Bethy Beth: Accidental Tourist or Proud American Citizen?

Well, here's a dilemma: I set up two separate Blogs By Beth, in the hopes of managing my in-town/out-of-town split personality. But noooo, I had to go and put that Chesterson quote in the heading, and whadyaknow, I really do feel like a foreigner in my own country. Typically, this takes one of two forms.

Exhibit A
late October 2008; Turin, Italy:

-Surreal, part I. Getting American ballots sent to an Italian address. I know they verify I am an American citizen over the age of 18 somewhere during the whole voting process, but still. Surreal.

-Surreal (plus astonishing, demoralizing -- talk about Shock and Awe!), part II: [reading to myself] "What's this -- Eliminates Rights of Same-Sex Couples to Marry. Initiative Constitutional Amendment?? -- WHAT?? No way. Surely I read that wrong -- I must have missed the 'not' somewhere..."

I read it another few times, then go Googling on my computer to see if a change of media might give me a more Enlightened answer. To which my conclusion is, "Holy Crap, California! I leave you alone for ONE MINUTE (okay, more like 5 months), and you come up with THIS?? This is Marriage PROTECTION?? Protection my a**!! Hmm -- on 2nd thought, never mind..."

I quell my disbelief long enough to connect the big fat arrow under NO, while consoling myself, "Heck. I've already threatened not to come back if Obama doesn't win. I'll just add a tiny qualification stipulating "No on 8", no big deal!" Unfortunately, it was a big deal. Still is. Damn.

Anyhow, moving on.

Exhibit B
late January 2009; San Francisco, CA, *U*S*A*:

That's B for *Barack*, of course! Meet my mom and Aunt Nelda to watch simulcast of the inauguration on The Big Screen, Civic Center Plaza. My fellow San Fran Hipsters sing the Darth Vader theme during shots of Dick Cheney and hurl "Good Riddance's" upon seeing most famous person ever to read "My Pet Goat" during a national emergency.

Afterward, we discover a beautiful tapestry kinda thing that people have been signing all morning. I want to write something, though lacking any witticisms of my own, I call on Reverend Lowry's recent words -- words which rippled 1.7 miles from Mr. President's dimples all the way down the Mall to the Washington Memorial, "We ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around. When yellow will be mellow, when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right"....!

Yes, sir, right away sir, Mr. Spritely 87-year-old I-don't-clip my eyebrows Lowery, I'll do my best!!

That's the thing, I really prefer Exhibit B over Exhibit A. They both have the potential to make me feel like a foreigner, but one results from expecting the worst and being pleasantly surprised, while the other -- well, you know, it's the opposite. I'm hopin' for a solid 4 years of Exhibit B, and hurrah hurrah, I've got company. See below.

Exhibit C:
Me with my new friend & Partner in Hope. I think we may have gotten our shirts mixed up...

Un giorno dolce e amaro

Sigh...the day has finally come. My visa has run out and somehow, so have my Euros.
Guess I have to come back to the United States!

When departing for this odyssey last May, I made faint threats that if this Elekchun Bid-ness don't get over soon, I would defy my papers and just stay in Italy covertly forever and ever. Luckily, some of the American people have some sense! In honor of that, Trevor and I joyfully marched into Ignacio's on Wednesday and commanded him, "Ignacio! Per favore, due cappucini per Obama!"

So yes, return to my native country is bittersweet. It will be nice to have a president I am not alternately enraged and embarrassed by. But on the other hand, there will be a severe lack of 3 Euro wine, gelato outside my door, and pasta con seppia...

I have learned much, some of which I'll be able to detail on the various planes I take today. I'll begin with Rule Number One. See the picture for more info. :-)

Just doin' my job...

So like a good American, I started worrying as soon as I got up this morning, even though it was still Monday, even in New York! And then I donned my Obama "Dare to Hope" shirt and had Trevor take a picture of me at the corner where I've been seeing posters for the Democratic Party all Summer (and thus far, Autumn as well)...

My "ad" got lots of exposure too, since Katherine and I had the fortune of going to 2 different post offices (with cafe stop in between) to mail our respective packages. That is, it seems huge rice paper with no words goes out of one post office, while 30 books, of which none have been read to completion, goes out of another. Good thing it's been raining all day.

Well, now Trevor and I are being Silicon Valley types, sitting at our favorite cafe ("Ignacio's" for those of you in the know...), not for sociability so much as piggy backing on the free, and mysteriously always available, wireless connection....

