Che cosa stai dicendo, Willis?

Ok, I admit it. I know I should be really ashamed for my sheer delight in finding little Arnold Drummond plastered on the side of a centuries-old building during a Sunday stroll yesterday. I'd say he's at least 3 feet tall or so. But as you may know, I am pretty numbed towards graffiti in my neighborhood, and I can't help but be amused by random and mysterious urban street symbolism (remember Untho?).

Anyhoo, found this guy around the corner from Piazza S. Maria in Trastevere. If you're familiar with the area, it's posted right in front of that bar that seems to be the headquarters for the Rome grunge movement, and where to my horror Ale swears some of the best gelato in all of the city is made. I've been dragged in there enough times but I still am not convinced. If I'm feeling brave one day, maybe I'll attempt a post about it.

But for today, how's about some Arnold trivia for you? Did you know that Diff'rent Strokes was called "Harlem contro Manhattan"(Harlem against Manhattan) in Italy? Then it was inexplicably changed to "Il mio amico Arnold" (My friend Arnold) and in its final mutation, simply "Arnold." Personally, I think the Japanese said it best: "Arnold bouya wa ninkimono ." Apparently this is a "literal title" but what it literally translates too, one can only wonder.

I have learned that there was a theme song in Italian but to my dismay have not been able to find any audio copies of it online, just the picture from the album, which was being auctioned off on Italian eBay, but alas, I missed that one too. Not that I have a record player for 45s, but who knows, perhaps I would have bought one just to listen to it.

Would any of you Italian speakers out there be interested in the lyrics? I did manage to dig those up. Thanks to Nico Fidenco for the composition.
Oh, what the heck. Let's just go ahead and translate some of the choicer gems, for the ridiculousness of it all. I mean, what did I learn Italian for, after all, right? Just keep in mind that in the original Italian version, IT ALL RHYMED.

ARNOLD
-------------------------------
Arnold a-ha
Arnold a-ha

Arnold, Arnold, sempre nei guai
una ne pensi e cento ne fai

Arnold Arnold zarattata'
giri la testa e lui te la fa

Arnold Arnold zarattata'
giri la testa e lui te la fa

Lo trovi nascosto in un vecchio cassetto
sorriso da furbo, occhi da matto

You find him hidden in an old drawer,
smiling like a trickster with crazy eyes

ti prende il tubetto del dentifricio
lo spalma felice per tutto l'ufficio

He takes your tube of toothpaste
and happily spreads it all over the office

Arnold a-ha

Se sulla faccia ti salta un ranocchio
o la pallina ti arriva in un occhio
o in tasca trovi la zampa di un'oca
puoi star sicuro che e' Arnold che gioca

If a frog jumps on your face,
or a ball hits you in the eye,
or you find a ..wait... what's a zampa di un'oca? a goose's claw? in your pocket,
you can be sure that's Arnold playing

Arnold, Arnold, sempre nei guai
una ne pensi e cento ne fai

Arnold Arnold zarattata'
giri la testa e lui te la fa

Bicchieri e piatti rotti
li trovi dentro i letti
la scatola del lucido
e' piena di confetti

Broken cups and plates,
you find them in the beds,
the shoe polish can
is full of candies

And then it repeats itself again... ah, the joy. If only I knew the melody, we could all sing together. And by the way, where the heck was I when Arnold was putting broken plates in the beds? Was that one of the "very special" episodes?

I did find the theme song in Italian to another old show though... did you ever read this post?

My Big Fat Roman Wedding

Well, I wasn't planning on posting any photos from my wedding or honeymoon, but due to requests from my blogger buddies as well as a handful of my former guests who have stayed in our apartments, I'm caving in and sharing a few from my wedding day. I usually don't put anything about my personal life on the blog because I like to keep to the Rome (and Italy) only theme, but hey, we are talking about a wedding in Rome, so I guess I can make an exception...just this once... I mean, had I seen it with my own eyes I would have taken photos for you guys to talk about "this girl who was walking down my street to get married..." so...

I'm the one in the white dress. (Cue drums and cymbals... Thanks folks! I'll be here all week!)

And yes, I walked down my street to the church. Usually about a 10 minute walk, but we went extra slow because at 10 am when the ceremony was supposed to start, we got word that there were "technical difficulties" at the church. (I later found out that this meant there weren't any guests yet.) Tell the Italians your wedding is at 10 am if you want them to show up at 10:30. So, it was at a snail's pace that we made our way to Santa Maria in Trastevere, in my opinion the most beautiful church in all of Rome.

Quite the memorable experience getting to walk, especially given that I was blessed to have about 25 or so American relatives and friends following me, as well as a few of my closest Italian friends as well. The rest were waiting in the church... eventually!


Um, basically when the photographer had me stop here to take some shots, what you don't see is the main street of my neighborhood, Viale Trastevere, to my right. Where a large garbage truck was passing by and then slowed to a stop, with two guys around my age inside. They started yelling over to me: "Auguri! Auguri!" (like congratulations or best wishes). When they saw I spoke Italian as I yelled back a thanks to them, they got on a roll and yelled back to tell me that it still wasn't too late, and did I want to run away with them in their garbage truck?

I hollered back that under normal circumstances I would, but unfortunately on this particular day I wasn't dressed appropriately. Laughs and smiles were had by all (minus my puzzled relatives), and another runaway bride episode was thus averted.

Only in Rome, people, can you be hit on by garbage men on your way to the altar. Can't beat that!

Here we are in our getaway which was kindly provided by Ale's sports car-loving uncle.

Chances are good that if you pass by the "Fontanone" on the Gianicolo Hill on a Saturday or Sunday anytime from morning to mid-afternoon, you too might spot a newly married couple taking photos. It's a great place for them, and speaking of it, I just saw a couple there as we drove by this afternoon.

Now. If I ever get around to it, I plan to write a series of posts about all the bureaucratic nonsense you have to go through just to get to the altar. It's Italy, so getting through the red tape is the hardest part! I took a couple gem photos, even one inside a public office which I am sure must be punishable by death, but you see, for blogging, my courage knows no bounds.

And I just want to say thank God you only plan a wedding once.

Or do you?

