Matera: This town rocks!

We were at the vet with our cat, who had been sedated and shaved, when we ran into our friend, Nathan.  He mentioned that he and his wife, Kim, were planning to go out of town this weekend and where should we go?  Regardless of the particulars, we decided to go somewhere on Wednesday and left on Saturday morning.  It's really a sweet life!

Matera is this very old town in, I suppose you could say, the in-step of the boot.  This little town has all of these "sassi" or cave houses in which people have lived for 9,000 years!  Holy cats!  But apparently in the 1950's, Italian law required everyone to move out, instituted piped utilities instead of cistern systems and the place is now re-populated with adorable B&B's, shops, and trattorias, though I do believe that some original residents have moved back in to their refurbished homes.  The Sassi house museum that we went into which was re-filled with period furniture, had a statue of a horse inside.  I mean, people lived in caves with no indoor plumbing with livestock.  So before you go telling me about gentrification, there is some element, of you know, standards of living and safety involved.

We started our trip to Matera with a much longer car ride than it should have been.  I got car sick, we couldn't find a gas station, we needed snacks.  Meandering through Italian countryside, I remembered a discussion which Tom and I had previously had - about that time that I was ABSOLUTELY sure that I saw cows and sheep in the same field and proclaimed it to be a "thing" in Italy to co-field your livestock.  "Tom, they are living a boundary-less life, like God intended."  Well, since that time, which Tom doesn't believe actually happened, I've been searching the road side on all Italian adventures for another sighting.  And, alas, have yet to see it replicated.  During our lengthy car ride, I scoured.  And Team Jacobsen joined me, not Tom, in the efforts.  Whenever we saw a field of livestock, we all started shouting and Kim whipped out her binoculars (which can we just note that only AMAZING people travel with binoculars.  Talk about being prepared!  Bincos???  Seriously.  Team Jacobsen brings the mother load on trips!) and we'd check.  Nearly 9 hours of car time yielded no second sheep-cow-harmonious co-fielding sightings BUT we did see sheep and horses in the same field and I think that's progress.  I have another year and a half to prove my point.  Which is that I'm never wrong.  Ever.



And what trip with me wouldn't be complete without at least one awkward bathing experience.  Our swanky room in our 4 star hotel was super modern and filled with incredible up-lighting (Christopher Lowell of HGTV fame would have been SO proud!).  And then there was the bathing.  There was a HUGE bath tub at the foot of the bed.  After taking a picture of us (fully clothed - fear not!), sipping wine in the ol' tub, I got serious the next morning in my bathing pursuits.  I filled the tub, and filled the tub, and filled the tub and the darn thing just wouldn't fill that fast!  So I decided to just wash my hair with the little hand wand.  Those hand wands and I just don't ever play nicely together.  I set it down for just.  one.  second.  And the whole room was soaked.  It's like a fire hose when left unchecked!  Water = everywhere!  Confounded European bathing.  #fail.

Northward Bound!

To celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day (as well as the Inauguration of the President of the United States!), we ventured northward to Tuscany in our trusty little Honda Civic.  Poor Gabby (said Civic) has really gotten some serious kilometers put onto her since moving here.  Poor thing....  Maybe deep down she's an adventurous soul.  [Note to self: stop personifying your vehicle]

Our first stop was in San Gimignano (pronounced: Jim-en-yawn-oh) - a cute little town of about 1,000 people, which Rick Steeves hates with a passion.  His description of the town, as "faux rustic" and a "tourist trap," led me to believe that everything here was fake.  What we did learn is this: traveling to Tuscany in mid-January is ill-advised.  The hill towns are almost entirely shut down.  "Where do all of these people go?"  Somewhere else, is obviously the answer.  People were hard to find.  Open restaurants were even harder to find.  We found one.  Just one.  And, thankfully, a woman who ran a very niche market hair care and beauty appliance store which was open until 7:30 pm, so I was able to buy a spendy (but necessary) brush to replace the one that was ever so carefully left on the bed during packing.  Hmmm....

