Book Three

Sunset from Hawaii's Big Island, understanding what this next phase is all about.

If moving to Mozambique was Book One, moving to California and starting art school was Book Two, then this is Book Three. I am still based in the Bay Area but the cast of characters is significantly different, as is my perspective. I feel deeply moved to write these days, but found myself questioning whether it was right to continue blogging here, in this space that is all about homes I no longer live in, a career I no longer have, and a man I am no longer married to.

Despite all that has changed, this is still the place where I feel the most comfortable sharing, documenting, and processing my life. I remind myself there is no "wrong" in continuing to write my own story, even if the space is imbued in memories of Books One and Two. What a blessing, really, to have this record to look back upon.

Thirteen years have gone by since I started this blog on a rainy evening in Austin. I am now 36, working as an artist and translator, married to a soulful Brazilian cinematographer named Roberto. We met in San Francisco through a mutual friend, a beautiful story for another day. We live in a light-filled apartment about 10 minutes away from my mom's house. My days are spent making jewelry and painting in my studio, interpreting in hospitals and at welfare appointments, and translating technical documents. Roberto spends his time going to ESL school and working on various film and video projects. Life is good.

At some point I'll share some photos, perhaps from our wedding at City Hall, or from recent travel to Hawaii, New Mexico, and Italy/Slovenia. And I'll share stories. There are SO many stories from the last two years that I want to get out before the details dull. But for now, a small synopsis of Book Three thus far:

• I healed my heart from the end of a marriage, relationship, partnership, and friendship
• I lived with my mom for 1.5 years for the first time since I was 15
• I started working as an interpreter
• I reconnected with my roots in the Italy/Slovenia border region
• I opened myself to finding love again, and did!
• I lived in San Francisco for 6 months with Roberto in a shared apartment in the very foggy Outer Richmond neighborhood, and eventually rented a place of our own in the East Bay. 
• I realized that I want to be a mother. 
• We got pregnant!!
• We found out at 13 weeks that our baby had Turner's Syndrome and the pregnancy was not viable.
• We lost the baby at 14 weeks.
• We got married!! (Very strange to be celebrating and grieving at the same time).
• I have a new name - Ali Ambrosio!!
• My dad was diagnosed with cancer (again) and had major surgery. Thankfully he's now recovering.
• Roberto had a heart attack (he is 40 and otherwise healthy) and we discovered he has several congenital heart defects. So so so grateful he received treatment and is now seemingly okay.
• Contemplated moving to the Big Island of Hawaii (the tropics were calling big time, but we realized our destiny is elsewhere)
• Currently figuring out how to make life work in the Bay Area, with a medium-term plan to spend half our time in Italy/Slovenia.

So far Book Three has been dizzyingly intense. You can understand why I need to write again. Looking forward to sharing here frequently, I've missed blogging and missed interacting with you, my lovely readers, if any of you are still out there after all this time. :)

New Cali Home

About two weeks ago I moved out of my mom's house (temporary home base for the last 18 months) and into a new apartment with my partner. I'm so relieved to have found a place that is safe, decent, near public transportation, and - major bonus - full of natural light and high ceilings. Truly a gem in the middle of a lot of crappy options. I am still pinching myself that 1) this place exists, and 2) we got it!!!

The housing situation in the Bay Area is competitive, restrictive, and depressing to say the least. It is SO EXPENSIVE and honestly what you get for your money is pitiful in most cases. Here's a sampling of some of the places we looked at in our search:

Apartment 1: Located in the Outer Richmond in San Francisco (read: cold and foggy and not on the BART line, so one of the more "affordable" places in the city). $2,200/month for a studio consisting of a converted garage with one tiny window, a tiny bathroom, a double burner hotplate and a mini-fridge "kitchen", and a murphy bed that pulled down from the wall. Nope!

Apartment 2: Located one block away from Lake Merritt in Oakland, seemingly a great spot but this is an area where the neighborhood can vary vastly from one corner to the next. This was on one bad corner that's for sure! I understand why there were no photos of the outside of the place on Craigslist. As we approached there was a lady in panties and a fishnet top with her boobs hanging out walking into the liquor store on the bottom floor of the building. Across the street was a parking lot full of dudes loitering and heaps of trash. After a few minutes the lady came out of the liquor store and plopped down on her mattress on the opposite corner of the street, put on some headphones, and started smoking a joint. Next to the liquor store was an establishment that was operational, had a street number, but all the windows were blacked out and there was no identifying sign of what was going on in there. Not good. The inside of the unit had been completely remodeled and that, plus the fact that my partner's school is nearby and I often run at the lake, is what had attracted us initially. We never even made it inside, sending a polite email to the listing agent saying it just wasn't the right spot for us. Cost? $2,000/month for a 2 bedroom (600 square feet). Right...

