Marco called me early to ask me when I thought I would come over to visit with Mamma. He was leaving work after working all night. His schedule was changed unexpectedly due to a co-worker’s extended illness. He will be working nights for the next two weeks, which actually could be a good thing. He is not likely to get called to do any fill-in work elsewhere and he could have a consistent schedule for more than a few days. I sHiWe had a brief conversation consisting of me making him promise he wouldn’t stay awake just because I was coming over – that he would actually go to sleep, that we would be quiet for him to get rest. I told him I could take Mamma to the market in his place. He just needed to sleep since he had pretty much worked non-stop for the past three days.
Today is the last day of Carnevale. At midnight the festivities end, and hopefully a giant broom will descend from the sky to sweep it all away. But I was sure the revelry would first have to go on into the early morning hours.
I left the apartment at eleven and walked to the Zattere to catch the boat to Guidecca. I made my way to the house and was greeted with hugs and kisses by Mamma. Marco was actually up and I gave him a sidelong glance and shook my head at him disapprovingly. He told me he had slept for three hours and would go back to sleep but we had business to get to first. We were going back to my favorite post office on the Zattere to pick up some paperwork.
Last year when I was here I started looking into creating a bank account of some kind so that could have money over here and not have to depend on ATMs one-hundred percent. How did I know how important this would end up being? This trip had been a disaster in money accessibility. The Italian Post Office has a banking branch and I wanted to start an account with them. The advantage of this, in my mind, is that I would be able to filter money into it all year long through wire transfers or possibly direct deposit from my paycheck (a $100 per paycheck could go unnoticed I figured.) When I come back I would have no fees from the bank for foreign ATM withdrawls, etc. And right now with the dollar doing its best against the euro I could transfer a lot into the account with the best exchange rate in years. But why put it in the Post Office and not a regular bank? Because there are offices the length and breadth of Italy and I can use any office to deposit or withdraw with no fees. If I were to go to Bank of San Marco they may not have an office in Naples I could readily find and possibly have fees to withdraw from the ATM. The Post Office is the Post Office and isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.
Marco was offering to go with me to inquire on the types of accounts and help out with the forms. I had intended to pick up forms the morning I was there but after the wire transfer-middle name mess I left without asking about anything. There was also too much of a language barrier. My Italian isn’t good enough to ask all the questions I wanted. We struck out for the vaporetto and hopped on one just as we arrived and ten minutes later we were in the office, the clerk smiling at me for bringing along my own translator this time. We were handed the forms but she suggested we go to the larger office near San Marco where the manager would be able to open the account for me. Bye-bye nice lady!
I was trying not to be concerned with the fact that my friend is giving up his sleep time for me to run around on my errands, but the speed that that guy can drag me through streets is pretty dizzying. We cut across the Dorsoduro to the Grand Canal and near Salute we got onto a traghetto – the gondola ferry. This is the cheaper and local version of the gondola ride. Rather than pay upwards of 80 euro for a 50 minute ride in the plush seats of a gondola, you can a spend euro and stand with a dozen people to cross the canal in about ten different strategically placed locations. This can save time from having to walk to one of the fours bridges that cross over the main canal in the city. We got over to the San Marco office and found the manager wasn’t in, but were able instead to speak with a clerk that Marco knows. She said if I have all my documents she would be able to open it up. I presented my passport and the codice fiscale I had generated online. Although this is an “unofficial” version of the code, I have been able to use it in the past to purchase a cell phone. A codice fiscale is the Italian version of a tax identification number and is required to purchase some simple items in the country. Unfortunately in this case I would need to get the official version, stamped and notarized by the Agenzia Entrata.
At this point I balked at doing anything further. Who knows how long we could spend in a bureaucratic office since it was almost the afternoon? I told him I could go tomorrow, as early as possible. We headed back to the vaporetto and to Guidecca. We told Mamma about our exploits and he headed off to the other part of the house to get some rest. Mamma said we could wait to go to the market until tomorrow and we settled into the couch to watch tv for a while. We started preparing for dinner after a few hours; I saw the makings for roasted red pepper soup (I am the soup queen!) and pounded out some chicken for breading. Mamma was interested in my soup recipe, but I usually just throw a bunch of stuff together and cross my fingers.
When Marco got up at six he found us on the couch looking at photo albums. I’m sure that’s exactly what he didn’t want to find, me squealing at his baby pictures, but hey, what are mothers for? We finished preparing dinner and had a wonderful meal together. The man even did the dishes! I kissed Mamma goodbye for the evening and told her I would be back in the morning after we finished our paperwork. He and I took off for the vaporetto at half-past seven and he took the boat heading toward San Marco while I waited for the one in the other direction to take me to the Zattere and Dorsoduro district.
