Well, it has been a long time. Unfortunately, we are not at liberty to write a very long blog but since we might not get another chance for a while here is an update...
A few weeks at La Rocchetta turned into two full months. We are so grateful to Claudio, Michelle, and Dani for making us feel at home and for all the endless kindnesses they showed us.
Many things were done on the farm since the last blog and pictures/stories will be posted soon.
10 days ago my dad arrived with Sophia and his student group of all girls in different clusters (visual, music, dance and theatre) from Arts Magnet. A very sweet, smart and funny group.
March 16th they came to the farm for a country lunch that was prepared by Claudio, Michelle, Ryan, me, and two new WWOOFers from New Zealand, Alyson and Simon. Thank you to Alyson and Simon for helping tremendously and making the lunch wonderful!
After the incredible lunch (which we will write more about later), we left La Rocchetta and went with the group to Florence. We had a beautiful time with many incredible dishes and of course the chance to see the museums. The Academy, the Uffizi, and Santa Croce. Then who can forget our fantastic meal at the Castle in Toscana. We finally were able to try boar sauce....it was delicious. Last day a few of us went to the Boboli gardens and it was just as beautiful as I remember on my first trips with my dad 2003 and 2004.
After a couple of days we left for Venezia and this is where it got REALLY exciting. The group and ourselves were in complete awe at the stunning beauty of the city. We ate well and thanks to Claudio were not ignorant of the famous Venetian dishes. Such as, cuttlefish in ink sauce, liver and onions, sardines marinated with onions, and Venetian tripe. All that had been made for us in La Rocchetta.
*More about Venice to come! Details and everything....
We were very sad to see the group go. So, to make up for it, Ryan and I stayed in Venice 3 more nights. My dads friend who owns the Pensione Guerrato where we stayed with the group gave Ryan and I an INCREDIBLE deal. Roberto, the owner, said "Anything for the daughter of Scott Davison." If you ever go to Venice, stay at the Pensione Guerrato. The friendliest staff, incredible prices, and most important BEST LOCATION. Only steps from The Rialto bridge. My dad's longtime friend, Sergio (who I cannot say more about now because then surprises would not be surprises) was SO kind to us.
Ryan and I spent our extra days walking around the enchanted city. Talking about the history and imagining Venice when it began as a Pirate city. We were of course led to think about the similarities of Venice and New Orleans. Founded by pirates, AWESOME navy force, and built in unlikely places. I love Venice and cannot wait to go back in the future.
Now, Ryan and I are in Florence leaving this afternoon for a town called Cecina, south of Livorno. We will be WWOOFing there for a couple of weeks and then meet Michelle and Claudio's friends, Ady and Vic, who will be taking us to Sardegna. We will be in Sardinia for about 10 days helping Ady and Vic get the guesthouse in order for the summer holidays. Then we will take a ferry to Sicily and stay a couple of days to look around, then another ferry to Tunisia and do the same as Sicily. THEN FINALLY.........GREECE!!!!!!!!! We plan to do some traveling first and work either with WWOOF and/or Work Away until August or so.
Then.....who knows?
Love to you all and hope all is well.
Medora and Ryan
PS videos to come soon from La Rocchetta!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Eating Like Wild Boars at La Rochetta
Maybe we've landed in paradise. We are living on top of a hill in Italy. Across a valley there stands an ancient village with a massive tower. Every day our hosts cook elaborate meals.
Oh, and it's surrounded by wild boars. One day we went to gather firewood in the forest and found many huge hoof marks in the mud, and lots of holes they dug looking for roots. A couple nights later they got kind of raucous (fighting or feasting or whatever else makes boars shriek like banshees) and we listened to them from the comfort of our warm bed. The rest of the night we hear owls - there are several species around here and Michelle says they are especially noisy because they don't have any dogs on the farm.
Here's the work we've been doing. We usually work from breakfast until about 1 and then have a break before lunch around 2:45.
- Building a raised garden area. We laid down about 344 bricks. The first row was really hard because the area is on a slope and we had to carefully level the ground to make the bricks straight. It's still not perfectly level but with 344 bricks down it's too late to go back.
- Building fires: There's a large area to build a fire in the kitchen. This takes little work. The other stove heats the water and we call it the Orange Beast. It uses a lot of wood and getting it going is a pain in the arse.
- Weeding: We are slowly weeding all the beds and weedwhacking in various places.
- Cooking: We've been making 1 or 2 loaves of fresh bread each day.
- Cleaning: After our lavish feasts someone has to clean up.
And the rest of the "work" time we spend chatting. Michelle loves to chat. Medora loves to chat. Ryan likes to chat once in a blue moon. Ryan isn't sure what a blue moon is so suffice it to say that Ryan has yet to chat.
Ryan (who is writing this and wonders why he is referring to himself in third person) just googled "blue moon": A blue moon is a full moon that is not timed to the monthly lunar pattern. I'm pretty sure that means Ryan hasn't chatted.
Here's what we've been eating:
Breakfast -
Farm eggs on toast. Homemade yogurt. Muesli. Strong Italian coffee.
