I want to tell you a story of something that happened last night but I must start the story a week ago when I was at the Cat Fanciers Show in Belgium.
I attended the Breed Awareness/Judging School on Thursday and Friday and stayed in the hotel where it was held. During this time, there was a lot going on in capital of Egypt and I became interested in the news about the protests against the Egyptian President and the youth revolution (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J56oGIznUOQ). I have to tell you that civil unrest and global politics really aren't high on my list of things to keep up with. I read the headlines but rarely follow a story in depth unless I have some personal connection to the location or event. However, this particular story captured my interest. I kept CNN running for three days straight and checked in on the news at each break and over our lunch breaks to see what was happening in Cairo. I watched the protesters get killed in the streets, heard the President’s speech when he agreed to transfer some power to the military and then finally saw the announcement when the President decided to step down and left Egypt. Why this particular story captured my interest I don't know, but I followed it as if it were happening in my hometown.
Flash forward to yesterday. We left our car at the Venice airport parking lot and took the water bus (ferry) to San Marco. We decided to skip the train ride and spend the 50 euro on the round trip boat ride because it was such a nice day. Bill and I had a good time hanging out in Venice, exploring San Georgio and doing a bit of shopping. We had a very nice dinner and walked all around the city, even into the designer boutique areas where we discussed the latest fashions displayed in their windows. We wandered off the beaten path and watched gondolas drift by as we crossed many of the famous Venice bridges. When it came time to head back to the square to catch the late bus back to the airport, we decided to make one last stop for a cup of coffee at one of the famous old coffee houses in St. Mark’s square. It was the perfect way to end a memorable day in Venice.
We eventually arrived at the pier to catch the water bus but were a bit confused as to which pier was for arrivals and which for departures. We went to the one we thought was departures but became concerned when the boat that we thought was the one we were supposed to be on, motored past the pier without stopping. It was the right time and there was a different boat at the other pier so we hurried to the other side to ask them if we were supposed to catch that boat. When we got there we found someone else having the same conversation with the answer being, no, the last boat has already departed (yep, that was the one that didn’t stop) and this one had reached the end of the line. No more boats to the airport tonight.
The other person who was asking for transportation back to the airport was a woman of obvious middle eastern decent, dressed in traditional Muslim clothing and a hijab (scarf) covering her head. She spoke fluent English and was in obvious distress at being stranded on an island where all the hotels were full (Carnival starts this week) and she had no place to stay. She was trying to get guidance from the guys who ran the boat as to what she should do. Unfortunately they didn't speak English that well and weren't very inclined to help. This was obviously a very strong woman who would go against her culture and be traveling alone in a strange city but she had used up her reserves and the tears were beginning to flow.
We asked if we could help and she explained that she had arrived at Venice airport at about 5pm and took the boat to the island expecting to be able to find a hotel where she could spend the night. She had only one day to visit and wanted to see the city at night and then take some photos in the morning before flying out. She did not know about Carnival and expected that, in the middle of winter, a hotel room would be easy to find. When she was told that all the rooms in the city were sold out, she offered a hotel the price of a room to be allowed to stay in the lobby where she would be safe and off the streets during the night. The hotels turned her away so she went to catch the water bus back to the airport, planning to spend the night in the airport terminal where she wouldn't worry about being mugged or raped. This is where our paths crossed.
A water taxi from the island to the airport at this time of night (11pm) can cost a fortune. The taxi's know you have no alternative. We had already been told that the water taxi would be 100 Euro (about $135) and knew it would be no more to have another person join us for the trip. We explained that we had to take the taxi back to the airport to get our car so we could drive home and invited her to join us. You could tell she wasn't comfortable getting on a boat with two people she didn't know and had no guarantees where we would be taking her but she had few options so she consented to come along. She offered to pay her share but was very shocked at the price.
Once on the boat, we introduced ourselves (something we had failed to do previously) and explained that we could help her find a hotel nearby but not on the island. She really wasn’t comfortable leaving the area since she didn’t know her way around and she didn’t want to be away from the airport for fear that she would be able to get back. She was upset with herself for not making better plans and assuming that she would be able to find a hotel without a reservation.
We found out that she was from Egypt. She left the country about 10 days ago right after the President stepped down and turned power over to the army. She had spent the days previous to her departure in Tahrir Square with the protesters. She had been attacked with tear gas but continued to march with the youth of Egypt demanding freedom and democracy. This was a woman who was not afraid to stand up to her government, march against the police and be counted as an Egyptian youth who wanted a better life - however she had just been terrified at the prospect at being left alone in a city that could not offer her shelter for the night.
