We’re Not in Virginia Anymore, Dinosaur.

We have a house!  It’s roomy and yet cozy, antique but remodeled, secluded and yet within walking distance of cafes, shops, and restaurants.  The expansive garden contains – get this - a petite citrus orchard.  In a word, it’s pretty great.  We signed the lease last week and our things were delivered shortly thereafter.  And after over 60 days of living in a hotel room, surely our lives are about to get easier…?

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The thing about renting a living space in Italy is that you are literally just renting the space, encompassed by four walls and entered through a door.  There are no closets.  None.  Not one_single_closet.  And when Italians move, they take with them everything  - and I’m talking the kitchen sink.  Literally.  They’ve bought their own, and therefore take with them when they go: kitchen sink, kitchen counters, cabinets, cupboards, fridge, oven, hood system, microwave, etc.  With the rented space, there is no washer, no dryer, no window fixings, no carpets, no wardrobes, no hooks, hangers, or racks.  I think they occasionally leave light fixtures.  And perhaps a crumb that is even too small for a mouse.

So before we even begin to unpack what looks like an indoor paintball course of stacked brown boxes, we must attempt to visualize all our belongings, then go out and try to find storage structures – wardrobes, cupboards, hutches, cabinets – that we estimate will be the perfect size in which to fit our belongings.  Alternately, we could unpack and unwrap all of our stuff in order to better calculate our storage needs, but then we’d be left with daunting piles of commingled belongings, a la Wall-E-esque towers of things. 

IKEA is a great place for purchasing what were before unnecessary and un-contemplated pieces of storage furniture that replace the concept of closets.  But upon return from IKEA, all the new storage structures require assembling.  Now which of these stacks of identical brown boxes contains our tools…?

OK, forget the unpacking of boxes and assembling of hutches; I’m hungry.  And luckily, I still have my hard won frying pan from when we were staying in the hotel.   I bought eggs (unrefrigerated, of course) from the corner store, so I’m in business for a fried egg.  ---  But wait, why won’t the gas stove freaking light?!  Ok, I turned the gas valve under the sink to the “open” position.  I checked the valves on the side of the house (there are four of them), and they’re all open too.  We just had a gas truck deliver 400 liters of natural gas to the external tank sitting in our yard, so I know we have gas.  Oh, maybe the delivery guy closed something while he was delivering the gas, and I need to go open it…

Nope.  I checked all three gas valves attached to the tank, and they too are in the open position.  Maybe there’s a switch outside that I didn’t see.  Or perhaps one of these humming metal boxes attached to the side of the house that are bedazzled with an array of switches must be flipped on.  And maybe something has to warm up for a few minutes.  I just want an egg, for pete’s sake, c’mon!

The difference between American homes and appliances and their Italian counterparts is that American abodes assume most of the control.  For the majority of American appliances, there is an on/off button, and that’s really about it.  If the on/off button doesn’t work, we call the repairman.  Now, Italian appliances within Italian homes present the user with much greater responsibility.  There are valves (often multiple ones) that must be opened and then closed when the task is complete.  Things need to be switched on outdoors and then allowed to warm up before other things indoors can function properly.  There are reset buttons.   There is the constant concern that running too many appliances at once will overload the system, causing power to go out either for a section of the house or the entire place.  And when that happens, there are outdoor circuits to switch and more reset buttons to uncover and push.  The Italian way isn’t bad per say, it’s just much more user-dependant.  Almost like a scavenger hunt every time you want to boil some water or run the AC.  And while I love a good scavenger hunt, this user isn’t accustomed to the pressure of such responsibility!  Yet, that is.

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Alright then, no worries.  I called the landlord’s super friendly and somewhat English-speaking sister, and she came over to help me.  With her boyfriend.  And two workmen.  Who weren’t there related to the gas issue; they were there to fiddle with some other things and now our AC will be controlled differently.  Like, two switches have to be flipped inside the house and then a switch on each AC unit (there are four) instead of one switch outside.  That’s cool, whatever makes the cold air blow.   Ah, then the landlord showed up too.  Spontaneous party at the villa!  I wished I could offer them some espresso, but – mi dispiaci – the oven won’t turn on.  Oh yes! – the oven.  Turns out there’s a reset button hidden under a big metal bolt-looking thing outside with the valves that has to be unscrewed before the button can be pushed, and this has to be reset from time to time.  What causes it to have to be reset?  Um…ah, you know…things.

We have a dish washer, which will be wonderful since I love to cook and I hate to wash dishes.  It’s European made, but despite that, when the dishwasher is running, nothing else can be running.  Not the AC, the washer or dryer, the microwave, or especially a hair dryer.  If so, the power goes out in the entire villa.  This happened twice already.  And then once again last night when the dishwasher wasn’t running, so we still don’t know what caused it that time.  But I was in the shower.  Our bathroom is very dark.

Momma mia, I digress.  These hutches aren’t going to put themselves together.  But really, they can wait.  It’s time to hit the reset button on the gas, open the gas valve under the sink, light the flame, make some stovetop espresso, and then stroll through my lovely little citrus grove and remind myself that I am in beautiful, ever-sunny, lovely Sicily.  No, we’re not in Virginia anymore, Dinosaur, but this place is pretty great too.

Check out our big domed ceilings!

And antique tiled floors!