so smart

I think the vegetable guy likes me.

The last time I went to Conad to shop, he was very friendly (as usual), and was very excited that the baby was awake this time (she is always sleeping!)

But then...  he offered me a coffee!

Right in the middle of the fruit and vegetables.

There was a little silver carafe.

He poured me this tiny cup of black gold.

And it was fantastic.

I practically skipped through the store.

Seriously excellent way to drum up business... get everyone hyped up on coffee - maybe they will buy more...  or, in my case, just get their shopping done much faster...

Brilliant!

There are a few noteworthy things here...  such as the unexpected and unbelievably good coffee in strange locations...

Like the shopping carts, for example.

In order to use a cart, you have to insert a euro coin - generally a 50 cent, or 1, or 2 euro coin.

When you return the cart to its rightful place, you get the coin back.  Excellent.  Saves from carts being strewn every which direction.  So smart.

Probably wouldn't work in the states for a quarter.

And let's get real, who carries a dollar coin?

On first glance, the parking situation in our piazza would seem pretty dumb.

But having watched our parking "attendants" in action for a few weeks, their system works quite well...  Parking is several cars deep, they know who belongs to what car, they know if you live there, they help direct people around, and they make a few bucks along the way.

They can get your car un-buried in a matter of moments.

Curiously they are nowhere to be found when the carabinieri and tow trucks show up...

It's a good show from up above, where I sit with a cup of coffee, observing the drama of shaking fists, tears, and more hand signals than a fast moving baseball game.

I have come to really respect riposo.  It's the perfect time to go for a walk, or do some shopping when everyone else is...  um...   - well I haven't figured that out yet, but the stores are empty (or closed), and there is only a little traffic.  Sunday morning calm scheduled in the middle of daily chaos.  Just lovely.

It's a great opportunity to get out and about - where you could visit a park like this one...  and...  Well, if you can figure out what "is" allowed, you could do it!

Something else most Americans don't think of when community planning - building your houses so close together that in a pinch a guy could just hold them up himself.  This proximity also prevents most automobile traffic on your street...

Although the stylin motos can still get by...

You get extra points for packing your entire family of four or five on a two-wheeler.  

Don't forget to bring Fido.  

Wear flip flops.  

Leave the helmets at home.

While you are out and about you might also notice that using the bathroom is a bit of an adventure...  Many toilets don't have a seat at all...  and this would prevent almost anyone from trying to sit down (and who would do that in a public restoom anyhow?)  

In this case, however, there was a seat, and it went up and down automatically.  I want one of these for my house...  Just as soon as Smalls gets over thinking any toilet is her own private pool...

No need to worry about finding a place to kick back and relax though...

Since cars are everywhere, and here they are furniture.

It's totally acceptable to lean, sit, stand, or use any car available as a goal for your game of calcio (cal-cho) - soccer...

This guy is enjoying his sandwich leaning against our car.  

While we were sitting in it...

While on the subject of cars - what a fantastic idea to make use of space available and park on the sidewalk.  

Oh, and driving into oncoming traffic?  What an intelligent move to make your daily commute more adventurous.  No one was really using that lane anyway...

Throwing your hands out the window, honking and yelling really drives the point home...  on both ends...

Stop signs?  Really, what's the point.  In fact, much better to use your own judgement about when and where to go, and how fast to do it.

Ah Italy...  what a capricious little rebel you are...

in the black

This past weekend we took a trip to see our friends in Martina Franca.  With her husband on the way to the boat to fly exercises for a few weeks, T decided that this was the weekend to put together a Thanksgiving dinner, and we were lucky enough to be invited.

My friends back "home" have a tradition of eating Thanksgiving dinner whenever we manage to gather as a group.  It's been a few years - what with children being raised, and families moving about the world - since we have managed to convene, but the concept of "scheduling" holidays, and meals of thanks, is one that I am very amenable to.

What is it about celebrating a traditional holiday away from home that makes a person feel so much closer to home...

I believe that this is the first international Thanksgiving I have attended.  Food from Italy, family recipes from America and Croatia, wine from France, beer from Belgium.  So very cosmopolitan...

