Snoring in Europe (Part 2)

This is part 2 of my existential piece on snoring in Europe and how it enlightened me on Friendship, duty, and following my passion. Keep in mind I was living in Tuscany at the time this was written. Some fine work by my colleagues Alfonso Cevola and Jeremy Parzen have brought the subject of DOCG wines from the Montecucco appellation in Tuscany to light this week, and as I was embarking on a job in this area at the time I penned this, I thought it an appropriate piece for the week.

I had a nice long talk with an old friend last night and was awakened to the possibility that the challenges I am facing in this endeavor overseas mirror in many ways the challenges I have tried my best to avoid for much of my life. I can shirk responsibility at times and justify my actions with a belief that I am better at other things. It became apparent to me while traveling this weekend(2006) with the legendary Billy Jack that it is most certainly important to know one's strengths, and it is equally important not to become dependent upon them to the point of not choosing to investigate those things which one is not so adept at accomplishing. While the existential argument could be raised that focusing on what one does well only makes one better and more accomplished, I tend to believe it will atrophy one's ability to see the world in the contexts of new ideas and new methods of expression.

The big question begged in all of this is; what is the difference between what is real and what is perceived? By whom and how are we judged on personal growth? By personal growth I mean, not only how we view ourselves, but how are we viewed? Where is the fine line drawn between living "our own lives" and detaching from reality and the community of man? These are the questions I am struggling with as I prepare my next trip this weekend on the Tuscan Coast and the Maremma district where the Italian cowboys live and the amazing Chianina beef is raised for the ultimate Bistecca all Fiorentina (IKG steak 2.2 pounds, grilled and roasted bone down on the flames). I am open as always to dialogue and certainly willing to engage in a more thorough pondering of my whimsical sojourn into the world of metaphysics. In the meantime, sit back, crack open something cheap and ferociously alcoholic and enjoy debauchery with Brunello di Montalcino, Billy Jack, and myself!

I picked up Billy Jack at his airport hotel in  Florence on June 1. As always, Billy was curious and playful, already loaded up with coffee that I am not so certain he ever realized was so superior to anything in the USA (at that time), that coffee drinking at home is almost like choosing to drink varnish, and at temperatures that scrape every possible taste bud from the surface of the tongue upon impact.

Many American coffee drinkers (like my Dad's friends) drink over a pot of coffee a day and leave the fecal remnants in the freshly brushed restroom of some everyone knows your name establishment, or the back corner bathroom of a cooler than need be office building, in a place one is happy to pour over the sports editorials while making  multi-flushed mockeries of morning  assuring the job security of janitors round the country.

Coffee in Italy is so superior to coffee in the US that every Starbucks employee should be given at least a month in Italy to train with the real deal. I always hear that Starbucks really takes care of its employees. Well, they need to take care of their clients as the coffee movement (pun absolutely intended) is really starting to kick into high gear and soon Starbucks could go the way of KMART.

Billy was all jazzed up, yet he had absolutely n0 interest in going  the tourist route.  No Uffizi, no Rome, no nothing where I could actually wander off on my own and leave him to be culturally enriched by someone way more qualified than I.  Nope!  Billy was here to ride, eat, drink, and deride all things where I was not up to his standards. I did find ways to enjoy myself immensely during Billy's visit and am very grateful for the chance to show around a close friend; however, it makes for a far better read to discuss how close to wit's end I remained throughout the course of the journey. My mental fatigue was due in large part to the fact that I was living 5000 miles from home, working in a language I was far from mastering, and was continually forced to drink copious amounts of really amazing wine, gorge down pounds of fat and carb-laden cuisine, while performing my duties as trip guide and bike riding buddy. I managed all of this in a vehicle and on bikes that belonged to my employer so I was 100% responsible for.  Nevertheless, Billy was there and I was damn well going to make it fun.

We started with a rain-soaked ride the wrong way out of Panzano towards Greve and we had to climb back up a monster hill to return to the hotel in Panzano (the very lovely Villa le Barone).  Due to my wrong turn Billy assumed the role of navigator for the duration of the trip. Of course, when Billy takes a job he takes it seriously, and from that point forward if I needed to return a key to the front desk, or drop a log in the European toilets (which I continue to loathe after all these years of using them), Billy had a route laid out and was on top of keeping me going in the right direction. To poor BJs credit, he was on vacation, had never been to Italy, and was the financial sponsor of the journey, so I can see why he had big expectations and in many ways I think he got to see some great stuff, and rode some amazing rides.

