Category Archives: People

Eddy’s Body Shop

01 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by in Automobiles, People

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About a month ago someone ‘tapped’ the back of Speedy’s beloved 1991 MR2 as he was leaving the grocery store. Then, adding insult to injury, someone in a parking lot backed into the other side of the back end of the car. At first the insurance company deemed it ‘totaled,’ but upon reflection they saw their folly, and gave him a settlement to have it repaired. This led him to Eddy’s Auto Body, which turned out to be like a trip South of the Border.

Thank goodness for GPS, or we might never have found Eddy, who is tucked away at the end of this unimpressive dirt road, rendered one-lane by all the parked cars:

Road to Eddy's Body Shop

The best way to find the road is to look for the Frutilanda sign. There was a row of men sitting on the ledge for end-of-the-day refreshment when we arrived,  but most of them proved camera-shy. (One said, “My wife doesn’t know I’m here.”)(!)  Only this brave soul stayed to be photographed. I love the wheels on top of the sign. By the way, Eddy’s business is not called Colazo Automotive.

Colazo sign

There are a handful of other auto repair and body shops in the same location. I imagine you could dump a complete wreck at the start of the road and end up with a fully restored, gleaming vehicle at the end. Here are some of the other cars that were waiting for Eddy’s attention. They don’t look like much now, but I can guarantee that when he’s done with them they will look brand new.

Cars awaiting attention

Part of the charm of Eddy’s is that it is not like a dealer’s body-shop. There is no counter with a row of associates in identical shirts waiting to check off innumerable boxes on forms. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the service we get from our dealers – but they don’t have the chicken charm that Eddy’s has:

Louis, Eddy, cock

This is one fine-looking rooster!

the cock

As well there was an elegant lady on the premises:

Henof some sort
Isn’t she lovely? That neck! She’s a regular Audrey Hepburn!

It took a while for Eddy to get to Speedy’s car, and once he did, it took a while for him to finish it, in part because Speedy opted for a complete paint job in addition to the body repairs. But the result was worth the wait. The color is exactly what Speedy wanted and it is smooth and shiny and just downright gorgeous.

Here are Speedy and Eddy and me in ghostly shadow form.  Those things that look like they might be scratches on the right are reflections in the mirror-like finish of the paint job:

Eddy, Louis and the MR2

How did we find Eddy in the first place? Well you might ask, because he was not easy to find. Speedy asked one of the auto supply stores to recommend a body guy, and the man there recommended Eddy without hesitation. Now we see why.  We are in complete agreement with Eddy’s associate, whose opinion of the whole business is perfectly expressed in this picture:

Eddy's helper2

Putting a Face on the Salvation Army

11 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by in Home maintenance and repair, People, Portraits of people, Uncategorized

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Salvation Army truck

There goes our old sofa! It’s a long story, and not the one I want to tell you today. The one for today is about the people who took away the old sofa – and the matching loveseat, the beat-up computer table, bits and pieces of the old computer, a long-handled kitchen fork and a couple of bags of miscellaneous household goods: The Salvation Army.

If you’re like me, you have a vague sense that the Salvation Army helps people, that its volunteers raise money around Christmas by ringing a bell next to a red kettle into which one may put cash.

Photo courtesy of Staytondailyphoto.com (Oregon)

Photo courtesy of Staytondailyphoto.com (Oregon)

Perhaps you’ve visited one of the almost 1,500 thrift stores, looking for bargains or dropping off contributions.  One of those stores is no doubt the destination of the disapearing sofa, etc.

I knew from some volunteer work years ago that the Salvation Army is a ‘front line’ agency – that is, they are there to help people in immediate need: those with no place to go, those who are hungry, those who are in dire straits. The United Way I was with so long ago gave money to the Salvation Army in spite of its being a religious organization because it was front line, and because the work it does can literally save lives.

