Life in Italy - #LifeHacking the Post Office

Anyone who comes to Italy for even about 36 hours finds out sooner, rather than later, about the notorious Post Office. Their misdeeds are the stuff of legend. Day in, day out when coming across Facebook posts of new arrivals unloading about the umpteenth miscarriage of mail justice that has befallen them, I sort of smirk to myself, smug in my knowledge that while it's cathartic to vent, they ain't seen nuthin' yet.
The Italian Post Office is a singular institution hellbent on making lives miserable. So much so, that I dedicate an entire chapter in my book to it: The Postman Never Rings Even Once. But I truly believe that desperation breeds innovation and it's why we now have email. 
And this is 2016. The Poste Italiane has been growing by leaps and bounds in efficiency, branding, banking, heck even free wifi - better to allow you to bide your time while dozens of octogenarians cash their pensions and then stand in front of the clerk for those 98 additional seconds to tuck away in a safe place their cash, or while people fill out the form - three of them - whilst standing at the counter, because to put them out would incite inmates, errr, clients to take and waste untold stacks of them. Things have changed so much that they're even charging us about 6 times other countries just for the luxury (and it is a luxury brand in my book) of mailing your letter.
But recently, like many of my compatriots, I had to submit my declaration that I do not, indeed, own a television. I went to the post office for the express purpose of mailing the registered letter. Let me just say that the clerk was super nice [another humongous improvement on the days in which she would have instead refused a letter because the address was written in green pen, or you stapled rather than slathered mucky goo all over the envelope to close it, or that your stamps were crooked, or that you wrote too many lines on a postcard, or you wrote below the line clearly demarcated on the postcard, or you requested far too many stamps, or the box was too big, or too small, or there was a slight bulge in the envelope, or that you wrote a note on the envelope, or you wrote England instead of Gran Bretagna...] I could go on. And on. And on. This is no exaggeration.
And so I was quite taken aback when she told me that I couldn't send my letter that way - meaning, in an envelope. I was quite used to the practice that if you sent a letter in an unsealed envelope, it cost less. So we all used to do that. But..no envelope? This was not in my personal annals of inane postal practices. And then...she did this: Risking her electric blue manicure, she set out to carefully craft an envelope out of my letter, employing scotch tape, stamps & staples. It was an engineering marvel. Standing there, it was as if witnessing a surgeon put one final stitch into a dying patient, or Betsy Ross sewing that last star on the flag...It was pure poetry in motion (and I'm sorry, but my surreptitious video does not do it justice...Did I mention it? No cellphones allowed at the counter? You can imagine where they draw the line on actually videotaping employees.)
Italy often has a lot of wild workarounds for what in other places would be straightforward, standard practice. Like the traffic lights all flashing yellow at midnight (click here for Midnight Run post), to keep people from running red ones. Or, side streets  alongside major thoroughfares which I am quite convinced are so guys can pick up prostitutes with ease - without causing traffic jams (anyone riding up the Via Salaria will know what I mean). Recently, our Prime Minister decided that since so many people pat ignored the heinous TV Tax, he would simply tack it onto our electric bills. I don't own a TV and if you want to get my taxation without representation vibe going, this is a fairly good place to start. Thus my registered letter. 
Flummoxed, I had to ask the clerk, just what this was all about. And with a straight face she stated that otherwise, people would pay for and send the registered envelope, empty. Basically, it was nipping a he said / she said accusation assault in the bud. They'd have proof of having delivered a declaration, when in reality, nothing was truly signed and sealed. By forcing you to provide the contents via a document-cum-envelope, well, then it had to be legit. I thought it was so you wouldn't send anthrax or bullets to our friends at the tax office for this highway robbery of a TV Tax - I'm sure they get plenty.
As someone who once paid a car accident of $103 in pennies (which is also illegal, btw), I had to admit, this was one genius move on the part of government. Now, about those Panama Papers??!

glide your cursor on colored parts above for more!

Fact Checking Michael Moore's Movie: Where to invade next? ITALY.

A friend living and working in Italy put it best to his Facebook followers: Michael Moore is, after all, a propagandist, not a journalist…He deals in hyperbole, which is why he’s a terrific social commentator and I am a fan. [Albeit by today’s standards in journalism, one could argue that the media's only currency is hyperbole]. And while his focus on Italy filled the collective with a shot of momentary pride, once the effect wore off, it was time to ask…Veritas?

As someone who has visited dozens upon dozens of companies, large and small, across the calf, heel, foot and toe of this boot, I feel the need to fully examine some of the holes that permeate Moore’s footholds. At first blanch, the piece felt a bit too canned, the people a bit too trite for ‘off-the-cuff’, and the supposed candid conversation so circumspect that it reminded me of a Barilla pasta spot, with Bella Figura just oozing out of every pore. Michael Moore is legend here. Knowing your footage might be seen by millions worldwide? Italians rarely show their pock marks and warts––you’d think with that kind of positive spin that Italians would be the happiest people on earth. So much for The Secret.



So, let’s get down to brass tacks:

We are a family — While I’m sure there are many family-owned businesses that treat their workers like a family (so much so that they even share the same bed with a few of the office hotties during those fabulous lunch breaks), the “I love it when they punch out and take 6 weeks vacation - it’s good for business” is a pile of porchetta droppings. I had but one other person in my tiny office and when she’d bolt to the door every day at 18.01 like Barney & Fred, even in the middle of a huge deadline, I would have a mini-meltdown. No matter, I was the only one at the office who would see it. How do you say Yabba dabba doo in Italian?

The man who stated that these incredible workers’ rights were fought for with blood, sweat and tears speaks the truth. In the 1970s, anarchists were cutting down company heads and just a few years back a leading economist was struck down for merely suggesting labour reform. The consequences of business’s antipathy toward workers has lead to Italy’s amazing automation of factories, from Torino to Detroit. My (Italian) boss would quip that America, with its millions of workers, was effectively pre-industrial, while Italy had brought robots in to do the job of dozens of people - post-industrial. Stop to take a look at garbage collection, with 1 guy in 1 truck pushing a button versus Americans pitching bags into the back of a truck and you'll see there is a lot of truth to that.