Apartment 3: Located in El Cerrito, adjacent to highway 80. $1,950/month for a 2 bedroom plus one month free rent if you signed a 16-month lease. Totally new interior, new appliances, looked really lovely...but surely there must be a catch at that price, and why on earth would anybody offer a signing bonus here in the landlord's paradise?? Sure, the place was right next to the freeway's sound barrier wall, and the neighborhood was older and pretty humble, but what could be the issue? All the bars on the windows of every house around? Maybe... The neighbor's yard full of pit bulls and rottweilers and neglected looking poodles, all on short chains, aggressively barking nonstop? Who knows. There were about 8 other couples waiting to see the place, and for us the paranoia that something was fundamentally wrong to offer the place at that price was too much. Next!

Thankfully, by some great Craigslist miracle, we stumbled across our current place and managed to make a deposit and get in an application before they could show it to anyone else. You have to act fast here, that's for sure. I feel much like I did back in Maputo, where we had an excellent apartment at a price that we were afraid to disclose less someone show up at the landlord's door and make a higher offer. At least here in California there are binding leases and what not, although I shudder to think what will happen when it comes time to renew and most certainly the amount will be adjusted up according to "current market value".

There's a high price to pay to live in the Bay Area, and it's only getting harder. I've definitely thought about moving somewhere else over the last 18 months, and even did some (fruitless) job applications in places as diverse as Houston, Chicago, and Washington DC. But seemingly it's in the cards to be here for the near future, which makes me happy, as this Cali life is pretty incredible and I'm excited for this new chapter to kick off in our new apartment.

More Endings and More Beginnings

It's been a year since I last wrote here. Often I've had the urge to come back and chronicle what's been going on in my life, but while this is my favorite space for writing, it also felt strange. Outdated. Too connected with people and places who are no longer in my life and, honestly, a reflection of a self that I no longer am. I suppose that's inevitable when you blog for over a decade, but my goodness the changes have been massive. New continent, new school, new profession, divorce, passing of loved ones, new relationships, new homes, new beginnings. It's been so much.

For a while I was decided that I would start a new blog for this new chapter, but I never found a format or space or whatever that seemed right. I like writing here, and I like all of you who follow(ed) me here, and so I've come to peace with the idea that yes, my past is present, but my present can be as well. 

So where to start? This time last year I'd just come back from a month of traveling. Geographic distance from Casa Cali, as well as the constant stimulus of new landscapes and languages and people, allowed me to feel like my old self again. The traveler, nomad, extrovert, adventurer. It also helped me begin to glimpse my new self, who I would become after all the transitioning, questioning, grief and growth.

Back in the Bay Area, life delivered up one of those sublime coincidences (that aren't coincidences at all, really) and I met a very lovely person who has become my partner in life and in love. I certainly wasn't "looking," but when you find treasure you most absolutely open your heart and say yes. I would like to write volumes about this person, about our adventures and insights together, but I must say that I have come to value privacy immensely and so choose not to. But know that I'm happy and, true to my Libra nature, am in a pair and feel at balance.

Over the past year I have really reconnected with my roots on my mom's side, and spent a lot of time along the Italy-Slovenia border where my family has had a home for centuries. I recovered my ability to speak Italian (it's full of mistakes but I don't really care, I'm just happy that it's present and functional!). I made many local friends and danced salsa and kizomba till the wee hours (funny how there's such a passion for Latin/African dances in that part of the world). Together with friends and family, we did a bunch of work on the house my grandmother used to live in, trying to get it fixed up and ready for who-knows-what next incarnation. Retreats, a place for wellness and healing, wine tourism...there are so many attributes and possibilities. But for now, as they say in Italian, piano, piano. Take it slow. For a while there many people were asking if I'd moved to Italy. It was/is definitely in my mind, but I'm letting life lead me there at its own pace. Although I am applying for Italian citizenship - it will take two years, and just getting together the necessary documents has been a fascinating process. Stories for another day, however...

Last month I was back in Italy and we had a memorial ceremony for my grandmother, who passed away last year in California. It was quite the event. My family was there from the US, the whole village turned up, we had two choirs sing, and everyone came to the house afterwards for prosciutto and pastries and wine. Truly the closing of one gigantic chapter and the opening of the next. I want to write about the whole funeral organizing experience, as it was priceless. Talking in limited Italian about opening graves and preparing floral wreaths, and trying to figure out catering, and getting the priest booked, etc. etc. etc. Truly memorable, I swear many of the people and situations seemed straight out of a film. Too good (and sometimes too bad!) to be true.

Now back in California I continue to make jewelry, my focus these days is on heirloom redesign and memory projects. I've also been working as a medical interpreter (Portuguese and Spanish), which is interesting and a good counterpart to my studio practice. Always the Jill of a thousand trades it seems. :)

I suppose what really moved me to write here again is the sad news that Pria passed away three days ago (the cats are still at Casa Cali with Ricardo and his new wife). I got the call that Pria had collapsed and was at the emergency vet, and that it didn't look good. Apparently he had cancer all throughout his body. I'm grateful that he didn't suffer long, and I know he was in good care. Still it is so incredibly sad. I feel lucky that my last memories of Pria are of days when he was happy and heathy and purring in my lap. I miss him. I'd been missing him all year. Losing our animal companions is terrible, but boy did he give us years of funny stories and fond memories. I hope he's living it up on the other side of the rainbow bridge with his brother, Parceiro.

