Riding out the Storm

"There's an abandoned house!" I holler out through the howling wind and constant clamor of heavy raindrops slapping the pavement. The clouds are so dark and ominous that they give the impression that it is dusk, even though it is just 11am. Lightening strikes and lights up the sky in the near distance. 

"Let's go take cover!" Jarrod hollers back. 

We lightly hit the brakes of our bicycles, careful not to slide out on the wet blacktop below our two wheels. Directly to our left the waves of the Ionian Sea are crashing into the shore, pushed along by the fierce wind of the storm. On another day this would be a scenic seaside ride, but today the large body of water is threateningly close to the road. 

We direct our bicycles away from the sea, down a rocky driveway to a half-built cement structure that was meant to be a beach house. We enter through an opening in the cinder block wall where the front door would have gone. There are several other square openings where windows would have been installed. The floor of the house is still earth, but the cement ceiling and thick walls provide adequate protection for us from the rain. It's obvious by the wear and tear of the structure that it has been left unattended for a while. This is one of the many abandoned houses under construction that we have seen on this road, giving evidence to the economic suffering of the area. We lean our bikes against the unfinished wall and sit down on a couple of cinder blocks in the middle of the living room (or would it have been a dining room?). I feel relieved to have some respite from the harsh weather, but wary that it will not let up anytime soon. 

It's Day six of a two week bike tour with my husband. We've been exploring Puglia, the "heel of the boot" in southern Italy, known for its warm, Mediterranean weather, laid-back lifestyle and now for me, hurricane-like weather. We are touring with bicycles borrowed from Backroads, the company I work for during the summer and fall season. This bicycle tour with my husband is a far cry from the tours that I guide. Nothing is planned out, we don't have the luxury of a van to carry our luggage, or posh hotels with concierge, there are no other guests and there is certainly no guide to give us directions, encouragement, or to rescue us from a storm. I remind myself of how much I love the ultimate freedom of being self-supported, even though it means being uncomfortable or uncertain at times. I like the feeling of being autonomous and having everything I need tucked away in my panniers on the back of my bike. (I even packed us the iconic Backroads snack: Peanut M&Ms.) 

The heavy rain has soaked through my bike gloves and shoes, which are now soggy and seem rather useless. Miraculously, everything inside our panniers are dry. I consider changing my socks, but the rain doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon so I decide to wait. "Are we trapped?" I ponder to myself. I'm not willing to say it out loud. It looks like the end of the world out there and we are taking cover in a partially protected structure, miles away from the nearest town. I try to convince myself that this is fun; we are adventurers, discovering the lesser known and more authentic corners of Italy! Take this abandoned house, for instance: we may be the first Americans to ever step foot in here! Soon I snap back to reality and my shivering body is not convinced that we are so lucky. This is supposed to be vacation in Italy! What are we doing?

Before commencing our trip we highlighted a few spots on our map; "must-see" places that my colleagues who guide trips in Puglia had recommended. On the list was Polignano a Mare, the beautiful town dramatically built into the cliffs on the Adriatic coast, where Italy's famous singer Dominico Modugno grew up. The townspeople are so proud that they have built an enormous statue of him overlooking the sea and often sing or whistle his catchy song "Volare". Another stop was the interesting gnome-like town of Alberobello. The cone-shaped "trulli" structures and large groups of tourists make the place feel a bit like Disneyland, but people actually live and work in the tiny town and it's even possible to rent your own trullo for the night. The final must-see stop where we would finish our tour is a town called Matera, an actual cave city that was first inhabited over 10 thousand years ago. The caves have recently been renovated with dehumidifiers and electricity and now visitors can enjoy a drink in a swanky cave restaurant or sleep in a romantic cave hotel.  Other than these few planned stops, we were just riding, not necessarily in a direct route, wherever our skinny tires would take us. We certainly didn't plan to stop at this vacant cement structure on a desolate road between towns that go into hibernation this time of year. 

The freedom of bike touring has its consequences, of course. Getting caught in a storm is one of them.  We've bike toured over a dozen times and have endured our fair share of rain and thunderstorms. I recall our honeymoon bike tour when we both got flat tires in the middle of a thunderstorm on a Colorado mountain pass. By the time we changed our flats we were muddy and soaked to the bone. Could our idea of vacation be skewed?