Photo credit: Daniele Leone / LaPresse

Factory upon factory, owners would proudly claim how technology had allowed them to replace 70 people with just a single robotic line - and with this technology, came a 50% jobless rates besides. All in the quest to avoid the cost of hiring employees who later can't be fired - even if they end up in prison.
 
Lunch Breaks - While it’s true that companies still break for lunch and provide veggie-laden cafeterias, go to Milano, where it’s far more commonplace to wolf down a sandwich with an espresso chaser. Street food has taken off here for a reason, and not just because it’s all people can afford now that unbridled tourism has heralded in $18 pasta plates. Notwithstanding, it still beats the herd of employees across the USA waddling to their cars to drive across the 5 lane highway to McDonalds & KFC drive-thrus on a daily basis.

Salaries — The young couple was correct. Their paltry salaries may allow them a modicum of quality of life, but let's face it: the average city councilman in a lovely hill town makes the same as Barack Obama, while the 600 strong bloated parliamentarians (in every way) take home two or three times as much, and that's before bribes, lifetime pensions (that carry to spouses and children too) lining offshore bank accounts well before retirement age. It's no wonder most youth aim to "enter politics" - it's the only money-making scheme in the country.
Just as in the USA, wages have been stagnant since 1992. Nonetheless, Italians manage to live better than your average American working three jobs. I believe it's due to their sharing of living quarters with mamma and papa’ up into their 30s. Salting away their pay, while someone else covers all your living expenses (even clothing and Thai resort vacations) and then coughing up the down payment on your house or buying it outright, definitely allows for handy disposable income with which to treat yourselves benissimo. 
As for the 13th paycheck? Yes, it’s true. Sometimes it’s even 14 (an extra one in August in order to enjoy your 4 week holidays all the more). But it’s a psychological tactic on the order of David Copperfield: Your annual labour-contracted salary is divided into 13 slices; allowing for gift giving and holiday meals all together as a family. I always liked the concept, but I still beg to differ when people quip how they get an “extra” month’s pay. No, you don’t. Pure and simple.

Labour laws providing for honeymoon time off is a wonderful family-friendly practice. You’d think that Italy would have transformed itself into a Mormon colony just to get those extra 2 weeks. [I mean, this is the place where the “legally blind” are regularly caught behind the wheel.] But pregnancy benefits have gone way too far. A new mother needs two months off before the baby is born? To what end? In Italy, it is oft-seen as bad luck to buy baby stuff prior to the birth, and baby showers are unheard of…All this time off means that young women are not welcomed with open arms into companies that is, unless it's into the open arms of the Company owner. 
The rub is, that while Italian women have given up on giving birth altogether (another sign of economic distress), they still don't get hired. Go figure.

Health Care - I haven’t seen enough of the movie to weigh in on whether or not Moore tackled Italy’s healthcare, but it was recently reported that it had one of the best in the world. Not sure about that (living in Italy, I'm healthier than the average American and don't have a general practitioner) but certainly, Italy’s physicians are top-notch and ply their trade worldwide, saving lives in both research and in the operating room. Not a day goes by that another Italian research team doesn’t come out with yet another amazing discovery. When an esteemed Italian doctor I know living in the USA needed a liver transplant for his son, he came to Italy. Imagine what they could do if they were actually funding R&D instead of lavish homes of politicians and government bureaucrats. Nonetheless, it makes it all the more risible when Berlusconi, waxing prolific on the wonderful health system we have, jettisoned straight to the USA the moment a cancer cell appeared on his sun-kissed skin (or maybe we just have better plastic surgeons in the USA? I mean, compare the stunning Sharon Stone to Donatella Versace...)

It is my experience that Italy does, indeed, take quite good care of its citizens, offering them regular checkups and so forth (it’s what the elderly do instead of playing bridge). On the downside, it is said people needing a mammogram may have to wait months, and beds are allotted to the highest bidder--an illegal practice which I hear goes on in the USA as well. But at least, people do not have to sell their house to undergo life saving treatment. Physical therapy - and even spa treatments - are considered part of recovery. In a country where a slight breeze or air conditioning unit can cause every sort of malady, people are allowed to stay home when they are sick, with no reprisals (other than the surprise doctor visits to make sure you're not in Capri instead). In the USA, you have to use up your ‘sick days’ and vacation time to bring a new life into the world. Sure, old people are lined up in hallways on stretchers, families need to bring in bottles of water, and waiting rooms are eerily reminiscent of an Iranian torture chamber, but I suppose you can say that on the whole, national health care in Italy is as humanitarian as can be.  Americans should only be so fortunate.

Live links in color above

Thanksgiving in Italy-Fine Feathered Friends

This Thanksgiving, I bring my annual tradition of posting one of my earliest entries on celebrating this very American tradition as an expat...Today, or more likely, over the weekend, people are breaking bread (well, actually stuffing) with their native friends and many foreign faces as well. So, wherever you are, enjoy your own Festa di Ringraziamento!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. And it's something that we American 'expats' celebrate pretty much the world over in our adopted countries. In much the same way that Italy (and Europe, for that matter) have adopted Halloween as their own, in industrious Milan or Geneva or London, store owners start stocking up when Thanksgiving comes around the corner. It's become so popular, you now need to order the bird in advance. Those same stores stock their shelves with many items that ordinary Italians would probably have fed to their pigs if they had them.

Although Italians eat lots of turkey, they seriously don't eat - much less prepare - the 12-15kg version –whole. But right around the last week of November, you can ask your butcher to purchase - and then hold onto - the entire bird. And this is terrific. Aside from providing the butchers and cashiers a bit of holiday entertainment, you (along with your bird) become the center of attention. One year, they were so confused by our request, a friend ended up with an 11kg bird for the price of one kilo: €3.95. Even after questioning the amount, they insisted the price was right...Let's just say, given the cost of things in Italy (and a bird that size would have run upwards of €60), we had lots to be thankful for that year!

