FL's mother blindsided me yesterday with an invitation to come with her to the pool today. By "pool" she means a giant, olympic-style bathtub meant for actual swimming. Not Porchis. It is inside, it is heated, it is filtered saltwater from the lagoon that is Grado (a beautiful port town about half an hour away), and it has changing rooms, with showers, where i assume I will be expected to change and take a shower. I really hate stuff like this: getting naked in front of strange people (especially your kind-of-mother-in-law), walking around a dirty, wet floor in squishy flipflops, florescent lights overhead making everyone looks pasty and ill, washing your hair communally, other people's strands running against your toes, clogging the drain. This is why I opted out of ever living in a dorm. And what will I do at a scary, giant olympic-style swimming pool for 3 hours? Swim? Maybe there's a cafe or something.
But! I realize that this is the opportunity that has needed to come along, for FL's mom (named Paola) and I to begin getting to know one another. 6 hours of bonding time. Will just channel Marion: I will be poised, bi-lingual, athletic, and charming.
Must go put on scary suit now. And, oh God, we have to wear bathing caps!

A few more photos...

I believe I am experiencing what is referred to as a "food coma". As I understand it, this occurs when one has consumed, for example: 2 steaks, 6 lamb chops, 3 pieces of polenta, 2 grilled new potatoes, several slices of salami, and a bowl of pasta. Now that that is in writing I wince at the amount of carbohydrates involved; must begin new weight-training regime tomorrow and avoid putting back on everything I have lost (everyone, by the way, keeps telling me how pretty and skinny I am, and asking what my workout routine is. As a result I ate more and stopped working out. Pretty sure my math's not right).



The cookout was delightful, and is in fact still going on. Where as in America we have people over for a bar-b-q that lasts the length of the afternoon, ending when the first baby begins to fuss, the beer runs out, or it's just magically that collective-time-to-go-home, here these things are like, major affairs. FL's friends began arriving at 10am. I arose from my lair at 10:30, took a bath, made a coffee, and came out to the porch, where they were already lighting up the grill and drinking beer. FL had put on one of the mix CD's Uncle Tom made, the party was in full swing.



Racks of lamb were sliced, giant steaks were carved out of Irish tenderloins. People came and went, the grill kept grilling. The party was a toast to America, and Bentley at one point made a touching little speech congratulating FL on acquiring an American; Cormons now held "the key". To what is not clear, but it seems a victory, none the less. When the babies got tired, they took naps. One had a bath. I wished for a real refrigerator, one that thoroughly chilled the beer. My only complaint is that the beers were room temperature, at best. I hid one in the freezer and it took almost 3 hours for it to reach the point of what I considered "a nice, cool beer".



Nevermind, cause the lamb was superb. The meat had been purchased from a fancy supplier of imported cuts to restaurants in Friuli. Condor is friends with the guy, who said he could help us out when the idea of a bar-b-q was raised a while back. All the carne was excellent and fresh, and we were warned to not mess with it; no pepper, no rosemary. Only a bit of salt once it was finished. Condor grilled potatoes, polenta. I made the pasta (v. v. proud of myself)!



We had brunch, lunch, an afternoon lull, and then dinner. As of now, FL has busted out the Makers Mark and is telling everyone about my amazing grandmother, Mimi, who drinks bourbon and CAN USE THE INTERNET!!!!!!! Everyone is v. impressed.



Oh, and obviously I have purchased a new camera! It was a bit on the pricey side, but I think I made the right choice.

We are in the process of hosting a barbq, in my honor, thrown by FL and Condor, to celebrate, as FL puts it, my "brave". I think he means "courage". The boys bought 9 kilos of imported beef, angus, and 3 huge racks of New Zealand lamb. There is grilled polenta, 30 litres of beer, and coke for the babies. Also, ample fresh fruit falling pastorally from the trees in the garden: figs, apples, plums, and pears. It is a gorgeous day, and everyone is so kind.
Ooh, FL just busted in on me blogging, with a huge steak al sangue, all for me!
Pictures to come.

