kat in giro

comparisons: view coming out of the metro in frankfurt & rome

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 14:22:00 +0200

the first moments in a new place...

Wed, 13 Jul 2011 14:39:00 +0200

So, I don’t speak German. Perhaps I should start there. Like, I don’t speak any.

Which constitutes quite a big change, in itself, from living in Italy previously, apart from all the cultural differences. I hadn’t realized I guess how much I had adjusted to Italian culture, even though it still felt “foreign” to me and I don’t think I changed myself to fit into it, necessarily. But you get used to being able to understand the other people on the bus, what people are complaining about and why, that this or that gesture means someone is speaking ironically.

To go from that back to square one, “terra incognita,” is quite a difference. Yet at the same time, there are many more people here speaking English everywhere, and not just tourists, but a large expatriate community. There are also lots of people speaking Italian, Spanish, French, Turkish, on the street. There are a lot of little subtle things that remind me of New York, probably exactly because we have had such a German influence in the past. So these things feel familiar, though they are a slightly different version always.

Main-hattan, or so they sometimes jokingly call the skyline of Frankfurt-Am-Main

A simplistic, but quickly visible example is the street food. Most of what we consider “American food” actually has German origins of course: hot dogs, hamburgers, the big NY pretzels they sell on street corners from little carts. Here in Germany the pretzels are a slightly different shape and consistency, and you can get them not just with big chunks of sea salt, but poppy or sesame seeds as well. Hot dogs come in a variety of different types, sizes, shapes (the extra-long skinny ones are folded in half when served in a bun) and are tucked into a rounder, smaller bun. The overall culture of street foot is familiar though — it’s acceptable, whereas in Italy and Spain it’s usually considered rude to be eating on the street, unless it’s gelato, or in some cases pizza al taglio, folded and served like a sandwich to be taken on the go. I think even this is a recent adaptation however.

Anyway, the first few days in a new place, I find myself cataloguing mentally all these little things, some of them trivial, superficial, others which become the clues to interesting, relevant cultural differences. It’s tiring, the first few weeks, just being somewhere foreign. “Like how standing in a museum is exhausting, even though you’re not really doing anything,” my mom described it. There’s so much input, sights and sounds and your own memories and associations coming back, and just taking it in can be like a job.

Nevermind looking for an apartment in a country where you don’t speak the language, hoping to find other young foreigners with whom you’ll at least be able to communicate. At least there’s one concrete worry ticked off the list, when your work visa is finally officially approved, and it’s just a matter of continuing to wait while it’s sent here and then there and then back again.

But the great thing about getting started in a new place, is how it’s actually sort of simple — just taking it one day at a time. A clear head, a beginning.

a different take on new & old architecture in frankfurt

Sat, 09 Jul 2011 23:33:38 +0200

This is the first view you’ll get of Frankfurt as you step out of the central train station, the “Hauptbahnhof,” and it pretty much sums up my initial impression of the city, at least in terms of its physicality, its architecture. There’s a mix and a contrast of an old European city, with low-level buildings, in a classic style with decorative facades (some original and a lot rebuilt and abbreviated/modernized in style) — and the city’s 17 or so skyscrapers, mostly in an ultra-modern mirror-like style.

Frankfurt is the home to the European Central Bank (possible that tower in the back to the right) as well as a large stock exchange and financial sector, which accounts for the huge office buildings, commonplace in many parts of the US but an anomaly here in Europe — particularly “foreign” to cities like Paris or Rome which are justifiably concerned with keeping their historic character. To get ahead of myself, this aspect of the city’s economy also accounts for its prosperity as a small city, and it’s vibrant scene of small modern restaurants and myriad of lunch types of places and “happy hour” bars and cafes, another big difference from my last experience in Rome.

The facades of some old buildings, reflected in the modern European Central Bank.

Frankfurt was bombed heavily during World War II and a lot of the architecture was destroyed — particularly in the large original Medieval neighborhood near the central “Rom” square and the cathedral (not pictured). All except one I believe of these medieval-style houses that you can see today are re-creations (“You can tell because all the lines are actually straight!” as someone pointed out to me), as was the famous landmark of the Alte Oper (operahouse), which is seen below. It was destroyed and this one was built replicating the original in the 1970s.

Above you can see how a lot of the rest of the city coped with the destruction: what appears to be a building half-destroyed in the war, with the left in the original style, and the right half built with a nod to the old architectural elements, but unabashedly modern.

Personally I really like this idea — the destruction of war is obviously an awful thing, but it has also given Frankfurt an opportunity that many European cities like Rome don’t let themselves take, to carve out a new 20th and 21st century identity, looking solely forward. New buildings that break with old styles are not aberrations to be debated by the city and inevitably hated by half the citizens, but they are an inevitability.

