Category Archives: Strange things

How different is Italy and the Italians?

Dino Forever

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Some time ago (about March of this year), I spotted something in one of the UK newspapers. It was about a company that made silver jewellery using a mould of your dog’s (or cat’s) nose. Apparently, a dog’s nose is a little like our fingerprint – unique to every dog.

Of course, given F’s love for Dino, I had this immediate image of, effectively, keeping Dino forever – at least for him.

I ordered this model of Dino’s nose.

Some time later I got the plasticine-like stuff and instructions on how to get the imprint.

There were two coloured plasticine-like balls, one blue and one white. You had to mix them together, split them into two and take two imprints.

You had to be quite quick with this as, once mixed together, the stuff became solid.

I did it and sent them off.

Back came an email saying that the moulds weren’t quite good enough – I hadn’t really got the whole nose. They sent me another impression kit. I tried again but, really, wasn’t so happy with the result.

Having sent these off, they emailed to say what they had was good enough.

However, if I were to do it again, given that my dogs are medium-large, I wouldn’t split the stuff in two. That was the problem. If it had been kept as one piece, I think the result would have been much better.

Eventually, the token arrived. As this was going to be a present for F, I had it made into a keyring – he doesn’t wear any jewellery. But, for me, the necklace would have been nice.

It arrived just after the summer holidays which was perfect timing as it was our anniversary yesterday and, obviously, this was the perfect anniversary present. And it was very well received.

So, here is a picture that F took last night:

Dino's Nose in solid silver

Rather excellent, isn’t it?

F was really delighted so it was worth it in terms of time spent and the money (for it’s not really cheap).

If you would like to get one, go to Snozza’a website.

If you want any advice BEFORE you take the imprint, give me a shout :-)

In the meantime, as it was so successful, I’ve just ordered the cufflinks from the dogs’ paws. This time there will be one of the cufflinks with Dino’s pawprint and one with Piero’s pawprint – reduced sizes, of course! It’s for Christmas. I think he’ll like it :-)

Pizza – is that a female pizzo?

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Today I learnt ……

Some years ago, V and I, having got very friendly with a shop assistant in a designer shop, were invited to her house for dinner. OK, that’s not normal but she was English and therefore we developed a kind of friendship, as one does.

During that dinner, they told us about their lives including the bit about having a bar/club. They were approached by some rather unsavoury persons to pay some “money” for protection purposes. They refused, of course. They were then threatened with closure. But, the club wasn’t burnt to the ground, rather, the place was to be found heaving with drug pushers (inside and out) and the police came and made a raid and, effectively, closed the club (for the unsavoury guys?) Or it was something like that.

Although it was a little “shocking” to us innocent Brits-just-landed, it was, kind of, expected in this Land of the Mafia.

And, last night (rather than today), I learnt that this money is also paid if you have a restaurant. It’s called “pizzo” and is not the masculine version of pizza.

In this case, I was told, the restaurant owners were “lucky”. After some three visits by some suitably unsavoury characters, on the third visit when the threats were getting rather more severe, “luckily” the conversation was overheard by a regular customer who “fixed” the problem as he “belonged” to a different “clan”.

This wasn’t 20 years ago but rather more recently (like this year). The blame (by the others I was talking with) was put on the heads of the politicians but, of course, it’s not quite as simple as all that. Especially as the politicians, like Berlusconi, are probably in hock to these people and, therefore, the country is, most likely, really run by the “Mafia” anyway.

Instead, of course, one must blame “the people” since, by continuing to accept that pizzo is the norm, validate and give this “tax” a continuity that, by not paying it, it would not have, they are truly “responsible”.

It’s easy for me to say. If I were in the same situation, would I be prepared to lose all my money and hard work (as in the first case) or pay up and keep my place? More importantly, would you? In fact, could you? Could you lose everything you’ve worked for just because you didn’t want to pay the pizzo?

Difficult questions in a difficult country. And, remember, we’re not talking about the unruly South here. We’re talking about the International Finance/Fashion Centre that is Milan!

Solve this problem and Italy would be a different country.

p.s. by using the term “Mafia”, I refer to all the clans that make up the underworld in Italy.

G*y Best Friend?

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Nearly all my best friends (although I only have one “Best Mate”) tend to be straight females. Some are straight males. Absolutely none are gay males.

So I’m disappointed to see that Tesco seem to have pulled the chance for me to have a gay best friend of my own! :'(

Read all about it here and tell me who wouldn’t want an gay male blow-up doll? Hahahahahaha

I don’t think I’ll ever understand Italians :'(

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Many people here take “half a coffee”.

They can’t drink a “whole one” as it’s too much. The machine we have means you have a capsule and, by pressing a button, YOU determine how much liquid goes into the cup. In general, this is a mouthful (this is not the UK or the USA). This is an espresso.

However, instead of just stopping the water soon after it’s started, they choose to do a normal espresso and then pour half of it into another cup (and then give it to me).

