italy

It's February already and time to warm things up a bit. Somedays we all need a little inspiration and what better place to put it other than right your desktop. Just choose the size that fits your screen for your daily dose of wanderlust. This month, I chose a photo from the medieval town Cittadella in the Veneto. This tiny town is perfect for wandering, snacking or a walking tour atop the city's medieval wall.

Read more posts about Italy here.

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Enjoy!

Spoleto, a tiny hill town, nestled in the heart of Italy, was made famous by the arts and theater festival, Festival dei Due Mondi di Spoleto (or the Festival of Two Worlds), that takes place there every summer. Being that it was fall, we knew there were loads of food-centered festivals going on and we found one focused on olive oil to plan our trip around. We went to Spoleto with a quest. A quest for a great olive oil. While we didn't discover it where we intended, we did, however, discover Spoleto.

I expected to be underwhelmed. Myself and my two Italian companions arrived tired and weary from our drive to Spoleto and we didn't feel like venturing into the city nor spend any more time in the car to find dinner. It happens. We knew that our options for a great meal would be limited in the tiny town we were staying in just outside the city. Our hotel actually had a restaurant, but it was only open in the high season. "Thankfully," I thought to myself, "we don't have to succumb to that fate." So, we padded downstairs to ask our genial hotel manager for somewhere to eat nearby. His advice, head to the hotel down the street instead; their restaurant was open. "Bummer," I thought, "we're going to overpay and be underwhelmed." We hesitantly headed that way and wondered whether or not we should muster the energy to get back in the car.

The woman behind the counter pauses when my friend Francesco asked the question, "do you have a local olive oil for sale in this supermarket?" She shakes her head in disgust and replies, "no, there's no good olive oil here." She then turns to her colleague, who's helping an elderly woman choose some cheese and asks "where can you find good olive oil nearby?" And, almost in unison, they exclaim an unintelligible name (later I'll find out it's Frantoio Feliziani) and they begin to rattle off complicated driving directions in unison. "Go to the roundabout, turn right, then go to the end of the street...do you need us to write that down for you?" Francesco shakes his head and says no, and I just hope he was paying attention. And off we went in the car in search of a nameless frantoio. What's a frantoio, you ask? Don't worry, you'll quickly learn (as I did) that this is the place where olive oil dreams are made.