Castles, Caves, and Beer!

Posted on January 28, 2012 by Ashton

Last week, with a little effort and some luck, Paolo and I both had all day Wednesday off.  So, we opted for adventuring!  We set out in the morning with spectacular weather and followed mostly this path:

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We set off in the morning for Sanluri to see a castle!  More specifically, the Castle of the Giudicato of Eleonora d’Arborea, the Risorgimento Museum and waxen plastics Collection.  In layman’s terms, that means, this castle is important for a whole host of reasons.  In no particular order:

  • It was built between the 13th and 14th centuries, with the major part being completed in only 27 days in 1355.  That’s over 650 years ago if you’re not great at math.  Think Pueblo people in America, and bubonic plague in Europe.
  • It is the last complete castle of 88 Medieval fortresses that once existed in Sardinia.
  • It has an amazing collection of wax art – cultural, political, decorative – some very simple and some incredibly ornate pieces.
  • It is now a museum which houses a ton of World War I memorabilia, photos, news, flags, equipment, weapons, etc….just an inordinate amount of information

A more comprehensive historic review says this:

“The Castle of Sanluri or of “Eleonora of Arborea“, despite the fact that no unrefuted evidence is available to support the presence of the Giudicessa within the town walls, was erected between the 13th century and the turn of the 14th century, and was subsequently extended around the mid-14th century on the orders of Peter IV of Aragon, on the occasion of the signing of a peace treaty between the Aragonese and the reign of Arborea. Conversely, a document dated 1355 affirms that the castle was built in 27 days by Berengario Roig on the orders of the Spanish sovereign.
Between 1355 and 1364 the Castle and the Villa of Sanluri were surrendered to the Arborense, and were subsequently retrieved by the Spanish in the year 1364. The period that followed was a succession of events whereby the stronghold was controlled first by one side and then by the other, up until June 30th 1409 when the island troops were ultimately defeated by the Aragonese in the famous battle of Sanluri.
During the 15th century the Castle fell into the hands of the De Sena family, was then passed on to the D’Henriquez family, and finally came to the Aymerich di Laconi family who relinquished it only in 1836 following the downfall of the feudal system.
Today the Castle comprises a squared building with crenellated corner turrets, likely the outcome of two successive stages of development and achieved using roughly hewn chalk cornerstones. The entrance opens onto the Court of Honour featuring the staircase leading to the aristocratic floor. An area reserved to the castle chapel was created between the ground and the first floors.
The building was renovated during the 20th century by the new owner, General Nino Villasanta, following an assignment from the Duke of Aosta, and was established as a House-Museum: still today several rooms serve as exhibition rooms for the ”Duca d’Aosta” Museum of the Risorgimento.”

Modernly, this is what you get:

 ”In 1927 it became a Risorgimento museum to recall the Sardinians who had died during the war fighting to conquer Italy’s unity. Thus, duke Emanuele Filiberto d’Aosta decided to move his valuable relics from the First World War and from the previous independence wars, which were kept in his Capodimonte castle.
In the militia room, on the ground floor, 1700 harquebuses are on display together with Garibaldi’s relics and the Italian Tricolour which flagged in Trieste reconsigned to Italy in 1918. On the first floor, numerous memories from the colonial wars in Eritrea, Libia and Ethiopia are exposed in the “room of justice”, but also objects dating back to the fascist period and the last world war. The presentation includes a wide collection of relics, books, newspapers and the period documents.
The collection of waxes includes about 400 pieces, some very rare ones, dating back to a period between the XVI and the XIX centuries, made by Italian and foreign artists such as Susini, Du Quesnoy, Zumbo or Ammanniti. They are miniature models of tridimensional monuments, cameos, “Via Crucis” rounds and daily life scenes, performed in order to show the several customers their offers to be realised in a bigger scale.
The other rooms host the castle’s original furniture. Among them, general Nino Villa Santa’s study room where his correspondence with Gabriele d’Annunzio is preserved, the Napoleon sitting room exhibiting sabers, documents and furnishings belonged to the imperial family, and the Doria room, with a marvellous 1700 bed.”

Pretty.  Darn.  Cool.

But the thing is, I barely know where to start with why it was so cool.  First, it’s a 650+ year old castle.  Second, it is full of furniture, weapons, art, etc., ranging across hundreds of years of Italian culture.  Third, it has a bonafide catapult outside.  Fourth, you can see alllllll the way to Castello San Michele from the roof!  Fifth, there’s a museum stuffed to its very brim with things from World War I.

One downside – ohmygodcastlesarecold!  As in, gloves, hats, scarves, coats inside, cold.  But, we did get to see lots of cool ways castle dwellers stayed warm in the way back when.

The museum itself was strikingly interesting for me because I’ve spent my whole life seeing World War I things from the American, and perhaps occasionally, British viewpoint.  This was the first time I can remember where I was looking at the history of this war through the eyes [and words] of the Italians who lived it.  Wow.  That’s weird.  The uniforms, the flags, the songs, the poems, the weapons, the anti-weapons, technology, the stories.  All of it.  The truth of it is, it caught me a bit off guard.  Two countries, more or less on the same team, with drastically different standards of military equipment.  [Though, most of the Italian equipment was quite fashionable!]  One of the things I’ve begun to become more keenly aware of since I’ve been here is how much global history is missing [or slanted] in American history books.  And that’s a shame…. [But, that's another tangent for another time]

After some obligatory ridiculous photos, they ran us out so they could close at 1 for lunch.  So we set off to find lunch for ourselves, and took a walk through town.  Watching everything close up was a hoot – we even saw an old school ‘Sali and Tabacchi‘ sign!

So, we settled on a cafe with outside seating set perfectly in the sun for lunch.  Only to be told we wouldn’t be served outside.  This should have been our sign to leave.  2 side salads, water, 2 coffees, and 20 euros later – we decided to end the torture and just leave.

Some more walking, some thinking, and some searching, led us to our next stop - La Grotta di San Giovanni [the cave of Saint John...also, why is Giovanni such a better name than John??] in the not tooooo distant Domusnovas.  [This is a Streetview for ya.]

On the way, for the first time ever, we had to share the road with a Shepard!  Coooooool!  Also, it gave me a chance to fall in love again with the countryside here – just astounding.  Coincidentally, I’m also reading D.H. Lawrence’s The Sea and Sardinia it blows my mind to think that 90 years later [and 90 pretty industrial, developmentally focused years] we’re seeing virtually the same characteristics.   This pretty much means I ride with my head out the window while Paolo drives.  Yeah, like a dog.  :]

So we finally arrive and I’m taken aback.  I was not exactly expecting this.  850 meters [a little over a half mile] long, passable by car [formerly, now closed for environmental protection] and only one of 3 in the world like this.  It was formed by underground rivers and water movement, eventually causing a collapse of the limestone.  Other reasons it’s awesome [Google translated for you]:

“Numerous artifacts have been found inside the cave, it is mainly pottery shards, indicating that the cavity was used as a shelter. Proof of this are the prehistoric remains of massive walls, which were intended to close fortifying the entrances north and south. These walls remained standing until the nineteenth century, when Count Beltrami, he promoted the creation of a carriageway, with the aim of facilitating the transport of material from the nearby mine Sa Duchessa. For the construction of the road also demolished the chapel of St. John, which stood near the entrance of the cave all’inteno north, and was rebuilt in the valley near the south entrance. The driveway made the karst entirely passable by car, but it was closed to traffic in order to preserve the environmental conditions. The street lighting system and renovated the cave make it entirely on foot.”

Negatives?  Despite being ‘active’ from 9am to 9pm, none of the up-lights in the caves were turned on.  [Blame the economy?]  The pavement lights yes – but that was just enough to make it creepy, cold, dark, and echoing funny noises.  Though the noise was unlikely related to the lights.  We tried to enjoy what we could, and I even attempted a photo or two [fail] so you’ll have to settle for other people’s on the internet.  But, even in the dark, it really was something to behold.

