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Midnight Missives and Musings

Midnight Missives and Musings

Tag Archives: Tenuta La Fratta

The Tuscany Wedding- Italy Part 3

29 Saturday Sep 2018

Posted by blahblahblogm in RANDOMLY I GO

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Brescia, Corona, Hallelujah, Italy, Leonard Cohen, Prosecco, Siena, Singapore, Tenuta La Fratta, Tuscany, wedding

A hazard of living so far from family, both immediate and extended, is the rare occurrence of wedding invitations. There are those periods in life when everyone seems to be getting married: older cousins, yourself, your peers. Moving 3000 miles away at 30 years old didn’t lend itself to me attending too many weddings in the past 30 years. There were none too important to go back east for. My sister’s, of course, but that was decades ago. I missed my brother’s, as I was way too pregnant to travel. But the random long time extended family ones that my sisters attended often throughout the years were not available to me so far away. Weddings. Not a very popular word with me after two failures at this event.

This year ushered in the weddings of the offspring of some women very dear to me and so 2018 has provided me with two weddings on two continents. The first was in a beautiful old working farm in Tuscany outside of Siena called Tenuta La Fratta. My cousin Ginger’s daughter, Christine, was getting married to a superlatively fun and terrific golf instructor named Davide. Christine was born in Connecticut and moved to Italy when she was about a year old. I adore my cousin Ginger. She is Lucy to my Ethel. I wouldn’t miss this trip for all the world. Christine and Davide live now in Singapore and so many friends from there and elsewhere around the globe came to celebrate them. Their love of travel has given them so many great souvenir people.

Friday night the festivities kicked off with a full on dinner at the La Fratta restaurant for 120 or so guests, most who had arrived that day. Davide is from Brescia so his mother and family arrived on those buses while the Carisolo contingent arrived on theirs. Carisolo is our hometown in the Dolomite chain of the Alps. A lovely couple from Singapore who had recently moved back to London sat by me. The wine flowed and so did the music. At 2am we were still dancing and drinking and laughing and singing all the old Italian songs we grew up hearing our parents sing after all sorts of dinners and events. I could hear my dad’s voice in the din. He had a wonderful voice. My mother not so much and we all seemed to have inherited hers.   The fond memories that singing Quel Mazzolin di Fiore or Tutti Mi Chiamano Bionda brought back to us. We used to play cards with my dad and mom and uncle and various folks back in the Bronx. Whenever Ginger and I were losing, we would break out into these songs to annoy my dad. He pretended to be annoyed but his lip always curled up in a soon to be grin cause we sang so badly.   Memories don’t always have to be big. Most often it is the tiny but fun ones we remember.

Finally at a bit after 2am, I took my two nephew/roommates and off we went back to our suite. What a lovely old rustic place it was other than no door to the shower area, so I had to send those two for a walk each time I needed to use it. I love Joey and Matthew. My two nephews are kind and handsome and good and decent kids or rather young men now. I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with them so I was glad we were bunkmates on this trip. They double-teamed the strange Italian pronouncement of my name that Matthew came up with years ago and all the boys, including my son Max, use for me. It makes me laugh every time.

Saturday morning greeted us with a terrific brunch of all sorts of Italian and American delicacies including real bacon and eggs. It was hot and humid; so much of the party went swimming in the pool afterwards. I understand the groom even tossed his future father in law in. On the property was a small pretty chapel where the wedding was held. Most of us sat outside and heard it on speakers, as it was just too tiny. I liked the different touches and the mixture of American and Italian wedding traditions she incorporated. Christine had a set of bride maids and groomsmen, American style. Italians only have two witnesses usually. Pale pink was the dress color but each girl selected her own unique dress in that color. The boys were adorable in sneakers and polka dot socks. As they were lining up outside, my sister noticed that the maid of honor and best man were at the front of the procession not at the back in front of the bride as is customary with us. Well, helpful as we always are- yes, helpful, not controlling busybodies- she proceeded to move them to the back of the line much to the consternation of the wedding planner. I have that all on video as I was laughing pretty hard watching the maid of honor and best man move to the back as Rosalie instructed only to look confused when the wedding planner scolded them to get back to the front before the procession started.

