Italy Part 4: Cultural Notes

The first evening we arrived in Rome, Sarah and I set out to find a grocery store our hotel had recommended. "Togoli" is the name she wrote down. (By the way, when checking in, she exclaimed at length about how Laura is an Italian name... then she told Sarah the same thing. She reminded me of the dad on My Big Fat Greek Wedding.) Anyway, the following anecdote basically sums up our intercultural communications with Italians. We searched for the grocery store all over the train station and couldn't find it.

So, we asked 3 police officers.
"Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" "Buonasera" (you have to greet everyone)
"Togoli?"
Blank stares. "Engl-ay-see?" they asked us. "Si si."
"What you look for?" "Togoli" More blank stares. We hadn't anticipated this to be a problem.
"A grocery store. We're looking for a grocery store. En francais?"
"The food. We want some of the food for to eat."
"Ahhhhh mangeria! Pizzeria!" "Non non non" we waved our hands back and forth.
"Mac-dough-nal-dos?" "Non non non. For the breakfast tomorrow."
"Ahhh tomorrow. Biglietteria (ticket office)" "Non non non."
"Horaries (time table)?" "Non non non."
After this, we basically said every word for food, grocery store that we knew in every language. Then we just changed the pronunciation to sound more Italian after they failed the first time. We would have given up, but they were so intent on helping us. Finally, the oldest one (who had said he knew no English) had a blessed moment of comprehension and said "Ahhh, Supermarket!" Ding ding ding ding! After that, Sarah and I were escorted down the escalator, through the train station by three proud police officers. If we hadn't been smiling, it would have looked like we were in heaps of trouble. They deposited us outside of Conad's Drug Store. "Drug Store? Non. Supermarket" we said. "Non supermarket" they said. And they were right.

To go to a supermarket, one goes to a drug store.
To purchase a bus ticket, one goes to a newspaper stand.
To purchase stamps, one goes to a tobacco shop. (NOT a store called La Stampa.)
I hear the bank sells great seafood.

They drink orzo in their coffee, eat puffed rice in their chocolate cookies and put tubers and gourds on their pizzas.

Ciao means hello, goodbye, and hey. Usually it's necessary to say it 3-4 times in rapid succession, most of all when trying to get off of the phone with your mama. Prego is the same way. It means please, you're welcome, go ahead, and you're next.

So once a visitor gets used to all this, whenever sometimes new surprises you, you just think "Of course," shake your head and ponder anew the logic of the Italians. Because somehow these crazy things make sense here.

One other stunner-- the country that brings Armani, Prada and Gucci to the international design closet has a surprising love of kitsch. There is tackiness hidden in corners. It's all over the market! Restaurants have large flying dolphin ceramics. Bathrooms have chromatic waterfall posters. Boys wear Dora the Explorer backpacks. I saw an impeccably dressed girl (to an Italian--black and brown only, please wear leather boots) with a Betty Boop Road Sign sticking out of a shopping bag.

This is paradoxical. But I finally started understanding their relaxed sense of time. It probably has to do with being surrounded by 2000 year old buildings. What's another 15 minutes matter compared to that? Also, it's difficult to walk quickly down cobblestone streets.