The small number of towers, loosely spaced around the center of the city, lets you actually get a look at them as well, unlike in a place like New York where it’s a tourist move (and a quite literal pain in the neck) to look up and try to get a sense of the scale of the buildings. The center also has a large amount of green space to help you breathe a little oxygen, the result of an interesting twist of history that I will write about soon!

So this is a first little look at Frankfurt, as I am still finding my footing in the city myself. I know of course, and have no illusions, that it is not a city with the grandeur of Rome, but I am quite looking forward to what it will have in store for me, in part because it is so vastly different from what I’ve seen before.

a bit of a change...

Fri, 08 Jul 2011 12:28:00 +0200

Since my last post, about a month ago now, I have actually had the opportunity to move for a new job. So I find myself now in Frankfurt, Germany, once again back at square one in terms of having no idea what the people around me are saying! A little bit overwhelming, but also quite an adventure so far…

I still have a lot of pictures and stories of day trips and so on in Italy, so I’ll continue to post about Rome as well as my new life here, as well I’m sure of the many comparisons I will find between the two. I’m also going to keep working on a “city guide” for Rome, which you can find in the right column over there.

Thank you for continuing along the journey with me! Now I’ve got to get back to searching for apartments in a language I don’t know, and the rather less exciting activity of waiting for my work visa to go through (involves a lot of crossing fingers).

gagosian gallery: made in italy

Mon, 06 Jun 2011 15:03:26 +0200

Though I have been here for a while, I am still very American when it comes to certain things. One of them is that I leap at the chance to see any modern or contemporary art, particularly by non-Italian artists, here — while for most Italians “art” is synonimous with all their amazing Renaissance and Baroque paintings and there’s no point arguing that it can get better or more interesting than that. Alright, agree to disagree.

Therefore I was very quick when I got here to Rome to get on the email list of places like the Gagosian Gallery to hear when they have new shows, check out the alternative bookstores that advertise contemporary and international art exhibits and performances, as well as cultural centers that have film screenings, lectures, book readings and so on. The Gagosian Gallery is of course an institution I know from New York, where they have three locations both uptown and in Chelsea, and which hosts a lot of fantastically curated shows, which I was able to become familiar with when in another lifetime I worked in a small private gallery in NYC.

I have been to several other openings at the gallery in Rome in the months I’ve been here, some being better than others. A highlight was a Takashi Murakami show of two immense murals of dragons back in the fall, and well I won’t go into any lowlights. This current exhibit was titled “Made in Italy” and is a group show of over a dozen international artists of the past century, each with a work tied to Italy in some way, in celebration of 150 years of Italy as a unified country (yes, they are technically even younger than us Americans in terms of statehood!).

The entryway (above) included a Cindy Sherman self-portrait as Caravaggio’s Bacchus, a Richard Prince illustration over a lithograth of a Roman statue (Venere del Canova), and busts by Giacometti and Jeff Koons.

Please excuse my awful quality iPhone photos — anyway I suppose I was trying to catch the ambience more than anything. I’ve tried to link to as much of the art as possible if you’d like a better look at anything.

A lot of people came out for the opening: Elegantly dressed older people who were quite familiar with the pop art pieces from their own youth, or in some cases more familiar with the original Roman or Italian art that they are based on. (Roy Lichtenstein’s series of studies of Laocoon, above.) There were also of course younger people, some drawn most to the contemporary, purely conceptual pieces, others looking at the “classics” with the eyes of those who still study them as the epitome of the history of art.

A juxtaposition of Andy Warhol’s Mona Lisa lithographs, and to the left two versions of Marcel Duchamp’s “L.H.O.O.Q.”, a tourist postcard print of the Mona Lisa with a mustache drawn on. The title, of course, has the double meaning of “look” in English, and read aloud in French it sounds like “elle a chaud au cul”, which I will leave to the franco-parlanti to understand! Oddly enough, I personally found that I associate the Mona Lisa (La Gioconda) more with France than with Italy, because it is at the Louvre I suppose.

One of the things that I really liked about the show was that there were so many different artists, with completely unrelated styles and subject matters, all just loosely tethered to the idea of Italy. An abstract painting, and a large scale aerial photograph of beaches, and a display of dozens of fish preserved in formaldehyde don’t have very much to do with each other, sitting one by one along the wall, but it’s sort of nice that each piece really gave you something completely new to think about, unlike thematic or stylistic shows where you can sort of go on autopilot from one painting to the next.

