Shopping in Italy...What are they thinking?!

I've said it once. I'll say it again. The entire country is in dire need of Marketing 101. While Customer Service has greatly improved in this internet world (tho' you can still read replies to complaints if you want to get a big kick out of things in the world wide web), I still can't for the life of me understand why people continue to trust GoogleTranslate - rather than a mother tongue individual, or just winging it on their elementary English (Elementary, because they were 8 years old when they stopped learning it). But then, the everlovin' Rebecca Winke over at Brigolante Guest Apartments in Assisi posted this. 

A new line of upscale, all-organic dog food hits the Italian shelves.

This will forever go down in the annals of consumer product marketing - right there, next to the place of honor - still holding strong decades long - and still the undefeated champ, SOFFASS TOILET PAPER*, the ultimate in 'straight-talking consumers'. My favorite comment on her thread following, each one better than the next was, So good, your dog will want to eat it - twice. My morning espresso shot straight out of my nose.

I'm convinced they had wanted to say B.A.R.K. I am also convinced, as with Soffass, that there is one highly disgruntled marketing manager, who definitely knows more than his boss (& Company owner), and most certainly knows English. Well. And this person...well, put out the Barf Bags, so to speak. On purpose.

It cannot be any other way. Just can't. Or, to think of another conspiracy theory, one commenter posted that perhaps they really just want to sell more paper towels...! I leave you with the Last Word posted by someone else: It seems dog groomers are to be found throughout the Bel Paese by the name of "Doggy Style". Maybe they know marketing better than I think.

*OMG-No longer undefeated...! It appears they have admitted humble defeat - And the Company has now demoted the best brand name in the marketing firmament and is now going with Sofidel, the Company name.

Italian Fashion for Kids in Italy - Seriously Mini-Me's

Even Benetton's World of Colours are often muted.

A friend of mine with a newborn was opening some gifts left at the office. She said, Now wait for it. They will be the most gorgeous clothes you've ever seen - but all in greys and blacks. I mean, the clothes here in Italy are so beautiful - you can seriously imagine yourself wearing them. But...what if I want some rainbow colors on my kid? I had to laugh. So I started paying attention to store windows, and in fact, the clothes are so stunning...but she's flat-out spot on (not polka-dotted). Greys, blues, blacks, mini-scarves looking less like Winnie-the-Pooh on a blustery day and more like what the guy was wearing in UP. Just try and Google Armani Junior: Okay, okay...It is Armani but, they are kids, aren't they?
No wonder Benetton flaunted all of their myriad colors. And it was such a break from tradition. One look around (well, okay, if you happen to be in any other city than Milan), and you get to feast your eyes on our Eastern Europeans and Latinos brightening up any dark day's color palette with their unbridled embrace of anything bright - from head to toe. It's as if you've waltzed into some sort of Alice in Wonderland at the mall moment, but in your looking glass you get to gander the gorgeous fabrics more reminiscent of the days of Soviet Empire threads.
In the end, of course, the Italians are weaned on these stunning ensembles. Once grown up, they get to strut their fabulous linen stuff to the awe of all who behold them. While we Americans, with our bold colors and outrageous get-ups, and items that double as pajamas, or throw-ons (or throw-aways) as fashion, end up with People of Walmart sites instead.

Fashion for the whole American family! At Kohl's

Word: Style. 