San Gimignano is a walled medieval city with towers, which were once the marker of prominent families.  The town's steep streets and beautiful buildings made for a quaint stroll and a chance to actually see the stars, out and shining with an inherent lack of smog like we have here in Napoli.  Tom and I spent the evening recharging our batteries, feeling incredibly confident in my Italian language skills.  Here's the thing: you know when people say "Just try, the locals really appreciate that."  Those people were in Tuscany.  In Tuscany, the locals really like you more when you speak Italian, even broken Italian.  In Naples, they correct you.  "Il conto, per favore."  Waiter: "No, Il conto.  E 'il cooooooontooooo.'"  The clarification of pronunciation is normally done a) in an asshole-ish manner, implying heavily that you are a complete idiot and b) sounds exactly the same.  "Listen, friend, just bring me the damn check." 

Somewhere the weather turned from drizzling and cold to snowing and sweet merciful Mother of Pearl freezing!  Tom and I shivered, sniffled, whined our way back to the car, where we ate mini-pizzas and cookies from a local bakery (note the only place that was open at 12:30 on a Saturday) and blasted Gabby's heating system.

Onward to Firenze, or Florence. 

Tom: Why don't we call it Firenze?
Lynne: You can call it Firenze if you want.
Tom: But no one else does. 
Lynne: I don't know, honey. 

So here's a life lesson: Don't EVER drive in Florence - it's bad for your marriage.  We've gotten an inflated sense of badass-ness driving in Naples.  But our hotel's garage was down this one way street which switched directions at almost every stop light and, overwhelmed by both the amount of lost, the number of pedestrians in the middle of the street, and the number of Italian men who yelled the equivalent of "You shouldn't be driving here, idiot" at us, I put the car in park, started crying, and forced the keys on Tom.  This is where things got bad.  I'll skip to the part where we got to the hotel, thankfully still married but muttering hateful things about each other's inherent flaws under our breath. 

Our hotel was lovely!  Sigh, we loved each other again.  Our room looked out at the Duomo in all of its glory.  We spent the next two days strolling through galleries, looking at a ridiculously large number of naked men in sculpture form, and eating very good food.  When you think of Italian food, you are normally thinking of food from the Tuscan region.  Tortellini, ravioli, really amazing beef stew (ok, I'm sure that's not what you were thinking of, but it was legit delicious!) - the food up north has a lot more spices and flavor than our food here in Naples.  Which is still very good, but it's also very, very simple.  Fish tastes like fish.  Red meat isn't very prominent on the menu.  So, the ability to have that kind of variety was amazing! 

The same driving in Florence pitfall marked our drive back, which was terse and passive aggressive.  Again, in case I didn't empahsize it enough, don't drive in Florence.  When people say "ohhhhhhh you drove in Florence?"  - it's because their marriage has also been on the brink of collapse while driving in that city.  Just save yourself the trouble, the heartache and the hours of passive aggression, and take the train.  And then see a bunch of naked men.  And snicker.  Like children.  It seems to help.  If all else fails: drink.

Ringing in the New Year!

Ever since we moved here, we've heard one thing: Naples on New Year's Eve is crazy.  Since we spent last year back in the States with family, we took the opportunity to really take in the evening from our balcony this year.  And my goodness, it didn't disappoint!

In case I haven't stressed it enough, Italians (Neapolitans especially) LOVE fireworks.  Love them!  It's traditional to shoot off fireworks for the birth of a child, to commemorate the hour of their birth (even if it's 10 AM on a Tuesday), or because you had extra fireworks and want to celebrate.  Throughout the day, we heard the familiar blast of fireworks for test runs.  I should have known then that no one was holding back.

As the sun set, some of our neighbors started mini-displays with bottle rockets and sparklers.  By 8, that number had increased.  By 10, they were going off every 10 minutes.  At 5 of midnight, we grabbed several bottles of prosecco and our coats and made for the porch.  When midnight came, the skyline of the Bay of Naples lit up.  But in true Italian style, it was really around 12:05, that grace period between on time and late when the fireworks started for real.  Below is a video of 10 seconds of the crazy.  This went on for nearly 2 hours!  Explosions over our porch, out on the horizon, behind our building, below our building.  Seriously, there was not one single place that we could turn and not see the familiar sparkle of light and feel the shudder of each boom.
 

And so here we go, into another new year with resolutions and goals and plans to fill our post-Christmas blues.  With one year and some random number of months left of our time here, I'm trying to find the adventure, the possibility, and the wonder of each day that we have here.  Whether it be that my fruit lady doesn't let me actually touch the produce or in having a stroll through the park by my house.  There is potential in each day and I'm determined to find it. 

