Another shoreline - north of the fishery..jpg)
Fishing off the harbor´s wall..jpg)
Trawlers in the harbor..jpg)
The side of the building I am living in. Did I already post this?
The small harborSaturday, March 29, 2008
Some Pictures
Another shoreline - north of the fishery. Fishing off the harbor´s wall. Trawlers in the harbor. The side of the building I am living in. Did I already post this? The small harbor
March 20, Thursday
I feel like all my entries start off the same – very chronological and boring, like “Dear Diary…” But, alas, this is a diary of sorts and I don’t know how else to start other than with the beginning of the day. It is poor form, I know. In fourth grade I learned never to start a letter with “How are you? I’m fine” because it doesn’t show interest in the person to whom you are writing. I hope that you (whoever is reading this) don’t feel the same way about my blogs. Perhaps it is more boring to write it the same way everyday than it is to read it – at least I hope that is the case. Either way, I hope you keep visiting this site and enjoy my adventures with me.
Having said that…
This morning was the standard: alarm, breakfast, lab. Julia and I continued to work on the photo ID and the accompanying spreadsheet. Once we get through all of the 2007 pictures and identify all the known animals, the cataloguing really begins. Andrea will go through all the unmarked and unrecognized animals again to identify any repeat visitors to the area. The dolphins that frequent the bay often enough will be “New” for the 2007 season. Then all the good pictures of both sides of each known animal will be reviewed. In the end, we will have two high quality pictures of all known animals sighted in 2007. Then the photo ID spreadsheet data will be entered into ArcView (the GIS program) so that we can create maps for each animal for the whole year. Those maps, the pictures, months of sighting, a description and other biographical data will be compiled into the official 2007 catalogue. That will most likely be the majority of my lab life for the next month. So that’s where we are going with that.
Bruno showed the three of us another fin tracing program called Match. I haven’t had a change to experiment with it yet, but it appears to be about the same as the other program – useful in theory but prone to a high degree of error. The brief introduction to Match preceded a much longer lecture on photo ID. Even though he is long-winded, this particular speech was useful because he illuminated some important ID points for us. Well, it was probably mostly for Nina’s course, but he decided to give it in English so we could all learn. Julia is leaving soon, so maybe he is trying to wrap up her understanding of her work here.
After I made bottarga for lunch, the four females went out to sea on one of the fishery boats. The wind mismatched the calm seas. From the harbor we could see storm clouds rolling in over the hills behind the town from the northwest. From our boat in the fishery, we watched the clouds break and the rain chase us over the water. Luckily, only sprinkles reached us offshore and our observation effort wasn’t interrupted. Nearly the whole time out was a sighting – Whitespot, Mare Tre (Gaia) and an unidentified adult. Two trawlers came into the bay beside the fish farm to clean their nets. The dolphins won’t follow net cleaning, but the seabirds will. Flocks of gulls swept around the boat and settled in its wake. The birds farthest from the boat are the first to take flight, circle the nets and land again in the immediate wake. Then the next batch of birds repeats this. It was like watching the spinning whites in a washing machine.
Back at the house, Julia and I changed to go to Maundy Thursday mass. The service only lasted 45 minutes and there wasn’t much music, which is my favorite part. The choir is surprisingly talented, especially considering the small local gene pool from which it was drawn. Programs were provided with the standard parts of the special mass – like responses and Scripture passages. Reading along as the priest or congregation spoke, I understood much more than I expected. The vowels are just like Spanish, but Italian has some tricky consonants like Gs and Cs. So many sounds for just two letters!
Transcription awaited me back in the lab.
During our pre-dinner free time, the three roommates had a good conversation. Nina commented on the house dynamics and made some important observations. Being from Spain, she is able to better understand the cultural differences that Julia and I have been struggling with. Apparently they are regional cultural differences between Nina and Bruno as well as those differences between him and us. Apparently, Galician people tend to be more indirect. Nina said that there is an expression in Spain – that if you meet someone from Galicia in a stairwell, you won’t be able to tell if they are going up or down. That general mentality must have spread to Bruno’s explanations and manner of dealing with other people. It is difficult to know the direction of his thought process and speeches … and instructions… and research. Although she probably doesn’t want to, Nina can understand everything that is said between Bruno and Andrea. And knowing what they are talking about all the time helps with understanding the house dynamic. Even with that benefit, Nina still expressed the same opinions and observations that Julia and I have been harboring. It was very good to hear it from a third party that understand the culture better, but still doesn’t understand them. Even though it doesn’t solve the situations in the house, it tremendously helped my self-confidence and outlook in what is sometimes a very stressful living situation.
Our conversation was interrupted for a dinner of guiso – another Spanish dish. When we escaped the kitchen, our conversation continued. Nina gave us another short Italian lesson as well. I think that I will be able to speak the basics soon, but I don’t have much confidence in my Italian comprehension. If all else fails, I do know “Puo ripetere, per favore” (PWOH ree-PEH-teh-reh) and “Parlo English/Espanol meglio che italiano”!
Having said that…
This morning was the standard: alarm, breakfast, lab. Julia and I continued to work on the photo ID and the accompanying spreadsheet. Once we get through all of the 2007 pictures and identify all the known animals, the cataloguing really begins. Andrea will go through all the unmarked and unrecognized animals again to identify any repeat visitors to the area. The dolphins that frequent the bay often enough will be “New” for the 2007 season. Then all the good pictures of both sides of each known animal will be reviewed. In the end, we will have two high quality pictures of all known animals sighted in 2007. Then the photo ID spreadsheet data will be entered into ArcView (the GIS program) so that we can create maps for each animal for the whole year. Those maps, the pictures, months of sighting, a description and other biographical data will be compiled into the official 2007 catalogue. That will most likely be the majority of my lab life for the next month. So that’s where we are going with that.
Bruno showed the three of us another fin tracing program called Match. I haven’t had a change to experiment with it yet, but it appears to be about the same as the other program – useful in theory but prone to a high degree of error. The brief introduction to Match preceded a much longer lecture on photo ID. Even though he is long-winded, this particular speech was useful because he illuminated some important ID points for us. Well, it was probably mostly for Nina’s course, but he decided to give it in English so we could all learn. Julia is leaving soon, so maybe he is trying to wrap up her understanding of her work here.
After I made bottarga for lunch, the four females went out to sea on one of the fishery boats. The wind mismatched the calm seas. From the harbor we could see storm clouds rolling in over the hills behind the town from the northwest. From our boat in the fishery, we watched the clouds break and the rain chase us over the water. Luckily, only sprinkles reached us offshore and our observation effort wasn’t interrupted. Nearly the whole time out was a sighting – Whitespot, Mare Tre (Gaia) and an unidentified adult. Two trawlers came into the bay beside the fish farm to clean their nets. The dolphins won’t follow net cleaning, but the seabirds will. Flocks of gulls swept around the boat and settled in its wake. The birds farthest from the boat are the first to take flight, circle the nets and land again in the immediate wake. Then the next batch of birds repeats this. It was like watching the spinning whites in a washing machine.
Back at the house, Julia and I changed to go to Maundy Thursday mass. The service only lasted 45 minutes and there wasn’t much music, which is my favorite part. The choir is surprisingly talented, especially considering the small local gene pool from which it was drawn. Programs were provided with the standard parts of the special mass – like responses and Scripture passages. Reading along as the priest or congregation spoke, I understood much more than I expected. The vowels are just like Spanish, but Italian has some tricky consonants like Gs and Cs. So many sounds for just two letters!
Transcription awaited me back in the lab.
During our pre-dinner free time, the three roommates had a good conversation. Nina commented on the house dynamics and made some important observations. Being from Spain, she is able to better understand the cultural differences that Julia and I have been struggling with. Apparently they are regional cultural differences between Nina and Bruno as well as those differences between him and us. Apparently, Galician people tend to be more indirect. Nina said that there is an expression in Spain – that if you meet someone from Galicia in a stairwell, you won’t be able to tell if they are going up or down. That general mentality must have spread to Bruno’s explanations and manner of dealing with other people. It is difficult to know the direction of his thought process and speeches … and instructions… and research. Although she probably doesn’t want to, Nina can understand everything that is said between Bruno and Andrea. And knowing what they are talking about all the time helps with understanding the house dynamic. Even with that benefit, Nina still expressed the same opinions and observations that Julia and I have been harboring. It was very good to hear it from a third party that understand the culture better, but still doesn’t understand them. Even though it doesn’t solve the situations in the house, it tremendously helped my self-confidence and outlook in what is sometimes a very stressful living situation.
Our conversation was interrupted for a dinner of guiso – another Spanish dish. When we escaped the kitchen, our conversation continued. Nina gave us another short Italian lesson as well. I think that I will be able to speak the basics soon, but I don’t have much confidence in my Italian comprehension. If all else fails, I do know “Puo ripetere, per favore” (PWOH ree-PEH-teh-reh) and “Parlo English/Espanol meglio che italiano”!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Pictures from San Giuseppe!
The children and statue in the procession past the harbor.
The dancers outside the church.
Natale and me. 
The dancing, singing, drinking (mostly the last one) chefs at the San Giuseppe celebration.
Natale and his wife.
March 19, Wednesday
Happy San Giuseppe Day! The official feast day is March 19, but the big celebration here needs to be over the weekend. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the Italian work ethic by celebrating in the middle of the week. …
This morning we woke up (and had to wake Nina up) at six for the first shift of the fishery boat. Only Clemente, the director and biologists, and two others worked today since it is a holiday. But feast day or not, the fish must be fed. And dolphins must be observed. There were two sightings – and I got my name in the course book again by sighting the second one. Usually, Bruno is the first observer. On more than one occasion, his casual glance will spot the animal in my section, where I have been staring at water for surveys and surveys. Today, it was different. And anyone that cares to look at the March 19 entry in the course notebook will remember me.
Although the dance of the branches warned us not to go to sea today, the weather gradually improved once we were already out there. The sun finally broke through the clouds and warmed the gulf. Yes, warm – perhaps I can go as far as to say hot, at least with my jacket on. For the first time, the jacket came off and I rolled up my multilayered sleeves. That’s what Italy is supposed to feel like. The town blazed pink and red from the ceramic roofs and terracotta décor. The sea settled to a perfect calm beneath a gentle breeze that only threw an occasional ripple. The dolphins sailed into the bay and mingled in the fishery. And all of this on San Giuseppe.
By the time we made it back to the house, my spirits were high and my feet sore. Nina made carbonara (under supervision, of course). The day was so nice that I couldn’t pass up the chance to be outside. I ate an orange in the park, watched a mother caution her sons on the playground until one of them finally got hurt, walked to the beach. After being locked up inside all of last week, I welcome this sunshine! We even got an extra 30 minutes since lunch was so late. Again, the fringe benefits of having a Spanish student in the house!
When lab finally drug me back inside, I did transcription for the morning’s sightings and then worked on the photo ID spreadsheet again. Julia and I are entering in the locations for each animal in each sighting for all of 2007. Its all in the database, so its just a massive copy and paste job that doesn’t require 2 people, but its good to have a check.
Bruno made lomo saltado for dinner, a Spanish dish. There was more meat in that meal than I’ve had here in at least the last month! I needed the protein. When we had finished eating, Bruno ended up on another soapbox. Julia and I had heard it before – about dolphinariums and Sea World and freeing the Free Willy whale and how other people spend their money. When we were finally excused, Nina asked if there were always speeches after dinner. I told her it was for her benefit, but yes – we often hear about varied topics after meals.
Before my shower and eventual bedtime, Nina gave us another informal Italian lesson. It was more of a chat with scattered Italian words thrown in. She is so funny – I like her outlook on life. She is much more outgoing and more, well, “European” than anyone else here. But at the same time she has a childlike quality that is open and welcoming. She only has two more days here. I am going to miss her.
This morning we woke up (and had to wake Nina up) at six for the first shift of the fishery boat. Only Clemente, the director and biologists, and two others worked today since it is a holiday. But feast day or not, the fish must be fed. And dolphins must be observed. There were two sightings – and I got my name in the course book again by sighting the second one. Usually, Bruno is the first observer. On more than one occasion, his casual glance will spot the animal in my section, where I have been staring at water for surveys and surveys. Today, it was different. And anyone that cares to look at the March 19 entry in the course notebook will remember me.
Although the dance of the branches warned us not to go to sea today, the weather gradually improved once we were already out there. The sun finally broke through the clouds and warmed the gulf. Yes, warm – perhaps I can go as far as to say hot, at least with my jacket on. For the first time, the jacket came off and I rolled up my multilayered sleeves. That’s what Italy is supposed to feel like. The town blazed pink and red from the ceramic roofs and terracotta décor. The sea settled to a perfect calm beneath a gentle breeze that only threw an occasional ripple. The dolphins sailed into the bay and mingled in the fishery. And all of this on San Giuseppe.
By the time we made it back to the house, my spirits were high and my feet sore. Nina made carbonara (under supervision, of course). The day was so nice that I couldn’t pass up the chance to be outside. I ate an orange in the park, watched a mother caution her sons on the playground until one of them finally got hurt, walked to the beach. After being locked up inside all of last week, I welcome this sunshine! We even got an extra 30 minutes since lunch was so late. Again, the fringe benefits of having a Spanish student in the house!
When lab finally drug me back inside, I did transcription for the morning’s sightings and then worked on the photo ID spreadsheet again. Julia and I are entering in the locations for each animal in each sighting for all of 2007. Its all in the database, so its just a massive copy and paste job that doesn’t require 2 people, but its good to have a check.
Bruno made lomo saltado for dinner, a Spanish dish. There was more meat in that meal than I’ve had here in at least the last month! I needed the protein. When we had finished eating, Bruno ended up on another soapbox. Julia and I had heard it before – about dolphinariums and Sea World and freeing the Free Willy whale and how other people spend their money. When we were finally excused, Nina asked if there were always speeches after dinner. I told her it was for her benefit, but yes – we often hear about varied topics after meals.
Before my shower and eventual bedtime, Nina gave us another informal Italian lesson. It was more of a chat with scattered Italian words thrown in. She is so funny – I like her outlook on life. She is much more outgoing and more, well, “European” than anyone else here. But at the same time she has a childlike quality that is open and welcoming. She only has two more days here. I am going to miss her.
March 18, Tuesday
This morning we woke at 6 – well, four of us did. Nina apparently isn’t a morning person. But when she joined us in the kitchen for coffee and cookies, her lightheartedness followed with the caffeine buzz.
We went out on a fishery boat despite the high winds. Since Nina only has 5 days here, we need to go out to sea. Another benefit of her being here! Unfortunatly for the photo ID student, there were no sightings. We only stayed out for seven surveys because the conditions were too strong.
Back in the lab several hours too early, I worked on transcription for the morning and then continued with photo ID. That is, until the program stopped working. A corrupted CD, a malfunctioning program, copies that just couldn’t be retrieved while Bruno conducted his business – it was a frustrating endeavor that ended for lunch. Julia went to the market and brought me back a head of lettuce. So now I can have a little salad whenever I want! But not during group meals – those are reserved for pasta. Today, it was accompanied by eggplant and spiced up to Bruno’s interpretation of the Spanish preference. All for Nina, of course. But again: fringe benefits beat no benefits!
I burned through my free time and found myself staring at the same Spanish error messages trying to do photo ID in the afternoon. After too much fuss, we were allowed to switch computers. The problem persisted – but now the error messages were in Italian. Overall it was a waste of time that thoroughly frustrated me.
Finally, we were allowed to start entering ID data into an Excel spreadsheet. All of the numbers and sightings and animals that we have been recording for over a month now goes into one digital document. This, I suppose, is step 2 of photo ID. Reading off dates, sightings, and animals to each other, Julia and I finished the imput and then entered the UTM positions for each animal in each sighting – initial, final and all intermediates. It was a massive copy and paste job working out of the database. But by the time lab was over, we had completed the whole thing. Well, as much as possible without step 1 being complete (due to the corrupted files).
Just before the end of lab, Bruno showed all three of us a different program used as a tool in photo ID: FinEx. It is a “fin extraction” program written by a European research team that studied cetaceans. The bias is a little high – far too large to use this program alone. But the process is simple and, if the picture of the animal is a good one, should be easy. I practiced digital fin tracing on Rinco before officially ending my lab day.
