A Bottle of Fermented Grapes

I just purchased this 2004 Rioja and according to the dude in the wine shop it shouldn't be opened until 2013 or 2014. This is my "Do Not Touch" wine for 3-4 years!

A bottle of Sciacchetra dessert wine that I drank following Dammapalooza. Probably should have saved this for a better occasion but it was sure an amazing, sweet white wine.

---

Complicated and complex. Simply incredible. Thirst-satisfying. Palate-confounding. Beautifully crafted. Nectar of the gods.

Wine, at some point in many of our lives, becomes a sort of soundtrack to some of the great moments.

We remember the great bottles of wine not necessarily for the wine itself but for the memory it evokes.

The glass of Chianti Classico at the Poggio Asciutto vineyard in Italy in the middle of my 60-mile bike through Tuscany.

The Schiacchetra dessert wine in Cinque Terre, Italy, with my dad and sister as we looked out at the Italian coastline.

The Pinot Noir at Francis Ford Copolla's winery in Napa Valley -- sitting outside with the wine, smoking a cigar and pretending like I was on the set of The Godfather with Al Pacino and Marlon Brando.

A glass of champagne in Lima, Peru, as the Alfredo Baertl family celebrated the birth of the first member of a new generation of Baertls.

Countless bottles of wines with labels now long forgotten as friends and I sat around summer campfires in Forest City.

I will never be above drinking a Busch Light on the golf course or having a bottle of "Two Buck Chuck."

But the dynamic, unique wines of the world have become something that I now happily celebrate.

The wine defines moments of life like songs define a scene in a movie.

Tears for Fears in Donnie Darko. Sam playing the piano in Casablanca. The haunting melody in Pan's Labyrinth. The theme from The Godfather.

The local grocery store provides me with my "go-to" wines that I love to fall back on. The Trapiche Oak Cask Malbec. The Chateau Ste. Michelle Sauvignon Blanc. The various Pinot Noirs.

But as I look across the room at my 12-bottle wine rack, I can't help but think of the moments that will soon be attached to the unopened bottles of wine.

Most of them will probably just insert their flavor into a long night of drinking with friends.

But I'm sure that in those 12 bottles, one of them will connect with another one of life's great moments.

A bottle of fermented grapes attaching its flavor with a day in my life.

Making its mark. Hitting the right notes. Helping me remember the day.

Affectionately allowing you and I to...

Enjoy the ride,
Damm

Five Lands

1. In Cinque Terre, Italy, there are five small towns along the coast that make up one of the more beautiful places on earth.

A trail leads from town to town but unfortunately as we arrived, flooding and landslides caused the trail to be mostly closed down.

Our hotel was in the southernmost town of Riomaggiore -- a small, hilly town with wonderful locals and good food.

The night we arrived it had just finished raining and I took to the road for a run up into the hills south of Riomaggiore. Water was gushing down the road and a light rain was still falling from the sky.

The hill kept climbing and climbing as my legs ached more and more with each step. I passed a small bar that looked out at the water. I passed dozens of small cars and some bicycles that sped down the hill into the town.

My shoes became sopping wet by the time that I was able to turn around and make the quick descent down the hill back into town.

The run had literally taken my breath away. The view only figuratively did.

2. We ate at a restaurant in Riomaggiore for our first meal and as seems the custom in Cinque Terre we were warmly greeted by the restaurant owners -- a beautiful Italian family with the grandfather serving as the gracious host. I would call the food at La Lampara good but not great -- however, the wine and ambiance were incredible.

We laughed the night away drinking glass after glass of wine until we ended the evening at a bar up the road with some good, American mixed drinks. Even with a cocky (kind of a jerk really) waiter, we managed to enjoy ourselves.

3. Run number two was to become more of an adventure race than a run for me. I overcame my hangover with some late morning prosciutto and bread from a market near our hotel and filled up my Camelback bag with water. Up the hills once again but this time heading north on the paved road leading to the next town up the coast. I ran at least 5 or 6 miles to get to the town but pleasantly ran into the Waldorf group by the time I arrived.

On my way there I took time to enjoy an espresso and blood orange on that bar overlooking the coast, I found a place to swim in the ocean for a while and I meandered about the town before running into the group.

We sat to drink some schiacctera (sweet dessert wine) and eat some cheese before heading back to Riomaggiore in the late afternoon.

