I am sure there are only a few funnier things in this world then 2 Americans watching dubbed over Italian shows. Nearly every show that plays on the 10 channels that we have is an American show that has horribly dubbed Italian voices. Action scenes feel as exciting as a Sunday night slow jam radio host smooth talking the women. My roommate hates silence during any part of his day, so his remedy is to instantly put the TV on and sit at the table and watch. He might secretly know Italian but there are hints that he does not. First, the only thing he will say in Italian is hello and bye. Lucky for him it is the same word. The second hint is quite a bit funnier cause I too take part in this activity. If we both are watching a show, for example, doctor who. Then during the whole show we are blurting out guesses for what we think is going on. "that is his clone, and they want to eat pie with their feet", "no Kurt don't be silly, its corn on the cob." At the moment we are gazing upon a quite interesting reality trivia show. This is even more entertaining because we guess the question being asked then interpret the answers to make us look smarter. "I think it says, this thing floats on water", "hmmm...choose between brick, sand, Salem witches, and boats... Ima say boats! They chose brick?" We are pretty clever.
The only tv that made sense was when Michael took Kurt and I to the pub to watch Sardinia play another Italian team in soccer. This was important because 1. Sardinia doesn't even consider itself apart of Italy. They are the Puerto Rico of the US. 2. Their best player got traded less then a week ago to the team they just played. Traitor. The bar was filled with men chanting and yelling and spilling beer. Everyone became a victim of the excitement. At one point when calgiari, Sardinia's team name, scored, an old man came over to me held my cheeks in his hands, started shaking me like I was a piggy bank and he needed that last penny. Meanwhile saying something and spitting little spittles of beer on my brow. I have officially been welcomed at an unofficial Sardinian.
Moral of the story, if you can't handle the heat, get outta the kitchen and go to KFC
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Let It Burn...
There is one thing world wide that posses me off. When I tell someone where I am from the conversation goes a little something like this.
A-hole: where are you from
Brian: Arizona.
A: it is pretty hot there huh
B: ohh yea, it gets to 115 or 45 during summers.
A: ohh but that's a dry heat huh? it's not a humid heat at least
It is at this point where I really want to go crazy on the person. Are you telling me that humid heat where you breathe in a gallon of water every breathe is harder then dry heat breathing out a gallon of water? The only time someone loses more water is when they go to the little boys/girls room to relieve their stress. So mr./mrs. humidity Nazi, next time go hiking in the Arizona desert without water among the killer diamond backs, the flesh hungry cougars, and skittish but crazy eyed coyotes. See if you can survive 2 hours then tell me how easy dry heat is.
On a lighter note, everyday I smell like a barbecue. Our job consists of cutting limbs and burning them. With the wind playing a game of guess what direction I am gonna blow now, it is impossible to dodge the smoke. Luckily, Kurt is the pyromanic every ranch should have. His solution to most everything is fire. Big bush in our way, burn it. Lots of bugs out, burn em. Got an itch on your butt, where is the lighter. The only problem with this is when I have done a good 4 hours of pulling and cutting vines out of trees, he comes by and burns the tree down and claims the tree was asking him to do it. I either want his tree whisper ability, or some kinda forewarning of the path of his wrath. It is straight demoralizing having done so much work with scratches and blood everywhere for a lighter to do 5 minutes of work to erase all that was done.
Moral of the story, if you cNt run faster then the bear, turn around and fight it.
A-hole: where are you from
Brian: Arizona.
A: it is pretty hot there huh
B: ohh yea, it gets to 115 or 45 during summers.
A: ohh but that's a dry heat huh? it's not a humid heat at least
It is at this point where I really want to go crazy on the person. Are you telling me that humid heat where you breathe in a gallon of water every breathe is harder then dry heat breathing out a gallon of water? The only time someone loses more water is when they go to the little boys/girls room to relieve their stress. So mr./mrs. humidity Nazi, next time go hiking in the Arizona desert without water among the killer diamond backs, the flesh hungry cougars, and skittish but crazy eyed coyotes. See if you can survive 2 hours then tell me how easy dry heat is.
