No room of their own

The lion of Saint Mark, symbol of the Venetian Republic, is keeping watch in Piazza Signori.

In the quiet of Piazza Signori (sometimes called Piazza Dante because of the statue to honor the poet), a couple without a room are oblivious to passersby and long lenses. Young people in Italy live at home with Mama for so long, that sometimes they just have to take their moments where they can.

Dante in exile.
Sometimes a woman just has to take action.

Does she cry that her passion is unfulfilled?

Or is the stonecold marble just too much?

This is Italy.

New Year's Eve 2007

We had the best New Year's Eve in many years at the Relais Villabella in the countryside outside of Verona at the edge of the village of San Bonifacio (Verona Province). http://www.relaisvillabella.it/
A 'relais' is French for a country home or chateau with a small number of rooms and a dining room. This particular relais is on sprawling acreage which you enter by passing through a medieval stone arch, up a long curving drive, through towering trees, and at night, tiny white lights.

Our friends Agnes and Alexander
had last been here twelve years earlier.
The VillaBella has sustained a lasting
reputation for fine dining in a beautiful
old building. They were delighted to make the arrangements for New Year's Eve at this beautiful place, to show us another side of Verona.

I don't know if you'll be able to read the menu.
We were served 8 courses, with wines to accompany each course (not for me, folks ;) , not to worry) by the most gracious staff I have yet encountered in Italy, save for the Locanda Cipriani on the Island of Torcello in the Venetian Lagoon. The only course I could have eliminated was the ravioli, only because it was 9 stars instead of the perfect 10 stars of every other course. The cuisine was 'high Italian', rather than regional specialities...more what you would find in a top restaurant in Rome.

La Creme di zucca con riduzione di aceto balsamico e cuore ghiacciato al gorgonzola (cream of pumpkin with a balsamic reduction and a chilled heart of gorgonzola)

Not since my accident in February 2003 have I danced so much, and had so much fun. Of course, a regular 4-hour-interval course of Advil all day helped prepare me to boogie. The DJ was on fire, playing great mixes of Italian, Spanish, French and American songs, all flowing seamlessly into each other.

The wait staff timed everything to the minute, so that hundreds of champagne flutes filled with Mumm's Cuvee Privilege 'Cordon Rouge' were raised at precisely midnight, with the last dessert course following ten minutes later.

Then, at 2 AM, a buffet of more casual typical Veronese fare was put out for those who hadn't eaten enough earlier. Groan.We skipped it, leaving at 2:45 AM. Agnes and Alexander dropped us off two blocks from home so that we walked through the sub-freezing night air to the apartment. Then I had a piece of traditional panettone...couldn't resist.

The entire evening was elegant and delicious. We're hoping to go back again, maybe this time we'll rent a room.

Christmas Day Verona

Feeling very stressed here in Italy right now (see previous post), we needed a really nice Christmas Day to lift us up. Before some smartmouth says, Well, why don't you go volunteer at a soup kitchen?, let me add that we needed to be with friends, in the bosom of a home, with happy people. Fortunately for us, we received an invitation several weeks ago to join an Italian-Australian family for Christmas Day lunch. Wow, was it a great time!

The Dad and youngest daughter came to pick us up, as we live in Italy senza macchina. Arriving at the apartment, we entered to candles and Christmas lights on a beautiful tree, with a lovely table set. The cooking was all done as we went...grilled oysters with truffle butter, giant prawns sauteed and flamed, and an incredible salmon cooked in a bed of salt. We contributed a Buche de Noel, as well as a big bowl of al dente veggies.

There was a lot of laughing and story telling. And a lot of eating. A lot of eating. We were guests of a family today, sharing their Christmas, which made me miss our daughter even more, knowing she was spending Christmas morning on her own.

When we returned to our apartment, we called Sandra. Somehow the international postal system had managed to deliver two boxes full of gifts to her a week or so ago, which from Italy is no mean feat. So while we were eating at the home of our friends, Sandra was opening her presents from us...a connection of a kind. The enormity of the distance between us hit home, knowing that all I can do today is wish my little girl happiness.

