pig in mud (part 5)

Vitruvian HUman by Amanda Sage

I am usually not nervous before or during dates. I think it comes more from the place of just being who I am and letting things happen organically from there. Most of the time, we progress naturally based on mutual attraction or not.

However, lately, I have met two men who seem to have this effect on me (full circle (part 9)). In their authenticity and their approach to life and love, they represent who and what I have been wanting to be and surround myself in the last few years of my search for bliss. Intentions, coupled with honesty and vulnerability at all times, are great in theory, and more than I expected in practice.

As I walk through this door, I am experiencing a mix of giddiness and nervousness, an insecurity I have not felt in a long time. Yet there is a lot of power and comfort in knowing that I can be completely vulnerable and it will not deter them from being honest and loving and welcoming me into their lives. I know this is a new chapter that I am approaching, and in deleting all the online apps to allow moments to happen organically, I am really looking forward to meeting and building my tribe.

full circle (part 9)

"You are one of the most agreeable Lovers of this type, always ready to compromise and anxious to please; but this does not make you the easiest to love. The fact is, you are more apt than any Mars in Aquarius Lover to shut out those you love from your emotional life. Your self-sufficiency means that even people who want to be close to you find themselves loving you from afar. You are a warm, witty, and exceptionally sexy Lover, but you can’t expect people to truly care about you if they can’t really know you."

~ Good Golly, Mars in Aquarius, Venus in Virgo 

I first read that last year, and whether one believes in astrology as an alternative science or not, it resonated with me. I focused on the positive aspects that allow me to intimately connect and find pleasure with a partner without the usual emotional attachment (face of the girl (part 1)) that many women require.

As a first born (family ties) from a first-generation immigrant family, I have always had to be self-sufficient (full circle (part 8)), whether I had wanted to or not. In some ways, Italy seemed progressive such as creativity in their relationship paradigms and in other ways, traditional. One discussion I got into was with a woman who was professing her liberalness yet complaining about how men have been emasculated. It was not until her cousin explained to me that she had made it her mission to let the entire family know that her husband has not had sex with her for over 11 years that it occurred to me the irony in her emasculating her husband rather than working through their issues as a couple, rather than trying to practically bully him by embarrassing him in front of others.

Throughout my time in Italy, I often got into conversations regarding relationships and gender roles. In the same breath, the men would grumble about Italian women wanting men to take care of them and yet want to be in charge. I am pretty sure that is not just limited to Italy. Many confuse the concept of feminism, which is the right to be equal among the sexes. It does not equate to being equal in all things. For example, generally, men have been noted as having better spatial cognition. That does not mean a woman is incapable of packing luggage in a car trunk.

During a fun debate on the topic, it was noted that a man's ego and masculinity drives him to want to protect a woman. As noted in beach angel, while I can take care of myself, I would love to be protected. But as we were talking, it occurred to me that I never really allowed someone to do so. My friend remarked earlier that day on how a close family friend always opened the door for her. Of course, jokingly, I commented that he did not open the door for me. Rightly so, he retorted that I hopped in the car so fast that I never gave him the opportunity to do so.

A few days earlier as we were having lunch, I arranged to pay the bill mid-meal. I had learned over the weeks that in Italy, the early bird gets the worm. Yet it is very common for the men to cover the bill so I was rejected by both the waitress and owner, as my male friend is a regular patron and it is usually assumed that he would cover it. Since he is American though, it only took a few whispers for him to get that overridden. However, my other friend's Italian husband would have none of it. If the American man was not going to pay or pay a portion, he would pay as he views it as offensive if a woman pays for him. In the end, we ended up splitting the bill, with him paying for me and his wife and me paying for the American man and his female friend.

Later that night, as I had to listen to the gripes of the American man penny-pinching on what he had to cover, which was half of the drinks bill at the last bar, splitting amongst the men, rather than everyone splitting the bill, I realized how chivalry seems to have gotten lost, especially as his lunch was technically covered by me. My friend had to explain to me how not only her husband but also his family and friends feel the same way in regards to women paying. As I parted ways with the American man and for the rest of the trip, nobody blinked as the men fought over who would pick up the tab.

I have gone Dutch for as long as I can remember, partly because of equality with all of us having careers and partly because men cannot expect any favors later in exchange for drinks or food (reclaiming the cunt (part 3)). However, this has also been taken to the extreme as I have noticed lately that some men will intentionally go to a bar early to order and pay for his drink so that there is no confusion on who is covering his date's bill. I personally prefer to take turns treating each other, just like taking turns asking each other out. Either way, I realized that following my friend's instructions not to insult the men by offering to pay became a bit more challenging than it should have. 

As the family was pimping me out, I found myself hesitating, and rationalizing my behavior as not wanting to hurt a gentleman. My friend kept reminding me that they are adults and are responsible for themselves. I found that it was a similar apprehension as when I met a man from YUMmy and subsequently, his friend, prior to my trip to Italy. 

The respect they had for women and each other, their communication styles, their honesty and transparency with each other and me...it is difficult to explain why it gave me pause. Prior and during meeting, there were communications on intentions and check-ins to ensure people were aware of the other's objectives/plans, even if fluid. No games, just transparency and living in truths and authenticity. As my hair stylist reminded me while I relayed this to her, this was exactly what I have been searching for in the last few years. While I have always noted that I have met great men in my life (pig in mud (part 4)), there was something very unnerving about how these men disarmed me.

As with protection and simple gestures such as picking up a tab and opening doors, while subtle, there is a significant difference in expecting them and allowing someone the pleasure of doing them. As with my lesson on communication of intentions, it takes away any anxiety and/or assumptions when it is clear what the 'rules of engagement' or simple pleasures that make someone tick are. Like 'need' and 'want', it is 'same same but different'. It always troubled me when hearing people comment that I am difficult to get to know as I would like to think I am an open book about anything and everything but perhaps this steadfast 'independence' is the barrier they see. Between 11:11 (part 10) and these moments, 'letting go' and 'letting others in' also means 'allowing'.

