WHAT IS THIS??

WHAT IS THIS???  WHO IS THIS??  AND WHAT IS HE DOING???

Look Familiar?
"I am NOT a Crook," Sylvio Berlusconi said
as he was nominated for Prime Minister of Italy...AGAIN.

Seriously? The Bunga-Bunga Parties and the lawsuits and the accusations of inappropriate business dealings and...and... and...how is this possible? Every Italian I talk with says this is a sham, a joke---but 1000s of people showed up at the PDL party nominating event last week.   Seriously?? Italy's not in enough trouble economically? Now to put this buffoon back in the public eye, on the world stage to represent this country in crisis?

People are suffering. Businesses are closing. The youth can't find work. Tourism is down. The retirement age has been raised to 67. Pensions have been cut. But Berlusconi has persevered...Why???

Austerity measures are in place--one, very Italian--the "bridge holidays" have been
cut--(Wednesday holiday, the bridge holidays are Monday and Tuesday). Property taxes have been raised--however, to assess the taxes one owes, one must go to a Commercialista to ascertain the tax. ( Our Commercialista charged us 2000 euro to determine that we owe...100 euro.)   One does not receive a tax bill in the mail; one is expected to show up at the Post Office or Bank and pay. Many Italians aren't going to go to that trouble.   Hmmm, how 'bout assessing taxes and mailing the bills to the house?

On a more interesting and/or entertaining note!  WHAT IS THIS THING??

  I'll give you $1 if you can find out what these things are....I've asked the locals and they are vague (maybe it's my understanding that is vague...) but they are the oddest things and have been in the fields during Spring and Summer.

                                   WHO IS THIS?

Dr. Mazzone, hand surgeon,
"You're golden!  You can't expect better healing than this
after 35 days."

6:30 on a Friday evening, Dr. Mazzone spent 40 minutes with me--assessing my poor ole finger and assuaging my fears.  A consummate professional, he understands the inner workings of the hand as well as my insecurities.  I left feeling relieved and confident as I prepared for 10 sessions of physical therapy.  (100 euros)

                          AND THIS IS...?

Stefano Venturini, Physical Therapist
that's my finger he's bending and twisting
and scrunching--you can't see my tears. 

Amid quotes from Dante, information on the Mafia,  Italian colloquialisms, and film talk, Stefano made me work my finger.  After 10 sessions, I can make a fist--not a tight one, yet--but a fist!  He understands the workings of the hand and was able to analyze the problem and work toward solving it...the sessions were entertaining and productive.  I'm gonna take that fist and do something useful with it!  (100 euros)

I have nothing but praise for the Italian (and Spanish and French) health systems.  I was well-treated, respected, cared for, and ultimately, healed--for very little money and a great deal of attention and care...what more can anyone ask of a Health Care System??  Fingers crossed ours becomes as good.


WHAT IS THIS BEAUTIFUL THING?

Our aperitivi on the main piazza in
Ascoli Piceno--it's a tough life,
but someone's gotta do it!

Lazy Friday afternoon, lazy evening ahead, Russian singers and dancers to perform in an hour...what else to do than sit, have some wine, people watch, and enjoy the local color?

WHAAAAT????
Straddling two continents comes with its burdens...while we have another 3 weeks here, we feel like we're winding down, finishing one phase and gearing up for the fast-paced SoCal life.  We are embracing each and every moment, relishing the country and the people and the sights; but beneath it all is the ever-present, "do I need to pack my down coat or should I leave it here?"  "Should we have the pellet stove cleaned now?  Or wait until next year?  When will we be back?  Will we need it 24 hours a day upon our return?"  "What shall we do about renewing our permessi di soggiorno?"

But if I take a minute to stop and think and relive the highlights of our time here, the one thing that stands out is the people, our visitors and new friends.  We've had some great adventures and wonderful visits...soooo, beneath is a link to some pictures of THE PEOPLE AND ADVENTURES: February, 2012-August, 2012.  If you're interested, give it a click.  (Once you arrive at the pix, on the top left there's an option for Slideshow--If I were you, I'd hit that button (slideshow) to move it along, ...but if you want to linger on each and every picture, my pleasure!)

https://picasaweb.google.com/114517299259040603283/ThePeopleAndAdventuresFebruary2012August2012?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCPmU58exo9DxyQE&feat=directlink

Phew!  So much to say, so many things to do, so many people to meet and new places to visit, and old friends to cherish...I am thankful I am able to share it all with you!

