Friday 26 December 2008

Traffic accidents, earthquakes, snow storms and other presents

Life is going on quietly here. Everything has been smoothly going along towards Christmas, and now along towards New Year. Nothing much is going on, except the other day one guy ironed my car well along the left side, then another one of these days there was an earthquake and I felt my desk swaying as if on a boat, this morning I woke up with Valdagno dressed in a thick snowy blanket, and from 2009 I'll be changing my job, home and flatmates.

Is there something that won't change? No idea. I guess I should just change the haircut as well and have done with it.

Saturday 15 November 2008

There she is!

You know that one slow driver that always magically happens to get stuck in front of you on roads where it's impossible to overtake? It's an every-morning tradition to guess which kind of a car it will be this time (usually a lorry, but it could also be a perfectly good BMW that just doesn't seem to be able to accelerate). I drive 40km to work each morning and I know the road by heart, most of it is either too narrow or too heavily trafficked to allow any overtaking at all. So I need to resort to all kinds of shortcuts, parallel roads, village and fieldside roads to avoid The Slow Car. Up to now I had always thought of the Slow Car as a car rather than a person, but now I finally met the Slow Person, too!

One gloomy rainy morning, waiting for the lift, I found next to me a 50-ish lady, well dressed, wearing a heavy mask of make-up and an expression that was obviously too naive for her age. She decided to pick up some conversation:
S: "Such a horrible morning, isn't it?"
m: "Mhm."
S: "Yes, and the traffic is terrible!"
m: "Mhm." (Indeed it was, I had suffered for 15 minutes behind a car that couldn't read the road signs and went along at the speed of good 40km/h until I couldn't take it any more and blew the horn to make the car wake up or pull over. No reaction.)
S: "And the people get so vexing too on days like this, they keep making such rude gestures at you when you're not fast enough! Ah, there is no patience in the world!"
m: "Mhm..."

Tuesday 21 October 2008

Roma

I wonder - if all roads go to Rome, how can one get out?

Tuesday 14 October 2008

tutta sola soletta

Being home alone is generally a good thing. Nibble instead of proper dinner, watch silly movie, no conversation. Except when being home alone is because flatmates are:
a) in Petra, Jordan
b) in Sofia, Bulgaria.

Feeling a little pathetic and quite envious. Should eat something heavy, but fridge empty. Might watch Bridget Jones to top it all off.

Friday 3 October 2008

The delights of Mom and Dad

Choosing a supermarket depends on a lot of things, but not so much on the prices or quality of the merchandise. I think the first thing is the parking lot. Then the exposition. And then, brace yourselves, you Northerners, because in Italy (or at least in the Veneto countryside, dunno..) grocery shops are closed on Wednesday afternoons on account of being open all day (can you imagine, all day without a lunch break?!? oh, hang on - yes I can...) on Saturdays. The trouble is that Wednesday is usually when the weekend shopping starts running low on essential provisions, so it's always that day I invariably find myself in front of a closed supermarket. Famila is  the only one that is open that night, so this is where I go.

Today I checked the "magic points" account on our Famila fidelity card. Apparently we've spent at least 2500 euro on our shopping this year, each worth a point. The "magic points" will cancel themselves sometime soon, so everyone is invited to use them on wonderful presents proposed by the supermarket. There's this little catalogue and everything, divided into sections: Presents for Mom, Presents for Dad, Family vacation, and so on. 

Family vacation would be interesting, because they offer ski passes as well, though for the season 2007/2008, so who exactly do they think they are kidding?

Presents for Mom is what one would expect - pots, pans, mugs and stuff for the kitchen, all for an excessive amount of "magic points" to be spent. What I did not expect was Presents for Dad. What would you think would be a present for dad? A drill, maybe? Well, there was a drill. One. Then, apart from that one drill that apparently will be the peak of Dad's commitments around the house, there is: a camera. Apparently only Dad is able to operate this highly complex piece of equipment. Then there is a printer for printing the high-quality colour photographs of the family. Again, for Dad, who is able to use it because he has a computer at the office, but Mom doesn't, because she probably does not go to work on account of being committed to her family. OK, this would all be very well, maybe the nice marketing folks at Famila simply didn't know where to stick the silly little camera and I'd simply be getting all indignant for nothing. 

But. 

The third, most distinctive Present for Dad is a rocking chair. A nice, well-studied rocking chair for Dad to relax in while Mom is cooking in the kitchen. Mom won't have time to use the chair, because she's too busy. Dad, however, has worked all day to provide a living for the family so he will need a good rocking before dinner.

I really have no idea what to choose for my 2500 magic points.

Monday 22 September 2008

L'autunno

It got cold so suddenly that it only took a day to pass from sandals to woollen sweaters. I shuddered along for a week before giving up and bringing down the winter archive. There are still things in there that I'm unlikely to ever need in Italy - the scarf I made especially for the piercing winds of Vilnius; double mittens that don't need to be taken off for anything; and the only hat in which to handle -20C. That hat is so thick it would qualify as a helmet, and it's also somewhat of a social experiment, because I used all my leftover yarn on it without much regard to the colour effect, and as a consequence I've had more than just a few people laughing behind my back on trains. It does make me look quite silly, especially when the earflaps are tied down, but that doesn't really matter, because I've seen that hat freeze over stiff and still be warm inside. I'm saying it's highly improbable that I might need all this equipment here, but you never know. My room is already improbably close to the freezing point, so maybe this will be the first true winter?

Monday 15 September 2008

where I come from the things are different

Things are getting stranger.

A few weeks ago in Bremen:
A: No wonder the Germans look ill, see what they have on the menus here!
me: Yeah, but it's not only Germany that's like this, we have something similar going on...
A: No, that's not true! OK, the gnocchi is not the most healthy, but pasta is alright, don't you think?
me: Sure, except I meant we in Estonia...

Somehow the people I know don't seem to register my saying "da noi" or "at our place" as talking about Estonia any more, but about Veneto. Am I finally being taken as domesticated?

Oh well, let's get out with it then

Rather than post any pictures where it would be impossible to deny the apparent lack of looks on my part, I'll just offer a through-the-years perspective from when I was younger.

Create your own at www.yearbookyourself.com

Wednesday 6 August 2008

A very small survival guide to Veneto. Vol 5 - communication

Eveliis asks:
5. Is there any hope of communicating in English? What should I know in Italian for getting by?

