Our church choir rehearsed last night; Eleanor was told about it by a choir member on Sunday. After starting to describe where said rehearsal would be held, he suddenly asked where we lived, and then said that he'd just go with us because it was easier than explaining.
At 8:55, he duly met us in the Piazza Jacopone. I had thought we'd be walking, but he took us to the Piazza del Popolo so that he could retrieve his car from a (predictably) tight little quasi-parking area next to the Duomo. At one point, he re-emerged and I thought maybe I had misunderstood and that he was expecting us to follow him, so off we trotted. Just in time to see him get into the car, put it into gear, and bang! wham into the car behind his. He then gunned it and got it up the hill. With much maneuvering, he finally managed to negotiate the auto into the Piazza, at which point we got into his car.
When we got to the rehearsal location (which required a drive of about twice the distance it would take to walk because of road closures & one-way streets), our driver got out, and checked out the back of his car for scratches, then patted it down. The girls & I couldn't let our eyes meet for fear of spluttering with laughter. We went around an apparently deserted building, then clambered down some dark steps to come across about 10 others waiting in a pitch-black alley next to said building. Problem? We were waiting on the key!
At 9:15 (a quarter of an hour after the rehearsal's official start time), a cheerful young man came rambling up with a key, and we could get into the room. And promptly at 9:50, the rehearsal started. We got through one of the two songs by 11, at which time we adjourned. I must say, it was delightful to sing again, and Marco really is quite a good choir director.
On the way back, I checked out the speedometer while he was going at a normal pace into Todi: 12 mph! After that, we had the chance to join Michael in time to hear the excellent band play "Happy Birthday" to some unknown...
Love,
Alexandra
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
"Raindrops keep falling on my head"
Not really (we wish! It's blazing hot here!), but that is one of the songs that they played at the concert last night, if it gives you any indication of the calibre. As Jeremy remarked, it was a bunch of old people mostly talking and then playing a few songs.
The girls and I didn't get there until after 11 (we had a choir practice, which was an amusement in itself), and Michael was sitting calmly at the bar having a "bierra grande" -- which turns out to be a 1/2 litre of beer. The boys had already given up in disgust & gone home.
According to Michael, the playing didn't even start until quarter past 10, at which point they kicked off with "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." The boys were not impressed. The leader then proceeded to introduce a member of the band who knew someone important or something (Michael's comprehension wasn't up to the task here) -- and said member proceeded to expound for 20 minutes. Interesting - not.
By the time we got there, they were in full swing, however, and were nowhere near letting up when we left at 12:15. I think they cut out about 12:45. We saw tons of toddlers dancing, puppies, and couples (Ashley enjoyed the last particularly). Meanwhile, Michael provided tons of hilarious commentary on the musicians' proficiency, making me laugh so hard that it counted as an ab workout -- proving that sometimes the worst concerts can end up being the most entertaining.
The best part? This morning when I was having a coffee with an insurance agent, one of her colleagues was waxing lyrical about the incredibly wonderful concert she'd enjoyed last night in the piazza!
Love,
Alexandra
The girls and I didn't get there until after 11 (we had a choir practice, which was an amusement in itself), and Michael was sitting calmly at the bar having a "bierra grande" -- which turns out to be a 1/2 litre of beer. The boys had already given up in disgust & gone home.
According to Michael, the playing didn't even start until quarter past 10, at which point they kicked off with "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." The boys were not impressed. The leader then proceeded to introduce a member of the band who knew someone important or something (Michael's comprehension wasn't up to the task here) -- and said member proceeded to expound for 20 minutes. Interesting - not.
By the time we got there, they were in full swing, however, and were nowhere near letting up when we left at 12:15. I think they cut out about 12:45. We saw tons of toddlers dancing, puppies, and couples (Ashley enjoyed the last particularly). Meanwhile, Michael provided tons of hilarious commentary on the musicians' proficiency, making me laugh so hard that it counted as an ab workout -- proving that sometimes the worst concerts can end up being the most entertaining.
