Photo Class on the Amalfi Coast

A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Sorrento that was also a photography class taught by Renee Williams and with Beth Moskal assisting her (to all my D.C. friends, Beth is moving to D.C. in a few weeks and will be setting up her photography business - she's fabulous, so keep her in mind for your family photos - click on her name here to reach her website!). Nathan and I upgraded our camera soon after moving to Italy, and we both love to take photos of our travels. I have a part time job just sorting, editing, and labeling all the photos we take...and boy am I behind right now! Below are a few of my favorites from the trip...

And just for fun...in case you can't make out the words on the blue part...this is a Titti Dispenser - and only 1euro, too!

Finally, A Town Loony

Oops - I only today realized that I hadn't finished up my Lake Como series. We had one final day on the lake, which we'd thought we'd spend going to the town of Verona. Then we realized it was almost two hours away, so instead, we slept in. Then, feeling like we needed to actually make use of one last day but with me hobbling from our hike the day before, we elected to visit the lake town of Aregno - mainly because the ferry ride was almost an hour. I was quite excited to be doing something that involved sitting down for an entire hour. The appeal in Aregno was a cable car up, up, up to the hill top town of Pigra. After getting off the ferry and rushing to the cable car (because it only runs on the half hour), we found that it was closed until 2pm, a fact I later remembered reading and actually writing down on my "Things to Do on Lake Como" list. I blame the pain in my calves for pushing out all other rational thought. A nice, little lunch in Aregno's small piazza occupied our time before we headed back to the terrifying cable car. We lurched our way up the first few yards, making all of us in the cable car rethink the decision to be in it.

But after a little ride with phenomenal views, we reached Pigra. Absolutely nothing going on there. Nothing at all. With one major exception. This guy kept rollerblading around town blowing some sort of toy horn contraption. We were delighted to dub him the Town Loony. I still long for one of the best TV shows ever, "Gilmore Girls," so we often have names for people who seem to be right out of Stars Hollow. Pigra's Town Loony is one such character. We're pretty sure we found his house as well, but sadly, I did not get a good photo. It was decorated with all kinds of animal skulls and signs about dinosaurs...and I almost forgot about the odd, ghost figure hung up by a noose.

Pigra itself seemed to have lots of artsy type residents as many of the yards had sculptures and such hanging about. Other than that, there was a nice trail (that I think may have actually been a cowpath) that wandered thru some woods on top of the mountain and opened up to one, nice viewpoint. But really, the best activity in Pigra is sitting on this bench overlooking the lake vista while listening to the off-key horn of Town Loony. And that completed our wonderful, relaxing getaway on Lake Como, surely one of the most beautiful spots in Italy.

Varenna Morning, Star Wars Afternoon

Colorful, beautiful, Varenna

Our favorite day on Lake Como, in part due to a full day of blue skies, we spent mostly in the village of Varenna. Lovely, lovely Varenna. We both agreed that this charming village was our favorite. Where Bellagio makes no apologies for catering to tourists and Menaggio seems to do so under duress, Varenna fills the gap in between perfectly with a charming mix of small town, local life along with some lovely cafes and a small number of artsy shops. Add to this a short, pretty boardwalk that curves the coastline from the ferry landing around a small point to a movie set worthy, colorful collage of buildings, plus a couple of villas open to the public, a large piazza, and some hikes in the hills and you've got a near perfect town. We started with a stroll along the waterfront, taking in the lake on a brilliant day and stopping every few feet for yet another photo, then we made our way along narrow, neighborhood alleys and up into the pretty piazza. There, we found a map of town which showed a loop road going up to a castle in the hamlet of Vezio. Somewhere, either the map or a road sign, we noticed the castle was only a 15 minute walk. Taking into consideration the disaster of our Greece hike added to my recent tendency to become out of breath by doing something as strenuous as walking to the bathroom, we decided that 30 minutes was a reasonable assumption for us.

View from Villa Monastero

Fifteen minutes later, we had just barely turned off the flat road and onto the pedestrian path sloping up. The path headed up with slight curves, cutting off most of the switchbacks that the smart people (with cars) use. We headed up, up, up. And then up some more. Until our path ended at the road, and we had no idea which way to go. Thankfully, we found a nice lady working in her yard to point us toward the castello, and at our next crossroads, ran into yet another friendly local out for a stroll. And so we headed up some more. Until we reached a sign pointing us off the road we'd joined and onto yet another pedestrian path that headed down. This path was quite easy and led us past a pretty waterfall where we relaxed by practicing our photography skills in attempting to take photos where the water looks all soft and cloud-like and glowy. After this little rest, it was up again, but this time, helpful signs told us just how close we were, and we quickly landed in the tiny, hilltop village of Vezio.

Due to exhaustion, I had no desire to wander the few streets of Vezio, so instead, we headed straight for the castle, and for some reason, after almost two hours of hiking, didn't go in. It was a classic example of the phrase "It's the journey, not the destination." From the castle, which probably had stunning views of the entire lake, but I don't really know, there were two paths back down to Varenna. One was clearly marked Varenna and ferries with an arrow. The other looked a little sketchier, said it went in the "direction" of Varenna, but also was supposed to go by a waterfall. We picked that one. I regretted it at the no turning back point, which was after about 10 minutes of carefully picking my way down a little maintained, narrow path of rocks with a steep drop off the side. Thankfully, this ended soon, and we found ourselves in a bucolic scene of olive groves, sloping path, and expansive lake views. Back in Varenna, we settled into a lakefront Creperie for a delicious lunch and even more delicious, dessert crepes. My reward for a much more challenging hike than we'd planned.

Cafe in Paradise

With the afternoon passing a little too quickly, we found ourselves in a bit of a time crunch trying to grab a ferry down to the town of Lenno, where we hoped to visit the Villa Barbianello. Anyone recognize the villa? It was used for scenes in both Star Wars: Episode 2 Attack of the Clones and Casino Royale. I'd read that the walk to the villa is along a nice, 1 km path, but the best approach is via water taxi. As we arrived in Lenno, we realized that we had very little time to actually reach the villa, tour it, then make our way back to the ferry for the last ferry out of town. We made it to the every 30 minute, water taxi with about one minute to spare and found ourselves on a nice boat ride around the small peninsula, giving us a stunning view of the Villa. As we arrived, we found the last tour of the day had already started and while the lady selling entrance tickets offered to call to see if we could run up and join it, we waved her off. Unfortunately. I had not read about the interior of the villa until we were strolling the small garden area and reading the brochure we got at the entrance. The interior sounded fascinating, full of items collected by the previous owner in his very adventurous life of travel. But since I could barely walk at this point due to sore calves from our morning hike, I couldn't work up too much regret. We walked around the gardens, which were nothing fancy after seeing Villa Carlotta the day before, and headed back to the ferry to return to Bellagio and enjoy a fabulous dinner before turning in early after our active day.