TRAVELLING IS...OTHER PEOPLE (Part #2)

A paean to Travelling Companions, Chance Encounters, and the Kindness of Strangers. 

Part 2:  Chance Encounters and the Kindness of Strangers

I lie splayed in the dust in Plaza de America in Seville, taking inventory---legs-okay; head-no bumps, but the helmet is 3 feet away; bike-flattened on the ground next to me; ahhh, finger-some blood, swollen to three times its normal size, can't move it.  "Call an ambulance, please, my finger is broken." 

With great courtesy and concern, our guide, Niek, said, "uhhh, they don't send ambulances for fingers."

Thus began my foray into the Spanish, French, and Italian medical systems.

We left Gary with the bikes: Niek speaks Spanish, so I needed him to translate for me in the emergency room.  I had my Blue Cross and Blue Shield cards tightly clutched in my hand, knowing I was covered!!  The receptionist smiled, returned my cards, and told Niek, "We don't take those insurances."  "How 'bout VISA?"  "Certainly."  I was covered!

Cutting off my wedding ring was the first trauma...Niek kept patting my shoulder and saying, "Think of Italy.  Think of wine.  Think of a pretty place. Think of your favorite music."  All-the-while the medics needed larger and heavier metal cutters....

Xrays, consult--it's dislocated, not broken--, treatment--anesthesize the finger and pop that puppy back into place.

Dr. Jesus Cabezon Mariscal administered the anesthesia shot...I had Gary by the one hand that worked, the doctor had the other, massaging my dislocated finger...."la, la, la, la," my atonal, repetative distraction from the pain filled the exam room, "la, la, la, la, la," and then, as if rehearsed, Dr. Mariscal joined my chorus, "la, la, la, la, la," two-part disharmony.  It was the kindest most humane gesture I've ever experienced in the ER.

Finger wrapped, huuuuge, white bandage covered my hand to the wrist....very dramatic.  Not too painful, yet. 

an hour after the "incident"...
do ya think the bandage pulls any focus??

211 euros later, I was on my way to the pharmacy---did you register that?  211 euros, which translates to about $250...without insurance coverage.

Niek and his employers, Christobal and Sofia, stayed with us for the duration--making sure we were cared for and communicating.  Later that evening, we met Niek and his girlfriend, Sanna, for drinks--one must dull the pain with whatever means are available.

Niek with me and Gary
Not my best photo....but before any serious drinking

In France, friend Lynne took me to her doctor, Dr. Galfard in the Village of Banon.  No appointment necessary: just show up, sit in the waiting room, when you're next, he'll come and get you---he'll come and get you---no receptionist, no paperwork, just show up.  He was kind and efficient and funny--it takes talent to be funny with someone in another language.  I needed the laughs.  He took a look, said things were fine, rewrapped the hand, and charged me 23 euro--that was 23 euro!

I thought it important to establish a relationship with a local doctor, so off I went to find an English-speaking one here in our town--easier said than done.  I called Dr. Siliquini to make an appointment--he answers his own phone--he said to come on in.  And no, he doesn't speak English; he reads it very well, but speak, uhh, no.  His office is in the basement of the hospital, so the waiting room is a long, impersonal corridor with chairs lined up against the wall, filled with people.  Hard to determine the procedure---when his office was empty, I tentatively knocked on the door and walked in.  We amused him fumbling through the labyrinth of medical jargon in a foreign tongue; he was also patient and caring and thorough, AND, I have confidence in him.  He looked at my hand, took an ultrasound, gave me a prescription and an X-ray, and refused to take any money---let me repeat that, he refused to take any money.  There was a 24 euro charge for the X-ray.

My new Doctor, Dr. Siliquini, examining my finger--
or proposing?

The verdict is still out on the finger---is there tendon damage?  We don't know yet.  Will I have to have surgery?  If there is tendon damage.  If I need surgery, will I want to have it here, or in California?  Don't know.  Can it wait for 2 months until we get back to CA?  Don't know.  In the meantime, it moves more and more each day, certainly a good sign.

BUT, most importantly, I didn't go through this alone...my Gary has and will be here for every step, and Niek and Christobal and Sofia and Doctors Mariscal, Galfard, Siliquini, and our Travelling Companions (see Part 1) stepped up, unbidden, to offer support and succor.  It's scary being in a foreign country physically vulnerable, luckily, I didn't have to do it alone.

