Back on the wagon

I admit it, it happens from time to time, but I fell off the wagon on this whole blogging thing.  Life was awesome, I did cool stuff.  I intended to write my thesis.  I watched a lot of Criminal Minds instead.  I'm now convinced that most everyone I've ever met or have passed on the street is plotting to kill me in some manner that involved duct tape.  Tom went to Germany for approximately forever.  My mom came to visit.  My bestie, Julie, moved back to America.  We had a harrowing scuba-diving experience.  I met Tom in Germany.  I submitted a draft of my thesis.  My thesis chair destroyed it.  I read the massive comments with an equally massive glass of wine and decided it could all wait.  With procrastination, blogging became an immediate necessity.  Not unlike organizing my photos.  SUPER high priority.  Procrastination makes the strangest things seem really, really important.

I'll now include 1 sentence and 1 picture from the past 3 months of my life and then I'll get back on the wagon and we'll all pretend like this never happened.  Agreed?  Good.

1. Lots of wine in Dugenta, this little town about 45 minutes from Naples, with lots of good friends.  It's like Tuscany but closer and less expensive.  I call that a win.

3 liter bottles of prosecco, they will really change your life.

2. Cantina dell'Averno: Located in Naples, wonderful hosts, amazing 15-20 Euro lunch with unlimited wine.  We seem to buy two cases as an apology for spending 5 hours getting drunk for practically nothing.

Melissa and I revive a game from her childhood: use fish heads as puppets.  It was clearly still as much fun as in her youth!

3. Julie left: Julie went back to America, which we celebrated/mourned over her favorite ristorante with almost all of our closest friends around.  It seems sad each time I think of her not being here but I'm sure that she's having fun being back in our homeland!

4. I sort of wrote my thesis.  No pictures to document that this event ever actually occured.

5. Relatives!  My cousin and his wife spent one day in Naples on their cruise through the med.  I toured them around Naples, took them out to an authentic Italian trattoria, and brought the most absurdly large bouquet I've ever purchased in my life.  Three people + this huge bouquet barely fit in our elevator!

Paul, Cara and I in Downtown Naples!

5. My mom came to Italy for 2 weeks!  Because she is my mom and this whole "one sentence per event" rule was of my own making, I'm breaking it.  I'd say I'm sorry, but this is my mom we're talking about.  She rates more than 1 sentence! 

We started off in Rome, dragging my bleary-eyed mother around.  "Keep going, mom!  You can do it!"  (She did, hilariously, doze off for about 3 seconds at dinner her first night.  Tom and I laughed for about 2 seconds and then woke her up and promptly requested the check)  Once back in Naples, we let her rest, strolled around our neighborhood, ate gelato (introducing her to the miracle of life that is Kinder gelato.  Seriously, it's amazing), and just chatted.  We saw super old stuff at Ercolano, went up to Tuscany, putzed around Rome, had a lovely lunch on the beach in Positano, and Tom and I got horrifically ill.  It was at this point, with a fever and the most horrific stomach virus man has ever known in a hotel in the pouring rain in Tuscany, that my mom, the retired nurse, really kicked it up a notch.  We watched old movies, the entire third season of Downton Abbey (seriously, Downton?  Seriously??  We just broke up.  But we may get back together.  But I'm still really mad at you.  It's going to require a lot of flowers to make this right between us), and just hung out.  Upon return to the US, my mom reported that she particularly loved that the medicine aisle of the commissary (our grocery store on the base) has a glass floor with Roman ruins in it.  She couldn't stop laughing about how the nail polish remover was on a shelf above 2,000 year old pots.

Mommy and me time while we wait for lunch in Rome.  The enormous sign behind us is inadvertent advertising.  I promise.  And the third glass of wine is obviously for Tom, who is taking the picture.  We'd never have 3 glasses of wine for 2 people.  Ever...

