#60: Italy, Portugal and England, January – June 2006
3000 years of Amelia’s history destroyed overnight,
Creating a multi-purpose room upstairs,
A week in Portugal with friend Bettina

January

Seemingly endless days of wet weather contributed to a disaster that stuck Amelia mid-month. A 50-yard section of her ancient wall collapsed — 3000 years of history wiped out in moments. Giant rocks, some of them the size of Volkswagens, which had stood without mortar for millennia, tumbled like a child’s blocks across the road and into the parking lot. Workmen had been cleaning the wall, removing all sorts of plant material and the accretions of centuries with the aid of a high-pressure hose. In the meantime, they added more dirt behind the wall in order to increase the size of the parking lot near the post office. All this is thought to have combined to cause the disaster. At 7:00 a.m., the wall came tumbling down, bringing the workers’ high metal scaffolding with it. Luckily, no one was underneath or on top at that hour, so no injuries or fatalities. They’ve started the cleanup, but no one knows when everything will be finished or whether any culpability will be established. In the meantime, the elevator inside one of the towers, which provided access to that part of town, is closed indefinitely due to safety concerns.

We’re about to begin our own wall-building project, closing off the large upstairs room that’s open to the hallway. We’ll have double-doors with a big window above to ensure natural light reaches the hall, even when the doors are shut. The enclosed room will then house upstairs sitting and TV, with my “office” at the other end.

We’re both concerned by Hamas’s landslide victory in Gaza — another case of the pundits being right when the Bush Administration was talking about invading Iraq. That invasion and the also-predicted inability to win without committing massive resources have resulted in a rolling destabilization of the Middle East.

A few days ago, we saw to rest 80 year-old Vincenzo Rosati, the first mason to work on this house. Cenzo (“chen-zo”) was like a leprechaun — small, spritely and sweet, with a button nose, the whitest hair and blue eyes. After a year of working with us, he had to retire when his eyesight began to fail. Then he lost his beloved wife, and his life shrank even more. On 26 January, he complained to his son that he wasn’t feeling well and died soon after of a heart attack. We feel lucky to have been with him when we were invited to join the Rosati clan on Christmas Eve — full of life and love for all those around him.

We continue to work on our books. I spent two months feeling hopeful about the interest of a London agent who got in touch after she was sent the first chapter of my book by the organizers of last year’s Winchester Writers Conference. She liked my writing, she liked my main character, she liked the setting of the first book and the concept of the series. She asked to see a synopsis and full manuscript. I sent same. Emails flew back and forth. Long story short, during a phone call, she said she’d hoped the book would be more literary and not so much a mystery. She was hoping to encourage me to write literary works, “because you have that kind of talent.” Something like this has been par for the course with other agents. One wanted me to convert my heroine from an Indian grandmother who’d spent her life abroad to an American 30 year-old on her first overseas living experience. No one seems to want me to write the book I have in mind, showing what it’s like to “pack, pay and follow” husbands all over the world while trying to maintain your own identity. Conference speakers and my reading tell me that all this is normal and to keep trying. There’re always the three other agents who expressed interest…

February

The swans are dying. It seems a tragic irony that these beautiful birds are the ones bringing the H5N1 flu virus to Europe. The virus was discovered in Italy in dead birds early this month, then it rapidly spread north with the spring migrations. Domestic fowl have started to be affected, and people have stopped eating poultry and poultry products, not trusting their governments’ assurances that it’s okay to consume these foods. So far, thank God, there are no human cases. The latest word from the experts is that if the virus jumps the genetic barrier so it can pass from human to human, 140,000,000 deaths worldwide are possible. The swans are dying, taking their beauty and perhaps our lives with them.

Despite a lot of obligations, we managed to squeeze in one Magical Mystical Tour this month. We drove westward past Lake Bolseno to the medieval town of Solano, then on to the Etruscan ruins of Sovana, ending with lunch at a famous restaurant in Saturnia and a visit to the natural hot springs outside town. There’s a big spa with all sorts of fancy stuff, but you can still walk across the fields to cascading pools where people have been soaking in steaming sulfuric water for millennia. Even on that cold and blustery day, every pool had at least one (very warm) body in it. 

