Four weeks to go!

29 Sep
29 September 2016. Four weeks from today we fly out of Roma, headed back to Portland. This was not an easy decision and throughout the next few weeks I will share some of our departure activities as well as thoughts on separating from Italy. It’s been four-and-a-half lovely years, which have passed like a nanosecond!
The path that brought us to Italy was accidental at best.
  • 2008 – Ric got his first passport in 40 years and said, “Let’s go to Europe.” I had been begging to go for years. All he ever wanted to do was go to Hawaii. He thought Europe was just full of old stuff. I said, “The U.K., France, or Italy: You pick and I’ll plan the trip.” So Italy is his fault.
  • March 2009 – I started Italian courses at Portland Community College. One night each week. Let me tell you, it was not enough.

    Atop Basilica San Marco, October 2010, where we fell in love with Italy.

    Atop Basilica San Marco, October 2010, where we fell in love with Italy.

  • October 2010 – We took a three-week trip to Italy. On Day 4, Ric famously said (while sitting in the sun in Venice drinking wine), “This is fabulous. We have to come back.”
  • We started joking about moving to Italy. If a job came up in Europe, should I try for it? Could we afford it? They’d never pick me, would they?
  • I applied for positions in Copenhagen and London and was rejected. In September 2011, I applied for Rome, never believing I’d be selected for such a big demotion.

    At Pompeii, December 2011.

    At Pompeii, December 2011.

  • December 2011 – We took a one-month trip to Italy. Yup, still loved it! On Morning 3, I woke up to an email from my boss asking “Did you want to move to Rome?” He had no idea I had applied.
  • After a winter and spring spent moving the entire organization to a newly constructed building I would never work in, in May 2012 Ric retired and we hauled the two cats to Rome. I accepted a 50% cut in pay and went from executive to secretary. I never looked back.
Libby and Janie, ready to fly to Rome, 2012!

Libby and Janie, ready to fly to Rome, 2012!

For three years we (Ric qualified for a part-time job in security) had the pleasure of working in the American Embassy in Rome. What a dream! I served with some very smart and committed people (I did in Portland, too) and had the privilege to learn how an embassy works, to meet people from many government agencies, and to make Italian friends. We went to the Marine Corps Ball and receptions at the Ambassador’s villa. We lived in a lovely apartment provided by the embassy that had no English-speaking tenants. THAT helped my Italian improve!
Settled in Rome, attending the Marine Corps Ball.

Settled in Rome, attending the Marine Corps Ball.

We loved the convenience of travel from Rome and took full advantage of any time off to see more of Italy and start to experience more of Europe. We could hop on a train and go anywhere!
At the end of my tour-of-duty, we were not ready to return to the U.S. The notion of work-as-we-knew-it was anathema. I was eligible to retire. Why not?
The 18-months since we retired have been a completely different adventure and one we would not trade for anything. My Italian is quite passable now as there are few people (mostly just Ric) that I can speak to in English. We have learned how things do and do not work without the loving embrace of the American Embassy. We have found medical services that are extraordinary and very personalized. We discovered that Poste Italiane is pretty dependable but very expensive. I ragazzi at the Via Sicilia office are particularly nice.
Here we are with our portiere, Pellegrino, who has been a friend and a blessing.

Here we are with our portiere, Pellegrino, who has been a friend and a blessing.

But it is time to go back to the U.S. It is time to re-establish a household of our own (we’ve been subletting a furnished place). We have experienced some of the frustrations Italians have with their own country and bureaucracy and while the U.S. is not perfect, things really do work quite well there. In the U.S., you can return items when you change your mind or they don’t fit and they will refund to your credit card. Not in Italy! In the U.S., you can turn on the heat in October if it is cold. Not in Italy!
Today we went to disconnect our cable and Internet service. They require 60 days notice so we have to pay through November even though we will turn in the equipment on the 27th of October. Can you imagine? Two months notice to disconnect a service? 
In the U.S., we can depend on certain services and we know how to argue when something does not work well. I’ve gotten better are standing up to service providers in Italian, but it is a strain to have to argue over everything since arguing is a national sport.
Allora, we will always come back annually to Italy as travelers for as long as we are able. Despite my sarcasm, we have a fondness for the people and the culture, but to travel here is far different than to live here. And we would never give up our passports. Never.
Stay tuned as the departure adventure unfolds. I know Janie is excited.

