It has been an eventful week week here, if only because my family and I are now officially Italian residents.
When you move here, even temporarily, you are supposed to go to your local police station, WITHIN 24 hours, and let them know that you are moving here. If you are a European Union citizen, as my husband and children are, then you don't need a visa. If you are an American, like me, you do need a visa or you have to get your spouse to get a waiver for you. Or you can leave the country for three months before 'reunification.' Lovely.
But no one told us that. Italy is extremely uninformed and inefficient. Apparently they printed one notice of this rule (to save paper) and put it on a wall behind a girly calendar (amazing the things that are universal) and parked a radio on a filing cabinet in front of the said calendar. Who knew?
Anyway, Bill did the police station bit about 2 weeks ago. Yes, that is more than 24 hours after we arrived, but we have two items in our favor: first, we arrived on Christmas Eve and everything was closed; second, if Bill speaks very quickly in the broadest Scots accent he can manage, no one can understand him, and rather than admit to not understanding, the immigration people just let it go.
After that first meeting you have to prove to the police that you actually live in Italy, and for the next 30 days you must have someone at your residence at all times to await the pending arrival of the police, who will question you about whether you actually live here. No one has come yet, but I like to think that they can't get past the gate or the guards.
After that, the spouse is supposed to wait 90 days before joining their partner in Italy. I guess we mucked that up!
After the police interview, you need to get a certificate of residency from your landlord. Ideally, within 24 hours. Since the Princess was in Thailand until January 15, we did not get the paper. In fact, we didn't get it until Friday of last week.
So on Monday, Bill and his secretary went to the Immigration Office to fill out his official Italian residency forms. And had to argue with the chief Immigration official about whether or not Scotland and Great Britain are part of the European Union. As the official was convinced that Britain was not part of the EU, he was all for deporting the lot of us immediately.
At this time, I have to point out something. Most expatriates are familiar with the idea that Americans, in general, have very little knowledge of other countries. For the most part, that is true. Most expats also believe that Europeans tend to be very well educated and knowledgeable about the world.
And this is not quite as true and most think. I have pointed out to European friends before that America, with its 50 states, is the same size as all of Europe: Americans in New York know about wild fires and mudslides in California, and people in Texas tend to understand about problems with carp and Zebra mussels in the Great Lakes. Do they care about wild fires in Greece? Not particularly.
Similare examples are true about the Europeans: Brits readily converse about the wild fires in Greece and swollen rivers in Germany. Germans understand the problems with Italy not having enough Buffalo milk in their mozzarella and the EU sanctioning Italian farmers for it. Do those Brits and Germans understand about the wildfires and mudslides and Zebra Mussels? Usually not. Yet Americans are looked down on for not knowing about cattle overgrazing in Corsica and causing mudslides there.
But to get back to the point, when a certified EU Immigration official doesn't know which countries are in the EU - especially when Britain was one of the first EU nations!!!- this indicates to me a bigger problem than any perceived American lack of global understanding.
But it is good for a laugh!
The good news is that Bill got his Italian residency after he and the secretary were able to prove that Britain is part of the European Union (Google finally gets it right!) and I do not have to leave for 90 days before returning for a 'reunification.' If I was Albanian, I would be in trouble apparently, but being light-skinned and blue-eyed and university-educated, I guess they are willing to make an exception.
Proof that immigration is tough every where, not just in American border states.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The New School is Great!
Well, the children have been in there new school for a week, as of today. I am so impressed with the New School in Rome!
There was nothing wrong with the school they attended in Pittsburgh: quite the contrary, as it is one of the best public elementary schools in Pennsylvania and one of the best I have seen anywhere in the USA.
But, it is still an American school: William was in Kindergarten, and treading water quite comfortably without extending himself. Which is to be expected of a 5 year old boy. And his teacher, Mrs. F, was so overloaded (with a couple of problem students and a large classroom of 18 kids in her first year of teaching!!!) that by the time school let out, she looked wilted.
After the first week of the New School, William has completed the entire first term maths booklet, a lot of which American first graders are doing in their first term: adding and subtracting numbers up to 20. He is also taking his first spelling test tomorrow, and all of the words are three and four letters. He has a reading assignment each night and he has been able to read each book out loud to me without difficulty.