The best part? This morning when I was having a coffee with an insurance agent, one of her colleagues was waxing lyrical about the incredibly wonderful concert she'd enjoyed last night in the piazza!
Love,
Alexandra
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
The Decline of the Euro
Today, on the way back from our favorite occupation ("out"), Ashley and I stopped by the pizzeria to pick up lunch. We got ample servings for everyone in the family and the total came to 12.80. I handed Christina, the server and cashier, a 20 euro note and she happily opened the cash register. She turned to me, asked if I had 80 cents. No, I didn't. Her face fell and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. She looked in the tips jar. No 20 cent coin. Finally, her face suddenly brightened and she said, "Oh, I'll give you some candy instead!" We agreed, and she gave us two pieces worth 10 cents each-- and that is the true story of how we come to be munching on sweets after our delicious pizza.
Eleanor
Eleanor
Jeremy's first batch of pictures
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| We woke up one morning to find this. |
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| front view |
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| Notice the suspension. |
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| This is in the market. |
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| Yes, these are beans. |
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| They may not look perfect, but they are delicious! |
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| 2 cloves tomato... |
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| the Italian version of the Hershey's kiss |
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| This scale weighs the fruit and calculates the price. |
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| Despite the American belief, eggs do not need to be refrigerated. |
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| Chocolate chips are a new idea in Italy |
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| These were both in the electronic store. |
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| the jazz concert |
-Jeremy
Monday, August 20, 2012
Bureaucracy...the Italian way
All right, I was hoping to post the whole story, but I'm getting too many questions about my sweet little Fiat 500!
Here's the answer -- in less time than it has taken me to live it!
1. I don't have it...yet.
2. To buy a car here, one must be an Italian resident (don't start asking me any questions or pointing out how ridiculous that is -- you're preaching to the choir).
3. To get residency is relatively easy, but...
4. One must show insurance coverage from one year...
5. ...underwritten by an Italian firm.
6. But! The Italian firms don't provide insurance coverage to non-residents!
So, the longer part of the (in my mind, rather funny) story is that everyone has been incredibly kind and helpful, but the City Hall (really, think INS) has been intransigent on the insurance issue. The good news is that my lovely insurance agent (who has never met an R he would like to pronounce, and pronounces his L's like G's -- I rarely understand a word he says, and mostly nod or provide non-committal noises) has managed to persuade the underwriter to go ahead and insure us.
Here's the interesting thing: insurance for one year for seven people, covering operations, meds, no deductibles, up to $125,000 per year per person will set us back about $3000. We pay that per month in the US. And we have deductibles. And some of us have expensive medications -- $60 per month just for the deductible. The catch? I still don't know if we'll be able to obtain all our meds...
The funny note for us today?
Another requirement is to show that you have 6000 euros in an Italian bank -- so that you can "support" yourself. My real estate agent thought that it meant 6000 euros total. As a precaution, I had a balance statement (required) AND a letter by my banker that said -- in his opinion -- that we had plenty of money to support the family for a year.
When I went to City Hall for the first time (with my real estate agent), the fellow behind the counter said that -- oh, no, it wasn't 6000 euros total. It was 6000 euros for the first person, with a sliding requirement beyond that. He didn't know what it would be for 6 people (Michael won't get residency, but rather a "permesso di soggiorno" -- meaning a visitor's permit). He disappeared for rather a long time, while the agent (Marcello) and I raised our eyebrows at each other.
He finally came back with an answer: they'd never had a family this large try to become residents, so he had no clue how much we would need to have. I showed him the bankers' letter, and he decided he'd be fine with that!
So, in the final analysis, I've been to City Hall 2 or 3 separate times, each time with a different advocate to plead on my behalf. With any luck, the health insurance will clear this week (can we pray collectively about it?), and then I can get the residency!
