martedì 30 dicembre 2008

Adventures in the Italian Language 4

"Non ho capito"

The literal translation of this phrase is "I didn't understand." Italians use it a lot and, when you're a foreigner making shaky attempts to speak the language, it can be quite disconcerting. It took me a while to figure out that it's also used to mean "I didn't hear you," and when someone says it to you it doesn't mean your Italian was crap, it just means you need to repeat what you said.

This kind of thing is useful to keep in mind more generally when you're speaking a foreign language. Mistakes and misunderstandings happen for all kinds of reasons and often it's as much to do with the other person as it is to do with you!

Nostalgia

I got nostalgic today. I had an appointment with my old doctor and I met up with my old flatmate for coffee, which involved me getting the bus into Edinburgh from my parents' house, walking from Princes Street to the area where I used to live, visiting my old flat to pick up some post and finally driving past the school where I used to teach on the way home.

I noticed several things about Edinburgh.

I noticed the gentleness of the rolling hills outside it, so different from the harsh outlines of the Alps.

I noticed the sense of calm. Even in Princes Street in the middle of the sales, people said sorry when they bumped into you and nobody tried to run you over if you dared to attempt to cross the road.

I noticed the sense of history. Italy has a fascinating history too, but even strolling in Rome or sitting in the arena in Verona, it's never seemed so palpable to me. Edinburgh's history is my history and I learned it on the spot, being led down the Royal Mile by teachers in a time so distant it might as well be history itself.

And I noticed how beautiful the city is, as the sun sets and darkness falls over the trees, the spires and the hills. It brought back so many memories of a time when I felt very settled in a city that was truly home.

And, in fact, I never really meant to leave. I moved to Milan partly because of my seemingly inplacable language learning, foreign culture experiencing itch and partly because so many elements of my settled Edinburgh life either came to a natural end or came crashing down around my ears, depending on whether you want to be melodramatic about it or not.

Now I find myself in the opposite situation, with the itch being at least partially appeased for the time being, looking to the future and wondering what will happen if and when I take that same decision in reverse. The curse of loving foreign things is that you will always leave a little bit of yourself somewhere far away.

What reassured me today was the thought that as well as the people, there is a place that's worth coming home to.

venerdì 26 dicembre 2008

Adventures in the Italian Language 3

Inspired by Jennie en France, I've been spending my Christmas holiday doing online language tutorials. (Christmas is not very exciting in my family. And Jennie, if you're reading this, your site is fantastic!)

Today I tested my level in Italian on the BBC website and then found their list of "cool Italian" phrases. It reminded me of one of my favourite slang expressions in Italian: che gnocco/a! Referring to an Italian man or woman as a kind of potato dumpling means, for some reason, that you find him or her very attractive.

Another one I liked was "limonare", which apparently means "to snog with passion." Something to do with puckering up your lips, perhaps.

And finally, I learned that a "scambio di lingua," which I have asked for several times in my search for foreign language conversation partners, has another, more literal meaning.

lunedì 22 dicembre 2008

Banking Part 2

I arrived back in the UK on Saturday. I had very little money in my wallet so I went to the nearest cash machine, and took out some money. They didn't charge me because it wasn't my own bank. They didn't charge me because it was the weekend. Getting my own money from the cash machine was free.

While I was at the cash machine, I topped up my phone credit. This was not one of a limited number of transactions that I could carry out at the cash machine over a 3 month period. The phone company did not charge me £3 for the privilege of buying a service from their company. It was free.

Then I made a phone call. When I had finished, the phone automatically told me how much credit I had left. None of my money had been eaten by the invisible monster that secretly ate 30 euros of internet credit in Italy.

Then today I went to the bank again. Despite the fact that it was Monday and despite the fact that it was lunch time, the bank was open. Ten minutes and one signature later, I had deposited my euros in my current account. The ease of the operation left me smiling almost as much as the exchange rate.

domenica 21 dicembre 2008

Banking

I went to the bank on Friday afternoon with 2 friends. When we arrived in Italy, we opened introductory accounts with them and, although they knew in advance that we were coming, it took 4 hours fot ten people to open accounts and none of the staff seemed to know what traveller's cheques were or how to pay them into an account. Their inefficiency, coupled with the fact that the bank is only open for about 5 hours a day, only one of which is in the afternoon, had put me off going back even though they never sent me the credit card that I asked for and which I probably paid for. (A credit card is pretty much a necessity in Italy because bancomat cards don't have card numbers and so you can't use them to shop online).

On Friday, however, we had to go because our free "Welcome" accounts were about to expire and we had to face up to the cruel, complicated world of Italian bank charges.