I CANNOT go another minute without extolling the virtues of socialized medicine...if I was a visitor in the States, the emergency room alone would have cost thousands of dollars.  It is an inalienable human right to have medical care, to have access to medications and doctors, to be treated for our ailments and still be able to put food on the table.  Why are people so opposed to Obama's Health Care reform?  I don't get it....Okay, I've stepped off the soapbox.

....but another issue has raised its ugly head--CHRONIC PAIN--(I have had it to one degree or another since my fall, and I have new-found respect and compassion for others.)  I have friends who suffer constantly from one thing or another, bad back, poor feet, migrain headaches.  And they suffer in silence.  Each and every day they experience incapacitating pain, and still face the day, live moment-to-moment, read books and cook dinners, play tennis, and go to work.  I don't know how they do it.  It takes a special kind of courage and a strong desire to embrace life.  I applaud you all.

So my adventure in Seville has enriched my life with people, renewed my faith in humanity, increased my awareness of pain, reenforced my support of Health Care reform, made me more sensitive to others.  Geez, would it have been easier to take a sensitivity class??

pre-fall...the big orange butt on the right belongs to me!
Plaza de Espana ahead

TRAVELLING IS...OTHER PEOPLE (Part #1)

A paean to Travelling Companions, Chance Encounters, and the Kindness of Strangers.

Part #1:  Travelling Companions

The oh-so-familiar sight of travellers searching....

Do you know what a Rosarian is?  According to Dictionary.com, a Rosarian is a person who is fond of, develops, or cultivates roses.  Better question:  do you know any??  I recently met Linda, a rosarian, who put a whole different spin on "looking at gardens!" The Alhambra in Granada and The Alcazar in Seville were richer for the sharing.  Travelling with her sister, Gloria, the "Sisters" graciously allowed us to crash the Seville-Granada leg of their Spanish vacation.  It was joyful watching "The Sisters" interact, finish sentences, set priorities, respect each others needs and wants---all-the-while soaking up the Spanish culture and food and art and sharing their knowledge with us!

Me and The Sisters, Gloria and Linda

Do you have any friends whom you've known for decades and still like??  The Kathys taught in Spain oh-so-many years ago and brought their intimate familiarity of the language and the culture to the Granada leg of the trip--now, if you're one for math, you've figured out there are now 5 women and my husband, who adores women.  But noooo, there was yet one more woman, Rita, who has a long history with one of the Kathys....now the numbers are correct; 6 women and my guy.  (He felt like he was with his very own harem when we cruised the Granada tapas bars, basking in all that estrogen--baby-oh-baby-oh!)  But, back to the Kathys...these ladies are vastly different, yet their history ties them to memories and each other, with mutual respect and similar tastes.  The Ks were always open to an adventure or a drink, remaining easy-going and generous in their interactions.

Tapas Crawl, Granada, the Kathys...
notice the empty Sangria pitcher on the table??

The Italians call it chiacchiere, chatter.  And chatter we did, from the moment Lynne picked us up at the airport to the moment she dropped us off...the year we've been apart melts away in an instant.  What a comfortable, familiar, loving welcome and visit we had...How lucky are we??  And then, there is her cooking!!!  Her duck--yow--we counted that meal as one of the best of the trip!!  Lynne is a generous and gracious hostess...we reconnect through our history-and her food-while making new memories.  Ahhh, France!

Lynne with Rags and her cook books!

We see them 3-4 times a year, either in one side of the world or the other, finding solace and comfort and lots of advice.  John and Angela have bought in Italy also and have many of the same frustrations and joys we experience---it's like coming home when we see them.  We share a shorthand, an understanding of this culture and its idiosyncracies, our struggles and successes.  There aren't many people who have this shared experience--it helps to just talk and vent and laugh and ask again and again...did we do the right thing?  Would we do it again??  Will we still be here in 10 years??  That, coupled with great wine ( I mean, Barolo and and Barbera are born in Piemonte!), excellent food, beautiful scenery, some serious laughs, made for a delightful end of our little giro.

some delightful ends....

I have always contended that a trip isn't about a place or a church or a monument, but about the people that populate said place or church or monument....we were privileged to share our trip with some pretty great people, enriching even further a very rich life!  Thank you!

