Texans in Italy

This may launch me over the cuckoo's nest

2007-12-08T16:11:00.000+01:00

It's not that I haven't had anything to say recently. When you're in your eighth month of pregnancy in a foreign country, your gripes and musings really stack up.

There's the obvious gripes of not being able to get the foods I crave: Jif peanut butter, Mexican food, soft cookies. But a wonderful woman at the US Embassy gave me two jars of Jif a few weeks ago; I can appease any food craving with a little peanut butter. Plus, the last time I wrote I had a serious aversion to all foods Italian, so really...things on the eating front are looking up.

And then there's the embarrassment and frustration at the doctors' offices....like the time I went to the OBGYN with Jack and S (female friend and translator) and I was told to get in the stirrups in full view of Jack and S with no towel, blanket, or gown for my modesty. At which point the doctor felt my insides and declared me "morbido, morbido" (soft, soft) in a manner that said the recipient of this news should be filled with pride...and yet somehow I wasn't.
Or when I went to the public hospital to make an appointment for my five-month-ultrasound and was told that there was a six-month-waiting list for that ultrasound. (!?!)
Or the time I went for a urine test and learned that some hospitals are BYOB: Buy Your Own Bicchiere (from the vending machine in the lobby).
Or the other day when I had my third ultrasound and was told by my doctor (using the first English phrase she's every muttered to me) that my baby is "just a little bit fat."
Or the time that we took Nora to the doctor (again) because her eczema was acting up (again), and we wanted to see about getting an allergy test. And the dermatologist looked at Nora and (two minutes after meeting my child) told Jack that "this child worries too much. She's too serious. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. And maybe her parents fight in front of her too much. She doesn't need an allergy test; she needs to go outside and play." Among the trees and grass and pollen that I suspect she might be allergic to. I relay this story to you two months post-visit. Nora's arms remained covered with bumps and a rash until we refilled the prescription from a doctor we'd seen at a different hospital.

There's the anxiety of having a baby in general. Looking for and buying supplies, deciding on names, etc. We still don't know if the baby is a boy or a girl. We had the doctor write down the sex, cut out the incriminating photos, and send it to my parents. So they know. As do any inquiring minds who emailed my father. But we're still in the dark. (Our money's on it being a boy, and we have no idea what we would call it. If it's a girl, Sofia is the front runner.)

Work has changed dramatically for me; we're living in a much larger apartment than the last time I wrote; and Nora's school gave the parents a calendar at the beginning of this school year. Life is good.

But none of those things have inspired me to write. Right now the thing I think about most is not the Christmas season or the work that I've let pile up or the shopping I need to do or the human I'm growing. No...the tiny creature that's consuming my thoughts lately is much, much smaller than my four-pound kicker.

We've got ants.

At first there were just a few. They showed up in our bathroom every once in a while. They weren't drinking the water or going after the toothpaste. Just strolling across the floor. It was a little disconcerting. These were not the orderly, purposeful, single-file American ants I was used to. But I laughed at them and called them Italian ants. Just making a passeggiata across my bathroom. How very Italian of them.

Since then they've started to blitzkrieg. Random, separated by a week or more, attacks. Go to bed; everything's fine. Wake up, and the cabinets in the kitchen are covered. Bleach. Buy ant baits. Go on with your life. Go into the restroom and discover that they're attacking the cough syrup. And the lice medicine (i.e., poison) we bought last year. They were swarming the poison.

And that's just it. It's not so much the ants that are making me crazy; it's that I don't understand what kind of ants I'm dealing with. These ants eat poison. These ants scurry and hide when I come after them. It's almost impossible to get them all because ten will be clinging to the backside of the Mentadent. Since when do ants hide? Since when do they do anything but walk in a line, get the food, turn around, deliver the food. They're not supposed to think, hide, plot, attack. But that's what these ants are doing.

So what can I do? I clean. Not at all my favorite past time, but lately Jack has been making jokes about my OCD behavior. ME! Instead of starving the ants or discouraging them from living in my home, it makes them walk farther for things like cough syrup or dirty clothes in the hamper in my bedroom! They walk over and around the ant baits, but apparently are not interested in going inside. I tried buying poison from the hardware store, but the man wouldn't sell it to me because I'm pregnant. And Jack seems to think he's right!

Does anyone have experience with these ants that defy everything you ever thought you understood about ants? Can they be stopped in a way that won't give me a two-headed baby?

Help. Please.

FOOD!

2007-11-15T18:52:00.000+01:00

One of things we appreciate most about Italy is the food. Duh!

It all starts with simple, high-quality ingredients that vary by region, giving each region its own identity and version of"Italian Food." The food from Puglia or Calabria, down in the South are vastly different from the heartland in Emilia-Romagna or the northern region of Lombardi.

Below is the market in San Cosimato, Trastevere, Rome, where we get our ingredients. We get fruits and vegetables from Bruno (below).

All sorts of meat from this family of butchers (even though they're Lazio fans).

The seafood stall has all sorts of beautiful and strange creatures. Here are the Vongole: littleneck clams.

Of course, some people are too feeble to walk to the market everyday. So the market comes to them. Sometimes with a pulley.

Wine from Biaggio and Rosa. Below is Nora buying wine all by herself. She has no idea I followed her.

This is the fig tree outside of our window. We couldn't eat them fast enough in the summer. So good...

Sometimes we bring ingredients back with us when we travel. This is taken on the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples, where the peppers are left to dry in the breeze.

So, when we get all the ingredients together, we've learned to prepare them in classic ways.

Mussels are cooked simply steamed in a large pot with a few inches of water in the bottom. After they open, they are drizzled with dry white wine, parsley, and red pepper flakes. Sometimes we throw in diced, cooked tomatoes. We always soak up the broth with a fresh loaf of bread. Sometimes I throw in some anise liquor to spark it up--a real treat. A little cilantro instead of parsley at the very end adds a nice flavor too.

Below is the fish from Cetara, on the Aegean seaside village in Campania's Amalfi Coast. The focus is on simple seafood.

Below is the pride of the Cetarese fishing fleet: anchovies. Here they are whole and very slightly breaded and pan-fried. They're about the size of Nora's biggest finger and have none of the same nasty flavor as the super-salty anchovies thrown on pizza al over the world. These are light, crisp, and addictive. See Nora below, becoming addicted.

Below is a whole sea bass, a langostino, and something that translates as "flying squid fish," or cuttlefish--all grilled, with a slight citrus bend.

More fish in Cetara, this time it's tuna and swordfish (tonno e pesce spada), smoked and sliced paper thin. It's like carpaccio, but with a distinct smoky flavor. Nora loved this and still craves it. Unfortunately, Cetara is the only place I know that makes this dish. Also on the dish: marinated anchovy and octopus.

This was so unique and interesting, I had to order it: gnocchi with a sauce of broccoli and squid ink on the island of Procida.

On the other sea, the Adriatic, the food is similar, but the preparation is very different. Here's Portonovo in the region Le Marche. Nora thoroughly enjoyed the complex flavor of the seafood risotto with a prawn.

My primo piatto: Tagliatelle with Vongole (clams)--excellent.

We learn how and why things are prepared as they are, then experiment with modern twists.

Amatriciana comes from the town close to Rome named Amatrice, and is basically a sauce of Pancetta (or Guanciale--cured pork jowls), garlic or onion, and tomatoes served over pasta--spaghetti, bomboletti, or bucatini. It is far and away Brandy's favorite. It's her barometer--she uses it to judge a restaurant.

Cooking at home (below) I sometimes add a diced, dried hot chili pepper. Or I caramelize some tomato paste on the side of the pan while cooking the rest and add some white wine.

Everyone asks us if we eat tons of gelato. Well, I'm with a pregnant woman and a young daughter, so the answer is...of course! I'd be a dead man otherwise. Nora's favorites are straciatella (chocolate chip) and nutella. Brandy's favorites change every week, but some she likes are pear/cinnamon, chocolate/banana, and semifreddo (like a mousse). Mine are spicy chocolate, orange chocolate, and chocolate mint. Below is Nora ordering away.

Sometimes we need a little taste from home. Here is Nora showing off her enchiladas. Of course, we have to make some changes. I normally wouldn't put basil on top of chipotle enchiladas.

Cetara on the Amalfi Coast

2007-11-12T17:01:00.000+01:00

CETARA, AMALFI COAST, CAMPANIA, ITALY

We soaked up the last of the sunny days this year in the village of Cetara on the Amalfi Coast down in Campania. It's between Salerno and Amalfi and is one of the very authentic villages on this popular coastline, still depending heavily on its tiny fishing fleet.

Cetara hasn't really been discovered yet. I couldn't find much mention of it in any guidebooks--which is a big plus. But my favorite food writer, Carla Capalbo, stayed here for several months while writing her most recent book "The Food and Wine Guide to Naples and Campania."

There are 2 beaches in Cetara. The first is at the end of the main road in town and small--about the length of a football field. Here's Nora talking to the fisherman who were using this sunny day to paint their boats.

The other is on the other side of the marina. This is where Nora and I swam with about a dozen others. The water was cool but not unbearable. Much like Barton Springs (about 68 F, 20 C). But it was too cold for the baby-maker. Sadly, Brandy only watched from the beach.

The town is known for its anchovies (alici). Don't even think of the super-salty blech! kind from that nasty pizza you had years ago. These are marinated, delicate, and flavorful. They're so far removed from that taste you are recalling right now. Here is Nora shoveling them down.

We played in the tidal pools and thought about catching some sea urchins. The water was more clear and green than the photo shows.

Here's the beautiful siren herself.

And another that looks like a painting to me.

One of the bet restaurants in town is Acqua Pazza. It's right in front of the main beach. The other 2 incredible restaurants are within an amalfi-lemon's throw: il Convento and San Pietro. I don't think I'm going to comment on this photo in front of Acqua Pazza.

The next time we go to Amalfi, we'll go to Cetara again, as well as the next town down the way: Erchie. Here's the bird's eye view.

To see more photos, visit my picasa photo page.

--

Morocco, Africa

2007-11-05T17:51:00.000+01:00

Morocco: Casablanca, Marrakesh, and Rabat

Here are some pictures from our quick 5 day trip to Morocco. The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca (Dar El-Baida). The minaret is the highest in the world (210 meters, almost 700 feet) and the Mosque is one of few in the world to be open to non-Muslims.

Welcome to Marrakesh. Jack and Nora arriving at the train station after a grueling train ride through shifting desert sands. Not really--the comfortable Belgian-made train was a quick and pleasant 3 hours from Casablanca.

Marrakesh has a number of nice homes converted into very small hotels called Riads. They are usually 4 or so rooms surrounding a cool garden courtyard in the old part of town (the Medina) and are great places to get away from the craziness of the narrow alleys of the Medina. This one has doors that suit Nora's size well.

The zellij tile work of Moroccan architecture.

This is one of those things that really stands out in your imagination: the huge plaza in the heart of the Medina--the Djemaa el-Fna--a place that really defies description. Where else can you find the snake charmers...

Colorfully-dressed guys selling water...

Or serious religious men wearing Crocs?

Some views of Djemaa el-Fna once the stalls open with food cooking away.

Here we are riding camels.

Carpet buying in the Creii Berber--the Berber carpet Souk. After about 45 minutes of looking and negotiating and trying to figure out what makes each carpet unique among the piles of them, you break for some mint tea with the shop owner and come up with your final price.

The Place Rahba Qedima, where you can buy ingredients for all kinds of potions--chameleons for luck in your love life, live scorpions for some potion, and caged hawks, live turtles, squirrels and gazelle heads for some other reason. I'm a bit sketchy on the details. It was overall a very sketchy little back-alley market.

The Spice Souk--full of vivid colors and smells. The spices are earthy and no longer arrive after a 52 day camel caravan from Timbuktu.

More cool Islamic architecture in Marrakesh.

Nora really loved the camel ride. She got the friendly one. He seemed to pose for my camera. I was on the mean camel who eventually bit Brandy's butt.

We took a horse carriage back to the Riad one night. It wasn't the ridiculously expensive ride like you find in Rome. To tell the truth, it was the first time Nora, Brandy, or I ever rode on a horse-drawn carriage. Our driver was much nicer than this photo would have you believe.

We headed to Rabat for the last day of our trip and were pleasantly surprised by its large and open streets. And the endless ocean was a welcome site, the opposite of the labyrinthian Medinas.

I apologize to the entire Arab world. It's surprising that we Americans have such a bad public image.

NEXT STOP...THE AMALFI COAST IN ITALY.

Trip down to Isola Ischia

2007-10-22T19:14:00.001+02:00

We've decided to do many more short trips to amazing places because--well, why the hell not?

One of our first was to the island of Ischia, the biggest island in the bay of Naples. It was gorgeous and with the 200 mph fast-train from Rome to Naples, it was a very nice day-trip on a beautiful Sunday.

Here's the map of the island.

The Aragon Castle in Ischia Ponte

Peproncini at the market. Very spicy.

Mt. Vesuvius from the window of the ferry.

Brandy and Jack on the ferry. Photo by Nora--hence the low perspective.

Brandy and Nora on the beach at Ischia Ponte. Photo by Jack.

Our lunch of seafood, white wine, and fizzy water with the castelin the background. Photo by Nora. Nice eye, no?

The sun setting meant it was time to go home. Boats in Ischia Porto.

Our next trip is to Casablanca, Marrakesh, and Rabat in Morocco. We leave Thursday and return the following Monday. Wish us luck with the camels, the souks, and the medinas. My friend Carlos recommends only the funky-cold ones.

Brandy's belly

2007-10-15T18:49:00.000+02:00

Month 6

Month 5

Month 3

Summer in Mexico

2007-10-15T17:22:00.000+02:00

when you reach a certain point, and haven't spoken with someone for months, you're not sure where to start. i'll start with an apology. it's been too long--i know. but i'll try to update you here and know this: we are going to write a entry each week. here's a sneak preview: gripes about the price of strollers; a love of socialized medicine; short trips to beautiful places; general dislike of italian customs; general praises of italian customs; our upcoming trip to Casablanca, Marrakesh, and Rabat in Morocco; italian food and wine; and of course many pictures of the little one growing in Brandy's belly.

this first entry will cover our trip to Mexico. Nora was there from early july until early August. lucky kid. she stayed with my parents ("i nonni" in Italian, "los abuelos" in Spanish--though she addresses them in the German "Oma and Opa") in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico.

We went to Guadalajara a few times and to the beach in Nayarit--a beautiful place named Chacala.

Without further ado...