I also knew from hearsay that the organization is evangelically Christian (Army??) and that it is rigorously conservative, taking a dim few, for example, of homosexuality. Happily, a visit to the Army’s web site suggests that, in spite of their extremely orthodox, conservative and evangelical approach, they are making a concerted effort to be more inclusive, at least in their rhetoric (if you want to know more about the Salvation Army’s history, organization and tenets, click here.  It’s pretty interesting).

Wikipedia tells us “the Salvation Army is one of the world’s largest providers of social aid, with expenditures including operating costs of $2.6 billion in 2004, helping more than 32 million people in the U.S. alone. In addition to community centers and disaster relief, the organization does work in refugee camps, especially among displaced people in Africa. The Salvation Army has received an A- rating from the American Institute of Philanthropy.”

Well, okay.  That’s all interesting. But back to those sofas. Two men came in the “Sally Van” to pick up our no-longer-wanted furniture; meeting them was one of the highlights of my week.

Meet Steve and Scott:

Steve and Scott

We got talking as they shifted our furniture, and Steve mentioned that he had been homeless for ten years.

“How could you be homeless for ten years?” I asked. “Did you lose your job and just couldn’t find another?” He is a bright, organized man, and it just didn’t make sense to me.

“Drugs and alcohol,” he replied.

“Ohhh,” I said, in some embarrassment at being so dense.

“That’s my story too,” said Scott, who volunteers 40 hours a week with the Salvation Army (Steve is now a paid employee).

Steve
Steve went on to tell me with justifiable pride that he had just celebrated his fifth anniversary of being ‘clean and sober.’

Scott
Scott has been off the streets and sober now for five months.

I wondered aloud what percentage of people who work at the Salvation Army are volunteers like Scott, and what percentage are paid. Scott opined that only about 10-15% of the staff are paid; all the rest are volunteers. And each one has his own story, no doubt. Just here in Phoenix there are ten vans that go out every single day alternating between East Valley and West Valley. Each day they come back to the warehouse chock-a-block full of things like our sofa (on a good day) and our computer desk (on a normal day). That is to say that they will take things for which you might not be able to imagine a use, things that might be a little beat-up and well-used. Some items the volunteers will repair, some will go right into the shops after being cleaned and sanitized, and some are auctioned off to others who will find a use for them.  It is a great way to breathe new life into old things.

But much more than that, it is a new way to breathe new life into a person who has faltered and needs help. I can’t imagine anything more difficult than being addicted to drugs or alcohol, and then being strong enough to recover.  What courage! While one might or might not agree with the religious tenets of the Salvation Army, one can only applaud the work they do saving people like Steve and Scott. Meeting them was a humbling pleasure.

Bird Man of Rapallo

18 Thursday Jul 2013

Posted by in Animals in Italy, Birds in Italy, Italian men, People, Portraits of people, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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Strolling through town the other day (before it got so hot)  I was pleased to encounter this eccentric gent. He was happy to pose for me with his little bird. I wasn’t expecting the kissing event, but evidently it’s something they’re both accustomed to. I wonder if the bird thinks he has a very well-trained man?

bird man of rapallo-002

Sorry it’s out of focus, but it’s a nice shot of the tourist in the background. This is how they walk around together; every now and then the bird nibbles the man’s gold necklace.

bird man of Rapallo

After I asked if I could photograph him the man struck a pose. I particularly like the man’s costume with its northward nod to the Alps and its westward nod to France.

bird man of rapallo-001

Wasn’t expecting this, and I have to say it kind of grossed me out! The bird took little nips at the man’s tongue, which made me suspect that sometimes the man gives the bird treats in this unorthodox manner. When I asked what the bird’s name was the man replied, ‘pappagallo,’ which just means ‘parrot.’ I felt no wiser, but was somehow unable to continue the conversation.

