Lake Garda’s Sirmione

Sirmione Scaligeri castle entrance
Photo credit: Wikipedia

We left Verona shivering. The rain was now coming down in earnest and it was hard to see the road signs. The GPS British male voice was taking us through roundabout after roundabout and slip roads, the British word for ramp. I dozed off briefly and woke up on streets I did not recognize but the GPS said we were very close to Sirmione, one of the resorts encircling Lake Garda.

We had driven years ago for fun, at break neck speed all around lake Garda and it took us 3-4 hours to make a complete circle, riding white knuckled through tunnels dug in the hills, without any artificial light, only the day light streaming through the open windows cut into the rock facing the lake.

When we had finished the Lake Garda circle on a cold winter day, we were almost out of gas and decided to fill up the Swedish sporty rental. We filled up with premium because that is what the manual said to do. We had no idea the manual was a generic one for all models. As we really ran out of the remaining Diesel in the tank and it reached the premium, the engine started to choke, sputtered, smoked, and stopped. It took the tow truck a while to get there and it cost us an additional 300 euros for having to dump the premium and clean the engine. As I looked inside the cap of the gas tank, it clearly said Diesel. I took responsibility for the faux pas. I think the Italian tow truck drivers are still telling stories about us, dumb Americans, and laughing.

To get to the fortress where our hotel was located, we had to be let in through a police-guarded gate at the entrance of the medieval bridge, quite narrow for modern cars. Hotel Olivia Thermae was on a steep hill and Dave had to maneuver the rental car within inches of centuries old rock walls. Some local merchants even brought their displays outdoors, adding to the congestion. One business owner, who was arranging his merchandise outside, visually directed Dave to make sure he would not hit any building or the many pedestrians wondering about.

Once we finally made it to the front entrance of the hotel, Dave spent 30 minutes parking in various spots that did not belong to the hotel. The best surprise was the superior suite called Aurora and the spectacular view of Lake Garda with the breathtaking 11^th century castle. A sulphur water spa, massage, and a large infiniti jet pool indoors and outdoors made the hotel experience a truly five star event. The cozy balcony let fresh air into the pink-decorated room with rose shaped red velvet pillows in the boudoir.

Sirmione aerial view

Photo: Wikipedia

 

Sirmione is a “commune” in Brescia, Lombardy, close to Verona in Veneto, in the lower part of Lake Garda. It is such an old resort, archeological digs found human presence in the 6^th-5^th centuries B.C. with settlements in the 3^rd-2^nd century B.C. It was a favorite resort of rich Roman families in the first century B.C. The famous poet Catullus talked about the villa he had in the area. It was even a defensive point for the southern shore of Lake Garda during the 4^th-5^th centuries A.D.

The remains of the beautiful medieval fortified castle belonged to the Scaligeri family and it was probably founded by Mastino I della Scala in early 13^th century (1277). A garrison was located in the castle until the 19^th century as the castle is strategically located at the entrance to the peninsula. Surrounded by a moat, the castle can be entered through two drawbridges. A small museum contains Roman artifacts and some medieval items. The castle protected the Scaligeri family against locals and against invading outside enemies.

Next to the castle there is a small church, Sant’Anna della Rocca, which dates back to the 12^th century, with fescoes from the 14^th-17^th centuries. The church was only used by the garrison and a few local villagers.

Sirmione was a possession of many powers, i.e., the Republic of Venice (1405-1797), the Habsburgs, and the Kingdom of Italy in 1860.

Famous for its thermal springs which can be seen and smelt coming out of the ground while walking alongside the lake, Sirmione is also renowned for the Grotto of Catullus (167x 105 m). Romans had a fascination with grottoes where lavish parties were held.

San Pietro in Mavino church was built in 765 A.D. by Lombards and renovated in the early 14^th century. It is located “up in the vineyards,” as the Latin name indicates, “in summas vineas.” Frescoes from the 12^th-16^th centuries make a stark contrast to the wooden beamed ceiling. The bell tower is really old, cast in 1070. The church was used as military hospital and the surrounding grounds as a cemetery for plague victims.

