Is this a great country, or what?
My father on the beach in Sardegna, after having just been waved at by the receptionist at our hotel – who happened to be topless.
Tag Archives: lies
Real-life Scam City
No, I’m not just trying to make a shameless plug for our new National Geographic Channel series, “Scam City,” soon premiering globally (there, that was a shameless plug). I actually want to tell a real-life tale of what happens when my husband and father are together for too long: something my mother and I like to refer to as, “The Adventures of Tommy and Gimmi.”
Over the years, my father has developed a solid bromance with my husband, as well as a semi-unhealthy obsession with the fact that he has a certain position in Italy that makes anyone who may have something to hide immediately squirm. This has become a somewhat dangerous situation while my parents are visiting us in Rome. Tommy has become quite accustomed to preferred treatment such as the occasional discount, free tickets, and well, the general respect that comes with my husband’s title – so much so, that he now seems to be on a one-man vigilante mission to correct all the wrong-doings he encounters in this city. Of course, he only attempts these antics when his cohort is close by for moral support; otherwise, he would likely risk being picchiato (beat down) Italian-style, and he knows it.
This is dangerous for my husband because he really doesn’t identify himself much with his position, since his daily work is in a specialist health clinic. He is a high-ranking member of the Carabinieri (Italian military police), but he’s never actually worked on the street fighting crime or restoring order. Therefore, he tends to keep a low profile and play that card only when absolutely necessary.
Tommy, on the other hand, will mention it in any and all situations, and with a very bad Italian accent, causing a certain reaction of disbelief/amazement/confusion in anyone he encounters. Want to get to the front of the ticket line at the Forum? ”My son is a Mariscial!” he’ll proudly state, waiting to be escorted to the front. The person will then look at my husband, who at that point slinking back in embarrassment, is forced to own up and try to diffuse the situation with humor and charm, as only he knows how.
But there’s never been a scene like the one they put on this weekend: Tommy had been venturing off into the city on his own during the day, when my mom didn’t feel like putting up with the oppressive heat. On Thursday, he found himself at a bar for breakfast directly in front of the Colosseum, just past the exit of the metro. Using the most decent Italian he could muster, he ordered a cornetto and cappuccino. Only problem was they charged him €5.00, when it really should have only cost €1.80. Not having been his first breakfast standing in an Italian bar, he knew the price was excessive – especially since the man in front of him had ordered the same thing and paid €1.80.
Tommy left the bar and immediately called Gimmi, who of course quickly realized the cashier had taken him for a ride. Yes, Tommy had just become Rome’s most recent victim of tourist price gouging. That essentially means once you open your mouth and it’s obvious you’re a tourist, you risk paying double or triple the price at some places. That’s discrimination, and Gimmi and Tommy weren’t going to stand for it. Besides, Tommy’s no tourist at this point; he spends six weeks a year here and has an Italian passport, for God’s sake!
So, they scheme up a plan to return to the same bar on Saturday morning, but this time, together. Tommy walks in and nonchalantly orders the usual cornetto and cappuccino, with Gimmi a few places back in line. This time, for some reason, the cashier has some mercy on him and charges €3.50. Gimmi follows with the exact same order, pays €1.80, then proceeds to the counter and asks the waitress (actually, demands) to see Tommy’s receipt, which she had just collected.
At first, she gives him attitude and refuses. Then, given Gimmi’s clearly authoritative tone, she complies (this is before he has identified himself in any way). She fumbles through the trash can, creating confusion and claiming to have lost the receipt. Gimmi tells her if she can’t find it he’ll be happy to come behind the counter and find it for her. She finally locates it, and he asks to speak to the owner immediately. Meanwhile, Tommy’s sipping his cappuccino and enjoying the scene with a smirk, understanding only about 10% of what is actually being said.
Out from the back of the bar apparently steps the tallest Italian on record, scowling and impatiently asking what the problem is. The problem, Gimmi explains, is that his bar is charging different prices for the same orders. ”That’s not true,” the owner responds, “we have a discount for Italians.” ”Oh, really?” responds my husband. ”Quit with the stronzate (bullshit), or I’ll have this place closed down in an hour. You’re speaking to a Maresciallo of the Carabinieri.” Those magic words are truly the only thing that will strike fear in the heart of any swindling Italian from Milan to Palermo. And now was a great time to pull them out of the arsenal.
The bar turns silent, and the owner’s demeanor changes from bullying mafioso to profusely apologetic quicker than milk turns to froth. Then Gimmi says, “You will now give my father-in-law the €1.70 you owe him for this morning’s breakfast. And keep your eyes open, because you’re under surveillance from this moment on.”
