I just realized that last year around this time I posted a rant about the influx of people wanting to enjoy a vacation in Rome. Which means that not only am I kind of an a*%hole, but also that I re-tell the same stories. Wait, is that redundant?
I have been sitting on our balcony a lot as of late because the weather has been lovely and there are no crowds on our balcony. Because I do not have the miracle gene possessed by Italians that allows them to retain their beautiful skin while smoking and tanning, I wear a big hat when I am in the sun. And I mention this because my big hat is currently on the floor because if I put it away I will have to go get it later and I can't put it on the table because it makes me think of that movie in which Matt Dillon was a drug addict? And maybe robbed pharmacies? And Heather Grahm wore a hat and put it on the bed and Matt Dillon freaked out because it was bad luck to put a hat on the bed and sure enough she ended up dying and they had to hide her body in the ceiling. Or maybe they had to hide the drugs in the ceiling. Either way, I just realized that means I can put my hat on the table because the bed was bad luck but no one said anything about a table!
And I think that maybe Heather Graham was also prostitute in that movie. And that makes me recall that when I am waiting for my son's school bus, people always slow down and gawk at me because I am just standing alone on the side of the road and I started worrying that maybe people think I'm a prostitute? Granted, I've never actually seen a prostitute in the city. They are always out on random stretches of highways of sorts and they are usually sitting on lawn chairs. Also, when I am waiting for the school bus, I am usually wearing non-fashion sneakers and non-fashion jeans and some type of poncho and my hair is in a very non-fashion braid and sometimes I even have my pull-along grocery carrier with me because I stopped at the market on the way and sometimes people stop to give me a couple of euro, so I have come to the conclusion that people probably just think I'm a gypsy.
*Disclaimer: No one has actually ever given me a couple of euro because change is an extremely precious commodity and if you have ever read this blog, you know darn well no one has any change.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Monday, April 07, 2014
Primavera
Sometimes things that are tricksy for me may be city mouse verses country mouse. When the weather is beautiful, I want to dig in my garden and throw the ball for the dogs and go on nature hikes to try and spot emerging snakes. Rome is a very green city by any standards, but I can't hear the cows and owls when my windows are open. I can, however, listen to Marco pleading with Alice (Ah-lee-chay) to give him another chance because he loves her! She is the only one for him! Why must she torment him this way? He will die from his love! and then the Italians who are passing by stop to watch the feuding couple and they eat gelato and smoke cigarettes and provide updates for those who have just tuned in. Marco screeches some wordless screams and pulls at his hair and then Alicia points out it's time for lunch and off they go, arm-in-arm. So there's that, because at my American home,the most exciting thing the cows did was to stop traffic as they crossed from one field to another.
The weather has been beautiful which means that I want to be outside but being outside means tourists. I moved here because I was a tourist who fell in love with Italy, so to be clear, I do not dislike tourists. I smile broadly at every person taking a selfie in front of the Colisseum because I know exactly how they feel. I offer directions to people puzzling over maps. I demonstrate how to work the ticket stands in the metro. Visiting Italy is an amazing experience. However, as a country mouse, I don't like crowds. A population of almost 3 million is reasonable. Quadruple that amount and it is Too Many People. Driving becomes even more difficult because now you are battling tour buses and bicycle tours and scooter tours and Fiat tours and even at 8:00 a.m. when you need to call a cab to get to your son's orthodontist appointment in a part of town that has no public transportation, there are no cabs available. Anywhere. No matter where the dispatcher calls. So you have to hoof it 20 minutes to the metro where your feet won't touch the ground in the metro car because you are packed so tightly that you are held aloft by the crush of bodies. In hopes of breathing, your son will do his best to bend his head back so that his face is parallel to the ceiling, but it won't work so you will be forced to break out your emergency straw that you carry around to keep your teeth white while drinking coffee and use said straw as a snorkel for your son. You get off at the metro stop closest to the orthodontist office and run the remaining two and a half miles and are 45 minutes late. Which works out perfectly because the office runs on the shrugging shoulders that passes for Italian time and hasn't yet opened. So all's well that ends well and you can freshen up and use the bidet in the bathroom of the orthodontist office and help yourself to the fizzy water kept in the water cooler.
