Archive for April 19th, 2009

Italian cultural perceptions:

My understanding of Italian culture is still in its infancy, but I’m noting a few things. Italian culture is strong, passionate and focused albeit outside of American cultural foci. The north and south are divided first and foremost by their histories and the historical influence of incoming conquerors. This is seconded only by their acceptance of international cultural shifts. In the north there is a stronger German and Swiss influence. This, combined with the north’s wealth and involvement in global and financial trade systems, is reflected in their cultural values. This change is still altering their perception of order, and precision.

In the south life is based on a different type of quality. Instead of material wealth, possessions and the need to acclimate to an American global business model…time spent with family, food, and enjoying life seems to outrank all else. Like any generalizations these are conceptions representing conclusions I’ve come to through limited exposure during my stay. They are not exhaustive.

I’ve been staying in Milan far to the north, an industrialized city trading with international partners. The people here are a mixture of northern and southern Italians with international residents rampant as well. It’s a melting pot which offers me a chance to see a specific type of person. One who chooses, whether for economic or personal reasons, to brave a metropolis in search of something.

As I’ve learned more about Italian culture its focus on life, food, and familial bonds is impressive. Many Italians live together in multi-family residences sharing space until the family grows too large or members must move away to find better work. Often children will live at home until getting married or finishing university. Additionally with multiple families living in apartment units and the lack of aversion to shared rooms (I personally live in a 2 bedroom apartment housing four students) there is a greater focus on community involvement. Dinner is often the center gathering point. An interesting break from the culture of isolation I’m used to in the U.S. where families are cut out of their communities, and there is a focus on independence and breaking from the family.

Language is also interesting. The difference between a friendly ciao and a buon giorno is night and day. As I learn and use more Italian I’m constantly reminded of the danger of mixing up the formal and informal tenses. For instance if I make a mistake and use the formal tense with an Italian friend or a girl I like it comes off as cold, disconnected and rude. But if I’m informal and greet an Italian I don’t know with ciao it is disrespectful and rude – Maleducato.

Look forward to seeing two of my youtube video’s up this weekend!

Ciao!

Saturday April 18th 2009:

Chiasso, Lugano, Milano – Pta. Garibaldi.

Rough morning, long night. What is this idea of time? What is it that makes us consider time itself as a diminishing resource? Is not time eternal, without count, without a defined beginning and end? I must believe so. Clocks, timezones, time itself. Time is a measure invented to discover and chronicle our movement through existence. How is it then that you can “lose an hour”? The time has passed regardless, the movement is the same, how can you alter the count?

So strange.

7 am alarm goes off. 7:10 alarm is still going off….7:15 alright, I get it. I wake up, stumble to the shower. I’d gone to sleep at 3:45 the night before, slept on a couch around 2:30 in the morning and up at 5 the day before…that and bed at 2am and awake at seven on Wednesday…I was running a touch low.

Out of the shower and to the station. I’ve got a train to catch. Hop on the train and off I go, stop over in Monza, pick up a traveling companion. It’s off to Switzerland, Chiasso the Italian/Swiss border town and then Lugano a beautiful city built into the cliffs surrounding northern Lake Lugano.

In Chiasso I visited the Dogana (customs) in the train station, police station, at the physical border, as well in the custom’s office. Apparently, as soon as Switzerland joined the Schengen pact they destroyed every last remaining official stamp allowing immigration into their country. After all, only airports and international ports would have need of checking in non-Shengen people.

Without stamp and lacking the fulfillment of my touristic desire for a stamp we continued on to Lugano. Lugano is a town (56,719 inhabitants, a total of 130,000 people in the agglomeration) in the south of Switzerland. It is in the Italian-speaking canton of Ticino, which borders Italy. The city lies on Lake Lugano. Its warm summers and the fact that in recent years it has attracted an ever growing number of celebrities, entertainers and successful athletes, has gained it the nickname of the “Monte Carlo of Switzerland”. It is the 9th largest city of Switzerland by population.

