The Wild West

Part 1

This is not a Riesling. We're not at that part yet. Instead, enjoy this photo of yours truly enjoying a Sicilian Grillo, a new fave.

Well, friends. I am in Italy. A new country. A new adventure. My long overdue update has been continuously interrupted by typical moving woes, life and just plain exhaustion. I’m actually sitting underneath an umbrella-d café table on the cobblestone streets of a small Bavarian village, glass of Riesling in hand, as I write to you from my home base for the next month – but I don’t want to get ahead of myself and skip all of the things in between. So much has happened in such a short amount of time where it's almost overwhelming to write about all of it - but as they say in Italy, piano piano.

Circa 2009 NYC Ashley is not the same as 2025 Sicily Ashley.

Man, who would have thought uprooting your existence at the ripe old' age of 39 would be so incredibly taxing? I honestly don’t know how 20-something Ashley did it. I am attempting to channel that version of myself, who dropped everything, sold her green ’03 Honda Civic with a busted bumper for a whopping $3000 (really, 'twas the only thing she owned of any real value at the time) and moved to New York City with two suitcases and only a friend’s couch to sleep on. How did this Ashley, so eager and energetic and naïve, have the audacity to move to the city with only a part time job and no prospect of a permanent address? This Ashley slept on a former coworker’s couch for two weeks, in a Park Slope apartment shared by three very nice Jewish boys – two of them which she met for the first time upon ringing the doorbell and dumping her belongings down on the wood parquet living room floor. Next, she had the absolute gall to find her permanent living situation on Craigslist, move in with two complete strangers in Sunnyside, Queens, and still somehow find a way to thrive while working part-time as a page for a national late night broadcast TV show. WHERE IS SHE NOW?! I need her.

As I attempt to condense everything that’s been going on in life over the past couple of months, I figured the best thing to do is break this entry out into sections, or chapters if you will. I already have a book full of experiences to share during our first three months here, but I’ll save some of our outings for another blog post. This move has been nothing short of amazing, exhausting, exhilarating, soul-crushing and full of unexpected obstacles/surprises. I honestly don’t think I’d want it any other way at this point (mostly because the unexpected is what fuels this content!)

Eastbound (not down)

Ah, the wild west. If you get the chance to take a cross-country trip, do it. Experiencing things that exist in your own backyard – the Continental Shelf, the plains of Oklahoma, the transition from brown to green as you hit the southeastern US – it’s worth it, it’s beautiful and there’s something that makes you feel so small. However, I also believe many people start on a cross-country trip with wide eyes and a sort of energy that quickly begins to fade by day 2. Traffic, sitting for long hours, and overall boredom starts to get the best of you. In fact, I wrote and posted blog post #1 while somewhere in between Vegas and Oklahoma. After that, I settled into playing DJ with mostly Michael McDonald songs while E drove (a saint) and Elton snoozed in the back.

A gang I'd like to be a part of.

Our route was Las Vegas to Placitas, NM > Norman, OK > Belden, MS > Franklinton, NC > Ocean View, DE. Each place we stayed was absolutely fantastic (I’ve linked to each one in any case that you just so happen to be passing through these areas and need a place to lay your head for the evening. Well, all except Ocean View, DE, because that's my in-law's house and while I'm sure they'd be more than hospitable, rooms aren't for rent). We lucked out on accommodations and even got to chat with some of the owners. We ate BBQ at each stop, knowing this would be hard to come by in Italy unless we made it ourselves. I will say, the highlight of the trip was staying on a working fiber farm in Franklinton, NC. Waking up and getting to hang with llamas, sheep and donkeys was the best way to end our 5-day road trip. I only wish we could have stayed longer. Elton, however, was ready to leave. He ended up getting chased by a pack of guineas and his life has never been the same since! (He’s been avoiding most animals of the aviary variety).

I may also suggest you do this cross-country trip with a flexible schedule (like, not having a flight that leaves the US in 5 days) and minus a U-Haul trailer. E and I quickly found out around Albuquerque that we are indeed, not trailer folk.

