Click for mildly larger images...
Nuf said.
Showing posts with label recap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recap. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Days 26-28, in journal pages
Nuf said.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Day 10, in snippets
Coffee shop? What coffee shop?
It was a wet day. Not nearly as wet and ridiculous as Opononi when Scott and I foolishly decided to go on a hike, thus giving all our clothes (and my backpack) a thorough soak in the rain. But still wet and grey enough to make me seek out a coffee shop to sit and warm my hands on a hot cup of mocha goodness.
But Rotorua doesn't seem to have any concept of coffee shops. "There's a Starbucks down the corner," said a lady at a bookstore. Starbucks?! Never!! I am from the USA. I am not in the USA. I must not go into Starbucks. Or McDonald's. Or Burger King. Or KFC. Even if the latter was wafting delicious fried greasy smells up my nose from a block away. Must… resist… yummy… smell… aggh! So I refused the Starbucks.
But street after street in the grey wet drizzle only revealed café after café. I gave up and settled down in Milly's, a bright yellow-filled café with two bright yellow couches in the corner, which I took as an indication that hanging out for a while would not be frowned upon. I read the local newspaper, wrote lots of postcards (hint: dear readers, I need your address), and sat there far longer than any other customer did. I will resist you Starbucks.
Polynesian Spa. A Minor Quandary
In my infinite wisdom, I decided to change into my swimsuit before heading out to the spa. Less stuff to carry across town, thought I! Then, after a lovely soak in the sulfurous hot pools at the Polynesian Spa, I meandered into the changing room only to encounter a minor quandary. My swimsuit which was my undies was currently drenched in hot sulfuric water. Do I put my clothes on over it and get awkward wet spots? Or do I strip off the wet and awkwardly go commando on all fronts? I eschewed the awkward wet spots.
Wet. It's all wet.
On the way back to the Funky Green Voyager (our freakin awesome hostel), I passed a delicious looking bookstore. Dripping wet swimsuits do not play well with bookstores, so I wrapped the dripping wet swimsuit in my tiny quick dry towel, burrito style. TADA! Burrito swimsuit plays well with delicious bookstore. Back in the hostel, I hop in the shower to unsulfuricize myself. Hop out of the shower. I'm dripping wet. As is my towel. I squeegee myself with the wet towel like you squeegee your windshield clean at the gas station. I still dripped. As did my towel.
Laundry... Surprise!
The tiny quick dry towel and the swimsuit were still sulfuricized even after scrubbing them with detergent in the shower. Gerard, the awesome funky owner of the Funky Green Voyager, came across me preparing to rinse out out my soaking sulfurous swimsuit. "Don't use that tap," he told me. "The water is full of sulfur. Use the tap by the washing machines instead."
Two days ago I did a hand washing blitz of most all of my clothes. (I don't have enough clothes to justify using a washing machine.) It's been cold all over New Zealand, so hanging clothes up results in fail dry. Hence, a hand wash blitz to take full advantage of the $2 dryer. As Owen from Guernsey said, clean laundry is the Holy Grail of backpackers. I had the Holy Grail two days ago. Unfortunately, I attained the Holy Grail by use of the aforementioned sink and tap that spews water full of sulfur. All my clothes are sulfurous. Holy Grail? POOF!
It was a wet day. Not nearly as wet and ridiculous as Opononi when Scott and I foolishly decided to go on a hike, thus giving all our clothes (and my backpack) a thorough soak in the rain. But still wet and grey enough to make me seek out a coffee shop to sit and warm my hands on a hot cup of mocha goodness.
But Rotorua doesn't seem to have any concept of coffee shops. "There's a Starbucks down the corner," said a lady at a bookstore. Starbucks?! Never!! I am from the USA. I am not in the USA. I must not go into Starbucks. Or McDonald's. Or Burger King. Or KFC. Even if the latter was wafting delicious fried greasy smells up my nose from a block away. Must… resist… yummy… smell… aggh! So I refused the Starbucks.
But street after street in the grey wet drizzle only revealed café after café. I gave up and settled down in Milly's, a bright yellow-filled café with two bright yellow couches in the corner, which I took as an indication that hanging out for a while would not be frowned upon. I read the local newspaper, wrote lots of postcards (hint: dear readers, I need your address), and sat there far longer than any other customer did. I will resist you Starbucks.
