How to not look American when ordering Italian coffee

You might think you are a whiz at navigating through the Starbucks size system, and you might have firm opinions on whether to freeze or not freeze your coffee beans, but for all your java mojo, you will look like a jerk if you come to Italy and order an Cafe Americano. But the problem is, sometimes you just want a plain cup of black coffee. Here is how to get it done without revealing your national identity. Order an espresso, wait a beat and then pretend to remember that you also need some hot water (maybe you are one of those types who drink their water hot). Give the motion for another, bigger cup (in case your Italian is not up to snuff, this is where charades comes in handy) ... for all the waiter knows, you might be ordering the hot water for someone else who might be joining you. Once all is said and done, take the bigger cup, pour your expresso into it, pour in a healthy splash of the aqua caldo and viola: black coffee without looking like an American goofball.

Miracle Mud?

You will be hard pressed to find Montecatini in tour books, but it world renowned for its miracle waters and muds. The waters are for bathing or drinking (depending on your condition), and the mud is for slathering. I figured when in Montecatini to do as the Montecatinians do, and got slathered. Isabella generously glopped at least 5 pounds of local mud on my face and left me facially weighted down for 20 minutes. When my time was up, she returned with her pail and shovel and dug me out. A mini hose filled with thermal water was then used (at full pressure no less) to make sure I didn't walk away with any miracle mud as a souvenir. Little does Isabella know that I swallowed some before she rinsed me off. Hey, you never know when you need a little miracle.

Who shops here?

I don't want to pass judgement (I prefer instead to infer), but this mannequin spoke volumes to me. Imagine if every shop showcased their clothes to fit the sizes they were designed for. I wonder if people would shop less? Perhaps this is why the Italian economy is doing so poorly.

Under the Tuscan Sun

Forte dei Marmi is a small(ish) beachside town in Tuscany. There are relatively no tourists and most people travel around on their bicycles or on foot. The local wines are better than some of the best wines I have had in the states and the alcohol volume is far greater.




The older woman stand knee deep in the water discussing the virtues of frutti di mer in white versus red sauce, while the children play made up games of kadima in a sandbox versus halo. For all the reconfigured food triangles and attempts to revive the antiquated U.S. physical education system, perhaps we should just force American youngsters outside with nothing more than their imaginations.

Georgio where are you?

Lake Como, Italy is known for many things, but of late it has become synonomous with the place where George Clooney summers. So, I went in search. Lake Como sits at a mountain base (views of the Alps are visable), and razor-thin roads lead you around the lake from the bustling city of Lake Como to the more serene village of Domaso. The midway point is Bellagio (which, for those of you following along, is my B for this trip. Botswana took more planning.) Along the way, I found roadways built for one car, but used by two; homes so grand, yet whose entrances are marred by the scars vehicles have left by trying to squeeze past one another; ubiquitous gelato bars; fashion-forward residents, but no George. So long as he is not off filming Oceans 14 ...

Meet Marco

There is this Italian guy who we will call Marco (because it sounds Italian and because it is his name), and we got to know one another through this very blog. He stumbled upon my yearning posts from Afghanistan where there was no red wine to be found. It is easy to write about many disastrous things in Afghanistan, yet I chose to focus on the lack of red wine as after a hard day of AK-47s and burquas, all I wanted was a nice of vino rosso. Anyway, Marco wrote to me and told tale of his home in the Piedmont region of Italy that overlooked vineyards and where there was an abundance of red wine. He said I was invited to stay at his guest villa once I safely returned from Afghanistan. Well, a year later (and many exchanged emails), I took him up on it. So here is the first picture of new new e-friend Marco and his wife, Carol, as we enjoyed as much red wine as Italy had to offer. I look forward to sampling even more!