Towns and Villas

Our first day on Lake Como dawned grey and misty, but by the time we caught our ferry over to Menaggio, blue skies were appearing! Menaggio was a sleepy town with a lovely, waterfront walk, complete with restaurant filled piazza. My favorite meal of our entire trip was here with one of the most delicious pastas I've ever eaten, followed up with a stop at a different restaurant for warm chocolate cake and gelato. With some time to kill before our ferry out of town, we decided to take a walk up past the town. Menaggio seems to have the most complete description of hill walks, with a fancy little map and board posted right at the ferry landing. We went up narrow alleys and stairs, saw some beautiful views looking down the lake, then headed back down to the ferry landing to get over to Villa Carlotta.

Lake Como is lined with elegant villas and gardens, some public, most private. Villa Carlotta has some of the most beautiful gardens and has somehow managed to swing their very own ferry landing, despite their being one to the north in Cadenabbia and to the south in Tremezzo, both only a short walk away. (We were quite thankful for the immediate access though when our blue skies turned to heavy downpour just at the end of our visit). The villa itself was built in 1745, but is named and known for it's owner 100 years later, Duchess Carlotta (Charlotte), who was given the villa as a wedding present from her mother. Those were the good ole days. The gardens have become famous for it's profusion of rhododendron (not blooming during our visit) and azaleas (blooming strong), and pathways wind and dip between stands of flowering trees and shrubs to viewpoints of the lake. I was especially enchanted with the names found in the garden, such as the Rhododendron Forest, the Theatre of Greenery, and Fern Valley. Thankfully, the rain held off until we were past Fern Valley and nearing the exit. With rain showing no sign of letting up, we headed back to Bellagio for a little riposo (rest) before dinner and called it an early night.

Heaven on Earth

"The precise location of heaven on earth has never been established, but it may very well be right here."

Herb Caen, writing about Lake Como

I could not agree more. We just spent a long weekend in that beautiful place, and I could not believe just how quickly we relaxed. Our trip up there was more challenging than expected. While not far from the Milan airport in distance, the travel is a literal journey of planes, trains, and automobiles. Our flight landed in Milan just before 6pm. After a 25 minute wait for the "every 7 minute" shuttle bus to Terminal 1, we then caught an express train to the town of Saronno. There, we switched to another train to the town of Como. We reached the lake, but not our final destination of Bellagio, a lake town about halfway up. Our original plan involved a ferry from Como to the town of Bellagio, but upon arrival in Como, we discovered we'd missed the last ferry by about 20 minutes. We headed back to the bus station to see if there were any buses, and found the bus ticket counter closed. Actually, as we walked up to the counter, the ticket man closed his shades. We were that close to success. Upon asking a couple of locals, we were informed that we'd have to take a taxi (for the more than an hour drive!). But the bus schedule listed one final bus going to Bellagio. Problem was that we had no tickets. A quirk of Italy is that one cannot buy tickets on the transportation one is taking. Tickets are sold at transportation offices or sometimes at newsstands and tabacco shops. Don't get me started on the logic of having transportation running at times when all places to buy tickets for said transportation are closed. We threw ourselves on the mercy of the bus driver, and he waved us aboard. The night became dark and stormy as we wove our way along a lakeside drive that must surely be stunning by daylight. After about 40 minutes, with only one other passenger left on board, the driver pulled up to the side of the road in a dark town, flipped on all the bus lights, and told us to go into the bar to buy tickets. We were clearly not the first tourists to have messed up the ticketing process.

Bellagio, like most of the other lake towns, is built on a rather steep hill. I'd picked our hotel with one thought in mind: proximity to the ferry landing. We wanted to visit the other lake towns on the convenient (usually) ferry system, and I did not want to be huffing and puffing my way up and down cobblestone pathways several times a day just for hotel stops. Our hotel room itself left a great deal to be desired, but we were less than a five minute walk to the passenger ferry and had an incredible view of the lake. Our hotel was like much of Italy, full of faded grandeur and glory. But in super chic Bellagio, even faded glory comes with a hefty price tag. In the middle of the lake is a trio of the most visited (touristed) towns, Bellagio, Varenna, and Menaggio. Bellagio is probably the most touristy, teeming with jewelry and expensive clothing shops. The town also offers the widest variety of restaurants and seems to have the most going on it, while still remaining a small town. We spent our first morning walking around Bellagio, visiting those jewelry shops and scoring a handmade silver spoon made out of an antique hairpin coming from the traditional headdresses of Bellagio costumes. When my niece was born, my sister's mother-in-law gave her a gift of a silver spoon with a little note saying, "Every child should be born with a silver spoon." The idea has captivated me ever since because every child should be born with love and opportunity surrounding him or her, and I love this idea manifested into an actual silver spoon...so we jumped at the chance of giving our Baby Girl a silver spoon with a story behind it.

