Mechanical Glory

Feb 23, Saturday

Saturday was pretty much a repeat of Friday with a poor memory. Up at 8 for coffee and cookies, Julia and Andrea went back to the harbor to work on the Spartana. For me, lab work was slow to start. I continued with the posters for the boat. Still not having heard back from the mechanic, Bruno rode his bike to the shop to meet with him in person. He wasn’t there, of course, but the man behind the counter told him to meet the mechanic at the boat in 30 minutes. Bruno’s excitement got the better of him – he believed the Italian schedule. So he and I went down to the harbor to wait. Actually, Julia and I waited. Bruno and Andrea diligently fiddled around the boat. By now we know the routine – Julia and I stood on deck, not even trying to suggest that we help. Thirty minutes passed. Another 30 passed. Bruno called the shop again – he’s on his way, the man behind the counter said. During the next 30 minute waiting period, Bruno realized that he had forgotten the computer and the panels for the side of the boat. Since I take 1 stride to Julia’s two (maybe three), he choose me to speed walk back to the house with him. The leisurely 15 minute walk took us only 5. As if we would miss the mechanic. My skepticism got the better of me: the squatty white utility van was parked beside the submarine when we got back to the harbor. The mechanic had arrived.

Fifteen minutes later, he was gone again. He had forgotten three screws. The only thing he needed to do today was install a metal plate with four holes in it. I know you’ve already done the math: 4 holes require 4 screws minus 3 forgotten screws equals one screw plus a really bad mechanic. He had no extra screws in his van. The collection of screws onboard apparently also failed. So he was gone again.

While we waited for him to drive back to the shop that is a 10 minute walk from the harbor, we ate lunch. The four of us perched on the bow for a harbor picnic. During our first whirlwind trip to the harbor, Bruno and I stopped at the market and bought some type of deli meat. Now, Andrea peeled the crinkling plastic off the translucent meat and offered it to each of us. Chunks of a garlic-like substance and ground black pepper speckled the mystery meat, which held them like only processed meat can. Two peels of and a square flatbread pita later, I had my sandwich. Luna sat on the sub deck directly across from us – more concerned that we were going to leave her than with lunch. When we were done, she was passed over the railings and took her place on the cabin cover. She never once begged for her lunch, much less ours.

Sitting in the soft sunlight of a Mediterranean winter, I shed my scarf and jacket, tilted my head back and soaked in the sensation of warmth. Andrea and Bruno went back to work, but – having nothing for us to do to help – we interns just stretched out over the anchor and mooring lines. Face to the sky and smiling ear to ear, I found myself on a mini Italian vacation. My holiday ended as abruptly as it started when Bruno called me to help with something. Being useful and productive was even better than my imaginary vacation.

For the next 90 minutes, Bruno and I attached the lids to the three stern compartments that double as seats. I held the lids in place and passed him the screws and brackets as he needed them. Halfway though the project, the mechanic returned (remember him, the one that left 2 hours ago to get 3 screws from the shop down the street?). He sprawled out on the floor, arms dangling toward the shiny, red starboard engine. Andrea scowled at his shoes, which remained on his feet, but decided better of asking him to remove them. If he left the cabin, he may never return. I looked at the same shoes – brown leather, tan scalloped trim, almond-colored round shoelaces – and smiled to myself. No mechanic in the US would wear these shoes – the plumber and electrician would beat him up. But in Italy, fashion rules all, even in little ol’ Golfo Aranci.

The mechanic worked slowly, talked slowly, and moved slowly. The only things he did quickly were leaving and driving, both of which he did again before finishing. Apparently the metal plate with four holes (for which he now had the screws) was bent. Or needed to be bent – I’m not sure. He went back to the shop to hammer it into the proper contortion. Andrea scowled again – either at his shoes crossing the deck again or at his poor performance, or both. Bruno tried to stay professional and asked him to hurry back. As he little van whirred down the dock in reverse, the Spartana erupted in a fiery spew of Spanish. I held my box of screws and tried to melt into the corner. Julia turned to give Luna more attention than she needed.

When angry, Andrea’s Paraguayan Spanish comes at you like a bumpy ride down the side of a mountain. S’s are sliced off and discarded without at second glance. R’s roll hard like boulders. Herramienta. Her isimo’s and vowel-crowded words briefly lift you like a jump bolted off a precipice – a smooth gliding as her words take flight. Idiota – Incompetente – Incorregiblisimo – Imbécil – Estúpido. Eh ew aye oh ee … float on vowels until they evaporate. Then, careening downward, your eardrums collide with jagged consonants, scraping against the incredulous frustration. Destornillador – juzga – cohecho – serioso.

Growing up Galician, Bruno’s heated Spanish is hot oil. Every word slips off his tongue with a crisp. Syllables slide into one another as the peninsular lisp boils up. Each new string of words starts with a singeing roar, like raw bacon on a skillet. Vowels pop over the searing hiss of blistering consonants – st, k, c, z, t, j(h), f, s, p. Caja – Jefe – Sustento – Kilómetro – Timón – Pequeñez.

The tone, the scorching crash of words, fingers drawn to a point in front of their faces, staccato gesturing – it wasn’t necessary to speak their native dialects or Spanish in general to understand. And it was impossible to disagree with their frustration.

When they petered out, Julia and I abandoned our corners and we all went back to work. Bruno and I attached the last compartment lid – 36 screws in all. Proud of progress, he went to test it. The old wood with its fresh stain bent in the center, creaking to what I feared would be a crack. He jumped off. An Aye – aye – aye and a back-of-the-head scratch later, Andrea appeared beside him. More noises, the sound of tongue against teeth, of air vacuumed in through clenched jaws. The decision was made – we would remove the lids. The next 45 minutes showed the rewind of the past 90 except for the direction of our shadows. Bruno twisted the screwdriver in the opposite direction. I took the screws from him and put them into their box. The mechanic returned, again driving wildly down the dock. Andrea wiped down the same areas and moved items back to where they had been this morning before she organized.

Having undone the day’s work, we moved onto the top deck. I helped Bruno attach the BDRI panels to the sides of the boat. At some point, the mechanic announced that he was done. Finally done – as in there is no more that he needs to do and the Spartana is officially seaworthy once again. Their two month mechanical struggle ended with the soft clink of a toolbox locking. Andrea danced in the cabin and did her firework imitation – pachewwww – wwoooo – chew-chew-chew – pachewwww, her fingers flicking up in little explosions over her head. Bruno heaved a sigh of relief, a huge grin overtaking his face. Slowly collecting his tools and climbing over the submarine, the mechanic was gone for good. Julia and I exchanged looks of relief, amusement and anticipation. With the Spartana back in action, our dolphin experiences would only get better and the household stress could only drop.

The sun hung low, signaling to the trawlers that they had better get on home. Leaning against the panels to keep them in place, I watched the trawlers come in one by one. As they rounded the corner of the harbor, friends and family ran to their slip to meet them, talk about the day’s catch, catch the mooring lines, catch up. The sudden flood of people seemed to awaken the harbor just as the sun saluted us farewell. Fishermen slipped out of the harbor on their long, wooden boats laden with heaps of nets and buckets. Waving, they called out or called to people on shore, always by name. Bruno joined in, asking about the squid they were after. Each responded with a laugh and inquired about the Spartana. Champagne, as I learned tonight, is a cognate. And everyone in town is expecting it to be present for the Spartana’s sendoff. Everyone in town is expecting a lot from the Spartana sendoff. And everyone will be invited, with the possible exception of the mechanic. Depending on how she runs, he might not want to be there anyways.

Walking back to the house, as we passed under each street light, I saw the excitement shining from Andrea and Bruno’s eyes. For the record books, this would be a day worth remembering.

A Special Note of Thanks

Dear loyal readers (and anyone just tuning in),

Thank you for visiting my blog. I am very sorry that I am now 5 (!!!) days behind. I promise that I will get to all of them this week. And they will be worth the wait.

To all of you that have emailed me or left a comment on my posts, thank you so very much! And I owe an extra thank you to Nina for gathering so many people! I just read 10 emails from my family and from people I have never met. Knowing that so many look forward to my posts thrills and humbles me ... and boosts the guilt for not delivering recently.

