Our last day in Innsbruck, funny enough, took us to places where we weren’t allowed to take pictures inside so I don’t have many personal photos to share on this one. However, I was able to find some online that I can share so that you can see a little of what we saw (and as a side note all copyright and credit goes to the people that made them and you’ll know mine by the fact that my ugly mug is in them)
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Innsbruck, Austria – Day Two, or (Pictures of Innsbruck from Varied Heights)
(Editor’s Note: Because this trip and our Christmas trip were so close together I didn’t get a chance to finish the posts before we left so these are coming out a little late, sorry about that)
Our second day in Innsbruck was essentially a slow climb to see Innsbruck at different heights, and it was completely worth it. READ MORE »
Innsbruck, Austria – Day One, or “As a matter of fact, I think I could look good in Lederhosen”
Ok, so it may be a stretch to say that I would look good in lederhosen which is confirmed by my wife not even letting me try it (spoilsport, get back to me after a few months of exercise. Cause right now it might look like how Jim Carey did in the Grinch who Stole Christmas…. Fabulous!). Lederhosen or not, we got to spend a few days in Innsbruck and hit most of the major sites in and around the city. The first place we went of course was our hotel. Just a street over from the train station the Hotel Sailer is tucked into some other older buildings (and no, that first picture isn’t mine…cause mine sucked).
We didn’t realize that the hotel elevator was on the outside of the building so it was a nice surprise to see the beautiful mountains rise into view from behind the buildings. We had a room on the very top floor where the roof is curved and had a pretty good view of a chuck of the city. Because of when we arrived in Innsbruck and had never been there we took a little bit of time to get our bearings and found some lunch at a Thai food place ( it is of course not the same as what you’d get at an American Thai place, thus, no Pad Thai… good food, but I was disappointed). Our only planned entertainment for the day was dinner and a show at the “Tyrolean Evenings in Innsbruck” so we took a few hours in the afternoon to get a little more sleep missing from the train ride. “Tyrolean Evenings” was within walking distance of our hotel so we figured we’d leave an hour or so early and head that direction just in case we got lost (for “just in case” read “when“). Our cell phone plans aren’t setup to inexpensively go between countries here in Europe so they’re not quite as useful getting you around an unfamiliar city when not in the country. No problem, we have our handy dandy city map, can I borrow that for a second sweetheart…What do you mean you thought I had it? More than once in our marriage Amy and I have gone somewhere (like a store lets say), wandered around aimlessly for 5 to 10 minutes and then realized we were each “following” the other to nowhere in particular. We’re college educated folks (on the other hand I try and look at it as proof of a deep trust in one another, which will likely be quite comforting when we accidentally walk off a cliff together or something). In this particular case we did have a vague idea of what direction to head but had gotten way off course and by utilizing an rather basic map on our reservation for the evening along with landmarks and the compass on our cell phone (as well as our extensive training via “Man vs Wild” episodes) we managed to find the place and only be a few minutes late. It’s funny what differences you notice when you go between two nations so close together. In particular we were treated with what we would consider a “normal” dinner schedule that isn’t the same in Italy. It was 7-ish when we ate and the courses flowed like what we are traditionally used to (soup, salad, main course, dessert). While we were both hungry, after getting lost in the freezing weather the best thing on the menu was the hot soup. It’s easier to enjoy food when you can feel your face.
This attraction is a kind of old traditional folk songs and music with some laughs mixed in (very much like the Hatfield and McCoy’s dinner theater in Gatlinburg, just without a plotline). Singing, dancing, and even yodeling took place, which apparently when done by someone who knows how to do it doesn’t sound that bad at all. Interestingly enough the guys did most of the dancing, leg/foot/and thigh slapping and general moving around while the ladies just twirled in one spot (Amy’s observation and translation “the guys were on display instead of the girls,” my observation, “This may have been where the Ricola commercials came from,” cause I’m just that deep a guy). At the end they actually sang a song from each of the countries of those in attendance (though not their national anthems). For American’s they played the first part of Yankee Doodle and then it turned into another somewhat obscure song of which I sadly didn’t know the words (I was tempted to go and tell them for the next group to play the first few chords of “Sweet Home Alabama” to get the American’s going). After going through all of the songs it kind of left everyone there in a good mood (especially a couple of large groups of Italians and Australians ) and there were hand shakes and friendly smiles all around as we left. Well done Gundolf Family, well done. Finding our way back home was a little easier, but of course, much colder (below freezing by that point). We topped off our evening with a hot coffee at the hotel. Day one, other than getting lost before dinner, was a good start to our anniversary vacation.