I have visions of my parents getting into raging arguments at the boat dock outside of our hometown, where weekend trips to catch the sun and Florida Grouper in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico summed up my childhood. Looking around that boat dock, there were at least 5 other couples, also getting into heated arguments with threats of divorce. Why? Well, have you ever tried to back up a trailer? I realize there are many experts that do exist (my dad being one of the self-proclaimed ones) but even then I have witnessed my parents on the verge of a relationship breakdown over “which way is right?!” and “your hand movements make no sense!” I feel like I was supposed to learn more about trailer maneuverability, but then again, I probably wasn’t paying attention and was focused on a flower or the ocean waves instead. #squirrel

All smiles before TrailerGate 2025.

So, let’s just say that E and I embarked on our first test as a married couple during those 5 days on the eastward roads. With not one, but two trailer-backing-up incidents under our belt, we pulled into snowy Ocean View, DE two days before we were set to fly to Italy. (My sincerest apologies to the residents of Norman, OK, who probably wanted to murder the chick in the middle of the road who was blocking traffic for the backing out of the U-Haul we had no business handling). We also got the trailer stuck up a narrow dirt road after taking a wrong turn to our cabin for the evening in middle-of-nowhere Mississippi. Two hours and a 20 degree drop in the weather later, we had successfully backed that thang up and scarfed down our cold BBQ that awaited us. If you know anything about country roads in the southern US states, it’s basically two lanes with a death-drop into a ditch on either side. Backing a trailer up on one of these bad boys is something I will add to the list of never wanting to do again. E did handle it like a champ and hey, if you can survive driving a U-Haul across America in the middle of winter, then I was certain our next leg of the trip to Europe would be a breeze.

That was a funny thought.

Norfolk

Good news? Our military flight was hella cheap (possibly even free, I didn’t handle that part of the trip tbh, haha). Bad news? It was a military flight and we were delayed from leaving the US for 12 hours. The Navy base at Norfolk’s airline terminal had a nice selection of Cheetos and vending machine fare, but luckily they bussed us to a nearby hotel while we awaited our new departure time (the crew needed their beauty sleep, I get it). This was Elton’s first time on a bus (and he loved it). E and I decided to hang at the bar for a little too long and then wanted our last meal in America to be from Wawa. Don’t judge - you’ve had their mac and cheese, right?

They bussed us back to the terminal and the moment I had been dreading since July of last year when we got the news we were moving overseas came – it was time to part ways with Elton and his crate. We said our goodbyes as his fuzzy white face and big brown eyes stared at us through the door. I couldn’t look and it took everything in my being to walk away from him as he started whining. I couldn’t help myself and I broke down in tears, all of the other families glaring at me as we made our way up the escalator. I honestly had no shame and just let it out big time. I think the tears came from a combination of fear, exhaustion and just being overwhelmed with the entire trip across the country, and now across the world. There were kind people in line who tried to console me. There were also people in line loudly proclaiming , “well that dog doesn’t sound happy.” Yeah, no shit, thanks for that. Running on a couple hours of sleep probably didn’t help matters either. E helped get me to a level space and all was well once we boarded the plane. The situation was completely out of my control so I just had to hope for the best.

Proud D.I.N.K.W.A.D. family. No shame.

Some of you may be rolling your eyes at me and that’s ok! I know I’m absolutely ridiculous when it comes to my dog. Elton, a 60 pound husky/ shepherd/ terrier/ mutt mix is hands down one of the best living beings in my life. Adopting him in November of 2020 was the best decision I had made up to that point and he truly helped me through some rough spots. He was a young pup being rescued from a polygamist colony outside of St. George, Utah (true story) where as the dogs on their land start to get too overpopulated, they thin them out the old fashioned way. So, these angels at RSQ Dogs have a deal with the families that they will take any dogs they do not want, no questions asked. And I am so, so grateful that I went to Utah and met Elton (aka Casper at the time) that day. He came into my life after a very traumatic moment and has brought joy, laughter and love. Our first 6 months together, he lived the high-rise condo life with me in downtown Vegas. Next, he got a rental house with a yard. He gives the best and stinkiest kisses, loves to snuggle, is the proud owner of not just one but three (actually, make that four) lamb chop toys, knows when his owner needs a head-on-the-lap and is basically the goodest and bestest boy that there ever was. And when E met Elton for the first time and they instantly bonded, I kinda knew he may be the one just from that moment alone.

