Filed under: Life in general, Things as they are | Tags: Yugoslavia, smuggling, border, sculpture, art, father, Trieste, jeans, Turkey, Syria, new age
I’ve been avoiding calls from my father for over a week now. The guy is nuts. And when I say nuts, what I really think is crazy. It mostly has to do with some new age religion thing he has been taking far too seriously for far too long now.
Since we are on the subject of my father and hiding, here is a little socialist-era gem. In Yugoslavia, smuggling was a vernacular activity. Everybody did it, hiding coffee in spare tires, stuffing margarine under the car seats, fire crackers under the lining, stereos in bags with dirty laundry, alarm clocks, whiskey, computers, chocolate, you name it. People would be exiting the country looking like a bunch of rifrafs only to cross the same border hours later wearing brand new jeans and sneakers since customs would not confiscate your clothes no matter how brand new they were. A true people’s sport. In those days, the worst (i.e. the best) bunch of smugglers I knew were students of Orthodox theology from Belgrade.
- Art or…? Remembering a certain Swiss medschen?
During 1960’s my father was working for some time in Switzerland and when the time came for him to return, he was faced with a challenge of how to bring back all the money he saved without having it heavily taxed. Similarly as the jeans smugglers, he hid the money into one thing he was sure the customs officers won’t open.
Home made Eldorado.
I more or less forgot about the smuggling thing till we found ourselves crossing the border between Syria and Turkey a few years ago. By bus. Then it all came back to me, as people started changing seats, rearranging bags, whispering and negotiating, Turkish customs officers poking randomly into black plastic bags, cutting them open and pointing the random hits to the big waste bins. And the big relief that hit the bus once the doors were closed and we took of. But the best part was when a few minutes before we reached Aleppo, the bus steward would come and ask us to lift our feet. As the guy in the front was rolling his brand new Mercedes bus carpet from under our feet, exposing the rather worn out original. Simplicity works best, I guess :))
Four weeks, new disc, motherboard, drivers and updates later, it looks like my computer is back and working. Knock knock. During the blissed hour of T’s afternoon nap, I skimmed over an interview with Svetlana Makarovič, one of more famous, one could even say notorious, Slovene poets and authors. A woman of firm stands. And ironically came across the following section. Q: Do you still use the typewriter? A: Yes, I do. I don’t drive a car nor own a computer and I occasionally find it very challenging t change the ribbon on my typewriter. But it is a splendid one. You can smack (on) it really nice. It does not have that soft, fluffy keyboard of a computer. /…/ I don’t have a microwave. Nor a computer. Nor a husband.
When we get a bigger place, I hope I will have enough space to fitmy mother’s sleek green 1970’s Olivetti. And bang on it from time to time, just for the sound of it. When I went to university in 1993, I still tagged it along with me. A year latter, I got my first email and by summer, you would find me sending ASCI-code beer bottles to our former Fulbright professor, an early 1990’s equivalent of Facebook’s Booze mail.
Filed under: Travels and trips, photography | Tags: Boccaccio, cafe, Casanova, Certaldo, chocholat, desert, food, genuine, guide book, Isabella Roselini, Italy, places to see, San Gimignano, tourism, traveling, Tuscany, Voltera, wine
Did you ever notice how empty guidebooks become if you opt to skip the museums, churches and other organised rock formations of cultural or political significance. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like visiting museums and galleries but when you decide to indulge in the vernacular side of a place, the supporting institutions of travel industry like guidebooks have prescious little to offer. But then again, does one need any prescribed pointers if the aim is on experiencing the place?
Genuine? Local? Nostalgic?
Vernacular sights - one for me, one for Tamara who loves firemen. Especially when they turn on the siren and lights.
Unexpected surprise - click on the links below to see the context.
Click here for context. Or here for close -up.
