Public Transport Observations, Mussolini & The Seven Midgets

No excuses - I've been a bit lazy with posting the past few weeks. Let's address the FAQ's first.

I started official Italian lessons with a woman who teaches English to primary schoolers - so as a teacher, she is fully qualified to teach me, and does it well. I am able to hold a conversation, which I am proud of, but I am still stuck on future tense conjugations. My "I am there in 10 minutes" needs some tweaking, but I'll get there.

Current events? I had a picnic in Parko Sempione in Milan this arvo with some friends - we went to a supermarket and bought fresh baguettes, sundried tomatoes (the best EVER), roasted peppers and a tub of ice-cream and a fancy little lunch in the sun. Divine.

I was in Milan this weekend for a Rotary event - we in district 2040 and some others from district 2050 all met up in Cremona - the cultural centre for violins in the world. I am not going to lie, I was NOT looking forward to the museum-ridden day, but the fact that I was with the best company had me reeling in anticipation.

We arrived in a huge piazza to a crowd of cyclists protesting for the lack of bike-lanes in their street (if only this was South Africa's biggest problem.) The participants all had signs of some sort strapped to them, and one was very punny. I enjoy this.

 

The first museum was boring as poes. One of the students tripped over something and made a noise, and the tourguide said, "Ti faccio male" (Basically, I will hurt you.) Dick. So nothing special here. Although a man played some beautiful music for us. We were then taken to a private manufacturer of violins - a woman introduced herself as Yael Rosenblum (how much more Jewish can you get.)

Turns out the chick is one of the most famous violin makers in the world. Jol.

Having my driver’s license at home means having the option to go wherever I please, whenever I choose.

I can’t drive here, so am forced to take the public transport, which, unlike in Cape Town, is easy, safe, cheap, and clever.

I take a tram to the city centre, take buses all over, the funicular to the upper city, take trains to Milan, and the metropolitan underground in Milan…

Despite the advantages of having public transport, I have seen some dirty things. Dirty dirty gross vom yuck shudder. For example, the other day I saw a woman plucking her eyebrows on the tram. I mean, come on chicki, you have a mirror and a bathroom at home for that shit. No-one wants to breathe in your eyebrow hairs.

Not only dirty, but dirty and hilarious. Just yesterday I watched as a smelly bergie ran out one door of the metro train, and back inside through the door of the same train 2 metres away, and pretended to wave to someone, while slouching over like the hunchback of the metro-dame, and covering his face.

I have been so grossed out by things I have seen on the public transport that washing my hands has not only become routine, but almost a bit of an obsession. I keep hand-sanitiser and wet-wipes in my bag for this reason. The other day I saw a guy with terribly infected eyes rubbing and rubbing his eyes, then proceeded to the door of the tram where his hands basically made a baby with the hand-rail, and then the button to open the door. Needless to say, I try not to touch anything. I prefer to stand with my feet in a wide stance for balance, and falling into people, and apologising profusely. I’d rather not get some disgusting infection, thanks.

Besides germs, the public transport is also rife with people pathogens. Inconsiderate, rude, dirty, sleazy people. I had a terribly incident-filled day last week, where an old man not only reached out to touch my eyebrows on the funicular, but had the audacity to pat his lap as a gesture to sit down on him Bro, you’re like 65 years old hitting on an 18 year old girl. Someone arrest this guy please.

The same day, on the bus home from my Italian lesson, my backpack accidentally touched an old moustached woman sitting on the seat beside where I was standing. She legitimately SHOVED me away from her. It was a full bus. It couldn’t have been avoided. I am SORRY, you silly bitch. Go shave your moustache. But please not on the bus.

