I was on a relocation site and found a series of short interviews with people that had recently relocated to various places around the world. Each had to answer a few standard questions. I clicked on "Italy" and found a few answers.
Question 1. What three things do you wish you had brought with you?
The answer common to all five responses: seasoning packets
Question 2: What three things do you wish you had left at home?
The common answer: my clothes (or half at least).
Seasoning packets was a surprise, but then again, I have been here a long time. When I am in the US, those mystery packets confuse my taste buds as they strive to identify what exactly has bombarded them. There is never a distinct flavor -- just a sense of "seasoning" to cover up the flavor of what is being seasoned. I think I'll stick to a few basic herbs e basta. Bring on the basil or rosemary (one at a time).
While I never pick up seasoning packets when in the US, I always come back manned with ziplock snack bags. To each her/his own.
The second question was heartening. All noticed that Italians dress differently and felt a bit awkward and out of place in their baggy sweat suits and cotton turtlenecks.
"More stylish" was the phrase that came through. Putting on one's best is the underlying concept.
Style and good taste -- the Italian way.
a domani,
E
Showing posts with label Bella figura. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bella figura. Show all posts
July 14, 2008
June 9, 2008
Calcio confessions
You may have noticed that I don't have a label for posts on calcio (soccer for Americans or football for the Brits).
I have a confession to make. shhhhh. After ALL these years, and although I have seen many games, I really don't GET calcio -- I mean all the passion and excitement. Just one of those cross-cultural walls I have come up against (another being Catholic culture). So, as my husband and son watch the first game of the European championship (Italy--Holland), I quietly inched my way out of the room and skipped upstairs to the computer.
Instead, Tobias Jones, the author of The Dark Heart of Italy, being male and British, makes some interesting observations on the art and soul of Italian calcio in his book. He even dedicated an entire chapter, "Penalties and Impunity", to a careful analysis of the sport's hidden cultural meanings.
He writes: "The more you watch Italian football, the more you realize why Italy...has won three World Cups: Italians are simply very good at the game. They play the most beautiful, cultured and skillful football imaginable.
Talk to any Italian about the strengths of the Italian game, and they will always mention the two vital ingredients lacking in Britain: fantasia and furbizia -- fantasy and cunning."
"Fantasy," he continues, "is the ability to do something entirely unpredictable with the ball....the one side of football that cannot be taught. It has to be instinctive, suddenly inspired, which is why the fantasisti are so admired: they are touched by an indefinable genius." Italians have developed a calcio vocabulary equivalent to that of literary or musical criticism to underscore this geniality.
Then there is furbizia, or cunning, the "ability to tilt the game in your favour through slightly sly, but perfectly legitimate tactics." He is referring to the theatrics that go on to call the attention of the referee.
The other key difference is in the tecnica with the Italians being much more calculating and tactical.
Of course, the fans play their part too, even off the playing field. Tobias recounts evenings spent on terraces participating in heated discussions with Italian friends on the proper adjective to describe the performances of certain players. Not to forget the endless hours of television dedicated not only to yesterday's game but of those from the past that made history.
"Football, it's very obvious, is more than just a sport: it's an inheritance, the nation's sacred heirloom."
Being a book on "The Dark Heart of Italy" the chapter continues into the dark side of calcio, from the discussions that go on about presumed game-fixing that mirror discussions about the mafia or terrorist associations, and the "intimate link between football and politics."
The best response to any crises is, of course, "not moral but aesthetic. Italian football, more than any other, prides itself on its beauty......(It) remains the most stylish and cultured and clever incarnation of the sport."
I have heard a few groans and unmentionable words coming up the stairs. It's time to go on down and see what I am missing.
Maybe I will get it one day.
a domani,
E
I have a confession to make. shhhhh. After ALL these years, and although I have seen many games, I really don't GET calcio -- I mean all the passion and excitement. Just one of those cross-cultural walls I have come up against (another being Catholic culture). So, as my husband and son watch the first game of the European championship (Italy--Holland), I quietly inched my way out of the room and skipped upstairs to the computer.
Instead, Tobias Jones, the author of The Dark Heart of Italy, being male and British, makes some interesting observations on the art and soul of Italian calcio in his book. He even dedicated an entire chapter, "Penalties and Impunity", to a careful analysis of the sport's hidden cultural meanings.
He writes: "The more you watch Italian football, the more you realize why Italy...has won three World Cups: Italians are simply very good at the game. They play the most beautiful, cultured and skillful football imaginable.
Talk to any Italian about the strengths of the Italian game, and they will always mention the two vital ingredients lacking in Britain: fantasia and furbizia -- fantasy and cunning."
"Fantasy," he continues, "is the ability to do something entirely unpredictable with the ball....the one side of football that cannot be taught. It has to be instinctive, suddenly inspired, which is why the fantasisti are so admired: they are touched by an indefinable genius." Italians have developed a calcio vocabulary equivalent to that of literary or musical criticism to underscore this geniality.
Then there is furbizia, or cunning, the "ability to tilt the game in your favour through slightly sly, but perfectly legitimate tactics." He is referring to the theatrics that go on to call the attention of the referee.
The other key difference is in the tecnica with the Italians being much more calculating and tactical.