We explained our situation, Americans living and working in Italy and why we had left our car at the airport. She didn't understand why we would help her but she admired and trusted us just because we were Americans. More than anything else, she wanted to go to America. The land where people have choices and can become anything they want to be, regardless of sex or religion or social status. She wants, more than she can say, to experience the land of opportunity. Someday, she will work there. She is a doctor in Egypt and is now in her residency. She knows that when she is done she will study to get her license in American and find a hospital who will accept her. Her family wants her to marry, but she has turned away two husbands because they refuse the idea of living in America and that is her dream. She will wait and hope that the right man will come along.
Having followed the recent news of the revolution in Egypt I felt as if I were able to relate to this woman in a way that I would not been able to only two weeks ago. I was able to see the experiences she had recently lived through. I admired her and felt an immediate connection. Something I might have missed had I not had this recent inexplicable interest in the events of her country.
The return trip to the airport was quick and we were soon back at our car. We took her to the front of the terminal and I walked in with her to make sure she would be allowed to stay once the doors were locked at midnight. She would be safe there for the night and tomorrow she would be able to resume her journey to the home of her friends in Paris.
As we said our goodbyes and exchanged contact information, promising to keep in touch, she again came to tears. She said to me that there were no words she knew that would express her gratitude for our help. Her greatest fear was that she would be left alone on the street of a foreign country. In Muslim countries, women are cherished and protected. On her streets, she never worried about being raped or mugged but knew that this occurred in other places. If she were to lose her virginity, it would destroy her life. Everything she had worked for would be worthless. The sacrifices her family had made would be for nothing. She promised that her mother would call me to thank us for our generosity and that Allah would bless us.
We have an open invitation to visit Egypt (maybe after the dust of the revolution settles), where we would stay with her family and she would be our personal tour guide. When I said goodbye my heart was full of emotions that I can't explain. I may never see this woman again or we may keep in touch and become lifelong friends. All I can say is that I am really glad we missed our boat.
LeAnn
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J56oGIznUOQ
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Farewell, Leo
We've a bit of sad news to report today. Our handsome mackeral tabby boy Leo, the feline patriarch of our household, passed away peacefully Sunday night in his warm bed and in the company of his family.
Over the past few months, we could see that his old age (we believe he was 16 years old) was slowly catching up to him, although he never allowed that to prevent him from being the same wonderful and loving companion that he'd always been, both to us and to his Havana Brown housemates. All our HB kittens appreciated having "Uncle Leo" to mentor them, play with them, and pile on top of / next to for naps.
Back in the 1990's, when LeAnn and I first started working together at IBM in Boulder, I would regularly overhear LeAnn telling our co-worker Liz stories about her newly-adopted Boulder Shelter cat that always seemed to start with, "guess what Leo did last night...!" Leo was always getting into mischief as a youngster, whether it was tipping over newly-watered houseplant pots so the wet dirt spilled all over the beige carpet, jumping up onto the dresser top and one by one pushing coins across the top with his paw to the edge of the dresser and watching them fall to the floor ("testing gravity", we called it), or his favorite 3am trick, jumping up and swatting LeAnn's siamese Samantha as she slept in LeAnn's arm then running away as Sammy shrieked loudly! When LeAnn and I started dating, Leo would "attack" my overhanging feet from the end of her bed.
LeAnn tried to use "time out's" to encourage better behavior in the cat. She would announce "time out, Leo!" as she scooped him up in her arms and carried him into the powder room and shut the door. After about 10 minutes, she'd open the door and ask him, "So, are you ready to behave now?". Leo would simply look up at her, swishing his tail defiantly, and say "Myaaah!" as he slowly strolled out of the bathroom, already thinking up his next mischievous plan.
As Leo grew older, he mellowed out and didn't get into a lot of mischief. Oh, he'd still test gravity occasionally, but he became very affectionate and was a great "bed buddy", coming to see us at bedtime for pets and snuggling, then settling down for the night between my legs. I got into the habit, when I wanted to turn to sleep in another position, of first pulling my legs upward, turning, then extending my legs back out, so that I wouldn't disturb him as he slept. In the morning, Leo was always up by our heads, purring "Good Morning" to us, walking across the pillows, cleaning our foreheads and faces with his rough tongue, and giving us affectionate forehead-butts (just like hockey players after a game - I think they got the idea from cats!).
When we lived in Colorado, Leo especially enjoyed helping LeAnn with gardening, rolling around in the dirt among the herb plants and chasing bugs. Even after we moved to Italy, he loved to lounge on the outdoor terrace in the sunshine, and to hear the sounds and smell the smells of our neighborhood here in Mestrino. If there was a sunny patch on the floor or carpet, that's where you'd find him, warming his furry tummy. Calling to him with a cheerful "Leeeoo Kitty!" would be met with his squinty contented cat eyes and his best 'hello' yawn.