Everything was tied to Italy in some way — though sometimes exactly how was precisely what made you think — and it was a truly diverse show. Italy today can be sometimes a country with a bit of an identity crisis, too much of their perceived cultural value lying so far in the past (at least in the eyes of many of the Italians I know) so to see so many of the associations the country and its culture have for artists around the world, all in one room, had a very positive message to it.

The Gagosian Gallery in Rome can be found at: Via Francesco Crispi, 16.

And of course online: Gagosian Gallery

blending the old and new in italian palazzi

Mon, 23 May 2011 01:18:00 +0200

I try to see as many art and design exhibits as I can here in Italy in small galleries and palazzi (old buildings build for aristocratic families in centuries past), because I am often disappointed by the larger museums. A great post on another blog about the incorporation of contemporary art into chateaus in France made me think about one of the aspects of these small galleries that I like the most — the perfect eye that curators and exhibit designers often bring to mixing and contrasting the old, history-laden spaces with new art, new creativity, and a hyper-modern way of presenting it. I always find that the shows I like the least are those that try to stay all historical, or all contemporary. Neither exists without the other, and a country like Italy or France has a unique ability to incorporate this into exhibits that galleries in the US unfortunately do not.

One of the best examples of this I’ve seen was an exhibit held for just two days in Milan’s Palazzo Marino last year by Dolce & Gabbana to celebrate 20 years of their menswear collections. Elegant rooms with painted and sculpted ceilings, frescoes and portraits and marble covering every inch, were filled with slick chrome and glass walls, multimedia displays flashing through their history in images and quotes, as well as interactive photo galleries and huge books to flip through everywhere. The exhibit celebrated Dolce & Gabbana, their cutting edge style and quality of craft, but framed this perfectly in the context of the many centuries that Italy has been at the greatest heights of art and design and embellished details, renowned for its tradition of valuing beauty.

Embedded in plexiglass around the halls were dozens of iPads for flipping through the image galleries at your own pace.

The old, delicate details of the old palazzo were also contrasted by rough, mismatched wood used in these book stands.

My favorite detail of the exhibit though was how they very literally brought the nostalgia of craftsmanship together with modernity: in a side room a tailor sat on a very slowly turning platform, working on finishing a hem or buttonhole or other details, as people passed through and watched. Next to him on a little table a radio played those classic, instantly recognizable Italian songs from the 50s and 60s, and around the room were finished tuxedo jackets on mannequins, patterns pinned up, all the accoutrements of a classic tailor’s shop. Something you can still see in fact if you happen to pass by an open sartoria door today. The whole thing might seem a little kitschy I suppose, but personally I found it sincere, a tribute to the often forgotten detail work, which in a lot of ways is what has made this country great. I guess I had a personal attachment as well though, as once upon a time I studied pattern-making and sewing in night classes in New York.

One of the somewhat controversial blendings of old and new in Rome however is the Museum of the Ara Pacis. It is an “altar to peace” from ancient Rome, amazingly preserved, which several years was housed in a very modernly designed museum, designed by American architect Richard Meier, to protect it from the elements. Romans are understandably finicky about adding anything to change drastically the look or character of their city, particularly when it comes to their ancient architecture, but I think that the simplicity of the design — all glass, metal, crisp white walls and neutral stone — is a fitting way to house the monument stylishly without detracting from it, allowing much of the altar and sculptures to still be visible to anyone walking by. A beautiful fountain in front of the museum has turned it into a gathering place as well, especially beloved by children exhausted by the hot sun.

The Museum of the Ara Pacis, Rome.

A few days ago I was in Bologna, seeing my aunt and uncle who are traveling in Italy with friends, and again the museum which stands out as most successful in my mind is the Palazzo Fava: a beautiful old house famed for its Renaissance frescoes showing the story of Jason and the Argonauts and Medea, but which filled much of the rest of its space with contemporary art. I particularly liked a series of sculptures of cypress trees, a quintessential feature of the central Italian landscape, in blocky marble, wood and even one made of thin blades of rusted sheet metal. On the top floor of the palazzo there was also a small exhibit about the design of a new concert hall being built, which itself takes its asymmetrical shape from the old outline of the city walls of Renaissance Bologna: a perfect tribute to history.

Cipresso e la sua amica pioggia, by Angelo Micheli, 2009, at Palazzo Fava, Bologna.

notte dei musei

Sun, 15 May 2011 14:15:28 +0200

Last night Rome held it’s annual “Notte dei Musei” — Night at the Museums — where a long list of museums around the city are open from 8pm to 2am, free of charge. I took the opportunity to try to see some of the museums I still hadn’t visited, including the Mercati di Traiano (Markets of Trajan), a part of the Roman Forum.

