“It’s a Danish Tradition!”

I keep doing this. I think to myself, “Oh, I know! I’ll write a little bit every day about what I do, and then at the end of my time in the certain place, I’ll just post it all at once!” It seems like a good idea every single time I think about it. And yet… I never do it. I guess it requires more discipline than I am master of.

Anyhow.

I hope you all had a truly wonderful Christmas and a fantastic New Year’s Eve. I wish you all a very, very happy 2009. Any resolutions?

And now, onto the stories:

Denmark

We spent the week of the 21-28th of December in Silkeborg, a town in Denmark where my Dad’s friends, the Rasmussens, live. We visited them once before, when I was eight years old. As I’m sure you can imagine, this time was a very different experience! My recollection of our visit thirteen years ago largely involved horses and cats. And that was pretty much it—Kirsten, their daughter who is my age, spoke virtually no English. Lise, their eldest daughter, spoke some… and was the coolest person ever because she not only rode horses, but also drew them. The boys, Alan and Christian, don’t feature prominently in my memory of the time.

This time around, there were still horses and cats (ok, one of each), and they contributed to the overall experience, for sure. Josephine is a cat of no particular pedigree who rules the Rasmussen roost. It is virtually unheard of for anyone to walk into the home and greet someone else before the cat. She probably doesn’t spend more than ten minutes at one time on her feet, because someone is always sweeping her up to cuddle her. She constantly smells like somebody’s perfume—whoever last cuddled her. That is not the extent of Josephine’s involvement in the home, though. She has her own chair at the dinner table. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. It’s the one thing that she is allowed to claw in the house, and she does so with enthusiasm… but it is also pulled up to the table during mealtimes, so she doesn’t feel left out. I’m utterly serious about this one. If someone else sits in the chair at dinnertime (as Christian did once), then she will let her resentment be known, and claw the perpetrator to shreds. Well, she’ll try at least. Other than that, she is a very civil feline, and I like her rather a lot.

Quelle, the horse, lives in a stable a few kilometres away from this house. She belongs jointly to Kirsten, Lise, and Dorthe (their mother), and is rather keen on me… but only as a food item. She and I get along just fine. I stroke her head, she chews on my clothes. What’s not to love? She is a very well behaved horse, though, and it’s fun to watch her jump. Kirsten and Lise are both good riders, and are the ones who were responsible for breaking Quelle in and training her. It’s clearly going well!

Back at the Rasmussen homestead (where Josephine was still the presiding dictator), Christmas was in full swing. You’d be surprised what can be explained away as “a Danish tradition.” I believed them about the food, the candles on the tree, the dancing around the tree while singing Christmas carols… but there would come points where I was a bit sceptical. I think some of the time they just made stuff up, to see if calling it a “Danish tradition” would convince my dad and me to do it.

Regardless of whether we were fooled or not, Christmas was still an absolutely beautiful event. Many people were in the house on Christmas Eve, appreciating the food and wine, dancing around the Christmas tree, singing, and opening gifts. I didn’t expect to get any presents, but I was given a pair of slipper clogs (oh yes, it’s true) from some of the Rasmussen’s family in Holland, a gorgeous scarf from Afghanistan from Frits and Dorthe, and some really lovely gold hoop earrings with rose quartz that the Rasmussen “kids” (offspring? Second generation?) gave me. It was just fun to be there, and experience all the happiness and warmth of a family on Christmas—even if it mostly wasn’t my family. (The rest of the family was, incidentally, snowed into the house in Washington. What is going on with the weather there?)

As a whole, the time spent in Denmark was really lovely. I bonded with Josephine and Quelle, and Lise and Kirsten proved to be helpful allies in teasing my dad at every opportunity. It was good to have some back up. Plus, it’s always incredibly generous to take lost and lonely tourists in on Christmas—and we are certainly grateful that they did!

Also, I would like the recipe for the rice pudding dessert they made us… but that may be my downfall, because I could eat it every single day.

Italy Round I (The Southern Version)

On Sunday the 28th, Frits, Dorthe, my dad, and I flew to their house in southern Italy. (In case anyone is keeping track, I have now been to 21 countries and am 21 years old. Somehow, this is cool in my mind.) Italy is unbelievably beautiful. The Mediterranean Sea is a lovely turquoise, the mountains are high, and the villages are charming. We got to Italy on Sunday evening, so the real adventures began on Monday.