On a lighter note, everyday I smell like a barbecue. Our job consists of cutting limbs and burning them. With the wind playing a game of guess what direction I am gonna blow now, it is impossible to dodge the smoke. Luckily, Kurt is the pyromanic every ranch should have. His solution to most everything is fire. Big bush in our way, burn it. Lots of bugs out, burn em. Got an itch on your butt, where is the lighter. The only problem with this is when I have done a good 4 hours of pulling and cutting vines out of trees, he comes by and burns the tree down and claims the tree was asking him to do it. I either want his tree whisper ability, or some kinda forewarning of the path of his wrath. It is straight demoralizing having done so much work with scratches and blood everywhere for a lighter to do 5 minutes of work to erase all that was done.
Moral of the story, if you cNt run faster then the bear, turn around and fight it.
Friday, February 4, 2011
How Could You...
Obstacles are a large part of traveling. A bigger part is beating these obstacles. No it's not as intense as American gladiators, or real gladiators, but can be just as devastating. Traveling obstacles are slightly different then living in a foreign country obstacle. Let me take you through what I mean.
1. Local judgement. As I have mentioned before, I was being judges solely on my shoes and little else. I walked down a street is what I thought was a "fly" get up, when two Italian lovers where walking in front of me. Without looking at any other part of my body besides my feet, they started laughing uncontrollably. I don't take kindly to public pressure, but due to the fact I don't want to be the ignorant not well dressed American, I had to buy some shoes. Now I am just the ignorant American! Problem solved.
Auto correct. This isn't so much a travel problem as it is a posting blog problem. I have to work on my itouch, so as one of it's many features, it autocorrects words it thinks I misspell. It turns out I misspell quite a bit so it gives it's own interpretation to my blog. A feature I was not told of.
3. Speaking the language. I think that of course that is a kinda a barrier everyone knows, but no one really gets until they are there and wanna ask someone "yo foo, can you point me to the closest brothel?". Luckily for me, I am slowly learning Italian but yet do not know the term for brothel. Cant win em all.
Speaking the language part II. I list this twice cause it is difficult even when you know a few basic things by heart to go to someone your age to try to make a friend. At the moment I can say, good evening, how are you, I have spoon. I am not a friend psychologist or an architect, but I think bonds need to be built by more then a castle of spoons.
4. Clothes. When traveling, having the same clothes is no big deal because you move from one place to another without anyone noticing the frequency of recycled shirts. That all changes when you live out of your backpack for a few months in the same place. Luckily my savior is my jacket that I wear. By not revealing one if my 6 shirts, I will not have the feeling of judging eyes.
These are just a few of my trials and tribulations. If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them. I am relieved when I get one knowing I have at least 1 reader.
Moral of the story, tip your waiter 20%, if you don't they will find you.
Sweet dreams
1. Local judgement. As I have mentioned before, I was being judges solely on my shoes and little else. I walked down a street is what I thought was a "fly" get up, when two Italian lovers where walking in front of me. Without looking at any other part of my body besides my feet, they started laughing uncontrollably. I don't take kindly to public pressure, but due to the fact I don't want to be the ignorant not well dressed American, I had to buy some shoes. Now I am just the ignorant American! Problem solved.
Auto correct. This isn't so much a travel problem as it is a posting blog problem. I have to work on my itouch, so as one of it's many features, it autocorrects words it thinks I misspell. It turns out I misspell quite a bit so it gives it's own interpretation to my blog. A feature I was not told of.
3. Speaking the language. I think that of course that is a kinda a barrier everyone knows, but no one really gets until they are there and wanna ask someone "yo foo, can you point me to the closest brothel?". Luckily for me, I am slowly learning Italian but yet do not know the term for brothel. Cant win em all.