Hands and Meteors and a Song

This song just hit me hard. Driving up the hill in Point Richmond after spending the evening at the gallery with my friend Carolyn and brainstorming jewelry stuff for our show, and for our lives. It felt good to be there, in that space. A welcome coming-round of sorts after being very burned out.

Life has been full lately. I've been traveling like mad, spreading my work wings broadly, dancing. Sorting. Measuring and evaluating. 

One exciting thing is I believe I've started to "cure" my chronically cold, clammy hands. (A standout memory from 10 years ago is a salsa partner telling me that my hands were like eels, slick and hard to hold on to.) Beyond sweaty my hands also "loose their blood" periodically and become numb and white in patches thanks to Reynauds Syndrome.

Anyhow, after decades of avoiding people's touch but also really, really wanting to do things like dance and hold hands and safely grip onto a subway pole when when the train lurches, I've been searching for a solution. Over the past 3 months I've been doing a mix of acupuncture and herbs to treat circulation and digestion. Over the last 2 weeks I've been shocking my hands in water (a therapy that seemingly works for many people). And over the last week I've significantly modified my diet to be very low sugar and low carb. 

I don't know if it's a mix of these things, a coincidence, or whatever but my hands have been totally different these past three days, maybe even week. They are not sweaty or cold. I lost a bit of circulation this morning, but it was cold and foggy out and I went running at Tilden without gloves on, so to be expected I guess. 

But I danced on Saturday and Sunday and pretty much had warm, regular person hands. This seems like a miracle, and I'm almost afraid to believe it.

In other news, Carolyn and I drove out to the middle of nowhere outside Antioch the other night (madrugada, really) to see the Perseid meteor shower. I miss the dark, dark skies of the Sandias. We saw several dozen meteors but even way out in the Sacramento Delta there is still so much light pollution. And it was cold and windy as shit. But absolutely worth the effort.

Here's the sky from earlier that evening. No meteors in Point Richmond, though. Too much fog later in the night when the moon was gone and the shooting stars visible.

Leaving Home

Last week I house sat for Rico while he was in India for business. It was wonderful to spend time with the cats (he has all three of them, which makes me feel like a bad cat mom for "abandoning" my babies but it's the better situation for everyone...except possibly Rico, who still has to deal with Pria waking him up at 5:45am demanding food). Anyhow, it was a relaxing few days of sitting on the couch binge-watching Weeds, eating ice cream, and snuggling with the cats.

It was also quite strange to be back in the place that once was my house, our house. Rico and I continue to be on very good terms with each other (I am truly grateful for our drama-free split) but being back there, in what is now His house, was emotionally difficult. Everything is still so familiar. I know that house intimately, I could navigate it with my eyes closed. I know where the light switches are, how to jiggle the downstairs bathroom door so it opens without sticking, where to find the Lysol and extra toilet paper, how to turn on the tv and the stereo. It is all so comfortable, like slipping into an old skin.

Except certain things are different (and, of course, I am different...the slow metamorphosis into my identity as a single person becoming ever more noticeable). I am clearing out my stuff bit by bit. The contents of drawers emptied, paintings removed, closets vacated. I notice Rico got new drinking glasses and cutting boards. There is "man brand" lotion and soap in the bathroom. And the smell of the house is subtly changed. I can't describe it, really, but suppose what I notice is the absence of myself, of my perfume and sweat and cooking and tears.

The closest thing I have for comparison is when I returned to my mom's house in Albuquerque after spending my junior year abroad in Brazil. The house was nearly exactly the same, but not quite. Home but not home anymore. Familiar but no longer fits. That was also a big moment of transition for me because I had decided to skip my senior year of high school and go straight to college. So it was more than just a re-entry after a year of international living. It marked a major chapter change, the start of a physical move as well as a shifting identity and a breakup of sorts. Much like now.

Being in Rico's house last week led me to process through a lot of emotion surrounding our split. Which is good, because I don't want to find out five or ten years down the line that I didn't adequately feel or deal with all this stuff. But still, not easy. Not easy at all.

Mostly I feel sadness, but not in the regretful "I-wish-I-could-go-back" sort of way. No, sadness as in mourning. Sadness as in acceptance. Sadness as in realizing that two people and an ocean of love are sometimes not enough to "make it work." And a strange, quiet happiness in understanding that despite all of that I am okay. Rico is okay. We are okay.

Back to Bay Life

My freeform pattern painting from last week. I never know what direction these pieces will take...

I've been back in the Bay Area for about a week now and am enjoying the particular pleasures of my life here, namely:

- Painting group. Every Tuesday I go to the house of my 87-year-old neighbor to paint for several hours. He is a retired architect, originally from Colombia, who could easily pass for 15 years younger (he has no wrinkles, is totally mobile and independent, and has a great sense of humor). Each week he opens his garage to me and a few other local artists and we paint, drink wine, share stories, and listen to music. This past week we had a turntable out and listened to Spanish records from the 1960's. Our host taught us to play the castanets, although none of us were particularly successful - they are way harder than they look.

