Our First Italian Market [Pratola Serra]

On our first weekend in Italy, my father took us to the open-air Sunday Market in Pratola Serra.

Here, in the USofA, you can usually find a pretty decent outdoor market; usually these are farmers' markets, with lots of local fruits and veggies, as well as locally made products, like jams, honey, pies, cookies, breads, pastries, etc.

In Italy, every single town, village, and city has a market (even my mother's grandparents mountain village, consisting of maybe 500 year-round residents, has a weekly market). But in Italy, the market isn't a nice place to go on Saturday morning and get a cup of coffee and scone, some fresh veggies for your week of cooking, some purple potatoes, and maybe some ridiculously expensive bacon (really, it's phenomenally tasty. It really is. Trust me). In Italy, you go to the market not only to get your local fruits and veggies, some olives from Sicily, cheese from Umbria, and meat from Parma, but also to buy a new shirt, sandals and snorkeling gear for the beach, a new espresso cup to replace the one your husband broke the other day, a serving spoon, some sexy underwear (yes, you read that right), and maybe a live chicken that you can slaughter later on in the week (Italians really like fresh food).

In other words, the market is where you go to buy your stuff. All your stuff.

There are supermarkets in Italy, but mostly in the big cities. And the smaller towns have alimentari, but those mostly have the staples to supplement the weekly market trip.

The market is where things happen.

If you ever go to Italy, seek out the local markets - we found one in Rome, so they're pretty much everywhere (I imagine France, Spain, and Portugal are similar, as well as many other Euro countries, and definitely in Asia). You can get yourself supplies for nice picnic, a complete set of coffee cups, and clothes for your next trip to the disco.

The pictures from our trip to the Pratola market are available here and in a handy slide show format here. These are some of my favorite pictures from our whole trip. Enjoy.

[Quick edit: It was here that we first learned about the term etto (pl. etti). An etto is 100 grams, which comes in very handy when ordering meats and cheeses at any market. It is also a very effective word for making people think you know how to speak Italian, as it's kind of a 'locals' thing (and by local, I mean anywhere in Italy).]

Exhibit A as to Why Beauty Pageants Should be Eliminated

I just saw this video on another website (deadspin.com) and it hurt my head so much that I had to pass it on.

I dare you to watch this and to explain to me what point she is trying to make. Actually, all I need you to do is tell me why South Africa is brought into the answer.

I need to go floss my brain now.

Shooting Moose in an Iowan Bar

Last Friday night, I went Moose hunting with a member of the Iowa State Legislature.

Weird huh?

Over a few pitchers of Miller Light (so tasty), I was introduced to Big Buck Hunter. The game is simple: shoot the male rams, deer, antelope, or moose (easily identifiable by their horns) and the critters (scary things like cougars, and really scary things like song birds and squirrels and raccoons and skunks); don't shoot the females. [Interesting Iowa Side Notes: there are so many deer getting fat off the corn growing here that you can get a license to shoot does. Although I'm not 100% sure of this, most other places I know about allow only the shooting of bucks: the more points the better!]

Who knew shooting things could be so much fun?!?!?! All the glory without having to get blood and guts all over me. Or having to field dress them (I don't have a big enough knife anyways).

Unfortunately, I also don't get to take the meat home. Or mount the antlers on the wall. Or use the skins for a rug (oh, so warm to cuddle up on in front of the fire on those long Iowa winter nights).

I spent probably $10 playing this game; $5 more than I spent on a pitcher of that Miller. And boy was it worth it.

The State Legislator guy offered to take me real hunting, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet. That field dressing thing seems kind of intense. Although I guess if I just killed a giant deer I would be so full of adrenaline that I'd probably rip the thing apart with my bare hands. Now there's an image for your morning.

What's in a Name?

So I'm probably divulging more info here than is safe for a blog, but all this info is already out there floating around the www, so I'm just passing it on.

