I don’t like to talk about politics via social media. I find it completely counter-productive. My mind has never been changed or even remotely influenced by a meme or ranting Facebook status, so I don’t really see the need for all of that. And now, in the midst of election season, it’s impossible, even from a continent away, to escape the chaos. Many Italians have asked me my opinions, or who I’m voting for, so it’s obvious that this election is a big deal to the world. Also, my vote has already been sent in, so don’t try to campaign to me if you think you may change my mind. And, to all you people who say you aren’t voting because they’re both idiots, it’s you who is the idiot. Regardless of who you’re voting for, it is important to exercise your right, because as Americans, we fought long and hard for that right. Of course they’re idiots; they’re politicians. You won’t ever agree with one of them about everything, and they’re bound to screw up sometime. But to not have an opinion at all, or not let your opinion be heard (because everyone has an opinion, believe it or not), is just a poor attitude.
Anyways. Off my soapbox now. I say all of that to say that I found an article today that was quite interesting to me. It deals with an issue that has been a hot topic this election season, and really, every election season: abortion. I found it interesting, because rather than just debating the right and wrong, as we have for so long, it offers a solution to the problem. As you can probably guess, I’m pro-life, and can’t say that I agree with everything in the article, but I can really relate to women facing unexpected pregnancies and think the author makes some great points. You can find the article at this link:
http://us.cnn.com/2012/10/29/opinion/frum-abortion-reality/index.html?hpt=hp_t2
If you don’t want to read it, here’s a brief summary. Basically, statistics show that the rate of abortion is directly related with economic status. Poorer women have more limited access to birth control, thus resulting in more pregnancies. Because children are expensive to raise, and the US doesn’t offer very generous maternity leave or other benefits to mothers, these poorer women are more likely to have abortions, either because they can’t afford another child, or they can’t afford a child at all. The author of this article compares the US with Germany and the Netherlands, which both have much better benefit packages for mothers, and also have much lower abortion rates. The abortion laws in these countries are not very restrictive, but by giving mothers some assistance, the incentive for abortion is much less.
Ok, now the reason this article is so interesting to me is that I’ve realized in the last few weeks how limited the US is with their motherhood benefits. We give food stamps to everyone, and have many government programs that are completely stupid and a waste of money, but we can’t give new mothers anything. We discussed this at one of my Italian classes last week. Each country represented by someone in the class went over their country’s laws, and out of Ukraine, Portugal, Egypt, Morocco, India, and a couple others I can’t remember, the US was by far the worst. Six weeks maternity leave is barely enough time to recover from having a baby, much less get to know the baby, and spend any time with him/her. Many mothers are forced to return to work simply because they have to. In Italy, mothers get 6 MONTHS maternity leave, and the father also gets some time, which can be used at once, or can be transferred to the mother to compound her time. Other countries offered even more; I think Ukraine was the most generous, but I can’t remember exactly how much was offered. The other women in my class were appalled at six weeks, they couldn’t understand how you could possibly breastfeed, or leave the baby with someone at that age. I have to say, it’s something I haven’t thought about until now, but it really is difficult in the US to work and have children. It’s almost like you have to choose one or the other to be great at, or just be mediocre at both. I’m very blessed in that I have parents on both sides that are willing to help out, but not everyone has that.
I know the author of this article is probaby not pro-life, but I like that he offers solutions to at least reduce abortion. It can never be completely eliminated; people will find ways, but if the number could be cut to 1/3 of the current number, it would be a great advancement. We can go back and forth for many years over when life begins, or whether unborn children have rights, but many babies will be lost in that time, not to mention the millions of women that will be emotionally damaged in the process. Or, in the meantime, we can offer alternate solutions to help women desperate enough to consider abortion as an option, and to put motherhood back in a positive light, even for working women.
I hope I didn’t offend anyone; it was certainly not my intention. I realize that abortion is a very complex issue, and I could talk for much longer about it, but in the essence of time, I just wanted to comment on that particular article. Remember, go vote!! It may seem like your vote is insignificant, but if everyone thought that way, what would happen?
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Monday, October 29, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Violent American on the Loose
 |
| If you see me make this face: RUN! |
ANYWAYS. With having a child comes many important decisions; things I’ve never really thought of in my life. Honestly, I never thought about most child-related things before. I wasn’t the kind of girl who has a baby Pinterest board, I didn’t have baby names chosen by the age of 15 (or 22 actually), and the only reason I know about childcare is because I’m the oldest of four. That being said, I’ve spent more time in the last few months thinking and learning about babies than I have in the rest of my life.
