Day 7 - Epilog

I can hardly believe that more than a month has gone by since the start of my Italian adventure. For some reason it has been difficult to sit down and write the last installment. I think that the reason might be that, writing the conclusion would put a definitive end to the experience. I wrote the previous installment on December 13, just a week after arriving back in New Jersey. I was definitely still basking in the afterglow of my trip. The hustle and bustle of Christmas has now passed and, with it, the once-vibrant images of Parma. I am now ready to finish the story.

Parma, through a window

The alarm sounded. It was dark and cold in the bedroom and the temptation to linger under the covers was great, but not today. Today was departure day. I needed to finish packing, which would not be difficult. I had done most of it the evening before. I laid out the clothes for the day and put everything else in the suitcase. I got out of bed and made my final coffee to get me going. Then I showered and packed up my toiletries. I ate breakfast and tidied up the kitchen. I made one last sweep through the apartment to make sure I had everything. My time in Parma was nearly over. I am always a little sad when I have to leave a place where I have enjoyed myself. So I sat in the easy chair one last time. I just wanted to savor these last quiet moments before the hectic pace of travel set in.

It was another wet, cloudy day. I left the apartment to go to the ATM. I had told Antonia that I would stop by the restaurant at noon to return the keys and pay the remainder of my rent, which would take most of the cash that I had. At some point, I also had passed a candy shop, which I hoped to find again. Italian candy makes a nice, easy gift. As I closed the door of the apartment building, I took in the sight of that majestic medieval square in front of me. This would be an enduring memory.

Piazza Duomo, Parma

 I strolled through the streets one more time, found the ATM, but unfortunately not the candy shop. I stopped in a bar to get a sandwich to take on the train. It was time to go. I returned to the apartment, collected my suitcase and walked around the corner to the restaurant.  Giorgio greeted me warmly and called Antonia. She asked if I needed a cab. I did, so she called for me. I returned the keys and handed over the envelope. We chatted while waiting for the cab, which quickly arrived. Then, in a flurry of hugs and kisses, we said our goodbyes. I got into the cab and waved. Arrivederci, Parma.

The apartment's 'cortile'

I had purchased my ticket to Milan on line, so once at the station; all I had to do was find the track. That was easy enough. I was surprised, however, by the number of people waiting for the train on a Tuesday afternoon. The train was a few minutes late, but nothing by Italian standards. I had a reserved seat in business class, so there was no rush to board. The trip to Milan was uneventful. I kept trying to decide how to make my connection. The train to the town where my hotel for night was located left from a different station. The airport shuttle stopped there, but that ran only every thirty minutes. If I did that, however, I would probably have to wait another hour for the next train to my destination, Casorate Sempione. I decided to take a cab. As we left the station, I could not believe how much Milan had grown upwards since my last visit. I said something about this to the cabbie, which led to our having a great chat. It was not a long trip and, when we arrived at the Porta Garibaldi station, I gave him an overly generous tip and said it was an early Christmas present. He gave me a big smile and a handshake.

The Porta Garibaldi station was bright and modern. There were quite a few shops and eateries all decorated for Christmas. I found a ticket machine and bought my ticket. I needed to use the restroom, which I found. It required a Euro coin but I could not figure out how the door operated. Fortunately, a passerby showed me the trick. I found my train and boarded. It too was very clean and modern. It was part of the Trenord line, a merger of a regional train with the national rail company. It is primarily a commuter train line and services almost every town in the Lombardy region big enough to have a train station. My train was packed with teenagers obviously heading home after school. It was interesting passing through these towns and villages as we moved farther and farther away from Milan. It was about a forty-minute trip to Casorate Sempione. I did not know what to expect when I reached the town. I had no idea how big or small it actually was. When I got off the train, there was no sign of a taxi. On the map, the hotel did not appear to be too far from the station, so walking was the option, actually, the only option. With the help of my phone, I found the hotel, the Osteria della Pista, rather easily. As it turned out, it was not far at all. The sun had come out at this point and it was a lovely afternoon. I checked in, made a reservation for dinner and dropped off my suitcase. After sitting for so long, I decided to go for a walk and explore Casorate Sempione. 

My hotel in Casorate Sempione

What I discovered quickly was that Casorate Sempione was the quintessential “one-horse town”. There were almost no shops and many of them were closed. I finally found a bar that was open and went inside for a beer. I’m sure the locals wondered who I was. I went back to the hotel, as it was getting dark. I worked on the blog until it was time for dinner. I was looking forward to this. On TripAdvisor, the reviews of the restaurant were excellent. That was a major reason for choosing this particular hotel.