Of course, walking through to the other side meant we had to turn around and do it again in reverse.  We survived – and hopefully Paolo’s hand only suffered one or two broken bones… [note to self - watch less CSI and scary murder shows].

After we finished we took a second to think about where we were and how that related to beers [always.].  And it occured to Paolo that we were in the same tiny city where one of our new favorite local beers is made!

Now, I have to give a little background here – Brewpubs as we Americans know them don’t realllllly exist here.  I know of one on the island, and it is more like a restaurant – think Top of the Hill without the view [it's in the middle of an industrial park.]  But, as it is, the beer industry is actually beginning to take off not just in Italy, but in Sardinia – which is fannnnnntastic in my book – and little breweries are starting to pop up here and there.  One of these days I’m going to put together a beer part of this site, but, that’s another day.  So, what that means is there is constantly something new and exciting to try here!

Anyway, back to our story…since brewpubs don’t really exist, going to “see” a brewery is [sadly] just that.  Going to look at equipment and ingredients.  Which for me, has always been interesting enough, but I like being rewarded with a delicious beverage [or 6].

photo credit to Tim LehanI have been fortunate in that I’ve been able to visit Left Hand [pictured!], Stone, and have even made it out to Lonerider in Raleigh a few times.  Stone and Left Hand are big [for craft beer] breweries.  Lonerider has grown incredibly in the last few years, so Raleigh-ites have been able to watch them grow.

But these guys are running on a system smaller than this.  And to say just ‘running’ is an understatement – they are producing, bottling, and selling 3 [and I think now 5] fantastic and consistent beers.  Including the best Sardinian IPA that exists.  Very, very impressive.  And, on top of all that, they’re super nice – they happily welcomed us into the shop/brewery/space at the end of a workday and spent a good amount of time talking with us about Italian beer, Sardinian beer, American beer, beer making, beer culture, ingredients, method, price impacts, etc.  And at the end, they even passed us a beer to try!  Hooray!  [It was deeeeelish.]

So after we finally let these guys get back to their lives, we headed back to ours.  On the way, glimpsing one of the most gorgeous sunsets we could have possibly seen, and getting back into town a little after dark.

A spontaneous and sporadic day, but a really great one – made better by being on a Wednesday in January [zero tourists].  Hooray mid-week holidays!!

 

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I have the best students…

Posted on January 23, 2012 by Ashton
wpid-IMG_20120123_220544.jpg

This gallery contains 2 photos.

I got this today. :) I love my students!! Posted from WordPress for Android

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Early January Photos

Posted on January 11, 2012 by Ashton

Work kicked back into full swing this week, but last week I was able to squeeze out a few days of relative calmness to get myself back in order.  I got a few photos out of it and thought I’d share ‘em!

I also stole a few – thanks Daniele!

The first 2 are just winter beach shots – the weather has been gorgeous lately, if not a bit crisp.

The third is from the same day, but it is this guy in a like a push-cart/go-kart/tri-cycle with 3 giant wheels and a kite to pull him around, using his legs to steer.  Crazy.

Super old tower at Poetto.

Beautiful clouds.  Many of you have heard me say this, but the sky here is completely different than at home.  I used to see Renaissance paintings and think, ‘sure, it’s amazing, but clouds don’t look like that.’  It turns out, clouds just don’t look like that where I’m from.  A small change of geography, and the clouds of the Renaissance painters indeed do look like that.  Silly Ashton.

Cooked meat on a stick.  Then off a stick.  Yum.  [stolen photos!]

Merry Christmas meeeee!

And drinking some Stelle e Strisce [stars and stripes] to celebrate a return to Italy?  Yeah.  :]

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Capodanno!

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Ashton

There is the slightest possibility that I am wrong, but I am fairly confident that I have spent the last 21 New  Year’s Eve nights in Raleigh, North Carolina, generally doing everything I can to avoid First Night Raleigh [so dry.] but watching the acorn drop in an admittedly rather unimpressive celebration.  You see, I’m actually not a huge fan of New Year’s Eve.

Gasp.  I know.

But for me it means 2039483209489032480932409384932040933404234 people in my bars, blocking the way and adding to the wait for my food and drinks, bars and restaurants charging an arm and a leg just to let you in the door, a ton of unnecessary planning and stress and 230482394809324903240932904 of those drunk idiots trying to drive themselves home.  The other part take all the taxis.  [Cheers for living Downtown and being able to walk home!].  And, call me a cynic if you like, but this all so we can practice counting backwards from 10 at an arbitrary hour in our own invented time system.  Yawn.  [Note: this attitude does not put one at the top of people's party invite lists.]  But, if anyone wants, we can do the same thing this weekend.  Even Saturday if you like!  It’ll be fun! Maybe we can start from 15, just for extra practice…. :]

Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m all for making resolutions if you need to have a specific start date [I say, "why wait?"], and I understand that group support can make resolutions easier to keep.  I understand the spur to get things moving and changing that a specific holiday can give people.  I even understand the whole ‘it’s a holiday and we don’t have to work tomorrow so let’s drink too much’ idea [again, I say - "but so is Friday."].

Of course, I still go out every year.  I still put on a fancy something and it’s almost guaranteed I’ll wear a ridiculous hat.  I still count.  I still kiss.  I still toast.  And I certainly still drink cheap champagne.  I just wouldn’t say it is my favorite holiday.

So, more to the point….this year I thought I’d branch out a bit and give New Year’s Eve a shot in another place.  I’d even do the whole ‘insane bar scene’ thing if that’s what was going on.  I’d forgone Christmas in Cagliari for a much needed jaunt home, but thought that I ought to do at least one holiday here.

Saying that, I returned here the afternoon of the 30th, so all planning was left to Paolo [bless him.].  I essentially told him, look I’m getting on a plane and returning…that’s as much as I can handle.  You do the rest.  And he did, very well!

Friday afternoon, P gets me from the airport and brings my ‘so-hungry-i’m-going-to-chew-your-hands-off’ self home and feeds me delicious delicious Sardinian goodness that I was missing incredibly.  I unpacked a bit and then promptly put myself in bed for an hour or so, in which I slept much like a rock.  A very heavy rock.  I awoke to get ready to go to a friends house to celebrate his birthday.  It’s a bit of a blur from the tiredness, and on top of that, everyone was speaking another language.  The audacity!  :]  My brain and body couldn’t handle it, so we went home pretty early where I climbed directly back into bed.

The rock thing again.

Saturday I woke up at a not so late? hour [or not so early? who's time are we talking about?] and set about repacking a suitcase that I’d just unpacked.  We were going to Santa Margherita for the weekend!  In my general ignorance of the plan and necessary attire, I did an absurdly female thing and packed everything.  I mean, like 4 outfits and 4 pairs of shoes for 24, potennntially 48 hours.  [In classic Ashton fashion, we would later realize that only 2 parts of those outfits even went together...sigh.]

Paolo finished up work and we ran a few errands, I slept in the car, and we arrived just before a late lunch.  I don’t think I stopped eating for the next 36 hours.  Seriously.  We had a ‘light’ lunch of pasta with mushroom sauce followed by sausages.  Full.  I then moved myself to the couch in front of the fire and slept.  A good hour or so.  The kind of sleep with dreams.  When I woke up, friends were arriving and festigare had already commenced.

The boys went into town to get a few necessary provisions and I sat and learned to make lasagna with the girls.  Hoorah!

