For those who enjoy their comfort zone a little too much (timid hand raise)-- a change in location can pose quite the roadblock to morning runs. Back in the States, I always packed a pair of running shorts when going away for a long weekend, but these always seemed to stay neatly folded until my return home.
So I knew it would be a while until I got comfortable enough to scope out a new running route in Italy. My skin is thin and I’ve always felt particularly vulnerable to the icy stares and seemingly permanent frowns of passersby in the streets of Europe. (see previous post) It doesn’t help that the fitness culture in Europe is different from the one in the States. Back home, it’s kind of polarized between the couch potatoes and the people who live at the gym. Here, it seems most people stay fit by walking and eating in moderation. Unless you are a professional athlete, sports here (from what I can tell) are more for hobbies than for building up athletic prowess. (Consider the Sunday afternoon soccer—or rather, football—game among buddies). These may be unfair generalizations—I know lots of people who exercise regularly without turning to bodybuilding and marathon running—but it is something I’ve noticed nevertheless.
I was pleasantly surprised Saturday morning around 7 a.m. when I stepped out to see plenty of people with their running gear on. Not a single one was female, though, and I was one of only two who had left their pants at home (SHORTS! we were in SHORTS!). I took pride in the fact that I was going at least as fast as everyone else (which isn’t saying much, seeing as I don’t really pass for a runner back home). My new route took me past a magnificent overlook of the bay—sure beats the scenery from my old runs at the Jacksonville apartment complex, where it was all pavement and cookie-cutter buildings.
I still got the looks. Some from the tired old ladies waiting for the bus, some from the local grocer unloading his produce truck, some from the maintenance men downing coffee and pastries. One of the men took one look at my exposed red legs and muffled from within his down coat and knit cap, “Ma-mma mia! Non fa freddo?!” Well, no, sir, it’s probably 55 degrees out and back where I come from, real runners pretty much always wear shorts!
Remembering my mom’s words from our last phone conversation (apparently as a young newlywed, I have too much happiness to share to get bogged down with everyone’s scowling faces) I flashed a smile at all the onlookers. Some were unmoved and continued to stare, but a few softened and reciprocated. That was really refreshing. As for the ice kings and queens, I’d like to think they were just exhibiting their insecurities. :)
So when you come visit us, remember you can leave your super-friendliness at home, but it’s OK to share a smile with whoever’s willing. And don’t forget your running shoes. No matter your fitness level, you’ll impress everyone in the neighborhood!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Top 10 Things You Should Know about Naples
In an effort to keep this post concise—being sans internet hookup, this was my first attempt at a mobile post—I tried to summarize all the things I’ve been meaning to record in a pithy top-10 list.
Unfortunately, given my propensity for wordiness I did not really accomplish that goal, and so I’ll have to find some alternate way of publishing this…
1. Naples is shady. (And I’m not referring to arboreal matters). Then again, you knew that already. So did we. But mere awareness doesn’t guarantee that petty thieves can’t touch you. (One glaring example: at the gas station, we use prepaid coupons to ensure honest transactions. This doesn’t preclude the gas-pumper’s buddy from asking you if you need an oil change—and hence distracting your eyes away from the numbers on the meter.) They are always finding innovative ways to cheat people.
2. I can’t speak for elsewhere in Italy, but here, one lane is meant for three: two cars, and one (or more) motorcycles and Vespas zipping through traffic (stationary or moving). Yes, despite my more aggressive tendencies on the road, I’m pretty sure my blood pressure has gone up.
3. Speaking of the road, this week I saw two blaring ambulances in one day. Both were trying to make it through a dense traffic jam, and no one really seemed to make an effort to move over. In fact, if they saw an opportunity to inch along, they seized it! Being from an area where we stop not only for ambulances but also entire funeral processions, I was horrified. When the wailing truck appeared behind me, I did my best to swerve to the right and offer it a small alleyway. Both times, the guys behind me took this as an open invitation to cut in front of me. I’m pleased to say I showed the second guy who was boss, but it didn’t really make that unsettling feeling go away.
4. When you move in to an apartment, don’t expect there to be a whole lot of appliances. Luckily, the Navy provides us with big kitchen items, but as regards bathroom fixtures (down to the showerhead holder and towel racks) we’re on our own. Apparently this is because most Italian renters will stay in an apartment for 30+ years and prefer their own things… Thanks guys, I really appreciate getting to choose all-new toilet paper holders for my brief stay here!
5. Do expect, however, a vast array of holes in the wall where said appliances used to be. When shopping for bargain replacements at your friendly neighborhood IKEA, though, don’t expect to find something that will fit those holes. Which brings me to my next point: for new holes you will require a drill, because the walls here are all cement or tile. Alan, time to put your handyman cap on!