Santa Maria Maggiore is located in the town center on the site of the former Lombard church of San Martino and is decorated with 15^th century frescoes.

We walked in the path of the famous like Gaius Valerius Catullus, Alfred Tennyson who wrote a poem about Sirmione, Ezra Pound and James Joyce who met in Sirmione in 1920, Maria Callas who had a villa in Sirmione.  English writer Naomi Jacob lived in Sirmione until her death in 1964. I cannot imagine a more beautiful and serene place to spend a lifetime in its magical surroundings.

The tranquility of waking up to the soft lake breeze coming through the open balcony door, and to the billowing white lace curtains, is hard to imagine. Breakfast on the balcony overlooking the lake and the medieval peninsular fortress was a dream.

After a visit to the salt water heated spa, the jaccuzi, the infiniti pool, and the massage, we roamed the enchanting gardens in full bloom, the turtle pond, the outdoor pools, the citrus trees, unusual potted flowers and bushes, palm trees, cactuses, and other vegetation making natural fences between nearby beautiful villas. The misty rain made everything come alive.

A short walk later, we were in the middle of town, checking out the interesting hand-cast Roman statues, hand painted porcelain boutiques, and other local curiosities. We walked to the ruins of the Roman baths and then down to the rocky beach with waves crashing on the slippery steps. The calming sounds reminded me of the sea.

We had dinner close to Catullus’ bridge in a restaurant called Modi. It was colder at dusk and the gas heated lamps were going full blast. I picked up two rolls and fed the begging ducks, the black and white swans, and the little birds on the rock bridge overlooking Lake Garda.

 

 

Breakfast Fit for a Queen

Having breakfast in a five star Italian hotel was a unique artistic experience – they left nothing to chance. Tables were decorated with crisp embroidered linens, pressed and starched to perfection, with small arrangements of fresh flowers on every table. Artsy clear vases filled with oranges or lemons added a touch of classy color to the marbled floors.   

Breakfast area fit for a queen
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

The antique chairs were decorated with cotton brocade, not a wrinkle or stain in sight; the covers were removed after breakfast. The large bay windows overlooked layered terraces with exotic potted plants, orange and lemon trees, lounge chairs with umbrellas, and verdant gardens. Blooming plants and bushes I’ve never seen before were overwhelming my senses.

Lemons Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The food was an assortment of breakfast items fit for a queen, artfully displayed by a chef – from yogurt, compote, Italian prunes, peeled fruits, real scrambled eggs, crepes, boiled eggs, panna cotta, chopped vegetables, cereals, rice milk, soy milk, cow’s milk, to an espresso machine that made every type of coffee sophisticated palates might desire; fresh squeezed juices, cheeses, rolls, croissants, and miniature coffee desserts completed the elegant tables. And the hot chocolate was so thick that it looked like molten chocolate lava. I had to add lots of milk to make it more palatable to me. A basket of exotic teas and a silver pitcher filled with hot water invited us to a steaming porcelain cup of tea.

Galleria Photo: Ileana 2016

It was cold outside, in the low fifties, damp and drizzly Milanese weather.  I had a cashmere sweater on layered with a cotton t-shirt but it was not warm enough. It was a good day for museum hopping and window shopping.

I picked a tie in a silk boutique for my hubby.  Another boutique that was moving from the Galleria to another location was offering umbrellas, costume jewelry, richly decorated canes, theater binoculars, ballroom masks, silver and gold pieces with ornate turquoise, and coral beads. Intricate cameos displayed the fine artistry of Sorrento’s shell carvers. I have watched one such carver on a previous trip to Sorrento; he had a deep blister in his palm where he was holding a short stick with the cameo on one end. He was carving it with so much focus that the raw skin in his palm did not seem to matter.

 

Duomo front door Photo: Ileana

We entered the Duomo because I wanted to pray for my family and to light a candle in memory of my Dad. It was even colder inside; the majestic stained glass windows did nothing to increase the warmth of the cold marble floors and walls. There was a service in progress already and signs of Silenzio were posted here and there. Tourists were still quietly milling about, taking photographs.  This time I couldn’t climb the stairs to the roof to admire the flying buttresses and the gargoyles up close. The spectacular panorama of the city that we saw eight years ago would have to wait on this cold and dreary day.

