• Contact
  • Elaborations
    • A Policeman’s View
    • Driving School Diary
    • Great Danes
    • IVA charged on Tassa Rifiuti
    • Nana
    • Old trains and Old weekends
    • The peasant, the virgin, the spring and the ikon
    • Will Someone Please, Please Take Me to Scotland??
  • Recipes
    • ‘Mbriulata
    • *Baked Barley and Mushroom Casserole*
    • *Captain’s Boston Baked Beans*
    • *Cherry Tart*
    • *Crimson Pie*
    • *Louise’s Birthday Cake*
    • *Melanzane alla Parmigiana* – Eggplant Parmesan
    • *Penne with Cabbage and Cream
    • *Pizzoccheri della Valtellina*
    • *Pumpkin Ice Cream*
    • *Risotto alla Bolognese*
    • *Rolled Stuffed Pork Roast* on the rotisserie
    • *Shrimp and Crayfish Tail Soup*
    • *Spezzatino di Vitello*
    • *Stuffed Grape Leaves*
    • *Swordfish with Salsa Cruda*
    • *Tagliarini with Porcini Mushrooms*
    • *Tagliatelli al Frutti di Mare*
    • *Tzatziki*
    • 10th Tee Apricot Bars
    • Adriana’s Fruit Torta
    • Artichoke Parmigiano Dip
    • Best Brownies in the World
    • Clafoutis
    • Cod the Way Sniven Likes It
    • Cold Cucumber Soup
    • Crispy Tortillas with Pork and Beans
    • Easy spring or summer pasta
    • Fagioli all’ucelleto
    • Fish in the Ligurian Style
    • Hilary’s Spicy Rain Forest Chop
    • Insalata Caprese
    • Kumquat and Cherry Upside Down Cake
    • Lasagna Al Forno con Sugo Rosato e Formaggi
    • Lemon Meringue Pie
    • Leo’s Bagna Cauda
    • Leo’s Mother’s Stuffed Eggs
    • Louis’s Apricot Chutney
    • Mom’s Sicilian Bruschetta
    • No-Knead Bread (almost)
    • Nonna Salamone’s Famous Christmas Cookies
    • Pan-fried Noodles, with Duck, Ginger, Garlic and Scallions
    • Pesto
    • Pesto
    • Pickle Relish
    • Poached Pears
    • Polenta Cuncia
    • Pumpkin Sformato with Fonduta and Frisee
    • Rustic Hearth Bread
    • Sicilian Salad
    • Soused Hog’s Face
    • Spotted Dick
    • Swedish Tea Wreaths
    • The Captain’s Salsa Cruda
    • Tomato Aspic
    • Vongerichten’s Spice-Rubbed Chicken with Kumquat-Lemongrass Dressing
    • Winter Squash or Pumpkin Gratin
    • Zucchini Raita

An Ex-Expatriate

~ and what she saw

An Ex-Expatriate

Category Archives: Italy

Going Postal

30 Saturday May 2009

Posted by farfalle1 in Italian bureaucracy, Italian habits and customs, Italy, Uncategorized

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Italian mail service, Italian post, Mail in Italy, missing mail, Post man, Postino

mailbox

Our postman was kind of grumpy and never returned our greetings.

BOO!

We have a new postman!

YAY!

He won’t bring us any mail.

BOO!

It does seem that Italy is conspiring to give us every frustrating experience we’ve ever read or heard about.  Crummy mail service?  Oh come on, that news is so old it’s no longer true.  Italian mail service has improved considerably, even in the few years we’ve been here.

Except for packages.  If someone sends you a package from outside the EU, heaven forbid, you are likely to be asked to pay twice the contents’ value in duty.

And except for when a new postman takes over the route.

We haven’t received a piece of mail in almost three weeks.  The Captain went to the Post Office and was told they couldn’t help him.  But the nice woman there gave him the phone number of the Capo della Squadra Rapallo.  He told Louis that probably there just hadn’t been any mail for us, because “I’ve checked your bin and there’s nothing there for you.”