Nora sampling the wine like a good Italian

From Mexico, summe...

the several hundred year-old church in Ajijic

nora in my parents' backyard, looking up toward the mountains. it was the rainy season, so they're shrouded in the clouds.

the beautiful dessert made just for her at an incredible Italian restaurant in Ajijic (huh?!)

the sunset in Chacala, Nayarit

riding in a fishing boat to an uninhabited beach up the coast

brandy at the secret beach looking like Ursula Andress (who lives around the corner from my office in Rome) in the the James Bond movie "Dr. No"

cute street sign

mangos sabrosas

nora has now convinced both of her grandmothers to get her a kitten from the pound. this one, named Purrrrr-fect, is being cared for by my wonderful parents. suckers...

nora and my mom at the zoo in guadalajara

my brother Chris, my dad Patrick, my mother Maryann, sister Abby, her girlfriend Laura, baby's mama Brandy, and I are about to throw Nora to the dogs

food cart on the beach in Rincon de Guayabitos. that snack on the right? fish-on-a-stick, my friend--fish-on-a-stick.

my friend, my surf idol, my travel buddy, my favorite inanimate object

What in/around my desk is 4 cm long?

2007-07-19T15:11:00.000+02:00

The metal end to a key--before you get to the rounded bit at the top.
A small paper clip--not a big one.
The plastic lid to a flash drive.

And...that's about it. I thought I'd be able to find more, but everything else is bigger.
A bottle of white out is 7.5 cm.
The cap to a Sharpie is 5 cm long...so is the big paper clip.

Four centimeters is TINY.
So please excuse the quality of this photo. I've blown it up so that you can MAYBE make out that there is a 4cm-long baby growing in my belly. Hanging out on a hammock--is how Jack describes this fetal pose.

Do you see it above the white "hammock"? It looks like it has a speech bubble coming out of its mouth. I think that's it. It seemed so much clearer when it was on the tv.

Even though I'm only two months along, the doctors thought it was a good idea to get a sonogram (ecografia) before we left for the states. Since it's so tiny, it is not possible to know if it's a boy or a girl. But Jack likes to be surprised anyway...so nobody will know until approximately February 9. The doctor counted limbs, length, heartbeat, and other things I couldn't translate. There were no problems, and the baby seems healthy.

The only bad side so far to being pregnant is that I've developed a horrible aversion to Italian food. ALL Italian food. I can't stand to see it, smell it, think about it. I know technically there's no such thing as "Italian food." There are so many regional differences that you call it Tuscan food or Roman food, etc. My problem, however, seems to be that I can't stand cooked tomatoes, sliced meats, sausage, most cheeses, and oil. If you have any suggestions for what a girl in Rome can eat without those ingredients, I'd love to hear them. Until I go home I'll continue with my rotation of burger, chicken, veal. All with mashed potatoes.

Il Palio in Siena

2007-07-16T10:47:00.000+02:00

Forget the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain--that's been taken over by wine-soaked American college boys and drunk Australians getting their kicks Hemmingway-style. Il Palio--probably the shortest horserace in the world--is the real deal.

And it's a bare-backed race.

Held on the 2nd of July and the 16th of August in Siena, Tuscany, Italy, the race and its pageantry looks the same as it must have 400 years ago, when they stated racing in the smallish main piazza called the Piazza del Campo.

The view of the piazza on a normal day.

Before that, in the 1400s, the horses would scamper all through town. When the race moved to the Campo, the small track only had room for 10 of the 17 neighborhoods, or contrade, to race at a time. The confusing arrangement of guaranteed spots and lottery draws keep a different blend of 10 of the 17 racing each time. Actually, it's even more confusing than this sounds: there is room only for 9 horses to line up on the track. The 10th horse lingers behind the lineup and starts the race while running an arc behind the pack. It's very confusing and a nightmare of timing to get all the horses together at the right time. In this race there are no starting gates, just authentic Italian orderly chaos.

The joy of Il Palio is its timelessness. The only souvenirs being hawked are the banners of the 17 contrade. Each contrada has its own banner and its own rival. When all is said and done, one contrada losing is not as painful as that contrada's rival winning it all. Tears flow from the old and the young when this happens.

The morning of each Palio starts with a practice run, followed by the blessing of the horses--in the church. It's considered good luck if the horse poops--in the church.

The contrade are:
Aquila (Eagle), Bruco (Caterpillar), Chiocciola (Snail), Civetta (Owl), Drago (Dragon), Giraffa (Giraffe), Istrice (Porcupine), Leocorno (Unicorn), Lupa (She-Wolf), Nicchio (Shell), Oca (Goose), Onda (Wave), Pantera (Panther), Selva (Forest), Tartuca (Tortoise), Torre (Tower) and Valdimontone (Ram)

And the winner this July 2 was...nope, not yet.

The entire piazza goes berserk when the race starts. The whole race consists of 3 laps around the rim of the piazza and lasts less than a few minutes. A horse can lose it's rider and still win, as long as the horse still has the Contrada insignia on its head when it crosses the finish line. It only ends when the cannons fire, signaling the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place crossings, at which point the berserk factor goes way, way up. The winning horse is taken to a nearby church to have its hooves painted gold. Yep, gold.

The party goes on all night.

Nora, Brandy, my visiting father Patrick, and I braved the crowds and craziness and had an incredible time. We've never been so crowded for so long. Once in the piazza, you pretty much are stuck until after the race. No running to the bathroom, no breathing room for the mildly claustrophobic (Brandy), and no place to sit down (sorry, Dad). You just tough it out and see the most exciting race in the world.

This July, the exciting race was won by Oca, the goose.

See more at:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palio_di_Siena

The Best Souvenir from Italy

2007-07-10T12:21:00.000+02:00

This is a very strange way to spread the news, but here it is:

This is Brandy's belly with our baby inside. We're all very excited and Nora is out-of-her-mind with happiness to finally be a big sister. She promises not to torment him-her. He or she will appear sometime around Valentine's Day, 2008, so plan your February trip to Italy.

!!!!!!!

Jack, Brandy, and Nora

father's day at the beach

2007-06-21T09:29:00.001+02:00

i thought that hopping on a train and going to the beach sounded like a good idea. and since it was father's day in america and i'm an american father, i got to make the decision. brandy didn't even know where we were going.

i think she was pleasantly surprised.

Portonovo, Le March, Italy

This town is far enough from big cities and is so off the beaten path that most tour books don't mention it. It is not on the way anywhere, so you really have to go out of your way. Those who do are rewarded greatly. The water is crystal clear and the landscape is like the chalky limestone hills of Austin, Texas cut abruptly by the Mediterranean Sea.

The beaches in Italy are a bit different than what we are used to. Most Italians go to be seen and talk with their beach friends--who may be the same friends they talk to every other day or they may be friends they only see at the beach. Either way, the 2 reasons to go to the beach are to talk and to develop an extremely dark tan. The threat of skin cancer doesn't stand a chance compared to the Italian needs to look good and be social.

Here's Brandy looking good and being social.

The food is wonderful. Seafood obviously is the big star. Here is a sequence of Nora trying a snail cooked in a tomato&garlic sauce.

ok, ill try it...

Chewing...hmm, strange texture...

nope, definitely not a winner.

she also had some gnocchi with prawns. it was excellent.

and i had some tagliatelle with clams (vongole) and a grilled sea bass (spigola). they were both excellent and the fish was the freshest i've ever had. here's a picture of the pasta.

Another thing that's different in Italy is the beach itself. Many are pebbly, some are sandy, some are just plain rocky, and others feel like you're walking on Nerds candy--smooth and not painful to walk on (almost massage-like), but definitely not fine enough to be sand. This beach had them all. The main part of the beach is sandy and then pebbly. By scrambling across some rocks and wading through some knee-deep water, you get to a different beach. It had some of the nerds candy sand and some good old fashioned sand. This is where we went.

Here we are crossing the rocks:

Here's Nora wading through the knee-deep water.

And here's the view down the beach.

Ah, what a view...

The water is nearly perfect--a little cold but very pleasant on a warm day and clear as can be. the only thing missing is surfable waves. Well, you can't have everything...

Update on Bush's Visit

2007-06-11T13:06:00.000+02:00

After recommendations from the Italian government and Secret Service, Bush decided to cancel his visit to Trastevere. It seems that the narrow, winding alleys of Trastevere were too difficult to secure. (That's a major understatement, by the way. That they ever dreamed they could logistically pull off a visit to our tiny piazza is beyond me.) See the mayhem Bush's visit caused below. This is what I what I was afraid would happen below my house. Unfortunately for our friend Maria it happened below hers instead. Sorry, Maria.

We managed to stay completely clear of the whole thing. Nora and I went to the park (Villa Pamphili) and had a wonderful time. If you could see past the police posted every five feet along the path, it was very peaceful and serene.

Dub-ya is starving my family

2007-06-06T16:01:00.001+02:00

George W. Bush will be in Rome on Saturday. Just look where the tiny piazza that he's chosen to speak is located!That's Piazza Sant' Egidio. Notice how it's located at the end of Via della Scala---MY STREET!!
Oh help me. We'll be lucky to leave our homes at all on Saturday.

Trip to Lecce, Puglia

2007-06-05T10:45:00.001+02:00

Puglia (pronounced Poolia, like Julia) is down in the heel of the Italian boot.

Lecce (pronounced much like the Spanish word for milk--leche) is the beautiful town in the middle with its own style of architecture: lecce boroque.

People in Lecce are short. Even Nora has to duck to get in.
This is the hotel we stayed in. It's in a 16th cenury palazzo and only set us back about 45 euro/night. Highly recommended with a great rooftop view. There are actually 2 in the palazzo: The Centro Storico B&B
and The Azzurretta B&B.
The owners are brothers. The brother we stayed with is named--i kid you not--Toolio.

I am a deadly weapon. You've been warned.

Here's a common mode of transportation. Not really, but it does remind me of the bigwheel I had as a kid.

This blurred view of the Puglia countryside between Bari and Brindisi. It looks like an impressionist painting. You can probably photoshop a Monet painting pretty easily from this.

Nora likes to make her mom nervous. OK, maybe I encourage this behavior.

The happy travelers in Santa Maria di Leuca.

The water is really that color. The limestone filters the water and the light sand reflects the sunlight. It looks clean enough to drink (not recommended).

These next 2 are taken from the very tip of the stilletto heel of the boot. It's the first place in Italy to see the sunrise in the morning.

These people were having a picnic and catching sea urchins, clams, oysters, fish and other stuff that they eat raw in Puglia. Don't cringe; it tastes great.

More beautiful water, if you like that sort of thing. Again, not drinkable. Who knew?

Very trusting people. Who wants a boat?

Crazy kids--horsing around. (Sorry.)

We decided to go different ways. The beach north of Otranto, Puglia.

I'll miss her, though.

United again, surfing the rocks of the Adriatic Sea.

Brandy doesn't like to run around in the sand as much, but she doesn't judge us for our childish behavior.

--------------------------------------------------

Relief and Revelation

2007-06-04T11:40:00.000+02:00

Update on our 9months of bills situation: really not so bad. Our total amount for nine months of bills looks like about 3-4 months of bills in Texas. I guess that's the upside of living in a shoebox. An air conditionless shoebox.

That was the relief. Here's the revelation: In the middle of all of this piles-o-bills anxiety, I ran out of hair product. And ever since the ogre at the airport took my new bottle of Bumble and Bumble, I've been bouncing around from mousse to paste to cream...none of them good. Frankly, I don't think the Italians have a clue what to do with curly hair. It looks as though the women here brush their curls...even when dry!! (Ask a woman with curls if you don't know.)

So with the end of each tube or can or bottle, I've had to search for another mediocre replacement. But this time I didn't want to spend another precious Euro on something mediocre--not when I had nine months of bills looming over my head. On the other hand you can't just go around with curly hair and no product whatsoever.

That's when I remembered something a wise stylist once told me: Curls only need moisture--that's all your product needs to do--keep 'em moist.

Olive oil.

Please let our couch cushions reveal lost riches.

2007-05-29T09:49:00.000+02:00

One strategy I employ when faced with conflict is the "Just ignore it and maybe it will go away" technique. Not a wise (or very effective) strategy, but one that brings me instant (albeit temporary) gratification. The thing is sometimes it works. In my younger years, I ignored a ticket...and it turned into a warrant. But THEN I ignored the warrant, and it went away. That is not the only instance of effective "wishing away" a problem. I'd say it has had a 10% success rate, which is terrible statistically, but just good enough for me to continue using it with crossed fingers that THIS time is that magical 1 in 10.

We don't receive mail at our apartment. All letters and packages from friends back home are sent to our office address because we have NEVER (save two rare examples) received a thing in our mailbox. Including bills. At first I asked around. "No. Don't worry. It often takes four months to receive your first bill." Bills here only come every two months, and you often miss the first cycle and get hit hard with the big four-month bill.

Nine months later, still no bills. At this point I don't talk about bills; I don't think about bills, because if you talk about the problem or even think about the problem then you are not fully ignoring the problem. I do, however, walk quickly, eyes straight ahead, past our leasing agency, which is located next door to our apartment. I suspect Jack has been doing the same thing because yesterday he said "they caught me." Our landlord would like to meet with us about our lease and to give us our bills.

So let's see that's 9 months of electricity that is reportedly 5 times as high as it is in the states; plus 9 months of gas that is reportedly 3 times as high as it is the states; plus 9 months of phone usage that charges by the minute for all local and long distance calls plus extra for all calls to cell phones for a grand total of...

perhaps a new philosophy on conflict resolution.

Another thing to give thanks for

2007-05-28T13:06:00.001+02:00

We all know that trying on bathing suits is a horrific experience that we all dread. An event that brings joy to no one except the makers of miracle creams and machines, the writers of diet fad books of the week, and the creators of Cathy. For without the fear of bathing suits our dear Cathy (and her readers) would be content and happy in their own skin. And happy women don't buy miracle creams, machines, and diet fad books of the week. But I digress. This is not a soap box for me to tell women to love their bodies just the way they are. Clearly I am not above getting a little crazy thinking about my ass. I thought that the women in America should know that they have one more thing to be thankful for.

You have not experienced the pain of trying on bathing suits until you've tried on a bathing suit in Italy.

So far it's been rather challenging to get a shop keeper to help me look for shirts, pants, and shoes. Not so when you're looking for bathing suits. They descend upon you, look you up and down, surmising your Euro-size, and then hurry you into a room with your unfortunately mismatched sizes (bigger than you'd like on the bottom and smaller than you'd like on the top--or perhaps that's just me).

At this point you're in the tiny room with the florescent bulb, which is reminiscent of shops back home but smaller, so you're literally on the mirror. There's no hope of achieving a better reflection via distance or angles. You're exposed. With shadows and dimples you'd never noticed before, now very prominently displayed under the greenish flicker of the florescent light, with your (what you thought were) high-cut panties sticking out like your granny's under the bottoms of the bathing suit that was cut for the impossibly perfect ass, all in a reflection that is a mere 12 inches from your body.

And then the curtain is pulled back. And now you're really exposed. And the shop keeper examines you and assures you that the bottoms are not too small. "This is Italy. You're German, so you don't know, but that's how we wear bathing suits in Italy." At this point you stammer back in your poor Italian that you are NOT German--as if it were that mistake that took your dignity--but the "same-difference" look on her face when you tell her that you're American does not help you regain any shred of dignity.

You yank the curtain back and hastily put on your street clothes. When you walk out you ask how much the cheaply made piece of tiny cloth costs. 65 Euros (that's 90 dollars) so you thank the woman for her time and walk on to the next store under the naiive assumption that this store and this woman were an overbearing exception to the rule.