6. Tom spent 2 weeks in Germany while I was horrifically ill.  After a trip to the ER, TONS of antibiotics, and a week of chicken soup, I joined him for some R&R in Frankfurt.  It was beautiful, surprisingly new, and full of exciting food.  THAI!  Mmmmm!  Applewein = not so mmmm.

This was when we learned that Applewein is not that delicious.  Don't let Tom's smile fool you...

7. Beach daze: When it was too windy to go boating, 15 Americans decended upon the NATO beach in Miseno (in Naples) and spent the day drinking beers and juice box wine with baloney sandwiches (deep down everyone secretly loves them as much as I do) and inflatable duck floats that we bought from the guys selling stuff on the beach. 



So that sums things up here for me.  I'm officially back on the wagon!  Ready to blog on more regular intervals.  We're in our last year here in Naples and I'm starting to wonder both where the time went and how we will ever fit all of these trips into our last year.  While we may not be getting that much better at Italian, I've become less afraid of the life here.  The mystery of this lifestyle seems to be a bit less mystical and whatever level of logical I can make of Neapolitan culture.  Driving still drives Tom and I nuts and we mutter, perhaps far too often, "f*cking Italians" during car rides.  But that's a story for another blog.  Which will be coming shortly.  I promise.  Girl scout's honor.

Baci!

Lynne

Capri: Twice in April

I look out at Capri from my porch and have caught myself thinking, 'That island is so smug' on more than one occasion.  During my first few weeks in Italy, I went to Capri on a day trip with my dear friend, Kristine, and we had quite the day.  But we also had quite the snobbery and I hadn't gone back since.

Until my dear friend Julie went and raved about how we should all give Capri a chance and it was heavenly and blah blah blah.  Yet again, like in Barcellona, I rolled my eyes and thought "Sure, Julie..."  Well we went.  Twice in the month of April and I must say, publically, that I was wrong.  Capri, but more importantly Anacapri, is amazing.  Below is a picture of the Island of Capri, mocking me from our porch.  Anacapri is the higher part. 

 



Capri is the land where Kim Kardashian went on a mini-moon for her mini-marriage, where the Real Housewives of [Insert Major American City] travel for vacation, and where luxury yachts are never in short supply.  It's the place where the girls at Zara openly judge you even more than regular Zara (seriously, you're in retail.  I'm actively buying something.  Stop it with your judgment!), where gelato is 12 Euro a cone, and touristy trinkets are about 5 times what they cost in Sorrento or Amalfi.  But it's Capri.  There's a part of all of us that feels even more fancy being there, eating the food, strolling the streets, casually mentioning "Oh, I just spent the weekend on Capri." 

Which brings to mind the level of asshole that I know I've become.  Calling home, talking about the weekend I spent at winery or on a Mediterranean island makes me realize how ridiculous my life has become.  Looking back and comparing this to the joys I got in the States from a stroll through Best Buy - it's so far beyond the norm that I have to pinch myself to realize that this is still reality.  For now, at least.  Next month marks our two year mark in Italy.  From the beginning, the lows, the tears, the discomfort to now - finding a solid group of friends, cutting loose some of the things that held me back, and finding the hidden gems of excitement in our little section of Italy - I finally feel like I'm settled.  Funny how long it took, how much I complained, how the norms are so different from our life back in the States.  But somehow, it's all more normal now.  But I've digressed....

Capri: The island is a beautiful place but most importantly, for me at least, the food is what sets it apart.  Seafood is abundant in this part of the world.  We eat it more often than I have ever had seafood in my life.  And it's good in Naples, don't get me wrong.  But then we went to Capri (and Anacapri) and it's just so different.  The food is made with such care - the clams, mussels, squid, it's all so delicate, like it was made by a little mama in the kitchen of her house, making sure that her children and family were all pleased with her work.  Off the beaten path of Capri, where an American college student wouldn't dare trod, there are little trattorias which made food for the soul.  We ate at these little places, enjoying their unique version of the dishes we see daily. 