- Cooking and eating fresh, simple meals. After three weeks in Italy and Slovenia, one of which was intensely spent doing wine and food tourism, it feels really good to be back to my regular routine. Since being home I've enjoyed making/eating white beans, roasted potatoes, arugula, radishes, zucchini, nectarines, bananas, oatmeal, cottage cheese, eggs, and almonds. Not all together of course, but this is the base from which I create salads, frittatas, and bowls. There have been some treats, too, of course. But it feels good to detox a bit from all the alcohol and sugar and fat of my trip.

- Running. I ran while traveling, but there's nothing like being on my home turf. I am privileged to have a beautiful place to run right outside my doorstep. I can do an easy 3 or 5-mile loop along the water's edge, through a park, and into a marina area...or I can go the other direction and do some intense hills through the residential heart of Point Richmond, admiring architecture and gardens and killer views as I go along.

- Dancing. Perhaps the thing I most love about my life in the Bay Area these days. Be it cardio-fitness with the lovely ladies at Hipline in Oakland, salsa/bachata/kizomba at the dance school I've been going to in Emeryville, or most recently forró with live music in San Francisco, dancing is what keeps a smile on my face more than anything. I'm getting better at following, too, which makes the experience of partner dancing all the more enjoyable. 

- Studio life. Currently I'm trying to clean out my studio and get back to the minimalist state of being that makes me feel at ease. I see the light at the end of the current clutter tunnel, though, so hopefully tomorrow I will resume actually making jewelry instead of just organizing and purging stuff. I am looking forward to soldering again, I've got the itch to make some chandelier earrings. Plus I have some client work lined up, which isn't always glamorous but I'm grateful it's part of my life here for sure.

- Hanging out. I've been doing a fair amount of taking it easy these days, which feels good. Hanging out with my mom and her cat, Tuxa. Drinking lots of tea. Re-reading "Como Agua para Chocolate" and wishing I was eating all that divine food and living a love story of my own in Mexico. I'm hoping to sunbathe at some point, although the weather has been quite foggy which has me wearing slippers and snuggling with the electric blanket rather than reaching for my bikini. Hopefully I'll have a chance in the coming week...

Munich-SFO

The last time I was on this flight from Munich to San Francisco I sobbed silently at takeoff.  Not because of fear of flying, which I definitely suffer from, but because I was hit with a wave of emotion and in that instant I knew my relationship was over. No more pretending an alternate destiny was possible, no more head in the sand. I had gut-level certainty that the next step was a breakup, a chapter change, and the pain that comes when a love that once flourished must be laid to rest. I was grateful when the seat belt sign was turned off and I could go to the lavatory for a real ugly cry, with nobody around to witness my scrunched up face or hear my wailing.

That was in March, nearly four months ago. Now it is the last day of June and I am on the same Lufthansa flight headed home from spending some time in Italy at my grandmother's house. I cried again, but only because I watched an inspiring film (Joy with Jennifer Lawrence). It's amazing how much has changed in this short period, how different I feel.

Unlike the last time I was on this flight, I am not dreading coming back to California (even though I know divorce papers and the slog of moving my things from one space to the next await me). I also don’t wish I had stayed in Italy, although it was tempting to extend my trip after a successful beta experience of organizing wine and culinary tours with a childhood friend and a fabulous group of ladies as guests. It’s nice to feel a balance of saudades for the place I am leaving and the place that is my next destination.

I see myself coming into a new phase: one of being single and independent, having multiple jobs I create for myself, and with no clear primary residence. I’ll be bouncing between the Bay Area (the work-live artist space I’ve created in the basement of my mom’s house), the Italy-Slovenia border region (where my grandmother was from and her big, uninhabited property awaits its destiny), Houston (where my best friend lives), New Mexico (my dad’s place), and who knows where else in between. I envision lots of geography, lots of change, wearing lots of hats. Just how I like it.

I am trying out the elevator speech about my life as I meet people on the plane: “I am a jeweler, artist, translator, traveler, writer, and dancer.” Yes, all of those things together in one complex ball of self-employment and creativity and travel. Interdisciplinary, interconnected, international. Untitled for the time being. Following my gut. Seeing where the road takes me.

Still Life with Blackwood Sculpture and Grapefruit

Looking Back: Two Years and Four Months after Mozambique

Two weeks ago I was on the phone with my best group of girls from Mozambique. It's hard for us to find a time to chat nowadays, not so much due our busy schedules but because of the ridiculous time differences between the places we now call home.

K. is in Honiara (Solomon Islands), Z. is in Melbourne, H. is in Bogotá, J. is in London and I am here in California. There is only one special time that will work for all of us, and we manage to make it happen about once a quarter. We're incredibly scattered about the world and I haven't seen any of my girls in nearly 2.5 years, but we have one of those magic friendships where we gossip and philosophize and plan our lives as if we were simply having our weekend catch-up, poolside at Hotel Cardoso or possibly Clube Naval with a gin and tonic in hand.

