I’ll Make This Quick

04 Sep 2023 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in grannys landing, Mexico, Poetry, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

I’m dumbfounded.

Why has moving here, thirty miles from the nearest grocery store, nearest hardware store, nearest fast food restaurant, or Dairy Queen, made my life busier and more social than ever before?

I’m not complaining, but this isn’t exactly what I’d planned. I expected vast quantities of downtime to write, reflect, and daydream. I imagined isolation and a touch of loneliness now and then, solitary walks, and, okay, I’ll admit it, boredom.

How much wronger could I have been?! I think I’ve maxed out the wrongness scale.

So here’s the latest from Granny’s Landing on Fantasy Bay.

Let’s start with mornings. They’re glorious.  So stunning, in fact, that after taking this shot through my kitchen window, I ran outside in bare feet and jammies, climbed the ladder to my under-construction loft, and took another.

In jaw-dropping awe, I stood for many minutes, transfixed as the sun cleared the horizon.

Thirty minutes later, I was in Bear’s barn renovation, insullating the walls.

Construction is an ongoing theme. My garage/entryway/deck/loft addition is progressing.

Today, I sat under open rafters, imagining stairs, windows, a rug, as a lone cloud sprinkled a few cooling drops on my sweaty-hot head.

Did I say hot? Yesterday, it hit 103 degrees! The only thing hotter than the sun was the inside of my house. Even the sunflowers were wilting.

But that’s Minnesota. Extremes. It suits me.

On the social front, we have our community ‘meeting’ every evening at five o’clock. Whoever hosts provides appetizers. We plan our work for the coming day, moan, and groan over the latest political outrages, share poetry we’ve written, or ponder the meaning of life. Sometimes, someone has a deep, philosophical question, like, If time is a construct of man, is reality a neverending now? We keep ourselves entertained.

Then there was the garden. I planted one row of beans last spring. Gwen and W did the rest. All summer, they tended to weeds and watering while I went to South Carolina to visit granddaughters, then to Minneapolis to tend my grandsons. I showed up again just in time for harvest and the canning, freezing, and pickling processes.

Somewhere along the way, I decided to brew kombucha. Random? Not really. It’s a healthy alternative to my Spicy Tamarind Vodka fixation, a drink I was introduced to in Mexico.

Amazon had everything I needed. The brewing jar came from CraftaBrew.com with instructions and a cloth cover. An amber-colored, live scoby starter from poseymom.com and cardamom-flavored Ahmad black tea arrived, and I was in business.

Now I wait.

Isn’t it gorgeous? I can start tasting it after seven days. If I like the flavor, I’ll bottle it then, or l can let it ferment longer for a tangier version.

It’s getting late. I’ll wrap this up. But just now, the moon…

And a sky full of stars…

Good night, my friends. Sleep well.

The Minor Frustrations of Everyday Life in a Third-World Country

30 Mar 2021 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Sometimes so much happens it’s hard to know which story to tell. I realized as I wrote that sentence that most of the events of the past two weeks can be filed under one heading: Frustration. Does that give me permission to tell all of them? Sure. Why not.

Ketut has been cutting the garden grass on hands and knees with his curved knife for years. The neighbor next door has a weed-whacker. She uses it far too often for about four hours at a crack. During that time you’d swear you were living next to a runway at JFK International.

The noise is the only reason I’ve resisted buying that tool of convenience for Ketut. But lately his back has been bothering him. The last flare-up was three weeks ago. I decided it was time to bite the bullet.

Lazada is Indonesia’s version of Amazon. I searched through pages of weed-whackers, some had murdurously heavy-looking packpacks that feed gas to the machine. Some were electric with long cables. Others ran on batteries, and a scant few were rechargeable.

The rechargable battery-operated ones appealed to me. I compared differing volts, wattages, blades, and reviews in an attempt to educate myself. I finally chose a brand from China that checked all the boxes. I was delighted to see that Lazada would accept my U.S. debit card. I entered it and clicked the BUY button. An email popped up:

WOW! Thank you for your order. Please use the number below for tracking.

I chuckled. Only in Indonesia would they exude such enthusiasm over an online order. It would be delivered within four days. Perfect.

The next morning I found another message from the company.

OH NO! Your order was cancelled because no payment.

Huh? Really? Maybe they wouldn’t accept my card after all. I returned to the Lazada site to re-order the machine with a different method of payment. The process was not user-friendly and after trying for half-an-hour I sent a message to my neighbor:

“If I pay half of whatever your grass cutter cost, and share expenses for maintenance, can Ketut borrow it twice a month?”

The answer was immediate:

“It’s old! You don’t have to pay. Just borrow it when you need it.”

