Living in Italy today is in many ways is like I what imagine it would have been like living in the 1950s. Most of the time the little idiosyncrasies are charming and there are many lifestyle choices that I want to bring home with me, but there are some things about 2010 that I miss a lot.
How is Italy like 1950 you ask? Well, I've taken the liberty to outline of few of my thoughts on this topic in the paragraphs below.
Everyone smokes... everyone.
Campari and Martini Rossi are very popular here. What, never heard of those mixers before? Yeah, that’s because they’re from 1950!
Everyone dresses in their Sunday best at all times. Fedora hats with wool scarves and overcoats, Italian leather dress shoes and gabardine slacks are the standard winter dress code for older men. Take away the Fedora hat and you’ve got the standard dress code for the rest of the men in Italy. Many Italian women continue to proudly wear fur coats because no animal rights organization is going to impose on their right to stay warm and be fashionable. Actually, the dress here is surprisingly conservative for men and women.
Walmart, Target, and Costo do not exist (although IKEA does. They pronounce it EE-KAY-AH). The concept of bulk buying does not exist. People shop daily and they buy in small quantities as there is no “extra” room to store that 20 roll pack of paper towels. Paper towels are seen as luxury and a waste. Dish towels are the norm. Just imagine the dish towels your grandma had in her house and you’ll understand what is used here.
Refrigerators are the size of "ice boxes" and eggs are not refrigerated. Microwaves are exceptionally rare. You’ll stick that last piece of pizza in the oven if you want to warm it up. And if you want to heat up some left over pasta or soup you’ll use the stove. There’s no instant gratification in 1950!
The weather still plays a major factor in how Italians live. Most Italians cannot afford clothes dryers. The machines themselves are expensive, but more so Italians cannot afford the electricity that is required to power a clothes dryer. Because they dry their clothes on an outdoor clothes line (even in the middle of winter if it’s not raining) or on an indoor fold away rack, drying time must be taken into consideration for what is washed and when it’s washed. For instance, the clothes you want to wear on Friday had better be washed on Wednesday to allow for the proper drying time.
Apparently the fear that one can catch their death of a cold is not just the stuff of Jane Austin novels. Italians (and many Europeans) still believe they can get sick from being out in the rain or out in the cold. They'll decide whether they'll leave the house based on the weather. Of course not having a car to get you from one point to another plays a major factor here, but still, Italians don't want to hear any scientific mumbo jumbo about how only viruses or germs can make you sick.
Many Italians cannot afford a car so they own a bicycle. People of all ages dressed in their Sunday best ride their bikes everywhere; to work, to the market, to restaurants, to bars, to school, to church… everywhere. But because it’s common for bikes to get stolen, no one invests in a new bike. That’s why so many “vintage” bikes are still in existence. These bikes have not changed much since the days of poodle skirts and saddle shoes. The bikes here still have chain guards so your dress pants don't get stuck in them, utilitarian baskets so you can carry your fresh bread and vegetables from the local market, and bells so that you can signal for the frustratingly unaware Italians to make room for you on the street.
Very few people, including students, walk with earphones to listen to music. It's a little strange to see because in Washington, DC and many other major metropolitan cities in 2010, earphones are an essential component of any wardrobe. It is still common and acceptable to be late for work because you ran into a friend on the street and were catching up. Italians believe wearing earing earphones isolates people from one another and that's not acceptable behavior for 1950.
Office dynamics sound quite Mad Men-esque. For instance, smoking in your office is allowed. Drinking at lunch is common place and sexual harassment is a relatively unknown and un-feared concept. Dating the boss is certainly not frowned upon. In fact, several of my girlfriends working for Italian companies have been told that women who “fuss” about suggestive comments at work probably just need to get laid.
Of course Italy is not COMPLETELY stuck in 1950. They have high speed Internet for goodness sake! Then again, you do have to sign a 2 year contract to get it. This forces many Italians (and visitors) to survive on an Internet key. An Internet key is the equivalent of an air card in the U.S., but it’s way more expensive and way less reliable. And then of course there’s the… the… umm… Okay, let me think… how else is Italy not like living in 1950? Hmmm (long uncomfortable pause)… Nope just that little wormhole called the Internet; that’s pretty much it!
Allora, welcome to 1950!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Just me
I might be destined to be alone for the rest of my life. Sometimes I’m okay with this realization and sometimes it scares the hell out of me. Not that long ago the thought of being alone (as in without a long-term partner) never really bothered me. Then a few of my girlfriends who are in the 50+ age range kept telling me how much it sucks to be alone and it freaks me out. That’s when I usually jump on Match.com with a solid determination to find SOMEONE to share my life with. I’ve done that now on two different occasions and I have to say the search-through-pictures-and-read-a-bullshit-profile route doesn’t really work for me.
To be completely honest, in the back of my mind I think I will find lasting love, but it won’t be for years and years. I’m not sure why I think this, but I do.
I tend to put my own life on the back burner when I have a man in my life. I suspect many women do this. At least, I hope I’m not the only one! By putting my life on hold, I mean doing less of what I like to do. I work out less because I’d rather stay snuggled up in a warm bed with the boyfriend then drag my ass out of bed at 5:15 AM to prep for a 6:00 AM workout class. I read less. I write less. I explore less. I try less new things. I’m not sure why this is. Over the years I’ve tried to maintain more of “myself” when I have someone in my life. I’ve gotten better at doing so but, still, maintaining balance in this area is a challenge.
For me, Italy has never been about finding a man… never. As I have blogged about before, Italy was always about challenging myself. When I came here I was dating someone who I would have happily stayed faithful to. However, many of my friends old and new seem to have a different idea for what this trip should be about. Some friends thought I should have broken up with my boyfriend before I arrived so I could be totally open to new experiences here. Some friends think I should have a series of torrid affairs with foreign men, just to see what it would be like. And some want me to find the quintessential Italian man who will sweep me off my feet, recognize how “special” I am, and take care of me for the rest of my life.