Important Decision #1: Baby Name. For a girl, it would’ve been easier, I think. But finding out he was a boy was a game changer. I didn’t have any boy names even by 20 weeks pregnant. I think that most boy names are so common and overused; I wanted something different, with some meaning. Now, here’s where things got complicated: Paolo and I come from two different cultures, languages, etc. We had to find a name that was pronounced correctly, or close enough to correctly in both languages. May sound stupid, but no one here can say my name correctly. Including Paolo. Granted, I don’t say his name correctly either. Paolo’s choice was Ettore, which is the Italian version of Hector. Not only did I hate the name, but it would’ve been butchered in America. My favorites were Gabriel, Noah, and Rowan. Gabriel was ruined for me once I got here because of a certain person by that name. Noah sounds ridiculous when pronounced by an Italian, and they pronounce the “w” in Rowan like a “v”. So we decided to start from scratch. We finally came up with Alessandro, which is not super rare here, but I never heard of one in the US. I think it’s easy to pronounce, especially if you sing along to Lady Gaga’s “Alejandro”, and it’s also a strong name. It’s the Italian version of Alexander, which I think is a strong name, but too popular in the US. So, even though my family doesn’t like it, Alessandro it is. It also has great nickname potential, in my opinion.
His middle name will be James. The story behind that is actually pretty funny. Paolo told me when we first started dating that his middle name was James. I never questioned it, and when I found out we were having a boy, I thought to myself that James would be a good middle name, after his father. However, Paolo then informed me that of course his middle name wasn’t James, it had been a joke, no Italian parents would give this middle name to their baby.. so we thought it had a nice story behind it. So Alessandro James will be his name.
Important Decision #2: Birth plan? I didn’t know this existed before, I thought it was just a process. But now, you have to know what you want, blah, blah, blah. I also thought that here in Italy, I wouldn’t get an epidural, so I got used to this idea. But then when I found out I could, honestly, I was a little disappointed. When you don’t have the option, you don’t have a choice but to do it naturally. Which somehow makes me feel like more of a woman. Maybe I’m a masochist? After some thought, I’ve decided to do it au natural, however, I am meeting with the anesthesiologist here in order to keep my options open if the pain ends up being unbearable. We’ll see.
Important Decision #3: All the little decisions that you never think of before. Breast-feeding or bottle-feeding? Cloth or regular diapers? Make your own baby food or buy it? Crib or bassinet? The list goes on forever.. so far, most of the things I’ve chosen are surprising to me. I never thought I would be so green as to choose cloth diapers, but the more I looked into it, the more appealing it was. I should save at least $1000, and you know, things like saving the environment. I know I’m in for laudry woes, especially here with no dryer, but we’ll see. Most of these things are personal choices that you make based on work situations, etc., so I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to do it.
Important Decision #4: Parenting style. To be honest, I don’t think reading books or things like this can help that much. I think it must be something that just evolves over time. I’m trying to approach motherhood with no preconceived notions or expectations, just the ambition to raise my child to be a respectful, intelligent, and interesting man. Not asking too much, right? Once again, we’ll see. Every child is different, and I think to expect one parenting style to work before he’s even born is ridiculous.
There are a million other decisions that have to be made, but you get the point. And I have no doubt that a million more decisions lie on the horizon that I haven’t even thought of yet. C’est la vie!
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Monday, October 22, 2012
It's the Small Things
As I get closer and closer to D-day, my life gets less and less exciting, or rather, I’m moving less and less, so not much has happened lately. But I still like to write, so I’ll do a top ten list this time.
After living in both France and Italy, I’ve realized that a lot of creature comforts that we consider normal in America are not so easily found in other places. Sometimes I wonder what they do without these little things, but I guess they haven’t realized the necessity of this stuff yet. So my list today will be:
Top 10 Difficult-to-Find Consumer Goods in Italy
1. Antibacterial soap- This one I just discovered, and am heart-broken. I had a small one, but wanted to get a big one for after the baby is born, so that only germ-free people will touch him. At the main store, we found one brand of hand sanitizer, which was tiny and cost around $5. I really don’t understand; it seems like such a basic thing. And with the disgusting bathrooms I’ve encountered in the last months, I’ve been very grateful for the one I did have. You would think that with all the old buildings, buses, etc., hand sanitizer would be prominent. Guess not.
2. Baking powder and soda- They don’t use these in baking here, period. I finally realized that they do have baking soda, but only use it on their feet. They apparently use much more yeast here than we do in the US.
3. Chocolate chips- virtually non-existant. I can’t really complain about chocolate here though, because it comes in every other form and flavor you could imagine. But anything chocolate chip is a no-go.
4. Granny panties- No need to explain. Sometimes a girl just wants some granny panties. Apparently only sexy underwear is allowed in Italy.
