Cagli, Italy: A Small Town of Kodak Moments

My eye starts twitching with stress very time I think about the enormous amount of photos I have on my computer and need to upload to Flickr. So instead I've decided to put up a few snapshots to satiate your burning desire for Italian snapshots. Enjoy. Captions follow photos.

Beware next time you travel to this small town in the Appenines. While you can drive 50 kilometers an hour through the winding streets of old town, you must restrain yourself from carrying, mentioning, or using a trumpet. At least that's what I assume from this signage, because if they hate trumpets so much that they put it on a street sign, then they must mean "ban" in the strongest sense of the word.


Such is the view from my apartment on Via F.M. Tocci. The building we live in was built in the early 1300's. While quite dank, the landlords are the sweetest couple with the cutest, if naughtiest, little 3-year-old boy I've ever seen.

Editor's Note: My nephew, Ethan, is the cutest 3-year-old boy I've ever seen. He is, however, NOT the naughtiest. This, therefore, makes Adriano qualified for the above superlative.


This is why I love Italy. No more words needed.

Obama Invited to Dinner with Italian Family

On Thursday my classmates and I were invited to dinner with an Italian man, Emidio. Last weekend we had met him at the Festa de la Republica celebration in the main piazza of Cagli. Last night was the dinner date.

After meeting him in the piazza, and riding with him through a harrowing, Italian car ride to his house at the top of the mount in New Cagli, we arrived to the most beautiful panorama.

Emidio's house overlooks the entire old town of Cagli, as well as the three mountains surrounding it. The view was breathtaking, the cats were cute, and the cherries from the tree in his backyard were delicious. Suddenly the stress from the past week evaporated. And this was before we even got inside the house.

Inside the house Emidio's wife was cooking us dinner. She is the chef at Buona Scena, a restaurant that overlooks one of the mountains near Cagli. As she was finishing the antipasto, the appetizers, Emidio showed us his new plasma TV and satellite cable.

He kindly flipped through the channels until he came to an English news program, Fox News. It just so happened that it was 7:30 p.m. in Cagli, and 12:30 p.m. in Green Bay, WI, where I am from. Fox News was showing a live broadcast of President Obama's speech at Southwest High School in Green Bay - less than a mile from my parents' home.

Politics of Change

Having lived overseas while George W. Bush was President of the United Staes, and now living overseas while Barack Obama is President, I feel in a unique position to realize just what America's last election meant to the world.

While I can't speak for everyone, those I've talked to have a sense of hope and adopted pride that the U.S. took a step toward progress by electing our first President of mixed race.

Diversity is also a strong issue in other countries, in fact, my team and I are producing a story on that very topic in Cagli. But what makes some countries different, is that they seem to look to America to set the tone and pace for progress. That's not all-ecompassing, mind you, but when Americans elected Barack Obama as President, the world saw us taking a step in the right direction. And they want to follow.

Progress Translates

I knew Obama was planning to speak in Green Bay on Thursday, I just never thought I'd be able to watch the live broadcast...from Italy.

So there I was, sitting with a nice, Italian man and two American girls, watching the President of the United States speak in my hometown while I was half a world away. It was a great moment.

I've only been learning Italian for 10 days, and so all I could say was, "Sono di Green Bay! Ma abito a Green Bay!" to try to show my pride to Emidio that the President of the United States was speaking from my home town.

Emidio, bless his heart, understood perfectly.

Throwin' the Deuces

The funny thing about cross-cultural communication is that the familiar suddenly takes on new meaning. Even nonverbal communication may cause cultural misunderstanding as one gesture can have several meanings across a variety of cultures.

Take the American sign for peace, for example. All one need do is hold out one's pointer and middle fingers together in a "V" and the universal sign for solidarity is understood.

But do the same in England and it's another story. Because throwing the deuces in England is a big F.U. to whomever is on the receiving end.

This is why I found my visit to San Pietro at the Vatican City in Italy a bit more entertaining than planned. I'm sorry if I offend any Catholics with the following - it's meant in good humor.

You can't tell by this picture, but dude below is throwing down as we speak. Unfortunately, I run average height and the snapshot is lacking for adequate perspective.

This guy and his lady helpmates are actually quite welcoming. He's sitting forward in his seat as if to show his excitement at your arrival. However, if you're English, his message is entirely different.

Beware if you're a Brit, because this bronze pope is the first to welcome you into San Pietro. "Welcome" is a relative term in this discussion.

Peace out!