It's possible, it just requires an occasional body-language conversation here and there. In the touristic places such as Rome and Florence you shouldn't have big problems. If you're in town X, however, try your luck with younger people who are more likely to understand you, even if they might not be able to respond. One good thing to be said is that the people who don't speak any English act it out as a shortcoming on their part as opposed to accusing you of not learning their language.

Many Italians will simply speak very loud and clear Italian at you, hoping to make you understand (you'll likely want to comment that you're not deaf or stupid, just foreign, but that will hardly help). They also usually understand complicated written English quite well even if they have never studied any (Latin heritage, lucky bastards!).

What comes to a short Italian course, the ones in the back of the Lonely Planets are usually enough. If you're a fan of full immersion language learning, get a phrasebook and just start talking, however wrong it might come out. It will be appreciated in any case.

If you're not ready to learn anything else, here is what you need to know and repeat many times:
Grazie! (thanks)
Grazie mille! (thousand thanks)

if you're ready for a little bit more, then:

Ciao / Salve (informal/formal, used both for hello and goodbye)
Buongiorno (good morning/day; used for hello, but also goodbye)
Buonasera (good evening; used for hello, but also goodbye)
Mi scusi... / scusa (excuse me; formal/informal)
Arrivederci! (goodbye)
Piacere! (nice to meet you)

Basically, if you say these and smile enough (especially you, Eveliis!), I'm sure you'll be fine.


Up next: What's not worth it? Like, the dirty canals of Venice, maybe...

Tuesday 29 July 2008

A very small survival guide to Veneto. Vol 4 - tipping / coperto

Eveliis asks:
4. What's the deal with tipping?

Tipping is easy. It's included in the bill and there's no choice involved. The service fee is called "coperto" which basically means everything that covers the table apart from food. It'll be somewhere around 2-3 euros, though in tight tourist spots such as Venice it can be much higher than that.

Il coperto is applied only when you're eating a proper dinner. That is, not in the office-quarter trattorias that offer quick pasta at lunch hour, nor in sandwich bars. But anywhere where you have a tablecloth, a waiter and a menu with abundant choice you can be sure the final price will be a tad above the expected total. The price of the coperto will be written in tiny letters in the bottom of the last page of the menu.


Up next: 5. Is there any hope of managing with English?

A very small survival guide to Veneto (for ignorant northerners). Vol 3 - The Rhythm

Eveliis asks:
Where can I get pizza and drinks at 1 am?


You can't.

There is a rhythm and order to doing things in Italy, and eating has the strictest rules of all. You'd better follow them if you want to play along.

You shall have breakfast from 6 am to 10:30 latest, and the breakfast will consist of coffee and pastries or cookies. No ham. You might get some yogurt if the hostel is in a good mood, but forget about savoury sandwiches - their turn comes later. It's not the time for ham sandwiches yet before 10:30. You're in Rome, so you'll eat as the Romans do.

You shall have lunch from 13:00 to 14:30 latest, probably a little later in the south than north, but it will be a nice healthy meal because at 16 everything will be closed and the most you'll be able to find will be a sandwich or ice-cream. What is this about a five-o'clock dinner? Are you foreign or what? This is not how things are done here.

You shall have dinner anytime from 19:30 to 22:00, probably later in the south than north, but the kitchen will definitely close around 23, and it's not only because it's not healthy to eat this late - it will be because all Italians know it's not and everyone will have their supper on the proper time. There's simply no demand for pizza at 1 am.

Oh, and no cappuccino after dinner. It'll ruin everything.

Now, this applies for real Italian cities where things still work the Italian way, and not the multicultural centres where there are so many tourists asking for absurd food in the middle of the night that there might actually be someone who offers. In Rome you might find pizza at 1 am, but it will be far more likely to find a kebab at 1 am, or any other kind of foreign food, because as I said, the rules are rules - everyone knows them, everyone follows them. The stereotype of rule-breaking Italians is a silly myth. There are rules that are suggestions, and then there are rules about food, dress, family and everything that is important in life that are followed with such care that they become the only way of doing things. The timing of food is one of these.

You might call it alimentary fascism - I know I did for a long time - but in reality it's a part of the culture and why the food is so good and why people around the world are trying to copy it. And - let's face it - it's also a part of the reason why you're coming to Italy.


Up next: 4. What's the deal with tipping?

Sunday 27 July 2008

Thiene, 27.07.08

Oh, and today I went to see otherwise quite normal people throwing themselves out of a plane at the height of 4500m. I won't lie to you either - the best part was being able to stay in my seat and come down with the plane, though not a whole lot slower than the others.

I guess it's just an idea to get used to. It didn't seem all that scary either, at least before it didn't. Now I think someone will have to push me out once I'm up there.

Sunday 20 July 2008

A very small survival guide to Veneto (for ignorant northerners). Vol 2 - bringing stuff back


Eveliis asks:
2. What should I bring back? How much should I pay?

The souvenirs are a trap if they're a social obligation, especially for the people who don't travel often. You need to bring back something for everyone, and I mean EVERYONE - the friends, the family, the lady at the bakery, the neighbour, the neighbour's cat. This is where you'll need a lot of something that doesn't weigh, cost or occupy a lot of space, so that you can fit in everything you're bringing back for yourself (the things that do cost, weigh, and take up space). It's a lose-lose situation though. For you, who'll have to hunt for stuff, and for the people back home who probably wanted something more expensive anyway.

The best thing to buy and take back is the food, obviously. Make a round of the cheese counter and you're all set. (Except in the summer that's a bit problematic.) The chocolate is not bad. Pesto is not bad either, though it's readily available for triple price at any Estonian village shop nowadays. It might be an idea to get some key ingredients and cook an Italian meal back home instead of buying overpriced bric-a-brac off tourist streets.

Then there are all the wines, Limoncello, Biancorosso and grappa - that's mostly what takes up all the space in my bags when I go home. You can buy all the wine you like - even really decent ones will still cost less than a crappy bottle of your average red back home. The problem is carrying them, and fitting them in your luggage, and getting them home safely. Some bottles are always in order though. Very generally in the north the white wines and Prosecco (that's Italian champagne, except that it's better than champagne) are best, in the centre it's the reds and the very south has some of the best liquors around and the wines are usually quite strong.


(The only thing that you can honestly forget is any form of bread. That's something that Italians just haven't figured out yet.)