But I suppose we (from the UK and USA at least) are used to drinking a coffee rather than just having a taste of coffee, like the Italians. Still this half-coffee thing doesn’t really make sense to me.

Nor so does mustard. Not that they have mustard here. They have senape which is a vinegar flavoured, thick sauce. No hint of “hot”. Today I had some deep fried, doughnut-style-non-sweet-dough, wrapping some cheese and onion mix for lunch. And the cook, bless her, added senape. Now, mustard goes with meat and only pork (and ham) and beef at that. It doesn’t go with cheese and onion. Even if it isn’t really mustard. So I didn’t eat it.

I suppose it’s much like veal with a fish sauce. That doesn’t go either and makes me feel quite sick just to think about it!

Italians! Great food (in general) but really, really, really weird as well.

I don’t really belong

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I don’t think I’ll ever be something other than a foreigner in a foreign land.

I mean, I’ll never be totally relaxed. I came to this realisation whilst driving the dogs to the pineta on Sunday morning. I reached the traffic lights and, as I sat there, waiting for the lights to turn green, it struck me again that it’s not the place I am “from”. To the right is a place that looks a little like a timber yard – except that it sells marble. To the left is what look like a run-down workshop – except that it is a place where marble is carved into headstones and statues. The weather is warm and there is not a cloud in the sky and yet it’s towards the end of September and I am dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. This is not deepest Herefordshire.

It’s not such a bad thing – it’s just that it is, in a way, a little bit frightening. I don’t know that you will understand that and I’m not sure that I do either. Still, there it is.

The night before I had been with the family. This was the close family. This was F’s Mum’s birthday dinner. So F’s Mum and Dad, his sister (with husband and niece), twin brother (and girlfriend) and him (with me). There’s no strangeness from his family towards me at all. I am accepted completely and surrounded by his family and, in some way, feel part of it.

We went to Ristorante Venanzio in the small town of Colonnata, near Carrara which is situated deep in the mountains and surrounded by the marble quarries, famous for their white marble. It’s also famous for it’s Lardo di Colonnato, which I love.

Normally, when we go to Carrara for the weekend, we arrive sometime on Friday night and, usually, we drop the dogs at home and then go to Bati Bati for a pizza. I always have the pizza with Lardo, asparagus and aubergine (egg plant to Americans). It is one of the very best pizzas I’ve ever had. And, even now, writing about it, my mouth is salivating (really)!

However, at Venanzio, we had Lardo as antipasto (along with a load of other, very nice, things) which was “to die for”. So tasty. F’s brother told me that they have a special source for it and you won’t find it for sale anywhere else, even in the small village of Colonnata. We had a selection of pasta dishes (my favourite being Lasagnetta with sausage sauce) and then, I had lamb. Unfortunately, like most of Italy, the lamb was only so-so. Not a replacement for La Brace. However, I tasted F’s rabbit with lardo. It was slices of a rolled rabbit joint with lardo and herbs filling it. It was incredible.

Service was excellent (but we were the first there). Sweet was a cake (as it was F’s Mum’s birthday) which was very nice.

It wasn’t so expensive – about €40 each, including wine (4 bottles), a glass of sweet desert wine with the cake and a digestivo. Would definitely go again, the only downside being getting there (or, rather, getting back). The only way is via a narrow switchback road from Carrara – so you really MUST NOT drink and drive!

Anyway, you should go there for the Lardo!

Sunday was a day on the beach and it was one of the best days on the beach. Now, being the end of the season, half the umbrellas have been taken away so there’s much more room and, of course, a lot less people. Now, at this time in September, you can sit in the sun all day without becoming too hot – the breeze is cooling, the sun not so fierce. And so we do.

F talks about coming down next weekend, if the weather is good. It will be the last weekend – the beach closes at the end of September, the café is doing some sort of buffet spread on the Sunday. F suggests we might take a few hours off on Monday so we can stay down Sunday night. Let’s see how the weather is.

But, even here, on the beach, I have the same kind of feeling as I had in the car. It’s not really my place. Even if I feel relaxed and read (I finished “Bring Up The Bodies” – Hilary Mantel, which was great, btw), I almost don’t really belong.

“I’ll be back”

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Thank goodness for that! Berlusconi has made the equivalent of a Queen’s Speech and told us that, not only is he starting a new party but he is also going to stay in politics, for the good of Italy, whatever happens in the Senate vote.

By “whatever happens in the Senate vote”, I mean “when they kick him out of parliament for (finally) being convicted of something”.

By “the good of Italy”, I mean “for the good of Berlusconi”.

By “stay in politics”, I mean “influence said party because he has so much money and control of major media”.

By “starting a new party”, I mean “revamping the existing Berlusconi-for-everything party and making it a Berlusconi-for-everything party with a name from the past (so that will be just changing the name, then)”.

By “Queen’s Speech”, I mean “self-opinionated load of diarrhoea”.

By “Thank goodness for that”, I mean “OMG”.

It would be “I’ll be back” except, in this case it’s more of “I’m NEVER going to go away”.

