Thursday, October 21, 2021: Villa Ca' Driano
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| The view from the villa |
On Thursday morning, we packed ourselves up and bid Venice arrivederci.
Last time, we sailed out of Venice on board the Royal Caribbean cruise ship,
Rhapsody of the Seas; two years later, cruise ships are no longer
permitted into the island's port, since their coming and going has inflicted
considerable environmental damage to the city. The new restrictions are
understandable yet sad, for seeing Venice from the deck of our ship as we
slowly sailed past was a memory I will always treasure. This time, we rode a
bus from the station at the north end of the island to
Marco Polo International Airport, where we picked up a rental car,
which Terry had reserved, to last us for the remainder of our trip. From
there, we drove to the tiny town of Monteveglio,
near Bologna, a couple of hours northward.
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Ms. B. checks out the lemons growing at Ca' Driana |
Our home away-from-home here took my breath away. It's a roughly century-old
villa called
Ca' Driano (meaning House of Driano — presumably the founding family), which perches
high on a mountaintop. From this vantage point, the villa offers staggering
views of the surrounding countryside in every direction. The house itself is
rustic, spacious, and comfortable, offering just about every amenity one could
ask for. Our proprietors were a lovely, loquacious lady named Wilma and her
somewhat more reserved husband, whom we called Fred (we didn't determine until
our final day his actual name is Aristede). They live in the house next door
and take care of the property as if it were their own. Fred doesn't speak
English, so Wilma translates for him (their spirited interactions frequently
had us rolling). They seemed to take us under their wings right away, and made
us feel welcome and then some for our entire stay. (In fact, the more
imaginative of our gang couldn't help but wonder if we were actually being
fattened up for some unspeakable ritual to occur at some point during our
stay. Well, we're still alive and kicking, don't you know... at least for
now.)
During our conversations, we determined Fred was a hunter who loved to cook
the game he hunted. And when he found out I possessed keen carnivorous
tendencies, he brought us a pheasant that he had shot just a few days before.
I promised that I would handle its preparation during our visit.
For our first night's dinner, Wilma recommended a wonderful restaurant: a
place called
Trattoria del Borgo
at the site of an ancient abbey just outside of Monteveglio. An incredibly
beautiful location — and what a fantastic dinner. We shared an amazing bottle
of wine, locally made, and I had a wild boar stew that was probably the most
delicious — and most memorable — meal of the entire trip. To top things off,
there was a cache on the premises that I found after dinner, rounding out
things on an even sweeter note.
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| Darkness falling over Casa Ca Driano |
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| Ristorante Trattoria del Borgo at the old abbey outside of Monteveglio |
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| Old dude signs the cache log |
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| Our hostess, Wilma, introducing our gang to Casa Ca' Driano |
Friday, October 22, 2021: Flogging and a Bunch o' Bologna
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| Old dude lines up for a solid duff |
Several weeks ago, with friend Terry, I played golf for the first time in
about a decade. It was enjoyable enough, though "rusty" doesn't begin to
describe my golfing prowess. In the photo above, you see Terry about to
whack the living daylights out of a golf ball while playing at Golf Club Monteveglio. Somehow, he convinced me to join him in a round of golf, largely so we
could claim to have played golf in Italy. The golf course was nearby, they
had plenty of tee times available, and we could rent a bag of clubs (and a
cart) once we got there. Being the gluttons for punishment we are, we headed
on out, communicated with the pro using our best Italian (we didn't get
pitched out the door on our heads, somewhat to our surprise), saddled up,
and hit the links. I'll not say we didn't hit some mighty good golf shots;
we did. But at the end of the round, we'd lost all ten balls we'd purchased
and a couple of extra that came with the bag (it's a narrow course with lots
of water hazards; I stand by that explanation). It was fun,
but a spectacularly unimpressive round for the both of us. In fact, at
the end of it all, I felt obliged to offer an apology to the sport of golf
and to Italy in general.
Once back at Ca' Driano, we got tidied up, grabbed the women, and set out
for the city of Bologna, just a few miles up the road from
Monteveglio. Ms. B. was particularly keen on visiting the old quarter in the
city center, so we struggled through the considerable Bologna traffic and
found ourselves a parking garage within reasonable walking distance of our
destination.