Here are some pics from weekend one and then weekend two, just girls, below. 

 

And the trip just with the girls....

 

 

Runner's High and Humanity's Lows

This past weekend, four of my girlfriends and I went up to Scotland to run the Edinburgh Rock N' Roll Half Marathon.  If you aren't an avid runner and haven't done a race that requires that kind of training, you should think about it.  No matter what shape you are in.  It's a feeling of pride, of pain, of personal gratification that is rarely felt.  My girlfriends and I trained together, spending a few hours each weekend and several afternoons during the week chatting and running.  Through this training, I found out what kind of friends I have and what kind of friend I want to be.  It's more than just training for a race - it's also amazing bonding time.

After our race, through the wind and the rain, hail at a few points (seriously, Scotland?  Hail in April??  I was on your side with haggis.  I gave you a chance to be amazing.  And then hail??  That's not cool), we pushed and struggled and pushed some more.  We gave high fives to little kids, thanked policemen who braved the elements to stop traffic, waved to people on the street who cheered us on. 

And then today, I woke up still sore and groggy and checked Facebook while procrastinating work.  That was when I saw about 20 posts about Boston.  "WTF happened in Boston?"  My heart sank.  Who bombs a marathon?  My first thought was "May God bless our children and the world that they will grow up in."  Columbine happened when I was in middle school.  A guy killed himself in my high school parking lot when I was a senior.  A girl gave birth to a baby and drowned it in the girl's bathroom.  9/11.  Shootings at Virginia Tech.  Shootings at a movie theater.  Shootings at an elementary school.  Violence surrounds us.  My heart seems to sink lower and lower and I find myself wondering how we can ever change it.  How can we ever go back to a place that can simply celebrate what is good in our world, in our every day lives, in the simplicity of being happy?  After a weekend surrounded by Scots with their adorable accents where I would not have ever thought that I was in danger, I turned on the news to see violence in my home country at an event where people raise thousands and thousands of dollars for charity.  And someone bombed it. 

Whoever you are that did this, where ever you are, you are a hateful person.  You destroyed lives and families.  People will never be the same because of you.  I pray for those who were injured.  For those who were hurt.  For those whose lives will never again be as bright or as hopeful.  For you, I pray for happier days, for healthier tomorrows, for the support of your friends, for all of the good things that this life has to offer.  For you all, I say an extra prayer.  And for the person who did this to my country, to my fellow runners, I pray that God has mercy on you - because you must have no mercy of your own.

Wine Tasting in Avellino

I decided that we don't go wine tasting enough locally.  We always seem to be driving up to Tuscany or Umbria to drink wine up there.  We've got land here in Campania!  We've got vineyards!  Let's save the gas and tolls and just drink here.  And so we did. 

I found this winery, Tenuta Cavalier Pepe, outside of Avellino - about an hour away from Naples.  But we got lost, so it took us about 2 hours.  Whoops!  Milena Pepe, the owner, is a Belgian-Italian and probably one of the sweetest women ever.  She took us around the vineyards, explaining the various different types of grapes, how they are classified, etc.  Her 3 or 4 year old son, Angelo, was riding around on his little plastic Ducati motorcycle screaming the whole time.  In true Italian style, this child was wearing about 10 layers of clothing, including a puffy jacket, despite the fact that it was nearly 70 degrees outside.  But Italians have this magical date, before which it is unsafe to walk around outside without a puffy coat.  

Because you'll probably die.  Never mind that they allow their children to ride on Vespas with no helmets, at least that kid is warm.  Angelo kept saying "Momma, fa caldo!"  (Mommy, I'm hot!)  and she would smile and say "Si, Angelo."  No wonder this kid is hot!  He's wearing like 8 layers of clothing more than he needs!!  Maybe we're foolish Americans.  Maybe we just don't understand how to dress appropriately.  But I was wearing dress pants and a short sleeved top at the time and was very comfortable.  And somehow, by the strength of my immune system, the amount of wine, or divine intervention, I'm pretty healthy right now.  It's a mystery!