6. Our gated entrance with two parking spots is a big selling point here in the city. But…despite the European dimensions of our car, I’m still trying to hone my, ah, 9-point-turn skills. Let’s just say the parking area is European-sized, too.
7. While a gated community offers bolstered security, it can also keep you indoors for a long time if you have only one key to the electronic gate (and your husband needed it to go to work). Yes, we were given just one of these keys, with the following breezy aside: “you can get a second one for about a Euro down the street.”
8. Sometimes, you will see a glimmer of generosity in your neighbors (so far, we’ve been treated to slammed doors and impolite stares in response to our eager buongiornos). Yesterday, I needed to borrow an electronic key to let in a handyman (I wish I could say he had been there to drill the aforementioned holes!). I scampered downstairs to ask our only acquaintance if this would be possible. I jabbered on in a sorry attempt at Italian until she finally understood what I meant and handed me the remote. Then she broke out into pretty darn good French: “Tu parles francais, non? Ceci, c’est un cadeau pour toi.” (“This is a gift for you.”) Extra gloves? You mean to tell me you’ve had this pair of extra gloves the whole time? (Shameless Dumb and Dumber plug: for me, those French words were my “extra, yet unshared, gloves in the Aspen winter”). Adding insult to injury, this was the same lady who had told us to go get ourselves a copy! And to top it all off, Alan showed up that afternoon with a shiny new set of keys. You can guess how much they didn’t cost.
9. I am making it sound like everyone in Naples is sly, stingy, or lurking around the next dark corner. Absolutely not true. We have met a few wonderfully welcoming and helpful people. However, as in many places I’ve been in Europe (especially big cities—though I really have to say, even the apathetic-faced Parisians don’t compare to this), don’t expect to be greeted with open arms…unless they want something from you. People will bump into you without excusing themselves, will keep walking straight towards you without stepping the least bit out of the way, will actually push you out of the way to get just a little bit ahead, and—my favorite—normally will not offer any helpful advice if that’s not precisely the information you were soliciting. (I’ve even seen them lie, giving an easy answer just to get you off their back.) No, not everyone is like this, but out on the street there’s a lot going on to shock a person raised on good ol’ southern hospitality. The other day, a fellow expat even mentioned letting the door to the public restroom swing in the face of the guy leaving after him. Later, he had chided himself: “you jerk!” But the sad reality of the situation is that, if you don’t want to get your toes stomped on, you better be prepared to do some stomping yourself.
10. On a lighter note: the Neapolitans have a profound affinity for Michael Buble.
If you made it through the doom and gloom of this top-10 list, take heart! It’s really not that bad. I just highlight this type of stuff because it’s so strikingly different from what we’re used to.
On a personal note, we are making good progress on Hotel Presley. I have probably 5 or 6 more topics in mind for future posts, but our lack of internet has gotten in the way. Although getting internet here is a lengthy process (we heard horror stories of some people having to wait 10 months!!), I’ll do my best to keep in touch whether it be from areas with free public Wi-Fi, or just a quick note from my cell…if I can keep my words in check.
Unfortunately, given my propensity for wordiness I did not really accomplish that goal, and so I’ll have to find some alternate way of publishing this…
1. Naples is shady. (And I’m not referring to arboreal matters). Then again, you knew that already. So did we. But mere awareness doesn’t guarantee that petty thieves can’t touch you. (One glaring example: at the gas station, we use prepaid coupons to ensure honest transactions. This doesn’t preclude the gas-pumper’s buddy from asking you if you need an oil change—and hence distracting your eyes away from the numbers on the meter.) They are always finding innovative ways to cheat people.
2. I can’t speak for elsewhere in Italy, but here, one lane is meant for three: two cars, and one (or more) motorcycles and Vespas zipping through traffic (stationary or moving). Yes, despite my more aggressive tendencies on the road, I’m pretty sure my blood pressure has gone up.
3. Speaking of the road, this week I saw two blaring ambulances in one day. Both were trying to make it through a dense traffic jam, and no one really seemed to make an effort to move over. In fact, if they saw an opportunity to inch along, they seized it! Being from an area where we stop not only for ambulances but also entire funeral processions, I was horrified. When the wailing truck appeared behind me, I did my best to swerve to the right and offer it a small alleyway. Both times, the guys behind me took this as an open invitation to cut in front of me. I’m pleased to say I showed the second guy who was boss, but it didn’t really make that unsettling feeling go away.
