Driving in Italy - Street Signs & Other Driving Hazards

The other night, a friend - who has lived here longer than I have - debated what, exactly, the road sign posted actually meant.  She thought it was 'do not enter', I said it was 'no parking'. And I started wondering what do the millions of tourists think? So as one of my occasional Public Service Announcements, here is a quick guide to the country's quirkiest street signs:

This is one of my favorites, and one I recall seeing everywhere when visiting Italy at 6 yrs of age. Since there's no bar going thru it, to my mind (40 years on), I think this sign means, 'anything goes' or 'nothing prohibited.' And judging from the cars parked every which way, pedestrians & mopeds doing whatever it is they do best, well, I still believe that it's the case today.  Turns out it's a version of the 'do not enter' sign - but this one, missing the cross out bar, means that it's a one way street - not going your way.

 I had to look this one up again.  It's a sort of 'no standing'.  I say sort of, because what happens when you get a phone call and need to pull over?  Whatever it is, best not to park where this is posted (except, of course, if you're a mammoth tourist bus and then you can park - engine running - all you want).

Here, the City officials mean business.  

In fact, this sign is the European equivalent of this: 

When I first moved to Milano, this sign always struck me as such a nice way to put things.  For years, I thought it was a sign imploring the tram drivers to watch out for pedestrians, as we'd be crossing the tracks at any given point (or, if we were bike riders, we'd be caught in the tracks, falling to the point of seeing our life pass before our very eyes - always an interesting feeling to spice up your week).
It is actually a poetic way, in the land of Dante, to implore trams to 'Go Slow' or here, 'at a man's pace.'  Let's just hope by that they don't mean Schumaker or Valentino Rossi.

picture frm flikr

I have no clue if this sign means, 'No Trespassing', 'No Pedestrians allowed', or 'Attenzione! pedestrians crossing'.



But, hey, it could be worse.  You could find yourself trying to find a parking place in L.A. or NYC:

The Cat Lady Strikes Back

photo from www.icanhavecheezburger.com

Everyone knows about the 'Cats of Rome', and how they are part of the urban landscape. I imagine that with increased traffic and decreased food outlets, there are far fewer than I recall as a young girl roaming the streets.  To get your cat fill, you have to migrate over to Largo Argentina, where a welcome cat colony exists, funded by donations, at least until they open up those ruins (of the Teatro di Pompey?) once again.
But I did not know, until I found this wonderful posting, that cats are so treasured in Rome, they are citizens to the full degree.  In my neighborhood, there are many cat outposts where little old ladies come and feed them; some are so well-cared for (as the ladies come in droves, un coordinated between them), that some cats are bigger than my little dog, Trevor. 

In bold, this reads, a stray cat in Rome is considered a citizen to the full extent of the law.  Italy is notorious for its millions of laws on the books that have never been erased since the time of Caligula, and so it is, a law for cat ladies.  The animals are entitled to food & water, you must remove the plastic dishes (except water bowls), keep the area clean.  Fines & punishments for anyone abusing cats or cat ladies in their mutual enterprise.  The sign must be posted but there must be some sort of tussle going on in the 'hood, as it has already been removed.

It's too bad that Venice didn't issue a similar law.  Almost all citizens and environmentalists alike agree that they wouldn't have a pigeon problem (not to mention rats & mice) if they hadn't disposed of all the cats -- Come to think of it, I've never seen one there.  There's a movement to redeploy them instead of the pesticides & culling the Serenissima - in a fit of obvious rage - is currently employing.

Given the number of 'cat citizens' in Rome, I'm wondering who was the first to enact this law. Clearly, they are looking for votes.  But where, I wonder, do these feline citizens stash their voter registration cards?

Summer in Italy - The Heat's On

Ahhhh…summer in Italy – lazy days, hot nights, events, pools, fireworks almost nightly, gelato in the piazza.  Always something to celebrate.  Old men sit in the piazza in their undershirts, women stay inside, the shutters closed tight, and young girls show more skin than half of us wish they would.  Summer is filled with surprises, and yesterday, I got an eyeful. 

Walking my dog, I happened upon a totally buff guy – with his shirt off.  Although Americans think Europeans are totally ‘anything goes’, this is one taboo that has yet to be broken in Europe.  You can show off your tattoos, your ‘tramp stamps’, the supposedly sexy but totally revolting way of revealing one’s plumber butt, but shirts off?  Europeans save that for the beach – whereby the women take it all off, too.

Coming from America, where nowadays the men (even the ones who don’t look like the Pillsbury Dough-boy) could use bras, this is one tradition I wish they would take on board.  Let’s face it, unless you look like Usher – well, keep it under wraps.

So, here I was, face to face with an Olympian swimmer’s back – who needs espresso in the morning?  And it wasn’t even that hot out yet!  I was certain he could not be Italian.  The guy turned around, and there he was, a Chinese market vendor with movie star looks.   

I entertained momentarily the thought of telling him that going around bare-chested wasn’t something that was done in Italy, but then I thought of all the Signore who’d be coming to the marketplace soon – and I just passed by with a simple, Buon Giorno!

