Tag Archives: living in Italy

Italian Garden 2007: March

They tell us that this past winter has been the warmest in Europe for 200 years. Certainly our plants are confused. Some of the bulbs I planted in October were sprouting by December. The mimosas bloomed before la Festa della Donna, which I’ve never seen happen before. Crocuses in Italian are called bucanevi – “make holes in the snow” – but they could only make pretty white spots in the grass. And now the irises are blooming, on unusually short stalks.

I’m as confused as the plants are, but I guess there’s nothing for it but to start the orto (vegetable garden). In spite of pollen allergies (also early this year) and a lingering sinus infection, I’ve been out toiling the soil. (Actually, the sun helped to dry out my respiratory system.)

Two weekends ago I cleared part of the orto (vegetable garden) of its winter weeds, and planted basil, parsley, one kind of lettuce, and spring onions. I weeded the flowerbed by the garage wall and planted coriander, dill, and arugula there. (Now if I can only get the neighbor’s cats to quit using that area as a litter box…) And I planted various flower seeds in some of the dozens of cinder block “planters” that form our retaining wall.

(This is what the wall looked like two years ago. I’ll take a more up to date picture when we have a prettier day for it. This picture was taken in May, when the poppies usually bloom at this altitude. It will be interesting to see how early they appear this year.)

This past Saturday I worked on the compost heap that occupies a corner of the bottom level of our terraced backyard. There’s too much wood in there – I need to break that into smaller pieces, and start mixing in more leafy stuff. But at the bottom, when I reached it, I found several buckets of decent compost.

I transplanted a mountain pine seedling that we had taken from the wild during a walk last year and planted in a pot. It lost all its needles over the winter and I thought I’d killed it, but now it’s sprouting new greenery. I planted it at the bottom of the retaining wall where it can, well, help retain.

We went to the azienda agricola (“agricultural company”) near home. I was hoping to get a jump on planting the vegetables, but they don’t have much yet – I guess the greenhouses weren’t expecting winter to be over so soon. But they did have, strangely, cranberries – not at all native to this region! 18 euros for six little pots of cranberry plants; we bought them on a whim. Checking my organic gardening book back home, I find that cranberries want to be in a boggy area with lots of sun. No such thing in our yard. Lots of sun, yes, but no bog – our soil is very clayey and dries out quickly. I enriched the soil in one corner of the garden with compost and planted them anyway; we’ll just have to water them a lot and hope for the best. It would be nice to have fresh cranberries for Thanksgiving.

We had a fairly successful orto last year, but I learned a few lessons to apply this year:

  • Plant zucchine where they will have room to spread. This year I’m going to try putting them at the top of a little slope at the bottom of the large retainin wall. This slope is usually covered in weeds – the zucchine plants can smother out the weeds for me, rather than growing down the lower retaining wall and covering plants I’d rather keep healthy.
  • Plant more eggplant. We didn’t get very many last year, and the fruit never got big, but they were very tasty – I want more of that!
  • Plant more of the tomato variety called costolute (“ribbed”) – of the various tomato varieties we have tried, these seem to do best in our environment.
  • Keep cutting back the lettuce and replanting it throughout the season. I let most of it bolt last year.
  • Can I do something to cover the strawberries so that we get to eat them, rather than the birds? Must see what I can rig up.

Enrico mutters that the roses aren’t performing as well as he had hoped when we bought them. I keep explaining that a grand garden takes time. Someday we, too, will have a wall of roses like this house in Milan:

top photo by Rossella

A School Year Abroad

In my encounters with fellow alumni of Woodstock School, many naturally ask me if and when my own daughter will attend. The answer is: with a great deal of luck, she will start in August, 2007, for an exchange year which will be her fourth/senior year at Woodstock, but only her penultimate year of Italian high school.

The application process has not been easy. Not surprisingly, the application forms and process for SAGE (Studies Abroad in Global Education, the US-based outfit that runs Woodstock’s exchange program) are slanted towards US students. There are differences between Italian and US school systems and cultures that could cause an Italian applicant to look “weak”.

American private schools and universities are fond of “well-rounded” applicants, expecting students to be doing sports, public service, paid work, arts, etc., in addition to lots of schoolwork (apparently, no one is allowed time to just be a kid anymore).

Almost none of this is likely or even possible for Italian kids.

