Arrivederci, again

I'm heading back home tomorrow, but the process of buying the apartment will continue, or so we hope.

We celebrated my last day of this trip by binging on light fixtures, drying racks, and similar indulgences during yet another trip to Ikea. Pam and Romano once again served as our drivers, sounding boards, and sherpas. By the time we staggered out of checkout we were ready for a serious Sunday lunch. Luckily, Romano knew just the place.

Trattoria Gambarato is a country restaurant outside of Parma, and Sunday is a big day for eating out. When we arrived the dining room was full of large families at long tables and one group that looked like they might be a gang of defrocked nuns.

For primi, we had some delicious spinach-and-ricotta tortelli in butter, accompanied by another Malvasia prosecco.

Pam and Romano enjoyed the tortelli, too

Guinea hen and roast veal were on the menu as secondi, but most of our party opted for the bollito misto, a collection of different meats--beef, pork ribs, cotechino sausage, tongue, and pork skin--simmered for hours and served with various relishes.

The meats were brought around on a big cart so that everyone could choose which ones they wanted. (The yellow lump is a polenta, cheese, and bread dumpling that cooks with the meats, or perhaps inside one of them...I'm not sure. In any case, it's heavenly.)


We, of course, opted for a little of everything from the bollito. Those cherries on the left side of the plate are one of the relishes. Although more sweet than pickled, they were a tasty complement to the rich meats.

We also got a bowl of capelli--little pasta pockets stuffed with the same polenta-cheese mixture--served in the brodo from the bollito. They were a bit stodgy compared to the tortelli.

By the time we were done with the bollito, the room was beginning to clear out. Then the dessert cart rolled our way, with three homemade cakes.










Of course we had to try all three: from the right, a plum jam crostata, a kind of soft pound cake, and a millegusti (thousand-taste) tart with a filling of almonds, amaretti cookie crumbs, jam, and chocolate. That one was my favorite.









It's probably a good thing that I am leaving Italy for a while.

This segment of the blog is ending with more of a whimper than a bang, I'm afraid, because although the apartment has essentially been purchased, we don't have the final documents, and the electricity and so forth that go with it. Danny will be working on that while he stays on a few more weeks. I'll try to get him to do some guest posting about what he manages to accomplish while he's here on his own. He is determined not to fill the apartment with too much stuff, which will be a first for us if we manage it. We shall see.

I'm not sure when I'll be back here...sometime in the spring? I hope I'll not only have a place to live once I return, but that I'll also be able to get my final citizenship documents. In the meantime, I am going to really apply myself to achieving a better grasp of the language, and I'm going to study up on Italian politics. Taking a break from writing these blog posts will free up plenty of time for that, I expect. I'll pick the blog up again when there's something to report.

In the meantime, a big grazie to Pam, Romano, and Franca for bearing with us and helping us every step of the way, and thanks to all of you who have been following along on our adventures and misadventures. A kiss on both cheeks to you all, and I hope to see you here in Fidenza some day.

Around town

In addition to helping to take delivery of furniture and sitting helplessly by Pam's side while she called the gas-and-electric company on our behalf, here are a few other things I did today.

* I had a cappucio deca (decaf cappucino) with Pam at my favorite bar/caffe, La Strega, while we waited for Danny and Romano to turn up with the chairs so we could help bring them up to the apartment. (That glass of prosecco on the counter is for an older gentleman who can often be found there, having several glasses for his breakfast.)

* We had a lunch of prosciutto, torte fritte, and, for me, heavenly gnocchi in tomato sauce at l'Antica Trattoria al Duomo with Pam, Romano, and two of Romano's musician colleagues from China. With it we drank Malvasia prosecco, which I'd been thinking about since watching that old enophile at La Strega enjoying his morning tipple.





* Next I had a caffe americano in another, less busy caffe with Franca, to whom I tried to describe our apartment in italiano, with mixed success. The americano is the usual thimbleful of espresso with a side of hot water; combining them creates American-style coffee, but without any milk because you don't have milk in coffee in Italy after breakfast if you are hoping to look even partially Italian.

