My Return to Italy By Thomas Deasy

11 years later I have finally returned.

To celebrate graduating from Arizona State, my girlfriend Erin and I are vacationing in Europe, and we just completed a week long stay in Italy.

Now if you read any of my previous guest blog posts from 2011, you may remember I didn’t have the greatest experience the first time around, but I came into this trip with an open mind.

We arrived in Rome the evening of May 21st. We quickly realized that the budget-friendly lodging in Italy was quite different from other European countries. In Paris, Lisbon, and Edinburgh our hostels were marked with big bold letters, and we would enter into a lobby with a reception desk and sometimes even a bar or restaurant on the main level. In Rome we followed our GPS to the location of our hostel and found a run-down building with a giant black door. There was no signage or windows but the door was unlocked. Inside there was a dimly lit staircase. We walked up five flights of stairs and still there was no indication we were at the right place. Certain that we had made a mistake, I called the number on the website. To my surprise we were indeed inside Sandy’s Hostel. The owner, who was the hostel’s only employee, did not stay on location during the day. Rather he lived in a nearby apartment and walked over whenever new guests arrived. He gave us our keys, showed us to our room and then returned to his home. Although the building and the process of getting our keys was unusual the room itself was actually very nice.

Aside from the unusual check-in experience, Rome was very enjoyable. We visited the Trevi fountain, Colosseum, Pantheon, and Vatican City. Not a whole lot had changed in the last decade it seemed. The sights were still beautiful, the pasta alla bolognese was still yummy, and the street vendors were still selling the same squishy toy pig that oinks when you throw it on the ground. 

Our stay in Rome was short. Just a day and a half and then it was off to our next city:

Perugia

It was really cool showing Erin around my old town. We walked down Via Mazzini past our old apartment, ate gelato at Grom, rode the mini metro and got drinks at a small bar near Piazza Matteotti. We also visited my old school, San Paolo. I told her about how my teachers would always yell at me for non studiate and because I needed to be piu ordinato. We also looked through the windows into the gym and I showed her the low ceilings that made it so we had to shoot line drive shots while playing basketball.

Fortunately, we didn’t run into any of my old teachers while we were at San Paolo, but I did see a familiar face when we walked by Donati’s clothing shop.

Sergio Donati didn’t recognize me when I first walked in. (He said that I had gotten bigger since the last time I’d seen him.) Once I showed him an old picture of my dad he remembered me and got really excited. My Italian was rusty, but we were still able to have a conversation. We even called my dad together so they could catch up. Sergio was also very happy to hear my parents would be visiting Perugia next year.

After a night’s sleep at Little Italy Hostel, it was off to Naples.

Naples is most well known for their pizza, but after my first few meals there I must say I was a little underwhelmed. But then I discovered this on the menu.

The hot dog and french fry pizza. An Italian speciality known as Wurstel e Patatine that was available at every pizzeria in the city. It is just as delicious as it looks. I ordered it any chance I had for the rest of the trip, and now I can confidently say that Naples pizza lives up to the hype. 

The funny thing about it is a hot dog and french fry pizza is something Italians probably consider an American food even though it is something you would never see in the United States.

To me, what the hot dog and french fry pizza represents is the potential for greatness when two cultures come together. By combining two American staples with a classic Italian dish you achieve a final product far greater than either Americans or Italians could accomplish on their own.

The art of misrepresenting another culture’s cuisine is something that the Americans have mastered. 

Think about the Chimichanga. A chimichanga is considered “Mexican” food even though it is not Mexican at all. The chimichanga originated in and is almost exclusively popular in the United States. 

Same thing with Orange Chicken, a specialty at Panda Express. Americans think of Orange Chicken as Chinese food but it’s something you would never find in China. 

French fry pizza, Chimichangas, and orange chicken may not accurately depict the culture they are meant to represent, but they are awesome nonetheless. 

In addition to the food, Naples is also known for being the Vespa capital of the world. The motorized scooters are very popular especially around the city center.

Erin and I were feeling adventurous and decided it would be fun to rent Vespas and take a day trip to Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast. We found a rental shop and went inside to check it out. The owner showed us the various options and we picked one out that was big enough for two people to ride. He showed me how to start the engine, adjust the speed, use the brakes and turn. I wasn’t really paying attention though. It seemed simple enough. I’d rode a bike before and this was just a bigger bike that didn’t require pedaling. After he was done talking I hopped on. Steering was much tougher than I thought and the throttle was extremely sensitive. Immediately after hitting the gas I crashed straight into the side of the store building.