Soon after, the boys got back and aperitivo-ing began, but I’m pretty sure we’d been munching since lunch.  A bit of aperitivo, and Paolo and I took are things to our other friends’ house were we’d be staying.  Changed into something more festive, we returned to festivities.  Pictures and aperitivo, wine, beer, aperitivo.  At some point or another dinner officially began.  Lasagna [pasta al forno, if I must...] with roasted potatoes, yumz, followed by milaletto.  If my count is right I think we 9 people by then.

After dinner, guitars, karaoke, dancing, laughing, eating, dessert, fireworks, pictures, and general revelry.  I also learned to eat artichokes raw.  Yummmmmz.  I had no idea the stem would be so good.  The night carried on like this past the midnight countdown, but thankfully not too late and we all made it to bed at a fairly reasonable hour.

There, I slept for a very long time.  [Also, much appreciation to my friends for tolerating my quasi-narcoleptic behavior over the weekend.]

The next day, awake, dressed, showered, and back to house number 1 we commenced eating again.  This lunch didn’t finish until something like 5 in the evening.  A fantastic pasta alla campidanese, hamburgers, salsiccia from the grill, more mialaletto, cheese, bread, cake, dessert, nuts, and on and on and on and on.  I ate what I could of the pasta [had been missing it] and then found myself dreaming on the couch again.  I awoke a bit later to find that we’d grilled up some prawns.  Of which I ate one, and returned to pasta.  We’d also added 4 more people and more cake.  So much cake.

After that I picked up playing with a friends super nice camera for another bit [hopefully I'll see those photos sometime soon, as I quit using my own after midnight].  And a little while later Paolo and I made a break for it and headed back to Cagliari.  I think I slept again in the car for a few minutes.

So yes, in summary, my New Year went something like this: sleep, eat, drink, sleep, eat, drink, celebrate, drink, sleep, eat, drink, sleep, eat, sleep, home, sleep.  And I loved it that way.

It was just about everything I could want in  New Year’s Eve.  A house on the beach, great weather, good friends, low pressure, low stress, fun, laughter, music, dancing, great food, great drink, a place to sleep within walking distance, a good camera to play with, no lines, no crowds, and only people I like around me.  In truth, if I could change something it would only be attire – but I’ll dress up for  Tuesday just for the sake of getting dressed up.

I hope that the New Year in Raleigh was rung in with style, though I can only imagine it was since this year they added a Ferris Wheel – yeah, a Ferris Wheel!?  I am excited for 2012 for a few reasons – upon reflection in this moment, I’ve decided even years are generally better for me than odd years.  But I don’t know if that’s true.  What I do know is that I’ve got a lot of big decisions ahead of me and although the idea of making them is not so fun, knowing that they will be made by this time next year is an exciting thing.

Sending all of you my very best wishes for a happy happy and healthy 2012!!

I’ll try and get more photos up when I get them!  For now, here’s what I’ve got…

Posted in food, holidays, i love parties., night shots, photos, Sardinia | Leave a comment

“Precious friends who are dear to us, gather near to us, once more…”

Posted on January 4, 2012 by Ashton

It happened so quickly I can scarcely remember it, but my airline tickets say I was in America for 19 days.  Thank heavens there was a camera around some of the time, because I don’t think I’d believe it otherwise.

I arrived on Sunday the 11th and save for two evenings, didn’t stop moving until I left again the morning of the 29th.  But, busy at it was – I am super grateful that I was able to make it happen, able to see so so many wonderful people, catch up, visit, and for the first return ever not have to think about visa, permessos, and other bureaucratic drama.  I even got in a few fantastic Christmas parties!

With the still fresh feeling loss of Emily, every second had a new sense of importance while I was home.  I wanted to see everyone, do everything, and appreciate every second in the time I had to enjoy it.

It is always peculiar to return to a place that was once yours and see the things that have changed, the things that at least appear the same, the new openings, the closed favorites, the new additions to people’s lives.  It is humbling to remember that the world does move on, and even if we are not forgotten, we cannot be everywhere in every moment.

For people like me, this is an important lesson to remember.  :]

Yet, the change I always find most interesting when I return home is the change I see in myself.  Whether anyone else notices, I don’t know, but that’s not the important thing for me.  I often struggled in the past because I was unable to see tangible growth in myself -year after year I felt like I was treading water.  And yes, this was a bit of an extreme solution, so I am certain that one day I’ll face this challenge again, but the internal recognition of improvement is an important one for me.

But enough of that…Christmas itself was wonderful – giant thanks to my brother and his lovely wife for taking up residence on the couch so I could have my bed [amazing, wonderful, perfect bed...].  We were a very full house – 9 sleeping there, including 3 kids and plus 5 dogs.  Festivities themselves added 2 more to that mix.  But, it was the first time in [ever?] we’ve had all the tots, the grandparents, the siblings, everyone everyone home for Christmas Day.  Monopoly was played [I won.], food was eaten [we all won], presents opened [the tots won.] and all in all, I think it was a successful Christmas.

I am though, looking forward to catching my breath this week back in Cagliari.

So, photos already?  Got it.  :]

Posted in holidays, i love parties., love, photos, Raleigh | 1 Comment

Until then, we’ll just have to muddle through somehow…

Posted on December 25, 2011 by Ashton

Merry Christmas from Raleigh.

So very, very grateful for the precious friends [and family].

Go ahead on, and have yourself a merry little Christmas…

Posted in holidays, music, Raleigh, sentimental crap. | Leave a comment

In the Kitchen: Bringing Thanksgiving to Sardinia!

Posted on December 8, 2011 by Ashton

I have to start this by making a confession: last year for Thanksgiving, I spent most of the morning trying to get a local school to pay me [to no avail] and all afternoon teaching.  And, though I’d long since accepted I wouldn’t have Thursday off I was surprised midway through the day with a late evening lesson, delaying my well, I’ll just have some turkey at home plans.  My student was 15 minutes late and I was just about to walk out the door to go home when she arrived.  Erg.  Okay…so we did the lesson and ended quite promptly at 9 o’clock.  Except, that a 9 o’clock on a Thursday supermarkets in Cagliari are closed.  All of them.  Some for an hour already.  But, just as ‘aperto dalle 9′ can sometimes mean open at 9:20 or 9:30, ‘chiuso alle 20:30′ can occasionally mean closed at 8:40 or 8:50.  So, praying for a Thanksgiving miracle I hurried my long legs as fast as they would carry me to the nearest supermarket only to find darkness and locked gates.  Thwarted, I trudged home in the biter and newly arrived winter cold.

Home was, at that point, a bedroom in the physically coldest place in the city with 2 Italians, a Cuban and a table built for 3.  [Hey, it was cheap, available, and without a contract.]  I can’t remember now if I called Paolo or if he called me, but however it happened I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to come over when he told me he was going out with some friends.  Not long after that I was sat upon my bed weeping.  I was tired, cold, hungry, broke, lonely and Christmas seemed much too far away – I wanted to go home.  At some point I turned off the Michael Bublé [okay, that's probably a fabrication...but it wouldn't be out of character.  When I'm dramatic, I'm really dramatic.] and decided to take whatever was in my pantry and make some dinner.  Pasta with sauce.  Viva l’Italia.

After dinner, I texted a friend and she agreed to meet me[and spot me] for a drink in a bar not too far from both us, and thus I finished my Thanksgiving.  Drinking mediocre beer, listening to someone, unawares of it being Thanksgiving [though I doubt it would have changed much] detail her recent sexual exploits between readings of amateur Italian poetry.  Not ideal.

So, perhaps, just maybe, this year was an effort to make up for last year.  So when I pitched the desire to do a turkey to a Canadian friend [Canadians celebrate Thanksgiving...who knew?] who had missed the last 4 Thanksgivings for being in Sardinia she eagerly signed on.  Thus, we were two.  She even promised she could get a turkey!  And not long after, some Sardinians [always eager to see what type of disaster those English-speaking girls can make in the kitchen] said they’d celebrate with us too.  We now had enough to justify a turkey.

