Globalization and Charades

Two subjects to pontificate about today. Probably unrelated, but equally provide some thought provoking reflections on my part.

First, and obvious observation, I am a long way from home and home is a long way from me. I am bashfully surprised how much goes on in the world that I never bothered to know about or notice. To reside in Europe is to live in a much more global community. Just by geographical location, you pay more attention to a bigger part of the world… or at least I have. In Philadelphia the local news was my main source of information, and the weather was usually the main topic of discussion. Here, my news comes from the BBC and the US portion is only a tiny segment in the day. I know more about the Korean Hostages, India’s woman president, Turkey joining the EU and the floods in England than what is going on in the states. This has definite advantages, I am clearly being a better informed global citizen, but I miss knowing what is going on at home. I miss being a somewhat informed American. Now, I think this will improve when I have an internet connection and my sole source of English isn’t from BBC world channel, which is the only one I can understand from our selection of Italian cable channels. In fact, the Internet itself has become a major obsession in my life. Senza il Interneto, I have been suffering greatly. Right off, I have been having trouble keeping in touch, emailing, blogging, etc etc. All of our US bills and accounts are online, all of the Visa information is online. Everything, it seems is online, when you are not! How is the world so big and so small at the very same time? I must reflect on this greatly… perhaps in another posting I will have an answer. For now I will let this fester in my mind.

Now, Charades. Perhaps the most important tool that I have taken with me abroad is the ability to gesticulate. In relation to the ponderings above, I have found charades to be a global tool for communication. The rules are not necessarily followed on a global scale, but everyone knows enough of the game to participate. So far charades have made life possible in Italy. Most of my recent banking excursion was supplemented by rounds and rounds of charades. Moving all of our stuff from one apartment across town to the next, charades. I was able to communicate to the landlord of the old room that I had swept and cleaned and that I was leaving by just a few simple mimicking gestures. I was able to secure taxis (hailing a cab does seem to be a universal motion of the arm), load all of my bags (and the cat) into three separate cab rides and arrive in the new apartment with little vocabulary. All through the miracle of a giant charade game called “life as an Italian illiterate”. My favorite charade round involved cutting a curtain rod.

I bought a small curtain rod at the local (for lack of better word) “junk” shop. Instead of a Wal-Mart or my blessed Target, the Romans have little teeny shops filled with odds and ends. In our neighborhood, I am intimately familiar with three of them. They are filled with things like Roma t-shirts and miniature coliseums, hammers, toilet paper, laundry detergent, hosiery and curling irons… totally random. Alas, in my favorite shop (with the best prices and the biggest selection) I found a curtain rod, which, by chance happened to be on my list of things that I needed for the apartment. In the bathroom there is a big marble sink, below the sink is a nice space for storage, but it had no door, it was just open to expose my ablutions to the world. Very unacceptable to a private girl like me, so I decided I would make a curtain for the vanity, hence the need for a curtain rod. This made finding the curtain rod a very big accomplishment and I was very happy. Until returning home with the rod to find that it was at least six inches bigger than my cabinet. I knew I should have measured! I was so mesmerized and enchanted by the rod that I bought it in a frenzy of happiness, without thinking that it might not be the right fit.

Here I had two choices, I could take the rod back or I could make it work. Taking the rod back would have required a bigger charade vocabulary that I currently have in my arsenal. So I was determined to make it work. First I took out the kitchen scissors, even the cat seemed to laugh as I tried to take a pair of kitchen shears to a metal rod. Than I thought about bending it until it broke, too risky, it would never bend off cleanly. So I sat down on the couch with my rod and looked at it, waiting for a bit of divine inspiration. Perhaps it is because there are so many churches in Rome, but I have had a run of good luck with the divine. Just then, what do I hear out of my apartment window? The hot summer air lofted in, and with it, the sounds of a power tool, a saw! I had observed earlier that across the street, adjacent to the auto repair shop was some type of woodworking shed. I could see saw dust and hear drilling, pounding and sawing most of the afternoons. So off I went to meet the neighbor. Sure enough, just inside the slightly opened door was a whole room full of cutting appliances.

