Visitors

It has been a long while since my last blog and I am just going to "blame" this on my visitors. Sandy camefrom Oakland to visit our little backwaters here and Jutta came from Basel so we almost had a full "girls' night" - or several - going (Pamela, we missed you!) It was nice to have visitors. You know how it is, there are all those places at home (which this still is in some sense) one never visits because they are considered "too touristy" for the locals or one feels like one has seen them a 1000 times just to realize - upon closer inspection - that one really hasn't been there in 20 years and even in a slow-moving environs like here some things change in 20 years. So I got to see the big old castle in Meersburg dating back to the early middelages, take boat trips and walk around the city trying to look at it with the eyes of a stranger - always and enlightning thing to do.
So Jutta and Sandy arrived by train on Sunday and - first things first - had a dinner including white asparagus. They are a specialty of southern Germany and this is the season to eat them. I love the taste and since they are almost impossible to get in the US it is a real treat to have them. They need to be peeled however, which makes them even more special given all the effort that goes into preparing them. I also made the first ever unsupervised Sauce Hollandaise which really wasn't all that difficult. My father still makes a big production out of preparing one but I think now that that is probably all for show and designed to instill awe in us every time he prepares one (only after multiple times of asking, begging and making all sorts of promises about being a good girl henceforth and never leaving the bike outside over night ever again). So we had Spargel dinner and a few too many bottle of "explosion wine" in the garden of our rental apartment which has been named "Kolo-House" by Max.

Uli decided that there were too many girls around so he camped out at Mom's and dad's for the time and the three of us had the apartment to ourselves.
Our first trip took us to the other side of the lake to Meersburg. It's a small village build on a very steep hill right by the lake. Early on the nobelmen (I don't think noble-women had much to say about thelocation of castles in those days) decided that this would be a good defendable position which it was as the castle was never conquered in the over 1000 years of its history. Today it is a museum complete with arms and armors, a tower, prison, torture chamber - which I skipped during the tour, I can't take such stuff (I seriously questioned the wisdom of a couple taking their two kids, maybe 2 and 5 inside and explaining the details of everything to the older - maybe I am a wuss, but that doesn't seem age-adequate and make me think that the whole book-burning-Savanarola story Uli told Max was nothing but a cute little bedtime story). In our serious attempts to learn a lot about southern German early-medivial history we came away mainly with the following lessons: a) people were really short back them judging by their beds and full-body armors; b) they didn't really understand the concept of comfortable seating, and c) personal hygiene back in the day must have been a tad sporadic.
Meersburg features nice half-timbered houses which are very characteristic of the area (as well as of parts of Switzerland), decent ice-cream and it's own vineyards. Our apprearance there that day decreased the average age of the tourists considerably - Lake Konstanz and surrounding areas are very popular with the retirees. The pace is appropriately leisurely and - unusual for the visitor from the US - a lot of people travel by bike (even the retirees or rather especially the retirees) and have beer or wine before midday (at midday and during the afternoon as well). The many passanger boats crisscrossing the lake are very popular and often carry what looks like three bikes per person.
Another trip took us to Stein am Rhein - another little jewel of a small city on the lake but on the Swiss part (lake Konstanz as a big German part a sizeable Swiss part and a little corner of it belongs to Autria). Another leisurely boat ride with drinking retirees later we found ourself in this wonderfulcharming old town - and in shock. Every time I set foot into Switzerland I am incredulous about the prices for everyday stuff - the prices are absurd to begin with but on the main "stretch" of this little touristy gem I couldn't believe my eyes: a small (in fact tiny,approx. 1/5 of a quarter) sizemineral water costs roughly 3 bucks, a (small, no refills) coffee 3.60, a package of gummibears - identical bag to be had in Germany for around 70 cent Euro (say 1.10 Dollars) 3.90 and so on. Absolutel everything is outrageously expensive but especially everything that can somehow be produced in Switzerland as the local laws force stores to sell Swiss products as well as imports (don't know the quota). That makes the prices of diary products, agricultural products and especially meat reach stratospheric levels. No big surprise then that Koinstanz is full of Swiss intend to smuggle sides of pork and palettes of yoghurt across the border.
When Jutta left by train yesterday we learned another lesson about Switzerland: copious amounts of industrial and national security secrets seem to be hidden in the most unusual places. Case in point" a donut - not just any donut, of course, but a cutesy small, expensive donut covered in red frosting with white little crosses - just like the Swiss flag. We saw it at the train station bakery where Jutta got herself a 2.80 Dollar croissant for the train ride. We all liked the donut in all its Swiss cuteness but nobody felt like spending another $2.80 on it especially since nobody wanted to eat itin the first place. Since I had my camera on me that day the logical idea was to take a picture of it. So here we are inside a akery in a tiny train station in a small, unimportant Swiss town right by the border to Germany where in 80% of the cases poeple going in and out aren't even stopped and asked for their passports, let alone to show the contents of their bags or trunks.As I take my camera out the sales person tells me with a stern and grave voice to "stop!! You cannot take any pictures in here!" (accompanied by a sweeping gesture that enclosed all of the train station plus a bunch of neighboring apartment buildings, the streets up front and probably even a small sliver of German territory). My first thought was "wow, for once a Swiss with a sense of humor" but her face showed clearly that she wasn't joking and her body-language was similarly blatant: "just try to push that release button and I will slash you this that knife I normally use to cut huge chunks of bread with." I glanced up and asked her whether she was serious - an entirely idiotic question as I knew she was as serious as she could be. I have to say this caught me by surprise but Jutta was just livid. In her best Swiss German - and therefore beyond reproach by the Swiss sales clerk - she started a tirade about how she can't belief how stupid this all is and what a @#$%^ country this is and that she now has the bad fortune to have to live here and what a dreadful way of treating a visiting American who wanted nothing but a picture of a cute donut to show to her friends back in California ...
I am glad she said it because otherwise I would have had to do so and that wouldn't have ended so well because of my unconvincing Swiss-German.

Sandy left today after a short trip - just over a week in Switzerland and Germany. It was fun to have her visit here - it's real pretty here this time of the year if I do say so myself but I guess a bit too unspectacular for the average foreign tourist who goes to - Florence, I guess.

