I've been trying to get involved with Greenpeace in Rome since I came back in September and decided my Italian was at a reasonable social level. Everyone there is really friendly and they meet near my house (bonuses) but unfortunately they meet on monday nights and since the beginning of October I've always had to work then. Anyway, on saturday there was an action day to keep up the pressure on the Copenhagen meetings and I finally managed to force myself to volunteer to go and help out. (I haven't before because generally I'm working (most of the others are students) and because I'm quite shy in Italian and not very sure of myself with regards to speaking to the public!
Anyway, Saturday was the day of my debut performance as a Rome Greenpeace activist. There was a kind of small festival in Piazza Farnese - the title of the day was "100 piazzas for the climate" - with a stage for speakers, games for children and a range of stalls from organisations ranging from Greenpeace to organic food to Christians for the planet or some such. It was a nice sunny day but VERY cold - my outfit choice of tights and miniskirt quickly revealed itself to be a poor one and I shivered in my Greenpeace t-shirt until a fellow helper convinced me to tie my coat round my legs to warm them up a bit.
We were giving out leaflets and information about the anti-nuclear campaign (Italy wants to start investing in nuclear power stations, Greenpeace don't want that to happen), selling merchandise to fundraise and also taking photos of people wearing masks representing the different G8 leaders standing in front of an "Historic Agreement Now" poster. As for this last activity, I wasn't entirely sure WHY we were doing it - this is one of the things about doing things in a second language, alot of general facts that in your native language you would pick up as you go along you miss out on. Not wanting to seem ignorant, I failed to ask anyone what the purpose was as I posed for a series of photos - the guy who was volunteering with me on the stall decided to use me as part of his sales pitch: "come and have your photo taken with the lovely Mary". Bemused passers-by must have assumed I was a)famous or b)a prostitute.
Another thing about comprehension of a language in which you're not completely fluent is that it's very closely linked to context. If you're expecting to hear something, frequently you can understand it. If someone makes a comment or asks a question that is unexpected or surprising, you'll generally respond with "huh? what?" This wouldn't be such a problem if people just repeated their comment, but all too often on saturday people would look at me more closely, and realise "ah! sei straniera!" [you're foreign] and then either give up, or attempt to explain in English. I was expecting questions like "what is greenpeace?" or "what size T-shirt is this?" but I wasn't expecting "where's via del Corso?", "where can I get something to eat?" or "can you hold this bag open for me while I transfer into it the contents of my other bag which is broken?"
I spent alot of time hiding behind other volunteers, letting them do the talking and dealing with people part, and feeling useless and unhelpful. My proudest moment was when a man asked "what does this mean?" of the title of the Greenpeace calendar, which is in English: "Standing up for the Earth."
Not so great was when a drunken old man, stinking of alcohol, came up and looked at some baby t-shirts. I asked if I could help him and he replied, with a horrible lear, in English, "Do you have something in my size?!" Then he marched off, cackling.
Probably the worst part though was when I was ambushed by a couple of girls who asked if they could ask me a question. Given that I was standing at a greenpeace stall wearing a greenpeace t-shirt, I really didn't feel I could say no, despite fears that they would reveal the gaping holes in my political knowledge, so I tried to summon my powers of articulacy and said "yes." They asked "what are your hopes for Copenhagen?" While struggling to frame a decent response, in Italian, I was most deterred to see them whip out a video camera and start filming me! I was stammering about agreements and they said "oh, you can answer in English if you prefer." I did, obviously, and gave a response to the effect that I hoped to see a strong agreement, the richer countries leading by example and setting a good precedent for the developing world. At that moment a campaigner, ie someone who is actually employed by Greenpeace and alot more knowledgeable than me, came up, just in time to see them walking off with their footage. He pointed out to me, very nicely, that any interviews and filming are usually left to the campaigners and not the volunteers...of course! I felt utterly humiliated as it looked like I just wanted to hog the limelight and as I risked embarrassing the entire organisation...I had nightmare images of me, saying something inappropriate in bad italian, being broadcast on international TV as "a Greenpeace spokesperson"...I apologised and assured him that I'd said "personally" (I had).
He said it was fine, and, of course, the footage hasn't surfaced anywhere (that I know of) - I mean, they were hardly from BBC News 24: they were both pretty young and to be honest I'd assumed they were probably doing a school project or something!
I sloped off at 6 o'clock, thoroughly chilled and needing to warm-up and de-stress...working for causes you belive in is all well and good but really takes it out of you.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Napoli
I LOVE the December 8th bank holiday weekend in Italy. Working 6 days a week REALLY makes you appreciate a proper weekend...and this year as the 8th is a tuesday my school (and alot of other businesses) decided to make the "ponte" by closing on monday as well. Good times...so I headed to Naples with my friend Emily. We'd been planning to do this for ages but as the time drew near we realised that, as often for english language teachers, our plans could be hindered by the universal problem of "not having enough money"; luckily we managed to organise the Napoli trip on an incredibly tight budget. It's only 12 euros from Rome if you take the 3-hour regional train, and we found a hotel room for 20 euros each a night (the bathroom was in the corridor, but hey, we didn't need luxury). So it was an excellent low-cost break.
We arrived on saturday evening having both worked in the daytime, and were both pretty shattered. We were also somewhat terrified. EVERYONE in Rome who heard I was going to Napoli reacted with a raised eyebrow and a "be careful!" Everyone gave extensive advice about not going into dark alleys, not going out alone, not carrying too much cash, not putting valuables in a handbag, not wearing jewellery...it was crazy. Obviously Napoli is a seat of the mafia and has huge poverty and social problems. That's evident...plus I've read "Gomorra", Roberto Saviano's book about the mafia and gangs in Naples and around the region...BUT still, I think people in Rome were overreacting to the danger I, a foreign tourist, would be exposed to. I suppose there's probably some inter-city rivalry going on (quite alot of people did react, when I said I was going to Napoli for the weekend, with "why??").
Anyway, we got off the train clutching our bags, having shuffled our money and passports around so that there was nothing valuable in our handbags (certain they'd be snatched by the first moped-rider who past) and removed our earrings (ridiculous! As you may recall, while I often wear conspicuous jewellery, it's strictly costume). We traversed the piazza outside the station nervously, looking round constantly, watching for thieves on mopeds etc...but in the event there seemed to be more danger from the traffic (something else I'd been warned about). It's true, drivers in Naples are REALLY crazy and don't seem to be constrained by any kind of traffic laws. Red lights are there to ignore, scooters are there for 3 or 4 people to be crammed onto, a couple of metres of space is licence to accelerate furiously...it was terrifying! Anyway, we made it to our hotel in one piece, established that it was ok and that the slightly dodgy-sounding name (Hotel Casanova) did not seem to have any implications beyond the fact that it was situated on Via Casanova...and headed out for pizza.
Many people had also spent time expounding the differences between Napolitan-style pizza and Roman-style pizza to me before this trip, and I'd kind of assumed it was all in their heads - you know, like different wines actually having different qualities, or separating eggs making any difference to the eventual cake. But the pizza was perceptably different - thicker dough - and really, really great. We tried to eat at Da Michele, a very famous pizzeria not too far from our hotel, but the crowd looked a bit mental, so we headed to an also quite famous pizzeria round the corner and got involved. Drinking excessively certainly does NOT seem to be a Napolitan vice: everyone else in the pizzeria was drinking coke, and the waiter raised his eyebrows when we ordered a beer EACH: "Two, are you sure?" The menu was spartan: marinara (tomato sauce and herbs), margherita (+ mozzerella) or about six variations on the margherita, adding just one topping each time. Whilst I do theoretically appreciate the italian focus on good quality, fresh, simple food, I also constantly bitch that they take it TOO FAR with the simplicity!!! Is it really a crime to put more than three ingredients on a pizza?? guess what, onions MAKE THINGS BETTER!! I also frequently sneer at people who order a margherita pizza in a restaurant: oh yeah, don't try anything new, it might threaten your world order. However, on this occasion Emily and I said alright, "when in Naples [oh hang on, that joke doesn't work outside Rome, does it? well anyway]...let's go for the margherita". And it was completely delicious.