After my post last night, my brother passed this along from Wikipedia. I don't know if my father knows this is out there, but I imagine it's a pretty weird feeling to have your own Wikipedia page. I know he occassionally reads this, so hopefully he'll comment below.
_______________________________

Our second day in Iowa, we went to Kimberly's department and talked to some of the administrative assistants. One of them asked me if my last name was the same as Kimberly's (which was surprisingly progressive of her), and I told her no, my name was Mauro. She said, "M-o-r-r-o-w?" And I said, "No, M-a-u-r-o."

Her eyes kind of lit up, and she said "Oh, the Italian version" then pronounced it like you do in Italian (with a rolling r and all). While this was odd, what she said next was even weirder: "There are a lot of Italian Mauros in Des Moines, they're a pretty big family."

Of course I figured, "whatever, this woman is crazy" and let it go.

Then, while I was looking up info on registering our car, I came across the web page of the Iowa Secretary of State. Again, pretty weird, but just an interesting coincidence, right.

Yesterday, Kimberly came home with this (the whole thing is important, but the last paragraph the most important):

Now, that's a surprising statement, ain't it. Apparently my name should carry some weight in this area. I always imagined that if my name were to carry any weight, it would be somewhere with some well-known Italian heritage, like Providence, Chicago, or San Francisco, but not Des Moines.

I guess the thing I need to find out now is if the Mauro name is revered like the Kennedys in the northeast or despised like the Kennedys in the south.

Going Back to My Roots [Pratola Serra]

Well, I finally started sorting through our Europe pictures. I'm trying to go through them chronologically, from when we left Boston in mid-May until we got back in mid-July. I'll try to give a little summary of each place as well; maybe Kimberly will come in later on and give her two cents. Here we go...

Kimberly's new friends (Zia Nina is seated all the way to the right)

Our airline tickets to Rome were bought with frequent flier miles. Although that meant that we didn't have to pay for the tickets, it did mean that our flight path was kind of ridiculous: Boston -> Frankfurt -> Munich -> Rome. We were also somewhat fortunate, as we arrived the day after Alitalia was on strike and Lufthansa had to cancel a bunch of flights. Despite the crazy airline schedule, we had no problems with any of our flights and didn't miss any connections.

When we arrived in Rome, my father and his cousin were there, flowers in hand for Kimberly, waiting for us.

My father was born in Italy during WWII then came to the US in the late 60's [Interesting Historical Note that I Just Learned from Wikipedia: Just 10 days before my father was born, the government of Italy, having recently removed Mussolini from power, sided with the Allies and declared war on Nazi Germany]. He moved back to his hometown of Pratola Serra, with his sister, about 2 weeks before Kimberly and I were scheduled to arrive. Initially, we were going to spend some time in Rome, then work our way down to visit him.

After the 14 hours or so of flying, it was nice to have some familiar faces pick us up at the airport.

Pratola Serra is located about 3 hours south of Rome, to the east of Naples. It is located in the region of Campania (campania is the Italian word for farm or farmland, so that should tell you a little something about the region) within the province of Avellino. The town was devastated by an earthquake in the early 1980's, from which it is only recently recovering.

Sunset through the Campania mountains

Kimberly and I spent two quiet days in Pratola, acclimating to the time change, trying to learn /understand Italian, and eating. My Zia Rita (actually a cousin) made us a welcome feast that could have fed 3 times as many people as there were present. Then Zia Nina (also my godmother) provided us more than enough sustenance for the rest of our stay.

One night we took the customary after-dinner walk and made our way to pick up Zia Nina, who was gossiping with her brood of old women friends. Of course, all these old, southern Italian women immediately took to Kimberly, the small, blond, white girl. They offered coffee. And cookies. And crotcheted things [The older woman right in the middle of the picture at the top gave us a crotcheted table runner, which is beautiful. She offered us more beautiful crotcheted things if we were to come back with a baby. Now that's how you do it!].

A few days later, Kimberly's mom and sister joined us and we started doing 'touristy things:' we went to Pompeii, saw a local election, visited a local palace, and went to a pre-Christian church and catacombs. [Pictures and stories from these places will come soon]

We finished up our time in Pratola the way we spent most of our time in Italy: eating. Rita, once again, made us a feast where we must have had at least 12 courses. The cake below was one of 3 desserts.

