Life on the "Farm"

With absolutely no idea of what to expect, we boarded the train to Naples. There we found that no trains went to our intended destination on Sunday, so we arranged for a ride with our proprietor Salvatore and took a train to a dusty little village about 20k away. Weighed down by a truly appalling amount of luggage, we watched with dismay as an average-sized Euro car pulled up with two jovial old men in it.

There was nothing to do but laugh uproariously, and so we all did. Gino and Mario, our friendly chaperones, packed us in like sardines with two monstrous suitcases and assorted duffels and purses on our laps. The whole way to Bosco Merrone, Gino taught Jamie to say Neapolitan phrases with gusto and cheered every time she said "Atza!"--wow!

Atza indeed. We climbed out of the nondescript valley into hills surrounded by bigger hills. The road was shaded by hazelnut and olives trees and only the occasional villa dotted the green landscape. Once at Bosco Merrone, a sprawling ranch house cluttered with shady patios and sweet neighborhood dogs, we joined Gino and Mario and their wives for some caffe and they coached us on pronouncing aglio and oglio. They were cheerful and noisy and profane but they suddenly departed, with kisses and promises of dinner at their house.

Turns out the owner of Bosco Merrone lives in Naples and our welcomers were only friends. We sat down with some trepidation for dinner with our only companions, the two men we'd be working with for the next two weeks.

Kumar is a diminutive Punjabi Indian who has worked in Italy for five years and is applying to move to Sacramento. His English is not bad but spoken in an accented rush that requires several repetitions. He cooks, cleans, and fixes whatever may need fixing in the ramshackle villa. Antonio is a hulking chain-smoker in stained clothes who only speaks brusque, monosyllabic Italian through his mustache and missing teeth. He scared us at first, but showed a bit of a smile when we played Scopa, an Italian card game, with him after dinner. We have named him Dark Horse.

The first full day, we arose at our leisure and made ourselves toast in the big house, and ate leftover carrot cake that was wonderfully light and fluffy. Then the five of us set to work scouring and rearranging the industrial kitchen. It was deeply satisfying work, with a great view of the mountains and an audience of feral cats. Refreshed by a cool breeze as I scrubbed and organized, I almost lost a sense of time and place, until Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night" music video came on the TV.

Then a heaping lunch of spaghetti and Antonio, with no warning and a secret smile in his eyes, started showing us magic tricks with his cards. Chrissy and I have agreed that this stereotypical stoic will by crying and friending us on Facebook by the time we leave.

I promise there are lots of pictures but this stupid website is not cooperating right now.