By the way, I’m not quite sure I like the term “special” in this context. To me, “special” is sometimes code for: high maintenance, difficult, picky, and/or in no way normal like the rest of us!
So many people are interested in this aspect of my trip, I have found myself getting wrapped up again in the need to “find” someone. The number of inquires are serving as very subtle pressure to have a great “story” in this area. I understand completely that people are just curious and, in some ways, living vicariously through this experience, but I’m starting to get anxious about not having someone and I don't want to feel that way. I don’t want to fall into old patterns. I don't want to force this part of my life anymore.
I don't know if I’ll meet someone here. I don't know if I’ll be alone forever. What I do know is I don't want to worry about whether I'll find someone. I don't want this to become the focus of this trip. I just want to chill out and be me for a while.
My new philosophy at this moment is to be open to every new experience. I want to keep an open mind and re-adjust if I start going down the wrong path. For right now that’s the plan.
Oh, and if I do meet the gorgeous man with the amazing accent who makes mad, passionate love to me, maybe I’ll let you know in some secret way like by titling a blog entry, “It’s a whole new world” and then writing about something that has nothing to do with that topic. Until then, it’s safe to assume that it’s just me enjoying Italy and all that I can make of my life here.
To be completely honest, in the back of my mind I think I will find lasting love, but it won’t be for years and years. I’m not sure why I think this, but I do.
I tend to put my own life on the back burner when I have a man in my life. I suspect many women do this. At least, I hope I’m not the only one! By putting my life on hold, I mean doing less of what I like to do. I work out less because I’d rather stay snuggled up in a warm bed with the boyfriend then drag my ass out of bed at 5:15 AM to prep for a 6:00 AM workout class. I read less. I write less. I explore less. I try less new things. I’m not sure why this is. Over the years I’ve tried to maintain more of “myself” when I have someone in my life. I’ve gotten better at doing so but, still, maintaining balance in this area is a challenge.
For me, Italy has never been about finding a man… never. As I have blogged about before, Italy was always about challenging myself. When I came here I was dating someone who I would have happily stayed faithful to. However, many of my friends old and new seem to have a different idea for what this trip should be about. Some friends thought I should have broken up with my boyfriend before I arrived so I could be totally open to new experiences here. Some friends think I should have a series of torrid affairs with foreign men, just to see what it would be like. And some want me to find the quintessential Italian man who will sweep me off my feet, recognize how “special” I am, and take care of me for the rest of my life.
By the way, I’m not quite sure I like the term “special” in this context. To me, “special” is sometimes code for: high maintenance, difficult, picky, and/or in no way normal like the rest of us!
So many people are interested in this aspect of my trip, I have found myself getting wrapped up again in the need to “find” someone. The number of inquires are serving as very subtle pressure to have a great “story” in this area. I understand completely that people are just curious and, in some ways, living vicariously through this experience, but I’m starting to get anxious about not having someone and I don't want to feel that way. I don’t want to fall into old patterns. I don't want to force this part of my life anymore.
I don't know if I’ll meet someone here. I don't know if I’ll be alone forever. What I do know is I don't want to worry about whether I'll find someone. I don't want this to become the focus of this trip. I just want to chill out and be me for a while.
My new philosophy at this moment is to be open to every new experience. I want to keep an open mind and re-adjust if I start going down the wrong path. For right now that’s the plan.
Oh, and if I do meet the gorgeous man with the amazing accent who makes mad, passionate love to me, maybe I’ll let you know in some secret way like by titling a blog entry, “It’s a whole new world” and then writing about something that has nothing to do with that topic. Until then, it’s safe to assume that it’s just me enjoying Italy and all that I can make of my life here.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Florentines have no awareness of spacial relationships!
There are now 2 things I miss about Rome; the Villa Borghese and Roman drivers. Yep, that’s right, Roman drivers. Those people know the rules of the road. They stop for pedestrians in the walkways, yield to other vehicles when appropriate, and seem to have a sensible understanding with the motorcyclists and bicyclists.
I knew without a doubt if I walked out in the middle of the street at a designated pedestrian crossing the cars in Rome would stop. In Florence I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands even though I’m crossing legally. Luckily my exceptional “Frogger” skills come in handy when maneuvering through the very busy, very unpredictable streets here.
Equally as clueless as the drivers in Florence are the walkers. No one looks before they pop out into the middle of the street and no one yields. I had a man look at me for several steps as he walked right into me and then started yelling at me. He honestly expected me to move, even though he had cut into my lane walking in the opposite direction of pedestrian traffic. I just laughed when he started yelling. Oh wait, no. I mumbled that he could bit me too.
No one seems to have any common sense here. For instance, the sidewalks are very narrow. If a couple is walking down the street with open umbrellas, they will not form a single file line to make room for you on the same sidewalk. So, if you're already on the sidewalk, as close to the building as you can go, the couple will not form a single file line. Instead they’ll bash you in the head with their umbrella, get you soaking wet, and keep on walking without a care in the world.
Women are certainly not granted the courtesy of going first here. The phrase “Ladies before gentlemen” might actually make the men in Florence laugh out loud. I can’t tell you how many times a little old Italian man has cut me off or bumped me out of the way. It’s not just me. Italians cut everyone off. It’s equal opportunity discourtesy here. This was surprising for me. I was expecting that women would be treated with kid gloves and pedestrians would have a kinship against the evil drivers of automobiles no matter how “Smart” their cars were.
I have access to a bicycle now. The freedom one has with a bicycle is fantastic. Obviously you can get to places in less than half the time and you can go farther than you can when you’re walking. However, motorists here think that cyclists are less than dirt! Cyclists have no rights, which is weird because so many people ride their bikes in Florence. Helmets are not worn because, apparently, Gucci hasn’t designed one yet. And cars come so close to you on the street that it takes all your resolve to remain calm and focused.
This kind of anarchy would not fly in Amsterdam, I can tell you that! You can get stoned off your ass there, but don't even think about messing with a cyclist!
So, I guess Rome wasn’t all bad, and Florence has some flaws. Sorry Rome. I suppose I owe you an apology.
