Americans abroad · ex-pat life · ex-pat reality · Malmö · Skåne · Skåne Sweden

Ex-Pat Reality – Shamelessness

EX-PAT LIFE | REALITY

The reality of ex-pat life is that living in a foreign country is challenging on many levels. One of the hardest things about it is that it forces you to look at your home country’s customs, mores, and social issues from the perspective of other cultures.

Ex-pat reality also forces you to explain your home country’s social mores to people from other cultures.  I am constantly asked to explain things about the USA to people. I remind them that the USA is the size of all of Europe. I can only answer for myself. I cannot answer on behalf of the other 329,064,916 million Americans who all come from different regions and backgrounds.

SHAMELESSNESS | THE HUMAN BODY

One big difference between the USA and Europe is obvious when it comes to attitudes about sex and the human body. In my opinion, Europeans are more open and accepting of the human body.  Even in very Catholic Italy one will see advertisements with women’s bare breasts and men’s bums.  Women openly breastfeed their babies in public without a blanket covering themselves and no one bats an eye.  And in my short time in Sweden, it seems that the attitude is that the human body and its functions are natural and nothing to be ashamed of.

And a few weeks ago an article by Helen Russell of The Telegraph* got me thinking about how the Scandinavians proactively create a culture of shamelessness from a very young age. What do I mean by shameless?  Well, as an example there are many co-ed groups who regularly go down to the sea, take their clothes off and jump in.  They will even stand about naked as the day they were born in mixed company.  You see, from a young age, they are taught to be comfortable in their own skins.  They have no shame. After all, it is just a body.

Americans tend to be more conservative about nakedness than Europeans. Myself included.  Thus, it was a bit of a shock to go on doctor visits here where I was asked to get undressed only to realize that there was no gown. On my first visit I assumed that it was just an oversight. I asked for a gown. They searched high and low.  No gown. Instead, I was given a confused shrug and a washcloth sized scrap of fabric. It became painfully clear that they expected me to walk out from behind the changing area curtain naked. Clearly I had a decision to make – which part of my naked self did I cover with the washcloth??  On subsequent doctor visits, I again asked for a gown. The staff laughed, then commented that Americans ALWAYS ask but that they simply do not have gowns. After all, you are seeing a medical professional.  No shame.

One doesn’t need to go to the seaside to experience shamelessness though. One of the first things that we noticed upon moving here was the lack of curtains or blinds on windows.  Swedes just generally don’t see a reason to have them. And, in our neighborhood, there is an elderly man who sunbathes and gardens in his backyard in the nude.  His neighbors and their young daughters see him regularly (weather permitting) from their second story. He waves. No shame.

It is also de riguer for Swedish families to be naked in front of each other. Most homes have saunas where the entire family goes in together naked. Yup. Together. Even during the teen years.

CULTURAL DIFFERENCES | LET’S TALK ABOUT SEX BABY

And sex, well that is another shameless topic. Sex is looked at as a natural and healthy activity for people of the legal age of consent.  You will even find items for sexual pleasure sitting on the shelf at the pharmacy right next to the toothpaste and vitamins, because, like toothpaste and vitamins, sex is part of keeping yourself healthy.

As for sex education, Scandinavians start at a young age. They talk openly, and in terms that most Americans would consider graphically, about sex to their children. Sex is not a shame filled activity, but an adult activity that children must learn about as they grow up. In fact, there is a video here that is geared toward children between ages 3 and 6 and played during children’s programming on television.  A cartoon penis and an “elegant” vagina dance about to a happy little tune.  The video is designed to introduce children to the differences between boys and girls physically and to help them understand the human body. You can view it here with subtitles if you are interested. What is most interesting to me, however, is that the limited outrage by some Swedish adults was about the video not being as accurate as it could have been (girls pee out of their urethras not their vaginas) and because it did not discuss children born with genitals that they don’t identify with.

“[L]inking gender to genitals can come off as a fairly conservative message” was the complaint.**

So different than the USA.

