It never ceases to amaze me how different people can be from one country to the next. I’ve never been one to generalize or stereotype buuuuut, in general, every country I have visited over the last few months has a pretty distinct personality. On my flight home from the States (I went home for 2 ½ weeks at Thanksgiving) this week, I looked around and realized we had a small cross section of the Western Hemisphere on my plane…
Exhibit A, in the seat next to me – Germany
A polite but quiet young man sits down in the middle seat of a 3-seat row and immediately buckles up. The plane isn’t full, and there is an empty seat on the other end of our row. As the plane taxies and takes off, I figure he will move to the vacant seat, leaving the middle seat empty and giving us both some breathing room. Nope. He isn’t budging. So, I ask him if he would perhaps consider moving over one seat. Naturally, I explain, we can then both stretch out and be comfortable for the 9-hour flight looming ahead of us. Do you think he moves? Remember, he’s German… His response, complete with a thoroughly confused facial expression, “But, this is my assigned seat.” Of course it is! Had he not then proceeded to dump his oily, Italian salad dressing down my leg during dinner, I might have just written the whole thing off. However, now reeking of anchovies, I’m actually wishing him bodily harm. Or, at least a few good Charlie horses and awful muscle cramps as a result of sitting bunched up next to me for so long.
Exhibit B, in the aisles, loitering by the bathroom, pulling things out of the overhead bins onto other passengers’ heads … In general, everywhere but in their seats! – Italy
Ah, the Italians! God love them, just never stick me on a plane full of them. As we board the plane, I notice an older couple seated in front of me. Their daughter is standing in the aisle (blocking the passage for everyone trying to elbow their way to seats behind her) “translating” for her parents. Her words, not mine. What she is translating, I’ll never know, since there are no PA announcements at the time and not a single flight attendant in sight. The plane takes off (the German is still glued to my side, however has not yet dumped anything down my leg) and up pops the daughter again, making her way from the back row of the plane to her parents. She starts “translating” loudly again – at least this time, we’re in the middle of the safety announcement, so there is actually something to “translate.” I bury my nose in a book and practice deep breathing in an attempt to block it all out.
Exhibit C, smoking in the lavatory - France
Smoking in the lavatory. It's a federal offense in the United States, the country of origin for our flight. Not to mention, it carries heavy fines in Europe and causes cancer (FYI). When I think of the tiny, cramped, 2 foot by 2 foot box airlines call a lavatory, the last thing I have the urge to do is smoke. I can barely stand to be in there long enough to take care of business, much less enjoy an entire cigarette. But, the French woman risking being labeled a felon the rest of her life and the 800-euro fine? Apparently, she can't pass up the chance to light up.
Exhibit D, Screaming at her children in an outside voice despite being on an airplane, and yanking them around hard enough to dislocate an elbow – America
Since I am equal opportunity with my stereotypes, I can’t leave out the ugly American. I hear her coming minutes before I see her round the corner. With 3 children in town, each struggling to roll Hannah Montana and Handy Manny miniature suitcases behind them, she is loud and proud. I do a double take and realize she’s actually wearing a T-shirt that reads, “Made in America.” I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, folks. Slowly, I ease the (English) book I’m reading into my bag and just like that, forget how to speak English. I do not want to be associated with this passenger and her bratty, out of control kids, who are quickly turning more and more heads.
For the entire flight, the children squeal, the American woman yells at them to ‘cut it out’ and the Italians chatter louder to make sure they’re heard over the din. There are, however, no more smoking-in-the-lavatory incidents. But, don't forget the German, in my lap from one side of the Atlantic to the other.
December 11, 2009
November 1, 2009
Don't Bring Me Down
I try not to complain. Especially here, in such a public forum. After all, “I am in Italy!” I have this super job. I travel all over Europe. In just 7 months I’ve already made so many great friends. I live virtually expense free… But, some days are just hard. Today, was one of those days. After falling ill with the flu, I postponed my last trip for the Fall – pushing my flight to Munich from Friday at 6am to this afternoon. And all for only $602! It’s no wonder the airline industry is so hated. If I was a lesser person, I would have just flown on Friday and been sure to cough my flu germs on every airline employee I came in to contact with, but I digress.
After spending Halloween, one of my favorite holidays, in my house all by myself, I took off for Munich this morning. Upon landing, I would leisurely make my way to Heidelberg, ambling through the German countryside, more than proficient with a stick shift now. I felt like I was off to a fresh start, wandering through the airport (Munich airport is pretty cool and I was impressed) when I spotted the Hertz counter. The woman behind the counter easily found my reservation and collected the necessary info from me. Passport number? Check! Driver’s license? Check! Credit card? Che - - ohshit! Declined. Accept a debit card? No? What about cash? Of course not. How about my first born? Will you at least let me use your German phone to call Wachovia long distance and figure out why in the world my credit card was declined.
Since Wells Fargo took over Wachovia it seems as though the phone call I made in April, before I moved, alerting the company that I would be travelling throughout Europe, was just forgotten in the merger. Seeing as how I’ve used my card in cities from Lajes to London over the last couple months, they flagged the card for suspicious activity and placed a “courtesy” hold. Anything but courteous as it hit me that I was completely stranded.
I discovered today that one of the worst feelings in the world is being stuck in a country where you don’t speak the language. The ending to this story is obviously a happy one since I’m here, writing this in Heidelberg, but for a few moments today, I felt so helpless and so alone. It was a crushing feeling (or maybe that’s just the chest congestion that settled in last week courtesy of the flu) I’d do anything to avoid in the future.
