I’d like to think that I’m just as understanding as anyone, and yet I tend to think that when you’re traveling it’s just plain polite to try to fit into the country you’re visiting. It’s like the “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” saying - and in this case, we’re even talking about Italy. Shelley of At Home in Rome recently wrote about an incident in her neighborhood, which has me thinking that cultural “training” for tourists - from any country, and about any country - might not be …
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Siena’s Palio is an enormous event, held twice every summer, and while it certainly draws a fair number of tourists each year it is by no means a tourist event. The residents of Siena would have their celebration and horse race whether anyone from outside the city came or not. Frankly, they’d probably prefer it if they could just have their festival and be left well enough alone - although we all know how likely that is.
The first Palio of the year was held on July 2nd, and it was something of …
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Here are a few posts about what’s going on in Italy this July - if you’re planning a trip this month, check them out to see if you’ll cross paths with anything you simply must see.
Italofile notes that outdoor music festivals abound in Italy in July, so it’s a great time to enjoy the open air and some fantastic music. Personally, I highly recommend seeing an opera in Verona - even if you’re not an opera lover - but there are plenty of other options, in all musical styles and in …
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As I mentioned yesterday, each summer I begin my Saturdays at my local farmer’s market, and during most of the early summer (and sometimes longer if I’m lucky) my favorite stand has the biggest and sweetest strawberries I’ve ever tasted. The trouble with strawberries is that they spoil so quickly, so I try to transform them into strawberry gelato by Saturday afternoon.
This is a recipe I got from a gelato class which was taught by the owner of Portland’s best gelato shop, Mio Gelato (the best gelato outside Italy). I’ve modified it, mainly because I’m lazy, but it still turns out brilliantly. The best part is that there is no cooking necessary, so it’s easy to whip this up even in hot weather when you don’t feel like going near the stove. My modifications are underneath the recipe as I first learned it.
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This past weekend, the husband and I went to the baby shower of one of his old co-workers. She’s Japanese, and many of the people who the husband has worked with over the last decade have been from Asia, and that’s been an interesting cultural learning experience for me (who’s never been to Asia). One of the couples at the shower yesterday are some of my favorite people I’ve met through the husband’s job. They’re both Chinese, and have lived here for quite some time. They both have Chinese names, of course, but - like many Chinese people I’ve met - they’ve both adopted English names for use here. I find this name-choosing process fascinating. And bear with me, there’s an Italian connection here, I swear.
This Chinese couple is Brian and Vivian. Now, Vivian chose her name because of its meaning - her Chinese name means quiet and reserved (which she isn’t, really), so she wanted an English name that meant the exact opposite. So, she went with Vivian for its “vivacious” meaning. She fits her name well, in my opinion. Her husband, on the other hand, didn’t go as deep with his English name. His surfing instructor on a trip to Australia was called Brian, and he liked the guy. So, he went with Brian.
The only time I know of when most adults get to put on a different name is when we’re in school and taking a foreign language. For some unknown reason, when I took French in high school I decided to become Brigitte. Really, don’t ask. It was a name listed in the front of the textbook, and just being “Jessica” with a French accent didn’t seem enough to me. But I never felt like a Brigitte, and it wasn’t a name I carried with me outside the French classroom.
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A gal I know who happens to have unhappy reactions in her stomach every time she eats garlic was wary about a trip she had coming up in Italy. She asked, “Will I be able to find anything that isn’t covered in garlic?” A mutual friend suggested she try everyone’s favorite bean defense (which she glowingly reported worked like a charm), but when she returned from Italy she said that she’d been surprised at how little garlic she actually found in the food. Little did she know, she was in Italy in the midst of the Garlic Wars.
Many Italian chefs still adore and use garlic, but some Italian chefs these days are eschewing it. But they’re not stopping with just eliminating it from their own kitchens:
Critics have started a ferocious campaign for garlic-free dining, and the debate has moved out of culinary circles. Corriere della Sera, Italy’s top daily, devoted a page to the matter this week, listing celebrities in each camp under the headline: “The Crusade of Garlic Enemies.”
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I’ve noted before that one of the struggles of learning a new language is going from being reasonably articulate in your native tongue to being reduced to childish phrases and half-sentences in your new language. Well, one of the blogs I’ve quoted before on this subject has another post about it which I think is worth quoting again.
Elizabeth of Cross-Cultural Moments has a way of looking at everyday experiences and extracting meaning from them - meaning that takes the form of cultural collisions (or, if she’s lucky, mere cultural fender-benders) between her American-born self and her adopted home of Italy. She’s completely fluent in Italian, but has recently begun taking lessons in the fine art of writing in, for lack of a better explanation, a more truly Italian way.
As she’s mentioned in the past, Italian writing is much more what we might call “flowery” than American writing tends to be, so learning how to write like an Italian isn’t as easy as just translating the words. Her new post quotes her teacher as saying something I found fascinating:
“English”, he said, “Is free yet not anarchic at all, while Italian full of rules yet anarchic in practice.”
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Some Italian news bites for your Sunday enjoyment:
Venice is set to open a new bridge across the Grand Canal by the end of 2007 - the lagoon city’s first new bridge in hundreds of years. There are currently only three bridges which span the famous canal.
An anxiety-stricken woman in Genoa was recently given a written prescription from her doctor (a man) to have sex no more than twice a week in order to relieve her anxious state. What is almost more strange to me is why a woman who had suffered a serious panic attack was given a gynecological exam in the first place. Or haven’t we moved beyong the idea of female “hysteria” in Italy?
Perhaps similar “prescriptions” are being handed out all over Italy, because word is that the Italian birth rate is climbing.
After all my talk about how fabulous figs are, Sara at Ms. Adventures in Italy has posted a recipe for fig sorbet. I’d like to think I might actually make some, but the truth is that decent fresh figs are so hard to come by around here (unlike in Italy!) that if I found some I’d probably eat them all before I could get any ice cream made.
The agriturismo holiday is becoming more and more popular, so don’t count on finding a vacant bed when you arrive in Tuscany in July.
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Summer in my house means that I’m making gelato every week out of the fresh fruit available at our locals farmer’s market. It’s a real treat, and there is absolutely nothing like bringing home fresh strawberries in the morning and turning them into ice cream that afternoon. I’ll have to post my tried-and-true recipe for strawberry gelato here at some point, especially as it requires zero cooking whatsoever (that’s part of what makes it such a treat).
It’s fresh fruit season in Italy, too, and two bloggers I read have written about different fruits lately. Deirdré posted pictures of cherries and plums, and KC posted pictures of figs.
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Every time I visit Europe I am charmed by the tiny cars everywhere. Then when I get back home, even my Toyota Corolla seems too big, and I lament the fact that the US can’t seem to get behind the small car. In 1999, I think I might have squealed when I saw my first Smart Car in Paris, and I’m pleased to say that the Smart has finally arrived here in Oregon - there’s a dealership not far from my house, and every time I see the little cars they make …
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