Lufthansa Flight or Melting Pot?

It never ceases to amaze me how different people can be from one country to the next. I’ve never been one to generalize or stereotype buuuuut, in general, every country I have visited over the last few months has a pretty distinct personality. On my flight home from the States (I went home for 2 ½ weeks at Thanksgiving) this week, I looked around and realized we had a small cross section of the Western Hemisphere on my plane…

Exhibit A, in the seat next to me – Germany

A polite but quiet young man sits down in the middle seat of a 3-seat row and immediately buckles up. The plane isn’t full, and there is an empty seat on the other end of our row. As the plane taxies and takes off, I figure he will move to the vacant seat, leaving the middle seat empty and giving us both some breathing room. Nope. He isn’t budging. So, I ask him if he would perhaps consider moving over one seat. Naturally, I explain, we can then both stretch out and be comfortable for the 9-hour flight looming ahead of us. Do you think he moves? Remember, he’s German… His response, complete with a thoroughly confused facial expression, “But, this is my assigned seat.” Of course it is! Had he not then proceeded to dump his oily, Italian salad dressing down my leg during dinner, I might have just written the whole thing off. However, now reeking of anchovies, I’m actually wishing him bodily harm. Or, at least a few good Charlie horses and awful muscle cramps as a result of sitting bunched up next to me for so long.

Exhibit B, in the aisles, loitering by the bathroom, pulling things out of the overhead bins onto other passengers’ heads … In general, everywhere but in their seats! – Italy

Ah, the Italians! God love them, just never stick me on a plane full of them. As we board the plane, I notice an older couple seated in front of me. Their daughter is standing in the aisle (blocking the passage for everyone trying to elbow their way to seats behind her) “translating” for her parents. Her words, not mine. What she is translating, I’ll never know, since there are no PA announcements at the time and not a single flight attendant in sight. The plane takes off (the German is still glued to my side, however has not yet dumped anything down my leg) and up pops the daughter again, making her way from the back row of the plane to her parents. She starts “translating” loudly again – at least this time, we’re in the middle of the safety announcement, so there is actually something to “translate.” I bury my nose in a book and practice deep breathing in an attempt to block it all out.

Exhibit C, smoking in the lavatory - France

Smoking in the lavatory. It's a federal offense in the United States, the country of origin for our flight. Not to mention, it carries heavy fines in Europe and causes cancer (FYI). When I think of the tiny, cramped, 2 foot by 2 foot box airlines call a lavatory, the last thing I have the urge to do is smoke. I can barely stand to be in there long enough to take care of business, much less enjoy an entire cigarette. But, the French woman risking being labeled a felon the rest of her life and the 800-euro fine? Apparently, she can't pass up the chance to light up.

Exhibit D, Screaming at her children in an outside voice despite being on an airplane, and yanking them around hard enough to dislocate an elbow – America

Since I am equal opportunity with my stereotypes, I can’t leave out the ugly American. I hear her coming minutes before I see her round the corner. With 3 children in tow, each struggling to roll Hannah Montana and Handy Manny miniature suitcases behind them, she is loud and proud. I do a double take and realize she’s actually wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Made in America.” I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, folks.

For the entire flight, the children squeal, the American woman yells at them to ‘cut it out’ and the Italians chatter louder to make sure they’re heard over the din. There are, however, no more smoking-in-the-lavatory incidents. But, don't forget the German, in my lap from one side of the Atlantic to the other.

Don't Bring Me Down

I try not to complain. Especially here, in such a public forum. After all, “I am in Italy!” I have this super job. I travel all over Europe. In just 7 months I’ve already made so many great friends. I live virtually expense free… But, some days are just hard. Today, was one of those days. After falling ill with the flu, I postponed my last trip for the Fall – pushing my flight to Munich from Friday at 6am to this afternoon. And all for only $602! It’s no wonder the airline industry is so hated. If I was a lesser person, I would have just flown on Friday and been sure to cough my flu germs on every airline employee I came in to contact with, but I digress.

After spending Halloween, one of my favorite holidays, in my house all by myself, I took off for Munich this morning. Upon landing, I would leisurely make my way to Heidelberg, ambling through the German countryside, more than proficient with a stick shift now. I felt like I was off to a fresh start, wandering through the airport (Munich airport is pretty cool and I was impressed) when I spotted the Hertz counter. The woman behind the counter easily found my reservation and collected the necessary info from me. Passport number? Check! Driver’s license? Check! Credit card? Che - - ohshit! Declined. Accept a debit card? No? What about cash? Of course not. How about my first born? Will you at least let me use your German phone to call Wachovia long distance and figure out why in the world my credit card was declined.

Since Wells Fargo took over Wachovia it seems as though the phone call I made in April, before I moved, alerting the company that I would be travelling throughout Europe, was just forgotten in the merger. Seeing as how I’ve used my card in cities from Lajes to London over the last couple months, they flagged the card for suspicious activity and placed a “courtesy” hold. Anything but courteous as it hit me that I was completely stranded.

I discovered today that one of the worst feelings in the world is being stuck in a country where you don’t speak the language. The ending to this story is obviously a happy one since I’m here, writing this in Heidelberg, but for a few moments today, I felt so helpless and so alone. It was a crushing feeling (or maybe that’s just the chest congestion that settled in last week courtesy of the flu) I’d do anything to avoid in the future.

For those of you on the edge of your seat, wondering how your beloved heroine got herself out of this jam… I took the train. Tomorrow, I’ll attempt to rent a car on base and hopefully, life will return to its regularly scheduled programming.


“Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.”

- Regina Brett

***Editor's Note***

I feel the need to make an amendment on my previous story about the hold on my Wachovia credit card... When I was home for Thanksgiving, about half way through my visit, I tried to use my card at a restaurant in Boone. The waitress returned to my table to tell me the card was declined. I immediately blamed it on another hold on my account and gave her my debit card instead. I actually forgot to follow up on the whole thing until this afternoon when I got a letter from Wachovia.

According to the letter, "This credit card has been temporarily restricted to help you avoid the inconvenience that unauthorized use of your credit card could cause."

I called Wachovia this afternoon (Dec. 14, 2009), ready to bless them out for yet another unnecessary hold. Boy, was I surprised when they asked me if I'd spent any time in Illinois or Kansas lately. In particular, if I had attempted to make a purchase at the Wal-Mart or PayLess Shoe Store in Topeka. Nope! I kept all movement within North Carolina while home for Thanksgiving, annnnd I wouldn't be caught dead wearing PayLess shoes in Italy. (For those of you that don't know me, this is pure sarcasm at its best. I am a shoe whore, but not a shoe snob.)

Anyways, the card has been cancelled and evil doers thwarted in their effort to steal my money. Take that, Identity Thieves! And, most importantly, I've now learned the importance of credit card companies' courtesy holds. I can admit when I'm wrong and apologize with the best of them. So, I'm sorry Wachovia and Wells Fargo for yelling at you and publicly ridiculing you in my oh-so-popular blog.

Where do I start?

I’ve been so negligent in updating lately that I’m now at a loss for where to pick up… In the last couple months I’ve been to the Dolomites in Italy, Brussels, Germany, Portugal and right now, I’m finishing up the last few days of a 2 week trip to the UK. How about a few highlights from each?

Let’s start in the Dolomites. Paige came to visit the first week in September and we drove (against my car’s will) to the Dolomites where the weather was cool and the views were amazing. After melting all summer in Pisa, it was a welcome change to see my breath in the morning and bundle up in fleece.


The same morning I dropped Paige off at the airport, I took off for an overnight in Brussels with Amber and Rachel. Time has not changed Belgium – it was exactly as I remembered it from my time there 6 years ago. While there, we wandered through the Gran Place, ate too many waffles and drank too much Belgian beer, explored Parc du Cinquantenaire (site of the infamous drive-in movie where I first met James) and had lunch with Rick, my old boss at the Wall Street Journal. Wandering around Brussels, I remembered why I love Europe so much. Every country has such a unique feel here, it’s like entering another world when you cross the border. Italy is nothing like Belgium which is nothing like Spain which is nothing like Germany…


After a fun weekend in Belgium, it was time to start my site visits. Germany was first, with stops in Schweinfurt, Grafenwoehr, Hohenfels, Ansbach and Illesheim. While all the visits went really well, I think the most important thing worth mentioning (again) was my trek across Germany in a manual car! For those of you that have been following the stick shift saga, this was a momentous accomplishment for me, and to say I’m very proud would be an understatement.

