Living on the Via Napoli

I have been in my apartment now three weeks today.  Blessing of blessings, the last of the boxes are out and the apartment shows the classic signs of my quirky personality.  The black and white pictures of old Hollywood movie stars line the living room walls, and the vintage California travel posters are once again encircling my bookcases.  As my new friend Susie pointed out, I decorate with Grace Kelly.  Pictures will be posted soon of the new apartment.  I have gotten alot of requests for them so I will jump on that.  I can't seem to find my camera cord so as soon as I wade through the various drawers into which I threw all misc. items from the move, I will proceed to upload the pictures so that all my friends and family can have a taste of what it is to live in Italy.

Until then, I will describe with words what it looks like.  As I wake up each morning, I walk down my tile hallway and open the doors on my balcony.  The waves of the Mediterranean Sea splash on the rocks of Pozzuoli, the side town next to Naples.  I can smell the salt in the air, especially during these blustery days of autumn.  I watch the old ladies walk down the alley next to my building, to the Catholic Church that hides next door.  Below my balcony sits my landlord at a cardtable.  He, and 4-5 of his closest friends, sit there passing the time either playing cards or watching the people as they walk down the street.  They ask me now everytime I walk out the door, "Maura, stai andando a correre? you...go for....run?"  I guess they have seen me so often as I go for a run along the water, they assume that is all I ever do.  If I am going for a run, I begin by running along the Via Napoli, the promenade along the water on which I live.  I head up the hill and pass all the trattorias, cafes, and gelaterias.  The water is a great attraction, and many Italians parade along it at all hours of the day.  As I run by I pass whole families walking their dogs, young couples kissing, old couples kissing, and adult children pushing their parents in their wheelchairs along the water.

The restaurants are a flurry of activity starting around 8 every night.  Until that point, most people pass the time people watching or calling out to their friends from their respective balconies.  The driving in this area is crazy, as mopeds and scooters dodge traffic, moving in between cars, even in the oncoming traffic.  The traffic is so slow at times, mainly because people pull out without looking and just blindly enter into traffic.  The stop and go of leaving Pozzuoli or Naples can cause muscle cramping.  My foot is perched perilously over the clutch pedal from the moment I start the car to when I safely park at my destination.  I am lucky though; my apartment is on the main street of Pozzuoli restaurants.  Most nights we meet up at a new restaurant and all eat family style, splitting Mozzarella de Buffala and prosciutto e  Melone as an antipasti.  The pizza here is to die for.  The brick oven was truly a gift from Heaven.  With each bite into a Neapolitan pizza, I reminded how this is the birthplace of this fabulous dish.  Red wine is the drink of choice for most of my friends and me, and we usually split a few bottles with each meal.  The bread, the oil, the pizza, the pasta: all these foods are what is causing me to have to run so much!

My own car, the Sante Fe with its glorious automatic transmission should be all fixed and ready for pick up today!  This is not a moment too soon!  Though my car troubles have allowed me the ability to find such wonderful friends like Jo, Melani and Ryan (all of whom have let me borrow their cars in the last two weeks) I will be so relieved to not have to feel the annoyed chagrin of every Pozzuoli native as I stall on my way to work.  I don't know if they think that the constant beeping and yelling will make me start up the car any faster, but after two weeks of driving the stick shift, I can tell you all it does is make me take even longer to get up all the hills.

As stated before, the pictures will be coming.


    

Life in Naples continues.

Well, this blog entry goes out to my mom, for two reasons.  1, I think she is the only person who reads my blog.  2, She is the one who asks me to update it.

I have been meaning to sit down and document some of the things that have been happening of late, but quite honestly, I have been very affected by homesickness and loneliness and I am certain no-one cares to hear about that.  But since this is for my mom, I will write down some thoughts.

I have learned so many things in Italy.  I had thought that the most valuable lessons would naturally be my increased knowledge of culture and language.  Instead, it has made more focused on my own personal growth, or the growth that I have discovered I have needed to make.  As someone who is used to the supportive arms of the family wrapped closely around her, I have struggled to do things on my own...for the first time.  Even as it was, I arrived and William had made sure I had some friends on this side of the Atlantic who would look out for me (enter David and Courtney).  However, even while living in this wonderful world of travel opportunities and sights to see, it has been a rough adjustment.