* Later Pam, Romano, Danny, and I drove out to a Home-Depot-type store where Danny and I ordered a medicine chest (requiring almost as many forms as buying the apartment) and admired the lighting fixtures. When it comes to home furnishings, Italians seem to draw their inspiration from drag queens.

* Danny and I released Pam and Romano from bondage for the evening and went off for pizza and salad at Fidenza Best Kebap. The pizza was not up to Italian standards, but the people-watching was great; the crowd there was mostly families and delightfully diverse.

* On the way back to our hotel we swung by Fidenza's main square, Piazza Garibaldi. In addition to the little merry-go-round that's been installed in front of the city hall since we were last here, there's now a temporary ice rink (artificially frozen--it's in the 40s or low 50s here during the day) that the nearby outlet mall is paying for, presumably partial reparation for gutting the town center's small businesses. Today was the rink's opening day and it was very busy during the afternoon. By this evening the crowd had thinned out, consisting mostly of a couple of showboating teen-aged boys who kept falling down and this very intent little girl, who didn't.

Some day we may find all this small-town life boring, but at the moment I am charmed.

Piece by piece

La porta

Today we began the process of furnishing the new apartment. The appliance store delivered the refrigerator and the washing machine.

Also this morning, we learned that unfortunately we will not be able to turn on the power or gas until after we close the sale, so for now these items will just sit around looking rather forlorn.

An hour later Ikea arrived with a love seat, a chair, a sofa bed, a little table, and a mini-kitchen that consists of a sink, counter, and hotplate. This, we hope, will tide us over while we wrestle with all the decisions involved in putting together a real kitchen, a project we'll deal with when we come back sometime in the spring. (Once that's in place, the mini-kitchen will be recycled into a kind of cabinet containing the washer the laundry room/bathroom). 

Il pavimento

There's no point in showing photos because almost all the stuff is still in boxes. But here's a photo of the living-room floor, which I think is gorgeous.

Le sedie

Next Romano and Danny went to one of the used furniture stores we've patronized this week and picked up six dining-room chairs. Here they are in what was the erstwhile kitchen, which I think we're going to convert back into a dining room, putting the kitchen into the room behind it that used to be the kitchen. 

We have some more things coming soon from a consignment store, including a dining table, a couple of beds, an armoire, a bookcase, a dresser, and two bedside tables. The beginnings of a home.

Two mysteries

Much of today was devoted to trying to get the utilities in the apartment turned on. The gas and electricity seemed relatively easy. Pam just had to get on the phone with the company, give them vast amounts of information about us and the building, and listen to lengthy explanations of nothing in particular. That took about 45 minutes. Then the company emailed a bunch of documents that just had to be signed and returned. Facile!

While we were waiting for the documents, we went to the water company, which has an office in town. There we ran into problems, because the water meter we thought serviced our apartment was the wrong one.

One corner of the courtyard

I don't think I've explained that our building is actually one half of a pair of buildings that share the same entry and the same address. We're in the newer part that faces the street. Behind us is the older half, a building parts of which are supposedly from a few centuries ago, with a separate staircase. Our seller's papa, Signore M., lives in the older half, on the same floor as our place; we can see his apartment when we look across the courtyard from our kitchen window.

The older half, as seen from our kitchen

The electrical and gas meters for both buildings are all together--the gas in a cabinet in the courtyard, the electrical in a dark, rather grimy room down in the cantina below the old building. We assumed our water meter was one of several that are down there, too, in an even darker, damper section of the cantina. It's a musty little cave crowded with someone's household junk, so no wonder we got the wrong one. Now we had to go back and find the right meter before proceeding.

But once we were there, we realized that none of the meters in the cantina matched the number we were supposed to be looking for. Moreover, there were only six meters, yet there are way more apartments at our address. Where were the other meters? We could not find them anywhere.

Desperate, we went up to Signore M.'s apartment, rang the bell, and asked him to help us. He turned out to be not only at home, but suffering from the flu. Nevertheless, he very gallantly tottered out of his sickbed and came downstairs. It turned out that he didn't know where the other meters were either. It took him several phone calls to solve the mystery.