Taxi’s at home in Cape Town are a very frequent mode of transport for me - especially home from clubs late at night. I would generally pay R70 to get home, if I was alone, and that would be split if I was with friends in the taxi. The taxi’s here START at €6.20 (the equivalent of R70) and my friend Tish and I split a taxi for €40 the other night, after seeing Cyberpunkers and Belzebass at Bolgia (a famous club just outside Bergamo.) We paid €23 each to get inside, €10 each per drink (regardless of size or content). We each ended up spending about €60 that night. Goodbye to shopping this month L

While waiting for this taxi, we had a SUPER-drunk 14 year old approach us and ask for a cigarette. (We will get onto the smoking subject soon.) After repeatedly telling him neither of us had cigarettes, he starts this drunk-slur of a rant saying that this is Italy, this is Mussolini, and thus, we must have cigarettes. We didn’t. We ran to seek shelter with the car-guard, who did NOTHING to help us, but then… our saviour came from heaven. <3 Mauro. <3 This beautiful man approached us, shooed the kid away, and offered us help to call a taxi, and offered to wait with us until it arrived. He was a DJ at the club, and was just… wow. WOWOW. In my trou. Best part of the night.

The night, as usual, started with a visit to Sette Nani (According to my friend Fede, the Seven Midgets), from Bianca Neve (Snow White), our local bar hangout. We were driven to the club in Massimo’s car – something out of the Smurfs (iPuffy in Italian – I don’t understand why. Smurf isn’t even a real word). I was then exposed to what I think is the best thing Italians have brought to the music scene since ever. Fabri Fibra is the equivalent of the Italian Pitbull. His song “VIP in Trip” has taught me more Italian than my 3 weeks of lessons. Swear-words and judgements about prostitutes, more than anything, but vocab is vocab. 

Italian Carbohydrate Observations.

THE BREAD (Il pane): The best. My host-mom makes it fresh in her little machina - we get white, wholegrain, olive (my personal favourite), brown. muesli (but somehow I can't manage to find the stuff for breakfast??), fruity...the works. It's delicious. Served with every meal in a huge wooden bowl at the centre of the table to be cut (with a USELESS, unserated knife), but not in slices - rather, chunks.


On occasion, she will buy fresh rolls from the Esselunga bakery - my GOD, this bread is next level. Croccante on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside. And the FOCCACIA. I hate to break it to you - but the real Italian foccacia is unbeatable. I know that you think your local bakery makes it the best. It doesn't. Italian bakers do. Soz.


The main PROBLEM with this whole bread situation is the conservation of said crispyness and softness and fluffiness (or lack thereof). Italians have no concept of ziplock bags, or even just covering the breadbasket to keep the freshness in. So, basically, we have one day of amazing fresh bread, and then 3 days of stale, rock-hard, nostalgic-of-day-1 bread. Hence me eating about 3 rolls on day 1. Carbo-loading so I can avoid the stones the next few days.


Now, with bread, comes toast. I love me some toast. Toast with margerine and pickled gherkins. (Is that double pickled?)(Don't hate it till you try it.) Toast with flora and marmite. (Wow. I miss marmite.) Toast with anything really. (Except butter. Or fishpaste. Vom.)  Italians don't eat toast. Their equivalent is a "toastie" - basically a toasted cheese and ham sandwich - no alternatives. My family owns an awesome toaster too, one with handles and adjustable width and shit...but they never use it! I remember on our Europe trip in 2007, my mother was considering bringing one of these toasters home in her suitcase.


Its gotten to the point where bringing out the toaster from the top cupboard is such a mission, that I just settle for no toast. Also, they don't eat margerine. Or marmite. Or pickles.


PANINO MAN: Panini are wonderful. There is a bergie in Bergamo who thinks so too. Every time anybody passes him, he begs for money for a panino. Do-gooder mission of the year: buy the oke a panino.


CAKE FROM A PACKET: My mom is a wonderful baker. She abhorrs box-brownies or pre-mixed pancake powder. Trust, she taught us well. At school, I used to bring about 50 cupcakes to school when a friend had a birthday, and they were always gone within 10 minutes - as was the extra tuppaware of icing I used to bring (Gabi Stein has no skaam in sticking her fingers in there. And then in her mouth. 52497 times dipping.)


My host-sister had some friends over for dinner the other night, and for dessert, pulled out 2 packets of cake batter - shop-bought (#GASP), poured them into a cake tin, baked it, pulled it out and dusted it with icing sugar. It was damn delicious, I will tell you. The thing is - Italian bakers don't bugger around - this batter is actually made from scratch - it has eggs and butter and milk in it, too, and an expiration date. So, technically, it's like making it from scratch. Right?


However, when her friends said, "Hmm nom nom, complimenti, Luci", I couldn't help but defend the packet's honour. I couldn't let her take the credit.


