Speaking on the phone in another language is difficult. Successfully achieving this step represents a whole new plateau in your language skillz (with a z). Here’s some tips on how to artfully conduct a phone conversation in Italian.
Calm down. It’s still funny, even if you don’t give a crap about getting fit in Italy. BE SUPPORTIVE!!!
In an effort to stay on the happy side of life, I’ve decided that I should first point the finger at myself. So, let’s all breathe and take a look at some of the crazy crap we foreigners in Italy try to pull, shall we?
A quantification of the amount of life being sucked out of an expat, as well as a measurement of the subsequent reaction one can expect.
A cryptic, yet literal, ‘How To’ guide for the logistics of buying land in Italy. (By the way, we now own 0.000023% of Italy!!!)
Somewhere in Sweden there’s a well designed room of blonde people eating meatballs and discussing how to best debilitate various consumer groups into subjection. I am here to report that they have yet to conquer the Italians!
A caseifico is a cheese factory (case comes from the dialect for cheese; -ificio is from building “edificio”). Aperto means open. So it’s like an Open House event for cheese factories. Here are my photos and notes for your enjoyment and curiosity.
The whole region of Emilia is a buzz today with the impending demolition of this hideous, abandoned vertical pig farm that has been blighting the countryside next to Canossa Castle for decades. Come watch it go down!
I am telling you, there is old stuff everywhere in Italy. Stuff just lying around all over the place. It boggles my mind.
That’s right. I’m not ashamed. I’m literally stealing the fruits of my suocera’s labor. But it’s ok, she would want me to. Remember, in Italy, food = love.
A fun recipe for your pears AND for your marriage to an Italian man. Remember, your job is to open his horizons!
Adapting to a new culture can be a tumultuous process. It’s a mistake to not talk about the difficult parts of living in Italy, for fear of ruining the fairy tale image. (For those of you who don’t like to read, I made a graph that sums it up pretty well.)
You ain’t got the blues ’til you lose what you got. I may have met the love of my life, but at what cost? Fluffy towels, baby, fluffy towels.
A quick little healthy recipe for those of you who may be experiencing the same level of pear inundation as I am: Pear, Arugula (or Rocket), and Pine Nut Salad
My marito pointed out to me today that the infamous “Striscia Notizia” has made a rather large and perhaps revolutionary change to it’s format. Does objectifying men make up for the years of objectifying women?
Is it just me, or do actions that would elsewhere result in weight loss merely sustain or decrease rates of weight gain here in Italy? I feel like I’m in the twilight zone. Mediterranean Diet, my ass.
What do you think – unfairly perpetuating Italian stereotypes or cleverly playing on what some view as Italy’s charm?
I can now officially report that my sprouts have sprouted, and that I have consumed said sprouts without dying. So, I think that’s a pretty good outcome. Here’s what I learned along the way (#fitaly):
Am I the only nutcase English-speaking expat who has problems with these words? Better question – am I the only nutcase who uses visualization techniques?
It has recently come to my attention that, while I am well aware of what to do when confronted by a grizzly bear, mountain lion, or rattle snake… I am considerably less aware of the protocol for cinghiale (Italian wild boars). I figured I’d do a little research and share the results with you… lest you find yourself in a similar situation.
Those of you expats who are particularly strong-willed (read ‘stubborn’) may be able to relate to this short, yet accurate, assessment detailing the three phases of submitting to the way things are done here in Italy – or, as I like to call it, “1,2,3, é cos씑.
Tips for how to combat these potentially dangerous (and certainly annoying) pests.
While the chains of love will forever bind me to tortelli and Parmigiano-Reggiano, I feel that I must break free. I must rebel. I must grow sprouts.
An analysis of the keys to a fulfilling life, according a Reggiano farmer.
My daily life can no longer support the onslaught of carbohydrates and pork that this country is wielding at me. This is my call for help. (#fitaly)
Trying to break my silent streak with a reference to Silent Springs… (Did anyone get that? Anyone?)
In my vast one year of experience (but 6 years together, with 5 of them in Italy), I shall try to address and debunk some common myths about marrying an Italiano, with a concerted effort to artfully sidestep the stereotypes and generalizations that sometimes get me in trouble.
The most interesting discoveries can come from lack of reading material while you’re on the toilet.
An unfortunate selection of a company name for a baby supplies store… or is it?
I would like to put forth a prediction that this refreshing, fizzy, chilled red wine soon gets picked up as the go-to drink in trendy wine bars all over America. Here are my reasons:
The title of this post may be misleading, in that it implies that I already know how to porcini like a pro… Which is not, in fact, the case. It is the quest! Join me…
Exploring my thoughts on tight versus loose, regarding men’s lower body garments.
This is the Hollywood-like (only not really) dramatic retelling of our persistent loathing of the vista from our balcony: ‘La Casa di Sand and Fog’.
am I the only one that is finding these two marketing campaigns hilarious?
What is sisso? Some would say it’s like gold. It’s the fuel of the regional agricultural industry. It’s the byproduct of the rich food culture of traditional Emilia. It’s a farmer’s most essential source of nourishment. It’s the smell that fills the air at dinner time in the summer. It’s the taste that lingers in your mouth after exhaling.
It’s pig poo.
How do you tactfully beg this of your fiance’s brother at their mother’s dinner table? This was the task I was charged with one memorable evening two years ago.
My crazy cartoon depicting my lack of willpower when it comes to seed planting.
The second week after arriving in Italy, as I was knee deep in my attempt to nest in my boyfriend’s bachelor pad, our toilet broke… it was a Friday morning. This is the story of my naive attempt to have it fixed.
The architectural standards guide that answers all questions, both about architecture… and life… let’s take a look, shall we?
This post provides photographic and definitive proof that Permigiano-Reggiano is Reggiano first and foremost.
The story of an Italian husband saving his own hide with none other than… food.
Wednesday is market day here in our little town. Yesterday, as I was sharpening my elbows in preparation, I started to reflect on the naïvety with which I approached my first market day almost five years ago.
What Valentine’s Day is complete without an extensive discussion of Italian slang derived from female private parts?
Somehow, between the chocolate covered strawberries and the bottle of passito wine, my husband and I ventured into this graphic subject late last night. It was actually kind of fascinating.
It’s that time of year again here in rural Emilia… that time of year when La Famiglia gets together for a full day of literally pigging out. The Maialata (‘maiale’ means ‘pig’ and ‘-ata’ kind of makes it a ‘fest’) is a traditional meal that takes place in January, when farmers used to butcher their pigs for the coming year’s supply of prosciutto and salame.
One of my favorite things about living in Italy is the public health care system… Then comes the day when I need to go to the doctor, and my faith falters.
That’s what I’m doing right now.
Looking for a fantastic gastro-destination in the province of Parma? We stumbled across this incredible restaurant (which we had heard stories about before) while we were on a weekend trip.
The following story has been one of my favorites to tell and retell over the course of my time here in Italy. It was one of my first culture shock experiences, and it took place the first month I was in Italy – about 4 years ago. It exemplifies the understatement that Italian do all business by word-of-mouth and personal recommendations.
disclaimer: This is me just venting (ha!). I actually am not a big fan of air conditioning (ha again! I kill me.). Here’s what I really think helps indoor air quality: http://emuarchitects.com/2013/08/20/mold-and-condensation-problems/ ______________________ I am originally from a hot climate. My home state in the US regularly sees summer temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. I remember…
The word ‘fighetto’ has recently become somewhat of a staple in my ever evolving Itanglish vocabulary. Let’s dissect, shall me?
Married to Italy 