Alot of tourists go to Napoli, and yet we still managed to feel like aliens. We were the only non-italians in the restaurant, and eventually the waiter plucked up the courage to ask us where we were from. "From England, but we live in Rome." "Oh, you have boyfriends in Rome?" "No -" shit, shit, when am I going to remember to lie in answer to that question?? "we work there." Next thing we knew, he'd gone off to tell the kitchen staff and there were pizza chefs peering round the partition at us, seriously, it was ridiculous. We got a bit of attention and harrassment over the weekend but luckily nothing seriously scary or threatening. (I had been considering dying my hair brown before we went, fed up with hassle from strange men and blaming it on being blonde, but then decided I was being hysterical...in the event, I still think it might have helped, but hey, I'd probably look stupid, and maybe that's Letting The Misogynists Win).
After pizza we refused the waiter's kind invitation to go for a giro with him and his friend in his car and escaped to via Tribunali, one of the main streets in the old town. It's gorgeous, I loved it - a really long narrow cobbled street, flanked by washing-strewn alleyways, badly maintained monuments, and churches. Gypsies rummaged through overflowing bins. Teenagers streaked past on scooters, yelling to their friends. We walked for kilometres in search of a bar and had almost given up hope ("people must not drink in this town! they just eat pizza!") when we stumbled across a beautiful little bookshop-bar with a dj pumping out some seriously weird music - Eminem followed by some kind of industrial-noise thing followed by country - crowds of people drinking "cocktails" that consisted of rum mixed with champagne, and others sitting down to games of chess. Fantastic. There were more people outside the bar than inside, as the no-smoking law seemed to be pretty much the only one that people followed, and alot of people smoked.
After a couple of (reasonably-priced) drinks and a bit of small-talk with a weird guy from Milan who'd been teaching italian in Russia, we explored further and found a piazza with several more bars, and stumbled home very happily at about 2am.
Next day, Sunday, we were woken early by church bells and annoying people making noise in the corridor (I remembered that hotels are always obsessed with cleaning the rooms at silly hours of the morning, and this is why I prefer hostels) but, both being knackered from work, managed to grab a few more hours sleep and didn't head out til 11ish. First, coffee - which, yes, is also perceptibly different in Napoli, ridiculously strong! I could barely drink it! - and pastries; I tried the sfogliatelle, which are shell-shaped ricotta-filled pastries and kind of delicious but also a bit confusing - too much crunchy pastry. Then we explored the street market near our hotel before heading back into the centro storico. We did some marvelling inside the duomo and then got bogged down in scary amounts of people in the little streets where there is a market for presepe.
"Presepe" are these kind of very elaborate nativity scenes, as you might find in a church but which here people often have in their homes, with figures about the size of playmobile people (but much more serious and less plastic-y, obviously). Napoli is famous for them, and they come complete with many special features - including streams wiht real running water, little bulbs to make the fires look real, hillsides, shepherds, farm animals, etc. There were streets and streets of shops and stalls in Napoli selling them...some more traditional and some more exotic. (Baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds - no one, barring Richard Dawkins, is going to argue they weren't at the nativity; but the napolitan presepe makers are getting creative. A woman, ironing clothes? a baker putting bread in the oven? a pizzaiolo? who knew pizza was a typical dish in Roman-occupied Palestine?? These are mechanical moving figures which are completely enchanting, mind, and I guess they spice things up a bit: who wasn't getting bored with the stable?). There were also christmas ornaments, foods, and lots of little charms involving chilli peppers (I have no idea why. Can someone please explain to me the significance of the chilli pepper in Napolitan Christmas symbolism?) and cards and games...it was fantastic. There were also aLOT of people; the crowds were quite crazy and we soon gave up on trying to plan where to go and just allowed ourselves to be bourne along by the current, endeavouring not to get separated.
Eventually, just when it was all getting a bit too much, the crowd thinned and we managed to duck into a calmer street and found a bar to have lunch in. Lunch was a nicely salty ricotta-filled pastry for me, and a crazy, rather unappetising prosciutto and cheese thing for Emily which was apparently called a panino napolitano. (The barman helpfully tried to translate that into english for us but got a bit stuck: "typical Napolitan...panino". haha. I didn't bother to teach him the word "sandwich", seeing as it was my day off).
After lunch we walked further, checking out a couple of churches and eventually making it to the seafront, where the view of the Castel Nuovo, the Castel dell'Ovo, and the bay really took our breath away. The way Mount Vesuvius towers over the city is really superb...as is the way the city rises so sharply up from the port to the Castel d'Elmo...it was sunset and the sky was streaked with orange, pink and purple. Beautiful. We walked along the seafront for a while and by this time were exhausted. After a quick peak in the domed church which dominates piazza Plebiscito, and which is modelled on the Pantheon so closely as to be slightly disorienting, we managed to locate a bus to take us back up the hill to the hotel.
The bus was ridiculously, horribly crowded, and given that we were in crime-ridden Napoli we were both a bit terrified - especially me, as I had both my and Emily's cash in my jeans' pockets. We clung on as the bus navigated through the crazy traffic, coaches pulling out in front of it, cars not stopping, and then a woman near me asked if I'd seen anyone get off the bus. "erm, no..." her camera had disappeared from the case which she was wearing round her neck. She seemed pretty calm about it but I felt so bad for her but also didn't know what to say!! since I was nearest I was kind of concerned that she might think I'd taken it, but wasn't sure how to proclaim my innocence without seeming paranoid/mental/rude, so I didn't try. Thank goodness I was more lucky and didn't have anything taken.
After a quick power nap we hit the streets in search of more food, and this time, in my quest to eat something a little different and local, I made an ordering error, ending up with a folded pizza full of ricotta, mushrooms AND HORRIBLE HAM STUFF. I'm normally so careful about asking if things contain meat but for some reason I'd got distracted. Having ordered the pizza and then cut it up and started eating it, my Englishness prohibited me from sending it back due to the meat content, so I opted to just suck it up and eat it like the bad vegetarian that I am. (If anyone reading this tries to use this as evidence to make me eat meat in future, just think: I try to stick to my (environmental) principles, but don't you think it's important to be flexible?) It was quite nice anyway, I love ricotta but don't really enjoy that type of tasteless ham-y meat even besides being vegetarian. Moral of this story - just order a margherita!! After limoncello we hit the streets again in search of bars and nightlife and ended up finding a piazza crowded with hip young things. It's all about hanging about outside in Napoli, so just as well we had such fantastic weather - it was positively warm compared to Rome.
On Monday we left the hotel and headed into the centre on the metro this time, not wanting to tire ourselves out with walking before we reached any new sights. The metro station ticket machine was operated by a 9-year old girl who controlled the queue, instructing everyone as to what to do. "What type of ticket do you want? do you have change? No, don't use that machine, it's broken." She was so assertive that it was kind of charming despite obvious concerns like "where do you sleep? where are your parents? should this child really be "working"?" so we gave her some change. We managed to navigate the system and took a funicular railway up the steep hillside above the port to the star-shaped Castel d'Elmo, from which there was a simply fantastic view. Napoli looked quite different to Rome, which must be partly due to the very different histories - Napoli was controlled by the Spanish for years, and they were the ones to build all these castles.
Listening to the dialect was interesting - I couldn't understand a word. It is, apparently, recognised as being a separate language from Italian. Even the local accent confused me and I found it harder to understand what people were saying. I also got into a mild argument with a guy in a bar when I used a slang word that people use in Rome - provolone for a man who tries it on with alot of women, and he told me that word didn't make sense...I stuck to my guns and insisted that this was a word used in Rome! very useful strategy, like how any time I don't understand someone I claim they must be speaking in dialect.