Getting lost was a daily occurrence in Italy; it was part of the exploratory fun. We never knew what we might find along the way. A little old lady walking in high heels but with a cane, asked us if we needed help. You had to admire the Italian ladies’ fashion sense that could not be compromised even when handicapped. Who wants to wear comfortable shoes when they are so unsightly?  We must have looked utterly lost, chattering in English. I explained to her in Italian that we were looking for the metro station. She smiled and told us with a friendly wink that, on May Day every year, all public transportation stops at 7 p.m.  Of course, tourists like us, even though I speak Italian, did not get the memo that on the International Socialist Labor Day, public transportation will grind to a halt and tourists will be stranded miles away from their suburban hotels where prices are more reasonable.

Milan's largest public park Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

We backtracked through the public park, passing ponds with geese, ducks, turtles, and large fish coming to the edge to be hand-fed. A few local kids were playing soccer in the muddy grass even though a sign said clearly, “Stay off the grass.” Italians are obsessed with their city grass, no humans are allowed to pass through, rest, or play on it.

We finally hailed a spotless cab and, for nine euros, it dropped us off by the Duomo again. We were still far away from our hotel. We decided to eat dinner. For 81 euros we had very bland and non-descript pasta at Savini, a great disappointment.  The only thing I enjoyed was the complimentary grissini (bread sticks) that came with the meal and the bottled mineral water. When it came time for gelato, the gelateria had already closed for the night. The town had rolled the streets up. The metal gate entrances to the metro were locked with heavy chains and it resembled a dungeon.

Milan's Duomo at night Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

 

While in the Piazza del Duomo, bathed in the copious light illuminating the Milanese cathedral, we joined a huge taxi line of at least 100 people, shivering in the damp evening. A few non-taxi Arab drivers, eager to make a profit, approached several people in line and offered to take us to our hotel for 100 euros, about $120. Such an outrageous fee yet there were takers. A few Japanese tourists climbed into unmarked cars, probably so anxious to get out of the cold that they did not care whether it was safe, reasonably priced, or a good idea. We stood in line behind two girls from Boston who were studying in Nice and had taken a weekend trip to Milan. When our turn came, the taxi fare was only 25 euros, four times less than the scalpers had asked. The crabby taxi driver told us very gruffly to get out of the cab, we were too slow for her; she was in a hurry to go back and pick up more stranded tourists.

Part of the taxi line in Milan
Photo: Ileana 2016

 

 

 

Bailout, Bailins, and the Greeks' Trojan Horse

Istanbul Archeological Museum Trojan Horse (Wikipedia)

While Americans are eagerly signing petitions to ban the American flag on the heels of Louis Farrakhan’s Nation of Islam leader call to ban the Stars and Stripes “due to its links to racism” or are busily banning anything attached in any way to the Confederate flag and our history, the United States and the world are in serious financial trouble driven by out-of-control debt, particularly the most visible nation of all, Greece.

Healthcare for illegals, gay marriage, and other non-stop crises occupy the American overwhelmed minds, while the Trojan Horse of huge national debt and loss of sovereignty to the globalist Transpacific Partnership (TPP) mystery “committee” are ignored.

Greece is bringing to the forefront the issue of debt, what happens when it spends 60 percent of GDP, lives from borrowed billions, and refuses to curtail spending on entitlements, expecting more bailouts from the EU, essentially Germany.

Banks and the stock exchange are closed for the week, issuing a 60 euros limit per withdrawal. Not unexpectedly the euro fell against the dollar and the British pound. Sky News reported Prime Minister Tsipras as blaming the European partners and the European Central Bank for the debacle because creditors “have refused a request to extend Greece’s international bailout beyond Tuesday, until after the referendum.” The move risks a Greek default on 1.5 billion euros payment to the International Monetary Fund.

Tsipras claims that the bank deposits of the Greek people are fully secure and the payments of wages and pensions are guaranteed. I am not so sure that is the case since Greece is carrying a government debt load of over 175 percent of its GDP.  Countries cannot service such level of debt without printing money. http://www.tradingeconomics.com/greece/government-debt-to-gdp

The European Central Bank will maintain its “emergency cash lifeline to Greece’s banks” without an increase. The Emergency Liquidity Assistance (ELA) on which Greek banks depend, if lowered, may force the country out of the Eurozone.