5. Baby ANYTHING- It does exist, but is hard to find, and expensive. Chicco has a monopoly here on everything baby-related, so you pay accordingly. Certain things like burp cloths are non-existent. Maybe Italian babies don’t spit up?
6. Brown sugar- Paolo has been in love with brown sugar since I made sweet potato casserole, so I brought some with me. They don’t have it here at all, and always think I’m talking about raw cane sugar when I ask about it.
7. Sweet potatoes- One of my very favorite foods, and nowhere to be found. I’m really sad this one didn’t make it over to Europe along with tomatoes and corn. They really don’t know what they’re missing out on.
8. Air Freshener- The woman who lived in my apartment before me died here and was here for three days before they found her. Needless to say, you can’t help but feel the smell is still there even though it happened months ago. The only thing I’ve found to improve smell is candles, but air freshener would be a nice reinforcement. Non-existent here.
9. Matches- Along with the candles, I had to buy matches, which was far more of a challenge than I expected. Apparently here in Italy, the government controls distribution and sale of matches and they are only sold in certain stores. These are called tabacchi, and are also the only place you can buy cigarettes (if you were wondering). There’s no such thing as a one-stop shop here in Italy.
10. Cough Drops- I discovered this one last Christmas, when I came down with bronchitis while visiting. I couldn’t find cough drops anywhere, and when we finally went to a pharmacy, they sold me something over the counter that they said would help. As soon as I put one in my mouth, I realized I had paid around $10 for 15 cough drops. Ridiculous. They only sell them in pharmacies here, and come on, for the effectiveness of a cough drop, it’s just not worth the price.
So, enjoy your creature comforts, even the little things. You can always make do without, but sometimes it’s just nice to have the things you’re used to around you.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
After living in both France and Italy, I’ve realized that a lot of creature comforts that we consider normal in America are not so easily found in other places. Sometimes I wonder what they do without these little things, but I guess they haven’t realized the necessity of this stuff yet. So my list today will be:
Top 10 Difficult-to-Find Consumer Goods in Italy
1. Antibacterial soap- This one I just discovered, and am heart-broken. I had a small one, but wanted to get a big one for after the baby is born, so that only germ-free people will touch him. At the main store, we found one brand of hand sanitizer, which was tiny and cost around $5. I really don’t understand; it seems like such a basic thing. And with the disgusting bathrooms I’ve encountered in the last months, I’ve been very grateful for the one I did have. You would think that with all the old buildings, buses, etc., hand sanitizer would be prominent. Guess not.
2. Baking powder and soda- They don’t use these in baking here, period. I finally realized that they do have baking soda, but only use it on their feet. They apparently use much more yeast here than we do in the US.
3. Chocolate chips- virtually non-existant. I can’t really complain about chocolate here though, because it comes in every other form and flavor you could imagine. But anything chocolate chip is a no-go.
4. Granny panties- No need to explain. Sometimes a girl just wants some granny panties. Apparently only sexy underwear is allowed in Italy.
5. Baby ANYTHING- It does exist, but is hard to find, and expensive. Chicco has a monopoly here on everything baby-related, so you pay accordingly. Certain things like burp cloths are non-existent. Maybe Italian babies don’t spit up?
6. Brown sugar- Paolo has been in love with brown sugar since I made sweet potato casserole, so I brought some with me. They don’t have it here at all, and always think I’m talking about raw cane sugar when I ask about it.
7. Sweet potatoes- One of my very favorite foods, and nowhere to be found. I’m really sad this one didn’t make it over to Europe along with tomatoes and corn. They really don’t know what they’re missing out on.
8. Air Freshener- The woman who lived in my apartment before me died here and was here for three days before they found her. Needless to say, you can’t help but feel the smell is still there even though it happened months ago. The only thing I’ve found to improve smell is candles, but air freshener would be a nice reinforcement. Non-existent here.
9. Matches- Along with the candles, I had to buy matches, which was far more of a challenge than I expected. Apparently here in Italy, the government controls distribution and sale of matches and they are only sold in certain stores. These are called tabacchi, and are also the only place you can buy cigarettes (if you were wondering). There’s no such thing as a one-stop shop here in Italy.
10. Cough Drops- I discovered this one last Christmas, when I came down with bronchitis while visiting. I couldn’t find cough drops anywhere, and when we finally went to a pharmacy, they sold me something over the counter that they said would help. As soon as I put one in my mouth, I realized I had paid around $10 for 15 cough drops. Ridiculous. They only sell them in pharmacies here, and come on, for the effectiveness of a cough drop, it’s just not worth the price.