In the UK, bank charges are what you pay if you go over your overdraft limit or a cheque bounces. In Italy, you pay to have the account, be given a bancomat card, be given a credit card, be issued with statements and for the privilege of withdrawing money from the cash machine. If you use a cash machine from another bank, it costs 1.50 euros every time. You pay for something called a "bollo" every month, but despite the bank manager's lengthy explanation of what a "bollo" is, I am none the wiser. The word translates as "stamp" but I have no idea what they are stamping. Their feet, perhaps.

This time, it took an hour and a half for the three of us to choose and open our new accounts and for the bank manager to try to convince us to open some kind of savings account that pays a paltry 2% interest (which is nevertheless infinitely more than the 0% I get on my new current account). It wasn't a bad experience. I discovered that my Italian was good enough to cope with the intricacies of the banking system and the manager was friendly, patient and helpful. He even shared his Christmas chocolates with us and gave us a free calendar. Even with the best customer service in the world, however, there is no getting around the fact that banking in Italy is far more complicated, expensive and time-consuming than it needs to be and I hope I don't need to go back for a long time!

mercoledì 10 dicembre 2008

In Which I Attempt to go to Austria and End Up in Turin



The 8th of December is a public holiday in Italy. It is St Ambrogio's Day (St Ambrogio is the saint of Milan) and also the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. (I read an interesting article in the newspaper about exactly what was and was not immaculate about the conception, but I'll save that for another post.)


My friend and I decided about 6 weeks ago that we wanted to take advantage of the long weekend to go to the Christmas markets in Austria or Bavaria. We initially wanted to go to Salzburg, as both of us have also had long and passionate relationships with The Sound of Music but we decided that was too far away and decided to aim for Innsbruck instead.
Our Innsbruck plans were thwarted by the lady at the train station being incapable of selling me the ticket that I wanted (and which I knew existed from the automatic ticket machines and the internet). In the course of half an hour, she sold me the wrong one twice and I eventually gave up.


Our next idea was to go to Trento, which is not far from the German speaking part of Italy and also apparently has a good market, but my friend was ill for three days and we decided it was too far away for a day trip and chose to go to Turin instead.


We assumed that the market would be near the centre of Turin and relatively easy to find, but when we arrived, there was no sign of it. We walked around the centre admiring the beautiful buildings, the river and the glimpses of the mountains at the end of every street and eventually asked somebody where it was. She told us that it was quite far out of town, too far to walk, and said that we would need to get a tram there. By this time, we were hungry, so we had lunch and then confirmed with the people at the restaurant where we needed to go.


It turned out to be only five stops on the tram and not very far away at all, but when we arrived at the square, all we could see was an ordinary market with a few stalls selling scruffy Christmas decorations in among the clothes pegs and multipacks of batteries. We asked one of the stall holders if this was actually the Christmas market and she said that it was.


A little disappointed, we headed back into town. As we were strolling among the shops, we stumbled upon the tourist office and went in to ask about the market. The woman told us that it was more or less exactly where we had just been. I was on the point of giving up, but my friend, an avid Christmas market shopper persuaded me to try one more time. We walked back to the original market and made our way past the scruffy ironmongery stalls. Then we saw a few scabby Christmas trees and a flea market that was thronged with people. Forcing our way through the crowds, in what seemed to be the back streets of the dodgy bit of Turin, we finally spotted wooden chalets and Christmas lights and smelled the perfume of mulled wine wafting towards us. We had found it!


The market was incredibly busy, despite being so well hidden, but we managed to find four Christmas presents between us, drink some mulled wine, taste grappa at the grappa stall, and get some free samples of incredibly delicious Turin chocolate called Gianduiotto, which is basically very, very nice praline.


I liked Turin a lot. It was like Milan in that it was a busy, cosmopolitan city but it was somehow just that little bit prettier. More than anything, Milan lacks hills, a river or a beach and you never really get a view or feel like you can see the edge of it. Turin has a river running through it and beautiful views and luckily is less than two hours away on the train!

sabato 6 dicembre 2008

Where Am I Now?

A couple of surprising things have happened to me recently.

The first was when I took my shoes to be repaired. I had been putting it off for weeks, partly because, Milan being the world's capital for expensive shoes, I was a) embarrassed to take my £15 pound pair from New Look in and b) convinced that it would be hideously expensive and because I couldn't be bothered with the hassle of going and then having to go back to collect them. Eventually, however, having superglued my trousers to my leg in the process of trying to repair my second-last pair of decent shoes at home, I decided to go and get it done. I took them to the cobbler at the supermarket where I often shop and he asked me if I was doing shopping there or if I would prefer to come back another day. I had a couple of things to get, so I asked how long it would take and he said twenty minutes. I went off and did my shopping, then went back ten minutes later, convinced that I was going to have to wait another half an hour, which I didn't really have time for. The shoes were done. I paid the very reasonable price (6 euros) and congratulated the man on his speedy service. He replied, “Any time you need to bring something in, I'm here.” Italians? Inefficient?