I knew without a doubt if I walked out in the middle of the street at a designated pedestrian crossing the cars in Rome would stop. In Florence I feel like I’m taking my life into my own hands even though I’m crossing legally. Luckily my exceptional “Frogger” skills come in handy when maneuvering through the very busy, very unpredictable streets here.
Equally as clueless as the drivers in Florence are the walkers. No one looks before they pop out into the middle of the street and no one yields. I had a man look at me for several steps as he walked right into me and then started yelling at me. He honestly expected me to move, even though he had cut into my lane walking in the opposite direction of pedestrian traffic. I just laughed when he started yelling. Oh wait, no. I mumbled that he could bit me too.
No one seems to have any common sense here. For instance, the sidewalks are very narrow. If a couple is walking down the street with open umbrellas, they will not form a single file line to make room for you on the same sidewalk. So, if you're already on the sidewalk, as close to the building as you can go, the couple will not form a single file line. Instead they’ll bash you in the head with their umbrella, get you soaking wet, and keep on walking without a care in the world.
Women are certainly not granted the courtesy of going first here. The phrase “Ladies before gentlemen” might actually make the men in Florence laugh out loud. I can’t tell you how many times a little old Italian man has cut me off or bumped me out of the way. It’s not just me. Italians cut everyone off. It’s equal opportunity discourtesy here. This was surprising for me. I was expecting that women would be treated with kid gloves and pedestrians would have a kinship against the evil drivers of automobiles no matter how “Smart” their cars were.
I have access to a bicycle now. The freedom one has with a bicycle is fantastic. Obviously you can get to places in less than half the time and you can go farther than you can when you’re walking. However, motorists here think that cyclists are less than dirt! Cyclists have no rights, which is weird because so many people ride their bikes in Florence. Helmets are not worn because, apparently, Gucci hasn’t designed one yet. And cars come so close to you on the street that it takes all your resolve to remain calm and focused.
This kind of anarchy would not fly in Amsterdam, I can tell you that! You can get stoned off your ass there, but don't even think about messing with a cyclist!
So, I guess Rome wasn’t all bad, and Florence has some flaws. Sorry Rome. I suppose I owe you an apology.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Follow Your Destiny Wherever it Leads You
Sometimes in life you reach a crossroad, where there is no turning back and a new path has to be chosen. I was standing at this crossroad over a year ago, agonizing over which path to take. My sister, knowing I was at this intersection, gave me a card with an inspirational theme written by Vicki Silvers. I have retyped the inside of the card below.
I kept the card and brought it with me to Italy. In the past whenever I would re-read it it would bring me to tears. Today as I re-read it, it put a HUGE smile on my face. I have never felt more secure in myself and the path I have chosen. I know where I am now is where I am supposed to be in my life. I wish everyone the same peace for the New Year!
**
There comes a time in your life when you realize that if you stand still, you will remain at this point forever. You realize that if you fall and stay down, life will pass you by.
Life’s circumstances are not always what you might wish them to be. The pattern of life does not necessarily go as you plan. Beyond any understanding, you may at times be led in different directions that you never imagined, dreamed, or designed. Yet if you had never put any effort into choosing a path, or tried to carry out your dream, then perhaps you would have no direction at all.
Rather than wondering about or questioning the direction your life has taken, accept the fact that there is a path before you now. Shake off the “whys” and “what ifs,” and rid yourself of the confusion. Whatever was – is in the past. Whatever is – is what’s important. The past is a brief reflection. The future is yet to be realized. Today is here!
Walk your path one step at a time – with courage, faith, and determination. Keep your head up and cast your dreams to the stars. Soon your steps will become firm, and your footing will be solid again. A path that you never imagined will become the most comfortable direction you could have ever hoped to follow.
Keep your belief in yourself and walk into your new journey. You will find it magnificent, spectacular, and beyond your wildest imaginings.
I kept the card and brought it with me to Italy. In the past whenever I would re-read it it would bring me to tears. Today as I re-read it, it put a HUGE smile on my face. I have never felt more secure in myself and the path I have chosen. I know where I am now is where I am supposed to be in my life. I wish everyone the same peace for the New Year!
**
There comes a time in your life when you realize that if you stand still, you will remain at this point forever. You realize that if you fall and stay down, life will pass you by.
Life’s circumstances are not always what you might wish them to be. The pattern of life does not necessarily go as you plan. Beyond any understanding, you may at times be led in different directions that you never imagined, dreamed, or designed. Yet if you had never put any effort into choosing a path, or tried to carry out your dream, then perhaps you would have no direction at all.
Rather than wondering about or questioning the direction your life has taken, accept the fact that there is a path before you now. Shake off the “whys” and “what ifs,” and rid yourself of the confusion. Whatever was – is in the past. Whatever is – is what’s important. The past is a brief reflection. The future is yet to be realized. Today is here!
Walk your path one step at a time – with courage, faith, and determination. Keep your head up and cast your dreams to the stars. Soon your steps will become firm, and your footing will be solid again. A path that you never imagined will become the most comfortable direction you could have ever hoped to follow.
Keep your belief in yourself and walk into your new journey. You will find it magnificent, spectacular, and beyond your wildest imaginings.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Importance of a Job Well Done
Italy is facing an economic crisis. Work is not easy to come by. Many young people, those in their 20s to 30s cannot find any work at all. This country does not have the expression “under employed.” Employed is employed. And being employed is considered a good thing. It’s not like it is in the U.S. where we won’t take a job at the grocery store or in a restaurant because those jobs are below us. Young people here would be happy to have “those” jobs. They’re just not available. Work is a privilege here.
Italians take great pride in their work. From the janitor at the airport, to the Barista at the café, to the gentleman working behind the register at the local clothing store; Italians dress in their Sunday best, consistently keep themselves busy with work, and truly seem to care about a job well done.
