Saturday, February 28, 2009

The magical lure

Last Thursday, Delta and I boarded our much anticipated flight to Pisa. It had been a while since I'd last been to Europe, and I was looking forward to the nostalgically familiar sights and scents of the Olde World. We had only three days in which to complete our Christopher Columbus explorations of Tuscany, so there was not a moment to be lost.

Immediately after checking in to the hotel, we headed out into the awaiting world with a filled agenda. No rest for the weary (and by 'weary', I mean mainly Delta, who had stayed awake piloting the flight over, but also me, who slept the entire way but still somehow could have slept more).

First, we headed to Lucca, an ancient town which has somehow succeeded in resisting the modernizations of the world around it, cloistered as it is within its centuries-old city walls. We wouldn't have made it to Lucca at all, if it hadn't been for one of Jeet's friends we bumped into a couple of weeks prior, who told us the town was a must-see. And so it was.


I won't lie to you, navigating the Italian train system posed some serious impediments even for ye hardened (and enthusiastic!) travellers. There was a fair share of confusion and kerfuffle at the station, but somehow Delta and I managed to procure ourselves a couple of train tickets (still not sure if it was for the right date or location, but the fact that we paid at all somehow legitimised the endeavour), and jumped onto the first train heading to Lucca.

As an aside, once we managed to wrap our heads around the system, we found the Italian train structure to be extremely efficient: punctual, inexpensive, clean, and (if you got on the right train) quick. And we should know - over the next three days we spent a considerable amount of time appreciating the intricate nuances of the trains. I re-learnt my lesson of old, for example - that one mustn't go to the bathroom in the train whilst it is stopped at a station.

The highlight of the trip was Cinque Terre. With all the luck in the world at our backs, we managed to catch it at on a beautiful day. The sky was a brilliant azur, the ocean sparkled in shades of blue as far as the eye could see, and the mountains were resplendent with golden sunshine. Whith the breeze at our faces and the fresh and salty scent you can only get at the seaside.


We walked from one fishing village to the next, sometimes the path took us along the cliff edge, and at other times up the mountain side meandering through olive groves and vineyards And when we reached the fishing village at the end, we just shared a bottle of prosecco and sat out in the piazza, slowly absorbing the peaceful magnificence of everything around us. It was only later in the evening, once we had watched the sun set at the far end of the ocean, could we tear ourselves from the scene to begin the journey home.


Florence was a large, metropolitan masterpiece of art, thronging with people within its narrow streets. The entire city lay in the shadow of the spellbinding Duomo, of which we would catch surprising glimpses every once in a while when we turned a street corner. Being as it was a Sunday, the steps of the Duomo were closed for climbing. We both feigned disappointment at this, but our wobbly legs, enfeebled by the previous day's hike in Cinque Terre, were secretly thankful.

We had planned to end our day in Florence with a glass of wine in a cosy winebar (enoteca, we learned) away from the tourist hub of the city. Almost inevitably the first glass turned to a second, which turned to a bottle of wine, which extended into dinner and dessert. Such was the magical lure of the little winebar.

Even in just those three days, we had already started planning our next trip back. Already started talking fantastically about the day we would set up home in Italy. Such was the magical lure of Toscana.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Foisted by an asparagus

With Delta's employer privileges, we get to fly stanby for free when we want to travel.

This morning, in preperation for our trip to Italy tonight, we went to the DELTA website to check on updates for standby travellers.

*WARNING* it said.
If you are a standby traveller to Lima, Peru, travel passes will be hard to get. This is asparagus season.

I must have been gawking at the screen in ungainly fashion, because Delta felt obliged to step in. "The planes are carrying asparagus to the US," he explained, "so they're travelling heavy. They try not to let standby passengers on if the weight is too much."

Sounds logical I suppose. And not even like we were planning to go to Peru anyway. But still. If I had been planning a flight to Peru, and if I was kicked off by a stalk of asparagus - well, I think it might have dented my self esteem some.

A life with cooking (and cakes)

Back in highschool, we used to run a little bakery business. My roommates and I (for it was a boarding school), would take orders from students, and bake cakes specific to their requests. Each cake sold for Rs. 30 (or 35 if there were fancy nuts and stuff involved) - in either case, less than a dollar. This is the entire cake, mind you, not just a slice. So you can imagine the dirty glares I give the bakers here in New York, when a small piece of brownie or slice of cake burns a hole in the pocket.

Maybe it was the fact that in those rustic days, we used to bake our cakes in a toaster oven (there was no real oven). Or maybe it was the memory of how our the toaster oven tray had sloped, so all our cakes had turned out lopsided. Most likely, I think it was the fact that baking requires a precision of measurement which is just incompatible with my 'ballpark' approach to life.

In either case, I'm not sure when it was exactly, but somewhere during my transformation from caterpillar to butterfly, I transitioned from baking to cooking.

