Outlet Mall Shopping in Tuscany, Italy

My friend Anne and I made a field trip to the outlet mall last Friday.  


Though I have lots of experience shopping outlet malls in California and Nevada, this was my first time on such an adventure in Italy.  Whenever I return to California, a trip to the outlet mall is part of the package.  I used to joke that my car should have a bumper sticker that reads:  "My car stops at all Banana Republic Outlets."

Even coupon books are available at the office

Outside of Florence are two outlet malls:  The Mall and Barberino.  The Mall has few stores, and they are all high end; Barberino is a good choice with many "normal" stores, meaning for common folk like myself.  However, on my recent road trip to the south of Italy, I saw Valdichiana from the autostrada, the largest of the three outlet malls but also the farthest from Florence.  Located just outside Arezzo, a car is necessary to get to Valdichiana; whereas, the other two malls offer a bus shuttle service from Florence at 15 euros.  Unfortunately, I have yet to confirm whether that price is each way or round trip.

Traveling Italian autostrada A1 with expired VA plates

My friend has a comfortable car with expired Virginia license plates, which makes our outing to the outlet mall in Valdichiana feel even more like an American adventure but on Italian soil.  As we approach, still on the freeway, we each are excited to see Gap.  In Italy?  The Gap is one of the stores I frequent in the States for T-shirts and other basic items at a good price.  Since September 2011 we now have Gap in Italy.  It looks just like our Gap but is considerably smaller in size and choice.  I make friends (amicizia) with the Gap salesgirl Renata, who is sweet, helpful, and a lot of fun.

 Renata and me at Gap in Italy

"Do you have a few curves from the waist to the hips?"

We spent a long, exhausting but fun day doing our research when shopping at the outlet mall.  Good and bad for me.  The bad:  I had hopes to find some new spring and summer items to replace my old worn and tattered clothes. I didn't.  Even at the outlet mall, I continue to struggle to find clothes in Italy to fit my longer-and-larger-than-typical-in-Italy body.  Good for my finances, though, with only one purchase of a summer-weight coat.  

You can tell it was a long day since it was already getting dark outside when we left

At the outlet malls in the States, it is fun to hear so many diverse accents.  Our experience at Valdichiana was that there were few tourists, and we did not overhear any other native English speakers.  (Maybe I should spend even more time at the outlet mall improving my Italian.) Everyone was very friendly, even the man who reprimanded us for taking photographs. 


It was a fun day and a wonderful field trip, one I look forward to repeating.

Dark Days, Light Heart

We are only a few days away from the winter solstice, the darkest time of the year, which also means we are well into the holiday season.  In America, the Christmas holiday season officially begins with Black Friday, the day following Thanksgiving, and that offers sales galore for shoppers.  In Italy, the Christmas season officially begins the day of Immaculate Conception, December 8. The streets are lit with Christmas lights and decorations. Christmas festivals fill piazzas. Stores here also are busy with holiday shoppers.  The hustle-bustle of the holiday season has taken hold.


This time of year can be emotionally challenging and stressful for many of us. Many people can grow disconsolate, even despondent.  I am one. I find the holiday season to be especially trying, as my family and long-standing friends are scattered around the world with the greater majority in California.  I am in Florence, Italy.  My newer friends here have mostly all returned to their "homes" wherever those might be. An Italian family has yet to adopt me.  As a result, this time of year can feel very dark, just like the winter solstice.


In a time of gift-giving and romance and great cheer and spirits, it is unnerving to be alone and apart no matter how beautiful and memorable your surrounding environment.  Florence is that beautiful and memorable.  The choice is clear, even stark:  We can focus on what we do not have or lack rather than what we do have. 


I choose to be grateful for what I do have this season.  Though my situation is not exactly how I envisioned it would be this year at this age, I make the most of what it is.  In addition to my general good health is where I live.  And I have work.  I moan and whine about having to work. (At my core, I am a lazy slug.)  But having work not only earns some money, it keeps me involved in my career and it makes me accountable to someone somewhere and helps keep me out of trouble.  I have people in my life that matter to me, and I know I matter to my family and friends.  This year I stick to my routines and rituals, which ebb and flow. However, the last couple months I am in the flow.  It feels good to do some of the things that support my emotional, physical, and spiritual health.


In only a few days we will be on the other side of the solstice, and the days will begin to get lighter and brighter and so will the spirit.  During some of the down time during the holidays, I make it a practice to reflect on the year now past and map out where I want to go and what I want to accomplish for the year ahead.  I note my specific and clear intentions on paper.  I look forward to that project, which requires my attention and diligence and is positive in direction and result.


