tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27588365973338862302024-03-13T10:18:47.555+01:00The Bearcat DiariesShort stories and other musings from living in Italy to traveling the worldandreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-63624776438665731762012-05-03T15:01:00.000+02:002012-05-03T15:01:10.592+02:00The Importance of FriendLately I've been going through some shit. Everyone does I know. Getting upset over stupid stuff, things I have no control of and re-evaluating my life and choices. Hard realizations for anyone, even harder when you live in a foreign country without the support system of nearby friends and family.<br />
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We live our lives, and day to day bullshit sometimes gets in the way of being in touch with the people that mean the most to us. We're all guilty of it at some level. I miss my girlfriends, most of whom I don't speak with enough, time differences, my travel schedule etc....<br />
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Today May 3rd, and on May 3rd of the past few years I am reminded of the importance of our truest friends, the ones that you know no matter how much time has passed or how long you haven't spoken will always be there for you and you for them. This reminder comes in the way of a letter. A letter written by a very special person Mary Marbach who I knew years ago in college thru a mutual friend who has since passed.<br />
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Our mutual friend Jennifer was at a time a very close friend of mine but soon after graduating we lost touch and it was about 4 years ago through Facebook that Mary found me and broke the heartbreaking news of her passing.<br />
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As a tribute to THEIR friendship, Mary & Jennifer's ( which we can all learn from ) each year on May 3rd, Jen's Birthday Mary posts a letter that she wrote for her friend. It is a very special letter that should remind us all to take the time even if for just a day to let our truest friends know what they mean to us.<br />
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Thanks Mary for letting me post your letter and reminding me of what is really important and where the heart belongs. For anyone that reads this , do as Mary asks and share it with the friends who mean the most.<br />
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A Super SPECIAL tribute from one friend to another :))<br />
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<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #a64d79;">My best friend, Jennifer, was born on May 3, 1967. She would have been 45 today.<br />
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Jennifer was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease in 1997. She promised me, way back then, that she wouldn't die, and I made her put it in writing. It is the only promise to me she couldn't keep.<br />
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While she was fighting cancer, we spent a lot of time together. A serious illness changes a friendship in ways you cannot <span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span></span></span><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="background-color: white; color: #a64d79;">imagine. You stop taking each other for granted. You start to appreciate the importance of your friendship. We told each other “I love you” every time we hung up the phone. We talked about how much we meant to each other. Jennifer took to signing her cards to me "Your friendship means the world to me." I told her, over and over, how lucky I was that she was my best friend. I still feel that way... that I was lucky beyond measure to have had a best friend like her.<br />
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When she died, I was thankful that I’d taken the time to tell her how very much I loved her, and that I could not imagine my world without her. And I was also thankful that I’d heard her say all those things to me. I never had a moment where I thought “I wish she knew…” because she did. She knew.<br />
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I still think of her every single day. I would give almost anything to have another conversation with her.<br />
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I tell people all the time that "love" is an action verb. One of the hardest things about loving someone who's gone is trying to make that love into an action verb. <br />
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Every year on her birthday, to honor her memory, I ask everyone I know, please, call your best friend to tell them you love them, and that you are grateful to have them in your life. Say that I asked you to do this, as a way of keeping the memory of my Jennifer alive. I haven’t stopped loving her. I may not be able to talk to her or see her or hug her, but I can and I do continue to love her. Thank you for helping me make that love an action verb.</span></span></div><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="background-color: white; color: #a64d79;">I love you, Jennifer. I miss you. Always have. Always will. Happy Birthday, Girlfriend.</span></span></span>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-1439618752414904872012-02-27T13:27:00.001+01:002012-02-27T13:27:35.028+01:00Embarrassment at the FarmaciaWhat's " too much information" to write about? Probably this, definitely this, BUT, I'm gonna anyway. I've been holding back, I have to admit. Trying to keep some sort of decorum on this blog , this blog that I'm not the best at up keeping.<br />
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I've passed on writing about the fact that Italian toilets have a VERY low water level which affects the plop of the poop, I've passed on writing about a trip to the GYN , AND, I've passed on writing about how vafaculo is not a proper substitute for the word fuck ( which after this I may attempt). Anyone offended should probably stop reading now.<br />
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Writing about the food, the art, the scenery, easy.This not so much. Not to belittle those things, all lovely and I love reading about it all. That said, I wrote a while back that life is the same no matter where you live and therefore you deal with the same crap, it just somehow seems funnier to me dealing with normal life occurrences in a foreign country and in a foreign language. In this case more embarrassing. So I'm going to be a fearless writer and go for it.<br />
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I woke up yesterday morning with an itch, an unmistakable itch, an itch I haven't had in maybe 15 years. Some women are more prone to these things, I never have been, but I am female so I have experienced it a few times in the past as every woman has. It's a fact of life as a woman. Even so, I thought to myself, Noooooo! Can't be! There's no reason for this! Especially no FUN reason! I ignored it, but as the day went on it was clear, YEAST INFECTION!<br />
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Omg, I can't believe I just typed that! <br />
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I couldn't decide what was more unsettling to me, the discomfort or the discomfort of having to go to the farmacia for this. I couldn't remember the name of the creme in the US so I googled it. Monistat 7, yeah, now I remember. I wondered if they had that here. Was it on a shelf ? OR worse, was I going to have to ask the pharmacist! In Italian! The horror!<br />
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I emailed both my friends Laura and Arlene and asked what's the stuff for such a situation called here. Laura, who I then remembered is gigging with her cello somewhere never got back, Arlene, who is a lot more adult than I am when it comes to bodily functions wrote this:<br />
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"tell them you have an infezione vaginale and they'll hook you up"<br />
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I yelled back at the computer screen "it's not a VAGINAL infection!!!! Ew! It's your run of the mill yeast infection." NO way, No freakin way! CANNOT! I cannot walk into my farmacia where I have gone before for a cold sore only to have them say aloud HERPES, with me in English saying, NO! No herpes!! Cold sore, from the cold weather!!, and ask per qualcosa per infezione vaginale! I'd rather eat 5 gallons of yogurt ( which I hate).<br />
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Here's the thing, Italians are very matter of fact about all things body, no matter how embarrassing it may be to this American 14 year old stuck in a woman's body. I tried to keep that in mind as I walked the 2 blocks to my farmacia. You would think I was going to a job interview or taking a driving test for the first time my heart was beating so fast. I was sooo nervous and hoping there wasn't any other people in there. No such luck, the place was packed and I could feel my face turn purple.<br />
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Now at this farmacia there is an old woman who speaks no English and her husband who speaks pretty good English. So it's the man I now have to ask for something for my vagina. It's all so poetic.<br />
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It's my turn , I approach the counter, but the guy is busy so the old woman with the 8" high bun on the top of her head held in place by no less than 158 bobby pins, that stands about 4' tall ( probably the reason for the bun) asks if she can help me. I ask in Italian for a pen, I say I don't know how to say it in Italian. I write one word and one number, MONISTAT 7. I hand her the paper and ask do you have this? She looks at the paper, has no idea what it is, I knew she wouldn't but thought I'd take a shot, and then asks," What's it for?" OH NO! That's the question I was dreading.<br />
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UM, what's it for? What's it for? There was no way the words infezione vaginale were going to come out of my mouth. I tried, my mouth wouldn't say it. Immature? YES! ABSOLUTELY, in this case. Just couldn't do it. I just shook my head and as I did she handed the paper to her husband who promptly got on the computer to find out what Monistat 7 was. He found it, I could tell. Then he lifted his head and asked aloud for all the patrons to hear per infezione vaginale? There ya go! No escape, HORRIFIED!<br />
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He explained they didn't have that but something else. The woman says AHHH, ok! They look in the drawers where they keep the meds and shows me a box. He says it is not a creme but a pill. I'm thinking great! No muss , no fuss, pop a pill a few times, done. EXCEPT, when I ask how many times a day do I take it he says," NO, not for the mouth". Not for the mouth? For the ????? OHHHHHH!! NOOOOO! Why Why Why? This is what I am thinking as the 70 year old Italian man is making the charades motion of sticking the pill up one's va-jay-jay.<br />
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Yes, This is how I spent my morning. In fact ,they have a creme, they were out of it ( so I guess I'm not alone) but could have it at 4:00 pm. The worst part is, now, I have to go back. At least this afternoon I can quietly hand him the piece of paper that says something in Latin that I can't read and hope he just quietly hands me the package back and that no one reading this is at the farmacia :)<br />
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<br />andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-5602768452890095612012-02-19T14:18:00.001+01:002012-02-19T14:18:29.533+01:00Aiutami!!!!So I wrote a post a while back called "Only Me" and I would have used it again but didn't want to be repetitious. Thing is, weird shit is always happening to me, and this day was no different.<br />
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I was in Milan for the day, second time in 2 weeks for a meeting in re: to my business. The meeting was going very well lasted about 6 hours. Half way through they ordered in lunch. We had a quick lunch relative to Italian standards and afterward the guy who I was meeting with had to make a quick call. I took that opportunity to run across the street to the small shop to get some Gola ( throat lozenges). I had been sick the week before and all the talking was making me scratchy.<br />
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When I returned to the office building there were 4 people waiting for the elevator, of which there were two. These elevators are the tiny tiny kind you find in Europe. They hold 2 normal size people OR 1 person and a luggage. No joke about 2 ft. square. Well these 4 Italians piled into that one like tightly packed sardines, with not an inch to spare, I had no choice but to wait for the other.<br />
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The other elevator arrived, I stepped in, pressed 3 ( which is really 4) and the doors shut. Nothing. Hmmm is it really slow or is it not moving? I press 3 again, wait, nothing. I press 0, the ground floor I entered on, nothing. I thought, still calm at this point, is it stuck? Noooo, can't be. Who gets stuck in elevators? Certainly not me. Again I press 0 and nothing. Then it hits me, OMG I'M STUCK IN A FREAKIN TINY ELEVATOR!!!!!! Panic sets in as I am sooooo claustrophobic that I have been know to have full blown panic attacks in a packed subway.<br />
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this is not me but this IS the size of the elevator</div>
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I start to hyperventilate, frozen afraid to move. I start pressing the alarm non stop, I can hear it ringing, but that's all I hear. I decide to try and open the door from the inside, so with both hands grab it and pull it open .Looking back at me are the interior cogs and pulleys of the elevators outside door, filled with dust and spider webs and I see I am stuck between floors about 4 ft. from the ground floor. THIS did not help calm me. I stand there in the center of the little box, still, very still.<br />
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Maybe 5 minutes have now passed and I hear voices. People, there are people out there! Half crying and screaming Aiutami!!! Aiutami!!!! Sono Americana and I'm stuck in the elevator!!!!! I don't know why I felt necessary to say I was American, could have actually worked against me, I didn't know how to say stuck in elevator in Italian, maybe I thought the voices would know to speak English to me then ( if they could) and they did.<br />
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"How many are you?", a woman called. I said," just me, I'm alone and very claustrophobic. PLEASE, PLEASE help me", hysterical now. She said they have already alerted the building and someone was coming. I asked how long and she said soon. I asked was that ITALIAN soon or regular soon. Because subito can mean 3 hrs in some cases!<br />
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She said she did not know, I could see a small sliver of light between the closed exterior door and the shaft, the same sliver from which I heard her voice. She said she would stay there and talk to me til they came. I kept reiterating the claustrophobia fact and began deep breathing to calm myself. What I really needed was a xanax!!! After about 15 minutes she says," they have called the technician again but it may now be a while." WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY will it be a while??? He was coming from somewhere else.<br />
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At the 25 minute mark she tells me the doorman is there, he has found a key for the exterior door. I ask if he can open it and she says maybe BUT maybe it's best to wait for the technician. "Why? What happens if he uses the key?" AND THEN a thought , I gasp WAIT! STOP!I say, " If he opens the door will the elevator fall??" I'm now thinking OMG, is the way I go? In some freak elevator accident in Milan, during a meeting? THAT WOULD SUCK!!!<br />
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I repeat," will the elevator fall? "The woman answers, "we don't think so." I said, " You don't think so? Are you not sure?" She says, " No, we are not sure, but we think maybe not, it will not fall." Before I could say stop again I hear the doorman fiddling with the key, my heart is racing and then the door opens. Staring back at me from 4 ft. down are 2 Italian women and the doorman .And then the door closes agains.<br />
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They quickly pull it open again, one woman is very tall,like 6', I'm 5'2". She tells the other woman to hold the door open and then extends her arms for me to jump from the elevator 4ft. up into her open arms like a toddler would do at the swimming pool with their parent. I am trying not to laugh at this point, it's all so ridiculous. I jump, she catches me and all is right in the world.<br />
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Now the funniest part is who the woman was, but if I tell that now it'll give away why I was in Milan<br />
and I am trying to keep that for the most part on the QT for a while longer. So I will update the identity in a few months :))<br />
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I took the stairs back up to the meeting :)<br />
<br />andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-73993248642042398462011-12-20T16:32:00.000+01:002011-12-20T16:32:03.476+01:00Ricerca di Antenati Terza Parte<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">part 1 link:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://bearcatdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/alla-ricerca-di-antenati-italiani.html">http://bearcatdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/alla-ricerca-di-antenati-italiani.html</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">part 2 link:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://bearcatdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/ricerca-di-antenati-seconda-parte.html">http://bearcatdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/ricerca-di-antenati-seconda-parte.html</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So after the frame shop guy wrapped up his directions and said his goodbyes and we said our thank you, Sebastian looked at Joe and I and said, " Andiamo!!"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We didn't even think twice about getting in the car and going with these guys. The four of us in the small maroon car headed away from main street. Joe and Gregorio were in the back seat and I was sitting up front with Sebastian. Not a few minutes into the ride and the car stops as Sebastian his honking his horn which made a toot toot kind of sound. At first I thought it was because a car was making a three point turn in front of us but as the car pulled away and as he continued to honk it became clear he was trying to get the attention of a woman in the corner shop. She came out but never approached the car. Instead he told me to roll down the window and as he leaned across me ( all the while I have my head turned making an OMG can you believe this craziness face at Joe) he shouted out to her about where was the street to find Luccheses. She shouted back that it was in that direction in the abandoned part of town and pointed but she was unsure and then she said but there is someone who will know and she shouted the address.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Z804QbGRni7qkWwMoNfflltZ0kSoaTV9Y1TNaseiyKgtrePOXuVdGTl_TFavvZSViLtxdBnR9Sev9hg61pSTgbg2eGUogk4tfqUr2mDJYjeiKeCId6gWH1EiZtjL26oEo6vV4Jl5N0rH/s1600/DSCN3562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Z804QbGRni7qkWwMoNfflltZ0kSoaTV9Y1TNaseiyKgtrePOXuVdGTl_TFavvZSViLtxdBnR9Sev9hg61pSTgbg2eGUogk4tfqUr2mDJYjeiKeCId6gWH1EiZtjL26oEo6vV4Jl5N0rH/s640/DSCN3562.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As we drove along Sebastian pointed out different things and made small talk. The bread that Gregorio had bought which had previously occupied my seat was now sitting on the dashboard. He drives up the hill and takes a left onto a small side street and begins to honk that toot toot horn again, this time rapidly as he stops in front of a door to a small palazzo. Without moving from his seat he stretches half his body out the window while looking up as to call to someone in a window upstairs in the home. He yells ( and I mean yells) " HEY, LUCCHESE!!!! I couldn't see out my window as we were very close to the building but heard a man's voice reply something like what do you want? Sebastian yelled back for him to come down to the car. He did.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUymyXlLWtBHp7bGzTCl18p5i66kxCNj0Ut9vD9_pz-SVfmYlMdRys67683s1OlgSQSBQlevyg0bL6yAsfQZ_MCiTSi-7GLEo7F46IlEilOIZih1ZFCP-owYYC2rVIVvR0Q73d95l-OO8/s1600/DSCN3565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUymyXlLWtBHp7bGzTCl18p5i66kxCNj0Ut9vD9_pz-SVfmYlMdRys67683s1OlgSQSBQlevyg0bL6yAsfQZ_MCiTSi-7GLEo7F46IlEilOIZih1ZFCP-owYYC2rVIVvR0Q73d95l-OO8/s640/DSCN3565.JPG" width="480px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8ICnB7WddO-cTyQ8enZ5qMO2vd4dXMxgZvYsXwybzsqutvW-rRIw631zehkB-bSVtZ6RJ2UlBwEUo1TLVlDcRXw1od-ONEob0OzSTsFlkriU6jc37df5mGt-OfguiGK4WwDV5nrunuAE/s1600/DSCN3566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8ICnB7WddO-cTyQ8enZ5qMO2vd4dXMxgZvYsXwybzsqutvW-rRIw631zehkB-bSVtZ6RJ2UlBwEUo1TLVlDcRXw1od-ONEob0OzSTsFlkriU6jc37df5mGt-OfguiGK4WwDV5nrunuAE/s640/DSCN3566.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is what I saw from where I sat. Sebastian had gotten out of the car to talk to the mysterious man in the light blue shirt , I only ever saw his stomach. He and Sebastian and Gregorio from the back seat and another mystery man in a window had a 5 minute chat about where we would find Luccheses because this guy was emphatic that he was not one. Sebastian gets back in car and we continue to drive deeper into the "abandoned" part of town. It was basically very run down, lots or rusticos and very few families still lived there. Those families we were told were Luccheses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NPWvpQd81CQ5HVD70c1eCi0D6MUm1IprpT2jubYPfFhJeHRnA8tA68owyXAHFINEOE-umnYdxxkQwd_rdOFFH6rYU_NbaK8Xs1jEJRgpM5ImMx4lUWMBZa1zqrz3GyuMKbM8dfEanXjV/s1600/DSCN3563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NPWvpQd81CQ5HVD70c1eCi0D6MUm1IprpT2jubYPfFhJeHRnA8tA68owyXAHFINEOE-umnYdxxkQwd_rdOFFH6rYU_NbaK8Xs1jEJRgpM5ImMx4lUWMBZa1zqrz3GyuMKbM8dfEanXjV/s640/DSCN3563.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We finally get to the entry of a street called Via Gustavo Modena. There is nothing around but dilapidated buildings, very cool looking though. The two men get out of the car and Joe and I quickly follow. Not twenty steps I realize I left my bag with ipad, passport and wallet in the car which the men had left just in the middle of some abandoned street with doors open. The NY er in me ran back to get it and so I was now a few steps behind the guys.