Rosa across the street sings a different song.  “The postman doesn’t know where your box is,” she explained.  Gee, the kids that put firecrackers in it last week didn’t have any trouble finding it – maybe he could ask them.  Or maybe he could ask Rosa; or his boss at the Post Office; or, a novel idea, the man who delivered the mail until three weeks ago.  If he was a particularly  enterprising person he could get off his scooter and look down the stairs that lead to our house.  There he would see it, proudly green and red, and mounted as close to the road as possible – our mailbox!  (Because we live below the road there is no street-level place to hang a mailbox.)

I hear you saying, “Well, maybe you really don’t have any mail.  You don’t get very much, do you?”

You’re right, we get precious little – the odd billet doux from the IRS, perhaps a stray check or bill, and the envelope with a pair of CD’s in it that friends sent a while ago from the States which we’ve not yet seen.  It’s not much, but we’d rather like the chance to look at it ourselves.

The Captain is irritated.  He is about one day away from disgruntlement.  He is going to lie in wait for the post man and lead him by the nose to our box.

Meanwhile, we kind of wonder what may have happened to our mail…

Gotta match?

21 Thursday May 2009

Posted by farfalle1 in Customs, Italian bureaucracy, Italian habits and customs, Italy, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

buying matches in Italy, matches, monopolies in Italy, monopoly on matches in Italy, salt monopoly in Italy

Tabacchi sign“Don’t forget to pick up some matches,” I reminded the Captain when he was headed out to market for dinner the other day.

“It’s on the list,” he answered.  But this was no guarantee that the matches would come home with the groceries, because it takes a special stop at a special shop to get matches; you cannot buy them in a grocery store or supermarket.  Or at a gas station or a restaurant.  In fact, the only place you can buy matches (fiammiferi – fee-ah-me’-fair-ee) is at the shop of the tabachaio (tah-bah-kaay’-oh), the tobacconist.

The tabacchaio sells more than just tobacco and matches.  As you can see from the sign above he also sells Lotto tickets, salt (sale) and Valori Bollati (literally stamps with value).  Salt?  You can buy salt in the grocery store now; I’ve never actually tried to buy any from a tabacchaio,  it might be fun to try.

But WHY??  Why can we buy matches only at the Tabacchi?  Ha.  It’s because the State still has a monopoly on the sale of matches (as well as tobacco).  Look under the Right cross piece of the T in the photo – it says Riv No. 14.  That stands for Rivendita – a resale point – and this is tobacco shop #14 in Rapallo.  Our friend Sandro told us that the number of such shops is limited in each town; which is to say that if you or I wanted to open up a new cigarette store we’d be out of luck.  One must take special exams to sell tobacco, matches, etc., and it is difficult and complicated.  No surprise there.

Sandro said, furthermore, that once you have your tobacco store you serve at the pleasure of the State; you must be open at certain times, according to a state-determined schedule. As in any monopoly, prices are set by the monopoly-holder.  The box of matches that eventually found its way to our kitchen carried a tax stamp,tax stamp on match box like the ones that come on liquor bottles in the U.S.  No doubt the State gets a nice profit from the whole enterprise; they get to set the price and to tack on a tax. One kitchen-sized box of matches cost E1.

Valori Bollati are tax stamps.  A document frequently needs a tax stamp before it can be presented.  For instance, when we applied for our permessi di soggiorno we had to attach a tax stamp for E 14.62 (I know, but that’s what it was!) to each application. Most applications carry a tax charge, and you get the stamp, the bollato, from the tabacchaio.  This is the same thing as the ‘application fees’ that US residents know so well.  The only difference is that there’s an added layer of inconvenience: you have to go to the Tabacchi to get the stamp, instead of just paying at the office where you’re filing your paper.

And the salt?  Turns out the State used to have a monopoly on salt, but gave it up in 1976, at the behest of the European Economic Commission.  Why the signs have not been changed in the intervening 30+ years is a mystery.  (Lotto has been around in Italy at least since the 1880’s, as this New York Times article explains).

