People often ask me if I like Rome. I usually give a vague reply along the lines of, "I love the shopping," or, "It is a beautiful city." If I am in a lousy mood, I will complain about the drivers, the litter and the non-stop cigarette smoke.
But I love Sicily, even with the clouds of cigarette smoke drifting over the beach.
(Side Note: Italians smoke. Alot. Why else would an American health care company - hubby's - be investing in hospitals in Europe? Because they are all to dumb/stubborn/whatever to go without smoking for a minute and it is costing their own government-run health systems a fortune. As someone who is allergic to cigarettes and HAS NO AIR CONDITIONING, this is my problem, too, as AC = open a window. Whenever someone wants to gaze and my lovely garden, they invariably light up, then flick their cigarette butts into my yard. The real PIGS in Europe are not Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain; rather, they are the selfish people who insist on forcing their own personal bad habit on their neighbors and countrymen. Really, even at the Susan G. Komen marathon, runners were stopping to light up, then continue the race...but I digress)
However, I really like Sicily. It is the best parts of Europe combined with my fondly remembered agrarian childhood. No, Richland Center, Wisconsin does not have 13th century cathedrals or the landscape that fostered two ancient civilizations. But it did have arching trees, beautiful hills and sunsets that amazed me each night. I can hear birds in the morning and cicadas in the afternoon. I can watch the path of the sun arc over the sky, followed by the moon and a field of stars that make streetlights unnecessary.
Sicily is like that. I wake up in the morning and sit on a terrace overlooking the sea, waiting to watch the last of the mist drift away and the light change in a moment. For the rest of the day, the water pulls every bit of color from the sky, making the sea bluer and bleaching everything but the sun. The breezes smell like olive trees and eucalyptus; small birds and butterflies dart over the fields; rolling fields compete with groves of citrus and olives and grapes until they run into the side of a mountain or meet the sea.
And while cigarette puffing Italians are everywhere in public, on our private cliff overlooking the sea I have peace and quiet.
Most days so far have been spent at the beach. All of us, except Billy, are very tan. Today is actually the first time I have connected to the internet - no phone, tv, fax or computer for two solid weeks. Very refreshing!
We braved Cefalu traffic and crowds to go into town last night for the end of Ferroaugusto, the local version of a midsummer celebration. Mostly it was teenagers camping on the beaches and having drinks and bonfires, but it was also a good excuse to window shop and go out for dinner.
I love Italian food. What these people can do to swordfish amazes me. Billy had his swordfish wrapped around grilled eggplant and ricotta cheese. Mine was served in a tomato/olive/caper sauce.
Tomorrow we head into Palermo to hit the August shopping. More photos and fun things to follow...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Corkscrew 14 is still going strong!
It's odd to admit, but my Total Corkscrew Counter has been stuck at 14 since January. It's not that we haven't been drinking wine; rather, we've narrowed our selections down to one or two types that we really like which don't have plastic corks. And Prosecco, which opens like champagne.
Note to people who don't often drink Champagne or Prosecco - you don't need a corkscrew. Any attempt to use a corkscrew while opening Champagne or Prosecco could result in the loss of one or more eyes, spleen, etc. Don't do it!
Other than that fascinating tidbit, I can relate that Ostia, the famous seaport near Rome, is not the best place for swimming, and not because there are hundreds of boats. (The main port of Rome is now north of the city at Citavecchia) Rather, the waves pounds straight in from the Med, there are no natural reefs to temper the waves, and the black sand gets achingly hot quickly.
The good news is that when some Kind Italian Man rents you space on the beach (yes, you pay to get access to the Sea) he will also rent you a chair to sit on! Unfortunately, since the waves are quite rough, Andrew didn't get into the water once; the lifeguards also told Helena and William they couldn't go in beyond the breakers, so the majority of the day was spent baking in the sun.
Italy is pretty warm in the summer. The sun is very direct and even with SPF 70 (Which Italians swear will give you cancer...really?) the steady wind will blow so much sand over you that it is scrubbed off in minutes.
After 6 hours of Ostia, we all had sunburns.
Which leads me to a very interesting observation about women's clothing in Italy. Most women here wear dresses all summer. No shorts. Very few shops even sell shorts here. Why?
I suspect that after having sunscreen sandpapered off one's body, or frankly not wearing any because of misguided beliefs about protecting oneself from cancer by standing in the sun wearing nothing but dental floss (duh) one's skin is too raw to put anything with a secure waistband in inseams against.
I lived in skirts for the next 5 days; so did Helena. Andrew took the easy way out and lived in his underwear; he has acquired the nickname "Under-butt" from wearing nothing but boxer-briefs for day on end. Yes, days.
In fact, one memorable evening I took the children to Al Callarello, our favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant. It was very busy outside, but there were tables indoors, where it was slightly stuffy; there is no AC in Italy, as apparently many Italians think it will make you sick. Anyway, Andrew decided it was just too warm for him, so he started pulling off clothes. When I stopped him and said, "You can't be naked here!" Andrew replied, "I am not naked, I am wearing my Unders!"
Nothing can keep us from the beach, though. We are packing our bags this weekend to go back to Sicily. A different house, a different beach but the same part of the island.
This year we plan to drive down the coast, going past Naples (Yay!) and viewing the Sorrento coastline all the way to Calabria. In Mesina we will take the short ferry over to Sicily, then drive from the western side of the island to Cefalu.
We hope to finally see Mt. Etna this year, as well as Catania and Syracuse. My lovely husband 'knows some people' who are friends with the Cusumano family, so we will be getting a tour and lunch at the winery. We also plan to go back to Vulcano and Lipari, go sailing in Mondello on a yacht (not spoiled, are we?) and take a trip down to Agrigento.
Busy month! Hopefully there is still time for the beach.
Note to people who don't often drink Champagne or Prosecco - you don't need a corkscrew. Any attempt to use a corkscrew while opening Champagne or Prosecco could result in the loss of one or more eyes, spleen, etc. Don't do it!
Other than that fascinating tidbit, I can relate that Ostia, the famous seaport near Rome, is not the best place for swimming, and not because there are hundreds of boats. (The main port of Rome is now north of the city at Citavecchia) Rather, the waves pounds straight in from the Med, there are no natural reefs to temper the waves, and the black sand gets achingly hot quickly.