Planes, Trains, and A….no wait, it’s just a Train.
Now that I’m back in Italy Amy and I finally got the chance to go on a little mini-vacation outside of Italy. Europe, being a little more compact than the U.S, gives the opportunity of taking a four day weekend and enjoying a completely different country while still being back home in time to go back to work on Monday…well, one of us anyway. In this particular case we had a good excuse. Dec 20th, 2013 is Amy and my 10th wedding anniversary ( I know, I know, I look so dashingly young, could it really be 10 years?). Originally we had intended to re-visit where we spent our honeymoon but being on a different continent we decided that wasn’t going to work on our schedule. Instead, we (and by we I mean she) picked out Innsbruck, Austria (wife/editor’s note: this was actually “if Venice didn’t work out”, Options are nice :). Not that I didn’t want to go mind you, I essentially was told to look for a way to get there and a place to stay…oh, and maybe some stuff to do while we’re there. Of course, that’s fair enough, given the amount of time I have on my hands. Innsbruck, Austria it is. If you don’t know where that is, Innsbruck is a beautiful and old city located in the Tyrolean region of Austria not far from the border with Italy. It’s nestled in a valley in the Austrian, Alps. Picturesque doesn’t quite do it justice.
Traveling from where we are in Italy (because we’re in the heel of the boot) by and large means flying to Rome and then flying somewhere else. However, flying into Innsbruck in particular is a little expensive, and we learned that the train ride in from Verona, Italy is spectacular. I want to be perfectly clear here, while I may have time on my hands I apparently lack the gene that drives people to be travel agents. Trying too coordinate flights with train schedules made my eyes cross. The solution? Lets go by train the whole way. I was skeptical at first really. A short train ride to another city in Italy would be one thing, a 12ish hour train ride to Austria is something else entirely (especially being the first time we try it). The stop and go nature of it that gives me pause, imagining 12 hours of riding in stop and go traffic, but at least in this case I don’t have to get a pat down and body scan so there is an upside (not to mention getting to keep your shoes on…).
There is in fact a train station in Grottaglie, but they don’t sell tickets there anymore so we decided to start our trip in Bari (this, coincidentally, is where the nearest IKEA is located. I think Amy had an ulterior motive here). We did a little recon the weekend before (and the weekend before that at IKEA, sensing a pattern here?) so we could figure out where to park the car, how to get around the train station, and where a Burger King was (that was an accident, but it was pretty tasty). So when we got there a few hours early (there was a truckers strike going on so we left really early and they were in fact blocking traffic in Bari) we spend some time at the mall (….this is no longer a pattern, it’s diabolical) and then found our way into the city to park…and we were still an hour and a half early. So as all good Italians do we sat down in the cafe and ordered something with espresso in it. As it turns out while we sat and waited for our train we struck up a conversation with an older gentleman who knew “a little” English (“a little” can often be translated to “I can probably talk about just about everything but don’t know slang”). He was incredibly nice and asked us if we could look up the “football” (come’on man, I hail from SEC territory, you’re talking about soccer) scores for him. He was also headed in the same direction on the same train and said he would help us get started since this was our first trip. (he also said his grand kids would get a kick out of hearing he sat and talked with us…goofy Americans :) He did get us on the right train smoothly, sadly it dawned on us that he never asked for our names and we didn’t ask his. I do, however, have his picture for posterity. Thank you sir:
In order to make this trip seem shorter we started with a sleeper car for the first leg of the trip. This in fact turned out better than the first time I used one. Back in college when Amy and I spent a couple of weeks in Russia we took one between Moscow and St Petersburg and decided to open the window for some air (this was another “we” translates to “she” moment)…which then got stuck open. You could have hung meat in that little cabin, brrr ( I did eventually manage to get it closed, but our portion of the heat that trip was gone for good). On this trip it got more chilly the further north we went but it didn’t feel like Siberia in there. Even more fortunate was the fact that you couldn’t open the window unless it was an emergency, so Amy wasn’t allowed to touch the window unless we derailed…good plan. The flip side to this was that even though it was a late night and made few stops it was only a 6-ish hour ride which meant only a few hours sleep. It is, however, better than driving the whole way.
The non-sleeping car portion of the trip started in Bologna (I can hear you singing it already, sadly it’s not how they pronounce it here. You’d think the original owners would get it right, sheesh). This portion of the trip involved waiting for the train in 20-some-odd degree weather we weren’t quite prepared for in order for the train to “open” but other than that it went fine. The train from Verona though, was as good as advertised. As you move north things start to change. The most notable is the architecture, you are still in Italy but things start to look more “Bavarian”(think less Godfather and more Sound of Music). Along with that you start to notice the snow capped mountains. It truly is a beautiful thing to watch go by through the window. Passing out of Italy and into Austria it only gets more beautiful, with the last few miles outside of Innsbruck making the whole trip worth the half day it takes to get there.