Eventually I made dinner – risotto with what Julia and I think is fennel. I have never seen a whole fennel vegetable, so I am not sure. But the Italian name sounds a little like fennel – with more Ls and an “icio” thrown in for good measure. Every time we have risotto, I make it. And every time, I think the same thing: glorified dinner porridge. I really don’t understand why people stand stirring for nearly an hour for this. But, as always, at least it’s not pasta!
After three quick and progressively colder showers, Julia, Nina and I sat up talking. She is giving us Italian lessons – bit by bit. When she introduces a word, she helps Julia with the pronunciation and points out its similarity to its Spanish equivalent. With someone saying the word, defining it, spelling it and repeating it, Italian really isn’t that hard. Maybe it’s more like Spanish after all. Nina only has three more nights left here. I hope to get the survival Italian basics down before she leaves.
So on that note, Buona notte!
We went out on a fishery boat despite the high winds. Since Nina only has 5 days here, we need to go out to sea. Another benefit of her being here! Unfortunatly for the photo ID student, there were no sightings. We only stayed out for seven surveys because the conditions were too strong.
Back in the lab several hours too early, I worked on transcription for the morning and then continued with photo ID. That is, until the program stopped working. A corrupted CD, a malfunctioning program, copies that just couldn’t be retrieved while Bruno conducted his business – it was a frustrating endeavor that ended for lunch. Julia went to the market and brought me back a head of lettuce. So now I can have a little salad whenever I want! But not during group meals – those are reserved for pasta. Today, it was accompanied by eggplant and spiced up to Bruno’s interpretation of the Spanish preference. All for Nina, of course. But again: fringe benefits beat no benefits!
I burned through my free time and found myself staring at the same Spanish error messages trying to do photo ID in the afternoon. After too much fuss, we were allowed to switch computers. The problem persisted – but now the error messages were in Italian. Overall it was a waste of time that thoroughly frustrated me.
Finally, we were allowed to start entering ID data into an Excel spreadsheet. All of the numbers and sightings and animals that we have been recording for over a month now goes into one digital document. This, I suppose, is step 2 of photo ID. Reading off dates, sightings, and animals to each other, Julia and I finished the imput and then entered the UTM positions for each animal in each sighting – initial, final and all intermediates. It was a massive copy and paste job working out of the database. But by the time lab was over, we had completed the whole thing. Well, as much as possible without step 1 being complete (due to the corrupted files).
Just before the end of lab, Bruno showed all three of us a different program used as a tool in photo ID: FinEx. It is a “fin extraction” program written by a European research team that studied cetaceans. The bias is a little high – far too large to use this program alone. But the process is simple and, if the picture of the animal is a good one, should be easy. I practiced digital fin tracing on Rinco before officially ending my lab day.
Eventually I made dinner – risotto with what Julia and I think is fennel. I have never seen a whole fennel vegetable, so I am not sure. But the Italian name sounds a little like fennel – with more Ls and an “icio” thrown in for good measure. Every time we have risotto, I make it. And every time, I think the same thing: glorified dinner porridge. I really don’t understand why people stand stirring for nearly an hour for this. But, as always, at least it’s not pasta!
After three quick and progressively colder showers, Julia, Nina and I sat up talking. She is giving us Italian lessons – bit by bit. When she introduces a word, she helps Julia with the pronunciation and points out its similarity to its Spanish equivalent. With someone saying the word, defining it, spelling it and repeating it, Italian really isn’t that hard. Maybe it’s more like Spanish after all. Nina only has three more nights left here. I hope to get the survival Italian basics down before she leaves.
So on that note, Buona notte!
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Like a breath of fresh air
(Please note that this is the last of three new blogs. Please scroll down to read Saturday and Sunday. Monday is immediately below. Sorry I haven´t posted in a while... Hope this makes up for it!)
March 17, Monday
The new student arrived this morning. Julia and I were on our way out the door to go to the Monday market when (just like last week with my package from mom) she walked up. A hiking backpack on her back and a small backpack on her stomach and a huge smile – that’s all I saw of her in the morning commotion. Telemeco barked and howled as usual. Luna preformed repeated springboard jumps off the floor then off her knees and back again. Bruno and Andrea rushed around to get the door open, the bags off of her, the mat squared away.
When she made it into the bedroom to drop off her things, Andrea formally introduced us to her. Her name is Nina and she is from Barcelona. She’s older than expected, but not old. A quick chat with her revealed that not only does she speak Spanish and Catalan (regional language in Spain), she is also fluent in English and not bad at Italian. Perfect! She wasn’t frazzled or preoccupied, but she needed to get oriented and meet Bruno and Andrea. So Julia and I left for the market and let the Spanish start to flow.
The market had more vendors than usual – a sure sign of warmer weather. Same as always, we browsed the tables and displays casually, but didn’t get too close for too long unless we really were interested. If you linger – and sometimes even if you don’t – the merchants start coaxing you to buy. “Chao, bella!” and its all over – I have to smile and back away with “no Italiano.” When I stay, the car salesmen personalities shine, doubled with the Latin romantic routine. So its best for us to keep moving, even if we have to loop around again to reexamine a table. This time, we both bought something from the olive wood sculptor. I am now the proud owner of a small bowl carved out of a single block of wood so that the rim is made of bark. The rest is smooth and richly brown with the natural designs of the wood polished and beautiful. It’s small enough to carry home, hard enough not to break, and useful enough to be worth buying. It also happens to be my first souvenir of Sardinia. I am officially a tourist.
When we returned to the house, it was clear that we hadn’t been missed. Bruno and Andrea were still fussing over Nina. Bruno spent the morning grooming and preparing for his new student – clean shaven, his hair gelled back, and a clean shirt. Since Nina is from his native Spain, I think he is especially excited about her being here. And she is the only student all winter, so she is immediately special. Julia and I started working on photo ID again. Bruno showed Nina around town, took her to the market, and went on-and-on in peninsular Spanish. When we were called for lunch, I quickly realized that we would further benefit from Nina’s presence and nationality: the food was more elegant. Pasta (still, of course) with zucchini, spruced up with fresh tomatoes, spices and cream. I hope they keep this up all week long!
During our free time, Julia and I chatted with Nina. She is incredibly friendly and very, very good at English. She knows slang words and expressions that don’t translate. Hands down, her English is better than Bruno’s. If not for her accent, she could pass for a US student. The three of us joined Andrea and Luna for their daily walk on the beach.
Afternoon lab brought more photo ID for Julia and I. Nina sat through her first lesson with Bruno. She is here to take the photo ID course, which is apparently everything (photo ID related) that I am supposed to come to realize over my 3 months. She has a week. And Bruno is directly telling her the points. I, on-the-other-hand, must work through the process and figure things out on my own. My way is a better learning experience, but hers is much less frustrating.
Dinner was very late – since Bruno made crepes from scratch after the lesson. The crepes were filled with sautéed “sausages” (hot dogs) and sliced mushrooms. It seemed like a strange thing to put on the golden, soft crepes – but that’s what we ate. Strange, but surprizingly good! Bruno has never prepared crepes before - I think it might be since Nina is here. Fine by me! Residual benefits are just as good as direct benefits.
After dinner was over, there was only enough time left in the day for 3 quick showers and then a long and light conversation with Nina. She is sleeping on the third bed (versus the top bunk that was also available) and has the second closet. It was mine until last night, when I had to move all of my things either back into my suitcase or into half of Julia’s closet (which she had to clear out by moving half of her things into her suitcase). The room is a little cramped – and the closet is very much so – but I don’t begrudge Nina of any if it. Having her here has been such a relief – and its only been a day! Six weeks living and working and eating and cleaning and socializing with the same three people is tiresome at times. I think that everyone was starting to get bothered by everyone else. When Nina swept into the house this morning, all the tensions and possible grudges vanished. Aside from not constantly being under scrutiny and the good food, Nina’s presence brought a new peaceful friendliness to the house. And that is what we all benefit from.
March 17, Monday
The new student arrived this morning. Julia and I were on our way out the door to go to the Monday market when (just like last week with my package from mom) she walked up. A hiking backpack on her back and a small backpack on her stomach and a huge smile – that’s all I saw of her in the morning commotion. Telemeco barked and howled as usual. Luna preformed repeated springboard jumps off the floor then off her knees and back again. Bruno and Andrea rushed around to get the door open, the bags off of her, the mat squared away.
When she made it into the bedroom to drop off her things, Andrea formally introduced us to her. Her name is Nina and she is from Barcelona. She’s older than expected, but not old. A quick chat with her revealed that not only does she speak Spanish and Catalan (regional language in Spain), she is also fluent in English and not bad at Italian. Perfect! She wasn’t frazzled or preoccupied, but she needed to get oriented and meet Bruno and Andrea. So Julia and I left for the market and let the Spanish start to flow.
The market had more vendors than usual – a sure sign of warmer weather. Same as always, we browsed the tables and displays casually, but didn’t get too close for too long unless we really were interested. If you linger – and sometimes even if you don’t – the merchants start coaxing you to buy. “Chao, bella!” and its all over – I have to smile and back away with “no Italiano.” When I stay, the car salesmen personalities shine, doubled with the Latin romantic routine. So its best for us to keep moving, even if we have to loop around again to reexamine a table. This time, we both bought something from the olive wood sculptor. I am now the proud owner of a small bowl carved out of a single block of wood so that the rim is made of bark. The rest is smooth and richly brown with the natural designs of the wood polished and beautiful. It’s small enough to carry home, hard enough not to break, and useful enough to be worth buying. It also happens to be my first souvenir of Sardinia. I am officially a tourist.
When we returned to the house, it was clear that we hadn’t been missed. Bruno and Andrea were still fussing over Nina. Bruno spent the morning grooming and preparing for his new student – clean shaven, his hair gelled back, and a clean shirt. Since Nina is from his native Spain, I think he is especially excited about her being here. And she is the only student all winter, so she is immediately special. Julia and I started working on photo ID again. Bruno showed Nina around town, took her to the market, and went on-and-on in peninsular Spanish. When we were called for lunch, I quickly realized that we would further benefit from Nina’s presence and nationality: the food was more elegant. Pasta (still, of course) with zucchini, spruced up with fresh tomatoes, spices and cream. I hope they keep this up all week long!
During our free time, Julia and I chatted with Nina. She is incredibly friendly and very, very good at English. She knows slang words and expressions that don’t translate. Hands down, her English is better than Bruno’s. If not for her accent, she could pass for a US student. The three of us joined Andrea and Luna for their daily walk on the beach.
Afternoon lab brought more photo ID for Julia and I. Nina sat through her first lesson with Bruno. She is here to take the photo ID course, which is apparently everything (photo ID related) that I am supposed to come to realize over my 3 months. She has a week. And Bruno is directly telling her the points. I, on-the-other-hand, must work through the process and figure things out on my own. My way is a better learning experience, but hers is much less frustrating.
Dinner was very late – since Bruno made crepes from scratch after the lesson. The crepes were filled with sautéed “sausages” (hot dogs) and sliced mushrooms. It seemed like a strange thing to put on the golden, soft crepes – but that’s what we ate. Strange, but surprizingly good! Bruno has never prepared crepes before - I think it might be since Nina is here. Fine by me! Residual benefits are just as good as direct benefits.
After dinner was over, there was only enough time left in the day for 3 quick showers and then a long and light conversation with Nina. She is sleeping on the third bed (versus the top bunk that was also available) and has the second closet. It was mine until last night, when I had to move all of my things either back into my suitcase or into half of Julia’s closet (which she had to clear out by moving half of her things into her suitcase). The room is a little cramped – and the closet is very much so – but I don’t begrudge Nina of any if it. Having her here has been such a relief – and its only been a day! Six weeks living and working and eating and cleaning and socializing with the same three people is tiresome at times. I think that everyone was starting to get bothered by everyone else. When Nina swept into the house this morning, all the tensions and possible grudges vanished. Aside from not constantly being under scrutiny and the good food, Nina’s presence brought a new peaceful friendliness to the house. And that is what we all benefit from.
Frozen Floridian
March 16, Sunday
Sunday, oh, Sunday – a day of “cleaning and rest” according to the programme. Today I definitely cleaned – lab area, bedroom, hall, laundry. The same story there, so lets move on. We had Quattro Formaggio for lunch again – and again there was only one cheese – and again it was gorgonzola. Again (last time, I promise), you know the story there. When cleaning and lunch were finally over and our clothes were hum-chugg-chugging away in the washer, Julia and I escaped the house and headed for the beach.
The “Emerald Coast,” as this area is appropriately called, has a series of five beaches. The beach I always refer to is “first beach.” I guess their creativity ran dry after naming the whole coastline. Just a few minutes south is “second beach” and then the third. The last two are supposedly within walking distance, but require trekking along the main road and then cutting back to the shore. We have never found beaches 4 and 5. Anyway, today we went to “third beach.” Julia has been wanting to get in the water since she got here and today she made it happen. She also persuaded me to get in the water – although I didn’t really have the urge and yes, I do “know better.” So we pulled on our desperately insufficient 3ml wetsuits, covered them with more layers of clothing, and were beach-bound. When we got to the third beach it was empty (and therefore met our criteria – we knew this was a crazy idea and didn’t need to give the locals another thing to talk about).
I waded out into the water and made it as far as my elbows. Beach three is only a foot deep for the first 50 meters. By the time I made it into deep waters, I couldn’t feel my scuba booties on my feet. Since I was going out there anyways, I took my mask and snorkel. Pulling the strap around the back of my head, I stood there in the middle of the bay like an idiot. The grass beds were at my knees and jellyfish floating lazily all around me. If I could just take the plunge – quick like a band aid. But it was just too cold. I put my face in the water, leaning over so as not to get my shoulders or hair wet. I saw some fish, a sea sponge, the grass beds and some stage of a jellyfish lifecycle settled on the rocks. And that was enough. Julia took a picture of me for proof, and then this Floridian stingray-shuffled back to dry sand. That wasn’t precautionary – it was all I could move I was so cold! Ten minutes later, Julia followed me. We retraced our steps back to Second Beach, which is the smallest and today the emptiest. Perfectly content in the sun, I stayed on shore and combed the beach. Julia, the Missourian that’s worked in Alaska for three years, went back into the water.
The sun sank too soon. We headed back to the house and rinsed out our wetsuits. Unforunatley, the water heater hadn’t been turned on. So my hot shower would have to wait… well, hot would have to wait until tomorrow. I eventually took a semi-cold shower that, on any other day (that I hadn’t been swimming in ice water), would have been too cold. Bruno made an onion and tuna omelet for dinner while I tried to warm up again. At least I have the memory of my day in the sun!
Sunday, oh, Sunday – a day of “cleaning and rest” according to the programme. Today I definitely cleaned – lab area, bedroom, hall, laundry. The same story there, so lets move on. We had Quattro Formaggio for lunch again – and again there was only one cheese – and again it was gorgonzola. Again (last time, I promise), you know the story there. When cleaning and lunch were finally over and our clothes were hum-chugg-chugging away in the washer, Julia and I escaped the house and headed for the beach.
The “Emerald Coast,” as this area is appropriately called, has a series of five beaches. The beach I always refer to is “first beach.” I guess their creativity ran dry after naming the whole coastline. Just a few minutes south is “second beach” and then the third. The last two are supposedly within walking distance, but require trekking along the main road and then cutting back to the shore. We have never found beaches 4 and 5. Anyway, today we went to “third beach.” Julia has been wanting to get in the water since she got here and today she made it happen. She also persuaded me to get in the water – although I didn’t really have the urge and yes, I do “know better.” So we pulled on our desperately insufficient 3ml wetsuits, covered them with more layers of clothing, and were beach-bound. When we got to the third beach it was empty (and therefore met our criteria – we knew this was a crazy idea and didn’t need to give the locals another thing to talk about).
I waded out into the water and made it as far as my elbows. Beach three is only a foot deep for the first 50 meters. By the time I made it into deep waters, I couldn’t feel my scuba booties on my feet. Since I was going out there anyways, I took my mask and snorkel. Pulling the strap around the back of my head, I stood there in the middle of the bay like an idiot. The grass beds were at my knees and jellyfish floating lazily all around me. If I could just take the plunge – quick like a band aid. But it was just too cold. I put my face in the water, leaning over so as not to get my shoulders or hair wet. I saw some fish, a sea sponge, the grass beds and some stage of a jellyfish lifecycle settled on the rocks. And that was enough. Julia took a picture of me for proof, and then this Floridian stingray-shuffled back to dry sand. That wasn’t precautionary – it was all I could move I was so cold! Ten minutes later, Julia followed me. We retraced our steps back to Second Beach, which is the smallest and today the emptiest. Perfectly content in the sun, I stayed on shore and combed the beach. Julia, the Missourian that’s worked in Alaska for three years, went back into the water.