Polynesian Spa. A Minor Quandary
In my infinite wisdom, I decided to change into my swimsuit before heading out to the spa. Less stuff to carry across town, thought I! Then, after a lovely soak in the sulfurous hot pools at the Polynesian Spa, I meandered into the changing room only to encounter a minor quandary. My swimsuit which was my undies was currently drenched in hot sulfuric water. Do I put my clothes on over it and get awkward wet spots? Or do I strip off the wet and awkwardly go commando on all fronts? I eschewed the awkward wet spots.
Wet. It's all wet.
On the way back to the Funky Green Voyager (our freakin awesome hostel), I passed a delicious looking bookstore. Dripping wet swimsuits do not play well with bookstores, so I wrapped the dripping wet swimsuit in my tiny quick dry towel, burrito style. TADA! Burrito swimsuit plays well with delicious bookstore. Back in the hostel, I hop in the shower to unsulfuricize myself. Hop out of the shower. I'm dripping wet. As is my towel. I squeegee myself with the wet towel like you squeegee your windshield clean at the gas station. I still dripped. As did my towel.
Laundry... Surprise!
The tiny quick dry towel and the swimsuit were still sulfuricized even after scrubbing them with detergent in the shower. Gerard, the awesome funky owner of the Funky Green Voyager, came across me preparing to rinse out out my soaking sulfurous swimsuit. "Don't use that tap," he told me. "The water is full of sulfur. Use the tap by the washing machines instead."
Two days ago I did a hand washing blitz of most all of my clothes. (I don't have enough clothes to justify using a washing machine.) It's been cold all over New Zealand, so hanging clothes up results in fail dry. Hence, a hand wash blitz to take full advantage of the $2 dryer. As Owen from Guernsey said, clean laundry is the Holy Grail of backpackers. I had the Holy Grail two days ago. Unfortunately, I attained the Holy Grail by use of the aforementioned sink and tap that spews water full of sulfur. All my clothes are sulfurous. Holy Grail? POOF!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Hobbiton!, In pictures
Cousin Ben was our driver from Rotorua to Matamata/Hobbiton. He was an extra in LotR as an orc! And he made it into the LotR location guidebook too. He's on the left and his brother is on the right.
Hobbiton! In the toilet. HAH.
Next we see locations of former sets that only have colored posts to hint at their existence:
The red post is where the oak tree stood that Bilbo and Gandalf smoked next to overlooking the party field...
Scott has more detail: http://theyearofthehalfautumn.blogspot.com/
I must get ready for Mitai, a Maori cultural show and hangi dinner, hence this very brief post!
(edit: Two days later brings a lazy night so I've gone back and added stuff. It probably isn't good blog etiquette to not indicate what has been changed, but whatever. I rebel.)
He told us that they were paid crap wages at first. $40 a day, no breaks. Then someone had the bright idea to call up the local union. They all signed up (or however that works) and lo and behold their pay jumped to a decent $140 (or something) per day with breaks. It was interesting to hear how unglorified the job was, especially when Scott and I would gladly jump at the chance to be extras in the Hobbit for no pay at all.
Hobbiton! In the toilet. HAH.
Hobbiton is located in the middle of a large sheep farm.
I'm a huge fan of SHEEPIES!
At the beginning of FotR, Frodo's reading under a tree... this does not show that tree. However, when Frodo jumps up after reading and runs to Gandalf riding along in his cart... yes, it was in this grove of trees...
At the beginning of FotR, Frodo's reading under a tree... this does not show that tree. However, when Frodo jumps up after reading and runs to Gandalf riding along in his cart... yes, it was in this grove of trees...
Wheee!
Sheepies like Hobbiton too.
Potential hobbit holes for The Hobbit? (Click for larger view!)
Our tour guide Benji with a lazy storytelling voice told us his boss has revealed nada.
Remember the field where Bilbo had his massive birthday party?
Benji: Would anyone like to dance on the party field?
Group: (awkward silence)
Fern: (chortling) I do!!!
Group: (awkward silence)
Fern: (chortling) I do!!!
Another girl, there with her sister and mother, decided she wouldn't mind making a fool of herself either, so we walked out into the party field and stood there holding hands while we tried to figure out what dance or dance pose to do. The result is as follows:
Dancing beneath the party tree with the lovely gal Lily. =)
Moments later...