Of course, the fans play their part too, even off the playing field. Tobias recounts evenings spent on terraces participating in heated discussions with Italian friends on the proper adjective to describe the performances of certain players. Not to forget the endless hours of television dedicated not only to yesterday's game but of those from the past that made history.
"Football, it's very obvious, is more than just a sport: it's an inheritance, the nation's sacred heirloom."
Being a book on "The Dark Heart of Italy" the chapter continues into the dark side of calcio, from the discussions that go on about presumed game-fixing that mirror discussions about the mafia or terrorist associations, and the "intimate link between football and politics."
The best response to any crises is, of course, "not moral but aesthetic. Italian football, more than any other, prides itself on its beauty......(It) remains the most stylish and cultured and clever incarnation of the sport."
I have heard a few groans and unmentionable words coming up the stairs. It's time to go on down and see what I am missing.
Maybe I will get it one day.
a domani,
E
March 20, 2008
Nice little thoughts
I have been a bad blogger of late and I do apologize, just a bit too much going on elsewhere in my life and I needed a mental break.
But...
I am off to the States just after a quick hop to Trento for Easter, and I am SURE that I will have lots of re-entry cultural moments to stimulate my blogging fingers. So be patient and stop by next week.
Today, I finished my long list of pre-departure "things to do" in time for a bit of shopping to pick up pensierini (or little thoughts) for the trip. My first days will be in the Boston area house-hopping among friends, then there are few sisters with birthdays coming up and my Mom....
So I stopped by my favorite little stock-out shop in Monteverde and picked up about 10 small items while chatting with the owner (we, of course, have a "relationship"). Then, she individually wrapped each one with paper, ribbon, little flowers and other ornaments tied on here and there. She even used a special kind of two sided tape so that it doesn't show. Each package is wrapped differently, depending on the size, and her fancy as she debated between the red glossy ribbon or the coarse-grain yellow one.
It took forever! But what can you do but stand by in awe of the care and dedication to all that makes life "nice".
Sometimes it just takes a pensierino to remind us to think nice little thoughts.
I hope that customs doesn't open up my suitcase and trash them all!!
a domani,
E
But...
I am off to the States just after a quick hop to Trento for Easter, and I am SURE that I will have lots of re-entry cultural moments to stimulate my blogging fingers. So be patient and stop by next week.
Today, I finished my long list of pre-departure "things to do" in time for a bit of shopping to pick up pensierini (or little thoughts) for the trip. My first days will be in the Boston area house-hopping among friends, then there are few sisters with birthdays coming up and my Mom....
So I stopped by my favorite little stock-out shop in Monteverde and picked up about 10 small items while chatting with the owner (we, of course, have a "relationship"). Then, she individually wrapped each one with paper, ribbon, little flowers and other ornaments tied on here and there. She even used a special kind of two sided tape so that it doesn't show. Each package is wrapped differently, depending on the size, and her fancy as she debated between the red glossy ribbon or the coarse-grain yellow one.
It took forever! But what can you do but stand by in awe of the care and dedication to all that makes life "nice".
Sometimes it just takes a pensierino to remind us to think nice little thoughts.
I hope that customs doesn't open up my suitcase and trash them all!!
a domani,
E
March 8, 2008
Tell it like it is
I had a cross-cultural moment yesterday. Actually a reverse one. An American woman I had recently met at an event called specifically to inform me that I had done something the other day she didn't appreciate. She was very American about the whole thing by reflecting for 48 hours before calling, speaking very calmly and without a trace of emotion while being studiously assertive and precise about what she needed to express and finally telling me that she had called me for my own good so that I would be more aware in the future. I am sure that she felt good when she got off the phone -- she had gotten something off her chest in an appropriate, unemotional, rational way.
The problem is, I felt bad! I had been hastily judged by someone who doesn't know me or anything about me on the basis of her perspective and I wasn't put in a position to be able to think it through for 48 hours and respond appropriately!
Gotta love the Italian obsession with la Bella Figura, which goes hand in hand with other cultures' need to "give face". All that American individualism can foster an excessive need to express yourself in a very direct, clear and assertive way with little consideration of the person on the other side. Other cultures allow for getting the point across through context, while gracefully allowing for giving and receiving "face".
Italians will certainly tell you like it is, in your face, even in a very animated and very emotional way, at exactly the moment that it happens. You respond, they respond....and then it is over, poof, and you can go get an espresso together. Otherwise they will do whatever it takes to enhance your role in making the world a beautiful and elegant place, worthy of their effort at upholding belief in the Bella Figura.
I'll go lick my wounds and be back...
a domani,
E
The problem is, I felt bad! I had been hastily judged by someone who doesn't know me or anything about me on the basis of her perspective and I wasn't put in a position to be able to think it through for 48 hours and respond appropriately!
Gotta love the Italian obsession with la Bella Figura, which goes hand in hand with other cultures' need to "give face". All that American individualism can foster an excessive need to express yourself in a very direct, clear and assertive way with little consideration of the person on the other side. Other cultures allow for getting the point across through context, while gracefully allowing for giving and receiving "face".
Italians will certainly tell you like it is, in your face, even in a very animated and very emotional way, at exactly the moment that it happens. You respond, they respond....and then it is over, poof, and you can go get an espresso together. Otherwise they will do whatever it takes to enhance your role in making the world a beautiful and elegant place, worthy of their effort at upholding belief in the Bella Figura.