For those of you on the edge of your seat, wondering how your beloved heroine got herself out of this jam… I took the train. Tomorrow, I’ll attempt to rent a car on base and hopefully, life will return to its regularly scheduled programming.
“Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.”
- Regina Brett
***Editor's Note***
I feel the need to make an amendment on my previous story about the hold on my Wachovia credit card... When I was home for Thanksgiving, about half way through my visit, I tried to use my card at a restaurant in Boone. The waitress returned to my table to tell me the card was declined. I immediately blamed it on another hold on my account and gave her my debit card instead. I actually forgot to follow up on the whole thing until this afternoon when I got a letter from Wachovia.
According to the letter, "This credit card has been temporarily restricted to help you avoid the inconvenience that unauthorized use of your credit card could cause."
I called Wachovia this afternoon (Dec. 14, 2009), ready to bless them out for yet another unnecessary hold. Boy, was I surprised when they asked me if I'd spent any time in Illinois or Kansas lately. In particular, if I had attempted to make a purchase at the Wal-Mart or PayLess Shoe Store in Topeka. Nope! I kept all movement within North Carolina while home for Thanksgiving, annnnd I wouldn't be caught dead wearing PayLess shoes in Italy. (For those of you that don't know me, this is pure sarcasm at its best. I am a shoe whore, but not a shoe snob.)
Anyways, the card has been cancelled and evil doers thwarted in their effort to steal my money. Take that, Identity Thieves! And, most importantly, I've now learned the importance of credit card companies' courtesy holds. I can admit when I'm wrong and apologize with the best of them. So, I'm sorry Wachovia and Wells Fargo for yelling at you and publicly ridiculing you in my oh-so-popular blog.
After spending Halloween, one of my favorite holidays, in my house all by myself, I took off for Munich this morning. Upon landing, I would leisurely make my way to Heidelberg, ambling through the German countryside, more than proficient with a stick shift now. I felt like I was off to a fresh start, wandering through the airport (Munich airport is pretty cool and I was impressed) when I spotted the Hertz counter. The woman behind the counter easily found my reservation and collected the necessary info from me. Passport number? Check! Driver’s license? Check! Credit card? Che - - ohshit! Declined. Accept a debit card? No? What about cash? Of course not. How about my first born? Will you at least let me use your German phone to call Wachovia long distance and figure out why in the world my credit card was declined.
Since Wells Fargo took over Wachovia it seems as though the phone call I made in April, before I moved, alerting the company that I would be travelling throughout Europe, was just forgotten in the merger. Seeing as how I’ve used my card in cities from Lajes to London over the last couple months, they flagged the card for suspicious activity and placed a “courtesy” hold. Anything but courteous as it hit me that I was completely stranded.
I discovered today that one of the worst feelings in the world is being stuck in a country where you don’t speak the language. The ending to this story is obviously a happy one since I’m here, writing this in Heidelberg, but for a few moments today, I felt so helpless and so alone. It was a crushing feeling (or maybe that’s just the chest congestion that settled in last week courtesy of the flu) I’d do anything to avoid in the future.
For those of you on the edge of your seat, wondering how your beloved heroine got herself out of this jam… I took the train. Tomorrow, I’ll attempt to rent a car on base and hopefully, life will return to its regularly scheduled programming.
“Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.”
- Regina Brett
***Editor's Note***
I feel the need to make an amendment on my previous story about the hold on my Wachovia credit card... When I was home for Thanksgiving, about half way through my visit, I tried to use my card at a restaurant in Boone. The waitress returned to my table to tell me the card was declined. I immediately blamed it on another hold on my account and gave her my debit card instead. I actually forgot to follow up on the whole thing until this afternoon when I got a letter from Wachovia.
According to the letter, "This credit card has been temporarily restricted to help you avoid the inconvenience that unauthorized use of your credit card could cause."
I called Wachovia this afternoon (Dec. 14, 2009), ready to bless them out for yet another unnecessary hold. Boy, was I surprised when they asked me if I'd spent any time in Illinois or Kansas lately. In particular, if I had attempted to make a purchase at the Wal-Mart or PayLess Shoe Store in Topeka. Nope! I kept all movement within North Carolina while home for Thanksgiving, annnnd I wouldn't be caught dead wearing PayLess shoes in Italy. (For those of you that don't know me, this is pure sarcasm at its best. I am a shoe whore, but not a shoe snob.)
Anyways, the card has been cancelled and evil doers thwarted in their effort to steal my money. Take that, Identity Thieves! And, most importantly, I've now learned the importance of credit card companies' courtesy holds. I can admit when I'm wrong and apologize with the best of them. So, I'm sorry Wachovia and Wells Fargo for yelling at you and publicly ridiculing you in my oh-so-popular blog.
October 25, 2009
Where do I start?
I’ve been so negligent in updating lately that I’m now at a loss for where to pick up… In the last couple months I’ve been to the Dolomites in Italy, Brussels, Germany, Portugal and right now, I’m finishing up the last few days of a 2 week trip to the UK. How about a few highlights from each?
Let’s start in the Dolomites. Paige came to visit the first week in September and we drove (against my car’s will) to the Dolomites where the weather was cool and the views were amazing. After melting all summer in Pisa, it was a welcome change to see my breath in the morning and bundle up in fleece.