The good news is that when some Kind Italian Man rents you space on the beach (yes, you pay to get access to the Sea) he will also rent you a chair to sit on! Unfortunately, since the waves are quite rough, Andrew didn't get into the water once; the lifeguards also told Helena and William they couldn't go in beyond the breakers, so the majority of the day was spent baking in the sun.
Italy is pretty warm in the summer. The sun is very direct and even with SPF 70 (Which Italians swear will give you cancer...really?) the steady wind will blow so much sand over you that it is scrubbed off in minutes.
After 6 hours of Ostia, we all had sunburns.
Which leads me to a very interesting observation about women's clothing in Italy. Most women here wear dresses all summer. No shorts. Very few shops even sell shorts here. Why?
I suspect that after having sunscreen sandpapered off one's body, or frankly not wearing any because of misguided beliefs about protecting oneself from cancer by standing in the sun wearing nothing but dental floss (duh) one's skin is too raw to put anything with a secure waistband in inseams against.
I lived in skirts for the next 5 days; so did Helena. Andrew took the easy way out and lived in his underwear; he has acquired the nickname "Under-butt" from wearing nothing but boxer-briefs for day on end. Yes, days.
In fact, one memorable evening I took the children to Al Callarello, our favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant. It was very busy outside, but there were tables indoors, where it was slightly stuffy; there is no AC in Italy, as apparently many Italians think it will make you sick. Anyway, Andrew decided it was just too warm for him, so he started pulling off clothes. When I stopped him and said, "You can't be naked here!" Andrew replied, "I am not naked, I am wearing my Unders!"
Nothing can keep us from the beach, though. We are packing our bags this weekend to go back to Sicily. A different house, a different beach but the same part of the island.
This year we plan to drive down the coast, going past Naples (Yay!) and viewing the Sorrento coastline all the way to Calabria. In Mesina we will take the short ferry over to Sicily, then drive from the western side of the island to Cefalu.
We hope to finally see Mt. Etna this year, as well as Catania and Syracuse. My lovely husband 'knows some people' who are friends with the Cusumano family, so we will be getting a tour and lunch at the winery. We also plan to go back to Vulcano and Lipari, go sailing in Mondello on a yacht (not spoiled, are we?) and take a trip down to Agrigento.
Busy month! Hopefully there is still time for the beach.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Update on everything
I've been very bad the past two months, not writing anything at all. I would say that I have been swamped; busy with the children; uninspired to write; overworked and underpaid. It would all be just a little bit true, but really not enough to keep me from writing.
My husband would say that I love my Kindle too much to write and have been reading far too often. That would be just a little bit true, too.
Since we returned from Istanbul, a lot of normal day-to-day life has happened, but nothing earth-shattering or exciting. Which is actually good.
First of all, we had planned on switching the children from the school they have been in for the past year, The New School, to one closer to our apartment in Aventino, AmBrit.
There were several reasons for the switch. Right now the children spend anywhere from 2 to 4 hours each day riding the school bus to and from The New School. Ambrit would give them a 15 minute bus ride. Also, the bus company going to and from The New School is private, NOT owned by the school; they don't allow children under the age of five to ride the bus, so Andrew hasn't started preschool. And the bus issues have kept the kids from getting involved in after-school sports since there is no sports bus.
So we filled out the forms, paid the fees and decided to switch the kids. And then we found out that AmBrit has lost its accreditation with the American Schools system, meaning the children might have to repeat grades completed once we return to Pittsburgh; AND the school and it's director are being investigated by the Italian-version of the IRS for failure to pay back taxes (to the tune of 7 million Euros) and embezzlement; and the school is hiring non-English speaking, non-licensed people to teach classes, hence the failing grades and loss of accreditation...
After a nightmare two weeks, we decided to keep the kids at The New School. They will let Andrew ride the bus next year as long as I ride with him every day.
After that fiasco, I have been busy with the American Women's Association of Rome, or as Billy calls them, the Drunken Ladies' Society.
Yes, the ladies do like their drink; every night, when the sun is past the yardarm, scores of drunken ladies descend on the AWAR email hotline; each of them writing, ranting and rambling. And yes, it is apparent they are drunk. Only drunk women hawk labia rings - don't ask - tickets to a naked-ballet (She didn't want her 18 year old daughter seeing 'dangly bits' but didn't want to read the fine print in 60 point font stating that the dancers in the ballet were NAKED!!!) and cheap labor to care for their week-old children.
I, of course, have jumped in with both feet! I am now their Director of Publications, charged with trying update their communications, magazine and website. Yes, I am a glutton for punishment.
The good part of AWAR is that there are a lot of younger Expats like me who are disgusted with the drunken-old-ladies club; we get together for Sommelier courses: Knowledgable Wine Enthusiast sounds so much better than Drunken Bint. And we never start typing when drinking: I don't know about anyone else, but I find that my dexterity goes after the first bottle...(that is a joke, Mom.)
Lastly, The kids just had their school fair over the weekend. I donated 10 pounds of pork barbeque and some of my Jalapeno and Pumpkin plants; smuggled plant seeds make all the difference! Check out the picture of William in face paint. And look how big Andrew is - he turns 4 in a few days and he's wearing nothing but size fives, the big lump.
Other than that, we are ready for May to be on it's way out; I am very glad today is Memorial Day as it gives me another excuse to blast American music and my grumpy English neighbor.
What are the odds? I am living in Rome and I have the bad luck to live over the hedge from a miserable English women (Home counties accent) who hates people who garden on weekends. (Note to English people: Uhh, aren't the national pasttimes of England watching football and gardening?)
After listening to her anti-American rant of "Thank God this isn't America, and You stupid &%$#^@! Americans don't appreciate the priviledge of living in Italy," when I had cut all 10 square feet of my grass, I treated the lovely lady to some really LOUD Toby Keith singing about a boot in an uncomfortable location. (Billy loves his surround sound system and huge, wall-shaking Eltax speakers so much that we take them everywhere.) I have never met anyone English who likes Toby Keith, God bless him.
I love Toby Keith. And Charlie Daniels (Simple Man) and Johnny Cash (Ragged Old Flag) and Lynerd Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama) and Chris Ledoux (This Cowboy's Hat)...especially at 2000 Watts - your average counter top CD player pushes about 60 Watts and a home theater system might hit 200 Watts unless you do some serious investing. I looped it for three consecutive days - what do you bet she moves before I do?
The garden critic hasn't come back to the garden since, either. I guess she's also not a music lover.
My husband would say that I love my Kindle too much to write and have been reading far too often. That would be just a little bit true, too.