My friend's Italian husband also loves to cook. He and his mother usually are a hoot to watch in the kitchen as she tries to supervise him while he blatantly tunes her out. As the family often utters, they gain weight when he is in town. My friend has learned to cook in order for them to have quality time in the kitchen together. She fries cutlets better than him while he loves to grill and makes a mean bowl of pasta.

In naturally trying to be self-sufficient and in the quest for equality, I missed the most obvious lesson of feminism. It is about unmasking the expected gender roles and embracing the ability to do what each person enjoys, even if that happens to be within the 'traditional gender expectations'. It does not make me any less of a woman than it makes him more of a man. Like being sexually liberated, even in the choice of being a sub, the freedom is the choice (and consent) to do so without being bound by the expectations of being one. By the last day, I was feeling less uneasy about men being chivalrous that I almost forgot to express appreciation to them for such gestures. Another lesson I cannot neglect. Similar to my surprise in identifying my love languages, what I thought I did not need turns out to be exactly want my soul desires.

11:11 (part 10)

Since 9/11, I have made a pact with God and/or the universe that I would try to minimize overanalyzing things and embrace what was put in front of me (cougartown). That has how I have approached this trip to Italy with only a one-way ticket in hand. I was excited to see my 'baby sis' (from another mother and father), whom I have not seen since I repatriated. While I knew she had married an Italian, they are also living in Japan. In a moment of serendipity, they were visiting Italy for their first anniversary around the time I would be in the country.

When we finally connected, it was uncanny to find out that Valdobbiadene was the town they got married in a year before. The place that I had wanted to take them to after lunch (self service) turns out to be the spot that they took many of their wedding photos including one that she has posted as her Facebook profile picture that I had loved, and she reminded me and pointed out the spot which was less than 10 feet from where we were sitting. I happened to be in Vietnam last year during their wedding and had attended the wedding with her family via FaceTime. When she had said that they would meet me in Valdobbiadene, I had no idea that the place was of significance to them.

It was great to be able to finally meet the people who were part of the ceremony and/or behind the phone enabling us to participate. I have never seen her more confident or happy in life. When they asked if I would change my initial flight to spend more time together, I jumped at the opportunity and rolled the dice two hours before takeoff to make it happen. At some point, her husband decided to play matchmaker.

What I had thought was an initial joke as coordination to get a ring I had purchased but was getting resized in Padova turned out to be less so in pimping me out. Yet because I have an aversion to such machinations and to avoid repeating any drama from reclaiming the cunt (part 8), I have to admit to playing a bit ditsy at any attempts to get us alone. Perhaps as admiration for his repeated attempts and/or to give my friend some quality time with her husband before our flights the following day, I agreed to drinks after dinner.

Too many events in my life (the girl with the dragoon tattoo; when it rains, it pours; and 11:11 (part 4)) have occurred for me to believe that anything is coincidental. So when during our chat over Aperol spritz and prosecco, the topic of knowing the future and paths to follow naturally made me think of Sliding Doors. As I asked if he had seen the movie, he noted that he just brought it up in conversation during dinner. I missed it either while trying to pack at the same time or as they were discussing in Italian. While his point at dinner was that our decisions impact the paths our lives take and who we become, like the events of 22, it reminded me of the discussion with Jay, and I viewed it as a sign from my male spirit, taking away any hesitation on how the night would unfold (23 vs. 42).

At the beginning of the trip, one of my friends had messaged me to download Book Club to watch on my trip. I had forgotten about it until I saw it on the menu on my flight home. In one scene, Vivian (Jane Fonda's character) spouting an interpretation of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," which sometimes, as is in my case, is erroneously referred to as "The Road Less Traveled".

It turns out that Frost wrote the poem facetiously for another poet (Edward Thomas), who oftentimes was indecisive, pondering the path to take in his life, and usually later lamenting that he should have taken the other one in hindsight. Many have interpreted that the road less traveled represents individualism. However, Frost has been known to correct people when they utter anything other than 'road' such as path, since roads are paved and man-made, suggesting that the road is not unique nor individual. Vivian's interpretation, which is supported by comments by Frost, is that both roads are actually the same.

"Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back."

Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken" (excerpt)

Upon looking back, both roads are comparable and equally untravelled, carpeted by newly fallen autumn leaves. Instead the poet has turned an 'impulsive' decision to follow the one that was perceived as less traveled into an intentional decision. While our decisions in life and the events beyond our control shape who we become, our lives unfold through conscious design that come from constructive narratives rather than dramatic actions.

The writer and director of Sliding Doors developed the storyline from a near death experience. As he was late in meeting a friend, he hesitated on running to catch the train or to simply call his friend from a public phone. On impulse, he ran across the street, nearly getting hit by a car. After talking about my brush with death during 9/11, my 'baby sis' shared a story where she almost got clocked by a car as well. We both commiserated on how those moments give us pause and end up shaping us more than we think. Gwyneth Paltrow received a note years later from someone who ran into her the morning of 9/11. Because of the celebrity sighting, the woman did not make the subway train that would have taken her into the World Trade Center at the time of impact.

In the end, we are shaped by our decisions and experiences. We choose how to react to every situation even those out of our control. As Frost notes, even knowing how things unfolded, I am such a different woman than whom I started that I would not want to double back and take another path. This takes me back to my views on Sliding Doors, which is regardless of our decisions, the universe has a way of directing us to become who we are meant to become, even if one road leads us to get there more quickly than the other, where fate and free will collides (22). 

