Liberation Day 2007

Liberation day came and went. It was an odd mixture of celebration and remembrance of those who died during the war. The Italian and I headed off to the town center to find out what activities were planned for the day. The entire main street was closed: in the place of cars and scooters were tables set up for an outdoor market. Everything was being sold including handmade jewelry, World War II memorabilia, antiques and, on some tables just plain junk.

As we neared the Chiesa del Pio Suffragio, we heard a choir singing and stopped to listen. The Pio Suffragio was one of the historic town churches, built from 1753-56. After World War II, the tiny church was nearly destroyed. It was put back together, but was never returned to its former charm. Crumbling walls and cracks in the interior give the church a rundown feeling. Since it was no longer being used as a church, it was turned into a memorial to the fallen soldiers of Italy's wars. On this day, Italy's liberation, a mass was being said in honor and in memory of the victims of the war. The Chiesa was packed with a crowd that over flowed out the door and spilled into the street. Unable to hear much or see anything, we continued on down the road perusing the tables of goods for sale as we went.

Later we spotted a somber parade lead by our town's mayor. He walked with a group of men, some wearing military uniforms and others in suits, as they carried large flags (political flags, the Italian flag and the flag of the Partisans). Behind them a crowd followed, most with white hair and I had to wonder how many of them had lived through the war and what this day must have meant to them.

They walked in silence down the main street, stopping periodically to place memorial wreathes under plaques on the sides of buildings. For example at the Town Hall there is a plaque honoring the local men who died fighting in the war and so a wreath was placed there. As they walked, the people they passed stopped what they were doing to watch. At last the parade came to Fusiganno's memorial to the fallen soldiers. There three wreaths were placed on the memorial while the men in uniform saluted the fallen heroes. After a moment of silence, the parade continued back to the town hall.

The Italian and I spent a little time walking through the market before stopping for a piadina (fresh sausage sandwich hot off of the grill, yum). We washed it down with a paper cup of red wine and then went home to enjoy the rest of the afternoon while keeping in mind what the day was all about.

World War Two Becomes Personal

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of Italy's liberation. Cities and towns all across the country have been holding special services to honor those who died in the war. I have always been interested in the hisotry of World War Two, an interest that has grown since my move to Italy.

In the States, I had never met a person who had fought in the war. In Italy, I live amongst the survivors of WW2. It is still fresh in the memories of those who watched the country be torn apart. My own father-in-law was sent, by the Italian government, to France during the war. Lucky for him, he never saw battle. Instead he was part of a "friendly occupation" somewhere in the French countryside. When Italy joined the side of the allies, the Italian leaders abandoned the troops without giving them further orders. Not knowing what else to do, the men threw their riffles to the ground and began the long walk home.

Our town was the scene of the front for over four months. My mother-in-law watched, from a distance, as an allied bomb crashed through the cupula of the local church. By the time the allies finally pushed the Germans out, there wasn't much left of our town. The old castle and the historic church were all gone, as were most of the homes. The people of Fusignano rebuilt the village, one brick at a time. There were a few buildings that survived the battles, including The Bar Repubblica. To this day, you can still see bullet holes from 63 years ago; a constant reminder that the war was right in our back yard.

So my interest in the history of World War Two has grown since my move to Italy. It is much more personal to me now. You see, it didn't happen long ago, in some far off country. It happened in my mother and father-in-law's generation.

And it happened right here, in my beloved Fusignano.

The Mausoleum of Theodoric

Back by popular demand, La Storia del'Italia: Secondo Me,
The History of Italy: According to me.

Okay, it wasn't really by popular demand (this one is for you Judith).

Near the train station in Ravenna is the Mausoleum of Theodoric. It is a white, simple structure that sits in the middle of a park. Though it looks interesting from the outside, it is quiet bare and uninteresting on the inside. Centuries ago it was stripped of everything, leaving the mausoleum undecorated with nothing much inside (other than pigeon poo).

So who is this Theodoric guy with a large empty mausoleum in Ravenna? He was a Goth. No, not THAT Goth!





He was the King of the Ostrogoth's who lost his lands to the big, bad Huns. So off he went with 100,000 of his people, in search of a new home. After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, Italy was ripe for the pick'ins and so they made the trek across the Alps. Theodoric and his men blew into Ravenna, which had been the capital of the Western Empire, knocked on the door and yelled "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in". Odoacer, a Roman solider who had declared himself King of Italy after the fall of the Western Empire, did not let Theodoric in. Instead he did what any brave man would do, he barricaded himself inside of Ravenna and hid.

