Month: October 2019

Curbside Service Pontelandolfo Style

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

There aren’t many things I’m afraid of.  Needles, however, turn my tummy to jello, make my teeth clench and my hands sweat.  Imagine the wave of fear that washed over me when the orthopedic doctor in Alghero, Sardegna said “everyday for thirty days you have to give yourself a needle in the stomach.” I screamed NO.  The nurse said, “or die from a blood clot.”  Oh, I mused – die or get a needle in the stomach everyday for thirty days.  Thirty days ways the length of time I was to wear the cast/boot on my broken ankle and repose.  Gulp, I’ll take the needle but I can’t give it to myself.  The nurse showed my husband Jack how to jab a needle in my gut.  Jack did it – I think happily and with a malicious grin – for three weeks.  Then he left for Venice.  Catzzo, now what do I do?  No way I can shoot myself up with blood thinners – eeeeeuuuuuchh.

midge

Wheelchair and Booze! One way to get through this.

Curbside Service at La Farmacia!  Annarita, my resourceful personal assistant, brought me to Pontelandolfo’s pharmacy.  Since I wasn’t supposed to put pressure on my foot and wasn’t about to hop on cobblestones, I couldn’t get out of the car.  Dottoressa Tina Perone raced to the rescue!  Pharmacists here can give needles and will – even it that means watching me tremble in my car.  Tina opened my car door, I pulled my dress over my head, pulled down my panties and closed my eyes.  Hey, did you give me the shot?  She had and I hadn’t felt a thing.  We went to the pharmacy for the entire week that Jack was gone and I almost happily got my daily needle.  Thank you Perone family!

Curbside service didn’t just happen at the pharmacy.  Small town life is wonderful.  Shop owners helped me, laughed with me and made sure I kept rolling along.

Curbside Service at La Feramenta!  I had a new sink installed and needed to buy a faucet.  No way could I handle the uneven street with my hop-along walker.  The owner of our local hardware store sent out selections for me to choose from.  The transaction happened at the car.  Thank you Nicola!

Curbside Service at Da Tiziana!  Since I was now sleeping in the dining room and folks kept stopping buy to visit and stare at my broken ankle, I needed nightgowns that weren’t tattered and stained.  Off we went to our local clothing shop.  The owner dashed out with nightgowns.  Then, in the street, she and Annarita helped me balance on one foot while I tried them on.  Of course, I did that over my clothes!  My mamma taught me not to stand naked in the street.  We visited her a few times to buy knee socks and other stuff.  All carried to the car. Thank you Tiziana!

Curbside Service at Bar Elimar and Bar 2000!  Wheelchair in tow, the ever powerful Annarita decided I needed to get out of the house.  I sighed. She threw me in the car.  We arrived at Bar Elimar and barista, Annette, moved tables around outside so I could easily toss my sorry butt in a chair from the car.  Ahhhhh- Campari Spritz please.  Another time we went to Bar 2000 and owner, Ghaleb, went out of his way to make me comfortable.  Thank you both!

It pays to be a local!  Thank you to all those kind and generous Pontelandolfese who fed me, laughed with me and made my thirty days of staying off my foot bearable.

Ci Vediamo!

Ankle Broken in Alghero

by midgeguerrera, posted in Practical Matters - Living Abroad

An amusing tale of pain, angst, laughter and the emergency medical system in a tourist town –

Love the school. Could I win the lottery and stay here?

Pintadera is the fabulous Italian Language school in Alghero, Sardegna. Pintadera and I have a love-hate relationship. I love Alghero. I love Nicola – my first Italian friend and the ace administrator. I love the teachers.  I love organizing groups of American students for the school.  I hate studying. Maybe that is why after studying Italian for a pazillion years, I still sound – well – not very Italian.

Sometimes our subconscious gives us what we want – just not the way we would want it. Just as I was thinking, do I have to go back to class, pop went my ankle and I fell on my ass. Actually, I was dashing around the historic center of Alghero solving some of my groups housing issues when I fell off of a step. DUUCK! I screamed! A waiter came running. A darling gas delivery man came running. Nicola came running. I looked at all of them and simply said, my ankle is broken. One, two three – heft – the beached whale was now balancing on one fin.

Everyone sprang into action. Cars are’t allowed into Alghero’s old town.  Nicola raced to bring hers a bit closer. The darling delivery man tossed me like a canister of gas into his L’api three wheeled mini delivery truck and whisked me along with the other canisters to where Nicola was parked. With lots of help, I hopped into the car and off we went to an orthopedic emergency room.  I had never heard of an emergency room just for broken body parts – though Jack who skied said there were lots of those near the mountains.

Nicola procured a wheel chair, I crawled into it and she wheeled me into the waiting room.  There was a sign on the door to the medical team that said “ring when you arrive.”  Nicola pressed the buzzer.  A nurse came out and Nicola pointed to me, told her I was part of the Italian Healthcare System and that I had probably broken an ankle.  The nurse nodded and closed the door.  Nicola went back to work.  I plopped the wheelchair near the door and turned to the people waiting.   Like I would in the doctor’s waiting room in Pontelandolfo, I asked Chi è l’ultimo?  The person who came in before me raised a broken arm.  I settled in the wheelchair and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  The nurse would come out and yell a name.  That person would drag a broken body part to the door.  Ambulances with tourists speaking a variety of languages and writhing on stretchers went straight into magic door.  After two hours of folks seeming to get called randomly, I asked the nurse if there was a list.  She said, si. Anybody guess where this story is going?  What did I not ask the nurse?