Cheers!  Auguri! 
Lynne
xoxo

Cruising the Danube: Geriatric Style!

What a whirlwind the past month has been!  Back in May, Tom and I decided to go on a river cruise up the Danube from Budapest, Hungary to Nuremberg, Germany, stopping at Christmas Markets along the way.  Having never experienced Europe before moving here, I wasn't ready for the level of dedication that the Bavaria has for Christmas.  The cities along the Danube filled their squares with stalls selling hand crafted decorations, candles, and all sorts of nick-nacks that you didn't realize you couldn't live without.  But then they also sold sweet heavenly food!!  The sausages in Nuremberg were probably the most delicious, the gluhwein (hot spiced wine) of Regensburg the most appreciated in the 4" of snow, and the laughter of children in Passau, the most heartwarming!



Once aboard our Viking River Cruise, the Freya was our ship, we started to thaw.  Amid the sea of blue/white hair, we stood out.  Being neither an AARP member nor collecting Social Security, we brought the median age down from around 72 to probably 65.  Thankfully, we also brought the median income down significantly!  We cruised each night, going through cute little river towns, waterfront castles of old, and the idyllic life of Germany and Austria.  Passau, Germany was my favorite of all of our stops.  Where time seemed to fade away and the decor of each corner seemed more darling and thoughtful than the last.



But what made the whole trip worth while, what made the countless stories about other people's children ("I have a daughter about your age.  [Insert 30 minute story about said daughter as Tom and I smile and nod, drinking quietly but heavily]") and their really amazing travel experiences ("How do we live in Europe and are way less traveled than these people??  For shame!"), we met our new besties.  Rex and Verne, two amazing gents from LA, had enough Kardashian stories to satiate even my celebrity gossip palate!  And, interestingly enough, news that the Kardashians are avid Costco customers.  Who knew???  They were incredibly kind, incredibly open, and above all, hilarious!  And then there was Libby and Jesse, fellow ex-pats living in Japan, traveled 27 grueling hours to putz around Europe.  They were the most darling couple, full of smiles and giggles, equally embarrassing stories about being a stranger in a strange land.  Libby and I had so much in common, so many similar ridiculous quirks, that there was never a shortage of "Tell them about that time that you...." which inevitably left us all close to tears.

When we all parted ways, I heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment.  Back to our cold Italian apartment, leaving behind the mini-America of life on board this cruise ship, where people brought me wine day and night, made me delicious meals, and my biggest concern was making sure that I didn't get left behind in some tiny town along the Danube!  After 11 days of traveling, it's back to work and the grindstone but I'll carry those snowy days and laughter-filled nights with me for so very many years to come. 

Ciao for now!
Lynne

Thanksgiving: Down and Dirty on Italian Wine

There is a mystical land in the north of Italy that has the power to harness the sun and the earth and create a magical liquid.  Come with me, friends, as I tell you about the Veneto region and the time your friend, Lynne, bravely took on Prosecco Road.

Hyperbole aside, there really is a Prosecco region of Italy.  Here's some further reading to help explain the region, the process and the wine!  Veneto is the region, like Campania is the region where we live, and Venice is the capital.  We flew into Venice and then drove an hour north to the little town of Monfumo where we joined up with some more friends in a villa that we had rented.  It was lovely and rustic and high in the hills.

Here's a quick lesson in Italian wine.  There are many types and classifications, most of which is strictly reviewed by the government.  Of biggest note: there are 3 big distinctions: IGT, DOC, and DOCG. 

IGT: (Indicazione Geografica Tipica) Pretty much means that the wine is very typical of the region from which it is produced.  If you order a bottle of table wine in that town, this is what it should taste like.  It's not super controlled, so a lot of wine makers now are starting to add French grapes to their Italian wine.  While normal table wine is about 3-6 Euro, some IGT's can also be over 40 Euro.  Take aways: it isn't normally crappy wine, it's just not super specific.

DOC: (Denominazione di Origine Controllata) DOC is more precise.  The wine and grapes need to be from a controlled district of Italy to be classified as DOC.  There are rules about the type of cask in which it must ferment, the amount of time it must stay in the cask, and amount of time it must stay in a bottle prior to being sold.  Some DOC wines are still really cheap, but they tend to be a bit more "typical" of a more specific area and thus, normally more expensive than an IGT.

