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Ah, yes, Italy . Heavenly food, a liltingly beautiful language, and sunsets covering a sienna-tinged countryside. As I've mentioned, I had the fortune to go to Matera for the first annual Women's Fiction Festival ( www.womensfictionfestival.com ) from September 29 through October 2 (I added more days for Naples, Pompeii, and travel hell, as you'll soon see.). Not only was I privy to some interesting discussions regarding the European market for women's literature, but I made some wonderful friends. Here's an account of the last trip I'll be taking for a while.
Monday, September 27
I arrive in Bari , Italy , an eastern-coastal town near Matera , after a loooong leg of travel. At the small airport, I meet Maria Paola, Harlequin Mondadori's petite, energetic Red Dress Ink editor from Milan , and Sherry and Joe from Chicago . Sherry is an enthusiastic fellow author, Joe is her smiling husband, and we all chat as we're shuttled to Matera . On the way, our driver points out a tall sculpture with a car balanced near the top. Already, I've got my Rick Steves phrasebook out, madly attempting to communicate. I'm still shy about speaking any Italian whatsoever. When they say the words, it sounds so lovely, like notes on a music scale. When I even utter, "Si," I sound like a faker. Like I'm clearing my throat while they're singing. At any rate, we enter Matera, which seems like another version of most small European towns-decorated with gray-beige stones, churches, plazas (or piazzas in this case), and people riding bikes while pillbox Fiats jockey for position in the streets. Upon second glance, I become scared. Italian drivers really are nuts, nudging into the smallest of spaces, risking paint jobs by scraping just this close to the next car. Oddly enough, there doesn't seem to be much road rage. Sure, there's a lot of general arm flailing, but no true anger.
We enter the Sassi district of Matera (see above for the view), a UNESCO protected maze of stone streets that glide down hills and weave over the tops of dwellings built into the earth. As we squeeze through alleys in our shuttle, little old ladies with olive skin, black below-the-knee-length dresses, and purses slung over their crooked arms watch us with disapproval. Should we be driving here? Or are they just curious about the wide eyes staring through the car windows?
I'm dropped off at my residential hotel, La Casa di Lucio ( www.lacasadilucio.it ) and, with Maria Paola's help, struggle to guide my wheeled suitcase over the rough, slick stone steps. If you can't negotiate stairs, this is not the place for you. Otherwise..pure bliss. This is beautiful.
Outside, I'm met by Angela and Roberto, my hosts who are entertaining other guests as they lounge in the small café outside. Roberto good-naturedly heaves my stuff to my room. Angela is embarrassed about her English, which I think is very good, especially compared to my golden Italian. When they open the door to the place I'll be staying for the next week, I can't help but to squeal a little. That's sort of lame, but I was excited. Check it out:
The scent hits me first-something homey and musky and flowery. Lavender spiced with.? Stairs lead down past a bathroom to a tiled kitchen (first picture) that looks as if it's been cozied into a cave. Same goes for the bedroom (second picture), with its leopard-skin-material bedspread. A small nook for clothing storage rises over the bedroom in its own little compartment. It's a bit warm down here under the ground, but I've got an air conditioning unit. I feel secure. Surprisingly, I resist the attempt to fall asleep and head out into the district for some food. Angela gives me directions to a bakery and I, of course, get lost. But the wonderful thing about the Sassi District of Matera is that wandering aimlessly doesn't matter. It's like Venice in that losing yourself in the alleys and endless stairways is part of the fun and adventure. You'll always find something worthwhile. I happen to find a strategically important piazza this time out (Piazza Sedile), where there's one shop open-a joint that sells pizza and gelato. Score!
Even though the owner gets frustrated with me for having nothing less than a 10 Euro note, an English-speaking local helps me out by reducing the currency to change. (Lots of helpful men here in Italy . Yup.) I walk away with tomato pizza and chocolate gelato, manage to find my way back to the Casa, pig out, then crash in bed. It's getting dark anyway, and jet lag is kicking my butt.