My boss calls them good Naples days vs bad Naples days.  I have been having a whole bunch of the bad variety; mainly because I have missed home.  Waking up in the Navy Lodge bed makes confused on certain mornings when I would have sworn, not seconds before, that I was home in Maryland.  My apartment that I had a contract on failed its first inspection so I am still living the high life of temporary lodging.  My car finally arrived after its various detours and barring the scraping of the decals I had to do when it arrived, it has been the greatest addition of freedom to my life.  

On a recent trip to Sorrento with MWR, I made one of those discoveries that I have perhaps always known, but almost had to relearn: I am always evolving.  I was the lone single person on the trip, surrounded by happy spouses traveling together with friends, and families from out of town taking the day hop to the Amalfi coast.  As I clarified with the "tour" guide that there was actually no tour, but it more of a self guided type of deal, I was forced to explore absolutely on my own.  I know this sounds ridiculous that a 26 year old active duty female was shocked to be left alone with herself, but I have not often been forced out of my comfort zone like that.  As I walked down the quaint streets lined with fruit vendors, limoncello stands, cameos sold by old men who told me I was the most beautiful woman to ever enter their shop, and old grandmamas making lace tablecloths by hand, I took myself on a journey of self discovery.  I am doing ok.  On my own.

It's been a process and I have the glorious benefit of new friends (none of whom work shift work incidentally) that I occasionally get to see, and I am doing just fine.  I have made mistakes, cried tears of frustration struggling to find my place here both personally and physically, but in the end when I open my eyes every morning, I am alive and in a beautiful new place.

I know the epistles of lovely sites I have seen and chronicles of various jaunts around Naples make for much more interesting reading.  But as I said before, this is for my mom.  And I love you, Mom.

I promise much more lighthearted entries to come in the future.

Hitting the one month mark.

Why hello, gentle readers of the Maura-living-in-Italy blog.  I figured it was time for a little update since it has been very long from the last installment of my adventures over here.  With work in full swing, it has become difficult for me to do much exploring, and even more difficult to find the energy to write about them.


I was reading an article on obesity in Italy and it stated that the Neapolitan region has the highest obesity rate in the country.  Here, the women like to wear their t-shirts tight and their jeans even tighter.  I have never seen so many "muffin-tops" so proudly displayed in my life.  The greatest delight of the locals is people-watching.  They proudly promenade down the Via Napoli at dusk, watching and being watched, judging, staring, pointing, discussing, all while wearing their spandex and espadrilles.  An odd combination, but here, it is the norm.  And don't trust J.Crew catalogs that say Italian style blah blah blah.  When I wear my J. Crew sundresses and sandals, I stand out like a sore thumb.  Now, I can't completely fault J. Crew;  I stand out being a giant amongst the little Italian ladies, with my blue eyes and long dark blond hair.  The looks I get are very calculating.  One too many Italian mamas gives me a nasty look as if saying, "where did you come from and maybe you should just go back."


On a contrary note, Rome is glorious.  The ancient heritage of class and luxury is displayed the moment you arrive in the train station.  Amid the masses of tourists, the women are beautiful and the men are actually (gasp) taller than I am!  (well, some anyways).  I went to Rome last week with my friend Brian and we took the self guided Rick Steves tour.  Armed with my trusty guidebook, and Brian's downloaded Rick Steves' audio tours, we bought the Roma Pass, rode the Metro around to the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, all the way up to the Pantheon and the Spanish Steps.  As we walked down vine encrusted vias and passed by tiny restaurants, I realized that I was supposed to be stationed in Rome, not Naples.  Now if only the Navy will get onboard and move the hospital up there my life will be perfect.


My most recent adventure was bringing myself to the Caserta Palace.  Built in 1752, it was Charles Bourbon's response to Versailles.  The palace is breathtaking in scope and beauty, used in the filming of many movies including Star Wars Episode I.  I rented a car to get there, and discovered only after I was driving the open road that I actually hate the roads around here.  That decision was mainly made after I was driving into oncoming traffic following the GPS...and then had to back my out of that apparent one way street.  The Italian driver in the car facing me kept giving the "stupid American woman" face to me as I was struggling to keep my cool and still find the palace.  


