The Joy of Hosting

I've mentioned previously that families with student athletes are strongly encouraged expected to host visiting students when AIS hosts tournaments; this seems fair, as other families are hosting our students when they travel.  (Jack once had to rough it at a home in England so primitive that each of the four AIS students being hosted had their own bedroom and access to the indoor basketball court.  I am surprised any of them came home.)

In submitting our housing information, Clayton Theodore ended up being described as "heavy, but friendly."  Heavy, not so much, but he is so friendly, in fact, that he slept on the sofa bed with one of the students from a Munich exchange last fall. Thankfully the student was fine with this, as he too had a dog.

The housing lists are sent out a week in advance to sort out any unforeseen issues; we were once assigned two students who were allergic to dogs. Whoops.  Mostly, though, we can accommodate pretty much any kind of dietary or other restriction.   The two students we are hosting next weekend are allergy-free; these students, whose names I saw further down the list, though, made me chuckle.

Name of Student                Grade            Allergies
Finn. Icky. Boy.                    8                   Fresh Fruits and Vegetables

A 13 year-old boy allergic to fresh fruits and vegetables? Go figure.  Think Mr. Finicky filled out his own paperwork?

Horse. Lover.                        7                   Vegetarian (only on Mondays)

Tween Girl, to be sure.*

*Given the recent discoveries of horse meat in everything from frozen lasagna to IKEA meatballs here in Europe, perhaps Tween Girl is on to something. 

Visiting students are also encouraged to bring a small gift to their "housers," something along the order of €10,00. We usually send the very Austrian Julius Meinl coffee, which Anna Grace wraps nicely and Jack tosses into his backpack when they travel.  That is what it is.

I admit that I get excited to see what the students staying with us bring as hosting gifts. I don't care what the gift is; I'm just tickled with the custom. Female students present their gifts together, nicely wrapped and with a smile, and want me to unwrap the gift.  I've delighted in English tea, Croatian olive oil,  handmade soap, and wonderful chocolates.  Male students, assuming they remember at all, thrust an unwrapped item at us through the car window from the bottom of their backpack when we are dropping them at the school for their return travel (it's typically smushed chocolate).

One recent Saturday morning, though, the newspaper-wrapped gift handed through the window from our visiting student was not smushed chocolate.

Even Tony thinks the following conversation leading to this gift ensued:

Mom to Dad: Oh, crap, I forgot a hosting gift. 

Dad to Mom:  I can pick up something at the train station when I drop off Student.

Mom to Dad:  Are you sure?  Something around €10,00, okay?

Dad to Mom: Got it. No worries.

This will always be my favorite "housers" gift.

Fifty Shades of Grey

No, not a review of the book that I will never, ever read; rather, the vineyards this morning on our search for signs of spring.

Tracks of all sorts through the soppy snow.

This one has me curious.  There was another set at the top of the photo.  Any guesses?

Steel grey in all directions.

I thought I would have to make do with the tulips in my kitchen.

But then I spied spring by the gate to our garden.  The sun is expected to make an appearance again here tomorrow, so I may just head out and tidy up around the daffodils, jonquils, or whatever these little harbingers of spring might be.

It's Off to School I Go

Today was my first day of class, and I'm already a week behind. Class started last week while I was a truant out on holiday.  And what subject will occupy my time twice weekly from 11:45 to 13:00, right in the middle of lunch?

Beginning Arabic.  Yes, of course I'm bored playing Trailing Spouse already; it's too easy. I mastered running the house years ago in English with a full time career, so it really only took me a couple of months here in German. This should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. Just look at my agenda for this week--that's what, three, maybe four hours (if I go with the deep conditioner on my hair at the salon) of excitement?

Grocery shopping

Tick Shot (a perk of living in the Vienna Woods)

Hair Appointment

Getting silver jewelry cleaned

Taking car to Volvo dealer for a factory recall on the windshield wiper thingamajig

After running the house, chauffeuring the children, travel planning, vineyard hiking, attending coffee outings, and restoring America's culinary dignity, let's just say I've got a little intellectual capital to spare. I was waitlisted for an Arabic language class offered by the equivalent of the community center here for the fall; too bad, really, because learning Arabic from a German speaking teacher could have been a hoot, so I registered for a course taught at the UN.

Armed with a snack and arriving 10 minutes early, I was hoping for worksheets like this.

