alter ego

Our realtor calls me Cara.  I guess my name is difficult to pronounce in Italian, because I tried several times with her to get it right.  Or maybe she just wants to call me this name.  I don't mind - it means "beloved" in Italian.  I can handle that.

All morning we field phone calls from our realtor (she is Italian but lived for 20 years in Rhode Island - so has the East Coast Italian qualities we are used to (the Major's grandfather was from Gaeta, Italy - only a short jaunt north from Naples, and most of his family settled in Boston).  We are working on a "pre-contract" for the apartment.  The first available appointment with housing is not until August 29th.  Everyone is on vacation in this country.  For the whole month of August.   We were warned that this would happen.  We settle a bit more into our temporary lodging while we continue to hurry up and wait.

Today, while the Major runs errands at the SS, the Smalls and I made a trip back to the local market for some frutta e verdura.  I only know a few Italian words so far, but everyone is so nice it is really easy and fun to shop.  Here is what seven euro can buy you...

I can't remember when tomatoes smelled so good.  Make-your-mouth-water-I-have-to-eat-these-right-now good.  Luckily we just happened to have some fresh mozzarella in the fridge.

Smalls toyed with a basil leaf as I prepared the lunch.  She is not sure about the flavor, but I could tell that the leaf's easy handle won her over.

Then after lunch I made her a few quickie plum and fig popsicles for later...

She's been doing quite well with finger food.  I considered mashing up the fruit to make a popsicle, but the fruit looked so perfect just in slices...  we'll see what she thinks about it frozen.

Grocery shopping is such an adventure here.  I know that we have only been here for a short time, so perhaps that will wear off, but it's the same feeling I would get when picking up our weekly CSA box, or pretty much whenever we would go into Whole Foods - you KNOW it's going to be good.

The Major does most of the cooking at our house.  My job is to keep the kitchen stocked.  I think this will be easier here than in the States...  last night we decided to stay home and make a family favorite - Hot Macaroni.  It's a quick tomato sauce (tomato, garlic, olive oil, onion), on your pasta of choice.  Our choice was Maccheroni Calabrese - a shape I had never seen before...

Long rolled hearty rustic fingers of amazingness.

We also tried a type of wine we had never heard of before - Morellino di Scansano

More about Morellino here

We will be keeping our eye out for this Tuscan treat in the future.  I've already made a mental note to search out one of the Morellino di Scansano wineries in Maremma when we are in that area.  Fantastico!

There is something about traveling that makes people want to embrace alter egos...  You can't be quite yourself, it just isn't possible.  The Italian me hasn't turned on the television in days.  I hear the energy of the day in our neighborhood through traffic levels and neighborly noise.  People make eye contact on the street with us.  Little old men come up to the baby to talk to her, sing, and make faces.

In fact, taking Smalls along makes us extra-welcome wherever we go.  Our waitress at the restaurant the other night saw me headed to the bathroom with Smalls for a diaper change.  She stopped me, put a fresh table cloth on a table at the back and insisted that I change her there.  Then, when I accidentally opened the door to the kitchen instead of the bathroom, she took the diaper right out of my hand and threw it away.  I was floored.

The population in Italy is declining.  Many families are choosing to have only one child, or none at all.  I guess this may be one reason for a baby's star quality...  Italy Population Decline

Whatever the reasons, taking Smalls around town is an easy icebreaker, and "Cara" isn't complaining one bit.

Upgraded

Elated.

Over the past few days, we put a contract hold on a house (more on that later) - rather an apartment anywho, and we are hopeful that it will stick.  We visited our friends Jackie (you may remember, the one who rescued us from the airport), and his wife T, in Martina Franca.  And we moved over to a beach town into temporary housing not affiliated with the US Government.  So life is tutto bene for the momento.

Here is a pic of the pool at the new place...

And the beer festival & concert that is about to gear up down the street...

And the mouth watering market we passed on the way to dinner...

Where we bought a bottle of wine for 2 euro.