When I mentioned this as I was hanging out chatting to my friend and hairstylist Alberto at his salon about a week or so before the big day, he was working on a woman's hair and she heard this and looked at me from the mirror with a steely glare and said, deadpan, "Non è detto." (Not necessarily.)
Um, yeah. Not exactly the best thing to say to a soon-to-be bride. But funny Roman spirit all the same. Don't ever expect a Roman to hold back what he or she really thinks...

In any case, should you be planning to get married in Rome as well, I HIGHLY recommend these friends of mine:

Hair and makeup: Alberto at Laboratorio Figaro, Via dei Conciatori 22 (Testaccio), Tel: 06 5758099
Photography: Massimiliano Uccelletti, www.maxu.it
Flowers: Rosa Manzone, Via della Settima Coorte 7 (Trastevere), Tel: 06 5815387

Just Watch Out for the Splinters

And while we're on the topic of the use of the English language in Italian, let us not forget the joy of Italian menus translated into English. This fried fishing boat was on offer last night at the restaurant below my house for just €14. And you thought fishing boats were expensive! Not here! Maybe if you don't eat the whole boat, you can take it home in a doggy bag, build the rest back later, and put up your own "Gone Fishin'" sign by the weekend.

And I'm sure that as with most exotic cuisine, it tastes just like chicken.

By the way, frittura di paranza, or "net fry," is one of those dishes that scared me out of my wits the first time (and needless to say, only time) it was ever served to me. Basically it's all the little fishes that get stuck in the net and aren't sufficiently large enough to constitute their own plate. So, they just batter 'em, throw 'em all in a big ol' vat of hot oil, fry 'em up, and dump 'em on a plate for you.

Whole.
Eyes.
Fins.
The works.

Usually I say anything fried is worthy of a try, but my response that time? If it can look me in the eye from my plate, I'm not eating it. Mi dispiace. I know, I know: I don't know what I'm missing. I've heard it all before, so don't bother trying to convince me.

Although I must say, I have heard that when you get a really good fishing boat and fry it up, there's nothing else like it in the world! Now, would that negate the need for a toothpick?

And if your car could talk, what would it say?

Mine would probably say: put me out of my misery. But that's another story. Today I want to show you what Rome's "Garden Service" van says. That's translated literally... probably more fitting is something like city landscaping or urban maintenance. In any case, I ran across one of their miniscule vans while walking home, and I found that it has a charming little message for all passersby. Take a look for yourself:

It says:

I'm environmentally-friendly: I run on methane and I don't pollute. BYE

So, I'm sure you can guess what I found so curious about this. Bye? Bye??!! What the heck is it doing saying "bye" to me? Ah, the mysterious use of the English language when woven into Italian. You've gotta love it. Well, bye to you as well, Mr. Servizio Giardini Truck. Have a lovely day, and please, say hi to your other environmentally-friendly pals for me.

Bye

Local Politicians=Marketing Geniuses

This exhilarating little flyer was recently brought to my attention, and I thought it best to share with you, for the cultural enrichment of all concerned, of course. Comic gold.

So, ever wondered how Italian politicians operate? Often they stuff mailboxes with flyers that explain their platforms. Nothing out of place there. Take, for example, a certain Patrizio Bianconi, currently a representative for Rome's 18th municipal district, from the Forza Italia party.If his wizard-like "hypnotic gaze" doesn't convince you, along with the subliminal "Forza Italia" written in the background, maybe his campaign platform will:It reads:

Christmas 2004

In the history of the human race, Metaphysical Mutations--or rather the radical and global transformations in the adopted world view--are fairly rare.
As soon as they are produced, Metaphysical Mutations develop to their own extreme consequences, without ever meeting resistance.
Imperturbable, they sweep away political and economic systems, aesthetic judgements, social hierarchies.
After the advent of Christianity and Modern Science, a third Metaphysical Mutation is destined to inaugurate a New Era in World History.
Don't be an unconscious witness to this event!

Um, ok. Whatever you say there, buddy.

Anyhoo, who am I to judge? It got the guy elected, after all. And apart from his incredible "way with words," he seems to have a pretty convincing "look" as well:Merry Christmas, friends, and a New Year that brings an ethical and moral reawakening.

Right. Because of course politicians are just specialists in moral and ethical reawakenings.

And for those of you who just can't get enough, I invite you to click here and watch a campaign ad pop up automatically for a certain Marco Pomarici, currently a member of the city government as an advisor to the Mayor of Rome. Word has it he spent about a million on his campaign. Even if you don't understand Italian, I can assure you that he speaks quite convincingly about his values ("with the certainty that tomorrow belongs to us..."). Gaze longingly as he receives a Papal blessing, randomly gestures in various meetings, accepts unspecified awards from city officials, gives speeches in front of Forza Italia banners... and whatever you do, please, please PAUSE it when it comes to the photo of him with Berlusconi, towards the end. Simply frame worthy.

Do you think if I start talking about Metaphysical Mutations I could get elected next time around?

Nabbed

It was inevitable that sooner or later, I would catch the arrotino in the act. Little do people know that I can spy with James Bond-like stealth and ease from the comfort and privacy of my office, which is on the roof of our building.

If you haven't already read my exposè on this neighborhood character, I heartily invite you to do so by clicking on the aformentioned link, before you behold and share with me now his folkloric cry. (Feed readers, click through to the post.) Speaking of which, I might add: this guy has got one splendid set of pipes.

All together now:

"ARRRROOOOOTTIIIIINOOOOO!"



Did you catch Pietro and his dog Nano, too?

The Pope's Milk

You didn't think that the Pope drank ordinary Rome milk, did you?

The world's smallest country (0.2 square miles) has its own mythical grocery store and gas station, where apparently the prices are incredibly reasonable. The only thing is that you have to have a special pass to get in. People who work in the Vatican have it. People who have family ties to people who work in the Vatican have it. I've never seen one, but I am aware of its existence.

Anyhoo, so how'd I manage to get a photo of the Pope's milk carton? Well, it isn't exactly HIS milk carton, but that of my friend Fabio, who in some vague, not defined to my complete satisfaction way has access to shop at the Vatican grocery store. Boh. He told me something about being a distant relative of some famous Catholic saint. (I'm not making this stuff up!)

So, take a look at where they produce the milk: "fattoria Ville Pontificie."