No such luck. The teacher gave me approximately 5 minutes to "look over" last week's content before she started calling on me to conjugate the alphabet, or something.  When, in my second or third attempt, I successfully vowelized Alif, and was complimented for my fine handwriting of the words on the board (thanks, mom!), Philipe sitting to my right gave me the evil stink-eye. Guess I won't be study-buddy with him.

Now, I bid you all Ma'a salama. I have homework to complete.

(A Few of) My Favorite Things

Bona Sforza of Italy was chosen to be the wife of Sigismund I of Poland some 5 or 6 centuries ago, thus merging two of the world's most amazing cuisines, in my humble opinion. My heritage may be Polish, but I think the gene for the love of good food is at least half-Italian.  And so I share some of my favorite food porn from this holiday with you.

Bologna, The Fat. I could shop at chandelier-ed food markets every day.

Design inspiration for one of the niches of our wine cellar.

Who can decide?  Not I.  So I brought home one of each, with no need to be concerned about getting the items through customs at Dulles (where I may actually be listed as, "Notorious Cheese Smuggler").  Parmesan Risotto is on the menu this week; I'm happy to set an extra place for anyone who wishes to join us.

To pair with the risotto, of course.

Sweet signs of spring.

Blue crabs!  We thought we would not see blue crabs until we returned to the US. 

Jams and spreads at the chocolate festival, although not all were chocolate based.

Like this roasted pepper jam, which paired deliciously with fresh ricotta and crusty bread before dinner. And made for a quick bite while the morning coffee was brewing. 

Another treasure brought home from the festival, bitter orange chocolate liqueur.

We live in Austria and don't ski. We live in Austria and don't eat Sacher torte, either.

Any Italian rental villa worth its salt should have one of these hanging on the wall. Ours did.

A once, and sometimes twice, daily pause. Who wouldn't?

A non-culinary diversion, the Santa Maria Novella parfumerie. I can now smell just like Catherine de Medici any time I desire.

None of us could figure out what was hanging in the window.

Cinghiale proscuitto, in case there was any doubt.  Clayton Theodore loved stopping at these markets.

Olive oils and mood lighting. Food porn at its finest.

So what did we actually eat on our holiday? Lunch each day was decided upon by the children, which meant pizza for them, and whatever the regional pasta or risotto or fish special was for me and for Tony.  Crispy polenta with sauteed mushrooms, salads of dandelion or ruccola and shaved Parmesan, and ribollita, a soup of beans, vegetables and stale bread that takes a couple of days to make, rounded out the lunches. Dinner at the villa was whatever golden yellow, fresh pasta the local market had, with, again, whatever fresh sauce was jarred and stacked nearby. A cozy fire, crusty bread and red wine completed the table setting.   

Home!

Our "ski break" holiday ended a day early, not because we weren't enjoying the warm and sunny weather, though. The forecast for the mountainous areas through which we would return had changed, with calls for snow accumulations. Now, while I may own a snowy weather capable vehicle from a Scandinavian country that knows snow, that does not mean I want to actually drive in said snowy weather. Plus, there was the pesky business of addressing our failed boiler in the Vienna house, a matter that could not be addressed if we returned on Saturday.  And so, Parma and Modena will just have to wait for another time. 

For anyone cartographically inclined, the drive from Udine, Italy to Klagenfurt, Austria passes through the Alps and is generally miserable. Think winding roads, commercial trucks, Italian drivers and slow speeds, in good weather. Adding snow to that equation was not my idea of fahrvergnügen.  So we routed ourselves through the Dolomites and via Innsbruck, a much wiser decision.  

The house was a chilly 11°C when we arrived. Tony gave the boiler a quick look-see and determined that repairing the leaky valve might just help matters. And indeed, by morning the temperature was a tropical 17°C.  We still kept our required appointment with the "maintenance" person, who walked around our house for 90 minutes feeling the radiators and pronouncing, "alles gut."  Can't wait to see the invoice.

We awoke on Friday to snow! Beautiful, fluffy, snow!  This is the view looking up into the pine tree that sways fiercely in our garden with the winds. 

The chestnut tree on the other side of the garden and a view toward our garden from the path.

Running errands in the 22nd, I spied a gentleman feeding the local pigeons, and the snowplow tram. We don't have these novelties in DC.

