Ancona-Piacenza 2-1

FORZA ANCONA! ANCONA PRIMA IN CLASSIFICA!

We are top of the standings in Serie B with 22 points after 11 weeks! The rest of the teams are rubbish. Ancona are the greatest. We will be the champions and next year play in Serie A. There is no stopping us now... Ok, now for some context for the ranting. Last night I went to my first Italian football match to watch Ancona play Piacenza with Raimundo and his friends Maxi and Lorenza.

That's them, Maxi in purple, Lorenza, and Raimundo (waving)

On the line was the three points from a win to put us top of the standings. With a 2-1 victory, we took the points and moved to the top, alone. Swept up in the passion and emotion, Ancona are now "my team" and "we" are going all the way. I might even buy a supporter's scarf.

(Unfortunately, this was only the 11th week and I think there are 42 in the season so the emotions might be a bit premature. The team has been known to falter in the past.)

Most years Ancona struggle to stay in Serie B and finishing in the middle of the pack is considered a success. Twice in their history they have gone up to A and didn't win a single game the whole season. For some reason they are playing well this year and have been near the top of the table and the local tifosi are rabid. Maxi and Lorenza (met them through Raimundo) have season tickets and can get guest tickets for just 1€.

The stadium is about a 10 minute drive from down-town. The main parking lot is at the end of a two-way street, essentially a dead-end the way people walk and drive, so hardly anyone uses it as it's calamintous trying to get in and out. It's a little odd to see a parking lot at a stadium half deserted. Anyway, we parked about a km from the gates and walked dodging double-parked cars, care-free scooters and other fans.

Picture a Soviet era stadium built sort of like Alpenrose velodrome. Built in 1992, it can sit about 25,000 maximum. It's dug into a bowl in the ground and only the top of the main grandstands are visible. The hillsides outside the stadium are overgrown with weeds. Overall quality is on par with a mediocre high school stadium. Since the team isn't that great they have a small corporate sponsor which means they don't have much money for anything.

Finding will-call was nearly impossible, and once we had our tickets, we had to pass security checks at three separate gates, showing ID and tickets ateach, just to reach the stands. Once in thouh, it was exactly like I expected and hoped it would be. The field has the hooligan fence around it so no one sits in the lower half of the stands because the fence is so dirty you can't see through it.

The north stands behind the goal is where the regular fans sit (like the Timber Army).

The south end is for the visiting team. Eight brave souls from the visiting team came last night. They don't travel well I guess.

The east and west sideline stands are for families and more expensive tickets, nicer seats. They also weren't very full.

We were in the North end and it was the most crowded. Everyone smokes. It's worse than being inside a bar. We stood the entire time. They sing and chant passionate songs about strength and support and courage for the home team. It's just like European football should be.

Following the win, I am considered a good luck charm and was told I have to be back on Saturday when the team takes on the third place rivals, Cesena.

The game was unusual. Two of the visiting players were ejected with red cards including the Keeper who was sent off for mauling someone in the box. They had used all their substitutions so when he went off, one of the defenders had to play in goal. He was a better Keeper than the real one. There were probably half a dozen yellow cards and two bench clearing scuffles. Ancona scored on a free-kick in the first and on a penalty in the second. Two minutes after going up 2-0 in the second half, with the crowd in full chanting mode, the other team scored on a counter-attack throwing everyone into the absolute pits of despair. Everyone wants the team to do well but no one believes in them. It's hilarious.

On the way home we saw another football team - an actual American Football team. Turns out Ancona has a professional team called the Dolphins. One of the girls in our office dates one of the players so I'm going to try and find out more about it. Maybe I can make the team!

Forza Ancona! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?

Gnocchi

My roommate Deborah cooks like an Italian stereotype. That's a good thing. I don't mean like Olive Garden I mean like Chef Boyardee. No written recipe, everything learned by cooking with her mother, simple, fresh, fast, delicious. I haven't had to cook much lately because she cooks most evenings and very kindly invites me to join the meal. I try to contribute ingredients but I usually have the wrong kind of pasta (they are very serious about having the right pasta for the right dish.), so I just eat and wash the dishes. (Max, did you know that along with their pizza, Italians are known for their pasta? It's true.) Like I said, they are very serious about having the correct pasta to go with the dish. One time Raimundo almost threw out what he had started to cook because he didn't have any short pasta and he had to have short pasta. Somehow I managed to convince him that just this once we could eat spinach and cece with long pasta. But even flat long pasta can be wrong when the dish needs long, round pasta.

The other night, Deborah made gnocchi from scratch. Maybe you aren't impressed. Maybe in your house you whip up batches of gnocchi from scratch the same way you can quarts of summer peaches or sneeze in your hand. But it impressed me. She was just making it for three of us so she noted that you only have to use half a kilo of flour; she said she is used to making it for her one sister and seven brothers at home when she uses upwards of three kilos of flour. Ahhh. Of course. Also, 90 grams of uncooked spaghetti is about right for an adult woman but a man needs more like 100 to 120 grams. Got it.

Back to the gnocchi. First you make a well of flour and add the eggs:

Then you knead it into a dough (she also added ricotta cheese), cut and roll it into the shape of a snake and cut it into gnocchi sized pieces:

After it's cooked, you add a sauce of ricotta and smoked salmon finished with rocket:

(I just failed my audition as a food photographer, I know.)

I try not to think about the exchange rate. Especially with what the dollar is doing right now. Otherwise, if I did the math, the 6 euro beer that seems like a good deal would freak me out because it's 9 dollars! I can easily spend 15 dollars at lunch. Just stick to the euros and don't think about the dollar equivalent.