Since we returned from Istanbul, a lot of normal day-to-day life has happened, but nothing earth-shattering or exciting. Which is actually good.
First of all, we had planned on switching the children from the school they have been in for the past year, The New School, to one closer to our apartment in Aventino, AmBrit.
There were several reasons for the switch. Right now the children spend anywhere from 2 to 4 hours each day riding the school bus to and from The New School. Ambrit would give them a 15 minute bus ride. Also, the bus company going to and from The New School is private, NOT owned by the school; they don't allow children under the age of five to ride the bus, so Andrew hasn't started preschool. And the bus issues have kept the kids from getting involved in after-school sports since there is no sports bus.
So we filled out the forms, paid the fees and decided to switch the kids. And then we found out that AmBrit has lost its accreditation with the American Schools system, meaning the children might have to repeat grades completed once we return to Pittsburgh; AND the school and it's director are being investigated by the Italian-version of the IRS for failure to pay back taxes (to the tune of 7 million Euros) and embezzlement; and the school is hiring non-English speaking, non-licensed people to teach classes, hence the failing grades and loss of accreditation...
After a nightmare two weeks, we decided to keep the kids at The New School. They will let Andrew ride the bus next year as long as I ride with him every day.
After that fiasco, I have been busy with the American Women's Association of Rome, or as Billy calls them, the Drunken Ladies' Society.
Yes, the ladies do like their drink; every night, when the sun is past the yardarm, scores of drunken ladies descend on the AWAR email hotline; each of them writing, ranting and rambling. And yes, it is apparent they are drunk. Only drunk women hawk labia rings - don't ask - tickets to a naked-ballet (She didn't want her 18 year old daughter seeing 'dangly bits' but didn't want to read the fine print in 60 point font stating that the dancers in the ballet were NAKED!!!) and cheap labor to care for their week-old children.
I, of course, have jumped in with both feet! I am now their Director of Publications, charged with trying update their communications, magazine and website. Yes, I am a glutton for punishment.
The good part of AWAR is that there are a lot of younger Expats like me who are disgusted with the drunken-old-ladies club; we get together for Sommelier courses: Knowledgable Wine Enthusiast sounds so much better than Drunken Bint. And we never start typing when drinking: I don't know about anyone else, but I find that my dexterity goes after the first bottle...(that is a joke, Mom.)
Lastly, The kids just had their school fair over the weekend. I donated 10 pounds of pork barbeque and some of my Jalapeno and Pumpkin plants; smuggled plant seeds make all the difference! Check out the picture of William in face paint. And look how big Andrew is - he turns 4 in a few days and he's wearing nothing but size fives, the big lump.
Other than that, we are ready for May to be on it's way out; I am very glad today is Memorial Day as it gives me another excuse to blast American music and my grumpy English neighbor.
What are the odds? I am living in Rome and I have the bad luck to live over the hedge from a miserable English women (Home counties accent) who hates people who garden on weekends. (Note to English people: Uhh, aren't the national pasttimes of England watching football and gardening?)
After listening to her anti-American rant of "Thank God this isn't America, and You stupid &%$#^@! Americans don't appreciate the priviledge of living in Italy," when I had cut all 10 square feet of my grass, I treated the lovely lady to some really LOUD Toby Keith singing about a boot in an uncomfortable location. (Billy loves his surround sound system and huge, wall-shaking Eltax speakers so much that we take them everywhere.) I have never met anyone English who likes Toby Keith, God bless him.
I love Toby Keith. And Charlie Daniels (Simple Man) and Johnny Cash (Ragged Old Flag) and Lynerd Skynard (Sweet Home Alabama) and Chris Ledoux (This Cowboy's Hat)...especially at 2000 Watts - your average counter top CD player pushes about 60 Watts and a home theater system might hit 200 Watts unless you do some serious investing. I looped it for three consecutive days - what do you bet she moves before I do?
The garden critic hasn't come back to the garden since, either. I guess she's also not a music lover.
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Blue Mollusk and Istanbul
We've been back from Istanbul for over a week now, but it seems to take so long to get back into a routine following a holiday. I'm still not caught up on laundry, which really isn't surprising given that my power keeps cutting out (don't vacuum and wash clothes at the same time!!!) and my washine machine holds as much as the standard US microwave.
In any case, it was a really nice break. The food was wonderful, very different from pasta and pizza, although that is what Andrew seemed to request every night; the sights were a nice change of pace, too, especially when you consider that Istanbul makes Rome look new.
The nicest thing we noticed is that Turks love families. We run into problems taking the children everywhere in Rome: crowded sidewalks, small restaurants not able to cope with a table for five without prior reservations, and people giving us (meaning Bill) odd looks for letting Andrew sit on his shoulders instead of walking or riding in a stroller (Yes, I have actually seen children William's age being pushed in strollers in Rome. Regularly.) However in Istanbul, we couldn't cross the street without a police officer telling us about our beautiful family; if the restaurant was full, no trouble, they would love to open a new section for the family; too many bags, again no trouble, you watch the children and we'll carry them so you don't get separated from the family; you bought a ring in the bazaar, here have a few bits of free jewelry to give your children good luck, wait you have THREE children, take one extra for yourself while you're at it...the list goes on and on.
It is very odd to me, having visited so much of Western Europe, that the kindest people I have ever met, family aside, have been strangers from second and third world countries. The rudest people, especially towards my children, were Londoners. Romans are a close second.
I have had a bus driver in Rome shut the doors ON MY CHILDREN while we were getting off the bus. Literally, he closed the door on Andrew's arm, with Helena and William waiting behind. The bus left the curb with Andrew caught in the door: I was screaming, the passengers were yelling, and the bus driver didn't stop until I started punching the windows of the bus. Really friendly place!
Likewise in London, people thought nothing of running into my children with grocery carts (at the time Helena was 3 and William was 1) in the local Tesco.
In India, multiple people would hold doors for me; one rug seller, seeing me dizzy in the heat (I was six months pregnant) asked me to come into his shop, sit down on a pile of rugs and wait while he brought me tea. How kind.
In Turkey, people would cross the street (literally) to come tell Bill and I what lovely children we have and how wonderful it was to see a family together.
It makes you question the values of each system. Yes, the West might have the jobs, freedoms and power, but Eastern cultures overtly respect families. I wonder where we, as Americans and Europeans, have lost sight of that.
Enough philosophy! I'm sure you're wondering about The Blue Mollusk...it's a bit of a story. So let's discuss history.