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBEiGTHNqCkPUGqYqVuM83ke6B-K1CkCPZ0wnimgFi85o44tEIB81pdT4leRlY_XNltr1_2Ho7UHvNqNRGAAJZCWgMC9UOmNAo6tf7Zk99upx09jVNrOxmmSg59Z3awPHMvx9ryySAP-1/s1600/DSCN3572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBEiGTHNqCkPUGqYqVuM83ke6B-K1CkCPZ0wnimgFi85o44tEIB81pdT4leRlY_XNltr1_2Ho7UHvNqNRGAAJZCWgMC9UOmNAo6tf7Zk99upx09jVNrOxmmSg59Z3awPHMvx9ryySAP-1/s640/DSCN3572.JPG" width="536px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZZcdoijpUPRzCXRuo3iKFKedZZhOLn297dwrme7RFc0zk3jQE0DTmfZPlZK9I0RAykrQ1aRLxVBocmIqA7qH1-UOmhNculzXAqnGod9RhK2Z3-GBVZebavnRc8ZTkuBBXWEiqRDoz9kh/s1600/DSCN3569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZZcdoijpUPRzCXRuo3iKFKedZZhOLn297dwrme7RFc0zk3jQE0DTmfZPlZK9I0RAykrQ1aRLxVBocmIqA7qH1-UOmhNculzXAqnGod9RhK2Z3-GBVZebavnRc8ZTkuBBXWEiqRDoz9kh/s640/DSCN3569.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIT6-7NiVPjErbW4ECTrfjETTs48wNmU8RSTNdPSL-RJguL8Sswkv9h78qRctRrsUnu7rbp-AoE6B9wOW45iMK7ALKjt6rv-z2HKp0zvYWr0j-Msb4tdyUd9kLdua8QIj7JYpvYXS59ss6/s1600/DSCN3570-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIT6-7NiVPjErbW4ECTrfjETTs48wNmU8RSTNdPSL-RJguL8Sswkv9h78qRctRrsUnu7rbp-AoE6B9wOW45iMK7ALKjt6rv-z2HKp0zvYWr0j-Msb4tdyUd9kLdua8QIj7JYpvYXS59ss6/s640/DSCN3570-1.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we follow the men along the small alley way type streets Sebastian every few seconds while looking up and around is yelling LUCCHESE! LUCCHESE! CI SONO LUCCHESE QUI!!!! ( are there any Lucchese here). It was comical and surreal and completely wacky! Guess what , it worked because from a small palazzo a family emerged and they were in fact Luccheses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They had been just about to sit down for lunch but we interrupted that. Sebastian proceeded to introduce himself and Gregorio and then tell the family which consisted of a woman about 40, her husband and mother and father, about Joe and his grandfather and that he was from America and looking for relatives that still lived in Aragona.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were there a good 20 minutes or so, maybe longer. While they were all talking I just snapped away taking photos. Joe was showing photos on his Ipad and the copy of the birth record and these people were truly interested. I would jump in and translate for Joe every now and then. Why did this American speak Italian, was she one too. No, I am the American friend that lives in Firenze, always followed by " Firenze? Che bella citta'!!!" Sometime during this Joe's backpack ended up on Sebastians shoulder.I don't know why that was so funny to me, but it was. I thought, casting agents must come to these places and just hang out because I swear I felt like we were dropped into a frame of some Sicilian film with characters right out of central casting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Somewhere toward the end of this scene Sebastian ( and I could not believe the chutzpah in this guy) says to the woman," What, you aren't going to invite us for lunch, something to eat? This guy is family! He is a Lucchese! " She was taken aback, almost embarrassed as she told him she wasn't epecting 4 extra people, she didn't make enough. I said, "Sebastian!!!" and I apologized to the woman saying it was ok, we weren't hungry, just thankful for their time. Turns out the father ( and I cannot remember his name ) was probably a cousin of Joe's, but then again I think anyone from Aragona with the same last name was related somehow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In his best Scorsese impersonation, Sebastian directed Joe to stand with the man for a photo and then directed the man to give Joe a kiss on the cheek (un bacio). It was very sweet, heartwarming, it was nutty, it was Sicilian and it wasn't over.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-7zmVUMuaW-8M36nh-o9dIUck4wpt0iw_ugCO_yDWUVtlJE-ire2ovJnZYQ7iy2cIKxcUiO7B7U9PF_W3KQKaIV4vMg58hM_kiS9gWTp_Z9VqZweVN1lp2tmSiOEXNn0QBT0mXPpYifv/s1600/DSCN3575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-7zmVUMuaW-8M36nh-o9dIUck4wpt0iw_ugCO_yDWUVtlJE-ire2ovJnZYQ7iy2cIKxcUiO7B7U9PF_W3KQKaIV4vMg58hM_kiS9gWTp_Z9VqZweVN1lp2tmSiOEXNn0QBT0mXPpYifv/s640/DSCN3575.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUFghqkNXyxrFtxWNfHAbLeQKHbKYuhis02JFP2K3yf3oOBPnRR0DNSOM87BGSmdFLY8TBdcdOgxPdM40NLIoxPch17xKGCl9TLus6BxtR7SPuQJztEd96pgl-yLJw-DUFxMlrhWmFuRR/s1600/DSCN3578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqUFghqkNXyxrFtxWNfHAbLeQKHbKYuhis02JFP2K3yf3oOBPnRR0DNSOM87BGSmdFLY8TBdcdOgxPdM40NLIoxPch17xKGCl9TLus6BxtR7SPuQJztEd96pgl-yLJw-DUFxMlrhWmFuRR/s640/DSCN3578.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiGPwIvcPyz_9HmMG3HtdNL-VFqx4GvHbW_bp5obc3uy7Eaj5ZEAYi72Y91npljZm79LP0VX_j9aEChg6eaDNv8edNs5KdCpBh5r2MKAHIhjWtcGtYIk1_PLaRNkd4pCT55VjFfNn-bFP/s1600/DSCN3576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOiGPwIvcPyz_9HmMG3HtdNL-VFqx4GvHbW_bp5obc3uy7Eaj5ZEAYi72Y91npljZm79LP0VX_j9aEChg6eaDNv8edNs5KdCpBh5r2MKAHIhjWtcGtYIk1_PLaRNkd4pCT55VjFfNn-bFP/s640/DSCN3576.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsud-K_KX-cdgNTew_KH4zF49xwSYuNVBjJzQSWasQquSZac_EnJE6d0PQA8OObSXWdqcTb_0ECNZ9gRbH7Oi5wsv6sL0jphrlBH9E2GJ2WzhF86oy0GwVWdX5rRwLvhzbQ8-1jIlVzyu/s1600/DSCN3580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsud-K_KX-cdgNTew_KH4zF49xwSYuNVBjJzQSWasQquSZac_EnJE6d0PQA8OObSXWdqcTb_0ECNZ9gRbH7Oi5wsv6sL0jphrlBH9E2GJ2WzhF86oy0GwVWdX5rRwLvhzbQ8-1jIlVzyu/s640/DSCN3580.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All the way back to the car we thanked the guys, but they weren't finished. The Family had told them of a man called Angelo Lucchese and where he lived and so that's where we headed next except now Gregorio sat in the front with Sebastian and I was demoted to the back seat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before we got into the car Gregorio's phone rang, it was his wife. From what I can tell from eavesdropping and guessing what she was saying the conversation went something like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Wife:</strong> Where the hell are you? You left 2 hours ago to get bread!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Gregorio</strong>: It's not my fault! I ran into Sebastian , he told me of Americans looking for family in Aragona, I came with him and them to help find them</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Wife:</strong> Well, we've been waiting for you for lunch!!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Gregorio:</strong> Eat without me I'll be home soon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not a few minutes away we arrive at another street and stop in the front of an archway that led to a courtyard accompanied of course by the toot toot of the horn. We all get out and as we enter the courtyard Sebastian starts yelling, " ANGELO LUCCHESE! DOVE SEI?" ( where are you?) A woman peeps her head from a second floor window and tells him to SSHHH! Her husband is sleeping! Sebastian asks if her husband is Angelo and she says yes so he says " Wake him up!!!" Joe looks back at me as to say can you believe this!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzzDRKi0lDtG77Aylle5FRHCVzC2ZdJ_1PTyup-spMsRLiex01q-3d9bfHcxi3OeV-L1CYxqbULAyHZS6g-fffbJbIOsQUtGoSVBHcWc8aayygcdhaC3pJrxTFNSqPDRWH2Wa1hRLKzyH/s1600/DSCN3584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzzDRKi0lDtG77Aylle5FRHCVzC2ZdJ_1PTyup-spMsRLiex01q-3d9bfHcxi3OeV-L1CYxqbULAyHZS6g-fffbJbIOsQUtGoSVBHcWc8aayygcdhaC3pJrxTFNSqPDRWH2Wa1hRLKzyH/s640/DSCN3584.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were hysterical, the nerve of this guy! It was GREAT!!! And so she did and down the stairs from the upper floor apt. walks a sleepy eyed old man , Angelo Lucchese. The entire scene from the previous stop replays like Groundhog Day ( I took video, Joe still hasn't sent it, it's hysterical!) The 4 guys talking, the woman watching and occasionally piping in from the upstairs window. She eventually came down and did invite us for coffee, I politely declined as we were getting short on time. It was decided that Angelo was definitely a cousin and he thought that when Joe's grandma had come 30 years before he was the one who had shown her around Aragona.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Just like before Sebastian instructed for Joe and Angelo to pose for a picture.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFdQ_xJvvCy4_PUiYqmx5qC17thz7g9IEEgi-zSWqn2vkqTnAaue5YZg8X6LRg8RBwHW9RBvYkkaXZFQE_vhx0ltdQHDoLZyByJMQVTgv314DxjHM-K_jT3BU9aaDy8M8OltB5VaX8ctF/s1600/DSCN3587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFdQ_xJvvCy4_PUiYqmx5qC17thz7g9IEEgi-zSWqn2vkqTnAaue5YZg8X6LRg8RBwHW9RBvYkkaXZFQE_vhx0ltdQHDoLZyByJMQVTgv314DxjHM-K_jT3BU9aaDy8M8OltB5VaX8ctF/s640/DSCN3587.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg89PYChxRQqtoq42gWYcyUDbUxl5UoGTmeTqw6lz7ceUtxEwSEVsyDlH3bKK6lOfoolGIpn35zvia0TCCAiPc7HGLfaLZXKXEoBMsozLuCDx_T7Qdiw2ibGm_Cop6o24CWQVzGteJnj07/s1600/DSCN3588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg89PYChxRQqtoq42gWYcyUDbUxl5UoGTmeTqw6lz7ceUtxEwSEVsyDlH3bKK6lOfoolGIpn35zvia0TCCAiPc7HGLfaLZXKXEoBMsozLuCDx_T7Qdiw2ibGm_Cop6o24CWQVzGteJnj07/s640/DSCN3588.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well it was getting late and we still had to return to Agrigento to get our bags that we left at the hotel and catch a bus for the almost 3 hour ride back to Palermo as we had a 7 am flight the next day. Had we permitted this would have gone on all day probably ending in dinner at either Gregorio or Sebastian's home with one pissed off wife that they had brought strangers for dinner without notice. We kind of wished we had more time, but we didn't, so I told the guys we had to get back and they drove us to the garage where the little blue bus that had broken down had been repaired. We had 20 minutes til it would leave back to Agrigento.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We gave them our email addresses and I took a few pix with the men and we hugged and thanked them over and over for being so awesome!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpUJpHSSisE4fqdTKU9QUZoIf7POyjx4PNhrinD8IqTVZz9dtxsTkutmFOFUkE4Bjl7czsqkJq4u5p6yiYrXj0R4cxe9loDaQUnN4hzejFKPEE0-cHd2FRYyHQu3nmcSb7vuUlX09BEHx/s1600/DSCN3591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpUJpHSSisE4fqdTKU9QUZoIf7POyjx4PNhrinD8IqTVZz9dtxsTkutmFOFUkE4Bjl7czsqkJq4u5p6yiYrXj0R4cxe9loDaQUnN4hzejFKPEE0-cHd2FRYyHQu3nmcSb7vuUlX09BEHx/s640/DSCN3591.JPG" width="500px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJeBPJs6fnVE2alH4eTqHpVdjY5evUNub3VZTOc4gH74KXUZ0AxvEOWqD6spVQ4orwYpOWLn4ZWRT2YuyKTGKkrXtDFawwxoNv64JD5pLLTO6e9yxOzQFW9j1uQUgTbqCY0EsXSq7MQ8T/s1600/DSCN3592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJeBPJs6fnVE2alH4eTqHpVdjY5evUNub3VZTOc4gH74KXUZ0AxvEOWqD6spVQ4orwYpOWLn4ZWRT2YuyKTGKkrXtDFawwxoNv64JD5pLLTO6e9yxOzQFW9j1uQUgTbqCY0EsXSq7MQ8T/s640/DSCN3592.JPG" width="546px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looking back and thinking about that day and the players it occurs to me it wasn't just Joe's experience or mine, but the others too.The vendor at the fruit stand would surely repeat the story of the 2 Americans and the litto. The family on Via Gustavo would surely tell their story of the American Lucchese as would sleeping Angelo. AND, both Sebastian and Gregorio surely would tell the story at their respective dinner tables that night of how they drove around Aragona with a couple of Americans looking for relatives.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now I can't tell you exactly how Joe felt about this day only what he told me. He said it exceeded every expectation, over the top, were his words and thanked me way more than he needed to. I told him I thought the way it all unfolded was almost otherworldly and I really believe that, as corny or weird as that sounds. I told him I thought his dad ( who has passed ) aligned everything for him. From running into me in NY where he does not live, to the old guy on the bus, to Sebastian being at the fruit stand, it was all too easy to happen naturally. It's my feeling it was of an angel's assistance in the way of his father.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For me, it was a a day that showed the best in people, the kindness of strangers, the warmth of the Sicilians, the fabric of family, the essence of Italy. The reason why I felt that no thanks to me was necessary was because it was really one of the best experiences I have had while living in Italy. They say you haven't been to Italy til you've been to Sicily, I'd agree with that :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-90250760497628373302011-12-19T13:58:00.000+01:002011-12-19T13:58:34.978+01:00FacebookI'm just going to come right out and say it.<br />
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My name is Andrea and I LOVE Facebook. There. I'm not embarrassed to admit it.<br />
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There are people that feel Facebook is invasive to their private life. There are people that think they are too sophisticated for Facebook ( these are usually the same people that insist they DO NOT watch TV, but have one hidden in a back room). Then there are those who say it is narcissistic. Well, that one I would agree with but so is twitter, instagram, and personal blogs and biographies. I get all these opinions,it's just not mine.<br />
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There are times when I am on Facebook more than others. When I'm traveling, I pop by for a quick update where I am and to check messages and then there are days when I'm on it more than I should be. I've been thinking about Facebook alot with all the format changes and all and why I love it so much and why I'm, well, kind of attached to it. Here's my thoughts about Facebook.<br />
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I joined just over 3 years ago, a few months before I moved abroad. I knew people that had been on it and really didn't see the appeal. I have been converted in a BIG way. These are all just MY opinions :)<br />
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When you live abroad as I do, when you travel as much as I do ( primarily for work) Facebook is the best way to keep my family and closest friends in the loop all in one place and to stay in their loop. It's the best way for me to stay in touch with both old friends, new friends and re founded friends( ok not sure that is a real word, but you get the idea so I'm stickin with it)<br />
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About 2 months after I moved to Italy I was on Facebook one night and received a message from a woman named Arlene. She wrote that she came across my profile because she was searching mosaics and my profile pic at the time was of a mosaic I had done ( my previous occupation). She wrote that she too had gone to Syracuse University and was also a mosic artist AND also lived in Italy ( although 3 hours north). She asked if I'd be interested in meeting half way one day for a cafe and to shoot the shit about mosaics. I wrote back, sure and added her as a friend ( which I don't normally do with people I don't know). Something told me to add her, just a feeling. She accepted the friend request. When I went to her page to check it out and saw a photo of her I almost fell off my chair!<br />
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I wrote her a new message, that said:<br />
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<strong>Hey Arlene,<br />
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Xxxxxxx is your married name right? Are you originally from Sri Lanka?</strong><br />
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she wrote back:<br />
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<div class="UIImageBlock_Content UIImageBlock_SMALL_Content"><div class="rfloat"><abbr class="timestamp" data-utime="1223152805" title="Saturday, October 4, 2008 at 10:40pm"><strong><span style="color: #38761d;">October 4, 2008</span></strong></abbr></div><div></div><div><strong><span style="color: #38761d;">And I'm not from Sri Lanka, but my parents lived there! <span class="emote_text">:-)</span><img alt=":-)" class="emote_img" src="https://s-static.ak.facebook.com/images/blank.gif" /><br />
Did you work with me in Chasers?</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color: #274e13;">Yes, I knew an Andrea Brody once</span></strong><br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: black;">and I wrote:</span><br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: black;"><strong>Yeah, and that would be me! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!! How crazy is that! ARLENE! OMG! As soon as I saw your picture, you have not changed!<br />
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How weird we both ended up mosaic artists and living in Italy! Well now we must meet for coffee and talk mosaics and catch up! Facebook is wild isn't it!</strong></span><br />
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I had met Arlene during my first senior year at S.U. ( I stayed for 5 years) We waitressed together at a 50's bar/ restaurant where we had to wear cheer leading outfits and do the hand-jive. We had been pretty close friends in college and the lost touch soon afterwards. Twenty years later we found each other on a fluke via FB. She is now one of my closest friends and am so thankful to have her back in my life. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHxXDPcMmV_jSPvnj9XCsImbx2Ebm_C55QaMZVcG4qwyiwAfTiO69IX9NnT7O2xyF85pt2PpOiKt9d-g4BxX6XheSstSfUwc82HUpuWayl39OXpblquaPfqS0ub64o0VyDJVKOjce8QvU/s1600/DSCN0764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHxXDPcMmV_jSPvnj9XCsImbx2Ebm_C55QaMZVcG4qwyiwAfTiO69IX9NnT7O2xyF85pt2PpOiKt9d-g4BxX6XheSstSfUwc82HUpuWayl39OXpblquaPfqS0ub64o0VyDJVKOjce8QvU/s400/DSCN0764.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
</div><div>Gone are the days for me of setting up an online photo account or sending photos through email and cc-ing 10 people in. I just post it to Facebook. My parents, who live in Vegas are on Facebook. They are 70 years old and my dad has 235 friends, half of which he went to high school with. The other half friends of mine and my siblings. How cool is that! He planned his 50 year H.S. reunion with the help of Facebook. My 84 yr. old aunt is on Facbook, she has no children but can follow her nieces and nephews and grands nieces and nephews and she loves it.</div></div><br />
I know there are people that say it makes people interact less personally with each other, I think it's just the opposite. I have come to know people from a travel site that I often wrote on not only by their screen names but now know what they look like, know about their lives and because of that have met quite a few and formed new friendships. No, of course they are not the deep rooted friendships of your closest friends but they are friendships of a different level and they enrich my life. They are people who I share the common interest of travel and art with.<br />
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There are the people I have met doing trunk shows on cruise ships. The staff that work in the shops, the passengers on board. I spend weeks at a time with these people, come to know them and Facebook allows me to keep in touch, make plans to meet up again some I have become quite close with.<br />
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There are friends from camp and high school and even grammar school that I am back in contact with. My very dear friend Helayne who I had lost contact with just because I moved so much and life gets in the way, I found again through FB. When I'm going to be in NY, I post it, then I can make plans to see anyone who is around and Helayne is usually one of them. My friend OB fought FB for like EVER! Guess what she's posting pix of her kids in ballet class now and I love that! I love that I can see that. I love that I can see every ones holiday cards ( cause the post sucks here). <br />
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Sure there are people on my friend list that I am not close with and don't have much interaction with. There are those who preach religion, politics, air their dirty laundry, to each his own, I try not to judge. With all the new settings you don't have to defriend someone and hurt their feelings, you can just tweak how much interaction you want. and how much info you want to share.<br />
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For me I try to keep light. I post my photos ( incessantly) with no apologies, those who don't want to see them don't have to look. I post my status updates which I try to keep lighthearted. I for one try not to post anything too personal or negative. Yes, when Bear passed away 18 months ago I posted that . Last night while stalking my self for the past three years with the new timeline feature I came across the post about Bears passing and had a good long cry. The outpouring of love and support was truly amazing. So many people knew of him from previous writings or from meeting him and I recalled how all that support really helped me during that time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipS8SNq6g4qXajZkgI6VFaX3CDzcs8Zp8tV2WTUfAFANEHpV1zIdU6DWF1D4yWfNso-_5KNnMVxMQhs5bkyJuuLrCUXtpfp8JD5gDfnbPPZbiSSXapPBClnr7_yTs1NphgkZqGjiwjdkCB/s1600/venezia+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipS8SNq6g4qXajZkgI6VFaX3CDzcs8Zp8tV2WTUfAFANEHpV1zIdU6DWF1D4yWfNso-_5KNnMVxMQhs5bkyJuuLrCUXtpfp8JD5gDfnbPPZbiSSXapPBClnr7_yTs1NphgkZqGjiwjdkCB/s400/venezia+034.JPG" width="400px" /></a></div><br />
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I launched my jewelry business on Facebook, I launched my blog on Facebook. Would I have wanted FB around for my 20 year old self, probably not. BUT, used responsibly I think FB is the greatest way of connecting and reconnecting people.<br />
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For all the nay sayers, stay where you are, don't join or deactivate. I'm more than happy to say I'm a fan! I love that I can see new baby pix, and hear about engagements and what university my friend's kid has been accepted to. I love that I get to see my nieces and nephew in their Halloween costumes and video of school plays. I love that I can chat with friends 5,000 miles away. I love that in one place I can get the news, and sports scores and travel advice. I love that on any given day someone has posted at least one thing that makes me laugh aloud. On top of all that the thing I love most of all about Facebook is no matter where I am in the world it makes me feel like I'm never that far away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqoKwQ_FtNp47Z0fBK6SVKCamFdKMBQPpbP3SYejXVhdz4MBQAbltm4ILZ4fAt_oxu2qpoMDJZRSBaQenEgiNtiUpnQZ2sWEMgzO8PQkSndg5BTLH8OncVyJPwP0Peo5fo8niDfkEqKcA/s1600/DolceVita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqoKwQ_FtNp47Z0fBK6SVKCamFdKMBQPpbP3SYejXVhdz4MBQAbltm4ILZ4fAt_oxu2qpoMDJZRSBaQenEgiNtiUpnQZ2sWEMgzO8PQkSndg5BTLH8OncVyJPwP0Peo5fo8niDfkEqKcA/s1600/DolceVita.jpg" /></a></div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-58576801376804526362011-12-12T14:11:00.000+01:002011-12-12T14:11:12.998+01:00Alla Ricerca Di Antenati Italiani ( Searching for Italian Ancestors)A perfect story for Christy's La Dolce Vita series and the kindness of strangers.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqoKwQ_FtNp47Z0fBK6SVKCamFdKMBQPpbP3SYejXVhdz4MBQAbltm4ILZ4fAt_oxu2qpoMDJZRSBaQenEgiNtiUpnQZ2sWEMgzO8PQkSndg5BTLH8OncVyJPwP0Peo5fo8niDfkEqKcA/s1600/DolceVita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqoKwQ_FtNp47Z0fBK6SVKCamFdKMBQPpbP3SYejXVhdz4MBQAbltm4ILZ4fAt_oxu2qpoMDJZRSBaQenEgiNtiUpnQZ2sWEMgzO8PQkSndg5BTLH8OncVyJPwP0Peo5fo8niDfkEqKcA/s1600/DolceVita.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Life is funny and I think the experiences you have sometimes are all about timing and how peoples paths cross, or at least it is for this story.<br />