My companion and I spent the day together visiting Lugano and enjoying the clandestine beauty of a city built into the lake. I’ve uploaded pictures on Facebook of the trip. Take a peek.

We headed back to Chiasso, picked up a commuter train to Milan, and I headed home to sleep. Little did I know that after dinner and reading the final two books in C. Descry’s series I’d get to bed after 2am.

Journal Entry April 16th 2009 Thursday:

After work I made my way home. Rushed through my clothes looking for a decent outfit for the night. April’s a nice time of year and the warm weather, sunny morning, and beautiful Italian afternoon had convinced me I’d be fine with a light shirt and jeans. I tossed some wax in my hair and rumbled out of the house. Four clicks to the left and I left the security of my apartment for a spring evening.

With a quick jog and a little dodging I hopped over to the tram, swiped my all access Urban pass and rode the jilting tumbling machine toward Porta Romana. I’d be early today – maybe the station would have a surprise waiting for me. Three minutes of stretching and fighting the machines sways and I was on foot once again. Across the tracks, dodge a car, then an old woman with an umbrella… Umbrella? But its sunny? A quick chuckle to myself and I’d climbed into the gaping maw of the urban monster. Another swipe of the pass and a dangerous brush with the tined entities counting each morsel and I’d made it to the trains.

Yellow line… Porta Romana to Centrale…Centrale to Monza…Monza to dinner. I wonder what we’ll eat? She alluded to something; I’m excited for the surprise.

Centrale. I’m on the commuter, an extra 1.60 E, in the suburbs, clock hits seven pm. Train met me at the station, thirty minutes earlier than the commuter I’d expected. It’d be fun to take it, lets have an adventure. Now, I’m waiting in Monza. Outside the station, I nudged my ride…she’ll arrive in a few.

Blue car, red car, yellow car, blue car, black car, white, white, green…. Blue! That’s got to be her. She passed me. Didn’t see me, I was enjoying the park at the station she was probably looking at the other side of the street. Where I should have been. Guess its time to call.

Meet her on the other side. Alright, rush through the station back under the track and up on the other edge. Barren, industrial, bus lot. Ugly I preferred the other, wait… there’s her car.

European cars are bloody tiny. My knees against the dash, my head almost on the roof. Oh well, the company is what’s important. We talk, greet each other, a deep hug and then off we go. She’s excited. We’ll try Chinese. Italian Chinese? Nope. Food’s mediocre, conversation and company is exceptional.

We rumble back into the car, at six feet three inches 230 lbs I stuff my body in remembering the clowns at a carnival. The algae, shrimp, bamboo, funghi (mushrooms), and shrimp cakes are settling in my stomach. We decide we need something hot to drink. Italy’s spring is right on schedule. Temperature has dropped and weather’s turned nasty. Rain pelts the metal beast and cold permeates its hardened armor.

Ten minutes, singing with the radio and we’ve arrived. Big complex, looks like a farming commune, surrounded by fields… is that rice? We walk alongside the edges of the three story complex, find the gate. Enter into the courtyard and then we’re inside Samsara. I asked if she knew what the name meant. She wasn’t sure so we talked about it. It was the beginning of a very interesting conversation. Samsara is the Hindu belief in the endless cycle of birth, life, and death ending in rebirth. I had a black tea and we enjoyed a quiet drink on the sequestered second floor. We made our way back to the train station and I waited for the last train.

The metal and plastic monster meandered into the station. It was thirty minutes late. It came to a rest and I prepared to board. The portals stayed closed. Angered I called out to the men inside. For two minutes I called and knocked on the doors. The train was without handles or levels to open the doors from the outside. Then the train began its journey towards Milan. Senza gente. 30 minutes late and it wouldn’t let us board. The monster rumbled on into the rain. As I stood on the platform the rain turned to hail and the ice did nothing to cool my frustration.

I called my host and begged for a place to stay. We arranged for me to sleep on the couch. Cold, upset and disappointed I went back to the house, nestled myself on the couch and prepared for an early start so I could make it to work.