4. When you move in to an apartment, don’t expect there to be a whole lot of appliances. Luckily, the Navy provides us with big kitchen items, but as regards bathroom fixtures (down to the showerhead holder and towel racks) we’re on our own. Apparently this is because most Italian renters will stay in an apartment for 30+ years and prefer their own things… Thanks guys, I really appreciate getting to choose all-new toilet paper holders for my brief stay here!
5. Do expect, however, a vast array of holes in the wall where said appliances used to be. When shopping for bargain replacements at your friendly neighborhood IKEA, though, don’t expect to find something that will fit those holes. Which brings me to my next point: for new holes you will require a drill, because the walls here are all cement or tile. Alan, time to put your handyman cap on!
6. Our gated entrance with two parking spots is a big selling point here in the city. But…despite the European dimensions of our car, I’m still trying to hone my, ah, 9-point-turn skills. Let’s just say the parking area is European-sized, too.
7. While a gated community offers bolstered security, it can also keep you indoors for a long time if you have only one key to the electronic gate (and your husband needed it to go to work). Yes, we were given just one of these keys, with the following breezy aside: “you can get a second one for about a Euro down the street.”
8. Sometimes, you will see a glimmer of generosity in your neighbors (so far, we’ve been treated to slammed doors and impolite stares in response to our eager buongiornos). Yesterday, I needed to borrow an electronic key to let in a handyman (I wish I could say he had been there to drill the aforementioned holes!). I scampered downstairs to ask our only acquaintance if this would be possible. I jabbered on in a sorry attempt at Italian until she finally understood what I meant and handed me the remote. Then she broke out into pretty darn good French: “Tu parles francais, non? Ceci, c’est un cadeau pour toi.” (“This is a gift for you.”) Extra gloves? You mean to tell me you’ve had this pair of extra gloves the whole time? (Shameless Dumb and Dumber plug: for me, those French words were my “extra, yet unshared, gloves in the Aspen winter”). Adding insult to injury, this was the same lady who had told us to go get ourselves a copy! And to top it all off, Alan showed up that afternoon with a shiny new set of keys. You can guess how much they didn’t cost.
9. I am making it sound like everyone in Naples is sly, stingy, or lurking around the next dark corner. Absolutely not true. We have met a few wonderfully welcoming and helpful people. However, as in many places I’ve been in Europe (especially big cities—though I really have to say, even the apathetic-faced Parisians don’t compare to this), don’t expect to be greeted with open arms…unless they want something from you. People will bump into you without excusing themselves, will keep walking straight towards you without stepping the least bit out of the way, will actually push you out of the way to get just a little bit ahead, and—my favorite—normally will not offer any helpful advice if that’s not precisely the information you were soliciting. (I’ve even seen them lie, giving an easy answer just to get you off their back.) No, not everyone is like this, but out on the street there’s a lot going on to shock a person raised on good ol’ southern hospitality. The other day, a fellow expat even mentioned letting the door to the public restroom swing in the face of the guy leaving after him. Later, he had chided himself: “you jerk!” But the sad reality of the situation is that, if you don’t want to get your toes stomped on, you better be prepared to do some stomping yourself.
10. On a lighter note: the Neapolitans have a profound affinity for Michael Buble.
If you made it through the doom and gloom of this top-10 list, take heart! It’s really not that bad. I just highlight this type of stuff because it’s so strikingly different from what we’re used to.
On a personal note, we are making good progress on Hotel Presley. I have probably 5 or 6 more topics in mind for future posts, but our lack of internet has gotten in the way. Although getting internet here is a lengthy process (we heard horror stories of some people having to wait 10 months!!), I’ll do my best to keep in touch whether it be from areas with free public Wi-Fi, or just a quick note from my cell…if I can keep my words in check.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Moving day!
As you can imagine, the road to finding a place here in town is long and fraught with heated negotiation. We have been cooped up in the hotel on base for nearly two months now...though to be fair, we have been comfortable. Needless to say, we have been anxiously awaiting our move and all its benefits: more square footage, a central location, a happy reunion with our home goods...a place to call our own (for the time being).
Yesterday, after many hours of house-hunting (and being shown sub-par apartments for American-sized prices), then about as many hours of negotiating a contract and filling out paperwork in multiple offices, we finally joined the realm of the Neapolitans!
As always on the day of any big event--I don't remember sleeping a wink the night before our wedding, and I didn't do much better before first days of school--I did not wake up rested and refreshed. My stomach was churning with anticipation much of the morning. When the movers finally showed up, they began setting up what seemed like a precarious ladder-elevator-pallet contraption, which they attached to the balcony. We had a brief scare when they plugged in a long cord running up from the ladder and I had to tell them the electricity wasn't working. Fortunately, we were able to scout out a magical box in the basement which turned everything on, and we were back in business.
