He was only a cruise ship crooner

the award for headline of the year goes to The Daily Telegraph

Since my acquaintance with this country a certain Mr B has dominated the political landscape, so much so that it seems strange to think he’s no longer there.  While many an Italian was rejoicing at the demise I wonder if the countries satirists were thrown in a pit of despair at the loss of such a rich vein of material.  But then again Mr B had become such a parody that there really was no need to add satire.

I have always wondered how Italians came to elect (three times) a man for whom the word buffoon seems to have been invented.   Italian politics are a complicated and opaque world and certainly not one that I can begin to sum up in a superficial blog nor would I have the arrogance to suggest I am qualified to do so.  Given that he first came to power after the reigning government was exposed as having its hands in so many tills that the prime minister fled the country perhaps he did seem like a breath of fresh air.  The fact that he owns several television stations and newspapers did help PR matters.  Or were the Italians seduced by the narrative of the vacuum cleaner salesman and sometime cruise ship singer pulling himself up to be a media mogul and one of the richest men in the country?  Who can blame them for thinking that maybe some of that magic would rub off but once in power things where a different matter.   There’s a quote attributed to Pope Leo X which I’m often reminded of when I think about Mr B and his time in office.  From his seemingly endless partying, appointing a string of MPs whose main qualification for the job was a pretty face and breasts, to the changing of laws to suit his business interests or avoid prosecution the cynicism of Pope Leo to me perfectly sums up the last few years of Italian political life - "Since God has given us the Papacy, let us enjoy it." – substitute a couple of words and I think you’ll have it.   

Once in power and, at least in my opinion, showing himself to be at best hopelessly inadequate and at worst corrupt he was voted back twice to form the longest serving Italian government since Mussolini.  Why?  You could argue it was a lack of an effective opposition or it could be the appeal to self interest or did all the favourable media coverage lead the country to think he was doing a good job?  Well the reason was – Oh hell search me I have no idea, it really is mind boggling that he was voted in once let alone three damn times.       

At the end of it all Mr B wasn’t brought down by any one of the number of personal, political or business scandals that became so common that one didn’t even raise an eyebrow but by the enormity of the European financial crisis.  Once the crisis turned towards Italy his demise was swift, watching his leaving I got the impression that B is genuinely bewildered as to how events turned against him.  From being the astute media player suddenly the populist touch deserted him.  Many Italians were angered by his glib assertion that everything was ok as the bars and restaurants of Italy were full without a mention of the growing hardships caused by austerity measures.  B has left the country with one hell of an overdraft, rising unemployment and the (temporary) suspension of democracy – the current and polar opposite Prime Minister Mario Monti was appointed to the position by the president.  The country like much of Europe is in a mess and one that will most likely get worse before (if) it gets better.

As for Mr B have we seen the last of him?  Will he be happy to retire to his villa or is he plotting a return.  He has kept himself busy releasing an album of co-written love songs just a week after leaving office.  Given that now he is out of power his immunity from prosecution has gone and that his party is still the biggest in Parliament it’s hard to believe this is the end of him.  I personally don’t think it will be too long before the perma tan returns – just long enough for the public to blame the current government for the continued economic hardship that’s my guess.  “Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs that a deceiver will never lack victims for his deceptions.” Machiavelli
            

Crash, Bang, Wallop

This week I’ve been asking myself do different nations hear differently?   No I haven’t been listening to the Italian charts (although whenever I am unfortunate enough to catch the latest top ten hit I do wonder if a large percentage of the Italian population is tone deaf – but I also I wonder that whenever I’m confronted with the fact that Coldplay have a career.)  When travelling through various countries one of my personal joys has always been the different languages I have encountered and the little tricks I’ve gathered to cope – whilst navigating the Japanese transport system I quickly learnt to match the symbols on my ticket to the departures board with not a single mishap, when in a little town in the Tamil speaking part of India meeting a local who spoke no English and me only speaking Panjabi, of the multitude of Indian languages, we found that we could communicate in Italian of all languages.  As well as dealing with the new words and grammatical constructions there is the host of vocal and onomatopoeic sounds that make up a language.  While I expected words to be different I never really gave a thought to the onomatopoeia. 

