Full Disclosure: I HATE THAT WE ARE BEHOLDEN TO COMCAST CABLE TO PROVIDE INTERNET SERVICE IN FLAGTOWN, NJ. Verizon never wired our street for FIOS – that makes Comcast/Xfinity the only show in town. What happened to choice? Oh yeah, we don’t have it.
Before we left for Italy I called Comcast to downgrade our account – we had the famous triple play package. Our monthly bill was close to $200. Since we wouldn’t be watching TV or using the phone I wanted to downgrade to simply internet. Easy. NOT.
Why is it that in this day of technology a kid at a computer can send a drone to pin point a target thousands of miles away, yet you still have to repeat all of your contact information a minimum of three times when you call the cable company?
Robot:
Please say or type into your keypad your cable account number or telephone number.
Me:
CCXXXXXXX – I had put on my good speech voice and said it slowly.
Robot:
Please say or type into your keypad your cable account number or telephone number.
Me: (Using the non-pretentious voice)
CCXXXXXXX
Robot:
Please say or type into your keypad your cable account number or telephone number.
Me: (With my hand over the phone.)
BITE ME!
I type the number into my keypad.
Robot:
Please say your address
Me:
Can’t you see that from my account number?
Robot:
Can’t you see is an unknown address. Please say your address.
I slowly said the my address.
Robot:
Please say the last four digits of your social security number.
Me:
Uugggggxx*&^%!
I carefully say the last four digits of my social security number and think I should play the number in the next big lottery.
Robot:
Please wait while we connect you to the next available operator
Operator:
Hello this is wp0e85rbv (name impossible to understand) may I have your Comcast account number or phone number please?
Me:
Excuse Me?!
Finally, I make her understand that I do not want to talk to anyone about another type of plan or upgrading my service or adding the ESPN package. All I want is internet – I can’t get it from anyone else. Just internet now costs us $52.48 that equals 38.81€. Remember that number!
After rehashing Comcast for you, I took some deep cleansing breaths and am now able to talk serenely about our Internet connectivity in Pontelandolfo.
We didn’t know how to begin. My family members use wireless USB devices. Jack and I thought that we needed something more permanent with unlimited access. The wonderful Annarita Mancini and I went on a search for alternative services. Annarita discovered LCR System and Emilio (the contact for Pontelandolflo.) She did the calling for me and asked all the right questions. Putting her hand over her phone she asked, “Is 25€ a month too much? I think it is too much – it is usually less but you are only here for 3 months and he doesn’t want to do it for 3 months.”
Do I think it is too much? That is 13.81€ less than I pay Comcast normally. Yes, yes, have them come, I shouted. (I don’t know what their normal rate is but I think it is 20€ per month.)
The system is incredibly brilliant. They have a WiFi tower somewhere in Pontelandolfo and installed an antennae on top of our house. The antennae was hard wired into a router that they placed in a room on the second floor. That means – without cable or FIos – you can have internet access even on the top of a mountain! They charged me 75€ for the installation. Comcast also charges for set-up and activation. I haven’t been able to do a price comparison. Some smart folks will note that we needed to amortize the fee over three months which shot our charges up. We are going back for 6 months in May and I am hoping the antennae is still on the roof.
Speed was fast. We never had a problem! Jack seamlessly uploaded library books to his iPad.
I could upload and download video and pix easily. We also used it for our Magic Jack phone and iPhones.
In our thick stone wall house it worked best on the second floor and the dining room/living room which was directly below the router. It also worked outside on both our upper terrace and patio.
IT COST LESS AND WORKED ALL THE TIME! I swear when all the kids are home from school the Comcast internet is a traffic jam of bits and bity bits.
Yes, you can leave home, move to Italy and still be wired!
Mia nonna coraggiosa e zii. One woman alone with three kids in steerage.
Before we can talk about my nonna’s trip to America, I thought we’d take a peak at where she came from. There isn’t much left of il casolare in pietra – the stone cottage my nonna, Mariarosaria Solla left behind. I was going to say hut – stone hut – but it was a tad bigger than that. Imagine a stone one-car garage built when all cars where VW Beetles. When Rosaria (I never heard the Maria part of her name) left for America, she had been living in a one-room house of stone that dated back to the Middle Ages. Obviously, houses constructed of huge rocks were built to last. This one did until an earthquake took out most of the town.
Following sprightly nonagenarian Filamena as she scampered over rocks, past thistles and up the hill, my stomach gave a twitter. It might have been because I haven’t been able to scamper like a goat since I was ten and here was Filamena sporting the traditional kerchief, dark stockings, long dress and nun’s shoes laughing as she guided us to my nonna’s house. Or it could have been because with every step I took I felt more and more rooted in this community.
