First of all, Thanksgiving went surprisingly well.
I actually got a turkey - the Turkey - into the oven. It was very close and I had to use foil to wrap the wings so they wouldn't burn to the walls of the oven, but the bird fit. If we are here next year, I have the overwhelming urge to tempt fate and try to create a Turduckin (a boned out chicken, rolled inside of a boned out duck, stuffed into the cavity of a turkey.) It might fit...I'm brave.
The electricity even held on for the afternoon! Hooray!
And the turkey tasted good, too, with William eating (in one sitting) a whole turkey leg, a wing, a thigh and part of a breast, PLUS half of his sister's turkey leg. I estimate that amount at around 2 pounds of meat.
Again, next year, turduckin.
In fact, thanks to the boys, I have one piece of turkey left in the fridge right now. I guess I didn't need to worry about where I was going to put everything when we were done!
Unlike England, where I could wrap everything up and store it in the garden shed because the air is cold enough to keep the food fresh, Italy is warm. It rains every day, yes, but temperatures drift between 45 to 60 degrees throughout the day. Would you eat a turkey kept out overnight? Oh yeah, and I have a pigeon problem in my yard....they poop everywhere and they groom themselves on the terrace by the front door...add to that the neighborhood cats looking for a dry spot to hide when the rains come...No storing food on the porch here!
And the next night, we had the babysitters back so Billy and I could go to a Ceilidh. Don't bother checking the spelling: it's a Scottish word! (KAY-LEE) A Ceilidh is the term used for an organized Scottish dance. In our case, two days after Thanksgiving, we met some of the Scots (and Italians who wished they were Scots) who live in Rome for our first ever St. Andrew's ceilidh.
In any case, it was a great event, with real bagpipers (two to be exact) and one bodhran (drum) player. Also fun was watching Italian spouses try to do Scottish dances. Better still was listening to them speak: many of the Italians who attended have learned to speak English through their Scottish significant other. This has left the Italians all speaking very broad Scots with Italian grammer coloring the dialogue. Brilliant.
There is a Burns night planned for the end of January...I'll bet I can get a Haggis in the oven!
However my next challenge is Christmas: how on Earth will I find a ham that hasn't been turned into prosciutto? Very tricky...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Busy Month...And other stories
The autumn has gone by in whirl. As I type this, we are three weeks into the rainy season; I expect the rain will end in mid-April, just as it did this year. But until then, I can expect regular deluges to ruin my photos.
If I had my way, I would be outside enjoying the sunshine, but unfortunately there is none to be had. And even if the sun does make an appearance, I would have to deal with the mud. Especially as my lovely yard has been turned into something resembling a prehistoric mud-pit.
The drain to our building broke, right at the same time that my mother and her new husband visited. I was very lucky, as it wasn't actually our drain, but the drain to the other three floors in our building which were affected; however, the access to the drain was beneath our lovely garden, which I had been filling with plants and flowers.
Yes, I have contributed yet again to massive plant-slaughter.
To make a long story short, the digging began on November 1 and finished just last week. At one point we had a trench more than 3 meters deep and 4 meters long bisecting our garden. Each time it rained, the crew had to stop and bail out more mud onto our lovely new grass.
It was good that Mom and Joe were here to make us leave the house and stop looking at the carnage!
It was really nice to have Mom visit. She had never before been overseas.
When we lived in England we all briefly discussed having her visit us there. This plan was put off as Mom had the extreme bad luck to be hit by a truck. I know...there is just no planning anything in my family (Mom, that is a joke.)
This time she made it in one piece and brought along her husband, who my children have happily named Grandpa Joe.
Grandpa Joe made quite an impression: never cross, never said no to ice cream, and his idea of giving the children an all finger-food dinner one evening has led to numerous subsequent requests for finger-food spaghetti and finger-food scrambled eggs. Ahh, Grandparents!
It was great to show them around Rome, at least part of the time: no, I am still not brave enough to take my children to the Vatican. I don't need that kind of trouble with God. We saw the Coliseum, the Forum, all the fountains and shopping, the smaller churches and loads of food.
It was an eye opener for me, too: I have travelled so much that I forget how exciting seeing other places can be, especially for people who don't travel internationally often. Watching the open mouths, the dropped jaws and awe in their eyes at each sight - and Rome is full of sights - was probably the most enjoyable part for me.
It also made me realize how lucky I am to be here, to have learned the things I have about Rome and Europe, and how fortunate I am that I can laugh about the shortcomings of international life and know I have a home in America waiting for me.
For instance, electricity is so much a part of our lives in America, that we don't notice it until it goes out in a storm.
In Rome, my electricity goes out every day. More specifically, it cuts out every time I run my dishwasher or oven and more than one light at the same time. If I start the dishes after dinner and have the lights on in the kitchen and living room, BOOM! No lights. If I run the tea kettle and wash machine, BOOM! No lights. If the kids leave all their bedroom lights on and we turn on the tv? Yes, BOOM! No lights.
I suppose in the long run it enforces energy conservation. But it also ensures that multi-tasking on cleaning the house (do the dishes while a load of laundry is washing and I try to vacuum) never happens.
Joe remarked as he left that he hoped we would finish getting settled in soon after he and Mom returned to San Diego; I asked what he meant and replied that we were all unpacked. He said, "Well, you know, your landlord can finish getting you lights and fix the electricity."
No, in Italy, tenants buy their own light fixtures, I replied, and it takes several months to order them and get them shipped to you; there are no Home Depots to buy cheap lights here, so you have to order them direct from the manufacturer and wait for them to be built. And the government limits the power supply to residential dwellings so that no one can use too much power.
It's good to be an American and know I'll have lights and power when I get home.
However, it makes my upcoming challenge of making a Thanksgiving Turkey much more exciting! Imagine the challege of wedging a 15lb. turkey into a tiny European oven (the size of perhaps 6 shoe boxes, two wide by three high) and praying the power doesn't go out in the 3+ hours it takes to cook the bird...
I usually don't make stuffing for the turkey, since no one but me eats it. However, this year I will attempt, once again, to make a stuffing that my family will try to eat: It is Chestnut season.
Not truly a nut, at least in the American sense, chestnuts are the texture of a heavy bread and slightly sweet after roasting. They are excellent in gelato or boiled in a sugar syrup then dipped in dark chocolate. But I have found a recipe for Chestnut dressing and will attempt it.
Ten bucks says I put on five pounds from having to eat all the dressing on my own instead of eating ice cream every other day.
But all the talk of food reminds me of another thing that I noticed when Mom and Joe visited: Americans like food, but we mostly like our own versions of it.
Joe, in his younger years, was friends with a Sicilian family who owned a restaurant. He was very spoiled on American-Italian cooking (which tends to be excellent, by the way.) So when he got to Rome, he was just dying to try real, Italian Spaghetti.
To an Italian, spaghetti is only the pasta, a long and thin dried pasta that can be tossed with various sauces or oils. To Joe, spaghetti is American-style pasta, with marinara sauce and meatballs.
At this time, I need to point out the difference between American-Italian food and Italian food. First of all, Italian food is really a misnomer: there is no quitessential 'Italian' cuisine. Rather, Italy is full of regional cusine and every meal, every dish, varies from location to location.
A friend in Sicily told me how she made eggplant parmesan one way, but her friend, from Calabria, would layer it with whole pieces of basil, chunks of salami and whole, peeled hardboiled eggs.
Second, American Italians had the luxury, upon reaching America, to have good food available year round; while Italians in Italy have depended on seasonal ingredients until only recently. This has meant that certain dishes and prepared ingredients (salamis, cheeses, wines, and even pastas) are only available at certain times of the year.
And lastly, the Italians in America found they could make their ideal, best-ever dishes on a regular basis because there was always a steady supply of the good food: mozarella may not be as good as Italian Mozarella, but you can always get it year-round. Basil may not be from the garden, but you can get it shipped from Mexico. Parmesan may not be the best quality, but you can find it at any store.
The result is that many Americans think they know what Italian cuisine is, and when they arrive in Italy, they find you can't get sausage on a pizza; Pizzas in Rome are all thin crust and no one will make a Chicago-style deep dish no matter how you beg and plead; and most mom-and-pop trattorias will not substitute anything.
But if you try a dish prepared the Italian way, you'll find that Spaghetti with Cacio e Pepe (hot spaghetti tossed only with olive oil, shredded Provolone and pepper) is excellent. No red sauce needed.
Dying for a red sauce? You won't get marinara here unless its thinly spread on a pizza crust. Try bucatini al'Amatriciana instead (a bacon and onion flavored tomato sauce with spaghetti-like long, hollow pasta.)
I don't think Joe ever got his Spaghetti with Red sauce. But I don't think he ever had a bad meal, either.
If I had my way, I would be outside enjoying the sunshine, but unfortunately there is none to be had. And even if the sun does make an appearance, I would have to deal with the mud. Especially as my lovely yard has been turned into something resembling a prehistoric mud-pit.
The drain to our building broke, right at the same time that my mother and her new husband visited. I was very lucky, as it wasn't actually our drain, but the drain to the other three floors in our building which were affected; however, the access to the drain was beneath our lovely garden, which I had been filling with plants and flowers.
Yes, I have contributed yet again to massive plant-slaughter.
To make a long story short, the digging began on November 1 and finished just last week. At one point we had a trench more than 3 meters deep and 4 meters long bisecting our garden. Each time it rained, the crew had to stop and bail out more mud onto our lovely new grass.
It was good that Mom and Joe were here to make us leave the house and stop looking at the carnage!
It was really nice to have Mom visit. She had never before been overseas.
When we lived in England we all briefly discussed having her visit us there. This plan was put off as Mom had the extreme bad luck to be hit by a truck. I know...there is just no planning anything in my family (Mom, that is a joke.)
This time she made it in one piece and brought along her husband, who my children have happily named Grandpa Joe.
Grandpa Joe made quite an impression: never cross, never said no to ice cream, and his idea of giving the children an all finger-food dinner one evening has led to numerous subsequent requests for finger-food spaghetti and finger-food scrambled eggs. Ahh, Grandparents!
It was great to show them around Rome, at least part of the time: no, I am still not brave enough to take my children to the Vatican. I don't need that kind of trouble with God. We saw the Coliseum, the Forum, all the fountains and shopping, the smaller churches and loads of food.
It was an eye opener for me, too: I have travelled so much that I forget how exciting seeing other places can be, especially for people who don't travel internationally often. Watching the open mouths, the dropped jaws and awe in their eyes at each sight - and Rome is full of sights - was probably the most enjoyable part for me.
It also made me realize how lucky I am to be here, to have learned the things I have about Rome and Europe, and how fortunate I am that I can laugh about the shortcomings of international life and know I have a home in America waiting for me.
For instance, electricity is so much a part of our lives in America, that we don't notice it until it goes out in a storm.
In Rome, my electricity goes out every day. More specifically, it cuts out every time I run my dishwasher or oven and more than one light at the same time. If I start the dishes after dinner and have the lights on in the kitchen and living room, BOOM! No lights. If I run the tea kettle and wash machine, BOOM! No lights. If the kids leave all their bedroom lights on and we turn on the tv? Yes, BOOM! No lights.
I suppose in the long run it enforces energy conservation. But it also ensures that multi-tasking on cleaning the house (do the dishes while a load of laundry is washing and I try to vacuum) never happens.
Joe remarked as he left that he hoped we would finish getting settled in soon after he and Mom returned to San Diego; I asked what he meant and replied that we were all unpacked. He said, "Well, you know, your landlord can finish getting you lights and fix the electricity."
No, in Italy, tenants buy their own light fixtures, I replied, and it takes several months to order them and get them shipped to you; there are no Home Depots to buy cheap lights here, so you have to order them direct from the manufacturer and wait for them to be built. And the government limits the power supply to residential dwellings so that no one can use too much power.
It's good to be an American and know I'll have lights and power when I get home.
However, it makes my upcoming challenge of making a Thanksgiving Turkey much more exciting! Imagine the challege of wedging a 15lb. turkey into a tiny European oven (the size of perhaps 6 shoe boxes, two wide by three high) and praying the power doesn't go out in the 3+ hours it takes to cook the bird...
I usually don't make stuffing for the turkey, since no one but me eats it. However, this year I will attempt, once again, to make a stuffing that my family will try to eat: It is Chestnut season.
Not truly a nut, at least in the American sense, chestnuts are the texture of a heavy bread and slightly sweet after roasting. They are excellent in gelato or boiled in a sugar syrup then dipped in dark chocolate. But I have found a recipe for Chestnut dressing and will attempt it.
Ten bucks says I put on five pounds from having to eat all the dressing on my own instead of eating ice cream every other day.
But all the talk of food reminds me of another thing that I noticed when Mom and Joe visited: Americans like food, but we mostly like our own versions of it.
Joe, in his younger years, was friends with a Sicilian family who owned a restaurant. He was very spoiled on American-Italian cooking (which tends to be excellent, by the way.) So when he got to Rome, he was just dying to try real, Italian Spaghetti.
To an Italian, spaghetti is only the pasta, a long and thin dried pasta that can be tossed with various sauces or oils. To Joe, spaghetti is American-style pasta, with marinara sauce and meatballs.
At this time, I need to point out the difference between American-Italian food and Italian food. First of all, Italian food is really a misnomer: there is no quitessential 'Italian' cuisine. Rather, Italy is full of regional cusine and every meal, every dish, varies from location to location.
A friend in Sicily told me how she made eggplant parmesan one way, but her friend, from Calabria, would layer it with whole pieces of basil, chunks of salami and whole, peeled hardboiled eggs.
Second, American Italians had the luxury, upon reaching America, to have good food available year round; while Italians in Italy have depended on seasonal ingredients until only recently. This has meant that certain dishes and prepared ingredients (salamis, cheeses, wines, and even pastas) are only available at certain times of the year.
And lastly, the Italians in America found they could make their ideal, best-ever dishes on a regular basis because there was always a steady supply of the good food: mozarella may not be as good as Italian Mozarella, but you can always get it year-round. Basil may not be from the garden, but you can get it shipped from Mexico. Parmesan may not be the best quality, but you can find it at any store.
The result is that many Americans think they know what Italian cuisine is, and when they arrive in Italy, they find you can't get sausage on a pizza; Pizzas in Rome are all thin crust and no one will make a Chicago-style deep dish no matter how you beg and plead; and most mom-and-pop trattorias will not substitute anything.
But if you try a dish prepared the Italian way, you'll find that Spaghetti with Cacio e Pepe (hot spaghetti tossed only with olive oil, shredded Provolone and pepper) is excellent. No red sauce needed.
Dying for a red sauce? You won't get marinara here unless its thinly spread on a pizza crust. Try bucatini al'Amatriciana instead (a bacon and onion flavored tomato sauce with spaghetti-like long, hollow pasta.)
I don't think Joe ever got his Spaghetti with Red sauce. But I don't think he ever had a bad meal, either.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
It was a very good night...and other discoveries
I have made several discoveries since coming back to Rome.
First of all, there is a strange fruit called a Mapo, which doesn't taste all that bad.
A Mapo is a green citrus, in the same family as a Tangelo. Like the Tangelo, it is a cross between a clementine and a Douglas Grapefruit. Unlike the Tangelos that most of us are used to, this is meant to be eaten while the fruit is bright green and it is shaped like a small grapefruit instead of being pear-shaped. It is also not very sweet, which makes it a curious delicacy in Italy, as they seem to be obsessed with sweet treats.
Don't look for a Mapo in Wikipedia; you will need to search google.it (Google Italy) and be prepared to translate Italian to find out more about this strange fruit. They are not shipped outside of Italy and this hybrid is currently ONLY grown in Sicily.
I'll see if I can save some seeds, though that doesn't always work for hybrids...
I have also found another good gelateria: I use the word 'found' rather loosely here, as it would be more remarkable if I HADN'T found the place. It is less that 100 meters from my house...but the major discovery was INSIDE....
I need to point out at this time that, while living in Rome, if I sampled ice cream at every shop I passed, I would be the size of a house. So one learns to pass by the majority of shops.
But there was a crowd outside the shop one morning as Andrew and I came back from our daily grocery trip. (Yes, daily.) So we braved the crowd and Andrew got his standard Fior di Panna (Flower of Cream) and I tried Cointreu with chunks of candied orange and Honey with rice and toasted Sesame. No, I am not a pig, but every small cone gets two scoops of gelato.
The honey was very good, sweet and smooth, with odd chunks of frozen cooked rice to help clear the stickiness and little toasted sesame seeds. The cointreau and orange was fabulous.
But that morning I noticed an oddball, one flavor I had never seen before: Pesto.
Now for people unfamiliar with Pesto, it is an Italian condiment, very popular tossed with hot pasta. Pesto is made from basil leaves, raw garlic, salt, olive oil,pepper and parmesan cheese.
It is very rich, strong and flavorful, and not at all what a person would expect to put in ice cream
Of course, I couldn't resist!
I was good, though, and came back the next day, with all the kids following behind. One by one, they ordered the Fior di Panna and Fragola. And I ordered a small cup of Pesto.
The girl behind the counter spoke English and she gave me an odd look - I was obviously the only person who had asked for Pesto today - and she said, "Do you know what Pesto is?"
I replies yes, but that I was curious and had to try it. So she gave me a small scoop and didn't charge me for it.
Her feelings about the Pesto gelato were very clear.
I wasn't nervous as I tried it, just very curious: I once had black pepper ice cream and it was great, so this oddly colored concoction really appealed to me.(Pesto is half basil, so it is the color of pureed grass)
And it tasted just like a good pesto, only sweet. There was no olive oil in it, as I suppose it wouldn't freeze well that way, but it was basilly and garlicky and slightly cheesy. And sweet and creamy. But odd.
I walked home and slowly took tiny tastes of the pesto gelato while the children ravenously devoured their very simple cones.
I did not finish my gelato, which has NEVER before happened; I did probably eat half, and I gave Bill a taste when I got back to the apartment. But then I took one more nibble and let it melt in the sink, while I ate the Cointreau and Orange gelato that I bought as back up.
It was a Friday night!
And then something amazing happened. It may be the moment which defines our Roman experience and it will likely be the memory that I summon up when people ask me what I like best about living here.
Before I tell the story of THE BEST NIGHT, I need to preface it by saying that in spite of having gotten food poisoning from our local trattoria, we decided to go back. The food was just too good!
We have been back twice since I got sick from the Vongole and now the people who work there know us. Not like they would remember the same couple who came back every night for their week long holiday, but the staff and owners have realized that in spite of our failure to speak Italian, we are part of the neighborhood.
So they encourage us, and our kids, to learn new Italian words and try different foods. Though William will not move beyond Pizza with Proscuitto and Helena will only order the Penne alla Vodka. Both of which are actually very good.
And when the Conto (check) comes, we now get the 'locals' discount, which usually means the wine is free and they havent charged for the Verdure (cold vegetable buffet) and one of the kids' meals. Who could complain?
It is really nice feeling part of a neighborhood, which hasn't happened to us in a long time. So we have tried to go once a week, and that was when IT happened.
The weather finally started getting cool enough to need a jacket, so we all put on our cardies and coats and wandered up the street for dinner. There was a persistant breeze, but it was still warm, so we decided to sit outside under the umbrellas.
Rome is too bright to appreciate the stars at night, but Aventino is a beautiful neighborhood: the newest buildings are Art Deco and the older Palazzos surround Piazza Remurria, which has a park at the center. So there is plenty of beautiful scenery to watch while you wait for your meal to arrive.
Very soon after placing our order, William claimed to feel a raindrop, which I dismissed as nonsense - the weather report said there wouldn't be rain until the weekend. But in the distance some lightning flashed; we didn't hear the thunder, so we dismissed that occurance, as well.