It’s seems odd to an American, this business of a monopoly.  We have laws forbidding such things in the States, but here in Italy it is part of the government’s business.  The only monopoly I can think of in the US is the postal service, and even that has competition from FedEx and UPS. Other than taxes I can’t think of another government monopoly – can you?

You won’t find The Little Match Girl in Italy.  In fact, unless you go to the Tabacchi, you won’t find any matches at all.

Permesso ad nauseam

25 Saturday Apr 2009

Posted by farfalle1 in Italian bureaucracy, Italy, Law and order, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Carta di Sogiorno, permesso di sogiorno

This is a two-part post.  The first was written before April 21st, the second part afterwards…

Some stories just grind on, and on, and on…  the end just may be in sight, though, for the Tale of the Elusive Permessi.

Our former Permessi di Soggiorno, the very important documents that give us permission to be in the country, expired last July.  With the invaluable help of the Patronato office in Rapallo we each applied (in May!) for a Carta di Soggiorno, which will give us a permission of longer duration.  (The accounts of this adventure up to now can be found here.)  Unfortunately the process was not completed before we left the country in November.

The Captain was able to navigate the Questura’s website when we got back, and found, to our delight, that our Permessi are now ready for us. Yippee!!  But of course one cannot simply show up at the Questura and ask for them; one must make an appointment.  And there’s only one way to do that.  One must go to the Questura.  In Genova.  On a Tuesday or Thursday between 3:30 and 5:30 p.m.  Well, okay… seems a little Baroque, but we’re game.

So we hopped on the local train (I love any train ride, so I was thrilled), rode 40 minutes to Genova, trotted tpermesso-appointmento the gate at the Questura, thrust our passports under the glass and were issued with two little slips of paper with the day (April 21), the time (10:00 a.m.) and the numbers of our appointments.  Then we jogged back to the train station and just caught a train which, 40 minutes later, dropped us in Rapallo.

Next Tuesday, April 21, we will repeat the exercise, although we know full well that we will sit in the waiting room for an indeterminate amount of time until our names are called.  At least this time we have been given appointments on the same day.  We had to go on successive days last time.  With luck we will be given shiny new Carte di Soggiorno that will last us five years.  By which time we will have forgotten what a long process this has been.

I’m not really complaining about Italian bureaucracy (yes I am); it’s their country, and they are very nice to allow us to be here at all, and we are happy (well, willing anyway – what choice do we have?) to comply with any and all requirements to stay here.  But doesn’t it seem odd that one cannot make an appointment by phone, fax or e-mail?  They’ve seen the passports before and taken fingerprints and, and, and…  In fact, why not just mail us the Permessi?  Oh gosh, there I go again, being all American and efficient.  Where’s the fun in that?

———– TIME PASSES————-

Okay… it’s disclaimer time…

We went to the Questura at the appointed time, and after only a little confusion were sent down to the Immigration waiting room.  Here is the rest of the 10 o’clock gang:

questura-waiting-roomIt’s a stuffy room at the best of times, so we prefer to wait outside where we can also keep an eye on the room to which we will eventually be summoned.  That’s it on the right behind all the glass:

questura

Now here’s the amazing thing.  Our appointments were for 10 a.m., and we were actually called in at 10:30.  We have never, ever, had such a short wait at the Questura.  Not only that, once one is called in there is frequently another long wait inside.  Not this time.  There were two people in front of us, each of whom took less than five minutes.  The Captain walked up to the glass partition when his number was called, pushed his passport and old permesso through, and back came a paper for a signature, followed rapidly by an envelope containing his permesso card and a bunch of secret codes for things we don’t understand (yet).  Then it was my turn, and everything was just as expeditious.

We walked out of the Questura at 10:45, both proud holders of Permessi di Soggiorno that are good until 2013 – that’s four years!  It makes us feel almost indolent to have that much time before we must repeat the process.  Now the trick will be to remember to apply for the new permessi in late 2012…

Back in the Saddle Again

17 Friday Apr 2009

Posted by farfalle1 in Driving in Italy, Flowers, Italy, Liguria, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

louis-gil-rose

The saddle of my scooter, that is…  and what a great way to travel it is.  It’s economical and efficient – scooters here routinely pass a standing (or slower moving) line of cars, and move to the head of the class at any red light. (That’s my scooter… but that’s not me!)

