Buon Natale!

As part of our cross-cultural exploration, Trofie Wife insisted that she and Martello make it to the live (with farm animals!) nativity scene at the Santuario e Seminario di Gesù Bambino as well as a portion of Midnight Mass, this likely being our once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience this very Italian holiday while living in a veritable Italian commune.

We arrived at 11 p.m. for the nativity pageant, beautifully pantomimed by local children.



It was a long wait, but eventually three live donkeys and one micro-mini pony were introduced to the scene (and stayed behind to eat hay after their curtain call, penned in behind the piazza). We entered the beautiful church to get a sense of what this holiday entails for the faithful (Martello managed to snap a few photos before worship began; it is quite beautiful). 

We made it through the pre-Mass hymns (Trofie Wife swears that some of the Italian/Latin sounded like Hebrew…) and the processional and incense portion of Midnight Mass before leaving to take one last look at the donkeys and pony (sadly, no pony pictures) and then return home to pack for our upcoming vacation (yes, Trofie Wife is technically on one very long vacation…). 

Some observations from our time at the church: Trofie Wife insisted that she and Martello change out of jeans and into nicer pants so as to be respectful on this mega holiday. While some worshippers were decked out, the majority were on the casual side—most notably the dude wearing the Chelsea soccer club warm-up suit replete with sweatband. More than a handful of people seemed to come in, cross themselves, stay three minutes, and then depart. Perhaps they were headed to a smaller church but just wanted to pop into the big kahuna or perhaps they just needed to literally make their presence known and then duck out (not unlike many two-day-a-year Jews; I’ve heard that such Catholics also exist). All in all, a very interesting experience that Martello does not intend to repeat again! (Trofie Wife will probably check out some Stations of the Cross come Easter, should they be local enough.) But not to worry that we're merely dabbling in exoticism, we just found out how to get to the shul in Genoa, so it’s high on the priority list for an excursion in early 2009.

Please note that the blog will be taking a longer-than-usual hiatus as we spend the next week and a half travelling through Italy and Switzerland. Planned stops include a town overlooking Lake Como (where, unbeknownst to Trofie Wife before she quickly booked it, is where Mussolini and his wife met their ends…), Zurich (to visit with Trofie Wife’s sister and family), and assorted towns throughout Switzerland that boast design delights (and hopefully, for Trofie Wife’s sake, chocolate). We’ll be sure to update you on our adventures when we return.

To everyone celebrating any and all winter holidays, we say Auguri! (best wishes) e buon anno!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Gimmel Comes to Genoa

This past weekend brought the warmth of holiday cheer to our casa italiana, as we anticipated the beginning of Chanukah coupled with the opportunity to greet our very first visitor! The holiday cheer actually began for Martello on Friday evening, as an impromptu (well, at least as far as he knew; sometimes they forget to tell him stuff) Natale feste took place after hours at his office, which kept him late (and reportedly, dancing the night away). The wee hours of Friday night coupled with very long workdays this week kept Martello (and Trofie Wife, by association) in bed late on Saturday afternoon. By the time we finally got moving, the stars were beginning to shine, this being the shortest day of the year and all. Just before we headed out on a quick errand/walk through town, Mrs. Furley stopped by to make sure that our holiday decorations were hung (we did ours, then hers; matching dinky strands of tinsel unlike those of our neighbors across the way, who are displaying beautiful, fresh wreaths (as per Mrs. Furley’s protocol, we couldn’t hang ours until theirs were hung)). While we didn’t expect to be hanging Christmas decorations on our first married Chanukah (though we recognize that our doing so is providing Trofie Wife’s father with outsized joy), they’re at least more secular in nature than the iconography around the house! (In addition to the dinky tinsel, Mrs. Furley brought over a bouquet of faux poinsettia as well as a mini tree with gold balls and stars.)