At this time, the owner felt it was appropriate to mention they also did car rentals.

For the safety of ourselves and the residents of Naples, we decided to rent a car instead.

While less daunting than the Vespa, driving a car in the streets of Naples was anything but easy. Everything I had learned in Driver’s Ed was completely thrown out the window. There were no rules of the road whatsoever. Naples had no traffic lights, no stop signs, no right of way rules, no lane markings, and definitely no courtesy for other drivers. Pedestrians crossed wherever and whenever they felt like it, and Vespa drivers would swerve in and out of traffic coming inches away from hitting nearby cars. There was so much honking and yelling that it was impossible to tell what or who drivers were upset at. It was a relief once we made it out of the city and onto the freeway.

Our first stop was Pompeii. Erin and I got lunch in the town and then toured the ruins.

By mid-afternoon we arrived in Sorrento. The view during the drive down into the city was really cool. The city of Sorrento was fun as well. I got gelato that was served in a hollowed out lemon.

I also tried Limoncello, which, when I lived in Italy I remembered smelling like hand sanitizer. It was actually quite good though.

After a nice dinner on the beach, we drove back to Naples.

During the week in Italy, we saw the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica, and the Trevi Fountain among other famous landmarks, but the most beautiful sight came on our last day.

While we were walking towards Via Toledo, an area known for its clothing stores and street vendors, Erin noticed a folded piece of paper on the ground. Upon further inspection it was money, but not a one or a five or even a twenty. It was a Fifty Euro bill. Just lying on the street. In a town notorious for pickpockets and thieves, nobody had noticed a crisp 50 free for the taking. I picked it up, looked around, and asked if anyone had dropped it. No one said anything, then a man who walked by said, “It’s yours now.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d found coins and a piece of gum on the ground before. Once I even found a lottery ticket that was a $5 winner, but nothing as awesome as this. 

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect because as it turned out, 50 Euro on Via Toledo went a long way. Using the money we found, I bought a new pair of shorts, a t-shirt, some belts, a gold chain and a wallet from a man selling them on the streets. I wanted to get a caricature drawing of us too but then we didn’t have enough change left over after I was done shopping.

The Louis Vutton wallet and a solid gold chain I got using the lucky 50 Euro bill we found

Our lucky find was a perfect end to the trip.

We got a Caricature drawing later on the trip when we were in Barcelona

The Raffle Ticket

 

photo courtesy of Seattle-Perugia Sister City Association

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The very, very last post)

This month, the Seattle International Film Festival hosted “Cinema Italian Style.”  This was a ten-day event featuring 17 current Italian movies.  The mayor of Perugia attended as well as several Italian actors and directors from the films.  We haven’t had a lot of opportunities (besides eating) to really participate in anything Italian here in Seattle during these past five months, so we bought a couple tickets.  We also knew there was going to be a raffle with the grand prize being a one-week, all-expense paid trip for two to Perugia.  I bought five chances.

We attended opening night with the boys to watch a really fun movie about the adventures of a quirky Sardinian soccer team.  Then tonight Matt and I bought tickets for the closing feature, La Grande Bellezza.  Traffic was the pits, and we got there at the last minute.  We found two seats up front.  After thanking the sold-out theater for its record breaking support of this year’s festival, the announcer wheeled out the cage full of  hundreds of raffle tickets.  The suspense grew.  The ticket was drawn, and my name was read out loud.  I won.

It’s been five hours, and my heart is still beating at a dangerous pace.  Although I always knew that someday we would go back, I was thinking more like a decade.

Matt and I get to return to Perugia within the next year.

 

 

The Sweet Life

Last week we visited family in Vida, Oregon.  My parents grow hazelnuts in the McKenzie Valley.  Together with my aunts and uncles’ orchards next door, they cultivate over 100 acres of trees.  We figured that a short stay on the farm could serve as a reunion with what we love about Italy: local, fresh food, family crowded in every direction and, of course,  il dolce far niente (the Italians’ poetic motto meaning “pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness,” literally “the sweetness of doing nothing”).