Go Yankees! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?

Musings

Is it a stereotype for a blog to have a post called 'Musings'?

When I came to Europe in the spring of 2008 there seemed to be a lot of stories about America's perception abroad and even suggestions to travel as a Canadian. (Which besides putting a Canadian flag on your backpack I'm not sure how that's even done. Maybe saying "Excuse me" whenever someone knocks you over or cuts in front of you in line. Canada, America's hat.) But the travel advice was to do anything in order to avoid being labeled an American. I never noticed anything overt, but with that history in mind I was a little curious about how I would be received here. It's been nothing but positive. And to my surprise, I've even been told Italians love Americans. Go figure. I guess they grew sick of all the Canadians. It's true that most people upon learning I'm from Portland, Oregon, get a confused expression on their face. Once they learn Oregon is near California they excitedly tell me about how they've been to New York or Florida. California automatically links to Florida and New York somehow. My roommate Deborah has a friend who lives near Bellingham, WA but as far as she is concerned that is Seattle and won't be convinced otherwise. Oregon doesn't exist, but the US is great, English is great, Obama is great. Toronto sucks. Haha.

Recently I wrote, and you might have read, about my progress in learning the local language. Well, on that front, I've recently started trying to join real live conversations. I emphasize the word trying in that sentence. When I think of a question to ask or a phrase to add, by the time I've sussed out what was said, realized I understood it, and formulated my part of it , they are no longer talking about the color of their socks but have moved on to discussing the new wines from this season's harvest or something. At that point, my startling and brilliant revelation that my socks are indeed black (i miei calzini sono nero) is either irrelevant and unstated or brings the conversation to an abrubt and confused stop if stated. But progress nonetheless!

I have a new criteria for classifying people (I'm still using the one about how they look in a short skirt or might look in a bikini but this new one supplements it) - it's how they react to my attempts at mangling Italian. I'm still working on it but it basically ranges from obnoxious (rolling their eyes and dismissive) to saintly (just let me prattle on with only slight corrections and cheerful encouragement) and in between are people who correct every single freaking syllable in an attempt to be helpful to those who speak so quickly I don't have a prayer of understanding and making no attempt to adjust. I have to frequently remind myself that I have been guilty of the same or worse with non-English speakers and besides, it's their country and my job to learn the language not theirs to come down to my level. But they are still being graded. So either be nice or shorten that skirt!

As always, my favorite reaction is when I do say something and people look at me with a mix of wonder and awe like the brilliant little baby who just learned not to poo in his own pants. Or the puppy who gets an extra treat the first time he sits on command. I'm a puppy with a new trick. My teacher was so excited about something I managed to say in class today that she started clapping before she realized what she was doing and stopped herself and apologized. Frankly, I was so amazed by what I'd conjured that I was clapping too and couldn't blame her. As they say, "di niente". (They really do say that.)

Every year for the past few years I've been fortunate enough to be invited to my friends' children's school for Friends & Family day. The day came around again last week and for the first time in a few years I wasn't able to go. This was the upshot:



Granted I wasn't even invited this time, so to be fair, both parties have legitimate complaints. The worst part is that Pidgeon did go and now she can claim (fairly?) the kids love her more. Dammit. Morgan, I can't believe you turned on me so quickly. No presents for you! I expected this from your mother but never from you.

Have a great Halloween everyone! I wonder what Eric is doing right now?

I Did This

Nella stanza, c'è una finestra e dietro il vaso. Fuori dalla finestra c'è un treno. Il treno è sopra al mare. Ci sono quattro poltrone nella stanza. Le poltrone sono davanti ai tavoli, e il telecomando è sopra il tavolo. Il quadro è sulla parete non è sul tappeto. Ci sono tre piante nella stanza e ci sono due divani. Dove è la stanza? La stanza è nella casa e la casa è in compagna perche è molta tranquilla e non rumorosa. La casa della stanza è accanto alle montagne.

It took me over an hour to write that originally. The assignment was to do 60 words but I went way over that. For my efforts I received a "Bene!" and one smiley face which is about a B+ I guess. My teacher is stingy.

In other news...

There have been lots of questions about my two other roommates - the girls. Most of them have focused on shallow, physical subjects instead of about substantive things like personality and character. C'mon people, it's what's on the inside that matters. Before I left Portland I had been told that I would have two roommates - Raimundo and a Brazilian university student. A few creative souls convinced themselves and me that out of a country of millions, I had won the lottery and was fortunate to draw one of Giselle Bundechen's little sisters to share my apartment (I just lost 20 minutes of my life when I Googled Giselle's name to see how to spell it and got stuck on her photo search results). Where was I? Oh yes, when I arrived, much to my shock, my only roommate was Raimundo, the Brazilian had left and I had two women living with me not one. Neither of them related to Brazilian supermodles of any sort. They had been on holiday so it wasn't until last weekend that I actually me them. Deborah and Alice are their names and they are both Italian and come with boyfriends.

They are very, very nice, but slobs. You know how I am. Raimundo is the same way as me. The girls are both not. Every night I come home from work to their school stuff all over the dining room table and their breakfast and lunch dishes sitting in the sink. But that's the worst of my problems so I'll survive. They've only been there a week so I don't want to make any big assumptions but I think we'll get along fine but I don't know that we'll ever be super close which is ok. Raimundo is cool and we seem to be hitting it off.

