Archive for the ‘why do they do that’ Category
Answering Your Questions: Italy Edition
Hey, remember when JennieBoo tagged me with the eight things meme and you wrote in with your questions after I asked for help?
For those who haven’t been following, go read parts one, two, and three of my answers to catch up because now we’re on the fourth installment of responses…and I *still* won’t have gotten to all the questions by the time I’m done here.
You are such an inquisitive bunch!
These questions all have to do with Italy in some way or another, so let’s start with a photo to get us in the mood.
Now settle in and get a cup of whatever it is will get you through this–it’s a long one.
1. Sharon in Sicily asked me to name the strangest thing I’ve seen in everyday Italian life.
Oh where to begin? I’m going to go with something that truly baffles me and that no one has been able to adequately explain to me thus far.
Italians are notoriously obsessive about the cleanliness of the inside of their homes. So then why, oh why, is there so much litter, graffiti, and occasional bouts with garbage piles *outside* of them?
The juxtaposition of the two extremes is just…well…it’s quite simply the strangest thing I have seen in everyday Italian life.
2. My Melange would like to know what my favorite spot in Italy is and where I’d like to go that I haven’t yet been; in a related question, Kimberly wants to know where I’d suggest a first time overseas traveler head first.
You probably don’t know this and maybe won’t even believe it, but I’m not well-traveled within Italy at all–Calabria, yes, as I’ve seen everything in depth and many times (except the area around Cosenza–no offense to the Cosentini!). But I’ve never been to the biggies like Rome (gasp!) and Florence.
Wow. That felt like confession. I feel better now.
Anyway, right now, I’d have to say that my favorite spot in Italy is, well, home.
But a close second is Serra San Bruno, the site of an 11th century monastery nestled up in the Serra mountains (part of the Sila range) about 45 minutes away from me. It’s a wooded area with walking trails and spots for picnics–there’s even a little stream running through it. So peaceful and relaxing.
I also like Taormina in Sicily, which is gorgeous although quite touristy.
I’ve meant to travel more, I swear, but it’s kind of expensive especially since I’ve been busy working to save up for various other things; travel just hasn’t been a priority.
But on Kimberly‘s point, the first place we’ll probably head once we get out and about is Rome–I think it’s the most logical starting point for discovering Italy (but then I’ve never been very logical, which explains my roundabout route). Plus P’s sister lives just outside the city, so that’ll cut down on our costs.
3. Bec wants to know more about how long it took me to be fluent in Italian, or at least to be able to understand and respond.
First, as background for those who don’t know–I came here without speaking Italian aside from “ciao” and some food words.
Now on becoming fluent, let me put it this way: the basics are easy, especially when you’re immersed and don’t have a choice but to learn, as was my situation. I went back to the US after six months here, and I was getting along just fine on a day to day basis by the time I left.
That said, four years later, I’m still not where I’d like to be, but I can hold my own in pretty much any situation. I think in Italian, dream in Italian, and often count in Italian, so I’d say I’m well on my way. What I need to do now is really study grammar and expand my vocabulary, and then I’ll consider myself truly fluent.
I’d say it’ll take a couple more years, though, because this, unfortunately, isn’t much of a priority either. I’ve gotten a bit lazy, I’m afraid, and I’m quite happy to simply not struggle every day with easy things. When I’m ready for a challenge again, I’ll pick up some books and study.
4. Stefania wanted to know if Italy’s lifestyle really is more laid back and how I spend my days.
Great question, and I’m so glad you asked!
I live in a 350-person village in southern Italy, so yes, the lifestyle here *is* pretty laid back; people do things on their own time and when they want, thus our many expat complaints about lines at the post office and the doctor’s office and not having our phone lines fixed for months.
That said, there are also cities in Italy, especially the farther north you go, that are very much like cities anywhere–a lot of rushing around and, unfortunately, a lot of stress. Our friend Michellanea is in Milano, and I think she’d be the first to tell you that she ain’t taking afternoon naps and sipping limoncello all day.
Of course, neither am I, but I’m also not rushing around trying to get as much done in a day as possible–or having to cover great physical distances to get those things done (this is a general difference between city and rural life, I think, and not Italy-specific).
My average day? I do the same things as most everyone else only I work from home (except when I’m teaching) so I can schedule things when I want–some mornings I have errands, for example, and those are always more stressful than anything else I do. Other than that, I do yoga, take Luna on walks, work, get cappuccino at the bar with a friend, work, cook, eat, do laundry, clean, talk to my mom on the phone, blah blah blah.
Oh, and blog of course.
5. And finally, we have Anno:
It seems to me that there are so many romantic memoirs published about life in Italy (Eat Pray Love, which I Loved Loved Loved; and Under the Tuscan Sun); when you read these books, do you snort in derision, or is there something in them that still resonates with you?
This is a fabulous question. I’m laughing as I imagine my snorts of derision. I’ll have to work on those–sounds like fun!
Hmm. How can I say this? There are some authors’ styles that I appreciate more than others. Frances Mayes in Under the Tuscan Sun really pours it on; she’s a flowery writer recounting the stresses of restoring a villa while she’s in the US and trying to find creative ways to use all the wonderful flowers and vegetables in her Tuscan garden. She’s half in the US and half out and obviously had a considerable amount of cash to work with.