After a lovely lunch in a tiny little trattoria (to take the orders to the kitchen the waitress just turned round and hollered "Mamma!!") it was time to head back to the hotel, check out, remember to collect our passports and sample some Napolitan icecream - yet another food which is allegedly different there; it was nice, but we judged it too sweet - before we got our train. We had a minor incident on the train back because we hadn't stamped our tickets to validate them (we'd tried, but couldn't find the machine) and the ticket inspector tried to get us to pay a 50 euro fine each. As you can imagine, we were upset - this would have royally messed up our cheap-break plan - and helpfully a number of other passengers intervened on our behalf, pointing out that we were foreign and didn't know any better (we strategically kept our mouths shut about living in Italy) and eventually, the inspector let us go with an instruction "Next time you come to Italy - stamp your ticket!" we agreed.
So all in all, a charming weekend away. See, this is why I update my blog so rarely - I can't seem to resist writing a novel every time I sit down to it! If you've made it this far, well done and thank you.
Tuesday, 24 November 2009
My 27th birthday festivities
Hi there. A couple of people recently have referred to going to my blog to see if there were any updates and being disappointed that it was still just me, ranting about Roman men. Whilst frankly I think anyone should be thrilled by the opportunity to re-read some of my incisive and relevant feminist cultural analysis, I'm capitulating to the demand so here are some photos from my birthday meal last saturday. Enjoy!
It's me and my ex-housemate Lorenzo!! It was so nice to see him. He said my italian's really improved since we lived together
Lorenzo and three of my friends who are students at the school, Sara, Andrea and Claudia.
This is Liuba, another teacher and a good friend, and Anna, my conversation exchange partner who is teaching me Italian.
Me with Anna and Elena, my roommate from kid's camp in the summer. She's the one who introduced Anna and me.
We had a fantastic set menu meal of fish - I chose the restaurant because it's good for big groups; you pay a lump sum per head and they bring you a smorgasbord of seafood delights, basically. I was very happy to have 18 people...it was really lovely. So we had mussels, calamari, frutti di mare, copious amounts of white wine, and then a mixed grill of plaice along with other fish, bread, salad, and finally lemon sorbet and coffee. Everyone was chatting and pretty much everyone was sitting with people who spoke the same language (I was a bit worried about the social dynamics since we had lots of italian speakers, lots of english speakers, and not everyone has the fantastic bilingual fluency of myself (ha)!) I was bought several roses which was a treat. I also got some fantastic cards and presents. Certain members of the party tried to convince me to make a speech but I dodged that bullet (me making a speech after alot of wine is not a pretty sight as, unfortunately, quite alot of you probably know). Then a select crew went dancing afterwards, to a club which bizarrely had a London band on! all good. I love birthdays.
It's me and my ex-housemate Lorenzo!! It was so nice to see him. He said my italian's really improved since we lived together
Lorenzo and three of my friends who are students at the school, Sara, Andrea and Claudia.
This is Liuba, another teacher and a good friend, and Anna, my conversation exchange partner who is teaching me Italian.
Me with Anna and Elena, my roommate from kid's camp in the summer. She's the one who introduced Anna and me.
We had a fantastic set menu meal of fish - I chose the restaurant because it's good for big groups; you pay a lump sum per head and they bring you a smorgasbord of seafood delights, basically. I was very happy to have 18 people...it was really lovely. So we had mussels, calamari, frutti di mare, copious amounts of white wine, and then a mixed grill of plaice along with other fish, bread, salad, and finally lemon sorbet and coffee. Everyone was chatting and pretty much everyone was sitting with people who spoke the same language (I was a bit worried about the social dynamics since we had lots of italian speakers, lots of english speakers, and not everyone has the fantastic bilingual fluency of myself (ha)!) I was bought several roses which was a treat. I also got some fantastic cards and presents. Certain members of the party tried to convince me to make a speech but I dodged that bullet (me making a speech after alot of wine is not a pretty sight as, unfortunately, quite alot of you probably know). Then a select crew went dancing afterwards, to a club which bizarrely had a London band on! all good. I love birthdays.
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Men in Italy - or, when nervous giggling is a disadvantage
It's high time for a post on Roman men, although I'm scared I'm going to come across as a complete wanker in this post. Whatever, the public deserves the truth. Also, some of the men that talk to me in Rome are not actually Italian, hence the "men IN italy" rather than "italian men" title - I meet alot of Moroccan, Romanian, Senegalese and Congolese guys.
As a young, obviously foreign woman ("obviously" foreign refers to blondeness; pale skin; bad english accent when speaking italian) I get constant hassle when out and about in Rome. Men in Rome love foreign girls. It's not as if this is a remote place with few foreigners - there's hordes of tourists, although admittedly not in my neighbourhood, but still, it's not really the novelty value so much as the reputation of tourist/foreign girls, I suppose - as fun and attractive, if you want to be nice about it, "easy" if you don't.
I say "hassle" - some of it's very friendly and good natured, some of it's borderline uncomfortable or intimidating. I'm quite ambivalent about it as well; sometimes it's fun, and I've made genuinely new friends out of some of these strangers; sometimes I just want to be left alone and get very frustrated with being so conspicuous; sometimes I'm genuinely scared and rage at the insensitive, idiot men who think it's funny to cite a recent example, to run past me way too close when I'm walking back from the bus stop alone at 2am and then, when I jump, say "oh no, sorry, we didn't want to scare you but can we just give you a compliment? you're very beautiful" and then, when I continue walking and ignore them "what, can't you at least say thank you?"
I muttered a "grazie" and they left me alone. But you can imagine that in a situation like that, I'm always tensed for things to turn nasty...and when you consider how nasty they could potentially become, is it really surprising that I'm going to be uncomfortable talking to a stranger at night??
For a start, as a foreigner, it's impossible to blend in, especially in my area where there aren't the hordes of tourists there are near the centre. You can't skulk around unnoticed. Just buying an icecream involves a conversation about where I'm from and what I'm doing in Centocelle.
This morning, for example, I have a horrible cold and feel like spending the day in bed not talking to anyone. However, I had to venture out to the shops for supplies, and once there, it was impossible not to engage with people. This is partly down to a cultural difference between Rome and London: whereas back home it's possible to leave the house, go to the shops, pay and come home without making eye contact or conversation with anyone (unless, that is, you live in East Dulwich in which case you'll probably bump into someone you went to school with or your mum's friend, but anyway) in Rome you can't really walk into a shop without saying "hello" and generally interacting a bit more. That's probably a good thing (more community feel, a more integrated society). However, what I had this morning, from the 3 men at the fresh cheese and bread counter in Todis, was:
"Are you American?" "No, English." "Ah, beautiful, England. I need English lessons." "oh, right, haha" "Yes, I know 'bread'...'cheese'..."
And the thing is with these kind of exchanges, that while at the beginning I'm usually thinking "oh help, get me out of here, just give me my damn cheese" I do tend to warm to them after a while, so by the time we got to this part I was laughing, while they were asking me "how much would this cost in England?" (indicating huge, kilo of grana padana cheese on the counter) "expensive, right? like gold dust? unaffordable? can't get cheese like this out there, can you?" etc etc.
I extricated myself, with cheese, got to the cashier to pay and the guy there, having obviously heard my exchange at the cheese counter, was like "so where are you from in England?" "London." "Ah, bella, londra..." and so it goes on.
Things like chatting in the supermarket about where I'm from - in general I think that's nice. It's good to feel like people are interested and people know me. Everywhere I've lived in Rome I've developed at least a "hello/how are you/where are you from"-type relationship with the local shopkeepers and bartenders, which is a nice change from London where you can go into the same shop 4 days a week for a year and no one seems to recognise you. However, exchanges in shops have a crucial difference from exchanges outside shops; there's usually a counter between you and the interlocuter...plus they're at work and hence you know they won't be pursuing you outside the shop.
