Nesting al'Italia

Brian, post brining/battling into mini fridge/roasting in an shorting oven - Happy Thanksgiving!

Dubious - both about my carving skills only second time around and about how Brian would taste after all that battle

Green beans with mushrooms and pancetta; sweet potatoe casserole with toasted pecans; fennel sausage apple stuffing; creamy mashed potatoes. Not in photo - panettone stuffing

It's all Turkey

Buon appetito!

Wrestling with Brian till the bitter end of the last meat I could get off him. Luckily I had many willing leftover takers after that brining made Brian extra moist

My terrace in the morning, with a view of my happy place up on the Gianicolo

What better neighbors than a church, especially in Italy? Bring on your bells in exchange for light, privacy, and God

Festive nesting

I didn't mess around with teaching Italians how to carve pumpkins

Half devoured pumpkin cheese ball of glory

Serpent O prosciutto

One thing I will say about Italian pumpkin carvers - they are fastidious. Not one ounze (or gram) of pulp was left in these imported 'non-edible' zuccas

After all the craziness of the last year including six moves among five apartments (without even counting a temporary 'move' to SL); contracts of never longer than 4 months; and being surprised without a job for six weeks - I finally decided it was time to take the plunge and 'settle down'. Over the last three years I've lived in a constant state of never knowing what was next, being open to anything, applying to jobs in all corners of the Earth, committing to never buying anything that can't fit in a suitcase, and trying to live everyday as if it was my last in each place I've been. There's so much about all of this that's been amazing and has taught me a lot about what I'm capable of, how little I actually need, and how home really is a mental/heart state rather than a location. At the same time, it can be exhausting (while exhilarating) and also limiting in terms of experiencing normal life or having any ability to plan anything (yes there's a bit of Laurie in me).

So in the midst of having no job in early September and residing in a temporary apartment and counting how many pennies I had to determine whether this whole job thing was finally a sign to just come 'home' - I finally made a decision to commit to Italy, not for any set time frame or for any certain job or person, but just to mentally finally commit. That's right Italy I said it, we're going steady. And yes I can change my mind at any moment, and no I haven't stopped applying for jobs, but it has been extremely freeing to finally decide to be here no matter what - until I change my mind. So here's a few highlights of how I've been nesting over the last few months, and no not in all you preggers-minded way of preparing for little chickies, but in finally deciding I can buy a few sticks and branches and work on building something.

Every nest needs a terrace:  I've seen my fair share of apartments in Rome and each time I have to move I think, "ok this time I'll pay less, or this time I'll live in a  more convenient neighborhood, or this time I'll finally get a terrace". And then this time, I'll find it all. So as I set out in September searching for apartments I was mostly looking in more Roman neighborhoods, near the metro, at lower price points that still offered at least a balcony - and I saw a lot of decent places with no character. I moved a lot growing up with my Mom and she somehow always found amazing places at chance, and I like to think based on my current luck (knock on wood) I've gotten a bit of her gift/luck as well. So in my scouring  and seeing nothing that met my expectations, I finally decided to just give up and look again when I returned from the U.S., thereby saving myself almost a month of rent and just continuing to call Easybox my home. And then I saw an ad for a place in Trastevere = not near a metro, not a Roman neighborhood but rather then center of tourism and Americans, and not within my price range, but it had a terrace and was much lower in price than what Tvere normally goes for. I figured I had to come for a look, especially while I had no job and time to kill. Immediately upon walking in, I fell in love - with the landlord (Paola, an 75+ year old tiny Italian artist), with the space (3 levels of exposed wood beams, floor to ceiling windows looking out on a church which means no neighbors and lots of light), and then the terrace which is what living-in-Italy-dreams are made of. And then I noticed there was no furniture (please see above to not owning anything that can't fit in a suitcase).

To cut this already long story shorter - I hemmed and hawwed and thought back on how much my antness (see previous post) of living in a studio had served me, how I didn't need to own anything or deal with the hassle of furniture on a pedestrian only street in a heavily zoned neighborhood, but it always came back to the terrace. I decided to let myself be charmed and pretend like I just moved here, and live the tourist fantasy.  A few highlights of my decision - after trying to negotiate to pay less rent since I would have to buy all the furniture, my landlord informed me that since I was 'sweet' that she would pay for it all, I could just pick it out at IKEA. It didn't work out quite like that (by pick it out she meant I could pick a couch and then I'd come home to a different one, but hey it's a couch, albeit green).....After trying to negotiate not committing for a year, the landlord told me I had to give SIX months notice, and then finally agreed to THREE (FYI, I don't even have a contract for that long) and agreed to sign a contract on the back of an IKEA catalogue that I wrote in Italian (no, my Italian is not that good). So yes, with each apartment it gets more interesting. In order to pay my rent, I go to my landlord's house in Campo di Fiori (with an even more ridiculous terrace), we have dinner and she lets me pick out artwork, and makes me skype meet her daughter in Brazil.

