Noi Siamo Enemici

From day one, Tiziano and I were enemies (in Italian, 'noi siamo enemici'). Every time he saw me, Tiziano would say, 'La cavia!' and point at me with such amusement. We scrambled to translate 'la cavia' with a dictionary and found that it means 'guinea pig.' Each day we greeted each other with a smile and “enemico!” And although I knew nothing of Italian, and he knew nothing of PB&J or baseball, we understood each other.

At lunchtime, Tiziano would plop down onto his chair in anticipation of his well-earned meal. Without hesitation he always made sure his guests were served first and served plenty. 'Prego! Mangare per mio enemico!' Food for my enemy. With smiles we exchanged pasta bowls.

The lunch table was always surrounded by the bombastic arguing of Tiziano's wife, Gemma, and his four daughters—all loud, Italian women with definite opinions on how things are. Tiziano would stay silent as the five female trumpets blared on and on. We rarely spoke with words. More often it was in short glances back and forth. I'd glance over, and he'd have this look on this face that said, 'see what I have to deal with every day?' or 'why me lord?!' On the rare occasions that things got out of hand, Tiziano would only have to say three or four words to silence the symphony of roaring females.

Tiziano is the engine of Tenuta San Carlo. He reigns over the crops and live stock, horses and swampland. All politics are understood. All methodologies rehearsed, practiced, and set to motion. Weather is not a simple nuisance, but a necessity and determining factor to the prosperity of the farm. Because of this, Tiziano spends his life listening.

If there was ever a man to learn from, it would be my enemy Tiziano. He lives by laughter and works till he is contently worn. For Tiziano, generosity is determined by his ability to see the worth in all things. Nothing is wasted. He leaves no careless words cast upon the ground.

With his smile, Tiziano opened our hearts to what we were to learn from the farm. And as the life of the farm, trees, and animals became our teachers, Tiziano loosed the chains that kept us American. And only with the deepest respect can I proudly say, 'noi siamo enemici.'

Tiziano e Wes: Enemici

Andrea is more Awesomer than Chuck Norris

It comes only in rare times that the Pork Chop must catalog and dedicate such attention to one figure happened upon through the rituals of travel, but when this time comes, we must honor this duty to the fullest. This post is dedicated to Andrea, who as you can probably already assume to be true, is more awesomer the Chuck Norris.

Weighing in at 165 lbs, Andrea sports long sandy blond curly hair tied at the back. His face is burned by the Tuscan wind and sun. Reigning 5'5” above the earth, he approaches each day with a strut that can only be more awesomer than Chuck Norris.

Throughout the day, like incense, 28 cigarettes dangle from his mouth, never to be inhaled because Andrea does not need to breathe. From his pre-breakfast-before-putting-on-his-boots cigarette, to his pre-breakfast-while-his-boots-are-on-before-he-takes-them-off-for-breakfast cigarette, Andrea is more awesomer than Chuck Norris.

Any task is not too small or too big for Andrea. Where without motivation, he will see no fault in loitering, once given to task, Andrea becomes an unstoppable machine. Gloves can only slow such a man. Face masks, goggles, ear-plugs can only slow such a man. Safety apparatus in general are for lesser beings. With an industrial blow-torch in his left hand, a dirty blade in his right, and a pre-about-to-do-the-most-ridiculous-thing-ever cigarette in his mouth, Andrea is more awesomer than Chuck Norris.

Languages are boundaries for most mortal men. But not Andrea. His unabashedly Tuscan Italian is less a torrent of incomprehensible syllables and more a forging of a new language, that of Andrean Italian, which takes the language from separate words through song and finally into a single tone which holds all the secrets of the universe, and which is only understandable to those who are equally as awesome as Andrea. Which is nobody, including the decidedly less-awesome former-star of Walker, Texas Ranger. Indubitably, Andrea is more awesomer than Chuck Norris.

Should Andrea be feared? No. Because to be more awesomer than the decidedly awesome Chuck Norris, you must have infinite patience, a gentle demeanor, yet kick major ass. Andrea, we at the Pork Chop Express salute you.

Non capisco, Andrea. Non capisco.

