As you can immagine. The economic crisis in Euro-land has made Christmas a little less festive this year. Personally, I think this has added to, rather taken away from the Christmas spirit.

I must say that I was expecting a kind of WWII austerity feel, but it seems that austerity didn’t meen doing without completely. Christmas decorations? Lower wattage bulbs were used. Gifts? Gift giving was sharply curtailed and I must say that I kind of like that too. To begin with it meant that I had to spend less time thinking about. looking for, purchasing, wrapping and delivering gifts. This gave me more time to spend with friends and family.

Fewer people traveled and so more friends were around for impromptu diners and get togethers. We had enough time to do Chanukah with my Mom and were able to invite people over for a glass of wine or tea and conversation.

We went shopping for our Christmas Tree on December 6th, had it delivered a few days later and  left it standing in the living room for a few days while Judy had her eyes examined (she’d had cataract surgery on November 24th) and finished up with other odds and ends. I ordered a standing rib roast for Christmas day and bought everyone inexpensive gifts at a small store down the street run by my friend Carmen. I gave Judy some cash to buy what she wanted and she planned our eating strategy. I don’t think anyone cut back on food.

Judy doesn’t like it when I give her money instead of a gift, but gift shopping when you can’t see what you’re buying is a frustrating endeavour. She went to Tarot (her favorite clothes store) and got what she wanted.

As I’ve explained before, the Italian Christmas traditions are different from the American ones. Italians take their inspiration from the family aspect of the holiday, Mary Joseph and the baby Jesus were a family and the Italians use Christmas as a time to celebrate their own families. Our table hosted only four, but others on the street had huge get togethers. Livia at Cesare’s bar had 13, Luca from Antichi Sapori had 20.

I finished all my shopping on the 24th in expectation of shops being closed through the 27th. I’m glad I did this because both Judy and I both came down with the flu on Christmas Day. Judy cooked a fantastic lunch for my mother, my sister and ourselves and then collapsed. On the 26th I followed suit.

For days the cats were the only creatures moving. They constantly jumped up on the bed, looked at us and fussed. Why weren’t we feeding them, playing with them, paying them attention?

New Years Eve in Rome is traditionally a time for fire crackers, roman candles and fireworks. In the past these typically began to be heard around Christmas time leading up to a New Years Eve akin to the firebombing of Dresden. The sky was bright, the noise made conversation impossible. This year, in a bow to austerity the booms and hisses of pyrotechnics were absent. The cats were happy.

The New Year means visitors and Judy is prepared. My Southern Belle brought silver ware, dishes, glasses and salt shakers into my life.

I think the largest group we had was 10. Judy has silver ware for every occasion. We have silver service for 24! We have a special service for fish. Where we would put 24 people I have no idea. We have so many cloth napkins that they’d fill up a washing machine. Tablecloths? I have no idea. It’s my job to set the table and I take this seriously.

Glasses: we have matching wine and water glasses, highball glasses, tumblers, tall champagne glasses, limoncello glasses, red wine glasses, and on and on.

As you are perhaps beginning to understand, Judy has civilized me. Before we met, I drank out of jelly jars, often putting the pan I cooked in on the table in front of me eating directly out of it. Plates? Who needs plates! Just more to wash! One fork, one knife and a tea towel. If people came over we ALWAYS went out. Now I shine silverware, fret over which glasses to use and agonize over salt shakers (we have 4). There! That’s a sign of how civilized I’ve become! I know we have 4 salt shakers!

Brandy. We have three kinds but currently are offering Passito after dinner (a sweet wine). If someone pulled out a cigar in this house Judy would strangle him with her bare hands.

People also came over for tea. No one just ‘has tea’ in this house! The preparation is rigorous. Boil the water. Pour some into the tea-pot to warm it up. Pour the water out of the pot. Measure one tea-spoon of loose tea per serving plus one for the pot. This is what tea-spoons were invented for. Pour rapidly boiling water over the leaves and close the pot (I have to figure this out every time), put a tea cozy over the pot and let it steep. When it’s ready, pour the tea through a strainer over the milk (NEVER pour the milk into the tea. NEVER NEVER NEVER). Tea bags? HA! I’m the only one who uses those!

This brings us to ‘the cup.’ Me? I like the clunky cup with sea gulls on it. Judy uses a red mug in the morning, a yellow mug at night. This changes only at Christmas time when Judy unwraps the Christmas cups.

When people come over for tea I’m banished downstairs. The different possible tea-cup / plate combinations are mind-boggling  My job is to answer the door.

In fact our first argument as a couple was over tea cups. When Judy moved in with me the first thing we did was go purchase tea cups. I felt like an oaf with a hard on. She chose 4 mugs, all in floral patterns, two with small flowers, two with big flowers. One night I was trusted to brew the tea. I filled two of our new cups and carefully brought one to Judy. Her eyes welled up with tears she was so upset.

“What is it, baby?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Stony silence.

“Come on, baby, what is it.?”

She finally told me. She liked the cups with the small flowers on them. Did I not realize this? How could I not! I have since learned to beg her forgiveness in matters such as these.

In reality I enjoy all this, it’s just that sometimes it feels alien.

The holidays are over. The tree has been taken down, but I still get to cosy up with my baby and our two cats every night with a cup of tea.

What more could a man want?

Rome January 11 2012

©2012 Paul Adam Goldfield 2012-01-11

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

Here going shopping for fresh fish is a different experience.

Although it’s possibile to get fish Monday through Friday, I only buy it on Tuesdays and Fridays. The fishing boats come in on Monday and Thursday, and the fresh catch is available for purchase on Tuesday and Friday.

I have two possibilities, one is the fish monger on Via dei Serpenti. His fish is mostly farmed and, although fresh, is nothing special. The shop is located 5 minutes from the house and is convenient.

The other place is Pescheria Galluzzi on Via Venezia. Galluzzi’s fish is fresh from the Mediterranean. It’s difficult to describe how wonderful his fish is. He’s expensive but worth it. Sergio, who owns the fish restaurant up the street calls him ‘Bulgari.’ Still, he shops there for his restaurant.

Galluzzi opens at 9 am and stays open until he sells out, usually between 1:30 or 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon.

Getting from my house to Via Venezia is an uphill trudge. I walk by the barbershop where I usually spend 15 minutes discussing the state of the world. From there I take Via Panisperna to Via Milano, turning right on Via Palermo. Via Venezia is the second cross street. The store is on the corner next to the Ministero degli Affari Col’Estero (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs).

The shop in small and very wet. There is water flowing around the fish displayed on two large metal counters and the floor is constantly being cleaned with buckets of water. I wouldn’t advise going there in sandals. There’s more fish in the cold storage room in the back.