So please don´t lose faith in me and check back soon!

Thank you again!

Love,
Stephanie

More pictures!

Aview of town and fishery from the other side of Figarolo Island

Julia and I at sea on the Spartana. Luna between us - always part of the action.

Local fisherman in the bay

Inside the Spartana

at sea on the Spartana

The dog I befriended on the beach last week. Can you see the different colored eyes?

Luna atop her perch by Telemeco (the dog in the former garden). The bricks are her ladder.

the harbor

Julia and Andrea during a sighting

A Day Without Pasta

Feb 22, Friday

Today was the standard day with a twist. After coffee and cookies, Julia and Andrea went to the harbor to work on the boat while Bruno and I worked in the lab. When Bruno said that we were going to divide and conquer, Julia and I agreed that I would go to the harbor. Then Bruno told us that I would be staying in the lab. Once I thought about it, it was the better decision. I am a little more efficient with PhotoShop than Julia, and going to the harbor would just mean painting and scrubbing and standing around.

So I got to work making the posters and displays that Bruno wants in the new boat. One side of the cabin is going to be a mini research station and library. For the students and paying tourists who don’t know much about dolphins, there will be laminated posters and pictures. So far, I have made a fin shape poster, a feeding behavior poster, an external anatomy & senses, and regional cetaceans posters. Plus, bios of the frequently sighted dolphins in the area. I worked alone until after 2, when Andrea and Julia finally came back from the harbor. Our very late lunch was soup that had been prepared last night. As I did the dishes, my stomach growled. Not a good sign for the rest of the day.

Since the day was passing so much faster than we had anticipated, we only had 45 minutes free. I needed the break from the lab work, but there wasn’t much I could get done in less than an hour. Thus, my posts are still behind.

Lab work resumed at 4 for me – Julia and Andrea trotted back to the harbor. More of the same for all of us. About an hour before sunset, Bruno – very anxious about his boat – decided that it was best if we went to the harbor too. As usual with the four of us onboard the Spartana, the interns stood quietly, sidestepping the unpredictable dashes of “the captains” as they moved hardware from place to place. Some progress was made. Some, somewhere – I’m sure.

I made the most out of not having to sort screws by enjoying the atmosphere. I watched the sun sink behind the mountains just south of town. As I stood bobbing in the gentle wake of fishermen putting into the harbor, the shoreline began to twinkle. The road that runs along the beach into the harbor suddenly came alive with people greeting the fishermen and running out to catch the thick mooring lines. When Bruno and Andrea collectively decided that they had done all they could do for the night, we climbed over the submarine and became a part of the twilight bustle. My contributions were limited –Ciao, Sera, smile. Weaving around the awkwardly-shaped cars scattered about the docks, I inhaled the conspicuous scent of fresh fish and gulls. Despite the scarf around my neck and the Italian flowing past my ears, my memory fell back to eating dipped cones in the humidity as we brushed past lazy fishermen on the Fort Myers pier. That’s now on my list of things to do when I get home.

Take care & Thank you for reading!

Side note on blog

Hello everyone!

I am still a few days behind with these summaries because we have been doing a lot of work with very little free time. As you will soon read, we didn´t even get today (Sunday) off because we took out the new boat. Those adventures will be up soon! I am trying to catch up, but its a slow process because I am so wordy!

I asked Colin to type up the directions to make comments on the blog, since I know a lot of people have been having trouble with it. I haven´t gone through it, but I am assuming these directions are good. This is to go in as anonymous, so please leave your name on the comment!
1- Click on ¨Comments¨ at the bottom of the post you would like to comment on.
2- Type message in¨Leave your comment¨ field
3- Type the warped letters
4- Under ¨Choose Identity,¨ type your name
5- Click ¨Publish Comment¨

If these steps don´t work, please email me instead! stephaniedodson@gmail.com
I would really like to know who is reading my posts!

Thanks, and I promise to have more as soon as I can!

Love,
Steph

Feb 21, Thursday

Yes, another lab day. Julia and I worked together on more photo ID silhouettes all morning. By the time I stopped to make lunch, it was already after one. I made pasta with broccoli as the programme dictated. Andrea was working in the harbor, so it was Bruno who showed me how to make it – how he likes to make it.

During our standard post-lunch free time, I stayed inside except a brief jaunt to the phone and then church around the corner. My phone call was unsuccessful and the cold hadn’t seeped under my scarf enough to cut the outing short. Passing the house and continuing to the intersection, I realized that the church was right across the street from my building, behind the green newsstand. Perhaps I never paid enough attention to the church grounds because they are always closed up on themselves. Always, except today. This afternoon the cemetery was open – the tall gates of black metal folded backward against the mausoleum walls. The poorly laminated sign that hung from an ornate twist of cast-iron confirmed what the gate already announced: from 3 – 6 on Thursday afternoons, the burial grounds weren’t just for the dead. On my first pass, I walked slowly past the gates and continued up the stone-paved slope to the church entrance. I examined the heavy wooden doors: the right one opened to a sanctuary divider; the left one remained closed, the misty dampness kissing the faces carved into it. No noise escaped the church. I meandered back down, noticing the perfect view of the bay from the elevated stone steps. Back at street level, I turned to the cemetery and walked in slowly.

Sandstone-colored walls as thick as a coffin surrounded the plots. Above-ground burial and memorial structures stood like a city block of buildings. Grey and white and black marble edifices with family names engraved on top greet me. Each is divided into threes with delicately carved lines; an epigraph gives the name and the two dates that define it, some so long ago that no one is left to remember. But this cemetery is more personal than forgotten days. It’s not the thick walls hugging the dead or the fishing village’s lineages neatly coiled together. Here, the dead are remembered by their faces. Each square of marble is adorned with a tiled photograph of the deceased. Looking from picture to picture down the row, I can see family resemblances of people I never had the chance to meet. The grandfather with a long, weatherworn face surveys his eternal place just above his son, who also gazes out of large eyes deep-set in a long face. The grandson has been left with the eternal responsibility of guarding the family bones from the ground up. On second thought, dates say he was only four when he died. He was buried no higher than he ever stood. So young, but still he has the long face of his family. Shoulder to shoulder, everywhere I turn, the dead watch me with the smiles they never knew would be the one thing left for the world to remember them by. I wonder what they were smiling at, where they were, if the photographer is buried above or below them.

An occasional soft breeze finds its way over the wall to dance with the dead. The thick, damp air reminds me of campfire ghost stories. Now, I am a character in dozens of those stories. Having stared into the eyes of the dead enough for one chilly day, I left the cemetery. Walking back to the house, I couldn’t help but remember their faces. But I can’t recall a single date – I guess the pictures worked.

I started lab work again when Bruno returned from the harbor. Julia and I worked separately on fin silhouettes. We no longer need the manual or each other’s assistance– the steps are repetitive and clear, despite the Spanish and Italian language settings. All catalogued animals from 2006 needed silhouetting, so we split the work load and got down to business. I was done before seven with my half. While Julia finished hers, I helped Bruno edit his paper on which he recently received peer reviews. It was one that I read yesterday morning, so luckily I could follow along as he scrolled up and down and dragged texts from point a to c and then to some b in between. He knows these words like he knows his own name. Unfortunately for him, many of these words were incorrect. English prepositions are a roadblock that must be smoothed out for publication although we ignore them in his speech. Why is it “in accordance with” but “according to”? And why do we “afford benefits to” but just “benefit” and just “afford” alone? If there is a reason for English prepositions, there is not a pattern nor a rule to keep them straight. And since Bruno is writing research papers in his third language, I don’t expect him to. But the editors do – and for that reason, I looked over his shoulder for an hour speed reading and spot checking those pesky prepositions and all the other English rules. I even composed the title. Somehow I doubt my name will be showing up in the acknowledgements. Oh, well!

Sometime during our intense grammar lesson, Andrea got back from the harbor and prepared dinner. The three of us were so enthralled with our lab work, we didn’t even notice that it was past 8 until the smell of pan-fried pork chops awoke the chorus of our empty stomachs. As usual, we ate in almost complete silence until the end, when Bruno launched into English about local journalism. Let it suffice to say that there are no local, professional journalists and the BDRI has suffered because of it.