It was a week of inspiration and creation.  It was a tribute to the food and lifestyle and culture of the Italians.  It was a canvas for remembering our favorite parts of the year abroad.

When we arrived, we took a sunny passeggiata around my parents’ place.  Then next door, my Aunt Heidi and Uncle Tom brought us to their Italian inspired terrace which they named, the Piazza. Later, we toured the gardens before settling into the kitchen where we made many of our favorite Umbrian (and Oregon) recipes including six different gelatos, daily pasta dishes and a tribute to roasted Umbrian wild boar.

The new Piazza with a hundred Italian details.

Our favorite corner of the Piazza is the copper griffin which my uncle made by hand in honor of his experience in Perugia with us last winter.

Out in the garden: A crop of fagioline, the prized legume from Lake Trasimeno. (Tom and Heidi snuck home a handful to plant in their garden. I was amazed with the result!)

Similar to our Sunday excursions in Italy, this trip to my parents’ provided opportunities to practice the concept of farm-to-table:

The McKenzie River flows through their backyard.  Aunt Paula took Ray fishing, and he caught a trout for dinner.

Fruit trees line the driveway.  After gathering apples, we pressed and canned 42 quarts of cider and left one large jug to ferment for a breakfast buzz.

Heidi fills the jars while the guys press a wheelbarrow full of fruit.

My mom picked blackberries and made many pies with the boys.

When the temperature drove us out of the kitchen, my dad took the boys to his orchard for golf lessons, archery and paint ball.  Later,  Tom and Heidi led rafting trips down the river.

 

We concluded the week with another late dinner on the Piazza.  Additional family members joined us.  In remembrance of Luke, we illuminated the table with candles which we brought from some of our favorite churches throughout Italy.

The “Year in Perugia” was really over in June.  These lingering articles are just my arms reaching back for a little more.  But honestly, it’s time to sign off.

Thanks for following.  Thanks for checking in.  And thanks for being a part of it.  It was exhilarating to have so many readers.  I loved the comments and emails and all the appreciation.  I savored each compliment and treasured each word of encouragement.  Without feedback, it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.

With a bittersweet sigh and a thousand memories of la dolce vita . . .

Arrivederci,

Jill

 

Longing

It seems like every time I close my eyes and imagine Perugia, via Mazzini or our apartment, I can’t stop this awful ache from welling.  The details are easy to picture, yet it’s so inaccessible now.  It feels far, far away.

I had a good year, a great year; maybe the best year of my life.  It felt purposeful, alive, delicious, challenging, melodic and stunningly gorgeous.   I felt a lightness I haven’t felt in six years.  I miss those feelings, but mostly, I just miss being surrounded by Italy.

It was a life-changing experience, and I was hell of lucky to have it.

Yet, truth be told, while I’d like to beam myself there for a couple hours every day, it’s not where I want to live with my family permanently.  It’s not even where we want to live for another year.  For the boys, the familiarity of friends and the freedom of a grassy back yard have rekindled their social lives and athletic interests.  For Matt, the stimulation of work and the warm embrace of the English language have elevated him to the top of his game.  We are here, to stay, by choice.

So now it’s time for the busy work of transition, or rather, integration: How to take all the richness of a year of art, tradition, and history along with that proud, food-oriented, family-centric, festive, passionate lifestyle and make it work here . . . in the suburbs of the East Side . . .

A couple ideas:

Clear cut the tangle of blackberry bushes at the end of the street and build a piazza where the local farmers could sell their grapes and cheeses and where a dapper barista could pull espresso for the neighbors (no caramel macchiatos).  A church, too.  I don’t really care what religion it is as long as there is a bell tower.

Offer Italian in the Bellevue public schools.  While it’s practically useless in the Pacific Northwest, it’s beautiful.  And there’s something to be said for speaking beautifully.

Throw annual medieval festivals in the neighborhood and hold raucous horse races with other neighborhoods.

Have all the working moms and dads come home for lunch and fill the streets with the aroma of garlic and tomatoes and the sound of pouring wine.

Decide on a neighborhood patron saint or some kind of folk hero with whom we can identify ourselves.

Honk our car horns more.

Transitions take time, and while we sort out the details of change, we count our blessings for the two most important aspects of Italian lifestyle going for us:  This hill is full of awesome neighbors (talented, creative, very smart, etc.) and most importantly, we have a community fountain.