I love my neighbor.

Two days later there was a message from Lazada in my inbox:

HURRAY! Your order has been shipped!

What? Huh! My cancelled order has been shipped? What if I’d reordered…

It arrived on scedule. Of course, it required assembly and of course, the instructions were in Chinese. But Ketut worked his magic and the thing was operational in no time. The big payoff…it whispers!

Fast-forward another week. I ordered a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Cheesecake for my son-in-law’s birthday from a company called GiftBlooms that I found online. It’s located in a town near their home. I checked my email inbox for confirmation.

Thank you for your order. You will be advised when it goes out for delivery.

Relief washed over me. I’d found a gift I knew he’d enjoy and it was ordered. Check.

The next moring’s inbox showed a message from GiftBlooms.

Your order is on hold. Please click on the link below for more information.

I clicked. In a nutshell, they were concerned that my credit card address (U.S.) didn’t match the location of my order (Indonesia) and they wanted a photo of my credit card. They told me to obscure the last 4 digits and send it in a reply email.

This was a new wrinkle. I’d never had issues with ordering anything in the U.S. But I complied. Within fifteen minutes, GiftBlooms sent another message:

Your order is on hold.

This time they wanted me to take a selfie of me holding the credit card along with a photo I.D. A low simmer started at the base of my skull. I pulled out my driver’s license and…what?! My license expired on my birthday two months ago? I had no idea! The simmer cranked to a low boil. My passport was handy. Holding it and the card next to my face, I tried not to growl as I took the shot.

Ten minutes later the inbox had another message from GiftBlooms.

Your order is on hold.

By now I was chewing tacks and spitting nails.

We have a mirror-image view of your documents. Please lay them flat and take another photo.

What did they expect? Documents will always be a mirror image when photographed beside my face. I’d done what they told me to do and they still weren’t satisfied.

That was the point where I came dangerously close to cancelling the order. Dangerously close. But it was also the point where the whole charade became hilarious. I took the shot, sent it, and held my breath. Ten minutes again and there was GiftBlooms in my inbox.

Order pending.

There were no further instructions. They were probably running my info through the FBI and IRS, just to make sure their cheesecake wasn’t being used to cover up an international money-laundering scheme.

I went to bed. The next morning my stomach did a bit of flamenco when I saw GiftBlooms had reached out to me yet again. I opened the email holding my breath.

Your order will be delivered between 9 a.m. and 7 p.m. on the date you selected. Thank you for your order.

And so it was that my son-in-law got his Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Cheesecake right on time. But what a circus!

And then…

Covid vaccinations are being rolled out in Ubud. The pecking order isn’t clear, but people in health care and tourism workers supposedly come first. Then local residents. There was no mention of ex-pats being eligible, but I felt certain we would be.

Then I heard vaccines were available to foreigners with a KTP – the kind of identification card evey Indonesian and a few ex-pats have. I don’t.

Several days passed and I noticed a post on Facebook. Got my vaccine at the wantilan across from Ubud palace. No KTP needed, just a KITAS or KITAP. Go now!

I grabbed my KITAP and hustled down Monkey Forest Road to the roofed platform where they hold special events in Ubud Center. Not a soul. Two taxi drivers were lounging at the curb. I asked them what they knew about the vaccines.

Yesterday finished.

I’d missed it by a day. I asked if they knew where they were giving them now and was told I could come back tomorrow, maybe they would be there again. Somehow I doubted it.

The next morning Facebook had another lead. They were giving vaccines in the Monkey Forest parking lot a few blocks from home. You guessed it. I grabbed my KITAP and trotted over. The two women attending the entrance were the only humans visible. I asked them about the vaccine.

Oh ya. Yesterday they were here.

So yesterday, while I was huffing and puffing my way north toward the palace, mere steps away from home in Monkey Forest parking lot they were doing vaccinations? The women told me I should check at the local Puskesmas clinic. Maybe I could get the vaccine there. I thanked them, gulped down the lump in my throat, and turned back the way I had come.

As I approached the clinic I saw hoards of motorbikes and heard numbers being called. My heart thumped hopefully. Maybe this would be it. After quick stop at the hand santizer station, I proceeded past curious eyes to an information booth. I explained that I have a KITAP and asked if I could get the vaccine here.

What is your dose? You already have first dose?

I said no, I hadn’t had any dose yet.

I’m sorry. Here we do only second dose.

I plodded home nursing a blue mood. Why did it have to be so hard? Later, sitting on the terrace under the bluest sky with a cool breeze licking my skin, Dad’s words echoed in my head. Don’t push the river.