Dinner came at the same time the lighting struck closer to our little neighborhood, but the food was great (grilled tuna and fresh porcini mushrooms tossed with fresh tagliatelle) so we stayed and started counting the seconds until we could hear the thunder.
By the time we finished eating, the thunder was close, the lightning struck every minute or so, and a cool breeze blew from the direction of the sea. We knew it was time to move, so we corked our bottle of wine (Yes, you get to take it home with you!) and asked for the Conto.
As we paid the bill, a giant spark of lightening hit at the end of the street. The storm was upon us, and the thunder shook the umbrellas above our heads, just before the skies opened.
It was actually very beautiful and funny at the same time - the other diners ran into the restaurant, but we decided to stay and watch the rain. There was music playing somewhere and all of us were laughing at the weather, the timing, and how wonderful everything was at that moment. The boys, of course, were playing with the streams of water that were pouring off the canvas above our heads.
As the waitstaff jumped into action, moving tables closer to the center of the main outdoor tent and clearing tables that were not going to get any diners for the rest of the evening, we began to put our coats on and collect the children.
The rain grew heavier, though, and the weight of the collected rain split the canvas above our heads, soaking our table, what was left of our dinners, and our poor waiter, who happened to be standing directly under the tear.
We couldn't help but laugh harder, and decided to run home through the rain, dodging puddles all the way.
It was probably the best night we've had in Rome so far.
First of all, there is a strange fruit called a Mapo, which doesn't taste all that bad.
A Mapo is a green citrus, in the same family as a Tangelo. Like the Tangelo, it is a cross between a clementine and a Douglas Grapefruit. Unlike the Tangelos that most of us are used to, this is meant to be eaten while the fruit is bright green and it is shaped like a small grapefruit instead of being pear-shaped. It is also not very sweet, which makes it a curious delicacy in Italy, as they seem to be obsessed with sweet treats.
Don't look for a Mapo in Wikipedia; you will need to search google.it (Google Italy) and be prepared to translate Italian to find out more about this strange fruit. They are not shipped outside of Italy and this hybrid is currently ONLY grown in Sicily.
I'll see if I can save some seeds, though that doesn't always work for hybrids...
I have also found another good gelateria: I use the word 'found' rather loosely here, as it would be more remarkable if I HADN'T found the place. It is less that 100 meters from my house...but the major discovery was INSIDE....
I need to point out at this time that, while living in Rome, if I sampled ice cream at every shop I passed, I would be the size of a house. So one learns to pass by the majority of shops.
But there was a crowd outside the shop one morning as Andrew and I came back from our daily grocery trip. (Yes, daily.) So we braved the crowd and Andrew got his standard Fior di Panna (Flower of Cream) and I tried Cointreu with chunks of candied orange and Honey with rice and toasted Sesame. No, I am not a pig, but every small cone gets two scoops of gelato.
The honey was very good, sweet and smooth, with odd chunks of frozen cooked rice to help clear the stickiness and little toasted sesame seeds. The cointreau and orange was fabulous.
But that morning I noticed an oddball, one flavor I had never seen before: Pesto.
Now for people unfamiliar with Pesto, it is an Italian condiment, very popular tossed with hot pasta. Pesto is made from basil leaves, raw garlic, salt, olive oil,pepper and parmesan cheese.
It is very rich, strong and flavorful, and not at all what a person would expect to put in ice cream
Of course, I couldn't resist!
I was good, though, and came back the next day, with all the kids following behind. One by one, they ordered the Fior di Panna and Fragola. And I ordered a small cup of Pesto.
The girl behind the counter spoke English and she gave me an odd look - I was obviously the only person who had asked for Pesto today - and she said, "Do you know what Pesto is?"
I replies yes, but that I was curious and had to try it. So she gave me a small scoop and didn't charge me for it.
Her feelings about the Pesto gelato were very clear.
I wasn't nervous as I tried it, just very curious: I once had black pepper ice cream and it was great, so this oddly colored concoction really appealed to me.(Pesto is half basil, so it is the color of pureed grass)
And it tasted just like a good pesto, only sweet. There was no olive oil in it, as I suppose it wouldn't freeze well that way, but it was basilly and garlicky and slightly cheesy. And sweet and creamy. But odd.
I walked home and slowly took tiny tastes of the pesto gelato while the children ravenously devoured their very simple cones.
I did not finish my gelato, which has NEVER before happened; I did probably eat half, and I gave Bill a taste when I got back to the apartment. But then I took one more nibble and let it melt in the sink, while I ate the Cointreau and Orange gelato that I bought as back up.
It was a Friday night!
And then something amazing happened. It may be the moment which defines our Roman experience and it will likely be the memory that I summon up when people ask me what I like best about living here.
Before I tell the story of THE BEST NIGHT, I need to preface it by saying that in spite of having gotten food poisoning from our local trattoria, we decided to go back. The food was just too good!
We have been back twice since I got sick from the Vongole and now the people who work there know us. Not like they would remember the same couple who came back every night for their week long holiday, but the staff and owners have realized that in spite of our failure to speak Italian, we are part of the neighborhood.
So they encourage us, and our kids, to learn new Italian words and try different foods. Though William will not move beyond Pizza with Proscuitto and Helena will only order the Penne alla Vodka. Both of which are actually very good.
And when the Conto (check) comes, we now get the 'locals' discount, which usually means the wine is free and they havent charged for the Verdure (cold vegetable buffet) and one of the kids' meals. Who could complain?
It is really nice feeling part of a neighborhood, which hasn't happened to us in a long time. So we have tried to go once a week, and that was when IT happened.
The weather finally started getting cool enough to need a jacket, so we all put on our cardies and coats and wandered up the street for dinner. There was a persistant breeze, but it was still warm, so we decided to sit outside under the umbrellas.
Rome is too bright to appreciate the stars at night, but Aventino is a beautiful neighborhood: the newest buildings are Art Deco and the older Palazzos surround Piazza Remurria, which has a park at the center. So there is plenty of beautiful scenery to watch while you wait for your meal to arrive.
Very soon after placing our order, William claimed to feel a raindrop, which I dismissed as nonsense - the weather report said there wouldn't be rain until the weekend. But in the distance some lightning flashed; we didn't hear the thunder, so we dismissed that occurance, as well.
Dinner came at the same time the lighting struck closer to our little neighborhood, but the food was great (grilled tuna and fresh porcini mushrooms tossed with fresh tagliatelle) so we stayed and started counting the seconds until we could hear the thunder.
By the time we finished eating, the thunder was close, the lightning struck every minute or so, and a cool breeze blew from the direction of the sea. We knew it was time to move, so we corked our bottle of wine (Yes, you get to take it home with you!) and asked for the Conto.
As we paid the bill, a giant spark of lightening hit at the end of the street. The storm was upon us, and the thunder shook the umbrellas above our heads, just before the skies opened.
It was actually very beautiful and funny at the same time - the other diners ran into the restaurant, but we decided to stay and watch the rain. There was music playing somewhere and all of us were laughing at the weather, the timing, and how wonderful everything was at that moment. The boys, of course, were playing with the streams of water that were pouring off the canvas above our heads.
As the waitstaff jumped into action, moving tables closer to the center of the main outdoor tent and clearing tables that were not going to get any diners for the rest of the evening, we began to put our coats on and collect the children.
The rain grew heavier, though, and the weight of the collected rain split the canvas above our heads, soaking our table, what was left of our dinners, and our poor waiter, who happened to be standing directly under the tear.
We couldn't help but laugh harder, and decided to run home through the rain, dodging puddles all the way.
It was probably the best night we've had in Rome so far.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Wisdom about Wine....
I don't often engage in email forwards to people, but a wonderful person recently forwarded me the following item, which I humbly offer up to wine-lovers everywhere:
To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine...
And those who don't and are always seen with a bottle of water in their hand.
As Ben Franklin said: In wine there is wisdom, In beer there is freedom, In water there is bacteria.
In a number of carefully controlled trials, scientists have demonstrated that if we drink 1 litre of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed
more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli, (E. Coli) - bacteria found in feces.
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poo...However, we do NOT run that risk when drinking wine & beer (or tequila, rum, whiskey or other liquor.) Because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling, filtering and/or fermenting. Remember: Water = Poo, Wine = Health.
Therefore, it's better to drink wine and talk stupid than to drink water and be full of shit.
There is no need to thank me for this valuable information: I'm doing it as a public service!
And I am trapped in Italy, land of wine and cheese...lucky me. And I have learned not to drink the water!
To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine...
And those who don't and are always seen with a bottle of water in their hand.
As Ben Franklin said: In wine there is wisdom, In beer there is freedom, In water there is bacteria.
In a number of carefully controlled trials, scientists have demonstrated that if we drink 1 litre of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed
more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli, (E. Coli) - bacteria found in feces.
In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of poo...However, we do NOT run that risk when drinking wine & beer (or tequila, rum, whiskey or other liquor.) Because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling, filtering and/or fermenting. Remember: Water = Poo, Wine = Health.
Therefore, it's better to drink wine and talk stupid than to drink water and be full of shit.
There is no need to thank me for this valuable information: I'm doing it as a public service!
And I am trapped in Italy, land of wine and cheese...lucky me. And I have learned not to drink the water!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Updates on Rome and Moving and Food Poisoning...
It's been a rough night for me: I got food poisoning again. And yes, it was seafood again.
We had decided to make the effort to eat a family dinner out, once every week or two. We thought we had struck gold by locating a little Italian trattoria several blocks away from our house (much better than our previous attempt at local dining in Aventino: A Mexican Restaurant owned by people from Pittsburgh, made with Italian ingredients...not too good.)
Anyway, this place was perfect: no Menu Turistico, only Italian-speaking waitstaff who ignored you from the moment you walked in (which, when you have three children is ideal as they don't care that your offspring are sword fighting with the Grissini or spilling water everywhere) and authentic food, made the way Romans would actually make it.
But when eating in Rome, there is a rule which you should never ignore: only eat a fish which still has it's head on. If they give you a small fish like Orata or Spigola and it is headless, don't eat it.
And stay away from shellfish in general.
I mean, Rome currently has the highest dioxin levels in their drinking water in all of Europe: since the Tiber flows to the sea 10 miles away and all the shellfish is caught locally, where do you think the chemicals end up? Exactly. Order the Gamberi from Sicily and ignore the Vongole, if you value your time, nightlife and stomach muscles.
Other than the food (which incidentally was delicious and I only had a bad reaction) a funny thing happened last week.
We tried having Sky installed. For expats, you know this means English-language satellite TV. For everyone else, Sky is English-language satellite TV and I am tired of missing everything in the world and watching only the BBC International feed which gets updated every 8 hours.
So we made the order, made an appointment, and I waited for Luigi to come install Sky. Of course, Luigi speaks no English and my Italian is very limited, so this was destined to be a comedy skit from the start.
After 10 minutes of trying to understand his gesticulations and interpret his idea of English and extend my understanding of Italian, I called Elena of Questura Fame.
Apparently, you can have a completely renovated house in Italy with all new electrical wiring and heating, but the building code doesn't require the building to have WIRES CONNECTED to the wall outlets. So my apartment is full of shiny new cable plugs but decidedly empty of any wires.
So we had to call an electrician to run 200 meters of wire throughout the building. And no, my landlord did not have to cover the expense.
So guess what happened when we called TeleItalia to get a landline and DSL installed? Yes, you can have new phone jacks in the walls, with no phone line run through the wall!
Which meant we had to call the electrician, again, and have another 200 meters of cable pulled through the house.
And TeleItalia has still not returned to hook up my phone and DSL.
Rome, as they say, was not built in a day.
And as for the move, I filed the damaged portion of our insurance claim today. Ouch. We could probably move to Euro Disney for a month for what it will cost to fix our antiques from England.
And the missing things have not been found, which unfortunately, includes one of Grandma's blankets that she made for my daughter and the family Bible that Bill and I got when we married. Not expensive things, but priceless things.
If anyone is going to move, please contact me for a list of MOVERS TO STAY AWAY FROM.
What a headache.
The good news is that we finally have reliable, regular babysitters. Bill and I got to go out two weekends in a row. Fabulous!
We had decided to make the effort to eat a family dinner out, once every week or two. We thought we had struck gold by locating a little Italian trattoria several blocks away from our house (much better than our previous attempt at local dining in Aventino: A Mexican Restaurant owned by people from Pittsburgh, made with Italian ingredients...not too good.)
Anyway, this place was perfect: no Menu Turistico, only Italian-speaking waitstaff who ignored you from the moment you walked in (which, when you have three children is ideal as they don't care that your offspring are sword fighting with the Grissini or spilling water everywhere) and authentic food, made the way Romans would actually make it.
But when eating in Rome, there is a rule which you should never ignore: only eat a fish which still has it's head on. If they give you a small fish like Orata or Spigola and it is headless, don't eat it.
And stay away from shellfish in general.
I mean, Rome currently has the highest dioxin levels in their drinking water in all of Europe: since the Tiber flows to the sea 10 miles away and all the shellfish is caught locally, where do you think the chemicals end up? Exactly. Order the Gamberi from Sicily and ignore the Vongole, if you value your time, nightlife and stomach muscles.
Other than the food (which incidentally was delicious and I only had a bad reaction) a funny thing happened last week.
We tried having Sky installed. For expats, you know this means English-language satellite TV. For everyone else, Sky is English-language satellite TV and I am tired of missing everything in the world and watching only the BBC International feed which gets updated every 8 hours.
So we made the order, made an appointment, and I waited for Luigi to come install Sky. Of course, Luigi speaks no English and my Italian is very limited, so this was destined to be a comedy skit from the start.
After 10 minutes of trying to understand his gesticulations and interpret his idea of English and extend my understanding of Italian, I called Elena of Questura Fame.
Apparently, you can have a completely renovated house in Italy with all new electrical wiring and heating, but the building code doesn't require the building to have WIRES CONNECTED to the wall outlets. So my apartment is full of shiny new cable plugs but decidedly empty of any wires.
So we had to call an electrician to run 200 meters of wire throughout the building. And no, my landlord did not have to cover the expense.
So guess what happened when we called TeleItalia to get a landline and DSL installed? Yes, you can have new phone jacks in the walls, with no phone line run through the wall!
Which meant we had to call the electrician, again, and have another 200 meters of cable pulled through the house.
And TeleItalia has still not returned to hook up my phone and DSL.
Rome, as they say, was not built in a day.
And as for the move, I filed the damaged portion of our insurance claim today. Ouch. We could probably move to Euro Disney for a month for what it will cost to fix our antiques from England.
And the missing things have not been found, which unfortunately, includes one of Grandma's blankets that she made for my daughter and the family Bible that Bill and I got when we married. Not expensive things, but priceless things.
If anyone is going to move, please contact me for a list of MOVERS TO STAY AWAY FROM.
What a headache.
The good news is that we finally have reliable, regular babysitters. Bill and I got to go out two weekends in a row. Fabulous!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Oh the Joys of Moving, an excerpt of an actual letter regarding my move...
To all my friends and family who think that moving is easy, please read the letter below. It comes from an actual letter to the moving company responsible for the move to Rome.
Dear XXXXXX,
I understand that today is Labor Day in America, but I hope you can give me advice on how to proceed with this portion of the move.
Bliss Moving delivered the shipment Friday and returned today, Monday, to unpack the shipment.
On Friday we discovered many problems with the shipment: some items had no inventory tags; some of the inventory tags were on the wrong items; some items were damaged; several items appeared to be missing; some boxes arrived already opened.
I spoke with XXXXX Smith regarding these issues and she advised us to photograph as much as possible. Any packages which we needed to open, she advised us to photograph if it appeared that the item might be damaged, then take further photos of the damage we found, if any.
After unpacking a few things, we stopped, as the damage is severe and we wanted Bliss to observe the unpacking first hand.
More items were damaged today, some severely.
In spite of counting and checking all the boxes and items, we have approximately 15 missing items.
Bliss is aware of the damages and missing items. XXXXXXXXX from Bliss has been very cooperative in trying to resolve issues. Her delivery crew has been very helpful in photographing the damage.
At this time the damages, in random order, are:
1) A broken leg on an antique Restoration era chest of drawers (missing inventory number). At some point a person noticed the damage and used a resin-based glue to reattach the leg. The leg is in the wrong position and glue has spread over the side of the chest.
2) Missing finials on an Edwardian dressing table.
3) One box of books is torn open on the side and partly crushed.
4) One box, inventory tag 107, is crushed and clearly has a large footprint on it. Several items in the box were damaged. Unfortunately the item number was assigned to a side table, not a box.
5) Revolving bookcase, inventory 115, was not wrapped properly. There are gouges througout the veneer and it is missing shelves and supports.
6) A box labeled as cushions/ pictures, but lacking an inventory number, has been opened and is not completely full.
7) Toy tractor has detached seat and is missing bolts to reassemble it.
8) Item 47, a wardrobe, was scraped severely at the corners on the top and on the legs. It was not 'finish-wrapped' or covered in protective padding, in spite of the fact that it has two full-length mirrored doors. It was packed full of boxes of books.
9) George III sideboard, inventory 156, has mouldings loose and detached; it is missing mouldings on the legs and drawers. One brass pull (original) is cracked and half the mounting plate has broken off. The plate piece is missing.
10) TV stand, inventory 183, is chipped and gouged on the sides. It was not covered in any protective material.
11) Box 168 was dented and torn open.
12) Box 131, labled kitchen goods was smashed.
13) Mission barristers bookcases were not padded or the glass protected. One is pulled apart on the side casing; two doors and three shelves are inoperable.
14) Eastlake arm chair, inventory 176, has broken arm. Someone noticed the break and used resin-type glue to reattach the piece, then used packaging tape to hold the arm while the glue cured.
15) Italian walnut desk, inventory 191, was not padded or wrapped in any way. The top section of drawers is loose. There are heavy gouges which have removed the veneer and damaged the hardwood over the entire bowed front.
16) Box 167 was torn and opened.
17) Box 68 was torn and opened.
18) Inventory 175, Antique Wells Fargo Post Office Desk, was not wrapped or padded in any way. Bliss Moving used their own tape to secure the loose doors on the hutch for delivery. Mouldings are cracked and broken; desk pieces and gouged and splintered; the feet are heavily scraped.
19) Inventory numbers 192 and 23, the headboard and footboard of a white Jenny Lind style spindle bed, are scraped, dented and gouged. This item was not wrapped in any protective packaging.
20) Inventory 163, a Sheraton Mahogany inlaid table, was not wrapped in any protective padding. It has scrapes which removed the finish on the front.
21) An Art Deco Drinks cabinet, no inventory tag found, has multiple damages. It was not wrapped in any protective padding, other than paper, and the paper was only over the top half of the cabinet. There are scrapes and gouges on the lower part of the cabinet where it was exposed. On bronze handle is bent; the door on which the handle is places is bowed inwards.
22) Inventory number 79, a box of shoes and clothing, is punctured in several places.
23) Crate # 37 was heavily damaged, with timbers falling off one side. The boards were also cracked.
24) 2 rugs (Red and Ivory Persian) were not wrapped in protective paper. Both have tape directly attached to the fringed edges. The red rug is torn on one side. The white rug has a large stain on the outside of one end. It has not been unrolled.
25) Edwardian Mahogany Wardrobe, 81, was wrapped only in plastic. There was no padding over the full-length mirrored door. The corners are rubbed. One side is split, there are veneer chips missing on the entire piece.
26) One box of mirrors and art, no inventory tag, was opened.
27) Box 58 was dented. A toy inside was broken.
28) Our dining table and the leaf was not wrapped in protective padding. The table has scrapes on the high-gloss finish; the maple wood has large cracks which run through the depth of the wood, with each crack being several inches long. The leaf has a large crack, approximately 12 inches long. Air has gotten underneath the finish, discoloring the maple wood.