One of the unsung pleasures of scootering is that you get an ever-changing panoply of scents.  It’s true, they’re not always pleasant, but at this time of year they tend to be floral and heavenly.  The wisteria (glicine, pronounced glee-chee-nay) is in bloom and is draped over numerous walls along the highways and byways.

wisteria

It puts out a delicious aroma.  The jasmine (gelsomino, prounounced jell-zo-mee-n0) is just beginning to flower.  It’s a thug (that’s a technical horticultural term for anything that spreads rapidly and is hardy), but is so pretty and has such a sweet smell that we forgive it its pushy habits.

jasmine-4-14-2009-12-31-14-pm

About the time this finishes blooming the ‘false jasmine,’ the pitosfero, will appear, and it’s perfume is a match for the true jasmine.

Riding in a car one tends to miss most smells except the most overstated (I’m thinking about a skunk, aren’t you?).  But riding on a scooter in the Riviera can be like inhaling a dictionary of different odors, and this time of year they’re more likely than not to be extremely pleasant.  Just riding up Via Betti at about 9:30 a.m. one enjoys first  the garbage plant (not so nice), some glicine over a wall (gorgeous), and fianlly the smell of freshly baked bread from our local bakery (scrumptuous)… and it’s only been half a kilometer.

We were glad to see more scooters in the US than in previous visits.  No, it’s not the safest mode of transport – for that I suppose you’d want a Hummer.  But for ease, economy and pure gioia di viaggiare, nothing beats a scooter.  We were both really glad to climb back aboard ours.

The final drop…

22 Monday Dec 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Italy, Liguria, Rapallo, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Acqua Potabile, water problem

photo-water-dropThe Water Problem, so movingly and eloquently described here, has been resolved.  I don’t imagine anyone’s particularly happy; we certainly aren’t.  But at least it’s over.

Our lawyer looked at all the documents and told us that we must pay the c. E 2,500 that Acqua Potabili demanded.  Our only remaining recourse is to go to the neighbors for help.

The Captain called A.P. and arranged to have all documents e-mailed to us here in the States.  There will be no second shoe dropping.  The bill we received here covered up to September, when we discovered and corrected the problem.  It began in excess of E 6,000, to which Mr. A.P. applied a bewildering series of reductions to arrive at the E 2,500 figure.

It all has a bit of good-cop bad-cop feel to it.  Bad Cop – “You owe us E 6,000!”  Good Cop – “But you only have to give us E 2,500!”  This, I guess, is meant to make us feel better, and to make up in some way for the appalling lapse of time between meter reads and bills.  But in fact, the bill is about 75 times larger than what we would reasonably expect, and somehow even though A.P. has made big concessions, it just doesn’t feel all that good.

Except for the fact that it’s over.  That part feels just fine.

Mail Shock PS

16 Tuesday Dec 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Italian habits and customs, Italian men, Italy, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

il postino, Italian mail, the mailman

postino1The captain was sad that in the earlier mail post I didn’t describe our postino, an unsmiling fellow who refuses to acknowledge us when we meet on the street.  He’s one of those scooter-riders who always has a burning cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth; maybe that’s why he doesn’t smile.

(Um, no.  This is not a photo of our postino. Darn.)

In any event, he, like the other postini, delivers the mail by scooter.  Where a passenger might sit he has a large plastic bin into which the post has been put in delivery order.  While it seems that he doesn’t make the trip all the way up to our house every day, he does come in all kinds of weather.  We’ve seen him picking his careful way along the road, hunkered down against a driving rain.  So if it’s ‘neither sleet nor rain…’ that keeps our postino from his appointed rounds, what is it?  Whim? Lack of mail? Post Office scheduling? A mystery!

