Well, I am alive. Which is a huge improvement from whatever state it was I was in this morning. Must remember in future that I am not a Friulian man, and therefore I cannot drink like one. My first rule, after a previous near death experience, is Do Not Drink the Grappa. Lesson learned. A new rule, after last night, is that when one is told, "this wine is green", it is best to translate it to, "this wine is poison". FL took me to a frasca, which is a traditional Friulian pub that is opened out of the side of a cantina in someone's home, or any other place that, in season, produces wine. I believe (and I will ask FL for the full history again when I see him) that frascas (frasca = 'branch' in friulano) came about in a time when it was illegal for bars or pubs to be opened (or perhaps it was a time of complete prohibition, I am not sure). Some people, therefore, when they acquired booze, would hang a branch outside of their home, letting others know that it was safe to come in and drink. The tradition continues today, though the idea of prohibition in these parts is laughable. A friend of FL's has a winery, and called FL yesterday evening to let him know that the frasca was opened. This is a very exciting deal, apparently, because real frascas are only opened a handful of days out of the year. We drove out to an area of Cormons that I had never seen before, like this hidden, I don't know, collection of houses around a tiny town square, v. v. medieval, all made of the same type of dark stone, the roads, the houses, the walls surrounding people's gardens. At the end of the lane there was a huge, gorgeous house with a cardboard sign hanging on the gate that read, "frasca aperta", and a drawing of a branch. We rode around back and, sure enough, tucked into a tiny room with its doors thrown wide, there was a frasca. Tiny makeshift bar, handwritten sign with prices (.50 a glass, 1 euro a liter), a group of old men cackling and "dio boi"-ing and drinking wine out of tiny little glasses. This is when FL said, "be careful- this wine is green", but I was too enamored with the scene to take heed.

We went in and had a seat, heads obviously turning as a young girl is a rare sight in a place like that. We ordered a small glass of wine, and FL's friend came over to chat with us. I don't know how long we were there, maybe an hour, and I was having such fun listening to the men talk. For the most part I can't understand much Friulano- but I know the curse words. Which is pretty much the bulk of what came out of these guy's mouths, so I was cracking up continuously (it's funny when old people cuss, isn't it?).

FL and I drank maybe a liter of wine between us, absolutely nothing crazy...but then i began to tug on his shirt sleeve and mumble, "maybe it's time you took me home". 15 minutes later I was half dead, sick as a dog, voices pounding in my head speaking unintelligible Friulano...


Once again, lesson learned.

Ooooh! FL is here and we are going to go see the house! I will take lots of photos!