So shut up, he’s my son! 😉 Anyway, the tears were only breakdown number one of the evening. As the plane started going full force down the runway, I noticed how loud everything was an immediately got scared for Elton. Queue waterworks # 2.

Napoli

Just a heads up for anyone flying Space A or military rotator – they don’t serve alcohol on the plane (at least they didn’t on this one) so I had to pass out the old fashioned way. The food was actually decent, however, and I think E and I did catch a couple hours of snoozing. The flight felt like it flew by. We started seeing islands that looked like green dots in the middle of the ocean. And there it was. ITALY. Mount Vesuvius in all it’s glory. We landed in Naples and I was very anxious to be reunited with not only Elton, but my sister, brother-in-law and nephews who were waiting for us past security (yep, bonus material – my sister is also stationed here in Italy at the same time as us! They’re not in Sicily, but close enough we can make reunions like this happen often!)

Embracing my nephews in the airport, it was all really starting to hit me. We live here now. Whaaaaaat? I’m also happy to report that Elton was again, the goodest and bestest boy. He didn’t make one accident in his crate and when we opened up the door, he came out, looked up at me like, “hey, ma,” and then just went about his business. I’ll add, “best travel buddy” to his long list of qualities now.

Thank God for my family being there upon arrival. I believe E and I were too sleep deprived to make any real decisions. But as my sister and nephews got Elton, myself and all of the luggage to our accommodations on base lodging, my poor, poor husband had to spend his first 30 minutes upon arrival in Italy picking up our rental car from the airport with my brother-in-law. Nestled safely in the back of the shuttle van, I was completely oblivious to how driving conditions were just outside my window. As my nephews excitedly told me stories about their new friends and soccer and Anime and slime, all of my worries drained away with the hum of the tires on the pavement. Little did I know, my poor unfortunate soul of a husband was fighting for his life in Naples traffic, his first driving experience in Italy.

Our first evening was spent on base, catching up over risotto, pizza, beer, wine and limoncello, of course. I’m fairly certain we stayed up until around 1 AM. So, that means absolutely no sleep was had for approximately 24 hours.

I didn’t get to truly experience the driving until the next day. My sister took us into town to grab a coffee and breakfast (I was so excited to finally try my first Italian espresso!) I had no idea we were in all actuality, entering Rainbow Road on Mario Kart. What the actual fuck? I have never been so scared in a vehicle as a passenger in my entire life. In Italy, there are absolutely no rules and no fucks given. Stop signs? Just there for show. Someone in the lane you want to be in? Just run them off the road. Person going to slow in front of you? Definitely pass them and make the oncoming traffic wait for you or face an uncertain future. Couple that with my sister’s driving, and I needed all of the Oh-Shit handles that existed in that BMW. (Sorry sis, you know I love you!) 😉

I also noticed two things about Italy that they do not warn you before arriving. You see the beautiful TV shows with the pastoral landscapes and ocean cliffs. The café dining and espresso sipping. The long, winding roads climbing north towards ancient parts of the city. Yeah, that’s what TV, magazines and all of the travel brochures show you. However, real Italy has it’s issues just like any other country. Two things? Trash and prostitutes. I love the earth and the environment; I also love humans and believe in everyone’s right to freedom and civil liberties. However, I have to remind myself – I am merely a guest in someone else’s home. I will save my advocacy diatribe for a later blog post, but will continue to pick up pieces of litter whenever I’m able, because that’s just me.

Back to Naples! My sister and nephews introduced E and I to our first espresso and cornetto on the boot. And a big, shiny slab of fresh mortadella caught my eye as I sat and enjoyed my pastry. So obviously, I had to get a few (or several) slices of that. Afterwards, we had pizza (of course) which was life changing, along with what was the start of what is most likely a life-long love affair with buffalo mozzarella. It. Is. Unreal.

