Typical- we move to a country more likely to produce snow on Christmas Day and the whole of Europe- including the UK turns white the week before Christmas
It’s been strange being so far from home at Christmas, but Praise the Lord for Skype. I seem to have spent most of my time on the computer chatting to friends back home.
Christmas really began here for me with school assembly which is a good traditional place to start. Less usual was it being held on a Saturday morning in the outdoor tent just outside the school. It had also snowed heavily overnight and fog had descended over Magenta. Undeterred Tara & I donned our salopettes, thick winter jackets, gloves and hats. I had 2 scarves on which may seem excessive but I was cosy. The blokes in the family rolled their eyes at our yeti outfits but I was vindicated when having trekked the 3 minute walk to the tent I saw another woman equally attired.
School assemblies are the same the world over. The first year group stood up with 4 large cards with P E R U on them. ‘Ah ah’ I thought, ‘countries of the world’. Slightly bemused as to the relevance of Peru to the birth of Jesus, but I was willing to go with it. The next country was N N A T. Now my Italian is not brilliant but I know there are no words beginning with NN in the Italian language and there are no countries beginning with NN either, well not to my knowledge. Turns out the posters say ‘Per Un Natale Migliore’, for a better Christmas. Each class did a turn and in the grand honoured tradition of assemblies one class had to play the recorders. They are no better played in Italian than in English which is re-assuring.
Two hours later, with a brief unofficial break at the coffee bar the other side of the piazza the assembly finished with a rendition of ‘We are the world’ and all the parents joined in. After 9 months here, I was stood arm in arm with one of my Italian friends (we were trying to keep warm) singing away and of course I was in tears that I had after all the hard work, made some lovely friends, my language skills were coming on albeit slowly and I was feeling fairly settled here.
Snow on a flood plain does not leave much scope for sledging down hills; albeit we have the Alps as a backdrop but they are not immediately available after a snow storm, but the park is good for snow angels and snow rugby.
The crib in the piazza has become more authentically Christmassy by the addition of snow and ice in the manger. I have resisted the urge to cut holly from the decoration around the crib, it being the only holly I can find around here. Although given the amount of foliage around the crib I feel I could cut a couple of sprigs without anyone noticing, it was succinctly pointed out to me that God would notice so this year we are holly free in the house.
There are a number of cribs around the town, our favourite has been voted as the crib in the military camp where the crib has been expanded to include a few houses from Bethlehem and placed between 2 decommissioned field guns.
Christmas Eve not unsurprisingly heralds bells from San Martino. They began at 10pm, and were fairly continuous until gone midnight.
Christmas Day here has been fairly normal for Christmas. The children were up at 6.30 and had the presents opened by quarter past seven. We went for our Christmas walk minus the dog, and only around the town as it was too foggy to venture anywhere beautiful. The oven performed well enough to cook the turkey, but thanks to the quirks of the flat when I blow dried my hair I had to turn the oven off so I didn’t blow the electrics. Which also meant I didn’t get a cup of tea once the oven was on and breakfast was over, which in turn meant I started on the Prosecco slightly earlier than normal, so it wasn’t all bad!
The sun came out at midday and started to melt the snow, and for 10 minutes in the sun it felt a tiny bit warm. I did want to eat Christmas Dinner out on the balcony but I am using it the moment as my other fridge at the moment so it probably wise that we stayed indoors.
It does feel like we are a thousand miles from home, but as a one off its fine. And I think I will look back with fondness at my Christmas in Magenta.
Buon Natale
Signora McManoos
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
A sort of social life part 2
So having met one of the founding members of The English Club of Magenta I was fortunate enough to be invited out to an English Ladies night out, which involved pizza, wine and more importantly talking in my own language for a whole night. This proves an exciting a proposition for me and whilst getting ready I realise I haven’t worn make-up since arriving in Magenta: eyeliner and lip gloss do not count. The reason I realise this is because I cannot find my make-up. It takes me ages searching in the bathroom to finally find it in with the candles? Not sure where my thought process was going with that decision. I decide to wear my (not very) high heels, which with my grey jeans and LK Bennett top represent my smartest casual outfit. However I am still running round dishing out kisses and good nights when the bell rings and I am off down the stairs going out. For a meal. With girlfriends. In English. I rush so much that I practically fall down the last flight of stairs as my bootcut jeans and heels catch together. It is also the first time I have worn heels since arriving in Magenta.
I am driven the short distance to the restaurant and am introduced to the English Ladies, and one Dad who is over from England for a brief holiday. I am, as usual, on my best behaviour and am soon deep in polite conversation with my new found friends. I meet one woman who lived in Alresford as a child, at least 20 miles from Fleet and another who is the current organiser of events for the English Club. On hearing I am a Police Officer in my previous life in England she quickly signs me up for a talk to the Club about life as a Police Officer on the grounds it will be interesting. Knowing a) my career path and b) my speaking abilities I doubt it, but am far too British to refuse. We swap email addresses and within a week I am booked into the November slot for ‘My life as a Police Officer’. On the positive it is another night out and is in English. However, I have to prepare a talk. Power point is the answer and with a complete disregard for the title I gen up on the history of the police, the time line of police woman being allowed to join and our family history of policing which stretches back to 1912. Lots of photos of police officers, a few of me and some beautiful shots of Hampshire, a map of the area I work in and I am done. All bar the talking.
Not knowing my audience I am fairly nervous, but as they arrive I relax slightly. I know a few of them from the English Ladies night, there are a few Italians and I am speaking to no more than 30. It’s not unlike a neighbourhood watch meeting without the crime statistics. I start talking and am within 30 seconds completely in my element telling stories of my family, the history of policing, British police dramas and some stories of my career that I have not prepared and goodness knows how I have remembered them. The only famous person I have ever met in my career is Will Carling. When his photo appears on my power point and I begin to explain he was once captain of the England Rugby Team I hear the word Diana, and realise his fame abroad is due to him being marked as one of Lady Di’s men.
The poor people who are listening don’t see me draw breath. It’s been over 8 months since I stood and spoke in my mother tongue and the English Club of Magenta are on the receiving end of all those months of stilted conversation, mute coffee with my Mums and general quietness on my part, which is not a role I am suited to.
Forty-five minutes later, I click on the final slide and finally stop. Forty-five minutes. Mamma mia, that is a lot of pent up conversation on my part.
Four days later I am out again. This is very close to a real social life. I have been invited to a concert at the local theatre. Thanks to my poor Italian I’m not really sure what for, but I know it’s part of the Arte & Vita group that both T&T have joined for guitar and dance lessons. I decline the invitation on behalf of the rest of the family as the start time is 9pm, and once again kiss goodnight to pyjamaed children before heading out with 2 of my school Mums. The theatre is packed and we are ushered to the third row from the front for what I am informed is to be a local choir concert. We will have the San Martino choir, a Gospel Choir, the Alpini group also sing, a total of 8 choirs each singing 2 or 3 songs. This is no short evening. The event is being held for a local hospital voluntary organisation and the head of the group is introduced and is given the microphone to explain where the money is going or what the organisation is about. I have no idea what being said and 10 minutes in whisper ‘Io non capito’(I don’t understand) to my friend. She giggles ‘Anche io’ (Me neither) back, and 20 minutes later the speech with very heartfelt applause is over.
The first choir come on and are introduced. They are very stern, serious looking and stiff; about 20 choristers, 2 guitarists and a pianist. The pianist begins and then the guitarists join in. One remains ramrod straight as he strums away, the younger of the 2 however seems to think this is an audition for X factor and is feeling and expressing every chord. He bends his knees, clutches and moves his guitar in tune to something clearly in his head as opposed to what’s being played and his face contorts in harmony with his knee bending. My friend and I start giggling and being so close to the front and in view of the stage end up shaking with laughter. Two songs from this choir and we are enjoying ourselves.
Each choir is preceded with a 10 minute introduction and much tooing and froing of piano’s and conductors. One choir is stopped by the conductor as a note seems to have been sung wrong, and they have to start again. The Alpini choir all stand with their hats complete with feathers and bob happily in time to the music. The one woman in the choir for the soprano notes is not allowed to wear a hat as she is a woman. This is the only explanation I am given, it seems enough to an Italian, but my linguistic skills fail me beyond Perché and doesn’t seem quite good enough to me.
The highlight of the evening is a local Gospel choir who are quite frankly brilliant. They sing a beautiful version of Go tell it on the mountain and for their final song a new arrangement of Freddie Mercury’s ‘Somebody to love’. All well and good; until one of the choristers sits astride a bongo during a ‘Find me somebody to love’ refrain. My eyebrows shoot up and I cannot for of the life of me think of the Italian for ‘I’m not entirely comfortable with that’. He however is looking entirely comfortable with his situation, even with a couple of hundred people looking on.
So it’s all over bar the thanks and flowers, which means we leave the theatre at gone midnight and the only other people out on the streets are slightly inebriated teenagers who are zigzagging their way home. Whereas I a respectable married woman has spent a diverting night at the local theatre without a drop of wine to assist my enjoyment and had a genuinely enjoyable night out. I must be getting old.
I am driven the short distance to the restaurant and am introduced to the English Ladies, and one Dad who is over from England for a brief holiday. I am, as usual, on my best behaviour and am soon deep in polite conversation with my new found friends. I meet one woman who lived in Alresford as a child, at least 20 miles from Fleet and another who is the current organiser of events for the English Club. On hearing I am a Police Officer in my previous life in England she quickly signs me up for a talk to the Club about life as a Police Officer on the grounds it will be interesting. Knowing a) my career path and b) my speaking abilities I doubt it, but am far too British to refuse. We swap email addresses and within a week I am booked into the November slot for ‘My life as a Police Officer’. On the positive it is another night out and is in English. However, I have to prepare a talk. Power point is the answer and with a complete disregard for the title I gen up on the history of the police, the time line of police woman being allowed to join and our family history of policing which stretches back to 1912. Lots of photos of police officers, a few of me and some beautiful shots of Hampshire, a map of the area I work in and I am done. All bar the talking.
Not knowing my audience I am fairly nervous, but as they arrive I relax slightly. I know a few of them from the English Ladies night, there are a few Italians and I am speaking to no more than 30. It’s not unlike a neighbourhood watch meeting without the crime statistics. I start talking and am within 30 seconds completely in my element telling stories of my family, the history of policing, British police dramas and some stories of my career that I have not prepared and goodness knows how I have remembered them. The only famous person I have ever met in my career is Will Carling. When his photo appears on my power point and I begin to explain he was once captain of the England Rugby Team I hear the word Diana, and realise his fame abroad is due to him being marked as one of Lady Di’s men.
The poor people who are listening don’t see me draw breath. It’s been over 8 months since I stood and spoke in my mother tongue and the English Club of Magenta are on the receiving end of all those months of stilted conversation, mute coffee with my Mums and general quietness on my part, which is not a role I am suited to.
Forty-five minutes later, I click on the final slide and finally stop. Forty-five minutes. Mamma mia, that is a lot of pent up conversation on my part.