29) Our dining room buffett/ sideboard, matching the maple table above, has dents and scrapes on the full length of the top surface, which had no padding at all. The doors were held in place with plastic wrap only. There was no padding on the sides or corners. There are dents which go through the veneer and finish to bare wood. The doors have been leaned on to the point where they are no longer haning level and the interior hinges were damaged. One shelf, when the doors were opened, fell out, the shelf supports are missing. There are long scrapes and gouges over the entire piece. The drawers no longer stay closed; the magnetic opening mechanisms no longer work.
30) Inventory number 153, an American Eastlake table, was taken apart and not wrapped properly or padded. The top is missing two large mouldings; one moulding is broken. The marble top (crate 35) is broken in half.
31) Crate 37, the large marble top for our outdoor dining table, has all the edges are corners broken off.
32) Rocking horse, no inventory tag, has veneer missing off the TOP of the rockers.
33) Inventory 48, also a wardrobe, is bent and has a piece of loose and jagged metal protruding.
34) Inventory 105, a table, has a large and deep scratch on the surface.
35) Item 112, a leather ottoman, has pressure marks on the leather. The exterior packaging was punctured; the leather also has multiple puncture marks.
36) A Regency mahogany work is severely dented. The front is pushed in, the drawer is now tough to open, the mouldings are broken.
While this list is by no means complete, I wanted to let you have an idea of the damages we are dealing with.
As the wardrobes, buffett and bookcases are broken, I can not finish unpacking. European houses tend to have no built-in storage and I have no furniture in which to put clothes, books and extra dishes. Bliss moving left an hour ago as there was nothing left for them to unpack at this time.
Furthermore, the damages have left many items unusable (outdoor dining table) at the time of year I would want to use it.
I have photographed as much of the damage as I can, taking almost 300 photos so far. As I can not finish unpacking, I have no idea what the list of missing items entails.
Please send an adjuster to begin working on this claim as soon as possible.
I would also like the crew from Bliss to be given the opportunity to speak with someone to corroborate the details of this claim while the details are fresh in their minds.
If there is anything else I can do at this time, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Thank you for your help in resolving this matter as quickly as possible,
Mrs. Rachel XXXXXXXX
Isn't moving a treat? I think I may stay for a while, just to replace my furniture.
Dear XXXXXX,
I understand that today is Labor Day in America, but I hope you can give me advice on how to proceed with this portion of the move.
Bliss Moving delivered the shipment Friday and returned today, Monday, to unpack the shipment.
On Friday we discovered many problems with the shipment: some items had no inventory tags; some of the inventory tags were on the wrong items; some items were damaged; several items appeared to be missing; some boxes arrived already opened.
I spoke with XXXXX Smith regarding these issues and she advised us to photograph as much as possible. Any packages which we needed to open, she advised us to photograph if it appeared that the item might be damaged, then take further photos of the damage we found, if any.
After unpacking a few things, we stopped, as the damage is severe and we wanted Bliss to observe the unpacking first hand.
More items were damaged today, some severely.
In spite of counting and checking all the boxes and items, we have approximately 15 missing items.
Bliss is aware of the damages and missing items. XXXXXXXXX from Bliss has been very cooperative in trying to resolve issues. Her delivery crew has been very helpful in photographing the damage.
At this time the damages, in random order, are:
1) A broken leg on an antique Restoration era chest of drawers (missing inventory number). At some point a person noticed the damage and used a resin-based glue to reattach the leg. The leg is in the wrong position and glue has spread over the side of the chest.
2) Missing finials on an Edwardian dressing table.
3) One box of books is torn open on the side and partly crushed.
4) One box, inventory tag 107, is crushed and clearly has a large footprint on it. Several items in the box were damaged. Unfortunately the item number was assigned to a side table, not a box.
5) Revolving bookcase, inventory 115, was not wrapped properly. There are gouges througout the veneer and it is missing shelves and supports.
6) A box labeled as cushions/ pictures, but lacking an inventory number, has been opened and is not completely full.
7) Toy tractor has detached seat and is missing bolts to reassemble it.
8) Item 47, a wardrobe, was scraped severely at the corners on the top and on the legs. It was not 'finish-wrapped' or covered in protective padding, in spite of the fact that it has two full-length mirrored doors. It was packed full of boxes of books.
9) George III sideboard, inventory 156, has mouldings loose and detached; it is missing mouldings on the legs and drawers. One brass pull (original) is cracked and half the mounting plate has broken off. The plate piece is missing.
10) TV stand, inventory 183, is chipped and gouged on the sides. It was not covered in any protective material.
11) Box 168 was dented and torn open.
12) Box 131, labled kitchen goods was smashed.
13) Mission barristers bookcases were not padded or the glass protected. One is pulled apart on the side casing; two doors and three shelves are inoperable.
14) Eastlake arm chair, inventory 176, has broken arm. Someone noticed the break and used resin-type glue to reattach the piece, then used packaging tape to hold the arm while the glue cured.
15) Italian walnut desk, inventory 191, was not padded or wrapped in any way. The top section of drawers is loose. There are heavy gouges which have removed the veneer and damaged the hardwood over the entire bowed front.
16) Box 167 was torn and opened.
17) Box 68 was torn and opened.
18) Inventory 175, Antique Wells Fargo Post Office Desk, was not wrapped or padded in any way. Bliss Moving used their own tape to secure the loose doors on the hutch for delivery. Mouldings are cracked and broken; desk pieces and gouged and splintered; the feet are heavily scraped.
19) Inventory numbers 192 and 23, the headboard and footboard of a white Jenny Lind style spindle bed, are scraped, dented and gouged. This item was not wrapped in any protective packaging.
20) Inventory 163, a Sheraton Mahogany inlaid table, was not wrapped in any protective padding. It has scrapes which removed the finish on the front.
21) An Art Deco Drinks cabinet, no inventory tag found, has multiple damages. It was not wrapped in any protective padding, other than paper, and the paper was only over the top half of the cabinet. There are scrapes and gouges on the lower part of the cabinet where it was exposed. On bronze handle is bent; the door on which the handle is places is bowed inwards.
22) Inventory number 79, a box of shoes and clothing, is punctured in several places.
23) Crate # 37 was heavily damaged, with timbers falling off one side. The boards were also cracked.
24) 2 rugs (Red and Ivory Persian) were not wrapped in protective paper. Both have tape directly attached to the fringed edges. The red rug is torn on one side. The white rug has a large stain on the outside of one end. It has not been unrolled.
25) Edwardian Mahogany Wardrobe, 81, was wrapped only in plastic. There was no padding over the full-length mirrored door. The corners are rubbed. One side is split, there are veneer chips missing on the entire piece.
26) One box of mirrors and art, no inventory tag, was opened.
27) Box 58 was dented. A toy inside was broken.
28) Our dining table and the leaf was not wrapped in protective padding. The table has scrapes on the high-gloss finish; the maple wood has large cracks which run through the depth of the wood, with each crack being several inches long. The leaf has a large crack, approximately 12 inches long. Air has gotten underneath the finish, discoloring the maple wood.
29) Our dining room buffett/ sideboard, matching the maple table above, has dents and scrapes on the full length of the top surface, which had no padding at all. The doors were held in place with plastic wrap only. There was no padding on the sides or corners. There are dents which go through the veneer and finish to bare wood. The doors have been leaned on to the point where they are no longer haning level and the interior hinges were damaged. One shelf, when the doors were opened, fell out, the shelf supports are missing. There are long scrapes and gouges over the entire piece. The drawers no longer stay closed; the magnetic opening mechanisms no longer work.
30) Inventory number 153, an American Eastlake table, was taken apart and not wrapped properly or padded. The top is missing two large mouldings; one moulding is broken. The marble top (crate 35) is broken in half.
31) Crate 37, the large marble top for our outdoor dining table, has all the edges are corners broken off.
32) Rocking horse, no inventory tag, has veneer missing off the TOP of the rockers.
33) Inventory 48, also a wardrobe, is bent and has a piece of loose and jagged metal protruding.
34) Inventory 105, a table, has a large and deep scratch on the surface.
35) Item 112, a leather ottoman, has pressure marks on the leather. The exterior packaging was punctured; the leather also has multiple puncture marks.
36) A Regency mahogany work is severely dented. The front is pushed in, the drawer is now tough to open, the mouldings are broken.
While this list is by no means complete, I wanted to let you have an idea of the damages we are dealing with.
As the wardrobes, buffett and bookcases are broken, I can not finish unpacking. European houses tend to have no built-in storage and I have no furniture in which to put clothes, books and extra dishes. Bliss moving left an hour ago as there was nothing left for them to unpack at this time.
Furthermore, the damages have left many items unusable (outdoor dining table) at the time of year I would want to use it.
I have photographed as much of the damage as I can, taking almost 300 photos so far. As I can not finish unpacking, I have no idea what the list of missing items entails.
Please send an adjuster to begin working on this claim as soon as possible.
I would also like the crew from Bliss to be given the opportunity to speak with someone to corroborate the details of this claim while the details are fresh in their minds.
If there is anything else I can do at this time, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Thank you for your help in resolving this matter as quickly as possible,
Mrs. Rachel XXXXXXXX
Isn't moving a treat? I think I may stay for a while, just to replace my furniture.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Figuring Out Italy and Moving Companies
It is the end of August and the past month has been so very relaxing.
It has also been very informative, mostly because I have gotten to experience a small part of what 'real' Italian life (or Sicilian life) is like for the people who live here. This experience is helping me understand Italians better and appreciate Home so much more.
For instance, I have long complained, loudly and occasionally with accompanying rude gestures and curse words, about Italian drivers. However, the fact is that Italians think they drive quite well. As a society, however, they have complete dislike for rules of any sort; apparently this includes driving regulations.
So when I think the drivers are terrible and rude, it's more that as a society they have for so long disregarded the rules that every individual has become very self-centered and rude: They actually don't think at all about what other drivers are doing.
To an Italian, the mentality is not to think of the rules or the rights and needs of your neighbor, but only of your own concerns. Italians don't view their actions as rude, as no one in their society follows the cultural norms of politeness found in American and (gasp) British society.
Americans, for all our other faults, are very polite: We tell eachother to have a good day (checkouts, voicemails) and regularly ask how other people are. We do tend to say please and thank-you alot, especailly to strangers. So for a society not to care about strangers or children, to ignore every rule (stand in line; don't jump the queue; wait your turn; please and thank-you; honor stop signs; use turning signals; don't block the road; park between the lines) that is standard in America and the West is unforgiveabe, in my own view.
Most Americans believe that rules exist to keep society safe and members of society who break them are penalized by police or road-rage. It is ironic that Americans, who are viewed as 'cowboys' and Individualists by Europeans, follow societal rules better than a large portion of Europe!
It's a good thing that I have given up driving for the next year!!!
Italy is also a very male-dominated society. Women in the media are little more than eye-candy; no woman in Italy is valued for any quality that is remotely instrinsic. Breasts, teeth, tush, legs - that is the value of an Italian woman in society. If she marries and has children, then her value raises slightly in terms of what she brings to her family and how she cares/cooks for them; however as she gains this value, her external physical value very likely (let's face it ladies - none of can truly return to that pre-baby body!) plummets and society regards her as superfluous.
Expecting the majority of Italian males to view you as intelligent or worth listening to is futile; in the same vein, never expect an Italian man to take direction from you if you are a woman, either!
Which leads me to the upcoming - I hope - delivery of our shipment from Pittsburgh.
Once again, AiRES messed up the move; sending our shipment to Valencia, Spain instead of to Italy. Hopefully the boat from Valencia will arrive in Naples either today or tomorrow.
We can then expect customs clearance to take 1-2 weeks before everything is delivered to our apartment in Rome. As the children's school starts in 7 days, we have no choice but to go to Rome, purchase and borrow furniture to make do, and hope things arrive quickly.
But when everything arrives, I fully anticipate several days of miscommunication, and dare I say, one-sided ignored communication between me the Italian delivery crew, which, based on past experience, will be all male.
Oh, rapture! Never before have I dressed up and worn jewelry (to establish my place within the household) to deal with delivery crews, but I anticipate that, once again, it will be one heck of a story!
It has also been very informative, mostly because I have gotten to experience a small part of what 'real' Italian life (or Sicilian life) is like for the people who live here. This experience is helping me understand Italians better and appreciate Home so much more.
For instance, I have long complained, loudly and occasionally with accompanying rude gestures and curse words, about Italian drivers. However, the fact is that Italians think they drive quite well. As a society, however, they have complete dislike for rules of any sort; apparently this includes driving regulations.
So when I think the drivers are terrible and rude, it's more that as a society they have for so long disregarded the rules that every individual has become very self-centered and rude: They actually don't think at all about what other drivers are doing.
To an Italian, the mentality is not to think of the rules or the rights and needs of your neighbor, but only of your own concerns. Italians don't view their actions as rude, as no one in their society follows the cultural norms of politeness found in American and (gasp) British society.
Americans, for all our other faults, are very polite: We tell eachother to have a good day (checkouts, voicemails) and regularly ask how other people are. We do tend to say please and thank-you alot, especailly to strangers. So for a society not to care about strangers or children, to ignore every rule (stand in line; don't jump the queue; wait your turn; please and thank-you; honor stop signs; use turning signals; don't block the road; park between the lines) that is standard in America and the West is unforgiveabe, in my own view.
Most Americans believe that rules exist to keep society safe and members of society who break them are penalized by police or road-rage. It is ironic that Americans, who are viewed as 'cowboys' and Individualists by Europeans, follow societal rules better than a large portion of Europe!
It's a good thing that I have given up driving for the next year!!!
Italy is also a very male-dominated society. Women in the media are little more than eye-candy; no woman in Italy is valued for any quality that is remotely instrinsic. Breasts, teeth, tush, legs - that is the value of an Italian woman in society. If she marries and has children, then her value raises slightly in terms of what she brings to her family and how she cares/cooks for them; however as she gains this value, her external physical value very likely (let's face it ladies - none of can truly return to that pre-baby body!) plummets and society regards her as superfluous.
Expecting the majority of Italian males to view you as intelligent or worth listening to is futile; in the same vein, never expect an Italian man to take direction from you if you are a woman, either!
Which leads me to the upcoming - I hope - delivery of our shipment from Pittsburgh.
Once again, AiRES messed up the move; sending our shipment to Valencia, Spain instead of to Italy. Hopefully the boat from Valencia will arrive in Naples either today or tomorrow.
We can then expect customs clearance to take 1-2 weeks before everything is delivered to our apartment in Rome. As the children's school starts in 7 days, we have no choice but to go to Rome, purchase and borrow furniture to make do, and hope things arrive quickly.
But when everything arrives, I fully anticipate several days of miscommunication, and dare I say, one-sided ignored communication between me the Italian delivery crew, which, based on past experience, will be all male.
Oh, rapture! Never before have I dressed up and worn jewelry (to establish my place within the household) to deal with delivery crews, but I anticipate that, once again, it will be one heck of a story!
Recipes for Stuffed Peppers and Sicilian Swordfish
These are the two best dishes I have had in Sicily, though I will probably soon add on Eggplant Parmigiana and Panzanella. The peppers are probably the trickiest to make, as stuffing a coronetti pepper isn't always easy.
However, Sicilian food seems to be largely about fresh ingredients and ease; so if you can stir with a spoon and use a grill, you'll have an easy time.
Sicilian Peppers (based on a recipe from Donato's Restaurant in Fox Chapel, PA but altered to use Sicilian ingredients)
Ingredients:
*3-4 Coronetti Peppers (long, cone-shaped sweet peppers which can be green or red; if you can't find them, substitute with sweet banana peppers or small green peppers.
*2-3 cans of tuna in olive oil NOT WATER!!! I can't remember the size of the cans in the USA and cans in Sicily are of a different size, so use 2 of the cans which would normally be used to make tuna salad OR use 3 of the smaller lunch-sized cans. You should have between 3/4 to 1 cup of tuna.
*1/3 cup chopped green olives OR 1/3 cup small capers in brine. Do not use large caper berries.
*1 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
*2 small slices (think Wonder-bread size) or 1 large slice whole grain bread
*1/2 cup Ricotta Fresca (if you can't find fresh ricotta, DO NOT substitute the chunky cottage-cheese-like ricotta; use 1/3 cup greek yogurt or an equal amount cream cheese.)
*8-10 dashes tabasco sauce
*Freshly ground black pepper
To begin, heat grill to medium-high heat, or heat oven to 350 Fahrenheit. I can't tell you what the celsius setting/ Italian gas mark would be; everytime we turn on the oven here the circuit to the house shorts out. Using the grill gives a nice, smoky taste.
Slice the stem end off the peppers and discard; remove the seeds and halve the peppers lengthwise. This is easier than stuffing the peppers and they cook more evenly on the grill. If you prefer to keep the peppers whole, be prepared to bake them; when it comes time to stuff the pepper, use a pastry bag with a large nozzle to fill the pepper.
In a bowl, crumble the slice of bread until fine. Add the chopped olives or capers. If using capers, add a tablespoon of the brine as capers are less salty than olives. Add the canned tuna and the olive oil from the cans. Add parsley and ricotta and pepper. Mix well and taste. Add tabasco to your own preferences - my kids like them when I add 8 dashes of tabasco (they don't notice it, but it gives a smoky flavor); I like 10, but make it as spicy as you want. The mixture should not be too salty, as salt from the olives and capers will flavour the filling as it cooks. Do not add salt!!!
Fill each pepper until the mixture is almost to the top of the sides; do not over top, as it tends to fall out of the pepper onto the coals and smoke terribly.
Grill over indirect heat (or bake for 20-30 minutes) until the pepper skin starts to brown and the pepper is soft. The pepper will not brown in the oven. Do not use the broiler to brown the tops of the pepper, as the tuna chars and the ricotta burns.
Let cool 2-3 minutes and eat.
You can make these ahead of time and refrigerate for up to 24 hours before grilling.
Grilled Swordfish
*Swordfish steaks, 1/2" to 3/4" thick
*3-4 large lemons, juiced
*Olive oil
*Breadcrumbs
*Salt and Pepper
*Salvia/ Sage and Oregano
Heat grill to medium high.
Mix the juice and olive oil with 1/4 teaspoon salt and black pepper; 1/2 teaspoon each sage/salvia and oregano. Set aside.
Do not oil the fish; lightly coat each side of the swordfish in breadcrumbs.
Place the fish on the grill over indirect heat. Place 1-2 tablespoons of seasoned juice/olive oil on top of the swordfish and spread it out evenly. Make sure the fish is not sticking to the grill. When you see the edge of the fish start to look opaque, turn the fish and put 1-2 tablespoons seasoning on the topside.
The fish is cooked when the lemon juice mixture starts to 'bubble' with the juices of the fish.
Good eating!
However, Sicilian food seems to be largely about fresh ingredients and ease; so if you can stir with a spoon and use a grill, you'll have an easy time.
Sicilian Peppers (based on a recipe from Donato's Restaurant in Fox Chapel, PA but altered to use Sicilian ingredients)
Ingredients:
*3-4 Coronetti Peppers (long, cone-shaped sweet peppers which can be green or red; if you can't find them, substitute with sweet banana peppers or small green peppers.
*2-3 cans of tuna in olive oil NOT WATER!!! I can't remember the size of the cans in the USA and cans in Sicily are of a different size, so use 2 of the cans which would normally be used to make tuna salad OR use 3 of the smaller lunch-sized cans. You should have between 3/4 to 1 cup of tuna.
*1/3 cup chopped green olives OR 1/3 cup small capers in brine. Do not use large caper berries.
