Category Archives: Strange things

How different is Italy and the Italians?

The end of a rather peculiar week.

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It has been a rather peculiar week, to be honest.

Ask me to put my finger on it and I can’t. There are so many half-written posts about things I found strange (but in reality weren’t that strange) or things that got me a bit miffed (drivers, dog shit, other people’s stupidity, etc.). At times I’ve felt as though I was somewhere else, some other-worldness.

And it’s been cold. Like winter, which, as you know, I hate. And there’s wind, making it seem much, much colder.

I got a bit drunk the other night. I’ve been teaching English, except not nearly as much as was planned but I might have another student, maybe. And then, before M was due to come (but didn’t because he finished work late but he’s going to pay me anyway), S texted asking if I can do lessons over the weekend. Very strange. She hasn’t been for a lesson since Christmas and then, suddenly, last night, ‘Can you do a lesson at the weekend?’. When I suggested either Saturday or Sunday afternoon, she plumped for Sunday afternoon – but then added that maybe she could do Saturday as well! Two lessons in two days after a couple of months of nothing? The only thing that crosses my mind is that she has a new boyfriend and, maybe, he’s English or American or Australian or something? I am, as you may be able to tell, intrigued. She has led a rather strange life.

I got home last night to see that my bedroom had been changed. A little. It seems I have been given a connection to next door by means of two new holes. To be honest, the first thing I noticed was plaster on top of the chest of drawers whereupon my first thought was ‘Shit! I guess the ceiling is coming down'; the plaster work in Italy seeming to be really crap. And, yes, some of the plaster was down but not from the ceiling. From a couple of holes, fairly high up on the wall. This wasn’t some crappy plasterwork but, rather, because someone had been drilling and inserted some sizable bolts from the other side!

My second thought was that I could go and get the hammer and punch the screw/bolt back through. That would mean, of course, that whatever was being held up on the other side might fall down. But I didn’t do that. I’m not quite that mischievous! But the thought made me smile.

Apart from a thought of ‘what the fuck?’ when I first saw the holes, I am, as usual, fairly relaxed about it all. After all, it’s only a wall and someone can come and fix it. It’s not really that big a deal. In fact, it’s quite amusing.

So, apart from the lesson (or lessons) over the weekend, we have no plans. F is going to Germany next week so there will be a lot of preparation that needs to be done and a ‘beauty farm’, as he calls it. This means that, invariably, I won’t see him that much over the weekend. However, I’m hoping that I can convince him to go to the cinema to see The Kings Speech which, now I’ve seen it in English, I really want to see in Italian (see, I told you it was a peculiar week :-D ). Anyway, the weather forecast says it will be a bit brighter than of late and, much more importantly, warmer. Not warm enough, of course, but warmer is better than colder.

And, did I tell you that I have booked our week in the agriturismo for August? The same place as last year. We’ve ‘been going to do it’ since Christmas but then things have happened and we never got round to it. And, then, recently F was so stressed. So I rang them up a couple of days ago and booked it. I was a bit nervous about doing it in case F didn’t really want to go (even if he had been saying that he really wanted to). Anyway, it seems it was the right thing to do and F seemed very happy that I had done it. I know what he’s like when he’s stressed at work and, I suppose, as time goes on, I shall be able to do more of this kind of stuff.

And I must remember to buy a couple of work shirts. There are some at a shop round the corner for €6! Seems a bit of a bargain to me – and they’ll only be for work anyway. And get some soap. And relax a bit as this week, with all the bits and pieces going on, I have been a tad busy.

And you? Are you doing something slightly more exciting than me (which, to be honest, wouldn’t be difficult :-) )?

Inconsiderate basterds

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I can go several different ways home. However, almost invariably, at some point, quite near home, there is a part of a road where there are three lanes for the traffic and prominent signs suggesting that your car will be towed away should you park there.

We are in Italy, of course, so these signs are only for guidance. I have, on very rare occasions, seen traffic wardens issuing tickets – but most of the time not. Cars park as if it is a normal road. On one road, they even double park. Meaning that, in effect, there is only one lane open to traffic which, invariably, gets a bit clogged up.

I don’t really understand it. I mean, I understand why they ignore the signs. I mean why, if you are insensitive to others’ needs and if you know that the chances you’ll get caught are remote, would you bother to hunt for a real parking space?

No, what I don’t understand is why Milan doesn’t earn more money from this? I mean, even if they went round once a week, they could issue fines which, I’m sure, would more than cover the cost of deploying the wardens. I have never seen no cars there.