Note to self: if it looks like the GPS is taking you into oncoming traffic, trust your gut and let the darn GPS recalculate a different route.


Hopefully next week will bring more, and hopefully safer, adventures! 

Into the next week.

Well, it appears the next week has begun with a bang.


I am still struggling to figure out how I will be able to travel when I really can't even convince housing that I would like to live in an apartment and not the Navy Lodge.  As with all things I am discovering, the Italian time is a whole different way of living.  Reality is suspended as Italians celebrate not only their holidays, and religious holidays, but also now American holidays.   I find that I struggle with the concept of taking a month long vacation in the hottest month of the year.  August to me has always been a month to hide in the recesses of an air conditioned building.  '


Not so here.  They love to feel the sweat.  Its their way of knowing they are truly alive, living and breathing each moment to the fullest.


Which certainly brings up the lack of deodorant question.  


But these laid back people have the most beautiful country and it is of that of which I must write.


Saturday brought a lovely wine tasting tour of the vineyards on Mount Vesuvius.  The Neapolitan culture can aptly be described as a culture that lives on the edge.  One of the most active volcanoes has houses built almost to the top.  The many vineyards that creep up the sides of the mountain relish this complexity, and the vineyard owners claim it gives the soil the richness from the lava and ash that is then laced throughout their wines.  One sip of each one and you have to give them credit for their fearlessness; the wines are magnificent and they are bred with the knowledge that if the volcano erupts, the delicious tastes will be lost forever.


I have to say that one of my great delights in this world is trying different wines.  I love to notice the different tastes and textures of the grapes and to learn their heritage.  I love how I feel when I sip a crisp white wine or the calm that washes over me when the first taste of a warm red wine (or rosso as they say here) crosses my lips.  And I certainly chose the right place for the exploration of such tastes.  If you turn around any corner here, their are vines of grapes being grown everywhere.  Landlords of apartments I looked at had their apparatus for  the making of wines pushed to the side to let me in to see their places.  Wines and pizza are the official tastes of Napoli and I have to say, who needs more than this?


I have been blessed to have made wonderful friends so far but like I said before, the struggle of working shifts while everyone else I know is working Monday through Friday is certainly an unanticipated challenge.  I just know I need to make the most of every minute off.


Wish me luck in my adventures this week!

Sorry this has taken awhile.

Dear friends,
I apologize for the tardiness of this latest entry.  The only excuse I have to offer is that I have been a survivor.  For those who have made overseas moves (and the subsequent frustration of the housing office to say the least) know that to survive is everything.  I have been apartment hunting in the Pozzuoli area of Napoli.  This was told to me to be where the youngish non-married officers live.  Being one such individual, I naturally gravitated to that area.


But not alone.


With my trusty Courtney at my side (the only married youngish person in Pozzuoli), we went forth to seek and decide what apartments would be the ones for me.  


I learned some valuable lessons.
1) Never expect the realtors' cars to be air conditioned.  That is a silly assumption.
2) Never travel alone.  Courtney and I were afraid of certain abduction at one point and she actually texted Dave to have a last known whereabouts on us if we never returned.
3) Italian women wheeze.  Yes, like instead of breathing.  I was trying to breath out when one realtor was breathing in so as to avoid as much harmful toxin filled air as I could.
4) If the realtor has a son, she will pawn you off on him.
5) If the said realtor's son already has a girlfriend and you try and explain that maybe she will end up liking his girlfriend, the realtor may stop stop driving on a highway to stare at you as if you are insane.  
6) If a place looks like its in the middle of nowhere, no matter what the realtor says, it IS in the middle of nowhere.
7) When you give a realtor your number, and they happen to like you (and hope to eventually get you married to their son) they will call you in the Navy Lodge once a day to check on you and remind you that they still don't like the son's girlfriend.  How could she? she asks me.  The girlfriend doesn't go to church!
8)Just because you have selected a place and you put a contract on it does NOT mean you will move in soon.  On the contrary, it means they now have a starting point for all their meetings, inspections, coffee breaks, more meetings and more inspections and one last coffee break.  Then you may move in to the apartment in 2 months.  God willing.