Pontifical Villa Farm.

Ah, the advertising possibilities... the Pope with a milk mustache... the Pope wandering the green, grassy fields with his papal cows... don't get me started!

Lock Up Your Love and Throw Away the Key

Despite the fact that Ale is away for the weekend having some kind of Abruzzo-style bachelor party (Naked women? Try again. More like cooking a sheep for 8 hours while consuming copious amounts of wine. Don't ask... I surely didn't.) ... I had an incredibly romantic afternoon regardless.

You see, the other day I read this article about Ponte Milvio. The bridge has recently been making news for this new tradition, which apparently only started on Ponte Milvio after it appeared in a recent book called "Ho Voglia di Te," sequel to the teen cult hit "Tre Metri Sopra il Cielo," (which, by the way, if you're studying Italian around the intermediate level, could be a good book to start with... I read it in two days on the beach and it's a fun fluff novel). The article inspired me to take a look for myself. In my five years here in Rome, I'd never actually been on the bridge, since it's kind of out of the way for where I live, but this definitely deserved a look.

Part of the reason I've never been there is probably because I'm no longer 16 years old. I mean, you need to picture a place where teenagers go to have some stolen kisses. But still, it has a special charm all its own and at the risk of sounding sappy, I was taken in by it.

So, if you didn't read the article---the gist is that you go here with an ordinary lock, lock it to one of the lampposts (or other locks on the lampposts), maybe write your name and your sweetheart's name, and then throw the key in the Tiber. Ok, ok, I know... it might sound kind of cheesy. I'm not usually the type. But like I said, there's something kind of magical about the place.

Recently the book was turned into a movie that's of course become a big hit with the teeny-bopper set.



Well, what can I say? Rome might not be Paris, but there's certainly always some romance in the air around here...

You can't really tell from the "entrance" to the bridge that's there's anything out of the ordinary here. But once you get about half-way across...

This is the main lamppost and had the most locks on it. I don't even really want to know how they got those ones on the top. I mean, that could be a pretty tragic end to a teenage love story, don't you think? Sorry, but let's inject a bit of reality here, people. Did they bring a ladder, or what?

Besides the locks, the bridge itself is positively COVERED in love graffiti. I know that some of you aren't too wild about graffiti here in Rome. And generally, I'm not either. But I have to admit that I kind of like the fact that they are tolerant here.

If you kiss with your eyes open, this is what you'll see...

Kind of off the beaten path, and thankfully not really a tourist attraction (yet). But a visit here is bound to make your heart smile...

Ponte Milvio

Lungotevere Maresciallo Diaz (near the Foro Italico)

Another Neighborhood Unsolved Mystery

People, I really don't know what to make of this. When I first arrived in my neighborhood, I saw this window with all these stuffed animals and random gobbledy-gook hanging from it, and I asked Alessandro what the heck was going on there. He told me that it was probably for La Befana, since it was late December-early January. (Even though I've never personally seen anyone do this to celebrate La Befana...) Well, once it got to be about August, and our furry friends were still left hanging out there, that theory pretty much fell apart.

So here we are, nearly six years and two additional windows later, and the mysterious fun fest just keeps on growing. You can't miss this window when walking down Via della Lungaretta, just over Viale Trastevere on your way to Piazza S. Maria in Trastevere.

Here are the only shabby facts I have on this mystery:

1) The stuffed animals and other random "decorations" are never removed from the windows. They stay there day in, day out, night and day.

2) I am 99% sure I know who does this. It's this man I see walking around the neighborhood on a very regular basis. He is, as you can imagine, quite the character. Picture Colonel Sanders, maybe minus the goatee, add a cowboy hat and a walking stick, and you've pretty much got it. I know nothing else about him, except that he has a posse of equally "interesting" friends who travel along with him. And he is pretty much always talking to someone, in what looks like a very involved, intellectual conversation. I don't think I've ever seen him alone. He's like the neighborhood social butterfly. And he's tall, people. At least 6 ft. 1 or 2 inches, if not more.

3) The reason I am pretty sure I know who it is? One time I saw a photocopied article taken from some underground, alternative magazine plastered to many random buildings around the neighborhood, and when I stopped to look at it, there was a picture of these windows and of the man in question, but I didn't read the article. Now, years later, I'm really regretting that, because lately this has become one of those mysteries that is just eating away at me. I might need to start questioning neighborhood sources, such as the fruit vendor, Piero, whose store is about 2 feet from my front door. If his dog Nano could talk, he would reveal every neighborhood secret, since he probably hears them all as he sits in his little cut-out fruit box doggy bed every day at the fruit store entrance.

Now, although I see this mysterious Signore Sanders-like guy a couple times a week in passing on the neighborhood streets, I have to admit that even in the name of blogging I'm not shameless enough to stop him and ask, "Hey, what's up with your windows?" Just yesterday I saw him again, checking his mail at the front door of the building in question with another member of his cowboy hat posse, and I was really tempted, but I still just can't seem to find a way to start that conversation. And I don't have the guts to try to snap an undercover photo of him.

Alas, this is one of those mysteries for which, I'm afraid I can't tell you anything other than you'll just have to come over here and see for yourself. And if you bump into him, please ask what's up for me. You can get away with it, I promise.

My personal favorite? The blonde Barbie-like doll on the left window. But the orange hazard triangle on the right window is also a nice touch.

**UPDATE: Grazie mille to GPL, another blogger here in Rome who kindly shared his knowledge in the comments section about this mysterious man. Apparently he is known as the Puppazzaro or the, well, how can you translate that? The stuffed animal man? And he is/was a painter, along with his brother who were part of a group of artists that were friends with Pier Paolo Pasolini.

Also, on a totally unrelated note, please allow me to direct you to the funniest thing I've seen all day, thanks again to GPL. Take a look at Francesco Rutelli, Italian Vice Premier and Minister of Cultural Heritage and Tourism (whoa, try saying that 5 times fast!), as he urges you to pleeeeeeease, come and visit Italy, in what can only be described as a drug-induced state that permitted him to temporarily speak a strange trance-like English. This *might* just earn a spot on my sidebar.

