September 17, 2007
We've met some of the nicest people on this trip: Recently, there was Claudio, who we met in Madagascar at Ankarafantsika NP, a fellow tourist with whom we spent a day and a half. Then there were the kids in Majunga. Sure we taught them some English, but they walked us all over town, shared lots of interesting information about Mad, and totally ignored their families to entertain us. And then Claudio, again. Do you know what he did? He left Mad a week before we did and when he found out Italy was our next destination and we were coming into Malpensa, he said, "I live 20 minutes away: I'll pick you up!" And he did! So we spent the weekend on Lago Maggiore, an enchanting spot between Italy and Switzerland, camping and hanging out with Claudio. Claudio also introduced us to his friend Mario.
Mario, in addition to being just a fun person to talk to, refused to let us ride the bus to the train station so we could get to Desenzano, where we used to live, saying that he'd drive us instead. And then he added an invitation to lunch at his house, but not before touring us around the (now defunct) hermitage of Saint Caterina, a sweet little church dramatically perched at the bottom of a cliff next to the lake. And lunch? It was fantastic. Mario's parents are Sicilian, plus they have a garden, so not only did we get really, really good Sicilian food (pasta with eggplant in tomato sauce, plus pork with a simple sauce of freshly squeezed lemon juice), most of it was from their garden, including the grapes and figs we had for desert that Antonio, Mario's dad, plucked off their respective vines and trees after we'd arrived.
After Mario dropped us at the station so we could get to Desenzano, which involved taking us an additional 20 kms out of his way since the first station had no machine or person from whom we could buy tickets and you do not want to be on the receiving end of a fine from the Italian train system, we spent the entire journey marveling at how nice Italians are. Their hospitality is truly something to experience. But then we got to Desenzano where our friends overwhelmed us with even more open, welcoming arms, as if that were possible. Alfredo took us to his dad's house for dinner Tuesday, where Maria, his stepmother, made the best homemade pasta (casoncelli--flat squares of pasta folded over a pork and cheese mix), served us two styles of succulently grilled pork (northern Italy is the Pork Zone, after all) and followed the meal with homemade meringata and liquirizia, a dessert aperativo made of black licorice. Que buono! I just wish we'd taken our own pictures of the food. But we were too busy eating.
So of course we're forsaking all of this to go south tomorrow. But even if it's different, Italian food anywhere in the country is bound to be excellent. Unfortunately this means that after three weeks of indulging, we might not want to get on the plane to leave. We'll let you know.
