twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?"

Month: March 2007

  • no place like rome

    The colossem. Candy shops. Melon and mint gelato on one cone?! Up and down and up and down and up and down the Spanish Steps. Camille ate ravioi in creme sauce twice and is now craving it on a regular basis.

    Peter’s conference keeps him busy while we spend half a day at the first toy store we’ve seen in seven months. We wandered the Villa Borghese with another family that Peter met last spring at orientation, they have been so gracious to tolerate us, especially Stefan the wild child. It’s like we came here with friends.

    We were looking at the photos outside a restaurant of the famous people that have eaten there, Sophia Lauren, George Cloony, Pope John Paul. The picture of the pope is one in which he is playing boules. Stefan said, “And there is a famous bowler!” I stole Atya’s joke and said, “Yes, but he’s better known for his other work.”

    Spanishstepsfountain

    We have also gotten a rough version of the bid list, listing 25 or so cities in the world, one of which we will be calling home in 2008.

  • roman holiday

    “What if lightening came in the hole?” asked Stefan as we all gaped at the circle of blue sky and shaft of light coming into the Pantheon. We can step outside and there is the whole sky, clear and blue; why is that circle of sky and shaft of light so awe-inspiring?

    The Romans don’t want to put away the furs, so they are still wearing coats. It’s not that cold, but a little chilly for Stefan to be in flip-flops, the only shoes we brought for him. I wanted to get him some 1930’s looking high-top t-straps, but he would not go for it. So his new shoes are more modern, they have a wing-tip design I like, and he says you can run as fast as Spiderman in them. So we are all happy.

    Now it’s teatime. We are back in the room, trying out the new chalkboard and markers and tiny parking lot for toy cars, waiting for Peter to get home and tell us about his day over pizza.

    Camille_roman_hotel

  • From 104 – 35.6 degrees fahrenheit

    My week leading up to our departure for Rome was quite stressful. I don’t know if it was all the preparation with finishing up a lot of small projects, a conflict with a colleague, or a patient who had an unexpected outcome and I had to Medevac out to London that made it so sleepless. Plus our dear friends are leaving for Hawaii. He’s coming back but Sirianna and Eila won’t be so we had our last get together before we rushed home to pack and catch the flight. We all refused to cry because we know we’re friends for life and nothing could ever change that (but I did fight back a few tears except for one which fell into my wine glass when no one was looking ). Oh! And I had to go get my haircut as well.

    The plane left at 12:35AM and I was exhausted. Still, I had trouble sleeping on the plane. I reach a point after about 3 hours where it feels like my neck muscles have given up after all those head jerks and there is no position for relief. At 2AM I was vaguely aware of Camille eating the dinner they brought. At 3:15AM my neck snapped and I opened my eyes, only to see her laughing with a set of head phones on watching old cartoons. We landed in Paris on schedule but they couldn’t get the catwalk to work so we sat and waited on the plane for over an hour before they finally got some stairs. People were standing in the isles and they kept announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize but we have a broken finger.” You can imagine where my mind went and the joke I made with that a la Gene Garson style. We missed the connecting flight to Rome. They rescheduled us for a 9:40 flight but since it’s Paris, we really didn’t mind; a magazine stand, a croissant and coffee, a beer? Why not? Everyone else is having one!

    Then we get onto the flight to Rome. There is a strange and menacing vibration and drilling sound heard from under the plane. The plane heads for the runway with frequent lurching stops (no relief to my poorly recovering neck). “Ladies and gentlemen, we unfortunately have a problem with our brakes and will have to return to the terminal. Thank you for your understanding.” Then, after a few more lurches, “We have reset our computer braking system and have rectified the problem so we will procede to take off.” Still a bronco ride while taxiing followed by an announcement that they are changing the braking system computer. “Thank you for understanding.” We sat just off the runway while they worked on the problem. Then, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I apologize for my premature optimism. We still have a braking problem and will have to return to the terminal. Thank you for your understanding.” Fine with me! After the first announcement, I had already written down “Problem with braking system! Pilot given the go ahead for take off anyway!” on the air sickness bag in case we were found and there was an investigation. At least the family back home could get a few mil.

    We stopped halfway back to the terminal, waited 20 minutes for a bus which took half the passengers back while the rest of us waited another 20 minutes for the bus to return. Back in the terminal there was chaos since nobody knew where to go or when to expect the next plane. Finally, they got us back onto the bus and delivered us back to what could have been the very same aircraft we had just gotten off of.

