One Great Loss....And One Not So Much

This post only indirectly relates to my Italy story, but I wanted to share in the hope that it will remind all of us to cherish the important relationships in our lives.  And to recognize that it is not always by blood that the best people enter our lives.  Here goes….

In the past two weeks I was made aware of the deaths of two men who have played roles in my life.  The contrast between the two of them could not be greater, and my reactions to their passing very different.

Griffith Dudding

The first news I got was of the death of my father, Griffith Dudding.  My sister Megan told me via text that our friend Denise had shared his obituary from the newspaper in Allentown PA.  The fact that this is how we learned of his death should be a good clue as to the nature of our relationship.  You see, after our mother died (I had just turned 4 and my sister was only days old) our father checked out of his parental role where we were concerned.  He remarried a woman who was horrible to us and made it clear that she did not want us.  He drank heavily and then got sober.  And when he left behind his drinking days, he also left behind the two little daughters who needed him. He had a son who became the focus of his attention. And we completely lost touch.  Now we didn’t have a father. No support, financial or otherwise. Nothing. Fortunately, we had the best grandparents in the world who took care of us and made sure that we would be OK. And you know what? We were and we are.

I often wonder if my self-deprecation, drive for an unattainable level of perfection in so many things that I do and mistrust in relationships can be traced back to this abandonment.  Maybe my zeal to make this crazy move to Italy is all part of my proving that I am worthy and capable.  Who knows.  But no matter.  It is what it is. And I am so very lucky that I had the support I did growing up. I have had an AMAZING life!

My reaction to his death?  Sadness.  But not because he will be missed by us.  There is nothing to miss.  It’s just that Megan and I have always held out the small hope that one day he would acknowledge us.  And perhaps apologize.  But we were not even mentioned in his glowing obituary.  And we learned he had Alzheimer’s Disease.  So the chances that he remembered us for even a split second are slim to none.

His loss.

Graham Green

Within days of learning of my father’s death I learned of the passing of a friend from the UK.  Graham Green.  I had worked with Graham during the time I lived in London back in the late 90s.  He was a force of nature.  A larger than life character. He was absolutely outrageous. He made me laugh and he made me cringe. He was not even close to being politically correct. And he had an amazing ability to drink three pints of Guiness at lunch and still go back to work and be productive (often leaving me on the floor of the pub...once literally). He was a great businessman.  A great father.  And a great friend. 

Graham had cancer.  And the last time I talked to our mutual friend Mickie I thought for sure Graham was going to beat it.  He was tough. But I guess this time the cancer was tougher.

Graham was not in my life for a long period of time.  But he did have an influence on me.  I remember him talking about his holiday home in Brittany (France) and thinking how someday I would love to own a home on the continent.  I loved his zest for life.  His passion. His sense of humor.

My reaction to his passing?  A much different kind of sadness.  He will be missed by many people, even those of us who were on the periphery of his life.  The loss for me is much greater than losing my own father.  Crazy as they might be, I would much rather follow in Graham’s footsteps.

 

My New Normal

I was thinking earlier today how my life in Brentwood seems like ages ago, after less than three weeks of living here in Puglia.  It's very strange how quickly things change. And while I fully acknowledge that I have tons to learn about the culture and language of my new home, certain things have already become my new “normal”.  A few examples...

1)    My world is now full of people named Franco, Francesco, Leonardo, Mimmo, Giovanni, Roberta, Grazia, Donna Maria, etc. Not another Tracey or Craig in sight.

 

2)    A few months ago I didn’t know what a “codice fiscale” was. Now I don’t leave home without mine. (Closest analogy in the US would be a social security card).  You need your codice fiscale to do just about everything here. 

3)      I have learned how to send money from my Banco di Napoli account to pay for goods and services in Italy. I have learned how to use an “O-Key” for online banking.  You need this for every transaction. I have made three “bonifici” (wire transfers) today alone.

