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.