Max spent a lot of time with Oma and Opa and by now picked up a little bit of the local dialect. Every other noun is now used in the diminuitive form and more and more word endings just disappear. It's kind of funny to hear my son talk like my mom.He also seems to get along well in the Kindergarten. The other day I witnessed how he took a shovel full of dirt and poured it over somebodies head. He alleged that the other boy had thrown sand in his face and had the red eyes to prove it - that he poured the dirt over the girl's head, instead of the boy's was the only fault I could find with his action and encouraged him to retaliate against the correct person next time. They are doing fun stuff, little trips to playgrounds, busrides and walks. But every day we ask him what he wants to do he says: I want to go to Oma's cabin (where she keeps her tools from back in the days when se still grew veggies) and work with "my tools". He is one happy little camper here.

Normality

Max is going to school and I am looking at tiles and am visiting IKEA. Seems like we have entered the most "normal" phase of our sabbatical. Max is quite happy at school - or rather Kindergarten but for him it is school/escuela and he also keeps calling the teacher there "maestra" - Spanish still seems to be the language of education for him. A bit of unpleasant normality was introduced on his second day of school when he came home and proudly told us that that he had "hit all the children". Oma was shocked and I was worried that they might throw him out for his bad behavior and so we bribed him into compliance by promising him candy if he behaved himself the next day. Thankfully he did, he came home and told us that he had called all the boys "rascals" which - for all I know - they are indeed. So he got his candy and more encouragement to keep calling everybody rascal while avoiding blatant violence.
While Max was at school calling his new friends rascals Debbie and I went to look at tiles for their bathroom remodel. I love looking at tiles (or carpets, or kitchens, furniture, lamps, colors, ...) and since we just finished a bathroom remodel before leaving I fancy myself as somewhat of - well, maybe not an expert - but at least a serious remodeling street warrior. In addition I have watched the occasional episode of any of three or four different shows on HGTV which makes me knowlegable enough to be dangerous. I was, however, absolutely stunned to find that neither Debbie nor Jasi share my vision of clutterfree spaces with most things stacked and stored away in identical looking boxes. Nor did either one of them seem to think that nice designy bowls, Ikebana-like flower arrangements and modern abstract art are required in a well-appointed house. There was talk of baskets (yikes - think of the dust they collect), earthy colors, the desire to have pretty much all possesions visible when I intend to hide the fact that I am reading trashy crime stories by hiding the books before and after reading in those white IKEA boxes I use for everything from sewing supplies to CDs. So longish discussions followed about things like comfy homes, different styles and whether Jasi could ever imaging putting those old Agatha Christie whos-dunnits into boxes, the necessity of having a focal point in the room, proper lighting, and a new couch. In short, conversations which would have put most men I know right to sleep and invigorated me. Then we went tile shopping and today - a holiday in Germany (don't ask) but not in Switzerland (don't ask either) - we drove to the nearest IKEA and spent an invigorating 4.5 hours combing through ever aisle, section, department and - of course - the restaurant (for once I was happy about the global uniformity of things these day as they also offered the delicious Daim cake I always treat myself to when visiting IKEA East Palo Alto). Baskets were purchased and - I am proud to say - a few of those extremely useful boxes, a new lamp and a few other odds and ends. I made a note to self to run right over to East Palo when I get back to buy that wonderful new rail system that will be perfectly suited for hiding the cluttery book shelf in our guest/study room.
That was the excitment of the day. It was fun to do sort of normal stuff with my two girl-friends both of whom I have know for an eternity, or two, in Jasi's case. Just being silly, making politically incorrect remarks about the Swiss, talking about kids, work, and eating unhealthy food (man, those Swedish meatballs ...). It's like I have never been away which is great but somewhat unsettleing as well as I am not sure the reverse is true and I would fit right back in without a problem. I rather think not but it is so easy to believe it when pushing a shopping cart through IKEA and bitching about ugly designs.
The weather still leaves a lot to be desired. It's the photographers worst light: grey,overcast sky which bleaches out on every landscape, cityscape and whatever-scape. Yesterday it was downright cold and they keep predicting better weather for the next day and have been doing so for the last week or so. I so hope we will have nice sunny weather starting Sunday at the latest - that's when Sandy arrives and I would really like to show her the prettiest face of Konstanz.

Another "temple festival"

