Italian Time

When I travel, I like to spot the differences between my home country and my host country. This can actually be a challenge, because what often stands out the most between the two are the similarities. I have found, through traveling to Japan, Canada, France, Germany, The Czech Republic, Bermuda, Iceland, England, and now Italy that the main commonality among every country is the simple fact that people are nice everywhere.

Sure, there are jerks, too, though maybe I'm less inclined to notice them when I can't understand what they're saying.

Mostly, though, people will find a way to help you. A smile and a (polite) hand gesture can go a long

Dessert!

 way. Making a good faith attempt to stumble through the local language helps, too. A lot. In fact, the single biggest tip I can offer for anyone traveling to a country where you don't know the language is to try to learn a few simple words before you go. "Hello," "Goodbye," and "Thank you," will get you far. "How much does that cost?" "Where is the bathroom?" and "I would like to have (for ordering food)" get you bonus points. Your pronunciation does not have to be perfect. Trust me.

But I digress. While in Italy, I discovered the phenomenon known as Italian Time. This was highlighted in my experience with the Three Main Differences of Eating in a Restaurant in Italy:

• How you are seated
• How you are charged
• How you get the check

How you are seated: 

When approaching an Italian restaurant, unless it's the kind of place with linen tablecloths that takes reservations, you simply catch the eye of a member of the waitstaff and gesture to a table. They nod. You sit. That's all there is to it. There's no, "Have you been here before?" chit chat. No waiting around to be seated in whatever section. Just sit down. And if you can't catch the eye of someone, sit anyway. They'll find you.

How you are charged: 

Italians don't tip. This felt weird until I realized that service is compensated, just in a different way. At Italian cafes, there is typically a bar and a seating area. If you order your coffee and treat and stand to eat it at the bar, you pay one (cheaper) price. If you choose to sit, your items cost a bit more. Menus typically list two sets of pricing so you can see at a glance how you will pay differently based

One of the best things I've ever eaten.

on whether or not you want table service. There is also usually a cover charge ("coperto") of about two euros or so per person. This covers the bread they put on table (whether or not you eat it), and helps offset the charge for service. Then, service proceeds as usual (until you get to the check; more on that in a minute).

I like this a lot. Servers deserved to be paid a living wage, and I like having the pricing set to accommodate that. If you don't want to pay for someone to bring you your food, stand at the bar or eat at home. Boom.

Other than that, throughout the meal, it's business as usual, only with better food than at home. I kid. But not really. Italian food tends to be fresher, with better ingredients. Sure, they use butter and salt in their cooking but the food doesn't seem drowned by it. Restaurant portions were bigger than I expected, but not as big as the behemoth plates we get in the States.

How you get the check: 

Here's where it gets interesting. Italian table service is very similar to the States in that a server comes over, greets you, and asks what you would like to drink. They do charge for water, but I don't mind because you get good quality bottled water for cheap and it's delightful. I tended to ask for "frizzante" rather than "naturale" water (carbonated rather than still) because it felt more elegant. Plus, a euro fifty (little less than two dollars) for a liter of sparkling water is cheap, compared to what we would pay for a bottle of Perrier at home.

Everything else feels similar. You give your order ("Prendo pasta a la carbonara, per favore..." or if you want to get really fancy, "Io vorrei pasta a la carbonara..."), your food comes (quickly), and you eat yourself into a pasta coma of carb-heavy goodness.

Then, coffee, which, unless you ask for an "Americano" (do not do this; there should be a rule against

Cafe freddo

drinking American-style coffee in Italy), you get a shot of espresso. Once I figured out how to order it, I asked for a Cafe Freddo (iced coffee), which was delightful and not at all the watered down, overdone mess we get in the States. On rare occasion, usually in the morning when I wanted a little more of something in my stomach, I ordered a cappuccino.

You finish your coffee and then ... nothing. Radio silence. At the nicer places, the server might say, "Okay, then, enjoy the table!" and wander off, leaving you to feel free to stay at that table all night long, if you wish. With most places, the servers simply walk away. Period.

This was nice when I didn't have anywhere to be, or when I wanted to enjoy the view, but sometimes, I was ready to leave, and couldn't, because I couldn't find the darn waiter to pay the check. At one place, I had done a really lovely yet very long walk that took most of the afternoon, my friend and I wolfed our food, and then we were ready to get out of there, yet it took forever to get that waiter's eye. When we did, I said, "Il conto, per favore," and he smiled, and nodded, and then did 15 other things for a while, then took a nap, apparently, until I asked again. Finally, we were able to pay and leave.

A few days later, we had lunch at a great cafe neat the Duomo. The location was beautiful, the food was fantastic, I enjoyed my cafe freddo, I asked for the check, the waitress nodded...and then did lots of other things. For an hour.