 

 

4)      For the last 7 years while living in the US I attempted to learn Italian.  I took formal classes, used Rosetta Stone, etc.  But I was always reluctant to test my skills for fear of making mistakes and sounding stupid.  So I didn't even try. Ha! Guess what?  I have now been thrown in the deep end.  And it’s fine.  I am sure I am butchering this beautiful language, but I am managing. So I continue to speak Italian. And I hope someday I can say I speak Italian well.

5)      I’m not watching television. Well, that’s not exactly true. I have watched a good bit of Fox Sports coverage of the Barclay’s Premier League and Serie A.  And I do have my Modern Family binges. But I haven’t had one meal in front of the TV.  For me this is a good thing.  I hope it continues.

6)      I have embraced the fresh food vs. fully stocked freezer and pantry approach to cooking. After an excursion yesterday to find a mailbox (Craig was told by the police during the residency visit that we have to have a new mailbox with the name Kleber on it), I popped into a little vegetable stand in Fasano.  €4 later, I walked out with a bunch of bananas, two eggplants, and a basil plant.  I am going to combine the eggplant with the zucchine, tomatoes, and peppers that we bought in Ostuni this week to make ratatouille (served over the organic cous cous I bought at my fave bottega naturale, Soleterra).  Oh….sidenote….we also stumbled on a wine shop today in Ostuni that has huge vats of wine with hoses protruding from them.  You better believe we’ll be back with our 3/5 litre jugs to get them filled very soon.  (They also have bottles and lovely little gift packs with olive oil and orrechiette pasta that I intend to use for guests who rent Villa di Capo.)

 

 

7)      It's not easy, but I am learning to slow down...despite the flurry of activity that confronted us during our first few weeks. I guess this is the proverbial stopping to smell the roses. It's not just a function of being in Italy, but a function of leaving behind my manic work life. It's nice to have a drink or a tea/coffee or a chat with a neighbor. And for a change feel no compulsion to rush off to a conference call. That is a very happy feeling.

 

8)    I have experienced a change in the way relationships develop.  They seem more organic.  Perhaps this is born out of necessity and/or a sense of community. Not sure. But I like it. People enter your life in ways they did not in LA.  As an example, one morning last week a gentleman named Graham popped by to introduce himself as he was on his way to check in on our neighbor's rental property.  He and his partner Chris run a business that provides pool maintenance and rental property management (amongst other things) in the Region. It was delightful to meet him and now  "Puglia Pools" has turned into our best ally for all things as we get Villa di Capo ready for the rental season. I can only imagine how I would have searched to connect with a vendor at this level in California.

9)      The dogs are loving their new normal. And I am so proud of the way they have adjusted to life here. Here are some shots of them in their new digs.  (Going on record, however, to say that they still haven't found neighbors as good as Meredith and Grady Abber.) 

Lizzie and Natalia survey their new garden.

Big sister. Little brother.

Luigi sits in the sun under his favorite lemon tree.

Lizzie strikes a pose.

Mario has decided he likes radiator heat.

Tiny dog.  Big garden.  This is where the pool will be built.
 

And finally, this is not new, but it is for sure my normal.  Salute!

 

 

 

 

 

Immigration On The Flip Side

Those of you who have followed this blog/my journey from the beginning might remember that I had some hiccups with immigration back in the US.  My interactions with the Italian Consulate in LA were not so smooth.

Well, here on the other side of the pond...not so much better.

It all started last Thursday when we went to the Anagrafe (Town hall) of the Comune of Fasano to apply for our residence. Our friend Franco graciously agreed to accompany us to the office to help navigate the process, a gesture for which we were extremely grateful.  However, things very rapidly went wrong.  I won’t bore you with the gory details of Italian bureaucracy, but let’s just say that we left the office of the third person with whom we spoke thinking that we were in the country illegally and that they might kick us out.  (No one had stamped, or even checked, our passports when we entered Italy from the US. And this gentleman was sure we were going to have a big problem.)  Franco was upset that the border to his country was so porous.  And Craig was starting to organize a strategy to sell the properties and move to the UK. YIKES!

