Not in Kansas now

One of the little pleasures I’ve always gotten from travelling is experiencing the many differences between the new place and my usual habitats.  Of course you expect the big things: language, driving on the other side and wasting a good portion of your life in a Kafkaesque bureaucracy but there are many little things that while generally not better or worse are just plain different.  So today I thought I would regale you with some of the little differences that I didn’t expect to find:

People don’t read on trains: being a not infrequent train traveller I have had much time to observe Italian train customs and unlike their British or Australian counterparts the Italian commuter does not have his head buried in a paperback (or more recently an ereader.)  Whenever I have taken a journey, be it a long haul flight from Aus to Britain or just a short tram trip to work I’ve taken the opportunity to get a couple of chapters read (and as I was generally taking the 86 or 57 tram it was also a good way to avoid any accidental eye contact with a junkie or general crazy person) here people seem content to stare out the window.

Table of contents are at the back of the book just before the index: a little trifling matter but being used to the whole; front cover, dedication page, table of contents, main text, bibliography and finally index the Italian (not sure about other countries, please feel free to enlighten me) tradition of having the contents page at the back threw me a bit.  Yes, I do find it strange to read the book, get to the end and then find the page telling what’s in the book but there you go – if anyone can tell me why it’s like that I would love to know. 

     

It’s not just driving on the right people walk on the right too: It seems that whichever side of the road a nation drives on they will walk in the same manner – never noticed this before.  Now I’m used to the left and here people drive and walk on the right.  As you might expect this causes quite a few occasions where I have to get out of the way of someone who is adhering to the correct pedestrian etiquette.  Unfortunately I am also used to stepping aside to the left and the Italians to the right thus resulting in moments of endless polite shuffling as we both try to get out of each others’ way and continue on ours.

Plastic bags:  at my local supermarket I am no longer asked if I want a plastic bag. I’m one of those people who brings my own cloth bag.  I am very much in the minority but at least there is an effort to discourage plastic bag use by way of a 10c charge.  When it comes to the fruit and veg aisle I find myself despairing.  Let me state my position these items do not need a plastic tear if you even look at it bag:  a whole pumpkin – it comes with its own protection,  a single apple or any other single fruit, ginger; that skin will do more than the plastic.  While I’m on the rant if the fishmonger has put your salmon fillets or whatever in a plastic bag, then wrapped the whole thing in paper and then kindly placed the package in a carrier bag you do not need to tie the handles together and put that bag in yet another bag.

    

Toasters: Italian toasters don’t pop up.  Instead of the pop up mechanism you have to put your bread in a metal clamp like contraption and lower it into the toaster. Not better or worse just different.

The concealed drip rack: the most glorious difference, to me one of the greatest inventions and why the hell has no other country I have had the pleasure to experience got one in their kitchen?  No longer do my dishes sit on the work surface taking up valuable space and endlessly reminding me that they need to be put away.  Now they are carefully concealed above the sink, not asking to be put away but waiting happily until I have call to use them again.  Honestly I do not wish to work in a kitchen without one ever again.  That and the marble worktops which now mean I no longer find myself in the situation where I’m holding a red hot tray straight out of the oven, burning my fingers because I couldn’t be bothered to find the oven gloves and am using a tea towel that’s barely adequate all the while poncing around looking for the damn trivet.  

The concealed dish rack, a genius idea

Views from the bottom of the glass

Make a list of the things Italy is famous for you would have to include:  Food, fashion, a prime minister that makes Caligula seem like the quiet bookish type and of course some of the world’s finest wines.  This week I’ve been musing (and gathering data in the field) over the difference between the drinking cultures here and the ones I’ve experienced.  I make no secret of the fact that I like a drink, be it wine, beer, port, whisky, gin, vodka (especially that yummy polish Bison grass one) and thanks to a couple of visits to South America I’ve even revived a love for tequila after one bad night when a student and  17 intervening  years.  I like the taste of a deep red, the crispness of a white the yeastiness of beer and I need to stop before I get lost in a train of thought more appropriate to Oz Clarke than a blog about Italy.   

It’s no surprise to say that the drinking culture here is very different.  The first thing I noticed was how different points of an evening are marked by different drinks.  The early evening is spritz time, with food it’s wine and after coffee one of a seemingly endless list of digestives.  The Italians make an array of ridiculously delicious wines and since my arrival I have come across many a new variety of grape.  Alcohol is also much cheaper meaning a good bottle of wine doesn’t have to be an investment and with the average drink in a bar costing 2 euro, a night out is not an expensive prospect.  From what I’ve seen all this cheap booze does not result in much public drunkenness.  In my time here I haven’t really seen any from the locals (the expats are a different matter) and it’s been a relief to not have to deal with the attentions of an over imbibing male – yes I mean Ted.  On Saturday night a gang of us headed out to the annual fair for the evening.  Amongst the dodgems, shooting galleries and food stalls there were a liberal number of drinking venues.  T noted that had this been the UK there would have been at least one drunken altercation and a lot of booze fuelled bumper car driving.  As it was people were just enjoying a glass of wine with their roast chestnuts or a beer with their barbequed sausage and despite getting home near 3, I woke up the next morning without a trace of a hangover. 