I also went to see the an exhibit of Poussin at the Villa Medici (Académie de France à Rome), and a show of 100 works from Romanticism, Impressionism, Expressionism, and more from the Stadel Museum of Frankfurt, which was held at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni (let’s just say it was a long night, with a lot of walking). Unfortunately pictures were not allowed inside at either of those! So below you will find some of my photos from the Mercati, which was certainly the highlight of the night, a site that benefits the most from the strange experience of seeing it in the middle of the night.

(Above is a view of the Vatican and another church in Rome, illuminated at night, as seen from the hilltop Villa Medici.)

Detail of an ancient sculpture in Mercati di Traiano.

When my parents came to visit me back in the fall, I took tours of the Coliseum and Forum, but besides that I have not seen too much of the ancient art, except of course that you see it out in the open all over the city (the Pantheon, Largo Argentina, Tempio di Adriano, etc.). The Markets of Trajan are a nice way to see more, because it combines the preserved architecture, with a little bit of ancient art and marble from the original building, with spectacular views of the rest of the Forum from an outdoor terrace, and they often hold events, such as an aperitivo (cocktail hour) or concerts.

As with many of the museums participating in Notte dei Musei, there were short concerts spread throughout the evening, with a great trio (piano, bass, singer/guitar) playing in the main hall.

While the music added an incredible ambience to the evening which was already buzzing with tons of people, couples out on a date, little kids up past bedtime, the best experience was walking out through the exhibits, the music slowly getting softer, to the terraces which overlook not just the market itself, but the rest of the Forum, the famous Column of Trajan, and the Vittoriano (the “new” monument built in the 1800s).

These ruins, the half columns mixed with those quintessentially Roman trees, are always lit at night and I’ve seen them as I’ve walked by, but the view from above, from within the ruins yourself, is much much better.

All in all, Notte dei Musei was certainly popular, an excellent opportunity for the mostly Italian crowd (I believe the event was only advertised in Italian) to see the beautiful sites that are usually so overrun by foreign tourists (well, like me).

easter in a catholic country

Mon, 25 Apr 2011 14:51:00 +0200

Villa Borghese is kind of incredible: How many city parks have such an amazing skyline view?

It’s odd for me spending Catholic holidays here in a place where they are so ubiquitous: even though most young people you ask would say they aren’t Catholic, literally everyone celebrates these holidays with their families, so they have a much stronger impact than any holiday (except maybe Christmas) does in NY. I grew up there surrounded people of all different religions, where it was normal that not everybody celebrated the same days. While we were familiar with most of the major holidays,we would ask friends about those they celebrated that we didn’t know — the two different Eids, for example. I don’t think you can really appreciate this kind of diversity until you live somewhere else.

Here, a holiday like Easter is just a universal given. Everything is closed except for some restaurants and souvenir shops (apparently a lot of people have started going out for their Pasqua lunch). Stores are almost all closed today as well, Pasquetta, when I think it is traditional to sell flowers (the Spanish Steps are covered in them as well this week), but unfortunately it’s raining so I haven’t ventured out to investigate this yet. When some friends have wished me “Buona Pasqua,” I have mentioned that I don’t actually celebrate the holiday, not being Christian, but nobody has then asked me what I do celebrate, or anything about it. I don’t really mind, I guess, I just sincerely don’t understand the lack of curiosity. One of the things I don’t think I’ll ever get about this country, in general.

“Spanish Steps” (Scalinata di Trinità dei Monti, Piazza di Spagna), covered in flowers and tourists.

Easter traditions here seem to be fairly straightforward though. There are huge chocolate eggs sold everywhere (including large Kinder eggs, Spiderman or Simpsons toys included), but you don’t see the pastel colors, peeps, or Easter egg hunts like back at home. As far as I have seen, the holiday involves mostly going to nonna’s house for lunch with cousins, then spending the rest of the day lamenting how much you ate, saying you’re going to explode, or maybe throw up so you can eat more chocolate. These are the reports in from friends, at least. Most of their holidays seem sort of like our Thanksgiving in this way. I also heard of different traditional cakes: simples ones shaped like doves, usually given by an aunt or uncle; a round cake with whole eggs (in the shell) baked into it; “pizza di pasqua” which I believe is a thick focaccia-like bread with cheese in it — these all vary by region of course though.

Myself, I went to the city’s largest park, Villa Borghese, to spend the afternoon getting a little sun, reading and walking around. As lunchtime passed the park filled up with families doing the same, kids pulling along huge animal balloons, but no Easter hats, bunny costumes, or anything like that in sight. Sort of like any Sunday, I suppose, but one where truly everyone can enjoy it instead of working.

