guarded

I order a cappuccino, which raises an eyebrow of the bartender since it is no longer morning…  “I know that it is not the right time,” I say.  He makes it for me with a smirk.  It's delicious.  Possibly even more so because it's not really an appropriate drink for lunch.  According to the Italians.

But then again, they also believe that air conditioning is bad for the baby...  

I haven't heard her complain...

I sit with my coffee, topped by some of the firmest foam I have ever encountered, a chocolate croissant, and nurse the baby, while contemplating the heavy barbed wire fence surrounding these buildings.   Members of 28 nations pop in for un café, sandwiches, beer…  and Smalls is highly entertained – her wide eyes trailing the array of uniforms and languages passing through.

I contemplate this organization of nations – NATO.  Peacemaking?  Peacekeeping…  

Here I sit... guarded.  They are guarding the base from me - thus the expectation of a valid ID at all times - and simultaneously they guard me from the world.  

I was sitting on a base in the US on the morning of September 11^th.  I remember feeling so strangely safely trapped.  I didn’t have a military ID at the time, so when I left the base to go to work that day, or the day after, I knew I would not be able to return to base because it would be on lockdown.  Protected from people like me.  I was trapped in a safety net. 

At least here I can come and go – provided I have the appropriate ID.  One for Nato, one for the US bases, passport to enter and exit the country, no-fee passport to make an extended diplomatic stay...  visa, permits... Even Smalls has her two-month-old image plastered in an array of official documents.

For the past couple of weeks we have approached the SS security gate with trepidation.  You see, someone must have decided that security needed to be stepped up a notch.  Cars are usually allowed to approach the entrance gate one at a time, when beckoned forward by a guard.  This process is agonizing enough, but there is also the possibility that the gate is in action.   A long armed gate that must fully open and close to allow a single car to pass before the next car may approach.  Pure torture watching that slow armed gate.  Generally the guards are chatting away with one another – ironically not really paying attention, causing even more inefficiency in the process - and who would blame them really as their post is most assuredly boring as all hell - except that it's their job to be on guard.

Yesterday we approach, see the long arm gate in action, an effectual line of cars accumulated, and realize that yet another step has been added to the laborious process.  They are now using a type of scanning gun to process our ID cards.  The Major passes easily, and my card causes a small eyebrow raise – without explanation.  I chuckle a bit.  This whole process seems a bit of overkill for the Support Site (SS).  Here’s why:  it’s a support base.  It’s where the commissary, exchange and household activities take place.  I know that we are in a foreign country, but I swear if it isn’t easier to get on Mirimar, or Pendelton, or Pensacola, where there are secrets being made, kept, and practiced.   

At my chuckle, the guard in the booth (the one in charge of the long gate arm of the law) leans back, makes eye contact with me and declares, “just trying to keep everyone safe m’am.”  I don’t mean to demean their post – they are, after all, just doing what they have been ordered to do.  But I can’t help but be slightly flip – thank god the groceries are safe.

I get it that there are things related to the military that I don’t have the clearance to know – like, when I got a call from my airline telling that my flight was cancelled due to “mechanical problems” – when I knew full well that the President was making a visit to the base in Yuma that day.  Indeed, someone important may be passing through Naples…  or perhaps there is a heightened security alert across bases for some other legit reason.  

I have a fairly high sense of awareness that my ability to work and express myself freely as an artist is protected in large part by our military.  There are countries in this world where people are not free to live and work as they please.  For example, heard of the Belarus Free Theatre?  

Belarus Free Theatre Interview

There are too many stories like this to list, but coincidentally a friend just posted a link on Facebook to this one...

A Syrian Filmmaker, Disappeared

When I walk around a base and see a caravan of military vehicles, or people in uniform running exercises, spectacle quickly gives way to thoughts of thankfulness.  There are people working hard every day for our safety.  They work behind high walls of barbed wire, among towers of armed guards, in buildings built to withstand bombs.

My husband is part of that machine.  Today we are lucky enough to be doing our service in Italy.  Where we have been eating some of the best slow food of our lives.

I know that at the end of this I will return to the US and resume my regularly scheduled artistic life.  It is one that is often focused on controversial global issues.  For now, I live my daily life as part of a military family, folded into the larger armed forces of the US, and for the next few years, also as part of the world's NATO organization.  As such, I agree to follow all of their rules, no matter how crazy, unnecessary, or absurd they may seem - because I have faith that it is all part of the greater good.  

