Last days in Bergamo

It’s raining here in Bergamo. We’ve been waiting for it. For the past two weeks it has been so hot and muggy. Mid afternoon each day the rain has teased us, sending a few drops our way and then refusing to commit to a downpour. Finally, two nights ago, the wind shifted and the rain came. And so it has rained for two days straight. Of course I am happy it is here. Everything is turning that bright florescent green that comes with rain and sleeping in our tiny apartment is much more comfortable but walking in the rain is challenging, my cuffs are constantly wet and only 1 out of our 4 umbrellas remains unbroken.  Bergamo is the wettest place I have lived, the London of Italy.

We are leaving in 15 days. Yesterday I packed 3 boxes to be shipped to Beijing. I am not sure how the Italian post will handle this but I did a test run by sending something to Martha in Vietnam a few months ago and it arrived. The Italian post is notorious for losing things and in the past I have had to go on a few searches for packages myself. I packed books and winter clothes that we wouldn’t need in our summer in Canada. Afterwards, I looked around the apartment and realized that we really don’t have much to take home with us, living light has its rewards. Before we leave Terry has an exam to do and a diploma to pick up. We are also getting in a few quick trips to Verona, Como and Rome. Who knows when we will be back.

Five weeks in Canada and then back to Beijing. I am dreaming about dumplings and noodle soup. The best pizza place ever is in Beijing and I say that having had real Italian pizza – that may be sacrilegious but it’s true. I never would have thought I could get tired of Italian food but it’s happened. In a place where the only hamburger is from McDonalds and a British breakfast is out of the question I dream of my multi-cultured home country or my Chinese home town where no food is out of the question, if you are willing to look for it.

Stepping out Bergamo style

I’ve done some serious research on this subject as I spend many hours on my feet out in the streets of Bergamo. This is what I have discovered.

Italians step out in 4 different styles as follows:

1)   The Stroll: This slow walk usually involves two or more people. Age is irrelevant. They walk seemingly without purpose and are especially unaware if anyone is behind them moving with some speed.  They get confused when met with someone coming the other way and either shift counter-intuitively to the left or stop until the person has passed. The stroll is an everyday experience culminating in the mass Sunday stroll when all of Bergamo descends on Citta Alta for the whole day. Don’t try to buy bread in Citta Alta on Sunday.

2)   The Stop and Stroll: A favourite of any classy Italian is the stroll with the occasional and often pause to peer into shop windows. Usually involves cutting someone off or stopping suddenly without warning.

3)   The Road Weave: When you need to get somewhere fast in Bergamo you have to employ the Road Weave to avoid the Strollers (see above). The Road Weave works like this: you choose one side of the road to walk on until you come upon a Stroller, you then diagonally cross the road and continue walking until you encounter another Stroller when you diagonally cross back to the other side of the street. Continue road weaving around Strollers until you reach your destination or are hit by a car which ever comes first.

4)   The Full-On Sprint: Italians only run when they have the correct gear. They run with style – head to toe running gear with tight leggings, over-underwear and usually a funny hat with back flaps. This is also a Sunday activity and one best done in groups. In this category I will also place the Sunday cycle (again with flashy outfits) and anytime an Italian is in a car. When an Italian is driving there is no option for anything but car sprinting, Italian cars do not stroll.

At first I was a patient foreigner benignly walking behind the Strollers and quietly commenting to friends about the difficulties I had transversing the city by foot. After 8 months I have mastered only number 3 on my list and I employ it regularly. I am, by birth, a Hollingsworth. This means that I am never on time and try to make up time on the road (usually I am late for unacceptable reasons like waiting until the last second to update my ipod or trying to catch the last few minutes of the Gossip Girl episode I am watching). I Road Weave with the best of them and as long as I don’t have to compete with Strollers with Umbrellas (an entirely different set of challenges when these tools of sun, rain and snow protection are in overuse) I can usually scrap those five minutes back into my schedule. Although I may leave late, I always arrive on time. I haven’t figured out the Stroll though I have tried. When Terr and I head out for a stroll we usually complete the whole circuit while our Italian peers are still looking at the first shop window. My metabolism is just too fast. Strolling is for the people who eat pasta for lunch not for the PB&J sandwich people of the world.

Let’s talk about Gelato

Yesterday was a two gelato day or in Italian a duo gelati day.  Two gelati in one day is a little excessive, I will admit, but yesterday they were necessary.