PASTA: There is a myth (mostly enforced by my mom) that Italians eat their pasta with a spoon - you curl the spaghetti strands into a big spoon with your fork, and eat it that way. In fact, Italians probably eat their pasta in the most unattractive, childish way - cut it into little piece before eating and then eating it with a spoon in small mouthfulls. They stab their penne, rather than scoop it onto the fork-tips like us South Africans have been taught. Some superfancy Italians use the side of their bowl (ALWAYS a bowl for pasta) to curl the strands around their fork (note: no spoon included) - don't underestimate this process: it is hazardous to the bowl, your clothing (depending on the stain-potential of the sauce), your ears (that scraping sound grillllllsss me), and also, your dignity.

Regardless of all my complaints: the pasta, bread, pizza, gelado, pretty much everything - is better here than it is wherever you are. Trust.

tranquilla.

People always ask: What do you think of Bergamo?

As not to offend them, I do my best to explain that I'm a big-city girl, but that the people are very nice. Simpatici. Gentili.

Because I haven't posted in a while, I thought I would do the past few weeks in a couple of installments: This is Milan.

I had an amazing opportunity to go to Milano for almost a week, celebrating Purim with the Rabbi and Rebbetzin's family as my main motivation. (There are NO Jews in Bergamo.)

I'm hardly religious, but there is something about being Jewish, or perhaps just having a passion or belief shared by others, that creates a common thread that makes it so easy to communicate with people.

I met an Australian girl at the Purim service who was studying at university in Milan - we became obsessed with each other considering that she was one of the few English speaking people I could relate to in Italy, and the fact that she understood all my South African idiosyncrasies because half the Aussie population is made up of South African Jews.

Besides being super excited about my new NBF, when we did the whole Facebook-friend-request thing, one of our mutual friends was a Sir Josh Benjamin, one of my good friends from back home: they had done a SAUJS project together at some point. Get what I mean? Conneckies. A random South African Jew and random Australian Jew meet at a random shul in Milan.

After Purim, I met up with the other exchangers in Parko Sempione with our boxes of... grape juice...and we had a little picnic :) After which, I did the whole Shabbos vibe - I lit candles, said Kiddish, we drank Shabbos wine (that's TOTALLY allowed) and ate challah. It was great.

Hmm. Abercrombie and Fitch. The store in Milan has topless male (sorry, Aluf) models  walking around selling their products. Wow, I just realised how inappropriate that sounded. Their Abercrombie and Fitch items of clothing. The store for which they work. They take polaroid pictures of you at the front as a momento. Honestly, the girls could have spend hours in there... picking up hideous (in taste and in price) items of clothing, feigning interest, just to stay longer. The manorexics utter an Americanised "Whatsup". ITALIAN IS THE SEXIEST LANGUAGE IN THE WORLD. WTF do you think you're doing saying "whatsup" to me!? Say "Ciao, bella" or something that is reminiscent of hotness and your washboard abs. 'Whatsup'. Pff. What is this?

Saturday night was FINALLY time for my first discoteca!! Proper the most exciting moment of my life. We ended up going to Magazini Generali - no Vardi, not General Magazine. General Warehouse. And... it was gay night. Don't misunderstand me - this is not a prejudice issue... its just that... I miss men.

Turns out not all guys at gay clubs are gay. Want to know how I know this? (Going to be very censored because my parents read this. PG.)

I was walking around with my friend Mel (see above, right), when an EXTREMELY good looking guy, with what we assumed was his partner, wearing a supertightwhiteTshirt (that's how tight), approached us and asked, in Italian, if we were lesbian. Definitively shaking our heads, I realised neither of us knew how to ask "Are you gay?". I went with "We like men." Because of the loud music or language barrier, something was lost in translation, and the guy just proper kissed me. When he pulled out, just one word: "Capito?"  (Understood?)

No, buddy, I don't flipping understand. If you wear a T-shirt that tight, and hang out with a guy the whole night at a gay club, and have perfectly groomed hair, then HOW. WHY. I just... I just don't understand.

At the end of the night, some speedo-attired men entertained us with a little dance/R-rated show. Funzies.

Overall, an amazing week with some amazing people. Can't wait to go back to Milan :)

Eccoci qua!