I am going shopping tomorrow for weights (to do my exercises), a yoga ball, new Italian text books (if mama still can't find mine), and a digital camera. Will all be considered investments in my future and in no way frivolous. As of now I only have my iphone for photos.

This is a view from the top of the mountain, Mt. Quarin












and these are pictures of the inside of FL's fridge and pantry, because Cooper had been asking me about the contents of such (for Italians in general, I think, not just FL; but the Cecot's are a good example)








and here's a picture of FL asleep at the pool. Just for fun.

FLs cute middle brother Matteo saved the day by making me not one, but two giant coffees. The first was a mix I had picked up at the store, some nasty Nesquik instant stuff. Tasted like rabbit pellets and motor oil. I drank it graciously, regardless, with a grimace on my face. Matteo offered milk, sugar- still terrible. So the next round we tried something different, something obvious: 3 shots of espresso, mixed with a little hot water and a glug of warm milk. It wasn't like home, but it was drinkable. I am feeling energized and revived.
I was lounging about in bed, after a brisk morning weight training session and a cool bath, reading Cider House Rules, when the younger one, Diego, popped his head in and informed me the terrible news: FL wouldn't be able to return home for lunch, but would I please come up and eat with the family anyway. I try my hardest not to be antisocial, not to hide out in the apartment whenever FL is away, but there's still a part of me that feels somewhat odd, or guilty, even. Living here, taking lots of baths, eating all their food. I don't want to invade all their nice family meals. Of course, the truth is I am being ridiculous: these people live to feed me, I am in no way a burden, maybe just an oddity at times. And who doesn't love some strange foreigner with strange customs living in their house. Endless entertainment! So I went up and ate, lots of pasta, lots of cheese, fresh lemonade, a salad.
Last night FL and I decided to "stay in", which is a nice way to put "not go out and get shitfaced at Porchis Pool", which tends to happen from time to time whether one is planning on it or not. We rented a movie, purchased 20euro worth of delicious filet mignon, which we cooked au poivre style, and had a lovely evening at home. The weather outside is cool these days, especially at night. The garden here is spectacular, and there's an old stone table under a canopy of grape vines where we can eat al fresco, if we light candles to keep the mosquitoes away. We talked about our house, and what plans we had for it. He'd like chickens; I'd like to hang twinkly lights over the pergola. The kitchen will need to be remodeled, and there's a store in town where I can buy canvas to make my octopus portraits. We want lots of vegetables, and maybe one day I can talk him into a goat.
As for now, it is a sunny Thursday afternoon, and I am going to the pool.

FL has requested that I find some of my favorite country songs to transfer to his Ipod. I have so far downloaded the following:
-Brooks and Dunn: My Maria and Brand New Man
-Travis Tritt: Country Club, I'm Gonna be Somebody, and Take it Easy (I love love love his version, but I abhor the Eagles).
-Randy Travis: Deeper Than the Holler
-George Strait: Amarillo by Morning (I think my very favorite of all time)

At $1.29 a pop I have to be choosy, but I could go on forever with my country music. ooh, also just remembered about Tom Petty.

I am not sure exactly what is going on with me, physically. My body is exhausted and confused, still. Could hardly move out of bed today, and felt sort of weepy and sick. FL came home from work to find me still wrapped up under the covers, my stomach growling, my eyes sore. I almost cried I was so happy to see him. I think there's a number of factors contributing to my all-over exhaustion- time change and life change and PMS and too-hot motorcycle rides and too much drink. Another thing FL thought of is: caffeine withdrawal. I haven't had so much as more than a handful of espresso shots since I arrived, and an espresso doesn't hold a candle to a giant mug of "American coffee", which i consumed regularly at home. We went to the big grocery store last night, way out in Gradisca, sort of a Wal-Mart-type place. It sells fresh baked bread and other foods, motor oil, cooking utensils, romance novels- but I was shocked to discover that it also sells coffee makers. Real, American drip coffee makers, and fresh ground Colombian medium roast, to boot! Now's not the time for such a purchase, but the countdown for our house move-in date has begun, so it won't be too long off.
Carpaccio last night, with arugula and lemon, mushroom risotto on the side. Tonight, thick-cut filet of (more) beef, more arugula, more lemon. Got to go to my favorite butcher, Bonnelli, down the road, and put my steaks in the basket of my bike, pedal home. It is almost autumn here, almost time for a sweater. Can't wait.

our vacation warranted a long, hot bath and a four hour nap, three cans of coke and a big pizza. I'm feeling much better now. My ass is not cut out for long motorcycle trips, and my body is too old to cope with more than one after-dinner amaro (and certainly not four). But, that being said, it was a lovely adventure in Croatia, and a great way to spend a weekend.