I respect this. It’s nice to see so many people take pride in a job well done. And it’s absolutely refreshing to be away from the constant size-you-up-to-see-if-I’m-doing-better-than-you-in-life questions that are so prevalent in the Washington, DC area. You know those subtle, but not so subtle questions like, “So Valerie, what do you do?” “Oh, really? How long have you worked there?” “My god! Did the stock market hit you like it hit us this year? I certainly hope not!”
Ugh! Spare me the pleasantries and just ask to see my bank statement already!
Witnessing the pride Italians put into their work, and not working for two months have actually restored my appreciation for my own job and reminded me how much personal value I derive from it. I can't believe it but I'm really am looking forward to working again! What a great thing to realize when you’re on vacation!
Woo hoo! Chalk up one more lesson to the “What Val learned when she left it all” list!
Italians take great pride in their work. From the janitor at the airport, to the Barista at the café, to the gentleman working behind the register at the local clothing store; Italians dress in their Sunday best, consistently keep themselves busy with work, and truly seem to care about a job well done.
I respect this. It’s nice to see so many people take pride in a job well done. And it’s absolutely refreshing to be away from the constant size-you-up-to-see-if-I’m-doing-better-than-you-in-life questions that are so prevalent in the Washington, DC area. You know those subtle, but not so subtle questions like, “So Valerie, what do you do?” “Oh, really? How long have you worked there?” “My god! Did the stock market hit you like it hit us this year? I certainly hope not!”
Ugh! Spare me the pleasantries and just ask to see my bank statement already!
Witnessing the pride Italians put into their work, and not working for two months have actually restored my appreciation for my own job and reminded me how much personal value I derive from it. I can't believe it but I'm really am looking forward to working again! What a great thing to realize when you’re on vacation!
Woo hoo! Chalk up one more lesson to the “What Val learned when she left it all” list!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Staying True To Who You Are and What You Really Want
The first time I said aloud that I was moving to Italy, I was joking. Truly, I was being reactionary. The bloody Englishman (see “About Me” sidebar) and I had broken up just before a planned 2-week trip to Italy. Several years before this, my husband and I were supposed to travel to Italy for our five year wedding anniversary, but he changed his mind at the last minute. When I was talking with my friend, Nat, trying to figure out why all of my trips to Italy had been cancelled, I declared, “Fuck it! I’m just gonna move there!” As soon as I said it, it felt right. I can’t explain why. It just did.
After this declaration, I had several internal discussions trying to convince myself this idea was the stupidest one I had come up with yet, but I couldn’t get the wanderlust out of my heart. I knew I had to do this.
Several people asked me why I wanted to give up everything I worked for to move to Italy. “What?” they would ask. “Are you trying to find yourself?” Although a legitimate question, it was hard for me to answer. There was no one reason. It was more complicated than that.
I knew this trip was not about “finding” me. I’ve already spent most of my adult years doing that; trying to break free from the roles assigned to me by my family; trying to break free from my self-imposed insecurities and impossibly high standards; trying to forgive myself for my failed marriage; trying to be okay with who I really am.
Without a doubt, after quite a bit of effort, I have already “found” the new me. This trip was more about taking the new me out for a spin. I wanted to make sure the woman I thought I had become, was indeed the woman I was.
I’ve discussed in previous blogs that my strength had been tested several times since I landed in Italy. Over the past few weeks I’ve had some tests of a different nature that have challenged my old ways of thinking and reinforced my faith in who I have become. However, for you to really understand my growth in this area you need to understand some of my old ways of thinking. Until not that long ago, I was in such a state that if a guy liked me, I might like him back simply because he showed interest in me. It’s not something I’m particularly proud to admit, but it’s the truth.
Yet on three separate occasions here I have chosen to not settle for, pursue, or accept that which is less than what I truly want in my love life. The choices I have made may sound like common sense, but in reality it’s not that easy to stay focused and do the right thing.
My first challenge was turning down an offer to be placed on lay away while the guy I had been dating tried on some other girls for size while I was in Italy. It may sound like a logical request to date other people given that I was in a different country, but it was not the relationship I wanted. This was a hard decision. It’s not easy to tell a gorgeous, romantic, successful, and in most ways great guy, “Thanks, but no thanks,” when in the very back of your mind you think to yourself, “What if I never find anyone I connect with as much as this man. What if this is the best I will ever find?”
The second example was choosing NOT to tell a married friend (who I have a close personal connection with) that I desperately wanted him to come to Italy to hold me, make me feel safe, and tell me I wasn’t going to be alone for the rest of my life.
The third test of strength was turning down an offer to have an affair with a very sexy, very successful, very charming, and very unavailable man who I felt an intense connection with the moment we were introduced at a party.
All of these tests have helped reinforce that the new me is built from a solid foundation. I’m not embarrassed to share that I'm really proud of myself for doing the right thing, staying focused, and for holding out for what I really want in life.
Okay now, where is George Clooney these days?
After this declaration, I had several internal discussions trying to convince myself this idea was the stupidest one I had come up with yet, but I couldn’t get the wanderlust out of my heart. I knew I had to do this.
Several people asked me why I wanted to give up everything I worked for to move to Italy. “What?” they would ask. “Are you trying to find yourself?” Although a legitimate question, it was hard for me to answer. There was no one reason. It was more complicated than that.
I knew this trip was not about “finding” me. I’ve already spent most of my adult years doing that; trying to break free from the roles assigned to me by my family; trying to break free from my self-imposed insecurities and impossibly high standards; trying to forgive myself for my failed marriage; trying to be okay with who I really am.
Without a doubt, after quite a bit of effort, I have already “found” the new me. This trip was more about taking the new me out for a spin. I wanted to make sure the woman I thought I had become, was indeed the woman I was.
I’ve discussed in previous blogs that my strength had been tested several times since I landed in Italy. Over the past few weeks I’ve had some tests of a different nature that have challenged my old ways of thinking and reinforced my faith in who I have become. However, for you to really understand my growth in this area you need to understand some of my old ways of thinking. Until not that long ago, I was in such a state that if a guy liked me, I might like him back simply because he showed interest in me. It’s not something I’m particularly proud to admit, but it’s the truth.
