Day 13

Best day so far!! Jenna, Orrie, and Cooper arrived from Ann Arbor (without the dog!). Their plane flew a Southern route to avoid ash, so Jenna and the boys had a TIGHT connection in Paris. They made the Bologna plane by running probably a mile through Charles de Gaulle and then leveraging Jenna's French to talk their way onto the flight.

I don't know when I've been a happy to see someone as I was to see Jenna walking down the corridor from baggage claim with both boys at her side.

As soon as we got to the apartment, we went out for some amazing pizza, which we brought back home. It was so good, we went out and bought Orrie even more. Then, while Jenna slept, the boys and I got gelato, toured some churches, and got our train tickets to Rome.

Both boys lit candles and said prayers for their grandfathers. Having been alone here, I've spent an enormous amount of time thinking about my father's wanderings through Europe when he was in the service. He would sometimes talk about the food in Italy. Having the boys take just a moment to reflect on him and on Jenna's father was special, particularly given the setting, a fabulous six hundred year old church.

After resting a cleaning up a bit, I took the boys and Jenna on a long rainy walk to a jazz dinner club. The club has a cavern like room with great acoustics. We had an incredible cheese and jam appetizer. The pear jam was really more of a sauce -- fantastico as they say here. (My rule is "speak Spanish, add an "o", and say it with gusto.) And the strawberry tasted just like grandma's.

The boys LOVED their pasta. Jenna and I had seafood pasta dishes. (Note to self -- start making homemade pasta again.) I'm still trying to figure out how they make these little diced pieces of fish that they toss in their pasta. It's somehow firm like little pieces of meat.

The whole scene was almost too good to be true. Family, music, laughter, great food, wonderful wine, and no more work. All the little things fell into place too. The jazz trio's drummer was full of life and made faces at the boys, and our waiter was amazing -- asking Orrie to feel his muscle.

After two weeks without my family, I could do little but stare at them and smile. Yeah, it's great that they're among the most beautiful people I've ever seen (especially Jenna - wow!) but it's better that they're such a happy, healthy bunch. And how cool were the boys? Hanging at a jazz club.

Then home -- but first some gelato. You have to keep your priorities. Rome next. Can't wait.

Day 12

Night falls on Bologna.

The towers are all tucked in and ready for sleep.

The students continue to pound the pavement.

What an unbelievable day. I lectured for four continuous hours and then went out for "apertivos" with some of my students. Apertivos are an inverse Happy Hour. You pay more for drinks (lots more), but you get free food. The better the food, the more you pay for drinks. Some people here treat apertivo as dinner. Others, I presume, just have more dinner. The synergies between students and apertivos have to be seen to be believed.

My students told me that I had to go out to this osteria called Osteria del Orso ("Tavern of the Beer" to you anglos) so I did. Here's the scene: small outdoor seating area across the street from the entrance abutting a six hundred year old church. ("We don't have a sidewalk, so let's use the church's!). You walk in and there are three tables that seat six. That's it. And they're packed. Then you hear some noise and you head downstairs and find a medium sized room filled with people playing a little game called "let's see how many people can laugh and talk at the same time." Seems almost too much fun and you become convinced that up until this moment you didn't know you'd had a Calvinist upbringing.

Even better, after sitting down and getting a menu you notice that not a single person, as in no one, has any food yet. And they don't care. They're all too busy saying "no, watch me, I can laugh while talking" Thirty minutes later, you're still waiting for the second visit from the waiter and you decide better come back some other time.

I don't know the reason but today several groups of schoolchildren were touring the city. They couldn't have been local because they were all so excited about the many towers. Torre! Torre! The little boys would shout as they pointed in the air at the towers. Now you might wonder, how you point at a tower under a portico, and the answer is you don't. You can only see the towers at corners, which drives the boys crazy with excitement. From the teacher's perspective, the whole tower thing just adds an unnecessary degree of difficulty to getting boys across intersections.

Once again, while walking home I happened by all the students hanging out on the cement chatting, smoking, and drinking. This is the anti-Stanford, where everyone is hyper or as the say here "iper" fit, healthy, studious, and ambitious. Here, it's all about being cool. Very cool. People here smoke cigarettes about the diameter of a swizzle stick.

Tomorrow's another big day. Along with Jon Elster (who's just popped in from Paris for the occasion), I'm participating in a public panel on the topic of the problems caused by excessive ambition. I kid you not. (I even saw the event advertised in the local paper.) I can only imagine that upon my return to the states, that I'll be invited to share my two cents on the problem of excessive compassion in New York.