Tuesday, September 26
Since my room is pretty dark (only one window near the top of the caves), I wake up pretty late. 9:30. I'm such a lazy bones. Up at the café, Roberto tolerates my quest to find the word for water (acqua ), and they serve me a custard-filled croissant and another bread-like piece of sweet pastry. Time for a walk around Matera . I bob through the streets, getting my bearings, discovering a ruined castle on the outskirts of a main street. I'll have to explore it later. Already, I'm craving a good historical novel to complement what I'm seeing. An hour later, I decide that the first English words an Italian man learns are "You are beautiful!"-even if you look like a bed-headed harridan in a windbreaker helped by zero make up. I could live in a place where you don't feel inferior if you aren't a Victoria 's Secret model.After wiling away the day, night arrives. Remember the Piazza Sedile? The place I accidentally found my first night? This is where I'm meeting the rest of the festival attendees for dinner. Naturally, I don't find it this time out and, unbeknownst to me, wind up at the art museum where we'll be meeting for the rest of the week. Not that this helps at the moment. I stress out about being late. They're all going to leave me. I'll go hungry. I'll be a total pariah because I didn't meet everyone the first night. Stress, stress, stress. I finally find my group. Phew.
As I greet agents, editors, and authors from Poland , Germany , Australia , Italy , and the U.S. , we wait for the rest of the group. This will be a pattern since we are now on Italian Time (or more properly known as the "Don't Worry!" 'tude). Running late is commonplace. The day flows along, you get there when you get there. No wonder everyone has such low blood pressure (I seriously don't think it's due to just the olive oil diet.) The restaurant, La Cantina della Bruna, is great. I realize I won't be able to eat like this for the rest of the week unless I skip lunch and have a tiny breakfast every day. We're served a bevy of antipasto foods: pizza, zucchini and eggplant dishes, a local staple with fava beans mashed to paste, and other wonderful selections. Matera lies in an agricultural area, and this is reflected in the food. I cannot even remember everything I ate, but I can tell you that I had something called limoncino -a lemon-based spirit that cleans your palate. I immediately fall in love with it. After desert, I, Sue Swift (Silhouette Romance author), and Nina Bruhns (Silhouette Intimate Moments author) linger to drink and chat some more. Then we make our way back to our hotels, excited to start the conference workshops in the morning.
Wednesday, September 29
We are met by the Advanced English class students from the local high school.
They, too, are shy about speaking English to us, but they do a great job. It's hard for me to slow down my speech and refrain from using slang. (When I talk normally, I go a hundred miles per hour, especially when I'm on a roll. This is not good when you're in a foreign country attempting to communicate.) There is much hand gesturing. It's horrifying to realize that we've all become mimes out of necessity. Our students (or "tutors") lead us to Palazzo Lanfranchi "Sala Carlo Levi," an art museum that has kindly offered to house our workshops. Elizabeth Jennings, who took so much time and effort to organize this festival, orients us. (Thanks, Elizabeth !) Then we get to listen to Dr. Dorothy Zinn, an American Anthropologist who has settled in Southern Italy . She gives us an intriguing lecture about the area before we break for lunch. I limit myself to a salad because my body is already telling me it's going to gain weight.
In the afternoon, we're encouraged to write on our own, but lunch takes up most of the time. Too bad, huh? I'm ashamed to admit that I fall victim to a nap before the night's panel, which features Sue, Nina, and the effervescent Cherry Adair. The night rounds out with another wonderful dinner. This time we go to Le Lucanerie, a restaurant that "researches food." I still don't know exactly what that means, but it's delicious. We go the full round of courses: antipasto (which features red bell peppers that have been fried to a crunch), the first course (pasta), second course (meat), more Limoncino (whoo-hoo!), and dessert.
Can you tell food is important to me?
Thursday, September 30
At the Palazzo Lanfranchi "Sala Carlo Levi," we have an enlightening discussion about translations, led by Elizabeth Jennings (who does translations, as well as writes), Betsy Burke (author of Lucy's Launderette ), and Frediercke Schmoee (romantic suspense author from Germany ), and Isolde Wehr (German editor). If you're not a writer, this won't interest you, but if you're in the business, you'll want to know that we can tell our editors that we would be more than happy to communicate with the translators who work on our books. Yup, that's right. I had no idea this was possible. It seems that there's some kind of unspoken publishing code that discourages contact between the two parties. In the end, we brainstormed ways to change this, since the quality of translation reflects on us as writers.I skip lunch, finally wising up. During our retreat time, I wander around and take another nap. I'm such a layabout it's not funny. That night, there's another women's literature panel, and the press is in attendance. Barbara Hannay, a Harlequin Romance author who is on the panel, notes that the Italian press is very respectful of our work. It's a nice switch from all the snarky "bodice ripper" comments we usually deal with. Later, Sue, Nina, her son Gordon, and I discover a quaint little osteria in the district. Over wine, pasta, and salads, we do as writers do and vent. At the same time, we know how lucky we are to have this job, to be smack dab in the middle of an exotic place eating incredible food.