Business Weak...Italy's Trains, Planes, & Automobiles

I've read all those Economic posts. Italy's economy is weak because of poor institutional environment, labor market problems and finances.  And while I could say that the most solid institution being the Mafia is going great guns (a concern estimated at $80 billion in revenues - of course, they don't pay taxes, but heck, neither does Silvio's Mediaset), I'd like to venture forth with an entirely different take on the matter.
Italy's economy is the 10th largest on God's Green Earth, no. 5 in the Euro Zone.
Although stagnating since oh, about 1992 (funny, since I got here), and with a Debt to GDP ratio over 100%, I love to fantasize what I'd do if I were Minister of Finance (That's where the Trains come into this post as in Train Wreck).  In my wildest dreams, I would propose a two-pronged economic formula:
1) Flexible hours & ability to have sales would boost the economy three-fold.  In my neighborhood, I can't bring clothes to the dry cleaners on a Saturday. Talk about pent-up demand. I hand-wash instead.  Now, they've tried the liberation of store hours in Rome.  Thousands of businesses closed anyway, because retailers all teamed up and decided NOT to open at lunchtimes and on their "off" days (don't ask), and on Mondays and weekends [that's due to the labor costs].
But, take a look around you.  Those business-savvy Bangladeshi guys are open morning - noon - and night.  And I'm sure by now more than a few of them have returned home very wealthy men.  Every day another Italian shop closes only to be re-opened by the Chinese trinket guys or the green market Bangladeshi.
2) Employ True Customer Service.  No, not the gals & guys working the phone lines that cannot for the life of them go off a one-word script of "NO!", but real customer service.  I'm convinced that people don't buy things anymore knowing that nothing will come of it if something goes wrong.  When everyone is cynically ripped off, they become cynical shoppers.  I, for one, would prefer to order by mail everything - even trusting that it will arrive thru that true customer service provider, The Italian Postal System.  This worked fine until the Italian govt caught up with us, and levied an automatic 21% sales tax on everything we were bringing into the country.  I started a courier service thru friends worthy of a Colombian drug lord.
Need more proof?
- The vacuum repairman convinces you you need a new motor. Still doesn't work & then tells you you have a 'new' issue and, of course, he 'never would have changed the motor if it hadn't needed it in the first place.'
- Your electricity bills are inflated or your phone co. overcharges and then charges you $1.50/minute - putting you on hold for over 28 minutes - just to tell you that they can't help you.
- Or, in my recent spat with SIXT CAR RENTAL, who charged me a nominal 25 euro above & beyond my confirmed cost on the car, ignoring my a) proof of rental agreement b) my email requests and c) their very own Customer Service line, which, to their credit was at least a free call. To get an answer, an accommodating gentleman in the UK office working the twitter lines is helping me resolve the matter.
-  When I was given the wrong battery for my car, the shop guys refused to exchange it.  I contacted Bosch headquarters in Germany, and was given a VIP treatment - on a Saturday no less - by their head tech guy in Rome as if I were Mrs. Mercedes herself.
- When my router didn't work, I tried everything.  I was told to pay about $100 for a technician to come and 'see' what the problem was, when the entire time I insisted it was because I own a mac [The Apple guys / the Telecoms guys and the router guys all said "That had nothing to do with it."]  I finally contacted the Tech guys at D-Link Australia who finally sorted me out giving me the correct codes over the phone (a 25 cent phone call).
Must one really resort to going to the UK or Germany or - gasp! - Australia to get some requisite customer service?  In the Capital City of the 10th largest economy on earth?  People have stopped partaking in the process because they think it's futile. Why pipe up about the trash or the gypsies or the graffiti or the roads or whatever when you know nothing will be done?  You simply shrug your shoulders and move on.

From Premier Portfolio

http://www.premier-portfolio.com

Ahhh...but I mentioned planes.  On the flip side, I purchased a tiny model plane of this snazzy Virgin Atlantic Boeing jet at WH SMITH in Luton Airport (London).  It was on sale.  Back home, I discovered why that was. It was missing the body and the fuselage, along with it's cute little stand.  I didn't contact WHSmith because I didn't really want a refund, just another plane body (I was now the proud owner of the wings & tail fins).  So, I contacted the suppliers on the package, Premier Portfolio instead.  And without even having submitted my sales receipt and photos of the missing airplane body, within about 3 hours I received a return email:  Sorry to hear that you have had problems with our Scale Model Plane.  A replacement will be sent today via standard Airmail.  Apologies for any inconvenience caused.  Kind regards, 

I teared up.  Truly.  With this kind of service Italy would set the world on fire.  But first, I just need to make sure the customs officials don't charge me 21% tax and service charges on top of it.   

Letter from Florence

One of the charming squares in Florence

Arriving in Florence is always a pleasure.  Not least for the absolute beauty of the place, for its ease in navigating, and for its stores.  I've come to the conclusion that Florence is like a miniscule Paris, where both the galleries and shops are brimming with shoppers and where the women dress so creatively; I even caught a guy walking down the street with a huge loaf of bread under his arm.  As far as I could tell, the only difference is that shopkeepers & waitstaff alike seem to actually appreciate you.  The city center is small enough to criss-cross on foot, and really, the only thing you need is a set of earplugs, for two reasons:  To muffle their homegrown noise pollution (narrow streets and motorinos do not make a fine mix), and to tune out the hoardes of people speaking English.

The old luggage shop has given way to a swanky coffee bar

a pleasant welcome to Florence Santa Maria Novella train station

Arriving at the train station, I was met by a fine crowd of people, distinguished from all the rest.  About 24 gypsies, making out like bandits while people scurried to purchase their tickets and hop a train.  Out in front, the Florentines have done away with their Bus Info Booth-which was one of the best things about arriving there.  I felt so sorry for the poor newsstand guy--I feel like petitioning the City Govt so he could draw a salary for offering Tourist Information.  Seeing that the last time I caught the bus out front seemingly going toward the center, I ended up 45 minutes from my destination in unbearable heat, I decided to grab a cab.  Even the Florentine taxi drivers have always been a joy to take a ride with (while they may be taking you for a ride...!).