Moving Furniture in Trastevere

Ever wondered? I mean, most of these buildings don't have elevators. My building is actually relatively "recent," from the 1700s, but it is right in between two buildings from the Middle Ages. I live on the 3rd floor (4th floor US) without an elevator and let me tell you, it's better than a Stairmaster. Most "Trasteverini" (Trastevere neighborhood natives) do the same thing.

The other day I was in my kitchen looking out the window and I saw a hulking piece of furniture being brought up a sort of moving ladder, where it finally perched perilously on a tiny platform above the street, about 4 stories up. Hey, don't take my word for it. You can see for yourself:

I wish I had thought enough in advance to film that baby going up, because I was just cringing, almost sure there was going to be a nasty spill. It wobbled the whole way. But, these guys must really know their stuff because although it kept wobbling, it never fell off. Lucky for them. And luckier of course for any innocent bystanders. Almost as dangerous as the arrotino's basket of knives desecending from the window, no? What's in there, anyways? A piano?

Round two. I'm now poised and ready with my camera to give you the enthralling, action-packed full-motion view. The only thing is that, because I made a mistake and filmed it with the camera tilted, and can't seem to find any way on Earth to make the video player flip it, you're going to have to take your monitor and turn it on its side. Don't worry, I'll wait....

All set?

Ok, here we go!



Right, maybe I am just easily amused, but I found this interesting. I'm keeping these guys in mind the next time I have a baby grand delivered.

Would You Let This Guy Interview You?

Ragazzi! Did anyone happen to notice an innocuous little comment left in Italian on one of my recent posts? In case not, here it is:

sono lo speaker di una radio Romana,volevo intervistarla.
mi chiamo Emanuele e la mia mail è info@ilblocco.com
il sito.
www.ilblocco.com

i miei più cordiali saluti

Basically it's someone saying he's a DJ on a local radio station and wants to interview me. At first I thought it was a joke or some comment spam, so I checked it out. I looked at his website and it seemed legit, so I went ahead and sent him an email.

He responded, telling me he wanted to interview me in studio, and that he has a radio program here in Rome from 8 am-10 am, the so-called "prime time" of radio. His name is Emanuele Artibani and he hosts a show called Artibar.

I got curious. His show is on Tele Radio Stereo, 92.7. I asked Ale about it, he said it's a famous local station. Boh. I listened to him yesterday and was pleasantly surprised. He's funny, witty, and you can see why they gave him the morning show. Have you ever noticed how radio morning show people have to be funny? I mean, nobody wants to be going to work, so their job is to cheer people up. What a job. I think it would be great. Maybe he'll give me a job as his co-host. I mean, all good morning radio shows have to have both a male and a female counterpart, no?? I could get up early to do that.

Anyway, he's funny, but not in that super over-the-top annoying way I found with a lot of American radio morning shows. No bells and whistles. He just launches some questions and asks his listeners to write in SMS messages to respond, and he reads them on air, commenting and having a sort of conversation in this way with his listeners. And in between there's music. Yesterday he even threw out the idea of having a big dinner here in Rome for all his listeners. It's like a little community...I was hooked.

So yesterday after I spied on his show, I wrote to him telling him I'd be happy to do an interview, but what did he want to talk about? My blog? My experiences in Rome? I told him if he interviewed me, it would only be fair that I interviewed him too for my readers. Take a few pictures of him in the studio, ask how he got to be a Roman radio talk show host (I mean, come on, that can't possibly be easy! Aren't you curious?).

He writes back and tells me he is a big fan of the States (Yay! I love these people! They are hard to find in Europe these days!) and asks me to call him. I was busy so didn't call. But I turned the show on again this morning, and...

that's when I heard him launch an all-points-bulletin to all of his listeners:

"I'm looking for Shelley! She's an American, she has this website. She listened in yesterday. Shelley! If you're listening, send us an SMS! We want to talk to you! If anyone out there knows Shelley, call us!"

Laughing out loud. He basically did this throughout the entire morning show this morning.

"Shelley! My American almost-friend! Where are you? If you're out there, call! We want to talk to you!"

He reinvented the pronounciation of Shelley, but we'll forgive him for that, won't we? I'm leaving his listeners in suspense until I hear from you guys. It's only fair that he gives US an interview too, right?

Ode to Poste Italiane

I now interrupt my regularly-scheduled post to bring you this late-breaking bulletin.

Oh, Italian Postal Service. Poste Italiane. PT, if you will. How do I love thee? Yesterday you gave me one more reason to heart you. As if eating one of my Godiva chocolates wasn't already enough, you just keep coming back for more.

Anyone out there remember the Great International City Swap? Since we ended up with an odd number, I took two buddies and therefore was due for two packages. The deadline to send out the packages was December 1. You may remember one of them arrived in December. The other, sadly enough, was nowhere to be found. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I wasn't the only one who didn't receive a package (ahem, Kelli, has it arrived yet? I was assured that it was sent!), so I just figured that's part of the deal when you organize a swap. But there in the back of my mind was that little voice saying, "You know, just blame it on the Italian postal service...it's probably all their fault." But, not wanting to always use them as the scapegoat, I resisted.

You see, I try not to be so hard on them, but, it's hard not to. They just do such a good job of not doing a good job.

Yesterday afternoon, and just for the record that would be Tuesday, February 13, i.e., over two months after the swap deadline, I received a package from the lovely Lori, a.k.a. Mingaling in Atlanta. Not just sunshine and ponies, indeed! After Poste Italiane FINALLY got their act together and delivered it (yes, the postmark was rubbed off but I was able to read at least "02, 2006," which tells me that at the max it was sent Dec. 02, 2006, ie, right at the Swap deadline), I was treated to a great swap package of typical Atlanta delights.

The first and probably most entertaining of the Atlanta gems was a poster declaring "Baton Bob, the Ambassador of Mirth!" Hailed as one of Atlanta's most colorful street characters, and I think you'll agree...

He looks simply FAHBULOUS and my swap buddy Mingaling assures me that he is one of the reasons her commute is less awful. Ming, next time you see Bob, please tell him that he is welcome in Rome anytime. IMHO, our street performers haven't quite reached this level of fabulousness. I mean, why didn't I see that dress when I was wedding dress shopping?

Wait. I think one local performer does qualify for this level of entertainment value, and that's my neighborhood mago in his spangly red suit and top hat. But I still haven't managed to catch him in action, so until then, Baton Bob from Atlanta takes the cake.