Benji: Would anyone like to hug the party tree?
Group: (awkward silence)
Scott: Wanna?
Fern: (pause) Yeah!
Group: (awkward silence)
Scott: Wanna?
Fern: (pause) Yeah!
Hugging the party tree. We likes the party tree.
Next we see locations of former sets that only have colored posts to hint at their existence:
The red marks the bridge, the blue the mill and the yellow the town. It's crazy how these locations seem so real and permanent in the films but in real life, they're polystyrene and quickly dismantled. Apparently they never completed the "stone" work on the back side of the bridge since they weren't filming from the other side. Smart move.
When Sam and Frodo journey out of the Shire, Sam halts in the middle of a corn field and says "If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been." Well, that was filmed at the red line in this picture. Sam really didn't travel far did he?
The left side of the above lake:
I'm in Bag End!
I'm not in Bag End!
The red post is where the oak tree stood that Bilbo and Gandalf smoked next to overlooking the party field...
Peter Jackson went and found his desired oak tree on another farm and had it brought over to this farm. No big deal right? Well, not really. They took a picture of the tree, cut a branch off, numbered it, took a picture of it, took a picture of the tree again, and repeated the entire process until the entire tree was cut down. They reassembled said tree at the location of the red pole but since the tree was now dead, they had to import leaves from Taiwan to individually attach to the tree. And after all this tedious work and money, how much time did this tree get in the movie? 20 seconds. 20 whole seconds. 15 in The Fellowship, 5 in Return of the King. Does the good the Lord of the Rings movie does for humanity really justify the cost of creating those movies? I don't know.
SHEEPIES! Did you know that lambs have rather long tails? (Just hit the end of lambing season so there are oodles of them around!)
Sheep shearing time. How awkward does this look? Poor sheepy.
Naked sheepy =(
Feeding little lamblets!!
It's still hungry... Sucking on my finger!
Aww...
Then they gave us this deelicious snack at The Shire's Rest.
Scott has more detail: http://theyearofthehalfautumn.blogspot.com/
I must get ready for Mitai, a Maori cultural show and hangi dinner, hence this very brief post!
(edit: Two days later brings a lazy night so I've gone back and added stuff. It probably isn't good blog etiquette to not indicate what has been changed, but whatever. I rebel.)
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Day 4, In Pictures
Our AwesomeNZ (read: Awesome en-zet) tour to Cape Reinga (the farthest north you can go in New Zealand!) departed at a cheery 7:10 AM. Scott and I both woke up around 5:40 AM. Couldn't sleep. =( On the bright side, that gave us time to sit at the beach down the street from our hostel in Paihia and watch the morning light grow. Beautiful no?
Our tour guide was socially awkward and cracked lots of punny jokes that elicit internal groans. He also said to another tour bus driver: "You got the American bunch? YA'LL have a great time!" Then he reverted back to his Kiwi speech peppered with "Sweet as." Likened to the American "Sweet" as far as I know. I still can't help but think, "Sweet as WHAT?!" everytime I hear the expression.
Along the way, we see loads of farm animals (the sheep never fail to crack me up), oodles of gorgeous landscapes aaand... a cow crossing. Cows are funny when they run.
Along the way, we see loads of farm animals (the sheep never fail to crack me up), oodles of gorgeous landscapes aaand... a cow crossing. Cows are funny when they run.
Cape Reinga. Mimi (my finger, or how I started taking pictures of myself at places as a solo traveler) quite enjoyed the view of the Tasman Sea crashing into the Pacific Ocean. The white waves are where they meet over the tippy top of New Zealand! There's an incredibly beautiful Maori legend that pertains to this place. Too tired to retell it now.
The lighthouse at Cape Reinga is good for smooshing...
We headed to this gorgeous beach for lunch. I eschewed chewing food in favor of exploring.
The water was ridiculously clear. So clear that while I was exploring, I jumped off a rock onto what I assumed was a dry spot and ended up with my entire left shoe and sock soaking in ridiculously clear water.
Then... SANDBOARDING!! Or duneboarding. Not sure which. You have to hike up a painfully tall dune... I'd be out of breath even if it wasn't completely sand where your foot keeps sinking and sliding and you're never really sure if you're making upward progress or not.