We found the house at the top of a hill in the section of Pontelandolfo called Brecciale. From the remains of the cottage, one can see the village center, tower and church steeple. The view is spectacular! The thought of walking down the hill through the valley and up the hill to the central piazza carrying goods to barter or sell brought tears to my muscles. It was my nonna’s parent’s home – Liberantonio Solla and Mariantonia Rinaldi. Story has it that my bisnonno, Liberantonio, was a musician! The vein of artists in my family obviously can be traced back to our beginnings. Accepting wages of wine, Liberantonio would play his concertina in the piazza. He’d make it down hill number one, across the small valley and be crawling by the time he was mid-way up hill number two. That’s when my bisnonno would bellow for bisnonna, Mariantonia, to drag him up the hill home. She’d ignore him. Good for her. I come from great stock!
Nonna did what the children of every other poor family did than and still do today, lived with her parents. As I explore the village that sprouted my family and meet cousins I didn’t know I had, I’m meeting families that still have two or three generations living under one roof.
Up a piece from nonna’s house was a patch of rock that the local farmers used to grind wheat. The marks from a heavy stone wheel are permanently imbedded in the rock. An oxen or mule was harnessed to a contraption that smacked on the grain. You can also still see the circular track of decades of animals walking round and round and round and round.
Living on the top of a hill, means to fetch water from the river or the nearest fountain Nonna Rosaria walked down steep paths. Easy for Jack and Jill to go down the hill – but with buckets full – it is up hill to home. Even though life was tough, nonna and her children loved living there. I understand now why my nonna’s farmhouse and land in New Jersey looked the way it did. She and my nonno, Francisco Guerrera, tried to remake their little piece of New Jersey into a little piece of Pontelandolfo.
Take a peek at the video of her house today – Nonna’s House
To find out more about my grandmother’s trek across the ocean to America, we took my Zia Caterina to see Ellis Island. She had made that journey with her mother and two brothers. When we walked into the great hall of the immigrant’s reception center her face turned grim and she started shaking. Like a soldier suffering Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, residual fear racked her body. It was the same fear she felt when the line watchers at Ellis Island ripped her away from her mother and put her in quarantine. We passed a door and she shouted, “that’s the room – the room they put the sick ones in.” “They left us there and no one could speak our kind of Italian and tell me anything.” “I was scared but looked them in the eye and said sto bene – I’m well.”
Caterina’s Story:
When I was two in Italy I got polio – they didn’t know what to do then – not many got polio. My mother, put hot rags on me and massaged and massaged my leg and arm. She said I just cried all the time. I walked when I was 9 months old – I talked at 12 months. Then at 2, it was over. The priest wanted to send me away – he said cripples couldn’t stay. My mother wouldn’t let them take me. She kept rubbing my legs and rubbing my arms. She never wanted to come to America. My father came first and worked in the Patterson silk mills. Mamma was afraid that if we stayed in Pontelandolfo they would take me and put me away with the crazy people. The priest kept coming to look at me – he’d shake his head. When papa saved enough to rent a place to for us to live in, he sent for us. The Pontelandolfesi women told my mother to only pack her nicest clothes for America – in America everyone was rich. What nice clothes? They were contadini – kind of like sharecroppers. (Serfs – I told you I come from good stock.)
Mamma was a fool and listened. She left her good wool skirt, heavy wool shirt and shawls. Beh, those stupid women kept saying only peasants dressed in those. I think the other women wanted her warm clothes. On the ship it was so cold mamma couldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t have anything heavy to wear.
She promptly made a warm cape in NJ!
Mamma was shivering and had a fever. She just stayed in the bed – we were all way down in the bottom of the ship – hundreds of us. My brother Nick, Sal and me – mamma was so sick – we were kids. We didn’t know what to do. They didn’t give us good food only bread. We had a piece of cheese in our bag. An old man felt sorry for mamma and took care of her. He got coats from the other men and piled them on her. Somehow she lived.
When we got to Ellis Island because I had polio mamma was scared that they wouldn’t let me in America. She made me stand between her and Nick in the long line – close so you couldn’t see my little arm and shriveled leg. Men in white coats walked up and down the line and looked at us – even made some people open their mouths. A man stopped and took me. I could hear my mother screaming. They took me away to quarantine and she didn’t understand what was going on. None of us did. They kept me at Ellis Island for a couple of weeks. She and papa came every day to ask for me. They told her nothing. Finally they let me out – I thought I would never get out. My mother cried that day until there were no more tears inside her.
My nonna, Mariarosaria Solla, overcame her fear and was the rock that my family was built on. She learned English immediately – I was never spoken to in Italian by anyone – we were Americans. Also, I was born just as WWII was ending and even though young men like my dad served in the military – Italians had been persecuted in America – many put in interment camps and others sent back.
This woman of the country was now living in an industrialized part of New Jersey. The long shifts that my grandfather worked at the silk mills meant that she had to learn to be self-sufficient in a new place. Eventually, my grandfather and Great-uncle John bought a farm together in Neshanic, New Jersey. Later nonno and nonna bought their own fifteen acres in Flagtown – where I was raised with the sheep, chickens and goats. Nonna was an incredible farmer – my family continued to be subsistence farmers – just like they had been in Italy. Nonna and Zia Caterina could grow just about anything. Those skills came from Pontelandolfo. Yes, nonna did snap a chicken’s neck so we could have a roast and butchered goats, sheep etc. I only learned how to kill and clean fowl – not sure if I could even do a rabbit. But hey, life brings new adventures for all of us. I just hope that I have inherited a piece of her courage for my journey.