And just like that, Gimmi the “Conquistador” (as Tommy calls him), and his trusty sidekick, “Sancho Panza” (as I’m calling Tommy and he’ll hate me for) ride off into the sunset together, continuing their crusade to fight injustice – one steaming hot cornetto and cappuccino at a time.
Despite all its problems, this remains true.
Italy’s Biggest Problem
Italians are realists. I don’t think I’ve met one who isn’t willing to recognize and/or openly criticize the current state of this country. At the moment, many people around here have a tendency to concentrate on the negative, and for the sake of this post, so will I.
Italy is suffering from a terrible case of low self-esteem, and not without reason. Reeling after the twenty-year reign of a tyrannical, pseudo-Roman emperor wannabe, the state of affairs in today’s Italy can only be described as molto triste (very sad). This country, which has so much going for it, is in total and utter shambles. Premier Monti’s recent efforts may have been baby steps in the right direction, but I’m afraid this black hole has been dug too deep and too dark.
On a macro level, Italy is teetering on the risk of a financial breakdown not far from that of its Mediterranean neighbors in Greece. Overall, the global economic crisis has taken its toll, and things are tight for the working class (although this was the case even before the crisis). Cost of living in the metropolitan areas is comparable to that of New York City. Combine that with the lowest salaries and highest gas prices in Europe, and you’ve got tombola (bingo).
After countless brutte figure (bad impressions, oftentimes aptly dubbed, “The Berlusconi Show”), this country’s name has been dragged through the mud while its population has been brutally represented by a lackluster group of ego-centric politicians, each with their own variety of complexes, corruptions, and/or sexual disorders. Gaffe after despicable gaffe from these pagliacci (clowns) has made Italy the laughing stock of the European Union and the entire Western world, time and time again.
Just to play devil’s advocate for a moment though: some members of the EU are quick to depict Italy as the black sheep of the group, criticizing its politics and dismissing it as an unorganized mess of a country – but then when it comes time to sip Chianti overlooking the olive groves in Tuscany, they’re all first in line. Anyway, back to the topic at hand…
What I consider to be the most pressing, serious issue – which the same pagliacci I mentioned earlier still haven’t seemed to prioritize as urgent – is that the young, talented college graduates are fleeing the country at an alarming rate. And with each of them goes a small piece of Italy’s bright future. The most talented Italian youth is going, going, gone – in the hands of countries that can offer them something more, something better.
The worst part is, that something better doesn’t refer to anything so grandiose, like a better job or more money: all they’re looking for is a job (any job at all). With the youth unemployment rate at around 30%, at this point they’d be satisfied to just be able to build a decent (albeit, humble) future. This is hardly a standard the world’s most beloved country should have for its youth. Since their own homeland isn’t even capable of offering them employment and a place in society, young people are forced to abandon it. And who could blame them?
As for those who choose to stay and stick it out, well… They win the chance to have their egos destroyed by interviewing for jobs as waiters and cashiers, with law/business/engineering degree in hand. The youth of today’s Italy have been so beaten and battered down that they’ve lost all sense of enthusiasm before even getting out of the gate. That’s because they know exactly what’s waiting for them once they finally finish their degree (after all, these are some very highly educated do-nothings).
They can already picture themselves hitting thirty, unable to find work in their field, stuck at home cooking carbonara with their parents because they can’t even afford to get their own place. Forget about visualizing an illustrious career; they can’t even get past the hurdle of moving out on their own and entering the workforce.
In the States, anyone who still lives with their parents at that age is generally shunned. They’re labeled as failures – lazy, pathetic losers who couldn’t get their act together long enough to afford rent. In Italy, however, this is the norm. And before you start with the insults, consider the following:
1. The university system is completely different from the American system.
And by different, I mean unstructured and non-sensical. There seems to be no set amount of time to receive a degree. Some finish in three years, others in eight or more. In theory, university should last a maximum of either three or five years depending on your major, but because of the complicated course structure, it’s often longer. And even after having had it explained to me numerous times, I still can’t really wrap my mind around it (don’t think the Italians really can either – they mostly seem disgusted whenever they’re forced to explain it).
What I have been able to understand is that rather than a standard course semester, where your overall grade is comprised of multiple tests, projects, mid-terms, and a final – as well as class participation – each course here consists of just one, overwhelming final exam that determines whether you can move forward to the next course. You technically don’t even have to show up for class the entire semester, as long as you pass the exam on crack (which would be practically impossible, but nonetheless, some do try). There is minimal interaction between professors and peers, and word on the street is some professors are actually instructed to hold a certain number of people back on purpose to keep the course fees coming.
2. Salaries are not commensurate with the cost of living in most cities.
If they’re lucky enough to find a job, university grads are barely scraping by with €1000-1500 per month (take home pay). Yes, you read that correctly. And sadly, that’s not just a starting salary – many can expect to earn that sum for years, perhaps decades. It’s so pathetic I can barely even stand to write it.
