What Fills My Plate

Those of you who have been faithful readers of this blog will remember that I studied for over a year and a half to pass the dreadful Italian Driver Exam.  I truly believe that it was the hardest one thing I have ever had to finish in my life as I struggled to learn the level of Italian language used in the test and I finally managed to understand the tricky logical questions in the 40 question test.  (You can only miss 4) Photo shot from autostrada This weekend I received part of my reward for passing the test by driving up to visit Germany and Austria and enjoy the towns of Berchtesgaden and Salzburg. The weatherman did his best to produce weather quite unlike spring, but we did our best to remain positive throughout the weekend.   The first day we drove from Padova to Villach, Austria, leaving right from where my wife is employed.  We passed hundreds of small farms and many small towns of northern Italy, and soon we saw  the start of the Alps where the autostrada cuts

Yesterday in Padova I participated in a strike (sciopero) which was called  and organized by several unions that represent workers in factories.  They carried flags and banners and marched at the largest and most busy roundabout where they stopped traffic. It was a very peaceful demonstration and was reported in the newspaper and on television as such. Patient Listeners These three men were from my wife’s factory.  They are patient with my use of Italian and also speak English to help me understand what the strike was about. They belong to the union with the red flags CGIL.  Previously all the strikers had massed around a truck with  a speaker system and heard speeches from the various union leaders.  i tried to listen but it was difficult with all the talking in the crowd.  (This is an Italian way...)Also  hearing Italian  is most difficult.  They speak with the velocity of a machine gun and the Veneto accent does not make it easy to hear the consonants. There i

                                                     The Touch of Mussolini                                            Battle Memorial Fogliano Redipuglia   Between Venezia and Trieste is an important memorial dedicated to the men of the Italian army who fought in World War I.  If you ask an Italian a question using the words “World War I”, they won’t know what you are talking about.  They call this the “Grande Guerra”, or great war.   Every village and town in Italy has a large plaque or memorial that has the names of the men who lost their lives in The Great War.  The names listed in my village shows that some families lost 3 or 4 men. Carefully looking on the north side of the autostrada towards Trieste you will see a large cement structure as you drive by, but it is really better to exit off Via Terza Armata, near A4 Highway and take advantage of  a free visit.  The monument was ordered by Mussolini to be built in1938  and contains the bodies of 39,857 identified Italian

It is a good day.  The Well Fargo Wagon has arrived! Have you seen the musical,   Music Man ?  If you have you know that Wells Fargo used to make deliveries quite like amazon.  We are celebrating because our friend who lives at Aviano Air Base brought some nice gifts of American goodies.  All of them what we miss here in Italy. There are a few blogs written by expats, and one of the questions we always get are, what do you miss?  So now you see what I miss, and have needed! Some of this might seem silly to you, and I forgive you  for thinking that.  Only after you live in a foreign country for 7 years do you begin to appreciate certain things… here are some reasons.  Believe me when I say that some readers have expressed that I should just give up and get used to what the locals eat.  I could not do that.  I like to cook and I like choices.                                     The Collection  of Treasure Quaker Oats … these oats are cut different than the ones w

cappuccino Yesterday a sign greeted me on the door of my usual bar stating that is closed for new ownership.  In desperation for my coffee Americano I headed to the bar I call “Old Farts”.   Frequented by the crotchety old men of the village, and a few socially maladjusted persons, I usually hesitate to go there because of its hole in the wall decor and the fact that they clearly use marginal food sanitation practices.  I also don’t want to admit that I am, one of them, a uomo vecchio, (old man) .   Upon arriving there,  feeling almost relieved , I found it also closed, for cleaning. Two Young Ladies  There are several other bars in the village and I quietly sat at another bar, one at the busy village crossroads,  a roundabout, separated in the middle by a statue of two young women.  (There is a second statue at another entrance to our village, one woman with a head in the long shape of an alien.  We joke that clearly the artist was at one time kidnapped by the same.)  I

It’s market day and the good news is the fog is clearing.  Shopping in the warm sun is a lot more pleasurable than the usual foggy grey, dampness of the Veneto in spring, and  by walking faster, I can beat the crowd that is waiting for the sun to burn through the clouds. Every village and small town has a market that occurs at least once a week.  We have ours on Thursday while the next town over has theirs the next day. city hall is a few steps from the market area The market is crowded with both pensioners and moms pushing baby carriages.   The passageways between stalls are crowded and exasperating as the older people stop in the middle of the  small lane and refuse to allow  passage.  They stand, talking to their friends and act as if they don’t see others.  Another complaint I have is lining up for service.  I  will wait patiently at the vegetable seller’s stall, while people take cuts in line, obviously feeling entitled to be waited on first over a foreigner.  It is

They have smog and haze, too We are constantly watching European plane fares throughout Europe, but lately in particular, we were looking to trade the fog and cloudy days of Venice with something hot and sunny.  There was a cheap fare to Dubai, taking us through Istanbul on Turkish Air and we jumped on it.  We like Turkish Air, mostly for the food, as they seem to have to best food of any airline and served with a guy who greet you in a chef hat.   Orietta & Ayesha  Our friend Ayesha, who lives in Sharjah, wanted to show us around.  She ended up doing a huge amount of driving.  One thing about Dubai, when you look  at the map, the distances between Sharjah, Dubai and Abu Dhabi appear much shorter than they really are.  It is 180 kilometers or just over two hours from Sharjah to Abu Dhabi, much of it mesmerizing desert scenery broken by a few oasis of giant buildings in the cities.  After two days, Ayesha was pretty tired.  She was a real trooper. Right Through The