There is one problem...

This puts a real kink in my "no Christmas music till after Thanksgiving" rule -

Thanksgiving came really early this year.

I guess we will have to get used to breaking rules here in Italy.  We will just have to embark on creating some new rules and family traditions.  Like pecan pie with bacon for breakfast...

On Sunday we visited the town of Alberobello to see the Trulli.

An incredibly beautiful fall day in a magical little town.

The story goes that in order to avoid taxation, the people built houses that could be easily dismantled when inspectors paid a visit.  The charming little domed houses dot the landscape of Apulia, and are clustered in Alberobello.

We make a mandatory gelato stop, and comb the tiny shops for local treats - Smalls in tows.

Back on the road to Pozzuoli, we stop to pick up sandwiches, and for a coffee.

It probably goes without saying, but here goes...

Wait for it.....

Coffee in Italy is an art.

Perhaps I shall have a masters in this art before I leave town...

I'm going to give it a serious go.

Let me back up to the first time I had "real" Italian coffee, in Italy.  For, in fact, a family friend introduced me to Illy many years ago, and although delicious, it still lacked something that it does not here, in country...  probably the water...

When I first encountered Italian coffee (caffe normale) - what most Americans would probably call espresso, I had many preconceived notions - for example, that Italians don't put sugar in their coffee (they do), and that they don't drink cappuccinos after breakfast (they don't - although I have discovered that there are other forms of coffee with cream or milk that are just as tasty).

My favorites so far are the caffe macchiato, and caffe schiumato.  A caffe macchiato (which means "stained") is an espresso with just a touch of milk and foam, whereas the caffe schiumato is just foam on an espresso.  Apparently there is also a latte macchiato, where espresso is added to milk (as opposed to the other way around), but I have not encountered that one yet.  I doubt highly that it will resemble what Starbucks considers a macchiato in any way.

Here people also stop at the gas station for coffee as they traverse the autostrade.

And at the auto grille we are given the cutest little to-go cups I have ever seen.

Keep in mind that the espresso only fills around 1/2 of this cup...

Now, when would you ever buy a meal at a gas station in the US?  Ok, I know there are exceptions...  but really...  these are some of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten, and the coffee...  well, the coffee makes every stop worthwhile.

Ridiculous.

We make it back to Pozzuoli, fulfilled and fully fueled.

freshy

Buying groceries here is a daily event.

Or should I say,

a daily adventure?

Produce here is best fresh.  It is so ripe, it generally should be eaten within twenty-four hours.

Refrigerators are small (because electricity is wildly expensive), and markets are easy walking access, for the most part, so stopping by on your way home from - something - is easy.

For this kind of shopping we are lucky to have many options within a few blocks.  The fruit and veggie truck is the best, and as you may recall, that's only a short distance from our front door.

I have made friends with the older gentleman working the truck, and he helps to clarify for me which items go in which bags - for there is some kind of system that I have not yet mastered...

Blue bags, clear bags, fruit and veggies by the pound (kilo), by the piece, or group...

The local women zip around challenging prices and quality as I slowly assess the options.

He also helps me identify and pronounce the names of their offerings, although they are from Gaeta, and the dialect there is different, so it can be a little confusing - every day a small lesson in  the language and customs of the event.

Then there is the corner market that has the essentials, like milk, eggs, and bread.  We have met all of the family members that run this little shop, and have tried a number of their prepared items from the deli counter.

The guys at the butcher shop in the square are young, friendly, and try to speak a little English.

I have no idea what I am buying most of the time (slabs and skewers of sparsely labeled meats),

but they are very patient with me and my attempts to speak a little Italian.  I definitely have a lot to learn about the butchers.   Uh, I mean... going to the butcher...

Further, only a couple of blocks in either direction there are three choices of grocery stores, Conad being the closest, and luckily the best as far as quality of products versus expense.

It's about a two-block walk from our place.

Discovering the best way to accomplish this kind of daily market lifestyle - fruits and veggies here, meats and eggs there, other groceries elsewhere - has thus far required daily experimental combinations of strollers, baby carriers, grocery kart, grocery baskets, backpack, fanny pack (ooh, how retro), and tote bags (they charge you per plastic bag here).

