"Breaking up is hard to do..."

A "Dear John letter" is a letter written to tell someone their relationship is over, usually because the composser has found another lover. They are often written out of an inability or unwillingness to inform the subject face to face. It pains me to do it, but, this is my "Dear John Letter" to Italy, (only I have not found another lover, just another country)

    

Dearest John, I mean Dearest Italy,

I know this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be done. Writing like this. But, it’s the only way I have left. I am constantly surrounded by you, looking into your food, wine and culture, my mind goes blank, my thoughts jumble, and I am left with nothing for you but tears.

Being with you has been wonderful. Being with you has taught me so much. And there is so much that I am grateful for, so much that I will cherish well into my declining years.

But the time has come to say good-bye.  We both knew that this would not last forever.

We were simply not meant to be, my love.

You have your ways, I have mine, and nothing in the middle seems to make sense, particularly driving habits.  So many things still baffle me about you.

I love you, still. But the carbohydrate intake that lies beneath my stomach lining, has become more than I can endure. More than anyone should have to. For me, and for you. We are too good to settle for something that will never be.

I wish for you, all the things you dream of. All the things you need, such as more patience while queing and a better understanding of customer service.

I wish for you, a happiness that will endure.

Good-bye Italy my love, you will never be forgotton.

"Io vi amo e vi ringrazio per i ricordi."

 

Gonzos Abroad

Love and Loathing

Love and Loathing. I have discovered that it is actually possible to feel these two polar emotions at the same time.  As I think about leaving Italy, I am starting to reflect upon what I love and loath about this unique country.

• Everything is ancient
• LOVE the history, architecture, art, food; Italians respect their past and make an effort to cultivate others of their treasures
• LOATH the hole in the ground toilets and the resistance to change for the better

• The clothing tags are longer than the garments themselves
• LOVE that washing directions are in several languages, feels extremely 'European'
• LOATH forgetting to chop the tags off and feeling like I am shoplifting A4 sized notepads under my shirt or dress
• Disregard for road rules
• LOVE the fact that you arrive faster due to parking where you want, and not stopping when you have to
• LOATH the fact that drivers do not stop when they have to, (stop signs, red lights or pedestrian crossings), and they park where they want, (footpath, middle of the road, double/triple park; as long as the hazard lights are on, "we are all good")
• Ignorance of personal space
• LOVE the innocence of people picking up my children for a cuddle and taking them to show their friends (I know none of these people)
• LOATH my confusion between the two words friendliness and abduction



Random waiter in Florence that insisted we take a picture of him???

• Food
• LOVE it all, delicious, and you are EXPECTED to order first and second courses
• LOATH the amount of carbohydrates

• Coffee
• LOVE that it can cost 80c for a coffee, and a coffee to go is at a bar, served within the minute and you can double park to get it
• LOATH that you do not 'meet' for coffee, or it would be a 1 min 30 second outing, and a really quick conversation
• Wine
• LOVE that it is sooooo cheap and yummy
• LOATH the looks we receive from fellow diners when we order our litre of wine with meals
• Shopping
• LOVE that twice a year EVERYTHING goes on sale from 50 % to 70% off
• LOATH that everything is so expensive otherwise and nobody told me not to shop until July or January
• Children
• LOVE that people you slightly know, eg work colleagues, gym workers, shop assistants all request "meetings" with your children when they find out you have them
• LOATH.... seriously, this a little creepy
• Language
• LOVE the sound of it; it really is a lovely language even if I do not understand it
• LOATH that I do not understand it and am paranoid that I am being called silly French woman (I know, majority think I am French, bizarre)
• Customer Service
• LOVE that most of the smaller retail shops will greet you with an immediate "buongiorno", usually hollered from the opposite end on the store
• LOATH the come down after the enthusiastic greeting. You will now be ignored, even while purchasing something, you take second place to phone calls from Nonna or a review of a co-workers choice of nail polish colour
• Fashion
• LOVE the quality, availability and application of high fashion.  A visit to the local post box appears to be an occasion, you would only leave the house (apartment) in your "Sunday Bests".
• LOATH that imitations of the high fashion is sold on every corner displayed on a sheet or cardboard box.  Also loath that it is not socially acceptable to go to the local post box in my pyjama's (even if accessorised with a nice pair of kitten heels and a pair of over sized sunglasses).  Most are associated with Barbie in Milan, full of plastic and the face expression does not change much.