*1 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
*2 small slices (think Wonder-bread size) or 1 large slice whole grain bread
*1/2 cup Ricotta Fresca (if you can't find fresh ricotta, DO NOT substitute the chunky cottage-cheese-like ricotta; use 1/3 cup greek yogurt or an equal amount cream cheese.)
*8-10 dashes tabasco sauce
*Freshly ground black pepper
To begin, heat grill to medium-high heat, or heat oven to 350 Fahrenheit. I can't tell you what the celsius setting/ Italian gas mark would be; everytime we turn on the oven here the circuit to the house shorts out. Using the grill gives a nice, smoky taste.
Slice the stem end off the peppers and discard; remove the seeds and halve the peppers lengthwise. This is easier than stuffing the peppers and they cook more evenly on the grill. If you prefer to keep the peppers whole, be prepared to bake them; when it comes time to stuff the pepper, use a pastry bag with a large nozzle to fill the pepper.
In a bowl, crumble the slice of bread until fine. Add the chopped olives or capers. If using capers, add a tablespoon of the brine as capers are less salty than olives. Add the canned tuna and the olive oil from the cans. Add parsley and ricotta and pepper. Mix well and taste. Add tabasco to your own preferences - my kids like them when I add 8 dashes of tabasco (they don't notice it, but it gives a smoky flavor); I like 10, but make it as spicy as you want. The mixture should not be too salty, as salt from the olives and capers will flavour the filling as it cooks. Do not add salt!!!
Fill each pepper until the mixture is almost to the top of the sides; do not over top, as it tends to fall out of the pepper onto the coals and smoke terribly.
Grill over indirect heat (or bake for 20-30 minutes) until the pepper skin starts to brown and the pepper is soft. The pepper will not brown in the oven. Do not use the broiler to brown the tops of the pepper, as the tuna chars and the ricotta burns.
Let cool 2-3 minutes and eat.
You can make these ahead of time and refrigerate for up to 24 hours before grilling.
Grilled Swordfish
*Swordfish steaks, 1/2" to 3/4" thick
*3-4 large lemons, juiced
*Olive oil
*Breadcrumbs
*Salt and Pepper
*Salvia/ Sage and Oregano
Heat grill to medium high.
Mix the juice and olive oil with 1/4 teaspoon salt and black pepper; 1/2 teaspoon each sage/salvia and oregano. Set aside.
Do not oil the fish; lightly coat each side of the swordfish in breadcrumbs.
Place the fish on the grill over indirect heat. Place 1-2 tablespoons of seasoned juice/olive oil on top of the swordfish and spread it out evenly. Make sure the fish is not sticking to the grill. When you see the edge of the fish start to look opaque, turn the fish and put 1-2 tablespoons seasoning on the topside.
The fish is cooked when the lemon juice mixture starts to 'bubble' with the juices of the fish.
Good eating!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Aeolian Islands, Take 2; Corkscrew, take 8....
Yes, yesterday night we killed corkscrew number 8. I don't know what I am going do, but I suspect I will start by purchasing another corkscrew.
A friend of Bill's told us last week of a vintner in Sicily, who will decant wine directly from his barrel into any bottle of your choice: the friend uses plastic jugs, which I suppose, would save on corkscrews. I, however, am trying to convince Bill of the logic of purchasing an entire barrel and taking it to Rome with us: No Corkscrews Needed! I am sure this is not cost-effective in the long-term, but it is one way to save kitchen utensils.
We did go to Lipari and Vulcano: both were amazing and fit our idea of what the Aeolian islands should be.
For starters, we got to sit outside during the 2 hour boat ride. Then, we arrived in Lipari early enough to visit shops and eat Sicilian food that was actually cold!
Lipari is the main island of the Aeolian archipelago. It has the largest population, the largest towns and many amazing beaches. It is home to caper production, pumice harvesting, obsidian jewelry and Malvasia di Lipari, a wine so honey-sweet that I actually can't drink it! Now there's a first...
The main port is in a large blue bay, with a cathedral and castle on a bluff overlooking the harbor. Eucalyptus trees grow everywhere, giving the air a crisp scent, even when standing near the fish boats.
We did experience other treats on this trip, starting with Helena's new favorite dessert: Granite.
Granite (pronounced Grah- NEE- TAH) is the all-fruit version of Gelato. As you can see from the photos, we had Strawberry granite. It was very red. It is like a sorbet, but it is slowly chipped off in layers while in the freezing process, resulting in a texture which is rather like large grains of salt.
I also had the best cannoli I have ever eaten. And ten steps away was a large castle, cathedral and historical settlement from the 17th century BC, which, very conveniently, was partially excavated. It's not every day you see civilization from 20,000 years ago and even the kids enjoyed looking.
We really could have spent an entire day in Lipari, exploring the streets and shops and sights, but we were whisked away to Vulcano, legendary home of Hephestus, the Greek God of blacksmiths and metal craft.
Vulcano has not errupted for almost 200 years, but smoke was rising constantly as we approached the island. Upon arrival, we noticed the difference from Lipari almost immediately: sulfur.
Vulcano is famous for its fumaroles, gasseous vents that emit sulfer scented steam into the water surrounding the island, which create very warm, if smelly, beaches; and sulfurous mud-baths, which Italians believe are theraputic.
With three children in tow and temperatures again hitting 100, we opted out of the hot sulfer-mud treatment. We couldn't, however, resist holding our noses and watching the spectacle of people wading, wallowing and smearing the foul goo on themselves before jumping in the nearby sea. As Bill pointed out, it was very reminiscent of a Dali painting with amazing landscapes broken up by oddities of human creation in the foreground.
On the whole, the Lipari-Vulcano trip was much more enjoyable and worthwhile than Panarea-Stromboli!
The next day, a colleague of Bill's invited us to his summer home in the mountains for a traditional Sicilian lunch and dinner.
After that lunch, I will forever think of Giuseppe as the Renaissance-Man of Sicily: he designed and helped build his house in the mountains; grew the vegetables he grilled for lunch; designed and built the grill he used of carved lava rock; made his own sun-dried tomatoes for an appetizer; and grew the fruit trees that our children raided for dessert.
And he plays accordion and guitar!
After an amazing lunch, we all retreated to the shade of some oak trees overlooking the adjacent mountain and valley below. While all the children swung in a giant hammock, Giuseppe treated us to traditional Sicilian music and dessert.
We would have happily stayed later, but the narrow mountain roads were encouragement to return to the beach house after a lovely day.
Giuseppe reported to Bill at work on Monday that not everyone was thrilled with the visit, though: his youngest daughter, Clara, was very unhappy that Andrew kept using her bike all through the day. In fact, she encouraged Giuseppe to keep the driveway gate shut, "...so that boy Andrew can't take my bike anymore!" Poor Andrew!
After several weeks in Sicily, I am starting to be confident in the food: in one of my next posts, I will start listing recipes I have collected! The food here is wonderful, but I haven't found any good English language Sicilian cookbooks. There are some out there, but they seem to be missing the best recipes the island has to offer.
A friend of Bill's told us last week of a vintner in Sicily, who will decant wine directly from his barrel into any bottle of your choice: the friend uses plastic jugs, which I suppose, would save on corkscrews. I, however, am trying to convince Bill of the logic of purchasing an entire barrel and taking it to Rome with us: No Corkscrews Needed! I am sure this is not cost-effective in the long-term, but it is one way to save kitchen utensils.
We did go to Lipari and Vulcano: both were amazing and fit our idea of what the Aeolian islands should be.
For starters, we got to sit outside during the 2 hour boat ride. Then, we arrived in Lipari early enough to visit shops and eat Sicilian food that was actually cold!
Lipari is the main island of the Aeolian archipelago. It has the largest population, the largest towns and many amazing beaches. It is home to caper production, pumice harvesting, obsidian jewelry and Malvasia di Lipari, a wine so honey-sweet that I actually can't drink it! Now there's a first...
The main port is in a large blue bay, with a cathedral and castle on a bluff overlooking the harbor. Eucalyptus trees grow everywhere, giving the air a crisp scent, even when standing near the fish boats.
We did experience other treats on this trip, starting with Helena's new favorite dessert: Granite.
Granite (pronounced Grah- NEE- TAH) is the all-fruit version of Gelato. As you can see from the photos, we had Strawberry granite. It was very red. It is like a sorbet, but it is slowly chipped off in layers while in the freezing process, resulting in a texture which is rather like large grains of salt.
I also had the best cannoli I have ever eaten. And ten steps away was a large castle, cathedral and historical settlement from the 17th century BC, which, very conveniently, was partially excavated. It's not every day you see civilization from 20,000 years ago and even the kids enjoyed looking.
We really could have spent an entire day in Lipari, exploring the streets and shops and sights, but we were whisked away to Vulcano, legendary home of Hephestus, the Greek God of blacksmiths and metal craft.
Vulcano has not errupted for almost 200 years, but smoke was rising constantly as we approached the island. Upon arrival, we noticed the difference from Lipari almost immediately: sulfur.
Vulcano is famous for its fumaroles, gasseous vents that emit sulfer scented steam into the water surrounding the island, which create very warm, if smelly, beaches; and sulfurous mud-baths, which Italians believe are theraputic.
With three children in tow and temperatures again hitting 100, we opted out of the hot sulfer-mud treatment. We couldn't, however, resist holding our noses and watching the spectacle of people wading, wallowing and smearing the foul goo on themselves before jumping in the nearby sea. As Bill pointed out, it was very reminiscent of a Dali painting with amazing landscapes broken up by oddities of human creation in the foreground.
On the whole, the Lipari-Vulcano trip was much more enjoyable and worthwhile than Panarea-Stromboli!
The next day, a colleague of Bill's invited us to his summer home in the mountains for a traditional Sicilian lunch and dinner.
After that lunch, I will forever think of Giuseppe as the Renaissance-Man of Sicily: he designed and helped build his house in the mountains; grew the vegetables he grilled for lunch; designed and built the grill he used of carved lava rock; made his own sun-dried tomatoes for an appetizer; and grew the fruit trees that our children raided for dessert.
And he plays accordion and guitar!
After an amazing lunch, we all retreated to the shade of some oak trees overlooking the adjacent mountain and valley below. While all the children swung in a giant hammock, Giuseppe treated us to traditional Sicilian music and dessert.
We would have happily stayed later, but the narrow mountain roads were encouragement to return to the beach house after a lovely day.
Giuseppe reported to Bill at work on Monday that not everyone was thrilled with the visit, though: his youngest daughter, Clara, was very unhappy that Andrew kept using her bike all through the day. In fact, she encouraged Giuseppe to keep the driveway gate shut, "...so that boy Andrew can't take my bike anymore!" Poor Andrew!
After several weeks in Sicily, I am starting to be confident in the food: in one of my next posts, I will start listing recipes I have collected! The food here is wonderful, but I haven't found any good English language Sicilian cookbooks. There are some out there, but they seem to be missing the best recipes the island has to offer.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Exploring Sicily and the Aeolian Islands
We never seem to travel without something unplanned occuring. This time, Andrew had his turn(s) to disrupt our well-laid plans as we took a trip into the Mountains of northern Sicily.
The Madonie region, between Palermo and Santa Stefano di Camastra on the northern coast, is a wonderful escape from the heat of Cefalu, which is now topping 100 degrees Fahrenheit daily. Since no one here seems to have AC, preferring instead the cool ocean breezes tainted with Zanzara Tigre (Tiger Mosquitos), we decided to head to the mountains.
We went south, into the mountains, travelling through the towns of Castelbuono and Geraci Siculo.
By the time we had traveled up the mountain (in a 4 meter long 9 passenger van...) over windy and dangerous roads, Andrew was complaining of a tummy ache. We stopped and let him walk a bit in Castelbuono before continuing up the mountain roads. Before we reached Geraci Siculo, home of the Venticolli wineries, an awful gagging gargle came from the back seat...Andrew had his first taste of motion sickness.
Apparently, playing Nintendo or watching a sibling play while travelling up winding roads to a much higher altitute will bring even the most trusty traveller to his knees. Or, bring the traveller's lunch to his knees. In any case, a word to the wise: make your children look out the window regularly! It cuts down on the vomit.
We got to Geraci and wandered the medieval streets before climbing to the ruined castle overlooking the town.
The Ventifamiglia family owned the mountains in every direction, planting capers, cork trees, red and white wine grapes and raising cattle. For this reason they built their castle overlook several valleys and at a height that allowed them to see the sea in one direction and Mt. Etna in another. Even as a ruin, it was impressive.
We travelled home, taking care to make Andrew look out the window the entire way.
The next day we went to Santa Stefano di Camastra, a town on the northern coast famous for its pottery.
At sea level and halfway between Cefalu and Messina, the town did not benefit from the cool breezes of the Madonie. But it gave the children an excuse to eat gelato every hundred meters and I dug through stacks of dishes.
The pottery here rivals most art museums. While there are lesser potters and painters who only make dishware, there are artists found in Camastra who can paint a masterpiece on a tile or platter: one amazing artisan recreated a Botticelli angel on a platter. Having seen the original painting in Rome, I can honestly say the enormous price of 1800 Euros for a plate was well deserved for the art upon it. But I didn't buy it.
Instead, I bought a new dog biscuit jar, since Helena dropped the old one during our move from the Castle to Aventino. When I told her that it was okay, I was happy to have an excuse to go shopping, she asked if she could break anything else! That's my girl!
The best thing about Camastra is that it has American style shopping: while every other shop in Italy closes from 1 p.m. until 5 p.m., every potter in Camastra stays open from 10 a.m. until 7 p.m., taking advantage of tourists who are tired of the beach or unable (I wonder why...) to sit at a pub for a four-hour lunch.
On Friday we went to two of the Aeolian Islands, Stromboli and Panarea.
Panarea appears to be largely famous because Italian movie stars, as well as Dolce and Gabbana, vacation there yearly.
Stromboli is famous for its volcanic eruptions and volcanic sand beaches.
We were very much looking forward to the trip, but were rather let down by the experience as a whole.
First, the tour boat which took us to the island was not ideal for having tours: the majority of seats were inside, the windows didn't open for taking photos, and the AC was broken. So there were no sea breezes to help when the temperature topped 105...
When we got to Panarea, there really was nothing to do: most shops shut at 1 p.m., even on the islands. So we wandered the streets for two hours in heavy heat, finally sitting down at a pub with lousy service and drinking warm beer and melted ice cream. I suppose their coolers weren't coping with the heat, either.
When we got to Stromboli we were treated to some of the rudest people on the planet. While I feel for the inhabitants of Stromboli, all 200 of them, they are very rude to the people who supply their livelihoods.
The only source of income for the inhabitants of the island is tourism: a volcanic explosion in 2002 ruined the green side of the island, making crops and livestock obsolete.
Gas is not allowed on the island, due to the risk of explosion, so everyone drives electric scooters or golf carts, on which the locals will attempt to run you over; there are no full-sized roads, only footpaths, and heaven help you if you or your children get in the way.
While I sympathize with the hard life these people obviously lead, I don't understand why they aren't a bit happier about the tourism that provides their only source of income and food to the island. While trying to get directions to the observation point, as there are no signs to tell you how to get to the safe viewing area for the volcano (there was one sign, but it was scorched by hot ash and was unreadable) I asked an elderly lady, "Scusa Signora....," but she interrupted me before I could finish the question.
"No communicare," she said. Which means, I don't want to talk to you. Hmm, very nice. So we trudged along up the mountain in 100+ heat trying to see the volcano. After two hours of walking, Billy carrying Andrew most of the way, we stopped walking and turned back.
The return boat ride was nicer, because they anchored the boat near the side of the mountain which shows the best views of the lava flow. But, since you can't take pictures through the windows, we had to brave the outside decks to get a look.
At this point, I have to point out that Italians have a love affair with smoking cigarettes non-stop and being rude to foreigners.
While trying to take pictures, I had three Italian men, two of whom were well over 6 feet tall, shove me out of the way so they could stand in front of me and hold video cameras. Lovely. And a heavy set Italian woman had no problem with grabbing my shoulder to pull me back three feet and take my place of jumping to try to get a shot above the three idiots' heads.
It was a nice French gentleman (and the French get the bad rep for being rude!!) who gave me his spot when his camera died. Thank you, whoever you were!
Overall, I am glad that I saw the volcano. But unless tomorrow's visit to Lipari and Vulcano are better, I can't say I would recommend the Aeolian Islands.
The Madonie region, between Palermo and Santa Stefano di Camastra on the northern coast, is a wonderful escape from the heat of Cefalu, which is now topping 100 degrees Fahrenheit daily. Since no one here seems to have AC, preferring instead the cool ocean breezes tainted with Zanzara Tigre (Tiger Mosquitos), we decided to head to the mountains.
We went south, into the mountains, travelling through the towns of Castelbuono and Geraci Siculo.
By the time we had traveled up the mountain (in a 4 meter long 9 passenger van...) over windy and dangerous roads, Andrew was complaining of a tummy ache. We stopped and let him walk a bit in Castelbuono before continuing up the mountain roads. Before we reached Geraci Siculo, home of the Venticolli wineries, an awful gagging gargle came from the back seat...Andrew had his first taste of motion sickness.
Apparently, playing Nintendo or watching a sibling play while travelling up winding roads to a much higher altitute will bring even the most trusty traveller to his knees. Or, bring the traveller's lunch to his knees. In any case, a word to the wise: make your children look out the window regularly! It cuts down on the vomit.
We got to Geraci and wandered the medieval streets before climbing to the ruined castle overlooking the town.
The Ventifamiglia family owned the mountains in every direction, planting capers, cork trees, red and white wine grapes and raising cattle. For this reason they built their castle overlook several valleys and at a height that allowed them to see the sea in one direction and Mt. Etna in another. Even as a ruin, it was impressive.
We travelled home, taking care to make Andrew look out the window the entire way.
The next day we went to Santa Stefano di Camastra, a town on the northern coast famous for its pottery.
At sea level and halfway between Cefalu and Messina, the town did not benefit from the cool breezes of the Madonie. But it gave the children an excuse to eat gelato every hundred meters and I dug through stacks of dishes.
The pottery here rivals most art museums. While there are lesser potters and painters who only make dishware, there are artists found in Camastra who can paint a masterpiece on a tile or platter: one amazing artisan recreated a Botticelli angel on a platter. Having seen the original painting in Rome, I can honestly say the enormous price of 1800 Euros for a plate was well deserved for the art upon it. But I didn't buy it.
Instead, I bought a new dog biscuit jar, since Helena dropped the old one during our move from the Castle to Aventino. When I told her that it was okay, I was happy to have an excuse to go shopping, she asked if she could break anything else! That's my girl!
The best thing about Camastra is that it has American style shopping: while every other shop in Italy closes from 1 p.m. until 5 p.m., every potter in Camastra stays open from 10 a.m. until 7 p.m., taking advantage of tourists who are tired of the beach or unable (I wonder why...) to sit at a pub for a four-hour lunch.
On Friday we went to two of the Aeolian Islands, Stromboli and Panarea.
Panarea appears to be largely famous because Italian movie stars, as well as Dolce and Gabbana, vacation there yearly.
Stromboli is famous for its volcanic eruptions and volcanic sand beaches.
We were very much looking forward to the trip, but were rather let down by the experience as a whole.
First, the tour boat which took us to the island was not ideal for having tours: the majority of seats were inside, the windows didn't open for taking photos, and the AC was broken. So there were no sea breezes to help when the temperature topped 105...
When we got to Panarea, there really was nothing to do: most shops shut at 1 p.m., even on the islands. So we wandered the streets for two hours in heavy heat, finally sitting down at a pub with lousy service and drinking warm beer and melted ice cream. I suppose their coolers weren't coping with the heat, either.
