cloudy castel

While the Major studies Italian, Smalls and I head out to poke around the local neighborhood of Castel Volturno.

It's a beach town, with a small harbor.  

Our realtor Rhode Island, who also lives in this neighborhood, lovingly calls it "Beirut".  

From some angles, I see her point.

The concrete walls and buildings are barely hanging in there.  

And yet, there are definitely signs of life dwelling within...

Every house is surrounded by high walls. 

Most of them with some kind of protective fencing at the top.

Apparently the US Support Site, now positioned twenty minutes down the road near Aversa, used to reside here.   

You can see some of the old housing buildings in the background here, residing right across the street from the beach.

When the Americans left town, apparently so did the businesses, 

and the buildings were left disheveled.

And the graffiti artists moved in.

There is odd beauty in the dilapidated state of things...

The small harbor definitely has its charms...

The water is pretty clear, and attracts local fishermen.

In Italy, the beaches are full of private clubs.

Umbrellas and chairs are rented at the club, and there is generally a cafe or restaurant on site.   Not much different than what we experienced in Cabo, really.  Minus the jet skis on the beach, and the margaritas, I suppose...

Mid August, when we walked down to the beach to check it out.  It was a madhouse.

Today, less than two weeks later, the beach has completely cleared out.

Rainy weather has delivered a decent sized swell, and it appears as if everyone got the memo.

A bit of research shows that the sense of desolation may be deserved.

There was a massacre here in 2008 where six people were killed.

Lovely.

You have heard of the Camorra, yes?

When I watched the movie Gomorrah with the Major a few years ago, I had no idea that I would be living in its shadow someday.

Gamorrah Movie Trailer

I remind myself that I have lived in Washington DC, Baltimore, and New York City - some of the most crime-ridden cities in the world...

It's a rainy day here...  and Google isn't helping to disperse the clouds - what with the instant delivery of local mafia stories.

Time to make some coffee.   And we're all out.

So I'll just go see what I can find of interest at the local market... shake off the rain... and perhaps a gelato.

bellissima Gaeta

And now, the post that *some of* you have been waiting for...

Major and I took a ride up the coast yesterday to the birthplace of his Grandfather.

Beautiful Gaeta.

Gaeta on the map...

I remember Gaeta from when we visited Italy about ten years ago.  We were given a lovely tour of the town by a family friend who lives there part of the year.  Since Major had also been to the city previously on his own, visiting family, his memories of the town are more plentiful.

We drive around a bit, past the row of apartments on the street along the harbor where his Grandfather was born (probably not in a hospital back then) and raised.  We pass ancient historic buildings, some of which look to be in process of being restored.  We round the tip of the peninsula to the beach side to find the hotel where we stayed.  Serapo.  We look for the Navy beach club along the shore...

Smalls has picked this moment to fall asleep.  So although we would like to take a walk through town and find something to eat, we decide to take another loop in the car first.

We also need gas.  It is Saturday.  Gas stations are mostly closed on Sundays - and more importantly, there are no full service workers on Sundays.  Full service? Ah, yep, I know that this is a rarity in the states now, but we are using gas coupons here - and we can't put them in the self-service machines.  So fill up on Saturday, or wait till Monday.

We also only pay around $4 per gallon, whereas the Italians pay around $10 per gallon (or so).

There is something weird going on.

Generally, there is no problem finding an AGIP (that's the gas station that holds the Government contract), and getting our gas.  Today, however, there must be some kind of sale at AGIP.  There are lines of cars down the road as if there is about to be a strike.  But other gas stations we pass are empty.  It's weird.  Definitely one of those "I'm in a foreign country" moments, where you would like to just ask - what the heck is going on - but you don't speak the language well enough to be able to understand the answer - so you guess at one another while you drive around scratching your head -  looking for another station where there isn't a huge line.

After fueling, and picking our pass-the-time-loop on the dandy TomTom, we head up the hill to take a look at Gaeta from another angle.  At the top of a windy path, full of gorgeous panoramic views of the city.  She is a real beauty.  Well, except, perhaps for the industrial blemishes - apparently a former AGIP refinery...

And then...  what would a road trip in Italy be without an edge of what-kind-of-crazy-obstacle-could-possibly-be-around-the-next-corner?

As adventurous roads go, it turns out, this one is worthy of consideration...


we drive through....  somebody's house?...

Immediately followed by a sign that, in a word, makes it clear (to at least one of us), that we must turn around...

Or rather, back up carefully, find a place to precariously turn around without hitting anything, and hope we can find our way back down without incident.  Apparently, the CRV is wider than two meters (note to self)....

I sarcastically remind Major that I actually don't mind if he gets into any scrapes, since it's not my car anymore...  because I had to SELL MY CAR to my husband for ONE DOLLAR in order to register it on base.  No need to ruin a beautiful day with that awesome discussion right now...