Okey dokey, I wanted to move on to Chance Encounters and The Kindness of Strangers, but I'm leaving that for Volume #2....

...AND THE TOADS WALKED IN THE FRONT DOOR

The Toads:

Filippo, poet, actor, friend, walked in my front door followed by a tall, lanky guy I didn't know.  It seems Stefan, the tall, lanky guy, was looking for toads---that's right, big, brown, squishy-looking toads---if you weren't looking for them and they weren't moving, they'd look like a pile of dog pooh.  Enough of an image for ya??

Stefan is a documentary filmmaker who was scouting locations for his next documentary about Volcanoes, Earthquakes, Storms and the ecosystems related to and interrelated with them.  It seems when the earthquake occurred in L'Aquila, November, 2009, all the toads left the area.  When we asked, "Why?" Stefan answered, "as far as we can tell, the increased electrical current drove the toads out of the water and away."  Once the earthquake and aftershocks were over, the toads returned.  And it seems we have the privilege of having the same kind of toads in our lake!!  Who knew??  So with a scientist in tow, Stefan was going to do a two-day shoot of our toads! 

We spent a lovely hour talking of documentary filmmaking, toads, directing and Stefan's background.  He began as a dancer in Paris, evolved into a choreographer, wanted a larger canvas which took him to film.  Then, he needed to make a living, so he learned how to edit film, both manually and digitally, which led to directing.  He now is working for a film company directing and writing documentaries, while writing and directing films of interest for himself.  Ahh, the life of an independent filmmaker!!   

We thought the evening held some wine, a little food, an intimate conversation with Germana and Filippo...instead, we had an evening of discovery and exchanges in French, Italian and English accompanied by movie promos and promises of dinner next week.  We have since seen Stefan twice, briefly, cuz he is working ya know, but we've got dvds of his work and his career to follow.

If we hadn't opened the door....


LTS, or Loren of the Train Station:

We were on our way to Bologna by train to catch the flight to Cyprus.  The train was in retardo by 50 minutes or so, not unusual by Italian standards, so we entertained ourselves by walking up and down the train tracks looking at people.  There are mostly Italians in our area, so we were surprised when a young woman--looking very Italian, I might add--asked us in English where we were from.  Loren is from Manhattan, living with an Italian family for three months, teaching the kids English. 

That's as far as it went when the train arrived....but I couldn't get her out of my head.  What if she needed an American contact while here in Porto San Giorgio?  What if something happened and she needed someone to intercede or help or stand up for her??  so I traversed the train and gave her our Calling Card (how very Victorian of us, huh?)  That way she'd have our contact information in case she needed it. 

LTS, a strong, independent, young woman, got in touch.  We've had the pleasure of dinner with her several times, we met her parents, lovely people, and we've kept in email contact.  LTS doesn't need us to intercede or help or stand up for her, she needed another set of American ears and eyes to help decipher this culture, to bounce ideas off of, to just talk.  We had great fun; she's entertaining and bright and articulate with lots of life experiences and huge decisions in her future.  How lucky are we to be a little part of that???

If I hadn't taken our Calling Card to the other end of the train....

Life on the Edge, or, Beyond my Comfort Zone:

The eight months we spent here last year were probably the lonliest 8 months of my life....I had my Gary, of course, but I contend one person alone can never fulfill all the needs of another.  I need other people, lots of other people, in my life.  I need exchanges that challenge, that titillate, that inform, that engross....the only way to ensure that is to put myself out there.

So, although I am fundamentally shy (because I hate  rejection), I have girded my loins and stuck out my hand, handed out my card, began a conversation, asked a question...and I have been rewarded.  By Katerina with whom I go to yoga and talk about art, by Gaye who shares my love for literature, by Elaine who is forthright and honest, by David and Lisa who open their home and hearts and love for Le Marche and share with us, by Luciana who stops and talks with me, no matter how busy she is, by Ian who is unravelling the mysteries of Tai Chi for us....

By Lynne and Germana and Sherri and Curly and Natan and Dicky and Federico and Anna Maria and John and Angela....

The toads (those lovely, lovely toads) come to the door, right up to the front door, and I have chosen to open it and let them in. 