So while my drinking companion, like Thomas, who at times tend to second guess his life decisions  and wanted to know his future as some form of assurance that things will turn out alright, we were both where we should have been at this point in time, regardless of whatever decisions we would or could have made in the past.

spooning

Between the appetizers and main course, the waiter in a restaurant in Castelfranco reset our place settings. He naturally provided me with a spoon to go with my pasta dish. However, while others also order pasta, he only laid forks next to their plates. This begs the question: to spoon or not to spoon one's pasta?

As it turns out, he singled me out as the American, who must have learned to eat pasta with a fork and spoon. I personally never used a spoon to eat pasta, and had mistakenly viewed myself as uncouth for doing so. When I was younger, I slurped, and as I got older, I just bit off the hanging parts that did not easily twirl around my fork.

In most of Italy though, it is considered low class to eat pasta with a spoon, and is only acceptable for children. Rarely would an Italian ask for a spoon, especially at a fine dining establishment. Another un-Italian activity is drowning one's meal with parmesan cheese. Similar to dashing a lot of salt on one's dish without tasting it first, a lot of cheese takes away the true flavor of the dish.

As I spent the last leg of my Italian journey with my friend's Italian in-laws, it also occurred to me that they eat their pasta before their salad, rather than the other way around as is the case in the US. Antipasti is usually served first with dishes like prosciutto and melon while the family gathers around the kitchen as the chef and sous-chefs are preparing the primi (first) and secondi (second) dishes. A small bowl of pasta is usually served as the first course with salad and/or meat dishes as the second.

On the last day before my flight, the family made chicken cutlets for the second dish for lunch. I soon learned that chicken (and veal) parmigiana is not Italian. While eggplant parmigiana exists, the meat variety is purely an American fabrication. Other dishes that are not authentic Italian are pepperoni pizza and spaghetti & meatballs, which are usually served separately. In fact, 'peperoni' means peppers. The only salad dressing available in Italy is olive oil and vinegar.

There must be some secret formula to how the Italians dine, as I felt that with all the pasta, risotto, pizza and cheese, I developed a 'pasta pancha'; yet, it would seem as if the weight distributed itself differently as my weight seemed to be the same before and after all the gastro culinary delights of Italy.

squatter's rights

My friends' parents split their time between Rome and Long Island now that they are retired. The father inherited an abandoned apartment in Rome that took years for the government to determine and certify the rightful heir. After putting investing in renovating the place, it is a wonderful place for them as it is conveniently located in the center of Rome within steps of Vatican City.

The apartment was in such disrepair that they had to practically gut everything and move walls and the basic layout. Squatters had used old furniture to burn on the floors of the apartment for heat. It was difficult to imagine what the place looked like prior to their renovation as its high ceilings and vintage shutters made it seem as if the apartment had such character all along.

As I traversed throughout Italy from the South to the North, I was amazed to see so many obviously abandoned homes. I have always loved houses with great bones and character, which explains why I purchased my homes in Houston and San Francisco. While I like certain modern amenities such as upgraded kitchens and bathrooms, it is rare to find high ceilings and the quality wood and materials used in the old days that withstand Mother Nature like earthquakes and hurricanes.

From the outside, I am so curious as to what resides inside these old walls as the external walls has such character that only old European homes have. Similar to California though, Italy has very liberal laws for squatters and renters. In addition, rental income is taxed at 50%. In San Francisco, many landlords may rent but do not invest in upgrade or maintenance of their properties as doing so would also increase property value and the related property taxes that would not be covered by the rental income despite the steep rental fees.

Such policies keep these properties abandoned throughout Italy as owners age and/or move but keep the property in the family rather than renovate to sell. After time, it also becomes fuzzy as to who is the true landowner as was the case with my friends' father.

As I spent more time with my friend during this trip than the entire period over the last 20+ years that I have known him, it occurred to me that like houses, we also require frequent upkeep and maintenance. While he blamed and complained about others and their effect on his confidence, the reality is that he has abandoned himself. He allowed squatters into his home. 

He justifies his negativity by complaining about people criticizing him rather than supporting and providing him advice. While I constantly had to reiterate to him that some of his friends (and family) stopped trying because he would get defensive at any advice they gave, he would try to say the words that someone (I) would want to hear rather than how he actually processed things by continuously noting that he agreed with my observations and was listening and trying to process my advice, but when asked by my 'baby sis' on his life at an attempt to get to know him, his quickly blamed me for all his problems and failures, which he later clarified upon her prompting that he should not care what others think, that everyone says the same thing about him.

At times it seems as if his reality is based on an entirely alternative universe. He oftentimes gets distracted with his phone and walks away social interactions under the guise of business. As we went to his favorite bar one night, he left us for hours as he kept himself busy playing behind the bar. The next day he comments on how it was such a great night hanging out with all my friends and the new friends we made. It left me scratching my head as everyone kept asking where he went all night.

So it came as no surprise when two men who just met him for a few hours at dinner, commented on separate occasions how he comes off as if he is hiding something. One man noted how my friend is either bored or somewhere else in his mind when the man was talking to him as his eyes were vacant to the point that it made the man uncomfortable. The other man also felt as if my friend was hiding something and not trustworthy for the man to invest significant time with him.

While he had other 'friends' coming to visit him while we were in Valdobbiadene, there were many times where I found myself entertaining his friends while he would disappear, again under the guise of business, when I knew otherwise. His alternate universe also had him believing that all his friends were having sex with all his exes as well. Although it should not have surprised me, I was amazed when he told my friends that it was because of him that one of his friends was interested in me in reclaiming the cunt (part 8), when the reality is that it was despite him.

After spending weeks trying to help a 'friend,' it occurred to me that like (wo)man in the mirror, trying to help an owner renovate an abandoned house, when the owner has chosen to abandon it himself and allow squatters to trample all over it, was a complete waste of my time and energy.