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When I ran into an old friend who I had not seen or spoken to in about 12 years I never expected that a conversation we had about me living in Italy and him wanting to go to Sicily would end up less than 3 months later in a search for his ancestors. It's not my story to tell , it's his, but I was given the ok, so from my perspective/memory and to tell it right, in installments" Searching for La Famiglia Lucchese"<br />
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I met Joe about 20 years ago ( damn I feel old) through an ex, he was his friend and by proxy at the time was mine. It's weird because looking back I never knew much about him. Yes, one look at him and you know this guy is Italian but just how strongly tied he felt to his Sicilian roots was something I just discovered on this trip. Thinking about it now, it's not that surprising.<br />
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The U. S is the largest recipient of Italian immigrants in the world,according to wiki about 4 million of them arriving in the late 1800's early 1900's. It is said 80% came from southern Italy/Sicily. A walk through Little Italy in NY, the near west side of Chicago, Hoboken or Boston's North End will tell you that, where Italian tradition is alive and well. Well Joe's paternal Grand Dad came during that first wave, and from what he has told me Italian traditions ran strong in his family. From Sunday dinners and his Nonna's cooking to stories about the old country, his heritage was instilled in him.<br />
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He told me of how his grand dad loved the U.S., was proud to be an American citizen and really had no desire to return to the Sicilian town of Aragona from which he hailed. How his dad, sadly now passed, was born in the U.S. and never made it to Sicily and how Joe himself wanted to attain Italian citizenship.<br />
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He had been thinking of this trip for many years , a bump into me and my offer to be his guide I guess helped to make it a reality. So he arrived in Italy with his Ipad full of info intent on, at the very least, getting a copy of his grandfather's birth certificate. What he found , I think, was a whole lot more.<br />
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Smack in the middle of a 9 day trip that included 6 cities we found ourselves in Agrigento, Sicily. From Florence we took the ES down to Rome. The day before Thanksgiving we hopped on a flight to Palermo, caught a hour and half bus ride from the airport into town and boarded an almost 3 hr. train from Palermo to Agrigento where we arrived almost 10 hours after leaving Rome. The plan for Thanksgiving day was to scope out the Valley of the Temples first thing ( really not to be missed) and then to make our way to the small town of Aragona located just about 20 minutes away.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H9x0gYv0v4epUsg-wCCZnwY8kCgP7Wegcv_S3gJVWIhD7OC2s8N3zAsV-jFPbk2Eo36hwRbTilRuigG6BpE47ndav3fNHUQcYFfW-gRlAsKtOFD23Hz8KVj5t-7omTrodXCmoO_ZcCyK/s1600/DSCN3444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H9x0gYv0v4epUsg-wCCZnwY8kCgP7Wegcv_S3gJVWIhD7OC2s8N3zAsV-jFPbk2Eo36hwRbTilRuigG6BpE47ndav3fNHUQcYFfW-gRlAsKtOFD23Hz8KVj5t-7omTrodXCmoO_ZcCyK/s640/DSCN3444.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
So we did just that. After a super rainy morning drudging through the mud and taking in some of the most beautiful scenery we caught a noon time mini bus to Aragona. It was funny because all the other buses at the open air station in downtown Agrigento were normal size buses, but there among them sat a small blue mini-bus , it was on this bus we would meet the little old man that would make the hard task of getting the grand dad's birth certificate a whole lot easier.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_viscLVPal-2h1zzVJCnRJ_K74ssClTTHaxLC_a1Sfo1939tChl9BoR_0r-1kIxxVGhScudGTLsFQwmkc8QFt_I-ilk4_XWVVlc6jiztMX4JYlVpxutAhqAKWTLl3_qI7g6LMwcEka7x4/s1600/DSCN3516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_viscLVPal-2h1zzVJCnRJ_K74ssClTTHaxLC_a1Sfo1939tChl9BoR_0r-1kIxxVGhScudGTLsFQwmkc8QFt_I-ilk4_XWVVlc6jiztMX4JYlVpxutAhqAKWTLl3_qI7g6LMwcEka7x4/s640/DSCN3516.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Maybe 20 seats on this bus, all but 5 were occupied by teenagers returning home after a morning at school is my guess. Then there was Joe and I , a woman from Aragona and 2 older men. All of them took an interest in us, after all we were Americani and I'm guessing from the response ( a pattern that continued through the day) there aren't a whole lot of Americans passing through. From the guy sitting on a bench at the bus terminal saying how Joe looked Sicilian, everyone was interested in why we were there, and why we were going to Aragona. And so we told all of them.<br />
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Now I'm probably not the best choice for translator as my Italian skills are less than stellar especially with the dialect differences down south but I was all he had so my crappy Italian would have to wade us through. The standard line was," Lui, e' da Boston, ma il nonno e' originario di Aragona" ( He is from Boston, but his grandfather is originally from Aragona) which EVERY SINGLE TIME, from the guy in the shop to the guy on the bench to the bus driver and the little old man on the bus was met with the phrase," Qual e' suo cognome?" ( What is his last name)<br />
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Well when we said Lucchese, there wasn't a person that didn't respond that they knew that name, and they knew Luccheses in Aragona. The warmth and welcoming of the Sicilians was really amazing, it wasn't even my family we were looking for and I got all goose bumply.<br />
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It was about 5 minutes into the 20 minute bus ride when we felt a thump. Something was definitely wrong, the little blue bus felt as if it was limping. A flat tire? What had happened? The driver pulled over and and out he went with the little old guy in tow. I somehow felt responsible because anyone who knows me and of my travels this was typical, a magnet for this sort of shit. Never one to miss a photo -op I got off the bus too, it was a broken axle, we would wait about 15 minutes for a bigger better bus to arrive during which time I snapped some photos and was apparently laughed at by the teen-agers on the bus.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHxlDaKrVjpUIFCfQxxYtBdHCDV8Vb5MF29pPeaQXV_ijnxvPbV20uYT1hDu9gZarxSBdiCpUbQOqc4dPlQzeayB5qt3Fe5wXpv8NGto61QL__0s-uUQfhMBmfyPr0n25y2Gry5vNAUhN/s1600/DSCN3522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHxlDaKrVjpUIFCfQxxYtBdHCDV8Vb5MF29pPeaQXV_ijnxvPbV20uYT1hDu9gZarxSBdiCpUbQOqc4dPlQzeayB5qt3Fe5wXpv8NGto61QL__0s-uUQfhMBmfyPr0n25y2Gry5vNAUhN/s640/DSCN3522.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvcokazBRrQHOqI1P8imXua-u0K7inIckTrG4xRyaz0hpzcHh6bv5voj_dUL-qIo55sFeYNohJ5op73GbNBBFYQbUw_6IY-jqGVz0WeOjV0BdTRDmmJbEEi9bgEJDu9nzFJ0xL8XIFzBH/s1600/DSCN3521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvcokazBRrQHOqI1P8imXua-u0K7inIckTrG4xRyaz0hpzcHh6bv5voj_dUL-qIo55sFeYNohJ5op73GbNBBFYQbUw_6IY-jqGVz0WeOjV0BdTRDmmJbEEi9bgEJDu9nzFJ0xL8XIFzBH/s640/DSCN3521.JPG" width="570" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">driver and little old guy</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While outside the bus I spoke with the little old guy ( whose name we never did get) and told him we were going to the Commune ( kind of a town hall) to try and find the birth record of Joe's grand dad.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once on the replacement bus the old man made his way back to where we sat and asked if we knew where the Commune was. I told him no and he said to get off the bus with him and that he would take us to see someone there. Sure enough somewhere in the mid of main street Aragona when the bus stopped we followed the little old guy across the street and into the more modern than we would have thought municipal building.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tfOkCJjVDpPf0ZnWkQUmTLvWmryID2f44XD7I2whJHf2K73SXRESGfbQvMVfK3wnqRj-pLTzS4EWgCFmsDeJwtl9UN0BR9WR9jSsgo-pmsb2Xr7yvH23BiAGL06y63CksNqN1RhWRdUE/s1600/DSCN3535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tfOkCJjVDpPf0ZnWkQUmTLvWmryID2f44XD7I2whJHf2K73SXRESGfbQvMVfK3wnqRj-pLTzS4EWgCFmsDeJwtl9UN0BR9WR9jSsgo-pmsb2Xr7yvH23BiAGL06y63CksNqN1RhWRdUE/s640/DSCN3535.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">a second unit re-shoot</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Now I was skeptical as to how smoothly this would go. Afterall , I live in Italy and dealing with these sorts of things is usually a pain in the ass as other ex-pats and locals alike will attest. I was proven very wrong this time.<br />
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We hurriedly followed the man past the receptionist to a back office ( as if he was smuggling us in). A large room with cabinets on the walls, each containing rows and rows of metal bound books that contained the birth, death and marriage records of that town. In the office sat a man and a woman. The old man told the man that we were Americans looking for the records of Joe's grand dad, born in Aragona. The office man was not having it. He told the old man that you can't just be bringing Americans in here in the middle of the day for us to help them, without an appointment, we are busy now. But the old man did not waiver. He told this guy in pretty strong terms, hey, they are here for only a few hours, it's important to get the papers, this guy wants to get his Italian citizenship!! ( I'm paraphrasing the translation of what I heard) I am quite sure had it not been for the old guy we'de still be sitting there.<br />
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Begrudgingly ,is putting it lightly, the man said o.k and with a quick grazie and arrivaderci the little old man was gone and we found ourselves alone with the man and the woman in the offce. The woman's name was Rita. She spoke minimal broken English, it was enough. Joe pulled out the Ipad and showed her a photo of the names of his paternal ancestors from Aragona. Next to the names were written birth years. He did not know, his family never did, the actual day of birth for his grandfather. Rita jotted it all down quickly and disappeared ,leaving us with the grumpy guy who only left to get me the restroom key. I was chomping to photograph those books but when Joe said," don't, you'll piss them off, not until I have the birth certificate!" I didn't.<br />
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When Rita returned, about 15 minutes later ( and really she was a god-send) she did so with a list of names, drawn in a tree diagram. She explained how the great grandfathers were named Vincenzo, the paternal great grandfather was a worker in the slate quarry, she spoke of the wife Chiara but most importantly she held a copy of the birth record for Michaelangelo Lucchese, born on September 24, 1906 @ 3:00 am and Joey finally knew his granfathers's birthday.<br />
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That was enough to complete a Thanksgiving day, little did we know it was just getting started. Next, enter Gregorio and Sebastian, the Matthau & Lemmon of Aragona. To be continued in the next post........<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was important to Rita to get a shot of her kicks ( so please note the shoes) :)</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-27526189154453334222011-12-06T15:08:00.199+01:002011-12-13T15:05:00.600+01:00Ricerca Di Antenati- Seconda ParteParte II<br />
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Well that was easier than I thought it would be. I couldn't get over the fact in less than 1/2 hour we were out of that Commune with a copy of the birth record in hand. Really unheard of in Italy, and the craziest part is they never asked Joe for any I.D !<br />
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We really had no plan after that except to just wander around Aragona, maybe catch lunch and maybe try to locate the vista where a photo was taken of Joe's grandmother 30 years before. So we decided to just walk, walk through the little town from where his family came.<br />
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Aragona at first glance was kind of nondescript. Looked like any other town, no real landmarks to distinguish it. The streets fanned out up and down from the main artery along which most shops were closed. I'm not sure if the closures were due to siesta or just lack of business. You could catch an occasionally glimpse of the surrounding countryside peeping through the somewhat run down buildings that lined the streets.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we walked we could feel the eyes of the people we passed watching, they knew we were not from there, this was a town where I'm sure everyone knew everyone and stranieri (strangers) were a quick spot. But it wasn't an unwelcoming feeling , you could tell that it was just curiosity. The town is completely "old school" down to the obtits posted at nearly every other corner.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We came upon a fruit and vegetable shop, one of the few places that was open. It was run by an older man who was settling up a woman's purchases. Joe made note of what I thought was a tomato, he said they sell them in the North End of Boston. I said , "yeah, it's a tomato" he said," NO, it's NOT a tomato ( it looked like a tomato) When the man appeared again from inside the shop I asked him ," Che cos'e'?" ( what is that) and he said a litto.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had a small audience by now, the woman hung around to see what "the Americani " fruit inquiry was about and another man who was picking up some leafy greens. By the look on our faces I think the vendor could sense we were confused by what it was and so he grabbed one and with the edge of his shirt sleeve, like only an Italian fruit stand guy could, he polished off one of those "litto", split it in half handing a piece each to both Joe and I.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was sweet and delicious, but the best part was the intense interest of how we would like that fruit, the fruit from HIS fruit stand. I told Joe to give the guy a Euro and with that the man filled a bag with that fruit. We said it was too much, give him some more money. Joe handed him another 2 Euro which prompted a bag of kumquats, I think, but we politely declined.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried googling litto to no avail and finally asked a friend ( a former chef :) and she said they are persimmons!! I guess I having been living under the fruit rock, I'm sure I have seen them before, but never had one.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibkvqlnwYdFQhDFvvEah8mNs85nXp72yqdmLmoQGOiE_T9wgWSKBVkJ6bzaSo2-pMkBBjCAxQ4T-tytDKZkFQMxEtN13z8dwkA5F6vwyWzo3ihsblyivejrAFGIF359gcfDZQc0OsmnuI/s1600/DSCN3544-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibkvqlnwYdFQhDFvvEah8mNs85nXp72yqdmLmoQGOiE_T9wgWSKBVkJ6bzaSo2-pMkBBjCAxQ4T-tytDKZkFQMxEtN13z8dwkA5F6vwyWzo3ihsblyivejrAFGIF359gcfDZQc0OsmnuI/s640/DSCN3544-1.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">will he like it???? so funny!! note the guy in the middle</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we walked away thanking the man we couldn't believe how nice everyone was. It wasn't the sometimes unauthentic surface nicety you get in the north, it was different, from the core, it's just who they are. The reason I love that picture so above is the expression on both the men's faces. You can't fake that sort of interest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We continued along the main street kind of at a loss for which direction to head. I said down, Joe said up, we couldn't agree and so found ourselves to the side of a small church where there was a small wall over which you could see the countryside. It seemed as if we were the only ones there but then we spotted 2 older men chatting, actually it was more like catch up gossip. I did not realize until days later but Joe realized right away that one of the men was the guy with the leafy greens at the fruit stand. Joe said he was telling his friend the story of us, the 2 Americans and we how tried the fruit and why we were there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I told Joe to pull up that picture of his grandmother on the Ipad, that maybe these guys knew where it was taken. As he tried to get the photo up ( and we all know how Ipads can stick sometimes) they started walking away. "Hurry, they are walking away!!" I said. He said he was." O.k, they stopped!! Hurry, Now!" He was, " I'm trying!!!" They would take a few steps, then they would stop, then a few more steps, then they would stop during which I would report, they are walking, they are stopping, they are walking, they are stopping. Actually, I'm surprised Joey didn't throw me over the wall at that point . It was almost as if they knew we were looking for something. FINALLY! he gets the photo up and we approach the two men. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me: Buongiorno Senore, ho una domanda. Sapete dove questo posto e' in Aragona?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(good day, I have a question, do you know where this place is in Aragona?)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Joe pipes in as he shows the photo on the Ipad ( isn't technology freaken AWESOME!!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Joe: this is my grandmother, here in Aragona the picture was taken about 30 years ago, my grandfather is from here and I'm looking to find this place where the photo was taken.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All in English, rapid fire speed, Boston accent . So, when he finished the men both just turned their heads to me as to say ," WTF did he just say??</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After translation and the two men talking amongst themselves they agreed they had no clue BUT they knew someone who might. So the shorter guy from the fruit stand who I will now call by his name Sebastian yells across the street to a guy in a frame shop. He yells for the guy to come to us to look at a photo, and so he does.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This frame shop guy ( whose name escapes me) is the "go to guy" for all things Aragona and Agrigento. Been there for ever, like 80 yrs old, knows everyone and everything. Sebastian tells me if anyone will know it's this guy. So the 3 men and Joe huddle around the Ipad for a 15 minute pow wow on that photo, all the while I was taking photos myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVI41pdzh5OC-YcdocdmVdkGS7f5VQuZLZemS1XOgTyKPxJRE6Rw6RI8XP_B3eLheb2jRgcNfBD6owc3NvdHKGqzvsgZsnn9-AzRbBIQ8Wm40AwVU76bz-OnUaeta6igRh-thk6oRs0Sf7/s1600/DSCN3557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVI41pdzh5OC-YcdocdmVdkGS7f5VQuZLZemS1XOgTyKPxJRE6Rw6RI8XP_B3eLheb2jRgcNfBD6owc3NvdHKGqzvsgZsnn9-AzRbBIQ8Wm40AwVU76bz-OnUaeta6igRh-thk6oRs0Sf7/s640/DSCN3557.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After much discussion amongst the 3 men, frame shop guy says yes! in fact, he knows where this place is, it's on the outskirts from center and that he knows where the Luccheses can be found. That in fact there are Luccheses still in Aragona, they live in a specific area, but which houses he is not sure. He begins to tell Sebastian about the area and the name of the street and tells him it is too far to walk. He begins to give him directions.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sebastian then turned to the other taller man and began talking to him, his name is Gregory or Gregorio. They went back and forth and I was laughing while listening. Now , because this conversation is going on in Italian, Joe really hadn't a clue what they are discussing but I did. I couldn't help but smile , that I heard the frame shop guy tell Sebastian to take us with his car, that I heard Sebastian tell Gregorio he was coming with, that I heard Gregorio say basically no way and Sebastian tell him yes way ( I'm paraphrasing again) . And while Sebastian and Gregorio were discussing I leaned over and whispered to Joe that they were taking us there. That they were taking us to find Luccheses. "No! really? That's crazy!!" he said. Yep, it WAS crazy but it was true. If that day hadn't already been surreal it was about to get a whole lot more so. So after the frame shop guy wrapped up his directions and said his goodbyes and we said our thank you, Sebastian looked at Joe and I and said, " Andiamo!!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looks like a three parter as I actually have stuff to do </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Part 3 " The meeting of Luccheses" on Monday for Christy's La Dolce Vita series ( and be sure to check out her blog)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hopefully with video if Joey gets off his slacker ass and emails it to me :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlorHvz-bqpSj8Xao9hiAFwy2Ouqx1qGVLuLLmq468CW1_uiKyvoXNx0fDVU29Y2Jcd_Kd-g8_GPuDQoCYU2I8BigAZSjJvMBmspdtZY7zp9pKjbDwuvAjXR5NeWB4KS_U-kRs9ptKCHI/s1600/DSCN3560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480px" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlorHvz-bqpSj8Xao9hiAFwy2Ouqx1qGVLuLLmq468CW1_uiKyvoXNx0fDVU29Y2Jcd_Kd-g8_GPuDQoCYU2I8BigAZSjJvMBmspdtZY7zp9pKjbDwuvAjXR5NeWB4KS_U-kRs9ptKCHI/s640/DSCN3560.JPG" width="640px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Joe and Gregorio in the back seat </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-36092246273810919642011-09-29T19:26:00.000+02:002011-09-29T19:26:06.555+02:00ONLY ME: Part 2The Germans have left, all 36 of them ( so I was off by one). I was literally crowded out of my seat for internet last night!!! So picking up where I left off, the room, refer to pictures below<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4O_y6LRdTJXrtVd5v34Da52rhPsIn57XhsT8p6q3gHsb_I03G62AK_igcu4_OX2A1hbw6q8wyP-I9rO-EfDYQ64ep6c7C6k8QDz4EKBLUQku38josDUXPfTqXpUOAayu4LfcAdIDEBLt/s1600/DSCN1525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4O_y6LRdTJXrtVd5v34Da52rhPsIn57XhsT8p6q3gHsb_I03G62AK_igcu4_OX2A1hbw6q8wyP-I9rO-EfDYQ64ep6c7C6k8QDz4EKBLUQku38josDUXPfTqXpUOAayu4LfcAdIDEBLt/s400/DSCN1525.