Italian Bargains

Novi Ligure, our landing place for most of June, will never win a “Tidy Town” contest like they have in Ireland. Outside of the relatively well-kept old town, it’s a mostly neglected city with lots of overgrown parks, brownfields, and aging apartment buildings showing signs of deferred maintenance. It’s a city ringed by light industry — Novi Chocolate, foosball table manufacturer Garlando, and the Campari Group, amongst others, call it home — and it’s not a tourist town like our prior stop, Ajaccio. In fact, when we talk to residents they all express shock that we’re here at all: “Why Novi?” they all ask with incredulity. It’s a good question, one I’m sure that Denise was dying to ask me after our first stroll around town. So let me explain. 

I’ll immediately admit that price has a lot to do with our being here: I knew I wanted to be in the Piedmontese region, home of my favorite wines and close to the cities of Genoa, Milan, and Turin, so when my Airbnb search showed a large apartment — a nice change from our Corsican studio — with great reviews for under $1000 per month and near all those places, I grabbed it. As I’ve mentioned, we like to be near the excitement without being right in the middle of it so Novi Ligure, with its train connection to all those cities, seemed like a perfect landing spot. The Google Maps tours that I took weren’t exactly encouraging but I figured we’d be too busy touring around to care. One interesting story that came up in my research involved some gruesome murders that took place in the town in 2001. The victim’s daughter tried to blame members of an Albanian gang, setting off an anti-immigrant fury that backfired when she and her boyfriend were caught on a police tape discussing killing her mother and brother. Remarkably, the killers are out of prison and reunited with the rest of the family. I guess family is really strong here. But once we met Jilia, our super-friendly, Moroccan-born, Novi-raised host, we knew we were going to be fine. 

Jilia met us on arrival and showed us the place: sparsely furnished but with large rooms, high ceilings, and a nice view of the mountains from the bedroom window, it met with Denise’s approval. The bed was comfortable, there was a TV, something missing from our last place, and, most importantly, a regular oven! We could once again roast potatoes to our heart’s content! Jilia even took me on a quick auto tour around town in his Audi, showing me where the main attractions and the grocery stores were located. He dropped me off, reassuring us that if we needed anything at all to just call him. Since it was late, he recommended a restaurant around the corner that stayed open until midnight and, starved from traveling all day, we made our way there. 

Luigi, our flamboyantly gay waiter at Albergo Ristorante, was so happy to have a chance to use his halting English — much better than our pidgin Italian — that I kept waiting for him to pull up a chair and join us. He checked on us every few minutes and even treated us to the house tiramisu for dessert. Coco was more than welcome to join us at the crowded family restaurant and I was able to get a half-bottle of one of my favorite local Barbera wines for six euros fifty, barely more than it would cost in an Asti wine shop. Both of our portions were so big that we were able to enjoy them for lunch the next day and Luigi walked us to the door, making us promise to return soon, seeing us off with a hearty “bye-bye!”

The next morning we took a walk around our new town, focusing on the central district, which is jammed with cafes, shops, and a handful of churches, each bigger than the last. The town was a vacation hotspot for rich Genoese families in the 17th and 18th centuries and they built grand palazzos and big cathedrals so they would feel at home. We went into a focacceria, our first, and quickly learned that they take their bread very seriously here. The recipe is a little different from what we are used to — thinner than the chunks you find on the west coast — and very delicious. It reminded us of the baguette culture in France: no one goes home for lunch or dinner without stopping for a half kilo of focaccia. It’s also a local tradition to give the customer a small dolce gift along with the purchase, a nice surprise! 

Prices are definitely cheaper here in Italy, at least compared to what we were used to in the States. In the centro, we discovered a thrice-weekly farmers market where we bought some vegetables and cheese (including a giant ball of fresh bufala mozzarella for five euros). We discovered the caffe culture, where it is possible to buy an excellent shot of espresso — un caffé — for one euro ten (that’s standing at the bar — table service will cost a little more), the lowest price we’ve encountered. We also discovered a great lunch deal that is offered in many gastronomia (Italian delicatessens): nine euros gets you a three-course lunch of pre-cooked (in the store) food, which turned out to be enough for dinner that night as well. Later, we went to Bennet, the large grocery chain, for some basics and, again, prices were about 40% lower than the US. Much like the grocery stores in France, it’s a giant space with everything you could ever want, from televisions to biscotti to gin. The wine section was overwhelming and focused on Piemonte regional wines, causing me to hyperventilate from overexcitement. 

