Musings on the Little Things - Sept. 2011

Last night, for the first time in over 40 years, I slept on freshly ironed sheets. It is very nice. Since I was a  very young (maybe 2nd or 3rd grade), we had a dryer and permanent press sheets. This really brought back memories of early childhood when Mom hung the clothes outside to dry and had a mangle ( I think that is what they are called -- a large flat surface ironing machine she operated with her feet) where she ironed all the sheets, pillowcases, etc. There is a smell and feel to freshly ironed sheets that is unique. Most traditional Italians don't use dryers, and so permanent press here is not as popular. Sheets are typically all cotton. You can find dryers and permapress, mostly as an accommodation to the ex-pats that live here or the younger Italians that are becoming more global. I may stick to the Italian style though, its pretty nice!

My clothes line

So I now have a housekeeper that comes once a week to the apartment, cleans, does the laundry and my ironing. Boy, I am going to really be spoiled at the end of this gig! When we get our permanent villa, I may have to hire someone to do my laundry and ironing, which by the way, is very reasonably priced. I may hire someone to do the cleaning also and relieve Johnnie of that chore. He will be so busy fishing and roaming around, he can't be bothered by housekeeping! Ah the life of a man of leisure....

Here, household help seems to be mostly North African immigrants, many escaping the tyrannical governments and ethnic/religious purgings of the last decade. (Christians are being persecuted in North African on a scale that has not been seen since the early days of the church).  Because of limited jobs in Italy, they tend to be the population who takes on the menial jobs just to get into the country. Geographically, Italy is one of the closest places to escape. I have no idea how many people end up in Spain, Greece or other Mediterranean countries.

Watch where you walk on the Italian sidewalks. Not only are they uneven from the variety of stones and pavers used over the centuries (and I do mean centuries!) but people don't pick up after their dogs, and you find piles of garbage and rotting food in places also. Now there are many places in the US like this as well, I just got used to the Seattle area which is so particular about people "scooping poop" after their own dogs. I was especially surprised  in the upscale area with shops like Armani and Gucci where you can spend 3000 Euros for a purse!

Walking along the streets here you catch the alluring smell of the local bakery as you walk by---Yum-- and the outdoor cafes that are grilling fresh fish and meats. An occasional whiff of a cigarette or cigar -- different smelling than American tobacco, and also the incense lingering after a Catholic Mass. Smell is a funny thing; you tend to not key in on that sense as much as sight and sound, smell takes a backseat but, when it is different, it can be just as powerful of a trigger for emotion and memory as either sight or sound.

Hoover Washer

Appliances in another country pose an additional challenge to what would seem the simple things in life. Get home from work and throw a load in the washer -- maybe not! This wonderfully efficient, water saving, space saving Hoover took some sorting out before I figured out how to get a delicate cycle/ cold water load. It has many controls for temperature, time, and speeds-- it is just the language barrier (again!) that caused a bump.

So 1 hr. later after consulting the translator several times, we had laundry! Unfortunately I got pink lingerie from a red shirt in what turned out to be a warm water cycle, not a cold one. Luckily, it wasn't Johnnie's drawers that turned pink or I would have heard about that! Oh well, try again.

More settings on the Hoover

My oven here is also a bit of a mystery. It is quite fancy with many settings and cycles, and I believe is also a convection oven. But deciphering the buttons and dials on it is quite a challenge and I have not yet mastered it. All I want to do is bake a meat loaf!

Siemens Oven

It seems that all fruit it Italy has seeds. They are keen on natural, organic, and un-modified fruits (and vegetables) which are very tasty but have seeds! Now as most of my family and close friends know, I am not a seed-eater. I don't like having to sort it out in my mouth and spit the seeds. Yuck! I guess the seedless grapes, seedless tangerines and oranges, seedless watermelons in the US are all genetically modified, and you simply won't find that here. So yesterday I bought peaches and bananas! Ha! I love oranges and will have to cut them up and remove the seeds by hand before I eat them, but I draw the line there.

One thousand and one ways to have coffee or caffe all over the world! And indeed there may be more than that! I have a traditional Italian coffee pot which you put on the stove top and boil. It reminds me of camp coffee but a little more sophisticated than that. My landlady (and new friend) will give me a proper lesson in Italian coffee-making. In the meantime, I will use the drip machine left by a former ex-pat, and then order Italian caffee from the bar.

Did I mention the yolk of the eggs is orange? Some is certainly much brighter orange than even my example here, but definitely not the lemon yellow color of American chicken eggs. It must be the diet of the chickens as these eggs taste fine. I have not tried baking with them yet. Also the shells are all brown -- no white eggs we have found. At the Royal Continental Hotel they serve "scrambled" eggs that are bright orange, grainy textured and watery. I thought they must have added something to make the eggs so orange but maybe not. I still think they are powdered eggs though.

Sidewalk étiquette in Naples: there is none similar to the US. Now you might think that elderly people or women with baby strollers, or someone with crutches or an obvious physical limitation might naturally be given right of way on a narrow sidewalk in the city but that is not so. Of course there are some who do step into the street for those to pass, but others will just barrel right into you and force you into the wall or onto the street. An Italian would not consider this rude at all, it just is how it is. The same sort of rule applies for getting into lines: don't politely queue up and wait your turn or your turn will never come. You muscle your way to the front and stake out your spot and don't budge (sort of like those days when we went to rock concerts).

Two Italians will also stand in the middle of a roadway and have a conversation and expect everyone to drive around them. They will ignore honking and everything else until they are ready to move. It is almost a game here, I think, a sport that everyone can play.

Now yesterday at Auchan (the big store) I let a woman with two young children go in front of me in line, and I think she was surprised. At the same time, without my Johnnie to help sack my groceries, I took my time and sacked it like I wanted and everyone else had to just wait. It is not good or bad, just different.