it wasn't actually a temple but a 1200 year old catholic church but I thought I'll approach the celebration there just as I have approached temple festivals in India or Semana Santa in Spain. Well,it wasn't quite that easy. But first things first, today was Max's first day in "school". He marched in like he's been there a 1000 times and started digging through the tool section before anybody could say as much as "hello". He did, however, shake the "maestra's" had for a fraction of a second which I was watching holding my breath. We really wanted him to make a good impression on his first day so they couldn't find any reason to tell us that, unfortunately,they won't be able to accomodate him after all. He looked cool, I have to say,in his "skinny" jeans with a orange, blue, white plaid shirt and a new bag Oma bought for his wholesome snack slung across his shoulders. By the time we were finished talking to the teacher about a few specifics he was already sitting at a table playing a puzzle or some such thing. As usual he waved us a casual good-bye and seemed, if anything, eager to get rid of the prying eyes of his parents. So we left, rather unconcerned and drove to the Reichenau, that little island on Lake Konstanz that also featured in the last post. One of the 1000+ year old churches was having a celebration called "Holy Blood" - don't ask me why and what exactly they are celebrating. Nobody seems to know for sure but appartently there is a drop of blood of some saint or another stored away in the church as well as a little splinter of a bone of an apostle or another and these things, encased in richly decorated and ornate "containers" (for lack of a better word) are carried around the isalnd once a year in a procession. The weather could have been better and when we got there mass had already started. I suspect that this church (plus the other two) are populated by a few little old ladies on a regular Sunday but today it was standing room only at least for stragglers like us. A bishop had made the trip to celebrate the mass, a choir was singing and lots of frankincense was burned. Men in the old-fashioned uniforms of the vigilante group of days gone by with their old rifles plus bajonets were milling about. We saw a largish group enter a restaurant, no doubt having a beer while they should, theoretcially, attend mass. With nothing better to do until mass was over I thought I take a peek inside and shoot some pictures. My mom, who accompanied us, was horrified. It is - at least in her mind - not considered proper behavior to walk around a church during mass and shoot away at the bishop. I was very discreet, really, kind of sneaking around, camera hidden under the large raincoat I bummed from my mom looking like I was part of the crowd which I clearly wasn't as I wasn't singing and saying prayers. Only occasionally would I take the camera out a snap a quick picture with my fast lense. I would never use flash in such situations, that, even I think, shows lack of respect and good manners. The weird thing was that I - who hasn't attended catholic mass in earnest in 20+ years - still remembered pretty much ever line of the entire liturgy. The bishop just had to say the line and I could have fallen in with the required answer or prayer. Even most of the songs were familiar to a point that I could have chimmed in and only occasionally would have to mask my lack of knowledge by a little cough or sneeze. I couldn't do it now, sitting on the couch, without the priest prompting me but as soon as I hear the lines I know what is expected from the faithful and can answer pretty darn perfectly. It was a weird feeling: one the one hand I feel so distant to whats going on, so unattached and untouched by it that it really wasn't very different from attending a temple festival in India and on the other hand I am in some sense so deeply rooted in that tradition that after 20 years I still remember every line of every prayer without even thinking about it. It is just there, stored away in my brain for no good reason and to nobody's benefit. I still remember how I had great trouble remembering data and facts that I thought superfluous and boring when studying biology (I could, for the life of me not remember the molecular weight of topoisomerase II - which after all was the topic of my Ph.D.thesis which is sort of like writitng a thesis about JFK and not remembering his birth date) and here I am flawlessly reciting catholic mass. Once the bishop began his sermon, which began rather unspectacular and very floksy I decided that maybe outside in the rain it was more comfortable after all. So we spend some time looking around, watching people getting ready and when more and more of the uniformed guys showed up we knew that the end of mass and the beginning of the procession was close.
Going into full photoreporter mode again I positioned myself to take pictures avoiding my mother's horrified look and comments "you can't take pictures here, don't stand in front of the procession, people know us here, what will they think?" ... - have long learned that if it came down to my mom nothing would ever be done for the first time. So here went the procession: the little girls in their Sunday best dresses carrying flower baskets and the older ones a couple smaller statutes of the Virgin Mary. Then came the guys in uniforms, either carrying their rifles or playing their brass band instruments polished to a high sheen, checks inflated from playing tromones and tubas. Then came the women in their traditional dresses which sort of resembled the traditional Andalucian dresses with big head-dresses. Then came all the men who are anybody on the island wearing their best suits. The the bishop, the priest, the two monks who now live on the island (a rarity) , the altar boys and girls, the sexton and an assortment of other church officials followed. Then came pretty much the entire population of the island saying Hail Marys. Unlike the tradition calls for on a on nice sunny day.today in the rain they just did the quick route through the village to stay dry. A small crowd of spectators had gathered some waving little yellow-white flags and I am not sure whether they are the flags Baden, our region or of the catholic church - I assume the latter.
As soon as the streets were open we hopped in the car and drove back to collect the "Man". I was very glad that he wasn't with us on that little outing - all the rifles and gloves (his latest obsession) we would have never heard the end of this one.
Max seemed happy enough when we picked him up, bag slung over his shoulder and my question "how was it" was answered with a succinct "good" but no further details were provided. He ate more for lunch than in an average week in India and so I concluded that the whole thing was exhausting and probably fun.
Tomorrow we'll move to our new apartment - when planning this trip we decided that 4 weeks with my parents wouldn't do anybody any good so for the next 2 weeks we'll have our own place near by. I hope we'l have Internet access ....

you might think I am lazy

that I am writing so infrequently but, really, there isn't all that much to tell. There is a lot of biking to various playgrounds to play with with Antonia and her friends going on, breakfast, lunch and dinner at set hours (meal times are held in high esteem here, five minutes late for 12 noon lunch is almost an unforgivable sin and can only be excused if it is Max's fault or doing), playing in the garden, walks down to the lake, visits by Jasi and that sort of is it. After all this traveling I don't feel the need to rush out in the evening and hang out in some bar or restaurant, the cinema program is pathetic and so I fiddle with my pics or talk to mom and dad in the evening.

The weather has been nothing short of perfect: sunny but not too hot with a little thunderstorm yesterday evening (I was out taking pictures and didn't even mind that I got wet). Today we went to the Reichenau, an island in Lake Konstanz that was formerly the location of a huge monastary and these days produces a lot of the fresh fruit and veggies in the region. Three churches are the highlight. They are all very old, old beyond anything America has to offer, St. George, the oldest one is about 1200 years old and of beautiful and sturdy architecture with old frescos inside. Neither of the other two ones are much younger, all have been beautifully restored and are a major tourist attraction. Entrance is free to all of them - a welcome change from the "everything you want to see is at least 6 Euros" policy we encountered in Italy.

The buildings are so overwhelming and authentic that even these days there are moments when one walks around the grounds by the church, the sun is low in the sky, the church bells chime and for moments you feel transported to the middleages, a small fleeting glimps of how live must have felt back then. The overpowering might of the church, the hardships of everyday life but also the deep satisfaction and certainty derived from an unshakable belief in an almighty God. A strange but very interesting feeling which I did not achieve this time with Max shooting pistols and canons non-stop and nagging us for ice-cream. He also made it his job to check the graves on the graveyard next to the church for the presence of sufficient amounts of holy water (used to sprinkle the graves). He likes his "check-check" procedures and can't possibly stop until the last Holy Water container has been checked.

I am running into my "Frigiliana photo-problem": everything is so pretty it's hard to take pictures that don't fall into the postcard category. I have to think of a different concept and I am thinking frentically - so far to no avail.

Hopefully there will be more exciting stuff to tell over the next few days so I have more blog material other than saying "everything is so beautiful and people are annoying" ...

Tidbits from Home

"Konstanz has a real peaceful vibe" my husband informed me today and I guess he is right. There is something peaceful and relaxing about this place. It's small, full of tourists, retirees and students beautifully situated between the lake and Alps - one a clear day you can now the see the snow-capped peaks of the "Seealpen" (lake alps). Currently the sun is shining, the trees and flowers are blooming, the medieval buildings have mostly been beautifully restored, roman walls have been dug up and the city is buzzing with people shopping, kids playing and people enjoying their copious spare time. On every corner there is a bakery with the real bretzels and little sweets, cafes, bars, restaurants, wine bars abound. Fancy clothing stores, goldsmiths and high-end opticians line the streets and on the surface of it life couldn't be more perfect (mind you its May, when the fog decends in November its a very different story). So when I come back here - usually in May or September (another of those generally perfect sunny months) - for the first 24 to 48 hours I wonder - silently or aloud - why the hell did I ever leave this perfection? What posseses me to live in the 'burbs in California?