On the street, however, it's another matter. Standing out so obviously frequently leads to cat calls and comments: I've had guys on balconies calling after me "ciao, bella, where are you from? America?" etc. I guess maybe they do the same to other girls, but there's not the same provision of an easy conversation starter ("where are you from? what do you do in Rome? etc). Also, I think italian women are better than me at blanking out the voices. My housemate Maria told me that when I walk down the street I need to look straight ahead of me, walk purposefully, and not give any sign of a reaction when guys say things to me - that way I can avoid interaction.
Even when people don't say anything there's still the staring. I was on a bus the other day - the 105 from Termini back to my house - standing up, and it felt like everywhere I turned left, right, directly opposite, in the seat nearby - there was a man staring at me. I buried my nose in a book but remained self-conscious, so when the bus intersected with the train that does the same route I got off and changed. No one had said anything or done anything, but I was uncomfortable enough to break up my journey. You can't really get indignant about people staring at you...can you? plus it makes you sound like a wanker, as I probably do right now ("I'm so attractive, everyone wants a piece of me, they just stare at me all the time").
I admit that I don't help myself by generally dressing in bright, colourful clothes, but I like the way I dress and as a feminist I don't think I should have to change it to get the treatment I want from men (namely in this case "Don't look at me continuously for longer than say 30 seconds").
In the street, in general, I try to ignore guys who try to stop and talk to me. It depends, sometimes if I don't feel threatened then I'll talk to them. (I suppose another factor here is my immense pride in being able to have a conversation in italian, and wanting to show that off). And ok, I admit, I met my ex-boyfriend after he started talking to me on a bus. I'm not saying that guys should never attempt to approach women they don't know...just that they should be polite, should take a hint, and should not be offended or irritated if that woman does not want to talk. And they should be aware of the environment; I might be quite happy to talk to someone in a crowded piazza when my friends are there, but if it's late at night, there's not many people around, and I'm alone, you trying to talk to me is likely to seem threatening. Alot of guys here really do not seem to understand this.
The main problem with me and italian guys stems from the fact that when feeling uncomfortable/nervous/not knowing what to do, or when a guy is staring at me fixedly while proclaiming "you are very beautiful", my automatic response is to start giggling. To the extent that I often think I'm being very rude (I personally don't think I would enjoy having someone laugh in my face while I talked to them). However, alot of the italian or foreign guys who talk to me in the street take this as hugely encouraging. I think they tend to interpret it as "she's smiling and that means she's loving talking to me and I am hugely funny and entertaining". What they don't realise is, I also giggle while at the dentist or while giving blood - much to the consternation of the blood donor nurses. It's a nervous reaction. Guys here love it though. I get alot of "Wow, you're so smiley! you can't really be English! they're supposed to be cold people!"
Maybe it's my naivety but I tend to take people at face value, so a trick I've been had by a couple of times recently is people acting like they know me already. I approached the tram stop at about 11pm one night and a guy of about my age greeted me as if we were friends. "Ciao! Come stai?" and kissed me on both cheeks, as is customary around these parts. I assumed he must be someone I'd met and forgotten about, and in fact was wracking my brains for who he could be, but when he stepped back, still keeping a firm grip on my hand, and asked "Where are you from?" I thought "Oh, sh*t, he's just a chancer". The hand grip was not necessarily threatening but it was invasive, from a stranger, and annoying. The main thing hampering me from pushing him off and telling him to get lost was, as usual, my well-brought-upness and manners. (Do I need to become ruder? leave answers in the comments.) Anyway, I told him, politely, that I'm from London. "Ah, bella Londra. I'm from Morocco" he replied. I decided to seize this opportunity to tell him (as was then true at that time) that my boyfriend was Tunisian. I must keep using this as it worked like a charm. He let go of my hand, backed off, even apologised. "sorry, sorry, excuse me. Have a good night." I smiled, thanked him and walked off.
Smililarly, I was walking down the street near my house on thursday about midday when an old man (about 70 I'd estimate) sitting on a bench with a couple of other old men, called out "ciao" to me. To preface this story I should add that my landlord is about the same age and the other day, he started talking to me outside the house and I just had no idea who he was, until he introduced me to someone else as "the new tenant". I was a bit like "I am? oh right". So on thursday, when this man called out to me, given that he wasn't some 18-year old obvious chancer, I assumed he knew me. I stopped and said "ciao" back. He grabbed my hand (not a good move) and asked "bella, why are you running? where are you going?" at this point I kind of figured out I didn't know him, so replied that I was going to work. "are you married?" "No" (how I curse my inability to lie in these situations!) "so, why don't you come to have lunch with me today?"
Christ, this man was seriously old enough to be my grandfather.
"er, no thank you, I have to go to work. Sorry". "No?" he asked. "Dinner tonight?" "sorry, I have to work." I wrenched my hand away and fled.
There's another factor at work here, which is the myth of the Latin lover. Italian guys love it when I tell this story. They think it's hilarious that a man of grandfather age is still chancing it with a 20-something. I remember my friend Erika getting very offended a few months ago after a 50-something guy approached her on a bus. "why does he think he's got a chance with me when he's obviously more than 20 years older than me??" I guess it IS pretty funny, but I think the Latin-lover thing is something of a self-perpetuating cycle - Italian men are aware of the stereotype that they are supposedly a)good-looking, b)romantic and c)sex machines, and they play up to it. I've had so many conversations with italian guys in which they've ended up by shrugging their shoulders and going "we're italian, we're like this, that's just us, you have to accept it." Hmmm...
There's definitely a culture of sexism in this country, most charmingly illustrated by Berlusconi and his paid-for-by-lobbyists escort girls. Women are objectified ("we have the most beautiful women in the world"), men are exonerated of sexist behaviour ("we can't help it when we're just so damn MASCULINE and all the women are so beautiful"), no TV programme is complete without a troupe of barely dressed female dancers.
I had an interesting experience the other day which made me think about how I perceive the men that approach me. I was waiting at a bus stop near Termini to take me over the river to teach a private lesson. I was deep in a really fantastic book (Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, I highly recommend it - very interesting on gender issues, incidentally) and really didn't want to be disturbed, but a dark-haired guy speaking italian approached me and asked how long I'd been waiting. I was like "oh, 5 minutes" and tried to return to my book but he was persistent. Where was I from? did I like Rome? it's beautiful, right? what did I do over here? where did I live? etc etc. He also got onto "wow, you're very beautiful, do people tell you that alot?" and so on. I kept my book open and tried to get back involved every time there was a pause in conversation, but he wouldn't stop talking to me. (what's the etiquette here? I felt like I would have had to be quite rude to say "excuse me, I just really want to read my book, can you please leave me alone?" but equally why should I be obliged to talk to a complete stranger just because HE wants to?) He even made me describe the plot of the book to him, stretching my italian vocabulary to the limit (I left out anything about sex or gender, not wanting the conversation to get into that territory). In short, I had him down as the usual Italian chancer, of whom I encounter maybe a couple a week.
We climbed onto the bus and I intentionally sat in a single seat so there was no option for him to sit next to me. I cracked open my book again. He stood nearby and commented - in perfect, American english "So, your italian is pretty good."
I was so shocked! really taken aback, and also kind of annoyed as if he'd tricked me. It turned out he was from Chicago and had lived in Rome for 5 years or so, hence the good italian which, to my inexpert ear, had sounded natural. He was like "I just thought I'd give you a chance to practice your italian", to which I was like "thanks, but that's still annoying". Anyway, what was weird was how my perception of him changed after we switched languages. Suddenly he was less threatening (because I could communicate with him more effectively? because I felt like we had more cultural background-type stuff in common? I don't know) and less predatorily masculine - I now perceived him as quite geeky and weird (he was). We went on to have a more interesting conversation about whether we/people in general had different personalities in different languages, and the implications of speaking two languages.