Because most people live close to their extended families (and most 20-somethings still live with their parents), just about everybody can be with their family, while in the US we’re more used to being far away and maybe not making it back for every occasion. Friends complained yesterday of the endless hours with relatives, being asked those same questions we get: “when are you graduating?” “when are you getting married?” “having kids?” But at the same time they really can’t fathom those of us who go so far away from all of ours.

Fontana di Cavalli Marini, Villa Borghese

Piazza di Siena, Villa Borghese

It’s been a week full of holidays, actually. Friday was Earth Day, and a few days before here in Rome they had a free concert to celebrate, again in Villa Borghese, with Patti Smith. I absolutely love her, so it was great to be able to see her in person, fairly close up after weeding my way through the crowd as much as I could. I was a little disappointed she only played four songs (you get what you paid for, right?), since an Italian singer performed after her, but it was truly priceless hearing a huge crowd of Italians singing along in their crazy accents to her lyrics, or an approximation thereof.

Furthermore, the 23rd was International Book Day which saw 20% discounts in bookstore chains across the city, and today the 25th marks the anniversary of the day the Italians defeated Naziism/Fascism in World War Two. Nevermind the posters up around town for a neo-fascist rally being held today.

Patti Smith performing in Villa Borghese.

farmacia santa maria novella

Fri, 22 Apr 2011 16:58:00 +0200

La Farmacia-Profumeria di Santa Maria Novella is a small, very chic chain of perfume shops in the major cities of Italy (and a few around the world), but the one you must visit if you get a chance is the original in Florence, touted as “the oldest pharmacy in all of Europe.” It has been running continuously for at least 4 centuries now, though the earliest recorded iteration of the pharmacy dates back to 1381. It’s tucked on an unassuming street not far from the train station, in an old palazzo with a long, narrow marble entryway. When you do step up into the old “pharmacy” however, it’s just like stepping into the past, as everything is preserved, sometimes melodramatically so (see above).

There is of course a shop in the front hall, where you can buy everything from scented soaps and candles, to the popular astringent toner for the skin “Acqua di Rosa,” to other elixirs and of course their elegant perfumes.

As you wind your way back through the palazzo, they also have a museum of sorts, showing old painted urns which housed herbs and dried flowers in centuries past, and the old books of “recipes,” details on different ingredients and their supposed benefits to the skin and body, and gorgeous old copies of their pharmacy licenses and various honors in their long history.

Their other outposts around Italy don’t go into the history of the company in the same way, but they maintain the level of elegance and old-worldliness. Usually a single room shop lined with shiny wooden cabinets full of soaps and glass bottles, you must ring a bell to be let in, and then you are greeted by a woman in an immaculate white coat, blurring the line (as these concepts differ linguistically as well between Italian and English) between “pharmacy” and cosmetics.

La Farmacia di Santa Maria Novella is on Via della Rinascente in Rome

In Florence: Via della Scala, 16

Mon, 11 Apr 2011 01:07:00 +0200

day tripper in siena

Thu, 07 Apr 2011 14:42:00 +0200

Siena is a small city in the hills of Tuscany, incredibly popular with tourists because, within its walls, it is completely preserved with all its medieval architecture: narrow streets, imposing stone walls, little shops everywhere selling all the classic items — leather, silk scarves and ties, lithographs and prints, antiques, artisinal foods. If you want to step back in history, this is the place to go.

One of the things that the city is most known for is horses, because every June a legendary horse race takes place right through its central square, Piazza del Campo (which roughly translates to stadium square). The rest of the year, of course, this piazza just serves as the social heart of the city, a place where tourists and locals alike mill about and lounge around as soon as the sun is warm enough in the spring to do so.

From Rome, with one change of trains, the trip takes around three hours, which is a little longer than is ideal for a day trip, but passing through the hills of Tuscany as you do in the train is a worthwhile endeavor in itself, so it doesn’t feel like wasted time. Olive groves, crumbling old towns and farmhouses, hills with dew rising in the morning sun and horizons dotted with cyprus trees… It’s really like another world, not reality.

I had been to Siena before, and logic would probably state that I should have tried somewhere new, seen something else instead, but there’s something nice about going to a place you know you’ll love, that you know lives up to the hype. There are several other “medieval cities” around Tuscany, but Siena is probably considered the classic example.

Each neighborhood in the city has a symbol and colors to go along with it, in this case the turtle, with yellow and blue. Vendors around the Piazza del Campo sell scarves with each neighborhood’s insignia and colorful patterns, and in June you see them hung up around the city as flags, because it is these “teams” that compete in the horse race.

Cities throughout Tuscany are mostly comprised of red brick buildings, and shades of brown and orange stones, but in their cathedrals a popular style are these white and dark stripes, as seen below on Siena’s duomo. Think of Florence’s famous duomo, which has dark green stripes and also pinkish red ones along its sides, then a red brick dome. Against the intensely bright blue sky, it’s quite a contrast, especially in the haze and shadows of the narrow streets around.