Let’s just say we didn’t share the same experience.
That said, I didn’t hate the book, and indeed, I found some passages that I liked enough to copy into my quote book such as:
Where you are is who you are. The further inside you the place moves, the more your identity is intertwined with it. Never casual, the choice of place is the choice of something you crave.
I identified with this sentiment as I read it during the year between when I decided to move here and when I did. So no snorts there.
On the other hand, I *really* enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia by Elizabeth Gilbert, and yes, I keep promising a review, and it’ll come at some point. I definitely recommend it as I enjoyed following Gilbert’s journey, but interestingly, more on a spiritual level than anything.
Again, no snorting.
But I will say that if you want to read a spirited, down-to-earth “I moved to Italy” book, check out Extra Virgin: A Young Woman Discovers the Italian Riviera, Where Every Month is Enchanted by Annie Hawes.
Here are some of my favorite parts:
No matter how much you feel you’re in the middle of nowhere around here, completely unobserved, you’re sure to come across someone who saw exactly what you were up to–or who knows someone else who did.
Expats in small towns? You with me on this one?
I mentally take my hat off to whatever unbelievably desperate person first discovered the edibility of the olive–I’m sure I would have starved without ever guessing for a moment that the things weren’t poisonous.
For those who don’t know, raw olives aren’t fit to be eaten–and if you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to try for yourself.
Lucy [Hawes’ sister] and I are thinking longingly of a quiet place up a mountain, a place where people only speak one at a time, and in English. We need to rest our reeling brains.
Here here!
And finally, addressing a subject near and dear to my heart:
I, meanwhile, far from being modernized, have recently found myself being put through a typically Italian trauma…I have transmuted, inexplicably yet inexorably, from a signorina to a signora.
Perhaps I should explain that “signorina” means a young woman, and “signora,” well, doesn’t.
And that wraps up today’s Italy Edition answers.
P.S. Figs Olives Wine–I haven’t forgotten about your Italy-related question; I just have bigger plans for it.
P.P.S. If you haven’t checked out the Bella Bags E-Party and Contest, get there! And do keep checking Bella Bags because Marcía’s adding new bags all the time.
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[tags] italy, expat, under the tuscan sun, frances mayes, eat pray love, elizabeth gilbert, litter in italy, graffiti in italy[/tags]
no parking (plus a poppy)
This is a sign in the corner of the small piazza near my house.
For those who don’t know, these two, taken together mean “No parking in the entire sqaure.”
There didn’t use to be the additional “per tutta la piazza” language below the main sign, but it was added because some crafty parkers argued that, well, they weren’t parked right below the sign, so they weren’t in violation of anything.
Glad we got that cleared up.
Bonus! Here’s a poppy just because.
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[tags]no parking, poppies, flowers[/tags]
sisterhood of the impossible-to-find pants
I find clothes shopping in Italy rough, and I know I’m not the only one.
It’s not just the sales clerks that either (a) won’t leave you alone to browse or (b) won’t wait on you even when you ask.
It’s more about finding the right clothes in the right style with the right fit at the right price.
Aw, I’m just going to say it: there isn’t a pair of pants in Italy that I like, that will fit me, and that will not cost more than a plot of farmable Calabrian land.
No, I haven’t scoured every store from the Alps to the Aspromonte, but I’ve been here almost four years, and I’ve never (that’s mai) bought a pair of pants here. I’ve been able to get along with my basic, if somewhat outdated, wardrobe up until now, but another complication has been added to the mix.
Over this time, I’ve lost somewhere around 35 pounds (16 kilos) in total. It’s been gradual because I haven’t actually been dieting, per se. Eating better? Absolutely. Moving more? For sure. And so as my lifestyle has changed, so has my pants size, and as I realized last week, the old ones just aren’t even passable anymore.
Isn’t this supposed to be the fun part of losing weight–when you get to go out and buy new clothes in a size you never thought you’d see?
Yeah well, it hasn’t been enjoyable for a variety of reasons, one being that I have no idea what size I actually am. Even in American sizes, I’m not sure, but at least I know what I’m not based on my current clothes.
Sure there are handy little online conversion charts to help, but you know what? Even when I try on pants of the European sizes I (allegedly) used to be (35 pounds/16 kilos ago), they don’t fit!
Whahuh?
I’ve concluded that it’s a problem of body type and shape rather than of size; for instance, if I find a pair of pants that fit my thighs and bum, the waist is enormous. Anything that would fit my waist requires squeezing my legs into them until my torso is held up by two salsiccie (sausages).
Not a good look on anyone, I don’t think.
Then there’s a little thing called “length” and Italians only believe in one, so it’s off to the tailor’s to spend more euros if you aren’t whatever that height is!
And don’t even get me started on the low-rise fad that won’t die.
On that subject, let’s talk a little more about la moda. Even if I could find a pair of pants that fit, finding them in a style I like would be quite difficult. Plain old jeans (oh, I don’t know, like from the Gap) are hard to find. Many have sequins or other stitching to liven them up.