Now, a hot (keep hope alive) shower is all that stands between my and bed. Rumor has it that tomorrow, the Spartana will be ready. We are just waiting on the mechanic. Reality has it that we will still be waiting.

Thanks for reading!

Until the next unrealized adventure….

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Feb 20, Wednesday

The second full lab day this week. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad at all. We got an extra 30 minutes to sleep in and lab work was slow to start. Instead of putting us each on a computer and nestling into his own, Bruno started the lab session by introducing two of his recent papers. He talked about methods and good science, then left us with the papers to read and take notes on in our notebooks. I love my notebook. It is exactly what a biology student’s notebook should be – at least, its on its way. Notes on papers, sketches, instructions, shorthand and even a table of contents. Yes, I am a nerd – and darn proud of it! Anyway, we had all morning to read several papers. Just as everyone in the W&L Bio department promised, I am very thankful that they put us through so many scientific papers and publications. So thank you Drs. Knox, Hurd, Weilgus, Gibber and Kraus! I fly through these papers and have great notes to boot!

As the programme promised, we ate pasta con bettarga for our (late) lunch. Bruno made that dish my first day here. I don’t remember if I talked about it then, so let me just briefly say that bettarga is a special kind of dried fish eggs that are a Sardinian specialty. They are golden and a little salty. I will try to bring some jars (they are very small – like stocking-caviar jars) back to the US because it really is unique. Any orders?

After our standard 90 minutes free, we were back in the lab. Having finished the acoustics last night (hallelujah!), we were on to another aspect of photo ID. For an hour and 20 minutes, Bruno explained how to use PhotoShop to create traces and silhouettes of dolphin fins. He wrote the manual this morning and taught it this afternoon. Once he was confident we knew what we were doing (we weren’t confident that we knew anything, but at least I was eager to start), he let Julia and I work together. Poor Julia had never worked with PhotoShop before. She looked terrified, holding the mouse like it might crumble in her hand and hiding her chin in her fleece collar. Switching seats after each dolphin had be properly traced, silhouetted, filled and saved, we shared the work and ironed out the problems in the manual. When we had completed nearly all the known animals (about 25 have names), lab was over and we left to get another phone card.

I could smell dinner from the bedroom where I was typing. Eating wasn’t a priority until the bold and zesty scents of an Italian meal triggered my appetite. Suddenly, my stomach was starving. It was so intriguing that I went out to the kitchen to inspect. And to get the recipe. It was a home-designed meal, no name and no specific amounts. Although it won’t do it justice, I would have to best describe it as potato and mushroom melting in a pan. Andrea only knew the scientific name of the mushrooms, so I have a little research to do before the recipe is complete. As the meal wound down, the conversation finally wound up. This time, we mostly listened as Bruno talked about trains, planes and travel around Sardinia and the rest of Europe. When there was nothing left to say, I did the dishes. A brief visit to the internet and a (thankfully) hot shower later, I curled up on my cardboard mattress and listened to an audio book I found in my iTunes library.

Tomorrow, probably another lab day since the forecast is grim. But photo ID is enjoyable. For the first time, I am really looking forward to lab work!
Until next time, take care!

Bioacoustics: The Gory Details

Feb 19, Tuesday

Today was more of the same: up at 8, coffee and cookies, in the lab by 9 for acoustics. It was incredibly difficult to be excited about the lab work. The whistles are scarce; the noise pollution, high; my dolphin eavesdropping experience, low. There are always little lines that trick your eyes – this could be part of a whistle. And that – I’ll have to remember to go back to that point and look for it. The problem really starts when I go back after the sample has loaded. I can’t find it. I’m looking at the exact frame I saw it in before, but now its gone. Vanishing lines and magic whistles.

The frustration only starts there. For every day that they took hydrophone samples, there is a file. And in every file, there are anywhere from 5 to 15 samples. And each sample can be anywhere from 30 seconds (rare… appreciated … … cherished) to 50 minutes (dreaded). Julia and I are each assigned several days worth of data for each lab session. The samples are transferred to the computers where we work via thumb drives (actually, everything is transferred this way – they really need a network). Geared up with aviator-like headphones, I open the first day’s file. Then the first recording: 634,772 milliseconds. An 11 minute sample, but all hope is not abandoned.

Perhaps the noise pollution will be low. Perhaps the entire pod was vocalizing during those 11 minutes – during my 11 minutes. In my neatly drawn column color-coded with red a black ink, I transcribe the recording number and total length, then instruct the program to analyze the first 60,000 milliseconds. “OK,” I click, holding my breath as the window vanishes from the screen. First, total blackness. Only my own reflection stares back at me. The curved glass face of the monstrous monitor, last decade’s dinosaur, distorts the image. The headphone orbs look like misplaced Mickey ears, had Picasso ever done his portrait. In a flash of an instant, I see the first few seconds of noise – lines and color scroll across, swallowing the distortion.

It takes an entire minute to create the spectrograph. But within the first 4 seconds, the quality is obvious. I want a blue bar up to 4 kHz with black above it. The more color and the brighter the color in the higher bands, the worse the noise pollution. Black on blue and the dolphins come in loud and clear – if they are there at all. I watch in silence as the spectrograph unfolds on screen. The first milliseconds spit out misleadingly optimistic. And then it comes – hitting the convex glass like a freight train: a wall of robin-egg blue, speckled with black reminders of what silence looks like. Helplessly, I watch as my first minute plays out on screen – and all of it, all 60,000 milliseconds, screeches pastel. Taking off my headphones, no need to listen to the bloody screams of summertime noise pollution, I readjust in the wooden chair. When it is done loading, I click the mute button and play through it again, watching for anything that might resemble a whistle. Or even a click-train. Just something to tell me that the dolphins really were present on that warm day last August, when all of Europe launched their motors in the bay.

One minute down, ten to go. And then on to the next file, then the next day’s file. Milliseconds pile up before me. For the rest of the morning, I hear colors and see sounds.

Lunch is pasta con melanana again – only the second time in two and a half weeks. They really do have a lot of recipes, most of them distinct. We’ve only eaten the same thing twice 3 times out of the 29 meals I’ve had here. Breakfasts don’t count.

During my free time, I went back to the ATM and then to the beach. It was very windy – too windy to take pictures. But the beach looks pretty much the same as it always does, except I’m the only on there. I guess it was too windy for the tanning man and the family with the 2 girls. A few minutes before 4, I walked back to the house. Julia was sitting out front and Bruno was coming from the harbor with Luna. When we all leave, they lock up and we don’t get a key. And then Bruno forgot his. So he hopped on his gummy-worm green bike and raced back to the harbor.

Once back in the lab, while Bruno was organizing the next audio files for us to crack into, I decided to ask about his current research. The perfect question. He face lit up and he was off on another soapbox spiel about good research versus bad research, with examples of both. I thought it was strange that he didn’t include his current project in the orientation he gave when I first got here; then I was always expecting him to start off one lab morning with an overview. But it never happened, leaving me a little confused as a shuffled through the tedious lab work that seemed miniscule without a reference for why I was doing it. I guess that a research overview just isn’t something he thinks of giving because he is so familiar with it – like the rule about plugging in appliances. But when I opened the conversation about his research, he jumped on it.

The acoustics from last August (what I have been analyzing for the last 2 weeks) are the final days of data for a 3+ year study. Everything else has been analyzed and, when I finish the last few days, this stage will be over. I am so glad that I am here for the end of the study instead of in the middle – an entire internship of acoustics would leave kHz humming in my ears for a year. So the next step, which he should be starting next week, is going through all the whistles and analyzing them. I don’t think I will be directly involved in that process unless he decides to walk me through the process just so I can see it. As of now, he admits, he doesn’t have a hypothesis and therefore no clear idea for a paper. But he hopes it will be on acoustics since they have so much data for it. He has been working on a peer review for at least a week, as well as correcting his own paper that he just got back from peer review. So as soon as those and the Spartana are finished (and all are sitting on the brink of completion), we will all be able to move on. Especially Bruno.