It is amazing that when you give children high standards, encourage them to raise their own bar instead of meeting an arbitrary goal, and treat them like the sponges they are, those children can do anything.
Why is it that we as Americans accept that our kindergarteners can program a remote and play game boy but can't read? Children are so much smarter than we give them credit for and I love seeing my son be as smart as he thinks he can be.
I am so proud of him and it has only taken 5000 miles, a new language and a new school.
There was nothing wrong with the school they attended in Pittsburgh: quite the contrary, as it is one of the best public elementary schools in Pennsylvania and one of the best I have seen anywhere in the USA.
But, it is still an American school: William was in Kindergarten, and treading water quite comfortably without extending himself. Which is to be expected of a 5 year old boy. And his teacher, Mrs. F, was so overloaded (with a couple of problem students and a large classroom of 18 kids in her first year of teaching!!!) that by the time school let out, she looked wilted.
After the first week of the New School, William has completed the entire first term maths booklet, a lot of which American first graders are doing in their first term: adding and subtracting numbers up to 20. He is also taking his first spelling test tomorrow, and all of the words are three and four letters. He has a reading assignment each night and he has been able to read each book out loud to me without difficulty.
It is amazing that when you give children high standards, encourage them to raise their own bar instead of meeting an arbitrary goal, and treat them like the sponges they are, those children can do anything.
Why is it that we as Americans accept that our kindergarteners can program a remote and play game boy but can't read? Children are so much smarter than we give them credit for and I love seeing my son be as smart as he thinks he can be.
I am so proud of him and it has only taken 5000 miles, a new language and a new school.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Things to Avoid in Rome...
Officially, the only good airport to use in Rome appears to be Fiumicino, though traffic in and out of the airport is awful.
My poor husband is finally in Dublin, after spending the last 12 hours trying to get there.
His mistake was to fly out of Ciampino, the smaller, 'local' airport on the southern end of Rome. The airport was temporarily closed due to Fog this morning. Then a majority of flights were cancelled and everyone from his particular flight was told to board a bus and get transported to Fiumicino, as the airline would not have departing flights from Ciampino today.
Next, 40 passengers for the flight went missing; someone was angry with the flight staff because the plane was so late, so the police were called; someone was arrested; someone else had a heart attack and the ambulance was called; and thankfully, Bill was not the person for any of the above phone calls!
Long story short: Brave the road traffic. Get a cab. Use the big airport.
And while I am feeling sorry for my husband, he just got perhaps the most expensive haircut in history. Yes, he was ripped off, which appears to be a little-know Italian art form. (And to think that for all these years Bernini and Da Vinci got all the press clippings...)
Bill went to an Italian barber, only a few blocks from his office. It was nothing special: a little, dingy place that was cluttered and needed dusting. Of course, the barber spoke very little English and Bill speaks no Italian.
The man cut Bill's hair, then told him he needed a shampoo, because THAT is how it's done in Rome. Then he gave Bill a neck massage, again, THAT is how it's done in Rome. Then he massaged some type of lotion into Bill's hair, combed the hair and handed Bill a receipt...for 120 Euros.
Bill paid, went back to the office quite annoyed and told his Roman secretary, Elena, who promptly insisted that both of them go back to the barber shop.
Elena argued with the barber, in Italian of course, that he had deliberately ripped off a foreign customer. The barber insisted that Bill had asked for each service separately, but eventually gave Bill back 40 Euros. Apparently THAT is how it's done in Rome!
And Ikea: for those expat friends who are reading this, we know there is never truly a good time to go to Ikea in Europe. For those who don't, let me explain: Ikea is one of the only inexpensive stores in Europe that still has fairly reliable goods. For that reason, it is always busy. And apparently on the weekends in Rome, Ikea also doesn't charge for it's parking spaces.
I would say we were doomed, but we did find parking and rubbish bins for the kitchen (and a really cute tea pot!) and we didn't lose a child, though there were some hair-raising moments.
And for folks back in Pittsburgh I do have to add: Pennsylvania is very behind with its obscure alcohol regulations. Only state owned stores can sell alcohol; Beer has to be sold through a state Distributor; Wine and Hard Alcohol have to be sold at state stores, etc.
Ikea sells beer! And vodka! And Lingonberry wine! And meatballs! So if the Italians can do it in a Swedish store, with all the above mix-ups and price-fixing...can't Pennsylvania?