However vernacular my preference for the “atmosphere of the place” is, I am aware it can be a rather conservative and elitist venture. After all, much of it depends on the criteria by which you come to find something to be “genuine enough” and in the process it is hard to avoid pre-conceived scripts vistas and stereotypes that can arouse a comforting mix of nostalgia, adventure and connoisseurship indulgence.
Typical? Yes. Genuine? Oh yes.
Images we came for.
Images we didn't come for. But there were plenty of these. Cigaretes were optional but sunglasses were a must.
Travelling with Tamara has certain advantages. First of all, people act and communicate differently (more openly) to you when you are travelling with a small child. And secondly, you are attentive to a whole range of different things which make you experience and appreciate the place in a different manner and soon you find yourself rating cities by the number of playgrounds instead of galleries.
If you are ever in the region between Florence and Sienna, I’d recommend you the following:
Unless you are a desperate tower lover, avoid San Gimignano at all costs. It has become a typical tourist trap and you are much better off if you head for Voltera.
San Giminano - what you see is what you get.
Voltera is able to absorb more visitors, plus if you walk the steep narrow path up the hill, you will be awarded with a pleasantly relaxed park (with playground) where the grass is simply too inviting to resist. After refreshment, I’d recommend stopping at chocolateria/wine/cafe place called L’Incontro on Via Giacomo Matteotti. It looks a bit on the posh side, but really has genuine feel to it. Coffee is great and I’d go again for one of the frozen desserts.
Voltera. With a magnificent castle for a backdrop, the park looked a bit like those idylic arcadia paintings.
But if you really want to suck in the cute walled city on the top of the hill thingy that is not crowded with visitors, go to Certaldo. Take the funicular to the top of the hill, check the artisan shop, the view and have a coffee with rice and cream filled pastry at Cafe Boccaccio on Via Boccaccio.
Guess the name of the main street on the top of the hill?
- I don’t know what Isabella Roselini had but I went for for salsicce al vino bianco and I’d do it again. The hip little place is in San Casciano V.P.
What did Casanova do when he grew old? On offer in the eatery above.
Filed under: Travels and trips, photography | Tags: coffee, Italy, photography, Tuscany, wine
We were actually desperately in need of a break. My PhD graveyard shifts, CC’s pregnancy sickness and the long winter turned rainy spring demanded a little change of the dreary routine. And the only remnant of socialist past universally cherished by all Slovenes – the first of May hollidays – came just in/on time. Unlike the past years when we would amke a traditional pilgrimage to Bosnia for a week of house work, endless stories of suffering and ill faith and cunning plans of avoiding the two, we opted for some relaxing. Tuscany offered the perfect stage for that (Croatia was dumped because of expensive and crappy apartments to rent and Berlin lost after two hours to Italian cousine while the obvious solution of flying to Istanbul was a bit more than we wanted to spend).
Our friend G. skimmed the local paper for weather forecast that he could not find; we looked at real estate offerings.
If I say that we were not after the stereotypical cypres trees et.al, it does not mean that we did not enjoy them or that we were not after stereotypes as such. What we wanted were good coffee and food against the miese-en-scene of the old cities, the Mediteranean style easiness among the red bricks and green hills. Some red wine in the evening and fresh pastry during the day. And to spend time with Tamara.
- A cluster of three days of public holidays (April 27 and May 1 and 2) is one of those »events« that help Slovenes structure the year into manageable slots. It is a bit of a lottery as the three dates of public holidays slightly shift through the working week each year and this year we hit a jack pot – taking additional two days of work awarded one with a week of holidays. My university closed for a week.
We got all of that. Plus some rain we did not really ask for ;)
After a week of fairly careless indulging rightly called Labour day holidays, we’re back and getting attuned to normal rhythm – we spent a few hours on the swings cleaned the apartment, went grocery shopping and saw the ugly local drunkard making his rounds. Emails are more or less checked and alarm clock set. You will of course get a more detailed Tuscany rapport, but for now here is one of the standard fares – some of the tiled doorways we came or walked across.