Now knowing that I was looking at the last days in August – the last days of acoustics – I started the afternoon lab work without the sense of dread and unconcerned with the number of milliseconds that awaited me. My luck continued: during my last sample, a 48 minute one, someone switched off the hydrophone only 8 minutes into recording. My last 40 minutes would all be silence – and guaranteed silence need not be analyzed. I got off easy. Julia trudged on with the end of her samples while I made dinner.

Risotto is like glorified dinner porridge. Before tonight, I had never had it – much less made it. Andrea showed me how to make it – mostly pointing around the kitchen and thinking out loud in short phases separated with mmmmmmmmmm and all starting with “then.”

“Okay, I show you now.” She enters the kitchen with a hop to get her over the lip in the floor. She looks around the kitchen, which hasn’t changed since lunch – since they moved in probably. “Mmmmm… Asperago.” She opens the freezer and pulls out the bag of asparagus stalks. “Then, you cut. And an onion, please. … Mmmmm…. Pass to me please the knife,” she hands me the knife instead, briefly pointing to the sink. She means pass the knife under the water – maybe wash it. Either way, I wash it and then hold on to it, knowing she doesn’t want it passed back to her. “Then, you chop up very small – okay – then, you fry.” Now she points to the stove. “I prepare to you the pan… here,” she squats down and leans into the low cupboard, pulling out the specific pan to be used. As far as I can tell, none of the pans are that different – unique handle colors. Tonight I will use the green handle. “Mmmmmm,” she stands up, looking around again. The only change is the asparagus and the pan now sitting on the counter. “Pass to me please the oil,” now pointing to the cupboard by my head. “For example… Mmmmm…. Then you put here. Then like this, over there. Then you put rice – I use this one. For example, this one is two people, okay?” The teacup she is holding is used to measure the rice which I will put in the pan on the stove after I chop the onion and asparagus with the washed knife that I am still holding. Each teacup of rice serves two people. Thankfully, I’ve been practicing my Andrea translations. Looking around one last time and pulling her arms through her red coat, Andrea finishes the cooking lesson with “Okay, then. You cook. I go with Luna.” And she’s off. And I’m left with a clean knife and frozen asparagus.

I thought the risotto turned out fine. It wasn’t burnt or too salty. Bruno came in towards the end and added his special touch. He is very particular about his food – and rarely agrees with Andrea’s versions of recipes. Tonight it was the lack of white wine and cream. He added cheese at the last minute, when it was apparently too late to add salt. Perhaps it wasn’t creamy enough, but Andrea was happy with it and rolled her eyes at Bruno when started up about serious risotto. No one was upset and all the plates where cleaned by the end of the meal. Jokingly, Bruno suggested that if I’m not cooking in next week’s programme, we will know why. I’m not concerned – I will be cooking again soon. And Andrea won’t be changing her recipes for anyone.

A few random pics of the house

the far side of the house

the kitchen

more of the lab

more bathroom

the side enterance to the house and the laundry dryer

Feb 18

Oh, what a Monday! Up at 6 as promised, then to the harbor for another early shift with the fishermen. Andrea didn’t come again – they are pushing to finish the Spartana by this weekend. The three of us didn’t manage so well without her. I hope the Spartana is done soon so that it’s the four of us at sea again. Without Andrea, Julia and I must fill her role but our 5 weeks of combined dolphin experience is no match for the years of experience with dolphins and, more importantly, Bruno.

The wind was stronger than we expected and the fishery boat rocked back and forth over the cage… then away from the cage… then over the cage. Due to the boats position, the exhaust rolled up over the bow and settled in our lungs. By midmorning, I felt nauseous and started counting down the hours until we would be back on solid ground with fresh air. Eventually the wind died down – almost completely. I thought I would appreciate the smooth seas, but that actually made my job harder. Once it was calm, there were two sightings – I didn’t sight either of them. That alone for just one day isn’t a big deal – I’ve sighted in the past and I will sight again in the future. But then we lost them. Julia and I were diligently manning our posts, watching for the group to surface. I know I was doing my job to the best of my ability.

We had pasta with zucchini for lunch and then time off. I decided that sleep would be my best option – and I was right. Sleeping for only an hour, I felt like I’d been in bed for 8. When I got up for transcription of our sightings and then acoustics, I started the day over again. Bruno got a phone call that launched him out of his chair and marching across the room, throwing his hands about and yelling sharp Italian syllables. Luckily, he wasn’t talking to Andrea (it would have been Spanish) and I couldn’t understand his rapid Italian. A few words that might be cognates did come through – like policia and Americani. Julia heard those to and we exchanged worried looks of confusion. Whatever the problem was, it didn’t involve us and Bruno did not include us in his post-conversation fuming. Thankfully, we finished before seven and slipped out of the lab.

I had extra free time since I wasn’t making dinner. Bruno and Andrea made the Spanish potato tortilla again, which takes at least an hour. The best part – it was served with salad! I think that is the second salad they’ve served since I’ve been here. If I could think of a polite and culturally appropriate way to make more salads or suggest that we have them more often, I would. But that just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Especially now with what I fear is Bruno’s growing disappointment in or dislike of me. But I don’t want to dwell on that. I still have 10 weeks to prove myself. Or at least improve myself.

The night ended as always: dinner dishes, wait for the shower, then bed. But tonight I decided to stay up and write a little. We aren’t going to sea in the morning, so I don’t have to be up until 8. Hopefully, I will be caught up soon!

Notes:
- Julia is from Missouri. I think I might have said another M state early on. Sorry, Julia.
- Weather permitting, we will be going out on the Spartana on Saturday with a group of Latvian tourists who are interested in watching biologists watching dolphins. They must have offered Bruno a good chuck-o’-change because this does not sound like something he would normally go for. Unless they are actually students or academics, I think they are looking for a way to dolphin-watch as a tourist attraction. But I hope it happens – I’ve never met anyone from Latvia, and going out on the Spartana would force Bruno to admit that she is seaworthy!

Will someone please tell me if my pictures are resized wrong??

2 week stats

14 days in…

- dolphin encounters: 5
- whistles found in acoustics: ~ 50
- rides in a car: 0
- drink other than water, coffee and tea: 0
- days without pasta: 0
- days without socks: 0
- clothing items actually dry when taken off the line: 3 (generously)
- tastes of local cuisine: 5
- hours of good sleep: ~ 20
- screws mulled over: 1000’s
- successful conversations in an unknown language: 1
- days with reliable internet: 0
- days that nothing surprised me: 0
- days outside comfort zone: 14
- waves watched: 1000s
- proficiency in Celsius and meters: growing
- days I’ve missed people: 14

Feb 17, Sunday

A day of rest… after cleaning and laundry. I assume that the rest of the town attends the disappointingly modern-looking church that is a few blocks up the road. Andrea and Bruno do not go. The scientist part of their adult beings won out over their Catholic upbringings in Spain and Paraguay. So while the rest of the town is busy with soul-cleansing, we are house cleansing. It was my turn to wash the bathroom, which is actually the best because the tasks are simple and no one walks through your room (which is not true of the kitchen). Its also the smallest of the assigned areas and has its own water source. So I set to scrubbing those blue tiles – the ugly doesn’t wash off. When I was done with the floor, Julia and I started our weekly shared load of laundry. We would have liked to have started it before I was done cleaning the bathroom so that it would have more time in the sun to dry. Andrea wanted us to wait so that the hose (which runs from the back of the washer across the bathroom to hook onto the sink) wouldn’t be in the way. When she started with “It iz bet-ar if…”, we knew it was a lost cause. Laundry would wait and we would be taking down cold, damp clothes from the line tomorrow.

While the washer thudded and buzzed against the recently disinfected blue, I made lunch across the hall. Pesto. One of my favorite foods hands down. It was my day to cook so I was really excited to learn how it’s made in Italy (by a Spaniard and a Paraguayan-Japanese, but in Italy nonetheless). It was delicious! I don’t know how pesto itself is sold in the states, so I don’t know how useful the recipe is going to be, but I wrote it down all the same.