Anyway, we decided to look for some open space that was filled with green foliage as far as the eye could see and we found our way to the Park of the Acqueducts (Parco degli Acquedotti) where people were having picnics and setting up volleyball nets and playing soccer and sunbathing and having birthday parties and putting together tables and chairs for their cook-outs. People rode horses and rode bicycles and there was even Live Action Role Play taking place. That's right: LARP was happening in a beautiful park in Rome. And if there are two things I would not have ever thought to put into the same sentence, it is LARP and Rome. Most unfortunately, I don't really have any pictures of the Italian LARPers because I did not want some imaginary magic potion thrown at me.
The weather has been beautiful which means that I want to be outside but being outside means tourists. I moved here because I was a tourist who fell in love with Italy, so to be clear, I do not dislike tourists. I smile broadly at every person taking a selfie in front of the Colisseum because I know exactly how they feel. I offer directions to people puzzling over maps. I demonstrate how to work the ticket stands in the metro. Visiting Italy is an amazing experience. However, as a country mouse, I don't like crowds. A population of almost 3 million is reasonable. Quadruple that amount and it is Too Many People. Driving becomes even more difficult because now you are battling tour buses and bicycle tours and scooter tours and Fiat tours and even at 8:00 a.m. when you need to call a cab to get to your son's orthodontist appointment in a part of town that has no public transportation, there are no cabs available. Anywhere. No matter where the dispatcher calls. So you have to hoof it 20 minutes to the metro where your feet won't touch the ground in the metro car because you are packed so tightly that you are held aloft by the crush of bodies. In hopes of breathing, your son will do his best to bend his head back so that his face is parallel to the ceiling, but it won't work so you will be forced to break out your emergency straw that you carry around to keep your teeth white while drinking coffee and use said straw as a snorkel for your son. You get off at the metro stop closest to the orthodontist office and run the remaining two and a half miles and are 45 minutes late. Which works out perfectly because the office runs on the shrugging shoulders that passes for Italian time and hasn't yet opened. So all's well that ends well and you can freshen up and use the bidet in the bathroom of the orthodontist office and help yourself to the fizzy water kept in the water cooler.
Anyway, we decided to look for some open space that was filled with green foliage as far as the eye could see and we found our way to the Park of the Acqueducts (Parco degli Acquedotti) where people were having picnics and setting up volleyball nets and playing soccer and sunbathing and having birthday parties and putting together tables and chairs for their cook-outs. People rode horses and rode bicycles and there was even Live Action Role Play taking place. That's right: LARP was happening in a beautiful park in Rome. And if there are two things I would not have ever thought to put into the same sentence, it is LARP and Rome. Most unfortunately, I don't really have any pictures of the Italian LARPers because I did not want some imaginary magic potion thrown at me.
False Friends
For my 90th post, let's talk false friends. I know that sounds all juicy like we are delving into frenemy territory, but it refers to words in two different languages that look similar but have different meanings. Which is kind of like frenemies as the foreign words are pretending to be all familiar so that you trust them but they are really laughing at you behind your back.
For instance, if I want to take a picture, I use my camera. But in Italian camera is a room.
A bar is where you get coffee, not booze.
Firma isn't firm so much as it is a signature.
A magazzino is a warehouse, not a magazine.
Crudo isn't crude, just raw (as in meat). Which could be another word for crude. Hmm.
Books aren't free at the libreria because it is a bookstore.
Rumoroso isn't rumors, it's noisy. Noioso is boring.
A pane of glass is transparent in America, but pane is bread in Italy.
Morbido isn't morbid, it's tender. Which still sounds yucky.
A fattoria isn't a factory, it's a farm.
If you order ananas, you will get pineapples, not bananas. Similarly, if you order a latte, you aren't ordering a type of coffee drink, you are ordering milk.
I am a straniero, not because I am a stranger, but because I am a foreigner.
And lastly, long before guido was an ethnic slur celebrated by D-list reality shows, it was the first person present tense of the verb to drive (guidare).
For instance, if I want to take a picture, I use my camera. But in Italian camera is a room.
A bar is where you get coffee, not booze.
Firma isn't firm so much as it is a signature.
A magazzino is a warehouse, not a magazine.
Crudo isn't crude, just raw (as in meat). Which could be another word for crude. Hmm.
Books aren't free at the libreria because it is a bookstore.
Rumoroso isn't rumors, it's noisy. Noioso is boring.
A pane of glass is transparent in America, but pane is bread in Italy.
Morbido isn't morbid, it's tender. Which still sounds yucky.
A fattoria isn't a factory, it's a farm.