There were many economists, of course, who questioned the wisdom of accepting Portugal, Italy, Greece, and Spain into the EU because their monetary policies were plagued by high inflation. Others believe that a return to the drachma may not be such a bad idea.

Expecting the worse after banks announced closings, Greeks stood in long lines to withdraw cash from ATMs and many horded gasoline and food. After five years of various bailouts, demonstrations, protests, refusals to adopt more austerity measures, negotiations between the leftist government of Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras and Brussels creditors have broken down. For months economists have predicted Greece’s pull out from the Eurozone.

In preparation for the national referendum on July 5, police patrols are more visible especially around ATMs. Tsipras asked voters for a “yes” or “no” vote on the bailout proposal considered by his government as confiscatory. The plan would “raise taxes and hurt pensioners,” forcing Greeks to “an endless cycle of austerity.” But the Greeks have been told few details of the deal – nobody really knows the implications of a “yes” vote or a “no” vote and everyone fears they “would become Venezuela.”

But the well-off Greeks, fearing the election of the leftist Syriza, have already moved money out of Greece or took cash out and stored it elsewhere.

The Tsipras government favors a “no” response to the referendum because the bailouts terms are “humiliating” and would deepen Greece’s economic recession. But without bailouts, “most Greek banks would have totally collapsed by now.” http://www.dailymail.co.uk/article-3141480/Hundreds-queue-outside-banks-fears-Grexit-grow-ahead-MPs-vote-bailout-referendum.html

It has been reported that withdrawals of 500-600 million euros have emptied more than 2,000 ATMs.  When the austerity referendum was announced, people started withdrawing money. When the Greek banks reopen, would they need bail-ins like the Cypriot banks? Would the depositors be forced to accept worthless I.O.U.s for their cash?

The European Union has required its member countries to enact bail-in legislation. Bail-ins force creditors and shareholders to rescue troubled banks. Cyprus citizens holding private bank accounts had to take “haircuts,” a form of wealth confiscation. Private pension funds were raided in Poland. http://www.dcclothesline.com/2013/09/25/cyprus-style-wealth-confiscation-is-now-starting-to-happen-all-over-the-globe/

Bailouts forced taxpayers to financially rescue big banks that had engaged in risky financial activity, using the infamous “too big to fail” excuse.

How much longer can Germany sustain the very shaky European Union? Should they bring back their own currency, the Deutsche Mark? As more large deposits and capital leave Greece when banks reopen, corporate asset controls may emerge. The Greek market may be shocked and defaults of various debt instruments may emerge.

A Romanian friend, Florina, explained the Greek crisis in terms that most people can understand. “I loaned money to a family in a time of financial crisis so that they can survive, and the family did not curtail their spending, they blew the money on unnecessary stuff; now the family is holding a meeting to vote if they are going to pay me back or not. That’s Greece now.”

 

 

The Washington National Cathedral, Not an Ordinary Place of Worship

Photo courtesy of the web

On the highest point of Washington, D.C., Mount Saint Alban, a fourteen-century English Gothic style cathedral stands out – the Washington National Cathedral – with its centerpiece of the high altar, “The Majestus,” designed by sculptor Walker Hancock and carved in stone by Roger Morigi.

Also known as the Cathedral of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, the Cathedral’s construction began in 1907 and was finished and consecrated on September 29, 1990, eighty-three years after the initial laying of the foundation stone.

Designed by architects George Frederick Bodley and Henry Vaughn, and completed by architect Philip Herbert Frohman over his fifty year tenure, the cathedral was built and carved by hundreds of stone cutters, wood cutters, metal and glass artists, and other workers who built the great towers, the flying buttresses, the crypt, carved gargoyles, grotesques, pinnacles, finials, angels, and thousands of decorative details.

Some stone cutters and carvers hailed from the same part of Italy, with its rich limestone, a material used by Italian builders for their cities, cathedrals, palazzos, monuments, villas, and tombstones. The stone carvers of the National Cathedral came from small towns in Italy as early as 1890. And they all went to Barre, Vermont.

