The weather outside is frightful

written Tuesday, Dec 8th

So, little Froglet and I are snowed in. I sent the Moms back to their B and B after lunch today so that I didn't have to worry about them driving in the snow. We're forecasted to get somewhere between 8 and 17 inches of snow tonight! It's been snowing now since the morning - but we're nice and toasty inside. All I'm missing is a cup of cocoa!

Well, and all of my own furnishings and comforts of home. Because, well, we're stuck in temporary housing. We haven't spent the night in our own house since the Friday after Thanksgiving and it looks like we'll never sleep there again.

Most of the way through our Thanksgiving dinner (which MomK and Sissy were here for), our carbon monoxide detector went off. We followed the procedures and called security and the fire department. They found high readings in the apartment and aired it out for a while. Then, on Friday they brought us a new stove (as they thought it was something with the stove) and a new carbon monoxide detector. Then, on Saturday, the carbon monoxide detector went off again! This time, I really freaked out. Froglet and I went out to the car to keep warm and away from the gas. Then PEter brought out the cat, and Sis went back on forth getting us blankets and the diaper bag. Eventually, we decided to take Froglet to the ER to get her checked out.

We were seen quickly at the ER - helps to live in a quiet town - but it was a traumatic experience. They needed to take her blood to test her CO levels, but they were unable to get a vein in her arm. Eventually they had to get the blood from her heel, one drop at a time. It was terrible watching them hold her down as she screamed. The ER doc decided to give her oxygen as a precaution since there's little research about safe CO levels for infants. Sis did a bunch of research from her cell phone in the room and also coordinated with Mom to get us a place to spend the night - since I was NOT going back to that house again. Peter and Sis managed to get Froglet and I safely ensconced in the B and B and then went back to the house for provisions and to drop Cole off at the Veterinary Hospital for his overnight stay.

so, now we're in temp housing. The university has been trying to figure out the cause of the CO levels, with little success. We aren't willing to move back without an identified cause of the problem - so that we could have some reassurance that it won't reoccur. And thus, we've been camping out for 10 days now. Hopefully we'll have a resolution soon.

¡In Mexico!

Mexico City is kind of crazy. If you combined the chaos of Italy with the congestion of Hong Kong, you'd be somewhere close.

So far it's been great. We've eaten lots of street food, including tacos al pastor and quesidillas (not liek your mom used to make them).

Kimberly and I are heading to Oaxaca tomorrow, which is the cultural capitol of the country. Also, they make lots of mole and chocolate things. Needless to say, we're excited.

More to come in the future.

The Day After

On Friday, I informed you all of the small scale flood we had here in our middle-American town. We were supposed to keep getting rain and thunderstorms, adding to the water level, for the rest of the weekend; fortunately, the weather was more or less dry.

So on Sunday morning, I walked down to the field where our plot is to assess the damage. I have to say, I was expecting the worse. In reality, it wasn't as bad I thought it would be.

Here's a view from the embankment, the same place I took some of the earlier pics:
As you can see, the soccer field has become a water polo field. But, as you can see in the back, there's our fence, and it looks like it isn't in too bad of shape:
I walked down the path on the east side of the field to see if I could walk to the plot, but there was still a significant amount of water on the low ground, including on our plot. While I was down the path, I did get this better shot of our still standing fence:
Since I couldn't tell if the plants had survived from that distance, I tired to use the digital zoom on the camera to get a better look. Unfortunately, with the digital zoom and my shaky hands, I wasn't able to get a good look at ground, although it does look like it was still underwater:

Unfortunately, we're supposed to get more storms over the next 3 days or so. If somehow it stays dry here, I'll try to walk down to the plot to see if anything made it through.

Devastation

First of all, thank you all for the wonderful comments in the original garden post. I appreciate them.

Second, remember how mentioned I would keep you updated on said garden? Well, this may be the last post in that thread.

So, I mentioned that it was raining and we were having thunderstorms, right? Well, I awoke this morning to a co-worker who also has a plot near us: 'The rain gods are fickle.' I know he's trying to plant his plot, so I thought there was too much water still and he was sad.

I was so wrong.

