The Move.

With Vesuvio in our rear view mirror, the family loaded up both cars with boys, giant dog, giant dog crate, yowling cat, cat crate, and enough luggage, juice boxes and cheddar goldfish to survive the overland and oversea travel to our new home- Rota, Spain.
As the countdown to this journey began, my husband and I went back and forth about the best way to get ourselves and our shrieking and shedding entourage to Spain.  We had a few options.

    Option 1.

  Beloved Pathfinder (Pathy) gets sold.  Husband drives to Spain with boy Elder.  Mom and remainder of shrieking and shedding entourage board flight to Spain.  Husband meets family at airport.  Happy family drives to new house.

     Complications with Option 1.  

1.  Beloved Pathfinder exhibiting strange new mechanical issues.  Family not comfortable selling Pathfinder with known issues.  Issues likely resolvable with time and TLC, a commodity in short supply during countdown to international move.

2.  Military flights to new home location not scheduled.  Commercial flights available to a location 30 minutes from new home location, but possibility of pets being "embargoed" from flights depending upon weather conditions.  Doing the math, A:  If too hot = no pet transport.  B:  Traveling date=Aug 1  C:  Aug 1 temperature average = Too hot.   A+B+C=D, No pets on the commercial flight.

On to Option 2.

Option 2

Beloved Pathfinder given basic resuscitation methods and prepped for travel to Spain after which a caravan of vehicles travels slowly along the romantic Italian, French, and Spanish Riviera for arrival in Rota relaxed, refreshed, tanned, and happy.

Complications with Option 2

1.  Kids, sigh. 

2  Pets in caravan + travelling temperatures, double sigh.  Oh and the cat is a crate-pooper.  Plan nixed.

On to Option 3.

Option 3

Beloved Pathfinder given basic resuscitation methods and prepped for travel to Spain after which a caravan of vehicles travels to Rome, boards an overnight ferry to Barcelona, and busts a$$ to get to Rota in record time-- resting and relaxing upon arrival.

Complications with Option 3

None foreseen. (This, by the way,  is known in literature as "foreshadowing".)

Thus, with Option 3 as the clear favorite, we undertook the effort of preparing for an overland and overseas international voyage.

Here is the diary of that voyage.

Day 1:  Travel to Rome.  Ferry departure:  10:30pm.  By 7pm,, we are finally racing out of Naples with two packed vehicles, one sporting a new Radiator fan clutch thanks to some last minute amazon orders and hands from a friend.  Arrive just in time to roll onto the Ferry and depart.  

Day 2:  Travel to Barcelona via Grimaldi Lines.  This ain't a Disney Cruise.  Boys go stir crazy in the room, but pool is a postage stamp and "kids club" turns out to be a room with several plastic chairs and some Euro-travellers sleeping one off laying on their backpacks in their Birkenstocks in the corner.  Try to fill time and burn limitless little boy energy by running laps on the deck.  Upside, dog and cat seem cool and comfortable in the onboard kennels.  Arrive in Barcelona about 8pm.  Even though hotel is only 20 minutes outside Barcelona, the "No, no...after you!" approach of the Spaniards while offloading the ferry makes it take about 400% longer than the "Out of my d@#$ way!!!!" approach that would have been taken in Naples.  We get into the hotel about 11pm.

Day 3:  Travel to Alicante, about a 6 hour drive, so about 12 hours on the road with two preschoolers and two pets.  Start the day rocking out to some road tunes on the Ipod, but notice that the last-minute fix on the Pathy isn't holding, and that the engine is starting to overheat with any air conditioning on.  Air conditioning off in 100 degree heat, the caravan presses on.  Stop at at Autogrill, one of the ubiquitous clean and convenient "truck stops" here in Europe to fill up on gas and grab some lunch.  Upon departure, a good citizen calls Joe out of his car to point out that his right rear passenger tire looks low.  Joe looks at it and decides its probably the weight of the car carrier and bags, and decides to address it when we arrive for the night.  About thirty minutes later, the right rear tire of the Audi blows out.  When Joe reaches for his bag to call USAA to get roadside assistance (as neither of us speak Spanish), he notices that his bag is missing.  Turns out the "Good Citizen" was simply a grifter who used a distraction technique to get Joe out of his car to a blind spot while his compatriot opened the driver side door and lifted our stuff.   Coming from Naples, where EVERY bump, long look, or hand gesture was assumed to be from someone on the take-- you'd think we would be on alert.  But turns out that when you trot out the whole clown circus (with yowling cat, constipated, panting, overheated dog, and two half-naked juice and goldfish covered toddlers), your guard just slips....I am sure they took note of our weakness, and took advantage.  Spent the next several hours locating a tire shop, securing some additional travel money, and weighing our options.  Two hours and two new tires later (thank goodness for the single, non-joint credit card account that I had in my purse), we are again on the road.  We make it to Alicante about 10:30, serve up PB&J and boxed milk from our travel stash for dinner, and regroup.  

Day 4:  Awake with a daunting 700K in front of us to Rota. 7.5 hours without stops.  Move boys to Audi from Pathfinder, as 100 degree heat was turning them into dehydrated crankypants.  Move cartop luggage carrier to Pathy.  Crank the heater to keep Pathy from overheating, and stop for nothing except fuel for the cars and chocolate for the heat exhausted mom.  During the entire drive, I can only in my minds' eye see the picture of a Bedouin, flogging a rapidly weakening galloping camel across the desert to what seems like an ever-further oasis.  Arrive in Rota about 6:30p.  Pathy, much like the geriatric camel of my imagination, drops to its' wobbling knees and heaves a huge, wheezing sigh.