When we got to Stromboli we were treated to some of the rudest people on the planet. While I feel for the inhabitants of Stromboli, all 200 of them, they are very rude to the people who supply their livelihoods.
The only source of income for the inhabitants of the island is tourism: a volcanic explosion in 2002 ruined the green side of the island, making crops and livestock obsolete.
Gas is not allowed on the island, due to the risk of explosion, so everyone drives electric scooters or golf carts, on which the locals will attempt to run you over; there are no full-sized roads, only footpaths, and heaven help you if you or your children get in the way.
While I sympathize with the hard life these people obviously lead, I don't understand why they aren't a bit happier about the tourism that provides their only source of income and food to the island. While trying to get directions to the observation point, as there are no signs to tell you how to get to the safe viewing area for the volcano (there was one sign, but it was scorched by hot ash and was unreadable) I asked an elderly lady, "Scusa Signora....," but she interrupted me before I could finish the question.
"No communicare," she said. Which means, I don't want to talk to you. Hmm, very nice. So we trudged along up the mountain in 100+ heat trying to see the volcano. After two hours of walking, Billy carrying Andrew most of the way, we stopped walking and turned back.
The return boat ride was nicer, because they anchored the boat near the side of the mountain which shows the best views of the lava flow. But, since you can't take pictures through the windows, we had to brave the outside decks to get a look.
At this point, I have to point out that Italians have a love affair with smoking cigarettes non-stop and being rude to foreigners.
While trying to take pictures, I had three Italian men, two of whom were well over 6 feet tall, shove me out of the way so they could stand in front of me and hold video cameras. Lovely. And a heavy set Italian woman had no problem with grabbing my shoulder to pull me back three feet and take my place of jumping to try to get a shot above the three idiots' heads.
It was a nice French gentleman (and the French get the bad rep for being rude!!) who gave me his spot when his camera died. Thank you, whoever you were!
Overall, I am glad that I saw the volcano. But unless tomorrow's visit to Lipari and Vulcano are better, I can't say I would recommend the Aeolian Islands.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Swimming in the Tyrhennian Sea - And William Can't Pee on Command
Well, Cefalu hasn't disappointed yet, and that is a good thing since we have three weeks to go.
Yesterday Hubby worked from home, which means the children were awfully loud, not allowing him to answer his phone or do email once and never giving him a moments peace; it would have been hard to work a Blackberry at the beach, anyway.
Yes, we went swimming in the sea.
The northern coast of Sicily was called Val Demone by the conquering Greeks, most likely because of the lava flows which swept over the northern planes before plummeting into the water. Over thousands of years, the lava flows have eroded away, leaving behind sandy beaches dotted with numerous large boulders and treacherous outcroppings barely hidden by the waves.
It makes swimming a bit difficult but creates amazing tidepools for the children - and grownups - to play in. Near Cefalu you can find limpets, hermit crabs, small fish and prawns in the tidepools.
The children collected about a dozen hermit crabs and put them into one pool to 'play' together; no one believed it when mom said, "They will fight to the death to steal eachother's shells," but the children watched in fascination anyway. Or at least they watched until, of course, two hermit crabs started grappling with one another and the remaining 10 started rushing for safety. Gladiator games for crustaceans just aren't as exciting as they used to be...
It was also really amazing when a curious prawn swam to my fingers and tried 'cleaning' my finger and fingernail of dry skin. It didn't hurt a bit, though it did tickle.
Just before we left the beach though, came another one of those I'm-telling-this-at-the-wedding-dinner moments: Helena got stung by an anemone.
She held up fairly well, no tears or screams. But she did run onto the beach, fairly frantic and upset from the pain. Dr. Mom, of course, followed the textbook directions on treating stings: I asked who had to pee. Neither Billy of I felt the need; Andrew refused to cooperate; so I turned to William and asked if he would pee on his sister's leg and arm.
He gave me a bewildered look, so I said, "It's okay and this is a once in a lifetime chance. You don't have to take off all your clothes, just pee on your sister. It's okay - just pee." So he did. Right there, twenty feet from Helena, our boy squated half an inch and peed in his swim trunks.
So I hustled Helena back to the house to rinse her down with Ammonia from under the sink.
Having saved her from sting and urine, I can now tell both of my children for a lifetime, "William would rather pee his pants than pee on you, so he must love you." And of course, William will have the retort of, "If your leg was on fire, I woudn't pee on you to put out the flames!"
Yesterday Hubby worked from home, which means the children were awfully loud, not allowing him to answer his phone or do email once and never giving him a moments peace; it would have been hard to work a Blackberry at the beach, anyway.
Yes, we went swimming in the sea.
The northern coast of Sicily was called Val Demone by the conquering Greeks, most likely because of the lava flows which swept over the northern planes before plummeting into the water. Over thousands of years, the lava flows have eroded away, leaving behind sandy beaches dotted with numerous large boulders and treacherous outcroppings barely hidden by the waves.
It makes swimming a bit difficult but creates amazing tidepools for the children - and grownups - to play in. Near Cefalu you can find limpets, hermit crabs, small fish and prawns in the tidepools.
The children collected about a dozen hermit crabs and put them into one pool to 'play' together; no one believed it when mom said, "They will fight to the death to steal eachother's shells," but the children watched in fascination anyway. Or at least they watched until, of course, two hermit crabs started grappling with one another and the remaining 10 started rushing for safety. Gladiator games for crustaceans just aren't as exciting as they used to be...
It was also really amazing when a curious prawn swam to my fingers and tried 'cleaning' my finger and fingernail of dry skin. It didn't hurt a bit, though it did tickle.
Just before we left the beach though, came another one of those I'm-telling-this-at-the-wedding-dinner moments: Helena got stung by an anemone.
She held up fairly well, no tears or screams. But she did run onto the beach, fairly frantic and upset from the pain. Dr. Mom, of course, followed the textbook directions on treating stings: I asked who had to pee. Neither Billy of I felt the need; Andrew refused to cooperate; so I turned to William and asked if he would pee on his sister's leg and arm.
He gave me a bewildered look, so I said, "It's okay and this is a once in a lifetime chance. You don't have to take off all your clothes, just pee on your sister. It's okay - just pee." So he did. Right there, twenty feet from Helena, our boy squated half an inch and peed in his swim trunks.
So I hustled Helena back to the house to rinse her down with Ammonia from under the sink.
Having saved her from sting and urine, I can now tell both of my children for a lifetime, "William would rather pee his pants than pee on you, so he must love you." And of course, William will have the retort of, "If your leg was on fire, I woudn't pee on you to put out the flames!"
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Back In Italia!
It has been a whirlwind month for the family: Four days after getting back to America, we drove the 780 miles to visit my family in Wisconsin. Six days later, we drove back to Pittsburgh, where we sold a car, donated a car, sorted the house, started packing the house, sent hubby to China, managed a major flood in the downstairs, drank some wine, caught up with friends, packed some more, caught a plane...and hit a snag. Again.
Once again, US Airways and Pittsburgh International Airport managed to mess up our plans. The flight leaving Pittsburgh was delayed, due to thunderstorms in Philadelphia. The delay lasted so long that we missed our connection in Philadelphia that would take us to Rome. And when we got to Philadelphia, half our bags were missing.
As I write this, on vacation and wearing clean clothes, I suppose I should have been grateful that half our bags made it to Philly and that William did NOT have a spectacular bloody nose when we checked into the Marriott (Yes, same one we stayed in back in December!).
At the time, though, we found ourselves cursing fate, luck, US Airways and Philadelphia baggage handlers.
We did get flights to Rome, the next day as it happens. But upon our arrival to Rome, we had to hurry to pack up the Castle house, get the dogs, get a rental car and be ready to head to Cefalu, Sicily for a month.
Now, at this time I want to point out a few things, especially for anyone from Hubby's company who happens to view this blog: First, it was very unreasonable to expect us to pack up in America and fly through 6 time zones only to pack up a second house within three days. We should have kept the place at the Castle until out things arrived from America. But thank you for putting us in Sicily until our things get here from America.
Secondly, the way the company 'representative' got us out of the lease at the Castle was to tell the Princess that we were returning to America, which meant that we had to avoid the Princess, her husband and servants for almost two months; or lie regularly and instruct our children to lie too. Not good.
In fact, I am not happy that we were put in that position, even if the Princess was not worthy of a glass slipper and her housekeeper was taking our sofas, rugs, beds, etc. while we were still using them in the last week we were at the house!
Third, there were two people from the Company who have done so much to help us with regards to finding a new house, dealing with the old issues at the Castle, translating documents, organizing movers, getting immigration documents and helping us manage corrupt authorities...I can't say enough. Valeria and Elena(no last names but there are only two of these ladies in the Rome office) need pay raises! They both work too hard, from answering phones at 11 p.m. to help us find luggage and new flights and help with the dogs, to answering the phone at 6 a.m. to talk to movers who only speak Italian and can't find our place. Someone give them a pay raise and a promotion, even if Elena is on maternity leave!
And lastly, the moving company you hired in the US (Yes, AiRES, who left our air shipment sitting on a loading dock in Chicago for two weeks at Christmas, before getting it lost for a third week in Paris.) is worthless. We have known about this move since May. We have known that a 40 foot sea freight container full of our things was being loaded on July 23 since early June. So why has all of our stuff been sitting on a loading dock since July 23 and only today been sent from Baltimore? If you know in advance that the actual sea voyage and customs inspections will take 4-6 weeks, why leave our things sitting in America for 13 days? Planning, people!
Now, on to happier news. We drove from Rome to Naples on July 30 to catch the evening ferry to Sicily. En route, the youngest of our two dogs was violently ill in the back seat of the rented minivan - the smelly kind of ill. Ew.
This did not improve the two hour journey to the port in Naples. In fact, it made driving around the slums of Naples for the next 90 minutes while searching for the port and dealing with Napolitan drivers - who have knocked off Romans for the title of Worst Drivers In the World - a lot less pleasant.
And Naples is anything but pleasant to begin with. Valeria - the lady mentioned above - once told me that Naples is not worth seeing; people should drive past it to get to Vesuvius, Pompei and Herculaneum. She wasn't kidding. What a dump! Of all the places in Italy that needs to be hit by an earthquake so it can be rebuilt, Naples is the bottoms up winner.
If you ever visit, don't waste your time in visiting Naples. It is dirty; run down; shabby; full of garbage; and even their signs, when the have them posted, are misleading: see the newest photo on the blog. Of course, the company listed in the middle is supposed to be an insurance company, but one has to wonder just what is being insured in Italia!
However, Cefalu is beautiful. Wonderful, actually. More sunshine than we know what to do with. The sea is warm and you can see the Aeolian Islands from the beach. And best of all, Sicilian wineries use real corks, so the corkscrew is holding up just fine.
We should be here until the end of August - perhaps longer if the sea shipment is delayed. And that might just be okay...
Once again, US Airways and Pittsburgh International Airport managed to mess up our plans. The flight leaving Pittsburgh was delayed, due to thunderstorms in Philadelphia. The delay lasted so long that we missed our connection in Philadelphia that would take us to Rome. And when we got to Philadelphia, half our bags were missing.
As I write this, on vacation and wearing clean clothes, I suppose I should have been grateful that half our bags made it to Philly and that William did NOT have a spectacular bloody nose when we checked into the Marriott (Yes, same one we stayed in back in December!).
At the time, though, we found ourselves cursing fate, luck, US Airways and Philadelphia baggage handlers.
We did get flights to Rome, the next day as it happens. But upon our arrival to Rome, we had to hurry to pack up the Castle house, get the dogs, get a rental car and be ready to head to Cefalu, Sicily for a month.
Now, at this time I want to point out a few things, especially for anyone from Hubby's company who happens to view this blog: First, it was very unreasonable to expect us to pack up in America and fly through 6 time zones only to pack up a second house within three days. We should have kept the place at the Castle until out things arrived from America. But thank you for putting us in Sicily until our things get here from America.
Secondly, the way the company 'representative' got us out of the lease at the Castle was to tell the Princess that we were returning to America, which meant that we had to avoid the Princess, her husband and servants for almost two months; or lie regularly and instruct our children to lie too. Not good.
In fact, I am not happy that we were put in that position, even if the Princess was not worthy of a glass slipper and her housekeeper was taking our sofas, rugs, beds, etc. while we were still using them in the last week we were at the house!
Third, there were two people from the Company who have done so much to help us with regards to finding a new house, dealing with the old issues at the Castle, translating documents, organizing movers, getting immigration documents and helping us manage corrupt authorities...I can't say enough. Valeria and Elena(no last names but there are only two of these ladies in the Rome office) need pay raises! They both work too hard, from answering phones at 11 p.m. to help us find luggage and new flights and help with the dogs, to answering the phone at 6 a.m. to talk to movers who only speak Italian and can't find our place. Someone give them a pay raise and a promotion, even if Elena is on maternity leave!
And lastly, the moving company you hired in the US (Yes, AiRES, who left our air shipment sitting on a loading dock in Chicago for two weeks at Christmas, before getting it lost for a third week in Paris.) is worthless. We have known about this move since May. We have known that a 40 foot sea freight container full of our things was being loaded on July 23 since early June. So why has all of our stuff been sitting on a loading dock since July 23 and only today been sent from Baltimore? If you know in advance that the actual sea voyage and customs inspections will take 4-6 weeks, why leave our things sitting in America for 13 days? Planning, people!
Now, on to happier news. We drove from Rome to Naples on July 30 to catch the evening ferry to Sicily. En route, the youngest of our two dogs was violently ill in the back seat of the rented minivan - the smelly kind of ill. Ew.
This did not improve the two hour journey to the port in Naples. In fact, it made driving around the slums of Naples for the next 90 minutes while searching for the port and dealing with Napolitan drivers - who have knocked off Romans for the title of Worst Drivers In the World - a lot less pleasant.
And Naples is anything but pleasant to begin with. Valeria - the lady mentioned above - once told me that Naples is not worth seeing; people should drive past it to get to Vesuvius, Pompei and Herculaneum. She wasn't kidding. What a dump! Of all the places in Italy that needs to be hit by an earthquake so it can be rebuilt, Naples is the bottoms up winner.
If you ever visit, don't waste your time in visiting Naples. It is dirty; run down; shabby; full of garbage; and even their signs, when the have them posted, are misleading: see the newest photo on the blog. Of course, the company listed in the middle is supposed to be an insurance company, but one has to wonder just what is being insured in Italia!
However, Cefalu is beautiful. Wonderful, actually. More sunshine than we know what to do with. The sea is warm and you can see the Aeolian Islands from the beach. And best of all, Sicilian wineries use real corks, so the corkscrew is holding up just fine.
We should be here until the end of August - perhaps longer if the sea shipment is delayed. And that might just be okay...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Back In The USA! And I am not the maid.
Well, it's nice to be home. Like I have told many people, Rome is amazing. It is frustrating, beautiful, harsh and sometimes unfriendly. The grass is not greener on the other side: It's still just grass. And for grass to be green, you need a lot of...fertilizer.
I now have an appreciation for Pittsburgh drivers, who are not, in fact, the worst in the world. Roman drivers are awful. The best thing that can be said about them is that they do a remarkable job of not causing MORE accidents and automobile fatalities than they already do; I suspect the low speed limit is responsible for this more than driving skill.
Romans have never met a driving regulation they liked. Far beyond the Pittsburgh left turn and red-light running, Romans drive on pedestrian-only streets, park on the sidewalk, drive in reverse down the interstate to get back to missed exits (Yes, even Pittsburgh drivers would just do a U-turn), cut across 5 lanes of traffic to turn, squeeze six lanes of cars into three marked lanes on the road, triple park on through-streets (none of that amature double-parking!), and eat lunch while parked IN the roundabout. Pittsburgh, you've got it made!
But the worst have to be the men. Convinced of their own superiority and the common belief that testosterone is a substitute for common courtesy, Roman men are the most dangerous thing on the road in Italy. They do not merge, yield or honor right of way. And forget turning signals and pedestrian rights. These do not exist to the Roman man.
My personal favorite story is this: A Roman gentleman needed to go to the Tabacchi (tobacco and betting shop). Instead of parking his car legally and walking from the gas station parking lot, a strenuous jaunt of less than 100 feet, this man parked his Porsche IN the left turn lane during rush-hour traffic, blocking traffic for the 10 minutes he needed to get his smokes and bet on the ponies.
Ahh, Rome!
But my least favorite example of Roman chauvanism has to be what happened today. How can Romans be sexist while I am back in America? Well, I'll tell you.
When we first got to Rome and our air shipment of clothes, kitchen goods and linens finally arrived three weeks late, I met the movers at the door and showed them where to put the boxes. And, overjoyed to have a tea cup and working tea pot, I started opening boxes.
Now in Rome, women do not do anything, except for baby their adult sons and congratulate them on having a sperm count. No, Roman women are very lazy, having housekeepers to run the house, nannies to take care of the children, and maids to do everything else.
A Roman woman is expected only to give birth and demonstrate her husband's wealth by dressing up and wearing scads of jewelry on a daily basis. She never has chipped or unpolished nails; her hair is immaculate; jeans are outlawed entirely.
So the movers, seeing me in jeans and a sweatshirt, sporting a ponytail with no visible bling save my wedding ring, assumed I was the maid.
This is now applicable, because, as always happens during a move, things were broken and things went missing. And the insurance company is not covering the claim because...the maid unpacked everything! And she took it.
In the future to squash all misconceptions from the get-go, I must insist that all people refer to me as Dottore McXXXX: All university graduates are called Dottore, which means doctor in Italy.
And Dottore will continue to unpack her own boxes, thank you very much!
I now have an appreciation for Pittsburgh drivers, who are not, in fact, the worst in the world. Roman drivers are awful. The best thing that can be said about them is that they do a remarkable job of not causing MORE accidents and automobile fatalities than they already do; I suspect the low speed limit is responsible for this more than driving skill.
Romans have never met a driving regulation they liked. Far beyond the Pittsburgh left turn and red-light running, Romans drive on pedestrian-only streets, park on the sidewalk, drive in reverse down the interstate to get back to missed exits (Yes, even Pittsburgh drivers would just do a U-turn), cut across 5 lanes of traffic to turn, squeeze six lanes of cars into three marked lanes on the road, triple park on through-streets (none of that amature double-parking!), and eat lunch while parked IN the roundabout. Pittsburgh, you've got it made!
But the worst have to be the men. Convinced of their own superiority and the common belief that testosterone is a substitute for common courtesy, Roman men are the most dangerous thing on the road in Italy. They do not merge, yield or honor right of way. And forget turning signals and pedestrian rights. These do not exist to the Roman man.
My personal favorite story is this: A Roman gentleman needed to go to the Tabacchi (tobacco and betting shop). Instead of parking his car legally and walking from the gas station parking lot, a strenuous jaunt of less than 100 feet, this man parked his Porsche IN the left turn lane during rush-hour traffic, blocking traffic for the 10 minutes he needed to get his smokes and bet on the ponies.
Ahh, Rome!
But my least favorite example of Roman chauvanism has to be what happened today. How can Romans be sexist while I am back in America? Well, I'll tell you.
When we first got to Rome and our air shipment of clothes, kitchen goods and linens finally arrived three weeks late, I met the movers at the door and showed them where to put the boxes. And, overjoyed to have a tea cup and working tea pot, I started opening boxes.
Now in Rome, women do not do anything, except for baby their adult sons and congratulate them on having a sperm count. No, Roman women are very lazy, having housekeepers to run the house, nannies to take care of the children, and maids to do everything else.
A Roman woman is expected only to give birth and demonstrate her husband's wealth by dressing up and wearing scads of jewelry on a daily basis. She never has chipped or unpolished nails; her hair is immaculate; jeans are outlawed entirely.
