Babes in the Borgo

Richard and I both enjoy reading the travel memoir / expatriate / let's restore a house in Italy (or France) genre of literature. Inevitably, each time we read a new one, we think -- "Why am I not writing this book? I could do this." Move over Frances Mayes and Tim Parks -- here we come. Today our future neighbor used a term -- Babes in the Borgo -- that we immediately both deemed an appropriate possible title for our future book. Perhaps I'll start it on a blog once the house blog is done.

About those neighbors -- we are extremely fortunate. We were looking for a "neighborhood" feel of a place, a place where it would be okay to send Maddy next door to borrow a cup of sugar, a place where children's laughter is frequently heard, a place where a helping hand is welcome -- both in giving and receiving . . . a home (so far away from "home.") The good news is that we feel it -- and we don't even live there yet. I've been in Italy for nearly seven years now and have yet to have this feeling in any place that I have lived. We had the range of types of neighbors -- from the uberwealthy in Vicenza who hardly say hello to the lunatic woman in Pozzuoli who was at our door at 5 am each morning a few weeks after Maddy's birth.

A couple of weeks ago we went to a birthday party for one of the children, and everyone gathered at the same time and place to celebrate. These are a mix of Americans, great aunts, Neopolitans, friends, farmers, engineers, sisters, musicians, mechanics, grandmothers, accountants, Carabineri, teachers, Northern Italians, and others. Here are some images from the evening.





A little Prosecco to celebrate the birthday (compulsory at every Italian b-day I've ever been to)