When I walked down to the garden plot, I noticed an unusually large number of cars coming through the complex. Then, as I got close to the plot, I saw this:

You're looking at a soccer field. And that's water. A lot of water. More water than there should be. Like, say, a flood.

And this is where our garden plot is/was/should be:
There is a river that runs a couple hundred feet to the south of our plot, and apparently it crested overnight (I heard someone say it crested 5 feet, which sounds really bad):
Now the river is like 10 times as wide as it was before. And flowing really fast.

And if it looks deep, it is. See these basketball hoops, they're 10 feet tall. Keep in mind that the original height of the river was at least 5 feet BELOW our garden plot.
There's also a golf course across the street, which is along the river. Guess what happened to that:
I think that hole now has a water hazard.

It's supposed to thunderstorm pretty much non-stop until next Wednesday, so I think the water might continue to rise. We're fairly high up, so I think we'll be ok, but I think the units down near the filed are in trouble.

I don't know what happened to the fence and plantings at our plot, but I'm going to go ahead and assume they're all gone, based on how fast the water was flowing.

Here's the schematic of our plot now:

I'm not sure what it will look like once the water falls, so I'm not sure if I'll replant. right now, I'm a little shocked.

Goodbye dear garden, we barely knew ye.

[More pictures of the devastation on Flickr]

The C word

It strikes again. A classmate of mine just found out that her cancer has metastasized. She's been in remission for the last few years but hasn't been feeling well for a month now. It's never a good time to find out, but it's been particularly harsh for her to not be able to finish out the semester. Chemo starts in a few weeks. We don't know the prognosis yet, but it's not looking good. This is a very rare cancer, and the fact that it has metastasized is very bad.

We're working on a plan to help - groceries, company, dinner.... but we can't help with the bills. The rough part about being a grad student (or really just a person in the US) is that health insurance is dependent on employment. We get fairly inexpensive insurance here. But what happens if she can't take classes and TA in the fall? Her insurance will expire in August. If she can't comeback, it will be because she's too sick. This means she'll need the insurance (chemo and cancer not being a particularly inexpensive disease). So she's also facing a terrible catch22. We talked about this a lot after Dad died. Illness is most expensive for those who can least afford it. Why we can as a nation afford billion (trillion? I don't even know) war and weapons but not health care?

Farm U is reminding me a bit of CityU right now. People have banded together and are acting like family, rather than the "system". We have quickly shifted into discussions about who will do what, and are trying to help and support each other. And interesting wrinkle is the cross-cultural nature of our department. I spent a while today talking with my officemate (from China) about the appropriate responses to finding out that she has cancer. Officemate was surprised that she knew- telling me that people with cancer in China never know, because their families don't tell them. This way, everyone is "happy". We talked for awhile about what it meant for the diagnosis and prognosis to be known. We talked about what types of support and comfort could be given. Although I A NOT GRATEFUL for me previous experiences with cancer (and PLEASE do NOT tell me anything like that), I know that I can rely a little bit on them, and be a better friend because of them. I know that I can avoid saying the unhelpful things- and instead offer a hug, a tissue, and a shoulder to cry on. I won't tell her it's going to be better. I won't tell her that it's part of the "plan". I don't know if she believes this or not. But I can offer her friendship right now.

So, tonight I'm sitting here, ostensibly writing a paper, and thinking about her. She's not writing her papers, as she can't focus with the dose of oxycodone she's on. We'll be babysitting her pet for a while, and doing what we can to make sure she's not alone.

And, for now, I'm feeling very sad. Very scared. And, honestly, pretty pissed off. Damn cancer. She's my age.

News from China

One of those blogs listed over in the corner is Chengdu Letters, a blog from my dear friend Lara who is currently teaching in Chengdu, China. She sent out an email recently and has a post up on her blog, that should be required reading for all of us- I'll let her explain it

"Hi everyone -

This is just a quick heads-up, in case you
haven't been following what's been going on over
here (which wouldn't be hard, considering the
media lockdown that China is currently
enforcing). This article is most interesting, as
the byline is Chengdu, the city I currently am
calling home.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/26/world/asia/26tibet.html?ex=1364270400&en=9ee001aa638de393&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink"


She goes on to write "What this means for us is this: intense, heavily-armed police presence; increased internet restriction and surveillance; and wild rumors flying around everywhere, with no trustworthy foundational news source. We are not in danger, no matter how crazy the papers may make it look over here."

