Supermercato

At the end of last year I added yet another store to my list of "I-will-never-shop-there-again." It is a long story, but suffice it to say that in Italy, you often end up begging to be allowed to spend your money in certain stores. Although this can be charming or quaint in some shops, it is not an attitude I was prepared to deal with on a daily basis in the grocery store. Luckily, just as I added the GS on Via dei Fornaci to my ever growing list, we received our Vatican "tessera" which allows us to use the Vatican Commissary.  

This was a real boon for many reasons - and not just because I cut our grocery shopping options in half when I shouted, "I will never shop in this supermarket again!" as we stormed out of GS. The commissary is much closer to our house than the old store for one thing. Also, items that are heavily taxed in Italy are much cheaper there (i.e. wine and liquor) and for some reason-perhaps it is the proximity to the Pope-everyone in there is much nicer than in the outside world. I wouldn't say that a line actually forms at the deli counter, but people do tend to be somewhat attentive to who is ahead of them. The checkout clerk even bags my groceries - in FREE plastic bags no less! As you can imagine, paying and bagging your groceries at the same time is nearly  impossible so you either end up holding up the line, or more often, sorting your items out of a pile of the next person's purchases. I'm content now to not confront that anxiety everyday.

Before my first visit to the commissary I heard that they were well known for having the best selection of meat in Rome. I immediately began craving a nice seared filet - a rare find here. I thought for a minute that I was in paradise as I approached the butcher's vast case full of animal parts of all types but when I asked for filet, they said they were out of it. There were enough other options that I wasn't that disappointed but when they didn't have filets the next time I was there, I started to wonder...I thought Romans would be more likely to order tripe than steak? On my third attempt, the butcher, by now recognizing me, suggested I come earlier in the day. I was shopping towards closing time, and I had noticed by the late afternoon things did look a bit picked over. One day all the bakery had left was baguette since they had sold out of the other 24 kinds of bread they stock. There was also the time that the fish section had only one sad fish left. I could only imagine there was a reason the discerning Italian casalingas had passed it up. There had even been days when they were out of fresh milk! I decided to come at 2 pm the next time and shop from what I only assumed would be a more abundant selection. I did notice that the store didn't seem quite so ravaged at that hour, but the early birds had still gotten my filet! Apparently goodies like beef filets, langoustines, fresh milk and a choice of the kind of bread you eat are special treats reserved for retired people and the lucky few who don't have to work.

Almost as a rhetorical question I said, "What is a working girl to do?" I didn't really expect a response other than perhaps the typical, "Che ci posso fare?" meaning, "What can I do about it?" I was surprised when the butcher gave me the number of the butcher department and suggested that I call in the morning when I wanted some filets. I did mention that people are exceptionally kind in this grocery store but I was surprised even by this. The Vatican is truly another country.

Scaricare TV

If you have read my earlier posts, you know that the television in Italy leaves much to be desired. At first we watched with a morbid curiosity but a year into our adventure here, the novelty has worn off. 

When we gave up watching the two RAI stations which run dubbed reruns of "Murder She Wrote" during the day and cheesy game shows at night, we put the three English channels into rotation: CNN international, CNBC and BBC international. The programing on each is essentially repeating the same news show every hour. Once we had seen the show enough that we were able to quote the anchor, we would change to the next station. The rest of the 100 or so stations available on our satellite are in German, including the one channel which gets sports coverage. We watched the Olympics entirely in German, an experience we credit with our ability to say "Divingboard" and "Track and Field" in German. 

For a while after the Olympics ended, I was getting some excitement from watching the live currency exchange rates scroll across the bottom of the BBC. This made for a fun game of our own type of "currency trading." When the euro got down to around $1.21 or so I would run to the ATM as fast as I could. Unfortunately in reviewing my bank statements I realized that the bank averages the rate for the day. So much for that form of entertainment - time to try something else.

We returned home this summer with the goal of purchasing a new computer with which to download TV shows. I could hardly contain myself as I found NBCs website offering full episodes of The Office, a show whose loss I have mourned daily since our move to Italy. I should have known it was too good to be true - as soon as I clicked "download" a message popped up telling me that the video could not be downloaded "from your area". Apparently there is some rule that prevents you from downloading American television unless you actually live in America, where Tivo and OnDemand are ubiquitous (at least as ubiquitous as computers and high speed internet connections). 

