Written in Aeroporto Galileo Galilei, Pisa on May 5th, 2011 en route to Paris
Italy never ceases to amaze me, and not for the reasons you may think. The ability for everything to not work here, to never be on time, to not be able to find someone who knows the answer to your question, for a sign to deceive you in some way or another--it’s all nothing short of astounding. That this country hosts one of mankind’s longest-lasting civilizations is perhaps the one thing that has gone flawlessly, and the roller coaster ride of a young republic political history at times seems to challenge even that.
Don’t get me wrong--I love this country dearly. It’s in my blood, the cuisine is home to my palate, the music, art, and architecture continue to thrill my senses. The people for the most part are very warm and open, and though you often hear arguing on the streets, perhaps among a romantic couple, within seconds they are kissing each other passionately without a memory of what transpired moments earlier (or regard for your presence). Everyone takes their time and nobody waits in line--this is most true at the bank, supermarket, or when you’re rushing to buy a ticket for a train that leaves in three minutes.
For an outsider looking and living in, at times the famous Italian culture can be frustrating. Bumping into a local you know on the street, you may perhaps be immediately invited out for a drink (depending on the time of day); or, you will be asked when you are free to do something together with him/her, but days and weeks will pass without fulfillment of said anticipated event. Two words that I hear most often, and that I now fully associate with Italians, are vediamo (we’ll see) and forse (maybe). Italians are a spontaneous people who do not like making plans in advance, so for someone who is quite the opposite, you need to learn to loosen your grip on the paddle of life and let the current take you where it may. If it ends up in your favour, all the better.
Even the importance of the family unit, so integral of an aspect in the typical Italian, is beginning to fade away. Retirement homes and caretakers have not become the norm that they are in North America, but one cannot help but note in watching Italian films that teenagers are rebellious, husbands and wives are unfaithful, and the nonni (grandparents) give everything to their descendants. Mother always knows best and odds are that at least half of the people talking on their cell phones on your Italian bus/metro are speaking to her.
Then there is the Italian denial to accept modernization. The computer is still quite new and rarely used, and internet, if you are lucky to find it, is either expensive, unreliable, or predisposed to ruin. Unless perhaps if you live in the north. The one technology that is found in the hands of all is the cellular phone, and for almost all Italians it is an object that they cannot live without.
Walk into the comune (town hall), declare residence and your form will be filled out using a printer that was built in the 1980’s and now exists in Canada only in electronic waste dumps or technology museums (if they haven’t decomposed already). And don’t get me started on la burocrazia (bureaucracy)--that deserves a treatise on its own--let me just say that after three months of waiting, I still have not been visited by a member of the vigili (city police), nor do I think I ever will be.*
Italy as a unified republic is only 150 years old and though the typical tourist will be startled by this news, someone who stays behind a bit longer and talks to the people will feel that a local or regional identity still supersedes and overtakes a national one. Di dove sei? -- Sono fiorentino/romano/milanese/napoletano/siciliano...the list goes on. For me there is beauty in the preservation of these geographic and regional differences. It makes the fabric of Italy more colourful. It gives the food more variety. Most of all, it gives the language a richness that is never appreciated enough by its speaker. Quite often you will hear jokes about another dialect. The Florentines often drop their “c”s, pronouncing them as “h”s (a remnant of their Etruscan roots). The Romans disregard grammar. Sicilians readily use il passato remoto for something that happened moments (vs. years) ago while the Milanesi never use it in spoken language. The Calabresi are quasi-incomprehensible. Then, there are regions where you will rarely hear any semblance of Italian: Alto-Adige (Sud Tyrol) is a region of Austro-Germany and Sardegna has a far-removed dialect of Italian. With the nationalization of televised news and the like, and the growing disuse of dialects (as of now, they are mostly spoken by the nonni’s generation), I fear that this Italian linguistic mosaic will start to look like an impressionist painting--or even worse, just a green, white, and red canvas.
Walk around and listen and you will pick up on the Italian fear--unemployment. Finding a job is tough, finding one you can hold on to is tougher, and then being able to live on your own or raise a family--that is a lifelong struggle. But once you do find a job, you are almost guaranteed security forever. It’s almost impossible to get fired and you have endless coffee breaks and unproductiveness to look forward to. Beato te.
Somehow everything here finds a way to function, and it must be due to the Italian art of arrangiarsi. Italians are master improvisers, be it with temporary quick-fixes, created loopholes, or life in general. There is something weighty in the fact that stress seems to have never been introduced to this nation of 55 million; whether it is fatalism, an apathetic regard for the future, or the acceptance that there is no point in trying to take control--whether of one’s situation or emotions--I may never know. And I’m fine with leaving it a mystery. Vediamo.
*Editor’s note: almost 6 months after I originally filed for residence (and 5 months too late), I was told by my old roommate that the vigili had stopped by to look for me.
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