Jennifer Avventura is an Expat in Italy

I just want to give a shout out to the folks over at Expats in Italy. Their website is truly the bomb. The people over at Expats, I must say so myself, are super nice. They added me to their list of blogs, and all I had to do was ask. Easy. Thanks Expats in Italy.

If you’re looking to be an expat in Italy, I suggest you click the links provided. You will find the best, most current up-to-date information on Expats in Italy. Visa information, moving advice, politics, forums, shiny-happy people, Italy’s best recipes, living in Italy, what to expect … and so much more! What are you waiting for, click.

You can find me on the forums at Expats in Italy as Sarda.

Something to Celebrate

Three years ago today I boarded flight #16. Toronto to Rome. From Rome I boarded another flight to my home, Sardegna. I can’t believe three years have already passed. It seems just like yesterday I was kissing my loved ones good-bye. The person I was then is not the same person I am now. I have grown-up. My life far and different from those I left.  Continue reading

Forty-One

Ladies and gentlemen it’s burning up in Sardegna this week.  Today’s high 41 degrees celsius (in the sun,) and a nice breezy 27.5 degrees celsius in the shade.  The curtains are drawn the house is clean and the ocean is blue and calm.  It’s difficult to think about writing on daze like this.  Who would want to?  Blue clear skies, singing happy birds and smiles across the faces of the town folk. Another beach day is in order for this afternoon as the heat makes it difficult to even think about anything else.

Are you coming to Sardegna for holidays?  Need questions answered?  Need someone in the ‘know’?  I’m that person, I’m here to make your holidays in Sardegna one of the best and brightest.  Just ask, I don’t bite.

Sun Shining Sardegna

It’s only April 3rd and the sun is shining with fierceness, and the weather is utter sweetness in Sardegna.  High of 35 celsius and the lows are just not important to remember.  If you are planning on visiting Sardegna this summer or any summer for that matter, there are two very important things to remember: Continue reading

Not Made of Sugar



Just me, myself and I

The summer is almost over but the hot, hot heat lingers on. There’s a blue haze in the sky and the ocean does not move. Floppy & Shatzy have not come out of their house all morning, like I, they know it’s much to hot to venture outdoors. It’s been over four months since my plane left me here and my patience is slowly coming along. I study the language as much as I can. I really have no choice, the only person in this town that speaks English is M. and his English is not the best at times. I have met a few of the regulars from town and we speak over morning espresso and cigarettes.
His name is Dominico and he’s sixty-five plus years. He speaks no English and offers me espresso and companionship daily. He’s a nice old man with blue eyes, one of the few blue-eyed people I have come across on this brown-eyed island. He has asked me to collect him stamps from Canada, and I have. We sit in the middle of town at our local TanTan,  and laugh and giggle at the passing people and horny little dogs that run wild throughout our town.
But how quickly the sky changes, the humidity has turned into pouring rain. Large black and grey clouds cover the sky and gust past the bay windows. There was a slight break in the sky this afternoon, and I ventured out to fetch mountain water at the fountain and have a secret cigarette. The break didn’t last long as on my way back a slight drizzle took over the town. I’m not made of sugar like my mother once told me, so I had no fear of melting.

Yellow Divano

The View From Here.

I begin my day like the rest of the world, I open my eyes. I wake up, stretch my arms to my pillow, point my toes toward the bay sliding glass doors, out past the mountain tops, and I plunge my feet into the ocean. All this and I’m still in my bed. A warm body beside me and a smile on my face, I turn and give a buongiorno and a bacio and I can feel the ocean kiss me awake. I rise from the mattress on the teak floor to the bathroom on the left. I close the sliding wood door and perch myself on the throne for what will be the first of many pee’s for the day. I wash my face and check for spots, all is clear, for today. I follow the teak into the open concept kitchen and living-room and turn on the espresso machine. My round Tetley tea bag (which I had shipped from Canada) fits perfectly in the cup of the espresso maker, the tea is slightly tainted with espresso, there is no other choice, there is no oven, yet. I drink my tea on our new used divano and gaze out the windows. Il mare is clam today, maybe we will go to the beach for the fourth day in a row, maybe we will take an hour drive to Sassari to pick up a new English novel and maybe just maybe I’ll sit on my yellow divano and stare dreamily into the valley and the mountains that surround us.

