MORE RED TAPE! I guess my post from yesterday didn’t get published. I’m having moments of confusion about using this blog site: Wordpress.com.
So not only do we need to go back to ground zero and start all over again to obtain a visa to allow us to enter Italy and stay for 90 days, meaning at least one trip to the consulate in San Francisco and playing the waiting game. But we also have an argument running with our village over a tiny strip of land upon which our wrought iron fence was built some 30 years ago and which they now claim is theirs and for which we must pay many Euro.Further stories of inefficiency: we went to the train station at Chiusi to purchase our tix for the Dolomites — all well and good–except that the station mistress’s computer wouldn’t print out our tickets. She became flustered, had to cancel the debit card transaction, start over again, and meanwhile a long line was forming behind us and a person muttered “Americani.” Finally all is resolved and we’ll be on our way to the Italian Alps on Monday, stopping in Venice on the way back.
I promised stories about quirks and every day things, but I’m still sweating the red tape. However, last night our doorbell rang and a woman appeared, apologizing for interrupting us. A neighbor, she wanted to meet us because she has a house for sale and she thought maybe we knew some Americans looking for a house here. If we knew such a person, we’d sell this apartment to them!!! We got to visiting. She grew up here in this tiny hamlet and attended the school, which comprised the ground floor of our present house. The school room is now our ground floor studio apartment. We live in an apartment on the third floor. We are a house divided! The baby, Giacomo and his parents live in the apartment in between. Lidia, the neighbor,, told me that she attended school here. The teacher lived in the apartment upstairs from the school room (now Giacomo’s apt) and had a child with “problems,” said Lidia, I assume handicapped. Lidia told me that the teacher brought her child to the classroom every day. In the 50’s before there were programs for special kids. Now that’s a story I didn’t know!
Tomorrow I’ll be in a. better mood, I’ll post a few pictures and tell another story, OK?
I love that the hairdresser here calls my new violet hair color “castagna Beaujolais.”
Chestnut beaujolais — leave it to the Italians to be poetic!