Three plus hours later Nicola comes back with my husband, Jack.  You haven’t been seen yet!  She rang the bell and berated the nurse who then asked for my tessera sanitaria – health insurance card and went back in.  OK – I should know better.  What did I not ask the nurse an hour or so earlier?  Am I on the list?????  Duh!

They whisked me in to see a doctor who looked at my ankle and ordered an X-Ray.  Jack wheeled me to X-Ray.  There was a paper over on the pillow but not the whole table and as I climbed up to be scanned I wondered how many pairs of dirty shoes had preceded me.  Next stop a second doctor and a nurse.  They looked at the scan and said the ankle was broken.  Did I want a plaster cast or a boot?  The boot of course.  They explained that the system paid for plaster but not a boot.  I said I’d pay for it and could they put it on.  Nope they couldn’t put it on because they only do plaster casts.  I asked if I could get copy of the X-Ray.  Jack whisked me back to X-Ray and I was told I had to pay €7 for a CD.  Not a problem.  Off we went to the counter to pay – which was closed until the following morning.  Again, I didn’t ask the right questions.

God Bless Nicola who was my Florence Nightingale and drove us to a medical supply house.  The owner was putting up an “out for coffee” sign when she saw Nicola and asked if she wanted to join her.  Nicola pointed at me and explained we needed a boot.  The store was up a giant curb and then 5 steps.  Italy isn’t the most handicap accessible place to visit.  The owner brought out a wheelchair.  I squeezed into it and Jack pushed me around the block to a second door that was quasi ramped.  Boot on and bought.  Now I needed a wheelchair.  There was no way in hell that I could manage crutches on uneven cobblestoned streets.  The store would take a week to get one in, but the Sisters of Misericordia loaned hospital equipment to people.  Next stop Misericordia!  Problem – American sized butt and Italian sized wheel chairs.  Again, I squeezed into one and Jack and Nicola were able to wheel me back to our rented house in the historic part of town.  The cobble stones are rocks of a variety of shapes – not smooth pavers.  That meant Jack was probably herniating himself pushing me up to our house.  DUUUCK – the very step I fell off of guarded the entrance to the house’s courtyard.  Somehow without me tipping over onto my head they managed to hoist me and the chair up to the terrace.

I now became a prisoner in the house.  Not able to get out of the place without lots of help and certainly not able to wheel myself on the streets.

Guess I won’t  be dashing over to Central Mediterraneo Pintadera for those  Italian Language classes.  Be careful what you wish for or even think!

Ci vediamo!

Milan’s Museo Poldi Pezzoli

by midgeguerrera, posted in Stops Along the Journey - Sites Off the Tourist Track

Everyone has visited Milan’s Duomo – everyone but me. I will not wait in Disneyland-esq long lines to see the inside of the what is one of the most incredibly grand cathedrals in the world. I will spend time marveling at the sculptures and freezes on the exterior and then race away from the tourist infested Piazza Duomo neighborhood and seek out tourist group ignored gems, like Museo Poldi Pezzoli.

Museo Poldi Pezzoli is tucked away on on Via Manzoni, 12. The museum was the home of a 19th Century Milanese nobleman, Gian Giacomo Poldi Pezzoli. Tickets are 10 euro unless you are ageless anziani like Jack and I then tickets are 8.50. I couldn’t  remember ever seeing a senior citizen discount at New York museums and thank blog follower Mike for reminding me that there are! Also, he pointed out that many cities have free museums.

They were filming something in the historic center of Milan and we couldn’t walk past Teatro San Carlo. That meant we couldn’t follow the directions on my phone to find the museum. We tried my friend Marta’s phone. Errrggg. Road blocks everywhere in the historic center. We tried the map. Errrgg.

Getting lost has benefits! Chocolate shoes and purses!

Jack said follow me. We did. He found it. By now we were growling with hunger. Entering the museum doors, I asked the charming men working the desk if they had a restaurant. They didn’t but sent us up the street to the fabulous Ristorante Don Lisander.

It was elegant and the perfect way to transition from contemporary Milan to the glamour of the 19th century. We spent €166 for the for of us – New York prices. We started with wonderful appetizers of Pugliese Burrata cheese, Red Tuna tartar and ended with scrumptious Risotto Milanese, Oso Buco and crisp salads. Did I mention the local wine? That was incredible too. Sigh.

Off to the museum! (I wondered if the staff thought we would really come back.) We bought our discounted tickets, turned to enter and gasped. An incredible neo-baroque fountain is nestled at the beginning of a grand staircase. The staircase guides folks to the rooms were Gian Giacomo lived.

The apartment is full of works by Botticelli, Bellini, Mantegna, Pollaiolo and others. The art just drew us all in. I spent quite a bit of time wondering who modeled for Sandro Botticelli’s Madonna of the Book. Girlfriend, neighbor, courtesan? Twilight diffused light is kind of romantic. Hmmm. Midge, it isn’t too late to study a wee bit of art history.

The Murano Glass rooms, where you can also find portraits of our host, are chock full of Murano glass dating from the 15th to the 19th centuries. Unlike, the faux Murano trinkets made in China one finds in Venice today, these were the real deal and glorious.

Want to skip a century or two? Giovani Battista Tiepolo’s Death of Saint Jerome is worth some introspection.

In case you are running late and wonder what time it is. Like the Mad Hatter you can dash into the Clock Room and check out the clocks dating from the 16th to 19th centuries. I wonder if Gian Giacomo was always on time or late for that important date?

Did you ever wonder why people collect what they collect?

Join us in our search for places off the beaten track. Leave the backpack infested rat packs and follow folks like Jack, my pal Marta and I – visit small museums, gardens and other hidden treasures.

Ci vediamo!