So, enjoy your creature comforts, even the little things. You can always make do without, but sometimes it’s just nice to have the things you’re used to around you.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Friday, October 19, 2012
The Walking Dead
No, the title does not refer to the hit zombie television show; it is actually my classification of a group of people here in Italy. Now, just to clarify, I don’t dislike old people. Some of them are delightful. And by old, I really mean more of a way of being than a particular age. If you are in your 80s and still jogging like one of Paolo’s grandfathers, then kudos to you; you’re better than me. Anyways, here the people that I consider “old” are, as I’ve said before, very rude. They have an opinion on everything, always want to share that opinion, and often do everything possible to make sure you know that they deserve to be treated a certain way, because dang it, they made it that far in life. So this group of people, I don’t like at all. But here in Italy, there is a group beyond just the old. And they are literally like zombies.
In America, once people reach a certain point in life, they tend to go to assisted living homes or with their kids. This is apparently not the case here, unless their health requires it. And also, people live longer here. In fact, they have the 5th highest life expectancy in the world, with an average of 82 years (America is 38th, with 78.2 years). I don’t know why this is; maybe pizza has some magical ingredients. What I do know is that people here live way too long. Not that we should start terminating them or anything (we’ve been watching all the Terminator movies this week), but seriously. They're not living in assisted living; they're among us all. I don’t know how they’re functioning on their own. The most common place to see such old people is on the bus, of course. They’re always just sitting there, never moving, never speaking; nothing. Just staring. I think staring is the only thing they can really do at that point. And they do it really well. It always looks like an incredibly condemning, soul-searching stare, no matter who they’re looking at. Women are the best at that. The men just sit there, completely lifeless. THEY NEVER MOVE. It’s like they’re just riding the bus for forever, with no destination. I don’t actually know how they managed to hobble onto the bus in the first place. Well, occasionally I’ll see them get on the bus, and if it’s crowded, they stare into the souls of whoever is sitting down until you feel obligated to move. Normally, I would always give my seat to an old person. But I’m the size of a whale now, and feeling every bit of it, so I don’t really know who wins in the war of pregnant vs. zombie. It usually depends on how many undeserving people are taking up seats; I feel more entitled to a seat than a 13 year old kid. But I digress.
One of the Ukrainian women in my Italian class has really taken to me, and she works as a caretaker for these “anciano” as they call them here. By the way, there are different words in Italian for levels of oldness: “vecchio/a”= old; “anciano/a”= ancient. Wouldn’t you just love to be classified as ancient? Anyways, the woman was telling me that there are so many old people here, and that they really just live too long, which I found funny. She said they are very demanding, and not able to do much of anything, but that it was the easiest jobs for foreigners to find, because once again, there’s so many of them. I guess maybe part of the reason for this is the socialized health care and all the government programs, because I noticed that most of the top countries on the list had universal health care. But is that really the life you want? Personally, when I get to zombie status, I prefer just to go on. I don’t want to sit on buses all day, staring into the souls of everyone coming and going. It would be one thing if this class of “super-old” people were living wonderful lives, enriching the world, but they’re just riding buses all day. Or apparently complaining to personal caretakers, no doubt using taxpayer’s money to cover the expense.
I tell you now, in print, that when I get to that age and condition, please don’t do extra things to keep me alive. I don’t want some girl a quarter of my age blogging about my zombie status. Just let me go.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
In America, once people reach a certain point in life, they tend to go to assisted living homes or with their kids. This is apparently not the case here, unless their health requires it. And also, people live longer here. In fact, they have the 5th highest life expectancy in the world, with an average of 82 years (America is 38th, with 78.2 years). I don’t know why this is; maybe pizza has some magical ingredients. What I do know is that people here live way too long. Not that we should start terminating them or anything (we’ve been watching all the Terminator movies this week), but seriously. They're not living in assisted living; they're among us all. I don’t know how they’re functioning on their own. The most common place to see such old people is on the bus, of course. They’re always just sitting there, never moving, never speaking; nothing. Just staring. I think staring is the only thing they can really do at that point. And they do it really well. It always looks like an incredibly condemning, soul-searching stare, no matter who they’re looking at. Women are the best at that. The men just sit there, completely lifeless. THEY NEVER MOVE. It’s like they’re just riding the bus for forever, with no destination. I don’t actually know how they managed to hobble onto the bus in the first place. Well, occasionally I’ll see them get on the bus, and if it’s crowded, they stare into the souls of whoever is sitting down until you feel obligated to move. Normally, I would always give my seat to an old person. But I’m the size of a whale now, and feeling every bit of it, so I don’t really know who wins in the war of pregnant vs. zombie. It usually depends on how many undeserving people are taking up seats; I feel more entitled to a seat than a 13 year old kid. But I digress.
