Italy, in Italics

My wonderful second honeymoon is drawing to a close.  We have come full circle, arriving back in Rome after glorious excursions to Venice and Florence.  I have been on the road long enough that my clothes are beginning to smell musty in the suitcase, even as they are ever more displaced by tax-free spoils meant mostly for my children.   I am becoming weary of vacationing just in time to bear the flight home, confirming that the trip has been long enough.  I cannot wait for the predictable comfort of my own bed, its groove timeworn to fit my body, my own pillow fluffed to the perfect supporting height for my head.  I carry memories of sites and sounds and smells—forever etched upon my sensory center, capable of evoking nostalgia from the trip of a lifetime.

Italy is as I always knew it would be; it did not disappoint.  That being said, it has not been without a few bumps and quirks along the way.  Foreign countries being what they are, there are always things that seem, well, foreign.  In anticipation, I took great care to learn a few words and customs just to avoid the specter of the ugly American.  I wielded my ‘buon giorno’ and ‘arrivederci’ and ‘grazie’ in an effort to be polite.  I’ve come to discover, however, that English is the national language of Italy.  Everyone, from waiters to ticket clerks, speaks English fluently.  For some reason, this makes me sad—worried for the day that Italians abandon their beautiful language altogether, resorting to the sloppy and non-lyrical English of Americans.

On the other hand, I love that all the hotels have doorbells on the rooms.  There is something quaintly civil about a housekeeper’s ringing.  It seems to ask, “May I enter?” rather than demanding access with an agitated knock followed quickly by unauthorized entry.

The cuisine also gives me food for thought.  I come to Italy recently enlightened on matters of healthy eating.  Here, you are not only allowed to eat pasta and drink wine, you are strongly encouraged to do so—at least twice a day.  In fact, there are different stratifications of drink for before, during, and after meals.  And after training my palate in the “nutty goodness” of whole grains, the concept of avoiding over-processed foods is absent here.  There is a broad spectrum of things that can be done with enriched white flour, and these are brandished shamelessly in every pizzeria and trattoria.

Cows are apparently an endangered species in Italy, as veal dishes far outnumber beef on every menu.  I wondered more than once how to reconcile the short life expectancy of cattle against the rather large leather goods industry.   Pizza is different here as well, made on the thinnest of crusts with a maximum of only three ingredients (including tomato and cheese).  It is intended to be consumed in its entirety by one person, and it is better than any over-configured monster I have had in the States, whether frozen or delivered.  And artichokes!  All I can say is there are more ways to eat artichokes than one might imagine.

One nice feature of Italy is that there is virtually no tipping.  It only took us one or two taxi rides before comfortably paying just what is on the meter, perhaps only rounding up to the nearest Euro (because the smaller denomination coins are just a nuisance for everyone).  Restaurant waiters know about an American’s penchant for adding 18 to 20% gratuities.  They have learned to spot us coming and going, whispering when they bring the check that although there is a 12% service charge, tipping is extra.  In fact, the service charge does go to the house, but waiters are well paid and do not live on their tips as in the US.

Beautiful Venice was a bit of a challenge for me personally.  It is a beautiful, museum-like city that glows with color like the Painted Ladies of San Francisco by day, and shimmers with undulating pools of light by night.  But its other-worldly quality is quickly vanquished by the prevalence of steps.  As a knee-challenged person, I had difficulty enjoying the #1 tourist activity—“getting lost in Venice.”  The uneven cobblestones and random-height steps up and down every bridge made it an obstacle course for me.  I spent far too much time watching where I was walking and not enough time absorbing the charm of the city.

When not in Venice, driving by car is quite an experience.  There are virtually no traffic laws, or if there are, they are not immediately apparent to foreigners.  You can drive on sidewalks, in any direction down narrow alleyways, and even in line with trolley tracks.  On another note, plumbing can be a bit of an adventure.  There is some wonky type of plumbing in every Italian bathroom.  Things that we have come to take for granted—such as toilet seats, flushing, running water—are not necessarily a given.

There are more Hard Rock Cafes in Italy than any other country in Europe.  I haven’t looked this up; I just know it instinctively to be a fact.  Also, there is a strange Italian law of nature:  each Ferrari retail store you pass will be bigger than the last. This is true even if you walk repeatedly around the same block.  And, you can bargain almost everywhere, especially if you pay cash.  Italians are heavily taxed and live in constant fear of the “guardia di finanzia”, but when you pull out cash they will make a deal at almost any price. 

The most important thing I learned is that in Italy, as in life, there is far too much to see and do, no matter how much time you allow.  Like all good things, it is best to save something to enjoy next time.