And, am I a little annoyed? Well, yes, actually, I am.

Nope. This one I really, really couldn’t.

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As you may remember I’m not very picky about food and am willing to try anything once.

Ice-cream I like, especially Italian ice-cream but this I could not eat under any circumstances.

I’m sorry but there it is. The very thought of it makes me want to retch. There’s one thing when it’s your own mother and you’re, say, 2 months old, another thing entirely when you’re an adult and it’s your mother or not! How can people eat this stuff? How can people sell it??

Thick, thin, bushy or not. Why do they want to make mine different?

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Facial hair. For men, it’s something you either like or don’t. For women, of course, it’s different.

But, there’s one bit of facial hair that, without them, it looks strange and so most people leave them although most people, it seems, these days, make them as small as possible.

I’m talking eyebrows.

To be honest, what is the point of them? Other than allowing other people to tell when you are surprised or angry or thoughtful. Unless you’ve been botoxed up top, in which case it’s not possible to move them, which I always find quite amusing.

But, other than giving indicators of your mood, they seem pointless.

But they are there. And, love them or hate them, you would look pretty odd without them.

However, why is it, when I go to the barber’s, they always want to ‘trim’ mine? It’s not like mine are so bushy as to seem like overhanging rocks. They’re quite flat, really, though thick ….. ish.

I suppose the only strange thing about mine is that there are certain individual hairs that grow quite long. You can’t actually see that normally, since they flatten out along the brow. But, if I pull them down, sometimes the odd one will reach my cheek. But mostly you’d never know this.

These days, for both men and women, the art of plucking or shaving your eyebrows so that there is a thin line or, at least, less than was originally is widespread. But these are, generally, people under 30 or those with huge eyebrows. I am not under 30 and mine aren’t huge.

So why does the barber ask me? Worse, why does he feel he should make sure that I really, really do want them left alone?

They may have no specific meaning or use but they are a part of the character of your face and I like mine just the way they are. It’s bad enough that I have to shave most days and have my haircut once a month. I don’t want to be worrying about whether my eyebrows are too thick and need trimming. Bah!

Italian or British? Who is which?

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“Have you two had a fight?”

I explained that no, as yet, we’ve never really had a fight (apart from last summer, at the start of our holidays). I explain that he’s just stressed.

We had been there a little while, waiting for him. He had had to wait for his washing machine to finish. It leaks from a hose somewhere and so he has to stay to mop up from time to time. So, it was almost 9.30 before he arrived. And, when he arrived, he was on the phone and seemed angry and didn’t say anything to me and so they thought that we had fought.

But I know him well enough now and know he is not pissed with me. When he comes back to the table he tells me who was on the phone. They were talking about the funeral in the UK that will be held next Friday. He tells me he is not going to go. I have mixed feelings about this and none of them selfish. On the one hand, he should go as I think he may regret it later. This was, at least for 11 years, his father-in-law. On the other hand, he is so busy right now, that even a two-day trip to the UK will throw everything into disarray for him.

He tells me it is because S would feel like he would have to look after F and S will be busy himself, given that it’s his father’s funeral and so he will be unable to look after F as he would like. But it is more complicated than that.

Next week he has several places to go and one is Venice, so a night away. The following week is a full week in Germany. So a trip in the middle of this to the UK would just add to his feeling of stress.

In the lift, on the way back to my flat, he informs me that he is working both on Saturday and Sunday.

I say how sorry I am. Again, there is nothing selfish in this. I am sorry for him. He really needs the rest.

During the meal, last night, for some reason I now forget, it came up about the end of him and S. Apparently it was not a good ending. And it went on for some time. It’s part of the reason that he doesn’t want to ‘go there’ again. And I do ‘get it’ even if I don’t agree with it. And I don’t. But it explains some more things. It explains the way he is.

At one point he tells the colleague we are with that he keeps home and work seperate. He doesn’t talk to me about his work – good or bad. He doesn’t take his personal life into work, he says. Although, of course, he does, he just doesn’t realise it.

But I thought about him and how stressed and uptight he gets about things.

I thought, “but this isn’t what I expected from an Italian.

An Italian should be more relaxed and easy-going. An Italian shouldn’t get this uptight”.

And I wondered if, in fact, this uptightedness was more of a universal thing and not just confined to the British. Or if, with me being more laid back than he is, we hadn’t, somehow, got trapped in the wrong country when we were born. Is he Italian or British? I mean to say, is he more British than Italian? Am I more Italian than British?