Farm Livin' Is the Life For Me...er, Us

We are writing but a single blog posting about our goings on at Tenuta San Carlo (plus a couple of additional postings about notable people on the farm), a farm and ranch in Tuscany where both members of the Pork Chop Express were lucky enough to be selected for an artist residency.

First things first—we had to get out of Rome. Navigating Termini again proved to be much more hassle than necessary. The big board on which the train schedule was posted was hard to read, the ticket validators hardly labeled, our train put on the farthest track possible from the main entrance, etc. But we did it (by the seat of our pants), and hopped on the train to Grosseto, one of the main towns in Tuscany.

Tenuta San Carlo is owned by Ms. Samantha Lotti, who operates Tenuta San Carlo as a farm, as a horse retreat (for vacationing race horses), and as a choice spot for agriturismo, or agricultural tourism popular in Italy. At the farm, people can rent apartments and enjoy hanging out at the farm, walking through the park land that makes up a good portion of the property, and enjoying the food products that the farm has to offer.

A few years ago, Samantha started an artist residency program which gives scientists, dancers, artists, novelists, composers, and philosophers the chance to experience Italian farm culture and land. This session, there were three artists in the program—your two affectionately magnanimous Pork-Choppy hosts and Ali Fischer, a modern dancer from New York City.

Samantha Lotti, an artist herself, pushes the limits of painting and concept. She splits her time between the farm and New York; already a person who has lived several lives over. Her discipline requires scrupulous presence and an ability to capture without hesitation or contemplation. Trust me... this is hard to do.

Ali Fischer spends her life in motion. She sees and feels the rhythm of all things around her and, charged with the vigor of life, she bends her body. Everything is a meditation for Ali. It is hard to summarize her spirit, but her openness was infectious. It is difficult not to want to jump on her band wagon.

We are proud to announce that Ali and Sam are honorary members of the Pork Chop Express. Oink Oink!

Getting on with the tale, we have to start with the food. We at the Pork Chop Express pride ourselves on our cheapo standards. If needs be, we can live on questionable tuna fish and a piece of hard tack. So we didn't quite know what to expect from the food at the farm. And then we found out. For the entire two weeks, we were treated to the best food on the face of the planet—bar none. And we're not even exaggerating. Here's how a typical day's culinary experience commenced: we get up and prepare our own breakfast, which usually consisted of quality coffee made in a moka or a spot of tea along with a selection of biscotti, or these cream filled croissants that we affectionately called 'Italian Ho-Hos.' This simple breakfast was pleasant and nice, but lunch time was when the party really started.

At around 1:00 every day, we ate with Tiziano, the farm manger, and the rest of his family (Tiziano will have his own blog post, in which we proclaim our undying love for him and his family). Gemma, Tiziano's wife, and their four daughters helped prepare the most amazing meals representative of the region (all kinds of pasta, risotto, meat dishes, salads, freshly grown veggies, and desserts like pannacotta, a cream custard that kinda made our brains explode). Every time we'd bite into some new dish, all we could do was look at each other and shake our heads. Not only was it always the 'best thing we've ever tasted (and most assuredly the best lasagna we've ever had anywhere),' but it was so good that we knew we'd be screwed for the rest of our lives. Could we go back to boxed macaroni and cheese? Nope. No way.

And then came dinner. Every night, we had dinner with Samantha in the farm's main villa. And we were treated to some (more) amazing, incredible food, courtesy of Flavius, the chef extraordinare on premises. Each of these lavish affairs began with a first course which was usually hand made pasta in sauces so unique and tasty that they probably contained crack. Then came fresh veggies and a second course, many times a meat course, like bacon-wrapped chicken, pan-fried fish caught from the Mediterranean Sea, or on one night, roasted wild boar that was soaked in milk for two days to get it tender and tasty. Do we dare even go into dessert? Let's put it this way: one night, Flavius brought out an impossibly light tasting cream filled torte the likes of which we had never tasted. When asked what it was, she simply said that it was a 'simple cake.' We're sure she wasn't lying. Our brains explode again. To top it all off, after dessert, we were especially treated a selection from Flavius's home distilled liquors (which were exceedingly strong, as you could probably guess).