In another Scandinavian country, Denmark, Helen Russell noted that, “from the age of six, Danish children participate in a national curriculum sex week to learn how babies are made and by the age of 13, they’ve covered everything from masturbation to transgender rights in frank and open discussions.”  As you can see, there is a concerted effort to start the culture of shamelessness at a young age.

In comparison, in the USA, my son didn’t start any sex education (besides asking the occasional question at home) until he was in the 5th grade.  And much to my chagrin, there was a district wide policy that the boys and girls were to be taught about their bodies separately.  This bothered me because separate lessons conveyed an atmosphere of secrecy and, perhaps without realizing it, the district was subtly communicating that there is something to be ashamed of.  My son picked up on this message immediately and asked me why the girls’ lessons were secret.

In contrast, my daughter also had sex education in 5th grade, but at a European school in Italy. I will tell you that I pride myself on being pretty open with my kids, but when I saw the report that she was working on, I stopped in my tracks, shocked, and a little embarrassed.  “Sweetie, are you sure that you are supposed to be that . . . um . . . detailed?” I asked her. She turned to me and with complete confidence and shamelessness said, “Yes Mommy. It is just science!”  Point taken. And she was right. She wasn’t embarrassed. I was.

EX-PAT CHANGES  | EMBRACING YOUR NEW CULTURE

When I had kids I made a conscious effort to teach my kids to love their bodies and to be comfortable in their own skins.  As little children, my kids ran around naked in the backyard during the summer (and occasionally down the street as toddlers), they changed clothes in front of other kids and they asked questions about their bodies which I answered in an honest but age appropriate way.  In the shame department, while I am not as shameless as the Scandinavians, overall, I think I have succeeded in raising confident, shameless children. They have always come to me with questions and I have always answered them honestly and respectfully. And I am happy to say that practice has continued as they move through the confusing times that are the teen years.

As for myself, however, I have some work to do in the shameless department. I am a 52 year old, overweight, American woman who has had two kids and has spent the majority of her life thinking that I am not pretty, thin, fit or young enough, therefore I should be ashamed. I mean that is the American way. You must always strive to be better.

I am so intrigued by the Scandinavian shameless culture. I want so much to embrace it.  Indeed, if I was a fit 20 something I would embrace this nudity thing immediately.  But the real test is whether I can embrace shamelessness now in all my aging glory. To date, I have accepted the no gown at the doctor policy (as uncomfortable as that makes me). Next, I need to accept myself and be happy in my own skin. Since my autoimmune disease has wreaked havoc on my physical body, this is a definite challenge for me.  Hopefully, though, one of these days I will be writing about my trip to the bathhouse on the beach, where I stripped down to my birthday suit and dove into this shameless thing both literally and figuratively.

* http://www.telegraph.co.uk/expat/expatlife/11356802/Welcome-to-Denmark-the-most-shameless-nation-on-the-planet.html

** http://www.vice.com/read/snoppen-och-snippan-video-sweden-837

Adventure travel · Americans abroad · European travel · Honeymoon Planning · Honeymoon Questionnaire · Honeymoon travel · Insider Tips · international travel · luxury travel · Off The Beaten Path · Travel

Planning The Perfect Honeymoon

THE PERFECT HONEYMOON – MYTH OR REALITY?

Just Married. Photo credit: NikolayFrolochkin on Pixabay

THE PERFECT HONEYMOON | THE KEY IS COMMUNICATION

Your honeymoon . . . the stuff that dreams are made of . . .  and second only to your wedding day in terms of expectations.  The key to planning the perfect honeymoon?  TALK! TALK! TALK! TALK! And then talk some more.

There is no sense in planning the perfect beach resort vacation if your spouse hates the beach.  What if your spouse’s idea of the perfect beach vacation is camping and you had an all-inclusive resort in mind?   Nothing is insurmountable though and you can both have your ideal honeymoon if you sit down and have a conversation.

Additionally, while the internet has made trip planning easier, there still is no substitute for a professional travel agent when planning a trip as important as your honeymoon.   For any other trip besides your honeymoon the DIY approach may be just fine, but because there is so much expectation placed on a honeymoon, using a professional travel agent can save you from that dreaded moment years down the road when one of you, in the heat of an argument says “This is JUST LIKE OUR HONEYMOON.  You screwed that up too!”