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">kind of like the hotel card keys except a " very high tech" Greek version</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8lUbVaX1luKJdcrGjHqM7ctXZm_-6C9vym7WuVGo7lgB-66tsE4vKcln7gHD2Yww8D5uOFVdrlYTz1coQzmLdip78A5UveEZxpS_waPoohlTdfG4bEA5F4u7IihZG9HA3HPze2_-oxRf/s1600/DSCN1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8lUbVaX1luKJdcrGjHqM7ctXZm_-6C9vym7WuVGo7lgB-66tsE4vKcln7gHD2Yww8D5uOFVdrlYTz1coQzmLdip78A5UveEZxpS_waPoohlTdfG4bEA5F4u7IihZG9HA3HPze2_-oxRf/s400/DSCN1528.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the teeny weeny safe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I basically threw my stuff in the room and headed downstairs to find out how to get into town and was told there was a bus, but the schedule wasn't regular. It was however in my budget at 1.60 E. The receptionist told me there was a kiosk 100 meters to the left on the road where I could get a ticket.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I walked over to the kiosk which was like a rustic 7-11 in a hut. The guy who worked there was about my age but super weather worn but kind of cute in a Greek earthy kind of way. I now know his name is Elias because today when i was attempting to wait for the bus which did not come, he has asked me out for Saturday night to hear Greek music, I told him I'd think about it, didn't want to be rude. I also know now that the little white dog he has is named Ilam. She is 5 which I was informed is 29 in dog years and has had 4 litters of 4 puppies each, 16 in total which makes her like the Duggar of dogs and it's no wonder that pup looks exhausted!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I bought a bus ticket and a chapstick which basically came to the 5 E I had left. After I paid he said," From where did you come?" Kind of a difficult question to answer these days so I just pointed to the direction of the hotel and said there. He asked could I do something for him and for me to wait and then he bent down behind the counter and arose holding an old plastic coca cola glass. The kind that was bulbess at the top and tapered down bottom with the raised coca cola writing in script . He handed it to me. Now normally this would be odd, but this is me so perfectly usual I guess. I took the glass and he said," Over there, across the street see that guy? His name is Nick, Bring this to him and tell him thank you". I looked around for the hidden camera because even for me now weird so I was sure there was one, but there was not. So I said ok, and I walked across the street handed the glass to Nick, pointed at the kiosk and said, " That guy says thanks".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I spent the next 4 hours writing yesterdays blog, catching up on Facebook, uploading pictures during which time I had a delic Greek dinner from the restaurant at my hotel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So after a horrible night sleep in an uncomfortable bed, but more so because those loud Germans were up and yelling at 5 am, the icky bathroom and 3km distance from town (which I walked today) I have decided to book 5 more nights here, the remainder until I leave. Why? Because today when I went downstairs I was greeted by a great breakfast, the staff is amazingly hospitable and right across the road is this, where TWO cute waiters bring me my iced tea. I can live with that :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-11377548054676777012011-09-28T17:05:00.000+02:002011-09-28T17:05:38.050+02:00ONLY ME!I have been a blogger slacker, I know, but life has been busy, internet precarious and traveling an abnormal amount. That said, nothing like a day like today to get back in the saddle. Oh, and it's gonna be a long winded one.<br />
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For the past 3 weeks I have been sailing aboard the Oceania Marina for work. It's really a great gig, I get to see awesome places, meet great people while selling my jewelry. Today I disembarked 3 days early from the end of the cruise in Agios Nikolas, Crete a small and somewhat sleepy port town. I will stay here for a week awaiting the sister ship Nautica for the last of three scheduled trunk shows. I pick that ship up 4 days in. Why Crete? Well it was the only overlapping EU port where I could switch ships and because I am traveling with a ridiculous amount of jewelry an EU port makes customs a whole lot easier.<br />
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I woke up early to meet with the boutiques manager for last minute paperwork, do my laundry and finish packing. I'm always a bit sad to go after spending weeks on a ship, I start to feel like Eloise. After saying my goodbyes and retrieving my passport I disembarked with THREE huge pieces of luggage, one of which holds about 800 pieces of jewelry. I had stopped at the concierge to have a taxi waiting for me. Finally off the ship and there sits a silver sedan, the taxi and as I approach I say Faedra Hotel. He replies, " No, airport! And I say, " No, no airport, Faedra hotel" at which point he starts shouting something in Greek and the port agent, a stocky old Greek guy with a walkie talkie comes over. He asks if I'm Mrs. Vandekamp ( and I'm thinking Bree from Desperate Housewives?) and I say no and he says that the taxi is not for me. Soooooo I ask if I can get a taxi and he replies, "No, No taxis, there is a strike today".<br />
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My face just fell! Are you freakin kidding me????? I live in the land of strikes! and although I knew there had been taxi strikes in Athens I did not expect it in Crete! There was no strike in Crete yesterday and maybe won't be tomorrow but TODAY, the day I stand there with THREE ginormous luggages and no way to get to the hotel there is a taxi strike. Maybe I could walk if I had only 2, but with three, UGH! After a half hour of arguing I ask the guy, " Listen, don't you have a friend with a car who can give me a ride? I'll give them 20 Euro for a ride to the hotel". Well money talks and it especially talks in an economy on the verge of collapse! He makes a call and tells me to wait that someone is coming right away. Well it seems the Greek schedule is a close cousin to the Italian schedule where right away = 1 hr. and 20 minutes.<br />
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About an hour and a half later I see a 5'2", 80 year old Greek guy with like 4 teeth and literally covered in grease in 6 day old clothing approach saying car, car, car. OMG is that my taxi??? Why yes it is! With his dirty fingers he grabs the handle to bag # 1 and I motion that i've got the other 2 and I follow him to a beat up miscellanous gold colored ( I think, was hard to tell through the dirt) 1970's type of hatchback with a mini ships steering wheel propped up in the hatch. No kidding, the guy did call a friend, some mechanic I'm guessing. He was very sweet, hurled my bags in and opened the passenger door where there was a dirty, greasy striped towel that covered the seat. all I could think of is why were there TWO eggs, one brown and one white next to the stick shift? Were they hard boiled? Was it his lunch? Were they lucky tokens and why were they just sitting there next to 2 lighters?? And as I sat on the greasy towel, in the greasy car, next to the greasy nice old man I thought, ONLY ME!<br />
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Through the town and up the hills the man drives along all the while mumbling in Greek under his breath with an occassional 4 toothed smile at me. As we drive and drive and head out of the town I'm thinking where the fuck is he going????? Expedia said IN TOWN! But no, it's definitely not in town and after 3 phone calls, 1 to the police station to get the number for tourist board, 1 to the tourist board to get number for hotel and 1 to the hotel (after each he smiles) we arrive at the Faedra hotel, most definitely NOT in town, in fact 3 km outside of town, which makes me think how happy I am I didn't attempt to walk!<br />
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There I am on the side of the road with my luggage in a tiny beach town in bumfuck Crete. I drag my stuff to reception where I am greeted by the very nice but 5 toothed receptionist, there either must be no flouride in the water OR she is related to the taxi driver/ slash friend of the port agent. While checking in I ask about the internet in the room (like it said on Expedia) but there isn't any only in the lobby and pool area. I ask about an ATM, there isn't any only in town. So now I am stuck a 20 minute drive from town with 20 Israeli sheckles, 10 Britsih pounds, 4 Us dollars ,30 Krona and 5 Euro and no ATM and a taxi strike. To make matters worse I am in desperate need of lip balm as I am getting a horrific cold sore.<br />
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She shows me to my room, 2 flights up, just can't catch a break when it comes to stairs and luggage. There it is the small old dingy room with the most uncomfortable looking beds ever! I immediately begin longing for my stateroom on Marina, with a heavenly bed, huge plasma tv with english stations and a veranda and chocolates on my pillow. I drift back to my new reality only to find the in room safe which needs to hold a good amount of my jewelry is only big anough for a toothbrush ( which btw I do not want to put in that bathroom.<br />
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To be continued in next post due to a 35 member German family who has just surrounded my little poolside table, no joke.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZDiqhqzPQDYUBmth_KaJAbw45tK37t9uZI10Jai4SgB1R1IoClXP99QJhv2gs9XfiPdLIShokRYu7IugcOMs4GKcvycOwBycXto7ZZ0Up8LRhg_hXAusAVzkoTEJ3nucdaksXDfZw5qh/s1600/DSCN1524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZDiqhqzPQDYUBmth_KaJAbw45tK37t9uZI10Jai4SgB1R1IoClXP99QJhv2gs9XfiPdLIShokRYu7IugcOMs4GKcvycOwBycXto7ZZ0Up8LRhg_hXAusAVzkoTEJ3nucdaksXDfZw5qh/s320/DSCN1524.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-52540678600011080242011-08-02T22:30:00.000+02:002011-08-02T22:30:12.491+02:00For the love of God! Dimmi in Italiano!!!A girl walks into a tabacchi and asks," Vendete i biglietti del bus?" The guy behind the counter replies, " one way or return and how many do you want?" REALLY!!!!!!! REALLY??????? <br />
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And so is my daily frustration with the Italians answering me in English, and it PISSES ME OFF!<br />
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I spent 8 months 3 years ago taking Italian classes at Giorgio La Pira language school. I spent 4 days a week, 2 hours a day learning 96 different conjugations for the verb fare ( to make). Is my Italian great? NO, is my Italian super crappy, NO, it's marginal, marginal Italian with a new york accent. BUT I TRY!!! And I just want for when I speak to someone in Italian , in Italy, that they do not answer me in English. I have found that at least in large cities where English is pretty widely spoken ( especially in Florence) this is a losing battle.<br />
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So a few weeks ago I found myself at the new Hard Rock Cafe in Piazza Repubblica. I know a lot of expats roll their eyes at the thought of a Hard Rock in their beautiful adopted city of Florence but I like it, and I'm not embarrassed to say so. In fact I'll go so far as to say I wish they had a STARBUCKS!!! Oh, the blasphemy! You know who else loves the Hard Rock, it's fruity drinks and fattening fried appetizer platters? The Italians! I have been there a few times now and it's always packed with locals.<br />
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Anyway, I met my friend Laura there for an afternoon of yummy cocktails, we sat at the bar and ordered our mixed appy plate and a couple of drinks. Laura , who is super fluent in Italian ordered and the bartender answered her in Italian. HOWEVER, anytime I spoke to him he answered me in English, as did the hostess and any and every waiter. Although this was not a new experience to me on this day it was getting my panties in a bunch so I decided it was time to find a way to get these Italians to speak to me in their language.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsoRR5aikCheOaA4Y5YqQkZkK8DYWWMsrMYwOieaZ5_5Ed6EGSQEOPmFFAAst1Gxf1IHmVad7BT5AIWTK1d6hb8IYU3K40FKNJJuPbq6IoDrEdG5l8yRBQD1omxqOn6Y4Qvy1PHr6PaGM/s1600/DSCN8139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsoRR5aikCheOaA4Y5YqQkZkK8DYWWMsrMYwOieaZ5_5Ed6EGSQEOPmFFAAst1Gxf1IHmVad7BT5AIWTK1d6hb8IYU3K40FKNJJuPbq6IoDrEdG5l8yRBQD1omxqOn6Y4Qvy1PHr6PaGM/s400/DSCN8139.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">love the scrip in Italian- Impazzirai ( will drive you CRAZY!!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>I told Laura that even when the Italians answered me in English I would ( if I could) still answer them in Italian. So I tried that for the next hour, no surprise, it did not work. Still, English responses.<br />
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PLAN B: Call them out <br />
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Me: ( Pointing to my drink) Scusa, posso avere un altro?<br />
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Waiter: Yes, would you like the same thing?<br />
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Me: Dude! why do you do that??<br />
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Waiter: Do what?<br />
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Me: Always answer me in English!<br />
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Waiter: Because you are American, no?<br />
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Me: Yeah, but I'm in Italy! I'm living in Italy! I speak to you in Italian and still you answer me in English! It's rude! I try , I really try to speak your language, and still I'm replied to in English, and it's rude!<br />
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Yeah, well I pretty much scared the shit out of that poor waiter, he was the unfortunate soul to catch the wrath of my 3 year language gripe. He apologized up and down and explained he likes speaking English, wants to practice his English. Well buddy, I like Italian, and I want to practice my Italian which is nearly IMPOSSIBLE because the Italians will only speak to me in English! <br />
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Now I have a few friends who really speak terrible English and they are perfect for me to practice my Italian but I don't see them nearly enough, I need everyday re-enforcement and I'm just not getting it.<br />
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PLAN C: They want English.... Give it to them.... In SPADES!<br />
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My new plan was if I was responded to in English I'd go all New York slanglish on them at rapid fire speed, a speed only capable of people from the tri-state area. Poor guy who was the first to answer my Italian with English. I started out slow, let him think I was OK with the English responses but by the the third time I unleashed an equivalent of New York Ebonics on this guy. Stunned, stunned he was! He looked at me as if I was speaking Chinese. And then I heard the music to my ears, NON, HO CAPITO. ( I don't understand).<br />
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*** RANT INSIDE MY HEAD ONLY*****<br />
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Non ho capito?? Non ho capito?? Vero??? Hmmmmm... So, NOW you don't understand me? You want to speak English to me, this is what you will get, no more of me speaking English slowly so I can be understood, no more of me correcting my English grammer for the sake of the locals and no more cleaning up my truck driver of a mouth. You want MY English? You want MY English? You can't handle MY English!!! ( HAHA, a little " Few Good Men" for ya)<br />
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What followed was even more pleasing to my ears the phrase " Addesso, parliamo Italiano" EUREKA!!! I 've done it! I have found the secret key to making the Italians speak Italian to me whether they want to or not, just out- English them :)<br />
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</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-11268879998837988522011-08-01T19:30:00.000+02:002011-08-01T19:30:58.157+02:00Being Home: La Dolce Vita SeriesIt's been a rough few weeks at the parents as my dad has not been well. Thankfully things are looking up. I returned "home" 5 days earlier than my planned August break from Italy, where everything closes and between. the heat and the tourists I took my cue from the Italians and decided to split town. I put home in parentheses because even though it's not the house I grew up in, it's the house where my parents live so therefore will always be home.<br />
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During times that try your emotional strength, I think it's normal to re-evaluate what is important and what one wants from their life. Some days I know and on others I'm still ungrounded.This trip home has given me more perspective.<br />
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I sat in my dad's chair in his office the other day. It's one of those leather chairs that you can swirl around in. As I spun around in the chair like a little kid I thought, in this small room, on the shelves of theses bookcases, on every inch of these walls are the memories of a life well lived, a life filled with family, friends & pets, a life filled with experience, a life filled with work, a life filled with smiles and tears and most importantly a life filled with an immense amount of love. <br />
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No matter where you go,what you see, what you acquire, life doesn't get much sweeter than the one depicted within the walls of my dad's office. Veramente la dolce vita :)<br />
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<center><a href="http://ciaochristy.blogspot.com/"><img border="0" src="http://i1197.photobucket.com/albums/aa421/Ciaochristy/DolceVita.jpg" /></a></center><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmn8klIQjUKVol5MWwFKapmJqWgU0aOPwluO-jo2Cx4vO7YExdXIFEtyVODjb_MYhUJp5uauChrpKCL6H0KW6pvQLdrtArZFj6doMNTS_vXv-0-JPh-dHTFv6wXsCwlg8bf-E1r4xygWfG/s1600/DSCN8678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmn8klIQjUKVol5MWwFKapmJqWgU0aOPwluO-jo2Cx4vO7YExdXIFEtyVODjb_MYhUJp5uauChrpKCL6H0KW6pvQLdrtArZFj6doMNTS_vXv-0-JPh-dHTFv6wXsCwlg8bf-E1r4xygWfG/s400/DSCN8678.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqyN6u6wTpO1T8-JYj_rza1ynK8G6YuKA_m_Cj8rhYCvzkhk49X2uN_6BkUddNnkgzCY1PoW4FP7f3aPQxjNjIfdZfrNyLsZEBjV4jn04SfZfr3bkn6cR-v7DzI0BVtkUuu-5UhzZvoGHN/s1600/DSCN8679.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqyN6u6wTpO1T8-JYj_rza1ynK8G6YuKA_m_Cj8rhYCvzkhk49X2uN_6BkUddNnkgzCY1PoW4FP7f3aPQxjNjIfdZfrNyLsZEBjV4jn04SfZfr3bkn6cR-v7DzI0BVtkUuu-5UhzZvoGHN/s400/DSCN8679.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">fathers day gift one year of ebbetts field in brooklyn</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dmN1PYGLQbIqdaNp6PctbWSK9Ag8WbTrC8sl8m4h_0TSNVjDgwYZfSyRVQA90qBHm6ddK6hiOv5Cnx79VAO9_1M4JgFGu8GVwOepdT3SKhYAEWC_GYPVmTeTep1fDNvYGzwJJ2SJr_xX/s1600/DSCN8684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6dmN1PYGLQbIqdaNp6PctbWSK9Ag8WbTrC8sl8m4h_0TSNVjDgwYZfSyRVQA90qBHm6ddK6hiOv5Cnx79VAO9_1M4JgFGu8GVwOepdT3SKhYAEWC_GYPVmTeTep1fDNvYGzwJJ2SJr_xX/s400/DSCN8684.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">pencil drawing I did of mom as a child</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiQ4odQAxNv1kfeQO_JspAtcPkkadYQk0HfkoE49xuERovHa2CXYdvOoYr_Hz9lMxOUYIR7xij7rrxZr2w-BZxh3soKNc-0LjFkU69a1vd6dC2vs7oEzcgP3Lrt_UPvM1BoWczsJMdj-f/s1600/DSCN8685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipiQ4odQAxNv1kfeQO_JspAtcPkkadYQk0HfkoE49xuERovHa2CXYdvOoYr_Hz9lMxOUYIR7xij7rrxZr2w-BZxh3soKNc-0LjFkU69a1vd6dC2vs7oEzcgP3Lrt_UPvM1BoWczsJMdj-f/s320/DSCN8685.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">sooo many photos</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILFehQkukPTFgYkZsrM8YaObSGMxB14tGZwOsFAZvG6kuSyn_RdoNPNR1D768fHfpG2Avt18_0S9cg5eBD2-aQXPvo9SXjPXhqK1VAYfZ5aeHYbpCy2NldKLpz1Nl8c2Tnl0NNuHwa2rJ/s1600/DSCN8689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILFehQkukPTFgYkZsrM8YaObSGMxB14tGZwOsFAZvG6kuSyn_RdoNPNR1D768fHfpG2Avt18_0S9cg5eBD2-aQXPvo9SXjPXhqK1VAYfZ5aeHYbpCy2NldKLpz1Nl8c2Tnl0NNuHwa2rJ/s320/DSCN8689.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">all the past family pets</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-86882987688415968082011-07-21T13:39:00.000+02:002011-07-21T13:39:50.929+02:00The Street Where I LiveFor the past year I have lived on Via Laura. It is my third apartment in Florence. The first was for a month when I first arrived in August 2008 and was literally in the Piazza Mercato Centrale on Via Panicali. The second was on Via Degli Alfani and now this one, the small but awesome loft on Via Laura.<br />
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Via Laura is located in the historic center but is a quiet street on the edge. My apartment is located at the end or beginning of the street depending on where you approach Via Laura from, I am a few steps from Borgo Pinti ( now one of my most favorite streets in Florence).<br />
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Via Laura is pronounced L-OW-U-RA, which is important otherwise the taxi drivers will insist that it doesn't exist. No matter how hard I try I never get it on the first shot and usually takes a few back and forth. It is a long, long street! Especially when approaching it from the Piazza Annunziata area.<br />
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</div>It's a quiet street especially down on the end toward Borgo Pinti. There is a really cool archway where Via Pergola runs into it and a building of the University of Firenze is also on this street.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSH2K7B5wc8RYEvOPcjSfcDTDnO6u0nWKhiIPkivs1mOtz01OVmUIDUK5v6PaISVXoOjR7TpsO0eQ8er20mzLv3gLW997vXKxFtjHzTRLd_VrXCbo_ZeRCyhWSWpLG1KRo11qDuJkaaM8t/s1600/DSCN8220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSH2K7B5wc8RYEvOPcjSfcDTDnO6u0nWKhiIPkivs1mOtz01OVmUIDUK5v6PaISVXoOjR7TpsO0eQ8er20mzLv3gLW997vXKxFtjHzTRLd_VrXCbo_ZeRCyhWSWpLG1KRo11qDuJkaaM8t/s400/DSCN8220.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>There is a super famous bookstore where people line up for hours, taking a number and waiting outside. They store their bikes at the rack surrounded by flyers and posters.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbBhEkL0l2x90t2VdoUDv3ReLwdzsjaOqoVjIm1W4ADVUrHk8hGS2CGU1SNrvS9oDKPFYQ0cH13Z-D_b69ihZ2HeGMDHfkgB_6lOIxfY2TjrWeOjgJ522oneS4SHsTpmMKnBCK7wKw9qt/s1600/DSCN8221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbBhEkL0l2x90t2VdoUDv3ReLwdzsjaOqoVjIm1W4ADVUrHk8hGS2CGU1SNrvS9oDKPFYQ0cH13Z-D_b69ihZ2HeGMDHfkgB_6lOIxfY2TjrWeOjgJ522oneS4SHsTpmMKnBCK7wKw9qt/s400/DSCN8221.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All these things I love about my street but it's not the thing I love most. Until Sunday I wasn't really sure what the small relief/wall statue was that I look at everyday. So I asked my go to guy on all things Florence my friend Eli. As we were walking toward my building I asked, " Hey Eli, what is that ?" and I pointed down the street to where Borgo Pinti intersects Via Laura. He asked if I was talking about the tabernacolo. Is that what it's called? Yes, that is what I was asking about because everyday when I walk out the door and look left I see it, staring back at me. It sits just beside the street sign that says Borgo Pinti.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFs1s2hwQKZNyTDY8m9yLIhB9abHBp50I0Jeg-hATRQt-p3THJuG9lYgOcfuRLtgHpCoxg17oeGlC64yavNt6yC_6qwDagcHLS50AgG943-ME5I-SijU6_3t-zWGhkpp8QYRUk75w0uLc/s1600/DSCN8477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlFs1s2hwQKZNyTDY8m9yLIhB9abHBp50I0Jeg-hATRQt-p3THJuG9lYgOcfuRLtgHpCoxg17oeGlC64yavNt6yC_6qwDagcHLS50AgG943-ME5I-SijU6_3t-zWGhkpp8QYRUk75w0uLc/s400/DSCN8477.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eli explained it is one of many tabernacles found throughout Florence usually located at where 2 streets intersect. He said it was there to give protection of the residents who live on that street. WOW, I have a guardian angel watching over me, who needs mace.</div><br />