Oh well. Eleven hours then it's my turn to strut and fret across the stage. Shirt's Pressed. Pants cleaned. And, far more important, fifteen hours until the arrival of Jenna, Orrie, and Cooper. I wonder if they're bringing Bounder....

Day 11

Today, my thoughts have been consumed by Jenna and the boys and their pending arrival on Friday. I'm concerned about the safety of the flight. Is the trip worth the risk, given that we've been given no hard information about the ash's effect on the engines? Can it really cost that much to tear apart one engine, check the damage, and comfort everyone? I think not.

The necessity of work kept me occupied. Today, on my walk to the office -- left out the door, cross the street, veer right at the two towers and then follow portico covered Strada Maggiore -- I got caught by surprise. I noticed a church entrance not marked on my two Euro map. I thought it might be cute. Turns out to be among the more ornate churches I've seen in Bologna. Just gorgeous. (see left)

How did I miss a church this large? Easy. The porticoes limit the visible height of any entrance to fifteen feet or so. With a porch overhead, you cannot tell whether you're standing at the base of the Empire State Building or a thatched roof hut.

The porticoes also hide the towers. Walking around you wouldn't know this is a city full of towers, then you cross the street. Suddenly, you get a clear view and become aware that you're an easy shot for the flaming arrow laden archers situated at the top of that tower at the end of the street.

I have odd affectation that I learned on the streets of Chicago. I stand up close to the towers and look up, so that they appear to be thousands of feet high. Cool eh?

The pictures that I've published so far highlight the beauty of Bologna -- the old Roman roads and walls, the churches, and the towers, always the towers. A more honest appraisal of the city would reveal graffiti. Why, one might ask, would someone paint on such beautiful doors and walls? Why mar buildings that have been around for over a thousand years?

Lack of power, and lack of pride. These people are not included in the power structure of the city. They don't care about these old buildings, but they know that those in power do. For that reason, I'm told that people in the city are of mixed mind. Some want it cleaned up and harsher punishment on offenders. Others think the graffiti should remain until the city is more equitable. When that happens, the graffiti will stop.

I'm told that in some of the more closer knit towns to the North, they have community wide clean-up days, in which everyone comes together to beautify the town. That can only be accomplished in a place in which people feel a sense of collective ownership. Bologna has a ways to go.

Have I not mentioned food yet? How serious have I become? Tonight, I met with my friend Marco who took me to a really interesting place in the center of town that offers yoga and dance classes, places for people to meet, and has a nifty vegetarian, organic cafeteria. That's right, I used a tray!!! Even so, good food (this is Italy). I had a fabulous polenta casserole.

Marco then took me to a funky organic gelato place. You approach it from the sidewalk and these two huge plastic windows slide open like a sun roof on it's side. Totally cool. It also had blue and green block tile. Perfect mix for Jenna and the boys -- tile, gelato, and futuristic windows.

I'm having a wonderful time teaching. I've got more people coming to my class now then there were at the beginning. They're so laid back here. For example, some guy from Germany who's just hanging out in town heard about the class and is observing. I don't know if I'm more impressed by him for being so intellectually engaged or in the University of Bologna for being so encouraging of him sitting in the class.

Tonight, in the shadow of the towers, as I hurredly returned home from my evening with Marco so that I could see the lovely Jenna on Skype, I stopped to watch a merry band of about a hundred students. Leading the way were three young men pulling a wagon carrying another young man playing a bass cello. Intermixed in the crowd were others playing guitar.

I stood for a precious moment and just sucked in the raw expression of life.

Day 10

Today I visited the city of Modena, home of Luciano Pavoratti! The trip is just thirty minutes by train and costs just three euros. I arrived having no idea how to get into the city so I just followed the crowd. At each intersection they divided, so I followed the larger group. I would up at a carousel! So much for the wisdom of crowds! To be fair, it was near the city center.

From there, I was able to locate the cathedral, which was begun in 1099 but not completed for a couple of hundred years. It's a gorgeous gothic structure. They were holding services when I entered the church, so I sat for a while and soaked up the experience. By comparison, the University of Modena is a relatively recent addition (1175).

The cathedral was part of a tour for local school children. Many of the boys - they were around ten years of age - were very excited about a carving on the church's facade. For a moment, just a moment, I gave the Italians undue credit for raising boys of such sensitivity. My skepticism got the better of me and I checked out the carving myself: note man hitting other man with stick. Boys will be boys.