Finally we decide to get back out on the road and work our way to the next town to see if we can find a hotel or at least a cafe to warm up. As soon as we exit the cinder block refuge the rain hits us like little bullets, challenging our escape. We push our bikes through the ambush, back up to the empty road. It's a comical struggle to mount our bikes and stay upright in the sideways wind. The next half hour of riding is the scariest, most nerve wracking experience I've ever had on a bicycle. The wind is so strong that it knocks over a big metal dumpster full of trash and it's all I can do to not get blown over myself. We trust our tires to grip the wet pavement and lean into the wind at nearly a 45 degree angle. Every once in a while the wind lets up and we must swerve and lean upright to keep from falling.  When we finally enter into the next town the streets are flooded under a foot of water and everything seems to be shut down for the season. We need to find shelter again. I can't imagine riding any farther in this weather. 

I've found that even the smallest, most quiet towns in Italy have a local bar, which is the general Italian word for cafe. In addition to what we think of as a bar with alcohol, every bar in Italy will be equipped with a nice espresso machine as well as croissants and other goodies. Sometimes they will have a kitchen and serve more hearty dishes as well. I was hopeful that we would find an open bar in this sleepy little town.

We stay high above the water by riding on sidewalks and splashing our way across streets and past shutdown restaurants. Finally, we round a corner and are overjoyed to see a bar with its open sign turned on! We go inside and warm up with chocolate filled croissants and cappuccinos. After chatting with some locals who come in from the rain, we learn that we just rode our bikes through a hurricane. The locals have a second house inland, and drove out here to check on their beach house. I pinch myself to be sure that I am alive. We count our blessings and start thinking about where we will spend the evening, not wishing to battle again with the hurricane. 

The rumored southern hospitality in Italy proved itself to be true; After a brief search, we are graciously taken in by a sweet couple with apartments for rent. They even give us spaghetti, bread, olive oil and wine, knowing that the grocery store is already closed for the afternoon. They assure us that the restaurant on the corner will open in the evening for the locals that stay in town during the off season.

That evening the clouds part and the sun even greets us for a brief moment. A stray dog becomes our companion as we explore the town on foot and walk down to the empty sandy beach. We follow a cement pier down to its edge to watch the enormous waves come crashing in. Feeling spiteful, we get closer and race the oncoming waves until a big one catches us and soaks us once again. This time, all we can do is laugh and relish in the moment of our child-like giddiness. 

After changing into dry clothes (again) we follow our noses to what really is the only open restaurant in town, where we enjoy tall beers and wood fired pizza. The family restaurant is packed with locals and buzzing with lively Italian chatter, shouting and laughter. We take in the new scene and clink our glasses, toasting to surviving the storm. 

The lure of the unknown propels us forward on our journey. Tomorrow we will be back on our bicycles, riding towards more unknown territory and perhaps new surprises. It turns out that this is how I want my Italian vacation to go. Getting away from predictable routines and feeling a sense of adventure is thrilling and ultimately, so satisfying. Besides, what would be the excitement of vacation without a random hurricane to spice things up? 

The next day of riding along the coast - sunny and warm

stepping into the Ionian Sea

Polignano a Mare (On the Adriatic)

Sculpture of Singer Domenico Modugno in Polignano a Mare

Matera in the evening

Trulli in Alberobello

Daily Life at an Agriturismo in Piedmont

View of Monforte D'Alba

It's been fascinating to live and work with an Italian family, especially one that owns and operates a winery and restaurant in one of the most prominent wine regions of Italy; Piedmont.

Daily life at La Torricella is busy, with everyone in the family and other hired help playing a part. The many roles and hands that it takes to run the agriturismo are like parts of a motor that all perform a specific task and together operate an efficient machine. They have figured out how to live a simple life together, growing vegetables and grapes, producing world class wines, operating a 120 seat, gourmet restaurant and running a cozy B&B. People near and far come to taste their wine and enjoy a delicious meal in this serene and beautiful setting in the heart of wine country. I've been lucky enough to spend a month "behind the scenes" and learn their secrets to success!\

Generally, the work day doesn't start before 9am (except for Grandpa Diego who gets up early and goes out to work the vineyards). There is also someone who comes in early to set up the breakfast buffet for guests by 8:30, but other than that the mornings are pretty quiet. So quiet, in fact, that I accidentally set off the alarm one morning when I stepped into the restaurant kitchen at the reasonable hour of 7:30!