Go read her whole post as well as the NYTimes article listed above.

On a personal level, I've been talking with my Chinese office mate about both Tibet and Taiwan recently. Although we clearly don't see eye to eye on these issues, we've been able to discuss the cultural issues implicit in both the Chinese actions and the Western nations' response to it. We're learning a lot about each other.

Lara- be safe. We love you.

Arrivederci Italia...

Tomorrow, we leave Italy.

After 8 weeks and 3 days of trekking about in this sometimes chaotic, sometimes sublime, but always beautiful country, we present:

Things we´ll miss about Italy:

• Our morning coffee, usually an espresso, followed a few hours later with our mid-morning cappuccino. We´re like coffee-hobbits. Hobbits addicted to caffeine and running around in circles;
• Prosecco: in the US, champagne and other sparking wines are expensive. Here, prosecco flows like water. Just ask Kimberly;
• The abundance of wine, and more specifically, enoteca, which are wine bars. They´re everywhere, and generally pretty inexpensive;
• Trains, for their convenience and relative inexpensiveness;
• Kebab: not an Italian food, but a Middle Eastern thing. But they don´t sell them in the US, so we have to eat our fill of them while overseas;
  
• Never feeling rushed at a restaurant: except for a handful of instances in the more touristed cities, we have never felt rushed at a restaurant in Italy. If you want to sit for hours, savoring the last glass of wine, no problem. The waiter doesn´t even bring the check until you´ve asked for it;
• Food, in general: if you didn´t notice, we eaten pretty well on this trip. More specifically, prosciutto. And the wonderful selections of salami and cheese as we moved from region to region. More to come on the eating in future posts;
  
• Pedestrian-only zones. In pretty much every City in Italy, the central area is pedestrian only, which allows for lots of strolling while eating gelato and wonderful people watching;
  
• Gelato: Italian ice cream. Especially Kimberly;
• Cheap hotels\pensiones, with clean, efficient rooms and friendly staff. We went cheap most of the time, so we could spend our money on eating, and for the most part it worked out well;
• The Italian bar\cafe: if you want an espresso, a beer, a cocktail, a pack of cigarettes, a piece of pizza or a panini, these places do it all. And well, somehow;
• Italians: often warm and friendly;
• Friends and family, old and newly discovered.
  

Things we won´t miss about Italy:

• People smoking, everywhere. I really don´t care if you smoke, but eating dinner while the person next to you blows smoke in your face is something I pleaently forgot about while living in the states. And people throw their cigarette butts on the ground, no matter what, often times still burning. Very strange;
• Weaving while walking: I´m not sure if all Italians have an inner ear infection, but no one here can walk in a straight line. It is physically impossible for them to do so. Walking down the street in Italy is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do;
• Crossing the street, especially in big cities: not only do you need to watch out for cars and buses, none of which slow or stop for you, but also the bikes and mopeds, which are sometimes cars and sometimes pedestrians, depending on the light cycle. Fear is not strong enough of a word for crossing the street in Rome;
• Bike riding in the pedestrian areas: would it kill you to walk your bike through heavily congested pedestrian areas, instead of riding up my ass, over my toes, and grazing my legs;
  
• Sciopero: we´ve said enough about these. But guess what, even though there is less than 24 hours left in Italy for us, the sciopero may rear its ugly head one more time. We´ll let you know;
• Cheap hotels: for their non-air conditioned rooms, hallways smelling of smoke, and shared bathrooms that smell like someone cleaned a salmon in;
  
• Trains, for their un-rigid schedules, lack of signage, and for their sometimes crowdedness;
• Temperatures in the mid to high 30´s in C (90 - 110 in F). Too hot. Sweating constantly. Kind of gross. Makes Kimberly irritable and Peter smell;
  
• Italians: sometimes self-centered and rude
  

And if you think we haven´t posted enough about our travels while over here (thanks, mostly, to the poor quality of internet cafes), stay tuned. We made a list over our morning coffee and we have at least 30 posts waiting to be written, not to mention the hundreds and hundreds of pictures to sort through and post.