I then hopped the train back to Bologna where I found a small door to an osteria off a side street on the way to my office. I was shocked to find a capacious interior filled with elderly German tourists -- at least forty in all. When I checked the Internet guide books, I found that they all describe this place as a "hip student hangout" that only the locals know about. Pizza was good nonetheless -- okay great. I love this hot olive oil concept.

Tuesday must be earring day on the corner by the towers. Funny thing though, all of the earring vendors use umbrellas and camera tripods to display their wares. Pretty ironic that I had just been teaching recombination and innovation to my students who come more to life each day.
Umbrella + tripod = earring stand. QED.

For dinner, I went to a small trattoria hidden down below a fancy place one block from the fish alley. I had bean soup and some polenta. Very nice. Nicer still was that the place is run by a cute husband wife team. They work very hard but seem to find joy in one another. As I read a book, I watched the ebb and flow of love and tension, support and laughter between these two. I was happy to give them the opportunity to share a laugh at the expense of the book reading American who ate two appetizers for dinner, didn't finish his wine, neglected to make a reservation, and paid with a credit card that shows a picture of his wife and children (is it real?). This same American learned earlier today that I should not run through the streets of Bologna. I should walk to the park and then run in the park. That is the purpose of the park. It is not the purpose of the city. The city is the place to walk. I was not admonished. I was simply told. I can now say (with almost a straight face) that learning to navigate the Italian culture isn't a walk in the park.

Day 9

In The Competitive Advantage of Nations Michael Porter argued that Milan was good at making shoes for two reasons: practice and an educated clientele. His was a story of positive feedbacks before the concept blew up due to well....positive feedbacks. It's a simple idea: The more shoes you make, the better you get at making shoes. The better you get at making shoes, the better your clientele gets at recognizing and demanding really great shoes.

I learned tonight that the same logic applies to gelato. I'd been going to local neighborhood gelato places -- seeking out authenticity. Tonight I went to the glamorous gelato place -- La Freaccadiicio Ridiculo Gelato (or something like that). The place is all orange. It should be in Amsterdam. The "special" tonight was riccotto, marscapone, cacao in a cream base. I mean get real. No way. I forced it down, slowly with the itsy bitsy plastic spoon they hand out. How exactly centuries of chain smoking Italians saying ''too much marscapone" or "I think the chocolate's not dark enough" led to this sublime creation will remain a mystery. I was happy just to be along for the ride.

On day 9, two things begin to happen to the touristo. Whereas you once glamourized everything Italian and denigrated the Wal-Marts, processed food, and modest architecture of home, you now start to miss the small things. like say grass, or perhaps a tree. The nearest tree's about a quarter mile away and it belongs to the church. Yet at the same time if you're in a `real' city like Bologna (and not say Paris, Venice, or Florence) you start to get a sense of the rhythms of the place. Mysteries like "how do people drink wine from five to seven, enjoy a gelato from seven to eight, and then eat dinner from 10 to midnight every night without collapsing?" reveal themselves.

The answer: there are three sets of people. The wine drinkers live outside of down. They relax, have wine, wait for the traffic to clear. The gelatos, they're people who're heading home after going out for a walk and they'll perhaps have a little dish at home, or perhaps not. The late night dinner people -- they've been working or

hanging at home and decided to head out for the evening.

Another mystery revealed concerns the main piazza and the neptune fountain. The area is so beautiful, yet it's not very crowded (see left). The cafes offer lovely views of a 900 year old church and probably the second best public library I've ever seen. It used to be a castle and then the residence of the pope's envoy to Bologna. In the event you're interested, the best public library I've ever seen is two blocks away. A quick FYI, towns that have had universities for more than 800 years have an early start on building good libraries. The answer to the mystery is the $5 cokes. Even though the tourists are few, the locals will pay the price just to enjoy the view.

The class I'm teaching continues to be fun. The students seem more engaged each lecture. I'm learning to go more slowly and to make fewer referenes to Mike Dukakis. And, I'm realizing how lucky I am. This is a good gig. We should all be so lucky. Nine days around Italians and you learn to enjoy life a bit.

And so, as wonderful as it is here, for the first time, I notice that the sounds of Bologna outside my window include no birds.

Day 8

9am. I wake to the sound of my opera singing neighbor clearing her throat followed in rapid succession by the bells of every church in town ringing bells to signal the parishioners to the pews.

My apartment sits at the base of the two towers that along with lasagna and ragu symbolize the city of Bologna. So, I'm in the center of the action. At any time of the day, I hear the buzz of scooters and the laughing and talking of students.