Travels at Home

One of my favorite routines during our year in Italy was packing a bag on Saturday and heading into a new town for the night.  Even though we arrived feeling disoriented, after a long walk and a good meal, we would begin to settle in and recognize the patterns.  While each place has its own traditions, history and culinary specialties, there were also similarities: there was the central piazza, the cathedral, the landmark fountain, the Renaissance masterpiece  and the acclaimed cafe.  With guidebooks, a map and notes in hand, we would hit the highlights.

Bevagna, Norcia, Siena and Assisi

We were missing the accessibility of weekend adventures until it dawned on us that we can travel and explore from our home in Washington. So last week, we bought a local guidebook on Pacific Northwest road trips and ticked off two from the list: Tom headed to Lake Chelan with some friends while Matt, Ray and I drove up to Mt. Rainier for wilderness hikes and sub-alpine scouting.  Meticulously following the suggested route of our book, we were often surprised to encounter parallels with a typical trip in central Italy.

Before we even entered Mt. Rainier National Forest, we stopped in the town of Elbe (pronounced like the Tuscan island!) The town’s claim-to-fame is an old church (how familiar). The on-site caretaker, Dick, showed us around and provided some history. It turns out, this is one of the smallest churches in the world.

Next stop: Ashford for a shot of espresso at Whitaker’s Bunkhouse. We declined the tempting daily special written on the blackboard behind us:

The nature museum at Longmire.  Italy isn’t the only place full of old stuff; this tree trunk was born in the 1200s.

We picnicked on mozzarella salami paninis at Ricksecker Point in front of a goose bump view of Mt. Rainier.

While Ranger Anne didn’t hold a candle to the engaging Signor Luciano of Rome, she did provide an interesting lesson on ancient history (albeit geological).

We never made it to Umbria’s famous cascades in Terni, but the Narada waterfall under Mt. Rainier was spectacular.

Singularly Washington.

Fish

Umbria is the only landlocked region on the peninsula of Italy.  It’s safe to say that Umbrians are not famous for their fish.

As an American, I’m used to eating fish or any other food that traveled many miles.  I’ve had Dungeness crab in Chicago, sushi in Idaho, and Rhoda Island oysters (in Seattle).  A few extra miles don’t bother me, so I was curious to try the fish offerings in Perugia.  Every day, we passed a beautiful fish market on the way to the fruit stand.  Clearly, they were Umbrian and didn’t seem to have a problem with the seafood.   So this spring, after nine months, I finally stopped by.

La Perla Nera is a family business.  Signora Patrizia, Signor Franco and their son Michael are open four days a week.  I loved them immediately.  They were funny, confident and always generous.  They prepared my order with great care, always gutting, skinning, filleting and slicing it to perfection before tossing in a handful of parsley.  And they never let me leave without a detailed recipe.  I decided right away that I would try every fish dish they could teach me.  I started with spaghetti and clams.  Then I made fried calamari, salmon rolls, fish coquettes, swordfish sandwiches, fried filets, marinated squid with olives, fish with cognac, and fish soup.  I kept a list of the greats and politely forgot the not-so-greats.  The more I tried, the more recipes Signora Patrizia gave me.

calamari

a swordfish and zucchini sandwich

I’m getting close to unpacking the last of our belongings.  The other day I found the stack of La Perla Nera recipes, and so tonight, with very, very, very fond memories of this awesome family and their fish market, I am going to make my favorite dish: fish balls (I promise, they taste way better than they sound.)

To make fish balls, you need an assortment of fish.  I can’t find the Italian fish that La Perla Nera sells, so I’m using ling cod, Alaskan rock fish, and Petrale sole.  Combined, the fish should total a pound.  To prepare, lightly sauté them in oil and garlic.  Gently break apart with a fork as they cook.  Then add about 4 or 5 gulf prawns that have been whirled in a food processor.   Add salt to taste.  Remove the cooked fish and prawns from heat and allow it to cool.  Then add a tablespoon or two of chopped parsley, an egg and bread crumbs until the mixture just starts to hold together.  Mix with your hands and then form into rounds the size of golf balls.  Fry the balls in oil and then add to a pot of marinara sauce.  Cook for a few minutes.   Serve as is or toss with spaghetti.