• Perception of necessity
• LOVE that on every corner there stands a church, (not a pub) that is older than the country that I was born.  Not often I passed a church without poking my head inside to see if there were fresco's, an organ, or any holy water in the font.
• LOATH the development of my conscience in my time in Italy.  The more churches I visited, the more I felt it disrespectful to take photos in this place of worship, but I have been torn, as I feel that this is the haven for the worlds best art.  Also loath my children's discovery of echo echo echo in these tranquil places of worship.

• Hand language
• LOVE the enthusiasm and expression of emotions. Speaking simultaneously with hands and mouth is a given for young and old, (see hubby, it IS possible to do more than one thing at a time)
• LOATH that arm flapping is a language in itself entirely.  A conversation can also be had with the hands and no words; yet another form of communication to be learnt.  (The only hand language I understood up until now was the middle finger for anger and rub your belly if you are hungry.... apparently there are more than 2 in the hand language index) www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVCuyrPk7P4
• Italy
• LOVE it entirely



Milan's Duomo

• LOATH that it is time to leave

Not too aware of personal space

Remember that excited feeling you used to get before Christmas as a child?  Counting down the days, wondering if  Santa will remember everything on your wish list. "Have I been good enough this year?  What if Santa saw me steal my sisters Easter eggs that she has been hiding since April?", am I on the naughty list now? Then the closer you get to that magical day arriving, you started to feel anxious, frantic, and put yourself in a tizzy.  This is my current feeling!  Only Santa is not visiting with a casette player and tapes by 'Mel and Kim' or 'New Kids On The Block'.  My parents are visiting, bearing gifts of vegemite, Bio Oil and Paw Paw cream, (hopefully)!  On their way from Australia, I am so excited, and it has got me thinking about family.

In Italy one of the most important things is family, ‘la famiglia’ as they say: the foundation of all things Italian can be traced to that respected foundation, oh and food also!



Italian children make the rules



It became apparent to me at a parent teacher evening at my daughters school a few weeks ago, that my opinions on raising children differ from the italian ways.  The younger children appear to be smothered allowing no development of self help skills, but they definitely rule the household and dictate the family routine; apart from cooking, paying the bills and driving the car, I am pretty sure they are the boss of all family decisions. 





This would be my children by 9pm!

 My husband had mentioned to me before about his discovery of the bizarre sleep routine of Italian children. I was under the impression that this was just applicable to his work colleages.  But after listening to parents talk at this information evening, I am convinced that all italian parents are crazy.  (Please do not take offence, I refer more to a bizarre crazy, not a mentally deranged crazy!)  The average bed time for a 3 year old is 11 oclock at night!  "By the time you have dinner and play..."  I sat in disbelief, almost embarrased to admit that my children are fast asleep by 7.30pm most nights.  Am I so extremely selfish with my time that I find it inappropriate for a child to go to bed after a parent?  Am I so self centered that I think parents need some alone time without making brmmm brmm noises or adjusting simple instructions to fit a fun nursery rhyme tune?  I enjoy grown up time when the sun goes down!





We have also met others who have children of a similar age to mine and listen to parents saying, "they only eat bread or icecream".  Are you serious?  Toughen up parents, who is actually doing the disciplining here?  My children know to eat what's in front of them, it is all they are getting, (I need to stop my son from eating the cutlery and plate once the food has gone)! 



This is what happens when the food run out, "Hello Hulk"!



A goal of the traditional family should be to maintain family unity and create permanent relationships, but it can became a problem if over-protective parents continuously surrender themselves to their children because they regard them as fragile. This will prevent their growing up.  I am not saying send your 3 year old to the shops for milk and bread by themselves, just be aware that they can pull up their own pants, and feed themselves food if they are hungry.

Yes there are two sides to the coin.  Perhaps over protective, but then this follows on to an extremely strong sense of family commitment.  Italian 'young adults' are living at home for longer, then after a few years respite, quite often it is the parents that then move in with the children.  Sunday lunches are a definite custom that is religious and involves more than just immediate family, and their appears to be one of the strongest links between generations that I have ever witnessed.   What will be the outcome of my child rearing attitude.... my children will be strong and independant, and will use their own initiative and drive to succeed in life, (they may also check my husband and I into a local retirement village way before our time).  We will just have to wait and see.