Friday, October 1
At today's panel, we learn more about the European market. Here are some highlights:* In Germany , readers will buy a book based on author recognition while in Italy , they look for the "brand" (like Harmony, Harlequin Mondadori's brand).
* In most European countries, category books are sold in kiosks on the street, not bookstores. Sometimes our books are hidden behind newspapers and magazines. Argh.
* When a book is translated into German, the page count increases because it takes "more words." (Then why do my magazine-style German translations look so little? What are they editing out? Wait--I don't even want to know.)
* Right now, in Germany , historicals are hot, hot, hot--especially Scottish settings and Viking stories.
* In Italy , some books cannot be translated because the rights are tied up. Also, cowboy stories, romantic suspense, and sheik books do not sell well. Best sellers? Boss and secretary love, doctors chasing nurses, adventure, plots with "traditional relationships." Blaze books are a big seller here.
* In Poland , historicals are also hot, but "American ethnic" stories are not. Their erotica market is just starting out, but it's a conservative market. No cowboy books for this country, either, but they're enjoying the chick lit craze.
* According to Karin Stoecker, editor from the UK office of Harlequin, Harlequin Historicals will still be published in Wal Mart and certain chains, as well as online.
Afterward, I don't nap. Yea! Instead, I set out for those castle ruins.
Bummer. Instead of a great adventure, I find closed gates, a lot of garbage, and graffiti. But the day isn't over yet. We get to see a concert of Renaissance and Baroque music. Then we're treated to a dinner hosted by a local businessman. Dairy products are featured tonight, and the lighter food hits the spot.
Saturday, October 2
After the last workshop, which covers world trends at Harlequin (see Friday, October 1), Sue and our new friend Margaret Borkowska (publisher from Poland ), and I decide to explore the Museo della Torturo ( Museum of Torture ). It's stark, but effective, with authentic Iron Maidens, stretching racks, and creative tools of pain. Sobered, we gear up for the night's big event, the culmination of the festival.When I see the roped-off, red-carpeted area and stage, I'm wary. Uh-huh, the festival attendees are like rock stars, spotlighted in seats of honor for a concert and presentation. In the Piazza Vittorio Veneto , where the locals are garbed in suits and promenading on a typical Saturday night, the press has gathered. Our group is dressed to the nines, too, as we listen to a band that plays gypsy-inspired folk music. I love this band! I have no idea who they are! I want their CD but they don't have one! Next, Harlequin Mondadori presents an award to Maria Venturi, a very successful Italian author, and we're able to see how much the town leaders have gotten behind this festival. As the band continues, the crowd dances. A young couple wings onto the carpet and performs an impromptu folk dance that seems to mirror a courtship.
Then we go to a restaurant that cooks traditional food with new flair. The chocolate soufflé is to die for. Everyone says good-bye, we promise to write, best of luck.
Sunday, October 3
The festival is officially over, but I'm hanging around to do some extra traveling. Heck, I'm in Italy -might as well make the most of it!Elizabeth has arranged an excursion to Castel del Monte followed by a meal in Trani. The castel (castle) turns out to be quite the mystery. No one seems to know why it was built. Was it a marble-encased hunting lodge for a king? Was it a dwelling for spiritual advisors?
We know for sure that the number 8 is very important in the castle's design. In fact, there's speculation that the Knights Templars might have had something to do with the structure's significance.
We mull over the questions at a harbor-side restaurant in Trani. Seafood is featured here. Again, we are stuffed, but completely happy. I spend my last night in the beloved Casa di Lucio, ready to take off for Naples tomorrow.
Monday, October 4
After a decent but long bus ride, I enter Napoli . Usually, when I get to a new place, I feel a strong, immediate vibe. The one here is not good. At all. As I search out my hotel, I wade through trash-literally. Vendors selling hats, watches and cell phones line the sidewalks, shouting Prego at me. Crossing the street means taking my life in my hands. A crosswalk doesn't protect you here. A stop sign is merely a suggestion. Horns snap at the pedestrians, Vespas whiz by close enough to buzz your clothing, and the hotel seems miles away.
