What am I doing here?

 Thanksgiving "weekend'....well, it is only a holiday in the US.   Just a regular Thursday here.  The weather, while still warmish, is getting chillier and wetter, sometimes dipping into the 30s at night, usually in the 50s by day.

I made breaded chicken cutlets, gravy, mashed potatoes and baked carrots with an asiago cream sauce.  And we had cornetti (croissants).  There's enough potato and gravy left for potato pancakes at another meal.

We opened a bottle of Prosecco.  However, I had to keep steering the conversation, such as it was, away from the events of the morning.

Two years ago.....yes, two years ago.....a leak was noticed in a cantina downstairs and also a small rivulet leaking outside the building.  We do not have any cantina space in this building, but, since we live here, we chipped in our fair share to repair the leak.  We have homeowners insurance, which made a sizeable payment for the repair.  The leak, itself, was confined (other than the outside part) to the cantina of a certain real estate agent in town who owns the apartment upstairs.

As a result of the repair, we learned that the majority of said leak was coming from the small apartment next door to us.  Two years ago, the old lady who lived upstairs moved to the apartment downstairs since she was having trouble dealing with the stairs.   As I said, it was TWO YEARS AGO that the problem started.  Previously, there was no leak.

The apartment next door is owned by a woman who wanted to sell it at an exhorbitant price.  She eventually rented to the old lady.  Someone, we don't know who, sort of "takes care" of this old lady, who really should not be living alone, but what do I know?   Anyway, a cleaning lady comes in TWICE a week....twice a WEEK!...and thoroughly swabs down the deck, so to speak.  Water, water everywhere.  Why on earth this has to be done twice a week is beyond me....who gets THAT dirty?  It isn't a hospital.  So, between leaky pipes and twice weekly mini-floods....yeah, there's trouble in the cantina.  

Our pipes are not leaking.  Our pipes are not the problem.  And, in spite of this, we paid our share for the repairs.

One day we got a lovely little letter in the mail from an attorney for the owner of the cantina that owns the apartment upstairs.  It claimed the problem persisted and they wanted more money.  An amount was not specified but they wanted the money NOW.  

Well, after remarking on the blatant unprofessionalism of the letter.....you want payment now?  How much?  For what?  We already paid...why come after us?  Bottom line: we had to hire our own attorney.  Oh, joy.

So, it turns out that both the real estate guy (who owns the upstairs apartment and the cantina) and the woman who owns the place next door have no homeowners insurance.  What he is trying to do is squeeze money out of the owner of the place next door (she refused to pay, even though her pipes were at fault) and out of us...because, well, Americans, I guess.  We must be loaded.

We have had several people stomp through our place a couple of times already...look around, look under the sink....look at the balcony.  Ok....nice to see you, bye.

Well, happy holiday, they showed up (surprise!!) yesterday morning.  Couple of men, couple of women, in and out, in and out, leaving the damned door wide open.  "Chiusa la porta, PER FAVORE!!!"  I didn't want a scared cat bolting out the door.

There was someone downstairs in the cantina.  They had a drill.  They were using the drill.  They used the drill to drill right through the ceiling downstairs into our kitchen and right through a kitchen tile in front of our sink and dishwasher.  What the actual HELL???

My husband was livid. LIVID!  Expletives flying all over the place.  I was livid, too....and watching the door and checking on cats...omigod.  

One of the men...I really don't know who is who....said, in English, "We will fix this."  Well, goody...you bet...we do not have an extra tile.  So now the search is on for a tile that will match as closely as possible the ones we have throughout the house, other than in the living room.  We have no idea how old the tiles are (they are not old old....not historical or anything, but finding a good match will be a challenge)  

So....here we are, with an absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary HOLE in our floor that we have covered with tape so nothing decides to crawl in, and no frigid blasts of cold air.....isn't it lovely?  

So, we got through Thanksgiving, such as it is nowadays...hoping to find one single freaking floor tile to sort of match.  Will they actually pay?  Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.......

Shake it up, baby

 Don't get me wrong....I have posted already about the clean, pristine air, the amazing, natural food and the gorgeous vistas.  And, I don't "blame" Italy for the things I do complain about.  Much of what I find frustrating is because we are in a small town.  Would I rather be somewhere else?  Likely, but there are tax advantages to be here which expats like us would not have in a larger town or small city.  So, here we are.

