Tag Archives: Italians

When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!

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Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.

Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.

This is particularly true when they ask questions.

The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.

Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.

There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!

Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.

There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.

Not just the British complain about the weather.

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This morning, as I drive to work, it is already 20 degrees! Over an hour earlier, before most people were even awake or, at least, before they were out and about, I was walking the dogs.

It is warm enough not to wear a coat and wear light clothes. I do not quite trust it enough to be wearing sandals but, another week of this and maybe I will.

Two weeks ago the Italians (and I) were complaining that there was too much rain and that it was far too cold. “It’s too cold for May” or “There’s too much rain”, they say (me too!).

Now the Italians (but NOT me) are complaining that it is too hot! “It’s too hot for May”, they say! I say “For me, if it were like this every day I would be very, very happy”.

Or let’s go for a walking or, if it’s terrific rain, let’s not!

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I just can’t get him out of the habit. My friend A will call, as he did on Friday night, and say things like, ‘We were thinking of going for a walking later and would be pleased if you could join us’.

I’m certain that I have corrected him a number of times – but you can’t do it every time, can you?

But it’s the same with our Engineering Manager here. His level of English is very good but there are couple of things that, at this advanced stage, are difficult for him to shake.

>One is the use of ‘or’ and ‘or’. Whereas we use ‘either one thing or the other’ in Italian they actually use ‘o one thing o the other’ – ‘o’ standing for ‘or’.

Unsurprisingly, then, he will use ‘or one thing or the other’. I have corrected it a couple of times but this one is deeply ingrained.

Similarly, his use of the word ‘terrific’. When he uses it he means awful or terrible. This one is, almost, funny because he will start a sentence with something like ‘It will be terrific when something happens….’ and then follows it with the details of why it will, in fact, be close to a disaster! It makes me smile, inwardly. I’m not sure I have corrected him on this one and because he uses it quite often, he might find it ‘terrific’ (using his interpretation) if he knew that all this time he’s been using the wrong word!

I take a trip to the chemist (twice)

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I decide I must go the chemist after all. It’s 3 and I decide to drive, walking will take too long and I can’t use public transport.

I get in the car and start the drive. I know which chemist I am going to. The traffic is light – well, almost non-existent. That is because this is just after 3 in the bloody morning! I got home at midnight with my tooth aching as it has done, on and off, for about 2 days. I know what the problem is – it is infected (again). I had, sort of, hoped it would go away but it hasn’t and now, instead of the pain lasting for an hour or so, it has lasted for several hours and has now woken me up at this ungodly hour.

I am in so much pain (and, being a man, this is tripled or quadrupled, of course) that I cannot do anything. When I got home at midnight the pain was bad. So much so that I texted V to ask if the chemist was till open in Corso Buenos Aires (it used to be an all-night one) and what I should get as I don’t usually do pills so really have no idea.

He says that he thinks the chemist is open and that I should ask for Synflex 550.

So, at just after midnight I trot off to the chemist – to find it no longer did the overnight opening but had a sign to say that it was now open from 8 a.m. To 8 p.m. Damn! I look for the nearest one open at this time from the list they have posted. I know where the nearest one is but it’s just too far to go, I have been out and had a few drinks and I want the pain to stop now.

I phone V. Does he have something? He says that he does but it’s not very strong. I say that that is OK by me. I go to the old flat. He has the pills ready and a glass of water. I take them, gratefully.

I go home. I go to bed. I go to sleep. Then I am up again at three and this time the pain is worse. I cannot stand the dogs who think it is time to go for a walk. I dismiss them and then feel sorry for them because it is not their fault but rather the pain’s.

I leave them to take the drive to the chemist that I am almost certain will be open.

I park, across tram lines, knowing that there will be no trams at this hour. I go to the chemist door. They are not open as such but I am invited, by a sign, to ring the bell. I ring, almost jumping up and down with the pain by now. I wait. This is taking too long. I ring again.

A bleary-eyed man arrives at the door. There is a small metal cover which he can open. He asks what I want. I tell him. Normally, at the chemist, when you ask for this stuff, they question you as to what you want it for; have you ever taken it before; before grudgingly going to get the packet.

He just asks for €10. I guess that, if you’re coming out here at this time to get this you know why you want it and have used it before. I give him 20 through the metal door that he has now opened, slightly.

He goes away. He returns quite quickly. He hands me the box and the change through the metal door. I thank him. It is as much as I can do not to tear open the box there and then and take a whole load of them.