Italian Students Are Not “Well-Rounded” – Here’s Why

There are no extra-curricular activities in Italian public schools (I assume for lack of funding). The only sport is PE. There is no music, no school newspaper or yearbook, rarely drama, no clubs. There is student government (mandated by law), but only two class representatives (plus two for the whole school) are elected per year, and they don’t do much. There are occasional special events that students can volunteer to participate in (Ross is usually the photographer). Ross’ current private school does try to get their kids to do volunteer work, in a very limited way (Ross tutors a younger girl in English).

Some kids do after-school sports or dance, a few competing very seriously, but participation at that level is expensive and takes a lot of time. Otherwise, Italian kids don’t have opportunities for awards or recognition. Volunteerism exists in Italy only on a small scale, and few kids are encouraged to participate. Almost none but the truly needy work after school or during summers – it was unusual that Ross did an internship last summer, at the company where I worked.

Italian kids simply don’t have time or opportunity to do much of anything outside of school and homework. One effect of this is that kids who are not good at academics may never get a chance to shine at anything, nor to realize that they may have non-academic skills that are useful and valued in society. This can’t be good for their self-esteem. No wonder so many seem to be drifting and unmotivated.

The SAGE application asks about a “guidance counselor,” a role which doesn’t exist in the Italian system. No guidance is offered about university entrance or careers – kids figure these things out together with their parents, which may be part of the reason that many university students seem profoundly uninterested in the degrees for which they are studying.

Some high schools used to have part-time psychological counsellors available, but those positions have disappeared from public schools with recent cuts in education funding.

There is no tracking in Italian schools, no honors levels or anything of that sort: everyone does exactly the same classes as their classmates, sink or swim. If you fail three or more subjects in a year, you repeat the year, and the failure rates are astonishing. In Ross’ first year of high school, six or seven of the 25 kids in her class failed. The same thing happened again in her second year (which was when Ross herself failed). I’m not crazy about the American practice of “social promotion,” either, but there’s got to be a happy medium somewhere!

Italian grading is a mystery to me. In high school, students are graded on a scale of 1-10, with 6 being a pass, but grades above 7 don’t seem to be assigned at all routinely. Given that, and the high rate at which students fail classes and entire grade levels, I was amazed to learn last year that 97% of students pass the maturità (school leaving exam) on their first try, with some high proportion getting very good marks. Perhaps the teachers grade harshly throughout high school to keep them humble. In discussion about this on the Expats in Italy forum, one Italian participant opined that some high school teachers grade punitively to enhance their own sense of power. (Hey, she said it, not me!)

The SAGE application further asks: “Smoking, use of alcoholic beverages and drug abuse are unacceptable at SAGE schools. Does the applicant have a history of using any of these?”

My answer: “In Italy, it was until a few months ago perfectly legal for 16-year-olds to buy and consume alcohol. A new law says 18 [I’m not even sure this passed], but it’s doubtful that this will survive as law, let alone be applied in real life. Most Italian kids drink wine at home with their families from age 12 or even younger – this is a cultural norm. Smoking is legal from age 16, and many kids (unfortunately) smoke. Light drugs such as marijuana are treated lightly by the law. (Ross drinks, but she knows the rules, and will abide by them at Woodstock.)”

Anticipating a Difficult Re-Entry

A huge question mark over this whole exchange idea is what happens when the student returns. The Italian government encourages students to go on exchange programs during both high school and university, and increasing numbers are doing so, usually to English-speaking countries so that they can become fluent in English. But their re-entry into the Italian system is difficult.

The classes they take as high school seniors in average American public schools are far behind the levels at which their Italian peers study in the fourth year. Unless they had excellent grades when they left (which is difficult – see above), upon return to Italy most face the unappetizing prospect of studying (alone) all summer to make up the deficit, then trying to pass comprehensive exams before the new school year starts in fall, so that they can rejoin their peers in the fifth year. If they choose not to do this, or fail too many of the tests, they must repeat the fourth year.

Some of this process would be easier if we had signed Ross up to one of the several established exchange programs in Italy, but these give you no control over where you end up and for Ross, who doesn’t need to learn English, going to some random school in the US is not particularly appetizing. For the sake of future Italian students who may wish to attend Woodstock (which likes to be as international as possible), I may eventually talk to some of these agencies and see what the prospects are for working together, but they would not move in time to help Ross for next year (one I wrote to months ago never responded to my email).

So we’re doing this on our own. Because Woodstock has much higher standards than most American public schools, I am hoping that Ross will be able to avoid some re-entry hassles if we carefully match what she studies there (e.g., in math, physics, and science) with what she’ll be missing here. Some subjects, such as Dante, she will certainly have to do on her own.