Wednesday is my shopping day. I have the afternoon off so as I leave the training centre I head downtown to load up on groceries. I have one of those elderly woman wheely carts but always convince myself that I am not buying that much and only require my reusable bags. Inevitably, each time, I buy far more than I intend and am like a heavy-laden pack animal as I lumber back up to the apartment.

In the grocery store there are always many people buying just a few things. I think this is the concept of grocery shopping for Italians – a daily trip for the necessities. I go once a week and fill my cart. At the check out counter I am always being stared at and guiltily I let many people in front of me who only have a few items.  Although I really like the concept of picking up a few things as I need them I also like to have a bulk of food in the house to do with as I wish when I wish.  So what I do is – once a week a big trip for lots of stuff and then daily for extra things that I have forgotten. Like to today I have to go buy butter and toilet paper. And no one will look at me weird.

Back to the gelato. So I managed to maneuver onto the bus that goes from downtown to uptown (if I had brought my wheely cart I would have walked but not possible at this point). At the top of the hill and the end of the ride I reload my saddle bags (shoulders) and head off for home. I had a tenner in my pocket (specifically put there in case I felt like a treat, you know my pastry history) and I detoured a specific way to go past a gelateria with a nice lady and good gelato. I figured I deserved it. I ordered a coffee and chocolate gelato – broke my tenspot and sat outside to enjoy my treat in the sunshine (The gelato did not replace lunch – I ate a slice of pizza during my ride on the bus).

Terry finished his homework early last night (at 8pm rather than 10pm) so we were able to get out for a walk around the upper city. Again we past a gelateria – a different gelateria, the Italians place them strategically to tempt passersby. This time Terry wanted something sweet and since I had already broken my ten-dollar bill and had all this change, I indulged him. I certainly couldn’t let him eat gelato alone so I had another – strawberry and fruits of the field – I figured by going fruit it would be ok that I had another cone, but for me fruit is far less satisfying.

Two weeks ago we were at a friends house for dinner and after we ate they ducked out and came back with a carton of 5 different gelato flavours. There was suppose to be enough for the 5 of us to have a normal amount of ice cream but there was really an excessive amount. We learned that you can’t put good gelato in the freezer because it will become rock hard because of the water content – that is why gelato is a little soft and kept in specifically temperatured freezer cases. After everyone had their fill there was still about a quarter of the carton left. As I watched the gelato melt I had a little meltdown myself – we couldn’t throw out the leftovers. So I took one for the team and ate my weight in ice cream. It was delicious. Afterwards we went salsa dancing, which was a little difficult.

I’ve continued to have gelato all winter. I think it is an every season treat. It is deliciously different than the ice cream back home and after this year there will be no more. I believe my rule about pastry remains true about gelato. Walk and eat.

You’ll know me by the Olympic mitts hanging out of my pockets and the Italian pastry hanging out of my mouth.

I walk about an hour a day most days. The nature of my job requires me to walk from house to house, lesson to lesson, converting Italians to the English language. I enjoy walking in Bergamo. It is a beautiful little town, easily navigated on foot. Although it is very hilly, I have gotten used to the ups and downs and am no longer intimidated by the 100 plus steps from the lower city to the upper city. There are many shop windows to look in as you pass by and I always keep my ipod on me and up to date with the latest CBC radio programs.

I have one problem with walking. About every five minutes as I am skipping or plodding (depending on the day) along the street I pass a bakery. When I walk past a bakery, the pastries call out to me. They are beautifully displayed in the windows or in the glass case at the front of the store, dusted with icing sugar or chocolate sprinkles, looking so delicious and inviting. Sometimes I can smell the fresh bread or the custard. Inevitably I make quick detours into my favourite bakeries on a daily basis. The following you must keep a secret (especially from Terry): I have a pastry almost every day (sometimes I have two).  I usually eat them while I walk and you can easily tell what I have eaten by the powdered sugar that cover’s my coat.

I don’t have a favourite pastry, the only real requirement is that I can walk and eat it at the same time. And I don’t eat anything with raisins. In no particular order here are the many that are regulars in my diet (I don’t know their actual Italian names so I will make them up as I see fit):

• Custard brioche (brioche is the actual Italian name): This is basically a croissant with a squirt of custard cream in the middle and a dusting of icing sugar. Terry’s favourite by far. If I can’t decide this usually wins out.
• Chocolate folded over pastry: This square pastry is made by folding over many layers of dough so it is chewyish with a chocolate layer of pudding in the middle. This is a good morning pastry.
• Cheese Foccacia: Is a thick doughy pizza bread type thing drizzled with olive oil and then melted cheese. Good when I am really hungry.
• Filo pudding-filled yummy thing: Big filo pastry filled with vanilla pudding. Not so good for walking. Messy.
• Italian timbits:  Filled with custard or apples. Easy to eat on the run.
• Mini pizzas: Made with pastry. I usually get three or four. Good for a short distance walk.
• Olive bread: Little longish dense chewy bread filled with chunks of olives. There is a fantastic bakery by the hospital for these. I tried to save one for Terry but it didn’t work.
• Chocolate chip bun: These are little fist sized chewy buns with chocolate chips. Good for an emergency chocolate attack.