* * * * *

One of the bars in town center of Valdobbiadene is Bar Caffè Roma which probably also has the best view of the piazza and people watching festivities. I was shocked to find their restroom taking me into a time warp and for a split second, I was confused as to whether I was back in Southeast Asia. Europe, including Italy, is considered a Western and modern world. It made me wonder how much of Europe, with its old buildings, have not been upgraded and still have squat toilets in its establishments. I ended up walking out as there were no hooks or shelves to keep my personal belongings from sitting on the tiled floor. Truth be told, although it was relatively clean (compared to the ones I have experienced in Southeast Asia) (farmer's tan), I was looking for an excuse to bail as with the prosecco in my belly, it was more likely that I would have tipped over or fallen in. 😳

pimping me out

The French are generally known for being more sexually liberated (lost 'n found), especially in comparison to Americans (reclaiming the cunt (part 3)). However, it would seem as if the Italians may be more open in nudity, sexuality and variations of relationships. In the Amalfi Coast, Gennaro (with new templates...the party continues) disclosed that he never felt the need to have a girlfriend until his mid-30s, when he felt the responsibility as the only son to procreate in order to continue the family lineage. It would seem as if he was not the only one with that mindset.

In their search for happiness, some have even been able to balance family time and individual time (family ties). Although the friend from reclaiming the cunt (part 8) had stated that if he were me, he would not have been so open about my personal life - again his projection of his insecurities and fears of judgment, it did not seem to phase any of the Italians that took part in any of those discussions. In some ways, there was still the typical 'sexist' mindset when some men are practically being touchy and flirty with other women in front of their wives. Yet, in other ways, it was refreshing to not have the feel of 'creepy eyes' boring into you from the slight suggestion of cleavage or skin.

After a few attempts to spend quality time alone, a close family friend who was following on his motorcycle did not continue his way home but rather stopped at the end of the driveway. After my friend's husband went to check on him, his brother then joined in the male huddle after a few minutes. I was not really surprised when they came back in the car and declared that they basically 'pimped me out' in frustration of my perceived cluelessness. The entire exchange was comical as it seemed so archaic yet transparent.

With mild hopes of some sympathy from Luci (thelma & louise (part 2)), I was amused at her reaction after informing her that her sons were pimping me out. In typical Luci fashion, she declared that if I did not 'scopato' (what's in a name?) the family friend, she would. Then, she mused and pimped me out to her single son. Without pause, she postulated that he must be homosexual as like his father, whom she disclosed only wants to do it 3-4 times a week (it was not clear to me if she meant it as the past or present as they are in their 70s), he does not seem to want sex as much. Of course, she had us in tears of laughter.

thelma & louise (part 2)

The matriarch (Luci) of my host family in Meolo is one of eight, of which three are women. Gina, who is the oldest, has two children, whom seem to overpower their spouses. While attending a birthday party for Gina's husband and her son-in-law, her children were energy suckers, overtaking others in their braggadocios, while their spouses mostly remained silent. During the dinner, Gina oftentimes would comment on how the meat or dishes were dry or cold because of our tardiness in arrival.

Luci (middle) and Paola (youngest) are unlike the traditional and passive-aggressive Gina. Even with a relative stranger (me) in their midst, both were unabashed as they spent quality time together sunbathing in their underwear. Both had no qualms as their family members would touch their breasts and jokingly comment about sex and other perceived taboo topics.

As her youngest son noted, what you see is what you get with Luci. She is brazenly honest but has a good heart. She had a few miscarriages before her firstborn, and while a part of her always wanted a daughter, she has opened her heart to her daughter-in-law and even me during the few days I spent with her. It was with wistfulness, and not bitterness, when she relayed her childbearing stories including the names of her sons (and their related female versions with hopes of the child being a girl). In a case of opposites attracting or the ying to her yang, Franco, her husband, is a calm and patient man.

Her motto is to never leave home without either lipstick or heels on. In the case of nature vs. nurture (family ties), her sons have clearly inherited her frivolity in life. After checking out my chipped 3-week manicure, she quickly brought out nail polish remover and hot pink nail polish. After I jokingly asked if she was grooming me to pimp me out to a family friend (pimping me out), she quickly brushed it off and noted that a man is irrelevant, and it is always important to look good for one's self. She patiently sat next to me and supervised my manicure, correcting missed spots or rubbing off polish that got on my skin. As she showed my newly manicured nails to her sons, one of them jocularly noted how it looked like a puttana. Naturally, Luci took it as a compliment and a sign of her youth.

Had I not been told, I would have thought Luci was in her 50s rather than her 70s with her energy, zest for life and openness and intelligence. She was a woman with no judgments and kind heart. As I told many, including one of Gina's children who was a bit shocked as Luci is known as the crazy old woman, I would love to be Luci when I grow older. Hopefully, I resemble much of her already.

culo up

Since a spontaneous yet fateful motorcycle tour around Bangkok, I have always loved motorcycles. The irony though is although it is on my bucket list to own one, I have not quite learned how to ride one, which would require quite a bit of customization given my size.

In some countries, it is fairly common to own a scooter, motorbike or motorcycle, yet I have found that there is some common personality trait that would draw someone to owning certain types of motorcycles, and perhaps that is the trait that appeals to my adventurous side (face of the girl (part 1)).

So when offered a trip to Caorle to see the Adriatic Sea on the last weekend of summer on motorcycles to avoid the traffic, given the crowds, I was more than game. My motorcycle host though was coming from his family's country estate in the mountains, and while he owned a few motorcycles, his options were limited to what he had stored at the country house.

My friend dubs it the 'culo (ass) up' bike. It is designed as a motorcycle for racing, and not very practical for passengers although it has an option to attach a passenger seat. Given its design, the passenger is sitting higher up than the rider, which results in a very uncomfortable position that probably works for shorter rather than longer rides. With the ride being approximately 40 minutes each way, my body was definitely sore for days. Luckily, my companions offered to provide massages, including one whom I found out had studied to be a professional masseuse in his career explorations.