And I got to eat my first Italian tomato.

Due to a mishap with ferry tickets (which we later found out we didn’t even need a ticket until arriving at said ferry) E and I stayed in Naples one more evening with the family. This meant we were able to visit an amazing former royal residence, the Royal Palace of Caserta. Words will not do it justice, so I will just show some pictures now.

When it was finally time to head south, E and my brother-in-law shoved the massive dog crate into the back of our rental SUV (which was much too large for the small Italian roads we would be traveling down, however it was also the only vehicle that would fit the massive dog crate – minus a piece of mechanical ingenuity that got in the way and may forever live in the depths of the BMW mainframe – we won’t talk too much about that henceforth #GoodNightSweetPrince). Needless to say, even the BMW wasn’t large enough for all of our stuff, plus us, to fit comfortably, so we departed on our drive down the Amalfi Coast with a 65 lb husky mix in my lap. For 6 hours. Definitely not the Amalfi Coast experience I was thinking of. Especially after discovering what an Autogrill was and due to our extreme hunger and only a couple hours of sleep, proceeded to spill Nutella all over my white sweatshirt. Dog in lap. Nutella on self. Fur everywhere. It was an experience for sure.

But hey, it only took us 5 times driving around the ferry entrance to actually figure out where, in fact, the ferry entrance was! One thing I’ve noticed about my time in this enchanting country so far – signs and tasks that make absolutely no sense to Americans make the most sense to Italians. I’m sure the ferry is so easy for locals to navigate. However, for us, we did not understand the chaos. But somehow, we made it from mainland to Sicily in just 20 minutes. Ahh, home sweet home.

The Wild East

Part 2

Arancia, Millepiedi e Philipo

Back in the day – the day when we were still living in America - as we set out on our Great American Road Trip, we received news from what was to be our new home in Sicily for the next month or so (aka, The Navy Lodge) that they were full and we were basically on our own to find accommodations upon arrival. Well, that’s fun. Now, scouring Airbnb for vacation rentals is a fun, exciting activity. Scouring Airbnb for a rental that will need to be somewhat livable, close to your husband’s work and located in an area sight unseen is a whole other thing. There are some absolutely breathtaking properties in Sicily, but knowing we had to stay within our TLA (Temporary Housing Allowance) budget while being close to base but also somewhere safe and modern enough to uphold my remote work responsibilities was a challenge. I had to keep reminding myself, “ok, Ashley, this is for LIVING, not for a VACATION.” We were also told by the housing office that they had absolutely no idea when our unit on base would be available. Now mind you, E and I ultimately do not want to BE on base (we’re looking forward to mingling with the locals and diving right into the culture) but apparently it’s a rule at this particular base that you must stay in housing for at least the first 6 months (it’s an occupancy thing). So, waiting to move into a place you don’t even want to move into is a strange experience. It bubbles up a lot of different emotions. But, I digress. E and I settled on what seemed to be a rustic, classic Sicilian farmhouse in the midst of a 75 hectare orange grove. It was 20 minutes away from base, looked quiet, had wonderful reviews and was to be the place where we spent the first 1.5 months of our lives in Sicily, in a small town on the outskirts of Catania named Scordia.

Fun tip about traveling in Italy - you’re looking for a vacation rental, please note that 99% of the time, the owner wants to meet you. Self-check in? Absolutely not! They are looking forward to greeting you, at least 5 different keys in hand for multiple different doors and devices. They must give you a tour, explain how the trash works. How the appliances work (or how they don’t work). And they almost always say, “reach out to me on What’s App and I’ll also send you local restaurant recommendations." Which honestly, is super appreciated.

However, after driving towards our final destination down the Amalfi Coast, 6+ hours with a 65 lb husky mix breathing in our faces, we had grown closer than ever before as a couple and honestly just wanted a shower, a glass of wine and a bed. This would have been very easy if we had been able to just roll up to our house on base (which we signed up for months in advance) or even the lodge on base. Both were full. So, our final destination was an old farm villa as mentioned before.

