Does anyone remember this Halloween song?
“What are you gonna be on Halloween night? A witch or a goblin or a ghost? What are you gonna be? Don’t tell me, wait until Halloween and let me guess”
I suspect that if you weren’t so lucky as to attend FP secondary then you probably have never heard it, well it’s your loss. I’ve actually searched for this song online because I wanted to spam people with it for old times sake.
Anyways, one year in an attempt to raise money for some charity the student council played this little ditty over and over again on the PA system during every break (that includes the 10 minutes we had to run to our lockers and then to class and during lunch) until they raised the amount of money they had set out to raise. The point was that it was annoying enough that the students would give money to make it stop, I think it kind of backfired since I remember most of us continued singing it even after the fundraiser was over. I’m not sure if the money was actually raised or whether they stopped it out of mercy for the teachers and administrations, but I do recall that they played the music for most, if not the whole, of the day. Or at least long enough so that it is sufficiently burned in my memory and that says a lot since I have very little to no memory of any other Halloween parties or events in my high school career (then again, those may have been blocked out due to my desire to forget almost everything from that period).
This year I was shocked to see that the spirit of Halloween is alive and well in Italy, or at least it is among the children. Years ago, when my cousins visited Canada during this time of year they came trick-or-treating with us for the first time and we were told that Italy did not have Halloween traditions. It appears that commercialism has made it’s way over and children now know the pleasure of dressing up in scary (?) costumes and asking people for candy. Although it is apparently not very wide-spread, most of the people I’ve asked do not have children knocking at their doors, and there is certainly no one banging on our door here on this mountain. Well that is with the exclusion of Valentina, my aunt and uncle’s nephew’s daughter. She is rewarded for her trip down here (that is all of about 100 metres) with a bunch of candy, I’m also told she doesn’t play the game right either, instead of knocking she prances in as usual and is rewarded for dressing like a witch. If I have my way (that is I’m home from work before she arrives) I’ll make her play it out as we did back in my day or else no candy for her (that last line should be said a la soup nazi).
Oddly enough, it seems that decorations are a popular seller here, stores are packed with decorations and costumes, but bulk size bags of candy aren’t anywhere to be found, most likely due to the fact that banging on doors and demanding candy isn’t widespread. So if no one really trick-or-treats outside of their close family and friends and apparently only wears these costumes during this time (dressing up at school hasn’t made it’s way here), what’s the point of Halloween? I don’t think that the Italians have really taken this ‘holiday’ to it’s full commercial and money spending potential.
The American’s have though. The local army base, located in Vicenza, broadcasts a radio station, the only English one in the country, and it serves all army bases here in Europe and Iraq. It’s appropriately called The Eagle, it’s catch phrase is “that’s freedom baby,” along with other fun sayings that I can’t recall now but they do make me laugh and talk to the radio as I drive to work. All week they’ve been advertising fun Halloween activities for the whole family in Vicenza, available mostly just for army personnel and they open it up to the “host community” later on in the evening.
Sadly, the bar traditions that we Vancouverites know so well haven’t made their way over here. I’ve been told that at the bars and clubs here Halloween isn’t really celebrated and that you may spot the occasional person with a witches hat or devil horns accessorizing their regular club outfit, full-on costumes and sky-high cover charges are not tradition. On the plus side though, the tradition among young Vancouver woman (maybe North American, I haven’t expanded my research to other cities yet) has not made it’s way across the Atlantic, I’m told that woman here do not attempt to see just how little they can get away with in public, those who have not made their way to Granville Street during the holiday season should know that this traditionally includes either a white, red or black bra and panties set worn with angel wings, devil horns or accessories that makes one believe they are a “sexy kitten” or “sexy rabbit.”
It has come to my attention though that it is November 1st that is the real holiday though. I recall in the past reading on many a calendars that the day was called “All Saint’s Day” and apparently this is not as a tribute to that Brit-pop band from the 90’s that tried to steal the Spice Girls success (remember them? they sang that catchy song Never Ever, this was my sad attempt to add humor to this post). Instead it is apparently because every day here is a day for a dead saint. Most people have saints attached to their name, well that is most people but my family. Obviously Saint Jennifer does not exist (that is until my passing, haha), nor is there as Saint Livi, Jessica, Meraldo or Christian (although Christian hasn’t been verified, Livi just refuses to believe that he could have a saint). Simone (Jessica’s boyfriend) on the other hand celebrated his saint’s day on Tuesday, we of course celebrated by doing nothing, since we were casually told this over dinner and no one seemed to care one way or another. The point of All Saint’s day is to honor those that do not have saints days, thus everyone celebrating together. This seems unfair to those like Simone who do not really get a celebration on their actual day, yet those not who were named names of people who were not so saintly get a whole holiday and celebration (if it didn’t fall on a Saturday this year I’m told that a day off work would be given).
How does one actually celebrate the day (also nicknamed day of the dead)? Well simple, apparently some go to church, uncle Meraldo does this- I’m told he goes every Christmas, Easter and All Saint’s Day (I guess they’re called C, E and Aer’s here)- the rest of us will not partake. After that is lunch (or maybe before, I’m still unclear) and then we all follow a processional to the cemetery, generally you walk down together with everyone in town, luckily for us we will be at Stella’s, where the cemetery is right next door so if it continues to pour, as it has the past two days, we wont have much of a walk. Once at the cemetery you stand beside your loved one’s grave and a priest blesses the grave, kind of like a final blessing. Afterwards, or at least in my aunt’s tradition, she gathers with friends at the bar.