Right of Refusal

Anyone living in Italy usually finds out the hard way about the overall ‘No Returns’ rules-one of the few rules that actually gets enforced - with a vengeance.  Basically, a good rule of thumb is, “You buy it – you own it” – even if it’s defective [just try telling that to my mother who is notorious for picking up dozens of new outfits just to bring them home and try them on & bring most back to the store– talk about a carbon footprint - if that happened in Italy, they'd be charging 8 euro per piece just for the administrative hassle].   
There’s actually probably a very good reason for this; I often imagine that in Italy, people would pull a reverse-42^nd street on the storeowners:  You bought a fabulous Bose stereo, returning it with the insides taken out.

But, along the way, the chains and multinationals finally extended a proper ‘returns policy’ to the hoi-polloi; so it’s becoming more common to do the deal. It all started with Ikea, who, back in the day, launched a huge advertising campaign touting the fact that you had 30 days to change your mind!  Regardless, you still could not get a credit card credit – and I still don’t think you can – anywhere – unless of course you have a blessing by the Pope and Saint Francis himself.

So it came as a surprise when a friend (who calls himself my wandering reporter) tried to return something at Ikea.  He was told they would do just a store credit.  Not being a store he usually frequents, he then employed the Rule No. 1 of living in Italy, “Don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”  He explained that he rarely comes to Ikea, couldn’t find anything to substitute (he couldn’t??!! – typical male) and, to his surprise, the guy at the counter said, “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but maybe we can make an exception.”

He was as stunned as he was pleased.  But, like a journalist, he pressed as to the ‘why’ of their change in policy (to which I’d say, ‘don’t look a gifthorse in the mouth’).  Basically, it’s a store policy, right?  Why make an exception for me?  Because I’m a nice guy? 

And in that is one of the beauties of Living in Italy – someone is always willing to make that exception – I’ve managed many an overweight bag over the moving beltway with no charge -- just as long as the proprietor’s away from the till.

The Red Head is Dead

Beating the heat in multicultural London, the conversation (after we've run down the archaic workings of English plumbing) inevitably turns to immigration. This and its accompanying issues (like the pros&cons of outlawing the burka) have changed the very face(s) of the country (and I don’t just mean the soccer teams).  For friends who grew up here in the day, things weren’t always so open to all and sundry.  So an Irish friend loves to quip that when he was young, signs in stores read “No dogs, no blacks, no Irish” (in that order).

To further add insult to injury, he was blessed with red hair – a sure sign of the devil if anyone ever saw one.  Red-haired villains filled the airwaves, and people were truly afraid of these Irish rogues.  I have always loved red hair, but I have never ever heard of this in American culture.  Wasn’t all-American Archie a red head?  And what about Rin Tin Tin?  And, while I’ve never liked his scary little face staring out at me on milk cartons, but even Bozo the Clown and Ronald McDonald don’t quite fit the treacherous criminal types (although they dig dig up the backyard of Gacy the clown to find all kinds of bodies).

But while in the UK this idea has somewhat dissipated with time (and the arrival of turbans), in Italy, red hair was quite the rarity.  So much so that people still think that freckled people are strange or exotic to behold like albinos and that red heads, are, simply put, nut cases.  If a red headed boy is acting wild, just because he’s a 9 year old with a lot of energy, they’ll blame it on the hair color.

While I think red headed people are generally the most stunning form of homo sapiens, I’ve always gotten a big kick out of this; but I have wondered how it affects the self-esteem of those in the Bel Paese.  Do mothers stop and think ‘where did I go wrong’?

As for my friend, he lost most of his hair by the 1980s – just when every villain in every TV show and movie was depicted as – a bald guy.

Italian Cooking - Don't say 'Cheese'

There are so many amazing food blogs about Italian food in particular out there, that I tend to avoid the topic.  But every so often, an occasion introduces itself and I feel compelled to address one of my favorite topics: food and eating.

An American friend called while I was immersed in the preparation of one of my absolutely favorite dishes – stuffed zucchini flowers.   

A dish so heavenly that you never forget the first time…I was hot and hungry in Milan, and came across a deep dark ristorante.  I entered, and found true love. I still also recall the price tag of that experience, but let’s just say, the ride with this great dish was truly worth the fall.

So he asked, “What are you stuffing them with?” 

-- “My favorite – fresh mozzarella and anchovies.” 

“Hang on a minute – you emphatically told me that Italians never – never ever – combine cheese & fish.” 

And, as my thoughts stretched back to the innumerable plates of shrimp dishes, clam sauteés, and untold ‘frutta di mare’ all peppered with grated cheese – the wait staff too aghast to even look at the rape…I ventured forth:  

“Well, I think it’s this dish and like one other one that it’s okay to combine the cheese with the fish. But no others.”

He was unconvinced.  And as we debated the anchovies-on-pizza tradition, I know for sure this is one dish that the two flavours combined make for the most mouthwatering marvel.

I still can’t think of the other one, but I know it’s out there.  But, as far as ‘La Cucina Italiana’ is concerned, it’s one rule followed by everyone – everyone – north to south.  A rule so carved in stone, that you’d think it was the predecessor of the muslim/pork law: 

Just because it’s pasta, never grate that parmigiano on that dish with fish.  A gastronomical no-no to the nth degree. 

And one I think might have some health and taste value.

Now back to deep-frying my zucchini flowers. Buonissimi.

Could It be...? Berlusca DJ?!

I recently came across this WobblyHead picture of DJ Pauly D from Jersey Shore. And I realized that I'd seen that face somewhere before.  I did a doubletake so fast, it wasn't just Pauly D's head that was bobbing...

 

 The crooner...in his lounge lizard days, 

and in the days of keeping his cronies happy.