It really is more respectable buying your Chianti when you buy your pasta and sauce and not making multiple stops. Please?
My poor husband is finally in Dublin, after spending the last 12 hours trying to get there.
His mistake was to fly out of Ciampino, the smaller, 'local' airport on the southern end of Rome. The airport was temporarily closed due to Fog this morning. Then a majority of flights were cancelled and everyone from his particular flight was told to board a bus and get transported to Fiumicino, as the airline would not have departing flights from Ciampino today.
Next, 40 passengers for the flight went missing; someone was angry with the flight staff because the plane was so late, so the police were called; someone was arrested; someone else had a heart attack and the ambulance was called; and thankfully, Bill was not the person for any of the above phone calls!
Long story short: Brave the road traffic. Get a cab. Use the big airport.
And while I am feeling sorry for my husband, he just got perhaps the most expensive haircut in history. Yes, he was ripped off, which appears to be a little-know Italian art form. (And to think that for all these years Bernini and Da Vinci got all the press clippings...)
Bill went to an Italian barber, only a few blocks from his office. It was nothing special: a little, dingy place that was cluttered and needed dusting. Of course, the barber spoke very little English and Bill speaks no Italian.
The man cut Bill's hair, then told him he needed a shampoo, because THAT is how it's done in Rome. Then he gave Bill a neck massage, again, THAT is how it's done in Rome. Then he massaged some type of lotion into Bill's hair, combed the hair and handed Bill a receipt...for 120 Euros.
Bill paid, went back to the office quite annoyed and told his Roman secretary, Elena, who promptly insisted that both of them go back to the barber shop.
Elena argued with the barber, in Italian of course, that he had deliberately ripped off a foreign customer. The barber insisted that Bill had asked for each service separately, but eventually gave Bill back 40 Euros. Apparently THAT is how it's done in Rome!
And Ikea: for those expat friends who are reading this, we know there is never truly a good time to go to Ikea in Europe. For those who don't, let me explain: Ikea is one of the only inexpensive stores in Europe that still has fairly reliable goods. For that reason, it is always busy. And apparently on the weekends in Rome, Ikea also doesn't charge for it's parking spaces.
I would say we were doomed, but we did find parking and rubbish bins for the kitchen (and a really cute tea pot!) and we didn't lose a child, though there were some hair-raising moments.
And for folks back in Pittsburgh I do have to add: Pennsylvania is very behind with its obscure alcohol regulations. Only state owned stores can sell alcohol; Beer has to be sold through a state Distributor; Wine and Hard Alcohol have to be sold at state stores, etc.
Ikea sells beer! And vodka! And Lingonberry wine! And meatballs! So if the Italians can do it in a Swedish store, with all the above mix-ups and price-fixing...can't Pennsylvania?
It really is more respectable buying your Chianti when you buy your pasta and sauce and not making multiple stops. Please?
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Chocolate, hazlenuts and sweeties. Oh my!
I realized that I had forgotten some of the most important foods in Italy during my last ramble: sweets and treats!
Romans definitely have a sweet tooth. Anything and everything that can be added to chocolate, is. How else do you think they came up with Nutella? (For those of you who haven't tried it, Nutella is the consistency of peanut butter, but made out of pureed hazelnut's and chocolate. It is sin in a jar, especially if you've ever gone on a diet.)
Romans like white, milk and dark chocolates. As far as I am aware, they have dipped everything under the sun in each type.
For instance, my Aunt, knowing that my children have a fetish for Italian chocolate, bought about a dozen bars of various types of it, plus two trays of chocolate coated almonds and hazelnuts, plus a tray of cookies, plus four boxes of nougat (another delicacy), plus a ricotta and chocolate cheesecake...I guess she thinks my children were in danger of starving.
But, one particular bar of white chocolate was dusted in red: I am sure Auntie thought it was colored sugar. It was powdered habanero pepper. Only in Rome.
The chocolate rolled in crushed espresso beans went down much better and kept my children up for two days. I never saw the rest get eaten: they simply disappeared into the black holes I call kids.
The nougats are wonderful as well. Simple syrup mixed with chocolate and blended smooth, tossed with nuts, toffee, and chunks of more chocolate. And sometimes flavored with Amaretto, Frangelico or Noccino. So far, the dark chocolate on hazelnuts is my favorite. But William really likes the white chocolate with toffee, pistachios and almonds. Helena, having lost three teeth in the last month, can't bite through it.