Theodoric was a patient man and began a siege on Ravenna that last a good two years. When Odoaccer realized that the Goth King wasn't going to go away, he at last gave up. Theodoric later invited his defeated rival to a banquet. There, in front of all his guests, Theodoric sliced Odoaccer in half with his sword and laughed, "What, no bones?".

At this point, the Romans must have been worried about having a barbarian as a leader but Theodoric broke through all the barbarian stereotypes. Italy enjoyed over three decades of enlightenment under the rule of Theodoric. He worked to restore commerce and culture to Italy, both of which had almost vanished under the previous Roman rule.

Back in those days, the Romans had been pillaging their own monuments and statues, carting the marble away to use for other purposes. Theodoric passed a law forbidding the destruction of Roman monuments. We can thank him for saving many of the historic treasures Italy has today. If it had not been for Theodoric, they may not have survived in the hands of the Romans.

Though the Romans might not have been been happy about having a barbaric for a King, Theodoric worked hard to bring the Romans and Goths together. He even gave many members of the Roman nobility important governmental jobs. If he could have only figured out a way to get them to hold hands and sing....

In his old age, Theodoric became a little bit paranoid. But hey, just because you are paranoid doesn't mean that they AREN'T out to get you. This was the case for Theodoric as there were a few people tyring to wack him. These assassination plots fed his paranoia until he began killing anyone he thought might be trying to off him. In the end, he even killed some of his closest advisers who were probably innocent.

So that left a bad taste in every ones mouth. Even though Theodoric went out on a bad note, he really did a lot of good for Italy. If you plan to visit him at his mausoleum in Ravenna you can forget it. He is not there. Where is he you might ask? Well it just depends on which legend you want to believe.

The German legend states that his body was carried away on a white horse to live forever with the warrior heroes in Valhalla. The Italian story is much different. They say that a black horse, the devil himself, carried the body of Theodoric down to Hell through the crater of Mount Etna.


Good or bad, we can all agree that the Goth King was a good ruler for Italy. Well, right until the paranoia thing anyway.

Five Years Already

My first trip to Italy was in the spring of 2001. It was a two week adventure with my partner in crime, my grandma. Though I returned to Italy many times before moving here permanently, nothing was ever as special or as magical as that first vacation.

It has been five years since I wandered the rustic, charming streets of Italy with my Grandma, and yet I remember the details as if it were only a few months ago. We landed in Rome on a bright, sunny April morning. The Italian, who had driven four hours to Rome the night before, was waiting at the airport to greet us. After a long flight across the Atlantic, I thought that Grandma and I would be tired and need to rest. But the excitement of finally being in Italy, after months of planing, proved to be too much. The adrenaline rushed through our veins and with eyes wide open, we set off to see the Eternal City with the Italian as our personal guide.

Our first stop was the Spanish Steps. With Easter just around the corner, the stairs were covered in a blanket of potted plants. We posed for pictures, Cheshire-cat-grins plastered across our faces. I remember quite clearly, as we posed for the camera, not being able to believe that we were finally in Italy.

We spent hours just meandering around the city. Our walk took us to the Coliseum and the forum. Eventually we end up in the Piazza del Polpolo where we stopped at an outdoor cafe to rest our feet and have a snack.


After walking for miles, our tour concluded with dinner at a boat restaurant. The Italian had been there for lunch the day before with his Roman friend. We knew the food had to be good if a local liked to eat there. Five years later, I can not remember what I had for dinner, I just remember that it was the best pasta that I had ever tasted in my life.

That night while Grandma and I slept off our jet lag, the Italian sneaked out of the hotel at three in the morning. He had to be at work at 8am and it was a four hour commute to get there from Rome.

We awoke early the next morning, left to explore the city on our own.

It was a two week vacation. I think I could write a book about our adventures, but that isn't the sort of thing for a blog. Instead I will leave you with some of the memories that, to this day, are as fresh in memory as they were five years ago.

On our second day in Rome, Grandma and I headed out on foot to see the city. We stopped to rest near Castle St'Angelo and while there a small group of young children passed by. They followed their teacher like a long row of baby ducks and as they walked past us, they smiled and said "Buon girono". It made us both smile.

That same day, after spending hours of walking through Rome's cobble stoned streets, we stopped for an ice cream break. It was the first time I had ever tasted real, Italian gelato and it was love at first taste. We both opted for chocolate gelato on top of a cone and sat down on the steps of a little chapel near the Pantheon. As we fiercely licked our melting gelato, we watched a group of men hosting a mattress through a third story window in a near by building. Apparently the doors were too small for the mattress to fit, but the window was not. To this day when I am in Rome and pass by the steps of that little chapel, I think of my Grandma and our first gelato.