One of the Ukrainian women in my Italian class has really taken to me, and she works as a caretaker for these “anciano” as they call them here. By the way, there are different words in Italian for levels of oldness: “vecchio/a”= old; “anciano/a”= ancient. Wouldn’t you just love to be classified as ancient? Anyways, the woman was telling me that there are so many old people here, and that they really just live too long, which I found funny. She said they are very demanding, and not able to do much of anything, but that it was the easiest jobs for foreigners to find, because once again, there’s so many of them. I guess maybe part of the reason for this is the socialized health care and all the government programs, because I noticed that most of the top countries on the list had universal health care. But is that really the life you want? Personally, when I get to zombie status, I prefer just to go on. I don’t want to sit on buses all day, staring into the souls of everyone coming and going. It would be one thing if this class of “super-old” people were living wonderful lives, enriching the world, but they’re just riding buses all day. Or apparently complaining to personal caretakers, no doubt using taxpayer’s money to cover the expense.
I tell you now, in print, that when I get to that age and condition, please don’t do extra things to keep me alive. I don’t want some girl a quarter of my age blogging about my zombie status. Just let me go.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Friday, October 12, 2012
My Glamorous Life
I have heard some rumors that my life is glamorous. So, I wanted to clear that up. My life is in fact, not glamorous at all. I know that to meet an Italian while studying in France, and then moving to Italy to have a baby may sound like the stuff of fairytales, but I assure you, it’s not that easy or simple.
Maybe the first part of the story is, but a year of long distance sure wasn’t. And moving here mid-pregnancy was far from easy and romantic. It’s difficult enough to be pregnant in a place familiar to you, but add in learning a language, adjusting to a new culture, and mountains of paperwork, and it becomes somewhat of a headache. Not that it has no rewards, or that I’m miserable. In fact, overall, I’m happy here, but it’s not because of the place. Remember, the Italy you see on movies, or when you do a brief tour, is not the real Italy. The real Italy is the one with perpetually late buses, with rude, nosy old women, and with a serious lack of common courtesy.
This is something that I really miss. I miss southern manners. I miss men opening doors, or giving up seats on the bus. Not all men here are so rude. In fact, Paolo’s friends are quite protective of me, and polite in general. But many men just seem oblivious to common courtesy. The only people that have offered me seats on the overly crowded, perpetually late buses are actually women. And I can only assume it’s because they remember what it’s like to be pregnant. I can understand old people sitting down, or people with small children. I don’t want their seats; they need them. But the idiotic teenagers, or middle aged men that just sit there with no thought of being polite to either me or the elderly woman who just got on the bus, are just plain rude. Not to mention those that push to get on the stupid bus. Needless to say, I don’t like the buses here. They’re an unavoidable part of life, but so incredibly inefficient.
If there’s something to be jealous of, it’s definitely the food. Even just a grocery store experience here is so much more fun than in America. I will sincerely miss the 59 cent balls of fresh mozzarella and the incredibly cheap, fresh produce. Also, the fixed menus that restaurants here have are fantastic. The place we went to today for lunch gives you a huge plate of pasta (mine was spaghetti bolognaise today) with a dessert, bottle of water, and coffee for 7 euros. You couldn’t find that in America. And they really put effort into making it look nice too, so you feel fancy even though it’s cheap.
So basically, it’s a mixed bag being here. Glamorous is not the word I would use to describe it. Pregnant is pregnant, not matter where or who you are. I cannot lie to you and tell you that it’s a glamorous experience. All it takes is one baby kick in the wrong place, or a joke that’s a little too funny to take you back to infancy. Your back will hurt, you will be tired, sometimes you may be mad for no reason. This is true everywhere. If you want to continue to think that I’m rowing the canals of Venice everyday while a handsome Italian feeds me chocolate and plays music on his harp, go for it. But in reality, I’m fighting people to get on the bus, Paolo denies me chocolate because I’m not supposed to gain too much weight, and he sings Blink 182 songs wildly out of tune. Life may not always be exciting, and even frustrating at times, but that’s life. You just have to learn as you go, take a little from the places you go, and live.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Maybe the first part of the story is, but a year of long distance sure wasn’t. And moving here mid-pregnancy was far from easy and romantic. It’s difficult enough to be pregnant in a place familiar to you, but add in learning a language, adjusting to a new culture, and mountains of paperwork, and it becomes somewhat of a headache. Not that it has no rewards, or that I’m miserable. In fact, overall, I’m happy here, but it’s not because of the place. Remember, the Italy you see on movies, or when you do a brief tour, is not the real Italy. The real Italy is the one with perpetually late buses, with rude, nosy old women, and with a serious lack of common courtesy.