Julia and I stayed at the house until the washer stopped and we hung up our clean clothes on the less-than-clean drying apparatus outside. Then we were free to go for a walk towards the end of the peninsula that reaches out from the harbor and shelters the fishery from the winds off Corsica. Forty minutes down a dirt road between the train tracks along coast and the hills covered with dusty-looking trees took us to a rocky overlook. Town sat low on the horizon to the right. Terracotta tiles of the staggered roofs looked like burning embers in the late afternoon sunlight. The fishery floats 200 meters from the shore I stood on. Figarolo Island seemed almost reachable – a strong swim in the frigid February waters would have gotten me there. Had we continued an undeterminable distance towards the point (we later learned), we would have reached the most beautiful of the local beaches. Now I have a destination for next Sunday.

Bruno and Andrea left for the harbor to work on the Spartana. They never really take a day off. So I had to stop by the boat to get the house keys (even though they have people living in their house for months at a time, they only have one set of keys). And to get to the Spartana, you have to climb onto a yellow submarine that is tied up in the harbor. Apparently it is an Olbia tourist attraction, but had some mechanical issues while out in the gulf. The nearest port with a mechanic was Golfo Aranci. Bruno and another boat owner agreed to let the sub use their slips. So the Spartana and the other man’s boat are tied to the sub. I haven’t seen anyone working on the sub, so I don’t know how long this arrangement will continue. My guess is months based on the work mentality of the locals. Anyways, every time we go to work on the Spartana, we have to lean out and grab the sub from the dock over the huge submarine buoys. Then we swing our legs up and over onto the sub deck. It’s easier to board for those of us with longer legs. A similar process must be done on the other side of the submarine to get aboard the Spartana. Strange, but true – the yellow submarine.

The rest of the afternoon was calm – writing, reading, sitting on the beach. Andrea made fried pork filets with instant mashed potatoes for dinner. Yet another interesting meal. The recipe, not that there was much of one, will not be going home with me. I had planned on going online tonight, but Bruno shut off the computer thinking I was done with it. He is going to bed, so no internet for me today. Sorry for the delays in my posts during the past couple of days. I can’t keep up with everything I want to write – and when I do catch up, the internet is down. Oh, well.

Sundays really aren’t much to write home about (not that that stops me), but the adventure starts up again in full early tomorrow morning. I’ll be up again at your midnight – so if you are up, think of me!

Thanks for reading. Take care!

Feb 16, Saturday

Saturdays are work days here at the BDRI because biology happens every second. I’m sure that Bruno would have all of us work 7 days a week if he could, but there would be a revolt. So this morning we were up at 8 again for coffee and cookies, what they call “biscuits” probably due to the false cognate of “biscotti.” Lab work followed. Yesterday Bruno told us that we need to learn the 7 most frequent dolphins. So that’s what we did all morning yesterday – sketched, descriptions, notes. Today, he says will work on the rest of the dolphins – pretty much all of them. Another day of art class. To be fair, working on sketches is nice because we can’t be told we are doing something wrong, we can more or less work at our own pace, and it helps us in our goals here at BDRI. But sitting in front of the monitor, which I was sharing with Julia, and drawing fin after fin after fin for over 5 hours, that is too much.

We finally got to stop for lunch. Pasta with spinach – one of my favorites because there is a lot of spinach, and I welcome any stabbable (that which you can stab and eat) vegetable. My spinach-induced euphoria began to melt when Bruno announced at the end of lunch that we would not be going out to sea today. Julia and I both thought that was the plan, but we had been deceived again by the damn programme. What was left of my euphoria drizzled out when I learned that the afternoon would not only be spent in the lab, it would be spent on more dolphin sketches. By the end of the day, I had 24 animals in lines and curves and shadings of graphite in my notebook. Luckily, Bruno eliminated a few dozen from the catalog that we don’t need to know. Now I have to learn them all. Then, I have to be able to see the markings on the dolphins when we are actually at sea.

Let me see if I can remember all the names at least: Bianca, Tacca, Rinco, Whitespot, Figarolo, Fuji, Pitu, Vecchio Tacca, New 2, New 5, New 10, New 14, New 24, Gancho, Tiburon, Galicia, Truncato, the other Bianca (what is her name???), Alitana, Cormo, Deco, Mare Tre, Markita. There might be a few more. That’s all I can remember – and that’s only the names! Now for the abbreviations and profiles. Don’t worry – I wont drag you through all of that.

Again, lab worked ended for dinner. Andrea made tuna burritos that only resemble the burritos you are thinking of in that there were beans and lettuce. In addition, there were pickles, tomato sauce (cooked with the beans and tuna into a paste), individually wrapped slices of white, nondescript cheese and a square pita-like flatbread to hold it all together. But it was something different and I was thankful for that.

Tomorrow is Sunday – finally a day off! Hopefully, I will catch up on writing, photography and sleep.

Looking forward to hearing from you! Thank you to everyone who has emailed and posted comments – every message I get is a breath of fresh air and much appreciated.

Until next time,
Steph

more pics - the house!

the view from our door to the street. garage area on the right.

kitchen entrance. i think the picture is weird bc i had to resize it. probably true of all my pics here!

the lab

the shower. yes, thats all there is. it is square, so don´t be fooled into thinking we have more space in there!

water heater hanging from ceiling

the washer. you can see the lip of the sink across from it

the tiles. yes, they are as ugly as i described!

random pile of things in the garage area

sae urchin after someone ate it.

3 new posts- click on Older Posts to see other 2

Feb 15

If you were looking for something weird to laugh and wonder at today, you are in luck. A local, wild ram fell off one of the mountains and was found this morning swimming in the gulf with only a broken jaw. It was taken to an animal rehab location somewhere nearby. There is really nothing else I can write about today to top that, so if you are pressed for time or tired of my verbosity, you can get on with your day. Go tell someone about the ram that fell off the mountain into the sea.

For those of you still reading, thank you. I got to sleep in until 8, but the extra 2 hours were soon drained from me by a rushed day. Julia and I spent the morning drawing dorsal fins in our notebooks to that we can learn all the animals the frequent this area. Bruno decided that we needed practice (duh) and that being able to see good pictures and write our own descriptions would be helpful (again, duh). So we sat in front of the computer for the better part of five hours, going through the 2006 photo ID catalog. (The 2007 catalog is not completed – that is what we have been working on all week.) My sketches are pretty good, and if I can actually see this amount of detail on a fin at sea, I should be in good shape.

After a overly leisurely lunch (only because I had to rush the dishes), Bruno, Julia, and I went to the harbor to catch the afternoon shift of the fishery boats. We have to cover nearly-equal numbers of morning, afternoon and evening hours at sea in order for the research to have any scientific value. Only tracking dolphin behavior and travel patterns in the morning will not allow any meaningful conclusions to be drawn. Which days we cover what time is usually determined by the forecast. We did have one sighting today, but it wasn’t a very good one – short and mostly too far away or untrackable.

Although we were back to the harbor by 4:30, there was no free time for Julia and me. We had to walk to the big market with Andrea to help with the week’s groceries. It’s a 20 minute walk, without groceries and taking large, rapid strides. The convoluted path we take starts off through residential streets, cuts across a beach, up though the summer homes area, then up to the main street that runs directly to ours. So I’m not sure why we go the way we do – perhaps because its prettier, but stomping through sloped sand with groceries strapped to your back and pinching off your palms quickly diminishes the beauty. I had never been to the big market, so it was an interesting trip – even if I lost circulation in my arms on the walk (ahem, sprint) back to the house.

The “big” market is essentially one Publix isle. Walking in, you turn left and shop in order of the shelves. If you must go back, you can, but it is like swimming upstream. Everyone shops off the wall on the left and the isle shelves on the right. When you get to the meat counter at end, the path bends around on itself and you can shop on the other side of the isle. A wall is always on the left, the isle on the right. At the other end, there are 2 checkout counters. In the winter, of course, only one is open. I didn’t need to buy anything, but looking at their everyday items was fascinating. Wines and olive oils take up an eighth of the store; pasta, another eighth. Dairy (all non-refrigerated) and produce must share a small section of space, which it matched by the cheese counter in size. Nutella has its own section, complete with a 5-foot tall cardboard cutout display of a jar and various fruits being dipped. But I suppose that the 2L bottle pyramid at Publix would surprise a Sardinian that wandered in. Anyways, once Andrea and Julia had bought their things, we redistributed the goods among the duffel bags (carry-ons!) and trudged back to the house.