As we sit in line at the front gate of the SS, watching the slow long arm gate open and close, I can't help but think...   Sometimes, though, it’s a real pain in the ass.

a walk in the park

Yesterday we met Mr. Mano over at the apartment to do some measuring.  Apparently our household goods can be delivered by crane – which is great because the stairs to the third floor are quite narrow.  I expect that the living room furniture might be delivered in this manner since they will occupy the fourth floor space – and there is a roof-like patio off the kitchen on that floor that would accommodate the craning of furniture quite nicely. 

The major appliances, however, will be delivered by the SS – they have European style appliances, and we have been told that they must be able to navigate the stairs and doorways since the SS workers will need access to the appliances in case they break.  Ok. Fine. 

Watching my husband attempt to clarify all of this, with his meager Italian language skills, to our new landlord, who speaks no English, is pretty entertaining.

We decide upon a walk in our new neighborhood.  There is a park down the street that looks promising.  

Attempting to rescue Smalls from encroaching shaken baby syndrome, we recently dropped some ducats on a new ride for her.  This baby rider features 16 inch air-filled, individually suspended wheels.  And - a key selling point for Major – the nifty gadget folds in half by grabbing a handle in the seat.  I anticipate that the stroller’s wide behind might be a challenge to navigate on the narrow streets of the city.  It’s time for a test drive.  Major whips the new stroller out of the CRV one-handed, and, Smalls-on-board, we amble down the street.

The town of Pozzuoli is quite a hodgepodge.  Ancient ruins are all around - sticking out in abstract forms,

then ducking in and out of the landscape...

Makes for some incredibly contrasting images.

To my delight, the sidewalks are surprisingly navigable, despite the layers that belie their age.

And their width is shockingly almost adequate for our not-so-tiny high roller… 

most of the time…

But then there are a few obstacles…

And parking habits of the locals might have inhibited our walk just a tad…

I am also happy to report that the hand brake is actually quite useful.

My shopping appetite was whetted as we passed a few enticing shops along the way.

And we discovered a possible destination for a date night - that is - as soon as we hire our bilingual nanny...

Then we stopped briefly for a TRAIN!

And got scolded by a security-looking dude when I took a picture of this crazy looking building.

In retrospect, that might have been a jail?  Probably will avoid that road in the future...

Deciding to head back towards the apartment where we parked up the hill, we noted that in the future we may have to plan out return routes that avoid the stairs…

Because there are a LOT of stairs…

Did I mention the stairs?

We finally make it over to the park, which is basically a grassy area in front of some ruins.  It looks cool from a distance, but there is broken glass everywhere.  Not so good for air filled tires.  Ah well.  Will just have to keep strolling.

smoke signals

Pop quiz.

So you are driving down the road...  those painted lines - they indicate, what?

Yeah, you guessed it.  Not-so-much for the Italians.  Those lines appear to be merely a suggestion of where one may or may not hang out when driving down the road.  There may be three lanes of traffic, but there may indeed be around five or six (counting the shoulders and opposite side of the road that number increases exponentially).

I have come to the conclusion that the Italians are overly optimistic.  We actually saw someone driving the opposite direction on the highway yesterday.  Not backing up.  Driving.  The wrong way.

We are constantly witnessing death-defying acts of passing, speeding, careening, running red lights, racing through intersections without slowing down..

Here's a fun video (sorry, none of the media is mine today) of a typical intersection in Naples...

Needless to say, I am excited that my gigantic Honda CRV has arrived with all of its air bag glory.  You heard that right.  Gigantic.  When the majority of the cars are slightly larger than a Smart car, ye olde CRV is a towering giant.  I'm ok with that.  It does appear that the big car wins here.  I'm not looking for a fight, I just want to get there.  Alive.

Driving around on our various errands - that generally consist of appointments at bases Capo (the actual base here in Naples), SS (the Support Site base), JFC (Nato, where Major will be working) - we generally see (and smell) around a dozen or so fires burning in the area.

The fires seem to range from trash burning, to on-the-side-of-the-road cigarette starting, to burning off dead crops in a field.

Most of the fires we see are a little smaller than this, but we haven't approached the big ones in the distance...  You should turn the volume down before you watch this one...