What holiday / year end / new year rituals and practices do you engage in?

Roots

Two years ago today Mabel and I said goodbye to L.A. and hello to Florence, Italy, when we boarded the plane for our flight to our new home.

Leaving Los Angeles, one last ride in our car

I worried about her traveling for so long in the cargo hold below me: the noise, darkness, items shifting about.  After all, my brother's dog, Sparky, made a similar flight from L.A. to Brugge, Belgium, a few years earlier.  He went deaf from the flight but enjoyed the best year of his life living in Europe.  A dog's life is pretty good here because people in Europe welcome dogs to go almost everywhere.  No need to leave them behind anywhere.


Mabel is a real trooper.  She acclimated immediately to her new environs.  Never will I forget the picture I keep in my head when two airport employees hand-delivered Mabel to me, still in her crate, at the Florence airport.  She was pert and alert.  In the taxi ride to our new digs, Mabel rooted her tushy to the seat of the car between the taxi driver and me as she extended herself as tall as possible to look over the dashboard and out the window at all she would soon get to explore. She quickly spotted sights and smells centuries old that she filed away for future exploration.  

Jetlagged, Mabel naps with her baby after arriving to Italy

Mabel is a lucky girl.  Everyone does their part to spoil her, and she is adored by all.


It can be an exciting and scary adventure to uproot yourself from everyone you know and everything that is familiar and comfortable and transplant yourself to a different country with a foreign language. To move to and live in a city that welcomes thousands of tourists every day makes getting close to the locals even more of a challenge because the locals measure their roots by generations, not days. Why invest in a friendship with people who come but do not stay?


Not every day is la dolce vita (the sweet life/the good life), of course, but the obstacles and challenges are, for me, worth the deeply felt gratitude, joy, and happiness I now experience. Sure, I continue to find my way here.  Slowly and con calma, everything begins to fall into place.  The life of the expat has its own process and rigors to endure -- many days present new and different challenges -- but its objective remains true to our passion: to arrive safely on the other side of the wide chasm that separates our past lives from the future we envision and strive to create.

Radici (Roots)

My roots grow deeper as I make Florence, Italy, my home.

Giving Blood

Not as a blood donor but for analysis, I gave up several tubes of blood this morning.  As a private party, I visit a private clinic where women in navy blue dresses resembling flight attendants greet you at the door and escort you to the counter where you are helped and issued a receipt listing the services to be performed.  A consultation with a doctor is provided, if desired or necessary.


Actually, I feel more like I am in a private villa than in a medical laboratory clinic.  The building is lovely, filled with antique furniture and original artwork.  Each painting has a label indicating the artist.  I recognize many original works by Boccaccio.  You wait to see a doctor or to be called for your lab work in small rooms with homey furniture as opposed to medical appliances and commercial furniture.


The phlebotomist asks if I fasted.  I tell her yes and "non vedo l'ora" (I can't wait) until I will enjoy a coffee and breakfast since I am starving. Following the blood draw, I am escorted back to the studio and told to wait ten minutes when breakfast will be brought to me.  What?!  They serve me breakfast?  My plan is to stop at the nearest bar for a cappuccino and eat when I return home.  Fewer than ten minutes later, a woman rolls in a linen-covered table upon which sit a sterling silver vase with a fresh rose, Florentine china holding a pot of caffe Americano alongside a pitcher of hot milk, blood red orange juice, and a continental-style breakfast.  The container that holds packets of sugar and sugar substitutes is sterling.  I have to turn it over to look, which I also do with the china and not because I am a snob but because I am surprised at the level of attention to detail that is provided.  Even the doilies are linen.  Actually, I feel embarrassed to be treated so well at a clinic.

For the average Italian, the private medical system is too expensive.  I admit the total lab work I do is not inexpensive.  But even with my private health insurance in California, I am accustomed to a price more than double today's price for the same tests.  And that is my out-of-pocket expense, not what I would owe after insurance pays their small portion and my $400-a-month premium, before the premium increased an ungodly percentage this past January.


The entire episode from the minute I walk in the door, order and pay for my lab work, wait, have the blood drawn, and have breakfast is under 30 minutes.  Efficient.  And that's not all.  The results for the majority of the exams are available the same day after 12:30 p.m. either by returning to the clinic or having the results faxed or emailed to you.  And for privacy (think HIPAA), you are issued a codice (code) to access your results.