Transcription awaited us. Luckily, we didn’t do any acoustics or photo ID since we had worked on it all morning and it was already after dark. Finally some free time! Dinner was like a dry stew of vegetables featuring what might be split peas. What exactly is a split pea? Is it really a pea? Or is it a different, bean-like vegetable that resembles half a pea? Apparently I haven’t paid enough attention to that thick green mess of “soup” that one side of my family is so fond of. Whatever a split pea is, and whether or not that’s what we ate, it was good. And served on white rice instead of pasta, which is one happy guarantee about dinners here.

If anyone would like any more recipes, please let me know. I have kept records of almost every one – lunch and dinner – for nearly 2 weeks. So I have a nice collection going (complete with the friendly metric system and approximations of amounts). Interested?

Thanks for stopping by to check up on what I’m up to. And remember the ram when you need a laugh. Not to worry, we are told he is doing fine.

Valentines Day Overlooked, and a Recipe for you!

Feb 14

Another early morning to meet the fishermen at the harbor. The day started off cold again, but without the wind, which makes all the difference. There was a sighting early on as well, which makes the rest of the day on the boat, staring at water and distinguishing fin from wave, that much more rewarding. The net cleaning continued, as did the collecting for the tanks. We brought back more tiny octopuses and dead fish to feed the living. But no snails to feed the Americans.

Instead of fresh seafood, I made carbonara for lunch. At least, I think it is called carbonara. It is, of course, pasta, but has a unique twist. I recorded the recipe and thought you might like to try it out. Maybe someone will – someone who isn’t cutting carbs at the moment. A few notes about this recipe:
- The recipe that follows makes 4 Sardinian servings – maybe 3 American servings (L).
- If you try this, please forgive the metric units. The conversions should be easy to find.
- When I say “quickly” in the recipe, please do it that way. Otherwise, you will have goopy eggs and pasta. And that is nasty.
- There is no need, I have learned, to break the pasta to get it into the pot. Just place it in, then use a fork to gently twist the submerged pasta until the ends are covered. It takes 30 seconds at most. Breaking pasta for the pot is a no-no!

Carbonara
o Spaghetti (linguine can also be used) – 100 g per serving
o 0.15 kg block bacon, cut into thick slices
o 2 eggs
o Approx 1/3 – ½ fresh parmesan (I suppose the stuff out of the green cylinder can be used as well, but you will be missing out)
o Ground pepper to taste

Get pasta going. Cook the bacon in olive oil. In a separate boil, scramble the eggs and grate the cheese into the same bowl. Add pepper to taste and stir well. Stir very well. When the pasta is ready, quickly strain it and put it back into the pot without rinsing the pasta. Quickly add the bacon (and oil left in the pan) and quickly toss. Immediately add the egg mixture and toss well. The pasta must still be hot enough to cook the egg. Serve with more grated cheese and pepper. And enjoy it!

After lunch, I went back down to the beach to eat an orange and watch for dolphins and interesting people. Instead, I found a very friendly dog – rather, she found me. Wearing a collar but no tag (typical here), she looked like a domesticated wolf. She decided that whatever was in my crinkly grocery bag must be delicious. She sat right in front of me and nudged the bag, then me. I offered her a piece of orange, but she decided against it. Determined to get something else out of the bag, she laid down at my feet and watched me eat. Her hair was silver with black and grey wrapping across her back and falling unevenly down her sides. Black lined her German Sheppard-like ears and traced the length of her nose. One blue and one hazel eye gave her stare a sense of intensity that mismatched her lackadaisical attitude as she trotted off down the beach once she realized I had no meat. She came back, this time just looking for a friend instead of a hand-out. We watched for people together – although for different purposes.

I left my new friend to go back for afternoon lab work. You guessed it – more transcription, photo ID, and acoustics. We are up to February 2007 in photo ID and all the way to August 2007 in acoustics. We have a long way to go. Headphones were put away and eyes uncrossed in time for dinner. Andrea made the first beef meal in almost two weeks. And we didn’t even have rice with it! Tomorrow it all starts again, so a shower and early-ish bedtime are in my near future.

Thanks for checking in, and Goodnight!

Fresh Seafood

Feb 13

We met the sun at the harbor this morning. The early shift on the fishery boats is my favorite because as we pull around the corner of the harbor, the sun rises from behind the mountains at the end of this sleepy peninsula. From then on, I know it can only get warmer. A comforting thought this morning, since we set sail in all of 3 degrees C, accompanied by an even colder wind.

A benefit of going out on a fish farm boat instead of the BDRI’s boats is that I get a front-row seat to the daily operations of the fishery. Today they had to clean the predator nets that surround the cages. The divers unleash the net and rope up the first segment for the crane to lift out of the water. One of the workers swings on the net beside the boat to cut it open in case of dirt or other buildup rolled into the net. They knock off the mussels and crustaceans growing on the nets with shovels, then check for holes. The fishermen pick up sea urchins from the deck and crack open the bottom. Inside is a salmon-colored pattern of gelatinous flesh, which they scoop out and eat. Sea urchin tastes like salted mango. Yes, I tried it. I wouldn’t pay the 40 euros a bowl of pasta with urchin costs, but it was a unique experience on a fishery boat in the Mediterranean. Fresh seafood.

Net cleaning is Bruno’s favorite of the fishery activities because he gets to collect species for his tanks back at the lab. The majority of his attention went to the small animals falling to the deck (instead of the larger, mammalian ones off the deck). He scrambled around, picking up everything still living – keeping what he could sustain in his tanks and throwing the rest back. By the end of the day, two very tiny octopuses, a red sea anemone, a little lobster-like creature, and a brittle sea star found themselves in a bag full of sea water on the way back to the lab. We also carried back a bag full of a few small fish that didn’t survive the pressure change and sea snails in green spirals. The fish were to feed the other animals in the tanks. The snails, I learned at lunch, were to feed us.

Oh, yes – more fresh seafood. Of course there was pasta (Pasta con Tonno) and bread. The snails boiled in their pot, a process which turned the shells to emerald green and the flesh to soft rubber. Once on the table, I picked up a medium-sized snail. Bruno and Andrea warned us that the smaller ones were harder to get out of the shell. I briefly considered a small one exactly for that reason. But, whatever – I’ll probably never again have the chance to eat straight-out-of-the-sea snails in an Italian village. We used toothpicks to stab the flesh, then twisted the shell around very carefully, coaxing the snail around the invisible curves. They tasted like what sea snails should probably taste like – rubbery (which I now consider a flavor) and salty. I managed to get the whole body and tail (did you know that sea snails have tails?) out of the third one I tried. Andrea gave me the shell as a souvenir. I soaked it in laundry detergent because I didn’t have anything else. Now it’s sitting on the wall outside – hopefully baking in the sun.

I walked down the beach during my time off. It’s the best part of the day to have off since the sun is out and it’s relatively warm. There are always the same people at the beach in the afternoons. A man who age forgot always sets up his own personal tanning spot behind the closed pizzeria, which blocks the wind. This daily routine maintains the bronzy-brown of his skin. He never has tanning lotion, but he never has sunscreen either. Despite his Mediterranean genes, I am sure melanoma is blossoming all over him. A family with two dirty-blonde daughters visits the beach in the afternoons too. The parents sit on the sand while the girls follow each other’s zig-zags across the beach, always collecting something – usually sticks – which both must agree on before being put in the pile. These are the people that share their beach with me in the afternoons.

I left them and my search for sea glass to be back in the lab for afternoon work. Transcription of this morning’s events preceded the acoustics and photo ID efforts. A neighbor – possibly the landlady – brought over a bowl full of vegetables for us (more likely for Andrea and Bruno, but they share). The vegetable is similar to spinach and grows wild on the hills surrounding the gulf. Apparently a bushel of the freshly picked greens cooks down to a serving bowl of edible food. She cooked them with red chilis, so the strongest flavor was spicy, followed by spinach. Again, not something I would probably order, but having an old woman search out and prepare a local specialty is unique and a very nice gesture. Boiled potatoes and sliced eggs with paprika and olive oil (if that sounds like something you might want to try at home, I recommend against it), accompanied by the spicy spinach, made up dinner.

