Little Italy (November 2013)
The only way to avoid repetitions when writing about Italy (for the 4th time this year!=) is to switch to a different language. My choices are limited, and even though I'm positive that about Italy I could write even in Hungarian (simply because 80% of my Italian stories are dedicated to food, and there is hardly any food-related word in Hungarian I'm not familiar with), I prefer to stick to plain English.
I will be inevitably repeating myself: Italy is gorgeous, and it tastes great, too.
So after having written that little introduction, I realized I would rather elaborate on my language skills, which would be unfair as one could blame me for the misleading title. But since you can't really openly confront me, I am going to do it anyway (i.e., elaborate on my language skills).
Russian. My first, my last, and everything. Most of the time I think in Russian, even though English words tend to crawl into my mind from time to time, sometimes creating these ugly renderings you know too well to repeat. I actually still feel dubious about throwing English expressions here and there only because they convey the substance of the notion so much better ('have fun' and 'make friends', would you believe we don't say that in Russian?); because the phenomena doesn't (yet) exist (capability based resume is one of them..., or business partnering... or code of business conduct... or jetlag... or panda eyes... or friends with benefits - but about the last one I need to double check!!). Most of the time we are just being lax about bothering to find a solid equivalent, and, just like I said, I'm in two minds about whether it's good or bad. The other day I printed out an article in Russian, for my Mom; each passage had bits like 'matchy-matchy', 'put-together look', et cetera. These are not the 10 English words she is familiar with, therefore she completely lost the essence of this highly educational piece of writing (you guessed it, it was not about latest research on Brownian motion)
I think Russian is beautiful, exotic and evocative, and again, there was this poem by Mayakovski: 'I would learn Russian only because Lenin spoke it'. For me it's more for Mayakovski himself*, Zoschenko, Ilf and Petrov, Bulgakov, Chehov, and so on. If I were to choose a native language today, I would probably stay with Russian.
Belarussian. The last sentence was not entirely sincere. If I were to choose my native language, I wish Belarusian was an option. It's not the same as Russian; in fact, it's closer to Polish, and it bridges those who know Belarusian to the other Slavic languages so much better. Due to numerous pre- and post-WWII language reforms it had been brought closer to Russian, but the vocabulary is heavily influenced by Polish and German (Dach, Handel, et cetera). Ironically, hearing someone speaking beautiful and proper Belarusian is a luxury, and even more ironic fact is that one can always count on Swedish (and a few other) embassies for this. Swedish ambassador to Belarus speaks impeccable Belarusian, which translates to me into 'shame on you Anya'.
English. My second Russian. At the moment, it's omnipresent, which I can't be happier about. It is a good feeling to realize that sometimes my thoughts flow in English (not on all topics, of course, but still). I also think, from my own experience, that using two languages extensively stretches one's mind hence bringing the same benefits to your brain as muscle stretch to your muscles. I trust in you to have the sacred knowledge about magic powers of stretching, therefore I'll skip the details .. In a nutshell, it is very, very good.
German. My lifelong battle. It'd been on for 5 years at school, where I once took 2nd or 3rd place in the competition, which indicates deplorable level of teaching (or absorption of?... Or both?..) German at my school. Then there was a long break, then a feeble attempt to revive it before going to Hungary (I assumed, quite rightly, that German and Russian would be more useful in this region) and during Corvinus years, with almost zero success. Last year we made a big leap forward, and yesterday we were discussing the turmoil going on in my own and my German teacher's lives. She is also known as Anna Frei (is there a better name for a girl who teaches German? Especially if your name is also Anna?..) And it feels thrillingly liberating (this expression I picked from either Cosmo or Glamour) Anyway, I find German fascinating, even though I know quite a few people who would disagree. Not sure why it is also known as the language of the porn.
Hungarian. You can't hide anything from me. Especially if you are talking about food, colours, or numbers. Turns out, these are the hottest topics, therefore let me quote myself: you can't hide anything from me! I also can detect you cursing (thank you D***eo), giving directions and ordering around (aerobics classes in Hungarian). I normally say that I learned it in the streets ('utca egyotom'), and I learned it so well that I decided to put it on my CV. After all, no one will be able to verify, muahaha.