Three shops and three humiliating experiences later you realize that last year's bathing suit is actually much nicer than you'd remembered it, and you go home.

We found Mexicans!

2007-05-21T12:16:00.000+02:00

And more importantly real Mexican food! In Piazza della Repubblica on Sunday evenings, the sidewalks are lined with street vendors selling tamales, pozole, rotisserie chicken, tacos, burritos, sodas, and beer. Plastic containers of salsa and peppers hang from the fence, waiting to douse your meal. Bad music blares from boom boxes, and everyone sits around eating deliciously bad for you food.

(Discovery made on way back from train station after a fabulous weekend in Umbria. Details and pictures to come.... Right, Jack?)

This one might get filed under TMI--Too Much Information

2007-04-26T10:28:00.000+02:00

Going to a doctor in a foreign country is always a bit of a challenge. Even if you speak the same language. Jack likes to tell the story of my embarrassing misunderstanding in an Irish hospital.

About 8 hours after Nora was born, a nurse was doing her rounds in my ward. She went from bed to bed asking all of the moms a series of questions. When she got to my bed she asked me "Have you piddled yourself yet?" I had never heard the term "piddle" before, and I was still not used to the way the Irish throw that reflexive pronoun around. (e.g., They might say "Has himself come by today?" Instead of "Has he come by today?")
Anyway...I didn't know what piddle meant, but it was obviously a euphemism for something...something...something that a nurse wouldn't want to say in a room full of people...something embarrassing...or naughty...piddle myself?.. piddle myself? what is something embarrassing or naughty that I do to myself?
?!
Why would the nurse ask about that? I wondered as I whispered and sputtered"n-n-No. No I haven't piddled myself today." To which she replied, "Well you really should try." It was at about this point that my brain registered the second possible (and in retrospect, only sensible) meaning for "piddle."
"Oh right. Pee. Yes, actually I have peed today."

And that was all in English. You can imagine the problems one might have at the doctor's office when one doesn't speak the language at all. Luckily in this country, you can go to the farmacia and tell them what you need, and (for the most part) they'll give it to you without a prescription.
No--I haven't tried asking for any of THOSE medicines. And obviously I wouldn't go in and prescribe myself an antibiotic for symptoms I didn't recognize, but there are some things that you know you have when you have 'em, and you don't need a doctor to tell you that you need antibiotics.

Recently I was able to get a prescription for Augmentin at my local farmacia with no problem. But then...as often happens when I take antibiotics...my body's chemistry got all out of whack, and I had to make another trip to the farmacia. Unfortunately, while prescription items are relatively easy to get, over the counter items are literally behind the counter, and are physically impossible to reach without asking. (Even Band-Aids are kept safe back there.)

This story ends with me peeking out from under my hands saying "ok ok. Ho capito. Ho capito." (I understand. I understand.) As the man behind the counter is demonstrating for me (and the rest of the farmacia) how to operate a vaginal suppository.

Mortifying. When are we coming home?

We're Coming Home

2007-04-25T14:30:00.000+02:00

Nora goes to Mexico July 4th with Jack's father.
Jack and I join her on July 26th.
We head to the brown beaches of Texas on August 5th.
We all come to Austin somewhere around the 11th of August.
Nora and I go back to Rome on the 21st of August.
One (or all) of these dates may be a little wrong...but they're close.

The Ladies

2007-04-12T15:10:00.000+02:00

There are obvious questions people ask when someone moves to certain locations. Knee jerk responses based on media and stereotypes. Iconography that exists because...it's typically true.
Ireland--Drink any Guiness lately?
Texas--Have you learned to ride a horse?
Chicago--Windy?
New York--Been mugged yet?

"I live in Italy" brings on an onslaught.
How's the pizza? Is the food really good? Are you eating lots of gelato? The appropriate answer to each of these being "duh." Italy is known for its fantastic cuisine and wine, and for good reason. It's every bit as amazing as you might imagine.
The other obligatory questions are Is the fashion great? and Are the people really beautiful? My answer to these is Yes. Irritatingly so. Complex-inducingly so.

The concept of La Bella Figura in Italy powerfully shapes the image of all its people. This concept could not be more foreign to an Austinite. In Austin going to the store with no makeup, bedhead, and jeans and a t-shirt that narrowly passed the sniff test is not only acceptable but might even be regarded by some as confident. A statement that you don't care what other people think of how you look (or smell) because you've got intelligence and character and substance. The image is not important.

I'd now like to call your attention to the policeman at the right. This image was found by googling "la bella figura." The policemen here are all about it. Look at his white cuffs, gloves, and (rumor has it) Armani designed uniform. Traffic cops here stand on a raised platform in the middle of the street and proudly motion their white-gloved hands at the frenetic motorini and Fiats as they whiz by. A noble profession here--to be in the public eye looking good all day long. (The reason that police have nothing to do but sit around looking good all day can also be explained by la bella figura. Committing a crime would make a brutta figura. And we can't have that.)
I enjoy watching the police looking regal on their raised platforms or leaning on cars in the piazza. Just as I'm sure Jack enjoys watching the much more beautiful and manicured Italian women maintaining their La Bella Figuras all over the place.

Polished beautiful women strut in their stilettos down the cobblestone streets. Fancy outfits, fancy shoes, perfect makeup. All. The. Time. Just out to get your morning coffee? Not until you've showered and picked out your perfect Prada for the occasion. And they're truly beautiful...all of them.

Part of the reason I'm posting about this is because someone should, and Jack probably feels like he can't without facing physical retribution. And I don't have the energy right now to be vague and employ double entendre for comedic effect, so forgive my bluntness. I'd just like to know why everyone talks about the Roman Nose--which doesn't really stand out over here--but nobody ever talks about the Italian butts--which stand out quite well.

Seriously...grandmothers in stilettos and skinny jeans with gravity-defying butts. All the brash and offensive things you've ever heard guys say, I THINK THESE THINGS. Not to objectify of course; I'm just awe-inspired. I tried googling Italian Butt, Italian Ass, Italian Rear, etc. to show you what I mean, but apparently nobody else thinks archiving a good ass in jeans a worthy project. (Thongs, yes. Jeans, no.)

So there you have it. What has Italy done for me lately? Given me a complex about my backside. I'm just hoping that the nature vs. nurture debate comes down on the side of nurture in this case, and that by the time I come home, all this Italian food and cobblestone streets will have nurtured my rear into an Italian form, and that the Italian butt is not all in the genes. (pun begrudgingly left due to lack of caffeine and creativity)

Barcelona!

2007-04-05T15:07:00.000+02:00

We finally took a big family trip: a long weekend trip to Barcelona. The weather was lovely and the food and drink were divine. Barcelona won some big soccer championship that weekend and Ronaldinho was deified by Barcelona.

The beach was windy (hence the jacket) but that won't stop Nora.

Nora scaling a light post in front of the Arch de Triomf. I think that's how it's spelled in Catalan.

They like bikes in Spain.

Mmmmm...kitty.

Antoni Gaudi's Sagrada Familia church reflected in a pond.

Another, this one has the real one and the reflection.

Such a good traveler:

Munching on tapas, sipping wine and Cola Cao (hot cocoa) for Nora.

Pointing out the million kinds of fish tapas.

One of Gaudi's apartment buildings. He did not like straight lines, since there aren't any in nature.

A Gaudi apartment and office building.

Nora and Jack from the Parc Guel, overlooking the city.

Another view from the top.

The columns aren't even in straight lines.

Brandy's favorite part of the trip: the Labyrinth. It was so cool. The walls were about 12 feet high and it was quite a maze. We were all happy to find the middle and one another. I was dreading having to explain to everyone how we lost Nora.

Yeah, Labyrinth!

Groovy, baby...

Homeward bound.

Nora's School

2007-03-30T10:46:00.000+02:00

I hear that this is everyone's favorite thing to read about. Probably not coincidentally, it's one of my favorite things to gripe about. Particularly today.

Gripe Number One:
I am FAR from being a Type A, plan ahead, everything neatly scheduled months in advance on iCal individual, but get me going on the lack of calendars provided by the school, and I certainly start to sound like one.

Next week is Easter--a religious holiday that was never fully given vacation holiday status at the University of Texas. Generally we had to wait until the day of Good Friday for the governor to decide. University employees would sit staring at their email inboxes, awaiting the news. The email would arrive and deliver the announcement: the University is officially closed after 12:00 today. And the offices would cheer and the students would throw their dirty laundry into the car and head for home. I remember some of the out-of-state students complaining that they couldn't make travel arrangements and what a pain it was. Ever the self-centered teenager, I didn't give the governor's midday decree two thoughts. I wasn't flying anywhere; I wouldn't start driving before noon anyway; what did I care?

My point? I am slightly familiar with the holidays being announced at the very last minute, and it didn't bother me. Then. Now, on the other hand, it seems utterly ridiculous that we have to wait until the week before Easter to read a handwritten (by Nora) note in her diario that school will be closed from Wednesday of next week to the following Wednesday. A whole week off for Easter! A whole week of vacation with no mention? I was fine with the one-hour notice of five hours of vacation, but this is different! Right? There is a distinction to be made here, isn't there?

Gripe Number Two:
Along with the handwritten note was a tiny slip of paper announcing that, once again, the teachers would be on strike. And this strike "may or may not affect the school schedule TOMORROW." So in case you found no problem at all with the ambiguity of schedules in Gripe Number One, I challenge you to find a defensible position for Gripe Number Two.

Gripe Number Three:
For the third time this year I received a phone call from Nora's school. As I am the Foreign Mother that does not communicate well in Italian, they simply give the phone to Nora and let her explain. Today's conversation started with "My tummy hurts, and my throat is clogged up." Your throat is clogged up? She must have consulted MadLibs for that one and inserted [body part] before [common complaint]. And apparently that works here in Italy as probable cause for being sent home. No accompanying fever--in fact no temperature taken at all. Just a seven-year-old's complaint of a clogged up throat.

That's all I have to say about Nora's school today.

The ancient port of Baia, near Naples

2007-03-29T15:02:00.000+02:00

This is the ancient city of Baia, on the northwest edge of the Bay of Naples. It's home to an amazing bath built into the hillside. It's unlike anything I've ever seen and must have been a big clue to the power of the Roman empire whenever someone sailed in. I met Dar and his archaeology students down there for the weekend.

In the 17th century, this place was a hot spot for British (and others) on the Grand Tour. On the top of the photo is a bit of graffiti from 1776. Damn hoodlums...

Many years ago, an earthquake hit the area and part of the city was sunken under water. In the photo below, we were sailing over what was once the city streets and buildings. You can scuba/snorkle in the bay area and see columns and mosaic floors through the crystal-clear water.

Below is a picture of the castle on the edge of the bay.

We took the boat out to the island Procida, where they filmed some of the movie The Talented Mr. Ripley. It was a gorgeous day and we stopped for a nice lunch. The Castle on the top of the hill is 16th century and now abandoned.

Putting along into the harbour:

The views from the shoreline:

This was the first course of my meal. Sea urchin gnocchi with squid ink and broccoli sauce. The name alone would make any child squirm. It was amazing.

This cracks me up: the sign on the boat says "Wet Paint." Hah!

Italian Road Trips, Part II

2007-03-15T16:55:00.000+01:00

Because Brandy can't stand seeing a "Part I" without a "Part II," the unimaginative title continues on. This trip took us to Florence. It really needs no introduction, so I'll stop now and let the pictures do (most of) the talking.

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This is us pretending to hate Florence. C'mon, who hates Florence?

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And here's crazy Nora.

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Nora and Emilia

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And here's Nora pointing out a statue to Emilia

Wenkinz Information Does Not Exist Here

2007-03-08T09:51:00.000+01:00

Once upon a time I posted Nora's Webkinz name for folks back home to keep in touch with her. I inadvertently misspelled it-Wenkinz. Every day we get people from all over the world (particularly Canada) coming to our site because they are searching for "Wenkinz" on Google. I don't know what a Wenkinz is, but I have no information on Wenkinz.

Italian Road Trips, Part I

2007-03-01T11:33:00.000+01:00

Two weeks back, while Brandy was away in Paris for along weekend with friends, Nora and I decided to get out of town. So we took a little trip to the medieval hilltown Orvieto and Siena. Orvieto is the home of a very famous cathedral (Duomo) and a nice white wine. The vivid colors of the Duomo are stunning, especially given their age (from 1330); the not so vivid color of the wine is straw, and it doesn't age as well as the Duomo, but it's nice and refreshing.

From Orvieto & Siena

the story goes, a Bohemian monk in 1260, doubted that the wine taken at Communion was really the blood of Christ. on a trip through Orvieto he saw some blood-stained cloth and believed it to be a miracle. he took it to the Pope, who thought the bloody cloth warranted building a monser of a church on the spot.

to all the Catholics out there: i don't mean to come down so hard on the Catholic church or Popes--they just did such extraordinarily strange things as recently as--well as recent as WW II. My apologies!

From Orvieto & Siena

below is a photo of the funicular (a sort of a cable car that goes up, up, up a mountain side. it's like a San Francisco trolley that goes up very steep slopes). so, i bought a ticket for me and Nora--being as cute and young as she is--was waved through by the ticket seller. but we had to go through a turnstile. i tried to slide right behind Nora, like a 15 year-old boy would try to sneak behind a friend to keep from paying a subway fare, but didn't quite make it. so i looked at the ticket salesman who waved me off in a way that said, "ah, be blatant--i know you're not sneaking through." that's when i decided to hop over the turnstile, like a pommel-horse leaper.

well, i didn't make it.

you see, the pack on my back was small but quite heavy, and it basically yanked me backwards. and i fell. about 6 feet down, backwards, flat on my back. or to be exact, the back pack made me land not-quite-flat. i sort of bent backwards.

luckily, i didn't hit my head.
unluckily, it knocked the wind out of me.
luckily, i didn't break the wine bottle in the backpack, or the ticket salesman and people nearby would have thought i cracked my head open and bleeding profusely.
unluckily, i hurt my back.
luckily, i travel with an altoids box full of medicines, painkillers included.

the impact crushed the altoids box (but, again, not the bottle of wine. crazy), but it still opened. when i regained my ability to breathe, I popped a pill or two, and Nora and I carefully walked to the funicular, zipped down the mountain, and jumped on to the train to Siena.

Here's the funicular station:

From Orvieto & Siena

On the train to Siena...

From Orvieto & Siena

Siena has, twice each year on July 2 and August 16, a barebacked horserace through its main piazza--Il Campo. It been going on since for over 800 years. Here's what it looks like when it going on:

From Orvieto & Siena

And here's a photo from our trip in almost the same vantage point:

From Orvieto & Siena

Looking over the whole piazza is the 350 foot tower (Torre del Mangia) built in the mid 1300s to thank God for ending the Black Plague that wiped out much of the city. Nora and I climbed up to enjoy the view.

From Orvieto & Siena

Nora was very brave. here's the view from the top of the tower, looking at the Cathedral (Duomo) from the 1100s.

