There is a well-known expression in Italian that says: "Where there's smoke, there's roasting meat."
That's about right.
There is a well-known expression in English that says: "Where there's smoke, there's fire." This is because, when you see smoke, you can safely assume that something is burning, and that the smoke is a byproduct.
There is a well-known expression in Italian that says: "Where there's smoke, there's roasting meat." That's about right.
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An Italian at a Vasco Rossi concert (rock icon and favorite artist of 50% of the Italian population) leaned over and shouted:
"You can really understand him well when you read Heidegger!" Rock on. When my mother-in-law tells me there is a cake in the kitchen that is "one of those cakes that is really just for kids," I imagine: way over-sugared, in ten or more colours, being crushed under the weight of its own frosting and sprinkles, possibly incorporating ice cream and/or some kind of candy that could perfectly well stand on their own as a respectable dessert option.
And naturally I slip into the kitchen THE SECOND I can get away. But it turns out that when Italians say that they mean: no salt, very little sugar, no artificial colouring, and no frosting whatsoever. And ice cream and candy can just go to hell. In fact, the ideal flavour of all things made just for kids is MILK, and this goes for everything, ranging from things that are actually somewhat close to milk (like yogurt), to things that have nothing to do with milk, like cake and cookies. Bummer. In America, the internet is quick and helpful, while calling a call center is a long, painful, and nightmarish process reserved for situations of utter desperation.
In Italy, calling on the phone is often quick and helpful, and the internet, that place of quickness and helpfulness we all know and love, simply does not exist. I have discovered the Italians secret to wearing white, and it's not having Mediterranean skin tone (because half of the country does not - although that doesn't hurt, for sure). It's also not buying new white things every few months, which is what some of my American friends do. Because when you only wear linen, you can't just go around replacing it all the time, now can you? It's the WASHING MACHINES. The standard Italian washing machine (like ours, which is 35 years old and the best washer I have ever used EVER) doesn't have a "hot," "warm," and "cold" setting, corresponding to the house's hot and cold water systems. Instead, you can set the exact temperature of the water, and the machine heats it for you - up to 194 degrees Fahrenheit (90 Celsius) - almost boiling. Thus the absence of unsightly yellow armpit marks. Thus the absence of that mysterious grey color that comes from New York City laundromats of which you would be ill-served to contemplate the precise origins. Thus the convenient disinfection of all your clothes. Many Italians don't even wash their darks at lower than 60 degrees Celsius (140 degrees Fahrenheit), so they don't lose the disinfectant power of their washers. Where are you on this one, Maytag?? In many New York City neighbourhoods, it's rare that you can walk ten blocks without seeing a pile of dog crap left shamelessly on the sidewalk.
In any area of Bologna, it's rare that you can walk ten blocks and see the sidewalk under the shameless piles of dog crap. Sometimes, in an American government office, you will have the misfortune of getting stuck with The Bad Bureaucrat. You will know you have pulled the short straw when the person you are talking to is obviously only pretending that they can't help you with your issue, and is looking you straight in the eye with an obstinate sort of F-you expression, making it very clear that, for some unknown reason, they don't like you, and nothing you do or say is going to get them to help you out. (You recognise this individual on the phone when they ask if they can put you on hold for a moment, and suddenly you find yourself back in the main menu you just spent 37 minutes navigating).
In Italy, the Bad Bureaucrat is much, much worse. They are worse because they are incognito. You will go to a government office, and you will encounter a very helpful individual, who seems not only to have taken the details of your case to heart, but also to be shockingly knowledgeable about the confusing intricacies of Italian administrative procedure. You have to make an appointment by calling THIS number. You will need to bring photocopies of THIS, THIS, and THAT document. Please come having filled out THIS and THIS form, making sure that you have signed section 34.B, but left section 36 blank. So glad I could help, have a wonderful day. You go your way. You do THIS, THIS, THIS, THIS, and THAT. You make an appointment for six months from now, taking the day off of work. You painstakingly fill out section 34.B. In six months, you go to your appointment, certain at least, that you are well prepared. You are WRONG. You have had a run in with an Italian Bad Bureaucrat. That person had no idea what the F they were talking about. In fact, you were in the wrong office. All they had to say was: actually, this is the motor vehicles department, you want next door. That day six months ago all you had to do was sign your name on a form in the office next door and you would have done what you needed to do. Now how you wish they had stared at you with an obstinate F-you expression. How you wish they had transferred you mercifully back to the main menu. Bad Bureaucrat strikes again. |
AuthorI'm an American living in Italy and making gross generalizations about it. Categories
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