And don´t forget, we have 5 more days of wackiness and fun left over here in Europe, so who knows what will happen.

Yet Again

So, we've been in Italy for about 7 weeks now. That's a pretty good long time. On a trip that long, you have to expect some problems, especially in Italy. Maybe a power outage, or some security issues in another European country. Maybe a train strike. Maybe even a gas station strike.

But this is getting ridiculous. (You know what's coming, right?)

As we approached the vaporetto station in Venice (a vaporetto is a boat that is a bus, because in Venice, they don't have cars, or streets, they have canals), we saw this sign:
So, if you have been reading this blog, you kow that sciopero means; strike. And if you look at the date, it is translated as: Friday, 13th of July. HELLOVENEZIA my a$$.

On FRIDAY THE 13TH, the entire local transportation system for Venice (with some exceptions, none of which helped us) shut down for 7 hours in the middle of the day. I have to say that it's a small miracle that Italy is one of the 8 largest economies in the world. With the number of strikes here, I can't believe they get anything done.

Anyways, guess what day we needed to get from our hotel, located on the southern end of Venice, to the train station, located on the northern end. Yup.

So yesterday, on by far the hottest of our three days in Venice, we straped our bags on, heavy with some new acquisitions, and started walked through the narrow alleys and over the canals of Venice. 60 short minutes later, I thought Kimberly was going to pass out as we reached the station.

But we wouldn't let this little setback ruin what was otherwise a great time in Venice. Like true Italians, we just gave a little shrug, and rolled with the flow.

And if you're counting, this is 3 sciopero's that have directly influenced our lives, with a 4th that very much almost did. One strike for every 2 weeks of travel; not a bad ratio.

Roman Holiday

We've been having a crazy fun time in Italy. The chaos has been manageable and the sights have been good. If only the weather would cool down, it would be perfect.

Our second day in Rome was particularly memorable:

It started off like normal, visiting some museums (the Galleria Borhese), sitting in some piazzas (Piazza Quartinile) and generally wandering. Then we ended up near the Trevi Fountain, which was absolutely mobbed at 5 pm; nothing unusual.

After some internet-ing, then some chinese food dinner, we went back over to the Fountain. No only was it still mobbed, it was worse. But the atmosphere was nice, and the weather not too horrendeous.

Then it happened. A commotion in the middle of the fountain. A guy was standing in the fountain, blatantly in violation of the rules, pulling his wife/girlfriend in. As all the Pakistani Rose Sellers descended on the scene, the couple were in the middle of the fountain, moving towards the middle. Then all of a sudden, the guy got on his knee and pulled out a ring. The place exploded. It was surreal.

The cops eventually came over to pull them out, and were trying to arrest/fine them. But the crowd kept getting louder and laùouder, and booing and yelling at the polizia. From what we could tell, the couple only got a slap on the wrist (I guess thos Italian Polizia do have a heart (or bribed)) as they were laughing with the police. They also got some extra harrasement from the rose sellers, who descended like vultures.

After that excitement, we decided to head home. We were going to walk to the Spanish Steps, about 10 minutes away, to check out the cene and hop on the subway.

Once we got to the Steps, we completely missed the subway stop. I'm not really sure how, but we walked right past it. When we discovered this, half way to the next stop, we decided to circle back through some smaller streets to where we thought the station was.

As we walked down an alley, we heard some singing in the distance. As we got closer, we could see a crowd and lights, and could hear some really good music. Great, a little concert for us.

Then, it was clear. Not a concert, a fashion show, complete with runway down the middle of the street and live DJ. It was pretty cool, so we hung out for a while as Kimberly drooled over the pretty dresses.

Since the fashion show blocked the whole street, we needed to double back again to get to the station. When we finally found it, hidden in plain site, our feet were tired. We were glad to hop on the train.

Except the subway was closed.

We were a little confused. We were pretty certain that the subway stayed open until at least 11, if not later. We even checked the guidebooks (which, in all honestly, have been wrong on more than one occassion).