I think one of Raimundo's friends got us tickets to the Ancona soccer match next weekend. The team plays in the second division but have been much better this year than expected and are near the top of the group so that's cool. They even made national highlights a couple weeks ago because one of their players scored a goal from mid-field. The games aren't on TV, but they are on local radio so on match day, all the shops and bars broadcast the game. It's prtty cool to walk around and see groups of people gathered around listening and discussing the game.

This weekend is some kind of festival in Ancona. A map was published marked with all the best restaurants to buy beer (cool map!), there is going to be some sort of city tour or parade led by a group that calls themselves 'the faggots' (I may have messed up that translation), there are live bands in the different piazzas, all the shops will be open late and there is a big flea market in the main piazza. It's been raining all week but is supposed to be nice this weekend so it should be good timing. Of course, I may have completely misunderstood the brochure and there is nothing of the sort going on so we'll have to see.

I got my first haircut in Italy this week. I don't speak Italian. Marco the Barber doesn't speak English. Lothar tried to explain what I wanted done. It could have gone a lot worse. It looks ok but is a lot shorter than I am used to. That's why we have hats!

Is purple a popular color for clothes this season in the US?

Work was good this week. I received my first project from a client, I sent out my first estimate to a new prospect, and my reps submitted their first requests for estimates. Starting to have a little traction. Hoping it keeps building. What's with this economy?

I wonder what Eric is doing right now?

What Everyone Else Around Here Learned In Kindergarten

A frequent question is how is the Italian coming? Well, it is and it isn’t. On the one hand, if you judge by the stack of flash cards I’ve made and memorized, it’s coming along quite well. On the other hand, if you judge by my ability to form complete sentences then it’s coming along quite poorly. On the other hand, if you judge by the eloquence and quality of the conversations I have in my mind it’s coming along quite well. On the other hand, wait, there is no other hand. So like I said, it is and it isn’t.

I judge myself pretty harshly so most days I’m frustrated with the pace that I’m learning Italian. I would describe it as glacial but even glaciers show signs of forward progress if you stare hard enough. Honestly, I know a lot of words, a fair number of verbs, some adjectives, a few prepositions and even an article or two. But for every word there is the masculine and feminine form plus singular and plural. Don’t get me started on conjugating prepositions or creating the possessive form. That was an entire week of classes.

A couple things that are hard to wrap the mind around...Italian, when spoken correctly, sounds just like when you're making fun of people speaking Italian. That's probably the wrong way to put it, but it's all I can come up with. All the vowels are pronounced. Most words end with a vowel and you say the sound so you end up sounding just like a cartoon version of yourself. And everyone really is called Marco or Paulo, or Gino and you say Ciao and Prego a lot. They're serious even if it doesn' t sound like it. And conversations sound like arguments so you think two people who just a moment ago were having a lovely conversation are now about to kick each other's ass. Also, 'i' is pronounced 'e' and 'e' is 'eh' and 'c' makes a 'ch' sound while 'ch' makes a 'k' sound. That causes some pronunciation confusion while reading aloud. Fortunately, the language is very phonetic so spelling is pretty straight-forward and there aren't many spelling exceptions. But like any language there are exceptions to rules: you work "in una banc" or "in una posta" but you live "a una casa". You just do.

Every day I leave class vowing to use some of my new knowledge on the unsuspecting locals. But seriously, when was the last time you had a conversation describing the contents of your bedroom or describing what you were wearing. The person is standing right in front of me, they know my pants are blue and my shirt is black and they really don’t care that I have a garbage can but no rug in my room! The few sentences I do get out are so badly mispronounced that my listener just has to shake their head in confusion and then switches to English in sympathy. On the rare occasions when I ask a question or respond to something correctly and see the look of surprise and pleasure bloom on the listener’s face, a feeling akin to my third kiss bubbles up. There’s nothing like saying “Anche a te” (And you too) to someone who has just wished you a good evening and seeing them smile proudly at the little trick you just performed.

It is a real shock to me how isolating not knowing the language actually is. When I first arrived I had to have a co-worker write out instructions for how to order prosciutto from the butcher because I had no idea how to tell them how much I wanted. In the beginning, if someone started speaking to me, I would stop them and tell them I didn’t speak Italian. That was one of the first phrases I made sure to learn. Now, I've stopped telling people I don't speak Italian because they don't care, they just keep talking. So I nod and smile and feel like a complete idiot. I go out with Raimundo and his friends and just sit there as conversations go on around me. My roommates speak Italian together even when I’m in the room and I swear they are talking about me. Not only am I ignorant but also paranoid. That part is hard, not being able to engage in the everyday occurrences and conversations.

It's actually good that I'm in a small town because not a lot of people outside my work speak English. If I was in a big city it would probably be easy to fall back on it but here it's sink or swim. So far, glug, glug, glug. It doesn't feel like it yet, but I think it will really help with learning the language. To be fair, I can get through minor interactions like ordering lunch in a restaurant or buying something at the bakery.

That said, I live in fear of people going off script. You see, for many interactions, I feel like I can prepare in advance for them by memorizing my lines. For example, before going to the deli counter I memorize the name of the meat I want and exactly how much. Simple, right? What if what you thought was the name of the meat was actually just the region all the meat in that section happens to come from? Now you’ve just ordered 200 grams of Ungherre but they’re all Ungherre. Which Ungherre do you want? Well, then it’s back to mumbling and waving the hands about until they figure you out. I always take care to stand where I can see the read-out of the cash register because no matter how much I practice my numbers, I still can’t catch them when spoken at normal speed. No problem, but what happens when you hand over your fifty euros and the girl gets distracted and forgets to give you your change? That simple transaction turns into a silly pantomime wherein you helplessly try to act out that you need your change because you don’t have a clue about how to say, “I still need my change” or any variation of that sentence and the only charades you know how to play are perverted charades learned at a drunken party on Thanksgiving two year ago and frankly that’s not going to help all that much right now. So once again, mumbling and waving the arms.

