New Year, New Attitude

 Coming out of the darkness and into the light.

I just returned from my first trip ever to Europe. I emptied out my piggy bank, strained my credit cards and made it happen. I traveled to a tiny walled town north of Rome which has retained all of its medieval charm. Viterbo, the home of the Pope's summer palace is a self-contained, amazing place that has managed to keep modern buildings from creeping inside its walls. Instead it is populated by tiny shops, cobblestone streets, and a warmth and charm you won't find anywhere else. I marveled at ancient carvings, authentic Roman architecture, and overflowing fountains.

Where dreams become reality

And the food.

Oh the food!

There were no signs of preservatives, red dye number 2, blue dye number gazillion, or artificial sugars (except in the gum which I avoided). Just a lot of fresh fruits, home-made pasta and pesto, roasted meats and melt in your mouth mozzarella served in multiple courses at a table where people actually talk to one another -- or gestured in my case as I tried to turn four months of crammed Italian lessons into coherent dialogue.

First of many courses.

On the first day, suffering from jet lag and a long train ride from Rome, I crashed in the hotel only to get a call telling me I would be picked up for dinner in a few hours. The meal seemed modest - thin slices of prosciuitto, olives and bread and I was humbled by the experience. The family lived in a small apartment and I was respectful, only sampling small amounts of the meal. And then course #2 arrived. A huge bowl of fresh tortellini in a steaming broth that was so flavorful it came close to the true meaning of ecstasy. I ate heartily while catching snatches of words I understood and nodding my approval with refrains of “Grazie!” (Thank you) and “Piacere!” (I love it!) Thrilled with the response, my host offered seconds. I declined, my stomach full, and he insisted. Not wanting to insult him I smiled and said "Si, grazie!” and he emptied the remains of the pot into my bowl.

A bigger portion than the first.

Now bursting, I put my napkin down only to see his wife return from the kitchen with huge mounds of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes. “Mangia! Mangia!” she said.

I responded with hand gestures and a hearty, "Basta! Basta!" (Enough! I’m full!)

My protests had no effect. I tried to eat only small amounts as my midsection strained to make space for it but my mouth burst with flavors and textures unlike anything I get from the prepackaged cheese at my local grocery store for sure. I wondered if I could be outfitted with one of those luggage zippers that allows you to expand the space. More so when the next course arrived: a huge bowl of salad followed by yet another course - a bowl filled with fresh fruit.

A glass of honey wine to finish the meal left me both giddy and wondering how I would survive the week. I sampled a kiwi, the smallest fruit in the bowl. The woman looked at me with amusement as I attempted to cut it into slices. She took another, cut it in half, and showed me how to scoop out the flesh with a spoon. So much easier than my way of approaching the task. Heavenly bursts of sweet and tart exploded onto my palette.

Shortly after dinner, I was then informed there would be three more days of feasting with the relatives - thirty of them - all bringing dishes to the meals. And so, as I learned to pace myself - both in eating, and in mastering Italian fluency - my body adjusted. I figured out how to say no to endless glasses of wine prepared from grapes in the family vineyard. I learned it was okay to devour huge slices of moist cake filled with raisins. I marveled at the simplicity of life and the pure joy of family members relishing each other’s company and who adopted me into the fold as well.

I ate until I dropped then walked everywhere. No car, no bus, just my two feet exploring narrow streets filled with merchants and people. Most of the town closes for lunch and the streets became deserted. You can really sense what it was like to live in the town in the Middle Ages when the town is silent and still. Up and down centuries old staircases, past churches with amazing architecture and carved sculptures, looking out at landscapes and hills untouched by skyscrapers. In the evening, life returns as the streets fill with people on strolls. It’s the custom to walk which explains why so many of the women I passed where thin.

I came home having lost 8 pounds that had previously refused my demands for a divorce despite endless sessions on a treadmill (and embarrassing attempts to complete a Wii Fit obstacle course.). I also came home with authentic experiences I could not have gotten just researching an environment in a book.

And so my 2012 writing journey begins - and I found a backdrop for a new novel. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells and textures that will breathe life into my work and give it a ring of authenticity. A feast for all the reader's senses, and mine.

Life can be marvelous. May 2012 be the beginning of something great for you too.

Harriet
www.iamflow.net