Before meeting with a travel expert, schedule some time with your intended to cover the intended topics.  Take time to go over these honeymoon planning questions. You can print out a copy here to fill out and take with you to your travel expert

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO 1. | WHAT IS THE BUDGET?

Discussing your budget is key to a successful trip. Do you want to start your life together on the vacation of a lifetime or are you more comfortable saving for a house?  Financial discussions are the cornerstone of all good marriages so you may as well begin your life together on the right foot by discussing realistic budget concerns for your honeymoon.  Additionally, consider registering for your honeymoon to help offset the cost.  That way you may just get the dream honeymoon and be able to save for your first house.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 2 | DESCRIBE YOUR IDEAL VACATION?

A beach vacation may not be for everyone. Photo credit: tigertravel on Pixabay
City adventures may be too tiring after a big event like a wedding. Photo credit: gellinger on Pixabay

Does one of you like exploring cities, art galleries, theater, and the best restaurants while the other just wants to sleep late, lounge by the pool and drink umbrella drinks?  Discuss your ideas and see if there is a destination that offers activities that both of you enjoy.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 3 |WHAT TYPE OF ROOM DO YOU LIKE OR NEED?

Some people could not care less about the room they are in as they anticipate being outdoors, on the go, etc. Other people need a certain thread count before they are happy.  Others still, need a certain hotel floor, to be away from the elevators, air conditioning, etc. before they can get a restful night’s sleep.  No one wants to be sleep deprived and cranky on their honeymoon.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 4 | ARE YOU COMFORTABLE VISITING COUNTRIES WHERE ENGLISH IS NOT COMMONLY SPOKEN?

Photo credit: Tumisu on Pixabay.If one of you is a seasoned traveler with an explorer’s soul and the other is terrified to be somewhere they cannot communicate effectively, you need to compromise. Perhaps an all inclusive resort or a cruise would be the way to introduce your spouse to international travel. Of course in this day and age with technology, one can easily translate on the go. Perhaps a dry run with translation is in order to ease your fiancee’s fears.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 5 | WHAT CLIMATE ARE YOU MOST COMFORTABEL IN? 

Definitely discuss sun versus snow, but also tackle questions you may not have thought of. Example, are you comfortable when it is humid and there is no air conditioning? Many condos in Hawaii. Costa Rica, and the Caribbean do not have air conditioning and this can pose a threat to a honeymoon if one of you cannot sleep in humidity.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 6 | DO YOU WANT TO COMBINE YOUR WEDDING AND HONEYMOON WITH A DESTINATION WEDDING?

Photo credit: Laughing Raven on PixabayDestination weddings are popular and look amazing in photos.  They also can save you a considerable amount of money as many hotels and resorts offer package deals.  And when you honeymoon in the same hotel, you can start the honeymoon immediately.  The other consideration, however, is that you are sharing your honeymoon with your guests who have also flown to the site to attend your nuptials so you may not have the privacy that you were hoping for on your honeymoon.

HONEYMOON PLANNING QUESTION NO. 7  | DESCRIBE YOUR HOEYMOON FANTASY TRIP.

Photo credit: Sonming4 on Pixabay.

The only way to guarantee that your honeymoon dreams become a reality is if you talk about them.  Like most things in life, perfect honeymoons don’t just happen. They take planning. The more you do your honeymoon homework, the more romantic – and the more fun – your honeymoon will be.

 

Americans abroad · European travel · ex-pat life · international travel · Travel

My Island – Slowly Losing My Mind In The Most Pleasant Place on Earth

I live in what one acquaintance referred to as a “ridiculously cute town.” Another friend said it looked like a town from a Disney movie.

It is clean, safe, the schools are excellent, and there are many parks and greenbelts. We have an old fashioned downtown complete with parades featuring kids, dogs and a group of old men who don oversized pants and call themselves the Balloon Brigade.

