Art and Olives - Italy

Those two words, art and olives, pretty much sum up the Italy part of our trip, and boy was it fun!

Fervent Florence

After a quick overnight stay in Bologna, we hopped on a morning train to Florence. We spent a few hours wandering around the Uffizi Gallery, marvelling at one of the world's finest collections of Renaissance art. Sumptuous Madonna's with plump babies, the balance and harmony of revived Classicism, pure and unapologetic beauty. Botticelli's Venus knocked our socks off with its sense of flowing motion, astonishing grace, dazzling colours and real gold worked into the paint.

We followed up the Uffizi with a stroll around the gorgeous Duomo (pink and green marble is THE best colour scheme) while munching on massive gluten-free focaccia bread sandwiches.

Another train and we were in Rome, then another and we were an hour's drive outside of the city and being whisked away to our homestay. In case you're counting, with our Paris-Switzerland-Bologna trip the previous day, that makes a total of nine trains in two days!

After all that mad dashing about, we were in need of some respite, which thankfully was provided by a week living in a rural Italian farmhouse!

Roccantica and Relaxation

On arrival, we passed through a wooden gate and along the gravel road, itself lined with olive trees on either side, their grey-green leaves punctuated by heavy clusters of black and green fruit. They looked old for their age (about thirty years), with gnarled and twisting trunks rooted in the rocky ground. Beneath them, sheep were grazing, the bells around their necks jingling continuously. The orchard melted into the forest, with delicate purple cyclamen carpeting the forest floor.

Soon, the road widened into a clearing in which stood the house. All stone construction with warm wood accents; it felt timeless and incredibly cozy. The kitchen was large and functional, with a wood-burning stove (very toasty) and a well-stocked pantry. We spent hours cooking there with the hosts and other guests, as everyone prepared their own contributions to the meal. Lunches and dinners were feasts, the long table laden with numerous and varied contributions. Hours spent cooking translated into hours around the table, chatting and filling our bellies.

One night, our (extremely lovely) host brought back maple syrup from the grocery store import aisle. There are many wonderful things you can do with that sugary tree juice, but to us the answer was obvious: pancakes. Unfortunately, things went a little awry during the recipe conversion, and doubling a recipe for 16 pancakes quite mysteriously resulted in somewhere closer to 70. Johann spent two hours flipping pancakes before giving up and dumping the rest of the batter into the skillet. And in a monumental feat of human achievement, Rachel managed to flip it perfectly! Her powers are now permanently depleted and you should expect nothing further.

Another memorable meal was somewhere closer to traumatic. We were sitting at the large outside table, when the five painfully adorable kittens decided they were hungry. Ancient myths thrummed with new life as the kittens dug in their claws, climbed our legs, and went for our sausages like the fuzzy, adorable harpies they are. Tragically, one of them found the hole in the bottom of Johann's chair. Let us say no more.

Later, Rachel accidentally ate maggots. Never trust a corn cake you didn't unpackage yourself.

And now, who wants to know how to harvest an olive orchard?!?

How to Train an Olive-Picker

(1) Understand you can't eat the olives off the trees

We learned the hard way that olives need to be processed to become palatable. Right off the tree they are spicy and bitter in the worst possible way. Don't let our sacrifice be in vain; spread the word, and whatever you do, don't eat raw olives.

(2) Prep the orchard

We spent two days weed-whacking, hand-sawing, and raking to clear the ground of brambles and sticks. This is necessary to keep the delicate nets from ripping once spread on the ground.

(3) Spread the nets

Gather the clean nets, some as huge as 50m x 5m in dimension, and spread on the ground between the rows. Lay other nets in the adjacent row spaces and pin overlapping edges together with rocks so that the ground is completely covered with netting.

(4) Tickle the trees

We used rakes which shook violently with air from an air compressor. Raising the cumbersome tools over our heads, we tickled the trees, the rapidly shaking tines knocking olives free from the branches and onto the nets below. (FYI, getting smacked in the centre of the forehead by a falling olive hurts more than you think it should.)

(5) Gather the nets

Once a row had been completely harvested, a team of us would start at one end of the net and pick it up so that all the olives rolled to the centre. We then proceeded along the length of the net, collecting the olives in its centre and rolling them along in front of us until we were left with a large pile of fruit.