Bologna was a madhouse. Even in the old quarter, where the majority of
traffic is on foot, cars still zip back and forth and round and round at
stunning speed. Numerous times while walking, we had to dodge vehicles
driven by madfolk who weren't about to slow down for anything as paltry as
pedestrians. Now, it's pretty much like this all over Europe, but at least
on this day in Bologna, the nastiness reached daunting proportions. We did
at least find some decent food and drink — Bistro Roberto was pretty nice, the Tagliatella con Ragu pleasing to the palate. I
snagged a couple of caches while Ms. B. and the others went shopping. We
didn't care to stay around very late, so after dinner we headed on back to
the car.
Fun fact about Europe: oftentimes, little things — such as how you pay for
parking your car in a public lot — differ just enough from what we're
accustomed to, at least in our part of the US, that it can create small
amounts of havoc. Sometimes slightly larger amounts. In this case, we had a
gate ticket and didn't realize you pay for it in a separate area, not when
you leave the garage, as we typically do back home. So, we ended up getting
stuck in the garage for a while as we sorted out the proper procedure. The
problem was that, once Terry inserted the ticket
which would have opened the gate had we already paid, the
machine ate the ticket and refused to let us out. This necessitated a call
to an attendant, who resided lord knows how many miles (or perhaps I should
say kilometers) away and whose grasp of English roughly equaled our grasp of
Italian. There was considerable back and forth that got us nowhere, until
finally, in exasperation, the kind signore opened the gate for us
remotely, clearly to shut us up and get us the hell out of his hair.
Lesson learned. But at the end of the day, Bologna endeared itself to us
less than most of the other places in Italy we visited. Or let us say all,
rather than most of. Returning to Ca' Driano was a relief. Or would have
been, except for Il Zanzara (The Mosquito). This second
night wasn't as bad as the first, but it was clear the little bastard was
still around by the number of bites I woke up with the next morning.
Saturday, October 23, 2021: No Wine for You!
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| The view from some hillside outside Monteveglio |
The first thing I did upon waking on Saturday morning was pluck and prep the
pheasant that Fred had given me, since at least a couple of us planned on
having it for dinner. Now, I have never plucked and cleaned a whole bird
before, so I did a quick look on YouTube for some tips, and then went to
town. I've gotta tell you, it went swimmingly. I trussed up the bird; put it
in a bath in wine, olive oil, butter, onions, and herbs; and stuck it in the
fridge so it'd be ready for roasting later in the day.
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| The bird before |
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| "Get that camera out of my face while I am cheffing!" |
There are all kinds of wineries in the region, and we had figured it
wouldn't be hard to track down at least a couple. We did, but as it turned
out, the few we found were either not open at all or required appointments
for tastings. So, we satisfied ourselves jaunting about some of the scenic
backroads to see what we might see. One of the coolest spots we found was
one of the many ancient castles throughout the countryside. This one
was Castello di Serraville, where I did find a cool
geocache.
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| Castello di Serraville |
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| The bird after |
After a fairly lengthy sightseeing venture, our gang headed back to the villa. We enjoyed a few miscellaneous nibbles during the afternoon, and a bit later, I finished prepping the bird and got it roasting in the oven. Once again, not having prepared pheasant before, I trusted in intuition, long experience cooking critters in general, and a fair amount of hope that the experiment would not end in disaster.
Our very kind co-host, Fred, had not only given us a pheasant but a bottle
of very old wine — a 2004 Rosso di Montalcino to go with the bird. It proved
delicious. As did the pheasant. Kimberly and Beth, not much inclined to eat
critter, opted for other vittles, but Terry and I quite enjoyed the bird. I
also took Fred a sample, which he raved about. (According to Wilma's
translation, he said, "You are not just a cook but a chef!" He did add that
it could have used a little more salt.) I'm sure he was being overly kind,
but I cannot speak well enough of both our hosts at the Villa, and his
compliments likely turned my face redder than our vino rosso.
Our last night at Ca' Driano turned out to be pleasant and very relaxing —
except for, once again, Il Zanzara, who pestered me for the
entire night. Even building a tent out of the sheets that covered my body
head to toe failed to hold the little fucker at bay. I probably should have
picked up some bug repellent, but I'm not sure a bed reeking of DEET would
have been much preferable. Regardless, I'd have to say that Ca' Driano rates
as one of the best lodgings I've ever occupied, and I would dearly love to
return to it someday, should circumstances permit.