Yet on three separate occasions here I have chosen to not settle for, pursue, or accept that which is less than what I truly want in my love life. The choices I have made may sound like common sense, but in reality it’s not that easy to stay focused and do the right thing.
My first challenge was turning down an offer to be placed on lay away while the guy I had been dating tried on some other girls for size while I was in Italy. It may sound like a logical request to date other people given that I was in a different country, but it was not the relationship I wanted. This was a hard decision. It’s not easy to tell a gorgeous, romantic, successful, and in most ways great guy, “Thanks, but no thanks,” when in the very back of your mind you think to yourself, “What if I never find anyone I connect with as much as this man. What if this is the best I will ever find?”
The second example was choosing NOT to tell a married friend (who I have a close personal connection with) that I desperately wanted him to come to Italy to hold me, make me feel safe, and tell me I wasn’t going to be alone for the rest of my life.
The third test of strength was turning down an offer to have an affair with a very sexy, very successful, very charming, and very unavailable man who I felt an intense connection with the moment we were introduced at a party.
All of these tests have helped reinforce that the new me is built from a solid foundation. I’m not embarrassed to share that I'm really proud of myself for doing the right thing, staying focused, and for holding out for what I really want in life.
Okay now, where is George Clooney these days?
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Honoring the King of Pop and our King and Savior Jesus Christ
On the Eve of Christmas I was fortunate enough to attend two concerts. The Concerto Di Natale (Christmas Concert) started at 4 PM and consisted of a symphony playing music from the Grand Mass of Mozart. This included 2 female and 2 male opera performers singing gorgeous lyrics in Italian (or Latin I couldn’t really tell). The music and singing were phenomenal.
Apparently, because the concert was a "mass” (but not like a church mass) the entire concert is considered one song. Therefore, audience members do not clap between songs. They clap at the end of the hour long performance. And then they clap for a ridiculously long period of time.
It was weird for me to hear complete silence between these really great pieces. Good thing I’m not the first person to start clapping at events, or that would have been very embarrassing.
The second concert I attended was in a small concert venue that holds about 2000 people. I’d say the concert was 90% sold out. This was a performance by the “World Famous Harlem Gospel Choir.” The concert started at 9:30 PM and went until about 11:30 PM.
The choir came out in a single file, mamba-style line, singing Hallelujah and asking the audience in English to put their hands together for the Lord. I could not help myself, I laughed aloud. It sounds ridiculous now, but I wasn’t expecting gospel music. I was expecting Christmas music. I mean, it WAS Christmas Eve.
I don't think I have ever been so happy and so embarrassed at the same time as during the first ten minutes of this concert. How, I wondered, will this audience receive all this? How is this going to translate?
Oh they got it!
I think the turn in audience participation came when, after a ten minute tribute to the importance of praising our Lord Jesus Christ, the choir moved directly into the song Billy Jean by the recently departed Michael Jackson. Just in case you're not getting the irony here, this is a song about a man denying he is the father of Billy Jean's illegitimate child.
"Huh, interesting song choice." I think to myself. I was not quite sure what Billy Jean had to do with showing honor to the Lord, but it was soon revealed to me and my fellow audience members that the concert would be honoring the King of Pop AND our King Jesus Christ!
Okay… NOW I get it.
The next hour and a half consisted of all almost all Michael Jackson songs, where an occasional line was changed to accommodate a, “Praise the Lord,” or “In His name.”
Another of my favorite quotes from the evening included the ever so important audience participation chant. “I say Jesus, you say Christ.” So it went a little something like this…
Singer, “Jesus,”
Audience, “Christ.”
Singer, “JESUS!”
Audience, “CHRIST!”
Maybe it’s just me, but I was a little uncomfortable with this exchange. I don't know. Is it okay to yell, “CHRIST” back at someone yelling, “JESUS” at you? I’m still not quite sure.
Because it was Christmas Eve, we did receive a fantastic medley of Christmas songs which, along with the King of Pop tribute, made the evening just about perfect for me!
Think what you want, but those M.J. songs sure got those Italians on their feet and dancing in the isles with arms waving high. I have never seen anything like it. They loved it. Of course they did. It’s Michael Jackson for Christ’s sake! And I DO mean that literally.
Apparently, because the concert was a "mass” (but not like a church mass) the entire concert is considered one song. Therefore, audience members do not clap between songs. They clap at the end of the hour long performance. And then they clap for a ridiculously long period of time.
It was weird for me to hear complete silence between these really great pieces. Good thing I’m not the first person to start clapping at events, or that would have been very embarrassing.
The second concert I attended was in a small concert venue that holds about 2000 people. I’d say the concert was 90% sold out. This was a performance by the “World Famous Harlem Gospel Choir.” The concert started at 9:30 PM and went until about 11:30 PM.
The choir came out in a single file, mamba-style line, singing Hallelujah and asking the audience in English to put their hands together for the Lord. I could not help myself, I laughed aloud. It sounds ridiculous now, but I wasn’t expecting gospel music. I was expecting Christmas music. I mean, it WAS Christmas Eve.
I don't think I have ever been so happy and so embarrassed at the same time as during the first ten minutes of this concert. How, I wondered, will this audience receive all this? How is this going to translate?
Oh they got it!
I think the turn in audience participation came when, after a ten minute tribute to the importance of praising our Lord Jesus Christ, the choir moved directly into the song Billy Jean by the recently departed Michael Jackson. Just in case you're not getting the irony here, this is a song about a man denying he is the father of Billy Jean's illegitimate child.
"Huh, interesting song choice." I think to myself. I was not quite sure what Billy Jean had to do with showing honor to the Lord, but it was soon revealed to me and my fellow audience members that the concert would be honoring the King of Pop AND our King Jesus Christ!
Okay… NOW I get it.
The next hour and a half consisted of all almost all Michael Jackson songs, where an occasional line was changed to accommodate a, “Praise the Lord,” or “In His name.”