La Bottega

The physical year in Perugia is over.  The inspiration to write and photograph has taken a monumental dip, but I’m not quite ready to end the blog . . . almost, but not quite.  There are a couple places I especially miss and a few corners of the city that I’d still like to post. Like this:
 

La Bottega is one of our favorite spots in Perugia.  It’s a tiny four seat sandwich counter that serves the best selection of cured meats and cheese we ever had.  The selections are titled in Perugian dialect with Italian translations.  The offerings are simple and pure.  The menu includes 16 sandwiches and two combinations of meat and cheese boards.  The only variation was on Thursday when Signor Geraldo added slices of seasoned, roasted pork to the menu.

We ate here more than any other place in town.  Matt and I stopped by at noon way before most self-respecting Italians would consider eating lunch.  There would be a couple stools available where we could watch the meat being sliced and assembled between a nice Umbrian bun.  We would order a glass of wine or a local beer and feel outrageously lucky for this perfect Italian hour before the kids came home from school.

Translation: happiness is a sandwich and a glass of wine.

It became a special occasion place too. On November 22, when every American we knew was waking up to Thanksgiving (and not a soul in Perugia recognized its significance) Matt and I walked down to La Bottega and ordered a plate of dried sausage, prosciutto, capocollo, ciauscolo, coppa, mortadella and pecorino cheese. We felt very thankful.

During the last week in Italy, when our bags were packed and we were preparing to close the door on our year in Perugia, we took the kids to La Bottega for their first time and then ate there three lunches in a row.

And now that we are back, La Bottega’s menu sits in our kitchen inspiring me to search out the best available ingredients and begin to assemble a repertoire of sandwiches that I can recreate at home.  So far, I’ve found one product that makes the cut, salamis from Olli Salumeria.

Culture Shock

 

We’ve been back for three days, but sometimes, Italy seems like it never happened.  It’s like a book we read or a dream we had.  Time feels distorted.  I feel disconnected.  It’s as if half of me missed the connecting flight.  Sometimes I can picture the windows overlooking Via Mazzini or the green tiles in the bathroom or the handle on the refrigerator door; it’s all so vivid. I am there.  But it disappears quickly when I open my eyes.  Then there are phantom sounds.  Yesterday, I thought I heard an Italian police siren in the distance.  This morning I thought far-off church bells were ringing.  But usually, it’s just very, very quiet here.

A friend pointed out that culture shock is more acute when one returns home after a long trip.  I think I understand.  When we left for Italy, everything was disorienting and different.  We expected it, and the adjustment came gradually and unnoticed because our brains knew they had to learn how to function in new surroundings.  Then, when we came back to our old home, the familiarity registered instantly and subconsciously; these past few days, I defer to rote movements when turning on the kitchen burners or unlocking the door.  However, these little tasks can surprise me.  My hands are used to pushing the knobs of the stovetop before turning.  When that doesn’t work, I need a moment to catch up and make sense of it all.  My brain says “home” but my muscle memory says a different home.  And in that moment, the colors of our Perugia apartment surround me.  And my heart dips as I realize again that we are no longer there.  I’m surprised when the clerk bags my groceries for me or when pencils have erasers or when there is no hard  mineral residue in my pot of boiling water.

I’m trying to figure out how to bridge the chasm between the two lives.  I want to make the experience of our last year part of me.  I want to stay connected and remember everything, but I don’t know how.

I had two wonderful encounters at the grocery store today.  The first was with Sara.  When I called her name, we ran into each other’s arms.  It was emotional and a little loud.  It was happy and exciting and full of disbelief that here we were together after a year.  It felt really good.  Soon after, when I was in the dairy department, I overheard an older couple looking for pecorino cheese, and they were speaking Italian.  So I quickly jumped in.  I told them I had just returned from Italy.  I asked where they were from.  We talked about Sicily and Umbria.  I helped them find the right cheese.  Then I helped them find Italian rice and Italian flour.  We kept talking and talking.  Then we made a coffee date for next Monday at 10am!  They are my new friends.  When I walked out of the store, I was feeling alive and hopeful.

Leaving Perugia in 15 minutes

We have said goodbye to everyone and everything.

So many gut-wrenching hugs, final words and last glances that we knew meant forever.