“Scusi, senor? Il mio Ilaliano es molto male” That is as far as I can go, it was time for the round of charades to begin. I showed him my curtain rod and then made the universal scissor motion with my index and middle fingers. I made a sad face and shook my head back in forth. Meanwhile, saying in English, “I cannot cut this, can you help?” After only a millisecond of furrowed brow, he understood either my English (which is doubtful) or my charades (which is likely) because he walked to his wall of cutting, proudly picked up a handsaw and said “eh?”. “Si, Si, Si!” I cried, with the customary bobbing head to show affirmation. I offered to do it myself, but maybe because I had already been so pathetic or perhaps because I was in a skirt, the nice man but the rod into the vice and made a nice clean cut, right where I pointed and then proceeded to sand down the end a bit. I offered to pay (again, through a series of overly animated gestures), but he politely declined. Now, I have a curtain in the bathroom vanity and a friend across the street!

Home Sweet Rome

We are officially unpacked. Last Thursday we left the room that Josh had been staying in and moved into a cute little one bedroom off of Via Cavour. Not a moment too soon either, staying in one room with Josh, the cat and all of our belongings was not my idea of a good time. I didn't even bother to unpack much in the short time I was there, so I was really anxious to find a more permanent solution. And a more permanent solution we found. We signed a 12 month lease, eek! I guess we are here for awhile. Securing the apartment may have been my first true taste of the Italian way of life. Josh had looked at the space before I arrived and set up a time for me to see it shortly after. We decided that it was a great deal in our price range (of course towards the top, but isn't that always how it works?), in a nice neighbourhood, clean and got good light (which I am convinced that only artsy architect types are overly concerned with, but I too have come to appreciate a space with "good light"). So it was agreed that we would take the apartment. And here the adventure begins! To secure the apartment we had to give the real estate agent, Angela, who is very nice (and tall and blonde and tan, very Italian, she intimidates me a little bit) the equivalent of one month's rent in cash. This seemed to be a normal enough procedure and something that in the States I could have done with the flurry of a pen or a flash of the plastic. Not so here in Italia I discovered. My first logical option for securing this much cash was my bank. I had switched to a Citibank account before we left, so I could take advantage of their "Global Reach" and thousands of ATM's worldwide. It was around 11am. I then learned that the Citibank in Rome closes at 1:30PM and it is on the other side of town, about a 45 minute walk at least from our room in Trastevere. So, I hope in a cab (I am sure I was not taken in the most direct route) and arrive at the Citibank branch with plenty of time to spare. Here I find out that the Citibank location in Rome, is indeed a Citibank, but does not do the business of personal banking and is only an investment center. They have no way of helping me, but did suggest that I simply use the ATM outside on the street. Not a bad idea, so I did just that. All would be well except that to protect my own interests, Citibank has a limit on the amount of cash I can withdrawal on my account during any given business day. Thank you Citibank. So I am still short about half of the cash. I have yet to purchase my Italian cell phone, so I am on the other side of town and have made plans to meet with Josh over his lunch break at 1:30 by meeting him at the statue in the Campo near his office. At this point, I am skeptical of another cab ride and I hate to take cabs anyway, so I embark on the 30 minute hike to his office in the midday sun. This is fine, I have water and it gives me a chance to mull over my current predicament. On the way back, I pass by