And pizza from tonight's dinner...

Ok, so...  here are the details of "how we upgraded".

When last we met, the Major and I were debating Vomero v.s. Pozzuoli.  I think that was on Thursday.  We headed out that night, to walk around Vomero, get something to eat, get a feel for the area...

Two small but significant wrong turns later (and we were using a GPS mind you), we arrived in Vomero much later than anticipated, and it was pure unbridled chaos.  A maze of confounding one way streets, traffic zooming, pedestrians jumping out into traffic, strollers rolling, skyscraping apartment buildings - and the motos!...   I was getting majorly claustrophobic.  Not what I imagined life in Italy to be.

I reached for the ejection lever - can't we just 'ahem' scoot over to Pozzuoli perhaps?  Would that be more manageable?
 
In fact, yes, we can mosey over to Pozzuoli, where we indeed find a parking spot, and manage to get the stroller out of the car without being swiped by a moped - even though the cobblestone streets are barely under shaken baby syndrome level (mental pat on the back for leaving most of my cutest heels back in storage).  We push on (literally) to a marina area, circle a couple of times (as couples do when they debate the merits of a tourist-trappy looking eaterie v.s. somthing "a bit more authentic").

We finally find a little family joint with a price-fixed menu.  Excellent seafood dishes, even though the meal lasted through at least a couple of the Smalls' naps.  She was an amazing trouper (insert sigh of relief and mental high five with Major D for what *must* be excellent parenting).

Pozzuoli is...  well...  it's an old city next to (and connected to) a very urban city.  There is sand and sea, and a whole lot of history (lots of ruins) mixed with enough shops and markets to make one think you can get almost anything you want - perhaps.  It's neat, and kinda mysterious.  We have an appointment with a realtor who will take us to Pozzuoli Friday morning - so we drag ourselves back to the Support Site (ironically SS for short) for the night - where Major gets surprised breathalized before we can enter the gates.  Joy.

Friday we see several villas in the Pozzuoli area - each of them lovely and individually charming, but our goal is immersion in the Italian culture, so a large lovely home in the middle of a parco where I can stay isolated with Smalls is probably not the best choice.  Something closer to a walking area might be more desirable.

We really like Pozzuoli, and the apartment we are shown is pretty dang nice (will share details if it becomes more of a reality).  There are a million ways this may get screwed up, so we try not to get too excited.  We will have to wait approximately sixty days to take hold of this property.  That is if the owner feels like going through the myriad inspections, details, demands, and contractual obligations we will require to satisfy the US government.  Apparently we will be paying enough...  they want to do it.  We start the hurry-up-waiting process.

Meanwhile, our realtor shares with us temporary lodging in her town that another family is just moving out of, where there is beach access, a private pool, and no breathalyzer militia hanging around.  

But first - a sojourn to Martina Franca where our friends have lived for the past year.  I have my first official heavenly espresso on the road...

Jackie and T have a smalls too - he is more Italian than ours - he was born in this country - and they regularly call him Piccolo.  He shows our Smalls what an additional two months can activate on a baby, and we look forward to many adventures in tandem parenthood.

In a whir of 36 hours we devour many of T's fantastic culinary gestures (her butcher is Slow Food Certified!?).  We venture out for one lunch and gelato (twice) - but are otherwise completely satiated with the home cooked goodness bestowed upon us.  It is exactly the charge we require before traversing back to the stoic base, where we pack our things as fast as we can and depart for Castel Volturno - our new temporary quarters.  It's like we finally just arrived.

off base

Today, Thursday, August 2nd, marks day number five of my captivity.  Can a girl get a real Italian meal per favore?  Ok, I exaggerate a bit.  Not about the captivity part - that feels legit.  I have been behind bars on this base for days.  The care package is waning in content...  I discover German made "Greek-style" yogurt in the Commissary - a rare unique offering.  A few slices of "meh" mortadella.  The wine from the mini-mart is good.  I debate the grape diet.

