"joe is american. i am dutch": part two

a few days later, i peek unnoticed into tally's room during her quiet time.  her dollies sit on their pint-sized furniture in various positions of slump as tally hosts an elaborate tea party.  she addresses each doll by name: gracie, lotti, evy, madelief, annabel, anastasia - a gathering of her friends from the states, the netherlands and the uk.  i smile even as the tears well up;  these names and the memories associated with them are the important bits of living here-and-there, reminding me that all we've seen or eaten or spoken or experienced becomes relevant only when shared with the people we enjoy and love.  we miss everyone.

"joe is american. i am dutch": part one

tally pushes her plate of fish and chips away with disdain and lays her head upon her arm.  she sighs.  again.  and again.  i assume this is a protest against eating fish and chips.  i ignore her.  finally she says, "joe is american.  i am dutch."   i cut my eyes to joe.  he nods his head.  "i am english and american," he says.  "and tally is dutch?" i probe.  he nods.  "she likes worst.  and dontcha remember her there?"

we do all remember her there.  
tally's childhood lays a channel away.  we remember her tromping about the markets, nonchalant about the rain because she loved to carry her umbrella.  we remember her eating worstbroodjes (sausage rolls) on her way to and from anywhere, like all of the dutch children.  we remember her singing the first song she knew by heart, lang zal ze leven, the dutch birthday song.  our memories of tally in holland are so strong because that's where she learned to really walk, talk, and 
well, just be tally.  even joe is unable to shake those images and sounds from his mind.

but tally remembers almost nothing from holland, though we've lived in england less than half a year.  when i read books in dutch tally wiggles and becomes disinterested quickly or asks me to read in english.   we look through fotos and talk about them, but she remembers fewer and fewer places and activities and almost all the cuisine, except for worst and dark chocolate (bless her, she's just now getting used to cadbury.)

what does she remember?

last week, her key teacher at nursery informed me that tally wanted help drawing a rabbit, and repeated again and again:

"a konijntje! a konijntje! don't you know a konijntje?"

konijntje is the word for bunny (iconic miffy is known as konijntje in dutch).  

so is that it?  has she only retained one of the oddest-sound words to english-speaking ears? (tbc)

a panto for the new year

"panto" is the abbreviated version of "pantomime," the traditional british play/comedy/musical which involves women acting in male roles, ala gwynnie in "shakespeare in love."  no one says "pantomime" here and everyone attends one during the christmas season, even though the papers routinely pan them because they lack this or that.  but who doesn't like ribald humor?  who doesn't like to boo and hiss?  and who doesn't like a show full of broad jokes where parents can wink at each other over their children's heads?

we see ours, "peter pan," at the richmond theatre, which is where the film "finding neverland" was shot.  located in a lovely spot right off the richmond green, it is small and ornate and lit just enough to make it cosy and intimate rather than cold and formal.  we arrive fifteen minutes early, enough time to purchase the mandatory thematic glow sticks for the kids and contemplate a drink at the bar on our level.  "champagne?" i ask chris.  it is, after all, our 11th anniversary.  "we only have it by the bottle," intones the server.  chris raises his eyebrows and gives me a hopeful grin.  geesh, i think, we are not 38 going on 18.  "we are not chugging champagne," i scold.  the server interrupts, "you can drink in the theatre..." i raise my eyebrows now, and give chris the green-light smile.  he can barely contain his glee.  

we schlep the kids and our drinks into the theatre.  we can tell from the outset that it will be an entertaining production, and we actually have lived here long enough that we think we get the cultural references.  well, at least we laugh knowingly in the right spots.  tally vacillates between wanting to believe the characters are real and knowing they are actors, so it holds some magic for her still.  joe blurts out immediately about peter pan, "{s}he's not really flying -- i see the strings -- look!!!" and i clap my hand over his mouth so he doesn't steal the unreality from tally. 

we boo and hiss at captain hook, sing "what will we do with the drunken sailor" loudly and with much merriment and generally have a great time.  chris and i grin at each other every once in awhile because we are DRINKING IN THE THEATRE.  so, no, there are no grown-ups on- or off-stage on this day.

flashback: adventures in italy -- part 3

we spend the afternoon exploring the old part of the city on foot.  naples is known for its biblical kitsch, in molded ceramic or plastic or rubber.  i become convinced that we absolutely NEED an electrical biblical pastoral scene, something i can display in the front window at christmas that will make passers-by really wonder who we are.  we collect a few of those pieces and then add a piece in which a man shovels pizza into an oven with the flick of a switch.  "that'll really shake em up," i think.  i am completely tickled by the little start to my collection.  joe and tally come away with little plastic figurines-- joe a biblical warrior, tally a busty lady with a baby on her hip.  (she lives now in tally's doll house) 

as we walk, i repeatedly dial 
the number for a doll hospital that is located in this part of the city.  i know that tally will love something like that.  at first i only receive a recorded message, but then a man answers.  he speaks no english. undaunted, we head toward the address.  