I apologise for the lack of photos in these most recent posts. I have no camera and not one but TWO camera-phones have packed up on me recently, leaving me with only a miserable 1990s-style mobile for the moment...I'll try to sort this out.
As a young, obviously foreign woman ("obviously" foreign refers to blondeness; pale skin; bad english accent when speaking italian) I get constant hassle when out and about in Rome. Men in Rome love foreign girls. It's not as if this is a remote place with few foreigners - there's hordes of tourists, although admittedly not in my neighbourhood, but still, it's not really the novelty value so much as the reputation of tourist/foreign girls, I suppose - as fun and attractive, if you want to be nice about it, "easy" if you don't.
I say "hassle" - some of it's very friendly and good natured, some of it's borderline uncomfortable or intimidating. I'm quite ambivalent about it as well; sometimes it's fun, and I've made genuinely new friends out of some of these strangers; sometimes I just want to be left alone and get very frustrated with being so conspicuous; sometimes I'm genuinely scared and rage at the insensitive, idiot men who think it's funny to cite a recent example, to run past me way too close when I'm walking back from the bus stop alone at 2am and then, when I jump, say "oh no, sorry, we didn't want to scare you but can we just give you a compliment? you're very beautiful" and then, when I continue walking and ignore them "what, can't you at least say thank you?"
I muttered a "grazie" and they left me alone. But you can imagine that in a situation like that, I'm always tensed for things to turn nasty...and when you consider how nasty they could potentially become, is it really surprising that I'm going to be uncomfortable talking to a stranger at night??
For a start, as a foreigner, it's impossible to blend in, especially in my area where there aren't the hordes of tourists there are near the centre. You can't skulk around unnoticed. Just buying an icecream involves a conversation about where I'm from and what I'm doing in Centocelle.
This morning, for example, I have a horrible cold and feel like spending the day in bed not talking to anyone. However, I had to venture out to the shops for supplies, and once there, it was impossible not to engage with people. This is partly down to a cultural difference between Rome and London: whereas back home it's possible to leave the house, go to the shops, pay and come home without making eye contact or conversation with anyone (unless, that is, you live in East Dulwich in which case you'll probably bump into someone you went to school with or your mum's friend, but anyway) in Rome you can't really walk into a shop without saying "hello" and generally interacting a bit more. That's probably a good thing (more community feel, a more integrated society). However, what I had this morning, from the 3 men at the fresh cheese and bread counter in Todis, was:
"Are you American?" "No, English." "Ah, beautiful, England. I need English lessons." "oh, right, haha" "Yes, I know 'bread'...'cheese'..."
And the thing is with these kind of exchanges, that while at the beginning I'm usually thinking "oh help, get me out of here, just give me my damn cheese" I do tend to warm to them after a while, so by the time we got to this part I was laughing, while they were asking me "how much would this cost in England?" (indicating huge, kilo of grana padana cheese on the counter) "expensive, right? like gold dust? unaffordable? can't get cheese like this out there, can you?" etc etc.
I extricated myself, with cheese, got to the cashier to pay and the guy there, having obviously heard my exchange at the cheese counter, was like "so where are you from in England?" "London." "Ah, bella, londra..." and so it goes on.
Things like chatting in the supermarket about where I'm from - in general I think that's nice. It's good to feel like people are interested and people know me. Everywhere I've lived in Rome I've developed at least a "hello/how are you/where are you from"-type relationship with the local shopkeepers and bartenders, which is a nice change from London where you can go into the same shop 4 days a week for a year and no one seems to recognise you. However, exchanges in shops have a crucial difference from exchanges outside shops; there's usually a counter between you and the interlocuter...plus they're at work and hence you know they won't be pursuing you outside the shop.
On the street, however, it's another matter. Standing out so obviously frequently leads to cat calls and comments: I've had guys on balconies calling after me "ciao, bella, where are you from? America?" etc. I guess maybe they do the same to other girls, but there's not the same provision of an easy conversation starter ("where are you from? what do you do in Rome? etc). Also, I think italian women are better than me at blanking out the voices. My housemate Maria told me that when I walk down the street I need to look straight ahead of me, walk purposefully, and not give any sign of a reaction when guys say things to me - that way I can avoid interaction.
Even when people don't say anything there's still the staring. I was on a bus the other day - the 105 from Termini back to my house - standing up, and it felt like everywhere I turned left, right, directly opposite, in the seat nearby - there was a man staring at me. I buried my nose in a book but remained self-conscious, so when the bus intersected with the train that does the same route I got off and changed. No one had said anything or done anything, but I was uncomfortable enough to break up my journey. You can't really get indignant about people staring at you...can you? plus it makes you sound like a wanker, as I probably do right now ("I'm so attractive, everyone wants a piece of me, they just stare at me all the time").
I admit that I don't help myself by generally dressing in bright, colourful clothes, but I like the way I dress and as a feminist I don't think I should have to change it to get the treatment I want from men (namely in this case "Don't look at me continuously for longer than say 30 seconds").
In the street, in general, I try to ignore guys who try to stop and talk to me. It depends, sometimes if I don't feel threatened then I'll talk to them. (I suppose another factor here is my immense pride in being able to have a conversation in italian, and wanting to show that off). And ok, I admit, I met my ex-boyfriend after he started talking to me on a bus. I'm not saying that guys should never attempt to approach women they don't know...just that they should be polite, should take a hint, and should not be offended or irritated if that woman does not want to talk. And they should be aware of the environment; I might be quite happy to talk to someone in a crowded piazza when my friends are there, but if it's late at night, there's not many people around, and I'm alone, you trying to talk to me is likely to seem threatening. Alot of guys here really do not seem to understand this.
The main problem with me and italian guys stems from the fact that when feeling uncomfortable/nervous/not knowing what to do, or when a guy is staring at me fixedly while proclaiming "you are very beautiful", my automatic response is to start giggling. To the extent that I often think I'm being very rude (I personally don't think I would enjoy having someone laugh in my face while I talked to them). However, alot of the italian or foreign guys who talk to me in the street take this as hugely encouraging. I think they tend to interpret it as "she's smiling and that means she's loving talking to me and I am hugely funny and entertaining". What they don't realise is, I also giggle while at the dentist or while giving blood - much to the consternation of the blood donor nurses. It's a nervous reaction. Guys here love it though. I get alot of "Wow, you're so smiley! you can't really be English! they're supposed to be cold people!"
Maybe it's my naivety but I tend to take people at face value, so a trick I've been had by a couple of times recently is people acting like they know me already. I approached the tram stop at about 11pm one night and a guy of about my age greeted me as if we were friends. "Ciao! Come stai?" and kissed me on both cheeks, as is customary around these parts. I assumed he must be someone I'd met and forgotten about, and in fact was wracking my brains for who he could be, but when he stepped back, still keeping a firm grip on my hand, and asked "Where are you from?" I thought "Oh, sh*t, he's just a chancer". The hand grip was not necessarily threatening but it was invasive, from a stranger, and annoying. The main thing hampering me from pushing him off and telling him to get lost was, as usual, my well-brought-upness and manners. (Do I need to become ruder? leave answers in the comments.) Anyway, I told him, politely, that I'm from London. "Ah, bella Londra. I'm from Morocco" he replied. I decided to seize this opportunity to tell him (as was then true at that time) that my boyfriend was Tunisian. I must keep using this as it worked like a charm. He let go of my hand, backed off, even apologised. "sorry, sorry, excuse me. Have a good night." I smiled, thanked him and walked off.
