Tag: Midge Guerrea

Tenuta Vannulo and a Perfect Day!

by midgeguerrera, posted in Stops Along the Journey - Sites Off the Tourist Track, Travel Comments

My weather app tells me it is still raining in Pontelandolfo, but here in Paestum, Cilento the sun is shining and we are cozily ensconced in glamorous lounge chairs facing a luscious garden and silent pool. (More about this place in a separate blog.) A perfect afternoon after the perfect morning. We set off from Pontelandolfo at 8:00 AM with our friends Mariann and Jeff. (Well getting up at 6:00 AM to be packed and out the door by 8:00 AM was not toooo perfect.). Our goal was to drive down hill to the Province of Salerno and visit a magical organic farm, Tenuta Vannulo.

Buffalo milk cappuccino was a great start to our day.

When I think of organic farms yielding great produce, I immediately think of my favorite family farmers Andrea and Tony at New Jersey’s Martenette Farm. I need them to come and check out this place. Tenuta Vannulo is a different type of farm – a much bigger operation. This farm, raising hundreds of water buffalo and lots of produce, is something to behold. For over three generations, beginning in the early 1900s, It has been in the Palmieri family. Even though it is a huge operation, the family is still involved. We spotted the 70 something Senore Palmieri out in the kitchen garden with a hoe. I would encourage all members of Organic Farming Associations who want to experience something that creates yummy products and attracts bus loads of locals and tourists alike to head to Southern Italy.

Tenuta Vannulo is not only an incredibly efficient modern working buffalo farm but also operates a number of buffalo driven shops and a restaurant. Of course there is a caseificio. Locals stop in for the freshest of cheeses – mozzarella, bocconcini, aversana, treccia, scamorza, burro and more – all made with the milk of bufalo indiano. No industrial production here! Everything is hand made with a limited production. The farm’s goal is to make enough to sell just to their local market.

If you are a kid getting off one of the ten buses filled with school groups that we saw, you began whining for the Yogurteria e Cioccolateria the moment you stepped off the bus. Actually, the whines were delightful, in multiple part harmonies and all the kids were sporting the same color cap. I figure it is easier for teachers to track their class if they sport the same color. Yup, these kids didn’t care about the mozzarella they wanted buffalo gelato! The gelato is just the beginning. One can get un caffè, cappuccino, fresh baked products, amazing puddings, candies – I can’t go on. My strictly enforced diet made me miss tasting but not drooling. (Don’t tell my diet buddies but I did have a cappucino made with buffalo milk. I wish I could buy this milk! So creamy, yet light – it has more fat than cow milk.)

The farm has more to look at than fields of produce, water buffalos, and wonderful outdoor spaces, they make and sell designer purses! The designer bags and goods, made on the premises by leather workers are fabulous. I controlled my self and went home without one but I may go back. Imagine saying – “oh this old thing – it’s made of buffalo hide from a wee artigianal shop near Salerno.” 🤣😂

Me thinks I talk too much. My effusive voice driven by what a cool place this is. I will stop typing. Video tells it best –

Now that you’ve seen the majestic creatures, let me tell you what our great guide, Rosaria, told us about the water buffalos. (Midge I thought you were done talking?) Back to the buffalo – they are smart! Three hundred of the milk producers reside in the ginormous stable – unfettered! They only ever take homeopathic medicines. They wake up in the morning to classical music. Buffalos like ritual – they have habits. Once they have chosen their bed – yes a foam mattress – they sleep in the same spot daily. If a buffalo feels the need to be milked, she strolls over to the self milking machine. Each buffalo has a micro chip so the farmers know who has been milked and how much they produced – it averages nine liters a day. Feeling hot a sticky? Mosey over to the shower for a cool down spray. Need a back rub? Head over to the car wash style rubdown machine. Space dirty? The cleaning crew comes by multiple times a day. Mariann laughingly said, ” in my next life I wouldn’t mind coming back as one of these girls.”

This is a cool place to visit. It is a wee bit off the tourist path and even with ten buses of kids I, with no patiences, didn’t feel stamped upon or smacked with a backpack. Hmm, I didn’t see any backpacks – thank the goddesses. The tours are organized so that we didn’t seem to overlap with another one. Each group was relatively small. The place is huge, so it is even possible to find a quiet place to sit and stare. The restaurant is worth the trip and the prices are not tourist outrageous. There were a lot of locals just there for lunch. Midge stop talking, just go back again! Enjoy!

Ci vediamo a presto!