So the movers, seeing me in jeans and a sweatshirt, sporting a ponytail with no visible bling save my wedding ring, assumed I was the maid.
This is now applicable, because, as always happens during a move, things were broken and things went missing. And the insurance company is not covering the claim because...the maid unpacked everything! And she took it.
In the future to squash all misconceptions from the get-go, I must insist that all people refer to me as Dottore McXXXX: All university graduates are called Dottore, which means doctor in Italy.
And Dottore will continue to unpack her own boxes, thank you very much!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Still not an immigrant! And Broke Corkscrew Number Six! Aghh!
I spoke too soon last time. I am still not a legal immigrant! Apparently, they can approve your paperwork at the Questura, take your pictures, fingerprints and eyescan, and THEN deny your visa.
I went back to the Questura to collect my immigration card, thinking that all I had to do was collect a piece of paper and leave. WRONG! After waiting for three hours, I asked the guard what was taking so long. I was told that the papers weren't printed yet (two weeks after being fingerprinted and scanned and TWO MONTHS after all my papers were accepted and processed) and that the Questura was waiting for the Division Head to arrive (at noon?) to sign the documents. I questioned this, as I had been waiting so long and everything was approved so long ago. His response was to yell at me that he had once waited for tickets at L.A.X airport for five hours....
Not a good beginning. Then I was referred back to Lurch, my least-favorite immigration officer (the one who insisted that my lucky husband somehow has three wives with the same birthdate, each of whom having a different child with him and the first name of Rachel) who kept screaming at me that my documents were no longer valid and I needed new documents. When I asked him to stop yelling and to speak slower, he refused to speak English anymore and proceeded to yell at me in Italian.
When I told him I don't speak Italian and needed a translater, he pointed to a woman who told me she was too busy to speak to me as she had 70 other people to talk to, so I should sit down. Of course at that point, Andrew, who just turned three and is now potty trained, needed to use the porta potty in the parking lot. (And I was right about the Porta Potties!) More screaming ensued because I walked away from a guard who told me to sit down, etc. etc. etc.
And of course, hubby's company felt that it was okay to send a woman and toddler, neither of whom speak the language, to a run-down part of town ON THEIR OWN to collect legal documents from corrupt officials. Thank you SO much!
Again, this entire exercise is proof that A) England actually does bureacracy the best of all the Europeans and B) Italians are so desperate for job security that they contradict eachother professionally in order to appear busy to "higher-ups" and thus guarantee their own positions.
A friend here (as she works for the Embassy in a senior position, I'll call her "B") told me last weekend that Rome is an investment: you spend the first year hating it and fighting against it until you realize you're swimming against the tide and need to go with the flow. And it's a difficult investment, because B found Egypt and post war-Serbia easier to live in, even after she decided to go with the flow. Who knew?
Other than than!!!
We are about to leave the Castle. It has been decided on several levels that if we are going to remain in Rome for a longer period of time, the Castle is too expensive, both in rent and utilities (gas usage to date: 7500 Euros and counting!) So we have been left on our own to find a new place, which is more difficult than it sounds.
Again, the language barrier is an issue. But beyond that, there is no Multiple Listing Service in Rome and realtors/ estate agents are territorial: they only know their own neighborhoods and can't tell you about other places you should be looking.
So the search goes something like this: Find a 4 bedroom house or apartment. Find out if it has a garden. Nope, start over. Find another 4 bedroom apartment. It has a garden! Does the children's school bus pick them up there? No. Try to negotiate with company for them to provide a car. Realize that 5 kilometers equals two hours of driving in morning rush hour. Start over. Find a 3 bedroom apartment. Garden? Yes! Call school. It has picked up in that neighborhood in the past, but won't pick up Andrew for pre-school next year: children riding the bus must be at least 5 years old. Hmm. Go look at apartment anyway. It could work. Start negotiations, only to find that security deposits in Rome are 3 months rent plus realtors fees. Negotiate with company to advance 25,000 EUROS for this purpose. Start looking at alternative preschools. Wait for answer from other realtor as to whether the property owner will accept our lease-offer. Wait more. Wait more. Find out property owner can take up to 12 business days to make a decision. Drink wine and repeat.
And of course, the above process takes place only with the help of an Italian/English dictionary, human resources in Sicily and America, and Bill's personal assistant, who is on part-time pre-maternity leave. Aghhh! Drink wine and repeat.
Add to that the fact that I need to pack up everything in the castle before June 25, then head back to America to pack things there and you have a tired lady. And that's before the sick dog (poor old Maggie is hanging in there, but she is almost 13and had a stroke) and living in temporary housing in Sicily in August...Aghh!
But please don't take this as a complaint. I am actually laughing as I write this. This is not so bad. It's not like the time I had a three month old and Bill's old company gave us four days to move to England. THAT was stress. This is inconvenience and a funny story to go with it.
So here's the story: Andrew turned three over the weekend. As a treat, we went boating on the lake in Villa Borghese, before we took the children to the zoo in Villa Borghese. All was well until we were walking back to the train. We were in the middle of Villa Borghese, which is a 400 acre park, when the birthday boy announced that he needed to Go Potty.
There are no restrooms in the park, other than in the zoo or in an art museum and we weren't near any of those. Now usually, Potty in number 1 (and not number 2) and having no personal experience in peeing standing up, I summoned Bill to help his son. Of course, for once, Potty meant number 2: Andrew pooped behind a bush in the middle of Villa Borghese on his birthday.
Now there's a story for the wedding dinner!
But I do need to take this moment to announce that Bill and I have come up with a new expression: M.I.I = CRAP. This means Made In Italy equals CRAP or, Completely Replace a Product.
We are now on corkscrew number 6. Yes, 6 corkscrews in 6 months, which even I consider excessive. And all but one, which was 5 years old and brought from home, were stamped Made In Italy.
Perhaps it is the plastic corks that many wine bottles now feature, because it tends to be those corks which are wedged so tightly in the bottle that the corkscrew snaps off while wedged in the cork, which is still firmly in the bottle; or even worse, snaps the neck of the bottle off entirely. But even one traditional cork recently broke our latest corkscrew, so it can not be entirely that.
However we have noticed that in durable products like clocks, silverware, pots and pans, can openers and similar products which should last a few years, if an item says Made in Italy, be prepared to replace it soon. In fact, have a back up on hand at all times.
The exceptions are products which are meant to be used in full, like chocolate, wine, or...I can't think of anything else. Perhaps shoes. I really like the shoes here.
I digress though. Attention wine companies: Plastic corks are CRAP! They are not biodegradeable, so tourists and desperate Americans in Rome are filling countless landfills with PLASTIC CORKS!!! Please go back to using real corks and do your part to save the environment. And my corkscrew.
I went back to the Questura to collect my immigration card, thinking that all I had to do was collect a piece of paper and leave. WRONG! After waiting for three hours, I asked the guard what was taking so long. I was told that the papers weren't printed yet (two weeks after being fingerprinted and scanned and TWO MONTHS after all my papers were accepted and processed) and that the Questura was waiting for the Division Head to arrive (at noon?) to sign the documents. I questioned this, as I had been waiting so long and everything was approved so long ago. His response was to yell at me that he had once waited for tickets at L.A.X airport for five hours....
Not a good beginning. Then I was referred back to Lurch, my least-favorite immigration officer (the one who insisted that my lucky husband somehow has three wives with the same birthdate, each of whom having a different child with him and the first name of Rachel) who kept screaming at me that my documents were no longer valid and I needed new documents. When I asked him to stop yelling and to speak slower, he refused to speak English anymore and proceeded to yell at me in Italian.
When I told him I don't speak Italian and needed a translater, he pointed to a woman who told me she was too busy to speak to me as she had 70 other people to talk to, so I should sit down. Of course at that point, Andrew, who just turned three and is now potty trained, needed to use the porta potty in the parking lot. (And I was right about the Porta Potties!) More screaming ensued because I walked away from a guard who told me to sit down, etc. etc. etc.
And of course, hubby's company felt that it was okay to send a woman and toddler, neither of whom speak the language, to a run-down part of town ON THEIR OWN to collect legal documents from corrupt officials. Thank you SO much!
Again, this entire exercise is proof that A) England actually does bureacracy the best of all the Europeans and B) Italians are so desperate for job security that they contradict eachother professionally in order to appear busy to "higher-ups" and thus guarantee their own positions.
A friend here (as she works for the Embassy in a senior position, I'll call her "B") told me last weekend that Rome is an investment: you spend the first year hating it and fighting against it until you realize you're swimming against the tide and need to go with the flow. And it's a difficult investment, because B found Egypt and post war-Serbia easier to live in, even after she decided to go with the flow. Who knew?
Other than than!!!
We are about to leave the Castle. It has been decided on several levels that if we are going to remain in Rome for a longer period of time, the Castle is too expensive, both in rent and utilities (gas usage to date: 7500 Euros and counting!) So we have been left on our own to find a new place, which is more difficult than it sounds.
Again, the language barrier is an issue. But beyond that, there is no Multiple Listing Service in Rome and realtors/ estate agents are territorial: they only know their own neighborhoods and can't tell you about other places you should be looking.
So the search goes something like this: Find a 4 bedroom house or apartment. Find out if it has a garden. Nope, start over. Find another 4 bedroom apartment. It has a garden! Does the children's school bus pick them up there? No. Try to negotiate with company for them to provide a car. Realize that 5 kilometers equals two hours of driving in morning rush hour. Start over. Find a 3 bedroom apartment. Garden? Yes! Call school. It has picked up in that neighborhood in the past, but won't pick up Andrew for pre-school next year: children riding the bus must be at least 5 years old. Hmm. Go look at apartment anyway. It could work. Start negotiations, only to find that security deposits in Rome are 3 months rent plus realtors fees. Negotiate with company to advance 25,000 EUROS for this purpose. Start looking at alternative preschools. Wait for answer from other realtor as to whether the property owner will accept our lease-offer. Wait more. Wait more. Find out property owner can take up to 12 business days to make a decision. Drink wine and repeat.
And of course, the above process takes place only with the help of an Italian/English dictionary, human resources in Sicily and America, and Bill's personal assistant, who is on part-time pre-maternity leave. Aghhh! Drink wine and repeat.
Add to that the fact that I need to pack up everything in the castle before June 25, then head back to America to pack things there and you have a tired lady. And that's before the sick dog (poor old Maggie is hanging in there, but she is almost 13and had a stroke) and living in temporary housing in Sicily in August...Aghh!
But please don't take this as a complaint. I am actually laughing as I write this. This is not so bad. It's not like the time I had a three month old and Bill's old company gave us four days to move to England. THAT was stress. This is inconvenience and a funny story to go with it.
So here's the story: Andrew turned three over the weekend. As a treat, we went boating on the lake in Villa Borghese, before we took the children to the zoo in Villa Borghese. All was well until we were walking back to the train. We were in the middle of Villa Borghese, which is a 400 acre park, when the birthday boy announced that he needed to Go Potty.
There are no restrooms in the park, other than in the zoo or in an art museum and we weren't near any of those. Now usually, Potty in number 1 (and not number 2) and having no personal experience in peeing standing up, I summoned Bill to help his son. Of course, for once, Potty meant number 2: Andrew pooped behind a bush in the middle of Villa Borghese on his birthday.
Now there's a story for the wedding dinner!
But I do need to take this moment to announce that Bill and I have come up with a new expression: M.I.I = CRAP. This means Made In Italy equals CRAP or, Completely Replace a Product.
We are now on corkscrew number 6. Yes, 6 corkscrews in 6 months, which even I consider excessive. And all but one, which was 5 years old and brought from home, were stamped Made In Italy.
Perhaps it is the plastic corks that many wine bottles now feature, because it tends to be those corks which are wedged so tightly in the bottle that the corkscrew snaps off while wedged in the cork, which is still firmly in the bottle; or even worse, snaps the neck of the bottle off entirely. But even one traditional cork recently broke our latest corkscrew, so it can not be entirely that.
However we have noticed that in durable products like clocks, silverware, pots and pans, can openers and similar products which should last a few years, if an item says Made in Italy, be prepared to replace it soon. In fact, have a back up on hand at all times.
The exceptions are products which are meant to be used in full, like chocolate, wine, or...I can't think of anything else. Perhaps shoes. I really like the shoes here.
I digress though. Attention wine companies: Plastic corks are CRAP! They are not biodegradeable, so tourists and desperate Americans in Rome are filling countless landfills with PLASTIC CORKS!!! Please go back to using real corks and do your part to save the environment. And my corkscrew.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Roman Update
I am finally a legal citizen! Yes, after only three months, I have had my fingerprints and eye scan taken by a soldier at the Questura (who oddly enough, resembled my Uncle Dean when he went off to Ranger's Training). In two more weeks, I will have the document which states that I am legally in Italy.
Which is a good thing, since my husband's company has asked us to stay for another year.
I have gone back and forth in my head, do I want to stay? Do I want to go home? I have a lovely home and wonderful friends in Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh winters are awful (over 6 feet of snow this last winter) and Italy offers us so many chances to travel and see the world. I hate Pasta. I am also not a big fan of Pierogies or french fries on my Chef Salad. What to do? What to do!
I think we are staying.
Bill is finally comfortable with his job, language barriers aside, and he has been given the opportunity to take his company in a new direction. He really hated - and I really hated - his last company. And with the economy (and especially construction) the way it is, quitting and going somewhere else is not an option.
Gas bills aside, we have really enjoyed our time here. Although Bill still hasn't seen the Coliseum, we have seen Fregene, Grotta Frerrota, Bracciano (Helena), the major Basilicas (though only I haven't seen St. Peter's), cathedrals, fountains, art, history...things I will never see in Pittsburgh. (I have found the oldest bridge in Allegheny County, though. Don't try to drive on it. It is scary!)
I worry about my family. So much has happened since we came to Italy that I really regret not being home for.
My children, Helena more than the boys, miss being at home with their playmates in their old school.
But, as we noticed when we went home last, it's almost like having two different lives. When we are in Pittsburgh, we desperately want to stay: the American food, the ease of life, the friends, the family, the language. Everything seems so golden and irreplaceable that it is easy to pretend our Roman life of the past five months has not happened.
But back in Rome, we think we can hang in for a while longer and rejoin our American life when the job here is done. It is easy to be seduced by the art and buildings and gelato, and time spent basking in the sun on the terrace (yes, it's really rough!) that it becomes hard to remember there is a home in Pittsburgh that has horrible winters and lovely friends and family everywhere else who misses us.
So here is an open invitation to family and friends (Sorry Honey!): Come visit! We miss you! We want to see you! I will willingly make my children camp in the playroom in sleeping bags to have you come over.
And YOU know who YOU are (if I haven't called you in six months, please don't come. No offense, but if I didn't feel the need to tell you in person or over the phone or email that I was leaving America, then I don't feel the need to dry your laundry on the radiators for a week!)!
I may change my mind again. I'll keep everyone posted.
Which is a good thing, since my husband's company has asked us to stay for another year.
I have gone back and forth in my head, do I want to stay? Do I want to go home? I have a lovely home and wonderful friends in Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh winters are awful (over 6 feet of snow this last winter) and Italy offers us so many chances to travel and see the world. I hate Pasta. I am also not a big fan of Pierogies or french fries on my Chef Salad. What to do? What to do!
I think we are staying.
Bill is finally comfortable with his job, language barriers aside, and he has been given the opportunity to take his company in a new direction. He really hated - and I really hated - his last company. And with the economy (and especially construction) the way it is, quitting and going somewhere else is not an option.
Gas bills aside, we have really enjoyed our time here. Although Bill still hasn't seen the Coliseum, we have seen Fregene, Grotta Frerrota, Bracciano (Helena), the major Basilicas (though only I haven't seen St. Peter's), cathedrals, fountains, art, history...things I will never see in Pittsburgh. (I have found the oldest bridge in Allegheny County, though. Don't try to drive on it. It is scary!)
I worry about my family. So much has happened since we came to Italy that I really regret not being home for.
My children, Helena more than the boys, miss being at home with their playmates in their old school.
But, as we noticed when we went home last, it's almost like having two different lives. When we are in Pittsburgh, we desperately want to stay: the American food, the ease of life, the friends, the family, the language. Everything seems so golden and irreplaceable that it is easy to pretend our Roman life of the past five months has not happened.
But back in Rome, we think we can hang in for a while longer and rejoin our American life when the job here is done. It is easy to be seduced by the art and buildings and gelato, and time spent basking in the sun on the terrace (yes, it's really rough!) that it becomes hard to remember there is a home in Pittsburgh that has horrible winters and lovely friends and family everywhere else who misses us.
So here is an open invitation to family and friends (Sorry Honey!): Come visit! We miss you! We want to see you! I will willingly make my children camp in the playroom in sleeping bags to have you come over.
And YOU know who YOU are (if I haven't called you in six months, please don't come. No offense, but if I didn't feel the need to tell you in person or over the phone or email that I was leaving America, then I don't feel the need to dry your laundry on the radiators for a week!)!
I may change my mind again. I'll keep everyone posted.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Vacation to Malta and More Visitors...
We are starting to do a bit more exploring now. After Briana returned to America, we had two days to clean the house and get our own bags packed before jaunting to Malta.
Malta is an island nation (actually a series of four tiny islands, but only two are inhabited) just south of the island of Palermo. It is as close to Tunisia as it is Europe, but thankfully everyone speaks English!!! So we had a truly relaxing holiday.
I really do miss being able to talk to people every day, and the strain of always searching for words in an unfamiliar language is very wearing. It took two days of being in Malta before I would say thank-you instead of Grazie or excuse me instead of Scusi. But what a relief it was!!!
We did very little sightseeing, except for walking from St. Julian's to Sliema on the coast line, and one daytrip to Valletta. But the relief of sitting in the sunshine and swimming in a pool and NOT eating pasta for a week was enormous.
Yes, we are all fed up with Pasta. We are tired of rice. I don't think we even want to see pizza for a while. Ice cream, though,and especially for children, will never get old. If only we could live on ice cream!
We also discovered a great secret of Europe: Maltean wines. The islands are so small that the grapes they grow are only used for local wine production. Nothing is shipped to the rest of Europe. There are varying grades of wine quality, though most are very good.
The whites, unfortunately, are very yellow. If you can get passed drinking something the color of...you get the point...then they are okay.
The reds are fantastic. In particular, we liked a Cabernet Franc by Palatino. Very peppery and smoky tasting. Both the 2007 and 2008 are excellent. I brought 4 bottles home to Italy with me. We'll see if I can get any back to Pittsburgh.
The Maltean food is a bit different, though. It is largely based on both Italian and African cuisine, with a bit of French thrown in. Unfortunately, this means there are a lot of pasta dishes. But since it is an island, there is also a lot of fish. the biggest downside to Maltean food, though is Mint: if you like it, you will love the food. If not, you're going to be eating Italian while you visit.
Malta gets very little rain, so herbs like Mint, which need little water, are ideal for flavoring food as they are plentiful. We had grouper with Mint; fish soup, flavored with mint (actually very bland except for the mint); fresh sheep's milk cheese rolled in pepper and mint; desserts flavored with mint...and so on.
I did not try the Maltean rabbit in Mint since no one would condone my eating the Easter Bunny, but it looked pretty good.
A big bonus was that we stocked up on our favorite foods from the US and UK that we can't get in Italy at all: digestive biscuits, Tetley tea, soy sauce, mayonnaise, cheddar cheese (which we actually got through customs), Head and Shoulders shampoo, oreo cookies and spices for asian food.