The sun sank too soon. We headed back to the house and rinsed out our wetsuits. Unforunatley, the water heater hadn’t been turned on. So my hot shower would have to wait… well, hot would have to wait until tomorrow. I eventually took a semi-cold shower that, on any other day (that I hadn’t been swimming in ice water), would have been too cold. Bruno made an onion and tuna omelet for dinner while I tried to warm up again. At least I have the memory of my day in the sun!
Beware the ides of March
March 15 – Part 2
When I last left you, the Eucharist bells and chants reverberated the cold stone walls of San Giuseppe. The worshipers trudged towards the alter to receive the Body. Silence crept through the drafty doors and filled the empty pews. Soon after, the priest announced the end of mass and once again, everyone rose. Spilling out into the upper courtyard, the congregation found its way to the amphitheater built into the side of the church. The dancers, wearing red, black and white trimmed in gold of their traditions, started the Sardinian jig. Not unlike hoedown swing-your-partner-round-‘n-round steps, their dance consisted of holding hands in a circle, pinching inward and highstepping to the side, back, again to side.
Unprepared for this next stage of the celebrations, Julia and I went back to the house to get jackets and money (just in case). Bundled up, we walked around the park across the street where grills had been set up hours before. People had started to gather, but not enough for us to feel inconspicuous (inasmuch as is possible here). So we walked around the park and surveyed the activity. Still unsure of what to do and knowing things wouldn’t really start until after dark, we decided to run to the ATM and fruit shop before closing. But not before grabbing our first sausage sandwiches for the night. Picking up on the scent of hot sausage, a dog befriended us after I shared.
Thankfully, Andrea and Bruno were in the park by the time we circled back around with our bags of oranges. Andrea helped us get more sandwiches – the “with or without onion” threw us off. They were already eating, standing in the center of the crowd but not really interacting with anyone. Andrea had a small cup of the local wine they serve with the sausages. I tried it – like drinking vinegar. It was strong and sharp and overall unpleasant, but I had to try it as part of the experience. A charity raffle spread over a table beside the dancing tent. With a little explanation from Andrea, I bought the chance to pick a number scrawled on scraps of paper. A husky Italian woman with a big smile that matched her excitement held the box out to me. 89. The woman took my number from me and held up a handwritten list to her nose. Adjusting her glasses and squinting at the dark page, she flipped, flipped, flipped. Then back a page. Maybe the numbers weren’t in numerical order. Or maybe she had started early on that wine that could double as grout cleaner. Eventually, she found 89 and read off my prize. Of course, I didn’t know what it was until she found it on the table of new, yet garage-sale-bound trinkets. Spinning around, she presented me with a small metal car with a clock set into the side. Funziona! Funziona! (It works! It works!) She eagerly proclaimed, pointing at the clock face. It came in a plastic box that was too small for it. Andrea won a small tote bag; Julia, a mug with a purple pig on it. I like mine the best – at least it’s useful. Timepieces seem to be a theme with me here.
Humbug Bruno left after eating his sandwich and Andrea followed soon after. Julia and I stayed to watch the dancing and continue the celebration – we never guessed that we’d be participating in the celebration…
The adventure really began when Julia recorded a video clip on her camera. Scanning the crowd and dancers of ever-decreasing sobriety, she suddenly stopped on a man looking directly at her in her viewfinder. “Mio foto! Mio foto!” the old man shouted gleefully, pointing to his chest with a thick thumb. He left his place on the dance floor and waved for her to come closer. When she turned and looked at me with those wide uh-oh eyes, she got me involved. The only way to escape this man would have been to run, but there was really no point. Just a friendly old man speaking Italian next to the accordion player. Huddled up in our powwow of poor communication, the man asked us if we were German. Our response of “no” obviously amused him – he tried again. Pointing and gesturing behind him, I finally figured it out. “He’s saying that the song is German,” I said to Julia as I over-exaggerated nodding my comprehension to the man. Please that we understood, he moved on to the next topic: vino.
Had we tried the wine? Si (Julia lied).
Did we like the wine? Si (I lied).
He makes wine – whether it was the wine served here, we didn’t know. This man was all smiles. He thoroughly enjoyed the quick English exchanges between Julia and I that we rely on to stay mentally prepared. Of course, our attempts at Italian thrilled him all the more. Leaning backwards into Santa-inspired belly laughs, he was too jolly not to laugh with. When he wanted us to understand something that we clearly weren’t, he turned his head to either side as if looking for the translation behind him. When he found only dancers and sausages, he pinched his fingertips together and gestured up and down with his Italian syllables.
When he asked where we were from, “Americani” did the trick when “United States” and “USA” provoked “Non capisco.” Apparently Americani (although I know it’s incorrect) was the golden answer – he slapped himself on the chest and leaned backwards to chortle towards the stars. Straightening himself again, he threw his arms around our shoulders and went on about vino. He led us 25 feet away to his car parked on the perimeter of the small park. Standing in the street, Julia and I had no words or useful expression exchanges. The man pulled out a stack of plastic cups from a box in his back seat and offered us each one. Then he took out the largest wine bottle actually used to hold wine. He poured generously into the three plastic cups and set the huge bottle beside his tire.
Holding his cup up into the air, he proclaimed “Salute! … Cheers!” We imitated him from his laughter to the double toast. The rate of wine consumption, however, we did not follow. We both fake sipped while he continued to talk to us – entirely in Italian. Thankfully, Spanish helped tonight. This is the wine that he made. He brought it from his home for the celebrations. It is made from grapes. I informed Julia as I put the pieces together.
Together, Julia and I collectively decided that our US-bred hesitations about trusting strangers only a hindered us here – and could very easily be mistranslated as ungratefulness or unfriendliness or (worst of all in Italy) unsociability. Our fake sips became real sips and I actively dismissed my hesitations. The old man kept talking, thankful to have an audience and eager to share the fruits of his labor. He was generosity and good humor personified. Trusting that I would get a positive response, I took out my camera and asked “photo?” as I turned it on. Julia happily set down her wine to take the picture of my new friend and me. He was even more thrilled and pointed to the screen after the flash temporarily blinded us. I played back the picture for him. He loved it – clasping his hands together (his wine was gone) and laughing like a fish, with his mouth forming an O. When I took a picture of him and Julia, his response was the same. This man clearly loved life, loved company, and loved wine.
Having run out of things to say, I slowly nursed my small plastic cup of homemade wine. It was much sweeter than the vinegar they were splashing out in the park. The alcohol didn’t punch the back of my throat and the only flavor that lingered taste like spring rain. I know less about wine than I do about coffee. But if something was going to inspire my connoisseurship, this homemade Italian wine served with unassuming generosity over laughter and music would be it. But, at the same time, it doesn’t inspire me to become a wine drinker. It seems as though I would be starting from the top but at the bottom. A plastic cup. No light to admire the color by. No swirling or breathing or talk of bouquet. But instead, a sky full of stars, music spilling out onto the street, two unexpected friends on a foreign coast, silky strings of Italian rolling through the air, a sense of bewildered amazement, growing cultural appreciation, and a town full of proud worshipers sharing their saint. In this moment, it’s not about the wine – that’s just what pulls it all together.
Having seen to it that we had wine, he motioned to the tent with the grills. It’s just not Italy – and definitely not an Italian celebration – without wine and food. We indicated that we had already eaten the sausages. Again, that was not good enough for him. Picking up the massive wine bottle, he herded us back into the park and straight to the sausage tent. We hung back as he poured wine for the people cooking and dancing in their aprons. He talked to them, definitely about us, and they cheered and beckoned us to come closer for more wine and sausage. Our new friend picked up two more sandwiches wrapped in napkins and proudly presented them to us, then pushed them into our hands and cupped our fingers around the prize. I was now holding my third sandwich – which is really a small loaf of bread or a very large roll cut open and a whole sausage rolled in.
The sandwiches didn’t present as big of a problem for us as the wine. Although we were both confident that it wasn’t laced with anything, it would still detract from our collective comprehension of the unexpected activities. Julia doesn’t drink at all – maybe she took one sip from her plastic cup, but no more. She was looking for a chance to dump it somewhere, but with so many people watching us, there was no way. And pouring out the wine would be a huge insult – probably anytime in Italy, but definitely this time. I wanted to stay in the good graces of the town and the old man instead of living down to the unfortunate US stereotype. When the old man was busy with the sausage grillers, I turned my back to them and switched out cups with Julia. Now she got credit for drinking at least half. While I was considering what to do with the extra half I just inherited, the aproned dancers began toasting us. I repeated the greeting (usually a safe bet), raised my cup over my head and took another sip. At least this wine was sweet and not as strong as whatever they were literally rolling out in barrels.
Geared up with wine and sausage loaves, the man took us towards the dance floor to meet his wife. The soft-voiced, soft-mannered, soft-smiling woman that he threw his arm around was clearly the introvert of the couple – the counterweight balancing the marriage. Again too close to the accordion and his speakers, we huddled once more. I found out – I think – that they are from Olbia and staying in Golfo Aranci for five nights. I had already tried to explain to her husband that we were from the US but staying here to study dolphins. This time, I kept it simple. Americani, here (pointing to the ground), staying (resting my head against the back of my hand).
I asked Julia to find “Pleasure to meet you” in her phrase book. She flipped to the page and handed it to me – she doesn’t like being the one to speak. I took a crack at the Italian, but the noise and my mispronunciation stood in the way. So I pointed out the phrase to the wife. Or I tried to. She thought I had pointed to the line above it: “What is your name?” She pressed her fingers to her heart and said something, then patted her husband’s chest and said something else. Julia had retreated to her wide-eyed what-is-going-on state. I glanced back at the book and saw the line below her finger. “Their names! They are telling us their names. I got the wrong phrase,” I explained quickly to Julia. I leaned in closer, indicating that I hadn’t heard what she said. Speaking louder than she probably ever does, it was still hard to hear over the music and laughter. To the best of my ability, I heard “Natale” as she pointed to her husband. Her name, unfortunately, slipped away between its foreignness and the thundering music. All I know, all I think I know, is that it started with a “Ju” sound and was quite long. When we, in turn, introduced ourselves, the translation was equally bad. I intentionally changed Stephanie to Stefania – something more readily understood here. Somewhere between my lips and their ears, my name underwent its second contortion. I couldn’t fully understand what they “repeated” to me, but it was closer to Silvia. That was ok. I don’t like the name, but I can answer to it here for one night.
After we exchanged and butchered names, I looked back at the page that the woman was still holding open. We scanned it together – me, upside-down and on the left; her, right-side up and on the right. At the same time, we both found the line with our fingers: “Pleasure to meet you.” Looking up, we laughed and she squeezed my wrist (since my hands were still quite full). There. Mission accomplished – another conversation, of sorts, under my belt.
Again out of things to say, we turned to watch the dancers. I took a step back because I didn’t want Natale or anyone else thinking that I should join the dance. With the exception of two little boys that were dancing by jumping and holding one another’s hands, everyone on the floor was incredibly good. Pairs twirled and waltzed around each other as if tracks guided them away from collisions. Children danced with parents; grandchildren, with grandparents; husbands, with wives; brothers, with sisters; women, with women; even young men, with young men. The male-male combos surprised me, but my favorite ones to watch were the matriarchs and patriarchs. Fitting perfectly into each others’ arms, they moved across the dance floor without a glance. Two feet mirroring two feet. Everyone else yielded to them, but that was unnecessary. Those four feet had been moving together in dozens of patterns for decades. They knew each other and the steps by heart.
While I was admiring the grace of the eldest dancers, another old man approached us. He also asked where we were from. When I reused “Americani,” he replied “United States.” As he continued in Italian with intermingled English words (like “five” and “wine”), I gathered that he lived in the US for five years. But it was a long time ago and he is 80 now so doesn’t remember English. Still, he used more English than most people here. “Cheerio” he was especially fond of. He too asked us if we had any wine. Julia and I both still held our cups – still with wine – and hoped that he didn’t try to serve us more. An aproned woman came by with two trays of cookies, breaking up the dwindling conversation.
Natale, who had moved back into the accordion player’s niche, came to retrieve us – motioning to rejoin him. The other man, also having run out of things to say, was happy enough with an “Arrivederci – Cheerio.” Relieved that he hadn’t tried to fill our cups with more wine, Julia and I left this man and followed Natale to the accordion player. We stood there while he continued to talk to us in a language we don’t know and couldn’t hear anyways. All we could do was hunch in and shake our heads – which should be universal for no-I-don’t-understand-you-and-I-can’t-hear-you. Apparently here it translates to please-may-I-have-more-wine. He opened the massive bottle again – now nearly empty thanks to his unreserved generosity. Julia was clear that she didn’t want anymore. Natale was visibly disappointed, so I acted all the more eager to accept his offer. He drank more. I drank more. The accordion played louder as the dancers drank more. Having the equivalent of 2 glasses of wine already and standing silently on stage made things even more awkward. Soon after, Julia and I did our best to take our leave. Thank you. Nice to meet you. Yes, thank you. Good wine. Good music. Nice to meet you. I again rested my cheek on my hand. Julia imitated me – time for bed. We backed away, still thanking him and wishing him goodnight. I stopped to tell the wife the same. Then we scrambled out of the park before any other old men could befriend us or give us more sausage and wine.
Thankfully, the house is directly across the street from the park. We slipped into the gate and then heaved a sigh of relieve and amusement. I think that I had about 3 cups of wine – little plastic cups like you spit into at the dentist. But it was more than enough. Maybe it was strong wine or maybe I am just a lightweight. Either way, I was glad to be back in the room. I was still clutching my half-eaten third sandwich. It is better to never finish, otherwise someone will give you more.
Telemeco, the pit-bull in the former garden outside the kitchen window, was all too happy to take the cold sausage from me. He didn’t snap or growl or even bark as I slid the sausage through the fence. He gobbled it and looked expectantly at me. Sorry, Telemeco – we have both had enough for one night.
Sitting on my bed with a stomachache and a growing headache, my first true Italian party drew to a close. Wine, food, music, hospitality, and more of the same. I could still hear the accordion drifting into my room through the open window – my San Giuseppe lullaby.
When I last left you, the Eucharist bells and chants reverberated the cold stone walls of San Giuseppe. The worshipers trudged towards the alter to receive the Body. Silence crept through the drafty doors and filled the empty pews. Soon after, the priest announced the end of mass and once again, everyone rose. Spilling out into the upper courtyard, the congregation found its way to the amphitheater built into the side of the church. The dancers, wearing red, black and white trimmed in gold of their traditions, started the Sardinian jig. Not unlike hoedown swing-your-partner-round-‘n-round steps, their dance consisted of holding hands in a circle, pinching inward and highstepping to the side, back, again to side.
Unprepared for this next stage of the celebrations, Julia and I went back to the house to get jackets and money (just in case). Bundled up, we walked around the park across the street where grills had been set up hours before. People had started to gather, but not enough for us to feel inconspicuous (inasmuch as is possible here). So we walked around the park and surveyed the activity. Still unsure of what to do and knowing things wouldn’t really start until after dark, we decided to run to the ATM and fruit shop before closing. But not before grabbing our first sausage sandwiches for the night. Picking up on the scent of hot sausage, a dog befriended us after I shared.
Thankfully, Andrea and Bruno were in the park by the time we circled back around with our bags of oranges. Andrea helped us get more sandwiches – the “with or without onion” threw us off. They were already eating, standing in the center of the crowd but not really interacting with anyone. Andrea had a small cup of the local wine they serve with the sausages. I tried it – like drinking vinegar. It was strong and sharp and overall unpleasant, but I had to try it as part of the experience. A charity raffle spread over a table beside the dancing tent. With a little explanation from Andrea, I bought the chance to pick a number scrawled on scraps of paper. A husky Italian woman with a big smile that matched her excitement held the box out to me. 89. The woman took my number from me and held up a handwritten list to her nose. Adjusting her glasses and squinting at the dark page, she flipped, flipped, flipped. Then back a page. Maybe the numbers weren’t in numerical order. Or maybe she had started early on that wine that could double as grout cleaner. Eventually, she found 89 and read off my prize. Of course, I didn’t know what it was until she found it on the table of new, yet garage-sale-bound trinkets. Spinning around, she presented me with a small metal car with a clock set into the side. Funziona! Funziona! (It works! It works!) She eagerly proclaimed, pointing at the clock face. It came in a plastic box that was too small for it. Andrea won a small tote bag; Julia, a mug with a purple pig on it. I like mine the best – at least it’s useful. Timepieces seem to be a theme with me here.