Caorle, known as Little Venice, is a beautiful little beach town with colorful buildings and history. The Sanctuary of the Madonna dell'angelo had its own claim to a miracle in 1727 when the entire town was flooded while the church on the sea was left unscathed. It even has its very own leaning tower, one of the few circular bell towers in Italy.

The Adriatic Sea is shallow in general, with average depth of 173 meters. However, most of the northern part of the sea is less than 100 meters, which was amazing to see and great for families with small children. It was as if everyone is walking on water for as far as the eyes could see. With shallow water comes warm water temperatures even for Northern Italy.

The fellows' idea to take motorcycles rather than a car was a great idea given the immense traffic at the end of the evening as families were taking advantage of the last days of summer. While it was great to be able to swerve in and out of traffic between the cars on the way home, I did miss the ability to hit high speeds on a racing motorcycle. My host though was kind enough to oblige when he could with a few pop-a-wheelies and slowing to a crawl in order to hit speeds of 160km/hr, even if for a short stint. Though sore and tired, we ended the day with great laughs over pizza roulette.

jumping through hoops

Since marijuana has become legal for all adults to use in California, the quality has significantly increased, commensurate with the prices of course, as the government has significantly taxed the distribution of such. However, I was surprised to see how common the use of it was even with Americans traveling from the East Coast, where it is not yet legal although the NYC mayor recently instructed the police to stop making arrests for marijuana usage.

Vaping has become more common and has made it a bit more challenging to determine whether someone is vaping tobacco or other products. Flavored cartridges with different strains have also added to the popularity. While in Rome, a taxi driver coyly asked us after realizing that we were Americans, if we had a spare charger for his vape that he could purchase. It could not be purchased in Italy and he had gone for months without being able to use his vape. Luckily, one of my travel companions had the same type and had a spare charger to give him. As she also knew she did not want to risk bringing an extra filler back into the states, he also got the lucky bonus of that as well.

Italy has gone back and forth over the last few decades in regards to legalizing marijuana. The Vatican is on its soil yet it also struggles with the Italian mafia and the questionable quality that may be consumed by its citizens who have obtained such products from these sources. Over the years, marijuana use has gone from illegal to decriminalized.

It was interesting to find out though how many people grew it for their own personal use, taking advantage of a loophole. Due to the obvious smells from growing a cannabis plant indoors, especially in apartment buildings in the North where it is not as warm throughout the year, Italians have gotten creative in their green thumb adventures. Technically, it is illegal to sell marijuana for personal use other than medicinal purposes, but it is not illegal to sell or purchase the seeds or to consume given the decriminalization efforts.

One man told me how he would plant the seeds annually in the countryside on others' properties and periodically check on his plants. He was happy to even provide his recommendations of the best varietal and hybrid seeds. Another laughingly shared how his friend tried to hide the obvious odor from neighbors in his apartment building. One pharmacist, who avoids using synthetic drugs himself, also is a source for his close friends as he is known for also being a cannabis horticulturist.

self service

Up in the hills of Valdobbiadene is an old stone house, nestled in the middle of a vineyard, that serves as an osteria (place that serves wine and simple food). However, other than basics like ingredients and tools for making your own coffee and simple outdoor furniture, there is no person managing or working at the osteria.

Parking at Osteria senz'Oste is ad hoc between the vines. My friend (crushing grapes), who has made annual excursions to Valdobbia-dene for harvesting took us there simply for the amazing views. However, he has always missed the signs leading to the prosecco vending machines. While he knew they existed, as one is located in the vineyards near the parking area, which doubles as parking for a wine tasting room, not affiliated with the osteria, he never loitered long enough to realize that people brought and/or bought items for a beautiful day in the sun and vineyards for a long and lazy aperitivo.

Following the signs takes one through paths up the hill, meandering through the vineyards until one gets to the top of the hill where there are larger vending machines to purchase bottles of different types of prosecco. Another vending machine provides water bottles and simple food that usually is provided with aperitivo. Plastic cups hang from the sides of the vending machines.

While there are picnic tables and benches at the top of the hill near the vending machines, the more intimate setting is below next to the vineyards at the side of the hill with pergolas covered with trailing vines and overhanging bunches of grapes.

We ended up spending an entire afternoon, sharing over seven bottles of prosecco between five people enjoying the company and beautiful atmosphere. We made a number of new friends with many groups sharing snacks, desserts and other bottles of wine, some of which were in unmarked bottles brought from home (moonshine). With overlapping languages with not all speaking any particular language, it became easier to understand each other being under the influence.

After harvesting that day from her family's vineyards, a woman who manages the inventory in the vending machines stopped by to check the stock, and coordinate with my friend on harvesting with her family the rest of the week. In her curiosity on how such a hodgepodge of different people had congregated together, she soon discovered that we represented U.S. (New York, Connecticut, Texas, and California), Vietnam, Japan, France, Switzerland and Italy (Meolo and Venice), with many just meeting each other that day. While some had left a bit earlier, she felt it was worthy of a Facebook post on the osteria's page. These moments with locals and new friends are some of the most amazing  and cherished memories from my travels.

* * * * *

In the land of love, vending machines with various prophylactic sheaths are visible sporadically near town centers. They are even installed in schools in Rome. Safe sex is available 24/7 and most likely attributes to one of the lowest birth rates in Europe. The machines offer many options for every fancy.

Perhaps I am used to the American men who make any excuse to not use protection as it impacts their sensitivity, it was great that Italian men seemed always prepared, even if it was to ask friends for any spares. Rather than take the additional risk of potential breakage with ultra-thins on the market today, I also noticed that there was a tendency to use the thicker latex options.

