Driving in Italy, Part Due: Italian driving directions, American style

Driving in Italy, as I have mentioned, is a bit of an adventure.  Between the roads themselves, oft potted, narrow, and winding, and the drivers on said roads, oft speeding, honking, or driving the wrong direction in your lane, you have to keep your wits about you and be prepared.  I credit Naples for a 400% increase in my reaction time and a 75 degree increase in my peripheral vision skills.  It's just survival, people.

Getting around can be a challenge.  Roads often have multiple names, and addressing is haphazard at best, more often simply misleading.

Now, I am no Neophyte.  I can read a map.  I can read a map North up. (No spinning the map in the direction I am driving- you know who you are)  I studied Cartography in college and cut my teeth in Corporate-land at a company that makes digital maps. (Shout out to you guys at NT!)  I even have a fabulous full color GPS with European maps standing prominently on my dashboard.  Yet, I never get where I am going without at least two turnarounds, one phone call, one wild gesturing session with a Neopolitan passerby, and a few tears.

Here is an example of a typical driving session to somebody's house: (Actual information has been modified to protect the innocent.  Local peeps will note that if you follow these directions, you are likely to end up in the Bay of Naples about halfway to Ischia.)

Via Facebook:  "I live at 45 vecchia vigna.  The GPS coordinates are N40. 79414 E14.06281 See you there.  Jane"

So I plug the address into the GPS.  Nope.  Doesn't appear to exist.  OK, I plug the GPS coordinates in, and off we go.

30 minutes elapse.

GPS:  (With a grand flourish)  "YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION!!!"

I look around.  There are sheep.

I pause, regroup, and call over the shepherd.  He is Albanian.  He doesn't speak English OR Italian.  But he does speak "flailing hands".  He indicates that I am nowhere near where I need to be.

I pause, regroup, cry a little, and call Jane.

Jane: "OK, So  get back on the Autostrada going towards the blue bridge.  Get off at the exit by the castle.  When you get to the smoky tunnel,  (the tunnel with exhaust fans...yet they don't work) veer to the left.  No, not the far left, the one that is just sort of to the left.  OK.  Now you will come to the circle of death. (A roundabout with an enormous number of options, and, a really nice rotisserie chicken place known to the US locals conveniently as **Circle of Death Chicken**  I am sure it has a real name, but who cares.  We all know where we are talking about)  Take the third exit.  You will drive for a couple of miles.  When you see Touchdown Jesus (A Jesus statue with arms upraised) you know you are going the right way.  If you get to the bumpy tunnel (a wildly curvy tunnel that the Italians put concrete/asphalt bumps in to slow traffic down and reduce the fatalities from blind curve passes IN the tunnel) you have gone too far.  At the top of the hill, turn left.  It's a hairpin, and one lane, so be sure to honk before you go into the turn.  If you meet someone coming the other way, you will need to back down to the bottom (about a half mile) and pull into the little driveway to wait and let them by.  After the turn you will see a green gate.  The next house on the right hand side is pink.  Go down that driveway to the end.  Honk and I will open the gate for you.  See you soon!"

I have never had a set of directions from anyone that is any simpler that this.   Really.

I heart you Italy. :)

I've mentioned it before...you just can't feel ambivalent about Italy.  Sometimes it's love I feel, sometimes hate...it's a passionate kind of place.
Today, with the red poppies blooming, the breeze blowing and the clear view of the Bay of Naples, I was reminded of some of the things I love about living here.
Let's get a couple of the obvious ones out of the way to start.

The Food:
I have been surprised to discover that not everyone loves Neopolitan cuisine.  Me, I am in the "love it" column.  Fresh mozzarella and ricotta cheese, cured meats, and *sigh* the pizza. It's heaven to me.  They may have to roll me out of here when I go.