We went to a town called Premantura, which is on the edge of a national park surrounded by the sea. Upon arrival I was faint with heat and sleep deprivation, though I tried my hardest to keep a smile on my face and be very go-with-the-flow-ish. Finding accommodation in Croatia is always an adventure in itself, and we hadn't factored in that it is august, which is Italy's Vacation Month, when everyone flees the country, leaving it to tourists and immigrants who don't know any better. Croatia in August is to Italians what Florence in August is to Americans: A romantic, foreign place to go, where the locals will cater hand-and-foot to give the tourists the food they imagine is "authentic" (though it is really just a local version of the tourists' normal diet), speak the language(s) of the tourists instead of the local language, and basically make it as much like the tourists' home as possible in order to make then feel comfortable and get them to spend money. Everyone spoke Italian to us immediately, all the restaurants assured us that they served pizza, and Italian soccer highlight clips flashed across many a TV inside small, rustic bars packed with sun-glass-sporting vacationers.
Finding a room took all afternoon; everything was full. We finally stumble upon a cute little hotel off the main strip, literally because I followed my nose: they were roasting a pig on a spit out front. Though my pasta baby from the night before was continuing to develop inside me, I couldn't help but stare longingly at the crispy skin, fat sizzling on the steaming rocks below.



Just as I was about to climb inside the grill and devour the succulent little porchellina, FL came and woke me from my trace. They had a room available, and it had a shower, so I agreed to hold off on the pig till dinner.
And what a dinner it was! Just perfection! Risotto with black squid ink, a cool octopus salad, mixed mussels (unappetizingly translated on the menu to "mixed measles"), and grilled squid. The beer was ample and by the end of the evening I was convinced that finally, probably, I would be able to sleep through the night.
Saturday we rode out to the national forest to spend the day at the beach. The road as bumpy and rocky, but the landscape was phenomenal. It was both lush with brush and fat, squat trees and incredibly dry and dusty, curry bushes, oregano, and rosemary growing wild amongst the white, what? limestone?



The sea was visible all around at certain peaks in the road, and white sailboats dotted the horizon. At the end of the road we parked the motorcycle back in some bushes, and FL led me down a steep trail. It went right through the middle of a sugar cane forest, and we hiked up and down, deep into the forest until we could hardly see the sky through the canopy of kiwi leaves. Music started to come to us and we followed it into an amazing little clearing, some sort of tiki bar dug out into the brush.



There were little shacks made out of reeds and sugar cane where people could sit on carved pieces of wood and rocks stacked into benches. A huge trough was filled with what a wooden sign said was sangria, and we were instructed to serve ourselves. The area went on and on in every direction, tiny private coves and jungle gym-style games to play. After a while we came out through another trail, and down below was the sea. Bright blue, rippling, jagged rocks poking out creating tiny islands. We hiked for a while and saw a place the looked nice, our own private little cove.



There was a huge flat rock on which to sun ourselves, easy access into and out of the water (this is key; the beaches in Croatia are dangerous. Not flat and comfortable, but deadly and spiky, and one must make sure to have an exit strategy before jumping in), and a shady little tide pool where FL stashed our bottles of water like a good boy scout. The day was spent here, taking dips, splashing around in our masks watching all the pretty little fish swim down on the bottom. The water is so clear.




Fav quote: "Che bella che sei sotto l'aqua; sei tutto sparkle!"


Around 4 o'clock some weird Austrians showed up and got completely nude, which alerted us to the fact that we were becoming rather pink ourselves. Made our way home, showered, had a nice dinner...watched the groom at a wedding at the hotel get pummeled by who I am assuming is the father of the baby growing inside the bride...