Lunch -
Claudio is a master chef. I'd estimate that he spends about three hours every day in the kitchen. Every meal consists of at least five different items, in the Italian style. Ideally it is eaten in the following order: A first course, usually pasta or soup. A second course of meat or cheese. A contorno of various cooked vegetables followed by fresh salad greens lightly seasoned with olive oil and balsamic vinegar (which is amazing, has a consistency like syrup, and have never tasted its like outside Italy). Finally, dessert. Michelle specializes in making fruit pies. She slices up apples and pears, then lays them in a crust. Then she roles the crust over the fruit to make it a pie, and pours a generous amount of homemade jam over the top (blackberry and marmalade are a couple examples).
Here are some things Claudio has cooked:
Chicken which he cooks for about an hour in the oven. The chicken comes from a local woman who grows them at her house. She brought a fresh batch over on our second day here, and showed us how to chop off the heads and break the rib cages. Claudio throws the chicken pieces in the oven, skin on, bone-in, olive oil, pepper, salt, fresh sprigs of rosemary and thyme, and whole cloves of garlic.
Coq au vin: Various pieces of chicken slowly simmered in red wine, garlic, and herbs. We had this for lunch today.
Calamaro. Yes, that sounds like calamari - squid. In fact it means one squid as opposed to multiple ones, and this was the biggest squid I have ever seen, and it was delicious.
Octopus: Claudio first boils the Octopus for up to two hours, then lets it sit while the water cools to room temperature. This is is the trick to making Octopus tender. He then slices it up and mixes it with olive oil, lemon juice, and herbs.
Veal Piccata: First Claudio breads the veal and then simmers it in the rich, lemony Piccata sauce.
Polenta: Claudio often cooks a lot of polenta with homemade chicken broth, spreads it on a huge platter and then places grilled chicken and pork pieces over the top.
Gorgonzola Barley Risotto, Saffron Risotto, various pureed soups, Baked Rainbow Trout, and on and on. The only thing Claudio regularly makes are potatoes. First he boils them, skins them, cuts them into thin slices and arranges them in a pan. He adds olive oil and herbs and cooks them in the oven until they are crispy.
Also, Michelle has a recipe for mousse au chocolat which she perfected over the course of months. I assure you it is now perfect indeed, but her husband and son dread the mere mention of it due to having been her experimental taste-testers for the duration of the experiment.
I found a bread recipe online that is very easy, and we've been playing around with it every day. We've made olive bread, walnut bread, multi-grain bread, whole-wheat bread, corn bread, and goo. I'll post recipes later.
Christmas in Roma
This was a wonderful treat Ryan and I attended a few days after Christmas. A program of classic opera arias. Here is one of our favorites.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Second Farm-La Rocchetta
I really am going to have to write WWOOF a letter about this farm.
It is ridiculous. Not only are our hosts at La Rocchetta feeding us ALL the time but they are feeding us incredible food!
Claudio, one of our hosts, cooks every meal. This is what we usually find on our plates...
Oh, what a monstrous act.
Michelle, Claudio's wife, gives us chore after chore. And all the while she is either making decadent chocolate mousse or apple and pear tarts, or out buying things for us like Ryan's flax seeds or the muesli we like.
It all is truly horrific. And I haven't even mentioned our accommodation!
Our tower like room, perched atop the house, sits all on it's own three levels up. With a full size cast iron bed for Ryan and I to share. They expect us to SHARE! AND to look out our window and see the rolling hills of Tuscany and the town of Mugnano sitting on a hill across the valley.
And even more disturbing is the leering four tier bookshelf. This is no ordinary bookshelf, but an antique bookshelf Claudio used in a movie he did with Lucchino Visconti starring Burt Lancaster.
When we entered the room Michelle told us that we have all the books you could possibly need. The horror! They make us read EVERYTHING! Everyday Michelle comes in with a new book of something we had been discussing the night before. Gardening, dieting, nutrition, and cooking. It is like a bombardment of health! AH!
One last terrible thing that Ryan and I have noticed is that it seems as if Michelle knows the art of Legilimency. For those of you who are not familiar with that term it means the ability to read one's mind.
Whenever Ryan or I think of something we want to do or see Michelle always seems to know. For example, I was thinking about how I wanted to do a little window shopping. So, Michelle offers to take us to Viterbo (a small town where the Popes lived for a while). She drops us off in the middle of the town and makes a time for us to meet. In Viterbo, there were hundreds of wonderful little shops! However, after finding a study that many Italians loose an extra 500 hundred calories a week from window shopping, it led me to believe that Michelle did it for our HEALTH!
I hope that all this is obviously sarcastic because it is. Michelle and Claudio are the most gracious people I've ever met. We have been having such a wonderful time here. We've built a wall for a new garden area, carried and chopped wood for the fire, leveled the bricks around the bar-b-que pit, built steps, and are in the process of weeding the garden. It has been a real joy to see the result of our work. There are pictures here of all those jobs.
Claudio is one of the most amazing chefs I've ever met. Ryan mentioned once that he loves octopus. So, Claudio went out today and got a VERY large octopus and squid that he is cooking for dinner tonight.
Some of his delightful dishes have been baked chicken, veal with a piccata sauce, brocoletti soup, many delicious pastas, and well every meal is wonderful!