However, the story of the journey could have been considerably more fun had I not been exhausted.  While outwardly, I appeared tired and somewhat cranky during much of the trip. I attributed this tiredness to lack of sleep because of worry, lack of shape on the bike, and too much wine. While these hardships had some detrimental effect, it was definitely the the nighttime sounds of Billy Jack that left me sleep deprived and praying for death on several occasions. Since Billy was paying he chose to share a room with me and forgo any chance of scoring a hot Tuscan surprise.

Now, Claude had set the precedent, but our beloved Billy snored decibels that small screaming children on airplanes could only aspire to achieve. The sudden grunts from deep within Billy were like some ghost of the Cinghiale(wild boar) Billy had voraciously ingested that day which was desperately trying to free itself from Billy's wine soaked gullet. I was sad at times, and at times I found myself close to smothering poor Billy to death with the mountain of pillows he had built around him like a fortress of protection.  The snorts, the grunts, and other sounds of digestion left me close to clearing my paltry little bank account and setting up my own room in each hotel we stayed over the course of 5 days.

As the trip grew into the final stages it was clear I was going to snap. One afternoon while Billy napped I disappeared into the respite of Montalcino and had an ice cream and pondered the amazing quality of the local wines and how much I adored them. This moment of solace allowed me to put the trip into perspective.

Billy and I had some really great talks, as we always do.  We discovered many ways we are alike, and some ways perhaps we both wished we were different. One of my colleagues whom Billy met  thought Billy and I shared enough style similarity to be related. I think overall he is a lifetime overachiever and he will continue to be. As for me I will continue to be the best friend I can, and know in all truth that sharing a room can be one of the quickest ways even good friends can falter.

When our final morning arrived I left Billy to a cab driver in Florence where I hope he got some rest, some Vivoli gelato, and maybe even an elusive Bistecca alla Fiorentina. As for me I drove the next day to southern Tuscany and braved the land of Italian cowboys  who ate 4 course meals out on the range and were amazing horsemen even in pink shirts.

So, what is perception, what is reality, and according to Billy, what is earned? When one plays in the constructs of the world that are agreed to, I believe it is all about what one makes it. I am comforted in my journey of discovery; at least until someone tells me I shouldn't be, then it is back to the drawing board of the 4 Agreements and my chance once again to decide what I am going to let drive my life.

Puglia in May

Ca' del Fico is available in May!

Since I have been involved in Puglia my dear friend Antonello's stunning villa (Ca' del Fico)in the hills outside of FASANO in Puglia has never been available in May. As my readers know I fell in love with this amazing property in 2006 when I set eyes upon its' acres of olive trees, orchards of figs, and view of the Adriatic. Now, my first year removed as owner of Southern Visions Travel, I am more enamored than ever by the region and by this stunning piece of property.

• 2 full bedrooms including one in an ancient restored trullo

• 1 completely remodeled bath

• Free Wi-Fi all over the property (still unheard of in Puglia)

• Gorgeous Pool overlooking the sea and the Figs

• Excellent and well-equipped kitchen for fabulous food preparation

• Access to amazing bicycles and bike routes*

• Available cooking classes with a seriously talented local chef*

• Full day trips to mozzarella making, pasta making, and really killer wineries*

This is really an Italy that is not on the beaten path and not along the tourist routes of the usual money-heavy assholes that turn and burn these kinds of properties. Ca' del Fico has soul and Antonello can even arrange local bands and DJs to turn your vacation into a nightclub filled with locals, homemade panzerotti, and massage therapists onsite*

Check out the website and mention my blog for up to 20% off the typical May rate. Antonello and I can assist you with air arrangements and it is very likely this would be the best vacation of your life. Puglia is what Italy is all about and the food alone is worth the airfare.

Tell you friends as the Villa can manage up to 5 (maybe even 6) guests with ease.

There is nothing like Puglia in May (Ca del Fico)

Cheers,

Michael

*At additional costs and please inquire

The Real King of Southern Italy

Welcome to The Blissful Adventurer, my name is Michael Housewright and I am offering a number of previous pre-blog blogs that I have written over the years, including this gem from my experience working in Sicily in 2006. I am not sure who my audience will be as the blog develops, so welcome and leave me a comment if you enjoy what you read. "Now watch this drive..."