That's right. An hour. We kept trying to flag her down, without success. The Italian women at the table next to use overheard us talking and said they would help. They called over a different waiter, said some things in Italian, he nodded and hurried off. Still no check. The ladies shrugged. "This is Italy," she said. "We deal with this all the time. You just have to accept it."

Finally, the man came back with the check. Except, it wasn't our check. So we had to send him off

You pay extra for the finery, and I am okay with that.

again. Eventually, he came back with the correct check, it took another 15 minutes for him to run and get his little handheld credit card machine and come back to accept payment, and finally - finally! - we were free!

Every since that lunch, I have worked on internalizing the concept of Italian Time. This was actually helpful once I got back to my job in the States. No need to stress about getting caught up on emails; I'm on Italian Time! Everything gets done when it needs to. Sit back and accept it. That's just the way it is.

Venezia

Boy, do I have a love/hate relationship with Venice.

On the one hand, Venice is the single most beautiful place I have ever seen with my own two eyes.

On the other hand, Venice made me want to poke my eye out with a stick because of the excessive tourism. And, I mean excessive. This was like nothing I had experienced before in my life, and I grew up going to Ocean City, MD, land of all things crowded and tacky.

Upon arrival, C and I walked out of the train station and saw this:

The streets are made of WATER.

I know, I know, I'd heard of Venice before, but to see streets made of water right in front of me was still a shock. Luckily, our hotel was in a somewhat out of the way part of the city, so it was a few hours before we realized just how touristy Venice can be.

As we wandered, we were presented with many options like this: do we take the lesser traveled path on the left? Or the more crowded path on the right? Hint: we always took the lesser traveled path. 

One thing we learned about Venice pretty quickly is that you either stay on the over-crowded main drag, or embrace the art of getting lost. There's no way to truly be lost, because, after all, we were on an island. One way or another, we would find our way back. 

One of the best parts of local life in Venice is that residents have found ways to bring in some green wherever they can. There are no yards, obviously, so there are window boxes everywhere you look. 

Here, we were getting closer to the main tourist attraction (Piazza San Marco). On a whim, we wandered into a free art exhibit and enjoyed the bizarre yet fascinating modern art. I happened to look out the window, and saw the view in the photo above, with the giant hands. This was magical. I excitedly called for C to come stick her head out the window, too, and we hogged that window space for several minutes while we took photos. That photo is unfiltered. That is what I saw with my own two eyes. See what I mean about magical? It's as if the place is positively enchanted. 

That is, until you get to Piazza San Marco, and then it's as if you have stepped right into tourist hell. We walked out of the tunnel underneath the clock that you can just see in the upper right hand corner of the photo above. Those throngs of people are what you have to embrace if you want to get inside the church. Good luck finding a bathroom, by the way, because in true tourist-town fashion, the restaurants all along the piazza cater to tourists and do not have public bathrooms. If you want to use them, you must be a patron. We found a coffee shop and spent an hour getting our beverages just so I could use the bathroom. 

While wandering the maze-like sidewalks on our way to and from Piazza San Marco, I started snapping pictures of my view. We couldn't walk without dodging and weaving around people. What I did not capture with photos is the way that restaurant workers would stand outside their businesses, shouting at us to come in, come in, there's a special today, hey, sweetheart, you're beautiful, come inside. It was relentless. 

I was so frustrated with the constant throng of humanity - the noise, the jostling, the being-in-edge for pickpockets - that at one point, I dropped, and broke, my camera. Awesome. 

I'll likely share a few other posts about Venice in coming weeks. I saw one of the most amazing art exhibits I've ever seen while there. I explored Murano glass and bought a great souvenir. I took many photos, ate some wonderful things (and some not so wonderful things), and enjoyed the wandering, the getting lost, the finding of my perspective, and my way. 

Me making the best of my afternoon in Piazza San Marco.

In good company

Me, C, and the Sindaco di Firenze

One of the best parts of traveling, in particular when traveling with a friend, is the chance to have unexpected encounters with others. I note that traveling with a friend is key, because traveling alone as a woman, I have to be pretty defensive when out and about. When on my own, I generally don't spend as much time in bars or restaurants, because places like that tend to invite company I do not appreciate. But when I'm with a good wingman, we get out and about all over the place.

So far this trip, in just one week, we have had some great chats with our new best friends.

One day, we went for a quick sandwich so we wouldn't be going to our wine tasting on an empty stomach. (Point of fact: Italians only drink when they eat. Culturally, they do not understand drinking wine if you are not also eating food. The tasting did involve some light food, but we wanted to be prepared.)