We live on what is called a "piazzetta"...not a piazza, which is larger and likely has businesses.  This is a small piazzetta at the end of a narrow block that leads to the passaggiatta that rings around the outside on this side of town.  Much like the dead end blocks I knew as a kid that ended in what we called "courts"...a rounded section at the end.  There are no businesses here, other than a small dance studio for little girls.  Just us folks, a couple of little tiny children...a teen.  

Someone decided this would be a great place to hold a 3 night "festa."  The town granted a permit for it, which really surprises me, but.....

This was what I saw this morning right outside our front door.  

Last night, starting at 7pm and going to midnight, they had food and music.  Meaning there were amplifiers right outside our door and our window.  Right OUTSIDE our living room.  So, for the sake of this "festa" the residents were all disrupted and inconvenienced and downright angry. 

Oh, yeah, and those people with cars?  They had to move then and keep them moved for FIVE days. 

Because we had been out earlier in the day, we had pizza to heat in the microwave.  I holed up in the bedroom with Netflix (and earplugs) and several scared cats.  My husband was in the kitchen with his computer.  The living room was unlivable. And it will be unlivable tonight and tomorrow night, too.  Even with everything shut, including our front shutters, the relentless boom of the speakers penetrated our home.  BOOM...BOOM...BOOM.

When I was finally tired enough to go to bed, I returned my computer to the living room for charging.  The damned room was shaking, as if a small earthquake was going on ....and on....and on.

Public piazzas are there for the public.  There are businesses all around.  Yes, there are some residents, but they have to know what living in or near a public piazza means.  THIS is NOT a public piazza.  I'm angry that I cannot enjoy my own fucking living room.  I'm angry about the relentless noise.  My husband has told me three times today that his ears are still ringing.  I'm angry that the town would allow this to take place in a residential area.    Poor judgement, poor management....whatever.  In my opinion, this just isn't right and likely would not happen in a less rural environment.

It don't come easy....

We were up at 6am.  It was still as dark as the middle of the night and it was gently raining.  The cats were curious....."what's you doin' up?"  I had some tea and a piece of toast because there is a medication I MUST take with food, so they say.  Ugh....I cannot STAND getting up in the dark and I can't stand eating as soon as I wake up.  Bleh!

We left the cats dry food....and walked around the corner to wait for our friend who was driving us into Pescara.  Today we go BACK to the Questura (police) for our permessi.  Joy.

We got slightly stuck behind a slowpoke and then at one point up ahead the cars came to a stand still, so we got off onto a bit of "highway" that sort of zipped into the city.  It was, after all, "rush hour in the big city."

                                                  Pescara Questura, Sept 2023

We got there still with some time to spare, but the sight of about 10 to 12 people milling about outside did not inspire confidence.

It was still drizzly and chilly.  We stood for a bit and finally I said "Scusa" to the young man in front of me and went inside.  Both benches were vacant, so I sat and soon my husband walked in too.  

Eventually, an officer came out from the back room and asked who we were, why we were there...looked at our IDs and appointment papers.  He told a couple of young women who had wandered in to go back outside, along with my husband.  He allowed me to stay.

After waiting nearly a half an hour, I was called up to the window....I signaled my husband.  With that, the young police officer behind the window did a cursory flip through our papers.  He asked for my passport and permesso.  Then he said...."You have not been here 5 years."  I stood there wide-eyed.  My husband began to protest.  He said it again....."No, no...it is not five years until November 3."  At this point, I rolled my eyes.....two weeks from now?  What is this???

Well, apparently, this is "police humor."  Had we not been sleep deprived and nervous.....maybe...maybe we would have found some levity in this, but that was not the case.  The officer went on to say, "You have to come back on November 3."  I said, "Fine, what time?"    With that it seemed the joke was over and he continued to process our papers.  I suppose, because they screwed up the appointments the first time and this was our second attempt and HE was the very same young gentleman from the first time that he thought he was being funny.  His attempt fizzled. (So funny I forgot to laugh)

His buddy at the other window (there are only two) had made a similarly bone head attempt two years ago when he said that our American bank account information wasn't in Italian.  To which my response was "Sono numeri"....they are numbers.  Ha ha....very funny....not Italian.  😖

At this point, the guy at the other window was free, so he took my husband.  I was asked where I was born and what is my phone number.  Then I had to provide my signature on an electronic gizmo thing.  Then I had to have a couple of fingers printed...also electronic.  And then he took the passport photo we had done recently and popped it into the computer and that was that.  "Buongiorno!"  Both of them with big smiles on their faces.  Good thing there was glass between us.  Sheesh.  (I'm sure they are nice guys and I was just in a VERY bad mood)

We got home by 11am, as the skies were clearing.  I fed the cats and gave Scruffy his asthma medicine.