Humbug Bruno left after eating his sandwich and Andrea followed soon after. Julia and I stayed to watch the dancing and continue the celebration – we never guessed that we’d be participating in the celebration…
The adventure really began when Julia recorded a video clip on her camera. Scanning the crowd and dancers of ever-decreasing sobriety, she suddenly stopped on a man looking directly at her in her viewfinder. “Mio foto! Mio foto!” the old man shouted gleefully, pointing to his chest with a thick thumb. He left his place on the dance floor and waved for her to come closer. When she turned and looked at me with those wide uh-oh eyes, she got me involved. The only way to escape this man would have been to run, but there was really no point. Just a friendly old man speaking Italian next to the accordion player. Huddled up in our powwow of poor communication, the man asked us if we were German. Our response of “no” obviously amused him – he tried again. Pointing and gesturing behind him, I finally figured it out. “He’s saying that the song is German,” I said to Julia as I over-exaggerated nodding my comprehension to the man. Please that we understood, he moved on to the next topic: vino.
Had we tried the wine? Si (Julia lied).
Did we like the wine? Si (I lied).
He makes wine – whether it was the wine served here, we didn’t know. This man was all smiles. He thoroughly enjoyed the quick English exchanges between Julia and I that we rely on to stay mentally prepared. Of course, our attempts at Italian thrilled him all the more. Leaning backwards into Santa-inspired belly laughs, he was too jolly not to laugh with. When he wanted us to understand something that we clearly weren’t, he turned his head to either side as if looking for the translation behind him. When he found only dancers and sausages, he pinched his fingertips together and gestured up and down with his Italian syllables.
When he asked where we were from, “Americani” did the trick when “United States” and “USA” provoked “Non capisco.” Apparently Americani (although I know it’s incorrect) was the golden answer – he slapped himself on the chest and leaned backwards to chortle towards the stars. Straightening himself again, he threw his arms around our shoulders and went on about vino. He led us 25 feet away to his car parked on the perimeter of the small park. Standing in the street, Julia and I had no words or useful expression exchanges. The man pulled out a stack of plastic cups from a box in his back seat and offered us each one. Then he took out the largest wine bottle actually used to hold wine. He poured generously into the three plastic cups and set the huge bottle beside his tire.
Holding his cup up into the air, he proclaimed “Salute! … Cheers!” We imitated him from his laughter to the double toast. The rate of wine consumption, however, we did not follow. We both fake sipped while he continued to talk to us – entirely in Italian. Thankfully, Spanish helped tonight. This is the wine that he made. He brought it from his home for the celebrations. It is made from grapes. I informed Julia as I put the pieces together.
Together, Julia and I collectively decided that our US-bred hesitations about trusting strangers only a hindered us here – and could very easily be mistranslated as ungratefulness or unfriendliness or (worst of all in Italy) unsociability. Our fake sips became real sips and I actively dismissed my hesitations. The old man kept talking, thankful to have an audience and eager to share the fruits of his labor. He was generosity and good humor personified. Trusting that I would get a positive response, I took out my camera and asked “photo?” as I turned it on. Julia happily set down her wine to take the picture of my new friend and me. He was even more thrilled and pointed to the screen after the flash temporarily blinded us. I played back the picture for him. He loved it – clasping his hands together (his wine was gone) and laughing like a fish, with his mouth forming an O. When I took a picture of him and Julia, his response was the same. This man clearly loved life, loved company, and loved wine.
Having run out of things to say, I slowly nursed my small plastic cup of homemade wine. It was much sweeter than the vinegar they were splashing out in the park. The alcohol didn’t punch the back of my throat and the only flavor that lingered taste like spring rain. I know less about wine than I do about coffee. But if something was going to inspire my connoisseurship, this homemade Italian wine served with unassuming generosity over laughter and music would be it. But, at the same time, it doesn’t inspire me to become a wine drinker. It seems as though I would be starting from the top but at the bottom. A plastic cup. No light to admire the color by. No swirling or breathing or talk of bouquet. But instead, a sky full of stars, music spilling out onto the street, two unexpected friends on a foreign coast, silky strings of Italian rolling through the air, a sense of bewildered amazement, growing cultural appreciation, and a town full of proud worshipers sharing their saint. In this moment, it’s not about the wine – that’s just what pulls it all together.
Having seen to it that we had wine, he motioned to the tent with the grills. It’s just not Italy – and definitely not an Italian celebration – without wine and food. We indicated that we had already eaten the sausages. Again, that was not good enough for him. Picking up the massive wine bottle, he herded us back into the park and straight to the sausage tent. We hung back as he poured wine for the people cooking and dancing in their aprons. He talked to them, definitely about us, and they cheered and beckoned us to come closer for more wine and sausage. Our new friend picked up two more sandwiches wrapped in napkins and proudly presented them to us, then pushed them into our hands and cupped our fingers around the prize. I was now holding my third sandwich – which is really a small loaf of bread or a very large roll cut open and a whole sausage rolled in.
The sandwiches didn’t present as big of a problem for us as the wine. Although we were both confident that it wasn’t laced with anything, it would still detract from our collective comprehension of the unexpected activities. Julia doesn’t drink at all – maybe she took one sip from her plastic cup, but no more. She was looking for a chance to dump it somewhere, but with so many people watching us, there was no way. And pouring out the wine would be a huge insult – probably anytime in Italy, but definitely this time. I wanted to stay in the good graces of the town and the old man instead of living down to the unfortunate US stereotype. When the old man was busy with the sausage grillers, I turned my back to them and switched out cups with Julia. Now she got credit for drinking at least half. While I was considering what to do with the extra half I just inherited, the aproned dancers began toasting us. I repeated the greeting (usually a safe bet), raised my cup over my head and took another sip. At least this wine was sweet and not as strong as whatever they were literally rolling out in barrels.
Geared up with wine and sausage loaves, the man took us towards the dance floor to meet his wife. The soft-voiced, soft-mannered, soft-smiling woman that he threw his arm around was clearly the introvert of the couple – the counterweight balancing the marriage. Again too close to the accordion and his speakers, we huddled once more. I found out – I think – that they are from Olbia and staying in Golfo Aranci for five nights. I had already tried to explain to her husband that we were from the US but staying here to study dolphins. This time, I kept it simple. Americani, here (pointing to the ground), staying (resting my head against the back of my hand).
I asked Julia to find “Pleasure to meet you” in her phrase book. She flipped to the page and handed it to me – she doesn’t like being the one to speak. I took a crack at the Italian, but the noise and my mispronunciation stood in the way. So I pointed out the phrase to the wife. Or I tried to. She thought I had pointed to the line above it: “What is your name?” She pressed her fingers to her heart and said something, then patted her husband’s chest and said something else. Julia had retreated to her wide-eyed what-is-going-on state. I glanced back at the book and saw the line below her finger. “Their names! They are telling us their names. I got the wrong phrase,” I explained quickly to Julia. I leaned in closer, indicating that I hadn’t heard what she said. Speaking louder than she probably ever does, it was still hard to hear over the music and laughter. To the best of my ability, I heard “Natale” as she pointed to her husband. Her name, unfortunately, slipped away between its foreignness and the thundering music. All I know, all I think I know, is that it started with a “Ju” sound and was quite long. When we, in turn, introduced ourselves, the translation was equally bad. I intentionally changed Stephanie to Stefania – something more readily understood here. Somewhere between my lips and their ears, my name underwent its second contortion. I couldn’t fully understand what they “repeated” to me, but it was closer to Silvia. That was ok. I don’t like the name, but I can answer to it here for one night.
After we exchanged and butchered names, I looked back at the page that the woman was still holding open. We scanned it together – me, upside-down and on the left; her, right-side up and on the right. At the same time, we both found the line with our fingers: “Pleasure to meet you.” Looking up, we laughed and she squeezed my wrist (since my hands were still quite full). There. Mission accomplished – another conversation, of sorts, under my belt.
Again out of things to say, we turned to watch the dancers. I took a step back because I didn’t want Natale or anyone else thinking that I should join the dance. With the exception of two little boys that were dancing by jumping and holding one another’s hands, everyone on the floor was incredibly good. Pairs twirled and waltzed around each other as if tracks guided them away from collisions. Children danced with parents; grandchildren, with grandparents; husbands, with wives; brothers, with sisters; women, with women; even young men, with young men. The male-male combos surprised me, but my favorite ones to watch were the matriarchs and patriarchs. Fitting perfectly into each others’ arms, they moved across the dance floor without a glance. Two feet mirroring two feet. Everyone else yielded to them, but that was unnecessary. Those four feet had been moving together in dozens of patterns for decades. They knew each other and the steps by heart.
While I was admiring the grace of the eldest dancers, another old man approached us. He also asked where we were from. When I reused “Americani,” he replied “United States.” As he continued in Italian with intermingled English words (like “five” and “wine”), I gathered that he lived in the US for five years. But it was a long time ago and he is 80 now so doesn’t remember English. Still, he used more English than most people here. “Cheerio” he was especially fond of. He too asked us if we had any wine. Julia and I both still held our cups – still with wine – and hoped that he didn’t try to serve us more. An aproned woman came by with two trays of cookies, breaking up the dwindling conversation.
Natale, who had moved back into the accordion player’s niche, came to retrieve us – motioning to rejoin him. The other man, also having run out of things to say, was happy enough with an “Arrivederci – Cheerio.” Relieved that he hadn’t tried to fill our cups with more wine, Julia and I left this man and followed Natale to the accordion player. We stood there while he continued to talk to us in a language we don’t know and couldn’t hear anyways. All we could do was hunch in and shake our heads – which should be universal for no-I-don’t-understand-you-and-I-can’t-hear-you. Apparently here it translates to please-may-I-have-more-wine. He opened the massive bottle again – now nearly empty thanks to his unreserved generosity. Julia was clear that she didn’t want anymore. Natale was visibly disappointed, so I acted all the more eager to accept his offer. He drank more. I drank more. The accordion played louder as the dancers drank more. Having the equivalent of 2 glasses of wine already and standing silently on stage made things even more awkward. Soon after, Julia and I did our best to take our leave. Thank you. Nice to meet you. Yes, thank you. Good wine. Good music. Nice to meet you. I again rested my cheek on my hand. Julia imitated me – time for bed. We backed away, still thanking him and wishing him goodnight. I stopped to tell the wife the same. Then we scrambled out of the park before any other old men could befriend us or give us more sausage and wine.
Thankfully, the house is directly across the street from the park. We slipped into the gate and then heaved a sigh of relieve and amusement. I think that I had about 3 cups of wine – little plastic cups like you spit into at the dentist. But it was more than enough. Maybe it was strong wine or maybe I am just a lightweight. Either way, I was glad to be back in the room. I was still clutching my half-eaten third sandwich. It is better to never finish, otherwise someone will give you more.
Telemeco, the pit-bull in the former garden outside the kitchen window, was all too happy to take the cold sausage from me. He didn’t snap or growl or even bark as I slid the sausage through the fence. He gobbled it and looked expectantly at me. Sorry, Telemeco – we have both had enough for one night.
Sitting on my bed with a stomachache and a growing headache, my first true Italian party drew to a close. Wine, food, music, hospitality, and more of the same. I could still hear the accordion drifting into my room through the open window – my San Giuseppe lullaby.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Feast of San Giuseppe - Part 1
March 15, Saturday
Today started as usual… but ended incredibly differently.
We woke up at six in order to make the first shift of the fishery boats. The forecast predicted good weather and, for once, the tree agreed. So all four of us went to sea. Bruno went out on a different fishery boat than us – I don’t know why – and he made it to the fish farm before us. While our boat stopped at Pontone to load up on fish pellets, two dolphins escorted Bruno into the fishery. By the time we arrived, they were gone. Those of us on the feed boat didn’t even know there had been a sighting until hours later. In the meantime, we had our own brief sighting of M3 – a common dolphin in the area known as Mare Tre or Gaia.
The course ended at 12:41 and we headed back to the base for lunch. Julia and I skipped our free time, since Bruno had already agreed to let us out of the afternoon lab, in order to get transcription done. We wanted to be ready for the celebration of the year: the feast day of San Giuseppe, patron saint of Golfo Aranci. The town honors their saint the same every year: procession, mass, then party.
Step 1: The Procession.
Julia and I got to the church by 4:15, fifteen minutes before the scheduled beginning of the procession. The band was already playing in the lower courtyard that doubles as the parking lot. We watched as people gathered around, greeted friends by holding each others’ forearms and kissing both cheeks. Pulling back slightly, four hands slide down arms that don’t belong to them until the fingers lock – one person holding their friends knuckles. The sincerity of the greeting, I think, depends on the duration of the finger hold. Today, the holds only let go in time to greet another friend arriving. Having no one arriving to hold my fingers, I stayed in the back of crowd and listened to the band.
In an instant, the brrrrrrrrooonnnnnnn of the trumpets and the eee-hoooooooooo of the clarinets broke off in the air. The conductor’s arms fell to his sides. I looked around – for the priest or a statue or something different. I checked my watch: 4:30. The procession was scheduled to start at – Dooongggg Dooooong Ding – Doooooong – Ding – Ding – Doooooooooong. The series of church bells towering over us began their tremendous clapping. We all turned. The church doors opened and a string of banners marched out onto the upper courtyard. If nothing else, these Italians are on time for their saint.
The banners bobbed into view, revealing the townspeople at the base of their wooden poles. Streamers glided through the air behind the regal banners of the saint and his icons. They came down the wide steps overlooking the bay and took their place in front of the band. A choir of alter children appeared on the stairs above the band and banners. One row of girls – all dressed in white acolyte robes trimmed in gold – and another of boys – the red skirts of their robes flowing out from under white tunics. The 14 of them squirmed in their places, searching the crowd to wave at their parents with their elbows tucked in.
Behind them, the upper courtyard filled with the celebrant cluster of the procession. A mix of citizens and coast guard sailors emerged, shouldering the saint. The nearly life-sized effigy rode on a bed of white roses and baby’s breath. A carefully bundled and pinned sky blue textile wrap completed the saintly bouquet. In the shadow of San Giuseppe, the priest walked solemnly.
The band started up again, then filed behind the banners as they walked out into the main road. A company of old men in naval uniforms followed. Their starched lapels, navy trimmed in white, laid over their tired shoulders that – at least for today – squared back with pride. They held the royal blue banner with the town crest and scroll in golden thread. They were probably born on these hills and raised on these waters. This is their town, their saint, their day. Behind these men came their successors: the sailors who currently guard their port and sea. The statue rode in the middle of them and the priest in cream and gold followed. Once the priest stepped into the road, the throng of gatherers did the same. En masse, the crowd overtook the breadth of the road and sidewalks. With a solemn pace that mismatched the chatter, the procession headed for the harbor. The ambulance followed – for effect or potential emergency, I don’t know.
Julia and I stayed in the back, ahead of the ambulance, and in the company of strollers, old women and my unrealized friend, the woman with MS. Shopkeepers stood in their doorways as the parade passed. The nunnery’s upper balcony was filled with the devout women in white habits, too old to process but still clutching their rosaries as the saint passed below them. We followed the giant arc of the main road all the way to the harbor, then looped around in front of the boats abandoned for the day.
When we made the loop, Julia and I split off from the crowd and headed for a parallel road tucked between the harbor and main street. Once we were out of sight of the stragglers, we broke into a run. The small, one-room homes lining the harbor shielded us as we dashed towards the first intersection. I wanted to see the front of the procession so I could get better pictures, but didn’t want to be seen rushing ahead of the saint. The first intersection didn’t offer any hiding, so we ran to the next. We waited on the sidewalk until the first banners came into sight. Then ducked between the overgrown bushes to get a picture straight on. Yes, I hid in the bushes – or at least tried to. I am sure they saw us, but it was the best angle we could get for a straight-on shot. We retreated to a nearby wall as they passed and continued to snap pictures. When we were least conspicuous (but we can never be truly inconspicuous here), we crossed the road and rejoined the crowd – exactly where we had started.
The procession continued along the shoreline and curved back to the main road, once again overtaking it and forcing traffic to pull over and wait. We walked back to the church following the road overlooked by the upper courtyard. Straight up the road, across the street, up the stairs, through the courtyard and right into the church. Seating was limited, considering that this was the day of all days to be at church, so we stood along the back row – quite happily out of sight.