An interesting development in my pastry sampling: as I try out different bakeries and different pastries I am marking each bakery for a specific pastry. So, for example, if I want a really fresh chocolate folded over pastry I’ll hit the bakery downtown at Porta Nova. Italian timbits? – The little old lady up top in Citta Alta. Mini pizzas – Messi, the bakery near the funicolore.  Another interesting development is that anything warm or fresh out the oven trumps any craving I have. Finally, my best kept secret. I will now pass it on to you. If you eat a pastry while walking the intake and the output of calories are equal. The pastry doesn’t even really equate in your diet. So walk and eat pastry to your hearts content. Don’t worry, the powdered sugar will come out of your coat.

All Men Should Know How to Salsa Dance

Here’s my idea. As a baby a child would listen to Latin music in the womb. Upon arrival mom and dad would dance around with baby until he got his legs under him at which point he would train with his father until he was a competent salsa dancer. Of course the dad would already know how to dance because his father would have taught him (who’s father, in turned had taught him, and so on through the generations.) I am pretty sure this would solve most of the world’s problems, and every man would be wonderful and sexy.

In Latin dancing (as in ballroom dancing) the man leads, the woman follows. This means that most women, who can carry a beat, can Latin dance pretty quickly with a good leader. And this was me last night, salsa dancing for the first time.

Terry and I went out with my friend Amparo and a huge group of Italians to a hot spot pizza joint and then to Cavallo Loco (Crazy Horse) dance club. We only knew Amparo but quickly, over dinner, in English, Italian, Spanish and German got to know many of the people around our table. Amparo’s husband, Umberto, is clearly a Canadian masquerading as an Italian and was sweet and self-effacing. There were many macho Italian men (one teaching Terr and I Italian swears) and many beautiful Italian women.

Terry and I have never been Latin dancing. That’s not entirely true. In Beijing we went to a salsa club with Z, A and Marth but we couldn’t last a single song on the dance floor and it wasn’t an inviting place. Bright lights and intimidating Chinese superdancers. And a scary older man in a black turtleneck who danced with Marth. At Cavallo Loco the scene was completely different – of course still the salsa, but the lights were low, people changed partners after every song (with no embarrassing North American confusing that we love to involve in partner dancing, the “does he like me” bs.), and experienced dancers were willingly dancing and teaching the inexperienced. Terry and I had the time of our lives. We learned a basic step that we could do together and danced with others who helped us out. For Terry it was quite a lot harder. For one, he is a little rhythm challenged and two, he is not ready to lead so it is harder for him to learn. For me, it was amazing. With talented dancing Italian men I was salsaing, chachaing and doing other dances that I don’t even know.  I could keep up with them cause they didn’t do things too challenging and all would guide me through the steps with ease.

At the end of the night I danced with the club owner, the chacha and the salsa. It was one of the most fantastic moments. He was an awesome dancer and I felt very comfortable with the steps. He taught me many things. Afterwards he said that he didn’t believe it was my first time because I did so well. I felt amazing and proud of myself. And I wanted to dance some more! Unfortunately, it was 3:30 in the morning, the dance floor was shut down and they were serving cappuccinos and brioches.

Amparo promises that we can go again (it is a club outside of Bergamo so we went with her and her husband in her car). In the meantime Terry and I are going to work on our steps at home and I’m going to get me some shoes (I borrowed some from a student of mine). We might download some youtube vids as well. We were so inspired that we might be able to dance together. It was also so nice to spend time with people outside of Terry’s course, Italians who were so warm, welcoming and funny. It was the most fun we have had in a very long time.

So back to the beginning of this blog. If every man knew how to salsa, then every women would be able to learn quickly and everyone would feel amazing about themselves. Everyone would look incredible and sexy and fit. And my husband would be able to carry a beat (because he would have been rhythmic since birth).

