First of all, I’ve been busy, hence I’ve been a bit M.I.A. for the past few weeks. Two Fridays ago, however, I visited Bologna on what was basically a last resort option because my original plan to see Lisa failed because airlines in Europe aren’t that great. Many of them only fly to a destination one day and then return the next day because they have so many more routes than they have planes. So, I spent the first day of my very relaxing four-day Easter Weekend enjoying myself in the city where Maserati is based.
Almost everyone else in the group went down south for the weekend to Naples, Pompeii, Sorrento, and Capri. Don’t get me wrong, I’m dying to see all four cities, but I’d like to spend more time really exploring the places and not just going, seeing them for just a few hours and then leaving. Plus, which such a large group of people, it’s hard for everyone to do what he/she wants. Also, the only city in Italy that is actually going somewhere is Venice, and I’ve seen it twice so it’s not as if my life will end if I don’t go back. Though, if Harry’s Bar sinks into the Laguna Veneta, I may have a mental breakdown because that is still one of the best meals I’ve ever had and I will defend that bill until the day I die.
So Bologna is a very short high-speed train ride away from Florence on the way to Milan. Now, partly because I’m crazy, but also partly because I have better things on which to spend my money, I just walked the whole day in Bologna (my feet still probably hate me), which is very doable. However, next time, I’ll probably at least take a taxi to the center of the city and save myself the somewhat long walk there from the station, which is a major TrenItalia transfer point.
The city boasts a Modern Art Museum, cleverly called MAMbo, which is on the way to the center of the city when coming from the station. Yes, I did in fact spend the entire time walking there thinking about the “Mambo Number Five” song. As for the museum, I think they need to change their name, because it was really post-modern art, which I don’t understand. I love modern art, but a video about how graffiti is beautiful seems like a bit of a stretch to me. There was a temporary exhibit of the works of Matthew Day Jackson, which unfortunately ended on the first of May, but was very interesting; not so much the art itself, but rather Jackson’s story. He disappeared in 2006 mysteriously and his van was discovered in Queens. He has yet to be found, but was just completing a trip that took him to all of the forty-eight continental States so he could photograph each one for a piece he did. The result was kind of amazing. A lot of the show dealt with death and bones, which for some reason, I found to be highly entertaining that day (must have had something to do with the fact that I was reading Tina Fey’s wonderful autobiography, “Bossypants,” at the time).
I tried to have lunch in the museum’s café, but because this is Italy, it wasn’t open, despite having a sign that indicated that it should be open when I showed up. From there, I headed off in search of the Stregate Tea Shop, which I read was a must visit place. It’s one this little pedestrian street called Via Porta Nova, which is lined with little boutiques, bars and cafés. When I finally arrived, I learned that Bologna is a city that takes its break for lunch very seriously! All of the stores were closed for three hours, so I figured I guess it was time to get lunch too since I had about an hour to kill until the tea shop reopened.
Originally, I had planned to lunch at Drogheria della Rosa, but it was much too far from where I was so I scrapped that plan and instead just wandered into this little place called Cafè Midi Du. Yes, I had pasta with bolognese sauce, and yes, it was delicious, as is nearly all Italian food. But my titillating bowl of pasta was not the highlight of the meal. For dessert, I saw from my table outside this white, dome-shaped dessert which I was told was a cake soaked in lemon and then covered in ricotta. It was so heavenly and I was so surprised by the fragrance of the lemon.
By the time I finished lunch, Stregate had reopened. Inside was a wall of large tins, each containing tea leaves with some of the most amazing aromas. I purchased four, fifty-gram bags as gifts: Chocolate and Orange, Earl Grey, Tè degli Gnomi (I honestly don’t know what’s in it, it just smelled good), and Chocolate Soufflé for me.
From there, I headed to Piazza Maggiore, where I went inside the main Duomo, which had the most ornate private family chapels. They were preparing for Easter Sunday services and so the choir was chanting away, which made the imposing space quite intimate. Back outside in the Piazza, I walked a block over to Via Drapperie and went to visit Antica Aguzzeria del Cavallo. This store is known throughout the city (and according to The New York Times) as being one of the best places to buy knives in all of Italy, so of course I had to visit (and if the Times blesses it, you know it must be good. That said, they picked a horrible location for their spectacular headquarters; I love that façade). Here is my problem with the place: while they have every type knife imaginable, the knives behind these wooden doors that have antique/old fashioned-looking knives on them and so I thought that what you see on the doors is what you can buy. It’s moments like these where I like to remind people that I was blonde until the age of three when my hair just suddenly turned brunette.
My retardation aside, I bought a peeler to replace disgusting and rusty one with which Mother sent me off to school last semester despite having replaced it with a new one about five years ago. I also purchased a cake spatula, which I didn’t need since I have one already, but just like this trip, it was a spur of the moment decision. The two sales ladies were very sweet and accepting of my elementary Italian, instead of just telling me they speak English, which is what most Italians do.
Just a little ways away from the knife store was the bakery Paolo Atti e Figli. I honestly don’t know why I went there because I was still full from lunch, but I did and ended up buying little treats for the train-ride back to Siena. The highlight of my day, however, came while i was was making my way back to the Piazza Maggiore.
