Dear Jeril... Love, Dad. Wayne P. Anderson
wrong parts, mis-connect wires and make misdiagnoses. We’ve tried three Volkswagen places, all of which have made mistakes.
In the follow-up breakdowns they stand in awe that such a mistake could have possibly been made. They swear at each other so fast I can’t follow them. I learned my German from books so I don’t understand those words, anyway. They do repair for free their former mistakes. In one case they even managed to foul that up. At times I feel I’ve been caught in a three stooges comedy.
Coming on the base today my car was checked by a “bomb dog” and my ID by one armed guard while another one covered me. We’re on a terrorist alert, and all bases are being carefully checked, and even those of us with military license plates are evidently suspect.
We also get checked on those days when war games are being played. Last week the Education Center at Ramstein became a casualty, but I managed to disappear before the stretcher bearers arrived to carry the ‘’injured and dead” off. The Air Force puts very realistic wounds and blood on its practice victims.
We have finally really gotten into the mood for travel. Besides Paris we’ve been to Strasbourg, Baden-Baden, Worms, Dijon and a dozen villages and small towns in France and Germany. Next weekend hopefully we’ll be in Munich. We got our energy for travel back just as the dollar started to fall apart. Fortunately we don’t have any overpowering urge to dine out much here in Germany. They serve big meals, and like good depression babies Carla and I feel we must eat whatever is put in front of us.
Our best trip so far has been to the Burgundy region to visit an archaeological dig run by an assistant professor from the University of Missouri. Although many places we have visited have old Roman ruins, this site in Burgundy was an attempt to reach down for some Celtic remains.
The Celts used to come out of their hill fortifications—tall, naked men painted blue—and proceed to beat the Romans over the head. That was, before superior tactics finally overcame them. The soil is so acid that remains are hard to find, but we enjoyed seeing the techniques of a dig and did see at least a few pieces that will end up in a museum.
Strasbourg is considered a must-see for those who like quaint cities with a foot solidly in the past. It’s also the season there for music and dance. The dancing is done with much élan, but lacks a bit of finish. The wet, cool weather continues; but from what I hear about conditions in Missouri, we have missed little by being here.
The summer hurries toward its end—a couple more classes, a few more bottles of white wine, and we’ll be homeward bound.
Love, Dad
CHAPTER 2
AVIANO, ITALY, 1978
Aviano, Italy, September 1978
Dear Jeril,
Here we are in Sunny Italy, and it really is sunny. Italians seem to take a cloudy day as a personal affront. We live at the base of the foothills to the Alps, so mountains rise out of our backyard, often topped with fog. I understand in the winter they are topped with snow when there is no snow here in Aviano.
We are surrounded by grape fields; but since fifty-five percent of the farming here is grapes, I guess where ever you go, you will find grapes. This makes wine very reasonable; we are drinking good wine at fifty cents a liter. The bread is also excellent; we go each morning to the bakery to buy our daily supply. Cheese is also reasonable so we use quite a bit of it.
The small family restaurants are fairly cheap, but the bill always gives me a shock until I translate it. For example, L8800 looks like a lot of money, but it is only eleven dollars.
Tonight after gymnastics we’ll go out for a late dinner. Stephanie already plans on having an Atomic Pizza. Pizza is much better here than it was when we ate it in Italy six years ago. It’s almost as good as American, but not quite.
After all the trouble I had, or we had with the 411 Volkswagen last time we lived in Europe, I thought “never another one of those beasts.” Well, as you know by now, when we got here it was a 1973 412 not a 1973 1600 as I had expected, so we took it. The size is ideal, and at this point it runs beautifully. I’m hoping my run of bad cars in Europe is over.
It sounds like your social life is moving along. Once you get a start like you describe, it should build rapidly. As the “little” girls (Stephanie twelve, Rosie fourteen) have probably told you their social lives leave something to be desired. Rosie did go to a dance and had a great time—evidently the boys even slow danced with her.
The girls entered an Italian run with me Sunday and finished in time to collect their medals, but they said, “Never again!” I think I can get them out for another, however. We haven’t gone much of anywhere yet because of your mother’s abscessed tooth. It’s been slow to respond to treatment. The dentist changed antibiotics yesterday so I think the worse is definitely over. She does look much better today and even took a long walk with the girls and me this morning.
Jeril, your mother expects to write you tomorrow about plane tickets to Holland for your visit with us over Christmas. I’ll write more as soon as something happens.
Love, Dad
Aviano, Italy, October 2, 1978
Dear Jeril,
Even though we haven’t traveled much as yet, we still have the impression that most major cities of Italy have the second most famous palace in the country and the third largest cathedral. With so much to chose from, certain impressive structures don’t even get listed in the ordinary guidebooks. It’s like a comedian who has so much good material he can afford to throw away lines.
When we visited one of these throw-away palaces last week, we were most impressed. The last Doge of Venice had lived there, and on one of his visits Napoleon had slept there. Europeans use “Napoleon slept here” the same way we use “Washington slept here.” Actually Napoleon had stayed here long enough to arrange some important treaties and to get the area organized so that the mail ran on time.
Italians practice the art of keeping up a good front (far bella figura) and we visitors expect them to act happy and festive for our benefit. Sad is only allowed for women who are singing for the benefit of said visitors. It was therefore a bit disconcerting to have one of the young guards at the palace let the basic sadness and frustrations of his life show. His English was limited, but he had obviously studied the palace and its history. But he found the job dull, leading nowhere and for someone of intelligence allowed little use of his talent.
We live in one of the very few tall buildings, four stories, in Aviano. This may be a mistake. Within moments of meeting several Americans here, they were telling me the story of their experiences in the last major earthquake two years ago. It is a preoccupation with many, even those who feel Aviano is probably the best place in Europe to be stationed.
The whole earthquake experience was so shocking that they were left with many cues that now create anxiety. A rumbling sound, rooms with hard-to-use exits, driving along a cliff face—all bring back memories of the quake and send their hearts racing.
A number of my students who had lived in apartments first moved into tents, then at great expense in breaking leases moved into one-story houses. Their concerns now have me waking at odd hours of the night to contemplate quick exits from our fourth floor apartment.
Speaking of the apartment, it is an interesting mix of class and harass. We have real tile with beautiful designs in both bathrooms, the floors are made with very striking tile, we have generous hallways, three bedrooms and every room opens unto a balcony.
The harassment comes from water being off at odd hours, sewer smells in the bathrooms, and echoes so that it is difficult to talk from one room to another and be understood. We also have an elevator that attempts to maul passengers—that is, when it is working. If you don’t move briskly on exit or entry, it may close its doors on you and you must argue with it awhile before it lets you go. The girls have taken to moving in and out with a minimum of lost motion.
Besides fighting the elevator,