From Orvieto & Siena

Here's the view of the tower from the piazza below.

From Orvieto & Siena

And here's the Cathedral from close up. It's incredible, with Michelangelo and Donatello sculptures, marble inlaid floors, and vivid colors.

From Orvieto & Siena

Looking at Nora through a glass of prosecco.

From Orvieto & Siena

this is the resting place of much of St. Catherine. she lived in the 1300s and helped convince the Pope (who lived in France at that time) to come back to Rome. when she died in Rome, her head and her thumb were brought back to her hometown of Siena. you read that correctly--her head and hear thumb.

the bits and pieces reside in this church.

From Orvieto & Siena

after the long weekend, Nora dutifully does her homework. such a good girl.

From Orvieto & Siena

Q: Who is Italy's prime minister?

2007-02-23T10:06:00.000+01:00

A: huh? Prime minister? Is this a trick question? Italy doesn't have a prime minister.

That may have been my answer prior to moving to Italy. I was that ignorant of the political goings on. Today (in the vein of shticky comedies with carefully crafted misunderstandings--Who's on first?) this answer is correct. Who is Italy's prime minister? Nobody.

Normally, there is one. (A president too, but the president is more of a figurehead.) On Wednesday, however, Romano Prodi resigned from his post as prime minister of Italy. Leaving us with no prime minister. Can you imagine the headline: Bush Steps Down ? (Of course you can, and have, many times I'm sure.)

Prodi lasted nine months--three more months than the life expectancy of a prime minister here. Did you get that? The head political leader here typically changes every six months or so.

No wonder the laws and government here seem so discombobulated.

(That is the extent of my political summary. I really still don't have a clue what goes on here in the news. Still don't understand the word on the street....)

Hey Look at That!

2007-02-16T10:08:00.000+01:00

That thing over there. ------>
To the right of this post.
(Or on the top right of the page once we update again.)
You can put your email address there, and an email will be sent to you when we update.
Our updates are spotty at best, so that might be a nifty tool.

A Letter to NASA

2007-02-13T09:25:00.000+01:00

To Whom It May Concern:

Regarding one of your recent inventions, I’d like to take this moment to say Well Done. I’ve no idea which department to send this letter to. Is there a mattress department at NASA? Or inventions? I’ve also no idea what the National Aeronautic Space Administration is doing inventing mattresses. I would think the conditions in space are optimal for sleeping. Doesn’t the absence of gravity create that “floating on air” or “sleeping on a cloud” experience that most mattress companies claim? It seems that mattresses might be a tad outside the realm of space exploration. Of course, so was Tang, and in the end I’m happy to have both of these NASA-sends in my world.

But NASA, if one day you find that funds are tight, that my tax dollar isn’t funding your random inventions the way it used to, I know a certain continent that hasn’t been pulling its weight in the mattress department. Europe. They’ve got 27 countries working together, and what have they come up with? IKEA. Cardboard beds you have to put together yourself with an Allen wrench. Let the European Space Agency invent a comfortable mattress next time. This continent certainly shows the greatest room for improvement in the mattress area.

I’ve traveled a bit. Not extensively, but cheaply. I’ve slept in my fair share of dingy hostels. There was that place in Honduras—a filthy hole, below which we witnessed a mugging and a hit-and-run (…or a hit-and-try-to-convince-the-pedestrian-to-get-in-his-cab-and-run-with-

him). Or that place in Mexico with the thin foam on particle board. I’ve slept in RVs, back seats, front seats, tents, sleeping bags, hammocks, on cots, dirt, and limestone. All of them were space-like conditions compared to some of the beds I’ve had in Europe.

First of all, the queen-sized beds are always two twin-sized beds pushed together. Not joined on a large frame, just two frames pushed together. I suppose in the Catholic nations we’ve lived in, it’s their answer to birth control. They simply make it impossible for one person to cross over the dividing line without the beds separating and the offending party falling through the crack.

When we lived in Ireland our twin-sized mattresses were filled with straw. Do I really need to say any more about this? Straw! The mattresses could be folded any way you wanted—lengthwise, horizontally, rolled up. If you spilled a drink on them, it would soak right in and carry the fragrance as a constant reminder. If you set them on fire, they would light in seconds. You could lose needles in their filling or feed horses from their bounty. But if you tried to sleep on them…you’d be in a constant state of painful frustration.

I foolishly expected more from an Italian bed. Once again, twin mattresses. This time instead of straw, they’re filled with springs. I’m pretty sure that’s it. Just springs. I was kept up with the poking and recoiling of tens of springs and with the thought that one night some wayward spring would shoot off and take with it my gall bladder.

That was before Jack went home. My days of sleeping on a European mattress are over. Jack came back from the United States bearing gifts: one of them being your Memory Foam Mattress Topper. Not only does it cradle my body and defend it from springs, it joins the two twin-sized beds in a way that no fitted sheet ever could. And one day I may allow Jack to cross the Great Divide, but for now I’m too busy sleeping.

Thank you, dear NASA.

Brandy

P.S. Next time, seriously, it’s Europe’s turn. It’s been a while since you’ve come out with a powdered, fruit-flavored beverage. And nobody does the essence of fruit like the UsofA.

This was the phase I was dreading

2007-02-07T10:17:00.000+01:00

And there's one on the bottom that can do the twist. As she says, she doesn't even have to open her mouth to eat gelato anymore. Just sticks that spoon right through.

my favorite pics so far

2007-02-05T17:30:00.000+01:00

well, the title says it all. these are faves.

The view down the Via Sacra and the Rome Forum, taken from the Coloseum, Rome

From Christmas 2006

A street in Venice

From Christmas 2006

The Grand Canal in Venice

From Christmas 2006

Parking lot in Venice

From Christmas 2006

Boats in Geneva, Switzerland

From Geneva - Nov ...

Ancient Greek ruins in Paestum

From Italy favorites

Belltower in Perugia

From Italy favorites

Ponte Sisto, the bridge we cross several times each day, Rome

From Italy favorites

San Gennaio Church pews in Naples

From Italy favorites

Nora doing her thing at a gelateria, Rome

From Italy favorites

Galleria Borghese: "the mother of all private collections," Rome

From Italy favorites

Nora, budding archaeologist, at Villa delle Vignacce, Rome

From Italy favorites

Arch of Constantine and Palatine Hill, Rome

From Italy favorites

View from the sea, Amalfi

From Italy favorites

Nora in Herculaneum

From Italy favorites

Sleepy Nora after too much wine, Paestum

From Italy favorites

Nora in Paestum

From Italy favorites

Italian Wars

2007-02-02T16:25:00.000+01:00

Don't worry, this post is not about Caesar, empires, or Mussolini. This is about two very different kinds of wars I've experienced while living in Italy. The first I experience daily.

The War of Pleasantries

During most months, the Pleasantry War is barely noticable. When leaving an establishment or saying goodbye to an acquaintance, a few rounds of pleasantries are passed. Ciao. Ciao. Buona Giornata. Buona Giornata a te'. Bye. Bye. Have a good day...and so on. It's not so unusual, I guess. It's on par with the really chipper people in the US. But here, it's not chipperness, it's just good manners. I think I first noticed that the routine differed from ours back home when I heard an Italian saying goodbye on the phone. At first all was normal, the sing song pattern of two word phrases--the telltale sign of "winding down" a conversation, but then as the person went to hang up the phone (and by that I mean moved the thumb to the red button) the two people whispered ciao-ciao ciao-ciao-ciao ciao-ciao at each other. Not unlike the staccato rhythm of a machine gun sound effect.

And then I started to realize that my own rounds of pleasantries were about two exchanges long only because a.) it's what I'm used to/comfortable with and b.) it's all I know how to say. Looking around me I saw more experienced folk, i.e., Italians, who spent more time saying goodbye to the shopkeepers than they spent in the store itself. This became especially evident at Christmas time. And what's more? I got to participate.

During the Christmas season I learned a few standard Holiday Greetings for my daily errands. Buon Natale, Buona Festa, Buon Anno. That's all I needed. Add that to the generic "Have a good day, thank you very much, and bye" and I was able to go back and forth for 20 seconds.

My dad got a kick out of this when he was in town. As we would walk out of the store, we'd stand at the door, take a deep breath, let loose with "GrazieBuonNataleBuonaFestaBuonAnnoBuonaGiornata" and then run out giggling. We'd always lose (it is their language), but it's good fun with manners.

The New Years War

I said this post was not going to be about Caesar or empires, and it's not, but I'd like for a moment to remember some of the more impressive historical advances of the Romans. There was, after all, the Holy Roman Empire, architectural and artistic masterpieces, and running water. Some truly great minds and leaders came out of this place. I think that the modern Roman feels that with all that historical collateral-intelligence why should they bother? My point: they do some really dumb things.

On New Year's Eve we walked out of the restaurant at 11:59. Out of the restaurant and into a war zone. We were met with yells from people on the balconies above and the hissing of firecrackers being thrown down to the street below. The street where we were standing. The firecrackers never hit us. They tended to land at our feet, under the gas tank of a neighboring motorino, exploding with a boom that echoed through the small alleys. We clasped hands, squealing with fear and excitement about all the revelry. I remember all of us exclaiming that "it is a litle scary. Can you imagine if those missiles weren't meant for fun? Can you imagine if you had to walk home on a normal Tuesday like this? Can you imagine if you thought the person throwing the explosives were trying to hit you?" and we continued our heart-stopping, squealing, darting, and ducking walk down the alley.

At about this time Ashley pointed out that one of the apartments was lighting Black Cats inside their apartment. It was at this time that I think we realized that these people were not only not trying to hit us, they weren't trying to not hit anything. They were throwing explosives blindly onto the street and onto their own floor.
So we turned around and took the long, boring, and safe walk home.

A few photos

2007-01-29T15:13:00.000+01:00

There's more to tell about Christmas and New Year's, but photo posts are easier, and maybe even more popular, so....

Here's a look at that potted tree. Can you see the popcorn and tangerines? They're just above the explosion of gifts marked "Nora."

This grainy photo is of Nora and me twirling on the cup ride. In the center of Rome, in Piazza Navona, they set up a Christmas festival every year. Toys, a carousel, carnival games, and cotton candy.

Working on the train.
I would send Christmas cards too, but I've never been able to exploit this child's labor as well as her Mimi.

Quite possibly my favorite photo of my dad ever.

My mom standing in an actual alley in Venice.

Gondola in Venice.

Gondola in Venice.

2007-01-26T17:41:00.000+01:00

More Differences between an Italian Christmas and a Texan Christmas

2. Fruit Cakes. Here in Italy the Panettone is treasured. Grocery stores and bakeries set up veritable entrenchments of panettone boxes in the aisles. (Pyramid-shaped boxes, like that one on the right, that come with their own nifty handle.) They come in an assortment of flavors, but the tried-and-true, original fruit cake variety is the most popular. The Italians go nuts for them. In December, every pedestrian in Rome can be seen carrying a Panettone home to their loved ones. An obvious cultural difference to the implied "I don't like you very much," that comes along with the five fruit cakes sent in the US each year. The origin of that difference? Another one of the Great Roman Mysteries. The cakes taste just as good as they do in the states-- like the overly-browned crust of a dry yellow cake with bits of crunchy raisins and nuts. (As opposed to the cakes with bits of gelled fruits and nuts in the states.)

3. Media. This Christmas I did not see Frosty the Snowman, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, A Very Special Peanuts Christmas, Kiss Saves Santa, or 24 hours of A Christmas Story. I also did not have to listen to "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," "Jingle Bell Rock," or Holiday Favorites on Muzak.

4. The Santa Experience. He comes here too. He's still pulled by reindeer, and he brings presents. He also fills the stocking, BUT he does not put all the candy and trinkets in your stocking that he brought for you. Why? Because a witch attacks his sleigh every Christmas Eve, beats the reindeer with her broom, and takes off with half the loot. Then 12 days later on the Day of the Epifany, she brings it back. Maybe she feels guilty after living with candy for 12 days. Maybe she nibbles away until she gets full. Another Great Mystery.

Post Script I decided to do a little investigating into La Befana (the witch) to get to the bottom of this 12-day hostage of candy. And here is one reason why I believe you should never make judgments about a culture until you know the language.
Apparently La Befana represents the visit of The Wise Men to an old lady during their voyage. She gave them a place to stay, but declined their offer to join them in the search for the Christ child. To this day she regrets that decision and is still looking for the Christ Child (inexplicably filling stockings with candy and coal and sweeping floors across Italy along the way).

I suppose when the waitress told Jack and I about La Befana, we misinterpreted her pantomimes and the little Italian we knew, and instead of "she sweeps your floor" we got "she beats the reindeer." And we've been spreading this bastardized version across the world.

We're Terrible

2007-01-25T13:08:00.000+01:00

Over a month and not a word.
And now I have about... oh ...10 minutes to post something. Let's see what I can manage.
Major differences I noticed and can remember with only 10 minutes between a Texan Christmas and an Italian Christmas.
1. Christmas trees here are potted. All of them. These aren't the special Christmas Trees, and they don't come with special instructions. I know that they should because Cam got one a year ago. She was not supposed to water the tree. Instead she was supposed to carefully arrange ice cubes around the trunk, allowing very cold water to soak the dirt in a slow, drip-by-drip fashion. Because it's hot in Texas, I guess. (It occurs to me that the many trees that form the "Piney Curtain" in East Texas do not get the same sort of treatment from the residents there. And yet they survive.) Anyway...at first I was very excited by this potted tree. We rearranged the furniture to make room for our little tree, and strung it with ornaments, popcorn, and tangerines. (This is not an Italian thing. This is a crafty Jack thing.) Then I realized that putting the tree in the house required the furniture to be rearranged. Rearranged so that the tree was the focal point of our living room instead of...say...the blue refrigerator that sits in our kitchen/living room space. Having a Christmas tree in your living room is not really exciting or practical in March. And nobody has a yard. I started to find great amusement in the realization that these Italians must buy potted trees every year...to feel better about having the tree...and then they must dump them in the street on January 7, just like us Texans.
But that didn't happen. Ours is still there--out on the street. As for the rest of Rome...it's still a mystery to me.

Still learning...

2006-12-22T13:49:00.000+01:00

1. There are two notebooks in school: one contains schoolwork--pictures next to Italian words mostly (since Nora's still learning the language) and the other contains homework assignments and notes from school (handwritten by Nora in Italian and cursive). But to keep you on your toes, important notes from school can be found in either notebook, even squished in the middle of vocabulary words related to the ocean. Just to be sure you're paying attention.

I know I've talked extensively about the lack of communication with the school. But I dont' think I've said that at times I'm kinda happy about it. There is no Monday folder bursting at the seams with a letter from the PTO, principal, classroom teacher, and cafeteria; no newsletter, fundraising fliers, or promotional deal at the local pizzeria. There is also not a bunch of schoolwork plaguing me with indecision: do I throw away this precious piece of Nora's history or do I allow myself to be swallowed whole by the mounds of crap they produce in school? (Sorry, mom. Now that fire hazard is yours.)