The mass started but we didn’t really understand what was being said, read, preached. So we continued to follow the when-in-Rome rule. Kneel, stand, shake hands, bow heads. Listening carefully, I could pick up pieces of Italian and translate them using Spanish and memories of Verot masses. Although Julia didn’t understand any of the words, she (raised Catholic) was familiar with the general structure. That is, until the Eucharist. The bells in the eves above us sang out with guttural urgency. The priest raised his voice to match the bells which blended with the sound of chanted prayers in the hollow below the cathedral ceiling.
…. End of part 1 ….
Today started as usual… but ended incredibly differently.
We woke up at six in order to make the first shift of the fishery boats. The forecast predicted good weather and, for once, the tree agreed. So all four of us went to sea. Bruno went out on a different fishery boat than us – I don’t know why – and he made it to the fish farm before us. While our boat stopped at Pontone to load up on fish pellets, two dolphins escorted Bruno into the fishery. By the time we arrived, they were gone. Those of us on the feed boat didn’t even know there had been a sighting until hours later. In the meantime, we had our own brief sighting of M3 – a common dolphin in the area known as Mare Tre or Gaia.
The course ended at 12:41 and we headed back to the base for lunch. Julia and I skipped our free time, since Bruno had already agreed to let us out of the afternoon lab, in order to get transcription done. We wanted to be ready for the celebration of the year: the feast day of San Giuseppe, patron saint of Golfo Aranci. The town honors their saint the same every year: procession, mass, then party.
Step 1: The Procession.
Julia and I got to the church by 4:15, fifteen minutes before the scheduled beginning of the procession. The band was already playing in the lower courtyard that doubles as the parking lot. We watched as people gathered around, greeted friends by holding each others’ forearms and kissing both cheeks. Pulling back slightly, four hands slide down arms that don’t belong to them until the fingers lock – one person holding their friends knuckles. The sincerity of the greeting, I think, depends on the duration of the finger hold. Today, the holds only let go in time to greet another friend arriving. Having no one arriving to hold my fingers, I stayed in the back of crowd and listened to the band.
In an instant, the brrrrrrrrooonnnnnnn of the trumpets and the eee-hoooooooooo of the clarinets broke off in the air. The conductor’s arms fell to his sides. I looked around – for the priest or a statue or something different. I checked my watch: 4:30. The procession was scheduled to start at – Dooongggg Dooooong Ding – Doooooong – Ding – Ding – Doooooooooong. The series of church bells towering over us began their tremendous clapping. We all turned. The church doors opened and a string of banners marched out onto the upper courtyard. If nothing else, these Italians are on time for their saint.
The banners bobbed into view, revealing the townspeople at the base of their wooden poles. Streamers glided through the air behind the regal banners of the saint and his icons. They came down the wide steps overlooking the bay and took their place in front of the band. A choir of alter children appeared on the stairs above the band and banners. One row of girls – all dressed in white acolyte robes trimmed in gold – and another of boys – the red skirts of their robes flowing out from under white tunics. The 14 of them squirmed in their places, searching the crowd to wave at their parents with their elbows tucked in.
Behind them, the upper courtyard filled with the celebrant cluster of the procession. A mix of citizens and coast guard sailors emerged, shouldering the saint. The nearly life-sized effigy rode on a bed of white roses and baby’s breath. A carefully bundled and pinned sky blue textile wrap completed the saintly bouquet. In the shadow of San Giuseppe, the priest walked solemnly.
The band started up again, then filed behind the banners as they walked out into the main road. A company of old men in naval uniforms followed. Their starched lapels, navy trimmed in white, laid over their tired shoulders that – at least for today – squared back with pride. They held the royal blue banner with the town crest and scroll in golden thread. They were probably born on these hills and raised on these waters. This is their town, their saint, their day. Behind these men came their successors: the sailors who currently guard their port and sea. The statue rode in the middle of them and the priest in cream and gold followed. Once the priest stepped into the road, the throng of gatherers did the same. En masse, the crowd overtook the breadth of the road and sidewalks. With a solemn pace that mismatched the chatter, the procession headed for the harbor. The ambulance followed – for effect or potential emergency, I don’t know.
Julia and I stayed in the back, ahead of the ambulance, and in the company of strollers, old women and my unrealized friend, the woman with MS. Shopkeepers stood in their doorways as the parade passed. The nunnery’s upper balcony was filled with the devout women in white habits, too old to process but still clutching their rosaries as the saint passed below them. We followed the giant arc of the main road all the way to the harbor, then looped around in front of the boats abandoned for the day.
When we made the loop, Julia and I split off from the crowd and headed for a parallel road tucked between the harbor and main street. Once we were out of sight of the stragglers, we broke into a run. The small, one-room homes lining the harbor shielded us as we dashed towards the first intersection. I wanted to see the front of the procession so I could get better pictures, but didn’t want to be seen rushing ahead of the saint. The first intersection didn’t offer any hiding, so we ran to the next. We waited on the sidewalk until the first banners came into sight. Then ducked between the overgrown bushes to get a picture straight on. Yes, I hid in the bushes – or at least tried to. I am sure they saw us, but it was the best angle we could get for a straight-on shot. We retreated to a nearby wall as they passed and continued to snap pictures. When we were least conspicuous (but we can never be truly inconspicuous here), we crossed the road and rejoined the crowd – exactly where we had started.
The procession continued along the shoreline and curved back to the main road, once again overtaking it and forcing traffic to pull over and wait. We walked back to the church following the road overlooked by the upper courtyard. Straight up the road, across the street, up the stairs, through the courtyard and right into the church. Seating was limited, considering that this was the day of all days to be at church, so we stood along the back row – quite happily out of sight.
The mass started but we didn’t really understand what was being said, read, preached. So we continued to follow the when-in-Rome rule. Kneel, stand, shake hands, bow heads. Listening carefully, I could pick up pieces of Italian and translate them using Spanish and memories of Verot masses. Although Julia didn’t understand any of the words, she (raised Catholic) was familiar with the general structure. That is, until the Eucharist. The bells in the eves above us sang out with guttural urgency. The priest raised his voice to match the bells which blended with the sound of chanted prayers in the hollow below the cathedral ceiling.
…. End of part 1 ….
A Day of Blah- Consider Yourself Warned
March 14, Friday
Today was yesterday’s repeat, so I won’t be spending much time on it. After breakfast, all four of us headed down to the harbor to work on the boats. Andrea and I were assigned to the Spartana while Julia helped Bruno with “the other boat.”
My tasks were, as always, painfully slow and minimal. I got to clean the hatch vents and then reattach them while Andrea once again sopped up the water from inside the hull. It hasn’t rained since she last did that… I’m wondering if there might be a small leak problem somewhere. But that’s not my place to say anything to them, so I will stick to the screw containers and hatch covers which haunt me. That’s right, after I reattached all the shiny like-new vents with old, mismatched screws, Andrea and I retackled the hatch covers. We finally attached one. She wants to buy Astroturf-like material to pad the inside edge where the cover touches the box – but thankfully she decided that could done with the lid attached. One down, two to go.
As soon as she started on the second hatch, I knew today was not the day this project would be completed. She fussed over the same problem that prevented us from finishing last time. The old wooden frame is not even – after 32 years of splinters breaking off and then being painted over. This time, she didn’t suggest new screws or new brackets – just a new location for them. After we bored new holes into the cover and tried it before attaching the cover to the boat, I noticed a new problem. Although the cover lays flat with the screws in it, it won’t open because the ends of the screws on the inside don’t have enough room to pivot when the lid opens. It disheartened me to point out the problem. While she was examining the physics of it for herself, Bruno came back from painting “the other boat.” As usual, he hopped on board and started yelling. I got out of the way. Julia stayed on the sub’s deck. I don’t know what they decided, but we put away all the tools and screws and headed back to the house for lunch.
The rest of the day followed as usual. We ate the most delicious and simple pasta pomordoro – even though the programme disagreed. The afternoon brought lab work of course. More photo ID and GIS practice. Andrea made pork filets in wine with instant mashed potatoes (they don’t well mimic the taste of real potatoes and the consistency is similar to kindergarten paste with the orange stick: mmmmmm). But I didn’t have to cook it and it wasn’t pasta – a successful meal!
I warned you … a day of blah. Since you’ve made it this far, I’ll spare you from anymore unneeded details. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post about the feast day of the town’s patron saint. It should be worth reading!
Today was yesterday’s repeat, so I won’t be spending much time on it. After breakfast, all four of us headed down to the harbor to work on the boats. Andrea and I were assigned to the Spartana while Julia helped Bruno with “the other boat.”
My tasks were, as always, painfully slow and minimal. I got to clean the hatch vents and then reattach them while Andrea once again sopped up the water from inside the hull. It hasn’t rained since she last did that… I’m wondering if there might be a small leak problem somewhere. But that’s not my place to say anything to them, so I will stick to the screw containers and hatch covers which haunt me. That’s right, after I reattached all the shiny like-new vents with old, mismatched screws, Andrea and I retackled the hatch covers. We finally attached one. She wants to buy Astroturf-like material to pad the inside edge where the cover touches the box – but thankfully she decided that could done with the lid attached. One down, two to go.
As soon as she started on the second hatch, I knew today was not the day this project would be completed. She fussed over the same problem that prevented us from finishing last time. The old wooden frame is not even – after 32 years of splinters breaking off and then being painted over. This time, she didn’t suggest new screws or new brackets – just a new location for them. After we bored new holes into the cover and tried it before attaching the cover to the boat, I noticed a new problem. Although the cover lays flat with the screws in it, it won’t open because the ends of the screws on the inside don’t have enough room to pivot when the lid opens. It disheartened me to point out the problem. While she was examining the physics of it for herself, Bruno came back from painting “the other boat.” As usual, he hopped on board and started yelling. I got out of the way. Julia stayed on the sub’s deck. I don’t know what they decided, but we put away all the tools and screws and headed back to the house for lunch.
The rest of the day followed as usual. We ate the most delicious and simple pasta pomordoro – even though the programme disagreed. The afternoon brought lab work of course. More photo ID and GIS practice. Andrea made pork filets in wine with instant mashed potatoes (they don’t well mimic the taste of real potatoes and the consistency is similar to kindergarten paste with the orange stick: mmmmmm). But I didn’t have to cook it and it wasn’t pasta – a successful meal!
I warned you … a day of blah. Since you’ve made it this far, I’ll spare you from anymore unneeded details. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post about the feast day of the town’s patron saint. It should be worth reading!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
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March 13, Thursday
This morning, after our usual 8 am alarm and coffee breakfast, Andrea, Julia and I went to the harbor to clean the algae off of “the other boat” – the BDRI. Someone from the coast guard, who patrols the harbor, had moved the boat up the ramp so that it was accessible from all sides. Unfortunately, they had also moved two other boats up, tucking the BDRI between them and rendering it, once again, inaccessible. Four fishermen came over to help us move it – it wouldn’t budge. Then another fisherman – wearing a golf cap and a brown blazer over his knitted sweater – came to help. His fingers were thick from his 7 decades of working nets and lines. He picked up the ends two lines tied to the stern and told us to pull again. He planted himself at the head of the two rows of people on the ropes. Unexpectedly, the boat slid up the ramp at the command of the ropes. Tira! Tira! Tira! The fishermen hollered. We pulled! Pulled! Pulled! When we straightened ourselves and dropped the ropes, the old man still stood at the top of the ramp. The only indication that he had helped the effort was the fist of ropes. Everyone laughed that the old man did what the 8 of us could not. Should-pats and back-slaps were exchanged. But the old fisherman only smiled. I thought the whole thing was rather eerie – but then again, I don’t speak Italian.
The fishermen all went back to their boats or benches and we started with the cleaning. For the next two hours, we scraped and scrubbed and scoured the fiberglass hull of the neglected boat. We took off much of the blue water-line paint in the process. So tomorrow, we paint.
As always, work only ended for a very late meal. I cooked pasta con funghi at the house according to the programme. I started cutting an onion before either Bruno or Andrea emerged from their room to direct me. When they came out at the sound of me chopping, Andrea informed me that we do not use onions in this recipe. Bruno looked at me with an expression of horrified amazement – like watching a car crash. “Uhn-yons and mash-rums? Together? … Nooooo,” he finally got out, stressing each vowel of “onion.” Clearly only hooligans and uncultured Americans would ever consider serving onions and mushrooms in the same dish. I wrapped up the onion and put it in the fridge for dinner’s recipe.
When lab started in the afternoon, Bruno spent 30 minutes unable to work with an Open Office program. Eventually he gave up trying to show us whatever that was and reexplained ArcView – a refresher course, I guess. He left Julia with more ArcView practice and I was allowed to skip out to take a shower once Andrea was out. Since we spent the morning under an algae-covered boat, they decided to let us shower early. Once I rinsed off the microbes of the algae residue and day’s frusterations, I went back to lab reenergized and ready for another round of photo ID. I must have been feeling good because I asked Bruno about the possibility of us being able to put some ArcView maps in our internship summary papers. He must have been feeling good because he was unexpectedly open to the suggestion and expanded the materials he would make available to us for the papers. One point for the good guys.
I was expecting to have a little free time before dinner, but Andrea asked Julia and I to help with the cooking. Again, the blog would have to wait. But cooking was a lot of fun. The three of us played in flour and made empanadas – from scratch. I completely cleared the counter and rolled up my sleeves. We mixed and kneaded and flattened and rolled. Two and a half hours after Andrea started – we sat down to sizzling empanadas of beef and chives. Dishes and wiping up the flour from all over the kitchen kept me there until quarter past ten. Dinner was good – but not 3 hours worth of work good. But at least it wasn’t pasta and I have a new recipe – and pictures to help!
The fishermen all went back to their boats or benches and we started with the cleaning. For the next two hours, we scraped and scrubbed and scoured the fiberglass hull of the neglected boat. We took off much of the blue water-line paint in the process. So tomorrow, we paint.
As always, work only ended for a very late meal. I cooked pasta con funghi at the house according to the programme. I started cutting an onion before either Bruno or Andrea emerged from their room to direct me. When they came out at the sound of me chopping, Andrea informed me that we do not use onions in this recipe. Bruno looked at me with an expression of horrified amazement – like watching a car crash. “Uhn-yons and mash-rums? Together? … Nooooo,” he finally got out, stressing each vowel of “onion.” Clearly only hooligans and uncultured Americans would ever consider serving onions and mushrooms in the same dish. I wrapped up the onion and put it in the fridge for dinner’s recipe.
When lab started in the afternoon, Bruno spent 30 minutes unable to work with an Open Office program. Eventually he gave up trying to show us whatever that was and reexplained ArcView – a refresher course, I guess. He left Julia with more ArcView practice and I was allowed to skip out to take a shower once Andrea was out. Since we spent the morning under an algae-covered boat, they decided to let us shower early. Once I rinsed off the microbes of the algae residue and day’s frusterations, I went back to lab reenergized and ready for another round of photo ID. I must have been feeling good because I asked Bruno about the possibility of us being able to put some ArcView maps in our internship summary papers. He must have been feeling good because he was unexpectedly open to the suggestion and expanded the materials he would make available to us for the papers. One point for the good guys.
I was expecting to have a little free time before dinner, but Andrea asked Julia and I to help with the cooking. Again, the blog would have to wait. But cooking was a lot of fun. The three of us played in flour and made empanadas – from scratch. I completely cleared the counter and rolled up my sleeves. We mixed and kneaded and flattened and rolled. Two and a half hours after Andrea started – we sat down to sizzling empanadas of beef and chives. Dishes and wiping up the flour from all over the kitchen kept me there until quarter past ten. Dinner was good – but not 3 hours worth of work good. But at least it wasn’t pasta and I have a new recipe – and pictures to help!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Trilingual Success Story
March 12, Wednesday
Today I got to sleep in – as late as 8:30! Of course, coffee and cookies followed with lab close behind. Two military police women came to the door as we were starting up lab work. They talked to Bruno for 20 seconds and left. Andrea dismissed it – I have no idea what it was about. Anyways, my lab morning was filled with a calculator and checking all the recording durations that we have spent the last week calculating. Luckily, most of them were correct. And even better, once I got through all those millisecond-minute checks, I was able to input the last days of data. The whistle data is officially collected and organized. Next step: analysis.