Next up, Innsbruck.
Shopping
I’m going to make a small confession here. With the exceptions of hardware stores and Fry’s Electronics I’m not really big on “shopping”, at least not when “shopping” translates to, “Wandering around aimlessly with no intent to really buy anything for hours at a time”. I’m more of the hunter type. Give me a list and I will take each item, make a plan of attack as to what order to find them in and then hunt it, kill it, and drag it home with a particular focus on beating previous records on time spent in the store. So believe me when I tell you that shopping in a foreign country can sometimes be one of the most frustrating things that you can possibly do, at least if you’re like me.
Now, let me be clear. I’m not talking about browsing around in a touristy area for some vacation keepsake. Since we live here we have to go and buy food and other stuff just like if were were back home in Charleston. The difference? Nearly everything you’re used to is altered, even if it’s just a little, and it can throw you off balance. Hilariously so.
Now, there are some basics that are the same. They do have stores that are like Wal-Mart and Target (Ipercoop and Auchan) but you also have smaller individual stores where you get just dairy products, or meat, or whatever else. Since we’re used to one-stop shopping we often use the former. Even these, however, present some challenges. The first time we went shopping we went to an Auchan which is a French store that to me is a lot like Target. Interestingly enough they aren’t single stores though. Both Auchan and Ipercoop are (as far as I’ve seen anyway) always attached to other stores like a mall in the States, food court and all (you gotta have a place to get your espresso you know). When we got into the Auchan itself it dawns on us just how little Italian we knew. We could enthusiastically say “Hello!” and then stare at somebody while they talked to you as if you have any idea what they’re saying. I’ve gotten used to this “I’m a 2 year old” feeling (at this point my standard phrase is “Mi dispiace, no Italiano”, which mean’s “I’m sorry, no Italian” which I usually follow in English with “I’m an idiot”). This doesn’t really become an issue until you go to check out, or in our case leave, but that comes later. This particular time we weren’t trying to buy anything, we were just looking around and figuring out what all they had (I found that they have Lego’s and an electronics department so there is a comfort zone in there). As we wandered around we found out that English is actually scattered around all over the place on different things like labels and such (not to mention about 85% of the music playing is American). Sadly the one place that you’re not likely to find English is on the “preparation” part of a food label. Believe me, there’s nothing like using Google Translate when cooking dinner while doing metric conversions to inspire confidence in what you’re going to eat (this is for myself only, Amy does a wonderful job).
Now, when it comes to food there is an important word to know, “Equine”. Right, wrong, or indifferent, they eat horse meat here and there is a section in the meat department labeled as such. We were pre-warned, but it still looks weird every time I see it. Every time I walk past it I want to say “Wilbur…” in my best Mr Ed voice and “count” on one foot but I’m afraid the ironic genius of the joke would be lost on everyone there. It’s a shame really.
Vegetable shopping also is a little different. Each produce is assigned a number like say, 52. You then bag up however much you would like (using the provided disposable plastic one-size-fits all gloves) and then take it to a little machine where you weigh it and tell it what number it is. The machine then spits out a little bar coded tag and you stick it on the bag, this way the check out person doesn’t have to do it. It’s not a bad idea really, except you have to line up for it, and Italian’s “queue” up for anything like 5 year olds getting cake at a birthday party. Don’t leave more than a few molecules between your and the next person or they’ll cram in there like it’s the end piece with the extra icing.
As we decided to leave we were then faced with the question of how exactly you exit this place? Our experience up until that point was that of other larger stores like Euronics (it’s like a BestBuy). Those stores have a strict entrance and exit. You go in one, you go out the other. Very simple. Auchan and Ipercoop, however, are a little different. The entire store front is open to the mall and each of the check out lines immediately exits to into the mall walkway. The entrance is a big open area usually on the right hand side of the store. As we approached a closed lane to walk out a lady working there started talking to us really fast until she saw that unmistakable “I’m really sorry but I have no idea what you’re saying” look on our faces and she let us through anyway (as a side note, the next time we went there it turned out we didn’t buy anything either and before we left Amy jokingly said, “Ok, pick out something to buy so we can leave.” ) Apparently they would prefer you leave out the same way you come into the store if you’re not buying something, who knew? If you do go out one of the little gates at a closed checkout counter it sets off an alarm like those detector things we have in the states…just FYI…oops.