March

We went to Sorrento to celebrate my birthday. The last time we were there was with Dad, so the return was bittersweet. Our hotel was on the south shore of the bay, and our room had a wonderful view of Sorrento, Vesuvius and Naples. Not sure why, but we got upgraded to a junior suite. We took in all the sights, including a walking tour recommended by the Tourist Association. Perhaps the most amazing thing was that we saw a gallery featuring the work of Sergio Bustamante, a Mexican artist we’d discovered on our honeymoon thousands of years ago. How’s that for the Small World Department?

The masons have started constructing the wall to close off the upstairs corridor, so we can isolate that previously open room when needed. The whole upstairs is in chaos, furniture shoved into corners and covered with plastic sheets, dust everywhere, and the floor needing cleaning at the end of each workday. Which doesn’t come everyday, because the masons have an outdoor job for someone else and our indoor job, so they only come here when it’s raining.

April

The work on closing the end of the upstairs hallway was finished exactly one day before a friend from Kazakhstan, Katya Fedorova, arrived. We had met once a week to practice English conversation when Russell and I lived there. Now our former high school student was a doctor attending a workshop for ear/nose/throat specialists in Austria. She used the occasion to come down for a short, two-day visit.

Then it was our turn to travel, this time to Portugal for a holiday with my “oldest” friend, Bettina. We spent seven days together, all but one of them in Lisbon. 

The city is rich in tourist attractions: a hilltop castle, a dozen museums, wide boulevards, quaint streetcars, quirky neighborhoods for strolling, an impressive giant aquarium, the handsome Tagus River for cruising, an abundance of restaurants and cafes. 

Three pivotal events have profoundly shaped the city’s heritage. The first was 400 years of Arab occupation (750-1150 AD), a legacy still highly visible in architectural features. The second was a period of imperial grandeur thanks to colonial tribute flowing in from three continents. The third was a devastating earthquake in 1755 that combined with raging fires and a tsunami to flatten the riverfront lowlands.

Some highlights of our Lisbon visit: The Belem Tower, shaped like a galleon but decorated like a wedding cake, used to be a mid-river watchpoint, but it’s now connected to the mainland by centuries of sedimentation. The Monastery of St. Jerome, although nominally a sanctuary for ascetic monks, was extravagantly decorated with stonemasons’ creativity, including gargoyles in the shape of a monkey, a kitten, a cricket and an elephant. The highlight of the Tile Museum was a 30-meter tiled wall depicting the Lisbon cityscape in 1750,  just before the earthquake hit.

All three of us were impressed that Portugal consciously decided to show all foreign-language TV programs (French, German, Spanish, English, etc.) in the original language with subtitles. The reasoning was that this would improve language-learning in the country, and that certainly was our observation. The people of Lisbon, at least, seemed able to function in a variety of languages, and people on tram or street frequently wanted to talk with us to practice their English. Sure seems like a practical idea.

Our one day outside Lisbon took us to Sintra Palace, the royal summer capital in the hills. Begun over 1000 years ago and added to by diverse rulers over the centuries, the edifice is a fantasy of towers, arcades and pointed domes that are really kitchen chimneys. I found the kitchen the most interesting of all with everything cooked over wood fires set below countertops of terracotta.

While we were in Lisbon, we received the sad news that my Uncle Charles had died. He was Dad’s youngest brother and had been quite ill since well before Christmas. We found it impossible to make an international call from our hotel, but we were comforted by knowing we’d had a chance to talk with him by phone just before our departure to Portugal. When we got back home, we were able to place calls to his wife and surviving sister, recalling happy memories.

Then we got more sad news — when Bettina returned home, she discovered that her house had been burglarized while she was gone. She lost all her jewelry, including family pieces and everything that her deceased husband had given her, including her wedding ring. What a terrible ending to her — and our — trip.

May

This was a month of multiple challenges. At either end of the month, I had serious dental problems resulting in the extraction of two teeth, one of which anchored a bridge but had decayed to the consistency of chewing gum — undetected because it was under a crown. We have a super dentist in Rome, a German woman who’s both highly professional and caring. I’ll return in c. two months for the replacement implants.

Meanwhile, the washing machine failed to shut itself off and ran for two hours, unbeknownst to us, flooding the cantina with so much water that it went over the two-inch threshold and out onto the north terrace. We spent the morning sloshing and mopping. I must say, though, that it was probably a blessing in that the new machine is such a delight to use.