Italian Water Torture

08 Monday Dec 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Italy, Liguria, Rapallo, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Acque Potabili, Italian water

s_glass_of_water1

I’ve been putting off writing this account because every time I think about it I want to s-c-r-e-a-m.  I will try to keep it brief, but I shall fail. And before I start on the Tale of Woe, you should know that Italy is justifiably proud of its delivery of excellent public water. They’ve worked hard to see that safe water is universally available, and they’ve done a great job at that.  But.

In September I casually opened our water bill.  It comes twice a year and is usually in the neighborhood of E 30-40.  I almost fainted when I saw the amount due on the new bill: E 3,276.00.  Now I thought I’d seen everything outrageous that Italian utilities could hurl at us when, after five years, the electric company finally took an actual meter reading and sent us a bill in excess of E 800.  But E 3,000?  Surely this was a typo.

It was not a typo.  We had, unbeknownst to us, a leak, a ‘perdita’, from our supply pipe.

geyser1Well, ya big dummies, I hear you thinking – didn’t you even notice the ground was wet or something?  Well, no.  We didn’t.  The black plastic pipe that brings water to our house originates at a ‘contatore’  (a water meter which is also the site of the junction with the water main) about half a kilometer up the road from our house.  It crosses under the road, and then runs down a very steep torrente, a river bed which is usually dry unless there’s been a lot of rain.  The torrente is very narrow and runs between our neighbor Giovanni’s house and the property of other neighbors, the Trattoria Rosa family. It is, by and large, invisible.  The pipe then runs under the road again and then goes underground to arrive at our house.

Neither the Captain nor I was able to scramble up the torrente to look for a pipe problem – it is that steep.  We called our trusty friend Giovanni, the mighty-river1Human Backhoe, the very strong Romanian who has his own building business now.  He arrived in a couple of hours with a wiry young man who was able to climb up the rocky stream bed.

He found that our neighbor Giovanni’s wall had tumbled down into the torrente, breaking and burying our plastic pipe in the process.  Hence the water loss was never visible, nor was there any noticeable decrease in water pressure at the house.

The Water Company (Acque Potabili) has an office in Rapallo which is open three mornings a week, and there you can speak with an actual person.  Unfortunately she was unable to do anything other than give us the fax number for the main office in Torino where she instructed us to send a letter explaining the problem, along with photographs and the Backhoe’s bill (too many Giovanni’s in this story).

That’s right.  Fax number.  Acque Potabili doesn’t give you a phone number until things have become quite desperate. But they will call you, and a very helpful man did call.  What he said amazed us.  Here is the chronology of what happened, as we’ve pieced it together from this conversation:

n.b. Our normal usage for 6 months is +/- 100 cubic meters

Sept. 2007 – we received a normal bill from a normal  Feb. 2007  reading

August 2007 – the meter was read, usage showed 824 cm

Feb. 2008 – we received an ‘estimated’ bill of about E 35, in spite of the fact there  a reading had been made in August 2007

Feb. 2008 – the meter was read, usage showed 767 cm

Sept. 2008 – we received the gigantic bill

In the course of the conversation from Mr. Acque  in Torino Louis learned that, based on our meter readings, our actual bill should be in the neighborhood of E 6,500.  In that conversation Mr. Acque said they would reduce the bill to E 2,500.

We have also been in touch with neighbor Giovanni’s family (he died earlier this year) and they are willing to discuss sharing responsibility with us.  All our Italian friends have said, “But of course, it is the neighbors’ fault. Their wall fell on your pipe.  They should pay.”

Another friend suggested we should charge the water company with threatening our health because the leak was  there for so long that impurities could have entered our water, and they did nothing to notify us.