THE EVOLUTION OF A KITCHEN

I know the experience of putting in a new kitchen is not unique...most of the people I know--that would be you--have renovated, rebuilt, renewed a kitchen, a bathroom, a house.  But the lingering memory of it all is THE GRIT.  The crunchy, sticky, slippery stuff that travels from "the room" to every nook and cranny of the house....and no matter how much I clean, I mop, I sweep, I dust, it lives and thrives and grows.  And I'm in constant cleaning mode--not my favorite mode in which to live.  And then one day, it's done...and the cleaning continues, but the final product is admired and enjoyed.  And like the pain of childbirth, the nightmare of THE GRIT is a long-forgotten memory. 

I'm still waiting for the memory to replace the reality, but I am confident....Below is a pictorial of the process...luckily for you the grit doesn't photograph well.


exposed gas line...yep, that's cement and rock

before renovation





                                                    

pipes and plumbing--
more than I ever wanted to
know about what's behind
the walls



the artist at work!!  the tiling mostly finished....

And then IKEA came and in four hours assembled and installed all the elements...and I now have an expanded work space and a solid counter top and more cupboards...wahoo!!!

I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS

THE BIDET:  WHAT OTHER USES??

As you know, the bidet, used for personal, intimate hygiene, is standard in most European bathrooms.  Not a bad idea and the Italians are crazy about their bidets.  My cousin, Rino, spent most of one evening extolling the virtues of the bidet and explaining, in detail, how it's the only way to REALLY get clean...down there.

Americans, not so much.  Most of us are happy with showers and  feel just as clean...down there.  However, I have found some other functional uses of the bidet.....

*  After a day of walking the hot streets of Rome or Florence, soaking my feet in cold water in the bidet...heaven!
*  If I'm giving myself a pedicure, the best place to soak my feet, in preparation...the bidet.
*  Washing my underwear....
*  Rinsing out the mop...
*  Filling it with ice and putting in a 12-pack of beer to cool...
*  But, my newest discovery...watering my plants and letting them live there for about a week.  My marjoram plant grew 3 inches last week from just sitting in the bidet.

It just shows-to-go-ya, take a cultural icon and turn it on its head, and you've got...a planter!

Which leads me to my next question---

HOW DO WE REFLECT OUR NATIONALITIES??

We play a game when we're out and about, especially sitting in the piazza having a coffee or a Compari: "Where are THEY from?" (THEY are the women with kids, the group of boys, the couple with the paper....)  I've become a great believer in idiosyncratic behavior that mirrors an entire nation--you know what they say, there is a basis for all stereotypes!

For example, Italians saunter and stroll every where they go...no hurry, no deadlines, just a cool promenade across the street, or in front of the car, or into the hardware store.  Because cutting a bella figura is important---how one looks in clothes and in actions is everything.  I work on it every day, and somehow, just when I think I've got it...I remember I forgot milk at the store and I twirl around and rush into the store---oooops, where'd my saunter go???

The British gesticulate less than the Italians.  They aren't as effusive in speech or manner, but are serious and intense while talking.  They also carry also an air of confidence and belonging, whether in Rome or Necosia or Mumbai---is that a reflection of a nation that occupied much of the world?

Americans are loud...when we are out in public, our voices carry. When we're in a group, the sound is magnified.   When I laugh hard, my laugh fills a room...(I like to laugh), but that immediately identifies me as American because the Italians don't laugh out loud like that.  When Gary is making a point, an important point, his voice fills the room, his singular voice demands attention...and people look--at him when he talks, at me when I laugh.  Oh well, we've embraced our idiosyncrasies!! 

Clothes are a great definer...but it's becoming harder and harder because, I believe, of the influence of television and films.  Teenagers, for example, look the same whether in California or Porto, Portugal.  Jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts.  Italians don't wear tennis shoes when they go out.  To the gym, yes.  To have a coffee or to go shopping, absolutely not!  There was a time only Americans wore tennis shoes out; comfort being the operative here.  The Italians would rather be uncomfortable and look good than be comfortable and look bad---ahhhh, la bella figura raises its head once again. 

We have recently joined a gym (yes, applause, please) and leave first thing in the morning, have our cappuccini, and hit the treadmill---but, we leave with our workout clothes on and run errands after the gym, in our workout clothes, then go home and shower and change.  Where do we think we are???  California???  We're obviously more concerned with comfort and utility than how we look....we'll never be Italian!

And a fanny pack???  Forget it...nothing attractive about those!