And there it was. I’d done it again. I know with everything in me that when it’s my turn, it’ll be easy. But I’d gotten swept up in the urgent energy of others and momentarily forgot my truth.

These small things – little frustrations – are part of what I love about my life here. Perhaps not in the exact moment I’m experiencing them, but in retrospect they make great stories, and that’s what life’s about – our stories!

Food Glorious Food Glorious Fooooood!

02 Mar 2020 6 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Holidays, Poetry, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , , ,

I’ve embraced food-love.

Not just the flavors and nutritional value for my body, but the beauty, the colors and textures, the rugged heartiness or delicate elegance of the visuals (and victuals) on my plate.

I still prefer simplicity. One dish well-prepared delights me far more than a variety. I don’t know why that is – maybe I’m too easily stimulated by flavors. Maybe my palette gets confused and goes into overwhelm.

Whatever the reason, I’m much happier going deep into the complexities of a single entrée than sampling many. A table groaning with selections thrills some. Maybe they’re the true foodies. But for me, in quantities of food and friends, less is more.

Speaking of friends, small-talk, the inane chatter between people who don’t know each other well and may not care to, is painful for me. It’s like those all-you-can-eat buffets where you leave grossly stuffed but haven’t really tasted anything. I’ve taken new acquaintances aback when, after a few minutes of chit-chat I say, “So…tell me about your childhood.” The ones who reply, You first, are friends for life.

Food and friends. The two go hand-in-glove, don’t they? I hadn’t intended to write about friends – they just slipped in. But it makes sense. Sharing the daily repast is probably part of our DNA from the beginning. I don’t think Eve ate Adam’s rib. But she did offer him an apple – which didn’t end well. Hmm. Bad analogy. However, I think historically speaking, breaking bread together has been a peaceful endeavor, not an act of war.

But about the photos…

That’s lentil stew ladled atop the brick-hard bread I’ve raved about. I paired it with Sartori Pinot Grigio. A red wine would have been too heavy. Even though the slices of spicy salami I boiled first, created an intensely flavorful stock, and the chunk of bread added heft, the white complemented beautifully without overpowering.

In spite of the stunning meals I’ve had here, I was missing my Bali breakfast of homemade granola and coconut yogurt, topped with tropical fruit. On my next trip to Tutto per Tutti market I scanned the cereals on offer and came home with Kelloggs All Bran, a container of Yomo plain yogurt, bananas and strawberries – not quite dragon fruit and papaya but adequate.

The first day I ate it with yogurt. The following day I ate it without. It was either surprisingly good or I’ve completely forgotten the taste of my other life.

My latest achievement is a stew identical to the first, but this time I added kale and more garlic. Not only that, there are still plenty of bread boulders to submerge in the broth for exciting crunchy mouthfuls. That bread! I wish I could bring a year’s supply back with me – although it wouldn’t be the same in Bali’s climate. A bit heavy perhaps…?

I’m loving this – the prep and eating of food. I wouldn’t want to devote my life to it, but it’s fun for an hour or so during the day.

And in case you’ve forgotten, here are the lyrics to the last stanza of Food Glorious Food from the musical, Oliver:

What wouldn’t we give for
That extra bit more
That’s all we live for
Why should we be fated to do
Nothing but brood on food
Magical food,
Wonderful food
marvelous food,
Beautiful food,
Food, Glorious food glorious fooooooood

Stairway to…I guarantee it wasn’t heaven!

29 Feb 2020 12 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

I love my sister. We email several times a week. We agree on important things and agree to disagree on everything else. But she owes me now. Bigtime.

Several days ago she wrote complaining that I’d mentioned a beach. She said she’d seen photos of sheer cliffs disappearing into the sea and although the images were beautiful, by her definition that did not qualify as beach.

So, Sherry…is there a beach?

Remember this sign? Alla spiaggia means exactly what the translation immediately below says it means: To the beach. But the day I took this path I was on my way to the church of Saint January. I diverged to the massive square in front of the church and did not continue on.

So Sherry, is there a beach?

According to the sign, yes. Had I seen one in all my meanderings? No. In Paulo Sandulli’s tower studio he had painted people sunbathing on what looked suspiciously like…a beach. Tourists flock here in the summertime to go to…the beach. The map has a location in Praiano called…Lido One Fire Beach. So…

Today for you, sister, I’ll follow those signs. According to the map, Via Rezzola will take me there.

Its entrance was easy to find.

After the little landing at the top it was steps.

At the bottom of this flight, the path turned and there was another flight.

Then it leveled off for a leisurely stroll.

I imagined my trek down to the beach would be like this lovely trail, gently sloping, lined with interesting gates, gardens, flora and fauna.

And it was…for a while.