More importantly, "I love you so much" is said hourly to us and by us; hugs and kisses are given for no apparent reason; and our priorities are based on each others happiness; which is where they should be.  I think we will be just fine!  There is no shortage of love and affection in our household, (to be honest I can not remember the last time I sat on the toilet without simultaneously cuddling a child).  Nanna and Pa on the otherhand... be prepared to be smothered with love, we are not too aware of personal space!  I promise to leave you alone on the toilet, I can not on the other hand speak for my children!

Comedy and Comprehension

My new years resolution is to commit myself to learning the Italian language. I like to run with themes each year, it seems more practical and realistic than telling myself I will loose weight quickly, drink no wine during the week or break some sort of World Record. It got me thinking when my husband asked last night what this years theme was. Last year was '2010 - Year of Culture and Comedy'. I told him that I hadn't finished being funny yet, (pretty sure he mumbled something like "I have") then I corrected myself by saying with 'finding things funny, not being funny'. So holding onto the comedy, he suggested I replaced the culture with another C word. I have decided comprehension would be appropriate. Comprehension for myself of others, and for others of me. '2011 - Year of Comedy and Comprehension', (and perhaps Confusion).

It is important to know that relative to other European countries, the level of English knowledge in Italy is very low. In more northern European countries, it seems like so many people speak at least a bit of English, in Italy, these people will tend to be fewer and further in between. It may be less evident in the popular tourist areas, but you will still be confronted with it. Therefore, my procrastination is over, I must get the basics of Italian communication.

Last week we were in an Asian restaurant, and a lady who was dining alone was placed at our connecting table. After a few pleasant smiles, hubby struck up conversation. After explaining our background a little, our lovely new friend was so amazed that I came from Australia because my English was so good. I accepted the complement, not entirely sure of its origin. After repeated amazement from her, I realised that she did not realise that English was the spoken language of my home country. What was? Australian? Sentences of pure slang? "G'Day. Been up since sparrows fart and am knackered. Came with ankle biters for some ace tucker, we'll bog into the vedgies and she'll be apples. Scuse the ear bashing." (Translation for non-Australians: "Hello. Woke up early and am exhausted. Came with children for some good food, we will eat vegetables and feel better. Sorry for talking so much.") This ladies confusion just confirmed how far away Australia is from Italy, and perhaps how little they know about Australia.

This morning as I was walking through our foyer the door man and maintenance man were having a heated conversation. Arms were flapping like a bird, hand gestures being used, and voices were raised; I could not tell if they were arguing or just being passionate. Walking straight into the line of conversation I was asked (in broken English) to help prove a point. "In Australia, do we know any Italian artists?" This was followed by a quick list of names, that as far as I was concerned could of been a list of car parts or names of medications. It was all foreign to me, Italians speak faster with excitement. So my response was "no, apart from the likes of Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo." I had just given victory to the maintenance man. "But you know Abba? Momma Mia?" I reply yes, and now apparently victory goes to the door man. I leave confused as to what sort of artist we are talking about, and comment over my shoulder that Abba sing in English. Were they claiming Abba as their own because they just had a season of Momma Mia the Musical in Milan?

Italy uses English words in songs, billboards, and slogans everywhere; yet the majority of the population do not speak the English language. The lovely staff at the gym I attend speak very little English, although they sing along happily to the English songs pumping out of the music speakers. Do they even know what they are saying? Perhaps listening to Italian music will fast track my language learning.

So this, the year of 'Comedy and Comprehension', I vow to learn at least fifty new words a week, and to understand the Italian secret language of hand gestures.

IF Important Fact - Packaging on products often have instructions in Italian, French, German, oh and Great Brittan. I think that is what they are calling the English language here.

Another IF - If you tell a man that you "Vorrei sparare una..." and point to a CD player, you are actually telling him, "I want to shoot it" not "I want to buy it". No wonder the customer service was bad. New word learned. New lessoned learnt don't yell 'sparare' in the street.

'They' said it would snow...

It was a recent trip to the local park that made me think about how I was experiencing such different weather to those back home in Australia. I was touching the slide to make sure that it was not too cold for the children instead of worrying it would burn their bottom. When I Skype my family on the Internet, I often say, "It's cold, go and put a jumper on", or "Why do you have a glass of wine in your hand at 8 o'clock in the morning?" I am still obviously getting used to the differences in time and season from the other side of the world.