4. That evening was kind of a drunk-fest. Not going to lie. I bought a bottle of Chianti and we headed down to the water to do some swimming and jumping off rocks. My and 3-4 of the Waldorf girls braved the really cold water and swam around for a while in the salty, ocean water. (The wine helped us stay warm!).

After that we headed to dinner in Moterrosso (and I managed to get a 50 euro ticket for not having a train ticket on the way there -- by the way, Italian train police are absolute douschebags and are the main reason that I am cheering against Italy in the World Cup -- a bunch of dramatic babies!).

Dinner was fun and we enjoyed great service and quality food (and more wine!).

When we got back to Riomaggiore, guess what!, more wine!

The night ended at the spot we had been swimming earlier in the day with that "jerk" of a waiter from the night before, a bunch of Norweigan women who loved my blond hair and a couple of the Waldorf kids. We drank more wine. We drank Limoncello. We drank beer.

The former "jerk" Italian waiter was now our friendly guitarist for the evening and he sang Bob Marley songs as we drank the night away.

As 4 AM rolled around, I decided to stumble up the hill to our hotel. No running for me on this jaunt -- heck, I could barely walk.

5. Leaving Italy the next day with a severe (and I mean severe) hangover in tow, I realized that my romance with Italy was falling apart.

My first trip to Italy had been a punch-drunk love affair. The museums, churches, food and wine, the culture......they had made me fall in love with an ancient remnant -- a life lived in the past but a life not lived by me.

This second trip to Italy was an open-eyed balancing act. Teetering on the edge of affection for the beauty that the country provides while nearly slipping into the frustration and anger that came from a boastful people clinging to old ways without accepting the new.

I realize now, looking back on the trip, that Italy doesn't have to be a singular idea in my head. It can actually be a place that changes for me -- from good to bad, a love-hate relationship of sorts.

A place of variety. Not just one or two places, really.

Something more like five lands -- or as the Italians would say "Cinque Terre."

Enjoy the ride,
Damm

The World of Venice

"Today it is too old a story. The world has forgotten the mighty fleets of Venice, her formidable commanders and her pitiless inquisitions. The dungeons of the Doge's Palace have lost their horror, to the generation of Belsen and Hiroshima; and even power itself seems too frail and fickle a commodity to waste our lyrics on. The Venetians may still half-mourn their vanished empire, but to the foreigner the sadness of Venice is a much more nebulous abstraction, a wistful sense of wasted purpose and lost nobility, a suspicion of degradation, a whiff of hollow snobbery, the clang of the turnstile and the sing-song banalities of the guides, knit together with crumbling masonries, suffused in winter twilight."
Excerpt from "The World of Venice" by Jan Morris.

---

On a rainy night in Venice, we sat outside and listened to popular classical music by a quintet of musicians in St. Mark's square. The lead violinist was a virtuoso. She played so lightly, so easily, that one could easily have fallen in love with her musicianship alone. But upon looking at her face, it was much easier to fall in love with her arrogant beauty.

She knew she was good at the violin and even though this was neither the grand concert hall of Paris nor the orchestra of a major city, she acted as if Issac Stern himself had something to learn about playing the violin.

I sat mesmerized for that hour. And then promptly, at midnight, the music ended and she rushed off with her cell phone -- surely texting her husband or a boyfriend.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

---

I have no desire to visit Venice again. None at all.

Venice, for me, is like an ex-girlfriend whose beauty no longer holds the same place as it once did.

The churches and monuments are stained with graffiti. The waiters and bartenders seem tired of the tourists even though we keep the city afloat. The daily way of life is completely absurd for Venetians.

Small boats navigate the canals to deliver cans of Coca-Cola, bottles of Peroni and cheap, trinkets for the tourists to buy. Rough-looking men unload these goods and seem to move as slowly as possible. I imagine their day doesn't involve a great deal of work -- just enough to keep us tourists happy.

Venice was once a great nation but now it is a Disneyland of sorts.

"A city with canals for streets and hundreds of little bridges?" the tourist says with a sense of wonder. "How truly interesting."

No wonder then, that upon my second visit to Venice, the facade of winged lion's and Doge's names in the buildings had started to turn to ruin for me.

Being treated as a tourist isn't why I travel to Europe and Venice treats you like a tourist, whether you like it or not.

Venice is a city that lives in the past and it's as if the world still clings to her dying breath -- finding beauty in the melancholy of it all.