Downtown Casorate Sempione

I checked in with the maître’d, who handed me off to a young waiter. The waiter showed me to a table in a kind of pavilion adjacent to the indoor dining space. It was only 7:30, yet the room was three-quarters full. “Where did all these people come from”, I wondered. We were in the middle of nowhere. The waiter returned with the menu and I began my deliberations. Although this was Lombardy, the menu was decidedly from Southern Italy. Apparently, the current owners were from the Naples area and the menu reflected that fact. Perhaps that was part of the draw here in Northern Italy. I ordered the spaghetti with clams and a half bottle of Falanghina. 

Last dinner in Italy

The waiter seemed to approve of my wine selection. Then he asked if I wanted bottarga (salted and cured fish roe) on my spaghetti. “Now there’s a treat,” I thought. So I said yes - it was my last night, I didn’t care what it cost. The pasta was delicious, as was the beef strips with porcini mushrooms and squash puree that followed. I didn’t think I could manage dessert, but my waiter convinced me to try the local specialty, the “Torta San Tito”. It was a walnut and honey cake, quite simple but truly delicious. He offered a grappa on the house. How could I say no?

I was up at 6:00 am the next morning. The shuttle was leaving at 7:30. I had enough time to shower and have breakfast. The shuttle arrived right on time. It was a beautifully clear and chilly morning. As we drove along, I could see that a heavy frost had settled on everything overnight. As we got closer to the airport, I caught glimpses of the snow-covered Alps catching the first rays of the sun. The views were spectacular. Once at the airport, it was the usual procedure. The only thing that stood out was passport control. As a non-EU citizen, I was in the longest line with many non-Europeans and people from Eastern Europe. Departure was delayed for about an hour, because the crew got stuck in traffic coming from Milan, but before long we were able to board and take off. 

The majestic Alps 

The flight was long, but uneventful. We even managed to make up most of the time of our delay, so I arrived back in Newark pretty much on schedule. I texted my ride that I was on the ground. He was meeting me and then another monk who was arriving a little later. Unfortunately, the other monk’s flight was delayed for over an hour. At this point, I just wanted to get home, so I said that I would get an Uber. While I waited for my bags, I kept trying to get an Uber, but I kept getting a weird message that they didn’t pick up at Terminal C. I Googled to find the Uber pick-up point and decided to go there and see what I could find out. No more information seemed to be available there either and I was still getting that stupid message. What was I going to do?

I saw this guy standing by a car and I suspected that he was an Uber driver. I was just about to approach him and ask him, when he said to me, “Do you need an Uber?” “Yes,” I said. “Where are you going”, he asked. “Morristown,” I said. “OK, good.” I thought to myself, “This is not how it’s supposed to work.” He said, “I was supposed to have a pick up, but they cancelled on me.” Well, was not so sure about this, but I was eager enough to take the chance. So, I got in. “How am I going to know how much this will cost?” I asked as we pulled away from the curb. “Check on Uber now and see what it says.” Lo and behold, it worked. $56.00 to Morristown. He seemed OK with that. I certainly was. I am always interested in Uber drivers so I asked if this was his full-time job. Yes, it was. He was an immigrant from the Dominican Republic and he lived in Harrisburg, Pa. “What are you doing all the way out her?” I asked. He said that he had to drive a couple to Newark Airport and that he then had this pick-up that cancelled. The reason he was willing to take me was that he could then just jump on I-78 and head home. Am I lucky or what? I showed him the back way to Delbarton and explained how to get back onto I-287 S without going through Morristown. We reached the abbey and I had just enough US dollars in my wallet to pay him the fare and a tip. He left and I was home.

Postscript

Our cook, Aldo, was very interested in my pasta making experience. He has been making his own pasta for years, but had never heard of fresh pasta made only with flour and eggs. He seemed very keen on seeing how this was done. It turned out that we had the perfect excuse just before Christmas Eve. Earlier in the month, we had had lobster tails on December 8^th. The abbey’s patronal feast is the Immaculate Conception and there is always a extra special dinner. Since there are only a handful of the monks who eat fish, it was not prohibitive to buy lobster. Since it was more economical to buy whole lobsters, we had decided to serve the tails on our feastday and freeze the rest of the lobster to make ravioli for Christmas Eve. So when the time came, Aldo and I got together and I showed him the method that I had learned in Parma and he was amazed at the results. That evening we made five dozen lobster ravioli and, if I do say so myself, they were scrumptious!

Aldo making fresh egg pasta