When LeAnn's Grandma Margie lived with us in Colorado for the last year of her life, Leo took to her and he became 'Grandma's Kitty', even sleeping guard on her bed after she had left us. Now it appears that Leo has gone to be with Grandma Margie, and I can't think of a more faithful companion to have.
We miss you, handsome boy. Thanks for all the wonderful memories.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
your curbside garbage disposal: the umido bucket!
Since moving to Mestrino, LeAnn and I have been learning to live like a local, and one of the strange quirks about living here is the use of the umido (OOH-mee-doh) bucket.
In the USA, many people use garbage disposals to put food waste down into their plumbing system via the use of water and electricity, which eventually causes them to pay a plumber to come unclog their pipes, OR causes them to hack and slash at their drain pipes after first putting several bottles of Liquid Plum'r into them, thus causing eye irritation, mental irritation, and interesting clothing color schemes to appear after a time. Sort of like dyeing Easter Eggs while still under the hen.
In Italia, however, there is a small squarish green bucket for getting rid of your kitchen waste that is emptied from curbside on certain days of the week (here in zona 'B' of Mestrino it's Wednesday and Saturday, and in warmer months they add Monday) (that's "mercoledi' ", "sabato", and "lunedi' " for those of you playing along at home in Italian!) Our kitchen sink is apparently designed for such a setup, too, as it features a removable plastic lid over a plastic chute under which is suspended a small plastic trash can. If you ever find yourself in a kitchen fixtures store and see a sink with such a lid / chute arrangement, now you'll know what it is, and will be able to impress your friends with an explanation (as they wonder aloud how you could be so unnaturally interested in kitchen sinks, and then you'll have to come back with a "well it was (whomever's) idea to look at sinks, I didn't even want to!" (unless it WAS your idea, then you're pretty much stuck))! (just don't say it was my fault for putting the information in your head via this blog. That's just weak.)
So, we use the umido bucket to dispose of kitchen waste, instead of tormenting our plumbing system with it, or disposing of it via the traditional trash can. Things like leftovers that became fridge science projects, stale bread, coffee grounds that didn't make it to the garden, moldy cheese bits, etc etc. Sometimes it takes a bit more vigilance to keep the kitchen from smelling bad, but it's a small price to pay to keep the landfills less crowded - er, to keep us from looking like clueless foreigners!
I don't exactly know where all this stuff goes. There's an Aqua Teen Hunger Force episode (Season 2 episode 7, "Super Sir Loin" - ain't Google searches great!) where Meatwad donates food to a charitable cause, but in our case I don't think the contents of our umido bucket goes to the shorties...
Anyway, one thing you have to make sure of is not to use an opaque plastic bag for your umido goodies, otherwise you may find your plastic bag out of the bucket and out on the sidewalk naked on its own next to it. Yuck! At least we don't have squirrels...
We actually had our Italian language instructor tell us that she thought that the practice is unsanitary, and that they don't do it where she's from. (Which btw, is from Naples! So the easy retort would have been to say, "no, you just pile all your trash on the sidewalk together!!!" But it was our second day of class and I didn't want to get on her 'bad list', so I kept my mouth shut.)
So that's the story of the umido bucket!
I'd post pics, but you might be eating something as you read this.
More next time!
In the USA, many people use garbage disposals to put food waste down into their plumbing system via the use of water and electricity, which eventually causes them to pay a plumber to come unclog their pipes, OR causes them to hack and slash at their drain pipes after first putting several bottles of Liquid Plum'r into them, thus causing eye irritation, mental irritation, and interesting clothing color schemes to appear after a time. Sort of like dyeing Easter Eggs while still under the hen.
In Italia, however, there is a small squarish green bucket for getting rid of your kitchen waste that is emptied from curbside on certain days of the week (here in zona 'B' of Mestrino it's Wednesday and Saturday, and in warmer months they add Monday) (that's "mercoledi' ", "sabato", and "lunedi' " for those of you playing along at home in Italian!) Our kitchen sink is apparently designed for such a setup, too, as it features a removable plastic lid over a plastic chute under which is suspended a small plastic trash can. If you ever find yourself in a kitchen fixtures store and see a sink with such a lid / chute arrangement, now you'll know what it is, and will be able to impress your friends with an explanation (as they wonder aloud how you could be so unnaturally interested in kitchen sinks, and then you'll have to come back with a "well it was (whomever's) idea to look at sinks, I didn't even want to!" (unless it WAS your idea, then you're pretty much stuck))! (just don't say it was my fault for putting the information in your head via this blog. That's just weak.)
