Ravello

So this year was a big birthday for me (still having a hard time adjusting) and instead of having a party to celebrate I thought it best to escape. Andy Reid and I went to Ravello on the almalfi coast. It was perfect. It is this tiny little village hanging on to the edge of a cliff. We stayed in an old monastary and because it was January we basically had the whole place to ourselves.

The first night we ate dinner at this little restaurant where the husband took our order and the wife was back in the kitchen cooking. She later came out and asked us if we like it and scolded Reid for not eating enough. “Mangia! Mangia!” she tells Reid and then brings out an arm full of oranges for him to eat. We liked it so much we ate there the next night too.

The next day we went to Villa Cimbrone and leisurely strolled through their gardens. I found where I want to renew my vows! It is this terrace that over-looks the world. It is called the Terrace of Infinity (or something like that). It was amazing! Unfortunately Andy would not step foot on it (afraid of heights) so it looks like I will need a “stand in” for the renewal service.

‘death by needle’ bin

The other day Kate and I had some blood work done for a physical. A local lab was recommended by the Embassy Health Unit. Kate went back to get her blood drawn while I filled out paperwork. After I finished with the paperwork I went into the next room to find the doctor squirting kate’s blood from the ‘plunger needle thing’ into an open-aired tube. I always assumed that the blood container was directly connected to the needle. I guess not in Italy. The blood was just sitting there with no top. It was daring me: “I bet you’ll faint - you wuss”. “No”, I countered. “I will NOT faint”.

And I didn’t faint. Score one: Andy. Then it was my turn with the needle...

It started off so well. The doctor stuck in the needle in, plunged away, and then squirted it into the glass tube. No fainting. Score two: Andy. The doctor put a bandaid on, and then walked away while saying something in Italian. Kate walked out of the room to pay the bill. I felt sure of myself, and so decided to walk around the room a bit. Everything was fine until I got to the corner where the biohazard bin was located. In the U.S. the biohazard bin is sealed and locked, with a one-way hole to put stuff in. Not in Italy. As you can see by the picture, it was just an open box filled with bloody used equipment. What’s hard to see in the picture is the blood splattered on the wall, as if the doctor throws the needles like a frustrated writer throws a crumpled up piece of paper into a trash can. I snuck a quick photo with my phone and didn’t get caught - score three: Andy.

As I put the phone back in my pocket I looked down to see my bandaid covered with blood. Looks like the doctor nipped an artery. Then I started to faint. Game End: Italy wins again. “Kate!” I yelled as a stumbled back (fortunately not forward into the ‘death by needle’ bin. Kate ran in. Then came the doctor. They laid me down. The doctor said something again in Italian, and made hand gestures to insinuate that I needed to keep my elbow bent and direct pressure to the bandaid. (I guess that’s what he said before - I need to learn Italian...).

Reid’s first day of school

We decided Reid should start school right after christmas. Andy and I decided to enroll him in an Italian school with the hopes he would become fluent in Italain. These are purely selfish motives, as we look forward to the day he can be our permanent translator. That, and the school is literally 3 blocks down the street. After much anxiety the big day arrives. Reid was very excited for his first day. It was all smiles as we got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed our teeth, and off we went.

Upon arrival the scene was truly Italian: kids running everywhere, frazzled teachers, and nuns walking the halls. It would be an understatement to say it was overwhelming to a child who likes to eat his peas one at a time. It was probably closer to a night mare. But like good parents we are we left him to his fate. When I came to pick him up he seemed a bit shell shocked. “They don’t speak any English” he tells me astonished. “But that’s ok”, he continues “I only got into two fights...” Since that day school has a bit of an adjustment for our little guy. He likes it when we travel because he doesn’t have to go. And he has recently informed us that he refuses to learn Italian... rats! our plot has been foiled.