Last fall, visiting another Tuscan town with family that visited from the States, we had a need for an ambulance.  Two ambulances and six paramedics arrived within minutes, and treatment began immediately.  No questions were asked about the name of the patient, health insurance information, means of payment, et cetera.  Treatment was rendered, period.  In the end, it may be a tie as to who was in more shock:  the three of us at the way the system worked and medical attention was No. 1 or the six paramedics at our amazement that they wanted no payment, no insurance, no tip, nothing.


I am not saying one system is better, just different. I like what I have experienced so far with the Italian health system. With treatment and services that made me feel a bit like a queen today, I just may return tomorrow morning. I remain impressed.

I Came, I Saw, I Conquered

Currently in Los Angeles with many important things to do, today I accomplished an important task of another type:  outlet mall shopping.  Many of my friends know I have been fiending for the outlet mall, one of a few places I miss in Italy.  I am not the average petite Italian size, which makes clothes shopping in Italy a bit of a challenge for me.  I was in need of some new clothes.

Jennifer, my oldest girlfriend in the world -- we have been friends since we both were 5, and we have been through a lot together -- and I went to the outlet mall together.  We had a blast shopping, reminiscing, sharing stories of what we have been through and what we go through separately and together, helping each other make decisions with blatant honesty as to which clothing fits well and which makes our butts look too big.  It is such a joy to spend an entire day with someone so close and who knows the other person so well.  Not only was it fun for the two of us, we also definitely brightened the day for many salesclerks, who became a large part of our fun and who had fun along with us two crazy girls.

Look how cute we are in the dressing room in matching sailor outfits.  Yes, we each bought our Bobbsey Twin outfits ... only to be worn in two different countries.

With our playful personalities and charm, we were fortunate to have salesclerks who were delighted to play along with us, with all our bantering and teasing. The salesclerks parked themselves in the Esprit store fitting room with us encouraging and enticing more of our goofy fun.

Following his brief war with Pharnaces II of Pontus in 47 BC, Julius Caesar claimed, "Veni, Vidi, Vici." Today, April 1, I came, I saw, I conquered.  Caesar's war, whatever.  My conquering was a blast!

--Josslyn, Camarillo Outlet Mall, California, USA

April Fool's Day

April Fool's is a day celebrated around the world with practical jokes played on one another.  In Italy, the day is known as Il Pesce d'aprile (the April's Fish). I wish you all a fun and delightful day. 

Since I have yet to experience the day in Italy and am currently in the States, I am counting on you, my friends, to report to me what the day is like.  What jokes and pranks will be played on you, and which ones will you play on others?

-- Josslyn, Los Angeles, California, USA

Leaving Italy

Which verb tense do you use when you are suspended in time?  I think in "Leaving Italy" time, but that was 3 1/2 days ago.  On the plane I caught a cold, which leaves me listless and fuori la testa (outside the head).  It feels as though time stands still, but I know better.  Time does not wait for me to catch up.  So even now, I am in the past tense, or so it seems.

Boarding the flight

Here I am back in Los Angeles, an unexpected, unplanned, but necessary trip.

The wonderful 101 Freeway

I try to come to terms with who I am today.  In my adult life I have been a responsible, productive, type-A personality, a small business owner who works hard.  I had control and strove to make a name for myself in my career, which I accomplished successfully.

Nearly two and a half years ago, I had an injury to my back that changed my life.  No longer was I able to work the way I used to. In addition to my injury, there was the economic crisis.  My career changed drastically as a result of the two.  It was then that I decided the time was right to make real my dream to live in Italy.  With my personality type, comes the gotta-have-it-all-figured-out-in-advance mentality.  I went against my usual grain in late '09 when I packed up and relocated to Italy.  I didn't have all the answers.  What I did have was an unwavering faith that, come what may, I would be okay, everything would work itself out, and with a little time, improved Italian language skills, and more contacts, doors would open wide and opportunities would present themselves.  I still have the faith, though, quite honestly, not always unwavering.

Being an expat has its own set of challenges to overcome.  It is no easy path.  In fact, only a small percentage of people who relocate make it beyond the first year.  Studies indicate that something like 5% of the expat population last five years in their new home land and actually assimilate, which means they learn to speak the native language and live like a local instead of in the safe confines of an expat community.

I have made it beyond the first year, and it is important now to assimilate and speak the language and live like a local, if I want to stay beyond the typical five years or fewer.  I try to assimilate and plan to last far more than five years, but...