Rita, presenting us with our dessert. Her husband is in the back, startled.

Then for our going away meal, my Zia Nina made us her 'World Famous' chicken cutlets and eggplant parmigiana (Kimberly's mom 'borrowed' the recipe for the eggplant parm while observing Nina, and we've been replicating the parm ever since, with pretty good results. Come visit, we'll make you some). We left with our bellies content, moving on to new adventures in the north.

Pratola was the perfect start to our trip: Kimberly and her family got their introduction to Italy with friends and relatives; we were able to get up to speed on the language and the culture; and we learned that eating would be a large part of our trip. A very large part.

The Pratola Serra pictures are now up on Flickr.

Does it ever stop?

The rain here is most impressive. I'm sure you all are tired of our whining about the weather ("more pics!" I hear you clamoring), but seriously, the weather here is unbelievable. My students were working in a computer lab today and as they were quietly typing (yes, they really are that fantastic) a BOOOM! shook our room. We all stopped, peered out the window, and watched as buckets, nay, barrels of water came down. And now, as I try to work on homework myself, I'm distracted by the flashes of light, the thundering echos, and Peter exclaiming "oh my god" over and over.

The most amusing part about this (for right now) is that everyone here thinks that I'm USED to the rain. It's hard to explain that it does not rain like this where I'm from. Ever. Peter and I spent one memorable evening last spring on our couch with all the lights turned off watching a storm roll in in Portland. Ha. That was a storm? I've seen 10 times that storm in one afternoon here.

And more confusing to attempt to explain is that although we have plenty of rain back in Oregon, we don't have humidity. That one is apparently a mind bender for the folks here. I complain and complain about the humidity and they look at me and say "but you lived in OREGON. It rains all the time there." And I try again to explain that while it's gray for 9 months, and drippy most of that time, it's not actually humid.

There are flash flood warnings again for our neck of the woods. And we're supposed to have a program potluck/bbq on Friday in a park near here. I'm told that if the park turns into a lake, we'll move to someone's house. This park has a tendency I guess.

I gave away my good umbrella before our move, due to some mistaken belief that it doesn't rain in the Middle. Guess I'll need to buy a new one. It's too hot for my raincoat.

So it begins!

I survived the first day!

Actually, it was better than that. I think for the first time in a very long time, my first day anxiety was actually constructive, instead of destructive. I got to classes on time and I didn't even feel like too much of a fraud teaching. Maybe I have a future in this career! Tomorrow will be the second time, so we'll see whether this trend continues (I know that one data point doesn't quite equal a trend... but you know what I mean here.)

I feel like a little kid, getting ready to go to school each morning. I have my breakfast, pack a lunch, and Peter and Miles stand at the door and see me off. Today, just to make me feel even sillier, I rode a big, yellow school bus. Yes, you read that right. It seems that the transportation system in our town was a bit overwhelmed by the school year starting (they actually have a summer and a school year bus schedule, that's how much of an influence all the students have on this town). So, they had to enlist the buses from the local school district. It was great fun to watch all these grownups file onto the bus and squeeze into the green bench seats. (and the people here are big! The young women TOWER over me, and the guys? I don't know what they feed them here in the Middle, must be MiracleGrow or something).

We'll see if tomorrow the yellow bus arrives, or if I get to ride the big girl bus!

They Grow Up So Fast

This morning, with her peanut butter and jelly-jelly sandwich, fresh brownie, and chips (packed by her loving husband), Kimberly went off to start her 23rd year of school.

And this year, she has the added bonus of teaching incoming freshman, who, from my limited time walking around campus, look young. [Here's a fun fact: The Simpsons has been on the air longer than her students have been alive. In fact, Kimberly has been going to school longer than her students have been alive. That's weird.]

[Also, dig the backdrop, provided by my friend Seth. I should have worn that to the Fair, but wasn't sure how it would be received, so I didn't]

Have fun today, wife!

State Fair Pics

I put all of our pictures from the State Fair onto Flickr (they're not in their own group, because I need to fix my Flickr account; I may have some time to get that done this week). A lot of them are below on the previous blog post, but there are some new interesting ones for your viewing pleasure.