The weather is damn near perfect and we can get to the beach, the mountains, wine country, rivers, and lakes within a few hours. We are surrounded by nature’s majestic beauty but we are also a mere 40 minutes by public transportation from San Francisco. They even play pleasant Muzak at the gas station. So given all the wonderment that my town offers, I can’t help but wonder why I feel that I am slowly losing my mind living in one of the most pleasant places on Earth?

Loads of people assure me on a regular basis that “this is the best place to live.” They tell me that they do not wish to ever live anywhere else and hope to live here until they die.

I sigh, bite the inside of my cheek, and quiet the voice in my head that wonders why I don’t feel the same way.

I realized that I was losing my mind because suburban bliss was depleting my gypsy sense of adventure. I agree that our town offers many wonderful benefits, but I don’t share the majority view that this is to be my final town, my end of days. My gypsy spirit is waning under the reality of working full time, raising 2 kids and being a wife. While my life is very enjoyable, I am missing the energy that exploration has always provided me. I need to fuel my curiosity.

Living in a perfect place also makes me feel a bit guilty. I feel guilty that I am restless when I have so much. Stronger than the guilt, though, is the belief that I want more than the trappings of perfection for my children’s lives. I want my children to know that the world is made up of countless amazing places, cultures, people, art, food. I want them to see and experience the underbelly of life – the poverty, trash and homelessness that one sees in a city – because if they never see these things, they will not know that these things are problems that our world faces. If they don’t see these things, they will not know humanity and how to face a problem head on. If they don’t see these things, they may not learn compassion. If they don’t see that their suburban world is an anomaly and that most people do not live as they do, then they may not appreciate their own good fortune. I want my children to learn that you don’t have to be afraid of someone or some culture or some religion that is different than theirs. I want them to be citizens of the world.

I have been pacing my island of suburban perfection for months. I think it is time for a swim.5955444.jpg

Americans abroad · art · European travel · ex-pat life · Göteborg Sweden · Gothenburg Sweden · international travel · Malmö · Malmo Sweden · Skåne · Skåne Sweden · Travel

Stripes – The Swedish Summer Uniform

Let’s talk about stripes.

I’m not talking about the 1981 Bill Murray comedy or prison garb. I am talking about the recent spate of stripes in fashion. They have taken over Sweden. So much so that I felt compelled to blog about it.

I noticed immediately upon moving to Sweden that Swedish folks like stripes, but back then,  it was a cute little thing that I noticed. Today,  stripes have become the official Swedish summer uniform.  There are babies in stripes, mothers and daughters in matching stripes, old people, young people, purses, shoes, shorts, shirts, hoodies.

So. Many. Stripes. 

I noticed them in Poland, Germany and the Czech Republic to a small degree (now that my stripe antenna is up), but no where is it more prevalent that Sweden. You cannot walk 2 feet without seeing stripes.

So it left me wondering . . . is this just the latest fashion sweeping the world or is this a Swedish thing??

I asked some Swedish friends and a few shop keepers about it. None of them seemed to know why it is such a popular summer fashion theme here. One women suggested it is because Sweden is a country that has embraced water – the sea, lakes, and rivers. As such, stripes represent the nautical theme of the country. This was just her opinion though. She had no empirical evidence to offer me. I did a little research and found nothing related to Sweden, striped clothes and water.

Now, I know that striped clothing is everywhere. It is not unique to Sweden, but what is different here is the sheer number of people who seemingly overnight start wearing stripes.

How Many Stripes Are There?

Just to give you an idea of how many stripes there are in Sweden, the following pictures were taken while walking around Stockholm in a 30 minute period. 30 minutes!!  And I have about 60 more photos that I didn’t include.  I apologize for the quality – I was on the move.

In Sweden you will see royal blue and white combos:

The black and white :
The grey and white combination:

 And red and white,  red and other and just other:
The most popular choice, however, is the navy and white combination:

A little more digging and I discovered that the classic navy blue and white striped motif actually originated on the coast of Brittany in France. Many a French seaman was given a striped shirt bearing 21 horizontal stripes (one strip for each of Napoleon’s victories) as a uniform, known as a matelotor marinière.  It is reported that the stripes were functional and allowed sailors to see shipmates that had fallen overboard. How this fashion statement moved from Brittany around the world is a topic of much debate, but there is no doubt that stripes have earned a top place in the fashion world and are considered a staple of a classic wardrobe.