Midge

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The Traffic Stop

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

We were driving through a neighboring town on our way to buy a new refrigerator, .  It was a glorious day.  Blue sky, the sun was shining down on us.

“Jack that light is red.”

“I can’t see the light. The sun…”

“You just went through that red light.”

“Maybe it doesn’t work – those cars stopped too.”

“They stopped so they wouldn’t broadside us.  Shit.”

We headed down the street when at the next intersection who should appear but un carabiniere – policeman – holding up a paletta, the very small yet very scary circle on a stick that means pull over or we shoot.  They do carry guns.  Sometimes they carry very big automatic guns.

Damn, we went through a stop light and got caught.  My stomach dropped to my toes.  Jack sat up straighter and assumed his remembered State Police posture.  I rolled down my window and smiled – cripes I am seventy-two years old, flirting ain’t gonna work – maybe dimwitted old lady?  

“Buon Giorno,” I say with a smile.

Jack followed my lead, “Buon Giorno.”

The police officer does not crack a smile, “Patente e libretto.”

I open the glove box and tons of scontrini – reciepts – fall out.  I find not one but two plastic folders holding documents.  I drop the blue one.  I feel the police officer staring at me.  I open the black folder but haven’t a clue what I am looking for.  What is il libretto – is that the registration?  He touches my hand – I freeze.  He points.  I give him the grey thing he points at.  It must be il libretto.

The carabinieri always seem to work in twos.  The rear of the police car was open and a computer appeared.  The second officer grabbed il libretto, which when I read it later was the registration,  and started typing away.  Rats, I think there goes another ticket to the car.  The car that is in my name driven by Jack who couldn’t see the freakin’ red light.

By now I have the insurance and our international drivers licenses ready for him.

“I documenti per favore.”

I try to give him the international drivers licenses – he pushes them aside.  He doesn’t care about the insurance either.

“I vostri passaporti!”  He says a bit severely.

We are so screwed.  Here we go on a slow boat back to the United States.  Or worse, the computer-generated phone hell of the American Consulate.  I realize he needs to know we are Italian citizens and live in Pontelandolfo half the year.  The problem is I need to get out of the car.  All those car stops we have seen on the USA news demonstrate how dangerous it is to get out of the car.  But my purse is on the back seat.  What to do? My grandmother leaps into my body and suddenly my Italian improved two hundred percent.  

“Siamo cittadini italiani.  Residenza a Pontelandolfo.  Potrei uscire dalla macchina.  La mia borsa è sul sedile dietro.”  I get out of the car, look directly into his handsome brown eyes and wish I was twenty-five.  Then I go to the back seat and get my purse.  Opening my wallet to get my residence card demonstrates that I happen to have a wee bit of cash too.  I quickly take out my carta d’identità and gesture to Jack to take out his.  While Jack arches up in the seat to get his wallet, I say.  “Viviamo a Pontelandolfo sei mesi all’ anno e in New Jersey altri sei mesi.”

“I speak a little inglese.  Where in New Jersey.”

“Tu parli bene l’inglese,” I say.  “Siamo a Ewing vicino Philadelphia.”  

He nods.  I smile.  He speaks English about as well as I speak Italian but hey compliments go a long way.  He takes our identification cards back to the computer.  Somehow, I don’t feel as frightened.  Jack is still staring straight ahead.

He comes back and doesn’t look happy.  “To drive in Italy avete bisogno della patente internazionale.”  

He throws Jack’s New Jersey license back at him.  What the #@%&!, I think.  Why did Jack give him his license – all he wanted was his residence card.  I leap into my “Ms Fixit” role.

“Mi scusi signore, abbiamo le patenti internazionali.  Sono queste.”  I hand him the same two grey international drivers licenses that I tried to give him earlier. We get them every year from Tripple A and have never shown them to anyone in ten years.  Are these acceptable or do we end up in the cop car?  He doesn’t even open them – just hands them back and goes back to the computer.  I get back in the car.  I am planning to go into my 1960’s dead weight protest mode.  If they want to arrest us it will take a crane to pull me out of the car. 

He slowly walks back.  I slowly slump lower into the car.  Jack sits up even taller.  The policeman looks at me and pauses.  I cringe.  

“Buon fine settimana segnori,” he says with a smile.

I smile.  He turns and walks away.  Jack starts the car.  I wave at the policemen.  Thank you we will have a good weekend. But first, lets go buy that refrigerator.

Ci vediamo!

Midge

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