Category Archives: Strange things

How different is Italy and the Italians?

Gravity and a slightly strange friend(ship)

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I went to see the film Gravity last night. It wasn’t in 3D but it was in English which was the best I could do.

Even if it wasn’t in 3D, it was fabulous – a gripping-the-seats fabulous, all the way through. Although at one point after about the 3rd or 4th “mishap”, I found myself thinking, “What! Another problem? Give the girl a break!”

It was, of course, better to see in the cinema and, I’m sure, have been better still in 3D.

I went with a friend. Well, I say “a friend” and, yet, not really that close.

A few months ago or so, she contacted me. It was unexpected. We were, really, friends of friends. I had met her a couple of times and even spent on evening at her place for dinner. But it’s not like we had each others phone numbers or lived in the same area of town. When my friend went to live in the USA, I thought that I would never see her again.

That’s not really true. The reality is that I never thought of her at all. That’s how close we were.

In fact, my friend, before going off to the USA, fell out with her and so, wasn’t invited to the wedding. However, when my friend was back over Christmas, it seemed she had “made up” with her.

Anyway, as I say, a month or so ago, she contacted me (I think via Facebook). She wanted to go for an aperitivo (a drink) one evening. I expected her to tell me something but, no, we just had a drink and chatted. And yet I felt something was not quite as it seemed. I mean, we never really “got on”, we don’t really move in the same circles and we have very little in common. So I kept asking myself why had she suddenly got in touch.

Then, suddenly, last week, she suggested we go to see Gravity. OK, so I wanted to see it but, still, it was strange. It’s not like we are bosom buddies or anything. So why?

Of course, it did cross my mind that I was just being a little paranoid. Perhaps she really liked me? Perhaps she thought of me often?

But, even so, the whole thing just didn’t ring true.

And, last night, I think, I got my answer.

She is going to be made redundant. She knew about 6 weeks ago. So, she’s networking and I’m a person who might, at some time, be able to put something her way. I guess. Not that I wouldn’t, of course and not that I mind being “used” in such a way – I would, after all, do the same.

Or maybe this is just me and she’s just being my friend?

But I don’t think so.

Marrone, maroon, catsagna and Chesternut 5

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This, being Autumn, in Italy, is the time for chestnuts. I actually quite like chestnuts although F can’t stand them. Ah well.

However, if you buy the candied version, they are called marron glacé – the French name.

So, this morning I’m chatting with my colleague over coffee (you know, the one who has “blonde moments”) and, as she often does, she will be talking about something and then say to me,

“theword, you know what is?”

In this case, the word was castagna. Now, I do know what this means but sometimes I just reply “no”, as I did this morning.

She said, “oh, you know, marron?” This made me laugh. I explained that this was a French word, not English.

She seemed surprised by this. “But, Marron 5?”

This made me laugh more. What she meant was Maroon 5, the group. I had to explain that maroon is not the same as marron. But what really made me laugh is that all this time she has been thinking of Maroon 5 as Chestnut 5!

I said that the word was a colour – a sort of dark red (I always thought a kind of purplish-red although when I looked it up it’s supposed to be a brownish-red, the name having come from the French word for chestnut).

So, all these things turn a kind of full circle – castagna (It) = marrone (It) [both a type of chestnut and a colour] = marron (Fr) [as in marron glacé] = chestnut (Eng) which could = a darker version of maroon (Eng) [colour] = the first part of the name of a group, Maroon 5!

Of course, there is also a friend of F’s who regularly calls castagna “chesternuts” which always makes me smile.

I further explained to my colleague that Maroon 5 was a group name and said that, for example, a famous (in Italy) group from the 70s or 80s was Pooh – which, of course, could be translated as cacca as pooh is an alternative spelling of poo. Of course there is also Winnie-the-Pooh – but I always thought that name had something to do with Christopher Robin’s idea of fun, since children always think bodily functions are funny.

Anyway, while we’re here, let’s have a bit of Maroon 5:

and a little bit of I Pooh [The Shit, if you like] (who, if you’re not Italian, I’ll bet you’ve never heard of!):

Arguing about food with Italians. Do I have mad cow disease?

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Well, I have been here for a number of years now so I am, I feel, partly qualified.

Obviously, I have not tasted everything this wonderful country has to offer. For example, I learned today that there is such a thing as tomato mostarda – and, what is better, is I am promised some by a colleague :-). Mostarda is usually made with fruit (pear, fig, etc.) and has a special, very slightly mustardy taste.

The reason that I learnt about this is that we were having an argument about food.

Yes, an actual argument which, even if I am English, I didn’t lose, by the way. Even if there is a lot of English food that is really good, people here still think of English food as it was in the 50s, 60s and 70s which, to be honest, was not really great, in general. Then we found things like garlic and our cuisine improved at breakneck speed. However, I digress.