This is something that I really miss. I miss southern manners. I miss men opening doors, or giving up seats on the bus. Not all men here are so rude. In fact, Paolo’s friends are quite protective of me, and polite in general. But many men just seem oblivious to common courtesy. The only people that have offered me seats on the overly crowded, perpetually late buses are actually women. And I can only assume it’s because they remember what it’s like to be pregnant. I can understand old people sitting down, or people with small children. I don’t want their seats; they need them. But the idiotic teenagers, or middle aged men that just sit there with no thought of being polite to either me or the elderly woman who just got on the bus, are just plain rude. Not to mention those that push to get on the stupid bus. Needless to say, I don’t like the buses here. They’re an unavoidable part of life, but so incredibly inefficient.
If there’s something to be jealous of, it’s definitely the food. Even just a grocery store experience here is so much more fun than in America. I will sincerely miss the 59 cent balls of fresh mozzarella and the incredibly cheap, fresh produce. Also, the fixed menus that restaurants here have are fantastic. The place we went to today for lunch gives you a huge plate of pasta (mine was spaghetti bolognaise today) with a dessert, bottle of water, and coffee for 7 euros. You couldn’t find that in America. And they really put effort into making it look nice too, so you feel fancy even though it’s cheap.
So basically, it’s a mixed bag being here. Glamorous is not the word I would use to describe it. Pregnant is pregnant, not matter where or who you are. I cannot lie to you and tell you that it’s a glamorous experience. All it takes is one baby kick in the wrong place, or a joke that’s a little too funny to take you back to infancy. Your back will hurt, you will be tired, sometimes you may be mad for no reason. This is true everywhere. If you want to continue to think that I’m rowing the canals of Venice everyday while a handsome Italian feeds me chocolate and plays music on his harp, go for it. But in reality, I’m fighting people to get on the bus, Paolo denies me chocolate because I’m not supposed to gain too much weight, and he sings Blink 182 songs wildly out of tune. Life may not always be exciting, and even frustrating at times, but that’s life. You just have to learn as you go, take a little from the places you go, and live.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Monday, October 8, 2012
Wrinkles in Time
We all know those people that are late for everything. I tend to be a “five minutes late for everything” type, so I’m not guilt-free. However, the Italians make me feel completely organized and punctual. They’re on a completely different time system.
I should’ve realized it was this way when I first met Paolo. On our first date, we planned to meet in the central square in Nice at a certain time. I was still adjusting to walking everywhere, so my timing was off, and I was 10 minutes late. I was already coming up with excuses in my head, but when I got there, Paolo was nowhere to be found. He showed up about 10 minutes later, leisurely strolling towards the fountain. It didn’t take me long to realize that he was late for everything. Not only that, but when he said he was “5 minutes away”, it usually meant 15. He’s always telling me that certain things are only a 10 minute walk, but somehow when I do the same walk, it’s around 25 minutes. I am a bit slower now, admittedly, but come on. But since being here, I’ve realized that he comes by it honestly.
No one here has any concept of time, or really, the concept of respecting others’ time. People arrange outings 20 minutes before the outing itself. Or if it’s planned earlier, the time is changed so many times that there’s no way to actually plan anything around it. For example, we were initially planning to go for dinner with a few friends Saturday night. This was eventually postponed for Sunday night at 7:30. We didn’t take a bus until 7:31, knowing that the others would be late, but then they called and said they wouldn’t be there until 8:30. Some still weren’t there when we left at 9:30. Once again, I understand lateness. But it’s slightly ridiculous that a whole country is operating on some completely different time. Maybe I’m just not spontaneous enough. I like to have an idea of what’s coming, now more than ever, in order to plan my other tasks of the day. Even if it’s just menial things, like doing laundry, I want to get it done, and not get behind just because of buses running on an entirely different schedule than the one posted, or walking twice as long as expected.
Also, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but people here are quite insistent. You can’t say no to food offered; it’s extremely rude apparently. Even if you’re completely stuffed, you better try those cookies. But then they all have to offer an opinion on whether I’m gaining too much weight or not. If I am, I assure you that the cookies don’t help. Or for a while, there was a certain person that was asking us every night to watch movies or do anything with him, and it was almost easier to just do it than to say no, because saying no meant you better have a darn good excuse. As in, being hospitalized. And if neither of us answered our phones, then he came to the house. And knocked until I answered. Fortunately, pregnancy provides me with fairly decent excuses in that situation, as I can just give some gross symptom that I’m experiencing, and no more questions. I’ve only ever faked sick for that one particular guy, but I can’t even feel guilty about it. Sometimes you just want a night to yourself.