For family and dog-lovers

24 Monday Jan 2011

Posted by in Desert, Dogs, People, Photographs, Uncategorized

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It’s been a busy few weeks here in Arizona, which accounts for the relative silence from your usually chatty scribe.  One of the reasons for our coming here is to have a chance to visit with family and friends who find it difficult to travel to Italy and we are lucky this year in having a chance to see so many who are near and dear to us.

One of my favorite activities, which I inflict on all able-bodied guests, is hiking around in the Superstition Mountains.  On these hikes I try to photograph every hiking dog we meet.  There is an album here, to which a few new mutt shots have recently been added.

Writing about cabbage the other week was extremely evocative of my paternal grandmother – so much so that I’ve written a very brief profile of her here.  Most likely it will be of interest only to other family members – unless you enjoy looking at early-mid 20th century portrait photos. But please feel free to make the acquaintance of this unusual woman.

Meanwhile, thanks for visiting, and we’ll get back to more ordinary posting one of these days.  I think.  I hope.

In the Old Way

27 Thursday Aug 2009

Posted by in Italian habits and customs, Italian men, Italian women, People, Uncategorized

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Our neighbors down the street still cook with wood, and, we suspect, heat their home with it as well. Their chimney tells the tale, no matter how warm the day.  Even this week, with temperatures at 37 C,  brushing 100 F, the mid-day smoke has appeared.

cooking with wood-1

We don’t know these neighbors, but every now and then we see them. She is elderly and plump and wears long skirts and a wary expression. He motors ever so slowly up and down the hill in his aged ape, frequently carrying  precariously balanced  fruit boxes with him, fuel for the stove. Where does he get them? I wish I could ask him, but they seem wary of strangers, and to them I suspect we are the strangest of the strange.

Other neighbors farther down the street seem to be laying in a good store of wood for the winter ahead. At least we are unable to think of any other reason for this massive collection of wooden pallets.

wood pallettes-2

I can’t imagine having to struggle up the narrow stone stairs on the left to carry fuel to my home (if, in fact, the collector lives up there). In fact, I can’t imagine cooking and heating using fruit boxes and wooden pallets for fuel. But our neighbors do it, and I admire them for it – no doubt it’s the way people cooked for years, using whatever fuel was readily at hand.  What a great way to recycle what otherwise might end up in the dump.

Every Inch

10 Wednesday Jun 2009

Posted by in gardening, Italian habits and customs, Italian men, Liguria, People, Rapallo, Uncategorized

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It has always amazed me how every square inch of space in Italy seems to be put to some kind of good use.  There are 60 million people living in Italy, a population density of 515 people per square mile.  In the US the population density per square mile is 80.  No wonder roads, houses, cars and people there are large – there’s enough space for everything and everyone.  But here in Italy every square inch must give the most it can.  You realize this particularly if you’re out walking on a woodsy mountainside and suddenly notice overgrown stone walls: the land on those mountains was important enough that people put in hundreds of hours of labor to terrace and farm them.

Now agri-business has arrived in Italy, too, and some of the farming land on the really steep and inaccessible mountains has gone wild.  But individuals will squeeze an enormous amount of production from whatever land is available to them.  And they have devised some very clever inventions to make the job easier.  It’s not uncommon to see a small cable and carrier system stretching across a wooded valley from one hillside to another – a way to transport cut wood.  Or to see the same thing coming down the olive-studded hill to a road below – a way to get the harvested olives to a waiting Ape (the little three-wheeled workhorse truck named for bees, because that’s what the two-stroke engine sounds like).

cable system (2)

People practice intensive gardening here – a lot of the garden maintenance is done by hand, so rows to do not have to be widely spaced to accommodate a tiller.  Down the hill in Rapallo I have watched an elderly gentleman prepare and plant his garden this spring – he did it all by hand.  First he turned the dirt with a spade, then he put in mounds of fertilizer (probably cow manure from the farm up the road), then he forked it all in by hand, and finally he was ready to plant.

garden squares-1aIsn’t it tidy and pretty?  If you get out your magnifying lens you might just be able to spot the man himself in the midst of his tomato stakes behind the tree in the center.  Or you can just take my word for it that he’s there.