Some other interesting but important tidbits. All the bathrooms are “mall” bathrooms. There is no potty in any of the stores. This can be a painful yet valuable lesson to learn firsthand, especially if you’re in the middle of shopping by yourself.
Carts are locked together in the parking lot with this little device on each handle that accepts a 50cent, 1 Euro, or 2 Euro coin that lets you “rent” it and get your money back when you get done with it. Another good idea, but one that should be remembered before you go inside and more importantly before you leave the house so you can have one of those three coins in your pocket. I have had many a cappuccino just to get some change back to get a cart (and if you’re not fast enough this can cause issues concerning that little bathroom revelation). They do have little red baskets that you can roll around but if you have toilet paper or paper towels on your list you can forget it, it ain’t gonna fit.
Speaking of lists. I have developed a love/hate relationship with them at this point. They’re a useful guideline but what you found last time isn’t necessarily going to be there next time. It will be there again eventually but they seem to restock at random intervals that only God and the guy who does the reordering knows for sure. You can only hope that if toilet paper is on it, it’s one of the “good” days.
There are countless other things that can make you stop and go “Uh…..” but to list them all would get rid of future posts. Suffice it to say that when you’re a “hunter” shopper it’s not quite yet familiar territory and you don’t always know what’s in season. Those time records are really going to take a hit.
It’s An Italian Thanksgiving Charlie Brown
Thanksgiving, albeit a little late, seemed to me to be a good place to re-start the blog after getting back to Italy. The last several months have been difficult and I wanted to let everyone know that I’m thankful for all of the well wishes, thoughtful notes, and encouragement from friends, family, and extended family alike. The next few months, especially the holidays, will be hard this year but we’ll be taking it one day at a time. Thank you all for the support, past, present, and future.
So something I didn’t really put a lot of thought into, though I “knew” as we moved overseas is that while some holidays like Christmas are somewhat universal other holidays are not. I’ve now had two experiences with this concerning Thanksgiving. While living in the Northwest Amy and I visited Vancouver, Canada for one of my birthdays (which is in the end of October) and as we were walking around the city it blew us away that everything was closed and almost nobody was out walking around. One of the few people we ran into was a homeless guy who asked for change. We hadn’t actually gotten any Canadian cash yet so we had nothing to offer and in true Canadian fashion he thanked us anyway and then proceeded to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving. Uh…yeah, you too, Happy Thanksgiving dude…in October. As we walked away I looked at my phone and considered what time it was. Just how early did this guy start to be so plastered that he doesn’t even know what month he’s in? As I rolled this around in my head for a minute that little compassionate voice I carry around in my head says, “Hey stupid, you’re in another country. It actually could be Thanksgiving here, which might account for everything being closed and no one being around…” (He’s a handy voice to have around, If only he were a little faster and not so rude. Note to inner self: We’re going to talk later but not out loud, it makes us look weird.)
In Italy it’s completely different, the Thanksgiving holiday doesn’t exist. As a matter of fact I don’t think they have any equivalent holiday (we asked some Italians to confirm this). The idea itself they seem to like but their conception of what it is can get a little mashed together as most of what they know comes from movies and International News (this should scare you). So on average they see it as a day families get together to eat, and this is an actual quote, “a big chicken”, and watch sports on TV followed by a ritual of stampeding with and subsequently beating up perfect strangers at shopping centers over small home appliances ( I suppose that’s fair enough, I did see that toaster oven first Mrs “red sweater and pajama bottoms”). So as they don’t have such a holiday, the fourth Thursday in November is just another Thursday. Fortunately, with so many American’s here in the area Boeing is gracious enough to cater a get together for those of us that are here, and if I may say so myself they do it exceedingly well…just on Friday instead.
The dinner was held at Masseria Martuccio (you can click here to see the website):
Little gems like this seem to be hidden practically everywhere in Southern Italy. You’re not going to just “accidentally” find this place driving around. To be perfectly honest we had a hard time finding it on purpose…with directions. In my defense a lot of people had the same problem. Something we have come to find is that because of how they do addresses here (which to me is still utterly confusing) GPS tends to just get you close, unless it’s something really big (think Costco, which we don’t have…). Anyway, we pulled up to the wrong place at the same time as one of the Italians. We found we were looking for the same place and he went inside of this little restaurant to ask them where the other place was (awkward) and then we followed them there. Needless to say we were impressed. I would have put a picture that I took of the place but I couldn’t find a good spot to take it all in in just one picture.