Galluzzi is a large man who’s getting on in years. He used to chuck whole tunas and salmon around like they were Tinker Toys but now leaves this to his sons. He wields the knife with a cigarette in his mouth and a crooked grin on his face, croaking instructions to every one who enters.

“Ei, Americano, ti vuoi mettere di la. Stai in mezzo a tutto.” (Hey American, move over. You’re right in the middle of everything.) Galluzzi knows me well because I go to him for fish when I’m going to make sushi. Actually I go to him for fish all the time. He knows this and is always offering me tastes. Just like Piero Bellotti who calls me Mr. Jazz, to Galluzzi I’ll allways be l’Americano.

It’s best to get these at about 1:30 in the afternoon. This is because he tends to give out extra stuff just to be rid of it. This means huge savings. Anything left unsold is either thrown out or stored in the cold room. People protest if  he tries to sell them things from back there. Is it fresh? Is it still good?

The other day I went up there because Judy wanted some sole. I got two of those. Then Galluzzi brought me over to a huge salmon that he’d just cut in two.

“Questa metà l’ha ordinato tuo amico Sergio. Se lo mangi da lui ti costera 15 Euro a porzione. Io telo vendo a 5.” (Your friend Sergio ordered this half. If you eat it at his place he’ll charge you 15 Euro a portion. I’ll sell it to go for 5.)

I have him cut off a couple of fillets.

I strike up a conversation with his wife who pulls out the soles I asked for indicating they they’re the last two and that they’re small.

“Te li do a metà prezzo.” This is her last chance to move these.

“Va bene signora.” I do my best to look dissatisfied.

One of the guys comes out from the back. There’s a box of 6 local lobsters (called astici) left and he offers to sell them all to me for 120 Euro.

“Che ne faccio con 6 astici? Siamo in due.” (What am I going to do with 6 lobsters. There are only two of us.)

“Va bene, 2 per 40.” (OK, 2 for 40.)

“Venduti,” I shout. (Sold!)

I leave the store toting a Galluzzi bag heavy with fish.

Walking around with a Galluzzi bag is like walking around with a hip leather jacket. People strike up conversations to ask about it.

“Ah, Galluzzi. Cosa mangia stasera?” asks a lady with a shopping cart. (Ah, Galluzzi. What’s for dinner this evening?)

“Astici. Ce ne aveva altri quattro.” (Lobster. He had four more.) She thinks for a moment, looks at her watch and decides to see if he’s still open. She hurries towards Via Venezia.

As I walk back down Via Milano I pass Sergio who’s hurrying to pick up his salmon.

“Buon giorno maestro. Anche lei da Galluzzi? Perche non passi a mangiarlo da me? (Good day maestro. I see you’ve been to Galluzzi. Why don’t you stop by and eat his fish at my restaurant?)

“Mi ha fatto un offerta sullo stesso salmone che ha ordinato  lei.” He gave me a good deal on the same salmon you ordered.)

“Va bene. Buon passeggio.” (Ok. Have a nice walk.) He walks a little faster.

I walk into the apartment and the cats are looking at me under the balustrade, their noses twitching.

“Baby,” I say to Judy. “I went a little nuts.”

“What did you get?” I tell her what’s in the bag.

“Well, for God’s sake, put it in the refrigerator!”

That evening we had the lobster. They were still moving when Judy took them out of the refrigerator and put them on the countertop. While we wait for the water to boil the cats jump up to inspect these strange shelled creatures that have invaded their kitchen and are alarmed when they move. I have to be careful of Cato who will pick one of these huge creatures up in his mouth and drag it to his bowl if I’m not on my toes. He did this with a veal roast a few weeks ago.

Lobster with lemon butter. Exquisite.

The Italians lobster in a different way. I most often see it served with pasta in a light, slightly piquant tomato sauce, the lobster laid open and served atop the pasta. Spaghetti al’Astice.

This evening it was Salmon en Papillotte with dill sauce. Tomorrow we go out with my mother for sushi at lunchtime. Monday we’ll polish off the sole.

Is there anything as good as freshly caught, saltwater seafood?

Rome December 3 2011-12-03

©Paul Adam Goldfield 2011-12-03

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

This union was a wonderful idea though it remains a dream not quite realized. Is it possible to have economic unity without political unity? I’m not sure it is.

The strength of the United States is based on such a union. 51 States, united under one flag. We are all Americans with similar aspirations, language and culture. Would the United States be as powerful if each individual state had it’s own foreign policy, it’s own language, it’s own culture and it’s own sovereign interests? Probably not.

The fact that Germany is an economic powerhouse does not make her a wise leader and this is the situation that she finds herself in today.

Let’s go back to WW II. The world found itself involved in WWII because after WWI Germany was asked to pay war reparations that she could not afford. Was it fair that she pay these reparations? Absolutely. Was it possible? No. Germany was none the less forced to do so, thereby setting the stage for Adolf Hitler and WWII.

I do NOT believe this is the situation in Europe right now. I just want to talk about post WWII Europe, where the United States instituted the Marshall Plan because it (wisely) realized that a strong Europe was in everybody’s interest. All of Europe benefitted from this plan, none more than Germany. Did America ask to be repaid? No, because it was an investment, one that paid off many, many times over. I now find it odd that the country that benefitted most from this plan has learned nothing from it. Expecting Greece to repay their loans is not the point. The point is the same as it always was: to create a market to move BMS’ and Mercedes’ and Audis and Volkswagens. And locomotive engines. And aircraft etc, etc. The point of these ‘loans’ is to keep business chugging along, not to earn money off of the loans. Nor is it an opportunity to make some moral point about keeping your house in order. The point is economics, money.

The Germans have always lacked imagination (man, I hear the mails arriving already). They now have the opportunity to make a killing by investing and the incredible part is that they are in a position to do this with Europe’s money! What a deal! What’s the problem? The problem is that they don’t think it’s fair after they had to plow all that money  into East Germany. I think you can follow my line of reasoning when I say that the creation of East Germany was in large part Germany’s own fault to begin with. I’m not going to get into details here because I’m going to have enough mail to deal with as it is. Was Germany’s investment in East Germany not an investment in itself?

When we speak of the European Central Bank (ECB) we are, in effect, talking about Germany who controls it for the most part. The Germans don’t seem to understand that if they’re wise investors right now, they’ll be able to sell more of their products and possibly charge more for them as well in the near future. This is the way countries recoup their investments, not by asking for repayment on loans, it’s not worth it! Where do you think there’s more money to be made, on the of repayment of low interest-rate loans, or by increasing the amount and prices of your exports?