Then throw yourself down on the board and careeeeeen down the sand! It was rather steep and scary when you look down from the top. Once you're going though? It's exhilirating! I got 4 turns in before we had to head back.
Me and my purple board... (When I picked purple I said, my sister would be proud! That's for you Ershee!)
And then to the 90-mile beach, which isn't really 90 miles, and to see the hole in the rock which is attached to another Maori legend which I'm too tired to recall.
But but but, we picked clams! It was much fun. I got progressively more drenched after each activity. The beach got my shoe/sock/foot soaked. The sandboarding got the bottom half of my pants and spots of my shirt soaked. Clam digging got my entire body from my chest down soaked. The dip between the beach and the sand bar was unexpectedly deep. And I leaned down to clam-dig with my back to the waves. Surprise soak!
This is me eating our clams. We picked much more but gave it to our tour guide instead. And I'm paying for the internet by the MB, hence my refusal to rotate this picture and re-upload it.
Twas a very packed (and expensive) day but it was incredible! Time permitting, we shall return to the regular "On _____" posts tomorrow... But for now, pictures and basic words, since the busy day left little room for my creative juices to flow into a cohesive creative story!
8 AM pickup tomorrow. It's off to bed we go!
(And Scott's blog here for a different perspective: http://theyearofthehalfautumn.blogspot.com/ Between the two of us you just might get a fuller picture of our adventures in the grand ol' en-zet!)
Friday, December 12, 2008
Vierzehn, fünfzehn, sechzehn, siebzehn, achtzehn, neunzehn, zwanzig, einundzwanzig
Friday December 5th, 9 AM :: Neue Wache :: Description
The Neue Wache is the place
The Neue Wache is the placewhere we commemorate the victims
of war and tyranny.
We honor the memory
of the peoples who suffered through war.
We remember their citizens who were persecuted
and who lost their lives.
We remember those killed in action in the World Wars.
We remember the innocent who lost their lives as
a result of war in their homeland, in captivity
and through expulsion.
We remember the millions of Jews who were murdered.
We remember the Sinti and Roma who were murdered.
We remember all those who were killed because of their
origin, homosexuality, sickness or infirmity.
We remember all who were murdered
whose right to life was denied.
We remember the people who had to die
because of their religious or political convictions.
We remember all those who were victims of tyranny
and met their death, though innocent.
We remember the women and men
who sacrificed their lives in resistance to despotic rule.
We honour all who preferred to die rather
than act against their conscience.
We honour the memory of the women and men
who were persecuted and murdered
because they resisted totalitarian dictatorship
after 1945.
of war and tyranny.
We honor the memory
of the peoples who suffered through war.
We remember their citizens who were persecuted
and who lost their lives.
We remember those killed in action in the World Wars.
We remember the innocent who lost their lives as
a result of war in their homeland, in captivity
and through expulsion.
We remember the millions of Jews who were murdered.
We remember the Sinti and Roma who were murdered.
We remember all those who were killed because of their
origin, homosexuality, sickness or infirmity.
We remember all who were murdered
whose right to life was denied.
We remember the people who had to die
because of their religious or political convictions.
We remember all those who were victims of tyranny
and met their death, though innocent.
We remember the women and men
who sacrificed their lives in resistance to despotic rule.
We honour all who preferred to die rather
than act against their conscience.
We honour the memory of the women and men
who were persecuted and murdered
because they resisted totalitarian dictatorship
after 1945.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Sei, sette, otto; Nüün, zää, elf; Twaalf, dertien
Massive amounts of twittering has occurred (http://twitter.com/felcearto) and while the frequency of these travel posts isn't much different (or maybe it's better) than the frequency of my regular semester posts, I'm switching locations so often that it feels like it's been far longer than a week.
So… Amalfi area, Rome, Florence, Venice (Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto)
Then culture shock myself out of Italy through
Zurich (nüün, zää, elf), Amsterdam (twaalf, dertien), and tomorrow: Berlin!
And then?
Culture shock myself back to the U.S. on December 11th. I can't wait!
And since I'm arriving at LAX at night… methinks I'll request In-n-Out for my first meal back because I know there's one nearby.
No scoffing. The familiar holds a very strong pull after three and a half months of the unfamiliar.