Take one combination of the elements above, followed by: navigation of staircases (multiple),

doorways requiring keys (multiple),

gates and additional stairs (one),

giant parking lot of crazy Italian drivers (untold), other pedestrians (sense of personal space anyone?), stray dogs (numerous, and so far benign), cobblestone (unreasonable but pretty),

sidewalks (narrow, populated),

untold obstacles (many),

untold obstacles (many, many),

and grocery store aisles (narrow, confusingly organized).

Our best guess thus far is putting Smalls in a carrier, probably close to nap time so she will be dosey and adorable - this goes far with Italians, for they love themselves a sleeping bimba - and attaching a fashionable (definitely questionable but functional) waistpack purse (handsfree is essential on these missions).

Not since I lived in New York City have I encountered this quantity of daily exercise via simple chores.

And I was shopping for one back then, not a family.

What used to be a simple diet of cereal, cheese, crackers, and beer, has spiraled into Susie homemaker antics.  Fresh squeezed juices, hours long sauces, identifying local produce, decoding local recipes, friending local merchants, and discovering the best places to find specialty items, takes a good percentage of my average day. 

I was completely thrilled to find a Buffalaria (where they sell primarily buffalo cheeses) only a couple of blocks from the house.

And discovering a place to buy little desserts was a total coup -

since I have never seen them in any of the other shops - unless you want to buy them frozen in the grocery store.

And I have now joined the ranks of the locals with a grocery kart.

I generally never see any other babies or children in the grocery store.  Probably they are at home with a close relative, and not subject to these kinds of errands.

But I don't have those kinds of resources, so away we go...

I'm bagged up, strapped down, grocery list in hand...  and...

Oh right...

All the stores close at 2:00 p.m. on Sundays...

and...

it's a bit after that hour already.

I guess it's pizza for dinner.

ruined

As I slice tomatoes in the kitchen, preparing for some version of a sauce, a strange familiar sound wafts in, along with a steady stream of wasps I have been annihilating one at a time.  I am not generally a violent person, but my aim with a hard-to-find flyswatter, has become deadly accurate as I defend Smalls from the potential attackers.  Live accordion music from a neighbor's window narrates these activities with "Big Night" flair.  This is Italy my friends.  How beautifully cliche. Well, except for the wasps, I suppose...

The sauce passes muster with the Major, and Smalls tests her new teeth on the long ribbons of pasta.

Over the weekend we ventured down the hill to the harbor.

Our mission was to find the fish market.

We put Smalls in a carrier, "the bag" as the Italians call it, so that we could explore the staircases and shortcuts down below.

We pass by the famous sinking ruins on our way down.

Pozzuoli is known for bradyism - a condition that causes the earth to rise and fall.  So water now stands where the floor of this temple once was.  We marvel at the marble columns, and what it must have taken for them to have been placed here.

We continue to the water's edge.

I am in awe of the cleanliness (yes, those black shadows are fish) of the water,

and admire the worn wooden boats docked along the edges...

We find a nice quiet restaurant, near some ruins by an inlet.

Apparently there used to be a little palace here, but earthquakes did damage.

Walking around you get a bit of a multicultural vibe - Irish, English and American pubs mingle with Italian bars.

An extra bonus, on our way home, we discovered a park only a couple of blocks from the house.

A beautifully manicured green space bordered by... you guessed it - ruins (what a surprise!)

It's really a gorgeous place, and I imagine lots of walks will happen for us here.

Finally only a couple of blocks from our place, we pass some of the most famous ruins in the area, an amphitheater (behind the facade pictured), the third largest in all of Italy.

I look forward to visiting this site.  Apparently you pretty much get the run of the place to explore at your own pace, unlike some of the more popular sites in Rome.  For years I have taught my students about the theatre that took place in places like this.  It's pretty amazing to live next door to such an important piece of history.