It is not fare to reap the benifits of stimulating your economy while charging your customers twice, once for what they pay for your goods and again for the loans you offered to enable them to pay for said goods. This is they way bankers think and countries are not bankers! They’re investors. Have the banks found their way in here as well? This banking insanity has reached incredible heights!

The problems that Europe face are long-term problems and will take generations to fix. The Italians have to figure out how to collect taxes. Spain has to build an economy, Greece has to reinvent itself and France has to learn to deal with the incredible numbers of foreigners currently living there. These are only a few of the problems to be resolved, and they are not going to be resolved quickly! The ‘schnell, schnell’ attitude of the Germans is inappropriate.

The German idea is to ‘cut’ our way out of this crisis. Cut back, spend less. But where do we cut? Pensions? People won’t stand for it. Property? Do we want people in the streets? Health care? No, we have to ‘grow’ our way out of these problems and, believe me, Europe is not an easy place to grow, to invest.

The Italian crisis came to a boiling point when the spread between German and Italian bonds became such that no one in their right mind would invest in Italian bonds. But now even Germany can’t sell her bonds! This is a European crisis, not a problem of ‘lazy Italians’ or ‘indolent Greeks.’

So Germany finds herself part of Europe and she has to deal with her neighbors, warts and all. If she wants to sell her goods, she has to invest.

Does no one take the long view any more? My American countrymen think the same way most of the time. A company that looks 2 years into the future is considered to be taking the long view. Two years are nothing! Think 10 years, 20 years, more.

And leave our children with a future.

Rome December 1 2011

© Paul Adam Goldfield 2011

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

I suggest that you read an earlier post entitled A Very Superficial Look at Italian Politics. This will give you a broad look at the background on which this situation is playing out.

As far as the future of the Euro is concerned, I don’t feel able to answer that question. Going back to individual currencies would seem like a recipe for chaos, so it seems more likely to me that the Euro will weaken as Europe’s problems chip away at its common currancy’s foundations. Europe is not only made up of Germany and France. There are also Greece, Italy, Portugal and other sovereign countries that, although not as strong, are none-the-less part of Europe.

I really don’t know the ins and outs of bonds and finance, but I do see some structural problems that make the Italian system unwieldy. Lets look at one of these: the political system.

Now, make no mistake, Italy is a major player in the world economy. When we talk about the problem of ‘Italian Debt’ we’re saying that italian bonds are not as attractive as (say) German bonds, not that Italy is bankrupt. This means that investors are less likely to buy Italian bonds. We all (individuals and sovereign nations alike) finance ourselves with credit. Most of us Americans have mortgages and car loans, without which we would probably not have places to live or cars to get us to and from work. Whereas Italians don’t borrow as much, the Italian Government still finances itself by selling bonds just as all other sovereign nations do. Now that these bonds are less attractive to investors, the Italian government is spending more than it makes in taxes. This would be a problem for any country.

So why don’t they collect taxes? Here’s where things get interesting.

The biggest reason for this is that the government doesn’t trust it’s citizens and therefore requires proof of everything. There is no box for ‘other income’ that we find on our American tax forms. This stifles individual initiative. Italians retaliate by not declaring huge amounts in income.

If an Italian wants to declare incidental income, if he or she wants to make a few extra Euros by (say) teaching remedial mathematics, they must start a business. This is a proposition often too expensive to be worth the trouble. Instead of giving up this good idea, many ask to be paid in cash. This has created a huge underground cash economy where everything is kept  under the table, in nero as the Italians say.

This ends up impinging on the ‘above the counter’ economy as well. If you’re a doctor, you might offer a discount if your patient agrees to pay in cash and not ask for a bill. If you’re a jeweler you might undertake commissions for people, giving them discounts and accepting payment in cash. If you’re a carpenter you could take on extra work for cash.

Inversely, there are many reasons for the citizens to not trust the government. One factor is that Italian politicians tend to think of themselves as a ruling class. They make huge salaries, get free cars, very generous living expenses and retire with huge pensions. Most people feel this to be unfair when they’re struggling to get through the month.

As you can see, I’m talking about an overhaul of the political system, an overhaul that would not benefit the politicians themselves. And yet they are the only ones who can bring it about.

Stalemate.

Let’s talk a little bit about Berlusconi.

In all fairness, having lived here for 35 years, I have to say that when he first became prime minister, Berlusconi was a positive step for Italy. Before him the country was ruled by a corrupt system of power-sharing that robbed billions and gave back nothing. Do you think these billions would come in handy now? This is a particularly Italian problem that gives the ‘Occupy Wall Street Movement more meaning here.

The old, corrupt system came crashing down in the 1980’s largely due to a scandal known as ‘Mani Pulite’ (Operation Clean Hands). The entire Italian political system was brought down in a matter of weeks. Unfortunately nothing was done to cure these problems so the post Christian Democratic Italian system (of which Berlusconi is a part) suffered from many of these same ills.

But at least Berlusconi was a person, not a vague party apparatus with no face. It was felt that a successful business man would be better at running the country that the corrupt system that had come before. I feel that this was true.

But because the system wasn’t ‘fixed,’ the same problems persisted and Berlusconi has now become part of the problem. You can read about these problems in the post I mentioned earlier.

So what IS happening now?

Well, for the most part the economic situation has changed and economics are, in large part, a matter of perception. The perception here is that Italy is governed by a man who is incapable of putting the country first. This is, in some ways, similar to what’s going on in the States where Republicans and Democrats can’t find ways to solve their common problems

The situation in Italy, however, has to do with a single leader, a man who owns three of the country’s largest TV networks, who owns publishing houses and newspapers, who has vested interests such that his every move is suspect. On top of this, he has been accused of multiple counts of fraud, and the only reason he hasn’t been investigated is because of his immunity as a politician. Berlusconi has no idea what will happen to him when he steps down and this keeps him fighting like a bulldog for his position.

But Italy is fortunate. The world’s perception of her will be greatly eased when Berlusconi leaves and that’s the first step. If the next government is seen to be making progress in righting the wrongs of the past, things will improve.

I realize that there is a world of the unknowns in my last sentence. I have no idea how to bring this about, but I have an idea that young politicians with fresh ideas, young politicians who have been kept out of the political process so far are the only ones who can do it.

Rome Novembre 10 2011

©2011 Paul Adam Goldfield

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

It is built on what was Prince Orsini’s summer residence. The residence itself has long crumbled to dust, but the sculpture garden shows the prince to be a tortured soul, a man haunted by demons, crippled by love, the garden interesting as much for the Prince’s willingness to bare his soul to the world as for the sculptures themselves.