I only had a couple days back in Italy after my site visits in Germany. Just enough time to wash a few loads of laundry and repack my bags before taking off to Portugal. My first stop was Lisbon where we recruited 6 girls and 3 adult volunteers! An impressive accomplishment considering there were no Girl Scouts in Lisbon for the last 2 years. Between all our recruiting, Paige was kind enough to take me sightseeing in Lisbon.


After Lisbon, I took off for Lajes Air Force Base on Terceira, one of nine islands in the Azores. The two and a half hour flight took me to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. We landed first and rather unexpectedly on Pico before continuing on to Terceira. While I enjoyed my time on the island and can’t wait to get back for another visit, I can see how an assignment on the 11-mile by 13-mile island could be tedious. It's a tiny island with only a handful of restaurants and shops, unpredictable weather and frequent cow jams.


I was excited to have an entire weekend back in Italy between trips to Portugal and the UK. Before leaving Lajes, I did all my laundry in billeting. It’s nice to take advantage of the American style dryers (as opposed to the awful European condenser unit I have at home) and to come home with almost no dirty clothes. With so much time on my hands, I cleaned my house, watched two movies at Darby, had dinner with friends and played what seems like a hundred games of Bingo. Before I knew it, my weekend was over and it was time to take off for the UK.

I started my UK site visits in London, commuting in to Hillingdon each morning. And, as a result, realized a commuting lifestyle is not for me! It was rainy and cold outside, the underground was crowded and hot and I ultimately arrived 30 minutes late because I missed my train by 1 minute. After two nights in London, I packed up and headed out to Alconbury then Harrogate then Croughton and now, here I sit in Anglia. I feel like I've been in the UK for months, largely in part because each site is so different. This visit has seen me in a hostel (Pax Lodge), billeting, a volunteer's home and a typical British Bed and Breakfast; working in a Committee with 15 girls one day and 150 girls the next; freezing cold weather in the North and mild temperatures in the South. My volunteers have been incredibly gracious and welcoming, taking me shopping and to sites like the one below (Fountains Abbey) between Commander briefings and Leader meetings. When it's all said and done, the UK is probably my favorite place to visit so far. It certainly helps that I speak the language, but I'm also a big fan of the pubs (Strongbow!), the people, the beautiful country side, the history, the trains, the tea...



On Tuesday, I’ll head back to Italy for two days before I take off on my last Fall site visit. I’ll spend 2 more weeks in Germany, visiting all the areas I didn’t make it to in September. I’m looking forward to having a car again (I rely on planes, trains and my wonderful volunteers’ automobiles in Portugal and the UK), even if it is a stick shift.

After this last site visit of the season, it will only be a matter of days before I take off again… This time, I’m headed to Charlotte for a much needed vacation/visit home/hug/Black Friday shopping/doctors’ appointments/reunion with friends/Panthers game/Thanksgiving extravaganza!

How did this happen?

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself, “How did I get here?”

As I drove across Germany this afternoon I asked myself that very question over and over again. When I looked around the country side and thought about the history lurking in the hills – How did I get here? When I stalled my rental car twice trying to go up a mini-mountain thanks to my cracker jack GPS that routed me around traffic but through every tiny town in Germany – How did I get here? When I stopped at a German gas station to get something to eat, expecting to find schnitzel and beer, but instead found myself faced with a Burger King – How did I get here? When all the next stop offered was a McDonalds – How did I get here? As I paid 50-Euro cents to use the toilet and then marveled as the seat automatically rotated and sanitized itself – How did I get here?

A year ago, I was just settling in to teacher shopping at Classroom Central. All of the School Tools sorting was almost done and Educate Your Palate was right around the corner.

Two years ago, I would have told you I was never going to leave Charlotte, happy as could be with my work at Girl Scouts, Hornets’ Nest Council. Not even stressing about the infamous Thin Mint Sprint yet.

And now, here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Schweinfurt… My left leg a little wobbly from riding the clutch across Germany for the last 5 hours. Fresh off a weekend trip to Brussels with two girls I met just 6 months ago, but whom I’m convinced will be friends for life. And before that, an adventure in the awe-inspiring Dolomites with Paige, my oldest friend. I’ll chronicle those escapades in the next few days, but for now, I’m content to just marvel at my luck.

How did it happen? How did I get here?

Il Palio di Siena

It all started out as an ordinary day, much like any other Sunday, but ended like this:



Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? After a fun Saturday evening, celebrating a friend’s Birthday at his orto, I seized the chance to sleep in on Sunday. When I finally got around to rolling out of bed at 11:00am, I checked the train schedule and settled on the 12:45pm train. I would leave from Pontedera and change in Empoli before heading on to my final destination –Il Palio in Siena!

Having just recently finished reading Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno, I was vaguely familiar with the concept of Il Palio, a horse race held twice each year on July 2 and August 16 in Siena. Seventeen Contrada (neighborhoods/regions), each identified by bizarre mascots such as Bruco (caterpillar), Giraffa (giraffe) and Istrice (porcupine), all hope to earn one of ten spots in the race where they compete for Il Palio flag. While the flag is the tangible reward, from what I witnessed, bragging rights are the more coveted prize.

I made it in to Siena without any trouble. From what I read online, more than 75,000 people flock to the city for this annual event. I was expecting a crowded train ride, but I easily found a seat and read my latest pink cover, summer book the entire ride. Even after I got off the train and made my way to a bus that took me to the city center, I still found myself wondering where everyone was… It didn’t take me long to hear some commotion in the distance though. Following Rick Steve’s instructions, I headed towards the medieval drumming.

As I got closer to the Duomo, I saw more flags representing various Contrada. As I was minding my own business, admiring a small square tucked out of the way, a procession of Civetta (little owl) flag bearers and supporters paraded in. I lucked out with a prime, front row spot for the display and watched the Civetta toss their flags in to the air and listened to them chant their team song. As it turns out, the Civetta horse and jockey would go on to win the race later that evening! I was in the midst of celebrity and didn’t even realize it.



I followed the Civetta crowd the rest of the way to the Duomo where I met up with a group of friends from Camp Darby. Thank goodness for the one guy in the group who had the foresight to wear a red and white striped shirt. He stood out in the crowd of thousands and it literally became a game of Where’s Waldo?

We spent a long time in front of the Duomo watching the pageant, each team processing in to the square, banging drums and hurling their Contrada flags as high in the air as is humanly possible. After each team had their turn, the group of already sweaty Americans made our way towards Il Campo, the square where the race is held. Internet reports vary, but I’ve read anywhere from 15,000 to 75,000 people cram in to Il Campo every year to witness the 90 second race. We staked out our spots by the start/finish line around 4:30pm, and by the time the square was sealed off (the race track encircles the square – after 5:30pm, no one can come or go as you would have to traipse across the track) it certainly felt like I was surrounded by 75,000 people.

With almost 2 hours to kill before the start of the race, we each grabbed a piece of newspaper from the ground and settled in for the wait. The longer we waited, the more crowded it got. The more crowded it got, the warmer it got. The warmer it got, the smellier some of the spectators got… Ew! Our neighbors had the right idea and packed Connect Four. They entertained themselves with the game until things started to pick up around 7:00pm.



At 7:00pm on the dot (impressive for anything in Italy to start on time!) a big cart, pulled by two ox, entered the square and made its way around the track, displaying the Il Palio flag that would soon belong to the victors. Shortly thereafter, the horses and their riders entered the square and the announcer drew their positions. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details, but the way I understand the rules are this: each horse lines up in order, from first to last. The last horse hangs in the back, while the other horses all vie for a spot in the front. In order to get in these positions, the horses’ riders are not above punching, kicking, screaming and spitting at their opponents. Especially if said opponent is from an enemy Contrada. Any time a horse other than the very last horse in the back crosses the start line, it is considered a false start and everyone has to line up again. Thus, more kicking, hitting, yelling, etc. ensues. It took an hour and a half for the 90 second race to begin. Let me repeat that for those of you who might just be glazing over my story at this point…

IT TOOK AN HOUR AND A HALF. WE HAD ALREADY BEEN STANDING IN THE SQUARE FOR 3 HOURS. ALL FOR A 90 SECOND RACE.

All the while, the crowd is taunting their enemy Contrada, yelling out abuses such as, “You stupid Giraffe! You ruined the start.” Or, “Drop out now you horrible Snail. The Goose will never let you win!” During the race, two jockeys were thrown from their horses at particularly treacherous turns in the Piazza. The horses finished the race without their riders, not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, the passionate Italian gentleman (his Contrada was not even racing, he was just there to make sure his enemy, the Leocorno [unicorn] did not win) behind us, informed me that several years ago, the winning horse did so after he bucked his rider off during the first lap around the track.