Two days after our return, things went down hill. Our house ran out of gas. Apparetnly, I have been told to read the gauge on the wrong tank for the past four months. So we were completely without heat, hot water, and hot food for four days. And while this was going on, the Prince informed me that I am supposed to have a full-time nanny and housekeeper, per the terms of our lease. Which, of course is written in Italian.
I would consider it, except that the gas cost for the year so far...is $7000. Yes, just the gas at this house has cost $7000. Which is more than gas, electricity, water, sewer and babysitters have cost us in Pittsburgh for three years.
And it took four days to get gas delievered.
Another W curve moment. If we can make Malta work, I think I want to move there. At least I can order gas in English when I need it. And read my lease.
Malta is an island nation (actually a series of four tiny islands, but only two are inhabited) just south of the island of Palermo. It is as close to Tunisia as it is Europe, but thankfully everyone speaks English!!! So we had a truly relaxing holiday.
I really do miss being able to talk to people every day, and the strain of always searching for words in an unfamiliar language is very wearing. It took two days of being in Malta before I would say thank-you instead of Grazie or excuse me instead of Scusi. But what a relief it was!!!
We did very little sightseeing, except for walking from St. Julian's to Sliema on the coast line, and one daytrip to Valletta. But the relief of sitting in the sunshine and swimming in a pool and NOT eating pasta for a week was enormous.
Yes, we are all fed up with Pasta. We are tired of rice. I don't think we even want to see pizza for a while. Ice cream, though,and especially for children, will never get old. If only we could live on ice cream!
We also discovered a great secret of Europe: Maltean wines. The islands are so small that the grapes they grow are only used for local wine production. Nothing is shipped to the rest of Europe. There are varying grades of wine quality, though most are very good.
The whites, unfortunately, are very yellow. If you can get passed drinking something the color of...you get the point...then they are okay.
The reds are fantastic. In particular, we liked a Cabernet Franc by Palatino. Very peppery and smoky tasting. Both the 2007 and 2008 are excellent. I brought 4 bottles home to Italy with me. We'll see if I can get any back to Pittsburgh.
The Maltean food is a bit different, though. It is largely based on both Italian and African cuisine, with a bit of French thrown in. Unfortunately, this means there are a lot of pasta dishes. But since it is an island, there is also a lot of fish. the biggest downside to Maltean food, though is Mint: if you like it, you will love the food. If not, you're going to be eating Italian while you visit.
Malta gets very little rain, so herbs like Mint, which need little water, are ideal for flavoring food as they are plentiful. We had grouper with Mint; fish soup, flavored with mint (actually very bland except for the mint); fresh sheep's milk cheese rolled in pepper and mint; desserts flavored with mint...and so on.
I did not try the Maltean rabbit in Mint since no one would condone my eating the Easter Bunny, but it looked pretty good.
A big bonus was that we stocked up on our favorite foods from the US and UK that we can't get in Italy at all: digestive biscuits, Tetley tea, soy sauce, mayonnaise, cheddar cheese (which we actually got through customs), Head and Shoulders shampoo, oreo cookies and spices for asian food.
Two days after our return, things went down hill. Our house ran out of gas. Apparetnly, I have been told to read the gauge on the wrong tank for the past four months. So we were completely without heat, hot water, and hot food for four days. And while this was going on, the Prince informed me that I am supposed to have a full-time nanny and housekeeper, per the terms of our lease. Which, of course is written in Italian.
I would consider it, except that the gas cost for the year so far...is $7000. Yes, just the gas at this house has cost $7000. Which is more than gas, electricity, water, sewer and babysitters have cost us in Pittsburgh for three years.
And it took four days to get gas delievered.
Another W curve moment. If we can make Malta work, I think I want to move there. At least I can order gas in English when I need it. And read my lease.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Immigration Update, First Visitor, Easter in Rome
Well, after a few emails from friends, and alot of kidding from my family about being an illegal alien, I can happily say that I am now a legal immigrant in Italy. Kind of.
My last trip to the Questura was successful: all the paperwork was accepted and the officer informed me that I didn't actually need the document from the Embassy saying that I am Me. However, until I get my fingerprints taken I am a tentative resident(no they don't take them immediately, they give you an appointment date and time and expect you to come back). After that, I must return again two weeks after the fingerprints to get the final documents.
In the meantime, I can try leaving the country on my own, but will likely get detained coming back in, unless my husband is with me.
Which leads me to the hardest part of being in Italy so far: On Friday, March 26, 2010 my wonderful grandmother passed away from cancer of the pancreas, liver and brain.
She was a wonderful woman, kindhearted and generous and loving to a fault. She taught me how to knit and crochet and give unquestioning love; I was unable to be at her funeral.
The day she passed I was in Santa Maria del Popolo, a beautiful and somewhat macabre cathedral in Rome. Many of the mosaics and tombs are decorated with skull designs, and just inside the door rests a statue of a woman, her skeleton draped in a shawl and held behind bars.
It was very thought provoking at the time, but has grown more so over the past days. That an artist, indeed a congregation of people from 800 years ago, thought it important to show us that there is beauty in who we are while we live and even after we pass should give us all pause. Our humanity does not end when our bodies die.
Santa Maria del Poppolo is not the grandest church in Rome or the largest or even the most visited. I pass it each day when I get off the train at Flaminio Station, and many tourists do not visit it at all. But it will forever be linked in my mind as the spot where I was contemplating life and life after death as my grandmother passed away 5000 miles away from me.
I have seen more of Rome than ever before in the past weeks, mostly because a friend of the family came for a visit before she starts law school.
The most striking, other than Santa Maria del Poppolo, were Santa Maria degli Angeli; Santa Maria della Vittoria; Santa Maria Maggiore; the crypts and cemeteries of Rome; the Appia Antica; and the numerous restaurants I got to try.
Santa Maria degli Angeli is marked in most tourist guides as a lesser basilica, occupying the baths of Diocletian. At the time I visited, the basilica was hosting a tribute to Galileo: Gallileo tried to argue to the Catholic church that science would prove there was a God. He was nearly excommunicated and his friend and colleague, Father Carlo Bruno, was in fact burned alive in Campo di Fiore for supporting Gallileo's writings.
This church spoke to me as gold leaf can not: that science could prove God's existance. There is a statue of Bruno there as well as a meridian line in the floor, which on a sunny day, can tell the day of the year and show your astrological sign, set into the marble floor of the massive basilica. Impressive in itself, but especially when you think how the Catholic church had men killed for arguing that the sun, and not Earth, was the center of our universe.
Santa Maria della Victoria was tougher to see: it took no less than three tries to get into this home of The Ecstasy of St. Theresa, a statue so scandalous that it was removed from Santa Maria Maggiore, and hidden at della Vittoria. I didn't see what was so scandalous about St. Theresa: Rome is full of completely nude male and female statues. A marble statue with an rapturous, some say orgasmic, look on her face, is really quite tame after seeing Castor and Pollux at the Capitolene. (30 foot naked male statues are really a bit over the top for this Wisconsin girl...)
Santa Maria Maggiore is beautiful, one of the most ornate I have ever seen (I have not yet been to St. Peters: Andrew got us kicked out of one church for screaming, so I am not going to try the Vatican until I have a full-day babysitter.)
I have seen three of the four major crypts: The Cappuchin crypts in Rome are really too much for children: skeletons of 3000 friars decorating a crypt(Can you imagine? Please go get father Ted's remains. We need his vertebra to finish the butterfly on the ceiling.") is too much. The crypts at San Sebastian had the best guides and the crypts at St. Domatilla were the most extensive. The guide there even let us take photos of the crypts in one un-monitored area, which is completely taboo in all the crypts.
Now for food updates: the absolutely best wine so far is by Baroncini, a Montepulciano; the best ice cream is at Gelateria del Teatro ai Coronari near Piazza Navonna (white wine with fig and almonds, mmmm), though I did have a very good violet ice cream two doors away from Trattoria Valentino on Via Cavour; best lunches at Hostaria i Clementini on Via di San Giovanni across the street from San Clemente (which has a very good excavation of the layers of Roman life, up to 7 stories below street level) and the Trattoria Valentino on Cavour is a close second; WORST price gouging is La Scala, near Barberini Metro on the Via Veneto (15 euros for one Beck's, 4 euros for water, 16 for a bad pizza and a mandatory service charge); WORST English/British pub is The Albert near the Trevi fountain (3 euros to play pool and the balls were all different sizes and VH1 was on TV instead of the Manchester United versus Chelsea game).
I have also been to the zoo in Villa Borghese and have some advice to impart: take your children, but try to get a guide. I think they deliberately change/omit/move the signs so that you can't get out of the zoo. Also, take a lunch, because there are only three restaurants, and only one is open throughout the year: we walked for three hours trying to find food, water, and an exit. Other than that, it is a wonderful zoo.
But if you are in Villa Borghese and stop at the Cine Cafe, reachable by the children's train, go into the cafe to order: you get a 2 euro per item charge for each item you order if you sit outside. For instance, ice cream inside is 2 euros each; outside they are 4 euros each.
My funny story is that I went to the Appia Antica, an ancient road that ran from Rome to Brindisi and was flanked by cemeteries and underground crypts. Brianna and I went together, taking the A metro line to Colli Albani and then a bus to the Appia Antica.
We did that, saw the crypts, ate a great lunch and headed back; just as the metro line A shut down completely during evening rush hour. The shut down left Brianna and I almost 7 miles from Flaminio train station, which gets us back to my house. I think we walked past every site in Rome, passing people, passing packed busses and cabs trying to get to the train at Flaminio. We made it, covering 7 urban miles of hills and cobblestones at rush hour, in just over 2 hours. Not bad for an out of shape mom and college student with stress fractures...
At least I walked off two weeks of ice cream.
My last trip to the Questura was successful: all the paperwork was accepted and the officer informed me that I didn't actually need the document from the Embassy saying that I am Me. However, until I get my fingerprints taken I am a tentative resident(no they don't take them immediately, they give you an appointment date and time and expect you to come back). After that, I must return again two weeks after the fingerprints to get the final documents.
In the meantime, I can try leaving the country on my own, but will likely get detained coming back in, unless my husband is with me.
Which leads me to the hardest part of being in Italy so far: On Friday, March 26, 2010 my wonderful grandmother passed away from cancer of the pancreas, liver and brain.
She was a wonderful woman, kindhearted and generous and loving to a fault. She taught me how to knit and crochet and give unquestioning love; I was unable to be at her funeral.
The day she passed I was in Santa Maria del Popolo, a beautiful and somewhat macabre cathedral in Rome. Many of the mosaics and tombs are decorated with skull designs, and just inside the door rests a statue of a woman, her skeleton draped in a shawl and held behind bars.
It was very thought provoking at the time, but has grown more so over the past days. That an artist, indeed a congregation of people from 800 years ago, thought it important to show us that there is beauty in who we are while we live and even after we pass should give us all pause. Our humanity does not end when our bodies die.
Santa Maria del Poppolo is not the grandest church in Rome or the largest or even the most visited. I pass it each day when I get off the train at Flaminio Station, and many tourists do not visit it at all. But it will forever be linked in my mind as the spot where I was contemplating life and life after death as my grandmother passed away 5000 miles away from me.
I have seen more of Rome than ever before in the past weeks, mostly because a friend of the family came for a visit before she starts law school.
The most striking, other than Santa Maria del Poppolo, were Santa Maria degli Angeli; Santa Maria della Vittoria; Santa Maria Maggiore; the crypts and cemeteries of Rome; the Appia Antica; and the numerous restaurants I got to try.
Santa Maria degli Angeli is marked in most tourist guides as a lesser basilica, occupying the baths of Diocletian. At the time I visited, the basilica was hosting a tribute to Galileo: Gallileo tried to argue to the Catholic church that science would prove there was a God. He was nearly excommunicated and his friend and colleague, Father Carlo Bruno, was in fact burned alive in Campo di Fiore for supporting Gallileo's writings.
This church spoke to me as gold leaf can not: that science could prove God's existance. There is a statue of Bruno there as well as a meridian line in the floor, which on a sunny day, can tell the day of the year and show your astrological sign, set into the marble floor of the massive basilica. Impressive in itself, but especially when you think how the Catholic church had men killed for arguing that the sun, and not Earth, was the center of our universe.
Santa Maria della Victoria was tougher to see: it took no less than three tries to get into this home of The Ecstasy of St. Theresa, a statue so scandalous that it was removed from Santa Maria Maggiore, and hidden at della Vittoria. I didn't see what was so scandalous about St. Theresa: Rome is full of completely nude male and female statues. A marble statue with an rapturous, some say orgasmic, look on her face, is really quite tame after seeing Castor and Pollux at the Capitolene. (30 foot naked male statues are really a bit over the top for this Wisconsin girl...)
Santa Maria Maggiore is beautiful, one of the most ornate I have ever seen (I have not yet been to St. Peters: Andrew got us kicked out of one church for screaming, so I am not going to try the Vatican until I have a full-day babysitter.)
I have seen three of the four major crypts: The Cappuchin crypts in Rome are really too much for children: skeletons of 3000 friars decorating a crypt(Can you imagine? Please go get father Ted's remains. We need his vertebra to finish the butterfly on the ceiling.") is too much. The crypts at San Sebastian had the best guides and the crypts at St. Domatilla were the most extensive. The guide there even let us take photos of the crypts in one un-monitored area, which is completely taboo in all the crypts.
Now for food updates: the absolutely best wine so far is by Baroncini, a Montepulciano; the best ice cream is at Gelateria del Teatro ai Coronari near Piazza Navonna (white wine with fig and almonds, mmmm), though I did have a very good violet ice cream two doors away from Trattoria Valentino on Via Cavour; best lunches at Hostaria i Clementini on Via di San Giovanni across the street from San Clemente (which has a very good excavation of the layers of Roman life, up to 7 stories below street level) and the Trattoria Valentino on Cavour is a close second; WORST price gouging is La Scala, near Barberini Metro on the Via Veneto (15 euros for one Beck's, 4 euros for water, 16 for a bad pizza and a mandatory service charge); WORST English/British pub is The Albert near the Trevi fountain (3 euros to play pool and the balls were all different sizes and VH1 was on TV instead of the Manchester United versus Chelsea game).
I have also been to the zoo in Villa Borghese and have some advice to impart: take your children, but try to get a guide. I think they deliberately change/omit/move the signs so that you can't get out of the zoo. Also, take a lunch, because there are only three restaurants, and only one is open throughout the year: we walked for three hours trying to find food, water, and an exit. Other than that, it is a wonderful zoo.
But if you are in Villa Borghese and stop at the Cine Cafe, reachable by the children's train, go into the cafe to order: you get a 2 euro per item charge for each item you order if you sit outside. For instance, ice cream inside is 2 euros each; outside they are 4 euros each.
My funny story is that I went to the Appia Antica, an ancient road that ran from Rome to Brindisi and was flanked by cemeteries and underground crypts. Brianna and I went together, taking the A metro line to Colli Albani and then a bus to the Appia Antica.
We did that, saw the crypts, ate a great lunch and headed back; just as the metro line A shut down completely during evening rush hour. The shut down left Brianna and I almost 7 miles from Flaminio train station, which gets us back to my house. I think we walked past every site in Rome, passing people, passing packed busses and cabs trying to get to the train at Flaminio. We made it, covering 7 urban miles of hills and cobblestones at rush hour, in just over 2 hours. Not bad for an out of shape mom and college student with stress fractures...
At least I walked off two weeks of ice cream.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Questura and Immigration
I need to clarify an earlier mistake: I do not, in fact, have Italian residency. In fact, at this moment, I am probably in Italy illegally. Given that it is 5 degrees Celcius and bucketing down rain yet again, I think deportation sounds okay at this moment.
Bill has his residency, but the kids and I are in trouble.
This morning, we had to go to the Italian Questura, or official immigration office. I was warned that it would be grim and uncomfortable, so to bring my passport, toys for Andrew, and any Valium I could scrounge up. Just kidding. But not really.
The Questura building, yes there is only one, is next to a slum built of garbage. There are no underground stations or train lines nearby. The nearest bus stop is half a mile away. So if I was one of the unlucky people from North Africa, Asia or Eastern Europe, I would have had to walk in the rain.
As it was, we took a very lovely taxi through neighborhoods that one would lock their doors against in America. Hmm.
One of Bill's co-workers was waiting for us when we arrived: Elena had gotten in line early to get us a number, in this case, 160.
We went into the building and I was shocked: Most public buildings are either overheated and stuffy or underheated and cool; this building wasn't heated at all. It also hadn't been swept, mopped or cleaned in an age. And the only bathroom in the building was locked.
Yes, in Italy you can be expected to wait for hours with no heat and no bathroom in a public building. There were five porta potties in the parking lot, but with three hundred immigrants from Africa and Asia milling about, would you image the toilets to be clean inside or routinely cleaned by anyone? I didn't either.
In the center of the Questura ceiling there is a lighted billboard that illuminates each number when it is called, and a corresponding window number. There were 20 windows available, but only a few were being used. In fact, two windows had a broken desk abandoned in front of them.
Elena explained to us that the Questura is only open from 8:30 until 11:30. At 11:30the doors are locked and the people who have been un-helped are given new numbers to wait in line the next day.
I looked over the crowd of 200 people in the building and knew this wasn't going to be good.
To make a long story shorter, nothing good did happen. In spite of having certified copies of everyone's birth certificates and marriage licenses and certified translations of each document from the Italian Embassy in Pittsburgh, the Questura decided that I am not myself, because I once had a Maiden Name. OOOHHH!
Apparently in Italy, women only take their husband's name superficially: there is no official name change and they are known throughout their lives under their original family name. The feminist in me derides this as an obvious attempt by a patriarchical society to deprive women of the right of jointly owned property. The realist in me knows now that no woman in Italy would waste years of her life standing in line to get documents changed.
The police man, yes, just a simple copper, said that the Italian Embassy didn't certify that I, Rachel Married Name, had given birth to two of my children, whose birth certificates have listed, Rachel Maiden Name. I could be attempting to kidnap two of my children. How, when their father was present at the Questura and also named on the birth certificates, I could kidnap someone else's children and try to smuggle them into a foreign country and pose them as mine, I don't know.
I suspect that there are only three people working at the Questura, and this entire show was a perverse exercise in job security: if you repeatedly send people away who HAVE to come back to you or face deportation, they will come back over and again and you will never lose your job, regardless of how stupid you are.
And in fact, I am now off to the US Embassy, not because I desperately needed a stroll down Via Veneto, but because I need the United States government to certify that Rachel Maiden Name is the same person as Rachel Married Name; and I am the mother of two of my children; and just because some state government listed my middle name as an intial instead of in its entirety on my third child's birth certificate, that does not mean there is a third person with the same birthdate and similar name married to the same man in one house.
Are you confused? I am.
As for the deportation bit, when we came house-hunting over Thanksgiving, we were never told that the kids and I, holding US passports, couldn't return to Italy within the next 90 days. Since we returned to Italy on December 24, we are in violation of Italian immigration policy. However, since the immigration people didn't stamp my passport upon entry in December, I am probably safe, as we are outside the 90 day window from the stamped November exit date. According to Italy, I am not even in the country!
But I had better not leave the country for Spring Break until they get my Visa sorted out.
Bill has his residency, but the kids and I are in trouble.
This morning, we had to go to the Italian Questura, or official immigration office. I was warned that it would be grim and uncomfortable, so to bring my passport, toys for Andrew, and any Valium I could scrounge up. Just kidding. But not really.
The Questura building, yes there is only one, is next to a slum built of garbage. There are no underground stations or train lines nearby. The nearest bus stop is half a mile away. So if I was one of the unlucky people from North Africa, Asia or Eastern Europe, I would have had to walk in the rain.
As it was, we took a very lovely taxi through neighborhoods that one would lock their doors against in America. Hmm.