But not yet. Of course, there was something else for us to do instead of moving forward in a linear fashion. For me, it involved helping Andrea move the extra mattresses from our room. The owner of the building is letting us switch out the old ones from some less-old ones. The small apartment upstairs where we retrieved the replacement mattress is small, but has a great view of the park and a veranda with patio furniture. I wish we could stay there and just come down for lab work! It has a small kitchen that leads into the bedroom which in turn has a bathroom off of it. It would be so nice to have those living quarters – even with a roommate!
Alas, it cannot be. I went back to photo ID work until Bruno showed us how to use the whistle spreadsheet data in ArcView. Julia and I played around with that until lunch – a very late lunch of pasta with tuna. During my free time, I went through the course notebooks for my time here and collected the information for my summary – like the number of sightings I’ve been on, the number of surveys I’ve taken, the number of minutes I’ve been out to sea, etc.
In the afternoon, Julia and I were allowed to watch 90 minutes of underwater video recordings from last summer. Feeding strategies, partnerships and prey captures were visible. We were even able to identify most of the dolphins. It would be amazing to be able to be underwater with them! But the experience would probably only live with me for an hour before I died of hypothermia. Oh, well – back to photo ID in the lab.
At the end of lab, I went to the shops in search of a watch battery again. I’ve decided to just buy the battery – only a few euros – and try to replace it myself. The woman yesterday probably didn’t reset the watch after she got the new battery in. There is a photography shop that sells batteries and the people there know more about technical things (however “technical” a Target-bought Timex watch can be). Or so I was told. But the woman in the shop couldn’t even get the old, dead battery out of the watch. So I just bought the Duracell battery from her and continued on my way.
Passing by the shop I tried yesterday, I saw that Julia was still inside – and struggling with conversation. Since my Spanish is more useful here than her German, I have a much higher success rate at interpreting conversations than she does. She admits it. I went in to see if I could help, or at least offer my travel dictionary. What I already knew: The last phone card that Julia bought from this store is illegible – some problem with the magnetic strip. Julia was upset about just walking away from 5 euros, so she decided to ask for a refund or an exchange. Bruno had said that it wouldn’t be worth it to ask because the card had already been activated. This much I knew before walking into the cramped store.
The situation I walked into: Complete non-communication. There were two middle school-aged girls standing by Julia at the counter. One was trying to translate. The other either knew better or knew no English. The woman behind the counter – the same one that got the watch battery out yesterday – seemed at least a little relieved when I arrived. Julia definitely did. She said that there was something about Monday. The helping 13-year-old in painted on black pants and too many earrings said as much as “Ez ummmm – ez no you problem-eh” in English before escaping with her friend.
My turn to try with the shopkeeper. She took off in her Naples dialect that even Andrea can’t understand. Soon, her husband returned and a jagged string of vowels and occasional consonant filled him in. Like everyone else in town, the first thing he asked was if either of us speaks any Italian. No. Espanol, I offered. No, not Spanish either. He started talking to me anyways, slowly with elongated words that seemed to stand on their own. Ok, now I understood Monday. And a machine. And someone else.
Then, just shy of a godsend, a man walked into the store. The shop owners called out his name in joyous familiarity – so much so that the man stopped dead in the doorway, unsure of the cause for celebration. Another rapid string informed him of the situation. Then the shopkeeping husband pointed to the new customer and said “Espanol.”
The man turned to me and started in Spanish: “El lunes por la tarde, el mercante viene.”
I turned to Julia and repeated in English, “Monday afternoon the vendor will be here.”
Then, turning back to the man, “And this man will be able to read the card – with a machine or something – to see if there is a problem?”
He, in turned, rattled something else off to the shopkeeper, who responded with a short set of words accompanied by hand gestures. The Spanish-speaking Italian said to me, “Si, por supuesto. Puede examinar la tarjeta.”
Again I faced Julia: “And this man will examine the card.”
She finally chimed in, “So I should be here on Monday?”
Me to the other customer: “Ella debe estar aquí – el lunes?”
Another two hot strings of Italian between the shopkeeper and the man later, “A las 6.”
Me to Julia: “Be here at 6 on Monday.”
The lines of confusion and concern on her forehead dropped away. She smiled – then laughed. Then everyone started laughing – for different reasons, I’m sure. Julia laughed at her own ineptitude in the situation. I laughed because Spanish in Italy was finally useful. The locals, I’m sure, laughed at us. Satisfied with our tri-lingual arrangement, we left the store. “Grazie! – Gracias! Ciao – Adios!” We hopped into the cool night air and our laugher spilled down the empty street. The store lights and three amused Italian voices faded with the gentle curve of the road.
At the house, I tried to replace my watch battery. Julia tried. Andrea tired. Bruno tried. When Bruno called us for dinner, I was ready to give up. Julia was more determined and promised to help me again after dishes. Dinner was a fried egg for each of us, several small hot dogs, instant mashed potatoes that taste like it and a salad. I ate the egg first – just to get through it – in anticipation of the simple green salad. The “potatoes” were too sticky to be convincing and the egg was, well, an egg. But it was worth it for the salad. The night got even better when Julia fixed my watch!
Today I got to sleep in – as late as 8:30! Of course, coffee and cookies followed with lab close behind. Two military police women came to the door as we were starting up lab work. They talked to Bruno for 20 seconds and left. Andrea dismissed it – I have no idea what it was about. Anyways, my lab morning was filled with a calculator and checking all the recording durations that we have spent the last week calculating. Luckily, most of them were correct. And even better, once I got through all those millisecond-minute checks, I was able to input the last days of data. The whistle data is officially collected and organized. Next step: analysis.
But not yet. Of course, there was something else for us to do instead of moving forward in a linear fashion. For me, it involved helping Andrea move the extra mattresses from our room. The owner of the building is letting us switch out the old ones from some less-old ones. The small apartment upstairs where we retrieved the replacement mattress is small, but has a great view of the park and a veranda with patio furniture. I wish we could stay there and just come down for lab work! It has a small kitchen that leads into the bedroom which in turn has a bathroom off of it. It would be so nice to have those living quarters – even with a roommate!
Alas, it cannot be. I went back to photo ID work until Bruno showed us how to use the whistle spreadsheet data in ArcView. Julia and I played around with that until lunch – a very late lunch of pasta with tuna. During my free time, I went through the course notebooks for my time here and collected the information for my summary – like the number of sightings I’ve been on, the number of surveys I’ve taken, the number of minutes I’ve been out to sea, etc.
In the afternoon, Julia and I were allowed to watch 90 minutes of underwater video recordings from last summer. Feeding strategies, partnerships and prey captures were visible. We were even able to identify most of the dolphins. It would be amazing to be able to be underwater with them! But the experience would probably only live with me for an hour before I died of hypothermia. Oh, well – back to photo ID in the lab.
At the end of lab, I went to the shops in search of a watch battery again. I’ve decided to just buy the battery – only a few euros – and try to replace it myself. The woman yesterday probably didn’t reset the watch after she got the new battery in. There is a photography shop that sells batteries and the people there know more about technical things (however “technical” a Target-bought Timex watch can be). Or so I was told. But the woman in the shop couldn’t even get the old, dead battery out of the watch. So I just bought the Duracell battery from her and continued on my way.
Passing by the shop I tried yesterday, I saw that Julia was still inside – and struggling with conversation. Since my Spanish is more useful here than her German, I have a much higher success rate at interpreting conversations than she does. She admits it. I went in to see if I could help, or at least offer my travel dictionary. What I already knew: The last phone card that Julia bought from this store is illegible – some problem with the magnetic strip. Julia was upset about just walking away from 5 euros, so she decided to ask for a refund or an exchange. Bruno had said that it wouldn’t be worth it to ask because the card had already been activated. This much I knew before walking into the cramped store.
The situation I walked into: Complete non-communication. There were two middle school-aged girls standing by Julia at the counter. One was trying to translate. The other either knew better or knew no English. The woman behind the counter – the same one that got the watch battery out yesterday – seemed at least a little relieved when I arrived. Julia definitely did. She said that there was something about Monday. The helping 13-year-old in painted on black pants and too many earrings said as much as “Ez ummmm – ez no you problem-eh” in English before escaping with her friend.
My turn to try with the shopkeeper. She took off in her Naples dialect that even Andrea can’t understand. Soon, her husband returned and a jagged string of vowels and occasional consonant filled him in. Like everyone else in town, the first thing he asked was if either of us speaks any Italian. No. Espanol, I offered. No, not Spanish either. He started talking to me anyways, slowly with elongated words that seemed to stand on their own. Ok, now I understood Monday. And a machine. And someone else.
Then, just shy of a godsend, a man walked into the store. The shop owners called out his name in joyous familiarity – so much so that the man stopped dead in the doorway, unsure of the cause for celebration. Another rapid string informed him of the situation. Then the shopkeeping husband pointed to the new customer and said “Espanol.”
The man turned to me and started in Spanish: “El lunes por la tarde, el mercante viene.”
I turned to Julia and repeated in English, “Monday afternoon the vendor will be here.”
Then, turning back to the man, “And this man will be able to read the card – with a machine or something – to see if there is a problem?”
He, in turned, rattled something else off to the shopkeeper, who responded with a short set of words accompanied by hand gestures. The Spanish-speaking Italian said to me, “Si, por supuesto. Puede examinar la tarjeta.”
Again I faced Julia: “And this man will examine the card.”
She finally chimed in, “So I should be here on Monday?”
Me to the other customer: “Ella debe estar aquí – el lunes?”
Another two hot strings of Italian between the shopkeeper and the man later, “A las 6.”
Me to Julia: “Be here at 6 on Monday.”
The lines of confusion and concern on her forehead dropped away. She smiled – then laughed. Then everyone started laughing – for different reasons, I’m sure. Julia laughed at her own ineptitude in the situation. I laughed because Spanish in Italy was finally useful. The locals, I’m sure, laughed at us. Satisfied with our tri-lingual arrangement, we left the store. “Grazie! – Gracias! Ciao – Adios!” We hopped into the cool night air and our laugher spilled down the empty street. The store lights and three amused Italian voices faded with the gentle curve of the road.
At the house, I tried to replace my watch battery. Julia tried. Andrea tired. Bruno tried. When Bruno called us for dinner, I was ready to give up. Julia was more determined and promised to help me again after dishes. Dinner was a fried egg for each of us, several small hot dogs, instant mashed potatoes that taste like it and a salad. I ate the egg first – just to get through it – in anticipation of the simple green salad. The “potatoes” were too sticky to be convincing and the egg was, well, an egg. But it was worth it for the salad. The night got even better when Julia fixed my watch!
March 11, Tuesday
I am giving myself a typing time limit for this day. Nothing super-exciting happened and if I can limit myself, everyone wins.
Its 8:31. Ready, set … go!
I made breakfast this morning at 8 – same as always. I think I should switch back to tea. If I could find milk here that wasn’t so thick you can spread it on bread, then I would switch to that. Alas, I am stuck with coffee, tea and water.
During lab, I worked on more whistle data.
Over our lunch of pasta with peas, I finally asked Bruno if I (we – Julia and I) could put together a summary of our work here. I would like to have some hardcopy document to show what I have been doing. Bruno thought I was asking if I could start working on my own thesis. My first day here, I confirmed with him that I do not have my own research goals here – there is no particular question that I want to answer. Instead, I want to have a good overview of the processes that the uses in his research and be able to understand the methods and software. It would be good to have a document that shows the programs that I have worked with and have my effort hours recorded. Ideally, I would even be able to use some images from his software in my document. For example, an ArcView image showing whatever I end up working with in ArcView for his research, and a visual of a few whistles that I have been listening to for a month, and maybe even be able to take a recording of a whistle too. That is what I was asking – at least the first part.
I also asked him if he would go over the different programs and software with us in a flowchart format. We have been jumping around between ID and acoustics and now mapping and it seems very piecemeal. Bruno admitted that he knows that Julia and I probably don’t have a clear view of where we are going in this research. If he already knew that, why didn’t he try to clarify things for us? Anyway, he agreed to go over everything in one massive overview of the programs and what stage of research each applies to.
That started after our standard free time – a long-winded and semi-insulting overview of research in general and the programs used here. Again, he got on his soapbox about proper research and the steps of the scientific method. If (after all my years of science-fair, my pre-med curriculum at W&L, my Kaplan course and majoring in biology), if I still don’t know the importance of research or the scientific method, then there is no hope for me and I should pack up now and go home to wait tables.
But, the long lecture was not entirely useless. We did get a step-by-step explanation of how he puts together all of his data and analyses into a paper as well as a list of all the software for each step. He said that he has manuals for everything that we can look through for more detail. Once I re-explained my request to write a summary of my work, he understood and was very agreeable. He even suggested some information to include and possible charts that I could make to spruce it up for graduate programs.
Satisfied with that, I started on lab work. Julia and I switched between working on photo ID and entering whistle collection data into Excel with Andrea. The spreadsheet should be done soon. Late in the lab session, I realized that the duration of the recordings weren’t always correct. Andrea was calculating fractions of a minute from milliseconds, but wasn’t taking into account the difference between 60 used in time and 100 used in decimals. One second is not a 0.01 minute – its 1/60th not 1/100th. I tried to explain the problem to Andrea, but she couldn’t understand me. Bruno got involved and Andrea left to make tea – either to calm everyone down or escape the dual lingual/mathematical translation troubles.
It was too late to dive into that problem tonight, so I started making dinner. Asparagus risotto again. Every time we have risotto, I am the one that cooks it. It’s one of the longer recipes as far as time and effort. Plus, if I mess it up, there is no way to fix it. You only get one shot at creamy rice. But, I passed. Whew! Constant stirring and always watching the moisture level does the trick.
After dinner, House (the TV show about the doctor) came on. Andrea and Bruno like watching it, so we all sat in the lab (although I was online for a bit) and watched dubbed-over House. The voices are completely wrong – House doesn’t sound condescending and sarcastic all the time, and the two interns (the blonde, nasty woman and the middle-eastern looking man) don’t translate in tone either. Two episodes were on back-to-back, but I didn’t stay for all of them. I don’t really like that show in English – and I wasn’t picking up any of the lines in Italian. I would rather be typing to catch up!
Ok, so a few minor interruptions with people talking to me, but its 9:07 and I think 2 pages in 30 minutes is pretty good. No time to ponder and babble here – must keep going! Or go eat dinner… Andrea should sing out “Ez ray-deee” at any moment…
Its 8:31. Ready, set … go!
I made breakfast this morning at 8 – same as always. I think I should switch back to tea. If I could find milk here that wasn’t so thick you can spread it on bread, then I would switch to that. Alas, I am stuck with coffee, tea and water.
During lab, I worked on more whistle data.
Over our lunch of pasta with peas, I finally asked Bruno if I (we – Julia and I) could put together a summary of our work here. I would like to have some hardcopy document to show what I have been doing. Bruno thought I was asking if I could start working on my own thesis. My first day here, I confirmed with him that I do not have my own research goals here – there is no particular question that I want to answer. Instead, I want to have a good overview of the processes that the uses in his research and be able to understand the methods and software. It would be good to have a document that shows the programs that I have worked with and have my effort hours recorded. Ideally, I would even be able to use some images from his software in my document. For example, an ArcView image showing whatever I end up working with in ArcView for his research, and a visual of a few whistles that I have been listening to for a month, and maybe even be able to take a recording of a whistle too. That is what I was asking – at least the first part.
I also asked him if he would go over the different programs and software with us in a flowchart format. We have been jumping around between ID and acoustics and now mapping and it seems very piecemeal. Bruno admitted that he knows that Julia and I probably don’t have a clear view of where we are going in this research. If he already knew that, why didn’t he try to clarify things for us? Anyway, he agreed to go over everything in one massive overview of the programs and what stage of research each applies to.
That started after our standard free time – a long-winded and semi-insulting overview of research in general and the programs used here. Again, he got on his soapbox about proper research and the steps of the scientific method. If (after all my years of science-fair, my pre-med curriculum at W&L, my Kaplan course and majoring in biology), if I still don’t know the importance of research or the scientific method, then there is no hope for me and I should pack up now and go home to wait tables.
But, the long lecture was not entirely useless. We did get a step-by-step explanation of how he puts together all of his data and analyses into a paper as well as a list of all the software for each step. He said that he has manuals for everything that we can look through for more detail. Once I re-explained my request to write a summary of my work, he understood and was very agreeable. He even suggested some information to include and possible charts that I could make to spruce it up for graduate programs.