Roger Morigi, who studied at the Academia di Belle Arte di Brera in Milan, arrived in New York harbor from Genoa in 1927. After years of apprenticeship in Milan, Morigi became Master Carver at the Washington National Cathedral in 1956 where he labored for twenty-three years until his retirement. The last sculpture he carved was Adam. His major pieces are Majestus (the centerpiece of the altar), the statue of the Good Shepherd, and Adam of the west portal.

After Morigi’s retirement, Vincent Palumbo became Master Carver in 1978. Vincent started as the youngest and most inexperienced member of the crew, working with his father, Paul Palumbo. He worked at the Cathedral for “thirty-eight years since he immigrated to the United States from southern Italy in 1961.” (p. 77)

Vincent worked on the figures of Saint Paul and Saint Peter on the Cathedral’s west façade. He spent two years with three other carvers working on scaffolding above the Cathedral’s west entrance carving the Creation tympanum.

Frederick E. Hart created the famous base relief sculpture Ex Nihilo (Out of Nothing) that adorns the tympanum over the main entrance of the cathedral. It depicts “creation of humanity out of the torrential void.” Four life-size males and four females with closed eyes are “emerging from the primordial cloud,” a birth revealing the “majesty of the Divine Will.”

Paul Palumbo carved the keystone of Christ on the Cross, an unusual depiction of a very muscular Christ with oversized arms. Paul Palumbo also carved sculptor Granville Carter’s Archangel Michael statue, located in a niche in the south transept of the Cathedral.

Frank Zic and Roger Morigi worked for almost five years carving forty-four voussoir angels in the south portal and ten years above the south portal carving angels, canopies, and other sculptures.

Unfortunately, the stone carvers’ workshop, stone yard, and studio no longer exist on the Cathedral’s grounds; they have been demolished long time ago.  According to Marjorie Hunt, a folklorist with the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, the workshop was a veritable “League of Nations,” with carvers from all over Italy, Greece, England, Germany, and the United States.

I met Marjorie Hunt ten years ago at Georgetown University. She had co-produced and co-directed The Stone Carvers, an Oscar-winning documentary about the stone carvers she described in her 1999 book with the same title.

I toured the Cathedral with Marjorie Hunt as a guide but I saw this jewel of architecture through my own eyes. While I understood and admired the carving beauty built for posterity, the intricately sewn needlepoint pillows in the pews, bearing the names of powerful men in Congress and the Supreme Court, struck a strange chord with me.

What is so fascinating and unusual about this Cathedral is the fact that the carvers had complete freedom in choosing pinnacles, corbels, capitals, gargoyles, and grotesques.  The grotesques decorate buttresses supporting the nave.

According to Marjorie Hunt, carvings such as gargoyles, angels, columns, pinnacles, and grotesques intertwine “the world of work” with hilarious moments in time, pranks, jokes, stories, memorable characters, quirks of various carvers, their habits and unusual traits of character, and the carvers’ imagination, using the world around them as inspiration:

-          a scholarly owl , a wild cat, a winged creature, flowers, fish, pumpkins, sunflowers, carvers’ faces, the foreman, the laborer, the engineer, the boss, a golfer’s grip

-          an image of Roger Morigi with his mallet and chisels, with a mushroom cloud above his head and a devil’s tail and horn, signifying his fiery temperament, and a set of golf clubs above his head, a symbol of his extra-curricular passion

-          a pinnacle carving of Roger Morigi with his “beloved golf clubs and the master carver’s eagle eye”

-          Vincent Palumbo, holding an air hammer,  with exaggerated curly hair and moustache

-          one carver on the scaffolding whistles at the passing girls while the next carving depicts the former dean of the Cathedral, Francis B. Sayre Jr., with a horrified expression of shock and disapproval

-          Frank Zic carved himself “dreaming of deer hunting and winning the Maryland lottery,” with a wishbone on his left side and a deer antler on his right” (The Stone Carvers, p. 151)

