We have been here 11 years and still savour the 'only in Italy' moments which are a regular occurrence. We have learned to roll with the punches and adapt and not whinge. Out of many of those 'moments' we have made some wonderful friendships, to laugh a lot, mainly at our selves, and certainly to enjoy a saner happier life.
Porca miseria! What an ordeal for you, but how typical of Italia's contrariness. I see from your experience and artful description that the inexplicable continues to thrive in a culture where "si, subito!" translates to "sure, any day or year." Your tale of errand frustration and automotive woe brought back sooooo many memories of our time in Roma long before the introduction of the supermercato concept. String bags stuffed with dripping packages of produce and proteins, massive loaves of casareccio, plastic baggies of mozzarella—all purchased at different shops and street markets before pranzo. When I worked as a proof-reader (2pm -10pm or 14:00 to 22:00) one summer at the Rome Daily American, I'd do my grocery shopping on my way to work, stash my string bag of goods in the office fridge, and then lug them home on the last weeknight bus up the Via Cassia. Then there are tales of negotiating the many, mysterious uffici to secure the various permessi needed to live as stranieri in Italy... or my experiences attending a scuola guida and passing a written test to get an Italian drivers permit... Oofa!
On the other topic you touched upon (Umbrian ceramics), if Deruta delighted you, try Gubbio. It's the most lovely medieval town where Franco Zeffirelli chose to shoot much of his Romeo and Juliet. Decades ago, I fell in love with a particular hand-painted pattern of lemons on a royal blue rim. The back of the one salad plate I'd scored from a ceramic import boutique in River Oaks bore the mark "C.A.F.F. Gubbio." During a lovely two-week return to Umbria and Lazio in the early aughts, I made a point of stopping for a day in Gubbio. Armed with a polaroid of my pattern, I visited every little family-owned ceramics shop in town until I found the artigiani that produced my lemon dishes. I immediately ordered place settings for six and several platters, thinking that they'd arrive in Houston in pieces, but willing to try my luck nonetheless. Two months later, they arrived, dumped on my front porch in the Heights in a battered foam-filled box, but with neither a single chip nor crack. Che fortuna!
I'm still laughing because I feel your pain and share your love for Italy, in spite of it. We are Americans retired in Sicily. . . even harder to accomplish anything, if you can imagine.
Oh my! I love this story. Can I narrate for my podcast? I'm working on narrating your story about Tea this week and I will have a link next week for you.
Wow, just wow. So well written, but at the same time a horror story for you guys. You are right though, I definitely take it all. Thanks for this, really something so well done.
Thanks for the great laugh... our daughter has been living in Italy for 2 years. In the last year we have been there 3 times 3 weeks at a time. Yes you nailed it!!!! This is life in Italy. I thought we where winey Americans and was missing something. Although I do love the country!
When I was living in Cyprus I ran into something very similar, though being a former British colony, English was the lingua franca, which made life SO much easier. There was still the 1-4pm afternoon siesta that took some getting used, but in time, I learned to adapt. The hardest thing to get used to was the pizza, believe it or not. For me, pizza is a tomato sauce delivery system, and none of the "pizzerias" on the island made a pie with tomato sauce. WTF???
How barbaric, I thought, convinced I'd landed in some version of Dante's Hell. 'Course, it was my first overseas experience, and I was fresh off the boat. I got used to it, but I never did learn to like it. :-)
You nailed it! Life in Italy with all its quirks, anche io , glad everything is closed on Christmas! I love being Italian and living here. And that includes NO pineapple on pizza, No cream in carbonara, and NO ketchup on spaghetti!
Working holidays for me was always something of a spiritual experience, especially when I was in the army. I would volunteer to cover systems during the holidays. It gave me an opportunity to think on the seriousness of my duties. (It may come as a surprise to some, but I am a patriot, and consider myself still bound by that oath I took on a fine June day over 45 years ago, "to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic.) Many of the jobs I held after -- but before leaving conventional work for the fame, fortune, and groupies of academia -- were also 24/7. I tried to wangle the overnight shift on the Y2K change over, so that I could blast "End of The World as We Know It" throughout the office, but the task was handed over to someone with less imagination. (And, frankly, competence, should the computers actually explode or something.)
Not especially relevant to your story. I never go out shopping on holidays. I recently had a brief chat with the guy delivering my pizzas (yes, plural), as he thanked me for the tip. So many people don't even show that minimal degree of gratitude. Me, I was like, dude! You are literally caring for me, enhancing my life in so many ways! (I've still left overs in the frig that are going to be dinner tonight.)
There are ways in which the "always open" and "closed whenever" economies are identical as mirror images.