Assuming that she’s even accepted to Woodstock in the first place. With Ross’ long history of being a misfit in the Italian school system, her grades are disastrous. But the prospect of going to Woodstock seems to be a powerful motivator: now, when it’s almost too late, she is throwing herself into her studies, and starting to see results. It’s not easy for her, and probably never will be, but she’s trying hard. Let’s hope it achieves the results she desires.

what Ross wrote about it

Further Addendum from D

Mar 4, 2007

In the flurry of gathering papers and filling in forms, I forgot to mention perhaps the most important result I’d like to see for Ross if she attends Woodstock: friendships. Not that she lacks for friends here, but there’s something qualitatively different about the friendships one makes in a situation like Woodstock. My classmates, staff, and other friends from Woodstock are my family: the people I can rely on to understand me deeply and be there for me, as I am for them.

And this doesn’t just apply to the people who happened to be there when I was there. With the shared bond of this very unique (okay, weird!) experience, superficial differences like nationality or religious belief simply fall away. I can meet any Woodstocker, anywhere in the world, and, no matter whether I’ve met them before or they’re twenty (or more!) years older or younger than me, I know that, at the very least, I can look forward to a good conversation.

Addendum: Rossella was accepted into Woodstock School. Now we have a lot to do.

Immigration and Identity in Europe

(originally published in 2002)

The assassination of Pim Fortuyn, a Dutch politician, provides food for thought. Fortuyn was “a politician who rejected multiculturalism, called for an end to immigration and excoriated Islam as a ‘backward culture’ for its intolerance of homosexuals, attitude to women and more” and “argue[d] fiercely that immigrants should integrate more wholeheartedly with the host nation.” (The Economist, May 9 and April 25, 2002). Fortuyn raised valid questions about immigration and cultural identity, questions that European countries urgently need to answer.

Due to low birthrates, there is a shortage of “native” European babies, and Europe faces a demographic decline which will lead to a disproportion between the number of people being paid state pensions, and the number of people in the workforce paying the taxes to pay those pensions. Europe needs an inflow of young people to fill the demographic gap, and to do the menial jobs that native Europeans consider beneath them. There is demand for labor, and it is supplied, both legally and il-, by economic migration from poorer countries.
Yet immigration worries many Europeans. The ugly side of these fears is expressed in support for extremists like Le Pen in France. Balanced thinkers like Fortuyn, however, deserve a hearing. He posed important questions about the mutual rights and obligations of immigrants and their new home countries.

The big question is integration: How much should immigrants be expected to adopt the values and mores of their new countries? The issues are thorny when people from more repressive cultures immigrate to liberal ones (and the Netherlands’ is one of the most liberal in the world!). Which practices can or should be defended on the grounds of culture and tradition?

Some obvious lines are drawn. Clitoridectomy (“female genital mutilation“) is illegal in European countries; some women have successfully bid for political asylum to avoid being sent back to countries where they would be forced to undergo it. But other cultural conundrums run the gamut from arranged marriage, to Muslim girls covering their heads in school.

There are even culture clashes between first- and second-generation immigrants, sadly illustrated by the case of Fadime Sahindal. She moved with her Kurdish family to Sweden when she was seven, and attended Swedish schools. So she grew up between cultures, a third-culture kid, neither wholly Swedish nor wholly Kurdish. Her parents nonetheless expected that she would behave as Kurdish girls traditionally do, e.g. submit to a marriage arranged by them, with a Kurdish man. She defied them by falling in love with a Swedish man, and was murdered by her own father for “dishonoring” her family. (More)

“European populations are aging, and cannot maintain their welfare states without massive immigration; immigration from Islamic countries threatens to change European values inalterably.” (Rod Dreher, National Review Online)

Pim Fortuyn had reason to fear such changes. He was flamboyantly gay – not a problem for most Dutch, but anathema to many conservative Muslims, even those living in Holland. His murder just before the elections may already have changed the Dutch political mindset: “Mr Balkenende [expected to be the next prime minister] repudiated the country’s multicultural approach to immigration and said newcomers should assimilate with Dutch culture.” (The Economist, May 16, 2002)

Jan 28, 2007 – Revisiting this article nearly five years later, it’s hard to say that much has changed for the better. The Netherlands is having an identity crisis, spurred on the one hand by a tradition of tolerance, on the other by events like the religiously-inspired murder of director Theo van Gogh.