The wedding was so lovely. Christine looked spectacular. Cream seems to be the wedding color of choice this season. It was worn by her and also by Patty’s daughter in September.   I loved that she had Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen sung, one of my all time favorites. So perfect. Next came the cocktail hour in all its Italian delicacy and Prosecco magnificence. I can’t even begin to describe all these delicious morsels put out for us.

The reception began at 8pm under a Tuscan rising moon alongside the glittering pool. So beautiful it was. All the tables and chairs and the settings were in white with centerpieces made of various woodcarvings that her father and brothers made, as they own the local carpenter business in our town. The cake was decorated with a gold map of the world to honor their love of travel. Barrels of their favorite beer, Corona, were flowing. I got a kick out of that. Another station was set up for cocktails like margaritas and mojitos and all sorts of Italian liquors. The food was wonderful and the wine at each table flowed and flowed. The DJ started at about 11 and did not stop until 4am. What a night!

Sunday morning brought sunshine and another brunch for the guests before they departed. Pastries and cheeses and eggs and meats and frittatas galore and Prosecco of course. It was time to say goodbye to family and friends and recent memories made. My sister and brother and families and cousins were heading back to the States. I was going on the Carisolo guest bus up to our town for a week with my sister who lives there and my niece/goddaughter. I was sad to leave Tuscany. It had been decades since I had been to this region. I rarely leave my town when I go to Italy. I have the dubious distinction of having been to Italy 18 times since I moved from their as a small child and I have never even been to Rome. Strange, I know, but I always imagined Rome as the other half of the relatives of all the people packed into Manhattan on any given day. I’ll get there someday.

So the first wedding of my year of marital bliss by other people is done. In September, I’ll attend the wedding of West Coast Patty’s daughter. I won’t get to attend the wedding of the daughter of East Coast Patty, my best friend growing up in the Bronx. I won’t get to attend a cousin’s daughter’s wedding in the Bronx either this September. Such is the hazard of living so far away from family, extended or otherwise.   I can’t help but wonder if I will ever get to be the mother of the groom. My 21 and 17 years old sons say “no”.   Let’s hope that changes. I am so glad I went to this Tuscan wedding. It was fun and magical and relaxing and engaging and to see two such happy people who will be together forever was just heartwarming! Ciao!

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Lucca Bocelli Siena.. Italy Part 2

16 Sunday Sep 2018

Posted by blahblahblogm in RANDOMLY I GO

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Tags

Andrea Bocelli, Chianti, Florence, Italy, La Streza, Locanda Francigena, Lucca Italy, Lucca Summer Music Festival, Prosecco, Siena, Tenuta La Fratta, Tuscany, Wine

Wednesday morning began with a lovely breakfast set out by Locanda Francigena in their restaurant next door to the tiny, tony villa. No cereal or slabs of bacon here, just lovely fruit, pastries, cakes, brioche and tiny pizzas. Eating pizza for breakfast was not invented in frat houses, apparently. As a kid growing up, I loved cold pizza left over for breakfast and now I see I wasn’t weird, just breakfasting Tuscany style. This place was called La Rustichetta, just a local pizzeria/trattoria with lots of tables outside, a gazebo or two and a double hammock. And it was right on a main street at the roundabout. Tuscany and most Italian cities love those roundabouts. The running joke in our travels is when it says, “take the second exit,” it just means go straight on this street. My cousin picked me up and off we went again back to Florence Airport to retrieve my no longer lost luggage.   At this point, I am sure she was thrilled to be the designated relative and was pretty much wishing my trip in Tuscany was over.