Two bags of leaves, a trap door, and a broom

At one end of the courtyard was a rusty metal trapdoor. (Can you spot it in the photo? It's straight under the air conditioner, behind the broom.) He pried it up, revealing an alarmingly deep hole and an old wooden ladder leading down to an underground chamber. That's where the other water meters were.

Signore M. was ready to climb down there, but he was clearly feverish, so we wouldn't permit it. Instead Danny heroically made the descent. Armed with his smartphone flashlight, he found the meter and got the information we needed. Jubilation all around.

We returned to the water company office and astonished the ladies there by showing them the photo. (Apparently this sort of arrangement isn't common in Italy, either.) Within a few minutes, the water had been activated. We were home free, if you didn't count all the hook-up fees.

But then we looked over the documents that the gas-and-electric folks had emailed. In addition to numerous signatures, we were supposed to provide strings of numbers identifying the apartment--not just the address, but all kinds of other numbers that perhaps refer to surveyor's markings or city maps. Pam couldn't understand what we were supposed to put in there, and neither could Romano. Neither could Franca or a friend she called who works for the city, but was home because the city offices are closed on Fridays. Neither could Massimo's boss at the real estate company. This was how we spent most of the afternoon and early evening, with some time out for a nap.

Now the day is over and we are still grappling with this second mystery, which so far remains unsolved. Pam thinks she can winkle the answers out of the gas-and-electric company tomorrow over the phone. If she can't, we may not be able to turn the power on until we come back here in the spring. Which would not be the end of the world, I suppose. 

A visit to the notary

Today's project was getting a proxy for our friend Pam so that she could complete the sale of the apartment even if the closing occurs after I head back to the U.S. To do that we had to travel to the nearby town of Busseto, where Verdi lived as a young man and where il notaio chosen by Massimo's firm has her offices.

My impression of Italian notaries, insofar as I have one, is based on those men in odd-shaped hats (or housemaids pretending to be men in odd-shaped hats) who inhabit Italian operas. (See example at left.) Notaries here aren't just people who get $25 to certify that it was you who signed that document; they are dottori (that is, have doctorates of some sort) and appear to have more the function and prestige of attorneys.

Even so, I was taken aback by the sumptuousness of this particular notary's offices. They were lodged in what had once been the summer palace of some Parma noble, and suddenly our little real estate transaction took on an air of operatic grandeur. This was the first reception area:

From there we were led to a more intimate waiting room, where Danny, Romano, Pam, Massimo's boss (not pictured), and I cooled our heels for a few minutes.

The notary, when she appeared, did not disappoint. She had wild blonde curls and was dressed in a chic update of the traditional notaio garb pictured above, a boldly patterned black-and-white gown over black, with metal-studded black ankle boots. She ushered us to a long table and sat at its head in a throne-like chair, the huge rings on each hand making her seem even more like a doge holding court. And she spoke with hilariously Italian volubility, waving her hands and flinging her curls around as she complained, in Italian too rapid for me to understand, about certain aspects of how the transaction was being handled.

Allora, we then settled in to sign the proxy. She certainly seemed to take her due-diligence responsibilities seriously, warning us at one point that the weather in Fidenza is very different from that in California, being cold and foggy. (Noted., though I do wonder if Danny has really internalized this fact.)

At some point I noticed the large sculpture of a silver leopard behind her chair and, next to it, a little dog bed in which a diminutive black-and-white terrier was sound asleep. I snuck a photo while she was explaining something or other. It really does not do her or the room justice.

When we were done and I said something about how good her dog was, she told us that the little thing was 16 years old and dying; that afternoon she was going to take it to the veterinarian and have it put out of its misery. The dog had been very ill for a while, and she was very sad about losing it. A reminder that even immense glamour doesn't immunize anyone from the sorrows of life.

Afterwards, in defiance of life's transience and, arguably, common sense, we went to Mercatopoli and Ikea and bought a lot of furniture. A lot. I hope we still like it when we see it in situ. I also hope it will help sell the apartment when some day our children put the place on the market with all our stuff still crammed into it.