I'll go lick my wounds and be back...
a domani,
E
March 4, 2008
Eat, drink and be merry
I have been knocked out with a fever for a few days. The good news is I happened to pick up Elizabeth Gilbert's book, "Eat, Pray, Love" just before I went down and read the whole thing between my bed and the couch as I dozed off and on.
About ten people had told me, "you must read this book" which usually puts me off immediately, especially when it has a section on Italy -- there is only so much gaggling over plunging necklines and pizza one can take. But this book is different.
Her first destination for a year of "one woman's search for everything" was Rome, where she arrived with no agenda other than spending four months discovering "pleasure" (while remaining celibate). So, what is left? Food, beauty and learning to roll a beautiful new language off your tongue. To her credit, she appreciates pleasure in all three, calling on her new Italian friends to help her understand that, "the beauty of doing nothing is the goal for all your hard work, the final accomplishment for which you are most highly congratulated. The more exquisitely and delightfully you can do nothing, the higher your life's achievement."
In Italy she was able to give herself permission to fully explore the question, "How do I define pleasure?" To discover what she likes to do, what gives her soul-satisfying pleasure. At the end of her stay, while traveling in Sicily, she discoveres that "the same thing which has helped generations of Sicilians hold their dignity has helped me begin to recover mine -- namely, the idea that the appreciation of pleasure can be an anchor of one's humanity." Creating and enjoying beauty can be serious business, a way to hold onto reality in the midst of physical and moral decay and chaos.
A wonderful way to describe Italy's gift to the world -- permission to explore the fundamental role beauty and pleasure play in our lives, without shame and guilt, because they define what makes us both human and divine.
a domani,
E
About ten people had told me, "you must read this book" which usually puts me off immediately, especially when it has a section on Italy -- there is only so much gaggling over plunging necklines and pizza one can take. But this book is different.
Her first destination for a year of "one woman's search for everything" was Rome, where she arrived with no agenda other than spending four months discovering "pleasure" (while remaining celibate). So, what is left? Food, beauty and learning to roll a beautiful new language off your tongue. To her credit, she appreciates pleasure in all three, calling on her new Italian friends to help her understand that, "the beauty of doing nothing is the goal for all your hard work, the final accomplishment for which you are most highly congratulated. The more exquisitely and delightfully you can do nothing, the higher your life's achievement."
In Italy she was able to give herself permission to fully explore the question, "How do I define pleasure?" To discover what she likes to do, what gives her soul-satisfying pleasure. At the end of her stay, while traveling in Sicily, she discoveres that "the same thing which has helped generations of Sicilians hold their dignity has helped me begin to recover mine -- namely, the idea that the appreciation of pleasure can be an anchor of one's humanity." Creating and enjoying beauty can be serious business, a way to hold onto reality in the midst of physical and moral decay and chaos.
A wonderful way to describe Italy's gift to the world -- permission to explore the fundamental role beauty and pleasure play in our lives, without shame and guilt, because they define what makes us both human and divine.
a domani,
E
October 24, 2007
Fashion rules
Continuing the apparently frivolous but actually very serious question, "what's a girl to wear?" I window-shopped my way back home from the Via Veneto area today and this is what I learned.
Grey.
That is this winter's color.
You have to flaunt something grey, or you will find yourself feeling just so ever slightly out of step with all those "put-together" Italian women strolling down the cobblestones in their high heels.
Purple and Bordeaux are also good,
and even a kind of Valentino red. Instead, I didn't see much of that rust color that was everywhere last year. Luckily, I have a bit of grey and Bordeaux around to pull out from exile in the depths of "cambio stagione."
At the end of her book, Mother Tongue,An American Life in Italy, Wallis Wilde-Menozzi describes this aspect of Italian life (dated 1997),
"The windows of the shops are filled with the beige and white, taupe and black clothes that have been declared in fashion. The pale desert look is put on dutifully by the old and young, the frail and fat, with an effect that shows in the center of town (note: Parma). Everyone is in the group, looking as if a glamorous safari of wealthy people from the 1920s had strayed into town......Ask in a shop for red, and a young girl will put you in your place. "No one is wearing bright colors this year. Not here." A woman who runs her own shop told me that she would like to carry light colors but she doesn't wish to insult anyone....I asked, "Why don't you just offer some bright sweaters if you like them?" Her reply: "Who am I to do that? Who am I to question the designers? I am no one."
So, we all wear what fashion dictates, or feel a bit shabby and out of place. A few years ago it was long black quilted down coats, this year it is grey wool short ones instead.
The rules are set, si fa e non si fa, I follow.
a domani,
E
Grey.
That is this winter's color.
You have to flaunt something grey, or you will find yourself feeling just so ever slightly out of step with all those "put-together" Italian women strolling down the cobblestones in their high heels.
Purple and Bordeaux are also good,
and even a kind of Valentino red. Instead, I didn't see much of that rust color that was everywhere last year. Luckily, I have a bit of grey and Bordeaux around to pull out from exile in the depths of "cambio stagione."