Istanbul was once Constantinople, the center of the spice and silk trades and the center of the world-wide conflict between Christianity and Islam. The city traded hands multiple times during the crusades and remained a Muslim country at the end of the last crusade in the 1300s.
Following that crusade, many of the Christian churches and Basilicas (all Christians were Catholic at that time) were converted into Mosques. The largest and most famous Basilica, the Hagia Sofia, was modified and used as a mosque until it was deconsecrated in the late 1930s. In spite of its Christian origins, many of the Christian artifacts, tombs and frescos remainded intact through its years of service as a mosque; original Christian symbols and frescos of Mary, Jesus and John the Baptist can still be seen today.
However, it was most likely a bit disconcerting for the local Muslims to worship in a building that began as a Christian church; the Hagia Sofia is set on top of a hill, next to the royal palace, and dominates the skyline of Istanbul. Enter Sultan Ahmet.
In 1603 he set out to build the greatest mosque in Istanbul, one that would surpass the Hagia Sofia in beauty and size; he even went as far as to build it with six minarets, a feat which earned him praise and backlash, as up to that point no mosque outside of Mecca featured so many towers to call its worshipers.
To make the mosque stand out even more from the golden-domed Hagia Sofia, Sultan Ahmet ordered the dome of his mosque and the entire interior to be covered in handpainted Iznik blue and white tiles, hence its name, The Blue Mosque.
Enter my son, William, who has a Spongebob fetish and mumbles regularly. "Where is the Blue Mollusk?" he wanted to know.
You can take the kids out of Michigan/England/Pittsburgh/Rome but you can't take all of that out of the kids. The Blue Mollusk. Please, if you see William, tease him. Unmercifully.
Anyway, we returned to Rome and for the first time felt as if we were having a homecoming. We could recognize the roads the taxi driver used to get us from the airport to our apartment; we could read some of the billboards and knew which ones had changed in the week while we were away; we were relieved to sit on our wonderfully comfortable and battered sofa and relax.
The oddest thing about moving is not the packing, unpacking or dealing with lost or broken items; it's the feeling of never knowing exactly where HOME is and when we're going to be there again. One of the nice things about a vacation is knowing that when you return from whence you came a small feeling of relief awaits.
In any case, it was a really nice break. The food was wonderful, very different from pasta and pizza, although that is what Andrew seemed to request every night; the sights were a nice change of pace, too, especially when you consider that Istanbul makes Rome look new.
The nicest thing we noticed is that Turks love families. We run into problems taking the children everywhere in Rome: crowded sidewalks, small restaurants not able to cope with a table for five without prior reservations, and people giving us (meaning Bill) odd looks for letting Andrew sit on his shoulders instead of walking or riding in a stroller (Yes, I have actually seen children William's age being pushed in strollers in Rome. Regularly.) However in Istanbul, we couldn't cross the street without a police officer telling us about our beautiful family; if the restaurant was full, no trouble, they would love to open a new section for the family; too many bags, again no trouble, you watch the children and we'll carry them so you don't get separated from the family; you bought a ring in the bazaar, here have a few bits of free jewelry to give your children good luck, wait you have THREE children, take one extra for yourself while you're at it...the list goes on and on.
It is very odd to me, having visited so much of Western Europe, that the kindest people I have ever met, family aside, have been strangers from second and third world countries. The rudest people, especially towards my children, were Londoners. Romans are a close second.
I have had a bus driver in Rome shut the doors ON MY CHILDREN while we were getting off the bus. Literally, he closed the door on Andrew's arm, with Helena and William waiting behind. The bus left the curb with Andrew caught in the door: I was screaming, the passengers were yelling, and the bus driver didn't stop until I started punching the windows of the bus. Really friendly place!
Likewise in London, people thought nothing of running into my children with grocery carts (at the time Helena was 3 and William was 1) in the local Tesco.
In India, multiple people would hold doors for me; one rug seller, seeing me dizzy in the heat (I was six months pregnant) asked me to come into his shop, sit down on a pile of rugs and wait while he brought me tea. How kind.
In Turkey, people would cross the street (literally) to come tell Bill and I what lovely children we have and how wonderful it was to see a family together.
It makes you question the values of each system. Yes, the West might have the jobs, freedoms and power, but Eastern cultures overtly respect families. I wonder where we, as Americans and Europeans, have lost sight of that.
Enough philosophy! I'm sure you're wondering about The Blue Mollusk...it's a bit of a story. So let's discuss history.
Istanbul was once Constantinople, the center of the spice and silk trades and the center of the world-wide conflict between Christianity and Islam. The city traded hands multiple times during the crusades and remained a Muslim country at the end of the last crusade in the 1300s.
Following that crusade, many of the Christian churches and Basilicas (all Christians were Catholic at that time) were converted into Mosques. The largest and most famous Basilica, the Hagia Sofia, was modified and used as a mosque until it was deconsecrated in the late 1930s. In spite of its Christian origins, many of the Christian artifacts, tombs and frescos remainded intact through its years of service as a mosque; original Christian symbols and frescos of Mary, Jesus and John the Baptist can still be seen today.
However, it was most likely a bit disconcerting for the local Muslims to worship in a building that began as a Christian church; the Hagia Sofia is set on top of a hill, next to the royal palace, and dominates the skyline of Istanbul. Enter Sultan Ahmet.
In 1603 he set out to build the greatest mosque in Istanbul, one that would surpass the Hagia Sofia in beauty and size; he even went as far as to build it with six minarets, a feat which earned him praise and backlash, as up to that point no mosque outside of Mecca featured so many towers to call its worshipers.
To make the mosque stand out even more from the golden-domed Hagia Sofia, Sultan Ahmet ordered the dome of his mosque and the entire interior to be covered in handpainted Iznik blue and white tiles, hence its name, The Blue Mosque.
Enter my son, William, who has a Spongebob fetish and mumbles regularly. "Where is the Blue Mollusk?" he wanted to know.
You can take the kids out of Michigan/England/Pittsburgh/Rome but you can't take all of that out of the kids. The Blue Mollusk. Please, if you see William, tease him. Unmercifully.
Anyway, we returned to Rome and for the first time felt as if we were having a homecoming. We could recognize the roads the taxi driver used to get us from the airport to our apartment; we could read some of the billboards and knew which ones had changed in the week while we were away; we were relieved to sit on our wonderfully comfortable and battered sofa and relax.