Upon arrival in Rota, however, we are greeted by knowledgeable locals who, much to our unending gratitude, navigate entering the base (without our identifying documents-- likely trashed on the side of the road near the Autogrill....lovely), and guide us to a house...with a yard...with a fridge filled with apples and hot dogs and string cheese and breakfast cereal and beer.

A true Oasis.

And so...we begin again. :)

Buona Sera Napoli

For those of you that I haven't had the opportunity to tell in person, our time in Napoli has come to an early end. Despite the original three-year plan for life under the shadow of Vesuvius, higher powers (not of the religious nature) have determined that the family move on after less than two.

I have had a couple of months to digest the news, and even now it is with mixed feelings that I write my final blog.

If I had to sum up my life in Naples in just one word, the word would be "messy."

Naples ITSELF is messy.  Between the crazy driving conditions, trash problems, volatile southern Italian nature and bureaucracy -- Napoli daunts even other Italians.

I've rattled on and on about the complications of living here.  Add two busy little kids and the complexity simply compounds exponentially. (Just ask me how many ways two little boys can cause me pain simply "using their active imaginations" for uses of the Bidet)  I greet every evening with a degree of exhaustion that seems unreasonable for someone living outside of an assisted living facility.

Most assuredly, I cannot say I will miss it all.  The ants, the mosquitoes, the petty crime, the bazonkers business hours (or lack thereof), the terrible water quality, the lack of consistent internet, phone service, plumbing, electricity-- you name it, it's spotty----These, I will not miss.

It's a rare day when I DON'T have a  blasphemous meltdown in which I curse the Italians at high volume for the seemingly purposeful complexity of a simple action.  Take as a recent example:

My husband asks innocuously if I might be so kind as to drop in the mail the registered letter that is required to close out our housing contract.  "All it needs is postage and return receipt."    Here's how that went.

Dropping of a piece of mail in Napoli:

1.  Look up post office location on internet.  (The last time I went to the post office near my town, I drove around asking directions for 25 minutes and ultimately learned it was up a one-way street that my vehicle couldn't fit on.  I had to park two blocks away and walk.  Since for this "tiny errand" I had both boys, I wanted to have a "simpler" option.)
2.  Confirm post office hours.  (Seems silly, but believe me-- It needs to happen, otherwise you have a nearly 100% chance of failure)
3.  Write down address of post office to enter into GPS.
4.  Confirm GPS coordinates using Google maps, including "Street View" to ensure there ACTUALLY IS civilization at that address/GPS coordinate location.
5.  Pack up kids and letter, enter address into GPS.
6.  Discover address doesn't exist in GPS.
7.  Enter GPS coordinates into GPS, head out.
8.  Find meat market at actual GPS coordinate location, ask local for directions.
9.  Miss the post office on two separate passes.
10.  Find post office located OFF the main street on a little alley.
11.  Note that post office is "a little busy."  Sigh. (There is also an "inside the building" part of this post office.  It looks about the same, is only a bit smellier.  It is July, after all.)

12.  Learn that yes, this is a single line.(!), and that the way to find the end is to say loudly, "Who is the last person?" (Yes, seriously, they keep track of their line not by standing in "line", but by noting who the person is who arrived before and after them.)

13.  Wait for approximately 15 minutes with two terrible toddlers weaving between my legs, falling into the gutter, picking up and eating unwrapped candy from the street, wrestling, and howling about not being able to pet the chihuahua. "But mommy!  He's NIIIIIIIIICE.  Just ask the man if I can pet him!!!!!!"

14.  Notice that, once inside the building, there are actually (5) separate lines forming.

15.  Ask the person behind me if there is a certain line I must go in to send return receipt mail.

16.  Be overheard by approximately 34 other Italians who then need to involve themselves in a rapid-fire argument/discussion/conversation (honestly, even now I can sometimes not tell the difference) about whether I should stay where I am or move over to a separate line far to the left for my specific task. (Italians also pay their bills at the post office.  The post office does a LOT, and it shows....)

17.  Get ushered over to a different (somewhat less chaotic!) section of the post office.

18.  Wait 15 minutes.

19.  Approve the request of a Nonna in line behind me to give my children candy.

20.  Wait 5 minutes while she fishes around in her purse for candy, emerging with a single piece of purse-lint covered fruit candy.

21.  Attempt (epic fail) to convince older boy to share fruit candy with younger boy.

22.  Attempt to console younger boy. (epic fail II)

23.  Provide younger boy with slice of wrapped mint gum, hurriedly passed forward from somewhere in the back of the line through several anxious Italian women.

24.  Younger satisfied, wait additional 10 minutes.

25.  Conduct transaction.  (Outside of a little bit of translation confusion, the easiest part of the entire process.)

26.  Thread through the line in reverse, and pack up the car with the kids.

27.  Go into the cafe to find the owner of the car that has blocked me into my parking spot.

28. Return home, 

No problem sweetie.  

