Category Archives: Italian culture

Italian Vacation Habits

When I first visited Italy in 1987 or ’88, Italians still took their traditional long vacation – practically everyone was on holiday for the entire month of August, all crowded together on the beaches or in the mountains. Many Italian families own “second” (vacation) homes, so summer simply meant a transfer of the wife and kids to the summer home by July 1st, with the husband visiting on weekends until his own vacation began in August.

All offices, shops, and factories shut down tight in August – there was no point in being the lone company to remain open: there’d be no one around for you to do business with.

That scenario had already begun to change when we moved to Italy in 1991. In many families, both parents must work to make ends meet, so in July kids go away with their grandparents. If this isn’t an option, the City of Milan offers summer camps at vacation villas owned by the city, with sliding scale fees so that even the poorest families can get their kids out of the hot, filthy city for a few weeks.

Few Italian organizations – besides the government – shut down completely in August nowadays, and employees are more likely to stagger their vacations, with the wiser and more flexible preferring to travel off peak, when vacation spots are less crowded and cheaper. But it can still be hard to do business – no one wants to make any real decisions when key personnel may be missing. It’s even difficult to keep an office running efficiently when employees have to search far and wide for a restaurant to give them lunch!

This year the government returned from its own vacation with lots of big ideas, including reforms of the school calendar intended to “improve tourism.” The idea is to shorten the three-month summer holiday, sprinkle more long weekends throughout the school year, and lengthen the Christmas (and presumably Easter) holidays.

To be effective, this plan would also have to include staggering school holidays by region. As in France, where a week-long winter holiday is carefully scheduled for different weeks in different provinces, to balance the tourism load on ski slopes and Caribbean islands. Germany and Austria have a bilateral agreement to similarly reduce crowding in their preferred ski areas.

For Italy, I would suggest a further reform: a five-day school week. Most Italian high schools still run a six-day week, though many elementary and middle schools have switched to five. We would happily go away more often than we do, but Ross is in school most Saturdays, which considerably shortens the radius of our possible wanderings.

Climate and habit may both be stacked against any radical reforms, though. Our gung-ho young vice-premier Rutelli said that the summer vacation ought to be changed because “we’ve been doing it the same way for 40 years.” This, to the Italian mind, is not a good or sufficient reason to change anything; I fear this part of his argument will carry no weight at all.

One commentator sniffed: “We all have second homes, and people already take as many long weekends as they want to go to them, using fake doctor’s excuses.” The first part of his statement is not true – not everyone can afford a second home. The second part is truer; we seem to be in a minority of parents who don’t take our daughter out of school many Saturdays just so we can leave town. (Perhaps that’s because we don’t have a second home.)

Another commentator asked: “How are you going to get the teachers to agree to this?” Good question. They don’t get paid much, and one of their perks is that long summer vacation – I’m not sure they’d be willing to give it up. And they themselves seem to get a lot of unscheduled days off during the school year, what with strikes and illnesses…

On the third hand, the long vacation is not helping students academically – there’s way too much time to forget what you learned during the school year. Summer homework assigned to combat this ends up being a burden on the parents. The summer between Ross’ 6th and 7th grade, she had so much homework that we spent four hours a day throughout August supervising her work and/or teaching her – not much of a vacation for us. I confess it was something of a relief that she flunked 10th grade, so we all had a homework-free summer last year. (No such “luck” this year! Poor Enrico just spent two weeks with Ross on her math and physics make-up homework, when he would have vastly preferred to be off hiking.)

Climate may also be a factor in summer vacations. While more and more Italian offices are air-conditioned nowadays, schools are not, and, under current budget constraints, it’s unlikely that any can afford to install and power A/C. With summer heat getting more intense, as it seems to be in recent years, it may be simply impracticable to keep kids in school much beyond mid-June, nor bring them back earlier than the beginning of September.

Some schools we know of have in past years shown a desire to flex the calendar, starting a bit earlier and finishing a bit later so as to be able to offer more long weekends during the year, but were told by the Lombardy region that they had to stick to the official regional school calendar. A simple step in the desired direction would be to let each school negotiate its calendar with teachers and parents, assuming that a minimum number of class days is respected.