And short of ordering the turkey, that’s pretty much were planning stopped for 2 or 3 weeks.

In the meantime, 3 new Americans arrived from Alghero and had taken up residence in Cagliari, so when we had dinner together a week prior to T-day invitations were exchanged and Leslie, bless her soul, offered to help in anyway possible.  Being that my role in family holiday meals is to bring the booze, and that she’d just prepared a delicious dinner of pulled pork – yeah, as in barbeque – I happily accepted her offer.  Not only would this be my first turkey in Italy – this would be my first turkey.  And this brings us to Saturday the 19th….so let’s start there.

Saturday and Sunday: Scouring the internet for recipes that are made from ingredients I might be able to find here.  Trying to makeshift a roasting pan.  Creating a Google Doc, because, well, I love Google Docs and organization in general, and a trip to the Mecca of all foreign food possibilities – the Metro.  Which, in the end gave me nothing except the knowledge that I can order okra if I give them 2 days notice, cranberries are impossible to come by on their own, and pecans are an America nut [who knew??].

Monday began the busiest week of work I’ve had since before the summer, naturally.  So time apart from work was dedicated to list making and organizing.  Who was doing what, when the turkey was coming, how it was getting here, how many people, who, when, where, how was food getting here, did we have enough seats, etc.  Also, my Tapatio arrived from the UK!  Wooohoo!

By Tuesday, the menu was at least quasi-finalized, and I worked the entirety of the day.  Arriving home to find a package from my awesome father, including a roasting pan, real brown sugar and aluminum foil!  Best package – thanks Dad!

Wednesday was another all day work marathon and coordinating with my co-coordinators to meet the next morning and finalize the shopping.  Also, I still didn’t know when I was going to have a turkey in my house.  And Paolo was getting restless about our empty fridge [I mean...it's pretty tiny by American standards - and I had to fill it with a lot of food].

Thursday morning I had a late morning lesson so I got up bright and early and met Leslie to do some shopping.  Assuming that at 9 the shops would be open, we met, had a coffee and went to the shop.  That was closed.  Ya know, 9…9:20…what’s the difference really?

Fortunately the wait was only a few minutes and my students messaged and cancelled the lesson that morning.  Not great for income, great for stress levels.  We picked up a few things and I got to introduce Leslie to the goodness that is il Suq.  We met Cristina after that and headed up to the giant market in town [actually like the biggest of it's kind in Italy] where as soon as walking in, we ran into a student of Leslie’s who happens to work with his family at a fruit vendor.  A few quick hellos and we were off to accomplish our lists.  We had already decided not to make sweet potato casserole, since 1) marshmallows of a non-fluorescent color were proving impossible to find and 2) turns out, we don’t even really it that much.  So it wasn’t a big jump to strike pumkpin pie and opt for apple instead when it had to be made from scratch.

So, needing apples, we headed back to the fruit stand.  From there, things got crazy.  His sister decided that we should teach lessons to the folks who work there, and after we finished our fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice, toted all 3 of us back to meet the director of the market, who apparently had shared this idea before.  So, after a bit we all left our information for him and went back out to continue our shopping.  When we arrived at the fruit stand, Leslie had been gifted an amazing, gigantic, ornate fruit basket on the condition that she bring it to class to share with her students.

All while the conditions of the basket gift were being explained Cristina got a phone call from the turkey man.  The turkey had arrived!!  Except with one small problem – the littlest turkey they had was FOURTEEN KILOS!!  Never mind that we’d asked for 7 or 8.  We had a 31 pound turkey waiting for us.  Fortunately, the number of people who speak English in the market is fairly small because the words that came out of my mouth certainly did not need to be understood by everyone.  [Don't worry mom, I washed my mouth out with soap.]  So after a minute or two of freak out, we started thinking – exactly what can we do here?  At worst, we can buy a bunch of turkey breast and cook it up?  Sigh…

At this point we only need a few more things [all for the sides], including an herb we were having difficult time finding.  So Mr. Student takes us through the market to the one place he knows for sure has it.  All the while, we’re still working out exactly what to do about this little [big] turkey problem.  So, he begins to understand the problem and asks if we’ve asked around the market.  No.  No, we haven’t.  The phone rang 3 minutes ago and we’ve been with you the last 3 minutes.  So he says, don’t worry, follow me.

10 steps and two turkeys later – we were saved!!  Almost 8 kilos on the money, though he did show us one that was 17 just for jokes.  It looked like a 5 year old child.  Weighed about the same too.

Whhhheeew, crisis averted.  At this point Cristina has to go as she’s late for work, and we set about to finish up our shopping.  When that’s said and done, we realize we’ve got another problem…absolutely no way to move all of this stuff.  When we started this journey, we intended to buy some cheese, some prosciutto, a bit of fruit and veg, and some herbs.  Easily carried by 2 or 3 able bodied women.  Except now we had a kilo of cheese, half a kilo of prosciutto, a needs-two-arms-to-carry-it fruit basket, AND an eight kilo turkey.  We were a 15 minute walk from my house, and Leslie had to get most of this back to her house – which, could you walk would take an hour.

The bus, though feasible, didn’t really help the situation much, and still left me carrying a needs to stay cold 8 kilo turkey, cheese, and meat across town on a short-sleeve, sweating in the sun November day.  And Leslie with a huge fruit basket on a bus by herself.  And I’m pretty sure you have to buy a separate ticket for that much stuff.  Paolo’s working.  Cristina’s boyfriend is working, even if we could get a hold of him.  Quite another conundrum.  And again, our fruit-stand-savior comes through!  He offers to let us keep everything in their freezer, provided we return within a few hours with a car to get it.  No problem – Paolo should be done by then.  So, off we go.  To another supermarket in the area to stock up on inexpensive non-perishables.  Plus two full, giant, grocery bags.

Enter Thanksgiving Angels #2 and #3 – Paolo’s parents.  They just happened to also be at the market at the same time, and by pure chance and a serious of texts and phone calls we realized it.  So, we explained our dilemma, and asked for a ride – which, despite half the party not being done with their shopping, they willingly provided.

At this point, we get everything and wait for the car to arrive.  And then things get more fun.  All four of us, their shopping, our two enormous bags, plus two fruit crates full of food pile into their Fiat-600-smallest-car-possible-to-go-to-the-market-because-their’s-no-parking car.  Movies are written about this kind of stuff.

Truth is, I’m not sure how we all fit – but the drive was pretty short, and sometime in the middle Paolo returned his mother’s phone call and I answered.  Ha.  I shouldn’t be the only person confused today, right?

So we get to my apartment, which, lovely as it is, requires a serious stair climb.  We’re an American 4th floor, but each floor has 12 foot ceilings.  In general, it isn’t fun – but with 50 pounds of stuff it really wasn’t fun.  Much love to Paolo’s mom for helping us lug everything allllll the way up stairs.  Hugs, kisses, love and Leslie and I are left in my apartment to put everything away and determine what goes with her and what stays with me.

Because here’s the other thing – Leslie was making food for her students in her afternoon lesson.  Except, it was already almost 1:00, and the night before her gas for her stove had run out.  Yes, my American friends, you read that right – run out.  Because here, in Sardinia, there exists two options for gas ranges [nearly everyone has gas] – the first is city gas.  Operates just like it does when you pay PSNC.  The second can best be compared to the tank you use for your grill, except inside, attached to your stove and not propane.  This tank has a name – a bombola – and much like with your grill, it is nearly impossible to tell when it is going to run out.  The best thing to do is plan a giant lunch or dinner where you intend to cook many things, as it is guaranteed to run out at the worst possible moment.  Such is life…

Getting your first bombola replaced is an experience – no matter which expat you ask.  If I can compare it to anything at home, it is like calling the cable guy.  Something you dread with your entire being.  Once, last year, Paolo and I ate baked everything [including fish sticks for 2 days] for a week because his oven was electric [though the stove top was gas] and that meant not changing the bombola.