-          Frank Zic carved Gino Bresciani, the trice retiree, who was preparing for his fourth retirement with “a bag of money over his shoulder and his suitcase in his left hand (p. 152)

-          Malcolm Harlow carved his family on the base of a pinnacle

-          He also carved the caricatures of construction laborers Allen Goodwin and Henry Thomas  – Goodwin with a chain hoist and dolly, Thomas with a cup of coffee, a doughnut, hot dog, and piece of pie

-          Malcolm carved a tribute to all secretaries in a grotesque, with telephone, typewriter, and file cabinet (a grotesque is a gargoyle without a water spout)

-          A pinnacle with columns and Ionic capitals honors the Cathedral sculptor Constantine Seferlis, a Greek

-          Richard Feller, the canon clerk, is depicted with his drafting tools and the mountains from his native West Virginia

-          Ludwig Malisky, a carpenter, is portrayed with his hammer and saw

-          Walter Fleming, the foreman of all Cathedral laborers, is holding a whip wrapped around his head

-          There is even an angel holding an Oscar, honoring  Marjorie and the documentary The Stone Carvers that won an Academy Award in 1985

-          Seferlis carved a hippie, an elephant, a donkey, a lawyer, a television producer, an angry cat ready to pounce, a man riding a stolen pig with a chicken in one hand, and a boy with a broken halo and his hand in a cookie jar

-          Vincent Palumbo carved a good boy with a halo – the two boys were carved at the special request of a Cathedral donor

-          A gargoyle was carved for a dentist, depicting him working on the cavity of a walrus

-          John Guarante carved a lion roaring in anger and pain because his tail was tied in a knot; his ninety-six angels with overlapping wings and praying hands holding a dice with 7 encircle the central tower  (pp. 156-157)

A memorial to Joseph Ratti, who died falling from scaffolding, was designed by sculptor Heinz Warneke and carved by Roger Morigi. There are two uncarved blocks of stone on the north wall of the Cathedral, in the spot where Ratti fell to his death. The statue depicts a stone carver working on an unfinished gargoyle, a tribute to Joseph Ratti, but also a reminder of the dangerous work involved in building the Cathedral.

The keystone of Mary Magdalene and Christ, located on the nave’s vaulted ceiling, is the last carving that Vincent Palumbo and his father worked on together before Paul Palumbo’s death.

The Washington National Cathedral is not just a symbol of Christianity and the house of God; it is a “compendium of life and work experiences, … a collection of texts that bear the imprint of the carvers’ hearts, hands, and minds.” (Marjorie Hunt, The Stone Carvers, p. 163)

It is sad that the Cathedral that bears the name of George Washington and represents our Judeo-Christian nation has been desecrated.  What would the stone carvers, devout Christians - Catholics, Lutherans, and Orthodox – think and feel if they knew that their place of worship they spent almost a century to build with blood, sweat, and tears, has been changed, even for a short moment in history, into a mosque?

 

Copyright: Ileana Johnson 2014

 

The Week in Review - National Blog Talk Radio 3-1-13

Topics: economy, this week in history, Thomas Jefferson, Monticello, European Union, France, Italy
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cantotalk/2013/03/01/the-us-economy-in-review-with-dr-ileana-johnson-paugh

Radio Chat with Silvio Canto on Friday, Jan. 11, 2013

One hour radio chat with Silvio Canto of Dallas on BlogTalk Radio on the economy, this day in history, Obamacare, Agenda 21, and other items of interest.
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/cantotalk/2013/01/11/the-us-economy-in-review-with-dr-ileana-johnson-paugh

Santa Maria di Negrar

The narrow winding road from Santa Maria di Negrar to Verona was flanked by lush green vineyards and well-tended gardens overflowing with vegetables. The river Adige with its beautiful Roman bridge, Ponte Pietra, built in 100 BC, dominated the Verona landscape. Higher on the banks was Castel San Pietro, built on ruins that dated back to 1389. The city walls, erected between the bridges Ponte di Pietra and Ponte Postumio alongside the river Adige as protection against 12 ft. floods, could be seen in a panoramic view from the castle’s terrace.