Now I'm no stranger to superstition and I love me some icons and such. I have evil eyes and Buddhas. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9yq9GuLTejWzx4D33HIYfsMHTOK1BB8gMkhd05lB4jQjRe-R6TKTUcCLvliWvXDfq7hb-hAtzNY3AQA4Dhcu7idsRfy-Ia2uEK8ZMarnf76UJQ5zNS05UZ46lUXKQGygHWh4wx_qyas9G/s1600/DSCN8487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9yq9GuLTejWzx4D33HIYfsMHTOK1BB8gMkhd05lB4jQjRe-R6TKTUcCLvliWvXDfq7hb-hAtzNY3AQA4Dhcu7idsRfy-Ia2uEK8ZMarnf76UJQ5zNS05UZ46lUXKQGygHWh4wx_qyas9G/s320/DSCN8487.JPG" width="231" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQ0Xabmby24EmUIKYyO49B0sx3GvRWOVO8cstz9zbc_VXEyLb8bf91JpFkvqVkVmV2PW28gJJqo8-rUWmSpiqkIw_DNeBO4gDIOsDjWDPNXBXAlHJAbuHry7516PAUnqlWek1MXo1KZHa/s1600/DSCN8490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQ0Xabmby24EmUIKYyO49B0sx3GvRWOVO8cstz9zbc_VXEyLb8bf91JpFkvqVkVmV2PW28gJJqo8-rUWmSpiqkIw_DNeBO4gDIOsDjWDPNXBXAlHJAbuHry7516PAUnqlWek1MXo1KZHa/s320/DSCN8490.JPG" width="249" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I have lucky owls, frogs and fish</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs9E9v667xfOOAfqbQtvRqbkD4ARa8KuI0bLcVl4Cn3-hiCC5lMLYw6iRWhgqAYjCXPDI6q95pAx4CT2GPj20sdBvF3zs6h66qaaBYr2pvzwy-hg3XvvCvUG5hM_2WX7gk6oDjKdL_J9g/s1600/DSCN8492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijs9E9v667xfOOAfqbQtvRqbkD4ARa8KuI0bLcVl4Cn3-hiCC5lMLYw6iRWhgqAYjCXPDI6q95pAx4CT2GPj20sdBvF3zs6h66qaaBYr2pvzwy-hg3XvvCvUG5hM_2WX7gk6oDjKdL_J9g/s320/DSCN8492.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEsHYPHy7zT33pe3vykRnXZfx4L4Cb0n6KQItHHHWUvTgJJN9C9SrzexbNAjNQrLf0wGzIVp9dvX5vkZpJLXkTL1n69pSM4Mlhtqpgeryr_Ixin3dn7C5xVXBe6dCCntatWEiRGaId_Us/s1600/DSCN8489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEsHYPHy7zT33pe3vykRnXZfx4L4Cb0n6KQItHHHWUvTgJJN9C9SrzexbNAjNQrLf0wGzIVp9dvX5vkZpJLXkTL1n69pSM4Mlhtqpgeryr_Ixin3dn7C5xVXBe6dCCntatWEiRGaId_Us/s320/DSCN8489.JPG" width="312" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then........ I have my saints, I have St Anthony given to me by my mother's friend Anna ( from Frosinone near Rome) This one I was told to put upside down in my closet to deliver me a " good guy" Sorry to report St. Anthony has been slacking on the job!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kRtDbSmHjyXb8f2zwFkTiAJFQhO4YUBF4hj7VyKBT11OEsadSxYC70aepzf9_8nSvzLiETZSyDy_j4kkIvplAz6gex5eTFXK0FD6tSo-nFjJhxsQ3iCbwKthBN8NZZ_sLITexOOsjIox/s1600/DSCN8496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kRtDbSmHjyXb8f2zwFkTiAJFQhO4YUBF4hj7VyKBT11OEsadSxYC70aepzf9_8nSvzLiETZSyDy_j4kkIvplAz6gex5eTFXK0FD6tSo-nFjJhxsQ3iCbwKthBN8NZZ_sLITexOOsjIox/s400/DSCN8496.JPG" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I also have St. Lucas Patron St. of Artists</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzjmrR9XBxtAxV2d6WMo6I7uGcNQsPKYyZSNth5fz9GIjdmb27q4Uq39T0WWQ_RWo-PT56QTc54yOJwfSWvaIqagZYytA9kU8ae0J2vLPW2-CrGLedVLIx7cLIeHyU2z2pnOJsypEDE5-/s1600/DSCN8494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzjmrR9XBxtAxV2d6WMo6I7uGcNQsPKYyZSNth5fz9GIjdmb27q4Uq39T0WWQ_RWo-PT56QTc54yOJwfSWvaIqagZYytA9kU8ae0J2vLPW2-CrGLedVLIx7cLIeHyU2z2pnOJsypEDE5-/s400/DSCN8494.JPG" width="285" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
And very important for any Jewish girl, the Madonna and Child from Romania</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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NOW, I learn I have another at the end of my street. It is the Madonna and Child and she watches over the residents of Via Laura, which means me. Well I did some google digging after confirming what Eli said was true with the guy that works at the Tabacchi and this is what I found.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are said to be over 1200 tabernacles in Florence!! They are found through Italy but especially so in Florence. In a nutshell ,most of these were made and installed to first fight off the heretics of the catholic church and then the plague of the 14th century. Desperate times call for desperate measures, ( which I think is what Anna told me when she handed over St. Anthony)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Great article found here if you want to read up and lists a bunch of tabernacles around town</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For me , I'm content with my tabernacle and I give her a nod everyday :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-75401414385751950382011-07-19T13:54:00.003+02:002011-07-19T14:00:15.262+02:00The Baby DoorBack in April my friend Philipp was visiting from Germany. I had met Philipp the first month I was here almost 3 years ago in my language class and despite our huge age difference became great friends, he's like a kid brother to me.<br />
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It had been almost 2 years since I had seen Philipp and also I think since he had been back to Florence. We were walking to aperitivo the evening he arrived and he was trying to get his bearings on the location of my new apartment. We walked across Piazza Annunziata ( more formerly known as Piazza Santissima Annunziata). As we entered the piazza he said, "Oh, I know this piazza!! This is the piazza with the baby door!"<br />
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I looked at him as if he had already had too much to drink and repeated, "The baby door? Philipp, what are talking about? What's a baby door?" He said, "Andrea! THE BABY DOOR! You know it is the door where they put the babies!" I said, "Where they put the babies? What babies? Whose babies? WTF are you talking about Philipp?" I was totally confused. He went on to say there is a door where the people put the babies in a box that they don't want and then they put the box in the door. It took me a minute and I said," like in the movies when someone puts a baby in a basket and leaves it at the door of someones home or at a church?" He said, " YES! OF COURSE!!" ( of course being his favorite expression). " Really? In this piazza? Are you sure? How do you know?" He said, " Because everyone knows about the baby door!" Well I didn't! Where is it? He did not know but was sure it is in this piazza.<br />
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For one year, everyday I am in town I walk across Piazza Annunziata and have never heard of or seen a baby door. I see gypsies, I see tourists, a church, a statue, on some Saturdays a farmers market, a cafe , no baby door. About a month goes by and I had forgotten about the baby door until one night when I was walking with my friend Mary ( from Rome but studying here in Florence) and I asked her," Hey Mary, did you know there is a baby door in this piazza?" She said, " Siiiiiii! Infatti!!!" I asked if she knew where it was and she said no, but it is here. I thought how does everyone know about this baby door but no one knows where it is.<br />
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I would continue to look for this "baby door". Not everyday, but on the days I remembered to look. I looked at windows and mail slots and was picturing a tiny little door that maybe one of these guys would walk through:<br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Fast forward to Sunday. I had met my friend Eli for an afternoon cocktail to catch up, it had been months since I've seen him. Albanian by birth but having lived in Florence for most of his life, Eli knows a ton about this city. He studied at The University if Firenze and is totally up on the history of this city. Great thing about hanging with Eli is his English sucks so it's always good for practicing my Italian. Anyway, he was walking me home and as we come to Piazza Annunziata I ask him , "Eli, do you know about the baby door, la porta di bambina?" He says yes that he knows. I ask if he knows where it is and he says, " SI!!! Lo so!" He knows! He knows! Finally someone knows where it is!! I ask him to show me and with that comes a history lesson about the building that holds " the baby door"<br />
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Cliff notes version is as follows: The Santissima Annunziata ( the church) is on the North side of the square. The original church which was a tiny little church was built there in 1250, the church building that stands there now was built in the 15th century. I have to admit until Sunday I had never gone inside, my miss because it is really unlike any other church in Florence, very Baroque and ornate, quite beautiful. The church gets it's name from a famous painting inside that depicts the Annunciation. That's all I got on the church because religion and churches are for sure a phone a friend catagory for me.<br />
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On the East side of the piazza is the Spedale Degli Innocenti, and this is where you find the baby door. The Spedale Degli Innocenti is said to be Europe's first orphanage, opened in 1445. Eli explained that the door was actually like a window with a wheel like shelf. When women birthed unwanted children they put them on the wheel and rang a bell. The wheel would turn inward bringing the baby into the building allowing for anonymity. Today the Spedale houses a museum and the offices of UNICEF.<br />
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This city is filled with so much history, you learn something everyday, just walking around. I had never really taken much notice of this building. As I photographed it I noticed the ceramic reliefs of babies above the arches of the portico and wondered how I had missed that. In the far northeastern corner of the Spedale, tucked under an archway lies " the baby door"<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC2J3Gg1MkMVWQt77Wif8u0m3kbR_qslEtrSIP7tNHFMMQptd48NLJheXV9DOgUppRz1t8T0_d_W5PSxaPT8bmioDIftPNuJZPvMM9Whwb2gI_MrmiB5pSbHB_ArxMGMuTX4hMFXsKzt6y/s1600/DSCN8447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC2J3Gg1MkMVWQt77Wif8u0m3kbR_qslEtrSIP7tNHFMMQptd48NLJheXV9DOgUppRz1t8T0_d_W5PSxaPT8bmioDIftPNuJZPvMM9Whwb2gI_MrmiB5pSbHB_ArxMGMuTX4hMFXsKzt6y/s400/DSCN8447.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKC_NxZnSZXuSWavDc8mVuCib9b7j5Q8GSgzvFiRSQJqnzs-E__vKz3rweIy-AHpiqDqFzeuwnc1AJfkH40w7aXkZdBkXn4unJn5dkmcsaVvrE1oK9eGFI4fMc2d_pY9_VvnII60bWaMG_/s1600/DSCN8451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKC_NxZnSZXuSWavDc8mVuCib9b7j5Q8GSgzvFiRSQJqnzs-E__vKz3rweIy-AHpiqDqFzeuwnc1AJfkH40w7aXkZdBkXn4unJn5dkmcsaVvrE1oK9eGFI4fMc2d_pY9_VvnII60bWaMG_/s400/DSCN8451.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Built over 4 centries and finished in 1875</div><div style="text-align: center;">The wheel of the innocents</div><div style="text-align: center;">Secret refuge of the misery and guilty</div><div style="text-align: center;">for the perpetual succor</div><div style="text-align: center;">of love which never shut the doors</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOVVF_QOCzpF-hLOVxNkTMkX0clT7WVAe70DkPhul6FGPz2-lnYaELKC4QiB62SnY6UDzMuddkYsLrlYyOOQ-ltrWAIEkF-mfsfO1TXc72y5OsKWDos1G3ETLXTwC4voqmXRrfEs0PqPB/s1600/DSCN8453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOVVF_QOCzpF-hLOVxNkTMkX0clT7WVAe70DkPhul6FGPz2-lnYaELKC4QiB62SnY6UDzMuddkYsLrlYyOOQ-ltrWAIEkF-mfsfO1TXc72y5OsKWDos1G3ETLXTwC4voqmXRrfEs0PqPB/s640/DSCN8453.JPG" width="403" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The baby door</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-49318427366786077852011-07-18T13:01:00.000+02:002011-07-18T13:01:58.359+02:00Daytrippin: Il Passo di ConsumaFellow blogger Christine of " Ciao Christy" has started a Monday series called La Dolce Vita. She has been so kind to invite fellow bloggers to share posts about what makes life sweet :)<br />
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<center><a href="http://ciaochristy.blogspot.com/"><img border="0" src="http://i1197.photobucket.com/albums/aa421/Ciaochristy/DolceVita.jpg" /></a></center><br />
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Definitely a "Dolce Vita" kind of day!<br />
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One of the things I miss most about living in Florence is a car. I used to drive EVERYWHERE! I loved driving! The thing about living in Tuscany is there are a ton of awesome places to go out of the city, most reachable by train or bus but it's not the same as being in a car out on the smaller roads where the vistas are for me, the most beautiful.<br />
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Not having my own car or even a motorino I'm dependent on friends who do to go to these places where a) a car is necessary or b) is just way more convenient. So when my friend Laura invited me to go for a drive with her, her husband Marco and brother Doug, I said HELL YEAH!<br />
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Around noon on Saturday I met up with them for a drive to the Passo della Consuma. It's a long windy road up and over the hills that connect the provinces of Arezzo and Firenze. The countryside is spectacular plus it's like 10 degrees cooler up there ( which was welcome after the recent heat wave). Our first stop was the abbey at Vallombrosa.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipao1zWkaIjEZova_NxXHusiX9N7pVfnhhlRdygB8ocrQVx_f8dwM0iTJgIO4IJUY2tvM5HU8vf-niO671ly9L4z6_eW9jTf8WIOEehqz4j61oHECW0Ubmm7HjIJa4R3-nNL8dR8KmweI4/s1600/DSCN8332.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipao1zWkaIjEZova_NxXHusiX9N7pVfnhhlRdygB8ocrQVx_f8dwM0iTJgIO4IJUY2tvM5HU8vf-niO671ly9L4z6_eW9jTf8WIOEehqz4j61oHECW0Ubmm7HjIJa4R3-nNL8dR8KmweI4/s400/DSCN8332.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>We walked around the grounds a bit, took a bunch of photos and then headed to a well known but far removed sandwich shop located along Il Passo Della Consuma called the Chalet il Valico. Laura and Marco had been there a bunch of times before. The place is basically a shack on a mountain frequented by Italian motorcyclists decked out from head to toe in matchy -matchy leather biker wear ( and they wear it well). Think Harley enthusiasts go Armani. I especially get a kick out of the guys with the aerodynamic fins on their backs. Anyway, this place is known for their VERY rustic sandwiches, meat and cheese on schiacciata bread ( Tuscan focaccia). The sandwiches were HUGE and a little difficult for me to eat as I am still recovering from the dentist.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_8p7Y4aGC0nAFPstx7MhLAwqbHshwsCyVsGx0ZyAMhfJ_I7ijU0VaiGor_Bn79-yJQC7eu8U9zv8ZUfosZvnZ1SGAs_MlkZ_n5nQV99gXX5jdAe8hELD8-gHo2MomxI8sXH43lcS96gr/s1600/DSCN8341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_8p7Y4aGC0nAFPstx7MhLAwqbHshwsCyVsGx0ZyAMhfJ_I7ijU0VaiGor_Bn79-yJQC7eu8U9zv8ZUfosZvnZ1SGAs_MlkZ_n5nQV99gXX5jdAe8hELD8-gHo2MomxI8sXH43lcS96gr/s400/DSCN8341.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSgFhCBA-v0N3zeYk6L7hkk2Pwl91zLSYEytnBot9Q7cdhUnBRUMH4vTo4tmyjiP98IP105pQLM7hIuCk-o7nuNtJO5_GY3BuiiCcBLrEpZ1DXOK8yZYgKfBNk3vmfKBNxwjLB1eqEZiE/s1600/DSCN8345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFSgFhCBA-v0N3zeYk6L7hkk2Pwl91zLSYEytnBot9Q7cdhUnBRUMH4vTo4tmyjiP98IP105pQLM7hIuCk-o7nuNtJO5_GY3BuiiCcBLrEpZ1DXOK8yZYgKfBNk3vmfKBNxwjLB1eqEZiE/s400/DSCN8345.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Laura's brother Doug with all 4 sandwiches</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLs2ipGgeus3pKXGdGEc_gB6xpntpH7VjbwDhyphenhyphenFjcDEA0B3_VGz7Uw9PICbO851F8cCLttjKzt3HyrdDkU6ScQUNLJOkYjGOWnMq2vGo-saOWO6mUwhi_gjbyZB142NeNcAWLVI-aHS_K/s1600/DSCN8350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLs2ipGgeus3pKXGdGEc_gB6xpntpH7VjbwDhyphenhyphenFjcDEA0B3_VGz7Uw9PICbO851F8cCLttjKzt3HyrdDkU6ScQUNLJOkYjGOWnMq2vGo-saOWO6mUwhi_gjbyZB142NeNcAWLVI-aHS_K/s400/DSCN8350.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dessert: La Bomba- had chocolate pudding inside- YUM!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After lunch we went for a drive to the Castel Castagnaio ( which was closed) but the drive was real pretty and tested Laura's driving skills. Bonus, meeting the fat beagle who I thought was pregnant at the bottom of the hill. Her name is Zara.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Finally we headed out to Poppi, a town in Arezzo province. Poppi's claim to fame is that it's one of the places Dante stayed during his exile from Florence and the of course the medieval Il Castello di Poppi. Super cute town, like one of the perched villages in Provence, great way to spend a Saturday.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRBDiYG7oXimKbJEYUsvT-H7IyGfylxV-k6mnTb8_hUa6Cx4weBFDT5v_h-RUet2QeXL9Rp6-h4QD1YS46zpLK_iLXOwb97v37mF-C9rceTU_8wP1JJCTdNlucqfVX0Wp91L2AdY59Qr0/s1600/DSCN8435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRBDiYG7oXimKbJEYUsvT-H7IyGfylxV-k6mnTb8_hUa6Cx4weBFDT5v_h-RUet2QeXL9Rp6-h4QD1YS46zpLK_iLXOwb97v37mF-C9rceTU_8wP1JJCTdNlucqfVX0Wp91L2AdY59Qr0/s400/DSCN8435.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-90426383280365508562011-07-17T14:07:00.000+02:002011-07-17T14:07:53.322+02:00READ THE SIGN STUPID!On Friday I spent the day tooling around town with my friend Laura and her brother Doug who is visiting from Vancouver. They are both cellists and since Laura is Canadian and immune from bragging I'll do it for her. They are both playing a few Italy tour dates with Sting at the end of the month and in fact Laura has a solo!!!<br />
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Anyway it was still super hot on Friday but on the way back from the stairs that lead to Piazzale Michaelangelo ( we were too hot to walk up) we stopped at one of the many outdoor temporary bars that pop up in city during the summer. This one is called Easy Living and has a great location under a cluster of trees, where it is so breezy you forget it's 100 degrees outside. It also overlooks a make shift beach if you can call it that.<br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We originally stopped for " a drink" but ended up hanging out there for a few hours enjoying Bacardi Breezers, the breeze was great and the only thing that could have made it better was if they had hammocks. As we were leaving we noticed a bunch of these great signs. Below are the basic translations. Funny stuff!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyG-mxAmasHaJUck_zrMTYF8Sv0s_ziFM2riOi75NNya1lskUkwidui-SZ86ANDLPrUt7q6CJ1NAPKOn2H9L2WVvpP3EyHTPkldlK9mzByHviCW-bNhgs1AQnJvZKR6qwsoWnYalJBAt54/s1600/DSCN8267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyG-mxAmasHaJUck_zrMTYF8Sv0s_ziFM2riOi75NNya1lskUkwidui-SZ86ANDLPrUt7q6CJ1NAPKOn2H9L2WVvpP3EyHTPkldlK9mzByHviCW-bNhgs1AQnJvZKR6qwsoWnYalJBAt54/s400/DSCN8267.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The force of gravity: do not challenge her she always wins. Basically don't sit on the edge because you will fall over and die and then become an angel and go up to heaven.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWlGOJk680NDyJnhX6tpCxRnNp5eSP0Fkm_H3jeltUHPErTXUiFu_cBhucUIiR7sEtggytngm1I-So8VPqpWTg0dgJIjU76XWQA0fovqwsasfNjozK0bcD0pwRubVGPH9e6G8HpcUTv5d/s1600/DSCN8269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWlGOJk680NDyJnhX6tpCxRnNp5eSP0Fkm_H3jeltUHPErTXUiFu_cBhucUIiR7sEtggytngm1I-So8VPqpWTg0dgJIjU76XWQA0fovqwsasfNjozK0bcD0pwRubVGPH9e6G8HpcUTv5d/s400/DSCN8269.JPG" width="303" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Large open space: Noise travels!!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpOqAZMkPWTrxYIowkb1TMJ-qHWzGI2lSf4UhQ0uy6vQWkgy1kZ-EJ0XPLz95UpJkPr_LzHt68KIFlVrnl2mMaQgN-9jffOsyqE1fXOf4HETaq7NTF5896-WznVY2ezvjV59GPiKSqCnx/s1600/DSCN8272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpOqAZMkPWTrxYIowkb1TMJ-qHWzGI2lSf4UhQ0uy6vQWkgy1kZ-EJ0XPLz95UpJkPr_LzHt68KIFlVrnl2mMaQgN-9jffOsyqE1fXOf4HETaq7NTF5896-WznVY2ezvjV59GPiKSqCnx/s400/DSCN8272.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Contemporary art installation other wise known as trash bins!!The trash bin art installation is not going anywhere so use them. I like the big brains don't litter :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9ukicgKFiKR5wtKQ-YKPgZXgqmACim6O7frs7xmPV7QO4dNwAtmLEY12Lun4kQDjeGK43UcSlrp6zEcDPFJrrVuqthmg3kPLbIGBhNB6AqUuV4PHO1Y0w0duG2qTmRhRzeA3_UkKnWK_/s1600/DSCN8275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9ukicgKFiKR5wtKQ-YKPgZXgqmACim6O7frs7xmPV7QO4dNwAtmLEY12Lun4kQDjeGK43UcSlrp6zEcDPFJrrVuqthmg3kPLbIGBhNB6AqUuV4PHO1Y0w0duG2qTmRhRzeA3_UkKnWK_/s400/DSCN8275.JPG" width="353" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't park here!! Tow zone and if we tow your car or ticket it , it will cost more than a taxi!! </div><div style="text-align: center;">Angels park where they are supposed to and devils do not!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JTaEA6ekrvhJTWCbkxp-TfjkJ5hyphenhyphenPdI1VXR9HK9rVjrp2JglKa7TfH__FS9kN6I4h59vQSt16bc3v20ia3p78c4fdui-GFKx60vvyhKRxz1LndCVZA9YFwzoyHpXN3mYYWM0aYevUrtA/s1600/DSCN8273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JTaEA6ekrvhJTWCbkxp-TfjkJ5hyphenhyphenPdI1VXR9HK9rVjrp2JglKa7TfH__FS9kN6I4h59vQSt16bc3v20ia3p78c4fdui-GFKx60vvyhKRxz1LndCVZA9YFwzoyHpXN3mYYWM0aYevUrtA/s400/DSCN8273.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's OK to drink, it's not OK to drink until you puke!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0SBARvcsZnV8RvbE0vqHtPST6Trhw967n10y8jvwTOO-PCNJPPbjJHTjM02v19S5pI317MXhh_qIbud0q-kquzV2hPzsOXRln9KZJFiPW0V9B89sHXPCu_pMVggUnRq5yburJNjS0XhR/s1600/DSCN8271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0SBARvcsZnV8RvbE0vqHtPST6Trhw967n10y8jvwTOO-PCNJPPbjJHTjM02v19S5pI317MXhh_qIbud0q-kquzV2hPzsOXRln9KZJFiPW0V9B89sHXPCu_pMVggUnRq5yburJNjS0XhR/s400/DSCN8271.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mark their territory!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Be educated and don't piss on a tree, use the toilette!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(this one mainly applies to guys)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And Finally just for fun:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Creepy Tim Burtonesque Squirrel!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-55857107453031309902011-07-14T20:06:00.000+02:002011-07-14T20:06:12.092+02:00DEAL OR NO DEAL: The follow upThe following is all true and no embellishment was necessary because, well, it's Italy :)<br />
Key Code: <span style="background-color: yellow;">Yellow,things that would never be heard said in a US dentists office or in any other dentists office.</span><br />