I’d write to Vice-Premier Rutelli to suggest this, but he doesn’t seem to have an email address…

Italian Baby Names I Happen to Like

Some less common but still current Italian baby names that I happen to like:

  • Alessandra [ah-less-SAHN-dra]
  • Corrado [cor-RAH-do] – I’ve only ever seen this on an older (now dead, in fact) television personality, but have always liked it. Equivalent to the English Conrad.
  • Dario [DAH-ree-oh] From the old Persian Darius, the name of several kings.
  • Fausta, Fausto [FOW-sta, FOW-sto] The first syllable rhymes with “cow”. An old Roman name meaning happy and/or lucky.
  • Fiamma [FYAHM-mah], or more commonly Fiametta [fyahm-MET-ta] – flame, little flame
  • Gaia [GUY-ah] – an Old Roman goddess, I think.
  • Livia [LIV-ee-ah] – Roman
  • Massimo [MAHSS-ih-mo] – Old Roman Maximus, aka Max. Variants include Massimino (little Massimo) and Massimiliano.
  • Tosca [TOSS-ka]

What are some of your favorite Italian names?

Related: Old-Fashioned Italian Baby Names

To Flush or Not to Flush

The local newspapers last week reported with glee that Ken Livingstone, the mayor of London, never flushes the toilet after peeing – he stated this publicly, hoping to increase awareness of the global need for water conservation.

The immediate reaction of a reader of Metro (the freebie paper that I read on the train) was to extrapolate that Livingstone never flushes at all, and express horror at the probable state of his bathroom. Another reader took the argument further, excoriating all environmentalists as stupid. In today’s round of letters, an Italian environmentalist says that Livingstone’s initiative is “exaggerated and unrealistic,” but that we shouldn’t therefore condemn all environmentalist ideas.

Evidently the concept of the no-flush urinal has not reached Italy.

I wrote to Metro myself (it went unpublished) to point out that in many countries there aren’t even toilets, let alone water to flush them with. During my years at Woodstock we had water shortages, sometimes so severe that water had to be carried in buckets from a rainwater storage tank for toilet flushing and everything else. In that situation, you don’t bother to flush every time, nor should you use up scarce water to do so.

David Pollock’s book on third-culture kids recounts the story of a child raised by missionary parents in a water-poor country in Africa, who grew up with the rule: “If it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down” – a habit which horrified his grandmother when he stayed with her in the US!

Italy is rich in water – for now. But when the Alpine glaciers melt away entirely, as they seem likely to do in a few decades, Italians will need to learn to be less fastidious in their bathrooms.

La Buona Educazione: Good Manners in Italy

Italy has four or five of those freebie newspapers, you probably have them in your city as well. The one I read regularly is Metro, partly because it’s the best of a bad lot, partly because it’s the only one distributed at the Lecco railway station. It’s not serious news, just enough to keep up on showbiz silliness (Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie will get married on Lake Como next week – wait, no, they didn’t), and the letters page is a glimpse into what’s on the collective Italian mind.

Every now and then they publish a flurry of letters about manners, usually started by a woman complaining that no one, and especially no man, ever offers her a seat on the bus or subway – even when she’s visibly pregnant. Other women chime in with similar experiences, then the men recount how no one ever gave them a seat, even when they were on crutches, or how some women are snappishly offended to be classified as old enough to need such courtesies.

How well I remember traversing the city every day to daycare, standing with a heavy two-year-old Rossella in my arms because, if I put her down, she was likely to get stepped on or bashed in the head with someone’s heavy bag.

Once she asked, in a loud, clear voice: “Why won’t anyone let us sit down?” (This was during the phase when she only spoke Italian, so everyone understood it.)

“Because,” I answered equally loudly, and in Italian, “no one is civil enough to notice that there’s a mother here with a child in her arms who needs to sit down.”

That finally got us a seat.

During my recent visit to Texas, I was startled that men kept leaping ahead to open doors for me. This reminded me of a fellow Woodstocker who had attended the University of Texas at the same time I did. He was Bangladeshi, and had some cultural adjustment difficulties. He said to me mournfully: “I never know what to do at a door. If I don’t open a door for a girl, she gives me a dirty look. If I do, she calls me a chauvinist pig.” (I told him that he should do what was right for him, and if someone called him a pig for his good manners, she was seriously lacking in manners herself.)

The nagging problem on trains is many passengers’ failure to close the compartment doors. On a typical commuter train, each carriage divided into three sections, with two entry platforms, plus doors on each end into the next carriage. The entry platforms are not heated, so in winter it’s important to close the doors between the compartments and the entryways. (They should theoretically close by themselves, but the trains are so old that they often need a push.)

But lots of people go charging through the train, leaving a string of open doors behind them, and other passengers shouting irately after them: “Ehi! Porta!” (“Hey! Door!”) – usually ignored, because someone who is rude in the first place is rarely going to acknowledge the fact and correct his error.

