Guiseppe!!!!

So some of you may know that I helped with the opening of a new office in Trastevere back in December. It's our Customer Service/New Product Development office which I manage with a couple other great guys. But this has nothing to do with the story, other than setting the location.

It's in Via dei Riari, just down the street from the Regina Coeli dal Gianicolo Prison. You're probably not thinking sprawling lawns and wildflowers, but it's just that. It's right next to the botanical gardens, and it's fantastic. The prison sets at the foot of a large hill (the Gianicolo) which is one of the seven great hills of Rome and furnishes one of the most beautiful views of the city below.

But the thing particularly interesting about this setup is not what you see, but what you hear. At various periods throughout the day, it's very common to hear the cry of a heartsick mother or girlfriend searching for the voice of the one she loves. The men's bathrooms of the prison face towards the hill, and when all is quiet outside, voices carry for miles. In this manner, the unwillingly separated can communicate across the distance.

It's the same today as it was 50 years ago. In fact, some of the early black & white Italian films feature the same conversations you can hear taking place across the valley at this very moment.

Emergency... eh... Services

If you’re curious, here’s a little taste of how I spend my free time. (I apologize in advance, Linda. I plead ignorance and swear am just amusing myself. I’m sure your husband [a carabiniere] does very important and fantastic things!)

So far I have identified five government entities (six if you count hospitals/ambulances) that drive what I would classify as emergency vehicles: those with flashing lights that make your heart jump when they pull in behind you while you’re driving. These are the Polizia, Polizia Municipale, Carabinieri, Guardi di Finanza, and the Vigili di Fuoco. There are also the Emergenzia Sanitaria (for after Two-for-One Tuesday’s Margarita Night at La Huerta?) and the Emergenza Infanzia (when you need an extra child to get the group discount?), but I’ve never seen either of these so they don’t count in my "study".I think it’s fairly obvious what the “Vigilant of the Fire” (Vigili del Fuoco) do (although I hope they do more than just watch the fire), so they don’t count either.

Nevertheless, you see the others out in force, doing… well I don’t really know. That’s the point of this rambling. I spend most of my time waiting at bus stops trying to figure out what these people do, and here’s what I’ve discovered so far:

Mystery #1: The Carabinieri: Psuedo-Solved
I had heard that these are the guys you call when something has gone awry and you need a detective – say your purse (or European man-bag) has been swiped, or some drunk bozo drove his motorino into your cardboard box, destroying some of your fake Gucci bags (okay, maybe you wouldn’t call them then, but you get the point).

The phonebook lists them as “pronto intervento,” or “quick intervention,” leading us to believe that these are the people you would turn to when yelling,
“HELP! That guy stole my man-bag!”
“Your purse?”
…pause…
“YES!!! He stole my purse!!!”

This, however, doesn’t really seem quite accurate. A while back, my friend Margaretta was walking to her apartment in Piazza del Popolo when two men drove up, yanked her purse through the car window, and sped off. She happened to be standing in front of two carabinieri when this happened, so she looked to them and frantically, in Italian, pleaded for them to chase the two men who had stolen her purse. Instead of chasing the purse-snatchers, the carabinieri offered to take her to a café and buy her an espresso so she could relax and calm down.

Role of the Carabinieri: offer free emotional support and coffee when something bad has happened.

(Author's note: after two years of watching these guys in action, this impression sadly has not changed much.)

Mystery #2: The Polizia Municipale: Psuedo-Solved
I don’t know about you, but I guessed that the municipal police would have something to do with local traffic laws. I always see them standing around street corners with ticket books, so at first I thought they gave tickets for jaywalking. I’ve since determined that there IS no such thing as jaywalking in Italy. People just walk out into the street at random. After seeing this in action, I began crossing the street at a diagonal in front of the polizia municipale every day. They never batted an eye, so I’m pretty sure that’s not what they do.

Fortunately, the other day I had to get up really early for work, and I got to see them in action. Two women were standing together at a street-corner in their municipale garb, and when the stoplight turned green, they both waved for the cars to go! Brilliant! There is no further need for a stoplight to tell you when to go. The police will watch the lights for you and tell you when they’re green!

Role of the Polizia Municipale: wave at drivers when the traffic lights turn green.

(Author's note: after two years of watching these guys, I have to admit they DO do a bit more. For instance, they're the guys that give you parking tickets for parking your car on the sidewalk. Where else are you supposed to park in this city?!? One point of curiosity, however. I've learned that it takes at least two people to write a parking ticket, and three are definitely preferable.)

The Ongoing Search
Well, that’s all I’ve got so far. I plan to spend another six hours or so waiting for buses this week, so I’ll let you know if there are any other discoveries.

In case you’re curious, my hypotheses are as follows:

Polizia – These guys have always thought uniforms were pretty, and they really like having flashing lights on top of their car. Their specialty is giving directions to tourists, and sometimes shuffling around a predetermined meeting point.

(Author's note: yeah, that seems about right.)

Guardi di Finanza – I think this means “watchers of finance” but I prefer to translate it “you watch the finance”. I have a feeling that their morning meetings go something like this:
Paolo: “You watch the finances today.”
Giovanni: “No YOU watch the finances. I watched them yesterday!”
Paolo: “Let’s go get coffee.”
Giovanni: “Let’s!”