Michelle is a news journalist, so although we are somewhat isolated, we are able to watch all the great newscasters like Bill Moyer, Rachel Maddow, and Keith Olbermann. It is very fun and interesting to talk with Michelle about Italian and American politics. We hear something new everyday.
It really has been a great pleasure getting to know this family. We are planning to stay for another couple of weeks because we love the Cesarettis and we are so grateful to be a part of their home.
New pictures on the Picasa site! Link is to the right --->
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The First Farm-Azienda Boccea
Azienda Agricola Boccea is an organic farm in the foothills outside of Rome. We first arrived here on a sunny, cool afternoon. As we entered through the large gate a soft wind rustled the leaves on the olive trees and a wind chime sang quietly in the distance. The patroness of the estate met us at the gate and we drove in her car down a gravel road that curved along a woody hillside, and then dropped into a green valley.
"It has been in my family for a long time," she said as we passed a group of large, abandoned farm buildings with a ghostly air. Later we learned that Mussolini gave the farm to her grandfather, and that it accounts for thousands of acres many of which are uncultivated woods.
Finally we arrived at a large house surrounded by a tall, ancient-looking wall. On one side fields of vegetables stretched on to the surrounding hills, and on the other long-horned cattle roamed through verdant pastures. In the yard within the wall, two large white geese bathed in a pool of water while a stout goat lay in the sun against the wall of the house.
We entered into a large kitchen. Two Italian coffee makers sat on the stove ready for action. In the next room, a group of workers sat around a large table eating lunch. We sat down with them and ate our first meal with the group
Usually we wake up at dawn. There's just enough time to make some espresso and eat a handful of olives and some bread before we head outside to start working. If we go to the fields we harvest leeks, fennel, broccoli, lettuce, cabbage, and even chicory, the edible weed used in coffee in New Orleans. Other days we chop wood, trim hedges in the large garden of the guest house, or herd cattle. Whatever work we do, we go at it until about one, when we all eat lunch together. This is one of the best times of the day. Exhausted and hungry we all gather round the table for a hot meal and conversation that lasts about an hour. The meal is always vegetarian and made with ingredients harvested on the farm. Pasta carbonara, hearty bean soup, and cheesy casserole are a few of the main dishes we've had, always accompanied by fresh salad and cooked vegetables (like broccoli or fennel), olives, and bread. It is easy for long periods of silence to set in as we all eat, but as soon as the plates are cleaned conversation starts. Here are the main characters:
Carmela is the boss of the ranch. She's from Romania, and she raised the fat Tibetan goat named "Dalai" like her own child. Now she spends half her time either scolding Dalai for eating eveything in sight or soothing her in Romanian baby-talk. Carmela does a lot of work. It's hard to imagine the farm functioning without her. From gathering vegetables in the field and organizing shipments to stores, to making lunch for all the workers, to preparing endless gifts for the owner's friends, Carmela does it all. She's a good leader, and she's also warm and generous. One day her eyes lit up and asked us, "have you read the Twilight books?" She's read them all five times now. When I asked her if I could borrow a book in Italian, she said, "what kind do you want? I mostly have love stories."
Bogodan is Carmela's brother, and is almost always at her side. Apart from Kate, who's American, he's the only person on the farm who speaks English. He learned it all from TV and music, and he sometimes plays music on his phone when we're working in the fields. Leonard Cohen is one of his favorites. Carmela says that he's married to his computer, and his reticence reminds me a little of a game-addicted adolescent. Bogodan warms up after awhile, and I've come to appreciate his dry sense of humor. Here's one joke he told me in the field:
"Long time ago God and Devil make deal. They say, we gonna let people decide who they wanna worship. The Devil say he will go under the ground, and anyone that want to worship him is gonna go there. And God say he will go in the sky and make the rain and thunder, and those that believe in him are gonna go there." Bogodan looks at me with the faintest trace of a smile. "How many people do you see buried in the sky?"
Antonio is Carmela's husband. He's from Sardinia, the large island north of Sicily. Short and muscular, Antonio has a booming voice that fills the room at lunch and echoes through the valleys when he's calling the cows. He speaks in Italian in a rapid, guttural fashion, now and then breaking into a wide grin followed by a contagious laugh.
Kate is an American who lives on the farm while pursuing a Master's degree at a University in Rome. She has a lot of experience farming and we all have fun working together.
Mahomet (Mohammed) is a political refugee from the African nation of Guinea. He's working at the farm to obtain a goverment license that will allow him to be employed in Italy. French is his first language, and he often drops the endings of Italian verbs, much to the chagrin of Antonio and Italo. Everything Italian amuses him, and he often gets into heated discussions about world politics and Italian culture with Antonio and Italo.
Italo is the farm's mechanic. Barrel-chested and wide as he is long, Italo resembles Clemenza, and he speaks in an almost unintelligible slur of Italian. Everything arouses an impassioned response from him. Something you learn in Italy is that this is just how you are supposed to speak about things. If you give the slightest damn about something it is essential to gesture theatrically with your hands and raise your voice in a melodic rush of words. It is even better if you seem overwhelmed by irritation and anger, punctuating your statements with colorful sacrilegious phrases.