I hate to admit how many times I've been tempted to go into a Starbucks or McDonalds or Burger King solely because I was tired of being uncomfortable or unsure about what to order or what to do.
Thus far, what have I learned?
So… Amalfi area, Rome, Florence, Venice (Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto)
Then culture shock myself out of Italy through
Zurich (nüün, zää, elf), Amsterdam (twaalf, dertien), and tomorrow: Berlin!
And then?
Culture shock myself back to the U.S. on December 11th. I can't wait!
And since I'm arriving at LAX at night… methinks I'll request In-n-Out for my first meal back because I know there's one nearby.
No scoffing. The familiar holds a very strong pull after three and a half months of the unfamiliar.
I hate to admit how many times I've been tempted to go into a Starbucks or McDonalds or Burger King solely because I was tired of being uncomfortable or unsure about what to order or what to do.
Thus far, what have I learned?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Cinque
Day 5 :: Florence :: Appreciating Art
(Trying out Twitter since texting access is far more likely than internet access! http://twitter.com/felcearto)
- Saw Fra Angelico's cell paintings, Masaccio's Trinity, all of Florence from the top of the duomo, Donatello's Mary Magdalene, Michelangelo's Pieta and more.
- If that made no sense to you... well, we studied a lot of these things in art history this semester.
- It was really exciting for me to be walking (fairly speedily) through a museum and suddenly stop and recognize a statue (out of a bunch of similar looking statues in a room) and remember (vaguely) what I'd learned about it. And sculptures especially look quite different in real life!
- It's never really hit me so hard before that when you teach someone about something, they'll actually care about it. Something to remember the next time I get mad at someone for not caring...
(Trying out Twitter since texting access is far more likely than internet access! http://twitter.com/felcearto)
Monday, November 24, 2008
Uno, Due, Tre, Quattro
I had written out a nice longish report on my first three days but I have no way of getting it on this computer... flash drives not allowed in internet cafes... bah!
Hence, the short version as far as I can remember it.
Day 1 :: Sorrento, Positano, Amalfi :: Saying goodbye
Hence, the short version as far as I can remember it.
Day 1 :: Sorrento, Positano, Amalfi :: Saying goodbye
- Too many goodbyes said as all of us went our separate ways.
- I learned that 'home' is something I'll never take for granted again, even if 'home' is just a place to stay for the night. In this case, I had a place to stay AND the company of two amazing gals, Laura and Emily D. It was such a relief to navigate and whatnot on the first day on my own with the knowledge that I had them to go back to!
- Unlike my normal plan every moment self, I decided which train to take and bought the tickets only after I checked out of the hotel and didn't have a clue about where I'd be staying once I got to Rome.
- I never really appreciated 'accommodations' listings until this day. Thank goodness for Lonely Planet! I picked the hostel closest to the train station and, thankfully, it worked perfectly.
- Rome rocks because there's so much to see everywhere that I can easily navigate from the hostel to the Vatican by way of sight hopping rather than trying to remember street names. Went to my first mass. In St Peter's in the Vatican. Whoot! (Even though I had no idea what was going on)
- Left mass only to see a massive massive massive crowd in the square. Couldn't figure out where the heck the Pope was except that it was up since everyone was looking up.
- Became a sardine as I tried to make my way into the square. I've never been so smooshed in my life. Person behind you moves, so do you. Sardines to the max.
- Saw the Pope! When he had less than a minute left in his blessing. But still! I saw the small dot that was the Pope! And I have a picture. A blurry picture but a picture nonetheless. Whoot!
- Went to the Colosseum only to find that I had forgotten to put my memory card back in. Colosseum. No camera. I did it oldschool and broke out the sketchbook. aww yeah.
- Went to the Palatine and the Roman Forum. And got massively rained on. And learned that I should never wear my grey pants if rain is predicted because they get slightly see through when wet. Oh dear.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
It's a voting post!
It was a rainy, dreary day when Fern got out of bed to vote for the very first time...
That is, last minute first time voting from Italy by fax. Oh yeah.
I did get my absentee ballot a few weeks ago but decided that I didn't want to risk mailing it. Italian post has a pretty shoddy reputation. And I figured I'd use those few weeks to research the twenty-eight freaking offices and propositions on the ballot.