A few growing pains of my new American dreampad - you can't use the stove and oven at the same time or it shorts the electricity (please see below for how helpful this was for Thanksgiving); my neighbor has three cats that like to use my terrace plants as litterboxes and/or my bed as their napping space (I have a lot of windows which also happen to be catdoors); it's 50 meters from the biggest hotspot for weekend partying so basically I don't have to leave home to dance to Lady Gaga or hear the latest tourism gossip; the house was built for tiny people so I'm constantly hitting my head and having to bend my knees to open doors/drawers, etc.

And remember how I didn't want to own anything that couldn't fit in a suitcase? Well I now own a sofabed that was moved in through the window (I live on the 4th floor), I built a closet I purchased that is meant for babies cause I live in tiny house, and a drill with every drillbit named Dexter. If owning a drill isn't nesting, I don't know what is.

Zany for Zucca - I arrived back to Italy only one week before Halloween with no furntiure, but of course in my typical fashion had already promised every Italian/German/Croatian I knew that I would show them what Halloween was about. Before Dexter and I even had a chance to fully bond, I invited 10 people here to carve pumpkins. Only problem - Italy's pumpkins are our squash. One benefit to living in the heart of American touristville is that there are actually places that sell our pumpkins, but at a price - 3 EURO a kilo. When I purchased them I asked the guy why they were so much more than Italian pumpkins, to which he told me "They're not edible since there's no pumpkin meat inside, and they're imported". Umm, ok I get half your logic, but since they're not 'edible' shouldn't I get a discount? And can't you tell I'm American and I KNOW that they ARE edible? I know the conversion is hard to grasp so to bring it home for you I spent 50 dollars on three normal sized pumpkins, all for my commitment to representing America and bringing joy and cultural exchange to so many. I also made giant balls of cheese in the shape of pumpkins (three kinds), a pastry puff stuffed serpent with prosciutto, spinach, and cheese inside; pumpkin risotto, and pumpkin soup. And then repeat 3 times, since word got out, and apparently our American flair with pumpkins is something of a novelty. I still haven't figured out how we decided to turn the pumpkin sweet when the rest of the world could only figure out that it could be savory.  Needless to say, I don't need to see an Italian or an American, sweet or savory, pumpkin for a long time to come.

Many thanks (a lot) - And after all that pumpkin hosting, I still had to represent America with Thanksgiving. You may remember that last year I set myself a grand challenge with cooking a turkey for the first time for 16 coworkers including my boss in a tiny kitchen. Well, one year later, in typical Elizabeth fashion I a) didn't learn my lesson; b) felt the need to set myself a new challenge; and c) I have more friends (thankfully). All of this amounted to deciding to host TWO thanksgivings with a house that hasn't been fully Dexterized, and a stove and oven that can't operate at the same time, a fridge the size of a colleg dorm mini-fridge, on a pedestrian only street with no elevator. While I haven't learned all my lessons, there are a few things I took from last year - 1) I know where to find sweet potatoes, 2) I'm not carrying a turkey home in my backpack, 3) everyone loves Kentucky Derby Pie. Last year I horrified Italians with serving marshmallows on sweet potatoes. This year I horrified them by making stuffing out of panettone - some things stay the same, Italians horror at our American ideas of cooking. A few other menu highlights - I named the 16lb turkey Brian this year and it made our level of intimacy during the brining/shoving him into the mini-fridge/soaking myself with brine process while wrestling with him much more meaningful; ricotta stuffed dates wrapped in pancetta are always a hit although extremely time consuming to prepare; making a cheese tray in leaf/flower cookie cutter shapes to make a wreath makes up for the fact that the cheese is cheap. And after getting to express my thanks twice this year (once with an International crowd in English, and once with an Italian crowd in Italian) and again having foreigners not believe me that we really say what we're thankful for and try to resist doing it themselves in the name of it being cheesy - the thing everyone mentioned after the fact wasn't the food (which got them all there), but how nice it was to reflect and say Thanks (a lot).

How rude!