A talk with Miss Cleo

Yesterday the other graduate students and I were taking a stroll through the streets of Cagli. Having woefully underpacked (me, anyways), we were on a mission to get our shop on. Having spied a delicious Italian leather handbag store during our earlier tour of the town, we decided to head in that direction and drop of a few Euros.

On our way through the streets, trying to figure out exactly where that particular store was located, an elderly lady heard us speaking English from her terrace.

Her companion called down to get our attention, and the lady asked if we were Americans.

We replied that yes, indeed we were.

As we stood there, talking to her as she stood 2 stories up, another lady walked by and invited us in. Being of the philosophy that, if you're visiting a foreign country and the locals invite you somewhere you go, we went.

We ended up staying for over an hour, drinking Cokes, and talking to Cleo, a Cagliese woman who used to live in Denver, Colorado. Through Cleo's English, Carla's Italian, and our collective broken Italian, we pieced together the story of Cleo and her family.

An Italian-American Love Story

Cleo Anderson, now 92 years old, speaks beautiful English. She should as she spent much of her adult life with her husband in America.

They met after World War II, when he was stationed in Italy. They fell in love and were married.

Cleo's sons and grandchildren still live in Arizona, and Cleo and her husband used to live together in Cagli.

Her husband died three days ago.

When we inquired about her surname, Cleo teared up and explained that her husband just passed away.

We struggled to hold back tears ourselves, until Carla, Cleo's caregiver, came in with refreshments.

The lack of stronger shared language skills in our group kept the rest of the conversation light.

We told her we were journalism and photography students living in Cagli for only a month.

Carla and Cleo encouraged us to visit Cagli again the future, and even invited us back to live with them. If that doesn't necessarily pan out, we certainly have plans to visit them often while we are in Cagli.

While this sweet lady's memory is fading, and her life now a little lonelier, she encapsulates what is so beautiful about this small town.

That four curious students visiting Italy can have a lovely afternoon in the company of two dear women, determined to enjoy a moment of true Italian hospitality and genuine cross-cultural understanding.

Big Knockers

Yard space is something a 13th century town has little of. The medieval stone homes built inside the Old Town wall are directly on the cobblestone streets, and the only space left between each complex is an alleyway that leads to the few gates of the city. So Italians in the small town of Cagli have developed a different way to show off their creativity and pride in their home.

Lace curtains, clean windows, expertly planted and beautifully arranged window boxes, and elaborate doorways are all ways that modern Italians take pride in their ancient homes. Especially the doorways.

Most of the old homes have stone archways supporting a heavy wooden door. The Romans were nothing if not expert arch builders. No doubt the stones are likely the original pieces placed by workers long ago. The wood doors, however, may be more modern.

Most outer doors that you see on the street are merely entryways into a courtyard, if the home is built around a courtyard, or they provide entry into a hallway that leads to several family apartments. Most places have electric buzzers for visitors to announce their presence to each apartment, but before electricity, people had to rely on knockers making enough noise for people in the apartments to hear.

Some of these knockers can still be seen, and the design and ornateness is just another way for Italians to show off their creativity and design. Below is an example from Rome.

A bit of Home-a in Roma

Milwaukee, all the training you done give me came into play the other night.

There I was, full of Italian vino and pasta outside of Termini station. All this Milwaukee gal wanted was a beer (birre), but Italy is not exactly well known for its brew.

My apartment, being close to Termini, was a convenient location to hit the late-night supermarket in the station, and so I decided to take a gander and see what kind of oat soda I could find.

After one lap around the supermarket, I finally find the proverbial goldmine at the end of the rainbow (read: aisle). A delicious Weissbier being just the thing, I take a half liter and pay up.

A kindly Italian man was nice enough to pop my top (of the beer bottle, that is, sicko), and I walked out of the doors tasting the delicious alcoholic bounty of hops, wheat, water.

"Aaaaah, this is just what I needed," I purred.

The three Australian men standing next to me did a double take.

Progressive Dinner in Hungary

Location: Sopron, Hungary
Time: 22:26

I just got back from English Club at the Púskás on Várkerület. It was the perfect opportunity to meet up with more friends, and before English Club I had tea with Harriet and a delightful Danish lady at the Liszt Salon. I taught her the term "progressive dinner" as we continued our visit at English Club.

Needless to say, a WC was in need before the evening was finished.

When I used to live here, English Club in Sopron every Wednesday night was often the highlight of my week. People from several nations who just happened to be in Sopron gathered together for beer and English conversation.