Italian. I like to think that it sticks to me. Or, better yet, lingers (is this what one says about perfume?..) It's so Roman and so Latin that one has to make an effort to remain completely oblivious of his (linguistic) surroundings. 'Espettare' or whatever they are saying (and showing!!! body language!!!), this time I even did a decent job at translation shop assistant's speech to my Mom, which was easy because it was too obvious: 'this coat looks so damn good on you! and look at those cuffs, you immediately look 20 years younger.. I mean, of course you look like your daughter's sister...'
If Russian was not an option for my native language, I would choose French, because people say it's complicated. I also think it's chic and sexy, and I would like to sing along to this, and when I grow up I want to move to Paris, wear all black, sleep until noon and smoke like a steamboat... This is my idea of glamour.
If French was not an option still, no doubt it would be Portuguese. The kindest, most phonetically appealing language that conjures up memories about Mafalda, Rui, Guilherme (music guru), Guilherme from Brazil (also music guru.. he told the city he wants to visit in the US is something-something ville, because of his friend, New York,because of Mafalda's special relationships with pizza, and Seattle.. And I knew exactly why=) Elsa, Claudio, Manuel, Pedro, Natalia... Am I glad I have more than 1 Portuguese friend!!! And they all share their second names: Sousa or ... Sousa=) Which means that everyone is everyone's brother (literally) and therefore people are so friendly and peaceful, and funny. I actually don't know why they are so funny... My Portuguese friends say that their Ukrainian maids (it's the thing in Portugal - everyone has a Ukrainian maid!.. I can't help making a joke about being in crisis and having a maid simultaneously.. Something only the Portuguese can pull off?= ) pick up Portuguese really fast. I think it has a sacred meaning. It probably means that in Stone age the Slavs and the Portuguese were superclose to each other, genetically. Then something happened and they ended up on the opposite sides of Europe, but now things getting back to the roots.
Now, after you familiarized yourself with this essential information, we can move on to the core of this article, which is the trip to Milano and Geneva.
Naturally, I wouldn't have chosen Milano if the tickets were not so temptingly cheap. In many respects it's not fair. Milano is like Italy and non Italy at the same time: food and style is there, but it looks almost like Germany! Or maybe I'm too demanding, or know nothing. But even Trento or Trieste, more up North, look way more Italian. What is wrong with you Milanoooooooooo!
3 years ago an American friend (David!) came back from Milano and told Milano wasn't impressive, apart from Duomo there wasn't much to see. I was back from Bologna and thought he was nuts! How is that humanly possible. But life teaches us tobelieve everything David says not rush at conclusions...
Well, in a nutshell: on pro side of Milano we have the cheap tickets and mind blowing shopping. This is said by the person whose office is by the Budapest biggest shopping mall and who doesn't give a .. couldn't care less. After years of zero shopping in Belarus (shopping.. another word that made its way into Russian just a few years ago!!!) there were Summers in the US of buying everything within 165 cm height reach; buying outfits, their size notwithstanding ('for my Mom', 'I'll lose some weight', who am I fooling.. 'I can as well gain!', 'when I get pregnant.. my feet will grow 2 sizes.. which totally justifies these shoes that are now like flip flops...', 'my friend A will love these'). And then, when I started moving here and there, I got so sick of carrying this wealth of crap I don't even wear, with me (because it has to be washed.. and ironed.. and probably matched in a specific way with each other.. and then there is The Sartorialist imposing his craved in stone standards on mere humans like us..) So now a pair of shoes or a coat has to make an effort to entice me. And it seems that all of the shoes and coats still capable of doing so are residing in Milan.
The elaborate passage above was to indicate that Milano could easily be the last city where the (normally dormant) consumeristic beast inside of me comes alive. The only thing that keeps me sober is austerity measures imposed by Wizzair: another handkerchief, and you are out. Mind you, not even price tags! So thank you Wizzair, for keeping me (financially) grounded.
Con of Milano is that the city clearly lacks this certain something, too obvious to be captured by words. Streets are not so narrow / gorgeous / cobbled / barocco co co co and who knows what do they call it in English... It's a strange mixture of industrial and, from time to time, Roman churches, stunning façades, and then there is Duomo.