Our first night in Venice, we were joined by the rain. I recall how we tried to manoeuvre through the small,crowed, Venetian streets with umbrellas in hand. We tried our best not to hit others with our umbrellas while attempting not to be hit in the face with the umbrellas of others. That night we ate in a tiny, charming restaurant with candles on every table. We sat near the window where I watched the rain trickle down the glass. The next day we awoke to a sunny sky.


On April 20, five years ago today, we stood at the airport: our Italian adventure coming to an end. The Italian had made the four hour journey (again) to spend our last day in Rome together and then to take us to the airport the following day. It had been magical. Italy had been everything I had dreamt it would be and so much more. I said good bye to the Italian, not really knowing if I would ever see him again. I left on the plane that morning, tears in my eyes, not knowing if I would ever return to Italy.

Here is a brief summary of that first trip to Italy.

April 7th, Sunday- Arrive in Rome. Spend the day walking around the city with the Italian as our guide.

8th, Monday- Grandma and I explore Rome. We hit the major sites including the Pantheon and the Vatican.

9th, Tuesday- We take a guided tour down to Pompeii arriving at our hotel very late that night. My new glasses, which I had been wearing at the start of the trip, were now missing. Unable to locate them on the bus, we assume that they are still on vacation somewhere in Pompeii.

10th, Wednesday- We take the train to Bologna, where the Italian is waiting to greet us again. A forty-five minute car ride later, we arrive at his home in the Province of Ravenna. That night I meet his friends for the first time.

11th, Thursday- Grandma and I take the day off to rest and do our laundry while the Italian is at work.

12th, Friday- The Italian drives us to Venice, giving us the opportunity to see the countryside of the Delta Po. There is sunshine in Venice, but that night the rain comes and there is flooding in San Marco's Square.

13th, Saturday- The sun returns, but we have to watch where we step; there are puddles everywhere. San Marco has so much water that we are forced to walk on top of wooden tables. Tourists are coming and going and the tables quickly become clogged like a bad artery. That afternoon, we find a dry table in San Marco's Square and enjoy a very expense cappuccino. With the sun on our faces and a view of the lagoon, the cappuccino is worth the price.

14th, Sunday- We head back to the Italian's home town, making a stop in Ravenna. It is a rainy day and we see the city under the cover of umbrellas.


15th, Monday- We are driven back to Bologna, by the Italian, where Grandma and I catch a train to Florence. We spend the day there seeing the sights and enjoying the city.

16th, Tuesday- We had reservations to see the Uffizi and Academia museums, but a national strikes closes anyting and EVERYTHING! With the buses, trains and cabs not running we are stuck in the center of Florence. Most stores and all museums and churches are closed, so we spend the day walking around and enjoying the sunny day. Protesters march through the streets singing and waving banners, making me feel like we just stepped into the movie "Evita". In spite of thousands of protesters, no one is hurt and no one goes to jail.

17th, Wednesday- The day had been set aside to see Pisa, but because of the strike we missed out on all of the museums. We have to choose between seeing the famous leaning tower or seeing the world's largest (and best) art collection (including the David). Art wins over architecture and we decide to spend the day in Florence.

18th, Thursday- We spend the day seeing the sights of Florence, including the Duommo and the Ponte Vechhio. We even manage to have a coffee break on top of a building with sweeping views of the city.

19th, Friday- We take the train back to Rome where the Italian meets up with us again. With the top down on the convertible, we drive out into the Roman countryside to visit the ancient ruins of Adrian's Villa. Thinking there would be a place to eat, we take no food. It is a big mistake. Without a bar in sight, we spend the day walking through the endless ruins while our empty bellies grumble and complain. On our back to Rome, we get caught in a nasty traffic jam. Our thirty minute ride turns into a several-hours-long journey. We arrive in Rome after 7pm, not having a morsel of food since breakfast (which was coffee and a roll). Famished we find a restaurant and dine together for one last meal in Italy. That night Grandma is feeling tired. She goes to bed early while the Italian and I take one last walk through the Eternal City. With the moon shining high above my head, I toss a coin into the Trevi fountain thus insuring a return visit to Rome.

You can't see my face, but if you look closely you can see the flying coin.

