Out in the country
2 JunRome is a wonderful city but it is, after all, a noisy, busy, annoying place. Motorini buzz up our street at all hours, buses discharging their air brakes echo in the night, and even the church across the street hums with activity as late as 11:00 PM. Seagulls sometimes screech as early as 3:30 AM, and compete with a songbird whose otherwise beautiful song is not quite so lovely at that dark hour. So we seek to leave the city, walk without worry of careening motorini, and give our ears a rest. Even a single day out of Rome can leave one refreshed. So it was with delight that we accepted the invitation of friends to join them at their home in a tiny town almost too small for the map.
Whenever I need to leave it all behind
Or feel the need to get away
I find a quiet place, far from the human race
Out in the country
“Out in the Country” by Three Dog Night
The official town site says Vico Nel Lazio has a population of 2258. That might be true on a day that everyone who owns a home there shows up and brings the extended family. Our friend Gigi, whose family has had a house in Vico for 5 generations, says there are maybe 1000 people year-round. There are two bars, a tabaccheria, and a bakery. Everything else is down the hill a few kilometers away, except for the 8-or-so churches. Vico sits at over 700 meters above sea level. This medieval village dates back to at least the 13th century. The ancient gates are still in use and many of the original 24 towers still visible. It is not a tourist destination.
Driving about an hour and 45 minutes from Rome, we arrived late one Sunday morning to be greeted by Emanuela in the town piazza. Shortly, our group of 7 set out on a two-hour mountain hike, high above Vico. Gigi has been hiking these hills all of his life and took us meandering through grazing cows and horses with foals alongside. We could never have done this on our own. We’d be wandering there still today without his expert guiding. Along the way we shared stories with the accompanying Italian friends, picking up new vocabulary words as they willingly helped us with their language. As storm clouds threatened across the valley, we found a trough high in the hills. It must have been there for a very long time, fed by a spring. Luckily the rain arrived only as due gocce (a few drops).
Heading back to Vico we enjoyed il pranzo della Domenica (Sunday lunch) in the picture-perfect setting of Gigi and Emanuela’s garden. Following antipasti of salumi and cheese, there was homemade fettucine by the talented Maria, roasted suckling lamb and potatoes, salad, fruit, pastries and wine. It’s no wonder some of the group took to napping in the grass. Click on any photo below for a slide show.
- Ludovica, Paolo, me, Emanuela, Fabio & Gigi prepare to hike.
- Mountain meadow on our trek near Vico Nel Lazio.
- Horse and foals
- Cows roaming free in the mountains, raising their calves.
- Gigi waves us in and the cattle soon departed.
- Spring-fed trough for cattle and horses. Good enough for people if you take your water above the animal trough….
- The cattle get a turn at the trough as we leave.
- Gigi photo bombs Ric at the high mountain trough. Emanuela and Fabio are at right.
- Fabio and Gigi set up the antipasti and aperitivi
- Maria delivers a massive platter of fettucine con ragu to the garden table. The pasta was “fatto a mano” that morning.
- We gather for lunch as Maria brings the pasta.
- Tiny, brightly flavored forest strawberries!
- Delicate pastries from a Roman shop round out the meal.
- Casa seen from the garden. It is HUGE.
- After lunch napping.
- 40-year-old resident tartaruga.
- Entrance to Emanuela and Gigi’s home.
- Entrance courtyard to the house, which has been in the family for many generations.
- View to the sky from the cortile.
- Medieval gate exiting Vico Nel Lazio.
Driving back to Rome the reality of urban life struck all too quickly as we encountered intense traffic and logistical problems in navigating our way home. But we had a lovely day in the country free from noise and traffic. Lovely.
Naked in Italy
27 MayThat title should make the read-rate for this blog go through the roof.
The other day I was in the gym. Having finished my workout I went to the very small locker room, where my first act is usually to wash my hands since I’ve been touching all sorts of equipment. Right in front of the sink was a naked Italian woman, chit-chatting with a couple of other women while she donned her black lace panties. I was not going to ask permesso to go to into the very small area by the sink, squeezing past her naked self. As she went to put on her bra, her cell phone rang and – I kid you not – she took a 5 minute call with one boob in the bra and one boob out, still blocking the sink. I changed my clothes and went on my way, shaking my head.
Body image and nakedness in Italy is a culture shock for American women I have spoken to. The attitude towards the body is much more open in Italy than in North America. Whether in the locker room at the gym or at the doctor’s office, unabashed nakedness is taken for granted.
Most North American men – or men from anywhere for that matter and as far as I know – don’t give a rip about taking off their clothes in front of other men. Man boobs or not, they change and shower openly from what I am told. Not so women in North America, right?
I respect the openness with which Italians treat the body. There is little or no modesty or self-consciousness, which is somewhat refreshing, but frankly I don’t know where to put my eyes when confronted with the naked conversation.
Another time I came into the locker room to get changed before working out and a young woman came out of the toilet stall, naked but for her shower flip-flops. (God- forbid she should get a fungus while walking around the locker room naked.) I tried to suppress my surprise but I am certain my jaw dropped a bit. As a hung-up Americana I don’t even potty at home completely naked. Naked is for the shower and certain bed-time activities. “Buongiorno! Come vai?” she said. Where do I put my eyes? I think I chose a corner high and to the right.
Is this narcissism? “Look at me! I am in your way and I am naked!” She may or may not have a body one wants to see naked…. And regardless, where the heck am I supposed to put my eyes?