So, we use the umido bucket to dispose of kitchen waste, instead of tormenting our plumbing system with it, or disposing of it via the traditional trash can. Things like leftovers that became fridge science projects, stale bread, coffee grounds that didn't make it to the garden, moldy cheese bits, etc etc. Sometimes it takes a bit more vigilance to keep the kitchen from smelling bad, but it's a small price to pay to keep the landfills less crowded - er, to keep us from looking like clueless foreigners!
I don't exactly know where all this stuff goes. There's an Aqua Teen Hunger Force episode (Season 2 episode 7, "Super Sir Loin" - ain't Google searches great!) where Meatwad donates food to a charitable cause, but in our case I don't think the contents of our umido bucket goes to the shorties...
Anyway, one thing you have to make sure of is not to use an opaque plastic bag for your umido goodies, otherwise you may find your plastic bag out of the bucket and out on the sidewalk naked on its own next to it. Yuck! At least we don't have squirrels...
We actually had our Italian language instructor tell us that she thought that the practice is unsanitary, and that they don't do it where she's from. (Which btw, is from Naples! So the easy retort would have been to say, "no, you just pile all your trash on the sidewalk together!!!" But it was our second day of class and I didn't want to get on her 'bad list', so I kept my mouth shut.)
So that's the story of the umido bucket!
I'd post pics, but you might be eating something as you read this.
More next time!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Buon' Anno a tutti! New Year's in Italia
Happy New Year everyone! As I sit here in la cucina having a little colazione consisting of il caffe' e il panettone and listening to the bells ringing in the nearby campanile (no, they don't shut the bell tower down on New Year's Day - if you have a hangover well too bad!), the chilly late morning air is punctuated by the random firework blast, set off I suppose by folks who for whatever reason didn't use up their stash last night.
Yep, as I only just found out a few days ago, New Year's Eve is THE 'fireworks holiday' in Italia. Now I understand what was behind the odd explosions we would hear some evenings in the past couple weeks leading up to last night. And we're not talking M80's here, we're talking jump-out-of-your-skin-with-surprise, rattle-the-windows kind of stuff. One evening about a week ago while Dog Chandler and I were out on our evening walk, we heard one such blast up not far ahead of us around the corner. I think I got a few inches of air under my shoes! As we arrived at the traffic light and turned the corner onto the main street, grey smoke still hung heavy in the air in front of the Bar Alexander. But there was no alarm, everyone was just going about their business as usual, so I supposed it was not entirely unexpected. So, Dog Chandler and I simply continued walking on past while I appreciated the unexpected powder fix (c'mon, you know you like the smell - just admit it!).
Finally last night, New Year's Eve was upon us - showtime! I felt a great sense of antici...pation! as darkness fell on our little neighborhood. First one blast was heard, then another. As the evening progressed, the explosions became more frequent and came from further afield, and I could feel the excitement growing in the air. Around 11:30 some folks were already doing some mini-displays, either as a warmup or just because they couldn't wait any longer. Finally midnight came creeping in and hot on its heels erupted the most awesome amateur fireworks displays I'd ever seen. For about an hour, our street sounded as if there were a local coup attempt in progress and made me appreciate what Francis Scott Key might have witnessed that famous night long ago. Flashes of color strobed over the sides of houses and lit the sky in otherworldly shades of red and green. Standing out on our balcony with wine glass in hand, I surveyed the situation with such an unmitigated admiration for the unbridled excess and utter coolness of the scene as might be felt by a little boy seeing nitro-burning funny cars tearing ass down the dragstrip for the first time in his life. Everyone had what appeared to be junior versions of the professional fireworks you see on July 4th back in the states. Actually, there are probably many little towns in America whose Fourth of July shows were matched - or maybe even eclipsed - by what I witnessed just from our own front yard. It was truly amazing.
Man I'm telling you, American backyard bar-b-q'ers need to seriously step their game up if they have any hope of measuring up to their counterparts here in the Big Boot. If I were one of those guys that thought my backyard fireworks displays were the shizzle and then saw what I just saw last night, it might drive me to simply give it all up. You know, throw away my punks and stay inside knitting beer cozies with the lights turned down and the curtains drawn. Seriously.
