Look Up - 24 novembre, 2013

I didn't realize Bob was 6' 10" (2.08 meters) tall when I first met him. That's because our first few conversations occurred while he was standing in the courtyard a floor level below our balcony. He and his wife Angela would cheerfully greet us when they were outside watering their many plants They were a godsend that first lonely month since both could speak English and kindly helped us figure out small but important details like when and where to put out the trash. 

So, I was a little shocked when I ran into Bob on the street level in front of our building and realized that he is a very tall man!  It turns out he is from Brooklyn, New York and came to Italy 45 years ago to play professional basketball. He met and married Angela here and they made Italy their permanent home.  I think Bob enjoys talking with us because we are a connection to his previous life.

During one conversation about the experience of living in a new place, Bob shared an important suggestion. He said that someone had encouraged him to look up while he was walking since there are so many details that might otherwise be missed. I took his advice and have enjoyed taking a whole series of photographs from the streets looking up.  I guess I assumed that someone as tall as Bob would always be looking down on people so I love the fact that he gave me this new perspective.

Via Vittoria Emanuele II

Via Giovio 

The main post office

Piazza Volta

Via Armondo Diaz

Via Volta courtyard entrance

Chiesa Del Crocefisso (Church of the Crucifix)

The Duomo

Piazza Cavour

Bob and Angela (photo by D. Hoopes)

Criminal Art - 18 novembre, 2013

Not everything in Italy is beautiful. There is a blight upon the land and that is graffiti. No building seems to be immune although I don't recall having seen any spray paint on churches. The large works of "art" pictured below are on abandoned buildings but down every street in Como, one can see gang-like "tags" on stone pillars, tall wooden carved doors, historic buildings…. and even on the walls adjacent to my doorway.

I have been told it is related to the high unemployment rate and disillusionment felt by young adults here. Usually I have empathy and concern for people struggling with these issues but I am confused about the connection between one's economic woes and defacing the walls of your own community. 

I borrowed the term Criminal Art from a small gallery in my neighborhood that exhibits art work that is in a graffiti-style. I am not sure if it can give some of these artists a legitimate outlet for their expression or if it encourages the larger street versions. I have to admit that there are some images that have caught my eye because they are creative and imaginative.

The door of my apartment building.

While some businesses are able to immediately cover up markings that show up overnight, they seem to keep reappearing and many doorways and walls show a variety of gang-like tags. My neighbor told me she is in a neighborhood group that spends some Sundays painting over graffiti in the area. They have the blessing of the city government but must pay for their own paint and supplies.

Obviously, this is not a problem unique to Como. Maybe I notice it so much because I have moved from suburbia in the U.S to a more urban environment here and I spend so much time walking through the pedestrian streets. I am just in awe of the beauty and history of the ancient structures around me and I am troubled by how quickly a can of spray paint can deface it.

Neighborhood clean-up crew

A new part of the world, part 2 - 8 novembre, 2013

Bosnia-Herzogevovenia

They simply call it "the Old Bridge". I first saw it in a watercolor painting that my mother held precious. She loved the view of the old bridge and river when she visited Mostar in the 1980's and picked out the watercolor. The stone bridge which had connected this ethnically diverse community for 400 years was destroyed by Croat artillery during the war that split up the former Yugoslavia. My mom was devastated by the news as she understood that the bridge was more than a physical span; it was a symbolic connection between groups of people. Then several years later, she happily reported that people from around the world were helping fund its reconstruction. I am sure she would have been so happy to know that I visited this poignant place and once again saw a thriving, peaceful community.

The Old Bridge in Mostar (Stari Most)

Panoramic view from the bridge

The wounds of war are still very evident in Mostar, in the buildings with still un-repaired bombing damage, the numerous cemeteries filled with graves dated 1993 and dotted with recently delivered flower arrangements and in the conversations with people we met there. I was very moved by this, my first experience being in an area that was so recently touched by the ravages of war. 

On the outskirts of Mostar, we found the Blagaj Tekija which was a Dervish monastery. It was located at the opening of a beautiful spring coming out of a sheer rock face. We toured the peaceful house and enjoyed a turkish coffee on the terrace. Young mountain goats played and climbed the walls just across the water from us.

Inside the Dervish monastery

Montenegro

From Bosnia, we drove to Montenegro. When I began the trip, I was embarrassed to admit that I knew nothing about this young country that peacefully gained its independence from Serbia in 2005. Our destination was Kotor which is located at the end of a fjord-like inlet called the Bay of Kotor. Since there is such a narrow opening to the bay, it was well defended throughout history and has lasted as a well preserved medieval town. We stayed in sobes in the old town and enjoyed exploring the maze of old streets and alleys.  Of course, we climbed the thousand steps up to the fort high above the bay. We were rewarded with beautiful views all the way to the sea.

Bay of Kotor

Our rooms were above the "Wine House"

A new part of the world - 8 novembre, 2013

I have wanted to visit Croatia ever since my mother described it to me after her tour to the former Yugoslavia 25 years ago. On the map, it just appears to be a short hop across the Adriatic Sea from Italy but it turns out to be a little more complicated than that to get there. But when my good friends Terry and Susan told me they would be driving around Croatia and Bosnia, I jumped at the chance to join them. As it turned out, most tourists are long gone by late October so we enjoyed wide open spaces with no crowds and plenty of sunshine.  I flew from Milan to Split, Croatia via Munich since the overnight ferries and direct flights to the Dalmatian Coast stop running in the autumn.