Smililarly, I was walking down the street near my house on thursday about midday when an old man (about 70 I'd estimate) sitting on a bench with a couple of other old men, called out "ciao" to me. To preface this story I should add that my landlord is about the same age and the other day, he started talking to me outside the house and I just had no idea who he was, until he introduced me to someone else as "the new tenant". I was a bit like "I am? oh right". So on thursday, when this man called out to me, given that he wasn't some 18-year old obvious chancer, I assumed he knew me. I stopped and said "ciao" back. He grabbed my hand (not a good move) and asked "bella, why are you running? where are you going?" at this point I kind of figured out I didn't know him, so replied that I was going to work. "are you married?" "No" (how I curse my inability to lie in these situations!) "so, why don't you come to have lunch with me today?"
Christ, this man was seriously old enough to be my grandfather.
"er, no thank you, I have to go to work. Sorry". "No?" he asked. "Dinner tonight?" "sorry, I have to work." I wrenched my hand away and fled.
There's another factor at work here, which is the myth of the Latin lover. Italian guys love it when I tell this story. They think it's hilarious that a man of grandfather age is still chancing it with a 20-something. I remember my friend Erika getting very offended a few months ago after a 50-something guy approached her on a bus. "why does he think he's got a chance with me when he's obviously more than 20 years older than me??" I guess it IS pretty funny, but I think the Latin-lover thing is something of a self-perpetuating cycle - Italian men are aware of the stereotype that they are supposedly a)good-looking, b)romantic and c)sex machines, and they play up to it. I've had so many conversations with italian guys in which they've ended up by shrugging their shoulders and going "we're italian, we're like this, that's just us, you have to accept it." Hmmm...
There's definitely a culture of sexism in this country, most charmingly illustrated by Berlusconi and his paid-for-by-lobbyists escort girls. Women are objectified ("we have the most beautiful women in the world"), men are exonerated of sexist behaviour ("we can't help it when we're just so damn MASCULINE and all the women are so beautiful"), no TV programme is complete without a troupe of barely dressed female dancers.
I had an interesting experience the other day which made me think about how I perceive the men that approach me. I was waiting at a bus stop near Termini to take me over the river to teach a private lesson. I was deep in a really fantastic book (Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, I highly recommend it - very interesting on gender issues, incidentally) and really didn't want to be disturbed, but a dark-haired guy speaking italian approached me and asked how long I'd been waiting. I was like "oh, 5 minutes" and tried to return to my book but he was persistent. Where was I from? did I like Rome? it's beautiful, right? what did I do over here? where did I live? etc etc. He also got onto "wow, you're very beautiful, do people tell you that alot?" and so on. I kept my book open and tried to get back involved every time there was a pause in conversation, but he wouldn't stop talking to me. (what's the etiquette here? I felt like I would have had to be quite rude to say "excuse me, I just really want to read my book, can you please leave me alone?" but equally why should I be obliged to talk to a complete stranger just because HE wants to?) He even made me describe the plot of the book to him, stretching my italian vocabulary to the limit (I left out anything about sex or gender, not wanting the conversation to get into that territory). In short, I had him down as the usual Italian chancer, of whom I encounter maybe a couple a week.
We climbed onto the bus and I intentionally sat in a single seat so there was no option for him to sit next to me. I cracked open my book again. He stood nearby and commented - in perfect, American english "So, your italian is pretty good."
I was so shocked! really taken aback, and also kind of annoyed as if he'd tricked me. It turned out he was from Chicago and had lived in Rome for 5 years or so, hence the good italian which, to my inexpert ear, had sounded natural. He was like "I just thought I'd give you a chance to practice your italian", to which I was like "thanks, but that's still annoying". Anyway, what was weird was how my perception of him changed after we switched languages. Suddenly he was less threatening (because I could communicate with him more effectively? because I felt like we had more cultural background-type stuff in common? I don't know) and less predatorily masculine - I now perceived him as quite geeky and weird (he was). We went on to have a more interesting conversation about whether we/people in general had different personalities in different languages, and the implications of speaking two languages.
I apologise for the lack of photos in these most recent posts. I have no camera and not one but TWO camera-phones have packed up on me recently, leaving me with only a miserable 1990s-style mobile for the moment...I'll try to sort this out.
Friday, 18 September 2009
Finding a flatshare in Rome as a single girl
It's been a while but I decided I wanted to do some blogging again. I guess getting back to Rome after a break has inspired me to start noting all those small but intriguing cultural differences/observations about being a foreigner in another country again.
Since I last posted I finished my first year of teaching (big sigh of relief...and I only had a few language-based mishaps), worked at an english-language kids' holiday camp in the italian mountains for 2 weeks (crazy hard work), went home for the holidays, went to Russia for nearly 3 weeks, now THAT was a culture shock...) and then got back here.
Since getting back the biggest challenge for me was finding myself a house - a house-share. Those of you who know me know that, since moving to Rome, I have always been lucky enough to have my fantastic fellow english teacher friend Erika to live with, helping me to negotiate tricky italian language situations with her excellent communication skills and generally being a fun, helpful and supportive person to come to home too. However! due to her defection to the higher salaries and multi-lingual english classes of London, this time I was on my own. This turned out to be pretty terrifying. I arrived in Rome, checked into a hostel and started scanning the pages of the local classified ads paper, Porta Portese, and calling potential flats.
As always in house hunting, I started with a very narrow specification: "I want to live with italians...who are young, friendly, preferably attractive, in the area of San Giovanni or Re di Roma, within walking distance of the Metro and ideally Pompi, home of the best tiramisù in Rome". Needless to say, I ended up compromising my ideals.
I HATE speaking Italian on the phone to people I don't know, so the first challenge was just forcing myself to call the numbers. Then I got aLOT of "già affitato" (already rented) responses. Obviously some of these must've been genuine, but after being told once that "The landlord says no foreigners" I tend to suspect that at least some of these people just didn't like my accent. (Friends said that I should play on people's perception of "good" vs "bad" foreigners by pointing out that I'm english, not from eastern europe, but I kind of feel like I don't want to exploit other people's prejudice for my own ends!! and anyone who doesn't want to live with an immigrant from a particular country...I don't really want to live with them.) Anyway, out of the people who responded in the affirmative, I went to see some flats. I looked round about 7 in total. It was stressful. Let me see:
First, it's the weird combination of judging, and being judged that makes looking at flatshares so difficult. You're looking at the flat and the room and most importantly the other housemates, thinking "could I live here? could I be friends with these people?" while they're also assessing YOU. And you're never quite sure whose choice it is. Sometimes people say "please call me, I really want to rent this room by the end of the day." Alternatively, sometimes they say "we've got 5 people who already say they want to move in. Put your name down and we'll be making a decision later." So it's not generally clear if it's really up to you to choose the flat, or up to them to choose their favourite prospective flatmate. I remember this being hard when I looked at flats in London; doing it in another language really took it out of me. Basically, I just smiled alot, and apologised for my italian. (On the plus side, recently when I apologise for my italian people tend to say "no, no, your italian's fine, have you really only been living here for a year and a half?" which makes me very happy - it's obviously improved alot. I attribute this to my reading of teenage books).
The problem with being foreign, though, is that it makes potential flatmates and landlords question how long you're planning to be in the country. I always say a year. But I got alot of grilling. "are you sure? you're not going to leave after 3 months? it costs me alot to advertise this place, I don't want to be doing it again in a couple of months time." A couple of times I felt like they didn't believe me and it was pretty impossible to convince people of my commitment to Rome.
The language used in Italian house adverts differs a bit from back home, mostly by being more exaggerated. A flat's not just "quiet", it's "molto silenzioso". It's not just "light", it's "luminosissimo". Internet, or rather broadband, is called "fastweb". I think what attracted me to the flat I ended up choosing was that the advert said "friendly and lively environment" or something along those lines. Ooh yeah, that's me.