So Angelo is dripping sweat and we're all hot, Milena judging some of us for wearing sandals in March.  After a glass (or two) of prosecco, we caravaned to lunch.  The thing about Italian meals that is hands down the most amazing is any time they don't have a menu.  This is when you know that you are going to eat very well.  The tour + wine tastings + lunch was 40 Euro a person and we definitely got our fair share of everything for the price!  Plate after plate after plate of antipasti arrived.  Sausage, eggplant, cauliflower, cheese, goodness upon goodness.  Milena brought a few cases of wine and about 10 decanters and they just kept arriving like clockwork.  Some were disappointing but consumed regardless.  No point in wasting it!  We tipped generously, convinced that Americans were being cursed everywhere based on the sheer volume of wine that was consumed. 

One gloriously long (read: 4.5 hour) lunch later and we stumbled back to the winery to purchase wine.  Milena loved us extra upon our return, seeing the growing boxes of stock that she was off-loading.  Our good names were restored, at least temporarily!  Below, our friend, Eric, photo bombed me with his butt.  This pretty well sums up the end of the day.

Monday came all too quickly and most assuredly, painfully.  But we had a lovely day with great friends, amazing food, and a hearty amount of laughter.

Cin cin!

All Roads Lead to Rome

We've have those legendary trips to Rome where we sprint around the Eternal City with guests in tow seeing all of the sights.  At a break neck pace, we've eaten a good meal, snapped requisite pictures, rested our weary feet each night, and then taken the train back home.  This was kind of one of those trips. 

Our wonderful friend, Deacon, foolishly signed up for the Rome Marathon a month before the race.  We decided that this foolish plan required lots of sideline support to help him make it through.  But it also happened to coincide with my first weekend off from grad school and a massive wave of relief.  But it ALSO happened to coincide with my new, dear friend, Lindsey, coming to Rome as well!  The stars aligned, the Roman gods of old smiled down upon us and we converged on the city!

I think the idea of taking the train is something that the modern, budget airlines have, in my opinion, eradicated the idea that I once held (long reinforced by American baby-boomers) that the train is the fastest and most affordable way to travel throughout Europe.  I mean, we do it every one in a while, but  it's kind of a pain.  And, as a lady of class and of what I hope will someday evolve into means, we took the bullet train.  The benefit being: you get there in an hour and they give you a glass of prosecco. 

We spent Saturday eating.  I kid you not, we ate and drank our way, lazily, leisurely, throughout Rome.  First outside of the Roman Forum, then in the Piazza Navona, then in Campo Dei Fiori, then near the Coliseum.  It was crazy! 

Day 2 was all about running.  Lindsey and I are both training for half marathons in Edinburgh, Scotland (but in different months.  Drat!) and decided that a 7:30 run would be a good idea.  And you know what?  It was a great idea!  7:30 AM in Rome is a magical time.  The streets are empty and quiet.  We stopped along our 5(ish) mile run at the Pantheon, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Roman Forum and took candid iPhone photos.  When these prime tourist locations aren’t crawling with American college students, they are so amazing to take in!  If you ever find yourself in Rome or Paris or London or wherever, go running early in the morning and just marvel.  It’s such a wonderful way to experience the city. 

After running 5 little miles, we geared up to watch our friend run 26.2.  I felt even more whimpy.  I love cheering on runners in races.  Having done 1 full marathon and a handful of half marathons, I find that the motivation from people on the sidelines is amazing.  My husband chased me all over San Diego when I did the marathon there and I firmly believe that he’s the only reason that I finished.  Not stubbornness, not shame, not dedication, just the knowledge that he’d be worried about me at the next mile marker if I didn’t make.  That said, we camped out at the 20K mark for Deacon.  