In the UK and Aus (I hasten to add other English speaking Countries) the onomatopoeic word for a dog bark is woof, here dogs don’t woof woof they bau bau! Birds don’t go cheep cheep they cip cip and frogs don’t ribbit they cra cra.  It’s not just the world of animal sounds that are different, if an English speaker cuts their finger they will exclaim ouch or ow an Italian will say ahi or ahia as they apply pressure to the injured digit.  Crack a joke to a native English speaker and you will hopefully hear  ha ha or hee hee try to be funny in Italy ah, ah, eh, eh, ih, ih, or uh, uh is what your ego will be wanting to hear. Tuck into a Raji curry and yum yum or om nom nom is what I want to hear from an English speaker and gnam gnam from my Italian friends.  When it comes to bodily functions once again we are in a linguistically different world, an English speaker will fart or burp and an Italian will prot and rutt respectively.  Hearing brrrring will have me leaping for the phone and Italian will only do so if he hears a drin drin.  I knock on a door while my Italian chums toc.  In Australia my floorboards would creek here they cric crac.

These onomatopoeic sounds seem so hard wired and often come from instant emotions that I cannot believe that I would ever be able to make them part of my lexical repertoire.  Yet when I talk to my long term expect friends I’m amazed that they do make the Italian exclamation when in pain, or just generally pissed off while driving.       

These differences while unimportant do make me wonder, do we hear sounds differently or is it just out different languages that result in the divergent interpretations?  The Japanese language has no L sound and Japanese speakers have great difficulty in identifying and pronouncing when speaking English.  Studies have shown that as newborns Japanese children can hear the L sound but as they grow and the brain develops to acquire language skills they lose the ability to identify the sound due to not hearing it spoken.  Does this explain why different nations interpret the same sound differently?  One theory of linguistic development argues that language developed from early humans making onomatopoeic words from the sounds around them.  I’m way to ignorant to speculate on such things but this week once again I have been reminded what an amazingly rich, complex and beautiful beast language is.          

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.

Monoculture

Really how many do you know?  Is my standard response when a student informs me that they “hate Chinese people.”  Predictably enough the answer is always “well I don’t actually know any but....”  Sadly all too often in my day to day adventures here I’ve come into contact with attitudes that I had long since consigned to my past when growing up in 70s and 80s Britain.  As well as not liking a full quarter of the world’s population I have been informed (in all seriousness) that Indian food is extremely unhealthy and not fit for consumption (it doesn’t seem to bother a billion Indians but there you go) and a few times I’ve had to explain just why the term nigger is offensive.  When L informed her work mates that she was having Indian food cooked for her one evening she was warned that she would be served dog (if you do insist on using tired racial stereotypes the Chinese serve dog, us Indians run corner shops OK?)  For the most part the comments I have come across are due more to ignorance than anything nastier but it has jolted me a little out of my everything is cool mindset and back to challenging such views.  These attitudes are not a total surprise many an Italian still shudders at the memory of Berlusconi describing Obama as tanned (pretty ironic Silvio considering your permanent orange state.)  Not that a pome can be feel too superior about Italy’s leader we do have the Duke of Edinburgh with his own take on inter cultural understanding.  But I was left speechless by a sign on a souvenir cart in Venice which read “These pictures are toxic to Chinese people.”  Now putting aside the fact the items on sale were probably made in China and that the bankrupt Italian economy will probably be owned by China very soon the sheer irrational hatred in the sign does make one think about the culture here and while I abhor the sentiment I'm sad that someone feels so much anger and distrust not just for an ethnicity but perhaps for a world that is changing too rapidly to comprehend.

For most of the last century Italy was a country of émigrés and it is only really recently that the wave has reversed.  It has taken many years for places such as the UK and Australia to embrace multiculturalism and it’s not a completely won battle, Australia has yet to find a way to heal the damage caused to its Aboriginal populations and I don’t believe any country has a humane policy towards asylum seekers.  It seems to me that Italy is only now beginning explore how different communities will exist as a whole.   While immigrants are mainly from former Italian colonies in Africa and more recently Eastern Europe there is a small Chinese presence and an even smaller sub continental one.  From what I’ve seen the separate cultures generally keep themselves to themselves.  When I visit the Chinese grocers I am the only non Chinese face and likewise the African and Sri Lankan.    Most likely the next generation will have very different attitudes and experiences of other cultures; they’ll have to as the movement of peoples is a fact of our globalised world.    