We also had to spend the morning taking care of a little chore, and an embarrassing one at that. First, I would like to point out that while I am not some huge, adventure traveler, I've been traveling pretty regularly for about 20 years now. I haven't seen and done it all, and every trip still gets me excited, but traveling is no longer a novelty. I know what clothes to bring, what shoes are going to work for me, and I keep a stocked toiletry kit on hand. Over the years, I might have forgotten a sweater, a rain jacket, or a charging cord, but never something really important...until now. As I unpacked, I found, to my horror, that I'd not packed a single pair of underwear for this four night trip. Not a one. In small town Italy, one may not just run to the corner WalMart or even something like a CVS, so I had an important goal for our first morning. Thankfully, we quickly lucked onto a small shop of intimates - these stores are stocked with boxes behind a counter. You don't just flip through some racks of clothes and pick out what you need; instead, you ask for your desired item, color, style, and size. I looked up on google translate the word for "panty," and strode confidently into the store to ask the little old lady behind the counter for such a thing. Her little old husband came shuffling over and, after asking if I wanted naturale or nero (black), pulled out a pair of pantyhose. I said no, no, no and most likely began rolling my eyes around the store wildly before noticing a box behind the counter with a picture of underwear on it. I gave up on speaking and just began pointing. The little old lady asked my measurement while the little old man began pulling pair after pair out of boxes in a variety of natural, black, and white colors. In desperation, I grabbed the closest pair and tried to do a quick, yet discreet, hold up to the body measurement and just ended up buying those. They worked out, and thankfully, we found another store later in the day where I could supplement my initial purchase with a little less embarrassment. And for anyone else who finds themselves in the same predicament in Italy, what you want to buy are "slip." When the lady in the second store asked me if I wanted "slip" (pronounced "sleep"), I thought she was speaking English to me and asking if I wanted pajamas.

You should also know that Bellagio, the hotel of the same name in Las Vegas, does not resemble the town in the slightest. However, if you've seen the Chihuly glass ceiling sculpture in the hotel, and compare it to the actual gardens that grace the villas lining the lakefront, then the sculpture name, Fiori di Como - Flowers of Como, is absolutely perfect. That sculpture is a breathtaking translation of the actual beauty found on Lake Como, which we finally began to explore with sunny skies appearing and a successful hunt for undergarments behind us.

New Year's Eve Flashback

There is nothing like posting a New Year's Eve video in April, right? I tried to do this way back in January. It was my first attempt at uploading a video to YouTube, and things did not go well. After hours of waiting for the upload to complete, I finally gave up and went to bed...and pretty much forgot I'd ever even tried to show you all our phenomenal New Year's Eve here in Naples! Four months later, I thought to check and found the video all waiting for me on my YouTube channel. The link is below. Last time I tried to link to a video (not my own), you Americans could not open it. So I don't know if this will work out for you either. If so, then great - you can see why Naples is one of THE BEST places to ever spend a New Year's Eve. If not, then imagine this: We are on top of a small mountain (created by a volcanic eruption in the 1500s) with a 200 degree or so view that includes Arco Felice, Pozzuoli, Naples, the Sorrentine Peninsula, Capri (but it's dark, so you can't really see it or make out their fireworks unless you know exactly where to look), Lucrino, Baia, Capo Miseno, Bacoli, Monte di Procida, the islands of Procida and Ischia, and Monterusciello. Fireworks bursting at every single point as the camera pans around. Quantity over quality, baby. These aren't the best shows in the world, but since every one and his brother are shooting them off their balconies, from their yards, and from piazzas, the sheer volume IS the show. You'll hear a friend's voice in the background, and through my clever cinematic skills (aka sheer, dumb luck) the video ends just as he says, "Only in Naples." True that.

Buona Pasqua a Tutti!

I love this photo of our kitchen during the food prep. How Italian does this look!

Happy Easter, Y'all! As you might imagine, Easter is a big deal in Italy. Good Friday is a day where many towns, especially in the south, have processions carrying religious figures or floats (we attended one, which I'll post about in a few days). Today, of course, is Easter, but Italians take the holiday one step further with La Pasquetta - Little Easter - the Monday after Easter. A long weekend of festas. We had prepared for no celebrations at all - no chocolate, no special food for dinner, no plans to visit friends, no Easter baskets. Just church and home. But the beauty of Italy is that sometimes, all you have to do is drive down a short road to come up with a feast.

With our church folks asking us what we had planned for Easter, and our one word response of "sofa" as the reply, I think we both started feeling a bit inferior in our planning. Nothing says "Christ is Risen" like a whole bunch of food, after all. Nathan decided to stop on the way home and pick up some mussels from a roadside stand. A few more yards down the road, we passed a stand selling bread. That was my cue to call for a stop, and when I hopped out to make our purchase, we hit jackpot with some beans and roasted artichokes as well. Thankfully, we had friends riding home from church with us because it's near impossible to get our roadside food purchase amounts down to fit a two person family. In this case, we'd ended up with 2 kilos of mussels, a kilo of beans, five roasted artichokes, and two loaves of bread. All for under 15euros. We were able to share the spoils with our friends and eliminate half the food going into our trash bin. Back at home, Nathan worked his kitchen magic, cooking the mussels in a sauce of butter, thyme, white wine, shallots, and fresh lemon juice, throwing some pasta in a pot and cooking up a quick sauce of sage from our recently planted herb garden in some melted butter, and sauteing the beans. Our planned lunch of soup out of can instead became a feast fit for an elaborate dinner. A Buona Pasqua indeed.

Joining the Community

Two weekends ago, I became an official member of our neighborhood association. With a little membership card to prove it and all. The Association had a fundraiser in the piazza by our home. Down by the seafront, there is a community swimming pool under construction. It's been under construction since we moved in. The exterior of the building is gorgeous, all white, no crumbling, porthole windows [use your imagination since I don't feel like walking the block down there to take a photo]. But after all this time, construction is still not complete. Next to the swimming pool is the saddest little playground you've ever seen. A couple of grass covered, rusting rides that wouldn't have met U.S. safety standards 25 years ago. Grass choked out by weeds. Frames of former benches. It has the potential to be a darling little park, other than the fact that it's bordered on one side by a busy road and the other by a railway, but we just can't have everything. Anyway, the fundraiser was for these two places. I filled out my card, got my proper tax receipt, and don't forget, my membership card. I had gone to the fundraiser with friends from up the road who know about half the people in town, so we were kept busy chatting. Actually, they chatted. I did my best to just understand what was being said. We headed over for food and found that the dozens of little children had snaked all the hotdogs  and two huge bowls of pasta, leaving only potato chips and grilled lamb behind. I eat lamb when I'm in countries like Morocco or Greece. But otherwise, I tend to picture a cute, fuzzy, little thing that I want to pet. And I have absolutely no problem with the hypocrisy in my meat eating habits. Anyway, the upshot is that what we had left to eat were potato chips. Since I'd just paid 10euros and all, I made sure to eat my 10euros worth of chips. And Coca-Cola. Then dessert came out. Have you ever seen grown-ups shoving one another to get to dessert? Not only have I seen it, I participated. But I got a piece of the chocolate dessert. And the cookie, and the lemon, and about three other kinds as well. This old man next to me thought he might beat me out when we both went for the chocolate at the same time. He was mistaken. I'm not sure how well the fundraiser did, but when I just walked down to the Tabacchi to pay my gas bill, construction workers were once again on the job. Better yet, one fellow we talked to said the Association hopes to do more such community gatherings. We should be fully integrated into the community about the time we get on the plane back to America.