After that grace period, though, the stories trickle in and I start making experiences that remind me why I had a hard time living here and why now -after all those years away - I would have an even harder time. I am not talking about major issues and problems, but the little stuff that make life miserable for no good reason. To give you a couple of examples: next door there live two families with small kids, in a three family home. Sounds perfect to you? Kids playing together, parents sharing experiences, sitting together in the garden, baby-sitting for each other? Well, something insignificant that I have no knowledge of happend and they are not talking to each other anymore and haven't been for a while. How awkward and stupid is that? They are all in the garden both parties chatting amicably with me and both sets of kids playing with Max and they don't even look at each other? Can't you just get a grip, sort it out and enjoy life? Another: the kindergarten Max will attend for 3 weeks has a ban on sweets. No kid is allowed to bring any sweet stuff for a snack and that includes not just chocolate, sugar-covered cookies and other obnoxious stuff but also sweetend yoghurt. Even bread that isn't whole wheat is only grungingly tolerated, ideally every kid would bring real dark bread, no butter, some organic wholesome spread and a few carrot sticks. I mean give me a break already, I am the mother and if I think that my super-skinny kid should have a little sweetness for a snack than who are they to tell me I am a bad mother and he can't have it. Surprisingly, when I voice these sentiments they get met with incomprehension. I get that the kindergarten-people aren't bad people, they just want the best for the kids but that their idea of correct food is enforced whether the parents like it or not seems to bother only me. I guess I have lived in the US where for too long - where the sheer mention of such a rule would cause riots and outrage. Do I fancy the idea that my kid gets burgers and fries at school every day and the only "veggie" it sees is ketchup? Hell no, but do we have to go all the way to the extreme opposite?

Okay, one last: there is that beautiful large house in my neighborhood. I know the guy who owns it and have always envied him for that beautiful property right by the lake. It is off the major streets and can be reached by a little private street that a few other people also use. Cars are forbidden, cool, I can totally see that but please, there ought to be an exception once in a while under special circumstances. But no such luck one guys seems to be enforcing the "no cars ever" rule as if his salvation would depend on it. So for a recent renovation project they had to carry the materials in by hand because: no cars allowed, no exceptions - ever. The guy seems to be sneaking around taking pictures of every car violating that rule and if I hear such stories I just feel sick. Do people really have nothing better to do than terrorizing their neighbors? How low can you sink if that's what makes your day? I am not saying that this doesn't exist anywhere else but at least in Sunnyvale I have never encountered such behavior, people are just not, well, inclined that way.

So here it goes I have already started on the expat agony: better here or there, upsides, downsides, where do we go from here?

On a lighter note: you should check out Konstanz on Google Earth - it's crystal-clear. The resolution is much better than that of Mountain View, where - after all - the headquarters of Google is located. You can see the car of my parents friends standing in front of their garage and the small herb "snail" (a spiral shaped planting bead for herbs) of Jasi's father. You can't exactly tell whether he is planting basil or thyme but pretty darn close.

The Max-man seems happy here. Lot's of room to play, adoring grandparents, kids to play with three seconds away, dangerous tools in Oma's cabin and Opa's garage and an even larger audience for all of his stories about pistols, firecrackers, all his houses and the fact that he is a policeman (when he happens not to be a baby-bird or a baby-dragon) who arrestes bad men (in his world there seem to be no bad woman, I view this as a compliment). Let's just cross our fingers and hold our breath that the weather holds! (The picture shows Max with Omi Moni)

The pictures sow a chestnut tree near Oma's cabin and Mad-Max working in the fields

Back home again

We enjoyed another half day in Florence taking a last walk by the Duomo and the Piazza de la Republica, had one last pizza and a tortina frutti di bosco (yummy!!) from our favorite bakery and a last nap in our T1-house (as Max named it, the engineer showing more and more clearly). Then a quick ride in the taxi cab and we took our seats in the Cisalpino. We had a reservation and it loked like this was a great idea as almost every seat in the compartment was taken. After we had stored our considerable luggage and traveled for less than half an hour we realized that we fell victim to the typical Italian efficiency: while we were sitting knee to knee with strangers, covertly pushing elbows of the people next to us off the armrest and were listening to half a dozen different cell phone conversation at a time - it turned out that the next compartment was empty but for two teenager and all the following ones pretty much empty as well. For reasons yet unknown every holder of a reservation was squeezed into one compartment and since we had five pieces of luggage all neatly stored away we couldn't escape. ... hell is ... were everything is organized by the Italians.
7 hours on a train is a long time but Max was a trooper. The DVD player with extra battery proved once again a lifesaver. His poor parents were also forced to tell and retell countless stories of Uxmal, Chitzen Itza, Old Kochi, and the Ghiralda in Sevilla. When we reach Zurich Max was dead tired - and so were we - but Jasi was waiting right there where or compartment stopped with a cart and in no time everything was stored away and we were on our way to Konstanz. We reached it just before mid-night so we could have a sip of "explosion-wine" for my mom's birthday.
And then, like a good girl, I went back to my bed and slept in the same sheets that I slept in as a teenager (these things last an eternity in this place). Strange feeling to come back to a virtually unchanged life. Obviously things have changed, there is a new couch in the living room and after 45 years of washing dishes my parents finally bought a dishwasher, and the shower door got renewed - but the basics remain unchanged, the look and feel, the interior decoration that is characterized by wildly growing plants (mom has a green thumb), wraiths with dried flowers, embroidery and much too full closets and cupboard because much gets bought and little ever gets thrown out. So I sank into my pillow weirdly feeling like the teenager I used to be.
Not much report about today. Didn't do much other than hang around the house and garden, shoot canons, have lunches, and dinners, chat. Max got a couple of walks in: to the lake and my mother's little cabin full of dangerous tools. Not much planned for tomorrow either. It is a holiday here in Germany (Pentacoast Monday) and so there will be walks to the lake and maybe downtown to what has changed for example that the Chinese restaurant at the market square changed it's name form Lotus Garden to China Delight or that the opening hours of the local museum have been extended on Thursday evening and such like.
Definitely entered the slower phase of our sabbatical and another distraction has emerged: after 4 months we have TV in a language we both speak well enough to enjoy and loads of old German crime stories to cath up on.