Only in my 3rd visit I encountered a street I could call lovely (mmm might not be entirely true, but it's mostly true!)...
I also don't like that Milano is not cheap. But on the other hand, it's not Paris or Copenhagen, either. My Italian staples (coffee, prosciutto and cheese, gelatto..) cost the same so I can survivefor 24 hours. Fruits is noticeably more expensive (and less tasty, in the opinion of the Southerners;) Giovanni told he had lost so much weight when he moved from Palermo to Trento only because the food is not good at all in the North. ha ha)
Therefore it was important that we went somewhere else, so that my Mom doesn't get wrong impression about Italy. She would have loved it anyway, I guess, but I am not sure if one can fall for Italy hard and irreversibly if his first and only stop is Milano. My first idea was Verona, which would do the job, but I've been there before and since the ultimate goal of any trip of mine is to put a new tick (make new entry?) in 'Cities I've visited' map on Facebook, I had to think of something else. I studied the map for 20 seconds and there was Genova.
In our opinion, it certainly doesn't get the attention it deserves. Firstly, it is arguably one of the most important cities in Italian history, similarly to Venice, with which it had perpetual wars and conflicts. It's interesting to see that today only Venice is on tourists' radars, perhaps due to the canals, and yes probably the architecture and vibe in general is way more distinctive. But I think it's not fair!!! I thought Genova is charming.
I have this soft spot for port cities. Some are more merchant (like Genova or San Francisco) while the others are more naval / the outposts of great empires' expansion ambitions (like St Petersburg or Copenhagen). This division is solely mine and not scientific=)))
They have different feel to them, and they conjure up images from the books like 'Treasure Island' (I tried to give another example but realized it can well be the only book of the kind I've read, because frankly I don't enjoy them too much...), with yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, and all that romance. I think of all the literature and artistic attributes of ports: of rats that live on the ships, of the darkness and heavy stink, of ropes and knots, of scurvy, of port whores, of the heavy cursing, and it's amusing to realize that these things used to be the reality, harsh, unpolished and ugly reality of those cities.
It's amusing and barely comprehensible to realize that these port realities, romanticized today, were the dire conditions people used to live in, and they didn't live much longer after 30. Plague and rotten teeth and malnutrition. Or, taking a broader look: Italy I admire so much used to be a very poor country; even Milano, the powerhouse, saw hunger riots and tent towns on its outskirts just very recently, but broad historic standards; as a part of my homework for this trip, I watched 'Miracle in Milano' by Vittorio de Sica ('Yesterday, today and tomorrow' captures the Italian romance so well...), which yet again reminds of the herds of emigrants Italy used to send out. Crazy. This reverse of fortune and misplaced accents (today the Sicilian cap appears romantic whereas it used to indicate one's unfortunate social status just a few decades ago) amazes me greatly, and the most amazing thing is the speed at which the changes are taking place.
And again, the only conclusion one can make is that the empires rise and fall, and sometimes rise again. Very deep, I know.
I never regretted we went to see Genova; it was Sunday, the weather was benevolent, I got my Italian hedonistic kick: 3 breakfasts (before, on and after the train), pasta (al pesto, as pesto was invented in Genova; it is also the birthplace of Columbus and Togliatti.. I am not listing these in order of importance!), and OK I didn't shop but my Mom did. Simple pleasures of watching the Italians walking back and forth in their chic outfits, speaking their beautiful language, feeding their cutest kids with gelatto. It always strikes me that Italian, the language of opera, is the everyday language spoken by 4-5 year olds, therefore when a boy stretches out his hand in the middle of his way across the street saying 'Basta', I can't think of anything cuter. He also has golden locks. They are all very cute bambinis.
Separate stories are Italian dogs (the other place where the dogs are that groomed and graceful and acted upon as the center of the universe is San Francisco and maybe New York) and Italian seniors, specifically, female seniors.
But you've heard it all before. I don't give up on my dream to live by the sea in Italy or Portugal for a while, someday in the future. With this, I let you go. Book your tickets or watch a movie with Marcello Mastroianni (oooh a very very good one, with a different actor - Profumo di Donna!) or grab a pizza.