Once the race began, it was over in a flash and the Civetta was victorious. Spectators rushed the track, screaming and yelling. My group, on the other hand, ran as far away from the piazza as possible, as quickly as possible, but not before getting caught up in the celebration and squished against the race track fence first.

The Civetta celebration continued in the streets for the victors as they paraded their prize, Il Palio flag down the winding roads of Siena, but even more intriguing was the reaction of the losers. Grown men sobbed and wept. For me, Il Palio was an exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon/evening, but for the Italian locals in the audience, I realized Il Palio is an event rooted in rich traditions and deep history. The race itself dates back to the 16th Century. After experiencing the energy and electricity in the piazza, I can tell why it would be so easy to get so caught up in the results of the amazing Il Palio.

Next year, I’m rooting for Capitana dell’ Onda, not because of any real allegiance to the neighborhood, but because I think their flag is super cute!

Hot Days, Quiet Nights

My life in Italy has slowed down in direct proportion to the heat recently. It's difficult to find motivation to sight see when temperatures reach 38-degrees (that's over 100-degrees for all you Westerners still using fahrenheit) and the ancient buildings in Italy don't support central air conditioning. As a result, I spend most of my time away from work sitting in front of the fan at home, reading or lying on the beach.

I did have a small, personal victory last week when I used a lawn mower for the very first time. Yes, it is an electric lawn mower. Yes, it kind of looks like a child's toy. And, yes, my lawn is so small it took me more time to figure out how to start the mower than to actually cut the grass. BUT, I mowed a lawn. For the first time in 27-years. Let me revel in that for a moment.

Since my grass was freshly cut, I decided that was as good an excuse as any to host a garden party this weekend. Friday night, I had friends from Darby over for homemade Sangria and general merriment in my backyard. I've always heard the cheaper the wine, the better the Sangria, and I proved that theory right this weekend. At 2-euro for an entire litre, I might have found the cheapest wine in all of Tuscany, but it made for the most amazing Sangria. I think I've said it before, but I'm so lucky to have found such a great network of friends at Darby. While I'm not ready to call Ponsacco home yet, I felt so comfortable hanging out in the yard, under the Italian starry night sky, surrounded by friends with Sangria in hand.

July also brought a wonderful visit from Heather and Jaidi -- my first official non-family visitors. They were all set to be my first visitors, period, but mom trumped them when she slid in the late June/early July visit. I feel like they still deserve a title though, so "First Official Non-family Visitors" it is! They were in Europe for a wedding in Amsterdam and made it down to Italy to visit me for a few days. While here, they had the chance see Florence and Cinque Terra (while I reported to work, jealous of their big adventures) and we all whiled away the evenings in Tuscany over red wine and great food in some of my favorite restaurants. Dinner the first night in Ponsacco gave us all strange dreams. Beware the raw, cured meat!






Somehow I only landed in one
photo the entire visit.




On the work front, we've stayed busy this summer with volunteer interviews and trainings (more than 30 new Overseas Committee Chairs trained!), compiling the summer mailing, a complete website overhaul and preparing for our Fall site visits. Now, it's like the calm before the storm -- I'll be in Italy until the middle of September (with a visit from Paige!) and then the non-stop travel hits. Starting September 18th, I'll be in Germany for a week and a half, Portugal for 2 weeks, the UK for 2 weeks and then back to Germany for another 2 weeks. That insane schedule will carry me through the middle of November when I'll then take off again for the States and what will most certainly be a much needed visit home.

My dad tells me that the travel will take its toll. He travelled all over the world for years with IBM so I'm pretty sure he knows what he's talking about. But for now, I'm looking forward to seeing the different bases/posts and meeting my volunteers that I've only talked to on the phone/emailed. Ask me again in October though, when I'm out of clean clothes, haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks and can't even remember what city I'm in and you might get a different answer...

Mama Mia

My mom’s visit was such a whirlwind of a week, I still can’t believe she’s already come and gone. Since pictures tell a thousand stories, let’s recap with a photo montage.

Friday:
Mom arrives and we swing through Pisa on our way to Carol and Larry’s house for a cook-out.



Saturday:
I navigate the Italian train system all by myself for the first time and get us to Florence without any problems. Sadly, I didn’t check on reservations for the Uffizi or the Academia in time, so we just ride the big, red tourist bus and marvel at the city’s history from afar. We’ll catch the museums and galleries in December!



Sunday:
Facing a few choices (San Gimiginano, Lucca, Sienna, Montepulciano) mom chooses San Gimiginano. Fine by me as I have only been through the city for about 5 minutes after the wine tasting adventure in April. The city is pretty touristy, but still a sight to see, and I pick up more of my favorite wine from Tollena.

Truth be told, I think the drive alone is worth it. Some of my favorite views are here in the backroads of Tuscany.


That's San Gimiginano in the distance.

Monday:
Venice! Enough said.



Tuesday and Wednesday:
I work while mom rests up for Cinque Terra. She is kind enough to do my dishes, scrub the lime (caused by the incredibly hard water in Italy) off every surface in my house and pack me lunches while I go in to the office.

Tuesday night, we go to Il Conventino, my favorite agriturismo in Calci, and enjoy the most amazing meal of cheese and honey, polenta, barley salad, bruschetta, cured meats, ravioli with figs, gnocchi, wild boar tagliatelle...



Thursday:
Happy Birthday, mom! We start the afternoon sweating our guts out in Cinque Terra, but it is all worth it for views like this…



That night, we celebrate mom’s birthday with drinks (beer for me, Long Island Ice Tea for mom) at Fast Bar in Monterroso – town #5 in Cinque Terra. The bar is decorated with American dollar bills. Not wanting to be left out, we add to the collection.



Friday:
Spend the morning exploring Monterroso before heading back to my house. I pay rent a few days early so mom can meet Bimbi. She gives us gelato and declares “Que disastre!” after 10 minutes of us speaking to her in English with crazy hand gestures and her speaking to us in Italian. We discover a great pizzeria in downtown Ponsacco that night and stumble across a large (for Ponsacco’s standards) festival and outdoor concert.

This is also the day mom discovers a lizard hanging out on the ceiling in my kitchen and consequently, the day I vow never to sleep with my screens open again. After a serious girl moment, complete with screeching and an oh-my-gosh-there-is-a-lizard-in-my-house dance, we manage to get the little guy to safety, i.e. my back yard.

Saturday:
Sadly, I deliver mom to the airport this morning. And, as a testament to just how exciting life can be when there are no visitors around, I spend my entire day doing one load of laundry after another… And, I’m still only halfway through the pile.

La Luminara

Last week, I ventured in to Pisa with ITR for my first Luminara experience. Every year on the 16th of June, buildings along the Arno River in Pisa are lit up with more than seventy thousand candles in honor of Saint Ranieri and all of Italy seems to come out to take part in the celebrations.

The event was fun, the candle-lit buildings were beautiful and the fireworks were dazzling but I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one relatively small space in my entire life. (Not even when I stumbled across Pink Day in Amsterdam.) Walking across the 300-foot bridge after the firework display took an hour in the sea of people all trying to leave the city centre. I’ve never been touched, literally, by so many Italians.

Here are a few photos that capture the event. More to follow.

Work Stuff

I realized the importance of the work I do about 3 days in to my site visits in Germany. After a busy training in Heidelberg, we loaded into the rental car and took off for Bamberg and Schweinfurt, worlds apart from the life I know in Italy. At Darby, although there are complaints about how small the base is and how little action anyone sees, soldiers here are generally happy go lucky and relaxed. Things are different in Germany. In Bamberg and Schweinfurt, everyone is on edge, and there is a sense of overwhelming panic and doom lingering in the air everywhere you go – from the Taco Bell (yes, there is a Taco Bell) to the barracks, everyone seems to be waiting for the inevitable bad news that is always on the way.

The communities I visited are facing the murder of 5 soldiers at the hand of another solider, severe mental illness, the suicide of an officer’s wife in her home on base, a fatal car accident involving soldiers just home from Iraq… And all of that just in the one week I was in town.

So, the bad news is, children in these areas, already pulled thousands of miles away from their home, are surrounded by death and destruction every day. The good news is, while seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, Girl Scouts provides some sense of normalcy in these girls’ lives when everything (and often times, everyone) else around them is going to hell. And faith in that fact is what gets me through the hardest days over here…

I know this isn’t the update on Germany you were probably looking for, but I wanted to share a little bit about the work we’re doing over here, in between tales of my latest and greatest vacations. Don’t worry though, I’ll give a full run down of just how cool Heidelberg is, complete with photos from the castle illumination and fireworks display we caught on Saturday night in the next edition.