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I was late. Not that late, but fashionably, Italian late to my 11:30 appointment this morning with the Dentist. I woke up late, mainly because those damn sleep drops either didn't work or I didn't read the directions properly( which is the more likely) and it was 4 am before I fell asleep.<br />
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I could have rushed out and been on time but I've been trying to make more of an effort on the cute front these days, so I was late. I rushed in and swung the door open only to realize I had smashed it into the person behind the door. Mi dispiace! Mi dispiace! ( I'm sorry) Non ti ho visto ( I didn't see you).How could I see him, he was behind the door, hanging a diploma, his diploma, he being the son.<br />
He said, niente (no problem ) and smiled and I swear his teeth actually sparkled, ting!<br />
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I tried not to seem flustered but suddenly I heard some twisted version of the song "Son of a Preacherman", in my head " The only boy who could ever teach me was the Son of a Dentistman" and instantly turned into Marcia Brady from that episode when she falls in love with her dentist.<br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unfortunately I was there to see the banker, I mean the dentist from yesterday, his dad, who was waiting for me. After I apologized again and he made some lame joke about having to reschedule and then he showed me in of course stopping at the blue shoe bag machine. I took my camera out and took a pic as I stomped my foot in, then I heard the Dr," what are you doing? " I answered,"I'm taking a picture" to which he said, <span style="background-color: yellow;">" Of what your sexy feet?"</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Now I've probably been here too long because all I thought was, really? my feet are sexy? cool.</span><br />
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I'm settled in the chair and doc asks what are we doing today. I tell him just the bonding of the 2 teeth. He seems disappointed I am passing on the bite plate and I tell him I just can't do it right now ( it's my 3rd one) he says<span style="background-color: yellow;">,"well I can make it for you now but you can pay me in September or October."</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Can you imagine, in the US a dentist telling you that , with no deposit or letting you walk out of the office as I did yesterday as a first time patient without paying and only leaving a partial address, no phone number, no I.D. The honor system is alive and well in Firenze it seems. Still even with a delayed payment plan I pass.He told me I needed 3 teeth done but he will give me a deal today 3 for the price of 2. Fantastic!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Conversation snippets and such over the next 45 minutes ( which seemed pretty speedy for bonding teeth to me) went like this.</span><br />
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<strong>Fidanzato</strong>: ( Fiance') While looking in my mouth the Dr. says," Your fiance will be happy." ( I think to myself, I don't have a fiance, I don't even have a boyfriend, what's he talking about) I said, "I have no fiance'", he says," <span style="background-color: yellow;">of course you don't, look at your teeth, no one wants to kiss those two teeth. But afterward with the better teeth your new fiance' will be happy."</span><span style="background-color: white;"> I figure GREAT! better teeth and a boyfriend ( is your son available?) He continues," <span style="background-color: yellow;">and he will want to kiss you all the day with your beautiful mouth and</span><span style="background-color: yellow;"> </span><span style="background-color: yellow;">beautiful teeth</span> ( actually he said it in Italan, bellissima boca e denti belli). Will you be happy with your new fiance'? I told him of course and then said, " But you know who will be happier than me?" he said chi (who) and I told him, mia mama! Well it seems mama humor translates.</span><br />
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<strong>The mouth vaccuum</strong>: He starts prepping the dental tools and informs me that we will go without numbing today because he does not believe I need it. Really? Really? my mouth is killing me and you are going to be poking around in there, yes I need it. He assures me I do not. <span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">Why? Because he says,"</span> I am gentile with the women, I know the womens teeth."</span><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">He starts sanding or something and I am choking and I wave my arms and ask where is the mouth vacuum, the thing that sucks the stuff out of your mouth and he says," It is the fault of my assistant, she does not love me" at which point he yells, DANIELLA! and tells her he needs the suction.</span><br />
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<strong>MUSICAL BREAK:</strong> Dr. sings <span style="background-color: yellow;">" What a beautiful mouth, la, la la, What horrible teeth, la la la"</span><br />
* Note: I have perfectly straight teeth, have never had braces!<br />
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<strong>Color choices:</strong> As he is working on my teeth he asks, "If I can not get the color exact do you prefer a brownish/ gray tone or would you prefer clear" WTF is he talking about and I shot him a look because his hands were in my mouth. He said, Oh I think you prefer clear, your mind has no secrets from me, I know everything you think, so be careful what you think about Rachael"<br />
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The assistant is now back in the room and standing next to me with some sort of laser or something. He is doing his dental thing and then he says what I think is BITE. So I close my mouth a little and I hear BITE so I chomp down and he says OUCH!!! RACHAEL! WHY DID YOU BITE ME??? He is shaking his hand, WHY , WHY DID YOU BITE ME???? And his tools are still in my mouth and I wave my arms so he will take it out so I can talk. I am laughing and apologizing at the same time. He didn't say BITE he said VAI , which means go, do it and he was talking to the assistant to hit the resin with the laser VAI!! OMG I was horrified, I bit the dentist.<br />
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I am happy to say it did not kill his wacky mood. The assistant is now in place as she is constantly hitting the laser when he says vai, and I didn't bite him again. Instead, I watched like a ping pong game the conversation between him and the assistant that is the same conversation I hear while waiting 15 minutes on line behind someone at the grocery store, the post office, the cafe. The conversation that tries every bit of patience of an American while waiting to pay for something in Italy. The conversation of the person in front of you and the cashier. Well my dentist and his assistant were having the same conversation, how is your family, how do you think about the weather? how is the panini at that new cafe that opened up? blah blah blah . Italian small talk.<br />
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Finally he is finished and when he clears everything from my mouth I ask ,"who's Rachael? He says, Rachael? Yes, who's Rachael? Non ho capito ( I don't understand) " I said," Chi Rachael? You kept saying Rachael" and then it dawned on me, He was calling me Rachael. I said, " My name is not Rachael" He said, "It's not?", and I said," No it's ANDREA!!" and that's why I bit you :)<br />
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I paid and as I left he yelled after me, " Ciao Bella!!! Rachael, remember we close on July 27 and do not open again until Sept 5" and I thought of course you do it's AUGUST in ITALY!andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-14220848453001977562011-07-13T19:02:00.000+02:002011-07-13T19:02:48.857+02:00DEAL or NO DEAL: The Dental EditionSo I just walked in from the dentist. I have been to doctors here in Italy before like the time I ended up in the ER in Rome with horrible stomach cramps to have the attending (and I'm pretty sure the janitor who was assisting her, he was sweeping before she called him in the room) tell me "hai troppo caca", that basically I was full of shit. This however was my first trip to the dentist and since I have another appointment tomorrow, not my last.<br />
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Here's the deal, I am a self proclaimed hypochondriac. It's not normal hypochondria , it's Jewish mother propelled hypochondria, the very worst kind. It runs rampant in Jewish families ( especially those from NY & NJ). It could have something to do with the mother constantly saying," go to the docta!!" I'm not the only one, both my sister and brother are afflicted with this, I'm not as bad as they are because I don't use Web MD, that would just put me over the edge. I love how my mom always says, " I don't know why all you kids are like this!", Ummm........ maybe because we have a neurotic mother? Just a guess.<br />
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Anyhoo, I'm a teeth grinder in my sleep, numerous bite plates later, none of which have helped and I have turned the backs of my 2 lower bottom teeth into razors which are cutting my tongue at night. Sounds grosser than it is, that said, it's making me CRAZY!! I go back to the States in 3 weeks for a visit and a trade show and have already made an appointment with my dentist but this morning I couldn't take it and with mom in my ear " go to the docta!!!!" I buckled, called and got an appointment for this afternoon with a dentist.<br />
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The dentist is part of a father/ son practice and the younger has his masters in dentistry from University of Michigan so I figured it was a safe bet. The father dentist ( who I saw) did speak English ( kind of) , his staff however did not, I was able to bumble through. What I was not able to bumble through was the 10 pages of medical history in Italian, and for some reason all those diseases sound scarier in Italian, so I just filled in my name, address and birth date and called it a paperwork day.<br />
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The dental assistant calls me back and right off the bat asks me to place my foot ( with flip flop) in a metal shoebox of sorts with blue plastic in it, so I did. She said, "piu' forte!" ( harder, and made a stomping motion) I stomped! "piu' forte! (and I stomped) PIU' FORTE!!!!" Finally I heard a BRAVA because I now had a blue plastic shoe cover like the surgeons wear on my left foot. I got the right foot on the first try.<br />
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Gotta say the doc was very nice even if he thought I was nuts. Super quick dental exam, no poking with metal tools, a quick spritz of air and a peek in my mouth, a few xrays and a rinse, exam done. Good news, even with all that gelato I eat, no cavities, and I have young, healthy teeth and mouth bones. Bad news, yes, my teeth from grinding at night have turned into, in his words, not mine, the tools with which you cut the meat.( I know there is a joke in there but I'm not touching it) :) Like little knives those two teeth are he said.<br />
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He suggested I get a bite plate, I told him I had one and produced it from my purse at which point after looking at it he literally, no joke, threw it in the trash bin. He took it back out ( it was for theatrics) and said I may as well throw it away, it was terrible ( I paid 500 US for that terrible bite plate, but he was right). I need a new one AND to bond the backs of the two little knives in my mouth. OK, well what's this gonna cost me because I have no dental insurance here ( or in the States, I know, I know). He tells me he doesn't like money, he will send the assistant in to discuss money with me ( the assistant who speaks no English).<br />
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The assistant comes in and rattles off a bunch of stuff and then a price. I couldn't have heard her correct, could I have? Ripeta (repeat) I say, and she repeats, I heard right 1,050.00 Euro, that's about 1500 bucks!! For what!! in between my laughter I ask ( that you have too much shit ER visit was 40 Euro!!)<br />
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Bite Plate 500 E<br />
Bonding 180E per tooth = 360E<br />
Teeth cleaning 100E<br />
Visit + Xrays + the mouthwash to rinse while I was in the chair ( following "paying for your shampoo at the salon" rule) 90E<br />
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Well that's not happening. Not today. And so begins a game of deal or no deal.<br />
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Me: Doctor, how much just for today's visit, exam and xrays?<br />
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DR. I don't like to talk money, I don't like money. ( Uh, well you do cause you just quoted over 1,000 Euro!!)<br />
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Me: Ok, but if you did like money, how much?<br />
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Dr. 170 E<br />
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Me: But in the breakdown it was 90E?<br />
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Dr. Siiii, but that is with the bite plate discount<br />
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Me: OK, but I can't spend 700 dollars on a bite plate today<br />
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DR: It is only 500<br />
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Me: Yes, but in crappy US dollars it's 700<br />
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DR: Yes, I see your problem, we take the teeth cleaning away less 100 E<br />
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Me: Yeaaaah.... still can not<br />
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DR: So you just get the two teeth fixed today, OK?<br />
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Me: How much for that?<br />
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DR: How will you pay<br />
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Me: Visa<br />
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DR: 400 E ,200 per tooth<br />
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Me: What happened to the 360 E, 180 per tooth<br />
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Dr: That's the discount if you pay in cash<br />
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Me: Hmmmm<br />
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He could see my nerves becoming frayed. He asked why am I so nervous? DUDE! I'm nervous cause I'm on a budget and my teeth hurt!!! It's at this point where he prescribes 2 different drops for me. The first one I use at night, 10 drops on my tongue 1 hour before bed, he said he gives it to his wife and her nervous friends." What is it? It relaxes you. Oh, like a xanax? Yes, like xanax but also to help you sleep." Alrighty then! He then tells me, " the second drop use when you wake up if after the night drops you feel not relaxed . Put 15 drops on your tongue, or maybe only 11 drops or maybe you will need 12 drops. You must try different amounts to see what is right, what is not too much." I ask how will I know if its too much and he replied in very technical medical terminology, " If you feel blahhhh, lala, then that is too much" It's like freakin St John's Wort Russian Roulette I'm gonna be playing with these drops!<br />
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We finally come to an agreement that I will make a tentative appointment for tomorrow for the bonding but will think about it tonight ( I wanted to call the dentist back home and see how much it cost there) and will hold off on the bite plate for now. I go to checkout, my bill 170 E for today and then I hear him tell the staffer something, oh, I'm getting a discount tomorrow if I decide to bond the teeth even if I use the credit card, 360 E for both teeth.That's the bankers or should I say dentist's final offer. Ok, well I'll pay for today now and she says no you can pay tomorrow.<br />
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As I walked out I realized I just said DEAL because I have to go back tomorrow either way to pay him for today and once I'm in there with the blue plastic shoe covers on there will be no escaping.<br />
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To be continued......... (and I'm bringing the camera!!)andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-11338240592011132532011-07-12T16:15:00.000+02:002011-07-12T16:15:20.723+02:00Staying Cool During a Tuscan Heat WaveThere has been a serious heat wave for several days now. Thank goodness I have A/C, my last 2 apartments did not and after one Tuscan summer I knew better when renting this place. My electric bill this month will probably be equivalent to Berlusconi's salary, but I don't care. Drapes are drawn closed and I have those 2 little wall mounted Mitsubishi electric a/c units blasting!!!<br />
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On a usual day my diet resembles that of an American teenager, it always has. Example menu : pizza, candy, frozen fish sticks and some sort of ice cream or gelato. Why I don't weigh 650 lbs. is a mystery to me but I fear I may wake up one of these days looking like a "nutty professor " version of myself, which is probably why I have insomnia. <br />
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Now I know this is not what people think of when they think of great food in Italy, I do indulge in "normal" delicious Italian food as well. Food like this........<br />
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I just don't eat it on a daily basis, and definitely not when it is a real feel of 105 F with off the charts humidity, it's just too heavy for this heat.On days like this, it is becoming strictly a cold food on a stick, in a cup or in a cone diet.<br />
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After I finally dragged myself out of bed late morning and made my coffee I took a peek in the freezer for my dining options for the day. One tray of ice cubes and this<br />
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The 6 flavor assortment of icy pops! Cooling and low in calorie BUT not filling. I feared that even if I ate the entire box through the day I'd still be hungry ( and vitamin deficient).<br />
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SO, as much as did not want to be slammed in the face by the steamy, sticky blanket of 100 degree Tuscan air I made my way to the little bodega/cafe on the corner and in 10 minutes was back in my airconditioned apartment with this ...........................<br />
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Those that live here know what this is, for those that don't ................<br />
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It is 500 grammi di gelato!!! That's right! 500 grams of gelato, that is 1/2 a Kilo or 1.1 LBS of gelato!! Surely enough to feed an entire family dessert or in my case, breakfast, lunch and dinner TODAY!!!<br />
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Now in my dietary defense, the gelato is made with milk ( and that's good for ya, vitamin D) and I got 2 fruit flavors (which are usually not my favorite) , melone & fragola ( cantelope & strawberry) figuring they could almost cover my fruit portions for the day. The straciatella and cafe flavors I needed, because those ARE my favorites.<br />
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Buon appetito a me :))andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-31354552241422444222011-07-10T17:56:00.000+02:002011-07-10T17:56:32.101+02:00You live in Italy? That's AMAZING!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFpOzGJFi-nG5xJaSy33LOOv1zsIGl7b7nNQ74kH8IzSI6csNRRMnVPjgzq_h_oZj4JfSM0lBHyOhE2QPclWvoReqFlnOPbe_3Z_8UtMWbtRNRF1Us01hcYEKiwO8v4nRtAWIgGBuOOoc/s1600/DSC07217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFpOzGJFi-nG5xJaSy33LOOv1zsIGl7b7nNQ74kH8IzSI6csNRRMnVPjgzq_h_oZj4JfSM0lBHyOhE2QPclWvoReqFlnOPbe_3Z_8UtMWbtRNRF1Us01hcYEKiwO8v4nRtAWIgGBuOOoc/s400/DSC07217.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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When I decided to start blogging less than a week ago I was torn with what type of blog I would write. Personally I read for the most part travel blogs ( for my perpetual wanderlust) and twisted funny blogs ( because I like laughing) and I read a lot of expat blogs about people ( usually Americans) living in a host of different places. I decided I wanted my blog to be a mixture of all those things, mainly for friends and family but also anyone else wanting to pop by.<br />
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In less than a week and a long list of subjects I want to post about but I find myself a bit unnerved. Here's the thing I ask myself, will honesty come across as a Debbie Downer, will posting about fantastic places I visit come across as bragging, will the humor I find in some aspects of everyday life come across as poking fun at Italy? It's a hard balance to strike, for me at least. <br />
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I've always been a straight shooter, opinionated and honest to a fault. It's something else beside my coloring that have in common with the Italians. They have no problem with directness, blatantly staring or asking how old you are ( something Americans are taught that you do not ask a woman) or telling you your ass looks big in those jeans. So I'm going to take my cue from the Italians.<br />
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So back to the title of the post , "You live in Italy? That's AMAZING!!!"<br />
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I hear that alot, especially in my travels. People ask where I'm from and I answer New York but I live in Italy now. Every time ,without fail I hear some version of ," WOW! That's amazing, I love Italy, I wish I lived there." It's weird but for some reason that response always makes me a little uncomfortable and at first I wasn't sure why. Now I am. <br />
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So many people visit Italy and love it ( for good reason) so many people read about Italy and living here, for there are many people who dream of living here maybe imagining everyday is like the last scene in " Under the Tuscan Sun." I may have done that if my decision hadn't been so rushed. They read about the wonderful food and the scenery and etc. it all seems so perfect, all the time, and I have to admit yes, there are days like that, but not everyday.<br />
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Living here for an extended period of time, it's not like a movie, it's not like visiting or even like being here for a few months and not every day is the "good life" It just is not, not for anyone here or anywhere for that matter, because life doesn't work that way. Nobody's life is perfect filled with only aperitivo, love and good wine. Nobody's life only has ups and we all know that, no one is immune to the peaks and valleys of life. I 'm not sure if many people either don't realize that or they choose to just not think of it.<br />
