rhythm

There is a rhythm to life here in Italy, and we're starting to get it.

At certain times each day our piazza buzzes with activity, then slows to a crawl, and eventually rocks to a beat.

I have come to prefer the twilight hours.  Dinner time (well, for us Americans, anyway).

It's the time of day when the wind picks back up.  After a lull.  A sea change.  That "aaah" in the day that provides a second wind.  Reposo, buddy...  I get you now.

Ferragosto is here.  The Italians scurry off to the beaches (seriously, WHO can stand to touch each other -neigh-grope each other in 90 degree/80% humidity... ) where they pack in like beached sardines.

We have prepared by positioning a baby lagoon on the back patio reserved for a party of one.

It's been a year since we arrived.

My Italian is better.  My cooking is infinitely better.  The neighbors are nicer.

We have not yet tired of the beautiful fruits and vegetables...

If you haven't figured it out by now:  Our taste in tomatoes is forever ruined.

We have discovered a type of beans that we have not discovered the name for,

an incredible type of olive oil,

a fruit like a cherry that's not really like a cherry at all...

the proper way to eat a kilo of mozzarella di bufala,

and why tuna absolutely belongs stuffed into a pizza.

We now know how to make scungilli properly the Gaetano way...

and the difference between speck, pancetta, and prosciutto...

We even found a place down the street where we can get our wine on tap...

We belong to this neighborhood.

Sort of.

The cashier at Conad speaks to us everytime we visit, but somehow she has the impression that we are French, so Smalls is greeted with a "bonjour" whenever we stop in.

We have become friends with the Butchers, who have opened a new restaurant - which hopefully we will visit soon.

The Major cracks a good recipe for  hamburgers by giving them VERY strict instructions on how to grind the meat.  We top it off with fresh smoked provolone.  Finally, a fantastic burger!

Now, if we could just figure out how to get the ladies at the market to order avocados...

The last couple of months have been a whirlwind of activity.

We hosted the Major's parents, and Uncle.  Since the Major's Grandpa was born in Gaeta, we spent almost a week there, visiting family friends, and comparing memories of Gaetano recipes recreated in the States.

We even discovered incredible ancient seaside ruins, that appear to be some kind of local secret...

After a free-wheeling, somewhat harrowing, golf cart tour of Rome,

we headed to an Agriturismo in Tuscany for a week.

Smalls runs the orchards

in between visits to some of our favorite northern cities...

Dinners were...

 as ridiculous as Tuscan dinners should be...

With the parents safely returned to the States, we headed to a beach resort, in Sibari, on the Ionian coast.

And hit the Angel caves near Salerno.  Where they produce a version of Dante's Inferno...

 and during our visit, a rumbling antique car show appeared out of nowhere...

Later, Smalls' pal V brought his mom into town for a day-trip ferry ride to Ischia, the island that we watch the sun set over nightly...

Then, the Major's presence was requested again at the Nato school in Germany, so we packed up the Burley and headed north, stopping in Bolzano on the way.

Once in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Smalls and I pedaled all over the map, finally putting some much deserved miles on our tires...

Which was actually a fantastic way to work off the german beer!

And then there was the sausage...

Did I mention there was sausage?

We got our head above the clouds on top of the Zugspitze.

Where we celebrated the dizzying heights...

After his stint as a facilitator ended, we headed to Prague, a city high on our to-do list.

On the way, we made a short detour through the charming village of Cesky Krumlov...

Where we discovered the roots of an all-American king...

Or rather, the original inspiration of an American knocked off version...  locally known affectionately as Budvar...

In Prague we learned how to build a defensive corridor

to protect our royal hineys.

I am confident this information will eventually come in handy.

Then we checked black light theatre off the professional bucket list.

After a couple of days we headed back through Austria and stopped to visit a castle on a lake at Schloss Fuschl.

Heading back down south, we looked up one of our favorite destinations from many years before, the incredible Hombre organic parmesan farm.

Smalls was treated to baby cow nibbles on her knees as we somehow scored (again) a personal tour from one of the sons in the family.