About the prices: if you really want to save, you need time for checking on the same kind of things in a few shops and then go back to the cheapest one.
That's pretty much the only way. Many of the tourist shops count on the see-grab-pay-run tourists that desperately need gifts to bring back for all their friends, so the prices differ considerably. In any case, bargaining is usually NOT in order. It's possible, but I've only ever seen it happen once here - it was a true masterpiece, that scene, but I don't think a foreigner like myself could ever get away with anything like that.

In short - if you need to get something to bring back, best get some food - that's always authentic. If you need something for yourself, well, there isn't really anything you absolutely have to buy.
Some general shopping for quality shoes is great around here though, except I imagine that is sure to burn your budget quite quickly. Anyway, the tourists' now-or-never attitude to buying stuff is what takes the fun out of the whole thing. Just take it easy. What's the worst thing that can happen if you just enjoy yourself and don't worry about shopping?

Up next: Where can I get pizza and beer at 1 am?

Monday 14 July 2008

A very small survival guide to Veneto (for ignorant northerners). Vol 1 - transports and traffic

When friends of mine plan to visit Italy (but don't come to stay with me), I invariably take up the valiant role of interactive guidebook. I'm happy to: where else would they get custom information on all the Italian peculiarities from an Estonian point of view? Only that my Estonian point of view is not so Estonian any more, and my expertise more or less finishes at the borders of Veneto. I'll do my best though, and this time I'll write it down for next time. This is what Eveliis had to ask:

1. What's the deal with the transport? Trains? Scooters? Police? Is it really as crazy as everyone thinks?

Yes. The traffic is quite crazy, though for various reasons. Mostly, in all Italian territory it's just a little more lively than someone from North Europe would expect. It gets slightly more irregular towards the south, though the worst are the big cities - not because they're Italian, but because they're cities. I wouldn't suggest anyone uninitiated try driving in Naples...

By car:
In any case - Italians are good drivers. Most of them are, at least, and all of them consider themselves exceptionally good drivers, so speed limits and other such mundane affairs are more suggestions than actual rules. It would be an insult to an Italian driver's intelligence to make him/her drive exactly 50 km/h, no more, no less. Where's the romance in that? And it's not about speeding, either. It's about choice.

By "lively" traffic I mean that certain things are (socially, not legally) accepted in Italy that one might not try elsewhere, such as short-time parking in strange places, overtaking in the improvised middle lane, flashing headlights for communicating police presence or telling the slow car to get off the fast lane, etc. However, there are regional differences and best is just to say safe even if it means everyone behind you will hate your going too slow. It's especially useful to stay alert to modest little signs saying "controllo elettronico di velocità" which means, though not always, that there are speed cameras around.

What comes to the driving licence, you can use any EU one in Italy even long-term without any issues, though you should attach a version in Italian (just a small list to know which one is the expiry date and so on). The local driving licence system includes a point system: 22 points for each driver, of which some will be docked at every misbehaviour, double for a new driver, and if you run out, it's the exams all over again. This does not apply to foreigners yet, though I'm sure the carabinieri will have a way of making up for this little problem, such as giving you a higher fine or so on. Speeding up to 10 km/h over the limit isn't punishable, but more than that can cost a lot.

The Estonian police is much more strict on alcohol and driving, and for a reason, because the problems are much more evident. In Italy, where a glass of wine with dinner doesn't stop anyone from driving home, you should be ok with a little beer or wine, though I hear the times are changing here as well and the sanctions are going way up. The legal limit is 0,5 g/l.

The traffic signs are to be evaluated one by one. A small metal sign on a post somewhere is not necessarily the absolute truth, so you'll have to figure out it's true meaning. Italians do. For instance, a delightful example of Italian reasoning by B. Severgnini goes something like this: there's a red light. For most this will mean: stop. For Italians it's a call for discussion. What kind of red is it? Is it a speed-triggered red? Well, I'll go slower, so I could maybe pass. Is it a pedestrian red and the little old lady already passed? Well, I can pass then. Is it a dangerous crossing? I'll better stay put. OK, in any case it's still better to stop. But the temporary signs that are often left at the roadside months after all the digging is done, well, nobody really pays attention to those. In this case you should just see what everyone else does. Careful, though. Even if in Naples people will shout at you for stopping at a red light, it's safer to follow the rules as they are made.

There is a reason why Fiat produces tiny cars: the roads in historic city centres and in the countryside are often made for 1,5 cars, not 2. On roads that would have one-way traffic in Estonia, there is double parking and both directions. Not much room for cyclists. Not much room for big cars. You might get away with a suburban family car, but better fold your mirrors.

By bicycle:
Get a life insurance. Think well. If you still decide to do it, use the smallest roads possible, wear a helmet and reflectors.

Seriously, I really don't fancy going around by bike here. On the 70-limit country roads with considerable traffic you'll have to use the very last millimetre of paved road on the right-hand side and hope the cars don't push you off. Also, most of the roads are either uphill or downhill so it all becomes a little too exciting. As a driver I hate every last bolt on these bikes, especially when I happen to be behind one on a steep mountain road, not being able to get in second gear, but not being able to overtake either. It's torture both to the cyclists and the drivers.

By scooter:
The Vespa is Italian. Do I need to say more? In the historic city centre a scooter is the best way of getting around. It's still quite dangerous because the cars are not likely to consider you, but parking is easy and the rush-hour traffic will hardly go much faster than a scooter anyway.

Outside the cities it's a different matter. It's great to buzz around the country lanes and see places you'd never notice if travelling by car, but any roads with constant traffic are just as dangerous as for the cyclists.

By train:
Trains are good. At least in Veneto they are also mostly on time, so nothing much to worry about. You can check www.trenitalia.it for timetables and prices.

The various types of trains are:
R - reg - regionale - the local and cheapest trains. Most likely to be late because stops at every village station and might have to wait to make faster trains pass.

IC - intercity - faster trains, though not always more clean or comfortable than the regional ones. Drinks and snacks aboard and the staff will try to compensate for missing air conditioning if it should break. It's possible to book seats when paying extra, so if you're unlucky and happen to choose a booked car someone will invariably come and shoo you off your (his!) place. Better change the car when that happens and hope for better luck (I've yet to figure out a way to identify to booked train cars from free ones).

ES, CIS, etc - eurostar, cisalpino and other - the coolest, fastest and most expensive trains. Theoretically should never be late, everyone has booked seats, there are power outlets for your laptop (the Italian ones with three holes, obviously) and other comforts.