Another step closer

Another meeting today at Massimo's office, this time with Signore M., the father of the woman who's selling the apartment, and the son of the man who used to own the whole building. Luckily Pam was there, too, since the discussion went into great detail about all kinds of small but important details that we could barely understand when she explained them to us in English. The idea that we'd ever be able to buy a house in Italy without a trustworthy, cheerful, insanely helpful friend-cum-translator at our elbow every step of the way...I shudder to think of what a hash we would have made of it. My gratitude to Pam and Romano knows no bounds.

Here are Massimo and Signore M. I am developing a bit of a crush on Massimo. Perhaps it's all that indifference, always catnip to the ladies. And all that machismo--how butch do you have to be to wear those lady-glasses?

There seem to be three stages of documentation in Italian real estate transactions, or at least this one. Step one is a contract where the buyer and seller agree on a price and a timeline. We did that when we first arrived, except that the seller, who lives in Ireland, took several days to sign her side of the document and email it back. Whether this is her fault, Massimo's, or the internet's now no longer matters.

Today we completed the second step, the compromesso, which as far as I can see duplicates the first thing we signed, but with more ceremony. The entire document had to be read aloud to the assembled group, with Pam translating for us everything that wasn't obvious boilerplate, and then multiple signatures had to be inscribed.

The town's photocopying machine is still broken, Massimo reported, and somehow they also haven't managed to get to the copy shop a few blocks away from City Hall to make copies there. What exactly these copies are for remains vague, and in any case Massimo is confident that we can go ahead to stage three, the final closing, as early as next week, no matter what's going on with the Fidenza bureaucracy. Since everything else has been moving along, perhaps he's right.

The highlight of today's gathering was meeting Signore M., who is a good person to know because he is familiar with the full history of the building and will moreover be our neighbor--he lives in the apartment behind the one we're buying, whose windows look into our kitchen. Thankfully he turns out to be a very nice man, and an old Fidenzan whom Romano has known forever. Pam, who'd initially been a bit dubious about some of the odder aspects of this transaction, now feels very at ease, and so do we.

Woot!

After we handed over a deposit for Massimo to hold in trust, Signore M. gave us two sets of keys, permission to turn on the electricity, water, and gas, and a quick tour of the apartment's various locks and meters. We are almost home, figuratively, and literally already in.

After taking Pam out to lunch, Danny and I spent much of the afternoon taking more measurements in the apartment and fantasizing about what might go where.

I am no longer worried about whether the sale will fall apart; now I am worrying about how we are going to fill all these rooms.

Tomorrow we meet with the notary, who is going to help us give Pam a proxy so that she can complete the sale on our behalf if things don't get resolved before we head back to the land that the Italians call "Ooo-zah." (That's "USA" to you.) We still have to put up the money, though; there are apparently some limits to Pam's eagerness to help.

Out in the country

In the week and half since we got to Fidenza I've met with Franca, our wonderful Italian teacher, several times, whenever we both have a morning free.

Franca hates being photographed

Our get-togethers are no longer outdoors (it's too cold and rainy) and they are no longer formal lessons; instead we take turns forcing each other to speak in English (her) and Italian (me). Franca and her husband, Gianluca, traveled to the U.S. Southwest this past summer (Bryce Canyon, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon) and now she is keen to improve her English. She is amazed that we want to spend time in a flat little borgo like Fidenza when we could be hiking around mountains in the American West.

She's not without some local pride, however. On Tuesday she and Gianluca took us on an outing to two medieval hill towns in the neighborhood, Castell'Arquato and Vigoleno. They are both eerily well preserved and very beautiful, especially on the first brilliantly sunny autumn day after a week of rain and fog. They are reputed to be among the most beautiful towns in Italy, and I can believe it's true.

The fortress at Castell'Arquato

Franca and Gianluca admire the view from the parapet

The Vigoleno fortress

Vigoleno's main piazza

After hiking up and down cobbled hills for a while we went to Trattoria da Luigi in nearby Vernasca and had a typically spectacular lunch, including a lovely local wine and a full array of salumi, served with crispy cubes of fried polenta.