“Antique” and modern styles of food shopping…

Carciofi (artichokes) 15 for 5 euros… not a bad deal. I read recently that they are technically a flower, which is why they are in season now in the spring.

While the beauty in Tuscany is breathtaking, even for someone who’s been in Italy long enough to take it for granted here in Rome, what I really love about the region is the atmosphere, the culture, at least what I perceive it as. The people in Tuscany seem so much nicer, so much friendlier than anywhere else. Maybe more like how Italy used to be years ago, provincial in a good way.

They’re used to the high volume of tourists I guess and they take it in stride, rather than having the cynical attitude toward it that we have in NY for example. The main piazza is filled with tourists, yes, but sitting there in the afternoon sun there were also lots of local people, a meeting place for friends to drop by, sit with a beer or bottle of wine, relax, read, talk (Compare with Times Square, which yes is a different scale, but a local wouldn’t be caught dead there). These cities like Siena and Florence and even Venice in a sense — they seem to find their own pace, their own rhythm underneath the bustle of so many strangers in and out each day. And because Siena is mostly a day-trip destination, as the afternoon wears on into evening, you see the population diminish, the sun fades, the city is all theirs again.

More pictures are on my flickr page.

Photo

Wed, 06 Apr 2011 02:11:00 +0200

style and the italians

Sun, 03 Apr 2011 15:33:00 +0200

It’s pretty easy to tell Italians from tourists in Rome in April… The Italians will be those dressed still for winter, long coat, boots over their jeans, maybe even fur, while tourists (let’s face it, particularly Americans) treat the 60 degree weather as spring in shorts, t-shirts or polos, maybe a sweater in tow for the evening when it gets a little colder.

The Italians of course have a reputation for good style, perhaps not quite as chic or understated as the French, but they are associated with artisan quality, and things that read “Made in Italy” are coveted in fancy shops in the US.

Personally though I find Italian style somewhat disappointing, in the sense that to them “good taste” is basically all about uniformity. They have strict (if somewhat elusive to outsiders) rules about what to wear, when, and how. For example in October, when it was around the same comfortable temperature, I would wear pants, a jacket, ballet-flat shoes but no socks, fairly conservative I’d think compared to tourists who, yes, were sometimes still in shorts. Yet it was enough of a diversion from the Italian “rule” to be elicit remarks from several friends – “How can you go around without socks? Oh that’s right, you’re American, your feet don’t get cold.”

One of the clichés they love citing about Americans is that we wear flipflops all the time, summer, fall and winter, not to mention how many people I heard independently comment on this detail of Mark Zuckerberg’s wardrobe when “The Social Network” came out.

They don’t seem to think we’re the worst though; a common joke I’ve heard is to say someone looks like they got dressed with the lights off, “London style.” It’s all sort of ironic anyway, since they love traditional British brands, tons of people go around with fabric shopping bags from Harrod’s department store in England, and of course as in much of Europe young people love dressing in American sportswear style. The college Franklin and Marshall, actually – a small college in rural Pennsylvania – has a fairly lucrative chain of branded clothing here, which Italian teenagers seem to consider a sort of Abercrombie-light.

That said there are undeniably a lot of stylish people here, depending on where you go. Sometimes I’ll see a group of teenagers dressed up in suit jackets and jeans, colorful suede loafers, thick wavy hair and sunglasses, heading off to some event, and it’s like something straight out of a movie. There are the little old men in incredibly tailored suits, women hovering somehow over the cobblestones in stilettos and gorgeous dresses. I think you could say that it’s a stylish culture in general in the sense that everyone, even men, are very interested in the details of style – sunglasses, watches, and a sort of obsession with sneakers (favorites are Chuck Taylors, which they call All-Stars, and Hogan’s ridiculously priced sneakers). In my snobby opinion it’s not always a very elegant interest – you’ll see more people of both genders proudly wearing logo-emblazoned clothes and accessories, basically more status symbols than you might consider is really in good taste.

Others of their style “secrets” just seem to be practical, however, and perhaps we shouldn’t really give them so much credit. The French are probably more known for their stylish wearing of scarves and pashminas, but they’re incredibly common here as well. I think it just boils down to the questionable heating systems in most homes and buildings here, and the fact that that soft scarf around your neck makes all the difference in keeping that perpetual chill at bay. In the US we tend to even over-heat because our winters are so fierce, so the scarf like many accessories takes on a purely aesthetic purpose. They say now that Americans actually over-compensate, over-accessorize, another instant give-away. I’m not so sure though, I think with international brands like Zara, H&M, and so on, it’s harder and harder to tell the locals and other Europeans, Americans, and beyond apart.