Four days later I am out again. This is very close to a real social life. I have been invited to a concert at the local theatre. Thanks to my poor Italian I’m not really sure what for, but I know it’s part of the Arte & Vita group that both T&T have joined for guitar and dance lessons. I decline the invitation on behalf of the rest of the family as the start time is 9pm, and once again kiss goodnight to pyjamaed children before heading out with 2 of my school Mums. The theatre is packed and we are ushered to the third row from the front for what I am informed is to be a local choir concert. We will have the San Martino choir, a Gospel Choir, the Alpini group also sing, a total of 8 choirs each singing 2 or 3 songs. This is no short evening. The event is being held for a local hospital voluntary organisation and the head of the group is introduced and is given the microphone to explain where the money is going or what the organisation is about. I have no idea what being said and 10 minutes in whisper ‘Io non capito’(I don’t understand) to my friend. She giggles ‘Anche io’ (Me neither) back, and 20 minutes later the speech with very heartfelt applause is over.
The first choir come on and are introduced. They are very stern, serious looking and stiff; about 20 choristers, 2 guitarists and a pianist. The pianist begins and then the guitarists join in. One remains ramrod straight as he strums away, the younger of the 2 however seems to think this is an audition for X factor and is feeling and expressing every chord. He bends his knees, clutches and moves his guitar in tune to something clearly in his head as opposed to what’s being played and his face contorts in harmony with his knee bending. My friend and I start giggling and being so close to the front and in view of the stage end up shaking with laughter. Two songs from this choir and we are enjoying ourselves.
Each choir is preceded with a 10 minute introduction and much tooing and froing of piano’s and conductors. One choir is stopped by the conductor as a note seems to have been sung wrong, and they have to start again. The Alpini choir all stand with their hats complete with feathers and bob happily in time to the music. The one woman in the choir for the soprano notes is not allowed to wear a hat as she is a woman. This is the only explanation I am given, it seems enough to an Italian, but my linguistic skills fail me beyond Perché and doesn’t seem quite good enough to me.
The highlight of the evening is a local Gospel choir who are quite frankly brilliant. They sing a beautiful version of Go tell it on the mountain and for their final song a new arrangement of Freddie Mercury’s ‘Somebody to love’. All well and good; until one of the choristers sits astride a bongo during a ‘Find me somebody to love’ refrain. My eyebrows shoot up and I cannot for of the life of me think of the Italian for ‘I’m not entirely comfortable with that’. He however is looking entirely comfortable with his situation, even with a couple of hundred people looking on.
So it’s all over bar the thanks and flowers, which means we leave the theatre at gone midnight and the only other people out on the streets are slightly inebriated teenagers who are zigzagging their way home. Whereas I a respectable married woman has spent a diverting night at the local theatre without a drop of wine to assist my enjoyment and had a genuinely enjoyable night out. I must be getting old.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Christmas is Coming
Christmas arrived in Magenta today: we have over the last few weeks seen the lights go up and be switched on, decorations appear in shop windows and the children have been learning various Christmas songs at school however it has all been fairly muted with Iper the local supermarket only smothering the shop floor with Christmas goods during the last fortnight.
The Garden Centre has been set up for the last 2 months with the most complete display of Christmas decorations I have ever seen. Rooms are themed according to colour to start with, all fairly predictable: White, Silver, Gold, Red, Cream/ Coffee with Espresso and Cappuccino mug bauble available at a trifling €13 a piece. A blue fish theme threw me slightly, but plenty of Christmas animals seem covered such as Polar Bears, Owls, Penguins, so why not fish? American decorations are popular with Fabulous Las Vegas, New York, Simpsons, Betty Boop and Coca Cola baubles all available at a price.
But the real excess comes in the Nativity Scene department. Whole walls are given over to the Nativity, where, not content with a manger the whole town of Bethlehem is depicted in various sizes, and numerous houses, animals, characters and pizza ovens with flickering lights can be bought. Not wishing to be out done I have added to my piccolo manger by purchasing 2 Roman Centurions who seem integral to any Christmas story here. I also want a pizza oven as now I am firmly of the opinion that Christmas in Bethlehem wasn’t Christmas without its own pizza oven (yes I know that Christmas was more likely to have been in September due to the census etc, and that it is a hi-jacked pagan festival).
The arrival of Christmas here was a fairly formal affair, Banda Civica marched along via Garibaldi to the piazza, where having circumnavigated the ice rink they set up opposite the nativity scene that has been built complete with water feature but minus an all important pizza oven or Roman centurion. The band then proceeded to take us through some well worn classics such as Jingle Bells, I’m dreaming of a White Christmas and the First Noel. The square was packed, the ice rink was surrounded by on lookers. Closer inspection of the ice skaters revealed that they were covered in make-up and glitter, and seemed highly inappropriately dressed for the weather. Some pseudo professionals had hit the ice. Wandering over to the nativity scene we were stopped by barriers. Clearly there was going to be an official opening of the manger. Just as this was getting boring Don Mario our main priest of Magenta rushed up and was ushered onto main stage. He apologised for being late, unusual I thought given nothing starts on time here, but further explained he had hot-footed it straight from a Baptism. This is better than an official opening; we had a blessing on our hands. The Don gave a quick speech/sermon and then we all made the sign of the Cross, recited a quick Our Father, a Preghiamo (let us pray) and we were done. Christmas was officially here in Magenta. We had a bag of hot chestnuts to celebrate and went to watch the ice skaters who Tangoed, Bohemian Rhapsodied, Can canned and Flamingoed their way around the ice.
We have put our lights up around the balcone and I have lights in my olive tree which is very exciting.
The weather has turned itself down a few more degrees again, with frosty mornings and sunshine. The Fur Coats are out with a vengeance. Its big coat weather here from now on and snow is forecast for next week. Whether it arrives is another matter but it’s on its way. Hooray.
The Garden Centre has been set up for the last 2 months with the most complete display of Christmas decorations I have ever seen. Rooms are themed according to colour to start with, all fairly predictable: White, Silver, Gold, Red, Cream/ Coffee with Espresso and Cappuccino mug bauble available at a trifling €13 a piece. A blue fish theme threw me slightly, but plenty of Christmas animals seem covered such as Polar Bears, Owls, Penguins, so why not fish? American decorations are popular with Fabulous Las Vegas, New York, Simpsons, Betty Boop and Coca Cola baubles all available at a price.
But the real excess comes in the Nativity Scene department. Whole walls are given over to the Nativity, where, not content with a manger the whole town of Bethlehem is depicted in various sizes, and numerous houses, animals, characters and pizza ovens with flickering lights can be bought. Not wishing to be out done I have added to my piccolo manger by purchasing 2 Roman Centurions who seem integral to any Christmas story here. I also want a pizza oven as now I am firmly of the opinion that Christmas in Bethlehem wasn’t Christmas without its own pizza oven (yes I know that Christmas was more likely to have been in September due to the census etc, and that it is a hi-jacked pagan festival).
The arrival of Christmas here was a fairly formal affair, Banda Civica marched along via Garibaldi to the piazza, where having circumnavigated the ice rink they set up opposite the nativity scene that has been built complete with water feature but minus an all important pizza oven or Roman centurion. The band then proceeded to take us through some well worn classics such as Jingle Bells, I’m dreaming of a White Christmas and the First Noel. The square was packed, the ice rink was surrounded by on lookers. Closer inspection of the ice skaters revealed that they were covered in make-up and glitter, and seemed highly inappropriately dressed for the weather. Some pseudo professionals had hit the ice. Wandering over to the nativity scene we were stopped by barriers. Clearly there was going to be an official opening of the manger. Just as this was getting boring Don Mario our main priest of Magenta rushed up and was ushered onto main stage. He apologised for being late, unusual I thought given nothing starts on time here, but further explained he had hot-footed it straight from a Baptism. This is better than an official opening; we had a blessing on our hands. The Don gave a quick speech/sermon and then we all made the sign of the Cross, recited a quick Our Father, a Preghiamo (let us pray) and we were done. Christmas was officially here in Magenta. We had a bag of hot chestnuts to celebrate and went to watch the ice skaters who Tangoed, Bohemian Rhapsodied, Can canned and Flamingoed their way around the ice.
We have put our lights up around the balcone and I have lights in my olive tree which is very exciting.
The weather has turned itself down a few more degrees again, with frosty mornings and sunshine. The Fur Coats are out with a vengeance. Its big coat weather here from now on and snow is forecast for next week. Whether it arrives is another matter but it’s on its way. Hooray.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A sort of social life
I’ve been out a few times since arriving here. The first time was only 6 weeks after we arrived. I had been invited to an international group of one of my Mum’s who speaks English thanks to her marrying an Irishman. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to but I know there are people from other countries there- there’s no fooling me with a title of Magenta della Monde. Courtesy of the World Cup even I know Monde is world.
So my first evening out in Magenta consists of me sitting mutely whilst 10 women and 1 man discuss many topics not connected to the purpose of the evening which turns out to be organising a food and music from your respective country. Having been separated from Anna who brought me, I sit next to a woman who translates for me. I assume she is English, also is another woman Rosy who also speaks English. Rosy has brought a warm Rice cake, which tastes much better than the description and I happily chomp and ‘Ummm’ in an Italian accent to show my appreciation. Tea is also produced by Marella and whilst everyone else supps politely from China cups I, as an English woman am given a mug, which is perfect.
It transpires that a festival is being organised at a church and this group will give a talk on food and music from our country. I am roped in very quickly to afternoon tea and suggest the song ‘Everything stops for tea’ a song I drag from goodness knows where in the back of my mind- I bet it was once sung at Gang Show. I offer to make scones and think I have done enough. Marella it turns out is an oracle of Magenta. There are few people she does not know and seems to have taught half of Magenta English. Her Mum is from Manchester, Am I willing to teach English? Do I want to come to an English lesson she runs? Thrilled to be actually speaking English I agree to anything. I give my email address say I will look up some history of afternoon tea and think I have done my bit.
Knowing Marella, as I thought when I first met her has transformed my life in Magenta. I am invited to one of her English lessons. It is the end of year lesson so there is a small lunch afterwards. I am plied with Prosecco and think that 8 weeks after arriving in Magenta sitting in the sunshine, in a garden drinking Prosecco, being fed by Italians, chatting in English with only the word bella to describe the beautiful countryside around the lakes cannot be bad. It’s a Wednesday lunchtime and I could be in work. After the lunch I wobble back home on my bike and drink lots of water prior to picking up the children from school.
As with any event there are many meetings to attend to organise it. The meetings don’t start until 9pm as we all have to eat beforehand. It’s a foolish person who would mess with an Italian’s mealtime. Each meeting lovely filling sweets and puddings are produced and as the newest least Italian person there I am (almost) force-fed every dish and am way to polite to refuse anything! The event planning usually starts at about 11.30 and I’m generally home by half midnight with a headache from not understanding anything being discussed.
I nervously decide to cook cake for the next meeting. My Apple and Brandy cake, my signature cake. Hugh is very miffed when he returns home and is not allowed to cut into it and at 9pm me and my wrapped cake head off to the meeting. My understanding is still very limited however I can say ‘Torta di Mela e Brandy’ which produces an appreciative umm when being dished out. As the cake is eaten a silence descends on the group, appreciative nods and full mouths of buono are muttered. This is close to one of the proudest moments of my life, I have impressed some Italians with my cooking. Only one dish, not a very difficult cake but nonetheless a good day’s work from the British. My pride increases at the end of the evening when the last 2 remaining slices are whisked away before the plate is returned to me.