Of course it surely wouldn't be "Down South" without some of that famous southern cookin' and who am I to go against 101 Things To Do With Grits?

I haven't studied it yet in-depth, but I am hoping it is limited to cooking.

There was also a CD from local legend Cat Power which I can assure you is quite beautiful and slightly reminiscent of The Cranberries, and a wonderful B&W print of the Atlanta skyline that I intend to frame, and that, let's give the PT a little credit here, did arrive in one piece. Luckily Mingaling detailed every article in a little note to me, so I can be sure that nothing went missing this time. Then again, there wasn't anything edible in the package so that probably helped.

And so alas, yet another black mark in Poste Italiane's book but at the same time a fun surprise from the International City Swap crew.

Does anyone have a really GOOD Italian postal horror story? I know they're out there. I like to troll the web in search of goodies to go with my posts, and for this one I ran into an article from 1998 entitled Can Bill Gates save the Italian Postal System? (The answer, I can assure you nearly 10 years later, is decidedly NO.) And to think that I forgot to mention to you that, in fact, Poste Italiane was actually WORSE before it went the route of privatization. That was before my time, but I have good informants who can vouch for this.

We all have our stories: Madeline here, Claudia here. There's really never a shortage of good material. So, thank you again to Mingaling for your fantastic swap present and grazie mille a Poste Italiane for giving me one more reason to trust my mail to the Pope.

Celebrity Sighting in Rome

Funny thing about Rome. I’ve been here over five years and I’m just now coming to the realization that as long as I live here, there will be moments when I will run across minor or major celebrities when simply going about my daily life. The other night is when this finally hit home for me.

Ale and I went to a symphony orchestra concert at the Auditorium. When the lights came up at the intermission, we in the peanut gallery look down at the expensive “platea” seats on the main floor and Ale says, “Hey, there’s Bruna Vespa.” Those of you in Italy will know him as the host of the nightly national talk show Porta a Porta, where, inexplicably, the theme music is “Gone With the Wind” and when a guest enters, Vespa discreetly pushes a button to ring a doorbell and you hear DING-DONG and it’s like “Oooh, who’s there?” Then they cue up some more “Gone With the Wind” and the guest walks in. So cheesy.

When Ale came back from walking around during intermission, he says to me, “Hey, I saw Ciampi out there.” Ciampi. Yes, THAT Ciampi. No less than the 10th President of the Italian Republic. “Whoa! Where’d you see him?” I ask. “He was waiting in line for the bathroom with me.” I start laughing. Hey, even an ex-president is only human.

Here are some other personal examples of how daily life in Rome can have you rubbing elbows with the famosi:

• One day two summers ago I was waiting on a street corner near my office, going to lunch, and traffic suddenly stopped. The main street was deserted, not a single car moving in either direction. We weren’t allowed to cross the street. No one moved. It was one of the most surreal things I’ve experienced here in Rome. After about 5 minutes of dead nothing on this busy main street, Pope Benedetto comes by, standing up in his pope-mobile, waving to the crowd. I was “this close.” Of course that was before I started blogging, so didn’t have my camera in my purse. Doh!

• When I went to see Nanni Moretti’s last film, Il Caimano, at a certain point I noticed my colleague’s son playing soccer on screen. Turns out he goes to school with Moretti’s son and that’s how he got to be an extra.

• Eating at Augustarello, a super down-home and rough around the edges trattoria in my neighborhood, we spot Martina Stella, who I think lives around the corner from me. She was the man-stealer in L’Ultimo Bacio.

• We used to get our traditional cappuccino and cornetto all the time at this one bar near Piazza S. Cosimato, that is now sadly under new management. Sadly, because the cashier there was this feisty old lady who we adored. One time we went to see the latest Carlo Verdone (Italian comic legend) film, and at a certain point, there she was, feisty as ever, with one rude line to yell at someone in the movie. Hilarious! We’re like: that’s the lady we pay for our cappuccino! Turns out Verdone knew her too, and appreciated the comic value of her energetic Roman-ness, so gave her a one-liner in his movie.

• Speaking of Verdone, Ale has had a few “sightings” of both him and Cristian De Sica, another famous Italian comic actor, at coffee bars near the Monteverde Vecchio neighborhood, where I think both of them live.

• When I was getting my hair cut a while back, my hairstylist, who works alone, got a call on his cell phone. “No, I told you, you can’t just come in here like that! Oh, fine. But hurry.” Next thing I know, my hairstylist Alberto is washing some guy’s hair in the sink next to me, and I can swear I recognize him from somewhere. I don’t really watch Italian TV but I got to chatting with him and he was telling me how he’s “the voice” of Will Farrell here in Italy. (You do know that every foreign actor has an Italian voice counterpart that does his or her voice in every film? It doesn’t change until the dubber dies!) I looked the guy up online and it was Pino Insegno, a minor celebrity on the TV and stage circuit here in Rome. I’ll never look at Will Farrell the same way.

• Another time when I went to lunch during work, I saw these yellow signs everywhere that said “To Set.” Not trying to be too discreet about that one! As I walked by the Pantheon, a huge crowd was gathered. Turns out they were filming a scene from Ocean’s 12 that day, and everyone was waiting for someone like Brad Pitt or George Clooney to come out.

• At our church one morning I saw a guy with a ton of bodyguards, praying silently. It was another ex-president, Cossiga.

• Speaking of our church, we’re taking this mandatory pre-marriage class, that frankly is more than a tad dull. One night though when we show up for our “lesson,” our teacher says, “I was thinking, instead of having a class tonight, maybe you would like to go into the church for a prayer. There’s some Nobel Prize winner visiting, Tutu someone…” We’re like: Desmond Tutu? Winner of the Nobel Peace Prize? Seeing him speak definitely beat the normal lesson!

Maybe you'll remember my brush with 80s celebrity when I picked Don Johnson up from the airport in Trani this summer, where they were filming the movie that one of Ale’s clients was producing. Turns out “DJ” is now doing “Guys and Dolls” at London’s Picadilly Theatre and invited us to come see him, so we got a 1 cent Ryan Air flight for early February (after World Nutella Day, that is!). From Sonny Crockett to Nash to Italian Mafia boss to Broadway star—what will he come up with next? Did you know he sings? This was total news to me, people! I’ll report back on our “new pal’s” performance.