After our disappointment with network websites, we were enthused to discover the entertainment buffet on offer at iTunes (even though NBC shows weren't available). The choices are not as vast as Netflix, but for those who follow the ebb and flow of the dollar for fun, iTunes is a goldmine. We picked a movie to rent and clicked. We watched wide-eyed as it showed up in our downloading queue with tiny subscript beneath the progress bar: "2 hours to download." 2 hours...I began calculating how many more rounds of CNN's news broadcast we would have to watch as we waited. Unfortunately, many, many rounds of the same news; I noticed the time had begun slowly creeping upwards. It didn't stop until it reached 24 hours. We suddenly realized that we had failed to factor in the limited bandwidth in Italy which makes the internet connection match the pace of the government offices here. 

Although planning our TV viewing 24 hours in advance has put a slight damper on things, we are excited every day to see the new offering on iTunes. Yesterday I noticed The Office was now available! With the downloads going 24 hours a day and the computer left on all night, we might be able to get season 4 downloaded before season 5 is over! 

Scorpione

On Sunday Chris and I were introduced to another form of Italian "wildlife." I was still snoozing in bed when Chris yelled from the bathroom, "There is some kind of crustacean in here." I heard "incrustation" since incrustation is a familiar thing in our bathroom as the water is so hard here that you can litterally see calcium floating in it. In fact the #1 cleaning product in the grocery store is called "Disincrostante."  

"Where is it?" I asked. 

"Between the toilet and the sink," Chris replied. 

"Well, that could be almost anything," I said. 

"NO, I mean a CRUSTACEAN" 

"What? Like a crab?" Now I was wide awake. By the time I got to the bathroom Chris had stunned the "crustacean" with a shoe. Although I had never seen one in real life, I knew it was a scorpion. Three graduate degrees between us and all we know about scorpiones comes from an Indiana Jones movie where Indy says that when it comes to scorpions, bigger is actually better (i.e. less poisonous). We both stared at the tiny scorpion. Chris wacked it again with the shoe.

Once I had my shoes on I went to the computer for internet research, where I found that large and small doesn't necessarily mean anything when it comes to scorpions. Apparently the types found in Italy - large or small - are generally not too poisonous. In fact, when I told one of my coworkers we found a scorpion in the house, he said the frightening creatures signify good luck. I would believe that, but Italians have a way of saying anything bad that happens to you means you are lucky including being pooped on by a bird, spilling champagne, or getting soaked by rain on your wedding day.

The moral of the story is, you can't trust all the information that you find in an Indiana Jones movie. I'm starting to wonder now about the aliens teaching the Mayan Indians farming...

Ufficio

My days as a housewife are over since I now have a part-time job and get to partake in the joys of the Italian office environment. Foremost among these is the coffee break which begins promptly at 10:30 am. It is clear that the coffee break and espresso machine have been much abused (i.e. used all day long) because there are signs on the breakroom door specifying the machine must be off from 7:00 am - 10:30 am and from 10:45 am -5 pm.

The first order of business (after coffee) was to settle in and get to work so I went in search of supplies. It seems that similar to most offices, one person is in charge of the distribution of supplies, however, I've rarely seen such a highly guarded stash of Post-Its, paper clips and pens. Unfortunately when I found the desk belonging to the keeper of the Post-Its the chair was empty and the computer off. I asked around and was told he was on vacation -- with the key to the file cabinet apparently. Surely someone else has a key? I was told I should try again on Monday to get supplies. This was on a Wednesday afternoon.

Unfortunately upon returning to my desk I realized that the printer I had inherited was running out of ink. No surprise, I had to wait until Monday to get toner. Now unable to write, or to print, I had some time to kill. One of my colleagues was kind enough to point me in the direction of the rack of forms so I could find the proper paperwork to fill out in order to expedite my acquisition of pens when the supply-security-guard returned. Naturally, I was struck by the irony of needing a pen to fill out a form so that I could get some pens. Luckily, nearby was one of those pens they have at the bank that is chained down to the desk, obviously to prevent other desperate workers from absconding with it. Having turned in my forms and acquired the proper stamp, I went back to my empty desk to twiddle my thumbs until the next time we could turn on the espresso machine.