In some cases, perhaps it was to prolong the experience with his partner. For others, it does cause some challenge in climaxing in the usual way, and other methods are used to finish. One man even joked that it is great for protection from any residual feces during anal. As Monty Python croons 'always look on the bright side of life'.

what's in a name?

Although most young people in Italy have taken more than 10 years of English as a second language course, many do not have the luxury of putting it into practice, so while many may understand parts of what I say, they tend to not feel confident to speak it. However, sometimes we take words for granted and while foreigners try to learn the meaning of words, oftentimes, there is no rhyme or reason to the grammatical rules or the etymology of the English language. Why is 'i before e except after c'?

Over dinner last night, an Italian man had asked me to confirm location of bridges. He had gotten Brooklyn Bridge confused with the Golden Gate Bridge. He grew up loving Brooklyn gum; however, I had never heard of that brand before. Brooklyn Gum is made in Lainate, Italy; was the first chewing gum produced in Italy in the mid-1950s; and is only sold in Italy. It comes in two flavors: spearmint and chlorophyll. Despite the flavor, chlorophyll does not taste green, if green were to have a taste. His favorite was spearmint so of course, I had to give it a taste test, which turned out to be like any other Wrigley spearmint gum. While I did find it on Amazon, it comes with the cost of importing it from Italy.

His girlfriend, on the other hand, asked why fellatio is called 'blowjob', when it generally involves sucking. While the origin of the slang is up for debate ranging from slang for prostitute as 'blowsy' to the climatic result of an orgasm being referred to as 'blow', it would seem to be a bit ironic to call it such. Some of the Italians with bellies that night started to joke that they got a lot of 'blowjobs' which explained the size of their gut sticking out while drawing attention to the one Italian-American who was on the slimmer side and whom therefore, did not benefit from blowjobs based on that logic. The reality hitting a bit close to home, causing a bit of unwanted tension carrying over from reclaiming the cunt (part 8).

On the flip side, Italians also have slang that may not be so intuitive. Limone, which is the word for lemon, is also slang for French kissing (kissing with tongue). The verb version is limonare. Similar to blowjob, there is a bit of debate on its origin, ranging from the kitchen utensil used to squeeze lemons resembling a tongue to fruit vendors in Lombardia selling lemons in pairs.

Scopare could either mean to sweep or to fuck. While usually a tree is masculine ('o' ending) and its fruit is feminine ('a' ending) (e.g., melo for apple tree and mela for apple), fico represents both the fig tree and its fruit, as fica is slang for cunt (also spelt figa, with sfiga meaning bad luck). Quite the tongue twister, making it easy to get one's tongue tied.

thelma & louise (part 1)

Over the weekend, I met Thelma, a hybrid of the Siberian Husky breed. Her mistress is named Louise, although her mistress' boyfriend was in charge of her for that weekend. She appeared gentle as she went from bar to bar, oftentimes just planting herself in the middle of the crowd and establishing herself as the center of attention. She seemed to ignore other dogs, especially the loud ones much smaller than her, and minded her own business, or rather having a mind of her own.

The next day, Paola and Valentina drove four hours to join us in Valdobbiadene. The two met more than 15 years before, and Paola is older than Valentina's mother. Yet, proving that soulmates come in all shapes, sizes and age, the two ladies have traveled together for years and have the most amazing stories of crashing private parties and meeting the rich and famous as if they belonged. One is a Virgo Sun and Libra Ascending while the other is a Libra Sun with Virgo Ascending. Paola is a designer and is the epitome of the Italian fashionista while Valentina is a singer who galavants and entertains throughout Europe.

Both document their lives via Instagram. Yet unlike others who create their lives via social media, they truly have a natural zest for life while living in the moment and following their dreams, engaging with anyone and everyone around them. They were both more about giving than receiving, including creating memorable moments for their loved ones. Their energy is contagious and even in the simplicity of wardrobe changes and taking pictures with them, it was more about having fun rather than looking for perfection.

for whom the bell tolls

In trying to find some personal works of a new friend (reclaiming the cunt (part 8)) that he had noted was online, I chanced upon his rendition of the crash of TWA 843 when he was 11.  Like UA 93, its flight plan was from NYC to San Francisco. On the eve of 9/11, it seemed too similar to be completely coincidental, especially after he told me how he had to change his flight for a business trip to Hong Kong from Sunday to Tuesday. It then hit me that Tuesday would be 9/11. The terrorism that plagued the Twin Towers in 2001 was also on a Tuesday.

In May, I decided that it was finally time to visit Freedom Tower and the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. For years I had avoided the area every time I visited NYC but after full circle (part 7), I felt mentally ready. Had I not been there with some foreign friends, I probably would have spent a longer time to process everything, but it was for the best that I did not as it was time to move forward from the moment. 

While there was much controversy during the last decade on the entire rebuilding and memorial that caused it to be delayed, I think they did as best as they could to make it a touching and respectful tribute to the lives lost. This includes putting a white rose next to a victim's name on his/her birthday, as well as a wall with a quote from Virgil that separates the museum from the vault where they have placed the remains of nearly 8,000 unidentified human remains. The quote is not without controversy itself as some questioned it in the context of its original intent vs. the meaning that the museum's creators wanted to relay. In its original context, it would apply more to the terrorists than the victims. 

At the time, one of the most haunting visions for me was a photo of an unknown person who jumped from the building to escape the burning heat of the fire from the planes. Many of my coworkers who were at the office that day have nightmares from seeing people dropping from the sky in person. It was not a surprise to see that there was an alcove with a video tribute to these bold men and women who made such a difficult decision in how to die, especially since it is said that burning to death is the most painful way to die. It was the only place in the museum that had a big box of tissues at the end with a trashcan full of used tissues.