As one could say he was a little more anally retentive than your average Italian (unless they are all like this and I just didn’t realise). But, perhaps, the British shouldn’t be portrayed as they are?

He says that “the problem with English people is that they don’t tell you the truth”. I am included in this. It’s not that we lie, it’s just that we don’t say it like it is and nor do we give our true feelings.

I think we call them white lies. These aren’t true lies, of course. These are things said so that you don’t hurt people’s feelings. Like – “you look lovely in that dress”, etc.

Perhaps they don’t have them in Italy? White lies, that is.

Do they?

It just is.

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It happens sometimes and it’s difficult to explain, really.

Last night, following a telephone call on Monday, I went to see the old man with the book. The book that has taken, apparently, nearly 40 years to write.

I did enjoy the time editing it but I don’t like having to visit him to do editing. I’m not sure why. It might be because I think that, if I live that long, that’s how I will be – living alone, in a faceless, tiny flat, in a huge block, rarely going out (because there’s nowhere close to go to), reclusive but not through desire, etc.

I looked at him last night and thought of Rufus. I wonder if he sits and stares at the walls like Rufus does?

Someone asked me about him the other day. I said I hadn’t heard from him for ages. “I guess the book is finally printed and finished”, I said, “Or, he’s dead!”

I had even moved his contact details out of the briefcase and put them ‘somewhere’. He phoned as I was driving. I said I would call back within the hour. After I had disconnected I realised that I might not have his number. Stupid me, I thought, for not adding his details into my phone.

Luckily, I know myself well enough. It was not filed anywhere, just sitting on top of the filing cabinet, under the laptop.

I left work and drove there. I had had such a headache during the day and it was still making my head feel like someone was kicking it soundly and, so, I was not looking forward to spending an hour or more with him, on an uncomfortable chair, in the lighting that he has (which is not good), hunched over a laptop and trying to interpret what he wants. Still, I thought, it’s extra and unexpected money and every little helps.

Plus I had my ‘late night’ English lesson at 9 p.m. following that. No, this was not going to be a great evening and if the bloody headache wasn’t going to go it would make it one of the worst evenings.

As I was driving, M, my late-night student texted to say his daughter was ill and he wasn’t coming. To be honest, I was grateful.

I got to the place where the bookman lived. For me, it has to be one of the most depressing areas of Milan although I am sure that there are far worse. No, I know that, really, it is not that bad. It’s just the thought of ever having to live somewhere like that. I couldn’t do it. I would rather go back to the UK.

He had a new ‘print’ of the book. To be honest, it was much better than the last one. This time the pages weren’t falling out. He seemed pleased to see me. I think he is. After all, I don’t charge him a fortune and he knows that he can trust me now – well, almost.

We start through the changes he wants. He wants to change a table. I do my best. It’s not as he wants, exactly but he knows that these tables are a real pain. He wants to check everything I do on the screen. Except he can’t read it so well, so it takes longer. I really want out of there but I am unable to leave. I cannot do less than my best for him. I am annoyed with myself for trying to make everything right. Why can’t I be like other people? People who really don’t care. Grrrr.

He asks me more often about whether he has used English correctly. Yes, he trusts me much more now. He uses “reception”. He is concerned that the reader will think he means a reception of a hotel or something similar. I explain that it’s fine. After all, the readers of his book will be highly educated people and will understand the correct meaning. Of course, what I would have liked to say was that the only (few) people who will ever read this book are, to be honest, geeky freaks. I didn’t say that. You ain’t going to be seeing this book in the airport, that’s for certain.

Weirdly, I kind of hope that he will tell me when it has been published. Even more weirdly, if he were to ‘give’ me I copy, I would be really pleased. I think of this and decide that I am quite strange myself. For certain, even if I had this book, I would never, never read it.

We finish, just short of two hours. I wish him good luck and hope that I don’t see him again – but in a nice way – in that the book is finally finished now. I don’t really think it is. I have a better understanding of him now. There will be some other ‘small things’ that need to be done. Still, I suppose if you have been writing this book for 40 years, you might as well make it perfect.

And then, on the drive home, it happened. This thing that happens rarely and at strange times and, seemingly, for no reason at all.

I come to a traffic lights and have to stop. I look the other side of the canal (which runs by the side of the road). There is a shop or, maybe a restaurant or a bar. It doesn’t really matter which. I suddenly become aware of the talk on the radio. I look at the sign on the shop.