We all eat lunch together and then head back to work until sunset. This is the most peaceful time of the day. As the sun sets over the fields we play with the dogs, gather wood, and build the fire in the house. I usually make coffee for Carmela and myself, while she's finishing up paperwork at her desk. This is when we get to talk to her about food, people, animals, books, and everything else under the sun. Slowly everybody goes to their apartments and only the three of us remain. We like to sit around the fire and drink a little wine, eat some dinner, play cards. There's not a TV, so we have to entertain ourselves. We're always in bed by ten, and up early for another day of work on the farm.
"It has been in my family for a long time," she said as we passed a group of large, abandoned farm buildings with a ghostly air. Later we learned that Mussolini gave the farm to her grandfather, and that it accounts for thousands of acres many of which are uncultivated woods.
Finally we arrived at a large house surrounded by a tall, ancient-looking wall. On one side fields of vegetables stretched on to the surrounding hills, and on the other long-horned cattle roamed through verdant pastures. In the yard within the wall, two large white geese bathed in a pool of water while a stout goat lay in the sun against the wall of the house.
We entered into a large kitchen. Two Italian coffee makers sat on the stove ready for action. In the next room, a group of workers sat around a large table eating lunch. We sat down with them and ate our first meal with the group
***
Usually we wake up at dawn. There's just enough time to make some espresso and eat a handful of olives and some bread before we head outside to start working. If we go to the fields we harvest leeks, fennel, broccoli, lettuce, cabbage, and even chicory, the edible weed used in coffee in New Orleans. Other days we chop wood, trim hedges in the large garden of the guest house, or herd cattle. Whatever work we do, we go at it until about one, when we all eat lunch together. This is one of the best times of the day. Exhausted and hungry we all gather round the table for a hot meal and conversation that lasts about an hour. The meal is always vegetarian and made with ingredients harvested on the farm. Pasta carbonara, hearty bean soup, and cheesy casserole are a few of the main dishes we've had, always accompanied by fresh salad and cooked vegetables (like broccoli or fennel), olives, and bread. It is easy for long periods of silence to set in as we all eat, but as soon as the plates are cleaned conversation starts. Here are the main characters:
Carmela is the boss of the ranch. She's from Romania, and she raised the fat Tibetan goat named "Dalai" like her own child. Now she spends half her time either scolding Dalai for eating eveything in sight or soothing her in Romanian baby-talk. Carmela does a lot of work. It's hard to imagine the farm functioning without her. From gathering vegetables in the field and organizing shipments to stores, to making lunch for all the workers, to preparing endless gifts for the owner's friends, Carmela does it all. She's a good leader, and she's also warm and generous. One day her eyes lit up and asked us, "have you read the Twilight books?" She's read them all five times now. When I asked her if I could borrow a book in Italian, she said, "what kind do you want? I mostly have love stories."
Bogodan is Carmela's brother, and is almost always at her side. Apart from Kate, who's American, he's the only person on the farm who speaks English. He learned it all from TV and music, and he sometimes plays music on his phone when we're working in the fields. Leonard Cohen is one of his favorites. Carmela says that he's married to his computer, and his reticence reminds me a little of a game-addicted adolescent. Bogodan warms up after awhile, and I've come to appreciate his dry sense of humor. Here's one joke he told me in the field:
"Long time ago God and Devil make deal. They say, we gonna let people decide who they wanna worship. The Devil say he will go under the ground, and anyone that want to worship him is gonna go there. And God say he will go in the sky and make the rain and thunder, and those that believe in him are gonna go there." Bogodan looks at me with the faintest trace of a smile. "How many people do you see buried in the sky?"
Antonio is Carmela's husband. He's from Sardinia, the large island north of Sicily. Short and muscular, Antonio has a booming voice that fills the room at lunch and echoes through the valleys when he's calling the cows. He speaks in Italian in a rapid, guttural fashion, now and then breaking into a wide grin followed by a contagious laugh.
Kate is an American who lives on the farm while pursuing a Master's degree at a University in Rome. She has a lot of experience farming and we all have fun working together.
Mahomet (Mohammed) is a political refugee from the African nation of Guinea. He's working at the farm to obtain a goverment license that will allow him to be employed in Italy. French is his first language, and he often drops the endings of Italian verbs, much to the chagrin of Antonio and Italo. Everything Italian amuses him, and he often gets into heated discussions about world politics and Italian culture with Antonio and Italo.
Italo is the farm's mechanic. Barrel-chested and wide as he is long, Italo resembles Clemenza, and he speaks in an almost unintelligible slur of Italian. Everything arouses an impassioned response from him. Something you learn in Italy is that this is just how you are supposed to speak about things. If you give the slightest damn about something it is essential to gesture theatrically with your hands and raise your voice in a melodic rush of words. It is even better if you seem overwhelmed by irritation and anger, punctuating your statements with colorful sacrilegious phrases.
We all eat lunch together and then head back to work until sunset. This is the most peaceful time of the day. As the sun sets over the fields we play with the dogs, gather wood, and build the fire in the house. I usually make coffee for Carmela and myself, while she's finishing up paperwork at her desk. This is when we get to talk to her about food, people, animals, books, and everything else under the sun. Slowly everybody goes to their apartments and only the three of us remain. We like to sit around the fire and drink a little wine, eat some dinner, play cards. There's not a TV, so we have to entertain ourselves. We're always in bed by ten, and up early for another day of work on the farm.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Catching Up
Well, we definitely are not going to go hungry.