I saw some weird places. The first flat I looked at, which was very close to my old one (so close that I would probably have been paranoid about bumping into Alberto in the street, argh) was pretty nice in theory but the flatmates were a brother and sister combo, not very friendly, who lived together in a shared room (it was a 2-bedroom flat, so they shared one and rented out the other. Deliverance territory!! I mean, I'm not one to make incest claims easily, and I'm sure it was totally innocent and they were just saving money, but they looked weird to me. Plus these guys weren't, like, 18 years old, you know. The guy must've been at least 28. Sharing rooms is WAAAAY more common in Italy than it is back home but surely there comes a point when you're like "I'm an adult, I need my own space"?!
The following day, I saw a couple of flats quite close together, a bit further away from the centre (the process that I, Bush-like, like to call, "compromisation" was in action). One was ok but the people living there were a bit older. I wasn't sure if I could see myself hanging round with them. They were probably thinking the same thing. Also, I excluded the possibility of ever moving in there straight away by lying - it was involuntary!! one of them asked if I had a boyfriend and I wasn't really sure what to say (things are complicated in that department). You tend to look a bit, hmm, "special" if you hesitate when answering what should be straight-forward questions about yourself, so I tried not to pause and said "Yes". Then they asked if he was Italian and for some reason, I found myself saying yes again...even though it's not true! I think I thought that telling the truth would just involve too many questions. Anyway, Italians love it if they think I have an italian boyfriend (I think because it confirms the theory that Italian lovers are the best in the world) so they were all happy for me "Oh great! You've made a good start in Italy!" etc. I smiled and nodded and thought to myself "well done Mary, now you can actually never move in here because the moment they met your Arabic boyfriend they would be all like "why did you tell us he was italian??"" grrr.
Anyway. I saw one flat that day that I really really liked. It was a student flat and the guys that lived there - 1 girl and 2 boys - were all friends from back home in Puglia, so I guess that made it seem more friendly to me. It had a balcony as well...a dream come true for me...so I was very keen. Unfortunately, so were alot of other people: the girl who showed me round told me that there were already 4 or 5 people who wanted it. She said they might have to pick a name out of a hat. Anyway, I never heard from them again so I guess I didn't manage to impress them that much!
Finally, on the third day of serious looking, my friend I was staying with suggested I broaden my search area and asked if I would consider looking closer to my work, closer to where she and some of our other friends live...I thought "why not" and started looking at adverts for flatmates in Centocelle. It's a bit cheaper, and I found a couple in budget that sounded friendly...It's not an area I'd ever been to before, so the first time I came to look at a flat I stepped off the funny train/tram thing that comes here and thought "hmm, where the hell am I?". However, once I got inside my current flat I was pretty convinced - it's bigger than others I looked at, and I have a double bed (massive bonus for when I have friends visiting). Plus Maria, one of my new housemates, seemed nice and friendly and like someone I could hang out with. She lived in London for a year so I think she liked that I was from there. The flat has internet, it has a phone, all the things that are important for me, so...when she called me the next day, I said I'd take it.
Another bonus is that we're renting pretty unofficially, with no contract, which means no deposit and no interrogation from the landlord. I've met him - he lives in a flat upstairs in this same building - but he was just incredibly chilled out, like "hello, oh, you're english, how interesting". I guess so long as he gets his rent every month he's not that bothered. So...here I am!
I'm sharing with Maria, a student from Sicily, sometimes her boyfriend, who works in a hotel, and sometimes his dog, who is cute but growls when I come into the house late at night...and Maurizio, a webdesigner from Campania. They're both really nice and friendly. Maria speaks pretty good english as well, although we tend to speak in italian (this is going to be very good for my language skills).
Since I last posted I finished my first year of teaching (big sigh of relief...and I only had a few language-based mishaps), worked at an english-language kids' holiday camp in the italian mountains for 2 weeks (crazy hard work), went home for the holidays, went to Russia for nearly 3 weeks, now THAT was a culture shock...) and then got back here.
Since getting back the biggest challenge for me was finding myself a house - a house-share. Those of you who know me know that, since moving to Rome, I have always been lucky enough to have my fantastic fellow english teacher friend Erika to live with, helping me to negotiate tricky italian language situations with her excellent communication skills and generally being a fun, helpful and supportive person to come to home too. However! due to her defection to the higher salaries and multi-lingual english classes of London, this time I was on my own. This turned out to be pretty terrifying. I arrived in Rome, checked into a hostel and started scanning the pages of the local classified ads paper, Porta Portese, and calling potential flats.
As always in house hunting, I started with a very narrow specification: "I want to live with italians...who are young, friendly, preferably attractive, in the area of San Giovanni or Re di Roma, within walking distance of the Metro and ideally Pompi, home of the best tiramisù in Rome". Needless to say, I ended up compromising my ideals.
I HATE speaking Italian on the phone to people I don't know, so the first challenge was just forcing myself to call the numbers. Then I got aLOT of "già affitato" (already rented) responses. Obviously some of these must've been genuine, but after being told once that "The landlord says no foreigners" I tend to suspect that at least some of these people just didn't like my accent. (Friends said that I should play on people's perception of "good" vs "bad" foreigners by pointing out that I'm english, not from eastern europe, but I kind of feel like I don't want to exploit other people's prejudice for my own ends!! and anyone who doesn't want to live with an immigrant from a particular country...I don't really want to live with them.) Anyway, out of the people who responded in the affirmative, I went to see some flats. I looked round about 7 in total. It was stressful. Let me see:
First, it's the weird combination of judging, and being judged that makes looking at flatshares so difficult. You're looking at the flat and the room and most importantly the other housemates, thinking "could I live here? could I be friends with these people?" while they're also assessing YOU. And you're never quite sure whose choice it is. Sometimes people say "please call me, I really want to rent this room by the end of the day." Alternatively, sometimes they say "we've got 5 people who already say they want to move in. Put your name down and we'll be making a decision later." So it's not generally clear if it's really up to you to choose the flat, or up to them to choose their favourite prospective flatmate. I remember this being hard when I looked at flats in London; doing it in another language really took it out of me. Basically, I just smiled alot, and apologised for my italian. (On the plus side, recently when I apologise for my italian people tend to say "no, no, your italian's fine, have you really only been living here for a year and a half?" which makes me very happy - it's obviously improved alot. I attribute this to my reading of teenage books).
The problem with being foreign, though, is that it makes potential flatmates and landlords question how long you're planning to be in the country. I always say a year. But I got alot of grilling. "are you sure? you're not going to leave after 3 months? it costs me alot to advertise this place, I don't want to be doing it again in a couple of months time." A couple of times I felt like they didn't believe me and it was pretty impossible to convince people of my commitment to Rome.
The language used in Italian house adverts differs a bit from back home, mostly by being more exaggerated. A flat's not just "quiet", it's "molto silenzioso". It's not just "light", it's "luminosissimo". Internet, or rather broadband, is called "fastweb". I think what attracted me to the flat I ended up choosing was that the advert said "friendly and lively environment" or something along those lines. Ooh yeah, that's me.
I saw some weird places. The first flat I looked at, which was very close to my old one (so close that I would probably have been paranoid about bumping into Alberto in the street, argh) was pretty nice in theory but the flatmates were a brother and sister combo, not very friendly, who lived together in a shared room (it was a 2-bedroom flat, so they shared one and rented out the other. Deliverance territory!! I mean, I'm not one to make incest claims easily, and I'm sure it was totally innocent and they were just saving money, but they looked weird to me. Plus these guys weren't, like, 18 years old, you know. The guy must've been at least 28. Sharing rooms is WAAAAY more common in Italy than it is back home but surely there comes a point when you're like "I'm an adult, I need my own space"?!