Yep, as I only just found out a few days ago, New Year's Eve is THE 'fireworks holiday' in Italia. Now I understand what was behind the odd explosions we would hear some evenings in the past couple weeks leading up to last night. And we're not talking M80's here, we're talking jump-out-of-your-skin-with-surprise, rattle-the-windows kind of stuff. One evening about a week ago while Dog Chandler and I were out on our evening walk, we heard one such blast up not far ahead of us around the corner. I think I got a few inches of air under my shoes! As we arrived at the traffic light and turned the corner onto the main street, grey smoke still hung heavy in the air in front of the Bar Alexander. But there was no alarm, everyone was just going about their business as usual, so I supposed it was not entirely unexpected. So, Dog Chandler and I simply continued walking on past while I appreciated the unexpected powder fix (c'mon, you know you like the smell - just admit it!).
Finally last night, New Year's Eve was upon us - showtime! I felt a great sense of antici...pation! as darkness fell on our little neighborhood. First one blast was heard, then another. As the evening progressed, the explosions became more frequent and came from further afield, and I could feel the excitement growing in the air. Around 11:30 some folks were already doing some mini-displays, either as a warmup or just because they couldn't wait any longer. Finally midnight came creeping in and hot on its heels erupted the most awesome amateur fireworks displays I'd ever seen. For about an hour, our street sounded as if there were a local coup attempt in progress and made me appreciate what Francis Scott Key might have witnessed that famous night long ago. Flashes of color strobed over the sides of houses and lit the sky in otherworldly shades of red and green. Standing out on our balcony with wine glass in hand, I surveyed the situation with such an unmitigated admiration for the unbridled excess and utter coolness of the scene as might be felt by a little boy seeing nitro-burning funny cars tearing ass down the dragstrip for the first time in his life. Everyone had what appeared to be junior versions of the professional fireworks you see on July 4th back in the states. Actually, there are probably many little towns in America whose Fourth of July shows were matched - or maybe even eclipsed - by what I witnessed just from our own front yard. It was truly amazing.
Man I'm telling you, American backyard bar-b-q'ers need to seriously step their game up if they have any hope of measuring up to their counterparts here in the Big Boot. If I were one of those guys that thought my backyard fireworks displays were the shizzle and then saw what I just saw last night, it might drive me to simply give it all up. You know, throw away my punks and stay inside knitting beer cozies with the lights turned down and the curtains drawn. Seriously.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Happy Holidays!
Well our first Christmas in Italy has been a smashing success! We've done nothing noteworthy... we put up our tree a couple of weeks ago and last week made Christmas cookies. Our Christmas Eve was napping, hanging out around the tree, opening gifts and eating our cookies - it's a tough job but someone has to do it. All in all, we didn't really get into the spirit of the season this year. No cards sent as I lost track of time and didn't make the three week advance mailing, we did few gifts and no travel or big meals. Having a low stress holiday really isn't too bad.
Today, Christmas Day, we had a friend over for a small dinner and spent the rest of the evening around the fireplace with a bottle of Prosecco. A few calls home made the day complete. Now we're ready to unplug the tree and call it a day.
Buon Natale everyone!
Today, Christmas Day, we had a friend over for a small dinner and spent the rest of the evening around the fireplace with a bottle of Prosecco. A few calls home made the day complete. Now we're ready to unplug the tree and call it a day.
Buon Natale everyone!
Friday, November 19, 2010
patata patata
Yippee! After waiting 11 weeks for the motorcycle to arrive from stateside, I have finally finished becoming 'legal' to ride the Harley here in Italy!
The actual receipt of the bike, along with taking off all the protective foam packaging material that I'd previously used to cover the chrome and other vulnerable bits of the bike, refilling the bike with oil and gasoline, and purchasing a battery charger that will work here to charge up the battery prior to starting it again, and actually starting it - those were all just basic tasks that had nothing to do with the actual legalization process of getting to be able to actually ride the thing here in Italia. (Although the purchase of a gas can and a battery charger at the local auto parts shop was a minor victory, linguistically-speaking! I had to learn to say buona sera, signore. ho bisogno di una damagiana per la benzina to get me a gas can, and anche una caricatore per la batteria di motocicletta to also ask for a battery charger. Then it was off on LeAnn's bicycle to get the gas can filled at the local station, and home to put it all to use.) And just for kicks, I adjusted the front and rear suspension settings to my liking, recalling that in New York it still rode kinda funny, like it was more spring preload and not enough compression damping.
But actually getting the bike - and myself - legal to ride was another matter. I had already taken the first step back in May before I flew back to NY, and that was to pass the test for my SETAF (allied forces in europe) driver's license with my motorcycle endorsement. The motorcycle endorsement part was simply a transfer from my stateside drivers license. However, the drivers license office on the base won't give you actual permission to ride a motorcycle until you've taken one of the motorcycle safety training courses. And you have to have your motorcycle legal so that you can ride it to and from the class as well as ride it during the class. So, how do you do that?