Fortunately for us, the realtor from whom Craig bought the rental property in Ostuni is a super savvy Scottish woman, Maureen, who has made a great business for herself here in Puglia> Maureen is extremely well-connected.  When we called her to ask advice she immediately contacted her friend Giandomenico, an attorney (“avvocato”) who regularly works with the American Consulate for Southern Italy in Naples and the US Chamber of Commerce in Italy. He also works with cross-border real-estate deals and speaks fluent English. His assessment was that we had encountered a very ill-informed bureaucrat and that we should return to the Comune with him. He would intervene on our behalf. I’m don’t think I have ever been happier to meet someone in all of my life.

The next morning at 10:30AM (Giandomenico informed us that he is very prompt, which he was) we met in Piazza Ciaia in Fasano and went back in.  Ha!  What a difference a day makes.  He took all of us (including the officer of the Comune) through every step of the residency process and voila!  Craig is one small step away from getting his residence in Italy as an EU citizen….that step being a visit from the police to the villa to ensure that he is really living here.  And I have two very doable steps to achieve the same as a US citizen.  Whew!

Later that day we met with Maureen at the rental property.  She ensured us that after a few years of living in Italy issues such as this will no longer fluster us.  That when Italians encounter an obstacle, the next step is to find the 10 ways to get around it.  I truly hope that is the case for this Type A, slightly OCD girl from the US. 

 

The Shopping Experience

When most people think about shopping in Italy, very pleasant images come to mind.  Strolling amongst the chic boutiques and designer stores in Milan or Rome.  Buying fruits, vegetables and olives at a quaint outdoor market in a small hilltop town overlooking a countryside full of vineyards.  Or perhaps buying a bathing suit to wear while sunbathing on a yacht anchored off Capri or Portofino. And yes, those things can all be part of the Italian experience.  Sometimes.***

However, there is also the reality of shopping while trying to set up a house in rural Puglia. And making sure your dogs have food.  And you have food (the kind of food you can prepare quickly between opening boxes and entertaining contractors.) And then your fish has to have a new tank.  And your clothes have to have somewhere to call home in a property with no closets.  (Really, NOT ONE SINGLE CLOSET!) And you have to have a phone.  And a toaster.  And a kettle.  And a TV (I fully admit I’d be lost without TV.) And….

The last week has been a whirlwind of trying to cobble together the staples to keep things running. Here are a few little highlights/pieces of advice for practical shopping in Fasano (and I assume lots of other towns in Italy) based on my experiences so far…

1.       DON’T shop at the Conforama/CONAD Centro Commerciale on a weekend.  Especially not on a rainy weekend. I have never seen so many people crammed into a store in my life (except for maybe Black Friday in the US).  All ages, shapes and sizes.  Gathered in groups.  Families. Singles.  Kids. Oh my!! Trying to order armoires (“armadi” in Italian) was comical.  And then trying to communicate that yes, I want them delivered.  Yes, I want them assembled. And yes, it will be OK if they call me to confirm the delivery time.  All in Italian. Not so easy.  But miraculously…..despite the fact that two days later on the scheduled delivery day they could not find the house and we had to meet the guys at a bar and lead them home….I got the armoires.  They were the right ones.  They fit in the spaces as I had planned.  And most of my clothes have a home. I stress the word most, because I own a stupid amount of clothing for someone who lives 50% of her life in yoga pants/jeans and sweatshirts/T-shirts and I have a stupid number of pairs of shoes.  And I’m not even a shoe person.  I have bad feet. WHAT was I thinking when I brought all of this stuff with me??

One half of the shoes I packed.  As the movers said "Madonna Mia".

 