With less than a month to go before Spring officially arrives, we thankfully haven't tired of winter yet. Besides, we leave in five weeks for Croatia, so what's a few more weeks of snow when we have more blue skies and warm temperatures to look forward to?

La Dotta and La Grassa

Bologna, nicknamed "The Learned" and "The Fat." The city definitely had a different feel than Florence and the hill towns. In the main piazza stands the Neptune sculpture, a curious emblem of the city given that Bologna is not a coastal town. The dolphin-riding lactating nereids from whose breasts water streams in the warmer months, commissioned by Bologna's Cardinal Legate to celebrate the election of his uncle as Pope Pius IV, gave us pause for consideration, as well.

Bologna, The Learned. The University of Bologna is the oldest university in Europe. Under the Napoleonic Era the university acquired space throughout the city for different topics of study; in the original structure is the anatomical theater for the medical school, considered the first seat of study in Europe. The palazzo housing the university was severely damaged in WWII, and the theater was rebuilt from pieces salvaged in the rubble. We were rather surprised that visitors could walk freely through the space, and even sit on the benches.  And there was no entrance fee to do so!

The dissecting table. 

Apollo on the ceiling of the theater.

The elaborate porticos of the university open to a courtyard, and through them we walked with hushed tones in the umber of three Popes (Innocent IX, Alexander IX, Gregory XV); Nicolas Copernicus (an assistant to Ferrara, an Italian astronomer), and the inventor Guglielmo Marconi.

Bologna is also noteworthy for its covered porticos throughout the city. They are all different, and given that the weather was overcast with occasional sprinkles, we could move about nicely protected from the elements.

Bologna, "The Fat," I'll save for a later discussion.  The task of putting pen to paper over my love affair with food and eating can not be undertaken lightly.

The City of Fine Towers (and its Neighbor)

We read that the sun made an appearance in Vienna this week! People streamed out of their homes and into the streets, pointing their pale faces toward the golden orb in the sky, ever hopeful for a chance to squint at the sun.   Though we are not home, we, too, were once more pointing our pale faces toward the sun from atop two of Tuscany's favorite hill towns, Volterra and San Gimignano.

The sun retreated behind the gray and snowy skies of Vienna again, perhaps not to be seen now until April. And so, especially for our Viennese friends, we graciously share several photos of another warm and sunny Italian day.  You're welcome.

Although not perfectly picturesque due to the smoke from Tuscan farmers burning olive branches, the scenery still begs to be absorbed by the senses.

Volterra, the smaller of the two hill towns. Less toured by visitors than San Gimignano, but no less charming.

 Narrow passageways invite exploration.

Just outside the city wall are some of the best preserved Roman ruins outside of Rome.  On our last visit it was possible to view the ruins up close; a decade later, not so much. 

A couple of friends thought the children might be bored in Tuscany. Maybe some are, but not ours.

The 3 B.C. Etruscan City Gate, modified slightly by the Romans. Once upon a time the three stone blobs were the busts of Zeus and his two sons. During WWII, the citizens of Volterra filled the gate with rocks and boulders to prevent an attack by the Germans. Their heroic efforts are commemorated on a nearby plaque.

En route to San Gimignano, we offered a Grazie to the sheep who contributed to the delicious fresh pecorino sandwiches we snacked on from this roadside farmer's truck.

The vines are ordered much differently than in Austria.

Several of the San Gimignano towers appear in the distance.  Only 14 of the 70 towers remain in this ancient Roman skyscraper city now.

Tony and I visited San Gimignano on our last visit for all of 30 minutes, 20 of which were spent wading through the disgorged tourists and tour buses at the main city gate entrance; and 10 of which were spent deciding that we weren't going to enjoy strolling a city filled with said tourists jamming every nook and cranny.  We left, telling ourselves we would return another time.  This is the visitor parking lot in the early afternoon on our visit this week. 

 Not a tour bus in sight. I squealed.

Poor Clayton Theodore. So tired from sightseeing that he practically fell asleep standing up.

Someone needs a gelato snack to perk up.

"Award Winning Chocolate" read the label in the gelateria. No disagreement from us.

An afternoon of exploration awaited. 

Cletus meets Cinghiale.

No bridges in the city on which to hang a love padlock, but the gate across the old city well makes a fine stand-in.

La Rocca, 14th century fortress remains atop the city.

Ciao, San Gimignano.