The next day, Denise found a rural loop walk that took us through a couple of local towns, all on little-used roads. Most of the properties along the route were farms and quite a few of them seemed empty. Another thing we noticed was that all the farms were surrounded by high gates and/or barbed wire and surveilled by cameras. This was very different from our experience in Provence, where we could generally stroll unbothered through the vineyards. Later, our friend Joe informed us that the reason for the high security was likely in order to prevent poachers of truffles, a high-value product that is common in the area. Late in the hike, the trail guide app took us off-road and into a forested area with overgrown flora. I expressed my discomfort with the situation to Denise — I hadn’t really prepared for bushwhacking — but she insisted on pushing through. Right around then, I saw a large snake lying across the path and began hyperventilating for a different reason: I had read up on Italy’s viper population and didn’t care to get bitten. Apparently, she and Coco had passed before the snake’s arrival on the path (or else, unaware, they just stepped over it).  Eventually, I agreed to jump over the reptile, setting the Italian long jump record for a double-hip transplant patient over the age of 60 in the process. 

After our nature hike (and my near-death experience: internet research that night showed that my trail friend matched the description of a poisonous viper), we were ready to undertake the most challenging trek in all of northern Italy: The Serravalle Designer Outlet Mall. I knew nothing of this retail extravaganza until after I booked our apartment but I soon came to realize that the sprawling plaza was a huge tourist attraction, luring shoppers from across the globe to its gilded doors. (I chose to link to the TripAdvisor site so you can “enjoy” all the racist comments.)  There are all sorts of tours from Milan that will take you from your luxury hotel to the mall and back, with various levels of concierge service, depending on the girth of your Gucci wallet. We went as anthropologists, studying a strange civilization, since there was no way we could afford any of the high-end pieces on sale here. Sure, you were saving 40-50% on last season’s designs but that still meant prices starting in the 250 euro range for Balenciaga t-shirts and up to 1000 euros for evening gowns from Dolce & Gabbana. Denise did buy a Moleskine notebook and I found a spatula for six euros (strangely not a single spatula in any of the Airbnbs we have stayed so far), but otherwise we avoided the lure of haute couture. I should note that after locals express their surprise at our presence in Novi, the next thing they ask is “have you been to the outlet mall?” 

We did get some good intel, however, from a shop clerk about a nice hike in the hills above Serravalle so, the next day, we loaded up our water jugs and did the six-mile hike as recommended. Once again, we saw high-security apparatus on all the farmland, along with frequent signs warning against hunting. Maybe we should train Coco to be a truffle dog: she could finally start to earn her keep on this trip. After a few rainy and cool days, it was starting to warm up and we really felt the heat and humidity by the end of the day. I’d say the June weather in Novi is similar to the American Midwest: muggy and with thundershowers always a possibility for the afternoon. 

On the next Saturday, we drove about an hour west into Piemonte wine country, home of Barbera, Dolcetto, Nebbiolo, Barolo, Barbaresco, and Moscato d’Asti among others. These are some of my favorite wines — though Barolo and Barbaresco are generally too rich for my pocketbook — and I was looking forward to tasting them surrounded by the vines. We had an appointment with one of my favorite Moscato producers in the town of Mango, but, in a repeat of our last Italian wine tasting tour in 2007, we couldn’t find the address. The GPS took us down several insanely dangerous roads, only to find an unrelated residence or a locked business. No matter though, as the hilltop towns along the Moscati Route are stunningly beautiful, the views unencumbered by thrill-killing contrivances like guardrails, allowing one to risk one’s life, all for a six-euro bottle of sparkling wine. We finally gave up on finding Mario at Tintero and settled for a picnic in the walled city of Mango. We hiked through the 1000-year-old streets to a grand building at the top and center of town that had once been the palazzo of a local family. Recently, however, it served as the senior center for the town and they were preparing for the daily lunch. Unfortunately, every seat in the beautiful building was taken by residents but they were more than happy to set us up with a picnic table under a tree on the grounds. 

After lunch, we headed to the city of Asti, hoping to find an enoteca that would let us sample some local wares. The first recommendation that came up on TripAdvisor was for a place called Assetati, not far from the center of town, so we set the GPS and hoped for the best. It turned out to be the loveliest experience we could imagine, with co-owners Lubia and Omar giving us an entertaining, university-level tasting of several wines from the area — including some unknown to us — accompanied by a tasty charcuterie and cheese board featuring selections from local producers. We spent hours there while Coco received all sorts of love from the staff and other patrons. I’m not sure what it is about that dog but she makes many fans wherever she goes. 

I’ll stop there and tease the next adventures on our trip: a two-night stay in the Apennines with old friends Holly and Joe in a thousand-year-old ridge-top village inhabited by a couple of hundred long-term residents, many of them related to Joe, perched high in the mountains and the birthplace of Joe’s father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. After that, it’s off to Venice to meet up with friends and see the Architecture Biennale. Tutti bene!