Although it can be frustrating, let's compare this to my experience with the US INS. As a naturalizing citizen, I elected to naturalize on my own recognizance (as it were) rather than on the score of being married to a citizen. Nonetheless, when I finally had an appointment (after months of trying), my officer looked at me as though I were a worm and demanded that I bring the notarized marriage certificate back within an hour or she would restart the entire process at the beginning. Bear in mind that it was a 25-minute drive each way, required finding (and paying for) parking, and entailed a wait to be seen in a room full of other hopeful supplicants who looked just as downtrodden as I felt. After that was worked out, they gave me an appointment for the swearing in: at 8:30 on July 4. I went down there, despite having the feeling that it wouldn't happen -- and, yes, sure enough, the INS is closed on that national holiday!
Going to city hall here means a 30 yard walk, going up a flight of steps, and talking to the person behind the counter. The three trips combined have taken me maybe 40 minutes total. So, desire for my sweet little Fiat aside (yes, I can hear it calling to me and sending me loving messages, which I am returning with my whole heart), I think it's actually progressing. Maybe.
Love,
Alexandra
Here's the answer -- in less time than it has taken me to live it!
1. I don't have it...yet.
2. To buy a car here, one must be an Italian resident (don't start asking me any questions or pointing out how ridiculous that is -- you're preaching to the choir).
3. To get residency is relatively easy, but...
4. One must show insurance coverage from one year...
5. ...underwritten by an Italian firm.
6. But! The Italian firms don't provide insurance coverage to non-residents!
So, the longer part of the (in my mind, rather funny) story is that everyone has been incredibly kind and helpful, but the City Hall (really, think INS) has been intransigent on the insurance issue. The good news is that my lovely insurance agent (who has never met an R he would like to pronounce, and pronounces his L's like G's -- I rarely understand a word he says, and mostly nod or provide non-committal noises) has managed to persuade the underwriter to go ahead and insure us.
Here's the interesting thing: insurance for one year for seven people, covering operations, meds, no deductibles, up to $125,000 per year per person will set us back about $3000. We pay that per month in the US. And we have deductibles. And some of us have expensive medications -- $60 per month just for the deductible. The catch? I still don't know if we'll be able to obtain all our meds...
The funny note for us today?
Another requirement is to show that you have 6000 euros in an Italian bank -- so that you can "support" yourself. My real estate agent thought that it meant 6000 euros total. As a precaution, I had a balance statement (required) AND a letter by my banker that said -- in his opinion -- that we had plenty of money to support the family for a year.
When I went to City Hall for the first time (with my real estate agent), the fellow behind the counter said that -- oh, no, it wasn't 6000 euros total. It was 6000 euros for the first person, with a sliding requirement beyond that. He didn't know what it would be for 6 people (Michael won't get residency, but rather a "permesso di soggiorno" -- meaning a visitor's permit). He disappeared for rather a long time, while the agent (Marcello) and I raised our eyebrows at each other.
He finally came back with an answer: they'd never had a family this large try to become residents, so he had no clue how much we would need to have. I showed him the bankers' letter, and he decided he'd be fine with that!
So, in the final analysis, I've been to City Hall 2 or 3 separate times, each time with a different advocate to plead on my behalf. With any luck, the health insurance will clear this week (can we pray collectively about it?), and then I can get the residency!
Although it can be frustrating, let's compare this to my experience with the US INS. As a naturalizing citizen, I elected to naturalize on my own recognizance (as it were) rather than on the score of being married to a citizen. Nonetheless, when I finally had an appointment (after months of trying), my officer looked at me as though I were a worm and demanded that I bring the notarized marriage certificate back within an hour or she would restart the entire process at the beginning. Bear in mind that it was a 25-minute drive each way, required finding (and paying for) parking, and entailed a wait to be seen in a room full of other hopeful supplicants who looked just as downtrodden as I felt. After that was worked out, they gave me an appointment for the swearing in: at 8:30 on July 4. I went down there, despite having the feeling that it wouldn't happen -- and, yes, sure enough, the INS is closed on that national holiday!