Anyway, at this point, we don’t know if Leslie’s bombola has been replaced yet, or if she needs to cook at my apartment, or whathaveyou.  Finally, we decide it is best to get her and her stuff home.  Somehow 80% of the stuff we bought seems to need to go her apartment – we’ve even managed to add more stuff.  Our plan is actually to do the stairs in reverse, and walk about a quarter mile with these giant boxes full of stuff, put her on the bus, and have her boyfriend meet her at her stop.  In that exact moment of reaching for the boxes, Paolo calls and is on his way home.  Hip-hip-hooray!  Thanksgiving miracle #3.

Down the stairs we go – meanwhile one of my neighbors is recounting the merits of muscle building by moving these boxes.  Can it lady – we’ve got a lot of stuff here.  Still wish we had an elevator.

Just as we get down to meet Paolo, Leslie’s boyfriend calls to check on our status and to tell us, hooorrrayyyyy the gas is fixed!  And shit, he’s locked himself out of the apartment.  Wait, Leslie has keys!!  Thanksgiving miracles #4 and 5.

We get to their apartment, get things unloaded, pick up needed extra chairs, and get home at about 1:30.  I have to teach in not very long.  I smell, I am exhausted, and I’m very hungry.  Super quick lunch, and I’m off to school with my head still spinning to teach for the next 7 hours straight.  Apologies to my students for my odor that day.

Thursday evening, preparation.

Friday morning, shopping first because I still had no way to keep this bird from swimming in his own renderings.  This was becoming the most pressing problem of them all.  I’d thought to use a cookie cooling rack, but you see – in a country that roasts things on a spit and doesn’t make cookies – these things are hard to come by.  And then, I’m at the supermarket looking around in the kitchen ‘stuff’ section and I see a light!  You know the thing you use when you want to roast veggies on the grill?  Yeah, one of those…so I pull out my measuring tape [yeah, I brought it - got to make sure it fits in the pan...] and it is perfect.  Okay, well, perfect in the ‘this-is-an-imperfect-Thanksgiving’ kind of way.  Thanksgiving miracle #6.  Of course, it needs some modifications – simple enough right?  Well, actually – yes.  My landlady keeps all those snipper/clipper/plier type tools in our 3rd bedroom/closet.  Thanksgiving miracle #7 – I have the tools!  So a few snips, clips and plies later – I have a perfect roasting rack.  BOOM!  [Dear everyone who ever encouraged outside of the box thinking - thanks.]

So when that was all finished, I had to get down to prepping the turkey.  That meant turkey-feather plucking.  Yeah.  Me.  Ashton.  Plucking turkey feathers.  [Gotta do whatcha gotta do, right?]  And a little photo shoot with the turkey when Paolo got home.  Friday evening, cooking and preparing as I want to do as little as possible day of.

Up to this point, I’ve been really struggling to decide how to cook this turkey.  And no, not between deep-fried, roasted, grilled, etc.  But cooking time, temperature, etc.  See, my family for the last few years has been essentially slow cooking the Turkey overnight.  This means we get fall-off-the-bone delicious turkey the next day, a lot less stress, a better guess of finish time, and an available oven for almost an hour before dinner time.  Initially I had thought unquestionably to do this.  But, there will also be Italians here – and they have, you know, expectations.  And, although Leslie and I have been reminding each other for a week that we don’t live in a Normal Rockwell calendar, I still feel some responsibility to deliver a turkey that, well, looks like a turkey.  And then it occurs to me that this farm-fresh turkey is not going to be at all like cooking a Butterball.  To add to that, I don’t have a meat thermometer, and I can’t tell the difference between pink and clear juices.  And my dad keeps saying – you’ll know it’s done by the smell.

I’m stressed out again just remembering it….but, finally, I opt to go for the website that I found.  Logically it seems okay, and it generally agrees with everything I’ve ever learned about Turkey cooking.  So I decide a 9 oclock start time will be a good goal, give or take a disaster or two [Holidays in the Smith house guarantee at least a disaster or two - you learn to just plan for these things].

So, up at 8, I begin turkey preparation.  Butter, herbs, the works.  I throw some veggies inside, seal him all up.  And, I’d found a website about a farm fresh bird [hence the veggies] that also recommended tying the wings to the bird.  So I did that too.  That was much easier than tying his greasy buttery legs together.  Lesson learned – tie the legs first.  Also, preheating the oven was on the list – now I’d already converted everything in every recipe to Celsius, grams, liters, etc – so that was all good.  What I learned with that oven ignite is that my oven doesn’t go below 320F.  That means a slow could would have been impossible after all.  Sigh…all that stress.

But, I get my little butterball all ready to go in his pan.  Dad had mentioned to me before to check for holes in the roasting pan from where it was folded to get it in the box.  So I check, I re-line it with aluminum foil for extra protection, and I get my makeshift roasting rack in the pan.  And my little turkey friend is all but ready to go.  Covered, and done.  Salutations and squeeeeezed into the oven!!  Hoorayyyy!

Except – this bird is really heavy.  And the oven rack is not exactly sturdy.  Hmmm…maybe I can put him on the roasting pan that came with the oven – no real problem – that just means I can’t use it for the things I need.  This will be a problem.  Let’s get him situated on this oven rack.  Done.  Door closed!  Photo time!  Except when I open the oven, I realize somehow it is still dripping through.  The 17 year old in me who still turns the radio up when the car makes a noise wants to close it and just not look.  Out of sight out of mind?  Except – that is obviously not a solution for something that wants 3 hours to cook.

I guess we’ll wrap the roasting pan again, and put it on top of the solid rack.  Whoohoo!  Photo number 2!  Except – it’s still dripping.  And the rack that comes with the oven is something like half an inch deep – at best.  And a bit dirty.  I don’t want this to catch the juice I need to use to make gravy.  Damn it.

I have, at this point, thanks to the generosity of Paolo’s parents – another option.  It is not as deep as a traditional roasting pan, and I can’t throw it away when I’m finished – but – it can work.  So, turkey out of the oven.  Uncovered, roasting rack and turkey moved together.  [Everything is hot at this point - which with the now a little bit melted butter is making for a really changing set of maneuvers] Done.  Turkey recovered. Back into the oven with the first baking rack readjusted to accommodate Turkey weight.  No drips.  No problems.  Photo #3, door closed.  We beginnnnn!

So for the next few hours, turkey does turkey things while Ashton does Ashton things.  At about 11:30 Paolo comes home and asks me to help him get some stuff from downstairs.  Okay, but I need to check this turkey…it’s starting to have that turkey smell, and I’m worried.  5 or so minutes later we’re back in the apartment and I really need to check this turkey.  Uhhh…it’s almost finished.  ha.  Dinner is not for at least 2 hours.  So, I decide to use this extra time to my advantage.  Turkey out.  Other things – in!

There were a lot of good classics at dinner, but the truth is Leslie handled most of that – the one I’m most proud of?  A Mark Bittman that required parboiled sweet potatoes wrapped in prosciutto with sage, then baked in the oven.  Think taking bacon wrapped anything and making it better.  Served well warm or cold.  We ate them every which way.

After a bit, turkey went back in, only to come back out about an hour later so that biscuits and other things could go in.