So our game continues....how someone sits, walks, dresses, talks, gesticulates, interacts with friends, orders coffee, greets friends all contribute to an image of not only who they are, but where they're from!

SINCE WHEN DID THE WEATHER BECOME SOOOO IMPORTANT??

It's so obvious, weather conditions impact crops and travel and livestock and world economies...I just seem to have missed it.  Do ya think living in Southern California, where we live in perpetual spring, has something to do with it?

Here, the weather dictates everything.  Do we go out today??  Can we plant our flowers yet?  Does the car need snow tires so we can drive on the roads??  WHAT DO I WEAR TODAY??  Are we having company, will we need to put a million blankets on the bed??  Do I need my umbrella?  Shall I wear my down jacket or the leather one???  Will the Regata be a success??  Will I be able to eat fresh mussels??  Can I have tea in the garden or in the house??

So every day we check the weather channel, online for the 10 day forecast, and look at the sky.  But the sky isn't consistent---it could be brilliantly clear in the morning and then covered by dark rain clouds by mid-day.  How can I decide whether we'll go to the cheese festival or not?  Will the flower festival be rained out??  Are festivals rained out?  Can I go for a bike ride--if I went for bike rides--??  Are we expecting a thunder storm?  If so, the dog next door freaks out at thunder and has been known to tear up our screen door just to get to people.  Are the winds kicking up??  Do we need to bring the umbrellas in??  And on and on and on....

It's an awakening to a primal and visceral element...mixed with great awe.  I hate being "controlled" by the weather, but we don't control it, it controls us...and one must be respectful.  It puts everything into perspective; makes our petty plans and problems just that, petty. 
            ________________________________________________________________

Bidets and idiosyncrasies and the weather...I have trouble reining in my mind.  But, I have the joy and privilege of looking at my life through a different lens each and every day---thanks for letting me share it with you!

I HAVE QUESTIONS...

Question #1:
WHEN IS AN ADVENTURE NOT AN ADVENTURE??
                ***SPOILER ALERT***SPOILER ALERT***SPOILER ALERT***

(If you read this, it will quickly become apparent what whimps and whooses Gary and I are...if you'd like to maintain the image of us as intrepid travelers, jump ahead to Question #2.)

"Eeeek" quickly became our shorthand for "Watch-the-fuck-out" in our attempt to navigate Cyprus while driving on the LEFT side of the road.  There are, of course, many combinations and permutations of "eeek."
**For example, one small, sotto voce "eeeek" means there's a person about the cross the street that you're not going to see because you're looking the WRONG way.
**A double "eeeek" accompanied by a pointing to the left means there's a car parked on the street that will be hit if YOU DON'T MOVE TO THE RIGHT.
**A quick intake of breath, coupled with several "eeeks" means there are cars headed right for us and we are certain to die within the next 2 minutes of you don't HIT THE GAS NOW!!!
**But my favorite, one I used more than any other, is multiple "eeeks" building in speed and volume...Imagine:  "eeeek, eeeek, eeeEEK, eeeEEKKK, EEEEKKKKK."  This means, of course, you're going to rear end that car if you don't SLOW THE FUCK DOWN--NOW.

Obviously, we made it out of Cyprus alive...but it was with great relief to have the driver take us to the airport.  People learn to drive on the "wrong" side of the road, it happens every day, they establish new patterns and habits, and it's seamless....just not for us.

I was reminded of when I moved to LA with my family and we were introduced to the freeway system.  My Dad was officially freaked out...so, when we all got in the car, an announcement was made, "we're getting on the FREEWAY," and it was understood we had to sit down and shut up so he could navigate the speed and traffic.  So my sister, brother, and I would sit very still and very quietly in the back seat until we reached our destination.  Image a stair step of  three heads frozen, looking forward, afraid to move.  After about 2 weeks we could no longer resist the prodding and teasing and talking necessary while in the back seat; Dad just had to adjust.

In our discussions about what truly defines "adventure," Gary asserts it's the adrenaline of a new situation and the challenge to overcome it.  I'd just like less "eeeks."

 From our terrace, the Mediterranean greeted us every morning.

And to the right, the Byzantine Castle, St. Hilarion, shadowed over us...St. Hilarion has since been renamed "Gary's Castle" because he climbed all the way to the top while I drank tea!  There is the castle at the top of the mountain...it's said this was Walt Disney's inspiration for Sleeping Beauty's Castle!!