I went home a putzed around for a while. I knew I would go out later for my usually nightcap at the Consulate, but I had another visit to make. I waited until ten to go out, when the dinner crowds had ebbed, to stop in at the Dona Onesta for dessert and to ask Safwat how the plans were going for the new restaurant. The last time I was in a few days before for lunch he told me he was opening a new restaurant in a nearby campo. He hoped it would be able to open on Saturday, but it would definitely be ready by the following week. I hoped it would be open by Saturday too, since it was my last day here in town.
I was received with the usual smiles and cheek-kissing all around. I settled in for tiramisu and an amaretto. Safwat came to sit with me and he told me about the new restaurant. I know the campo it is located in and it will be a wonderful site. It is the only restaurant on the campo, so in the summer he will be able to seat more customers outside in the center of the square. It is newly restored and refurbished with a brand new kitchen and appliances. How very exciting – but too bad I won’t be able to eat there until my next trip. Safwat grabbed my hand and said “Let me show you!” We hurried down the way, it’s only about 3 minutes from the Dona Onesta. It will be a great jumping off point for the younger crowd to go bar hopping afterward. The San Pantalon area has a lot of later-night spots they can hang out in. I toured the restaurant and kitchen and we came back to the Dona to find the remaining patrons singing and having a great time.
The music they play in the background of the restaurant is interesting. I have heard 50s and 60s American classics sung in Italian, I’ve heard the classic Neapolitan songs, 80s pop, 70s disco and opera. Tonight the soundtrack was 60s and 70s of the America/English/Italian/Greek variety. As we walked in there were two tables singing with their glasses in the air. The table next to mine with two middle aged Irish couples and the table next to them, full of 6 Germans, all singing “Those were the Days” you know the one – the lyrics go “Those were the days my friends, we thought they’d never end. We’d sing and sang forever and a day. We lived the life we’d choose, we hoped we never lose, those were the days oh yes they were the days.” With a mandolin as accompaniment, it sounds Russian or Greek. I remember that the version of the song that was most popular in the late 60s was produced by Paul McCartney and sung by Mary Hopkins (a Welsh girl) on their Apple label. HA! The Jeopardy expert strikes again!!!! Anyway, this version was being sung on the CD in Italian, but you wouldn’t know it. The patrons were all singing in English. More drinks were passed – the after-dinner cordial glasses of grappa, amaretto, limoncello and Montenegro all raised and waving about. This song segued into “Please Release Me” by Engelbert Humperdink so we were all listing about in our seats to the refrain for that one as well. Next up…”Delilah” by Tom Jones. I have a history with this song. My mother & I used to clean the house on Saturday mornings to Tom Jones. I remember twirling about in the living room with my dust rag as if I was a gypsy belly dancer…my my my Delilah…why why why Delilah?” And we were up on our feet, the fifteen of us. We kept up the impromptu dance session for a few more songs, the drinks flowed, and there was lots of laughter. It wasn’t the drunken revelry in the streets for the end of Carnevale, but was our own special brand of it.
I did my usual stop in at the Consulate, still giddy from the Dona and my friends all wanted to know what the heck I had been up to that I would arrive after midnight in such spirits. I gave them an account of the evening’s events, and of course they teased me endlessly about the owner having a crush on me. Bah…whatever. I left after a bit and said my goodnights to them all, and readied myself for what I hoped would be the last night of Carnevale celebrating in the streets. I cannot wait until I have my quiet streets at night once more.
As expected, there were many people still out there, and from a distance it still looked like a zombie movie with the bodies listing starboard and to-and-fro. Seven bridges later I arrived at Campo San Barnaba and was about to round the corner to my alley. There was a lot of commotion in the street behind me, a couple of girls in sombreros sitting on the ground and crying. I got inside, locked up and readied myself for bed. I heard the crying coming closer. Then it was outside the door. One was crying and wailing in lamentation of something lost – she was lost, her shoe was lost, her wallet, I don’t know. It sounded like she was speaking Spanish but honestly, the wailing was getting in the way. Her friend was commiserating and sniffle-crying herself. Then a male voice came down the alley. They were all sitting on my doorstep, making noise and not giving a flying fig that it was 2am and they were on someone’s stoop.
I turned the lights on, then off, and again a few more times. Waaaaaaah…still there. I went in the bathroom and opened and closed the window audibly a few times. Waaaaaaah…I pounded on my side of the door and said in Italian and Spanish “Go away! I want to sleep. Get off the stairs. I will call the police!” Waaaaaaaaaaah…but they did get up and cry themselves out of my alley.
Damn kids, get off my lawn. I’m going to bed.
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