We often hear of la dolce vita (the sweet life).  La dolce vita, though, is a bit of a myth.  It is not to say that some don't experience it, but for the most part, it is not a reality for the average Italian nor the average expat.  In fact, la dolce vita is more typically for the well-to-do pensioners who can afford extended vacations.  Especially in today's economic climate, when the dollar is $1.42 to the euro, it is a struggle for most expats, especially American expats, to make ends meet. 

I find that I, a once driven, type-A gal, now lack motivation.  I care less about the things that used to matter. Now I struggle with questions such as:  Did I do the right thing?  Have I thrown away my life and the things I worked so hard to achieve?  Will I ever be able to overcome the obstacles and challenges I face in Italy?  Do I dig my own grave just so I can live in Italy? Am I truly an expat, or am I becoming a nomad? (That is, no fixed home, caught in a purgatory of not completely assimilating in Italy and keeping a grubstake in the U.S.)?

During this unplanned visit in Los Angeles, one task is to close up my existing office.  I had previously downsized and effectively closed shop. But I left a physical presence "just in case."  I get emotional comfort in having my desk set up that has my personality all over it.  My desk is glass, which I turned into a vision board. It is one thing to pack up boxes of books and file folders.  But what do I do with the mementos that surround my desk?  They say much about who I am and what I worked for. How do I box up or file away those miscellaneous pieces of paper and trinkets?  I have an Italian phrase sandwiched between the two pieces of glass of my desk that says, "Mi piacerebbe lavorare e vivere a Firenze," (I would like to work and live in Florence). Now done; check. But can I stay?

Also, while in Los Angeles, I will finally free myself of my car and some other personal belongings.  This is all rather scary to me.  The more belongings I slough off in America, the less I straddle the two countries and the more permanent I make myself in Italy.  That spells F-E-A-R in capital letters. Yes, I do want this. But it is not that simple.  (I cannot be entirely forthcoming on this public blog.)  So the questions keep coming at me like tsunami waves.

The car gets towed for maintenance

I struggle with living in the moment, enjoying what I have today, for fear of what could happen tomorrow, next week, next year.  I know it is against the principles we are taught, but I also believe it would be irresponsible of me not to give thought to those very real issues that could happen to any of us, but especially to me, as I straddle two homes, two cultures.  It is not that I want to manifest these negative situations into happening, but I also know it would be denial on my part to ignore their possible reality.  Heavy thoughts weigh on my mind.  The questions I ask myself cause discomfort. I am determined to live a simpler and more basic life in Italy. Some days I do.

I love the home I have made, and make, for myself in Italy.  I strive to create my own form of la dolce vita, and I succeed (to a greater or lesser extent).  I will not give this up, no matter the difficulties that face me or my own thoughts that sometimes punish me. These past few days in Los Angeles tell me that Florence is my home, my destiny.  That said, I also recognize that, when I return to Florence, I must spend more time indoors working. But when I choose to go outside, life awaits.  I live in a place full of history, and I do not take it for granted.  I try to be mindful of the beauty that surrounds me and to notice something new each day and definitely not to allow it to become ordinary.

An extraordinary life in an extraordinary home.  That is the theme of this blog and also my mission in life ... one step at a time.

--Josslyn, Los Angeles, California, USA

Wild Goose Chase

I showed up at the agreed-upon place and time to go enjoy a pizza with a small group of people ... and ended up going out with just one of the group, my friend "G'io."  

G'io is a Florentine who insists there is no good food to be found within the city.  I am no food snob, but I do agree few great restaurants reside within the city walls largely because the majority of the restaurants cater to tourists and, as such, is not especially great food. When I used to vacation here, people would tell me "You can't eat poorly in Italy," but that is so not true. That said, I do have a number of places within the walls that I love and frequent.

The night before G'io wanted to take me to dinner, which involved either driving or taking a taxi, where we could eat "well," but I had my reasons for not being adventurous and didn't go. Last night he conceded to my wishes to stay within the city walls and to go somewhere we could walk to -- well, that is, initially, he conceded. We walked to Piazza Santo Spirito and settled in at Ricchi, a decent restaurant. He wanted to have fish.

Nota Bene:  Understand that Florence is landlocked and as a result is a meat-eating city. Even though the sea is only an hour away, fresh fish is brought to the markets on Fridays and available to all.  Friday is the day of the week in Florence to indulge in fresh fish, whether in restaurants or at home.  Otherwise, if you want fresh fish, chances are it will be frozen, even though it may have been frozen as recently as the day prior.  Oh, you can get fresh fish here other days of the week in certain restaurants, but you will pay heavily for that day's catch.