Good times.

The ride home was hot and hangovery and we stopped intermittently to drink cokes and smooch and be sweet on one another and discuss how pretty everything was. By the time we got home I was numb of ass and starving, and FL made me snack fit for a hefty toppolino that put me right to sleep. Sundays are our best days: they mean movies, snuggles, and pizza. Which is what I am going to return to now.

Croatia

Even though I only slept 2.5 hours last night, I am experiencing back-wrenching cramps, and I do not EVER want to even see a piece of pasta again, I have decided to rally. For it is Vacation Time: Croatia style.
The weather today is so glorious, bright and cheery enough to have roused us from our bed (well, I had already been up and wandering about the room since 4am) just a little while after the damned rooster crowed (FL's youngest brother, Diego, is experimenting with livestock. If the rooster works out, he hopes to get a goat, move on to a cow, etc. His mother thinks this is hilarious, and appreciates the idea of fresh milk, as long as someone else brings it to her kitchen table). Friday is market day- recall Day of Doom post from when Mama was here- so the town is bustling. Sidewalks crowded, people old and young chatting and shopping and drinking cafes. We walked down to a charming little panificio, golden counters full of fresh baked breakfast delights, super-rich cream fillings, custards, baked apples, mini tiramisu', biscotti of every variety. I opted for a pro-biotic strawberry drink, and a soda water in which to dissolve my asprin. FL chose an espresso and a cream-custard-filled krafen, caked in powdered sugar that stuck to his whiskers and his dimples like blurred snowflakes. He couldn't help but grin while he ate it, and after the bite i stole I could understand why.
As we made our way downtown to see what the market had to offer, FL asked nonchalantly if we should take advantage of this beautiful day and hop over to Croatia. Inches to death, dreaming of heading home and pulling closed the dark shutters, spending the day making up for my insomnia, finding a cure for my weird exhaustion...I reconsidered. A trip to the sea sounds delightful. Fresh air, etc. And there will be shrimp! So very much shrimp.
I'll take pictures.

adorable

FL just read that post, and asked, "Undertaken? Isn't that a guy who deals with dead people"? He's been watching wrestling, he says.

uffa, i feel like a stuffed pig. FL and I decided on a home-cooked meal of pasta all'ammatriciana (a Roman classic), a rich, spicy tomato base cooked with onion, garlic, pancetta, and lots and lots of chilies. Was fabulous, and we were both perspiring it was so spicy, unable to stop ourselves it was so savory. I think I had even "forgotten" how good the food is here: how lunch is not a turkey sandwich- it is veal scallopini, slices of prosciutto over melon, fresh salads of garden vegetables, a cool glass of tocai, made by a friend of a friend down the street. Everything seems so lavish, yet simple. And they think nothing of it.
Tonight we went and studied our languages, he English, me Italian. Some of our fresh new words include: Crumb (briciola), Lazybones (fannullona), climb (arrampicarsi), to lean (essere inclinato). This was undertaken over a nice glass of Franciacorta, which for me is the king of all spumantes, the most killer sparkling wine the world has to cherish (from a region in Lombardia which holds the same name). We laughed adoringly at FLs mom; she was watching soccer and shouting, "corner! corner"! English all around!
A motorcycle ride this evening reacquainted me the area. We rode out into Collio, through the hills, such stunning scenery, green and lush, the ground terraced to make room for all the grape vines. Castles and beautiful houses and horses dot the landscape, and the air is so cool here it feels like autumn.
Have been offered a possible position as a nanny for a family with a little boy, about my godson jack's age. Sounds like a decent gig, but payment will have to be negotiated. Regardless, I will be fine, I will make do. I will never, ever starve. I will never, ever be cold. I will never, ever be lonely.