Surprisingly, Thanksgiving in Italy brings one lots closer to the original Thanksgiving feast. First, there's the shipping of all the canned foodstuffs, probably not unlike the stuff our forefathers brought in huge wooden crates to and from the New World. Americans start filling up empty suitcases with goodies like cans of pumpkin and cranberry, Stovetop stuffing mix, and packs of Jiffy cornbread (because polenta just doesn't do the trick).

Me with one bird that doesn't need
de-feathering!

But with a nod to those original pilgrims, I must say, it's the turkey that is the star of the show. While we don't have to quite break its neck and clean out its gizzards (although, if you forget to request it, you might just end up with the whole thing, head and all), we all get a bit tripped up by something never quite seen in an American home – all those feathers. Or, feather tips, rather.

In the USA, when you pick up a turkey, you generally wind up with something very remotely resembling the animal from whence it came. In Italy, you're reminded that this was, in actual fact, a bird – feathers and all. And so, you learn how, exactly, one rids oneself (or one's turkey) of his down without actually peeling the whole skin off, feather tips and all. I can just imagine those early pilgrims trying to figure this one out: with Native Americans furious that their guests were trying to trim away the feathers along with the tasty (and fatty) skin. No wonder so many died of hunger. To get it right and ignoring old traditions of plucking, you find your best gas-powered flame thrower, and start torching the turkey feathers away.

Unfortunately, no matter how long you painstakingly go about de-feathering, there are always a few tough ones left over – kind of like those grey hairs you try so hard to dye. And, while I must say, this process does not make me nostalgic for the huge butterball turkeys with a self-popping thermometer inside, it does add a bit to your preparation time.

Once your table is set for a feast, there's another key issue to handle in serving your feast to your Italian paesani. And that is, contrary to popular belief, Italians do not actually feast. That's especially the case given a non-Catholic holiday, and in the evening in particular. So, your fully expected annual pigging out fête sort of falls a bit flat; with each Italian guest carefully choosing their primo (mashed potatoes & stuffing), secondo (turkey), and contorno (veggies) while questioning why one must eat 'family style' and not one dish at a time. They barely fill their plates and skip second helpings. Stuffing is seen as an alien life form and desserts, well, whoever heard of a dessert made from a vegetable?

So, while the rest of us heap up our plates again and again, and then start loosening our belt buckles, well, judging by our girths, we can see why Thanksgiving is a wholly American phenomenon.

Your Government at Work

Walking around my neighborhood as I am wont to do is often a wonderful experience, that is if you don't count my playing three times a day Doo-Doo Dodge'Em on the sidewalks: There are the old guys who hang out on the benches or in little groups talking - incessantly - about Lord knows what; the old ladies wheeling their carts to the mercato,  the Bangladeshi green grocers and other dog owners with whom I always stop to say hello.  In short, you get to know your little quartiere fairly well; with all its pox-marks and forlorn tree stumps lining my path.
So I was taken aback when rounding the corner, suddenly street signs had gone up, official yellow paint sprayed with a decisive cautionary aire down on the ground, and no cars in my midst - a rarity if there ever was one in Rome...The spanking new sign posted was still sans graffiti so I could read it:  NO PARKING.  TOURISM BUSES ONLY.  
Taking up (or shall I say, taking away from us mere mortals) a full five, treasured,  parking spaces -- while day in, day out, the street stands empty.  And yet we're all afraid to park there.  But the street waiting to host these phantasmagoric monoliths is quite wide.  Wide enough, in fact, to allow passengers to alight every so often.  That's because nearby, are the catacombs.  And sometimes, around Easter, their parking lots are full.
My first thought was...of all the darned places?  Just further on, in fact, there are miles of wide streets where none of us choose to park -- wide enough to hold countless numbers of monstrous buses (and Suvs for that matter...but, dream on...).  So this entire fiasco wreaking havoc on our parking rhythms, reeked horribly of skunk.
So, I ventured over to the cabal of guys-on-a-park bench and pondered loudly, Isn't there something we can do to make them take this back? After all, Rome is famous for do-overs.
And then, the guys shared with me their very best conspiracy theories; a national pastime in Italy.  But, I'm fairly certain this one was spot on:
Prior to the bus parking lane, huge trash containers were perched there.  The residents had asked for them be removed as there were others nearby. No one listened.  So, someone got the brainy idea to ask for a bus lane and Ecco Fatto! the horrible containers were gone; and along with them, so were the mountains of trash pulled out of them by the indefatigable hoards of gypsies...
So now, we're just waiting to put in the request to restore parking in that same spot for our cars and, gazillions of tax payer dollars later, all will be good in my corner of the world once again.  Talk about Civic Duty.
And the bonus? I now know what all those guys are busy plotting each day.

Away from the Manger-Christmas Eve in Italy

Christmas Eve is the night Italians often celebrate the birth of the little baby Jesus. This event is quite significant, especially if you are to judge by their crèche or manger scenes; something we Americans can only remember with nostalgia of days of yore.
But you see, Italians are nothing if not highly literal people; especially given their long history of language, discourse and oratory, starting with Latin and Lord knows what languages even before. And so it is with their manger scenes.
When I first came to Italy, I thought all those presepe showing an old Giuseppe and his young wife looking fondly down on a heap of hay, standard issue donkey, sheep and even the Three Kings in the distance, was simply yet another indication of Italians' poor planning: Someone clearly had forgotten the Baby Jesus!!!

Who stole Baby Jesus?picture from GodsDiscussion.com

After seeing this a few more times, I thought: 'Okay, who stole the Baby Jesus?!!'

But then, I finally figured it out: This is a country in which article after article, conversation after conversation, they feel the need to warn you prior to making a joke or a cynical statement, just in case the meaning is lost on you - so you don't take it literally.  [I always envision this practice much like the Robot in Lost in Space: “Danger! Guglielmo Robinson! Giovanni said, with a note of irony…”] In Italy, unless forewarned, and if no hidden meaning is implied, they take the sentence for what it is fully worth.
And so, little Baby Jesus never shows up on the manger scene until the stroke of midnight. Although, in their search for authenticity, something is always a bit amiss. You will always find him looking more like an 18 month old, than a cone-headed red-faced newborn; bright-eyed and chubby on Christmas morn.
Incredibly, to add to the veracity of the scene, I have only recently discovered that those three kings, though smaller in size, to represent distance, actually creep up day by day, until January 6th (the Epiphany, for you pagans out there) when they bestow their gifts on the Baby Jesus.
What I don’t get in all of this figurative placement is why, then, they don’t swap a very pregnant Mary for a less pregnant mamma (and perhaps decidedly exhausted one due to labor pains whilst riding a donkey) the next day, too. I guess they don't take it that literally, after all.