The oddest thing about moving is not the packing, unpacking or dealing with lost or broken items; it's the feeling of never knowing exactly where HOME is and when we're going to be there again. One of the nice things about a vacation is knowing that when you return from whence you came a small feeling of relief awaits.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
New Recipe for Risotto and Heading off to Turkey
I have to say that one of my favorite Italian dishes is Risotto. Always creamy, hot and sprinkled with a bit of cheese, it can be vegetarian, loaded with chunks of chicken or meat, or topped with seafood. One of the most unusual types of Risotto I have tasted was made with turnip greens. Evn though it was neon green, it still tasted great, but it was nowhere near as delicious as the pumpkin risotto topped with grated bitter chocolate that we ate at Hotel 47, in Via Petroselli.
Risotto is a stirred rice dish. Unlike American white rice which is long and thin, Arborio rice is short, fat and very starchy. These qualities, as well as the additions of cream, butter and cheese, make the rice in Risotto float in a creamy sauce. This occurs because the constant stirring breaks down the outer layer of the rice, letting the starch thicken in the broth which the risotto cooks in. And the starch binds to the butter, cream and cheese.
However, I have found a trick to making a great and healthy, low-fat (high -fiber) Risotto.
It features zuchini, so of course my children won't eat it; they won't even walk in the kitchen when they see me chopping a zuchini! However, it's the zuchini which makes the dish creamy and low fat; it is also one of the cheapest vegetables and can be found year-round in excellent condition.
By pureeing the zuchini with part of the chicken (or vegetable) stock used for cooking the rice, you get a thick and creamy sauce without the addition of fats.
And since Italy is extremely short of healthy fiber for dietary use (white bread, white pasta, white rice, white sugar) I added barley to up the fiber content and give more texture; you could try to use brown rice to make Risotto, but believe me, it just doensn't quite come out right. Think the consistancy of clay used in high school cermaics classes...ew.
Here is the recipe for Rice and Barley Risotto with Creamy Zuchini
* Two small zuchini or 1 large (be prepared to scoop the seeds from a larger Zuchini)
Stem end removed, and chopped into 1" chunks
* Olive oil
* 1/2 cup red onion, finely chopped
* 1 cup arborio rice
* 1/2 cup medium barley
* 1/2 cup white wine, any variety you like to drink
* 2 and 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
* 1 tsp. dried parsley
* 1/8 tsp. ground red pepper
* 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
* 2 tsp. butter (optional)
* 1/2 cup grated Parmesan Cheese (Or Grana Padano, if you can get it) plus extra to sprinkle on top
Heat 1 tbls. olive oil in a large pan. Add zuchini and saute over medium-high heat for 3-4 minutes. Add chicken or vegetable stock and seasonings. Lower heat to a simmer.
In a separate pot, heat 1 tbls. olive oil. Lightly saute the rice and barley for one minute; deglaze with the wine. Lower heat and cover. When the liquid has almost entirely been absorbed, ladle (I use a soup ladle which holds just over 1/2 cup) enough stock into the rice/barley to re-wet the mixture, taking care NOT to add any chunks of zuchini. Lower heat to lowest setting, stir and cover. Repeat this process every 3-5 minutes, or whenever the liquid appears to have been absorbed by the grains. Take care to stir the rice well when adding the stock - it needs to have the outer layer release some starch.
You really can't over-stir; just remember to put the lid back on the pot!
When about 1 cup of broth remains in the pan with the zuchini, you need to blend/ puree the remaining mixture. Remove from heat, and use a hand blender OR food processor or blender to puree all the zuchini. (For food processors and blenders, this can be dangerous with hot liquids: take care to ONLY FILL the mixer/ blending pitcher half full and cover the lid with a towel. Hot liquids in full mixers have a tendency to shoot out of the cracks where the lid meets the main container. Pulse 2-3 times for 10 seconds)
Add all the blended stock into the grains, stiring to mix well. Cover and let simmer until most of the liquid is absorbed.
The risotto will be ready when the rice is cooked and it floats in a thick creamy sauce. At this time, turn off the heat. You can add the butter, stirring constantly so that it doesn't separate in the sauce; then stir in the grated cheese in the same fashion. Serve and sprinkle with extra cheese, if desired. Makes 4-6 large servings of risotto.
However, DON'T use black pepper on top of this risotto - it is too strong for zuchini and will cover up the taste; use a bit of white pepper or sprinkle a little red pepper on top, if you must. This dish does not have added salt, so if you don't use the cheese called for in the recipe, you may need to add salt.
The next time I make this dish, I will take a picture and post it here.
After all that, I can happily report that we DID NOT go to Egypt as I told some people I might be; we are going instead to Istanbul, were I can visit the Egyptian Spice Bazaar and come up with something else to snack on. We leave on Sunday and will be there for a week.
Risotto is a stirred rice dish. Unlike American white rice which is long and thin, Arborio rice is short, fat and very starchy. These qualities, as well as the additions of cream, butter and cheese, make the rice in Risotto float in a creamy sauce. This occurs because the constant stirring breaks down the outer layer of the rice, letting the starch thicken in the broth which the risotto cooks in. And the starch binds to the butter, cream and cheese.
However, I have found a trick to making a great and healthy, low-fat (high -fiber) Risotto.
It features zuchini, so of course my children won't eat it; they won't even walk in the kitchen when they see me chopping a zuchini! However, it's the zuchini which makes the dish creamy and low fat; it is also one of the cheapest vegetables and can be found year-round in excellent condition.
By pureeing the zuchini with part of the chicken (or vegetable) stock used for cooking the rice, you get a thick and creamy sauce without the addition of fats.
And since Italy is extremely short of healthy fiber for dietary use (white bread, white pasta, white rice, white sugar) I added barley to up the fiber content and give more texture; you could try to use brown rice to make Risotto, but believe me, it just doensn't quite come out right. Think the consistancy of clay used in high school cermaics classes...ew.
Here is the recipe for Rice and Barley Risotto with Creamy Zuchini
* Two small zuchini or 1 large (be prepared to scoop the seeds from a larger Zuchini)
Stem end removed, and chopped into 1" chunks
* Olive oil
* 1/2 cup red onion, finely chopped
* 1 cup arborio rice
* 1/2 cup medium barley
* 1/2 cup white wine, any variety you like to drink
* 2 and 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
* 1 tsp. dried parsley
* 1/8 tsp. ground red pepper
* 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
* 2 tsp. butter (optional)
* 1/2 cup grated Parmesan Cheese (Or Grana Padano, if you can get it) plus extra to sprinkle on top
Heat 1 tbls. olive oil in a large pan. Add zuchini and saute over medium-high heat for 3-4 minutes. Add chicken or vegetable stock and seasonings. Lower heat to a simmer.