This is going to be a very extensive post because there is so much to catch up on. I'll try to go in chronological order...
Washington, DC
My first time to visit our capitol. Arrived in DC November 23rd. Took the Metro to Ali's apartment to meet Erin. We met with Ali when she finished work. It was so nice to be together and I felt especially lucky to see Ali twice in two weeks. The next day, while Ali was at work, Erin and I walked around The Mall. We saw the WWII Memorial, the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial (And Erin, he is STILL following me around. Saw the statue of him at West Minister in London), and the White House. I really enjoyed our conversations there. Which included mixed feelings about WWII, what was Lincoln's real agenda, and conspiracies of the government. I was happy that I wasn't completely in the dark on historical events. I realized that if I only relied on my education of social studies from Arts, I wouldn't know anything! And so, I am grateful for all the documentaries and historical movies Mack and Lewis made us watch over the years. A short but sweet visit. Then off to NYC!
Thanksgiving
This was my favorite New York Thanksgiving. Wonderful food, people, and music. Had a great time hanging out with the family. Thank you all for watching Muppets Christmas Carol. Loved our 4 hour version of The Tunnel. The opera was wonderful. I miss you all so much already!
Fela!
Erin, Ryan and I went to see the musical Fela!
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That only touches a little bit of the greatness of this show. I looked over at Erin almost every 10 minutes with a look of astonishment. Here is a wonderful description and overview of Fela's life I asked Erin to write. We have both been big fans of Fela and Femi Kuti's (Fela's son) music for a while. But this musical reminded us of all the hardships in Fela's life and his fight for a better one.
"Fela Anikulapo-Kuti (1938-1997) was a Nigerian revolutionary musician-politician and spiritual leader. Fela created Afrobeat music, combining African, Cuban, and American funk and jazz influences. Through his music and direct political action, he challenged the corrupt authority structure of post-colonial Nigeria, and contemporary neo-colonialist globalization. The son of a pastor, Fela criticized organized religion, hearkening rather to the traditional African gods of Nigeria and assuming the role of Chief Priest within his self-declared community. His life is now commemorated in a Broadway production, Fela!, currently being performed at the Eugene Oneill theatre in Manhattan.
In the show, Fela Kuti's presence and personality are evoked in the context of the elaborate stage performance which in life he referred to as the "Underground Spiritual Game". The set is a reproduction of the Afrika Shrine, the music club Fela established in Lagos, Nigeria. The walls are cluttered with political manifesto, symbols of pan-Africanism, and memorabilia venerating the Orishas, the Yoruba ancestor-gods, and Fela's mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, a leading Nigerian nationalist and feminist. At any given moment, over 30 performers join actor Sahr Ngauraj as he portrays Fela on the stage. He is accompanied by a full band-- drums, guitars, horns, keys-- and an ensemble of costumed, painted dancers, female and male alike, super-charged with energy and sexuality.
The audience at the Oneill theatre is addressed as if it were the regular gathering at the Afrika Shrine in Lagos, on the occasion of what was to be Fela's final show. Fela speaks to the audience directly, recapping, between jokes and songs, his personal and musical development, and the social and historical scene of his life and the movement that thrived around it. The show hinges on Fela's supplication to the spirit of his mother, killed due to a raid by the Nigerian military, for her blessing on him to leave Nigeria. He wishes to escape the country for his own safety, and to spread his message, and gain fame and fortune in exile. Funmilayo's blessing is denied, in a majestic, magical scene in which Fela meets his mother in the realm beyond the grave. She commands him to stay in Nigeria and fight for his people, even if it means forfeiting his life.
Having been exposed to Fela's musical style and political message through performances of his son, Femi, who has carried on his father's tradition, I came to the show prepared to be confronted with a world for which I have secretly yearned: a world not only of strong, beautiful performers, but, more elusively, one of clear moral ground. Fela, and Femi after him, perform bare-chested; their authority is established, if on no other basis, upon their confident, naked presence on the stage. Deep into their long, intricate, fervent grooves, they sing-talk in pidgin English of the hypocrisy, corruption, brutality, and waste that characterize global politics. They point to the greed of governments and multinational corporations, the harsh legacy of colonialism in Africa, and the world's blindness to that continent's suffering. The irresistible music and performance literally evoke a full-body response to complement a moral and political message that remains valid today. The dancers establish the community encircling the personality of their leader, and demonstrate the vitality and fun with which this community is infused.
I step away from the performance and back into New York City with an empty feeling, a nostalgia for a home I have never known. Many people today, even those who like myself are not old enough to have been there, are wistful for a time when there was a clear distinction between right and wrong, when great sacrifices were asked of the underdog in the name of his or her beliefs, and were joyfully made; a time when beliefs and actions, community and creativity could all be synchronized. Today it seems that we are infinitely more fractured, that individuals are more alienated than ever from the community, the land, and the past, that issues facing society are more nuanced and unrelatable, or so huge, complex, and imminent that we are paralyzed. America seems to have fallen into a deep sleep of denial, in which our outrage and our impulse for collective action flounder under the heavy sedative effects of materialism or paranoia.