For lunch, in the works canteen, there was, for the main course, goulash with polenta. I do eat polenta but, when I sat down with colleagues at the table and one of them said something out my choice of main course, I couldn’t help but make some snide comment about polenta.

Polenta is, after all, as I pointed out, a “filler” in that it fills you up. What it does not have is taste. Nor, for that matter, a decent consistency. Imagine, if you will, some lumpy, badly mashed potato that has been allowed to get cold and then warmed up – but without any real taste.

I did say that “rough” (i.e. unrefined) polenta is much better in that it does have some taste (and mixed with a good Gorgonzola it is quite remarkable). However, I think “tasteless stodge” would be the best description for polenta.

I’m guessing that this was “poor people” food. You didn’t need to have much or any meat but some sort of sauce to give it taste and then, bingo, you had a filling meal!

The person in front of me couldn’t really disagree but tried. I explained again that it was, basically, a filler.

I then added (as I was in my stride) that Italians, who think they know something about food are, in fact, quite crazy and can’t really talk about “food” in that they have meat with fish – a very popular dish here. A number of years ago I would not have dared to do this. Now, I know what I’m talking about.

He knew what I meant. He said “You mean vitello tonato?” I did indeed. He then tried to say that it wasn’t really like that as it was only a sauce. I replied that it was a fish sauce ….. with meat. He agreed but said that there was only about 10% of tuna and mostly mayonnaise. I retorted with the fact that containing fish and tasting of fish, meant that it was, in fact, a fish sauce – and that insane Italians had it with, of all things, a piece of meat.

He then decided to try a different tack.

“Chutney,” he said.

“Mostarda,” I came back with. I think he knew he was beaten.

He didn’t like mostarda even if his wife comes from the place that makes “the best mostarda in the world”. He promised to get me some.

I Said how much I liked mostarda, especially with cold meats. He then told me about tomato mostarda and promised me some of that.

To be honest, rather than chutney, he could have come back with a lot of things but I’m getting better at this lark and can think up things to come back with.

The problem is that everyone think that Italians = food and English not= food which, of course, is too much of a generalisation and therefore, is always open to attack. In my case, whenever anyone comes out with something like “the English don’t know how to cook”, I have a number of things to hit back with – including vitello tonata and polenta. Italians don’t really equal food after all ;-)

Then again, it’s really all a matter of taste.

Officialdom in Italy – erm, this is NOT how it works!

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You may remember I was dreading going to get some official documentation thing done.

Well, today was the day.

The office opened at 8.30. Being Italy, I knew my best chance to spend as little time as possible, the first visit, was to get there about 8 a.m.

I failed. It wasn’t entirely my fault. Last night we were at some friends for dinner and F did his back in during the day so, when we got home about 12.30, I had to take the dogs out.

I set the alarm for 7 a.m., knowing I would have to take the dogs out. An hour would be enough, wouldn’t it? Even as I was setting the alarm at about 1 a.m. I knew that it wouldn’t be. F said that he would get up with me as he wanted to go and have his injection at 8 as he was going to Greece for the week.

The alarm went off. It was so nice being in bed that I set it to snooze for 5 minutes. Of course, as it was only an hour to get my act together, even 5 minutes was a no-no – and I knew that, it was just that I really, really didn’t want to get up.

I got up when it went off again. I didn’t wash or anything but took the dogs out straight away. We got back about 20 to 8 (it had to be a shorter walk this morning). Of course, F only actually got up the moment I got back. And he made for the bathroom. So, that was that. I made coffee. Just before 8 he came out of the bathroom but I was having coffee and, much like every morning, my head takes a while to catch up with being awake. In fact, I always say that I’m at my best from about 11 a.m.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that I can stay up late. Normally, I would say, my best period finishes about 2 p.m. – after that it’s all downhill to bed!

Anyway, back to the story. I did try to rush but it was like swimming through treacle. I made it out of the house before 8.30, which I thought was quite an achievement, to be honest.

I realised, just before I left the house, that I had not taken a copy of my passport or my codice fiscale sheet (I never got the card). I went to the tobacconists under my flat and got copies.

I knew I wouldn’t have everything that was needed but I’d done my best.

I catch the bus but get off too early. I walk to the place and arrive there about 9 something. I go to the office which is on the 4th floor. I really do hate doing this thing in Italy. I dread it. I thought, on the way there about turning back but steeled myself to continue. After all, this had to be done sooner or later.

I get the lift to the 4th floor and go into the waiting room. I see the machine to get a ticket. The ticket says B52. They are currently calling out B21! Shit, I think, I really should have been here earlier.

I sit down and wait. And wait. However, by about 10, we’re nearing my number. All these people only seem to spend a few minutes in the offices. I see many of them clutching folders with documentation. All my documentation is contained in my passport which is in my pocket. My heart sinks with every second of waiting. I toy with the idea of NOT doing this. After all, I maybe don’t have the need of it any more?