Paola also got to meet (and hang with) an American superstar while learning about baseball = what America has to offer

Cruising the Oklahoma River while sipping on some local brews and listening to the best Zoo story ever - thank you Bob for a real home town tour of the heart of America

Paola had fantasies about experiencing America's justice system, and thankfully this is as close as she got. Given her mouth, this is surely a lucky thing

Oh you haven't been to Dinosaur, Colorado? T-Rex sends his best

More dinosaurs in Utah

Making Paola's dreams come quasi true with staying in a 'hotel' in the heart of America. We checked out the scary motel next door, but it even surpassed Paola's movie dreams of scary motels. She wanted a picture of this pool cause she kept telling me it reminded her of Melrose Place, ummm

If you haven't been to Nevada's high country desert, this is what it looks like for TEN hours

IN THE WORLD - NZed voice

Horseback riding in Lake Tahoe

'Dolly' our mustang about to take down Lombard St., SF

Big Sur, CA

Falling in love with both karaoke and American surfer Mike. First timer for Paola, and what song did she choose for her karaoke debut? Country road take me home, naturally.

Never knew someone could be so obsessed with marine mammals. I'm pretty sure I have more pictures on my camera (stolen by Paola) of seals and rocky coastline looking for otters than any other photos of this trip

DON'T DO IT! Immediately after crossing and seeing the line back, Paola tried to push back through the doors - she adapted to Mexican culture so quickly

In line to cross the border to get to the Follow the Mad concert

HOME! 

America, I love you more every time I come home

Yes, how rude of me for not posting for this long...... Suffice it to say that after I returned from vacation in Portugal, running in flip flops took on a whole new meaning as I was the most transient I've ever been. To give you the brief update - I rented a temporary apartment for September of a 60 year old German FAO worker (that I found via the internet) and kept all my stuff in storage (my home away from home Easybox) except what I had brought to Portgugal and one suitcase I had left at my office. A few highlights of said apartment - a shared garden with neighbors of an Italian 40yr old consultant and a Brazilian dance instructor,including many a shared garden party dinner with singalong guitar time; a more than fussy lock which I ended up having to replace during my short stay after being locked out twice for over an hour and bruising my finger while continuing to try to turn the lock; a wine cellar like no other which I happily helped myself to (with permission) to drown my homeless/jobless days. It served its purpose while I awaited news of a new contract and counted my savings to figure out how long I could live sans employment. A few highlights of living out of a (small) suitcase for six weeks - 1) you CAN go hiking in AllStars; 2) thank god summer in Rome lasts long into fall at least temperature wise, if not dresswise for the Italians. I may have looked out of place in my continued summer gear into October, but at least I wasn't cold; 3) Italy never ceases to surprise me with both the hassles it brings and the kindness of total strangers (temporary neighbors with my lock); 4) the ol story of the ant and the grasshopper really is true. Thank goodness I was an ant for all those months living in my college dorm style apartment and saving money for the long winter of FAO contract bureaucracy. It allowed me to keep my anxiety down and be patient while not having to ask anyone for help. Which, if you've learned anything from reading this blog, are three things I value very highly.

All ended well with me receiving a new contract (4 months) and finding a new more permanent apartment (Trastevere). I had accumulated quite a few unpaid days (6 weeks) since I continued to work sans contract, so I decided why not traverse the US as I like to do and yes, continue to not really work.
Since I like to continue to add new cultural adventures/challenges, I brought along my Italian colleague Paola (see blogposts about Sicily, Alberobello, and Sardegna for reference) who had never been to the U.S. to show her how good to-go coffees can be and other American luxuries like bagels, karaoke, muscled men, hormone pumped steaks, baseball, and cowboys.

As you've heard many times here, it's always a bit hard for me to come home and I always make it a whirlwind even when I talk about learning my lesson. And as you know I have a tendency to try and top even my own craziness. This time was no exception. The tour included two weeks with 10 cities, with planes, buses, bikes, canal boats, hiking boots, and automobile transport to get from NY to San Diego, including a (not as much as planned) brief foray into the promised land of Mexico, just to turn up the volume a bit on the cultural exchange.

A few highlights of going cross country with an Italian in tow:

English:  Italians by and large, unless they have an American family member, learn British English. Now there are a million reasons for why this makes sense (Italy is in Europe with England, more Brits than Americans in Italy (not proven, but told to me), and more British english teachers here); but frankly it bothers me (maybe cause I had to ESL my way through NZed lingo) and I'm on a singular quest to teach Italians American English. Paola speaks better English than most Italians I know, and yet there's certain phrases/vocabulary that do not translate to an American audience. Just as I had to learn NZ English as a second language, all you foreigners out there studying British English, be warned no one knows what a 'jumper' or 'trackies' are, and yes we do wear 'pants' to leave the house in, not just under our clothing. So a common theme of our trip was me trying to teach Paola American vocabulary while translating jumper for my friends and family, and her getting her knickers in a bunch over the fact that I was doing so. Calling all ESL teachers to Italy with hot American accents and rich vocabulary.