Anyhow, I've done my possible (sent in our absentee ballots weeks ago!), and I'm depending on you East Coast through West Coast time zones to finish out the landslide...or gee, at least produce a definitive win!

Dare to Hope! Audace e speranza!

Tour guides of the highest order

Going on your 2nd guided bike tour is a special place, where one feels qualified to comment on the in's and out's of arranging and/or biking a bike tour -- after all, at the end of it all, I have TWICE as much experience! (Doncha love statistics? It reminds me of what my dad has said all these years -- a statistician is someone who can drown in a foot of water -- which I believe means the statistician is either dumb, or regrettably and highly accident prone...)

Anyhow, this bike tour is a bit different, in that Lorenzo arranged all the bike routes and hotel arrangements, though he has not been physically with us as we bike (to date) our 80 kilometers. This is not to say he is any better or worse than My Favorite Bulgarian Guide ever, Andre -- moreso that we were on our own upon biking toward Montabano, and thus, what a relief to come upon the happiest non-yippy super-fast guide-dog of Northern Italy, whose name is Snoopy! (Pictures to come)

Super-fast Snoopy is most assuredly is not a beagle as one might think -- something much more fluffy (which is about as close I'll likely come to knowing his breed...) He accompanied us over hill and dale to, and through, Montabano, where we had hopes of finding a comodo cafe to sit and read our books. Mind you, we did not find said cafe, though he did give us a nice looped tour through the town, waiting patiently at each turn to ensure we were going the right way.

I found out his name was Snoopy as we were finishing up our loop, and an adorable Italian nonna was calling his name from her balcony...though on 2nd thought, he didn't stop, turn around, or give any sign of having heard her, so maybe his name isn't Snoopy...or maybe he's just the typical adolescent.

Tonight, we are having yet another wine tasting. Barbera Superiore is thus far the winner -- but keep in mind this judgement come from a girl who rates and accepts classical music on how bombastic it is.

To the hills!

So yay, now that we've biked 300 or so kilometers through the rolling hills of Bulgaria -- we are off to do it again! But this time, the rolling hills of Piemonte, wherein one can take a break from wine tasting with a little bit o' bike riding.

Good thing we have such a lovely weather forecast for this week!

Dreams in Italian -- just in time!

So, in Elizabeth Gilbert's possibly ubiquitous chick-empowerment novel, Eat, Pray, Love, she talks about how, after living in Italy for several months, one magical day, the clouds parted and angels sang*, and she noticed her brain had finally made the switch to not only speaking in Italian, but thinking in Italian as well. During these past 5 months, I kept lamenting, in my Dark Norwegian way, how I would not experience said parting clouds and singing angels, since I was 1) mostly hanging around English-speaking Americans, and 2) constantly abandoning Turin to have a Guinness in Ireland or a bike ride in Bulgaria.

And yet! I just now realized I had a somewhat incomprehensible dream last night about buying some espadrilles in some resort-y Italianate town, and then talking to the lady, entirely a Italiano about the adjustments I needed (seems the straps were too long?), and how my friends were on the boat waiting for me. (A boat? Where? What friends? Were they speaking Italian too?? I told you it was incomprehensible.)

So yay, now I kind of know what she was talking about. Good thing I have a whole 13 days left in this country to practice my oh-so-fluid Italian. Though on the other hand (the non-sinister one maybe?), turns out our visa is actually for 166 days PLUS ONE HOUR! Whew-ee! That's an increase of .02635 per cent, or so!


*Editor's note: not a direct quote -- more of an "artist's interpretation" of said passage. :-)

T-15 to blastoff

Wow, what a few weeks it has been! We've had copious visits from many Californians, and in the middle, a 3 week Bulgaria-Turkey-Greece-Croatia-(Bosnia & Herzegovina)-
return-to-Turin-by-way-of-Venice trip!

We are finally back home, and I keep hoping I might get some pictures and some words up, but alas, I am back in the familiar territory of last May, affectionately known as How the Heck Do I Pack Up This House and Fit All My Possessions into Two Suitcases Before We Leave on November 7th?

Yes -- the proverbial clock is nearing its proverbial midnight and I am dangerously close to turning into a pumpkin (why do we girls always say that?? Nowhere in that story does Cinderella turn into a pumpkin!).

So fine, I'll not be turning into a pumpkin. Though it's still possible I could turn into a despondent, pouty Americana for want of daily cappuccinos and slow-food gelato. Stay tuned for further developments.