I tagli di capelli

Both of us have been looking pretty shaggy lately, so we decided to treat ourselves to haircuts at a fancy-schmancy salone in Termoli.  I was able to schedule appointments for us via email, thankfully - so much easier that way, because I can use Google translate to communicate.  Antonio Lamolle Hair Concept is a salone di parrucchiere, that is, they cut both women's and men's hair (a barbiere only cuts men's hair), so I was able to schedule us simultaneous appointments for yesterday morning.  

When I made the appointments, I gave them the head's up that we do not speak Italian at all well.  It wasn't a problem since it turned out that Antonio spoke some English - at least enough that we were able to communicate what we wanted in terms of cuts.

When we arrived at the appointed time, we were greeted by the very friendly receptionist, who checked our Green Passes*, then brought out a plastic bag into which I was to put my purse.  She took our coats and the bag to the cloakroom, and we were whisked off to our respective chairs.  I didn't notice any other customers in the salon while we were there (there may be limits on the number of people allowed inside at one time because of Covid), so we had everyone's attention.

I started off with a very luxurious shampoo experience - the chair was a massaging recliner.  I would have been content to sit there all day, frankly.  I wish I could have asked what products they were using to wash and condition my hair, because they smelled fantastic.  And the shampoo boy took his time - I think by the time I was done at his station, not only was I completely relaxed, but Paolo's haircut was just about finished.  Interestingly, he had his hair washed after it was cut.  He tells me that usually, when he goes to his barber in the US, they don't wash it at all.

Next I was led over to the hairdresser's station and was offered a caffè, which I declined, probably to their surprise, since in Italy coffee goes with just about every activity.  But I'd had several cups earlier, and didn't want to have to pee in the middle of my haircut.  Antonio himself came over to discuss what kind of haircut I wanted.  I explained that I usually get a bob, slightly angled so as to be a bit shorter in the back; I let him know that I prefer a cut that requires very little fuss to style (because I suck at that kind of thing).  I also rather timidly suggested that I might like to try some bangs this time.  He pulled out his phone and showed me some photos of bob haircuts, and I agreed that yes, that is what I wanted.  He very firmly stated:  "No fringe!"  Well, he's the stylist, so I deferred to his professional opinion.  Also, I am easily intimidated by stylists.

And with that, he whipped out the scissors, and snipsnipsnipsnipsnipboom, my hair was cut.  Seriously, I have never had such a fast haircut in my life (I needn't have turned down that caffè after all).  I think he was done in about a minute and a half, no joke.  He then called over one of his assistants (all of whom had gorgeous hair, by the way) to do the blow-out.  "Straight or waves?" he asked.  I went with wavy; I think he found this acceptable.  I'm sure he'd have said something if he hadn't.  He explained to his assistant how to style it, and then...disappeared into thin air.  Drying my hair seemed to take about four times as long as it did to cut it.  Once she shut off the dryer, Antonio magically re-materialized to examine her work.  It seems he approved, because he called for "Lacca!  Lacca!" and I was hairsprayed vigorously.       

In the end, we were both really pleased with our results - so much so that we left American-sized tips rather than Italian ones, much to the surprise of the receptionist (and hopefully to the delight of the shampoo boy and assistant).  I'm half-sorry that I didn't schedule myself for a tinta (coloring) as well.

I'm terrible at taking selfies - this picture absolutely does not do justice to my haircut.  You'll just have to trust that is it actually as cute as I think it is.

Isn't he handsome? ❤

*Edit:  I recently obtained a Green Pass for Paolo, following a similar procedure to the one I used to obtain mine, with the exception that as he does not yet have his residency established, I had to download his pass from a government website, not the IO app.

Wednesday: More B-o-l-o-g-n-a

Wednesday was our last full day in Bologna - as I realized this, I regretted not booking in for a few more days; there is so much to see in the centro storico.  To get the most out of our time, we decided to ride one of the City Red Bus Tours in order to view as much as we could (and to take note of places we might want to visit on a future trip).  The tour took about an hour to complete its circuit.  I tried to snap some pictures from our very good seats - upper level, right in front - however, as it was a bright and sunny day, there was a lot of reflection on the glass windows, so my photos didn't come out as well as I would have liked:

Bologna

Porta Maggiore a/k/a Porta Mazzini

The ruins of Castello di Galliera

FYI:  unlike in FL, we can say gay in Italy.  Particularly in Bologna, from what I read.

Painted porticoes

Porta Castiglione

We'd next planned to visit the Museo Civico Archeologico (Paolo was especially looking forward to it), but when we arrived, we were told that only two of the exhibits were open - the rest of the museum was closed due to some ongoing renovations.  As they were still charging the full admission price for very limited access, we opted not to visit (it will be something to look forward to next time, I guess).