It’s so strange to observe another culture so closely. It’s much different than travelling. When you travel, you get kind of a bird’s eye view of a place, and really just see the image that the country is trying to project. It’s even different now than when I was studying in Nice. I spent all my time there with international students, and really didn’t learn too much about the actual French people (although to be honest, from what I saw, this wasn’t a huge loss). But being here, I’m really among the Italians. I’m living in a non-touristy student town, where English speakers are few and far between. It’s really fascinating to observe how another culture lives, and how people interact with each other. Things that they don’t even notice are so strange to me, but the case is also true vice versa. I’m always being told that I make funny faces while speaking, but I guess it’s true that they aren’t quite as facially expressive here, and you certainly never see someone roll their eyes. But if I tied their hands together, they wouldn’t be able to speak. It’s these little observations that make my time here interesting. Annoying sometimes, but also interesting. Once you learn that 10 minutes= at least 20, and that all times are tentative, you learn to overlook these things. After all, the important thing is to enjoy the time, not to count it.
By the way, Paolo and I took a little trip to the Certosa di Pavia yesterday, which is Pavia's main (only) tourist attraction, and I took the opportunity to make him take some pictures. They don't really do any kind of professional photography here, so no maternity pictures for me. I'm ok with that, because I think people tend to take pictures for far too many occasions these days; I want the newborn photos more. But obviously, I won't be getting any of them. I'm going to try to learn more about how to take good photos, because I have a decent camera, I just don't know how to use all the features. But anyways, I too got the cheesy heart on the belly pic that is apparently required to have a baby these days, so here ya go.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
I should’ve realized it was this way when I first met Paolo. On our first date, we planned to meet in the central square in Nice at a certain time. I was still adjusting to walking everywhere, so my timing was off, and I was 10 minutes late. I was already coming up with excuses in my head, but when I got there, Paolo was nowhere to be found. He showed up about 10 minutes later, leisurely strolling towards the fountain. It didn’t take me long to realize that he was late for everything. Not only that, but when he said he was “5 minutes away”, it usually meant 15. He’s always telling me that certain things are only a 10 minute walk, but somehow when I do the same walk, it’s around 25 minutes. I am a bit slower now, admittedly, but come on. But since being here, I’ve realized that he comes by it honestly.
No one here has any concept of time, or really, the concept of respecting others’ time. People arrange outings 20 minutes before the outing itself. Or if it’s planned earlier, the time is changed so many times that there’s no way to actually plan anything around it. For example, we were initially planning to go for dinner with a few friends Saturday night. This was eventually postponed for Sunday night at 7:30. We didn’t take a bus until 7:31, knowing that the others would be late, but then they called and said they wouldn’t be there until 8:30. Some still weren’t there when we left at 9:30. Once again, I understand lateness. But it’s slightly ridiculous that a whole country is operating on some completely different time. Maybe I’m just not spontaneous enough. I like to have an idea of what’s coming, now more than ever, in order to plan my other tasks of the day. Even if it’s just menial things, like doing laundry, I want to get it done, and not get behind just because of buses running on an entirely different schedule than the one posted, or walking twice as long as expected.
Also, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but people here are quite insistent. You can’t say no to food offered; it’s extremely rude apparently. Even if you’re completely stuffed, you better try those cookies. But then they all have to offer an opinion on whether I’m gaining too much weight or not. If I am, I assure you that the cookies don’t help. Or for a while, there was a certain person that was asking us every night to watch movies or do anything with him, and it was almost easier to just do it than to say no, because saying no meant you better have a darn good excuse. As in, being hospitalized. And if neither of us answered our phones, then he came to the house. And knocked until I answered. Fortunately, pregnancy provides me with fairly decent excuses in that situation, as I can just give some gross symptom that I’m experiencing, and no more questions. I’ve only ever faked sick for that one particular guy, but I can’t even feel guilty about it. Sometimes you just want a night to yourself.
It’s so strange to observe another culture so closely. It’s much different than travelling. When you travel, you get kind of a bird’s eye view of a place, and really just see the image that the country is trying to project. It’s even different now than when I was studying in Nice. I spent all my time there with international students, and really didn’t learn too much about the actual French people (although to be honest, from what I saw, this wasn’t a huge loss). But being here, I’m really among the Italians. I’m living in a non-touristy student town, where English speakers are few and far between. It’s really fascinating to observe how another culture lives, and how people interact with each other. Things that they don’t even notice are so strange to me, but the case is also true vice versa. I’m always being told that I make funny faces while speaking, but I guess it’s true that they aren’t quite as facially expressive here, and you certainly never see someone roll their eyes. But if I tied their hands together, they wouldn’t be able to speak. It’s these little observations that make my time here interesting. Annoying sometimes, but also interesting. Once you learn that 10 minutes= at least 20, and that all times are tentative, you learn to overlook these things. After all, the important thing is to enjoy the time, not to count it.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Thursday, October 4, 2012
la vita d'italiana
I’ve been sick for the past couple days, and am feeling slightly better today, but still not 100%. I went to the doctor yesterday, which was my first time to visit a general physician here. With my Italian insurance, I have one particular doctor assigned to me. I’m still not entirely confident in his intelligence, as on the phone he reminded Paolo that vomiting was normal in the first couple months of pregnancy, after Paolo had said that I was in my eighth month. Anyways, it was a strange office. The doctor was the only one there, and had little more than an old fashioned doctor’s bag with a stethoscope, etc., inside. He did speak some English though, so that was nice. I’m not really good enough yet to explain symptoms in Italian. Not exactly the Rosetta Stone vocab that I’ve learned. He concluded that I just had a virus, and there wasn’t much to do, so that was fairly pointless, but at least I did what I could.