But here's the thing.  While part of me revels in the knowledge that as a direct result of moving away from Napoli, my life will have a lot less "straight up crazy", I am a little worried.  

What if I can't go back?

What if what used to be so comfortable, has instead become boring, vanilla, a little bit "Pleasantville?"

I might shrink back when a waiter at Applebee's just...brings...me...my...food... instead of doing the little dance in Napoli where you order something and the waiter says, "Oh, the spaghetti?  It's finished.  The fish?  We haven't got any today.  Oh, you'd like the cannelloni?  No.  Finished as well.  (Sometimes, I just ask the waiter for his suggestion to avoid this little dinnertime dance.  He MUST know what they actually DO have, right?)

I might accidentally get slapped with a restraining order, when, instead of a clammy handshake when I am introduced, I enthusiastically "duck right, then duck left" for an introductory set of cheek kisses.

I'll probably get thrown out of the grocery store for demanding that the grocer throw in some fresh herbs and a few eggs from the garden for free when I buy my vegetables.

I will miss the bus, because I will show up late to the stop and expect it to stop on the street along the route and get me simply because I am urgently gesturing to it.

I won't recognize an ambulance, because it isn't a guy in a Fiat Punto, foot to the floor on the accelerator, white handkerchief waving out the drivers' side window, elbow on the horn. (It works.  The first time I saw the traffic parting for one of these ambulances, it actually made me cry.  For a culture that will crush you to be in front of you on the freeway-- it was like the parting of the red sea for that Fiat.  I am sure they thought his momma was in the passenger seat.)

I won't recognize "real fashion", because I will go to a mall instead of the fabulous fashion markets here in Naples where you can buy all of this! (All the text is in English because it's "chic" and it is nearly always poorly translated and often in poor taste.  Sigh.)

I will be sad and offended when I don't immediately get told how amazing and beautiful my two boys are, or see the restaurant owner high-tail it to the back of the restaurant to put on either A) American 80's music, or B)  This Song.

I will get up in the morning, make my coffee, throw open the windows and be convinced that my nose has failed-- I have become so accustomed to the daily guessing game, "What's on fire?"

I won't understand why Americans look quizzically at my rear-view-mirror-broken, bumpers-thrashed, sideswiped ride-- hey, it's transportation, not a status symbol, right?

I won't be able to eat dinner without the soccer game on.  Forza Napoli!

(Cue closing sequence MUSIC)

So, perhaps as a nod to my niggling conscience, but perhaps not....we aren't coming home just yet. ;)

Vamos a ir a Espana!!  (Let's go to Spain!)

I guess I am going to have to change the name of the blog and just keep writing. :)  But for now I have some packing and some language homework to do.

Ciao Ciao Bella Napoli, you will be missed. 

Finally, the end of the campaign trail. The story of Mr President, and how he finally came to find his very own "Oval Office."

I'll start with the Key Message, because it's important.  And because some of you will nod off before the end.  And it's important, did I already say that?

Animals Without Limits.  <---- Didya miss it?  Cuz there it is.


I've written before about the deplorable conditions in Southern Italy for pets.  Abandoned, unsterilized, starving, and diseased animals searching the trash to survive.  In the time that I have been here I have had to harden my heart to their circumstance to a degree I didn't think I was capable.
You know that moment when something becomes so hard that you just have to step away?  That is the moment that some people step forward.  There is a group here in Naples who press forward day after day rescuing the true "hard luck" cases-- hit-by-cars, diseased, malnourished, old.  They run a hospice for these animals and nurse them to health, adopting out those that they can- allowing the others to live comfortably their final days.  They run pet relays through Europe-- sending animals in vans North as far as Sweden to find forever homes.  They make countless runs to compassionate and resilient Southern Italian veterinarians, who partner with them to make this place just a little better.  And they fundraise, forever they fundraise....because the vet bills, the transportation bills, and the kibble bills....they never, ever end.  So, if you have it in your heart and wallet to send a few dollars, please do.  It's a solid organization.  I have seen it working day after day and month after month and they deserve your support.  http://www.animalswithoutlimits.com/donations.htm

Public service message complete.  On to the presidential trail.

Mr. President began his ascendancy at the U.S. recreational facility in Naples, Carney Park.  For several months, he established himself as a dog of the people.  A permanent fixture at the front entrance gate to Carney Park, this shaggy little black dog always had a hopeful eye and wagging tail for park-goers and gate guards alike.  During the winter, however, he suffered a significant setback.  Either at the hand of a distracted driver, or at the jaws of a park opponent, Mr. President was wounded. A kind-hearted supporter whisked him away to the veterinarian for treatment and returned him to the park gate.  After a few days with wounds, stitches, and the constant wind and rain of a Neopolitan winter, however,  it became apparent that Mr. President would not be successful in this venue, and might be out of the race.
Mr President was taken to the home of a supporter for rest and recuperation.   After several weeks, a trial position was uncovered at U.S. Navy Base, Gricignano, but Mr. President returned home, defeated.  He began an intense preparatory period.  He was introduced to a personal stylist, Laura, who improved his image.  No longer the sad-sack, the shaggy dog--it was at this point that it became truly apparent that Mr. President was destined for greatness.