Another of my favorite quotes from the evening included the ever so important audience participation chant. “I say Jesus, you say Christ.” So it went a little something like this…
Singer, “Jesus,”
Audience, “Christ.”
Singer, “JESUS!”
Audience, “CHRIST!”
Maybe it’s just me, but I was a little uncomfortable with this exchange. I don't know. Is it okay to yell, “CHRIST” back at someone yelling, “JESUS” at you? I’m still not quite sure.
Because it was Christmas Eve, we did receive a fantastic medley of Christmas songs which, along with the King of Pop tribute, made the evening just about perfect for me!
Think what you want, but those M.J. songs sure got those Italians on their feet and dancing in the isles with arms waving high. I have never seen anything like it. They loved it. Of course they did. It’s Michael Jackson for Christ’s sake! And I DO mean that literally.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Excuse me? What did you just say?
I was in the grocery store last night buying as much as I could in preparation for the long closures of almost all businesses over the holiday season. As I have learned, the “holiday season” varies from country to country. For instance, in the U.S., many retail shops close early on the Eve of Christmas and for the entirety of Christmas day. But come December 26th, commerce is back on in full swing.
In Italy, businesses (and I mean ALL businesses: gyms; retail stores; grocery stores; pharmacies; gas stations; nunneries… no wait, not nunneries) start to close their doors the day before, the day before Christmas and then reopen promptly on December 29th… only to close again on December 30th in preparation for the celebration of the new year.
But, I digress.
One might think the grocery store is simple enough to manage in any country. And, before I got here, I would have agreed with you. But then one of the cashiers asks you questions that you did not learn in Italian class and you cannot figure out by context. Questions like, "Do you have a frequent shopper card?" or "How many bags would you like?" How many bags do I want? Umm, I dunno. How about as many as I need to fit all of my groceries? I’m not really the expert in this area.
Cashiers get to sit in comfy desk chairs at their registers by the way, AND they make you pack your own stuff.
Seriously, who learns this stuff before they get here? No one, right? No one learns this stuff ahead of time. Surely, I cannot be the only one who did not?
I learn a lot by hanging back and watching what others do. The produce section of Italian supermarkets is much like those in the U.S. except they have more variety, you have to wear plastic gloves to pick up the fruit and veggies, and you need to weigh and print a price tag for your items before you get into the checkout line. A lot of U.S. markets are moving to the, “You weigh, you tag system,” so buying fruit seemed simple enough.
I also learned recently (after 5 minutes of walking back and forth from the stand where I selected my artichokes, to the scale where I could not find the weight code for the artichokes) that if the fruit or vegetable did not have a “weight code number” on the sign above you just paid the flat price that was associated with that item. Apparently, someone finally noticed me walking back and forth like a wind-up doll stuck between two barriers and taught me how the system worked.
Last evening, when I could not find the weight code for a pineapple and just saw the flat price, I didn’t even hesitate. I plopped that pineapple in my cart, weighed my other fruit, and was on my way.
When I got to the checkout line, the cashier asked me in Italian if I had a frequent shopper card. Yep! Got that one covered; here’s the card. How many bags do I need? Zero thank you. I brought my backpack and my portable rolly cart. Then she asked me “Italian word, Italian word, Italian word, pineapple?”
Umm, what? I never heard that one before. I told her in Italian I didn’t understand. She said back to me, “Italian word repeated, Italian word repeated, Italian word repeated louder, pineapple?”
Nope, still didn’t understand what you said even though you were kind enough to repeat the exact same sentence, but louder this time.
I tried to explain that the pineapple didn’t have a weight price code so I didn’t weigh it, but I just didn’t have those words in Italian, so I said it in English.
The cashier was apparently not impressed and had some problems hiding her frustration as she said out loud (but not while actually looking at me) something that did not have a very pleasant tone to it. In all honesty, the only word I understood was, “Inglese” (English).
At this point, I had already apologized in Italian and gave her the universal hand symbol for just forget about the pineapple. But the cashier could not be consoled. She kept repeating herself in Italian as if by some miracle I would learn the language on the spot in the middle of the checkout line. I just stood there not knowing what to try next while the cashier continued to go on and on speaking to no one in particular.
So, I did what any red-blooded American would do; I mumbled under my breath that she could bite me. Yep, never underestimate the power of a well placed, albeit mumbled, bite me!
Actually, I have also found that singing quietly out loud (but to myself), “I don't underSTAND you” and “Ever heard of a single file line (pronounced la-hein),” are also quite helpful with maintaining one’s personal sanity.
I’m not sure what I finally said or did that registered with her, but she eventually understood that we could just put the pineapple aside and not worry about it at this time.
Okay then, international crisis averted! Time for me to pack my own groceries!
In Italy, businesses (and I mean ALL businesses: gyms; retail stores; grocery stores; pharmacies; gas stations; nunneries… no wait, not nunneries) start to close their doors the day before, the day before Christmas and then reopen promptly on December 29th… only to close again on December 30th in preparation for the celebration of the new year.
But, I digress.
One might think the grocery store is simple enough to manage in any country. And, before I got here, I would have agreed with you. But then one of the cashiers asks you questions that you did not learn in Italian class and you cannot figure out by context. Questions like, "Do you have a frequent shopper card?" or "How many bags would you like?" How many bags do I want? Umm, I dunno. How about as many as I need to fit all of my groceries? I’m not really the expert in this area.
Cashiers get to sit in comfy desk chairs at their registers by the way, AND they make you pack your own stuff.
Seriously, who learns this stuff before they get here? No one, right? No one learns this stuff ahead of time. Surely, I cannot be the only one who did not?
I learn a lot by hanging back and watching what others do. The produce section of Italian supermarkets is much like those in the U.S. except they have more variety, you have to wear plastic gloves to pick up the fruit and veggies, and you need to weigh and print a price tag for your items before you get into the checkout line. A lot of U.S. markets are moving to the, “You weigh, you tag system,” so buying fruit seemed simple enough.