So Nora was thumbing through her schoolwork notebook the other day, and she began counting, "uno, *flip flip* due *flip* tre *flip, flip*, quattro..." "Nora what are you counting?" "These," she pointed to a U at the top-left corner of some of the pages. I'd never noticed them before. "What are those?" "That means I finished all my lunch."

Never a report card. Never a graded homework assignment. Never a piece of feedback on any academic work. But they make sure to communicate the eating habits of our children ever single day.

2. Spent two hours last night looking for tissue paper to put in gift bags. That was fun. Because here going from store to store means walking from store to store. And it's cold here in December.
While gift bags, bows, ribbons, gift tags, and wrapping paper are found in department stores, grocery stores, and stalls on the side of the street, the elusive tissue paper can only be found in a Cartoleria (a place that sells paper, pens, journals, and tissue paper). Nora and I finally went to a Cartoleria and Nora quickly rushed over to a stack of...something.
"Here it is! Here's the tissue paper!" "This doesn't look like tissue paper...." but it was all wrapped in plastic so I couldn't be certain. "No. It is," said Nora, "We used this in school."

Nora's portion of the conversation basically translates to "No. It's really not tissue paper, Mom, but it's this really cool stuff that stretches and doesn't tear, and we used it in school, and I love playing with it, so when you realize it's worthless to you, and you can't use it at all, you'll give it to me, and I can keep it and play with it, and it will be mine!"
Never mind the two hours spent walking around for the stuff.
(They actually did have tissue paper at the store, I learned later--sold individually for far too much money. My wonderful mother is bringing me tissue paper from the states.)

My wonderful mother is also bringing a tube of sugar cookie dough and a gingerbread house to decorate!
I hope the rest of you are feeling as festive.

Merry Christmas! Buona Festa!!

More School News

2006-12-13T17:37:00.000+01:00

I learned yesterday from Nora that on Tuesdays and Thursdays (the days that they have gym) they also have dance. Also on Thursdays they work with clay. I haven't been given a schedule for the school, but I'm pretty sure of several of the components. Here's a look at a possible schedule for Tuesdays and Thursdays:
8:20 (or 8:25) school starts
8:30--9:30 gym
9:30--9:50 snack
9:50--12:00 learning
12:00--1:00 lunch
1:00--2:00 recess
2:00--2:40 dance
2:40--3:00 snack 2
3:00--4:20 learning

Three and a half hours of learning. Poor things. It's no wonder we received the message we received yesterday. The teachers at Nora's school have decided to go on strike tomorrow from 8:20--9:20 and 3:20--4:20.

What a brilliant way to make time for Christmas shopping.

the three of us

2006-11-24T12:54:00.000+01:00

as brandy said earlier, jack is always behind the camera, and not in the picture. she is occasionally wrong. just occasionally. so here, for your viewing pleasure and to calm those who thought i fell into the Tiber river, here we all are:

Piazza Farnese, Roma
This big fountain is from the 2000 year-old Baths of Caracalla. Our strange expressions are telling the photographer--an old passerby from France--how to take the photo with our complicated point-and-shoot digital camera.

Fontana Paola, Roma
This fountain, built in 1612 to commemorate an acquaduct, is high up on the edge of the Janiculum Hill and gives one of the best views of Rome. The Fontana Paola, known as the Fontanana (the mother fountain) is a short walk up the hill from our house, maybe a 1/4 mile, and is a great place to get away from the city while still in the city.

Colosseo, Roma
Here we are in front of the Coloseum (no introductions needed) and next to the Arch of Constantine. I can't explain Nora's pose. Crazy girl.

Stazione Termini, Roma
This is moments before our first trip out of Rome. After this we ran to catch our train to far-away Frascati, known for its views, roasted pork sandwiches (much better than it sounds now that I'm typing it), and white wine. It's only a 30 minute train ride, but it felt like we were hundreds of miles away.

Paestum, Campania
Dinner at an amazing restaurant and hotel, a proud member of the Slow Food Movement , on the shores of the Mediterranean in the city Paestum. Their city was part of Magna Grecia, the Greek Empire, in the 6th century BC, and is near where the Allied trops landed in 1943. We were there on the last leg of our study abroad students' trip to Napoli, Herculaneaum, Pompeii, and Paestum.

We'll make it a point to take more. promise.

A huge sigh of relief

2006-11-23T10:15:00.000+01:00

Yesterday we hosted a Day Before Thanksgiving Cocktail Party at our office. (You can put any combination of words before Cocktail Party, and it works.) One of the guests--the spectacularly talented, beautiful, and psychic N--brought us this

She's not even American! She's just plain brilliant. Perhaps she meant to bring it for the guests of the party. Perhaps I should have shared it with the other hosts of the party. Instead I kissed her feet and squirreled that pie away into the fridge. Nobody loves it more than me.
Thank you, N!

Val and Pierre

2006-11-21T13:35:00.000+01:00

We had our first visitors last month--Val and Pierre! Val's a friend of mine from Austin, and she met Pierre while traveling this summer in southeast Asia, or New Zealand, or Australia. Of course Pierre is not from any of those places. Go on...guess where he's from. Here they are in front of the French Embassy in Rome.
It was wonderful having them stay with us. It's nice to have familiar faces (and a familiar language) to hang out with. It's also nice to see your city through a fresh pair of eyes every once in a while. We did our best showing them around Rome. (My best is not very good. I still get lost in my neighborhood and never remember the names of very important monuments.) Jack does much better at this. I have to say, even without important details or correct names to accompany the sites, Rome does a pretty good job being impressive on its own.
Here are Val and Pierre in front of the Vittorio Emanuele II. This is an enormous monument right in the center of town. (That's it. That's all I've got for you.)
It's also nice to have visitors, because you get to be a tourist again. We don't really go by the Trevi Fountain very often. It's always crowded with tourists, crooks selling worthless junk, and Italian men lurking on foreign prey. The fountain itself, however, is lovely at night. Here are two pictures of Val and Nora when they went one afternoon.

And here's a pic I took of Val throwing a coin into the fountain at night. (You're supposed to throw a coin in to ensure that you return to Rome.)
And here's a picture of all of us (sans Jack--behind the camera) in the piazza by our house. The instructions were to "look goofy." Apparently Nora and Pierre felt that this was enough?

On special occasions, like having visitors from France, we let Nora drink beer. Very big beers...
...but this makes her crazy...

...and we have to take her home.

Val and me.

We're in Trouble

2006-11-21T09:23:00.000+01:00

This Thursday is Thanksgiving, (sorry for the alliteration) and I'm beginning to realize that it is one of my favorite holidays in the states. It is certainly the holiday that carries with it the most traditions in my family. We usually go to Hemphill to celebrate with my dad's side of the family, and we always have the same dishes: a spinach/broccoli casserole (the casserole that taught me, age 7, that vegetables can be yummy), cheese rice that my grandmother makes, a squash dish that my aunt makes, rolls made from scratch by my other aunt, yummy stuffing, and Pink Lady (a dish named by me). OH--and turkey and ham and gravy.

Obviously for me it's the side dishes that make the meal. THOSE side dishes. Those side dishes = Thanksgiving for me.

So let's see: spinach/broccoli casserole--requires sour cream. Not found in Italy.
Cheese rice--I've never made it. I don't know if anyone has ever made it besides my grandmother. I know, however, that there is orange-y cheese in it and those canned green peppers. Not found in Italy.
Squash dish--this one we could probably make. I'll have to find the recipe for this.
Rolls made from scratch--HAHAHAHA ahem
Yummy stuffing--Jack's in charge of this one. I trust that whatever he makes will be good (but I know it won't be right. He got the recipe from Epicurious.com. I'm pretty sure our stuffing comes from Down Home Cooking)
Pink Lady--this delicacy is made with Cool Whip, powdered Jello, frozen strawberries, and bananas. ...We've got bananas here.

And last, but not least, pumpkin pie. One year my mom tried to substitute sweet potato pie for pumpkin pie (as if I wouldn't know the difference?!?!) I cried. Real tears.
Canned pumpkin and sweetened condensed milk are not found in Italy.

I know our Thanksgiving is going to be delicious. And I know that Thanksgiving is supposed to be about giving thanks for what you have, and griping about not having the right casserole or a yummy gelatin dessert is certainly going against the season.

I don't care.
I want pumpkin pie.

Addendum

2006-11-17T09:22:00.000+01:00

Remember before when I said something like "You might think not knowing anything about Nora's school would make me frustrated?" and then I said you'd be wrong? I'd like to modify that statement. MOST of the time, you'd be wrong.

Yesterday Nora and I showed up at school four minutes late (as usual) and I watched Nora walk up the stairs as I dutifully stood on the sidewalk (parents are not allowed to go inside this secret society of School). Luckily I like to watch her walk into school; luckily because this time Nora did not turn around and give me her usual cute wave, because this time the woman who works the front desk with the wonky eye stood in front of the door and would not let her in.

Other little children were walking up the stairs, but my poor child was being barred. I marched up those forbidden stairs and used a large percentage of my Italian vocaulary to find out what was going on "Perché?" She then launched into some speech at me which I couldn't make out at all, but there was a definite undertone of "and you should have known about this already you stupid woman." "Mi dispiace. Non capisco Italiano." (the remainder of my Italian vocabulary) She then rolled her good eye at me and heaved a huge sigh of "well what the hell am I doing wasting my time talking to you?" I did not budge, however, and stood staring at her and just past her into the House of Learning where there should most definitely be someone that could somehow communicate her angry words to me. Eventually she had the same idea and grabbed a woman to "come talk to the American mother" (I could understand that). I was told that the second grade teachers had a meeting that day until 10:20 and we were to bring the second graders then.

I am fuming for so many reasons.

A. I've worked in schools, and I've had meetings, and they suck. They're supposed to suck. You have to march into the library at 3:15 after the children have all left, after you've been working all day, to listen to the principal drone on about testing procedures and hallway rules, but you accept it as a necessary evil. Since when do they get to postpone SCHOOL to talk about how to improve school? Why don't Italian teachers have necessary evils? A meeting that starts at the same time as the normal work day? And they get two blessed hours without the little boogers? Let's have these meetings every week!

B. Why was I the ONLY second grade mother who was trying to push my child into the sacred House of Learning?? How did all of these other parents know?? I dumped out Nora's backpack and looked through every book, every pencil bag. No note. I began thinking that this Secret Society of School actually did welcome all of the other parents, but they kept out the American as a fun cultural prank. "Those Americans think they're so smart. Let's see how they survive a school year with no communication at all!"

C. The people who work at the front desk of schools are supposed to be sweet and nurturing. Not wonky-eyed gatekeepers.

Later that evening when Nora came home I discovered that there had been a note. Nora had left it at school. I know you're laughing Mom, and I really don't think that I deserve this. I know I perpetually left things at school when I was a child. I know that my leaving things at school was the cause of The Nightmare of middle school. But in a foreign country, shouldn't I be cut just a tiny little break?

Three things I appreciate about Jack

2006-11-03T12:26:00.000+01:00

1. He takes pretty pictures. And he's diligent about taking that little camera around. I'm awful in this area, and when I look back on the five years I spent without Jack...well there's not much to look back on. A huge gap in the photodocumentation of my life.
I'm trying to be better about uploading his photos to flickr. Here's the website where I do that occasionally:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mamamiabrandy/

2. He has a quirky view on things like tooth fairies and tooth mice. Jack believes that our child should be able to have open communication with these magical creatures. And so...when Nora leaves notes for the tooth fairy (and now the tooth mouse), they write her back! I thought this was a little strange at first. I certainly never communicated with the tooth fairy when I was a child. And I think that I would have been a little creeped out to receive a note under my pillow from a fairy or mouse. It's one thing to imagine this ephemeral being exchanging money for my nasty tooth. It's another to picture this being standing in my room, holding a pencil.

Yesterday was the Day of the Dead. A day when one pays homage to his/her dearly departed relatives, and they in turn pay homage to children in the form of small presents at night. And Jack thought that our dead relatives should leave Nora a note as well!?! Yes, Jack a fantastic idea...for saving money, since then we could move into a one-bedroom apartment because there's no way a child would be able to sleep in her own room again after receiving a letter from a skeleton under her pillow.

3. He often moonwalks for us even though sometimes he hurts himself doing it.

update from jack

2006-11-02T10:06:00.000+01:00

"how is it going?" i get this email question and it's not that i don't want to reply to it, but to give the question its due, i can't just say "fine." so let me take a little more time to answer it and send it out en masse.

the really short answer: everything is great here. a bit too busy at work for my liking, but i am a bit lazy, so that's to be expected. the three of us still make time to go out for long walks and yummy dinners. we're in Trastevere, a very cool part of rome--a 10 minute walk to the center of town--and are surrounded by amazing things. too bad our amazing friends are 6000 miles away. we're making some friends but it doesn't happen overnight. you've got to start somewhere though.

we miss home like crazy, it goes without saying. brandy stays close by chatting/emailing with friends, i keep grounded by occasionally talking on the phone (skype, actually) and listening to austin radio (well, KUT only) to feel for brief but wonderful moments that i'm sitting on the couch early in the afternoon in austin. it's warm outside and the cicadas are making themselves known. i'm walking to grab coffee and migas at (insert any of the dozens of mexican food places i miss dearly). my salivating mouth usually wakes me and jolts me back to reality.

i fill up my day with this and other moments. i concentrate on these simple moments throughout the day--like seeing the sun come up over the tiber river.

watching Nora's cute wave goodbye when she goes into her school (she's not yet at that stage of being embarrassed of her parents).

or playing in the piazza santa maria in trastevere by our house. sometimes we people-watch, sometimes we fire-juggler-watch, sometimes we play games, like "chairs," a surprisingly fun game of stacking little chairs on top of one another (thanks jose and maria!)

or going to markets for fresh and inexpensive food. it's a beautiful thing to get 2 lbs of tomatoes (that actually smell and taste like tomatoes) for less than a dollar. nora loves it and buys her own stuff, like this kilo of mussels from the seafood lady.

just relaxing, doing nothing. brandy is excellent at this art form.

seeing kids chase birds in a piazza; smelling 25 different foods cooking depending on the direction of the breeze; hearing the spice and herb seller sneeze uncontrollably for half an hour or the crazy lady yelling in the piazza outside my window. sorry, no pictures.

then there's the walk home across the river.

that's when we leave some of the tourists behind and squeeze into our narrow alleys...

...quaint medieval houses...

...for a few hours of relaxing...

...eating...

...drinking...the sign on the door of the bar below basically says "...then what the hell are you doing here?" a reference to the fact that it serves only beer. excellent german beers that you've never heard of. they serve nothing else, not even water. so the name is the bartender's reply when you ask for anything but beer, as if you asked for a pet turtle at an ice cream stand...

...and going for gelato.

i know that doesn't answer the question that well, but maybe it gives you a better glimpse? hmm? you can reply to this post or email me, but please let me know how you're doing. we miss you all. nora loves it here and that makes brandy and i love it even more.