At the end of her book, Mother Tongue,An American Life in Italy, Wallis Wilde-Menozzi describes this aspect of Italian life (dated 1997),
"The windows of the shops are filled with the beige and white, taupe and black clothes that have been declared in fashion. The pale desert look is put on dutifully by the old and young, the frail and fat, with an effect that shows in the center of town (note: Parma). Everyone is in the group, looking as if a glamorous safari of wealthy people from the 1920s had strayed into town......Ask in a shop for red, and a young girl will put you in your place. "No one is wearing bright colors this year. Not here." A woman who runs her own shop told me that she would like to carry light colors but she doesn't wish to insult anyone....I asked, "Why don't you just offer some bright sweaters if you like them?" Her reply: "Who am I to do that? Who am I to question the designers? I am no one."
So, we all wear what fashion dictates, or feel a bit shabby and out of place. A few years ago it was long black quilted down coats, this year it is grey wool short ones instead.
The rules are set, si fa e non si fa, I follow.
a domani,
E
October 22, 2007
Dressing for the bleachers
If you were going to be on your feet for three hours showing people to their numbered seats in the bleachers of an A Series volleyball match, would this be how you would dress? Hair done, thick make-up, and 8 cm spiked heels? Amazing. She could be on a TV program!
Then again, the coach is looking pretty spiffy too.
And check out those boots -- just the right touch for a Wednesday evening game. You can never be overdressed, anywhere, on any occasion in Italy.
a domani,
E
July 27, 2007
Tales of ricotta
Sorry that I have been away from my blog for so long. My excuse is that I have been on an island at a friend's villa without internet access and the nearest town a long and windy road away.
And what an island it was. Salina, one of the Aeolian Islands off the coast of Sicily -- a dramatic volcanic masterpiece.
At the end of each day at the sea, my husband and I happily followed the island's moving feast starting with an aperitivo (at one villa or another or at the spectacular Capo di Faro hotel), dinner (always with a view) and drinks (at another villa or even with the restaurant owner). One evening, at an after-dinner drinks with gelso granita get together to watch fireworks honoring the Madonna del Terzito, the conversation turned to ricotta. We had enjoyed a wonderful cassata siciliana at a local restaurant that evening (Le Tre Pietre in Rinella) and were recounting its lightness and perfection, when the hostess, from Palermo, interrupted to clarify that it was NOT the cassata season, so we would have to come back and try another one (in Palermo at her favorite pasticceria) in the Fall.
Now I have experience with the cherry and strawberry season, and the puntarelli and asparagus season but the cassata siciliana is a man-made not nature-made dish, so how could it be "out of season". Well, it all has to do with the main ingredient, ricotta, and the fact that sheep do not produce as much milk in the heat, nor the same quality. The other guests nodded in agreement. Opps. Now I know that there is also a cassata siciliana season. Then I learned that the best ricotta is made in Sicily (Catania taking the lead) and Piemonte -- maybe ricotta is what holds Italy together from North to South, one unifying gastronomic tie.
Besides ricotta, the best granita is made in Sicily and the best Sicilian granita can be found at Alfredo's in the small town of Lingua on the island of Salina.
Be careful, though, to order the right combination. We went twice and each time asked the waitress to help us. Our host insisted that one of the two flavors had to be mandorla (almond) which limited the choice of a second flavor to either peach, pistacchio or coffee. An acceptable alternative, all concurred, was peach and gelso. I was taken by the level of concern and concentration on the part of our young waitress to make sure that we put together a combination that would exalt instead of negate the flavor of each individual selection. She would not have let us order just any combination, even if that was what we wanted. She had to guide us to a proper granita at Alfredo's experience.
It reminded me of the care taken to choose just the right shoes/handbag/jewelry colors and combinations when dressing. Striving for aesthetic and gastronomic perfection is a fundamental part of daily life and results in that intangible, undefinable something that gives Italy its beauty.
And in the Aeolian islands, this beauty is truly breath-taking.
a domani,
E
And what an island it was. Salina, one of the Aeolian Islands off the coast of Sicily -- a dramatic volcanic masterpiece.
At the end of each day at the sea, my husband and I happily followed the island's moving feast starting with an aperitivo (at one villa or another or at the spectacular Capo di Faro hotel), dinner (always with a view) and drinks (at another villa or even with the restaurant owner). One evening, at an after-dinner drinks with gelso granita get together to watch fireworks honoring the Madonna del Terzito, the conversation turned to ricotta. We had enjoyed a wonderful cassata siciliana at a local restaurant that evening (Le Tre Pietre in Rinella) and were recounting its lightness and perfection, when the hostess, from Palermo, interrupted to clarify that it was NOT the cassata season, so we would have to come back and try another one (in Palermo at her favorite pasticceria) in the Fall.
Now I have experience with the cherry and strawberry season, and the puntarelli and asparagus season but the cassata siciliana is a man-made not nature-made dish, so how could it be "out of season". Well, it all has to do with the main ingredient, ricotta, and the fact that sheep do not produce as much milk in the heat, nor the same quality. The other guests nodded in agreement. Opps. Now I know that there is also a cassata siciliana season. Then I learned that the best ricotta is made in Sicily (Catania taking the lead) and Piemonte -- maybe ricotta is what holds Italy together from North to South, one unifying gastronomic tie.
Besides ricotta, the best granita is made in Sicily and the best Sicilian granita can be found at Alfredo's in the small town of Lingua on the island of Salina.