Italy has had its own “honor” killing. Last summer a twenty-year-old woman of Pakistani descent, raised mostly in Italy, was murdered by her father and uncle for dishonoring the family by refusing an arranged marriage and living with an Italian man. Her relatives slit her throat and buried her in the garden.

A colleague told me of a friend of hers, a north African woman in her 30s who has been in Italy for many years and lives with her Italian boyfriend. But now that her family is coming to visit from the home country (yes, I am being deliberately vague), she is going through an elaborate ruse to hide the real facts of her life, for fear that her family would literally kill her were they to find out that she is living in sin. This woman must either submit to the will of her family (marry a Muslim man of their choosing) or live in subterfuge and danger forever. Or renounce her family, but it’s possible that this would not save her life, should the family consider itself dishonored by her behavior. How is an open, tolerant society like Italy’s supposed to deal with this? What can we do to help her and others like her?

Your thoughts?

see also Integration of Muslim Students in Italian Schools

A Woman’s Work…

When somebody asks “How are you?” my usual response is “Tired”. And that’s been my usual response for as long as I can remember. How did I get to this state? Let us review my typical day:

6:45 wake up, wake Rossella, turn on my computer, take a shower.

7:00 if it’s Monday or Friday (or I’m working from home), put in a load of laundry, because Mimma (our housekeeper) will be there to hang it to dry later.

7:05 start coffee, run a brush through my hair, put on mascara, get dressed, call Ross again, check email and headlines.

7:15 drink coffee, empty and/or fill dishwasher, clean stove and counters (no, I didn’t do it after dinner last night), blow dry my hair for 60 seconds (all it needs, for which I am thankful!).

7:30 out the door with Ross to catch the bus at 7:35.

NB: If Enrico is driving down to Lecco that morning to teach, move everything 15 minutes later – he drops Ross near school and me at the train station on his way to his office.

~7:55 arrive at the station, grab a newspaper, go sit on my train, which starts from Lecco, so it’s waiting in the station. This is important – it means that I don’t have to stand on the platform, exposed to all weathers, and I don’t have to fight for a seat. In fact, this train is so empty that the seat in front of me almost always remains unoccupied, so I have room to stretch my legs.

8:17 train leaves. During the trip, I read, write, work on my website, etc.

9:10 When on time, train arrives in Milan. Take the metro to the office (two stops), walk the last two blocks, arrive around 9:25.

~10:00 first coffee break, preferably with one or more colleagues – depends who else needs the caffeine as urgently as I do.

~1:00 lunch with colleagues or friends – about 40 minutes, shorter when we eat in the office, longer when we go out.

5:30 leave the office to head home – metro back to Milan Central Station.

5:40 arrive at the station, 20 minutes before my train leaves, to ensure a good seat. I could probably arrive later, but by 5:40 I risk only finding seats where my knees will be jammed against those of someone sitting in front of me. By 5:50 I risk not finding a seat at all.

6:00 train leaves Milan, I call Enrico and/or Ross to find out who’s where, and what we need for dinner. During the train ride I read a book or The Economist, or articles from the day’s blogs and newspapers, saved on my laptop. Or I work on my website, or (occasionally) edit video.

6:50 train arrives in Lecco. Sometimes I meet Enrico on his way back from his office and get a ride home, more often I take the bus at 7:10, during the lighter parts of the year I may walk (40 minutes, all uphill – who needs a gym?). I may stop along the way to buy bread, milk, fruit, vegetables or whatever else we need at home.

7:30 arrive home (on the bus). Wash my face, turn on my computer again, start making dinner (or helping Enrico make it).

8:00 dinner

8:30 Clean up after dinner, other small stuff. In warmer months, Enrico (usually) or I water the garden.

9:00 leisure at last – Sometimes all three of us watch something together (“Desperate Housewives” is our latest obsession), other times we do our own separate things (in Ross’ case, homework, often with Enrico’s help).

10:30 or 11:00 crawl into bed, read or do crosswords til I can’t keep my eyes open

The waking-up-at-6:45 routine also applies to Saturdays, because Ross goes to school six days a week. Otherwise, weekends aren’t particularly routine. During warm weather I garden, sometimes we go somewhere, sometimes we have guests, etc. And I catch up on household stuff like (more) laundry.

I try to work from home one day a week, to spare myself the commute. Instead, I spend those four hours doing things like cook a non-rushed meal, get a haircut, catch up on whatever household, banking, etc. stuff has been neglected.

Is this an average day in Italy? For many people, yes. Some commute even further than I do, spending two hours or more just on the train so that they can live in, e.g., Sondrio, and work in Milan. They have their reasons: historical and family ties to a smaller town (where it’s also a lot cheaper to live), but the jobs are in Milan.