Liqueurs. While Italy is most famous for wine - and infamous for Grappa - the liqueurs are not to be over looked. When someone offers you one, just drink it. You won't regret it. Unless you drink more than five or six.
Amaretto is sweetened almond liqueur. Frangelico is named after Fra Anngelico, a monk who mixed herbs with Hazelnut extract and turned it to alcohol. Yes, he is actually also a saint, so you know the stuff is good. (In fact, an elementary school teacher I once knew would substitute Frangelico for vanilla in her oatmeal cookies. We loved her!) But one of my favorites is Noccino (No-CHEE-Noh) It is a sweet, not herby, hazelnut liqueur that I tasted in an amazing dessert: Nocciola.
Nocciola is a ball of vanilla gellato with a lump of caramel coated hazelnuts in the center. Then smothered in caramel sauce and a shot of Noccino. Add whipped cream and a cherry, if you must.
It was so good. Almost better than Nutella. If you can every try it, I recommend it.
And on that note, I have to praise the restaurant in which I had the Noccino: It is called Zi Roccos in Grotta Ferrota. Our taxi driver took us to the restaurant when we visited over Thanksgiving.
It had the best Roman food we have yet had. Simple, plentiful and fresh, an amazing buffet of sea food and salads and deep fried olives (Yum) and fried calimari, clams and shrimp. They also made very good pasta with clam sauce. Topped off by a shot of Nocciola and a Noccino dessert. The best food yet.
However, Grappa is another matter. It is a traditional Italian grain alcohol made from the dregs of wine-making. Basically, after the wine is first decanted, there are bits of grapeskin and seeds left in the bottom of the barrel. These are pressed and then decanted and aged. Ta Da, Grappa.
It is best used for antiseptic for major wounds, sterilizing medical equipment or searing the skin from the back of your throat. It has a faint taste of raisins, if your tongue doesn't shrivel on contact, and a pleasant aftertaste if you are able to swallow it and don't die.
Perhaps the best thing about Grappa is that, unlke other hard alcohols, you can also drink it with wine without getting a massive hangover headache the next day. So if you can't be satisfied with plain old Vino, drink some Grappa.
Romans definitely have a sweet tooth. Anything and everything that can be added to chocolate, is. How else do you think they came up with Nutella? (For those of you who haven't tried it, Nutella is the consistency of peanut butter, but made out of pureed hazelnut's and chocolate. It is sin in a jar, especially if you've ever gone on a diet.)
Romans like white, milk and dark chocolates. As far as I am aware, they have dipped everything under the sun in each type.
For instance, my Aunt, knowing that my children have a fetish for Italian chocolate, bought about a dozen bars of various types of it, plus two trays of chocolate coated almonds and hazelnuts, plus a tray of cookies, plus four boxes of nougat (another delicacy), plus a ricotta and chocolate cheesecake...I guess she thinks my children were in danger of starving.
But, one particular bar of white chocolate was dusted in red: I am sure Auntie thought it was colored sugar. It was powdered habanero pepper. Only in Rome.
The chocolate rolled in crushed espresso beans went down much better and kept my children up for two days. I never saw the rest get eaten: they simply disappeared into the black holes I call kids.
The nougats are wonderful as well. Simple syrup mixed with chocolate and blended smooth, tossed with nuts, toffee, and chunks of more chocolate. And sometimes flavored with Amaretto, Frangelico or Noccino. So far, the dark chocolate on hazelnuts is my favorite. But William really likes the white chocolate with toffee, pistachios and almonds. Helena, having lost three teeth in the last month, can't bite through it.
Liqueurs. While Italy is most famous for wine - and infamous for Grappa - the liqueurs are not to be over looked. When someone offers you one, just drink it. You won't regret it. Unless you drink more than five or six.
Amaretto is sweetened almond liqueur. Frangelico is named after Fra Anngelico, a monk who mixed herbs with Hazelnut extract and turned it to alcohol. Yes, he is actually also a saint, so you know the stuff is good. (In fact, an elementary school teacher I once knew would substitute Frangelico for vanilla in her oatmeal cookies. We loved her!) But one of my favorites is Noccino (No-CHEE-Noh) It is a sweet, not herby, hazelnut liqueur that I tasted in an amazing dessert: Nocciola.