Perhaps my fondest memories of Italy will be the happy sounds of the students outside my window. When in high school, we think of college students as mature and together. Now, as I grow older and begin questioning the eating of peaches, I see that the vibrancy of a twenty one year old is not that different than that of a child. Twice in the past week, I've walked past campus at around 9pm. Both nights, I have seen hundreds of students sitting in small circles on the pavement in the piazza next to the history building. They're drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and laughing and shouting. It all seems like such good fun, such enjoyment of life. Plus, they'll get gelato later.

Today, I was to go hiking with Marco but the weather reports forced a cancellation. The weather turned out fine. So nice in fact that I went for a nice run down and around the park to the South of the city. I had lunch at a cafe that I had ran by that was having a Barolo special: five euros for a 2003 vintage that was exceptional (or so they said). I paired it with a salad romagnaglo (salad nicoise if you're a pointy headed person from France). No sooner than my meal arrives at my comfortable outdoor table, then off goes the outdoor security alarm on the clothing store next door. Beep Beep Beep. Earsplitting.

What do the Italians do? A waiter walks out and starts rythmically clapping with the beeps. We all join in. When the beeping stops, we all applaud and laugh. Five minutes later, the beeping starts again. We all clap and laugh again. Third time. Still clapping. Still laughing. Eventually, the manager of the store shows up with a very young woman and all beeping stops. The man at the table next to me says to his wife (I'm translating here) "no wonder he is late to turn off the alarm, she's very young and beautiful."

Today, even the eight hundred year old buildings are young and beautiful.

Day 7

Florence! (aka Firenze) I managed to wake up in time to catch the early train. I had a friend when I was an undergraduate who kept pictures of ``the'' David in her dorm room. Always seemed a bit much for me. I began to doubt my skepticism of her adoration last week when Carl Simon said something to the effect of ``you know, at some point you're wandering through these European cities and it's just one painting after another and one more white marbled dude. But "the" David, whoa. You walk around the corner in this little museum, and whammo!"

Even with Carl's warning, my reaction caught me off guard. "The" David really does take your breath away. It's not the placement (small museum, it may as well be in the Rackham lobby). It's the raw youth, the veins, the huge freaking hands, and the even larger head. I'm intrigued to see how Orrie and Cooper react.

I arranged to be at the Duomo at noon so I could hear the Campanile bells count of the hours. Buono. The Duomo museum is small but the Pieta was beyond expectation. I think the effect is partly due to the color of the marble, kind of a yellowy hue, but it's more the compassion in the old man's face as he holds Christ. That face bears a striking resemblance to Michaelangelo himself. What are the odds?

The overwhelming impression one takes away from Florence is that they have to do something about all of these tourists. I took a lot of pictures (mostly for other people). I've decided I must radiate a certain skill at taking photos. Sadly, skill is certainly not born out in the photo's I take. An old couple from Singapore made me take three photos of them in front of a statue because for some reason they didn't want their legs in the photo.

Below is a picture of some people in the Museo de Duomo. They gave this statuary the full twenty seconds it deserved, then they were off.


I shant forget lunch, a highlight for two reasons. First, I encountered a wealthy couple from Connecticut who had in their possession an itinerary with long explanations of what to do and see. It was 1:45 and they were to be at Gozzi Sergio (they were) a place known for Tuscan food. I'm not making this up. They had a four page battle plan laid out for how to take the city. Oh boy did they look FUN! I peeked at the schedule and saw what laid ahead:
9pm Happiest, Happy Hour: Just South of Palazzo Pitti, there's a small...

Second, the pasta at this place appeared to be amazing. The spaghetti was about twice the diameter of what we get in America and it was the golden yellow of Jenna's hair. Anyway, I order the tagliatelle, which the person I'm seated with (an elderly Italian man who cannot believe I don't order a carafe of wine) seems to be enjoying immensely. Unfortunately, and I know this will be hard to believe given that my Italian is practically the equivalent of a native's, the waiter thinks I say "tagliata" and brings me that instead (see photo right). Tagliata turns out to be Italian for "plate of meat." I'll add that to my growing vocabulary. On the plus side, a fine good plate of meat it was.

How does one complete a day like this? Simple, a call home to the family and then a slow walk across town to two warm dishes of pasta, a small beer, and fabulous jazz at Chet Baker's. I went hoping to hear Rachel Gould, who'd played with Chet himself, but alas, I pumpkined at about 12:30 as the warm up act was starting its second set. Not that I should complain about the music: great bass player and a very young singer who could have been a little less awkward and eager (but can't we all). All sorts of people were just rolling into the club as I was exiting -- many several decades older than I. No gelato tonight, just some water, a book, and a warm bed.