AND don't try to get smart with the tickets. It doesn't pay. In the regional trains they check the whole train once in the beginning, but in the more expensive ones the guy in the green Trenitalia uniform will pass through after each stop. The fines start from 25euros and the "stupid foreigner" routine went out of fashion decades ago, so don't even try. The smallest possible punishment is having to buy the train ticket right there from the controllore, except it will always cost 8 more euros.

You can get your tickets either online (printed confirmation code will do), from the automatic ticket machines in the stations (best, also has English) or the ticket booths. The latter will be best if you're really not sure where you're going and how to get there, but the lines are always long, so the machines are better. You should validate your ticket once you have it, either right at the machine or one of the small yellow boxes along the walls, exactly like for city transport. An unvalidated ticket means you could use it again any day, so it doesn't do much to help your cause if you get caught with a nice fresh ticket you just bought. In the south of Italy if the yellow validating machines are all broken you are allowed to write the departure time and date on the ticket yourself and you'll be fine. In the north that doesn't go down at all. If you can't validate your ticket, you should go to the head of the train and explain when you get on board.

Also, try to remember which is the central station in the city you're going to. Other ones, even if they have the name of the city, might not have much to do with the centre at all.

By thumb:
Forget about it.



Next: 2. What should I bring back? Which are the must-be souvenires? How much should I pay?

Saturday 7 June 2008

Sunday 11 May 2008

buried in an offline computer

I thought I had all the time in the world to present my tiny master thesis by the beginning of June. This was until Friday. Up to now I'm 8 good pages ahead, but still nowhere near on schedule. Got to get used to rejecting evening meetings, movies and long dinners: the circadian rhythms are so much stronger here in Italy that it's impossible to work around the clock. It used to be so easy in May.

I'm still having some trouble creating connections between work and study - now, finally, they're both in the same area, but I still haven't got a clue how a good theory is supposed to be practical. I can go on for hours on discourse analysis and other such nonsense, but it doesn't seem to matter much. Theories, even if directly about my job, seem to be something I should know about, but only as a background to everything else. It's like the first-year general exams that one has to pass in order to be properly initiated, though it doesn't have any connection to the following studies and no-one will ever know if you remember anything or not.

Thursday 10 April 2008

Maratona degli sportelli, or: how to go to a doctor in Valdagno. vol 1

This morning I took half a day off to go hunting for Papers. Namely, what I really would like to have is this little piece of plastic that allows me to go to a doctor here. I have put it off for 2 years, having seen only the emergency rooms in various occasions, so by now I'm sure some sinister illness will come along out of sheer probability. Better be prepared, then. "ULSS", that is Unità Locale Socio Sanitaria, or the social health insurance office, is an obscure network of districts, offices and suboffices, so obviously nothing will move fast there. I don't even dare to dream of an online portal such as xtee.ee where I log on to check if my university is still covering my medical costs or not, and I know from Liina's great experience in Germany that switching from one national system to the other is not a walk in the park even in countries where the bureaucracy is not notorious for making the people run from one office to another and end up where they started. Luugijooks, that's what I call it. Hatchmarathon.

My first attempt at the ULSS was fun, because I turned up with all my papers, having been informed at the municipality before that both employees and students of public universities have a right to health insurance, and the nice lady on the other side of the glass told me that this somehow does not apply to foreigners, even if enrolled in the university as regular students. Then I asked her if I would be able to use my Estonian international health insurance card to visit a doctor for a general check-up. After 20 minutes of phone calls (among which, YES!, the standard phone call to determine whether Estonia is in the EU or not) she informed me that this card would be perfectly valid for a tourist, but the fact that I'm a resident excludes me from the system. I must have looked so perplexed that she started to laugh and said the only way for me to get assistance is probably to pretend as though she never told me the last bit and hope I can pass with the foreign card all the same. And to come back when I have a job, so I could get an Italian card.


This morning I started off with three facts:
1. I'm properly registered as a resident of Valdagno;
2. I'm properly employed from mid-February;
3. as follows from points 1 and 2, I have the right to a national health insurance card.

8.00 sleep deeply. Will not have to be at work before 2 pm.
8.30 wake with a start. Car parked in the 1h area on the wrong side of the street. Last time the fine was 25 euro. Get up, go and repark the car.
9.00 breakfast. Sorting the documents. Sure that nothing can go wrong. Armed with a list of documents to be presented: the residence certificate, job contract, Id number, passport. A feeling of absolute certainty.
9.10 looking for a parking space in front of the hospital. No idea how many sick people drive cars in this tiny town. Could they all be inside that building?
9.20 waiting for the nice lady at the ULSS office.
9.30 presenting the documents. Still smiling. Unfortunately the residence certificate doesn't pass. They need another document altogether. The certificate of residence regularity for EU citizens, or something like that. Got to see the other, not-too-nice lady at the municipality registry office that has a degree in making people feel like they're beating their heads on a brick wall. The paper will cost 15 euros.
9.40 go home for a cookie. The Brick Wall Lady will need some courage. Check bank account. 10 euros. Of course, it's the 10th. I should get paid today or tomorrow. Rummage in the purse. 5 euros and red cents. Rummage in bags and jacket pockets. Find 10 euro in coins. Yes!
9.50 municipality office. Try first with another, friendlier-looking clerk. No. Got to see the Brick Wall Lady. Wait for the Brick Wall Lady.
10.00 Brick Wall Lady arrives. I explain my situation and present my humble papers. - Job contract? - Yes. - Salary sheets? - Huh? - She needs salary sheets in order to confirm that I'm really working. - Well, as she can see, it's a new contract, so I only have half a salary from February. - And March? - It's the 10th today, I'll have it today. - Go and get it then. - Signora, I work in Vicenza. It takes 2 hours to go and come back. - Come back next week when you have March. - Can't I present the one from February? - No, it doesn't make sense, it's already April. - Listen, signora, I took a morning off to be here, I can't do it every week. Is there nothing I can present today? - No. - What else do I need? - Job contract and a full copy of the passport. - All the pages? - Yes. - Even if they're empty? - Yes. - Anything else? - 30 euros. - Huh? - A stamp of 15 euros for each copy. And copies of the contract too. And the salary sheets. And fill this form. And it will take a month before the certificate is ready. Maybe more.

