Apocalypse Now

Yesterday, I walked out my front door and thought the apocalypse was upon us. Kilometer-long (and wide, after all, we’re in Italy) lines were forming in front of all the gas stations, even the one that sees only four cars in a week. Not having yet read the paper, I debated rushing to the grocery store to stock up on cans of pork&beans, but quickly changed my mind when I realized they don’t sell them here, and I’d probably end up with the Italian version of Spam instead.

So this 1970s end-day scenario was not due to OPEC suddenly turning off the spouts, nor was it that China decided to stock up on reserves ultimately garnering all the oil left on the entire planet. No, this was about a strike – but not of the gas station attendants. As they posted up their signs saying. “Tutto Esaurito”, they seemed to be still on duty. The truckers were on strike, alá francais, but here in the Peninsula, a strike of this caliber can cripple the country literally overnight. [After all, peninsula in Italian is penisola, isola or island providing the most accurate depiction].

But, playing out like a scene from The Sopranos, this strike took a strange twist not even screenwriters (when they’re not on strike) could think up: turns out the truckers were protesting to have more State controls, better safety requirements, and, even places to pull over for a quick pee, (although I doubt the latter is indicated precisely that way on their list of demands). Could this truly be the case? My Italian genes kicking in again, I knew there had to be something more to this—but what?

It would appear that what’s going on here is nothing more than an entirely modern update of an age-old tale, first brought to light by wise Old Aesop himself. It’s a case of sour grapes. The 40% of legitimate truckers are angry that the other 60% are getting away with illegal shipping, no scheduled stops, weigh-ins, and other petty inconveniences and making a few more bucks in undeclared pocket cash to boot.

So, since they can’t beat ‘em, they’re going to try and get the illegal shippers to join ‘em.

It’s true, you can drive from Trieste to Trapani and not come across a single police car. And, I’d be one driver who’d be quite pleased if they’d institute breath tests from the quantities of alcohol consumed along Italian roads, all before 7am…

Now, it remains to be seen if they bring in the Financial Police in droves and the problem gets resolved, or, if those same defenders of the law don’t simply increase their own pocket cash by turning a blind eye along the way.

Cross-Cultural (mis) Connections

This past weekend, I had made ‘plans’ with two different friends, one American, one Italian. Needless to say, I ended up having a terrific time with the American, I’ve yet to hear hide nor hair of the Italian. Although I love my Italian friends dearly, and have many many of them, problem is, this happens all the time.

It all began last week, Monday. I heard from both*. Alessandra was coming to Rome and could we get together? Cathy, asked if we could have a movie night. I spoke briefly with Cathy…how does Friday nite look to you? Great. End of story.

The odyssey of Alessandra was just beginning, but, I am well-prepped for the rigamaroll… In Italy, it is never enough to simply ‘make a date’. First, you must confirm it weeks in advance. After which, you must be prepared to reconfirm the confirmation each day up until the actual event. Throughout this time, the other party will begin the horse trading as your date, like stop signs, doctor's visits and deliveries is merely a suggestion. She will offer new options, include more people (or less), change the hours, day, and entire plan altogether.

If you don’t call to reconfirm, the date is on, or, it’s off. I once exchanged a dozen text messages with a girlfriend after I proposed seeing an English-language movie at 8pm (she said great!). At that point, she set out offering me nine other options. Ultimately, she went to an Italian flick with three other girlfriends at 10pm. I ended up watching the movie I had originally intended to see.

If instead, all goes smoothly, the day of the event it’s a total crap shoot whether you will, indeed, be having an outing with your buddy. If you (the foolish American) did not reconfirm the umpteen prior confirmations, all bets are off. If instead you do call to confirm, you have provided the perfect opening to get dissed.

For it is at that precise moment that your pal will let you know if they’ve received a better offer in the meantime: usually using a phrase which begins with “Not feeling very well”, Italian code for “I don’t feel like it.”

If you call at the prescribed time to query the whereabouts of your party (as they are significantly absent), you are met with a perfunctory “Ahhh…come? Non ci siamo capiti”, the most hated words in the entire Italian language.

What they say is, “We didn’t understand eachother”, a perfect misunderstanding, if you will. What it truly means to me is, 'one of us understood perfectly, and it obviously ain’t you!' To Italians, it’s bella figura -speak for, “I got a better deal.”

Just as they drive down the white medians to hedge their bets on the highway, this practice is put into place on many many levels. So, I offer this to you, because after all, forewarned is forearmed.

As for Cathy, I showed up directly Friday night, no confirmation necessary. I was welcomed with open arms, pizza & brownies. I still haven’t heard from Alessandra.

*names have been changed to protect the innocent

Rome's Airport Express-a Feat fit for a Conqueror

Okay. I admit it, I’m one of the few people in Italy who thinks the trains are actually pretty swell. My love affair obviously peaking after a bout in the USA, in which they think a monorail circling the mall is mass transit.