Not to be too narcissistic, but I really like the picture of me eating the corn dog, even if it is a picture of me eating a corn dog. Me with my stylish sunglasses that I bought for 2 Euros (about $2.50) in Italy.

Speaking of Italy, since I am currently unemployed, I am going to try to start uploading pictures and telling stories from our trip. I figure that will be more fun than looking for a new job.

Every State Should Have One of These

Today, we had a fair-ly amazing day. It certainly was an a-fair to remember. We payed a discount fair.

This morning, we got out of bed fair-ly early, despite the anger of Zeus keeping us up half the night. We hopped onto the interstate and headed south to attend our first ever Iowa State Fair!!!

We had heard from a lot of people that the State Fair here is fantastic, and maybe even the BEST IN THE WORLD (Minnesotans would argue that the Great Minnesota Get Together is better, but I have no opinion as of yet; although, it is only about 3-1/2 hours to St Paul, so maybe I'll head up north later this week to do some comparison shopping). Based on some of the things I have read about the Fair so far - people camping there and going to the fair for all 10 days; the butter cow; corn dogs! - we were very much anticipating the event. And I couldn't wait to see if I could give myself a heart attack by sampling all the deep fried things on a stick.

After riding a shuttle from the parking lot to the fairgrounds, we began wandering through the tractors, combines, and other farm implement displays to make our way to Kimberly's favorite part of the fair: the jams, jellies, and canning section.

But before we could get there, I had something I needed to do:
This is only my second career State Fair, but there's one thing I have already learned: no State Fair is complete if you don't have a corn dog.

After savoring that succulent piece of mixed, macerated pork parts, coated and deep-fried, we finally made it over to the caning area. Kimberly and I have a done a little caning ourselves, and although it's worked out well in terms of flavor and 'lack-of-botulism,' none of our foods come out half as pretty as these. My favorite, which we don't have a picture of, was the pickled green beans, with alternating green and white beans, giving the jar a striped appearance.From there, we started wandering the fairgrounds, just taking in all the atmosphere, the mullets and fashion, the midway, and the food. Especially the food.

Onion rings? Check.

Fried cheese curds? Check.
Deep fried twinkies, oreos, and snickers, all that the same booth? Check.
Pork chop on a stick? Check (the guy in the front there is enjoying one in the photo).Whole turkey legs? Check (this is the one item I wished I had eaten the most; it looked so good).

Cheese on a stick (I have no idea what that is)? Meatballs on a stick? Chocolate covered cheesecake on a stick? Nutbars on a stick? Fry bread? Check. Check. Check. Check. And check.

They even have this (right there in the middle):Having eaten to the point of nausea [We actually stopped eating after the corn dog, onion rings, and cheese curds and a beverage, because, well, we felt sick. Walking by the remainder of the booths, although inspiring, also didn't help. I kind of understand why people go to the Fair everyday, just so they can eat all the fried things without dying. The list of things we didn't eat make me look forward to next year's Fair - I know to have a game plan next time] we wandered over to the John Deere Agriculture Building, to check out the prize winning fruits and veggies.

You know, the Iowa State Fair wouldn't be complete with some(more pics of the veggies, and the Fair in general, will be uploaded to Flickr soon).

One of the more interesting portions was the "weird veggies" area. As I understand it, if you find a mis-shapen veggie growing in your garden, you submit it for this category. This year, a double potato won. Honestly, I have no idea how this didn't win:

(hint: it's a cantaloupe growing inside a car muffler)

On our way outside, we saw this:

That there is the 1st prize -winning pumpkin, weighing in at over 1,100 pounds. But we were in luck, because not only is that the 2007 winning pumpkin, that pumpkin set the State Fair Record - that right there is the largest pumpkin EVER at the Iowa State Fair. Impressive, to say the least.Next on our agenda was the livestock pens, where we took in the quarter horses, the leghorn roosters, the llamas, the un-castrated and 'right-there-in-your-face' bulls (those things look painful), and this:
Now, I'm not sure how they can claim that it's the WORLD'S Largest Boar (maybe they do a worldwide comparison, maybe it's the only fair to have a big boar competition, I don't know), but I do know that the actual 'World's Biggest Boar' didn't fit in my camera's view finder. So thusly, I present the 'WORLD'S SECOND LARGEST BOAR' (in case the first place winner can't fulfill his duties):

After about 5 hours, we were starting to fade. It was time for us to head back home. But we still hadn't seen the main atraction of the Iowa State Fair: the butter cow.

