Monday, October 20, 2008

Cultural Quirks

Life runs by quickly here. There are many things I’ve experienced here that I have thought “Wow, I can’t wait to write about this!” And then for various reasons, often because I’m busy doing more things which I also want to write about, I never end up having time to write about them. So I’ll see what I can do. Some of the entries may come up late, or out of order. In the meantime, I’d like to share a few of the Italian quirks which I have stumbled over during my time here.

A very important one to keep in mind while traveling in Italy is that strangely enough the Italians have two different numbering systems for street addresses, and they use them simultaneously. These numbers tend to be either written on ceramic tiles, or more commonly engraved on a stone in the wall. Residences are numbered in black, but businesses are numbered in red. And the two have nothing to do with each other. A street can easily go 32 (black), 34 (black), 82 (red), 36 (black). This causes a few difficulties, even when you know it exists. One, it makes everything harder to find. Like looking for a red Easter egg amongst all the black numbers, you run along the street hoping that the next one will be the elusive restaurant that you are looking for. Two, because they can travel at different paces, opposite sides of the street are completely skewed numerically. Just because you are standing at number 27, doesn’t necessarily mean that 28 is across the street. It can be blocks away from you. And, finally, keep in mind that mapping programs such as Yahoo have not yet become sophisticated enough to deal with this totally illogical system, so if you do as we did, and enter the address of a recommended pizzeria, don’t panic when it isn’t where the map says it is and you are seeming lost in a slightly sketchy neighborhood. The map found black 67. Feel free to wander for blocks in either direction looking for red 67. You’ll probably find it eventually. And asking around is definitely not cheating when dealing with a system like this. A hint for finding your way – if you see "27 (r)" as an address that means you are looking for a red number, so don’t get fooled by the apartment house number 27. Keep looking!

Also, don’t be fooled by small store fronts. The doors of buildings and the little storefronts can be crammed close together, but they are more than they seem. I walked into what looked like a tiny little market with only bread and crackers, and as I walked back, and back, and back I realized that the market carried pretty much all the food I could want in its labyrinth. Living in buildings built for a different era, many stores have adapted by carving themselves into the bowels of the building, using whatever space they can find to spread out all of their wares. Restaurants that look like they are to-go only often have hugs seating areas up a level, down a level, or both.

I’m not sure Italians have to-go only. Kelly and I have noticed a complete lack of to-go places amongst the Italian restaurant scene. When my host mom doesn’t have time to cook dinner, she makes homemade pizza with a pre-made but still raw pizza dough that then goes in the oven with sauce and mozzarella. Not entirely sure how that logic works, but it’s her version of American take-out.

Italians drink their milk warm. They leave it out, or zap it in the microwave for a bit to get it to room temperature. Its part of their cultural war against cold. For Italians, cold = sick. This also translates into a serious lack of ice in your drinks. The only time I have seen ice here in Italy was at a social event thrown by Americans for Americans, and even then it was offered as a possibility to put in your drink, not a default. Of course, this doesn’t mean that Italians detest all things cold, as proven by their love of gelato. It just means that some things are warmer than back home. Feel free to get used to it, or get used to ordering things specially adjusted to American tastes.

In the course of my studies here I have walked into several school supply or art supply stores. Unlike the giant help-yourself warehouses found in the States for these things, all the stores I have come across here are much more old-fashioned. A store owner behind the counter, with a warren of cubbies at his back, asks what you want, and then goes to the exact cubby where they are stored, sometimes with the aid of a step stool, and places one on the counter for you to decide if you would like to buy it or not. Absolutely charming, it reminds me of Ollivander’s Wand Shop from Harry Potter.

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