But back to my premise that stripes go beyond a fashion statement here in Sweden and have morphed into a uniform.  I ask you my friends – is this a Swedish thing? Have you noticed a prevalence of stripes in your neck of the woods?? Or is there another common clothing item that you have noticed where you live?  Tell me in the comments what you have noticed.

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Lessons Along The Road Of Life

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Photo credit: Niche Travel Design

When traveling it is always good to be alert, to be aware of your surroundings, know where your money, your phone and passport are at all times. I admit it, I am on alert by nature, but am on extra alert when traveling to a new place. And truth be told, I have been known to let my imagination get the best of me and assume the worst if I am in unfamiliar territory. You all remember the garbage truck in Parma, Italy, right?  Where I was convinced that we would be murdered by an Italian garbage man.

On our trip to Croatia last year we decided to take a day trip to Mostar in Bosnia Herzegovina. We had read that while the main roads are safe, one must not venture off the main roads as there are still active landmines in the countryside left over from the Balkan war in the 90’s.

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Photo credit: Niche Travel Design

On our way back, at the end of a long, very hot day, we were cruising along a local road on the way to the main highway. Out of the blue we hear honking. The car behind us is furiously honking and waving at us. A quick scan of the dashboard – nothing looks amiss. Tires and alignment feel ok, but still the couple behind us will not stop honking and waving. We pull over. They pull up next to us in a beat up, older model of an unknown car. The couple themselves appear to be human versions of the car, a bit rusty and rough around the edges.

Through what can only be described as a mixture of sign language and charades we understand that we are not to go any farther down the existing road. Our GPS, whom we have named Pippa in honor of her lovely posh English accent, disagrees. Pippa clearly wants us to continue on the road that we are on. My husband suggests that perhaps the local couple knows something that we don’t. Maybe the road ahead is closed? Maybe it is not safe? I point out that Pippa has never let us down. She always recalculates when there is a closed road – as we found out on the way to Mostar.

The local couple is insistent that we follow them.  We continue to exchange unsure and concerned looks.  The local couple wins. My husband flips a u-turn. We follow them down a small back road for about 10 minutes. We have no idea where we are going. Pippa is insisting that we, “Make a u-turn if possible. Make a u-turn if possible”  I am getting progressively nervous. Who are these people? Where are they taking us? What is their motivation for having us follow them? Are we going to hit a landmine on this country road? Are we going to be ambushed and car jacked in the Balkan countryside? The Swedish plates have given us away as tourists/targets after all.

The local couple is about 200 meters in front of us. I ask Joe how he is feeling about following perfect strangers in a foreign land that still has active landmines to God knows where. He is a bit nervous about the whole encounter too. He pulls over to the side of the road.

The local couple’s car stops ahead of us in the middle of the road and just waits. There is no one else around. The only sound was the rustling of a soft breeze, the chirping of insects and the clicking of the GPS dial as Joe re-calibrates Pippa. Setting the GPS takes a long time under normal circumstances and feels even longer when one is convinced that your whole family is about to be taken out.  Then, ominously, the local car begins to reverse toward us.

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Photo credit: Pexel

They back up alongside us once again. They look confused. Why did we stop? They once again indicate that we should follow them. At this point we don’t know which way to go. Should we trust the locals or our nerves? Are they helping us or leading us to our demise? Since we have no idea where are are, we anxiously follow them again.

After about 5 more minutes of driving the local couple slows down and points us to the right. They point us down another road. Another road that we soon discover takes us directly to the main highway and relief.

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Photo credit: Niche Travel Design

The locals turn their car around. They honk, smile, wave and head back the way we just came. They were not thieves, carjackers, or murderers. They were simply really lovely, nice people who went 30 minutes round trip out of their way to help some dumb tourists heading down the wrong road in the Balkan countryside.

