Saturday, November 19, 2005

Notizie Dal Mio Cuore - 19

I’m sure there are many lessons to be learned in ordering internet service in Italy.
First, it is important that you speak the language. And if you don’t have that ability, as I don’t, then you best hope for a friend who does. Aaron has been here, in my apartment ……. I think we are going on 7-or-is-it-8-times-I-have-lost-count ……. in order to help me set up the ADSL.
At first it was “two days from now” then “next week” then when asked why it is taking so long the answer was “it takes ten days to turn it on” of course that was after two weeks of waiting for it to be turned on and no one saying the “ten days” facts prior to that moment in time (I really think they just make it up as they go). Then, late on a Saturday Aaron got a message. My internet service was turned on!!! Brava!
I run home (well, actually stroll because there was this leeeeetle voice in the back of my head that said…. Aspetta, aspetta! (wait, wait). Lesson #2 - Always listen to little voices in italian (most especially when you are in Italy). I got home and….that’s right…. I couldn’t get it to work. So Aaron came again to my home, three more times to attempt to get them on the phone……. Well, let’s make an ongoing long story short…… since those times we’ve had two phone appointments with the technicians of Telecom and both times the technician just didn’t call. Once we found out because the person making the appointment (let’s not forget that bag of mail that gets thrown into the river) just didn’t actually make the appointment and the other ….. well I honestly don’t know why.
Then, when we thought we would cancel the service we couldn’t even do that. Which may turn out to be a good thing because, apparently, according to Fabio who is the head of all things internet and computer at Syracuse, Telecom may not be the only internet provider but they are the one all the others (Tiscali, etc.) have to go through and it has taken Syracuse since last May and counting to get their internet service through Tiscali turned on because Telecom doesn’t feel like helping them (well, let’s be honest, who would if you are losing customers to other providers because of…. Oh who can tell?….. friggin’ lousy customer service!!!!!!!!)…… anyway….. NOW where do we stand? At sea. Not quite knowing what to do except now Fabio is going to call “someone he knows” at Telecom to see if they might have an idea or the inkling of a thought or a suggestion of how to get Telecom to actually serve the customer who…. Yes that’s right…. Is currently PAYING for this wonderful service. I was really okay with this……. For a while. I didn’t even mind proving Aaron right (that it takes three attempts to get anything done in this country) and giving him further fodder for his play about living in Italy. After all, he’s doing so much for me. But even my friends who have been here awhile (including Aaron who, God love him, made his last trip here for our 9am “appointment” when he went to bed from working at 3:30am!) think this is beyond Italian. But I don’t know……..
There’s the CD player I bought from the store in my neighborhood. It broke one week after I got it but I was nervous about bringing it back because I couldn’t speak enough Italian to explain so I waited another two weeks for Pauline to accompany me (that makes it three weeks, okay?). The man in the store refused to take it back or to refund me. My only choice was to take it to some remote location that you get to by bus, train and donkey and have it fixed under the guarantee. I’ve known Pauline a relatively short period of time and come to love her dearly but for a classy (and I mean that fully) lady she certainly can pull a verbal punch (or at least go a round or two). I couldn’t follow everything but I think she scared him into getting it fixed for me. I, personally, don’t think I’ll ever see it again. I’m sure the donkey will eat it on the way back.
Or there’s the skirt that needed hemming……. Which I brought in to the seamstress down the street. Lovely lady. Picked up the following week. Put the skirt on and then, later that day looked down to see that I was dragging the same hem that needed mending……..
Ah Italy!
You may think from my recent notes that I’m not happy with my choice. That I may feel I’ve made a mistake. Or two. Or ten. Chi sa? (who knows?) Who knows in life what turning left or turning right may do. None of us. We turn left because we feel we must or should or want to. I’m in Italy. I face myself constantly. It’s not easy. It is truly not easy to live in a country where you are a foreigner who doesn’t speak the language. And, true, I have been so lucky to have friends around me, supportive individuals so, so quickly. And they all speak English of course. As well as fluent Italian. I don’t know how I could do this without them. But I am facing myself. When you question if you have what it takes to go to the seamstress and try to explain the problem…. if you have what it TAKES to do such a little act….. All my demons, my internal dialogues, my quiet thoughts which I had long thought were left behind as I built other things to focus on and call “life” have been seeping to the surface. I’ve taken a very large spoon and stirred the pot of my life. I know that people often think it is the most romantic thing in the world to move to Italy. And it is. It is gorgeous here. And the food is wonderful. And most of the people (except for the ones at telecom and the man at the punto shop) are extraordinarily kind. And I have projects happening, starting, that are potentially amazing. All of it. But it’s the little day to day moments…… where any encounter including needing to pass someone on the street makes you question yourself because you don’t freely communicate in the language. THOSE moments become almost more significant than starting a theatre company or interviewing for a job to teach college level writing (yes, that’s right…..cross your fingers for me!) or working at Syracuse. THOSE moments stir the pot a great deal.
And yet, just to assure you, I am, truly glad I made the choice. And, in sharing this little italiani learning curve with you…. the adjustment into a country that might consider getting a bit more productive if it wants to be competitive in the EU and global market (for another time)…. I find myself laughing out loud at all of it.
Lesson #3…… e’ molto importante ridere. (It is very important to laugh)
And…. I’m pretty positive….. that’s grammatically incorrect……
Posted by Bari at 22:18:29 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Tuesday, November 8, 2005