Yes, I realise it has been a while - I do have an excuse though: I wrote a whole post the other day but then my stupid laptop decided to freeze and I had to turn off without saving...lost everything... couldn't bear to rewrite everything. THUS, a summary of the past 2 weeks (more pictures than words):

18th + 19th Feb: Ponta di Legno, aka Bridge of Wood aka Montagne.

    

  My host-family owns a cute little cottage up in the mountains 2 hours from Bergamo, and considering my Venice trip was (unfairly) revoked by Mangina aka Voldemanci, they took me up there for the weekend. Due to many a reason, I did not ski (those who know my history with serious injury will perhaps think that this is a good idea...) So I read, and studied Italian, ate, took the ski lift up with my amazing host-sister, and admired the snow-covered mountains with my eyes and my camera lens.

22nd Feb: Clusone Carnivale

A Carnevale Ogni Scherzo Vale... (Anything goes at Carnevale...)

I keep going to these Carnevale celebrations, and people keep asking what it actually celebrates... so here is an internet definition:  "Carnevale, also known as carnival or mardi gras, is celebrated in Italy and many places around the world 40 days before Easter, a final party before Ash Wednesday and the restrictions of Lent." (http://goitaly.about.com/od/festivalsandevents/a/carnevale.htm)

Basically, people wear masks and throw confetti and spray each other with silly string and shaving cream. There are generally big parades that are super-well coordinated with floats and music and dances... the event attracts whole cities to join or to stand and watch.

Exchange students, however, do not simply "stand and watch". No. This is not in our nature. Exchange students get dressed up and travel hours to go to a parade where they know absolutely no-one where they can make absolute (sober ;) ) fools of themselves. So, we did.

Some of the floats: Mario (Italians fucking LOVE Mario), ducks, pajama party, Greek Gods, hippies, lords and dames, various countries, smurfs (in Italian, i puffy - I have NO idea why), stone-age era...the list continues...

 Not only does Clusone have an awesome Carnevale parade, but it is also a superquaint and photogenic little town.

We ventured for a walk around and found this: Piazza d'Oroglio. The clockface's numbers go backwards, and the hands move anti-clockwise. Italians - what can you do.

Seeing the fences that were erected in this piazza, i sillily (sillily? like, silly... but an adverb) assumed that was where the parade would start. (I was mistaken.) After dashing around asking for directions, we were told "Sinistra, e giú

...giiiiiiúúúúú"

Now for those that do not know how to pronounce Italian, the word "giú" (down) is pronounced "Jew."

My friend told me a story that captures my reaction to this word: He once saw a man shouting at his dog "JEW! JEW" and thought he was being anti-semitic. He was, just in fact, telling his dog to get down.

That is Clusone.

24th + 25th Feb: Ecco! Lecco!

My (then, not yet met) friend, Carson, invited me to join her for Lecco's carnevale celebration over the weekend. Lecco is known for its beautiful lake, il lago bello, but when I caught a glimpse of it from the train window I was gobsmacked - there are beauties in Italy that cannot actually be described, and photos cannot do them justice.

We met up with a couple of exchangies, did the parade, wore ridiculous (I say RIDICALUS) outfits, and then, at night, joined a street party in a piazza - there was a DJ and lazers and lights and smoke machines: and everyone in their costumes just made it an awesome experience.

 

An amazing weekend, with some amazing people.

When speaking to my friends back home a few weeks ago, it was always, "I can't wait to see you."

Now, it is "I can't wait to see you and introduce you to all these famazing [no typo] people."

On that note, it seems like my 3 month summer holiday plans are coming together quite nicely. A little visit from Daniel Wulfsohn, a little get-away with my favourite twin, Helene, and her brother. (JOKING. Calm the hell down, Michel), some plans with besti Gabriella Nadine, some London, some Croatia... let's see what else I can get away with...

Anybody up for a visit? :)

San Valentino, tu sei un cazzo.

Today is Valentine's Day, and holy moses, do these Italians know how to prove it. Besides the usual chocolate, flowers, jewellery vibe, the public displays of affection are what makes this holiday truly Italian. They say French is the language of love... I think this is because the Italians are too busy macking each other to talk. There is NO skaam - people mounting each other on Vespas, heavy petting on the tram, making out on the pavement outside schools... way to rub it in, guys. Nice.