I eventually got my Post-Its, 2 pens and a box of paperclips. I didn't bother filling out the paperwork for a ream of paper, I figured I would just remove a bit from the copier now and then. Of course, that was before I knew that the copier too was under lock and key.

In order to avoid the endless paperwork I have become a great conserver of office supplies. I believe it is good not to be wasteful, but I fear I may be becoming compulsive in my hoarding of rubber bands and paper clips. I now seriously consider the gravity of errors before applying liquid paper and I highlight with restraint.

buon natale

The highlight of Christmas was spending it with my surrogate family. Alison (surrogate sister) showed up early to do all manner of Christmasy activities. Sadly, the first day she was here her wallet and passport were stolen on the bus while we were laden down with packages. Now we know why Romans don't go in for the Christmas shopping like we do - it's simply too difficult to defend your wallet with all of those holiday gifts in hand. We immediately headed home to cancel the credit cards and then went to the police office. Although there was someone there to answer the door we were told we were too late to file a police report. As Alison said, "Sorry you lost your identity, you'll have to come back tomorrow!" It makes you hope nothing grave happens to you after 5 pm here. We came back the next day to fill out the "Denucia" which we were told was the very official police report which would assist us in recovering identification and filling claims. We dictated the story to a police officer who filled in our answers by hand on a photocopy of a form. He then photocopied it once again and we marvelled at how much trouble it took to get something very unofficial looking which we could have easily made ourselves at any hour of the day.

We then went straight to the Embassy with our photocopy. I was steeling myself for hours of waiting in line when I saw a few people at the entrance, but after showing the guard our photocopy we were whisked inside and directed to the second floor. At the entrance we were greeted with a number machine. 6 months in Italy has left me cynical about all attempts at orderly systems but we took one anyway. We had barely sat down when we were called to a window and given the proper forms to fill out. We were pleasantly surprised also to find that they had a photo machine in the embassy, right there were hundreds of people a day are actually in need of passport photos - a work of American ingeniuity to be sure. I recall getting my photo for a permesso di sogiorno from such a photo machine conveniently placed on a cement divider in the middle of a main thoroughfare in Torino. It was nowhere near the office where you had to make the application, by the way. I'm certain the Italians probably hoped to reduce their rate of applicants by having them killed trying to get the necessary photos. As we went down to get Alison's photo from the machine on the first floor we passed by a chaotic room full of people clamoring to get to the windows. This was obviously where they dealt with Italian citizens. I was never so glad to be an American.

With Alison's identity back we went back to our Christmas preparations and back to Italy, the land of inconvenience. We had some cookies planned but as I have already told you, baking supplies are scarce here so this was a challenge. Peanut Butter Blossoms were out since we couldn't find hershey kisses and peanut butter can be bought only at a premium. We weighed the possibilities of breaking up chocolate bars into chunks to use in place of the kisses, but to me it was an abomination to make my favorite cookie with such unasthetically pleasing squares of chocolate. We settled on sugar cookie cut-outs and gingerbread men based on the availability of ingredients. Ali brought the cookie cutters from London since as far as I know, such things don't exist here. We were hampered again when it came to frosting supplies. In the grocery store we could only find the tiniest packet of powdered sugar. We would have needed 100 of them to make one batch of icing. Apparently here "zucchero a velo" is only used for a light dusting on top of cakes. Luckily we were able to get a half kilo bag of it and food coloring at Castroni. If it weren't for Castroni we would have never lasted this long in Rome.

ben tornata e buon natale

Since I have been a bad blogger, I have to fill you in on some of the past few months which were full of interesting Roman experiences. I think it was around the holidays that I began to slack off so I have to recount the story of Christmas in Rome. I am nuts about Christmas and I was very excited to celebrate Roman style. Christmas is far less commercial in Italy and while that sounds like it would be a good thing, it began to wear on me when I was unable to find suitable gift bags and had to resort to wrapping presents with double sided tape since I had no idea where to find "scotch" which is what they call scotch tape. If only they had drug stores here that sold more than drugs!