We might question whether the issues were ever less nuanced, or communities ever truly solidary, whether the line between right and wrong has ever truly been defined. While the atmosphere of collective idealism evoked by Fela! and mentioned above is not entirely mythical-- there have been many such instances, from the 1960s in the US to the time of early Christianity-- every time, place, and movement carries its own hypocrisies and corruptions. The dichotomies of right and wrong, or good and evil, are always dubious, and have a life of their own within each individual. At times, Fela himself was seen as a tyrant among his community, a womanizer, a diva, another thug politician. The euphoria of communal welfare and the inspiration provided by strong personalities like Fela's at some point give way to the truth that the world we live in is lonely, complicated, and confusing.
Interestingly, there occurs in the show a moment wherein Fela himself belies this truth and his own humanity. Sitting on the edge of the stage, he muses that his life used to seem to have meaning. It was like a fairy-tale, he remembers, or a movie. Things mattered, and things were going to happen. Fela suggests that the narrative thread of his life will be lost if he must remain in Nigeria, where the constant harassment and hostility of the government will destroy everything he has created, and render his struggle meaningless.
There is something very poignant and true in Funmilayo's refusal to condone Fela's escape. If it is true that in life Fela wished to leave Africa forever, to leave behind the Afrika Shrine, along with Nigeria and its parasitical government, perhaps it is precisely that which kept him there that confirms Fela's true status as a prophet. Maybe he would have been merely a thug or a musician on an ego trip, taking advantage of people's dissatisfaction for the sake of his own glorification, had he left Nigeria and attained international stardom, played with Bob Marley, toured Europe and America, and grown celebrated and rich. His journey through the spirit world to meet his murdered mother, and ultimately, his assent to remain in Nigeria, the land of his ancestors and the home of the people for whom he fought, demonstrate that Fela was in touch with an authority that went beyond his musical talent, his natural charm, and his muscular male torso on the stage. He communed with the orishas, he spoke with the dead, and he himself submitted his will to a higher, maternal authority, representing ancestral divinity, Mother Nigeria, and Mother Africa. To carry on the comparison, Fela's request to leave Nigeria is not unlike Jesus's final plea for reprieve on the cross, and Funmilayo's intransigence contains the same final import as God's silent answer on Calvary: the message is that in the face of blind brutality and seeming chaos, when the world seems too frustrating and hopeless to tolerate, in these times, though escape may be desirable, it is impossible. Our world is a closed system, in which we are inextricably tied to our roots.
Despite his arguable shortcomings, we must not forget the courage that was required of Fela to stand up to the unscrupulous Nigerian government and the strong economic interests of the British Petroleum conglomerate. Refusing to leave the table, he offered a new way of thinking which challenged the contemporary colonialist mentality, and established a way of life, a medium of expression, and a vision for the future which all stemmed from an intimate connection with the spiritual heritage of the people involved. It was organic, it was holistic, and it was o-ri-gi-nal: no artificiality."-Erin Lierl
I know it's a little strange to keep going after that but I must...
Rome
Ryan and I spent a wonderful day in Rome and had a very exciting surprise. I will let him tell you the story so that he can write it in Italian. His Italian, by the way, has been a God send. He's been speaking a lot and I think everyone really thinks he is Italian!
Boccea
Wednesday we arrived at the farm. Just an hour and a half trip northwest of Rome. First thing we did when arrived was put down our bags and eat! Rice and lentils, salad, fresh olives, and greens. Carmella, our supervisor, served us mountain sized portions of each. Carmella and Bogdhan (Carmella's brother) are Romanian. They run the farm with Antonio (Carmella's husband from Sardinia), Christian (he is half Italian and half German), and a few other people. Miss Anna is the owner. The story goes, Miss Anna's grandfather was a friend of Mussolini. Mussolini gave this land to Miss Anna's grandfather. He then built the houses that are here. Now, there are only two buildings that can be occupied. The rest are in ruins around the land. We stay in one, and Miss Anna runs a bed and breakfast from the other. Here is the website so you can see...
http://http//www.agricolaboccea.it/default.asp?pag=chisiamo
We've been harvesting the vegetables, maintaining the courtyard, and Ryan had to round up the cattle today. Tomorrow and Sunday are our days off. We plan to use them to relax and do some exploring.
OH! I almost forgot to mention someone very important. Dali. The goat. Already we have wittnessed Dali's mischeviousness of eating things she's not supposed to. I hear almost 10 times a day Carmella yelling at her in Romanian. "No! Dali!" Dali is a tibetent goat that Carmella has had since she was the size of a fist. Now, she's the size of a yoga ball. Probably the roundest goat I've ever seen. I say roundest instead of fattest because Bogdhan tells her when I say she's fat. Then she looks at me with a very disturbing look. She's already rammed into one of the dogs here causing him to only be able to walk on three legs. I'm not taking any chances.
I hope this isn't too long and that you were able to make it all the way to the end. I don't think I'll be able to put up pictures until we return to Rome. Will keep updating on stories though. Love to you all!
Medora
No spell check and too tired to read over. Hope it's ok.
This is going to be a very extensive post because there is so much to catch up on. I'll try to go in chronological order...