Apparently, every year a local artist carves a cow out of butter. No really, this happens every year. Really. And every year, there's also a 'surprise' carving. I couldn't wait to see it.

And the butter cow did not disappoint:

The picture isn't great: the cow's muscles had texture and his ribs looked oh so tasty. And the surprise: yup, Harry Potter. Unfortunately, Neville wasn't there.

Overall, it's hard to comprehend just how much stuff there is at the State Fair unless you see it. The numbers of livestock and veggies is uncountable. We didn't even go to the midway, the place setting competition, or to any concerts. While going everyday is probably a little overkill, I could see going multiple days in the future.

And to top it off, tomorrow night, to close the Fair, Sanjaya and his band of merry idiots are the closing act.

It was a dark and stormy night....

Last night was one of the craziest storms I've ever slept through. We both woke up about 2, either because of the disco strobe light brightness in our room or the sound of the world breaking into bits, I don't know. We were in the center of the thunderstorm, with lightning bolts ever 30 seconds or so and the thunder booming instantly after.

In Milan, we had a discussion about how to convert the time between lightning and thunder into distance. Peter and I knew an American conversion of one mile per second. Our Italian cousins said that the conversion was one kilometer per second. We all found it a bit funny and puzzled about how these rules came to pass.

Regardless of whether I applied the American or Italian conversion last night, the result was the storm on top of us. Miles spent the night huddled in the other room under a table. We couldn't convince him to join us all exposed in a bed.

This morning the rain and lightning and thunder have stopped. The weather report for today is more of the same, though. This handy little icon has been showing up for days now.Somehow I thought I was moving somewhere hot and sunny. And these people think that it rains where I'm from?

We're Not in Portland Anymore Or How I Learned I No Longer Lived in a 'Liberal' City

We've been here less than a week, but it's already apparent that we don't live in Portland, or even Boston, anymore. Not just because there's no water nearby, or mountains, or because the Republicans held their straw pole less than a mile from where I live, but because of these three things:

1. There's no curbside/household recycling here. Really. Iowa does have the old 5 cent deposit on cans/bottles, but that's it. K and I will use our own boxes and separate out our own recycling, then drive it down to the recycling center. I guess it's not really that big of a hassle, but after experiencing mandatory recycling, it seems strange not to be able to put it out at the curb. And although I can't prove it because I don't know anyone here, I imagine not a lot of people drive their recycling down to the center voluntarily (I imagine people in Portland would be less likely to recycle if it wasn't mandatory, but I think the percentages would still be pretty high, based on the people who live there). Our postman tried to assuage our fears by telling us that in the City it's not a big deal if you don't recycle because they burn all the trash anyways. I'm not sure if I should be happy that they're burning our trash to provide cheap energy or horrified that they are burning trash to provide cheap energy (not to mention the burning plastic and not burnable metal cans).
2. In Our Iowan city, pedestrians apparently do not have the right of way. One of the nice things about Boston and Portland was you could start crossing the street (or even stand at the curb and contemplate crossing) and cars would screech to a halt to let you pass (becaue they're nice in Portland; because they're worried about tickets in Boston). But in the less than week we've been here, I've already seen several people get hit by cars. These are people that are already in the street and then need to avoid the cars that aren't stopping for them. While Our Iowan city is pretty sprawly and not easy to walk around in (based on my less than a week here), you would think that the people would at least be nice and not try to run people over. I'm not sure how I feel about this so far.
3. Not a real bike friendly city. In our Iowan city, there are no bike lanes here. While I'm not surprised that there aren't bike lanes in the streets here, I am a little surprised Portland is one of the most bike friendly cities in the US and thusly has a lot of bike lanes, so I guess I'm spoiled. I stopped and talked to another biker today, and he said that people in the city were pretty good about bikes. He added that he had only heard of a few instances on rural roads where people were yelled at or had things thrown at them. What? And then I was almost run over on my bike. In the City. Apparently there is some groundswell to start adding bike lanes to the streets (they're certainly wide enough for them) and to add biking to the driver's education programs. Both of those would be good, because it's fairly flat here and would be a good place to ride a bike all the time (I have more on my first biking expedition, but that's another post).