The lack of commercialism also frustrated my desire to shop for and buy the perfect presents and Christmas trappings. I was thrilled when I heard that, miracle of miracles, there would be a Christmas market in Piazza Navona. I envisioned the equivalent of the Union Square Christmas market where you can find truly unique things from up and coming designers and handmade goodies. Chris and I began our search for our tree there two weeks before Christmas. Unfortunately we discovered that the main attractions at the Navona market were Ciambelloni (giant donuts) and moss-covered manger scenes reminiscent of the 70s. There was not a tree or wreath to be found, not to mention any interesting gifts unless you are interested in plastic gladiator costumes. We looked around the center of Rome for hours in desperation. I once got excited thinking I saw a bunch of trees for sale at the far end of a piazza but when I got there I was disappointed to see that it was only a restaurant entrance covered in fake evergreen boughs. We finally found two trees at the florist in Campo de' Fiori, one of which was sold and one of which was the epitome of a Charlie Brown tree but with a wopping price tag. We went home dejected. There is nothing more sad to me than Christmas without a tree. I take after my mother in my emotional attachment to seasonal evergreens. Together we would lobby for a large tree against my father's practical arguments for a smaller one. We had to plead with my dad to leave the tree up until New Year's Day, a compromise since I would have left it up all year round. I resigned myself to the worst case scenario: Christmas with a faux tree from Ikea.

When I ran out to get groceries later that night I thought I saw some Christmas trees as I passed by the combination florist and gas station. I was cautious because of my experience with the Christmas tree mirage earlier but when I got closer I realized it wasn't a vision - there were real trees there! I didn't have enough cash to buy one on the spot (nor did I have the means to transport it) but I was relieved to see we would have a real evergreen for Christmas. The actual purchase waited until my best friend Ali arrived because tree stands do not exist here. They actually pot the tree. We needed someone to assist in carrying not only the tree but the pot and the dirt! And we thought pine needles were messy--no wonder Romans don't buy live trees!

lo sciopero (di nuovo)

As you might imagine, my initial enthusiasm for strikes has waned since my ill-fated attempt at the sciopero della pasta. That seems like such a long time ago; back when I still thought that the inconvenient aspects of Italian life were quaint. Since then I have had the experience of being stuck on a bus for 45 minutes at Piazza Venezia when all the taxi drivers in the city decided to park their taxis there to block the road and I have also had the pleasure of rescheduling a weekend trip to London due to an all transportation strike the day of my departure. We are now in the midst of a truck strike. There are huge delivery trucks, full of spoiling food, parked all over the highways. In preparation for the strike I had done my major grocery shopping yesterday so I only needed a few little things. I wanted to try out a recipe for mulled wine and pick up cat food (yes, we are now feeding the tigressa twice daily). I wasn't prepared for the total vacuum where the produce once was. Only cucumbers and grapefruits were left. The shelves normally containing fruit were now being used for Panetone, a traditional Christmas cake. Perhaps the employees had reasoned that the candied fruit and raisins in the cake were a decent substitute for grapes and oranges. I was contemplating the ramifications of substituting grapefruit zest for orange zest in the mulled wine when I noticed a bewildered woman wandering back and forth in front of the aisle where the wine is. As I looked closer I saw that the wine had been cordoned off with police tape. There were signs posted up with the seal of the comune of Rome saying that owing to the soccer match tonight between Lazio and Manchester United, there would be no liquor, wine, or beer sold from noon to midnight.

I made my way through the rest of the store to find the remaining items: cat food and drano. The bakery had only one type of bread--you have no idea how dire that is for the Italians who can normally choose from 30 or 40 different types. I saw two nuns filling their baskets with all the chocolate candies they could find. I imagined they were feeding the whole convent on sugar that evening. In the frozen food aisle two old ladies were arguing over the last of the frozen green beans. The aisle with the cleaning products was well stocked with Padre Pio votive candles, but that was it. No drano. I went in to crisis mode. I bought two bottles of shelf stable milk and a box of cereal to sustain us if necessary. As I was checking out the manager was screaming at some man who was insistent on buying beer. Italy has come along way since the days of conquering the world. Now it's a miracle to be able to take the bus to the grocery store and actually buy food there, all in the same day. I managed to get some cat food, but the cat hasn't appeared to eat it all day long. She's probably on strike too.