DOCG: (Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita) DOCG means it's from a very precise area, with very precise grapes, with a very precise fermenting and bottling process AND guaranteed to be all of those things.  Prosecco Superior, what we had in Veneto, is DOCG prosecco.  There is just one small region where you can grow real prosecco superior grapes and land up there is now costing millions of Euros a hectacre.  All of this helps to explain those little stickers that you probably never noticed on the top of an Italian wine bottle, if you've ever bought one.  That sticker is taken VERY seriously in the wine parts of Italy and the cost to get that sticker, the color denoting what level of classification it has been given, are no small matter.

Enter 9 Americans into this lovely little region.  We spent 4 days drinking our way through Veneto, specifically Valdobbiadiene and Conegliano.  If you butchered those names, fear not, you aren't alone!  Pronounced: Valdo - bee - yawd - di - nay and Co - nay - lee - awno.  And they say Italian is phonetic! 



The trip was a dream.  The colors of each vineyard were so bright and bold as the leaves dried under the brisk November sky.  We wandered through vineyards with winemakers learning about the curviture of vines, the proper way to pick the grapes, the amounts of sugar and yeast that are required, aging, carbonation, corking.  I mean, we learned a TON!  It was just funny to hear them say "Prosecco is a friendly wine.  It has a friendly wine making process that is not so difficult."  Because, my goodness did it seem difficult!  There is a huge inferiority complex in the Prosecco area about French champagne - that it's more famous, that it's more well known and respected, that it has a longer life span. 

But what I learned is this: prosecco IS a friendly wine.  It IS easy to drink.  It goes well with cheese or on its own.  The variations are crazy, even among close neighboring vineyards.  But what I also learned is this: Northern Italians are also amazingly friendly people.  Not far from the Austrian border, their food has strong Austrian and German influences and includes a lot of ingredients that we don't have down here, including, my goodness, duck.  We had this duck ragu.  Sweet merciful me.  It was amazing!

Four cases of wine later, we're back at home, back at work, back in Napoli.  I'm excited to open each bottle, hear that magical "POP" of the cork and remember those lazy days up north.  Sigh....

Those Dam Dutch

I apologize in advance for my use of puns.  Amsterdam just requires it.  It's so 'dam awesome.  See?  I did it again.

Veteran's Day and our anniversary fall in line, by design, each year as the weather starts to change and leaves are notably lovely.  With tickets to Istanbul in my Expedia cart, Tom's office decided that he needed to go to the Hague for work that week instead and just like that, we were headed to the land of our northern breathren!  Hello, Holland! 

I love Amsterdam.  I'm committed to starting a one-woman campaign to convince people that it's a city of more than just hookers and drugs.  I mean, they are there, if that's your thing.  But, it's not really my thing and I still love that city.  It was the perfect time of year to be there, the canals lined with yellow, orange, and red leaved trees, lazily shedding their leaves with each gust of wind.  Strolling the streets, sipping whatever warm beverage we picked up along the way, hand in hand with my hubby, it was one of those wonderful European weekends.



To help promote Amsterdam, I'll give you hooker/drug alternatives.

1. Shopping:  Oh my goodness, I love shopping in Amsterdam.  It's amazing.  In Italy, I am a 2X.  Seriously.  It's depressing.  And that's in a normal sweater.  In Amsterdam, I'm a M.  My ego was padded with the knowledge that I am among my tall, heftier people.  Felt good!  Tom's luggage was mysteriously missing for the first two days of our journey and he was freezing in a windbreaker and short sleeved polo.  It must also be noted that Tom doesn't buy or pick out any of his own clothes anymore.  "You dress like a frat boy from 1992.  Just let me be your stylist."  Somehow, Lord only knows how, I convinced Tom to get a burgundy "old man" cardigan (his words, obviously).  Oh my goodness, he looks like the snuggliest, most adorable professor ever.  Wearing that while sitting by the fire place at our hotel, sipping cognac.  Adorable. 