I realize none of this is spells the end of the world, but it is frustrating and it does wear me down from time to time. Some days I come home and want to scream if I have to hear another word of Italian. And then one day you’re walking to lunch and laughing at something someone said and you realize they said it in Italian and you understood! Now that’s cool. Give me a couple more months at this and we’ll see.

I wonder what Eric is doing right now.

Chamonix Photos

I've finally posted pictures of my trip to Paris, Chamonix, Ancona, Rome and London earlier this spring. I take comfort though knowing that like the mighty Redwood tree taking hundreds of years to reach its full splendor, these pictures are only made sweeter by the wait. There are a lot of them. Sorry. Enjoy!

I wonder what Eric is doing right now.

=CONCATENATE(G1;IF(H1<>"";CONCATENATE(", ";H1);""))

The title of this post is an Excel formula I was shown that will concatenate data from two cells separate cells into one with a comma separator or a blank space depending on what is needed. Its sheer niftiness gives me smiles. Excel is cool.

I am quickly becoming the obnoxious American in the office, or so I think. After subtle hints (ok daily whining) about how useful having two monitors is, they finally relented at work and set me up with a second. I was instructed to deny the existence of the second monitor to anyone who commented in order to head off additional requests. However, I am in an arms race with Vayla, our sales rep for Italy. He saw my set up and said he might ask for one himself. I said if has two, I'm asking for a third.

I went to a Quiz Night with Raimundo on Tuesday to join a couple of his friends. They were doing quite well on their own and since the questions and answers were all in Italian I was next to useless. The few questions I did understand I didn't know the answer to anyway. Until the last question of the first round when the capitol of Alaska was the answer. As the first, and only, team to answer the question we received maximum points, won a free beer, and qualified for the Finals. My first Italian triumph.

Being in Italy has almost begun to feel ordinary to me which is a nice feeling. Even nicer is the almost daily jolt I get when I realize that I am living in Italy. It happened while walking to work this morning. The walk was just another like I've done before when it hit me that I was walking down a street in Ancona from my apartment to my job surrounded by all things Italian. I had to smile and laugh a bit at the absurdity of it while realizing every day it feels less and less absurd.

I carried on my first substantive conversation in Italian class this week, I've also been surprised a couple times when I understood a conversation, and I wrote a paragraph in Italian of almost 100 words. It's not much, but compared to how much I knew just a couple weeks ago it feels like progress is starting to be made.

"Boh!" said with a shrug of the shoulders means I don't know and I don't really care that I don't know. Ask someone else. I like this word.

According to Jim and CSI: Miami are both on TV here and have been dubbed. Moving them to Italian TV does nothing to improve their quality. In fact, I think the Italians know the shows stink because they managed to find a voice for Horatio that makes the character as lame here as it is there.

There was a protest by the university students earlier this week right outside my office windown. Someone shouted through a megaphone, the students chanted some very inappropriate sayings (those words I've learned), they stopped traffic and then they went for a march. It lasted a few hours, made Raimundo late for work, and I suspect was only an excuse to miss an exam or go for an early lunch on a nice fall day.

Bar Franco makes the most amazing and delicious pastries. On the weekends the line is 8 or 9 deep and 6 or 7 wide at the counter and trails out the door. This lasts from 9.00 until 13.00. Any wait is more than worth it. Once I have a bike it will be a regular stopping point for any ride.

Ikea in Italy is just like Ikea in Portland.

My Italian teacher Eliana gave me a present on Friday, a children's book called Pollicino. At first I was very touched by the gesture. That quickly turned to a mixture of depression and despair when I opened to the first page and tried to read the first paragraph. I understood two words. It's supposed to be good for my vocabulary. You think? Oh well, it's full of lots of pretty colors and nice illustrations. I think pre-preschoolers read this book.

A package arrived in the mail this week from a friend in Portland. Inside was a jar of Jif peanut butter. I nearly cried. Nutella is good but it's no Jif. So excited.

This is what it looked like on my home from work Friday. Awww.

Food - My Three Vices

I have been in Italy for almost a month and that's time enough for me to develop a love affair with three foods and a secret crush on a fourth. Pasta doesn't count. I loved pasta so much I married it already. These are my mistresses.

My secret crush is the macchiato. Before coming to Europe I never drank coffee. Occasionally tea, perhaps due to my mother being British, but never coffee. I didn't like the taste. Silly me. In the spring I spent two months in Europe snowboarding and traveling and ten of those days were in Paris. One night after dinner I ordered an espresso with my dessert. I admit that at the time I did it because it seemed very 'French' and right. But it wasn't that bad. So I ordered a couple more over the next few days. In Chamonix, I started ordering them more frequently and when Eric, Inga and Matt were visiting they became a regular ritual after being on the hill for the day and before going to the bar.