To think that there are children, including those who are a year away from adulthood, who were not  even alive then. However, the death toll and aftermath of the event continues. Experts estimate that by the end of this year, there will be more deaths from the health issues of the first responders and those who lived near Ground Zero than there were from the initial terror act itself. One of my close friends has been approved to receive 9/11 funds for health issues. While she was on her honeymoon in Italy on 9/11, she and her husband lived across the street from the Twin Towers.

While they were frustrated that they could not access their apartment for months, they have now regretted moving back as soon as the government cleared people to do so. They are convinced that they lost their first child because of the toxins in the air. Doctors could not pinpoint why they had to make a very difficult decision to terminate the pregnancy; however, the autopsy, while inconclusive, showed evidence of holes in lungs and other deformities that confirmed the necessity to do so.

Now, she is left with respiratory, sinus and joint problems that has her going to numerous specialists without an end in sight. The museum had a section at the end dedicated to the first responders and the voluminous health issues plaguing the first responders afterwards. Perhaps because it is so close to home for me and impacting a love one so significantly, I felt that the tribute was insufficient. The creators of the museum could take a page out of the museum in Hiroshima (boom of the 'shrooms) dedicated to the victims of the atomic bombs in its coverage of the continuing effects of such human tragedy.

reclaiming the cunt (part 8)

Sometimes when I travel, I will turn on Tinder and/or OKCupid to pass time and for 'shits & giggles'. I have connected with a few on these apps during their or my travels with whom I continue to stay in touch. However, my social calendar in Italy seems to have kept itself full either with some of my travel companions (with new templates...the party continues) or with locals and new friends that I have met so the apps became moot.

In search for my bliss, my intention is connections with authentic people and letting relationships grow organically, whether for a short or long period in our lives. While a number of my travel companions have pushed to go to places and events in hopes of meeting attractive locals, they seem to lack the realization that the challenges that they may encounter at 'home' in the dating arena have been brought with them to another country. It seems easy to point the finger at others rather than challenging and working through our behaviors and old templates.

They confidently fantasized about some relationship that did not exist, even referring to such persons as their local boyfriend or girlfriend back at the villa. Yet, when the opportunities presented themselves, old templates kicked in. My connecting with new people and exchanging contact information became fodder for everyone as well with their pushing and projecting behaviors that they have fear of doing themselves onto me. In some ways, people tend to live vicariously through me for some reason. More than once, I was told that 'one of us better get laid tonight', when in reality the other person only fantasized about flirting with their 'crush'.

However, the other reality is that they did not mean that person to be me, especially since most of the time, they are busy projecting their behaviors onto me that they do not realize that I treat people with the same level of respect and engagement rather than specifically targeting any particular person to prioritize. Somehow this caused confusion and surprise on their parts when from their perspective, 'things seemed to just be easy for me' rather than it being about 'glass half full, glass half empty' and challenging their own approaches in life.

Negative and judgmental thoughts and comments were released during alcohol induced states with one situation being a group situation where one woman blamed me specifically for her not having sex for many years in the same breath that she stated she doesn't believe in 'meaningless sex'. Unbeknownst to me, prior comments had been made in such a way that two of her close friends became upset with her and another woman and defended me. Both of those close friends also took me aside to apologize for everyone's behaviors, and later after they had sober discussions with each other, the woman did reach out to me to apologize.

Perhaps that experience or perhaps it was a friendship of many years that made me pause in another 'carpe diem' situation when a friend 'sulked' and in his alcohol induced state made what he thought were 'supportive' statements but was laced with bitterness, judgment and negativity.  Like the close friends of the woman who called her out on her negative behavior, I did the same with him.

However, he mistakenly viewed my decision as caring about judgmental people as he projected his life decisions of living his life based on fear of judgment onto me. As I had told the others who apologized to me and was afraid I felt hurt by the comments, I told him that I no longer allow judgmental people to phase me. I understand their hurt and projections. I also know me and am happy and proud of who I am, as well as my actions. I address such negativity not from a place of hurt but from a place of hopefully helping others to grow and love themselves.

For a brief moment the next day, I did wonder if my decision had taken me down a path of not getting to have a more intimate connection with someone that intrigued me as his reservedness at a group lunch gave me pause. As we were driving away to head back to the vineyards though and watching him turn around and wave, I smiled as I realized that the connection and intrigue I felt the night before was that in many ways, I see me in him. My behavior that cause confusion and surprise from others was that same reserve he had earlier, in that we both like to keep our intimate moments private, even if that is in getting to know someone from a place of vulnerability.

syzygy

I have always believed in magic and miracles (or said a different way, that we are not alone, left with coincidences in life). As I have opened my heart and mind to such possibilities, I have started to notice more of these serendipitous moments in my life as alignment of the sun, stars and moon.

Padova is the second largest college town in  Italy with a number of different universities represented. Since classes do not resume until October, it was mostly populated with local residents. Galileo Galilei taught math here for 18 years. His astronomical observatory was housed at La Specola di Padova. Padova is also where the famous Italian aperol spritz, an aperitif cocktail, originated.

The town center is mostly closed off to autos. Most people travel by bicycles, many are fairly vintage as well since bicycles are subject to the highest thefts in the city so residents have learned to not bother to own the more expensive versions. Although I am used to see bicycles in San Francisco as a mode of transportation to and from work for many of the software engineers, it was adorable to see the locals go bar hopping via bicycles. Many had baskets and the little bells that reminded me of childhood.

From the beginning of booking the trip (with new templates...the party continues) with a one-way ticket as a fulfillment of stamp collection, I made no plans and decided to follow the wind wherever it may blow. There were so many moments throughout my travels in Italy where I felt that this is exactly where I need to be at this moment in time.