If you order ananas, you will get pineapples, not bananas. Similarly, if you order a latte, you aren't ordering a type of coffee drink, you are ordering milk.
I am a straniero, not because I am a stranger, but because I am a foreigner.
And lastly, long before guido was an ethnic slur celebrated by D-list reality shows, it was the first person present tense of the verb to drive (guidare).
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Two for two
Do you know what's scary? Taking your child to the emergency room in a foreign country. Even if you know how to say, "No thank you, I brought my own bag" when the cashier at the grocery store asks if you need one, you may not know how to say, "Make sure you numb the area before you start stitching him up," because according to John's school nurse, apparently this is not a given in Italian ERs.
The first time we visited the ER was when John 's head was in need of the afore mentioned stitches. The doctor who treated him was wonderful, numbed his head upon request, and even made certain to schedule a return visit during the hours she would be working.
This visit was no less successful. John's clavicle was broken and as we waited amongst a sea of others for someone to return to the front desk, a man who would have been at home leading a gang of Hell's Angels looked at John, who was certainly no worse off than anyone else, and this man made it his mission to have someone see to John immediately, even though this man had been ahead of us in line and John was okay to the point hat he was making jokes.
Another man, who was probably in the same biker gang , gently helped John into his shoulder harness as we waited.
When I went to get John something to eat in the hospital cafeteria, the guy behind the counter forgave my attempt to order directly from him (I shamefully forgot that in Rome, no matter where you are or what you are ordering, you must order and pay from the cashier and then take your receipt to the person behind the counter who will then serve you) and smiled at us and took pity on my floundering for Italian words that had been driven from my mind in the ER and served us anyway, even though he sent a woman behind us to the cashier to order properly. Similarly, the cashier expressed no annoyance as I held up John's drink and panino to be rung up and did not blink an eye at the fact that I did not have correct change and therefore needed to be given change in return ( a problem that can often take 10-17 minutes to figure out as cashiers rarely have change and must ask all the patrons waiting in line if they perhaps have change, which they do not, and then the cashier must dig through his or her own wallet in search of the magical coins and/or just refuse to give you change and/or lower the price of the purchase so that no change is needed).
As Mike pulled up to the curb and I helped John into the small backseat of our car, not one single driver in the line behind us honked their horn (and if you have ever visited Rome, you know that a silent horn in any situation is simply not a viable option). It would seem that when it comes to children, Italians are overwhelmingly kind in a way that I have seen nowhere else. I hope for us to not visit the ER again, but if we do, I know that I can trust in this kindness.
The first time we visited the ER was when John 's head was in need of the afore mentioned stitches. The doctor who treated him was wonderful, numbed his head upon request, and even made certain to schedule a return visit during the hours she would be working.
This visit was no less successful. John's clavicle was broken and as we waited amongst a sea of others for someone to return to the front desk, a man who would have been at home leading a gang of Hell's Angels looked at John, who was certainly no worse off than anyone else, and this man made it his mission to have someone see to John immediately, even though this man had been ahead of us in line and John was okay to the point hat he was making jokes.
Another man, who was probably in the same biker gang , gently helped John into his shoulder harness as we waited.
When I went to get John something to eat in the hospital cafeteria, the guy behind the counter forgave my attempt to order directly from him (I shamefully forgot that in Rome, no matter where you are or what you are ordering, you must order and pay from the cashier and then take your receipt to the person behind the counter who will then serve you) and smiled at us and took pity on my floundering for Italian words that had been driven from my mind in the ER and served us anyway, even though he sent a woman behind us to the cashier to order properly. Similarly, the cashier expressed no annoyance as I held up John's drink and panino to be rung up and did not blink an eye at the fact that I did not have correct change and therefore needed to be given change in return ( a problem that can often take 10-17 minutes to figure out as cashiers rarely have change and must ask all the patrons waiting in line if they perhaps have change, which they do not, and then the cashier must dig through his or her own wallet in search of the magical coins and/or just refuse to give you change and/or lower the price of the purchase so that no change is needed).
As Mike pulled up to the curb and I helped John into the small backseat of our car, not one single driver in the line behind us honked their horn (and if you have ever visited Rome, you know that a silent horn in any situation is simply not a viable option). It would seem that when it comes to children, Italians are overwhelmingly kind in a way that I have seen nowhere else. I hope for us to not visit the ER again, but if we do, I know that I can trust in this kindness.