Enter Animals Without Limits.  Mr. President was introduced to his campaign advisor, Mia.  Mia, who works tirelessly for animals of all statures, took an interest in Mr. Presidents' campaign.  Within weeks, Mia secured a position of the highest regard for Mr. President.  His local Neopolitan team worked vigilantly to obtain the necessary documents and a campaign supporter donated comfortable transportation (doggy crate) for Mr. Presidents' trip.  On July 4th weekend (how appropriate!), Mr. President begins his final journey to the Oval Office, where it is expected he will live out his days bathing in the glory of his own greatness.

Many thanks go to the people and organizations who helped to make this happen.

Who moved my trash can? (And other absurdities that cost me a Euro)

Really?  Do they think this is going to resolve the trash problem?  Simply remove the recycling bins and trash cans from their location?   This is how it goes around here.  About monthly, when I go out to do a trash run, the cans that I have adopted for myself get moved.  I am unsure what the point is-- life is already pretty tough here, so why add yet another complexity?  Drive around looking for another potential can?  Really?

Here's my real beef.  I am not one to choose a can lightly.
1.  There needs to be a big pullout.  I drive a small to midsize SUV, which is like driving a dump truck around here.  I need space to pull over and do my business.
2.  It needs to be low-traffic.  I am not interested in the headline "Stupid American killed by vehicle while bolting across street with big black trash bag."
3.  It needs to have no "attendant." In the long line of people creating jobs for themselves in this country is the "trash guy", who will (for a euro coin) take the trash bags out of the back of your vehicle and put them in the dumpsters for you.  While this does aid in the prevention of aforementioned "Stupid American killed" incident, I still get a little tweaked over spending money for this service when I still had to bag it, heave it to my car, drive it in all its' diaper stinking glory to said trash cans, and park without being killed.

Oh, and while we are on the topic (sort of) of people who have created themselves jobs, most prominently we should discuss the "White Cap."  Though I have yet to see a white cap on a single one of them, these are the parking lot attendants who will (for a earo coin) "watch" your vehicle for you while you are in the store. (cafe, restaurant, etc)  In some instances where there are very crowded parking lots and significant traffic, their help can be immeasurable.  They can guide you into the tiniest of parking spaces, come inside the shop and let you know if your car needs to be moved to allow another patrons' car to exit, stop traffic and allow you to back out of the lot and safely back onto the street AND keep an eye out for window-smashing lowlifes.  In most instances, however, it is simply a way for you to emerge from the shop a euro coin lighter than you were before entering the shop.  I've paid a white cap only to come out of the restaurant to find he had vanished.  I wonder how he was watching my car for me?  Tip:  When approached, say "Pago quando parto" (I pay when I leave)

Another example of euro-absurdity comes from shopping carts.  Here in Italy (and I imagine in many other places in Europe) they have created a method to manage the shopping cart craziness that exists in the U.S.  Whereas in the U.S., you can get a shopping cart in the store, buy your goods, take the cart to your car, abandon it, and drive away-- this is not possible in Italy.  Here, you are required to insert a Euro coin to obtain your cart, and must return the cart to the location to have the coin returned to you.  $1.25?  I'll walk across the parking lot for that.  Seems fabulous, yes?  If you have ever had to "bus" shopping carts in a grocery store parking lot, I am sure you would say a hearty YES! You'd be wrong.  There are SO many ways that this practice goes awry.
1.  Gypsies.  They stalk you in the parking lot and stand unnervingly close as you try to balance a baby on one hip and groceries on the other so that neither is unattended even for a moment while you pack the car.  They are going to take the cart?  OK.  $1.25 is a pretty low price in that situation.
2.  Entropy:  You know, that definition from physics you forgot about?  One of the ideas involved in the concept is that nature tends from order to disorder in isolated systems.  Or, in shorthand-- the shopping carts get all schlumbungled  and hooked together wrong, and have their little coin deeleys filled with toothpicks and bubblegum and you can't for the life of yourself end up with both a cart and a coin at the end of it all.  It makes the "cart with a sticky wheel" seem so....charming.
3.  Kids.  Despite my Herculean efforts to never allow the children to escape the compound, sometimes...i...have...to...take..them...shopping...  The whole shopping cart thing becomes a colossal conundrum (as do so many other things, yet I digress) when you add kids.  After disgorging the groceries from the shopping cart into the back of the ole SUV, you have two choices:  A.  Put the kids in the car, seat belts on, and run like a she-flame across the parking lot to replace the shopping cart, hoping without hope that you are not struck by shopping cart entropy on this visit and that the kids don't remove their seat belts, put the car in neutral, and start rolling away.   Or B.  Leave kids in the shopping cart, remove them so you can get the cart in the lineup, and then attempt to keep kids from being run over while you mediate a battle between the two of them over who gets to pull out the coin.
4.  The Navy.  Sigh.  Because this whole shopping cart consternation isn't confusing and painful enough, enter the Navy.  On our base, they have (2) different SIZES of shopping cart.  The two don't stack inside one another correctly and therefore people try fun things like turning them upside down and sideways to try to hook them together.  Ultimately it is such a cluster that I just mentally add $1.25 onto my shopping bill and leave the darn things in the parking lot.

A letter to the about-to-arrive-to-Italy me.

I wish I had me writing to me before I arrived.  Because I arrived so dumb.  I had no idea what I was getting into.  Now that I have been here a year and a half, I have some advice for myself....