I’m also facing a dilemma right now. Normally, in Canada I begin playing Christmas music on Nov. 12, since Remembrance Day is the last holiday before Christmas and thereby grants me the right to start preparing my celebrations. Do I continue this tradition, although I don’t technically get a holiday on that day nor do I have any poppies for me to lose on a daily basis? Or do I begin doing so on November 2nd, seeing that the 1st is the last holiday here before Christmas? OR… do I confess that I’ve already started listening to Christmas music on my iPod already?
Keep in mind this poll is purely in relation to the music at home, I want to know when I can start convincing my aunt to listen to Christmas music so that we can stop the madness and discontinue the continuous playing of her Alan Jackson CD that I will forever hate my brother for burning for her.
Happy Halloween
The plot, like the sauce, thickens…
As the weeks go by here in Italy it’s becoming apparent to me why I’m here. Because while travel, shoes, culture and all that fun stuff was what I thought brought me here, I’ve found other purpose.
They’re grooming me.
I’ve become an expert at sweeping, bathroom cleaning, espresso brewing, making beds and laundry folding and hanging. Grocery shopping, something that used to be done more often than I’d like to admit and never consisted of more than a few items, has now become a weekly thing (Saturday mornings) and consists of many, many bags.
And now, I’ve learned something that I never thought I would. On Saturday I became the first of Nonna’s Canadian grandchildren to learn how to make soup. Fear not family, the tradition will continue with me.
After we made the soup (which is insanely easy to do) my aunt said to me that I now was ready to have children and hand the recipe down through the generations.
Aside from soup, I also learned how to make veal (spare me the politically incorrect commentary, the baby cow tastes good) stew… aka spicitine (I’m fairly certain it’s not spelt right, but you get the point), although we got the recipe out of a book and thus I’m certain this is not the same as Nonna’s.
I’m beginning to think it’s not just a joke that Nonna wants me to come back married, I think everyone’s plotting against me.
Crap, I think I’m becoming domesticated.
If the reindeer cannot climb the hills of Italy… these guys don’t seem to have a problem
Mission Accomplished!
No, Jessica is not engaged (although much to my dismay, I drop not so subtle hints all the time). I saw Dominique! For an explanation on just who Dominique is, see this video… as for why you don’t know yet…. shame on you (even if you do know Dominique, I recommend watching the video again, it is rather hilarious).
Further background. As of last Christmas, we (Team I.D., myself and my cousins Kristina and Deanna) became obsessed with the donkey. He has become our mascot, every time we give each other gifts it always includes a donkey of some sort. It’s grown to the point where my wedding will surely include a donkey somehow. Anyways, before I came to Italy I said my goal was to find Dominique and somehow get it involved in some kind of Christmas surprise. Well, when I got here everyone told me that there were no donkey’s nearby, so it would be nearly impossible to do something for Christmas… well on Thursday I was given hope.
Thursday afternoon I was driving home from work when I noticed a large herd of sheep in the field near the hill I live on. I said to myself (because I talk to myself a lot while I drive… true fact) that I should check that out, since donkey’s must be near sheep (ok, I’ll admit stupid logic, but I was concentrating on the road and thereby not on what kind of animals sheep hang with). I started driving up the hill and I was only about ¼ of the way up when all of the sudden rounding a corner was this guy and his herd of sheep. I’m talking hundreds of sheep just coming towards me and my car. So I stop (without stalling!) and wait for them to pass. Luckily I had my camera, because as I was changing my purses that morning I almost decided against it because, what was going to be photo-worthy at work? Thank god I thought otherwise.
There were literally hundreds of them, just baa-ing and smelling all sheep-like (that’s bad for those not lucky enough to have ever smelt it)… and mixed in with them were a bunch of donkey’s. I probably looked like an idiot in the car taking pictures and being all smiley and giddy, but that was because I had somewhat accomplished what Kris and Dee sent me out to do. But alas, since I’m sharing the pictures now, it’s obviously not the Christmas surprise, they’re not really good quality for the idea I have anyways. I just needed to share that hope springs eternal and there are donkey’s for me to dress up and antagonize this December. As for the pictures, check them out.
In all honesty it really was an amazing sight to see, I mean all these sheep just walking towards me and just outside my car. I could literally just stick my arm out the window and pet them, by I abstained since I didn’t want the smell to linger after they had passed.
When I got home I told my aunt and uncle (well she translated for him) they weren’t so impressed. They had actually passed by the house about half an hour before, so even if I weren’t lucky enough to see them in the car, I would have seen them had I been home (and most likely gotten better shots of the donkey’s not being in the car and all).
In other happy news… after the donkey’s and sheep’s passed me I was able to continue up the hill. For those who have never had the joy of driving stick-shift let me tell you, starting on a hill is a pain in the ass, in the past I would panic or roll backwards or stall. So I was incredibly happy when I was able to just start the car and get driving again without any problem. Yet another example that I’m becoming a skilled driver here.
Fun Facts about Italy. Part: I don't know
Some of these may be repeats from previous entries, but that’s ok.
-Toilets are often referred to as the “WC”. I was confused at first about this until someone explained that apparently in school here they teach children mostly British English, they seem to think that the Brits call the toilet the “water closet.” I’ve never heard this in my life… I thought it was called the loo in Britain? Clarifications please? But anyways, the water closet… really?