Notizie Dal Mio Cuore - 18

Ciao! Ciao! Still no DSL in my home. Ah Italia! However…..

Walking in Firenze is exhausting.

Absolutely exhausting.

And not because I walk, minimally, two hours a day (in heels on many days…. I truly must be pazza, but I love the sound of my heels clicking on the stones reminding me that they are stones, not pavement or cement, but stones of molti anni fa (many years ago) walked upon by many people prior to the tourists, myself and others who now move over them) And not because, on rainy days, you can find yourself struggling with your umbrella and the wind building upper body strength and searching for an indented storefront to stand in while you wait for the downpour to subside. And you can wait, really, because…. where do I HAVE to be? But that’s a question for another day. No, I am talking about the simple act of walking in Firenze. Which, I am convinced now, is the best way to train for DRIVING in Firenze (which I don’t see myself doing any time soon, fyi. As romantic as a vespa or a bicicletta may sound…. I appreciate my life and limb and immune system too much to expose it to that sort of daily stress and potential physical injury. Speaking of which we were talking about….) Walking in Firenze.

It starts with getting dressed. Maybe even with waking up, I’m not sure yet. But definitely things start getting “real” when you decide what clothes you want to wear that day because, on a level, that determines who you want to BE. Do you want to be someone who may-sort-of-kind-of be mistaken for a possible italiani? Or at least a straniere who has lived here a long time? That sort of dressing takes a little more effort on my part… it’s not natural yet you see to put on the “right” shoes and the “right jacket” with the scarf draped in the “right” way. I’m used to throwing on my jeans and sweatshirt when I want to run errands. That can NOT be done here. Even to go to the mercato in Santo Spirito to buy my vegetables and fruit from the contadini (“peasants” I guess is the translation… can you believe that?) So every time I get ready to go out – and this part I like actually (as exhausting as it can be) - is similar to going on a date. A date with the city. With the streets and the buildings and the people that you pass and yourself. It’s never about “throwing” something on. And the thought, the care, the focus on that can actually tire you out a bit. Over time. And I’ve only been here short of four weeks. I hope this is a learning curve.

