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…

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.