Hairy coos but no kilts

26 Sep
26 September 2016. City versus country is an age-old traveller debate. Do we spend time in the great museums and wonderful restaurants of Paris, London, and New York, or do we head to small towns and rural settings where life is less rushed? What do we do if the great outdoors delivers pouring rain and we cannot enjoy the activities we planned? What if our expectations are not met and what do we expect anyway? 
The view from our B&B.

The view from our B&B.

We’ve had a touch of both city and country in the past three weeks. Ric and I are wrapping up a trip to Paris and the northern U.K. This is a challenging type of travel to pack for. City-chic in Paris, dressy enough for dinner in a Michelin-starred restaurant, but hiking boots and weather-resistant layers for the great outdoors. Luckily we managed to pack in our usual 21-inch-rollaboard-plus-daypack combo.
It is difficult to imagine having too much time in Paris. We had three full days this time and still we have not managed to do everything on our long list although we’ve been there four times in the past 18 months. The weather was perfect with warm-but-not-hot days and evenings pleasant enough for outdoor dining. We’ve found some amazing places to dine that do not break the bank and a new-to-us B&B experience that kept the budget further in check. Despite a complete lack of French language skills, Paris is beginning to feel quite comfortable.
We moved on to York, England, where we hooked up with my brother and sister-in-law for a two-week driving adventure. When on our own we use public transportation exclusively, but there are places in the rural U.K. that are difficult if not impossible to see without a car, so my brother became the chauffeur, Ric and the SatNav guided the way, while Jane and I enjoyed the scenery.
Here we are atop Edinburgh Castle. A windy day, but sunny and warm by Scottish standards.

Here we are atop Edinburgh Castle. A windy day, but sunny and warm by Scottish standards.

Our path was from York to Keswick in the Lakes District, then on to Edinburgh, Granton-on-Spey along the Whisky Trail, and finally the Isle of Skye. Wow! One place more beautiful than the next. Our three truly small-town experiences — Keswick, Grantown-on-Spey, and Portree on Skye — absolutely astounding.
Sheep-dotted meadows, moors, dales and fells, bubbling burns, torrential waterfalls, and always the sheep. It was everything and nothing we expected.
I did not expect it to be so thickly wooded and rugged in The Lakes District. I expected to hike through meadows of sheep and cows, not forests and rocky ridges. The hike we took at Castle Crag was labeled “easy” and four miles long. Much like in the Val Gardena, “easy” was subjective and how they measured a mile elusive. It might have been miles-as-the-crow-flies, but we estimated seven walking versus the published four.
I did not expect to have my husband fall in love with Scotch whisky. Ric has always been a whiskey man: bourbon, Jack Daniels, and the like. Prior to this, I could not get him to sip my whisky, as in the stuff from Scotland. Along for the ride on a distillery tour, he finally saw the light and has come over to the bright side. The difference? The tastings revealed the complexities and variations in whiskies from the different “noses” to flavors of honey, vanilla, caramel, fruit, smoke, and peat. Something for everyone, just like with wine. 
I expected fish-and-chips and pubs everywhere. The former were prominent on nearly every menu, but once outside of York and Edinburgh, a proper pub was elusive. Cafes and bars (not our beloved Italian bars, mind you) yes, but not the clubby dens we enjoyed in London. 
The Fairy Pools on Skye...look at the line of hikers! I wonder at the adverse impact on the moor.

The Fairy Pools on Skye…look at the line of hikers! I wonder at the adverse impact on the moor.