2.       DON’T buy something here thinking that it doesn’t matter if it isn't exactly right….that it’ll be easy to return/exchange it.  That’s what we did. With a duvet.  A duvet that turned out to be the wrong size for one of the Italian beds in Craig’s house.  A duvet that required us to schlep down the hill the next day, in the pouring rain, to the store to make an exchange. We enter the store. We approach the cashier.  In broken Italian we communicate that the size was wrong and we would like to exchange it for another one.  We were told that we could go pick out a new item and pay for it. But then we would have to take the original downstairs into the basement (outside, to the left and down a ramp…all said very rapidly in Italian) to handle the return. We follow the instructions. We get downstairs and find the “Assistenza Clienti” office.  (At this point Craig abandons me to run back and get some food.) The woman there listens to my concerns.  “Troppo grande” I tell her.  She nods and fills out a form, which I have to sign.  And then escorts me over to another window and hands me off to one of her colleagues. He proceeds to put all of my information into a computer.  Then he prints out four (FOUR!) more forms that I have to sign.  And then he prints out a “Buono Spesa” which I also have to sign.  I have no idea what that is.  But I smile, take it and thank him. And I go to get a Diet Coke from the vending machine. (It turns out “buono spesa” is store credit, which I have since used as the Conforama is my new favorite store and home away from home.)  Happy ending. I think.

3.       DO find a bilingual friend in Italy who can help you navigate some of your more complicated purchases.  We did this in the form of Roberta, the young woman who found us this property in the first place.  Poor Roberta.  She spent an entire day with the Klebers. She endured our dogs and our fireworks sparked by stress and fatigue. But by the end of the day both Craig and I had shiny new Italian mobile phones with both domestic and international calling plans (at a fraction of what we were paying in the US), Fred had a new tank and food, and we had a game plan to get me in touch with a rheumatologist before I run out of my lupus medicine. Thank you Roberta! (I’m cautiously optimistic about life starting to fall into place.)

4.       DO understand that they are not kidding when they tell you that shops close in the afternoon.  From 2ish to 5ish, nothing is open.  No business is conducted outside of tourist areas. And you might as well just relax and live with it. 

***Please note that I do plan, at some point in the near future, to go to a quaint little market, stroll amongst the chic boutiques, and maybe even swim off a yacht.  But right now I will take the greatest pleasure from putting away the last glass in my new kitchen cupboards, the last pair of shoes in my new armoires and the last bottle of vitamins in my new bathroom cabinets.  And then I will turn on Modern Family with Italian subtitles on my new TV with my new SkyTV service and practice the language of my new home. And maybe I’ll just start calling people so they can see my shiny new Italian phone number! J

 

 

 

This Is Not The Exciting Part Of Moving To Italy (Or Maybe It Is)

I wake up very early  (as one does when one is jetlagged) on Sunday morning, the day after we arrive. I go outside to watch it get light and the view from the property is spectacular.  There are birds singing and I can see the ocean. I hear a rooster crowing. Dogs' barks echo across the valley (including ours). How excited I feel to be here in Italy.  Finally, after 18 months of planning!

The dogs get their first walk around the neighborhood. It is still very quiet as many homes are second/summer homes and not yet occupied. And a number of the other properties don’t seem to be lived in at all, likely owned by younger generations of wealthy families. They don’t visit but are not really motivated to sell. Seems a shame. I learn that there are a number of other, mostly large, dogs in the neighborhood.  Many of them appear to live outdoors, so they are there to greet us first thing. (Not so happy about dogs being left outdoors!)

We have our first tea and toast with the new appliances I had bought the night before at the Conforama (it’s adjacent to the CONAD).  And Natalia and Luigi get back into fine begging form very quickly.

All is going well on this beautiful morning until I decide to take a shower.  As Craig had no problem with his, I assume everything will be fine.  But right about the time I have a head full of shampoo the water begins to cool.  And by the time I madly rush through the rest of my shower it is icy cold. NOT HAPPY. 

It is quickly determined that we have run out of gas.  AND that our gas tank is faulty and will have to be replaced before it can be refilled.  ON MONDAY.  THIS IS SUNDAY. So…. we have no proper heat and no hot water.  Dang!  It’s a good thing there is an electric heater on the wall in the living room.  At least one room will be warm, right?

First thing Monday morning (and I mean before my eyes had cleared) I hear movement outside.  It is Giovanni and Alessandro digging up the area around the gas tank to make the necessary repairs.  (I have noticed that people tend to just show up at your house here.) Our Italian friends have been nothing if not prompt and by the end of the day (and EUR488 later) things are repaired.  Liquigas refills the tank and I will have my hot shower on Tuesday morning (I decided to forego a cold shower on Monday). First major hurdle encountered and conquered.  We’re feeling pretty good.