Since the Major's Italian has greatly improved since our last visit, we left the farm much more informed about the inner workings of the special cheese-making family.  We head "home" with a car full of culinary treats.

We finish up a dinner of our trip's treasures, in our piazza-in-a-fishing-villiage-turned-urban-chaos.
The day sets into evening...

The Major heads down to cool off Smalls with a "batfh".

I cart a load of laundry to the lines overlooking the alley, where I have been faithfully hanging our underwear for all the world to see for about three months now.

I catch an impromptu calcio game erupting between the apartments, a background of pots and pans rattling in preparation for late evening meals, as cats scramble towards scraps, amongst passionate voices, and wacky cell phone ringtones...

Calls of "Maria", "Elena", and "Tina" echo and bounce between balconies as the evening news is passed between neighbors... ladies leaning, hands gesturing, laundry folding...

Then I hear Smalls squeal with glee, from the window below, splashing around in her soaked tile playground - the Major emitting half smiling sounds of having just gotten soaked.

At that moment I realize that we are now an intergral part of the rhythm of the neighborhood.

And it feels good.

home

I confess.  I haven't been very good about getting the laundry out on the line.  But today, I did five loads, and it all went out into the breezy sunshine.  The Major was shocked when he saw the laundry billowing on the line.  I was just happy that nothing fell into the street four stories below...

Keep in mind that we have a tiny washer - so one of those loads was a king sized sheet and a towel.  For real.  Not even both sheets - just one.

And you think you do a lot of loads of laundry...

My Italian is coming along.... slowly (piano, piano).  I can get to the store, and buy what I need, more or less, so most days that is satisfactory.  Things will probably change when we put Smalls into Italian school in the fall, and I need to converse with her teachers...

I can actually understand quite a bit, probably thanks to years of spanish.  It's just when I speak, my Italian has a Spanish accent, and here in Naples, everyone speaks the local dialect (there is even a micro-dialect in our neighborhood of Pozzuoli).  So...  "real" Italian is hard to find.  It's actually easier for us to communicate when we are in other parts of Italy - especially Tuscany, where the language is clear, enunciated, and more proper.

We've been here for almost ten months already, and I wonder if it will ever feel like "home" here.  I think, probably not...

Here is a small example...

I got excited about Easter and wanted to dye eggs for Smalls.  But there are only brown eggs in Italy.  I learned this after going to about four different stores and then finally asking at our little market.

It's not a big deal really, in fact, I have a habit of buying brown eggs in the states.  However, it really puts a kink in your decorative panache.  We had a Tim Gunn moment and "made it work" but I'll be shopping at the commissary for white eggs next year.  It's not like we usually eat them anyway...  especially if they have been rolling around on the ground...

I've told you all about the insane traffic, the hauling things up and down four flights of stairs, the constant party that is also our piazza (now every night since the weather is better), the daily circus of parking and parking attendants in the piazza, the nightly fireworks (seriously, on Sunday night at midnight they went on for about 20 minutes...  we have no idea why)...

And then...  bear with me here...  there are the toilets.  First of all, have I mentioned that most public  toilets don't have a toilet seat?  Ok, fine, one should never touch a seat in a public bathroom, I get it, but when you have a toddler strapped to you, your balance might be off a bit...  just sayin...

And THEN...  well, the toilets are designed differently here.  They don't flush quite right.  Those of you who have lived outside the US can commiserate I'm sure.  It's just not the same.  I'd almost rather just use a hole in the floor like in Thailand...  Yes.  It's that frustrating.

I was in the states recently for a couple of weeks.  I was curious how it would feel, if I would "miss" anything Italian, or crave anything specifically American.  Other than American toilets, here is the dirty list: avocados, hamburgers (specifically Five Guys), fried chicken, blue cheese dressing, toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and grilled cheese sandwiches, and avocados.  Did I mention avocados?  To be fair, we can get peanut butter here, and we can make grilled cheese, but the bread here is...  Italian.  It's just not the same.  Oh, and we don't have a toaster.  But we are going to fix that soon.