I went for lunch with Franci, her aunt "Mimi", her boss and colleague, today to a restaurant called zerotrecinque (035) - fancy, but reasonable, definitely a place I'll be visiting again :) The place was swarming with couples getting a V-day lunch together during their breaks - sharing tiramisu and drinking wine at 1pm - sickening. Despite my efforts, Mimi insisted on paying for me, a gesture that made me feel truly welcome.

Rotary calls this period "February syndrome" - a time when the student feels like they've hit a bit of a wall: I seem to be stuck with the language, missing my friends and family more than ever, and finding an excuse to bitch about everything - school, host-family, money, holidays... I will sprinkle brown sugar on my cappucino, and think of my mom, smell a perfume that reminds of Gabi Stein, or see a jersey I want to buy for Adam Brews. Silly things.

On the school side, things have been rather easy the past two weeks - with "extra credit" courses, I have only had to attend about 3 days a week, until 12pm. The other day though, I was devastated when I was told that I would in fact have to stay for a 4 hour Italian lecture on Dante (for those of you who are unsure of who this nerd is, look him up - might take you a few days...)

After 3 hours of being the most bored I have EVER been, the lecturer announces that she is finished early and we are excused to go home - the whole theatre stood and cheered, clapping and whooping, but were suddenly shut down by another teacher who shouts, "Wait, everybody sit down, I have some questions."

Below the collective moan of the some 200 students, one of my friends pipes up, "F*ck you, you stupid bitch!", but loud enough for a teacher just in front of her to hear, who, surprisingly, burst into laughter as a sign of agreement. Ah, I love Italy.

Now, onto more exciting things. I caught a train to Milan this weekend for a meeting on Saturday afternoon, and organised to sleep over at one of the exchange student's host-families. I was SO excited to see the exchanges again who ALL live in Milan, so we were invited to "Bar Magenta" when our meeting ended. We sat through this meeting, detailing the strict rules and policies about drinking, and jumped at the first chance to leave and meet the others. Needless to say, alcohol came into the mix, two of the girls took it too far, and vomitted all over themselves. One of the girls got so drunk that she was taken to hospital and put on a saline drip. Idiot. Anyway, the responsible thing was done, and the girls' host-parents were called to take them home. [This takes "I'm gonna chunder everywah on my gap yah" to a new level]

The chairman, let's call him Voldemancina for anonymity, emailed us and told us that none of the new exchange students (keep in mind not all of us were even drinking) can go to Venice for carnivale this weekend. So unfair, its actually a joke. This guy has a reputation for being an absolute douchebag - don't know HOW he managed to get this position.

Despite looking after the girls, and getting Venice revoked, I actually had an amazing night. These exchange students, I swear, I've never loved a group of people so much in such a short time. One of them made a good point - we all get along so well because we're all exchange students - a type of personality that seeks adventure and grabs every opportunity.

Sunday was spend with two of the Aussies - legends - shopping and eating (my two favourite Italian hobbies) and sightseeing (but the stairs to the top of the Duomo were closed due to the ice... next time I guess.) The Duomo is such a beautiful cathedral - the stained glass windows absolutely blew my mind.

WTF are those dead priests JCing (just chillin') on the side though? So hectic. Heccers '09.

The only thing I regret not doing on this trip was soeking for Abercrombie and Fitch (Hannah, note: Not Abercrombie and Finch.) where, apparently, real male models are the shop clerks, and, occasionally, walk around topless. Something to look forward to :D

In the piazza outside the Duomo, an African man selling bracelets, and by that I mean coloured string, stalked us for 5 minutes trying to sell them to us. Eventually, he drops a "for free, for free" and runs in front of us to block our path, even after we declined his offer 13 times. Apparently, the one I got was good luck. Didn't stop him from asking for a "small donation" afterwards, though. For free, my ass.

A Valentine's joke to end. (Italians don't know how to do knock knock jokes. Serious problem.) Between me anddd...Michel Comitis. Because he hasn't had a mention yet :) He loves the Maccabees. We are going to their concert in London together. (When he books his ticket.)

 

Meg:     Knock knock.