I get in the car and drive back. In the 30 minutes or so that this whole exercise has taken, my parking place has been taken. I curse Italians and Italian drivers in particular. I drive round and find one space in a residential zone. I now live out of the zone for which I have the permit. I don’t care. I need to take the pills. I park, reasoning that between now and 7.15 when I shall leave, there won’t be anyone calling the police to have my car towed away for being parked in a wrong place.

I get back to the flat and once again, cannot greet the dogs who are happy to see me as if I have just got home from work.

I take the pills. I know that they will take effect – but, obviously, not within one second.

I wait for them to take hold. At 4.30 I go back to bed. I don’t really sleep but need to so much.

At 5.45 the alarm goes off and I find that I have slept, thank goodness.

Still, I am grateful for all-night chemists and grateful, in this case, that I live somewhere where it is possible to get to the chemist without having to travel for half an hour.

I am, unsurprisingly, very tired today.

I go to my dentist at 12.30. He will give me antibiotics and everything will be fine within a day, I know. I very much hope that I will be able to sleep tonight.

“There are no revelations. Everything you learn, you know already”

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I sit here, with the post below, not posted; with the rain outside – knowing it’s raining because of the whoosh of the cars as they drive through the driving rain; with, as I just told Best Mate, the heater that I didn’t buy last year or the year before that, or, even, the first year that I felt the cold after they had switched the building central heating off, blowing no hot air to keep me from blowing on my fingers to try and stem the feeling that my fingers were gradually shrivelling up – when they had gone cold and shiny and slippery, in the way that they do with the cold – when they won’t work properly.

And, the reason for the post below not being posted, as this one won’t be, when I am finished, is down to wonderful Telecom Italia. I have been back with them less than a week and it already feels like I have never been away. It’s the rain, I suppose.

The difference between this time and the last time I had problems with Telecom Italia (which was just before I moved to Infostrada/Wind/whatever) was that the whole conversation was in Italian. Well, I say Italian. His bit was in Italian and my bit was in a version of Italian that, using a phrase used by one of my ex-students who is now a colleague could only be described as Kill Italian Volume 105.

Still, I made myself understood. He made himself understood to me. Everything was going swimmingly until the end when I asked how long it could possibly take to fix.

“Two days”

“TWO DAYS!” I could barely keep the shock that this information had on me out of my voice. In fact so barely was it concealed that, the reality was, it wasn’t.

He made a noise which I can only describe as a cross between a laugh and a snort. The laugh because I’m sure that’s what it was but the snort because there was a certain amount of the arrogant contempt for which all Telecom Italian employees must have special training in order that they are able to master it to perfection.

I thanked him but I have no idea what for.

Perhaps it is the rain after all. I have noticed that, in general, if anything goes wrong it is when it is raining here. The radio will go silent for minutes at a time; the electricity can be a little intermittent; the telephone lines don’t work properly.

Still, on the plus side, whilst Best Mate was listening to her iPod thing (which is not an iPod at all – just something similar), I finished the book that Peter had lent me at the Mantova festival last September! Yes, it has taken me 7 months to finish a single book. Even I am disgusted with myself. Anyway, the one line that really stood out for me was the line in the post title. I just loved it.

And the book? Kalooki Nights by Howard Jacobson – page 446 in the version Peter lent me. So there you have it.

This will be posted, exactly as it is, when I have internet access.

The flat is like a tardis; A strange thing about moving into a new place (in Italy).

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Of course, it’s not all over yet. I mean, it’s not like the ‘moving out’ is the final thing and today is the first day of the rest of my life (although it is, of course).

No, in the end, there were many things that I forgot, left behind, etc. Was this a subconscious decision on my part to ensure I had to keep going back? Or was this, as I suspect, just plain laziness/running out of time?

So, I took the modem/router but, with my new, not-working, Alice system, I don’t need it (the Telecom guy said that, in fact, I can’t use it! I think he’s lying). So, tonight, after a I go and pick up some shoes and other stuff, I shall be returning the modem and setting it up for V in the half-empty flat that, even as I was leaving it, felt too large for a family of four, let alone two. Or, maybe, I have become (a little) Italian?

Or, maybe, my new flat is just like a tardis? After all, empty, it seemed tiny. Before, with her stuff in it it seemed quite big. Now, with my stuff in it seems even bigger. How on earth can that be?

And there’s a strange thing about Italians and flats for rent. I have mentioned this before but it is quite common for people, on leaving a rented flat, to take the kitchen they have installed. In this case the kitchen is not all that great but, at least, it’s there. Together with (not brilliant but not bad) fridge; good, but small washing machine and adequate cooker – and sink and drainer (which most of you, outside Italy, would take for granted anyway). Certainly all the light fittings are taken – even the bulbs. This means that, until I find all my lamps (major hunt going on tonight) and then buy some light fittings (and get someone to fit them), I am walking around with one lamp and my mobile phone. The mobile phone being used instead of a torch to find the socket into which I may plug my lamp!

