Changing the Record (while eating strawberries)

I’ve been a little M.I.A. lately, which I’m sure can be expected with all the changes that are happening with my life.  As I type, I’m sitting against our balcony doors in the Italian sunshine, overlooking terracotta-tiled roofs and bustling Italians down below, eating a bowl of deliziosa strawberries.  I suddenly want to breathe in everything Italian, from the weather, culture, food, people and anything else that comes my way.  I’m very excited to be going to Rome on Thursday for the very first time.  It’s my second last place that I wanted to see before I went home.  (Unfortunately I wanted to see Pompeii, but it just wasn’t in the schedule.)

I’ve decided that it’s time to change the record, dance to a different tune, and move on.  So, as I’m sitting here I’m listening to Radio Italia, a station which plays only Italian music.  It’s quite refreshing, actually.  Sometimes I get so sick of mainstream radio which plays the same 5 songs continuously all day.    As an artist, I take great inspiration from music, probably more than anything else.  In times of hardship I often turn to music.  I can pinpoint songs to specific times of my life.  I’ve decided that this time of my life has to be remembered as la sezione Italiana.

I’m happy to report that during our daily walk this weekend, two ladies stopped bubba and I to chat. After a little chat about baby, the weather, her dog, I said “Sono Canadese.” (I’m Canadian) Signora: “Canadese? No! Vero?” (Canadian? No! Really?) It only took a year for me to understand someone and they to understand me!

My delicious strawberries

The best is yet to come

Alas, my friends, our journey in questa bella terra is coming to a close.  It looks like we’ll be relocating elsewhere while hubby sails away on an adventure (he has a job on a cruise ship and will be coming back!).  Although I love Italy, as it’s really hard not to, it’s time to join the real world again.  Where will we go?  Our planned destination is Scotland.  Why?  Why not!  I spent many great years there whilst studying and hubby and I were married at Park Circus in Glasgow’s west end.  If you haven’t been to Glasgow, it’s a must see.  Once you sit with a Scotsman in a crowded pub on a Friday night in the heart of Glasgow, eating, drinking, laughing, and listening to the Glaswegian banter with the sounds of live music in the background, you’ll never want to leave.  It’s been dubbed “The Friendly City”, and that’s all too right.

So, on my senza-bubba day (baby girl is with her Nonna), I took a walk down to the supermarket to peruse all of the decadent Italian food which will soon be lost to me.  Scotland isn’t know for their cuisine, unfortunately, so I will miss Italian food a great deal.  I strolled slowly up and down each isle, studying everything with new eyes.  I later realized that my wheelie basket was full and I eventually had to start putting things back as I was getting a little carried away!

Italian life is certainly full of indulgence, from food to afternoon naps.  As I was walking home from the supermarket, I looked around, trying to imprint everything in my mind.  I looked into the distance to see the faint line of the church in the smog, a puppy looking both ways then crossing the street, teenagers double riding their bicycle with one perched on the handlebars, an old woman batting her rugs over a balcony, hearing the faint sound of the bells among the quiet afternoon siesta.  There is nothing quite like Italy.

Chapters of my life can be precisely noted by what country I have lived in.  My time at home in Canada was dedicated to work, my time in Scotland was dedicated to play, my time in Romania was dedicated to reflection, and my time in Italy is dedicated to pleasure.  On a whole, my life has been full of interesting experiences.  But, the best is yet to come.

My Yummy Treats - Ciobar Hot Chocolate, Hazelnut and Dark Chocolate Bar, Italian Bread, Ricotta & Spinach Tortelloni, Peach Crustata, Fresh Strawberries and Milk

 

The search continues

The Villa in Brescia

Ah, the apartment search.  Regardless of where you live, it is always an adventure.  You never know what you’re going to get or who you will meet.  Italy is no exception.  We are currently renting while we are trying to sell our apartment in Romania.  When we first moved back to Italy, when the baby was just born, we decided to take a large one bedroom apartment in a small village.  I didn’t like the idea of having a newborn in her own room.  I just couldn’t imagine this little bundle, who was so protected and warm inside my belly for 9 months, suddenly to be thrown into a cold room all by herself.