In Milan, addresses stem from the center out down the spokes, so to speak.  But in Florence, after hiking many a mile, I knew this is not the case.   I learned from my cabbie that addresses start from the Arno River.  I thought there was something so poetic about that, although it didn't help me out -- what if your road is parallel to the Arno?  In any case, I ended up in a lovely section of Florence, down along the via Ghibellina and not so far from Santa Croce.  The streets in these parts are lined with cool shops & galleries, and not a chain store in sight.  I sat down underneath the archways of this tidy square (above), the Volta di San Piero.  A student hangout with a pub, a kebab place and a hole-in-the-wall eatery where I had a so-so ricotta & honey crepe, accompanied by a lousy cappuccino; but where the people & dog-watching was terrific, in compensation.

Burnt by the Tuscan Sun

Signed copies now at B&M Books

From there, I window shopped along the near traffic-free street, heading straight for Piazza della Repubblica - a place I like to go up on the rooftop for a drink with friends and a very fine view, indeed.  I stopped in at The Paperback Exchange to check on my book sales, before heading over nearer the Arno to B&M Books, a place selling an amazing selection of books old and new, and often hosting authors & artists.  I took advantage of their €1 and €5 book corner, and signed a few copies of my book which they had admirably placed, front & center.

At the nearby Palazzo Strozzi (one of my favorite places in Italy), an exhibit of Italian art from the Fascist period (hands down my favorite period for Italian art) is going on.  They have an outstanding cafè and a peaceful courtyard when you walk into the building.

Heading back over to the station, I caught a glimpse of a slight advertising fail for another art show (longtime readers will know it's one of my pet peeves of Life in Italy - just do a search on my blog for the word Advertising to have a hearty laugh).  I can't for the life of me think how anyone could have simply walked away from this job, thinking, Sì-That's a job well done!   I actually stopped to ponder if it was a ploy to get you to go to the exhibition, since there were more than one done up this way.  I don't think so.  Then again, maybe the poster guy needed to catch his train - or catch a thief making off with his wallet.

A show on Gothic Maolica?
Or, advertising a show on mosaic pieces...

For related posts on Florence, click below or just look at the tag cloud off to the right.

A Day Trip to Florence ... From Umbria Uncovered

Letter from Fair Florence 

Italian Mammas: Get the Right of Way

I used to buzz around town with my great-aunt back in the day and we'd ride the public transport of Rome.  Looking 20 years younger than she actually was, she would always complain (and this was back in the 1990s) that men never gave up their seat for her anymore.  In her eyes (and I suspect she was not mistaken), the age of chivalry was decidedly over.  I always quipped that she should count herself lucky; after all, no one thought she was in her 80s! She should see it as a blessing that she was forced to strap hang with the best of them.
But over the years, I see that it's true.  Generally, it's only other women on board who give up their posts for the elderly, and those pregnant women or women with children just have to stand through it all.

But back in the 1990s, Milano started a trend with its Pink Parking or Strisce Rosa - parking spots reserved for pregnant women. It's a great idea, but implementation (and the hobgoblin of life in Italy - enforcement) has proved about as illusive as staying on an 'abstinence only' program.  After all, the system runs on honor -- basically, the honesty of others - especially SUV drivers - who can't wait to find an oversized empty space to park their mini-cruise ships on streets originally made for mules.  
You can't get a traffic ticket for parking in the spots, and no one is truly standing there waiting to see if you have a bulge - other than your very own pot belly from all the time spent driving around in an SUV trying to find a parking spot - when you get out.  So naturally, by the time the trend arrived in Naples, people think it's akin to spitting in the wind.
In an effort to allow the mammas-to-be to go about out their business without too much hassle, some places are taking things into their own hands.  First, they post signs "Pregnant women get the right of way."  But then, they found that women who may not be pregnant were cutting the line.  So now, at the Red Cross hospital, for example, the sign reads: "ONLY VISIBLY pregnant women get the right of way." 
At the Carrefour grocery store, they are now introducing the right of way to wheelchairs and pregnant women - probably visibly pregnant - as well.  I can just hear the cashiers now: Instead of, "Are you a card member for extra points?", they now ask, "How far along are you?" quickly followed by "Are you sure you should be eating that stuff, in your condition?"
I think it's a terrific measure, but thought about applying this in the USA, where first-off, people still have kids and a lot of them and mega-stores like Target or Wal-mart are filled with obese people and the elderly spinning around in their electric golf carts.  Yielding to that army of users means, you'd never get your turn at the till..