The Luxury of Running Hot Water

We have hot water. At last, at last. I can turn on the tap, and hot water comes out. At any time of the day or night. Whenever I want hot water, it's there. This is big news in our household. For the last four months, we have had no such option. When our hot water went out a few months ago, we called our landlord who sent over a repairman, Pasquale. After Pasquale left, we had hot water for approximately seven hours. Mind you, this was in the middle of winter, and our house is heated by radiators. We have on-demand water from the city, rather than a huge, hot water tank, and our "caldaia," (hot water heater) is located outside our home. In order to get hot water, we would put on coats/rain jackets/etc., go outside, perform a series of button pressings in no particular order, turn the thing on and off, wait, press some more buttons, then hear the heater fire up.

So after Pasquale's first, failed visit we did not call our landlord back immediately. Mainly we spent a week arguing...I mean, discussing...who was going to call our landlord back (a common...discussion...in our household), then we went on vacation to Germany for 10 days, then another a week on the "Whose gonna call" discussion. Nathan's position is that I speak better Italian, and I'm the one with the home schedule that the workmen must work around. My position is that we currently live in a very patriarchal society, and while our landlord likes me very much, he wants to conduct business with the man of the house. Plus, my accent is difficult for him to understand, in both Italian and English. I can call him, say something, he tells me he doesn't understand, we go around in a circle for awhile before hanging up. Nathan will then call him right back and say the exact same thing. And voila. Understanding. It's enormously frustrating. One of us eventually called our landlord and Pasquale returned to get the hot water working again...for about six hours.

In January, as I was spending all my time on the sofa, our landlord sent one of his cousins who is a landscaper to take out some dead trees in yard, do some pruning, etc. While pruning around an old, abandoned tank on one of our terraces, one of the workmen cut a tube on this tank, possibly an old gas tank. This necessitated all sorts of other people called in to see if there might now be a greater problem, and the consensus was, no problem. I then noticed a bunch of water seeping down our garage wall and pooling all over the floor. I called the landscaper, our landlady who was here at the time, and the general handymen who are here often to the garage to see this. The ceiling was starting to bubble and crack as well. General consensus, no problem. So for the last four months, when I wanted to take a shower or wash dishes, there was a 20 minute dance performed with the caldaia. And heaven forbid we close up the house for the evening before showers and dishes, because once the house is closed up, we just don't feel like opening it all back up only to spend 20 minutes running in and out trying to get some hot water running.

Fast forward. Pasquale returns for about the sixth time to work on the caldaia, and I call a friend on the phone to translate what he's telling me. The problem is a water leak in the pipes, so the caldaia doesn't always have water to heat. I show Pasquale the garage, where the water in the garage is now causing the ceiling to actually fall in and some electrical box to start leaking brown spots. Pasquale also thinks this is a problem, so I try to get him to call our landlord and tell him. He doesn't want to. I can't believe that I'm now having the same argument...discussion...with Pasquale that I have with my own husband. I make the call. It goes as most of my phone calls go, and ends with my landlord saying, "I do not understand you. I'll call Pasquale." Back come the original workmen accompanied by our landlord and his cousin. Yes, there IS in fact a problem. The pipe that serves the caldaia is leaking. After ripping out the garage wall, they cannot access the leak and start eyeballing my front terrace and the tile inside my house, where the pipe comes up from the garage. I point out that if they rip into these places, and the leak isn't there, they'll next have to move onto my walls. I'd like to avoid ripping the house down in search of the leak. An hour passes with much discussion and phone calls on what they will do. They decide to run a new pipe instead. I think this is a stellar decision. My landlord then tells me that Pasquale will arrive in the afternoon to fix the hot water. I wait, Pasquale does not come. I call my landlord. He says Pasquale will come tomorrow. I wait, Pasquale does not come. This goes on for three days. I give up and decide I will never have hot water again, and I must accept this fate. And Pasquale comes. And WE HAVE HOT WATER! It's worked for two full days now. Two days of hot water. Life is good.

Scully, the Crazy Dog

He's a darn cute, little fuzzbucket.

Nathan feels that Crazy Dog has been absent from his fans for too long. Thus, this post is all about him. Scully continues to love Italy. He guards the perimeter of our house like a happy, fuzzy, gentle attack bear. Workmen (who are here often) and our landlord still ask at every single visit to the house: "The dog will eat me?" While I have repeatedly assured them that the dog will not eat them, and I desperately hope that what they're actually trying to ask is if he'll "bite" them, because otherwise, where on earth did they get their knowledge of house dogs...I forgot where I was going...oh, I have repeatedly assured them that he will not, in fact, eat them, but because our little Crazy can look scary and loves, loves, loves to sniff private parts extensively, I can see how they're a bit afraid.

With our recent news, we have wondered what Scully senses. He knows something is different and has turned into a little cuddlebug. His favorite thing in life used to be his toys, but now, his favorite thing is cuddling. Hugs, kisses, lying on the sofa to be my naptime pillow, sleeping with me in the mornings after Nathan has left. He's always been a sweet dog, but now, even more so. Unless you're a stranger walking by our house on the street. Or a cat. Then, he's a snarling, growling beast. I shudder to think about how we're going to manage back in the U.S. This house is our ninth in sixteen years (plus one six month residence in a hotel, so really, tenth), and it is the first with a fenced yard. We don't gravitate towards suburbia, where one might find a home rental with a fenced yard. But now, we may have to reconsider. That's right. We wouldn't consider moving to suburbia for our child, but for our dog, yes. If we treat our child anything like our dog, we are going to have one indulged, spoiled brat on our hands. Two, if we include Crazy on that list. Note to self: Do not spoil child, do not spoil child, do not spoil child.