Tooth Mouse and the Tooth Fairy

2006-11-01T16:21:00.000+01:00

(Dictated by Nora; typed by Brandy)
Instead of the tooth fairy there is the tooth mouse. It seems disgusting but he's come to my house; I've never seen him, but it seems like he's very cute. He drew a picture of himself and that's how I can tell that he's cute. And I can tell that I've never seen him because mice can be quite quiet... sometimes.

It all happened one day when I had a very loose tooth. I was brushing my teeth and I worried about my tooth so I wiggled it, wiggled it, wiggled it, and before I knew it, it fell out. So my dad made me drink salt water, which I did not like a bit. It was horrible even though I plugged my nose, and some people say that always works, but the taste was so strong, it didn't.

I woke up the next morning. He gave me money--one Euro, and he talked to the tooth fairy, and the tooth fairy said to him that I like to keep my teeth. And I still have a tooth hole this day.

Traditions

2006-10-31T15:43:00.000+01:00

First of all: sorry for the incredibly blurry horribly cropped photos up there. I'm doing some experimenting with html, but I feel that I should really only tackle one language at a time. Knowing Italian gets me food, friends, and from here to there. Knowing html gets me the highly coveted "nerd" status. I think I'll stick with Italian for a while. So for now--deal with blurry photos.

As for traditions...today is Halloween and we have not carved a pumpkin and Nora has no costume. Just like all the other Italian families. sigh. Today Jack went to the market to look for a pumpkin so that we could at least hang on to that tradition, but for €13, I'm happy to kiss jack-o-lanterns goodbye. Nora does, however, have a Halloween party today. At this party the children will make masks and then go walking around from store to store. I think. You can't go trick-or-treating here from door to door because you have to be buzzed into all of the buildings. But I don't know if the "walking from store to store" will be to trick-or-treat or just to show off the masks that they made? I know the "Halloween candy" section of the grocery store is just all the candy that was in the regular candy section--Rocher, Mon Cheri, and Kinder--under a cardboard ghost. No festive orange wrappers on the fun size bars. No candy corn. sigh.

On the other hand...look what we do have!!

Those are chestnuts roasting on an open fire!! It has nothing to do with a guy named Chet or a parrot and a lighter! They're honest to goodness chestnuts and they're on every corner in town.

You take the good you take the bad...

What are we doing wrong?

2006-10-17T10:09:00.000+02:00

Olivia. The Black Widow of parakeets.

Uva Fragola

2006-10-16T12:46:00.000+02:00

Lots of grapes here in Italy, but these are special. Smaller than their counterparts and you don't eat their skin. The name "uva fragola" means strawberry grape--that's how Italians describe their flavor. I say that Uva Fragola is where the "grape" flavor (found in candy, gum, and lipgloss) comes from.

And they call themselves civilized

2006-10-16T12:38:00.000+02:00

You have no idea how much you depend on these things. The Romans fold paper, PAPER, around other pieces of paper to file things. There is no tab for writing the organizational heading by which all the papers on the inside are filed. There is no sturdy cardstock. Just paper. I hope you're cherishing every single last one of them.

One more tidbit

2006-10-12T18:33:00.000+02:00

In Rome a cannon goes off every day at noon. Just like in Mary Poppins.

what's the opposite of a police state?

2006-10-11T18:33:00.000+02:00

The police here are--well, they're just different. Here's an example:

The city of Rome recently discovered a budget shortfall in salary for the police. That's not good for anybody, right? This could lead to massive strikes, great spikes in criminal activity, and total chaos. Right? I can guess that in the US this situation might create a mindset among the police that, hmm, maybe the police should start writing tickets for the millions of little otherwise-ignored infractions. The money generated would certainly generate enough money to pay at least a few months salary.

Here in Italy, we see the classic Italian "eh..." attitude. Instead of chaos or writing lots of tickets or really doing anything, the police have decided they just won't come to work.

It's like an extended vacation.

And crime has't picked up. It's usually really low and it's staying low. Everyone has just shrugged their shoulders and is dealing with it like you would deal with a pebble stuck to your shoe. It's not a big deal and it'll fix itself eventually. Until then, live with it.

Lovely day for a crime wave, isn't it?

Pretty pictures

2006-10-10T13:26:00.000+02:00

These photos were taken in Amalfi.

And these were taken in Perugia.

This is how it goes when things are going well

2006-10-10T11:11:00.000+02:00

Up until this point I've been working part time at Jack's job--The American Institute for Roman Culture. They have actually needed a lot of help, so part time has turned into practically full time. This has been ok, but I'm not a very good secretary, and I don't like being in a job that I'm not very good at. I secured two speech therapy clients through craigslist. One lives over an hour away. Not doable. I visited them once for an assessment, and that was all. The other lives in Frascati (20 minutes away). They pay for my transportation, time spent on transportation, and time in therapy. This is not bad--at least I'm doing what I'm good at, but it's really a pain. It takes 3.5 hours out of my day. I was starting to wonder whether I'd made the wrong decision accepting this job when I went to a meeting at the child's school yesterday.

The girl's neuropsychologist was there as well. She has a studio (read: clinic) in Rome. At this studio they have SLPs that speak German, French, and Italian but they really need one that speaks English. Oh...and one that has experience with children with autism. YAY!!!!

ah, napoli--seedy napoli!

2006-10-09T19:07:00.000+02:00

naples is incredible: crowded, chaotic, beautiful, old, full-of-treasures, busy, bustling, scary, and smelly. it really has its own unique smell--not bad, but not exactly pleasant. like a warm beer on a hot day. just kinda tolerable.

excuse the lack of long explanations of the photos or the witty observations like those made by brandy. it's been too long since i've posted here and i want to gently get back in the swing of things. i'm pacing myself.

this is the galleria across from the museum. it isn't used much anymore (no A/C maybe?) and now is a wonderful place to kick a soccer ball.

here's an artsy picture of the cathedral in naples where once each year the blood of the patron saint who's buried there turns liquid again. yep, that's right. they believe it too. if it didn't happen, all of naples would freak out and mt. vesuvius would blow again.

here's a market near where i got my lunch. naples is the most densely populated city in europe and this store holds more selection than a big fresh plus type store. finally found some good spicey peppers and the freshest buffalo milk mozzarella. mmm...

in italy this doesn't mean "hook 'em horns." no, ma'am. it means "dear sir, i am having sexual relations with your wife and there's not a thing you can do about it and don't you feel low you sad, sad man?"

don't flash the hook 'em sign in italy.

here's a typical napolitano: they relax and talk alot. and that's compared to the rest of italy, an already chatty nation.

The Everything You Want to Know About Nora post

2006-10-06T12:17:00.000+02:00

Her school
I hadn't been able to post anything about her school really because I didn't really know anything. Unfortunately I still don't speak Italian (and her teachers still don't speak English), and I'm not sure if you all remember this, but when you ask a child questions about school, they answer "Nothing." and "I don't know." and "Ok." You try piecing together the mystery of School In Italy from these clues. I have recently had a few revelations, and I now know a few more things. I can't remember if I told you all this before, but by law all food served in a school must be organic. If I'm repeating myself, excuse me, but I'm still blown away by this. They have snack two times during the day, and they are served little pieces of pie and sometimes fruit. For lunch they have a two- or three-course meal, prepared by the school's cook. Made fresh. From all organic ingredients. Sorry...but I just love picturing the face of the Italian kid's first lunch in an American cafeteria. Cardboard pizza. Fruit cocktail swimming in syrup. Mushy peas. Mound of pudding. Buon appetito.

Not only is Nora learning Italian, but she's also learning to write in cursive. I guess that's taught in the 1st grade here, so add that to the list of things that Nora has to learn in order to catch up. Poor thing. But she's doing very well in both areas. She can now count to 100 in Italian, and her accent sounds good while she's doing it. (Says the American who doesn't really know anything about Italian accents.)

So far we've had no communication from the school. None. They feed her everyday, and we were told that the school would communicate with us how much to pay. So far nothing. No welcome letter from the teachers. No calendar of holidays or menu for the cafeteria. So...I can't give you any information about any of this. But I suppose telling you that schools in Italy don't communciate with parents is information in itself.

We learned from a parent recently that there will be a meeting sometime this month where the teachers will tell all of the parents about the school year and the schedule. Every year they plan a different schedule, and I'm not sure if the planning is done AT this meeting, but it doesn't take effect until after the meeting. So at this pont Nora has not had art, P.E., music, English (ha), or Catholocism (actually she'll never have this one, but some kids do). After the mysterious meeting, I guess, she'll start having these other classes, but I'm really not sure about that because I just made them up based on US classes. I know they do English and religion. I know US kids do PE, music, and art. I also know that one shouldn't ASS U ME anything, and so far when I assume things here based on my own cultural experiences I've been wrong. I'll keep you posted after the mysterious meeting (where they will speak to me in a language I don't understand, so I can't promise I'll know any more then than I do now).

You might think that I'm going crazy with frustration about not knowing anything, but you'd be wrong. I've spoken to several American parents here who have told me the best advice they can give me is to simply trust in the school system. The kids come out well educated, and the parents have no idea about how it happened. "You'll drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out, and you'll never get anywhere." SO...I just bring her every day at 8:20 (or 8:23 sometimes, but we're never the last ones there. Not even close.), and I ask her questions about her day, and I get "nothing" in response. But she's making friends and she seems happy.

Her first birthday party
It was at McDonald's. There's a McDonald's very close to her school, so it's a popular choice for a party location. In fact we went there on Wednesday for this party, and we've got another one there today. (Wednesday's was the first party we went to, but Nora had been invited to two parties before this one. We weren't able to go to either for different reasons. Four parties in two weeks. Obviously Nora's making friends, and it seems very likely that Italians like to give babies as Christmas presents.

The birthday party was sensory overload. I had been warned that Italian parties were like this, but I was not prepared. 15 children, their moms, and a pimple-faced party organizer in a small room (with a terrible echo). The party activity was to design a dragon (drawing). Nora spent the alotted 30 minutes designing an intricate dragon. The other 14 children designed a dragon for 3 minutes and spent the rest of the time chasing each other around the table, flinging markers and pencils at each other, seeing who could punch the hardest, and screaming. Always screaming. The children were scolded twice for getting out of control. Obvious cultural differences over where the line should be placed for when a behavior is flagged "in" or "out" of control. I was feeling a bit like one of my autistic kids in an overstimulated moment when the mom's raised the out-of-control flag.

Good things that came out of the party: 1. We learned that the moms pool their money and get the child a big present that he/she really wants instead of 19 small presents that get thrown away in a year. This is great for us because a.) it's cheaper b.) we don't know what kids want or where to buy what kids want c.) we can't tell whether the kids are girls or boys (One kid is named Andrea. Long, curly hair. Bit of a tomboy Nora told us. Apparently Andrea is a boy's name here. Oops.
2. We also got all of the vague information about the school meeting from the one mom who speaks English. It's always nice to feel a little less in the dark. 3. We had a little giggle about the way the food was served to the parents. It's funny to see McNuggets and Fries in two large serving bowls. 4. The cake was yummy. 5. Nora had a blast, and the kids really do seem nice--just a little bit rowdy.

Webkinz
Ok...I know that Webkinz is really frustrating, but let's not lose sight of the fact that it's a website for children. We're bigger than them. Surely we can figure this out and beat them. In order to buy things, you must go to the menu and select the store option. In the store you can buy food and furniture and entertainment items for your pet. In order to feed your pet, simply drag the food (with your mouse) to the head of your pet and it will eat it. Easier than feeding a baby. To get more money (and to keep your pet happy) you have to play games. Go to the arcade or to the trivia place and play. I find that the trivia option is a very easy way to win money--what happens to water when it gets very cold? BUT if you miss a question can be very embarassing.

That's all for now. I've got to run. There's a bus strike and a demonstration going on, which means I get to walk to the train station. yay.

A post with very little organization, but at least it's something

2006-10-04T11:51:00.000+02:00

Things I see/hear during my days that make me smile:

1. On the way to work, after dropping Nora off at school, I cross the Tiber on Ponte Garibaldi. I should back up a bit. There's a lot of graffiti in Rome. Some people actually cite graffiti as one of the reasons why they don't like Rome--it's dirty; there's graffiti, etc. Personally, I think it's useful. When the shops close at night, they pull down a big metal door that covers the door, windows, and often the sign of the building--effectively erasing all of the features I use as landmarks for direction. For example, I used to know to turn left at the window with button-down oxford shirts and that alley will lead me to the Campo de' Fiori. At night--no window. No shirts. I'm lost. Now I use the graffiti, and I turn left at Te amo, Sofia. Very useful. Anyway...I don't know what any of the graffiti says because I've never been good at making sense of labyrinthine letters, especially if they're in a foreign language. But there's this one tag on Ponte Garibaldi (this is where I started the story) that makes me smile. I've forgotten to take a picture of it, but maybe a description will be enough. The tag is in red and it says "Mommy." Such an ironic, vulnerable word to see painted by some (I picture) ruffian on a bridge. And I guess the ruffian thought it was a little too vulnerable too, so instead of a normal "y," he gave it a forked trident. Like the devil's. Making mom's all over gush.

2. I just finished teaching a 3-week English course for some architecture students. (I'll talk more about that later.) Their school was located on Via Cavour. As I said, the course is finished, so I don't walk home on Via Cavour anymore, so I don't see this next thing every day anymore, and again, I haven't taken a picture of it, but hopefully the following description will help. I'm walking along on the way to class, looking in shop windows as I go. Fashion is great in Rome, and window shopping is something I do often. Anyway...looking in windows...pet store, underwear store, men's suit store, and then the hugest shoes I've ever seen in my life store. "Those are big shoes," I think to myself as I step back on the sidewalk to glance at the name. "Big Shoes" the sign says. Why does this make me smile? I can't quite say. Apparently I find humor in irony and obviousness. Why is the sign in English? I don't know that either. Apparently, though, business is booming for Louis, owner of Big Shoes, and he's taken his enormous shoes to the wold wide web:

3. My office is located above the Campo de' Fiori. Every day in the Campo there's a market. Not a cheap market, but a market. For some reason there are many Americans in and around this area of Rome, hence the overpriced produce. The market is not without its merits, however. It's alive every morning with the most colorful fruits, veggies, flowers and people around.

One man has a stall that sells spices. Every day he has to pour his spices from large bags into smaller containers. This makes him sneeze, and his sneezes are even louder than my Papa's once were. (For Non-Windham's read: Louder than anyone who has ever lived. Ever.) And he doesn't sneeze once. He sneezes four, five, six times in succession. With every jarring sneeze, cheers erupt from the other stall owners, and so it goes for the spice pouring process.

The crowd also yells in unison when someone is blocking traffic (because small cars and silent buses(!) can drive through the sides of the market), when something falls and creates a loud racket, when someone does something funny, or for no reason whatsoever. Perhaps if I understood the language I could give better explanations for the nonsensical yelling, but I enjoy the morning chaos as it is. For a while I thought that the stall owners just put on a good show. To give the tourists what they pay for. But the more markets I see and stories I hear, I think that this is the way of the Italians. Loud, entertaining, and willing to make the most out of every situation.