Butterflies

Apparently vacation is truly over. This morning I'm off to new employee boot camp (I haven't decided how much to talk about what I do in this blog, so for now, I'll be a bit evasive). It seems like those months of traveling in Italy were so long ago- hard to believe that we haven't spent 5 straight days in a time zone for the last 3 weeks.

So, just as if I was in 1st grade, Peter made me lunch and is preparing to drive me to my first day of this new life. He thinks it's cute- I'm nervous.

Here we go- our new life is about to begin...

The Magic Shaking Can and the Lie of the White Pills

My world is spinning.

One day, I'm curling up with my buds, Ben and Jerry. The next, it's so hot I can't move and there's boxes everywhere. My life is turning into a mess.

I was having a great time at my new home, finally getting along with Ben after weeks of hissing and posturing. I learned about how tasty potato chips and cheerios are. I got to hang out outside on the porch watching birds and squirrels flutter about and watching clouds float lazily by.

Then my two 'owners' (that still sounds so funny. They 'own' me? Ha!) came back. At first it was just like old times - cuddling, petting, treats. Then things went crazy.

A couple days ago (or maybe weeks ago, who knows anymore), I was having a nice sleep. Then I was awaken by the shaking sounds of the magic can. I should have known something was up; it was still dark out.

Next thing I know, I'm accosted and put in this giant 'truck.' All of a sudden everything is shaking and things are moving by at light speed. I couldn't walk 3 feet. It was all I could do not to throw up all over Kimberly. So I did what any sane cat would do - I crawled under the seat into the warm comfort of the dark.

I kept trying to tell them that I was unhappy and was feeling a little green. I told them over and over and over and over and over and over, but they wouldn't listen.

They tried to pacify me with some treats, the normal yummy ones and some new bad tasting white things. Then everything melted. I couldn't stand. My eyes were glued shut. The world was a blur. I couldn't move, or even talk. I was lost.

Every night, we were holed up in a new cheap, sleazy hotel. Every day, I was tricked into another 'treat'-induced stupor by that damn magic can.

I used to be a respectable cat. Look what they've done to me.

Then when the downward spiral finally stopped, we're in a new, weird place. Boxes everywhere. Heat like you've never felt. No mountains to stare at. Chaos all around.

To show my displeasure, I tried to poop on PEter's (again, with that spelling. Enough already, huh?) clothes, but Kimberly caught me in the act. That was awkward. She wasn't so happy with me, but fortunately she didn't force me to have another white treat.

Things have slowly been settling down. These two finally got the heat under control, thank Garfield. My old bed is back, so I've been spending a lot of time sleeping on that. I have a nice big window where I can watch the birds and some big dumb dogs who are tied up outside (although I feel a little bad since they look real hot - I winder why? It's nice and cool in here).

Overall, things are good. Kimberly's been cuddling lots. PEter's been brushing me. I think this place might be ok.

If not, I'll poop on PEter's pillow.

Down With Central Time

You know when you watch TV, and they say: "The Simpsons; Sunday at 8, 7 Central." Know what that means?

It means I miss The Simpsons.

You know why? Because I apparently now live in the Central Time Zone.

I really shouldn't be surprised, since we saw the 'Now Entering Central Time Zone' sign somewhere in the middle of Nebraska. And I've been hearing the old 'This Show on Day at x, x-1 central' spiel ever since I remember (I watched a lot of TV growing up).

But for some reason I never believed them. Why would a show start an hour earlier, just because we live in a different time zone? I mean, on the West Coast, they start all the shows at their normal time (except live things, like sports (but not awards shows, like the Oscars) which are shown live, but early for the local time). And I'm pretty sure it's the same way in the Mountain Time Zone.