Logorio created sculptures out of stone found in situ and they are, for the most part, huge, bizarre beyond belief. At a time (the Renaissance) when art was generally celebrating the rebirth of the human spirit, these dark representations of a tortured soul are as out-of-place as a Breugel painting in a room of Raphael masterpieces. A perfect day trip to take the day before Halloween.

I will not attempt to explain what the sculptures look like. I’m probably not the best person to do that, although I do remember many of them from my first exposure years ago. They are quite inpressive. If you’re interested, Google ‘Bomarzo.’ I can only tell you of my experience in ‘seeing’ them. These works are all enormous, many of them 5 or six times life size.

Judy, our friend Sally and myself left early on Sunday in the company of our driver Stefano and his wife Simona. The park was a little too far for the three of us to be comfortable in our miniscule Ford Ka. Stefano picked us up outside our house in Monti at 9 AM, then drove over to pick up Sally at her place just off Piazza del Popolo. We stopped for a coffee along the way and arrived at the Bosco Sacro (Sacred Wood), as it’s also called, at around 10 AM.

The place is interesting for two reasons. One is the way it resonates through the ages, in places as disparate as Southern California amusement parks and iconic rock albums. The second is the way it affects children.

It had been years since I’d been to the place so I was being exposed to the sculptures anew.

One enters along a long lane where there are two sculptures of sphinxes, pretty tame, actually. One could go right up to these. We walked by an enormous statue of Ceres (the Goddess of the Harvest, a Halloween resonance). The statues become ever more bizarre as we made our way deeper into the woods; ‘Cerberus’, the three-headed dog who guards the gates of hell, a huge turtle, an enormous Orca opening his mouth as if preparing to swallow the observer. This last had resonations of Pinocchio for me and (I’m sure) for all of the children that saw it. Had Collodi seen this sculpture? A gigantic statue called ‘The Ogre’ struck me immediately because it was the inspiration for one of the most iconic record covers of all time; King Crimson’s first album, a work that I listened to ad infinitum as a young man.

The ‘Leaning House’ is built of stone and is an exercise in odd perspectives and strange angles reminiscent of the movie ‘The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari.’ One gets a feeling of vertigo on entering. I remembered the floors are at odd angles making one feel unsure where to step. At the same time the skewed walls make one feel dizzy. I remember having this same feeling when going into a similar structure in Knott’s Berry Fam in Southern California as a child. Someone at ‘Knott’s Berry Farm’ had undoubtably been to Bomarzo! Had the German makers of the 1919 film been there as well?

Other sculptures include ‘Neptune,’ ‘Pegasus’ and the ‘Ninfeo’ all quite imposing, all a little off kilter.

The effect all this has on children is striking. When told that they are going to visit a Renaissance sculpture garden, children prepare to be bored, but this stuff is unlike anything they’ve ever seen! It’s odd, it’s weird! Who knew that anything dating from the Renaissance could be so completely bizarre! And so impossibly large!

As their parents dutifully explained who Neptune was and who Ceres was, the children were rapt. When they got to the sculpture of one of Hannibal’s elephants apparently crushing a Roman Legionnaire they couldn’t stop looking. They often superimposed elements of these sculptures on one another such as Hannibal’s elephant with ‘Pinocchio’s’ Orca. “Venite!” screamed one boy as he tried to get his companions’ attention. “Ci sono squali! Un pesche ‘cannibale’!” (Come here! There are sharks! A ‘cannibal’ fish!)

Afterwards we scoured the countryside for a restaurant and finally got some good advice from a man on a tractor. Sitting around the table we ate home-made Fettucine al Ragu’ and fresh grilled lamb and sausages.

Stefano dropped us all off at Sally’s.

“Allora, Stefano, quanto ti devo?” (So, Stefano, how much do I owe you?)

“Paul, quasi quasi ti devo pagare a te. Mi hai portato in un posto meraviglioso.” (Paul, I should be paying you. You brought me to a wonderful place.)

“E dai, Stefano. Hai dedicato la tua Domenica a noi invece ai tuoi bambini.” (Come on Stefano, You dedicated your Sunday to us instead of to your children.)

“Almeno permetti che ti ofro il pranzo…” (At least let me offer you lunch.)

“Ma che… se vuoi poi pagare la vostra parte, piu di quello non e necessario.” (What do you mean? If you like you can pay your share, nothing more is necessary.)

I’m on my way to get some candies. Halloween has never been celebrated here to the extent that it has in the states, but lately it has become more popular. Every child in the world likes to dress up and threaten mayhem. Maybe we’ll have a few trick or treaters this year. Bomarzo has put me in the spirit of the thing.

Rome October 31 2011

©2011 Paul Adam Goldfield

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

On this occasion things were not so peaceful, ending in a standoff with the police in Piazza San Giovanni.

Judy and I went out for lunch early at Silvio’s, a restaurant close to Via Cavour. We watched the police gather at the subway station at Piazza della Subura and listened to the helicopters circle overhead. We heard the whistles of the police and the chanting of the crowd as they made their way up Via Cavour on their way to Piazza San Giovanni.

I have lived through numerous protest marches and strikes in this country throughout the years. Protests have included marches against cuts to education in which enraged, well-organized students brought things to a halt for days. There have been protests against cuts in pensions, which enrage the elderly, a segment of the population that is looked on with respect. Protests against cuts in medical coverage (which effects everyone) bring out a wide cross-section of people, from doctors to 10 year-old-children waving banners and chanting. The sight of 10-year-old protesters is more than most people can stand. The ‘right to a house’ protests brings out the poor and the indigent.

Todays protest paralyzed the center of town. Nothing new here. There had been tents set up at Palazzo delle Esposizioni on Via Nazionale to house protesters from out of town. The police blocked all traffic making things incredibly peaceful as we awoke. Since the protesters had not bothered to apply for a permit, no one had any idea where trouble would break out. Public transportation was discontinued making it it impossible to get anywhere.

The police toted transparent shields to protect themselves from  flying bottles and bricks and were armed with sub machine guns. They had been warned that this protest might be a bit different. Helicopters crisscrossed the sky. Protestors were yelling into megaphones and chanting. There was shouting, of course, lots of shouting. As with other protests, parents had brought their children, encouraging them to voice their displeasure, to learn how to show their disapproval as is their right. At Silvio’s there was a family and the children were excited. “Papà, quando possiamo protestare noi? Dai!” (Dad, when can we protest? Come on!) Most of this is normal in these situations.

Despite the crowds, stores and restaurants remained open. Usually the protesters get bored. This happens usually between one and three o’clock (lunch time) at which point everyone goes to a restaurant or sandwich shop, eats a good lunch then goes shopping.