On the other hand, had we gone there, we might not have discovered the Archiginnasio.  This building was originally the central site of the University of Bologna; it now houses a library, the former anatomical theatre (reconstructed after having been bombed in WWII), and Stabat Mater Hall.

Some of the 6000+ coats of arms of former university students

The anatomical professors' chair

Anatomical theatre

Center ceiling detail

Stabat Mater Room

Virgin and Child fresco dating from the 1500s

Look closely and you'll see a book titled Invertebrata of Massachusetts

Some more of the 6000+ coats of arms of former students of the university

After our visit to the Archiginnasio, we walked back the the Santo Stefano area for lunch.  It was very warm and pleasant in the sun, so we chose to sit outside for a very leisurely meal/people-watching session at 051 Santo Stefano:

I had the lasagne alla Bolognese - nothing at all like any lasagne I've ever eaten in the US; I need to try making this!!

In fact, we had a rather large lunch, such that we didn't bother making any dinner plans for later.  Needing to walk this off, we headed over to another church we wanted to see (we'd passed it on our bus tour) - Chiesa del Santissimo Salvatore (Church of the Holy Savior).  On our way, I stopped to take several pictures:

Bologna hosts a jazz festival; this tribute to Benny Goodman was installed in the street last year according to this article

Art installation entitled Big Wide Eye (in English - perhaps because the artist was born in New Zealand...?)

I liked all the heads on this building

The white plaque states (more or less, according to Google Translate) that Guglielmo Marconi was born here.  He was the first to transmit words "without the aid of cables and wires, from one hemisphere to the other" for the benefit of humanity "and the glory of his homeland" 

We didn't stay at Santissimo Salvatore very long as there was an ongoing Eucharistic adoration, and although there were signs saying visitors were welcome, we didn't wish to disturb the devout.  I did take a few pictures from the back of the church before leaving:

Our last stop before returning to our room for a little rest was at a church very close to our B&B - Chiesa di Santi Bartolomeo e Gaetano (Church of St. Bartholomew & Saint Cajetan - yeah, I had to look him up:  he seems to be the patron saint of gamblers and the unemployed.  Sounds like a bit of a shady character to me).

I have absolutely no idea what the connection is between this church and Our Lady of Quinche represented by the statue on this side altar.  There was a sign in Italian describing the original statue in Ecuador, but it didn't say anything specifically about why they have a replica here in Bologna.

Looking up at the main dome

Having been a pretty full day, and still having pretty full bellies, we returned to our room to rest and digest; though we did venture out later for drinks and dessert.

And thus ended our (too) brief sojourn in Bologna.  The next morning, after another excellent breakfast at our B&B, we checked out and made our way down the street to the taxi stand for a ride to Bologna Centrale to catch our train home - which was not only once again late, but my Trenitalia app said our train would be arriving at Bin 4, when it actually arrived at Bin 6 ("bin" being short for binario, that is, "track" or "platform").  I'm not sure why we had issues with late trains on this trip; until now we really haven't experienced huge delays - but now we better understand why people complain so much about the trains in Italy.

As we were waiting for our delayed train, my phone rang.   It was a gentleman from Hertz (the company from which we rented our vehicle) asking, in hesitant English, if we knew our car was parked at Termoli train station, because the police wanted to tow it!  At least, I think that is what he was trying to say.  WTF?  I replied to the effect that of course we knew it was parked there, because we parked it there.  I explained that we did pay the full amount allowed on the parking meter, and that we were literally about to get on a train bound for Termoli and would be back later in the afternoon.  I begged him to call the police back and explain that we were on our way, and to ask them to please not tow our car - which he kindly agreed to do.  At least, I think he did; I'm not entirely sure he understood me, actually.

Practically the whole ride back to Termoli, I was catastrophizing this in my head, imagining various scenarios of us trying to explain to the police that we did in fact pay for parking although it's possible we didn't pay enough because we are stupid Americans who didn't understand the meter machine; trying to figure out how to get our car back; possibly being stuck overnight in Termoli, etc.  Paolo, on the other hand, being a more reasonable sort of person, was fairly calm and not terribly concerned.

When we arrived back to Termoli, there was our car, exactly where we'd left it - and not so much as a ticket for a parking violation.  Of course, that doesn't mean we won't get a ticket in the mail six months from now, because Italy - but thankfully all my worry was for nothing after all.

Now that I've finally written out this record of our trip, I'll explain why it took so long to do so.  On the Tuesday, I somehow managed to hurt my left wrist and hand - one of those situations where you somehow just "move wrong," although you're not quite sure exactly what you did, and something cracks/slides/clicks/pops out of place, and bam, you have pain.  I'm a righty, but didn't realize just how much I use my non-dominant hand until I couldn't.  Anyway - I've been resting it as much as possible and taking an anti-inflammatory, and I am about 99% better now.  But that's why I've been writing in fits and starts.
  