Be careful, though, to order the right combination. We went twice and each time asked the waitress to help us. Our host insisted that one of the two flavors had to be mandorla (almond) which limited the choice of a second flavor to either peach, pistacchio or coffee. An acceptable alternative, all concurred, was peach and gelso. I was taken by the level of concern and concentration on the part of our young waitress to make sure that we put together a combination that would exalt instead of negate the flavor of each individual selection. She would not have let us order just any combination, even if that was what we wanted. She had to guide us to a proper granita at Alfredo's experience.
It reminded me of the care taken to choose just the right shoes/handbag/jewelry colors and combinations when dressing. Striving for aesthetic and gastronomic perfection is a fundamental part of daily life and results in that intangible, undefinable something that gives Italy its beauty. And in the Aeolian islands, this beauty is truly breath-taking.
a domani,
E
July 13, 2007
What to wear
What's a girl to wear?
Seems like a universal problem, and it is, but in Italy it takes on monumental proportions. While wandering through cross-cultural communications sites on the web the other day, I read on a business site, that in Italy, appearances count, a lot, especially first impressions that are formed by how you are dressed, how you greet, the grace and elegance you emit in your every step. These first impressions are unforgiving and unforgettable.
And mine will all be put to test, in three hours. A dinner party for about 50 guests, in a large villa garden. Surely not a casual affair, these things never are. So, as I passed by a neighborhood shop, I glanced at the window and stepped in, just to have a look, perhaps get inspired.
I was. The three other clients and the store-owner all helped me out and I ended up with a new red and white jacket. Then they conferred on what I could and could not put with it, which color shoes would do, handbag and jewlery. I was yet again studied as a specimen under a microscope, analyzed in every detail. In the end, they were satisfied with my purchase and my choice of pants, top, shoes, bag and jewlery (I described everything in detail as they listened intently and nodded in approval). When I exclaimed, "the details of getting dressed up are so exhausting!", the store-owner agreed and added that, "doing it right is a full-time job."
With all their care and support (and cold-blooded scrutiny), I feel ready and confident -- watch out for this first impression!
a domani,
E
Seems like a universal problem, and it is, but in Italy it takes on monumental proportions. While wandering through cross-cultural communications sites on the web the other day, I read on a business site, that in Italy, appearances count, a lot, especially first impressions that are formed by how you are dressed, how you greet, the grace and elegance you emit in your every step. These first impressions are unforgiving and unforgettable.
And mine will all be put to test, in three hours. A dinner party for about 50 guests, in a large villa garden. Surely not a casual affair, these things never are. So, as I passed by a neighborhood shop, I glanced at the window and stepped in, just to have a look, perhaps get inspired.
I was. The three other clients and the store-owner all helped me out and I ended up with a new red and white jacket. Then they conferred on what I could and could not put with it, which color shoes would do, handbag and jewlery. I was yet again studied as a specimen under a microscope, analyzed in every detail. In the end, they were satisfied with my purchase and my choice of pants, top, shoes, bag and jewlery (I described everything in detail as they listened intently and nodded in approval). When I exclaimed, "the details of getting dressed up are so exhausting!", the store-owner agreed and added that, "doing it right is a full-time job."
With all their care and support (and cold-blooded scrutiny), I feel ready and confident -- watch out for this first impression!
a domani,
E
June 26, 2007
Drinking codes
A friend sent this NY Times article on Rome’s new kind of tourist – the “lets have a party and throw it in Europe” variety that travel from country to country in a drunken slur and call it a “European adventure”. Rome used to be off the circuit, attracting those inclined to share a bottle of wine with friends and a large plate of pasta instead of slugging down endless beers and shots in Campo de’Fiori. Not that this behavior is unusual in other European and American cities, but it is new here, and not very welcome by local residents. Until really quite recently, Roman youth didn’t do the drinking thing. A beer (or coke) with pizza, piazza and a whirl on the motorino provided nightlife.
Not to be nostalgic, but the change is jarring, especially since it is being forced on Italian youth by the barbaric hoards that have descended on the city (including approx. 7,000 American study abroad students that pass through over the year) and the mass media. Until now, Italians have stood on the sidelines, watching the spectacle, but not joining in. That too will change.
In connection with a course I taught a few years ago for a study abroad program on, “Contemporary Italian Society”, one student did a final paper on the differences in drinking cultures between US and Italian youth. She interviewed students, talked to local pubs, performed ethnological sightings on the weekends and concluded that the different approach to drinking was fundamentally an outgrowth of the bella figura -- that intrinsic Italian need to always act in good taste, to put forward one’s best as a way of showing respect to others, to maintain aesthetic standards at all times. She found this explanation amazing and profound.
I also think she moved one step down the road of cross-cultural understanding. I wonder if she put some of that knowledge into her suitcase when she returned home?
A domani,
E
Not to be nostalgic, but the change is jarring, especially since it is being forced on Italian youth by the barbaric hoards that have descended on the city (including approx. 7,000 American study abroad students that pass through over the year) and the mass media. Until now, Italians have stood on the sidelines, watching the spectacle, but not joining in. That too will change.
In connection with a course I taught a few years ago for a study abroad program on, “Contemporary Italian Society”, one student did a final paper on the differences in drinking cultures between US and Italian youth. She interviewed students, talked to local pubs, performed ethnological sightings on the weekends and concluded that the different approach to drinking was fundamentally an outgrowth of the bella figura -- that intrinsic Italian need to always act in good taste, to put forward one’s best as a way of showing respect to others, to maintain aesthetic standards at all times. She found this explanation amazing and profound.
