The [Side Notes] Adventure

As an initial admission, several of the pictures in the following post may be the same or nearly the same as the previous post about Tropea…  The direction here is to highlight a few curiosities and noteworthy points about our stop in that wonderful jewel, so far from the Jewel of Southern California…

Note One: 

A picture might be worth a thousand words, but sometimes those words should be spoken in a hushed manner in order to not wake the sleeping figures.  Traveling can be tiring and traveling on three different trains with 40-pound packs, a few extra shoulder bags, and one giant “food sack” for 11 hours brings a particular sort of tired-footed fatigue.  This particular train, on which Kate managed to snooze during her turn at iPad Scrabble, was not the most relaxing, to say the very least.  Unlike the rest of the trains we’ve been on in Europe, this small regional train ran on diesel fuel (which we could smell quite easily through the windows that we had to keep open so as to not to be smothered), which fed an engine that may have been pulled out of one of the large semi trucks driving on the highway next to us, making conversation difficult.  Standing was also difficult because the driver used a clutch, which created a jerking motion similar to a very fast game of Red-Light-Green-Light. 

Three aspects of this picture are worth noting: The first is the pack that seems likely to crush Kate if the train jerks in the wrong direction.  Fortunately, that did not happen, but you can see that, while back-packs have some convenience, they also bring the disadvantage of having to be carried, not rolled…  The second is the fact that Kate is sleeping, despite the exhaust flowing in the window, the noise from the engine, Tony having placed the iPad on her knee, and some Italians having a typical conversation (which in their language can sound quite loud—and even louder on a loud train).   The third is the sun through the window.  Traveling by train is tiring, but in no way like traveling by airplane can be.  No long security, room at your seat, ability to move around, and most importantly, wonderful scenic views during most of the train rides.  This particular ride from Lamezia to Tropea was incredible.  The whole ride followed the northern coast of southern Italy, which offered dramatic views from cliffs overlooking brilliant seas illuminated by late afternoon sun often with a background of coastal mountains on a distant rim of some large natural u-shaped bay.


Note Two: 

 

While engaging in a broken conversation (due to a tough language barrier) with the eldest proprietor of our Florentine hotel, he noted with sufficient hand signals and sounds that the seafood in the south of Italy is excellent.   Tropea is very far south, so we guessed that fish dishes must be very tasty.  This particular dish was ordered on the recommendation of the owner who pointed out the salad with particular excitement while coaxing us into his restaurant using similar hand signals and sounds to the Florentine hotel proprietor.  His tactic worked in all regards.  We sat down and ordered exactly what he recommended (this is, by the way, the best eating tactic when 90% of the menu is meaningless to its reader). 

Insalata di Mare was an initially frightening surprise to be offered as food.  We both like calamari, but we’ve never had it in a non-fried form…  Seeing whole bits of squid arms, suction cups and all, is at first disquieting, but hunger won out that night in Tropea and we started eating.  And we were very happy—not chewy, very tasty, and unlike anything we’ve had before.  To increase the delight, the muscles tasted like they were just pulled out of the ocean and steamed in a salt water as clear and clean as that which lapped the shores around the Tyrrhenian Sea. 

Bottom line: don’t be afraid to eat scary-looking food.

Note Three:

This is a simple comparison of sunsets in San Diego to sunsets in Tropea.  It is inherently a skewed comparison due to the amount of experience we have with each.  Regardless, we will compare what we saw.

Tropea sunset from a very high cliff at the heart of the town

Tropea’s sunsets slowly fall into a haze such that it seems like the sun is setting in front of the misty, dark clouds behind.  How is this possible?  Perhaps there’s some effect of the greater part of the continent of Europe, mainly Spain, being back there that creates a shadow on the horizon.   No matter—the effect was dramatic.  Also, Tropea’s view offers a volcano, one that is and has been active for the past 2,000 years or so.  The dramatic aspect of this volcanic island named Stromboli is that unless the day is very clear (they usually are not), you cannot perceive the island until the sun itself provides enough back-light to apparently push the mountain into view.  The sun and distant island seem to play a short duet of light and dark each evening during the brief hour before twilight begins.

San Diego has no volcano.  And the closest islands are about 70 miles off the coast, putting them well out of view.  San Diego did offer some small cliffs which enhanced the experience of sunset because the long trail of lighted water was visible far earlier because of some extra height above sea-level.  However, Tropea’s cliffs are at least double that of Pacific Beach’s.  So Tropea wins the height contest…  The drama of the shaded horizon in Tropea is certainly beautiful, but if you note the picture below, you will see that color is far more beautiful when seen, every shade next to another, as it can be in San Diego.  San Diego’s sunsets had a way of illuminating the whole dome of the sky with colors unseen apart from canvas.  This effect we did not find during our short stay in Tropea. 

San Diego sunset, near Crystal Pier

As admitted above, this comparison is skewed—the color seen from the coasts of southern California are unbeatable.  Perhaps another visit to Tropea in the future will offer a vision more colorful.

Note Four:

A quick note on the curious construction atop the Italian cliffs… Here is a view of the northern side of Tropea—the side that faces the Tyrrhenian Sea from the cliffs. 

