The Guillotine

**Warning: gratuitous photos of piscine decapitation follow below.**

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to take the next step. A major, defining moment that proves her mettle and ability to face adversity and unexpected discoveries. That leap, of course, is the first time she buys a whole fish and chops off its head.

When the day started, Trofie Wife had no idea it would take such a momentous turn. My plan was just to make it to Voltri for some Internet-related business and then head back. Yet as frequent readers of this blog know, there’s no way of escaping Voltri without heading into the grocery store (I swear, they have a large magnet). Usually, I avoid purchasing perishables as I’m never quite sure how long I’m going to have to wait for a return train. But that fateful day was different. I lumbered over to the fish counter and saw that there was a sale on alice (that would be one way to say “anchovies”). Before I knew it, I had uttered enough Italian to leave with half a kilo and made it home, where I located an interesting recipe for baked anchovies, which seemed as though they would mask the usual overpowering taste (stench?) of these wee fish.

I’m happy to report that I managed to decapitate, gut, and debone all of these buggers. The dish turned out great (Martello even enjoyed it!), and I feel as though I’ve passed a major culinary hurdle. I even went on to buy a large whole fish from a stall a few days later and communicate well enough to get them to remove the head and guts. I baked the whole thing in the oven—so tasty!

Here’s the evidence, just in case you don’t believe Trofie Wife (now's the time to close the tab if you don't want to see fish guts).

The newly purchased (and intact) alice.

The weapon.

After the first one, you get used to it.

Collection of bones.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

The 199 Euro Mistake

To Trofie Wife, communication is key, and she will go to any and all lengths in order to stay in touch. For example, when my cell phone died on my 27^th birthday (a day when you really want your phone by your side), I bought a rechargeable (read: disposable) model by Virgin while Verizon repaired my usual model. A few days later, when I called to cancel what I had viewed as a temporary service and the customer service guy (in the spirit of everything Richard Branson touches, even this guy sounded cool) asked why, I said that I had needed a new phone for just one day. He said, “Wow, that’s cold.” Cold? Yes. Economically unwise? Perhaps. But necessary. Very, very necessary. And it’s this penchant for constantly being plugged in that is the source of the present expensive dilemma.

So, as mentioned in an earlier post, my Web recharge for what I had hoped would be another 100 hours (but was really only another 15, since I had run through the promised 100 hours prior to the end of the billing month and was on the pricey hourly payment plan) ran out, and the Internet’s absence from our apartment led to a minor panic attack that hit some existentialist notes (“if the Internet is down and Martello’s at work, do I still exist? My forest of friendly ears is gone, and I’m a falling tree…”). When I arrived in Voltri last Monday morning, I let out a “you have got to be kidding me!” when I saw the steel grate deployed over the doorway without any explanatory note.  Dejected, I took the train back to Arenzano and tried to communicate my cyber needs to the folks in the Arenzano Vodafone outlet but learned that they did not recharge Internet keys (how they manage to sell the things but are incapable of recharging them, I do not understand…). As the abyss of lunchtime set in, I headed home where I could mope in front of my computer while desperately trying to pawn some wireless from a local network, to no avail. As 15:30 (that’s 3:30 p.m., to those of you who still use a 12-digit clock) came around, I had the good sense to call the Voltri store in hopes that they might be open in the afternoon. It was my first phone call entirely in Italian (I think I said three words and the guy on the other line, two). Low and behold they were open Monday afternoons (they just take the morning off)! And when I arrived I learned that I could sign up for the unlimited plan! There would be no download or upload limit! No time limit! Freedom! But, alas, my dreams were thwarted as THEIR connection line was down, crippling them from signing any new contracts. For two days, I was relegated to portals at the Internet shop, where at least I could check my inbox, if not balance my checkbook and apply for jobs. By Wednesday afternoon the Voltri shop’s line was fixed, and my unlimited plan was rolling. Once again, the valiants of Voltri, along with the pinch hitters at the Internet point by the train station, were my connectivity heroes. Thanks to them, all is now fantastico, and thus the blog (as well as my sanity) is now back up and running.