So what were we doing to deserve such delicacies? Well, we came to the farm to work, to be in communion with nature, and to find inspiration in our respective arts. We accomplished the first two together when we could (unprecedented rains had flooded much of Tuscany in the weeks preceding our arrival, and the rains continued into our stay there). One of our big jobs was to help keep up already existing trails on the property that had become overgrown. So we put away the computers and our walking shoes, took up saws, pruners, machetes, and knee-high rubber boots, and delved into the beautiful and lush landscape that Tenuta San Carlo has to offer.

When the rains were too heavy to make going out into the forest practical, we were given over to Andrea (AKA 'he who is more awesomer than Chuck Norris'). When we worked with Andrea in the wood shop, we were sanding down old doors and windows to strip the old paint off them, then re-varnishing and shellacking them. We'll go into more of this in a future post, but rest assured, Andrea deserves the title that we have given to him.

Our main down time came after work and before dinner. We'd have a couple of hours to do with what we saw fit. Often times, that meant a sit down with pen and paper, a walk through the property, quiet meditation, or not so quiet hanging out and carousing over platefuls of Flavius's terribly delicious cookies.

And that was it. By and large, we were cut off from everything and everyone except for the nature around us. Chances to communicate with the outside world were few and limited. Instead of that, we sat and discussed things, mused about our lives and about our lives on the farm, asked questions about Italy which Samantha was glad to answer. There was something to living that simply that exposes long-buried thoughts and ideas. We learned a lot about ourselves and each other. We learned a lot of how to be better people and how to treat others more justly in our daily existences. In many ways, being on the farm made many of the illusions that we construct for ourselves much easier to see and reflect upon.

We at the Pork Chop Express heartily recommend coming to Tenuta San Carlo (go to www.tenutasancarlo.com for more details) if you're looking for a place to chill on your summer or winter break. Definitely a special place.

Dare to Be Stupid

Okay. So Day 3 was colossally dumb, in that we totally blew the two-step plan. So for the next two days, we decided to cut our losses and make things simpler: one-step plans. On Day 4, we visit the Forum and the Colosseum (succeed at the former, fail at the latter). Then on Day 5, we try again to visit the Colosseum—with success!





We at the Pork Chop Express continue to insist on the mantra of 'no plan' mostly because plans continue to bite us in the ass. Stay tuned as we continue to make the mistake of not heeding our own advice.

Have You Ever Felt Like a Hamster in a Maze?

On our third day in Rome, we decided to come up with a real agenda. Francesca went to catch her flight back to Edinburgh, and we were left to our own devices. So, here was our plan:

1)Go to the Colosseum and the Forum. See the sights.
2)Go to the Vatican Museum. Do the same.

Yes. Our plan only had two steps. Keep this in mind while you read.

We made our way to the Colosseum, which we had no trouble finding (most people don't have trouble finding it, but you must understand that this was a definite milestone in our traveling thus far). But when we reached the entrance, we saw that the Forum area, which we very much wanted to see, was closed for a couple of hours. Seeing that, we switched to action mode and resolved that it was just not our day to see the Roman ruins and its ancient arena of death.

Straight to the Vatican...well, at least we tried to do that. After looking at our map, we saw that we had not explored the southwestern part of Rome thoroughly enough. So we adjusted the plan: explore that area, then work our way northward to get to the Vatican. As you can see from the map, it seemed pretty cut and dry. But there is one terrible aspect to the map we were using—it did not show topography.

After getting in a quick workout in the Circo Massimo, satisfying Wes's urge to do ring dips in Windy City Cross Fit fashion, we found ourselves exceedingly hungry, very thirsty, and having no way to satisfy either urge. But we pressed on, trusting on our resourcefulness to get us what we needed when we needed it. We crossed the Fiume Trevere (the river), and passed by the Piazza Triussa and its way cool fountain. At this location, a pair of girls were handing out packs of tissues. We each took one. In retrospect, we should have used them to cry.

But that's getting ahead of things. Northward ho! Going this way afforded us some incredible views, the Fonte Acqua Paola, and the Mausoleo Ossario Giancolense, a memorial to those who died in military defense of Rome.