As usual, everything else got in the way and, aside from a short stint of reading the information on Prop 1-4 at the very beginning, I delayed really reading everything until last night and this morning. Procrastination isn't just for schoolwork apparently.
But I'm also cheap and didn't want to pay for my fax so I had a short two hour window between 10 and noon to get my ballot faxed from the UGA offices. So, I stuffed my ballot down my shirt to keep it dry and headed down to town in the rain with Eunice.
Gasp!! FAILURE! After photocopying the long double sided ballot into 4 faxable pages and attempting to fax it twice, we had to admit defeat. The fax number was correct and it was connecting, but it refused to receive the fax. Granted, it was 2 AM in California, but really now, is it THAT difficult to leave the fax machine on before voting day!?
Rather crushed, I went and splurged on Italian leather. 30 euro of gorgeous dark red and brown Italian leather. (To make books of course!) A man at the shoe store (where we bought the leather) was reading a newspaper and commenting on it to Stefano, the shoe store owner. Eunice and I didn't understand anything until he said "Obama," at which point I got excited and peered at the newspaper (as if my eyesight is good enough to read small print from 5 feet away and as if I'd be able to understand the Italian newspaper even if my eyesight was good enough!)
The man then looked at us and asked something along the lines of whether we had voted. (My Italian vocabulary covers food, common introductions, and 'where is the bathroom?' It definitely hasn't extended into the realm of politics yet!) I responded by grinning, pointing at my ballot and saying "ahora, uh... adesso! Fax!"
Translation: Now [in spanish], uh [crap, wrong language], now [in Italian]! Fax! [Yay for crossover words!]
As we left, Stefano asked us something else and I had no idea what he said but he said a word starting with a 'v' so I figured it might have something to do with voting. So I jabbed wildly in the dark an said something like "vote. Uh, votar. Er, voto!" blank looks. Uh, [repeat v word that he had said, but said it with an o ending to conjugate for the first person form]. Blank looks and a grin at my failed attempts. Oh well... shrug, Obama, ciao!
I am such a master at communication. Hah!
After an afternoon filled with art history classes, I bundled up and headed back down to town in heavier rain and wind to find a fax machine.
To Nocentini! (The art supply store.)
I walk in to the very back and see Signora Nocentini... "Fax?" I ask her. Yes indeed there is a fax machine!
She takes my six sheets... zero zero uno. Otto cinque otto. Quattro nove cinque. Cinque uno sei sei.
I wait nervously.
She says something about humidity or rain and gestures her hands outward. Ah, the rain infiltrated my bag and made the sheets expand. Fax machines don't like humid paper...
Suddenly the fax machine sucks in all 6 pages at once even though she's holding on to the top 5. She makes exasperated noises and jerks viciously at the 5 pages.
I shift nervously. Don't rip my vote!!!
The 5 pages are saved from the jaws of the fax machine but the vicious jerking has misaligned the top page.
Suddenly she's viciously yanking the first page to make it feed straight.
No! Don't do that! That's my Oath of Voter form with my signature! I'm quite sure it's going to reach the other side looking like it just got photographed by a mac's photobooth. Oh dear.
"The ballot cannot be counted unless accompanied in the same transmission by this oath and your signature."
Well, they didn't say the page couldn't be artistically distorted.
Beeping. What on earth is going on!?
Three pages through and it stops. She calls for Signor Nocentini. They proceed to talk, or yell, loudly in Italian: Did you put in 001?!?! Si!! Si!! How many pages!?!?!? Tre, tre!!! Why does it say four!?!?...
Yeah, they're an interesting old couple to be sure.
Somehow my three pages (including the page with the all important President and Vice President category) got registered as four and now my last three pages have to be sent in a second transmission.
"The ballot cannot be counted unless accompanied in the same transmission by this oath and your signature."
Oh. Dear. Oh. Dear.
I snuck a picture of this momentous nail biting occasion. Here's Signor Nocentini at the fax machine. Not bad for a snuck picture where I couldn't actually see what I was taking.
Just to make conversation I said something about Obama (I'm assuming that the words I made up for "I'm faxing my ballot and voting right now" were completely off the mark.) Signora Nocentini responded in the typical expressive Italian way about ___ Obama, ___ McCain, ___ secreto____...