There is a pretty strong coffee culture here in Italy. (Stay tuned for more shocking revelations of this sort.) An espresso or macchiato caldo (with warm milk) is about .90 cents if you drink it at the counter or 1.20 if you take it to a table. In the morning, the cafes are two and three deep at the counter as people have a quick espresso and brioche before going to the office. After lunch and dinner it's also common to have another. As Lothar said, 5 or 7 espresso a day is fine. More than ten and you have a problem. I'm fine. This brings us to the first of my new loves.

The pasta sfoglia ricoperta al cioccolato. This beauty also costs only .90 cents. It is multiple layers of flaky, buttery pastry separated by a delicious custard that makes the very existence of pudding irrelevant. All this is topped by a chocolate glaze. I meant to take a picture but had finished the pastry long before I could get out the camera for a photo. The only good news for both my health and weight is that I have found only one cafe that sells these so will hopefully be able to limit my intake.

What I won't be limiting the intake of are doner kebab sandwiches. These are a variant of the shawarma that I idolize from eating as a kid in the Ivory Coast (yes, Kelly I really did live in Africa). There was a large Lebonese population in Bouke, the city where I lived and I have many fond memories of shawarma meals in their restaurants. So years later, much to my happy surprise, I discovered the doner kebab is quite popular in Europe as a snack food and it is possible to get a reasonable reproduction of my memories from some of them. There are three kebab restaurants in Ancona, all within a few minute's walk of my apartment. I met the owners of Un Turco Napoletano through my friend Sarcan, who is a co-worker of my roommate Raimundo. Sarcan is Turkish as are the owners of the restaurant and he quickly befriended them when he moved to Ancona to study engineering at the university. As soon as he found out about my addiction he introduced me to the owners and now I have an inside connection. That's what friends are for - enabling. They do punch cards (that's what you're looking at on the left) and I am halfway to a free kebab piadina. My free sandwich will only cost me 35.00 euros and change.

When I'm not eating kebabs I'm eating pizza. Not a lot has to be said about this I don't think. Italy invented pizza. I think. I eat them I don't study them. You tell me. Raimundo has the same addiction as I do and since he has been living here for a couple years has an inside track on the best places. The tender shoots of a tradition are blossoming between us. Awww. Sunday nights we go for pizza and beer at one or another of his favorite places. They all have a common theme. Ordinary decor, jammed packed at 9pm, overheated from the oven in the back and a steaming, chewy, fresh, scorching hot pizza brought quickly to your table. They come with either tomato sauce and cheese or plain with a little oil as the base. Each pizza is personal and there is nothing so silly as thick crust. Each restaurant develops a reputation for either a place with crunchy, crisp crust or a chewy one. Right now I'm addicted to red pizza with prosciutto, speck and rocket. Finished with a gelato and espresso and the week is off to a decent start. Soon I will make the trip south to Naples, as it is common knowledge to the people that keep telling me, that true pizza comes from Naples.

This insider knowledge is invaluable. It has put me months ahead of schedule if I had had to find these places myself and due to their local status and often subtle appearance and out of the way locations I would likely have never discovered them. Or wasted a lot of euros on sub-par versions.

Today was the first day it has rained since I moved here. Until now it has been mostly 20-25 degrees and sunny every day. Not at all typical for this time of year I've been told. Since this my first time here at this time of year everything is typical. Today it was in the low teens and rained off and on most of the day. It was gray and cloudy too. Except for the humidity it felt just like Portland. I loved it.

I wonder what Eric is doing right now.

Presenting: adequate marketing

Most people are well aware of my love for and rabid embrace of all things social media. I am the front most atom on the tip of the spear that is Web 2.0. As such, in response to the clamoring demands of the hordes of people desparate to keep in touch with me, the birth of this blog was made necessary, neigh inevitable. I was to pollute the blogosphere. Terror-stricken, on the eve of publishing my first post I knew the blog's title had to be as creative as the content. And at this junction of terror and need was adequate marketing.

adequate marketing is a viral advertising, guerrilla marketing, social media, branding, networking company so advanced it doesn't exist yet. At least not on Facebook. They are synergistic without being cloying. Their ROI regularly exceeds their I. For them, it's not the Big Idea that will be a Paradigm Shift, it's their Value Add that will be a Game Changer. As adequate marketing's principal Inga Johnson frequently says, to anyone, "We aim to break through the clutter with a people-centric focus on our core competencies. Our metrics are overwhelmingly positve in this regard."

The company is headquartered at the Hawthorne branch of Albina Press but conveniently maintains offices in most of the coffee shops in Portland. adquate marketing are rapily scaleable if not already engaged or otherwise distracted and usually are in demand just the right amount to impress but not to intimidate. Email is answered with timing that is just about right. Conferences and meetings are scheduled deliberately, without an air of urgency or a sense of leisure. Really, they are just about the right solution for most things but never the wrong choice for anything.

Once contacted, and once they got back to me, Inga made room in her remarkably open schedule to take on my assignment - name this blog.

I have to say they really took this assignment to the next level. Their effort and the resulting results are a sure-fire win-win. With plenty of inside the box thinking, and perhaps a conference call or two to make sure we were all on the same page, they had named this blog. All that's left is to attend the awards show and clap for those being recognized.

"To truly succeed in business today, companies require partners like adequate marketing. They set the standard for over-promising and under-delivering with enthusiasm. It's refreshing to get almost what you asked for, nothing less and certainly never more."

If there was any point of critique it would be only that Inga followed-up to make sure we were happy with their work. At the end of the day, it is what it is. Call or email. With adequate marketing you get free value.

I wonder what Eric is doing right now.