I have become somewhat used to doffing my clothes in a medical situation, although luckily I have been able to take care that my mammographer is not a man. (Yup, many of them are in Italy. See Things Are Different Here.) When I expressed a desire to NOT have a male mammographer the nurse said to me “What do you care? They’re only breasts.” Yes, but they are my breasts, and I like to be the one to select who touches them. After last year’s experience I made a point of selecting a facility where the doctor herself does the mammogram and sonogram. Still, when one gets a mammogram here there are no little pink capes over your shoulders. You enter the x-ray room, strip to the waist and belly-up to the machine. This is followed by a walk to an adjacent room where you get a sonogram, sometimes involving two specialists if consultation is required. And no one explains what’s going happen. In the U.S. one would expect the doctor to say “I’d like to call in Dr. So-and-So to have a look. Do you mind?” and she would buzz someone to come in. Here, a door to a busy hallway will suddenly open and someone you’ve not met while clothed will walk in and start examining your breasts with no introduction. Thorough, though: No one is taking chances that they will miss anything. After the exam you sit there bare-breasted while having a conversation about what was or was not found.
Whether for skin cancer checks, a visit to the cardiologist for an ECG, or to the vascular surgeon, one just slips out of the appropriate garments while chatting up the doctor and perhaps while dressing after the exam has a conversation about vacation, or family, or life in an embassy. Very convivial. Actually I like the system a great deal in that one has the full attention of the physician. But it took some adjusting to not having privacy for undressing and dressing and occasionally having a door unexpectedly open and others arrive on the scene unexplained.
The lack of privacy also extends to the pharmacy. Hell, there isn’t even a word for privacy in Italian. Everyone hears everyone else’s symptoms and problems. You do not walk into a pharmacy and peruse the shelves looking for your own solutions or symptoms. You have to ask the pharmacist for whatever you might need. Everyone in the store will know what you came to buy. Sort of a different form of exposure.
In the U.S. we are so concerned about privacy. God-forbid someone would overhear the pharmacist give instructions on how to take an antibiotic or how to apply that anti-fungal cream! Once I had to sign a privacy statement when they gave me instructions at the people pharmacy on how to administer a medication to my dog. In locker rooms we are shy and at the doctor’s we expect gowns and drapes, introductions and explanations before anything is looked at, probed, or handled.
It’s certainly not that either approach is wrong. It just takes some getting used to flaunting your “stuff” in public. And I still don’t know where to look when chatting up naked women in the locker room.
Weekend Miscellany
18 MayFriday night we undertook to make dinner for some Italian friends. I am still a bit nervous about making Italian food for Italians, so we built a “Mediterranean Menu,” incorporating preparations from Sicily and the Middle East, with a left turn to France for dessert. It turned into THE GREAT GARLIC DINNER: with the exception of dessert, there was garlic in every course. I had not planned the menu to be so. Only in the implementation did I realize how much the little wonders were incorporated. Luckily each person was a garlic fiend.
We started with pancetta-wrapped garlic, which must be tried to be believed. Our guests had never seen garlic nor pancetta treated this way. Even our vegetarian guest downed several of the savory cloves. Of course olives were present, also in a garlicky/spicy treatment. Antipasti included balsamic-roasted red-peppers, hummus, and Ric’s very wonderful Sicilian caponata, also with an adequate amount of the pungent bulbs. Served with hot, crispy-crusted-tender-inside focaccia we probably could have quit eating at this point. Ma è non finisce qui! (But wait, there’s more!) The garlic-fest continued with garlic-crusted rombo and rosemary potatoes with olives and – you guessed it – garlic!
The rombo is a type of flat-fish, a member of the turbot family. I used to make this recipe with halibut in Portland. In fact it is a recipe our son taught me. Although Italian has a word for halibut, ippoglosso, you cannot get the fish fresh. So I asked at the pescheria what type of fish might work as a substitute and the rombo was the considered decision. I was quite flattered at the fish shop to be asked how I would prepare scallops. There was another customer there contemplating scallops as they were on special and according to the fishmonger Italians only have one way of making them: baked with breadcrumbs, a sort of Coquilles St. Jacques. He knew an American (between my accent and my marginal Italian it’s easy to tell that I am) would have other preparations so we had quite a 3-way conversation about pan-frying, in cream-sauce with mushrooms, stir-fried in an Asian style, etc. This is constant conversation in Italy wherever food is sold: How are you going to prepare that? Everyone has an idea and the exchange is quite interesting and informative. I am glad my Italian is now at a level where I can participate. But I digress…. The fish is spread with roasted garlic, then sprinkled with herb-seasoned panko, and broiled for a very few minutes. Yum!
The potato recipe came from my friend Heather’s aunt, and is a real winner, perfect with this fish. New potatoes, two kinds of chopped olives, roasted garlic, herbs and olive oil = fantastic! No ketchup required.
We finished the evening with a very French pots di crème served with fresh whipped cream,the intense chocolate being a fine counter-point to the savory dinner.

At the very elegant Villa Taverna gardens. I was so wrapped up in the auction, wine and food that I forgot to take pictures. This was the cake-topper.
Of course that was only Friday. The gastro-fest continued at the annual embassy auction at the ambassador’s residence, Villa Taverna. Because U.S. government procurement law does not allow taxpayer money to be spent on employee functions, each year the Community Liaison Office holds an auction to raise funds to allow a couple of parties for staff, morale-boosting efforts for the Marine Security Guard, such as visits by their parents, and so on. The auction is a big deal, with great food and an opportunity to spend money. So of course we did. It looks like we have a couple of weekend trips ahead, including 3 nights at an agriturismo in the Brunello di Montalcino region.

Ric and me in our little risciò, perfect for touring the park. V.B. is the largest public park in Rome.














