I also think she moved one step down the road of cross-cultural understanding. I wonder if she put some of that knowledge into her suitcase when she returned home?
A domani,
E
May 21, 2007
parole, parole, parole
This morning I had my first private Italian lesson. After twenty-five years of speaking, reading and listening, I want to work on my writing skills, presentation/formal language and get rid of the kinks that have wormed their way into my speech while fine tuning the rest. Un corso di perfezionamento. What do you do with a student like me?
Well, we started with a dictation, that I completed with only a few errors on the accents. Then while she tried to size me up, we reviewed the use of the congiuntivo and experimented with ways to improve various sentences of the dictation text. Homework: a composition.
We talked about the different "concept of style" in Italian with respect to English. How it is not as important what you say, but how you say it -- a question of style. She told me that it is just a cultural difference that you have to accept if you want to write well in Italian, you have to work on being ornate, not succinct. Circumscribed, not direct. Pay attention to the sounds of the phrases, the rhythm and flow. It must sound good (like the Capo Gabinetto at the school meeting).
Quite an assignment. I'll have to put aside all that I have ever learned about writing and enter into an Italian state of mind. Pompous prose here I come. Wish me luck!
a domani,
E
Well, we started with a dictation, that I completed with only a few errors on the accents. Then while she tried to size me up, we reviewed the use of the congiuntivo and experimented with ways to improve various sentences of the dictation text. Homework: a composition.
We talked about the different "concept of style" in Italian with respect to English. How it is not as important what you say, but how you say it -- a question of style. She told me that it is just a cultural difference that you have to accept if you want to write well in Italian, you have to work on being ornate, not succinct. Circumscribed, not direct. Pay attention to the sounds of the phrases, the rhythm and flow. It must sound good (like the Capo Gabinetto at the school meeting).
Quite an assignment. I'll have to put aside all that I have ever learned about writing and enter into an Italian state of mind. Pompous prose here I come. Wish me luck!
a domani,
E
March 17, 2007
Birthday obligations
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
And Happy Birthday.
One strange part of living in Rome is that no one celebrates my birthday by drinking green beer. I once shared an apartment with an American artist of Irish descent and that year we threw a birthday/St.Patrick’s day party complete with shamrocks, green icing with clover and such. The Italians did not get it, but managed to smile politely -- the Anglo-Irish-Americans instead had a great time.
Although all but two Italian holidays are of a religious nature, St. Paddy's doesn’t make it alongside the immaculate conception and subsequent ascension of the Virgin Mary.
So I celebrate my birthday in a sober fashion. Today by a nice lunch on the terrace with my husband, one son (the other called from Trento) and a large bouquet of flowers that they brought home for a surprise. The only touch of green were the new earings from my mom.
Funny thing is that in Italy YOU are expected to OFFER on your birthday instead of being the recipient. So if you go out with friends – bring along lots of cash, tocca a te! This has always felt a bit strange, like you have to buy off friends to get them to celebrate with you instead of it being their turn to make the day special for you. I would guess that it has to do with both the bella figura concept and the unwritten “tit for tat” social obligation rules – the others give you presents, so you have to put on a show for them. Anyway, my MIL always takes the whole family out to dinner for her birthday and today tocca a me to prepare a special lunch.
Spaghetti al nero di seppia (dried homemade pasta with squid ink from Naples), with a sauce of only fresh pomodorini (so as not to overwhelm the flavor of the rich black pasta). I sliced the tomatoes and put them in the oven for 20 minutes with a bit of oil, salt, garlic and basil – much more flavorful and less runny that doing them in a pan. Of course, the final success depends on the quality of the tomatoes, so for this sort of dish, I go to Sig.ra Pina (a post on her and lazy left-eye Leonardo coming up).
Then we enjoyed gamberi saltati in padella, salad and strawberries. In the end, I offered a very nice lunch indeed for my birthday! Good thing it only comes once a year.
A domani (one year and one day older….),
E
And Happy Birthday.
One strange part of living in Rome is that no one celebrates my birthday by drinking green beer. I once shared an apartment with an American artist of Irish descent and that year we threw a birthday/St.Patrick’s day party complete with shamrocks, green icing with clover and such. The Italians did not get it, but managed to smile politely -- the Anglo-Irish-Americans instead had a great time.
Although all but two Italian holidays are of a religious nature, St. Paddy's doesn’t make it alongside the immaculate conception and subsequent ascension of the Virgin Mary.
So I celebrate my birthday in a sober fashion. Today by a nice lunch on the terrace with my husband, one son (the other called from Trento) and a large bouquet of flowers that they brought home for a surprise. The only touch of green were the new earings from my mom.
Funny thing is that in Italy YOU are expected to OFFER on your birthday instead of being the recipient. So if you go out with friends – bring along lots of cash, tocca a te! This has always felt a bit strange, like you have to buy off friends to get them to celebrate with you instead of it being their turn to make the day special for you. I would guess that it has to do with both the bella figura concept and the unwritten “tit for tat” social obligation rules – the others give you presents, so you have to put on a show for them. Anyway, my MIL always takes the whole family out to dinner for her birthday and today tocca a me to prepare a special lunch.