I know that the midwest in the US has suffered many horrible fires this year.  It's interesting to me that fires here seem to be so normal.  In fact, I have only seen one fire truck at one fire that was pretty large.  And then they set up a water drop station at Carney Park (CP) a couple of weeks ago where there was another large fire...

we did see the helicopter dropping water when we were touring Pozzuoli.  

Wouldn't want the golf course at CP to go up in flames!

(These pics courtesy of the Living Abroad in Naples Facebook page)

Apparently the guards told one of the wives when they went to CP as the fire burned that a shepherd had set the fire so that there would be new, fresh grass for his sheep in a few weeks.

There is a whole lot of trash is some areas around here - I guess that burning is a normal way to deal with (and sometimes protest) it...

Naples Trash Burning

(*The images today are not mine)

Speaking of going up in flames...  a-hem.

When we first came over to Castel Volturno to look around, our realtor Rhode Island pointed out the women stationed every once in a while in little umbrella stations along the road.  "Whookerz."

She said it several times before the Major caught on.  I was by then laughing pretty hard.  She keep on repeating the word till the lightbulb popped on.  OH!  Those scantily clad, high heel wearing ladies sitting (sometimes stutting around) under umbrellas - offices!

How crazy.

It's a good thing Major doesn't like to stop to ask for directions...

little weirdo

Taking a walk to the grocery store, it's a bumpy ride for Smalls today.  People stare as they pass us, and I wonder, what makes us worthy of consideration...  People sometimes also speak to me regularly in Italian, as if I could pass for a local.   It's a conundrum.

I took a good look at the houses in the neighborhood as we strolled.  A "boarded up" house looks artistically adorned.

I wonder about the previous habitants, and what led to "bricking up" the doors and windows.   I wonder about the cost of wood in this country, and note that all of the floors I have seen here are tile or marble.

I feel like I don't really look that closely at things in America, I don't think...  and yet, here every road is a curiosity, every aisle in the store has potential to produce an exciting treat.  Like these little individually wrapped chocolate wonders -

I am sure that things will become "normal" here after a while.  After the adjustment of taste.  Did I mention that food just tastes better here?  The lettuce actually smells delicious!  We are still reasoning that one out...

Volcanic ash + less chemicals? + more sunshine/humidity/something weird about the weather or climate or...  some other mysterious factor.

In the meantime, we are still shamelessly, and seriously, obsessed with the tomatoes.

And so is Smalls.  She has been eating raw tomatoes and sucking the sauce off of pasta around here like it's her j.o.b.  Think pasta sauce from tip to tail...

The yolks of the eggs here are much more vibrantly painted.

AND, you don't refrigerate the eggs over here...  something to do with never having refrigerated them?  They remind me of the eggs we got from a farm in Virginia once (there were even green shells that time).

We tried the white eggplant.

Delicious as you would expect.  Not too different than the taste of regular eggplant - but the Major made it with salted capers, and that was a winning combo right there...  funny thing is that it barely looked white anymore after it was "browned".  Heh.

And we have been eating figs like they are going out of season...

I actually think they are just hitting their season - lucky for us.

There are some things that I haven't quite figured out yet.

Like, condensed goat's milk, for example -

And this strange offering at the ortofrutta...

Looks like a type of nut?  I haven't had the courage to ask.

As the Major and I work towards some kind of proficiency with the native language, we have found a couple of Italian friends who have insisted on assisting us.  Yesterday our mission was to decode cell phone contracts.  It took our friends, and their daughter, speaking in Italian (with us, each other, and the Tim store lady), French (with each other), and English (with us), about two hours of debating

to decide that we should just figure out a way to get phones from the US - never mind a ban on shipping lithium batteries...

While the language circus progressed at the Tim store, Smalls and I contemplated acquiring a Lover Card,

and heading down to McDrive ...

Ok, not really...  Actually I am very impressed that I have only seen two McDonalds and one Burger King in our three weeks here so far - at least beyond the gates of the SS.  And, not tempted in the least for some "American" food as of yet.  Although this phenomena did occur when I studied abroad in Bangkok.  Granted, the food there was a bit more "foreign".  And I was in college.

After the cell phone negotiations were kaput, we joined our new friends for a cafe, and debated the merits of Italian coffee (small but mighty).