But I finally arrive. The marble lobby closes off the harried world outside. I'm staying in a converted palace. One of those old-fashioned open elevators slides up and down, carrying passengers. My room is "charming" and small but it has long windows that I can open to let in the sunlight. I've arrived too late to explore Naples (A lone blondish girl on the streets near the Stazione Centrale after a certain hour would be a truly awful idea.), but I decide to dart down to a pizzeria before it gets dark. I get some pizza and gnocci to go, then hide in my room, watching Japanese anime characters on MTV speak Italian.
Tuesday, October 5
It's Pompeii day!!! Wheeeee!!! I translate the train system at the nearby station and hop on a car headed toward the famous ruins. In 79 A.D., Mt. Vesuvius erupted, covering Pompeii in lava. This preserved the town until it started being excavated in the mid-1700s. I rent an audio tour and enter, astounded at how much still remains. There are still frescos on the walls-faded but stately. For the next six-and-a-half hours, I explore. It's dusty and saps my energy, but so interesting. The time I spend there isn't enough. I cover maybe half of the ruins. Here are a few images:
You see the Porta Marina e cinta muraria, which is basically the entrance. Can you believe that these structures are still standing? You can also see part of a fresco. Next, you see the shaded alleyway leading up into the rest of the town. The streets are cobbled and very rough. Don't bring strollers into Pompeii . You'll regret it. It's tough enough walking over the streets in hiking boots.
Here we have the Basilica, where administrative offices stood. It's across from the Forum, where daily business took place. Standing in the middle of it, in front of the Temple of Jupiter and surrounded by the fish market and wool offices, it's easy to imagine the bustle of people buying dinner for the night, going to worship statues of the sitting emperor, or heading for the bath houses. They even have graying plaster casts of people who were caught in the lava, their mouths gaped in an eternal scream, their hands clawed near their chests as if they could stop death from covering them.
And this is the amphitheater, where gladiators would perform. You can almost still hear the cheers and screams.
I return back to the hotel, loaded down with souvenir books and a virtual tour DVD. It's a night of ravioli, sautéed peppers and beans, and more pizza from another joint down the street. No problem falling asleep from pure exhaustion.
Wednesday, October 6
One more day in Italy (or so I think. Tune in later.). I decide to visit the National Archeological Museum in Naples because they house treasures like statues, mosaics, and bronzes from Pompeii . Again, I'm astounded by how this artwork has survived. Everyone talks about the erotic art room, so I have to go there. You need to be over 18 to enter, so I'm thinking I'm in for some real naughty stuff. While it's cool to see the phallic sculptures and frescoes that boast interesting positions, I've been reading too much Bertrice Small to be shocked, I think. Still, I'm impressed while trying to figure out which mythological figure is cavorting with which.I take the bus back to Bari , thinking I'll have an easy flight home tomorrow.
I'm so wrong.
Thursday, October 7
Crystal 's Nightmare Travel AdventureThe day starts with my connecting flight to Rome being cancelled. It seems the Leonardo di Vinci airport is fogged in. Optimistically, I arrange a suggested flight to Milan instead so I can catch a ride to Newark in the States. I'll be on stand-by, but I'm thinking positively. The only other option is to stay another night in Bari and catch my original flight from Rome the next day. While Bari is cute in some parts, I admit to being somewhat homesick. Besides, I've run out of books to read, I'm not sure where I can purchase more English-language texts in Bari, and I can't watch another night of Deep Space Nine dubbed in a language I don't understand (even though I'm trying like crazy to learn it). I'll take the risk of standing by in Milan .
Dumb dumb dumb. Lesson 1: When you have a sure seat on a flight out of the country during a major airport closure, take it!
While waiting for the Milan flight, we learn that their airport has closed, as well. The radar has failed. Not only does this inspire a wave of confidence in me, it means we could be delayed for hours. Bye bye Newark flight.
We end up flying out of Bari after a four-hour wait and, at the Milan airport, I still have the chance to run to the gate and catch the Newark flight. Unfortunately, I'm stopped by security because I don't have a valid boarding pass (Being standy-by, I wasn't issued one.). I trudge over to Alitalia's transfer counter and wait in a short line that ends up costing me two hours of frustration. The poor crew is trying their best to help everyone, but everything is chaos. Two major airports have shut down today, and we are all screwed. I'm told that I can fly back to Rome tonight and catch an American Airlines flight to JFK tomorrow, so I'm happy. My AA seat is confirmed (so I'm led to believe..), and I happily backtrack to Rome ( Milan is in Northern Italy- Rome is not).