Keep your S.U.V. at home.  It's a gas hog which is going to cost you a ton of money.  It can't navigate or turn within a 3 foot radius-- which is very very often what you have. (I can't tell you the number of 66 point turns I have had to embark upon)  You won't be able to park it anywhere.  It attracts all the wrong kind of attention.  European-made automobiles are great!  They are tiny, turn on a dime, go miles and miles by just sniffing gasoline, and are designed with more interior space than my #$%!ing SUV.  Who knew.

Don't stop to stare, they aren't arguing.  Italians simply lack volume control.  They shout across parking lots, grocery stores, and crowded streets.  They shout (and gesture maniacly) even when they are face-to-face.  In fact, turn your volume knob up, else you aren't going to be heard.

Don't order a cappucino after 11am.    Oh, sure, you can still drink coffee.  But not the kind with lots of milk.  It's a big no-no. Go figure.  It says "Americano" louder than a hawaiian print shirt and sandals with black knee socks.

Plan ahead.  Nothing is open from 1:30pm-4:30pm in the afternoon, and restaurants typically don't open until 7pm.  You can expect innumerable short-circuited shopping runs and dinnertime toddler meltdowns from this one little timing hiccup alone.

You will be eating dinner in front of the TV.  There is a flat screen TV at high volume center stage while dining at most every restaurant.  Italians are rabid about soccer, so if there is a game-- it's on.  If there isn't a game, "The Simpsons" dubbed into Italian seems to be preferred viewing during dinner.

Get the shocked look off your face.  From being cut off while in line at the post office, to being trampled while trying to board a train, I have spent way too much time being a shocked and offended American rule follower and not enough time cutting to the head of the line.  Imagine how much time I could have saved had I known that "single-file" and "wait your turn" can be found nowhere in the Italian dictionary!

Don't make the same mistake I did.  The picture above is from an express delivery service (like DHL or FedEx) , not an espresso delivery service.  This one had me stumped for MONTHS.  "Seriously, how much coffee can one family drink?!  A weekly delivery by van?!"

Don't touch the vegetables.  Or the fruit.  The typical American shopper shops the produce aisle as a sensory experience.  We squeeze the avocados, sniff the melons, may even taste a grape to get an idea of sweetness.  Unless you want to get SERIOUS stink-eye and a probable hand slap from an eighty-year old 4 foot nothin', chain-smokin Nonna (grandma), don't do that here.  Here, produce selection is a sterile act, and includes your very own pair of disposable plastic gloves.  Any real manipulation of the produce beyond long distance observation pre-selection is regarded as unsanitary.  At most regular grocery stores, in fact, there is an actual "produce selector guy" whose job it is to select and to weigh your vegetables and fruits for you.  It pays to be nice to the produce selector guy, if you want to have a high ratio of quality to rotten fruit.

  Don't expect the Cashiers to know produce SKUs:  Still in the produce aisle, there is another trip-up.  It is imperative that once you have selected your produce that you take said produce to a digital scale, set the produce on the scale, enter the SKU number of the produce into the keypad, and then obtain a price sticker from the scale to apply to your plastic baggie.  If, by some act of God, you forget to apply said sticker-- not only will you be unable to purchase the item (The checkers do not memorize the SKU numbers like they do in the states), you will become a pariah in the grocery.  The checker will hold it up to you and tell you in rapid-fire Italian that you have forgotten to include a price sticker, that you cannot have the vegetables, that you have caused a disruption in line, and that you are truly a waste of human skin.  (That last part, I am guessing on....My Italian is not so good, but I pulled that from the eye rolls and hand gestures.)  Then, they slam the produce down on the counter behind the register, glare at you, and continue checking.

Appreciate simple courtesies.  For some reason, when an Italian discovers that you are an American, he feels an immediate need to make you feel comfortable, usually by turning on some kitchy American music.  In various pedicure, hair styling, and shopping visits, I have been "treated" to Rod Stewart (Maggie May), Everlasting Love (Who does that one?), Bryan Adams (When a man loves a woman), Billy Idol (Cradle of Love)...the list goes on.  Though once I was treated to an Italian song (which, after the restaurant family put on, they began to sing and dance to in the empty restaurant around us)  .Tu vo fa L'Americano

Realize that you aren't going to hear all that much Italian music in Italy.  Even on Italian radio, a lot of what is played is American Music...and lots of it is from the eighties.

Get your Mexican fix now.  Yes, the food here is amazing. But be aware that Italians, and most especially Neopolitans, are very faithful to their own cuisine.  In Naples, in fact, there is an ordinance which dictates which dishes a restaurant can serve.  This means that regardless of what restaurant you go to, you will find the same dishes.  These dishes are lovely, don't get me wrong.  But after 1.5 years of eating those dishes-- you will be ready to sell your kidney for some Mexican, Thai, even (the horrors!) American chain food.  Some of the highlights of our trips out of Italy have been the ability to eat Indian, Chinese, and Japanese food.  Don't ask me what the local fare is in the Czech Republic, because all I could see when I got there is that they had a large Indian population--- it was me + Masala all the time.

Stock up on Euro.  NOBODY takes credit cards.  I think it is some combination of thriftyness (they don't want to pay the service fees), and underhandedness (they don't want to pay the taxes), but if you can't put your hands on some EURO, they will tell you to just head straight home.