By this time, we were both famished.....we walked up to Bar Centrale.  It was early by pranzo standards, so there was a large selection.  My husband had white lasagna, I had penne in tomato sauce with cheese and peas.  I also had gelato.  Then I fell asleep for two hours!

Now we wait.  If all goes well, we will have our "Carta Permanente" and not have to go through this procedure every year.  Fingers crossed!

Don't know where they're goin' and my friend, neither do I....

 It is time to renew our permessi yet again.  We filled out the forms.  We gathered all the materials.  We went to the post office and handed them in to be sent to the Questura (police).  The post office supposedly contacts the Questura on the spot via computer and issues you an appointment.  We are evaluated as a couple.  It's the way it is done.  We were, for the very first time, given appointments on different days.  VERY different days. !!???????  Is this a mistake?  The answer we got was a shrug.

Soooooooooooo, today was MY day.  Luckily, our friend was able to drive us.  He (they, he and his wife) picked us up at 8:30am.  Godawful hour, as far as I'm concerned.  I had to get up at 6am and get ready and have the cats fed, too.  (I got up at 4:30 am for several years, and 5am for many others.....I am royally sick of pushing myself out of bed in the middle of the night)  I skipped dinner last night and anything this morning because my stomach, after a year of trauma, can still be unpredictable.  Off we went.

The day was absolutely gorgeous and riding through the hills to Pescara there were views of homes literally dripping with bougainvilla and oleander and other lush greenery.  We arrived about a half hour early, so our friends dropped us off and we just went to the corner and sat for a bit.

 When it approached 10am we headed to the Questura, the Immigration Office.  We were happy that there wasn't a line.  I went inside because there are two (uncomfortable) benches. It didn't take them very long to call my name.  

The officer behind the desk was young and handsome.  He said, pointing at my husband, "Who is this?" He took my paper and my passport and disappeared into the back.  When he came back, he said we should have had an appointment together.  NO KIDDING!!!  I told him the post office issued the appointments.  He said we had to come back in October, on my husband's date since we were supposed to be together.  BUT......it turns out that the date he was given in October is a Holiday!!!  Yeah, so,  sorry.......and he disappeared again.  Then when he came back he said October is booked, so he took my phone number, went back again, and came out again saying we would be called.  When?  Don't know.

Ahhhhh, Italian bureaucracy.  Don't know.  November?  December?  Don't know.  

So, that was that.  We made the trip for no reason whatsoever.  If he knew immediately that it was mistake, why couldn't someone have contacted us beforehand and remedied the situation?  I was laughing, my husband wasn't. 

On the way back, we stopped for coffee at a gas station.  They have THE best cappuccino around.  Really, at a gas station cafe.  THE best.  

Got home famished and had a half sandwich of turkey.  Now we both feel like we've been stomped on.  And so I wait, phone at the ready 24/7 until we hear from them.  I do hope, I really, really do hope it doesn't take forever.

Boom! What you do to me!

 Real food, Part II

Yes, I am still waxing poetic about the food here.  

I heard there is a show...is it Netflix?...that deals with the horrors of processed foods and animal products.

I am not a vegetarian, although I think I would be if I weren't married.  That being said, the only meat I ingest is poultry.  And an occasional can of tuna.  I gave up pork after stopping at a farm when my daughter was little.  She wanted to see the pigs.  They totally broke my heart and I didn't touch pork again.

I gave up beef after reading about arthritis and what foods can cause problems.  

The thing is, even Italians didn't eat A LOT of meat many years ago.  I read a book that was loaned to me about the history of this area.  In it I learned that even when most people were agrarian, they usually only ate "meat" maybe twice a year, Christmas and Easter.  And when that was done, they stretched it out in every way imaginable, right down to boiling bones for broth.  They also shared what they had with friends and neighbors. 