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? 

Made in Italy: A dying breed?

Walking down Rome's main shopping artery, I was struck by the signs plastered in the window of one tiny menswear shop, David Hamilton.  Perhaps named after the proprietor, or perhaps after the sort of Martin Luther King of the Virgin Islands, David Hamilton Jackson, I stopped to look.  Here there was, one person's response to the Chinese invasion of cheap imports which have now come to occupy every main shopping street across all of Europe (not to mention the gaudy tourist open market stalls and the stalls lining Assisi, Venice & other once fine Italian gift shops).  Looking for boots this winter in Paris, I could not, for the life of me, find one pair of boots that I hadn't already seen in the windows of three dozen identical shops just down the road, all at the same ridiculously low price.  I finally bought my Spanish-made boots in Barcelona.

Our hapless Colonello Budino (that's Colonel Custard in English), surrounded on all sides by the enemy, did not yet raise the white flag.  His white signs instead read:

This same shirt costs only €9 at Rome's Termini Station

These same shoes you can buy for a song just down the road.

He went on to inform us how the items in his store were all proudly Made in Italy.  And we consumers should all support the brand (especially if we want clothes that won't rip apart at the seams after six washings).  I thought this was a brilliant initiative at least from one conscientious retailer.  
Tourists flock to the all-Italians cashmere stores in Umbria, head to the tailor's for hand-made cotton shirts or linens, so...why not promote the quality of locally made clothes and keep the local producers in business?
Of course, this ignores the fact that many of Hamilton's peers in the rag trade have long ago moved production over to Bangladesh, Turkey or China.  Lending credence to the word "rag", which your Fendi sheets and fine silk lingerie, or Max Mara macks will look like in just over a season. 
The big names go abroad while the tiny leather producers have sold out their own children to make a quick buck: They send their kids over to China to teach our Chinese overlords how to make fine Florentine leather bags and Murano glass objects.  Sometimes, it's the Chinese who come here.  Set foot in Prato and you'll see what I mean.  Sadly, these kids will be the last of their long family line to work in the artisan trade.
If that's not enough, many manufacturers boast their Made in Italy claim to fame.  But they have merely applied the last few stitches on their items in Italy, you know, the ones that attach the label Made in Italy to the garment itself.


With bright yellow flyers distributed outside his front door, David Hamilton goes on to implore the last battle cry: 

Before buying, always ask where your article came from.  Help keep the Italian companies and small retailers alive.  EVVIVA!  MADE IN ITALY

*And as for my theory about the name coming from David Hamilton Jackson?  These Anglo-named shops sprouted up after the war - adding a sort of international pizzazz to the shopping experience.  But certainly, in marketing-challenged Italy, I never would have thought that they sold Italian clothes there as well.  Nearer the Spanish Steps, you can also find another fine Italian-made menswear store, Jackson.  

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. 

Rome's Best Dressed List

Milan may be the fashion capital of Italy, but when it comes to your parish priest, mecca is in Rome.  If you find yourself in or around the Pantheon, you'll be amazed by the window shopping.  You can find any number of objects with which to hold your liturgical services, from candlesticks to purple robes fit for a Cardinal.  I've never gone in to price compare, but I have often wondered about these sorts of things.  I mean, what does a Bishop's hat run these days? And, are they available online?

 www.calendarioromano.org

Turns out, these Urban VIII outfitters do more than put cloaks on the backs of poor Franciscan Friars.  It seems that priests the world over covet their collars and count their cotton fibers as coyly as Martha Stewart in a Frette sheet boutique.  My sources reveal that if Martha were a nun, she'd be picking her frocks at Barbiconi's, the Armani of priestwear; located somewhat ironically on via St. Catherine of Siena, a woman who received her own habit from a Dominican tertiary.  Maybe not so ironic when you learn that Catherine was the daughter of a wealthy Sienese garmento.

Every year, dashing young priests pose for calendars which you can find around Rome.  Who knew that they are simply the Kate Moss' of their order, shopping on High Street for the very outfits in which they're shown?  Considering how impressively clothed are our 'men of the cloth', make sure your cloth has the right label attached.

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.