testing, testing

I am back in the Old Country. Exactly nine months after i said my goodbyes and blogged my last, i arrived safe and sound in Venezia. My chosen date for departure from the US was, not coincidentally, August 16th, exactly two years since I left for Italy the first time. I figured it's a good day, a day I trust.
The flight was bumpy and nerve-wracking, and I had chosen to fly in a sundress, anticipating a romantic arrival. This made sleeping difficult, and I was freezing cold, or perhaps it was all psychological, anyway. I was nervous and jumpy and my head spun the entire time. All of this seemed like a great idea back in February, June even, when there was so much to be done and so much to look forward to. A couple of days before I left, however, the nerves kicked in. Tricked myself into thinking I could just stay home, move to Atlanta, find a little coffee shop job and date some other boy with cute glasses. I tricked myself into thinking my life in Italy would be easy to forget, that it never even existed possibly, and that surely the safe thing would be to just stay home. My ticket was nonrefundable, however, and I get really pissed at myself for wasting money, so i figured I had made my bed, and now I had to board the plane. Adding to the impossibility of just forgetting the whole thing was FL, who called and wrote continuously the days leading up to my arrival. His voice, even in writing, seemed a whisper, expectant, like he was holding his breath. Could I really let him go? I try not to break hearts, at least not other peoples.
And so I arrived. Felt like I was going to vomit, or that my heart would beat out of my chest, and I lugged my 200lbs of luggage out of the revolving doors into the lobby of Marco Polo International Airport running on sheer adrenaline. He was there, and, how does it go- "his hair was longer, but his eyes were the same old blue"? So surreal and right before I burst into anxious flames he smiled, took my computer bag off my shoulder, wrapped me up tight and sighed, "finalmente". What in the world was I even worrying about, good grief, I almost laughed at myself, as my vision cleared and I started to breath and the blood went back to my legs. I had spent the last 48 hours being the worlds biggest idiot. It was all ok, exactly the same, like no time had passed. This, I think, bodes well.
A quick breakfast in Venice revived me completely, and we drove back to Cormons. It seemed like I had just walked back into a dream I had once had. Everything so familiar, but in a way that felt like there had been a part of me that thought I would never see it again. Cormons is still here, it exists. So does everything and everyone in it. The tall, pointy cypress trees, the feral cats, the aged buildings and cobbled streets. The grapes are late-summer ripening on their vines as the sugars start to form, and even the dolomites look the same, though with a little less snow covering their peaks. As we drove into town I became more and more breathless, this time with excitement. I remembered! I remembered why I loved it here, what I finagled and worked for. FL was about to enter the main road into town, but swung left instead.
"Want to see our house?", he asked.
We drove out a bit into the country, and turned down a little unpaved road with a wooden sign that read "Via Bosc Di Sot". Friulano for "lower forest", in a rough translation. Up a hill, around a curve, woody vineyards on either side and the view of town obstructed. The house is small and white, brushed stucco with a flat facade, as is typical in Italy. Red tiled roof, wooden front door. To the side there is a pergola covered with grape vines. Underneath, a long wooden dining table, a view down to the garden. The garden is lush and romantically overgrown, pear trees, fig trees, cherry trees, a tiny olive grove. To the side there is a view of the mountains and rolling hills, covered in vineyards. I had no words for all of this, just covered my mouth with my hand and whispered, "my god, amore"!
Just then a little old lady walked out of the house next door. She had on a polka dot apron and shrugged with the weight of her old back. She waved and continued on her way, picking up tiny sticks for, i imagine, a tiny stove. At this point I lost it.
"Oh My Holy God! Is she our neighbor?? That old Italian lady is our neighbor?! I bet she knows everything"!
Dreams. Come. True.
So now I am here. My internal clock is all out of whack and I haven't quite gotten over the airplane stomach that left me feeling crampy. Trying to take it slow, hold back on the pasta and go for some greens. FL is happy to comply to my slow-paced diet by making me delicious salads consisting of bresaola, arugula, and shaved parmesean, tiny prosciutto panini, and fresh tomatoes. FL's family is so incredibly kind to me, so hospitable. His dad even laughed when I made a stupid little joke! The kids at Porchis pool applauded my arrival and acted as though I had taken the sunshine with me to America and the clouds could finally part. Fabio LOVED the pool beer pong racks I brought, and we are discussing setting up a tournament some weekend. All in all: Tutto a posto.
I'll try to blog regularly, and please let me know if the text colors are hard to read.