All good things must end, and so did my walk-in-the-park so to speak. The path turned to steps. Downward.

And down…

and down…

It was a nightmare of steps. Any minute now, I thought…around the next corner…surely I’ll catch a glimpse of…anything but steps.

But that was not to be. Each bend brought another steep descent.

And then there were step switchbacks.

I hadn’t seen a soul. I have to admit it was a bit creepy and I felt extremely alone. No sound of voices, no footsteps, no animals…a twilight zone.

Just endless steps taking me where?

The to the beach signs had disappeared long ago, but there were no other trails, no other options, only this steady march downward.

Buildings – deserted. And more steps.

Where am I?

Sherry, is there a beach?

When I rounded a corner and saw an inlet below me with a flat surface I almost cried. THE BEACH! Then I took a closer look. At the bottom of this cove was a massive, man-made concrete shelf. Holy moly! Was this the beach???

Couldn’t be. The real one must be on the other side of that rock wall with the industrial looking equipment on top. I proceeded around the rim of the inlet to the other side and walked through the assortment of old boats, steel drums and mysterious odds and ends looking for a way through. But there was nothing else. Dead end.

Nicola had warned me not to go on the beach when the seas were high. Giant waves crashed over the surface. I decided this was definitely one of those days.

I watched for a while, dumbstruck. What a forlorn place.

Sherry, is there a beach?

Well, dear sister, not exactly but sort of. Well, no. Not really. Heck no! Not at all!

Suddenly I wanted distance between me and this desolation. I’d seen a road on the map. Now to find it. There was no way I was going to walk those fifty million steps back to the street.

I hadn’t seen another way out on my way down, but it must be here somewhere…

There was no road. Or if there was, you couldn’t get there from here. I did indeed have to walk back up all those steps.

It was 55°F (12.7°C) and there was a ten mph (16 kph) wind out of the north but I was sweating buckets by the time I reached the street. I thought about you, sister – thought about what I’d been willing to do to satisfy your inquiring mind. Thought how it would have been so much more fun if you’d been with me.

I let my mind wander. If she was with me, what would we do next?

Across the street was a little cafe with drool-worthy scents emanating from its open door. I peeked in and knew immediately what we’d do.

Zeppole di San Guiseppe aka creampuffs.

When I got home I Googled beaches in Praiano and what do you know? Yes, that dreadful Lido One Fire is one of them, but there’s another. I’d passed it on my ‘cute shoes walk’ the other day and took this photo. I didn’t know it was a beach. This is the one Sandulli painted from his tower. You can just barely see it up in the far left corner.

You’d be happy. I can tell from the photos on the internet…there’s real sand.

I’m in Italy — So is COVID-19 — Am I afraid?

28 Feb 2020 14 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

Shall we ignore the elephant in the room?

I think not.

The coronavirus in Italy had a 25% surge in the past 24 hours. The Local it (Italy’s news in English) reports there are now 520 confirmed cases and the infestation has spread to the south with the area of Puglia reporting one and Sicily with three.

According to Sergio Matalucci out of Milan, eleven towns have been quarantined. Schools, universities, cinemas, clubs, and museums are closed. Events have been cancelled. Supermarket shelves stand empty as people panic-buy groceries, unsure of what’s ahead.

He goes on to write that grocery owners say they don’t lack stock in their warehouses. They just need to get it to the stores more quickly – a timing issue, not a supply issue. That’s good news.

It was slim pickings in my fridge. I climbed to Tutto per Tutti market this morning and found that even here in sleepy Praiano, in an area in the south of Italy as yet unaffected, shelves had empty spaces that hadn’t been there on prior visits.

Nicola, my host, told me people who had booked his rental properties for March have cancelled. He’s concerned for himself and his town. The economy of Praiano hinges extensively on tourism. Economic consequences are being experienced worldwide. Some types of businesses will profit. Many more will not.

So what’s actually happening? How much of the reporting can be trusted?

We’ve been bombarded for several years now by cries of ‘fake news’ from the very top of the power pyramid in the United States. Media giants have the ability to sway the thoughts and actions of the entire world population by choosing what to allow on their channels or what to suppress. I highly doubt, highly highly doubt if they even know if their sources are valid.

As I read article after article, these are the thoughts uppermost in my mind. Frankly, I don’t think we have any idea what’s really happening. We have limitless quantities of information at our fingertips. We can click ourselves down rabbit-holes and wind up light-years from where we began. But we have absolutely no way of knowing truth from lies.

Yet I’m addicted to that stream of information. Some part of me still trusts, or desperately wants to.