She thinks that it must be weird for Americans to see Italians drinking out of such a tiny cup.  Perhaps a little weird, it's true, but oh so delicious!

We take Smalls, in desperate need of a nap, and head back to our lodgings - to study the language, and for a salad bursting with both color and flavor (radicchio & rucula).

Tonight we try these beautiful zucchini.

Will have to let you know how those little weirdos turn out!

stop and go

I'm sure we are all familiar with ye old stop sign, right?

Well, apparently here in the Naples area, "stopping" is merely a suggestion.  A suggestion that could very well get you hit square in the car ass.  You don't stop for stop signs here - I learned this first by having a small freakout when my husband ran one getting on the Autostrade - and he very patiently, without raising his voice in the least (or altering his tone) - explained that this kind of respect for the law would in fact, probably get us killed.

I don't think it's as bad as his experience driving in Columbia.  He literally praised the traffic gods when he returned to American soil after that trip - noting that Americans, in fact, stop at red lights and stop signs in the middle of nowhere, and at night when no one else is around - there is just THAT much respect for the law.

We're still trying to figure out the rules of the road here.  Sometimes it seems as if the biggest car wins, or if you honk first, you have established your sonority, but mostly it's just a free-for-all.  And yet these people are good drivers.  Possibly great drivers.  I haven't seen an accident yet, and it seems like the more you drive like an American, the more you will be having mini heart attacks, becoming a danger to yourself and those around you (namely your husband who is driving - at least according to him).  The game plan seems to be:  Bear down and make your way - other cars, pedestrians, small animals, motorcycles, mopeds, signs and lights be damned - as much as possible.

I took my driving test today.  Before the test we listened to a brief about driving in this area from a guy who grew up here.  As he showed pictures and videos of traffic in downtown naples it reminded me of driving in NYC.  No lines on the road, everyone just keeps a reasonable distance of a few small inches or so...

It's possible that had I taken the test earlier I would have known better than to drive up that one-way street (where we got the international head shake for "What the ahem are you thinking? Turn around immediately and go the right way dingo!" from an on-coming moto).  The last time we drove around Italy we got into some might tight spots (literally - and we were driving a car just a scooch bigger than a Smart car).  Perhaps armed with this new knowledge of traffic signs we will win previously failed battles over maze-like city centros.  It only took us about a dozen shots at breaking into Perugia ("look kids, Big Ben, Parliament!").  Ah, but that was back in the day - driving old-school style sans GPS.

On the way back from the SS, the Major was stopped by the local Carabinieri here in town.  I had seen them doing traffic stops in the same location the day before, so I wasn't surprised to hear this...  I haven't seen a whole lot of Americanos around these parts.

When the police officer approached the Major's car, he asked, "Where are you from?"

"California," replied the Major.

A pause.

"Marines?" 

"Yep."

A pause, and a smile...

"Bye, buyee."

And he walked away from the car.  Letting a confused Major drive down the road.

In other news - we got to see the apartment again yesterday...  This is a view from the fourth floor upper back patio area - that looks out over Pozzuoli bay.

They were working on installing air conditioners and a new hot water heater when we stopped by - key ingredients in our negotiation process.

Out in front of the building is a square where there is a daily market (to the right in the pic), a vegetable truck that comes down from Gaeta, a gelateria, a pretty fantastic pizzeria, and there is also a Metro stop just a couple of blocks away.

These pictures really don't do the view justice - it's pretty stunning.

It's definitely part of a city, but not nearly as crazy as Naples.  It's a port city, and there are historic ruins everywhere.  I am really looking forward to exploring this town.

Currently, we are waiting for the SS base housing office - we first have to have a pre-contract meeting at the end of the month, then there is an inspection of the place, then we move to contract.  It's a long, drawn-out ordeal, but we are excited about the apartment, its location and the landlord, so we are hopeful that it will all pan out.

I have learned that one should not get too excited about anything until it actually happens when it comes to moving - we have heard many stories here about how things get screwed up, housing falls through for one reason or another, or the rules change without warning.  We are trying to be patient.

Meanwhile, it's summer, and we are staying where there is a pool, near the beach.