But, having already arranged to be late for work to get it, I have to continue.

My number comes up – it’s about 10.15.

I go into Office number 8. The guy is sat at a desk behind a computer. I explain what I want. He asks if this is my first time. I say yes. He asks if I’m resident. I explain that no, I’m not really. He asks where I am from. I tell him.

He needs my codice fiscale. I give him the original paper. He asks if I have a payslip. As luck would have it, in my bag is the last payslip from October. I tell him I have a letter from my employers but he says a payslip is better.

I hand it over. He doesn’t look at my passport.

He types some stuff in on the computer. Whilst he’s doing that, I tell him who I have selected because she is close to my flat. He nods and agrees. He continues typing.

He finishes typing and says, in English, “OK, that’s finished.”

He can see I look shocked. I say, “Finished in what way? What happens now? And my card?”

He prints out two pieces of paper. He says that one of the pieces of paper is the proof that I am “on the system” and until I receive the card I can use this. The other piece of paper gives the time she will be available.

He is smiling. He can still see I am in shock. I explain that this sort of thing has simply NEVER happened in Italy. I explain that, normally, I expect to go two or three times. He assures me that this is all done. He asks to take a copy of the codice fiscale document. I explain I have a copy. He would also need to take a copy of my passport. I say I have one of those too! This thing, of them making copies, has never happened before in Italy – for anything! Normally you must bring your own copies. He takes a copy of my payslip.

And that was that. 15 minutes! I am still in shock. I still can’t quite believe it. This, I would probably not even expect in the UK. This is stunning. This is wonderful. Oh, were it all like this in Italy.

So, anyway, now I am officially able to obtain the free health service. I have a doctor. I can go to hospital. I can be treated – and almost all for free. Like in the UK.

So, my first taste of the Health Service here is pleasant and comes across as efficient.

I like it :-)

In the case of the disappearing train station.

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I like the Italian rail service.

I don’t use it much but I like to travel on Italian trains. I find them punctual and a good service. Of course, I don’t normally travel on the regional trains but, rather, the inter-city trains. And, always first class :-)

I usually buy tickets from their website, in advance. It always works fine for me.

So, my colleague asked me to look up trains for her daughter who will be travelling on Saturday from Diano Marina (on the Ligurian coast) to Milan.

Yesterday, I did it. However, today the timing had changed. So I went to the site and typed in the station name. Unlike yesterday, the drop-down menu of the stations did not appear, which was strange.

I told her that the station did not seem to exist. She explained that it was precisely this problem she had yesterday. Of course, yesterday, I thought she was just having a “blonde moment”. It seems not.

In my hunt for the elusive station, I changed the site to English. It sent me back to the front page. I typed in the station name again and, this time, the name appeared in the drop-down menu and suddenly the station existed! It would seem that yesterday I was using the English version of the site.

I tried it in Italian again – no such station. English again – the station exists!!

I feel sorry for the Italians using the Trenitalia website – it seems it’s much more difficult to buy train tickets in Italy if you don’t read English.

Who’d have thought it?

There are many advantages to being English in Milan and this is another :-)

Here we go, here we go, here we go!

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Well, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later and sooner rather than later was more likely.

I asked my colleague if she thought it was possible to do this by telephone or online. She did her best to not laugh. Obviously, siamo in Italia (we are in Italy) and there is no hope on this earth that something as simple as a phone call or online thing is possible. TBH, I knew that to be the case but one should always live in hope.

So, once again I am stepping into the dark, foreboding abyss that is Italian Bureaucracy. And, let me tell you, I’m not looking forward to it. No, not a bit.

It will take time (my golden rule being that, in order to do anything here, you need to visit an office a minimum of two times) and it will be hassle.

Also, in my case, it could mean obtaining some other documentation first, so doubling or quadrupling the amount of visits (and time).

Can I just say …….. shit, shit, shit and bloody shit!

Spam Poetry?

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I don’t normally look at the spam comments these days. There are just too many of them so they just get deleted.

However, as I go to delete the spam comments that have built up this morning, the first one caught my eye.

It looks like a poem.

So I thought I would share it with you, even if it’s not that easy to read :-)

Apρrеcіаte Youг Cat By Fοllowing Τhese Stablе Recοmmеndations.

Cats are exсeptіonal dοmeѕtic pets.
If you may probаblу’t be at your hοme all
tіme of time of day timе, cats can ԁωell
on theіг νeгy perѕonаl.
The subѕequent guіdе will pегmit уοu to to analyze all about cats.