a Deutche Bank, also known for their worldwide banking presence. I figure that it can't hurt, so I stop by. The queue was long, but I had a good feeling. I got to the front and the man behind the glass said that he couldn't help me, but I had to see the man in the "little box", which I than figured out meant the cubicle across the lobby. He was busy and while I was waiting another man in a little box offered to help. I explained to him my situation. That basically I had plenty of funds, I just couldn't access it. I could not get my own money. I was holding my own self ransom. He told me that I could open up a non-resident Duetche Bank account and we could transfer my Citibank funds into the Duetche Bank account and viola! I would have a "local" bank to deal with. I was prepared for this type of thing, I had all of my Citibank information, I had my Italian tax ID number, I had my passport, and what else could this man want!? He needed all of that, but in addition for me to open up an account at Deutche Bank, he needed a Teletext from Citibank that included "phrases of introduction". Basically he wanted a formal introduction from Citibank that said, "I am pleased to introduce you to Kim Mackley". He didn't need them to confirm my account or say that I was a good customer, he simply needed an introduction. I guess our handshake ten minutes prior was not enough. So, with the chances of getting a hold of Citibank and anyone in Italy making this introduction before everything closed for lunch was slim to none, I headed back out on the road to ponder further with Josh. One more stop on the way at the scary Western Union place, I learned that indeed, you can't send money to yourself (try explaining that in broken Italian\English). The fat lady behind the greasy glass did offer some help though. She suggested the ever dreaded cash advance. Everyone knows that you should try to avoid this cash advancing at all costs, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I made it back to the Campo with this idea and a sunburn. Josh and I talked it over and indeed this was the way to go. In the meantime, Angela had called Josh (because I had no phone) and they set up an appointment for me to meet her with the cash at 4pm. I had one and a half hours to find the rest of the cash. So we grabbed a quick Panini and parted ways. My first stop for the cash was Banca Roma. No luck, they don't do cash advances after lunch. Second was Banca di Lazio Populare. I waited in the room for quite sometime and no one even looked my direction. I cut my losses here and headed for another branch of Deutche Bank, afterall, I had a bit of progress with them earlier. No luck here, they were nice enough to put a giant sign in the lobby though "NO TRAVEL CHEQUES. NO CASH ADVANCE". It was getting closer to four, so I decided to cut my losses, head for the apartment and pray for two things. One, a bank to be on the way. Two, the ability to convince Angela that I would give her the rest of the cash tomorrow without looking like a total idiot. So I dredged up Via Cavour and although filled with many things, mostly souvenir shops, there were no banks in sight. Finally a block away from the apartment was the last and only bank on my route. I gave it a shot. I went in (temporarily confused by the door, which took your thumbprint before it opened) and immediately had a good feeling. There was no line and a friendly older man behind the glass. I explained to him that I needed a cash advance. He told me that they do not do them in the afternoon's (where does all of the Italian money go in the afternoons!?!??!). I told him that I need to pay a deposit on my new apartment, please, couldn't he help. He said alright and asked how much I needed. I told him, he said he could give me half of that. I begged again. Finally he agreed!!! I got the cash and dashed out of the bank like I had just robbed it. I have never been so happy to win my own money! I proudly handed it over to Angela a few minutes later and the apartment was mine!