I am not necessarily a creature of habit, although my mornings tend to be more sacred and routine. Generally it looks a bit like this: I naturally wake up with the morning sun shining in my room through the glass French doors that face east. I ease my way out of bed and onto my yoga mat for some easy stretches to wake up my muscles. (My travel yoga mat is one of my favorite items that I packed in my suitcase this year). Once my body starts to wake up I step out onto the balcony to breathe in the crisp morning air, which has been warmer than usual this fall. The hills of Piedmont are often draped in a layer of fog in the morning, which burn off by the afternoon. Other mornings are clear, and I am treated to a view of the soft rolling hills and the family's vineyard and hazelnut trees. On the ridge in the distance I can see the small town of Roddino, with its tall church reaching up to the sky.

La Torricella hazelnut trees

By 8am I tiptoe out of the big house so as not to disturb anyone. The family of 11 (grandparents, 4 children and their partners and 2 grandchildren) all live under one roof. The 3 story house is divided into 4 separate apartments, 3 detached bedrooms/bathrooms (one that I am temporarily occupying), a storage room and a workshop. I walk across the little courtyard, say hello to the puppies, and open the big wooden door to the winery. I take my time here as I walk past the big stainless steel fermentation tanks, where simple grape juice is transformed into the sublime libation known to us as wine and to Italians as vino. This room, as well as the cellar with the wine aging in oak barrels, hold a bit of magic for me, and it feels surreal to be in these special rooms alone. I slowly make my way across the fermentation room to the other door that leads me to the staircase and up to the reception area and bar. There I find the second most magical thing in the building: The espresso machine! I fix myself a small but strong cappuccino and then enter the big restaurant kitchen and help myself to a bit of whatever my heart and stomach desire (from a selection of handmade cakes, cookies, breads, jams, yogurt, fruit, granola, fresh eggs, etc...). I make my selection and sit down at the dining table in the break room to sip my cappuccino and study Italian. I find that mornings are the best time for me to study, when my brain is the most receptive to new information. It's a wonderful start to the day.

Between 9-10am Alessandra is in the kitchen, Francesco is in reception, and Oscar is in the office. The housekeeper is in the big laundry room and their morning worker is tidying up the dining room. Soon more kitchen staff show up to help Alessandra prep. Grandpa Diego works out in the vineyard and Silvia is in the winery. Emanuele (the three year old) is in school in the morning and by 11am he is bouncing around from one place to the next. His curiosity leads him to learn all kinds of new things at the agriturismo.

Emanuele helping to seal the magnums

My role is most similar to Emanuele: I bounce around, poking my nose into a bit of everything and help out when I can. Some mornings I help translate and edit wine tech sheets and other promotional things for the agriturismo. Other days I have helped in the kitchen, prepping veggies, pies and bread for the weekend. Sometimes I just chat with Francesco, helping him with his English while he helps me with my Italian. I often take little Eleanora in her stroller and we walk along the dirt road among the vines until she falls asleep. I sometimes bring their nice camera with me and shoot amateur photos of the garden and vines (and Eleanora). This time of year there isn't too much exciting going on in the winery, but I did help out in the bottling room, labeling bottles using the conveyor belt that can label 1000 bottles per hour. 

On the weekends I often help out in the kitchen, or sometimes in the dining room. One Saturday, we catered a big party and I operated the hand crank meat slicer which made my arm sore for days. Another day I played barista for a group of Italians just finishing lunch. This was probably the one time I felt in my element, having had so much experience as barista at Raider Ridge Cafe. It was fun to take orders in Italian and whip up espressi and caffè macchiati (espresso with a dollop of milk foam). Sometimes I help give tours of the winery in English and once I gave a wine tasting in Italian to a young couple from nearby Torino. They jovially engaged with me and were very forgiving of my butchered Italian.