    We arrived in Rome at 4:30 PM. Our cab driver out raced all the other cabs for the hole shot and managed to write down some recommended “tipoco” Roman restaurantes that where not tourist traps while skillfully driving 100 miles an hour on a tight curvey highway. The drive in through the city was beautiful, right past the colloseum and all the antiquity. The hotel is beautiful. There was shocking news that it is against the law to have more than 3 people in a room (who passed that law I wonder?) and that we need to pay for an extra room but we negotiated and they compromized so we have to pay an obscene extra euros a night for an extra bed they brought to our room. Aren’t we lucky?

    Things quickly became better after our doorman directed us to a very nice Pizzaria just a 5 minute walk from the hotel “Il Pomodorino.” A brick oven pizza was ready in 10 minutes! And what a pizza! Why does it take so long to get a pizza in Niamey? Dina had a salad where they walk with her and she points out from all the different salads what she wants and they put generous portions on the plate and serve it to her with a fine wine and San Peligrino water of course. My sausage gorgonzolla pizza was unbelievably delicious. A fine meal. Kids are happy. We’re all happy. Just a short walk in the cold night back to our room. Ahhhhh!

  • american ladle: week 2

    Leopold is having a panic attack: his friend from Ghana hasn’t gotten here yet, so he doesn’t have anyone to help him in the snack bar who speaks English. I called around and found two people who might be able to help him, two women who worked at the snack bar in the past. One of them has a job only working on the weekends, and she is looking for other work, so it’s sounding hopeful.

    And! One of the three competitors for the snack bar prize has dropped out. Jul, who was suppose to have his debut this week, resigned before he even began. We gave Leopold so much advice this weekend I’m sure he’d like to do the same thing.

  • craft movement

    The first time a sewing machine guy clanged his scissors at me I had one of those paranoid American moments: “Why is he threatening me with his scissors?!” I was running at the time, and I ran faster.

    Everybody here lives behind a wall, including Nigeriennes. Maybe behind the wall will be a hut, but there will be a wall or you don’t own the property. As the sewing machine guy strolls around he clangs his scissors open and shut and it sounds like a bell. So, like the ice cream man at home, we hear the sewing machine guy when he’s in the neighborhood. I’ve seen them stop to work at someone’s house, sitting in the entryway to the yard, on the ground, repairing a pile of clothes. I would need an extra arm to work those machines, it has a crank on the side they turn by hand.

    Sewing_machine_guy

  • the case for school uniforms

    Camille_class_pic_20067

    Camille_class_pic_uniforms

  • two reasons Peter joined the foreign service even though he hates reptiles, but oh well

    Yesterday Stefan asked me this question:

    What’s McDonalds?

    And later Camille asked:

    What’s a Twinkie?

    And don’t you love a lizard that dreams big?

    Rider

  • american ladle

    Leo_smaller

    Okay, so you know Leopold, you’ve heard us rave about our fabulous cook. While he was cleaning this fish for us this morning I thought about what my friend Elisabeth’s mom, who was posted in Cameroon, said. “It’s not that I needed a cook, it’s that I didn’t know how to pluck a chicken.” Now I don’t have Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods to clean and cut up my fruits and vegetables–and fish–for me, I have Leo. But maybe not for long.

    Normally you can get a sandwich or a plate of pasta for lunch at the embassy, they will even bring it to your desk. A month or so ago the guy who ran the “snack bar” as it’s called, saved enough money selling me fruit salad and ice tea to move to another country and open a restaurant. What country? Rumors abound. Okay, okay, Ghana. Or maybe the US. At any rate, the chef at the snack bar has a captive clientel of hungry workers who can’t run to Whole Foods (ah, Portland), or in Peter’s case, eat lunch off a patient’s unwanted tray.

    When we heard they would be hiring a new chef to run the place, we encouraged Leopold to apply. Once he wrote up his CV, which he’d never done before, we discovered he is already running a small restaurant on the other side of the river, and has cooked four meals a day for 30 people at time for weeks at time when the cloud research group was here. And the missionary community orders his capitaine brochettes by the hundreds. So it’s not just us convinced of his fabulousness.

    Many applicants submitted CVs and application packets. From that group, Leo and two others were chosen to each run the snack bar for a week on a trial basis. After all three have given their performances, everybody at the embassy will vote to choose which of the candidates is their favorite. And that person will be awarded a record contract, I mean, that candidate will be the proud new manager of the snack bar.

    This week is a Ghanaian guy, next week a French guy, named Jul, and the last week, alas, the week we are in Rome–won’t be able to accuse us of ballot stuffing!–is Leopold.

    We know Leo has the yo factor. Can he bring it to the snack bar?

  • package design love

    Farine

  • dolls march on

    Djamila, in the red Oilily skirt, has a notebook because she goes to english lessons on Saturday.Doll_line_up