After two and a half weeks of hiding and retreating in the mountains, lush, green nature and unpolluted air of the dolomites, I left my sanctuary behind and headed to the city.

In search for the good food, in Italy’s capital of food.

Bologna.

Five hours on a bus and two trains, plus a bit of running through Bologna Central Station, gasping for air and trying to catch my connection, just in time when it was scheduled to leave…

only to find out that it was 10 minutes late.

I was standing at Rastignano train stop, waiting with my two best friends, mother and daughter rucksacks, for my host to pick me up. The city life was overwhelming.

At least the farm had quite a bit of green and nature around. And one unfriendly cat.

The farm/agriturismo, was not quite what I expected to find. I came here, to the part of Italy, specifically to learn about food. (Obviously the landscape was no where compare to South Tyrol) On the farm description, it said that there was a small restaurant as a part of the business. Only when I got there that I found out he stopped running the restaurant 5 years ago, it was too much for a one-man business.

Oh well, five years ago, you could at least updated your profile maybe?

Anyway, that wasn’t a big deal of course. The big deal was the fact that he did even like to cook. He seemed tired all the time and his lack of energy maenad that I hardly learned anything from this place. The only job to do on the farm seemed to be weeding, and a bit of fruit picking. He took part in none of that. He just told me to do it.

Then there was the grape picking. It was the best job at this farm actually, even though I didn’t learn anything much from it, and I did the whole vineyard of white grapes by myself.

Apparently, he had to fix the bloody swimming pool, otherwise his guests would be unhappy.

It wasn’t too bad, but there was no sense of collaboration and I felt like a worker there. The most important thing was that I didn’t get to learn what I was here to learn. Never mind the fresh pasta (what was too complicated for him to show me how to do it) but even when he cooked Tagliatelle con Ragù, the ragù was from a store-bought jar.

Seriously? And they said the Bolognese takes their food very seriously. I couldn’t believe it from what I experienced.

The next day after I arrive, he also gave me a wrong bus ticket to go to Bologna, and I ended up getting a fine because of that. (Oh yes, I asked him if this was for Bologna, I double-checked, and he said yes)

That was my first impression of Bologna, I didn’t want to come back.

I guess at the end, it came down to our unmatched chemicals and beliefs in the way of living. It’s true, I cannot afford to buy everything organic, but at least some things like eggs, milk or meat, it was crucial to source them well. But for him, running an agriturismo and small organic farm, buying the cheapest eggs, meat and dairy products on offer was the choice he made.

It was against my value, and I didn’t want to put up with that, to live in an environment I didn’t feel like I could fit in, it was uncomfortable to be there even for one more night.

So at the end I left. I left before I was supposed to, by sending lots of people Couchsurfing’s requests. Three people got back to me, and I spent three nights sleeping on three different beds.

It changed my perception of Bologna, it completely did.