Another group exists in the Campo. These people don't come out until after the market is closed. NB: What follows does not belong in the category of Things that Make Me Smile. This tirade would be better suited for the I'd Rather Poke Myself in the Eye with a Hot Poker Than...column, but I haven't started that one yet. So... I'd rather poke myself in the eye with a hot poker than listen to the musicians of the Campo de' Fiori for another day. Promptly after the market is closed, out they come. Accordians, violins, cellos, harpsichords, singers. Many types of instruments. One playlist. Volare. Somewhere Over the Rainbow. My Way. I'm sure that these people have done loads of market research, and this research has conclusively told them that if you want to squeeze money out of the tourists, My Way and Somewhere Over the Rainbow are the way to go. SO...I'm begging you, American Tourists, demand a change. They won't listen to me if you keep oohing and aahing and dancing and singing and paying and ENJOYING THIS MUSIC THAT THEY PLAY REPEATEDLY EVERY DAY RAIN OR SHINE DIRECTLY BELOW MY WINDOW. please. Maybe request a Beatles tune. Or Brown Eyed Girl. Every American tourist likes that. Right?

And now some pictures.

I get to go on great field trips with my job. This is a picture from an old Greek temple (yes, Greek. In Italy. It's that old.) in Paestum. Very little restoration work was done to this temple at all. It's just been standing there in a field for thousands of years.

I like to include pictures of Fernet whenever I can. This picture is on the side of the Antico Caffe del Moro, a cafe in Trastevere near our house. I like to call it "Civilizing the natives. One shot of Fernet at a time."

YAY!!! We got a new bird!!
Boo--They must have forgotten to snip
his wings.
His name is Roamy. Or maybe Romy or Rome-y. I'll have to ask Nora. Here he is at the top of our window, making it very difficult to get him back into the cage. Does anyone know how to snip a bird's wings? (I'm looking at you, Swanky.)

Honestly, who can not like graffiti like this?

Sometimes we wear out our dear little Nora. Here she is after walking to the top of the Aventine hill. (It's not really that big.)

Jugs of wine as large as my daughter for a fraction of the cost.

More later. Love you all.

Webkinz Info

2006-09-25T14:40:00.000+02:00

For those of you chomping at the bit, anxious to school the 7-year olds at Tic Tac Toe, Nora's Webkinz user name is: Elinore (no idea why--my child can be a bit random). Her pets' names are Chicha and Rosie. But I'm pretty sure that you just need her username: Elinore.

Things I've learned/I'm learning/I may never understand in Italy

2006-09-15T11:59:00.000+02:00

Things I've learned:

1. There's actually a digestive bitter that tastes good! Fernet Branca is strong, and it lets you know you're drinking something serious (and 90 Proof) when you're drinking it by the way it grabs you from your insides and threatens to turn them inside out. But for just slightly less alcohol content (70 Proof), you can drink Amaro and actually enjoy it. Think of how much prettier that experience can be. (Although it's not nearly as momentous an event, since I never once questioned whether or not I was going to die.)

2. I have also learned (this one’s for you, Cam) that olives are not only edible but also almost enjoyable if eaten with a little bit of meat or cheese. I’ve always described the taste of olives as an assault on my tongue (similar to Fernet, but with no benefits), so I’m shocked that I chose to handle an assault with no buffer at all. A little meat, a little cheese goes a long way. Someday, I may even enjoy them.

That may conclude the portion of things I've learned. Well...

3. I've learned that it's not wise to make statements about a culture or place before you've learned the language. I've taken some of these hasty generalizations to heart and suffered unnecessary stress from it. SO....most of what I have is

Things I'm learning:

1. This first one is actually one that Nora is learning. She's learning that the terms "river" and "lake" are not interchangeable. I'd like to thank Austin, Texas for this one. Almost every day when we walk over the Tiber, Nora makes some comment to me about how dirty the lake is.

2. I'm learning how to cross the street. Everyone knows that crossing the street is dangerous when you're in Rome. You're prepared for that. What I don't think people are prepared for is this: if you treat crossing the road as a dangerous thing, something you're afraid of, then it really is dangerous. If you are timid, slow, make false starts then you confuse the scooters and they swerve and then it's danger all around. BUT...if you step off the curb and onto the street, wait for a gap in the first lane, and begin walking directly and quickly across the street (making eye contact with drivers as you go), then no one will hit you, and you won't look like a tourist. People have even started asking me for directions. I know it's not my appearance. I think it must be my growing talent at this street crossing business.

3. I'm learning that gas water heaters are the best inventions ever and that I should have sent thank you notes to my utility providers every month with my bill.
You think electric bills are expensive there? HA! Every morning, my general cleanliness and odor revolve around this site:
Our electric water heater that's too expensive to use all the time, but it takes at least 2-3 hours to show any movement in the gauge. At the moment that gauge shows that there is very little hot water in our tank. This means that, with the faucet pointed all the way to hot, I could get a 5 minute shower IF I use the water in shifts. Wet hair. Turn off. Lather. Rinse hair, wet body. Turn off. Lather. And so on. Also remember that the water in Rome is piped in from mountain springs. This is fantastic when you're walking around the town, and you can stop at any number of ice cold drinking fountains. In the shower...it's not as appealing. BUT I'm learning. I'm learning to turn on the heater before dinner and turn it off before I go to bed. It just takes some time.

4. Unfortunately, I'm also learning a bit about E. Coli. Nora got two parakeets for her birthday, Sebastian and Olivia. Here they are: After a few days it seemed as though those birds were getting dirty, and I had a brilliant idea "A bird bath!" Birds love bird baths. I'll put a dish of water (shallow, so they won't drown) at the bottom of the cage. The birds will stand in it and splash and frolic and clean themselves, and everyone will be happy. Instead of cleaning himself in the water, Sebastian decided to drink the water after pooing in it. Here is a picture of the bird cage now: It may be difficult to see inside the cage, sorry for the quality of the photo, but instead of Sebastian, there is now a mirror. Oliva seems to be ok chirping to the mirror, but the whole ordeal is really sad. In fact Nora just came in and saw the picture of Sebastian and got upset all over again. Anyway...the point: I'm learning about E. Coli and that sometimes birds are just dirty birds and that's all.

5. I'm also learning that people really don't drink cappuccino after breakfast. I scoffed at Jack for this one because it sounded like one of those hasty generalizations, but nope. It's true. I still drink cappuccinos whenever I want to because I'm not Italian, and I think that's a pretty ridiculous rule, and I'll have a cappuccino whenever I want. Which is truly never. What I really want is a HUGE mug of coffee that I can sip in a comfy chair at a coffeeshop that charges me the same price if I choose to sit with my coffee as they would if I chose to stand at the bar. This is actually not fair. They do charge (almost double) if you sit down with your coffee, BUT they only charge like 85 cents to start off with. It's not a prohibitive cost, and I could sit down if I wanted to, but it's the principle. And anyway...the cups are so teeny, I'd be done by the time I sat.

6. I'm also learning that Jack is "the best...AROUND" (to be sung to the tune of the Karate Kid song) because LOOK what he found for me!! That's right. That's cilantro!! Words can not describe my excitement!!

7. I'm also learning that Italian schools are NOTHING like American schools. Here are the supplies that we were told to bring:
a bag that contains pencils, markers, scissors, etc (the bag actually comes with these things in it and NOBODY just gets a bag and fills it with the items--you can tell the difference, so we had to buy this item twice); a notebook; a "diario" (assignment book/diary); a placemat; and a cup. What we were not told to bring because it's normally expected that you know is that Nora was supposed to bring a toothbrush and toothpaste to brush her teeth after lunch. The placemat and cup are used after BOTH of the snacks that the kids have during the day. Their lunch is one hour long, prepared by a cook, and consists of two or three courses every day. The other day she had veal. They only get homework on the weekends, and they go to school from 8:20--4:20. There is no sort of ISL program, but her teachers seem very nice (there are two teachers for each room), and are really working with her individually to help her learn.

Believe me, this list is much longer, but we have to go home now, so I'll add more later.

Photo Post

2006-09-14T17:04:00.000+02:00

It's been a really long time since we've posted anything, and the longer we wait to post something, the harder it gets--because there's more to say. So I think this post will be a photo essay...with very few words. I am compiling at the moment a three-columned list: things I've learned while living in Rome, things I'm learning, and things I haven't learned and may never understand. But for now, here are photos.

I'm pretty sure this is a Hobbit house, found outside a church near our home.

In Rome, there is a big festival at the end of August (or beginning of September, not sure if it celebrates the full moon or end of summer or what) called Notte Biancha. The entire town comes out and celebrates and every store/cafe/pub/bar/restaurant remains open all night. It's like the opposite of the month of August where every store/cafe/pub, etc. remains closed and the Romans are nowhere to be found. I think maybe this holiday began to celebrate the end of tourist season, but I could be wrong. Anyway...here Nora and I are looking out of the office windows, overlooking the Campo de' Fiori.

The whole town = a lot of people.
Photo taken at 3 A.M.

A gyspy and her baby.

My gypsy baby.

Nora loves Nutella.

Nora and Jack. My little gargoyle and pensive holy man.

I apologize that this picture is not rotated, but I really can't be bothered to go back and do it now. Jack, Nora, and I went to the nearby town of Frascati a few weekends ago. Frascati is known for its white wine, and here Nora can be seen pouring wine from the wall into a 1.5L water bottle. Total cost: 2 Euros. Not bad.

We are living in Trastevere--a "hip" neighborhood across the Tiber from the historic center of town. In fact, Trastevere means "across the Tiber." Lots of people congregate here in the evenings. This attracts buskers of varying degrees of talent. Most of them include some aspect of fire juggling in their routine. Two girls do an exercise routine, in what appears to be utter seriousness, to Cyndi Lauper. These guys may or may not have been performers in Cirque du Soleil. They were fantastic and performed to the music from Alegria.

From the top of St. Peter's basilica. (the one with the Pope)

This is Nora's first day of school. And this is one of her teachers, Serena. Her other teacher is Paola. They speak no English, and Nora speaks no Italian. I have more to say about this, but it will have to wait until the next post.

Skype Clarification

2006-08-22T09:28:00.000+02:00

Ok--go to skype.com. That website has detailed instructions on what to do. It requires that your computer have a microphone, not necessarily a headset. Apples typically have microphones, PCs probably don't. That's really as much as I know. The website has more answers than I do. My dad was able to get Skype set up with virtually no help from me, so all of you in the Computer Generation better not have any trouble. :)

Skype

2006-08-20T20:03:00.000+02:00

How many of you have signed onto Skype now? Remember Skype? That great free webphone thing I was blathering on about last month? I need to know your Skype names so that we can talk. I also need to arrange times to talk to you all. Remember that we're 7 hours ahead and that we don't have internet at home, so we have to come to Jack's work to make this happen. Our Skype name is: jackwaiteroma
And yours is...? Leave a comment and let us know.

We have gas!!

2006-08-16T19:05:00.000+02:00

Never have I been so thankful for the discovery of fire than this last week. I woke up one morning and attempted to make coffee with one of these guys:
Put it on the burner. Turned the knob. Nothing. Jack scoured the interior of the apartment (which doesn't take long) and the outside. He turned every valve he found and nothing. No gas. Also, now, no water. (Luckily he figured out which valve that had been relatively quickly.) We realized that we didn't know if the gas had even been turned on. Gettting in touch with the landlord or gas company is next to impossible right now because all of Rome is shut down for August. So for the last...however long...we've been coming to Jack's work to cook and getting coffee out. Yesterday, however, I was poking around under the kitchen sink and found a new valve!! Gas! Fire! Coffee! Pasta! I literally danced around the apartment at the sight of the blue flame.
After coffee and lunch I was washing dishes when Nora noticed a small lake forming on the floor. Apparently poking around under the sink had loosened the PVC pipe/drain and all of our coffee/pasta was washing under our sink and onto our floor.

I've got fingers in the dike of my sanity.

Luckily I've got yummy things to eat, pretty things to look at, and Jack and Nora are here. And they've got fingers too!

We Are Here

2006-08-10T18:52:00.000+02:00

We made it!!! Before all the craziness erupted in London (whenever that was). I have to say that I think I am in a state of shock right now. Exhaustion, hunger, language barrier, and this world being so completely different from the world I am used to will lead to shock I guess. I would love to write more now (I would love to be able to write everyone a personal email as well) BUT I have got to go get some food now. It can not wait. Also, I can not contract words when I write on this Italian keyboard because I can not find the apostrophe. Look what happens: canàt. SEE! Thatàs not what itàs supposed to look like!! But my hunger is blurring my vision and I canàt find the correct key what with all these Euro signs and § and ç getting in the way. Just remember: à = apostrophe

I will write more later. Promise.
By the way-- everything is as beautiful and amazing as I remembered. I predict my shock will subside in a few days. Iàll write more then.

Excavation of Villa delle Vignacce

2006-08-05T03:07:00.000+02:00

this is the excavation of the area. we've uncovered a wonderfully intact bath comlex: a hot water bath (caldarium), a warmish water bath (tepidarium), and a very cold water bath (frigidarium).

I say "we incovered...", but it's really all of the people in this picture below who did the work.

And below are the managers of the whole thing: Stefano, Alessio, Dar, Sara, and Dora.

This is Dora--the glue of the whole thing--putting the pieces together.

and this is the view inside the bath, which had some amazing mosaic tiles from multiple ages.

Checking Off the List

2006-08-03T01:50:00.000+02:00

Before Jack left we constructed a list of all the things we needed to do in Austin before going to Rome. Here are a few of my favorites:

The Avenue B Grocery.
Where fresh sandwiches are made in the back and the aisles are filled with all the specialty chip and drink accompaniments one could ask for. The man who runs the place is also part of the draw. Always good conversation while he's making your sandwich. (Especially during football season if you're into that sort of thing.) Actually, when I went in there a few weeks ago, I told him that his grocery was on My List, and he told me that I was the third person to say that to him that day. Enough said.

The Dry Creek Cafe
It's called a Cafe because there are wonderful delicacies like pickles and bags of chips to choose from. There's also one of the oldest juke boxes in town and a decor that has not changed a bit in the last 50 years. The chairs are still broken, so are the tables, and nobody has felt it necessary to invest in a fan or two. We sweat there last weekend for the 50th anniversary. Said "hello" to Sarah (the 93-year-old woman who owns the place, whom I affectionately refer to as the Beer Nazi) and enjoyed the best value view in town. (In terms of value in time, money, and headaches it beats the snot out of the Oasis any day.)

Hut's Hamburgers
Jack and I used to come here every Tuesday (or was it Thursday?) for 2 for 1 Southern Fried Chicken Night. Apparently so did a lot of others in Austin, and they stopped that special. They still do 2 For 1 Burger Nights, although their burgers are worth full price. As are their fat onion rings and fatty shakes and malts.

Tamale House
The one on Airport. The one with Migas that lay swimming in a soup of cheese. They are worth every pound to my hips and arteries.