Still, it always good to have something that’s stable (as in always there) in politics. And for that, you can count on him.

This is the Endy ……. and other Italian/English things.

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I don’t and can’t get upset about it.

F’s Mum has a problem with my name and it’s become a bit of a joke within the family. Even though she has been corrected a number of times, she still calls me Wendy. It makes me laugh and I thought it was only her but it seems not.

M, as I mentioned in a previous post, booked tables in the two restaurants for me. As she booked the table, in both cases, she told them that it was Andy with a “y” (ipsilon), just to be clear.

For Griffone, the table was, indeed, reserved. There was a handwritten note on the table with my name. Except it wasn’t quite my name – it was, in fact, written as Endy.

It made me smile.

On the differences between the language, Italians (those who know something of English) realise that adding “ly” to an adjective creates an adverb. So quick becomes quickly, horrible becomes horribly, etc.

Except, of course, for exceptions. One of these exceptions is “hard”, especially used in situations where you mean “a lot” – like work.

It makes me laugh to read “I was working hardly” when what they mean is “I was working hard” :-) But it’s not really their fault – the rule is well and truly broken for this word.

And, of course, there are those words that we use that have more than one meaning – except that, the meanings don’t always coincide – making them, somewhat, “false friends”. If you say that someone is/seems miserable you mean (quite clearly) that they are/seem unhappy, sad, etc.

Unfortunately, miserabile, in Italian, when used to describe a person, is something like low-life or wretch. Not quite the same thing.

Second Floor?

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“It’s on the first floor,” he says.

He gives some instructions but I only listen to the first bit – “turn right out of the lift”

My room is 257. Strange that. Usually, rooms on the first floor start with a “1”. But I don’t really pay heed.

I turn left and follow the signs. I’m in a hurry. There’s a beer with my name on it. It’s Mantova. It’s what I do here.

After twisting and turning through the maze of corridors that seemed to go on forever, I see the sign for some rooms in the two-hundreds pointing up some stairs.

The room IS on the second floor after all. And now I remember him saying something about “stairs”.

I reach the second floor and see why. There are a handful of rooms on this “dead-end” floor. The only way back out is down those stairs to the first floor!

It felt like it had taken me about 20 minutes to get here.

Of course, subsequent journeys to my room were quicker – seemed quicker. But it’s always that way. When you don’t know the way the journey doubles or triples in time and distance but once you know the way, then it’s OK.

Anyway, “second floor” made me think of this. Enjoy


Suzanne Vega – Luka

Invisible flights.

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F is due back from Greece today and I’m picking him up from the airport.

There’s just one problem. The flight (almost) doesn’t exist!

In fact, I had so much trouble finding any reference to it that I began to wonder if he had all the details wrong.

I knew which airport he would be flying from so, as normal, I checked, on Flightstats, the arrival airport looking for a flight from Greece. Not only wasn’t there one but there weren’t any late-arriving flights at all!

So, I try the other way, looking at the departing airport for a flight to the arrival airport. No flights to and from the airports.

Since I didn’t have the actual flight details, I texted him for them. He gave me the flight number and the departure and arrival times. I looked up the flight number on Flightstats. Maybe he had got the flight number wrong? The flight didn’t exist. I tried on the arrival airport site. The flight didn’t exist. I tried on the departure airport site. The flight didn’t exist.

I wanted to text back to say that the flight didn’t exist but I didn’t.

I looked up the flight number on Google. Nothing. I tried with and without spaces. Still nothing.

I found out the letters at the front of the code were for Ryanair. I tried their site. The flight didn’t exist. I tried to select the airports and find the flight. I had nearly given up.

I looked at the timetables. The timetables didn’t go through to tonight. But you can search. I tried Origin (departure airport) and Destination. There were, apparently, no flights today!

I tried the flight number without a space. Flight not found!

I tried the flight number with a space. The flight is there, at the times that F gave.

But this is the ONLY place I can find it. Flightstats doesn’t recognise it, the airports don’t recognise it and, mostly, the airline itself doesn’t recognise it! It seems very, very strange to me.

Through the looking glass. Or not.

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Alice. She went through it didn’t she?

Except that was a fairy story and not real.

And the reason it’s not real is that you simply can’t go through a mirror.

In the same way that if you walk inside a wardrobe and step past the clothes, you won’t enter into a wonderland which has a talking lion and a wicked witch. Instead, you will hit the back of the wardrobe. If you don’t even open the doors, you will just hit the doors.

If the door has a mirror, you can combine the two by both NOT going through the mirror and NOT entering that wonderland.

And, more than likely, you can cut your lip in the process.

Of course, we were in Carrara and I was so very tired that I thought I was at home and going straight on was the way to the bathroom.

And it was VERY dark. Although maybe I didn’t have my eyes open since I was so tired.

However, it didn’t really wake me up and I was back asleep as soon as I hit the bed. The scab on my lip has now almost gone.

So that’s OK then. But just to assure you, the Alice thing is made up and not real. As my lip testified.