Baci care!
*Here is the episode that could link this linguistic blathering to Italy. During my first trip (to Bologna in December 2010) we stayed at this wonderful girl's, Manuela. I could well write a separate story only about her, how nice, pretty and intelligent she is, what a wonderful apartment they were living in with her Mom (they spent quite a few years in Turkey, so the house is full of objects from Istanbul, and one can see terracotta tiled roofs and pomegranate trees (I almost fainted) from their windows. Anyway, she told she loves Mayakovski, and showed me the book, in Italian. I couldn't believe my eyes! I would be curious to read it in Italian. She also had 'Bosco di ciliegi' by Chehov.. Anyway, it was immediate crush. I can still fall for a person only for her ipod playlist.
I will be inevitably repeating myself: Italy is gorgeous, and it tastes great, too.
So after having written that little introduction, I realized I would rather elaborate on my language skills, which would be unfair as one could blame me for the misleading title. But since you can't really openly confront me, I am going to do it anyway (i.e., elaborate on my language skills).
Russian. My first, my last, and everything. Most of the time I think in Russian, even though English words tend to crawl into my mind from time to time, sometimes creating these ugly renderings you know too well to repeat. I actually still feel dubious about throwing English expressions here and there only because they convey the substance of the notion so much better ('have fun' and 'make friends', would you believe we don't say that in Russian?); because the phenomena doesn't (yet) exist (capability based resume is one of them..., or business partnering... or code of business conduct... or jetlag... or panda eyes... or friends with benefits - but about the last one I need to double check!!). Most of the time we are just being lax about bothering to find a solid equivalent, and, just like I said, I'm in two minds about whether it's good or bad. The other day I printed out an article in Russian, for my Mom; each passage had bits like 'matchy-matchy', 'put-together look', et cetera. These are not the 10 English words she is familiar with, therefore she completely lost the essence of this highly educational piece of writing (you guessed it, it was not about latest research on Brownian motion)
I think Russian is beautiful, exotic and evocative, and again, there was this poem by Mayakovski: 'I would learn Russian only because Lenin spoke it'. For me it's more for Mayakovski himself*, Zoschenko, Ilf and Petrov, Bulgakov, Chehov, and so on. If I were to choose a native language today, I would probably stay with Russian.
Belarussian. The last sentence was not entirely sincere. If I were to choose my native language, I wish Belarusian was an option. It's not the same as Russian; in fact, it's closer to Polish, and it bridges those who know Belarusian to the other Slavic languages so much better. Due to numerous pre- and post-WWII language reforms it had been brought closer to Russian, but the vocabulary is heavily influenced by Polish and German (Dach, Handel, et cetera). Ironically, hearing someone speaking beautiful and proper Belarusian is a luxury, and even more ironic fact is that one can always count on Swedish (and a few other) embassies for this. Swedish ambassador to Belarus speaks impeccable Belarusian, which translates to me into 'shame on you Anya'.
English. My second Russian. At the moment, it's omnipresent, which I can't be happier about. It is a good feeling to realize that sometimes my thoughts flow in English (not on all topics, of course, but still). I also think, from my own experience, that using two languages extensively stretches one's mind hence bringing the same benefits to your brain as muscle stretch to your muscles. I trust in you to have the sacred knowledge about magic powers of stretching, therefore I'll skip the details .. In a nutshell, it is very, very good.
German. My lifelong battle. It'd been on for 5 years at school, where I once took 2nd or 3rd place in the competition, which indicates deplorable level of teaching (or absorption of?... Or both?..) German at my school. Then there was a long break, then a feeble attempt to revive it before going to Hungary (I assumed, quite rightly, that German and Russian would be more useful in this region) and during Corvinus years, with almost zero success. Last year we made a big leap forward, and yesterday we were discussing the turmoil going on in my own and my German teacher's lives. She is also known as Anna Frei (is there a better name for a girl who teaches German? Especially if your name is also Anna?..) And it feels thrillingly liberating (this expression I picked from either Cosmo or Glamour) Anyway, I find German fascinating, even though I know quite a few people who would disagree. Not sure why it is also known as the language of the porn.