15 acres to farm – and just like what I see today in Pontelandolfo – the women are in the fields. Nonno worked for the railroad.
It was 10:00 PM and we had just finished dinner at Landulphi, a great space that resonates with its medieval heritage. Outside Piazza Roma was a buzz of activity. Picnic tables were crammed in front of Bar Elimar. A lit bandstand filled one section of the sidewalk. Tots in strollers, pre-school hellions chasing each other throughout the crowds, moms, grandmas, twenty and thirty-somethings and tweens edge closer to the action.
Crowds creep in closer to hear not Rock ‘n Roll but rocking traditional music.
Tonight, that action was a sweet group of young performers – I’m guessing music conservatory instead of university students – wailing out traditional Italian music on the accordion, all sorts of percussive instruments and electric guitars.
Curtesy Sud Terranea
There is a college age dancer – barefoot on the cobblestones – dancing her heart out in the style of my ancestors. Twirling, toes pointed and then flexed as she stamps, kicks and brings us back to a time in this village – even before the unification of Italy. The sounds of Sud Terranea – “music popolare mediterranea” – brought young people to their feet dancing not the bop of hip hop but the traditional footwork of their great grandparents. ( http://sudterranea.jimdo.com/)
Curtesy Sud Terranea
Boy was I happy I had on a white shawl. It gave me something to hold up as I too did my whirling dervish routine. Weeee – I almost but not quite worked off the calories I gobbled down at Landulphi.
It was interesting that this bit of performance art popped out of nowhere on this particular day. Earlier – on a Skype call with my friend George Hansel about producing his new cabaret act, Burly Man Sings Girly Songs: My Life as a Show Tune Queen and Sexual Outlaw, (yes that was a plug) George raised a devastating question.
George has the greatest laugh in the world. See his show and laugh with him.
Could I really live in a small village with no easy access to the cultural richness of New York and Philadelphia? Hey, I bellowed back, I grew up in Flagtown, NJ – a small village with easy access to culture and an uncle who worked for the then New York Mirror and got free tix to stuff. Ask me how often we actually got to go????
George also, reminded me that I have the attention span of a gnat and boredom can easily weasel its evil sighs into my soul. I explained that during my last bout of boredom I realized that if I was bored it was my fault. All it took was a walk down to the village with my laptop in tow to chase the boredom away. Just sitting at a bar (cafe) surrounded by village life and listening, watching and being perpetually surprised at the instant art that pops up can get my creative juices flowing and the deeps sighs disappearing.
Living in New Jersey with easy access to my state’s professional theaters and being able to zip into both nearby cities, is indeed terrific. But how often do we really do it? Finances come into play. Tickets are expensive, add travel, or driving costs and suddenly an opportunity to experience art is fiscally out of the question. Here in Pontelandolfo, the fiscal crisis has folks pinching euros. Yet, art is accessible to them. They often create it themselves.
Site specific theatre produced by the town’s twenty-somethings took place in a variety of outdoor locations. The audience moved from scene to scene.
Sponsored by bars, community groups and Pontelandolphesi living in the USA and Canada, there seems to be music, dance, theatre and visual art happening weekly. Look for upcoming blogs on many of those events including a two part blog on Associazione Culturale Ri Ualanegli – our dance company – and the week long national folk dance festival.
Folkloric dance companies from throughout Italy performed in the Piazza nightly for almost a week. Here they are on the church steps after mass.
A quick peek at http://www.eptbenevento.it/archivio_eventi_mostre_benevento.html – the EPT Benevento (ente provinciale per il turismo) events website – lets me know that other villages in the province also are bringing in art. Campania, the region we are in, even has an “art card” – http://www.campaniartecard.it/ – reduced rate admissions and listings.
A short drive over the mountain takes us to Cerreto Sannita where di antica tradizione ceramica lives on. Artisans freely open their studios to folks like me to watch and learn the process – note FREELY.
We boldly knocked on a studio door and the artisan, Pietro, welcomed us into his space.Pietro is proud of the ceramic history of Cerreto Sannita. After touring his studio he literally opened the doors to the closed ceramics museum and shared that with us too.
San Lupo – just a scant 10 minutes over curvey mountain roads – sponsors a annual classical music festival.
Music fills the hill top streets.
How much are the tickets? Nada!, Niente!, Bupkus!
Damn, we missed the theater festival in Amorosi – a 20 minute or so trek down the mountain. They do charge for tickets and bring in professional companies from as far away as the USA. (http://www.amotefestival.it/) Next year we absolutely will get tix to something and report back.