In a separate pot, heat 1 tbls. olive oil. Lightly saute the rice and barley for one minute; deglaze with the wine. Lower heat and cover. When the liquid has almost entirely been absorbed, ladle (I use a soup ladle which holds just over 1/2 cup) enough stock into the rice/barley to re-wet the mixture, taking care NOT to add any chunks of zuchini. Lower heat to lowest setting, stir and cover. Repeat this process every 3-5 minutes, or whenever the liquid appears to have been absorbed by the grains. Take care to stir the rice well when adding the stock - it needs to have the outer layer release some starch.
You really can't over-stir; just remember to put the lid back on the pot!
When about 1 cup of broth remains in the pan with the zuchini, you need to blend/ puree the remaining mixture. Remove from heat, and use a hand blender OR food processor or blender to puree all the zuchini. (For food processors and blenders, this can be dangerous with hot liquids: take care to ONLY FILL the mixer/ blending pitcher half full and cover the lid with a towel. Hot liquids in full mixers have a tendency to shoot out of the cracks where the lid meets the main container. Pulse 2-3 times for 10 seconds)
Add all the blended stock into the grains, stiring to mix well. Cover and let simmer until most of the liquid is absorbed.
The risotto will be ready when the rice is cooked and it floats in a thick creamy sauce. At this time, turn off the heat. You can add the butter, stirring constantly so that it doesn't separate in the sauce; then stir in the grated cheese in the same fashion. Serve and sprinkle with extra cheese, if desired. Makes 4-6 large servings of risotto.
However, DON'T use black pepper on top of this risotto - it is too strong for zuchini and will cover up the taste; use a bit of white pepper or sprinkle a little red pepper on top, if you must. This dish does not have added salt, so if you don't use the cheese called for in the recipe, you may need to add salt.
The next time I make this dish, I will take a picture and post it here.
After all that, I can happily report that we DID NOT go to Egypt as I told some people I might be; we are going instead to Istanbul, were I can visit the Egyptian Spice Bazaar and come up with something else to snack on. We leave on Sunday and will be there for a week.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Blood Orange Season and More on Wine and Food
As you can see from the lovely photo, we've had a crop of blood oranges! Not actually bloody, they are streaked red in sections and make a lovely pink colored tart juice; when we first moved to Rome and the children saw pink juice, they were skeptical. But time - and the addition of sugar to store bought juice - has won them over and they are now complete fans.
Yes, in Italy they add sugar to fruit juice. Every kind. It is very rare to find juice that does not have sugar added, which was one of the main reasons I squeezed two dozen oranges for breakfast last Sunday. The other reason is that our tree has a very healthy crop of oranges and we just can't eat them fast enough.
But the juice is very good - would I even bother squeezing it with that tiny juicer if it weren't? Unfortunately, the large juicer, a gift from Great Aunt Ada many years ago, went missing in one of our many moves.
We did discover another local market two weeks ago. One of the women who works with Bill, as well as the Italian agriculture board, suggested the Campagna Amica market near the Circus Maximus (Circo Massimo).
Since it happens to be about four blocks from our place and gives the children the benefit of running through 'the battlefield' as they call it, everyone is happy in the end.
We were all very pleasantly surprised - especially our Helena, who has taken to sleeping until noon on weekends and was thorougly unimpressed by us dragging her out of bed at 11:30 to go shopping, for food of all things! She gets out of bed quicker when I tell her we are going shoe shopping.
Anyway, most of the meat, fish, produce, beer and wine is organic in origin. There are the obligatory flower stalls, as well as honey and jams, but also, by my count, at least five different butchers, one fish seller, half a dozen bean and legume vendors, two stalls featuring pasta and bread each, four featuring olive oil, two featuring wine, one featuring beer, and a dozen or so produce vendors. Add an on-site kitchen where they serve a fresh pasta and sauce of the day with sausage and vegetables (on the day we first went it was fresh potato gnocchi with tomato sauce and grated pecorino, salsicce, and sauteed spinach; all served with fresh bread and wine.)
In fact, the local Novello was so good, that I went back for a second glass. Bill of course snapped a picture, because how often does your wife peruse turnips and herbs while sipping vino? Not too often...
Novello is a local Italian wine, most similar to French Beaujolais. It is mild with a bright acidity and low tannins. It is never aged in barrels, rather it is bottled within weeks of fermentation. It lasts, in Italy, for about three months after the fall harvest, which means Novello season is almost over.
In any case, we were stunned to find the first inexpensive product in Rome: three bottles of water, two cups of wine and an extra full bottle of Novello to take home came in at 5 Euros. Amazing. I can't bread and eggs for that!
However, it leads me to another depressing moment. The industrial corkscrew from Christmas died when removing the plastic cork. So that means we are now on corkscrew 11. Someone suggested I use drywall screws and pliers...can someone ship those?
Our first shopping trolley has also died. Since shopping is either once-a-day or every-other-day here, and we own no car, all our groceries and supplies get hauled in by backpack or, my now deceased old-lady-shopping trolley.
Maybe I'll keep a running total of deceased household items: January 31, 2011. Corkscrews, 11, Shopping Trolley, 1.
An update on the Cusumano wine is also called for. Noa is a blend, which is very common in Europe, but less so in the rest of the world, Americans and Aussies preferring to swill either varietals or Arbor Mist. Noa is part Nero D'Avola, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot. No wonder I liked it, as two of my favorite grapes are in one lovely bottle.
And our Enoteca owner, seeing how we liked Noa so much, has kindly put aside the last of his cases for us. Yes! He also tried talking us into the Cusumano Nero D'Avola varietal, which at 18 Euros a bottle was steep for a Nero D'Avola. Thankfully I prefer the cheaper Zisola!
Anyone outside of Pennsylvania might be able to find these wines. As for Pennsylvanians, you can always drive to Ohio or Indiana! Darn State liquor board!!!
And on the happiest note of all - The Packers are playing in the Superbowl next weekend. Go Pack!
Yes, in Italy they add sugar to fruit juice. Every kind. It is very rare to find juice that does not have sugar added, which was one of the main reasons I squeezed two dozen oranges for breakfast last Sunday. The other reason is that our tree has a very healthy crop of oranges and we just can't eat them fast enough.