So I’ll keep reading the news. I’ll take precautions. According to the WHO more than 80 percent of patients infected with the virus have a mild reaction to the disease and recover. I’m here in Praiano until March 6th. Nobody can predict what will happen in the coming eight days but if planes are still flying, and I’m still healthy, I’ll leave Italy from Naples on that day and head back home to Bali.

Meanwhile, I’m grateful that the sun still rises. The sea is still blue. And this town of ancient stairways and kindness is mine to explore.

How to Make Panzanella and Drink Lemon Meringue Pie

27 Feb 2020 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, Weddings, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

I haven’t mustered the courage to ask if I can photograph either of the brothers who run Centro Market. The surliest one was there when I stopped by, complete with stocking cap, muffler, and a week or two of stubble.

I wasted no time. “Pane duro?” I asked. He cocked his head toward me and frowned. I tried again. “Pane biscottato – duro?”

His face lit up and he grabbed two bags from the shelf behind him. Then lo and behold – he spoke English!

“This,” he said, pointing to one of the bags. “This you cannot bite.” He made chomping motions with his mouth shaking his head in an emphatic no. He pushed the other bag toward me. “This one is soft.”

“Grazie,” I said. “I want the hard one.”

He looked dubious. “First put in water for one minute. Then you can eat,” he said. I nodded. I’d already learned that trick at the winery after trying to bite into one of those rocks.

I looked up what the words meant in the circle at the top:
Old and modernized bakery from 1890
LOVE IT!

I checked ‘hard bread’ off my list. “Do you have coffee?”

I was ushered to the other side of the long counter and he explained which ones required a machine and which ones just need hot water.

Coffee, done. “And limoncello?”

He pointed. There were twelve varieties of that liqueur in his tiny market. I browsed waiting for a sign to determine which to choose. One toward the far end caught my eye. “What’s this?” I pointed.

He came to my side and picked up the bottle. “Yes, this with crema. Crema and limone mix.”

I love Baileys Irish Cream. I’ve never had a liqueur with cream other than that. Cream with lemon would either be divine or disgusting.

“Ok. That one, per favore.” I’m really trying hard to use my eight words of Italian whenever I can.

I was excited walking home with the large bag of rock-solid bread hitting my back as I bumped down the steps. In my mind I imagined the process: chop the tomatoes, slice the onion, fill the colorful ceramic bowl with water and soak my pane duro to just the right consistency. Saliva filled my mouth.

Once home, groceries unpacked, I Googled ‘Italian winter salad tomato and hard bread’ and up popped images for Panzanella. So that was the name of the concoction that had thrilled me. Panzanella.

I read through several recipes and found the simplest one. A lengthy description warned me that after assembling Panzanella, it needs to rest up to four hours at room temperate for the bread to absorb the juices and flavors to mingle.

If I started now it would be ready for an early dinner.

Embracing my new love for all things food, I began.

First, tomatoes and onion. Normally I’m not a raw onion fan. But I have to say, in this mix the onion is perfect. Even if you don’t like raw onion, try it just once to make sure you don’t miss something quite magical.

Aren’t they gorgeous? These chunks could be used as cannon balls they’re that hard.

Here we go. While the pane duro soaked I mixed an olive oil, white wine, salt, and pepper dressing then added it to the tomato-onion mixture.

I checked the bread. It had maintained its shape and appeared ready. I took it out of the water and broke it into large pieces.

Then cut it into smaller chunks.

Regular bread would have been a gooey mess, but not this robust loaf. I added the bite-sized pieces to the waiting salad and gently mixed.

Oh, you’re beautiful! Your aromas – heavenly! And now? I have to wait…??

Patiently…?

In the meantime maybe I could test the Crema di Limone…what a good idea!

Whoa! Liquid lemon meringue pie! No, I’m serious. That’s exactly what it tastes like: creamy-tart yet sweet. And 20% alcohol by volume? Whoops! This needs to wait. It’ll be dessert. What else shall I do to distract myself?

I could write a blog post…

Which I did. And now my friends, Panzanella is ready! On a whim I added the last ball of buffalo mozzarella and here it is, the finished product.

Mmmmmm – oh yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Now if you’ll excuse me…it’s dinner time!

Che Bontà Pizzaria – and Claudio – Very Tasty Indeed

26 Feb 2020 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

Today’s the day!

Che Bontà for pizza.

Overcast skies obscured the hoped-for pinks and corals this morning. An hour after sunrise light shone through a few cloud-holes casting dazzling pools on the sea.

I pulled on my ‘outside’ clothes – I have wooly leggings and a sweater for inside and black jeans with a couple of layers under my sweater for outside. Plus a jacket and scarf. I could have left the rest at home – so far. You never know when Cinderella might get an invitation to the ball!