Celebrity sighting to me sometimes seems like an exotic sport with wild animals. I sure wouldn’t want to be one of them.

Have you ever had any celebrity “sightings”? What do you think about the whole phenomenon of spotting celebrities?

You've Got (Blessed) Mail

As many of you already know, I’m getting married here in Rome in late March. That means, among many other things, wedding invitations to send. Even though I already pretty much know who is coming from the States because by now almost all the people who can manage to make it have already bought their tickets, still, wedding invitations have to be sent out to everyone – can’t skip tradition.

I made my own invites using an image of an engraving of our church from the 1700s. (Curious which of the bazillion churches in Rome it is? See if you can guess by looking at this.) Since I put so much time into them, I wasn’t about to trust them to the dreaded Poste Italiane, the Italian mail system. Granted, most people in Italy have no other choice. But blessed are those who live in Rome, because they can go to Poste Vaticane.

That’s right, Vatican Mail. Oh, how I heart them. So friendly, so efficient, so…. so not Poste Italiane. Let’s not even get into that today. Suffice it to say that I finally gave up on them when a package arrived from my mom with a small box of Godiva chocolates. Lovely, no? Not so much when you find one, just one, eaten, leaving of course the other three to enjoy. As if. Per favore! (Yes, I am convinced it happened on this side of the ocean, and no, I don’t need proof. I am shamelessly prejudiced against the Italian postal system.)

No, no, Vatican mail is blessed by the hand of God, indeed. In my experience, the price is pretty much the same as Italian mail; what makes the difference is that Vatican mail is all sent directly to Switzerland for distribution to the rest of the world. The tiny Vatican post office next to St. Peter’s is a tourist hub and melting pot of world cultures, all passing through to mail their postcards from the smallest country in the world (.2 square miles).

I had 40 invites to mail. When I got to the window (no line, by the way!) and explained this, the man working the window next to me saw my envelopes and said, “Who’s getting married?” (What is this now? Friendly banter at the post office? From a postal employee?)

“That would be me,” I say. “After six years in Rome, I guess it was about time.”

“Marrying an Italian?”

“Romano di Roma,” I say, a phrase to indicate a “Roman from Rome.” “Trasteverino.” Ale was born in Trastevere and Romans generally agree that being from Trastevere is about as Rome as one can get. Trasteverini take a lot of pride in being from the neighborhood, especially since nowadays there are so few left who actually still live there, as it has become affordable pretty much only for rich foreigners or people who have lived in the neighborhood for generations and passed down property.

“Well, well, then! Auguri e tanti figli maschi!” He sends me “best wishes and many male children.”

“Well, children in general would be fine by me,” I say.

“You know what happened to me when people told me ‘tanti figli maschi’?" he asks. "I have three sons! So I wish you tanti figli maschi, just so long as they aren't Romanisti.”

Romanisti are fans of the Roma soccer team, one of Rome’s two rival teams. When someone asks which team you are a tifoso (fan) for, it's a pretty critical moment here in Rome. Luckily Ale is a diehard fan of Lazio, the opposing team.

“Oh, no worries there. We’re a strictly Laziale household.”

You should have seen the sheer delight on his face. It’s funny when you find Lazio fans, they get so excited to know you’re on “their side” against the evil forces of Roma.

“Well then, I wish you tre figli e tre figlie!” (three sons and three daughters).

I guess being a fan of his team bought me some bonus offspring.

“That way we can bring them all to the stadio together, right?” I reply.

Delightful, am I still in the post office? I ask the man at my window if he has any nice stamps by chance, since I don’t want my wedding invites stamped by a machine.

“Just for you, since you’re marrying a Romano, Trasteverino, here’s what I’m going to do…”

He manages to find three beautiful stamps that equal the exact amount I have to pay per envelope. (Did you know that it's possible to go to an Italian post office to buy stamps and be told they don't have any??) There’s a large table where I can sit down, with a damp sponge I can use for putting the stamps on the envelopes. As I spread all my stuff out and get to work, I feel like I’ve died and gone to postal heaven. I realize this may sound ridiculous, but perhaps you have to have some experience with the Italian postal system under your belt to truly appreciate this.

Just under 40 envelopes and nearly 120 stamps later, I’m on my way, and so are my invitations. Buon viaggio!

An automated stamp machine outside the post office for when it's closed. I've never seen an automated Poste Italiane stamp machine...have you? Hmm, must be too convenient.

Inside the post office, with a big table and chairs for tourists to write their postcards. On the left is the numismatic shop, where you can buy commemorative stamps, postcards and coins. (Can you spot the picture of the pope?)

The post office is located directly to the left of St. Peter's Basilica. There are two yellow mailboxes out front. Mail must be sent from here. You can't buy stamps here and then mail things from an Italian mailbox, just as you can't mail anything from here with Italian stamps.

Hey, turn around, I think I see something behind you...

Guest Blogger: Ale, Notaio Hopeful

Today I get a day off while my future hubby (T minus less than four months) takes over the heavy lifting of the blogging duties for me. I showed him your comments on the Offida post and your curiosity got him motivated to explain the process of becoming a notaio, or notary, to you. The other night after dinner he sat down with his laptop and hammered out the following, which remains unaltered except for a few very minor spelling corrections ... bravo Ale! And to think, this was the same guy who, when we first met, said to me, "I want you to know that I hate English." (Traces back to some traumatic experience with a mean high school teacher.) Who would've ever thought that a mere six years later, he'd be negotiating with Don Johnson's, ahem, I mean, DJ's, LA agent, when a client of his decided to make a movie? Ah, life, does it not reserve its surprises for us? Perhaps one of them will be Ale becoming a notaio.

(You must all now make the "rock on" sign, with both hands, fingers directed towards the ground, to prevent my previous sentence from jinxing his chances. This in Italian is called "making the horns" or fare le corna, and is the less-vulgar version of another choice that, if you have any contact with Italian culture, you are probably aware of. All's I'm gonna say is that the second option involves scratching a region below the belt. No, I am not kidding.)