We were a bit behind schedule eating, but eventually most of everyone arrived and turkey carving began!  Now, in order to avoid admitting that I had no idea had to carve a turkey, I asked our friend Alessandro, who cooks for, owns, operates, and essentially is, a high end catering company [yeah - no pressure....] if he would do the honors.  Annnnd he did.  And he of course made it look really pretty too – which for me, is critical.  And, he gave it genuine compliments!  Whoop whoop!  :)  And so did everyone else, which was awesome.  [I'm still high-fiving myself, two weeks later...]

In the end, we had a fantastic spread of dellllicious food, lots of wine, and good company!

I think it was officially something like this:  Turkey!! Stuffing [top notch!], gravy [Leslie was phenomenal here too], broccoli salad, spinach salad, cranberry/mixed berry sauce, biscuits, green beans, sweet potatoes, cheeses, and delicious finish of apple pie!  And lots of wine.  Lots of wine.

I don’t want to overstate the event – but I’m pretty sure we killed it.  Much love of course goes to Leslie [and the boys] for all the help and preparation, as well as carrying everything across town.  And to Christina for helping get all of this off the ground.  And unquantifiable love goes to Paolo’s parents, my parents for taking 100 phone calls and emails for a month about turkeys, to Emily for her assistance and hooking me up with Bittman in pdf, and all those who helped our Thanksgiving miracles happen.

If I can speak for everyone, it was a fantastic day.  Good food, good wine, great people, Italian, English, good conversation, and though not a Norman Rockwell calendar, everything ole’ Norm would have wanted.  And, after all was said and done, we headed out for a bit of delicious craft beer drinking.  More than made up for last year… :)

Serious kudos if you read this far.  You deserve photos!


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A te Emily, a te.

Posted on December 3, 2011 by Ashton

I know that I can’t be there today to mourn the loss and celebrate the life of an incredible woman, and it is breaking my heart.  But, if I could have – this is what I’d have liked to have said:

Both stubborn, and perhaps, a bit territorial, it took Emily and I a while to become friends.  We knew each other for a long time – but at a distance.  In hindsight, it was probably intimidation that kept me from pushing for friendship at the beginning.  After all – what was not to be intimidated by – she was beautiful, clever, smart, cultured, self-confident, and all my friends laughed at her jokes.  And her jokes were always a lot better than mine.

Ironically, the some of same things that, I think, initially kept us apart ultimately brought us together.  We loved many of the same people, and the same places, and as it turned out, a lot of the same things.

I’m not speaking – strictly – of course, of the Black Eyed Peas, Raleigh, or as I’m pretty sure she nicknamed it – foodstalking.

Now is the part where it would be normal to say something like, “I wish we’d had the opportunity to know each other better,” or “I wish I’d made more effort when we were younger,” and though those things hold true for me – I don’t think Emily and I could have been friends in Chapel Hill.  Not really friends anyway.   It took Raleigh [and Denver], Katie Cozort, and Tim Lehan to foster our friendship.

If I could tell Emily something I never did, it was what an inspiration she was.  When I started to think about leaving the life I’d built in Raleigh and moving to Italy, Emily was the first person I talked to about it.  When I started to feel lost after that decision, she offered me counsel.  After I’d arrived, settled, and began to question my decisions again, she was a resource for me.  Hell, when I thought about taking on Thanksgiving in a foreign country for a large number of people – Emily was the person I went to.  And the gratitude I have for her words of understanding and reassurance is immeasurable.

Thing about Emily is – she did it.  She really did it.  She took everything she had, everything she wanted to be, and everything she wasn’t yet – and she laid it on the table.  She wrote an open letter to the world – “Bring me all that you have – teach me what you can, and I will give you my very best.”

She embodied self-confidence.  She was the kind of woman I would want my daughters to be like.  And so much credit is due to the Balog family for raising such an exceptional woman.

Emily was, at least as far as I could tell – one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.  She didn’t let her fears get the best of her in any situation.  There was nothing she could not do.  She defined courage.

She loved her friends as if they were her family, and her family as if nothing else in the whole world mattered.  She laughed, she danced, she challenged people, she joked, she learned, she shared, she gave, she served, and most of all – she laughed.

So many wonderful things have been said and been written about the amazing woman that Emily was.  I think her mother said best though – as mothers always do – Emily was a supernova.  A star that burns so brightly that it burns itself out. In the last days of her life, Emily’s happiness could be felt on the opposite side of the world.  She was radiating joy – in every photo, every email, and every word she wrote.  She had found what she had been looking for – and she knew it.

We mourn the loss of Emily not just for the lives she had touched, changed, and unquestionably improved.  But today, we also mourn for those who will never have the opportunity to be touched directly by her light.  Instead, it will be our responsibility to carry it forward.

Let us live the way Emily did.  Love those you love with all your heart and all your soul.  Challenge yourself.  Challenge the people around you.  Seek to constantly better yourself.  Serve.  In anyway you can, serve your community.  Serve the world.  Dance.  Drink.  Sing.  Laugh.  Above all, laugh.

My heavy heart is with all of you.

A te, Emily, a te.

Ashton

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Fresh squeezed oj!

Posted on November 21, 2011 by Ashton

And so begins orange juice season! Yummmmmm!

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In the Kitchen! Pabassinis!

Posted on November 20, 2011 by Ashton

In general, I’ve never been much of a cook – and not for lack of motherly teaching, but mostly for a lack of time [and sometimes space].  There’s something different here – perhaps it is the time I now have, perhaps it is the audience, perhaps it is the ingredients, or maybe I just miss home.  Whatever it is that has changed here, I’m spending a lot more time measuring things and waiting impatiently in front of an oven.

The first time I ventured into the kitchen of an Italian rental apartment [which often are the storehouses for their owners, which means you never know what you'll find left behind in terms of supplies] was a trying, but ultimately remotely successful attempt at corn bread that taught me that foreign ingredients, measurements, and temperatures should not be hassled with.  It was best just to stick to enjoying the local goodness [and there's plenty of it].

Adventure 2-a lot was with Paolo in the pursuit of tortillas that didn’t cost an arm and a leg.  I think this is when I first started getting to know flours in Italy.

But that had been my limit for a while, until a few weeks ago when Paolo’s mother invited me to join her in the kitchen [the pressure....] to make a traditional Sardinian dessert.  A little background here, in general I have no interest in dolci sardi because I think most of them are tasteless [blame my American corn syrup raised taste buds?] but she had made these things called pabassini that I just loved.  It would take seeing the ingredients to know why, but we’ll save that for later.

The original plan had been to make then in San Sperate where there is a big giant wood pizza oven that apparently gives these desserts a nice crunch and a slightly different texture.  But, life happens, and so after lunch at theirs one day I stuck around and we made them [something strange about mothers, mine included, they always have everything you need to make something sweet.  I rarely have enough things to make pasta with sauce, and I don't mean to make pasta, I mean to throw something in boiling water, without advance planning.  Does that come with being a mom?]

Anyway, she did most of the measuring [better] but I did most of the kneading so I was relieved when they didn’t come out overworked.  And they are, the yum.  I can’t explain them with out the recipe, but courtesy of Paolo’s mom, here you are:

RICETTA PABASSINI NON SEGRETA :
1 CHILO FARINA00
400 GR. ZUCCHERO
4 UOVA INTERE
250 GR. STRUTTO
2 BUSTINE LIEVITO
2 BUSTINE VANILLINA
2 LIMONI GRATTUGIATI
1 PIZZICO CANNELLA
1 PIZZICO ANICE STELLATO
NOCI E UVETTA A PIACERE

UN BICCHIERE DI LATTE che si aggiunge piano piano finche si vede che l’impasto va bene

Annnnd in English….The Non-secret recipe for Pabassini

  • 1kg of Type OO flour
  • 400g of white sugar
  • 4 egg yolks
  • 250g of shortening
  • 32g of baking powder
  • 10ml of vanilla extract [4ml or 2 tubes of concentrate in Italy]
  • and a cup of milk and a bit more to add slowly slowly at the end until you see the dough has formed well – not sticky to the touch, stands on it’s own
  • the zest of 2 lemons
  • a cinnamon stick
  • a pinch of star anise
  • crushed walnuts and raisins to taste

They get cooked for about 15 minutes at 180C.