I write this as I look out onto our terrace and see dog toys strewn everywhere. The dog has roughly 55 toys. The dog. But remember, toys used to be his favorite thing, so we just couldn't resist. Anything that squeaks and he can flop around and hit himself in the face is a winner with him (the moniker Crazy Dog is not in jest), but we have hit the jackpot. On our recent trip to the States, I stopped into our favorite, dog toy store in Alexandria, VA (The Dog Park on King Street), and there, I found a supersonic toy. The squeaker squeaks at a frequency that Scully can hear but we cannot. Yippee! So now, when I'm on the phone or friends come over, and Scully begins to act like a two year old wanting attention by squeaking his toy right-in-my-face, I can just sit back and continue my discussion. Hah! After four years, I have outsmarted the dog. I am going to be a fantastic mother.

It's the "Island of Misfit Toys."

Where's Waldo...or...I'm Back

I read a load of blogs. It's my reading equivalent of reality TV. When blogs that normally post quite often go dark, I worry about those people. Are they okay? Did they have a family tragedy? They just disappeared from my life with no warning, no time for me to prepare myself. I spend days, weeks even, wondering how they are, what they're doing, when they will come back to me. And then I went and did the same thing. Just disappeared. My family and friends know why, and while I know I have a few readers out there who are perfect strangers to me, I honestly didn't think there were that many of you. I'm not some blog saavy writer doing this for money, so while I do take a look at the number of page views, I don't often look at where that traffic is coming from or what search you put into google and ended up at In Search Of Gelato. Then my husband came home last night and told a little story. He ran into a guy a couple of days ago who recognized him, but neither of them could figure out from where. The following day, the guy showed up at my husband's office with the words, "Your wife writes a blog, doesn't she?" So...hello, stranger. I decided it was past time for an update. Plus, my aunt is NEVER going to leave me alone about it. I really don't know what she's going to do when we move away from Italy.

Here's the deal. I spent the time from my last update and most of February lying on the sofa. Yep, just lying on the sofa. No big trip (although we did go to Barcelona for a weekend - more on that later), no great explorations of Bella Napoli, not a darn thing. Just lying on the sofa thinking my misery would never end. No, not depression. I'm pregnant. While this is good, albeit incredibly surprising, news, I am not some happy, symptom free, pregnant lady who dances her way through pregnancy with an adorable, little baby bump, glowing skin, and feeling "the best I've ever felt in my life" (an exact quote from several women I've run into, once I got off the sofa, that is). You would think that spending so much time lying on the sofa would have been conducive to picking up the laptop and writing a blog every now and then. However, some days I didn't even feel like picking up the remote control to the TV or holding a book, so sitting up, holding a laptop, and using mental energy for something other than not getting sick was just not possible. But now I'm medicated, so life is good.

The meds came just in time for a trip back to the U.S. I made it through a 12 hour flight and got to eat and shop my little heart out for nine days. We spent a few days with family and a few days in our old hometown of Alexandria, VA while Nathan did some work and I ate my way up and down historic, King Street. Nights were spent catching up with old friends at great restaurants (food, a major theme of our trip "home"). We are home now, and our cold winter has turned into a gorgeous spring with sunny, warmish days. I like to sit outside on our front terrace and look at the little sliver of ocean view from this level (for some reason, I haven't been using the Glass House - probably because it's a bit far from the bathroom and the kitchen, my two favorite places in recent weeks). Sitting outside means I don't have to see the clutter and dirt that has accumulated in our house in two months of no cleaning or picking up of stuff. I used to be the type of housekeeper who could have any person drop by at any time on any day and find an immaculate house. We could invite friends to dinner with no notice whatsoever and not have to rush home and "clean" by throwing stuff into closets. No more, no more. While the meds keep the nausea down, at four months along, my energy levels are still pretty low. People kept telling me at my 10 weeks mark, "Only a couple of weeks before the nausea and tiredness end." Over and over, I heard, "Don't worry, it will be over soon." I now know that they were LIARS. Harsh, but true.

Anyway, I'm back now and hope to have the energy to stay updated more normally. We're planning a spring of heavy travel to maximize our time before I hit the point where I'm too big and tired to do anything else. We went to Barcelona just after my previous post in mid-January and my heavy sickness began the day of our return from Barcelona. But one day soon I may actually download those pictures from our digital camera and share a few here. Probably.

A Winter Day at the Beach

Last weekend, we had gorgeous weather with clear, blue skies and warm temperatures. Thinking it would be nice to take Scully on a walk on the beach, we soon changed our destination from our small, local beach to the wide expanse of sand just over the hill from us. We had yet to visit this beach, but we've taken good looks at it from up on high, while visiting the ancient ruins of the Cuma settlement. A friend who takes her dog there gave us directions, and with Scully full of excitement in the back of the car, we headed out. After a few wrong turns, expected, we found a road we thought could lead to the beach (our directions included "turn down the unmarked, dirt road") and voila. The unmarked dirt road is one car wide, full of ruts, huge pits, water, and has broken, barb wire fencing falling into it, but it does parallel the Cuma hill, which has some really cool caves that are only visible from the beach. This beach is unlike almost all other beaches in the area. There are no "clubs" with parking and fancy structures and beach beds, the beaches are wide with light colored sand rather than volcanic sand, and edging up to the sand is all vegetation, not a human structure in sight. Getting out of the car, I almost doubled over in horror at the smell. Stink is not even the word for it. Horrible, putrid, icky! There is a sewage outlet at this beach, and supposedly, the sewage is treated before it's dumped. But this is Naples. Now I'm not saying the sewage water wasn't treated, but I am saying the place smelled like a public toilet that hasn't been cleaned in a few months...or years. But Scully was just so excited, so we decided to at least let him run on the beach. That is until we actually stepped onto the beach and saw the trash covering it. My picture above doesn't really capture just how much trash was present. Tiny pieces of litter were everywhere in addition to the big stuff, like metal drums, cargo ship sized boat fenders, even a refrigerator. There was so much trash we decided to keep Scully leashed in fear of him cutting up his feet. Between the smell and the trash, we didn't last long. Thankfully, the same friends who gave us directions also recommended a walk in the forest.