Satisfied with that, I started on lab work. Julia and I switched between working on photo ID and entering whistle collection data into Excel with Andrea. The spreadsheet should be done soon. Late in the lab session, I realized that the duration of the recordings weren’t always correct. Andrea was calculating fractions of a minute from milliseconds, but wasn’t taking into account the difference between 60 used in time and 100 used in decimals. One second is not a 0.01 minute – its 1/60th not 1/100th. I tried to explain the problem to Andrea, but she couldn’t understand me. Bruno got involved and Andrea left to make tea – either to calm everyone down or escape the dual lingual/mathematical translation troubles.
It was too late to dive into that problem tonight, so I started making dinner. Asparagus risotto again. Every time we have risotto, I am the one that cooks it. It’s one of the longer recipes as far as time and effort. Plus, if I mess it up, there is no way to fix it. You only get one shot at creamy rice. But, I passed. Whew! Constant stirring and always watching the moisture level does the trick.
After dinner, House (the TV show about the doctor) came on. Andrea and Bruno like watching it, so we all sat in the lab (although I was online for a bit) and watched dubbed-over House. The voices are completely wrong – House doesn’t sound condescending and sarcastic all the time, and the two interns (the blonde, nasty woman and the middle-eastern looking man) don’t translate in tone either. Two episodes were on back-to-back, but I didn’t stay for all of them. I don’t really like that show in English – and I wasn’t picking up any of the lines in Italian. I would rather be typing to catch up!
Ok, so a few minor interruptions with people talking to me, but its 9:07 and I think 2 pages in 30 minutes is pretty good. No time to ponder and babble here – must keep going! Or go eat dinner… Andrea should sing out “Ez ray-deee” at any moment…
Salty Monday
March 10
The kitchen window showed a swaying tree during breakfast, but all hope for going out to sea in the afternoon was not lost. Before lab, Julia and I started our laundry (a good indication that rain will come) and I went to the Monday morning market by myself. Last week I saw some very nice rugs – yes, rugs – that had a specific design indigenous to Sardinia. Andrea pointed them out, and said that the prices there were very good. I didn’t buy one then, but thought of it a few times last week. So I trekked over to the market to see if I could find one I liked. When I left for the house 20 minutes later, I had an orange. The rug vendor wasn’t there – and I prefer to have Andrea with me when I buy things like that. Not speaking the language is like wearing a red stamp on my head that says “overcharge me.” My orange cost 35 cents – weighed and charged on the kilo.
When lab started, Bruno gave us a long introduction to ArcView – a GIS software. Even though his explanations are about 40 % longer than they needed to be (he repeats a lot), its worth sitting through because it means a new project. This particular project seems to be familiarizing ourselves with the program. Bruno thinks very highly of ArcView, despite its complications. It can do a lot, but you pretty much need to have read the manual several times or have worked with it long enough to know how to use all (or most) of the features. In general, ArcView allows you to create maps of your data. It works with the GIS (Geographic Information System) to plot the coordinates of data on very accurate maps. It also performs various statistical analyses for you. I will not be getting into the stats until much later, if at all. That’s fine by me. What I am doing with ArcView is taking the whistle data that we compiled all last week and plotting it so that I can answer at specific questions visually.
Here is the general overview of what I am doing with this next research step. As you know, all of the whistle data from the last 3 years has been condensed into a notebook and now into an Excel spreadsheet. For each recording of a whistle, we know the date, number of whistles, whistle ratio, the number of adults/immatures/newborns present at the time of the recording, which individuals were present, the behavior of the group, and the position coordinates of the group. For example, I know that on August 8, 2007, an acoustic sample was recorded during the sighting of 5 adults: Rinco, Whitespot, Markita, Mare Tre and Bianca. The 8-minute recording has 20 whistles, giving a whistle ratio of 2.3. From the notebooks, I also know that their behavior was feeding, plus I have the UTM (X and Y coordinates) of their location. With this information, and the equivalent for all the other acoustic days in 2005 – 2007, we can learn a lot about their behavior, social groups, preferences, communication, etc. This is where ArcView comes in.
All of this data is uploaded into ArcView, along with a cm-specific map of the area. All the data on one map at once wouldn’t do any good – just a lot of points. So now we get to look at specific questions. In my little project, I am investigating several different questions. For example, I can plot just the points relating to Rinco’s feeding behavior in 2007, or the whistle ratios when Whitespot and Markita were sighted together versus other pairs, or if the whistle ratios are higher when newborns and immatures are present, or the social behavior of Bianca during different seasons, or the most common locations for each behavior. These are just a few of the things I will be looking into. But for today, I got to just practice using the program – learning how to plot and change the appearance and introduce new data, etc. If I get enough practice and use out of this program, this is definitely going on my résumé.
Bruno came back (from wherever he ran off to) at one and told us that the sea conditions were good enough for us to go out this afternoon. To go out with the afternoon fishery shift, we need to leave the house by 1:30. Lab ended abruptly. Andrea rushed into the kitchen to make a very, very al dente carbonara while Julia and I scrambled to get the bags and ourselves ready. Julia and I left a little before Andrea because we carry the equipment and Julia takes 2 steps to my 1 when we are hurrying. When I was literally walking to the door to leave, a mail carrier (not one of the local women, some man in a semi-professional looking uniform) met me. My package from mom had arrived! Too bad I didn’t have time to open it then, but it was something to look forward to for the rest of the day. When Andrea met us at the harbor a few minutes later, she was carrying another letter – for me! From Mrs. Kalemeris! I could have opened it there, but decided that the anticipation of opening two things was good enough to wait.
The wind, even in the harbor, didn’t give us a good impression, but we went out anyway. The three of us climbed on one of the smaller fishery boats – the big one doesn’t come in between shifts, so we have to transfer to it. Three fishermen rode out with us on the little boat. Andrea told us to stand in a pit area behind the helm so that we wouldn’t get as wet. The fishermen told Andrea that we should stand in the helm. The 6 of us and all our bags squeezed into the 3’x 4’ shelter – but it was the best decision. The waves battered the poor boat all the way to the fish farm – crashing all the way up to the window. Halfway through the trip, I angled my head to look at the deck behind us. Everything was soaked. A kiddie-pool of water sloshed around the pit Andrea put us in. Thank you fishermen, you saved us from certain drenching.
But the adventure wasn’t over yet. Once in the fish farm, we had to transfer to a larger boat. The fishery wasn’t protected from the winds or the waves. Our boat pulled up to its larger brother, fighting the water that pushed it away. The step up to the awaiting deck, over a car-tire barrier, is usually not a problem. But when the gap between the boats is fluctuating between 2 and 4 feet – and filled with a frigid froth and the possibility of being crushed – that simple hop is daunting. Before I even had to deal with that, I had to get to the portside stern … from the exact opposite location. Crouching low and holding on to the tarp-covered lump in the center of the deck, I tried to pace myself with the waves. One – two – three crashing over – go! The wind must have broken the wave pattern. The boat dropped starboard into a deeper trench than any of us expected. My center of gravity was still too high and I felt myself start to fall. The instant reaction to that feeling is to throw yourself the other way – away from the water. The fisherman behind me grabbed my jacket sleeve. But if I was going over, he was going with me. There was just nothing to hold on to fast enough. We both toppled over into the next set of waves.
Gotcha! Okay, so everything but the very last line of the last paragraph is true. Just keeping you on your toes. Really, the fisherman and my involuntary lurching towards the center of the deck kept me – us – on the boat. Julia, watching me from the helm, gasped. Her turn was next. I couldn’t turn around to see how she was doing. I still needed to make it to the other corner of the deck. Once there, the fisherman on the larger boat waved me up and another one on my deck held out a hand to help me with the leap. Andrea, still on the small boat with me, started yelling in Italian. Lucky for me, No is the same in Italian as English. The rest of the mad string of words, however, was not the same. Apparently she wanted the fishermen to wait. What they saw as a minor inconvenience, but all-in-a-days-work, challenged us a little more. I was the first to eventually make the leap. Thankfully, my legs are long and the fisherman on the higher deck offered a steady hand. A deep breath, spring up from the heels, bend the knees. And I was up – and stumbling across the bigger deck with the inertia of my historic leap. Julia was not so lucky. She ended up climbing up the tires strapped to the side of the boat. I think Andrea made the jump.
The waves barely rocked the comparatively massive boat we suddenly found ourselves aboard. After the dingy of a boat we rolled over the waves in and the adventure of getting off of it, the sudden stability was almost unnerving. Once we adjusted and got all of the instruments reordered (after having been stuffed in pockets and bags in the face of possibly being swept off deck), the stability really wasn’t that stable. The boat was moving with the waves. The sea spit froth at the wind, who responded with sharpened gusts. The duel only encouraged both elements. A dolphin could have been 5 meters away, but there was no way that we could see it. We only stayed out for three sightingless surveys. Our boat couldn’t even work in those conditions. The three remaining fishery vessels caravanned back to the harbor.
Once actually on solid ground, we stopped by to visit with a local fisherman friend of Andrea and Bruno. He had a bucket of sea life saved from his nets for the aquariums. Since the large bucket was full of water, he drove the three of us and our new species back to base in his little seafoam green car. It was my first time in a car since Feb 2. I was actually enjoying not needing to drive (or be driven), but one short ride wouldn’t ruin my foot-transportation only streak. It was good not to have to walk back in that wind though.
At the house, he came in to talk about the new introductions to the tanks. He gave them two Gorgon’s Stars – sea stars from his nets at 90 meters. Bruno immediately added them to the large tank, along with the snails brought in the bucket. Once the stars had been in the tank long enough to acclimate, one of them started to unfurl its legs. In the bucket, they looked like large stars made of knotted spirals. In the tank, the knots unrolled and long arms covered with hundreds of spandrels stretched out in the new water.
Andrea and Bruno were worried that the tanks would kill the stars scooped up from much colder waters. Once the fisherman left, Andrea, Julia and I took one of the stars on walk to the other coast. The rocks drop off to much deeper depths – hopefully enough to save the star. Andrea tossed it back in. The wind had pushed in dark clouds, which started to open up while we were climbing on the rocks. Despite the cold drizzle, the sight of the clouds rolling in over the island and the sea darkening and the rocks sparkling unperturbed was amazing.
As we ascended and climbed onto the soil at the top of the bank, I remembered our laundry that was out on the line. I looked at Julia, but she was already thinking about the lines. We rushed back, just in time to take down our re-dampened clothes.
After our very short transcription of the three surveys, I continued to work on acoustics. I stopped a little early because I needed to go to the store to find a new watch battery. At the second store that I tried, the woman had the battery and poked at the inside of my watch for 20 minutes trying to get the old one out. Eventually, she made the switch. The watch still didn’t work. That much I didn’t need a translator for. We indicated to one another that she should take the battery out and give me back the watch. I don’t know if it was her fault that it didn’t work, but the prying and jabbing with the pliers and tiny screwdriver probably didn’t help.
I went back to the lab defeated. At least I finished Bioacoutics Part III tonight when I got back! No more listening to old waves or recording whistles or counting seconds or checking milliseconds!
The kitchen window showed a swaying tree during breakfast, but all hope for going out to sea in the afternoon was not lost. Before lab, Julia and I started our laundry (a good indication that rain will come) and I went to the Monday morning market by myself. Last week I saw some very nice rugs – yes, rugs – that had a specific design indigenous to Sardinia. Andrea pointed them out, and said that the prices there were very good. I didn’t buy one then, but thought of it a few times last week. So I trekked over to the market to see if I could find one I liked. When I left for the house 20 minutes later, I had an orange. The rug vendor wasn’t there – and I prefer to have Andrea with me when I buy things like that. Not speaking the language is like wearing a red stamp on my head that says “overcharge me.” My orange cost 35 cents – weighed and charged on the kilo.
When lab started, Bruno gave us a long introduction to ArcView – a GIS software. Even though his explanations are about 40 % longer than they needed to be (he repeats a lot), its worth sitting through because it means a new project. This particular project seems to be familiarizing ourselves with the program. Bruno thinks very highly of ArcView, despite its complications. It can do a lot, but you pretty much need to have read the manual several times or have worked with it long enough to know how to use all (or most) of the features. In general, ArcView allows you to create maps of your data. It works with the GIS (Geographic Information System) to plot the coordinates of data on very accurate maps. It also performs various statistical analyses for you. I will not be getting into the stats until much later, if at all. That’s fine by me. What I am doing with ArcView is taking the whistle data that we compiled all last week and plotting it so that I can answer at specific questions visually.
Here is the general overview of what I am doing with this next research step. As you know, all of the whistle data from the last 3 years has been condensed into a notebook and now into an Excel spreadsheet. For each recording of a whistle, we know the date, number of whistles, whistle ratio, the number of adults/immatures/newborns present at the time of the recording, which individuals were present, the behavior of the group, and the position coordinates of the group. For example, I know that on August 8, 2007, an acoustic sample was recorded during the sighting of 5 adults: Rinco, Whitespot, Markita, Mare Tre and Bianca. The 8-minute recording has 20 whistles, giving a whistle ratio of 2.3. From the notebooks, I also know that their behavior was feeding, plus I have the UTM (X and Y coordinates) of their location. With this information, and the equivalent for all the other acoustic days in 2005 – 2007, we can learn a lot about their behavior, social groups, preferences, communication, etc. This is where ArcView comes in.
All of this data is uploaded into ArcView, along with a cm-specific map of the area. All the data on one map at once wouldn’t do any good – just a lot of points. So now we get to look at specific questions. In my little project, I am investigating several different questions. For example, I can plot just the points relating to Rinco’s feeding behavior in 2007, or the whistle ratios when Whitespot and Markita were sighted together versus other pairs, or if the whistle ratios are higher when newborns and immatures are present, or the social behavior of Bianca during different seasons, or the most common locations for each behavior. These are just a few of the things I will be looking into. But for today, I got to just practice using the program – learning how to plot and change the appearance and introduce new data, etc. If I get enough practice and use out of this program, this is definitely going on my résumé.
Bruno came back (from wherever he ran off to) at one and told us that the sea conditions were good enough for us to go out this afternoon. To go out with the afternoon fishery shift, we need to leave the house by 1:30. Lab ended abruptly. Andrea rushed into the kitchen to make a very, very al dente carbonara while Julia and I scrambled to get the bags and ourselves ready. Julia and I left a little before Andrea because we carry the equipment and Julia takes 2 steps to my 1 when we are hurrying. When I was literally walking to the door to leave, a mail carrier (not one of the local women, some man in a semi-professional looking uniform) met me. My package from mom had arrived! Too bad I didn’t have time to open it then, but it was something to look forward to for the rest of the day. When Andrea met us at the harbor a few minutes later, she was carrying another letter – for me! From Mrs. Kalemeris! I could have opened it there, but decided that the anticipation of opening two things was good enough to wait.
The wind, even in the harbor, didn’t give us a good impression, but we went out anyway. The three of us climbed on one of the smaller fishery boats – the big one doesn’t come in between shifts, so we have to transfer to it. Three fishermen rode out with us on the little boat. Andrea told us to stand in a pit area behind the helm so that we wouldn’t get as wet. The fishermen told Andrea that we should stand in the helm. The 6 of us and all our bags squeezed into the 3’x 4’ shelter – but it was the best decision. The waves battered the poor boat all the way to the fish farm – crashing all the way up to the window. Halfway through the trip, I angled my head to look at the deck behind us. Everything was soaked. A kiddie-pool of water sloshed around the pit Andrea put us in. Thank you fishermen, you saved us from certain drenching.
But the adventure wasn’t over yet. Once in the fish farm, we had to transfer to a larger boat. The fishery wasn’t protected from the winds or the waves. Our boat pulled up to its larger brother, fighting the water that pushed it away. The step up to the awaiting deck, over a car-tire barrier, is usually not a problem. But when the gap between the boats is fluctuating between 2 and 4 feet – and filled with a frigid froth and the possibility of being crushed – that simple hop is daunting. Before I even had to deal with that, I had to get to the portside stern … from the exact opposite location. Crouching low and holding on to the tarp-covered lump in the center of the deck, I tried to pace myself with the waves. One – two – three crashing over – go! The wind must have broken the wave pattern. The boat dropped starboard into a deeper trench than any of us expected. My center of gravity was still too high and I felt myself start to fall. The instant reaction to that feeling is to throw yourself the other way – away from the water. The fisherman behind me grabbed my jacket sleeve. But if I was going over, he was going with me. There was just nothing to hold on to fast enough. We both toppled over into the next set of waves.