Each day seems to be a new adventure and I've still had ample time to explore on my own. On a nice day I love zipping around on the electric bicycle, visiting nearby towns and winding my way up and down the quiet roads.

Silvia and Emanuele getting the bottles ready to be labeled

Happy Eleanora

Diano D'Alba

Castiglioni Falleto church

The road to Diano d'Alba

Life is easy cruising on the electric bicycle!

The road to Dogliani

No matter what people are getting into each day, everyone takes a lunch break at 1pm until at least 2pm. Lunches are always shared together at nonnas house, with all three generations gathering around the table. It's always a hot meal, served family style with several big dishes placed on the table in courses. Usually we start with pasta, risotto, gnocchi or soup, followed by a meat dish (anything from veal cuts to rabbit to fish or liver) and a veggie dish (generally sauteed carrots and spinach or cardoons and maybe potatoes). Bread and bread sticks are scattered atop the table on the fresh tablecloth, as well as freshly grated Parmesan, glass liters of water and a liter of red table wine (that usually only nonno and nonna drink). At the end of the meal either warm chestnuts or an assortment of cheeses and homemade jam made from grape must are set out on the table. Nonna and I like to have our coffee after lunch so she prepares espresso for us and anyone else who requests it.

Typical lunch scene at nonna's house

Birthday celebration with hot chocolate, chestnuts, wine and chocolate chip cookies (my American contribution)

The meal tends to be half business meetings, half family discussions. There is business talk, arguments, laughter, bickering, silliness and crying (among the babies) and a comfort that only families share. Other than the small talk, much of their discussions are beyond my comprehension and I just get the gist of what is being discussed. When discussions get heated and voices get louder (which has been the case recently with some huge financial decisions that need to be made) I feel a little uneasy. I was not raised in a house with yelling and I'm not used to it. My Italian friend Simone, who is one of the gentlest human beings I know, laughed about this and assured me that passionate arguments are just so very Italian and nothing to be afraid of. It's true that no one ever leaves in a huff. In fact, even if the conversation gets really heated it always calms down and then becomes family time, with coffee or playing with the babies or just relaxing on the couch before heading back to work. Perhaps this comfort and ease of communication is their secret to success. I sometimes envy the life they all share, together as a family. Whereas my family gets together for a family meal just a handful of times a year, they eat together daily. They find it crazy that I live 6 hours away by car from my family. "You could go all the way to Rome in 6 hours! Heck, you could cross Switzerland and get to Germany in that time!" I've tried explaining to them that relative to some of my friends who have to fly to visit their parents, I am not so far away; I'm in the same state, even. They can hardly imagine the expansiveness of the United States. I can hardly imagine driving to my parents house and ending up in Germany!

The late afternoons and evenings around here are somewhat quiet, and I often wander off to go for a walk and gaze at the sun setting.

Alessandra and Francesco and I eat dinner with the kitchen staff and then the restaurant opens for guests at 8pm. During the week, the restaurant isn't as busy, but I am becoming comfortable with everyone in the kitchen and it's fun for me to hang out with them and give a hand when needed. By the time dinner is over and everything is cleaned up, it may be as early as 10:30pm or as late as 1:30am. (No wonder they sleep in later than 7:30). On Tuesdays, everything is closed and they all enjoy some rest. I've been invited to join them on several outings, once to the beach, visits to other wineries and dinner at Francesco's brothers' restaurant in the cute town of Alba.  Everyone works really hard March through December. Then in January and February everything closes down and they can rest or take vacations. Perhaps this two month break is another success secret. Mostly, I think they are successful because they do what they love and they do it well, as a team. What a simple and beautiful concept.

Walking the streets in downtown Bra

Visiting a highly respected Barolo producer: Domenico Clerico

Domenico Clerico Cellar

Ligurian coast from the town of Finale

Night out on the town in Alba with Francesco, Alessandra and kids

Francesco's three brothers who own a restaurant in Alba invited us into the kitchen after our meal

Introducing the family and staff to all-American pancakes

An evening celebration in the kitchen