I research Afternoon Tea, ‘Everything stops for Tea’. All very interesting and download lots of photo’s of tea, tea parties, mugs etc including 3 giggly women stood outside The Ritz after celebrating a 50th, a 40th and my impending departure to Italy. Then, a phone call. ‘How would you feel about doing some of the talk?’ I gulp. ‘I will translate the talk, so all you have to do is read it.’ Mamma mia. This was not what I was expecting, however Tudor had to talk during assembly after 1 month here, so I can hardly refuse.
I practise the talk to myself and make notes as to how some words sound to me. Then the day before the talk I practise to my Mums over coffee. I am corrected on a few words, but receive a general ‘va bene’.
The day of the Talk arrives. The scones are made. Due to the 9pm start all other family members are in their PJ’s as I leave. I wear heels to try and power dress slightly. I am needless to say very scared. There are 6 countries being represented, we have a 15minute each time limit and I am hoping against hope that not many people turn up.
9 o’clock arrives and the room is moderately full with about 50 people in, but more are flowing through the door. A journalist has arrived and despite my best efforts to avoid her I end up telling her about the scones and giving the recipe- in Italian. I know some of the audience - Tara’s teacher, my neighbour’s childminder, friends, which is worse as they will witness a massacre of what is generally acknowledged to be a beautiful language. By 9.30 the room is packed, the numbers of people who attended this event has grown and grown with each telling of this story but was between 150 and 200 people. Children are running about, babies are watching with interest, whole families have arrived and it looks like a standard Italian night which is already running late before we start.
Ecuador is first up with some beautifully banana leaf wrapped meats and sweets. Explanations of how to wrap then are started and the Papa in the audience is credited with the work. Applause. Then, Papa is invited up to explain more fully how to banana wrap food. He obviously is blissfully unaware of the 15 minute rule and describes it seems to me all the food available in Ecuador. A one point the whole family stood up to take a bow. More applause, and the song of the country. The next country came and went, complete with interruptions. Italy followed and the audience all sang along to the Rice song, a traditional Lombardian ditty.
The UK followed France and by now my feet were killing me. Afternoon Tea was introduced and the audience were told that I had only been in Italy for 6 months and this was my maiden speech. I put on my reading glasses to blur the room, and stood shaking whilst a potted history of Afternoon Tea was given. Then- my turn. I stared and spouted the words on my sheet. I have no idea what I said, but I stumbled over a few words. When I finished I got a tremendous round of applause which was based purely on the length of time I have been in this country. The rest of the evening passed in a haze and once the food was produced I was in my element handing out my scones and receiving the brava’s with humility and smiles.
This evening produced an invite to a celebratory meal out in a local trattoria. The chef wouldn’t cook a pudding so we were invited to bring our own. I have rarely seen so much food for 12 people, and being a Grant I can over cater with the best of them. The antipasti alone would have filled us all for the evening. Sausage Rolls, Spinach & Ricotta Omelette, Gristini, Hunks of Bread, Pickled Onions, Salami, boiled Haggis looking thing (my description of Italian food is coming on a treat!) Bean salad. Then Mushroom Risotto which was creamy, rich and full of local funghi. Lasagna, walnuts & squares of parmesan, followed by the 3 course sweet we had brought. I limited my alcohol as once again it was tutti in Italiano. The chef came to sit with us at the end of the evening to sample our puddings. All of a sudden the reason for not cooking pudding was clear. It took my stomach 2 days to recover.
We were also invited back to the parish to a meal I thought with the priests of the parish to sample all the food that had been on offer during the weekend of Festa della Monde. Somehow Google translate let me down and didn’t fully describe the event leaving me with the impression that about 30 of us would show up. The evening was set to start at 7.30 and I knew food was involved and I duly knocked up enough scones for us each to have one and having persuaded Tara that this would be fun (whilst fairly unconvinced myself) we set off at 7.30. We first had to stop off in Iper for a jar of jam for the last 3 scones that needed topping off and we arrived to a full car park, which for 30 seemed a bit much. ‘There may be another event on’ I ventured and strode confidently into the church Oratorio. As I turned the corner I stopped. A trellis table was set up in the corridor leading to the salon and 20 teenagers were sat chatting, texting and generally looking like kids. The noise from the salon indicated that there were more than 30 already present. I looked at Hugh, who knowing less than me about the event shrugged his shoulders and we kept on walking. 3 trellis tables stretched the length of the room and wine and water were already on the table. Food was laid out around the corners of the room and about 60 people were settling into eat and make merry for the rest of the evening. I found our friends, Tara disappeared to the other end of the table having found her friends and after grace was said we went to as politely but as firmly as possible scav as much food as possible. I was sat next to my friend’s Mum who speaks no English. This proved no barrier for our conversation and limited to the words, ‘Mamma, a vero, and Dai’ we got on fabulously. Hugh was sat next to the priest. The wine flowed and just as pudding was being handed out one man walked up and down the tables dispensing Homemade Grappa, which cleared the palate quite spectacularly. Tudor kept an eye on the scones and as soon as he could was up for 2 scones. The priest took the last one. As the meal finished people moved around to chat and grab the bottom of the wine jugs before they disappeared off. Hugh spent much of the time describing his misspent youth in snooker halls in N. Ireland whilst I tried to convince a friend’s brother that he would like nothing more than to teach me how to cook Gnocchi. We had to drag Tara away as she had found a victim she could play Uno with and Tudor spent the evening trying to get me to let him drink Grappa.
A fun evening was had by all.
I quite like church here- there seems to much more food and wine involved.
So my first evening out in Magenta consists of me sitting mutely whilst 10 women and 1 man discuss many topics not connected to the purpose of the evening which turns out to be organising a food and music from your respective country. Having been separated from Anna who brought me, I sit next to a woman who translates for me. I assume she is English, also is another woman Rosy who also speaks English. Rosy has brought a warm Rice cake, which tastes much better than the description and I happily chomp and ‘Ummm’ in an Italian accent to show my appreciation. Tea is also produced by Marella and whilst everyone else supps politely from China cups I, as an English woman am given a mug, which is perfect.
It transpires that a festival is being organised at a church and this group will give a talk on food and music from our country. I am roped in very quickly to afternoon tea and suggest the song ‘Everything stops for tea’ a song I drag from goodness knows where in the back of my mind- I bet it was once sung at Gang Show. I offer to make scones and think I have done enough. Marella it turns out is an oracle of Magenta. There are few people she does not know and seems to have taught half of Magenta English. Her Mum is from Manchester, Am I willing to teach English? Do I want to come to an English lesson she runs? Thrilled to be actually speaking English I agree to anything. I give my email address say I will look up some history of afternoon tea and think I have done my bit.
Knowing Marella, as I thought when I first met her has transformed my life in Magenta. I am invited to one of her English lessons. It is the end of year lesson so there is a small lunch afterwards. I am plied with Prosecco and think that 8 weeks after arriving in Magenta sitting in the sunshine, in a garden drinking Prosecco, being fed by Italians, chatting in English with only the word bella to describe the beautiful countryside around the lakes cannot be bad. It’s a Wednesday lunchtime and I could be in work. After the lunch I wobble back home on my bike and drink lots of water prior to picking up the children from school.
As with any event there are many meetings to attend to organise it. The meetings don’t start until 9pm as we all have to eat beforehand. It’s a foolish person who would mess with an Italian’s mealtime. Each meeting lovely filling sweets and puddings are produced and as the newest least Italian person there I am (almost) force-fed every dish and am way to polite to refuse anything! The event planning usually starts at about 11.30 and I’m generally home by half midnight with a headache from not understanding anything being discussed.
I nervously decide to cook cake for the next meeting. My Apple and Brandy cake, my signature cake. Hugh is very miffed when he returns home and is not allowed to cut into it and at 9pm me and my wrapped cake head off to the meeting. My understanding is still very limited however I can say ‘Torta di Mela e Brandy’ which produces an appreciative umm when being dished out. As the cake is eaten a silence descends on the group, appreciative nods and full mouths of buono are muttered. This is close to one of the proudest moments of my life, I have impressed some Italians with my cooking. Only one dish, not a very difficult cake but nonetheless a good day’s work from the British. My pride increases at the end of the evening when the last 2 remaining slices are whisked away before the plate is returned to me.
I research Afternoon Tea, ‘Everything stops for Tea’. All very interesting and download lots of photo’s of tea, tea parties, mugs etc including 3 giggly women stood outside The Ritz after celebrating a 50th, a 40th and my impending departure to Italy. Then, a phone call. ‘How would you feel about doing some of the talk?’ I gulp. ‘I will translate the talk, so all you have to do is read it.’ Mamma mia. This was not what I was expecting, however Tudor had to talk during assembly after 1 month here, so I can hardly refuse.
I practise the talk to myself and make notes as to how some words sound to me. Then the day before the talk I practise to my Mums over coffee. I am corrected on a few words, but receive a general ‘va bene’.
The day of the Talk arrives. The scones are made. Due to the 9pm start all other family members are in their PJ’s as I leave. I wear heels to try and power dress slightly. I am needless to say very scared. There are 6 countries being represented, we have a 15minute each time limit and I am hoping against hope that not many people turn up.
9 o’clock arrives and the room is moderately full with about 50 people in, but more are flowing through the door. A journalist has arrived and despite my best efforts to avoid her I end up telling her about the scones and giving the recipe- in Italian. I know some of the audience - Tara’s teacher, my neighbour’s childminder, friends, which is worse as they will witness a massacre of what is generally acknowledged to be a beautiful language. By 9.30 the room is packed, the numbers of people who attended this event has grown and grown with each telling of this story but was between 150 and 200 people. Children are running about, babies are watching with interest, whole families have arrived and it looks like a standard Italian night which is already running late before we start.
Ecuador is first up with some beautifully banana leaf wrapped meats and sweets. Explanations of how to wrap then are started and the Papa in the audience is credited with the work. Applause. Then, Papa is invited up to explain more fully how to banana wrap food. He obviously is blissfully unaware of the 15 minute rule and describes it seems to me all the food available in Ecuador. A one point the whole family stood up to take a bow. More applause, and the song of the country. The next country came and went, complete with interruptions. Italy followed and the audience all sang along to the Rice song, a traditional Lombardian ditty.
The UK followed France and by now my feet were killing me. Afternoon Tea was introduced and the audience were told that I had only been in Italy for 6 months and this was my maiden speech. I put on my reading glasses to blur the room, and stood shaking whilst a potted history of Afternoon Tea was given. Then- my turn. I stared and spouted the words on my sheet. I have no idea what I said, but I stumbled over a few words. When I finished I got a tremendous round of applause which was based purely on the length of time I have been in this country. The rest of the evening passed in a haze and once the food was produced I was in my element handing out my scones and receiving the brava’s with humility and smiles.