I also learned recently (after 5 minutes of walking back and forth from the stand where I selected my artichokes, to the scale where I could not find the weight code for the artichokes) that if the fruit or vegetable did not have a “weight code number” on the sign above you just paid the flat price that was associated with that item. Apparently, someone finally noticed me walking back and forth like a wind-up doll stuck between two barriers and taught me how the system worked.
Last evening, when I could not find the weight code for a pineapple and just saw the flat price, I didn’t even hesitate. I plopped that pineapple in my cart, weighed my other fruit, and was on my way.
When I got to the checkout line, the cashier asked me in Italian if I had a frequent shopper card. Yep! Got that one covered; here’s the card. How many bags do I need? Zero thank you. I brought my backpack and my portable rolly cart. Then she asked me “Italian word, Italian word, Italian word, pineapple?”
Umm, what? I never heard that one before. I told her in Italian I didn’t understand. She said back to me, “Italian word repeated, Italian word repeated, Italian word repeated louder, pineapple?”
Nope, still didn’t understand what you said even though you were kind enough to repeat the exact same sentence, but louder this time.
I tried to explain that the pineapple didn’t have a weight price code so I didn’t weigh it, but I just didn’t have those words in Italian, so I said it in English.
The cashier was apparently not impressed and had some problems hiding her frustration as she said out loud (but not while actually looking at me) something that did not have a very pleasant tone to it. In all honesty, the only word I understood was, “Inglese” (English).
At this point, I had already apologized in Italian and gave her the universal hand symbol for just forget about the pineapple. But the cashier could not be consoled. She kept repeating herself in Italian as if by some miracle I would learn the language on the spot in the middle of the checkout line. I just stood there not knowing what to try next while the cashier continued to go on and on speaking to no one in particular.
So, I did what any red-blooded American would do; I mumbled under my breath that she could bite me. Yep, never underestimate the power of a well placed, albeit mumbled, bite me!
Actually, I have also found that singing quietly out loud (but to myself), “I don't underSTAND you” and “Ever heard of a single file line (pronounced la-hein),” are also quite helpful with maintaining one’s personal sanity.
I’m not sure what I finally said or did that registered with her, but she eventually understood that we could just put the pineapple aside and not worry about it at this time.
Okay then, international crisis averted! Time for me to pack my own groceries!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The First Snow of the Season!
I had a childlike enthusiasm this morning as soon as I opened the shutters that shelter my window and saw the first snow of the season. It was 2 degrees Celsius today. Yes, as much as I hate to admit it I have learned to understand the temperature in Celsius without any ridiculous math calculations. Let’s just say 2 degrees is very cold, so the snow did not melt when the sun came out. I put on my plastic boots, grabbed my camera, and was off for what turned out to be a 7 hour walk across the city (la città).
Grammar school and university students are on winter break now, so they were out in full force scrapping snow off of cars to throw snowballs at their friends. Their enthusiasm was infectious and I couldn’t get the smile off my face watching it. The whole city was alive with Florentines enjoying the reclaimation of their city center since the tourist season officially ended in November.
I thought I'd start taking picutures at the park near my house, but the park gates were locked, so I just took some shots at the entrance.
I thought I'd start taking picutures at the park near my house, but the park gates were locked, so I just took some shots at the entrance.
Piazzale Michelangelo is on the opposite side of the Arno River and has a fantastic view of Florence, the bridges over the Arno River, and the Tuscan Hills that shelter Florence.
After Piazzale Michelangelo, I headed to the German Christmas Market that has been set up temporarily at the Piazza Santa Croce and bought myself a Nutella crepe and a pair of shearling slippers. Yes, I am now officially 80 years old and sporting shearling slippers, but I don't care. My feet are ALWAYS cold on these tile floors and now my feet will be toasty warm!
After the Santa Croce market, I bought some turtle neck sweaters at the San Lorenzo market (they have the best quality stuff and the best prices around) and then headed to this great pizza place I've been wanting to try out for a while. I parked myself down, ordered a caprese pizza, and drank a wonderful glass of red wine while I waited for the cold sun to set. I wanted to make sure I was able to get some pictures of the street lights that have been put up in the City Center. My favorite street has a blanket of lights for several blocks. It's an absolute pleasure to walk up and down this street at night. I'll be a little sad when the holidays are over and they take down these amazing lights.
On Christmas Eve I will walk to the Piazza della Repubblica to hear an old fashioned Christmas Carol concert, and later that night I will attend a concert put on by the Harlem Gospel Choir, from New York City.
Christmas morning I will attend Christmas mass held at the Duomo (the Cathedral). Although I’m more spiritual than religious, I think this will be a special way to spend Christmas morning.
New Year’s Eve in Florence is supposed to be packed with activities the entire city can enjoy. A huge fireworks display is scheduled for over the Arno River and it looks like I will be with friends that evening, so I’m excited for the next few weeks ahead.
Buon Natale everyone!
Friday, December 18, 2009
OH MY GOD! My Spin Instructor is GORGEOUS!
I joined a gym my first week in Florence. The Italian word for gym is palestra. I wasn’t able to join a gym in Rome because Roman gyms only allow year-long memberships. In Florence you can go month by month. Have I mentioned how much I like Florence?
I am now a card carrying member of Palestra Ricciardi. Palestra Ricciardi is the equivalent of Gold’s Gym in the United States… well, the retarded cousin that no one ever talks about equivalent, but who am I to judge.
As a requirement of my membership I had to obtain a passport-sized photo of my head within 48 hours so that it could be stapled to my paper membership card and give me full access to the facility. Ah! Now I understand why there are so many individual photo booths located throughout Italian cities. Based on what I witnessed several times on my walk from Rome's Termini Station to my apartment, I thought they were provided as quick accommodation for random blow jobs. But, I suppose, I could have misinterpreted that one.
Anyway, even though I had to pay extra for the cycling classes at this gym, I knew it would be well worth it because running to keep in shape when I had no access to a palestra was KILLING my knees. Cycling classes provide me the cardio without the threat of being crippled in my old age.