I think she was saying that Americans go around blabbing about who they voted for but Italian voters keep their votes a secret. I was also told earlier by Enza (the local UGA adminitrator helping me fax my ballot in the morning) that Italian voting is also different in that faxing would never be an option (though I don't know how many states in the US actually allow faxing in votes) and that in huge elections like this, only the main contest for president would be on the ballot versus our ballot where 28 things are stuffed onto a ballot. (I think I'd much prefer that.)
Finally everything went through and, according to my two Report Trasmissione, the risultati are "OK" so I'll just assume that the potentially wonkily distorted Oath of Voter page and the double transmission and the 1 ballot split into 4 pages still work out to a successful vote.
Back out in the rain, I stuffed my ballot back into my bag and skipped down the main street of Cortona singing "I voted! I voted! I voted!" Yay for the rain... it means my surge of excitement was largely unseen by local eyes! (This was to make up for the fact that I don't get one of those spiffy "I voted" stickers. Hrmph.)
I can't wait to go and snag a copy of an Italian newspaper with the election results tomorrow morning! (7 am here = 10 PM PST!)
(An addition at 12:15 AM: Several of us are watching CNN streaming through Emogene's slingbox program on her computer... the first polls are closed but they have yet to report the results. Says Drew: "This is one of the things I really wish I was home for... That and free Krispy Kremes, Starbucks and Chick-fil-A." Hear hear! Take advantage of all that election-related free stuff (Ben and Jerry's too!) all ye who are in Stati Uniti!)
Be thankful for your tvs... we're watching on a tiny screen...
And when the internet connection starts to slow down to a sluggish pace so that CNN's Campbell Brown becomes pixelated and stuttery... we do the finessing fingers to encourage the internets to speeds up!
It's the watching-the-election-progress-from-Italy version of a rain dance!
(Day after the election edit at noon: A bunch of us headed down to the newsstand and bought some Italian newspapers... I was told that la Repubblica leans more to the left while Libero is more to the right. Take a gandar!!)
That is, last minute first time voting from Italy by fax. Oh yeah.
I did get my absentee ballot a few weeks ago but decided that I didn't want to risk mailing it. Italian post has a pretty shoddy reputation. And I figured I'd use those few weeks to research the twenty-eight freaking offices and propositions on the ballot.
As usual, everything else got in the way and, aside from a short stint of reading the information on Prop 1-4 at the very beginning, I delayed really reading everything until last night and this morning. Procrastination isn't just for schoolwork apparently.
But I'm also cheap and didn't want to pay for my fax so I had a short two hour window between 10 and noon to get my ballot faxed from the UGA offices. So, I stuffed my ballot down my shirt to keep it dry and headed down to town in the rain with Eunice.
Gasp!! FAILURE! After photocopying the long double sided ballot into 4 faxable pages and attempting to fax it twice, we had to admit defeat. The fax number was correct and it was connecting, but it refused to receive the fax. Granted, it was 2 AM in California, but really now, is it THAT difficult to leave the fax machine on before voting day!?
Rather crushed, I went and splurged on Italian leather. 30 euro of gorgeous dark red and brown Italian leather. (To make books of course!) A man at the shoe store (where we bought the leather) was reading a newspaper and commenting on it to Stefano, the shoe store owner. Eunice and I didn't understand anything until he said "Obama," at which point I got excited and peered at the newspaper (as if my eyesight is good enough to read small print from 5 feet away and as if I'd be able to understand the Italian newspaper even if my eyesight was good enough!)
The man then looked at us and asked something along the lines of whether we had voted. (My Italian vocabulary covers food, common introductions, and 'where is the bathroom?' It definitely hasn't extended into the realm of politics yet!) I responded by grinning, pointing at my ballot and saying "ahora, uh... adesso! Fax!"
Translation: Now [in spanish], uh [crap, wrong language], now [in Italian]! Fax! [Yay for crossover words!]
As we left, Stefano asked us something else and I had no idea what he said but he said a word starting with a 'v' so I figured it might have something to do with voting. So I jabbed wildly in the dark an said something like "vote. Uh, votar. Er, voto!" blank looks. Uh, [repeat v word that he had said, but said it with an o ending to conjugate for the first person form]. Blank looks and a grin at my failed attempts. Oh well... shrug, Obama, ciao!
