the heart of a village

October 28, 2011

view of Monterosso from the sea

Much like with a person, it’s possible to fall in love with a place. I experienced this several times during my journey around the world. But it was Monterosso al Mare, and the breathtaking landscape of Cinque Terre that captured my heart. A serendipitious encounter, or coup de foudre as they say in French, much like the meeting with my Italian. Little did I know this place, that I had promised at least a piece of my heart to, would in time become my home.

Monterosso as the sun sets

This weekend, my Monterosso born Italian and I should be serenely tucked away amidst this dramatic landscape, celebrating his parents’ wedding anniversary upon the same setting where we recently celebrated our own. Instead, the ever unpredicatable mother nature had other plans. As the world is well aware, these 5 towns, particularly Monterosso and Vernazza, have suffered terribly due to intense flash floods. Global warming being the cause. Several lives lost and many people without homes and businesses, being the result. Within only a few hours, this past Tuesday the region was suddenly hit with 20 inches of rain, causing rivers to overflow and sweep through the villages. Thankfully, my Italian’s family, friends and most villagers are all safe.

enroute to Vernazza by boat

My heart breaks for these people who I have gotten to know through the last few years. Amidst the language and cultural barriers, I have been accepted into this land, not only by my Italian’s family but by the many kind-hearted and hard-working locals. My thoughts and prayers are with all those going though such hardship in Monterosso, Vernazza and neighboring villages.

view of Vernazza

Why I am writing this is not to post photos of the devastation and mourn the loss of a village, quite the contrary. My purpose it to celebrate the strength and resilience of this village and it’s people. Already, only a few days after this natural disaster, so much has been done by the locals and their neighbors, to assist in the clean-up and reconstruction. Even my Italian’s sister has been aiding in cooking for the many left without homes, food, or gas. His aunt, uncle and cousins too. Proof that the heart of a village can overcome even the toughest of obstacles.

a vision of natural beauty

Cinque Terre, and my beloved Monterosso, will remain one of the most beautiful places on earth.

down south

September 1, 2011

Last weekend, after spending several days with my dear cousins from Poland, both in the sea and on land (I dared yet again to hike from Vernazza to Monterosso, this time with 3 kids under 7), my Italian and I left Italy and headed back to France. All along the coast, via train. A journey I had last taken solo. Once in Cannes we embarked on the open road via cabriolet (my idea). Heaven!

Our destination was a village on the Côte d’Azur by the name of Bormes les Mimosas. Here is where I would experience my first French marriage. A couple from the North to wed in the South.

We were immediately smitten. My Italian thinking that we could easily have been in Tuscany.

The stone facades revealed an assortment of candy-colored pastels.

I very quickly understood why the village was named after mimosas.

The view from this hilltop village was magical. A perfect setting for a wedding.

staring at the sea

August 24, 2011

I was born a beach girl. Westhampton Beach that is. I have always thought of the journey of life as a walk along the beach, the setting and rising sun marking the passing of time. And forever near a beach I would like to remain. Thankfully, my Italian is a boy of the Mediterranean. Very often we travel to his sea. Monterosso al Mare. Incidentally, the only one of the Cinque Terre with beaches.

With the many tourists in town as well as sun-seeking Milanese, safer to hide beneath an unbrella.

These last summer days I am exploring the wild and less inhabited Levanto beaches. Molto bello!

Staring at the sea I reflect upon the many beaches I have walked thus far in my life. And have come up with my top 5. (Not including my local Long Island beach, those of Monterosso, and the turquoise waters of Corsica.)

1. The 17 barely inhabited beaches of Fernando de Noronha, Brazil

2. The many remote beaches of the Fourni Islands, Greece

3. The beach island of Gili Trawangan, Indonesia

4. The elite sands of Jose Ignacio, Uruguay

5. The beaches of Tulum, Mexico

The next 5 remain to be discovered…

at last

July 11, 2011

At last, the wedding song. Did we have one? Not officially.

Many months ago when the fairytale began, my Italian and I happened to be in my hometown of Westhampton Beach while the great Etta James was performing. She being one of my all time most loved singers. Me being ecstatic to see her perform live, to say the least. And yes, she sang At Last.

This could very well have been our wedding song, as it is for so many, but instead it remains discreetly in the soundtrack of our love story.

What the wedding singer did perform was a Napolitan classic, requested by my dear friend Maria, a Napolitan girl herself. Not planned yet perfectly timed, Ti voglio bene assai became our song.

Here, where the sea shines
and the wind howls,
on the old terrace beside the gulf of Sorrento,
a man embraces a girl
he wept after,
then clears his throat and continues the song:

I love you very much,
very, very much, you know;
it is a chain by now
that melts the blood inside the veins, you know…

He saw the lights out on the sea,
thought of the nights there in America,
but they were only the fishermen’s lamps
and the white wash astern.
He felt the pain in the music
and stood up from the piano,
but when he saw the moon emerging from a cloud
death also seemed sweeter to him.
He looked the girl in the eyes,
those eyes as green as the sea.
Then suddenly a tear fell
and he believed he was drowning
I love you very much,
very, very much, you know,
it is a chain by now
that melts the blood inside the vein you know…

The power of opera,
where every drama is a hoax;
with a little make-up and with mime
you can become someone else.
But two eyes that look at you,
so close and real,
make you forget the words,
confuse your thoughts,

So everything became small,
also the nights there in America.
You turn and see your life
through the white wash astern.

But, yes, it is life that ends
and he did not think so much about it
on the contrary, he already felt happy
and continued his song:

I love you very much,
very, very much, you know,
it is a chain by now
that melts the blood inside the veins, you know…

homemade traditions

July 5, 2011

One of the most memorable chapters of my life took place on a recent sunny day high up on a cliff, overlooking the Mediterranean. Throughout our Greek island-hopping honeymoon (many adventures which I will soon share), thoughts of our wedding left me feeling warm and somehow, complete. All the many months of planning this international affair (with the aid of a certain gracious Italian sister and uncle), were well worth it. (Originally we were tempted to elope!)

As so well articulated in my Italian’s speech, our love story is a cross-cultural one, with roots in the US, France, Poland and of course Italy. This was represented by our mix of friends and family as well as in our celebration.

We enacted the beautiful Italian tradition of the groom greeting the bride at the door of the church and handing her the bouquet. (What a moment!) The church service was a religious tradition which we had both grown up with. No bridesmaids or groomsmen but rather, four witnesses to acknowledge our union.

Being covered with congratulatory cries of “Auguri!” and rose petals was a moment to cherish.

So many other details set the scene, each proving how much love and care was expressed by all.

Compositions of pale blue hydrangeas mixed with white roses and a touch of lily of the valley, representing innocence on the sea (my interpretation), carefully selected by the local florist.

My bouquet of white roses and white ranunculus composed by my mother, flowers being one of her passions. (This designer mom also made my veil!)

Following an apero, a 12-course meal began (Italian style), filled with tastes from the sea. Apparently an Italian wedding is not a good one unless the guests have eaten more than enough.

The meal ended very sweetly, with a local dessert wine, sciacchetra, expertly concocted by my Italian’s father (with our names on the label – surprise!)

The cake was a special (secret) recipe from the local pasticceria, delicious! My Mom lovingly crafted the ceramic couple to top it off. Perfect.

What my Italian and I were happiest with in the end was all the fun that was had. Evident in the singing and even, dancing! Someone once told me Italians don’t dance at weddings. Certainly we challenged this tradition. The revelry began as the sun set beyond the cliffs. And it went on, and on…

Only to arrive home to the final surprise – a bed filled with rice. Another Italian tradition.