These huge gatherings of people are prime time for street musicians. We were serenaded by buskers as we listened to the sound of protesters grow up on Via Cavour.

By this time the subway had been closed for hours and there were at least 50 police men guarding the entrance.

Despite the police presence I felt no tension in the agents of law enforecement. This is because Italy is, in many ways a police state. There are so many different police forces here that their different uniforms lend a festive air to any gathering.

First there are the Carabinieri, the military police. These guys are the back bone of any police presence. If you’re a terrorist, a kidnapper,  a rapist or an armed robber you’ll probably have to deal with the Carabinieri. They also patrol some of the roads outside of the cities. They were everywhere yesterday.

Then there are the Guardie di Finanze. If you are not paying your taxes or are defrauding customers in your shop these are the guys you’ll have to deal with. There were not many of these guys around since no one was really worrying about fraud yesterday.

Then there are the Polizia Stradale. These guys are roughly equivalent to our Highway Patrol. They give out tickets for speeding and other infractions. Yesterday they maned the road blocks.

There is the Polizia Municipale. If you get into a wreck inside the city limits or park where you’re not supposed to, these guys will ticket you, report you and/or have you towed. The Polizia Municipale were absent since there were no cars on the street.

There are also law enforcement organizations that are not acknowledged. The Sisde is the secret police. There are also branches of law enforcement that deal with immigration and illegal cigarettes and alcohol such as the Polizia Peniteziaria. We saw police in souped up Alfa Romeos, in busses, in armoured personnel carriers, in trucks and on horse back. I believe that no one in this country is unknown to one or another of these agencies.

When they started burning cars on Via Cavour we asked for the bill, returned home and watched the rest on TV.

The crowd in Piazza San Giovanni was huge. The Black Blocks (as the hooligans are called) began throwing nuts, bolts and cobblestones at the police. The police retaliated with a water cannon and the Black Blocks set a police van on fire. At one point the protesters surrounded the police with their hands raised showing they were unarmed. More police arrived, charged the crowd and cleared the piazza pushing them towards Via Merulana, the road that leads to our neighborhood but by the time they reached us it was all over. Today (Sunday) all is calm.

I believe that this protest was taken over by violent elements from other parts of Europe. This was not the Italian way of protesting and has not been seen since the 1970s when the far left and far right were locked in battle. That battle ended in the death of Aldo Moro and the dismantling of the these extremist factions.

Despite the violence I believe the young have a point here. Just as the occupiers of Wall Street are mad about having to pay a bill presented to them by their ‘parents’ after years and years of short-term economic malfeasance, the youth of Europe is mad about having to pay the bill for years and years of corruption in Greece and elsewhere. A bailout of the banks is seen as a continuation of these old world policies.

The mood was serious yesterday. No one went shopping.

Romans themselves were out today with brooms helping the garbage men clean up the mess. This is more representative of the Italian way.

Rome October 16 2011

©2011 Paul Adam Goldfield

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

Another of the buildings houses the Museo della Cultura Romana, the Museum of Roman Culture. Mussolini intended to use this museum to show how his Fascist Party was an inevitable extension of the greatness of Ancient Rome. Of course none of this matters any more but the exhibits, many of which have been altered over the years, still outline the growth of Rome from a collection of mud huts to the center of Western Civilization that it eventually became.

My mother and I were there taking advantage of the excellent series of walks sponsored by the Canadian Club of Rome, a cultural association that organizes visits to many of Rome’s museums and sites. The good thing about these walks is that many of them are to places that are wheel chair accessible, a necessity for my mother who has been in a wheelchair for the past year.

All of this was of relative importance to Mom. For her the most important feature of any museum was that it should have a restaurant. This is a service that most museums provide. The Museo di Arte Moderna has a nice restaurant out back in the greenery surrounding the museum. The Palazzo delle Esposizione has a restaurant featuring an all you can eat buffet accessible by elevator. The Chiostro di Bramante has a similar set up. I didn’t bother to check this out, sure that some form of lunch area would be available.

The museum itself was very interesting. The contemporary architecture of the building served to accentuate the age of the subject matter on display and although there were no actual relics from the Roman period, there were exhibits showing the growth of the city, of how the Romans built their roads, of Ancient Roman siege engines and other aspects of Roman life.

The most interesting displays were those showing how the city grew in importance. Beginning as a series of mud huts, it grew to an area in which tribal kings held sway and eventually into the city of Ancient Rome proper. There was a large display of Ancient Rome at the height of it’s influence. This model is available as a map, a wonderful display to grace an empty (if rather large) wall.

But there was no restaurant and Mom was worried about this.

“Paul, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll take you out for lunch. What do you want to eat?”

Currently Mom is into a sushi restaurant near her house that serves steamed salmon on fried rice just the way she likes it.  We wait outside the main entrance to the museum as I call a cab.

As I wheel Mom in to the restaurant everyone makes a huge fuss over her as usual, sitting us at her favorite table and bringing us a huge pot of tea.

I order sashimi and Mom is attracted by the riotous colors of the fish on my plate; the orange of the salmon, the purple of the tuna and the stripes on the shrimp. Throughout lunch she kept snaking pieces of sashimi off of my plate. I didn’t mind this but kept reminding her that it was raw fish. She immediately put the fish back down. Mom has tried sushi once and didn’t like it at all.

“So, did you like the museum, Ma?”

“I guess, but that guide just had too much to say.” Actually the guide was fantastic. The reality here is that Mom can’t remember her Roman history very well and wants it all described to her from the beginning, very slowly. “But I loved all the models and the cut away of the Roman road.”

After lunch I wheeled her home where we wrote a few letters and had a nap.

Mom has recently been given a new cell phone and right after her nap she comes in with it and we go over it for the 10th time. This has been going on for days. The main problem is that it has a  ‘select’ button that has a navigation ring (up, down, left, right) around the outside so that when she selects something she often hits the outside ring causing the selection to shift.

“No, Ma, press the center button with the edge of your fingernail and be careful not to touch the outer ring.”

She takes to using a pencil to press the buttons. This is OK while she’s at home but when she takes the phone ‘on the road’ this is not going to work.

I’m going to have to find her a more suitable phone.

She does manage to call my sister, looking as though she‘s discovered America. She also manages to call her friend Heidi and talk for a few minutes.

The next morning I get a pissed off call.

“Well, the thing isn’t working!”

“What do you mean it’ isn’t working?”

“I mean it’s dead!”

“Did you open the open the phone?”

“Yes! and the thing is dark.”

“When was the last time you charged it?”

“Charged it?”