-The water closets are usually pay-per-use in public places, such as the train stations (.60 in Vicenza, 1 euro in Verona and free in Schio). As a rule, I refuse to pay to use the bathroom, generally in restaurants and bars they’re free if you’re a customer, I’d rather pay the euro for a cappuccino and use the facilities than pay a euro and get nothing in return. Also, as I said, the Schio station is free when using their WC, but as a general rule the condition and cleanliness is reflected in the price paid to use them. I should also note that while in North America we have a certain idea of what a toilet looks like, the Italians have another vision, they’re basically a hole in the ground with porcelain surrounding it, us ladies are lucky and get to squat. I see how something could be seen as a cleaner, more hygienic way to use public washrooms, but most times I think I’d rather risk the germs and bacteria. See, I told you these would be fun facts!
-University students start their year off carrying their books in a carry-on suitcase. By midway through the first month they have upgraded to full on suitcases.
-Italian drivers are some of the most impatient people on the planet. They’re also horrible tailgaters. I suddenly understand my dad better.
-The Italians are pretty diligent recyclers. They have clearly marked containers everywhere for different materials (paper, plastic, aluminum, waste), the recycling programs in the house are pretty good as well, most people compost and separate everything. I assume this is to reduce the carbon footprint that their numerous vehicles are producing (I haven’t seen a hybrid here yet, but the smart car is fairly popular, as are bicycles). I also imagine that the separate bins in the cities are because unlike in Vancouver, they do not have canners to pick out the bottles and cans that can be returned for deposit.
-TV hosts here are awesome. Screw law school and becoming a lawyer, I want to be a TV host here. Here’s why: they get to host some of the weirdest variety shows ever; their job requires very little from them; they (well the chicks) get to wear nice clothes (and shoes!); and they generally have to do their own commercials- when they go to commercial they first show commercials for the sponsors of the shows, this usually means the host of the show is acting in horrible skits with the product. The most amusing are with the guy that hosts Millionaire, mostly because he pretty much hosts everything on TV, so he’s in a million of these skits and he’s a shameless spokes model… last week I saw him do a two minute commercial about car air fresheners. This job is by far one of the easiest jobs in the world, it’s cheesy and fun and they get paid a lot of money… add this as another goal here in Italy. (Honestly, words do not explain this job, this is a pretty insufficient description, it must be seen to understand, yet there is nothing comparable on North American TV)
-The Italian lotto is currently at 100+ million euro (that is unless someone won Thursday night that I don’t know about). Apparently if you do all the math and conversions it is the highest jackpot in the world… ever. I’m hoping to test my beginners luck on Saturday and play my first round of Italian lotto. Here’s the trick to the Italian lotto, you pick numbers between 1 and 99, making the number combinations total more than the amount of euro’s it’s worth and thereby making it next to impossible for someone to win and thus why the jackpot is so huge.
-Poochy the cat hates me. I hate her too, but I tried to extend the olive branch Thursday (that which would make tasty olive oil afterwards). So my aunt has this cat- actually it’s Jessica’s, but when she left Poochy stayed- I’m allergic to cats, so I stay away from her and whenever she comes into the garage (she’s not in the house at all) we give each other dirty looks and I curse her out. Thursday I went into the garage and saw her hanging out in her bed on top of the furnace, so I went over and thought I’d give her a little pet on the head and avoid contact with my face while doing so (to prevent the allergy flare-up you see). As I walked over, she did that cat-back arch thing where they try to show you that they don’t want you near them. Then I proceeded to pet her, she decided to rub up against her scratching pole as if to show me she didn’t need me. She then meowed and jumped off the furnace and towards her food. Obviously she did not need me to pet her. I went inside and washed my hands and vowed never to try to befriend her again. It was with this interaction my belief that all cats are bitches was solidified even further. (As for those wondering why I would try to befriend her in the first place, I believe in the saying “keep your friends close and your enemies even closer”)
Every day is my best day; this is my life. I'm not going to have this moment again
Quick update from Italy-land.
-I’m getting the hang of driving stick-shift. Dare I jinx myself and say I’m not even stalling… even when stuck in stop and go traffic. Happiness is not stalling your car with angry Italians behind you.
-I apparently mispronounce my last name. Funny how I’ve gone 26 years without knowing this. My student on Tuesday asked me my surname, actually the one on Monday did too but she got it right away and didn’t make fun of my pronunciation, she also commented on it’s popularity around here (many other people have the same last name as me around these parts). My Tuesday student had me say it twice before he even questioned if it was Italian, then made me write it before he said “oh, I know this name, you’re pronouncing it wrong.” At this point he gave me a lesson in pronunciation and I bit my tongue over the fact that he mispronounces the word ‘closed’ no matter how many times I correct him.
-I was also told yesterday that I looked more professional than the previous two times I saw my student. This was because I was wearing my glasses. I think he just didn’t want to tell me I looked smarter or he didn’t have the words to say it. It makes me wonder if I just looked like some English speaking person dragged off the teach to talk to him in English the previous two times.
-One of my Monday students was confused about my first name, she had heard me being referred to as Jen and Jennifer (I just introduce myself as Jennifer since it’s easier and I don’t want to start a Jenny fiasco around here, but my coworkers just call me Jen). She didn’t understand the correlation between the two, I also explained that some like to call me Jenny and that I hated this. She now refers to me as Jenny.
-I still trip down cobblestone streets while wearing heels. Apparently tripping is a trait in Jen world-wide. I’m fairly certain that I can’t blame it on the cobblestone and that it’s just my lack of talent in the walking department.
This has nothing to do with politics… promise!
I found out the best thing on Wednesday night.
We have a pomegranate tree. While grocery shopping last Saturday I noticed that it was pomegranate season (this is about as joyful to me as litchi season and almost as much as the forthcoming Egg Nogg Latte season that I’ll miss out on)… but the prices here are even more than in Canada. Wednesday my aunt mentions that the melegranate (Italian word for it) tree was producing fruit, but they don’t eat them, so she was going to give them to a friend. Upon discovering what these are, I did a dance of joy and picked the tree on Thursday.