So, combine flour, baking powder, spices.  Make a hole, add the egg yolks, milk, sugar, and combine a little.  Add shortening, and lemon zest.  Work together.  When you’ve got a dough, get it out the bowl and knead in the nuts and grapes.  working everything into the dough evenly and slowly, but without over flouring or over working the dough.

Grab a small part, roll into a square about half an inch high [it will grow] and then cut how you like.  We made rhomboids because they are more interesting, but do as you like.  Put on a baking sheet, in the over at 180 for 15ish minutes.

Remove, cool, and resist the urge to eat.

When they’re cool, combine powdered sugar and slowly slowly water to make an icing.  Add sprinkles!  Ice.

Eat.  :)

I need to do this one or two more times to feel like I’ve got it, but I foresee that happening.

 

And, now that I’ve got sugar and molasses [finally!] I can make brown sugar, so I’ve nearly made my weight in chocolate chip cookies recently.  I’ve also been perfecting my buttermilk [got to make that yourself] biscuit recipe too.  It still seems like it takes 2 times to get things right, with all the changes of measurments, ingredients, and temperatures.  But, with Thanksgiving next weekend, and an impending feast at my house – I’ve got my fingers crossed for a first time success.

Happy Thanksgiving Week!

 

 

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Halloweeeeeen!

Posted on November 20, 2011 by Ashton

In general, Halloween falls as one of my least favorite holidays of the year.  Not because I disklike it so much, I just don’t care much about it.  I passed the 3 Halloweens before this one in places, or with other people, that didn’t care much for it either; Cagliari, Australia, Tir na nOg.  And the year before that, it was a last minute decision that resulted in an obese ballerina costume, a santa, and a fighter pilot dancing on Glenwood South.

good times...miss these boys...

Ha.

And this started just like any other, in general ambivalence, in addition because it is acceptable to go out for Halloween here and not dress up.  Also, the 1st is a holiday here – so, pretty much everyone at least goes out.

We started with a long and fantastic dinner with friends, and headed into town after that to a winter bar standard.  This bar had done one of the neatest ideas I’ve seen in a long time for Halloween – they had two (or three) professional make-up artists there – but making people look scary!  Gah, how cool!

So, upon discovering this I obviously signed up.  And I went from this:

Before

After

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rest looked like a standard Halloween on a holiday weekend, at least in America.  For the most part.  So, here’s some more photos of super scary me.

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This is football?

Posted on November 11, 2011 by Ashton

From doing so well to doing so poorly…oh well.  Slow and steady I’ll make it up to you – there’s lots of photos, and photos in the end equal posts.

I went to the Napoli v. Cagliari game a few weeks back on a brilliant Sunday at the end of October.  I was stoked as this was a sold out game, touted as the biggest and ugliest of rivalries.  I’m from Tobacco Road.  I live for rivalry games.

Well, the long and short of it – I was disappointed.  And out of fairness it must be said that tickets were blocked to Naples fans because of past violence/rowdiness – but, if you blocked Duke fans from the Smith Center, it would still be a top-notch match, and vice versa.  State/Carolina games are, and would be without little specs of baby blue and red, fantastic matches.  This, was not.

I have been fortunate in my life; I have met, been photographed with, and had things autographed by World Champion Women’s National Teams, sat on the sidelines of NCAA Championship Matches, shagged stray shots for some of the best coaches in America, had the opportunity to train with the very elite, and also to coach 11 year old girls.  All for free.

All of those teams played more professionally than I believe this team does.  There, I said it.  And the truth is, Naples wasn’t playing all that well either.  Both teams seemed to be playing just well enough to maintain the ranked-status-quo.  Boring.  You are professional athletes – at the very least, I paid to be entertained.

So, I guess I’m just saying, that this is strike two and I’m willing to commit hard earned euros only one more time before I follow the route of many others and watch from home or the bar.  At least there I’m getting the service I paid for…maybe it’s being in Italy – but I want sweat, effort, energy, competition.  I want like, gladiators.

Finally this past weekend I was able to [sort of] stream the State/Carolina football game and those some of these folks what a stadium looks like, what fans act like, and what sport looks like.

Interestingly, just yesterday it was announced that the coach was fired.  And as I typed that pseudo-ultimatum, an ad for the Inter-Milan game came up.  That might be my number 3 if I can find tickets…

Anyway, we took some pictures.

Yeah, call me a disgruntled fan.

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Pizza!

Posted on October 29, 2011 by Ashton

We’re makin’ pizza tonight!

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Lost posts…A year in reflection.

Posted on October 27, 2011 by Ashton

Way back in June when I was rounding out 1 year, I was working on a post to recap what I had thought about the year that had passed.  Then, I got busy planning a whirlwind trip for 2 to the States, organizing visa madness, packing, and wrapping up my life for a pause.

Anyway, I hate to see all these words go to waste, so I thought I could at least give you the raw version.  Unfinished, unrefined, but maybe that’s the point.  So, here goes:

“Reflections,

A year ago, I began this, well, as a good friend put it, “epic-in-the-making”.  I started working on this post weeks ago, compiling different thoughts I had about things, ways I’d recognized growth or, at least, change in myself.  Still, coming right up on a year – I can’t exactly wrap my head all around it.

I set out with a very short “to-do” list.  Unofficially, I think it was something like this:

1. Stop making to-do lists.  Learn patience.
2. “Explore. Dream. Discover.”
3. Test my boundaries.  And then break them.
4. Begin the search for the myself I want to be.
5. Learn to be a “why not?” instead of a “why?”.
6. Rediscover awe.  Pure, wonderful, childlike awe.
7. Challenge, like really and truly challenge, myself.
8. Be open to new people, to new situations.  And make new friends.
9. Eat and drink exceptionally well.
10. Spend a lot of time on a beach, and get really, really tan.

How have I done so far?  Well, comfortably well.

1. I have certainly *not* stopped making to-do lists, but I have stopped scheduling things to the minute.  I’m not sure I’ll ever stop making lists, but I’ve stopped letting the lists make me.

2. Adventuring.  I need to get something off my chest – frankly, it is *exhausting* to do something new and exciting all the time.  And although I’ve loved every new and unique experience here, I’ve also really loved studying the art of doing nothing.  But, saying that, I feel really really fortunate to have done as much exploration as I have.  I’ve been to some of the most breathtaking and beautiful places in the world this year.  And, though Discovery has come in 2390430943294 shapes and sizes, this objective, will certainly make it onto next year’s list.

3. Boundary breaking?  Have you *read* what I’ve eaten??  I teach children!  I make physical contact with people – and I let them make physical contact with me!  I teach!

But, regarding the second – have you ever heard a 5 year old Italian girl sing happy birthday?  Right – try not to let that crush your heart.  Teaching children has, in an odd combination with my own language learning, been one of the more challenging, and thereby rewarding, things I’ve conquered this year.  And maybe it’s too soon to say I’ve conquered it, but I certainly conquered a fear of it.  Maybe it is the psychology and science of learning of children that keeps me on the very edge of my seat with anticipation, maybe it is that I can speak the same level of Italian as them, or maybe it’s that I get to watch Sesame Street, and movies, and make Valentine’s cards – but whatever it is watching children absorb not just language skills, but motor skills, and personalities, and all the things that make tiny people less tiny every month, is strangely exciting.