As for me, I swore I would never commute this way, but here I am, commuting – and very tired.

Close Neighbors: Living Cheek-by-Jowl in Italy

The vast majority of Italians live in villages, towns, and cities – very few have ever experienced the American “norm” of living in a single-family dwelling surrounded by its own plot of land. The ancient Romans invented the apartment building, an urban space-saving solution which has remained popular throughout Italian history and across the country.

This means that almost everybody in Italy lives very close to somebody else. In these circumstances, you had better learn to love thy neighbor as thyself – or at the very least to get along with him – because you’ve got him practically in your lap.

The impact of this proximity is somewhat reduced by the fact that Italian apartment buildings are far more solidly built (of steel, concrete, and brick) than American ones (wood frames and plywood). I have experienced apartment living in both countries, and can tell you that sound doesn’t travel nearly as easily through Italian walls as American ones.

On the other hand, Italian homes are not sealed up and air-conditioned/heated all year as many American ones are. Whenever it’s warm enough (and sometimes even when it’s not), windows are wide open, and the only thing protecting you from your neighbors is distance – not nearly enough distance.

The first thing you notice is that Italians are LOUD. Which can be fun. During our early years in Milan, we – and everyone else in Italy – were watching a World Cup football game on a hot summer night, with our windows flung wide. Our living/dining room opened onto the courtyard of our building complex, along with dozens of our neighbors’. When Italy scored, the entire city erupted in cheers, echoing so loudly around the walls that it felt as if we were in a stadium. This gave us a pleasurable sense of being part of a community while sitting home on our own sofa.

You can hear the neighbors’ family arguments (and they can hear yours). You can smell what they’re having for dinner. Many Italians’ chief objection to having immigrants next door is that “their food smells funny”. Personally, I was very happy when a bunch of Sri Lankans moved in below us – their cooking smelled heavenly to me, and I wished they would invite us over. Except once a week or so when they had some exceptionally fishy fish.

There are laws of buon vicinato (good neighborship), including the times at which you must be quiet so people can sleep (including an afternoon nap period), and where you can hang your laundry (facing the interior courtyard – it can’t be visible from the street: we don’t want the place to look trashy).

Italians are accustomed to all this, and by and large it works well. Neighbors greet each other in the halls, chat in the elevators, and generally manage to get along.

But sometimes they don’t. For weeks now, the Italian media has been obsessed with a crime that took place in Erba, a mid-sized town between Como and Lecco. A young woman, her mother, and her two-year-old son were murdered in their apartment, along with a neighbor whose husband was also left for dead with his throat slashed, but survived after being pulled from the apartment, which had been set afire in an attempt to destroy the evidence.

Suspicion first fell on the young woman’s Tunisian husband, who had just been released from a minor jail sentence (drug-related), but it quickly became clear that he had a cast-iron alibi: he was in Tunisia.

Last week the survivor was finally in condition to speak and provide information leading to the arrest of the downstairs neighbors, who eventually collapsed under interrogation and admitted to the premeditated massacre. The two families had been quarrelling for years over the noisiness of the murdered family: loud quarrels between the Tunisian husband and his Italian wife, the child crying, etc.

The young woman’s parents also lived in the building, so it wasn’t strange that her mother was present when the neighbors came up armed with knives and a crowbar, ready to kill – they were happy to dispatch the mother as well, whom they considered an impicciona (interfering busybody).

That the other neighbors got involved was almost accidental: they had heard the screaming, thought it was the usual family feud below, and decided to wait til it blew over to take their dog for a walk. When the wife finally went out with the dog, she found the apartment in flames, saw the horror inside, and ran screaming for her husband. The murderers then tried, only half successfully, to remove them as witnesses.

This kind of large-scale slaughter would scarcely raise an eyebrow in the US, but in Italy it’s big news. And I’m glad of that – I don’t want to live in a country that takes such violence for granted. The Italian public is really upset, apparently because it’s the neighbors. Had it been the Tunisian husband, they would have shrugged it off: What can you expect from these Muslim immigrants? But – my god! – the (Italian) neighbors! What is this world coming to?

It’s nice that Italians in general trust their neighbors enough to be so shocked at this betrayal. In many parts of the US, being murdered by one’s neighbors would be no particular surprise.

A newspaper headline January 13th read: “Massacre in Erba: The Couple Had Already Tried to Kill Them”. (I did not bother to read the details.)