But, I do get a bit, shall we say, sensitive to the train situation in Italy when I take, as I am wont to do, a train from Italy to Switzerland. Though sharing a long border, the vastness separating their idea of train travel or more specifically, arrivals & departures, is immense. Having just rushed to and from the airport (arriving in Italy on Black Friday—not the shopping day after Thanksgiving -- but the day that the trains, taxis and buses were all on strike, but that’s another story).

Basically, my beef is with the lack of ramps or escalators or elevators to take you up to the train tracks with all your luggage in tow. Those pictures of migrants moving their belongings and 9 kids and grandma from South to North are so incredible to me; I view those early travelers as true heroes; the descendents of those great Roman legions of yore. Crossing frontiers with all that baggage and none of the slaves to ease the burden.
Obviously, they all settled in Switzerland, because when they got there, they made absolutely sure that ramps and modern technology when it arrived, was going to be put to good use.

People love to recite the claim about Hannibal's crossing of the Alps to conquer Italy. That’s because he probably had ramps and pulleys and even luggage with wheels to help him over from that side in! Come to think of it, no one ever mentions if he ever got back over. He probably took one look at the innumerable staircases he'd have to haul his booty up, and went into early retirement on the beaches of Viareggio.

image from about.com

But, let’s not pick on the poor Italians. After all, here at Rome’s Ostiense station, Platform 13 (the Airport Express) was outfitted with an escalator by an obviously seasoned traveler.  Four months later (in 1990), they changed the Airport Express to leave from Platform 12.

Decades on, and with the advent of modern technology, a ray of hope was instilled into the faint hearts of fatigued travelers: In a rare moment of lucidity, they started a major renovation program and began installing elevators up to each of the platforms. In a country with over half the population over the age of 60, well, I thought that surely, someone with true social commitment was at the helm. I began to have visions of Shanghri-la.

As I approached my track, heart beating fast, my pulse quickening with each passing step…finally, finally, going to catch a train without feeling like I had just lost the Iron Man contest. One elevator, now two, now three, now four… then seven…Right up to Platform 11.

I’ve said it before, that Italians love conspiracy theories, and now so do I. I believe that somewhere, there is a highly disgruntled employee, who has long desired to travel, to ride the wings of love, so to speak, and go to distant lands far and wide. And just can’t. And so, in an effort to sort of get back at the proletariat, well, he placed an order for the elevators to simply stop one platform too soon. And, has since spent his time ignoring all missives from above to have the oncoming train simply change tracks.

It may seem a long shot, but I simply cannot offer you any other explanation.

Life in Italy - November

Who says that good news doesn't get reported? Each month end (and in Dove Sono on the side bar),  I offer up lots of good things that happen in Italy...

Entertainment/  Laura Pasini won a grammy and a few more recent music awards to boot

Sophia Loren was voted Sexiest Woman ever, by an int'l poll. Ahhh...the good ol' days when curves were actually appreciated...So, can someone tell me why we pay attention to Paris Hilton???
Wil Smith is going to team up again with Italian director Gabriele Muccino on a new flick (see Pursuit of Happyness)

A journalist currently (but not for very long, I imagine) working for the RAI-TV Networks stated that the entire enterprise 'fa schifo' (loosely translated, totally sucks) and should just be closed down & started over. The politicians were infuriated and called for her head..errr, maybe that's one of the problems...why are politicians running the TV stations anyway? 
I say she should win an award...

Life in Italy / Someone walked over 33.880 km to alert people to the grave problem of abandoning their pets I wonder if he was joined by the thousands of animals he would have met along the way...

With an aging populace, 49% of 69yr olds and older claim to have a regular sex life (compared to 8% of singles...) Of course, the study didn't disclose with whom...

And Abroad / And the best news yet (sorry, it doesn't come from Italy, but it was too too good to pass up), Paris has installed walls that basically splash back should those wily Parisians use them for toilets!

Okay, so you want a conspiracy theory? I'm just trying to hedge my bets so as not to put in too much time in purgatory for a blog called Burnt by the Tuscan Sun.

Running in Circles

There is nothing short of a revolution going on in the city that invented (or, in a nod to Da Vinci, shall we say, perfected), the automobile: Detroit. Basically, America seems to be looking toward ‘Old Europe’ for some new ideas in solving traffic jams. Now, that may come as a surprise to anyone who has spent hours riding Rome, Milan or Florence’s Ring Roads, but it’s true.

It looks like America is trying to adopt the idea of Traffic Rotaries, rather than the tired and completely botched idea behind traffic lights which pretty much bring traffic to a halt. Seeing that Europeans have never had a whole lot of respect for the traffic signal anyway, (well, it depends… that behaviour is inversely proportional to the enforcement agency’s zealotry in the matter)… America is looking at keeping cars on the move.
And this is great. What’s entirely American, however, in a country which cannot take responsibility for any personal behaviour, are the rules and signs governing rotary etiquette.

While in Italy, who gets to go first is a game of cat & mouse so totally evolved, that it's a modern update of this most basic rule behind animal behaviour: Darwin’s Survival of the Fittest.