Well, it's what I like to call 'shuttle bureaucracy', wherein you bounce back and forth between several offices and agencies until your task is complete. There seems to be a lot of that out here. Basically this is how it went:
I had the motorcycle, so that part was taken care of!
First it was off to the local insurance agency in town that represents the company I wanted insurance from, to tell them I want insurance. In Italy they can put the motorcycle on the same policy as the auto, so I just had to add the bike to our existing auto policy. To do that, I called the insurance company 800 number from the local agency's office (it was nice they had that service) and agreed on coverages, then asked the insurance company to email the agent a temporary proof of insurance. The local agent then printed out that form to take to the Army's vehicle registration office.
Then it was off to the vehicle registration office with any and all papers I could think of (vehicle title, NY registration form, my drivers license, my govt ID, etc) plus the temporary insurance certificate, fill out their registration request form, and they set aside a license plate for me. Then they told me the license plate number and a corresponding registration number, but at this time they couldn't give me the license plate or actually register the motorcycle. Oh, and since LeAnn is the government employee and hence my sponsor here in Italy, the motorcycle is registered in her name, not mine. Hmmph!
So then it was back to the insurance agency to tell them the plate number and registration number. Actually, as before, I called the insurance company's 800 number to tell them, then they emailed another proof of insurance form to the local agent then and there, and the agent printed it out for me, only this time it was a 'real' / 'permanent' proof of insurance document with my license number and registration number on it.
Then I went back home to register online for the Motorcycle Safety course appropriate to my previous experience and skill level. After a day or two, I received an email stating that I was provisionally enrolled in the appropriate training course. (Later on, a few days before the course date, I would receive another email stating I was actually enrolled in the course).
Then it was back to the vehicle registration office to give them this 'actual' motorcycle insurance form, and a hardcopy of my training course registration email. At that point, they could actually register the motorcycle, and collect the various fees from me ($20 in US dollars, and another fee in Euro, plus my Italian road tax in Euro). At this point, they still couldn't give me my license plate, but they did give me the registration and road tax documents that I need to carry with me on the bike.
Then I had to wait two weeks for my training course to come around.
Then, the business day prior to my training course, I went on base to the driver's licensing office and got my SETAF drivers license reissued, with effective dates for my motorcycling privileges on the back, covering the time period from that day through the day after the class. This allowed me to actually legally ride a motorcycle in Italy on my license, for the purposes of taking the course.
Next it was back to the vehicle registration office with my 'new' SETAF drivers license, to show them that it was updated with effective dates, and at this point they gave me my new license plate for the motorcycle. Yippee! I went home and mounted the license plate onto the bike.
Since this was a Friday, and my motorcycle class was on Monday, the drivers license folks had to make the effective dates Friday through the following Tuesday, which allowed me to take the nice day Sunday before my class to go out for a quick spin on the bike, so that I could verify that it worked ok, and that I was able to shake a little 'rider rust' off of myself and not have Monday morning rush hour be the first time I'd ridden the bike since July! It felt good to be back on the bike, and it wasn't too foreign-feeling. The strangest thing that happened was that I rode past a youngish couple walking their dog, and after I went past, the woman turned around for another look like I was a space alien. But, I wasn't - just an American wearing a British motorcycling jacket and Japanese helmet riding a Harley in Italy. Nothing to see here.
Monday rolled around, and I spent the day going through the training course with some soldiers from the base. 8 riders - 6 Harleys, one KLR600 and an R1. The course followed the MSF Experienced Rider Course curriculum and it was taught in a parking lot by two instructors that came down from Germany to teach the course(s) for the soldiers. I must admit that it was good for me, since I'd never done much slow-speed stuff on my Harley, and so I needed the instruction to get used to doing these things on the 'new' bike. Anyway, I passed the course no problem! So I received my course completion card from the instructors proving I passed.
Then next day it was back to the drivers license office on base, where I presented my course completion card to get my SETAF license updated once more, this time showing on the back the full 3-year dates for being able to operate a motorcycle.
Finally! e poi! 'Shuttle Bureaucracy' at its finest!
One thing that's strange is that there's no vehicle safety inspection required on motorcycles up front like there was with our car. I do need to have a safety inspection completed at registration renewal (2 years), but not up front when I initially registered it. Hmm. Oh well, morally I'm fine with that, as the Harley dealership in NY did the inspection when they installed my new tires, just before leaving the country. And although it sounds strange bringing Pirelli's back to Italy, I'm certainly glad to be riding on them instead of on those old Dunlops that came with the bike originally. 5 years of age on tires that were hard to begin with, just made them even more awful.