The following day, I saw a couple of flats quite close together, a bit further away from the centre (the process that I, Bush-like, like to call, "compromisation" was in action). One was ok but the people living there were a bit older. I wasn't sure if I could see myself hanging round with them. They were probably thinking the same thing. Also, I excluded the possibility of ever moving in there straight away by lying - it was involuntary!! one of them asked if I had a boyfriend and I wasn't really sure what to say (things are complicated in that department). You tend to look a bit, hmm, "special" if you hesitate when answering what should be straight-forward questions about yourself, so I tried not to pause and said "Yes". Then they asked if he was Italian and for some reason, I found myself saying yes again...even though it's not true! I think I thought that telling the truth would just involve too many questions. Anyway, Italians love it if they think I have an italian boyfriend (I think because it confirms the theory that Italian lovers are the best in the world) so they were all happy for me "Oh great! You've made a good start in Italy!" etc. I smiled and nodded and thought to myself "well done Mary, now you can actually never move in here because the moment they met your Arabic boyfriend they would be all like "why did you tell us he was italian??"" grrr.
Anyway. I saw one flat that day that I really really liked. It was a student flat and the guys that lived there - 1 girl and 2 boys - were all friends from back home in Puglia, so I guess that made it seem more friendly to me. It had a balcony as well...a dream come true for me...so I was very keen. Unfortunately, so were alot of other people: the girl who showed me round told me that there were already 4 or 5 people who wanted it. She said they might have to pick a name out of a hat. Anyway, I never heard from them again so I guess I didn't manage to impress them that much!
Finally, on the third day of serious looking, my friend I was staying with suggested I broaden my search area and asked if I would consider looking closer to my work, closer to where she and some of our other friends live...I thought "why not" and started looking at adverts for flatmates in Centocelle. It's a bit cheaper, and I found a couple in budget that sounded friendly...It's not an area I'd ever been to before, so the first time I came to look at a flat I stepped off the funny train/tram thing that comes here and thought "hmm, where the hell am I?". However, once I got inside my current flat I was pretty convinced - it's bigger than others I looked at, and I have a double bed (massive bonus for when I have friends visiting). Plus Maria, one of my new housemates, seemed nice and friendly and like someone I could hang out with. She lived in London for a year so I think she liked that I was from there. The flat has internet, it has a phone, all the things that are important for me, so...when she called me the next day, I said I'd take it.
Another bonus is that we're renting pretty unofficially, with no contract, which means no deposit and no interrogation from the landlord. I've met him - he lives in a flat upstairs in this same building - but he was just incredibly chilled out, like "hello, oh, you're english, how interesting". I guess so long as he gets his rent every month he's not that bothered. So...here I am!
I'm sharing with Maria, a student from Sicily, sometimes her boyfriend, who works in a hotel, and sometimes his dog, who is cute but growls when I come into the house late at night...and Maurizio, a webdesigner from Campania. They're both really nice and friendly. Maria speaks pretty good english as well, although we tend to speak in italian (this is going to be very good for my language skills).
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
April Fool's Day - April Fishes Day in italian
Hi there, I've been very lazy with the blog in 2009, I suppose it's because as I settle into Rome it feels more like everyday life and less like something that needs to be remarked upon...although settling into my new flat is still requiring a bit of cross-cultural negotiation, mainly because of the language barrier: my new housemates don't speak any English, which is healthily challenging. I'm living with a man who feels the need to post "House Rules - Regolamente" in 2 languages (I think he used Google translator) in every room, and who tells us off for putting cutlery in the drying rack the wrong way up. Mind you, at least I have the option of pretending I don't understand what he's reprimanding me about.
I've just changed bedrooms with Erika. This is my new room...sorry for the bad quality of photos, I use my phone and it's rubbish. If the bad pictures bother you, send donations towards a digital camera to my paypal.
In other news, work is still good. I've taught all my teenagers to say "Are you taking the piss?!" which phrase will be very useful if they ever end up in a fight on the tube or something. Some of my elementary groups are finishing their course just after Easter and will have their exam - I'm terrified they'll all fail and show me up as a terrible teacher. Fingers crossed.
I will be back in the UK for a week at Easter - arriving home on the 10th - which I'm really looking forward to, if you want to hang out let me know.
I've just changed bedrooms with Erika. This is my new room...sorry for the bad quality of photos, I use my phone and it's rubbish. If the bad pictures bother you, send donations towards a digital camera to my paypal.
In other news, work is still good. I've taught all my teenagers to say "Are you taking the piss?!" which phrase will be very useful if they ever end up in a fight on the tube or something. Some of my elementary groups are finishing their course just after Easter and will have their exam - I'm terrified they'll all fail and show me up as a terrible teacher. Fingers crossed.
I will be back in the UK for a week at Easter - arriving home on the 10th - which I'm really looking forward to, if you want to hang out let me know.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Finally online!!
Hi there,
I'm aware that I haven't posted at all in 2009 so here is a belated first post, to celebrate the fact that I am fiiiiiiinally online in my new apartment. I've been here since Wednesday night but have only just got the password for the wireless. I'm so happy finally to be connected...it's rubbish not having internet when you live in another country!! this is great.
The new house is...interesting. I'm still at a stage where I don't feel at all at home here, and Erika, my friend and housemate who's moved with me, is away at a wedding in the UK this weekend so I'm currently alone with my new housemates, 2 italian guys who don't speak english and of whom I'm terrified!! Well, terrified is a strong word but I'm shy of them, and concerned that one might be a bit weird. He's older (mid 40s) and is the brother of the landlord (who I think I dislike, he's really patronising and bossy) and I'm afraid he might be obsessive about cleaning. The flat is seriously ridiculously clean. Every time I go in the bathroom I feel like I'm just messing it up.
On the other hand, it's a lovely apartment in a lovely part of town - Re di Roma, walking distance to the Colusseum and generally much, much more central and fun and lively than horrible Rebibbia. It's in a really nice big building which is kind of orangey-pinky in colour and as I type I'm watching seagulls flying around in the sunshine (although still cold, it's really sunny here at the moment. I don't know why there are seagulls though, the sea's at least 50km away surely).
OK, so this was just to catch up (I'm due to go and bid farewell to my friend Luis, who's leaving Rome, in 19 minutes on the other side of town, oops) and I'll leave you with a few photos:
ancient acquaduct in the park near my school
me and Laura, first visitor of 2009, at Piazza Garibaldi near the Spanish Embassy I think
We went to see the Pope giving his weekly address or speech or sermon or whatever!! he's up there in the window, there's a little banner hanging out from the window he's in
I'm aware that I haven't posted at all in 2009 so here is a belated first post, to celebrate the fact that I am fiiiiiiinally online in my new apartment. I've been here since Wednesday night but have only just got the password for the wireless. I'm so happy finally to be connected...it's rubbish not having internet when you live in another country!! this is great.
The new house is...interesting. I'm still at a stage where I don't feel at all at home here, and Erika, my friend and housemate who's moved with me, is away at a wedding in the UK this weekend so I'm currently alone with my new housemates, 2 italian guys who don't speak english and of whom I'm terrified!! Well, terrified is a strong word but I'm shy of them, and concerned that one might be a bit weird. He's older (mid 40s) and is the brother of the landlord (who I think I dislike, he's really patronising and bossy) and I'm afraid he might be obsessive about cleaning. The flat is seriously ridiculously clean. Every time I go in the bathroom I feel like I'm just messing it up.
On the other hand, it's a lovely apartment in a lovely part of town - Re di Roma, walking distance to the Colusseum and generally much, much more central and fun and lively than horrible Rebibbia. It's in a really nice big building which is kind of orangey-pinky in colour and as I type I'm watching seagulls flying around in the sunshine (although still cold, it's really sunny here at the moment. I don't know why there are seagulls though, the sea's at least 50km away surely).
OK, so this was just to catch up (I'm due to go and bid farewell to my friend Luis, who's leaving Rome, in 19 minutes on the other side of town, oops) and I'll leave you with a few photos:
ancient acquaduct in the park near my school
me and Laura, first visitor of 2009, at Piazza Garibaldi near the Spanish Embassy I think
We went to see the Pope giving his weekly address or speech or sermon or whatever!! he's up there in the window, there's a little banner hanging out from the window he's in
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