A new definition of localism

One week in, and this already feels like home. It may be the intensity of the shared experiences and diving head first into a completely different culture and lifestyle, but normalcy, such as it is, has been quickly re-established. Morning coffees, grocery shopping, evening walks, hosting dinner parties - these have all resumed but with an added richness to savour: we're in Italy.

Case in point: Saturday. My roommates and I relished sleeping in and waking up to golden sunlight. A quick trip to a new bakery for some pane di bra, a glorious rustic-type of nutella croissant to tide us over, our resident chef's creativity, and we sat down to brunch in our sun-soaked kitchen.

Next on the agenda was a trip to Cherasco, a beautiful hill town about 7 km away. We wandered through the historic town centre, exclaiming over architecture and gastronomia shops, savouring the sun toasting our shoulders.

Our purposes were several: to scout potential homes for a friend, to explore another village in our area, and to try some of the recommended local specialties from our series of lectures earlier this week on regions of Italy. But as I laughed to my roommates while sampling torrone di cioccolato made from nocciole piemonte I.G.P, and tasting three local wines - an arneis, a barbera and a barbaresco, it's a tough life when applying what you've learned in class requires you to do things that give you joy. Our experiential 'homework' consists of activities we do as a matter of course anyway.

The food focus continued with a trip to the local, smaller Saturday afternoon farmer's market, where we met half the people in our program. Before arriving here, I never knew the scents of fruit and vegetables could be so vibrant, that fennel could be so fragrant and yet not overpoweringly licorice, or that the pepper of arugula is tempered with a fresh taste of green. Every shopping trip is an adventure of epic proportions, and an overwhelming stimulus of the senses. And it's not even summer yet...

Lest you think this is solely a year of flitting glamorously around Europe, sampling food and wine, note that there are 7 journal articles on food policy and sustainability to be read by Monday morning with an exam and presentation due by Friday. There was a general scattering of people home for a solid afternoon of reading and discussion.

But then there was our late dinner - the first dinner party. As someone with a readily admitted shellfish adversion, this was a triumph. We devoured plates of mussels in a fennel and cream sauce, rustic traditional bread, steamed asparagus tossed with lemon, as of yet nameless sauteed greens, an acidic tomato and mint salad and bottles of young local Arneis wine. A small slice of torrone di cioccolato was the perfect finish. Eating finished sometime early this morning, the conversations much later.

Despite all the growing pains of bureaucracy, apartment hunting, jet lag and communication challenges, I couldn't think of a better place to spend a year. Or better people to spend it with.

"My favourite dish is curiousity"

Via Vittorio Emmanuele, Bra

The past few days have been a veritable whirlwind - of new faces, of acknowledging the utter feebleness of my spoken Italian, and of searching for a real place to call home. That last one wasn't on the original agenda, but will apparently be consuming a fair amount of the next while.

Regardless, school started this morning whether I was ready or not. There is still much to process and take in, but I'm trying to approach life right now with this post's heading - a quote from today's opening lecture by Carlo Petrini, founder of Slow Food. There is so much to be curious about - from the "real" way things work in Italy, to the other engaging people in this program, to even why the rental market in this town is so difficult to crack.

The only thing I'm not curious about, is why I'm here. Even more so after today's orientation, I know.



The entrance to the main square of Pollenzo

The Agenzia

La Dolce Vita

In baking, something beautiful happens in that first interaction between butter and sugar which only intensifies with a dash of vanilla. As a relative late-comer to the proverbial joys of cooking, no tasting stage is more tempting than this pure, buttery-rich sweetness. If only my students knew how many of their unborn cookies are sacrificed at this particular altar! But this beauty is only revealed in the beating stage - the breaking down of the individual ingredients to form a new whole.

I've lived these past few days in the breaking down stage of this new adventure. All of the elements that to this point have made my life rich and worthy to be savoured - the students who induce belly laughs with their randomness, the colleagues who encourage and define true community, the fierce and loyal friendships, the relationship that has made every day an adventure, the steady unconditional love of family - these are such a sweet combination. And just as baking is all the better for choosing the fresh, the quality, the authentic ingredients - it is the authenticity of these people in my life that make this leaving so difficult, so bittersweet.

And yet, after that last airport step around the corner from the three most important people in my life, the tears dried. It's hard for excitement to build with the prospect of a (delayed) 10 hour charter airline flight, but the fires were stoked.

This new chapter in my life, by the necessity of distance, requires me to break down my understanding of these elements into a new form. And, to embrace whole-heartedly the unknown "New" barrelling my way. This is going to be an incredible time of learning to blend the old and the new into my own definition of la dolce vita - the sweet life.

I'm ready. Just let me stop for an espresso first.