And then, out of nowhere, this red light...  on a two-way street.  Which, on closer inspection, is clearly not wide enough for two cars...  better than the *honk* and hope nobody is coming method, I suppose...

And then...  we discover that (thank God) the breaks on the CRV work extremely well - as a toddler dashes out into the middle of the street.

We were both ready to park the car.

We take a leisurely stroll past outdoor markets on a beautiful tree-lined path.

And wander into one of my favorite areas of Gaeta - a walking section where there are hundreds of apartments stacked on top of shops, bars, and galleries.

I remember this particular street from our last visit, although it looks, sadly, like the shops we remember have closed or been replaced...  We spot the sign for the place where we labored previously selecting bottles of Brunello... but it looks to be a toy shop currently.

Today there is a festival of independent artists taking place on this avenue, so we have a lot to look at on our stroll (sorry no pics of the artwork since that would probably not be cool with the artists)...

The *side* streets are lined with motorcycles and bicycles - all of the cars have to park outside of these walking areas...

We arrive upon an outdoor fish market,

which among other things (that used to swim in the sea),

has an array of beautiful little lobsters.

Deciding that it is time to find something to eat for dinner, we begrudgingly acknowledge that it is just five in the evening, and no decent restaurants will be open at this early of an hour.  After a short search confirms our suspicions, we find a tavola calda.  This is a buffet of sorts - where hot food is pre-made and re-heated upon request.  In the US we would avoid this kind of food, but here, in Italy, where it is possible that a sandwich from a gas station bar may be one of the best you have encountered, we have discovered that tavola caldas are quick, easy, cheap, and oh-so-tasty.

We order two calzone-type-sandwiches, one with mushroom, ham and cheese, the other with eggplant, and sit at the picnic tables outside the restaurant.  I battle mosquitos, feed the baby, and attempt the sandwich one-handed.

We continue our walk, post sandwich, and keep our eyes peeled for a gelateria.  Our friend T has told us what to look for.  I knew about the brown banana gelato rule, but she tells us that if the gelato looks unusually fluffy and piled high, or suspiciously colorful, that it has been made with stabilizers and artificial ingredients, and is not as authentic (or yummy).  I stick my head into a few shops along the way to check the fluffiness factor.

We head towards the older part of the city, past the port.

Where we pick out a new boat for our favorite captain, "Docstar."

Some of the buildings look like they have been through hell.  The church on top of this hill, according to our friendly guide, was bombed in the war.  There is a fascinating artistic quality to the ruined and ancient state.

I always wondered why the Major's grandfather never returned to Gaeta, it seems like such a gorgeous place to visit.  Today, I stumble upon this nugget on Wikipedia...

"After the king dismissed Mussolini in the summer of 1943, the latter was initially taken via Gaeta to the island prison of Ponza. After Italy surrendered to the Allies, however, the town's fortunes began to decline. Recognizing its strategic importance, and fearful of an Allied landing in the area, German troops occupied the city and expelled most of the population. The zone of exclusion began with a five-kilometre border from the historical city centre. Soon after, however, the population was expelled even beyond this point. The Gaetani were finally ordered to leave the area completely. Those who could not were placed in a concentration camp, and a few were taken to Germany."

Wikipedia on Gaeta

As I always tell my students, Wikipedia is a fantastic starting point, but it's not an official source, so I take this with a grain of salt... but, I can't help but to be sombered by the information.  Who would want to return to a place that had been desecrated in such a way?  Now I have more questions for our family friend when we next see him.

There is still a strong military presence in Gaeta today.  It is the home of the US Navy's USS Mount Whitney.

She's in the background of this pic...

Last time we visited there was no US Navy ship in port, but the Amerigo Vespucci was in the harbor.  That is the Italian Navy's tall ship.

Amerigo Info & Link to Pic Above

I met the Vespucci when she toured Baltimore's harbor many years ago during fleet week.  That ship is about as beautiful as she gets...  I'll be hunting for her whenever we are in the area.  I haven't actually toured the ship yet, but I have seen her sparkling chandeliers and unbelievable woodwork from peeking inside as I walked alongside her in Baltimore's harbor.

Ironic, isn't it, that America is named after one of Italy's most celebrated men.  Yet we celebrate Christopher Columbus day (I hear my father shaking his head in agreement)...  ah but I digress...


It starts to rain.

We follow the lead of the locals, and finally find a gelateria named after a penguin, that looks like a good balance of quality product and not-too-crowded.  I order what instantly becomes my new favorite - croccantino al rhum.  Ah yeah, you hear that right - rum.

As we head back to the car, rapidly disappearing gelatos in hand, we pass a soggy puppet show booth.

I can't wait to bring Smalls back on a drier occasion to see the show.

On our drive home, the rain lifts for a sunset double rainbow.

It has been a beautiful day.

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.