Between the Then and Now

It has certainly been a while since my last update! So long, in fact, that I’m starting to get hate mail. The last few weeks have been very busy. I’m going to attempt to hit the highlights…

*******************************************************************************

Several weeks ago, after receiving my loaner furniture from CFMO, I invited a few friends over for dinner with the hidden agenda of talking the boys in to putting together my Ikea furniture. As I started cooking, and went to open a can of tomatoes, I realized that I did not have a can opener. Rachel convinced me to ring my landlady’s bell and ask, via hand gestures, if we could borrow one. As I had predicted, Bimbi invited us upstairs and instructed us to sit, pouring 3 tall glasses of orange juice. She dug out a very rusty can opener and tried to show us how to use it. She was holding the can still while trying to turn the opener, but we couldn’t explain to her what she was doing wrong. When she walked out with a long, sharp knife, I assume to pry open the can, Rachel snatched the tomatoes and the opener away from her and quickly showed her the correct protocol for opening cans. Bimbi sent me home with the opener.

*******************************************************************************

Memorial Day weekend, I took a spur-of-the-moment trip to the UK to see the Counting Crows. I flew Ryan Air from Pisa to London Stansted. I was all set to be able to catch a train from Stansted to Brighton (about a 3 hour ride) and arrive right on time to catch the opening act. I should have known better. My flight left Pisa a few minutes after we were initially due to be landing in London. I de-boarded the plane at 6pm and debated for a few minutes if it was worth it to try for Brighton. Not easily deterred, I made my way to the train station, where the attendant selling tickets laughed at me when I told him my plans to make it to Brighton and back the same night. I climbed aboard the first train around 6:30pm and after 2 changes and a short taxi ride, made it to the concert hall by 9pm. Although they were already playing when I arrived, the Counting Crows played until 11pm, so I don’t think I missed more than 20 or 30 minutes of the show.

After the concert, as I was walking up the main street in Brighton, I came across a real life street fight. I’m embarrassed to admit that I stopped and watched for at least 10 minutes. Eventually, I pried myself away from all the action and made my way back to London, only to find that the Victoria Underground station was closed – 1am seems like as good a time as any to figure out the London bus system! After asking a few passerbys for advice, I landed on what I hoped was the bus that would take me to the general vicinity of Pax Lodge. The ride proved uneventful until Tony, a very friendly and very drunk Brit took advantage of the empty seat next to me. After I turned down his numerous invitations to join him at the Jazz Club, he gave me his phone number with directions to, “give him a ring and stop in with some hens” the next time I find myself in London. Sorry, Tony, but I “lost” your number the minute you got off the bus.

The next morning, I woke up to a dreary and rainy London. My plans to sight see officially rained out, I arraigned to have lunch with two volunteers in Alconbury. A good decision! They introduced me to the pink pub, where I enjoyed my first Strongbow of this trip and took me on a tour of Alconbury, only the third base I’ve been on after Fort Jackson in SC and beautiful Camp Darby.

I was supposed to fly out of Stansted at 6pm, and arrive in Pisa around 9pm. Once again, my Ryan Air flight was delayed (timeliest air line, my butt) and we didn’t take off until well after 7pm. We landed sometime around midnight, and I was home and in bed by 1am.

*******************************************************************************

The last weekend in May, I escaped my house and the grasp of my homework (I’m in a 6 week course, Financial Management for Nonprofit Organizations, that is consuming my days) long enough to venture in to Lari with a group of friends for the Cherry Festival. Lari is a small, charming city, about 20 minutes from my house in the rolling hills of the Tuscany region. From what others tell me, it is usually quiet and rarely busy. During the Cherry Festival, however, hundreds of people descend on the town to partake in the wonderful, locally grown cherries, shop at the small market and watch the live entertainment. While we were there Sunday afternoon, a live production of Pinocchio was happening. It took us a minute to figure it out as the dialogue was all Italian, but eventually the giant whale prop and the small boy with the long wooden nose gave it away…



Between watching Pinocchio and shopping with the local vendors, we all bought a paper cone full of fresh cherries and munched as we wandered around. Just like some steak houses in the States where you chuck peanut shells on the floor, when finished with a cherry, we spit the seeds and threw the stem on the ground. The cobble stone streets were slippery with slimy, discarded cherry pits.

After gorging ourselves on cherries, we loaded up and caravanned to a near-by Italian restaurant where we lingered for hours over red wine, and lamented our return to work the next day.

*******************************************************************************

This week, I’ve been all over Germany. We drove from Italy, through Switzerland to Heidelberg on Thursday. The drive alone is enough to warrant a blog entry all its own (as beautiful as you might be imagining the Alpine scenery, multiply that by about 10 and you’re getting hotter), so I’m going to leave all that for another time. I just checked in to the Bradley Inn at Schweinfurt – third hotel I’ve had the pleasure of staying in over the last week, sadly, not the last one this trip – and discovered my room has a big bath tub. So, I’m going to soak.

Capraia

We’re a few days removed from my last big adventure to Capraia, but it was so amazing, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble recounting the trip here…

This story picks up right where my last blog left off. I got my hair cut Friday afternoon, and went to a late dinner with friends. After a quick conversation with Josh when I got home, it was 2am before I made it to bed. Only a problem when the alarm clock is set for 6am the next morning. An auspicious start to the vacation, but well worth it in the long run.

Only 4 hours after going to bed, my cell phone alarm clock (which I’ve already come to hate) sounded and I jumped out of bed. I had a lot to do – shower, pack, get dressed, drive to Rachel’s – in a short amount of time. As an aside, packing while half asleep with only 10 minutes to spare is always a poor choice. I forgot a lot of essentials such as sun screen, deodorant and pajamas. It was a short weekend, and I was able to make due, but it certainly would have been nice to have something to sleep in.

Rachel, Joanna and I made it to the ferry that would carry us to paradise by 8am. We bought our tickets “andato e return, per favore,” parked the car (we probably should have walked) and climbed aboard. After a 2 hour ride west, away from Livorno, Capraia loomed. As we pulled up to port, this outstanding view greeted us.

Once we were off the boat, we didn’t have to walk very far to find our apartment. A co-worker recommended Sol Mar to us, and we were thrilled with the recommendation as soon as we saw the accommodations. Our home away from home for the weekend had 3 floors – an entry way on the first floor, a bedroom, the bathroom and the living/dining space on the second floor and another bedroom in the loft on the third floor. From the balcony on the second floor, we had a great view of the port and the town just up the hill. See?

After a quick lunch at port, we wandered in to town. Just in time to find everything closing down for the infamous Italian 3 hour siesta. Since nothing was open after 1300, we wandered to a handful of old buildings – churches, castles and a monastery - before finding our way down to the water. The island is very rocky and all sheer cliffs down to the water, so we felt proud for finding a place where we could actually dip our toes in the water.

That evening, after a power nap (we were all exhausted from the early morning wake up, the walking and the sun) we wandered back in to town for dinner. My favorite moment from the whole weekend was wandering back to port after dinner, full of great Italian food, under the clear night sky full of stars with the cool ocean breeze on our sun kissed skin. Towns can be so different at night, after the tourists go home, and Capraia, already a quiet place to begin with, seemed to be sleeping as we walked back to the apartment.

The next morning, we all slept in, a welcome relief and as it should be when you’re on vacation. We left the apartment in time for lunch before we started our short hike. There are amazing trails all across the island – enough to keep an avid hiker busy for weeks. In the 2 hours that we had to explore before our boat ride around the island, we hardly scratched the surface.

We were lucky to get the appointment for the taxi boat ride around Capraia. It normally takes 7 people for the driver to take a boat out, but they made an exception for our group of 6 – Joanna, Rachel and myself, plus one guy from Florence that spoke English and a couple that didn’t look up from each other long enough for me to learn anything about them… We set off in the little plastic boat and made a full loop around the island. With our periodic stops at the most amazing grottos (caves) it took us a little over 2 hours to make the full circle. From the boat, we saw amazing views of the island. It was so uninhabited and untouched, Joanna and I joked that we expected a terodactyl to come swooping over a peak any second.