I am such a master at communication. Hah!
After an afternoon filled with art history classes, I bundled up and headed back down to town in heavier rain and wind to find a fax machine.
To Nocentini! (The art supply store.)
I walk in to the very back and see Signora Nocentini... "Fax?" I ask her. Yes indeed there is a fax machine!
She takes my six sheets... zero zero uno. Otto cinque otto. Quattro nove cinque. Cinque uno sei sei.
I wait nervously.
She says something about humidity or rain and gestures her hands outward. Ah, the rain infiltrated my bag and made the sheets expand. Fax machines don't like humid paper...
Suddenly the fax machine sucks in all 6 pages at once even though she's holding on to the top 5. She makes exasperated noises and jerks viciously at the 5 pages.
I shift nervously. Don't rip my vote!!!
The 5 pages are saved from the jaws of the fax machine but the vicious jerking has misaligned the top page.
Suddenly she's viciously yanking the first page to make it feed straight.
No! Don't do that! That's my Oath of Voter form with my signature! I'm quite sure it's going to reach the other side looking like it just got photographed by a mac's photobooth. Oh dear.
"The ballot cannot be counted unless accompanied in the same transmission by this oath and your signature."
Well, they didn't say the page couldn't be artistically distorted.
Beeping. What on earth is going on!?
Three pages through and it stops. She calls for Signor Nocentini. They proceed to talk, or yell, loudly in Italian: Did you put in 001?!?! Si!! Si!! How many pages!?!?!? Tre, tre!!! Why does it say four!?!?...
Yeah, they're an interesting old couple to be sure.
Somehow my three pages (including the page with the all important President and Vice President category) got registered as four and now my last three pages have to be sent in a second transmission.
"The ballot cannot be counted unless accompanied in the same transmission by this oath and your signature."
Oh. Dear. Oh. Dear.
I snuck a picture of this momentous nail biting occasion. Here's Signor Nocentini at the fax machine. Not bad for a snuck picture where I couldn't actually see what I was taking.
Just to make conversation I said something about Obama (I'm assuming that the words I made up for "I'm faxing my ballot and voting right now" were completely off the mark.) Signora Nocentini responded in the typical expressive Italian way about ___ Obama, ___ McCain, ___ secreto____...
I think she was saying that Americans go around blabbing about who they voted for but Italian voters keep their votes a secret. I was also told earlier by Enza (the local UGA adminitrator helping me fax my ballot in the morning) that Italian voting is also different in that faxing would never be an option (though I don't know how many states in the US actually allow faxing in votes) and that in huge elections like this, only the main contest for president would be on the ballot versus our ballot where 28 things are stuffed onto a ballot. (I think I'd much prefer that.)
Finally everything went through and, according to my two Report Trasmissione, the risultati are "OK" so I'll just assume that the potentially wonkily distorted Oath of Voter page and the double transmission and the 1 ballot split into 4 pages still work out to a successful vote.
Back out in the rain, I stuffed my ballot back into my bag and skipped down the main street of Cortona singing "I voted! I voted! I voted!" Yay for the rain... it means my surge of excitement was largely unseen by local eyes! (This was to make up for the fact that I don't get one of those spiffy "I voted" stickers. Hrmph.)
I can't wait to go and snag a copy of an Italian newspaper with the election results tomorrow morning! (7 am here = 10 PM PST!)
(An addition at 12:15 AM: Several of us are watching CNN streaming through Emogene's slingbox program on her computer... the first polls are closed but they have yet to report the results. Says Drew: "This is one of the things I really wish I was home for... That and free Krispy Kremes, Starbucks and Chick-fil-A." Hear hear! Take advantage of all that election-related free stuff (Ben and Jerry's too!) all ye who are in Stati Uniti!)
Be thankful for your tvs... we're watching on a tiny screen...
And when the internet connection starts to slow down to a sluggish pace so that CNN's Campbell Brown becomes pixelated and stuttery... we do the finessing fingers to encourage the internets to speeds up!
It's the watching-the-election-progress-from-Italy version of a rain dance!(Day after the election edit at noon: A bunch of us headed down to the newsstand and bought some Italian newspapers... I was told that la Repubblica leans more to the left while Libero is more to the right. Take a gandar!!)
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