“You have to plug it into the wall, Ma. Get the charger cable”

“I don’t have that.” My brother-in-law bought her this phone out of the goodness of his heart. I call Barbara who calls her husband who tells Barbara that he put the charger in the drawer where her gloves are. This is where she always put the chargers for her previous cell phones. I tell this to mom.

The phone is now charging. I have a few hours reprieve.

Rome October 11 2011

©Paul Adam Goldfield 2011-10-11

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

So…

I was in the hospital from September 24 through October 1.

In order to tell this story I’m going to have to give you some personal details.  Anyone who doesn’t like hospitals can stop reading now. I’ll get back to some cultural observations at the end.

As you may be aware, I suffered a stroke in 2008, the outcome of which was a slight paralysis on my left side, the loss of most of my vision and a few other side effects that I won’t get into here. I had this stroke because I’d ignored my health. I was overweight, I smoked and I drank. On top of this I had inherited a tendency toward hypertension from my father. I have since lost 55  kilos.

As soon as I was able, I was put under intensive therapy for hypertension, a therapy that included a daily regimen of several high blood pressure medications as well as meds for the treatment of cholesterol and high triglycerides. I was given meds to make my blood flow easily through my blood vessels. In all, this added up to 13 pills a day plus a patch. I’ve spent part of my Sunday mornings since 2008 carefully laying out my pills for the coming week.

On Saturday, Sept 24th we had invited my mother over for lunch. I went to buy a calling card and on my way home I started having trouble walking. I was pale and sweating profusely. I began entertaining thoughts of another stroke.

I barely made it home, had a few bites of Judy’s wonderful poached salmon and excused myself to sit down under the air conditioner. I was still sweating profusely and was feeling very, very weak. What was going on?

I had bought a new blood pressure machine a few days earlier and Judy brought it to me. The first reading: ‘error’. The second the same. The third reading was 80 over 50, pulse rate 40. My normal blood pressure with all my medication was 145 over 90.

I called my doctor who told me to suspend all medication, drink as much water as I could and call him in 30 minutes. In 30 minutes I was on my way to the hospital.

This was the fourth time in 3 years that I was helped into the emergency ward at the Fatebene Fratelli Hospital on the Isola Tiberina, in the heart of Ancient Rome. The receptionist took my medical services card, sat me down next to her and took my blood pressure. She immediately called for a wheelchair and had me brought into a treatment room while Judy and my mother sat in the anteroom  waiting for news.

The doctors in the emergency room recognized me. You could say I was a regular. On one of my previous visits (for a seizure brought on by a swelling of the brain due to my stroke) I was in a maniacally comedic mood and had kept the doctors and their assistants in stitches for a while until I passed out.

Back to the present…

Due to my non-existent blood pressure, the only vein they could find was at my wrist joint. They began a drip and wheeled me into the intensive care cardiac unit (UTIC, Unità Terapia Intensiva Cardiaca) where I was attached to a heart monitor and given strict orders not to move.

I don’t remember the first night. The next day I was feeling better but was informed that I couldn’t get out of bed and that I would be transferred to the cardiac ward in a few days where I would be put through a rigorous body of tests.

At this point the doctors thought that I had overdosed myself on Tenormin. I was always very careful laying out my meds but, since I can’t see very well, I couldn’t rule out this possibility. There were too many white pills for me to be sure.

I spent the next few days flat on my back listening to my monitors beeping in protest every time I made the slightest move. The nurses exhorted me to lie still.

I spent my days writing on my cell phone accompanied by the steady beeping of my monitors.

I’ve been meaning to get a lap top so that I can work while on the go or in bed at night, but have now become used to the restriction of writing on my cell phone. The enormous pain in the ass of writing on a ten digit cell phone key pad and the lack of memory available  forces me to be succinct. I send texts to myself and transcribe anything worth keeping to my computer later. Parts of this post are taken from these texts to myself.

Judy and I use this text function at home all the time instead of yelling at each other from floor to floor. For the next few nights we soothed each other remembering the antics of our niece Erica when she was a little girl.

There were 6 beds in the ICU, 4 of them filled. Of these 4. the other 3 were filled with people older than myself. In true Italian fashion no attempt was made to separate us and we were free to talk to each other.

Signora Luisa, in the bed next to me, had had a heart episode. A native of Trastevere, she had spent much of her life selling vegetables at the open market at Piazza San Cosimato. Speaking with a thick Trasterverino accent,  she told me her story.

“Mi sono arzata con un presentimento, un non so che. Quanno sono entrata in cucina a fa’ pranzo pe’ mi’ figlia mi sono sentito un forte dolore al petto come se quarcuno m’avesse dato du’ pugni forti forti.” (I woke with a bad feeling, like I don’t know what. When I went into the kitchen to make lunch for my daughter, I suddenly felt a pain, as if someone had punched me twice, hard, in the chest.) She spoke softly and I had to strain to listen. I lay there not saying a word. I still felt like I might pass out.

Signor Luigi, across from me was from a small town below Salerno in Calabria and spoke with a thick Calabrese accent that I was not very familiar with.

“Ie ho lavorato sul aqua per tut’ la mia vita, pe’ la magior parte su petrolieri. Sempre sul aqua sono stato ie. Quando mi sono pensionato ho detto “Bast’ col aqua,’ e sa cos’ho fatto ie? Mi sono comprato una pescheria cosi dovevo STARE nel aqua fino alle caviglie tutto il giorno. I pesci mi piacono, ma mi sono cosi stuffato de l’aqua che l’ho dato a mi figlio e ie non lavoro piu. Adesso mi affano quando camino. Mi arrabia il fatto che appena mi dicido di non lavorare, BOOM, non posso piu respira’ ne cammina’. Sono molto teso per questa cosa, e cosi che mi sono trovato nel ospetale.” (I worked on the water for my entire life, mostly on petroleum tankers. I was always on the water. When I retired, I said to myself ‘Enough with the water’ and you know what I did? I bought myself a fish store so that I had to STAND in the water. I like fish but I was so sick of water that I gave it to my son and I don’t work any more. Now I have trouble breathing when I walk. I’m angry that as soon as I decided to retire, BOOM I can neither breathe nor walk well. This is making me very tense right now. That’s how I got to the hospital.)

My story wasn’t nearly so dramatic so I listened. Since I was the youngest one there it was my place to listen to my older companions.

Signora Betta across the way said nothing. She had a severe respiratory problem and was having trouble getting enough air into her lungs. She’d wave occasionally but mostly just sat in bed looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Her daughter fussed over her incessantly.