So after 7 months, we’re looking for a 2 bedroom apartment.  Now, Italy is a beautiful country with great historic buildings that have so much character.  It’s just too bad that the landlords take it upon themselves to add even more character.  There is never any effort to conceal junk and garbage, molding ceilings, or ratty tatty furniture.  They would much rather see their apartment go unrented for months (or even years) before they make an effort to clean up the joint.

We viewed the most gorgeous apartment in the centre of Brescia yesterday, a villa, which was comprised of a stately home, sectioned into apartments.  It had 20′ ceilings, 2 Juliet balconies that overlooked the garden, a brand new bathroom, and the main bedroom joined to a smaller nursery.   I loved it, except for 2 problems –  it was teeny tiny with no closets.  This is a major problem for a family of 3.   When I was living on my own, I had no problem stuffing my clothes under my bed, in the microwave, or any other vacant space.  But with a baby, that just ain’t going to happen.

So the search continues.

Venice – A Must See Before You Die

This summer my family were visiting Italy from Canada for the first time. They started a bus tour in Rome, then made their way north to Venice.  We decided that since we were only 2 hours away from Venice by train, we would meet them there so that everyone could meet the baby.  GOOD IDEA:  VISIT VENICE, BAD IDEA:  VISIT VENICE WITH A BABY IN A STROLLER. Just a note, there are a ton of bridges, cobble stone paths, narrow passages, and wheelchair inaccessible buildings.  If you need wheels to get around, don’t go to Venice!

We have visited some of the most beautiful parts of the country in the little time that we’ve been back, but nothing compares to Venice.  I once read someone describing it as “the living museum” – that description was spot on.  I haven’t been surrounded by so many English speakers since being back home.  The tourists walk amongst the unbelievable Venetian architecture and overpriced retail stores, eating watered down gelato and American style pizza.  It’s a shame that more Italian culture can’t be found in Venice, but if you look hard enough, you can see the remnants of Venice past.  There is so much history to the city – far too much to mention here.  A couple of historical tidbits:  Gondoliers have to be born Venetian and the famous Venetian masks were used to stop the spread of the plague as well as cloak the residents while taking part in illegal gambling and mischief.

I would love to revisit Venice (sans stroller) in the future.  It is definitely one of the most intriguing man made structures in the entire world.  Basically, it seems it was a social experiment turned very bad.  Whether it will still be here in another few centuries, nobody knows.  Go to Venice, enjoy it, take in its beauty and history, and thank god that you will never have to live there.

A very handsome Gondolier

 

Non Parlo Italiano…But Maybe One Day

Since living in Italy, one of the most used phrases in my vocabulary has been “Mi dispiace, non parlo Italiano” (I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian).  Despite my best efforts, I fail to retain any of the Italian language.  What I find funny is that I have dreams that I’m speaking Italian.  Whether or not I’m actually speaking Italian is something that cannot confirm.  Perhaps my subconscious mind is retaining it, however my conscious mind is retarded and can’t spit these words from my tongue-tied mouth.

My mother-in-law doesn’t speak English.  She repeatedly nags me to “speak Italian and Romanian, Affie!”.  To be honest, it’s a gift that I don’t speak the same language as my mother in law.  But after almost a year of living in Italy, I now feel like the village ignoramus who runs home crying whenever somebody tries to speak to her.  Don’t get me wrong, I understand about 75% of what everyone is saying – it’s the response that is lacking. Sometimes I’ll ask, “Parla Inglese?” (Do you speak English?) to which most people reply “no”.  What I find interesting is that despite Italians not being able to speak English, and despite them knowing that I don’t speak Italian, they’ll continue to rattle on about this and that.  My trips to the water fountain to retrieve the spring water is the place I dread the most.  Especially having a baby by my side, every Tom, Dick and Harry (Tommaso, Riccardo, and Arnaldo) wants to chat to me.  What I also find interesting is that a vast majority of street signs, products, and entertainment in Italy is displayed in English, yet they don’t speak the language.

I was chatting to another English speaking expat one day about my troubles.  I said to her, “I feel sorry for Italians who don’t speak English.  They’re missing out on a major part of the world”.  She replied, “I feel sorry for you, because you’re missing out on one of the most beautiful languages in the world”.  She was right.

So I plunk on, trying to retain the smallest amount of Italian that I can muster.  Perhaps one day I will be able to speak Italian, but for now I will just bathe in it’s beauty which is all around me.

The dreaded water fountain