Monday morning, we set our alarm to wake up in time to play in the water for a few minutes. Still a little wary of the ocean, I sat on the rocks with a book and watched Joanna and Rachel swim. It was hotter on Monday than it had been the days before, so I went in early to shower off the sweat and sunscreen. When we were all packed up and ready to leave, we went to find the manager to pay. To our surprise, his credit card machine was not working. (In hindsight, it makes perfect sense that a credit card machine on an island in the middle of nowhere might prove a bit temperamental.) We were able to scrounge up enough cash to pay the bill. Rachel had a lot of American money and Joanna and I kept handing him euro change until he said, “Enough! No more money!”

Sad to be leaving, we boarded the boat and took off for Livorno and back to real life. Tomorrow, I set out for another mini-adventure full of planes, trains and automobiles as I travel from Pisa to London to Brighton to London again and then back to Pisa all in less than 48-hours.

Baby's First (Italian) Haircut

Friday afternoon, I left work to get my first real Italian haircut. I showed up at the salon with a picture of the style I liked, ready to brave the language barrier. I showed up on time for the appointment, only to find out I was in the wrong place. After a quick call to Timoty at the other salon by the same name around the corner, I was on my way. He rushed down to where I was to escort me to the correct location.

Once there, I was offered acqua frizzante (I still think it tastes like alka seltzer) and led to the hair washing station where woman #1 washed my hair. From there, I was escorted to the stylist. Timoty, serving as my translator, asked how much I wanted off. Crap. The one thing I didn’t prepare was the metrics conversion. 2 inches? I showed them both with my fingers what 2 inches looked like. They nodded, seeming on board with the plan. I continued, ready to tell them how I wanted it styled, and was interrupted with, “No, no, no… You tell us the length, bella. The stylist chooses the style. Makes sense, no?” I left my photo hidden in my purse so as to avoid further embarrassment and crossed my fingers that the Italian stylist would deliver.

After an hour and a half of the stylist working his magic, I was taken back to the hair washing station where woman #2 shampooed and conditioned my hair for the second time. From there, woman #2 walked me to a styling area and dried my hair just enough to get the moisture out. She ushered me back to the stylist for a few final touches.

I thought I was a finished product at that point, and ready to go home. So naturally, I was surprised when woman #3 took my hand and steered me away from the cash register and back toward a chair. She dried my hair even more and ran one of those amazing salon quality straighteners through one final time. The haircut is amazing (see evidence below) and not just because it was in such bad shape before. On my walk home, I almost fell off the curb twice and walked in front of at least 3 vespas because I was so distracted by my new style in the shop windows. Sad, but true. At least I’m not embarrassed to admit it…

Like any girl with a new hair cut will tell you, I just had to go out afterwards. A few friends humored me, and we made late reservations for Chez Lugo, a trendy spot in Livorno. It came highly recommended, and while it wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, it wasn’t anything special and felt slightly Americanized. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity to flip my hair around in front of an audience. At the end of dinner, Drew introduced us to Ponce, a drink created in Livorno. It’s a pretty disgusting mix of espresso, some type of very strong alcohol and lots and lots of sugar. Impressed by our knowledge of the elusive Livornese drink, the waiter brought us a free round of grappa. Rick Steve labeled grappa as Italy’s firewater, and I must agree. (Read the full write up here: http://www.ricksteves.com/plan/destinations/italy/grappa.htm) I breathed in a little sniff to gauge what I was getting myself in to, and my nose burned. A tiny sip, taken only to be polite, burned the whole way down and for minutes afterwards.

So, lessons learned on Friday:
1. In Italy, the hair stylist chooses the style. Go figure.
2. Watch where you’re walking , no matter how enticing your reflection might be.
3. Grappa, no matter what the Italians might tell you, is not your friend.

Volterra

I woke up this morning, expecting to drive to Ikea in Florence with Rachel. Everyone was a little behind schedule though, so plans changed… Sitting at home, alone, I debated wasting the day in my house, maybe venturing out to the Centro di Borghi again to wander around the Iper-Coop. Instead, I broke out my Rick Steve’s Guide to Italy from way back in 2005 and started plotting.

Options included San Gimiginano, Lucca and Volterra. Rick seems to think San Gimiginano is a tourist trap – I’ve only been there once for less than an hour, but I disagree – and Lucca was a bit further than I was looking to drive this morning. So, I loaded in to the trusty Mercedes Station Wagon rental and took off for Volterra.

First, I stopped for gas at the station in my neighborhood. I find that any time I’m taking off driving to an unknown destination in a foreign country, it’s best to do so with a full tank of gas. It just starts things off with karma on your side. Last week, I made the effort to commit the word for ‘full’ to memory. During the day, gas stations are full service. The attendants always ask what type and how much gasoline you want. I have diesel down (the rental is diesel, I’ll have to figure out how to ask for regular gasoline when I get my VW) and thought I remembered the word for full. I spit out a few words that I thought sounded right. Pido? Piedo? Pino? At which point, the attendant looked at me and said, “Full?” Sigh. Yes. Full, please.

I’ve since looked up the word for full again, and it is “Pieno.” I was close.

The 45-minute drive to Volterra alone was worth the trip. I knew the area in and around Ponsacco was scenic, but I had no idea. Just a ten minute drive through my backyard, and I found myself weaving around typical, narrow, Italian streets. Fifteen minutes found me in the Italian country side. I wouldn’t say I was in the mountains exactly. Perhaps really big, rolling hills. Regardless, it was beautiful. I rolled my window down and actually said out loud to the car, “This is amazing.” And then, “I’m talking to myself, but it’s OK because I live in Italy!”

In order to get there, I set a restaurant in Rick Steve’s guide as my destination. Seemed like a good idea at the time, until I made a left turn and unexpectedly found myself driving down a street like this…

Only, imagine a sea of 100+ tourists walking down the same street, not concerned at all that a giant, Mercedes station wagon was heading right towards them. I made it about 3 streets in – once you’re in, you have to drive through the whole town to get out – and parked my car. I wasn’t positive it was a legal parking space, but there were other cars there and I didn’t see any signs indicating otherwise. I wandered in to the main square and picked up a map of the city and some postcards and asked the shop clerk what road I was on. I had visions of forgetting where I parked my car. After that, I wandered a bit further and grabbed a sandwich at a little café. I ate outside under the looming cathedral while I studied my map and made my plans for the afternoon.

It was about that time I got nervous about the car. I tried to convince myself it would be fine, but couldn’t shake the vision of me walking back to my make shift parking space only to find the car towed. I then imagined the phone call to one of my co-workers, explaining why I needed them to drive all the way to Volterra to rescue me. Needless to say, I practically ran back to the car and jumped in for round 2 of driving on Italian medieval roads never intended for cars in the first place.

At the first intersection I came to, I put on my right turn signal and glared impatiently at the two men standing in the middle of the road. Confused as to why they weren’t moving, I just eased toward them until they moved. It wasn’t until I was driving away and caught a glimpse of them in my rear view mirror, laughing and shaking their heads, that I realized I was driving the wrong way down a one way road. Luck was on my side and the road was empty (apparently, no one else is dumb enough to drive their car inside Volterra’s walls) and I was able to turn around and drive out in the right direction. I passed the two men again, and exchanged a smile with them. No one can ever accuse me of not having a sense of humor about these things…

I ended up in a real parking lot just outside of the walls near the Teatro Romano. This small site officially holds the title of first Italian ruins I’ve seen during my time here. I’m sure there are lots more to come, but it was exciting nevertheless.

After the ruins, I walked back in to town. I picked up a few souvenirs including two alabaster wine stoppers. Volterra is known for their alabaster and I needed wine stoppers since lately, I have been breaking the cork on any wine bottle I try to open. I also got the obligatory magnet. I’m going to have a full refrigerator by the time I leave!

By 5pm (or, 1700 for all you military minded people out there) I had already seen the whole town and decided to start the trip back. I was exhausted by the time I made it back to Ponsacco and ended up taking a nap that ruined my evening plans. I stayed home and watched Marley & Me. A good movie, but should be avoided at all costs if you are a) a dog lover or b) even slightly emotional. If you fit either of those categories and still feel the need to rent it, skip the last 20 minutes all together. Trust me. It’s better that way.

Forte

Although I am a little tipsy from the limoncello my landlady so kindly offered up, I can already tell this is going to be wonderful relationship. Between us, we both have about four words in common. She knows, “chocolate” (it helps that the pronunciation is almost the same in both Italian and English) and I know “va benne,” “grazie” and “non capisco.” But, I don't need words to know I like her.