The ruins of a Roman amphitheater built in the 1st century BC are still extant today. It was a difficult hike to the top of the hill. Sitting on the peaceful stone steps, surrounded by balsam trees and so much history of the western world, I was daydreaming about my Roman ancestors and their daily lives, so close to a river that frequently overflowed its banks. The cobblestone road crossing the Adige, archeological evidence of the magnificent quality of thousands of miles of roads that crisscrossed the Roman Empire, held deep grooves worn into stone by chariot wheels passing through “Verona Romana.”

The province of Veneto is a spectacular canvass of green terraced orchards, balsam trees, vineyards, and olive groves, interspersed with dangerous and dimly lit roads. I closed my eyes, white-knuckled, every time Dave took sharp curves too close to the center, unable to see oncoming traffic.

The beat up Nissan we purchased for a song chugged along, picking up speed, never failing us, cranking up every time. When the GMC Jimmy was totaled, the Nissan seemed like a Godsend. Exiting our favorite pizzeria, La Tonda, one night, Dave was hit on top of the blind hill by a speeding car. The sturdy and heavy SUV saved his life.

 

Italians love to speed, take their side in the middle of the road, park where they please, especially on the sidewalk, drive as if their lives do not matter, and act like children when they feel cut off in traffic. Getting on the “autostrada” past the toll roads is like a gladiatorial game of kill or be killed. I have never witnessed anyone being ticketed for speeding but saw plenty of cars smashed beyond recognition on the sky is the speed limit “autostrada.”

I have seen Italian men and women stop in the middle of a busy intersection, get out of their cars with fists pumping in each other’s faces, yelling obscenities and hurling personal insults to total strangers, blocking traffic in both directions in order to get verbal revenge. Pedestrians stop to watch such comical and entertaining display of road rage while drivers honk impatiently in a cacophony of noise. Many get out of their cars to witness the spectacle, further exacerbating the traffic jam.

Riding a Pullman bus to the airport one foggy morning, the driver got out to confront a drunken “motorini” owner who hit the bus. The image running through my mind was the Italian Don Quixote fighting the giant windmills. Instead of waiting for the police that never came, the two drivers started fighting. The bus was intact, we eventually left on our way, but the little scooter was left behind with a twisted wheel. The “motorini” bully was not hurt; we were going way too slow.

There are no traffic rules for Italians, just suggestions. Following the law would be too simple. Why wear seat belts when you can wear a t-shirt with a black line across the chest, mimicking a seat belt, in an attempt to fool “polizia stradale?”

Our Spartan but expensive apartment in Santa Maria di Negrar was overlooking a rolling vineyard with an irrigation ditch that cascaded into a serene waterfall below our balcony. Few had a backyard – the land was too precious to waste on frivolous pleasure – it was used to raise food instead. The owners tended to the grapevines meticulously like a mother caring for her baby. We were delighted to leave our large windows open all the time, shutters and all, overlooking the green hills in the distance, and did not have to worry about flies or mosquitoes – the vineyard was well sprayed for parasites and disease. I wanted to meet the owners but I was afraid to enter their property – below the imposing archway was a huge “no trespassing” sign. A German shepherd and a hunting rifle accompanied the owner on his daily inspections of the grounds. I watched him from afar. We were the only Americans in the small village on the outskirts of Verona. Americans were not very welcome and we stood out like a sore thumb - we are both tall. German tourists, who loved the Lake Garda area, would often ask us for directions, thinking that we were German. We must have looked like giants to the petite Italians.

I loved the cool marble tiled floor and the large skylight on the second floor. I took many dangerous tumbles from the second floor on the moist and slippery marble. We could watch the stars in the absence of streetlights and outdoor ambient light. When the sun went down, we were plunged into an inky blackness, perfect for stargazing.

It was strange that we had to purchase light fixtures, sinks, and other amenities that American apartments offer. Italians rent apartments or homes for most of their lives and are expected to provide chandeliers, kitchen cabinets, sinks, and air conditioning. When they move, they take all these amenities with them, leaving the apartment stripped bare with electrical wires exposed everywhere. Because we were so far north, nights were cool. It was really hot during the day without air conditioning but nights were pleasant.