Discovering New Worlds

Like the great Italian exlorers of centuries past, I made two critical discoveries today. From the deck of his ship, Amerigo Vespucci stared in wonder at the North American continent after months of desolation on the Atlantic, and tonight, I am filled with the same sense of wonder and my days in Italy will never be the same.

First I present the band El Cijo. These three youths are from right here in Ancona and came home tonight to play a sold out show near the Piazza del Papa to a mostly receptive home crowd. (Sold out may be a bit strong as it was free, but there seemed to be a lot of people and the band was enthusiastically received.)



Second, I present 'Il Colore dei Soldi' a game show whose combination of clever premise, challenging format and rich rewards has seen its popularity soar like Icarus (before the whole arrogance and melted wings incident).



I wonder what Eric is doing now?

It's Only Been Three Weeks!

Today marks three weeks ago that I stepped off the plane at the Ancona airport and began this little Adventure. If you're counting, that's 21 days. When I was buying my plane ticket to come here, it was cheaper to purchase a round-trip fare instead of one-way. As it worked out, choosing October 8th as the return date ended up making for the lowest price. I told Lothar yesterday morning that it was his last chance to get rid of me. Just say the word and I would pack and he could drop me at the airport tomorrow and I'd be on my way back to Portland with a three week vacation in my past. He said I could stay so I guess this is going to last a bit longer. Three weeks. It feels like a lot longer. I think because this is my life and I've had to acclimate to so much that time seems to move more deliberately. After three weeks I've begun to feel a little more settled at work. I can mostly navigate my computer's Italian operating system. I know the names of most of my co-workers (no small feat since I struggled to learn these at work in the States) and can greet them in the morning. I've almost contributed something useful to the business.

That's my desk. On the right.
That's my computer. It speaks Italian only.

After three-weeks I know where things are in the grocery store and can order cheese and salami from the deli counter with only two or three strange looks. Only once have I come home with something different than what I expected. It was pork-chops instead of beef..

After three weeks I feel like I'm starting to make a little progress in learning Italian. I know three irregular verbs, can describe what a person looks like and what they are wearing, and nine or ten regular verbs. I almost understand prepositions, but can at least make the singular plural and vice-versa. I know the alphabet and most critically, can order pizza, gelato and espresso comfortably.

With hind-sight, I marvel at how naive I was about how big a change for me this would be. In the months leading up to leaving, I was pretty ambivalent about it all; it was all excitement and fun. Falling asleep the night before I left, it was anticipation and nervousness but at no time was there ever a full realization of how much of a change this was going to be. I figured Italy, how different can it really be? A lot! I guess there are some pretty well established stages of acclimation for people who move to live in a different country - something like: honeymoon, hostility, integration/acceptance, home/settled and 'normal' - I think the honeymoon is definitely over so bring on some hostility!

Culture shock - A visa was hard to get but is useless now that I'm here. No one cares about it. The real paper to have is the Permesso di Siggiorno. That's the permit to stay in the country. All foreigners need one to stay or they are 'clandestine'. Try getting one. We had to go to eight different offices, some of them more than once, to sort out the application. Like any good bureaucracy, no one wants to be responsible. Everyone has a similar story. Brushes with bureaucracy are the stories told at the bar. What else? Everything closes at noon for three hours and reopens in the evening. Nothing is open on Sunday. Buy bread in the morning because it will be gone in the evening. My grocery store sometimes closes on Thursdays if they want to. There is no Heinz. Sidewalks are streets to scooters. Crosswalks are targets to help the cars line you up to hit you. Espresso at a table costs twice as much as espresso at the counter. Kebabs are the best food ever and cheap. When in doubt, just say Ciao. But not to the Head of Immigration. To him say Buon Giorno Signor. Walk with your eyes down, there's dog poo everywhere. It's easier to get crummy pizza than good pizza. The good pizza is amazing. Gelati is the plural of gelato and I have had molto gelati. The tip is included. This is not a beer culture. I will not buy skinny jeans.

After three weeks, it has been sunny every single day except for one when it rained for a few hours and then was sunny again. It's usually between 17 and 23 degrees which is fine but it's really humid. I can't stand the humidity. I'm moist all the time. Ha, ha. I said moist.

After three weeks, my favorite place so far is the patio on our roof. There is always a breeze blowing, the views of the old city are amazing, the sunsets are incredible, and I can stand up there and laugh at the fact that I'm living in Italy. It is all pretty good.

This is the elevator in the building where I work. It's tiny.
Those are my toes against the back at the bottom and the door is at the top.
I ride it to overcome my claustrophobia.

I wonder what Eric is doing right now?

What I Live In

This is the main door for the building.
The name of my street is on the wall in the upper left - via Indipendenza
The building number is in the upper right - Number 4.
Ironic?

This is my street. Those are scooters.

I rent a room in an apartment. The apartment belongs to Dr. Michele Caruso. He used to live here with his family but moved to a new place further from downtown and now rents out the rooms individually, mostly to students due to its proximity to downtown, the buses, and the schools of Economics, Business and Management. I ended up here because Lothar is friends with Michele and got me a good deal. The building is a four minute walk from my office if I hurry, eight minutes if I stroll, and fifteen minutes if I stop for a macchiato and brioche at any one of the dozen or so cafes between here and the office.

My building is behind the van. My room is at the very top.