Cycling classes are offered 4 times a week; Monday and Wednesday at 1:30 in the afternoon and Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 in the evening. My first class was Monday at 1:30 PM. I got to class about 10 minutes early to warm up on the bike as it had been 2 months since my last cycling class. I fitted the bike to match my size and started a steady spin.
Apparently group exercise classes in Italy start promptly at whenever the instructor decides to get his or her ass into the class because, so far, no class I have attended in Italy has started on time. So there I was doing the self-induced warm up with the rest of the “dedicated” women in my class when the clock clicked to 1:40 PM and still no instructor. Jesus! I thought to myself, this is really annoy… and then the instructor walked in.
OH HELLO! I think to myself. And there he was; my perfectly toned, perfectly chiseled, and perfectly HOT cycling instructor! YESSSS! I knew these cycling classes were going to be worth the extra money! No wonder no one seemed to mind he was 10 minutes late. This guy was gorgeous!
Of course I could not understand a word he was saying, but luckily cycling is an easily mimicked activity. The instructor (BLOG UPDATE: his name is Fabio) got off his bike several times to check the cadence of our peddling. His perfect butt was so distracting I silently prayed he would get back on his bike and stop tormenting me. I mean, really, what's a single girl to do?
After 55 minutes, I was completely drenched in sweat and I could feel my face was flush with exhaustion. And, of course, I was not wearing any make-up seeing as how the gym is the only public place it’s acceptable to be without professionally applied make up.
When class was over, I hung back a bit and watched what the other class participants were doing to clean up their bikes. After I felt like I knew what to do, I walked to the paper towel dispenser at the front of the class. That’s when Fabio came over to me with a cute smile and started speaking in Italian. “Shoot!” I didn’t understand what he said, and I didn’t want to wing this one with a guess at an answer. I had to admit I didn’t speak Italian. “Oh, you’re American!” he replied in English. “YAY!” I think to myself, “He speaks English. This day just can’t get any better!”
Turns out he asked me if I liked the class. By the looks of me, he probably thought I was going to have a heart attack because I was so spent by the end of class. “Hmm, how did I like the class? How did I like the class?” The image of his perfect gluteus maximus ran through my head. “Yeah, I liked it a lot.” I replied with a slight smile at what I was really thinking. “See you at the next class then?” he inquired. “Certemente” (certainly) I offered.
Of course you know I’ll be at EVERY CYCLING CLASS THAT GYM HAS TO OFFER for as long as I am a member! Hey c’mon, I’m just rededicating myself to a healthy lifestyle. Plus, I can't disappoint Fabio. There's nothing wrong with that, right?
I am now a card carrying member of Palestra Ricciardi. Palestra Ricciardi is the equivalent of Gold’s Gym in the United States… well, the retarded cousin that no one ever talks about equivalent, but who am I to judge.
As a requirement of my membership I had to obtain a passport-sized photo of my head within 48 hours so that it could be stapled to my paper membership card and give me full access to the facility. Ah! Now I understand why there are so many individual photo booths located throughout Italian cities. Based on what I witnessed several times on my walk from Rome's Termini Station to my apartment, I thought they were provided as quick accommodation for random blow jobs. But, I suppose, I could have misinterpreted that one.
Anyway, even though I had to pay extra for the cycling classes at this gym, I knew it would be well worth it because running to keep in shape when I had no access to a palestra was KILLING my knees. Cycling classes provide me the cardio without the threat of being crippled in my old age.
Cycling classes are offered 4 times a week; Monday and Wednesday at 1:30 in the afternoon and Tuesdays and Thursdays at 7:30 in the evening. My first class was Monday at 1:30 PM. I got to class about 10 minutes early to warm up on the bike as it had been 2 months since my last cycling class. I fitted the bike to match my size and started a steady spin.
Apparently group exercise classes in Italy start promptly at whenever the instructor decides to get his or her ass into the class because, so far, no class I have attended in Italy has started on time. So there I was doing the self-induced warm up with the rest of the “dedicated” women in my class when the clock clicked to 1:40 PM and still no instructor. Jesus! I thought to myself, this is really annoy… and then the instructor walked in.
OH HELLO! I think to myself. And there he was; my perfectly toned, perfectly chiseled, and perfectly HOT cycling instructor! YESSSS! I knew these cycling classes were going to be worth the extra money! No wonder no one seemed to mind he was 10 minutes late. This guy was gorgeous!
Of course I could not understand a word he was saying, but luckily cycling is an easily mimicked activity. The instructor (BLOG UPDATE: his name is Fabio) got off his bike several times to check the cadence of our peddling. His perfect butt was so distracting I silently prayed he would get back on his bike and stop tormenting me. I mean, really, what's a single girl to do?
After 55 minutes, I was completely drenched in sweat and I could feel my face was flush with exhaustion. And, of course, I was not wearing any make-up seeing as how the gym is the only public place it’s acceptable to be without professionally applied make up.
When class was over, I hung back a bit and watched what the other class participants were doing to clean up their bikes. After I felt like I knew what to do, I walked to the paper towel dispenser at the front of the class. That’s when Fabio came over to me with a cute smile and started speaking in Italian. “Shoot!” I didn’t understand what he said, and I didn’t want to wing this one with a guess at an answer. I had to admit I didn’t speak Italian. “Oh, you’re American!” he replied in English. “YAY!” I think to myself, “He speaks English. This day just can’t get any better!”
Turns out he asked me if I liked the class. By the looks of me, he probably thought I was going to have a heart attack because I was so spent by the end of class. “Hmm, how did I like the class? How did I like the class?” The image of his perfect gluteus maximus ran through my head. “Yeah, I liked it a lot.” I replied with a slight smile at what I was really thinking. “See you at the next class then?” he inquired. “Certemente” (certainly) I offered.
Of course you know I’ll be at EVERY CYCLING CLASS THAT GYM HAS TO OFFER for as long as I am a member! Hey c’mon, I’m just rededicating myself to a healthy lifestyle. Plus, I can't disappoint Fabio. There's nothing wrong with that, right?
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