While this was a Boeing event, Thanksgiving dinner was definitely done Italian style. Arriving at 7 pm didn’t mean you started dinner. It meant you had some appetizers and mingling with people. Since I have been gone for a few months Amy took me around and introduced me to a lot of people (some of which I had already met a few months ago and still said “nice to meet you” which makes me look a tad slow…oops). To all of them I apologize in advance that I won’t likely remember your names, it’s not personal, It’s taken years of work just to remember my own. During this little pre-dinner session I pulled off something I was informed would likely never happen to me. As we were picking out a table to sit at a couple walked over to us and began speaking in Italian to me and were really confused when I gave them that sad but unmistakable “I have no idea what you’re saying – dog at a new dish” look. They thought I was Italian! HA! Apparently a pair of khaki pants, blue dress shirt, black leather jacket and dress shoes blends me in. I’m going to have to remember that one. Of course, this means I have to dress up to pull it off, so it’ll never happen again…on purpose anyway.
The food itself did have an Italian flare. It was done in courses as is the custom here. The first thing? Ravioli in a Pumpkin sauce. I can see your face from here, it’s not as bad as it sounds. As a matter of fact it was pretty delicious, but since we had heard there was actual turkey coming we didn’t ask for seconds. Then it finally came, baked Turkey, as close as they could get it to how we would do it in the States. It was a fantastic piece of home. The side dishes, while good, where a bit of a wild card though. The stuffing wasn’t something I recognized (kinda crouton-like) but it was decent. The real thing of beauty though were the creamed potatoes. Those they did nearly perfect. We did have a discussion at our table about whether it was mashed potatoes or creamed. One of the fella’s from the Northwest shook his head and jokingly said “Southerner’s”. I told him “Well, nobody’s perfect. You can keep calling it mashed potatoes all you like, we won’t hold it against you.” Burn, if I do say so myself. Then I remembered that I was speaking to one of Amy’s co-workers and hoped I hadn’t just gotten her work for the next few weekends. The consensus though was that they were good enough for seconds, but what do you call them to ask for more? Eventually Mr “Mashed” potatoes asked for “patata pulvarizze” and they knew instantly what he meant but he had essentially just asked for pulverized potatoes. I think I like that one better, I may replace “creamed” with that, it’s more manly. (a side note, we were informed by an Italian that they would call it “patate puree”. Now you can all sleep soundly knowing the answer to this great mystery). Anyway, we all ate our fill and even got to talk a little bit to some Italians about what Thanksgiving was in terms of the holiday and its history, and also trying our best to explain black Friday (agreeing with them that it seems kind of insane)
Another interesting part of not having Thanksgiving here is there isn’t a holiday just before Christmas so the decorations start going up a lot earlier here than they typically do back home. After seeing all the lights up and hearing Christmas music (an Italian version of White Christmas is…interesting, yeah I’ll go with that word) we got ourselves a small Christmas tree and some decorations to enjoy some Christmas cheer.
We hope all of you had a good Thanksgiving with family and friends, and I’ll be posting again soon. Merry Christmas!
Back in the U.S.
For those of you who aren’t connected to us by other social media, two weeks ago my father was diagnosed with stage four cancer in his abdomen. Due to the extent of its spread and other complications it is inoperable. When he discovered the news my brother was in Afghanistan, my sister in Washington State, and myself in Italy. Over the past week we and our families have returned to our home of Tennessee to spend time with our father while we can. It is an incredible gift to all be together, and more importantly, to have the chance to say goodbye. Due to the circumstances I will be staying in Tennessee likely until the end along with my sister to help my mother during this time. For that reason I will have to put the blog posts on hold for a while. My hope is that once I return to Italy I will be able to pick up where I left off. If you haven’t already, subscribe to the blog and the next time I post you will get an email. For those of you who are interested in what is going on with our family you can see the Facebook page we have setup at: http://goo.gl/X9v7ZJ . Also, some of you may not know that my father is a pastor. Even though he is now at home receiving hospice care he was able to gather enough strength to give his last sermon at the church he just began pastoring only a few months ago. This was his last message: http://goo.gl/FLjAhr Until better times, thank you.
Have Cats Will Travel
Since we started this little journey there has always been more than just Amy and I. We have two cats that we’ve had almost as long as we’ve been married (nearly 10 years). As with all things included with moving out of the country, taking animals with you involves, you guessed it, bureaucracy. One stroke of luck of course is that in Italy, cats don’t require a long quarantine to move into the country, just a clean bill of health. However, there is a specific order in which you have to do certain things like give them rabies shots and such. They first have to be digitally tagged, then given a rabies shot. We did it in reverse order before we even knew we would be going out of the country. By the time we figured out we even had a problem to fix there was too little time left to fix it.