Monday evening….rain, cold…..and we lose power.  After a quick email exchange with Franco we learn that the energy company has detected an outage in our zone.  But they will have it fixed in 1-2 hours. I think to myself OK, I can live with that.  (I should note here that the minute the electricity went out the security company that patrols our area responded to the house as something was triggered by our alarm.  Very good to know.)

Hours tick by. No power.  We all try to sleep up in Craig’s house under every blanket we have with us, plus a comforter that we have purchased at the Conforama.  (NB:  With no electricity we have no heat as the gas heater does not ignite.  We also have no running water as the pump will not work.) We wake up Tuesday morning.  Still no power.   Crap!  And our movers are scheduled to come at 9AM.  Crap!  I have not showered since Sunday morning and that was only a half-hearted shower and I look like, well, crap!

We call Franco.  Franco calls the power company. They say the problem has been fixed.  Crap!  It must be our property. Craig tries and retries all of the switches he was shown on the night we arrived.  Crap!  The movers arrive (after about an hour of talking with them via the company in Rome since they can’t find the property).  So we start unloading boxes, and boxes, and boxes, and boxes, and tables and chairs and beds and more boxes.  As Craig said, it seems like things in our container mated and reproduced during the transatlantic journey.  Sigh. Now I know much better why people who make moves like this sell everything and start fresh in their new countries.

A few hours into the day, however, Franco and Francesco show up at the house.  They fix the power problem.  Apparently there is a double secret re-set switch you have to push after a power outage.  Who knew?  BUT WE HAVE POWER AGAIN.  AND HOT WATER.  And my bed is here. I can sleep in it tonight. With my warm snuggly fleece sheets.  And the Chihuahuas. I am happy again.

Master bedroom, ready for snuggly dogs.  Note that the guys even helped me hang pictures.



Guest bedroom, ready to go.  Hint hint!

 

 

The Dream Takes Flight....Literally

THE PLANNING

When we began contemplating this move, there were many concerns, not least of which was how we would get four dogs and a fish safely and happily across the ocean.  I explored every possible option on planes and ships, with every available itinerary.  And what I learned is that IT. IS. NEARLY. IMPOSSIBLE. to get four dogs and a fish across the ocean safely and happily. (Especially if one of your dogs is the infamously neurotic Natalia Kleber.)  So we reluctantly decided to bite the bullet and swallow the cost of a private charter. I think Craig broke out in hives as we confirmed this choice.

Once that decision was made and after much calling around I found a company called Air Charter Advisors, based in Florida.  They found us a plane that needed to get to Geneva to bring passengers home on the 6^th of March.  So we could use the plane to get to Italy, leaving on March 4 and arriving on March 5^th. We would fly on a Gulfstream GIV to Rome via Reykjavik, Iceland.  And that was how we were going to get the kids to Italy.

As the time of the trip got close, we were informed that the plane would now be stopping in Keflavik (never heard of it), Iceland instead of Reykjavik.  I hoped that this was the only part of the journey that would not go as planned.... because despite the hundreds of thousands of miles I have logged as both a business and leisure traveler, this was a Herculean undertaking and I was a novice.

Up until the day before the trip, I was pretty confident that I had everything under control. I checked and double checked lists.  Made and kept appointments.  Organized my things and my files.  But when the morning of March 4 arrived, it felt like all hell was breaking loose. Hundreds of little details to take care of.  Last minute things to pack.  People travel papers.  Dog travel papers.  1-800-GOT JUNK coming to pick up the last of the “stuff” around the house that would not be sold or donated. I could not shake those thoughts of “I’m sure I’m forgetting something” (which, of course I did, but c’est la vie). It was exhausting. And then, to add insult to injury, at around 11AM we had a little plumbing emergency (is there such a thing as a “little” plumbing emergency??).  If it weren’t for the best plumber in all of LA, Glenn Krinsky, who dropped another big job and rushed to come help us, I am not sure if I would be here in Italy writing today.  But he did.  And I will be forever grateful.