Speaking the language part II. I list this twice cause it is difficult even when you know a few basic things by heart to go to someone your age to try to make a friend. At the moment I can say, good evening, how are you, I have spoon. I am not a friend psychologist or an architect, but I think bonds need to be built by more then a castle of spoons.
4. Clothes. When traveling, having the same clothes is no big deal because you move from one place to another without anyone noticing the frequency of recycled shirts. That all changes when you live out of your backpack for a few months in the same place. Luckily my savior is my jacket that I wear. By not revealing one if my 6 shirts, I will not have the feeling of judging eyes.
These are just a few of my trials and tribulations. If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them. I am relieved when I get one knowing I have at least 1 reader.
Moral of the story, tip your waiter 20%, if you don't they will find you.
Sweet dreams
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Momma Mia.
What did I do to deserve this?
I am completely baffled at the great deal I get by working a few hours a day. Please tell me where the downside is here.
I am rooming with an American named Kurt that for a living pretty much does the help exchange. Interesting guy that is ex-army and full of plenty of stories(fantastic for people that don't like to talk much, me). Our place is a little 3 story apartment that is on a hill over looking the city and beach. There is actually a terrace that we hangout on for a couple hours each day to soak in the fierce beauty of the entire scene. I get my own room with a queen size bed and bathroom.
The father, Michael, picks us up in the morning around 8:45, takes us to his house for tea or coffee and we start work around 9:30. I find this hilarious. Never would I thought I would find people in this world that started later then I would want to. Ask my parents and they will concur that 5 a.m. was something I pissed and moaned about. "5 a.m.? But it will still be there at 9, why 5?" Sure an Arizona sun at 9 is equal to the 105 fever you get if you don't get enough cow bell(check SNL for reference if that flew past you). I digress(often). We work till 1:30 if it is not raining. If it rains, it is a day off. The Italians are related to the wicked witch of the west. Not a smart move to go to an island surrounded by water. The work is simple enough, prune trees, pile the branches, burn branches, repeat. Once in a while there will be an odd job such as pick blueberries for them to make thief own liquor. Lunch time. The kids are home from school and Silvia, the mother, is making something the contestants on top chef couldn't make. Her lunch and dinner would easily be a $25 meal. We eat with the entire family devour massive amounts of food. But according to them their food is not fattening. Hmmm... Pasta, bread, meat. Yeah your probably right. I am not gonna complain, I am just gonna keep on saying ancora(more in Italian).
After lunch we have a choice to work or go home. Most who know me know that going home early is the first choice, like the kinda sluty girl in high school being first choice to prom, you gotta hope. Well, moat the time we say keep working. It is so special to be apart of a family's life style. The fact that I am here is making their life a bit easier, and it feels great. They could work me all day and I would be perfectly fine with that. Michael drops us off to spend the rest of the day however we want until dinner at 8. Most of the time I like to take a little nap like the locals do, then walk around the town to get a feel. Old men sitting in groups of four yelling, gesturing, and staring at new faces as they walk past(me). After a few nights out on the town, I have a good feeling for the layout. Soon it will be discovery time for the little gems. Excitement.
The last part of the day ends with dinner cooked by master chef Silvia, as previously mentioned, with the family. The kids are pretty great. Orlando is 13 and knows a little bit of English so we can ask him questions and he can answer yes and no. It feels like a game of twenty questions. "are you hungry" no, "are you tired" no, "are you understanding the words coming out of my mouf?" yes. Nice I win. Nahima is a different animal. She knows 0 English, yet I feel a connection with her. It might be a superficial connection that is only bonded because we stick our tongues at each other, but I can tell she is a kindred spirit. I think she is my best chance at learning Italian. I asked her to teach me in Italian, or is said please poop jelly beans, either way she laughed and ran to play outside.
Moral of the story is this place is awesome like Michael Jacksons thriller video.
I am completely baffled at the great deal I get by working a few hours a day. Please tell me where the downside is here.