There, in red lettering that looks very similar to Times New Roman, were the words EATALY. To say I screamed louder than a woman having a baby naturally may have been an understatement and I would like to take this time now to sincerely apologize to everyone in the vicinity of me at that time. Despite hearing everything from horrible reviews to reviews such as “if you don’t go, you’re a moron,” I have yet to visit the new EATALY that opened last fall in New York. I could have gone to the Turino-based restaurant/upscale grocery store’s Flatiorn food hall/multiple restaurant space that Croc-loving Mario Batali helped import, but I figured that I’d rather spend my final meal in America until May eating something other than Italian. Besides, I’ll get there eventually.
Anyway, so I went in and it was interesting because it was attached to a Libreire Coop, which is kind of a like an Italian Barns & Noble. Therefore, i sort of assumed that the Eataly was almost like a B&N Café, but oh how I was wrong. There is a small café where you can purchase sandwiches, snacks, drinks, and I believe meats of some sort (I didn’t pay that much attention to it), but if you go up to the second floor, there is so much more. There are pastas, sauces, salts, olive oils, an assortment of eco-friendly kitchen tools, and a large meat/seafood/pasta/cheese area that looked as if you can also order something to eat there. The meats looked all done up in that case and they just looks a bit prissy, but I guess if you’re buying your filets in a bookstore, you’d expect them to look all done up. On the third floor were a few more Eataly products and a wine bar in a sky-lit room that is probably the most relaxing place on a sunny day in the winter with a good glass of Brunello. I bought a reusable grocery bag and a jar of pomodoro sauce (that was outrageously priced, but I wanted to try it and you only live once).
After leaving the very unique space, I went to see the Libreria Nanni, which is a very famous bookstore in Bologna, just to see what all the fuss was about. It was in the beautiful space that had these cavernous ceilings and a large covered walkway out in front with books shelves lining both sides. It was very much a step back in time and I can only assume that this is what bookstores looked like before B&N, Border’s, WaldenBooks, and eventually Amazon.
Not too far from the Libreria Nanni was trouble. Bologna has a luxury “mall” around the Piazza Cavour. I swear, I must have a disease because when I see those stores, my entire mind seems to change. It’s as if my American Express card and my brain become one and all I think is “don’t look at the price, just think of how many points you can get with this and then you’ll be that much closer to an upgrade with points.” I think it runs in the family. I’m not a shopaholic at all (I leave that to another member of my family), I just have a tendency to always end up going gaga over things like Prada (yes, that was meant to rhyme). My biggest culprits are Ralph Lauren, Tod’s, Vilebrequin (this is such a snobby thing to say, but I only wear Vilebrequin bathing suits), and of course, Hermès. Hermès is like a drug for me; it’s my cocaine, but unlike the other powdered-sugar, which can have horrible side effects including death, Hermès’s only negative effect is that it greatly reduces the amount of money I have in my bank account.
Speaking of my orange box love affair, I went in their Bolgona store just to look (as if I needed anything else after draining my bank account at their Paris flagship) and while I was in there, the most bizarre experience of my life took place. A monk walked into the store and of course I did a double take because I thought they’re supposed to give up all of their worldly possessions and last I checked, Hermès was probably at the top of that list. Then I assumed that maybe he didn’t know what Hermès was and he was trying to get money from them, but then I saw all of the sales ladies hug him and kiss him on the cheeks. After the very friendly banter between what seemed like good friends, the monk began to pray right there next to the navy blue crocodile baby Kelly bag with gold hardware that had a price tag that is more than my UVa tuition (I’m instate)! I initially assumed he was praying for someone related to one of the salesladies, but then I heard him say the word Hermès and quickly connected the dots. This monk, who looked a lot like Cardinal Egan, was actually blessing the store! It has to go down as one of the most unusual experiences of my entire life.
After my religious experience in the land of orange, I strolled leisurely around the other stores in the “mall” before realizing that it was actually time to start heading back to the station. On my way, I stopped at this chocolate store/gelateria called Venchi. It was very Upper East Side with the ornate light fixtures, the delicate chocolates and the prices. The interior immediately made Grom look so Downtown or West Side with its glamour and opulence so of course I had to stop in and try some of the gelato, which was well worth the price (which was actually the same as Grom’s, so it wasn’t TOO bad)!
I spent the entire trip back to Siena trying to think of why I loved Bologna so much and it finally dawned on me that it wasn’t so much the city itself, which don’t get me wrong is so nice and so easy to navigate, but instead the people. They were so friendly, so helpful and it was something I hadn’t expected at all because let’s be honest, Italians aren’t exact known for their friendliness. One of the girls on my program today told me that her house mother said that the Romans and the Bolognans were the nicest people in all of Italy, and while it’s been nearly four years since I was last in Rome (I’ll be there in two weeks though), I can definitely say that her house mother was right about the people from Bologna. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how kind they were and I will definitely make it a point to return someday.
Also, as it is officially May, my favorite sports season has arrived once again! It’s horse racing’s big month with the 137th Running of the Kentucky Derby less than a week away! This is my Superbowl. Plus, there’s no greater scent than that of booze mixed with cigar smoke mixed with money mixed with horse manure. I have attended the Preakness every year of my life starting when Mother was five months pregnant with me so I blame her for any future gambling addiction I might have. I’m probably more excited though about the fact that I’ll finally be able to legally buy my own Black Eyed Susan instead of drinking Mother’s after her two sips.
Alright y’all, I’ve got to write a six-eight page paper about how the film Nuovo Cinema Paradiso best reflects a post-modernist sensibility that is due Tuesday and I’ve done nothing but procrastinate so until next time…
-JD
PS: I told Grace about the whole “Hermès is my cocaine” paragraph; she’s not surprised at all.
The Yapper 