It has been brought to my attention on more than one occasion, that I have been remiss at updating the Maura-in-Italy-weblog. I have to admit, it is truly from my own speechlessness. I have had so many adventures that it has been difficult to sit and assemble some sort of coherent chronicle to the different things that happen to me. So fast forward 4 months from my last post, and I will try and pick up where I left off.
I remember back in my teenage years, when for me, true heaven was the dream of awaking in the Mediterranean sunshine, with the cypress kissed breezes blowing through my gauzey curtains. I could picture so clearly the fresh, unsalted bread, the mounds of delicious butter, the glasses of clear red wine, the pasta with fresh tomato sauce, so fresh it seemed to taste like the sun. I remember the days when the romanticism of the Italian hill towns spoke to me and when the thoughts of riding with a handsome Italian on the back of his classic Vespa were all that could get me through to my adulthood.
Well, thankfully, reality has checked in and I am slowly realizing that Italy is so much more than romance. It's a new way of life.
I picked up my mom and Margaret at the Leonardo di Vinci airport last Friday in shockingly little traffic. The road from Napoli to Roma has always been a trial for me. I do not respond well to stressful driving conditions; as most of my friends know, I would prefer to never drive. I got up the gumption to drive in to the Eternal city and, with the help of singing loudly to Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald, I actually got to the right terminal, parked in the right parking garage, and picked up the right family members, all without hitting anyone, yelling things out the window at nearby drivers in my butchered Italian, or scaring my mom too much. As I gracefully rolled through my first stop sign, my mom tasted the sweetness of the Italian way of life. Va benne, my favorite expression which means "it's all good," has become her mantra as well. While this is mainly because she has no choice, it is also because Italy has reeled her in, as it has for so many of us before her.
Days spent in Rome, Naples, Assisi, Florence and Verona were capped with gelato, pasta, wine, pizza, and Italian pastries. I think I have inadvertently brought my mom and sister along with me on my gastronomical journey throughout the country. The delights of different tastes have made me revel in the differences of the regions, and my guests plunged into the happiness that is Parmesan cheese and Mozzarella. My mom is reeping the benfits of the Campania region now that we are home in Naples; Mozzaerlla di Buffala and ripe red tomataoes were the homemade antipasti we shared last night. Margaret is enjoying her pizza namesake, the orginal pizza Margherita. Here in the home of pizza, we are sampling our ways through the menus of the small ristorantes below my apartment and down my street.
While I am pleased to have shared my love of food with mia mamma e mia sorella, I sometimes miss the salads of Panera Bread and the ease with which we Americans can eat healthily. My new year's resolution (two months in the making) is to try and learn to incorporate healthy eating habits with my love of Italian foods.
Who knows? Maybe it will work. But for now, I think I'll just have a little more gelato.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Life North of Naples
Gloriously this weekend, I made my first Italian road trip more north than I have ever been been before! In an odd twist of fate, when I first arrived in Naples, I was working almost every weekend. Seeing Italy is a difficult feat when you are 1) trying to make new friends who are only off on weekends and 2) not sure where anything is and 3) not sure how to get there. But now the tables have turned. I was off on a weekend (huge plus) was able to hang out with three of my friends (another huge plus) and took a road trip through the rolling hills of Tuscany, up to Parma, Verona, and San Marino.
The hilltop fortress town of Orvieto was the first stop and the first meal. I know I tell stories by the food, but honestly, each mouthful is so delicious, I catch myself with each bite to savor the different tastes. I love the way the Italians complement the foods with the wines. Even with the antipasti, the waitresses, who are usually the restaurant owners, point out the wines they recommend and allow us to sample a truly complete meal. A brisk walk around the town capped with a tasty gelateria stop made for a wonderful afternoon. As I stood in the massive shadows of each new duomo, I felt dwarfed by the beauty of these buildings that have stood long enough to have watched centuries of visitors walk the streets on which they sit.
Parma was the next destination and what a delight to behold. The city streets were lined with banners heralding the nearby Verdi concerts and tiny vias were abuzz with shoppers out, I can only assume, to begin their Christmas shopping. The main piazza in Parma is a promenade of beautifully dressed men and women, which seems only fitting as Parma is the most affluent town in Italy. The beauty of the winter coats that topped the leather boots worn by every feminine shopper seemed the dress code of the evening, and as we southern Neapolitans huddled together for warmth, they braved the dropping temperature with grace. We discovered that most restaurants closed early, but blessing of blessings! The wine bars each had their own free buffet of antipasti and pizze! Perfetto! As we grazed on the tasty dishes and gazed in the store windows, we all agreed that Parma is one of the cleanest cities in Italy.