The prize for getting the most out of every inch, though, goes to this man’s neighbor a bit farther down the road, another American transplant by the name of Rick Gush.  Rick is the guy that if you give him a sow’s ear he’s going to give you a purse the next time you meet.  He’s the guy who’s never even heard of the box everyone else is trying to think outside of.  Every time we meet Rick we learn of some new  job he once had.  An incomplete list of his accomplishments includes adventure game designer (Kyrandia, Lands of Lore), psychic soil analyst (easier than it sounds, he says, if you live in Las Vegas, as he did at the time), intimacy counselor (“those that can’t do, teach,” he says), artist, uranium miner, gardener and garden writer.  He took all the disparate skills suggested by these activities and put them to work in building his hillside garden.

The steep, stony land, a cliff really, behind his and his wife Marisa’s apartment building had gone completely to seed.  Over the last few years Rick has terraced it and built walls of cement and old wine bottles laid on their sides with the bottoms facing out.  Sounds weird, but it’s really pretty and a very clever way to recycle hundreds of wine bottles.  And being a fanciful fellow he has put turrets on the walls.

Rick's garden

This is a view of the right side of the garden.  There are grapes on the right and a big fig tree on the left, with a smaller lemon between them.  There’s a set of steps, invisible in the photo, above the blue car roof.  Above you can see flowers, bean poles, tomato poles and satellite dishes. Just below the uppermost wall there is a very pretty curved arbor with a flowering vine  growing over it.

Rick's garden-1

This is the left, and more recently constructed part of the garden.  More turrets, the big fig, and more poles to support cukes, squash and pumpkins.

Rick's garden-3

This pictures shows the amount of wall building Rick has done, but it’s hard to see the details of the plants.  This is a garden in the true spirit of Italy – there’s not one centimeter wasted, and, best of all, it’s beautiful.  There’s been an addition since I took this photo – up on the top fascia now sits a small, gleaming white greenhouse – heated by manure.  (To read more about Rick and his cliff garden, click here.)

Rick strangles thin air-1

Giovanni Castagneto

23 Thursday Oct 2008

Posted by in History, Italian men, People, Uncategorized

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Giovanni Castagneto, aged 87, died on Sunday.

He was already an old man when we met him.  We caught glimpses of his sister (she of the long skirts and kerchiefed head) and of him from time to time when we moved to San Maurizio, but it wasn’t until we’d been here for about 5 years that Giovanni decided it was safe to make our acquaintance.

There was a knock on the door one day, and there was Giovanni, paying an official call.  With him he brought two small pages, on which he had carefully written the first names of everyone in his family.  He introduced us to each in turn, lingering over the cousin, “I should have married.”

He never did take a wife, and lived always with his older sister.  She never took to us, at least not to the point of actually meeting us.  But then, she had not had his cosmopolitan experiences.

Giovanni served in the Italian Army during World War II.  He was sent to Russia, where he suffered terrible hardships during the failed winter siege of Stalingrad.  (You can read about the Italian Army’s Russian misadventures here). We don’t know what befell Giovanni in Russia, but we know this: he walked back to Italy. That’s a hike of 2,680 kilometers (1,665 miles), undertaken in appalling conditions.  In his old age it was those battles and that long walk home that filled his mind.  Whenever we met, the conversation invariably turned to Russia. He would get a distant look in his eye and say, “I was in Russia,” almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself.  Was he 8th Army? Alpino?  We don’t know, the conversation never got beyond the fact that he’d walked back, that most of those walking with him died on the journey, and that it was cold winter.