Tonight we had three Hungarians, three Americans, one Austrian, one Dane, one Canadian, and one unidentified male (we were sitting at different tables and so I didn't get a chance to speak with him). There was also a Frenchman at the Púskás enjoying dinner. While we invited him to join us, he declined to instead watch Manchester United battle Barcelona in the Champion's League.

Two great things happened at English Club.

First, I killed with this joke (thank you, Rachel):


Second, I learned that if you speak a little of the local language the restaurant will charge you local prices. This could also be filed under the category of, "You know you've graduated past the point of being a tourist when..."

Memories Seen Through Rose Tinted Glasses

Location: Sopron, Hungary
Time: 20:30

Jó Ested Internets.

I spent the day at Bérzsenyi Daniel Evangélikus Gimnázium...my old stomping grounds. I got to chat with two of my favorite former students, blessed as I am, and visited a few of the current English classes. I truly miss it here, but I can't tell if it's because I've learned so much since I've been gone or because I'm simply a tourist and loving life right now. I feel that if I came back and did the same work I would be much more effective because I know what I was doing wrong before, and I understand the culture better. However, this could just be the rose tinted hue of remembrance.

Do you ever notice how memories are more positive than the actual reality? For whatever reason, and I'm sure a psychologist could tell me why, we have selective memory when it comes to our past and we seem to remember much more of the positive than the negative.

In Hungary I find it's the opposite.

Hungary is a country steeped in history, tradition, and remembrance, and a lot of that remembrance is melancholy at best.

For example, I remember a trip to Budapest a few Octobers past during a national Hungarian holiday. The country was remembering the revolution of 1956. Granted, I was educated in the American school system and know shockingly little about world events, however, I do know that any revolution against Communist Russia in 1956 was unsuccessful.

I mentioned this to my Hungarian colleague, asking why, if they failed, do Hungarians celebrate the revolution?

She replied, "because we tried."

And that is a great summation of the Hungarian spirit. They don't have much to celebrate by way of successes. Another colleague, at a different time, lamented, "we always pick the wrong side."

She, of course, was speaking in regards to conflicts and past world wars.

But while they don't have many successes to celebrate, they have a few attempts to remember. And they do so with gusto.

Because the spirit of Hungary isn't about victory. The victory itself is in the attempt.

Hungary: Land of My...

...well, certainly not "forefathers," but that title sounded so nice and ostentatious.

I am currently in Aszod, Hungary, yesterday I was in Sopron, Hungary, and the day before that I was in Vienna. Life is good.

I am visiting old haunts and great friends in Eastern Europe before I head down to Italy for the summer. I can't convey how much I've missed it here, being back it has taken no time to jump right back in to living the Hungarian life...including trying (poorly) to speak what little Hungarian I can (i.e. not much).

Soproni beer. Paprika chio chips. Palacsinta. Gesztenye Puree. Nescafe. I am doing as much as I can to eat and drink my weight in delicious Hungarian treats. I have 15 pounds of luggage weight to fill, and plan on doing so with wine and beer, in addition to what I may ship back to the States.

Gotta run. Store only open from 9-12 on Sundays...it's surprising it's open at all!

Tomorrow MKE becomes Gokewaukee

I've been trying to put off this post. Unfortunately, and for reasons unknown so say some comrades who watch American Idol, Danny Gokey, Milwaukee's own, is becoming quite the prospective finalist for Idol. I'll let them explain their stance, to which I adhere. Afterall, they are more articulate.

However, due to Gokey Day tomorrow in Milwaukee, I feel the need to roll my eyes via the Internets. I've never watched a full episode of Idol. Sure, I've caught snippets here and there, and read some press and know the general format of the show. For the sake of full disclosure, I must admit that I love the Slovak and Hungarian versions, Megasztar, but I'll defend myself because those versions actually include contestants with talent and judges who know what they're talking about, not to mention where they are on any given night (I'm talking to you Abdul).

Milwaukeeans have been freakin' flipping their lids for this guy since day one. Tweeps have been all a-twitter, bloggers have been all a-blogging, and the local news stations have been all but foaming at the mouth for a chance to claim a piece of this national stage.

Tomorrow there will be a parade. The Gokemeister will perform a mini-concert for his worshippers, and he will get free entrance to the hottest show in town - the Brewer's Cubbie's game - for the low, low price of squawking out the national anthem.

As my comrade put it - did CC Sabbathia get a parade when he pitched his balls off last season and was instrumental in getting the crew to the playoffs? Did Waukesha'sErin Lobdell, of Survivor, get a parade for being a finalist this season?

What's the big deal with Gokey?


I have no clue, and so I am escaping Milwaukee before it becomes CrazyTown for safer, and saner, climes.