10.20
go home, feeling of having beaten the head on a brick wall. Until the next time then. Surely there's nothing else they can throw at me now. I wrote everything down. I'll have the salary sheet, and 30 euros along with it, and the copies.

Next time, nothing can go wrong.

Sunday 30 March 2008

Bufala 2: destructive individualism

Watching the Report's edition on the Neapolitan environmental issues, I started to wonder about one thing. It's all understandable that there is no industry, people are poor, don't pay tax, public administration doesn't work and all that, but there is something else fundamentally wrong with a society where 1) someone will openly burn car tires to extract copper and 2) nobody will stop them. No wonder that the sheep are dying and the mozzarella is no good.

That thing that is missing, I think is the understanding that they all breathe the same air and their actions have a direct impact on the life of their neighbours and of themselves. I won't even start about the planet. I'm talking about the region. Mario gets his little bit of copper and his lunch. Alright, but the guy next door, living from agricultural products, will lose who knows how many lunches for illegal amounts of cancerogenous elements in his cheese. The region and the whole country gets a whole lot of Europe-wide bad publicity, products sell less and there is even less money to go around. It sounds simple enough, so how bad does it have to be to ignore?

If people look the other way when someone is dumping rubbish in a field in broad daylight, it's that simple to close their eyes to other atrocities going on every day. I think it's just that they don't care. If they fail to understand the basic idea of a community, it can only mean that everyone only thinks about themselves and their own gain or muddling through as best they can. It's so bad that nobody has time to think of the others, but this is the very thing stopping them from struggling out of the mess their in. They just get in deeper.

Italians are always described as a collective people. From this point of view the Neapolitans are just not.

Cleaning up Campania would be a great election promise these days. But I have no idea how long it will be and how bad it has to get for the things to change.

See for yourself: Report: Terra Bruciata (in Italian)

Friday 28 March 2008

Che Bufala

"It (EC) has warned Italy to take further urgent action, or risk a ban on exports of the cheese from the Campania region.
Higher than permitted levels of dioxin, which can cause cancer, had been found at some mozzarella producers.

Italy says it has traced the farms at the source of the contamination, and destroyed their milk. (BBC News)"

Now this is really a cheesy story, isn't it? With all the rubbish that people put inside themselves at McDonalds and street corner sandwich kiosks, suddenly mozzarella is cancerogenous and all Neapolitan cheese might meet an export ban. "Higher than permitted levels" sounds very much like a game of numbers to me: something along the lines of the EU regulations on fruit size and colour. Well, with all the garbage lying around the Campania countryside, I guess the food that grows out of it will not be exceptionally healthy, but in any case the families living and working there are in much bigger danger than any Japanese person buying cheese from halfway around the world. Much ado about nothing...


PS - "destroying someone's milk" is most certainly a linguistic precedent. Never heard a phrase like that before.

Thursday 13 March 2008

The Difference: anime vs wolf&rabbit

Alright, I've finally found one for-sure indicator of cultural identity. It's not a big thing, but has it's own very significant force over the cultural subconscious:

I share an apartment with 3 Italians. This is quite fun and I enjoy it very much, except on the rare occasion when they pull out that one dinner conversation topic to which I just can't relate, no matter how hard I try - the cartoons of their childhood. These are mostly Japanese translated into Italian, and if I'm particularly unlucky, then Riccardo will make me watch some of the titles complete with theme songs. He'll have a slightly manic glint in his eyes, being completely convinced that the theme songs found on the net are some sort of a treat and I could be nothing but very deeply interested in them. Obviously I can't sense the long string of innocently happy moments these theme songs have accompanied in my friends' past. I can try, but it will not work. All I will see is a cartoon from some 20 years ago.



Now, I've never really watched Japanese anime, as I was 8 when the Soviet Union collapsed and it was only afterwards that they started to be shown on TV. When they did, I was a little out of the right age group and I never really liked them, because the characters didn't move while running. I grew up with Russian cartoons, so, obviously, the songs that make me remember granny's cooking and the good old days are completely different. Once I tried to get back at my flatmates and make them listen to the Nu Pogodi scores and others of this style, but they wouldn't play along (meaning that they kept up with it, said it was interesting, and found an excuse to leave the kitchen).

I later understood that presenting someone with an old cartoon they are unfamiliar with is unfair to the extreme: stripping it from all the affectionate memories and placing it under the scrutiny of an adult of another cultural context is... well, it just can't turn out well. Here is proof:



It's a part of culture that's impossible to learn or to fully comprehend, across cultures as well as across generations. Another example of this phenomena are the fireside songs, though these are slightly less sensitive to age differences. They are not usually something that people normally listen to or talk about, but they are very present in the cultural subconscious and have an awesome force of isolating the foreigners. There are some bridges, of course, and during the night someone will come up with "Stairway to heaven" and other such songs too, but the Italian ones are buried deep and I have no idea how to appreciate them for what they are.

Nato/a a...

The other day I received a piece of paper by mail certifying that my taxes are paid properly. This was good news, but taking a closer look at the paper I couldn't help but burst out laughing right there on the street:

Name: Maris
Born in: the Soviet Union

Well, it's true. Except that geographically it could mean anything from Lake Baikal to Kazakhstan to Murmansk, as the Soviet Union reached from Japan to Sweden and from Pakistan to the Arctic Ocean. It included Estonia too, of course, but "born in the Soviet Union" sounds very much like telling a 70-year-old Italian that they were born in the Italian Social/Fascist Republic. It's true, but not completely correct.

Saturday 1 March 2008

The Invisible Lake


Lago di Garda, 23. 02. 2008

Calling March, 2008


Last time (2006) the Chiamata di Marzo up in Recoaro was just something mildly interesting - people dressed up, a little party, some mulled wine. This year the weather was perfect and accordingly everyone acted their part with much more enthusiasm, both the procession and the audience. So it was still people dressed up, but cheering; mulled wine, but stronger; a party, but bigger.



More of my pictures on Atpic.
Vana's pictures on Flickr.
Also, it seems, I wasn't the only foreign blogger present: Rowena on Chiamata di Marzo.

Che marzo l'è qua

Yesterday was another Fora Febraro night. It seems the explosions have really driven out the winter... or it was only cold here because I had guests? After Vana and Jamie left we suddenly have excellent sunny weather and 14 degrees out. Not bad.