(6) Clean the leaves out of the olives

Pretty much how it sounds. A moment's rest from harvesting to pull branches and leaves out of the olive pile.

(7) Pour olives into storage bins

Once the olives were relatively clean we dumped them into bins for storage. The next steps of further cleaning and pressing into olive oil are contracted out to a local press company.

Frolicking

When we weren't busy tickling trees and tiptoeing around fallen olives, we were exploring the surrounding area. One newfound Italian friend took us exploring, starting with impromptu bouldering in a dry gorge behind the house (it was basically a 5 on Boulders' rating scale tbh).

The next day, we drove to the top of a steep valley and climbed down to the emerald river at its bottom. The trees were moss-draped, their woody trunks writhing above prickly butcher's broom and cyclamen. Ruins of a 16th century mill (which we were informed didn't count as old) and a Roman aqueduct (which did count) were scattered along the river, including a still functioning 500-year-old bridge arching high above the water. Rachel went for a dip and found the water quite chilly!

We also spent time exploring some of the tiny, hilltop towns; their many stairs and slanted streets twisting up inevitably to the village church. From stone walls, you could stare down at a nearly vertical drop into the valley below. The villages were utterly charming, hundreds of years old, and staggering in the effort it must have taken to build them, hauling stone up the steep hillsides. They were also very quiet, as many people are moving to larger urban centres. The village closest to the olive farm was called Roccantica (meaning 'old rock') and (we were told) was the birthplace of a Pope.

On our last day at the farm we hiked to the Hermitage of St. Leonard, which dates back to the 8th-9th centuries C.E. and is built into a cliffside cave. A stone wall enclosed the complex, consisting of a tiny roofless two-story house just outside the cave's opening, a small chapel inside strewn with everyday relics left by visitors, and vestiges of old paintings on the walls. Like so much of our time in the countryside around Rome, it was tranquil and solitary.

An experience which was the antithesis of our Roman one.

Raucous Romans

Never have we ever seen a subway system as busy as Rome's. Yes, we were visiting the touristy spots. But the dense knot of people packed along the train tracks was far beyond anything we saw in Paris or London.

Four formal forms on The Forum

After a foiled pick-pocketing attempt on the metro, we were spit out at the Roman forum. This was a spectacular site filled with ancient ruins from when it was the heart of Rome.

We were fascinated by the Basilica of Constantine, originally a hall of justice, which became the widespread model for Christian churches. It's really really big!

We walked the Via Sacra, whose ancient stones once knew the steps of emperors, and saw the ruins of the House of the Vestal Virgins. These women were tasked with keeping the sacred fire burning in The Temple of Vesta, so that Rome could continue on.

Side note, if found to be lacking in the virginal part of the name, Romans would strap the accused woman to a funeral cart, parade her through the streets, and bury her alive. Essentially, they had no chill.

Gladiator would've been a better movie if Russell Crowe sang in it

Speaking of which, on to the Colosseum! Where countless humans and animals lost their lives in horrific spectacles.

Yay?

Ceiling frescos cause neck pains (more news after the break)

In the afternoon we toured the Vatican museums, dazzled by art both ancient and Renaissance. And yeah, we were in a different country!

The Sistine Chapel was a lighthearted end to a history-heavy day, with muscled human forms writhing in agony or salvation beneath the vengeful, ripped arm of Jesus. Michelangelo's self portrait as a flayed skin left us with warm and fuzzy feelings inside. But in all seriousness, what a staggering masterpiece of art and endurance; we were in fact suitably awed.

Naples and Some Old Burnt City

We made a mad dash for Naples. Its narrow alleys and garbage strewn streets definitely give it a certain texture; we actually quite enjoyed the lived-in grunge of the city, minus the used needles. The cathedral welcomed us in for a sumptuous jazz piano concert amongst its coloured marble columns, both real and painted.

On a pilgrimage to the ancient city of Pompeii we spent hours wandering the preserved streets (they gave us very clear directions to the brothels). We visited a smaller colloseum and the theatres, but what really caught our imagination was the art. Preserved in colour and form, we were swept away by the remarkable frescoes adorning entire rooms. Animals and people, plants and patterns, all for us to see as if with ancient eyes.