(On a related note, check out this snarky gem of expat writing if you haven't already.)

In my last chat with the girls, the topic turned to whether or not we miss Mozambique. The answer, it seems, is totally dependent on where we all ended up post-Maputo. I have a similar perspective to Z. in that we are both very content with our new homes, our new occupations, our new lives. We are both putting down some solid roots in cosmopolitan cities with good weather, in which we have family and where our partners are content. Neither of us really misses Mozambique, in the sense that it was good while it lasted but we are glad to have moved on. Of course we feel moments of nostalgia and saudades. But in general we wouldn't want to go back, perhaps not even for a visit.

K., on the other hand, really misses Mozambique. Nothing like the perspective of living on a small, quiet island in the middle of the South Pacific to make Maputo seem like the most fun, fantastic, fast-paced and flavorful city ever invented for expats. K. and her husband miss the restaurants, the international crowd, the easy access to nearly everything, the endless opportunities for weekend trips, the (relatively) good connections to major cities on other continents, the solid group of friends... I'm not sure if they could go back if they had a chance, but Maputo understandably has become a grass-is-greener sort of place for them.

H. also misses Moz quite a bit and has already traveled back once to spend the holidays. She still has very close friends there, the kind that will likely never move away, so it's like a homecoming of sorts in that she is greeted with familiar faces and can easily slip back into the life she'd established there. Or so I imagine.

J. is somewhere in the middle I suppose, enjoying her life back in the UK and the excitement of a post-grad-school job search, but also ever-open to the possibility of traveling again. I'd guess that given the chance she'd travel back to Mozambique, but that it's perhaps not at the top of her priority destination list.

What's strange for me is that Mozambique had such a huge impact on me and yet I don't think I'd return if given the chance. I prefer it as a memory, preserved in time, protected from the inevitable disappointment and depression that I would feel if we ever went back. I don't really know how to explain this, especially because there *are* still people there I'd love to see again. Zeca and his family, for sure. The handful of friends in Maputo who call the city their permanent home. Hugh Marlboro. The guys from the local crafts council. Dona Lídia.

I suppose it's like returning to your hometown after many, many years away (Maputo isn't my hometown but it's the place where I spent the most time of my adult life - nearly five years). Everything has changed, and that is depressing. Nothing has changed, and that is depressing, too. People have left, and that makes you long for the good old days when you all used to hang out. People have stayed, and that makes you sad, too.

More than anything, a trip back to Mozambique would make me recall in vivid color the person I was back then. Not that I was a bad person or anything, but I was a *different* person. More immature. More insecure. More arrogant. More idealistic. Still figuring out an awful lot about who I am... There were good times - amazing times, for sure! - but I have a general bittersweet taste when I think back about the Moz years.

Rico and I often reminisce about how unhappy I was there. I know I cried often, that I had stress-induced allergy attacks every week, that I grew to hate the "development" work that had at one point been so inspiring, that I became so cynical I'd force myself to keep my mouth shut when meeting new people because I didn't want to come off as a total asshole and tell them their water sanitation project was doomed to fail.

I remember these things but they often seem like false recollections, like I'm telling the story of how someone else felt, not how I felt. It was bad but I don't remember the details. It was good, but I also don't remember a lot of the details.

For me, our time in Mozambique was characterized by an awful lot of gray areas. Swinging emotions. Sick feelings about what it means to be white and/or foreign and/or rich in a country where so many are born into situations of need. Questions about "development" and what motivates us to "help" others. Questions about who my local friends were and who their families were, realizing that all of that corruption and willingness to turn a blind eye comes from somewhere...Exciting, fun times in the midst of all that gray. Meeting incredible, smart, genuinely kind people from Mozambique and all the corners of the globe. Feeling humble. Feeling like a know-it-all. Living the jet-setting life. Longing for home.

I guess it's only fitting that my feelings post-Moz continue equally gray.

The Rose Chapter

The other night I indulged in a pity party on my mother-in-law's veranda, a good half hour of hot tears and thick, wailing sobs provoked by the impending sale of the Casa Rosa. I thought about the parties I'd never throw, the atelier I'd never have, the friends I'd never make, the sense of community that would remain forever fleeting. It felt like I'd somehow failed, given up not only on my bohemian dream life in Santa Teresa, but given up on Brazil.

And then, after that good crying session, there was a shift. I was sad, yes, but it was as if a fog had lifted and I could suddenly see the bigger picture. Casa Rosa was but a chapter (and a wonderful one, without question) in a much greater story, one in which I wasn't the lone protagonist but a member of an interconnected cast. Selling the house was a collective decision for a collective good. A shared future. Family.

At the end of the day a house is just a house, no matter how spectacular the salmon pink Neoclassical columns or the crystal chandeliers or the banana grove in the winter garden. It's okay to say goodbye and move on, even if your dreams and plans involved a different ending.

I frequently remind myself that selling the Casa Rosa doesn't mean that I've lost my traveler's spirit, that I've abandoned my international lifestyle, that I've become somehow less special because I don't call Santa Teresa home. A house is not an identity, and if it has become one, priorities should be reexamined. A house is just a house, and it is a welcome feeling of lightness to move on, to simplify, to let go of attachments.