Sorry Blog Fans!

I am still here, the new apartment is wonderful, but alas, no Internet connection yet. I am relegated to checking my email with the masses at the local Internet point. Just to keep you coming back, here are some potential post topics to look forward to!

1. Renting the apartment, six banks in two days.
2. Moving, 10 bags in 12 hours.
3. Unpacking and playing charades, a universal game.


More later, sorry!

Kimmie

Safe, but Sound?

I made it! I am here and better yet, physically all in one piece in Rome. Unfortunately after two days of little sleep and 12 hours of traveling to another time zone, I’m not sure about the current state of my mental abilities. It feels really odd to be here. I know this is where I wanted to go, where I planned to go, but still a little odd that I ended up here. Besides this odd feeling, that I’m sure will take days, weeks, months to shake, the actual travel part was great.

Friday was all about adrenaline. I work up promptly at 8 (after a short night of 4 hours of sleep on the floor). I threw away any item that was possibly left in the apartment at that point and turned in the keys. It was much easier to leave place than I thought, it stopped being our home a long time ago, mostly I felt a sense of accomplishment because it was so empty and clean. For awhile there at the end, it seemed that there was perpetually one more thing to sell, give or dump. I made one last stop at work before hitting the road, said some last goodbyes and turned in the Corporate Amex. A very final action; no more gazillion dollar line of credit for me. I headed out across the Ben Franklin Bridge and said goodbye to Philly in my rearview mirror. As a final farewell blessing, even the New Jersey turnpike sent me off with good wishes and the traffic was light all the way to JFK. The scene at the airport was comical, and I was the scene. Here is the list of luggage that made the final cut and I took to Italy: One medium-large rolling suitcase, one backpack, one purse, one rolling carry-one suitcase filled with books (so I could sneak it in if it was overweight to check), 4 army issued “officer bags”, filled to the brim with everything that I own. The army bags are great, because they can fold up and are easy to store, as opposed to bringing 4 suitcases, but they weren’t so easy to shuffle around through the airport. They are no frills bags: canvas, a zipper and a handle. These bags had to be dragged or carried like dead weight in true military fashion. I think I managed to make a lot of people’s days a little better throughout the airport as they witnessed me wrestle with these bags. First the man checking in the rental car was amazed as I stacked them up one by one on the cart. Everyone on the tram was amused as I had to use every last ounce (or kilo) of my weight to brace the cart from rolling around in the crowded car as it made way to the different terminals. Next was the look of astonishment when I joined the queue waiting for the check in counter to open. Many comments of “long trip?” where made, and I was asked often how many people I was traveling with. The look of horror on the check-in clerk’s face may have been the best of the day. This was another moment of pure spectacle. Once the cart was loaded, it was unwieldy, but manageable. At the check in counter I had to take each heavy and cumbersome piece off the unwieldy cart one by one to have them weighed. I think I probably made the line move quickly for the people behind me as they witnessed this feat of sheer willpower. One man asked me if I was the equipment manager, although I did note that no one really offered to help me. I guess I must have looked like I had it under control. Then, because I took a budget carrier, I had to load all of the bags back onto the rolling cart, go to a different desk to pay for the excess baggage and then take all of the bags to off load at the security check point. At a few points I worried that I ran over a few small children, the bags were packed so high, I couldn’t really see over the front of the cart! Besides the intense physical labor involved, after the bags were checked the travel was easy. I had a good 8+ hours to think about how I was going to get the bags off the belt in Rome, that is, IF they came in!

The flight itself was manageable; I would highly recommend aer Lingus. If nothing else it is soothing and pleasant to listen to all of the on board announcements in the Irish accents. Getting into Rome was just about flawless. All bags miraculously arrived, no one at customs even looked at me and after a brief wait, Josh was there to take his turn in schlepping the bags.

The taxi ride from the airport was fun. It was a 30 minute Italian lesson. The driver, who looked a bit like an older Italian George Clooney, spent the whole ride explaining the finer points of the Italian language. He also pointed to my skin and shouted “molto Bianca” and told me I needed to get to the beach. Not bad advice on your first day in Italy.

The day from here consisted of me sleeping and Josh working. . I can feel the travel trauma wearing off and the clouds in my head clearing. The breeze is pleasant and the room is cool and out of the hot roman sun, I’m safe and with my husband and my cat. I can’t ask for much more than that.

Hello Rome!

I originally had this post titled “Goodbye Philadelphia”, but in my fragile emotional state it made me start to tear up again. To keep things positive, “Hello Rome” it is. Sort of the “glass is half full approach”. So my last post from Philadelphia.

EVERYTHING is packed and the house is clean. Some thoughts about moving out of an apartment in general… Every good renter knows that any hope of getting at least a sliver of your security deposit back means you have to leave the place looking like you didn’t tear it up for the past three years. This entails a good thorough cleaning. What an awful process. Moving is stressful if you are moving to Italy or across the street; no one feels like cleaning after they have just packed and schlepped all of their belongings around. No one wants to be slapped in the face with the sad reality that you didn’t sweep behind the furniture enough when you are already in such a heightened emotional state. Furthermore, I feel obligated to do the deep clean, I get this honestly from my mother, I feel that I might be judged my the new tenants on the cleanliness of my home. Even if we were pigs sometimes, I would like to think that they thought I was a neat and tidy person. So alas, the night before I am moving to Italy, I scrubbed my refrigerator furiously until it shined like new (which was certainly NOT the condition that I received it in). The worse part is that the house is probably cleaner now than any time I actually resided in it! Why didn’t I take the time to clean the refrigerator more?