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I am so fortunate to have seen the things and places in this world that I have. I am so fortunate to have the experience of living abroad and a family back in the US that supports that decision. I am so fortunate to be able to work for myself and live where I choose. I never forget this.<br />
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In this moment in my life I choose to live in Florence, and for the most part I AM happy here. The honeymoon phase has passed for sure but it finally feels right when I call it home. I finally feel more comfortable than not. As an artist it feeds my thirst for the aesthetic, the sights and the sounds inspire me. That said, no ones life is a bowl of cherries everyday and living in Italy doesn't make it that way.<br />
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I have happy days and I have sad days <br />
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I have inspiring days and uninspiring ones<br />
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I have days where I feel brave for living alone in a foreign country and I have day when I think wtf am I doing here<br />
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I have days when I feel complete and days when I feel lonely<br />
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I have days that are full and days that are boring<br />
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I have days that are fun and days that are frustrating<br />
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I certainly don't want to be buzz kill to people who read blogs for the escapism but I think it's really important to me, for me, to be honest, at the very least to myself. I just wanted to get this out of the way, even if only for my own comfort in future postings.<br />
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I have all sorts of days, the same sort of days that anyone, living anywhere has because in the end life is the same wherever you live, only the backdrop is different.andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-13915238461297091542011-07-08T13:38:00.000+02:002011-07-08T13:38:36.498+02:00SCIOPERI ( The Italian Strikes)It's interesting, the same things that can drive me up a wall here are the same things that I find humor in. As beautiful a country is Italy, as good as the food, as wonderful is the art, is as dysfunctional that it runs.<br />
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We are all familiar with strikes. The teachers strikes that delay school openings for weeks, transportation strikes like the one that basically shut down the tri-state area in and around NY during X-mas 2005, Pilots strikes and SAG strikes. In the US these usually make big news because they are about contract disputes and lag on before some sort of resolution. It's different here in Italy.<br />
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Now I'm no expert on the Italian strike. In fact I don't know why they do it and why it's so frequent across the board of services but it is a whole different animal and a nutty one at that. For instance there could be a strike on a Thursday of odd numbered, yellow colored buses between the hours of 10:46 am- 3:17pm. It's THAT random. Like I said, I don't know the whys, there is probably some justification,what I do know is for as much as I travel, I need to be on the up and up.<br />
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There are a bunch of websites dedicated to the Italian strike schedule. The 2 that I use are:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.summerinitaly.com/planning/strike.asp">http://www.summerinitaly.com/planning/strike.asp</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/">http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/</a><br />
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I was on the phone this morning with my friend Deirdre ( my next door neighbor for 6 years in Hoboken) she is in town with her hubby and 10 yr. old. I had made previous lunch plans so was giving her some options for sightseeing and meeting up later. She mentioned her son really had interest in the leaning tower of Pisa and that they might go tomorrow. I suggested she go today and then remembered there is a strike ( second one in 2 weeks).<br />
<br />
I said, " Oh, wait, you can't go today, there's a strike". I said it so casually and didn't realize the impact on someone not familiar with the Italian striking culture until I heard the concern in her voice asking if it will be over by Tuesday when they leave for Venice. I laughed and said, " Oh, don't worry, it'll be over by the afternoon. Her response," WHAT", Are you serious.?" Yes I am!<br />
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I told her it happens all the time. I told her of the time I was in Siena 5 years ago. I had been visiting Florence for 3 days as a stop on a 3 week February/March trip to Provence and Italy. I had never been to Siena so decided to take the SITA bus ( bus is a better bet in my opinion) to Siena for the day and had bought a RT ticket.When I was ready to leave in the late afternoon I found my way back to the piazza from where the buses departed. <br />
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I got to the square and wondered which bus to take, I asked a driver in my best Italian which wasn't that good (still isn't). The driver told me there are no buses to Florence they will go on strike. On strike? Yes, At 5:15 in 15 minutes we go on strike. 15 minutes, why not 10? That was lost in translation on him. When I asked why? Why there was a strike it was probably one question too many because he looked at me as if I was the one who was pazzo! He told me to take the train, with no choice I ask for directions to the train station and how long by foot. Dieci minuti.<br />
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Dieci minuti my ass. If your an Olympic sprinter maybe but when you're 5'2" with the stride of a beagle it took 35 minutes. Around the town up the hills, past the entrance walls of the old city where the she-wolves guard. Around the bend, walkin, walkin. I'm exhausted. Finally at the train station. I ask for a ticket, there is no direct train. Out of curiosity I ask about the bus strike. No strike? But the driver said... Did they settle already? In the last 1/2 hour? Talk about good negotiators. I remember thinking they could have used a few of them in New York Christmas week. <br />
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It was after that that I decided whenever in Italy and especially after moving here I would be in the know about any transportation strikes. But the sites are not always reliable and these strikes can pop up without a moments notice. <br />
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In fact almost 2 weeks ago on a Sunday there was apparently a train strike that ran from 11:00 am- 4pm. I had not checked like I usually do, but I lucked out. I was coming back from Crema via Milan, my train left Milan at 10:45 so I was not affected, but a ton of people were.When I arrived back at Firenze SMN there was a taxi line longer than I had ever seen in 3 years. The foursome in front of me on the taxi line was begging a cabbie to take them to La Spezia, didn't care how much it cost, and I thought it weird they just didn't take the train. It made sense after I read a blog posting about the strike later that day. <br />
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To better get a grip on just how widespread and frequent these strikes are I have cut and pasted the strike schedule for today July 8, 2011. It's in Italian , by region, but I will tell you that it ranges from specific banks and post offices, to Italia Telecom, to buses, train, airports and airlines. It's probably going to make this post go on FOREVER . Remember these are the strikes for just <strong>TODAY</strong><br />
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<br />
<table class="scioperi_temporeale"><tbody>
<tr><td>08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=19615&tipo=tr">Ministero della Giustizia - <br />
Uffici Giudiziari</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Rdb Pi-Usb </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20825&tipo=tr">Ministero della Giustizia - <br />
Circondario del Tribunale di Taranto e sede distaccata di Taranto Corte di Appello di Lecce</a></td><td> TARANTO (TA) </td><td> Camera Penale di Taranto </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20748&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Lazio (telefonia fissa)</a></td><td> Regione LAZIO </td><td> Filatel </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20707&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Marche</a></td><td> Regione MARCHE </td><td> Snater </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20786&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Fraud Operation, 187, 191, 119 e numeri verdi - Escluso Marche, 119 Toscana e Sicilia, 187 E.Romagna</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Snater (adeguamento con nota del 15/6 per la Regione Lazio) </td><td> Indicazione immediata </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20790&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Regional Transport e Switching sede di Bologna</a></td><td> BOLOGNA (BO) </td><td> Rsu </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20761&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Reparti Aou e Rjm</a></td><td> Regione ABRUZZO </td><td> Slc-Cgil, Fistel-Cisl, Uilcom, Rsu </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20847&tipo=tr">Meridiana Maintenance Spa</a></td><td> OLBIA (SS) </td><td> Cobas-Lavoro Privato </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20920&tipo=tr">Ministero della Giustizia</a></td><td> LAGONEGRO (PZ) </td><td> Consiglio dell'Ordine degli Avvocati di Lagonegro </td><td> Indicazione immediata </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20935&tipo=tr">Banca Monte Paschi di Siena - <br />
Personale delle aree professionali e dei quadri direttivi</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Unità sindacale Falcri-Silcea, Confsal </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20889&tipo=tr">CPTV - <br />
Reparto SuperTV-Messa in Onda</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Rsu di Via Verdi Centro di produzione di Torino c/o RAI </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20767&tipo=tr">Aziende del Comparto - <br />
Medici di base</a></td><td> Regione FRIULI VENEZIA GIULIA </td><td> Fimmg, Smi, Snami, Intesa Sindacale </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20884&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Personale del 119 di Telecom Italia</a></td><td> Regione TOSCANA </td><td> Snater </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20861&tipo=tr">Poste Italiane S.p.A.</a></td><td> Regione ABRUZZO </td><td> Slc-Cgil, Fail-Cisal </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20933&tipo=tr">Poste Italiane S.p.A. - <br />
Personale Mercato Privati della filiare di Trento</a></td><td> TRENTO (TN) </td><td> Slc-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20936&tipo=tr">Poste Italiane S.p.A. - <br />
Settere recapito</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Cobas Lavoro privato, Cobas Pt-Cub (Adeguamento) </td><td> Indicazione immediata </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20948&tipo=tr">Poste Italiane S.p.A. - <br />
Settore recapito</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Si Cobas (adeguamento) </td><td> Indicazione immediata </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20894&tipo=tr">Comparto Pubblico Impiego - <br />
(Escluso comparto Scuola e Afam con nota del 24/6)</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Usb-Pi </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20958&tipo=tr">Ditta Alba Paciello - <br />
Cantiere di Sessa Aurunca</a></td><td> SESSA AURUNCA (CE) </td><td> Fp-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20959&tipo=tr">Vigilpol S.r.l.</a></td><td> Regione SICILIA </td><td> Uiltucs-Uil </td><td> Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20941&tipo=tr">Pentalfaservice - <br />
Lavoratori appalti pulizia Base Militare di Decimomannu</a></td><td> DECIMOMANNU (CA) </td><td> Filcams-Cgil, Fisascat-Cisl, Uiltrasporti-Uil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20938&tipo=tr">Pentalfaservice - <br />
Lavoratori appalti pulizia Base Militare di Elmas</a></td><td> ELMAS (CA) </td><td> Filcams-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20937&tipo=tr">Casa di cura Villa Cinzia</a></td><td> NAPOLI (NA) </td><td> Fp-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20953&tipo=tr">Centro FKT</a></td><td> NAPOLI (NA) </td><td> Fp-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20939&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Dipendenti operanti in ambito del servizio 119</a></td><td> Regione SICILIA </td><td> Snater </td><td> Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20960&tipo=tr">Telecom Italia - <br />
Dipendenti operanti in ambito del servizio 119</a></td><td> Regione SICILIA </td><td> Snater </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20850&tipo=tr">Air Vallée Spa - <br />
Personale Navigante Piloti e Assistenti di Volo</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Filt-Cgil (adeguamento) </td><td> Indicazione immediata </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20806&tipo=tr">Alitalia Cai - <br />
Reparto Ruote della Divisione Manutenzione di Fiumicino</a></td><td> FIUMICINO (RM) </td><td> Cub Trasporti </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20914&tipo=tr">Fenice Srl - <br />
National Airport Services Srl - Scalo di Fiumicino</a></td><td> FIUMICINO (RM) </td><td> Filt-Cgil </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20794&tipo=tr">Gruppo Alitalia Cai/AirOne - <br />
Personale Navigante di Condotta</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Ipa (adeguamento in data 23/6) </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20815&tipo=tr">Gruppo Alitalia Cai/AirOne - <br />
Piloti gruppo Alitalia Cai, escluso i voli da e per l'aeroporto di Venezia</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Fit-Cisl, Uiltrasporti, Ugl-Trasporti (adeguamento al p13d) </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20851&tipo=tr">Meridiana Fly - <br />
Personale Navigante di Cabina</a></td><td> Nazionale </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Anpav </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20979&tipo=tr">Trenitalia - <br />
Ferservizi - Settore Uffici</a></td><td> Regione TOSCANA </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Fit-Cisl, Uilt </td><td> Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20787&tipo=tr">Trenitalia - <br />
Divisione passeggeri regionale - Direzione regionale Toscana</a></td><td> Regione TOSCANA </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Fit-Cisl, Uilt </td><td> Indicazione immediata - Revoca </td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20852&tipo=tr">Trenitalia - <br />
Divisione passeggeri regionale - Direzione regionale Toscana</a></td><td> Regione TOSCANA </td><td> Ugl-Af Trasporti </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20929&tipo=tr">Trenitalia - <br />
Divisione passeggeri regionale - Direzione regionale Toscana</a></td><td> Regione TOSCANA </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Fit-Cisl, Uilt </td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td> 08-07-2011 </td><td><a href="http://www.commissionegaranziasciopero.it/dettaglioSciopero?id=20853&tipo=tr">Trotta Bus Service</a></td><td> ROMA (RM) </td><td> Filt-Cgil, Fit-Cisl, Uiltrasporti, Ugl Trasporti </td><td></td></tr>
</tbody> </table>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-79689362370274417402011-07-06T21:15:00.000+02:002011-07-06T21:15:50.348+02:00Mood Swing Tuesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJ3ncWyFRPiwGM1XqGwaUfmM6gBQWwJi4lVriagDTyKLTgNVwToWWLqhoBsRx8QTTPi4JC3g15HS6yMSLXMqZd5vNSW3QoZ7jz_t8dDRpnJe9aPiTyBWdnwO4THQIev_VLMBiGk_1bill/s1600/DSCN8128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJ3ncWyFRPiwGM1XqGwaUfmM6gBQWwJi4lVriagDTyKLTgNVwToWWLqhoBsRx8QTTPi4JC3g15HS6yMSLXMqZd5vNSW3QoZ7jz_t8dDRpnJe9aPiTyBWdnwO4THQIev_VLMBiGk_1bill/s400/DSCN8128.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Every morning I roll over and see this. It's the view of Fiesole from my terrace which is connected to my bedroom. It's the next best thing to rolling over and seeing George, which sadly is not an option <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSkiZ76nuGhyFcN53ERxKN5GKbGlGaz9IriMU7UAtdXcmhzgQl_YAr24J0XtZiCN4mmGjsxDAxR4xYDiH0tghx4la0rHyyFBYA2YTvzJuPvbbYzg0j9WrInkD_LEy_Zv5oTKyNOh8MmjD/s1600/george.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSkiZ76nuGhyFcN53ERxKN5GKbGlGaz9IriMU7UAtdXcmhzgQl_YAr24J0XtZiCN4mmGjsxDAxR4xYDiH0tghx4la0rHyyFBYA2YTvzJuPvbbYzg0j9WrInkD_LEy_Zv5oTKyNOh8MmjD/s320/george.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love my view. It's only the 2nd apartment ( first was also here in Florence) of 12 I've had since college that actually has " A VIEW" . Oh I've had views before, of parking lots, and other buildings, dumpsters and diners, but this, this is the way to start any day. Puts you in a good mood straight away, even when it's raining.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's the thing about living in Italy, for me at least, that view induced good mood can swing right in the opposite direction to the " why is that" bad mood. There are MANY days I find myself frustrated and saying WHY IS THAT??? Yesterday was one of those days.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Started like any day, my view, my coffee, even the heavy handed eyebrow waxing that left me looking like a tomato from the eyes up could not dull the spring in my step yesterday. However, The UNO store could.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The UNO store is your go to place for all things Apple in the Florence city center. There are other electronic type places Alberti is another ( but they didn't have what I needed), Media World is great out at the Gigli center(1/2 hour by bus, pass), but in town for Apple stuff, it's UNO.What I needed was a new charger for my I Pad. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In March when I was in Hong Kong I did a really bad idiot check of my room and left my charger there. I bought a new one here </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqXmLeRp2bGBScjVMVhx_LSVYQYqe6M5zJnr4v9NciwY15nR8fEGQxeVaCdiAGZuLm91qU1eDvNMcL83FEykPaqGoFSi-aM3vBXSL0-7fsfdK7T-6jR9NjjKU7LXRNJusB5kedHEEVjG0/s1600/DSCN5303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqXmLeRp2bGBScjVMVhx_LSVYQYqe6M5zJnr4v9NciwY15nR8fEGQxeVaCdiAGZuLm91qU1eDvNMcL83FEykPaqGoFSi-aM3vBXSL0-7fsfdK7T-6jR9NjjKU7LXRNJusB5kedHEEVjG0/s320/DSCN5303.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">at underground non government sanctioned computer haven ,The Golden Computer Center in Sham Shui Po while this guy </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmzgXfzpV9318jFqMR3mMZrzmb4O6tzXvBp_fRrUQ5tE5DcNOBMSVrUWPTHROyfcwx0sbjn3tMWSKG4Adhby2LxoOjQlFTmTMZ1jDsw-9p1zt7hGNd3xdsCWgg_xVL6bPZXYyYuIxRWjy/s1600/DSCN5302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpmzgXfzpV9318jFqMR3mMZrzmb4O6tzXvBp_fRrUQ5tE5DcNOBMSVrUWPTHROyfcwx0sbjn3tMWSKG4Adhby2LxoOjQlFTmTMZ1jDsw-9p1zt7hGNd3xdsCWgg_xVL6bPZXYyYuIxRWjy/s320/DSCN5302.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">was fixing the fan on my laptop. I used that charger for months not realizing it was charging like 1% an hour. Turns out he sold me an IPOD charger, not an IPAD charger.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Friday I walked over to the Uno Shop on Via Dei Pucci, 10 minute walk. When I got there it was 1:30 , CHIUSO ( closed) . Siesta. Now one would think that an Apple store, and the only one in town would be open all day, but this is Italy. I read the hours on the door </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> lunedi- sabato: 10:30 - 13:00, 14:30- can't remember</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> domenica- closed</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok ,so open for 3 hours in the morning and a few in the afternoon , monday through saturday, sunday closed. I could have returned that afternoon but got sidetracked by some paperwork I had to finish. I figured I'd just swing by Saturday afternoon and I did at 15:00 ( 3pm) CHIUSO! What? WHY IS THAT???? Then I noticed why, summer hours, funny. As if that shop wasn't closed enough NOW they are closed after 1pm on Saturdays in the summer. Thing is, that sign was not there the day before.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thought ,ok ,no biggy, that's when I headed down to that war zone that was the saldi. So Sunday they will be closed but Monday, I'll go on Monday. Then I thought, wait, Monday is July fourth, they'll be closed, then I thought, but this is Italy so they'll be open. I swing by one more time on my way home on Saturday and double check the hours.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Monday, view, coffee, walk to Uno store, get there at 11:00 am CHIUSO!! WHY IS THAT!!! I press my face to the glass door and there is a guy in there, sitting in the dark at the register. I knock to get his attention and he shoos me away, I got the hand shoo. I step back bewildered when I notice a NEW sign CHIUSO OGGI- 4 Juglio- INVENTARIO. Closed for Inventory? They sell like 3 things in there .Ok, I'll go back the next day, yesterday, Tuesday.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">View, coffee, stop by the rental agency to pay my rent, eyebrow wax, wander around for a bit and find myself in front of the Uno store at 2:00. I'm early, that's ok, I was chatting on the phone with my friend Arlene anyway, I'll just wait. I'm in a fine mood, beautiful day! 2:15 rolls around, and there is the guy, oh, finally I think, and he's going to open early. YAY! NO ,he is not opening early.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2:20, guy number 2 shows up and I think, oh now he's going to open , the other guy arrived, he'll open now. NO. For 10 minutes they sat in a dark store, not saying a word to one another while I glared at them through the glass door. It's 2:27!!!!! They see me, I'm waiting!!!! I've been trying to get in that freakin store for FOUR DAYS!!!! Open the fucking door!! That is what is going through my mind, view induced good mood- GONE!!!</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All this while I am still on a call with Arlene and I am asking her why?WHY IS THAT? she's like it's Italy. I say, " OK it;s 2:30, here we go, but still NO, they don't open the door. Lights don't even go on. It's 2:30!!!! I'm yelling in the phone while she is laughing at me when she says, "No, it's 2:27, remember last week when you were visiting we had this discussion about your watch being 3 minutes fast" #^%*&^*()((5^%&%*!!!!!!! My reaction.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I marched right across the street, ordered 2 scoops of gelato, because no matter how bad your mood may turn, gelato, always turns it back happy.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-85003342718341864792011-07-06T19:18:00.000+02:002011-07-06T19:18:53.079+02:00FLASHBACK: Cat gone missingAug.7 2008<br />