Going to city hall here means a 30 yard walk, going up a flight of steps, and talking to the person behind the counter. The three trips combined have taken me maybe 40 minutes total. So, desire for my sweet little Fiat aside (yes, I can hear it calling to me and sending me loving messages, which I am returning with my whole heart), I think it's actually progressing. Maybe.
Love,
Alexandra
A word about schedules
Yesterday we enjoyed the pool again. Being really determined to use the available public transportation system, we gamely approached the posted schedule (again). With lots of internal discussion, we interpreted that there was probably a bus at 2:12.
Rushing down the stairs at 1:59 (didn't want to miss it!), we posted ourselves in the piazza on a convenient bench outside Massimo's place. And we waited. And waited. And waited. I chatted with a couple who live in Rome, and the kids wandered down the street with Michael. We consulted the schedule again. Linea C came and went. The shuttle that runs on weekends came and went. Four times.
Sadly, I wandered in to Massimo's and talked to Christina. I asked her what exactly was meant by "feriali", "giornalieri," and "festivi." As I had started to suspect, "festivi" (festival days) meant Sunday. She was not able to explain the difference between "feriali" and "giornalieri." The latter means "daily" and the former means "normal days" (as in, Monday through Saturday). Does "daily" include Sundays? Apparently not, for our purposes.
I finally accosted another bus driver, and he told me that the next bus would be at 4:00. Sigh. So we called our hero, who once again squeezed us in to effect a rescue. He had a full itinerary lined up for the afternoon, so he confessed that he was in a bit of a rush.
Lest you think that we are incompetent twits, I post a copy of the schedules (yes, plural) that are posted for Linea B. Bear in mind that we had received no schooling in any of these. And, being Italian and being public transportation, times are very much an approximation...
Love,
Alexandra
p.s. We all had a wonderful time at the pool! Michael joined us for the first time & couldn't get enough of the slides...
Rushing down the stairs at 1:59 (didn't want to miss it!), we posted ourselves in the piazza on a convenient bench outside Massimo's place. And we waited. And waited. And waited. I chatted with a couple who live in Rome, and the kids wandered down the street with Michael. We consulted the schedule again. Linea C came and went. The shuttle that runs on weekends came and went. Four times.
Sadly, I wandered in to Massimo's and talked to Christina. I asked her what exactly was meant by "feriali", "giornalieri," and "festivi." As I had started to suspect, "festivi" (festival days) meant Sunday. She was not able to explain the difference between "feriali" and "giornalieri." The latter means "daily" and the former means "normal days" (as in, Monday through Saturday). Does "daily" include Sundays? Apparently not, for our purposes.
I finally accosted another bus driver, and he told me that the next bus would be at 4:00. Sigh. So we called our hero, who once again squeezed us in to effect a rescue. He had a full itinerary lined up for the afternoon, so he confessed that he was in a bit of a rush.
Lest you think that we are incompetent twits, I post a copy of the schedules (yes, plural) that are posted for Linea B. Bear in mind that we had received no schooling in any of these. And, being Italian and being public transportation, times are very much an approximation...
Love,
Alexandra
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| Ashley relaxing at the pool |
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| A view from our spot at the pool (remember we walked to the pool the first time?) |
Uno Spettacolo
Last night we went to a concert. They played 50's and 60's type music. In English. We were all having a great time. my favorite line was "a one, a two, a one two tree four" with heavy accents. It was very cute. And because they were Italian, they all wore black suits with a white tie. The Italians just love their uniforms! James and I had a good time together, Ashley and Eleanor paired up, Mummy and Daddy danced, and Jeremy went home; there was no need to drive him: the walk is, by the way, 92 meters.Ciao,
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| Jeremy checking out the bass player |
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