I was very excited this morning to wake up, look out the window and see snow! I know that is what 'they' said to expect, but 'they' say a lot of things; and how often does the weather man get it right, (especially when it comes to an outdoor party, picnic planned in the park, or washing your car). So here I am running from window to window like an excited puppy in the back seat of the car. Prince just points out the window, speaks a bit of gibberish and continues playing. Princess says "The snow is sweet, is Santa going to come and leave 3 presents under the tree?" (My fault here as I may of mentioned that the fat man in red will drop by when it snows, now I have a month of explaining his GPS is out of batteries and he may be a little lost?) Hubby commented "Yeh I saw it" when I attacked him to come and see. (Think he is preoccupied with thoughts about his walk to and from train station with icicle mucus under his nose.)












People who have never been to Italy in winter, harbour the belief that Italy is the place where the sun shines all the time. I know I did. Well, we were obviously wrong. I may have my white Christmas!!!

So thinking about snow angels and snow men I am reveling in this excitement before it turns into slush and mud and I am complaining that "I need to get out of the house, I wish this snow would go away!"





What I did not know about snow:

• Every snowflake has its own unique shape and is different than all other snowflakes. (Unique just like a zebras stripes or a tomato bruschetta in restaurants.)


• All snowflakes have six sides.


• Snowflakes aren’t always white.


• Wind blown snow and black dirt is called snirt, (could of guessed).


• The average snowflake falls at a speed of 5km per hour.


• Snowflakes are made up of ice crystals, (not real crystals).


• It is supposed to be a nice experience to catch them on your tongue.


• They hurt when rolled into a big ball and thrown at a body part.

By afternoon, all trace of snow has disappeared and now my toddler wants to see it!! We spend the afternoon cutting out our own snowflakes; we avoid blood shed with the scissors; and hang one with the stars and fairies in her room, ("fairies will now need a jacket so they don't get cold").

Finally I share the joy!

'They' say it is supposed to snow all day Sunday..."Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

Revenge of the door man!

In an earlier post "Check depth of leave pile before jumping ", I stated that ; "Sympathy must be had for the apartment porter and care taker that are out there every morning with a thin broom, sweeping every single leaf off the path and driveway. I am sure the tree is laughing from above because once they finish, it is time for them to start all over again." So after 10hours straight of chainsaw sounds last week, I looked out my kitchen window to the apartment next door, to see this... like a soaring bird with diarrhoea 'I will have my revenge'.... (says the door man)...

Run tree run!!! Save yourself!!! It appears now the porter is laughing. Is this normal behaviour when Autumn/ Winter arrives, (or is this just a door man who has had enough of sweeping)? I guess I have to look out of another window for my golden leaf bliss...

Now I can see all of my neighbours clearly; great way for me to see how the Italians cook in their own kitchen, (just need some binoculars to get ingrediants and measurements right).

Check depth of leave pile before jumping...

Living in Brisbane and Newcastle Australia, I have never really experienced change of season until now. (Apart from holidays in Melbourne where you have 4 seasons in one day.) The attraction of the gold and red hues that are appearing on the trees act as compensation that the cold weather is arriving.

I am constantly pointing out the leaves to the children, the colours are so mesmerising; my only reply is a glance of "Yeh, I get it, its a tree, oh, look, a rock, you going to get excited about that too?"

Sympathy must be had for the apartment porter and care taker that are out there every morning with a thin broom, sweeping everysingle leaf off the path and driveway. I am sure the tree is laughing from above because once they finish, it is time for them to start all over again.

I am trying to get the kids to collect the leaves, throw the leaves, jump in the leaves, paint with the leaves, blow the leaves, glue the leaves... think they want me to leave!!! Maybe they will appreciate this change of season when they are a bit older? Secretly I

may be using my children as justification that it is fine for a 30 something female to be rolling around in a pile of leaves.

I tell myself that Leon enjoys time on the verandah looking at the beautiful colours in the trees, but I am pretty sure he is really out there to parachute our belongings off the edge. (I found a huggies wrapper and a pair of Mia's underpants on top of the pathway and hedge last week!)

Mia is more interested in when it is going to snow, (mainly because I told her that is when Santa comes with presents; it could be a cheap Christmas for me this year if it does not snow in Milan)!

“We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto”

There is no place like home, but keen to make this our new home I am determined to accept all those differences and make them normal to our new life.