One of Bill's co-workers was waiting for us when we arrived: Elena had gotten in line early to get us a number, in this case, 160.
We went into the building and I was shocked: Most public buildings are either overheated and stuffy or underheated and cool; this building wasn't heated at all. It also hadn't been swept, mopped or cleaned in an age. And the only bathroom in the building was locked.
Yes, in Italy you can be expected to wait for hours with no heat and no bathroom in a public building. There were five porta potties in the parking lot, but with three hundred immigrants from Africa and Asia milling about, would you image the toilets to be clean inside or routinely cleaned by anyone? I didn't either.
In the center of the Questura ceiling there is a lighted billboard that illuminates each number when it is called, and a corresponding window number. There were 20 windows available, but only a few were being used. In fact, two windows had a broken desk abandoned in front of them.
Elena explained to us that the Questura is only open from 8:30 until 11:30. At 11:30the doors are locked and the people who have been un-helped are given new numbers to wait in line the next day.
I looked over the crowd of 200 people in the building and knew this wasn't going to be good.
To make a long story shorter, nothing good did happen. In spite of having certified copies of everyone's birth certificates and marriage licenses and certified translations of each document from the Italian Embassy in Pittsburgh, the Questura decided that I am not myself, because I once had a Maiden Name. OOOHHH!
Apparently in Italy, women only take their husband's name superficially: there is no official name change and they are known throughout their lives under their original family name. The feminist in me derides this as an obvious attempt by a patriarchical society to deprive women of the right of jointly owned property. The realist in me knows now that no woman in Italy would waste years of her life standing in line to get documents changed.
The police man, yes, just a simple copper, said that the Italian Embassy didn't certify that I, Rachel Married Name, had given birth to two of my children, whose birth certificates have listed, Rachel Maiden Name. I could be attempting to kidnap two of my children. How, when their father was present at the Questura and also named on the birth certificates, I could kidnap someone else's children and try to smuggle them into a foreign country and pose them as mine, I don't know.
I suspect that there are only three people working at the Questura, and this entire show was a perverse exercise in job security: if you repeatedly send people away who HAVE to come back to you or face deportation, they will come back over and again and you will never lose your job, regardless of how stupid you are.
And in fact, I am now off to the US Embassy, not because I desperately needed a stroll down Via Veneto, but because I need the United States government to certify that Rachel Maiden Name is the same person as Rachel Married Name; and I am the mother of two of my children; and just because some state government listed my middle name as an intial instead of in its entirety on my third child's birth certificate, that does not mean there is a third person with the same birthdate and similar name married to the same man in one house.
Are you confused? I am.
As for the deportation bit, when we came house-hunting over Thanksgiving, we were never told that the kids and I, holding US passports, couldn't return to Italy within the next 90 days. Since we returned to Italy on December 24, we are in violation of Italian immigration policy. However, since the immigration people didn't stamp my passport upon entry in December, I am probably safe, as we are outside the 90 day window from the stamped November exit date. According to Italy, I am not even in the country!
But I had better not leave the country for Spring Break until they get my Visa sorted out.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Holiday!
Of course we couldn't have a normal start to our holiday: the day before we left, it snowed.
It actually started as rain, then snow began to fall while it was still raining, so I grabbed the camera. And after about an hour, it turned to straight snow. It was so thick, I couldn't see the watchtower out of my favorite window, and the tower is less than a quarter of a mile away. In the end, we had over 2 inches of the fluffy white stuff on our terrace.
It was all gone the next morning, though, so we hopped a flight to Sicily for the children's mid-term break. When we left Rome, it was 2 degrees Celsius. When we arrived in Palermo, it was 12 degrees Celsius. Wonderful!
We got to our Bed and Breakfast (Al Baglio, in the seaside town of Mondello) just in time to find out that breakfast was over and the room wasn't ready. No matter, the owner made us all fresh coffee and tea and some sweet rolls, which Andrew now calls "Cake-bread." Our rooms there were pretty good, except that the first night there was no heat: apparently, the B&B is in the midst of a renovation, and someone forgot to turn a valve all the way.
Mondello is famous for its sheltered bay, which is full of turquoise water and tourists. It also has the most dramatic scenery, with rocky cliffs running right to the ocean. There are colorful docks with fishing boats, and each morning the local fisherman will sell their catch right on the seashore.
The children were horrified and fascinated - yes, you do have to cut the fish's head off when you clean it and where did you think fish came from? But of course, the restaurants had the freshest sea food you can imagine.
We treated ourselves the first night, and the first night ONLY, especially as we found that some foods are best left to the local population. In case of visiting Italy, there is a difference between Frutti di Mare and Calamari Fritte, regardless of what the fine print beneath the title suggests.
In this case, Bill and I each ordered Frutti di Mare, which was labeled as fried calamari. They were whole, tiny squids, including the eyes, innards, etc; battered and deep-fried. Not the lovely large chunks of fried calamari we were expecting. And let me tell you, if you think battered squid eyes are awful on your plate, just wait until the food poisoning kicks in at 3 a.m. Never again!
We avoided fresh sea food for the next few days, but it gave us plenty of time to take the bus (Yes, the bus!) into Palermo to peruse the many street markets.
More like an Arab soukh than a market, there were streets of clothes, shoes, toys, junk, antiques, spices, fish, beef and poultry (yes, all freshly butchered or caught) lambs, rabbits, fruits and vegetables, olives, bread, linens, embroidered clothes, knock-off CDs from Germany, and more.
But that first day in Palermo was warm, about 15 degrees Celsius, and we strolled winding cobble stone streets eating fresh strawberries, still warm from the sun. Then we went to the central Cathedral and let the boys chase the pigeons.
The Cathedral in Palermo was originally a Mosque, until the end of one of the Crusades, when victorious Norman knights took a holiday on the island and decided to renovate the place. There are still 6 minarets on one side of the building and intricate mosaics on the exterior walls that date to the 6th century.
Then we stopped by a friend's house for our children to enjoy the last night of Carnivale by holding a kids costume party. Oddly enough, they all got along, even though my children were the only ones who spoke English.
The days were very similar in the week: strolling the beach, digging for cuttlefish and sea glass, trips into Palermo, lunch in the sunshine, and an early nights.
The children also loved the Puppet and Marionette Museum and our trip to Cefalu, another famous seaside town.
Cefalu was nearly deserted, though. Either the day of the week, the off season, or the wrong hours (Italian shops are open from 8 a.m until 1 p.m. and then from 5 p.m. until 8 p.m.) had everything in town closed except the beach. There is another spectacular cathedral, or Duomo, in Cefalu. Nothing else was open, so the children went to the shore and drew in the sand.
Our last day ended with a triumph for Bill: for several years he has wanted to get cowboy boots, just like the ones my Uncle Byron wears. We never seem to find the boots he likes, however. But somehow, cowboy boots made it to Palermo, Italy, and they were even on sale. As Bill walked down the streets, wearing his new treasure, he looked at his feet and said, "What do you think? Have you heard of Roberto Cavalli before?" Yes, my husband paid a small fortune for designer cowboy boots, made of suede no less, and I will never let him get remotely near a barn in them!
As for negatives about Sicily, one of our only complaints about the week was the drivers: a friend in England once told me NOT to go to Italy until my children could walk. The reasoning was that pushing strollers up and down cobblestone-paved hills would be exhausting. However, chasing a 2 year old up and down cobblestone hills while trying to avoid Italian drivers isn't a picnic either!
And Italian drivers don't always drive on the road: they drive on piazzas, sidewalks, "pedonale" (Pedestrain only) streets, and your feet if you let them! I think I spent most of the trip bent over at the waist, with my arms out from my sides, trying to herd Andrew toward his brother and sister. The other half of the time I carried him!
Sicily may still be the home of the Mafia, but we didn't see anything dangerous, other than the drivers, and most neighborhoods seemed very safe. It is a beautiful island, with a dramatic landscape, and warm sunshine throughout the year. The people were friendly, the food was very good, squidlings aside, and since it is fairly close to Rome, we do plan to come back on our next three-day-weekend.
It actually started as rain, then snow began to fall while it was still raining, so I grabbed the camera. And after about an hour, it turned to straight snow. It was so thick, I couldn't see the watchtower out of my favorite window, and the tower is less than a quarter of a mile away. In the end, we had over 2 inches of the fluffy white stuff on our terrace.
It was all gone the next morning, though, so we hopped a flight to Sicily for the children's mid-term break. When we left Rome, it was 2 degrees Celsius. When we arrived in Palermo, it was 12 degrees Celsius. Wonderful!
We got to our Bed and Breakfast (Al Baglio, in the seaside town of Mondello) just in time to find out that breakfast was over and the room wasn't ready. No matter, the owner made us all fresh coffee and tea and some sweet rolls, which Andrew now calls "Cake-bread." Our rooms there were pretty good, except that the first night there was no heat: apparently, the B&B is in the midst of a renovation, and someone forgot to turn a valve all the way.
Mondello is famous for its sheltered bay, which is full of turquoise water and tourists. It also has the most dramatic scenery, with rocky cliffs running right to the ocean. There are colorful docks with fishing boats, and each morning the local fisherman will sell their catch right on the seashore.
The children were horrified and fascinated - yes, you do have to cut the fish's head off when you clean it and where did you think fish came from? But of course, the restaurants had the freshest sea food you can imagine.
We treated ourselves the first night, and the first night ONLY, especially as we found that some foods are best left to the local population. In case of visiting Italy, there is a difference between Frutti di Mare and Calamari Fritte, regardless of what the fine print beneath the title suggests.
In this case, Bill and I each ordered Frutti di Mare, which was labeled as fried calamari. They were whole, tiny squids, including the eyes, innards, etc; battered and deep-fried. Not the lovely large chunks of fried calamari we were expecting. And let me tell you, if you think battered squid eyes are awful on your plate, just wait until the food poisoning kicks in at 3 a.m. Never again!
We avoided fresh sea food for the next few days, but it gave us plenty of time to take the bus (Yes, the bus!) into Palermo to peruse the many street markets.
More like an Arab soukh than a market, there were streets of clothes, shoes, toys, junk, antiques, spices, fish, beef and poultry (yes, all freshly butchered or caught) lambs, rabbits, fruits and vegetables, olives, bread, linens, embroidered clothes, knock-off CDs from Germany, and more.
But that first day in Palermo was warm, about 15 degrees Celsius, and we strolled winding cobble stone streets eating fresh strawberries, still warm from the sun. Then we went to the central Cathedral and let the boys chase the pigeons.
The Cathedral in Palermo was originally a Mosque, until the end of one of the Crusades, when victorious Norman knights took a holiday on the island and decided to renovate the place. There are still 6 minarets on one side of the building and intricate mosaics on the exterior walls that date to the 6th century.
Then we stopped by a friend's house for our children to enjoy the last night of Carnivale by holding a kids costume party. Oddly enough, they all got along, even though my children were the only ones who spoke English.
The days were very similar in the week: strolling the beach, digging for cuttlefish and sea glass, trips into Palermo, lunch in the sunshine, and an early nights.
The children also loved the Puppet and Marionette Museum and our trip to Cefalu, another famous seaside town.
Cefalu was nearly deserted, though. Either the day of the week, the off season, or the wrong hours (Italian shops are open from 8 a.m until 1 p.m. and then from 5 p.m. until 8 p.m.) had everything in town closed except the beach. There is another spectacular cathedral, or Duomo, in Cefalu. Nothing else was open, so the children went to the shore and drew in the sand.
Our last day ended with a triumph for Bill: for several years he has wanted to get cowboy boots, just like the ones my Uncle Byron wears. We never seem to find the boots he likes, however. But somehow, cowboy boots made it to Palermo, Italy, and they were even on sale. As Bill walked down the streets, wearing his new treasure, he looked at his feet and said, "What do you think? Have you heard of Roberto Cavalli before?" Yes, my husband paid a small fortune for designer cowboy boots, made of suede no less, and I will never let him get remotely near a barn in them!
As for negatives about Sicily, one of our only complaints about the week was the drivers: a friend in England once told me NOT to go to Italy until my children could walk. The reasoning was that pushing strollers up and down cobblestone-paved hills would be exhausting. However, chasing a 2 year old up and down cobblestone hills while trying to avoid Italian drivers isn't a picnic either!
And Italian drivers don't always drive on the road: they drive on piazzas, sidewalks, "pedonale" (Pedestrain only) streets, and your feet if you let them! I think I spent most of the trip bent over at the waist, with my arms out from my sides, trying to herd Andrew toward his brother and sister. The other half of the time I carried him!
Sicily may still be the home of the Mafia, but we didn't see anything dangerous, other than the drivers, and most neighborhoods seemed very safe. It is a beautiful island, with a dramatic landscape, and warm sunshine throughout the year. The people were friendly, the food was very good, squidlings aside, and since it is fairly close to Rome, we do plan to come back on our next three-day-weekend.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Porta Portese and Carnivale
Well, I should start by saying that my UPS package finally came today. Apparently, when I told the young man from UPS that I was expecting Valentines cards, he checked to see why Customs had imposed such a large charge on the package. The declaration page read, "Gift of medicines, toiletries and Valentines," but the declarations page was folded so that only the word GIFT was legible. And since the box weighed 20 pounds, they figured something good was inside and taxed accordingly.
But other than that, we finally had a great Roman weekend. Brisk weather and sunshine greeted us on Sunday morning, so we went in search of Porta Portese, the Roman flea market that sprang up in the Jewish Ghetto after World War II and proved popular enough to last eight decades.
We took the train to Flaminio station and walked south through Rome, as there are no train or underground lines in Trastavere, the modern name for the Jewish Ghetto. I think Mussolini moved out all the Jews and insisted that the neighborhood be renamed.
Trastavere is a lovely place, with four story stuccoed buildings skirted by winding cobblestone lanes; each window has a flower box, even in winter, with vines and greenery trailing down, and each street has art galleries, street cafes and trattorias.
We walked the mile to Trastavere since the sun was finally out, and passed through Piazza Navonna to see the sights: Carnivale has begun in Rome and the children's parade was held early Sunday morning. The cobblestones were littered with confetti and there were lots of happy, costumed children running about the plaza. There were fire-eaters and fire-twirlers and figures on stilts. The best was a Venetian Carriage pulled by horses that was open on one side: there were four Venetian-costumed musicians playing music for everyone in the square.
I have been to Mardi Gras and seen other Carnivals, but the musicians in Piazza Navonna on Sunday were the best I have ever heard. Wonderful, skilled, believable in their music.
We travelled on, through Campo Di Fiori, stopping only for the children to snack on meringues, and crossed the Tiber at Ponti Sisto, before wandering the pathways of Trastavere searching for Porta Portese.
Now I do need to mention something that happens very frequently here. If a person is looking for some sight, some piazza, someTHING, don't ask a Roman, because they will only say, "You can't miss it. I forget the name, but you can't miss it."
Not only can you miss it, but you can wander around for hours looking for it.
We found the Porta Portese around 2 p.m., just when all the stall holders start to clean up. So we didn't get a lot of time to see the antiques from Milan or the murano glass stalls or the Persian jewelers. But we did walk the length of one side of vendors (roughly a mile) and browse a few stalls that were staying open because of the sunshine and crowds.
And we've all come to a decision: Porta Portese on Sunday will become a weekly event for us. There is no way we are ever going to see everything in this market. And it's a perfect excuse for us to come to the city, enjoy a coffee and meringue and finish the day with an amazing dinner.
That is exactly what we did. As we walked back to the Ponti Sisto, we stumbled on an Italian Trattoria, just as the sun was dipping behind the buildings and the breeze was turning chill. Near Piazza Trilussa there are several small streets behind the statue and fountain and there we found Pizza del Moro.
We had a good feeling when we went in and they didn't frown at a family with three children: there was one other Italian family with an infant and two older gentleman watching the Sunday football game. A large family of 12 was eating after Sunday mass, and most importantly, they were all Italians who obviously came each Sunday. It is a perfect family owned Italian eatery that enjoys serving families.
And the food, oh yummy. Frito Misto is an important term: it is a platter of deep-fried delicacies like cheese stuffed zucchini flowers, cheese stuffed olives rolled in ground pork and fried, and balls of risotto stuffed with cheese and friend. Mmmm.
Then we had some amazing pizza with porcini mushrooms and Proscuitto. Mmmm again. And dessert Profiterioles stuffed with chocolate cream and drizzled with cream and chocolate shavings; cream tart with miniature strawberries on the top. Fabulous.
I am already looking forward to Sunday.
But other than that, we finally had a great Roman weekend. Brisk weather and sunshine greeted us on Sunday morning, so we went in search of Porta Portese, the Roman flea market that sprang up in the Jewish Ghetto after World War II and proved popular enough to last eight decades.
We took the train to Flaminio station and walked south through Rome, as there are no train or underground lines in Trastavere, the modern name for the Jewish Ghetto. I think Mussolini moved out all the Jews and insisted that the neighborhood be renamed.
Trastavere is a lovely place, with four story stuccoed buildings skirted by winding cobblestone lanes; each window has a flower box, even in winter, with vines and greenery trailing down, and each street has art galleries, street cafes and trattorias.
We walked the mile to Trastavere since the sun was finally out, and passed through Piazza Navonna to see the sights: Carnivale has begun in Rome and the children's parade was held early Sunday morning. The cobblestones were littered with confetti and there were lots of happy, costumed children running about the plaza. There were fire-eaters and fire-twirlers and figures on stilts. The best was a Venetian Carriage pulled by horses that was open on one side: there were four Venetian-costumed musicians playing music for everyone in the square.
I have been to Mardi Gras and seen other Carnivals, but the musicians in Piazza Navonna on Sunday were the best I have ever heard. Wonderful, skilled, believable in their music.
We travelled on, through Campo Di Fiori, stopping only for the children to snack on meringues, and crossed the Tiber at Ponti Sisto, before wandering the pathways of Trastavere searching for Porta Portese.
Now I do need to mention something that happens very frequently here. If a person is looking for some sight, some piazza, someTHING, don't ask a Roman, because they will only say, "You can't miss it. I forget the name, but you can't miss it."
Not only can you miss it, but you can wander around for hours looking for it.
We found the Porta Portese around 2 p.m., just when all the stall holders start to clean up. So we didn't get a lot of time to see the antiques from Milan or the murano glass stalls or the Persian jewelers. But we did walk the length of one side of vendors (roughly a mile) and browse a few stalls that were staying open because of the sunshine and crowds.
And we've all come to a decision: Porta Portese on Sunday will become a weekly event for us. There is no way we are ever going to see everything in this market. And it's a perfect excuse for us to come to the city, enjoy a coffee and meringue and finish the day with an amazing dinner.
That is exactly what we did. As we walked back to the Ponti Sisto, we stumbled on an Italian Trattoria, just as the sun was dipping behind the buildings and the breeze was turning chill. Near Piazza Trilussa there are several small streets behind the statue and fountain and there we found Pizza del Moro.
We had a good feeling when we went in and they didn't frown at a family with three children: there was one other Italian family with an infant and two older gentleman watching the Sunday football game. A large family of 12 was eating after Sunday mass, and most importantly, they were all Italians who obviously came each Sunday. It is a perfect family owned Italian eatery that enjoys serving families.
And the food, oh yummy. Frito Misto is an important term: it is a platter of deep-fried delicacies like cheese stuffed zucchini flowers, cheese stuffed olives rolled in ground pork and fried, and balls of risotto stuffed with cheese and friend. Mmmm.
Then we had some amazing pizza with porcini mushrooms and Proscuitto. Mmmm again. And dessert Profiterioles stuffed with chocolate cream and drizzled with cream and chocolate shavings; cream tart with miniature strawberries on the top. Fabulous.
I am already looking forward to Sunday.
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