Hungarian. You can't hide anything from me. Especially if you are talking about food, colours, or numbers. Turns out, these are the hottest topics, therefore let me quote myself: you can't hide anything from me! I also can detect you cursing (thank you D***eo), giving directions and ordering around (aerobics classes in Hungarian). I normally say that I learned it in the streets ('utca egyotom'), and I learned it so well that I decided to put it on my CV. After all, no one will be able to verify, muahaha.
Italian. I like to think that it sticks to me. Or, better yet, lingers (is this what one says about perfume?..) It's so Roman and so Latin that one has to make an effort to remain completely oblivious of his (linguistic) surroundings. 'Espettare' or whatever they are saying (and showing!!! body language!!!), this time I even did a decent job at translation shop assistant's speech to my Mom, which was easy because it was too obvious: 'this coat looks so damn good on you! and look at those cuffs, you immediately look 20 years younger.. I mean, of course you look like your daughter's sister...'
If Russian was not an option for my native language, I would choose French, because people say it's complicated. I also think it's chic and sexy, and I would like to sing along to this, and when I grow up I want to move to Paris, wear all black, sleep until noon and smoke like a steamboat... This is my idea of glamour.
If French was not an option still, no doubt it would be Portuguese. The kindest, most phonetically appealing language that conjures up memories about Mafalda, Rui, Guilherme (music guru), Guilherme from Brazil (also music guru.. he told the city he wants to visit in the US is something-something ville, because of his friend, New York,
Now, after you familiarized yourself with this essential information, we can move on to the core of this article, which is the trip to Milano and Geneva.
Naturally, I wouldn't have chosen Milano if the tickets were not so temptingly cheap. In many respects it's not fair. Milano is like Italy and non Italy at the same time: food and style is there, but it looks almost like Germany! Or maybe I'm too demanding, or know nothing. But even Trento or Trieste, more up North, look way more Italian. What is wrong with you Milanoooooooooo!
3 years ago an American friend (David!) came back from Milano and told Milano wasn't impressive, apart from Duomo there wasn't much to see. I was back from Bologna and thought he was nuts! How is that humanly possible. But life teaches us to
Well, in a nutshell: on pro side of Milano we have the cheap tickets and mind blowing shopping. This is said by the person whose office is by the Budapest biggest shopping mall and who doesn't give a .. couldn't care less. After years of zero shopping in Belarus (shopping.. another word that made its way into Russian just a few years ago!!!) there were Summers in the US of buying everything within 165 cm height reach; buying outfits, their size notwithstanding ('for my Mom', 'I'll lose some weight', who am I fooling.. 'I can as well gain!', 'when I get pregnant.. my feet will grow 2 sizes.. which totally justifies these shoes that are now like flip flops...', 'my friend A will love these'). And then, when I started moving here and there, I got so sick of carrying this wealth of crap I don't even wear, with me (because it has to be washed.. and ironed.. and probably matched in a specific way with each other.. and then there is The Sartorialist imposing his craved in stone standards on mere humans like us..) So now a pair of shoes or a coat has to make an effort to entice me. And it seems that all of the shoes and coats still capable of doing so are residing in Milan.
The elaborate passage above was to indicate that Milano could easily be the last city where the (normally dormant) consumeristic beast inside of me comes alive. The only thing that keeps me sober is austerity measures imposed by Wizzair: another handkerchief, and you are out. Mind you, not even price tags! So thank you Wizzair, for keeping me (financially) grounded.
Con of Milano is that the city clearly lacks this certain something, too obvious to be captured by words. Streets are not so narrow / gorgeous / cobbled / barocco co co co and who knows what do they call it in English... It's a strange mixture of industrial and, from time to time, Roman churches, stunning façades, and then there is Duomo.
Only in my 3rd visit I encountered a street I could call lovely (mmm might not be entirely true, but it's mostly true!)...
I also don't like that Milano is not cheap. But on the other hand, it's not Paris or Copenhagen, either. My Italian staples (coffee, prosciutto and cheese, gelatto..) cost the same so I can survive
Therefore it was important that we went somewhere else, so that my Mom doesn't get wrong impression about Italy. She would have loved it anyway, I guess, but I am not sure if one can fall for Italy hard and irreversibly if his first and only stop is Milano. My first idea was Verona, which would do the job, but I've been there before and since the ultimate goal of any trip of mine is to put a new tick (make new entry?) in 'Cities I've visited' map on Facebook, I had to think of something else. I studied the map for 20 seconds and there was Genova.