I just want to be who I am

that astounding bit of insight was offered up by Max over his breakfast egg. The whole discussion started because of Uli's and my confusion as to which of the different personae he has assumed over the last few weeks he was today. Max is in a loose succession either: a boy, a baby-dragon, a policman, or a baby-bird althought the baby-bird has gone out of style as of recent. As he went to bed as a baby-dragon last night I just assumed he would wake up as a baby-dragon this morning but I was mistaken (stupid grown-up mistake) as one can certainly go to bed a baby-dragon and rise to be a policeman. Policeman is his favorite incarnation right now, there is lots of police around here patrolling the streets and piazzas and they all have - gasp - pistols, walkie-talkies and handcuffs. So now Max wants to be a policeman and patrols the streets with the gas-oven lighter in his pockets pretending it is a pistol. He will use it to shoot in the air if a "bad guy" does something bad and that will stop the villain in his tracks. Or so the story goes.
So when I addressed him as my baby-dragon this morning he was very put out and said that he certainly was a policeman today and would be for the entire day and moreover he just wanted to be who he is. Uli and I looked at each other, shrugging our shoulders. What can one really say to such deep insight other than: "well, you know, you got a point there, Mr. Policeman".
So Policeman Max patrolled Prato today and ensured the safety of its inhabitants with his oven-lighter plus a ripped off bike stand he found by the cathedral. Prato is - and nobody seems to know that including us until yesterday - the second biggest city of Tuscany. Its close to Firenze which made it a good place to visit on our almost last day here. The few things I found about it on the web seemed pleasant enough, another of those C-list celebrity cities of Tuscany that we have been visiting. And so it was: a largish town with many industrialized suburbs (in fact it is the center of the Italian textil industry - I didn't even know that something resembling a textil industry still existed outside of China, Vietnam and a few other Asian countries) and a calm, nice but unspectecular "centro storico". A fortezza without canons, a number of typical churches - black and white stripes like the Duomo in Firenze and many other famos churces all over Tuscany and Umbria - there would have been some shopping opportunities without the policeman but so be it. One can always look at the bright side: money saved!
The nice thing about Prato was that it is definitely non-touristy. We heard a bit of German and English but that was it. No tour groups, no drowning out of the Italian language by 50 other idioms.

We did our usual back-by-three-for-the-nap routine and afterwards Max and I went to "our park" to kick the ball around. Thankfully they had cleaned it up considerably since the last time I was there and due to the nice weather the whole little park was happening. On this occasion I realized that Uli had seen fit - during the only time he visited the park with Max - to tell our not-even-four-years-old about Savanarola and his little hobby of burning books. I am all for early education but that seemed a little advanced for the mind of four year old - at least in my humble opinion. So we spent some time kicking the half-limp ball around we found during our second visit and had taken home and a lot discussing why angry and bad-tempered men would burn books.
But the news of the day came from Konstanz. After some back and forth it seems like Max will be able - for three weeks - to attend the Kindergarten Antonia, the daughter of my friend Debbie, is attending. To say I am deliriously happy is a vast understatement. It will really do him a lot of good to hang out with kids for some time and not discuss book-buring-right-wing-medieval-basket-cases and do comparative linguistics in the bus (in Italian it is Uscita, in German we say Ausgang, Nelly dice salida and Greisley says exit) - my head is spinning form it and so is his which explains constructions like "uscita Not" (Notausgang = emergency exit) an Italian-German mixture he recently came up with.
One last day and I still have all the packing to do (well almost and it really is a day and a half). I am looking forward to Konstanz, it will be more relaxed and easier and I will have the opportunity to see dear old friends. Hopefully Sandy will be able to make it over for from the Bay Area for a good week - that would be fun. But I am also bracing myself for the inevitable "where is home?" "Do I still belong here, or do I belong where I am living or do I not belong anyway anymore and if so, is that a problem of not?" discussion that will be going on in my mind 24/7. There will be more about that most fundamental of all expat discussions later - I am sure of it.

Last days of Florence (well, in Florence)

Sad but true - our time in Italy is coming to an end and quickly. Yesterday we bought train tickets to Zurich, Switzerland for this coming Saturday. It will be another trip from hell as the only direct train leaves at 3:30 pm and it takes 7 hours to get there by which time it will be way past the boy's (who - as of yesterday - is no longer the baby bird he used to pretend to be but a baby dragon), or rather the baby dragon's bedtime and he will be spewing fire driving everybody crazy. All of that still beats the prospect of having to change trains in Milano with 85 kg of luggage - and that was before the purses. Sunday, May 11 is a triple whammy for my mom, it is her birthday, its Mothersday and (less important in the US but sort of a big catholic holiday in Europe) Pentacoast. I guess, I "have" mothersday, too, I wonder whether anybody will think about that and daresay "no". Somehow, though, mothersday is still associated with my mom for me and so what the heck if I don't get another picture of a vulcano/canon and an unfullfilled promise of being a good boy all day long.
Most of the day yesterday was spend purchasing the tickets for the trip. It ain't as easy as it sounds as Max travels for free but still needs a reservation (I am certainly not going to have him sit on my lap for 7 hours) so we had to get in one of those lines and endure an example of Italian efficiancy. Or rather Uli got in line and Max and I watched trains arrive and depart. He loves the train station and knows all the "silver arrow" (fast, long distant trains) as he has been here with Uli several times before. There are the frequent trains to Roma, then the ones to Milano, to Venezia, Bolzano and Napoli plus all the slow regional ones to Lucca, Pisa, Arezzo, Viareggio, Livorno, what-do-I-know. He gets really excited about the trains coming and going and I get really freaked about him running around among all these people who push and shove and might well get a little guy shoved on the tracks. Finally, though, tickets in hand we left happy to have this almost last piece of travel logistics taken care of.
Today we finally got Max to get a haircut. he was screaming bloddy murder by the mere mention of a haircut, I think he thought it would hurt as "cutting" somehow implies something painful and/or that we would drop him off somewhere and just disappear. We walked by a hairdresser on our way from a boring outdoors shop that Uli wanted to see to a highly recommended "authentic" salumeria (whatever that is) and suggested we might have a little look inside. The idea of special scissors got him to go inside and once he sat on the chair, wrapped in one of those black capes with a "Donald Duck" comic in his hands and the hairdresser singing to him he hold reasonably still. 15 minutes later what Uli used to call our "baby lion" was again a rascal boy. Now I have to look twice to recognize him when he runs around in between the crowd because he looks so different.