Buy the kleenex.  Maybe not at every single stoplight (because, lord knows, it is available there), but keep a good stock.  Between the 2000-year old viruses that create month-long forays into mucouslandia and the somewhat-less-than-pristine (OK, let's call a spade a spade-- DEESGUSTING HOLE IN THE GROUND) public washrooms you will encounter (that don't stock TP, btw), you'll need them.

Need a clean restroom?  If you are traveling by car, stop at any Autogrill.  These little babies, kind of combination truck stop/grocery store/toy store/bookstore/restaurant/hangout are clean, ubiquitous, and serve food even during normal "riposa" hours (Whoopee, dinner at six!)

The first time you order a pepperoni pizza here, you are going to be very confused.  And try the potato pizza, because even though it sounds really messed up- it's awesome.

Demand a pellet stove in your rental home.  Seems frivolous?  Here are your other choices:  1.  $1250 heating bills in the winter OR 2.  An outdoor propane heater in your living room.  (Yeah, you know, the ones that say, don't use in an unventilated area?) It's actually the most popular option.

Buy stock in any company that makes mosquito spray and/or ant bait.  Just sayin.

Buy lots of stylish and comfortable slippers.  And more socks that you might imagine you will ever need.  Because Marble floors are GORGEOUS!-- and freaking cold.

Prepare to accept that scarves are something worn year round.  As are boots.  Shorts are only for the beach.  Flip flops, never.  And both men and women carry purses.

And finally, put all of these on your shopping list immediately.  I have found them over time, and simply cannot live without them now.  In fact, I am beginning to hoard, for fear that I might be denied them sometime in the future.

Crema Balsamico:  Just like really well aged Balsamic Vinegar, only without the price tag.

Mozzarella di Bufala:  Soft, and creamy, and kept in liquid at room temperature.  Divine.

Merende: (Literally, snack):  I stayed away from these for far too long, thinking they looked like a twinkie, and were therefore, toxic.  They have whole aisles of these little cakes, in various flavors-- not too sweet, not too big, not full of crappy ingredients.  Thumbs up. 

Espresso:  Every morning.  Two cups.

Italian fruit juices:  They have amazing flavors that we just don't have at home, like Pear, and Apricot, and Banana, and Cherry.  My kids favorite is Peach.

Milk Bread:  Really, I think the French brought this over, but it's great.  Think Hawaiian sweet bread in a convenient little sandwich roll.  Makes a great peanut butter sandwich without any jam because it has a hint of sweet already.

Nutella:  Europe's favorite spread.  I never was a fan.  It wasn't that I WASN'T a fan, I really just never really cared.  Now, I have come to realize that this stuff is simply amazing!  Want the best frosting?  Whipped cream + Nutella.  Want the best Chocolate cookies?  Add Nutella.  Want to make an amazing milkshake, dip for pretzels, swirl for coffee cake?  I could go on.

Olive Oil:  I'm a convert.  I have always used olive oil for some cooking and for bread dipping.  Now, I use it for everything.  It's on my pasta instead of butter for the kiddos, it's in my hair, on my elbows, knees, and cuticles.  I go through gallons of the stuff, and this inexpensive grocery store brand-- like maybe $6 a liter?  It's awesome.

Olives:  Of all types.  Salty bright green ones.  Big fat purple ones.  Uber-salty dessicated black ones.  Mixed in with mushrooms.  Mixed in with peppers.  Mixed in with Artichoke Hearts and Eggplant.  They are everywhere in the markets, being scooped out of big tubs for 4E per Kilogram.  Get me some crusty bread and a jug of these guys, and I am a happy soul.

Pancetta:  Cubed, smoked, and ready to go.  Nearly every one of my pasta recipes starts like this:  Saute a little pancetta in some olive oil.....

Tomatoes:  Specifically, the Datterino variety.  I am madly pinteresting/googling how to keep and later germinate the seeds because they are just...that..good...

Fruttolo Yogurt:  They love it, and it has good bugs. :)

Tomato Sauce:  There are so many variations on this here, it's staggering.  But the ones I always go back to are either this one, with a very slightly chunky texture, or true "Passata", which is a completely smooth tomato sauce.  They are so good that you don't really even need to add anything before tossing it on your pasta--- and they don't heavily salt or sugar these sauces like they do in the states.  Yum.  "Pasta Sugo", a favorite at my kids school, is basically spaghetti with "sauce"-- and it is just a very very simple completely smooth red sauce, just like these.

Panna:  It's cooking cream, and I can't try to pretend it is good for me.  But here, they do their famous European "UHT" (Ultra High Temperature) pasteurization method, which means you can have this in the pantry for those times when you would just like the sauce to be a little richer or whatever and don't want to run to the grocery.  And they have flavored Pannas, like salmon and mushroom, which make some pretty easy and amazing sauces.

There.  A few things that could have helped me to hit the ground running, or at least walking, or limping instead of simply standing, mouth agape for several months while I tried to figure it all out.  You're welcome, me.

Travel Journal: Flat Stanley Does Naples

Hi, I'm Stanley.  Charlotte sent me on a trip to learn about Naples, Italy.  Here is my travel journal.