The only catch now is that in unwisely opting for the rechargeable key back in September, we wasted 199 euros, because the rechargeable key can’t be used for the unlimited contract, go figure—they have a different USB attachment that’s roughly double the size of the rechargeable key. Trofie Wife sincerely hopes that the dollar will rise in value to the euro so that the mistake will cost us less when we inevitably get hit with an early cancellation fee (which equals the cost of the USB device, thus another 199 euros, which will then make this a 398 euro misadventure).

Buyer’s remorse aside, to celebrate our return to network normalcy, Martello and I dreamed up (with the help of our cookbook) an excellent fish stew with tomatoes and leftover rice and peas. It was delicious. Almost as delicious as unlimited Internet…

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Political Education

From a technological perspective, Tuesday, November 13^th was fairly traumatic. I awoke to find that the promised 100 hours of Internet service was already caput. As in, Trofie Wife had used it up. Already. (Martello asks why I feel the need to open, on a daily basis, nearly every e-mail I receive even if it’s junk. I explain that it’s information, and I want it. It doesn’t matter that I can’t attend any of the 92^nd Street Y Tribeca’s classes or use any of the Broadway Box discounts; I need to keep tabs on what’s going on back home!!) Luckily, I had already self-scheduled a trip to Voltri to acquire buste (envelopes) from the office supply shop. So, I rerouted myself so that I first stopped in to see the valiant Voltri Vodafone knights who put me back in business. (Note: As later posts will explain, the recharge didn’t last too long. I tried switching on and off while composing e-mails and reading articles so as to conserve as much juice as possible, but apparently Vodafone was already onto that trick and imposed a 15-minute usage charge on each connection, thus the Internet saga of this past week.)

 But moving past the Internet for a nanosecond, let me wax on how much I love office supply stores! This is the first autumn in several years that I haven’t had the pleasure of buying new notebooks and Post-Its, due to the absence of formal academic endeavors. The wedding allowed for some quality time with paper products, but it just isn’t fall without school supplies! I managed to conduct the transaction in almost 100 percent Italian. (“Buste?” (Store clerk shows me the envelopes. I think I should have first said, “prego” or finished with “per favore.”). “Grande? Per paccetto?” (I think I was supposed to have said “pacchi.” He shows me the largest ones.) “Si.”  (He rings me up and gives me the total, which he repeats in English after I appear confused.) “Grazie. Arrivederci”). Ok, maybe not 100 percent, but getting there (maybe).   

A visit to Voltri isn’t complete without a stop in the mega grocery store. They happen to have especially good deals on wine. Heard of Two Buck Chuck courtesy of Trader Joe’s? Well here, we’re trying to find the best One Euro Nero (another foiled Google search yet again proves that Trofie Wife must have invented this term!). 

But now I should finally get to the title of this post (apologies for all the diversions). I guess even without the scholastic notebooks (though I do carry a little journal so that I can make pithy notes for the blog while I wait and wait for trains), I am receiving an education here—particularly a political one. I’ve taken to watching a lot of Italian political shows and listening to Parliament on the cell phone radio (I’m very glad that Voltri Guy #1 convinced me to spend the extra 10 euros for the radio. At first I though I was being ripped off, but it has proven quite useful; I’m listening as I type). There is a political humor show (I don’t yet know the name) in the style of my beloved Daily Show and Colbert Report (I’m not sure which side of the Atlantic pioneered embarrassing members of the legislature, but they’re both doing an excellent job). My favorite program by far is Exit: Uscita di Sicurezza (my meager attempt at translation: Exit from Certainty) hosted by Ilaria D’Amico, who I think is a dead ringer for Catherine Zeta-Jones, but without the creepy Michael Douglas baggage. Each episode probes a particular civic issue (the financing of political parties, obscene train delays) by combining short, documentary-style reportage with debate (or sustained yelling) amongst government ministers, journalists, and other interested parties. What’s most fascinating is watching the politicians’ (often uncomfortable) reactions to the filmed pieces (they have to watch them while seated on set). The producers also roll associated statistics throughout the discussion, and even the most obnoxious of ministers bring their notes with them so that actual facts and figures—and not just platitudes— can be expressed. CNN, are you listening???