The prodigious drinking that seems to characterise nights out in the Anglo countries is frowned upon here.  One night while out with some Italian friends a member of the party commented on how much I drank as sipped a post dinner digestive – it was my fourth drink in about as many hours.  While at times I find this aspect of the culture uptight it is nice to be able to savour the taste of a really beautiful drink and not have worry about losing the best part of a day to feeling like a bar room floor.  My friends here have fallen into two camps – those that don’t really drink and those that like to party.  I know that a night out with the moderate drinkers will most likely include a comment about my taking a second glass of wine and as for the other group (especially if M and T are involved) that needs a good self preservation instinct.  

  

In Aus and the UK drinking is very much a social lubricant, you’ve something to celebrate you have a drink, you’ve had a bad day you need a drink, you’re feeling a bit meh so you have a drink, you need a bit of Dutch courage – yep, you guessed it.  The social culture in these nations is revolved around pubs and bars.  Often these places become second homes and for me who has spent the last 12 years away from family I’ve found the atmosphere of a friendly local essential to keeping the spirits (pun half intended) up.  That's not so different here the bars are all full of a Friday evening and every occasion seems to be punctuated with the raising of a glass.  The big difference is that no one seems to need to medicate themselves to the point of oblivion.  I’ve often wondered what it is about the culture in the UK and Aus that has us drinking to the point of cognitive failure – not that we are unique.  Whilst in Japan I lost count of the number of Japanese salarymen I saw getting wasted in a post work bonding session.  Here I’m enjoying the emphasis on quality rather than quantity and as ever the sharing of a drink in the company of wonderful people.     

Bamboccioni

I grew up in a small Hampshire village and for as long as I can remember I was itching to leave the place.  There was a wider world out there and I wanted to be part of it.  Like many of my friends I couldn’t wait to “grow up” and branch out on my own, which to me meant leaving the constraints of the parental home, being independent and learning to rely on my own resources.  This rite of passage happened at 18 when I left home for University in London.  When I left I’m sad to say I never really gave a thought to how my parents would feel, two older sisters had already moved out and I could assuage any empty nest guilt as my much younger brother was still there to keep my mum occupied (something he was doing very well.)  I never moved back (aside from a few months between overseas stints.)  Most of my friends have similar stories with the need for independence and the stretching of wings resulting in leaving home somewhere around the late teens or early twenties. 

Recently I came across this article (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-14995588) which got me thinking about things here.  A few months ago a student was telling me about how he had recently split from his girlfriend and was hunting for an apartment.  I assumed that this heartbroken man (in his early thirties) was living with his girlfriend when the relationship foundered.  It was only later that I learnt that he, despite have a seriously good job, was still living with his parents (he also hadn’t split up with the girlfriend but I’ll leave that whole thing for another time.)   Once he did move out there was a litany of stories of his various domestic disasters that it quickly became clear that his mum really did everything for him. 

Their called bamboccioni (overgrown babies) those that continue to live in the parental home long into adulthood – the term was coined by a government minister who admits he didn’t learn to make a bed until he was 30, when he left home.   Many of my friends and students still live in the parental home well into their 20s and 30s.  EU statistics (yes I’ve done my research) show a whopping 64% of Italian 18-35 year olds still live in the family home (21% in Germany.)  The average age for moving out of home here is 36 (a good 18 years after me.)  When I ask Italians about the reasons for the late nest flying one of the first things mentioned is the high unemployment and the cost of setting up on your own.  Both these issues cannot be refuted.   The average wage in Italy is half that of that UK (these stats may be a bit out of date now.)  Having said that according to the Institution of population research of those 20-35 year olds in employment 45% still chose to live at home.    As for costs, setting up on your own is a pretty pricey endeavour which is why I and most of my peers shared homes and split costs but the culture of share accommodation doesn’t seem to exist here.  When I’ve mentioned it to people I’ve usually been met with horrified looks.  Why would I live with strangers when I could live with family? 

So if it’s not just economics keeping Italians at home what is it?  It comes as no surprise to say that Italians place more emphasis on close family ties and with the collapsing birth rate (most families have just one child or two at most) keeping that one child close and giving them the best is only natural.  One report I read concludes that adult children stay at home because they genuinely have it good: 

“Every desire seems to be satisfied without any particular responsibilities....

...The rules imposed by the family on young people do not seem very burdensome - except for having to come home for meals, a rule which can partly be avoided if advance warning is given of a later arrival.  Young people are also looked after handsomely: most of them have their expenses covered by their parents who tend to satisfy them without any major limitations while they have no responsibilities as regards the running of the home.” http://www.demogr.mpg.de/Papers/workshops/000906_paper01.pdf

Now that all sounds really cushy and having had my fair share of financially stressful times the idea of not worrying about money seems idyllic but I wonder what effects this prolonged childhood brings.  At a pretty young age I learnt to rely on myself, how to manage money and the value of it.  I learnt that bills never come at a good time, cleaning the oven is always something you leave until it really can’t be avoided and I have a good few flatmate horror stories.  Living in share accommodation has taught me how to live with other people how to negotiate the sharing of a space and the collective responsibility of making the project work, all things I think you need to learn well before you move in with a partner.  I’m glad I learnt these skills at a young age I’m not sure I would be as successful at learning it all now.   Although the concept of my staying at home longer is as alien to me as leaving home at 18 is to many of my Italian friends I’m beginning to wonder if in the UK and Aus we rush too fast into adulthood.  Families here do seem closer and kids seem grow up slower.