You have to hand it to the Italians: for all their shortcut-taking and espresso breaks, they come up with some brilliant plans for an efficient workday. (This contrast could explain a lot about the rise and fall of their ancenstors...) What could have been a very intensive move up several flights of stairs turned out to be a smooth succession of deliveries up a motorized ladder and into the hands of a diligent crew, who then had only to go from balcony to designated room. Every single box and piece of furniture was lifted up into the apartment via this system. (After numerious failed attempts to get our biggest piece, the mighty couch, into the door, they did the only logical thing: try to unhinge the adjacent window, which was much wider. Eventually the couch did have to come up through the stairs, but hey, you have to hope for moving miracles!) Our movers were expert and friendly, deftly handling the problems posed by the narrow, 1.5-[Italian] car lane in front of our building. (Solution: park the big truck on the main road, and open the crates one by one into a smaller shuttle-truck, which, mirrors tucked safely in, will squeeze through said tiny lane and deliver its contents to the pallet.)
All in all, we couldn't have asked for a better move. I slept much better last night, though I was up again at five: the excitement of unpacking today had gotten the best of me. (The spirit of Christmas lives on!) We can't wait to get Hotel Presley up and running. :-)
And to anyone who may eventually experience an Italian move: the movers will run, not walk, to the beer and cigarettes you have laid out for them (per the advice of Alan's coworkers), while you will content yourself with the water and snacks left over. Oh, and they have a particular affinity for chocolate chip cookies... ;)
Yesterday, after many hours of house-hunting (and being shown sub-par apartments for American-sized prices), then about as many hours of negotiating a contract and filling out paperwork in multiple offices, we finally joined the realm of the Neapolitans!
As always on the day of any big event--I don't remember sleeping a wink the night before our wedding, and I didn't do much better before first days of school--I did not wake up rested and refreshed. My stomach was churning with anticipation much of the morning. When the movers finally showed up, they began setting up what seemed like a precarious ladder-elevator-pallet contraption, which they attached to the balcony. We had a brief scare when they plugged in a long cord running up from the ladder and I had to tell them the electricity wasn't working. Fortunately, we were able to scout out a magical box in the basement which turned everything on, and we were back in business.
You have to hand it to the Italians: for all their shortcut-taking and espresso breaks, they come up with some brilliant plans for an efficient workday. (This contrast could explain a lot about the rise and fall of their ancenstors...) What could have been a very intensive move up several flights of stairs turned out to be a smooth succession of deliveries up a motorized ladder and into the hands of a diligent crew, who then had only to go from balcony to designated room. Every single box and piece of furniture was lifted up into the apartment via this system. (After numerious failed attempts to get our biggest piece, the mighty couch, into the door, they did the only logical thing: try to unhinge the adjacent window, which was much wider. Eventually the couch did have to come up through the stairs, but hey, you have to hope for moving miracles!) Our movers were expert and friendly, deftly handling the problems posed by the narrow, 1.5-[Italian] car lane in front of our building. (Solution: park the big truck on the main road, and open the crates one by one into a smaller shuttle-truck, which, mirrors tucked safely in, will squeeze through said tiny lane and deliver its contents to the pallet.)
All in all, we couldn't have asked for a better move. I slept much better last night, though I was up again at five: the excitement of unpacking today had gotten the best of me. (The spirit of Christmas lives on!) We can't wait to get Hotel Presley up and running. :-)
And to anyone who may eventually experience an Italian move: the movers will run, not walk, to the beer and cigarettes you have laid out for them (per the advice of Alan's coworkers), while you will content yourself with the water and snacks left over. Oh, and they have a particular affinity for chocolate chip cookies... ;)
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Buon Anno!
Although my memory is chiding me for waiting so long to write a New Year's post, there are some things about it we will never forget. We decided to heed the warnings of our fellow expats and make it a quiet night in. "Why?" you may ask. "What could be more romantic than enjoying a tasty Italian dinner for la Festa di San Silvestro, then heading to our choice of beautiful piazzas to view the local fireworks?"
A lot, as it turns out.
Now, before you think all of Italy goes nuts on New Year's Eve, remember that many of the idiosyncrasies mentioned in this blog are Naples-specific. At the very least, they are Italian traditions exacerbated by this passionate and headstrong community of the south. (Believe it or not, the horror stories about crazy driving and rampant theft are recounted everywhere else on the boot. On the train to Rome, a chatty Neapolitan lady told us she loved her birthplace, but was now happily living up north; at her age, she could now take Naples only in small doses. And during the return trip, a Roman couple urged us to watch our bags carefully in the station.)