It's late and it's been a long day. When my luggage is lost, I want to cry. But things can be worse, right? I've got all my important documents, prescriptions, and equipment on me, so I won't worry too much about this. I file a lost luggage report and hope I can find a hotel room at 10 pm in Rome . After schlepping on over to the Hilton that is attached to the terminal, I find that they have no rooms. My throat stings. I will not be reduced to frustrated tears. I will not. The clerk gives me the name of a Holiday Inn that should have rooms. I pray they do.
I'm totally ripped off by a taxi driver on my way to the hotel, but I'm too beaten down to care. Luckily, they do have rooms. All I need is to feel secure right now, and the carpet, the cable TV, and the waiting phone soothe me. I'm almost there-home. I'll just make my calls to push back my connecting flight at JFK and my room reservation at the JFK Radisson and then I'll sleep. Finally.
The Radisson at JFK is great. They understand why I need to adjust my reservation and don't charge me a penalty. I'll shout this from the mountains. They were extremely helpful and I'm so thankful. Delta was not so wonderful or understanding, but they're not responsible for the weather, I suppose. I had to pay a penalty and was charged more for my new connecting flight.
Weenies.
After using the health and beauty aids that Alitalia had given to me for the night (I had a spiffy new purse, too), I crashed, dreaming of my American Airlines flight home.
Hah.
Friday, October 8
Bright and early, I check into AA, only to find out that Alitalia had booked my seat when there weren't any seats available. It seems they didn't confirm before they sent me to Rome to catch this flight. I suck it up and try not to scream. I think the clerk can tell I'm about to lose it-maybe it's the way I almost collapse to the ground in grief-and assures me that I'm at the top of the waiting list for stand-by. Poor American Airlines. They've had to deal with other passengers who are going through the same situation. I go to Alitalia and ask them if their flight to JFK happens to be open, even though I know it's closed. They call American Airlines and assure me that I'm at the top of the waiting list. Desperate, I'm about to go to a travel agent and fly anywhere that'll get me back home when a lady tells me that she just cancelled her seat on the AA flight and I can have it.Whooooooooooo!
But American won't transfer the ticket to me. Arrrrrrrgggghhhh. I'll chance the stand-by and head down to the gates, hoping to get on. Then I see the security line. Oh. My. God. I think it's a mile long. This is not an exaggeration. Since I've been running around trying to secure a ticket, I have a half hour to get through this line. The people at the AA counter laugh at me, saying I don't need to worry. Really. They said, "Don't worry," just as calmly as you please. In the meantime, I'm about to lay an egg. In line, I get behind two priests.
20 minutes until boarding.
We chat in line. I'm almost hopping up and down, needing to spend my nervous energy. Wanting to puke. Thinking I'm never going to get home. Hoping my luggage isn't in Zimbabwe .
10 minutes until boarding.
More jokes, more stories. There's a soldier with an automatic rifle trained on the line. Gulp. We creep along.
Boarding time.
The priests say they'll put in a good word for me to the man above. Even though I'm not Catholic, I'm comforted by their assurances. Priests are really good at soothing, you know. When we reach passport control, they give me good directions to the gate and bless me. It was sweet.
Tick tock. Don't they decide who the stand-by passengers will be just before take off? I hope so. Man , I hope so.
Okay. Running up the escalator. Hoping, crossing my fingers, praying that I'll get there in time for boarding. And.doh. I have to take a rail shuttle there! NOOOOOOO! I hop on the thing, mentally urging it to speed along. This is one time I'm thankful I don't have my luggage, because it allows me to run to that gate.
Out of breath (too much food, girl), I get there, thinking it's game over. But the clerk, the same woman who helped me that morning, smiles and says, "Miss Green! We might have room for you!"
The "might" gets me in the gut. I can't celebrate. I nod thankfully and sit down like a nice dog. Oh, please, please, please. I'll change my life. I'll never eat chocolate again. I'll become a nun if I get on this flight.
And then.eeeee! They summon me to get on the plane! Joy, joy, happy, happy, arf, arf! I decide that, since they'd already told me I might have a seat, I'm not responsible for the chocolate or nun statements. Am I right? What's done was done. But I will be a nicer person. I swear.
I fly the friendly skies.but I think that's another airline. At any rate, American Airlines, bless you. I love you people.
And here I am, back in the States. No more trips for a while. This one will last me for a long time to come. Great memories, great people.
But I'm so happy to be home. : )
Catch you later!
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| Go to Crystal Green's alter-ego Chris Marie Green Vampire Babylon | ||
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