Huzzah for fruit trees!
Because I'm Obsessed
We have satellite here in Italy. Sky has literally a million channels, most are in Italian but they often give you the option of watching in English if the program was originally in English. So movies, TV show (usually a season behind) and music channels are still available for me to enjoy.
There are about 30-40 music stations, I mean music stations, not mtv or much music types of “music” stations that claim to play music but really show really bad reality TV 23.5 hours out of the day, although we do get MTV too… and Vh1.
The variety of news networks is huge, aside from about 20 different Italian news programs we also get FoxNews, MSNBC, CNN World, BBC World, Al Jezera and numerous others. Wednesday morning I turned on the TV to find out about the Canadian election, I wanted to hear the inevitable news for myself. It was probably about 1am in Canada at the time so I figured a decision must have been made and would be reported internationally, I mean they’re obsessed with the US election on all the networks, American or not, they’d have to give at least some news on the Canadian decision. It took half an hour before I found anything. During that time I watched all major networks discuss the economic crisis (which still makes sense to me, but as my student told me, since I have no money, I’m lucky… never thought I’d hear that in my life), but no Canadian election results. It wasn’t until I changed to CNN with the strategy that if I watched long enough, they would say something… or at least the ticker would (side note: there ticker isn’t as big as the one on the US CNN making it hard to read). Finally, after about 15minutes of listening to them drone on about how McCain was planning on attacking Obama’s economic plan during the debate on Wednesday night they finally gave me the news in a small tidbit on the ticker: “Conservative Party has lead in Canadian Election.”
And my day was then ruined.
On another note, I switched on the TV Thursday morning to discover FoxNews replaying the debate (my god FoxNews loves their republicans). Aside from the fact that I seriously love Obama and will be more upset if he loses than I was when Bush was re-elected, McCain is kinda an ass. The whole republican platform is to take low blows at the democrats. Also, McCain fights like a little kid (or myself and my brother when we fight), making passive aggressive comments and snide remarks that make him look childish and petty, shouldn’t his advisors tell him that?
I think that’ll be enough of my election coverage until the 4th and I’ll now try to resume this blogs original intentions, the one in which I try to talk about myself and Italy and all that jazz.
It’s just that the election is interesting and I talk about it with my students a lot.
If you’re looking for updates in Jen world… well I’m still teaching, I’m also driving without stalling and the language is still foreign. I’m considering taking Italian lessons at the school I teach at, because self-teaching when you’re not good at self-motivating isn’t really working for me.
Oh, Canada.
A message to my fellow Canadians:
You disappoint me
I'll be back in Canada when it's all over. I hope the American's can be smarter.
V-O-T-E
Can I tell you how much I love election time. I mean seriously. I do feel a slight shame that the US election is much more interesting than the Canadian, but really with the round-the-clock coverage of each candidate and campaigning that goes on for a year, what’s not to be entertained by? I mean the Canadian election is announced and one month later we’re voting. What fun is that? It’s not nearly enough time for me to get interesting images of Harper to make fun of (don’t know what I’m talking about? Click here: http://flaggman.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/stephen-harper-kitten.jpg).
Look at that photo and answer this: Is that a man that should be running Canada?
Multiple choice answers: A) No B) Non
C) Hell no D) All of the above
→If you chose A, B, C, or D… proceed to the voting station of your area and chose the Liberal, NDP, Green, Communist, Marijuana or Independent candidate in your riding.
→If you didn’t think any of those answers are sufficient… please be advised that voting for you will commence on October 20 and please do not attempt to cast a vote until that time.
It’s kind of sad that this election will be the first one that I haven’t voted in since I turned 18. I know, it’s just a vote, but quite honestly, I love voting. I love thinking that my vote counts for something and I have a say in democracy (lets ignore the fact that it’s very rare that who I vote for gets elected as PM, but my vote for MP usually works).
And since we’re (ok, I’m) talking about elections… a note on the US (because you know I love it).
Is anyone else tired of the America’s and how they pat themselves on the back for breaking the glass ceiling? I mean they’re just so proud that this election will see them vote in their first black president (actually he’s only half-black, but they neglect that part most of the time) or female vice-president (whom will most likely be president since ol’potato there is ready to kick it). Doesn’t the media, the politicians or anyone else see how stupid it is?
Aside from the fact that I don’t understand why this is even an issue, does the color of one’s skin or their gender really tell us about how they would act while in power? If so the white guy in power right now has pretty much screwed it up for all future white-men in power (yet another reason why not to vote in the old white guy).
My point is that the US is so proud of something they should be ashamed of. They’re trying to make it seem like they’re open to change and willing to give minorities a chance to run the country, as if they’re the first to do so. Yet it’s commonplace everywhere else.
Woman have had power before. Need I remind you of Kim Campbell? Margaret Thatcher? The president of Finland that looks like Conan O’Brien (Tarja Halonen)? Michelle Jeria (Chile), Helen Clark (New Zealand), Angela Merkel (Germany)?
As for black people, you needn’t look further than most African countries that have had a black president at some point, as have a lot of Caribbean countries (many of these countries have elected not only black men, but black women, crazy I know). And what was that guy from South Africa? Ummm.. Nelson Mandela? Yeah, him… first black president of South Africa, a country that was under apartheid long after the so-called freedom of black people in the US, he did pretty good under the pressure.
The US needs to stop acting as if they’re so liberal and open-minded for allowing these ‘minorities’ the right to the office. Congratulations for joining the rest of the world, stop acting so proud and start feeling some shame.