Anyway, why would I want to look like a possible italiani or straniere who has lived here for awhile? Because it’s all about the sidewalks. That’s why. You have teeny little sidewalks and then….. LOTS of people walking on them. People and baby carriages and dogs (we’ll get to that) and sometimes even bicycles. Walking in Firenze is all about right of way. Who has it, who owns, who grabs, who relinquishes it. Now, at first I thought I would be the nice girl from Jersey who is kind and lets people have the right of way. But, after awhile that didn’t seem to work. It kept putting me in the street. And that’s where you have to watch for the motorini, the cars and the other bicycles. As well as other pedestrians. And besides… why should I go into the street? And, more importantly, what did I have to do to go in the street less often?

“Sunglasses” according to Juliana is the best way to put on the italiana face. She may be right. But she has the whole italiana stylin’ thing going for her anyway. She’s cute as a button in that sort of sexy young thing way and even I would let her pass….. so I’m not sure that the sunglasses thing works for me. But there is this sort of attitude that is required. And I’m not sure that I like it. You have to walk with a sort of ….. florentina attitude. Look but don’t touch and don’t look to long or I’ll melt you with my icy stare or make you spend LOTS of money on me. Truthfully, that doesn’t work for me either…. I don’t want to walk around as an ice cold bitch. But then, if you look at someone here and smile, it means a whole other thing and that opens a whole kettle of fish and then you have to learn some italian curse words like cazza and merda (which are pretty mild and I’ve not used them…..I wouldn’t know how to put them into proper grammatical structure). Anyway…… I’m at the point now where I don’t relinquish side walks too easily. Pauline insists that I NEVER let a man have right of way. Apparently, and not to be politically-incorrect but I’m in Italy now okay?, the Muslim population doesn’t have exactly the same respect for women here as the Italian and it’s been posing a bit of a problem. Especially with sidewalk etiquette. So when the man doesn’t want to get off the sidewalk it is my job to educate him by standing still and forcing him to move around me or off the sidewalk. Then I move on.

And you see… the exhausting thing…. is that this process goes on for EVERY SINGLE PERSON you pass. There is someone coming….. do I move toward the wall or toward the street side of the sidewalk? Do I move my purse toward my right breast or my right shoulder blade? Do I get off the sidewalk for this old lady? Yes. For this baby carriage? Yes. For this young couple? No. And, of course, tourists are looking (and rightfully so) at the BUILDINGS not the people they are walking into or suddenly they’re not walking at all and stopping on a dime while I’m moving full-force to get to the post office to pay my phone bill before THEY CLOSE!!!! Is it my fault that the post office is in the center of the most beautiful city in the world where everywhere you look it’s absolutely magnificent? I keep seeing those tourists and thinking “I’m walkin’ here.” And then… .there’s crossing the street.

First of all….. cars are supposed to stop for you when you enter the walk way. It’s the white lines that are about four feet long and six inches thick. Hard to miss on streets that are seven feet long (including the sidewalks). Although some motorists seem to not notice them too easily. So you have to make them. You have to stare them down as you walk onto the walk way and pray they will stop (hence all the little alters of the madonna on the street corners. I’m convinced that is what she is there for). And they do stop. On a dime. It’s actually an amazing talent.

I’ve developed a talent too….. for crossing the street when there is no walk way. That’s fun. You see there’s always a reason to do that. For instance, all the construction that is happening in Firenze. I just don’t trust these structures that are suppose to protect you from the falling debris. Especially in a city that, when for example a postal delivery worker doesn’t feel like delivering the mail they simply throw it into the arno river…… so how can I be sure that the construction worker will throw the debris INTO the tube and not NEAR it? So I cross the street between the vespa and the three-wheeled truck and run quickly (in heels of course on cobble stones) to the other side of the street where I located, in advance, a space between the parked motorini and automobile avoiding, at all costs, slipping in the merda.