Our frustration mounting, we went to ask a cop what was going on. BeforeI could even get half the question out in my terrible Italian, he said "CHIUSO" very aggressively. At first, I was stunned, so turned to walk away. But I realized we had no way of getting home, so turned back. Anticipating the question, he pointed in the general behind us and said "Autobus."

We went and looked around a little for a bus, but couldn't find a stop. So we decided to walk. According to the map, it didn't look too far - from the Spanish steps to behind Vatican City.

In reality, it took us 1-1/2 hours, and was probably over 3 miles. We were not happy the next morning.

We looked into a sciopero or any news on the subway, but nothing. Just another day in Italy.

________________________________________

We, and I, have been reporting a lot on sciopero's and other nuisances of travelling here in Italy. It's not really that bad, you just need to roll with the punches.

But I wanted to let you know about 2 books we bought in Siena regarding the Italian way of life, including the sciopero and other ways they do things 'differently' over here.

The first is That Fine Italian Hand by Paul Hoffman. It's a fact-based book on Italian history and how it has shaped the people and some of their current institutions. I'm currently in the middle, and am enjoying it.

The other is When In Rome by Robert Hutchinon. This guy moved his family to Rome to invetigate the Vatican City, the smallest country in the world. It' a very funny chrinicle of his adverntures, and while principally about the Vatican, it's really about Rome and the Italian people. I really enjoyed this one.

____________________________________

Finally, I really like this picture I took from inside the Pantheon. The Pantheon may be my favorite thing in Europe - it's absolutely unbelievable to me that such a large, perfectly domed building was built 2,000 years ago. And inside is even cooler. The perfectly spherical dome has a perfectly circular hole in the top, creating some cool lighting and shadows.

This is the shadow that was cast when we were there.

Held Prisoner in an Italian Restaurant

Eating in Italy is one of the better things you can do in life, as we've reported on several occassions in the past. We hear people over here complaining about the food all the time, saying they get better food in San Francisco or New York. These people are idiots and don't know what they're doing. Ordering polenta in Naploli, or Eggplant in Milan probably isn't going to work out well, since most of Italian cuisine in regional. Do some research, eat the local specialties and you'll be fine.


Italian restaurants move at their own pace, often very slow. In this regard, I can understand the frustration with travellers, especially ones with a tight schedule. Fortunately, we have no schedule, so a 2 hour lunch is fine with us.


But there have been 2 notable exceptions.

In our firt go around in Siena, we went to a little hole in the wall place (in Italy, they're all holes in the walls). After getting screwed out an outdoor seat by the hot guy, we got stuck in the back of the restaurant with the other Americans. No big deal. We were hungry and wanted to eat.

So we perused the menu and choose our food. Some rabbit, some pasta, some veal. Then we waited for the waitress to come.

And we waited.

And we waited.

Since Italian service i slow, I didn't want to look like some American who couldn't deal. So we waited some more. It was an on-going discussion as to how long we should wait. We decided 30 minutes was enough.

When I went to talk to the bar, they were shocked, SHOCKED, that we hadn't been helped and he would help us personally. They then proceeded to tell us that half the menu was no longer available.

In the end, the food was good and I got a free glass of Vin Santo (sweet dessert wine) out of it, but it was annoying none the less.

The second instance happened just the other night here in Lucca. We had a great meal, including raviolli, papparadalle, and cutlets milanese.

Once we finished, we asked for the check. And waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

At this point, we were trying to do everything we could to get the waitress' attention, including staring, waiving money, etc. She obviously thought it was someone else's reponsibility to get us the check, you know, like the fairy godmother.

After 20 minutes (I learned a little bit from the first time), we finally asked for the check again. The waitres acted like it was the first time we asked and promptly brought the check over.

The problem in both these situations is you can't do anything. We could have left the restaurant without ordering, but on a sleepy Sunday evening, we ran the chance of there being no other available retaurants. And we could have walked out on the check, but really, we couldn't.

We're learning the Italian way, but it has its limits. Next time, maybe we'll only wait 15 minutes.

It Happened Again

If you ever decide to come to Italy, you should learn this word: sciopero. It means strike. I've written about it before, regarding the air traffic controllers and then the gas stations.