Ironically, it scuttled an option that I was pretty hesitant to go through with in the first place which was to take them on the plane with us (to save on even more paperwork and bureaucracy on the other end). Traveling with small dogs I see people do all the time, cats not so much. For us there would be a couple of reasons to give pause. First, one of our cats has essentially turned into a bit of a grumpy old man (I’m still considering changing his name to Walter). He likes us well enough, and anybody else he spends enough time around. That “enough time”, however, takes longer than your average TSA security check, and one of the things that would have to happen is they would have to come out of their carriers during said security check. Riiiiiiiight. Yeah, that’ll go well. The last few times we’ve taken that cat to the vet they’ve had to bring out the thick leather falcon gloves and examine him without taking him out of the carrier, and a few times he’s even had to be sedated…through the carrier no less. I would have handed off that little job to the TSA guy before I even pulled off my shoes. “Here you go pal, best of luck. Oh, and those little white latex gloves aren’t going to help you much, but you might want to keep them on hand to clean up the blood with.” Of course, it also might mean I’d have a cat on a terror watch list somewhere. The second reason is even if we made it through the security without one cat getting us arrested for possessing a deadly weapon, the other cat I’m fairly certain would get us banned from flying on that particular airline ever again. You see, the grumpy old man actually travels pretty well, he just doesn’t like strangers. The other one loves strangers, he just hates traveling, period. As soon as whatever you’re in starts moving he starts the yowling, panting, and generally freaking out (he doesn’t hold a candle to my father-in-law’s cat who drools everywhere and looks like something out of a pet cemetery movie though, thank the Lord). We’re pretty sure he’d make all that noise the entire plane ride. It drives us nuts, and we like him. So I can only imagine what other passengers would think.
This, of course, was no longer an option (darn the luck) so we were to our next option, which is to have them shipped after the fact. In steps Amy’s mom, who at this point deserves some kind of award for taking on this half of it. Countless hours of driving and keeping them at her house separate from her little puppy (whom they have a tendency to stalk and torture). Shipping a cat is a lot like sending an underage child somewhere on a plane, except you don’t put the little tike in a crate and store them with the luggage (no matter how much noise they make). They have to be secured in a crate and sent with food and paperwork, and they even have to be hand carried by someone from one flight to another if there are connections. In this case Amy’s mom was willing to take them to Atlanta (there’s an IKEA near by, that didn’t hurt :) ), where they could do a direct flight to Rome. By my math she has done about 38 hours of driving for us in this whole process. Thank you , thank you, thank you…..
Now this gave us an excellent excuse to do a few things. First it gave us an excuse to go to Rome, what a shame. It also kinda pushed us out of staying in a hotel and into the corporate housing for the time being because not many places take pets (at least cats anyway). That’s a bonus. I know it sounds awesome to stay in a hotel for a few months and all but we’ve done it before. It gets old pretty quick. A few days after moving our stuff over to the temporary housing we set off to Rome, which is a five hour drive from here. I won’t get into the details of that part simply because I’ve got to write an entire blog entry on driving here, what a rush. Suffice to say that to get there in five hours you take the Auto Strada, which is basically like an Interstate but it’s also a toll road. It takes about 40 Euro to get from here to there and then another 40 to get back, but the road is much nicer than the non-toll roads. Strangely enough the drive from here to there reminds me a lot of driving from our hometown in West, TN to Knoxville, TN (or even from Charleston for that matter). The mountains between here and there are beautiful and there are even towns perched up on peaks every now and again.
Really cool stuff. Unfortunately where we were going in Rome didn’t afford us any site seeing really, the airport is on the outskirts and by the time we got there we were honestly just ready to eat and go to bed. The following day was going to be all about paperwork and charades.