Heading back to a turn-off road, we followed a narrow, dirt path that opened onto a small parking lot and a walking trail. We could hear the roar of the sea, but smelled only fresh air while surrounded by trees. Scully even found an old temple to play on (these are the remains of a Temple of Isis, built in the 1st century B.C. and in use until around 400-500 A.D.). We may give that beach another try at a later date, or we may just skip it and head to the lovely walking trail. I love to think about how we're walking the coastline where the first settlers of mainland Italy landed and began creating a new city that, 3000 years late, is part of the densest city in Europe.

Santa's a Witch!

Not really. But he is an old, wrinkly woman who carries a broom and has a hooked nose. Tonight is the night that La Befana visits children and leaves them treats here in Italy. There are several different stories as to her origins. One story is that the wise men got lost while trying to find the Baby Jesus, so they stopped at an old woman's house to ask for directions. She put them up for night, but declined their invitation to come with them due to her household chore list (boy, does that sound familiar!). Befana regretted this decision, so she followed after the Wise Men, giving treats to little children as bribes for them to help her find the Baby Jesus. She still hasn't found Him, so to this day, Befana visits children and gives them treats in search of the Babe (or, she gives each child treats in hope that he/she is the Babe). Another story is that the Befana legend has come down from a pagan goddess of Roman times who gave gifts to celebrate the new year. OR, the ancient Romans visited an old crone at the winter solstice to have their fortunes told, and Befana is the modern day old crone who gives gifts instead of fortunes. And why the broom? Some say she rides her broom through the air, some say she needs the broom to clean up the soot after coming down the chimney, and yet another explanation is that cleanliness is so important to her that upon seeing the Star of Bethlehem in the sky, she set off to find the Baby and help the Mother with her cleaning. As far as her name goes, one theory is based on the Italian word for epiphany - Epifania. Befana is a play on Epifania...maybe. One Italian town even sets up a post office where children can mail letters to Befana (but she lives here in Italy, not in the North Pole). Santa may like milk and cookies, but wine and biscotti are Befana's preferred treats. And by the way, bad little children do indeed get lumps of coal in their stockings from Befana.

A Year in Italy

We've now marked an entire calendar year spent in Italy. While I always feel like there is more and more travel to be done, I realize now that we didn't do such a shabby job. Beyond our travel within Italy, we marked six  countries off our list, with visits to France, Greece, Ireland, Czech Republic, Germany, and Austria. With another full year to go, I'm excited to see where the year will take us. Istanbul is tops on my list, although Nathan has no interest in the city, so that may be a solo trip. Skiing in Austria, a weekend trip to Barcelona, a long weekend in Sardinia, a cruise through the Nordic countries, driving through Croatia - all of these are on our list. Who knows what we'll actually fit into the schedule though. We're resting up after our marathon fall and early winter travels so that we can hit 2012 with renewed vigor.

As far as our actual life here, we've made friends, created a support network, found a home church, secured options for Crazy Dog care, and made friends with our landlords. We've learned that all the bad things people told us about Naples were, in fact, true...but that those things don't define Naples. We've learned to embrace the driving. I wonder how I will adapt to driving in the U.S., a place hampered with stifling rules such as stoplights, stop signs, yield lanes, lane change rules, left turn rules, and so forth. While with most aspects of society, a complete lack of rules can descend into chaos and anarchy, I find that in Naples driving, chaos and anarchy are more compatible with safety on the road. An odd dichotomy. We've learned about living in a house in a country that is falling down around itself. No matter how nice the house, mold will grow. We must turn our caldaia (water heater) off and then back on at least once per day to ensure continued hot water. Our terraces, if left unswept for more than two days, will become a carpet of leaves. Plaster will continue to fall off the walls in our house. At least one thing in our house or on our vehicles will break each and every week. Scully has learned to be an Italian dog, which mainly consists of hanging over our front railing and barking madly at any and all persons who dare to do such activities as walk down a public street. We've learned to appreciate a coffee culture in which the proper coffee, from time of entry to exit of the bar, should take no more than two minutes...but that doesn't mean we don't miss sitting in comfy chairs in an American coffee house, enjoying reading or talking with friends over an hour long coffee session! We've learned the Metro system, our favorite pizzeria, and how to drive the Amalfi Coast without being terrified. We've learned how to get by and even have a somewhat decent conversation in Italian. Our brains are full and tired, but we have another year to absorb and learn and see and do.

And so, we will end 2011 with a bang. With lots of bangs. I don't know if there's a better place on the planet to experience a New Year's Eve. We'll head to a high point by our house tonight to have a 360 degree view of fireworks displays - fireworks will be shot off of balconies, out of personal yards, by town councils in their piazzas, and out on the islands, of which we hope to be able to see all three from our vantage point. We'll look at the fireworks while standing on the edge of a caldera formed hundreds of years ago in a volcanic eruption, and we'll give thanks for 2011 while looking forward to 2012 with optimism. Happy New Year.

Presepe Come to Life

My fascination with the presepi continues. I've made no secret of how much I love these little dioramas of life. They appeal to the miniature lover in me. I like to stand in front of one and take in all the tiny details that are so lovingly crafted and placed. When I heard about a Live Presepe taking place in the the medieval village of Vaccheria, the event went to the top of my "must see" list for local, Christmas activities. Open only a few days during the Christmas season, the town creates a historic presepe over a mile long walk, which is filled with wood huts and people doing their chores like making shoes, cooking polenta over the fire, weaving cloth, baking bread, and so on. Since it is a presepe, there is a nativity scene as well, complete with the shepherd and sheep next door and pipers playing some tunes once a crowd has gathered. I could not believe just how much detail went into the production, and I gained a new appreciation for just how realistic the "normal" presepi are. I thought it would be fun to show you a little photo comparison:

Live Presepe

Live Presepe

Live Presepe

An Italian Christmas Dinner

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas. Our plans changed a bit suddenly when the hostess of our scheduled, Christmas Eve dinner came down with a flu bug. Earlier in the day, our landlady stopped by with our Christmas gifts - homemade wine, homemade limoncello, a huge bag of clementines from her own tree, and a nativity scene made by her granddaughter. As we sat and chatted, she asked after our dinner plans for the evening. When we explained that our dinner plans had been cancelled, she asked us to eat with her family. This sparked off a 20 minute attempted explanation on directions to her house that included me finally calling an Italian speaking friend for translation help. As it happened, he was walking by our house at that moment and was able to speak to our landlady in person. Our instructions were to arrive at 7:30 for dinner at 8pm, so after our own, Christmas Eve church service, we got on the road to Mama Anna's at 7:15. And drove around in circles for the next HOUR! We tried calling and didn't get an answer. We found a house we thought might be correct, they opened their gates for us, we parked our car in their yard...and it was the wrong house. We were not having any Christmas peace in our car. After finally getting ahold of our landlord (Mama Anna's son), we arranged for him to come get us, whereupon we found that we were only a 100 yards from their house. So close, yet so far. The actual way to get to the house did not resemble in the slightest the directions we'd gotten from our landlady.