First Impressions:

Upon emerging from my envelope in Naples, Italy, I have to say I was a bit surprised.  My host family told me this might be the case.  Naples, it turns out, is nothing like the United States.  And really, it isn't all that much like Italy, at least the Italy of my imagination and the one I see on T.V.  The first impressions I felt upon arrival were a complete overload of my senses. It is a busy, busy place with lots and lots and LOTS of people smoking, hugging, running across the streets against traffic, buying vegetables and bread from trucks beside the road, carrying pizzas, and piling into cafes and pizza restaurants.  The streets are narrow and packed with tiny cars and motorscooters and trash and dogs and billboards.  There is an immense amount of smoke in the air-- some of it smells like sulphur, from a volcano, other like firesmoke from burning grapevines.  There is also cigarette smoke and some smoke that is more pungent-- perhaps burning trash.  It is LOUD- there is a persistent sound of motorscooter engines, people shouting, and the strange wweee oooh weee ooooh of their fire and police sirens- so unlike ours back home.

Settling In (Week One) :

So, apparently it rains a lot here in Naples.  I really hadn't imagined that, either.  You know, on T.V., they talk about Italy as having this "Mediterranean climate", which I had thought might mean "warm and sunny."  And though my hosts assure me that during the summer "warm and sunny" certainly apply-- I am eagerly awaiting a break in the nearly continuous heavy rain and wind that seem to make up the winter here.  It's putting a crimp in my travel plans.

Venturing Out (Week One):

OK, so the weather is not cooperating.  But that won't stop me.  I am going to learn about this city I have come to visit.  And what better place to start than....

At the Cafe.  Make mine a cappuccino.  A Cappuccino is a drink made with espresso, steamed milk, milk foam, and lots and lots of sugar.  The Neopolitans (That's what you call the locals here) only drink theirs before noon.  After noon, they drink espresso without milk.  Our barista was kind enough to give me a lift so that you could see me AND our lovely coffees.  Notice the coin on the counter?  It's 20 Euro cents.  The Italians don't use dollars and quarters and dimes and nickels like we use in the states.  They use EURO, a currency used all over Western Europe.  This coin is 20 Euro cents.  Though it is not as common to give a tip for good service here in Italy, it is considered good manners to leave a small coin on the counter for your barista.

Next Stop:  Getting out and around.   Naples was a city that was born many many many years ago.  It is truly an ancient city.  As such, the roads were not built to accommodate Ford Explorer SUVs.  The city road system was truly designed with horse-drawn chariots in mind.  Often the roads are cobblestoned, narrow, and can't even accommodate two-way car traffic--- cars must take turns in order to get through.  It makes for some scary driving conditions.  So, in order to keep my fears down, my hosts decided we would do a day on the train.

This is the Licola train station, and one of my hosts, Jack.

And here are Jack and I waiting on the platform.  Artistic, eh?

And, here is the train.  Also artistic-- but actually the train system here in Naples is very good.  I can access most of the region by train, and connect to all of Italy and Europe pretty painlessly.  They are relatively inexpensive to ride, and well-used by the locals.

First Stop:  Food.

Food is very important in Italian culture.  Much of what happens in Italy revolves around cooking, talking about cooking, eating, or talking about eating.  In fact, the "Sunday Lunch" still is very common here-- with the entire family coming together for a large meal around lunchtime on Sunday.  Usually the parents provide the main dishes, and children and guests bring along pastries (Dolce in Italian) from one of the many many Patisseries along most every street.  Naples is known for "Cornetti", which is like a croissant, filled with either vanilla or chocolate cream, and the Sfogliatella, a shell-shaped pastry filled with lemon-scented sweetened ricotta cheese.  YOM!

Next Stop:  Food

All of this interesting information about Italian culture made me hungry.  So after learning about Neopolitan Pastries, we decided to go get some of what Naples is REALLY known for--- PIZZA.

Pizza has a very long history in Naples.  As early as the 1500s, flatbread similar to pizza and called pizza was being served in Naples, mostly created by street vendors for the day workers.  In 1889, a Neopolitan pizza-maker created the "Pizza Margherita", a pizza with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and Basil (the colors of the Italian flag) to honor the Queen consort of Italy, Margherita of Savoy.  The Margherita pizza is probably the most often served and most classic Neopolitan pizza today.  I instead chose onion pizza with fries. :)

Jack, however, doesn't even seem to realize pizza comes in any other flavor than Margherita.

We also got some fried stuff.  Neopolitans are also very fond of "Friggatorias"-- basically a restaurant that serves fried foods.  They have some specialties here including:
Arancini:  Rice filled with peas/meat and sauce, breaded and deep fried.
Frittatina:  Often spaghetti, sauce, cheese, breaded and deep fried.
Crocchette:  Mashed potatoes, and sometimes mozzarella, breaded and deep fried.
I'm feeling a little sleepy.  We are heading home.

Sunset from our host's house in Monterusciello.

Venturing Out (Week Two):

Finding Transportation.

The Italians don't drive SUVs.  As I mentioned before, the roads just can't handle them.  So I looked around to get an idea of what the Italians drive.

And I liked what I saw.....

Yeah, I look good in this one....

But onto more adventures.  Vesuvius.
The entire Bay of Naples and surroundings are a hotbed of volcanic activity.  There are hot water thermals all over the area, and many volcanoes and craters-- many still active.  The largest and most well known of these volcanoes is Mount Vesuvius.  It erupted in 79 BC with such intensity that it buried the city of Pompeii and all of its' inhabitants.  The remains of the city are well preserved by the volcanic ash, and it remains an archaeological marvel.