Ok, so I did get out on Monday afternoon.  We went to look at Vomero, an urban section of Naples where the cool kids live and play.  But before the scenic tour, we stopped by Nemo's father's pizzeria.  We had been to this location almost ten years ago when we vacationed in Italy.  I instantly recognized his father and uncle, and the pizza - well, one understands why Naples is known for this delicacy when you eat at a place like this.  Prosciutto, arugula, and parmigiano.  Nuff said.

I have been going for walks around base to see what there may be of interest.  There are more historical ruin windows in the Exchange.  Kids are being led around in various camps.  Playgrounds are empty during the day but activate in the evening hours.  And a pass by the back gate shows another peek at a foreign world.  The infamous trash heaps are no myth.

The Major scored a car today from the lemon lot, so we will be breaking out this evening.   Another trip to Vomero - to get a better feel for the place.  It's one of the two main locations we are considering to live.  The other is a bit further from Naples, the town of Pozzuoli, with easy access to beaches.  We will spend the weekend debating the options.

Meanwhile, I attempt to watch the Olympics.  I have seen more random events on these channels...  shooting, archery, field hockey?  Handball is cool.  But they fail to produce gymnastics, track, or swimming.  NBC won't allow internet video internationally.  Ah well.

Counting the minutes till I can get off base.  Trash and all.

Ciao Naples!

It's been over a year in the making - this quasi-permanent move around the world to the romantically notioned country of Italia.  I'll save you the details of our preparations for the grand bowing out of those United States, and start where this story starts...  two days ago, on a plane from Dulles International to Naples, via Munich.

I travel with Major D and the "smalls".  We are part of the USMC, and Major D will soon be working for Nato in a planning-type role.   We have been abroad before (sans smalls), are fairly seasoned travelers, have great interests in dining (at all levels), culture (particularly theatrical events), and we have been trying to convince the US Government to send us to a foreign post for quite the long while.  We succeeded.

We arrived in Naples on Sunday morning, just shy of afternoon.  No sleep for myself who was attempting to make the trip as event-free as possible for Smalls and our flighty neighbors.  Probably a nap is first priority, but heck, there has been a plethora of sleep depravation in the last eight months, so why stop now...

Thank you Jackie for meeting us at the airport!  Well, us, our Smalls, and our many bags of not-so-necessary items.  And for the transport to the Navy Lodge at the Support Site a bit down the road.

Hello Naples!  And I am almost too tired to care, or rather... I know that this is a marathon, not a sprint, and the process of moving, which started almost 2 months ago, will not be complete for another month or two (until we secure our permanent housing), so I can't really enjoy it fully yet...

Our room at the lodge is...  rustic?  Shabby sheesh.  But our friends who are also stationed in Italy, although a more remote location, have provided us with a care package to help with the transition...  Illy coffee, these twisty chocolate cookies, italian crackers (that look like tortellini), fresh fruit, meats and cheese... heaven to the sleep deprived.

Smalls is off her clock, so we blur days and nights for a bit.  But remarkably she adjusts, and so do we, quickly, and we scout the area for a pleasant place to reside, a car to motor about in.

But we are still in America.

Rather we are staying on an American base.  And while there are untold adventures just beyond the gate, here,  on base, I round the corner at the Exchange to hear a gaggle of wives with southern accents grumping about all-things-irrelevant.  Taco Bell is at the end of the building.  I take a pass through the Commissary to see most things familiar and boring...  I am deflated by the mini-excursion - until I wander down aisle six - where there is something strange in the floor.  Approaching, I realize that it is a clear plexiglass floor showing off the ruins of an old stone well.  Old.  And I am elated.  This kind of history.  Right. In.The. Commissary.  This makes my day.

And as I reach down to get the camera out of the stroller, it tips backwards, threatening to dump my sleeping daughter to the floor.  I somehow catch the handle mid-tip.  Smalls continues to nap.  I take this stroller threat as a warning...  I think this will be more of a balancing act than I have anticipated.  Bring on the prosecco!