In its simplicity, the biggest 'aha' moment for me that left me with a huge grin and a bounce in my step was in taking a picture of a typical Italian casa in a cute courtyard in Padova. As I put the camera up to my face to snap the photo, I noticed a couple and a bicyclist approaching the left of the screen. They slowed down as they saw me with the camera, and without any cues, the bicyclist circled the courtyard and left the way he came, as if that was always his intent to come and circle the courtyard, while the couple waited for his departure before they leaned in for a romantic kiss and loving embrace. Both represented quintessential Italy. For me, they were where they needed to be at the exact moment in time.

family ties

Many psychologists believe birth order have profound effects on one's personality. It is part of the age-old question of nature vs. nurture. Being one of three, I sometimes understand how parents raise children differently based on birth order and gender. While I had heard about the three men from a mutual friend, I disagree with his assessment of the Calegaro brothers after spending individual time with them.

The older brother, who was supposed to be groomed to take over the family business, was a loner of sorts. Hair in a ponytail, traveling the city center via bicycle, he was rumored to be a Peter Pan. However, he seemed to me to be very much like the burners I have met lately, even having been many years before during one of the original Burning Man before it became so commercialized. He has tried many different types of drugs including growing his own marijuana in the countryside.

He did not want to be a part of the family business, much preferring the digital software world where he could work alone and in a more flexible schedule. In his rebellion, the responsibility then fell to the second-born, who had to forgo university to go straight into the business. My understanding of the Italian elite comprise of a combination of old money and/or education. While the family business has been doing well since 1921, it is considered more new money, and his lack of university seems to be a deterrent in being part of the elite social circles of Italy although the family is well-known in their home town.

For a brief period of time, the youngest was able to explore his passions of living abroad, chasing risks and writing as his creative outlet (for whom the bell tolls). Yet he was called back to the family business. Having published a few books, he also works as a freelance editor and has a side business training dogs. 

In a case for nature, the oldest and youngest brothers have more of their mother's disposition while the middle child is more like their father. The parents, while traveling and dining together, have chosen to live apart to maintain their relationship with the extroverted and social father living in the city center and the introverted mother tending to her countryside garden in a big house on a hill away from the hubbub of city life.

While the oldest is known as the 'failure' in the family, he is the one to break free to follow his authentic self. While our mutual friend felt sorry for the middle child who could not go to university which the friend claims is what is holding the middle brother from being part of the social elite, I think the friend is just projecting his need to be successful as defined by money and the social ladder. In their own ways, each brother is trapped in either the family obligation and/or the stigma of not aligning with the family expectation, when nature and nurture are at odds and cause conflicts in one's self, finding their own individual escape in drugs, running or writing.

tear down the walls

With Trump looking to build walls to exclude foreigners under the guise of protecting American jobs from undocumented workers, Italy has been evolving in the last few years to improve labor laws to protect low-skilled laborers and immigrants and create more transparency in doing so.

Harvesting, especially in the wine industry, does not require tremendous skill. Clippers and buckets are really the necessities. A few years ago, the local farmers' union created an initiative called 'Harvest of Solidarity' to promote matching the supply and demand of local seasonal laborers, mostly young although not limited to such and unemployed. It has also changed the local perception of this type of work as well, which is an interesting outcome given the irony of some Americans arguing that immigrants are stealing jobs that the Americans did not want.

During harvest, landowners are required to document their workers, including family members and neighbors (crushing grapes). This is to create transparency as well as protect everyone from cheap laborers (€1.5 an hour) working 12-15 hours per day. Periodically, planes fly by to snap pictures, counting the laborers on each vineyard to compare to the document provided by the landowners. Fines are up to €3k per infraction, enough to provide a deterrent in the local market.

crushing grapes

Well almost.

I was never a fanatic for I Love Lucy, but the episode where she and her best friend stomped on grapes to make wine seems to have stuck with me as one of those cool experiences. I finally decided to join my friend who owns a prosecco label to harvest season in Valdobbiadene, the finest prosecco region in Italy.

While they no longer crush grapes by stomping on them, they also generally harvest with machines. However, the beauty of Valdobbiadene is that the vineyards are on the mountain side, too steep for machinery. Every harvest is entirely done by hand. In many cases, the vineyards are family owned, and as each section of land is so diverse in its topography (e.g., soil, limestone, rainfall, sunlight), harvest even within the same vineyard is usually done when an agronomist or viticulturist determines  that various vines have the appropriate sugar content, so are done in batches.

My first experiencing harvesting with the top agronomist in Valdobbiadene and his family was definitely an unforgettable experience. The forecast called for rain, which would have made the steep hills challenging as well as the battle to beat the rain, in fears of it diluting the fruit content. With waterproof booties, long socks, and clippers in tow, we were prepared for what nature had in store for us. However, she graced us with a beautiful sunny day with crisp air and the magnificent aroma of grapes and slight fermentation. 

Although his vineyard is less than an acre, this is his passion, and harvest is family time for him, ranging at least three generations. Every vine is passed over at least by two sets of eyes with neighbors helping each other. Lunch was prepared by the matriarchy of the clan, and served on a picnic table nestled in the vineyards with all the fineries of Italian culinary delights of prosciutto, cheese, pasta, olives, peppers, prosecco, torte, and caffé perfecto (coffee with homemade grappa).

While I did not understand everything that was said, I shared in the laughs and family frivolity such as when the parents pointed out the massive hickey that the older son had on his neck, resulting in his face turning beet red. While other vignerons were selling their best harvest in many years to vintners, Giovanni chose to keep his batch to make his own blend of bubbles for personal use.

They did offer the silly American an opportunity to fulfill my dream of crushing grapes by throwing some poorer quality grapes into a bowl so that I could stick a foot on it but the dream was just in living out the day with a beautiful and gracious family rather than some silly stomping of grapes.