Dog shit is everywhere in Firenze. Apparently the “pick up the poop” laws haven’t reached this fair communist city and so, when Carole was here last and asked how I walk in heels on the stones without looking down I wasn’t completely honest. I do look down. I do merda-watching constantly WHILE figuring out whether I move toward the wall, with my purse against my right breast and my eyes fixed forward in that self-oriented protected stare. You have to look for the shit or you’ll step in it. And, since I live in Florence I feel I’ve landed in enough of it anyway. I don’t need to track it home with me. But the thing is, and not to get too graphic here. But I wonder what they are feeding the dogs of Florence. I mean, honestly, they all seem to have diarrhea. Every now and then I see a good well-formed stool. But I’m concerned about the basic diet of the cani (dogs) of the city. Until of course it rains and the excrement washes along the sidewalk into little pools. Then I don’t care so much because I have to focus on not stepping in merda-puddles.

Okay. Va bene. That’s pretty much what each day is like. Walking in Firenze.

Ciao Ragazzi.

Posted by Bari at 22:22:13 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Tuesday, November 1, 2005

Notizie Dal Mio Cuore - 17

I thought it would be best to wait to send my next notes to you from the comfort of my home. When my ADSL was hooked up. When I could write without seeing the clock tick off the minutes in the left hand corner of the computer telling me to write faster or I will have to add more euros to my internet café card. But…… questa italia and, as my friend Aaron (who is helping me set up my phone and computer line at home) reminds me….. nothing happens here quickly. So here is something I wrote to send you all a week or more ago. I guess, in some way, my speed is slowing down, my need to rush and get to things is slowly fading into the sunset of the U.S. and I am working along an italiani time-line….. a domani, a domani (tomorrow, tomorrow). And yet… still…. of course….

Sono straniere!

I am a foreigner. Actually, what I said to the twenty-something waitress when I was out with Alessandro was “sono americana” to explain to her why on earth I was ordering an Averno for an aperitiff. You must understand something….. italiani have very strict rules about certain things. You don’t drink cappucino after noon. And you, apparently, NEVER have a digestivo without it following a huge ceno (dinner). The waitress was in absolute shock when I ordered it. She tried to explain (in italian of course because she didn’t speak any inglese) that this simply can’t be done. But I have decided that it is not always necessary for me to behave as an italian. Especially when it comes to my digestion and my desires. I will do my best not to offend. But a twenty-something year old waitress at an outdoor café’ on the arno will just have to put this event into her pocket as something to tell her friends about later that night over HER aperitvo. (“questa pazza americana ha bevuto un AVERNO!!!” – or something like that) So, of course, when the drinks came they were brought by yet another twenty-something waitress who takes one look at me (without my saying a word) and says “Ah, e’ straniere!” As if that explains everything. And then SHE launches into an explanation as to why she was so confused by who in the world would EVER order an Averno at this hour and at this place (of course why they stock it then I didn’t think to ask, but of course I was more amused at all the other people who were listening to this conversation being that I was really the only straniere in the place - Alessandro brought me somewhere “very Florentine”) Then she concluded that it must be what we DO in America. And left. I enjoyed every drop. It’s good with ice, by the way. Brings out the flavor.

Something wonderful has happened. I have my permesso sogiorno. My permission to sojourn here in lovely italia. This is not an easy thing to come by. You have to have permission to be here more than three months. Because, you see, I am a foreigner. And let me tell you it REALLY sinks in when you go to la questura to have your paperwork processed. This is a process that starts back in gli State Uniti (the united states) when you must apply for a visa. Which is now, post 911/during Berlosconi and a growing time of recession in italia - very hard to come by. Mine is, of course, per studio (to study). Hopefully that will come to pass…. if my professors in Syracuse can ever get THAT paperwork processed (maybe they should take lessons from the questura. Or…. maybe…. not….) Once you have your visa you go stand in a line outside the questura at 7am for about an hour before it opens with people from all the other countries who want to sojourn in lovely italia. Then, about fifteen to twenty minutes after the offices are suppose to open a guard steps through the door and starts speaking loudly in italian. The line which you got there early to get in immediately becomes a crowd rushing toward the door. You don’t know enough italian to understand what the heck is being said. You lean in, you try to understand. People are going in ahead of you. People who got there only 10 minuti fa! Then you hear a word: “studio!” And you rush in to “sportello sei” - something six - and get on another line. But on this line (at window six) you are only fifth. This is good! You’re happy. You wait. Standing. In line. For an hour and a half until someone shows up behind sportello sei and begins processing the paper work. Two hours later you get a receipt for your permesso sogiorno and are told to come back in a month for the official document. YAY! You get to do this all again!!!