The same morning I dropped Paige off at the airport, I took off for an overnight in Brussels with Amber and Rachel. Time has not changed Belgium – it was exactly as I remembered it from my time there 6 years ago. While there, we wandered through the Gran Place, ate too many waffles and drank too much Belgian beer, explored Parc du Cinquantenaire (site of the infamous drive-in movie where I first met James) and had lunch with Rick, my old boss at the Wall Street Journal. Wandering around Brussels, I remembered why I love Europe so much. Every country has such a unique feel here, it’s like entering another world when you cross the border. Italy is nothing like Belgium which is nothing like Spain which is nothing like Germany…
After a fun weekend in Belgium, it was time to start my site visits. Germany was first, with stops in Schweinfurt, Grafenwoehr, Hohenfels, Ansbach and Illesheim. While all the visits went really well, I think the most important thing worth mentioning (again) was my trek across Germany in a manual car! For those of you that have been following the stick shift saga, this was a momentous accomplishment for me, and to say I’m very proud would be an understatement.
I only had a couple days back in Italy after my site visits in Germany. Just enough time to wash a few loads of laundry and repack my bags before taking off to Portugal. My first stop was Lisbon where we recruited 6 girls and 3 adult volunteers! An impressive accomplishment considering there were no Girl Scouts in Lisbon for the last 2 years. Between all our recruiting, Paige was kind enough to take me sightseeing in Lisbon.
After Lisbon, I took off for Lajes Air Force Base on Terceira, one of nine islands in the Azores. The two and a half hour flight took me to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. We landed first and rather unexpectedly on Pico before continuing on to Terceira. While I enjoyed my time on the island and can’t wait to get back for another visit, I can see how an assignment on the 11-mile by 13-mile island could be tedious. It's a tiny island with only a handful of restaurants and shops, unpredictable weather and frequent cow jams.
I was excited to have an entire weekend back in Italy between trips to Portugal and the UK. Before leaving Lajes, I did all my laundry in billeting. It’s nice to take advantage of the American style dryers (as opposed to the awful European condenser unit I have at home) and to come home with almost no dirty clothes. With so much time on my hands, I cleaned my house, watched two movies at Darby, had dinner with friends and played what seems like a hundred games of Bingo. Before I knew it, my weekend was over and it was time to take off for the UK.
I started my UK site visits in London, commuting in to Hillingdon each morning. And, as a result, realized a commuting lifestyle is not for me! It was rainy and cold outside, the underground was crowded and hot and I ultimately arrived 30 minutes late because I missed my train by 1 minute. After two nights in London, I packed up and headed out to Alconbury then Harrogate then Croughton and now, here I sit in Anglia. I feel like I've been in the UK for months, largely in part because each site is so different. This visit has seen me in a hostel (Pax Lodge), billeting, a volunteer's home and a typical British Bed and Breakfast; working in a Committee with 15 girls one day and 150 girls the next; freezing cold weather in the North and mild temperatures in the South. My volunteers have been incredibly gracious and welcoming, taking me shopping and to sites like the one below (Fountains Abbey) between Commander briefings and Leader meetings. When it's all said and done, the UK is probably my favorite place to visit so far. It certainly helps that I speak the language, but I'm also a big fan of the pubs (Strongbow!), the people, the beautiful country side, the history, the trains, the tea...
On Tuesday, I’ll head back to Italy for two days before I take off on my last Fall site visit. I’ll spend 2 more weeks in Germany, visiting all the areas I didn’t make it to in September. I’m looking forward to having a car again (I rely on planes, trains and my wonderful volunteers’ automobiles in Portugal and the UK), even if it is a stick shift.
After this last site visit of the season, it will only be a matter of days before I take off again… This time, I’m headed to Charlotte for a much needed vacation/visit home/hug/Black Friday shopping/doctors’ appointments/reunion with friends/Panthers game/Thanksgiving extravaganza!
Let’s start in the Dolomites. Paige came to visit the first week in September and we drove (against my car’s will) to the Dolomites where the weather was cool and the views were amazing. After melting all summer in Pisa, it was a welcome change to see my breath in the morning and bundle up in fleece.
The same morning I dropped Paige off at the airport, I took off for an overnight in Brussels with Amber and Rachel. Time has not changed Belgium – it was exactly as I remembered it from my time there 6 years ago. While there, we wandered through the Gran Place, ate too many waffles and drank too much Belgian beer, explored Parc du Cinquantenaire (site of the infamous drive-in movie where I first met James) and had lunch with Rick, my old boss at the Wall Street Journal. Wandering around Brussels, I remembered why I love Europe so much. Every country has such a unique feel here, it’s like entering another world when you cross the border. Italy is nothing like Belgium which is nothing like Spain which is nothing like Germany…
After a fun weekend in Belgium, it was time to start my site visits. Germany was first, with stops in Schweinfurt, Grafenwoehr, Hohenfels, Ansbach and Illesheim. While all the visits went really well, I think the most important thing worth mentioning (again) was my trek across Germany in a manual car! For those of you that have been following the stick shift saga, this was a momentous accomplishment for me, and to say I’m very proud would be an understatement.
I only had a couple days back in Italy after my site visits in Germany. Just enough time to wash a few loads of laundry and repack my bags before taking off to Portugal. My first stop was Lisbon where we recruited 6 girls and 3 adult volunteers! An impressive accomplishment considering there were no Girl Scouts in Lisbon for the last 2 years. Between all our recruiting, Paige was kind enough to take me sightseeing in Lisbon.