These are all places that I've been going for over 10 years, and I'm satisfied with one last trip as a final goodbye. Or a see you later. What I am not ok with is only finding out now, right before I'm leaving the country, that there are other AMAZING GEMS in this city that I don't feel satisfied with yet! For instance this one:

Little Thailand
WHY did I not know that an authentic Thai restaurant resided in a trailer under the Garfield water tower? With a free jukebox? Where a Living Will can be completed for you while you eat? Honestly, is this the sort of thing that remains secret among friends?
Or this one:

Actually the picture isn't obvious but it's of the Independence Brewery. The fact that there's a brewery in Austin is "meh" exciting. The fact that they serve their beer free the first Saturday of every month is something I should have known about before now! And the only reason that I am still coming to Rome, Jack, is because this Saturday happens to be the the first Saturday of this month.

my touristy walk

2006-08-01T22:03:00.000+02:00

the first stop was the Pantheon, one of the best preserved buildings anywhere. originally built in 27 b.c. by Agrippa. rebuilt in the 2nd century by Hadrian. i can't quite find words to say how amazing this building is, so i won't try.

this is apparently the best espresso or cappucino in all of rome, which of course measn all of the world. it was damn good. i still don't know why a hot espresso is so tiny, while a cold, sweetened espresso is about 3x the size. who knows...

the madness that is trevi fountain in the summer...

and more trevi fountain. it is one of rome's reasons for being so powerful for so long. they always have had pure, cold beautiful water piped in through the aquaducts. this is a monument to one of them. all of the fountains in rome--and some are as small as fire hydrants that constantly flow small stream of water--are drinkable. and this with lead pipes that don't make kids mentally retarded because they have long been coated with minerals from the very rich water. it's so cold...so good...especially on a hot day. it turns faucets foggy with its cold.

and here is one tier of the spanish steps. you can't see the other 2 from this angle. in renaissance times, sexy people would hang out here, waiting to be seen and discovered by artists who would use them to immortalized as their subjects for sculptures and paintings.

not much has changed. the sexy still congregate here, joined by tourists with fanny packs and camera straps that take away any bit of sexiness.

I call "not it" for packing jobs 'till eternity

2006-07-27T16:36:00.000+02:00

and here are the reasons Jack should agree.

1. Jack is not just good at packing. He's a Master Packer. I've seen him masterfully fit the following into my Element: suitcases for all three of us (suitcases large enough to contain necessary items for a week of beach and mountain weather in Mexico), all of the presents that a (some say spoiled, some say appreciated) six-year-old girl received from two sets of grandparents and two sets of Santas, snorkeling gear, a separate bag of my shoes, a toiletry bag, at least one sack of food, necessary electronic/entertainment items for a trip (Ipod, cds, DVD player, etc.), a cooler, and TWO surfboards. AND THEN, he removed all of those items from my car, flexed his packing muscles, and got it into his little Subaru!! He's not crazy about video games, but I'm willing to bet that he would embarass Tetris addicts with his abilities. I've never seen anyone look at a packing puzzle and determine that tilting the toiletry bag like so will free up the space for these two freakin' surfboards.

2. He's also focused and quick about it. When he's on a packing mission, he will not be distracted until the job is done. Before his own flight, I fell asleep one night to a great big mess and woke up in the morning to two neatly packed bags and two neatly packed carry on items. Like the Packing Fairy. A very masculine Packing Fairy, Jack.

3. I am neither focused nor quick about packing. In my own desperate attempt to pack our things I've been distracted by the contents of old purses, my old writings from 325M, Nora's old writings from the 1st grade, old photos, and tax documents. But more often than not I just get bored with the whole thing and leave it--a bigger mess than when I started.

4. I just plain suck at packing. There are spaces around big items in boxes and suitcases that I know Jack could fit a surfboard into, but I can't see how tilting anything just so would accomodate anything more than a small stuffed animal or perhaps a thin journal or photo album. IN FACT, I've removed journals and photo albums from the "Pack up to store at Mom's" pile and put them into the suitcases just because there seemed to be a spot for them. No lie. I've attempted to channel Jack during this debacle to guide me. I've seen him pile everything onto the bed first (rather than just start putting things in suitcases). SO I took everything out of the suitcases, put them on the bed, and then put everything right back into the suitcases. That was no help at all. I've taken things that were neatly stacked away in the closet and stacked them less neatly against the wall. Somehow physically moving things makes me feel like I'm doing something. The state of the room now is just as bad as it was two weeks ago, but everything is in a different place.
And so, dear Jack, I am "not it" for packing. I will, however, keep the jobs challenging (and thus interesting) for you by accumulating more things.

our new apartment!!

2006-07-27T01:17:00.000+02:00

we have an apartment! whew, since Rome shuts down for the month of august. small, yes, but it has 2 bedrooms and is in a great part of town: Trastevere.

here it is: the entrance is the brown door to the right of the restaurant.

here's the view of the street looking north...

and south...

wine-soaked recollections, 2 weeks in.

2006-07-27T00:35:00.000+02:00

it's weird, on the flight from Austin to New York, when I was getting very sad, nostalgic, and questioning the whole move, I looked at the TV the guy had on seated next to me. And there was my coworker Dar on the TV. Wha? He and another coworker, Scott, were on the History Channel's program "Rome: Engineering an Empire." They played a very prominent role in that show (which got an emmy nomination, btw) And here it was on the TV at that very moment.

I took it as a good omen.

I am having a great time and holding on to my foundation by listening to all the music i love. i'm getting melancholy tonight to Rufus Wainwright followed by a healthy dose of Leaonard Cohen. Tomorrow i'll be a bit more adventurous. Maybe a little raveonettes followed by sound team.

There are fire jugglers outside of my window. And an accordionist across the piazza who is (thankfully) *not playing "My Way," as they tend to do in these uber-touristy areas.

life is good. we got an apartment today in a great area called Trastevere, which is Rome's version of the East Village. Nora and her Mom come over in a few weeks. That explains my melancholy. I miss them. Other than that, I finished my thesis, found an apartment, and found out we got a $70,000 donation. all of that TODAY. it's been a good day.

anyway, i wish a good day to everyone that reads this. get in on my fortunate day, if you buy that kind of stuff.

ciao - jack

Roman Food, Episode IV: A New Hope

2006-07-26T17:44:00.000+02:00

Just in case you have defective taste buds and don't like the food here, or if crave food from home soo badly, you're willing to pay out the culo, i found a store today called Castroni.

i'm about to make mexican food for the kiddos at the archaeological dig. dar says they're crazy about the thought of mexican food. yikes! good news is i found Castroni. It has everything non-roman from those shite beans the british so love, to vegemite, to hot dog buns, bottled mole sauce, soymilk, fish sauce, even (thanks be to god) black beans and the biggest jar of salsa ever made. this store--which is tiny, mind you--had indian, chinese, japanese, dirty-knees, what-are-these?, american, british, french, german, dutch, african (sorry to lump all of that together--i know there are more countries in africa than in any other continent), central american, mexican, south american, vietnamese, thai, greek, turkish, west-indies, yadda-yadda-yadda. they had everything you need to feel home for a little bit. i just can't imagine who would crave French's yellow mustard, but if you did, you'd be happy at Castroni.

I found tortillas. I found black beans. I am happy.

Unbelievable.

the Piazza Farnese area

2006-07-26T00:01:00.000+02:00

This is the area around and including Piazza Farnese. The Farnese family became very powerful when Cardinal Alessandro Farnese became Pope Paul III in 1534. He was the 1st Pope in the counter-reformation and acted more like a King than a Pope. He had 4 kids from unidentified mother, made 3 of them legitimate, then made them rich beyond words. He and his family for hundreds of years were great patrons of the arts. He continued funding for the Sistine Chapel (have you heard of it?), St.Peter's Basilica (hmm, that sounds familiar too), and the Palazzo Farnese.

In 1515 the architect Sangalo the Younger (ok, i really have not heard of him) started the palace. when he died, someone named Michelangelo took over (ok, there we go). It's considered a maserpiece of balance and proportion. (crickets chirping) Seriously people, it's amazing. Just because it doesn't have columns or spires...jeez, tough crowd. Anyway, since 1635 the French Embassy has been here. The inside is closed to the public, but I think I can convince them that I deserve a glimpse. I'll let you know how that goes.

This is the other side of the Piazza Farnese. My office is the one on the right, the white one.

Around the corner one way is the bridge from the Palazzo to the Convent of Santa Maria della Morte on the Tiber. The Farneses kept a lot of their art there and wanted a convenient way to get there without rubbing shoulders with--well, with the likes of plebes like me.

Just down from the bridge is the Fontana del Mascherone (Gargoyle fountain). It was built in 1626 but the marble tub and mask are from much earlier, probably from an old Roman bath.

Around another corner from the piazza is this spot where I like to sit and have a glass of whatever if I linger around after work. It has--and this just might shock you--a little history behind it. The Hostaria della Vacca belonged to Vanozza Caetani who lived from 1442-1518. "Who is she?" you might be asking yourself. Well...she had this boyfriend and had several kids with this guy. Who, who?! Well, his name was Rodrigo Borgia.

Who?

Um, hello? R o d r i g o B o r g i a . Better known later as Pope Alexander VI. Alright, now you're with me. (ok, so I didn't know who he was either. In fact, I never knew there was a Pope Alexander.) I'm telling you, these Popes were naughty boys.

Now, keeping track on the Perv-Pope-meter, that's upwards of 7 kids for 2 Popes. A grand start. Oh, yes, mom and Dad--we're keeping track.

Brandy and Water

2006-07-23T02:37:00.000+02:00

The Tiber River is one of Rome's most underappreciated and ignored places. It serves more as a geographic marker separating the Vatican, the Gianiculum Hill, and Trastevere ("across the Tiber") from the rest of the Center. But it really is pretty--just don't swim in it--and offers some amazing views.

Here's the view from the Ponte Principe Amedeo (where Brandy and I saw an awful fireworks display in 1999), over the Tiber, looking at the Castel Sant'Angelo (the circular behemoth on the right).

"The sailors say...

--Jack

Contacting us

2006-07-21T20:01:00.000+02:00

Everyone should check out skype.com.
This is an absolutely free way to contact other skype users, regardless of their location.
It's a bit weird, because we'll be talking through our computers (so you do have to have a microphone on your computer to make it work), but it's FREE.
We'll let you know our skype name when Jack signs us up on his computer. (Are you listening, Jack? Add that to your list of Things To Do. Thank you.)

For now of course I can be contacted through the same old methods--phone, email, or tracking me down at my well worn bench at the Ginger Man.

the beach - la spiaggia

2006-07-19T01:54:00.000+02:00

emilia, with a nutella crepe all over her hands

the beach clubs on the sea in ostia

the sea. la mare. lots to do.

the campo de fiori at night

2006-07-18T23:32:00.000+02:00

there's always drama going on at night. drunk tourists and travellers stumbling. families strolling. lovers found and lovers lost.
sometimes drunk tourists and travellers stumbling on families--soon losing their lovers.

and still more. the cafes are wonderful. in case you couldn' tell.

ok, i'll stop rubbing it in.

saturday morning

2006-07-17T19:40:00.000+02:00

i took a walk to the vatican on saturday morning. not that i'm what anyone would call a good catholic (i'm not going to say that's an oxymoron because my parents would get mad), but the view from the dome is unbeatable.

the vatican and the piazza of st. peter.

god coughed up his corn flakes when he saw the beast of a church the catholics built for him. it's true, read about it somewhere else.
it seats 60,000. now i don't want to piss off any baptists out there, but that makes it the largest church in the world. the top of the dome is 450 feet above the altar. many other impressive dimensions exist of course. in all a very humble offering to god.

um, nice view.
the view of rome from the top of what is still the biggest domed building in the world.

the piazza of st. peter and the big obelisk the romans stole from alexandria about 2000 years ago. it used to be in the circus maximus. imagine moving that thing? "hey, can i borrow your pickup...?"

roman icons

2006-07-17T19:26:00.000+02:00

this is a building. and a bike. and some plants growing out of a wall. very cool.

rome has something like 40,000 stray cats. not the band, mind you. are they still around?

my walk home from work

2006-07-17T18:51:00.000+02:00

the campidoglio, where romulus founded rome more than 27 centuries ago, now site of michelangelo's piazza from about 1650.

the monument to vittorio emanuele, the first king of italy. it is huge and most italians say obnoxious. others call it the typewriter or wedding cake, both of which is definitely looks like. it is a bit hideous, yet more than a few americans think it's the coolest building in rome. tsk-tsk. it's from 1911 and that makes it brand-spanking new here.

emperor trajan's forum and column and a very old library. the column has a bas relief spiralling up to the top (very high) describing some war or something. it's hard to see if you aren't 150 feet tall.

my office and the market outside

2006-07-17T18:40:00.000+02:00

this is the office, up on the 3rd floor. our terrace is above the building in the foreground.

this is the view from the terrace.

this is the 300 yr old fresco on the ceiling. it's a little blurred. sorry.

this is the view from my chair out to the campo dei fiori. that's a statue of giordano bruno, who was burned at this spot in 1600 for heresy. back then, the popes weren't exactly pillars of society--just powerful. some had mistresses and several children.
this is also the piazza where parts of the Puccini opera 'Tosca' took place.
i still haven't figured out why Bruno looks like darth vader.

and this is the campo dei fiori market in action. it is there every day (well, not sunday). they build it up and tear it down every day. there isn't a trace of it by 5:00 when everyone fills the square to wander around or get a bite to eat/drink. it's quite the place to hang out at night, and it's not always cleared of people by the time the market stalls come to set up in the wee hours.

A little late for thinking this through

2006-07-11T05:28:00.000+02:00

Jack left today. His flight was at 7 A.M. We woke at 7:30. Four hours later he was sitting on a different plane, willing it to fly faster. Instead the plane was delayed at take off and landing due to a faulty door (!). So rather than wasting away a six hour layover, Jack sprinted through JFK with 200 pounds of luggage--arriving at the gate 30 minutes after it closed. I'd like to personally thank the woman working the Aer Lingus counter today. Thank you for rearranging Jack's flight reservations to accomodate his 5 hour delay. Thank you for allowing his oversized luggage. And thank you for waiving the 500 dollars in bad-traveller-fees. Those 500 dollars represent a small percentage of one month's rent in Rome or a month's supply of gelato. Either way, it's better off in our hands.

This is the first day that I think I've seen the idea of moving as more than a vacation. More than a fun idea to romanticize over wine. Today when I got back from the airport, I looked at Austin in a new way. I kept thinking "Here I am at Jo's. I was here with Jack the other day. Jack won't see this place again for a while. Oh shit! I won't see this place for a while! I love this place! What the hell am I doing?!" This same thought process repeated while looking at landmarks, stores/restaurants, freakin' traffic on Mopac, and my couch. And there were tears. More tears today than I've felt in a while.

I love Austin. I love my friends. I love my life here. I am not dissatisfied. Am I ready to make such a revolution when things are running smoothly? A moot question I guess since I've got two very expensive tickets for 8/8. Thank god the plane leaves in the afternoon.