Cooking is salubrious. Cooking is fun. And most importantly, cooking doesn't have strict guidelines. A dash of herbs, a sprinkling of seasoning, and a spot of salt is plenty specific enough for me.

Don't I miss baking, you might ask? Mostly, I just miss the cakes. Or, more accurately, I would miss the cakes. It certainly helps that there's people out there in the world (like for example my cos Dr. Livingston), who enjoy the science of baking. And have real ovens. And make cakes which are not lop-sided. And always bring some over for us.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Living life on the edge

For two days now, I'd been staring at the Reese's square lying on my desk, enticingly calling my name. I'd been trying to reason with myself. After all, did I really need a piece of chocolate to tide me through the afternoon slump? Of course not. I could - for instance - choose to eat a piece of fruit instead.

And then the devil on my shoulder replied, or you could eat both, heh heh heh.
And, let's face it, someone has to bear the mantle of holding up the Reese's company through these economic hard times.

I tried to hold off for two days. But it just sat there on my desk, beckoning louder and louder, until all I could do was focus on the chocolate. Everything else, work included, was starting to fade into the background.

So, feigning a frustrated little grunt, I picked up the choclate and started unwrapping it greedily. Slowly, delicately, savouring every moment, envisioning the chocolate-enriched moments of my life ahead. And just then one of my colleagues passed by the door.
"Hey. You know Reese's has peanut butter in it, right?"

I stopped, the chocolate held right by my mouth. The magic was broken.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not allergic."
"No, I mean about the peanut butter recall. Didn't you see the news about the salmonella outbreak? They're recalling all this peanut butter."
My eyes almost popped out of my head. Here I was, absolutely dying to take a bite, why would anyone do this to me?! My mouth was open, only millimetres away from the chocolate. Maybe I was even drooling, I wouldnt' have known.

I looked at the chocolate. Looked at my colleage. Back at the chocolate.

"I'm going to take my chances," I said, and popped it in my mouth.

Obituary, incase that Reese's cup really is my demise:
She led a full life. There was happiness, there was love, there was chocolate.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Celebrating little victories

MacKlaine pinged me online is morning.

MacKlaine: Hey, Ficali. Guess what I did last night?
Ficali: Erm. Kung Fu?
MacKlaine: I won a paper plane competition. The prize was a round of drinks and and a yo-yo. This might just be the most glorious thing I've done in 2009.
Ficali: You're right, that is pretty high up there. That must make you pretty popular.

MacKlaine: We were at a pub. I'd sworn off alcohol so I was sipping coke. And then they started a pub quiz so we decided to take part. At the end of the quiz, each team was asked to build a paper plane and we had to stand in a line and all throw them at the quiz master. My plane was a mean machine, it flew the best. So I won a prize.

Ficali: Prize? For the plane?
MacKlaine: The prize was a round of shots, a bitter irony when you've sworn off alcohol. But there was also a yo-yo.
Ficali: You like the yo-yo?
MacKlaine: It has a clip so I can clip it to my waist and walk around. And feel pretty good about myself.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Relationship advice

I was catching up with Metro yesterday afternoon.
"So, what's the latest in your dating life?" I asked him.
"Well, funny you should ask. I dated two guys this past weekend."
My eyebrows shot up. Two? Tell me more.
"One guy's a business fella. Swiss. Not that there's anything wrong with Swiss, but, you know, it's a different kettle of fish. And the other guy is a journalist at the New York Times."

I didn't miss a beat. "Go for the journalist." I said.
"Why? You don't like Swiss peops?"
"Nothing's wrong with the Swiss, silly. Just that the other guy is a journalist at NY Times. He's got to be interesting by default."


Metro thought about that for a bit.
"He uses a lot of exclamation marks, though."
What.
"Are you serious? I'm going to have to take everything back. No serious writer uses exclamation marks. Exclamation marks are only for teenage girls." (And African languages.)
"Teenage girls and gay men," Metro corrected.


I thought about that for a bit.
"He also uses capslock for emphasis," Metro added, laying all his doubts on the table.
"Does he dot his "i"s with hearts?" I asked, full of trepidation.
"He can't, luckily these are text messages."
"Go with the Swiss guy."

I have triceps, and they hurt

This weekend I discovered that I have triceps. And learnt that the discovery process was rather painful.

As we drove up to Vermont, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I'd never been cross-country skiing before, and although I was fairly sure it would be beautiful, that expectation of beauty had no clear definition in my mind.

What I hadn't expected was for it to absolutely take my breath away.

Snow as far as the eye could see. A beautiful country inn, nestled amongst hills. Just Delta and me, and woods, and hills, and gorge, and stream (and freshly baked cookies when we got back to the inn).

Cross country skiing itself turned out to be a great deal of fun. Of course, other than the time(s) I optimistically tried to climb steep slopes. And fell face first, kissing the snow. Multiple times.

But all in all, in the clear light of day, I have to put cross country skiing right up there with one of the greatest things I've ever done. Probably not as high as the time I dreamt I was Jason Bourne, but a close second.