Spaghetti al nero di seppia (dried homemade pasta with squid ink from Naples), with a sauce of only fresh pomodorini (so as not to overwhelm the flavor of the rich black pasta). I sliced the tomatoes and put them in the oven for 20 minutes with a bit of oil, salt, garlic and basil – much more flavorful and less runny that doing them in a pan. Of course, the final success depends on the quality of the tomatoes, so for this sort of dish, I go to Sig.ra Pina (a post on her and lazy left-eye Leonardo coming up).
Then we enjoyed gamberi saltati in padella, salad and strawberries. In the end, I offered a very nice lunch indeed for my birthday! Good thing it only comes once a year.
A domani (one year and one day older….),
E
February 17, 2007
Italian women and TTO
Foreigners who write about Italy generally notice its women, it’s hard not to – plunging necklines, extravagant accessories, spiked heels that clatter on cobblestones somehow never slipping between the cracks, a fortune of make-up on faces surrounded by every strand of hair in place – they try and succeed in being noticed.
They make us feel dumpy and clumsy and mostly envious. Ahhhhh La Bella Figura.
"But what is behind the façade", we ask, feeling slightly superior for our lack of constant attention to outer appearances. We wear sensible shoes to do our errands in Rome.
Then there is Grazia. I met her on Tuesday at a TTO open mike session organized by an American woman who works in the field of gender equality in developing countries. We had to go around the room and each tell a story about how we had done something tough, fearless, maybe a little crazy, surely gutsy and perhaps outrageous. (TTO stands for “That Takes Ovaries” to distinguish women’s bold and daring acts from those of men).
Well, the sweet, pretty, quiet Italian thirty something sitting at the end of the sofa looking very demur and proper told us where she has been for the past two months – on an oil pipeline barge with 180 men and no other women. While they lay the pipeline, she observed the effects of its construction on marine mammals in the area for a pilot project through the Ministry of the Environment. We all leaned slightly forward to hear more. While she had not been victim to any physical abuse, she had clearly suffered “mobbing” and had lived virtually in isolation for the period. But she did her job and said that, if asked, would do it again.
So the next time you think that Italian women are a step behind us in the independence field, think of Grazia and think again. The lesson from Italian women is that you can comfortably live the ambiguity of being concerned with how you present yourself within the concept of La Bella Figura while also being someone with whom men have to reckon. TTO to Grazia!
a domani,
E
They make us feel dumpy and clumsy and mostly envious. Ahhhhh La Bella Figura.
"But what is behind the façade", we ask, feeling slightly superior for our lack of constant attention to outer appearances. We wear sensible shoes to do our errands in Rome.
Then there is Grazia. I met her on Tuesday at a TTO open mike session organized by an American woman who works in the field of gender equality in developing countries. We had to go around the room and each tell a story about how we had done something tough, fearless, maybe a little crazy, surely gutsy and perhaps outrageous. (TTO stands for “That Takes Ovaries” to distinguish women’s bold and daring acts from those of men).
Well, the sweet, pretty, quiet Italian thirty something sitting at the end of the sofa looking very demur and proper told us where she has been for the past two months – on an oil pipeline barge with 180 men and no other women. While they lay the pipeline, she observed the effects of its construction on marine mammals in the area for a pilot project through the Ministry of the Environment. We all leaned slightly forward to hear more. While she had not been victim to any physical abuse, she had clearly suffered “mobbing” and had lived virtually in isolation for the period. But she did her job and said that, if asked, would do it again.
So the next time you think that Italian women are a step behind us in the independence field, think of Grazia and think again. The lesson from Italian women is that you can comfortably live the ambiguity of being concerned with how you present yourself within the concept of La Bella Figura while also being someone with whom men have to reckon. TTO to Grazia!
a domani,
E
January 14, 2007
Sprezzatura -- the illusion of effortlessness
Courtiers were expected to speak in highly contrived language but to make their clever performances seem effortless. The most famous model for this kind of behavior is Baldassare Castiglione’s sixteenth-century manual The Courtier, translated into English by Thomas Hoby in 1561. According to this work, the ideal courtier masks his effort and appears to project elegance and natural grace by means of what Castiglione calls sprezzatura, the illusion of effortlessness.
Megan K. Williams describes this modern day sprezzatura in the short story, The Girls in Bikinis from her collection, Saving Rome. “These were professional women – a biologist, a translator, an economics professor and Oriana, the art historian – but they didn’t have the frenzied, beleaguered look of the high-powered working mothers I know. No doubt they’d worked hard to get where they were – this was male-dominated Italy after all. But they’d somehow slipped their jobs comfortably in among managing their homes and the lives of their children and husbands, ski vacations, summers at the beach and looking gorgeous.”
La Bella Figura includes making “always looking your best” look easy. My brothers-in-law tend to frequent women who show up at my son’s volleyball matches on Sunday mornings in spike heels, perfect hair, nails and makeup, ironed tight-fitting jeans and just the right casual Sunday morning accessories. All with effortless ease, or so it seems. I can do it too, but it takes effort and I think the effort probably shows.
An Italian businesswomen told me the story of being called out of her hotel room at 3:00 am due to a fire alarm while attending a conference in a Northern European capital. A German colleague couldn’t believe that she arrived in the foyer with matching bathrobe and slippers, her hair nicely combed and tied back in place, and exclaimed, “YOU ARE SO ITALIAN!!”. She just shrugged and gave her an effortless smile – now that’s sprezzatura.