I had been to the baby doctor the day before, so it’s been a week of doctors. Everything was good, except apparently the baby has an unusually large head. Not great news for me.. hopefully that will slow down in the next few weeks as his body catches up. I have gained between 20-22 pounds so far, and the doctor told me that was enough. What?? In the US, they say to gain between 25-35, so I thought I was doing ok. But she told me to eat no bread, no sugar, etc. Yeah, right. We’ll see. Of course I don’t want to gain too much, but come on. It took me forever to gain anything; I could hide my pregnancy until 6 months. But in the last month, I really popped. I think it should slow down now.. hopefully. I am trying to cut back and eat better so I don’t continue to gain at such a rapid pace, but I think any diet that cuts out entire food groups is stupid. She said the only sugar I should eat was with fruit, and I should only eat two fruits per day. Sorry, but that goes against everything I’ve ever heard. I’m fairly certain that one can eat as many fruits and vegetables as they want. Italians..
Speaking of Italians, let’s discuss bus strikes. Or train or plane strikes. Everyone strikes regularly here. This is incredibly inconvenient. It’s scheduled, so you know it’s coming, but then at certain hours, the buses still run, because during the hours people come and go from work, transportation is guaranteed by law. But this creates mass chaos, because those buses are so packed you can hardly breathe. I made the mistake of taking one the other day, and really wished I’d just walked home. It’s about a 25 minute walk from my apartment to the city center, which isn’t bad in this weather, but after a day of the doctor, class, and shopping, I was ready to just be home. The bus was 30 minutes late, and disgustingly packed. I was yelled at by an old woman for not getting off quickly enough because I couldn’t get through the hoard of people. Old women are the worst here, though, so that’s whatever. Today the buses were supposedly on regular schedule, but I was late to my class because the bus came ten minutes late, with two in a row. It’s so stupid. It’s as though they just go whenever they feel the need. Inevitably, there end up being two buses in a row, which is so inefficient.
And yes, I have started an Italian class finally. It’s nice; finally learning with other people on my level. The teacher actually told me the first day that I was doing really well for only being here two months. Which is a nice change from what certain other people expect from me. The funny thing about my class is that I stick out like a sore thumb. It’s a free class, so most of the people there are immigrants looking for work. Half the class is from Ukraine, and the other half from north Africa. And then me. We’ve had a different teacher each day so far, so as soon as they hear my name, I get to answer 1000 questions. Obviously, not many Americans make it to Pavia, much less take this class. I feel like an exhibit in a zoo most of the time.
By the way, I found out at my doctor’s visit that I CAN have epidural!!! This makes me feel so much better, especially if his head stays disproportionally large. I had kind of gotten used to the idea of delivering naturally, to have the experience and say that I’ve done it. But let’s be honest, if I can get the epidural, I’ll take it. I have a very low pain tolerance, and I don’t buy into this “drugging your baby” stuff. I think childbirth can’t be that enjoyable for baby either, so he probably doesn’t mind a little epidural either.
I’m getting really anxious to have this baby already!! It’s not long now, which is crazy, but I’m tired of being pregnant. I’m finally sleeping better, and my back pain has somehow subsided somewhat. Paolo would probably say the worst part is my hormones, because I’m really crazy sometimes (probably because I can't eat sugar anymore). Occasionally, I get so angry over something and then realize halfway through that it’s no big deal, but I can’t back down because I’ve already taken my stance. I feel so irrational. You people in America are lucky to be far away. If I was still working in a restaurant, I would’ve probably murdered a customer by now. Count your blessings, Maestro 2300 peeps.
Last random thought: I really want a new haircut. Can I pull off bangs? I probably will do it anyways even if people say no, but if you have a better idea, let me know. I want some layers, and chunky bangs. I need change. And I’m scared of doing it here, but it’s time to bite the bullet, and to make sure I say the right thing.
Ciao for now,
Kathleen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)