Each runner had their name and country on their race bib so I screamed, SCREAMED, I tell you, as they passed me.  “GIUSEPPE!!!  BRAVISSIMO!!!”  Marco, Pasquale, Anna Maria, Silvana, Luigi, Anotonio, Luisa – Lindsey and I screamed for them all, while on-lookers snickered and Tom hung his head in shame.  And then at last, we saw Deacon!  In the rain, pushing through, and I lost it!  Screaming like a mad woman, my hands bright red, my voice practically gone!  We chased him across downtown Rome and got to see him 2 more times, the only souls cheering along the way.  But you know what?  I don’t know those people!  I don’t really care if they think that I’m crazy.  I mean, partially because I am a little crazy, but also because you grumps couldn’t be bothered to clap for someone.  Judge away, I had a marvelous time.  And Deacon finished the race.  And even smiled, when he saw us!

As always, Rome was a glorious time.  We laughed a lot with Lindsey, who lives here with her husband and not another American around for hours, helped her to get her fill of Americans, and even got to eat Indian food!  I mean, all in all, that’s a big win!

My life is remarkably similar to "Under the Tuscan Sun"

Photocredit: fanpop.com

The most common response when I tell people that I live in Italy is: "Oh my gosh, is it just like Under the Tuscan Sun???"  The answer is: kind of.  It's super awkward, I cry a lot, I've been to Rome & Positano and.... I'm an American living abroad.  So... yep.  Similarities have officially ended.  What my life here isn't like is this: The workmen in my house are not nearly as cheery or stay as long, I don't have an Italian lover (which Tom is VERY pleased about) and, most importantly, I don't live in a villa in Tuscany.  Despite all of this, I do enjoy that movie.  A lot.  And watch it often and sigh and think "I'm TOTALLY Diane Lane except I'd totally screw that cheating husband at the beginning and take everything.  Just for spite."  If this first paragraph doesn't make sense, it's because you haven't seen "Under the Tuscan Sun."  Stop reading, watch it immediately.  And then realize that said movie, in very few ways, relates to my life.

But just for grins, we got a pack of Americans (we seem to always travel in packs and roll in heavy, terrifying the locals) together and headed up to Cortona for a lovely weekend.  The rolling hills, the cheerful chirping of birds, the stars... sigh, it was so restful and beautiful!  Our one friend made us reservations at the Baracchi Winery for lunch and a tour.  This place is amazing!!!  Our lunch included this delicious pasta (pictured to the right.  Insert drool here) with lamb meatballs, fried artichokes, and a cheese crisp on top.  Stop it.  You're killing me.  Food upon food arrived at the table with amazing wine that accompanied it just so.  Sigh... lovely, delicious perfection!  During a tour of the vineyards, we went into the cellars and learned about sparkling red wine.  In the photo below, a group of drunk Americans pretends to understand the complex wine making process.  Blank, intent stares...

For a bit of fun, we wandered through some Etruscan caves in Chiusi for 2 Euro per person.  The tour was entirely in the fastest Italian I've ever heard in my life along with the equivalent of a third grade report on Etruscan caves in a plastic folder.  But here I am, in a 2,000 year old water system.  So, that happened and was awesome! 

I shamefully have not one single picture of our night in San Quirico d'Orcia, a tiny, tiny town that you would sneeze and miss somewhere between Montepulciano and Montalcino.  I mean, I've personally driven passed it and not even looked.  For whatever reason, there is an amazing B&B there that is rated super, freakishly highly on TripAdvisor.  We stayed one night, I had a SUPER awkward massage (but my bathing experiences were totally normal, so at least that's progress), and then the most amazing dinner.  All in all, it was a lovely, restful vacation (uncomfortable, highly exposed massage aside) and helped me feel a bit more like Diane Lane. 