The weather has been very nice and warm and Florence surprisingly calm. I guess the European tourists are waiting for the Pentacoast vacations to take their trips and so one could actually walk by the Duomo for once without having to stop every 20 inches for a tour group. So after the haircut and before the Salumeria (which was indeed a lot of fun with cheap self-serve food and Italian patrons only) we took another stroll around the town, walked by the Uffici, bought another ice-cream for Max for being a good boy at the hairdresser, chased pigeons and engaged in some shameful stereotyping of the tourist around (still plenty). The Americans are always easy to spot, they wear shorts, come hell or high water, rain of shine its shorts, mostly combined with T-shirts and fanny packs. The Japanese are easy to spot they always carry and amazing assortment of shopping bags from high-end stores around. They also seem to have a knack for carrying them very elegantly and the bags seem to be color coordinated and carried in a way to ensure maximum display of the designer names. Don't get me started on the visors, umbrellas used agianst the ghastly sunshine and occassional dust-masks (have seen them, definitely, here in Florence, on a Korean family, though). Germans and Dutch, I found, are virtually indistinguishable other than by language: generally fairly tall people, mainly older (at least this pre-Pentacoast- holiday week), the men with beer bellys and cameras, the women in sensible shoes and odd clothing that is supposed to be jolly or "springy" such as pants with flower patterns plus a rain-coat - one never knows. The Scandinavians are similar, just a little taller even and more blond. The British, I hate to say, are easy to spot as well, there outfits are - eehm - is a little on the frumpy side. Baggy, I'd say, mismatched, you get the drift. Enough stereotypes already. I have to say it's fun, though, to be politically incorrect for once.
Feeling slightly nostalgic about our imminent departure we took another trip downtown by foot in the afternoon and ended up at the Arno near the Ponte Vecchio. The light was awesome, the photographer in me wishes for nothing but evening light all day long (or morning light but who wants to get up by 5 am) so I sent my boys home by bus when the little one got tired and took a leisurely stroll long the Arno and then back through the city. Initially the light was great, golden and soft, so there must be like 150 Ponte Vecchio pictures on my camera now. It's harder downtown as the narrow streets block the evening light and everything was in deep shadows already. It was interesting, though, to see the city change. The fancy goldsmiths on Ponte Vecchio closed and after that happend the illegal Africans came out hastily putting their 3 Euro prints of Michelangelo's angels, the Duomo by sunset and an assortment of nude females on the pavement. Fake Gucci purses showed up and little toy cars and - that's a new one - guys selling those tiny little tripods. The sunglasses guys, who carry their stuff attached to a foldable piece of sturdy cardboard with another one that serves as a stand (build and packed up in seconds) disappeared with the sun but the beggars remained. I am sort of silly that way but I feel extremely vulnerable walking alone though a darkening city with my camera equipment. It's not that expensive as camera equipments go but it sure looks sort of fancy to the untrained eye. Not having brought my tripod either I decide to call it quits - at least I got those Ponte Vecchio shots - I can now proof we was here ;-)

Arezzo

Today we visited another lovely Tuscan town: Arezzo. About an hour by train from Florence it is one of those 3rd tier places that never show up on the schedules of the busy Europe-in-seven-day tourists which basically means there are none. The Germans do of course come and so do the Swiss, Austrians and a selection of Scandinavians - they all have ample vacation time. It was Jutta's last day - she is heading back to Basel tomorrow - and so another little Tuscan outing seemed like a good idea. Arezzo is a cute little town: city wall, Duomo, a selection of additional churces some with real candles (at only 30 cents a real deal), a couple of towers and a fortezza - regretable without canons. We had the good fortune, or not, to get there on the day of the big antique market. Trust me I like nothing better then perusing a good antique market though I probably would not have bought anything (we had 80 kg of luggage last time we checked and that was before all the stuff that is still in Vienna and the few teensy little things I bought here and all the Swiss chocolate I intend to buy while in Konstanz), or at least nothing much. But, and that is a big but, a capital letter BUT, an antique market with Max is a nightmare, utter horror. Try an explain to a almost 4 year old that he can't touch the glass lamps, old ceramics and super-frail little wood figurines when everybody else is touching them, garbing them, passing them back and forth, ... not happening! So we just tried to keep our heads down, point out sturdy and unbreakable things to him and marched on not looking left ot right - or only glancing furtive looks concealed by sun glasses at the goods. I have to say, what I saw did not blow me away, anyway. I have made this total transformation in the last 20 years from collector-pack-rat-I-love-everything-old to just give me clean and modern design and then I might put one old piece in, if fancy strikes me. So the old wooden doors at 550 Euro per pop didn't tempt me that much, independently of the transportation issues. There were, however, a few things I could have possibly envisioned in our house in Sunnyvale, but, oh well, another price one has to pay for having an (sometimes) adorable, energetic little rascal around. Other than the Duomo with the many candles the highlight of the rascal's day was sitting on a vintage tractor pretending to drive it around and shooting - I didn't ask at what to spare myself another lecture about the unacceptablity of shooting or even play-shooting at people, animals (other than pigeons) and historic buildings. A minor crisis occured when he was supposed to say "thank you" to the nice guy who let him sit on his precious vintage tractor but that eventually got resolved to everybody's satisfaction as well and the guy was so pleased that Max showed up and shook his hand that he offered homemade "biscotti". Max would never say "no" to such an offer and - honestly - not would I.

Unfortunately, these day trips are always half-day trips with us as Max needs to have his nap at the latest by around 3 pm - else all hell breaks loose. So we took off again after a slice of pizza and got back to Florence just before he totally crashed (and us as well). Jutta took a detour through the city and visited a few more leather markets - what's a girl to do that just recently moved and had to leave behind a substantial part of her purse collection?

Later Max and I went to "our park", called Savanarol after one of those right-wing medivial religious nutcases who had books burned and pictures ripped off the walls for indecet content (like some bare exposed breast). We have been there many a time by now chasing pigeons, kicking the half-limp ball around Max found behind the bushes and - you guessed it - shooting something ot the other. In the park is a little stand where they sell chips and ice cream but mainly booze, a truly dazzling selection of drinks from Mojito to Bloody Mary and with the weather getting nice and warm I have to say that the negative effects are starting to show. It used to be - like three weeks ago - a nice clean park, dominated by a huge statute of a stern looking Savanarola waving a cross. Now it has become a trash pile of a little park with beer bottles, trampled on plastic cups, little plastic steer-thingys, chips bags, cigarette butts etc. all over the ground, grass, and benches. Savanarola still looks stern but that obviously doesn't keep anybody from throwing trash around. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea that nobody takes a cross-waving right wing nutcase seriously but I had hoped that - at least in Europe -people have grown up to comprehend that throwing trash on the ground and littlering like there is no tomorrow has gone out of style, seriously out of style, about 25 years ago. Naive me. So Max and I chased some pigeons through the beer bottles and shoot some canon-balls into the trash strewn hedges.