Michel: Who's there?\

Meg:     Obama.

Michel: Obama who?

Meg:     Ooooo baaaa maaaa seee-eeee-elf, don't wanna be, ooooo baaa maa-aaa-a seeelf, anymoooore. 

(Tribute to Whitney Houston (you have a (cocaine) problem) )

Cappuccino with a View.

Quite an eventful day, giornata intensa, in contrast to the past 4 bed-ridden ones.

Lovely 8AM wakeup followed by the walk to church. Now, for those of you who know me personally, I am Jewish (Ebrea), though traditional at the best of times. I joined my host-parents at mass this morning completely voluntarily - not only as a gesture of respect and interest toward their culture and religion, but also out of simple curiosity on my own part.

The church, decorated with half-recovered paintings of Christ and his besties and frienemies, was quaint. The priest/vicar/equivalentofRabbi was about 80 years old and shook while praying (I think out of arthritus rather than religious vigour). [Don't get me wrong, I am not being critical of Catholicism, this particular church, or this particular prabbi.] I just found the whole experience uncomfortable - the kneeling and the crossing and the clasping of hands and the likes... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I seriously miss Judaism. I miss the Friday nights surrounded by family and friends. I miss the food. A LOT. (Not that Italian food is all that bad, don't get me wrong.) I miss the tradition and the warmth of Judaism in my home that I have been brought up with. I am going to start my investigations into visiting Milan to join a shabbat, or perhaps Passover in April.

After church, I ditched the fam and went walking up to Citta D'alta (The upper city of Bergamo) for a lunch and photog mission. Having been forced to listen to innumerous facts in Italian about the 60 churches in the area, I opted to visit numerous caffes, restaurants, shops, chocolaterie, gelaterie, and such... Be in for picture ops or for the name-sake of said place.

The first thing on the agenda was to visit the Caffe Funiculare - the resident caffe next door to the funicular. (that's one of those slanted lifts, for those of you who don't know Clifton...) This caffe has a view of the entire lower city - all rooftops and trees covered in snow: When family and friends come to visit, THIS is where I will take them for coffee :)

 

(I was SERIOUSLY impressed that i could order, request sweetener, pay the bill, all in Italian.)

I did not account for the fact that up-top would be 5 degrees colder than in Bergamo centre, so, freezing my ass off, my outdoor missions were made short and sweet.



One last memoir for the day, and no matter how I describe this, with no photo (not relevant to the one above), I cannot do it justice. You see, Italians take their dogs EVERYWHERE. Restaurants, clothing stores (Yes, the fancy ones, too!), caffes, public transport... and in winter in Italy, its expected that the pooches also get donned in the warmest and most fashionable of winter outfits. This morning, I saw what was a cruel event - a chiwawa (serves him right for being more rat-like than canine) literally balancing its whole body on its front legs while defacating on the snow - the poor (hideous) thing (creature) couldn't deal with the cold. It looked like something out of Cirque Du Soleil, I swear. I walked past canning myself. Shame, though. (But not really.)



Io ho mal di testa :(

Headache. Not "crazy balls" as one of my friends put it.

I've been struggling with flu for the past 3 days, but I have to admit that admiring the snow (now a good 10cm of it) from behind closed windows and heated interiors, has its advantages.

I got asked for my number by some Italian kid on the train the other day. If I wanted you to know the details, I would have shared.

One thing I would like to share is my cleaning methods. Do you remember that cartoon "The Jetsons"? I tried to explain it to my host-family... The Flintstones, but in the future, where they live in space and drive flying cars etc? Remember their maid? She used to prep food and it would pop out of an automated door in her belly. My POINT is that they have one of those things. Its a cleaning robot, I swear to God. Its this little round machine that you put on the floor and switch on and it rotates around the room sucking up dust and shit. Proper one of the coolest things I've ever seen. I find every excuse to use it. I still wish it could make my bed, though.

My best friend back home had a longboard accident this week and managed to dislocate his wrist, and break a couple of bones - I dunno, not sure of the exact details. Anyway, Puff Addy Big Poppa Brews, wishing you a fast recovery, my friend. Draw lots of awesome shit on your cast like the canvas on your wall, and remember, "we don't follow no crowd, it follows us."

<3