These are just a few of the hard earns lessons to getting an apartment in Naples.  It's even more fun to go to the housing office.  They all stare at you (tall girl in uniform...they call all their friends in to stare)  and then they keep sending you to different counselors til you finally sit down with one who speaks a little English.  Conversations include various "ummm...ehhhhh...how you say....ummmm....ehhhh....ahhh...ok?"  that's a good sentence.


There will be more to come.  I am just burned out reliving those experiences.

working on being here a week...

I have discovered there are pros as well as cons to living by myself in a suite in a Navy Lodge.  --The first pro has been dancing by myself.  Noone is here, so if I decided my hips are not gonna lie like my girl Shakira, there is noone here to complain.  
-The first con, however, is the inability to do laundry when I want to.  Waiting outside of a room with coin operated machines buzzing happily is a definite downside to my temporary quarters.  Gone are the days when I would roll downstairs in William's house, clandestinely move his laundry from the washing machine, do my laundry, then put his stuff right back in the washer.


I mourn the loss of such wonderful schemes.


-A definite pro is that when I leave each morning the magic fairy who cleans up comes in and gives me new towels.  
-Another pro is that if I so chose, I could choose to not make my bed one day.  And while I never chose that, it's nice to have that option there.
-A con is the fact that I am trapped here on the support site base with a bird's eye view of Italy.
 -A pro is that I am not having to pump gas. 
- A con is that the water is making me break out.  So as if the stress of a transcontinental move wasn't enough, the water is putting the final nail in the proverbial coffin of my skin.
-The best pro is that when I am a mooch nowadays it's not because it is in my nature to mooch (which it is).  It is because everyone mooches when stuck in the Navy lodge.


See?  I do come out ahead.


Also got fitted for my chemical warfare gear and gas mask today.  I love when you are wearing a suit that a billion people have already tried on and then when it's already 90 degrees with no AC, you are putting on three and four layers of fire and chemical protected gear to prove you know how to tighten velcro straps.  Those terrorist nerve agents have got nothing on the US Navy.
-

Finally saw ITALY

I'll admit that I was just a little frustrated that by Friday afternoon the only part of Italy I could see from the confines of the USN Support Site was the run down apartment buildings that line the fence by the back gate.  The picturesque images in my head had eluded me thus far and I was beginning to wonder if this was just one more horrible joke and I was still trapped in Virginia.  


But no, my friends.


Breathe in, for that is the smell of Italia.


And yes, I realize there is a pungent odor from the eternal hot springs of Sulfatara that smells of rotten eggs early in the morning, and I also realize that the humidity mixed with trash in the streets is a less than appetizing scent, but here I am, in a foreign country.  And I live here.


Friday afternoon, I was sprung from this joint by William's best friend David.  He picked me up, and I immediately bombarded him with questions and much needed answers due to the confusing briefings I had been forced to attend.  After we had been driving for a bit, he stopped me and said Maura, Look!  And I looked out of the window and had to catch my breath.  The brightly painted stucco houses lined the hills of Vesuvius and palm tree lined streets of Naples took my breath away.  David and his wife Courtney live in a little town on the outskirts of the city of Naples proper called Pozzuoli.  As we pulled up to their building I was just amazed that the Sophia Loren movies were true.


The Italians are masters at placing things where ever there happens to be room.  The apartment buildings are built in the shape of the ground below them, hence many buildings with 5 or even 6 sides.  If there is a spot of soil, vines of grapes are growing.  If there is a spot of pavement, 2 cars are parked there.  They don't care if someone else was there first.  As we toured downtown Pozzuoli, and it sunk in that I was walking down the cobblestones that were placed there in before Christ, and the ruins that are everywhere are centuries older than monument in America.


We toured Montecassino on Saturday and I had to pry my eyes away from the views to appreciate the beauty of the hand laid marble and tiles.  The mosaics, the icons, the paintings, all the images in history books and in religious books from my childhood and high school...all of these I got to see in their original form.  


Mass in Italian, thankfully, just like Mass in English.  Without Courtney by my side though, the homily and gospel would have been a bit of a beast.  Thank goodness for non-Catholic friends who love you enough to sit with you at Catholic Mass and explain when the priest is telling you about the pope.  I was looking a little glazed over when Courtney saved me.


I will write about my Sunday in downtown Naples more later, now is time for day two of orientation.  So. freaking. pumped.  


Not.