Back home Jutta and I decided to line up the new purchases for a better look at our proud possesions and for all of you who cherish the view of new Italian-design leather goods here is a teaser:

Maybe we should open a store!

A teensy bit of shopping

Finally today all pretense of financial austerity was cast aside and Jutta and I went shopping. With her passing her exam with flying colors on Friday we both felt we deserved it - she because she did and I because I am an extremly emphatic person ;-) At first the selection of stuff seems dazzling - so many wallets to look at, so many purses to consider so many colors and shapes and styles. There were purple purses,and orange ones, green, pink, aquamarin, petrol and canary-yellow, plus the usual selection of black, browns, camel and reds. After three hours of full concentrationa nd dedication I have to admit: the bounty was good - several purses and wallets, three leather belts (5 Euro a pop on sale for a leather belt - what's there to complain?) and a T-shirt. We had chats with half a dozen of the sales guys - one of which seemed to be Italian - but all spoke Italian, plus English and some German, and one even fluent Spanish. We got invited to the "disco", one wanted to go have pizza with us and some of the rest I didn't understand. But one thing is for sure: with a "bionda" around, especially one that is "natural" like Jutta it is never hard to strike up a conversation with a sales person on an Italian street market - whether he is actually Italian or not.
I was the first really warm day and surprisingly the city - at least where we were, just outside the Bermuda triangle of Duomo, Ponte Vecchio and train station - was surprisingly quiet. But then again, maybe it wasn't surprising: this is a long weekend here, like in the rest of Europe, with Thursday being May Day and therefore a public holiday and most people do not even think about working on a "bridge Friday" which makes this a perfect long weekend for a getaway. Seems many Florentines did just that, leaving the city entirely to the tourists. Tourists in Florence seem to be like the visitors to any of the great American National Parks - there are busloads at the picknick tables next to the road, you walk five minutes you loose 50% of them, you walk 30 minutes you loose 80% of them, any further and you are able to enjoy the nature pretty much by yourself. Only in Florence the radius is even smaller. Anyway, it was fun to go shopping without having to watch Max and prevent him from running into the street, pulling on stuff that isn't his, stepping on people's feet, sitting on the ground in the middle of pigeon poop, and having to listen to him telling me the hundredth time about shooting a pistol or a canon.
In the afternoon Jutta, Max and I went up to Piazzale Michelangelo - the piazza on the other side of the Arno river with the nice view on the city and Jutta got a good impression of what it means to be traveling with a kid in a big city. There wasn't much talk about topics other than what brand of cars where parked along the road, where the policemen had their pistols, when they would use them and the usual canon stuff. One basically has to string Max along from one "attraction" to the next. He all of a sudden wants to stay at the Piazza Vecchio and chase pigeons so one has to think quickly and come up with something like "let's quickly go to the Arno river and check which direction it flows". After that is done there needs to be another incentive like "let's walk over to the next bridge and see whether that cat is still sitting there" and then "come on now, we got to climb the stairs to the piazza and count them because we have to tell Papa how many stairs there are" and then "now we run over there to see when the bus number 12 leaves because that is the one we have to take to get back home", ....

After pretty much three weeks here I am still on the fence about the entire Italy experience. Maybe I just expected too much, none of the other locations was or is so fraught with ideas, hopes and expectations as Italy. Partly it is nostalgia, this used to be the first non-German speaking country I visited repeatedly (without my parents) when I was still fairly young and impressionable (in my teens) and in my mind it's still the country of fun and freedom from helping out at home, behaving well, dressing properly, and getting up early only that these days I still do the house work, behave independently of the explicit orders of my parents anyway, dress in Silicon-Valley-casual and get up darn early every day of the week because some little guy slips into bed next to me and starts talking and never stops until he has a nap 7 hours later. I also think that reality has caught up with the Italians over the last few years. I just recently read about a survey (where, oh where??) that the Italians are the most unhappy people in Europe. It seems like reality has caught up with them, too, reality about their 62 governments since WWII, their problems with illegal immigration (600 more just the other day on Lampedusa, an island the size of a small American suburb), the corruption and Mafia and all of that. "La Dolce Vita" seems to have gone the way of the Dodo bird and it's hard to enjoy life carefree and happy if people around you aren't happy and the news talk about people starving in Africa, monks dying in Tibet and the bottom falling out of the American economy (that the stock market rallies on that news is a different story and one that convinces me even more - if any more convincing was necessary at all - that, whatever the markets are, they are not rational. The whole idea of investors behaving rationally is naive at best - well, at least in my humble opinion which nobody on Wall Street, Washington or anywhere near gives a damn about anyway).
Anyway, before I get too political for my own good I'll stop and dedicate some time to finally upload some Italy pictures to the webpage.

the blogger is out sick today

and has nothing to report other than that the weather is nice and the bed kind of on the soft side. Hopefully there is more exciting stuff happening tomorrow.

A bit of Italia as I remember it - or almost

We just returned from our little trip to the countryside. And I made peace with Italy - at least to some extend. We decided to explore the Marche a bit - an Italian province to the southeast of Tuscany and bordering on the Adriatic Sea. This is the region where we some time back thought we would buy our winter house - when and if we ever buy a winter, or any season house - and we thought it a good idea to actually have a look at the region before buying houses there ;-) So we took off in pouring rain over the Apennin mountain range in our little rental. The temperatures dropped to 4 degrees Celsius, which is almost freezing, with heavy clouds - my favorite kind of weather - not! It reminded me of a particularly bad November day in my home town of Konstanz which "enjoys" lots of fog in November due to the lake. Anyway, with suicidal thoughts due to seasonal depression we reached Sansepolcro, a nice little town which technically speaking still is in Umbria but close enough to the Marche to count. We got out of the car and the rain intensified so we walked around for a few minutes - even Max was asking for a jacket - and then sought shelter in a bakery (a dangerous place to seek shelter). The rain hadn't stopped when we emerged three tortinas later and so we hurried to the car thinking "this could be nice, if only ..."