I am rooming with an American named Kurt that for a living pretty much does the help exchange. Interesting guy that is ex-army and full of plenty of stories(fantastic for people that don't like to talk much, me). Our place is a little 3 story apartment that is on a hill over looking the city and beach. There is actually a terrace that we hangout on for a couple hours each day to soak in the fierce beauty of the entire scene. I get my own room with a queen size bed and bathroom.
The father, Michael, picks us up in the morning around 8:45, takes us to his house for tea or coffee and we start work around 9:30. I find this hilarious. Never would I thought I would find people in this world that started later then I would want to. Ask my parents and they will concur that 5 a.m. was something I pissed and moaned about. "5 a.m.? But it will still be there at 9, why 5?" Sure an Arizona sun at 9 is equal to the 105 fever you get if you don't get enough cow bell(check SNL for reference if that flew past you). I digress(often). We work till 1:30 if it is not raining. If it rains, it is a day off. The Italians are related to the wicked witch of the west. Not a smart move to go to an island surrounded by water. The work is simple enough, prune trees, pile the branches, burn branches, repeat. Once in a while there will be an odd job such as pick blueberries for them to make thief own liquor. Lunch time. The kids are home from school and Silvia, the mother, is making something the contestants on top chef couldn't make. Her lunch and dinner would easily be a $25 meal. We eat with the entire family devour massive amounts of food. But according to them their food is not fattening. Hmmm... Pasta, bread, meat. Yeah your probably right. I am not gonna complain, I am just gonna keep on saying ancora(more in Italian).
After lunch we have a choice to work or go home. Most who know me know that going home early is the first choice, like the kinda sluty girl in high school being first choice to prom, you gotta hope. Well, moat the time we say keep working. It is so special to be apart of a family's life style. The fact that I am here is making their life a bit easier, and it feels great. They could work me all day and I would be perfectly fine with that. Michael drops us off to spend the rest of the day however we want until dinner at 8. Most of the time I like to take a little nap like the locals do, then walk around the town to get a feel. Old men sitting in groups of four yelling, gesturing, and staring at new faces as they walk past(me). After a few nights out on the town, I have a good feeling for the layout. Soon it will be discovery time for the little gems. Excitement.
The last part of the day ends with dinner cooked by master chef Silvia, as previously mentioned, with the family. The kids are pretty great. Orlando is 13 and knows a little bit of English so we can ask him questions and he can answer yes and no. It feels like a game of twenty questions. "are you hungry" no, "are you tired" no, "are you understanding the words coming out of my mouf?" yes. Nice I win. Nahima is a different animal. She knows 0 English, yet I feel a connection with her. It might be a superficial connection that is only bonded because we stick our tongues at each other, but I can tell she is a kindred spirit. I think she is my best chance at learning Italian. I asked her to teach me in Italian, or is said please poop jelly beans, either way she laughed and ran to play outside.
Moral of the story is this place is awesome like Michael Jacksons thriller video.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Ask And You Shall Recieve
On the island of Sardinia it turns out lepers and people carrying a traveling backpack snapping pictures carries the same stigma. Let's watch carefully, but don't get near them, you will loose a limb. I walked up to a couple who was unaware by my immediate proximity. As I spoke to ask for directions, the husband threw the wife between us and starting running. He knows he just has to be faster then the slowest person. I figured it was the shoes that made them act this way, but a it turns out tourist in the off season are not common place here.
I get to my bus and take seat. I was a bit tired due to the fact I hadn't actually had sleep for 36 hours. But the view I was getting from the bus was just too amazing. Ocean of one side, mountain scenery on the other. It was pretty unbeatable. If other scenic views picked a fight with this one, Sardinia's would TKO them. An hour later I arrived in the beautiful town of Bosa, Italy. Michael, my host, picked me up and off we went. He is a friendly German fellow with a wife, Silvia, and 2 children, Nihima 8 and Orlando 13. This is a very tight family that is so amazingly hospitable and wonderful, they will deceive thief own post. My ability to post is gonna be limited due to the fact that I do not have Internet readily available. I will do my best though.