Buon Natale a Tutti!

F. Maggi @IrreverentItaly
(decidedly not Magi, like those three wise men!)

Coffee, Tea, or Me? A question of cross-cultural relations

Anyone who follows the Dove Sono (Where am I) column in my blog will know that I'm in the USA, taking in some of the cultural differences, and standing agape at the many similarities in political campaigns, and of course, the notable differences (and in both cases, for better or for worse).  On the cultural side, it feels real good to be able to glide into a lane, glide along it for miles upon miles, and not have to worry about staking my claim, vying for position, or being squeezed out at a traffic light -- although in both countries texting and cellphone use is fairly even.  I still feel more safe on Michigan roads, however, due to the fact that: a) they're wider, offering more wiggle room, b) they have shoulders in case you need to make a mad dash somewhere else and c) we're still going at a slightly less speedy clip and there are the men in blue to enforce it.  But, you get my drift.
After numerous trips to the U.S. and with an abundance of coffee bars to hang out in, I found things on that front - you know, picking up a quick coffee with a colleague - was essentially just like in Italy.   Well, okay, albeit for the super-sized drinks and an overabundance of calories contained therein and the Henry Ford approach of ordering and receiving down the line one's potables...

picture from Being Latino
click for a lively debate
on who pays when

I recall when first coming to Italy on business as a (very) young woman, how horrified I was to find that, at coffee breaks and business lunches alike, the guy at the table would very courteously pick up the tab.  I was stunned to think that it might appear as if we had been on a date; In my book it both unleveled the playing field and put the gals into play.  Although it took some time, I did finally get used to the practice, but in extreme situations in which I truly wanted to generously offer a meal, or thank someone for their time over coffee, I took to insisting that my company was owned by men, so...Please don't get offended, a man is ultimately picking up the bill...On many levels, my generosity was most likely an insult to my guest, but for 'working gal' me, it was something that I felt was the right thing to do at the time.
Which brings me to the USA.  I always worked for and with Italians when I was there, and, being quite junior, it was only natural that the guy in the group most often sprung for coffee or lunch or dinner even.  As I gained in seniority, suddenly I realized that I should pay the piper.  But then, Starbucks came into the fore; and a new etiquette seemed to arise that left a lot of women bewildered.  Arranging quick meetings in these cafés, the American man would rush in, grab his very own cappuccino or apple cider, sit down and start in.  Embarrassed that no one asked me what I wanted before heading for the cashier, I would migrate up to the counter, all on my own, and order for my little ol' self.  Not only did I have to pay for my order, I was unable to offer any sort of generosity to my business contact.  I felt like Snow White calling a meeting and all the dwarfs showing up with their lunch pails, leaving her to fetch something out of the woods for herself.
In the U.S., when it comes down to business, I've not come across someone ever even feigning to want to pay for the other (and at $5.27 a cup, I can see why that is).  Time and again, it jars my sense of chivalry, while at the same time, opening up a world of feminist rights and what those struggles now boil down to; each person treated equally--even in a coffee shop.  And yet, after decades in Europe, I now found it a bit disturbing.  I mean, in Japan, your prospects may shower you with gifts, in Turkey they pull out all manner of teas and silver platters lined with cigarettes.  And in the U.S., we can't manage a chai tea with soy?  Maybe it's because I am a woman after all.  With all the options at my disposal, when a guy thinks I may start in ordering a decaf light cream latte, no whipped cream, tall cup with cinnamon sprinkles...men have reached the accurate conclusion that some things are better left alone.

Italy: Out on a Limb?

Back home in the Midwest, my brother-in-law and his kids were busy sawing, hammering and installing away to create a modern treehouse to suit the tastes of an 11 yr old who wants to host sleepovers inside there.  Naturally, in cool Michigan, that includes installing insulation, a word that can barely be translated into Italian (but that's a whole 'nother blog entry).  Beavering away, their work came to an abrupt halt.  A neighbor, who could not see the fortress from their home, complained to the Board inquiring whether or not they had applied for a building permit.
Because they did not consider a tree fort a building, in reality, they hadn't even looked into it.  Building on their own property, creating only an eyesore for their very own BBQ parties...they're hoping they'll pass the City Board approval with flying colors.
And, although it seems like a bureaucratic piece of nonsense, I still say, it's a good thing the neighbors snitched.
In Italy, each August, new constructions go up right atop of historical buildings, new floors are added that block your view (illegal in Italy), or a neighbor decides to expand right up to your property line.  And the neighbors do complain.  The problem is, like almost every other law in over-burdened by inane & sane laws Italy, it won't get enforced.
A group of people near Santa Maria Maggiore complained about a whole new floor added to a building during the time the building was under wraps for a repaint.  They won in court and the perpetrator was told to knock it down.  That was about six years ago, and the addition is still left standing, used for hosting parties and more on the fabulous terrace with a view of all of Rome.  The owners drag their feet, waiting for an amnesty under a new govt so they can carry on partying it up--up on the roof.
They may feel the pain only should they try to sell (not a very common occurrence since these structures are built for bambini and their future offspring).  Up and down the historical park of the Appian Way, illegal constructions are the order of the day.  You can buy one of these luxury houses with pool too.  The problem is, if you're caught, you've paid for a property that one day might be taken down or fined tremendously.  This practice is rampant throughout the country, with an excellent writeup on the over-cementification of Italy in The Dark Heart of Italy, a book by Tobias Jones [check out my reading list on my blog page as well].
But, let's go back to my American example, above.
What I have never been able to figure out is...why don't the neighbors complain?  I believe it's due to a noxious combination of omertà and a sense of 'sticking it to the authorities'.  Whenever there's a flood, an earthquake, and other such natural disaster that takes with it dozens of homes, we find that the entire country sides with the populace who had built the illegal places to begin with, disregarding the building codes that are in place, precisely to protect them in the case of disaster.  I say, like the losers who build homes on landslides in Beverly Hills, let 'em suffer.  Why should we pay for their illegal edifices?  Just take a look at the thousands of houses nestled in on the foothills of Vesuvius, a live volcano, to see the extent of the cognitive dissonance governing both 'Doing your own thing' and 'Laughing in the Face of Danger.'
What people don't seem to understand is...when 28 new illegal constructions go up in your neighborhood, and left in various states of unbuilding, disrepair, or worse (no garbage collection since they're not on the grid, etc etc), your property value goes down.  When neighbors don't put on paint, or use cheap materials for their window fixtures, your property value goes down.  When garbage piles up and immigrants are sleeping 10 to a room in illegal huts a stone's throw from your bathroom window, your property value goes down.
And yet, the practice persists.  When stores in charming little areas, akin to the Baltimore SeaPort, or New York's Southstreet Seaport go out of business, or, as in many a shopping mall (centro commerciale) or Genoa's Porto Antico, let the plants die in front of their shops or let the paint peel off the storefronts in sheets, it detracts from the rest of the area.  Yet the other property owners don't make a sound.  Other places levy steep fines and tell the storeowners to hit the road.  By doing your best to keep up the area, you're contributing to the value of the surroundings while adding to the experience of the visitors.  Instead, after great fanfare, pristine shops and pedestrian promenades are left to ruin, wooden boardwalks are left in pieces, nails exposed for your kids to tread upon, trash and graffiti pile up..I cannot for the life of me think as to why the shop owners or the visitors or the neighbors still don't complain.
If anyone can offer an explanation, I'm all ears.