I went to Agrizoo to celebrate and get a nice plant for the office. When I entered though, an unexplainable something came over me and it was all I could do to keep myself back from buying a full aromatic garden complete with spare pots, earth, and then some roses to grow on the balcony. Agrizoo is this shop where you can find most anything to do with plants and small pets. The back resembles a small hangar, full of flowers of all kinds and the twittering of parrots. Today it looked very much like spring and all the boring evergreens were replaced by small roses, primulas and strawberry plants. I do consider myself lucky to have got out with only a rosemary, a dragon tree and a big azalea that will probably burst into full red bloom one of these days.

I looked around in Estonia this winter and it's all off balance: the cut flowers cost half, a third or a quarter of their price here in Italy and it's exactly the opposite with anything growing in a pot. Alright, the man-size rubber trees and that sort of thing cost a lot here too, but you can get young aromatic plants, cacti or spider plants for next to nothing. I wonder where the difference comes from.

I've already potted the rosemary into something bigger than the tiny plastic pot it came in, so this post is written with a significant amount of earth under my fingernails. The urge to pot, prune and water hasn't really subsided yet, so I'm seriously considering getting some basil, a mint and a red pepper plant as well.

Friday 15 February 2008

new year, new name

Yesterday morning I found a letter in the mailbox from the Democrat Party, addressed to one Marisa Paola. The surname was right and the address too, so I have no idea where Paola comes in, but I appreciate the new name all the same. Thanks, signor Veltroni.

Wednesday 13 February 2008

work in progress

On Valentine's day I'll have been here exactly 2 years. I don't feel as if anything has changed from 2006 on, though a lot has. Gone are the days when I was intimidated at the thought of the post office and, unable to remember the obscure names, resulted to pointing at the types of bread at the bakery.

It's still a process, all of it: everything I've learned is missing a more or less significant piece, either due to my own laziness or because 2 years is not nearly enough. Like this:

- I've learned the language, but still miss the in-my-sleep ability of using the subjunctive and the trickier articles correctly. Long conversations and official emails* give me away.

- I've also learned the dialect, though still not able to pass as a native. Also, the locals refuse to let me practice and laugh at me instead.

- Since I've switched from English to Italian as the everyday communication language, several friends are complaining that I'm neglecting their linguistic practice. I've had to start importing foreign friends for that purpose.

- Communication is still difficult on a much more complicated level than the linguistic one. I've still got to learn to keep my mouth shut and/or cover my direct statements with foggy spiral talk as is the custom here. What is normal in Estonia is brutal here and I only have to thank heavens for having friends who can forgive my bursts of rudeness.

- I'm a Veneto resident and refuse to apply for a residence permit on principle. It's not obligatory for EU citizens, but the municipality clerks aren't used to EU immigrants: first they give me a suspicious look, make a long phone call, then agree sulkily that my passport should suffice, then look surprised at the tiny circle of stars inside, ask: but is Estonia in the European Community??? I say: yes, for 4 years already. Then they make another long phone call before they believe me. Only then, after 15 minutes and with impatient people waiting in line behind my back, can we start talking about why I'm there. It's always the same.

- I'm completing a master program at Verona University, in Italian. Luckily they let me write the thesis in English (but who will read it?!).

- I know more of job interviews in Italy than in Estonia, never having worked 9-5 up there. This is getting strange. Also, I'm starting a new job next Monday, the first one where my foreign languages have no importance whatsoever. That should be fun.

- I've finally opened a bank account, though have no idea how to transfer anything through the super-equipped website of IWbank. The bank was something I worked hard to get around, because most of the little Italian banks have sky-high commissions and absurd opening hours. Now I just have an internet bank that has none of the simplicity of the SEB group site. We'll see how this turns out.

- I've only really learned to drive in the narrow country lanes of Alto-Vicentino. My driving licence had prepared me for the one-way streets of Kuressaare, the town without a single traffic light and with perfectly level streets. Here I have mountain-training, uphill parking training and getting-there-fast shortcuts training, courtesy of my patient teacher and role model Riccardo. Driving back in Kuressaare this winter felt unbearably bland in comparison. The traffic in the centre of Vicenza on a rainy night gives me the creeps though and I still haven't mastered the subtle art of stopping the car exactly at the distance of my arm's length at the highway entrance.

- I'm also still not used to seeing movies dubbed into Italian. It's also a surprise to see movies that are originally in Italian - suddenly everything sounds right! Suddenly the actors talk naturally! What a revelation! Also, the fake voices of the dubbers seem even worse in comparison. Italians say that it's professional and whatnot. The truth is that women in American movies never have the high haughty voices of the Italian actresses and the most self-assured macho voice of John Travolta still doesn't compare to what the Italians make him sound like. Top this with bad translation, "you" turned into "Lei", and all the "fuck's" into "accidenti"** and the result is two movies of which I see one and hear the other. It makes my head ache.

Edit: Also, I've grown my hair long out of necessity. I trust no Italian hairdresser: I'm faithfully visiting mine in Tartu twice a year. Several attempts at foreign haircuts in Lithuania, Czech Republic and Turkey have convinced me there is no better. And then, of course, I couldn't afford a haircut in Italy anyway.


* grazie, Saverio :)
** "accidenti" is something that auntie Muriel might say. Whoopsie Daisy.

Wednesday 30 January 2008

How to survive in Venice: a handy guide for ignorant foreigners


There are some basic rules to visiting that place. I will put them in a row one by one to avoid the vague musings that might come out otherwise (see below what happened last time I tried to write about Venice).

1. Drop your ideals in a bin. This is not a dream city. It is a city. Think what you want of it, but you can be sure that the houses are not really made of gold, nobody really uses the gondolas to get around and the gondolieri will never, and I mean never sing O Sole Mio to you while you glide romantically down the canal at sunset.

2. Want to eat? Get as far away from St Mark's square as you can. West, if possible. There are some reasonable bars off the tourist centre, and, if you're lucky, you might find a few of the well-hidden supermarkets too. In any case avoid the restaurants where slick English-speaking young men offer you a fixed price deal at the front door.