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Picking up from checking into the lovely pensione in the Oltro Arno area.<br />
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After getting settled in we head out to find a shop where we can get some things like snacks and water but most important I needed a litter box for Bear. It was 7 pm, I hadn't been to Florence in 2 years and had no idea where to go. We start walking the street toward the Ponte Vecchio and come across a small grocery type store halfway btwn a 7-11 and a supermercato. Since living here I discovered they are everywhere, usually quite small but also usually have most basic necessities cat litter among them.<br />
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We bought some wine and eats and a bag of litter and a turkey basting tinfoil type pan except it was more the size for a few Cornish hens. Ok so you have to buy the plastic bags for like .04 cents or something, but one bag does not hold a 10 lb. bag of litter without splitting, another bag and another, plus I had to arrange it that in no way could they tell when we walked passed reception that I had a roaster pan and litter in my bag. How weird would that look. A ham sandwich placed very strategically on top and my wares were incognito.<br />
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We get back to the room , had been gone maybe 45 min and he is gone. Bear appears to be gone. We ripped that room apart and could not find him anywhere. I kept saying where is he, where's Bear? Even Robin, who does not like cats but had become somewhat fond of Bear (when he doesn't make her sneeze) had a look of worry. For 15 minutes (which seems like hours), we looked and looked , behind the drapes, in the bathroom behind furniture, under her bed, under my bed, must have looked under that bed in the main room 58 times, no sign of him. <br />
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OMG, Mossimo found us out and confiscated my cat!!!! Robin said you think? I do ,I really do ,where else would he be.Just then, the slightest movement from the big bed area. I ask, " did you see that?" I just looked under there. I run over, drop to my stomach and look again. There is nothing. The bed moves just a bit again, still nothing. Then I see it, the bulge in the box spring, a bulge that could only be made by a 18 lb cat who some how had crawled in. He's here, he's here, as I push him to prod him to come out but NO that cat would not move. His claws were out and he was dug in for the long haul.<br />
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Robin says OMG I can't freakin ( well she was more colorful, cleaning it up) believe him. The space to which he crawled in was so small I couldn't get my full arm in, I could not figure out how he got in there. Well, we had to get him out.I tried and I tried to push him through the material to move and he just would not budge. Poor thing was scared. I had to get him out, I mean cat is stuck. Somewhat of a moral dilemma in the way of damaging someone else's property. This is what we do.<br />
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When I packed for this move I dumped one of my kitchen junk drawers in a bag and threw it in my luggage. You all have one , that drawer that has a bit of everything to the point that you can go Let's Make a Deal and Win. Well good thing I did, because in that bag was an X-acto knife and purple electrical tape. You can pretty much guess where this is going.<br />
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The large bed is actually 2 twins pushed together, common in Italy. We pull the beds apart and turned the one bed over on it's side. Like a highly skilled plastic surgeon I CUT ( yes, I said cut) OPEN the bottom of the box spring. A very neat and precise L along the wood slats in order to get Bear out. I sealed it up with that purple electrical tape. <br />
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Now I felt horribly guilty ( still to this day) about this because every person working there from the owner to the breakfast lady and the reception people were calling their friends to find us an apartment and we go and desecrate their property. In my defense I did a really good job and who looks under the box spring anyway. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFJ9HEF9bBVP0NZbnCHQJ7myMiQ3c6OpW4jXNhDC6EXy3p8u9QfI2_ZPBf6gJKcq4-e7ejN0d8wetilAS-ct-hoMLgOnPMnu0I4-iMpZucgC8e9oOlP2UVKa3tDhW6NVwbp0IEj3xH-LKR/s1600/DSC07797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFJ9HEF9bBVP0NZbnCHQJ7myMiQ3c6OpW4jXNhDC6EXy3p8u9QfI2_ZPBf6gJKcq4-e7ejN0d8wetilAS-ct-hoMLgOnPMnu0I4-iMpZucgC8e9oOlP2UVKa3tDhW6NVwbp0IEj3xH-LKR/s320/DSC07797.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bear on a bed instead of stuck in one</div>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-56469433062865030322011-07-06T13:20:00.000+02:002011-07-06T13:20:31.450+02:00FLASHBACK: Feet on the groundAug. 7 2008. Finally landed in Pisa. It was extremely hot, beyond humid, poor Bear ,still in his carrier was panting like crazy as we waited for the Bus from Pisa Airport to Florence SMN station. The bus took 1 hr 10 minutes cost 8 E, 12 rt FYI and when we got there I hit the ATM because we had to pay cash for our apartment we took for the month. <br />
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About the bus. When I fly in or out of Pisa I ALWAYS take the Terravision bus. It's a deal at under 10E and way more reliable and quicker than the train. They run frequently through the day and you can get your ticket right from the guy on the bus, which is always how I do it. During high season there is a chance the bus is sold out so there is also the option to buy your ticket online.<br />
<a href="http://www.terravision.eu/florence_pisa.html">http://www.terravision.eu/florence_pisa.html</a><br />
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I chose an apartment on line for the month of August so when we got here we could find someplace long term. I didn't want to be locked into someplace if it wasn't all it said it would be. Good call on my part. The apartment was in the Oltro Arno on a vicolo. Vicolo meaning a street soooo tiny the car can't get on it and you have to drag all your crap up a hill. For us that meant 6 suitcases, 2 carry ons and the Bear.<br />
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So the guy I was dealing with via email, who I will give props to for being attentive ,answering all my questions and always responding in a timely manner sent a young Canadian girl to meet us. I felt bad for this girl because when I saw the place I had a cow. I'm not always diplomatic ( actually rarely so but I am getting better) and after 16 hours door to door travel with no sleep in 24 hours on a 100 degree day in Tuscany with equal humidity I completely lost my shit. Even Robin who is usually beauty pageant diplomatic was not happy.<br />
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Reading back on my original writing about this apartment it comes across super harsh so I have decided to just say here the place at THAT moment did not appear to be as represented in the photos I had seen. End point. ( Diplomacy at work)<br />
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Robin was leaving in a week to go back to NY and would return for the month of September but I would have to live there the whole month and I wasn't having it. Got the guy on the Canadian's cell and told him so. He had nothing to offer me as August is filled with tourists. The exchange was a bit heated, we were on our own.<br />
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Stranded on a vicolo, we couldn't help but laugh. Robin and I had traveled a good amount together and ALWAYS experienced some sort of snag so we could roll with the punches but I had one extremely unhappy cat on my hands here. We dragged all our stuff (which was mostly mine) to and archway by a stairway. It was shaded there, so we set up temporary camp.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kLbU52MQr2UhGqlMpNgFFo0vC3g71IvxiuylaCu0I1aQi78Bh6yoF_sZCNktjle8fRmB7Yz-84yQTpos8uhH_gcyn3UUVOjYJV_XlYaZN2adnsq0XHT1YDmto-8Zy_1yCVx28jII8bPs/s1600/DSC03445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kLbU52MQr2UhGqlMpNgFFo0vC3g71IvxiuylaCu0I1aQi78Bh6yoF_sZCNktjle8fRmB7Yz-84yQTpos8uhH_gcyn3UUVOjYJV_XlYaZN2adnsq0XHT1YDmto-8Zy_1yCVx28jII8bPs/s320/DSC03445.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> the archway<br />
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So there we sit, each on a luggage trying to shade Bear. Poor cat hadn't eaten except for that little bit on the flight . I opened the large blue wheeled duffle bag to get him some treats. I packed food for a few weeks ( he was finicky) and a disposable litter box for when we first arrived. A gasp! The litter box cracked and exploded and all the litter was now in my shoes and on my linens,it was everywhere!! UGH! It sucked but no time for that I had to just zip it back up and ignore the situation for now, we were homeless.<br />
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Robin starts going thru the emails on her Blackberry that I had sent her for a bunch of different apartments. I had put out a lot of feelers before leaving NY so we did have other people to contact.We decided to take a hotel for 2 nights to give us time to find an apartment which would not be easy with everyone on vacation, it was August. Italy basically shuts down in August unless super tourist geared. I left Robin and Bear at the covered stairs and headed down the hill to find a Taxi. <br />
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The street brought me to a taxi stand to the right of Ponte Vecchio if facing Duomo. There was one taxi. I tell her in my very basic Italian at best that my friend and bags are up the hill. Can she take me there to get them and then to an inexpensive nearby hotel with air conditioning. We had been traveling 16 hrs, it was hotter than Bangkok and I needed an airconditioned room not to mention Bear needed one too.<br />
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So in I hopped in and up the hill we go to where the entrance to the stairs were. Or so I thought, she took a street that stopped at the top of the stairs. More lugging. I asked her to stop, I got out and that taxi driver starts laughing at the sight of Robin and Bear and all that luggage. I told her we will bring it up the stairs just to please wait. <br />
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Finally, all in the taxi and the driver takes us to a lovely pension in the Oltro Arno. I will not give the name because we had an incident involving Bear and they were so nice and helpful there that I stll feel guilty three years later.<br />
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The pensione was really lovely, had a great outdoor area overlooking the Arno our room was huge with a big bedroom area and another smaller one ( did I mention Robin is allergic to Bear) So she takes the small room, me and bear the large, nice big bathroom, free wifi and breakfast and especially a/c all for the bargain basement price of 100E a night. SOLD! <br />
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So here's the thing, we smuggled Bear in. I know ,a bit unethical , but we were desperate and couldn't take the chance of them saying no. Plus, the woman driving the taxi had suggested we didn't say anything, so we didn't. But we did door- block that bellguy Mossimo from ever crossing the threshold to room # 51. And that cat who hadn't meowed once in 17 hours held fast, not a peep. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Postnote: Looking back at my reaction to that first apartment I think it was so adverse due to a mixture of things. Yes I was tired and cranky but more than that I had American expectations. I had come from living in an awesome pad for six years, with every modern amenity. A princess I am not, I have traveled bare bones plenty of times, slept on a desert floor, have had to pee in bushes when there was no bathroom, but this wasn't a vacation. Would I live in that apartment now having seen others much worse? Absolutely, if it had A/C ;)</span>andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-52223347010120210272011-07-05T16:37:00.001+02:002011-07-05T18:25:55.855+02:00Jump Forward: SALDI !!!!!!!!This past Saturday I actually got up at a reasonable hour and after some reading ( thanks to my friend Sharon, the bookworm, syncing my Kindle to hers) I headed downtown to the main Piazzas, Repubblica & Signoria and the streets that surround them. It's really only a 10 minute walk from where I live, and not really DOWNTOWN But that's how the NY'er in me refers to it. Well I should have known better because it was first day of .............<br />
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</div>which translates to BIG, BIG sales!!<br />
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Now, as Americans, we are used to the sale and quite frankly it's not all that special. After all we have a gazillion sales a year in the U.S. We have New Year's Day Sales, President's Day Sales, Valentine's Day Sales, Easter Sales, Mother's and Father's Day Sales. We have Graduation Sales and Start of Summer Sales, Memorial and Labor Day Sales. We have Back to School Sales , Halloween Sales, Before, During and After Thanksgiving Sales as well as Before, During and After X-Mas Sales!!!! AND we have the mother of all sales the MACY"S ONE DAY SALES!!!!! YAY Once a month at least!<br />
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It's ridiculous! Really, look at that list! <br />
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Well, the Europeans are not so lucky, for they have only TWO, count em TWO sales per year. That's it! In Italy and across most of Europe the sales which go by a myriad of names are in January and July. <br />
Saldi, Soldi, Rebajas, Soldes whatever you call it, in which ever country in Europe it's the SALES! And they are HUGE! <br />
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They run for about a month starting with 30-50% discounts and as the weeks go on discounts of up to 70%. Thing is as weeks go on all the good stuff goes, so the real shoppers get out there day one.On Saturday, in every shop window across Florence signs SCONTO. 50%!!! It was an absolute madhouse! Locals and tourists alike mobbing the shops, lines reminiscent of Balck Friday in the States. The scene at Zara was like the running of the bulls. H & M looked like Filene's Basement in Boston during the running of the brides!!<br />
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It was Chaos. With the Euro at 1.45 and I being paid in dollars, I did not shop, I just sit on the bench eating my cafe gelato watching the madness . Here's the thing, I totally get it, can you really blame them, TWO SALES A YEAR!<strong> TWO!</strong> They have to wait <strong>FIVE</strong> months between sales.<br />
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Here's the kicker it's not just the ladies because Italian men for the most part, get ready, <strong>LOVE SHOPPING!!!</strong> Not all I'm sure, but a lot of them!! They don't just stand by impatient and miserably holding the purchases of their female counterparts, they get right in the arena. Yes they do! Unlike their American brother who for the most part would rather poke their own eye out than spend a day clothes and shoe shopping ,the majority of Italian men really enjoy it. Imagine a world where on any given Saturday your husband or boyfriend says," come on honey ,I really want to go clothes shopping today." Well there is such a place, it's called Italy ;)andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2758836597333886230.post-76310641615408620022011-07-05T16:04:00.000+02:002011-07-05T16:04:25.413+02:00FLASHBACK: Cat will TravelGetting your pet ready to move abroad is a pain in the ass! Thankfully, Spain ( which is what I originally had him prepped for ) and Italy had similiar policies and neither required quarrantine.<br />
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Originally was to leave for BCN end of June so took him for his physical and Eurochip. It has to be a specific model compatable with the scanners here. For the chip, physical, rabies and other booster shots, plus to fill out the paperwork ( for SPAIN) my vet charged me $780 That's NY for ya.That didn't include a few months of his Tapozol scrip. Bear had an overactive Thyroid. Used to be 23 lb. That's another 60$ p month. Then things got pushed back and I found out he had to be reexamined within 10 days of flying and new paperwork now for Italy add another 250$. Not done yet. I had my housekeeper , who also doubled as Bears nanny for 6 years who was in NY area take him for a week so I could visit my brother and his family before I left, so down to S Florida I went. It was in Miami that it took 2 trips to the APHIS dept. of the USDA to get the proper stamps so that the Italians would let him in.<br />
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Aug 6, 2008 Day of travel. All I'll say is I flew on a buddy pass. Robin worked as a flight attendant. I bought the Sherpa doggy travel bag for Bear. He was at the time an 18 lb Maine Coone/ Norwegian Forest mix so he needed a sturdy bag. We were really late arriving at airport and Robin who was flying with went to park while I checked in. Let me say that JFK is a cluster %^^* ! Complete disarray!<br />
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Robin was in uniform and went through security first. I waited in line about 45 minutes and when I finally got up there to my horror they asked me to remove Bear from his carrier. Oh No!<br />
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Let's meet Bear shall we:<br />
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A housewarming gift from my sister when I moved to LA in 97. Best gift I ever received hands down!!!! Awww, he looks so sweet and cute and innocent, NOT! Well sometimes but def not always. He was a HUGE cat with a bigger attitude problem , CATTITUDE HE HAD! A cat who's file at the vet had a large Yellow Caution sticker on it (True). <br />
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<strong>Exhibit 1</strong>: My Brother in law swears that when they kitty sat Bear at a tender age of 9 months he ran my Bro-in-Law down on hind legs while growling and swatting at him claws out- ergo nickname by said sister's husband Kung- Fu Kitty!<br />
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<strong>Exhibit 2</strong>: When Bear was 3 years old I was living in Chicago and set to go on vacation for a week. I had enlisted my brother in law's BFF Marcel to kitty sit Bear at my loft downtown. Problem was, Marcel had just gotten a kitten named Tinky and he lived 30 minutes north of downtown. So he thought he would bring Tinky by, to meet Bear and he could stay at my place with both the cats.<br />
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So without incident Marcel brought Tinky into the apt., she was a tiny little thing and Tinky ran right under the bed. Bear was napping so had no clue another cat was in the house, until he woke up! Next you know we see the bed moving and horrible sounds, growls and screeches, Marcel dives for the bed and turns it on it's side swoops up Tinky and runs for the bathroom!!! But he wasn't quick enough to escape the claws of Bears mitts . Bear lunged at Marcels legs. I ran toward the bathroom but Bear was guarding the door and that cat had the nerve to GROWL at me, a literal growl, I ran the other way. Maybe my brother- in - law had been right all this time. <br />
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I finally made it into the bathroom myself but not unwounded, cat scratches down my leg, blood and lol, when I got in there and asked Marcel if he was ok he dropped his pants and I couldn't help but laugh, he too with gaping long cat scratches that had gone thru his jeans. It took one hairdryer ( Bear was scared of them), one roll-a-way suitcase ( scared of that too), 2 hours being held hostage in a bathroom ( with one cell call to my brother in law) I actually thought I could hear him pee in his pants from laughter, and a xanax for me afterwards to end this stand-off<br />
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<strong>Exhibit 3</strong>:The week before I left I brought him to be groomed at the Vet.Not even down the street and the groomer called and said he could not finish, Bear had attacked him, he will not charge me. PLEASE come get him.NOW! Well, when I picked him up he had a huge bald spot on his shoulder. Needless to say I was not happy and neither was he. <br />
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</div>So, there you go. You can see why when that TSA agent asked me to remove cute kitty from his carrier I hesitated. I told her he was very stressed out and she could see how big he was. He was practically busting out of that dog carrier. She leaned in to get a closer look and then as if on cue Bear let out a scary mary HISS!!! Teeth and all. This TSA woman was no dainty flower, she was a big girl but she backed the hell away from that carrier as fast as she could. I asked if she still wanted me to take him out and her reply," No, I don't think it's necessary, I can wand the carrier and feel around the inside". Realizing what she just said she quickly corrected herself to," I'll just wand the carrier, on the OUTSIDE" Yeah thought so and thru security we went.<br />
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We flew Biz class ( Buddy pass perks), I kept Bear in his carrier but on my seat when reclined with the front flap door open so he could see me. I did not sleep.I was thankful that Biz class was practically empty and that the people that were seated there were not cat allergic. He made not a peep the entire flight, enjoyed a little chicken, a few whiskas treats, he took a nap, even purred. He was a trooper!<br />
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We arrived at Pisa around 11:30 am. Got our bags, quick thru customs and guess what? THEY NEVER CHECKED BEAR"S PAPERS! Never even asked! Never said is that an animal, he did not get his Euro pet passport ( a real thing) and I was pissed I had spent almost a grand to get this cat ready to go.<br />
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I suppose looking back the thing that stressed me out the most about moving abroad was not the language barrier or culture shock, it was my cat. He was my kid. My cat who had never spent a night in kennel and in 11 years (at the time I moved), beside venturing into the hall of my apartment buildings had only traveled twice. Once to Chicago from LA when I moved there and the other to Hoboken when I moved back to the NY area after Chicago. How would he handle the travel? Better than he handled Tinky ;) andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05939478352751039675noreply@blogger.com2