Back to Ricchi.  We ordered a bottle of fizzy water. The waiter came to take our order even though we had not yet opened the menu.  "What good fish is on the menu today?" my friend G'io asked.  The waiter began to explain.  To each item the waiter said, my friend had questions and comments and poo-poo'd several of the waiter's descriptions.  G'io ordered what he wanted, exactly how we wanted each dish prepared for both of us, and none of it was from the menu.  I felt like I had just been dropped into a scene from the film When Harry Met Sally and G'io was Sally.  Remember, I am in Italy, where the custom is that there are no menu substitutions. It was comical. A little discussion pursued regarding just how fresh the fish was. The waiter ran off to consult with the chef and promptly returned. Next thing I knew, G'io asked to pay for our bottle of water, which the waiter refused to allow him to pay, and to call a taxi for us, and we were out the door and on the street awaiting our taxi's arrival.

We took a 10 Euro taxi ride to just barely outside one of the city doors to Trattoria Vittoria.  We could have walked there in under 15 minutes.  I enter to see a large aquarium that I don't think is intended to be decorative followed by a very long display of fish and seafood of many varieties, big and small.  It is obvious everyone knows G'io.  He is greeted with handshakes, hugs, and kisses, and lots of "Mi dispiace," (I am sorry). At this point it is still early for dinner in Italy, but the restaurant is full.  G'io frequents this place regularly and dumps a lot of Euro here.  There were two very large parties that filled the restuarant, and G'io felt the restaurant made a grave error by not squeezing a small table for two in a corner somewhere for us to sit.  (It was Friday night.  We didn't call in advance, rather just showed up.)

Back out on the street.  We discuss where to go next...  He calls for another taxi.  Having selected our next stop, I convince him we can walk to the next viale (boulevard, avenue) and at the same time work up an appetite.  I tried to convince him, unsuccessfully, to start a charity fund in my honor after seeing how much he is willing to spend, frivolously, on taxis.

We arrive to Fuor d'acqua, and it is packed liked sardines. Again, he is greeted in the same manner, i.e., handshakes, hugs, kisses, and "I'm sorry." Again, no place for us.

Out on the street again and still outside the city walls, we walk next door to Via Vai, chic and also packed. The usual greetings again. I watch the maître d' shake his head "no" as he studies the 14x18 piece of paper full of reservations. Eventually, he finds a table for us. We're hungry, it is no longer too early for dinner in Italy, and we are finally sitting down. Again, G'io goes through the exercise of drilling the waitress about what good food is on the menu tonight, and then he proceeds to order for both of us what he wants, the way he wants, not according to the menu.  

Dinner was excellent.  We began with an appetizer of burrata. (Burrata is a fresh Italian cheese, made from bufala mozzarella and cream. The outer shell is solid mozzarella while the inside contains both mozzarella and cream, giving it an unusual, soft texture. It is usually served fresh, at room temperature. The name "burrata" means "buttered."  It is served with lightly fried mozzarella and small mozzarella balls and prosciutto.)  Our primo piatto (first plate) is fresh, homemade spaghetti with porcini mushroom sauce served wrapped in foil.  Our second dish consists of a gorgeous fresh vegetable salad, and the most delicious, perfectly grilled Chianina filet mignon I have ever tasted with mashed potatoes.  I still had food in my mouth when suddenly he was ready to go, and we abruptly left.  It happened so fast that once we were on the street, I couldn't help but think I left something behind in the restaurant.  My experience of eating dinner out in Italy is you "buy" your table for the evening and you leisurely enjoy one course after the other over several hours' time.

We walked back into town and back to Santo Spirito where we sat outdoors and took coffee and continued our conversation.

Oh, I am not complaining.  It was a dramatic, exciting, and fun evening, full of great conversation. Started out with the intention of having a pizza, which turned into a mission for fresh fish, and ended up eating the best filet.  I learned about a few restaurants (all in one night) that I hadn't previously known about that are off the tourist maps and places I would love to return and actually eat at.  I ate well. For a simple girl from Southern California, the entire evening was entertaining.

After many hours of speaking and listening intently and intensely only in Italian with a person that has a thick Florentine dialect, speaks quickly and not often clearly, doesn't cater to my language inadequacies, I came home exhausted but with several new words and phrases added to my Italian lexicon, a belly full of excellent and yummy food, and a deeper friendship.