After Lisbon, I took off for Lajes Air Force Base on Terceira, one of nine islands in the Azores. The two and a half hour flight took me to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. We landed first and rather unexpectedly on Pico before continuing on to Terceira. While I enjoyed my time on the island and can’t wait to get back for another visit, I can see how an assignment on the 11-mile by 13-mile island could be tedious. It's a tiny island with only a handful of restaurants and shops, unpredictable weather and frequent cow jams.
I was excited to have an entire weekend back in Italy between trips to Portugal and the UK. Before leaving Lajes, I did all my laundry in billeting. It’s nice to take advantage of the American style dryers (as opposed to the awful European condenser unit I have at home) and to come home with almost no dirty clothes. With so much time on my hands, I cleaned my house, watched two movies at Darby, had dinner with friends and played what seems like a hundred games of Bingo. Before I knew it, my weekend was over and it was time to take off for the UK.
I started my UK site visits in London, commuting in to Hillingdon each morning. And, as a result, realized a commuting lifestyle is not for me! It was rainy and cold outside, the underground was crowded and hot and I ultimately arrived 30 minutes late because I missed my train by 1 minute. After two nights in London, I packed up and headed out to Alconbury then Harrogate then Croughton and now, here I sit in Anglia. I feel like I've been in the UK for months, largely in part because each site is so different. This visit has seen me in a hostel (Pax Lodge), billeting, a volunteer's home and a typical British Bed and Breakfast; working in a Committee with 15 girls one day and 150 girls the next; freezing cold weather in the North and mild temperatures in the South. My volunteers have been incredibly gracious and welcoming, taking me shopping and to sites like the one below (Fountains Abbey) between Commander briefings and Leader meetings. When it's all said and done, the UK is probably my favorite place to visit so far. It certainly helps that I speak the language, but I'm also a big fan of the pubs (Strongbow!), the people, the beautiful country side, the history, the trains, the tea...
On Tuesday, I’ll head back to Italy for two days before I take off on my last Fall site visit. I’ll spend 2 more weeks in Germany, visiting all the areas I didn’t make it to in September. I’m looking forward to having a car again (I rely on planes, trains and my wonderful volunteers’ automobiles in Portugal and the UK), even if it is a stick shift.
After this last site visit of the season, it will only be a matter of days before I take off again… This time, I’m headed to Charlotte for a much needed vacation/visit home/hug/Black Friday shopping/doctors’ appointments/reunion with friends/Panthers game/Thanksgiving extravaganza!
September 15, 2009
How did this happen?
Have you ever stopped and asked yourself, “How did I get here?”
As I drove across Germany this afternoon I asked myself that very question over and over again. When I looked around the country side and thought about the history lurking in the hills – How did I get here? When I stalled my rental car twice trying to go up a mini-mountain thanks to my cracker jack GPS that routed me around traffic but through every tiny town in Germany – How did I get here? When I stopped at a German gas station to get something to eat, expecting to find schnitzel and beer, but instead found myself faced with a Burger King – How did I get here? When all the next stop offered was a McDonalds – How did I get here? As I paid 50-Euro cents to use the toilet and then marveled as the seat automatically rotated and sanitized itself – How did I get here?
A year ago, I was just settling in to teacher shopping at Classroom Central. All of the School Tools sorting was almost done and Educate Your Palate was right around the corner.
Two years ago, I would have told you I was never going to leave Charlotte, happy as could be with my work at Girl Scouts, Hornets’ Nest Council. Not even stressing about the infamous Thin Mint Sprint yet.
And now, here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Schweinfurt… My left leg a little wobbly from riding the clutch across Germany for the last 5 hours. Fresh off a weekend trip to Brussels with two girls I met just 6 months ago, but whom I’m convinced will be friends for life. And before that, an adventure in the awe-inspiring Dolomites with Paige, my oldest friend. I’ll chronicle those escapades in the next few days, but for now, I’m content to just marvel at my luck.
How did it happen? How did I get here?
As I drove across Germany this afternoon I asked myself that very question over and over again. When I looked around the country side and thought about the history lurking in the hills – How did I get here? When I stalled my rental car twice trying to go up a mini-mountain thanks to my cracker jack GPS that routed me around traffic but through every tiny town in Germany – How did I get here? When I stopped at a German gas station to get something to eat, expecting to find schnitzel and beer, but instead found myself faced with a Burger King – How did I get here? When all the next stop offered was a McDonalds – How did I get here? As I paid 50-Euro cents to use the toilet and then marveled as the seat automatically rotated and sanitized itself – How did I get here?
A year ago, I was just settling in to teacher shopping at Classroom Central. All of the School Tools sorting was almost done and Educate Your Palate was right around the corner.
Two years ago, I would have told you I was never going to leave Charlotte, happy as could be with my work at Girl Scouts, Hornets’ Nest Council. Not even stressing about the infamous Thin Mint Sprint yet.
And now, here I am, sitting in a hotel room in Schweinfurt… My left leg a little wobbly from riding the clutch across Germany for the last 5 hours. Fresh off a weekend trip to Brussels with two girls I met just 6 months ago, but whom I’m convinced will be friends for life. And before that, an adventure in the awe-inspiring Dolomites with Paige, my oldest friend. I’ll chronicle those escapades in the next few days, but for now, I’m content to just marvel at my luck.
How did it happen? How did I get here?