We have been here 11 years and still savour the 'only in Italy' moments which are a regular occurrence. We have learned to roll with the punches and adapt and not whinge. Out of many of those 'moments' we have made some wonderful friendships, to laugh a lot, mainly at our selves, and certainly to enjoy a saner happier life.
Porca miseria! What an ordeal for you, but how typical of Italia's contrariness. I see from your experience and artful description that the inexplicable continues to thrive in a culture where "si, subito!" translates to "sure, any day or year." Your tale of errand frustration and automotive woe brought back sooooo many memories of our time in Roma long before the introduction of the supermercato concept. String bags stuffed with dripping packages of produce and proteins, massive loaves of casareccio, plastic baggies of mozzarella—all purchased at different shops and street markets before pranzo. When I worked as a proof-reader (2pm -10pm or 14:00 to 22:00) one summer at the Rome Daily American, I'd do my grocery shopping on my way to work, stash my string bag of goods in the office fridge, and then lug them home on the last weeknight bus up the Via Cassia. Then there are tales of negotiating the many, mysterious uffici to secure the various permessi needed to live as stranieri in Italy... or my experiences attending a scuola guida and passing a written test to get an Italian drivers permit... Oofa!
On the other topic you touched upon (Umbrian ceramics), if Deruta delighted you, try Gubbio. It's the most lovely medieval town where Franco Zeffirelli chose to shoot much of his Romeo and Juliet. Decades ago, I fell in love with a particular hand-painted pattern of lemons on a royal blue rim. The back of the one salad plate I'd scored from a ceramic import boutique in River Oaks bore the mark "C.A.F.F. Gubbio." During a lovely two-week return to Umbria and Lazio in the early aughts, I made a point of stopping for a day in Gubbio. Armed with a polaroid of my pattern, I visited every little family-owned ceramics shop in town until I found the artigiani that produced my lemon dishes. I immediately ordered place settings for six and several platters, thinking that they'd arrive in Houston in pieces, but willing to try my luck nonetheless. Two months later, they arrived, dumped on my front porch in the Heights in a battered foam-filled box, but with neither a single chip nor crack. Che fortuna!
I'm still laughing because I feel your pain and share your love for Italy, in spite of it. We are Americans retired in Sicily. . . even harder to accomplish anything, if you can imagine.
You nailed the frustrations and joy of living in this beautiful country❤️!
Oh my! I love this story. Can I narrate for my podcast? I'm working on narrating your story about Tea this week and I will have a link next week for you.
Wow, just wow. So well written, but at the same time a horror story for you guys. You are right though, I definitely take it all. Thanks for this, really something so well done.
Thanks for the great laugh... our daughter has been living in Italy for 2 years. In the last year we have been there 3 times 3 weeks at a time. Yes you nailed it!!!! This is life in Italy. I thought we where winey Americans and was missing something. Although I do love the country!
You my dear are a riot.
So true! We have lived this in multiple variations for years now. We love Italy and wouldn’t trade it for anything!
When I was living in Cyprus I ran into something very similar, though being a former British colony, English was the lingua franca, which made life SO much easier. There was still the 1-4pm afternoon siesta that took some getting used, but in time, I learned to adapt. The hardest thing to get used to was the pizza, believe it or not. For me, pizza is a tomato sauce delivery system, and none of the "pizzerias" on the island made a pie with tomato sauce. WTF???
How barbaric, I thought, convinced I'd landed in some version of Dante's Hell. 'Course, it was my first overseas experience, and I was fresh off the boat. I got used to it, but I never did learn to like it. :-)
You nailed it! Life in Italy with all its quirks, anche io , glad everything is closed on Christmas! I love being Italian and living here. And that includes NO pineapple on pizza, No cream in carbonara, and NO ketchup on spaghetti!
When it rains, it frickin rains, eh?!?
Thank you!
Working holidays for me was always something of a spiritual experience, especially when I was in the army. I would volunteer to cover systems during the holidays. It gave me an opportunity to think on the seriousness of my duties. (It may come as a surprise to some, but I am a patriot, and consider myself still bound by that oath I took on a fine June day over 45 years ago, "to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic.) Many of the jobs I held after -- but before leaving conventional work for the fame, fortune, and groupies of academia -- were also 24/7. I tried to wangle the overnight shift on the Y2K change over, so that I could blast "End of The World as We Know It" throughout the office, but the task was handed over to someone with less imagination. (And, frankly, competence, should the computers actually explode or something.)
Not especially relevant to your story. I never go out shopping on holidays. I recently had a brief chat with the guy delivering my pizzas (yes, plural), as he thanked me for the tip. So many people don't even show that minimal degree of gratitude. Me, I was like, dude! You are literally caring for me, enhancing my life in so many ways! (I've still left overs in the frig that are going to be dinner tonight.)
There are ways in which the "always open" and "closed whenever" economies are identical as mirror images.