We chatted with our landlord's teenage daughters for a bit before dinner, then sat down to enjoy the traditional, Christmas Eve dinner of all fish. To start, we had spaghetti vongole (with clams) - delicious! Next was a baked fish, also delicious, accompanied by broccoli and another salad that is very traditional at Christmas here, a mix of vegetables like cauliflower and carrots and olives that are pickled. Then a white fish fried into a huge ball and the capitone (eel). Yep, eel. The only thing I declined. Nathan gave it a try, but did not like it. The eel is alive until one is ready to cook it, and a friend told me that both her landlords and her Italian language instructor told her stories of the eel escaping as they were attempting to kill it over the cooking pot. Just the thought of an eel slithering around my house gives me the heebie jeebies. Dessert consisted of some various pastries, fruit, and strufoli, a dish of little dough balls that are fried and covered in honey and cookie decorations (like those little silver balls).

The entire family was so great at keeping us included in the conversation, and we were able to hold our own for the three hours we were there. We loved the chance to see a typical, family dinner. We ate in what I think is called the Rustico, the family kitchen and living space which is separate from the "real" kitchen and living rooms. The Rustico was on the bottom level and had a kitchen, living room, dining table, and fireplace. Dinner was a normal event, no fancy china or silver or expensive crystal - just a family enjoying spending time together, eating, sitting by the fireplace (and smoking - the entire family from the teenage daughters to the two grandmothers), dancing to videos on the television, and chatting. At one point, our landlord disappeared upstairs and moments later, the most beautiful piano music spilled out. He is phenomenally talented (to my completely ignorant ears) and entertained us with Christmas music for about half an hour. With our Christmas Day evening spent with friends enjoying dessert, apple cider, and hot buttered rum, our Christmas was a special time, and I hope you all had similar, joyous events.

Merry Christmas from Lucrino

We returned home from Germany to find this pretty tree planted in our local piazza. Given the usual, seeming lack of concern for community beautification, my heart lifted at this tree, and I take great joy in it's presence.

Abusivo

The day we flew home from Germany, we arrived on our street to find the top of it crowded with policemen, an ambulance, two moving trucks, and an excavator sitting in the yard of a house up there. After getting our stuff unloaded, we hung about our front terrace watching all sorts of activity. As the afternoon progressed, I observed men removing things like walls and doors and placing them in the trucks. Police were everywhere. A friend reported seeing a paddy wagon up there as well. Combined with the excavator, our first thought had to be: Camorra! A mob boss found living underground on our street. After all, the same thing happened only a week prior. I called my neighbors who have their finger on the pulse of our hamlet's goings on, and her husband found out the answer for us. The house was abusivo - built without permits. Now the house has been there for a decade (or so the story goes), and it was gorgeous. Large, beautiful roof terrace at street level looked out over the sea, while the house built into the hillside had an incredible, tiled, fully complete outdoor kitchen. This house was not some shack thrown up, but more of a seaside villa. Apparently, the police are cracking down on the "abusivos," and have taken the route of tearing them down. I kept asking, throughout the week as I watched the men turn that house into a big pile of rubble, why didn't the government seize the house, bring it to code, and auction it off? Wouldn't that have actually made the government money rather than cost it money? But, abusivo is abusivo, and the answer is to tear them down, thus creating a gaping, dirty hole in a fairly pretty, upscale neighborhood, thereby lowering property values and creating an area that I am quite sure will soon become an unofficial trash dump. In talking with my friend and neighbor, I kept trying to apply reason to the tear down - maybe bringing the house to code would be too difficult, or maybe... - she finally shrugged and said, "This is Italy. It doesn't have to make sense." True that.

Presepe Palooza

One of my goals this year was to spend some time in Centro (downtown) visiting the churches, most of whom haul out huge, beautiful presepi this time of year. I realized that I have mentioned presepi in this blog and posted a few photos, but I've never dedicated an entire post to them. And they are well worth the effort. The Italian, and specifically the Neapolitan, presepe is much like what we would call a creche. However, they go far beyond a simple nativity scene and rather, add to the traditional to depict daily life. Presepi are as varied as their artists. Some are traditional, centered around nativity scenes. Some tuck the nativity into a little "grotto" in the back and put the focus on other figures. And some I saw this year focused on daily life and didn't show the nativity at all. Some have water features, some have flickering "fire," some have electricity. In general, the presepi are displayed only during the Christmas season. However, there are a few places, mostly museums, here in Naples with year round exhibits. Caserta Royal Palace and Museo San Martino come to mind, and I've heard of a display in the Palazzo Real, a place I've yet to visit.

The nativity was actually "invented" in Italy in the time of St. Francis of Assisi in the 1200s. He'd commissioned an artist to make a nativity scene, and they took on a life on their own, sometimes literally. The tradition began in Italy, and in Naples, the artists hit, and kept, their stride in the 1600s. One of THE places to see in downtown Naples is Via San Gregorio Armeno (known as Christmas Alley to the Americans), an itty-bitty, two block alley that's home to a couple of dozen workshops cranking out the pastori, the figures for a presepe. The figures are made of either terra cotta (cheaper) or wood (vastly more expensive), are hand painted, and the larger ones then have glass eyes inserted. Small figures are completely painted, while large ones are clothed in sumptious finery, silks and velvets and embroidery. Scenes are equally varied, from women hanging washing to cooking to families eating around tables and much, much more.