This photo really doesn't do the tortelli justice

I followed that with tortelli colored red with tomato, filled with shallot-infused ricotta, and lubricated with butter. Danny had chicche della nonna (little green dumplings in a creamy tomato sauce). I don't know if he took a picture.








We also had a couple of crostata--one filled with plum jam, the other with jam and amaretti cookies--but by the time dessert arrived I'd forgotten all about keeping a photographic record.


It was a wonderful day and a delightful, if very temporary, break from worrying about real estate. Grazie molto, Franca e Gianluca!

A few more wrinkles

Ecco Massimo!

We took another meeting with our real estate agent this morning. I am beginning to appreciate that at least some of the difficulties I have been blaming on his lassitude probably reflect the problems he's having with the city (whose xerox machine has not been working since last Thursday, which has temporarily brought that end of things to a halt); the notary (who suddenly decided that all the transfer-of-property documents must be translated into English, to be sure we know what we're signing); and perhaps the sellers as well, for all I know.

Poor Massimo. He really does seem to be trying his best.

The word today was that the town surveyor is going to go to an outside copy shop, which would solve that problem; and Massimo is going to see if the translation studio where Pam works will be acceptable to the notary as a source for the document translations. Tomorrow we're all meeting again, with the seller's dad, who's standing in for her, and hopefully then we'll find out if we can get the sales agreement signed this week. Fingers crossed.

That apartment on Via Cavour

And the winner is...

At least one reader guessed right: the three-bedroom on Via Cavour ended up being our first choice once we were actually here in Fidenza, despite our earlier difficulties trying to buy it long distance. And despite that empty room where a kitchen used to be, and despite the real estate agent's apparent lassitude in moving the deal forward.

There's the building, above. Our apartment (I hope!) will be the second floor, the balcony that doesn't have any plants yet.

We have now signed a contract, and so has the seller, agreeing on the price and all the other details. We are hoping to go to a notary and sign the next document, and hand over a deposit, on Wednesday, at which point we will get a set of keys. Then once the town signs off on the property documents (whatever that means), we all meet with the notary yet again, pay out the rest of the money, plus taxes, commission, the notary's fee, and so on and so on, and then the apartment will be fully and officially ours.

But whether that first meeting really will take place on Wednesday remains a bit vague; it took a lot of annoyingly American pushiness to browbeat the real estate agency into giving us a more or less firm date. Agent Massimo and his boss sometimes act as if we are badgering them to give us money, instead of the other way around. All of which continues to give me agita about whether this really will go through.

Ma coraggio!

Here are a few pictures of the interior...

 The place where a kitchen will go...

...the master bedroom (after we paint out that mural)...

...the living room...

...and the view from the balcony looking east. That little tent up the street is the outdoor seating for La Strega (The Witch), my current favorite bar/caffe in the neighborhood.

Pam took this photo for us (can you spot us on the balcony, way up the left?) to show how close the apartment is to the Latteria, our favorite local source for cheeses, prosciutto, and other necessaries. That's the Latteria on the far right.

To explain our enthusiasm, here's what the Latteria looks like inside. I wish this photo could convey how deliriously good it smells in there.

Allora, avanti! Let's hope this all goes ahead as planned.

Fountain of youth

One aspect of getting old that I never thought to worry about during my younger days is the way you run out of things you need. By now Danny and I have accumulated so many kitchen gadgets, so much furniture, so many knick-knacks and shoes and garden tools, that the kind of acquisitive browsing we used to enjoy has come to feel sadly pointless. We keep being reminded that shopping is for people who are still filling out their households and their lives; ours are so full that all that's left is to empty them out.   

One aspect of buying a second house, however, is the excitement of once again having a reason to go shopping. That's especially true of buying a place on another continent, since shipping the hoard of duplicate household goods we've already amassed would cost more than buying new--or so we have convinced ourselves. 

Doesn't Danny look happy in this glam Italian kitchen?

So while we wait for our real estate situation to clarify--Massimo, call us!--we have been haunting Ikea (pronounced ee-KAY-ah here) and a variety of other household emporia. We can't buy anything yet (there's that jinx again), but we figure it's safe to just look. 