These buildings, that seem to seamlessly extend the height of the cliffs, are the signature mark of this wonderful town.  Each building, new and old, adds to the character of the skyline, so to speak. You might find yourself staring at these apartments and houses and shops, all the while finding odd little unique characteristics about each structure.  Besides the general difficulty of defining the line of demarcation between building and cliff, one of the most enjoyable aesthetic qualities found in the cliff side is what we’ve decided is a sort of basement-cave window.  The following picture highlights the center building from the above picture.  Observe the window below the double arch, just left of the stone support column. 

Here you can see a window at the very bottom of the building that is really not part of the building at all but part of the cliff.  It’s as if they decided they should not build any higher, so they just delved a burrow out of the stone, knocked out a window, and called it a day.

Note Five:

Wine in Italy is generally ordered simply as either red or white.  Our American experience of varietals is much more like the French method of bottling wine; whereas the Italians seem much more concerned with the location of the grapes, most often completely disregarding the type.  At most restaurants you will find a wine list with various red and white wines (and of course Prosecco, which we love), all of which are good. 

Many markets and stores in Tropea had a set of inconspicuous and unmarked bottles of red and white wine at the end of the wine shelf.  They were bottles like this: 

 

After recognizing the same wine bottles on a shelf in the restaurant mentioned in the “Insalata di Mare” affair—and finding that the choice of wine was between a different Italian state’s wine or a choice red or white “vino locale”—we decided to test the local grapes… 

Very drinkable.  And all the shop owners were happy to push the local wine industry.  All we had to do was walk into any food market and ask for vino locale.  Out would come the unmarked 100 centiliter bottle, and off we would go.  We managed to thoroughly test both the red and white versions of the local wine, usually while sitting at the town’s central over-look, as you may recognize from the above picture. 

Note Six:

This is the window in our hotel room:

It doesn’t face any spectacular view (that's an apartment building you can see through it).  But it was well built with a wonderful arch shape, having opaque hinged windows inside, and green shudders outside.  It feels good to open a window like this. 

As a side note to this side note, you can, more or less, tell who in a given city is trying to break the mould simply by looking at shudders.  Most regions support only one color of shudder.  You may recall us mentioning that folks in the south of France only paint shudders blue, whereas Venice only works with green shudders.  Tropea follows the venetian theme with green shudders, if their seaside windows have shudders at all.  Maybe there is something about being close to the blue sea that makes people in Italy want to see green and something about being stuck in the middle of a very green continent that causes people in the south of France to want to see blue.

Note Seven:

Tropea’s sand is perfect.  If you find regular sandy beaches at all annoying, your annoyance may be focused on the fact that the sand always sticks to every part of you after you’ve been in the water and often even when you remain dry.  This does not happen in Tropea.  Every grain of sand is about the size of a half-grain of dry rice.  Apparently, this is just the right size for sand because it is comfortable to walk on, yet it brushes right off wet skin. 

There were a few other things we thought worth remembering, which we will.  But we cannot keep writing this post for fear of instilling a sense of boredom about this blog in the mind of the readers...  Instead, we will simply list some noteworthy happenings:

We ate breakfast every morning in our hotel's breakfast room whilst listening to the same eclectic soundtrack of popular Italian music (which we are still humming to ourselves, nearly a week later) and being waited on by the hotel's owner who was often drinking wine or liquor and was always happy.  We understood almost nothing he said and it was always entertaining. We are guessing he thought so as well since he brought us complimentary breakfast wine (which is really just regular red wind--probably vino locale) several mornings consecutively.  He kindly gave us a ride to the train station on our departing day.  It took some real work to get our packs into his tiny (yet average-sized European) car.  

We learned how properly to take a siesta in Tropea.  It was impossible not to.  The entire town stops, completely stops, no later than 12:30.  If we were planning on doing anything more than lay on the beach or sit on a bench (all of which are empty during this time) between the hours of 12:30 and 3:30, we would despair of our task.  The hopeful solution was, of course, to join the town in their siesta.  So we did.  Italians take naps and they are happier for it.  We joined them--separately though, in our own bed--and found it a healthy practice.  

There are about six churches in Tropea, which is five more than we expected for its size.  The old Benedictine abbey sat on the large rock apart from the town, halfway into the sea.  It's no longer used as an abbey, from what we could tell. There is still an abbey attached to one of the parishes--its eastern wall is facing in the center of the picture below.  

We saw one monk two different times while in this town.  The first was near the overlook just before siesta time.  He was walking towards his abbey.  As he passed us he grinned widely and made some approving hand gesture at us.  The second time we saw him, we were foolishly looking for an open store during siesta time.  We wandered past his abbey as he was standing in his window (middle window on the far right side of the building).  Now the only real interesting point in all this is that he is the only person thus far to wave at us in that classic sort of underhanded way.  We expected more of this in Italy for some reason.  He stuck his arm and hand descending with palm upturned out of the window and while smiling, waved in a fashion that would otherwise look like one trying to clap with one hand.  Perhaps the real interesting point was that he seemed to be a lone monk in a very large building; or that everyone who passed him seemed to recognize him and wave; or that he seemed like a quiet ball of joy ready to burst.  Regardless, at the time, we were struck by his simple smile and unique wave.