August 17, 2009
Il Palio di Siena
It all started out as an ordinary day, much like any other Sunday, but ended like this:
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? After a fun Saturday evening, celebrating a friend’s Birthday at his orto, I seized the chance to sleep in on Sunday. When I finally got around to rolling out of bed at 11:00am, I checked the train schedule and settled on the 12:45pm train. I would leave from Pontedera and change in Empoli before heading on to my final destination –Il Palio in Siena!
Having just recently finished reading Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno, I was vaguely familiar with the concept of Il Palio, a horse race held twice each year on July 2 and August 16 in Siena. Seventeen Contrada (neighborhoods/regions), each identified by bizarre mascots such as Bruco (caterpillar), Giraffa (giraffe) and Istrice (porcupine), all hope to earn one of ten spots in the race where they compete for Il Palio flag. While the flag is the tangible reward, from what I witnessed, bragging rights are the more coveted prize.
I made it in to Siena without any trouble. From what I read online, more than 75,000 people flock to the city for this annual event. I was expecting a crowded train ride, but I easily found a seat and read my latest pink cover, summer book the entire ride. Even after I got off the train and made my way to a bus that took me to the city center, I still found myself wondering where everyone was… It didn’t take me long to hear some commotion in the distance though. Following Rick Steve’s instructions, I headed towards the medieval drumming.
As I got closer to the Duomo, I saw more flags representing various Contrada. As I was minding my own business, admiring a small square tucked out of the way, a procession of Civetta (little owl) flag bearers and supporters paraded in. I lucked out with a prime, front row spot for the display and watched the Civetta toss their flags in to the air and listened to them chant their team song. As it turns out, the Civetta horse and jockey would go on to win the race later that evening! I was in the midst of celebrity and didn’t even realize it.
I followed the Civetta crowd the rest of the way to the Duomo where I met up with a group of friends from Camp Darby. Thank goodness for the one guy in the group who had the foresight to wear a red and white striped shirt. He stood out in the crowd of thousands and it literally became a game of Where’s Waldo?
We spent a long time in front of the Duomo watching the pageant, each team processing in to the square, banging drums and hurling their Contrada flags as high in the air as is humanly possible. After each team had their turn, the group of already sweaty Americans made our way towards Il Campo, the square where the race is held. Internet reports vary, but I’ve read anywhere from 15,000 to 75,000 people cram in to Il Campo every year to witness the 90 second race. We staked out our spots by the start/finish line around 4:30pm, and by the time the square was sealed off (the race track encircles the square – after 5:30pm, no one can come or go as you would have to traipse across the track) it certainly felt like I was surrounded by 75,000 people.
With almost 2 hours to kill before the start of the race, we each grabbed a piece of newspaper from the ground and settled in for the wait. The longer we waited, the more crowded it got. The more crowded it got, the warmer it got. The warmer it got, the smellier some of the spectators got… Ew! Our neighbors had the right idea and packed Connect Four. They entertained themselves with the game until things started to pick up around 7:00pm.
At 7:00pm on the dot (impressive for anything in Italy to start on time!) a big cart, pulled by two ox, entered the square and made its way around the track, displaying the Il Palio flag that would soon belong to the victors. Shortly thereafter, the horses and their riders entered the square and the announcer drew their positions. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details, but the way I understand the rules are this: each horse lines up in order, from first to last. The last horse hangs in the back, while the other horses all vie for a spot in the front. In order to get in these positions, the horses’ riders are not above punching, kicking, screaming and spitting at their opponents. Especially if said opponent is from an enemy Contrada. Any time a horse other than the very last horse in the back crosses the start line, it is considered a false start and everyone has to line up again. Thus, more kicking, hitting, yelling, etc. ensues. It took an hour and a half for the 90 second race to begin. Let me repeat that for those of you who might just be glazing over my story at this point…
IT TOOK AN HOUR AND A HALF. WE HAD ALREADY BEEN STANDING IN THE SQUARE FOR 3 HOURS. ALL FOR A 90 SECOND RACE.
All the while, the crowd is taunting their enemy Contrada, yelling out abuses such as, “You stupid Giraffe! You ruined the start.” Or, “Drop out now you horrible Snail. The Goose will never let you win!” During the race, two jockeys were thrown from their horses at particularly treacherous turns in the Piazza. The horses finished the race without their riders, not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, the passionate Italian gentleman (his Contrada was not even racing, he was just there to make sure his enemy, the Leocorno [unicorn] did not win) behind us, informed me that several years ago, the winning horse did so after he bucked his rider off during the first lap around the track.
Once the race began, it was over in a flash and the Civetta was victorious. Spectators rushed the track, screaming and yelling. My group, on the other hand, ran as far away from the piazza as possible, as quickly as possible, but not before getting caught up in the celebration and squished against the race track fence first.
The Civetta celebration continued in the streets for the victors as they paraded their prize, Il Palio flag down the winding roads of Siena, but even more intriguing was the reaction of the losers. Grown men sobbed and wept. For me, Il Palio was an exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon/evening, but for the Italian locals in the audience, I realized Il Palio is an event rooted in rich traditions and deep history. The race itself dates back to the 16th Century. After experiencing the energy and electricity in the piazza, I can tell why it would be so easy to get so caught up in the results of the amazing Il Palio.
Next year, I’m rooting for Capitana dell’ Onda, not because of any real allegiance to the neighborhood, but because I think their flag is super cute!