The Wine:
They all make it.  It's called "young" because some guy fermented it in his cellar just last week.  It is slightly carbonated and oh-so-delicious.  And if you don't "know a guy" (like everyone does here), then you can buy the stuff that your grocer made in HIS basement for, like, a Euro ($1.25) a bottle.  Va bene.

The Coffee:
They like it strong and sweet and man is it good.

The History:
It's everywhere.  I mean, the Acropolis of Cuma and Sybill's Cavern (still standing ruins from a city settled by the Greeks in 740 BC) can be seen from our balcony.

The Access:
The Amalfi Coast: 1 Hour by car
The Island of Capri:  1 Hour by ferry
Rome: 1 Hour and 8 minutes by high-speed train
My favorite pizza spot for a 4-cheese: 1 minute by car, and they'll deliver.  Really.

And then there are some of the less-obvious things to love....

Small-town living:
Yeah, the Naples metropoltan area is over 3 million people.  But we live in a community.  We shop in local markets and stores.  They know us here. (Probably simply as the crazy Americanos, but that isn't the point)  They greet us, they appreciate that we patronize their stores, they watch out for us, and they fill our kids with candy.

Fashion risk-taking:
It doesn't always work, trust me.  Despite what you hear on the news, not all Italians have perfect bodies.  But they don't care.  I applaud their efforts.  Lavender pencil-leg pants on the men, thigh high stilleto heels on the women (for work at the grocery, no less), scarves, hats, it's just plain fun to watch.

Family-run stores:
Most every store is named after the person or family that owns it.  Pescheria da Nicola e Nunzio (Nicole and Nunzio's Fish Shop), Aldo's Pizza, Ambulatoria da Maria (Maria's Veterinary Hospital)...all on our main street.  Even if you don't know them, you feel like you do.

The Produce:  Gorgeous fat english peas- $1E/Kg.  I'm sorry.  That is over 2 pounds of peas for $1.25.  I pay $6.00 a pound at the farmers market in the shoulder seasons.  1E/kg for ripe tomatoes?  Really?  I bring them home and rot them sometimes because I simply get out of hand at the market.

The Truckers:  I know, kind of random.  But they put their NAMES on little plastic nameplates on the dashboards of their 18-wheelers so as you drive by them, you could shout out, "Hey Alessio, good to see you!   How's it going Ciro?  Alessandro, how's the drive today?"....if you wanted.

And most of all...

The generosity of spirit:  Out from behind the wheel of their automobiles, I have found the Italian people to be incredibly generous in most every way.  We have been invited to share meals and met the entire families of people who speak nary a word of English.  I get doors held open, bags carried, and  items graciously returned to the shelves by perfect strangers when my toddlers go shopping with me and leave complete tornadoes in their wake.  My butchered Italian is nearly ALWAYS received with patience and enthusiasm.

These kinds of things I don't take for granted, and would not even expect back home in the states.  For that Italy, I heart you. :)


 

Open letter to the ants:

Ok, I give.  I have two little crumb-crunchers, plus a husband who doesn't seem to know we have a trash can, so there are always graham cracker and goldfish crumbs on the floor and half empty juice boxes and gatorade on the coffee tables.  It cannot be fixed!  Believe me, I've tried!   And, I know, sue me-- I don't do the dishes EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before I go to bed, so there are sometimes dirty dishes in the sink in the morning.  But really?  EVERYWHERE?  Why in empty reusable grocery bags?  Why inside my kitchen cabinets with the dishes?  Why in the coat closet?  Why under the stinky laundry in the basement? And where, exactly, are you coming from?  I know that the house isn't exactly "sealed", or anything, but you don't leave an obvious trail where you are entering-- it's just open the desk drawer in the office and "Whoa!!- ANTS!"  I don't mean to seem all ugly-American on you or anything, but you have to go.  I haven't actually yet recovered from "children endlessly vomiting" season here in Italy, so I am simply unprepared to enter "Endless ant marches through the dining room" season.  So, go.  Your cooperation is appreciated in advance.  Arrivederci.