The apartment is a fifth floor walk-up in a five story building. The building itself is quite old and was constructed over the ruins of a Greek cemetery that dates from the 6th century. Those ruins can be viewed through glass walls at street level. I already take them for granted. Michele renovated the entire space when he lived here with his family and is now quite modern by local standards. Don't tell anyone, but I have my own wireless signal even though all my roommates pay a share of the bill. It just turns out that none of them have a computer. I also have air conditioning in my room. And to top off the luxury, we have a refrigerator that could be called extravagant by European standards, and a fairly large washing machine.

Left-side of kitchen with view of extravagant refrigerator.

Washing machine in upstairs bathroom.

Upstairs bathroom.

1/2 of downstairs bathroom.

Other 1/2 of downstairs bathroom.

The main entrance opens directly into the middle of long, narrow hallway which runs the entire length of the apartment. All of the rooms open onto the hallway from one side or the other. The kitchen is at one end, on the same side and to the left of the front door. The girls' bathroom is at the opposite end of the hallway from the kitchen. Michele keeps a room in the apartment. It's the former living room but he keeps it locked when he isn't here so there isn't a communal gathering area outside the kitchen/dining room. Deborah's room is next to the kitchen and across from Michele's room. Alice's room is next to mine and we are at the end near the bathroom. Raimundo lives upstairs and that is also where the second, boys' bathroom/laundry room is. We don't have a dryer so everything is line dried.

The long narrow hallway.
Notice the doors that open onto it just like I described.
You're looking from the bathroom down to the kitchen.

Right-side of kitchen.
It has a door that opens onto the hallway.

My room used to be the parent's room and is the largest. It's yellow and has 15 foot ceilings. For some reason, I am the only one with my own TV in my room and it has fifteen channels of basic Italian cable. (I've now seen the same Simpsons episode in English, French and Italian. They also aired all 6.5 hours of the men's world championship road race live.) The exterior wall of my room is all windows and a glass door that opens onto a very narrow, largely non-existent balcony. It's west facing so receives plenty of light. It also faces one of the main streets used to leave downtown. It gets fairly busy and can be quite loud. Especially on garbage day when they are emptying the dumpsters right beneath my window. The room came completely furnished. Alice's room was the daughter's room and is pink and Deborah's belonged to the son and is green. Raimundo's room was added on during the renovation and is built into the rafters. The entire apartment has custom granite floors with different stone in each room. There is a balcony off the back of the kitchen that is used for smoking and looks over a courtyard that is surrounded on all sides by other apartment buildings which makes for nice smells at dinner time and interesting people watching. There is another, much larger patio on the the roof of the building with amazing views of the city and the port.

My bed.

My room furniture. My TV.

Rooftop patio.

Another shot from said patio.

Right now I'm reviewing my Italian lesson from today and struggling to make my mouth pronounce "un cameriere" (waiter) and "imparare" (to learn).

I wonder what Eric is doing right now.

The Weekend

It's late Sunday and my weekend is coming to a close and as I get ready to start another week of work and classes and adventures and can't help but think that most of the people I know are still in the middle of theirs. Whether it's mountain biking in Hood River, racing cross at Alpenrose (Hup Hup), watching football, or picking the kids up from soccer and going to a playdate. Just thinking of you all and hoping everyone is well.

There is a park up the hill behind my apartment building. It's on the grounds of the old fort that was originally built by the Greeks or the Germans or the English or someone up on the cliffs above the sea to guard the port from marauding hordes or barbarians. Anyway, now it's a park with hiking trails all through it. Think an Italian version of Forest Park in Portland but smaller and with ruins that are a few hundred years old throughout it instead of crazy dogs on twelve foot leashes stretched across the trails. It's a beautiful park way up on the cliffs with amazing views of the Adriatic ocean on one side and of the city on the other.

Saturday morning before going to the park, I went grocery shopping at the store in my building. The entire store is about the size of a very large 7-11 and Saturday is my favorite day to shop because it's the busiest day of the week and this tiny space is completely jammed. There are lines at the deli counter. Lines at the meat counter. You're supposed to take a number and wait to be called. The clerks don't use the number machine (it has been on 84 since the first time I went there two weeks ago) but everyone takes a number and then pushes their way in to get the attention of a clerk to get service. In the produce section, you put your vegetables in a bag and then put the bag on an electric scale and select the picture of whatever is in the bag from the big menu. The machine spits out a bar code with the cost on a sticker. You put the sticker on the bag and the checker uses that to ring you up at the register. Well in this store there is just a single scale and everyone is trying to get at it with no concept of lines or waiting your turn. It's a fantastic melee. I love it.

After shopping I headed to the park. This was the first chance I had had to get out and explore a bit and I spent about three hours just hiking around all the trails and exploring the ruins.

After, I came back to my apartment and gave it a good cleaning as I expect my other two roommates to come back sometime during the weekend and wanted them to come home to a clean house. Then I studied my Italian lessons for a couple hours, had some dinner, watched Ocean's 12 in Italian (not really as interesting when you don't know the language) and went to bed.

Sunday morning I was woke up to my alarm clock at 9:33. I couldn't turn it off and was wondering why I had set an alarm for 9:33 when I realized it was my phone ringing. My phone hasn't rung but once before so you can understand my confusion. It was Lothar inviting me to spend the day with him and Shazia at the sea and going shopping. Downstairs I met their 3-week old daughter Isabel for the first time and we headed out. We drove about 20 miles south down the coast to the town of Numana. It's right next to another town called Sirolo and is a very popular tourist destination.The beach is lined with bars and restaurants stretching for kilometres and in the summer they all have umbrellas and chairs set-up all the way to the water. But this is the off season and there was hardly anyone around, quiet and beautiful. The weather was perfect again. The beach is not sand, it's small rocks typical of the area.