Coming up this week:  Paolo has to go back to the questura; we both have appointments to get haircuts.

Lollipopped

"My boy lollipop / You make my heart go giddy-up..."

- Spice Girls, My Boy Lollipop 

Yesterday, we learned that in Italy, not only do the carabinieri carry guns (and sometimes, submachine guns), they also carry lollipops:

 

photo credit for this image here

We drove into Termoli to do a little shopping; as we were approaching our next-to-last roundabout to take the exit for the store, I saw a red dot from the corner of my eye and looked up from my phone just in time to see that we were passing a police car parked on the side of the road, besides which was a member of the carabinieri waving a short, skinny stick with a small red circle at the top.  "What was that?" I asked Paolo, who was driving.

"I think he wanted me to slow down."  Not an unreasonable assumption, as Paolo has really adapted quite well to the aggressive, high-speed/low use of turn signals Italian style of driving [insert sarcasm here].

A minute later, as we're about to turn into the store parking lot:  "Ohhh.  I think he's coming after me."

Great.

Sure enough, the police car pulls in next to us in the parking lot; two officers get out of the car.  Fortunately (and surprisingly), the younger of the two spoke a bit of English (observation:  the longer we spoke, the better his English became).

Paolo got out of the car, too.  The younger officer started off speaking in rapid Italian, but we of course couldn't understand him, and Paolo quickly interrupted to say he didn't speak Italian and that we are Americans who speak English.  Then the young guy got into the passenger side of his car, and placed his hands on the dash, and started saying something about in America we would have to stay in the car when talking to police but in Italy it was OK to get out of the car and talk to the police...?  That's what I took from it, anyway.  Maybe he thought we were afraid of the police, because of all the bad press American cops get.  I'm really not sure, but he seemed nice enough, so I'll lean towards the "he was trying to reassure us in some way" theory.  He then informed us that when you see the lollipop, you have to STOP.  Paolo apologized and explained he thought they were just indicating that he should slow down.

He then asked for Paolo's ID; he handed them his PA driver's license, while I rooted around in my purse to dig out his AAA International Driver's license (which is just a translation of the driver's license info) and his passport.  "Are you staying in Termoli?" the carabiniere asked.  Paolo said no, we live in [our comune].  "You work in Termoli?"  "No, I'm retired."  "You retired in Italy?!"  Paolo informed him:  "My wife is Italian!"

So I hand over my Italian ID and say, "I'm a citizen."  This really seemed to throw him; especially because I wasn't speaking Italian (I was actually trying to say as little as possible - American conditioning, I guess).  I could almost see him mentally scratching his head.  "You're a citizen...you live here?"  

Because Paolo is now outside of the 90-day stay limit as a US citizen, I felt it prudent to mention that he has an upcoming appointment for permesso, the receipt for which is stashed inside his passport.  However, the officer didn't seem even remotely interested in this information.

Then he looks at Paolo's ID again, and asks, "Are you a veteran?"  "Sì, Army."  "What conflict?"  We were a little stumped by this; I think Paolo decided what he meant to ask was, "Where were you stationed?" so he replied "Germany.  Near Heidelberg."  "How long?"  "Three years."

Officer Young Guy looked a bit askance at this; probably because we didn't mention that those "three years" were quite some time ago (it's actually not all that unusual for retired US military folk who've been stationed in Italy to remain/retire here when their service is complete; they make up a fairly sizable portion of the expat community in some regions, it seems).  But in any event, he seemed satisfied with the information provided, and explained in Italian the gist of our conversation to his fellow officer.  Then they smiled and waved and took off.

Overall, it was a pretty friendly, relaxed encounter, as these things go.  But we never did find out exactly why they wanted to stop us in the first place.

Muffa!

 “ We are riding on a railroad, singing someone else's song; sing along…”

- James Taylor, Riding on a Railroad

I’m writing this post as we’re riding the IC #704 bound for Rome; we should be arriving about 22:20 (or 10:20  PM if you’re not using a 24-hour clock).  Well, I did say I wanted to spend a little time in Rome…but I wasn’t expecting to do it under these circumstances…

Italian houses, particularly the old ones (and, let’s face it, most of them are old - I think the place we’re staying is at least 100-200  years old), are ventilated just as they were when they were originally built - meaning:  they’re pretty much not, by modern standards.  No exhaust fans in the bathrooms, no venting over the stove, no whole-house fans in the upper floors.  In some parts of Italy, moisture is a huge problem, even when it’s not the rainy season.  A certain amount of muffa (mold) is to be expected, especially around doors and windows, and usually this is easily dealt with by a quick squirt of anti-muffa spray followed wiping it away.  This is considered part of basic housekeeping, like dusting and sweeping.  Italians typically air out their homes every day for at least an hour or so, even in the coldest weather, and frequently run dehumidifiers.