I habitually sit near the door, so am often the one to get up and close it. A few times I have commented to a nearby passenger: “Tutti nati in stalla,” from the American: “Were you born in a barn?” This phrase isn’t used in Italy, so Italians find it very funny; Ross’ boyfriend doubled up laughing the first time he heard it.

Italian Surnames: The Funny, Surprising, and Just Plain Weird

^above “Queen Hope, widow of Wells” – she lived a good long life!

Il Corriere della Sera reports today that Italy has the largest number of surnames in the world: 350,000. The ten commonest surnames cover only 1% of the population. And, with many surnames, you can also tell something about its origins by its ending.

Italian surnames are fascinating, and sometimes very funny. Some of the best don’t seem to have emigrated to the US, though Americans trying to pronounce their Italian surnames can also be funny. I met a photographer in Connecticutt with the wonderfully romantic surname “Mezzanotte” (Midnight). An Italian would pronounce this Med-za-NOT-tay, which also sounds lovely. He pronounced it Mezza-note, which doesn’t.

One of the most common surnames in Lombardy is Fumagalli, which translates literally as “smoke the chickens.” That is: blow smoke into the henhouse to stun them, so they don’t make noise while you’re carrying them away. I guess chicken thieving was common in Lombardy, hence the popular Italian saying, Conosco i miei polli (“I know my own chickens”), used when you can predict how someone will behave or react, because you know them so well.

Death announcements in Lecco. Note the surnames Turba (“disturbs”) and Barbagelata (“frozen beard”)

I can’t think of examples of names in America which have a funny meaning, although some non-English names sound funny or rude to an English speaker, such as the Jewish Lipschitz or Indian Dixit (pronounced Dickshit). In Italy, there are many names which sound funny or odd even to Italian speakers, and leave you wondering how somebody’s ancestor acquired it. Examples:

  • Squarcialupi – “squarciare” is to rip, with violence; “lupi” are wolves. Okay, the ancestor was a fierce hunter.
  • On the other hand, Cantalupi – “cantare” – to sing. Sings with wolves?
  • Pelagatti – “pelare” – to peel or skin, “gatti” …cats. Presumably this guy knew more than one way.
  • Pelaratti – same thing, but rats. Now why would you bother?

Then there are the surnames which Italians fervently wish they could change, and go to great lengths to do so (it’s not easy to change a name in Italy), such as Finocchio – “Fennel,” but it’s also common slang for gay. Most red-blooded Italian males don’t want this one!

A friend of ours once worked in the office in Rome where name changes are (rarely) approved. He told us the most egregious case he ever came across was the name “Ficarotta” – broken cunt. The change was allowed.

More Funny Italian Surnames

  • Malinconico – melancholy
  • Mezzasalma – half-cadaver
  • Tagliabue – ox-cutter (butcher, I suppose)
  • Bellagamba – beautiful leg (there was a famous cardinal of this name)
  • Caporaso – shaved head
  • Denaro – money – a Mafia family in the news!
  • Contestabile – debatable
  • Falaguerra – make war
    …but…
    Acquistapace – buy peace
  • Accusato – accused
  • Peccati – sins
  • Bonanno – buon anno – good year, or happy new year
  • Borriposi – buon riposi – good rests

^ This architect’s surname means “big tower”.

^ “Macelleria Pancioni” would be literally translated as “big bellies butcher,” though Pancioni is probably a family name.

Nov 23, 2003

Many Italian surnames are also common words, so the potential for comedy is enormous when juxtaposed with the person’s profession, residence, or spouse. One of the funniest books we own is Mal Cognome Mezzo Gaudio, by Antonio di Stefano. The title is a pun on the saying Mal commune mezzo gaudio (A shared sorrow is half a joy); cognome means surname. The book is a treasure trove of funny names and even funnier combinations. But he missed one of my old favorites, a shop near my in-laws’ place in Rome called Enoteca Bevilacqua – the Drinkwater Wineshop.

Another name that’s funny on its own is Cazzaniga. This Lombard name may not actually mean anything, but it sounds close to cazzo negro – black dick. So there’s a common joke about it: Cazzaniga? Che nome lungo. (“What a long name.”)


where do people with your surname live in Italy?

Italian Orphan Names

Tracing Your Italian Roots

^ I assume this optical shop is named for its owner, whose surname means a joke or a trick.

^ This shop owner’s surname means “millet bread”.