The bottom line is that art and culture is just a matter of everyday life in Italy – even in the smallest villages. There is public art everywhere – our village has three large installations. Of course, the remnants of Ancient Rome are everywhere too.
Band stand is getting set up. I wonder what will be happening.
Revisit some of my earlier stories – Circo acquatico, San Antonio Festival, Calcio – stuff just happens here and I don’t have to pay the tunnel tolls, gauging parking fees and high ticket prices to drink in all this culture! Like my New Jersey ArtPride pals say – Be a Culture Vulture – I am and I am loving every second.
So, dear George, I think I can really live in a small village with no easy access to the cultural richness of the tri-state area. Of course, we do have to figure out a way to get your one man cabaret act across the pond.
Before I ventured into Alimentari De Angelis, our local salumeria for the first time alone, I stood outside and took a breath. My heart was pounding. Would I remember all the Italian I needed to buy mortadella or prosciutto or – well anything? Etto? Cento grammi – was that close to 1/4 pound? Theatre training kicks in – I review my lines – visualize my actions – think about what I was doing before I went through the door and said, “Vorrei un etto di – – Un etto of what – eeeeeeech -here is where I point at the case and resist saying “that salami looking stuff”. I know these words. I eat these words – wait – I didn’t say that right.
Now you are thinking – it is just a store in a small Italian village – stop with the dramatics. You’re right. But in this village everyone knows everyone else. I can’t embarrass generations of Guerreras and Sollas. I notice the woman on the bench near the store staring at me. I go in. The small shop – about 8X10 – was crammed full of just about anything you needed to create a quick scrumptious meal. Packets of pasta, a few round loaves of bread, rice, canned good, juice, paper plates, – you get the picture.
The three people in front of the meat counter turned as I pushed aside the beaded curtain, entered and said “boun giorno.” (Everyone says boun giorno every time they enter a shop – most times the folks in the shop echo an answer.) While I was waiting for my turn, the other customers and I stood close together in the jammed packed shop. This was a good thing. I could see and hear how they interacted with the shop’s owner, Pierina De Angelis. After all, we were all here for what was found in the refrigerator case – mortadella, prosciutto, salami di Milano, salami di Napoli …..
Soon it was my turn – I noticed a price list taped to the refrigerated display case and had memorized it. How could everything be un euro or un euro e 20 centesimi per un etto? Cheap great meats – how did I know the cold cuts were great? My cousin and world’s greatest cook, Carmela Mancini, shopped here.
The friendly Pierina De Angelis and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro. (My nonna’s first husband was a Santo Pietro – wonder if we are kind of related?)
“Vorrei un etto di mortadella, per favore.” The blonde Pierina standing by the old fashioned counter smiled and asked me where I was from – in Italian of course. Damn, was my italian so bad that she pegged me right away as an outsider? That happens to me a lot. I told her I was from New Jersey and before I knew it we were having a simple conversation and she discovered where I was from, who I was related to and how long I was staying! She made me feel comfortable and not embarrassed by my accent. I wanted to be her friend for life! OK, now it is time to order – guess what – I forgot the entire product list that I had memorized. Ugggg. We started with the mortadella.
If you haven’t had great mortadella – but only the crap we get in the USA super markets – you haven’t tasted the cold cut that makes you keep coming back and buying more! As a matter of fact, even though my cholesterol rises when ever I think of mortadella, I bought the yummy meats about every other day.
Mortadella – so very very very good.
Starting in about 1899 Americans were calling anything made of pork parts and stuffed in a casing bologne/baloney. Maybe manufacturers thought they could trick folks with limited taste buds into buying the stuff thinking it was like Mortadella – a famous culinary tradition of Bologna, Italy.
Mortadella di Bologna starts with finely ground pork, usually the lesser cuts of meat that are not used for other types of sausage. In fact Mortadella is a testament to the resourcefulness of the Italian pig farmers as nothing edible on the pig is wasted. This ground meat is mixed with a high quality fat (usually from the throat) and a blend of salt, white pepper, peppercorns, coriander, anise, pieces of pistachio and wine. The mixture is then stuffed into a beef or pork casing depending upon the size of the sausage and cooked according to weight. After cooking mortadella is left to cool in order to stabilize the sausage and give it firmness.
It must be cocktail hour somewhere! I wrapped mortadella around grissini added olives and Campari soda. Now that is art.
After the first week of repeated stops at her shop, Pierina could almost guess my order. Un etto di mortadella for me and due cento grammi di salami for Jack. Jack experimented with the various types of salami and couldn’t decide which he liked best. Bottom line? It was all wonderful.
No it is NOT Boars Head. This one – whose name I have of course forgotten – was spicy.
Alimentari De Angelis has been in Pierina De Angelis’ family for generations. She and her husband Antonio Santo Pietro have run it for a long time. I was saddened to hear that they will be closing the shop this fall. They are moving on toward retirement. Boy, do I hope that someone as nice and who sells productsjust as good steps in to fill the gastronomic void.