Not just with people, but places and our lifestyle.

Yesterday we woke up early just to make sure we could see it all for the last time.  We stopped by every store and street and piazza.  We had lunch at our favorite counter, La Bottega, where Geraldo made us a plate of Umbrian meats and cheeses and gave us a bag of dried sausages to eat on the way home.

I just can’t sum it up.  It’s been absolutely incredible.  Unforgettable.  Beautiful.  I don’t have the adequate words to express how in love I am with this city (and all of Italy) and how much I am going to miss it.

For their last day, we told the boys they could eat as much gelato as they wanted. Tom finished 12 scoops

INTERVIEWS by guest blogger Tom

written by Tom

I made a Venn diagram of the Italians and Americans

In two days we’ll be flying back to the USA.  I am super excited, but there was still one more thing I wanted to do in Italy.  I decided to ask four different Italians several questions about their lifestyle, interests, and dislikes.  Then I would ask the four people in my family the same questions.  Below are eight paragraphs containing each person’s answers.

Alessandro is 11 years old and was my classmate this year.  His favorite thing about Italy is the food.  He really likes cheese pizza and pasta Norcina (sausage and cream).  His preferred gelato flavor is milk chocolate.  His favorite region is Lazio, mainly because of Rome.  The thing he dislikes the most about living in Italy is the amount of homework.  The most difficult English word for him to say is “antidisestablishmentarianism.”

Here is Giovanni with his mom, Ray and me when we had lunch at his house.

Giovanni is 17 years old.  He is going to America next month as a foreign exchange student for his senior year in high school.  He chose America because he thinks it’s the strongest country in the world and he wants to learn English.  The thing he likes most about Italy is the pizza.  His favorite kind is sausage and mushroom.  His preferred gelato combination is pistachio and pine nut.  He really likes Rome, but his favorite region is Tuscany.  He said the worst part about living in Italy is the bureaucracy.  The hardest American word for him is “rubber” (not because of the pronunciation, but because he learned in English class that it means “eraser”, when in fact, in America, it means something else…)

Christiano is 45 years old.  He works at a pasta shop near our apartment.  He really likes Italy, especially the weather, the people, and the quality of life.  The only thing he doesn’t like is the lack of ability to get things done.  He will eat any food (pasta, meat, dessert, pizza, etc.).  His favorite gelato, by far, is chocolate chip.  He likes Rome and Perugia, but he doesn’t like Milan.  His preferred regions are Sicily and Sardinia.  His favorite word is sole (sun).  He has gone to America three times.  He likes how unique each city is.  The hardest English word for him to pronounce is “teeth”.

Paola turns 50 today.  She tutored Ray and me during the school year.  Her favorite thing about Italy is the history and the food.  She really likes pasta, mushroom pizza, and coconut ice cream.  Her preferred city is Rome, and her favorite region is Lazio.  The thing that she dislikes most about Italy is the politics.  Her favorite Italian word is amore (love).  The hardest word in English for her to say is “literature.”

Ray’s favorite thing about this year has been meeting new people and eating Italian food.  His really likes chocolate ice cream, sausage pizza, and pasta Norcina.  His preferred cities are Rome and Perugia, but he also likes the region Sardinia.  Ray’s favorite word is buffone (buffoon).  The one thing he dislikes about Italy is that so many stores go out of business.  The hardest English word for him to pronounce is “world”.  His favorite thing about the U.S. is the way the schools work.

My mom said the best thing about Italy is the evening walks before dinner with all the people.  Her favorite phrase in Italian is ci mancarebbe, meaning “don’t mention it.”  She likes any pizza with ricotta cheese.  When we go out for gelato, she usually gets blueberry, mango and chocolate with whipped cream. Her preferred city is Rome, and her favorite region is Sardinia.  The English words that she has the most trouble with are “epitaph” and “potable.”  She said the best thing about America is the movies.

My dad said the best thing about living in Italy is being surrounded by beauty.  His preferred food is pasta (sausage, carbonara, garbanzo beans, etc.) and his favorite Italian phrase is ho capito (I understand).  His favorite city is Rome, but he also likes the region Tuscany.  He usually gets strawberry, mango, and lemon flavored gelato.  The hardest part about Italy for him is not understanding the language.  He also misses the efficiency of America.  The hardest English word for him is “synonym”.