I don’t know quite what I expected of moors, but it was fascinating to experience these bleak yet beautiful landscapes. I thought they were always lowlands and did learn they can be at higher elevations. I also observed how fragile they are and worry that the ridiculous numbers of us visiting will have an adverse impact. 
I did not expect to be so amazed by the food. In the tiniest town of our trip, Portree, on the Isle of Skye, we had perhaps the best situation of all: three dinners to rave about, and spoiled for choice on the whisky selections before and after. The one downfall was an overall poor selection of wines. A stone’s throw from France, Italy, and Spain, with EU-friendly import possible, but prominently featured was Concha y Toro and a few Australian wines.
Highland Cattle are often called "Hairy Coos" or "Hielan Coos." Love the baby seeking reassurance from mama.

Highland Cattle are often called “Hairy Coos” or “Hielan Coos.” I love the baby seeking reassurance from mama.

I did expect to see the famous “hairy coos” of the highlands, aka, Highland Cattle and lots of kilt-wearing Scotsmen. We finally saw the cows our next-to-last day on Skye, but the only kilt-wearers were the occasional bagpipers. I’ve seen more kilts in Roma when the lads came to see a game against a local team.
Please click on any picture to see a slideshow of some of the stunning sites we enjoyed.
Fountains Abbey dates to 1132 and is one of the largest and best preserved ruined Cistercian monasteries in England. We walked for over an hour and did not cover the whole place.
Part of the Studley Royal Water Garden at Fountains Abbey, a post-monastic development.
What I expected to see…and did see LOTS. They are eating machines.
On our way to the Castelrigg Stone Circle. This is what I expected of all of our hikes: bucolic.
Ric and I in the stone circle. Not as dramatic as Stonehenge but older.
The bucolic start to our hike at Castle Crag was very misleading.
This is the trail at Castle Crag: rough, rock strewn and tiring. And long. Luckily there was whisky to taste after the hike.
As I understand it, the brown sheep is the offspring of the white one. This “little” guy is hiding behind mama.
We are almost to the top. Beyond the saddle it was supposed to be all downhill. It wasn’t. And it was rocky. And I had to jump over a stream. Not an easy hike….
The views are amazing, no matter the weather. It was actually quite warm, so overcast skies were welcome. The 90% humidity was not, however.
Incredible views from Edinburgh Castle!
Started in 1269, this is an amazingly well-preserved site. In the Jacobite uprising of 1745, Blair Castle was occupied twice by Prince Charles Edward Stuart and his Jacobite army.
The only red deer we managed to see were in the corraled herd at Blair Castle. The stag looks less than thrilled by our presence.
At Granton-on-Spey we enjoyed a hike around Loch an Eilein and found the heather still blooming in the wood.
High above Speyside, in the Cairngorms National Park, the view from the top of the funicular. Ric and I are fools for any mountain lift.
Portree is so very tiny and cute. The early morning light was spectacular, and evening brought some of the best restaurants imaginable.
Magnifcent landform on the Trotternish Peninsula, Isle of Skye. No, we did not climb it. Not crazy; I am an easy-hiker.
View out to sea from the Quiraing area. Bleak but beautiful. We loved Skye’s scenery.
The Fairy Pools. We were warned this was a busy place, even early on a cloudy, windy, rain-swept day. This was not an “easy” hike either. I had to sit it out because I could not leap the various stepping stones. Stark Highland beauty, though.
One of the Fairy Pools, an unusual shade of green.
One of many tasting we had, with and without tours, Cragganmore was a favorite: a small distillery with a distinctive whisky that may be Ric’s new fave.
Now back to Paris and on to Rome, by train all the way, of course!

 

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LibbyJean

20 Sep
20 September 2016.  Our little cat Libby passed away today. She had completed 14 years and 2 months. The last few months were tough as her health was in decline and the doctor could not identify exactly why. 
Libby (full name LibertyJean or LibbyJean) was much-loved not only by us but also by the many temporary moms-and-dads who stayed with her and her “sister” Jane while we traveled. It fell to one such wonderful couple to see her through her final days as we are in the Scottish Highlands. We are eternally grateful to them and to our veterinarian who tried so hard to treat her. In the final analysis, it was probably cancer that claimed her.
Cutie pie Libby at about 10 weeks. Always a little clown.

Cutie pie Libby at about 10 weeks. Always a little clown.