Sunday, March 02, 2014
Pompei
During Settimana Bianca, we had dear friends visiting from the US. Settimana Bianca is, of course, "white week", the week in which the kids have off school. To go skiing. For a week. This is not to be confused with spring break, as that is a completely separate week off from school. One is for Spring, one is for Skiing. What's that you say? Oh, your kids don't have off school to go skiing for a week? Wow. Sorry dude. That is a real shame.
We spent white week seeing the Italian sights and taste-testing gelato and marveling that we had walked over 10 miles each day. That's right, y'all, 10 miles or more per day. No wonder all our guests get shin splints. Everyone who visits is apologetic about wanting to see the Italian sights, believing that we have surely seen them so many times we can barely stand to say, "Look kids!Big Ben! Parliament! Coliseum! Forum!"
And do you know what, dear reader? I don't get tired of seeing the sights. They are Amazing. I no longer "see" them on a daily basis, so when I do see them, it is just as awe-inspiring as seeing them for the first time.
Except for the Vatican Museum. Six tours of the halls of tapestries is six times too many. And my sneaking suspicion that the Spanish Steps are a waste of time has recently been confirmed. I will absolutely take you to see them because of their choice proximity to Via del Corso, but unless you are a step-ologist, they just aren't all that great. And Venice. I will continue to go to Venice in the hopes that I someday "get it", but I don't like it. That's right, I said it. I do not like Venice. I have been to Venice several times during both of its seasons: Not Winter in which it is boiling hot and stinky and you can photograph rats swimming in the canals and Not Summer in which it is freezing cold and rainy in which you have to walk on raised boards because of the flooding. My husband has taken pictures of a Venice that had beautiful flowers and sparkling water and sun-dappled bridges but guess what? I too know how to use photoshop. I'll believe it when I see it in real life. So to review: I will not go to the Vatican Museum again. And let's put St.Peter's Basilica on there as an extension of the Vatican Museum. I will go to the Spanish Steps but I won't feel badly that I think they are Just Steps. And Venice is on my frownie face list. And that was before I ate something that was either squid eggs or cuttlefish eggs. Or both. But the rest of the Italian sights? I am totally on board.
Anyway, we went to see Pompei last week, a place I have driven by but never actually seen. And it was fantastic. I offer to you two pieces of advice: do not buy cappuccino and do take a tour. Cappuccino is a rip-off clearly aimed at tourists. When Mike and I pop into our favorite local bar where the heavenly smell of freshly baked cornetti fills the air, our due cappuccini costs 1.60 euro. In Pompei, even though it was 9:00 a.m. and an appropriate time to drink cappuccino ( you know about this, right? That in Italy if you order cappuccino after 11:00 a.m. you may as well sit on the floor and start clipping your toenails because public toenail cutting will be deemed less horrifying?), my lone cappuccino was just shy of three euro. Mike's macchiato, however, was a normal price. Because most tourists are ordering cappuccino and not macchiato because who doesn't want to drink cappuccino in Italy? And hence the jacked-up price. And perhaps when compared to Starbucks, a $4.11 authentic Italian cappuccino seems pretty reasonable. But whereas I would be fine with the set pricing of Starbucks in America, I have learned to fight tooth and nail over a two euro rip-off in Italy. I may still think euros look like pretend money, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hand them over like I'm buying ParkPlace.
Touring Pompei, however, is worth every penny. Without a tour guide, we would have marveled at Pompei the way that many of Italy's still-standing treasures are marvels. But with a tour guide ( ours was Fabio from Tours of Pompeii with Lello & Co, www.toursofpompeii.com), Pompei came to life in a way that I couldn't have imagined. And to boot, Fabio managed to keep our three restless pre-tweens completely interested and engaged to the point that I doubt there is a question about Pompei that they couldn't enthusiastically answer. And this was on Day 6 of non-stop sightseeing that had taken us from Rome to Florence to Venice to Rome to Positano to Sorrento to Pompei. Super fun for the grown-ups, not so fun for the kiddos. So no small feat on the part of Fabio to make yet another bunch of ruins so fascinating.
We spent white week seeing the Italian sights and taste-testing gelato and marveling that we had walked over 10 miles each day. That's right, y'all, 10 miles or more per day. No wonder all our guests get shin splints. Everyone who visits is apologetic about wanting to see the Italian sights, believing that we have surely seen them so many times we can barely stand to say, "Look kids!