I feel satisfied, centered, at peace. It's not the address or the neighborhood or even the country that matter, it's who you are with. I am looking forward to the next chapter, full of family and friends, at home at Casa Cali or wherever else the story takes us.

Farewell to the Garden

One of my favorite aspects of the Casa Rosa is the internal courtyard. The banana grove, the lion head fountain, the mini pool, the pedra portuguesa that replicates the paving pattern of Copacabana beach... Some of the features were there when we bought the house, but much of the current look is thanks to upgrades we made over the years. Perfect for a garden party. Happily we've had many a great festa in that courtyard, the crowning glory being our wedding reception. :)

I'm Already Home

Now that the holidays are drawing to a close, many friends who traveled away from Mozambique to see their families or have an adventure in tourism are now heading back "home". It's very strange not to be going back to Maputo with the rest of them.

I read on Facebook about girlfriends' plans to meet up for basil mojitos, to have lunch at Zambi, to get caught up on the end-of-year gossip, and to meet the new babies in our group...and I feel so sad that I won't be joining them. Such is the life of the expat. You are eternally destined to be missing something, someone, somewhere.

I am incredibly happy to be in our Casa Cali, with Rico, establishing our new routines, setting goals for 2010, watching tv and working in the garden. It is the life I've always dreamed of, no doubt. But that is unfortunately no cure for the saudades that periodically fill my heart.

Casa Cali

After a marathon trip that involved two back-to-back 11-hour flights and a 12-hour layover in the mix, Rico and I made it to California two days ago. I'm incredibly grateful to report that, after an equally gruelling trip, our three cats made it across the world as well. They arrived soon after us, and despite some initial shock and yowling about, everyone is nicely settled in and feeling at home.

Rico made it through his immigration interview without incident, and received a hearty, "Welcome to America!" from the attending officer. Our luggage arrived on time, the few cargo shipments we sent (sculptures, paintings) seem to be on track, and nothing serious was lost or damaged in the move. In all the international travel I've done throughout the years, I can honestly say I've never had a trip go quite so smoothly.

Casa Cali is gorgeous, much more cozy than Rico and I had expected from the photos. We have wooden floors, a spacious kitchen, two decks and a stunning view across the bay where, on clear days, we can see the San Rafael bridge. We also have a mature garden that I look forward to learning how to make flourish. We've met some of the neighbors, and are getting to know the basics of our new place of residence (i.e. how to get on the freeway, where to go for a jog, how to get to the nearest BART station, where to find the bank and supermarket).

Rico and I are in the midst of the low-level craziness that is moving into a new house, unpacking and trying to establish a routine. We had the requisite American experience of going to COSTCO yesterday, which was quite a trip. We've been trying to figure out what all still needs to be purchased, what can wait, how we will arrange the furniture, which room will be my atelier and which will be Rico's office. It's a bit exhausting, but I am absolutely loving this process.

I will likely be posting infrequently for the next week or so as we get settled, but please know that I fully intend to continue blogging, and that I also will keep writing about Mozambique and our experiences in Maputo.

Soaking Up Our Maputo Home

On Saturday it hit me like a ton of bricks: We are leaving Mozambique in less than one month.

Suddenly I feel the slight panic of not enough time to see friends, suntan at the beach, eat prawns, dance until dawn, purchase souvenirs at the wood market. There will never be enough time, I suppose, but it is sad when you start to think about the "last's" of a particular experience.

People keep asking if I am excited to move to the US. The answer, unequivocally, is yes. I can't wait to move to the Bay Area, to be near family, to be anonymous in a city (even if for a short time), to experience a new and vibrant community, to build a new home and life together with Rico.

Part of me is also bittersweet, though. We have such a nice lifestyle here, fabulous friends, good work (although both Rico and I are severely burned out at the moment). Perhaps one of the things I will miss the most is the wonderful comfort I feel being at home in our flat, hanging out with the cats, watching something trashy on tv. I know with time a similar and even more comforting feeling will appear in our new home at Casa Cali, but our apartment here in Maputo holds a special place in my heart. It was here that Rico and I first lived on our own together, where we established sustainable careers, where we started our lives as a married couple.

I'm enjoying these moments in the flat (and in Maputo) as much as possible, all too aware that they will soon be part of the past.

Home Is Where I Want to Be*

After an insane month of calls with real estate agents and financial institutions, credit checks, lamenting over tax returns and the general feeling of being on a roller coaster 24/7, we did it.

We managed to get a mortgage. The dream home will be ours.

This happpy result is due to the incredibly hard work of Rico, my mom and the brilliant broker and agent we ended up working with. It is also thanks to the phenomenal generosity of our families, who put 100% of their time and resources up to help us make this a reality.

We have the closing scheduled in about 10 days, and the actual move-in will take place on September 23rd. From then, it is on to the fun part: decorating!