Trofie Wife sits with a dictionary to look up the words that are continually repeated and thus probably important. I am amazed by how much I can understand, but also at how such government-sanctioned nonsense can go on in a country, be thrown wide-open on TV, yet continue. Yet, I guess we have our fair share of exposé reporting in the States these days that leads to little social change. Nevertheless, the show is great (with an awesome soundtrack to boot), and I look forward to it weekly. (After watching the program with me a few days ago and listening to me extol D’Amico’s sharp questioning of the guests and issues (in great contrast to so-called “news” hosts in the States), Martello notes, “it doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous.”) Here’s a link so you can check it out yourselves: http://www.la7.it/blog/default.asp?idblog=ILARIA_DAMICO_-_Exit_15

I also tune-in regularly to the Ligurian-focused news channel (think NY1). Last Thursday night, I watched the outcome of the sentencing in the Diaz police brutality case, which goes all the way back to the 2001 protests at the Genoa G-8 meeting. I learned a new word watching the commentary— vergogna, which means “shame.” Essentially, police officers were acquitted or given very small sentences (which will be commuted) for planting “evidence” of planned terrorist acts to justify a brutal raid on the sleeping quarters of multinational anarchist protesters.  Whatever one believes about globalization and its (dis)/(mal)contents, the outcome in this case and the fallout in Genoa will likely be fascinating to follow. Here’s a link to the full article on the verdict: http://www.ansa.it/site/notizie/awnplus/english/news/2008-11-14_114290362.html

In closing, there is one major gap in my political education that I doubt will be surmounted by year’s end—my knowledge of the assorted political parties. It’s an alphabet soup! In this regard, a two-party system has its advantages! Maybe there's a song they teach school children so that they can learn them all. Trofie Wife will have to look into that...

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

A trip to Voltri

Coming from Arenzano, Voltri is the first official train stop in Genoa. It’s much more happening than Arenzano, boasting a vibrant, broad main drag complete with a supermarket that’s open late and on Sundays. However, it’s most notable to Trofie Wife as the place where the Vodafone store clerks speak English and thus can easily reload our Internet and cell phones.

After a failed attempt to recharge the Internet key on our first Monday in town (due to a misplaced recharge number), Trofie Wife was forced to return on Tuesday. This turn of events was quite fortuitous as Tuesday turns out to be market day. The market is filled with an abundance of items from housewares (I found 12 hangers for just over 4 euro, which completed our closet) to clothing to farm fresh eggs (with the cooped chickens on display to prove it). The market also appears to be a good place to observe political activity. There were actual real live members of the Communist Party tabling next to a farmer’s cart, and proponents (or maybe they were opponents?) of some ballot referendum had taken up the seating area at the top of the piazza. It is also perfectly acceptable, I was glad to see, to bring your dog (no matter how large; I wish I had taken pictures!) to the market, just as long as the cane does not eat the flowers. Notably, on sale at a nearby newsstand I saw a calendar entitled, “Mussolini, Il Duce.” While I was curious to see the kind of spin it would take, I just couldn’t justify buying it, possessing it, and ultimately recycling it.

In Voltri, and likely all over Italy, the water companies have prominent plaques on the sidewalk that mark their territory. This one, “Acqua Nicolay” especially caught my eye, due to a certain friend back home, the tee-shirt goddess, who boasts the very same last name!

After Vodafone and the market, I returned to the abovementioned supermarket where I was lucky enough to score a super-cheap toaster, which was absolutely necessary due to the nonworking range and oven. I was certainly glad that I had not leaped on the 39 euro toaster at the electronics store when this one was less than 1/3 the price! Ah, bargain shopping!

Coming soon: Halloween and All Saints Day; A Sojourn to Savona

Baci e gelato,
Martello e Trofie Wife