In this modern era, with these fancy things called computers, you'd think they could set up some sort of delay so shows are shown at their normal time. I don't want to have to start cooking and eat dinner at 4 so I can be sure to be finished in time to watch a 'Prime Time' show starting at 7. I don't want my '10 o'clock News' to be the '9 o'clock News.'

I'm sure all the locals would argue that they're used to watching their shows an hour early (they would probably argue that I want to watch the shows an hour late, damn logical thinkers). If they changed the program schedules now, the whole midwest would probably go crazy. Imagine, a whole extra hour of free time in the evening, when the temperature is actually not painful to be in. They could double their corn output.

I've been trying to watch less TV, so maybe this confusing time zone TV schedule will help. But I won't go easily.

Although, as with any cloud, there is a silver lining: the Daily Show is on at 10, meaning I might actually be able to watch it live and still wake up in the morning.

So It Begins

Well, we've arrived. We left Portland Monday morning at 5:20 a.m., beat the traffic through downtown, and were on the open road before most people were hitting snooze for the first time. We rolled into Iowa at about 5 p.m. Wednesday.

One thousand, nine hundred, thirty-six and one-half miles; thirty-four hours; seven tanks of gas; endless stretches of good-ol'-American countryside.

There's nothing like driving across country, or half way across country, to make you realize just how big, how empty, and how flat this country really is. Once we hit The Dalles and got out of the Gorge (an hour into the trip, mind you) the landscape went unchanged for huge stretches of time.

Eastern Oregon on one long stretch of high plains desert, with big skies, lots of sage brush, the occasional tumble weed rolling by, and no trees. Having known mostly western Oregon in my time there, I am always amazed at how different the eastern part of the state looks. Billy the Kid could ride by chasing Crazy Horse while Doc Holliday robs a stage coach and I wouldn't be surprised. At least there's some mountains in the distance.

Idaho, Utah, Wyoming - all pretty much the same. Loooooooooooooooong stretches of high plains desert. Except for the mega-metropolis that is Boise. I've heard great things about that City, but I didn't even know we were there until Kimberly told me. Looks like a small town.

Anyways, lots of long stretches where the road doesn't turn and it looks like you're driving to the edge.

There was a stretch when we got on I-80 in Utah, where we went through an amazing canyon with rock outcroppings, and pillars, and beautifulness. Kimberly tells me Zion and Bryce Canyon National Parks are even more beautiful, so we'll have to go some day.

So on our first day, we drove for 15 hours and went through 4 states. Four. Back east, they call that your morning commute. But we made it half way to our destination.

Day two: 10 hours, 2 states. All of Wyoming (man, it's big) and half of Nebraska. I think some of these states need to do some dividing. It would make me feel like I was making better progress.
Back when I lived in Seattle, I used to go to Nebraska for work occasionally. Well, I-80 was my old stomping ground, so I was familiar with North Platte, Cozad, Kearney, and all the others on this stretch.

We ended up eating in a small diner in Cozad called the Green Apple. Breakfast, served hot and quick by a 70-year old woman, for $10. Perfect.

Then, Kimberly had her first experience with the Arch Monument in Kearney (actually, located over I-80). She could hardly contain her excitement. I couldn't.

On Day Three, we finished up Nebraska, enduring a closure of I-80 between Lincoln and Omaha because of an overturned truck, and entered Iowa.

It was very anticlimactic. I was expecting bells or fireworks or flashing neon. All we got was a sign.

The past day and a half, we've been settling in to our apartment. It's a little small, and straight out of the 'not aesthetically appealing' school of design, but it's perfectly fine. We met our neighbor, who was very nice and immediately proceeded to give us 4 ears of corn; no joke, the first day we are in Iowa, and we got corn as a gift. You can't make this stuff up.

We met some of Kimberly's 'co-workers' and they were also super nice. Everyone is sncouraging us to go to the State Fair, which started today and is supposed to be the best in the country (even better than the Minnesota fair). We're not sure if we're going; lots of unpacking to do still, and Kimberly is busy all next week. It's also really hot. Really hot. 'No one goes outside' hot.