Nocciola is a ball of vanilla gellato with a lump of caramel coated hazelnuts in the center. Then smothered in caramel sauce and a shot of Noccino. Add whipped cream and a cherry, if you must.
It was so good. Almost better than Nutella. If you can every try it, I recommend it.
And on that note, I have to praise the restaurant in which I had the Noccino: It is called Zi Roccos in Grotta Ferrota. Our taxi driver took us to the restaurant when we visited over Thanksgiving.
It had the best Roman food we have yet had. Simple, plentiful and fresh, an amazing buffet of sea food and salads and deep fried olives (Yum) and fried calimari, clams and shrimp. They also made very good pasta with clam sauce. Topped off by a shot of Nocciola and a Noccino dessert. The best food yet.
However, Grappa is another matter. It is a traditional Italian grain alcohol made from the dregs of wine-making. Basically, after the wine is first decanted, there are bits of grapeskin and seeds left in the bottom of the barrel. These are pressed and then decanted and aged. Ta Da, Grappa.
It is best used for antiseptic for major wounds, sterilizing medical equipment or searing the skin from the back of your throat. It has a faint taste of raisins, if your tongue doesn't shrivel on contact, and a pleasant aftertaste if you are able to swallow it and don't die.
Perhaps the best thing about Grappa is that, unlke other hard alcohols, you can also drink it with wine without getting a massive hangover headache the next day. So if you can't be satisfied with plain old Vino, drink some Grappa.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Day to Day in Rome
Because people have asked, I am adding a few details about the little things which make life in Rome different from home. Interesting, frustrating, and different.
Trash. We all hate taking it out. Most of us persuade Hubby to do it if we can. Here, you load all of your trash into bags, trying NOT to stuff it too full. The same goes for recycling. Then you load it into your car...and to think I ever complained about trash collection in greater Detroit! If your bags are too full or have holes, the nasty bits will leak and spill into your car, so DON'T overfill the bags!
Next, you drive up and down a major roman street, looking for a dumpster to drop your trash in. If you don't own a car, you take a walk with your trash. I don't know what happens if you just let it pile up by your house, but I suspect that is where the legend of Roman Rats comes from.
Laundry. Ugh. It is odd to me that European-style machines are making a comeback in America. Because here, they are a third of the size of their American-made European-style cousins. Big enough to hold two shirts, a few pairs of undies and some socks. Or one king sized flat sheet. Or two towels. And if you follow the guidelines on the machine for washing whites, for example, it will take you 8 hours to do one load.
Because of water-usage requirements here, the laundry tumbles over and over through the same minimal amount of water. So you are effectively washing your clothes in dirty water. Bleach is illegal because it's bad for the water systems. So people pour in tons of scented fabric softener. Why fabric softener?
There are very few clothes driers in Italy. So if you want your clothes dry and it's raining, you hang your laundry over a radiator. Or you hope for sun. In any case, the heavy scent covers any lingering funky smells.
You can never toss an odd kitchen washcloth in with your whites, because your whites will end up smelling of garlic.
Electricity. This is why there are so few driers. Most Italians, and especially those in big cities, are allotted an amount of electricity and heat for each month. (Blame carbon caps and carbon credit-swaps and EU regulations regarding carbon emissions!) If you use up your allotment after two weeks, you don't get any more until the beginning of the next month.
So people will wear the same shirt two or three times, if possible, before washing it. And drench themselves in perfume. And wear a lot of black, because it doesn't show stains.
Co Co Chanel's little black dress was not meant to be a fashion statement. It was borne of the necessity of not doing laundry with dirty water and no electricity.
Having said all that, however, the food is amazing. Where else in the world can you eat so much amazing food that you get tired of it?
After 13 days, my husband has already uttered the words, "Please, no more pasta." And William has said, "No more truffles, please." Spoiled, aren't we?
We have found the best gellateria in Italy: they make amazing flavors like Dark Chocolate with Red Wine; chocolate with Blood Orange; Cassata (Sweet cream with dried fruits which have been soaked in Amaretto and cherry juice and chocolate chunks; and my children's favorite: vanilla. If you come over, it's near the Piazza Navonna, on the street adjacent the theater.