But enough of my blabbering! Here's the Italian for you:

Actually the notaries in Italy are the inheritance of the middle age, when the people didn’t know how to read and how to write and they needed a trustworthy guy doing it for them and checking that everything was honest and legal. Nowadays the problem is that even if everyone is able to read and write, we (in Italy) still need a guy who checks the contract is honest and respectful of the law, otherwise everyone would try to rip the other off.
And this guy is the notary.
But how can you be sure this guy is trustworthy?
We have to pay him a ton of money so that he doesn’t need to be bribed to become rich. A "poor" notary makes about €10,000 a month. An average notary makes about €1 million a year. A rich notary makes around €20 million a year.
And this is the notary.
For this reason here when we need to sell or buy a house we have to go to a notary.
When we want to create a company we need to go to a notary.
When we want to take a mortgage we need to a go to a notary.
Because he’s the only one who can certify all the papers are ok and transfer the rights.
He can do that because the government gives him the “power” to do that with the public seal.
So he writes the contract and he stamps it with this seal and you buy or sell your property, take the mortgage and create your company!!!
The issue is that to check the integrity of these guys, the law says they have to be a small, closed number.
Now I think we have just 6,000 notaries in all Italy (over 70 million people!!!!!) You can understand why they became so rich!!!!!! And you can understand the reason why I’m so bored to be a lawyer and I want to become a notary!!!!!
But here there is another problem.
The procedure to become notary is the most complicated and difficult procedure in all Italy procedures (and everything in this country is more difficult than usual).
You have to take a law degree.
You have to attend a notary office for 2 years.
And you have to take the “CONCORSO”
More or less every 2 years there is the Concorso.
It consists of 3 parts.
The first one is called “preselezione.”
It means you have to memorize 10,000 multiple choice questions about the civil law.
The computer chooses 45 questions and you have to answer in the right way all 45 in 45 minutes.
If you do just 1 mistake you are OUT.
Once you pass this test (I passed it 3 times) you have the most difficult work. “LA PROVA SCRITTA”
It consists of 3 days’ work closed in an underground government room in which they give you 3 different essays to do pretending you are a notary and a university professor of law. Everyday just to dictate the question (yeah, because the Commission doesn’t give you a paper but it dictates it!!!) it takes 1 hour and a half because just the subject is 4 pages long.
You can have with you only your pen, blank paper and the civil code. And you have to explain all the legal issues the question gives you and write all the acts a notary is supposed to write, in 7 hours per day.
Usually you have to write down all the stuff straight, because the subjects they give you are really long and complicated. And each written work comes out to 20-25 pages.
So at the end of the 3 days you wrote 60-70 pages, you finished 3 pens, and you have (like me the last time) your hand bleeding!!!!!
After this you have to wait 2 years; this is the time the Commission needs to correct the work.
If you pass the “scritto” you can go to take the “orale” (oral exam) which is much easier.
But there are so few people that pass the “scritto”…….
Average to do all this stuff, without “un calcio in culo” that in Italy means when someone “helps” you, it takes 10 years.
This happened to my friend Paolo, who now is a notary in Offida.


More or less after 10 years he passed the contest.
And the funny thing was that he was so bored of all this stuff that he decided not to do the contest anymore, and so it was his last contest and it was the good one.
When you pass the contest the government gives you a list of cities you can choose.
And he chose this beautiful town of Offida where he’s the only notary.

The main piazza of Offida, where Paolo has his office.
And now he’s enjoying all the 10 years work he did.

Paolo's office, with frescoes on the ceiling.

One day I hope to do the same.

View from Paolo's office window.

Otherwise I will have to be a bored lawyer for all my life.

THIS IS ALL TRUTH (NO EXAGGERATION) AND I DID IT 3 TIMES AND I’M STILL SANE.

Priest of the Month

Folks, it’s Sunday, a religious day, and I have a topic on a somewhat religious note for you. Now, please don’t get offended by this. I’m a little nervous even going here but in all sincerity, I am just trying to unravel and demystify a phenomenon that has been puzzling me for the last few years, when I first saw it appear on Roman newsstands. So, without further ado, I give you: the “hot priests” calendar:

For the price of just €6 (about $8 US), you too can be the proud owner of 12 months of black and white shots of men of the cloth.

What IS this?

I mean, first of all: will you please look at Mr. March?

Is that not just a little bit, well, I don’t know…suggestive? It kind of gives me the heeby-jeebies. I mean, it’s a priest. And if I’m not mistaken, they’ve taken a photo of him, trying to make him look almost seductive. Do I need a new pair of contact lenses or is this a fairly accurate assessment?

Another point to make note of: there’s not one ugly priest in the bunch. It’s not like they got a shot of some 90-year old priest giving confession, or tried to represent the entire spectrum. These priests are in their prime and they are all fairly or very good-looking. I mean, HELLO October!

Again, I feel kind of blasphemous even saying that but people, is it not the truth?

This brings us to several questions:

1) Who makes this calendar and why?
2) Perhaps in answer to why: where do the profits go? Charity?
3) What is the target market for this calendar? I mean, WHO really buys it?

Yes, people, I bought the calendar, but only in the name of blogging. I swear! I was considering taking some photos of it at the newsstand but in the end, the embarrassment quotient of taking digital shots of the thing from the sidewalk was, for me, greater than that of actually purchasing it and then scanning various photos at my leisure.

Now. In answer to question #1: they have a website. I saw the name Piero Pazzi on the calendar, looked it up on Google, and there it was. I don’t see it written anywhere that the profits go to charity, because the same website also offers a calendar of Venetian gondoliers (which, frankly, I would feel a lot less guilty about hanging on my wall and admiring) and a calendar of angels. So the answer to part 2 of question 1 is clearly: cha-ching. Unless you can find evidence to the contrary. I don’t feel like going to the trouble of emailing the guy to ask because it seems fairly clear to me. In the English part of his website, he explains the calendar's purpose like so:

This calendar intends to give basic information and some notes on the general characteristics of the Vatican with the hope of sating the thirst for knowledge continually demonstrated by the Eternal City's visitors.

Yes, you read that right. Please, Mr. Pazzi, sate my "thirst for knowledge."