We took a day and ventured towards Vesuvius.  Mother nature was not interested in our planned visit. In fact, you may even be able to see snow on the top of Vesuvius if you squint.  That is the mountain behind me.  It's as close as we got before the howling wind turned us around for home.  And more pizza.

Finally!  A day without rain!  We hopped in the car for a whirlwind tour of the sights!

Lago Averno:

This Lake is not only lovely, but has immense historical significance.  The lake was of major importance to the Romans, who considered it to be the entrance to Hades, the underworld.

The Flavian Amphitheater:

This is the third largest roman amphitheater in Italy, used for gladiator fights, and still has much of the interior intact, due to having been buried by the nearby Volcano Solfatara (which we could smell- ew! while there.)

And another.

And another.

And finally..

Week Two (Heading Home):

Alas, due to the amount of time required to travel to and from Italy using FPO addresses, I need to head home.  I have had a lovely time getting to know the unique and historical Naples area.  Un Bacio!  Buona Sera, Napoli!!

Course, with signs like this, I could get really, really lost.

And end up in....a toy store...filled with miniature FERRARIS!!!.  Somehow, it just seems right.
See you soon Char!

Love,   Stanley.

You know you've gone native when....

Very early after my arrival in Italy, a new friend said to me, "Write it all down now while it seems absurd.  Because a year from now, all of this will seem normal."

I didn't take her advice.

I have been here for a year now.

So tell me, have I gone Native?  I have caught myself...


1. Eating an entire Buffalo Mozzarella ball for breakfast.

2. Making the "praying hands" gesture (see attached "Italian Gestures" video when trying to make an emotional point while talking to someone

3. Doing the same thing, but while on the cell phone, driving, in rush hour traffic, in downtown Naples.

4.  Buying wine for a dollar from a truck on the side of the road.

5.  Buying tomato sauce from the same guy, stored in old beer bottles.

6.  Feeling offended when I go an entire day without someone telling me how beautiful my children are.

7.  Making a monthly trip to obtain coupons for "discount gas" that still ends up costing nearly $5 a gallon.

7.  Paying nearly $10.00 for a gallon of gas when I run out of those coupons.

8.  Buying that gas from a guy who is pumping it while simultaneously talking on his cellphone and smoking a cigarette.

9.  Paying hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of dollars in gas an electricity every month, and still wearing sweatshirts and socks and keeping the house at a "balmy" 59 degrees fahrenheit.

10.  Making do without electronic conveniences.  Everything either needs to be purchased in 220v or plugged into a transformer (which still doesn't guarantee it won't blow up-- two fans and one air purifier so far).  Turns out the world still goes around without your waffle maker and rice cooker.

11.  Finding myself saying things like "Maadoooooonna!" and "Mama Mia! " without a thought.

12.  Having zero expectation that I will be able to obtain ice cubes, at any time, for any purpose on earth.

13.  Never washing my vehicle windshield because I know that there will be a (almost exclusively) North African immigrant who makes his living washing windshields at 6 or 8 of the 10 stoplights I will stop at today.  It's gonna get taken care of if I have some spare change.

14.  Never purchasing kleenex because, at the other 2 or 4 stoplights-- the immigrant that sells the tissues will be there.

15.  Glancing only briefly at fires alongside the road.  Stuff is simply ALWAYS on fire here.

16.  Putting on my wading boots and stashing oars in my car to pick my kids up from school on rainy days.  See Video.

17.  Being wary of all old white panel vans, box trucks, and pre-1990 winnebagoes.  (For those not-initiated, the gypsies travel almost exclusively in these vehicles...where they get them?  I have no idea.)

18.  Having absolutely NO IDEA what might be for sale in any given store. Handheld electronics, Trash cans, and Homemade marinated artichokes!  Va Bene!

19.  Craving mexican food, asian food, even FAST food which an urgency I can't even express.

20.  Putting my BOB stroller downstairs and never, ever taking it anywhere.  It actually has grown mold.

21.  Realizing that roads built for Roman Chariots simply cannot manage SUVs built for American standards of luxury.

22.  Going on vacation simply to bask in the luxury of their efficient heating and cooling systems.

23.  Calculating the likelihood of being approached by a pack of stray dogs before taking Lucy on a walk.

24.  Expecting that a transaction as simple as "I give you money, you provide a service" is SO much more complicated here and usually requires three visits to the service provider, a 10 item list of requirements, (after completion of which they provide you another 10-item list of requirements), a blood donation, an obstacle course including flaming hula hoops, application of an arm splint, much thrashing and voice-raising, and ultimately lots of cheek-kissing and a tiny cup of really strong, heavily sugared espresso.

25.  Being floored when my rental landlord actually sends out a qualified person to perform a repair and does so within two weeks of my initial request.  (Nearly always, it is the gate guard or his brother-in-law, with an 50-year old extension ladder and a flathead screwdriver to fix the air conditioner in November for a request made in June)

26.  Being able to spot an American.  It happens, it really actually does.  And they don't have to speak.

I will leave you to contemplate my absorption into my host nation....ciao ciao, che vediamo dopo!