Signor Osvaldo was in the hospital on his wife’s insistence. He didn’t think anything was wrong with him despite the fact that he could hardly breathe. He refused to help the nurses and wouldn’t keep his oxygen mask on. His wife fought with him gently.

Signora Susanna was homeless and lived in a community run by a charitable organization. She was constantly calling out to the nurses to adjust the head of her bed first up, then down, then up again. She wouldn’t talk to anyone but yelled all night how she “couldn’t stand it any more.”

Since we were all forbidden to get out of bed, we lived for meals. This fits right in with the Italian mentality irregardless if one is sick or not. The orderlies would bring in the meals and we would order the small closed containers on our bed tables in anticipation. Someone would finally open the first one and announce what was inside.

“Pasta al sugo.” (Pasta in Tomato sauce) Or “Minestra con Pastina.” (Soup with pastina).

There were a couple of televisions along one wall. We would sit up in bed, our meager meals in front of us and watch food shows. These shows would usually originate from small Italian towns and featured local cuisine.

One show was coming to us from a small hill town up north in the mountainous area of Abbruzzo, an area famous for it’s lamb. For some reason this show featured seafood and everyone felt cheated.

“Ma che ne sanno di pesce in Abruzzo. Facci vede’ un bel abbachio arrosto,” gasped Signor Osvaldo. (What do they know about fish in Abruzzo. Show us some roast lamb.)

“O scottadito,” offered Signora Luisa (Or lambchops).

“O un bel antipasto di salumi locali,” I chimed in. (Or a nice antipaso of local salamis)

Three days later I was transferred to the cardiac wing and could at last get up and walk around. I was sharing a room with Signor Luigi and Signora Luisa was in the room next door.

As big a drag as hospitals are, Fate Bene Fratelli does things as well as they can be done. Each room had a terrace that connected up to all the other terraces along the side of the building. Everyone went out in their jammies, talked about their sickness and how they came to the hospital while others listened. We were helping each other to heal.

Downstairs there was an atrium containing a pool with Koi fish and 31 turtles (Judy counted them). There was the sound of splashing water and the flap of pigeons as they took off and landed. Children squealed with delight and even I who can’t see very well could sense a feeling of well-being. Life and death inhabited the same building, at peace with each other, each understanding the ties that bind them, how one can’t exist without the other.

Even cure has it’s cultural aspects. Back home doctors are Gods and hospitals are high-tech cathedrals where the miracle of cure is carried out. One can sense a sort of battle going on between doctors and sickness and death while patients pray that their doctors triumph. Of course this isn’t always possible but we expect our doctors to fight as hard as they can. This is serious business. The human aspect of cure is often lost in this setting. We believe that if our doctor is good enough, if the hospital has the latest technology and if the staff is first-rate we have a better chance of survival. The focus back home is on the disease while here it’s more on the vessel in which the disease is contained.

Here, even though many hospitals are state-run, they still have the latest technology and dedicated staff. Even so, more emphasis is given to the human aspect of cure. This does not merely mean good bedside manner. It’s the idea of curing the whole person and it’s  built into the system, like the terraces that unite patients rather than separate them or the fact that there are no private rooms, allowing even more interaction between patients.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the central courtyard of the hospital.

Italians generally have rural roots. Whereas most people now live in large cities this was probably not true of their grandparents. Many have spent time in these small towns for at least a part of the year. These small towns are comforting and the central courtyard evokes this without belaboring the point.

It’s set up like a central square in one of those small towns. There’s a coffee bar at one end, a newstand at the other. There’s a fountain in the center and there are potted olive trees enclosing the entire ‘square.’ Olive trees have special significance for Italians, a bond with the earth itself. Olive oil and wine have great cultural importance and since keeping grape vines would be impractical, olive trees are used to evoke the countryside.

The crowning touch are the turtles in the central ‘fountain.’ What better animal to sooth the sick and enchant the young? They’re fun to look at, easy to keep and their pace drives home the necessity of going slow in order to get better.

None of this is lost on anyone.

No, there’s no fight going on here because Italians understand that it’s impossibile to defeat the Grim Reaper. The best one can do is to haggle with him a bit.

Rome October 5 2011-10-05

© Paul Goldfield 2011

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

Night of the 26th at the hotel

Judy:

Sautè of Mussels and clams

Scampi

Green Salad

Paul:

Seafood Tagliolini

Green salad

Day of 27th. At the restaurant “Il Galleone” in Terre di Palme.

Judy:

Carpaccio of Beef

Green salad

Paul:

Marinated Seafood Antipasto

Grilled  vegetables

Night of the 27th, ‘The Event’

ANTIPASTI

1. Fried vegetables and Olive Ascolane (Deep Fried Olives in a batter, covered in bread crumbs

2. Deep Fried Seafood

3. Marinated Seafood Salad

4. Prosciutto, Salami, Ciauscolo. This last is a soft salami that is heavy with garlic and is delicious.

5. Assorted Cheeses

6. Raw Oysters and Mussels

7. Scampi

FIRST COURSES

1. Spaghetti in Tomato Sauce

2. Lasagne Marchegiane

3.Melanzane alla Parmigiana

4.Seafood Risotto

SECOND COURSE

Saddle of Veal with Fried Potatoes, Salad and Vegetables

DESERTS

1. Assorted Fruit (pineapple, watermelon, melon, grapes. Plums

2.Profiterol (small cream puffs covered with chocolate sauce)

3. Cherry, Apricot and Fresh Fruit Tarts

4. Individual Cream filled Tartlets

5. Assorted cakes

6. Gelato

COFFEE and LIQUORS

Due to the heat, we cut things short and returned to Rome on the 29th (Judy’s birthday) to our kitties and air conditioning. Before loading up the car, the signora at the hotel insisted on sending us home with 2 portions of Seafood in Cartoccio (en papillottes) that she had prepared for another wedding reception at the hotel. She packed them in ice so that we would have something to eat when we got home. This was made up of mussels, clams, squid, scampi and flounder. We also returned with bags of food from the wedding including lasagne, pizza, several kinds of bread, lonza (air dried beef) and sweets.

Judy and I must cut way back immediately.

But wait! Tonight is her birthday! I’m going to take her out for dinner on the Appia Antica!

Judy and I must cut way back starting TOMORROW.

Rome August 29 2011

© Paul Adam Goldfield 2011

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com

You can tell that the Romans love the beach because roads to the seaside close to Rome are nearly impassable from July through September.

Going to the beach here is different from going in the States where most beaches are public. I remember that on the beaches of Southern California one had to bring everything with them, from  beach chairs to umbrellas. There were few facilities on the beach itself with the exception of life guard positions, a few showers and bathroom facilities.