All I could find by way of news was this little bit in Italian, which says that it’s the 5th year running that Pazzi, himself a gondolier, has made the calendar, and that the photos are all taken during public services and on the streets, in Seville, Rome, and Venice. Do you think the priests have to sign some kind of release form or get permission from someone in the Church to be photographed and appear in this calendar? Do you think they even know what the photos are for?

I ran into a discussion thread in Italian here, where the participants are trying to answer the same questions. One even contacted some people associated with the Church but didn't get any answers. Someone suggests that they might not be actual priests. I have no idea, but it seems like it would be a heck of a lot of trouble to go to, dressing these guys up and parading them around. My gut feeling is that they are real priests.

Signore Pazzi (which, coincidentally, translates to “Mr. Crazies”) suggests on his website that his calendars make a great Christmas present. So, looking for that perfect gift for the person in your life who's got everything? I can almost guarantee you they don’t have this.

And folks, I still have mine. Now that it has served its purpose, I’m putting it out in the first ever At Home in Rome Rummage Sale. Only at my rummage sale, like the one I saw over at my pal African Kelli’s place, is a free one. So, first come, first served, and it’s yours, in the mail and on its way. Just send an email with your mailing address to ahirswap AT gmail DOT com. Leave a comment so others know when it's taken.

At this point I guess all that's left to say is Happy Holidays, and happy priest-admiring! (Heeby jeebies, I tell you!)

Oh, and by the way? Apparently they’re doing “casting” for 2008. Know anyone who might be interested?

Mastercard at the Rome Airport

Wait at baggage claim: 1.5 hours

Finding out they don't know where your bag is: 5 minutes

Spotting an ad with the "neighborhood church" where you're getting married: Timeless

Thomas nel supermarket

I spotted this little blurb in a free commuter paper today while riding the bus and got a big kick out of it.

Any of my fellow ex-pats out there who are in regola (legal, with a stay permit), who aren’t EU citizens, and who didn’t automatically get a stay permit through marriage—well, they most likely have a very interesting story to tell you about how they ended up with their permit. Truth be told, it’s just not all that easy. Wait, I take that back. It’s nearly impossible. Yes, I have my story (because as you may know, I’m not getting married until next year, yet I am here legally). But it is only to be told in person over one, or several, glasses of wine. Quite the tale of timing, luck, and a hilariously Italian legal loophole.

But Thomas, the hero of today’s post, has a story that easily outshines my own. He took a quick yet risky route, one that I don’t think is even written down anywhere in the law books (will have to ask my resident lawyer on that one). Take a look at the article:
Here’s what it says:

***
He thwarts a robbery
Now he’s legal

Palermo: A prize, rather two prizes, for having foiled a robbery attempt. Thomas, an illegal immigrant from Ghana, was working under the table in a Palermo supermarket, where he succeeded in preventing the robbers from taking the cash. His courage was rewarded with a stay permit and a work contract in the supermarket.
***

People, I ask you: can this possibly be true?

It must be. I mean, after all, it was in Metro! Albeit, a free commuter paper, so perhaps the news is worth what you pay for it.

In the end, I don’t really know, but all I can say is, bravissimo Thomas! And who knew that the real trick to becoming a legal worker in Palermo (or anywhere in Italy??) has nothing to do with applications, quotas, long lines at the crack of dawn, etc., but rather a willingness to defend your supermarket from cash-hungry thieves.

Only in Italy!

Rome As I See It

Because even gladiators have to eat once in a while...

11:42 am, seen outside the Metro Colosseo stop

Sciopero: it's a 4-letter word

Well folks, it was inevitable. Any self-respecting blog about life in Rome, sooner or later, will tell the tale of the time-honored tradition of the sciopero, a.k.a. strike.

Oh, dear sciopero, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

1) Who should hold a sciopero?
Anyone who wants to, really. But most of the time it is transport workers, and usually city public transport (bus, subway), as was the case in today’s 24-hr. strike. The key is to inconvenience as many people as possible without any real objective, which brings me to:

2) Why hold a sciopero?
No one I’ve ever talked to really knows why the public transport workers strike; therefore, we’ll never really know if they’ve reached their objective. However, I have a theory, which stems from:

3) When is the best time to hold a sciopero?
The jury is out on this one, since it is quite random, but, kindly enough, those in sciopero will warn the TV and newspapers at least a few days in advance of the precise time and date, so you can prepare. They also tend to take a sciopero break between 8 am-10 am and 5 pm-7 pm, so the majority of commuters can claw at each other to get home. Not sure if that is city-mandated, but probably. In my experience, 99% of the time, Friday is the big winner. Which brings me to my theory introduced in 2: you should hold a sciopero so you can have a long weekend. So while they are off catching the last rays of the summer sun on some Mediterranean beach, I recount:

4) What is it like to face a sciopero?
Here’s the fun part! Life in Rome provides such exciting adventures. Tonight, after a couple days down on the movie set in Trani (ooh la la), my train arrived only 30 mins. late to Termini train station, and I knew full well that a strike was in action. Since the taxi queue was looking like the newest ride at an amusement park and walking a half hour home with my luggage was out of the question, I decided to chance it with the “emergency buses.”

Since public transport is, after all, a public service, there are always a few emergency buses that run around. Now, when you consider that Rome has about 280 bus lines, and over 3 million residents, a few just doesn’t cut it, and when I say a few, I really mean it.

I wandered into the bus depot of the station, hoping for a miracle. There were about 3 buses with their doors open, motors off, no drivers in sight. However, Romans being eternal optimists, the buses were full of passengers desperately asking each other “Parte? Parte?” (Is this one leaving?)

We wait. And wait. And wait. After about 20 minutes, a moving bus actually pulls into the parking lot. The doors open to let off the passengers, and within moments it is full again, resembling something akin to livestock transport. It dashes away. A collective sigh fills my forgotten bus, still waiting.

After playing musical buses for a bit, kind of like you do when trying to pick the shortest line at the supermarket, but still with no drivers in sight, I decide to stand outside, in between the buses, readying myself for a mad dash the moment I see a driver get on board. Which is exactly what I do, when a couple minutes later I manage to slip through the doors just as the motor revs up. People start charging the bus, banging on the doors. But alas, it’s too late for them.

By the way, to get into the true sciopero spirit, I decided to hold my own little strike: against buying a ticket. My defiant act of Roman rebellion. You know what they say, after all… when in Rome…