When the clock struck 2PM, as promised, the Mercedes Sprinter Van that was sent compliments of the jet company, arrived outside the house.  Our driver could not have been nicer as he saw us scrambling to bring 8 suitcases, bags, boxes, dog crates and the travel fish tank out to be loaded.  Like a jigsaw puzzle he made everything fit in the van. Then it was one final look around and goodbye Brentwood. 

First lesson learned?  Don’t overfill a travel fish tank before you get into a moving vehicle or you will end up with a lap full of fish tank water!

After stopping to empty a bit out of Fred’s tank, we continued on to Van Nuys Airport, north of Los Angeles, which is a small facility catering primary to private planes. They buzzed us through the gates and our van drove us right up to the plane. Within a matter of seconds our crew came out to greet us and within minutes the van was unloaded, the plane loaded, and Craig, Natalia, Lizzie, Mario, Luigi, Fred and I were on board and ready to go.

 

 

 

 

Second lesson learned?  Even with maximum tranquilizer dose recommended by the vet, Natalia is not a happy traveler in her crate.

Almost half an hour earlier than our scheduled 4PM departure time, we took off for Italy.  Ciao Los Angeles!

THE FLIGHT

The take off was smooth and soon after we were in the air our kind flight attendant offered that we could take the dogs out of their crates and they could feel free to move about the cabin. HAPPY DOGS!  It took only a few minutes for them to decide that they liked flying.  As long as they could have laps. 

The vegetarian catering was delicious. The Veuve Clicquot perfect.  We ate and drank and then climbed, along with the dogs (3 with me, 1 with Craig), into the beds that had been made up for us pre-flight.  (Fish was content to stay back in the galley.)

 

 

 

 

STOPPING IN ICELAND

A little more than 8 hours later we were awakened to buckle up as we arrived in Keflavik. I was originally told that we would deplane while the refueling took place and the change of pilots occurred.  We thought the dogs would get a bathroom break. But apparently that is not the procedure and we were told to sit tight. (Quite frankly it looked really cold and nasty outside, so I was happy to stay onboard.)  The dogs would have to hold on until Italy. 

The stop was short and before we knew it we were back in the air for the 4.5-hour flight to Rome Ciampino Airport.

Third lesson learned? Iceland customs will not let you off the plane with dogs during a layover in Keflavik.

ARRIVING IN ITALY

In all of my prior arrivals to Rome I had flown into Rome’s larger airport, Fiumicino.  So I was not sure what to expect when we got to Ciampino.  We chose this airport because it had a small private terminal where we would not need to deal with the dogs in any long immigration and customs lines.  I was very surprised when we landed, got off the plane, and walked right out.  No one checked our papers.  No one checked the dogs’ papers.  No one looked at our bags.  No one asked about the fish.  Just a friendly “benvenuti” and we were out the other side where the dogs did their business in the grass and we were off.  (NB:  This would later on prove to be an issue, but that’s another story.)

DRIVING TO PUGLIA

Much like the ordeal when we left Brentwood, we had to load all of our bags and pets and ourselves into a van and prepare for the 5-hour journey to Fasano.  All of the vans they had available were manual transmission, so I got out of driving.  But I had fish duty. 

Fourth lesson learned? It is very nerve wracking traveling with a fish…. especially one who has lived almost 10 years and you would feel horribly guilty losing during the move.

This is the second time I had made the trip from Rome to Puglia by car and, as I remembered, once you make a left a Naples, the drive across Southern Italy is quite pretty. But it was LONG.  And we were exhausted.  At one point we made a roadside restaurant stop and ate panini sitting in the parking lot.  Not so glamourous after the jet.  But delicious nonetheless. (NB:  It is not uncommon to get really decent food in Italy at the most unexpected places.) The dogs were happy to share.

 

 

ARRIVING IN PUGLIA (HOME)

By the time we arrived to Fasano it was dark and we were all spent.  It was about 21 hours since we had left the house in Brentwood.  After a quick stop at the food store so we would have provisions for the next morning we headed up the hill to the new property. (We have since been to that CONAD store about 5 times. They probably already know us as the crazy Americans.)