Surprisingly the harshest and most casual racism (not sure I can call it that maybe prejudice is a better term) has been reserved for Southern Italians.  It is not uncommon to hear the things akin to “what do you expect they’re southern.”  When I first got here people (and even friends) would say “You know they’re Southern” no I don’t know what does that have anything to do with it?  I suspect that what it has is the notion of other people getting things they don’t deserve and taking away from those that do.

   

Growing up in the UK and living in Australia for the last 10 years I am used to living amongst different nationalities and ethnicities so it has been a bit of a shock to the system to find myself living in a monoculture.  While I had reconciled (or so I thought) myself to the notion that I wouldn’t be able to get a steaming bowl of Pho in my new abode (and yes it is unexpectedly painful) I didn’t really think about the other effects of monoculturalism.  As well as the host of ethnic food (which I know my Italian friends are sick of hearing about and I understand that it’s Italy and I won’t be able to pick up wonton wrappers at the supermarket) I’m missing hearing a myriad of languages.  I loved sitting on a Melbourne tram hearing people talk, Cantonese, Arabic, Sudanese, Vietnamese and wondering what these strange sounds mean and I miss exploring the different ethnic suburbs. These whimsies are mitigated by the joy of living in a picturesque medieval town, having Venice just a short train ride away and yes all the yummy Italian food.  It takes a long time and a lot of challenging of entrenched ideas and fears to get to the point where different cultures can coexist and even evolve together to create a new culture – can anyone honestly imagine Britain today without curry? – and each country writes its own story in this regard at the moment I think it’s too early to predict what will happen here, tough economic times don’t help the situation.  I hope that Italy takes the path of acceptance and celebration.

Farewell Orsetta

Last week with more than a little regret I said my farewell to my job.  After just a few months I’ve found myself moving to another school here in Treviso.  This first job was a wonderful entry into the teaching life allowing me to ease into a new industry and provided a welcome atmosphere while I got myself through the initial shock of finding myself living in Treviso – never be let it said that I think through things before I do them!  Even after just five months I’m almost nostalgic for the good times.  Yes days were long and at times infuriating (any students reading this I would like you to know it is most annoying to spend your unpaid leisure time inventing and writing a new and interesting lesson, making teaching materials only to have you not show up to the lesson .  I shan’t name names – we all know who you are) but looking back it was an invigorating experience.  While you could never say teaching is a physically demanding job never the less each day I would come home exhausted.  When you are in a class there is not a moment of wondering attention you need to be thinking of the next activity, anticipating what problems students could have, listening for pronunciation and grammatical errors, thinking of ways to explain the language and deciding what things to correct there and then and what to tackle later.  There’s not a moment to even think about what you are going to have for lunch, dinner or mid afternoon snack! 

My real regret is leaving the wonderful people I’ve been lucky enough to work with.  Over the years I have had a really eclectic working history a brief list of which includes: bar hand, puppeteer, stage manager, bookstore manager, Christmas decoration coordinator and I’ve even managed a brief time in the corporate world variously working for major banks and international accounting firms – don’t ask me how but they paid really well.  I’ve generally been lucky with my work places and have always found myself working with nice people and my school was no exception in fact it’s been one of the best.  With any new work place it takes a while to find your feet and build the friendships but it was only a few weeks before I was affectionately called orsetta – which I’m told means bear cub.  While it’s nice (and even necessary) to work in a friendly place to be in an environment with like minded people has been a breath of fresh air.  My fellow teachers have with me a shared love of words, language and teaching as well as an equally screwy sense of humour.    I will miss my days there – the quick trips for a sneaky prosecco between lessons, the what if humans had a blow hole conversations and being called orsetta.

So this week I’ll be starting my new job with another school.  This will be another trial by fire with me now having to write my own lessons and teach larger classes as well as getting students ready for exams.  If my new colleges are half as nice as my last I shall count myself lucky indeed.