Italian Cooking

I have made a great discovery. Jamie Oliver’s “Jamie’s Italy” cookbook. I believe this one little book will save my relationship with Italy.

Every Tuesday and Thursday I work with a 50 year old man to improve his English. Originally I had a great plan to do verb exercises, read a novel together, analyze newspaper articles, etc. A month into our time together and our lessons have degenerated into discussions on food. He tells me what he made on the weekend (usually some amazing pork roast or fish from the local market. He even makes tripe sound delicious). In exchange I tell him Canada’s classic dishes (unfortunately all I have come up with is poutine, maple suryp and butter tarts – Help please!).  Of course, my student is appalled at our lack of Canadian cuisine and thinks what we do consider Canadian not very good for us (good point). I have made him try peanut butter (he thought it was salty and made the classic lip smacking that goes along with pb being stuck on the roof of your mouth) and even shared one of our treasured maple cookies with him.

Most importantly, I have learned that when I see a group of Italians talking animatedly the discussion is about food. He assures me that this is the only topic of discussion for older men. Topics include where to buy the best cuts of meat and cheese, the best way to cook typical dishes and why so and so’s such and such is better than the other’s.

Italy is famous for it’s food. In 2007, when I visited, I loved every meal in every restaurant. Since living here in Bergamo, however, I have been a little let down. The food is not as amazing or as delicious as I expected. My student concurred.  He even admitted that there are only three restaurants worth eating at in Bergamo. He said that most people around here cook at home and would rather buy great ingredients and cook than pay a lot of money for something inferior.  When Bergamase people want to go out they do so for pizza and beer, not firsts, seconds and thirds.

I still wanted my Italian delicious eats, whether I made them or bought them. So I went hunting for a cookbook. At first everything I found was in Italian but last week in Milan I stumbled upon Jamie Oliver’s Italian cookbook. I have been in cooking heaven ever since and Terry has reaped the benefits. So far, since he came home on Sunday, I have made artichoke bruschette, sausage and pancetta carbonara and artichoke risotto (I had a lot of artichokes). I am dying to try the pizza fritta and amalfi baked lemons but since I don’t have an oven I may have to rely on the good graces of our friend Matt and his well-equipped apartment.

The benefit of having an Italian cookbook while living in Italy is that I can actually find all of the ingredients. All too often cookbooks ask for some obscure unobtainable item and you are busted. Here, if I need pancetta I just ask at the local butcher. 10 artichokes, no problem, I can get them frozen in the vegetable freezer for a 10^th of what they would cost in Canada.

I feel happier about Italy when I open this cookbook and see what I can make. It inspires me to go looking at the local grocer and butcher. It also inspires me to find the backwoods of Italy and not be satisfied with big cities and tourist hubs, but we will have to find time to seek out that Italy. Beyond all of that, I am so appreciative to have started making Italian friends and share the food that they make (my ESL lessons with a family that always has a homemade Italian sweet for me is the best part of my week). Hopefully I can share some of what I am learning with you next time we are together.

Alone in Bergamo

Terry is in Berlin this week observing in a Montessori school there. This has left me, again, alone in Bergamo. Usually, when Terry is away, I tend to hole up in the house and eat lentils and rice. But, since Terry went to Canada last week and this week Berlin, I am getting use to being alone and pretty much carry on my life solo.

I had today off work (no students and the Bergamo Training Centre is closed while the students are away) and decided to make the big trek in to Milan. I was speaking with one of my students about this and he said that to Italians in Bergamo going to Milan or Venice is a big trip. Although Milan is only 60km away from us it still seems like a big adventure when you go. It took Terry and I until November to make our first trip there. When I lived in Braeside I would regularly drive into Ottawa for a simple thing as dinner and a movie, when going to Milan (closer and cheaper to get to), I plan for days.

What I wanted to do today was visit the two big international bookstores in Milan and see what English curriculum books, general fiction and English children’s books I could find. I also found out that Milan has a Body Shop and I wanted to go and be in that shop for a few minutes. Mostly, I wanted out of Bergamo for a day.

I couldn’t find the Body Shop (found the address but no store) but the bookshops were fantastic. I bought very little but looked at every English book title in each store. Something about just seeing my own language and knowing I can understand what is going on between the pages makes me feel wonderful. Imported books here are about double the price they are at home so you have to really want them to buy them. As most of you know I am a book addict but I like to find them in Hostel trading libraries rather than paying full price.

It was a pretty quick trip in and back, but I liked being able to do it. Italy and I are making up… I think.