We have just received news that a telegram arrived this week threatening to turn off the water if the bill is not paid by Dec. 23.  Merry Christmas! At least this time we’ve been given a telephone number and have found their web site with contact information; the Captain will call first thing tomorrow morning. And at least the exchange rate, which was $1.50 = E 1 when the bill arrived has improved to $1.27 = E 1 today. And thank goodness we have a wonderful friend who checks the mail and alerted us to impending trouble.

falls

But still.  Wouldn’t you think a company has some responsibility to bill in a timely fashion, and especially a responsibility to alert a client to a problem?  We thought so, but evidently we were mistaken. (We must be becoming partially Italian since, in this case, ‘timely’ means six months later.)  Think of the water that was wasted, for starters, then think of the size of the bill.  It makes us both groan.  There does not seem to be any board or commission that oversees the operation of monopoly utilities in Italy – at least not one that a consumer has access to.

Me?  I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall.  This big bill was based on a meter reading from February, 2008.  What might the bill of February 2009, based on an August 2008 reading, have in store for us?

Stay tuned!

Mail Shock

29 Saturday Nov 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Italian habits and customs, Italy, Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Italian mail service, junk mail, posta, posta italiana

In July a friend sent us, in Italy, a CD of photographs he had taken during his visit the month before.  In August he received notification that he had not filled out the customs form in a manner satisfactory to the Italian authorities (evidently ‘CD Photos’ was not specific enough).  In early October the CD arrived back at his home in Maryland, having enjoyed two Atlantic crossings.  In November we received it here in Arizona, thanks to the always-reliable US Postal Service and a helpful friend.

stamp_italian_medThe Italian mail service is a puzzle to us.  As previously noted, the Post Office serves as an immigration office, bill-paying office and bank as well as a mover of mail pieces, so that complicates everything.  And, in fact, mail service in Italy has improved dramatically in just the few years we’ve lived there.  Depending on the time of year and the type of mail sent, something sent from Italy can actually arrive in the US in five days, and vice versa.  “Depending” is the operative word, however.  Our absentee ballots for the presidential election were sent twice from Arizona.  The first mailing arrived four weeks after being sent, the second arrived on Nov. 5th.  Perhaps the larger size of the envelopes held things up.  A simple letter or post card will move quickly, if it’s not August or December. Anything outside that norm will take much longer and will likely have been opened and mulled over by mysterious postal functionaries before being sent on.

The historical unreliability of the postal service has kept its usage to a minimum.  Mail order of anything is in its infancy in Italy.  Amazon, for instance, has no Italian presence though it is big in Great Britain, Japan, Austria, Spain, Germany, China, etc.  China, for heaven’s sake, but not Italy.

The shock, though, was to come back to the States this year and begin picking up our daily mail.  What a roosevelt1stampsea of nonsense and waste!  Newspapers and flyers we don’t want, ads for things we’ve never heard of, pleas for money from unknown agencies, offers for health insurance, medical care, legal counsel and catalogs – who dreams up all those catalogs? – it all surges into our little post box in waves.  And as quickly as it arrives it is sent to the recycle bin whence it will, presumably, become what it was from the get-go: toilet paper.

Perhaps somewhere there is a happy medium, something between the tsunami of junk that washes up on our Arizona shores daily, in which a friend’s actual hand-addressed envelope was almost lost,  and the barren desert of Italian mail which arrives once or twice a week and contains only the alarming statements of mortgage rate increases the bank sends monthly, startling bills from the water company or irritating offers from the despicable Sky television (how many soccer stations does one household need??).  I would like to live in that unknown place, or at least take a look at their commemorative stamps.

Culture Shock X 2

22 Saturday Nov 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Customs, Italian habits and customs, Italy, Law and order, Photographs, Travel

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

culture shock, German habits and customs, Lufthansa, Mainz Germany

You know the old joke: In heaven the French are the cooks, the Italians are the lovers, the Germans are the engineers, and the English are the diplomats; in hell the Germans are the lovers, the English are the cooks, the Italians are the engineers and the French are the diplomats.  Flying from Italy to spend a couple of nights in historic Mainz, Germany on the banks of the Rhine made us think of that.

Our first indication that we were in the Land of Precision was the airplane trip itself.  We had a 20-minute connection in Munich to catch a flight to Frankfurt.  Lufthansa had a van waiting for us when our first flight ended which whisked us to the other side of the airfield and our second flight.  Amazing.  Meanwhile, in Rome a friend was enduring a 5-hour delay for his Alitalia flight and, needless to say, he missed all his ensuing connections.  We can only say that if you have the choice between Lufthansa and other carriers, you won’t regret choosing the former.