I’ll get off my soap box now… but like I said before, remember to get out and vote people (remember, if you’re voting conservative the day to vote is the 20th)… if any American’s are reading this, please remember to vote Obama on the 4th, do you really want a potato running your country?
Things I want to say but don't necessarily deserve their own entry
-The best part of my job is that I get to wear jeans to work. I know, a seemingly stupid thing to be excited about and might make you question how much I love my job if this is the best part of it. But, after years and years of having to wear uniforms or “business casual” to work, wearing jeans is pretty kick ass (my dress code involves looking respectful, so look nice, but no need to be business casual).
-Italian students are chatty, chatty, chatty. You can ask them a simple question and they’ll give an extra long response, which I generally don’t mind until the end of the session and I realize we didn’t cover everything I wanted to (if anything). One of my students, who is the most beginner of all of them, is hilarious with her English, quite purposely too, and it’s hard to be funny in a language you barely know (intentionally that is)… but she’ll make up things when she has no idea what the answer is because she wants to entertain me (such as when we were talking about clothes, I pointed to a picture of a pair of shorts and asked what they were. She couldn’t come up with shorts so she kept calling them little pants, then asked why I couldn’t accept that either, since essentially, it is kinda true).
-The world is apparently coming to an end and I have no clue what is happening. Here’s the great thing about not knowing much of the language, you can watch the news and still be blissfully unaware of what’s going on. I mean, the financial world is apparently in ruins, they constantly show the New York stock exchange and the Euro stock exchange on the news and Bush is promising Americans that everything will be ok (pshaw… we’ve heard that before Georgy) and I couldn’t tell you what is going on. Two of my students work in one of the bigger banks here as financial advisors or something like that (they deal with stock is what I know) come into classes and tell me that the ceiling is crashing in on them and work is extremely stressful. The only warning I’ve received from Christian is to take all my money out of the bank, lest TD bank goes bankrupt (something tells me I shouldn’t trust him as a financial consultant though). I’m off to google this stuff to make some sort of sense of it all.
-I’ve also become a pretty adept driver with a stick shift. That is provided I don’t stop… especially on a hill. Once I get going it’s all good, but stopping is another story. Although I like to blame my aunt’s car, because with the driving instructors car I had no problems (I’ve been told this is because it was diesel and the cars I use will not be) yet with my aunt’s I stall every time it comes to start again after I stop. I miss automatics. Luckily, I will be using my uncles’ car most often and I don’t seem to be having too many problems with his car… keeping my finger’s crossed of course.
-It still hasn’t rained here, it’s still sunny and pretty hot, like Vancouver summer hot. I’ve been here over a month and have barely seen any rain (if it does rain, it is immediately followed by sun). The Vancouverite in me finds this odd. I mentioned this to people today and I was told that everyone here is tired of the sun too and it should rain by the end of the week. This will inevitably lead to an entry next week of me complaining of the rain and wishing for sun.
-We went and saw Mamma Mia here in the theatres. The talking was in Italian but the singing was still in English with Italian subtitles. I assure you, Pierce Brosnan is still hilarious when he sings, it could quite possibly be funnier the second time you see it. I had Jessica, Livi and Antoinetta laughing at me because I was laughing so hard every time he sang- I was literally in tears.
-After much discussion on Sunday night I came to the conclusion that dating in Italy is pretty much as screwed up as anywhere else. We were at Stella’s house for dinner and someone asked me if I had a “fidanzatto,” which I was taught meant fiancé. I asked my aunt for clarification because I’ve often heard this and “amarosso” interchanged, even though I thought amarosso meant boyfriend (amarossa meaning girlfriend) and thought that this difference was a pretty big one. Well, they’re often exchanged here (I think in dialect) so people will either ask if you have a fidanzatto or amarosso, meaning “are you dating anyone.” This started a whole discussion on when you become someone’s boyfriend or girlfriend… when you leave the “friend” zone and become more. This then turned to the older people at the table (at this point there was 5 of them) reminiscing about when they first started dating their spouse and how people these days move so much faster than when they dated (one couple said they were dating 3 weeks before he got the nerve to put his arm around her… whereas nowadays, in 3 weeks a lot can happen… or as my aunt said, in one night a lot can happen). This then left the two young ones (aka Diego and I) to explain things, which didn’t work so well because I ended up confusing Diego and everyone else. This prompted me to tell everyone that they needed to read more women’s magazines, because it’s all too confusing for me too and Glamour seems to have some sense to it.
-This leads me to my last point… there are two questions that everyone asks you here in Italy that generally aren’t asked in Canada (or they’re often seen as rude there). Number one being “how old are you?” Number two being “are you married (or dating someone)?” This became very baffling to me when I was asked this at job interviews, seeing that asking someone these questions when you’re a potential employer is illegal in Canada. Evidently, not so much in Italy, where I was told they ask if you’re married because they want to know if you could be pregnant (or soon be pregnant), because then you really aren’t of much use to them if you’ll be on maternity leave (I must say, I was glad that the age question isn’t followed with “why aren’t you married yet,” instead I often get “oh, you have lots of time to get married”). It’s also good to note that on Italian resumes (or CV’s as they refer to them here) people often include their birth date and age, sometimes even a picture and that in some places video resumes are becoming popular (non gracias).
Conquering fears and making new ones
I guess it’s incorrect to say that I’m conquering fears, since I’m certain that once I’m back in Canada and faced with one of the big ugly spiders there that I will freak out as I normally do. But here in Italy, they don’t really faze me. Dare I say I even kill them (with a broom or I step on them). Maybe it’s because here they’re skinny little things like daddy long legs and not as menacing as in Canada, thing is that I don’t care.