I'm not a fan of truffles, though. Yes, white truffles are in season, and part of me understands the appeal. The rarity. The extravagence of eating something that costs as much as a SMART car...but really, they smell like a wet dog and taste like I think a wet dog would taste: like something that has gotten funky and odorous while growing in the dark and damp.
I think the appreciation of truffles is carried by lifetime smokers (70% of Europe) whose taste buds have long since died, and they appreciate anything they can taste.
I had chocolate and mango gellato with a chocolate sauce, which someone had infused with white truffle. (At Imago restaurant at the Hassler, not the above amazing Gellateria.) Gellato was great. Sauce reminded me of someones old shoe and chocolate. Hmm.
So we will try some more food and report back. Happy Epiphany Everyone! (Another National Holiday tomorrow!)
Trash. We all hate taking it out. Most of us persuade Hubby to do it if we can. Here, you load all of your trash into bags, trying NOT to stuff it too full. The same goes for recycling. Then you load it into your car...and to think I ever complained about trash collection in greater Detroit! If your bags are too full or have holes, the nasty bits will leak and spill into your car, so DON'T overfill the bags!
Next, you drive up and down a major roman street, looking for a dumpster to drop your trash in. If you don't own a car, you take a walk with your trash. I don't know what happens if you just let it pile up by your house, but I suspect that is where the legend of Roman Rats comes from.
Laundry. Ugh. It is odd to me that European-style machines are making a comeback in America. Because here, they are a third of the size of their American-made European-style cousins. Big enough to hold two shirts, a few pairs of undies and some socks. Or one king sized flat sheet. Or two towels. And if you follow the guidelines on the machine for washing whites, for example, it will take you 8 hours to do one load.
Because of water-usage requirements here, the laundry tumbles over and over through the same minimal amount of water. So you are effectively washing your clothes in dirty water. Bleach is illegal because it's bad for the water systems. So people pour in tons of scented fabric softener. Why fabric softener?
There are very few clothes driers in Italy. So if you want your clothes dry and it's raining, you hang your laundry over a radiator. Or you hope for sun. In any case, the heavy scent covers any lingering funky smells.
You can never toss an odd kitchen washcloth in with your whites, because your whites will end up smelling of garlic.
Electricity. This is why there are so few driers. Most Italians, and especially those in big cities, are allotted an amount of electricity and heat for each month. (Blame carbon caps and carbon credit-swaps and EU regulations regarding carbon emissions!) If you use up your allotment after two weeks, you don't get any more until the beginning of the next month.
So people will wear the same shirt two or three times, if possible, before washing it. And drench themselves in perfume. And wear a lot of black, because it doesn't show stains.
Co Co Chanel's little black dress was not meant to be a fashion statement. It was borne of the necessity of not doing laundry with dirty water and no electricity.
Having said all that, however, the food is amazing. Where else in the world can you eat so much amazing food that you get tired of it?
After 13 days, my husband has already uttered the words, "Please, no more pasta." And William has said, "No more truffles, please." Spoiled, aren't we?
We have found the best gellateria in Italy: they make amazing flavors like Dark Chocolate with Red Wine; chocolate with Blood Orange; Cassata (Sweet cream with dried fruits which have been soaked in Amaretto and cherry juice and chocolate chunks; and my children's favorite: vanilla. If you come over, it's near the Piazza Navonna, on the street adjacent the theater.
I'm not a fan of truffles, though. Yes, white truffles are in season, and part of me understands the appeal. The rarity. The extravagence of eating something that costs as much as a SMART car...but really, they smell like a wet dog and taste like I think a wet dog would taste: like something that has gotten funky and odorous while growing in the dark and damp.
I think the appreciation of truffles is carried by lifetime smokers (70% of Europe) whose taste buds have long since died, and they appreciate anything they can taste.
I had chocolate and mango gellato with a chocolate sauce, which someone had infused with white truffle. (At Imago restaurant at the Hassler, not the above amazing Gellateria.) Gellato was great. Sauce reminded me of someones old shoe and chocolate. Hmm.
So we will try some more food and report back. Happy Epiphany Everyone! (Another National Holiday tomorrow!)
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year!