Anyway, in sharp contrast to the aisles and aisles of "snack foods" I was accustomed to before (here I use the term "food" lightly) there is one small section in our local supermarket dedicated to "snacks."  That's because, once again, they are natural, rather than loaded with artificial colors, flavors, what have you.  

There are taco chips.  Just taco chips, plain taco chips.  NO honey mustard, or sour cream and chive, or hot pepper....the list goes on.  Same for potato chips, which, by the way, also have less salt than their US counterparts.

And then, much to my delighted surprise, just when I was having cravings for what we called "cheese doodles" (which I now understand come in super hot, extra crunchy and who knows what else?) these appeared on the shelf!   Yes!  An Italian cheese doodle!  Baked in the oven!  REAL cheese.  No artificial anything.  No preservatives. No bright orange powder slopping up your hands or clothes.  Also, no gigantic, supersize bags.  Less is more.  They are a bit larger than their overseas cousins with no tiny bits flopping about, just easy to eat (and digest) real food.  

Beyond these "snack foods" the Italians themselves have tarallini.  They are, of course, all natural and oven baked.  They come plain, or with garlic and onion, or rosemary.  They are a bit more filling, shaped like giant Cheerios.....something more appropriate for cooler weather, which I hope is just around the corner.  

In the meantime, cornetti formaggi!! Yay!

Hot diggity., dog diggity

 Have I ever waxed poetic about the food here?  If not, I am about to.

There have been some surprises.....such as the Italian love of potatoes.  They love French Fries and there is even pizza with fries on it, or one that I myself like, which has bits of soft baked potato on it, mozzarella and sausage.  Croquettes, mashed, side dishes....lots of potatoes.  Who knew?

That being said, the most amazing thing for an American to discover is pure, fresh, unadulterated FOOD.

There are laws here, laws against harmful additives and preservatives.  Even familiar (global ) brands like Heinz and Hellmann's have to adhere to the requirements here or their products will not be sold.  So, mayonnaise has three ingredients.  Foods are emblazoned with the words "Senza olio di palma"..."No palm oil." 

When we first arrived, I spent far too much time reading the labels on food products because I was in awe of the fact that there were no additives, no long strings of equally long indecipherable and unpronounceable words in the list of ingredients.  Just.....food.  Even snacks, like potato chips and taco chips and the Italian version of a cheese doodle.  Nothing weird and no artificial "cheese product" either.  And no orange powder getting all over the place!

The vegetables are, for the most part, local.  Never before have I so consistently had lettuces with white stalks.  I used to search and search in the US, and often settle for one that was the "least brown."  

The other big surprise was the popularity of hot dogs, which are often called "wurstul" here. They are a whole different animal here, so to speak. Not only are they a bit larger than their American counterparts, but they have no nitrites or preservatives, and "chicken" dogs are easy to find.  I remember searching for them in the US, often to no avail.  As with potato, you will see "wurstul" on pizza. 

But the difference doesn't stop there.  The buns are not the same either.  Meaning they are not squishy soft styrofoam, but they are actually bread.  They have substance and flavor.  Also, no artificial ingredients.  They are not split, either, so you better have a good, sharp knife to cut them with.

And while I cannot find any sauerkraut, I have not problem substituting grilled onions.  They agree with my stomach better, anyway.  The cheddar here isn't very "cheddar-y" so I use provolone instead.

And, while French's brand sells yellow mustard here, I have found that regular Italian mustard has much more flavor.  The local deli here has Dijon "hot" mustard that has become my personal favorite.

Between the quality of the bun and the size of the dog and everything else, after one I am stuffed.    

It seems Italians don't really do pasta salads, which I found surprising.  REAL Italian pasta (elbows, which are ridged, fusilli and orrecchietti) make excellent, and also filling, salads.  Unfortunately, the good Italian brands are not sold in the US. I found that Trader Joe's had some decent pasta, but even that doesn't compare to the real deal here. 

We are in yet another "heat wave," hopefully the last of this summer, so chicken dogs, turkey burgers and pasta salads are often on the menu.  Along with a quick focaccia pizza or an easy penne alla vodka, minus the vodka. 

Hopefully September will be beautiful as usual.  In the meantime, Buon Ferragosto!