the shop is locked up tight.  but in the window we behold an array of dolls and puppets, some intact, some in various states of amputation.  i can't peel myself from the window and i prattle onto tally about what we see.  she looks for a long moment, then turns to me with big eyes brimming with tears and says "mimi."  she is so distraught by the sight that she needs her pacifier!  i hand it over, and she stays for a moment longer, sucking the life out of it and rubbing the decapitated head of a doll that sits in a planter in the front of the shop.  

to cheer everyone up, i suggest cocoa.  aah, the soothing properties of chocolate.   this stuff is the real deal - melted chocolate in a mug.  the kind that will forever leave faint marks on the kids' clothes.  

we then head back to the hotel.  chris secures a sitter so we can go out for dinner.  she speaks no english but the kids could care less.  this isn't their first sitter who speaks no english.  "no" is universal.

we decide over our dinner (which we eat like real italians -- all courses --  and they are all fabulous) that we cannot keep the kids and ourselves entertained in the rainy weather in this city.  when we get back to the hotel we book a flight back home, via milan.

we finish out our stay in naples by losing our way to the airport and having our car attacked by a pack of dogs.  we comfort ourselves with the thought that once we hit milan, it will be smooth sailing.

we do have a quick turnover in milan, but somehow we make it to our gate with time to spare.  

and then we realize that my new collection is back in the overhead bin.  "you have to go back for it," i plead to chris.  he does.  the children and i wait for him.  and wait.  and wait.  and wait. the airline announces final boarding and the woman behind the counter implores me to board now.  at that moment, chris whips around the corner, in full sweat.  empty-handed.  

"they apprehended it."  

"what do you mean?"  

"they thought it was a bomb."

"you're kidding, right?"

"it was whirring, jenesse."

the switch for the man shoveling pizza must have somehow been jostled into the 'on' position.

"and you don't know what it took me to get back here so don't EVEN be angry.  i took a wrong turn and ended up outside the terminal.  OUTSIDE.  and you have the tickets.   all of the sudden i turned around and there was NO ONE THERE.   it was like the twilight zone."  

i can do nothing but laugh and laugh, because i know now exactly what this trip has been, and it's not an episode of the simpsons nor a scene from an independent movie.   it has been a journey into the twilight zone.

flashback: adventures in italy -- part 2

after a fitful sleep under piles and piles of quilts, we awake to face the day.  "can you believe this rain?" chris asks.  "like nothing i've seen in many, many years," i deadpan.  he doesn't laugh.

the extended forecast screen gives us little hope for a fall beach holiday -- copious amounts of rain predicted for the amalfi coast until our scheduled departure day.  "let's make the most of the situation and go to naples," suggests chris. (we know now that no italian, a neopolitan included, or any somewhat seasoned european tourist, for that matter, would ever suggest that destination as an alternative.)  but i agree, and we blithely carry on with our preparations.

our rent-free holiday a bust, we aim for a cheap hotel and find a holiday inn suite that suits (cough back your sneers.  the holiday inns and hiltons in europe are far superior to the 295-euro-a-night boutique hotels which supply lots of psuedo-chic or faux-old-worldy atmosphere and few amenities, like babysitting.)  we repack all the gear, the sand shovels and buckets, frisbees and water guns (oh, how hopeful we were) and form a short queue at the door, halted by what we see.  the rain descends in sheets.  "it's like the car wash!" joe exclaims excitedly.  (he loves this vacation.)  we have no choice but to run.  

because positano is built into a cliff, the rainwater rushes continually down the stairs, never pooling.  we throw ourselves into the car and begin wringing out what wasn't covered by our waterproofs and boots.  chris still must retrieve the luggage.  i notice the water dripping from the end of his nose and can't resist:  "told ya to bring the one with the hood."  he glares.

eventually we make it into naples, make it to the holiday inn and up to our room.

we dump baggage, take hot showers, regroup.  

fortunately, i can present chris with a list, albeit a short one, of things we might do in the city. even in the varying degrees of rain.  but not with the added obstructions associated with the pope's visit that morning.  

we settle on lunch and a walk.  

it pains me to recall the harrowing ride thru naples to the lunch spot.  i believe it's because we were on the verge of death many times.  one-lane alleys, often obstructed by enormous piles of trash.  roaming mongrel packs.  angry, gesticulating italians.  joe is awed, face pasted to the window, more under-his-breath-repeated-wowing.  it's a third-world country.  it's an urban nightmare.  it's an independent movie in which the next plotline involves chris hitting something with the rental car and us being taken to a jail where no one speaks english. 

the pope's retinue requires us to backtrack several times, but we make it to our lunch spot, a wine bar with a 5-6 table eating area behind.  no one in the restaurant speaks english.  not even a bit.  but we manage to secure a table and we can read the menu like anyone can read an italian menu.  while we wait for our food, we watch the steady stream of patrons come in off the alley and hand the bartender plastic 1.5 litre bottles which he fills at a tap.  for 2.50 euro.