And do you know what, dear reader? I don't get tired of seeing the sights. They are Amazing. I no longer "see" them on a daily basis, so when I do see them, it is just as awe-inspiring as seeing them for the first time.
Except for the Vatican Museum. Six tours of the halls of tapestries is six times too many. And my sneaking suspicion that the Spanish Steps are a waste of time has recently been confirmed. I will absolutely take you to see them because of their choice proximity to Via del Corso, but unless you are a step-ologist, they just aren't all that great. And Venice. I will continue to go to Venice in the hopes that I someday "get it", but I don't like it. That's right, I said it. I do not like Venice. I have been to Venice several times during both of its seasons: Not Winter in which it is boiling hot and stinky and you can photograph rats swimming in the canals and Not Summer in which it is freezing cold and rainy in which you have to walk on raised boards because of the flooding. My husband has taken pictures of a Venice that had beautiful flowers and sparkling water and sun-dappled bridges but guess what? I too know how to use photoshop. I'll believe it when I see it in real life. So to review: I will not go to the Vatican Museum again. And let's put St.Peter's Basilica on there as an extension of the Vatican Museum. I will go to the Spanish Steps but I won't feel badly that I think they are Just Steps. And Venice is on my frownie face list. And that was before I ate something that was either squid eggs or cuttlefish eggs. Or both. But the rest of the Italian sights? I am totally on board.
Anyway, we went to see Pompei last week, a place I have driven by but never actually seen. And it was fantastic. I offer to you two pieces of advice: do not buy cappuccino and do take a tour. Cappuccino is a rip-off clearly aimed at tourists. When Mike and I pop into our favorite local bar where the heavenly smell of freshly baked cornetti fills the air, our due cappuccini costs 1.60 euro. In Pompei, even though it was 9:00 a.m. and an appropriate time to drink cappuccino ( you know about this, right? That in Italy if you order cappuccino after 11:00 a.m. you may as well sit on the floor and start clipping your toenails because public toenail cutting will be deemed less horrifying?), my lone cappuccino was just shy of three euro. Mike's macchiato, however, was a normal price. Because most tourists are ordering cappuccino and not macchiato because who doesn't want to drink cappuccino in Italy? And hence the jacked-up price. And perhaps when compared to Starbucks, a $4.11 authentic Italian cappuccino seems pretty reasonable. But whereas I would be fine with the set pricing of Starbucks in America, I have learned to fight tooth and nail over a two euro rip-off in Italy. I may still think euros look like pretend money, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hand them over like I'm buying ParkPlace.
Touring Pompei, however, is worth every penny. Without a tour guide, we would have marveled at Pompei the way that many of Italy's still-standing treasures are marvels. But with a tour guide ( ours was Fabio from Tours of Pompeii with Lello & Co, www.toursofpompeii.com), Pompei came to life in a way that I couldn't have imagined. And to boot, Fabio managed to keep our three restless pre-tweens completely interested and engaged to the point that I doubt there is a question about Pompei that they couldn't enthusiastically answer. And this was on Day 6 of non-stop sightseeing that had taken us from Rome to Florence to Venice to Rome to Positano to Sorrento to Pompei. Super fun for the grown-ups, not so fun for the kiddos. So no small feat on the part of Fabio to make yet another bunch of ruins so fascinating.
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| arrow to the brothel. who knew modern day bathroom graffiti had such an illustrious history? |
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1100 miles (1770 km for the not-Americans) in 7 days
If you were in Italy and traveled 1100 miles over 7 days, it might look something like this:
:
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| bold parking choices |
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| uh…street art? |
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| Florence |
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| Il Duomo di Firenze |
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| michelangelo's "graffiti", Palazzo Vecchio |
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| herd of king charles cavalier spaniels |
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| welcome to venice! |
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| Carnavale is coming |
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| piazza san marco |
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| venice |
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| venetian antipasta: squilla mantis, folpetti, e uova di seppie |
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| squilla mantis shrimp |
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| Prada's take on Teva sandals and/or toddler sneakers. |
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| most ingenious footwear design since the velco strap. can't wait to see prada's take on it. |
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| do gondoliers ever hit their heads? |
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| winter in rome |
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| original copper doors in the forum |
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| sakura ! |
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| the forum |
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| piazza navona |
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| almafi coast |
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| sorrento |
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| positano |
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| positano |
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| bay of naples. and no, i will not be going to see Pompei:The Movie! Although that title screams for a run as a Broadway Musical, doesn't it? |