Giovanni was, in the years we knew him, a contadino.  He took care of his vines, his olive trees, his chickens and his garden.  He was too old to be a fast worker, but he was steady and efficient.  And he was generous.  Frequently we would open our door to find a little basket filled with grapes or figs, or just some flowers.  Whenever he gave us something we’d try to use it in a way we could share with him.  Grapes became grape jam (not the staple here that it is in the US), erba Luisa (lemon verbena) became liquor.  It was the only way we could think of to repay his kindnesses.  That and when, as always happened, a conversation turned to Russia, showing honest interest and a truly felt amazement at the transformative experience of his life. I wonder if, as he drifted away at the last, he was once again in a snow-blind day putting one foot in front of the other, walking home.

The Best Thing We Ate This Week – Pompelmo Rosa Gelato

01 Monday Sep 2008

Posted by in Italy, Liguria, People, Rapallo

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Gelato!  Who doesn’t love it?  Why is it so much better than ice cream?  I don’t know, but I suspect the freshness and wholeness of the ingredients have a lot to do with it.

Ms. Adventures in Italy (Sara Rosso) writes a terrific blog which features the always entertaining writing of a young MBA who moved from Silicon Valley to Italy in 2003. She’s an excellent photographer as well; her photos of food will make you drool. Check out her blog here.

One of her fun projects is the Tour del Gelato in which various bloggers in Italy and elsewhere write about the Best Gelaterias they have found.

This week’s Best Thing That We Ate is the Pompelmo Rosa (pink grapefruit) Gelato from the Frigidarium on the Lungomare in Rapallo, which is our entry in the Tour del Gelato.

Chicco (Francesco) Barbetta and his wife Anna make and serve the best gelato I’ve ever eaten in my life. In the background of this photo of the Pompelmo Rosa cone you can see some of the fresh fruits that will soon be in Chicco’s confections. I adore the Pompelmo Rosa – it is both sweet and tart, an identity crisis that is very pleasant on the tongue. It is also not as rich as the creamy flavors. The Captain favors Malaga, which is basically rum-raisin. It’s pretty good, but to me not as good as the divine Pompelmo.

The flavors Chicco and Anna offer may vary, depending on the season, but by and large they have a stable menu.  They also have gelato cakes made on the premises, and other frozen delicacies.  Their little tables with gay blue tablecloths are likely to be filled on a hot, sunny afternoon.

Chicco does not just make gelato – he gives a lot of his time to the Croce Verde, driving patients to doctors’ appointments.  He’s also been known to visit the local golf course where he has earned a low handicap.

I wish I could give you a recipe for today’s Best Food, but I can’t.  You’ll just have to come to Rapallo and visit the Frigidarium and taste for yourself.  Let us know when you’re coming – we’ll meet you there.  There’s never a bad time to eat gelato.

You want a purse, lady?

09 Saturday Aug 2008

Posted by in Italy, Liguria, People, Uncategorized

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Haven’t you always wondered about the African guys selling purses, dark glasses and CD’s in every town in Italy? Me too! I always imagined there was some kind of Organization of African Vendors, with a capo who brought young men into the country (legally? illegally?) and then directed them where to go to set up shop. This evil capo, of course, would take all the profits, thereby effectively enslaving the fellows doing all the work. And he was probably running all the prostitutes as well.

Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. A couple of weeks ago we were on a morning train from Rapallo to Celle. At one of the stops on the outskirts of Genova a whole bunch of Africans with bags of merchandise got on our car. The most picturesque arrival was a woman in a printed African dress, the kind with a long skirt and a top, with matching turban. She had a huge hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her mouth and an I-dare-you expression on her face – wish I’d gotten a photo (I didn’t dare). I did sneak an in-back-of-me shot of a couple of the gents.

After a pleasant day we boarded our train to return to Rapallo, and I ended up sitting next to a young man, clearly of the African vendor fraternity; let’s call him Franco. He turned out to be about the pleasantest person you could imagine, and didn’t mind my pumping him for information.