For some reason I can't fathom, Pam and Romano seem just as interested in this project as we are, possibly more so, and have been chauffeuring us all over the greater Parma area to look at sinks, tables, and other necessities. Here they are with Danny in Ikea, discussing kitchen layouts. Romano, who always wanted to be an architect, has already begun drawing up plans for several possibilities.

I always like going to Ikea, where I can indulge my fantasies of a completely organized, utterly tidy, Marie-Kondo-worthy life. Happily, there's a branch right outside of Fidenza. But I was also thrilled to discover that the area boasts a lot of used furniture stores, ranging from nicely arranged showrooms full of high-end bedroom sets to my favorite, the Mercatino dell'Usato, which roughly translates as "Little Shop of Horrors." It is crammed with everything you can think of that people no longer want. Here are a few snapshots from today's outing.

The Mercatino has giant credenzas, dolls, used wedding dresses...   

...and dusty old wine and liquor bottles that probably sat in some granny's dining room for the past half-century.

We thought this table-and-chairs set had possibilities.

Danny was intrigued by the selection of tools. (Actually, this was at a different used-furniture store. It was quite an afternoon.)

 They sell art, too. I covet that painting of the pig-faced lady, but they want 50 euros for it.

Maybe I'll go back for it. We'll have a lot of walls to fill.

Citizenship update

Here's some good news. Shortly after my previous post on this topic went up, I heard from Peter, our citizenship guru, that my children and I have effectively been recognized as legit Italian citizens by the Italian government. Woot!

At least, this is what I understand from Peter's somewhat baroque explanations of what has gone down. Apparently the Italian consulate in New York has at last certified that none of the three of us ever renounced our Italian heritage, clearing the last legal hurdle to being recognized.

Before we can claim any concrete benefits, though, Montagano, our sponsoring town in Molise, has to pull together all our records (birth certificates, marriage records, and so on) and transcribe them into the town's own record system. Then the whole collection has to be sent along to the national government as well. Once that's completed, we can return to Montagano, see all our pals there, have a drink at the Circolo Union, and get our official Italian identity documents. When that might be, Peter was unable or unwilling to guess, but I'm fairly confident we'll be able to take care of this sometime this spring.

Prosciutto di Parma, salame, and torta fritta (fried bread)

Danny took this photo at a celebratory lunch shortly after we got the good news. Prosciutto and soft puffs of bread cooked in hot lard are a local tradition and a delicious combination.

I just hope our Southern Italian friends don't feel betrayed by our decision to make our Italian base in the north. Maybe we should bring them a whole Parma ham as a peace offering.

Disclaimer

I'm not holding out on my readers just to heighten the suspense, as some have suggested. Yes, we have decided on an apartment, but the negotiations are snagged--temporarily, I trust--in an odd in-between state that makes me hesitate to proclaim this as a done deal.  The truth is that I'm convinced that doing so could jinx the whole transaction.

Everyone assures us that all is "a posto," in place, and that we have nothing to worry about. Which just makes us worry more. Why are they being so nice, unless they're planning to screw us?

Fidenza tonight is blanketed in winter fog. How can anyone tell what's going on?

I don't believe in God or fortune-telling or astrology, but I do have a deep, profoundly irrational belief that crowing about anything prematurely will surely cause lasting, possibly irreversible harm.

So apologies, and please join me in patiently waiting for a few more i's to be dotted. Then I can share our news without fearing the wrath of the gods.

So, finally, the apartments

Undaunted by jet lag and pouring rain, on our first full day in Italy Danny and I set off with Pam and Romano to look at six apartments that Pam had lined up appointments for.

(If real-estate shopping bores you, please feel free to skip ahead...once I write the next installment.)

The six included all four of our top on-line picks from the month previous. There was the modern loft-like space on Via Ponte Romano that was up just one flights of stairs, and a cute two-and-a-half bedroom apartment, offered fully furnished, on Via Petrarca. The Via Cavour place was still available, so that made the list, and so did a three-bedroom on Via Minzoni with a full kitchen and a view of the back side of Fidenza's 11th-century Duomo.