Well, they've done it again. Starting at 9 pm last night and lasting until 9 tonight (10, depending on what news you read), the trains are on strike.

We were supposed to move on to Lucca today from Siena. But yesterday when we went to the station to look at tickets, we found out about the strike. After frantically trying to get bus reservations, and running straight into the wall that is Italian bureacuracy, we had to change our plans. One extra night here in Siena, the trip to Lucca pushed back a day.

It's a good thing we have flexible plans, otherwise, the Italian train people would be getting one nasty letter.


[We were just checking the national strike website (yes, they have a website devoted solely to strikes) and couldn't find the train strike. Apparently, there are some rumors that the strike didn't happen. Apparently, you can't win with these things.]

I am an Idiot Sometimes

Here's a good story to illustrate my point:

When Mom and Sissy were here, we went to visit a City called Sulmona. I spent many summers of my youth about 50 km away, but the only things I remember are that we went there to buy gold and they make confetti there, which, it turns out, I'm not that fond of. Turns out, its a beautiful little Italian city, where everyone walks throught the City center between 5 and 8, the food is good and cheap, and the people are friendly.

We stayed at the Hotel Italia, just off one of the many piazzas, which turned out to be a friendly place run by a super friendly father-son tandem.

While there, the first time, we took out a bunch of Euro's from the bank, so that we wouldn't have to keep going every couple days. However, we didn't want to carry all that money with us, so I had the brilliant idea of hiding it under the mattress. I figured we were so close to where my grandparents were from, I would use the same method of hiding my money.

As we left the room the first night, I said the fateful words: "Let's make sure we don't forget this."

Fast forward to Fano, our next destination. As I unpack to go for dinner, I ask Kimberly where the money is. She says I have it. I'm convinced she has it. Turns out neither of us have it.

I was in a full panic. I ripped apart both our bags. I called the Hotel Italia, but they couldn't find it. I sulked around beautiful downtown Fano. I was miserable. I just lost almost $1000 in Euros.

As I sulked in the City center, next to the fountain, Sissy came up to me: "Didn't you say something about putting the money under the mattress?" [lightbulbs popping]

Um, yes, yes I did!!! I frantically called the Hotel, trying my hardest to explain to them what happened, where it was. 10 minutes later, they called and found it. They were putting it in the family safe. A great weight lifted from my shoulders.
______________________________
On our way to Sant'Eufamia, we stopped at the Hotel Italia again, and we got our money. All of it was there; I think they may have even added a $100 bill. I tried to give them a reward, but they wouldn't take it, of course not.

We ended up eating a great dinner, buying fabulous pastries for the family in the Village, and getting picked up in Sulmona by an Uncle, rather than trying to navigate the bus system up the mountain.

Sulmona, as it turns out, is a pretty cool place.

The Empire Strikes...Again and Again

If you remember, the day before we arrived in Italy, the Italian Air Traffic Controllers were on strike for about 4 hours; the Alitalia flight attendants supported them by striking as well. The strike caused the cancellation of many flights; fortunately, ours was not one of them.

We are currently in Assissi, staying at a wonderful farm B&B (agriturismo in the local parlance) called Agriturismo Alla Madonna del Piatto. We took a cooking class, have a beautiful view, and have visited some wonderful small towns.

This morning, we were on our way to Torgiano, which has both a wine and an olive oil museum. Then on to Deruta and some beautiful ceramics. Then wine tasting. Our gas tank was almost empty, so we stopped at a couple gas stations, but they were both closed. 'No problem' we thought, 'we'll just stop on the highway.'

When we got to the gas station on the highway, we saw this sign:

Do you know what sciopero means? Take a wild guess.

Yup, a gas strike.

As you may imagine, we were in a panic. The strike doesn't end until Thursday night, when we are supposed to be on our way to Rome to drop off Mom and Sissy at the airport.

Kimberly was also awed that all the gas stations in the whole country, covering at least 5 different companies, would actually work together enough to have a nationwide strike. If you have been in Italy before, you can kind of understand why. I explained that Italians are united in their love of soccer, eating and drinking wine, and organized labor.