When we pulled up to the house, Franco, Franco’s daughter Francesca, Francesco, Francesco’s wife and Francesco’s sister were waiting for us with the keys, 6 two-litre bottles of water, cups, napkins and a huge ceramic bowl of typical Pugliese treats. Seriously the nicest people.

 

The dogs hopped out and happily explored their new home, very quickly deciding that the garden gnomes left behind by the previous owner are great things on which to do a wee.  And we proceeded to unload the van into Craig’s almost empty house. 

I popped downstairs to FINALLY see firsthand the renovation that I had been managing from thousands of miles away for 3+ months.  IT IS FANTASTIC! Much better than I imagined from the pictures.  I was, and am still, thrilled with the work they did. 

We got a quick briefing on keys (of which there are about 50), lights, alarm systems, etc. And said our goodbyes.  It was now 22 hours since we had left the house in Brentwood and it was time for bed.  We changed into the warmest things we could find quickly in our suitcases and curled up with the fleece throws we had brought along for cover with the dogs on two of the sofas that remained, under a heater that promised to warm up an old stone house that had not been heated for a long time, and went to sleep. 

Buonanotte!

Italiano, La Bella Lingua

I was at Vincenti Ristorante here in Brentwood the other night waiting to meet a friend at the bar for a "farewell to Los Angeles" drink. As I sat there, I listened to two Italian ladies who happened to be next to me talking to one another.  And with every minute my anxiety grew.  I still don't understand them. Crap! I catch only a few words in each sentence and I try to piece together the gist of what they are saying. But after all of my lessons, my practice, my writing and reading back and forth with my new Italian contacts, I still don't understand them.  Not really. Again, crap! Fair enough, I was eavesdropping.  And if they had been speaking directly to me and knew that Italian was not my first language perhaps it would have been different.  Perhaps they would speak more slowly and clearly.  Perhaps. But I can't always count on that.

As a result of this traumatic realization, I have decided that one of the things I will do upon arriving in Puglia (after securing my residence, getting my car, my doctor, a vet for the dogs, unpacking all of my things and setting up the house, getting the rental property ready, etc.) is register for more Italian classes.  I am also going to start my Rosetta Stone lessons again.  And practice a trick from a book I read recently about an Australian man who followed the love of his life to Puglia. He mentioned putting post-it notes with Italian names on everything in the house and car so you are forced to begin thinking of them in Italian rather than English. Why not? We'll try it and see how it goes.

Now despite all of my usual self-deprecation and anxiety, I will admit that my command of Italian has been improving. Slowly but surely. And I want to take a moment to acknowledge the wonderful teachers at the Italian Cultural Institute Los Angeles who can take credit for any proficiency I  claim at this point.  It was there that I took my first classes and reignited my desire to learn this beautiful language.  In particular I have to acknowledge Michele, who was my first teacher.  It was his kindness, patience and wonderful sense of humor that made those first classes fun. He helped us to learn the language, but also to understand more about the culture behind it. It was such a fun time.  And it came when I was at a place in my life back in 2009 when I really need the diversion.  Mille grazie Michele!!

So....just for fun I have compiled a few phrases that I have a feeling I will need frequently during  my first few weeks in Italy. 

Ciao! Come stai?         Hi! How are you?

Mi chiamo Tracey.       My name is Tracey.

Ho quattro cani.           I have four dogs.

Attenti ai cani.              Beware of the dogs.

Io sono vegano.             I am vegan. (Except in rare moments of weakness when I find myself ordering a pizza.)

Quanto costa?              How much does it cost?

Mi dispiace.                  I'm sorry. (I have already used this a dozen times with Franco.)

Mi scusi.                       Excuse me.

Non ho capito.              I didn't understand.

Può parlare più lentamente.       Can you speak a little more slowly.

 

And most importantly:

 

Posso vedere la lista dei vini?     May I see the wine list?

 

Avete vini ai bicchieri.                 Do you have wines by the glass?

 

Dove si trova il prosecco?           Where is the prosecco?