In our opinion, it certainly doesn't get the attention it deserves. Firstly, it is arguably one of the most important cities in Italian history, similarly to Venice, with which it had perpetual wars and conflicts. It's interesting to see that today only Venice is on tourists' radars, perhaps due to the canals, and yes probably the architecture and vibe in general is way more distinctive. But I think it's not fair!!! I thought Genova is charming.
I have this soft spot for port cities. Some are more merchant (like Genova or San Francisco) while the others are more naval / the outposts of great empires' expansion ambitions (like St Petersburg or Copenhagen). This division is solely mine and not scientific=)))
They have different feel to them, and they conjure up images from the books like 'Treasure Island' (I tried to give another example but realized it can well be the only book of the kind I've read, because frankly I don't enjoy them too much...), with yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, and all that romance. I think of all the literature and artistic attributes of ports: of rats that live on the ships, of the darkness and heavy stink, of ropes and knots, of scurvy, of port whores, of the heavy cursing, and it's amusing to realize that these things used to be the reality, harsh, unpolished and ugly reality of those cities.
It's amusing and barely comprehensible to realize that these port realities, romanticized today, were the dire conditions people used to live in, and they didn't live much longer after 30. Plague and rotten teeth and malnutrition. Or, taking a broader look: Italy I admire so much used to be a very poor country; even Milano, the powerhouse, saw hunger riots and tent towns on its outskirts just very recently, but broad historic standards; as a part of my homework for this trip, I watched 'Miracle in Milano' by Vittorio de Sica ('Yesterday, today and tomorrow' captures the Italian romance so well...), which yet again reminds of the herds of emigrants Italy used to send out. Crazy. This reverse of fortune and misplaced accents (today the Sicilian cap appears romantic whereas it used to indicate one's unfortunate social status just a few decades ago) amazes me greatly, and the most amazing thing is the speed at which the changes are taking place.
And again, the only conclusion one can make is that the empires rise and fall, and sometimes rise again. Very deep, I know.
I never regretted we went to see Genova; it was Sunday, the weather was benevolent, I got my Italian hedonistic kick: 3 breakfasts (before, on and after the train), pasta (al pesto, as pesto was invented in Genova; it is also the birthplace of Columbus and Togliatti.. I am not listing these in order of importance!), and OK I didn't shop but my Mom did. Simple pleasures of watching the Italians walking back and forth in their chic outfits, speaking their beautiful language, feeding their cutest kids with gelatto. It always strikes me that Italian, the language of opera, is the everyday language spoken by 4-5 year olds, therefore when a boy stretches out his hand in the middle of his way across the street saying 'Basta', I can't think of anything cuter. He also has golden locks. They are all very cute bambinis.
Separate stories are Italian dogs (the other place where the dogs are that groomed and graceful and acted upon as the center of the universe is San Francisco and maybe New York) and Italian seniors, specifically, female seniors.
But you've heard it all before. I don't give up on my dream to live by the sea in Italy or Portugal for a while, someday in the future. With this, I let you go. Book your tickets or watch a movie with Marcello Mastroianni (oooh a very very good one, with a different actor - Profumo di Donna!) or grab a pizza.
Baci care!
*Here is the episode that could link this linguistic blathering to Italy. During my first trip (to Bologna in December 2010) we stayed at this wonderful girl's, Manuela. I could well write a separate story only about her, how nice, pretty and intelligent she is, what a wonderful apartment they were living in with her Mom (they spent quite a few years in Turkey, so the house is full of objects from Istanbul, and one can see terracotta tiled roofs and pomegranate trees (I almost fainted) from their windows. Anyway, she told she loves Mayakovski, and showed me the book, in Italian. I couldn't believe my eyes! I would be curious to read it in Italian. She also had 'Bosco di ciliegi' by Chehov.. Anyway, it was immediate crush. I can still fall for a person only for her ipod playlist.
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