidden walks and stone lace bridges. I had an ear to ear grin for hours wondering around the maze of walks and bridges that run the length of hundereds of kilometeres of water streets. Gondolas, skiffs, water buses, floating garbage bardges, sleek varnished maple-wood water taxis, paddled, rowed, motored, bubbled, whirred, and drifted past as I stood there in utter amazement. Its easy to loose your balance between the disorientation of looking up at all the 1000-year-old carvings on every surface of the built environment while trying to hold tight to a fixed surface on the taxis while the horizon rises and falls. To reach my destination I had to do familiar tasks, buy tickets, check maps, fumble with my camera, but this time all I could to hold on and be amazed. I cant belive people built a city like this. Every building is a monument to the work and creativity of thousands of people over hundreds of years and all you can do is get it in view for 6 or 8 seconds as you slip past into the sun, out of the shade, into pockets of cool sea air, out of invisible containers of bright sunlight reflecting off the blushing pink stucco and tarnished marble.

Venice, Italy home to all things new and old at once. Before I could even drop my bags off I had wondered into a canal-side osteria. Along one wall was a library of wine bottles and behind the marble counter top bar were two men, both pouring prosecco and asking me, "Prego? Prego?" I looked at the trays of little snacks; crostini with baccalao, w/mushrooms, w/ teleggio and sala verde, w/ gorgonzola and chocolate. Then there were casserols of polenta, sardines, anchovies, roasted cipplini, eggplant alla pizziaola.... "I'll take it!" was my reply. I began pointing to one of each. "Uno, uno, uno unounounounouno si si si si!" I was talkin all kinds a shit. As soon as I figured out what was going on, just people stopping in for a snack and a sip of wine to take outside to finish the afternoon, I wasted no time getting into it. I washed it all down with two glasses of Prosecco and saddled my bags on my shoulders, and headed back onto the walk. I made my way upstream through the knots of people enjoying their Shprits (the local favorite afternoon coctail of white wine, Aperol, an orange slice and a green olive) as they leaned and looked on as the boats and people glided past.

As far as food goes...its like the architecture; everything I've eaten is beter than the thing before it. I woke up at 6 this morning because there is a large crowd of Japaneese people staying at this barrax of a hostel and there is particular interest in the bathing and washing rituals of that culture it seams...and I headed out early for a stroll. (Oh yeah as far as the Japaneese go, if you have to make a call to Japan don't bother, there's nobody home, they're all here!) But as I was saying I was on an early morning search and consume mission and was happy to find Venice empty of all tourist activity and I was able to walk freely through all of the busiest places as if they were just for me. I would shoulder down some random walk way, cross a bridge here, under a tunnel there, and hear Italian spoken from somewhere in the distance. Next is the smell of fresh pastry and the voices get louder then, around a corner and the crevice opens to a wide square of irregular geometry, the stone pavement still slick from the morning fog. I love how people just pop in, have their espresso and then two minutes later they're gone. There's a steady flow of people into the cafes all morning I was happy to observe with my €2.50 copy of the International Herald. The day is just punctuated by food.

No good letter home would be complete without a recipe. I had this eggplant snack in one of these Osterias and it was simple and delicious.

(Insert Italian word for Eggplant here) Milanese alla pizziola

1. Good looking black eggplant
2. a little thick home made tomato sause from canned tomatoes
3. fresh mozzerella
4. olive oil
5. salt and pep
6. some great quality cured anchovies (wash the salt off and pat them dry) soak them in some changes of water if they're too salty for ya, then pat them dry.

-Cut the eggplant into 2inch thick rounds and dress them well with the oil, salt and pep.
-Roast them in a 350 oven untill they're soft and starting to brown
-When they're cool hit them with a good dollop of the sauce, a knob of the mozzerella and but back in the oven to melt.
-when cool again put a nice anchoby filet across the top with another few drops of oil, salt and pep.

A few of us from the hostel met up at a cafe near the university last night. We had many Sprits and a great time. I think our little group represented three or four continents. There was such pleasent engergy out there in the Piazza where the crowd spilled from the little cafe into the courtyard. People were playing flamenco on a refrigerator sized portable ?!? speaker system. When that ended there were two students playing the rock n roll on their guirar and accordion. There was a crow gathered around them all cheering and shouting. There could never be a night life like that in the States. There's too much taboo on alcohol and people would just f%%k it up. But that night as with all others people enjoyed each other's company with no need for the police to reach in and sort it out.

I was walking back from my boat last night and I saw an old man fising for cuttle fish under the street lights with a long handeled net and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I walked up and gave him the ol' "Buona Serra." and he livened up and showed me the three fish he had caught in the bucket all wet and climbing over each other. I learned the squid are comming in from the lagoon to lay their eggs and the squid fishing is good and easy for now. In the summer when these big mamas are gone, the baby squid will show up in all the restaurants. I'm amazed by this place, I mean the life here seems to be really good. Even if you collect the garbage or drive a cab, you still get to drive a boat every day and check out all these amazing buildings and eat all this incredible food.