Ironically, while presepi are probably the single most unique art identifiable to Naples proper, they are the one thing we're not allowed to bring back to the United States. Why? Because the structures are always decorated from bark and moss, prohibited by the USDA. I have heard, though, that there is a way to have a presepe certifiably fumigated, and if I win the drawing I entered for one that is larger than my current bathroom (slight exaggeration, but not by much), I will look into that. Otherwise, I may end up the proud owner of a presepe worth thousands and thousands of euros and no way to take it home. Yep, thousands. They are not cheap. To outfit a fairly small creche with just the basic pastori for a normal nativity would run several hundred euros.

On my trip into downtown Naples this year, I lucked into a large exhibit showcasing the work of several artists. Unfortunately, I did not have our good camera, and the pictures taken with my phone are not the greatest. Still, I hope you can get a sense of the uniqueness of the Neapolitan presepe, taking a traditional nativity scene and making it into a diorama of life, showcasing daily living that any one of us could step into and participate rather than just observing from the outside in.

I loved this one, but the details are hard to make out at this size. There is a traditional, tile dome coming off the side of the building, there is a bottle tree holding a bunch of miniature bottles, the man on the upper balcony is standing in front of a decorated bedroom, and what you can't make out no matter how big the photo is a tiny waterfall in the back. Just lovely.

What is Different?

My sister asked me about the differences I've noticed for Christmas in Italy versus Christmas at "home." I thought I'd share a little of my answer here. BUT...it's a difficult answer due to the fact that I really don't feel like I've yet to experience "Christmas in Italy." Last year, I was in the U.S. until December 19 and when I arrived home to the house I'd lived in for approximately 12 days, I jumped right into playing tour guide to our family who visited last year. This meant trips to major tourist sites rather than specific, Christmas activities. And since we were still fairly new to Italy, I was excited to see those tourist sites then, too. Now the long time readers may recall that Nathan's aunt and uncle scored tickets to the Midnight [10:00pm] Mass at the Vatican. I'm not sure it's possible to get more experiential than that. BUT...it still felt touristy. I'm not sure that standing in the cold for hours then trying to beat out aggressive nuns for a seat to watch a mass filled with flash bulbs going off filled that need for a time of reverence. This year, we headed to Germany, where we partook of great amounts of Christmas Festivus, and while I deliberately scheduled our trip to give us two weeks back in Naples, I neglected to factor in trip recovery time.  My week has been filled with home repairs, grocery shopping, online shopping for Christmas, gift wrapping, cleaning, and standing on our terrace watching lots of activity going on up the street (more on that later!). So we got Christmas in Germany, but still no Christmas in Italy.

However, I think the real reason that I haven't felt like I've experienced a "real" Christmas in Naples yet is because it is so very different. I keep thinking of the trappings I'm used to - lights everywhere, huge trees, quaint festivals, carols filling the air, and a two day decorating spree in our own home. On our street here, one family has put up outdoor lights. And those lights consist of one, six foot strand along their terrace railing. That's it. There is no driving around and admiring house after house of beautiful, lighted displays. And along with that, people here have walls around their homes, so there's very little chance to glimpse a tree through a window. Whereas many Americans position their tree in front of a window, that just doesn't seem to be the case here. Festivals in general are different in Italy, at least in the Campania region. They are a bit...smaller...than I'm used to (apple festival flashback, anyone?). I do have a few festivals/markets I plan to attend this week, so I'll be able to get a better feel for the Christmas festivals. Ditto for the carols filling the air.

And finally, our own home - we left the majority of our Christmas decorations back in the U.S. And honestly, what a relief I felt when I could put up our "tree" (a fake tree in a planter that is meant to go on a fireplace mantle or somewhere like that) and do the rest of our decorating in about four hours. While I love decorating for Christmas, and we both love our Dickens Village houses (that take about a day to set up just on their own), there is a great deal to be said for simplicity. In fact, I have found that the simplicity in our house as well as the simplicity of the greater region allows for a better focus on the spirit of Christmas - both celebrating the birth of Christ as well as a focus on quality spending time with our friends. In order for our Christmas packages back to the U.S. to arrive in time, we have to mail them by the end of November, so we avoid all the last minute scramble. Instead of masses of obligatory shopping, days spent decorating, then removing/storing those same decorations after Christmas, and the pressure of where, how, and who with to spend Christmas, we shop year round and mail early, decorate simply and quickly, and will spend Christmas with our closest friends - our only option [but a great one!]. We will not have family here this year, but we will spend a wonderful, Christmas Eve with friends and with the glories of modern technology, we will have a full view of my sister's entire living room on Christmas morning and get to see our niece of nephews enjoy Santa's offerings, thus still enjoying a child's Christmas. So, yes, Christmas in Italy is a huge difference, but not a bad one. When we return to the U.S. for good, I'll love the big, flashy, American Christmas, but I hope I can take with me some of the simplicity I've learned here.

We returned home from Germany to find this adorable tree planted in the piazza nearest our home. Since community beautification is virtually unknown, I love this exception to the norm. And see what a lovely view is behind the tree. There used to be a house there. There was a house there when we left town. Now that's an interesting story! Later...

We're Back

This time, we'll be home for awhile. Some day trips, maybe a short weekend away, but we have no long trips in our immediate future. We have been on such a roll since early August that I'm looking forward to having a solid week that does not involve any unpacking, packing, or trip planning. What on earth will I do with my time? [said sarcastically]. Oh how I long for those early days in Italy, where I had time to actually sit in the Glass House with a book and enjoy the warmth and the view!

I have much to catch up on here. I'll head back to Paris with you, and then on to Germany, where we spent eight days exploring the Christmas Markets throughout Bavaria. We ate wonderful food (hearty meat and potato meals), saw pretty things (but I still don't know the name of those wooden, turny things - the ones where you put four candles in the holders and the candle heat creates an updraft that turns some blades, which then rotates some sort of center scene such as a nativity or some deer in the woods or some angels flying around - anyone?), visited a couple of palaces, and capped off our evenings with a nice cup of gluhwein (hot, mulled wine) in the market. We based in Munich and took day trips to Salzburg, Nuremburg, Augsburg, and Oberammergau, and spent half of our week with a German friend whom we met many years ago. We shopped, ate, toured, and barely escaped from the Krampus, but not without some wounds. Don't know what the Krampus is? Neither did we. I suppose I have a busy week of writing ahead of me.

I found it impossible to go to the top of Notre Dame and not take a gargoyle photo.