New Year's Eve in Rome was beautiful! It was 60 degrees and sunny until about 5 p.m. By then I was on the Spanish Steps, enjoying a sunset and watching a crowd build around me.
Apparently in Italy, celebrations go one of two ways: either people celebrate as a family, and people fill all mass transit trying to get to their family homes; or, people rush to the center of Rome (or other cities) to watch the fireworks and celebrations.
I did both!
First, I went to the Spanish steps to meet my Aunt, who was vacationing in the city, and do some last minute shopping. Since all the shops closed by 6 p.m., we did very little shopping, but watching the crowds of laughing, drinking, kissing and celebrating people was priceless. (Dear Mastercard, don't use this as an Ad!)
But the atmosphere was unbelievable. There must have been 50,000 people in the Piazza de Spangna, all drinking, celebrating, and waiting for the shows to begin. Because in Rome, people don't just celebrate the new year. They also celebrate the end of the old year, which I think is wonderful.
All night, there were fireworks launched from each of the seven hills that surround greater Rome. Even when I abandoned the city and braved the Roma Nord Train back to Stazione Grotta Rosa (Red Grotto Station) lights exploded over the horizon every few minutes.
Back at home, we didn't do a true Roman Feste: we included our Scottish roots and did Hogmanay at the Villa.
Hogmanay is a Scottish tradition that involves a First Footman (or first foot) coming to your home after midnight, to bring you food, whiskey and fire for good luck. If you leave your home before the first footman comes to call, you are destined for a year of misery. Obviously a true Scottish tradition!
For the first year ever, William stayed up with his Dad to serve as First Foot, and we all had a bit of Chivas, cookies and threw a log on the fire. Auld Lang Syne! And Buona Feste!
We did watch the Italian Countdown to the New Year and the fireworks welcoming the New Year were every bit as lovely as those ushering out the old.
The first day of the New Year was less pleasant, though: we were treated to a tropical storm, complete with hail and high winds, or as the BBC World News (Our only English Language channel!) called it, "A bit of unsettled weather."
On a happy note, we successfully launched our first Skype call, and Helena is thrilled that she can now talk to her best friend.
The shops open again tomorrow, and we hope to brave the sales, because our air shipment has been delayed again! The children don't have any clothes for school!
Happy New Year to all!
Apparently in Italy, celebrations go one of two ways: either people celebrate as a family, and people fill all mass transit trying to get to their family homes; or, people rush to the center of Rome (or other cities) to watch the fireworks and celebrations.
I did both!
First, I went to the Spanish steps to meet my Aunt, who was vacationing in the city, and do some last minute shopping. Since all the shops closed by 6 p.m., we did very little shopping, but watching the crowds of laughing, drinking, kissing and celebrating people was priceless. (Dear Mastercard, don't use this as an Ad!)
But the atmosphere was unbelievable. There must have been 50,000 people in the Piazza de Spangna, all drinking, celebrating, and waiting for the shows to begin. Because in Rome, people don't just celebrate the new year. They also celebrate the end of the old year, which I think is wonderful.
All night, there were fireworks launched from each of the seven hills that surround greater Rome. Even when I abandoned the city and braved the Roma Nord Train back to Stazione Grotta Rosa (Red Grotto Station) lights exploded over the horizon every few minutes.
Back at home, we didn't do a true Roman Feste: we included our Scottish roots and did Hogmanay at the Villa.
Hogmanay is a Scottish tradition that involves a First Footman (or first foot) coming to your home after midnight, to bring you food, whiskey and fire for good luck. If you leave your home before the first footman comes to call, you are destined for a year of misery. Obviously a true Scottish tradition!
For the first year ever, William stayed up with his Dad to serve as First Foot, and we all had a bit of Chivas, cookies and threw a log on the fire. Auld Lang Syne! And Buona Feste!
We did watch the Italian Countdown to the New Year and the fireworks welcoming the New Year were every bit as lovely as those ushering out the old.
The first day of the New Year was less pleasant, though: we were treated to a tropical storm, complete with hail and high winds, or as the BBC World News (Our only English Language channel!) called it, "A bit of unsettled weather."
On a happy note, we successfully launched our first Skype call, and Helena is thrilled that she can now talk to her best friend.
The shops open again tomorrow, and we hope to brave the sales, because our air shipment has been delayed again! The children don't have any clothes for school!
Happy New Year to all!
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