Hollywood: Paola had never been to the U.S. even though she's traveled through all of Europe and most of Africa because "she's already seen it in the movies and on TV". And yes a lot of Italians (and people throughout the world) feel the same - America is 'been there done that' without a foot in the country because they know Brandon Walsh and the street talk of the Wire. But she finally decided she wanted to see all the gun toting, overweight, hillbilly, Jersey Shore incarnates in person, with a particular zeal for sleeping in an actual MOTEL. I myself was left at a loss when we would be in various places and Paola would tell me some snippet or other about it because of a movie or show that I had no idea about. I was also personally challenged to remember as much pop culture as I could and impart, whivh you may all know that is far from my strong suit. So America if you want to reduce immigration, just contact Hollywood.

Rules: One of the things I love/hate about Italy is the lack of rules enforced, but this might also be a tribute to my lack of learning the rules that do exist (picture me on the road in Rome a la MarioKart).  While I often feel proud and think back favorably on our rules-following society (I mean at least we respect lines and don't get up before the plane stops), when traveling my own country and questioned about our own rules, I was at a real loss. A few questions maybe you are better at answering than me - Why do we have police who actually in-person chase cars versus only using cameras and speed trapping technology? If it's left up to states to decide about gambling/prostitution (Nevada) at the expense of federal transportation dollars, how does the state collect this income from said gambling and prostitution? Why can't you drink alcohol outside?

Temperature:  Having a range of cities and a coast to coast adventure in store, we both researched the weather forecast and saw all 65-75 degree temperatures (there you go Fahrenheit lovers/missers on this blog). And then Mother Nature (ahem, Climate Change) intervened and brought storms and abnormal weather to each place we visited, including the first snow in Denver and heat waves in San Diego. Everywhere we went people said, "It was so nice up until yesterday". It should also be said that Paola is from the North of Italy and yet still carries the gene of most Italians of feeling the cold far more than we do. The bane of Paola's visit was the US use of air conditioning combined with our reduced customer service on planes ("no, we only have blankets for first class"). Without doing a scientific experiment, I can now tell you for sure that if you want to torture an Italian, get them on a domestic flight in a short sleeve shirt.

Food: And yes it all comes back to food in the end with me and with an Italian. Paola became obsessed with bagels (rightly so) and I literally had to tear multiple bags of different flavored Doritos away from her. One thing that was awesome to witness was Paola ordering at various establishments. Example 1) in a NY deli requesting a toasted bagel with salmon and OLIVE OIL; Example 2) at Au Bon Pain ordering a cinnamon swirl bagel and asking for honey on it; Example 3) Asking gas stations for soy milk for her coffee; 4) Fresh squeezed lemonade at a baseball stadium. The best parts of all of this for me was 1) admiring Paola's tenacity. I'm always overwhelmed and confused in Italian establishments cause I don't know the rules so I just take what they give me and never request what isn't obvious. I am going to be more aggressive now about requesting avocado and asking for things to-go. 2) Knowing while Paola ordered that they weren't going to have it and simultaneously watching the confusion on the sales clerks face; 3) Realizing that there are certain things that you can't get in the US, even if we are the melting pot-land of opportunity: no breakfast bagel olive oil for you!

It was a whirlwind as always and even more so with foreign company, so for those of you I got to see, thank you for tolerating the tornado that I brought to you for my 24 hour visits, and for those of you I missed, be glad you missed the tornado of my arrival and I promise(?) to breeze through next time. To those of you that hosted us, I owe you not just for the bed but for the Americana that you brought big time with little notice (crabs, baseball, cowboys, cupcakes, hayrides, tacos, dinosaurs, etc.).

Lost in translation - Over my months here in September and being back, I've been speaking more Italian and feeling relatively happy with my progress. Like Spanish, I've learned Italian on the streets. Unlike Spanish, I've never had to use Italian for work and had exposure to professional Italian. I recently discovered that a lot of my 'new words' are actually quite rude/swear words. I don't even (rarely) swear in English so the fact that I have been unleashing my brutish vocabulary on the unsuspecting ears of Italians has truly horrified me. A few examples for you - 1) a word I thought meant gross and could be used in all company, is the equivalent of saying sucks or blows to a work colleague; 2) a word I thought meant rude, actually means as#$$$%le; 3) I thought Scusa was the formal way of saying excuse me, when in fact it's Scusi and I've been offending elderly people right and left; 4) I wanted to tell friends that it was amazing and unbelievable in a 'this is really happening to you' sort of way and I said 'ridiculo' which in Italian translates as you don't deserve what's happening to you. So I'm committed to digging myself out of the Italian gutter of language I've picked up and becoming a refined Italian regazza so I can rejoin polite society again and not make Italians think we're all incarnates of the Jersey Shore.

Coming soon - my new digs and nesting in Trastevere; a US election in Italy; and Halloween Italian style