Thinking I would just drop off the money – she requested I pay in cash, which is fine by me – I rang her bell this afternoon. She invited me up and told me to sit (well, she pulled out a chair and motioned to it, at least) while she wandered off for her receipt book. If by receipt book, you mean small, spiral bound notepad in which she hand writes money in and out. When she got back, she pulled the lid off a ceramic jar and gestured for me to eat some of the chocolate within. I obliged. We laughed a little bit while she counted and then recounted and then counted again the money in my Community Bank envelope. She finally came up with the correct total and wrote out my receipt.

At that point, things started to get exciting. She insisted I eat more chocolate and pulled out her bottle of limoncello from the liquor cabinet. I showed her with my fingers, in that universal symbol everyone is supposed to know, I only wanted a little bit. Un poquito, por favor. Never mind that that’s Spanish, she was supposed to understand. Instead, I got a full glass of the stuff. I took a few sips and shivered a little bit as it burned going down. She kept asking, “Forte?” which I can only imagine means strong. I kept saying si, si, si…

After sitting and staring at each other for a while, and cracking ourselves up any time we tried to communicate, I got up and gave her a quick hug, complete with European cheek kisses, and headed back downstairs. I left my limoncello unfinished. I hope that isn’t some grave offense in Italy. I really want her to like me and continue to let me practice my Italian on her. It’s just, if I had partaken in any more of the “forte” alcohol on my empty stomach, I would have ended up crashing on her couch.

Stick shift, kiss it

I am throwing in the towel on learning how to drive a standard. It’s just not for me. I tried twice, and just today, as I stalled trying to move from a stop sign on a hill, came to the firm conclusion that it isn’t worth it. Not that bad, you say? It’s all a part of the learning process, you say? Wait. It gets better.

As I tried to talk myself through the process – push in the clutch, let off the brake, no wait, let off the clutch, give it gas, oh, stalled again, restart the engine, crap!, push in the clutch before restarting the engine to avoid death-warmed-over screeching noise, ease off the clutch again, give it gas, should be moving now, stalled again??? – a giant 18-wheeler truck pulled up behind me. Impatient, he first honked his horn, as if that would magically reveal to me the secrets of moving a standard up hill. The horn not working, he then attempted to pass me, but graciously decided to back up when he came within inches of hitting Rachel’s car. In case that wasn’t enough for one afternoon, the lovely truck driver put his 18-wheeler in park, hopped out of his truck and proceeded to yell at me. In Italian.

Completely frazzled at that point, I told Rachel to take over. She hopped out of the car and ran quickly to the driver’s side door. Too mortified to even show my face, I just slid over the cursed stick shift and hung my head, back in the passenger seat, where I belonged, and where I very well intend to stay until I find myself an automatic. I want my Honda back.

Like a true European

As much as I love to write, I can already tell that I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with this blog. Every day brings a new adventure, and it’s all I can do to remember what stories I need to tell by the time I sit down at my computer. I’m going to do the best I can to recap the last week, and maybe even start taking notes as I roam across Italy so as not to forget anything important!

Since the beginning is usually a logical place to start, I’ll jump in at last Friday, April 10, my birthday! Rachel and I took a trip to Livorno with our Benvenudi class. As is typical with these trips, we toured the Emergency Room (“just in case”), the mall and several markets. I had my first Italian gelato and was nothing less than impressed. Always up for an adventure, I ordered the ‘zuppa inglese’ flavor. Turns out, that translates to English soup. It was a yummy mixture of cherries, cake, vanilla and chocolate pieces – not sure how that translates to English soup, but I’ll take it! I’ve since tried out a few other flavors and fruti del bosco is my favorite.

Friday night, we met up with Jessica and John, friends from Benvenudi. Jessica brought her husband and his friend along – both Italian carabinieris. The boys took us to the only pizza place they’ll eat at in Livorno where we experienced our first 3-hour meal. I had heard the Italians were notorious for lingering over dinner, but I didn’t believe it until I experienced it first hand. We arrived a little after 8pm and didn’t leave until 11pm. Funny thing was, all we had was pizza, dessert (tiramisu, mmm) and coffee. The company was great and the food was even better… I’ll get used to this life style, for sure!

Despite our late dinner the night before, Rachel and I woke up early Saturday morning to head to Camp Darby, where we met the tour bus for our trip to the Tuscan wine resort. We met our tour guide, Tony, who I swear was straight out of The Sopranos and took off for the hour and half bus ride to Borgo Tollena (http://www.borgotollena.com/). As we pulled in to the vineyard, I knew we were in for the most amazing afternoon. The sun was warm, the sky was bright blue and the Italian country side, complete with the rolling hills and olive trees you’d expect to see only in the movies was in a word, breath-taking.

We spent hours eating and drinking before boarding the bus for San Gimignano to shop at Tollena’s retail shop in town. I need to get back to this place and explore more on my own. The tour group spent less than an hour there, but I could tell it was my kind of place – narrow, winding roads open only to pedestrians, quaint shops and restaurants, friendly people, beautiful mountains all around, centuries of history behind every door and all only an hour or so away from my new home in Ponsacco. Yep. I’ll definitely be back soon.

As if wine tasting and a quick trip to San Gimignano wasn’t enough fun for one day, Rachel and I met Maria and Frank, a co-worker and her boyfriend, in Livorno later Saturday evening for, get this, sushi! I’m not going to lie, I was a bit skeptical of sushi in Italy, but the restaurant and the food were both great. I was completely exhausted after dinner, so when a hunt for birthday gelato (I declared the whole weekend my birthday weekend) failed, we went home to sleep. I didn’t get out of bed until 11:00am the next day!

On Tuesday, I went house hunting again with Riccardo. Again, he only had two places to show me, this time in Tirrenia. Both places were in the same building and under going renovations until the end of May. (When the Italians tell you the end of May, what they really mean to say, is sometime by the Fall.) Neither place was great enough to warrant waiting who-knows-how-long. A little disappointed, I asked to see the house in Ponsacco again. I saw this place the first time we went looking, but worried it was too far from base (about a 30 minute drive) and not near any real town. After the second walk through, I loved the place even more, and decided to ask Riccardo to take me through the city center. As it turns out, about 1 mile away from the house, is a cute square with bars, restaurants, shops and even a market that runs every Wednesday. The commute will still be a pain, but everything else was too perfect to pass up. I signed the contract on Thursday.

My land lady lives above me, and is the cutest little old lady, ever. She reminds me a bit of Carmen Martin, my host mother in Nerja, only calmer. She told me via Riccardo (my Italian definitely isn’t good enough to communicate without a translator yet) that if I ever want to practice my Italian, just ring the bell and come up to chat. Before me, there was an Air Force family living in the place for 6 years. She says they moved to New Orleans, but that she still keeps in touch with them. The home has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, living room, entry-way and office… Way more space than I need, which means I’ll need a lot of visitors to keep it full! I’m thinking about turning the office in to a make-shift walk in closet, but I’m not completely decided just yet. I’ll keep you posted as plans develop, and if I ever find my battery charger, I might even post photos!

My work week was shortened once again by more Benvenudi trips, this time to Pisa on Thursday and Florence on Friday. The weather was rainy and cold for our trip to Pisa, but I threw on my rain coat and made the most of it. It was a bit surreal to see the leaning tower in person. Again, we checked out the emergency room (again, “just in case”), the local mall and several markets. Friday was set to be the big trip to Florence, and I admittedly had very high expectations. Unfortunately, there is only so much a large group can see with only 4 hours in Florence. So, that trip didn’t quite live up to my expectations. We did get to ride the train over and took a brief walking tour with the guide pointing out things “we really should see one day” along the way. I’m all set to go back on my own –good thing I live less than an hour away!

Yesterday, after a full day in Florence, I grabbed a bar stool at the Community Club on base for a few drinks with my co-workers. While there, I met a few new faces and made a couple more friends. Since we didn’t have dinner plans, Rachel and I jumped at Maria’s invitation to get Indian food in Pisa. Since sushi proved to be such a success, I wasn’t worried at all about trying out Indian. Sure enough, it was awesome! The food was great but the company was even better. I’m constantly amazed at how welcoming everyone is here and how easy it is to make friends at Camp Darby. It’s a relief really, and I can already tell it’s going to make my adjustment to this new life so much easier.

Despite the fact that dinner wasn’t Italian, we still lingered for almost 3 hours. At least this time we had a few course. I ordered a chai, which kept me awake and alert for a while, but soon enough I started to get sleepy. When John and I started dozing off at the dinner table, we decided to get up for some fresh air. The rest of the party followed, and we headed back towards the car. On our after dinner stroll, we wandered past the leaning tower again, and John remarked, “We’re walking past the leaning tower of Pisa at midnight. We really are living in Italy, huh?” It was most certainly a magical moment that even your most seasoned tourist will never experience. The square was quiet and calm, and the tower was just barely lit up. I couldn’t decide if I felt like a true European or like I was on a movie set.