Our beloved Zack went after a viper slithering down out of the woods and into the carport. He chased it off, but fifteen minutes later, he began to lose the use of his hindquarters, snapping at the air and moaning. We feared he’s been bitten and called the vet, Dr. Persichetti, who said to come immediately. Russell picked Zack up and put him in the rear deck of the car. I was selected to drive, because I have the heavier foot on the gas pedal. We got to town in record time, backed up to the operating room, carried Zack inside and went to work.

Because viper venom constricts the veins, the vet and his assistant couldn’t get an IV into Zack’s left foreleg. So they had to shave the other one and try again. Russell was holding Zack’s body, and I was holding his head and crooning to try to get him calmed down. The combination of venom and medical attention had him pretty worked up. He kept jerking his right paw away from the vet, and we were all splattered with blood, because the IV would pull out. I finally grabbed his foot and held fast while they found the vein and secured the IV. Then they asked us to leave while they did whatever else they had to do. We sat in the waiting room a long time. Dr. P  eventually appeared and said there was room for hope and that he’d know more in eight hours. Home we went, talking with Dr. P that evening. He said the IV was working to flush the venom out of Zack’s system. His urine had gone from dark brown to a more nearly normal color, so we should come back in the morning. When we did, we found an exhausted vet who’d stayed up until 3 a.m. to save Zack’s life and an old dog who was wiggling like a puppy, he was so happy to see us.

We brought Zack home, but we had to keep him under observation and start medication by mouth twice a day for two weeks. So we took turns sitting with him. He was tired but extremely clingy, wanting to be in physical contact (e.g., dog snout across human foot) at all times. By the next day, he seemed a bit more energetic, so we decided to take a short Magical Mystical Tour and bring Zack along. We made him a bed in the back of the car and drove through a spring-bedecked Valnerina to our favorite bar for coffee and a pastry. Zack was just wonderful throughout, taking a bladder-relief walk with great aplomb, despite all the strange folks and unaccustomed sounds.

We’ve now spread a sulfur compound around the edge of the woods. Vipers hate the smell (who doesn’t?), and we’re told that this will keep them away. Here’s hoping. Even so, we’ve had more than our fair share of other, nonpoisonous snakes this spring, perhaps due to the wetter-than-usual weather.

June

My tooth saga continued — the second extraction developing an infection, me living on cottage cheese and fruit, something hard and sharp cutting my tongue turning out to be a piece of bone or tooth, which I’ll show to the dentist when I return in July.

We returned this month to the yearly Winchester (UK) Writers Conference, where I attended two very helpful workshops on mystery writing. Two top-notch agents wanted submissions (first three chapters and synopsis of both books in my Anjali series). In another workshop, I realized I really hadn’t been marketing as I should. Given the difficult state of publishing these days, the rule-of-thumb is to send out 15 submissions a month. I haven’t averaged 15 a year. Furthermore, just because an agent or publisher expresses interest doesn’t mean the author should stop marketing. So I need to send far more submissions, even though two agents have expressed preliminary interest. Ugh! Like a lot of writers, I hate marketing and know I’m not very good at it even when I do do it.

My face began to break out during the conference, all on one side with rapid onset. Could it be shingles? I wondered. I went to the conference admin. center and asked how I could see a doctor. “A&E,” the young man said. “What’s that?” I asked. “Accidents and Emergencies.” 

I walked up the hill to the university’s emergency room, where I had a three-hour wait, because my case wasn’t nearly as critical as the car accident victims, etc. who kept coming in. When I finally saw a doctor, she took one look, asked a couple questions and said, “Shingles.” I happen to be among the unlucky few who get repeat cases (remember a few years back when I had it on my trunk?). The doc gave me a prescription for the usual high-dosage antiviral, and I practically ran back down the hill to get it filled before the pharmacy closed at 5:30. 

Five tablets of 200 mg a day for five days, and the rash was starting to dry up. But then I began getting ferocious headaches just as we were due to leave London. This pain is common when shingles strikes the head, so I started taking 400 mg of Advil every four hours to get through the remaining time in England, fly to Italy and drive home. Fascinating (to me, anyway) was that the reduced cabin pressure in the plane took away the pain. However, it came back with a vengeance at 3 a.m. on our first night home. It’s now Sunday, our second day here, and the pain is down to a dull roar. I’m beginning to think I won’t have to see the doctor on Monday after all.

Ah, the joys of aging..