Barcelona with wine in one hand and a baby in the other

My friend, Julie, is moving back to the ol' US of A in a few months and I have begun to panic for her.  Using Julie as an excuse, I've beefed up my travel plans to help her (see?  That was SUPER selfless of me!) see more of Europe in her remaining months.  This past weekend was Barcelona.

Just to make things more fun, we also brought along another friend.  And her five month old baby.  Which prompted this big life lesson: Babies really do change everything.  I long held a "I'm never having a baby" mentality and there are certain days (or evenings when I've had several glasses of wine) when I think "I really shouldn't be in charge of another living person just yet."  Amelia (mother of said child) actually kept track of things like when her son had eaten last.  I can hardly keep track of when I've eaten last!  I mean, that's commitment.  To life, really.  For a lifetime.  But her son is also SUPER cute.  Then (after I've had several glasses of wine) I see this darling little baby wearing a sweater with bear ears which is apparently a new thing, and whine to Tom "We should have a baby!!!  Look at how cute he is.  We could make cute kids.  I'm sure of it."  This is what we call a "trick baby" - an incredibly cute, well behaved kid that makes your childless friends think "we could totally do that and be good at it."  Go on a trip with a kid.  Just for good practice and to make sure that your evening spent with said kid wasn't a fluke.  This baby is totally darling and well behaved and again, totally darling.  But the idea that I'm not responsible enough to handle another life still supersedes cute baby-ness.



Traveling with a baby in Europe, especially the Catholic dominant countries (of which Spain and Italy are two big ones), is like getting the golden ticket from Willie Wonka - it literally opens doors to the impossible. 

On our return journey Julie went up to the "Last Minute" check in counter at the airport (despite the fact that I openly rolled my eyes like an indignant 13 year old (read above, not ready for children) and said "They'll NEVER let you skip this line just because we have a baby.  Don't waste your time."  But you know what?  They totally let us.  And THEN they let us skip the security line and go through the handicap security check.  And THEN when her kid was screaming on the plane (for like one second - read earlier "trick baby" comment) like 10 flight attendants came over to sooth him.  In America, 1) everyone on the plane would glare at you 2) the flight attendants would passive aggressively remind you that you should have stayed home with your child who is obviously not ready to travel.

But before I got getting way off track with tales of babies, let's turn this around and get back to Barcelona.  The food there is like an explosion of flavor.  In everything.  As I've said before, Italian food, and especially our food here, is amazing in the simplicity and pure nature of presentation.  You want tomatoes?  We'll give you the best tomatoes and they will taste like the best tomatoes.  But just tomatoes.  Nothing else.  You want fish?  Here's a piece of fish.  And one lemon.  It will now taste like fish with lemon. 

Spain has this funny idea that food can taste like more than just the sum of its parts.  We went on this amazing tapas and wine tour through Taste Barcelona.  Paul, a lanky Aussie, and Marta, his Spanish wife, took us on a whirlwind 5 hour tour of the food culture of Barcelona.  We did something similar in Prague and I felt like I learned so much about the city through the evolution of their meals.  Marta made lighthearted jokes about how the Catalans, the indigenous people of the region, are known for being incredibly cheap.  From scraping tomatoes on day old bread to the traditional toast about good health and wealth in your pocket, it was endearing to watch this young couple from two very different parts of the world make light of their different cultures.  Needless to say, this was my favorite part of our trip.  And then Paul noting on his follow up email that my emails come from my alias of "Lynnie Lou."  I can only hope that one day my prospective employers will get something similar and think "This girl is a solid pick."

Aside from eating (a LOT) we also strolled our way through this lovely city.  Gaudi's architecture seems more like gospel than just a good idea.  Having studied Sagrada Familia in college, I found it to be so much more interesting and surreal in person than in my text books.  But the whole time, I could hear my mom in my head say "I just don't get it.  It's so weird."  I think Tom and I will try to head to Barcelona again and explore it a bit more.  It seems like a town that I could find myself in on more than one occasion.

Until then, I remain faithfully yours!
Lynne