I did find a new fear though… scorpions. Holy geez, I’ve gone almost a month without any and found two on Tuesday night. First one was when we were all downstairs and Christian and Simone were BBQ-ing, I was looking at my aunt’s shot glass collection (Lauren, send all yours this way) and I noticed that a few of them had things in them, like the Mexico one had a little plastic person lying on a hammock and some other one had something else. So I pick another one up and am about to say to my aunt that I like the glasses with stuff in them that I look and see a scorpion in one, I ask her if it’s supposed to be in there, but noticing that it’s not a glass from somewhere hot I realize it’s an actual scorpion (that seemed to have died in the glass). Jessica and I have a little freak out and my aunt throws it in the fire, crisis averted.
Cut to two hours later… I’m in my room on the phone with Kim, who surprised me by calling from Germany. Everything is going good, we’re chatting and I’m pacing around my room as I always do whilst on the phone. I look down and there is a scorpion by my dresser. Not cool, not cool at all. I calmly walk out of the room and stare it down, luckily buddy wasn’t smart enough to move. Once I finish the call I go downstairs and get Christian to come up and kill it. Stupid thing still hadn’t moved, not even when faced with a damn shoe. Those things are creepy as hell and now I’m looking for them everywhere (don’t even ask about the shower I took afterwards and mistakenly thought my hair was a scorpion falling on me… I really shouldn’t admit that stuff here should I? I was imagining arachnophobia (the movie) for scorpions).
You thought I’d never find out huh?
I’m on to you Kristina…
Remember this postcard? (It currently hangs on back of Jessica/my bedroom door with a large collection of postcards)
Remember what you wrote?
Ouch
An amendment to what I said about Italian University not being harder than in Canada… maybe
Ok, so I can’t be sure that university here is harder than in Canada, but I do know that it is perhaps wackier. Or the teachers are just mean. Or that students are just insane. The school year started on Thursday here, as I headed home around 6:45 on the train it was packed with students heading home from the University of Vicenza. It became apparent that these students all had a few things in common. For one, most were already studying on the train, almost every one of them had a book open and was reading during the train ride. In my experience, the first week of school is still the slacker week, sure they gave us readings and homework, but for the most part we all put it off for one more week of freedom (thus beginning the pressure and stress when all this needs to be studied for midterms… I suddenly do not miss school at all). Also, while some read on the buses most of us took that time to chat with friends, send text messages or zone out to our mp3 players. Reading on the bus was mainly exclusive to midterms and final exams, a few last minutes of cramming as we headed to school, but coming home was always the time to decompress after classes, before we got home and pulled out the books again.
Secondly, any amount of books I lugged home from the bookstore on the first day was nothing in comparison to this. The students here were all carrying big heavy backpacks filled with books as well as other bags full. Some also used carry-on luggage to transport their books. And if you’re thinking this is just a first day of school situation, nope, they do this everyday (I also tend to wonder if they haven’t just figured out that not all textbooks need to go to class, I mean do the profs. really make them bring them? Ours rarely did, so our every day life was basically our notebooks and pens and a few dozen printed pages worth of studies and notes because while we had to buy the heavy texts, they were rarely used, instead were supplemented with many $ worth of printed pages and dead trees). Hauling books to class is a work out in itself here.
And this isn’t just exclusive to university. Everyday I see young kids with backpacks that weigh more than most of them, filled with textbooks and homework that they have to complete by the next day.
As for the actual university program, I still haven’t figured it out except that here it is basically 5 years to get your degree (I don’t know if it’s a bachelors or what). The years are split though, first you do 3 years and then you can choose to do the next 2 and get your degree, I’m not sure what you get if you only do the first 3. Apparently it used to be a 4-year program like us but they wanted to give students a choice after the 3 years to go into a career or something.
After all this, I’m not exactly sure that going to school here is any harder than in Canada, because while they do have to write papers here and write exams, I can’t see why school would be made easier in one place and not in others. I think the ways we all go about it are different and we become accustomed to the way we are made to learn. That being said, I’m glad I did school in Canada, because carrying the books, taking the exams, the constant studying, I’m not sure I could handle all it. That’s not to say the way I did it wasn’t filled with stress, god knows I had many late nights and spent a lot of times crying from all the stress, but here it sounds like the pressure is greater or something I can’t put my finger on.
Also, from experience it seems that the students here go crazy. Or so that’s the conclusion that we’ve reached after a small study of a handful (2-3) of people that we’ve done our own psychiatric evaluations on (we being me, who has taken some psych courses; Christian, who has dated the crazy students; and Livi, the translator and wise older person giving out sage advice).
From the mind of Christian…
Italian TV, like I’m sure everywhere else, is showing a lot of US election coverage (Canadian, not so much… what day is it again? And may I make this plea for all my fellow Canadians not to vote for Harper. Please?). The other day we were discussing the candidates when Christian asked me who I would vote for and of course I said Obama. He then started talking about McCain and asked Livi and I if he was related to the same McCain’s who have the french fry company.
We tried to explain that it was just a common last name in North America, like Smith or Johnson and we weren’t sure if he was related to those McCain’s.
Cut to Saturday night when I went out with Christian and his friends. We were all in the car and I was listening to them talk, I then heard Christian bring up the election. He now refers to the candidates as “Obama” and “Potato.”
I don’t think I could have said it better myself.
Heaven help us if they elect a potato for a president.