To that local couple, thank you. I am grateful to you for restoring my belief that most people in this world are good and kind. I promise to pay it forward and help strangers in need along this journey of life. I will do this in your honor and I will think of you every time.

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Photo credit: Pexel
Americans abroad · Emilia Romagna · European travel · ex-pat life · Parma Italy · Travel

L’Onda

Life in a foreign land

Life In A Foreign Land

When adapting to a new life in a foreign land, I think Dame Judy Dench put it best:

“Initially, you are overwhelmed. But gradually you realize it’s like a wave. Resist and you’ll be knocked over. Dive into it and you’ll swim out the other side.  This is a new and different world. The challenge is to cope with it. And not just cope, but thrive.”

Dame Judi Dench
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

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Guidos – Driving In Italy

Guidos – Driving In Italy

In the USA, a Guido is a slang (some would say pejorative) word for an Italian American.  In Italy, however, Guido is a boy’s name or when used as a verb it literally means “I drive.”

We had been in Italy for a week when my husband had a work conference in Florence.  Would the kids and I like to come along? School had not started yet. We could not move into our apartment yet and it was Florence, so Hell yeah!  The only hitch, Joe would be taking a bus with the other employees so I would have to drive the hour and half on my own with the kids or take the train. Since I spoke no Italian I figured driving would be easier than trying to buy train tickets, figure out schedules, etc.

Besides, I had been driving around Parma and back and forth to the local Ikea (pronounced hilariously to my children as ‘eee’ kay- yuh‘) with no problems. Plus, we had a GPS in the car.  How hard could it be?  It is only 1.5 hours away.  Driving to Florence was no problem!

Armed with the overconfidence that comes with 30 years of driving, we set out.

THE ITALIAN DRIVER

On the ride down I became acquainted with the Italian driver.

For a large portion of the autostrada (highway) between Parma and Florence, there are only two lanes. One lane is perpetually occupied by semi trucks.  Semi trucks which travel at a very high speed and get right up your bum.  Thus, the only option if you don’t want to be a semi sandwich is to go around them in the other lane.  This is an option equivalent to playing Russian Roulette.

Guidos - Driving in Italy

The cars travel at speeds far faster than the semi trucks.  They also drift across the entire autostrada paying no attention whatsoever to lane lines.  At first I thought they must be drunk they way they were swerving, but it was happening so often that I realized it was just the way they drive here.

Now, I am a responsible driver with my two precious kids in the car so I am going to drive responsibly. Apparently, driving responsibility is a personal affront to Italian drivers.  My driving habits bring on a host of activity from the Italians – honking, fist shaking, lights flashing, swerving to see if they can squeeze their car between me and the semi in the next lane.  At one point the driver behind me was so close to me that when I looked in my rear view mirror I could see the part in her hair.  I can still remember the pink hair clip she was wearing.

So after an hour and a half of pure white knuckle driving we arrived in Florence. Finally, I was going to park the car and relax.  Ha!  It took us 1.5 hours to get to Florence and another 2.5 to find the hotel.

Driving in Italy

The GPS kept trying to send me down one way streets or streets that were blocked off.  I was driving in circles and now the autostrada seemed like the bumper cars at the fair.  Imagine the same speed, drifting and erratic driving but now on ancient narrow streets with people and scooters added to the mix. And no where at all to stop or park.  The streets that I needed to get to the hotel were either blocked or too narrow for a car to fit.

After 1.5 hours of trying to find the hotel on my own, I was in the middle of a full blown, all out, screaming at the kids, nervous breakdown. I pulled over as best I could and simply stopped. I called Joe. He sweetly tried to help and offer suggestions over the phone from the bus. He called the hotel for me. I cried and screamed at him. He didn’t understand how awful it was.

WHEN IN ROME . . . OR FLORENCE

Through my tears I noticed a crowd of police men and women directing traffic. Surely they could help me.  I eased over and once again decided to block traffic like an Italian native.  The police woman thankfully spoke English.  She asked me where I was from. I explained that we had just moved to Italy a week ago and that we were joining my husband for a work trip. She told me that tourists should never drive in Florence. My husband’s work should have told us that.  The hotel should have told us that.  She explained that it is difficult for the locals to drive in Florence because the streets change almost on a weekly basis according to politics. That explained why the GPS was having such a hard time. She asked where my husband was.  I told her he was on the bus with his office mates.  “Hum.” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“Allora” she tells me, “you must drive over that bridge there.  Once you are across the bridge you go straight and your hotel is very close.  Another right turn and there you will find it.”