*from my absolute favorite song of all times, "This Must Be the Place" by Talking Heads

Ondas

I feel like I am riding waves each day, some moments a definite rush while on top and optimistic about things to come, others an unexpected low when the swell falls out from underneath me without warning.

Most of this is linked to the drama of trying to buy a house. It's the most intense experience of "two steps forward, one step back" that I've ever been through. Except these days it feels like one step forward, five steps back. I am trying to visualize the progress, and more than anything the end result, but it is frustrating and tiring and definitely not a guaranteed outcome. I am grateful to have Rico and my mom leading the process, as I can't imagine a more competent team to deal with the hurdles we face.

I suppose we've learned that it's not enough to get preapproved, make an offer, and come to an agreement on price with the seller. In fact that's the first baby step of the process. The real trick is to actually get a mortgage, especially if you have somewhat of a non-traditional situation.

We knew all along that the initial promising events didn't guarantee the house would be ours. I guess I just didn't anticipate how difficult it would be to wait, and to deal with the apparent setbacks along the way. Still, there is hope. I shall leave it at that for now.

In other news, Rico had his residency visa interview, and it went like clockwork. Seriously, if only buying a house were that simple. ;)

Of course the process was bureaucratic and expensive, but given that we had all of our papers in order, Rico had his compulsory medical exam results in hand, and we were generally organized and prepared for the interview, I must say that the process was very smooth. We received great service from the US Consulate in Johannesburg, had the luck of being assigned nice people to review our paperwork and conduct the actual interview, and had the added blessing that Rico's visa was granted within 30 minutes of the conclusion of his interview.

In all, the process cost close to US$2,000 considering:

1) the actual fees for submitting a petition for the residency visa, and then getting said visa processed ($355 + $400);
2) the medical exam ($150 - extraordinarily cheap for a chest X-ray, vaccinations and a physical thanks to super affordable medicine in South Africa, even for those with no health insurance);
3) FedEx cost for sending original documents from Brazil and US ($200);
4) Sworn translation of all documents in Portuguese ($100); and
5) car trips to Johannesburg since they don't process residency visas in Maputo, and the closest approved doctor for the medical exam was there ($250 + $450, for fuel and accomodations each trip).

It's certainly one way they screen who can become a Resident Alien...

I found it fascinating to see who our companions were in the Immigrant Visa waiting room. One South African guy - a lawyer with a fancy watch and very nice clothes - had been waiting 2.5 years to get his visa approved. There was a couple next to us from Eritrea - apparently the man was already a US citizen residing in Denver, CO and was trying to bring his fiancee over - who spoke barely any English and looked as if their entire lives depended on the granting of the visa. Another couple - both South Africans - left the building cursing the Consular Officer after having their petition denied, presumably due to the guy's criminal record from a fight he got into with his dad outside a bar when he was 17.

One of the most interesting things to me was that they didn't take you to a private room for the interviews. You just stood at a counter and spoke through a prison-visit style telephone to the interviewer behind the glass. Everyone in the waiting room was therefore privvy to all of the details of your life story. It was heaven for me, given my terrible habit of eavesdropping and observing (my favorite context being, of course, airports).

In our interview, we were asked about how we met, what we did for a living, why we wanted to move to the US, details about our wedding, and when we plan on relocating. It was all very easy, just like answering questions at a dinner party. There was only one misstep, when I accidentally said that we met in 2008 instead of 2000. I guess it was nerves, although consciously I didn't feel at all anxious about the interview.

So we have the visa, now it would be wonderful if we could get the house...

My mom has been compulsively lighting incense for good luck the past few days. I'd appreciate any similar votes of positive energy you would be willing to cast for us, as we still have a long road ahead towards the Casa Cali.

It's Ours (almost)

Two days ago, Rico and I made an offer on the house (with my mom's help as a co-signer). Yesterday, we got a very reasonable counter-offer back from the current owner.

We accepted it.

Now we just have to actually *get* a mortgage, get our downpayment cash into the proper accounts, and close the deal in 45 days. With a bit of luck, we'll be able to move into our own house when we relocate to California at the end of September.

I am a bit in shock - this is all so surreal, it almost seems like a dream - but quickly coming to terms with the fact that we will be doing some humble living going forward now that we've got a mortgage to pay off. ;)

I feel like such an adult!

Globalized

A Few of My Favorite Things about Italy
- eating ridiculous amounts of perfectly ripe figs - both purple and green - from the trees in my grandmother's orchard
- nightly fires in the giant elevated platform fireplace in the dining room
- finding the same Pro Secco we served at our wedding for the maddeningly cheap price of 4 Euros per bottle
- drinking said Pro Secco every night
- apple strudel (using fruit from our orchard) made by our family friend Breda, who is one of the best cooks I know
- realizing that all I need is a couple weeks in Italy for my Italian to come roaring back
- gelato from the local dairy
- admiring all of the antiques and paintings from the family collection
- catching up with Marino and Breda
- getting on Rico's shoulders to pick grapes
- wandering around Grado and looking at all the sailboats