PS: How is this for sexist? As we were driving yesterday I sat in the car with 4 guys. I couldn’t understand a word of the conversation except they peppered their speech with “dio cane” every other word (for those unaware, this literally means that God is a dog). So I started laughing and making fun of them, apparently they were all horrified when I said the words (over and over actually to make my point). They informed me that woman cannot say this, but only men. When we got home later that night I asked my aunt about it, she was mad I even said it when explaining it, because yes, women do not say it, she also said she never hears Christian say it… although I hear it all the time around the house from him and Meraldo (evidently in such a Catholic country as we have hear that comparing god to anything else is horrifying, even though I argue that none of us are exactly upstanding catholics). Apparently at home she says Christian says “Zio Cane”. He’s calling one of his uncles a dog… I wonder how they feel about that?
If only it were that easy
Quick note on a conversation with Nonna recently. We called her to see how things were and after she spoke to Livi (in what sounded like a mix of both English and Italian) I got on the phone with her. The conversation went as follows (or at least the first minute)…
Jen: Hi Nonna, how are you?
Nonna: String of words in Italian dialect that was inexplicable to me.
When Nonna realized that I wasn’t really catching on to what she was saying she started to question why I hadn’t learned the language yet (never mind the fact that she was speaking dialect, something I swear I’ll never get used to). Apparently I should have had the language mastered at this point, it didn’t occur to her that last week I wasn’t able to respond in Italian either.
If only it were that easy huh? Learn the whole language in a month. Does she know something that I don’t? Should I be drinking more of the water here rather than the bottled stuff all the time? Is that the secret to learning it, through osmosis?
I’m trying Nonna, I’m trying… here’s hoping someday I’ll get this crazy language mastered. (Yes, I realize she wont be reading that but I wanted to share my funny experience).
(More than) A few thoughts on… accents.
Accents have always puzzled and intrigued me. I’ve always thought it was interesting how something as simple as they way in which we use our language can not only reveal a lot about who we are but where we are from and even our socio-economic status. It’s often been said that in Britain accents are so finely tuned that people could tell where the speaker was from just based on how they spoke, this also revealed (or maybe just made general assumptions) about a person’s level of education or what class they belonged to.
In Italy they have somewhat of the same thing, but instead it’s based on different dialects in the country. In Rome they have Roman, here in Veneto they have their own as well and it works it’s way around the country. It’s all based on the Italian language but how it is used differs in different regions, so much so that others may not be able to understand each other. I have also found that many don’t even speak real Italian but just that of their dialect. This also makes it hard for me because I’m trying to learn real Italian but have problems understanding others a lot of the time. For those wondering (I know we had this discussion before I left), it is in the Tuscan region, that the ‘real’ Italian is spoken.
I bring all this up because not only because accents have been a source of amazement here in Italy but also because the anthro-geek in me thinks that this would be a good study (although I’m sure many of this nature have been done, in fact I think I should have paid more attention during linguistic-anthro because we did indeed study this). What I think set me wondering was that accents that I found indiscernible were blatantly obvious to others. I found this out last week when I was at my English course in Verona. As I mentioned previously there were some American’s there with us, we were all around the same age and fresh out of university. One girl was from Seattle, another from California, another from Florida and a guy from Georgia. To us, we all had similar accents, with the exception of the guy from Georgia, who may have had a slight southern tinge to his voice, but not as heavy as one might expect. I was talking to the girl from Florida one of the days and a guy also at the course approached us, he was from Germany and was there as a teacher of both English and German. He interrupted us and said to the other girl that her accent was like music to his ears, that she probably had one of the most beautiful accents he had ever heard. I was puzzled. Not only because I wanted to know what was wrong with my accent, but I couldn’t tell the difference between our speech. Granted there are some of the more slight nuances between an American and Canadian speaker, such as the stereotypical eh and the different pronunciations of certain words, or the minor difference in the pronunciation of the o-sound, but to either of us, the difference didn’t seem that apparent. After asking him about it, apparently he had noticed a large difference between all our accents, something that we couldn’t notice no matter how hard we tried.
It seems that unless there is an obvious difference between the different accents, such as the thick southern accent of the US, or the Boston or Chicago accents (to name a few) it’s almost impossible to find these differences, yet for others the differences are large. Evidently a Canadian accent exists and it’s not as musical or beautiful as the Florida accent.
I also bring up this whole accent thing because it also surprised me how one’s accent can change or remain the same. One of the head teachers at the school got up to speak at one point and continued to teach us some part of the lesson for about half an hour. In all honestly what he was trying to teach us was lost on me and apparently my American counterparts faced this same problem. You see, he was American, or so we assumed, he had an American name (Eric) as well as his last name and we were so focused on figuring out his accent that we couldn’t concentrate. When he first spoke he sounded American, but as he continued his sentences would always end with this weird accent. It was no longer American but this amalgamation of British, American and some other thing we couldn’t quite place, quite possibly it was just the intonation of someone who was confused between their British and American self (he indeed sounded as if he had a case of the “Madonnas”). Afterwards the other girls approached him to see where he was from, turns out he was born and raised in the US, but came to Italy about 8 years ago and uses both Italian and English to communicate.
In contrast, I thought of my aunt. She was born in Italy, but came to Canada at a young age and learned English. She then moved back to Italy many years ago and generally uses Italian to communicate during the day, although with me here she probably uses English much more now. What is interesting is that she has no confusion of accent, when she speaks English, it’s the same Canadian accent she’s always had. I can only assume that when she speaks Italian, her accent is Italian. When I asked her about this she had no explanation, which is what I expected, because how would one consciously know about a change in accent?