This evening produced an invite to a celebratory meal out in a local trattoria. The chef wouldn’t cook a pudding so we were invited to bring our own. I have rarely seen so much food for 12 people, and being a Grant I can over cater with the best of them. The antipasti alone would have filled us all for the evening. Sausage Rolls, Spinach & Ricotta Omelette, Gristini, Hunks of Bread, Pickled Onions, Salami, boiled Haggis looking thing (my description of Italian food is coming on a treat!) Bean salad. Then Mushroom Risotto which was creamy, rich and full of local funghi. Lasagna, walnuts & squares of parmesan, followed by the 3 course sweet we had brought. I limited my alcohol as once again it was tutti in Italiano. The chef came to sit with us at the end of the evening to sample our puddings. All of a sudden the reason for not cooking pudding was clear. It took my stomach 2 days to recover.
We were also invited back to the parish to a meal I thought with the priests of the parish to sample all the food that had been on offer during the weekend of Festa della Monde. Somehow Google translate let me down and didn’t fully describe the event leaving me with the impression that about 30 of us would show up. The evening was set to start at 7.30 and I knew food was involved and I duly knocked up enough scones for us each to have one and having persuaded Tara that this would be fun (whilst fairly unconvinced myself) we set off at 7.30. We first had to stop off in Iper for a jar of jam for the last 3 scones that needed topping off and we arrived to a full car park, which for 30 seemed a bit much. ‘There may be another event on’ I ventured and strode confidently into the church Oratorio. As I turned the corner I stopped. A trellis table was set up in the corridor leading to the salon and 20 teenagers were sat chatting, texting and generally looking like kids. The noise from the salon indicated that there were more than 30 already present. I looked at Hugh, who knowing less than me about the event shrugged his shoulders and we kept on walking. 3 trellis tables stretched the length of the room and wine and water were already on the table. Food was laid out around the corners of the room and about 60 people were settling into eat and make merry for the rest of the evening. I found our friends, Tara disappeared to the other end of the table having found her friends and after grace was said we went to as politely but as firmly as possible scav as much food as possible. I was sat next to my friend’s Mum who speaks no English. This proved no barrier for our conversation and limited to the words, ‘Mamma, a vero, and Dai’ we got on fabulously. Hugh was sat next to the priest. The wine flowed and just as pudding was being handed out one man walked up and down the tables dispensing Homemade Grappa, which cleared the palate quite spectacularly. Tudor kept an eye on the scones and as soon as he could was up for 2 scones. The priest took the last one. As the meal finished people moved around to chat and grab the bottom of the wine jugs before they disappeared off. Hugh spent much of the time describing his misspent youth in snooker halls in N. Ireland whilst I tried to convince a friend’s brother that he would like nothing more than to teach me how to cook Gnocchi. We had to drag Tara away as she had found a victim she could play Uno with and Tudor spent the evening trying to get me to let him drink Grappa.
A fun evening was had by all.
I quite like church here- there seems to much more food and wine involved.
Monday, November 23, 2009
November email home
Ciao a Tutti,
I have just realised that my next email after this will be a Christmas round up & I know that you have all been waiting, possibly with your breath bated for the instalment that is Famglia McManoos in Magenta.
Tudor started Scuola Media in September which has brought new & interesting challenges, not least trying to work out whether a timetable exists & what Antologia actually is, I am still unsure but it appears to be history & grammatica all rolled into one. Tudor didn't get a timetable for the first couple of weeks, this is apparently completely normal and because a provisional timetable is created at the start of the school year during which the teachers argue/fight over whether they actually want this slot or that slot or this day or that day and once all that is settled the children get there confirmed timetable. There is space in Tudor's school diary for the provisional & final timetable so I figure there is some truth to this.
Tara has the same teachers as last year which makes my life much easier and the same class which is lovely. My Mums continue to sort my life out for me, telling when & where I need to be. One conversation which got slightly confused was when I was told that assemblea was at 10.30, a note was also in Tara's diary. Tara & I duly arrived for school at 8.30 only to find nobody at school. I then discovered that assemblea does not mean assembly for parents at 10.30; it means don't come into school until 10.30.
I have become involved in a group called Magenta del Mondo (Magenta & the world). The highlight of the groups year is to present an evening of food of the country of their origin. A weekend of festivities about the world & regions of Italy also included the Rosary being said in 6 languages. An event my husband/children & 2 friends that were visiting at the time declined to attend. I was detailed to speak the English section. I had a mild panic attack at the start of the evening when the Ugandan Nun in a fetching powder blue habit having completed her 1 Our Father and 10 Hail Mary’s then launched into something else which even I recognised as Italian and was joined by all in the church. ‘What’s that?’ I whispered to my (English speaking) friend next to me. ‘I’m not sure’ was the reply, leaving me breathing once again. But I can get through half an Our Father in English no problem so the evening went well.
Obviously I was UK and ended up giving a talk about afternoon tea in ITALIAN to about 150 people. It was easily the most scary thing I have done. I had all of the talk translated for me & everyone was told beforehand this was the first time I had spoken in Italian in front of a crowd. Mamma Mia. Having told everyone a cup of tea was just the cure for most ills I needed a large Gin & Tonic at the end of the event. I did get a very lovely round of applause at the end, possibly because everyone was pleased I had finished massacring the Italian language.
The Sunday we were back to church having declined the opportunity to parade through the streets in English/ Welsh /Scottish costume (Irish being covered by another family) I somehow ended up having to distribute bidding prayers in Spanish/ Moldavian & French to the various representatives of aforementioned countries. After mass each region of Italy set up food & drink from the regions & international food was provided by our Mondo group. I discovered Meloncello was lovely & smooth, Limoncello could knock you back, you cannot have enough red wine before lunch, and Irish coffee was the perfect pick me up before Hugh & I staggered home with 2 disgusted children who thought their parents had drunk far too much. The range of food was fantastic. Thankfully the Sicilian table was not serving Pecorino cheese with fly larva embedded in it, and having been told that the Italians are like vultures at this event grabbing food I feel I represented Britain well in the Food Grabbing event and will consider the Olympics should it become an Olympic sport.
Our travelling around Italy continue a pace with the leaning tower of Pisa and Lucca having been ticked off the list. Pisa was ok, and has been done, Lucca is a walled city and just beautiful set in the middle of Tuscan hills. If you do ever choose to visit Lucca check the website because what we thought would be a quiet November Sunday morning stroll through a quaint town was marred slightly by the Largest Comic Book fair in Europe and 30,000 extra costumed revellers. We do have some unique memories of Batman, Wonder Woman and other cartoon characters in otherwise deserted ancient streets. Lunch outside a pizzeria (it was warm enough to eat outside) was enlivened by Dan Dare & the Grim Reaper walking past.
Flu has hit Italy and so I have 2 small children home today suffering from various ailments. I think my Italian is improving. Although I'm convinced the advice home from school about Influenza A included go to confession.
My vocabulary is increasing- cough, cold, bad (insert part of body), plaster (for cut knees: due to Tudor trying to skateboard kneeling up down a slope- don't try it). Thanks to Occhio alle Speca (its like Tony De Angele from Jimmy Young for those of a certain age) a food programme on every morning my food vocab is expanding. 'Ready Steady Cook' in Italian is also a highlight and I can now answer the 'Who wants to be a Millionaire' questions. I'm up to €10,000 which is reasonable. I do like the fact I can watch the crappiest telly on the grounds it is improving my Italian.
The Ice Rink is up in the Piazza now for winter and the shops are starting to fill with Christmas goodies. The lights are up in the streets and we are awaiting Saint Ambrosia day (he is the patron saint of Milan & sweet milk sauces) for the lights to switch on.
Lots of Love
Signora McManoos
Ps mossies have gone nearly, we have cockroaches instead.
I have just realised that my next email after this will be a Christmas round up & I know that you have all been waiting, possibly with your breath bated for the instalment that is Famglia McManoos in Magenta.
Tudor started Scuola Media in September which has brought new & interesting challenges, not least trying to work out whether a timetable exists & what Antologia actually is, I am still unsure but it appears to be history & grammatica all rolled into one. Tudor didn't get a timetable for the first couple of weeks, this is apparently completely normal and because a provisional timetable is created at the start of the school year during which the teachers argue/fight over whether they actually want this slot or that slot or this day or that day and once all that is settled the children get there confirmed timetable. There is space in Tudor's school diary for the provisional & final timetable so I figure there is some truth to this.
Tara has the same teachers as last year which makes my life much easier and the same class which is lovely. My Mums continue to sort my life out for me, telling when & where I need to be. One conversation which got slightly confused was when I was told that assemblea was at 10.30, a note was also in Tara's diary. Tara & I duly arrived for school at 8.30 only to find nobody at school. I then discovered that assemblea does not mean assembly for parents at 10.30; it means don't come into school until 10.30.
I have become involved in a group called Magenta del Mondo (Magenta & the world). The highlight of the groups year is to present an evening of food of the country of their origin. A weekend of festivities about the world & regions of Italy also included the Rosary being said in 6 languages. An event my husband/children & 2 friends that were visiting at the time declined to attend. I was detailed to speak the English section. I had a mild panic attack at the start of the evening when the Ugandan Nun in a fetching powder blue habit having completed her 1 Our Father and 10 Hail Mary’s then launched into something else which even I recognised as Italian and was joined by all in the church. ‘What’s that?’ I whispered to my (English speaking) friend next to me. ‘I’m not sure’ was the reply, leaving me breathing once again. But I can get through half an Our Father in English no problem so the evening went well.
Obviously I was UK and ended up giving a talk about afternoon tea in ITALIAN to about 150 people. It was easily the most scary thing I have done. I had all of the talk translated for me & everyone was told beforehand this was the first time I had spoken in Italian in front of a crowd. Mamma Mia. Having told everyone a cup of tea was just the cure for most ills I needed a large Gin & Tonic at the end of the event. I did get a very lovely round of applause at the end, possibly because everyone was pleased I had finished massacring the Italian language.
The Sunday we were back to church having declined the opportunity to parade through the streets in English/ Welsh /Scottish costume (Irish being covered by another family) I somehow ended up having to distribute bidding prayers in Spanish/ Moldavian & French to the various representatives of aforementioned countries. After mass each region of Italy set up food & drink from the regions & international food was provided by our Mondo group. I discovered Meloncello was lovely & smooth, Limoncello could knock you back, you cannot have enough red wine before lunch, and Irish coffee was the perfect pick me up before Hugh & I staggered home with 2 disgusted children who thought their parents had drunk far too much. The range of food was fantastic. Thankfully the Sicilian table was not serving Pecorino cheese with fly larva embedded in it, and having been told that the Italians are like vultures at this event grabbing food I feel I represented Britain well in the Food Grabbing event and will consider the Olympics should it become an Olympic sport.
Our travelling around Italy continue a pace with the leaning tower of Pisa and Lucca having been ticked off the list. Pisa was ok, and has been done, Lucca is a walled city and just beautiful set in the middle of Tuscan hills. If you do ever choose to visit Lucca check the website because what we thought would be a quiet November Sunday morning stroll through a quaint town was marred slightly by the Largest Comic Book fair in Europe and 30,000 extra costumed revellers. We do have some unique memories of Batman, Wonder Woman and other cartoon characters in otherwise deserted ancient streets. Lunch outside a pizzeria (it was warm enough to eat outside) was enlivened by Dan Dare & the Grim Reaper walking past.
Flu has hit Italy and so I have 2 small children home today suffering from various ailments. I think my Italian is improving. Although I'm convinced the advice home from school about Influenza A included go to confession.
