Because of the date, Pinky's birthday always fell during the spring break. I'd be organized enough to give a local celebration before or after the break, but the real day was often celebrated far away and in a haphazard fashion. March in the Northeast might be warm (relatively) and sunny, or cold and raw, but no matter which, there is never a leaf on a tree, and the ground is still frozen. The green comes later. It's a particularly gloomy time for a Californian (me).
Our plane would lift off in a blizzard or gray gloomy clouds, or the bleached tones of the dim winter sky and then we'd land in the morning and it would be Real Spring in Europe! As you landed at Heathrow you would see the new green grass and the crocuses, bluebells and daffodils, puffy clouds in a blue sky, still cold, but with the sweet air that has the scent of earth and flowers.
We'd often go to family to celebrate Easter in the tiny church in Wales. This would be as picturesque as possible but came with a frisson of anxiety as the family were traditionally in the front pew and never knew when to stand or sit. One would always be angled to better use peripheral vision to follow the congregation which led to neck ache later.
One year, at the invitation of Pinky's grandparents, we went to EuroDisney outside of Paris. My mother-in-law, Pinky and I went by train, hovercraft, and train from London to Paris. I have never forgotten having to negotiate my suitcase, Pinky's suitcase and frail Margaret's six suitcases without a cart. My legs did much of the work, kicking suitcases to move them, and I felt like a pack mule.
Paris was still getting dark early, but all the French people seemed to be thawing with the weather. Lots of happy smiles which I believe they've been trained to use thanks to Disney Corp. Quite a turnaround for the French! Pinky's great friend Isobel Waller-Bridge and her mother came to join us. That was serious fun, the Waller-Bridges know how to party! After the Buffalo Bill Spectacle outside the entrance we separated from the grandparents so they could excuse themselves early if tired. Imagine our surprise when, sitting in the bar at the hotel, 10 pm, whining about our over-stimulation and fatigue, the oldsters appeared having just gotten back with energy to spare. My heroes!
Isobel is currently generating a lot of attention as the composer of music for the play Orlando just opening at the Royal Exchange Theatre in London. Her music is beautiful, you can hear it on https://soundcloud.com/isobel-waller-bridge.
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| Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, Euro Disney. All of Us Have Enormous Heads |
That's my impression. Pinky's is different.
The key moments revolved around sinus infections and woolly tights or woolly pants or itchy, scratchy woolly sweaters. Then there would be dragging to auction houses, museums and other places of enforced cultural uplifting. While Pinky was feeling itchy, miserable from the headache and stuffiness that only got worse on the plane, I would have wonderful ideas!
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| Pigeon Scorn in the Piazza |
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| The Wonderful Chairs in La Fenice |
During the intermission of I Puritani we lurked on the steps outside and I admired a new kind of smoking. All the chic Italian donas had cigarettes that looked like long toothpicks. A very fast and efficient nicotine delivery system.
As I sat enthralled, Pinky scratched and sniffled and blew her nose, utterly miserable. Luckily our hotel made stupendous risotto with wild mushrooms, a very delicious consolation prize.
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| They Have a Cooking School! |
Also in Venice, in order to prove to Pinky that fish was delicious I was forced prove my enthusiasm to her by choking down a whole baby octopus served on a bed of shaved celery, ew. Never again.
When you arrive in Venice for the first time, you know the physical beauty will be overwhelming, and because it's Italy, you expect to eat well. What you don't expect is the feast for your ears! Vivaldi in every restaurant, opera wafting from open apartment windows, concerts in churches, and no sound of cars. What a wonderful place.
When we were in Florence we booked a table at Garga, a highly recommended restaurant. It was decorated with crazy art and miscellaneous random objects - an Italian version of a Texas honky-tonk, but high chic. We had a stunningly good meal and the exuberant waiters brought Pinky a chocolatey dessert and while singing the unknown Italian birthday song they showered her with rose petals, sigh, so romantic.
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| Crazy Good Chocolate Tart at Garga |
Besides the delicious rolls, my favorite memory of the train trip is chugging through the night and looking out the window to see what appeared to be a magical grotto filled with fairy lights. It was actually a cemetery, so beautiful with the hundreds of flickering votive candles.
I have so many reasons to love Italy! My dream is to stay for six months, take Italian lessons in the morning and cooking lessons from Garga in the afternoon.
Pinky's dream undoubtedly starts clothed in cotton, claritan in pocket, and no mother.
AVANTI!
my favorite Italian dessert