LJ (she had MANY nicknames) was a funny and personality-filled kitten from the start. Even at 8-weeks she was less afraid of our giant collie dogs than they were of her. She was independent and could be adventurous, but was terrified of strangers. We have friends who have visited our home but never saw her. One lovely cat-sitter couple was able to draw her out last year and she became much more comfortable with visitors from that point on. It was nice to see her grow and adapt even as an old lady.
In 2007, a photo of Libby sitting in the Christmas Village was included in the "365 Days of Cats" calendar. She was very proud!

In 2007, a photo of Libby sitting in the Christmas Village was included in the “365 Days of Cats” calendar. She was very proud!

Libby leaves behind an older sister, Jane (20 years) and Ric and I who will miss her goofy and sweet self. We have brilliant memories of our funny little calico.
Rest in peace, LibbyJean. We love you.
The girls made the transition to Rome swimmingly and traded carousing in our small Portland garden for window seat on the city.

The girls made the transition to Rome swimmingly and traded carousing in our small Portland garden for a window seat with a view.

Libby never really gor used to our travels, but she coped well. Every trip she would hang out on-or-in Ric's siutcase while he packed. This last trip, she did not. I think she knew what was coming.

Libby never really got used to our travels, but she coped well. Every trip she would hang out on-or-in Ric’s suitcase while he packed. This last trip, she did not. I think she knew what was coming.

This is Libby with "sister" Janie in 2002. They did not always get along so well, like any sisters.

This is Libby with “sister” Janie in 2002. They did not always get along so well, like any sisters.

 

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Il grande rientro

3 Sep
3 September 2016. The deserted streets of the past month are once again full of buses, cars, and motorini. The kids with their unmuffled  POS cars wake us periodically between 23:00-01:00 as they zoom down the hill behind our bedroom and careen around the corner giving us an extra blast of over-revved engine as they pass the front of the building. (The landlady said this was a quiet street! But then she’s Italian and sleeps with the windows closed against a possible chill when it’s still 79 degrees Fahrenheit at bedtime. If we are lucky it’s a chilly 68 when we wake up.)
There were almost no car horns to be heard for the last 4 or 5 weeks, and no double-parking. So many closed businesses. This all seems like a dream as the streets are once again clogged, the impatient drivers leaning on their horns, and an open parking spot is as rare as a Lutheran church in Rome. Stores re-opened with their “New Collections” displayed: the wools, browns, and grays of the autumn wardrobe. Newstands sprang back to life with fresh magazines in stock and the florists are once again oases of color on many street corners.
End of summer

Beaches will be empty soon. And delightful for those not into the usual cheek-by-jowl beach scene.

This, my friends, is Il Grande Rientro: The return to reality as thousands upon thousands of Romans give up their beach chairs and umbrellas and head back to work. School won’t start for another week-or-so, and that will add another layer of congestion back as each child is accompanied to the door of the nearby elementary school by a parent or nanny.
In every store and restaurant you are asked “Comè andata la Sua vacanza?” (How was your vacation?) Or perhaps “Dovè siete andati in ferie?” (Where did you go on holiday?)
So many people go away in August. SO MANY. Apartments are shuttered, entire apartment buildings have no windows lit at night, and renovation work continues day-and-night as contractors struggle to complete work while the owners are on holiday. I cannot do justice to describe what it is like to experience this thing. It is a phenomenon one has to live through to believe.
The great return even gets news coverage due to the crowded autostrada.

The great return even gets news coverage due to the crowded autostrada.

Then on Monday it was like a switch was thrown and the city was refilled from a firehose full of cars and people. And apparently this rientro is quite traumatic for the Italian who have been away for four weeks. There are articles about how to make it less stressful, what to eat (digestion being top-of-mind) to ensure a healthy return. Some sources offer practical and pragmatic tips. Others, like the Corriere della Sera, offer a lighthearted approach in 10 dishes to console yourself with at the end of vacation, including gelato, pizza, chocolate cake, and a Mumbai burger. It’s a funny piece.
Soon this will all seem normal. It’s the sudden onset that is so shocking. Just as things are heating up even more next week with schools coming online, we will escape to the U.K. for our next adventure. I’ll write to you from the road. Until then ben rientro!