Believe In This Moment, Run.

Ready, Go!

With sneakers laced and iPod kicking out the latest Eminem, I grab my stop watch and head out the door.  Beep.  I’ve just started my first 6k of the week and I am totally pumped. There are no bibs, no trophies nor ribbons adoring my walls.  There’s also no marathons or half marathons nor even mini marathons, heaven forbid triathlons (I look up to those who can, in awe.) 

But what there is, what is the most important and crucial point for a runner, is passion.  Passion to feel like your flying, passion of hear your heart beat, passion to add just one more 6k to the week.  It’s exhilarating and freedom comes; and nothing else exists.  Just you, the road and air exist in this moment. Believe in this moment, run. 

In the corner collecting dust are five pairs of (new to old) running shoes.  They have their scars and served me well.  Most of the time, they are the only reason I get out of bed in the morning. They beckon me their taunts of freedom and haunt me awake with their desire to add another mile.  There are plenty of times when I just throw them back under the bed, pull the comforter up and go back to sleep.  Only just to taunt me further when I finally rise to the day.  These days are difficult.  As what I’m really aching for is a jar of Nutella, some freshly baked Sardinian bread, a few cigarettes (yes. a runner who smokes.  a runner who runs to not smoke.  it’s a vicious cycle,) a deep dark local red and a good Angelina Jolie flick on the tele.

They always win.  Always.  It never fails.  It doesn’t matter how many times I try to forget them, they always win.  Beep. 46:16.  Not bad.  But it doesn’t really matter to me what time I’ve run or how many seconds slower or faster I was this time.  When I’m on the road time does not exist, and if I must walk for a millisecond well, that’s just ok too.  For the only thing that truly matters is my passion for running.  It’s alive.  Belive in this moment, run.

I am Canadian. Io sono canadese. (in Sardegna/Sardinia)

 

Canadian Maple Leaf

The muscles in my calves are aching as I make my way up the mountain, bags in hand. At home I unpack the groceries to our six-foot two fridge. In an hour M. will be home, sweaty from seven hours of pane and he’ll be hungry. He likes and wants me to prepare the meals, its part of his culture; that’s just what the women do. I’ve seen it at many dinner parties thrown by his friends. And this woman doesn’t mind. He’s home and greets me with a bacio and we eat. I wash the dishes in the bathroom sink; our cucina finished within the next few days, Sardinian time. In my reality of time our cucina will be finished in two to three more weeks. I’m ok with the fact that things here happen slowly, I can’t change the hand of time nor can I move a culture to rapido. After all, I am in their country trying to speak their language be it dialect or Italian; and I find myself becoming the traditional Italian housewife with the exception that I AM CANADIAN, eh!

You’re distracting me! Go away.

While I should be writing my piece on ‘Asparagus Hunters,’ I’m well, just not. It’s there in my lazy head wanting to come out, needing to come out.  But it’s just too lazy.  All it wants to do all day is surf the net and read other super fine blogs by super strange people out there in cyber space.  As well as eating one two many carbs in the day, smoking like a wet Sardinian chimney, consuming copious amounts of Nutella and local pecorino cheese (fresh sheep cheese.  There’s some in the fridge … want some?) believing that thirty minutes on the indoor bicycle will get my bikini bod back, yeah just doesn’t cut it.  I NEED to focus!  Capital F.  With too many goodies to devour out there in life I find my self distracted by life’s little pleasures.  Maybe it’s the Sardinian air, food or even … sex.  Who knows?  Chi lo sa?  My day dreaming must come to an end and I must finish that piece on … wait, what was I rambling on about?  Oh right … Asparagus Hunters.

My New Year starts February 1st 2011.  Blessed Be.

How the Italian Postal System – Blows my Mind.

Living on an island in Italy has its up and downs.  I’ve lived here for almost three years and every day the ‘system‘ changes, a new law passed, the Prime Minster can buy votes, and maybe the post will arrive domani.  It’s no wonder most of the habitants here are ‘fuori di testa.’  How can anyone possibly trust/rely on a system that is corrupt and changes only for the good will of the already made billionaires. Continue reading