Also, there is a strict rhythm and unimaginable amounts of unwritten rules to eating in Italy. The rhythm is easy enough:

- morning - 10.30/11.00: breakfast: cappuccino and a croissant or cookies usually. In any case NOT a ham sandwich or scrambled eggs. This doesn't mean you're not allowed to munch on a sausage in your hotel room... if you really want to.
- 11.00 - 12.30/13.00: aperitifs: white wine, Prosecco or Spritz. You can skip that one, but you'll definitely see groups of senior gentlemen at it in small around-the-corner bars.
- 13.00 - 14.30: LUNCH. This is important, because after 3 o'clock you'll have trouble finding a local-oriented restaurant that will serve you more than a tiny sandwich. Also, lunch is the most important meal of the day for several reasons. Mostly, you'll note, because of your Italian-style one-biscuit breakfast you'll be starving by that time. A full lunch is 3 courses: primo (pasta, soup or rice), secondo (meat or fish) and dessert or fruit, though precious few people eat a full lunch out. Get a first dish, they cost less.
- 14.00/14.30 - 15.30: digesting. Venetians return to work. (South Italy prepares to eat.) There is no siesta as such in the North. In small towns where people return home to eat (and depending on the nature of their work) the lunch break can stretch from midday to 3 pm, in which case the working day finishes around 7 in the evening.
- 16.00: you can think about a little merendina, a snack. Still no restaurants serving food.
- 18.30 - 20.00: aperitifs*. This time it's serious. You should get one. Or two.
- 19.30 - 21.30: dinner. This is when people really go out to eat. Also, single-course meals such as pizza or bruschette are only acceptable for dinner, so take your chance. Eating dinner out will invariably cost you a coperto, too (see below).
- 23.00 or before bed: herb tea or hot milk.

That much about the rhythm... the rules are a little more complex, but just don't order cappuccino after midday, don't put parmesan on seafood and you'll be fine.

3. Want to drink? Same thing: get away from San Marco. You might be tempted by Caffé Florian, the very first cafeteria to open in Europe (1720), or another of the fancy places right at the square, but enter at your own risk. The coffee will cost you 5, the milk in it 2, the chair 3 and the music 5 euros or so. In a normal bar the price of an espresso is fixed to 0.85 - 1 euro. Wine should also be ordered with care, though the presence and concentration of tourists at any given place is usually an indicator of the fairness of the prices. By the way, wine is always connected to food in Italy, so drinking as the North does - just for the fun of pouring it down - is incomprehensible; getting drunk during dinner is embarrassing. (This doesn't mean the Italians don't have their fun though.)

4. Sitting down. Remember that the chairs will cost you. There is such a thing as coperto in the Italian restaurants that literally means "covered" and is indeed a quite obscure addition to any restaurant bill. Technically it is simply service charge. It solves a lot of problems, such as ethical (for you: deciding whether and how much to tip) and financial (um... for the restaurant owner). Coperto usually ranges from 1.50 to 2 euros, but in Venice it has been developed to an art form (see previous rule). Thus, when the barman smiles at you nicely and asks you to sit down, be wary and try to get a look at the menu first: the coperto will be written in tiny letters at the bottom of the second page. Some restaurants are honest enough and write down their "bar" and "table" prices outside - they will differ considerably. In the more tranquil areas of Venice the coperto will probably not be an issue and is applied only when you eat and are served at the table (in other words, in a situation where you might consider tipping in other countries). You shouldn't, in theory, be asked to pay for service if you have simply rested your left buttock on a chair for five minutes while eating a sandwich or drinking an aperitif.

5. Forget the gondolas. The guys who row people around in them are already so rich they couldn't care less if you get your romantic ride on the Gran Canale or not. One ride costs 80 euros and, accordingly, 8 normal-weight people are able to squeeze inside. If you have your mind set on crossing the Gran Canale though (best views in town!), you can also get a traghetto (ferry) for 6 euros. The same price applies for most routes, including the surrounding islands.**

6. And finally: get lost. Prepare to walk considerable distances. It's the only way of discovering Venice, though in most cases getting lost is not completely voluntary. If you prefer knowing where you're going or steering steadily towards the train station to get away from the place, just follow the yellow signs above your head on strategic street corners. 'Ferrovia' stands for the train station. 'Rialto' stands for the Rialto bridge.


Good luck.


* It seems that aperitifs are such a very Veneto thing that going south it exists less and less. In Florence an aperitif means a snack buffet that costs accordingly.
** the 6-euro traghetto ticket costs 1 euro for Venetians and anyone resident in the region. Understandable, though a little harsh, just like everything that the tourists are expected to pay in Venice. Now they opened a locals-only line (nr 3). If you're turned back, it's because the Venetians are happy to separate themselves from chattering tourists groups. Well, we knew that already.

What is it that you want Venice to be?

There are hundreds and hundreds of well-meaning tourists stepping off trains and buses at Venice each day. They are hoping for... something extraordinary, at least, because it is Venice. They will be hard put to describe exactly what it is they are looking for, but it all has something to do with vague romance, the glory of times past and indescribable beauty. They think of the San Marco* square, of the gondolas and the Carnival**; but definitely not the pigeons, the restaurant prices or the hordes of other tourists looking for their fill of digital photos and tacky souvenirs.

Some are exhilarated, willing to suffer the minor inconveniences and pay the price, because of what Venice means: it's the crown jewel of every traveller, the perfect destination! Others are disappointed or confused. The unmistakable atmosphere of a cemetery is conspicuously present in the streets where every stone has been present for centuries. The density of people in the narrow streets of the tourist belt between the train station and San Marco will give claustrophobic attacks to contact-conscious Nordics. And then, of course, there is the obvious state of neglect into which the city has fallen in the last 200 years or more. It is this, more than anything else, what shocked me at first. La Serenissima, the beauty and the biggest maritime power of all the Mediterranean once, is feeding on the scraps of its glory - the decadent hotels, the murky green canals, the tourist traps. Is it true there are people still living here?

It turns out that there are. And they are not all gondolieri, either. There is life behind these dilapidated windows, though your average Venetian is heartily sick of the tourist groups that roam the streets and consider them not too different from the bands of pigeons ruining the city with their infested presence. Of course, Venetians have their own Venice, quite hidden from random eyes*. It is this city that is truly fascinating. It is possible to catch a glimpse if you wander off and find a fruit market.

I had to understand this idea of an alive Venice before I could appreciate the place. Then I could take it as it really was - alright, it's a little dirty, it's not perfect, but why should it be perfect? The would-be-romantic gondolieri who teach dirty songs to innocent Japanese are not much different from any guy around the world who rips tourists off for living: it does get dull after a while. It's even possible to avoid the crowds: I learned to walk the long way around.