Fonte Acqua Paola

Finally, we passed through yet another great arch, and went up some stairs, to find ourselves in a park. Now it may have looked like a normal park. But little did we know that it would be like wandering into the Twilight Zone. Thirsty, hungry, but only slightly lost, we pressed on, our confidence budding. Just go straight north and we'll be there in a jiffy. No problem.

Except that there was a problem. The further we pressed into the park the more lost we got. All directions ceased to have meaning past 'that's a cool ruin,' or 'this park kicks ass!'

Kicks ass, or kicks OUR asses?

Our map became useless. Our instincts, honed by thousands of years of human development, would guide our way out of the park, to...a highway. We didn't know if we had somehow stumbled upon an alternate universe Rome, in which the twisty, windy streets were replaced with single lane highways bordered on both sides by high walls. Left without much besides a determination to keep going forward, we did just that.

A Part of Rome You Don't Want to See

Now remember what I had noted about topography. We couldn't tell because the incline was ever so slight, but we had been traveling up the side of a mountain the entire time. And while I'd love to tell you where we actually were, I can't. Because I still don't know. All I know is that the scant traces of English were gone, replaced by sidelong glances when we popped into stores and when we wound about residential high rises. We could see the dome of St. Peter's in the distance. Our goal was within reach...but how do we get down from here, wherever 'here' was?

Here's how you get down. First, you accept that you're screwed, which we did with wild abandon. Then you lose all appetite, which was quite easy. Then you scramble to find any sense of direction, which was impossible because it was around noontime. Finally, you just pick a direction and go, which was the only thing you could do. So we walked. And walked. And walked. All the time knowing telling ourselves that down and toward the dome was where we should go.

After almost three hours of wandering around the outskirts of Rome, we found ourselves back at the Vatican. We were starving, half-crazed, and smelled like your nicer sewers after a flood. A perfect time to see the Sistine Chapel, eh? So we did that after scarfing down overpriced panninis and cappuccinos.

So you may be thinking, those dumbasses nearly got themselves lost in the mountains hugging Rome, but the worst is behind them. Ahem, no. See, we LOVED the Vatican museum. We loved the Egyptian exhibits, the Greek and Roman relics, the tapestries—all of it (except things depicting mountains and/or people lost; those not so much). We loved it so much that we spent the rest of the time there looking and taking pictures and talking about the meanings behind the symbols embedded in the art. And the Sistine Chapel itself! No words can capture it (I'm sure you're sick of hearing this). I didn't know that it was so huge, so magical, so...holy, I guess...before actually seeing it. We sat and stared at every part of the ceiling and walls that we could in order to burn their images into our minds. Then we were promptly ushered out, through a hallway, onto the steps outside St. Peter's. A problem—we had to check our bags at the beginning of the museum, and there they sat, behind a desk, behind a door, behind a nice, pleasant looking sign that said: CLOSED.

Crap. Again. By now, we had accepted that this was not our day, and after consulting five different carabinieri, we were told to talk to the Swiss guards who blocked the way to the residential area where the priests and nuns of the Vatican lived. Once we did that, we were instructed to talk to some police lieutenant who looked at us like we were buffoons, got on the phone, hung up, and told us to come back in one hour.

So we used the hour to nervously wander the streets and find a cheap meal to keep us from going totally over the edge. In the course of this, we encountered two nuns from the States, who provided kind words, glowing smiles, and a nice respite from the madness of the day.

The two coolest chicks in Rome

So after all that, and after coming back, we were led through the residential area with armed escort, to a small office filled with police. There we were promptly handed our bags and allowed to leave. On our way out, we had to once more pass the Swiss guard who helped us get our stuff back. He looked glad that things turned out okay, and for sure we were happy that this entire day of hell was over. So to congratulate ourselves and thank the Swiss guard, we offered to give him a slice of true Americana, a greeting/farewell that all at once captures the indomitable spirit of the United States.

The reception? Let's just put it this way: if you ever wondered if the Swiss guard of the Vatican do fist bumps (AKA 'knucks'), the answer is a sternly stated 'no.'

All Aboard!