Watch out! Sheeeeeeeet, the motorini is aiming for us. I clutch the armrest. My heart races. Jack scowls and bellows, “stop screeching.”
Photo From Guardian UK
Ahhhhh, thank you for listening. I have discharged my angst. I inhale deeply, and count to ten. H,mmmmmmm. I visualize white light surrounding the car. WATCH OUT!!!!!! I immediately stop all this relaxation, funky granola, bull poop and bellow, “DON’T EVER TAKE A FREAKIN’ CAR INTO THE CENTER OF NAPLES!”
Here’s the story. It was a beautiful day and we thought we could explore Naples. Our fabulous landlord had taken us a few weeks earlier. He drove us directly into the glorious historic center. He was incredibly familiar with the city and assured us the historic center was clean, safe and wonderful. It was! The architecture and history are worth a visit. With Nichola we strolled down to the waterfront, had a caffè in a small bar and people watched.
Post card pretty.
We thought we could do it on our own. (Notice the “we thought”.) We were accompanied by Giusy who attends Università DI Napoli “Federico II”. The plan was to take the train from Benevento. The down side of idyllic, very small village life is that there is really no public transportation. At 7:00 or 7:40 AM students and those lucky enough to have jobs can take the bus to Benevento. At 8:30 AM there is a bus to Campobasso. We didn’t know until a few days later you can take it all the way to Naples but it is a really long – stop everywhere – ride. Where was I? Oh yeah, the plan was to take the train from Benevento. Great plan – 20 minute ride to the station – 30 minutes trying to figure out where to park – and then finding a parking lot only to discover that the prepay machine only took coins! Sounds like New Jersey transit – we’ve got the trains just nowhere to leave your car. Shouting and cursing ensued – that was me. Jack did the scowl sigh thing. Giusy said, “maybe we should just drive.” Well she lives there how bad could it be?
I need to point out that the last time Jack drove to Naples – about 5 years ago – we were going to the Capodimonte Museum and National Galleries and got stuck in a horn blowing, knives flashing, traffic jam at a 1/2 mile wide round-about (circle). We were forced to crawl around the circle for about 45 minutes. We had only gone about half-way around the huge thing when Jack was able to ease off into a wide avenue. In less than one block, the wide two way street had bottlenecked into a goat path. People had double parked or abandoned their cars on both sides of the street. It was an impassable, drivers screaming and horns blaring NIGHTMARE. Jack Mr. Calm in a crisis pulled the car onto the sidewalk and told us to get out. When in Rome or Naples do as …. We abandoned the car, took a cab to the museum and worried abut driving later. So, here we are driving in Naples again. Are we insane? Don’t answer that.
This time we had our handy iPhones and could use the GPS. We knew we wanted to explore a neighborhood and picked the bayside “Posillipo”. Getting in was a dream. We took the autostrada to the city and then followed the water all the way to Posillipo. Parking in a lot was easy – though again you could only use change. Since we figured we only needed three hours to stroll, eat lunch and stare at the sea, we scrounged enough coins. The view from Posillipo is amazing. We all agreed this was the neighborhood to live in.
Blue skies, beautiful buildings – perfect!
Gated private streets led to magnificent houses and apartment buildings. Sigh, anybody want to give me a scant million?
Want to buy me this house in Posillipo?We first saw these “lovers locks” in Paris a few decades ago. Young love….Now this is a roof top terrace!
Strolling through the neighborhood we discovered a restaurant with an incredible view. Reginella Restaurant was the type that brochures touting the charms of a seaside community are sure to mention. It was perched on the side of the cliff leading down to the Bay of Naples.
Magical view! Note the very thin wrought iron railings – easy to see the sea.
We sat on a terrace overlooking the sea. Initially, the charming host sat us right next to the railing – ah a glorious view! Giusy and I looked at each other – we were both turning green. All I saw was my life passing before my eyes as I fell off the side of the cliff and lay broken on the rocks below. With chattering teeth we asked for another table.
Ahh – happy new people sitting in our still warm railing side seats.I stopped hyperventilating enough to take a cute photo.
Once we were happily seated a bit further back, we concentrated on the incredible seafood. I’ll let you see the food and judge for your selves. (Pssst – My “risotto alla pescatore” was chock full of clams, mussels, scallops and pieces of calamari.)
Octopus tossed with lemon on a bed of arugula.Need protein? Buffalo mozzarella hidden under prosciutto.I took the mussels and clams out of their shells and then remembered to take a picture. Hey, It smelled like I should dig right in.
Delicious! Seafood by the sea . Those of you waiting for the other DON’T DRIVE shoe to drop. Hang on – here it comes.
After lunch we strolled a bit and took in the sites of the neighborhood. Most shops were closed. Even stores in the cities close for lunch and a break, opening again at about 4:30. Sated from lunch and the fabulous view we decided to head for the historic center and check out where Giusy attended university and lived.
Whaaaaaaa. Whaaaaaa. Nervous breakdown alert. If you do not have a strong stomach for street chaos stop reading.