* of course, often these photos of San Marco are made by professional photographers who have taken the trouble to get up at sunrise to get a shot at the square before the crowds start butting in. Beautiful, but unrealistic.
** Carnival is one of the most characteristic periods of the year for Venice and the mid-winter high season for the hotels, all for being able to see people in elaborate baroque costumes, wearing some of the traditional masks. Anyone looking to enter by train from the mainland will have to go through a compulsory all-body squeeze if they are to fit in the train at all.
* much like Tartu the university town and Tartu the normal town (mitteakadeemiline Tartu) exist in two parallel universes that rarely cross.

Friday 25 January 2008

solidarity wow

The North and South of Italy are at it again: Naples is drowning in garbage and asking other regions to take in their stuff (to be disposed of 1000km from the original place? way to go...). Veneto has refused and not only - the region is financing TV spots in Germany, pointing out that Veneto is not Naples and there are no garbage issues in the North, so as to inform the tourists that otherwise would be scared into going to Spain instead*.

This shows some true Veneto spirit, I must say. In literature or drama, a stereotypical character speaking Venetian dialect is almost invariably a stingy merchant. It's not that far off - the people around here have always found a way to muddle through even in the worst of times and don't look well on others who don't seem to make as much effort. This is where the discord begins: in Venetian eyes the Neapolitans simply don't try hard enough. And when the president of the region is blamed of not being solidary, well, your average signor Toni will not care about not being nice: "Eloora, cosa xé che bisogna fare? Gà da svegliarse fora, no?**"

English Corriere della Sera on the matter

* I'll be thankful for a link to one of these clips. As of today none were to be found online.
** "So what's to it? Gotta snap ou' of it, yaknow..."

Thursday 17 January 2008

Where am I?

I slept all the way through my flight and am consequently having trouble understanding where I am. I left the cold and gloomy Estonia only to arrive in cold, gloomy and wet Italy. Where are the benefits of the Mediterranean?

I'm also weighed down with a huge amount of materials on cross-cultural communication for my thesis, of which I will scorn some and apply others. It's a lot of fun, though it does make me think too much of anything the people say or do on the street: each action becomes an expression of underlying cultural values. I'll definitely be coming back to all that in the next months.


Estonia is strange in the winter, too. I had a little shock arriving, but got used to it quite fast and then it felt all sweet and homelike again. The truth is that though in the summer the life is beautiful and the Estonians become social enough to truly give Italians a run for their money, the winter is a depressive 8-month gloom. Some people shoot themselves when they can't face it anymore. Others, in order to survive, will construct a personal cocoon consisting of close friends and family, their favourite pubs, visits to the spa, homely tea rituals and simply shut out everything else as if it didn't exist (this is why nobody looks each other in the eye on the street). Occasionally the reality will catch up with them at the worst moments: at the 10 o'clock twilight of a a hung-over morning, or while carrying home heavy shopping bags in the perpetual darkness. At these moments the only thing to do is to pamper oneself, hoping that spring comes soon.

The Italians don't shut themselves away for the winter, though in clammy days like this one the piazzas stay empty and no-one feels like an aperitif. I'm feeling especially cocoon-like after my stint in the north and can't be convinced to leave the cosiness of my tea-cup and heater. Today, everything outside of home can wait for spring.

Saturday 5 January 2008

Documentation

When my Italian friends see my Italian identity card, they are positively surprised: I didn't know they give these to foreigners too!

When my Estonian friends see my Italian identity card, they are surprised and say: but isn't Italy supposed to be a developed country?

My Italian identity card is made of paper.

It's nicely patterned, complete with gaps for hair colour, fingerprint and home address. But, effectively, yes, it's a piece of paper folded in soft plastic.

My Estonian identity card doesn't include any of this data, but does include a signature and a smart chip. The chip includes 3 library cards and can be used to sign documents and vote at a distance*.

The interesting part is that though the Italian ID card seems so unconvincing to foreigners, often it is the only identification that people have. Italians make a fuss each time they decide to travel outside the EU and have to apply and pay for a passport. Making a passport costs astronomic amounts of money and/or time. I've even heard of 70 euro for a passport if you want it faster than normal... seems like it might cost less on the black market.

I guess after a while Estonians won't be too attached to their passports either, as all the 10 EU member states who joined in 2004 are part of the Schengen area now. The land and sea borders are already open. The airports will adapt in the end of March when they change to summer season. That's quite convenient, though most of the border guards are relocated for different jobs and the only Estonian non-Schengen border (east; Russia) suddenly has a lot of guards. I do wonder what Czech Republic did with their border guards...


*
the voting business is theoretical - I missed the last referendum because I couldn't install the card reader driver on Linux. I hear it works though.

Wednesday 2 January 2008

Natale 2

Second Christmas in Italy, and it was as Italian as expected: we decorated our 25-year-old Christmas tree up nicely, ate copious amounts of panettone and relaxed properly. But there's one thing that I still can't get used to - that's the social side of Christmas: the streets full of people and bars finishing all kinds of wine on Christmas Eve. Around here everyone just stays home with family or the respective boy/girlfriend and doesn't get out for seeing people before the 26th unless they're very close friends. In Italy, Christmas lunch is held with the immediate family and subsequent meals with various aunts and uncles, fitting a fair amount of friends and acquaintances in the middle. That's quite a run. Luckily I only have one family to visit. My feeling of being an inward northerner increased with each person Riccardo knew and congratulated. Well, the custom of giving the best wishes ("Auguri!") is usually accompanied by a handshake and this would be perfect for me. I like handshakes very much. Instead, because I'm a girl, I was expected to approach the people with each of my cheeks in turn and imitate kisses. This is an awkward business at the best of times, especially when both kissers wear glasses, but with people I had never seen before... difficult.

Any northerner who has been to Italy is probably quite familiar with the inner fight: is a friendly smile enough? should I shake hands? what if I'm supposed to actually touch faces? which cheek first?! An Englishman trying to go along with the most usual Italian hello-how-are-you kiss looks embarrassingly indecent: instead of performing with lukewarm/friendly affection they actually plant a furtive wet semi-erotic kiss on the cheeks of the unsuspecting Italian (almost always a woman) as though they had lost in the bottle game and had to do it on a dare. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad.

Hugging, the standard greeting in Estonia for friends, is a different issue. Italians might feel quite awkward if someone less than a very good friend would start hugging them all of a sudden. It's not easy to determine where are the limits of the various kinds of greetings, so the only foolproof way is to follow the locals. Lucky that Christmas is over...