We found a great sandwich...shop? Stand? I'm not sure what to call the place, but I Due Fratellini (two little brothers) has a sandwich counter where they shave off perfect prosciutto, fresh mozarella, argula, pomodoro (tomatoes), and all sorts of other things on perfect bread. The sandwiches are huge, made to order from fresh ingredients, cheap, and freaking delicious. You eat them standing up, on the street. You can have wine with your sandwich, because of course you can. Our options ranged from a shot glass size, to small wine glass, to larger wine glass, and we could choose wines ranging from chianti classico to brunello di montalcino (which is pretty expensive, fancy-pants wine for those not in the know. Seriously. A sandwich shop serving brunello for five euros a glass. I love this country). We took the recommendation of one of the brothers and each got a small glass of the chianti classico for two euros a glass. And I mean glass. The wine was served in actual wine glasses so we could enjoy our wine while eating our humongous, amazing sandwiches in wax paper.

C and I were standing there, on the cobblestones, trying to juggle the sandwich and glass of wine, when I noticed a little wooden frame mounted on the wall. It had little shelves perfect for placing your wine glass while you drank.

The little wine shelf.

Right in front of the frame was a group of uomini (men) who were clearly having a power lunch. One of them was in a smart looking suit with a small pin with the symbol of Florence (the Florin) in his lapel. I had him pegged as a government official right away. There was also a man in an impressive and impeccable uniform, with lots of insignia on his lapel. He was clearly a very high ranking official in some military or psuedo military organization. The other men were also smartly dressed. They were standing right in front of the shelf, but I'm American, and don't care if Very Important People are standing there; the shelf is there for everyone to use and I'm not putting my wine glass on the curb while I eat. So, I walked over and helped myself to some space on the shelf.

After a few minutes, Mr. Fancy Suit asked where we're from. We chatted for a bit, and he introduced us to the other men in the group. Mr. Fancy Uniform was the chief of police. The others were presidents of various districts. Mr. Fancy Suit was the Mayor. "I guessed it was something like that, because of your pin!" I said. The next thing I know, he removed the pin and asked if he could put it my sweater lapel. Well, sure!

We asked about the street art that we saw throughout the city, including the piece painted right behind the wooden wine shelf. He liked the urban art, and told us a bit about it. He posed with the two brothers of the sandwich shop for a picture, so I asked for one, too. We walked away from our sandwiches smiling at the hospitality.

That's the Pitti Palace in the background.

Later on, we went to the wine tasting at the Tuscan Wine School, along with two Canadians, two Americans, and one German. We had a blast, learning about the various local wines, from a blond-haired, blue-eyed Italian woman. This made me happy, because at home, no one ever thinks I'm Italian because I don't look stereotypically Italian, yet here are blonde, fair-eyed and fair-skinned Italians, I swear. I'm not the only one.

We got along like gangbusters in this group, and afterwards, the Canadians decided we should go out for a drink to use our newfound knowledge so we figured what the hell. We thoroughly confused the waitress when we just wanted wine without food, so she brought us food anyway, which I find hilarious.

It was great fun, even if C and I were, somehow, the only liberals at the table having a conversation with two Americans who voted for Trump and said they would vote for him again and two Canadians who (I cringe as I say this) hate Trudeau. "So, I understand you like to smoke cigars..." was my segway the hell out of that conversation.

Political differences aside, it was an enjoyable evening, and one I never have at home. It takes the change of scenery and culture and a found, shared interest to bring together a group of strangers for a short while.

Austrians!

A few nights later, C and I headed to Venice for an overnight trip. She had picked out a fabulous restaurant for dinner, and we went to eat all the things. The amuse bouche was a straciatella cheese with a sardine that melted in your mouth, and it was divine. There were scallops with lemon, peanuts, and cacaoa, spaghetti with prawns (heads intact), and turbot with pumpkin sauce. Dessert was house-made tiramisu with coffee and grappa. The adorable German waiter brought out house-made limoncello and fennelcello on the house.

The food was great, but the best part turned out to be our tablemates. When we sat down, we knew the table involved family-style table seating and that we could end up with company. Two Austrian men took the seats next to us, and mostly left us alone. At some point, we started chatting. The next thing I knew, they were sharing their wine so the four of us could toast C's birthday with something in our glasses (as our wine had long since been consumed), I shared my tiramisu, we ended up talking about politics, with them cracking us up with their bafflement of American voting in someone like Trump. They also shocked me by sharing that Austrians don't watch The Sound of Music. Ever. They know the movie exists, but watching it is not part of their culture. They think it's hilarious that that's what Americans know of their little country.

I'm here for another week, and can't wait to see who I get to meet next.