In need of some rest, I slept in again this morning until 10am. After wandering around the apartment in my PJs for a while, I got dressed and joined Rachel at the nearby café for what was the best cappuccino I’ve had yet. We picked up John after our coffee break and drove to a home store called Casarama – think Hobby Lobby meets Home Depot. Despite going armed with a page long list each, neither John nor Rachel made a single purchase. Since the weather was pretty rainy and overcast, we hunkered down at John’s house for hours and just lazed around. We ventured out only long enough to get a quick lunch between the rain drops. Later, we left John’s for Rachel’s apartment where we (actually, all I helped with was clean-up) made a spaghetti dinner in preparation for their half marathon tomorrow morning.

Depending on the weather – I’ve seen reports calling for a 90% chance of rain – I’m going to set off exploring on my own in Livorno tomorrow. John and Rachel are going to Florence to run a half-marathon, and while I toyed with the idea of going along to cheer them on, I just couldn’t stomach the 5am wake up call. I’m sure I will find plenty to keep me occupied and still get to sleep in a little bit. There is a great fresh market in Livorno that we discovered with Benvenudi. I’m just hoping its open on Sunday’s and I can find it…

From one Thursday to the next

Today officially marks my one-week point in Italy, and I still forget occasionally that I’m living in Europe. Let me explain… since arriving, I’ve spent most of my time at Camp Darby, where we speak English, use dollars, have Diet Dr. Pepper in the commissary and drive big pick-up trucks around base. Admittedly, I have had some “Italian” experiences, which I’ll detail below, but for the most part, I’m still in America, only with better weather and views.

All that is set to change this weekend, though! My friend and co-worker, Rachel, invited me to live with her in Livorno until I find a place of my own. I was set to check out of one on-base hotel (Casa Toscana) and in to another (Sea Pines Lodge) this weekend, so the timing was right as I was facing packing anyways. While I like Camp Darby and all the comforts of home it provides, I am so ready to BE in Italy. We have exciting plans lined up this weekend, thanks to Rachel, and I’ll even have a few chances to celebrate my 27th birthday.

On the schedule this weekend: drinks, more Italian food (finally!), wine tasting at an 11th century castle, sushi and Easter in Italy.

This week, I’ve stayed busy with settling in, which normally finds me running from one end of the base to the other and back again. I’ve managed to accomplish a few important things, including:

- Applying for my soggiorno, codice fiscal and ID card
- Taking and acing (!!) my driver’s license test
- House hunting – I think I’ve found THE place, so there should be some good stories to follow, I just want to do a little more comparison shopping next week before committing…
- Learning about each of the areas I’ll serve and my volunteers
- Setting up my new webcam (thanks, Dad!) and learning the wonderful world of Skype

I started my 2-week benvenudi class this week as well. We had a full day of briefings on Tuesday, and I comprehended about 25% of the information. I’m still having a hard time remembering military acronyms, ranks, titles, uniforms, paperwork, rules, etc. It all leaves me with a splitting headache at the end of every day. There are a handful of others, including Rachel, in the class, and it has been nice meeting other ‘new kids on the block.’ Camp Darby is such a small place, I run in to my classmates everywhere – outside of the commissary at lunch, in the mailroom when wrestling with my box’s combination, at the coffee bar picking up our morning cappuccinos…

I was supposed to attend language classes in conjunction with benvenudi, but I’ve had too many other work commitments and appointments. However, there are Italian classes on base every Monday during lunch, and I plan to start frequenting those. I need to learn some basic Italian fast! And, I’d still really like to be quasi-fluent by the time I leave. It seems like such a waste to be here for such a long time and not learn.

My benvenudi class is taking an early morning trip to Livorno tomorrow, and it’s getting late. So for now, I’m off to bed – my last night in the hotel!

~ Ciao

I walk the ground that shook

Just a quick update to let you all know that I am safe and sound, far away from the earthquake’s epicenter that hit L’Aquila early this morning. Sadly, there are a lot of others who cannot say the same thing. If you find yourself with a free moment today, please send your thoughts to the families of those killed and the thousands of Italians who were left homeless in a matter of seconds.

Infine! Sono qui.

Just two days in to my stay in Italy, and I’m already completely smitten.

There are so many stories to tell, I don’t know where to start. I’ve started a few anecdotes and erased what I had typed. So, instead of worrying about chronology and flow, I’m just going to tackle the last two days in bullet points. I’m assuming no one tunes in to hear things about my flight (uneventful) and such, so I’m jumping right in to the good stuff!

- On my first day in Italy, at Camp Darby, in line at the shopette, an Italian Carabiniere’s (police officer) cell phone rang. The ring tone? Sweet Home Alabama. I kid you not.

- This morning, as I tried to shower off the jet lag and airplane grime from the day before, I stood in the tub for 5 minutes pushing and twisting the shower knob. I twisted so much, the knob fell off. Worried that I was going to have to be that American and call the front desk, asking, “How do you work this here shower?” I stepped out to put my glasses on. I pulled a few more times, ready to give up when I just happened to push. And, wah-lah! Success!

- When I logged in to Google yesterday, to look up info on Brussels flower carpet (only displayed bi-annually, and I don’t want to miss it!) I realized everything was in Italian. At that moment, I realized that, oh-my-god, I’m really in Italy! And then, I realized that, oh-my-god, I really only know 3 words in Italian. I’ve been practicing with Margaret, and intend to take classes on base every Monday during my lunch, but still… I have so much to learn. As an aside, the Flower Carpet will be displayed again in August, 2010. Info is here: http://www.flowercarpet.be.

- I fell asleep watching America’s Next Top Model last night – the new season. Apparently, the Armed Forces Network (AFN) shows all sorts of new shows, just a day late. Tonight, I watched Thursday’s episode of the Daily Show. So, I can continue to stay up to date on current affairs through Jon Stewart’s snarky reporting. I have TV in my hotel room, but will also get a free box when I find an apartment.

- Carol (my boss) and her husband Larry invited me over for dinner last night. We had a mushroom soup that Larry made with bread and olive spread. All very, very good. Carol and the other staff members have all been so gracious and welcoming. There’s no way I would be able to navigate all the military “stuff” without their help, and Josh’s patient answers to the questions I’m too embarrassed to ask anyone else.

- I went to dinner tonight at a small restaurant in Tirrenia (pronounced much like the Italians pronounce my name, believe it or not) called Piropo. It was my first real Italian meal, and I’m hooked. I was expecting delicious, amazing, mouth watering, but this meal was simply beyond words. Instead of trying to describe it, I’m just going to list what I had and tell you that you must visit and eat it to believe it! I started with Gnocchi dela Sorrentina, followed by spinaci and the most amazing panna cotta con fruta bosco (with fruit of the forest, or wild strawberries and wild berries). Best of all, perhaps was the house red wine for 3.50-euro per liter. Let me repeat that – Italian red wine. An entire liter. For 3.50-euro.

- Before dinner, we stopped at the pier and I got my first view of the ocean. From where we were, we could see Elba Island, the location of Napoleon’s exile in 1814. He stayed on the island for 300 days before Veronica Portelli, his mistress, convinced him to escape. What followed in France is known as the Hundred Days, and he was subsequently captured at Waterloo, which I visited the last time I was in Belgium. Apparently, there are ferries to and from the island. I think that’s going to be one of my first weekend trips once I get settled!

The few parts of Italy I’ve seen are exactly as you would picture them – a lot of red and yellow Tuscan colors on all the buildings with bits of exposed brick, an amazing view of the ocean and Elba Island (where Napoleon was exiled) from the pier, lemon and orange trees everywhere, sunshine and clear, blue skies every day, friendly people, AMAZING food… However, whenever I start to get frustrated that I can’t speak more Italian, or worried that I’m never going to be able to navigate the roads, I go back to base where they speak English and have Diet Dr. Pepper in the commissary for 34-cents. It’s the perfect mix of living in Italy and still keeping the comforts of home. It’s hard to describe, but trust me when I say this might be the best job on earth. I can’t wait to find a home and a car and start entertaining all my visitors. I’m holding out for an apartment with a patio or some sort of backyard so I can invest in a small fire pit or chimenia type thing at the PX. Maybe even a grill, too.

Tomorrow, I’m going to a real life Italian mall with Carol. I have no idea what to expect, but will of course, let you know how it all turns out. She assures me that I can find an Italian hair straightener, lest I melt the hotel outlet with my high voltage, American appliance.

