There are points in your life when you should fight. There are points when you should accept. It can be difficult to accept certain things. No one likes change, especially when change will mean stepping off the cliff, blindfolded – and you don’t even know if the wings will work or the parachute will open.
Barack Obama. I have noticed that the recurring word used for him is ‘hope’. The other one should be ‘trust’. And he must prove himself to be trustworthy. I just hope that those people who have this hope in him do not find their hope misplaced but I have a feeling that their expectations of him and from him are far greater than can be achieved – by him or anyone else. I hope that I am wrong.
For the last few days, for some strange reason, I have had this hankering for a pizza. I will be having ‘pizza’ in our canteen at work today, but a pizza cooked in a proper oven is really what I’m talking about.
From the comments on the previous post, I felt it was time I spoke about the rose sellers on Milan’s streets.
Italy, as you probably know, has very porous borders and illegal immigration is a big problem, here. This, in spite of the fact, that, as a throw-back (or so I believe) from the fascist era, everyone is required to carry identity documents with them at all times and show to any policeman, if requested – and we have a lot of policemen around and about.
Still, it seems that illegal immigrants are everywhere. Of course, having got here, they have to support themselves in some way. It seems that many people from eastern Europe become restaurant waiters or openly beg in the streets; people from the Philippines/Indonesia areas become cleaners/nurses; people from Africa sell bags/belts/CDs on the street; the Chinese work in China town or as cooks in restaurants and, people from the Indian sub-continent sell jewellery on the street or roses.
And it’s the last category that I want to talk about. They come out, generally at night, as that is when most people are out dining for pleasure. They carry a bunch of roses – about 10 to 15, long stemmed in a single colour (red, pink, blue) and they sometimes sport an instamatic camera.
They are, from what I can tell, given an area to work. I don’t know whether they buy the roses or are given them. Either way, they must have to sell a certain number or they have no money/get beaten/something else. They are persistent. As smoking is, generally, not allowed in restaurants and many people here still seem to smoke, it is common practice for small groups of people to leave the restaurant during the meal to get their nicotine fix. These are the people first approached by the rose sellers. The rose sellers proffer their roses by pushing them right under the potential punters nose. Usually the man but sometimes the woman. They don’t move. A ‘No, grazie’ doesn’t seem to put them off. In fact, they are quite happy to stay there, smiling and, if they have the camera round their neck, proffering the camera to explain that they can take a picture of you with the rose. They are likely to proffer the rose more than once and often will not depart until you show signs of obvious irritation or, even, anger.
Some restaurants let them enter and some restaurants don’t. For the ones that don’t, they will, sometimes, risk the wrath of the owner by going in anyway before being chased out.
Obviously, the best places are the more touristy areas. I guess these places are saved for the best ‘agents’.
So the real question is – should you buy a rose or not? If, by buying the rose, you are perpetuating this problem, shouldn’t you NOT buy a rose? I know someone that will always give them the €2 (or whatever the amount is) and not take the rose. Some time ago, I made the decision never to buy and I never do but I do feel a little guilty, knowing that they have to earn some money somehow. And I do feel somewhat sorry for them. It’s hard enough being a legal immigrant somewhere without having the illegality of it all to the problem AND having to work watching the rich people (comparatively speaking) enjoy an evening out – and all you want is to sell them a rose for a couple of Euro.
Incidentally, I often see them holding the bunch upside down under the many drinking fountains to keep them looking fresh. Be assured that these roses will be lucky to last the night let alone any longer. And, for goodness sake, don’t do what a friend once did – buy the whole bunch for his wife. This enraged the restaurant owner who, probably, wasn’t happy with them hanging around in the first place.
Thank goodness, at least for this morning, the feeling deep in the pit of my stomach has gone; the first time for weeks and weeks. And I suddenly feel more positive, which is great. I know that it’s not all over yet but, at least, there is an end to it which is now in sight.
Italians, of course, gave us many things. Many of these things are food (pizza; pasta) and, as I have explained before, Italians talk about food a lot. And I really mean A LOT! Especially when eating. Then they often talk about other food that they have had recently.
I really dislike winter. For the last two days there was snow. Snow is always beautiful when it’s snowing and fresh. The white blanket covers the ground and doesn’t show the imperfections; the silence from the street; the walking in it and making the first imprint in the virgin whiteness. As my first post of the New Year, I should, perhaps, be wishing all my readers a very Happy New Year. And, for those of you in the UK, suffering the very low temperatures, I should say that, although our temperatures are around freezing, we have had snow. And snow like I never saw in the UK. We arrive about 1 p.m. The place is heaving with people. Italians, not renowned, in my view, for moving to one side, bump and jostle with each other to get to the stalls, get to the next aisle, get to a place for food. This morning, taking the dogs out, it was snowing. It was thick but wet. In less than two hours it had already started to melt although still snowing heavily. And with the combination of the wetness of the snow and the melting it became transparent snow – like looking through a bathroom window – you could see the tarmac, black, underneath the snow which was heavily pregnant with the water – a translucent look.Water, water, everywhere……….
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
And just WHO is going to buy all this crap??????
Winter Wonderland; The Smoking Room