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End of the World? No, it’s just August in Roma

24 Aug
20 August 2016.   Imagine a street, deserted of humans, cars parked dusty and unused, dead leaves skittering along in the evening breeze. There is an eerie, end-of-the-world-movie, ghost town quality. Think of the film “On the Beach” where New York City is deserted. Like that, but with the occasional bus or car passing. The trams are empty, too.
Usually this street, our neighborhood's main street, is chock-a-block with cars. Lots of horns would be sounding because everyone is in a hurry, and the lanes are often blocked by narcissitic double-parkers. Tonight you could park on the center line and not bother anyone.

Usually this street, our neighborhood’s main street, is chock-a-block with cars. Lots of horns would be sounding because everyone is in a hurry, and the lanes are often blocked by narcissistic double-parkers. Tonight you could park on the center line and not bother anyone.

That describes our “high street” as the Brits would say, Viale dei Parioli on this August Saturday night. The sidewalk markets (le bancarelle) have even disappeared by early evening since there are no prospective clients. We are the only people on foot at 19:30. There is finally shade and relief from the heat. We seek to stretch our legs after self-imposed confinement since 11:00, and we are searching for dinner.
This street merchant closed up super early. No customers walking by. Usually this area is full of merchant tables.

This street merchant closed up super early. No customers walking by. Usually this area is full of merchant tables.

A couple of days prior I made a reservation, as is my practice, but this morning while we walked before the heat came on, the restaurant called. They had made a mistake. Actually, their on-line reservation system had made the mistake, but most likely because they did not bother to update the calendar. They are closed for ferie. Throughout the hours surrounding Italian lunchtime I called three more restaurants whose websites and GoogleMaps purported they were open. I called again between 17:00 and 18:00. No answer. Maybe they did not open for lunch. Perhaps they are too busy to answer the phone. It’s possible that no one answers before 18:00 when they are readying for the evening.
We decided to walk 40 minutes to an area with several good restaurants we have patronized. Surely on this hot August night one will have a table. We pass the place we ate at recently. It was fine, but has a small menu and we do not care to repeat so soon. Then as we approach each familiar restaurant, going farther and farther from home, they are all shuttered. Chiuso per Ferie. 
This is usually an attrative little aperitivo bar with umbrellas and vute tables, candles, etc. Not this month!

This is usually an attractive little aperitivo bar with umbrellas and cute tables, candles, etc. Not this month!

By now we are past the British Embassy and almost to the American Embassy in Via Veneto. Seeing a lively corner we stop to peruse the menu. Looks fine. Nonno (grandpa) is outside asking to seat us. Is there a table within? Air conditioning seems like a good idea after an hour’s walk in 80-degree Fahrenheit temps.
A memorable meal for the wrong reasons. Fish previously frozen, an over-priced wine list, and an 80-year-old-guitar-playing-singer who went from table to table. He skipped us. Might have been the look on Ric’s face.
I pity the tourists lured into such a place that might think this is great food.
We did enjoy the goings-on around us. A couple from South Carolina that could not shake the minstrel as he sang them song-after-song. Three (southern) American women who wanted iced tea (eyss-TAY). The waiter, who could not understand their request, confirming they want te caldo, which is NOT cold tea but hot. A priest seated nearby piping up to correct the waiter. Across the restaurant, a little girl is enchanted by the singing grandpa.
We headed for home in moderating temperatures, luckily finding a bus just when we needed it most. This week, Rome begins to re-awaken. More stores re-open the 29th, and by September 5th we will be in full rientro mode as even the wealthiest people with case al mare (homes by the sea) will need to get back to reality.
And the motorini will once again scream past on the street past our bedroom making sleep difficult.
Before you go, over at Our Weekly Pizza we are on a pizza-eating hiatus and reviewing some of the restaurants we’ve enjoyed lately. Not the unnamed tavern above.

 

Every year the same thing: One, two, three, even four weeks closed.

Every year the same thing: One, two, three, even four weeks closed.

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