And, on Monday, I did. But this time I was smart. I got there at 7:40 am. I walked right past all the people neatly standing in line and went toward the front. (Sometimes I DO act like an italiana. I’m a fast learner, although my American mind was full of guilt even though no one seemed to care at all. I would be CRUCIFIED for such behavior at the DMV!!) The door opened promptly late, I heard the word “studio” and went to sportello sei. I, along with many others gave my receipt to the person behind the window at 8:30am. I took a seat. I was excited. I knew this was intelligent of me. I had figured the system out!!!! I sat there. Happily. . . . . For three hours. Now, I know that may not seem like a great deal of time. . . .

But it was a long time to sit and watch all these people - from so many countries - different colors, religions, some with the most adorable babies in tow — grasping their documenti in their hands come and fill the small room with their hopes and their intentions - careful to have all the “i’s” dotted and the “t’s” crossed so that they can, indeed, live in a country that allows them to pursue whatever it is they are looking for. Whatever I am looking for. I can’t tell you what relief I felt – how much more peaceful and relaxed I felt – when I left la questura with my official permission to sojourn.

La lingua l’italiano e’ molto bellissimo. E’ vivace. E’ magnifico. E’ a really tough one to learn when you have a forty-one year old brain. Do you know for each verb there are…. I don’t know….18 different ways to use them? And that’s only the verbi!!! Not all those other words you need to make a sentence. Mi dio! Thank you goodness for my friend Pauline. (You will hear a lot about Pauline as time goes by, she is “il mio angelo.” She found my appartamento for me, and today introduced me to Enio who sells fish. I bought some salted cod from him to make for dinner which is a very Florentine way of preparing fish. Era molto delizioso…. but we will discuss gastronomy and la mia cucina another time). Pauline is my italian teacher here. She is patient and kind, but strict (which I very much appreciate). I think I am learning…… but it isn’t easy (of course it’s been what…. three weeks?). It’s just not the same when you come here and you know you’re visiting for ten days, so you learn how to say “mi scusi, quanto costa?” in the market when you want those absolutely gorgeous pink leather gloves to match the pink leather jacket you bought the day before (did you know that the word for leather is “pelle” which is the same word used for describing skin on the bottle of body lotion ….. that’s a little creepy to a vegetarian. Of course they did shoot “Hannibal” here….. ) Anyway, I live in a neighborhood pretty much senza inglese. Not a word of it is spoken really. Which, ultimately, is perfect. But I do have compassion for those back in the states who are trying to learn a language where which and witch and there and their and they’re….. well, I have sympathy. In fact, the next time you run into someone who is struggling a bit, think of me. Because, most likely, they are in the states for reasons much less privileged than my reasons to be here. And they need as much kindness as they can get. It’s a little intimidating to be immersed in a whole new culture. Everything you do….. everything has a certain consideration around it. Although, of course, most of the people are kind. And patient. But you do start to really think about communication. Language. And how important it is on one level. And yet how a sorriso . . . a smile . . . can make the moment calm and you can feel confident enough to remember it’s “il problema” not “la problema.” And that gives you the confidence to think that some day you may speak well enough to tell all your neighborhood shop owners that have been patient with you that you have so appreciated their attentive assistance and kindness. I look forward to that day.

Ciao per ora, carrini!

Bari

Posted by Bari at 22:25:02 | Permalink | Comments (1) »