A Taste of Malaysia

11/25/00: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

To be honest, we came here because it’s a convenient stopover between Europe and New Zealand—a way to cut about 24 hours of flying in half.

Other allures drew too, though, including the amazing Malaysian cuisine, an attractive exchange rate, and the welcome warmth of the weather and people.

What a treat it’s been. Our mega-star hotel splurge has spoiled us. The food has bowled us over with fragrances, flavors, and finesse. And the culture is clean and safe with people rich in smiles, if not possessions. The evidence of the “Asian contagion” currency crisis of fall ’97 is in your face everywhere: Holes in the streets; half-built skyscrapers with two guys pounding away (because they pay no property taxes as long as construction is “continuing”; unbelievably low prices from shockingly hard-working vendors.

For better or worse, the discomfort of travel-lag and the comforts of our hotel have kept us from seeing all the sites. But we’ve heard the life story of an Arab man who just broke off his engagement and is “honeymooning” here without his new bride. We’ve perused the streets and bazaars. And we’ve determined that we’ll certainly be back—and see not only more of this colorful city, but of the verdant land that lies beyond it.

Leaving Italy

11/23/00: Tolfa, Italy

If you’ve learned to love Italy, you hate to leave Italy.

The place is unusually human—despite its spiritual obsession. And the country seems so enlightened—despite governmental disorder that makes America’s look minor. We awoke to blue skies the day we left, naturally. We slurped one last cappuccino, raced for Rome’s airport, and used our sunglasses for the first time in a month. It was also the first time we were able to take off nearly every layer we’d brought. A cruel joke? Yes, and no one laughed. But in our minds, we saw God winking as he touched our fingertips like he does in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel—as if to say, “Come back soon; but next time, not in November.”

From Tuscan Storms to Tolfa’s Warmth

11/22/00: Tolfa, Italy

When we left Tuscany—where we could not finish this web site because the storms blew out our phone—at least five people near us were missing and presumed dead after their home had been washed into the Serchio River.

Sirens rang regularly. Highways were closed all over. And the locals were seriously upset. We received lots of impassioned advice about how to get to Rome to catch our plane. In the end, we drove (or should we say hydroplaned) along the tempestuous coast. It had been a bittersweet stay.

Our last night was in Tolfa, a village in the Lazio region an hour north of Rome. A rugged area where mountains meet coast, we loved the change of place. We stayed in a rich Roman’s summer villa, which a local family rents to tourists who come for weeklong activity holidays. (If you’re visiting Italy soon, check out what this industrious family has created on their website, www.fontanadelpapa.it.) Although the home could accommodate a dozen, we were the sole guests. So we dined for hours with the family (including their children) and enjoyed a royal sendoff.

Scenes from Sommocolonia

11/21/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

Our Headquarters in Italy is the stunning mountain village of Sommocolonia, which was sunny this one Sunday.

There’s not much to do here—no bar, bakery, or shop of any kind. Meanwhile, the population has dropped from 97 to 65 in the ten years we’ve been visiting. Nonetheless, for a dose of “la dolce far niente,” Sommocolonia can be just about perfect.

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Time

11/20/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

We adore fresh herbs, and were thrilled when U.S. supermarkets finally began offering them some years back.

Of course, those herbs come in plastic packages holding a fraction of an ounce, and cost about two bucks for those five leaves. Here, herbs grow like bushes, if not trees. And when the rosticceria man says the chicken is stuffed with rosemary, he means a small shrub’s worth. The distinction produces not only tastier food, but a lifestyle that asserts that the time it takes to tend gardens, prepare meals, and serve others is not only time well spent, it’s priceless.

Wild Weather Wild Weather Wild Weather Wild Weather

11/18/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

We don’t mean to sound so Minnesotan—where people relentlessly talk about the weather—but here we go again.

The weather here has been amazing (we mean that in a bad way) and it’s brought out the Paul Douglas in everyone. They’re calling it “the storm of the century” from Scotland to Spain to Austria to Italy. They’re discussing global warming and cow flatulation. After 26 days in Europe, we’ve seen two days with sun. Rain has fallen by the foot, not inch. And destruction lurks anywhere and everywhere: Landslides, washed-out roads, fallen trees and homes (and people), and more. Such gloomy conditions certainly compromised our visions and pictures. But it also produced a few sights of its own.

Traveling with Children

11/17/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

So here we are, going around the world in some fantasy temporary retirement. There’s only one (for now) thing distorted with this picture: We’re toting a 3 1/2 year old.

He’s been a great sport so far—sleeping better than us on planes and trains, and oblivious to time changes. He may not “get it,” though, and sometimes asks about a faraway sandbox, or when we’re going home. He misses his playmates. He carries his baseball glove around as if he yearns for Italy to suddenly embrace that sport and, then, himself. But that prop here elicits more stares than smiles.

He’s hard work. And some of us aren’t used to 24/7 parenting (he’d likely say the same thing). Yet he spots lizards and slugs where we see only a sculpture, and he’s picking up Italian like the rest of us do—through food, friends, and faking it.

He may not remember much of this trip; certainly my remaining images from being three are more formed by family photos and stories than actual recollection. I felt downright guilty when, in Lucca, he began to chase after other children on the sidewalks. They just don’t do that kind of thing in Italy, although the children (and mothers) were quite understanding. It had been days since the sun had shined—or he’d played with little people—and they could see it in his eyes.

Yet when I think back to his first trip to the ocean, to Ixtapa, Mexico, on his first birthday, travelling with children seems right again. He could barely walk, never mind that he was strong (willed) as a bull. And he loved that ocean. Something awakened. He attacked the water like a salmon swimming upstream; salt and sand in his face only strengthened his resolve. And as for waves, well, he had no fear of drowning and saw them as mere rides on a playground.

He’s a good inspiration that way, since the waves are everywhere. I do wish he had a better idea of where we’re going, and why. But then I’d want him to explain it to me. And at this point, perhaps the point is not knowing.

Trying to Adapt

11/16/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

We could go on and on about the challenges of international technology and connectivity—and we have before.

But for now, check out this sculpture of adaptors. And consider that mastering them was nothing compared to getting e-mail hooked up. (Which was nothing compared to the fact a lightning bolt that shook our stone house blew out phone service for more than week.)

A Day in Lucca

11/14/00: Lucca, Italy

Lucca is this area’s sparkling center, packed with wealth and style inside its mammoth walls, and showing fewer small-town overtones than most of the many villages in the Garfagnana.

We spent a few days there—taking a break from watching the clouds. The rain falls there too, but one’s spirits are brightened considerably by the city’s many inviting diversions and timeless sights.

The Way and the Light

11/11/00: Sommocolonia, Italy

Today, the sun actually shone for one whole day. (It’s otherwise been more like November in Minnesota.)

Sommocolonia’s church dates back to the 1100s. But it’s been around the chopping block a few times since then, including near-destruction on 12/26/44. On that day, in these streets, a Resistance army of many nationalities stopped the Nazis in their tracks. Repairs to the church—including the modern floor—help cement the generations and tell the stories.