As far as riding in Italy, well, it's pretty crazy! But motorcyclists out here are allowed more freedoms, and car drivers will move aside for you expecting that you'll pass them in the lane, or by straddling the centerline - even if there's oncoming traffic. Yikes! In town, riders will motor up the centerline to pass multiple cars, and overall it seems that the only limitation is the rider's talent for doing these things without, I assume, getting tangled with anyone else or falling down. For right now, I ride like a local without getting too crazy over it - the Harley isn't a sportbike, after all, and really I'm not in THAT much of a hurry - especially not to introduce myself needlessly to members of the medical or law enforcement communities.
That's all for now! Remember, mantenere il lato di gomma giu' !!!
The actual receipt of the bike, along with taking off all the protective foam packaging material that I'd previously used to cover the chrome and other vulnerable bits of the bike, refilling the bike with oil and gasoline, and purchasing a battery charger that will work here to charge up the battery prior to starting it again, and actually starting it - those were all just basic tasks that had nothing to do with the actual legalization process of getting to be able to actually ride the thing here in Italia. (Although the purchase of a gas can and a battery charger at the local auto parts shop was a minor victory, linguistically-speaking! I had to learn to say buona sera, signore. ho bisogno di una damagiana per la benzina to get me a gas can, and anche una caricatore per la batteria di motocicletta to also ask for a battery charger. Then it was off on LeAnn's bicycle to get the gas can filled at the local station, and home to put it all to use.) And just for kicks, I adjusted the front and rear suspension settings to my liking, recalling that in New York it still rode kinda funny, like it was more spring preload and not enough compression damping.
But actually getting the bike - and myself - legal to ride was another matter. I had already taken the first step back in May before I flew back to NY, and that was to pass the test for my SETAF (allied forces in europe) driver's license with my motorcycle endorsement. The motorcycle endorsement part was simply a transfer from my stateside drivers license. However, the drivers license office on the base won't give you actual permission to ride a motorcycle until you've taken one of the motorcycle safety training courses. And you have to have your motorcycle legal so that you can ride it to and from the class as well as ride it during the class. So, how do you do that?
Well, it's what I like to call 'shuttle bureaucracy', wherein you bounce back and forth between several offices and agencies until your task is complete. There seems to be a lot of that out here. Basically this is how it went:
I had the motorcycle, so that part was taken care of!
First it was off to the local insurance agency in town that represents the company I wanted insurance from, to tell them I want insurance. In Italy they can put the motorcycle on the same policy as the auto, so I just had to add the bike to our existing auto policy. To do that, I called the insurance company 800 number from the local agency's office (it was nice they had that service) and agreed on coverages, then asked the insurance company to email the agent a temporary proof of insurance. The local agent then printed out that form to take to the Army's vehicle registration office.
Then it was off to the vehicle registration office with any and all papers I could think of (vehicle title, NY registration form, my drivers license, my govt ID, etc) plus the temporary insurance certificate, fill out their registration request form, and they set aside a license plate for me. Then they told me the license plate number and a corresponding registration number, but at this time they couldn't give me the license plate or actually register the motorcycle. Oh, and since LeAnn is the government employee and hence my sponsor here in Italy, the motorcycle is registered in her name, not mine. Hmmph!
So then it was back to the insurance agency to tell them the plate number and registration number. Actually, as before, I called the insurance company's 800 number to tell them, then they emailed another proof of insurance form to the local agent then and there, and the agent printed it out for me, only this time it was a 'real' / 'permanent' proof of insurance document with my license number and registration number on it.
Then I went back home to register online for the Motorcycle Safety course appropriate to my previous experience and skill level. After a day or two, I received an email stating that I was provisionally enrolled in the appropriate training course. (Later on, a few days before the course date, I would receive another email stating I was actually enrolled in the course).
Then it was back to the vehicle registration office to give them this 'actual' motorcycle insurance form, and a hardcopy of my training course registration email. At that point, they could actually register the motorcycle, and collect the various fees from me ($20 in US dollars, and another fee in Euro, plus my Italian road tax in Euro). At this point, they still couldn't give me my license plate, but they did give me the registration and road tax documents that I need to carry with me on the bike.
Then I had to wait two weeks for my training course to come around.
Then, the business day prior to my training course, I went on base to the driver's licensing office and got my SETAF drivers license reissued, with effective dates for my motorcycling privileges on the back, covering the time period from that day through the day after the class. This allowed me to actually legally ride a motorcycle in Italy on my license, for the purposes of taking the course.
Next it was back to the vehicle registration office with my 'new' SETAF drivers license, to show them that it was updated with effective dates, and at this point they gave me my new license plate for the motorcycle. Yippee! I went home and mounted the license plate onto the bike.
