Friday, July 3, 2009

Gli Stati Uniti

Only several days after our guests departed, Trofie Wife took off herself, to return to the United States (five of them!) for three weeks. The main purpose of the trip was to attend the weddings of two friends and (hopefully) meet the first-born of my dearest buddy. Thankfully, all three events went off without a hitch (thank you, bambino fuoco, for being so cooperative!), and I was even able to throw in visits to Ohio (to see my Italian-born sorella e la sua famiglia) and Pennsylvania (to brunch with miei amici di Philadelphia).

During my stay I was treated to a veritable parade of friends, family, and bureaucracy as I took care of various errands and appointments, moving on planes, trains, subways, and automobiles throughout New Jersey, New York, Michigan, Ohio, and Philadelphia (in hindsight, Trofie Wife really should have informed the Democratic National Committee as to my whereabouts, given my presence in three major swing states; I could have done some flyering).

While Trofie Wife was across the Atlantic, quickly forgetting all the Italian she had learned, Martello held down the fort, further immersing himself in the language and culture (he still hasn’t shown me (or you, for that matter) the pictures he took of the local medieval event, which I sadly missed). He was also able to enjoy more late nights out in Genova, without me complaining about getting sleepy and/or missing the train home.

Trofie Wife was ecstatic when her connecting flight from London touched down in Genova. Not only was I thrilled to be home and eager to see Martello once again (who was kind enough to cut his hair for the occasion), but I had picked up a valuable piece of information on the flight: the EU Paralympic Table Tennis Championships were being held in Genova that week! See, my flight was slightly delayed due to the boarding of a fleet of passengers in wheelchairs. It seemed curious, and they all seemed to know each other, so I knew that something cool was up (apparently some of the more formal Italians didn’t think it was quite so fantastico and were complaining about the delay; uh, you try to load yourself onto a plane at Gatwick if you can’t walk and then get back to me, ok?). The journalist in me got up the nerve to speak to an older gentleman who seemed rather excited and happy (as well as in the know) and he informed me, in his gentle, cockney accent, that I was traveling with the British and Irish teams! I was determined to make it to the event, and so I did. Look for the scoop in another post or two!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

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