Italy: A snapshot into the past

I decided to start an occasional new column discussing some of the ways we were in Italy, in our recent (and...with the years passing...still memorable) past.  Living in Italy these 20-odd years, we've all seen many things improve for the better, while growing wistful for the past, especially after passing our favorite trattoria with the red & white checkered tablecloth and discovering it's been transformed into an uber-cool nightclub, replete with capirinhas and pole-dancing. So, here it is...a look to the past - but not the ancient kind which usually comes with life in Italy:
I asked a friend out to lunch the other day but in reply, he said he couldn't really make it.  He went on to say that it wasn't for being over-worked or out-of-town.  Instead, he told me he had 30 minutes lunch break.  I nearly lost my breath.
I have long held that Italians work a whole heck of a lot.  And, a lot more than even their European counterparts.  Clearly, government employees and parliamentarians excepted -- here's an article showing one of our public officials looking for an escort while on duty.  But at least he's in the halls - most (just like in the U.S. Congress) are absent and others use their time (paid at four times the European average) for siestas. But I digress.
Perhaps they're taking naps on the job, just because those afternoon Siestas are a thing of the past.  And this practice of short lunch hours I believe came flying in on the coattails of the panini or McDonald's revolution.  I was in Rome the day they inaugurated the very first Italian McDonalds.  It was 1986, and it was so spiffy with it's faux Pompeiian fixtures, ceramic tiles and fountains, I was tempted to hang a sign out from the top of Trinità di Monti reading, Real McDonalds don't look like this.  I mean, coming from Detroit...it wasn't an everyday sight.

Panini Recipes from Squidoo

Up in Milan, the Burghy became the local hangout for kids and future Milanese yuppies  after high class, garnering the term, paninari.  As for me, I abhorred this intrusion into my Italian experience...but found an amazing panino joint making every type of sandwich known to man - it was a feast for the senses.  Still today, no one beats the Milanese for creative panino fixings.  Working in Milan at the time, it wasn't long before the colleagues would go out and grab a panino - and eat standing at the bar counter.  Of course, it would be another 20 years before you'd see them drinking their coke straight from the bottle, but that story will come in a future excerpt.
Little by little, it was bound to be.  The 1 hr lunches became a fixture in Milanese life styles.  But in hard-working Milan, we'd still get out of work between 7 & 8 pm.  Unfortunately for us time-pressed souls, the store owners still took - up til 2012 - the siestas; leaving an entire country with pent-up demand and no internet & postal service to make up for the slack thru online sales.
These seemingly inconsequential events are the things that, in retrospect, reveal more than anything the change of the face of what it meant to be "Italian".  But since it's now part & parcel of the way we are today, shouldn't we at least change the name from lunch hour (ora di pranzo) to something else? 

Italy: Coming in from (or going out into) the Cold

After having a few weeks of cold weather and (outside city centers), plenty of snow, it looks like spring has already sprung in Italy.  Flowers seem to be blooming, people going for walks outdoors...T-shirts being pulled out of the upper echelons of closets which house all our summer clothes.  The ritual being the swapping of winter/summer closets which takes place at every solstice.  
Of course, the funny thing about this ritual is one shirt that is never allowed so much as a single day of reprieve: la maglietta della salute - the A-shirt of good health - a fixture of Italian culture as strong and revered as the Pantheon itself.  It's an undershirt that is used as a talisman to ward off colds, back aches, even the dreaded cervicale - the stiff neck curse.

Foto from Umarells 
http://umarells.wordpress.com

What I love about the undershirts is they're used from about the time you issue from the womb right up to the day you're laid to rest in the tomb.  Mammas wrap their bambini in them, women's sites chat about the necessity to use them or iron them, journalists ponder its benefits and cultural impact. So iconic, I even found a band called La Maglia della Salute...!


As for me, they always leave me with the idea that underneath that tidy, pressed-white shirt is a layer of Vicks Vapo-rub just sticking to it, better for you to inhale its healing ethers...But whether or not wearers truly get fewer colds and illnesses has yet to be tested by the National Center of Research.  


Nevertheless, incredibly, even vampires seem to wear them to ward off something...perhaps garlic?  Scroll down on that page for image of Twilight star with his undershirt sticking out...while above, all colored sections are live links.