Second day in our new home and I am vacuuming our new Ikea carpet that is covered in mess from unpacking and building our Ikea shelves, I am told confidently “Stop now mummy, it is too loud, I cannot hear the tv!” I am unsure at this stage whether or not she realises that she is watching cartoons in Italian, a language that she does not comprehend (that I know of). Back to Ikea for a moment, anyone who knows me is quite aware of my love for Ikea and their pack of 100 candles and white pots, so it did not take us long to venture there for a home necessity shop. I was pleased to find Ikea is mirrored no matter the country apart from a few vital changes to adapt to the Italian lifestyle. A large television is in the canteen replaying Italian football games (soccer to the Aussie reader), wine and beer is purchased for a couple of euro with your meatballs and you can be given a cage on a trolley so your small dog may enjoy your Ikea experience with you also!!!

Every day I seem to notice something not quite right (by my narrow minded Australian standards), but I am learning to adapt and keep telling myself I am like Alice and this is my wonderland. I am quick to learn a few things; when you are driving 1 lane really means 3; if you would like to go into a shop or grab a coffee and cannot find a park “allora” just stop in the middle of the street and put your hazard lights on; zebra crossings simply signify the place best to sprint across the road and appear to be the bulls eye on the dart board for cars and moped drivers (very quickly have flashbacks to grade 4 trying to run in and out of skip rope without falling over, only this time I have a baby and toddler hanging from limbs).

Hubby and I joined the gym next door in hope to regain fitness and to perhaps counteract our new love of bread with dinner every night. It appears that we have joined a ‘skinny and sweatless’ gym. You have to look good and it is imperative that you make your workout look easy as you are not to sweat at any stage (thought that you joined a gym to lose weight but it appears everyone took care of that before enrolling). When I asked (or got hubby to ask, still struggling a bit with communication without hands) about a water machine to drink from, we were directed to the small vending machine with aqua and sports drinks. This stood next to the huge espresso machine – a few quick caffeine shots in between sets anyone? I am still adjusting to this countries love of coffee. Bars / cafes are on every corner and also in between, there is usually no sitting involved, just a few quick espresso shots thrown back while standing. I am told that we must by an espresso machine in order to be fully accepted into the Italian culture (this said of course by my caffeine jittery husband). Do not see the point at this stage as coffee is under 1 euro most places. Coffee vending machines have also been spotted on tourist buses, car parks and shopping centres. Can I blame their crazy driving on the caffeine buzz?

“I know who farted!”

After 2 nights in our hotel the paperwork was finally ready for us to move into our new home for the next 2 ½ years. First impressions are usually the best to go by and princess kept running from room to room, jumping on her bed and saying “I like this one”, my heart fluttered, belly lifted and I felt comfortable in our new apartment. We all have our own rooms, a big enough living space to not trip over each other, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen with washing machine and dishwasher, plenty of storage and shutter blinds on every door and window to fool my children into thinking that it is night time at 7 o’clock. There is a supermarket right next door and above it there is a gym, so there will be no excuse for not eating well, or for working off the well eaten food, talk about chasing my own tail!

There may perhaps be one negative to our new humble abode, getting to and from our front door. The lift is a little on the small side and “I know who farted” is a quick process of elimination. It takes 4 people, which you would think would be convenient as we are a family of 4, but the size restricts a pram unless it is folded and we all hug each other. Love to share the love but it is averaging 35 degrees every day, sweaty love. As we later discovered, a family of 4, after a shop at Ikea and a toddler requesting “mummy I go wee wee”, results in panic, giggles and an urgency to loose more weight so we can fit more in the lift.

Here come the Griswold’s

Unlike National Lampoon’s vacation, this Griswold’s family is staying for a while, and I still cannot imagine how we are all going to fit into a small hire car “It will work out, don’t worry about it”, soul mate always has the glass half full before I swallow it all down just to make an empty point. So 3 large suitcases, 2 huge weekend bags, port-a-cot, pram, 2 car seats, back pack, cabin bag, a flower cabin bag (“I will take it myself”) and a red beetle bike bag (“I will ride it now”) seemed unlikely to fit in the 2 door smart car I had been dreaming entire month previous that we had hired. So I pushed a double pram and held a shoulder bag or two as my husband managed his way through a crowd of photo clicking tourists pushing two large luggage trolleys simultaneously (which he could not see over or around) chanting “anybody in the road gets knocked over”. Frown turned to smile as we were greeted by hubby's work friend, he offered us a friendly smile, luggage support to the hotel and assurance of a 4 door hatch.

Our first couple of nights in Milan were spent in a hotel room with 3am being the standard wake up time to play for the entire family. A perfect time for soul mate to teach baby prince about compression and sine waves with a metal slinky, for my daughter to catch up on drawing and stickers, and for me to start my blog and ponder on our new Italian life ahead.