We set the GPS for the address of the apartment, followed the bay and suddenly were told to turn left into Dante’s third level of HELL. Thousands of Evil Kenivals zoomed in and out of stop and go traffic on motorcycles, motorini and broom sticks. Cars double and tripped parked making streets impassable. The GPS didn’t quite get street closings due to well who knows – it was Tuesday. Where the hell was my Xanax? Clutching the purse on my lap like a life jacket, I tried not to cry out every time a freakin’ car or motorini cut us or or came careening toward us. My nails bit into my palms. Jack squared his waspy jaw and forged ahead. Forging ahead isn’t the right phrase. Begging for life – that’s a good phrase. Or crying for my mother – that’s a good phrase. It is like driving a car in a full washing machine set to the spin cycle. Bump, rrrrrrrrrrrrt, squeak, ugggggggg — HELL.
Giusy reminded us she always took the bus and walked and didn’t really know the direct route to her apartment. Gee, thanks for the relevant information! We saw the sign for a parking lot and whipped the car in. Relief. On foot, we enjoyed exploring the university.
Who could study in this place. I’d be staring at the architecture.
Next, it was on to discover how college kids live. We checked out Giusy’s apartment – palace sized rooms stuffed with kids. Sound familiar? Well, in the U.S. we really don’t usually find apartments with 14 foot ceilings, beautiful ironwork elevators and five bedrooms, two baths for 350 euros per each of the five roommates. Granted, clothes were still tossed around and the furniture was all cast off – but still it felt like a palace.
Time to go – so we trudged to the parking lot – where being 8 minutes late – they charged us for an extra hour. Giusy argued like a trooper and oh yeah – she won! They didn’t charge us. We gritted our teeth for the drive home. I couldn’t watch as Jack tried to squeeze out of the garage to the street. We hadn’t a clue how to get out of town and the GPS in our iPhone was obviously under a lot of stress. We ended up by the docks – well that was fun. Not TOO many cars jockeying for position there. We sat inhaling exhaust for what felt like hours – Jack says it was only 30 minutes. The conversation in the car came to a dead halt. Since I was’t allowed to make caustic comments or scream, it was very quiet. Somehow Jack got us out of the city and on to the highway. We all exhaled and enjoyed the mountains, farms and lush green that is the Italian country side.
Naples is a glorious city. TAKE THE BUS!
PS: Jack says it wasn’t so bad. We got home didn’t we!!!
Land line phones? Are they going the way of the dinosaur? My brilliant computer consultant Cyndi turned us on to Magic Jack. We have dumped our Comcast Cable Triple Play Plan at home and just use the VOIP Magic Jack gizmo. VOIP stands for Voice Over Internet Protocol, a technology for making telephone calls over the Internet in which speech sounds are converted into binary blah, blah, blah techno jargon blah blah… Bottom line – you need access to the internet to make a phone call.
For the initial investment of $69 for the Magic Jack gizmo that plugs into either a router or a computer. You get a U.S.A. number that goes with you anywhere in the world. Now that is pretty groovy but I wanted our existing number. If I finally sold a play or if something tragic happened at home like tidal waves from the Raritan River, how would people find me? Don’t worry, for about $10 you can “port” your existing number to Magic Jack. That is exactly what we did. For $79 for the initial year we now have unlimited calling in the USA and Canada and unlimited international calling to the USA.
We were just a tad apprehensive. I am a “show me” kind of chick. We set up the gizmo at home – dumped Comcast phone service – it worked great. The voice quality was fine and as long as we had high speed internet we would have a phone, voicemail, e-mail alerts of voicemail, caller ID, free directory assistance, call waiting and FREE international calling to the USA.
To have a Comcast bill that made sense we dumped cable TV too – that was a wee bit more challenging. The Triple Play Plan – means you use them for the phone, cable television and high speed internet. Since our plan is not to be home much, having the flexibility of carrying our phone number with us is wonderful. The internet is everywhere and so is connectivity.
Before we left for Italy we tried the Magic Jack with my laptop and Jack’s. It worked fine. We just had to buy a traditional phone with a cord that could be jacked into the Magic Jack. I bought a $9.99 model at Radio Shack. We plugged it in and tested it at home. It worked great. Jack packed it in his suitcase and off to Europe we went.
The initial dilemma was the lack of internet service at the house we rented. Ooops. Magic Jack is a VOIP – need that internet. Wait – there is an iPhone App for Magic Jack! I set it up on my phone, logged into Magic Jack and boom had free international calling over my 3G data network. (Remember, the earlier blog – we only pay $13 a month for unlimited data with WIND.) We did the same thing to Jack’s phone. My phone carries the number that came with the Magic Jack and Jack’s phone is our old home phone number – hmm, we really need to switch that.
Meanwhile back at the Wi-Fi quest, it took us about a week and a half to get internet installed and the router working. A sigh of relief. We could set up the real phone and now hear that pleasant ring when folks in the USA call us. We put an Italian adapter at the end of the plug, plugged the phone into electricity and into the Magic Jack. Hey, what’s that smell? Burning plastic – the $9.99 phone was fried by the Italian current. Don’t ask me why, just don’t bring one.