A shot in the dark

I will never forget the first time I came down with the flu in Italy.  Tucked snuggly under the covers, the family I was living with was of course, concerned.  I was expecting to be plied full of orange-flavored St. Giovanni's aspirin, or cherry flavored syrups of some sort.  Fresh-squeezed orange juice flowing from the blender, and maybe a shot of zucchero to make the medicine go down.
Instead, when the doctor showed up and told me to turn over, I assumed it was so he could check my back with the stethoscope.  But before I could say "Ammazza!" I was given an injection with a very large needle right in my behind.  I fully thought I would fall soundly asleep -- fully sedated -- only to wake up later in a cage at the Milan zoo.  To this day, the slightest sniffle brings on those visions, and any of you who remember the Milan zoo will know what a nightmare that truly is.
Getting sick in Italy usually means picking up a package of tissues from your local street vendor and a huge box of syringes from your pharmacist.  Naturally, having read far too many articles on syringes causing AIDS, or syringe swaps in needle parks and the like, I simply cannot bring myself to buy a box of needles without feeling like my next stop is skid row.  The idea of bringing them home, preparing the liquid concoction to go inside, and giving myself a quick shot in the butt, thigh, or any other part of my anatomy for that matter is enough to shock my system 'scared straight' to good health.
In order to make absolutely sure that I don't succumb to the local customs, I import my favorite fruit-flavored liquids each and every flu season.
The worst part is, I wouldn't even need these, really...but I'd have to get a flu shot first.

Italian Census - My personal household inventory

This week mailboxes were stuffed with large white envelopes, taking the census of our countrymen.  It provoked a stir on the web for people with anxiety asking how to fill it out correctly, and if a coffee stained it was it now invalid, and other sundry items.  As for me, I took my own little census of my household--and, while I usually try to keep my rants to myself, I thought I'd share the pain...

- The heat doesn't go on in the house until November 15th, so I need to start revving up the space heaters from the basement.  Luckily, there is a 'pity clause' and if it truly grows cold here, the heat will go on.  Now if I just changed my 50 yr old windows & doors, well...there would be a minor blip in the global warming statistics.

- My bed is in the wrong place because the outlets on that side of the room don't work.  This, after spending thousands on redoing all the electrical wiring in the apartment to correct that very problem.

- I finally have consistent hot water (happily provided by Vaillant, the only name in water heaters) after years hearing from the plumber that the constant shutting down of the heater was due to the hard water of Rome.  So why is it that my neighbor, purportedly using the same water has never had a day run cold?

- After switching from Wind/Infostrada over to Vodafone Station for my home, I can no longer receive calls, and when I can make them, no one on the other end can hear me.  Calls to Vodafone prove useless, and although we don't have to pay for the customer "service" hotline, you're forced to listen to Iron Maiden covers at ear-shattering decibel levels until they come on the line.  They offered to come out to check the line for $50.  Why I didn't follow the old adage, 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'...is beyond me.  I've now asked to switch back to Infostrada, costing me over $100 in total switching fees - read the fine print (the govt passed a law to stop this practice, so, like the bank credit card cos., you're not charged a fee for switching, but another for administrative purposes...)

- Some of the shutters don't roll up properly, after having them newly installed.  The guy who installed him said he'd come fix them but I'd have to pay another 70 euro ($100) to have him check out the problem.  

- I moved the refrigerator slightly only to discover that the painters didn't bother to paint the wall behind it, so now I have a two-toned kitchen Luckily, it's now all the rage...

- I have a virtual pigeon coop on my balcony, but when I went to wash it down, a neighbor across the way shouted she would report me to the police for splashing water on the balcony below.  Talk about a ficanaso!  I now have to sponge-bath my balcony...

- A screw came loose in the shower, sending liters of water into the apartment below.  The insurance fortunately will cover it - but only half the cost of repainting. I suppose, I was half-responsible for turning water on in the shower in the first place.

- My top-of-the-line vacuum cleaner kept going on & off.  After bringing it in for repair, it got a new motor and a $225 price tag to go along with it.  And it still keeps going on & off.

- My brand new kitchen stools made from plastic have oxidized inside, leaving them foggy in appearance.  Naturally, it happened after the 30 days had expired.

- My surround sound stereo system has never worked.  Trony refused repeatedly to exchange it, saying it was my fault.  Admittedly, there may be some truth in this (I am electronically challenged), but, in the meantime sounds emanate only from two speakers.

- Visiting Americans, clearly not used to apartment living, ended up spilling wine on my freshly painted wall, breaking an expensive painting, and leaving muddy footprints all on a wall where the stools are.  I've had to ship luggage to two of them who managed to break the key in the tricky door lock  the day of departure.  I'm starting to rethink my 'barefoot at home' position...maybe I should do as the Italians do and force guests to wear slippers...or, not have guests at all.

Friends have suggested that my customer service issues occur because I am a woman...(ignoring that 80% of household purchase decisions are made by my very category), but instead, I think I need to invest in some serious feng shui experts.

And then, of course, there is the flip side: items I had lovingly installed or gifted from good friends, coming from persons with whom I had developed personal relationships, and who were often quite magnanimous in their TLC, has been nothing short of stupendous.  Except my bathroom tiles which never meet at 90 degree angles.  But hey, you can't have tutto!

I just might bring back my Business Weak reports on the disservice of the week - in the hopes that someday, a PR hack will take notice...