---

Our hotel in Venice was nice enough. I enjoyed the Peggy Guggenheim museum and had a couple of decent (but by no means great) meals.

The cuddlefish in ink at Al Conte Pescaor was actually very good and I enjoyed the octopus-celery salad even though it was ridiculously overpriced. Two glasses of Prosecco and my bill for lunch was soon 35 Euro ($50 or so). A very good meal but not worth $50 in my book.

I think the best time I had in Venice was sitting on the edge of the city with a friend drinking a Coca-Cola Light and eating some prosciutto and cheese. A cruise ship passed by and we waved to the people aboard the ship.

"Ha," I thought. "Look at those silly tourists."

---

We made our parting trip to the Venice train station during the morning rush hour for the water taxis of the city. As we traveled from the Salute stop to the station stop, I moved to the front of the water taxi and sat by myself.

I watched the gruff men unloading their goods for the day from the various boats. A worker stood in a plaza filling a hole with dirt -- looking around after each scoop to see who was passing by on the Grand Canal.

Somewhere in the city, Timothy Dalton (who my sister took a picture of during a water taxi ride the day before) was filming a movie called "The Tourist" (appropriately enough) with Angelina Jolie.

More tourists were coming into the city as we were being taxied out.

We got off the water taxi and headed toward the train station. A girl in our group came running up to me as we walked up the steps.

"You'll never guess who I just sat by on the taxi," she said.

"It was that violin player you were so in love with the other night. She was taking her daughter to school, I think."

Twice I had been so close to her but each time I wasn't even able to say goodbye.

So with a tip of the hat and a smirk on my face, I turned to the Grand Canal and told Venice, for what was probably the last time, "Goodbye."

This is Life

"This is life," Eva said to me as we looked up at the town of Lamole.

The house of Mona Lisa in the distance. Her vineyards in the foreground. A glass of Chianti Classico in my hand. Mud on my legs from the dirt road leading up to the house. My bicycle leaning against the ancient Tuscan home.

My life has stories before that moment and it will have more in the future.

But on a Saturday afternoon in the valley below Lamole, Italy, there was life.

And it was beautiful.

---

My second trip to Europe began on a Thursday and as if to prepare me for my adventures ahead, I ended up at a sushi bar in the Philadelphia airport talking to a Coast Guard officer who had just returned from a two-month trip to Europe. Over a couple Sapporos and a bento box for myself, we shared itineraries and he gave me some great tips about what to check out in Barcelona.

His trip to Barcelona with a buddy allowed them to meet a French girl who would take them to her home on the French Riviera where they would spend a few days enjoying the good life.

In some ways, I wasn't as fortunate during my trip but in other ways I was about to have a great vacation. Thanks Will, for the great advice regarding Barcelona.

Next time I'll remember to ask where to find the rich French girls.

---

I had a long layover in the Philly airport so I went to have another drink at Vino Volo (a really nice little wine, food shop) and enjoyed a class of Spanish wine.

On the 7 plus hour flight to Europe, I watched "Invictus" and it was really good. In Frankfurt, I missed my connecting flight but the ladies at the transfer desk in Germany were very nice and I took a nap in the airport while I waited for the next flight 4 hours later. Lufthansa is now my favorite airline. My flight from Frankfurt (where I did indeed have a Frankfurter!) to Florence included a sandwich, free wine and a nice selection of newspapers. The pilot exclaimed "Andiamo" and we were off.

---

Getting into Florence I realize how excited I am to be in Europe. I chat with the young, attractive female cab driver on the way to the hotel in Florence and discover that the restaurant I've picked out for the night is indeed a really good local restaurant -- Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco.

In Florence, I'm meeting my dad and the group of Waldorf students on the Communication Dept. trip. They aren't at the hotel when I get in, so I go out for a 4-mile run through Florence. It's raining but I could care less.

How amazing is it to turn a corner and just happen upon the Great Duomo of Florence?

---

I meet my dad and some of the group at the hotel. We take off for the restaurant. The meal was fantastic! Even though we have reservations, we have to wait for a few minutes but the owner brings out white wine for us while we wait.

My meal includes house Chianti wine, Lardo di Colonatta (indescribably tasty!), carpaccio with arugula and parmesan, cinghiale con polenta (wild boar in an amazing, rustic tomato sauce) and then dessert. For dessert we all shared tiramisu, grappe and panna cotta with caramel sauce. A beer at a British pub next to the Duomo and then it was bedtime. I slept hard. Really hard. I fell asleep thinking about how awesome it feels to be in a foreign country on the first day of the trip. Such adventure ahead. So many people to meet. So many new foods to try.