I get to my bus and take seat. I was a bit tired due to the fact I hadn't actually had sleep for 36 hours. But the view I was getting from the bus was just too amazing. Ocean of one side, mountain scenery on the other. It was pretty unbeatable. If other scenic views picked a fight with this one, Sardinia's would TKO them. An hour later I arrived in the beautiful town of Bosa, Italy. Michael, my host, picked me up and off we went. He is a friendly German fellow with a wife, Silvia, and 2 children, Nihima 8 and Orlando 13. This is a very tight family that is so amazingly hospitable and wonderful, they will deceive thief own post. My ability to post is gonna be limited due to the fact that I do not have Internet readily available. I will do my best though.
Arrival
Today I arrived in the lovely city of Alghero. My bus at 2:30 arrived in the airport on time. The plane left right as it said it would. It had even landed half an hour earlier then we expected. Things are going pretty right. The only slip up that took place was trying to get a bus ticket to Bosa. The very nice Italian information desk man bamboozled me. I admit he got me good. He gave confusing directions on how I would get there and pointed at a little green box machine that gave out "tickets" to those who give it offerings from their wallet. I drain 8 euros into this machine due to the fact it says the bus to Bosa is 8 euros. I press the "give me my ticket foo" button and nothing happens. I can't say nothing happened, it said please feed me more money, I am hungry. No I will not green box eater. I head to the bamboozler and say "good sir, your machine happened to swallow in 8 bites 8 euros." And his reaction is "but of course, that machine is broken, it is beat to pay the bus driver". He turns and goes into his dark office. Bamboozled.
After that though it was smooth sailing. I walked outside and I couldn't believe it, I didn't need my coat anymore. 15 degrees Celsius(~60f) and sunny. A stark stark contrast to the below zero temperatures I was experience in Germany.
Taking the bus into town I was able to get a good feeling of how the nature and towns co-existed harmoniously. To compare, I would say it is half Roman, half Greek, half Jamaican. If my math adds up correctly, that is 150% beautiful.
The Italians though are gonna have to make up for what a couple of their youths had just done. In the middle of my writing I found myself hungry for something Italian. What's more Italian then a panini. I order, grazie, prego, 4 euros, on my way. As I walk out. Two youths not older then 16 look at me then feast their eyes upon my shoes. They didn't stop looking even as I walked right by them. I felt like the Italian shoe mob was trying to intimidate me. "you sure you wanna wear those shoes buddy" is what they said with their eyes. What fool, I am ready to play basketball at any second, are you? Is what I wanted to say, instead I sat down at my panini self-consciencely and decided to blast them on my blog behind their back. Take that tweens.
After that though it was smooth sailing. I walked outside and I couldn't believe it, I didn't need my coat anymore. 15 degrees Celsius(~60f) and sunny. A stark stark contrast to the below zero temperatures I was experience in Germany.
Taking the bus into town I was able to get a good feeling of how the nature and towns co-existed harmoniously. To compare, I would say it is half Roman, half Greek, half Jamaican. If my math adds up correctly, that is 150% beautiful.
The Italians though are gonna have to make up for what a couple of their youths had just done. In the middle of my writing I found myself hungry for something Italian. What's more Italian then a panini. I order, grazie, prego, 4 euros, on my way. As I walk out. Two youths not older then 16 look at me then feast their eyes upon my shoes. They didn't stop looking even as I walked right by them. I felt like the Italian shoe mob was trying to intimidate me. "you sure you wanna wear those shoes buddy" is what they said with their eyes. What fool, I am ready to play basketball at any second, are you? Is what I wanted to say, instead I sat down at my panini self-consciencely and decided to blast them on my blog behind their back. Take that tweens.
Soon Too Come...
Currently I am looking furiously around this small town for a place to steal free internet from without looking like a hodlum. I have written a few posts on the itouch that are ready to be put up, but with the lack of connectivity, they cannot be seen. Be patient, I am looking daily for my spot. I am in Sardinia and doing great.
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