My vocabulary is increasing- cough, cold, bad (insert part of body), plaster (for cut knees: due to Tudor trying to skateboard kneeling up down a slope- don't try it). Thanks to Occhio alle Speca (its like Tony De Angele from Jimmy Young for those of a certain age) a food programme on every morning my food vocab is expanding. 'Ready Steady Cook' in Italian is also a highlight and I can now answer the 'Who wants to be a Millionaire' questions. I'm up to €10,000 which is reasonable. I do like the fact I can watch the crappiest telly on the grounds it is improving my Italian.
The Ice Rink is up in the Piazza now for winter and the shops are starting to fill with Christmas goodies. The lights are up in the streets and we are awaiting Saint Ambrosia day (he is the patron saint of Milan & sweet milk sauces) for the lights to switch on.
Lots of Love
Signora McManoos
Ps mossies have gone nearly, we have cockroaches instead.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Film per tutti
Ciao a tutti,
When we first investigated moving to Italy one of the topics discussed and read about was the quality of Italian TV. ‘Get Sky’. ‘Take your Sky box, or you will go mad’ ‘Bugger all on telly over there, you’ll go mad’
So one of the items packed into the lorry on its journey south was the Sky box, and Sky was one of the direct debits NOT cancelled. On the box lies our future evening happiness, and the last series of ER.
But Italian TV is a great way to learn Italian if you are stuck in the country, so for the first few weeks whilst we are settling in I happily watch the Italian channels. Its like being back in the days before freeview/NTL etc. About half a dozen channels to choose from and most of it Gameshow or Variety based so is easy to follow. Our first programme of choice is L’Eredita. After 6 months of watching I’m still a little hazy on the details, but about 8 people stand in a circle a la The Weakest Link answering questions posed by an Orange Man* and the contestants are whittled down to 2 who then trade money by answering questions. The winner of that round then has to choose between 2 words that are shown 1 of which is the correct word. The ‘Gillotine’ will then show which is the correct word. If the word is wrong the amount of money halves. This continues 4 times. The best thing about this programme is that questions also appear on the screen allowing me to learn some Italian words. The worst thing is that 4 tall shapely girls with limited clothing who dance badly at various points during the programme for no apparent reason. This theme is common to many Italian programmes. The number of girls may vary but the quality of dancing and/or singing is inversely proportionate to the amount of clothing they have on. Actually that’s wrong- the clothing is always limited to lace or piccolo sizes regardless of the talent.
We try Wheel of Fortune for a while, but as Tudor points out ‘Her dress isn’t fitting her properly’ and the near miss wardrobe malfunctions affect my nerves. Again, however the learning of the Italian is beneficial, with some natty phrases to be learnt.
Affari Tuoi is fab. 15 people stand round and open boxes with prices inside. A coccodrillo appears from one box and we all learn an Italian nursery rhyme complete with actions, and Max- well Max the presenter can extract more tension from a look in a box than I thought possible. Turns out this is Deal or No Deal. News to me, but limited understanding required from an non Italian speaker and the added benefit of watching greedy people blow reasonable offers of €15,000 and end up with 20 cents, and no scantily clad ‘what are they on this for?’ girls. Brilliant. I even start to recognise the contestants who seem to open boxes for months prior to the call up. Actually it’s the black priest from Abruzzo I initially recognise, then all the others. Poor chap seems to have been in the studio since we arrived in Magenta. One day his region is called. There is a standing ovation from the audience who seem to on mass burst into tears. One contestant from Puglia cannot speak he is crying so much. Padre from Abruzzo is trying to get money for the earthquake victims in his region. First box €500,000 goes, second box €250,000. It appears God is not on his side. Max is gutted and silence descends on the studio. Tissues are being handed out by the production team to each row. Finally, thank God Padre Abruzzo’s luck turns and he is down to €1 or €20,000. CAMBIO. He gets an offer to swap the boxes. Your man from Puglia is up on the podium next to Padre, still sobbing, having advised him not to swap. Padre swaps, my Italian isn’t good enough to know why but I’m behind a pillow by now. The kids have put themselves to bed because Hugh and I are wrecks in front of the telly. Max looks in the other box. His face as stern as it could be as he gently counsels Padre, and finally the other box is opened. It’s the €1 euro. Padre and therefore homeless people from Abruzzo have won €20,000. Tears well up in my eyes, and the fire brigade appear in the studio to start pumping out the water from the tears. I’m not sure Noel Edmunds can do this programme justice, even if he did invent it. Puglia Man looks close to collapse.
But even having to use telly to learn the language the Wheel of Fortune/ Affrai Tuoi/ Gillotine/Who Wants to be a millionaire round robin starts to be boring.
Sky it turns out requires a 1 metre dish on the balcone and wiring all through the apartment, so is dismissed. So the return of George on ER still awaits me. We get a media set card, rival to sky and owned by Silvio Berulsconi. Uump, but the films are original language sooooo after the card is plugged in, and much Google translating by Hugh, we hear English/American voices speaking English. Joy. Scooby Doo is likely to remain one of my favourite films ever on that basis alone.
Robin Hood in English, films in English,Studio 60 in English molto molto good, Joey in English- not so good but good enough. We still buy alot of DVD’s though. Requests from friends who visit are for DVD’s.
Nosing through the films in Saturn (Curry's) one day I come across Little Miss Sunshine. Lovely film. Dance a bit rude at the end I think, but fine for T&T. I can’t remember it being rude, nor can I remember what rating it is. Film per tutti is written on the back of the cover. Probably a 12 I think. Fine. Cool we have a new film to watch.
I tell Tudor over lunch and then when Tara gets home from school we 3 sit down to watch it. I big up the film. Its really funny, about a family in a camper van. Funny sweet film, with a slightly spikey tone that I get but washes over T&T. As they are all sat down to dinner Grandad utters his first fuck. T,T and I all sit up and look at one another shocked. Tudor puts a cushion to his face. ‘I don’t remember that’ I say. ‘Well there’s probably a bit of swearing, but we’re ok with that as long as we don’t use it’. I jump on the lap top and wiki a synopsis of the film. Rating 15. Oops got that one wrong. ‘The word fuck is used 30 times in this film’, I am informed, ‘mainly by one person, during one scene’, ‘there is also a reference to homosexual relationship’- whatever. We are fans of John Barrowman. ‘2 covers of a pornographic magazine are shown’, can deal with that no issue. Good synopsis, scene by scene. Probably a little too much information for the back of a DVD cover but Film per tutti no. The camper van scenes come and go with the majority of the fucks got out and me mentally counting them.
T&T love the film, we deal with the death of Grandad lightly and it is enjoyed by all. Tara excitingly tells Hugh later that the first word that ‘the boy’ says is fuck. New word- but sadly not Italian.
I very generously think that possibly the swear words are not dubbed into Italian hence the film per tutti rating.
The next time we are in Saturn, we check. I find Porky’s 3. I’ve never seen a Porky’s movie (no really I haven’t) but its an 80’s classic of its genre. Film per tutti. I’m sure that even if dubbing takes out some less appropriate words the actions will speak for themselves.
Hugh holds up The Shining. Film per tutti he hollers to me. I won’t watch it, too scary.
So unless its a Disney film, I’m checking wiki before I buy a film here. Just in case.
Arrivederci
Signoria McManoos
*orange man is Carlo Conti. He’s orange as in perma tanned.
When we first investigated moving to Italy one of the topics discussed and read about was the quality of Italian TV. ‘Get Sky’. ‘Take your Sky box, or you will go mad’ ‘Bugger all on telly over there, you’ll go mad’
So one of the items packed into the lorry on its journey south was the Sky box, and Sky was one of the direct debits NOT cancelled. On the box lies our future evening happiness, and the last series of ER.
But Italian TV is a great way to learn Italian if you are stuck in the country, so for the first few weeks whilst we are settling in I happily watch the Italian channels. Its like being back in the days before freeview/NTL etc. About half a dozen channels to choose from and most of it Gameshow or Variety based so is easy to follow. Our first programme of choice is L’Eredita. After 6 months of watching I’m still a little hazy on the details, but about 8 people stand in a circle a la The Weakest Link answering questions posed by an Orange Man* and the contestants are whittled down to 2 who then trade money by answering questions. The winner of that round then has to choose between 2 words that are shown 1 of which is the correct word. The ‘Gillotine’ will then show which is the correct word. If the word is wrong the amount of money halves. This continues 4 times. The best thing about this programme is that questions also appear on the screen allowing me to learn some Italian words. The worst thing is that 4 tall shapely girls with limited clothing who dance badly at various points during the programme for no apparent reason. This theme is common to many Italian programmes. The number of girls may vary but the quality of dancing and/or singing is inversely proportionate to the amount of clothing they have on. Actually that’s wrong- the clothing is always limited to lace or piccolo sizes regardless of the talent.
We try Wheel of Fortune for a while, but as Tudor points out ‘Her dress isn’t fitting her properly’ and the near miss wardrobe malfunctions affect my nerves. Again, however the learning of the Italian is beneficial, with some natty phrases to be learnt.
Affari Tuoi is fab. 15 people stand round and open boxes with prices inside. A coccodrillo appears from one box and we all learn an Italian nursery rhyme complete with actions, and Max- well Max the presenter can extract more tension from a look in a box than I thought possible. Turns out this is Deal or No Deal. News to me, but limited understanding required from an non Italian speaker and the added benefit of watching greedy people blow reasonable offers of €15,000 and end up with 20 cents, and no scantily clad ‘what are they on this for?’ girls. Brilliant. I even start to recognise the contestants who seem to open boxes for months prior to the call up. Actually it’s the black priest from Abruzzo I initially recognise, then all the others. Poor chap seems to have been in the studio since we arrived in Magenta. One day his region is called. There is a standing ovation from the audience who seem to on mass burst into tears. One contestant from Puglia cannot speak he is crying so much. Padre from Abruzzo is trying to get money for the earthquake victims in his region. First box €500,000 goes, second box €250,000. It appears God is not on his side. Max is gutted and silence descends on the studio. Tissues are being handed out by the production team to each row. Finally, thank God Padre Abruzzo’s luck turns and he is down to €1 or €20,000. CAMBIO. He gets an offer to swap the boxes. Your man from Puglia is up on the podium next to Padre, still sobbing, having advised him not to swap. Padre swaps, my Italian isn’t good enough to know why but I’m behind a pillow by now. The kids have put themselves to bed because Hugh and I are wrecks in front of the telly. Max looks in the other box. His face as stern as it could be as he gently counsels Padre, and finally the other box is opened. It’s the €1 euro. Padre and therefore homeless people from Abruzzo have won €20,000. Tears well up in my eyes, and the fire brigade appear in the studio to start pumping out the water from the tears. I’m not sure Noel Edmunds can do this programme justice, even if he did invent it. Puglia Man looks close to collapse.
But even having to use telly to learn the language the Wheel of Fortune/ Affrai Tuoi/ Gillotine/Who Wants to be a millionaire round robin starts to be boring.
Sky it turns out requires a 1 metre dish on the balcone and wiring all through the apartment, so is dismissed. So the return of George on ER still awaits me. We get a media set card, rival to sky and owned by Silvio Berulsconi. Uump, but the films are original language sooooo after the card is plugged in, and much Google translating by Hugh, we hear English/American voices speaking English. Joy. Scooby Doo is likely to remain one of my favourite films ever on that basis alone.