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? After a fun Saturday evening, celebrating a friend’s Birthday at his orto, I seized the chance to sleep in on Sunday. When I finally got around to rolling out of bed at 11:00am, I checked the train schedule and settled on the 12:45pm train. I would leave from Pontedera and change in Empoli before heading on to my final destination –Il Palio in Siena!
Having just recently finished reading Too Much Tuscan Sun by Dario Castagno, I was vaguely familiar with the concept of Il Palio, a horse race held twice each year on July 2 and August 16 in Siena. Seventeen Contrada (neighborhoods/regions), each identified by bizarre mascots such as Bruco (caterpillar), Giraffa (giraffe) and Istrice (porcupine), all hope to earn one of ten spots in the race where they compete for Il Palio flag. While the flag is the tangible reward, from what I witnessed, bragging rights are the more coveted prize.
I made it in to Siena without any trouble. From what I read online, more than 75,000 people flock to the city for this annual event. I was expecting a crowded train ride, but I easily found a seat and read my latest pink cover, summer book the entire ride. Even after I got off the train and made my way to a bus that took me to the city center, I still found myself wondering where everyone was… It didn’t take me long to hear some commotion in the distance though. Following Rick Steve’s instructions, I headed towards the medieval drumming.
As I got closer to the Duomo, I saw more flags representing various Contrada. As I was minding my own business, admiring a small square tucked out of the way, a procession of Civetta (little owl) flag bearers and supporters paraded in. I lucked out with a prime, front row spot for the display and watched the Civetta toss their flags in to the air and listened to them chant their team song. As it turns out, the Civetta horse and jockey would go on to win the race later that evening! I was in the midst of celebrity and didn’t even realize it.
I followed the Civetta crowd the rest of the way to the Duomo where I met up with a group of friends from Camp Darby. Thank goodness for the one guy in the group who had the foresight to wear a red and white striped shirt. He stood out in the crowd of thousands and it literally became a game of Where’s Waldo?
We spent a long time in front of the Duomo watching the pageant, each team processing in to the square, banging drums and hurling their Contrada flags as high in the air as is humanly possible. After each team had their turn, the group of already sweaty Americans made our way towards Il Campo, the square where the race is held. Internet reports vary, but I’ve read anywhere from 15,000 to 75,000 people cram in to Il Campo every year to witness the 90 second race. We staked out our spots by the start/finish line around 4:30pm, and by the time the square was sealed off (the race track encircles the square – after 5:30pm, no one can come or go as you would have to traipse across the track) it certainly felt like I was surrounded by 75,000 people.
With almost 2 hours to kill before the start of the race, we each grabbed a piece of newspaper from the ground and settled in for the wait. The longer we waited, the more crowded it got. The more crowded it got, the warmer it got. The warmer it got, the smellier some of the spectators got… Ew! Our neighbors had the right idea and packed Connect Four. They entertained themselves with the game until things started to pick up around 7:00pm.
At 7:00pm on the dot (impressive for anything in Italy to start on time!) a big cart, pulled by two ox, entered the square and made its way around the track, displaying the Il Palio flag that would soon belong to the victors. Shortly thereafter, the horses and their riders entered the square and the announcer drew their positions. I’m still a little fuzzy on the details, but the way I understand the rules are this: each horse lines up in order, from first to last. The last horse hangs in the back, while the other horses all vie for a spot in the front. In order to get in these positions, the horses’ riders are not above punching, kicking, screaming and spitting at their opponents. Especially if said opponent is from an enemy Contrada. Any time a horse other than the very last horse in the back crosses the start line, it is considered a false start and everyone has to line up again. Thus, more kicking, hitting, yelling, etc. ensues. It took an hour and a half for the 90 second race to begin. Let me repeat that for those of you who might just be glazing over my story at this point…
IT TOOK AN HOUR AND A HALF. WE HAD ALREADY BEEN STANDING IN THE SQUARE FOR 3 HOURS. ALL FOR A 90 SECOND RACE.
All the while, the crowd is taunting their enemy Contrada, yelling out abuses such as, “You stupid Giraffe! You ruined the start.” Or, “Drop out now you horrible Snail. The Goose will never let you win!” During the race, two jockeys were thrown from their horses at particularly treacherous turns in the Piazza. The horses finished the race without their riders, not an uncommon occurrence. In fact, the passionate Italian gentleman (his Contrada was not even racing, he was just there to make sure his enemy, the Leocorno [unicorn] did not win) behind us, informed me that several years ago, the winning horse did so after he bucked his rider off during the first lap around the track.
Once the race began, it was over in a flash and the Civetta was victorious. Spectators rushed the track, screaming and yelling. My group, on the other hand, ran as far away from the piazza as possible, as quickly as possible, but not before getting caught up in the celebration and squished against the race track fence first.
The Civetta celebration continued in the streets for the victors as they paraded their prize, Il Palio flag down the winding roads of Siena, but even more intriguing was the reaction of the losers. Grown men sobbed and wept. For me, Il Palio was an exciting way to spend a Sunday afternoon/evening, but for the Italian locals in the audience, I realized Il Palio is an event rooted in rich traditions and deep history. The race itself dates back to the 16th Century. After experiencing the energy and electricity in the piazza, I can tell why it would be so easy to get so caught up in the results of the amazing Il Palio.
Next year, I’m rooting for Capitana dell’ Onda, not because of any real allegiance to the neighborhood, but because I think their flag is super cute!