our food arrives.  it is the best, simply the best, food ever.  chris eats whole grilled calamari with sea salt.  the rest of us eat pasta and pizza.  we drink wine.  the manager comes and kisses tally when she begins to cry.  she pulls off her wellies and socks and begins toddling to the other tables and petting the house dog.  the manager brings the kids special desserts, picks tally up and parades her around.   he gives joe a tour of the kitchen.  we are enveloped in a warm glow of wine and italian hospitality.   suddenly we love naples.  before we leave, we get pictures with the manager, the cooks, the barkeep.  the manager even takes a few himself.  were are refueled, rejuvenated, ready for the rest...  (tbc)

flashback: adventures in italy -- part 1

mid-october, 2007, we take advantage of an opportunity to stay at the family home of one of chris' states colleagues. the ferrigno family (yep, relations of that one) house is located in positano. because the weather is still good along the amalfi coast in october - jeans and light sweater weather - and because the sand is still warm, we plan a 5-day get-away.  

unfortunately... well, read on.

we arrange for a mid-sized rental car with two car seats.  we receive a small car with no car seats.  we decide to still make 1 1/2 hour drive along the windy, steep two-lane road. joe perches on his knees, gaping and soft-voice-wowing at the scale of drop into the ocean.  i waver between laughter and tears.  a roller coaster with a spectacular view, but we are certain to perish.  well, i am certain that at least joe will because i CANNOT keep him in an ordinary seatbelt.  so much freedom of movement!  so many frightfully exhilarating things to see! 

we make it positano intact and immediately notice that the streets are strangely empty. we stop at a market to pick up some essentials (beer, wine, beer, wine) and learn that a mini-monsoon is predicted to hit that evening.  "like nothing we've seen in many, many years," the man at the counter says.  is this an episode of the simpsons?

after we park, we lug the children up thousands of stairs and maneuver thru narrow passageways to reach our lodgings.  we drop them unceremoniously at the door and chris looks back down the trail with deep resignation.  we still have five days worth of luggage and beverages in the car.  meanwhile, i wonder if we should plan for 2 or even 3 hours to carry ourselves down to the beach the next day.

i needn't get ahead of myself, however.  

once we all tumble inside, i make for the patio, where i snap the above fotos of the amazing view.  that's the extent of my enjoyment of the patio, however.  i put my camera aside and begin chafing my arms.  it seems as though the temp has plummeted since our climb.  i scurry inside.

an hour or so later, after the luggage and groceries are sorted, the sky turns black and the wind begins to howl.  chris and i search in vain for the heat, and after speaking to the temporary property manager, learn we have no gas at this point in the year.  and no wood for the fireplace. all we can do now is huddle on the floor with nutella and bread.  and wine, lots of wine...(tbc)

boxing day in hampshire

i send chris to the office one day before the christmas holiday with instructions to find out exactly what boxing day means.  the two brits he asks both tell him it is a day for actually boxing -- sport boxing.   one of his co-workers actually grew up with father-arranged boxing matches with his brother, until he was injured one year.  chris is dubious.  the spaniard he asks says, "i believe it has something to do with charity and boxing your old things up to give to those less fortunate."  wikipedia confirms.

one british tradition on boxing day is the fox hunt.  we head out to the hampshire countryside to see our friends david and jessica and witness the start of the hunt.  we then take a walk around the property on which they live.  it's gorgeous. pastures and forest and a view of mid-sized town basingstoke in the distance.  they actually live in one of the property's two cottages.   the enormous manor house is under renovation by a london couple who intend to use it as a weekend retreat.  

their village lies nearby, and as we drive to the hunt we see small groups of residents meeting at the village duck pond.  another boxing day tradition is the village walk, which usually ends at the local pub.

fortunately we eschew pub food for jessica's cooking.  a former caterer, she makes the most sublime dishes.  tally helps her with a chocolate flourless torte, so our day ends especially sweetly.

feast among the foliage

just below richmond hill lies the enclave of petersham.  mick jagger and eric clapton have mansions on richmond hill; the rest of the very well-to-do have big homes behind stone walls in petersham.  the view from the apex of richmond hill includes not only a wind-y portion of the thames, but petersham meadows, where 9 months out of the year, spotted cows graze.  it's such a pastoral scene that it almost appears fabricated for that purpose.  maybe it is.

we walk from our home around the thames and through the meadows (about a 1 1/2 miles) the sunday before christmas.  at the southern edge of the meadow is a black gate.  beyond the gate is a dirt path that follows straight into petersham nurseries.  petersham nurseries is a combination standard plant nursery with a cafe and a restaurant that serves only lunch.  the chef of the restaurant writes a column in the sunday independent and the restaurant is so regarded highly it requires booking a table 2 months in advance.  the food for the week we visit includes very herb-y, tweaked takes on lamb, guinea fowl and fish. the waitstaff creates a rhubarb puree to add to our sparkling wine.  it's a festive table.  what i like best is that we actually eat in a green house with a dirt floor and rustic furnishings.  the waitstaff troops around in tall hunter wellies, as do several of the patrons.  it's a lovely lunch.