So close, I can almost touch it.

Attempting to pick up where I last left off, I think this story finds me on the train once again to Philadelphia Friday morning. Having learned my lesson the last time, I just bought my ticket that morning when I arrived. I did hit the snooze button a few too many times, so I ended up catching the later train, which put me to the consulate about an hour later. Bad news for me, as this also landed me about 15 names lower on the sign-in sheet. After waiting about 20 minutes, I couldn’t take it any longer. There was a nun and a priest (I’m not kidding) at the window, attempting to get their visas for a pilgrimage to Italy in the summer. I politely yet forcefully pushed my way into the visa officer’s line of vision and asked if I needed to wait in line if I was just picking up a completed visa. Thankfully, she recognized me from my visit two days before, pulled my passport, complete with visa from a filing cabinet and sent me on my way. I made it back to the city before noon.

I stopped in at the office again that afternoon to drop off my completed paperwork, and then headed back to the hotel where I took the most powerful of power naps. When I woke up, Anne and Alison were back. We took the train out to Brooklyn where we met up with Jamie, who drove in from Syracuse just to see me. As Anne said, “Now, that’s love!”

We had dinner Friday night at Perilla, the best restaurant in the whole world. (Website is http://www.perillanyc.com/ if you’re curious.) If you’re hungry, stop reading here… we had edamame falafel, and I ordered the grilled Hudson Valley quail and passion fruit tres leches. All very, very delicious. Alison had the duck – shocking – Jamie had the bass and Annie had the steak. I think we all enjoyed our meal and went back to the hotel very full. That night, Jamie and Anne made a bed on the floor, and we all giggled and stayed up talking way too late, just like a full-fledged slumber party. No pillow fights though, sorry to disappoint.

Saturday, after a quick brunch at Connelly’s, we dropped Alison off at work while Anne, Jamie and I set off for Canal Street. Chinatown was particularly crazy, with people everywhere. We spent at least 3 or 4 hours wandering around, laughing at the Asian women whispering, “Gucci, Gucci, Gucci” in our ears. Anne found a bag and Jamie bought a wallet. I, on the other hand, added two more fake $5 pashminas to my expanding collection. We lingered a little while in Little Italy over a cappuccino and pastry. Jamie took my picture in the street and with the coffee, as an “I’m almost there” or “This is what it’s going to be like” memento.

We were exhausted by 6pm, and headed back to Times Square to see a movie. Nothing was showing at the right time, so we opted to bother Alison and then eat more food… You never go hungry in New York City! Sleepy, we all headed back to Brooklyn to crash at Alison’s house that night, around 10pm.

I woke up really anxious about leaving the girls Sunday morning. This was, after all, my last goodbye. My friends in Charlotte were tough and my parents and Josh in the airport were even tougher, but this goodbye was, I don't know... More official, more final? Once I left Alison, Anne and Jamie, I’d be on my own for who-knows-how-many months. I made it on to the train without any crying but did let a few tears escape as we pulled away.

After a brunch at Blue Finn Grille (that was just so-so) came the train that took me away to the Edith Macy Conference Center in Chappaqua. I’ve been here, at Macy, for the last few days, getting to know my co-workers that will live/work with me in Italy, and other Global Girl Scout staff members. Some live and work in Japan, others do their thing from New York. We are an incredibly diverse team, responsible for an extraordinary amount of work, considering there are only 20 of us. In the last few days, I’ve just been bombarded with info on who we as Global Girl Scouting are, what we do and how we do it. All great stuff, just overwhelming amounts of info. I’m taking lots of notes to revisit when I get settled in Italy.

So, that brings us to the now… I have some packing to do (it’s amazing how my suitcases have this inate ability to unpack themselves and strew my belongings all over the room when I’m not looking) but otherwise, I’m ready to make the big trip over the ocean. I realized today that I’ve been “getting ready to go” for the last three months. I can’t describe how incredibly surreal it is to actually be going now…

I fly out tomorrow evening. I’m going over with my co-workers, which is a relief. I won’t have to worry about picking out a familiar face at the airport or trying to get a taxi with all my bags. (Have I mentioned I’m lugging around almost 200 pounds of luggage?) Since I’m not sure what the first few days over there will be like in regards to internet access, don’t worry if you don’t hear from me immediately. As soon as I can get connected, I’ll let you all know I arrived safe and sound. In the meantime, some highlights from my upcoming training schedule in Italy are below…

Thursday: Dinner in Tierrna with staff
Saturday: Day trip to Pisa
Monday: House hunting with Carol and Ricardo
Tuesday: Afternoon off to study for my Italian driver’s license test
April 17: Trip to Florence

Until next time… Ciao!

Are we there yet?

Whew.

I already feel like I've been around the world, and I haven't even left the United States yet. I'm going to try to re-cap my travels so far, as quickly as possible. I know this isn't exciting stuff from Italy, like you're all expecting, but that is coming, I promise. I just have to get there first!

Tuesday, I landed in New York and made my way to the Lexington Raddison, and a sick Alison. Because Alison was feeling under the weather and because I was exhausted from packing all my worldly possessions the day before and the sad 'see you laters' at the airport, we laid low in the hotel room all night. I had to make a quick run to Penn Station to pick up a train ticket for my journey to the Italian Consulate in Philly the next morning. In hindsight, that trip was worthless, as I could have purchased the ticket online. At least I got the lay of the station though, and knew exactly where to go the next morning. We ordered in what might have been the worst Thai food I've ever eaten. I ordered Volcano Curry Chicken (or something like that) and regretted every bite.

The next morning, I woke up bright and early to catch my 7:25am train to Philly. I got to the Italian Consulate without much incident... I signed in, number 4 in line, and waited. And waited. And waited. After an hour of watching all 3 applicants before me get sent away without a visa, I was a bit nervous. When it was my turn, the woman behind the glass knew exactly who I was, and pulled out the stack of emails I'd sent over the last few weeks, begging for help. So, instead of just answering my questions, they printed each and every email. Curious. The Italian gentleman who was visiting the Consulate to settle some inheritance issues assured me that all Italian systems worked like this, and advised that I get used to it.

Anyways, I approached the glass, saw my stack of emails and handed off every piece of identifying documentation I could scrounge up -- from copies of my passport and employment history to letters from the Department of Defense, authorizing me to live and work in Italy. After a few questions, we determined the only thing missing was a passport photo. Really? Seriously!? I went to AAA before I left, specifically to get passport photos but of course I didn't bring them with me to Philly. So, I quickly ran around the corner and took new (and better, in my opinion) photos. I decided to push my luck and beg for the visa to be completed that same day. I was told there was no way. So, I headed back to New York.

On the train, I called the dermatologist recommended by Sandy. (Long story short, I suffered a minor chemical burn at the dentist in Charlotte on Friday, and wanted to get it checked out.) She was able to see me at 12:45pm. It was 11:15am and the train was just pulling out of Philly. 'Could I make it?' they asked. Sure! Needless to say, I was a bit late. I ran in just after 1:15pm, but was seen and received all good news. The burn will not leave scaring, and the doctor prescribed a cream that already has it almost completely healed.

While I was seeing the doctor, I got a call from the Consulate – my visa was ready to be picked up. Of course! I asked if they could overnight it, to save me a trip back to Philly on Friday. No such luck.

After a power nap at the hotel, Alison and I ventured out for a little shopping. If by a little, you mean I bought one of everything at H&M. One day, that store will loose its charm… We picked up dinner at Goodburger (Yes, as in, “Welcome to Goodburger, home of the good burger. Can I take your order?) and made it back to the hotel in time to watch most of American Idol.

The next day found me at Girl Scouts’ headquarters on 5th Avenue bright at early. I wore my new, green pants and khaki coat. Alison told me that I looked like a Girl Scout. If only I hadn’t shipped my Trefoil necklace to Italy (along with all my Winter coats) the outfit would have been complete. I met with more HR staff than I can count on one hand before lunch, where I learned all about my benefits and employee policies. I have the best benefits ever.

After a quick lunch with Sandy, I met with other Global Girl Scout staff members and learned more about all the changes rolling out – pathways, journeys, so on and so forth. If you’re not in the Girl Scout world, you won’t recognize all the lingo. The important thing to know is that lots of things are changing for the first time in decades at Girl Scouts. It is truly an exciting time to be a part of this organization!

A lot more has happened between my Orientation and today, but I’m suddenly exhausted. The bed just across the room is way too inviting to ignore any longer. So, I’m going to call it a night for now, and continue the stories sometime tomorrow… Stay tuned!