All four were in the center of town, a short walk from the train station and an array of stores, bars, and other amenities. And all four looked to date from the 1950s or 1960s, when the town was being rebuilt after the American forces had bombed much of it to rubble during the war. (It was a rail hub then, too.)

Pam also arranged for us two see two newer listings, side by side in a building a little to the south but still close to the train station. This place was a bit newer, probably dating from the 1970s, which is why it was several stories taller than the older apartment buildings and had an elevator. The apartments had only two bedrooms each, but they had full kitchens and the asking price for each was only 75,000 euros. Why not take a look?

The Ponte Romano loft had been thoroughly updated, with new wiring, electrical outlets everywhere, and the core of a modern kitchen in place. Here are Romano, Pam, and Danny inspecting the latter.

It didn't have an elevator, but it was up just one shallow flight of stairs and it came with a garage, which we could rent out if we held to our plan not to have a car.




Plus it had two bathrooms and not one but two balconies, so plenty of light. I thought the view was cute, although Danny said, "Who wants to look into an alley?" Me, I guess.

The modernists who'd renovated the place had made it into one big room, and even if we threw up walls here and there we couldn't see how we'd get more than two bedrooms out of the space. But it did have two baths and two balconies...

The space where a kitchen ought to be

Our next stop was the apartment on Via Cavour. I half expected that Massimo wouldn't bother to show up, but there he was, looking stereotypically Italian in a purple sweater and a rakish scarf. (Why didn't I think to take his picture??) In person the apartment was as light and well laid out as Pam and Romano had told us. But the empty room that had once been a kitchen and the completely incomplete second bath promised all kinds of home-improvement misery.

We pressed on, heartened by the fact that most of the other apartments on our list had full, working kitchens.


At the other extreme, in terms of being occupation-ready, was the sweet little place on Via Petrarca. It had a balcony, too, and two bedrooms plus a third roomlet that could fit a single bed, or maybe bunk beds.

Best of all, it came completely furnished, including a set of dining-room chairs that we liked so much we were tempted to buy the place just to obtain them.

The kitchen even came with an industrial-strength cheese grater on the counter

And who wouldn't love to have this kitchen, fully equipped and ready to go? The storage room downstairs had stacks of pots and pans that were also included, plus numerous boxes containing who knows what treasures. No elevator, but up only one flight of stairs.

Next was Pam's favorite, on Via Minzoni. It had two balconies, from one of which you could see the back of the Duomo. (Pam assures us the scaffolding is going to come off one of these years.)

It also had a very nice kitchen, sleek and matching in the Italian style.

There were three bedrooms, two quite large and one a bit small, and though it only had one bath, Pam thought we could add one by carving space out of one of the bigger bedrooms. It was full of light, and it was well priced. There was no elevator, though, and it was up three flights of stairs. We had to ponder whether the kitchen, the savings, and the Duomo view were worth the possible sacrifice of our knees.

Exhausted, we went back to our friends' place for lunch. First we stopped off at the latteria for stracchino cheese, prosciutto, mortadella, and cicciolata, a local variety of head cheese that looks like chocolate halva and tastes like heaven, if heaven were made out of pigs. Some vegetable soup Pam had whipped up, a salad, and the latteria's excellent bread rounded out the meal.

We decided that whatever apartment we ended up choosing, we were definitely in the right part of the world.

We had two more places to look at, and luckily we weren't crazy about either of them. Elevator, yes; but only two bedrooms and one bath each.

The decor reeked of the '70s, Italian version. I particularly admired the groovy wallpaper in this bedroom...

..and the bold pattern choices in this bathroom.

All highly amusing, but I suspected these features wouldn't wear well as time went on.








I was grateful that we were able to write off these last two possibilities as no-goes. The other four offered us so many different things to choose from, and I already found myself struggling to remember which apartment had the red tile kitchen floor and which one had the funny communal attic with clotheslines running across the room. Danny and I decided it was time to head back to the Albergo San Donnino for a nap and then some serious discussion. Were we ready to make a decision, or did we need to find some more apartments to look at?