A Few of My Favorite Things about Austria
- using my neglected cold-weather clothes every day
- new pair of Hugo Boss high heels, 50% off regular price
- visit to wineries near border with Slovenia
- eating a Whopper with chili sauce at Burger King at a rest stop (I know!)
- flavored mustards and vinegars
- the old town in Graz
- the modern architecture of my sister-in-law's remodeled apartment
- picking raspberries and plums
- Rico's face when he realized the "medalhão" he'd ordered was horse and not beef
- talking to Rico and Andrea's dad via Skype video while all piled together on the sofa
- nephews (as Rico puts it, you enjoy them until you are tired, then hand them over to their parents again)

A Few of My Favorite Things about Being Home
- purring cats
- cooking and baking sprees
- no more suitcases
- being able to make jewelry
- no more communication barriers or being exhausted by the effort to speak another language
- all of the jacarandas are in bloom
- being able to stay in pajamas all day without feeling guilty
- catching up with friends
- no children (except the furry, 4-legged ones)
- feeling the shift in the weather - summer is almost here!

In Hope that Roots Will Remain Roots

Rico and I are enjoying a relaxing vacation here in Peci, Savogna d'Isonzo district, Friuli Venezia Giulia province, Italy. We are far off the beaten path, away from all the stereotypical aspects of the tourist's Italia. This is how I like it.

Italy for me - at least this particular pre-alpine, cultural and national mish-mash, sometimes painfully provincial part of the country - is about family. It is about childhood memories of sunbathing at Grado, riding my pink bicycle Dino around the public gardens of Gorizia, collecting cherries and figs by the basketfull in the bosco behind my grandmother's house, and exploring every nook and cranny of the property that is filled with antiques and family history.

Italy is about the very real challenge that this magnificent home that has been in my family for hundreds of years must either be turned into some sort of self-sustainable enterprise, or we risk losing it to God knows what fate. My grandmother is in excellent health, but she is 86 years old and nobody is on this earth forever. Rico and I have been enjoying this mini-holiday immensely, but each night as we sit by the open fireplace and sip on a glass of wine, we engage in endless brainstorming about how to save the house(s) in Peci - there are three of them, after all: the old house, the new house, and a garden-less property across the street. We consider all the aspects that maintaining this family legacy would entail, slowly chewing over the possibilities and starting to ask ourselves if we are up to the task of taking on this challenge.

The other day my grandmother announced that she had a present, collectively, for us grandchildren, that is if we were at all remotely interested in what she had to offer. Rico nearly fell out of his chair when she said she'd like to give us my great-great-grandmother's old 1938 convertible Fiat! It is in remarkably good condition, still with the original white convertible top and shiny black exterior. For having sit for decades in such a humid climate, there is surprisingly little rust on the body. We opened up the car and had a look at the engine and then the dusty interior, and Rico and I knew that we were certainly interested in this gift. I don't know about my cousins Jeff and Lauren - we will have to consult them - but I imagine they might be interested in this restoration project as well.

Today Rico and I are going to hike the Sentiero Rilke, a beautiful coast-hugging path that connects the towns of Sistiana and Duino. We will have a mixed salad and fresh eggs for lunch that a neighbor brought by, then some raspberries and blueberries for dessert that we purchased yesterday in the mercado in Gorizia. I've been gorging myself on figs since we arrived, and keep promising myself that "this will be the last one. Just one more perfect fig, then I'll stop eating them." Apparently my promises to self aren't as iron-clad as they once were, as I'm now realizing that I'll probably make myself sick before I voluntarily stop wolfing down the divine fruits.

Being here undeniably feels like home in many ways. I'd hate to lose all of the memories and possibilities, but it is no easy situation that my family and I face. Yet again I am overwhelmed by the desire to clone myself so that there can be 4 or 5 Ali's running around the world: one for Peci, one for the Casa Rosa, one for New Mexico, one to be near my parents and dear relatives, one to be wherever there is good money to be made, and one to be permanently on a tropical beach. Until then, it is back to the brainstorming, in the desperate hope that inspiration will strike in just the right combination with financial prosperity, and that we will find a solution for all of these magnificent homes that I can't imagine living without.

Grocery Run

Today I am going with my friend A. across the border to Komatipoort for a mini road trip. The big plan is to do some grocery shopping at Spar, as just about everything is cheaper than in Mozambique, and the variety tends to be greater.

I'm not one of these people who lives in Maputo but depends on South Africa for 100% of her shopping, entertainment and medical needs (clothes, appliances and doctor's appointments in Nelspruit, Kruger or any of the quaint little guest houses in Mpumalanga for relaxing weekends, groceries at any of the Spars or Woolworths throughout the area), however it is very nice to cross the border occasionally to mix things up.

It's funny, going to South Africa reminds me a lot of going home. Of course, there are many differences compared to the US, but there is something about being in a small-town shopping mall or a big grocery store (the layout is *exactly* the same as a Safeway or Smiths) that just brings me right back to the land of all things familiar.

In other news, Ricardo was meant to come back this evening, but his flight was cancelled. It now seems he's only taking off from São Paulo this morning, and will likely be stuck overnight in Joburg due to the late arrival of the new flight. :(