Tomorrow – another day on the water and Douglas’s birthday!

More pictures!

the cheese vendor at the Monday street market

The snails we ate..... that story will be posted soon!

A very small tunnel that leads to the other side of the island

The other side of the island

and again

me on the other side of the island!

Language Barriers

Feb 12

You should be glad to hear that cleared my name this morning by making strong coffee. No more dirty water. After that little personal triumph, we started photo ID, which I was really looking forward to. They haven’t started any 2007 ID, so we started with 13-month old pictures and go day by day. The process is a little slow, but it’s only the first step of making the catalog. Andrea and I go through the pictures and select only the ones that match certain criteria. Then I record every photo each animal appears in, which side of the animal is in the picture, and note if it is catalog-quality. So every dolphin gets its own page which I am slowly filling with numbers. Because mostly just the dorsal fin is used for ID, I have to learn the profiles of each one. And some of them are very similar. A small triangular knick with a rounded point versus a small rounded knick with a triangular point. Or maybe it’s not a knick at all. Water visible through a knick sometimes looks like part of the fin. Sometimes with the sun and the water and the angle and the distance, I can barely tell it’s a dolphin. Andrea can look at those and say, “Dis one? M3. See the curve of here? La forma? Iz more like” and rounds her fingers through the air. “Iz okay. You practice.” I guess I have 10 more weeks to get it right. It won’t take that long.

Photo ID and acoustics ended for lunch – a slightly creamy pasta with mushrooms and some type of spiced meat that ends with a lot of i’s and maybe an n in the middle. Later, I walked halfway across town to the only working payphone. Change is hard to come by here, and these phones don’t take anything smaller than 0.20 eurocents, so I dropped in my last 1 Euro to use the calling card. And the phone went dead while the British voice was telling me how many hours are left. I fiddled with the phone, wanting either a dial tone or at least my Euro back. I got neither. A local who was sitting in his car by the curb starting talking to me – must have been to me since I was the only one around, and he said “something-something-something telefono” that went up at the end like a question – or maybe just like Italian. I couldn’t tell, but it didn’t really matter since I couldn’t reply. By best response was nodding and leaving the phone booth. He kept going in Italian, pointed up the road and said that there was another phone about a kilometer down the road. In the opposite direction of the house. And I was out of coins. I shook my head and looked where he was pointing, trying to communicate that I wasn’t walking another kilometer. He shrugged back. “Grazie” I ended with, walking back to the house. A few minutes later, I heard a car pull up to the curb beside where I was walking. It was my friend again. I heard “telefono” and “mare” as he pointed down the cross street I was standing at. Another phone down that road – “est” he added. East. I knew the phone he was talking about – it’s near the house. And since I knew where I was, I decided to walk down that cross street anyways, better than having him see me continue in his direction and him talking again. The last leg of my trip would be by the beach too. “Grazie” – so down that street towards the beach I go. By the time I got to the end and turned the corner, he had driven around and parked by the beach. He sat on the wall separating the beach from the curb. I wouldn’t have recognized him except he said, once again, “telefono,” pointing. Okay phone fairy. Thank you. Grazie. Leave me alone I can’t communicate with you. Not that that stopped him from trying.
“No Italiano. Lo siento.” (A little Spanish might help.) He understood something, so he slowed down his speech and zig-zagged his hand through the air, followed by the brrr-brrr-brrrrrrrrrrr of an engine noise. Something, when said slower, sound like “ferry.”

“No ferry.” He looked at me like I must have dropped from the sky to get here if I hadn’t taken the ferry.

“Tourista?” He called back across the street.

“No. Los delfines.” It was my turn to point, to the sea behind him. Same confused look. Time for Spanish, I guess. “Estudio los delfines.” Now he was even more confused. I tried to think of how else I could explain.

“La biologia?”

“Si – la biologia.” A breakthrough. I went with it.

“En Olbia?”

“No. Aqui.”

“En Golfo Aranci?” Confusion faded to surprised bewilderment in his face and voice inflections.

“Si. La biologia, los dolfines, aqui en Golfo Aranci.” I pointed to the street as if the dolphins were at my feet.

Pause. Then “Something-something-something Bruno?” Now he pointed up the street to the institute.

“Si! Con Bruno y Andrea.” Now we were communicating. But that was enough. He nodded, satisfied at having figured out who this stranger in his town was. I took the opportunity to start walking again. “Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

After all of that, I decided to go to the phone booth that doesn’t work with the coins I didn’t have just to make sure he didn’t try to tell me again in the language I don’t know. It worked. He left. I went back to the house, my first unaided communication adventure over with.

I ended up going right back out with Andrea and Luna to walk on the beach. I tried to explain to her that I met one of Bruno’s friends. I watered down the story since I doubted she would follow it and it wasn’t worth the effort. His car was still there, but he was gone. The walk down the beach was very nice. It’s a short strip of beach; a very leisurely 30 minutes will get you from one end to the other. Luna was let off her leash to run while Andrea and I looked for dolphins and sea urchins. Apparently it is urchin season and people wade into the water to pluck them from the rocks in the shallows. They crack open the bottom and suck the meat out. The spindly carcasses are left on the beach, where the inside of the exoskeleton bleaches in the sun.

Back at the house for more lab work at four – three hours of acoustics and photo ID. It really only ended because it was my night to make dinner, but we didn’t have enough eggs to make the “omlette” that I was scheduled to make. So Andrea, Julia and I went to the market. The first market didn’t have any eggs. We went on the fruit stand – they didn’t have any eggs either (I guess their fruit and vegetable store sells eggs). But I bought 2 more oranges and got more change for the phone (if I can find one that works and won’t eat my change). We followed Andrea back to the first market like unquestioning ducklings. It is rare that we ever fully understand what her plans are. We ended up just buying water, even though we didn’t have (apparently) the right foods at the house to make a meal. So Andrea made something up. She handed me an eggplant and a zucchini, told me to chop them up. Then half of an onion left over from lunch. Then a few tomatoes. When she came back into the kitchen and took out a can of tuna, I prepared for the worst. We put it all in a pan, with what seemed like a lot of olive oil (which is synonymous with “pan”), and then put slices of cheese on top. It was weird – a little like what I imagine a casserole would be like (I don’t think I’ve ever had one). But it was pretty good – good enough for me to write out the “recipe.” Bruno approved, which was the first thing said at dinner. He admits that he like to “eat well.”

I am sorry that this post is so late. The internet hasn’t been working, and even when it was, I was unprepared. As you know, I am overly verbose. And I haven’t had the time recently to keep up with myself!

Thanks for reading!

Special Note

Happy Birthday, Douglas!

And secondly, Happy Valentine´s Day, everyone!

I am sorry, I don´t have more to post right now. I am a few days behind since we have been out to sea several days in a row, and so have less free time to type. I´m working on those posts and will hopefully have them up tomorrow (as long as the internet is working... which we know is hit or miss here). But I did just post for Feb 11th.

Miss you all! I promise to have some good posts soon! Please keep those emails and comments coming!

Love,
Steph

Feb 11 - Monday

Feb 11 - Monday

The weather today again prevented us from going out to sea. Bruno scheduled 2 days for lab work this week and the other 4 for sea. At least we can get the bulk lab work done early in the week. After “breakfast” this morning, Andrea, Julia and I went to the Monday morning street market that sets up just around the corner from the house. There were probably only 10 venders lining the beach-view street; apparently there will be more when more people are in town and its warmer. Each set up shop in the middle of the street, working out of their vans and displaying their goods on tables. There was a cheese vender, from whom Andrea bought some type of special sheep-milk cheese, and several vegetable stands, a few with clothes, one with random dollar-store merchandise, and one with a huge display of flowers. No one had any gloves, so I didn’t buy anything (seeing as how I’m not in the market for large blocks of cheese).

After spending too long looking through bins of scarves, panty hose, and drill bits, we returned to the house for lab work. More acoustics and database. The highlight of that was finding my first natural whistle on one of the recordings. Lunch was one of the best meals I’ve had here yet – a delicious Mediterranean pasta with anchovies, capers and green olives. Exactly what you imagine when you think of real Italian cuisine, minus the wine. We always have free time after lunch, followed by lab work at 4. More of the same. I might see if I can post an audio file of one of the acoustics recordings so you can hear some of the marine conversation. I’ll look into that.