July 27, 2009
Hot Days, Quiet Nights
My life in Italy has slowed down in direct proportion to the heat recently. It's difficult to find motivation to sight see when temperatures reach 38-degrees (that's over 100-degrees for all you Westerners still using fahrenheit) and the ancient buildings in Italy don't support central air conditioning. As a result, I spend most of my time away from work sitting in front of the fan at home, reading or lying on the beach.
I did have a small, personal victory last week when I used a lawn mower for the very first time. Yes, it is an electric lawn mower. Yes, it kind of looks like a child's toy. And, yes, my lawn is so small it took me more time to figure out how to start the mower than to actually cut the grass. BUT, I mowed a lawn. For the first time in 27-years. Let me revel in that for a moment.
Since my grass was freshly cut, I decided that was as good an excuse as any to host a garden party this weekend. Friday night, I had friends from Darby over for homemade Sangria and general merriment in my backyard. I've always heard the cheaper the wine, the better the Sangria, and I proved that theory right this weekend. At 2-euro for an entire litre, I might have found the cheapest wine in all of Tuscany, but it made for the most amazing Sangria. I think I've said it before, but I'm so lucky to have found such a great network of friends at Darby. While I'm not ready to call Ponsacco home yet, I felt so comfortable hanging out in the yard, under the Italian starry night sky, surrounded by friends with Sangria in hand.
July also brought a wonderful visit from Heather and Jaidi -- my first official non-family visitors. They were all set to be my first visitors, period, but mom trumped them when she slid in the late June/early July visit. I feel like they still deserve a title though, so "First Official Non-family Visitors" it is! They were in Europe for a wedding in Amsterdam and made it down to Italy to visit me for a few days. While here, they had the chance see Florence and Cinque Terra (while I reported to work, jealous of their big adventures) and we all whiled away the evenings in Tuscany over red wine and great food in some of my favorite restaurants. Dinner the first night in Ponsacco gave us all strange dreams. Beware the raw, cured meat!
Somehow I only landed in one
photo the entire visit.
On the work front, we've stayed busy this summer with volunteer interviews and trainings (more than 30 new Overseas Committee Chairs trained!), compiling the summer mailing, a complete website overhaul and preparing for our Fall site visits. Now, it's like the calm before the storm -- I'll be in Italy until the middle of September (with a visit from Paige!) and then the non-stop travel hits. Starting September 18th, I'll be in Germany for a week and a half, Portugal for 2 weeks, the UK for 2 weeks and then back to Germany for another 2 weeks. That insane schedule will carry me through the middle of November when I'll then take off again for the States and what will most certainly be a much needed visit home.
My dad tells me that the travel will take its toll. He travelled all over the world for years with IBM so I'm pretty sure he knows what he's talking about. But for now, I'm looking forward to seeing the different bases/posts and meeting my volunteers that I've only talked to on the phone/emailed. Ask me again in October though, when I'm out of clean clothes, haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks and can't even remember what city I'm in and you might get a different answer...
I did have a small, personal victory last week when I used a lawn mower for the very first time. Yes, it is an electric lawn mower. Yes, it kind of looks like a child's toy. And, yes, my lawn is so small it took me more time to figure out how to start the mower than to actually cut the grass. BUT, I mowed a lawn. For the first time in 27-years. Let me revel in that for a moment.
Since my grass was freshly cut, I decided that was as good an excuse as any to host a garden party this weekend. Friday night, I had friends from Darby over for homemade Sangria and general merriment in my backyard. I've always heard the cheaper the wine, the better the Sangria, and I proved that theory right this weekend. At 2-euro for an entire litre, I might have found the cheapest wine in all of Tuscany, but it made for the most amazing Sangria. I think I've said it before, but I'm so lucky to have found such a great network of friends at Darby. While I'm not ready to call Ponsacco home yet, I felt so comfortable hanging out in the yard, under the Italian starry night sky, surrounded by friends with Sangria in hand.
July also brought a wonderful visit from Heather and Jaidi -- my first official non-family visitors. They were all set to be my first visitors, period, but mom trumped them when she slid in the late June/early July visit. I feel like they still deserve a title though, so "First Official Non-family Visitors" it is! They were in Europe for a wedding in Amsterdam and made it down to Italy to visit me for a few days. While here, they had the chance see Florence and Cinque Terra (while I reported to work, jealous of their big adventures) and we all whiled away the evenings in Tuscany over red wine and great food in some of my favorite restaurants. Dinner the first night in Ponsacco gave us all strange dreams. Beware the raw, cured meat!
Somehow I only landed in one
photo the entire visit.
On the work front, we've stayed busy this summer with volunteer interviews and trainings (more than 30 new Overseas Committee Chairs trained!), compiling the summer mailing, a complete website overhaul and preparing for our Fall site visits. Now, it's like the calm before the storm -- I'll be in Italy until the middle of September (with a visit from Paige!) and then the non-stop travel hits. Starting September 18th, I'll be in Germany for a week and a half, Portugal for 2 weeks, the UK for 2 weeks and then back to Germany for another 2 weeks. That insane schedule will carry me through the middle of November when I'll then take off again for the States and what will most certainly be a much needed visit home.
My dad tells me that the travel will take its toll. He travelled all over the world for years with IBM so I'm pretty sure he knows what he's talking about. But for now, I'm looking forward to seeing the different bases/posts and meeting my volunteers that I've only talked to on the phone/emailed. Ask me again in October though, when I'm out of clean clothes, haven't had a home cooked meal in weeks and can't even remember what city I'm in and you might get a different answer...