April 20th, Saturday- With a beautiful bouquet of calla lilies in hand (a gift from the Italian) we say our good byes at the airport, not knowing when or if we will ever see each other again. Grandma and I board the plane and settle into our seats. As the plane speeds down the highway I feel a heavy sadness deep within my heart. Our dream vacation is over. The Italian is on his way home while we were heading across the Atlantic, back to our homes in America. It was been a whirlwind of an adventure, but the time has passed far too quickly. There is a loud thump as the wheels fold up into the belly of the plane. Tears run down my cheeks.

Grandma, thank you so much for the vacation of a life time. For the rest of my life, I will remember the wonderful times we had together on our trip. It was such a special time for me and I will forever cherish the time we spent together. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.

Virginia Tech

My heart and prayers go out to the victims and their loved ones.

Mama's Got a Brand New Blog

Today I received an email from my father with the title "Mama's Got a Brand New Blog". After much consideration, my sweet Mama has finally started her very own blog. I think the name is cute. They had toyed with "The Lochnerness Monster", as they live on a street called Lochner. Then last night, my Dad had a stroke of genus and came up with the Loch Mess Blogester (which I think is really cute).

Be sure to stop in and check out the new blog and say hi to my Mom while you are there.

Italian Bureaucracy

Many people think because I married an Italian man that I was given automatic permission to live in Italy. Not true. Just like in America, a spouse of a legal resident still has to have the proper visa to stay in the country.

The first time we went through the paperwork dance was right after I arrived in Italy in November of 2004. As a tourist, I was allowed to stay in Italy for three months without having to have any type of paperwork filled out. Since the Italian and I were married in a civil ceremony two months after I arrived, I was spared from having to deal with any paperwork at the Italian consulate's office in the States prior to my move.

Before our civil ceremony, the Italian and I filled out the papers needed for a "temporary" permesso di sogiorno (the Italian version of a green card). After our civil wedding, we returned to the Questura (a division of the police department that deals with immigrant issues) with proof of our marriage and requested a family visa. After a hundred trips to different offices, a pile of paperwork and being finger printed, I was awarded my permesso di sogiorno. I noticed the expiration date was two years into the future and I thought how nice it would be not to have to deal with the paperwork for a while. My how time flies when you are having fun.

So in January we started the Italian paperwork dance again. It went a little like this....

A trip to the police station in Lugo (the one in our town is too small to deal with immigrant issues). There we were told that the process for the visa had changed. They explained that we had to go to the post office to pick up what I call the "Immigrant Package" (a large envelope with a stack of paperwork waiting to be filled out). Of course we couldn't go to just ANY post office as only two post offices in the city were handing the "Immigrant Packages". After wandering through the streets of Lugo, we found THE post office and collected our package of paper work.


It was all written in Italian and I, worried about messing up the important documents, passed the responsibly onto my husband. Even with his vast knowledge of the Italian language, the papers proved to be too confusing and so we set off in search of someone who could lend advise.

We went back to Lugo, stopping at a government office (though I am not sure just what kind of office it was). The woman at the front desk pointed us to an office near the back where a woman siting behind a desk pointed us to an office even farther back. We found another woman, sitting behind another desk who told us to go another building in another part of town. Do you get the picture yet?

The next office we traveled to turned out to be another government office. This one proved to be very helpful as the soul purpose of this office is to help foreigners with government issues. The kind woman behind the desk glanced over my immigrant package, made a few changes and then gave us a list of items that we needed to send in along with the completed paperwork. Oh a scavenger hunt! Who knew that Italian bureaucracy could be so much fun!

What you must understand is that this didn't all happen in one day. Remember that in Italy everything closes up at lunch time. Most offices don't reopen again until after 3pm while other offices remain close to the public for the rest of the day. We had to skillfully work our way through the bureaucracy maze, visiting the offices when they were open and only during days when the Italian had the morning free from work. It wasn't an easy task! The good news was that we were told we had two months (from the expiration date of my visa) to complete the immigrant package and get it in the mail. During this time a notice came from our local mayor's office asking me to come in and show them my new permesso. Oops.

So we headed off on our Italian bureaucracy scavenger hunt. Our first stop was at our local comune. We showed them our notice and explained that we were in the process of renewing my visa. Living in a small town has its advantages, as we knew the woman behind the desk. Instead of spending the night in illegal-immigrant-jail, she told us to simply bring in the new one when it arrives. We then requested the first item on our list, a copy of our marriage certificate. Nothing in this world is free and this is true of visa and green cards. Off to the tobacco shop we went to buy two 15 euro stamps (don't ask why we had to buy a stamp at a tobacco shop, that is an entirely different story). Then it was back to the commune with our stamps in hand where we were told to come back another day to pick up the copy of our marriage certificate.

Phew! I am getting dizzy just telling this story.