“I can’t go across the bridge. It is one way traffic going the opposite direction. And the street is blocked with a chain,” I respond.

“Ignore the traffic. It is the fastest way and I will have my colleague meet you at the chain, He will unlock it and you can drive through,” she tells me.

“Huh?!” Did the police woman just instruct me to break the law? I am stricken with terror at the thought, but I am also so close to having a permanent breakdown that I decide it is worth it. Jail would be a welcome relief from Italian drivers.

I grip the steering wheel and proceed to drive against traffic across the Ponte Santa Trinita.  Everyone, justifiably this time, is once again honking, screaming, shaking fists at me, but damn it, we made it across. We pulled up to the chained street. We waited for 30 minutes. No one came.  I negotiated the terrors of Firenze traffic again to wind my way back to the police woman.  She instructs me to do the same thing again. I tell her that I already did what she suggested but no one came to meet us at the chain. She tells me I must be patient.  I cross the Ponte Santa Trinita again. Against traffic. Against all reason and sanity.

This time, however, I noticed a city bus lumbering along. I thought to myself, “if that bus can fit, then so can I.” I threw caution to the wind. I ignored the chain and decided to follow the bus. It worked! I swear I heard angels sing when I finally found the street that our hotel was located on. We were close. All I had to do was find the piazza to park in as the hotel had instructed me.

I pulled up to what is, to this day, the tiniest piazza that I have ever seen. There were a few of the teeny Smart electric cars parked, but even they were parked all akimbo because space was so tight.  I didn’t want to leave the car double parked only to come back and find it towed away.  So I stayed with the car, our luggage, a distraught Lena and the passports while Aleksander ran to the hotel and asked what to do.

Guidos - Driving In Italy

Aleks returned and said that the hotel advised us to just leave the car double parked until we checked in.  What? What was this new world where the rules just do not apply?

But, it was all I needed to hear. We abandoned the car, blocking people in.  At the front desk I asked where the piazza for parking was that they kept telling me about over the phone.

“It is just there. Where your car is.”

“That is the hotel parking? There is nowhere to park in the piazza.”

“We know.  There is never any parking there. Just leave it there with the keys. We will take care of it.”

With pleasure!

Americans abroad · Emilia Romagna · European travel · ex-pat life · international travel · Italian food · Italy · Parma Italy · Travel

A Slight Turn Of Phrase

 

Learning Italian
Photo by Shutterstock

Learning Italian

When learning Italian, it is important to remember that inflection and emphasis on a particular syllable can make all the difference between getting your point across and really offending someone.

A slight turn of phrase can change the meaning of a word entirely.  I believe in trying to speak the language. I try to speak the language. I butcher it regularly and generally frustrate Italians, but it is the only way to really learn and I feel that it is respectful to at least try to speak the official language of the place that I live. But Lord knows, I have really made a mess of it at times.

In the beginning, we were meeting all kinds of people and lots of new kids at school. In Italian, much like Spanish, instead of asking “how old are you?” you ask a child how many years they have.  The phrase in Italian is “Quanti anni hai?”  I was pronouncing the word anni (years) like “ah knee.”  My friend Dena, an American who has lived in Italy for over 20 years, was kind enough to tell me “Oh, be careful how you pronounce anni.”  See, I was pronouncing anni like ani.  Ani means anuses.  This explained the strange looks and giggles I got when I asked children at the school how many anuses they had.  The correct pronunciation for anni is (ahnn knee) with an emphasis on the double n’s.

Then, at language circle one day my friend Paola was discussing the little yellow structure near the stadium.  I said, Oh, you mean the casino?” She looked at me shocked. “No, it is not a casino.” “Sure it is, it says so right on the building.  “aah, you mean casino’ ‘”  Apparently, there is the casino where one gambles and then there is the casino’ which is a brothel.  Oh and casino can also mean a big mess depending on context. In this context I made a casino of the word casino.