(Author's note: I seriously have never seen these guys do anything other than drive and eat... but maybe that's because the only thing I launder is my clothes.)

I’m sure these people have real jobs, but it’s amusing for me to think otherwise…

Getting Used to Salt Water

Growing up in the Midwest, I never actually got to see the ocean in person until I was eight years old. We were in Daytona Beach in the middle of a storm, and I wasn’t allowed to get out of the car. I think the next time was in Hawaii when I was sixteen, and suffice it to say that was a bit more climactic. Hawaii has to be one of the best places in the world to learn to surf. It feels as if the ocean is literally beckoning you, and once in it doesn’t disappoint.

Except for the dang salt in it. Photos and TV delude us with all these fabulous images of profound blue and magical waves, but no public works truck comes crashing through your front door, slurrying you in a wake of deicer. Now THAT would be a real experience. Instead, after the initial feeling of total relaxation in the warm waves, I was faced with the brutal reality of burning eyes and a maximized afro. I guess that’s just a by-product of having grown up where every water activity involved a lake or river. There I was inhaling algae when I face planted off a wakeboard, not a canister of Morton’s.

Italians often ask me what the heck I’m doing in Italy. See the Italian dream is caught up in TV shows like Sex and the City and the OC. It’s every 20-30 something’s dream to go to New York and sip a cosmopolitan in a classy bar (and no, it's not a sissy drink to Italians), or lounge by the pool under the palm trees in an LA mansion. They want to see the Simpson’s houses we all live in, and they want to be their own Kerouac and hitchhike to the Grand Canyon. I mean, it’s the US. What in the world could an American possibly want in Italy?









This is Ponza. It’s an island off the coast of Italy not too far from Naples. Maria’s (my girlfriend's) sister’s boyfriend’s family owns a villa in San Felice Circeo about 30 minutes away from the island by way of their 50-foot yacht. (I wanted to add another possessive to that sentence, but it seemed silly to say that their dogs owned anything.) Two weekends ago they were entertaining a notary (A very powerful intermediary figure here, nothing like our notaries! They are kind of a mega lawyer that authorizes business relationships between the state and the public [from what I understood anyway. Regardless, it's a pretty big deal]). Of course, since I’m basically family (you know, by way of son’s girlfriend’s sister’s boyfriend [isn’t Italy great?!?]), I was invited too.

I’m just in awe here. Even when work just sucks, the weekend makes you forget in an instant. Parmigian bruschette, fresh mozzarella, little sausages, octopus sandwiches (I cannot begin to tell you how amazing these were), coppiette (something like pork jerky)… I just… don’t know what to say. It seems weird to write these things because they just don't sound that appetizing. But I'm telling you, they were all fantastic! The food here is just incredible. We drank glasses of wine and dined as the waves next to the cliffs of Ponza gently rocked the boat.

Later we took the mini service boat attached to the back of the yacht to the beach for mojitos. The dj at the beachfront club was fantastic, so we couldn’t help but dance for a while before heading back.

This past weekend we hit the beach in Marina di Cerveteri, which is the beach where I sometimes swim on my lunch-break. They have coffee bars and showers there, so it’s easy to take a swim, grab a quick bite to eat, and head back to the office for the afternoon. Sunday afternoon it was off to Torvajanica, another beach town south down the coast. We relaxed on the beach for a while before grabbing a gelato and hitting up the local butcher for steak-burgers and fresh buffalo mozzarella.

I realize I’m totally bragging, but you guys have been harassing me for updates and I can’t help myself.

So anyway, I’m getting used to salt water.

My bizarre life (keeps me from getting bored).

Life isn't anything if it isn’t a series of unexpected events. Last night I found myself at dinner with a Roman political candidate. He thanked me for coming and for my continued support, even though we all know that he knew that there won’t be any Kansas Citians voting at this election. I thought it was going to be a grand banquet affair, and it turned out to be a private affair of about 15. I still don’t understand how I end up in these places. Ah well. No complaints.

Romans find it “cute” that I’m from Kansas City because the city has been immortalized in the minds of all Italians as the place Alberto Sordi should have been born in the film Americano a Roma – American in Rome. (Useless information for the day: Sordi was given honorary citizenship in Kansas City in 1967. Kansas City is #2 in the world for number of fountains. It’s second only to… Rome.) Having a family from Kansas City seems to be my free ticket to any place I don’t really belong.

I would venture to say that spring is finally here… to stay. Since February we’ve been flirting with good weather – a gorgeous week here, a brutal resurgence of winter at the weekend. Notice I said gorgeous during the week and brutal at the weekend – the one time I’m not actually working. Curses. Ah well. I think all that is past. It’s good weather from here on out, so says Michael.

Roma lost again last night to Manchester United. Granted we were missing our captain Francesco Totti for both the 2-0 and 1-0 losses, but it’s really irritating. At least they didn’t repeat the 7-1 loss of last year. At least they ran out of tickets before our 210 Euro order for the Stadio Olimpico went through. The only thing worse than a tragic loss is throwing away a pretty penny to see it live, and then being stuck brooding in bumper to bumper traffic.