I’m writing to you on this beautiful Sunday morning with a quick post that perhaps differs from my usual jesting with the Italian culture. My marito and I woke up to an Italian news article by La Repubblica that surprised us quite a bit.
One of the most difficult things to learn in a new country is not the language itself, but how to use the language in the right way. In Italian, we have to disagree a bit before we can agree.
A surprisingly serious ultimatum from my marito regarding a certain box of artificially flavored yellow yumminess.
It’s hard not to love the Tico team. They’re like the little engine that could.
It’s hard not to hate the Italian team. They sucked it up pretty hard.
I have put myself in harm’s way to write this post, so you better read it. And like it, dammit.
Our fearless group of expat bloggers returns to you this week with a doozy. We’ve asked our Italian (and one French) partners to talk about what it’s like being with us crazy expats. Oh, how the tables have turned.
If we can’t mess with your food, then you can’t mess with ours. Deal?