Since this was a Friday, and my motorcycle class was on Monday, the drivers license folks had to make the effective dates Friday through the following Tuesday, which allowed me to take the nice day Sunday before my class to go out for a quick spin on the bike, so that I could verify that it worked ok, and that I was able to shake a little 'rider rust' off of myself and not have Monday morning rush hour be the first time I'd ridden the bike since July! It felt good to be back on the bike, and it wasn't too foreign-feeling. The strangest thing that happened was that I rode past a youngish couple walking their dog, and after I went past, the woman turned around for another look like I was a space alien. But, I wasn't - just an American wearing a British motorcycling jacket and Japanese helmet riding a Harley in Italy. Nothing to see here.
Monday rolled around, and I spent the day going through the training course with some soldiers from the base. 8 riders - 6 Harleys, one KLR600 and an R1. The course followed the MSF Experienced Rider Course curriculum and it was taught in a parking lot by two instructors that came down from Germany to teach the course(s) for the soldiers. I must admit that it was good for me, since I'd never done much slow-speed stuff on my Harley, and so I needed the instruction to get used to doing these things on the 'new' bike. Anyway, I passed the course no problem! So I received my course completion card from the instructors proving I passed.
Then next day it was back to the drivers license office on base, where I presented my course completion card to get my SETAF license updated once more, this time showing on the back the full 3-year dates for being able to operate a motorcycle.
Finally! e poi! 'Shuttle Bureaucracy' at its finest!
One thing that's strange is that there's no vehicle safety inspection required on motorcycles up front like there was with our car. I do need to have a safety inspection completed at registration renewal (2 years), but not up front when I initially registered it. Hmm. Oh well, morally I'm fine with that, as the Harley dealership in NY did the inspection when they installed my new tires, just before leaving the country. And although it sounds strange bringing Pirelli's back to Italy, I'm certainly glad to be riding on them instead of on those old Dunlops that came with the bike originally. 5 years of age on tires that were hard to begin with, just made them even more awful.
As far as riding in Italy, well, it's pretty crazy! But motorcyclists out here are allowed more freedoms, and car drivers will move aside for you expecting that you'll pass them in the lane, or by straddling the centerline - even if there's oncoming traffic. Yikes! In town, riders will motor up the centerline to pass multiple cars, and overall it seems that the only limitation is the rider's talent for doing these things without, I assume, getting tangled with anyone else or falling down. For right now, I ride like a local without getting too crazy over it - the Harley isn't a sportbike, after all, and really I'm not in THAT much of a hurry - especially not to introduce myself needlessly to members of the medical or law enforcement communities.
That's all for now! Remember, mantenere il lato di gomma giu' !!!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
If you're gonna break the law, make sure you have a good job.
Ok kids, I'm gonna leave the continent - along with our usual subject matter of cats, coffee, food, cat food, cat shows, cars, and coffee-fueled cat-food carrying cars careening to cat shows - for this next post and head back to the ol' US of A. This is a story you've absolutely got to read, because you won't believe it's true. It almost could be in The Onion. The sad and/or scary thing about it is that it's not.
As you may know, I'm a reasonably-avid road bicyclist. And as such, I'm aware of the perception of bicyclists' lives not being worth as much as other lives when it comes to punishing those who would do cyclists harm. That perception is unfortunately held by many in law enforcement and the legal profession. However, there's a new twist on this old tale that should cause grave concern to any red-blooded law-abiding American who expects equal treatment under the law. It's an injustice of almost-Berlusconian proportions. (Had to put in an Italy tie-in there.)
You can read about it here:http://www.vaildaily.com/article/20101104/NEWS/101109939
Next time we're back on-topic!
UPDATED 30/12/2010 Want to know follow-up? Here are some additional links:
http://www.vaildaily.com/article/20101216/NEWS/101219846/1078&ParentProfile=1062
http://www.vaildaily.com/article/20101218/EDITS/101219833/1021&parentprofile=1065
http://velonews.competitor.com/tag/vail-hit-and-run
As you may know, I'm a reasonably-avid road bicyclist. And as such, I'm aware of the perception of bicyclists' lives not being worth as much as other lives when it comes to punishing those who would do cyclists harm. That perception is unfortunately held by many in law enforcement and the legal profession. However, there's a new twist on this old tale that should cause grave concern to any red-blooded law-abiding American who expects equal treatment under the law. It's an injustice of almost-Berlusconian proportions. (Had to put in an Italy tie-in there.)
You can read about it here:
Next time we're back on-topic!
UPDATED 30/12/2010 Want to know follow-up? Here are some additional links:
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