And then one time Paola did an entire lesson on the difference between papa’, Papa and pappa.  The first,  papa’ (pa·pà) is pronounced with a short emphasis on the first syllable then a hard accent on the second syllable.  This is one’s father.

Next there is Papa (pà·pa) with a capital letter. This indicates the Pope and is pronounced by keeping an equal emphasis on both syllables, but with a slighter stronger emphasis on the first syllable. But only a slightly stronger emphasis. Too strong an emphasis and you’ve blown it.

And finally, there is pappa. The double consonant ‘p’ requires us mush mouthed Americans to linger for a time on the two p’s. Pappa is baby food. A small snack for babies.

To this day, I cannot hear the difference between them all.

Even Father Christmas Wasn’t Safe!

But my biggest and most famous gaffe happened right after we arrived.  It was Christmas and I was determined to keep up our holiday tradition of a new ornament in the kid’s stockings.  I really wanted to find ornaments that said “Buon Natale.” Unfortunately, all the ornaments that I saw said “Merry Christmas” in English.

We were out on our last Christmas shopping excursion and Joe was having a coffee.  I tried one last store. Low and behold I saw exactly what I was looking for.  I went up to pay. I said my few phrases in Italian and the clerk instantly recognized I was not Italian.  She asked where I was from in English.  I told her and complimented her English. She said she needed to practice. I told her I really needed to practice my Italian as I had only been in the country for 3 months.  We decided that she would ask me questions in English and I would respond in Italian.

She asked me why I was buying the ornaments. I replied that I was buying the ornaments for my children’s stockings. She turned bright red. Her eyes opened wide.  I had clearly said something wrong.  I felt the need to explain further – to fix what I had said incorrectly.  I told her that I was buying the ornaments for the stockings of Father Christmas. At that point the clerk emphatically said “basta basta” or “enough, stop.”  She held her hand up to make sure I got the point.  The little boy behind me let out a guffaw and a snicker.  The clerk told the other patrons that I was new and didn’t speak Italian. The mother of the boy said, “Certamente!”

So, let me explain.  I was trying to say ‘calza’ which is the word for stocking. I put the wrong ending on it and instead said ‘calzo’ which, with my bad American pronunciation, sounded like ‘cazzo’ – the slang term for the male genitalia. So, in the first instance I had told the clerk that I was buying the ornaments for my son’s willy.  When I tried to explain further, I only made it worse by dragging Santa Claus’ willy into the discussion.  Everyone in the store had a good laugh about it.

Then months later at the school I was introduced to a friend’s family from England.  My friend said to her nephews, “This is the lady that said she was buying ornaments for Father Christmas’ willy!”  They all laughed and told me that the story had gone around London. Oy!

But, hey, the mistakes are half the fun and the things that we will remember for years to come.

Americans abroad · Emilia Romagna · European travel · ex-pat life · international travel · Italy · Parma Italy · Uncategorized

Strip Malls Italian Style

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August 2011

Arrived. Tired, bedraggled and sleepy but we made it. Kids cried upon arrival but were laughing later in the day. Internet connection is sketchy at best. Cannot move in yet, but we are going there to unpack and organize. Just want a home again. It has been months.

Things that are going to take some getting used to:  lack of space; I have an Easy Bake Oven for an oven – seriously – none of our pans will fit in it and we have a dorm room sized fridge.

Things that I am super excited about (besides the culture, learning another language, travel, shopping):  the best pizza ever a block away (Lena said she can never eat pizza in the USA again); a champagneria a block away; an H & M across the street, a movie theater across the street and are you ready for this . . . an outlet mall about 10 minutes north of us with Roberto Cavalli, Versace, Dolce and Gabbana, Armani, Missoni, Escada, La Perla, Furla, Frette, Bruno Magli, Miss Sixty, and Valentino to name a few. And about five more minutes away from the outlet mall is a thermal bath and spa. Yay!!!!