How to turn life’s lemons into truffles

It’s bittersweet, but it’s “Go Time”

October was my marathon month for the apartment in Sanremo, Liguria. I stayed the entire month in Sanremo to be close to the remodel of the apartment, and make sure everything moved along on target. However, life threw me some real lemons this month. So I turned those lemons into truffles, and kept moving forward.

The last few weeks leading up to October felt as if Rome had turned on even more charm and beauty, and my social calendar kept expanding. It was perhaps a last-ditch effort to keep me, but I had made up my mind and wasn’t turning back.

There were moments when I questioned my decision: Was I really going to find my next happy place in Liguria? What if it turned out to be a bucket of lemons instead? What if I made a mistake? I was falling into more “what if something goes wrong” thoughts and not enough “what if something goes right” thoughts.

There was a lot of work to do, and I didn’t want to bring my “life gives you lemons” mindset. So, I did what I usually do and planned the journey to include a bit of adventure. I planned to stay a few nights at Lake Garda, in the beautiful town of Sirmione, then head north to Munich, Germany, for the last weekend of Oktoberfest. Sofia was already planning her Oktoberfest-themed doggie outfits for the beer halls. It was a great idea–in theory.

Welcome to Sermione, I guess

I arrived in Sirmione in the late afternoon after an uneventful six-hour drive from Rome. Exhausted, I wanted to check into my hotel, find an aperitivo, and have dinner.

Sirmione sits on a peninsula that juts into the southern tip of Lake Garda. Cars are prohibited in the historic center, so visitors must use one of the main parking garages, which provide shuttle service via golf carts to various hotels.

As I was registering my car at the garage, one of the golf cart drivers entered the office in a flurry, apologizing profusely in Italian. Sensing something was off, I tried to follow his rapid-fire Italian. His arms moved as fast as his words as he explained he had backed into my bike carrier, knocking off the back section—along with my bike. Oh, and I had just bought the bike a week before.

Upon inspection, the bike was fine; however, the trailer wasn’t going to make it to Germany, Austria, or Switzerland. The entire left corner of the bike trailer, along with all the operating lights, was lying on the ground beside it..

I held my temper even though I was tired. It started to rain. Sofia had to pee. I had to pee. It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome to Sirmione. Someone had thrown me a bunch of lemons.

The next day, I spent most of my time trying to reassemble the trailer well enough to continue my journey. Armed with glue, clear postage tape, and zip ties, I managed to patch it up after four hours in the parking garage. It wasn’t pretty, but it would work.

Next stop…Direct to Sanremo

I showed my repair job to a local police officer and asked if I could drive with it in Italy. He smiled and said, “Penso di sì, ma vai piano” (“I think so, but go slowly”). I then took a chance and asked if it would pass in Austria and Germany. He just laughed: “Penso di no” (“I don’t think so”).

The Germans and Austrians are sticklers about road safety. I’d probably be turned away at the border.

That was it. I eliminated the stress of an additional journey into Germany by canceling my non-refundable Munich hotel. Instead, I booked an Airbnb near Sanremo in Pompeiana, a small village in the hills above the Ligurian coast. We would arrive three days earlier than planned, which meant I’d have to keep my lederhosen in the closet this year. While I felt a bit soured by the change, it also relieved a ton of stress.

A house above the sea in Pompeiana, and turning lemons into truffles on the weekend

I drove straight to Pompeiana from Sirmione battling torrential rain and wind for five hours. My eyes darted constantly between the road and the bike behind me as the rain poured down. I was ready to pull over and reconfigure the bike if necessary. Mother Nature was tossing me another bunch of lemons.

Thankfully, we arrived safely in Pompeiana. The rain stopped, the sky began to clear, and I was met with a stunning view of the Italian Riviera and a sweeping panorama of the Mediterranean. It was as if the world said, “Welcome to your new region. You made it safely with your car, your dog, and your bike. Relax now.”

For three days, I soaked in the beauty of Pompeiana, biking to the market, the bar for morning coffee, and exploring the olive groves. The loss of my Oktoberfest weekend seemed like a small price for such a valuable gain.

During my drive from Sermione to Pompeiana, I stopped for a break at one of the autostrada rest stops in Italy, also knows as Autogrille. I struck up a conversation with a couple and their grandson. They were on their way to the annual truffle festival in Milessimo, about an hour away from my final destination. Apparently, it was a tradition for them to host the family after the annual truffle festival. I wanted to invite myself, but that would have been a bit pushy. However, they did encourage me to make a visit to the festival.

The season of truffle calls

In Italy, truffles are called tartufo singular, or tartufi plural. In French, they are truffe. They grow underground on the roots in a symbiotic relationship with certain types of trees. Some of the trees that encourage truffle production are; hazelnut, oak, beech, birch and some types of pine.

These trees are abundant in Italy and France, which makes truffle hunting a huge ecomonmic business during the seasons, but also keeps the price of truffles affordable. You can buy a whole truffle for $10 or $15 instead of paying $40 or $50 for a tiny shaving you might find in an American or British restaurant.

While I was writing this post, I did a bit of research, and found this website extremely informative in understanding the process of cultivating, finding, and harvesting truffles. If you’re interested, check it out.

So after the rain stopped on Sunday, I packed up the car and Sofia, and off we went to see what this festival in Milessimo was all about.

Milessimo wore the perfume of truffle and not lemons.

When I arrived and parked the car, the first thing I noticed was the scent in the air. There was the aroma of truffle that was unmistakable. I knew instantliy that truffles were here in abundance and they were meant to be bought and enjoyed!

After a half of an hour into our adventure, my stomach was full. Thanks to Sofia, I sampled gnocchi with truffle, polenta with truffle, ravioli with truffle, truffle lasagna, and even truffle gelato. I pimped out Sofia for truffles. The payment was delicious.

It’s time to buy

Giuseppe travels all year throughout Italy with his truffle-hunting dog, Bella. Where the truffles grow, they go. He makes a great living following the truffles. He can search for a few days without finding one truffle, and then on another day find 20-30 in one location. That’s enough to bring to market and sell for a decent profit.

The annual truffle festival in Milessimo is just one of many truffle festivals that happen throughout Italy’s truffle regions. Piemonte, Tuscany, Umbria, and Le Marche are all known for their truffles. And when there are truffles, they are festivals. Next year, I will add a few more festivals to my list and a few more truffles to my kitchen.

If you want to know more about my move to Sanremo in Liguria, Italy, check out my blog here that talks all about Liguria.

Turning lemons into truffles

My little setback in Sermione created a diversion that ultimately was an adventure. I had a different experience than I had originally planned, but it was as good as, if not better than, a couple of days in a tent drinking beer with strangers. Who knows what would have happened if I continued on to Munich.

Back in Sanremo, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. There had been setbacks, but I had crossed into a new phase of my life in Liguria. Each step brought me closer to turning this new apartment into a home. Lemons were bound to keep coming, but as long as there were places to find truffles and sunsets over the Ligurian Sea, I knew I’d keep making lemonade.

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