What?!

“We’ll take you voting now, if that’s alright.”

When I walked into the shop with the stools, I never imagined I’d end up in the house of a local political candidate, let alone going to vote with her.

“Yes, that’s alright!”

I’ve actually thought about taking vacations to be an international poll watcher.  Super-geeky political dork, I know.

The day started with visions of visiting the thermal caves of Bagni di Lucca.  When we found those closed, the local who had adopted me decided to take me to see her cousin.  It just so happened that her cousin was running for the city council.

Are you kidding me?  Could this be any cooler?!  No, no it could not.

After spending an hour in Sandra’s home with her lovely partner Deb and their super-cute dogs Hollywinter and Pimpa, I was ready to make camp in the garden and never leave.  If it wasn’t for the worst rainstorm in 30 years, I might have.

As it was, I had a lesson in local Italian politics, the voting process, and was leaving with sample ballots and voters guides tucked into my backpack.

As we walked out the door, Lara, my guide, picked up a political button for Sandra’s slate and handed it to me.  Of course, I proudly pinned it on and walked out ready to see democracy in action!

The next two hours were spent in two different precincts as Sandra and Deb cast their ballots.  Sandra’s mother came to vote for her daughter.  I nearly cried.  Lara showed me her middle school.  And, in a moment of panic, I was told that I would have to remove the political button or risk being arrested by the armed police that were monitoring the site.  Awesome!

Seriously, I could go to Italian jail for wearing a political button?  Yes, and also for the picture I almost took of Sandra casting her ballot.  Good to know!  I did manage to snap a picture of the chart they fill in to determine who has won.  It was divided by political party, precinct and gender of voters.

After voting we headed into Barga for a debrief in Sandra and Deb’s art gallery, where we talked about GLBT politics, religion and art, and the “can generation.”  When I left, these amazing women gave me art to take home.  Yes, in addition to being awesome political operatives, they’re also amazing artists.  I love Italy!

I headed home the next day and wore the button for a week.  Now it lives on the sun visor of my Prius – right next to the Obama button.

When I decided to join my family in Italy for a two week vacation, I had no idea the rabbit-hole I was entering.

I would be joining my mom, dad and aunt in Tuscany – tagging along on a trip I had decided earlier not to take.

My family, being excited to share with me the research they had been doing for the past year began sending links to articles, websites, language tutorials – the whole deal.

One of these links caught my eye and theirs as well. It was titled “Barga Gnome City: European Gnome Sanctuary.”

We considered Venice, Florence and Rome, but Barga was definitely on the list.

The morning we decided to go gnome hunting, we were all very excited. Would there be gnomes in the streets like it showed in the article? Gnomes at city hall? Gnomes in the parks?!?!

After a gnome-free hour of looking around this totally charming town, we decided to ask. Now, we had a little skill with the Italian language, but “gnome” was not an often practiced vocab word. Being logical individuals, we headed to the tourist information center.

The lady there thought we were insane.

Seriously, I think she thought we were joking her. “Nani?” she asked after I pantomimed a short man with a pointed had and beard. “Si, nani!” I tried. “No” she shook her head looking concerned for my sanity. She gave us the location of a shop where we might be able to buy a gnome and sent us on our way.

We tried again with the English-speaking owner of the restaurant we stopped at for lunch. “Nani?” he asked after a repeat performance of the gnome pantomime. “Yes, nani.” This was not promising. He thought a minute, considering us. He laughed. “No Nani.” Then his face lit up, “Oh yes! Maybe two years ago there were many nani. It was a…fad.”

A fad? Are you joking? What part of sanctuary means fad? We were ready to mutiny.

We finished lunch and headed out to see the Barga Duomo – utterly defeated. We had come for gnomes, not for churches. There are lots of churches in Italy, but how many towns have gnome infestations?

As we walked out of the first church, we found a surprise. One little nani was waiting for us.

Totally beside ourselves, we took pictures and cackled with joy. We had found the nani of Barga.

It wasn’t until several days later when I met an Italian linguist who I could ask about the article, that we learned that the gnome liberation movement was one that relocated the gnomes from the town into the woods – explaining the utter lack of gnomes within the city. Next time I’m in Barga, I’m heading for the woods.

Did you know that if you are traveling to Italy, your passport needs to be good for 90 days after your return?

Yeah, that’s a good tip for anyone thinking of going to Italy.  That expiration date on your passport is more like a suggestion – a “best-by” date if you will.

I didn’t know this either.  My mother happened upon this information in the Rick Steves guide she’d been diligently ripping apart and stapling together into day-tour packets. (This is an awesome thing to do, by the way.)

Did you know that, should you discover this fact within 14 days of traveling, you have to drive to a passport office to remedy the situation.  Yeah, I didn’t either.  Lucky for me, there’s one three hours away in Seattle, and my boss was so excited that I was going to Italy that she let me make up the time.

The first time I made an appointment and drove to Seattle, (yes, I said “the first time”) it was 9 days before my trip.  They took my info, and my old passport, took my credit card number for special overnight delivery, counted the days it would take to process, and assured me that I’d have the passport by Friday.  This was on Monday.  I left for Italy the next Tuesday.  That’s all well and good, but the Monday before I left was a federal holiday.

I told the guy if I didn’t get it in time, I was hosed.  He didn’t seem concerned that we were leaving no cushion.  Who am I to question the passport agent dude?  He does this every day, right?

On Thursday when I called to make sure all was well, the office did not reassure me.  They couldn’t find me in the system.  Or so they said…

As a side note, evidently, the people in the passport office who deal with the cranky people at the window, also answer the phones.  So, if you call in and it goes to voicemail after ringing for a while, it’s because they weren’t able to answer it, and not because it’s an automated system.  If you hang up and call and hang up and call and hang up and call and hang up and call, it can cause them to become cranky as well.

This is a good tip.

So after pissing off every agent in the building with my “persistence” I drove back on Friday.

It was excellent.  The folks at the window realized that I could not wait until Monday for my passport, and expedited processing (which hadn’t even started for some strange reason) while I went to the pier.  It was a lovely sunny day, and the passport office is about 4 blocks from the water.  I spent the best day I’ve ever had in Seattle waiting for my passport.

After two trips to the passport office, several phone calls and a super-manly photo in my softball uniform, I finally have my passport.  I would not, however, suggest this method of renewal.   It was 3 days before I left, when I finally had my passport in hand.

I would suggest studying and memorizing the passport requirements for any country you might be visiting in the next 5 years to make sure you’re up to date.

Or you could just call the nice folks in the office…

I wasn’t supposed to go on the trip – but I did.

The week I was going to spend turned into 12 days – then into a year!

When I went into the shop it was to ask about the beautiful stools that called to me.

When I returned it was for the deep connection I felt.

I didn’t ask the name of the artists who owned the gallery next door, or the girl whose image hung on the walls – but I found them.

Or maybe they found me.

All I know is that before I left for Italy, I had a house and a job and a belief that I could figure out what I should be doing with my life (I may have been a bit self-important).

Now I’m living!

Join me on this great adventure!