Physical contact you say??  When I arrived here, I was startled by the amount of personal contact between people who had just met each other.  I remember thinking, “WHY ARE WE ALWAYS KISSING!” because, ya know, I don’t dig physical contact.  Except, recently I’ve come  to find that I think hugging might be a bit *more* touching – and thereby, and bit less of something I’m interested in.  Cheek kissing actually seems to be a nice middle ground between the intimacy of a bear/tackle hug and a high five.  Though, there is still a lot of handshaking for introductions here – and admittedly it is probably me, but I really think that not a soul here knows how to shake hands.  And I’m a Southern, former business woman.  I understand the complexities of a handshake far more than most people – this is business, do I shake her hand her like an equal?  She’s a woman, do I do the cute lady shake? Here seems to always be a strange dead fish thing.  Are we shaking hands or just making uncomfortable contact??

Right, and I teach.  Like, in front of a blackboard (or whiteboard).  I give homework.  And people do it.  They ask me questions – and lots of times, I know the answer.  Once, I even had a proper desk in front of 28 little desks – full of adults.  Proper adults.  And you know something?  I really, really love it.   I like my schools, my colleagues, and my students.  I actually get all oddly attached to them – and sad when our lessons are finished.  Though, I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, but I don’t think I necessarily thought to think of it before I started this gig – but it was the same with real estate.  As much as I loved helping people find a great home, one of the things I hatttted the most about real estate was the detachment after it was done.  Sure – we stayed friends a lot of times – but I mean, you’re talking about helping someone through an incredibly important purchase in their life, and for me it was often first time buyers [cutie pies that they are...].  So you spend a very short, intense period of time together – but when the closing papers are signed and everyone goes their separate ways, I always felt a sense of loss.  Even when you stay friends with someone, you’re not seeing/talking/emailing/etc., twice or three times a day.  I had a tendency to get attached my clients – because, I mean, they’re awesome and fun.  On top of that, if you consider the times in a person’s life that they buy a house, they are often important times outside of home buying.  Marriage, birth, new job, divorce, death, etc., so every real estate agent knows sometimes you end up playing supporter and councilor too.

Anyway, I guess I just didn’t consider that I’d share a lot of the same things with students; travel abroad, work contracts earned, school exams passed, being accepted to universities of choice, new boyfriends, affairs, old boyfriends, social lives, roommates – I see most of these folks for a few hours a week and often our biggest objective is just to talk – so I get to know a lot about their lives.

4-10. Making the person I’d like to be…hmmm.  This is an always evolving thing – but I think I’m making good progress on it.  I am not the same person I was when I left Raleigh a year ago.  Partly because I’m not in tears at the drop of a sentimental hat, but partly because I’ve been in pursuit of me.  And I can’t say I’ve found it all yet – and maybe I’ll spend my whole life searching for the me I want to be – but I’ve certainly made some great strides.  Just a few weeks ago, faced with the prospect of going to a soccer match alone because no one else was very interested in going – there wasn’t so much as a second though.  Hell, I’d moved to a country alone…what’s a soccer match?

Something I never expected to learn?  How to be poor.  And, I’m not “poverty” poor by any means – if I was really really in a bind there are people who can [and certainly have!] helped me out.  But, I’ve learned what it really means to budget.  I’m the kind of poor where I have to make choices about what I buy this week, or what waits until next week.  If I can go out this week, or if I need to wait a bit longer.  Just the other day, I counted all my money [2 euros and 5 cents] and realized I didn’t have as much as I wanted.  I think it was the first time in my life the money in my pocket was *litteraly* all the money I had.  Certainly an odd change for a girl who used to spend 2 or 3 months pay on bar tabs in an average year.

A goal I set when I left Raleigh was to never eat lunch at my desk again.  And though, I’ve broken that a small handful of times, and even occasionally go so far as to do the unthinkable and eating *while* walking [bad for digestion] I have to say that my diet has significantly improved.  If you ever get the opportunity, try to explain to an Italian what a LeanCuisine is.

 

And then defend why you ought to own stock in them.  “No, really, the microwave panini ones are reallllly good!”  Right.  Obviously there are more than a few supermarkets here but even the mass produced stuff has some redeeming qualities.  Mayonnaise that expires.  Ketchup with out preservatives.  Sliced cheese that is *actually* cheese.  Saying that, can somebody link up MiracleWhip, Heinz 57, and some Kraft singles for me?

Language – hard sometimes to recognize how far I’ve come.  Saying that, I’ve still got 3029348302949032432 billion miles to go.  But, I’ve spent 24 years working on my native language and I’m still not always happy with what I string together, so I have to remember to cut myself some slack in a language that’s new.  Add that to the ‘goals for next year’ list.

Rachel, sister of Dan, now husband of Amanda asked everyone to contribute something along the lines of 1,001 places to see before you die – on a smaller scale obviously – for Dan and Amanda’s wedding.  Naturally I eagerly accepted!  Except, wanting to format my entry similar to the actual basis for this project, and having never read said book, I Amazon searched it – hoping to peek inside.  Except what happened is that I discovered more travel books.  Which made my skin start to itch for traveling again.  Help me God.  Can teaching sustain merely travel?  Or do I have to settle down in each location?  I don’t know yet.  But I dooo like to travel – like a lot.  Could I be a vagabond?  Would I want to?  Always the questions.  God I must have been an annoying child.  Thanks Mom and Dad.

Regarding kilos…I can’t classify any of this as a judgement on Italians, or even so much on Sardinians – though sometimes I’d like to.  But I will tell you – never in my life have I met a group of people so startlingly blunt towards each other regarding weight and personal appearance.  Now, using shocking – I mean, the first time a student ever told me that I needed to loose some weight because I was dating a Sardinian guy – I was absolutely taken aback.  Not because she’s necessarily wrong that I could stand to loose a pound or two – but the audacity of a stranger to say such a thing?!?  But, as I’m coming to realize – it isn’t considered that way at all – it seems to be no different than mentioning to someone that there is spinach in their teeth.  I’m still getting used to it – but, I think I kind of like it.  God wouldn’t you rather your friends give you a heads up that you’ve put on a few pounds then suddenly look up and be 10 pounds heavier?  And it starts from childhood…which I think keeps them skinny and beach fit all their lives.  Jerks.

But, even acknowledging the sensitivity to weight-  there’s an internal attitude that’s changed.  I’ve never been a thin girl – and likely never will be.  Fine.  I told everyone before I left home that I’d probably come home 3 times the size I was.  Although that hasn’t (yet) happened – I did not come to Italy to get skinny.  There, I said it.  Yet, I must say something else too – the scales here are generally not digital and are all in Kilos.  If you don’t know, a kilo is 2.2 pounds.  So if the spring scale goes up 2 little lines, you’ve gained FIVE POUNDS!  The difference is, when I was at home, I always knew – to the decimal point – my weight.  Here, on a spring scale, that gives you an estimate of 2.2 pounds, it is impossible to be so critical.  And I think, sometimes I’m really grateful for that.”

So, that’s as far as I ever made it, it probably would have been a lot better if I’d finished it, and perhaps I’ll give a full, sufficient reflection in the coming months, though, I wouldn’t hold your breath.  It’s one thing to reflect, it’s totally another to put it in words and on the internet.  Ya know?

Someone once told me [regarding a design portfolio] ‘never, never show anything that isn’t finished, and never show anything just because you want to show it if no one asks you for it’.  I’m pretty sure that fault is the reason Greg Hatem never for a second considered hiring me all those years ago, and the good news it, it seems I haven’t shaken it.  But I mean, it’s my blog, right?

Eh, vediamo.  But if you’ve made it this far, I owe it to tell you that I’ve got something exciting in mind to come for the blog.  And it tastes delicious and hoppy… So if I’m missing for a bit, consider it just research… ;)

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I went to see the peacocks today….

Posted on October 21, 2011 by Ashton

A little park time today in Monte Urpinu!

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