So what exactly had our friends on base warned us about? Fireworks. Lots and lots and lots and LOTS of fireworks. Not only the sheer number of explosions, but also the direction in which they were shot off: did you know fireworks could very easily be launched laterally? While I'm sure Neapolitan partyers, for all their enthusiasm, don't intend any violence, there were a few deaths last year (purportedly by stray gunshots). Needless to say, we decided to admire the colorful display from afar, and celebrate from our little hotel room on base.
We did have an errand to run that afternoon, and headed into the eerily deserted town around 3 p.m. It was as if everyone was locking themselves up for safety. As we got closer to the center, we were relieved to see more people venturing out...until we noticed the frequent explosions and saw a big green splatter in the sky just a few hundred meters away. Our errand accomplished, we decided to leave the Neapolitans to their celebrating and book it back home to ours.
After a repeat session of canapés and Christmas music, news-watching and mimosas with our leftover Christmas bubbly (we're nothing if not totally wild), we retired to bed with a couple of books. Alan lasted a few minutes and I eagerly promised to wake him up for the big display. (Mind you, we had been watching and hearing explosions all evening long.) Those of you who know me well know what's coming next: two minutes later I had passed out on the pages of my gripping novel.
A few minutes before midnight, we both woke up to this:
Please forgive the quality of the video; it was taken on our digital camera, which doesn’t have too many bells and whistles for video-recording. If your volume is up, though, you will get a pretty good idea of what it was like that night. Keep in mind that (a) the hotel doesn’t have a tin roof, nor was it raining, and (b) the base is a good half-hour away from Naples. The sky was literally covered in fireworks for as far as our eyes could see; though they died down after an hour or so, the explosions kept going well into the night. (There was even the occasional stray pop-pop-pop in the days that followed.)
We can only imagine what it must be like to observe the show from an apartment within the city, and we’re looking forward to finding out at the end of 2010. We hope all of you had a wonderful start to the New Year, with as much (or as little) excitement as you wanted. Auguri!
A lot, as it turns out.
Now, before you think all of Italy goes nuts on New Year's Eve, remember that many of the idiosyncrasies mentioned in this blog are Naples-specific. At the very least, they are Italian traditions exacerbated by this passionate and headstrong community of the south. (Believe it or not, the horror stories about crazy driving and rampant theft are recounted everywhere else on the boot. On the train to Rome, a chatty Neapolitan lady told us she loved her birthplace, but was now happily living up north; at her age, she could now take Naples only in small doses. And during the return trip, a Roman couple urged us to watch our bags carefully in the station.)
So what exactly had our friends on base warned us about? Fireworks. Lots and lots and lots and LOTS of fireworks. Not only the sheer number of explosions, but also the direction in which they were shot off: did you know fireworks could very easily be launched laterally? While I'm sure Neapolitan partyers, for all their enthusiasm, don't intend any violence, there were a few deaths last year (purportedly by stray gunshots). Needless to say, we decided to admire the colorful display from afar, and celebrate from our little hotel room on base.
We did have an errand to run that afternoon, and headed into the eerily deserted town around 3 p.m. It was as if everyone was locking themselves up for safety. As we got closer to the center, we were relieved to see more people venturing out...until we noticed the frequent explosions and saw a big green splatter in the sky just a few hundred meters away. Our errand accomplished, we decided to leave the Neapolitans to their celebrating and book it back home to ours.
After a repeat session of canapés and Christmas music, news-watching and mimosas with our leftover Christmas bubbly (we're nothing if not totally wild), we retired to bed with a couple of books. Alan lasted a few minutes and I eagerly promised to wake him up for the big display. (Mind you, we had been watching and hearing explosions all evening long.) Those of you who know me well know what's coming next: two minutes later I had passed out on the pages of my gripping novel.
A few minutes before midnight, we both woke up to this:
Please forgive the quality of the video; it was taken on our digital camera, which doesn’t have too many bells and whistles for video-recording. If your volume is up, though, you will get a pretty good idea of what it was like that night. Keep in mind that (a) the hotel doesn’t have a tin roof, nor was it raining, and (b) the base is a good half-hour away from Naples. The sky was literally covered in fireworks for as far as our eyes could see; though they died down after an hour or so, the explosions kept going well into the night. (There was even the occasional stray pop-pop-pop in the days that followed.)
We can only imagine what it must be like to observe the show from an apartment within the city, and we’re looking forward to finding out at the end of 2010. We hope all of you had a wonderful start to the New Year, with as much (or as little) excitement as you wanted. Auguri!
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