Now, I love rustic. I love unplugging. I love nature. However, this venture was not for the faint of heart upon arriving in a new country. The owner’s son was beyond kind and greeted us as we pulled off of the two-lane death road into a gated, beautiful 18th century estate that looked untouched from the day it was built. Our BMW rattled and groaned its way up a steep dirt road to reach the house, where I quickly tried to hide my Nutella-stained self (wasn’t possible). I’m sure the son thought we were a sight, stumbling out of the vehicle, legs asleep, dog in full investigation mode, our bleary eyed selves trying to muster up one last ounce of sociability before we could pass out for hours upon end.

The reviews of the place had one semi-negative review that mentioned millipedes being annoying. Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a very irrational aversion to anything worm-like. Being from Florida, I kind of lose my southern-girl status by freaking out over a harmless arthropod, but I honestly can’t help it. E assured me that the person on the review was probably just being a Karen and that I need not worry. I mean, look at this place!

However, once the owner’s son left and the door closed, I found one. Right there in the middle of the couch. I wanted to puke. E again, assured me it was a fluke and probably the only one in the house.

I don’t like calling my husband out. I really do love and respect him as a human and my partner in crime. But boy, was he WRONG.

Elton didn't seem to mind the worms.

This beautiful farm villa was indeed, infested. Millipedes everywhere. On walls. On counters. On floors. On the ceiling. One eventually even found it’s way into E’s boot. We had picked up a Dust Buster at the NEX on base, hoping we were not overreacting and it was just a few we saw. I swear by the end of night two, we ended up sucking up about 80 of those bad boys. We had just decided as we woke up on day three we were ready to go and find other lodging. That’s when the owners showed up with a huge basket of freshly picked oranges (arance), grapefruits (pompelmi), lemons (limoni) and avocados (also, avocados).

What impeccable timing.

We had no choice but to be brutally honest when the owner asked, “how are you enjoying your stay?” They seemed in shock when we told them about the infestation. But once we showed them the carcasses of millipi in our Dust Buster 2000, their faces softened. They told us they had plans to seal the roof on that side of the house after the rainy season was over (which was not, yet) and that they were probably getting in due to some holes in the ceiling. Well, that makes sense.

The solution? They spent 8 hours cleaning their personal family’s side of the farmhouse (which has a sealed roof, so no creepy crawlies) so we could stay in there. We obliged, because let’s face it, the property was absolutely breathtaking and we were really looking forward to living in peace for our first month in a new country. The owners absolutely went above and beyond and we wheeled all of our stuff into their side of the farmhouse that afternoon (after a good shake-out of all of our bags, of course).

The owners were probably two of the coolest folks I’ve ever met. The inherited the house from family before them and kept the citrus farm running and operational. They did not live on site, but visited quite often, harnessing their memories of younger years spent running through the fields and hosting extended family during holidays. The wife and mother was a photojournalist in a past life, I found out one day when it was just her and I at the house. She had just dropped off a fresh loaf of bread and a Scaccia, a Sicilian stuffed flatbread. The photos of Nelson Mandela and jazz players adorning the walls were in fact, her work. She wrote a book. And then, she said, she had kids. Equally as proud of her two sons as she was for her travels across Africa and Europe, they shared an equal amount of space on the wall. It was a unique experience, living amongst all the photos of a family I did not know, yet started to know just by sharing a home that is so special to their family.

It was a working farm, so that meant plenty of workers came in and out of the property gates each day. My super-guarded American-Millennial self (who hides when the doorbell rings, most times) had to get used to this. The first day when E went to work and left me at the house, an older Italian gentleman popped up at the foot of the courtyard stairs, moments after E’s rental car dust cloud had dissipated.

“Buongiorno?” He answered up to me, with a sound of bewilderment in his voice. I had gotten out of bed only a mere 2 minutes prior, still trying to catch up to the time change. “Buongiorno!” I answered back with enthusiasm, at the top of the balcony. The man removed his hat, scratched his head, and then started conversating in a tone that only I could discern as, “not happy.” In true Ashley fashion, I ran down the stairs, barefoot, to try and clear up any confusion. And thank God for Google Translate. After a few back and forths, I used my phone to record what he was asking me. We found out that he was concerned that I was in the owner’s side of the house, and he only knew this because the door was open and he saw no car in the driveway. He called the owners and upon discussing his dilemma, the voice on the other end of the phone offered an answer that made the frown on his face turn to a smile. He patted me on the shoulder, smiled, told me he was sorry and turned and left.