“I live in a foreign country”, I think.

It’s the feeling that comes with that thought. The feeling of wonder at being here, of pride at having ‘made it’, of fear of knowing that I will never be ‘of this country’. It’s almost like a shock.

“How strange”, I think, “that, after all this time, this feeling can still come to me and at such unexpected times?”

It was the sign that did it. It wasn’t a special sign just a normal sign with an Italian name or word. I see these every day. Many of them. Why now? Why at this particular time? I don’t think there’s an answer to that. It just happens. It just is.

Not here and not smoking

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I’m not really ‘here’ today.

And I won’t be here tomorrow. Customers, you see.

Just one thing. They have tried to stop people smoking in the way that they used to. So, now, there are different rules.

This was ‘introduced’ because the Production Manager had problems keeping his staff ‘in line’ and they complained that they saw the office staff taking many breaks.

So, I now smoke in the MD’s office. Other people have other rules. Now, us smokers are ‘dispersed’, not that we were a ‘collective huddle’ in the first place. However, now, no one has any idea where people might be. Shop floor workers now appear to go and hide in various places outside.

It is laughable.

I should add that to smoke in the MD’s office I have the window open – which looks on the front (it’s just above reception) – which means that people see me.

I fail to see the difference between this place and the place just outside reception, where I used to go. Meh!

The title was misleading. I’m still smoking, obviously.

Disastro!

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OK, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.

Last night I saw that my phone was very low on charge. However, this was after we had been to Polpetta (F, An and I) and so I could not stay up long for it to charge. I charged it a bit and it ‘said’ there were two bars of charge. It’s enough.

Except, obviously, it lied. It was not on two bars. During the night it ran out of battery and switched itself off.

This morning, after a rather good night’s sleep, I opened my eyes to see the time was eight minutes past seven.

“Shit!”, I jumped out of bed. The dogs had a short walk. I still had a coffee (as without that I cannot survive), a shower but no shave and rushed out almost an hour late starting to work.

The traffic was terrible.

That’s because there had been a bad accident. Today! The day I am late! I suddenly start driving like an Italian, crossing a dual carriageway exactly as they do! Sometimes I scare myself. I mutter to myself (really I did this), “When in Italy …….”.

Then there were stupid drivers. Then there was a truck blocking the road. It took me an hour to get to work and so I arrived at 9. Grrrr.

Also, I have to admit to you, dear reader that I have, again, fallen off the wagon just a little bit. The night before last I ate two Mars bars. Last night I had two beers.

On the bright side, I have not had a bread roll since I went on the non-diet :-)

Other bright sides: I had almost an hour and a half’s extra sleep; it is Friday; the weather is warmer (or, rather not so cold); tonight I go out with A to Polpetta (he may not talk to me because of the last time) and then we join F and An to go to the Taverna della Lamparo; on Sunday, we shall go for breakfast with An and then, later, for lunch at the Alle Colline Senesi with her. (All links are on the side)

And, Saturday night is the final of the Festival of San Remo, which is televised and which we MUST watch. Well, F MUST watch it and so, we will.

And you? What fun things will you be doing over the weekend?

Useful Tips for Italy/Milan part 1: When to use cash or credit/debit cards

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I’m going to start a new tag theme.  Useful tips for those of you visiting Italy/coming to live in Italy.

For this first one, I give you the places where it is OK to use cash and those places where you are better using a credit/debit card.

Cash:  Garages (especially if you are using an Italian credit/debit card); Restaurants (especially if you get a discount); bars.

Credit/Debit cards: ALL supermarkets; most shops;

So, having given this information there must be a reason why.  And there is.  First though, I give you my experience from last night.

I needed to do some shopping.  Spese, here.  Things for the house.  I needed milk, washing powder, coke and some other bits and pieces.  I use Carrefour, just round the corner from my flat.  It’s only a small supermarket but it has most things.  Occasionally, for some other things, I must use a different supermarket.

I come, of course, from the UK.  We may all be European but each country does have a slightly (or completely) different mindset.  And there are many differences – most so subtle that you really don’t notice for a while.

I had to find a basket.  They are always ‘short’ of them.  People, queue up to wait for someone to empty their basket at the till so that they can have one.  Last night, it was busy.  I went in search of a basket.  I started round the supermarket.  Being an inner-city supermarket the aisles are narrow. And there are people who have their basket on one side of the aisle whilst they are on the other contemplating something …… for ages ….. effectively blocking the aisle. Grrrr.