Back to Business (as usual)

Ahhhh...summer travels - you visit new places, some exotic, some chaotic...For me, spending summers in Italy is always a treat. The cities empty, the drivers are psychotic, but thankfully fewer, the season's events always spectacular.  But for others, lulled by the non-stop hospitality of faraway places, or just being coddled in places so exotic they forget how going back to reality might just feel...But upon your return, there's always one instance that reminds you that the summer lovin' has been called to an abrupt halt.  And in Italy, that usually has something to do with the Post Office, the supermarket, or calling a toll number customer (dis)service line.
A friend who travels back and forth to New York relayed his very own 'Bentornato in Italia' moment.  It happened at the swanky Feltrinelli store in Milan's fashionable Galleria.  Innocently enough, he breezed in to buy a few cds.  The clerk, upon ringing up the sale informed him there were no plastic bags for his purchase.  Clearly a laureate of five-star customer service training, indeed, she informed him that he "could just put them in his pockets or something."  A look of dismay crossed his face, and after he stated he might have wanted to look around, but perhaps he should only limit his browsing to pocket-sized items, she offered another type of bag for 20 cents.
Clearly not thinking like a local, he said, "If you're out of the regular bags, perhaps you should be giving me that bag for free..."  Thinking exactly like a local, she didn't budge.
Refusing to pay for a plastic bag, he then proceeded to try and put items in his jacket pockets without getting stopped by security.  As he went on his way, he happened across another cashier.  There, he found umpteen bags for the taking. 
His American side wanted to perhaps mention to the first cashier that it might be a good idea to ask a manager or a fellow cashier for bags when one went dry, but then, his Italian side kicked in and he just grabbed a bag, shrugged his shoulders and went on home. 

Hilarious Italian Names

While comedians were having a wild Bacchanal over the gift from the gods of the Weiner-Penis scandal, I couldn't help but think of one thing:  How is it that this guy went through life - especially elementary school and college - with that last name?  I always thought that Americans were very quick to change 'inconvenient' last names, especially if it was a bit embarrassing, like Pork or Hamburger or Hardon or something of that nature.  
I suppose based on the sexting (after all, isn't a picture worth a thousand words?), Weiner was clearly proud of his family name (as well as the family jewels) and wanted to 'uphold' the brand, so to speak.


I have always gotten a big kick out of the last names you come across in Italy.  In Italy, up until very very recently, and I'm quite certain in most city offices it's still not allowed, you couldn't change your name if you were armed with a Papal decree to do so.  While I've almost never come across truly embarrassing last names (the Italians clearly since time began have always kept in check their Bella Figura), you still happen upon names that never fail to put a smile on your face.


My coworkers and I used to keep a running list whenever we met a client that had one of those.  What I wouldn't give to have it now.  

Buongiorno

Mangiapane   Mr. Eatbread

Bevilacqua    Mrs. Drinkwater

Bugiardini     Little liars

Poverelli      Poor little souls
Malinconico  Melancholic

Inganno        Trickster

Tagliabue     Ox-cutter
Quattrocchi     Four-eyes

Culetto        Little ass

Bastardo
Amore
Scopacasa   Sweep house

You also come across cities that give you a chuckle, like Bastardo (Umbria) or Scopa (Screw or Sweep, near Milan), or Malpensa (Ill-thought) - one place in which I for one wouldn't want to live...

What are they putting in the drinking water in this town?A friend was tickled pink to come across this doorbell listing: 
Frega = Rip-Off | Felici = Happy | Troiani = Trojans or Whores 
[so now we know why condoms are named Trojans]

You can find another enjoyable listing here, replete with photos (just click on 'listing here') but in any case, feel free to add to mine in the comments below!

More on Italian last names - Click here 

Tante Belle Cose: January in Italy

For any Italophiles out there, of course, the best news this month was the fact that the judiciary struck down a Berlusconi law that would protect people in office from being prosecuted.  Thus the ensuing legal hassles our Premier is now undergoing.
It's true, that it distracts them from the duties of office, but, it could also keep more than one nefarious nympho from living like they're above the law, and partying like it's 1999, which, to some observers might be considered a distraction as well.

And speaking of charges, I personally was pleased as punch to hear that nine archeologists & other 'experts' were under investigation for neglect in the Pompeii collapse.  Other good news this month, is that the EU is sending Pompeii monies for propping up other at-risk buildings and so forth.  Let's just hope the funds don't end up going to prop up the construction contracts with the mob.

And, a couple more of my pet peeves were being addressed by the powers that be:   
- Kids were now going to have to take driver's tests prior to cruising around in their micro cars.  After so many senseless deaths...this is very good news.  Again, we hope that papà doesn't just grease the palms of the driver's ed instructor to let Giovanni pass with flying colors.  In fact, in a recent blitz, they nailed 51 driving instructors 'on the take' in Palermo.  At least we now know why Italians are such rotten drivers.

- The EU is trying to get the Italian banks to stop the extortion on bank account fees, double the fees of most other member countries.  As if that wasn't enough reason to store your money elsewhere, a conference will be held shortly in Lugano - in Italian - on keeping your money offshore.  It should be a nice people-watching meeting - of the who's who of Italy all in attendance...

But, my favorite bit of news was that, it took 2011 years (but who's counting?) in the making, but we finally have the arrival of 'Family-sized' milk cartons!!!  With its tag line, E' NATO IL FORMATO FAMIGLIA. E' L'ULTIMO ARRIVATO MA È IL PIÙ GRANDE DI TUTTI [family-sized form is born...the last to arrive, but bigger than all the rest]...

Coming from the country of super-size me, I can't tell you how happy this makes me.  Add to this the advent of biodegradable plastic bags in Rome...well, things in my kitchen never looked so good.  Now - to figure out how to fit it into my mini-sized fridge...

Live links in gray on official blog

Francesca Maggi's...Strange But True!

There's been some seriously strange happenings around town, and I'm not referring to all those dead animals turning up (or falling out of the skies - giving new meaning to the phrase, 'drop dead').
The most horrendous incident occurred when thieves decided it's not enough to rob the living, nor is it enough to steal precious objects from ancient tombs.  Italy's most beloved showman, Mike Bongiorno, who passed away in 2009, was stolen out of his very own grave.  The thieves will ask for ransom money in return for the corpse.  Now.
Italy has a long tradition of wealthy people coveting dead saints' bodies, even traveling with them from abode to abode.  And, I know that TV personalities are demi-gods, but, really...

Turns out this is not an isolated case, with the most famous being Charlie Chaplin.  Even the money man of Italy, Banker Enrico Cuccia, was considered an account receivable to some wily grave robbers.