The second thing happened when I was getting off the tram today. Trams and buses in Italy have entrance doors and exit doors, but normally nobody pays a blind bit of notice to the signs. Today, however, as I tried to dodge the crowd of people and prams at the exit door and sneak out the entrance, I was gently reprimanded by a woman trying to get on, who told me, “Questa è l'entrata.”

By this time I was starting to wonder if I had somehow been teleported over the border into Switzerland in my sleep. Then I tried to get into the department store and couldn't get past a couple having an extremely vocal argument in the door about whether they were going in or not, saw a dog in not just a quilted tartan jacket but a designer label hoodie (I kid you not) and felt reassured to be back in Italy.

mercoledì 3 dicembre 2008

An Adventure

It snowed last Friday in Milan. Big flakes were falling all day and the city looked very pretty. By Saturday, however, it was just pouring with rain and by Sunday it seemed to have mostly dried up, so a friend and I set off in his car for a walk by one of the lakes, hoping to see the snow still lying on the mountains. We didn't have a map, so we decided to rely on my friend's trusty TomTom.

The TomTom got us most of the way there, but as we left the main road and wended our way through small towns with narrow streets and one-way systems, she decided to abandon us. Eventually, we found the right road, a twisting, single-track road up a very steep hill. To make the experience a little bit hairier, there were racing cars coming down in the opposite direction. They weren't actually racing, as far as we could tell, but they were certainly driving more fearlessly even than the average Italian.

As we got further up, heavy rain began to fall. Then the rain turned to snow. The cars were still coming, the bends were getting tighter and the tyres were losing their grip. On the biggest bends there were groups of locals cheering on the racing cars, or any other driver stupid enough to go past. With nowhere to turn round, we had no choice but to go on, hoping that there would be a better road down the other side of the mountain. At one point, with the car stopped and hugging the cliff above us, we saw one of the racing cars skid and do a 90 degree turn so that its length spanned the whole width of the road. With the help of three people, the driver was just able to turn it round and carry on.

Eventually we arrived at the top of the hill, where there was a car park and a few people standing around. I got out of the car, hoping that they could tell us a better way down but they said the road ahead was closed. The only way down was the way we had come up, so off we went.

After our own little skid on the way down, I admitted to my friend that I was scared. Really scared.

“We'll be fine,” he said. “The car's built for it.”

We continued on our perilous way, with my friend inching the car around the hairpin bends and me muttering prayers of thanks every time we made it in one piece. Finally, we got to the bottom.

We stopped the car and checked the tyres, then drove on. It was only once we hit the motor way that my friend finally breathed a deep breath and said, “That was really, really scary.”
Never had the Italian Autostrada seemed such a safe and comforting place to be.

Smoking Ban?

On Saturday night, we went to a place called La Toscana to celebrate a friend's birthday. It was pouring with rain, but even so, we were able to sit outside in the bar behind the restaurant. I'm pretty sure that the reason that you can do this in Italy is the smoking ban. Italy was one of the first countries to ban smoking in indoor public places but the combination of millions of smokers and the Italian penchant for disregarding the rules means that bar owners have just put up tents in their beer gardens where, technically, you are outside and therefore allowed to smoke. The ban doesn't seem to have had any effect on the number of smokers in the country so all that happens is that you end up either being roasted by a patio heater or shivering from the draughts as well as breathing in clouds of second-hand smoke.

The cynical part of me suspects that this is what happens every time the Italian tries to solve a problem by imposing its will on an unwilling people. It creates new problems without solving the old one.

Christmas Market

Someone pointed out to me today that I haven't posted anything on here for over a week, and, that given my normal addiction to blogging, some of my readers might be getting worried. Fear not, for I have simply been going in search of exciting and exhilarating experiences, the better to entertain you, dear readers. I also got bogged down writing a very long and thought-provoking post which I might publish later, but for now, here are some updates.

Last Saturday I went to L'Artigiano in Fiera, which is an enormous market at the exhibition centre where you can buy products from all around the world. There are 10 different sections and over 2000 stalls. We were there for over 3 hours and didn't even see half of it.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy it that much because I thought it would be crowded and far too expensive but in fact it was really good fun. A lot of the prices were similar to in the shops and you could sample things as you went round. I got a ridiculous amount of cheese, some Normandy cider for my next crepe party, Stroopwaffeln from Holland, a couple of Christmas presents and some socks, as well as admiring furniture, paintings and belly-dancing outfits from afar. There were thousands of people there, but the place was so big that it didn't matter. But then, this is Milan, and the one thing you can do better here than anywhere else is go shopping!