Robin Hood in English, films in English,Studio 60 in English molto molto good, Joey in English- not so good but good enough. We still buy alot of DVD’s though. Requests from friends who visit are for DVD’s.
Nosing through the films in Saturn (Curry's) one day I come across Little Miss Sunshine. Lovely film. Dance a bit rude at the end I think, but fine for T&T. I can’t remember it being rude, nor can I remember what rating it is. Film per tutti is written on the back of the cover. Probably a 12 I think. Fine. Cool we have a new film to watch.
I tell Tudor over lunch and then when Tara gets home from school we 3 sit down to watch it. I big up the film. Its really funny, about a family in a camper van. Funny sweet film, with a slightly spikey tone that I get but washes over T&T. As they are all sat down to dinner Grandad utters his first fuck. T,T and I all sit up and look at one another shocked. Tudor puts a cushion to his face. ‘I don’t remember that’ I say. ‘Well there’s probably a bit of swearing, but we’re ok with that as long as we don’t use it’. I jump on the lap top and wiki a synopsis of the film. Rating 15. Oops got that one wrong. ‘The word fuck is used 30 times in this film’, I am informed, ‘mainly by one person, during one scene’, ‘there is also a reference to homosexual relationship’- whatever. We are fans of John Barrowman. ‘2 covers of a pornographic magazine are shown’, can deal with that no issue. Good synopsis, scene by scene. Probably a little too much information for the back of a DVD cover but Film per tutti no. The camper van scenes come and go with the majority of the fucks got out and me mentally counting them.
T&T love the film, we deal with the death of Grandad lightly and it is enjoyed by all. Tara excitingly tells Hugh later that the first word that ‘the boy’ says is fuck. New word- but sadly not Italian.
I very generously think that possibly the swear words are not dubbed into Italian hence the film per tutti rating.
The next time we are in Saturn, we check. I find Porky’s 3. I’ve never seen a Porky’s movie (no really I haven’t) but its an 80’s classic of its genre. Film per tutti. I’m sure that even if dubbing takes out some less appropriate words the actions will speak for themselves.
Hugh holds up The Shining. Film per tutti he hollers to me. I won’t watch it, too scary.
So unless its a Disney film, I’m checking wiki before I buy a film here. Just in case.
Arrivederci
Signoria McManoos
*orange man is Carlo Conti. He’s orange as in perma tanned.
Friday, November 13, 2009
How to buy a car in Italy April 09
Ciao and Buona Pasqua,
Allora- this one will take a while so you may want to consider going to the loo and/or making a cup of tea, but it is a story well worth telling to serve as a warning to you not to attempt such a foolhardy venture.
So you will remember I am not yet offically a resident in Magenta, and as a result the children are home for lunch every day- this has a relevance unforseen when first looking for a vehicle as it means I have 2 hours a day to look for cars.
So we have been 2 weeks in Italy without a car and no real sign of Hugh having the time to trip round Milan looking at the various car showrooms on the internet.
So Maurizo one of Hugh's work colleagues sends Hugh an email with details of 2 car showrooms in Magenta and also a car sales website for Italy. So I get on my bike one day and cycle off round Magenta looking for Car show rooms. I find the first one on Maurizo's list. It’s not far away. The showroom is closed this being 2pm which is a good thing as I can wander round a bit and look at cars safe in the knowledge that no one is going to approach me and gabble away in Italian at me. There are no prices in the car windows but there is a price list up in the showroom window. I establish quickly I can only afford a scooter that’s in the corner. It’s not going to be a quick process then.
Using all my skills and abilities I figure that car showrooms cluster together and that there is a possibility that where one car showroom is, another may follow. Basket on front and bag in it, I continue cycling along the road. The road widens, the cars and lorries speed up and I continue pedalling. A Citron garage, a Ford Garage and in case I am feeling extravagant a Mercedes Benz garage. I didn't even stop in that one. No prices in any of the windows of the cars, but having trawled the internet enough I guess that the only car I can afford in any of the garages is an old old White Fiat Panda which much as I instantly fall in love with what was my first car, it won't be big enough for 4 people a tent and certainly won't get us to the lakes on a regular basis.
The other garage on Maurizo's list is in the next village along- Marcello. Not far away on the map, the road looks alright. Only one roundabout seperating Magenta and Marcello. People cycle all the time. I will be fine. The map doesn't go as far as the next village but the showrooms on Via Roma and as all roads lead to--- I figure it will be a main road and not too hard to find.
The roundabout is huge, 5 exits signposts for autostrada's the lot. I have to get off at the 3rd exit. As I approach the 2nd exit a lorry decides I am too insignicant to slow down for and screaming I brake as he trundles onto the roundabout. He did see me because he looked at me. Obviously Italian. Obviously I was not good looking enough to slow for!
But I was right, Via Roma is the main road through Marcello. Monday morning so the car show room is closed, lovely cars. Too expensive. Marcello looked nice though. I might return. Cycling back I discover a 2 way cycle path that gets me across the roundabout much more safely. No signs on the other side to suggest as a cyclist I might want to consider it. Oh well I survived. I haven't got anywhere nor had to practise Italian.
So Magenta looks like a non starter for a car. I am going to have to trawl the internet more. Using that great modern invention I see that Boffalora seems to be full of showrooms. But its down the road from Marcello and I am not going on that road again on a bike. When Hugh goes for a bike ride on Saturday I send him via Boffalora (nicer than it sounds I promise) to see if anything fits the bill.
Hugh returns from his bike ride and says that there is a Big Opel garage near the Magenta Iper (supermarket) roundabout. He didn't stop but there were lots of cars. Later that day I pootle off on my bike towards Iper and the Opel garage. The Opel garage is off an even bigger roundabout, but it being 3pm on a Saturday slightly quieter. It’s all on my right so I can stick to the inside and be fairly safe. As I cycle round guess what its closed. Is nothing ever open in Italy?
I cycled all the way round and found that if I cycled over a bit of rough ground I could get to the showroom. Trying to look like this is the most normal way to get to a car showroom I cycle up to the showroom and start to wander around the edge, not daring to step into the forecourt in case I set off some alarm or release a trigger that sets off dogs. Well the showroom opens and I wander round looking at the cars. Not one has a price in the car. I am going to have to go in and ask. Well this very handsome Italian sales assistant looked at me sadly when I asked about cars under €5000 . He shook his head when I mentioned 7 seats and then showed me this battered Zafira in the corner with bits missing and with various sized bumps he had sold that morning for €4,900 .
Back to the drawing board.
Sunday night and 3 hrs on the internet I come up with 7 cars that are available in Milan, but as I have to be home for school lunch Hugh will have to progress the next bit. So Monday morning Hugh calls me. One of the cars on the list is for sale in Boffalora. Could I get there tomorrow maybe?
Ten minutes later I recieve a text from Hugh. ‘I have made an appointment for you to meet showroom owner at Via Rommei 13, Magenta at 2.30 tomo’. He will drive you to Boffalora to look at the car. I read it a couple of times - yes I have an appointment to get into a car with a strange Italian to drive to the next village to look at a car. Now I'm quite happy to throw myself into this whole learning Italian lark but even this is nerve racking.
Tuesday- So tomorrow 2.30 arrives and I am parked up (on the bike) on Via Rommei locked on the road as I think this will give the Italian Polizia a starting point for the investigation of my disappearance. No. 13 is not on the road, it goes from 9 and jumps to 15. But I wake up no 15 from their siesta and they point me round the back to Auto Palmieri. As I walk round the back I see a Silver Opel Zafira parked up and I pray that Mr Car sales man has brought the car to Magenta. He has. Also one of his staff speaks English. Good enough- I have mentally bought the car. So it has air conditioning, the tyres look ok, there are no bits missing and only a few scratches on it. I ask about it last service and I'm told its ok, December last year. There are 7 seats- one of my stipulations. I explain that I don't have residency, but my husband does. Living in Magenta proves to be a bonus and I am given information about who to see about insurance, where to go and who to ask for to obtain discount. I say I will phone my husband and organise about buying the car and call back tomorrow.
I fairly skip away, relieved that I didn't have to get into a car to Boffalora. That I have found a car that seems to go. On the phone to Hugh I tell him the car had been driven to Magenta for me. 'I wanted you to look around the showroom, thats a shame' I ignore that because I feel its best too. The car seems ok. I tell him. There is no radio though. ' Oh' is the reply and a pause, ‘well I do want a radio’. Luckily Hugh is 30km away so I cannot throttle him at this point.
Wednesday- I cycle more confidently to Alfonso my car man and say yes we will sort out insurance and the money and as he is closed on Friday I will be back Thursday with insurance, cheque etc. I get a photocopy of the vehicle details so I can get an insurance quote.
I start planning where we will go over the weekend. Lake Maggoire is looking good. I even tell my Mums that I have bought car and we will go to Lake Maggiore at the weekend. Everyone is agreed this is a good decision as it is bellissima
So I go to the Insurance company with passports, driving licences and counterpart. My insurance documents with no claims details. Residency for Hugh, Fiscal for me and Hugh and all our bank details. Once I get passed the receptionist who forgives my very pathetic attempt to say assicurazione Italian for insurance I speak to a man who speaks excellent English. The one thing I don't have is a no claims certificate for Hugh's company car. This proves costly, as Hugh has to be the owner of the car as he is the resident, so he has to be the insurance main name. But we can get insurance and if Hugh returns with €566 for 6 months insurance!!! We can pay cash or cheque. Thankfully when I speak to Hugh's insurance company I can get a letter about the no claims, its in the post that day. The joy of asking for something in a language I can speak and getting a ‘yes no problem’ answer.
Thursday- we need today a bankers draft as we don't have a cheque book yet and insurance. Hugh and I go to the bank in Magenta first thing and ask for a bank draft. Not possible apparently as Magenta is not our branch. Of course this was established in Italian with the help of the man behind us in the queue who spoke English.
Hugh is then off to Milan, apparently to work, in reality he goes to the bank and sorts out a cheque book, money and also because they are ready, the translation of the birth and marriage certificates.
I have made the arrangements that we will be at the insurance company for 5.30 to get that and then onto the car for 6pm to pick up the car. The insurance takes longer than the 15minutes I have allotted for it. As all 4 of us are hot footing it on bikes to Alfonso I phone to say we are on our way. We arrive at 6.20 to discover that Alfonso has left so we cannot buy the car tonight. But 9 o clock tomorrow morning he will be back and we can get it then. We cycle home.
Friday- Hugh has a meeting, so I leave the children in front of the telly with my mobile while I cycle off again to Alfonso complete with every document I possess and 20 minutes later I am loading the bike into the back of the car with a little note next to the steering wheel with the word gasolio written on it as the kind girl in the office has written it down after giving up with my attempts to say it. I drive off with a steering wheel and gear stick on the wrong side.
I've done it- I've bought a car in Italy. T & T were so excited they agreed to go to the supermarket in it, and I have found a petrol station where a little man fills up the car with petrol (well diesel, its a diesel engine) for you. Well he puts in €30 because I know that number!
If you've made it this far thank you. I did warn you though.