On a lighter note, in Sicily, a man's favorite goat died, and so the man posted those mourning notices all over town.  His heartfelt appeal?  «Unitamente ai pochissimi e preziosissimi amici e ai molti cari conoscenti profondamente affranti da dolore, comunichiamo la prematura morte del fidato Carlo il caprone!»  Along with our precious & few friends and our dear grief-stricken acquaintances, we notify you of the premature death of our trusted Carlo - The Goat! 

So nice, I may actually consider it when little Trevor meets his maker.  But, I'm not saying these two guys are related, but, it did make at least one observer wonder...And, speaking of goats, fellow blogger - Bleeding Espresso - has a new blog in which she chronicles the life of her baby goat, Pasquilina, called Goat Berries.

And, keeping in the spirit, in an 'Only in Italy' moment, a school bus was caught with its proverbial pants down -- carrying an advertisement for a Sex Shop, Erotic Dreams.
It's a good thing the tots probably don't know much English. But, considering  large adverts are prohibited within a certain distance of schoolyards, I'm wondering where the bus driver lets the kids off for school.

Italy 2010 - The Best & Worst of a Year in Review

Following is my serendipitous selection of the Good-Buono, the Bad & the Ugly-Brutto of Life in Italy 2010.  Feel free to add your own.

milano
buono      Milan’s train station grows up – and starts adding slick services & fancy stores for passengers.
brutto       You’ll have to count on those stores for your water supply…Milan has ripped out all the fountains all around town (you know, the ones from which water flows out all day & night) because people were – gasp! – taking advantage of the freely flowing H2O and using it to wash their cars, while the homeless got cleaned up.
While I’m all for not wasting water in today’s day & age, I’d like someone to please tell me that the clean water isn’t just flowing freely underneath our feet and that shelters now provide showers.

roma
buono      Rome turned into ‘Roma Capitale’ following other capital cities in their pursuit of providing more cohesive tourist services and so on under one umbrella. Add to this a number of free evenings to the major attractions throughout the year (and the Vatican museums deserve a shout out for their night openings as well – and still free on the last Sunday of each month), and the latest announcement -- you get in free on your birthday! (Trust me, I’ll be testing their meddle on the upcoming missing Leap Day & see how the ticket agents react...) 

For now, I'll hold off judgment seeing that the latest free evenings at State-run museums in Rome, were not mentioned anywhere on the Roma capitale nor rome city websites – shame on them.

Jan 1^st also marks the day that ‘no more plastic bags’ will be used by stores – large & small – even green grocer market stands.  Not exactly true, as we’ll just be using biodegradable plastic bags.  Hopefully, it will be heavily enforced by the authorities like the hugely successful anti-smoking law.  But so far, I’ve been handed regular plastic bags, but hey, it’s only a few days in…

Activists from Retake Rome finally taking the rampant & ridiculous graffiti into their own hands – and gaining the interest (perhaps by disgracing them into action) of the Mayor's office as well.  But, will they make a long-lasting impression?  Too early to tell.

brutto     January 1^st also marks the day that tourists will start paying a tourist tax, with an increase of 1 euro at all museum entrances (not to mention at the hotels) – “To pay for all the terrific services we have in mind to offer.”  As if the 20% VAT on all that isn’t already covered.  I start losing my mind every time I think about this, so, if you want my long-winded opinion on the entire tourist tax scam, click here (or find it under Caveat Emptor on the right hand column on my blog page).

firenze/florence

buono     Turned its Piazza Duomo into a pedestrian area – and it’s wonderful.

brutto      Outlawed eating in that same inviting area and no sitting on the church steps. It's an effort to keep illegal immigrants & the homeless away, but ultimately hurts the millions of tourists who just want to take a break in a breathtaking area.

pompeii

buono      Authorities will be investigating the reasons why none of the dozens of archeologists on site could forecast the felling of the buildings.

brutto       That they fell in the first place.  Besides, the cases will probably take so long, we may never know the reasons why nor prevent it from happening again (Save building a rooftop over the entire place - a solution I'm sure the local Camorra is pushing for...)

napoli/naples

buono       Sell out shows by Saviano, the Gomorrah author both live and in TV audiences and the courage that this man has to name the most well-known secret in Italy.

brutto        That the trash piles up again for all the world to see -- along with the Neopolitans’ pat refusal to recycle, open up dumps, or see to it that those same dumps aren’t run by the mob & toxic waste isn't spilled in their path.

italy

buono        Mrs. Berlusconi finally decided not to ‘stand by her man’ – collecting her pieces and leaving the game.  Her example of walking out of the marriage farce may finally set thousands of cuckholded women and millions of ‘separati in casa’ free (of course, it eases the pain of leaving when you walk out with bags full of your Monopoly money).

brutto         Silvio’s economic plan for the underemployed youth of his time, reiterated throughout the year, “Marry rich.” 

buono        A 3hr. train ride from rome to Milan.

brutto          The price of that train ride.

Thanks for the packages, I can't wait to empty them out (Boxes carry Union labels)

with its foray into America, fiat becomes a strange source of pride for all & sundry, while taking on the unions, who have done their fare share of damage to Italy’s productivity.  and, continuing to give us colorful little 500s, they keep the love alive…

the advent of consumer’s associations. finally exercising their muscle, and getting results – on class action suits and otherwise. go to their websites to see who they’re going after.

many young women being the pride of Italy and winning competitions in fencing, tennis and swimming, among others.

prosecco outsells champagne this holiday season

brutto

Losing in the world cup along with their display of fakery on the pitch was a double-header of disgrace.

Young women who want to be showgirls or politicians (or both!) fueling the macho- man legacy and a sad statement for the future of Italy.

Aquila still in piles of rubble. But, I’m not one to complain – Ground Zero is still an open pit and New Orleans has not returned to its former self.

the last word

Blue mozzarella & fuchsia ricotta – Colorful rainbows aside, why are we importing cheeses from Germany?  Talk about a carbon footprint!

An Italian going up into outer space – for 6 months, no less.

Arrest & sequester of hundreds of mafia men & their properties

Movies set in Italy, The American, The Tourist, Eat-Pray-Love

What did you love or hate about events in Italy this year?