So here’s what I learned: Almost all the vendors come from Senegal, on Africa’s west coast (formerly a French colony, so French is the official language of the country and the language used in school). Wolof is the official Senegalese African language, and is the native language of about 40% of the population, though there are many other languages. Franco said it was like the different dialects in Italy – someone from the north of Senegal wouldn’t necessarily understand the language of someone from the south. All these languages are based on a different sound system than western languages – which is obvious when you hear it spoken. Franco had to get off before the language lesson got very far, but we both learned ‘man’ = I, and ‘moom’ = he, she, it. That last raises some gender questions.

There is no empire of vendors under the evil thumb of a capo. All the vendors come over independently, usually joining friends or family members who are already here. Franco chose his selling locale because a friend who had been here for 20 years said he did well there. He commutes daily from Busalla, north of Genova, to Pietra Ligure, west of Savona, for his day of work. In the winter he works in Viareggio, well to the south. Unlike sleepy, beachy little Pietra Ligure, Viareggio is still moderately active in the winter. The things he sells are almost all made in Italy, he said. (I did doubt that.)

What surprised me most was that Franco and his friends are legal entrants to the country. He said that he went to the Italian Consulate in Dakar and got a visa to come to Italy. I believed him, in spite of the fact that some studies suggest that up to 50% of immigrants in Italy enter illegally (Senegal accounts for only about 2.5% of immigrants to Italy).  (There are a lot of Pakistani vendors in Italy, too; they seem to specialize in silver jewelry, fabric items and pinwheels, leaving the dark glasses and purses to the Senegalese.)

Another thing that really surprised me is that Franco buys his merchandise from a wholesaler – actually another Senegalese whose ‘warehouse’ is his apartment in Genova. Far from being told what to sell by someone else, it turns out Franco is an entrepreneur!

He’s been here working for two years, but he does get home to visit occasionally. He would like to work and save for another few years and then return home for good.

How brave to leave your homeland, move to a distant country (though not that distant really – 2500 miles or so, about the same as New York to San Fran), hastily learn enough of the language to harangue passers-by, invest your savings (or money borrowed from family and friends) in a stock of dark glasses, and then go stand under the beating sun to sell your goods. Phew. It’s no wonder Franco has such a winning personality – he has to in order to succeed in his line of work.

The passeggiata

25 Friday Jul 2008

Posted by in Customs, People, Rapallo

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The passagiata on Via Mazzini

The passeggiata on Via Mazzini

The passeggiata is a central feature of afternoon life in Italy. Literally the passeggiata (pass-ah-jah’-tah) is the stroll that many Italians take between the hours of 4 and 6 p.m.

There is more to it than exercise. Italians gather together to talk, frequently, endlessly. If you could put a sound meter on the country, you would hear a constant undercurrent of conversation, a sea of noise that reaches high tide about 5 p.m. I once asked the Captain, “What do they talk about all the time?” He replied, “Food, family,” to which I would add also weather, politics and some good general gossip.

In Rapallo the passeggiata proper occurs on two streets: Via Mazzini (a pedestrian shopping street) for the young people, and along the Lungomare for the older people who, it must be said, frequently take their passeggiata sitting down on a bench. In passeggiata people amble along, looking and being looked at, stopping to speak to acquaintances or to admire a new baby in a stroller.

Passeggiata on the Lungomare

Passeggiata on the Lungomare

The passeggiata gives you an opportunity to strut your stuff, and to check out what everyone else is wearing. It gives you an opportunity to see your neighbors, see if they look well or poorly, see who has a new frock, a new dog (a popular accessory in Rapallo), or new tattoos.

So much of life in Italy is lived outside. The weather co-operates, of course, especially in a seaside town like Rapallo. But the passeggiata takes place in every town, every day (unless it’s raining of course; you wouldn’t want to melt, would you??). Living quarters tend to be small, so it’s very pleasant to take oneself out to the larger world, and all the more pleasant if you find a friend with whom to walk arm-in-arm down the Lungomare, admiring or dissing all the others, and catching up on the local news of the day.