On Monday we took ourselves for a walk along the beach, and I marvelled at the intense colour. It was very nice just strolling along the beach and listening to the waves. That afternoon we went to a small village called Badalato. It was founded about 1000 years ago, and is clustered all together on a mountain overlooking the sea. (I know, right? I want to live there too.) The streets are incredibly narrow and steep and the houses are crammed up against each other. I have a sneaking suspicion that if you removed one, they would all fall down. Bits of the city are in disrepair, and others have already been redone. It is absolutely, utterly charming. We all know how much I love postcards, but I till revelled in the complete lack of them in this town; it wasn’t touristy at all, and trust me, I appreciated that.

That night we returned to Badalato for an 8:00 dinner in the most adorable restaurant I have ever personally experienced. As we walked down the narrow street toward it, the doorway glowed, the only light on the street. The restaurant was run by a woman (the cook) and her son (the server). They spoke no English, as far as I could tell, and every food item was homemade: the wine, the bread, the pasta, the limoncello, everything. I was so impressed with everything, I took notes. I wanted to share it all with you as best I could.

To set the scene, picture this: Among the seven people present, three languages were spoken fluently and/or exclusively. These were Danish, German, and English. As you may have noticed, “Italian” was not included in that list. That’s ok, though, because it’s a set menu. Once you’ve been identified as a vegetarian, you’re good. And then the courses begin.

I’ve never had a meal with real courses, before. I was a bit nervous. The antipasti arrived in front of me, and was it ever delicious! Bruscetta, olives, some sort of white cheese (no, it wasn’t mozzarella), mushrooms (that the cook had picked herself), sundried tomatoes, artichoke hearts, bread… and olive oil. Oh man, the olive oil. That in and of itself was like an art form. It coated your lips every time you took a bite, but somehow nothing felt greasy. It had its own, subtle flavour that complimented the food just the right way. It was perfect.

Having finished my antipasti, I was quite satisfied. Another piece of bread, the rest of my earthenware mug of homemade wine, and I would have been satiated. The plates were cleared and were shortly replaced with heaping dishes of homemade pasta and mushrooms. If I had thought the antipasti was good, this was nothing short of heaven. Why don’t people make pasta from scratch all the time? Why don’t we serve it with olive oil? I’m not a big mushroom fan, but I even thought the mushrooms in this case were ok. It was magical. But… it was filling. I got halfway through the plate and experienced sheer panic. There was no way I could eat all this! No possible way. And yet, there was more food coming. It was a type of anxiety that was totally foreign to me, but it was very real. The server had mocked Dorthe last time she was here, for not being able to eat all of her food. Evidently she was a disgrace to Italy, Denmark, and the server himself. I was understandably nervous. The plates were cleared, and I tried not to make eye contact with the server as he removed my half-finished plate.

Several panic-filled minutes later, the main course arrived. Thank god I’m vegetarian. Vegetables are much lighter than meat, and I managed to finish my plate of green beans and potatoes (also with olive oil, of course—also delicious) with only a slight grimace toward the end. Dorthe was caught sharing her food with Robert. The plates were cleared. We breathed sighs of relief.

Then came the limoncello. The homemade limoncello. I had never had it before, and was rather impressed. Other guests at the table assured us that this was dessert, and we had nothing more to fear. I’ve never been so relieved to not have dessert before. We stumbled out of the restaurant, full of olive oil and homemade wine, and made our way back to bed. Dinner had taken two and a half hours.

On Tuesday we got up at 6:30, and set off for Pompei. What an absolutely surreal experience! I am sure you are all familiar with the story of Pompei, so I’ll spare you the details, but it was incredible to walk the streets of a town that had been a thriving area two thousand years ago. There were still ruts in the stone streets from the chariots that had thundered down them centuries before. Murals were still on the walls inside some of the houses, and detailed mosaics could be found on the floor. The Roman bath in particular was a sight to be seen. The ceiling and walls were carved, and the bathing areas were exquisitely decorated. In a display area you could see vases, a chariot, some small pieces of art, and various bodies (human and canine) that had been found with the city was re-discovered about 100 years ago.

Today we went on an adventure to a nearby series of shops (very profitable!) and then up into the mountains. The photos do not do it justice; the trees, the winding roads, the houses are unlike anything else. I think I will be very fond of Italy.
‘Specially after I get me some of them purty sunglasses.