We ran out and bought a cheapy Italian phone. Now the cheapy Radio Shack phone was small, white, plastic and ugly. Check out the form and function cheapy Italian phone.
Cute!
Note the lines! Feel the beauty! It cost $9.99 and is cute and didn’t melt. Yeah. We have a phone. It works – sometimes.
In all fairness, the sound quality has a lot to do with the internet connection. At our house in Italy we have an antennae on the roof that brings us Wi-Fi from the Wi-Fi gods of the mountain. I have no idea how it works. When it is windy – which in the mountains is often – the antennae is doing dirty dancing and the reception is less than great.
There are other VOIP opportunities out there but they seem to cost more. So, even though we can’t hear you when the wind blows over the mountain, we are still happy with our Magic Jack.
Drat that avid blog reader, Kathy Hall! She asked me the living abroad question of all questions. How do avowed foodies living in a country with such a great cooking tradition satisfy their palate’s need for diversity. Didn’t I miss Jamaican food, Thai food, French Food, Mexican Food, Ethiopian Food, SUSHI!!
Images of sushi flutter through my mind.
Damn, now all I think about is Sakura Sushi in Hillsborough NJ – home of the best Sushi in the tri-state area – I know it’s the best because I sample sushi everywhere. Time to be proactive and stop just dreaming about Rainbow Caviar Roll, yellowtail pieces, raw fresh scallops, spicy tuna… I googled Sushi in Campania. Whoa – there are a bunch of sushi joints in Naples. Rats – driving in and out of Naples is a harrowing experience. What to do – oh, down on the bottom of the list was a place called Sosushi in Avellino. I googled it – a franchise with 30 restaurants through out Italy. Mc Donald’s of sushi? H’mmm – stop procrastinating. Avellino – we have never been to Avellino and it’s only about 45 minutes away. Let’s go! And with that the Sushi Quest began.
Remember those one ring circuses that scurried into small home towns across America? The one elephant, two-horse shows that still bedazzled us with its newness. The traveling small tent show may have died in America but thanks to families like the Frimers it is alive and well in Italy.
My interest and excitement was piqued when the signs appeared on the main intersections of Pontelandolfo. Signs that showed a scantily clad damsel fighting off the sharpened teeth of a great piranha – or was it a catfish?
That must be one huge fish tank.
“In less than a week,” the signs taunted, the incredible Frimer Acquatic Show would be setting up shop in Ex Campo Calcetto. Not wanting to forget the where and when, I snapped a photo of the signs.
Are there different names on each poster?
Friday, from deep within the kitchen of our all stone house I heard a voice so loud I dropped the tomatoes. I raced out side. Speakers topping an old blue van – the new circus parade – were encouraging us all to experience the wonders of the circus tomorrow. OK, I didn’t understand a word of what they said, but I bet they were touting the wonders of the circus. Finally, it was Saturday – the day the circus was setting up its tent. After stopping at my favorite salumeria for the best mortadella in the world, I found the most incredible gift under my windshield wiper. Two discount coupons for that night’s performance! It was fate. Jack and I could see the world’s greatest Frimer Acquatic Show for only 7 euro each!. I could barely contain myself. The performance was at 9:15 PM. It was 4:00 PM. How could I wait five hours????
Only 7 euro – about $9 for live entertainment.
We got into the village at 8:30 – I wanted a good seat and went to the Campo di Calcio – no tents? Cripes, did I read it wrong? Where is the circus? We walked back to a local bar and noticed people heading towards the piazza behind the the village center – the what I thought was a parking lot that holds the recycling bins. We started to follow them – I heard music – circus music! We were getting closer. Like Conestoga wagons of the wild west, blue tractor-trailer sized trucks had encircled the piazza. A line had formed in front of the ticket counter – people were clutching the same coupons I had. The ticket booth was in a truck and about 6 feet off the ground. Folks were standing on tippy toe to hand their coupons and money to the overly made up but pretty young ticket taker girl. She suddenly stopped taking money. No! Were they sold out? No, she was out of change and no one had any. We waited about 5 minutes for a navy blue suited burly roustabout to appear with some change that he pirated from the closest bar. Whew, we were getting closer. I paid and then we looked for the entrance. The tent! I see the tent! Jack pointed out that the tent we used for picnics was only slightly smaller. I scoffed at him – this is the world’s greatest circo acquatico. When we enter the space I am sure the grandeur of the circus will unravel itself before us. The burly blond ticket taker ripped our tickets and we walked down the path to the tent. It was small! I counted about 100 K-Mart style old white plastic chairs set up in 3/4 round – for you non theatre folks that means that the performance space had chairs on three sides of it. The performance space was pretty small but look there is a large yellow curtain behind it.
Could the piranha be behind the curtain?