We went to Lake Maggiore. It is lovely, the snow capped mountains were the backdrop to the lake and castle views. The water was clear and we watched Grebes catch fish.
Back to commue on Tuesday to try and get residency. Taking the children and hoping they behave or we may be permanently excluded.
Lots of love
Signora McManoos xx
Allora- this one will take a while so you may want to consider going to the loo and/or making a cup of tea, but it is a story well worth telling to serve as a warning to you not to attempt such a foolhardy venture.
So you will remember I am not yet offically a resident in Magenta, and as a result the children are home for lunch every day- this has a relevance unforseen when first looking for a vehicle as it means I have 2 hours a day to look for cars.
So we have been 2 weeks in Italy without a car and no real sign of Hugh having the time to trip round Milan looking at the various car showrooms on the internet.
So Maurizo one of Hugh's work colleagues sends Hugh an email with details of 2 car showrooms in Magenta and also a car sales website for Italy. So I get on my bike one day and cycle off round Magenta looking for Car show rooms. I find the first one on Maurizo's list. It’s not far away. The showroom is closed this being 2pm which is a good thing as I can wander round a bit and look at cars safe in the knowledge that no one is going to approach me and gabble away in Italian at me. There are no prices in the car windows but there is a price list up in the showroom window. I establish quickly I can only afford a scooter that’s in the corner. It’s not going to be a quick process then.
Using all my skills and abilities I figure that car showrooms cluster together and that there is a possibility that where one car showroom is, another may follow. Basket on front and bag in it, I continue cycling along the road. The road widens, the cars and lorries speed up and I continue pedalling. A Citron garage, a Ford Garage and in case I am feeling extravagant a Mercedes Benz garage. I didn't even stop in that one. No prices in any of the windows of the cars, but having trawled the internet enough I guess that the only car I can afford in any of the garages is an old old White Fiat Panda which much as I instantly fall in love with what was my first car, it won't be big enough for 4 people a tent and certainly won't get us to the lakes on a regular basis.
The other garage on Maurizo's list is in the next village along- Marcello. Not far away on the map, the road looks alright. Only one roundabout seperating Magenta and Marcello. People cycle all the time. I will be fine. The map doesn't go as far as the next village but the showrooms on Via Roma and as all roads lead to--- I figure it will be a main road and not too hard to find.
The roundabout is huge, 5 exits signposts for autostrada's the lot. I have to get off at the 3rd exit. As I approach the 2nd exit a lorry decides I am too insignicant to slow down for and screaming I brake as he trundles onto the roundabout. He did see me because he looked at me. Obviously Italian. Obviously I was not good looking enough to slow for!
But I was right, Via Roma is the main road through Marcello. Monday morning so the car show room is closed, lovely cars. Too expensive. Marcello looked nice though. I might return. Cycling back I discover a 2 way cycle path that gets me across the roundabout much more safely. No signs on the other side to suggest as a cyclist I might want to consider it. Oh well I survived. I haven't got anywhere nor had to practise Italian.
So Magenta looks like a non starter for a car. I am going to have to trawl the internet more. Using that great modern invention I see that Boffalora seems to be full of showrooms. But its down the road from Marcello and I am not going on that road again on a bike. When Hugh goes for a bike ride on Saturday I send him via Boffalora (nicer than it sounds I promise) to see if anything fits the bill.
Hugh returns from his bike ride and says that there is a Big Opel garage near the Magenta Iper (supermarket) roundabout. He didn't stop but there were lots of cars. Later that day I pootle off on my bike towards Iper and the Opel garage. The Opel garage is off an even bigger roundabout, but it being 3pm on a Saturday slightly quieter. It’s all on my right so I can stick to the inside and be fairly safe. As I cycle round guess what its closed. Is nothing ever open in Italy?
I cycled all the way round and found that if I cycled over a bit of rough ground I could get to the showroom. Trying to look like this is the most normal way to get to a car showroom I cycle up to the showroom and start to wander around the edge, not daring to step into the forecourt in case I set off some alarm or release a trigger that sets off dogs. Well the showroom opens and I wander round looking at the cars. Not one has a price in the car. I am going to have to go in and ask. Well this very handsome Italian sales assistant looked at me sadly when I asked about cars under €5000 . He shook his head when I mentioned 7 seats and then showed me this battered Zafira in the corner with bits missing and with various sized bumps he had sold that morning for €4,900 .
Back to the drawing board.
Sunday night and 3 hrs on the internet I come up with 7 cars that are available in Milan, but as I have to be home for school lunch Hugh will have to progress the next bit. So Monday morning Hugh calls me. One of the cars on the list is for sale in Boffalora. Could I get there tomorrow maybe?
Ten minutes later I recieve a text from Hugh. ‘I have made an appointment for you to meet showroom owner at Via Rommei 13, Magenta at 2.30 tomo’. He will drive you to Boffalora to look at the car. I read it a couple of times - yes I have an appointment to get into a car with a strange Italian to drive to the next village to look at a car. Now I'm quite happy to throw myself into this whole learning Italian lark but even this is nerve racking.
Tuesday- So tomorrow 2.30 arrives and I am parked up (on the bike) on Via Rommei locked on the road as I think this will give the Italian Polizia a starting point for the investigation of my disappearance. No. 13 is not on the road, it goes from 9 and jumps to 15. But I wake up no 15 from their siesta and they point me round the back to Auto Palmieri. As I walk round the back I see a Silver Opel Zafira parked up and I pray that Mr Car sales man has brought the car to Magenta. He has. Also one of his staff speaks English. Good enough- I have mentally bought the car. So it has air conditioning, the tyres look ok, there are no bits missing and only a few scratches on it. I ask about it last service and I'm told its ok, December last year. There are 7 seats- one of my stipulations. I explain that I don't have residency, but my husband does. Living in Magenta proves to be a bonus and I am given information about who to see about insurance, where to go and who to ask for to obtain discount. I say I will phone my husband and organise about buying the car and call back tomorrow.
I fairly skip away, relieved that I didn't have to get into a car to Boffalora. That I have found a car that seems to go. On the phone to Hugh I tell him the car had been driven to Magenta for me. 'I wanted you to look around the showroom, thats a shame' I ignore that because I feel its best too. The car seems ok. I tell him. There is no radio though. ' Oh' is the reply and a pause, ‘well I do want a radio’. Luckily Hugh is 30km away so I cannot throttle him at this point.
Wednesday- I cycle more confidently to Alfonso my car man and say yes we will sort out insurance and the money and as he is closed on Friday I will be back Thursday with insurance, cheque etc. I get a photocopy of the vehicle details so I can get an insurance quote.
I start planning where we will go over the weekend. Lake Maggoire is looking good. I even tell my Mums that I have bought car and we will go to Lake Maggiore at the weekend. Everyone is agreed this is a good decision as it is bellissima
So I go to the Insurance company with passports, driving licences and counterpart. My insurance documents with no claims details. Residency for Hugh, Fiscal for me and Hugh and all our bank details. Once I get passed the receptionist who forgives my very pathetic attempt to say assicurazione Italian for insurance I speak to a man who speaks excellent English. The one thing I don't have is a no claims certificate for Hugh's company car. This proves costly, as Hugh has to be the owner of the car as he is the resident, so he has to be the insurance main name. But we can get insurance and if Hugh returns with €566 for 6 months insurance!!! We can pay cash or cheque. Thankfully when I speak to Hugh's insurance company I can get a letter about the no claims, its in the post that day. The joy of asking for something in a language I can speak and getting a ‘yes no problem’ answer.
Thursday- we need today a bankers draft as we don't have a cheque book yet and insurance. Hugh and I go to the bank in Magenta first thing and ask for a bank draft. Not possible apparently as Magenta is not our branch. Of course this was established in Italian with the help of the man behind us in the queue who spoke English.
Hugh is then off to Milan, apparently to work, in reality he goes to the bank and sorts out a cheque book, money and also because they are ready, the translation of the birth and marriage certificates.
I have made the arrangements that we will be at the insurance company for 5.30 to get that and then onto the car for 6pm to pick up the car. The insurance takes longer than the 15minutes I have allotted for it. As all 4 of us are hot footing it on bikes to Alfonso I phone to say we are on our way. We arrive at 6.20 to discover that Alfonso has left so we cannot buy the car tonight. But 9 o clock tomorrow morning he will be back and we can get it then. We cycle home.
Friday- Hugh has a meeting, so I leave the children in front of the telly with my mobile while I cycle off again to Alfonso complete with every document I possess and 20 minutes later I am loading the bike into the back of the car with a little note next to the steering wheel with the word gasolio written on it as the kind girl in the office has written it down after giving up with my attempts to say it. I drive off with a steering wheel and gear stick on the wrong side.
I've done it- I've bought a car in Italy. T & T were so excited they agreed to go to the supermarket in it, and I have found a petrol station where a little man fills up the car with petrol (well diesel, its a diesel engine) for you. Well he puts in €30 because I know that number!
If you've made it this far thank you. I did warn you though.
We went to Lake Maggiore. It is lovely, the snow capped mountains were the backdrop to the lake and castle views. The water was clear and we watched Grebes catch fish.
Back to commue on Tuesday to try and get residency. Taking the children and hoping they behave or we may be permanently excluded.
Lots of love
Signora McManoos xx
First email home after arriving - 2/4/9
Ciao a tutti,
Allora, I was hoping today that my second trip to the commune di Magenta would be more successful than the first and result in me being officially recognised by Magenta and more importantly the children being able to have school dinners. School dinners are a service offered by the Commune and you have to show proof of your (husbands) wage so they can decide how much you pay, and if you don't have school dinners you don't get to play out at lunchtime- full stop no early returns.
So I met up with our Raffaella official translator first I venture to the Fiscal Code office where we all need a number, whether aged 8, 10 or 40. Easy- photocopy of passport, 1 form per person, 2 stamps per form and no cost. They weren't even phased that I don't use my maiden name.
Buoyed by this, Hugh, I and Raffaella (our woman who can strop at officialdom )set off to the commune. No queue.
I have with me: 3 photos each, photocopy of passport, plus originals. Originals of birth certificates, marriage certificate, Hugh's (hastily written) contract with his wage on it. Because we have to prove that Hugh can afford to keep us in Italy, clearly marriage break up unknown in Italy. The cost the Italian government have decreed as a living wage is 12,000 euros. I would of course uproot the family, give up my job and deal with this for 12 thousand bucks. Hugh's residency details, our newly obtained and drying fiscal codes. 2 Marca da Bollo's bought from the tobacconist - because that's where you buy stamps obviously and just in case 2 baptismal certificates- well you never know with a Catholic country.
All laid out neatly on the counter and Rosanna behind the glass says in her best Italian voice- 'Where is your official translation for these documents?'
Well 50 minutes,2 offices, and 3 women later, having been shown the law of what is required and pointing out to Rosanna that nowhere in the law does it say translation into Italian required. And when she showed us a Romanian translation and we pointed out that actually we were British (funny how that didn't work!) and EU citizens so actually not the same as Romanians (none of us knowing whether Romania is part of the EU) we walked out.
So as I pointed out to Tudor at lunchtime- the bad news is we are not registered, the good news is I get to lunch with the children every day still!