In between all of this cleaning and packing it was nice to receive so many good wishes. It is almost 2am, so allow me a moment of nostalgia. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to call you all back or always say a proper goodbye. I really am a lucky girl. Thanks to Jessie, for helping me furiously scrub things (thanks also for letting Mike take all of my stuff, I’m sorry if it will end up in your house someday). Thank you Kristen for calling me on one of the hardest days of your life, just to make sure I had a place to sleep tonight. Thank you Jamie, for checking in while you are traveling in the middle of who-knows-where and at least few time zones away. Thank you Christine for calling and assuring me that you will hunt me down, even if I couldn’t call back tonight. Thank you Mom, I know you didn’t call tonight because you called yesterday and didn’t want to “bother” me again today. This is silly, mothers can call anytime. Thank you Aunt Jeana for the good wishes! Beth, thank you for your message (and for taking care of all of our miscellaneous paperwork)!! Pa, thanks for the proper “arrivederci”. I closed my last night in Philadelphia sipping a bit of bubbly and watching strangers pick through my stuff on the front steps of my apartment building, I can’t think of a better way to end things. Kelly, thanks for showing up at my door with two glasses of champagne and a final toast to the City of Brotherly Love. Much gratitude in advance for all of my wonderful family and friends who won’t be offended that I didn’t itemize them on this post… its 2:30am and that could take awhile.

Ciao for now to most of you! Josh, I’ll see you tomorrow!

Xoxo.

The Final Countdown: My Life in a Bag

Or bags. Six to be exact. I'm (almost) all packed up. I have one more day stateside and off to Italy via Dublin I go. Tonight I tied my mattress to the roof of a Volvo and let a nice girl with a scarf on her head drive it away to 40th and Lancaster. And she paid me 30 bucks, what a deal! So it is officially camping time for me. Good thing I hung on to the air mattress. I’m still stiff and sore from Trapeze lessons (see below). I’m sweaty from jamming, cramming and literally kicking the mattress down my tiny flight of spiral stairs. But seeing the vast real estate of carpet in my bedroom gives me satisfaction. I am really getting down to just the basics. Tomorrow I am planning one final attempt for a sidewalk sale to liquidate the rest of my merchandise.

Although saying goodbye has been really hard, I’ve had a good time with it. My two very best friends from college came in to spend the entire weekend with me. We picnicked, shopped, danced, drank, sunned and swam. What more could a girl possibly want for her last hurrah in town? After that I spent the day in New York City at Trapeze School. So fun, for my birthday Josh arranged for me to go! It was great. On top of Pier 40 on the Hudson River, overlooking the Manhattan Skyline, just like Sex and the City! Kelly and I weren’t exactly recruited for the circus, but it was exhilarating and I do think I had at least a few bird-like moments swinging from my knees and reaching for the sky.

In between the masses of fun are lots of tender moments of realization of how much I’ll miss my apartment, my friends and the city in general are also many moments of realizing just how much stuff I am packing… I really don’t need most of these things. I’ve been far too generous in applauding myself for the things that I’m NOT taking. Six giant bags full of clothes is still a bit shameful. I did better at work. I had a pretty big desk stuffed and decorated to the gills with miscellaneous gifts and tokens of appreciation from all over the world. It was nice to reflect and think about how each one of these things symbolized a job well done. It was not nice to rack my brain trying to remember exactly who I acquired each of them from. I had a nice little “yard sale” outside of my office (much to the dismay of some of my office neighbors I’m sure). I do love a good yard sale. It was quite nice in many ways, lots of people stopped by to browse and say hello, I got rid of most of my junk, er, mementos and I am comforted to know that maybe some of the people that took my stuff will think of me now and again.

And now onto the final task, I must clean my apartment one final time in a vain attempt to receive any of my security deposit back. At least there isn’t much to dust!