Picking up “cargo” as an individual and not a truck driver is a little strange, especially at an airport. It feels like you’re taking a canoe through the Panama Canal or something. The process starts where you find what you think is the cargo place and wander around lost until someone tells you where to go, then you sign in with security and hand over your passport. In exchange they give us a tag to put in the car window, a couple of badges, and directions to follow the big rig going through the gate. From there you proceed to the Delta cargo office. Lucky for us we ran into the guy we needed to see getting into the elevator. “Oh, I just saw them. Lots of meowing….”. Yeah, that’d be Milo, who should be hoarse by now. This is where we had to get paperwork signed to take to the vet. After doing his part the guy gave us his number and then jokingly (I think, anyway) told us not to call him. From there we had to walk back across a large paved area through the security place we started at and up to find the Vet. An important note here is that here in Italy (and I think most of Europe) they don’t number floors the same way we do. The ground floor is 0, what we would consider the 2nd floor is actually called the 1st floor. If they know you’re American sometimes they’ll try and do the math for you and tell you what we would call it. I think the Delta guy got confused because he sent us to what we would call the 3rd floor…and nobody was there. Well, one guy was there, and fortunately he spoke a little English. Apparently that was the “Government” floor. Fantastic. The floor below was the one with the Vet. When we found her we discovered that there was going to be an issue. She didn’t speak a lick of English, and she looked as confused by the paperwork as we were. After a few minutes of charades she decided to take us to a guy a couple of offices down the hallway who spoke a little English. Turns out he was who we needed to see anyway. He didn’t talk much but after filling out yet more paperwork he hands it to us and tells us to go see the customs folks next to pay the fees, which of course is back through the security checkpoint and back near where we started. This was kind-of hidden away but once we found it they were more than happy to take our Euros in exchange for yet more paperwork. From here we were told to go and wait by the big open doors where stuff is being brought out and wait. Finally, the end of this process. We picked a spot and waited, and waited, and waited a little more. There were about five forklifts rolling around like they were in a ballet, but eventually one of them came out with a couple of familiar animal crates sitting on a pallet. I think people were surprised they were cats and not dogs, but there was no mistaking the yowling (this was still Milo).
Bear in mind they just spent well over 24 hours in a box getting only a little food and water the whole trip. No bathroom breaks, no beverage service, and no window seat. Milo was simply ready to get out of the box, you could tell he was stir crazy. Binx on the other hand was doing this thousand yard stare that looked like he’d been through a war or something. Poor guy was out of it, we were a little worried for him. Once we got them back to the car and got things situated we let them out one at a time to use a little box and then just left them out together for food and water. Milo, the one that hates to travel, was all recovered. Litterbox, food, water, sleep, boom, back to normal. Binx on the other hand spent the first 15 minutes trying to cram his fat rear end under the passenger seat, and we weren’t even moving yet (we still had 5 hours to go though). Eventually he calmed down and napped. It was Milo who, true to form, yowled pretty much the whole trip back jumping from the back seat to the front seat and back again every few minutes.
Now of course they’ve been “home” for long enough to get back to their normal selves except I think they have a little bit of jet lag. Night time now is a battle where they want to be awake and downstairs and feel like we should be there with them, making racket and noise to be sure we know they still exist. Or they’re hungry, but they’re always hungry. I know that some folks are shaking their heads (especially you Dad :) ) thinking this is an awful lot of work and expense for a couple of animals. Honestly, I just need something to yell at.
Flashback: Titles Really Are Important
After the whole passport fiasco it should come as no surprise for folks to learn that I’m not really big on bureaucracy. I understand that some of it’s necessary, but with the nature of the beast being that it makes you want to rip your hair out (or somebody else’s, honestly) leads me to prefer as little of it as possible. That alone makes my last few days in the States (and the fact that we’re in Italy, which apparently has perfected annoying bureaucracy) that much funnier in a “I may have to be medicated at some point” kind of way.
A short history of my Nissan Titan. A few weeks before we found out that we would be going to Italy, we were pretty thoroughly convinced that the opportunity had passed us by and as such we plowed through a long list of things we had put on hold that were getting kinda time sensitive. One of those things was a Nissan Titan that I was trying to sell for my brother who is a Chaplain in the Army and spending a few months in Afghanistan (thanks, bro!). Honestly, I really wanted the truck (and I was having a little trouble selling it anyway) and since we were pretty sure we weren’t going out of country ourselves we did the paperwork, traded in our older truck and bought it from my brother. Loved. This. Truck. Had there been any way to keep it I would have, but alas it was not to be. Interesting plot point is that its previous registration and title was in Tennessee. Spoiler alert, this becomes very important later.