For me, the best part about living in Italy is the amount of time I get to spend with my family.  My favorite Italian food is sausage and cream pasta.  My favorite pizza toppings are sliced hot dogs and French fries.  The tastiest gelato flavors that I’ve had this year were peanut butter, lemon-mint, and bubble gum (all from a place called LatoG in Rome).  My favorites cities are Lucca and Taormina, and my preferred region is Sardinia.  My least favorite thing about Italy is the school.  My favorite Italian words are oplah (oops), and bimbo (little kid).  I am excited to get back to America because of my friends, the sports teams, the variety of food, and having a place to play outside.  The hardest English word for me is “abominable”.

Protest Murals

Our days on the beaches in Sardinia were some of the most restful of the whole year.  We kept it easy.  During that time, we didn’t visit a single church or museum.  We didn’t explore the streets, stores or restaurants (in fact, we hardly saw the towns at all).  It was all about the beach and sun.

But when it was time to leave, we chose to mix things up a little and take the long route through Sardinia’s interior. Known for mountains, wilderness, shepherds and bandits, we felt we were venturing into Italy’s wild west.  We only had time for one stop so we chose Orgosolo.  This village has a history of Robin-Hood-style outlaws, government revolts, kidnapping and protest.  Earlier in the week we met a man from there.  We asked him to tell us some stories.  He just shook his head and said, “I see nothing, hear nothing and say nothing.”  It sounded like a great movie setting.

It was the winding, narrow road up the Supremonte mountain range that proved to be the most challenging part of the excursion.  The last 10 miles were some of the sharpest curves we’ve ever driven, literal hairpin angles.  It was fun for us in the front seats, but the boys in the back got carsick.

When we arrived at Orgosolo, we parked the car, locked our valuables in the trunk and told the kids to stay close.  While there haven’t been many bandits or kidnappers in the last 10 years, we still wanted to be careful.  As it turns out, Orgosolo was tame and non-threatening.

In fact, it’s bright and lively and covered in paint.  The town is like an outdoor museum with over 200 murals on the houses and storefronts.  It started in the 70s when the townspeople took to painting their frustration and outrage.  These pictures are full of passion and energy and somber reminders of human suffering.  We spent all our time just walking the streets and looking at all the stories.

We left Orgosolo after a big Sardinian lunch.  Then after one night in the region’s capital of Cagliari, we caught a plane back to Perugia. This was the last trip we will take.  In five days, our year in Perugia is over and we will be returning home.  I’m full of emotion now.  There are so many feeling running through my mind. I’m stressed about packing, sad to say goodbye to the Italians, depressed about leaving this awesome apartment in the center of town. I’m curious about returning home, and I’m also so excited to see our friends and our families.  But I feel fear about our big transition.  It’s hard to believe this is all going to be over so soon. I don’t know what to expect when we get home, but I keep thinking about something my uncle told me after his three weeks in Perugia, “You will laugh and breathe freedom when you get home and miss Perugia for the rest of your life.”

If I could paint protest murals, one of them would be against the frustrating inflexibility of time.  I just hate when things I love become only memories.

Cala Gonone . . . Wow

We’ve seen beauty everywhere this past year. Whether in marble, bronze, gold, fresco or oil, images of heaven have been depicted all over Italy; but none have been as stunning as the natural scenes made of sand and water in Sardinia.

After two days in San Teodoro, we traveled down the eastern coast to Cala Gonone, a town situated between rugged mountains of isolated wilderness and the cleanest, clearest water I’ve ever seen.

The nearby beaches are accessible only by water, so each morning, after packing sandwiches and a cooler of drinks, we rented a motor boat for the day and returned only after the sun had set behind the steep cliffs.

The farthest beach was only a 45 minute boat ride.

With her experience on sailboats, Stacia gets lots of practice tying knots, so she was in charge of fastening the anchor. Then Matt would pull up next to the beach and let us off before dropping the anchor 50 yards from shore and swimming in.

Cala Sorgente, the first beach we visited. There were only a few other people there. We found rocks to climb and deep, jeweled water for diving.

While we were playing on the beach at Cala Mariolu, someone offered to take the boys on a mini scuba diving adventure.

They say that when God created the earth, he was content, but then he created the island of Sardinia and was overjoyed.