An hour later we reached Urbino, one of the most written up towns of the Marche and, indeed, it is lovely. An old town surrounded entirely by a wall, historic buildings wherever you turn, if they are restored it has been done in style. To boot it has a university - tiny as it is - and therefore lots of young people hanging around the Piazza de la Republica and having beers and slices of pizza. Urbino is another of those "work-out towns" like Frigiliana was with many stairs and steep steep streets which you can only walk and living here would certainly keep you fit. We found ourselves a hotel 30 seconds from the Piazza but far enough away to be quiet with a reasonably large bathroom for Uli and I to spend the evening, and set out to do some more exploring. We found a couple of playgrounds and a piece of modern art that looked like a canon - at least in Max's mind - a bunch of "iglesias" (no real candles) and enough pigeons to chase to keep Max happy. Dinner was a couple of slices of pizza in some student hangout - far preferable and cheaper than the ristaurantes which where on the expensive side and completely empty during this pre-season time. There is hardly anything more uncomfortable than having dinner with a tired child in an empty restaurant so the pizza place with the other kids of all ages suited us just fine. It was refreshing to walk around a town and hear mostly Italian, see mostly Italians and do as the Italians do - not as the Italians think the tourists think the Italians should do.

The next morning, bright and early, or rather more early than bright, Max woke me up by whispering something about canons into my ear and I decided it would be a good time to take an early morning stroll now that I was awake and the chance of me going back to sleep where zero. So I left the guys to the TV set (Italian, English, German and Dutch stations) and took a refreshing morning hike around town shooting some pictures. I have to admit, though, that shooting landscapes and in general "postcard sights" appeals less and less to me. It is much easier to buy a postcard than to wait for that particular orange evening light that bathes the city in that particular sheen (or rather use photoshop to make an ordinary picture look like the city is bathed in that particular orange evening light). I really care most about photographing people - openly or stealthily - these days. Anyway, it is always interesting to watch a city wake up and if I could just drag my lazy butt out early more often I would certainly shoot more interesting pictures - but I hate to get up early and need to do more than my fair share with the Maxenator.

Later we had another little walk around town and decided - as much as we like it - we wouldn't want to live here. The whole place is too close and tight with the narrow steep streets and the wall surounding it all. But we thought it would be a great idea for Max to spend a summer semester here during his studies so we could come and visit. By the time we are done with this sabbatical we'll have poor Max's study plan - or at least study locations - all worked out for him. No idea what we'll do if he wants to go study in LA or Phoenix when was supposed to be in Urbino.

We took off around midday in the general direction of the adriatic coast but decided not to stop there. The high-rise building from afar where more than I could take - and so we kept going south and eventually back west to Ascoli Pizeno, the capital city of the southern Marche - for all that's worth - and found another cute little town with intact "centro storico" and about a church per inhabitant. As any self-respecting capital Ascoli has suburbs which aren't nice to look at but the historic center is just charming. The city was originally all build with travertine - a light colored stone - that gives it a unified and very light feel. The Piazza del Populi is an amazing square piazza, surrounded by beautiful old buildings and more than that - it has a good vibe. An all Italian vibe, a sitting-on-the-piazza-enjoying-life kind of vibe, an Nothing-bothers-me kind of vibe, the feeling that makes you want to have a glass of local wine and just sit there talking about Wittgenstein's philosphoy or neuroscience or another topic you now nothing but all of a sudden feel extremly knowledgable about. And that would actually be a really nice way to waste an afternoon if it wasn't for that little boy who wants to go over to the construction site, stand there with all the retirees and watch the guys (1 working, 1 giving instructions,1 playing with the equipment, 2 taking a really long break) putting a new layer of concrete down and keeps telling you about the proper use of landmines as seen this very morning on TV when some stupid carton was on that showed Tweedy bird blowing up the cat - whatever-its-name-is - with landmines. I could take a little detour now talking about the appaling amount of violence kids see on TV when watching "childrens' programs" and the uproar that ensues in the US when a naked boob is seen anywhere on TV - but I will be strong and resist this temptation - at least for the time being.

Anyway, we walked around town and up to hill and down again and saw like 50% of the churches - fake candles only - and piazzas and Max learned to identify all the cars around and now knows every Fiat, Citroen and Renault by heart. He will be in for a bad surprise when he notices that nobody in the US even knows these car manufactures exist, let alone drives one of those so-called "shoe-boxes" and his newly aquired knowledge is therefore absolutely useless. Anyway, I also taught him about BMWs and Mercedes', Toyotas and VWs he knows anyway because we drive them.

We caught a few glimpses of a wedding taking place in the Duomo and were watching people for a bit while Max was doing what he calls "difficult yoga" on the little stage that was erected for next day's festival "Fritto Mixto" - a food fare where fried food from all over the world (well all over Italy with Tempura and Fish & Chips thrown in for an international flavor) are being featured.

We spent a night in a hotel that hasn't seen any renovation since the 70s and that includes the TV set. Honestly, I have never seen such an old and tiny TV set and trust me, I have seen the old and tiny. Internet access was through dial-up, I mean, that is stone age, who uses dial-up these days? Does it even exist anymore? Isn't it punishable, at least in Silicon Valley, or at the very least a serious offense against good manners and appropriate technology usage. So we sat in the bathroom, Uli reading his Italian crime story and me making leopard print skull illustrations (rellay) in photoshop and reading Harry Potter (I have to admit, even me, the one with the serious aversion against Top 10 bestseller is finally reading - and enjoying - it).

This morning we walked about 10,000 stairs up to the Fortezza and had another leisurely hour of Max shooting cannons, crackers, pistols, land mines and then we took off. A quick stop at the coast convinced me that I never need to go near the Adriatic coast north of Calabria again. Andalucia was touristy but at least the hotels and buildings seemed to have been build within the last 15 years, here, however, we are talking deep 70s and we all know what time will do to a nice slap of cheap concrete. I can't really put my fingers on why it was so drepressing to me, Uli thought it was okay, but the artifical beach (bulldozer marks from hauling the sand in still showing), the restaurant that didn't have half the things on the menu and those 70s concrete highrises gave me the creeps. They had a nice bakery, though. Chocolate is always a good way to make me feel more positively about a place so I will say that: they had really nice affordable cookies.

Now we are back in Firenze - got back just in time for another game of Fiorentina agains I-don't-even-wanna-know in the nearby soccer stadion. Parking was a b....

All in all a nice little outing, where I found some of the Italian feel and vibe I have treasured for so many years and almost thought they lost it (or I am no longer able to feel it). Still not sure I would ever want to life here. Everytime I am trying to say something, anything, it comes out in Spanish. Maybe it's a sign and my next ex-pat location should be Spain or Mexico. Too complicted to answer tonight after all the Prosecco I had - that, I have to say, they still do right.