Our second day in Rome saw us joined by the first passenger on the Pork Chop Express, the lovely Francesca Robinson, on holiday from her studies in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Francesca ready for action

She had informed us the night before that she had not gone to the Vatican, and we promptly invited her to come with us on our merry adventure. So we started out from the hostel once more, getting out free breakfast (which was getting easier to accomplish), and touring the sights we had missed the previous day.

Fittingly, we began at Santa Maria Maggiore, one of Rome's many, many churches. Francesca showed off her sweet SLR digital camera, which took pictures that the Pork Chop Express was envious of. In short order, we methodically passed the Trevi Fountain (again), the Colonna Traiana (which must translate to 'big honkin' stone column'), and the Spanish steps with Trinita del Monti church at the top. Yes, churches and fountains once again ruled the day.

Eventually, we made it to the Vatican, seat of Pope Benedict and whole bunch of other holy guys and gals. St. Peter's Basilica, the main church with the cuppola overlooking the rest of Rome, is mega-normously gargantuan. Words do it no justice. Pictures make it look small. So look at these images and just imagine something infinitely more imposing on top of your head. That might approximate the feeling a little. That didn't stop us from having a bit too much fun, as you can see.

This is an optical illusion. I was trying to wave hi. Honest. Sorta.

Still, the church was utterly awe-inspiring. There's no way you can walk in and not contemplate the passage of time, the genesis of the universe, and our places within it. It's strange to come to a place like Rome, where the people seem to be comfortable living in and around their history (some great, some really not so), whereas, I feel that American history is often either placed on a high pedestal or buried never to return. There seems to be no in between.

After soaking in the grandeur of the St. Peter's, we went up to the top of the dome, to the cupola which is one of the highest points in Rome. You can indeed see the entire city from this point.

So it was at this point that I (Reinhardt) proclaimed that this was the perfect place to record myself reading a story that was being published in the Paramanu Pentaquark, the online journal of Gothic Funk (thanks, Connor), and that would be premiered at a stupendous party in my absence. People seemed to take this odd occurrence in stride. So after that, and a quick jaunt into the catacombs of dead popes underneath the Basilica, we left to go back to the hostel. At least, we intended to.

As the sun ebbed in the sky, we passed the Piazza Navona, an oval strip of land that reminded me of Union Square Park in New York City, with artists and artisans hawking their paintings and sculptures and crafts. Then we stopped at the Pantheon, a monolithic ancient temple to the Roman gods turned Christian church. The immensity of this monument was stunning. It was almost too much. Maybe it was. Because we then promptly got lost. We don't know how. We had two maps. We hadn't had much trouble earlier. I figured that this was God's sweet revenge by saying, as we were exiting St. Peter's, that “Martin Luther DID bring up a couple of good points.”

And we were off, zig-zagging up and down streets, never able to locate ourselves on the map. We kept coming across the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II (the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier), and orienting ourselves wrongly every time. This way...no that...up?...which way is north...? Eventually, we found ourselves back at the hostel, worn, but not broken. No, that would happen the next day.

Something to Think About, and a Temporary Goodbye

What we believe
Hangs in the stars of the mind
Triggered to shine shivers
We are indicators of time
Time makes us believe
Because we believe in time

Rome is a world stacked
Not like sky scrappers
Not like odds
Rome is stacked like a log cabin

Each layer made man-made
Each layer organic from birth
Each layer carved into conformity

One atop another
Clearly separate,
Clearly as one
Each piece stranded in story, naked mosaic.

Polished and fine the marble rots,
Polished and fine steps to the top of St. Peter's
Worn by curiosity and spectacle
I believe in God, Father almighty,
Creator of heaven, earth, us
I believe

Belief is uncertainty of the sacred and
steadfast in discipline, outcome calculated
Today God is a log cabin
Because we believe in time.

by Wes Alexander

NOTE: Hi all. I know you're eager to read about our further exploits in Rome (and believe me, we're dying to tell you), but we haven't been able to complete any more posts before heading off to the farm, where we will be on a two week black out from Feb 2 to Feb 14. Never fear, though. The rest of the Rome blogs and the farm blogs will be up in short order when we get back on board the Pork Chop Express.