In Italy most beaches are managed privately and people pay to use them. It’s also customary to rent beach chairs and umbrellas instead of dragging them from home. These can be rented by the day, the week or the month.  While some American friends find this to be a bit of a hustle it really isn’t bad because the  people who manage these private beaches offer facilities not available at public facilities. There is always a coffee bar where one can buy cool drinks and ice cream, there are cabanas for rent, there are showers, children’s play areas and the operators clean the beach every night. There is generally a restaurant as well.

And there is usually some outrageous construction that everyone but the children ignore. When my sister-in-law Karen and niece Erica lived in Tuscany we used to go to a beach called ‘Ai Delfini’ (The Dolphins) where the outrageous construction was a huge cement statue of two dolphins seemingly captured as they jumped out of the sea. Erica was so taken with this gargantuan sculpture that I named the dolphins with old-world Italian names: Marcovaldo and Isidoro. Our day at the beach was incomplete without Erica waving at these dolphins as we walked by on our way to the car.

“Buona notte Marcovaldo, buona notte Isidoro. Ci vediamo domani.” (Goodnight Marcovaldo, goodnight Isidoro. See you tomorrow.)

All these services provided at the sea-side are necessary because the beaches and surroundings are packed. It’s very difficult to extract your car from the parking lot and go look for a restaurant. If your idea of a vacation by the sea includes a piece of empty, pristine beach, the Italian seaside is probably not for you.

Sometimes the family is divided for part of the holiday. Often mamma and i bimbi leave for the beach as soon as school lets out in June since fresh air and sunshine are what the kids need after being cooped up in a classroom all year.

Often Papà is still working. He will drive to be with his family on weekends until Ferragosto when everything closes. He than moves to the beach too.

Italians tend to go to the same beach year after year and this has benefits. Returning patrons are given spots closer to the water as the years go by. As a matter of fact most people reserve a place for the next year when their vacations are over. At the very least they phone as summer approaches and ask to be put as close to the water as possible. This is important because walking barefoot over a vast  expanse of white beach under the scorching summer sun is painful indeed.

I feel that Italians are at their best in large groups. Family groups generally rent (or own) nearby accommodations and go to the beach in the morning and again in the afternoon. Lunch is either brought from home or eaten at the restaurant run by the operators of the beach. These restaurants are generally inexpensive and good, although the menu is often limited to a few choices  Some people go back home, eat and have a nap before returning to the beach in the afternoon.

Going to an Italian beach is a bit like thumbing through a copy of Vogue. The Italians are beautiful under the sun; their skin gets dark immediately  and they always wear the latest swim ware. Their flare for choosing cuts and colors is as evident at the beach as it is town; colors that match their eyes and cuts that manage to show off positive attributes while hiding problem areas are de rigour. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people as I have on the beach in Italy.

The day is proscribed, like many other aspects of Italian life. People generally show up at about 10 am. Children are slathered in suntan oil and chairs are positioned according to preference; in the shade of the umbrella or in the sun. Bottled water is hung under the umbrella in the shade. Any food is hung alongside the water.

The Italian mothers dislike of dirt is as evident at the beach as other places. Children are frog marched to the shower on coming out of the water and parents are always brushing sand off of legs and backs. Several bathing suits to change into are always on hand.

If lunch is to be eaten in the restaurant, at around 11:30 Papà goes to make a reservation. This is necessary because everyone on the beach wants to eat at 1:00, another one of those Italian traditions around which the day is built. If no table space is available Papà will accept a later time even though this throws off the rest of the daily schedule as we’ll soon see.

Everyone puts something on before going to eat. Eating without a top on is considered tacky and dangerous. One must cover ones stomach during and after eating or indigestion’s a sure to ensue.

After lunch Mama gets fresh mineral water from the bar. The now hot water which has been left at the umbrella will be used to clean hands and mouths.

The women usually take the kids back to the umbrella.

It’s now time to play beach games to help digest the meal.

Despite the fact that the beach is packed and the water shallow, putting a toe in the water is not even contemplated. Everyone knows this is fraught with danger. To wait after eating before going into the water is pounded into children’s heads at a very early age.

Badminton equipment and a kind of beach tennis played with very shallow drum-like racquets are pulled out.

But the kids are watching the clock and as soon as it’s time, Papà takes them back into the water. He splashes them and the kids scream with delight. This is as close to horse-play as things ever get. As a matter of fact it’s amazing how controlled everything is. Nothing is done out-of-place and the children are amazingly controlled. If nonna (grandma) is there she makes sure of this. She doesn’t want anybody else to be inconvenienced. The group consciousness holds.

The kids are now getting antsy because it’s time for ice cream. Everyone puts on their top again and goes back to the coffee bar.

Although it would be easy enough to serve real gelato, the mess made by sticky cups and half eaten cones would be a problem for the operators. Instead gellati confezionati are served. These are what we’re used to getting from the ice cream man. Every summer the offerings change slightly but the standard offerings remain: un cornetto (a drum stick) un cremino (an ice cream bar), un Magnum (a large ice cream bar, un ghiacciolo (a popsicle) and various copette (ice creams in cups). The kids agonize as the crowd around the bar grows.

By now it’s about 4 o’clock and the day at the beach must end in the next two hours because the light is starting to fade and the second lynchpin of the day is arriving; dinner, which is served at 8 o’clock.

Dinner is almost always eaten at home. It’s usually light since lunch was big and because shopping is low on everyone’s priorities.

After dinner the different generations do decidedly different things. The youngest are bundled off to bed. This is usually easy for their parents to do as sun and sea have sapped their energy completely. The oldsters watch TV or play cards.

Whereas mom and dad have been in control all day, it’s the teenagers who rule the night. They dress up and go ‘in discoteca,’ (to the discotheque). This can be an enclosed dance hall or a less formal outside venue. Which ever it is, the young men and women who attend are invariability neat and well dressed. Alcohol is available but since they have been brought up drinking wine at home, there aren’t usually drunken displays or fist fights. They’re usually home in time to get enough sleep to insure their presence the next day at the beach.

You can now see why it’s so important to eat lunch at 1 o’clock. If lunch is late, than the beach sports are late starting and ice cream would have to be consumed at 5 or 6 in the evening. This means that the kids wouldn’t be hungry until 9 or 10 meaning that they would get their second wind and be up till God knows when, interrupting card games, TV shows and appointments at the discotheque.

No, Papà will have to give up a half an hour of beach time tomorrow to make sure that he can get a reservation for one o’clock.

Next time I’ll tell you about my stay at the beach.

Rome 22 August 2011-08-22

© Paul Adam Goldfield 2011

paulgoldfield@yahoo.com