The trips are never what you expect but they are always full of expectations. My expectations were high for Saturday but they were about to be surpassed!

---

On Saturday I woke up at about 9:30 am and headed down the street to rent my road bike for the day. It was an older road bike but nice. Only cost me 35 Euro to rent it for the whole day and that included helmet and lock as well (I just had to bring my own bike shoes). I also bought a Camelback pack that holds 2L of water and allowed me to bring my camera along for the day -- it was expensive but worth it -- I'll definitely use it a lot in the future.

The guys at the bike shop were great and gave me a route for the day of about 60 miles.

Maps in hand. My camera and water in my backpack. Shades and helmet on. "Andiamo!"

After navigating through the tiny streets of Florence (more than once I had to place my hand on the car to my side in order to avoid running my bike into the vehicle!) and crossing the bridge to the west of Ponte Vecchio, I was climbing up a steep hill and leaving the city of Florence.

I had so much energy that I just zipped up the hill. I ended up taking a different turn than I had planned on but ended up in the tiny little town of Impruneta within a few kilometers. I picked up a Red Bull and banana, and got some good directions from the shop owner. On a side note, cycling is huge in Italy and everyone gives you a lot more respect when you have a bike jersey on -- it's like you've joined their culture for a day!

As I ride south on the hilly, winding streets, I started to notice a few Lamborghinis and Ferraris traveling north. A few became a dozen and pretty soon I noticed that people were on the sides of the road watching the cars go by. I stopped and asked what was going on.

A nice Italian gentleman and his kid told me that the day was part of a 4-day tour from Southern to Northern Italy for Italian sports cars -- known as Mille Miglia.

My casual bike ride through Tuscany suddenly had become a nerve-wracking ride with hundreds of Italian sports cars.

Mille Miglia used to be a race but has been a "tour" ever since 1957. Too many deaths in the race turned the race into a tour. But many of the drivers still go over 100 mph and pass up steep hills and around corners.

I had trouble deciding when I should stop and get a class of Chianti Classico wine -- this wine can only be bottled in the area between Florence and Siena.

For some reason I just kept riding and riding, not wanting to stop. I got rained on a little and was starting to get a little tired of the craziness on the road with all the sports cars -- so I took a turn onto a dirt road that looked interesting and rode for a few miles in solitude.

Mud was splattering my legs and the quiet was deafening but I soon came across a sign for a Chianti Classico winery and decided to check it out.

I climbed up a small hill to the old stone house and looked around for the owner or people. At first I couldn't find anyone, just two scrubby looking dogs taking a nap. Too lazy to get up for the visitor in the cycling jersey.

Eventually Eva came out of her office and introduced herself. She and her husband had purchased the small winery a few years ago -- they were preparing a meal for a group of cyclists coming to stay a few hours later.

Eva is Swedish but has been living in Italy for 20 years with her husband. She was awesome and the winery was beautiful. She poured me a glass of the 2006 Chianti Classico and gave me a cold bottle of water. I walked around the winery with her and got a tour of their home, which is a small bed and breakfast.

Poggio Asciutto is a place I will certainly visit again!

---

Eva encouraged me to ride 7km to the town of Lamole. So I did.

Holy shit! It was a really tough climb with grades up to 9% and just a non-stop climb. By the time I reached Ristoro di Lamole, I was exhausted. I took a seat outside and the very friendly Italian waitress brought me a glass of Chianti, some water and a great cheese and prosciutto sandwich. She even paired a mild cheese with a tasty prosciutto that worked perfectly with the fresh bread.

I had an espresso for a little caffeine jolt and I was heading back to Florence after the 30 minute rest in Lamole.

The descent from Lamole was the most fun I've ever had on a bicycle. I was going anywhere from 25 to 40 mph and flying around narrow corners -- nearly passing the few cars in front of me at times.

I couldn't stop smiling. I couldn't stop thinking that surely this day had been one of the best days in my life.

I had yet to speak to an American all day. It had just been myself and the kind people of Tuscany. The wine and food had been outstanding. The climb to Lamole exhausting. The scenery gorgeous.

At one point in the descent, overtaken with emotion and happiness, I just let out a loud "Wooooooo!" -- like a kid going down a slide.

This was life.

.....to be continued.....