Terry is my personal version of Rick Steves. Although Dave and I traveled before we met Terry, he is the one who really encouraged us to go off the beaten track, book independently and maximize those frequent flyer awards. Dave was not able to join us on this trip due to that pesky little detail called a full-time job but I visited so many places that he would enjoy, that I am already planning our return trip. I am most grateful that I was able to squeeze in to the little red VW "Up!" that we drove around this beautiful area.

The Dalmatia Coast

My favorite image of Croatia is of the beautiful Adriatic seashore with offshore islands stretching to the horizon. It begs to be explored by sailboat with time to linger and explore each island.

The first night we spent in Split in a sobe (private room rental) in the ancient Diocletian Palace complex. Many of the buildings, walls and pedestrian streets are made of polished white stone which reflected the evening lights and created wonderful acoustics for this informal courtyard concert.

Diocletian Palace

From Split, we drove to Bosnia (see next posting) and then came back into Croatia to a town called Mali Ston. This town is known for its "Great Wall of Croatia", a three mile stone construction that connected it with the town of Ston and provided protection and defense of its valuable salt flats. Traveling with Terry and Susan always involves active pursuits so we climbed up this great wall to view both sides of Ston.  Fresh seafood is served at every meal along this beautiful coastline.

The peaceful view from my hotel room window in Mali Ston.

Part of 'The Great Wall of Croatia"

Some of the thousands of steps we climbed on this trip!

We drove out of Croatia again (hence the 7 Croatian passport stamps I now have) and took a side trip to Montenego before driving back to Dubrovnik, Croatia. This ancient, walled city has worked hard to recover from the devastations of their 1991-93 "Homeland War".  We enjoyed walking the city walls all the way around the perimeter which allows one to see both the recovery and traces of bombed out buildings. Before returning to Split for my flight home, we got a great view of the historic city from a high hilltop south of the city.

Panoramic shot of Dubrovnik from the city walls

Stradun promenade

Terry and Susan Walker

Taking care of business - 05 novembre, 2013

There were two things I worried about accessing in a foreign country, the first was good medical care and the second was a competent hair stylist/colorist. And maybe not necessarily in that order. Well this month I had my first experience with both.

I'll skip over most of the details here, but on a recent Sunday I became painfully aware that I was getting a urinary tract infection. If you are like many women, once you've had one, you immediately recognize the symptoms. Since we are still finalizing our residency permits here, we have not yet been "assigned" a doctor in Como and our health coverage through Dave's employer only lists a few doctors for our area, all of whom are an hour away in Milan. The neighborhood "farmacias" (pharmacy) provide more primary health care services than in the U.S so I decided to start there. I waited until morning and walked to the one nearby only to discover it is closed on Mondays. A sign on the door referred me to one about a mile away so I got my bicycle and a map and headed there. I believe it is the first time that I have ever sought urgent care on my bicycle.

I was dismayed to find three male pharmacists at my destination, none of whom spoke English. I had written down an Italian translation of my symptoms and started to read from the crumpled paper I pulled from my pocket. They were all looking uncomfortable and shaking their heads and seemed to be able to offer no assistance. I was beginning to panic because already in the 15 minutes it had taken me to ride there, I needed to find a bathroom. I just stood there and tried to ask if they knew where I might be able to find a clinic or urgent care type facility. I started to read from my paper again.  One of the men came around the counter and motioned for me to follow him. I trailed him across the street, down a driveway, through an electronic gate into a courtyard of a building which turned out to house a doctor's office. I followed him up several flights of stairs and he pointed me to a waiting room and spoke briefly to a woman in the next room. Then he left.

There was no receptionist, no nurse, no paperwork but after the two other people in the waiting room completed their visits, I went into the same examining room they had exited. I started to read from my Italian cheat sheet but the doctor spoke to me in English and I was able to tell her why I was there.  She immediately nodded and walked over to her cabinet and took out a box of medication which turned out to be Cipro and she gave me the dosage instruction. I thanked her and asked her if I could pay in cash since I have private insurance. She said it was "gratis", no charge.  I got on my bike and rode back to our apartment. Within a day, I made a complete recovery and a resolution to get serious about establishing contact with a primary care physician.


So I had also been putting off the hair care arrangements. Because of our recent family wedding, I had returned to the U.S seven weeks ago when I was due for a cut and color and visited my regular salon but now enough time had passed that I was looking gray and shaggy.  I had been advised to find a stylist here in Como by approaching women who had good haircuts and/or dazzling color jobs and asking for a salon recommendation. I struggled with that because I was only tending to notice the women who had a brassy tone or an unfortunate purplish tint to their dark hair. My continuing struggles with the Italian language have not yet allowed me to be at ease approaching women for this kind of suggestion. Luckily, my new friends in the International Club steered me to a salon that several of them had used so I made an appointment which was for today.

The view from the salon window

It is a stylish salon with a picture windows overlooking the nearby Duomo. It is a good thing there was a beautiful view because the process took over four hours!  Five different people, including the salon owner participated in the washing, styling, coloring, blowing out and touching up. The whole experience was an act of faith (as I gazed out at the cathedral) since no one spoke much English. I figured that sometimes it just pays to put yourself in someone else's hands and hope for the best. So after a good part of the day spent with Alessandra and Eduardo, I walked home feeling like a new woman. I made an appointment to return so it is beginning to feel like I live here.

This "space-age" dryer made me laugh

Eduardo