Gotcha! Okay, so everything but the very last line of the last paragraph is true. Just keeping you on your toes. Really, the fisherman and my involuntary lurching towards the center of the deck kept me – us – on the boat. Julia, watching me from the helm, gasped. Her turn was next. I couldn’t turn around to see how she was doing. I still needed to make it to the other corner of the deck. Once there, the fisherman on the larger boat waved me up and another one on my deck held out a hand to help me with the leap. Andrea, still on the small boat with me, started yelling in Italian. Lucky for me, No is the same in Italian as English. The rest of the mad string of words, however, was not the same. Apparently she wanted the fishermen to wait. What they saw as a minor inconvenience, but all-in-a-days-work, challenged us a little more. I was the first to eventually make the leap. Thankfully, my legs are long and the fisherman on the higher deck offered a steady hand. A deep breath, spring up from the heels, bend the knees. And I was up – and stumbling across the bigger deck with the inertia of my historic leap. Julia was not so lucky. She ended up climbing up the tires strapped to the side of the boat. I think Andrea made the jump.
The waves barely rocked the comparatively massive boat we suddenly found ourselves aboard. After the dingy of a boat we rolled over the waves in and the adventure of getting off of it, the sudden stability was almost unnerving. Once we adjusted and got all of the instruments reordered (after having been stuffed in pockets and bags in the face of possibly being swept off deck), the stability really wasn’t that stable. The boat was moving with the waves. The sea spit froth at the wind, who responded with sharpened gusts. The duel only encouraged both elements. A dolphin could have been 5 meters away, but there was no way that we could see it. We only stayed out for three sightingless surveys. Our boat couldn’t even work in those conditions. The three remaining fishery vessels caravanned back to the harbor.
Once actually on solid ground, we stopped by to visit with a local fisherman friend of Andrea and Bruno. He had a bucket of sea life saved from his nets for the aquariums. Since the large bucket was full of water, he drove the three of us and our new species back to base in his little seafoam green car. It was my first time in a car since Feb 2. I was actually enjoying not needing to drive (or be driven), but one short ride wouldn’t ruin my foot-transportation only streak. It was good not to have to walk back in that wind though.
At the house, he came in to talk about the new introductions to the tanks. He gave them two Gorgon’s Stars – sea stars from his nets at 90 meters. Bruno immediately added them to the large tank, along with the snails brought in the bucket. Once the stars had been in the tank long enough to acclimate, one of them started to unfurl its legs. In the bucket, they looked like large stars made of knotted spirals. In the tank, the knots unrolled and long arms covered with hundreds of spandrels stretched out in the new water.
Andrea and Bruno were worried that the tanks would kill the stars scooped up from much colder waters. Once the fisherman left, Andrea, Julia and I took one of the stars on walk to the other coast. The rocks drop off to much deeper depths – hopefully enough to save the star. Andrea tossed it back in. The wind had pushed in dark clouds, which started to open up while we were climbing on the rocks. Despite the cold drizzle, the sight of the clouds rolling in over the island and the sea darkening and the rocks sparkling unperturbed was amazing.
As we ascended and climbed onto the soil at the top of the bank, I remembered our laundry that was out on the line. I looked at Julia, but she was already thinking about the lines. We rushed back, just in time to take down our re-dampened clothes.
After our very short transcription of the three surveys, I continued to work on acoustics. I stopped a little early because I needed to go to the store to find a new watch battery. At the second store that I tried, the woman had the battery and poked at the inside of my watch for 20 minutes trying to get the old one out. Eventually, she made the switch. The watch still didn’t work. That much I didn’t need a translator for. We indicated to one another that she should take the battery out and give me back the watch. I don’t know if it was her fault that it didn’t work, but the prying and jabbing with the pliers and tiny screwdriver probably didn’t help.
I went back to the lab defeated. At least I finished Bioacoutics Part III tonight when I got back! No more listening to old waves or recording whistles or counting seconds or checking milliseconds!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
A note to you
Hello everyone!
I am sorry that it has been so long since my last posts. The weather here has been very bad and internet service has suffered. But I just got up 2 more (slightly short) posts, so I hope you enjoy those.
I have heard through the trans-Atlantic grapevine that I might have a few more readers than before. If you are new to the blog, please send me an email (stephaniedodson@gmail.com) or leave a comment on the blog. It is good to know who I am talking to! And it’s always nice to hear from people back home – even if you don´t think you have anything to say. If it’s English, and even if it isn´t, it is very welcome! I appreciate hearing from you!
Tomorrow is our free day, so I hope to get all caught up on my blogs … assuming the internet is working tomorrow night. Today was the feast day of the patron saint of Golfo Aranci – and I participated in all the events! I made some friends of old Italians, went to mass (!!) and even ate the local saint-day food. For those details, stay tuned! When I get that blog done, I´m sure it will be several pages long! But it should be interesting.
Thanks for stopping by! I look forward to sharing more adventures with you soon!
Sincerely,
Stephanie
I am sorry that it has been so long since my last posts. The weather here has been very bad and internet service has suffered. But I just got up 2 more (slightly short) posts, so I hope you enjoy those.
I have heard through the trans-Atlantic grapevine that I might have a few more readers than before. If you are new to the blog, please send me an email (stephaniedodson@gmail.com) or leave a comment on the blog. It is good to know who I am talking to! And it’s always nice to hear from people back home – even if you don´t think you have anything to say. If it’s English, and even if it isn´t, it is very welcome! I appreciate hearing from you!
Tomorrow is our free day, so I hope to get all caught up on my blogs … assuming the internet is working tomorrow night. Today was the feast day of the patron saint of Golfo Aranci – and I participated in all the events! I made some friends of old Italians, went to mass (!!) and even ate the local saint-day food. For those details, stay tuned! When I get that blog done, I´m sure it will be several pages long! But it should be interesting.
Thanks for stopping by! I look forward to sharing more adventures with you soon!
Sincerely,
Stephanie
Pictures for March 8
Layer cakes of rock.
Bruno and the black rockfish.
Looking north. With better visibility, you would be able to see Corsica.
The tide pools. Sorry - I forgot to rotate it! And now its too late to upload again.
How many mechanics...
March 9, Sunday
How many mechanics does it take to replace a light bulb?
If they are Italian mechanics, you probably won’t be able to find one that will do it at all - but definitely not when they tell you or for the price they tell you. If it was the mechanic that told you that the old bulb burnt out, you had better try the light switch before you jump into any hasty business deals.
I woke up at 7:15 for a rushed version of our standard breakfast. Then it was off-to-the-harbor to meet the mechanic again. This is the second time that he has come up from Olbia – a trip that he won’t make for less than 100 euros, and then there is the cost of whatever he is actually doing. By the time Julia and I returned to the Spartana from the closed phone card store, the mechanic was done with his tinkering and it was time to take her out for a (second) trial run with the (second) mechanic.
From my spot out on the stern – no need to get in the way – everything seemed to be going well. That is, until smoke started pouring out of the cabin. The port engine was the culprit. The mechanic pointed his handheld infrared detector at the thudding tangle of red metal. No one seemed that concerned, so Julia and I didn’t bring it up. Despite the smoke, we had very good visibility and it was a pleasant trip around the bay. Luna, who doesn’t like the roar of the engines or the vibrations that rattle every hinge, sat on my lap. We both looked for dolphins, but everyone was out of the bay this morning. An hour later, we docked without the hitting anything and without needing to be towed. That in itself made it a successful trip. But even aside from that, I think the Spartana passed.
“The other boat” – which was until recently the only boat – also needed some mechanical attention. Bruno and Andrea have been so focused on the Spartana that their poor fiberglass boat has been neglected. Today, Bruno remembered to ask the mechanic to look at it. So while they went off to do that, Andrea put us to drying the boat (since it had been out of the harbor for an hour and shouldn’t really get wet – like, say, a boat can) before running off to “the other boat.” Julia and I dried the upper deck and the railings, wherever more water might be able to drip from.
In the meantime, Bruno paddled “the other boat” around the harbor and to the ramp. The mechanic had disappeared, but apparently the decision was to remove this engine. The three of us met Bruno at the ramp, where we threw him lines and tied off. We pulled the stern around and drug the poor boat from plank to plank up the ramp. With the engine on dry ground, our work was done. Bruno spent at least 90 minutes getting the engine off, or at least loosened. We asked if we could clean the boat, but he said that the algae would come off later. We asked if we could help unscrew the engine pieces, but he said “its okay.” So for an hour and a half, we pretty much just stood in the harbor – and attracted attention. Old Italian men came over to check out the activity. The Spanish biologist, his even more-foreign interns of the season and an opened motor were too much to pass up.
Eventually, Andrea, Julia and I went back to the Spartana to do some of the never-ending, never-evident, rarely-needed work there. Today – after at least 5 weeks of attempts – we finally attached the ladder. When they took it apart in December, they didn’t take pictures of the assembly. Andrea did save all of the hardware in a separate bag. And then she lost it for two months. She stumbled upon it recently, but couldn’t remember how it all attached. Last week, she and a fisherman friend try to attach it. They couldn’t get it. Today, for reasons still unclear, it (literally) all came together. With three people working on it, the pieces were twisted, wrenched, plied, slid, rotated and bolted into place. Julia celebrated the moment with Andrea’s firework dance. Pumped up on our recent success and obvious (ie: visible) progress, we set to work on the hatch covers. And then – the luck ran out. Andrea decided that she doesn’t like the way that the new brackets sit on the frame of the boxes, so she is going to buy something else. We tried to explain to her that it was just the unevenness of the edges, but she still thinks they sell a bracket for that. Defeated again, we locked up the screws and left.
We made it as far as “the other boat” before stopping to re-examine the problem with the engine. I have noticed that people here do a lot of looking at a problem, but usually not so much fixing it. Andrea has probably spent hours looking at the hatch cover and brackets. People look down into a boat half-sunk after a storm, and shake their heads. Their hands stay in their pockets. Instead of standing around looking at a problem that we can’t fix, I left to take some pictures and meet them back at the house. Julia had already split off to go to the ATM. They all beat me back to the house – Julia had left early, Bruno rode his bike and Andrea (who I never saw pass me) got a ride from a fisherman. When I walked in, Andrea had already started cooking lunch – on my day to cook. I don’t know why everyone was suddenly in a rush – the rest of the morning was the usual slow-slow-slower pace. But it didn’t matter. Andrea was happy to cook – I got to do dishes for her. At least she made pasta con acciuge as the programme directed. Its another of my favorites!
After lunch dishes, the real Sunday finally started: free time. No laundry. No cleaning. No transcription. No boat frustrations. Of course, there was typing and picture taking. I am trying to figure out where else in Sardinia I want to visit during my 3 days at the end of my internship. Its not a lot of time, but I am not looking to visit anywhere long enough to get a good sense of the culture. By the time I get there, I will be fluent in Sardinian culture. I hate to say it, but I am looking forward to being a tourist. Reading through Julia’s Italy travel guide, some very touristy attractions sounded very nice – like gelato shop with a glass floor and 50 flavors all hand-served by the owner Giuseppe. I bet he wears a white and red striped apron and has a huge mustache to go with it. Wherever else I end up on this island, I have to see Giuseppe and his gelato wonders.
Maybe its just the thought of something served cold and without pasta…
How many mechanics does it take to replace a light bulb?
If they are Italian mechanics, you probably won’t be able to find one that will do it at all - but definitely not when they tell you or for the price they tell you. If it was the mechanic that told you that the old bulb burnt out, you had better try the light switch before you jump into any hasty business deals.
I woke up at 7:15 for a rushed version of our standard breakfast. Then it was off-to-the-harbor to meet the mechanic again. This is the second time that he has come up from Olbia – a trip that he won’t make for less than 100 euros, and then there is the cost of whatever he is actually doing. By the time Julia and I returned to the Spartana from the closed phone card store, the mechanic was done with his tinkering and it was time to take her out for a (second) trial run with the (second) mechanic.
From my spot out on the stern – no need to get in the way – everything seemed to be going well. That is, until smoke started pouring out of the cabin. The port engine was the culprit. The mechanic pointed his handheld infrared detector at the thudding tangle of red metal. No one seemed that concerned, so Julia and I didn’t bring it up. Despite the smoke, we had very good visibility and it was a pleasant trip around the bay. Luna, who doesn’t like the roar of the engines or the vibrations that rattle every hinge, sat on my lap. We both looked for dolphins, but everyone was out of the bay this morning. An hour later, we docked without the hitting anything and without needing to be towed. That in itself made it a successful trip. But even aside from that, I think the Spartana passed.
“The other boat” – which was until recently the only boat – also needed some mechanical attention. Bruno and Andrea have been so focused on the Spartana that their poor fiberglass boat has been neglected. Today, Bruno remembered to ask the mechanic to look at it. So while they went off to do that, Andrea put us to drying the boat (since it had been out of the harbor for an hour and shouldn’t really get wet – like, say, a boat can) before running off to “the other boat.” Julia and I dried the upper deck and the railings, wherever more water might be able to drip from.
In the meantime, Bruno paddled “the other boat” around the harbor and to the ramp. The mechanic had disappeared, but apparently the decision was to remove this engine. The three of us met Bruno at the ramp, where we threw him lines and tied off. We pulled the stern around and drug the poor boat from plank to plank up the ramp. With the engine on dry ground, our work was done. Bruno spent at least 90 minutes getting the engine off, or at least loosened. We asked if we could clean the boat, but he said that the algae would come off later. We asked if we could help unscrew the engine pieces, but he said “its okay.” So for an hour and a half, we pretty much just stood in the harbor – and attracted attention. Old Italian men came over to check out the activity. The Spanish biologist, his even more-foreign interns of the season and an opened motor were too much to pass up.
Eventually, Andrea, Julia and I went back to the Spartana to do some of the never-ending, never-evident, rarely-needed work there. Today – after at least 5 weeks of attempts – we finally attached the ladder. When they took it apart in December, they didn’t take pictures of the assembly. Andrea did save all of the hardware in a separate bag. And then she lost it for two months. She stumbled upon it recently, but couldn’t remember how it all attached. Last week, she and a fisherman friend try to attach it. They couldn’t get it. Today, for reasons still unclear, it (literally) all came together. With three people working on it, the pieces were twisted, wrenched, plied, slid, rotated and bolted into place. Julia celebrated the moment with Andrea’s firework dance. Pumped up on our recent success and obvious (ie: visible) progress, we set to work on the hatch covers. And then – the luck ran out. Andrea decided that she doesn’t like the way that the new brackets sit on the frame of the boxes, so she is going to buy something else. We tried to explain to her that it was just the unevenness of the edges, but she still thinks they sell a bracket for that. Defeated again, we locked up the screws and left.
We made it as far as “the other boat” before stopping to re-examine the problem with the engine. I have noticed that people here do a lot of looking at a problem, but usually not so much fixing it. Andrea has probably spent hours looking at the hatch cover and brackets. People look down into a boat half-sunk after a storm, and shake their heads. Their hands stay in their pockets. Instead of standing around looking at a problem that we can’t fix, I left to take some pictures and meet them back at the house. Julia had already split off to go to the ATM. They all beat me back to the house – Julia had left early, Bruno rode his bike and Andrea (who I never saw pass me) got a ride from a fisherman. When I walked in, Andrea had already started cooking lunch – on my day to cook. I don’t know why everyone was suddenly in a rush – the rest of the morning was the usual slow-slow-slower pace. But it didn’t matter. Andrea was happy to cook – I got to do dishes for her. At least she made pasta con acciuge as the programme directed. Its another of my favorites!
After lunch dishes, the real Sunday finally started: free time. No laundry. No cleaning. No transcription. No boat frustrations. Of course, there was typing and picture taking. I am trying to figure out where else in Sardinia I want to visit during my 3 days at the end of my internship. Its not a lot of time, but I am not looking to visit anywhere long enough to get a good sense of the culture. By the time I get there, I will be fluent in Sardinian culture. I hate to say it, but I am looking forward to being a tourist. Reading through Julia’s Italy travel guide, some very touristy attractions sounded very nice – like gelato shop with a glass floor and 50 flavors all hand-served by the owner Giuseppe. I bet he wears a white and red striped apron and has a huge mustache to go with it. Wherever else I end up on this island, I have to see Giuseppe and his gelato wonders.
Maybe its just the thought of something served cold and without pasta…
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