I did think that there were not that many light fittings available anyway. In fact, I could not remember any. However, I now find there is at least one in all rooms except the bedroom where there is none. However, none of the ‘fittings’ have anything except wire – I mean no actual light/bulb/fitting – just bare wire. This means that I need light fittings AND someone to fit them, me never being happy with messing about with electricity, especially if on my own. V always did this stuff.

And, therefore, I may take the wall lights from the lounge that we fitted and one or two other ceiling lights. V had offered. I had thought about asking him to come and fit them but I think that may be a bit much and would, but maybe only in my mind, mean he has a ‘hold’ on the place – just because he was ‘involved’ in setting it up. Crazy? Maybe, but I do want this to be my place.

So, at least for the next few days, I shall be returning to ‘collect’ some things and to ‘return’ some things that the removal men packed because I couldn’t watch them all the time.

As you see, it is not ‘over’. However, maybe things will change when he’s moved out? Or, maybe, they will be the same or similar?

Borrowing – a loose term here, in Italy

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OK, so, to be honest, even we, in the UK, will say something like – “Can I borrow some sugar?” or “Could I borrow some paper to write on, please?” – when we really will not be borrowing it at all but taking it, using it and, probably, not replacing it.

However, here, there is an element of “borrowing” that one could say was stealing.

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Be More Cheerful!

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Yeah, right.

It bothers me that the blog may have become a little depressing. After all, I’m not sure that it helps and it must make for terrible reading. It’s difficult to make it more cheerful, to be honest. At least right now.

But, let’s look for some cheerful things to say. After all, we are into spring now. The forsythia is blooming, leaves are starting to show, the sun is shining and, for the first time this year, the back door is open as I type. See, already it’s starting to look better, isn’t it?

Back to the flat (the new flat). I had postponed the meeting to sign the flat until next Tuesday for various reasons. However, we have someone visiting the factory on Monday and Tuesday of next week. Originally, I thought that they were coming for 3 days, so sloping off a little early on day two would not be a problem. However, then they said they were only going to be here for two days and I do want to see what they say at the end of the visit – so, I got the MD to phone up.

But here’s where the slightly strange bit came in. When I first went to see her I thought she was the owner. It turns out she was the Administrator and she wanted her commission. I nearly walked out at one point but, in the end we agreed on €500, which I paid in cash and got a receipt. Because the figure was low (for her, anyway), she said that, once the contract was signed, we would tear up the receipt. In other words, it was to be “in nero”. No real surprise – we are in Italy, after all.

So, as I needed to move it to Wednesday and as it was because we had a visitor, I asked my MD to make the call. When she rang, what had originally been agreed was a little changed. Instead of getting some special savings-account passbook, I could bring a cheque. Then later I could get the passbook and the cheque would be ripped up! And, also could I bring €500 cash. When my MD got off the phone, she explained this to me saying that, apparently, I knew about the €500 thing. I thought it was very strange. I said that I certainly didn’t know about it and couldn’t understand what it was for. She kindly phoned back. Apparently the €500 I paid before was not the commission/expenses of the Administrator but rather a ‘deposit’ that would be returned to me at the signing of the contract. I would get this back and then I would pay the commission! What?

The reality is that either the old-lady Administrator forgot that I had already paid the €500 or she was trying to scam me for more dosh or this really was the way it works. But then, why tell my MD to tell me not to forget the €500 in cash if it was the last one? I won’t need the €500 in cash if she’s going to give me back the €500 I gave her! I’m going for one of the first two and I’m so inclined to believe it was the second one. Perhaps, in my old age, I’m just getting far to cynical.

Anyway, hopefully you found this post a little more cheerful. For those of who have it, enjoy the sun in the first few days of spring.

I understand a joke!

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Two men are in the desert.

One says to the other ‘I am very thirsty’

The other replies ‘eighty-eight’.

I am, of course, immensely excited. I cannot believe that I got it. It is, as you may have guessed, what they call ‘lost in translation’ since it’s down to a play on words.

My Italian improves but, oh, so slowly. Obviously it would help if I practised or studied it!

Every morning I listen to the radio on the way to work. I choose to listen to a music station, not unlike how I remember Radio One was before I switched to Radio Four. I would listen to the Italian version of Radio Four (if I even knew what it was) except that I don’t really understand Italian well enough.