We started calling everyone we thought might have some info, which included 2 people: my father in Pratola and the agriturismo manager. We also grabbed some truck drivers at the rest stop and talked to them, kind of. They explained that there might, MIGHT, be an open station on the Autostrada, 60 km away. We had about 100 km of gas, so that was a stretch.

Finally, salvation arrived. Letitzia, the fabulous owner of the agriturissmo, called with good news. Her cleaning lady knew someone who owned a gas station and was willing to sell us gas. The only problem: we had to pose as her cousins.

We ended up pulling into a gas station, where I needed to go into the store and ask for 'Allesandro' and explain I was Laura's cousin. After an interesting look from the woman behind the counter, I was directed to an old man outside. He looked at me and turned to a younger guy, who then proceeded to fill our gas tank.

Two hours after we started, we finally began our day. The itinerary was shortened, but it was still great. The ceramics in Deruta are amazing. The views, as always are amazing.

So far, 2 weeks in Italy, 2 strikes. With Bush coming to Rome on Friday, it promises to be another eventful day (Mom and Sissy leaving that day, Kimberly and I sleeping in Rome that night).

And there's a rumor that the firefighters are going to strike on Friday, which will only add to the fun.

Bella Italia.

(15 June 2007 Edit: added photo and corrected inconsistency)

The Problem with Italy

Italy is a beatiful country. The hills are full of huge, old villas and monastaries that stand over well-manicured fields full of great things like grapes and kiwis and figs and tomatoes and olives and lemons and oranges and... The drivers are insane. The relatives are welcoming. The food is amazing. Kimberly and the Krew have been completly overwhelmed by the contained chaos of everything.

Italy also contains some of the most beautiful art in the world, in the form of sculptures, paintings, and architecture, and some of the most friendly people in the world. Well, mostly.

On Saturday, we decided to go visit the Reggia of Caserta, near Pratola Serra. [Caserta is in Southern Italy, close to Napoli, which is an important part for the story.] The guide books call the Reggia the "Versaille of Italy" and sing the praises of the English gardens. Once we got our tickets, we walked over to the bus area to take the 3 km ride to the garden entrance. This is where our story begins.

There was a 20-something guy selling tickets to the train and telling people to line up 'over there.' Two problems: (1) he wasn't so much selling tickets as smoking cigarettes and flirting with the young women in the general vicinity; and (2) Italians, unlike the English or the Americans, do not take well to queuing. The line for the bus wasn't so much a line as it was a horde. The first bus came and went, with our Hero-American-Family standing in the bus' dust, looking completely bewildered and scared. Those little old Italians are not as sweet as they look.

Having experienced this before, I decided I needed to act. As we were the last group pushed off the previous bus, we were first in line for the next bus. As the little Neapolitan women started to encroach upon and pass us, I made sure that we inched forward. As the Sicilian women stood in front of us, I politely explained to them (in my poorest Italian) that the line was behind us and we were actually in the front. [I absorbed enough evil eyes that I had an exorcism that evening. No joke.]

When the bus finally arrived, the contained chaos became uncontained. Old Italians were practically running over us and knocking the Krew down to get on the bus first. When the bus finally stopped rolling, it was actually only a few feet in front of me.

Although a few of the little women were too quick and got on before me, I put my plan in action. With one particulary nice woman and her very pleasant husband right behind me, I blocked the door with my rather large frame and arms. I then turned and told the Krew to get on the bus, blocking everyone else. A few jabs in the ribs and screams of indignation later, we were all on the bus, followed quickly by an angry mob. Fortunately, the heat of the bus lulled everyone to sleep and all their anger was directed back at the husbands, just as intended.

[The woman right behind Kimberly is the one who was jabbing me in the back. I wish I had a better picture, but I was afraid if I actually pointed the camera at her, she would spit on me.]

We spent the next few hours touring the 7 km of garden paths, seeing beautiful fountains, fake Roman ruins, tiny frogs, giant fish, and exotic trees, including a Redwood from the West of America and a Doug Fir from the Northwest of America. Just like home.

On the way back, we decided to walk the 3 km down to the palace. Although we will need to face the hordes of old Italian women again at some point, twice in the same day wasn't worth it.