It’s all just so interesting (to me at least). How our accents can be so much part of our identity and such a cause for confusion at the same time.
So what am I getting at? I’m not sure, but I had all these thoughts on accents that confused me and I wanted to write about one of the more serious differences that I have been wondering about lately rather than my normal mindless nonsense about the difference between coke and coke light.
Pictures? You betcha… but first let me ramble.
A few odd thoughts from me first:
-On the train into Vicenza, just as you leave Schio there is a house that is painted to look camouflaged. I keep trying to take pictures but we move too fast. But it’s camo’d up too look… well I don’t know. Problem is, I still see it. Is the desired effect not irrelevant then? Why would one paint their house camo anyways? Is there some weird need to stay hidden that I should know about? Point is… the house looks ugly (odd, since most houses here look good no matter what they’re painted just because I love the styles) and I can still see it. I just don’t get it.
-So I was out of the loop in regards to news and such, especially hometown news since it is Italy and we could probably care less with what’s happening in Vancouver. Nor do we care about hockey, although I have been told I may be able to see a few games here at some point. But I thought about my question yesterday about Luongo as captain and decided that being a son of an Italian immigrant and having the looks and last name of an Italian, this can only mean the Canucks will win the cup this year. Trust.
(btw, I’m so aware of how that all sounded, but what do you expect, I’m in Italy)
-It’s raining here today, apparently our weather is linked to Vancouver somehow. I’ve heard it was sunny there while it was here, when it started raining there today, so did it here.
-Is anyone else out there happy to know that Jen in Italy still talks about the weather as much as in Canada? Sadly I don’t have the same access to weather.com so I can’t be my obsessive compulsive self about pictures.
Finally… I got the pictures downloaded in one place. I was trying to do it on my ipod to Facebook yesterday but I don’t like how that was working out, so today I finally downloaded them there and have a link for people to see. You don’t need an account to look at the pictures (just to comment), so click the link to see the small amount that I have so far (sorry, I haven’t taken many because I haven’t ventured that far
out of Schio).
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=55060&l=301b5&id=593062131
updates, news and writing on my iPod
I hope this works I'm on my iPod and unsure of what I'm doing.
First I posted a few pics on my facebook for those on my profile. If someone can post the link for others in the comments it would be appreciated.
Also for my own amazement and wondering I just found out because Italy doesn't care about hockey... But Luongo as captain? Really? I guess it's good enough.
That's all for now I guess.
Ciao!
Oh, She’s Just Being Jen
I’ve been here less than three weeks (yes, I had to look that up because it seems like it’s been more with all I’ve gotten accomplished) and I’ve already fallen (literally) back into old Jen patterns.
I fell. And I hurt myself too. Hooray for medical coverage that I will not use because Jen still doesn’t use doctors even in other countries.
Before you go freaking out (Mom), I only sprained my ankle or twisted it or just hurt in a way that I felt pain, something that I’ve done so many times that it hardly makes an impact on me anymore. You see, I was walking down the mountain that I call home to the bus stop that only stops halfway up for the 11:45 bus to the city. Stupid Jen wore flip flops because I wanted to embrace the remains of the summer season (yes, it’s technically fall, but it’s still feeling like summer) and because of the erratic drivers, I have to stay as close to the side of the road as possible (sidewalks… Italians scoff at these sidewalks you speak about). I didn’t realize that the road ended and the grass began after a little bit of a ledge so after a small misstep I was down on the pavement, sprawled like the idiot that I am. Of course, I rebounded in true Jen fashion and got up and continued walking muttering to myself “walk it off Sandri, walk it off.” And it worked, until later in the evening when I was talking my driving lessons with an Italian named Enrico who tells me to do things in Italian and then my aunt, sitting in the backseat, must interpret them for me… midway through the lesson I felt excruciating pain as I pressed down on the clutch for the hundredth time and then I spent the rest of the day hobbling around the house.
It’s such a Jen thing to do to advertise my idiocracy on the internet eh? I think most people don’t advertise when they fall, but I generally make a habit of letting everyone know… also I want to see if Ms. Leah Artoodeetoo did the same thing since we are co-dependent in that regard (that shout out was also to see if she was reading this since I haven’t seen a comment yet Ms. Plomp). Leah, did you happen to fall at 1am your time on Tuesday?
As for today, it’s feeling better and I will later stupidly put on heels as I go to work for the first time at my job. I’m teaching English in Vicenza twice this week and I think four times next week. I also have a bunch of work lined up here in Schio next week as well, so work is going well and the Euro’s will eventually be flowing in (except, Italians only get paid once a month, so I have to wait another month L ).
I’m currently sitting in the kitchen alone as Livi and Christian are at work and my uncle is out shooting birds. I swear, every morning I wake up in a war zone with shots ringing out in the sky just outside the house. Paradise for a girl that constantly dreams that she is being shot and hates guns :D
I’m also still slowly learning the ways of the Italian life. Such as, you do not drink at the bar at the Schio train station, I arrived early yesterday and went to get a cappuccino, I walked in and immediately knew it was wrong… I personally thought it would be full of old men, just like those that sit outside the bar drinking their coffee. Nope, all men that sat and ogled what was probably the only woman to step foot in there all day. Me being the nice Canadian that I am, felt it would be rude to just walk out, so I drank my coffee and left. When I got home later my aunt plainly told me that you do not go into that bar… you just don’t.
FYI: Cafes in Italy are bars, sadly, I cannot sit in them all day and read as I did in Vancouver, instead you drink your coffee, usually standing at the bar and leave, sitting down generally costs more. Another thing I’ve learned about Italy… you pay to do everything.