What just happened?

Later I found out, he was the owner’s “right hand man” (which there seems to be a lot of those around here) and he was concerned I was squatting in their house. They profusely apologized for the scare it may have given me, but honestly, I just laughed and immediately started researching Italian lessons near me.

The greatest thing about living on an orange grove (besides the peace, beauty and ability to pluck fresh blood oranges whenever you please) is the absolute upgrade in my daily walks. Last May, my best friend got me into walking 100 miles each month (equals out to around 3-4 miles per day). I’ve stuck with it give or take a few months during the move, and was determined to keep it up upon my move to Europe. Well, my 3.5 miles amongst the orange groves, Elton by my side (he finally got to be a wild and free dog) was an unmatched experience. It was cold. It was hot. The sun beat down on my face, my skin absorbing the warmth and the scent of the blossoms surrounding the crops. I drank blood orange juice directly from the fruit, plucked off of the tree. I climbed hills and slid into valleys. I got SORE! Walking around that grove was no joke. It was a wonderful way to begin my day, walking, meditating, talking to God, Grandpa, developing new business ideas that may or may not come to fruition and planning weekend trips in my mind.

Dinner by power outage candlelight.

Sure, the house has its quirks. We had exactly 35 seconds of hot water to take a shower with. I learned how to wash my hair and body at the exact same time. The power would go out if so much as a sprinkle hit the ground. One Sunday night, we were without power the entire evening. The chilly temperatures in Sicily’s February had all three of us huddled in the bed, the propane heater on full blast. Stray dogs and cats wandered into the property and E went after a large brown object at dawn one morning. I still have no idea what he was chasing, but he came back wet after running through the dew-soaked orange trees.

So, despite the lack of sleep, absolute shift in culture, change of landscape, millipedes, old house woes, no answer on when our housing will be ready, maxed out credit cards before our reimbursements hit…the first month and half here in Sicily has been magical. It’s been life changing. Eye opening. And I know this is just the beginning.

On the day that the owners discovered the millipedes and began cleaning out their personal effects for E and I to move in, we had our friends from our last duty station come visit the Airbnb. They had just arrived in Sicily a few months prior, and were instrumental in us getting acclimated to base life. They had stopped by to help us out with (once again) the freaking massive dog crate (which does not fit in a Jeep, btw, just in case you were wondering). So instead, E and I decided to crack open a bottle of wine, cut up some cheese and go sit on this cool little turret overlooking the orange groves.

As we laughed and talked about Las Vegas, Sicily and everything in between, another older Italian man appeared out of nowhere. “Buongiorno!” he said, with a big smile on his face. He beelined it to E and held up his wallet with an ID. Philipo was his name. And we basically translated that his ID meant “Sherriff.” So, naturally, we asked the Sherriff if he’d like some wine. “Si!” he exclaimed, almost as if wondering why it took so long for us to ask. E ran to grab another glass and Philipo just stood there and waited, not understanding one word of our English conversation. I tried my best at small talk, but I truly believe Philipo had his eye on the prize, and that was his wine. As we poured the red velvety hue into his glass, we laughed and talked, Philipo smiling and nodding along. He finished his wine, said “grazie,” and made his way down the stone steps. E and I joked that we had made friends with the Sheriff so now we would be taken care of during our time in Scordia.

I believe there may have been some truth to that. And I'm fairly certain Philipo may be more than just law enforcement.

If you're still reading, congratulations! You've officially made it to the end of blog post #2! I promise this amount of time will not come in between us and the next chapter of our wild European adventure. And I will not put you through that length of a blog post again. I can't wait to share some of the amazing places we've been so far, some of the food we've devoured and how we're adjusting to il dolce far niente. And how we're adjusting to getting stuck in "lamb jams," which happen daily in our area.

Until then, Ciao!