Am I Corn or Kale?

We arrived in Bologna in the rain, but were happy to find out our luggage performs well in wet situations — Norika’s extensive research paid off once more. That’s excellent news, as based on the forecast the rainy weather will accompany us for the rest of week (and of our stay in Italy).

Predictions aside, we did catch plenty of sunny breaks while in Bologna. On our first full day here, we walked around  Piazza Maggiore and the adjacent Piazza del Neptuno, and climbed endless steps up de Torre degli Asinelli, which stands next to Bologna‘s own leaning tower, Garisenda. From the top we got a great view of the millions of red bricks and tiles that characterize the city; we also engaged in some accidental voyeurism when we spotted a man doing sit-ups on his deck, naked.

We later walked through a few of Bologna’s main basilicas; due to large volume of Renaissance (or older) artwork in these facilities, I have tried — however unsuccessfully — to convey to Norika the idea that visiting churches in Italy equates to touring free museums.

***

Although Bologna is a nice place, it is undeniable that we are undergoing culture shock, partly from no longer being “off the beaten path.” Our Eastern European tour exceeded our expectations, but now we are back on track (Bologna is the first European destination previously in our plans that we have actually reached) and the Euro is finally hurting us.

While we can understand quite a bit of the language — especially compared to what we‘ve experienced so far — it doesn’t mean we can understand all of it; combine that with the fact that Italians generally don’t speak English as well as Slovenians, and we got ourselves some interesting situations, be it ordering food or asking for information. Norika was particularly bitter about what she labeled the “elitism” of Italian restaurants that don’t fully describe their dishes (at least in Italian itself). We understood that an “insalata verde” meant “green salad”, but we couldn’t possibly fathom that an establishment would charge 3.50 Euros for a meager bowl of plain lettuce, only and nothing more than lettuce. Now we know.

Of course, being in back in a Latin culture also means personal space and general civility are greatly reduced; Italians are perfectly fine with the idea of standing very close to a person getting cash at an ATM, cutting lines, not giving the right of way to anyone else other than themselves, etc. Evidently, the driving can be erratic and it is often unclear whether a specific narrow road is pedestrian-only or a bus route. Traffic lights are not efficient and at times both pedestrians and cars get reds, which in turn generates a complete disrespect for any type of system and means everybody walks or drives whenever they feel like it.

Perhaps even more bothersome is that, at least in Northern Italy, fashion is paramount. High-end shops with contorted mannequins wearing ridiculous attires could be funny, but it is not because real flesh shoppers dressed in shiny leather and brand-name sunglasses drool over the windows and actually consider buying that crap. It’s not funny because you see 12-year-old boys with expensive hairdos, tight black pants and white jackets trying to look cool to barely pubescent ladies. I have nothing against creative DIY, Goodwill fashion, but the way Italian stylists manifest their inner muse is fascist and disgusting.  Sorry, that was a rant.

Hey, there are awesome things about Italy too. At least in Bologna, most museums are free and we had a great time during a rainy afternoon watching documentaries about horrible places at the M.A.M.Bo, the museum of modern art. Sadly, one of the documentaries was on Sao Paulo, which is frightening because the other two covered the greatest environmental disaster of modern times (Aral) and present-day slavery (Dubai) — not a fun group to be a part of.

As expected, the food here is generally quite good; fresh pasta cooked al dente with ragu really destroys our motivation to eat the boxed spaghetti with pre-made bottled tomato sauce we cook back in the U.S. On a more fortunate salad experience, Norika tried her first true buffalo mozzarella (it tasted like cheese instead of I.V. fluid) and the largest, freshest green olives ever (they were so plump and fleshy that they looked and felt like fruit). Wine is relatively cheap and inevitably tasty — we even tried a bubbly variety that was not like any sparkling wine we ever had.

Even our simplest meal at a desolate pizza joint had its charm: we got to watch the trashy “Italy’s Got Talent” show and were delighted by a peculiar act that involved two masked men wearing thongs and with faces painted on  their gluteus area; they wore a “wig” around their waist and danced with their behinds to the camera to a medley of “Grease” songs, with their cheeks flapping to butt-lip-sync to the lyrics. The judges thought it was hilarious, and so did we; the act was not nearly as graphic as the soccer talk show featuring a large-breasted woman with a cleavage so low that it was below the talk table level. Most of the conversation as dominated by sleazy middle-aged soccer commentators complaining about Lazio letting Inter Milan win so that their rival, Roma, would not take the lead on the tournament stands. Every once in a while the woman would say something, always making sure to gesticulate with her arms in such as way that her mammaries would bounce and threaten to escape.

Not least, there is always gelato: we have promised ourselves to have it once a day during our week in Italy, and already know that switching back to ice-cream after we leave will be sad and perhaps traumatic.

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