After a breakfast of fresh prosciutto di parma and cheese, we set out to the Parmesan cheese factory where I smelled a little too much Parmesan. The tasting however, FAR made up for the initial smells and I learned two valuable lessons: 1) never purchase grated cheese at stores. Apparently this is the third grade cheese that most Italians wouldn't even feed their pigs. And 2) Parmesan cheese mixed with honey or balsamic vinegarette is a heavenly marriage of tastes.
From then we journeyed to Verona, the land of Shakespeare, Montagues, Capulets, and balconies. Poor Parma was replaced as my favorite city the second we arrived in fair Verona. The streets are helplessly lovely and the castles the lovingly protect this old city surround you as you walk up and down the streets. We had another excellent lunch of risotto, steak and antipasto and the finest wine, I think, I have ever tasted. An indepth walking tour of the sights, as well as a visit to Juliet's famed garden, made me fall madly in love with the place made famous for its star-crossed lovers. How could I blame Juliet for her love when I myself was breathlessly captivated by the city's charm?
The weekend came to a close on Sunday as we left Verona. After asking the concierge where a Catholic church was and he replied, this is Verona! Look on all street corners and there is the church! Waiting for you! I ventured out early to Mass on my own then met up with my friends to stop at San Marino. This small country on the eastern shore of Italy was probably the most surreal experience I have had in my life. The clouds landed themselves delicately on the rolling green hills of the Italian countryside, all viewed from my perch at the top of a castle. After somemore purchases of more souvenirs I could not live without, we were off again, heading back to Naples.
And thus ends the narrative from the weekends adventures! Stay tuned for more Roman and Tuscan adventures at then end of next week!
The hilltop fortress town of Orvieto was the first stop and the first meal. I know I tell stories by the food, but honestly, each mouthful is so delicious, I catch myself with each bite to savor the different tastes. I love the way the Italians complement the foods with the wines. Even with the antipasti, the waitresses, who are usually the restaurant owners, point out the wines they recommend and allow us to sample a truly complete meal. A brisk walk around the town capped with a tasty gelateria stop made for a wonderful afternoon. As I stood in the massive shadows of each new duomo, I felt dwarfed by the beauty of these buildings that have stood long enough to have watched centuries of visitors walk the streets on which they sit.
Parma was the next destination and what a delight to behold. The city streets were lined with banners heralding the nearby Verdi concerts and tiny vias were abuzz with shoppers out, I can only assume, to begin their Christmas shopping. The main piazza in Parma is a promenade of beautifully dressed men and women, which seems only fitting as Parma is the most affluent town in Italy. The beauty of the winter coats that topped the leather boots worn by every feminine shopper seemed the dress code of the evening, and as we southern Neapolitans huddled together for warmth, they braved the dropping temperature with grace. We discovered that most restaurants closed early, but blessing of blessings! The wine bars each had their own free buffet of antipasti and pizze! Perfetto! As we grazed on the tasty dishes and gazed in the store windows, we all agreed that Parma is one of the cleanest cities in Italy.
After a breakfast of fresh prosciutto di parma and cheese, we set out to the Parmesan cheese factory where I smelled a little too much Parmesan. The tasting however, FAR made up for the initial smells and I learned two valuable lessons: 1) never purchase grated cheese at stores. Apparently this is the third grade cheese that most Italians wouldn't even feed their pigs. And 2) Parmesan cheese mixed with honey or balsamic vinegarette is a heavenly marriage of tastes.
From then we journeyed to Verona, the land of Shakespeare, Montagues, Capulets, and balconies. Poor Parma was replaced as my favorite city the second we arrived in fair Verona. The streets are helplessly lovely and the castles the lovingly protect this old city surround you as you walk up and down the streets. We had another excellent lunch of risotto, steak and antipasto and the finest wine, I think, I have ever tasted. An indepth walking tour of the sights, as well as a visit to Juliet's famed garden, made me fall madly in love with the place made famous for its star-crossed lovers. How could I blame Juliet for her love when I myself was breathlessly captivated by the city's charm?
The weekend came to a close on Sunday as we left Verona. After asking the concierge where a Catholic church was and he replied, this is Verona! Look on all street corners and there is the church! Waiting for you! I ventured out early to Mass on my own then met up with my friends to stop at San Marino. This small country on the eastern shore of Italy was probably the most surreal experience I have had in my life. The clouds landed themselves delicately on the rolling green hills of the Italian countryside, all viewed from my perch at the top of a castle. After somemore purchases of more souvenirs I could not live without, we were off again, heading back to Naples.
And thus ends the narrative from the weekends adventures! Stay tuned for more Roman and Tuscan adventures at then end of next week!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, October 1, 2010
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.
Friday, September 10, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, August 30, 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
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.
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.
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