I was happy to return to the Firenze Airport, if for nothing else than to use their snappy sink setup in the restroom. Italy is well known for its grace and beauty in design of all manners. And I say this not because I was also designed and manufactured in Italy. In this particular restroom, there were three shiny tubes sticking out from the wall above each sink. The center one was marked Water, the right said Soap and the left one, Air. No pushing people out of the way to get to the air dryer or towel dispenser. People had their very own dryer right at their sink station. No idea why this tickled me so, but it did.   Speaking of Italian bathrooms, no trip to Italy would be complete without a comment on the bidet, that invention of theirs to keep one’s arse clean as a whistle, which I have never been able to master. In fact, when we got to our rooms at the wedding site Tuscany farm, I asked my two nephews to show me how the hell it even worked. They squatted, pants on and tried to explain. It made no sense to me. My angles just aren’t conducive to the angle of that particular water fountain. To make things simple for my roommates and I for the next several days and so there would be no need for me to yell, “put the damn toilet seat down”, I hereby proclaimed our bidet would now be a urinal. The boys just shook their heads and walked away.

I have to wonder and, of course I did, how a country so consumed with the condition of the cleanliness of one’s derriere refuses to put seat liners in public restrooms. Mind boggling it is to me. Or is it simply because they assume everyone is constantly bidetting, that all butts are pristine and no seat liners are ever needed. I wonder, but I will have to wonder later as it was time to retrieve my no longer lost clothing.

We arrived at the airport in no time. For once the Italians behaved on the road and didn’t turn an hour’s drive into an all day event. One would assume I would just go back to the Lost and Found office where we filed our claims the day before right near the baggage claim area. Too easy for the Italians. First I had to go to some random office way the other side of the terminal and get a slip of paper which allowed me to then go outside, around the back of the entire terminal and into a garage type area where I went through a metal detector into a tiny little office. Why they would think anyone would even be able to find this place to do a dastardly deed is beyond me. We then were taken outside, across the tarmac and inside to the same Lost and Found office near the baggage claim. Once there, we were taken inside another large room and told to simply go find the luggage amidst a sea of lost and lonely bags. The thought did cross my mind to simply take a lovely large Louis Vuitton but then I knew all I would find would be size 6 clothing in it anyway. And so my saga of the lost baggage had come to an end.   We headed back to Lucca.

My siblings had gone to Florence for the day. My cousin had to get back to her horses and her work: she manages very upscale villa rentals in Tuscany. An extremely well known Los Angeles chef is one of her steady clients. Hence the badgering, I mean, the inviting of her to come visit him and me in Los Angeles soon.

I had the afternoon all to myself and so she dropped me in Lucca Centro or city center. What a beautiful city, enclosed inside walls built centuries ago with five different portals to enter.   As luck would have it, they were having a big music festival there for a month with all sorts of great acts. I was so sad I missed Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds the night before. I wandered around the stage a bit and watched them do some sound check. I talked to a security guard who said Nick was great the night before.
I wandered the spectacular churches and cathedrals, which in Italy are like Starbucks in the US, pretty much on every corner.   San Michele was gorgeous and even had its own dead cardinal buried there from eons ago, open for all to see. Nothing makes an Italian church like a dead saint on display. San Martino was under construction and amazing inside as well. I had lunch at Osteria delle Neni, down a tiny back alley, which was there since 1943- the restaurant, not the alley. That was there for centuries.  To ask if the food is good at any restaurant in Italy is a bit redundant.   You only measure one great meal against another and often it’s impossible to tell really.   I bought Brunello in a little wine shop to take home. I wandered into the Gelatarium which was as serious and as pretty a gelato store as you can get, complete with painted ceilings, swings for kids to play on while the parents ate and a wall of gelato spigots.

Puccini was born in Lucca. I know that because of the statue of him in the piazza and the big sign above the building where he was born. I marveled in the Puccini gift shop at all the stuff he wrote like La Boheme and Madame Butterfly. You can tell I am not an opera fan. Lucca was the home of the Lucchese family during the Renaissance, the wealthy bankers of the time. There were still lots of banks with old signage everywhere. I took a taxi back to my little slice of villa heaven to rest up for dinner with the siblings and cousins from America finally. Lucca is such an elegant city. The layout and atmosphere breathes its love of music and art. The yearly summer Lucca musical festival draws some major talent. It’s on the list for a return visit for sure.

Dinner that evening was finally a reunion with my brother, twin sisters and nieces, nephews and paternal cousins from New Jersey. By 10 pm we were seated at a lovely outdoor patio in Viareggio, a seaside town on the Aegean Sea. Fish for dinner, some wine, some catching up, some laughter, some missed turns and wrong directions and I was back in my pretty lavender and white room at Locanda Francigena.