And for this I turned down my first offer of coffee with Mums from school today- Rosanna is not in my good books- bloody woman. One day she will come to England and I will exact my revenge.
We may have a telefono de casa soon. Vodaphone do a deal, they provide an old fashioned pin for old houses for connection and guess what- we have a connection but no old fashioned pin- just the wires. So I am off to my nice hardware store tomorrow to the man who, praise the Lord speaks English to have the sort of conversation I cannot understand in my mother tongue about wires, pins and electrical things.
Raining here- lots. Freddo as well. Sole and Caldo expected at weekend. My daffs look nice on the balcony though.
Lots of love
Signora McManoos
Allora, I was hoping today that my second trip to the commune di Magenta would be more successful than the first and result in me being officially recognised by Magenta and more importantly the children being able to have school dinners. School dinners are a service offered by the Commune and you have to show proof of your (husbands) wage so they can decide how much you pay, and if you don't have school dinners you don't get to play out at lunchtime- full stop no early returns.
So I met up with our Raffaella official translator first I venture to the Fiscal Code office where we all need a number, whether aged 8, 10 or 40. Easy- photocopy of passport, 1 form per person, 2 stamps per form and no cost. They weren't even phased that I don't use my maiden name.
Buoyed by this, Hugh, I and Raffaella (our woman who can strop at officialdom )set off to the commune. No queue.
I have with me: 3 photos each, photocopy of passport, plus originals. Originals of birth certificates, marriage certificate, Hugh's (hastily written) contract with his wage on it. Because we have to prove that Hugh can afford to keep us in Italy, clearly marriage break up unknown in Italy. The cost the Italian government have decreed as a living wage is 12,000 euros. I would of course uproot the family, give up my job and deal with this for 12 thousand bucks. Hugh's residency details, our newly obtained and drying fiscal codes. 2 Marca da Bollo's bought from the tobacconist - because that's where you buy stamps obviously and just in case 2 baptismal certificates- well you never know with a Catholic country.
All laid out neatly on the counter and Rosanna behind the glass says in her best Italian voice- 'Where is your official translation for these documents?'
Well 50 minutes,2 offices, and 3 women later, having been shown the law of what is required and pointing out to Rosanna that nowhere in the law does it say translation into Italian required. And when she showed us a Romanian translation and we pointed out that actually we were British (funny how that didn't work!) and EU citizens so actually not the same as Romanians (none of us knowing whether Romania is part of the EU) we walked out.
So as I pointed out to Tudor at lunchtime- the bad news is we are not registered, the good news is I get to lunch with the children every day still!
And for this I turned down my first offer of coffee with Mums from school today- Rosanna is not in my good books- bloody woman. One day she will come to England and I will exact my revenge.
We may have a telefono de casa soon. Vodaphone do a deal, they provide an old fashioned pin for old houses for connection and guess what- we have a connection but no old fashioned pin- just the wires. So I am off to my nice hardware store tomorrow to the man who, praise the Lord speaks English to have the sort of conversation I cannot understand in my mother tongue about wires, pins and electrical things.
Raining here- lots. Freddo as well. Sole and Caldo expected at weekend. My daffs look nice on the balcony though.
Lots of love
Signora McManoos
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Birthday
Ciao a tutti,
This week has been my son's 11th birthday. His first away from home (which will forever be England) in Italy and he's been sick.
Properly sick, with whatever bug is going round. It could be Influenza A, it could be just a bug, but as in the UK we have not been told whether any other virus's are about its all (need italian accent) Influenza A. According to the news reports the main concentration of Flu A is Napoli. This doesn't surprise me. Its always Napoli. If someone is shot its in Napoli. If any Mafia are arrested its in Napoli. People are dying of Influenza A- its in Napoli.
So the birthday is on Monday, and the dizzyness, grey palour and sniffing start on Sunday. They are ignored as we have been invited to a friends Confirmation (Cresima). We have only been here 7 months, and feel very honoured to have been asked. The church is packed to the gills with standing room only, but we have seats. So when son turns grey and looks faint in church he and Dad are sent out to get a coffee and cake to revive small boy & keep going through the 2 hour church service, I desperately try & keep at least one of the seats. I fail. However it is outside the church the real party is taking place. When I pop out at some indeterminate point during the mass there are at least 60 people stood outside all chatting, and approximately 50% of them smoking. Its raining out there and is pretty miserable, but unlike inside the church there is air, and the ability to talk loudly (not even the Italians would talk loudly during mass, talk yes but not loudly). According to my husband the coffee shop is doing a sterling (well euro) trade during mass, with people popping in to get that caffine fix in an espresso cup and returning to church full of holy fresh coffee. One twix and a cappacino later boy is ready to face the rest of the day.
The lunch after Mass is at a local trattoria down a single track road. The car park is full & complete with umbrella's and coats we skip the puddles to make it to the patio where we are eating. Thankfully the patio has been enclosed in thick plastic for winter and has a stove burning (not near the plastic) and is cosy for the 40 of us in the party. Now much as I can string a couple of sentences together in Italian about all manner of subjects my understanding of what is being said back to me is limited, so there follows some very slow conversation with my poor Italian neighbour who doesn't know me whilst she endlessly repeats the most simple sentences.
After the first course of Antipasti and first glass of Vino Rosso I start to care less about my lack of understanding & rabbit on even more. There follows Risotto (one of my favorite dishes) of lovely creaminess, then squares of lasagna, then duck with funnel puree and roast apple, followed by chicken & rabbit in a potato and tomato sauce and more vino rosso. As each course arrives I'm not sure I can eat anymore but never one to be defeated by food I struggle on.
Prosecco and Cake finish the meal before we head back to our friends for Fruits of the Forest cheesecake & an orange cream dish the name of which I have been told a number of times, but as its Italian and not obvious like Pizza I always forget.
During this mammouth meal small boy with dizzyness plays outside in the rain and cold. My insistance of coat wearing is completely ignored in favour of finding dead frogs, alive cats and sparkly stones.
A warm bath is administered on our return but to no avail. Monday arrives with a temperature and more dizzyness. Merenda (tea for children) is cancelled with our neighbours and a small batch of fairy cakes with icing are made to stick candles in for Tanti Auguri & Happy Birthday later in the day. Plans for a meal out are postponed until well probably sometime before Christmas as is bowling with the Italian friend for a birthday treat (I am thankful for this for 2 reasons 1) I loath bowling and 2) I was dreading the whole dealing with and being responsible for an Italian kid for a number of hours outside of the safety of Magenta.
Daughter & husband have also gone down with the same bug so birthday week has turned into a nursing and disinfecting week for me with the added advantage of learning new phrases such as 'Can I have some cough medicine for an 11 and 8 year old please'.
However this has been the limit of this weeks Italian speaking as I have had to forgo my coffee with mums and the best Italian lessons I get every day. The television has also been taken over by the sickies and I have not seen any of my lovely Italian Cooking programmes this week. One of them is Ready Steady Cook in Italian which seems somehow much more glamourous than British RSC: no offence to Fern or Anslie and is set in the middle of a programme that makes my mouth water and improves my Italian recipe understanding no end. But instead we have had an endless diet of Doctor Who & Disney films.
Daughter is back to school tomorrow so only sick boys remain. I may go to the Outlet Store near Novara.
Arrivederci
This week has been my son's 11th birthday. His first away from home (which will forever be England) in Italy and he's been sick.
Properly sick, with whatever bug is going round. It could be Influenza A, it could be just a bug, but as in the UK we have not been told whether any other virus's are about its all (need italian accent) Influenza A. According to the news reports the main concentration of Flu A is Napoli. This doesn't surprise me. Its always Napoli. If someone is shot its in Napoli. If any Mafia are arrested its in Napoli. People are dying of Influenza A- its in Napoli.
So the birthday is on Monday, and the dizzyness, grey palour and sniffing start on Sunday. They are ignored as we have been invited to a friends Confirmation (Cresima). We have only been here 7 months, and feel very honoured to have been asked. The church is packed to the gills with standing room only, but we have seats. So when son turns grey and looks faint in church he and Dad are sent out to get a coffee and cake to revive small boy & keep going through the 2 hour church service, I desperately try & keep at least one of the seats. I fail. However it is outside the church the real party is taking place. When I pop out at some indeterminate point during the mass there are at least 60 people stood outside all chatting, and approximately 50% of them smoking. Its raining out there and is pretty miserable, but unlike inside the church there is air, and the ability to talk loudly (not even the Italians would talk loudly during mass, talk yes but not loudly). According to my husband the coffee shop is doing a sterling (well euro) trade during mass, with people popping in to get that caffine fix in an espresso cup and returning to church full of holy fresh coffee. One twix and a cappacino later boy is ready to face the rest of the day.
The lunch after Mass is at a local trattoria down a single track road. The car park is full & complete with umbrella's and coats we skip the puddles to make it to the patio where we are eating. Thankfully the patio has been enclosed in thick plastic for winter and has a stove burning (not near the plastic) and is cosy for the 40 of us in the party. Now much as I can string a couple of sentences together in Italian about all manner of subjects my understanding of what is being said back to me is limited, so there follows some very slow conversation with my poor Italian neighbour who doesn't know me whilst she endlessly repeats the most simple sentences.
After the first course of Antipasti and first glass of Vino Rosso I start to care less about my lack of understanding & rabbit on even more. There follows Risotto (one of my favorite dishes) of lovely creaminess, then squares of lasagna, then duck with funnel puree and roast apple, followed by chicken & rabbit in a potato and tomato sauce and more vino rosso. As each course arrives I'm not sure I can eat anymore but never one to be defeated by food I struggle on.
Prosecco and Cake finish the meal before we head back to our friends for Fruits of the Forest cheesecake & an orange cream dish the name of which I have been told a number of times, but as its Italian and not obvious like Pizza I always forget.
During this mammouth meal small boy with dizzyness plays outside in the rain and cold. My insistance of coat wearing is completely ignored in favour of finding dead frogs, alive cats and sparkly stones.
A warm bath is administered on our return but to no avail. Monday arrives with a temperature and more dizzyness. Merenda (tea for children) is cancelled with our neighbours and a small batch of fairy cakes with icing are made to stick candles in for Tanti Auguri & Happy Birthday later in the day. Plans for a meal out are postponed until well probably sometime before Christmas as is bowling with the Italian friend for a birthday treat (I am thankful for this for 2 reasons 1) I loath bowling and 2) I was dreading the whole dealing with and being responsible for an Italian kid for a number of hours outside of the safety of Magenta.
Daughter & husband have also gone down with the same bug so birthday week has turned into a nursing and disinfecting week for me with the added advantage of learning new phrases such as 'Can I have some cough medicine for an 11 and 8 year old please'.
However this has been the limit of this weeks Italian speaking as I have had to forgo my coffee with mums and the best Italian lessons I get every day. The television has also been taken over by the sickies and I have not seen any of my lovely Italian Cooking programmes this week. One of them is Ready Steady Cook in Italian which seems somehow much more glamourous than British RSC: no offence to Fern or Anslie and is set in the middle of a programme that makes my mouth water and improves my Italian recipe understanding no end. But instead we have had an endless diet of Doctor Who & Disney films.
Daughter is back to school tomorrow so only sick boys remain. I may go to the Outlet Store near Novara.
Arrivederci
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