Tante Belle Cose - A new decade dawns in Italy

January may have just ended, but the New Year is ushering in all kinds of new & wonderful happenings here in Italy:

I returned to Rome to find a new building had gone up within the shopping center they’re building in my neighborhood.  Generally, I’m against such constructions (especially since…do we really need another shopping mall in Rome??), but I was nonetheless impressed.  The shopping center itself has taken years to erect, and so, to find a whole spanking new building (nicely designed, I might add) where a huge pit had been just two months previously, well, I thought was pretty cool.

After all, given the recession, it could have gone the other way and ended up as yet one more eco-mostro cement skeleton littering the landscape.

Then, I saw they had roped off the nearby thoroughfare – presumably to cut down the rest of the trees City Officials seem to find so offensive.  Instead, there they were, bulldozers.  Ripping out the patchwork of tree trunks from those they felled the year before.   

And, miracles of miracles, actually replacing those stumps with new trees!

Too bad these trees will not reach the heights of their predecessors (the city is sick of paying for damages when branches fall), but they’re a definite improvement to the mini-forum of 3 ft columns lining the roads.

But why they did not turn the corner and replace a few of the nearly petrified forest of tall stumps (they've been that way some 20-odd years) on every other nearby street is beyond me…

And, to top it all off, the ciliegio sulla torta...(drum roll, please)...While at a dinner party, I discovered that Minister Bersani (a while back) had succeeded in passing a law whereby the banks are no longer allowed to charge 80 or 100 euro or more for you to close your bank account!!! 

For every expat on earth who ever fled Italy, refusing to close your accounts -- you can come out of hiding!!  Close them with relish and never see another mountain of bills – errr, I mean bank statements – from Cassa di or Banca del ever again. 

Yes, the decade is off to quite a nice start.

Expat Shopping Spree

My friend Annabel, accomplished chef, food writer & marketing maven came to Rome to work in an authentic trattoria. She blogged about her experience (and terrific recipes as well) here [Her past blogs include India: Who's Sari Now? and Tokyo: Vending for your life - where she left with no suitcase & decided to purchase all of her necessities from the ubiquitous vending machines which purportedly sell everything from underwear to electronics and more..]. Needless to say, the last time she came over, she ended up developing Tex Mex menus for Dixieland restaurants in Milan, training the kitchen staff to make Huevos Rancheros and Silver Dollar Pancakes (still on offer, I might add -- although they probably cost a silver dollar to eat them).


Her arrival sparked in me, however, a little Expat Shopping Spree. Having not been back to the USA for well over a year, I was in definite need of stuff. And, I'm very brand loyal. So, for any of you 'across the pond' who come visit us expats over here, here goes.  My brother, for one, stocks up on yummy granola, kids' toothpaste and vitamins. This is not to say you can't find the items here (and Carrefour gets our vote), but, at nearly $12 for a little bottle of maple syrup, well, it's a lot less trouble to go to www.drugstore.com and let your fingers do the walking (and your friends do the carrying).


So, here's my short list of things I absolutely, positively, cannot live without (it goes without saying that we're talking family-sized containers, a concept that has not quite reached the continent):


Maple syrup - because here it costs more than truffles
Imitation vanilla - bottles here are sold for a family of lilliputians
Arrid Extra Dry - incredibly, boiling hot Europe offers either anti-perspirant or deodorant, and never the twain shall meet. I won't go into the net effect of this most outrageous practice.
Brown sugar - not cane, but soft, packed, thrice-refined, imperative for cookies, brown
Ghirardelli Brownie Mix - I know a caterer in London who brings it in by the case full -- there is no greater product on earth.
Bisquick -- for those Sunday a.m. pancakes - and don't let them fool you, Europeans love American breakfasts if it's put in front of them.
Aveeno lotion-- this is sold here, and prices on toiletries are nearly the same these days, but I still hold out for the family-size
Ditto for Johnson's Baby Oil, Nivea & other sundry items including Aquafresh (which, anyone coming to Europe will find the 'minty' taste has been altered -- turns out, they hate our mint, we theirs).
Starbucks chai tea packs - they don't sell the loose stuff over here (and thankfully, there are no Starbucks in Italy -- I think even the Italians will balk at a 4 euro latte)
Brita water filters -- can't find them at those prices over here!
Marshmallows -- just because
Hand-held dish scrubber sponges -- make great gifts too!
Altoids -- they say they come from England, but you won't find them over there (believe me, I've tried!)
Coffeemate & Folgers Instant when you want a cup o'Joe that's "good to the last drop" and decidedly not an espresso with lots of water added!


And, for those of you leaving Italy, always pack a huge family-sized Nutella jar, 'cuz you won't find 'em even that large at CostCo. Touchè.