It’s 2010

It’s 2010. January has been an amazingly difficult month. So many things have gone wrong or resulted in tragedy it is hard to cope. In times such as these my belief in God is very strong. Unlike many people’s opinion that when things go wrong there mustn’t be a God, when so many things go wrong at the same time I think to myself, “someone or something must have a hand in this, I have had a disproportionate amount of bad luck.” At times I feel a little Job-like and, with January behind me, having had a relatively good week so far, I understand again that I am only given what I can handle and there are moments of joy in the sorrow. I know I am extremely lucky. My family, my place of birth, my relatively easy life assure me of this. I am not in Haiti dealing with the loss of my country and the death of my family. I am not a child in Afghanistan whose school and house have been bombed or family massacred. I am not, even, one of the immigrants here in Italy fighting to be recognized and treated fairly by the Italians (government and commoners alike). I know my relative sadnesses pale in comparison and so, I get on with life.

It is amazingly beautiful here right now. The sun is shinning consistently and brightly without a cloud in the sky. The air is crisp and clean and perfect for walking (which I do a lot). I feel blessed to be able to go out and buy fresh veggies (in season somewhere in Italy) and walk with my groceries up through the old city. I indulge with regularity in delicious gelato (current flavour combination – coffee and chocolate) and again with a good glass of wine. Terry and I exchange hugs and at night I snuggle down with a Canada Reads book (currently Fall on Your Knees – one of my fav books). In the small moments life is good.

Siena

Terry had Monday and Tuesday off so we decided to make a vacation out of it to do some traveling. We took three trains over 5 hours to reach Siena. A gothic city located two hours south west of Florence, Siena is a city stuck in time. In the 1300s it was a prospering trading town the size of Paris and comparable to Florence with 60,000 people. Artists and architects flocked to Siena and produced amazing art and buildings. When the Black Plague struck Siena lost 1/3 of its population and all of its momentum. Structures that were being built were abandoned half finished and very few new buildings and art were produced. What Siena is today is an amazing Medieval city.

 

Terry and I spent two days wandering around the old buildings. We stood atop the forgotten half of the Duomo with its half made wall and holes for windows. We meandered along the old streets and peered into courtyards with medieval statutes. We hung out in Il Campo, an enormous Italian piazza in front of their town hall. We marveled at the Tuscan hills that we could see when we came to lookout points along the city walls. We stayed in a convent near the house of Siena’s patron Saint, Catherina. And we saw her head and her thumb in the Domenica church. We ate the local cookies and drank the local wine and had a lovely time.

 

Upon returning to Bergamo I thought that we also live in an old town. Our streets are cobbled and cars don’t fit down the lanes. Our buildings are old and our art to match, although we have a lot less of it than Siena. We don’t have famous cookies but we do have polenta cake. It is always nice to go on vacation, but it is just as nice to come home.

Human Mimicry

As I was walking to my afternoon ESL lesson I was listening to CBC’s Q – a radio show I download and listen to daily. One of today’s guests was Chris Atkins who has just completed a documentary on news hoaxes. The discussion went into the realm of celebrity culture and this is when I became interested. Previously, I had been thinking about how this intense focus on celebrity culture was affecting people’s choices in professions (read my last blog for more). My father brought up the idea that until our obsession with celebrity culture ended we would not recover our service jobs. As the radio discussion carried on I realized how closely it linked to my father and my discussion.

 

Our culture has an acute interest in fame and many people will do anything to become famous. The media forces messages of how important fame and celebrity is and we are all complicit in listening and encouraging this. More importantly this celebrity image is projected onto our children. Studies have been done in the United States that link increased television watching and the rise of narcissism. Children are coming home and watching tv all night long. The time they spend in front of the tv is not always monitored because children have access to so many screens. Many families have a tv in every room, the children have laptops and phones that can access television shows, films and celebrity gossip. On top of this televisions are now used in schools as teaching aids.

 

The growing narcissism comes from children mimicking those people that children are exposed to most – celebrities. Celebrities are by nature narcissistic. As the dominant people of our culture we desire to be like them. It is in our genetics as well as a learned behaviour to mimic and be close to those people in leadership roles. As role models, celebrities are probably not people that we would choose to surround our children but we let them through the over abundant access to celebrity culture. Is it any wonder then that children (and adults) are obsessed with fame seeking behaviour, desiring wealth and accessing quick cash through any means necessary?

 

I really don’t do the interview justice. Please take a listen and let me know what you think. www.cbc.ca/q the podcast for November 18^th, 2009