What was really funny is that all of them, upon hearing that we were from Oregon, and I was originally from Boston, said 'Well, this will be culture shock for you.' Not too encouraging.

But all in all, so far, so good.

To top it off, this is how the sky looked our first night here; not sure if this is beautiful or an approaching tornado. That's probably an important distinction.

Goodbye Oregon

We'll miss you.




The driving begins tomorrow. We'll check in from The Middle.

Shakara

Last night we fell asleep to the soothing voices of the BBC. In that magical time right as your eyes are closing and the sandman is coming to visit, I was awoken by an interesting story.

Today is the 10-year anniversary of the death of Fela Kuti.

I first heard Fela Ransome Kuti and the Africa 70 when I was living in Boston on the wonderful WERS (Emerson College Radio) afternoon show, the Gyroscope (which due to programming changes, they no longer play, which makes me sad). I was immediately captivated by the Afrobeat sounds, which is kind of like 'Big Band Funk.' The often 10-minute long songs have endless beat loops, hypnotic chanting, and lots of dance-cause-you-have-to energy.

The stuff I've read about Fela has always been interesting - he was a polygamist, he never played a song he had previously recorded live in concert, he told Paul McCartney to go fly a kite when he tried to steal Fela's musicians - and always makes me wish I knew more about him. As is usually the case, the most interesting music is made by people with the most interesting back story.

Anyways, I thought I would take this opportunity to let all you out there know about the music of Fela Kuti. I think in the 7 years that I've listened to his music, I've met 3 or 4 other people who knew his name and listened to his music; I think more people should know about him.

If you get a chance to listen to some of his music, I can't give it a high enough recommendation.

it's just like riding a bike

So, it turns out that driving is just like riding a bike, you don't forget. I drove around like crazy today picking up prescriptions, stopping by the drugstore (and yes, these were different places, sigh), and the funnest of all, taking miles to the vet. It seems that his rabies vaccine was due for a booster, and since our new home town requires it, it seemed easier to do it now than to add it to our list of things to do there.

I found out during our travels that indeed, you don't forget how to ride a bike. Twice during our trip we rented bicycles and did our sightseeing on wheels. Our first try was in Lucca (also the site of Peter's illness). Lucca still has its original city wall and it has been turned into a city park. You can rent bikes and ride them around the top of the walls, a 4 or 5 kilometer loop. I was a little nervous about the bikes because, well, I can't actually remember the last time I rode a bike. I'm pretty sure it was sometime BEFORE my freshman year of HIGH SCHOOL (for those doing the math, yes this means 16 years ago). So, I think I was a bit justified in my nervousness. It turns out that yes, I could still ride a bike, I just couldn't balance very well. Once I was up to speed, I was fine, but the slow part, particularly the starting and stopping parts (major parts of bike riding I understand) were a bit more tricky.

We also rented bikes in Munich, Germany through an outfit called Mike's Bike Tours. This time, we actually had a guide and were on city streets (a bit) instead of entirely on paths without cars. Needless to say, I was a bit nervous about my starting, stopping, and balancing abilities. Our trip was great, I didn't hit a car or person, and I even managed to stay on my bike after our stop to drink a half liter of beer. So, I'd say that my skills have even improved!

I guess this means that it's time for me to get a bike (I hear that the Middle is nice and flat, so it should be nice to ride around). There's no good reason why I hadn't ridden a bike in so long, it just worked out that way. Now that I've ridden in two foreign countries, I might as well ride in my own.

MILES!!!!! We're home (for now)

Yes indeed, we've ended the flying portion of our trip. We're back in the lovely Rose City (although for some reason it's 90 today!). Miles and I are reunited and there's cat hair everywhere. A few days of seeing family and friends (have we written this post six times already?) and doing errands and then we're off to the Middle.

The current plan is to pack on Sunday (we'll be looking for loading volunteers... hint hint) and then hit the road bright and early Monday morning. We have a place in The Middle lined up, thankfully, and will hopefully arrive Thursday am.

And then the fun begins...