Nevica Oggi / It is Snowing Today

On the cusp of a change in season

What is it about snow that brings out the child in each of us?

A dusting of snowflakes

Especially the first snowfall of the winter.  Especially for this girl from sunny Southern California where Santa Claus spends his time at the beach in shorts, holding a drink with an umbrella rather than drink a hot toddy, and Santa's elves wear string bikinis.

The girls ...

... only an hour or two later ...

... on Ponte Vecchio

I love weather's many changes.  I love the sunshine warming my soul.  I love the wind making me feel alive and frisky.  I love the rain, thunder, and lightning, being childlike and splashing in puddles, coming indoors and watching the rain fall, raindrops on the window, and steamy windows, and having that someone special with whom to cuddle.

Duomo

Palazzo Vecchio

Piazza Repubblica

Duomo

Piazza del Duomo

Snow...something so fresh, new, pure, clean, calming, quiet, and peaceful about fresh snow.

Piazza Signoria (above 3 fotos)

The elements when they keep changing, instead of staying the same, cause me to feel vibrant and alive. If only I could embrace this attitude with the continual changes in my personal life...

We just had to go out and play.  Everyone is happy, smiling, and laughing.

Arno

We'll see how much I love it when the snowfall turns to rain and the snow on the streets turns to ice and it becomes frightening to walk on.

Lungarno

But today, as the snow continues to fall, Florence is heaven and a playground for all.

Sledding outside my house

One of about three streets in Florence with a slight hill

Fruttivendolo (Greengrocer)

In California, we are spoiled because we have an enormous variety of fruits and vegetables available year round. In Tuscany, we have fewer choices, but we are better off eating mostly what is in season and locally grown, and we also have choices not found in California. In California, we have farmers markets; in Tuscany, we have the fruttivendolo (greengrocer). I frequent the fruttivendolo, but my preference is to go directly to Mercato Centrale because I am guaranteed to have a fun experience.

Bitter melon is what this fruit is officially named and makes for some interesting and raunchy conversation. Originating in Southeast Asia, China, Africa, and India, this particular selection of bitter melon was cultivated in the province of Arezzo (about 80 km/50 miles from Florence). Italians generally don't eat it, but the immigrants buy it and fry it. It is a cugina (cousin) to the cucumber, melons, and squash families. And for those of you who don't know, it is technically a fruit because it has seeds. A fruit can also be a vegetable, but a vegetable can never be a fruit. While we're on the subject, I'll tell you that tomatoes; cucumbers; squash and zucchini; avocado; green, red, and yellow peppers; peapods; and pumpkins are all fruit, not vegetables.

The outside has an interesting texture -- long, delicate, rubber-like to the touch, with warts and ridges, and a bitter flavor -- whereas, inside the fruit has a pulpy cavity with ripe, red seeds that are slightly sweeter to the taste. (No, I didn't taste it! I trust my friends who described and tasted it in my presence, thank you.)  It comes in a variety of shapes and sizes.

Bitter melon is known to have medicinal uses. Among the many uses, it stimulates sluggish digestion. I could imagine it would stimulate something. Clinical tests revealed links to aiding in the treatment of HIV and cancer as well as type-II diabetes.

Throughout Italy, bitter melon is more commonly known as pisello di coccodrillo, which I don't think I am permitted to translate on a public website.

How creative are you? How would you prepare this fruit? Do you eat it raw or cooked? Share your recipe ideas...

-- Josslyn "Giosalina"
Firenze, Italia

Zuma Beach, USA

I worked in Malibu court and kept an eye out for Nick Nolte but didn't happen upon him. Knowing it would be a short day of work, I went prepared for a couple-hour reprieve at the beach. Not bad for a winter day in February.  Sorry to those of you snowed in or in otherwise very cold weather.

I do believe the third picture is of a shark. I zoomed all the way in (sorry for the lack of clarity).  The surfers didn't seem concerned, but the lifeguards appeared immediately thereafter and went out in the water in their kayaks, paddling their oars, creating a barrier between the surfers and Jaws.

I tend to see the Mediterranean more frequently than the Pacific Ocean and decided as long as I am here in L.A., I may as well put my toes in the water. It was ice cold! 
-- Josslyn 'Giosalina'
Malibu, California

Malibu Canyon

Typical California Live Oaks and Chaparral in the semi-arid climate.

-- Josslyn 'Giosalina
Las Virgines Road, Malibu, California

Birds at Play

Zuma Beach, Malibu, California