If I had simply followed the instructions on the bike pump, I might not have lost 15 minutes of my life deflating my tires instead of inflating them. (Note to self…no common sense)
When at the Italian post office the locals will cut the line at any junction. Then they will shout, beat their chests, and explain why they are more important than the person they shoved out of the way.
There must be many women in Southern Italy with mustaches because I was confused for one on my bank account application.
The wireless password is on the bottom of the router. (Good to know, two months later)
58 degrees is sweater and scarf weather. I believe there was smoke coming from one chimney this morning.
Italian plumbers have it easy. These two plumbers examined a leak in the apartment. They penciled the area and said if it gets past the current area they will have to immediately fix the problem. Otherwise, it should be okay. To celebrate their hard work the two plumbers went for coffee and a smoke.
Apparently I prefer Greek Pizza or American Style Pizza, because so far…not impressed.
Watching the sun rise over the Adriatic Sea is breathtaking.
The Post Office Bank will tell you on your first trip (mid August) they will not accept your fiscal number unless on the official documented paper. On the second trip they will tell you the official documented paper is not good enough and they want your Immigration card (late August). On the third trip they will not bother to look at the Immigration card and will insist on making a copy of the documented paper (late September).
After submitting all the paperwork correctly to get my Italian bank account, the teller incorrectly inputted my social security number. Instead of the manager showing her employee how to input the number, she stopped the entire process because she had already spent twenty minutes working on the account. More specifically, she chastised her new employee while praising the other teller who knows how to do such things. Because the bank was about to close, the manager told us to go to the other bank in the center of town. She was just too busy to fix the situation and was about to go on break. How I love you Italy.
Southern Italy is a place of extremes. There are beautiful beaches and olive groves, yet there are piles of trash in the same areas. People trim their bushes and shrubs to perfection only to leave their new piles of unwanted shrubbery on the side walk hoping someone will collect them. The people are warm and welcoming, yet they can be brash and reckless. It's a fascinating place.