Picture from Lonny Mag, an excerpt of Ines de la Fressange’s “Guide to Parisian Chic”

I think I have a problem...

Fri, 18 Mar 2011 15:30:28 +0100

With this whole language learning thing, I mean. First I started off with Spanish, studying it in school, then majoring in it in college and even going abroad with it to Barcelona (although of course the study abroad thing might have been part of why I did the major…). Then I decided to move to Italy to teach English, despite not knowing anyone here, not having any Italian ancestry or anything like that, and only knowing of the language what I had taught myself from reading in Italian, having picked up a couple silly novels when I had visited Italy.

Now, I still haven’t studied Italian formally but I get by, and I keep finding myself at… The French cultural center in Rome, Centre Saint Louis de France. They have a chock full calender of films, exhibitions, lectures, and book readings, and I just started going when there was a topic that particularly interested me, as a nice way to unwind when I was downtown after work.

There was a lecture about Andy Warhol and religious themes in his work which I thought should be interesting, but I went with low expectations of how much I would understand based on knowing other romance languages. And, in fact, the first speaker I had a hard time with. Slides going along with his points helped somewhat, but what I find difficult about French are the different accents and ways of speaking, some people are just phlegmy and slur and mumble and it sounds really awful, in my humble opinion. The second speaker though I fared better with; he was one of those slow-talkers who sort of has to think of each word himself before he says them, which obviously helped. I took some notes on what I did understand, and looking back at them afterwards I realized I had gotten quite a lot of it.

So at that point I was sort of hooked. Maybe I can learn this one too, at least a little. I went to other talks where I understood really about 1%, films where at least I could follow the basic story. Last week however I went to my favorite event yet, a book discussion with a French author who grew up in Rwanda before the war (if you can call it that) there. I understood enough to be interested in the book at the first talk, in French, and then luckily a few days later he gave another “conversation” at a small African bookstore here, where he had someone live translating to and from French for him, whispering in his ear as the interviewer spoke and so on (and as a geek, I find even little details like this totally fascinating). It soon switched to French though, of course, as most people in the crowd who asked questions did so in French. Still, once you have a little context you can understand more than you might think, if you just try and don’t give up. It was a fantastic experience and I managed to learn a lot.

I got the book (the Italian version though, I don’t want to completely frustrate myself) and it’s fascinating, really creative, a dialog of sorts between two parallel lives, one a mute boy living in the aftermath in Rwanda, and the other a girl who was born there, orphaned, adopted by a couple in Paris, and therefore grew up thinking herself disconnected from what happened. (The title is “Le Passé devant soi” in French if you are interested, I don’t believe it has been translated to English though.)

When I picked up my copy, I had it signed by the author, though I could only pronounce my name and say thank you in the most basic French. His translator offered to read me what he had written, but instead I waited and looked up the words I didn’t know when I got home, and there you have it, my first personal experience in yet another language.

madonna

Wed, 02 Feb 2011 15:14:00 +0100

Along with mamma mia, which never seems to lose its novelty for me, one of my favorite Italian expressions is madonna. It means basically wow or gee, in either a positive or negative form.

For example, “Madonna, what a beautiful dress” or “Madonna, I can’t believe the pizzeria is out of margherita.” It’s usually accompanied by one of several delightfully expressive hand gestures.

Myself, I tend to use it when I’m alone, exclaiming at some stupid thing I’ve just done (this occurs often). Such as: Madonna, why is it some days I can speak Italian fine on the phone, and other days I’m a total disaster? Trying to spell my email address (always a mistake) and pronouncing half the letters the Spanish way, then forgetting completely how you are supposed to say the “@” symbol.

I wonder, from other ex-pats, if it ever gets easier, this day-to-day oscillation in my ability to speak a foreign language? I have an English student who’s from South America, and she tells me that she still has days when she’s tired or stressed and she can barely speak Italian — and she’s been here for six years.

As we say in New York, oy.

Madonna and candle offerings, Chiesa di San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome

culture notes: on olive oil

Tue, 01 Feb 2011 00:50:00 +0100

It’s been sort of a battle, me and olive oil. Or a resistance, to be less dramatic. When I first lived abroad, in Spain several years ago, I became convinced that olive oil just didn’t agree with my system. And I may have been right in a sense — I was living with a host family, so eating home-cooked Spanish food that was made with a lot of olive oil. So when came to Italy, and was cooking for myself this time, I stuck with good old butter for all my cooking needs, it was what I was used to, even if it shows a perhaps obtuse resistance to assimilation. (Is assimilation really the goal anyway?)