Of course, discovering that we actually were going out of the States meant that I had to sell it, but we had to wait a little while because, well, we kinda had to drive places like work and stuff (who knew, right?). So as the week before we left was upon us we finally got to where we could sell at least one of them and then sell the other a few days later when we could get along with just one car. Of the two we chose the Torrent because we needed the truck for a few things to get the house ready. To make this as simple as possible we decided to take both of them to Carmax and sell them off, not a problem. We took them both there to get an offer just to be sure we could handle it financially and sold the Torrent back to them (we had gotten it from there a couple of years before). So, fast forward a few days and we have 60 some odd hours to go before checking our luggage and having our bodies scanned (more good times) I take the truck in to get it re-checked and sell it. All goes well, I get the same offer as before, I walk up to the business counter and after a few minutes I discover that Houston has a problem. Or rather, I have one, a BIG one as a matter of fact. They started asking me questions like, “have you recently moved?”…..Um….no, I’m about to. “Are you sure?” Well, I have been skipping out on my time at lumocity.com and ginkgo biloba pills, let me double check. NOPE! I didn’t forget that I changed residences in the last four weeks. I did buy the truck a couple of months ago, but the paperwork should all be done now. See, here’s my registration and proof that I’m paying on the loan. Yeah, none of that matters apparently, the title for the truck has been sitting in some bureaucratic purgatory for two months and is in some status where I can’t actually sell the truck (I have to add a note here that every time I’ve tried to even type the word “bureaucracy” I have to have spellcheck fix it. I. Hate. This. Word. But I’m not bitter). Anyway, so what is the remedy I ask? Not sure, they say, you should check with your bank. Fantastic! They close in 10 minutes. In one word “traffic”, I didn’t make it. Moving on.
The next morning (the day before we leave) I was sitting outside our bank branch waiting for the clock to tick past 9 hoping that this was going to just be a quick fix but pretty sure that the odds were somewhere between 1 and the headline “Genius Billionaire David Basham…” being printed. When I walked in the doors I managed to meet with the same lady that setup the loan for the truck so she knew the back story and took a look for me. Turns out that it’s not the bank holding things up, the truck title never left Tennessee. They didn’t have it, thus, they couldn’t release it. So, do you know what that means? Yep, a trip to the DMV! For a least a split second I entertained the idea of going home and simply saying “we’re not going…”. Ok, not really, but come on?! The DMV? They hold the key to getting this done before tomorrow? It’s like having Dr. Kevorkian being scheduled for your life saving surgery (I did, however, begin checking the news for my being declared a billionaire). Fine, on to Leeds Ave. where I can get a number, sit, and contemplate the meaning of life just because I have the time (even though I really, really don’t).
Apparently now they use algebra in where you are in line, there’s a confidence boost for you. As my number was called and I explained my situation (you know, about this leaving the country thing) and after a few clicks and a half ream of paper printed later they explain to me that Tennessee apparently doesn’t use the same system as South Carolina for titles so they have to do it manually and it just hasn’t been done yet. Two weeks I get, even a month I’d understand, but TWO MONTHS? I could have walked it there and back by now myself. Apparently some of my frustration started to seep through (with that sentence I secured the understatement of the year award, go me) and as I re-explained how I was going to be on a different continent come the next afternoon one of the managers overheard me and stopped for a second. Sadly, I can’t remember this guys name to save my life. He asked for my phone number and said he would take a look into it with another one of these he had. I honestly didn’t expect to hear from him. I left the DMV, and dropped off my stuff at Comcast to cancel my internet access and as I was leaving I get a call. “Hey, because it was there so long they were happy to rush it through, should be available to sell tomorrow.” Am I being punked? Where’s the camera? I thanked the guy as best I could and tried not to say “I love you, man” as I ended the call.
Of course, this was no guarantee. Carmax was saying it could take a week so we spent all evening figuring out what we would do if we couldn’t sell it before we left. The really crappy part here is that Carmax doesn’t open until 10 AM, our flight leaves at 4:45 PM. The DMV opens an hour earlier than this, but the wait time that morning to find out the title status made it not worth going. So, after getting to Carmax a tad early and waiting for the business office to open we handed the documents to a young woman and asked her to check for us. It dawned on me about halfway through all the clicks and logins she had to do that we just dumped a LOT of pressure on this woman. After explaining everything we stood there looking at her as if she was going to decide whether we won the lottery or not. Ok, you can stop holding your breath, sure enough it was where we could sell it. Forty-five minutes later we walked out with a check and headed back to the house to get our stuff and go to the airport to check in a little early, and then celebrated our last few hours at Buffalo Wild Wings enjoying boneless wings and sweet tea they aren’t going to be serving in Italy. Oh, and the moral to this story is, you know that thing people say about titles not being important? Not universally true.
Sorry for the delays…
Amy and I are settling into some temporary housing while we wait for our apartment to be ready. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten the chance to do much writing in the mean time and I’m sorry about that. What I did manage to get, however, is a bout of the stomach flu. Good times. As funny as it would be, I won’t be writing a blog post on this part of the whole experience. I’ve also discovered that the longer the post is the more editing it needs. My former English teacher Mrs. Gamlin would be pretty horrified at the grammar. Don’t worry folks, there will be more to come, just need some time to get to feeling normal again.