But the juice is very good - would I even bother squeezing it with that tiny juicer if it weren't? Unfortunately, the large juicer, a gift from Great Aunt Ada many years ago, went missing in one of our many moves.
We did discover another local market two weeks ago. One of the women who works with Bill, as well as the Italian agriculture board, suggested the Campagna Amica market near the Circus Maximus (Circo Massimo).
Since it happens to be about four blocks from our place and gives the children the benefit of running through 'the battlefield' as they call it, everyone is happy in the end.
We were all very pleasantly surprised - especially our Helena, who has taken to sleeping until noon on weekends and was thorougly unimpressed by us dragging her out of bed at 11:30 to go shopping, for food of all things! She gets out of bed quicker when I tell her we are going shoe shopping.
Anyway, most of the meat, fish, produce, beer and wine is organic in origin. There are the obligatory flower stalls, as well as honey and jams, but also, by my count, at least five different butchers, one fish seller, half a dozen bean and legume vendors, two stalls featuring pasta and bread each, four featuring olive oil, two featuring wine, one featuring beer, and a dozen or so produce vendors. Add an on-site kitchen where they serve a fresh pasta and sauce of the day with sausage and vegetables (on the day we first went it was fresh potato gnocchi with tomato sauce and grated pecorino, salsicce, and sauteed spinach; all served with fresh bread and wine.)
In fact, the local Novello was so good, that I went back for a second glass. Bill of course snapped a picture, because how often does your wife peruse turnips and herbs while sipping vino? Not too often...
Novello is a local Italian wine, most similar to French Beaujolais. It is mild with a bright acidity and low tannins. It is never aged in barrels, rather it is bottled within weeks of fermentation. It lasts, in Italy, for about three months after the fall harvest, which means Novello season is almost over.
In any case, we were stunned to find the first inexpensive product in Rome: three bottles of water, two cups of wine and an extra full bottle of Novello to take home came in at 5 Euros. Amazing. I can't bread and eggs for that!
However, it leads me to another depressing moment. The industrial corkscrew from Christmas died when removing the plastic cork. So that means we are now on corkscrew 11. Someone suggested I use drywall screws and pliers...can someone ship those?
Our first shopping trolley has also died. Since shopping is either once-a-day or every-other-day here, and we own no car, all our groceries and supplies get hauled in by backpack or, my now deceased old-lady-shopping trolley.
Maybe I'll keep a running total of deceased household items: January 31, 2011. Corkscrews, 11, Shopping Trolley, 1.
An update on the Cusumano wine is also called for. Noa is a blend, which is very common in Europe, but less so in the rest of the world, Americans and Aussies preferring to swill either varietals or Arbor Mist. Noa is part Nero D'Avola, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot. No wonder I liked it, as two of my favorite grapes are in one lovely bottle.
And our Enoteca owner, seeing how we liked Noa so much, has kindly put aside the last of his cases for us. Yes! He also tried talking us into the Cusumano Nero D'Avola varietal, which at 18 Euros a bottle was steep for a Nero D'Avola. Thankfully I prefer the cheaper Zisola!
Anyone outside of Pennsylvania might be able to find these wines. As for Pennsylvanians, you can always drive to Ohio or Indiana! Darn State liquor board!!!
And on the happiest note of all - The Packers are playing in the Superbowl next weekend. Go Pack!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Fabulous New Wine, Terror Alerts and Family Matters
I need to start this entry by talking about wine, probably one of the best ways to kick off my somewhat dubious start to a new year.
I had found a really great Sicilian Nero D'Avola called Zisola, created by the Mazzei wine consortium. The 2007 vintage was, up until this past weekend, the best red I had found in Italy. A DOC (Domination of Origin Controlled) wine, it ran about 13 Euros a bottle, which, for a once-a-week splurge, was emminently worth the price -about $18 USD.
It was deep, meaty, oaky with berry flavors that lingered even after I started the second bottle. (That's a joke...)
But on Saturday Bill brought home my new favorite wine: Noa by Cusumano. I usually don't drink wines labled IGT (Indicazione Geographica Tipica).
I usually don't drink IGT wines for a few reasons. First, IGT wines tend to have plastic corks, and I have a problem with losing my corkscrews to synthetics. Second, IGT wines have not, as a whole, been as good as the DOC wines, though they are usually significantly cheaper. But lastly, the majority of IGT wines are less than 2 Euros, which leads me to believe they will rot my liver and become the base for the perfect Molotov cocktail.
However, the Cusumano has changed my opinion on every level: It comes with a REAL cork; it costs a whopping 15 Euros a bottle; and, with a 2006 vintage, it was obviously worth saving instead of lighting and throwing. And those were my opinions before I tasted it.
Smooth, much smoother than the Zisola; so fragrant that my empty glass still smelled of blackberries and dark chocolate; with a rich taste that made me want a second bottle for the rest of the week, the Cusumano was sweet and tart, smooth and oaky, the perfect glass of wine.
You can find it www.cusumano.it, but it will run about $45 a bottle in the USA. However, I can start my Christmas 2011 wish list now...email me for details.
Which leads me to the second part of this entry: my email.
I had been with Verizon for several years. At least, until, I got tenants into my home near Pittsburgh. Then, I had to make arrangements to switch my security service at the house to my tenants' new telephone landline and Verizon 'accidentally' turned off all the services I had with them, including my internet and email accounts.
Note to Verizon, I Hate You!
Note to everyone else, please try to reach me, either by letter or through friends. I tried to remember as many addresses as I could, but it's tough when I've been drinking wine!
I've signed up with the Italian Agriculture and Tourism Board as a Resident International Journalist (Note to Wisconsin...you can make a lot of friends by doing the following...). This means that once a month, they call me and make arrangements to pick me up and take me to a local winery or farm where I can sample food and drink. Then they drive me to a five star restaurant where I can eat and drink the discussed food or drink in a professional setting, with the assumption that I will leave and write to Americans about what I have just eaten or drunk.
Not a bad gig!
It also makes me more appreciative of Europe, when most of the time I thank God to be an American. The one saving grace that Europe has, other than wine, is that it is so much LESS politically correct than the USA.
Take the following terror alert (courtesy of John Cleese) for example:
"The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have therefore raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved.” Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross.”
The English have not been “A Bit Cross” since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out.