Rome Was Not Built in a Day...But Don't Tell Us That

It is not easy to be in a city for the first time, far away in a place of rich with new possibilities. From the first step of the plane, train, bus, my mind burst into flames; wild sporadic excited chaotic beautiful fleeting flickers of thought. What to see, what to feel, where to go. I am trapped in tomorrow, I am desperate for gratification. And this is why we go. This is why we travel to unknown destinations, past the plausible.

But the mission of the Pork Chop Express is to maintain presence within the discipline of action. And so with our first experiments in action, we awoke to a city filled with monuments and traditions, churches and fountains, with one goal in mind: no plan. At first, we struggled to get out the simple tourist map handed to us the night before, but we decided to venture off a general direction and take off.

We were in a mood to see the whole of Rome in a day (might I add 'in a mischievous mood'). We could have walked 30 miles if that was needed. We found ourselves at the large park on the top of Rome and looked out of the whole city for the first time. It was unsettlingly beautiful. The park was a nice start. The park let out to the Piazza del Popolo, a place filled with statues from the Medici family and vendors from Northern Africa and India.

We made our way to a church atop the hill, Trinita del Monti. It was a small sanctuary, but at the time seemed like the largest church in Rome. We entered in and found no one, so in pork-chop fashion, I told Reinhardt to get the camera ready. I quickly jumped onto my hands and said cheese. Needless to say, we found a quick and quiet exit.

Laughing like school girls, we spent the next part of the day walking through this perilously historical city. The danger of turning the corner and having to stop at another grandiose unfathomable vista turned from exciting to daunting. From the Fontana del Tritone in the Piazza Barbarini, to the Trevi Fountain, we blasted down the cobbled roads and alleyways. We fell upon the Chiesa Catolica de Santi Vincenzo e Anestasio.

My camera felt like a fresh hand gun and was difficult to get the hang of at first. I was unsure where to point and shoot. My trigger finger was hesitant, my eyes overloaded with scene after scene. But the day demanded restitution in the form of visual memories, so I spat on, documenting one scene after the next.

Just after passing through the Piazza del Quirinale, we marveled at the tomb of the unknown soldier (Il Monumento de Vittorio Emanuele II). This is a modern monument to the skillful style of the Italians. Atop this impressive building the whole city can be seen from the center out. From all points, the building serves to combine contemporary relevance and historical respect.

The Basilica S. Maria en Aracoeli was also awe inspiring. We can not describe the massive spaces inside each location. Heavy sits the atmosphere in these churches and cathedrals. Solemn nuns and priests grace and greet amidst dim lighting by sitting in the pews.

Up to this point, we had seen polished Rome, a place where achievement had shown it's hight. We had yet to experience the Vatican, the museums, or S. Maria Maiggiore. But we felt we had a nice taste of the city, until we fell upon the ruins. We realized that Rome can not be conquered in a day. The far reaching ruins stretched across the south end of the city. Large walls were erected to prevent vandalism and preserve the archaeological site. So we left the ruins for more spectacle as the night fell upon in the sky.

We made our way through the Theatro Marcello. Carefully lit, the grand theater house was beautiful in the night. We began to see that Rome is a different city in the dark. The town becomes quiet and coldly lit, the monuments shine like scattered stars in the sky.

As it was our first day, we decided to head back for home. We pulled out the map and said, “where are we?” Finding our location we headed for our hostel. As is typical for the Pork Chop Express, we got amazingly lost in the winding streets of Rome. We passed the Colosseum, and moving in the opposite direction than desired, we wound up back at the tomb of the unknown soldier. It was jarring looking at the map and trying to make sense of things.

A protest was just forming in the Piazza below the tomb of the unknown soldier. Trying to understand this protest was completely out of reach for us. But the passion people displayed for what they believed in was apparent. What is Rome without a protest?

We eventually caught on, eager for bed, when, like struck by lightning, we remembered one vital piece of our traveling puzzle as yet unaddressed. No matter the vistas and culture of Rome, and unispired by the Italian vibrancy and style, our minds were only on one thing... ear plugs.