It could be a whole lot worse.

full circle

It's Sunday.  Everything is closed.  We can't get gas because we have gas coupons and we can only use them when the full service people are working the pumps - not on Sunday.  Markets, shops, and restaurants are all closed - save for just a couple.  Italians seem to really protect their vacation and family time.   It's great.  I actually remember this kind of schedule from when I was young growing up in the midwest.  Sunday was reserved for Church and family.

One big difference here - shops close in the afternoon for a break.  I remember that the first time I went to Barcelona (more than 10 years ago) it was the same thing - I tried to go shopping on my lunch break, but everything was shut.  When we returned to Barcelona a few years ago, it had all changed, everything seemed to be open all throughout the day.

I was at the market buying groceries on Friday - Smalls had just woken up from a nap, and we headed out around lunch time...  I had just managed to secure a couple of veggies and was contemplating another bottle of Morellino, when I hear the cashier trying to get my attention.

I didn't catch everything she said, but I did hear "chiusa" quite clearly.  Closing.  And it was 2 in the afternoon.  I haven't quite figured out when they open back up, or more importantly, what the heck these people do for hours in the afternoon...  When I figure it out, I will let you know.

The major has been doing some more cooking - our choices for going out around town here in Castel Volturno are pretty much pizza, pizza, or pizza.  Typical food of the region.  Contrary to my habits in college, I find now that one can only eat so much pizza...  We stayed in, and enjoyed fried baby octopus and pasta with shrimp and rocket.

Here we are, living essentially right down the road from where the Major's grandfather was born and raised.  It's not lost on me that he is now using techniques in the kitchen passed down from generations past...  These ingredients are familiar to him... the smells, and the tastes sweetened by the knowledge that Grandpa is somehow involved in each meal.

Yesterday, Saturday, was an incredibly beautiful day.  It cooled off a bit.  So we enjoyed the pool for a while.

And Smalls enjoyed my fast fruit popsicles.  She finally is popping a tooth, and the icy treats appear to be rather soothing.

In the afternoon when it really warmed up we decided to take a field trip to Ikea, to gather ideas for our hopefully upcoming move.  Although their furniture is not built to withstand a lot of moving around, we have had several pieces that have lasted for quite a while - and I like seeing their innovative ideas.  Plus, they actually have pretty cool baby stuff.  We buy Smalls a tiny stuffed animal with the biggest tags you have ever seen.

Next stop, to find a supermarket and some dinner ingredients.  We pass a store a couple of times called Auchan.  It looks gigantic.  After a search on the GPS, we see it listed as a supermarket.  Ok, let's do it.

When we step inside, we realize that, heck yeah Toto - we ain't in Kansas anymore.

Let's be clear.  It's like no other supermarket I have ever seen.  Ever.

I mean, I am generally a fan of Starbucks, but wouldn't you rather have your coffee here?

In a cup like this?

And perhaps catch a few minutes of the soccer game while you enjoy a gelato here?

It's really a mall with a giant supermarket inside...  It takes us a bit of walking to get the cart (with Smalls) inside the grocery store.   But once we do - well...  It's like a disneyland for foodies...  Some of the craziest stuff we have seen yet - definitely some food curiosities - like this ginormous log of mortadella...  Whoa.

We contemplate buying a bit of horse for dinner...

(Not really).  But if you are considering it, scroll in and you can see parts of the horse for sale...

We wander past the fish selection

We end up in the veggie aisle.  Such beautiful tomatos!

And if you have a recipe that calls for a medley of eggplant, we know where to go...

Will have to try the white eggplant on our next visit...

After securing one of my favorites, mozzarella di bufala,

AND a new treat recommended by our friend T, ricotta di bufala, (both made in our local region of Campana)

we make a slow dash out of the store.

I am struck by the families strolling through the mall.  I don't see many single people (alone) at all.  NO ONE is on their phone.  People are conversing with real live people, connecting, playing around with Smalls, watching the soccer game, enjoying coffee at the bar, eating ice cream...  Old couples meander along, preciously sharing the load of a bag between them.

We return from Auchan to the aromas of fried fish, tomatos and basil trapped in the house from yesterday's dinner.  I am struck by the smell of the house at this moment - it reminds me of the Major's grandfather's house in California.  When I tell him that I think so, he responds that he has been thinking about this for a few days...  "How crazy that my grandfather's house used to smell like Italy."  There is a pause as we consider the irony.  And here we are, full circle.