It turns out that sometimes the daily airings and dehumidifiers aren’t enough to cope with the problem, particularly when the weather has been as wet as it has been this month.  For reasons I can’t even remember now, I went upstairs to the very upper floor (where we hadn’t been for days simply because we had no reason to be up there) and discovered muffa pretty much everywhere - on the ceilings, the utility room walls, and in the (thankfully more or less empty) guest room.  I think the guest room had it the worst, but the ceiling over the landing was pretty horrific, especially around the small skylight.  It wasn’t quite so bad in the utility room.  Yesterday, we (foolishly) tried for about 10 minutes to wipe down the walls before we realized that doing so was a bad, bad idea.  I was afraid one or the other of us might get sick.   Cleaning up this level of muffa is clearly a job for professionals.

I reached out to our translator for help in getting in touch with our landlords.  Although Nicoletta was on vacation this week (I was not aware of that when I messaged her), she took the time to contact the landlords to let them know, and we were expecting to meet with them this morning.  Only - they didn’t show.  On the other hand, they might actually have come very early while we were still in bed - we thought we heard the buzzer but by the time we got down the stairs, there was no one there.  Sometimes people ring our buzzer by mistake when they mean to ring the doctor’s office though, so who knows.

When they hadn’t come by lunchtime, I called my service provider (Nicoletta’s boss) directly.  He agreed that the landlords absolutely need to take care of the issue, and that we should not stay there in the meantime.  He offered to put us up in a B&B, but I said that we’d wanted to go to Rome anyway, so we’d do so now and come back Monday.  He thought that was a good idea and said that if the problem isn’t resolved by then, he will get us another apartment or B&B to stay in until it’s cleaned.

Fortunately, I was able to book train tickets for this afternoon, and luckily, the nice hotel where we stayed when we went to Rome a few years ago had a room available, too.  

And that is the story of why we’ll be spending Thanksgiving in Rome.

Paolo at Termoli Station, headed to Foggia, where we changed trains to head to Roma Termini Station.

Catch-up Post #1: 10/30

We made another trip into Termoli; this time to the WindTre store (an Italian cell/date provider) to purchase a SIM card for my iPad, in the hopes of resolving some of the connectivity issues I’ve been having.  Purchasing data here in Italy is relatively cheap, and can be topped off if you run out.

 

We also stopped at the Carrefour Supermarket there (Carrefour is a grocery store chain based in France).  On our way, we took note of a billboard advertisement for Lidl; we'd like to find out where that is located since that is a store with which we are familiar.  There is no “supermarket” as such here in our little town - there are several mercati (markets) here, tiny grocery stores with a little bit of everything.  There are at least two or three butcher shops (macellerie); they all have pictures of cows on their signs.  We also noticed a couple of pescherie (fish shops).  And don’t forget the fruit and vegetable man who drives his truck through the neighborhoods almost every day.  The stores here in town close between 1-4 PM and are not open on Sundays.  

So we grabbed a few things at the supermarket in the big town (which is how I’ve come to think of Termoli, as opposed to the “little town,” where we are living); now we have food makings for the next day or two, since tomorrow is Sunday, and Monday is a holiday here (All Saints’ Day).  

 

As today was Market Day (it appears Saturdays between 7:00 and 3:30 PM are the street market here; no parking allowed on our street - we finally figured out what our landlord was trying to tell us the other day!), plus it is a holiday weekend here, there was quite a lot of noise on the streets late into the night - mostly just young people hanging out having a good time, nothing too crazy.  But we missed the actual market this week since we opted to go into Termoli as noted above.

 

But today’s big news is that I figured out how to use the Italian washing machine!  Of course all the buttons and the knob have Italian labels, but with the help of Google translate and a few expat websites I was able to figure out enough to run the thing. 

   

The washing machine is quite small, and that this is typical even in larger homes.  So the laundry load is much smaller than we are used to. We didn’t bring a whole lot of clothes with us (relatively speaking); hopefully it won’t be too much of a problem, except that we will have to do laundry fairly frequently.  Italians are very conscious of electricity consumption, as electricity is considered to be expensive here; when not in use, the washer is unplugged.  Clothes dryers are not at all common, as they use up too much energy; almost everyone in town hangs their wash out on their balconies.  We do not have a clothes line on either of our balconies (yet), but we do have a drying rack, so I hung our first couple of loads on the rack on the enclosed balcony, with the windows open.  We’ll see how it goes!