But don’t feel sorry for them just yet, or think you necessarily have it so much better – because many of them are driving the newest Audi, regularly buying pairs of €500 shoes, or perhaps just returning from a 5-star resort in some exotic location. No joke. All of that is easy to do when you don’t have to calculate a mortgage, rent, food, or utilities into the equation. Without all those pesky, inconvenient… wait, what are they called? Oh, yeah – living expenses – there’s plenty of liquidity to be spent on, well, pretty much anything you want.
After all, what’s the point of putting away that measly salary? At that rate, you could work for forty years and still not have enough for a down payment on a half-million euro apartment in the center of Rome (and for that price it’d be about the size of a large American garage).
3. The mammoni (mama’s boy/girl) stereotype still rings true, but only to an extent.
It’s true that deep down many people in their late twenties and early thirties love the fact that mamma still does their laundry and irons their shirts. She even prepares lunches for work, and who wouldn’t love that? Mamma makes it extremely difficult to face the cold, cruel world alone, and she knows it.
Italian mothers certainly do find joy in the fact they’re still needed by their adult children, so they don’t push for any changes. Children know the world outside is expensive and not worth their effort, so the option of living within the comforts of the home they grew up in looks more and more appealing. From the point of view of American culture it’s a strange phenomenon, but also an understandable one, given the economic conditions as well as the strong familial cultural tendencies.
The reality of this “failure to launch” stage is that it’s incredibly frustrating for most young people, and it’s stifling to their growth and development as adults. In the US, we pride ourselves on being entirely self-sufficient very early on, but the Italians simply don’t have that opportunity. And if they do, they’re either: a. very lucky; b. being bankrolled by someone; or c. have to make some immense personal sacrifices.
The million-dollar question to the politicians is: WHY can’t they get it together? Do they actually want this country to go to hell? From the outside it would seem like it, although it seems ludicrous since their children live in this country, too. Or, do they? There’s such a great divide between rich and poor here, that sometimes the elite seem immune to this society’s problems; it’s literally as if they’re living in a completely different country, within the same borders.
Wake up, and smell the espresso, Italia… The future of this country should not be in the hands of those who only want to exploit it and suck it dry. If the Italians don’t take back their cherished paese soon, Italy’s best and brightest are all going to end up with British and German accents.
Eataly: Italian Megastore
Eataly has arrived in Roma, so of course, we had to go see what all the hype was about (along with the rest of the city). Firstly, the place is enormous – it occupies an old railway station and has been restructured impeccably, turning what was once an eyesore into a glorious rebirth of the Ostiense neighborhood.
The idea is genius: bring together all the most prestigious local products from each region of Italy – which you normally would have to travel to find – and create one amazing Italian megastore. That incredible dessert you had in Positano? The homemade pasta in Puglia? You’ll find it here. It’s a fantastic opportunity to have access to some of the world’s most cherished alimentary items.
Each (very long) level is divided by delicacy: there’s the gelato section, the piadina section, the olive oil section, the meat section, the fish section, and much more. In each respective area, there’s a corresponding restaurant where you can have a bite to eat. So, while shopping for the perfect fiorentina steak, you can also sit and enjoy one.
The only negative aspect was, as with any novelty in Rome, the place was absolutely packed. So much so, it was hard to understand what to do and where to look, let alone attempt to actually eat something. It was 10pm, and every single restaurant was still full, with groups of people hovering around waiting. There were signs explaining how getting a table worked, and instruction number one – “Find an open table” – made me laugh out loud. In Italy, no reservations/number system equals pure chaos, so needless to say, we didn’t stick around to find out what happened when someone finally did get up. It’s quite frustrating being surrounded by all that wonderful food, and not being able to eat anything. We’ll have to go back when things calm down in a few months.
It’s truly a fantastic initiative, and is slowly expanding around the world. In the US, aside from the New York City location opened about a year ago, stores will soon be inaugurated in Chicago and Los Angeles as well.
On the website, Eataly also outlines its lofty aspirations to use business as a catalyst for the rebirth of a struggling nation:
Sì, ci crediamo! Siamo convinti che la belleza salverà l’Italia. E’ per questo che Eataly Roma è dedicato alla bellezza. La bellezza dell’agroalimentare, la bellezza dell’arte, la bellezza della musica e la bellezza dell’ironia. E poi ancora… la moda, il design, l’industria manifatturiera di precisione, il turismo.
Yes, we believe it! We’re convinced that beauty will save Italy. It’s for this reason that Eataly Rome is dedicated to beauty. The beauty of agriculture, the beauty of art, the beauty of music and irony. And thensome… fashion, design, the manufacturing of precision, and tourism.
Sex, Lies, & Nutella 