Italy has been THE destination in Europe for almost a decade now, and while the hills of Tuscany still hold the allure for most travelers, I decided to dive into the deep south of Sicily on my most recent Italian adventure to see if I could find an Italy a little more hidden and perhaps a bit taboo. I was longing for crisp suits and fervent gesticulations, I was not disappointed. I spent the month of May in Sicily, working on my Italian (and Sicilian), riding bikes through the fertile crops of oranges, grapes, almonds, olives, and finally driving back to my home base south of Florence. In this month I discovered a lust for life like no other, where the drama of day to day is simply; day to day.

While driving back from Sicily to Tuscany it dawned upon me that sugar might be the most powerful food on the planet, and certainly in Italy. In a Europe that constantly labels Americans as the fat people of the world, I cannot help but notice the copious amounts of sugar advertised, consumed, and habitually worshiped in Italy. Nearly every street corner, every billboard, and practically every other shop advertises or vends something containing enormous amounts of sugar.

For many years, the balance of not eating between meals, the common daily exercise of walks up steep hills, and the quantity of olive oil, wine, and other healthy foods consumed, allowed Italians to balance their sugar intake and remain lean. Today's Italy is replete with scooter riding youngsters consuming gelato, pastry, and sweet coffee at every interlude. Italians, especially the young, have ballooned to sizes not seen since my last visit to a southern Mississippi Sam's club. Italy is getting fat, and they also have malls now, complete with mall rat kids in fad laden faux designer clothing, walking about like some Southern California of my early 80's memories. Of course, as I sat there in the mall happily ingesting my Big Mac and fries (don't roll your eyes at me) looking into the sun-glassed shaded eyes of those 15 -20 years my junior, I thought to myself, perhaps it ain't all so bad. I can get all soap boxed up about the dereliction of man based upon some hack like, half retention of Fast Food Nation or I can think about the idea that a little balance goes a long way in living pretty well.

Let's face it, it is the ruts of life that make us sad, unhealthy, and bogged down in the doldrums of choices we make when we feel we have no choice . In actuality, it is this mind pause, called routine, that draws us to safety, and the feelings of brain calm we feel safety creates.

All of this being said, it is with great pleasure at how difficult it all can be that I begin my real account of investigating this amazing, beautiful island, that neither Genghis Khan nor Ronald McDonald could assimilate completely into the world's in which they, through siege or subliminal advertising brought to the beautiful shores of Sicily.

I begin by recounting a story told to me by a tour guide in Taormina who spoke broken English and actually claimed to hate children.  Well, I am not sure she claimed it, she just spent the better part of the tour yelling at kids in other groups for making noise while she talked into her megaphone. Nevertheless the story goes like this. The Romans were poised in Calabria (mainland Italy’s most southern state) for over 50 years awaiting the death of a great Sicilian King. Upon news of his death and a subsequent Sicilian alliance with the Carthaginians, the Romans came across the straits of Messina and sacked Syracuse.  For the next 2 millennia, Sicily has risen to the challenge of all invaders and melded them effectively into the bounty of the land, the siren calls of her sea islands, and the musicality of language like none other in Italy. Sicily stands majestically under the mountains of fire which at any moment could bring a lava filled interloper to any room in their homes, yet they go about life as if it were going to be forever.

At the same time when my friend and I returned to Ragusa near the end of our Sicily adventure, to discover three people had died in a small plane crash at the airstrip where we were staying in an apartment, it was amazing to see how affected the people were. I would equate the behavior as one of innocence, like that of a child who learns about death in way that is suitable for his/her understanding.  Some were dismissive and playful as the story was sad, “things are worse elsewhere” one blue tooth headset wearing waiter stated (he wore it all evening as he worked, in a perfect suit of course), some were shocked to the point of mindless rambling, and most were simply out of sorts as to wonder why and how someone so skilled, could actually die, as the pilot apparently died from a maneuver even a nascent pilot would be able to complete with aplomb. In essence, the end of life is so telling, to a people whom life is so fervent.  While we are all detached at times from death, and affected dramatically by it at others.  It is the way in which the Sicilian lives without fear that it will end, without a pervasive sense of hiding from life that is so interesting to watch.  Sicilians smoke, drink, eat, argue, shout, drive, lie, and sometimes, even work as hard as any people I have ever encountered. As I reflect on a journey I am ill afforded the luxury of recanting in great detail for this article, I know I am fortunate to have been a part of this land that conquers the conqueror and invigorates the passion for all things alive, even in death.