Inside еѵеnt thе hοlіdаy sеason rollѕ rounԁ, safeguаrd youг Xmas trеe from сurіοus κittіеs.
Ιt сould sеe thаt tгee anԁ
climb іt. That іs typically an huge ԁіlеmma.
Commonly tеnd not tο pеrmіt your ԁοg to
prowl rоughly уour treе.
You mау have tо alsο be confident that
уou maу fіnd out no loose garlands, оrnaments or tinsel thаt maу ωell extremеly
vеry ωell be eaten employing the сat.

Actually gеnerallу tenԁ not to haνe youг cat opt for
οn а med if they’гe not suffering by way of the proρerly-stayіng ԁіlemmа it acquirеd beеn mаnufactured tο hanԁlе.
A good deal of of indiviԁuals flea mеԁicineѕ yοu
gо well wіth іn youг οwn very own
cat alsο сoрe ωith for parasites, mites alsο to other diseaѕes ωhich the cat ωill nοt have
аnd are nοt аblе to contraсt.
Deѕpite the incrеdіbly ѕimple faсt thаt thesе
mediсіnes are poweгful on hіghway catѕ, they is likely to be not important foг іndoor cats.

Τhе region inѕide litter ѕelf-disciρlіne is important.
Youг at 1st

Great, isn’t it :-D

The Hunt – counselling afterwards, anyone?

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I watched “The Hunt” (original title Jagten) last night.

It’s a Danish film and was given high ratings. But this is not a film that’s going to make you laugh. In no way is it light. In fact, it’s one of those films that makes you want to turn away (or, even, switch it off/walk out), sometimes.

But, more importantly than that, it is truly disturbing. It is disturbing on many counts. There were many times one could see the “mistakes” being made. There were many times you could see people making up their minds and, once they were made, they seemed unchangeable. There were many times you wanted to shout out “run” – to many of the people.

It shows the power of an untruth and how people make their minds up based on the flimsiest of information. It shows the destruction of trust and the untenability of friendships.

It is a powerful film but, in my mind, it shouldn’t be shown without some sort of discussion afterwards. Everyone should see it but, at the same time, it almost needs some couselling afterwards.

Horrible subject but great film with a totally expected and yet unexpected ending. Not a happy ending either – it leaves everything open. You don’t really know everything – as it would be in real life. It doesn’t pretend to answer the questions it poses. In fact, it not only doesn’t pretend to but leaves whose questions hanging on purpose.

Not for the fainthearted but I do suggest you watch it.

I know her! (No, not in THAT way)

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The car pulls up to the kerb.

I am standing on the pavement by the bank, sort of opposite my house.

It’s not really that warm but warm enough.

The car door opens. She swings her legs out of the car like a proper lady and starts to get out.

I am struck by the fact that she is wearing a black coat or long dress which is either open or split down the front.

You can see she has beautiful legs and, underneath, is wearing blank panties and black suspenders and stockings.

I am surprised she isn’t trying to hide them.

Then I look at her face and see that she is, in fact, on of the prostitutes that is a regular in my area*.

Then I wake up. It lasted for all of a couple of seconds.

*The area where I live is a nice area but the main road is one of the main roads in Milan and, so, the prostitutes are there. Hey, look, don’t judge – this is a country where you quite often see prostitutes in the middle of the country, seemingly miles from anywhere, on major roads, sitting in sun-chairs whilst waiting for their next trick! They don’t hide away here.

Unbelievable!

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I’ve always found it somewhat amazing that, when someone finds out their partner has been having an affair, that person often attacks the person who has been with their partner and not their partner.

I don’t understand.

You can’t blame the “other person”. If your partner has strayed then the problem is surely with either your partner or your relationship or you or all of the above. Therefore, to attack the “other” seems quite stupid and unproductive.

I’m reminded of this by this morning’s online Daily HateMail. It suggests that the Guardian were wrong to print details about the NSA story and even more wrong to allow the “sensitive personal details” of UK agents to be carried across borders. In fact, it is calling for the Guardian to be prosecuted.

And, to me, this is a little like “my partner’s having an affair so I’ll attack the other person”.

If any prosecutions were to be made let’s go to the source of the problem.

The Guardian got the data from Snowden. Snowden was a contractor working for a company that was employed by the NSA. In fact, many, many contractors work with the NSA. If one of the contractors took some information, surely the responsibility for that lies with the NSA. The NSA have the responsibility to make sure that everything they do and everything they hold is “secret” – i.e. not available to the public. That’s their job, isn’t it?

So, whether it’s right for them to obtain this data in the first place is not the point. If their job is keeping secrets safe, and some of those secrets got out, it makes them:

a) crap at the job they’re doing and
b) responsible for the leak.

So, surely, they’re the ones that should be sued?

But, of course, the British Government can hardly sue the secret agency that the British secret agencies are helping. I mean that would be stupid, wouldn’t it?

However, bringing it back to my analogy, surely one should be looking at the “relationship” and trying to fix the problem with that!