There’s a marked difference in Via Roma during the week – no traffic. On my long Sunday walk, motorcycles, buses, and cars whizzed past. Today they’re all back at work and I have the luxury of the open road virtually to myself.

I stopped to admire several houses I’ve passed before but never really looked at.

This sweet casa has a real driveway winding down to it. A luxury.

This one has steps up from the street but note the tuck-under garage. Maybe there’s an elevator inside – or maybe not.

This might be old. If so, it’s been renovated and beautifully maintained.

And just look at this driveway! It feels fairytale-ish. Like any moment I will see Goldilocks, or Hansel and Gretel skipping along holding hands.

Like the road, Che Bontà was all mine. I thought I wanted pizza. Then I remembered Blackbeach, my favorite Italian restaurant in Ubud. They make melt-in-your-mouth panini. It’s all I ever order there. I had to know if the real thing, made in Italy, would measure up.

While I waited for my order, I chatted with Claudio who, bless his handsome heart, speaks English.

“Claudio, I want to buy the hard bread. The really hard bread. What is the name?”

“Yes, you must ask for pane biscottato.” I repeated the words, perhaps not very well since he added, “Or you can just say pane duro, that means hard bread.” I added it to my shopping list that consisted of coffee and limoncello – staples.

After not much time at all, out came panini and Claudio! What’s not to love? As he set the fragrant plate in front of me I asked him, “Che Bontà, Claudio…what does the name mean?”

The smile grew bigger, “It means, how tasty,” he said.

You have no idea how badly I wanted to comment on that. But I bit my tongue and smiled back. “Grazie,” I said.

Crispy-fried focaccia, melty mozzarella, mushrooms, tomatoes, the flavors melded in my mouth and went straight to my heart. How tasty indeed. I weighed the evidence, did Blackbeach or Che Bontà have the better panini sandwich? I think it’s a tie. I’m going to have to go back for another round.

I could only eat half. The rest is in the fridge for later tonight when the nibble bug bites.

The bill was eleven euros. Claudio showed it to me and said, “But for you, ten.”

“It says eleven,” I replied, confused.

“Yes, but for you, signora, ten.”

How tasty!

Need I mention, Claudio got a handsome tip? Then I was off to Centro Market to try out my new Italian words.

La Scaletta – A Personal Tour of My Praiano Hideaway

25 Feb 2020 8 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

I made coffee.

Watched the sunrise…

…and took a lovely, leisurely day at home.

Speaking of which – would you like to see the inside of my Praiano life – where I get to be when I ‘stay home’?

One of the dear people who reads my articles commented early on how it was fun to see inside the house. In the Domestic Goddess post there were snippets of appliances and a drying rack set up in my bedroom. I can do better than that.

Welcome to La Scaletta – come along…

First of all, a disclaimer. The decor does not reflect my aesthetic. Felicia, whom I love, who gave me the cooking class and put me in a food coma, owns this home. It has her flavor everywhere which makes it even more special to me.

No need to take you up the 112 steps to the front door – we’ve been there done that. Nicola hauled my suitcase all the way up and unlocked the door when I first arrived, February 3, 2020. It seems like yesterday.

I feel like my house is high above the water, and it is. But it’s only about 1/10 of the way up the mountain. There are dozens and dozens of houses higher than this. The lovely home just above me has an orchard of lemon trees. I’m a bit enamored of the cliff-dwelling life!

I’ll begin the tour with the journaling corner I’ve set up in the master bedroom. I sit with the blanket over my legs, sipping coffee and jumping up every other minute to open the French doors and shoot the sunrise. I may be here for an hour, maybe two every morning depending upon what comes up as I write. Everything I need is here, the pens, the tablet, the woven hotpad for the coffee cup, earbuds in case a daughter calls…and the view.

Here’s the rest of the master bedroom.The handstitched quilt with tiny pink rosebuds? Purple roses on the sheets repeated in the pillow cases? It’s like a hug from grandma. I pull the covers up to my chin and sleep like a princess.

There’s a tiny second bedroom with twin beds, a chest of drawers, and a closet. It’s excess space. I leave the door closed.

The bathroom is efficient laid out with a toilet, bidet, sink, and shower. I don’t understand the bidet. Someone please explain that useless piece of porcelain. I’ve purposely left it out of the photos. It’s beside the commode.

Master bedroom, spare bedroom, and bath are off this gracefully arched hallway. All the doors are solid wood.

The open plan living room, kitchen, and dining area utilize the space economically and the French doors that open onto the terrace and the sea make the room feel limitless.

The lace doily? Tchotchke on the shelves? Pink damask draperies? Ladderback chairs? Ummm…no. But here in Praiano, in this house? Yes.