Washington, DC
My first time to visit our capitol. Arrived in DC November 23rd. Took the Metro to Ali's apartment to meet Erin. We met with Ali when she finished work. It was so nice to be together and I felt especially lucky to see Ali twice in two weeks. The next day, while Ali was at work, Erin and I walked around The Mall. We saw the WWII Memorial, the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial (And Erin, he is STILL following me around. Saw the statue of him at West Minister in London), and the White House. I really enjoyed our conversations there. Which included mixed feelings about WWII, what was Lincoln's real agenda, and conspiracies of the government. I was happy that I wasn't completely in the dark on historical events. I realized that if I only relied on my education of social studies from Arts, I wouldn't know anything! And so, I am grateful for all the documentaries and historical movies Mack and Lewis made us watch over the years. A short but sweet visit. Then off to NYC!
Thanksgiving
This was my favorite New York Thanksgiving. Wonderful food, people, and music. Had a great time hanging out with the family. Thank you all for watching Muppets Christmas Carol. Loved our 4 hour version of The Tunnel. The opera was wonderful. I miss you all so much already!
Fela!
Erin, Ryan and I went to see the musical Fela!
http://www.youtube.com/v/gueOZcklwSg&hl=en_US&fs=1&">
That only touches a little bit of the greatness of this show. I looked over at Erin almost every 10 minutes with a look of astonishment. Here is a wonderful description and overview of Fela's life I asked Erin to write. We have both been big fans of Fela and Femi Kuti's (Fela's son) music for a while. But this musical reminded us of all the hardships in Fela's life and his fight for a better one.
"Fela Anikulapo-Kuti (1938-1997) was a Nigerian revolutionary musician-politician and spiritual leader. Fela created Afrobeat music, combining African, Cuban, and American funk and jazz influences. Through his music and direct political action, he challenged the corrupt authority structure of post-colonial Nigeria, and contemporary neo-colonialist globalization. The son of a pastor, Fela criticized organized religion, hearkening rather to the traditional African gods of Nigeria and assuming the role of Chief Priest within his self-declared community. His life is now commemorated in a Broadway production, Fela!, currently being performed at the Eugene Oneill theatre in Manhattan.
In the show, Fela Kuti's presence and personality are evoked in the context of the elaborate stage performance which in life he referred to as the "Underground Spiritual Game". The set is a reproduction of the Afrika Shrine, the music club Fela established in Lagos, Nigeria. The walls are cluttered with political manifesto, symbols of pan-Africanism, and memorabilia venerating the Orishas, the Yoruba ancestor-gods, and Fela's mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, a leading Nigerian nationalist and feminist. At any given moment, over 30 performers join actor Sahr Ngauraj as he portrays Fela on the stage. He is accompanied by a full band-- drums, guitars, horns, keys-- and an ensemble of costumed, painted dancers, female and male alike, super-charged with energy and sexuality.
The audience at the Oneill theatre is addressed as if it were the regular gathering at the Afrika Shrine in Lagos, on the occasion of what was to be Fela's final show. Fela speaks to the audience directly, recapping, between jokes and songs, his personal and musical development, and the social and historical scene of his life and the movement that thrived around it. The show hinges on Fela's supplication to the spirit of his mother, killed due to a raid by the Nigerian military, for her blessing on him to leave Nigeria. He wishes to escape the country for his own safety, and to spread his message, and gain fame and fortune in exile. Funmilayo's blessing is denied, in a majestic, magical scene in which Fela meets his mother in the realm beyond the grave. She commands him to stay in Nigeria and fight for his people, even if it means forfeiting his life.
Having been exposed to Fela's musical style and political message through performances of his son, Femi, who has carried on his father's tradition, I came to the show prepared to be confronted with a world for which I have secretly yearned: a world not only of strong, beautiful performers, but, more elusively, one of clear moral ground. Fela, and Femi after him, perform bare-chested; their authority is established, if on no other basis, upon their confident, naked presence on the stage. Deep into their long, intricate, fervent grooves, they sing-talk in pidgin English of the hypocrisy, corruption, brutality, and waste that characterize global politics. They point to the greed of governments and multinational corporations, the harsh legacy of colonialism in Africa, and the world's blindness to that continent's suffering. The irresistible music and performance literally evoke a full-body response to complement a moral and political message that remains valid today. The dancers establish the community encircling the personality of their leader, and demonstrate the vitality and fun with which this community is infused.
I step away from the performance and back into New York City with an empty feeling, a nostalgia for a home I have never known. Many people today, even those who like myself are not old enough to have been there, are wistful for a time when there was a clear distinction between right and wrong, when great sacrifices were asked of the underdog in the name of his or her beliefs, and were joyfully made; a time when beliefs and actions, community and creativity could all be synchronized. Today it seems that we are infinitely more fractured, that individuals are more alienated than ever from the community, the land, and the past, that issues facing society are more nuanced and unrelatable, or so huge, complex, and imminent that we are paralyzed. America seems to have fallen into a deep sleep of denial, in which our outrage and our impulse for collective action flounder under the heavy sedative effects of materialism or paranoia.