Question #2:

WHY BOTHER PLANNING ANYTHING??

The reason we decided to go to Cyprus was to visit Othello's Castle...Shakespeare's play takes place in Famagusta, a port city in Northern Cyprus--(now a ghost town...a creepy other story)--and there is a famous castle named for Othello.  So, Tuesday morning we took off for Famagusta, amid "eeeks" and excitement, only to be told upon our arrtival--wait for it-- the castle is under renovation!  Wouldn't you know it??

We saw lots of cool stuff in Famagusta, but not my castle!

Henceforth, we plan to make no plans....

 We stayed in Karmi Village in North Cyprus...this is the church and an interesting guy.  Abandoned by the Greeks in 1974, the Tourism Board of Turkey thought to sell the abandoned properties to expats, mostly British, who have lovingly restored the village using only local goods and services and retaining the original structures.  There is a great restaurant, Levant, and a lovely neighborhood pub, The Crow's Nest.  Food, views, drinks, stories, companionship...great place to stay!




WAIL, WAIL, WAIL---DO MY WAILS CARRY ACROSS THE SEA???   I went to a local hairdresser here and she demolished my hair....I find I'm terribly sensitive about how I'm looking and aging, so to have my hair butchered has not helped, but, this does lead to my next question:

Question #3:
JUST HOW POWERFUL ARE GENETICS???

I remember how my Mom refused to have her picture taken in the morning.  And on those occasions where we brandished a camera, she always deflected it.  Does this ring any familiar bells with anyone else??

One beautiful morning in Cyprus, Gary thought he'd capture the glory of morning and brandished a camera in my face....the result??  A carbon copy of all the pictures of my Mom deflecting the eye of the camera.  Wanna see it??  Are ya sure??   Really, truly ready??

Honest??

keep scrolling down

prepare yourself.....

weird, huh??  It's my Mom!!

and this is me!!

Every time Gary and I travel we have the opportunity to meet people, experience other cultures, and step outside our comfort zone, which leads to grand adventures and greater understandings...thank you for sharing our "eeeks" and plans and shocks of recognition!



AMERICAN GOTHIC, KISMET, AND GAS...OH MY!

Aside from the envy you must be feeling for the very attractive outfit I'm wearing, LOOK AT THAT SNOW....see how deep it is??  I could say I singlehandedly shovelled the entire driveway pictured, but that would be a lie...I was much more concerned about my outfit! 

If you squint, you can see the house at the end of drive; next to the house is our little Fiat Panda, which was buried completely under the snow.  So, it becomes clear why shovelling was necessary....

But we're Southern California people, we don't know anything about snow or how to shovel it or how to drive in it or...anything.  Ahhh, our part of Italy imparts lesson after lesson after lesson!

 

                            But what a beautiful lesson...as long as you've got a shovel and warm clothes.
                                                  (Picture by David McIntyre, new friend)

We've been back in Italy a month and spent the first two weeks making sure everything worked....  we've got heat and snow tires and new phones and working internet and a new IKEA kitchen coming...life is good! 

30 years ago I worked with a lovely woman, Sherri Johnson, who happens to live in Florence.  So we embarked on a weekend visit--to reacquaint ourselves and compare "living in Italy" experiences. 
Sherri and her husband, Curly, opened their home and their arms to us--once I got over the fact I have indeed aged over the last 30 years---we settled in and found people who are simpatici--of like minds and hearts.

Sherri said it best,  "Friends seem more important here--maybe because we have time to spend with friends, maybe because it is comfortable to be with people who share similar interests and backgrounds, or maybe it's because we'd be friends with you even if was the first time we met--I think we all felt a connection and it feels good!"

And then being in beautiful Florence--what 's not to love? 

*  We are paying the equivalent of $10/gallon for gas---yep, you read that correctly, $10!!!  It gives us pause every time we get in the car---but I refuse to let that stymie my explorations!

*  I found a yoga class--taught in Italian, thank you very much--that I have begun.  It's a challenge, but it brings me closer to the community in which we live...and if we live here, I'd like to be part of the community.

*  We've joined a gym--no English spoken there, either--but ya know, sweat is sweat in any language and the tread mill works the same way.

*  We're visiting Cyprus next week to see Othello's Castle...and anything else the island has to offer.

Nature, Fate, Community, Politics have shaped our lives this past month...I am anxious to see what the next months hold for us!