About the avocados...  it's weird.  Not to be found.  Apparently someone tried to start an avocado farm here once (somewhere around here) - but the Italians, being creatures of habit, just didn't take to them, so they don't grow them and you can't find them.  Oh, and same with cilantro.  Only difference is, I could care less about cilantro (thank you Thailand for that aversion).  The Major, however, loves himself some cilantro, so we'll see if we can grow some in our container garden.

I missed the tomatoes from Italy.

They smell like the garden from my childhood memories.  I want to curl up into that smell.

I don't know why we bother to even include them on things in the US - especially out of season.  Horribly offensive.  And couldn't wait for mozzarella di bufala.  And pizza.  I will never get over our pizza here.  I will get more specific about that soon.  And same with the gelato.  Just collecting some more data...  samples...  to make sure you get the full picture...

Meanwhile, I'm working on a container garden.  Mostly herbs - since they aren't so easy to find all of the time, and other than parsley, basil and celery, you are generally out of luck...

And then...  I visit the ortofrutta truck downstairs and bring back all of this...

And suddenly I feel so very at home...

multiple personality

A city with four names...

Ancient: Fiorenza,
Italian: Firenze,
Latin: Florentia,

and for everyone else:

Florence...

Although we visited Florence many years ago, and have very fond memories of the walkable and friendly town, during this two-week visit, we saw other sides to her personality and got to know her a bit more personally...

Like much of Italy in March, Florence was moody and mostly spitting grey.  

While the Major engaged in an intensive language course, Smalls and I donned rain covers and boots to explore quaint lunching areas and gelaterias...  having visited all of the major sights on a previous trip, we were more interested in seeing the more casual and local side of our surroundings.

It was nice to taste a few different flavors.  The cheesy casseroles,  risotto dishes, and polenta offerings were a nice change of pace.

Smalls gets a lesson on how to eat pumpkin risotto.

And, apparently we were ready for some non-italian food palate cleansers... we also found kabobs, Indian food, and we ate at a Mexican restaurant THREE times.  Man, do I miss avocado...

Aside from the culinary detour, there were some more familiar sightings...

A view of the Duomo from the adjacent bell tower.

It boggles the mind what was accomplished architecturally in ancient times...

Duomo floor.  The three-dimensional designs are awesome.

We visit our old friend Amerigo outside of the Uffizi.

Learning to "roar" at the lions around town.

Special treat of a schiuma di latte (milk foam) at the illustrious Gilli Cafe.

And the big people indulged in a bit of cafe as well...

And we discover a new friend, Galileo...

A lovely little museum with a ton of interactivities for kids of all ages...

The little church on the hill by the Piazza San Michelangelo was an unexpected surprise...  inside there were multiple layers, dividing the church population, and creating an intriguing and decadent floor plan...

And then there was gelato...

And more gelato...

Not gonna lie, we did a tour of the "best" gelaterias in town...  At least half-a-dozen...  we (and by we, I mean mostly Smalls), are becoming experts on the stuff.

Finally, we suffer through an infamous Florentine steak...

And indulge in our still new-favorite wine, Morellino di Scansano...

I can say with confidence that Smalls most appreciated the large park on the Arno with never ending tree-lined paths...

As a final coup d'etat, Smalls convinces us that riding the merry-go-round is necessary on several occasions...

As we take a final stroll around the city, we note that there is a quaint grandness to Florence that really lends to her qualification as one of Italy's great cities...

One of the ancient doors to the city.  Now we just need to find the keys...

Before we leave town, we decide to take in just one more major "official" cultural experience - the palazzo vecchio.  We had walked by the building numerous times, once encountering a flag throwing exhibition reminiscent of renaissance reenactments.

Little did we know that among the decadent rooms and unbelievable architecture of the old palace, we would find the desired keys to the city...

Keys to the city.

Finally the ones we carry around daily don't seem quite as humoungous...

Well... sort-of...