Apparently I prefer my jeans rather deadened.
I’ve never been a big fan of bedazzled anything, but now, pushing 31, well, I find such jeans even less appropriate (although many of my Italian colleagues older than me don’t see a problem).
I haven’t mentioned the cost yet, but believe me, clothes are not cheap here (except for the staples like socks and underwear which you can get at the weekly market). I’m simply not willing to spend a small fortune on a pair of slutty-looking jeans (yeah, I said it) that make it difficult to breathe and sit at the same time, all while showing the crack o’ my bum to the world.
And so I’m stuck in pants limbo.
Ordering online is an option, but for how long it would take something to get here (if it arrives at all) coupled with how expensive it is to ship and, oh, have I mentioned that I have no idea what size I am? Probably not worth the hassle.
I think I just may have to spring for a cheap Ryan Air flight to London where it is rumoured (get it?) that women built like me exist.
Either that, or, fellow expat women, sisters if you will, it’s time to start an importing business.
Che ne pensate?
(What do you think?)
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[tags]shopping in italy, pants, trousers, jeans[/tags]
a few stolen moments
I’ve been away from the blogosphere for an entire week, and believe me, it’s not by choice. Even now, I am typing from a work computer where I’m supposed to be doing some translation, but, well, there was a working Internet connection, and that’s all the window I needed.
Let me assure everyone that I am fine, P is fine, Luna is fine–the only thing that’s not fine is our damn phoneline (and accordingly, my Internet connection), which has been down since last Friday. It’s been rough, but I’ve learned several things through the experience, and I’m going to do a Friday Five, taking a page out of Stefanie‘s book.
You can’t imagine how long it just took me to link to Stefanie on this ancient computer that won’t even accept my memory stick, which would’ve meant that I could’ve just copied and pasted what I had already written last night.
Five Things I’ve Learned in a Week Without the Internet
1. I hate Telecom (the phone company). Yeah, I knew that one, but now I hate them even more. Most of my town is without phone service, but they don’t even have an estimate on when we might get it back. Ain’t that cute?
2. I can carry on a decent conversation in Italian over the phone with a utility company. Information I’d rather not know, but whatever. I’m most proud of the fact that I haven’t (yet) yelled or cursed in either language.
3. I spend a lot of time on the Internet. I knew this one too, but it wasn’t completely obvious until I was faced with considerably more free time this past week. I’d be lying to say it wasn’t nice to get other things accomplished too, so I think I can take this is a warning sign to re-balance things around here. See, it’s not all bad!
4. Murphy’s Law of the Blogging World: You may get writer’s block on a frequent basis while you have the full ability to post, but once you can’t, the ideas will abound. That said, rest assured, this last week was not completely wasted, blog-wise. I have at least a week’s worth of posts ready to pull out when I most need them. Again, trying to look on the positive side here.
5. And finally, the best of all–I have made a lot of wonderful blog/Internet friends. I’ve gotten emails from people who had never even commented on the blog wondering if I was OK. Wow. That is just awesome, and I thank you all for your concern. I promise I’ll get back to everyone just as soon as I’m up and running from home. It’s hard to even borrow computers to use around here, but perhaps I’ll splurge and hit the Internet café one of these days (but hopefully I won’t need to…come on Telecom!).
I, too, miss being a part of your daily lives, and I can’t wait to catch up on all that has happened in my absence. I wish I had a time frame for when I’d be back to the regularly-scheduled program, but, you know, since Telecom doesn’t know, I don’t know either. You’ll come back, though, right? I miss you!
P.S. I’m not sure how this post will look as this computer doesn’t even have the font I normally use. Bear with me, and say a little prayer, would you?
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[tags]telecom italia, life in italy[/tags]
Picking Truffles in Calabria: Another Homeless Smurf
On Saturday afternoon, P and his friends went hunting tartufi (truffles) in the mountains that surround us. Other than a ton of rainbows, the sprouting of delicious mushrooms is another great side effect to all the rain we’ve been getting. While normal funghi hunting, e.g., for porcini, occurs in the fall and winter, our black truffles are just getting good around this time.
Ah, yes, I should point out that we only have black truffles down here as the white, expensive, sacred ones are further north in more famous white truffle country.
So how did we do? Well, no luck on the tartufi this time, but P did find a rather unique ‘shroom that he brought home for me. Have I mentioned he’s always bringing me something?
This is actually a porcino, well out of season, and just cute as a button (about that small as well). So if you want to start up a collection or something, it would seem that we’ve just created another homeless Smurf*.
And you thought Gargamel was nasty.
*In Italian, the Smurfs are called “I Puffi.”
From Wikipedia: Italian: puffi (singular: puffo), the name has been reinvented from scratch because in Italian language the “schtroumpf” or (in Italian spelling strumpf) reminds speakers of the Italian word “stronzo,” literally meaning ‘piece of excrement.’ Note that the dialect word ‘strunz‘ is even closer to ‘strumpf.’ The fantasy name “puffi” is derived from the word “buffi” (singular: buffo, as in opera buffo) a word meaning at same time “funny” and “strange.”