Some things were remarkably similar, for instance, the market, where only the mittens and heavy jackets told us we were no longer on the Riviera:

img_7094

Mittens, jackets, and, oh jawohl! the background:

img_7082

That is the Dom, the great central cathedral of old Mainz.

The good burghers live on the other side of the platz:

img_7088

When we left Rapallo the Christmas lights were just being strung across the streets and wound around the palm trees.  In Mainz, too, Christmas was definitely in the air:

img_7108

Big trees like the one behind this fountain were being placed in all the main squares.  And what says “Christmas” in Germany more than this?

img_7152

Good as the Italians are at most things culinary, they have not yet mastered the gingerbread house, or, for that matter, the angry Santa.  What is wrong with him?? Must be those pesky elves misbehaving again.

Speaking of gingerbread, you don’t see many houses like this in Italy:

img_7105

But above all, the culture shock of being in Germany was the cleanliness and order that was all around. Italians are more casual about such things.  What exemplified it best for us was the difference in airport trash receptacles.  In the Genova airport they are here and there, and on the floor around them is evidence of well-intentioned but careless effort.  In the Frankfurt airport on the other hand, the trash receptacles look like this:

img_7153

They are almost frightening.

Part Two of culture shock was arriving at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport in Texas. We flew on American Airlines which was comfortable, on time, and staffed with very pleasant flight attendants.  America!  We were honest citizens and, on the customs form, said Yes to the question, ‘are you bringing food with you.’  Our punishment was to be sent to the Agriculture Inspection Area where a long line awaited processing.  Fortunately a kindly inspector took pity on us, quizzed us on our cheese and olive oil, and let us through.  A few years ago I brought a cat into Italy with nary a glance from the customs officers to whom I tried to introduce him at the Milano airport.  So, Officials and Inspections and Security, all on a level a bit above that we’ve grown accustomed to.  (On the other hand, no one holds a candle to Italians when it comes to plain old bureaucracy.)

Then there’s size.  Everything seems huge in America when one is accustomed to Italian scale.  Beginning with the large people, and moving right along to the large automobiles, roads and houses which accommodate them.  It’s a change of scale that takes one’s breath away.

We’re in Arizona now, and will be for a few months, having traded a sea of water for one of sand.  Oddly, though we’ve always been Americans, we feel a bit like expatriots in our own country now; perhaps we’ve been living away too long.  Or perhaps this is just a first reaction, and after a week or two we’ll slip back into a more comfortable place. Just now being here feels like wearing shoes that don’t fit exactly right: some places are too loose, and others pinch too much. Rather like the shoes we wear in Italy.

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha redux

15 Saturday Nov 2008

Posted by farfalle1 in Driving in Italy, Italy, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

driving exam, driving practica

driving-exam-005Driving School is now 3 hours in the past and slipping farther away every minute and I’m standing on the shore waving.  Will I miss it?  Not one bit.  Did I make a far bigger deal of it than necessary?  No doubt!  But the idea of failure was daunting; once something becomes so large in the imagination it can take over one’s existence.  Just ask the Captain, who has put up with weeks of careful ‘practice driving,’  endless observations on others’ driving habits and the ‘codice stradale,’ and non-stop worry-chatter.  If ever you need a cheer-leader you will find none better.

Poor man – the last straw was at the end of afternoon errands; he announced firmly, “I’m driving.”  Fair enough, thought I, I don’t care if I ever drive again.  As we wound our way up the curvy hill to San Maurizio we came to a long line of cars trailing behind… a driving school car.  What were they doing there?  They never, but never, come up our hill because there’s no place legally to change one’s direction.  We limped along with the rest until the poor student driver found a wide place in the road where he could pull over and let us all pass.  That was the moment when I realized that it was truly over.

You can find more of the details over on the right at Driving School Diary, or by clicking here.

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