No Italian bureaucracy story would be complete if I didn't mention Ravenna, the capital of our province....

Off to Ravenna we went in search of the court house. There we requested paperwork proving that I had not spent time in jail while living in Italy. What came next you ask? We had to go to the tobacco shop to buy more stamps! You didn't think the police reports would free did you? So we bought our stamps, went BACK to the court house, and then we were told to (everyone together now) come back later for the paper work.

Of course the court house in Ravenna didn't look anything like the typical court houses in America. In fact, the court house in Ravenna appeared to be just an average building. As we approached it, I noticed something very odd. In the court yard there were larger-than-life sized statues of giant gorillas. Confused, I looked around for Diane Fossey but she wasn't there (nor was her statue).

What were six giant gorilla statues doing in the court house court yard? I am afraid that this is just one of life's mysteries .

Another trip to our town hall to collect the copy of our marriage certificate, plus another trip to the Ravenna court house to collect the paper work stating that I had not spent any time in jail and the scavenger hunt was complete!

Just one day before my two month window was to expire, we finished the immigrant package. We made copies of everything (and even made copies of the copies) before stuffing it all into a giant envelope. We then drove to Lugo to deliver it in person. Of course we had to pay for that to!

We left the post office thirty euros poorer than when we had entered with the hopes that my new visa would arrive without further complications. The good news is that this time I was able to apply for the carta di sogiorno rather then the permesso. What is the difference you ask? The carta doesn't expire. Amen!

I once read a book by Beppe Severgnini, an Italian who lived in the States for a year. He mentioned in his book how easy it was to accomplish things in America. At first he enjoyed the hassle-free lifestyle, but after a while he realized that sometimes it isn't so great when things come to you without effort. In Italy, it often takes a large struggle to accomplish the simplest of tasks, but it gives you such a feeling of accomplishment when you finally DO get something done. Now I know what Mr. Severgnini was talking about.

Spring is Back

Spring time has finally returned to Italy. Over the weekend, the temperature climbed high enough that the Italian and I were able to dust off the motor bike and take it for a spin without the fear of catching a chill on our necks (chills on the neck in Italy are known to be the cause of sniffles, colds, upset stomachs, the flu and the plague). Needless to say, we have been spending our free time taking drives through the countryside and enjoying the wonders of spring time in Italy.

The town of Bertinoro

Our favorite place to go is into the hills where charming towns seem to appear from out of nowhere. Sometimes we stop to explore the villages, while other times we just pass through.

Predappio Alta

I always pack a snack and a few bottles of water. When we get hungry (or our butts get tired) we stop for a break. If hunger calls and the snacks are not enough, we find a piadina stand along the road. Piadinas are flat breads from Romagna. They are placed on a grill to be warmed up and then you can add whatever topping you like. I prefer a piadina with prosciutto crudo (ham) and cheese.

So if the blog is being ignored (again) or if you call our house and no is home, now you know where we are....

La Vita é Bella

Can't you just smell the wisteria?

A.P.B.

All Points Bulletin

Scene of the crime: My brother's garage

Time: 10pm The night before Easter

Victim: My Mom

After an evening of shopping my mom, Emily (sister-in-law) and Cara (nipotina) returned home. How could they have known the danger that was waiting for them in the garage that night?

They pulled into the garage, turned off the car and began to unload their purchases. Lurking in the darkness, the savage criminal waited for just the right moment to attack. Emily picked up the baby and headed towards the door while Mom walked around to get the bags from the back of car. The criminal seized the moment and sprang out of the darkness knocking my mother to the floor. As she fell, she heard her ankle pop. From the ground she watched as her attacker hopped out of the garage and disappeared into the night.

A visit to the local emergency room reveled that Mom had a broken tibial. And so it was that she spent Easter Sunday in bed with her foot in a cast and a bottle pain killers on her night stand. Her attacker is still at large.

The perp is described as a Caucasian male, medium build with white hair and beady pink eyes. He is said to be carrying a large carrot and is armed with a basket of hard boiled, brightly painted eggs. Should you spot the suspect, do not attempt to make contact! Call your local police department right away.

Police sketch of the suspect.

Sorry about your broken foot Mom. Wish I could be there to nurse you back to health. Take care and stay clear of the Easter bunny next year!

Buona Pasqua

Wishing everyone a Happy Easter. I hope you get to spend the day with the ones you love. Buona Pasqua!

Be Back Soon

All is well on the reboot front, thanks for the emails. I'm not on a great adventure, in the hospital or in jail. I am simply feeling a little lazy, perhaps it is spring fever. I will be back to writing soon....