The mechanic that told Bruno the Spartana needed a new throttle now says its not the throttle. They ordered a new one; it arrived 8 days late; they installed it, cutting a larger hole into the wood. It still moves hard. So now the mechanic wants a few hundred more euros to redo all the cables. Bruno is not happy. It was the cause of drama in the house when Andrea found out that he had already paid for the new throttle. Some rapid yelling in Spanish ended with her shoes on and she was out the door. She came back an hour later with more bags from the market than were necessary for the grocery list. We ate late – and quietly. They were not so quiet. More Spanish. I tried not to listen because I can usually understand most of their conversations – and a lot more than they think I can understand.

There is no telling when the Spartana will be ready to set sail. Julia and I don’t ask. Its just better that way.

As always, Thank you for reading & I’ll post more soon!

Love,
Steph
The weather today again prevented us from going out to sea. Bruno scheduled 2 days for lab work this week and the other 4 for sea. At least we can get the bulk lab work done early in the week. After “breakfast” this morning, Andrea, Julia and I went to the Monday morning street market that sets up just around the corner from the house. There were probably only 10 venders lining the beach-view street; apparently there will be more when more people are in town and its warmer. Each set up shop in the middle of the street, working out of their vans and displaying their goods on tables. There was a cheese vender, from whom Andrea bought some type of special sheep-milk cheese, and several vegetable stands, a few with clothes, one with random dollar-store merchandise, and one with a huge display of flowers. No one had any gloves, so I didn’t buy anything (seeing as how I’m not in the market for large blocks of cheese).

After spending too long looking through bins of scarves, panty hose, and drill bits, we returned to the house for lab work. More acoustics and database. The highlight of that was finding my first natural whistle on one of the recordings. Lunch was one of the best meals I’ve had here yet – a delicious Mediterranean pasta with anchovies, capers and green olives. Exactly what you imagine when you think of real Italian cuisine, minus the wine. We always have free time after lunch, followed by lab work at 4. More of the same. I might see if I can post an audio file of one of the acoustics recordings so you can hear some of the marine conversation. I’ll look into that.

The mechanic that told Bruno the Spartana needed a new throttle now says its not the throttle. They ordered a new one; it arrived 8 days late; they installed it, cutting a larger hole into the wood. It still moves hard. So now the mechanic wants a few hundred more euros to redo all the cables. Bruno is not happy. It was the cause of drama in the house when Andrea found out that he had already paid for the new throttle. Some rapid yelling in Spanish ended with her shoes on and she was out the door. She came back an hour later with more bags from the market than were necessary for the grocery list. We ate late – and quietly. They were not so quiet. More Spanish. I tried not to listen because I can usually understand most of their conversations – and a lot more than they think I can understand.

There is no telling when the Spartana will be ready to set sail. Julia and I don’t ask. Its just better that way.

As always, Thank you for reading & I’ll post more soon!

Love,
Steph

A few more pictures of the area

Click on any pics for a larger version!

Character Sketch - Andrea

Andrea describes herself as being from Paraguay-Japan. Her mother is Japanese, but she was raised in Paraguay. It is nearly impossible for me to distinguish any Paraguayan traits in her appearance or mannerisms. If she wore a school uniform and carried a backpack of books, she would easily pass as one of the schoolgirls. She reminds me of Noriyo in the way she arranges things and her general appearance. Her hands look like those of Noriyo or Mari, but tanner. Her short hair is always perked up in a single curve of a black ponytail. Even with all the layers she wears, she is still petite. Something in her genetic mix left her with dimples and a roundness to her face that makes her look young.

Her communication and voice are the most fascinating things about her. When she is speaking English, she uses her hands to make up for what her vocabulary lacks. Her words have a Spanish accent with a Japanese twist. Her expressions are often literal translations from Spanish, but when asking how to say something, she sounds Japanese. For example, she uses the English pass for all the same uses as the Spanish pasar (the latter has many more uses) and to where it is not needed in English. But her wut es diss? sounds exactly like Noriyo. Nearly everything she says starts with for example or hum – it is better if…

When she doesn’t know a word in English (and Bruno isn’t there to translate), she tries Spanish with me. So far that has been fairly successful, with the exceptions of Spanish for “wild” and several different types of vegetables. If only she and I are having a conversation, it might be mostly in Spanish until my lack of nautical and biological vocab intervenes. Julia was here for a whole week before me and she only speaks a little German outside of English. I have no idea how she communicated with Andrea. Now when the 3 of us talk, I usually translate random words that Andrea doesn’t know in English – stairs, wood, brand, fabric softener, screw. Even with both of us and two languages, Julia and I still don’t completely follow the majority of our conversations with her. But I am not criticizing her – after all, English is her fifth language.

Bruno´s description will be next...

Officially One Week In!

Feb 10

Sundays are free days, except for the cooperative house cleaning. Today that included laundry. The informational packet we were given before coming to Italy needs some revisions, one concerning laundry. Julia and I were both under the impression that every 2 weeks, we get to use the washing machine. Julia has been here a week longer than me, so her laundry was scheduled for today. She started early, right after breakfast (stronger coffee today – I wasn’t making it). When she had hung her first load out front to dry, she went in to start the second. Andrea saw her starting as second load and all chaos broke loose. Bruno was called in and laundry was evaluated and this and that. Apparently we are allowed one load per week – I’m still unsure if that means combined or not. Julia was upset because she is out of clothes and washed her sheets and towels first. I wouldn’t have pushed 3 loads like she tried, but I understand her confusion. I combined what little laundry I had with her last two loads. Leeway was allowed this time, but she was told she must “regulate” her laundry.

And actually doing laundry is quite comical. The washer (shoved into the bathroom, remember) must first be plugged in, which required unplugging the water heater. So no hot water today. Then, the water-release hose must be stretched across the only passable area of the bathroom and hooked to the sink. A load takes about 2 hours in the washer. Once its done, and you’ve wrestled the clothes out of the front-loader door (under the sink), its time to hang them out to dry. By the time she was done with 3 loads, with my few things added, the front area looks like a rained-out garage sale. We hung the last load at 5pm – it was 10 C (about 50 F). The sun is gone for the day and the clothes must make it through the cold and windy night.

We cleaned the house this morning, then went down to the beach (the second load still going) to watch Bruno windsurf. Only there was no wind at the beach. Already geared up in his wetsuit, he tried anyway. From the front of the house, it’s a straight shot to the beach. We were walking with Luna down the street to watch Bruno, when in mid-sentence Andrea shouts “Dolphin” and takes off running. Luna followed on her heels and, in turn, Julia and I followed Luna. We jumped between plants and over a short concrete wall. Andrea, already on the sand, was shouting “Ray-goo-lahr Di-bv!” I have no idea how she saw the group through the plants and still 50 meters from the edge of the beach, but sure enough, there were dolphins in the bay. I took some pictures and we watch them cross over to the second beach. Sitting on the back stoop of a closed pizzeria, I finally warmed up. The sun (combined with a bottom layer, turtleneck, down vest, scarf, and jacket) gave the impression of summer. The wind died down before Bruno could assemble the windsurf, so it was pleasantly warm. Julia tried her hand at watercolors while Andrea found washed-up debris to throw for Luna. It was so nice to just relax, take a few pictures and bask in the Sardinian sunlight.

By 2:15, Bruno had had enough windsurfing without wind, and we were hungry. He had stepped on a sea urchin as well, and needed to get out the barbs. That didn’t sound like a pleasant process, but I wasn’t involved. Andrea cooked (pasta) while Julia and I worked on her last load and got organized for the week.

There is a book here called Europe by Eurail that I started looking through for my time after the internship. It looks like I can go just about anywhere in Western Europe – so now I need some help. If anyone has any suggestions – towns or cities, regions, countries, etc. that I shouldn’t miss or that I should avoid – please let me know! If you are having trouble leaving a comment (several people have reported this – sorry, I haven’t figured out whats wrong), then you can email me at stephaniedodson@gmail.com. Thanks so much!

Love,
Steph