We might question whether the issues were ever less nuanced, or communities ever truly solidary, whether the line between right and wrong has ever truly been defined. While the atmosphere of collective idealism evoked by Fela! and mentioned above is not entirely mythical-- there have been many such instances, from the 1960s in the US to the time of early Christianity-- every time, place, and movement carries its own hypocrisies and corruptions. The dichotomies of right and wrong, or good and evil, are always dubious, and have a life of their own within each individual. At times, Fela himself was seen as a tyrant among his community, a womanizer, a diva, another thug politician. The euphoria of communal welfare and the inspiration provided by strong personalities like Fela's at some point give way to the truth that the world we live in is lonely, complicated, and confusing.
Interestingly, there occurs in the show a moment wherein Fela himself belies this truth and his own humanity. Sitting on the edge of the stage, he muses that his life used to seem to have meaning. It was like a fairy-tale, he remembers, or a movie. Things mattered, and things were going to happen. Fela suggests that the narrative thread of his life will be lost if he must remain in Nigeria, where the constant harassment and hostility of the government will destroy everything he has created, and render his struggle meaningless.
There is something very poignant and true in Funmilayo's refusal to condone Fela's escape. If it is true that in life Fela wished to leave Africa forever, to leave behind the Afrika Shrine, along with Nigeria and its parasitical government, perhaps it is precisely that which kept him there that confirms Fela's true status as a prophet. Maybe he would have been merely a thug or a musician on an ego trip, taking advantage of people's dissatisfaction for the sake of his own glorification, had he left Nigeria and attained international stardom, played with Bob Marley, toured Europe and America, and grown celebrated and rich. His journey through the spirit world to meet his murdered mother, and ultimately, his assent to remain in Nigeria, the land of his ancestors and the home of the people for whom he fought, demonstrate that Fela was in touch with an authority that went beyond his musical talent, his natural charm, and his muscular male torso on the stage. He communed with the orishas, he spoke with the dead, and he himself submitted his will to a higher, maternal authority, representing ancestral divinity, Mother Nigeria, and Mother Africa. To carry on the comparison, Fela's request to leave Nigeria is not unlike Jesus's final plea for reprieve on the cross, and Funmilayo's intransigence contains the same final import as God's silent answer on Calvary: the message is that in the face of blind brutality and seeming chaos, when the world seems too frustrating and hopeless to tolerate, in these times, though escape may be desirable, it is impossible. Our world is a closed system, in which we are inextricably tied to our roots.
Despite his arguable shortcomings, we must not forget the courage that was required of Fela to stand up to the unscrupulous Nigerian government and the strong economic interests of the British Petroleum conglomerate. Refusing to leave the table, he offered a new way of thinking which challenged the contemporary colonialist mentality, and established a way of life, a medium of expression, and a vision for the future which all stemmed from an intimate connection with the spiritual heritage of the people involved. It was organic, it was holistic, and it was o-ri-gi-nal: no artificiality."-Erin Lierl
I know it's a little strange to keep going after that but I must...
Gumbo
Here is a picture of the gumbo we made in NYC. It was delicious. Roux took 2 hours. Turkey and sausage.
Eddie Izzard
We flew in to London on our way to Rome to see Eddie Izzard live. He was HILARIOUS. Even with the jet lag we had the best time EVER.
Just a taste of his genius. Please watch till the end. You won't be sorry.Rome
Ryan and I spent a wonderful day in Rome and had a very exciting surprise. I will let him tell you the story so that he can write it in Italian. His Italian, by the way, has been a God send. He's been speaking a lot and I think everyone really thinks he is Italian!
Boccea
Wednesday we arrived at the farm. Just an hour and a half trip northwest of Rome. First thing we did when arrived was put down our bags and eat! Rice and lentils, salad, fresh olives, and greens. Carmella, our supervisor, served us mountain sized portions of each. Carmella and Bogdhan (Carmella's brother) are Romanian. They run the farm with Antonio (Carmella's husband from Sardinia), Christian (he is half Italian and half German), and a few other people. Miss Anna is the owner. The story goes, Miss Anna's grandfather was a friend of Mussolini. Mussolini gave this land to Miss Anna's grandfather. He then built the houses that are here. Now, there are only two buildings that can be occupied. The rest are in ruins around the land. We stay in one, and Miss Anna runs a bed and breakfast from the other. Here is the website so you can see...
http://http//www.agricolaboccea.it/default.asp?pag=chisiamo
We've been harvesting the vegetables, maintaining the courtyard, and Ryan had to round up the cattle today. Tomorrow and Sunday are our days off. We plan to use them to relax and do some exploring.
OH! I almost forgot to mention someone very important. Dali. The goat. Already we have wittnessed Dali's mischeviousness of eating things she's not supposed to. I hear almost 10 times a day Carmella yelling at her in Romanian. "No! Dali!" Dali is a tibetent goat that Carmella has had since she was the size of a fist. Now, she's the size of a yoga ball. Probably the roundest goat I've ever seen. I say roundest instead of fattest because Bogdhan tells her when I say she's fat. Then she looks at me with a very disturbing look. She's already rammed into one of the dogs here causing him to only be able to walk on three legs. I'm not taking any chances.
I hope this isn't too long and that you were able to make it all the way to the end. I don't think I'll be able to put up pictures until we return to Rome. Will keep updating on stories though. Love to you all!
Medora
No spell check and too tired to read over. Hope it's ok.
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