July 4, 2009
Mama Mia
My mom’s visit was such a whirlwind of a week, I still can’t believe she’s already come and gone. Since pictures tell a thousand stories, let’s recap with a photo montage.
Friday:
Mom arrives and we swing through Pisa on our way to Carol and Larry’s house for a cook-out.
Saturday:
I navigate the Italian train system all by myself for the first time and get us to Florence without any problems. Sadly, I didn’t check on reservations for the Uffizi or the Academia in time, so we just ride the big, red tourist bus and marvel at the city’s history from afar. We’ll catch the museums and galleries in December!
Sunday:
Facing a few choices (San Gimiginano, Lucca, Sienna, Montepulciano) mom chooses San Gimiginano. Fine by me as I have only been through the city for about 5 minutes after the wine tasting adventure in April. The city is pretty touristy, but still a sight to see, and I pick up more of my favorite wine from Tollena.
Truth be told, I think the drive alone is worth it. Some of my favorite views are here in the backroads of Tuscany.
That's San Gimiginano in the distance.
Monday:
Venice! Enough said.
Tuesday and Wednesday:
I work while mom rests up for Cinque Terra. She is kind enough to do my dishes, scrub the lime (caused by the incredibly hard water in Italy) off every surface in my house and pack me lunches while I go in to the office.
Tuesday night, we go to Il Conventino, my favorite agriturismo in Calci, and enjoy the most amazing meal of cheese and honey, polenta, barley salad, bruschetta, cured meats, ravioli with figs, gnocchi, wild boar tagliatelle...
Thursday:
Happy Birthday, mom! We start the afternoon sweating our guts out in Cinque Terra, but it is all worth it for views like this…
That night, we celebrate mom’s birthday with drinks (beer for me, Long Island Ice Tea for mom) at Fast Bar in Monterroso – town #5 in Cinque Terra. The bar is decorated with American dollar bills. Not wanting to be left out, we add to the collection.
Friday:
Spend the morning exploring Monterroso before heading back to my house. I pay rent a few days early so mom can meet Bimbi. She gives us gelato and declares “Que disastre!” after 10 minutes of us speaking to her in English with crazy hand gestures and her speaking to us in Italian. We discover a great pizzeria in downtown Ponsacco that night and stumble across a large (for Ponsacco’s standards) festival and outdoor concert.
This is also the day mom discovers a lizard hanging out on the ceiling in my kitchen and consequently, the day I vow never to sleep with my screens open again. After a serious girl moment, complete with screeching and an oh-my-gosh-there-is-a-lizard-in-my-house dance, we manage to get the little guy to safety, i.e. my back yard.
Saturday:
Sadly, I deliver mom to the airport this morning. And, as a testament to just how exciting life can be when there are no visitors around, I spend my entire day doing one load of laundry after another… And, I’m still only halfway through the pile.
Friday:
Mom arrives and we swing through Pisa on our way to Carol and Larry’s house for a cook-out.
Saturday:
I navigate the Italian train system all by myself for the first time and get us to Florence without any problems. Sadly, I didn’t check on reservations for the Uffizi or the Academia in time, so we just ride the big, red tourist bus and marvel at the city’s history from afar. We’ll catch the museums and galleries in December!
Sunday:
Facing a few choices (San Gimiginano, Lucca, Sienna, Montepulciano) mom chooses San Gimiginano. Fine by me as I have only been through the city for about 5 minutes after the wine tasting adventure in April. The city is pretty touristy, but still a sight to see, and I pick up more of my favorite wine from Tollena.
Truth be told, I think the drive alone is worth it. Some of my favorite views are here in the backroads of Tuscany.
That's San Gimiginano in the distance.
Monday:
Venice! Enough said.
Tuesday and Wednesday:
I work while mom rests up for Cinque Terra. She is kind enough to do my dishes, scrub the lime (caused by the incredibly hard water in Italy) off every surface in my house and pack me lunches while I go in to the office.
Tuesday night, we go to Il Conventino, my favorite agriturismo in Calci, and enjoy the most amazing meal of cheese and honey, polenta, barley salad, bruschetta, cured meats, ravioli with figs, gnocchi, wild boar tagliatelle...
Thursday:
Happy Birthday, mom! We start the afternoon sweating our guts out in Cinque Terra, but it is all worth it for views like this…
That night, we celebrate mom’s birthday with drinks (beer for me, Long Island Ice Tea for mom) at Fast Bar in Monterroso – town #5 in Cinque Terra. The bar is decorated with American dollar bills. Not wanting to be left out, we add to the collection.
Friday:
Spend the morning exploring Monterroso before heading back to my house. I pay rent a few days early so mom can meet Bimbi. She gives us gelato and declares “Que disastre!” after 10 minutes of us speaking to her in English with crazy hand gestures and her speaking to us in Italian. We discover a great pizzeria in downtown Ponsacco that night and stumble across a large (for Ponsacco’s standards) festival and outdoor concert.
This is also the day mom discovers a lizard hanging out on the ceiling in my kitchen and consequently, the day I vow never to sleep with my screens open again. After a serious girl moment, complete with screeching and an oh-my-gosh-there-is-a-lizard-in-my-house dance, we manage to get the little guy to safety, i.e. my back yard.
Saturday:
Sadly, I deliver mom to the airport this morning. And, as a testament to just how exciting life can be when there are no visitors around, I spend my entire day doing one load of laundry after another… And, I’m still only halfway through the pile.
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