Parma, mmm...cheese

An adventure.
Sunday night Kim and I encountered a couple, trio, of inebriated, forward, and persistent English speaking older gentlemen. The one who had his eyes all over me offered us a ride to Parma. Kim decided we couldn’t resist because it would save us travel fare and I couldn’t argue against it strongly; even though they gave me the creeps.
We were ready and waiting for the guy at 8. By a quarter to 9 we turned into the house, bade Iris farewell and walked down the hill to Gotra to catch the 9:25. In the house, in front of the seven guests, Iris put her hand condescendingly on my head and wisely told me to “Never trust Italian men.” I pondered this thoroughly as we walked down the dewey green hills filled with bright little wild flowers in bloom, the air still fresh from the cloudless night. And as 9:25 passes without a sign of the bus, a light shone in my tunnel vision of pessimism caused by the misfortune of our wasted morning...the gentleman pulled up in his car and gave us a lift to the Borgotaro train station. We waited in front of the counter for 25 or so minutes as the chatty ticket counter lady recounted her weekend excursions to a friend on the phone; the automated ticket machine was broken. But for our good fortune the trains weren’t coming and going in the morning because the tracks needed fixing. We caught a bus for Parma and finally arrived, relieved, at around 12:35. We briefly stopped in the Piazza della Pace for a quick assessment of the city and went to find the restaurant. Our hunger had grown from gnawing little pangs to growling monsters.
Trattoria Corriere was delicious. Albeit the first two half liters of Lambrusco had turned to vinegar according to me. We ended up with a house red wine. I ordered the cipolle in agridolce (onions in vinegar) and carpaccio with arugula and grana. Kim had tortelli with ricotta, eggplant, and prosciutto crudo di Parma. We felt energized and were pleased with ourselves. We made rounds from bookstore to bookstore. Kim humored me by following me into salumerie, pasticcherie, gelaterie, and other local artisan shops. She quickly picked up on my ‘tour-guide’ tendencies and eased herself into being my guest for the day in Parma; it helps that I’m no longer afraid to speak in Italian.
We saw the Chiesa with tall pink, grey, creme, and gold marble; faded frescoes, pale sanctuaries, with clean adorned shrines. The Duomo was an impressive structure in a plain forgettable piazza. We had deliciously refreshing gelato from Zero Gradi. And meandered side streets until we were back in Piazza della Pace. We caught the 6:50 bus back to Borgotaro and I sweat and prayed we’d make it in time for the bus. Kim named the bus driver Pino and said he would wait for us and I’ll be damned, he did.
Before we left Parma I asked Kim if we could stop to get dinner at the Salumerie on Via Verdi. A sensory overload of legs of Parma prosciutto, wheels of Parmigiano-Reggiano, preserves, breads, marmalades, tuna, mozzerella, and meats; not too mention oils, pastas, flour, and grains. We’d been searching for a gift for our hosts and suddenly it appeared: a 1 kg piece of Parmigiano, biological, from a farm in the area called IRIS. I ordered us a tasting menu of local meats (salami, prosciutto, fiocchetto) and cheeses (parmigiano-reggiano della montagne, and pecorino dolce). When we got home we ate it with Iris’s red wine and homemade bread. This is life and an adventure worthwhile.
We followed our incredible dinner with hot cups of orzo and were told stories by Gianluca. He is so animated, with his bulbous eyeballs, expressive face, intelligent words, unique wit, and infections grand laughter. He recounted times of the Red Cross humanitarian duty in Gaza Strip. We talked about the beauty of Israel and the uselessness of war. At one point, in the war in Croatia, he held a draft dodging refugee, under the pretense that he believes if everyone refused to fight there would be no war.
Iris asked us to sleep in the freed up guest room, and we did. I rested comfortably on the daybed and Kim on the double. I slept little and had strange dreams.

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