Megan K. Williams describes this modern day sprezzatura in the short story, The Girls in Bikinis from her collection, Saving Rome. “These were professional women – a biologist, a translator, an economics professor and Oriana, the art historian – but they didn’t have the frenzied, beleaguered look of the high-powered working mothers I know. No doubt they’d worked hard to get where they were – this was male-dominated Italy after all. But they’d somehow slipped their jobs comfortably in among managing their homes and the lives of their children and husbands, ski vacations, summers at the beach and looking gorgeous.”
La Bella Figura includes making “always looking your best” look easy. My brothers-in-law tend to frequent women who show up at my son’s volleyball matches on Sunday mornings in spike heels, perfect hair, nails and makeup, ironed tight-fitting jeans and just the right casual Sunday morning accessories. All with effortless ease, or so it seems. I can do it too, but it takes effort and I think the effort probably shows.
An Italian businesswomen told me the story of being called out of her hotel room at 3:00 am due to a fire alarm while attending a conference in a Northern European capital. A German colleague couldn’t believe that she arrived in the foyer with matching bathrobe and slippers, her hair nicely combed and tied back in place, and exclaimed, “YOU ARE SO ITALIAN!!”. She just shrugged and gave her an effortless smile – now that’s sprezzatura.
January 5, 2007
Friendship and La Bella Figura
Tomorrow marks the end of the holiday season, La Befana brings stockings to children filled with sweets (or coal), the Christmas decorations come down, everyone returns from the mountains and children scramble to finish their homework before school starts -- the new year begins.
The party is over, and it shows. At the pool this morning, Bruna took one look at Annamaria as she slipped into her suit and commented rather loudly, “but you have put on weight!” Quite pleased, Annamaria answered, “yes, you noticed? One and half kilos!” Then a discussion ensued on what she was going to do to get back to her usual trim self. No guilt. Annamaria smiled and laughed as she pointed to her slightly thickened middle. She had enjoyed every bite that had led to her post-holiday kilos.
A few weeks ago, Cinzia watched me dress after aqua fitness and announced, “I had always thought of you as thin, but now I notice that you have some fat on your outer thighs.” Well, this brought a few others into the conversation, and, as they studied my form as if it were a museum piece, they pointed and noted various spots that needed work. After a huddle to confer (as if I weren’t present), they concurred that I didn’t actually need to lose weight, just do some massages, after the holidays of course.
These are not an over-50 version of “mean girls” and their comments were not meant to be taken personally. It is just that exquisite Italian sense of aesthetics, La Bella Figura and all of its ramifications. They want me to look the best I can with what I have. It was also a sign of friendship – after five years of aqua fitness together, I have been included in their group! They care enough to help me present myself in the best way. I almost liked the attention. Although it was a bit odd.
I can imagine the scene in an American pool. The woman under scrutiny – never openly – would most likely respond – or at least think to herself – “mind your own business” and generally feel offended, not warm and fuzzy. Friends are supposed to help you not notice that you don’t look your best, although everyone notices anyway, especially you. Maybe this is even odder. Perhaps it comes from our strong sense of the individual, the unwritten boundaries of casual friendship, political correctness and that ole self-reliance mind-set. (I’ll take care of my fat myself, thank you).
Oh well, besides the massages, it is time to do away with the sweets and spumante and bring on the salads and fruit. I can’t let my friends at the pool down!
A domani,
E
The party is over, and it shows. At the pool this morning, Bruna took one look at Annamaria as she slipped into her suit and commented rather loudly, “but you have put on weight!” Quite pleased, Annamaria answered, “yes, you noticed? One and half kilos!” Then a discussion ensued on what she was going to do to get back to her usual trim self. No guilt. Annamaria smiled and laughed as she pointed to her slightly thickened middle. She had enjoyed every bite that had led to her post-holiday kilos.
A few weeks ago, Cinzia watched me dress after aqua fitness and announced, “I had always thought of you as thin, but now I notice that you have some fat on your outer thighs.” Well, this brought a few others into the conversation, and, as they studied my form as if it were a museum piece, they pointed and noted various spots that needed work. After a huddle to confer (as if I weren’t present), they concurred that I didn’t actually need to lose weight, just do some massages, after the holidays of course.
These are not an over-50 version of “mean girls” and their comments were not meant to be taken personally. It is just that exquisite Italian sense of aesthetics, La Bella Figura and all of its ramifications. They want me to look the best I can with what I have. It was also a sign of friendship – after five years of aqua fitness together, I have been included in their group! They care enough to help me present myself in the best way. I almost liked the attention. Although it was a bit odd.
I can imagine the scene in an American pool. The woman under scrutiny – never openly – would most likely respond – or at least think to herself – “mind your own business” and generally feel offended, not warm and fuzzy. Friends are supposed to help you not notice that you don’t look your best, although everyone notices anyway, especially you. Maybe this is even odder. Perhaps it comes from our strong sense of the individual, the unwritten boundaries of casual friendship, political correctness and that ole self-reliance mind-set. (I’ll take care of my fat myself, thank you).
Oh well, besides the massages, it is time to do away with the sweets and spumante and bring on the salads and fruit. I can’t let my friends at the pool down!
A domani,
E
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