I’m curious. Does IKEA sell complete sets of art, plus matching sofa slipcover, plus pillows that perfectly, I mean PERFECTLY pick up every color in the art? I noticed the cookware is from IKEA – that made me slightly suspicious. It’s just too, too, too…coordinated! I do love the red sofa though.

Glassware, glass shelving, tiny figurines like the ones my mother collected that I had to dust individually every Saturday…uh-huh. Not me.

But oh! The terrace! The coup de coeur. It stretches across the entire front of the house and it couldn’t have a more splendid view. I watch ships and sailboats. I can monitor the traffic on the Via Roma. (There is none.) I can see Sandulli’s tower and Angela’s shop. And did I mention the sunrise?

One end of the terrace has two loungers like this. A majolica dining table with lemons and oranges – what could be more Italian – and wrought iron chairs anchors the other end.

I give myself credit for getting up and out of this cozy place to explore. I could be very very comfortable with my books, my writing papers, the sun on the terrace, the view…

And the wine. Here’s the one I picked up yesterday. A crisp pinot grigio that I’ll be pairing with caprese salad and farmer’s bread in about two seconds.

I hope you enjoyed the tour. I’ll tell you about farmer’s bread another day!

Hiking the Amalfi Coast in Cute Shoes

24 Feb 2020 14 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , , ,

Today I unlocked the blue gate and headed west on Via Roma, past Angela’s shop and Sandulli’s tower. Past Via Miglina – the farthest point I’ve been on foot in this direction – and kept going.

When Nicola took me to the winery I’d cranked my neck back and forth ooooing and ahhhhing as one magnificent scene after another sped by too fast.

So I set out today with no other purpose than to photograph this stretch of the coast for as far as I could walk and still walk back.

The road hugs the cliffs. I never lost sight of the sea…except in the tunnels…

There isn’t much of a margin for error. I hugged the side and flattened myself against the wall if two cars tried to pass next to me.

I’d just cleared one tunnel and could see the next across a ‘sunken’ village. It isn’t really sunken – just another fisherman’s inlet.

I marvel at the engineering of these soaring bridges.

Can you see them – Roman soldiers crossing on horseback, armor flashing in the sun, banners waving, lances piercing the sky?

That’s a strange-looking rock formation…from a distance (above) and up close (below).

So much of the architecture seems free-form, whimsical almost. It has to be to cling to the irregular edges of rock cliffs.

A plunge to turquoise waters far, far below.

I love the stucco and I love the stone! I love the cliffs and I love the sea!

Still not crazy about tunnels…but I’m getting better!

During the 10th-11th centuries, Praiano was the summer residence of the doges of the Duchy of Amalfi. I have to believe that some of these grand structures were once royal homes.

Italy has fjords. Who knew? This one is called Fiordo di Furore (Fjord of Fury) and it doesn’t look anything like the fjords I sailed on in Norway. But according to the Oxford Dictionary definition: a long, narrow, deep inlet of the sea between high cliffs, it fits.

A stoplight! I just happened to arrive as all the testosterone you could wish for came roaring to a stop to wait for the green light!

There are two types of towers built on outcroppings of rock along the coast. The round ones came first. They were strictly watchtowers. If danger was approaching by sea a huge fire was lit so the people of the town could assemble, or run, or whatever they needed to do back then.

The square towers, like this one, came later. They housed artillery actually used to shoot at enemy invaders.

Notice the church sitting high on the ridge.

I’d reached the Grotta Dello Smeraldo, the Emerald Grotto.

Across the street from the steps leading down – which I’ll save for another day – was a ceramics showroom. This is a far different quality product than I’ve seen in the little souvenir shops. I drooled for a while. It’s probably a good thing the shop was closed.

Did I mention everything was closed? Sunday morning, of course. Although knowing what I know now I expect maybe they’re all closed Monday through Saturday, too! Many of these places won’t see the light of day until April or May when tourists again begin to flock to the beaches.

I checked the clock and the map. It had taken me 1.5 hours to walk 2.25 miles stopping every other step to take a picture. Hopefully I’d get home in half the time. I was getting hungry.

Plus, my ballet flats do great in town on the steps, but this highway hiking – I should have worn the New Balance shoes I brought along for just this purpose. What was I thinking?

Actually, I know exactly what I was thinking. These are cuter. Oh, Sherry!

As I started back I realized the road sloped very gently downward. I’d been walking uphill the entire way and hadn’t realized it.

The water was on my left for the return and I saw things I’d missed going the opposite direction.

All along the coastal road outcroppings of rock like this one, hang over the highway. An elaborate net system is used to hold them in place. Nicola told me rock slides still happen and when they do, the road may be impassable for days.