2. Museums: If you are uncultured and unlearned, not unlike myself, you may not remember that the Dutch were once badasses and dominated like pretty much everything.  Also, if you are unlearned and easily confused, not unlike myself, you are often confused by the fact that the Netherlands and Holland are the same thing and that they are all Dutch.  I know, it took me an embarassingly long time to get that all under my belt.  Don't worry, you aren't alone.  But back to the Dutch: they were a pretty big deal and consequently collected a bunch of cool stuff way back in the day that is now housed in a ton of awesome museums.  We got to Rembrandt's (which was his first name, by the by!  See?  Bizarro kids names aren't just big now.  It was a thing even back in the 1700's!  Take that Apple Paltrow!) Night Watch and that group of Dutch guys that I only know is a famous painting because it's on a cigar box.

3. Yet another Zoo:  Tom was all museumed-out by the end of day 2 and so, as a special treat to him, we went to the zoo.  Tom immediately turns into a 7 year old kid the minute we enter any animal themed institution.  He was practically running from exhibit to exhibit, shouting when birds would hop around and checking off each enclosure on our park map to make sure that we hit all of the highlights.  We decided that it would be fun to see a show in the Planetarium and so stopped into 'Space Trip.'  Well it was entirely in Dutch.  So, we sat there, listening to what I am convinced is a fake language for 35 minutes. 
T: Lynne, what did they say?
L: Tom, I don't know.  It's in Dutch.
T: I thought your family is Dutch.
L: My ancestors.  From like the 1700's.  I mean, your family is Irish, how come you didn't know any Gaelic when we were in Ireland.
T: Shhh, I'm learning about space right now.

4. Spend time with your sweetie: For me, a chance to walk around, have meals just the two of us and just spend time with my hubby was the best.  Tom is one of the best men that I know, in my own, humble opinion.  He is the calm to my storm, the logic to my crazy, and the optimism in my sea of fear.  At some point, I'll figure out what exactly it is that he gets out of being married to me...  But I am insanely glad that he's stuck around with me, getting to share these little adventures throughout Europe, hand in hand.  Whatever is in our future, I know that I'll weather the storm with him by my side.  I love you, my darling.

Friends in Translation

Last week, my co-worker, Maurizio, asked me if I'd practice English with his friend, Assia.  I told him that I'd do it happily (and for free) if she would help me to learn Italian.  I've had this idea in my head for pretty much the entire time here, that I would find an Italian who wanted to learn English and with our powers combined, we'd become this bond of Babel and teach each other the intricacies of our languages.  Well looky here!  It worked!

Last week Maurizio facilitated our discussion and said "In Englese!" to Assia and "In Italiano" to me over and over and over again as we struggled to put our jobs, significant others and interests into child-like sentences in another language.  This week, Assia's boyfriend, Massimo, did the same thing, except that his English is really good and made the whole process VERY easy for me!  We keep finding a third party who speaks both languages well enough to make the whole process easier on both of us.

Assia, Massimo, and I sat around for an hour on Friday night, sipping caffes (read: espresso.  Read also: I didn't sleep that night) and chatting about our travels, lives and their very dedicated system for learning English.  They've been taking lessons with an Irish girl, an Australian girl, and a guy from Texas and have decided that my middle-America accent is the easiest version of English to understand. 

It was very comforting to have our mutual struggles to work through.  Both Assia and I pretty much only know present tense of English/Italian (respectively) and have been helpful in learning the details and pronunciation of some of the more complicated words.  (For her, as well as many of my co-workers, the difference between Tuesday and Thursday is ALWAYS difficult.  For me, "prossima volta" (which means "next time") is the phrase I could not remember at all!)  It's funny that we both feel like we have a mouth full of marbles when speaking a new language.  For the whole year here, I have felt like my mouth is just too confused to form words correctly.  Or that the words that I thought I was always saying correctly get a very common "huh??" from my co-workers/waiters/grocery store attendants. 

I'm hoping that the weekly chats with my new friend will help open my eyes (and my ears) to the intricacies of living here and help me to understand the culture on a deeper level.  I'm finding that Italy is more than just pasta and wine, old buildings and crazy lines.  The more time I spend here, the more mothers and children that I see interacting, the more times I hear church bells and see a family of 40 having Sunday dinner together, the more that it warms my heart.  Life abroad is now cake walk.  It's often frustrating and confusing and leaves me exhausted and homesick but then, there are the times that you can share an hour with a new friend and just talk and just learn about how life is different from their point of view.  It just takes little longer when you have to Google Translate every 5 minutes.  Let's be honest, every 2 minutes.

Buona giornata! (Have a good day!)
Lynne