I bet that lifts up and we see the tanks of water. People slowly filed in. The first night audience was small – about forty of us. Jack and I were probably the oldest, but we have young hearts! There were two men in their fifties or 60’s at the light and sound boards. They looked vaguely familiar – like the dads of the ticket seller and burly blonde ticket taker guy. The music changed, the lights dimmed and the ringmaster appeared. He welcomed us all and a clown – who kind of looked like the ticket taker and light board guy – came out and started an old vaudeville shtick – it doesn’t matter which one. Just know you have seen the Marx Brothers do it – it involves kicks in the butt. All laughed and the music changed to great entrance rumblings.
Rings and things fly in the air.
Suddenly, dressed all in black and juggling madly, a handsome young man appeared. Wait, he looks familiar – it was the ringmaster! He juggled clubs, balls, tennis rackets, rings – the usual and when he dropped them all applauded and laughed. He raced off to the applause of tiny hands.
The clown skirted in with a baby carriage – the baby cried – he picked up the baby. He showed us the baby. The baby squirted water on all of us – including my new white pocket-book. Well it was Il Circo Acquatico. H’mm he kind of looks like the ringmaster/juggler guy too.
Next a chef appeared with a stack of plates – wait he looks familiar. Ahh, the burly blonde guy who took the tickets. Plates, rods, balance – you’ve seen that schtick before too. Nary a plate broke, all were spinning madly and the audience cheered.
Burly ticket taker guy is also the balancing plate guy.
A platform was wheeled out and a sexy lady with the usual boobs on a plate outfit appeared. She bent into a back bend and walked up the platform steps on her hands. Wait – she looks familiar? Ahhh the girl in full make-up who sold the tickets! She was a modified contortionist – think yoga and gymnastics with a little double jointed tossed in for good measure. It hit me. Everyone looks alike! They must be a traveling circus family.
Sexy ticket taker and contortionist gal.
What could top a contortionist! The bored five year old member of this talented circus family that’s what. She came out with silver hula hoops and whirled them on her waist, feet and arms. Since she couldn’t be seen above the ring wall, we all stood to watch this tiny tot perform. I figure she is probably on the payroll for tax purposes and needs to do something entertaining. Or the family insists that all earn their keep.
Soon the juggler/ringmaster was back dressed as a magician assisted by ticket taker/contortionist lady. How did she escape from that sack after being locked in a black box? How did he get from the audience into the sack? Whoa! Cheers went up.
Damn, more water from Il Circo d’Acqua – this time the clown tried to clean the audience and sprayed us all. Ugggg
During intermission most everyone exited to go and lood at the tank of piranha and something else that I couldn’t translate. Maybe the contortionist/ticket taker/ magician assistant girl climbed in the tank? We missed that.
Take filled with creepy fish has its own truck.
We decided to watch the show happening by the popcorn and candy corn vendor – who was obviously the mom, sister or aunt of the performers. Hoping to be discovered by the fathers/uncles who were in charge of sound and lights I entertained the kids around me with my silly faces and freeze game. Well, I thought it was entertaining.
Burly ticket/dish guy is also the hot fire guy.
Suddenly the lights dimmed and the music was foreboding. With muscles bursting, burly ticket taker/ twirling plate guy appeared juggling fire! Soon the fire was in his mouth and racing up his arms. He burned up the audience with pyrotechnic surprises. He actually stroked his arms with lit wands – we could see the charcoal black swaths cut over his biceps. The women went ugggg, the kids went “can’t wait to get home and try that mom”.
Indian Jones music floated through the tent. Roustabouts – the burly fire eating guy and clown guy – dragged out big mysterious black boxes. The frame of a coffin was set center stage. Clown guy returned dressed all in black. He became the animal trainer guy and slowly opened a box. Shouts of fear went up as he took out a four bazillion foot white snake. Screams from all as he walked closer and closer to the audience! The magician/juggler/ringmaster guy pulled out a huge unhappy iguana. They kept pulling out creepy crawly things and bringing them into the audience so all could see these fierce creatures. Adults pulled back. Small children reached up to touch them. I gotta tell ya, snakes for a finale – now that is something I have never seen.
Did I mention the snakes were enormous?
This revealing of a different snakes and having them dance, hiss and crawl went on for about fifteen minutes. Ticket lady/contortionist/magician’s assistant girl came out sexily dressed and stepped into the coffin. She laid frozen still as all of the snakes were plopped on her and slithered all over her. I must admit, I got a little turned on from this – don’t tell my husband. But no – I don’t want to try it.
H’mm slithering serpents! A devilish good time.
The crowed cheered, the lights came up and the incredible cast of four bowed for all. Ooops, I forgot the little girl – cast of five. Their versatility is what makes them incredible. Everyone doubled and tripled so that the show could go on.
This is a theatrical family that is doing what it loves to do in small towns across Italy. Frankly, I am a little jealous. Wafting nostalgic over my children’s theatre touring days, I wondered if I was too old and feeble to buy a van and tour a one woman show…
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 