Last night we broke out the stroller and attempted to join the locals for passeggiata. Smalls had just finished her dinner, and I decided to ruin mine with gelato.  I'm on the hunt for the best shop in walking distance.  There is one about four houses down from us in the square, and the ice cream there is good, but I have had better, so I will keep exploring.

Down a windy road, across the railroad tracks and across a small square, there is a restricted zone for pedestrians.  I remember visiting many cities in Italy previously where streets were shut down like this, providing a nice area for walking and shopping.

Children playing, families out for walks, people frequenting gelatarias, groups of men and women hanging out at coffee bars, people shopping for dinner...  It is an aspect of Italy that makes it unusual from anywhere else I have been.  I imagine this is when the news of the day travels around town, from one mouth to the next.

We duck into the gelateria I spotted last time we passed through.  It has many of the warning signs of less-than quality, but we have come all the way down the hill.... so I pick one called "Bounty" after the coconut candy bar.  I am given the pleasure of a fresh-from-the-oven cone, providing a warm vessel for the icy treat.  The ice cream is satisfactory, but not excellent.

We pass another gelato shop on the way back home.  I have a feeling it won't be too long in the future before we give that one a shot...

welcome to the neighborhood

Somehow our move to Pozzuoli goes peacefully.  

Well, mostly.  There is a disagreement about whether the refrigerator will fit up the stairs.  “We will not be responsible for any damages,” is not something you want to hear from the moving company.  Luckily the Major is just Italian enough to wear down the opposition. The man is convinced to give it a try.  That man doesn’t speak to us for the rest of his time in our presence.  But we have a nice fridge.  On the fourth floor.  In the kitchen.  Where it belongs.

Everyone shows up, relatively on time, and the lift, as expected, is assembled.  Imagine a very tall ladder with a small motorized platform that ambles up and down.  And then imagine your couch on said ladder…  yikes.  

I stayed inside to direct boxes into their proper general area, and keep the Smalls out of trouble.

We left a good portion of our stuff back in California in storage, or sold it on Craigslist before we came.  Planning on a minimum of a two-bedroom, but not wanting to be encumbered by overzealous packing, we (I) tried to minimize.  As the “stuff” continues to stream into the house, I feel somewhat embarrassed by the magnitude of the operation.  And this is “paired down”. 

Does the stuff multiply during transport? 

Seriously.

Why do we own…  so…  much…  crap…

As the three sets of movers pour sweat onto the four flights of stairs, I question the decisions we (I) made back in Monterey – what to keep/sell/store/move/donate.  Simultaneously making mental lists of what we will now “need” for our new home – rugs, a kitchen something to store all the “kitchen stuff”, lamps…

Luckily I followed some advice and brought everything we owned that could act as “storage”, for there are no closets in Italy.  We are provided wardrobes by the base, along with our major European appliances.  Four moderately sized boxes to serve as closets.  Not pretty, but fairly decently functional. 

We’ve been in the apartment for about ten days.  Mostly everything has a place.  It's actually a fairly spacious three-bedroom apartment with three bathrooms. 

The kitchen thingie we ordered from Ikea (yes, there is even an Ikea here) was delivered and yours truly spent the whole day (sans interruptions by the Smalls) putting the darn thing together.  But the kitchen is worth the effort.  Food is central to our experience here.

We carefully orchestrate the guest room, dreaming of who will be making the trip across the pond.  We are actually perfectly located for guests – walking distance to the metro, bus and train stations… there are THREE (tre) pizza places within a block – and one of them has been reported to us by many as the best pizza joint around…  we are in the process of verifying that recommendation.  

In our square there is also:  a market with prepared foods, a tavola calda (pizza and prepared foods for eat in or take out), a bar (the breakfast/coffee kind), a bar (seems to be more of the “drinking” kind, but not verified), a butcher, a daily market, a restaurant, and an (almost) daily fruit/vegetable truck.  

We are also walking distance to the port of Pozzuoli where there is a fish market, and ferry boats to Ischia, Capri, and a few other destinations. 

It’s a rainy day here, and we have already made the trip down the stairs for our daily fruit and veggies...  

I guess it's a good day to master the miniature washing machine and figure out how to put salt in the dishwasher.