The next day after another wonderful morning having breakfast in the garden of La Rustichetta, it was time to wind our way south towards Siena for the wedding. My sister had planned a lunch for us about midway at a little town called La Streza, which happens to be the hometown of Andrea Bocelli. We pulled up to his family’s restaurant near their vineyard for lunch. The sign on the place says Andrea Bocelli’s Food Court. What? I sure hope there isn’t a Blimpie or a McDonalds in there. Hardly. Thirteen of us sat at two tables and had the most spectacular four-hour Italian lunch. By the time we were done there were 40 empty wine glasses on the adults’ table thanks to the Prosecco, pink Prosecco, Chianti, San Giovese and a Brunello just because I had never had it before. The food was wonderful, simple and delicious.   The Bocelli family have been vintners for decades and all their products were for sale here and in the back was a store and wine tasting room. The restaurant was just quaint and so pretty. When you entered, it had books hanging from the ceiling, a lot of them school books from their youth. Andrea’s brother was there as he runs the place.  After lunch, we were treated to a tour of a small museum of Bocelli’s life and music on the second floor of the restaurant. It was so very fun and interesting. One wall was lined with all his grandfather’s old vinyl record albums, which got Andrea musically started. Terrific place, terrific talent and terrific treat!

Several hours and wrong turns later, we finally found our wedding destination, la Tenuta La Fratta, about 45 minutes outside of Siena. We checked into a centuries old still working Tuscan farm that was just magnificent. They have pure white cows called Svizzera cows that were surreal looking. They had pigs and hogs as well. We wandered the grounds that afternoon to acquaint ourselves. A restaurant on the premises, a lovely built in pool, a chapel, courtyards and then I came upon a woman sitting outdoors in an ornate and stately courtyard practicing on a grand piano. Chairs were set up and I discovered they do a weekly local music concert each week in July followed by a dinner for the attendees at the restaurant. A walk past the restaurant around midnight found the concert attendees still finely dining al fresco.  What a gorgeous house concert setting this was. I read up on the series and came across this passage that speaks volumes to the artistic and political times we live in today. It resonates.

“ This is a difficult moment for Music and Culture and we hold on to the dream that Italy and its artistic wealth (La Fratta playing its worthy part) can defend itself against the politics of ‘nonculture”.

I know we in the US right now can surely relate to the politics of nonculture that’s seeped into much of our country’s societal waters.

Later than evening the 13 of us walked a bit to another restaurant on the property and the kids were thrilled cause this one specialized in hamburgers of all types. Nothing like spectacular food to make teenagers miss a hamburger. They had so many variations but no cheeseburgers, or so we thought. At one point my nephew asked if they had American cheese. No, they said. One of the items that appeared a few times amongst the myriad ingredients they put on about 10 different burgers was a thing called ‘pasta rossa’. None of us new what it meant. None of us bothered to ask. We asked if they had American cheese. My brother had ordered one of the burgers that contained this mysterious ingredient and lo and behold he gets a cheeseburger with what looked like cheddar cheese. Now we know what pasta rossa is. Lots of grumbling from the cheese-less burger eaters.

The next day we went to Siena. Siena is not as a pretty a city as Lucca. It’s very hilly, which with my fascist foot was a bit tough to take. The Duomo was beautiful but under construction and no time to get tickets and enter. This was more of a marathon rush around the city’s main part, lunch and then back to the farm as the wedding officially began Friday night with dinner for the 120 or so guests most of which were arriving that afternoon. We did do a bit of sight seeing in a pretty church across from the Cathedral. We spent a lot of time in a handbag store where I bought a beautiful red leather embossed wallet. My sister, nieces and cousin went hog wild on the gorgeous handbags in the most stunning leather colors I have ever seen: baby blue, a caramel color and the red I got. After a lovely lunch on the main piazza in Siena, back we went to the farm to get ready for the evening’s first dinner of our three day Tuscan wedding weekend. Bon Appetit.

 

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