We never had enough power to run a microwave, a washer, and dryer at the same time. I shorted out the entire apartment complex several times by trying to run the dryer and make a cup of tea in the microwave at the same time. The washer was tiny by design; I could only run very small loads, a couple of shirts and two pairs of jeans at a time. The cycle would take at least 90 minutes to wash and dry a load and it was very expensive. I started using the clothesline on the balcony – the drycleaners were fantastically expensive. Our neighbors saved on their water and electric bills by wearing the same outfits to work all week. It seemed like a European tradition to bathe once a week, on Saturdays, and use bidets the rest of the week. One American home filled its bidet with potpourri to discourage its use by Italian visitors. We were told repeatedly that Americans are too wasteful because we shower every day and change our clothes.

The bank of smart meters would cut off power whenever we least expect it. There was never a schedule but we knew it would be on the hottest or coldest days/nights and it lasted for hours every time. We got used to the pitch-blackness - we were sent back in time, keeping the farming schedule of long time ago before electricity freed us from an agrarian lifestyle.

The underground parking cubicle allotted for each resident was barely enough space for an SUV, with inches to squeeze by sideways on the way out. We unloaded groceries in the driveway and then parked the car in our concrete-walled garage. I will never understand how Dave drove in and out of the garage without scraping the car on both sides of the wall.

The security system was always armed, with speakerphones and cameras for each apartment. No visitor was buzzed in unless recognized by the apartment dwellers. We never saw or knew the property owner - the government docked our required bank account for rent.

To address pollution, the government passed a novel ordinance to discourage driving – cars with even license plates numbers could drive one week and cars with odd license plates numbers could drive another week. Violators caught on the road in the wrong week were fined heavily.

Northern Italians were so glued to their cell phones, they would have had to be surgically removed from their “cellulare.” No matter how remote a place, the familiar “pronto” was everywhere. Service was very good but expensive. Landlines were not dependable and worked intermittently. It was hard to get service in towns built on mountains where lines were difficult to bury a few feet under layers of cobblestone and rock. Roman roads, which were religiously preserved, made it more challenging to bury fiber optic cables, power, or phone lines. Unions had to be consulted before any projects were undertaken and a myriad of notarized forms had to be filled and approved by the arcane bureaucracy.

Italy is a developed country but life there is not as easy as life in the United States. Just paying the phone bill took a good part of the day, following the strange bureaucratic schedules at the mercy and whims of clerks who did not care about serving customers, especially when time came for their mandated afternoon nap. Everything closed down for 2-3 hours.

We loved to eat in “trattorias” and truck stops where a three-course meal cost 5 Euros, was fresh, homemade, and delicious. “Ristorante” was expensive and frequented by rich Italians and tourists. The locals would eye us with suspicion. When speaking Italian, they accepted our presence graciously, but eyed my husband warily since he did not know a word of Italian other than “grazie,” thank you.

And then, there were the Auto Grills, the familiar sight on every Italian “autostrada,” with an array of freshly prepared pastas, sandwiches, coffee bars with café lungo, espresso, café Americano, café macchiato, cappuccino, freshly squeezed blood orange juice, and stinky pay toilets. For some reason, Italians have not mastered the art of providing clean public restrooms for everyone, easily accessible as we do in America. I found that bizarre since the Romans had flushable commodes in their cities and knew the importance of military port-o-potties in preventing disease. In towns, unless you found a pay bathroom, you were in trouble, as businesses allowed the use of their facilities only if you purchased what they sold.

When the Nissan needed new brakes and tires, it took two weeks! We rented a Volvo S60, which I promptly ground to a halt by filling it with gasoline instead of Diesel. The tow-truck came to rescue me. An American would have laughed off my stupidity but this petite and gruff Italian was all business, gesturing “mamma mias” to heaven, calling the dumb American interesting epithets, not realizing that I spoke Italian. It cost 300 Euros in towing fees. I rented a new car with a traditional engine because Diesel was too expensive. I laughed off the offensive disdain for my mistake and my predicament.

Italy is a picturesque country of uncommon landscapes, a jewel of art, history, cuisine, and gelato, with colorful and hospitable people full of charm, but life is very complicated and unnecessarily hard.