Its been great hearing back on the email. Thank you and keep it comming.
dave

Enter the Dragon

Slovenia has been a quick but sunny stop on the road of life and the road of streets. It would not surprise me if J.R.R Tolken stoped through here at some point in his life and took great inspiration for the Lord of the Rings books. This country is truly a modern Middle Earth. There are pristine saw toothed mountians looking to the north with a frosting of perfect white snow whose tops were, today, pintoed by the shadows stray puffs of cloud. There are numerous mountian top castles that stand guard over towns of carved stone buildings. Ljubljana, the capitol where I am at the moment, has one of these castles and an old bridge crossing a mideval river pramenade whose four corners are stationed by four VW sized bronze statues of snarling winged dragons. The statues have turned green from the weather and you cant see the top of the castle on the mountan untill you tilt your head back enough to get your nose over your brow. This little town I visited today is called Bled. Another Tolken like name. I kept thinking the past tense of bleed. There is an island in the middle of a sparking lake where sits a perfect little church built from white stone. The church is the most perfectly organic structue to be built on that site, as if the island kept growing upward out of the soil and trees like a stalagmite in a cave. My conversation with the itinerant watercolor artist revealed the unsettling fact that this is the first winter in memory where there was no ice on the lake at this time. "Yeah thats really f-ed up" I said standing there in my T-shirt. He said you could walk out to the church across the ice 3 months out of the year and now its only accessable by row boat. Everyone is talking about," Zee global heating."

Oh that reminds me of when I was in Zagreb the guys who owned the hostel kept calling me "Brooklyn." and then they kept saying in their Croatian accents, " Ey Brooklyn...Foo ged aboudit! Ey Brooklyn.. Foo ged aboudit!"

Mamamia.

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I'm still here in Croatia. I cant seem to get outa here. Not that I want to but I have been cutting into my Italy time with a tractor-sized pizza wheel here and I have to get going. Its been a very easy country to like all except the swapping of the z and the y on all the keyboards but nobodys perfect. I spent a day or so in the seaside town of Split. It was once a seaside palace of a retired Roman emperor but now its the worlds most beautiful outdoor shopping mall. The buttery marble streets there are a labyrinth of mazes and alley ways all brought up to date with a cute little boutique plugged into it. If your in the market for sunglasses, handbags, or shoes, Split is your town. It was easy to picture the summer time as being a blast to hang in though. There are palms and citrus fruits growing everywhere as well as a green market that would shame any self-righteous New York chef who thought NYC has it all and then some.

I had the great fortune of meeting up with some good traveling mates in Split. Shamyla (sorry love I cant spell my own name!) and Pete. We went to see Saw III (I cant believe they were able to make crap like that and not get thrown to the dogs) and The Queen. They were the easy company Ive been craving and I'm sad that they re gone on their own separate journeys.

Yesterday I came with Shamyla up here to Zagreb which is way up inland and considered my many locals to be a little Vienna. More on that in a minute. On the way here we took a day long pit stop in the woods at a National Park called Plit Vitsa. It was a wonder of nature kind of place that had a series of crystal blue lakes pouring into innumerable waterfalls with wooden bridges and tall reeds. We had that familiar feeling that the place was all our own as the season for tourism is still months away. We didn't see any one else but for the ducks and fish that were lazing in the slats of sun that made its way through the turbulent clouds. When we were able to take some shelter from the wind, I was unable to hear any evidence of the modern world for the first time in months. To think we almost didn't get off the bus because it would have been easier to just continue on to Zagreb and not bother with anything as trivial as a few waterfalls and pools.

So like I said Zagreb was built by the Austrians in the image of Vienna complete with all the chilly stately building facades and cathedrals. I think I could get into the Cathedral viewing more if they sold popcorn or had someone there to try to dunk in a tank with an accurate throw of a baseball. Alas it is not to be and the spires go unvisited by me. Croatia's other claims to world wide fame are being the birth place of Nikola Tesla, who is a virtual patron saint in these parts. In fact the AC power you're using to read this right now is the modern adaptation of an invention of his. Also hundreds of years ago, Croatia has been raped of all it shore line lumber that was used to build Venice when it was under Venetian rule. And now ,Ive learned with a wink and a smirk from my host at the hostel, Venice is sinking! And the neck tie is also a result of Croatian fashion sense as they were worn by Croatian soldiers in the court of Louis XIV. The case of the inventor of the dickey and the sock suspenders is still unsolved. In addition, I'm writing this on my first pay Internet computer where you can plunk 5 kuna coins into the slot for service. Indeed, Croatia is a land of innovation and inspiration, and unfortunately too, of inebriation and regurgitation.

Im off to Slovenia which will put the Balkans behind me for now. Venice after that. Remember to send this email to seven friends in the next seven minutes or get seven years of enui.