Arches. They’re everywhere in Italy, and here’s why. From study.com: The Roman arch was the foundation of Rome’s architectural mastery and massive expanse of building projects across the ancient world. It allowed the Romans to make bigger buildings, longer roads, and better aqueducts. The Roman arch is the ancestor of modern architecture.

Now this…this must have been a royal residence at some time. I want to believe it!

Only one more tunnel after this one. That’s Praiano in the distance.

And on the other side of the tunnel, Paulo Sandulli’s tower. I’m almost home!

I read the news every day so I know in some ways this exquisite experience is a make-believe bubble. Yet I’m grateful, so grateful to be here. To see the beauty and share it. To feel the utter joy of being alive. I don’t want to send more doom and gloom into the ether. There’s an overabundance of that already. I believe we need to do our part to alleviate suffering wherever we can. But still we must celebrate what can be celebrated and not feel guilty about doing so.

As though to put an exclamation point on a perfect day, the leftovers of sunset on the other side of the mountain hung for a few breathless moments in the eastern sky. A benediction.

Path of the Gods – Let’s Talk About Legs

22 Feb 2020 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Holidays, Uncategorized, wisdom, Writing Tags: , , , ,

I pity night owls. Really, I do. To miss a masterpiece that lasts moments then is gone seems like a terrible waste. I think that’s why I’m obsessed with photographing the sunrise. I wake up at 5:00, make coffee, then sit, and sip, and wait. The fiery splendor this morning dazzled me.

Today is day twenty of this fabulous Italian adventure and I have a plan. A dot on the map indicates Sentiero degli Dei Praiano – Path of the Gods. I want to go to the dot. I’ve been told from that point it’s another 2000 steps up to the actual trail. Today, the dot. Tomorrow…?

I chart my course. Fortunately, even though I don’t have data here, if I add the route to my phone’s home screen and turn on location it tracks me. It’s essential in this maze of unmarked paths and stairs.

But before we get on our way, lets talk for a minute about legs. I’ve always had muscular calves, embarrassingly muscular. A gym teacher in high school told me I had legs like a Roman gladiator. Not what a pubescent teen wants to hear.

I do a lot of walking so I’ve maintained leg-strength as I’ve aged. But let me be perfectly clear about Praiano. If you have weak knees, weak hips, weak thighs, weak lungs, weak heart, or a weak mind, don’t bother. Strong calves are not enough. Good intentions are not enough. Determination will get you far, but not far enough.

My limits were tested today.

It began innocently. I took the trail I discovered the other night coming home from the bus stop. The slope upward connected to a road that took me to Tutto per Tutti market but cut off half the steps I normally climb to get there.

I passed Tutto per Tutti and took the next switchback up to La Moressa, the restaurant where I had pizza a few nights ago. There was a narrow stairway to the left. I stopped to check my location. That was it.

Up, up, up. Panting and winded, I rounded a corner. San Luca church rose high above me, white against the cloudless sky.

The next time I saw the church it was below me, its backdrop now the brilliant blue sea.

At one point I wondered, imagined, that this MUST BE the 2000 steps to the trail, and when I got to the end I would BE ON the Path of the Gods. The thought motivated me to press on.

At the top I once again checked the map. Still another vertical line to ascend.

In a few more strides I was standing at the base of a flight so long and steep I couldn’t see the top. I almost turned around. But, Sherry, I told myself, this is the last leg. At the end of this you may be on The Path. I charged onward. (Charged may be an overstatement.)

My heart pounded. My thighs burned. My calves were fine.

At the top I collapsed against the rock wall to catch my breath and saw the sign.

I moved up close and read the small print. Another 1 hour 30 minutes of steps and trails to the actual Path of the Gods.

At that point I may have taken one of the names of those gods in vain. There was nothing else there, not a vendor selling bottled water. Not a ‘last stop for coffee’ shop. Not a ‘take your instagram photo here’ posting. Nothing but rock walls and more and more and more stairs.

I photographed the sign, sucked air into my lungs, blew it out long and slow, and started down.

And down…

And down…

Finally, just ahead was the welcome entrance to Tutto per Tutti. Buongiorno said the two men who own the place. They smiled as I walked in. They know me now.

Buiongiorno. I smiled too, picked up a basket, and selected my groceries as though I’d been shopping there all my life.

Emmental Bavarese cheese, carrots, tomatoes, a red onion, bananas, apples, strawberries, canned lentils and chocolate covered orange slices.

That’s $18.20 in US dollars

Of course there were still the 228 steps down to Via Roma. And 112 steps up to my house carrying a heavier pack. After what I’d just accomplished, it felt like nothing.

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