I get my stuff. I start to queue. The queues are long – there are only three tills out of 6 open but, since this is a small store, they don’t have enough people to cover all six. I am patient.

I reach the conveyor belt. I have been waiting for about 20 minutes. It has been raining all day. It is still raining. The woman before me takes her umbrella from the bottom of the basket and places it on the conveyor belt. The umbrella is soaking wet. She picks up the umbrella. The conveyor belt is now soaking wet. I wait in my patient way, seething with anger at the thoughtlessness of Italians. She realises, as I am not putting my shopping on the conveyor belt, that there must be a reason and seems to suddenly realise that her actions and stupidity are the reason. She asks the cashier for some paper to dry the belt. She dries it. In the meantime, the woman two people in front of me is paying for her shopping. There seems to be a problem with her card. She asks if it is OK to leave her bagged shopping there for a moment. the cashier says ‘yes’.

I unload my shopping.

The person in front of me says she’s going to pay cash. The cashier starts putting her stuff through. The cashier then says to the queue that she can only accept cash. I explain that I am paying by card. I ask if I can’t pay for the shopping over at the control desk. The cashier explains that it won’t be possible because it’s not her till that’s the problem – it’s the bank card system that’s down.

I lose it at this point. I say, in my best English – ‘Oh great!’ and walk out, leaving my shopping on the conveyor belt.

In my wallet I have more than enough cash to pay the bill but I no longer use cash at the supermarkets. I refuse to use cash. I will use credit cards or debit cards but NEVER cash.

So why?

Supermarket scams:

1) Sometimes you will pay for the plastic carrier bags. Sometimes you will pay a couple of cents, sometimes 10 cents, sometimes (depending on the operator), nothing at all. This is in the same supermarket, for the same bag but with different operators. It is one of the reasons I rarely go to Unes now.

2) As I have mentioned in posts before, if you offer cash, they will invariably ask you for the small change part. If you don’t give it to them you are likely to find that the change they give you does NOT include the odd 1, 2 or 5 cents that you should have. Either they don’t have those small coins or they can’t be bothered to count them out, I’m never really sure which. And yes, these are major supermarket chains I’m talking about. To be honest, this, I believe, stems from the time when the Lira was the currency and the coins were about the same value as buttons. Italians think of the lower value coins in the same way. We in the UK would never think like this and nor would a shop offer us less than the exact amount of change.

Therefore, ALWAYS use debit cards (bancomat here) or credit cards (carta) to pay at the supermarket.

Shops: Can do the same as the supermarkets above in terms of small change. Pay by plastic, if you can.

Garages: Petrol/Diesel here is about the same price as the UK. I’m not sure this applies if you are using a UK (or foreign) debit/credit card but it certainly applies if you are using an Italian one. There is an extra charge made, by the bank, if you buy fuel by plastic. Always, therefore, use cash. Also, if you use cash, if you have, say, filled your tank with €50.03 worth of fuel (as I inadvertently did this morning), they will accept €50.

Bars: Except if you are going for a night out, use cash. Coffee costs less than €1. If we go for breakfast at our local bar, two cappuccinos plus two brioches (croissants to you) cost us about 5 Euro. And they will always give you the correct change down to the last cent.

Restaurants: If you know the restaurant or are getting a discount (or expect to get one) pay by cash. If you pay by card you will not get a discount or, if you have already been given one, they won’t be so happy with you. Depends, I suppose, if you want to go back there ;-)

If I think of any other places where you should use one or the other, I will update this post.

I hope it helps.

The rain in Italy falls mainly ……..; Then and now – who’d of thunk it?

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As I write this post (although you will be reading it sometime later this evening), it is raining.

Raining as it does here. Not like the UK at all, even if everyone comes and says:

“Andrew! The weather! It’s like the UK!”

To which I always reply, “Yes, which is why I don’t live there any more”.

As I say, it’s not like the UK at all. There’s no sign of a shower here, just rain, rain, rain.

Anyway, just in case you didn’t know, it seems that Buzz Lightyear will be tried in court after all. Although I have read that he won’t have to actually appear, which will make it less of a spectacle, I suppose.

Sooner or later, surely, he will have to resign. Even now, there is really no one who can fill his shoes. I find it a bit disheartening – that no one person has stepped forward to show how strong they are and how much support they have.

But who would have known that this charmer

would have ended up being this woman-charmer all those years later?

:-D

p.s. yes, I know it’s not good English in the title, thank you for pointing it out ;-)