A few years back, they changed the law to bring clarity to the Who-goes-first policy. But in very Italian style, the law had as many exceptions as there are traffic circles and so now, it’s pure chaos with everyone involved in every accident claiming (rightly so) the precedence. I practice the “whoever’s on the right goes first” line of thinking. Others, the “whoever’s in the circle gets the right of way”. The problem is, you just don’t know who’s following what school of thought.
So, in the U.S., where life is governed by a CYA-philosophy, as you approach the new-fangled circle, you’re inundated with YIELD signs and bright yellow pedestrian crosswalks. Just to make the point clear, they add a few more signs – replete with arrows – to point out where, precisely, people might be crossing.

Now that it took us over 200 years to learn something from Europe, perhaps Europe might learn something from us. But I won’t hold my breath.

Turning Learning into Limonata

While in the USA for Thanksgiving, I’ve had the privilege of being invited for lunch at my nephews’ school. And while being regaled by the 6 yr. olds breaking into the Gobble Gobble Turkey Trot, back at home, I learned that something even more insidious was being brainwashed into our little ones’ heads: UNADULTERATED CAPITALISM. In something quite frighteningly reminiscent of Brave New World, it looks like while in Europe, our Nike-clad kids & parents take to the streets protesting “globalization” (something I’ve never quite grasped, to be perfectly honest…I mean, they don’t like dishwashers or pcs??), America is busy hard-wiring kids into what it takes to be a true blue-blooded capitalist.

I remember when my niece was about 7, she conducted a marketing survey with all my friends (via email, no less), asking at what price point she should be offering her lemonade. She then had to produce a report on her findings, set up the stand, and sell her stuff. In Italy, parents would have pulled their children inside their Mercedes’ faster than you could say "limonata" to avoid the Brutta Figura in front of the neighbors: What?! You want people to think we’re needy??!!!

Now in 7th grade, my niece’s class has formed a MINI SOCIETY in which they decide on products to produce, warehouse and sell. They give them mini business plans like a TARGET MARKET LOCATOR PLANNING GUIDE, BUSINESS CARD TEMPLATES, and MARKET SURVEYS. My niece’s group, would then set out to produce and sell their products on Auction Day. Post-sales, they would have to deduct the fixed and variable expenses of rental & advertising space, posters, warehousing and even consulting services. In a nod to the country of indefatigable entrepreneurs (or was it Starbucks?) they named their group, ‘Cappuccino City’.

Now, I’m not familiar with what goes on in Italian schools, and regardless, we all know that on average, Italian kids are far more educated than their American counterparts (who rank somewhere near Albania), despite the complaints we see in the daily papers. But, an exercise of this nature, I have never heard of.

In fact, I shiver at the thought of an Italian correspondent program: whereby the first thing they do is offer their real money & other treats to School Council members in order to guarantee a prime location in the school cafeteria, purchase licenses some of whom get denied because they didn’t pay off the principal, skip the marketing survey part, and then charge exorbitant prices for their goods. One group of bullies doesn’t sell anything but is still the richest. They’re busy getting paid the ‘pizzo’ and avoiding taxes. After hiring their employees, they can never fire them, even after being caught stealing from the coffers. But it doesn't matter. They'd have to close down their booths due to the strikes. The rest of the class doesn't show up because the buses didn't arrive on time. And those who are able to buy the item and find it breaks? No refunds permitted.
Now that would be truly educational.

And on the 43rd Day...God created your domain

Well, actually no. That's not quite how the story goes. In fact, today I received in my mailbox, a do not pass go, do not collect €500 card...Why?
They say that the information I submitted about me is incorrect (even though I am already on file), due to the problem of middle names in Italy.
Their system only has space for first and last, and, entirely my fault (I admit it, I should have known by now), I submitted false documents...obviously, with my middle name in there.
As a result, not only can I NOT simply correct the name (by merely adding it in), but, I must resubmit all of the information from scratch.

And, although I dutifully signed each page (twice), including the block letter version to avoid any problems, of course, they said that I did also not sign the contract properly. That's because, now you must sign it in two places! Obviously, the bureaucracy was just too little for some people. And so, I dutifully reprinted out the document - carefully paginated by them so you end up with a blank white page on which you are to sign your name.

As I wrote in my October INTERNOT and INTERNOT REDUX entries, I am still waiting for an Italian domain. It cost me five times the U.S. fee, and while for my $9.95 I was live within 24 hrs., I'm still waiting for godot.

DOMAIN UPDATE:

Ti comunichiamo che la registrazione del tuo dominio è stata completata con successo e che il tuo nuovo dominio sarà online entro 2 giorni da quello in cui hai ricevuto questo messaggio.

Music to my ears...43 days after my initial request and $67 later, I got my domain! The hitch? It will be 'live' in two more days' time.

With pure hootzpah, register.it is actually advertising to 'Have your own Domain underneath the Christmas Tree'. I imagine they mean Christmas 2008, right?