So, here I am listening to Radio 105 (actually not on 105 but on 99.1 or something – don’t ask, we’re in Italy) and, every morning at about 10 to 8 they have a jokes section. People phone up and leave a recorded message telling their joke. They play about 5 jokes. I listen and try to understand. Sometimes I understand two or three sentences but never enough to get the punchline.

Mondays are when they play the kids jokes. I’ve been waiting for so long now to understand a Monday morning joke (on the basis that, if it’s kids, they will tell simpler jokes and speak in simpler Italian)

And, this morning I got this one.

OK. You may not think it is funny, however, you have to translate it into Italian to get it – which means it is even better that I understood!

‘I am very thirsty’ more or less translates into Italian as ‘Ho tanta sete’. Because the ‘h’ is not pronounced in Italian, it sounds similar (particularly to my ears) to ottantasette which is 87. Unsurprisingly, then, ottantotto was the response, meaning 88.

See, it just doesn’t work in English – but I got it! Finally!

It may not be the best joke in the world but it’s the first one I have fully understood and I didn’t even think about it in English!!!! I would like to thank the kid who allowed a stranger in a very strange land to have a first and start the week off so well.

Let’s talk about Net; It’s hardly working; Still, ‘no’ won’t come out of my mouth

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You have to sing the title to the tune of “Let’s talk about sex!”, if you see what I mean. At least, that was what was going through my head as I thought of the title.

Firstly, sorry to those of you who couldn’t read my blog yesterday. There was going to be a post but at about 9.30 a.m. or so our time, my blog went off-line. There then followed a slightly bizarre exchange of comments between me and the hosters of this site – 000webhost.

It started off OK. Instead of saying that the website was down, which is what I usually do, because I knew it was something to do with the database, I went for that instead.

They replied that I would have to upgrade if I wanted help with scripts. I didn’t as that wasn’t the problem. But then I had to go into more lengthy explanations as to why it was down.

Eventually, at about 3 in the afternoon they came back with “it will be fixed very shortly”.

By the time I got home and got my creaky, old laptop up and running, it had been about 3 hours. I rated this as a reasonable time to start asking again.

I got the reply that “it can take up to two hours”. Now I know that this is hosted somewhere where English is not a first language and it is completely free, so I feel I have to cut them a bit of slack. And, having taught English as a Second Language, I am aware of the way that something can be miss-said. So, I didn’t go mad but thought that, perhaps, what they really meant was that it might take up to another 2 hours. I responded to clarify my thinking.

It seems I was right. But the reply was a typical, non-mother-tongue-English speaker, using the word hardly instead of hard. It happens a lot here too. The response included the line “Our head admin is hardly working on it”. It makes me laugh every time. At work or with friends I do, gently, correct them. For those of you who are Italian it should read “Our head admin are working hard on it” or, even better, “Our head admin are working very hard on it”; hardly being very little – almost nothing and hard being very much.

So, this is being written at home and I may get it up there tonight but, probably, it will be tomorrow (i.e. Saturday).

So, I apologise for being off-line but that’s life and the hosting people are, overall, one of the best free hosters I’ve come across. I am toying with the idea of paying for it and moving more sites there but I will wait a little longer.

In other news, you’ve probably read about the British arm of Google/You Tube cutting off the supply to premium British content over the wrangling about how much they pay the artists. Now, in my opinion, there are pros and cons for both sides. However, the Music Industry need to get real. If you can’t find it on You Tube, because it’s been blocked, the obvious place to go is one of the more illegal download places – and then the Music Industry lose the money all together. It all seems a bit crazy to me. A little like the Luddites from the past. I realise that someone has to work out a new model but burying your head in the sand is just not the way.

And, as I suspected, I was asked something else – not the same as before (and that question may, even, still be open) – but very, very similar. Of course, I could not refuse but it makes me very, very nervous. And, of course, if I get let down again, this time, it will make things much more difficult in the future but, at least, I shall be more likely to say ‘no’, I guess.

Well, if it all goes horribly wrong then I shall, no doubt, lose my new flat and then I am likely to be very angry. However, all things being equal, I sign up a week on Tuesday and move in on the 15th of next month. I can’t wait! It will be home, at last, in a country that should feel home (and does, when I’m away from it), rather than a place of transience.

Tonight (or last night as you read this) we are off to FfI’s for a supper and drinks. It should be nice.

Update: Up early this morning. Worried about the question asked. The things that need to be done. There’s a lot of reliance on me; a lot of trust that I need to have but is, sadly, lacking. And yet, still I can’t say “no”. Damn!