When I first was living with Italian roommates here, cooking was a sort of cultural interchange adventure — I loved noticing all the little details of how we, instinctively, cook differently. Not just the classic difference in dishes, regional pasta sauces, and things like that, but the things you might not think of. As an American I make mashed potatoes whipped with a lot of butter, whole milk, and salt. Italians will make a potato puree, add just a little olive oil, salt and maybe pepper, and sometimes re-bake it afterwards with parmigiano cheese grated on top. They make polenta with chicken stock and oil, to serve with meat or sausage; I make cornmeal porridge with milk, cinnamon and sugar, and they look at me like I’m crazy. When their mothers come to visit, even more so. Don’t even ask what they had to say about the idea of pasta with butter. And nothing else.

Now however I do use olive oil sometimes. It started creeping in when I’d try new Italian dishes like spaghetti carbonara, or making focaccia dough which needs to be coated in a little oil while it rises. And of course when cooking for yourself, you can not over-do it with the amount, and not overwhelm yourself with unfamiliar ingredients. Putting a little on the skillet and throwing in some pre-mixed spices you can get at one of the outdoor markets here, is the fastest way to make your apartment smell like heaven (and about 80% of the work of a great classic tomato sauce for pasta or pizza). Of course there are some things I’ll never switch to olive oil for — fried eggs for one thing. Been there, it’s just weird.

if there were an age i could go back to...

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 14:34:16 +0100

it would be when you’re first visiting colleges, spending long weekends taking tours and trying on different lives, different possibilities for your future. In America at least, or where I’m from anyway, that’s when you really feel you’re starting to plan your life, and it feels big and monumental , you’re not quite sure you’re ready yet, but you feel clearly that everything is still ahead of you. You’re on the precipice.

I don’t think I’ve experienced any other time quite as exciting as that, at least not yet.

Via dei Condotti, Rome.

Sat, 29 Jan 2011 22:41:00 +0100

Video staircase at Louis Vuitton

Via dei Condotti, Rome.

what we miss when we're taking pictures

Tue, 25 Jan 2011 16:44:29 +0100

Another unexpected, unexplained memory: When I was a kid, I spent a few summers at one of those cabins, hiking trips, swimming in a lake kinds of summer camps. Only this camp was run by sort-of-hippies, and what I mean by that is we didn’t celebrate the 4th of July because of the oppression of Native Americans, and instead we “observed” Hiroshima Remembrance Day. I’ll let that sink in.

We spent most of the day learning about what happened (I must have been 9 or 10 at the time), doing some regular fun activities, and then making 1,000 little white origami cranes. At night we took all these little cranes and floated them, as well as tea-light candles, in the lake, then sat and watched these flickering lights and tiny birds float out and away.

I really couldn’t tell you why I thought about this while walking down the Via del Corso one chilly night here. But I thought to myself that it would be nice to have a picture of that — it was beautiful and touching, meaningful, even as kids. But then I thought that it’s better not to, because it meant that that night we were just there, looking at it. Not distracted by anything, or trying to “capture it” correctly. We just sat there with our friends, watching and talking and probably laughing and singing. No screens separating any of us from each other, or us from experience.

Now, I take a lot of pictures, my iPhoto is filled with too many to even organize. Yet, while they’re nice to look at, it’s only really for a few seconds before clicking to the next — they don’t really mean anything.

memories flooding back

Sun, 23 Jan 2011 16:38:37 +0100

I don’t know whether it’s that I’m far from home, or I miss my family, or just that I’m getting older in general, but recently so many memories have been randomly coming back to me — visceral memories; clear, vibrant images. And in most cases they’re not even of home, but of other places, other trips I’ve taken, other memories I now know I’m lucky to have a part of me.

When I was 13 me and my mom took a trip together, just the two of us, to California — spending three days each in San Diego, L.A., and San Francisco. Yesterday I was walking through the fog, here in Rome, and I suddenly remembered something I don’t even think I’ve ever thought of since then. Standing on a hill in San Francisco, being told by a tour or perhaps reading it on a little sign, that we were looking at the church where Marilyn Monroe married Joe DiMaggio. I guess it strikes me now, the importance of that to people who visit, the fact that it’s an anecdote that’s remained interesting to people after all these years. As if she were our Princess Di, our version of royalty. On the level perhaps, and ironically, of a JFK and Jackie wedding, had we known who they were already at that time.

I’ve never been particularly girly, nor have I ever thought about weddings and getting married and all of that, though I guess like most people I imagine it will happen eventually. Maybe this memory was just a nice flash of the past, or maybe, on some subconscious level, that I should start thinking about these things, if I want to marry my Joe DiMaggio in a church (or, well, not a church) some day. I’m not as young as I once was.