We spent some time in the water before going to one of the seaside restaurants for lunch. The menu was all local seafood. I had linguine with a red sauce and local mussels. They bring the saute pan to your table for self-service. We also had a carafe of the local white wine that was dangerously good.

After lunch we drove back to Ancona and went to Carrefour to shop. This is a huge and popular grocery store in the suburbs. The actual size was about the same as an average Fred Meyer but after my dinky 7-11 I was loving it. They have an international aisle with Heinz ketchup and French's mustard and even salsa messicanna and taco chips. It's a wonderful place except for check-out where there were 26 check-out aisles and only one was open for a busy Sunday afternoon.

With shopping done, we headed back to Ancona where we met Lothar's friends Alesandro and Georgina for coffee at their apartment so they could meet Isabel. The apartment belongs to Georgina's mother and has been in their family for three generations. It's one of the most amazing places I have ever been in. It looks more like a museum than an apartment. Every space on every wall is covered with original art. There was a hand-made wood chest from the 17th century with a hidden compartment that was given as payment by Queen Margaret or someone to one of their ancestors who was a surgeon and had performed an operation to remove a wart or sew back on a finger or something. The details may have been slightly confused in the translation. The entire apartment is full of similar types of pieces. It's a very unique place to call home. While I was sitting on the couch I couldn't help but feel I'd illegally crossed a velvet rope and was sitting on an exhibition.

The Italian woman's volleyball team won the European championship tonight by beating the Dutch 3-0. You'll probably see the highlights on SportsCenter tonight.

I learned my most important Italian word today - Boh! It loosely means I don't know. I'm going to use it constantly in class tomorrow. My favorite word so far is Noioso because it sounds cool and is fun to say. It means boring so not much occasion to use it these days. I was able to use my few words and phrases of Italian today when I was introduced to Alesandro and Georgina. I could say my name and where I was from and that I was pleased to meet them; it was just like I had practiced in class. I even asked Georgina where the bathroom was. I didn't have to go but it's a sentence I am confident I know how to say and I wanted to use it.

I wonder what Heinrich is doing right now?

Banking

I gained access to online banking today. Quite a feet since the instructions are in Italian and so is the entire website. During my first full week here, Lothar took me to his bank, UniCredit Banca di Roma, to open an account. Let me pause a moment to introduce two important people, Shazia and Lothar Ferricchio, my first friends, hosts, and employers in Ancona.

Shazia is from Canada. Lothar is from Ancona. His father started PSG (where I work) originally as a language school. The translation and localization business grew out of the school although the school still offers lessons in 14 different languages and is where I am learning Italian.

Back to banking. On the day we went to open my account we had an appointment with Lothar's business banker, Signora Daniela Morlacchi who had agreed to help us out. She would regret offering to do us this favor. Much as I'm sure would happen in an American bank, the Italian software was not created to open accounts for non-Italians. Because I don't have a resident permit yet (subject of a future entry) I have to have a non-resident account and we have to use my US address and other information. My address does not fit in their boxes. Neither does my Social Security number. There were other questions and pieces of information needed that I didn't have that I can only guess at because it all happened in Italian and quite loudly. Question: how many Italians does it take to open one American's savings account? Answer: Five. One to work the computer and four to offer helpful suggestions over her shoulder. It's only funny if you're there watching it all. As with all my encounters with Italian bureaucracy, I sat mutely on my side of the desk and tried to be simultaneously polite and invisible. After two hours, we were all set and I walked out with a stack of contracts and my very own account, with no money in it.

A week later, my PIN number and ATM card arrived in the mail. Using a combination of guessing and Google translations, I went online to set-up my account. My username was assigned to me on the day the account was opened and as I discovered after several failed attempts, it is the eight digit number on page six of the contract I was given. The number not helpfully highlighted. Nonetheless, account successfully activated. And after logging on, I find a pleasant reminder of home. I've already been charged a service fee and an overdraft fee. My paycheck from work hasn't cleared yet. The service fee for October posted and since I don't have any funds in the account, I was charged 20 euros for insufficient funds. In a strange way, it makes me feel welcome.

RGR '09

It could be considered a little odd to start the first blog post about living abroad with someone else's story about a bike race that happened while I was still living in Portland, but the Rapha Gentleman's Race on September 12th was absolutely splendid and was also sort of my last hurrah in Portland before leaving so I think it makes a fitting marker for the start of all this.

The whole story is told here. And for those to lazy to click on a link, here's the video.

Rapha Gentlemen's Race - Oregon Coast to Portland from RAPHA on Vimeo.

With the words from our sponsors completed...I've been trying to keep in touch with people and frankly, I've stunk at it. My mom got so fed up with my efforts that she created a multiple choice email for me where all I had to do was pick a letter to respond to a series of her questions. Her email made me laugh but clearly it suggested something had to be done.

So this is my answer to the number of kind and well meaning requests I've received from people asking me to let them know what's going on with me as I settle into my two year adventure living and working in Ancona. I left Portland on September 15th, 2009 and landed 20 hours later in Ancona, Italy. That was a little over two weeks ago. Since then I've started working, learned how to order a glass of fizzy water in Italian, had the flu, offended the area head of immigration, started drinking coffee, and a whole lot of other things. I'll be chronicling those and other Adventures over time. So, thanks for reading and I hope this helps keep you up to date. Which doesn't mean I still don't want to hear from you!



That's the view from the window of my apartment.