Terrorists have been re-categorised from “Tiresome” to “A Bloody Nuisance.” The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the Bastards.” They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide.” The only two higher levels in France are “Collaborate” and “Surrender.” The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France’s white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country’s military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing.” Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides.”
The Germans have increased their alert state from “Disdainful Arrogance” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs.” They also have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbour” and “Lose.”
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from “No worries” to “She’ll be alright, Mate.” Two more escalation levels remain: “Crikey! I think we’ll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!” and “The barbie is canceled.” So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.
I do love Europe, sometimes.
However, this brings me to the last bit of this entry. There are days I wish I were home and days I am so glad I can escape.
On January 1, 2011, just an hour after I finished my previous post, I got word that my wonderful cousin, Alison Grace Kasten, was killed in an automobile accident in Tampa, FL. She was only 20 years old.
Details regarding the accident are still unclear: what she was driving and who owned it; whether or not she was following or being followed; she may or may not have been hit by another vehicle that left the scene.
What is clear is that this amazing young woman with so much to live for is gone. She was an international equestrienne champion; a scholar; a friend; and the most down-to-earth young woman I had ever known. She was the wealthiest young person immaginable, with every reason to be a snob, but was the least snobbish person immagination could conjure: she spent her days mucking manure in a horse barn, dressed in sweats, volunteering for the less fortunate and helping everyone she knew. Underestimated by many, she had the most genuine smile, infectious wit, and contagious sense of humor.
I will miss her forever.
I had found a really great Sicilian Nero D'Avola called Zisola, created by the Mazzei wine consortium. The 2007 vintage was, up until this past weekend, the best red I had found in Italy. A DOC (Domination of Origin Controlled) wine, it ran about 13 Euros a bottle, which, for a once-a-week splurge, was emminently worth the price -about $18 USD.
It was deep, meaty, oaky with berry flavors that lingered even after I started the second bottle. (That's a joke...)
But on Saturday Bill brought home my new favorite wine: Noa by Cusumano. I usually don't drink wines labled IGT (Indicazione Geographica Tipica).
I usually don't drink IGT wines for a few reasons. First, IGT wines tend to have plastic corks, and I have a problem with losing my corkscrews to synthetics. Second, IGT wines have not, as a whole, been as good as the DOC wines, though they are usually significantly cheaper. But lastly, the majority of IGT wines are less than 2 Euros, which leads me to believe they will rot my liver and become the base for the perfect Molotov cocktail.
However, the Cusumano has changed my opinion on every level: It comes with a REAL cork; it costs a whopping 15 Euros a bottle; and, with a 2006 vintage, it was obviously worth saving instead of lighting and throwing. And those were my opinions before I tasted it.
Smooth, much smoother than the Zisola; so fragrant that my empty glass still smelled of blackberries and dark chocolate; with a rich taste that made me want a second bottle for the rest of the week, the Cusumano was sweet and tart, smooth and oaky, the perfect glass of wine.
You can find it www.cusumano.it, but it will run about $45 a bottle in the USA. However, I can start my Christmas 2011 wish list now...email me for details.
Which leads me to the second part of this entry: my email.
I had been with Verizon for several years. At least, until, I got tenants into my home near Pittsburgh. Then, I had to make arrangements to switch my security service at the house to my tenants' new telephone landline and Verizon 'accidentally' turned off all the services I had with them, including my internet and email accounts.
Note to Verizon, I Hate You!
Note to everyone else, please try to reach me, either by letter or through friends. I tried to remember as many addresses as I could, but it's tough when I've been drinking wine!
I've signed up with the Italian Agriculture and Tourism Board as a Resident International Journalist (Note to Wisconsin...you can make a lot of friends by doing the following...). This means that once a month, they call me and make arrangements to pick me up and take me to a local winery or farm where I can sample food and drink. Then they drive me to a five star restaurant where I can eat and drink the discussed food or drink in a professional setting, with the assumption that I will leave and write to Americans about what I have just eaten or drunk.
Not a bad gig!
It also makes me more appreciative of Europe, when most of the time I thank God to be an American. The one saving grace that Europe has, other than wine, is that it is so much LESS politically correct than the USA.
Take the following terror alert (courtesy of John Cleese) for example:
"The English are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have therefore raised their security level from “Miffed” to “Peeved.” Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to “Irritated” or even “A Bit Cross.”
The English have not been “A Bit Cross” since the blitz in 1940 when tea supplies nearly ran out.
Terrorists have been re-categorised from “Tiresome” to “A Bloody Nuisance.” The last time the British issued a “Bloody Nuisance” warning level was in 1588, when threatened by the Spanish Armada.
The Scots have raised their threat level from “Pissed Off” to “Let’s get the Bastards.” They don’t have any other levels. This is the reason they have been used on the front line of the British army for the last 300 years.
The French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from “Run” to “Hide.” The only two higher levels in France are “Collaborate” and “Surrender.” The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France’s white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country’s military capability.
Italy has increased the alert level from “Shout Loudly and Excitedly” to “Elaborate Military Posturing.” Two more levels remain: “Ineffective Combat Operations” and “Change Sides.”
The Germans have increased their alert state from “Disdainful Arrogance” to “Dress in Uniform and Sing Marching Songs.” They also have two higher levels: “Invade a Neighbour” and “Lose.”
Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual; the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels.
The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.
Australia, meanwhile, has raised its security level from “No worries” to “She’ll be alright, Mate.” Two more escalation levels remain: “Crikey! I think we’ll need to cancel the barbie this weekend!” and “The barbie is canceled.” So far no situation has ever warranted use of the final escalation level.
I do love Europe, sometimes.
However, this brings me to the last bit of this entry. There are days I wish I were home and days I am so glad I can escape.
On January 1, 2011, just an hour after I finished my previous post, I got word that my wonderful cousin, Alison Grace Kasten, was killed in an automobile accident in Tampa, FL. She was only 20 years old.
Details regarding the accident are still unclear: what she was driving and who owned it; whether or not she was following or being followed; she may or may not have been hit by another vehicle that left the scene.
What is clear is that this amazing young woman with so much to live for is gone. She was an international equestrienne champion; a scholar; a friend; and the most down-to-earth young woman I had ever known. She was the wealthiest young person immaginable, with every reason to be a snob, but was the least snobbish person immagination could conjure: she spent her days mucking manure in a horse barn, dressed in sweats, volunteering for the less fortunate and helping everyone she knew. Underestimated by many, she had the most genuine smile, infectious wit, and contagious sense of humor.
I will miss her forever.
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