A turning point

Angel and I are at a crossroads on this adventure of living in Italy. We really have to leave this beautiful apartment, since living next to the neighbors who have no sense of privacy or courtesy is not an option anymore. The landlord cannot do anything to influence them, since all Italian law favors the renter, no matter how they behave.

This is Thursday, 3 January, 2008: I am now going to edit what had been the next original paragraph, because perhaps this original paragraph was misinterpreted. One of our acquaintances Stateside said that he had heard that we are coming back to the States. Since we don't talk to this person by phone and rarely email this person, and have said nothing like this to anyone we do talk to or email, then the source of this rumor can only be a misinterpretation of this post. No decision to return to the States has been made.

We are out looking for another place to live, but that is not easy here in Italy. There is no multiple listing system, follow-up from realtors is unknown. We have found one possibility, through the father of a friend, but that might take 2 or 3 or 4 months to develop.

Neither of us is ready to leave Italy. We have plans already made well into 2008, there are places to go, things to do. We now have a real social life here, friends that we would be sad to leave. But we cannot stay in this apartment. We are stepping off into another adventure.

Smiles on our faces

Sometimes I think that in America we are all going around with too many smiles on our faces.

I buy blood oranges at Shoprite and, upon cutting them open at home, find them to be dessicated. Next time I am in Shoprite, I complain, thinking the produce manager would like to know. I get a blank look and an oh, well, maybe they'll be better next time, and have a nice day.

I go to a local 'Italian' restaurant and order a Caesar salad. After one bite, I know something is off, way off. I call the waitress over and tell her that the salad tastes strange. She said, oh, we make Caesar salad with Chinese cabbage. I look at her, kind of speechless, and mutter...but Caesar salad isn't made with Chinese cabbage, anywhere, ever. She just smiles brightly and says that their customers like it that way, and have a nice day.

'Hi, I'm Dave, I'll be your server tonight.'

'How is everything?'

'Everything alright?'

'Ya doin' good?'


'Here's your check.'

Walking through the City

There are times when I really worry about going back to New Jersey someday, and what that would mean for my sense of who I am. I am sort of a chameleon, able all my life to take on the colors and flavors of the milieu I am in. For example, at different times of my life I have been: San Francisco college student; political volunteer; corporate wife; career woman; rural/suburban housewife; and, now, woman about Verona, a city of 260,000.


My last iteration in rural/suburban New Jersey was one that I found to be boring. So easy to settle into a routine of gardening, shopping, all that...I needed more. So, I campaigned hard to move to Italy. My husband said that I became like the Queen Mary setting off for Europe...a straight line, full steam ahead.

Here, yet another side of me has emerged. I have become more independent. Paradoxically, not having a car seems to be the key to independence. I walk everywhere by necessity, or take public transportation. Going out the door into the city on foot is always an adventure. This isn't possible in rural/suburban New Jersey. You need a car, period, end of story. You have to plan where you are going, you miss seeing a lot while on your way to your destination.

Angel and I have developed symbiotically parallel lives...he cycles, I help out my friend at her shop. The apartment is home base. He travels with his cycling group; I have ventured out to travel alone. In New Jersey, we would always be going to places together. We are actually more independent of each other in Verona. That leads, I am happy to say, to being more 'together' than we ever were: planning wonderful trips, going to events, running into friends while walking in the city. I don't want to give that up, and am seeing that life in New Jersey can be isolating. It takes so long to get anywhere, we waste so much time in cars.

Writer's Block

I have been wondering why I haven't been writing in my blog. It's been a month. Well, then I remembered Thumper's mother who always told Thumper, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' My mother told me that, too.

I have been keeping my own counsel about how I feel about Italy and Verona and Italians in general for several reasons: I don't like to be accurately accused of making sweeping generalizations; I realize that my current feelings are just feelings and, as such, are bound to change...I hope... to more positive feelings; and, last but never least, I don't want to write something I may have to retract. Just as I still don't really know what I want to be when I grow up, though a glimmer is starting to come through, I am not sure how I really feel about this long experiment in international living.

So, I'll take a stab at this another time. I just wanted to go record as saying to myself in my blog that I have not gone away, that I am still thinking, thinking, thinking. Too much thinking is analysis paralysis. I'll leave it at that.