The neighbor's fresh wreath

Our dinky tinsel

Sunday brought yet another lazy day, though Trofie Wife and Martello did manage to get on a train to Genoa prior to the sun setting. Since the September visit, Trofie Wife has been eagerly anticipating the Ellis Island exhibit at the Museo del Mare, located in the Porto Antico (Old Port) area, convinced that it told “the other side” of the immigration story (especially since the advertisements stressed Genoa’s importance as a departure point for so many Transatlantic ships). Unfortunately, Trofie Wife was deeply disappointed when it became clear that the exhibit was, in fact, a portable visit to Ellis Island (which she has visited several times in its rightful home). This exhibit also had a US Holocaust Museum twist, wherein visitors receive a passport upon entry, and they can follow the story of their “immigrant” and see where he or she landed (Martello wasn’t quite sure who he received, but Trofie Wife was assigned the woman in search of her lost baggage who was famously photographed by Lewis W. Hine; see http://images.lunaimaging.com/images/AMICA/Size0/NGC/ngc_.22901.jpg) The permanent collection of the museum was, thankfully, worth our visit. It tells the tale of Genoa’s rise as a port and describes the intricacies of the socioeconomic relationships (slaves, guards, rowers; see below pictures) within the system (though Trofie Wife believes that the role of women in port life—footnoted as merely members of the oldest profession—is likely severely underrepresented in the exhibit). 

A slave hauling luggage

The vigilant overseer

Other museum highlights include a vial of Christopher Columbus’s ashes and a great history on Andrea Doria, who was responsible for creating financially-savvy fleets of Genoa-based mercenaries and thus building great wealth for himself and the city (in turn, furnishing much of its great cultural legacy). Museo del Mare is definitely on our list of must-sees for Genoa visitors.

And speaking of visitors, on the First Night of Chanukah Alitalia brought to us, il cugino de Martello. We’ve had a great couple of days with him, the highlight being lighting all together our homemade menorah, which Trofie Wife fashioned (with design support from Martello) out of two small squares of cork board from the hobby shop and bullone (nuts) from the hardware shop (see pictures below). Via the Italian Jewish listserv that Trofie Wife subscribes to, she was able to locate some local tunes for candlelighting and other songs (note, however, that “Maoz tzur” sounds very familiar). For your listening pleasure: http://www.archivio-torah.it/feste/hanuka/accensionehanukia.mp3

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Getting Tough on Crime

Some readers who follow Italian news extra closely now that Trofie Wife and Martello are stationed here, may have heard about large arrests of members of crime organizations in Southern Italy in recent weeks. We, too, have been following this news and were particularly intrigued by the police’s latest attempt to stem the flow of crime—by driving impounded Ferraris and Porsches around the gang-filled neighborhoods from which they were seized (see http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7796096.stm). So, by nationalizing these vehicles and adding them to the police pool, instead of advocating on behalf of the “broken windows” theory they’re adhering to the “breaking the sound barrier in this Ferrari 512 or Porsche Cayenne” theory? Can’t wait to hear about the first time one of these babies goes “missing” after a shift!

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

The Racket Upstairs

As most readers are aware, Martello is a world-class sleeper. Few can match his talents— though you know who you are. So it really is quite an accomplishment that our above-the-head neighbors managed to rouse him last night with the sounds of blasting classical music at around 2 a.m. As far as we know, we have not seen these folks (who we believe to be a pair), but we certainly hear them—usually only past 7 p.m. or so every day. We are starting to make up stories about who they are and what they do. But since music—either in recorded form or live renditions—usually pours down from their apartment, we’re going to guess that they’re “creative types.” Martello says that the materials used to build the apartment allow for enhanced echoing. Therefore, we can hear their every move. The music was just hysterical, at least to us, because you usually don’t encounter music blasters whose genre of choice is classical. Perhaps they’re thinking that our Naturally Occurring Retirement Community (with whom Trofie Wife is currently in solidarity), would be more understanding of this type of musical selection—or perhaps that they can’t hear it. Either way, someone else did, and we heard the duo turn down their speakers— and then about five minutes later, pick another tune (still classical) to blast. Perhaps they just thought that the neighbors didn’t like their first selection? They eventually turned the music off completely, and Martello and I managed to stop laughing and finally get back to sleep so he could make the early bus to the office.

As Mrs. Furley would say, they truly are ill-bred persons.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

 

Protectionism, Pineapple Style

Italians being food obsessed and all, snazzy and exotic fruits are often found in their holiday gift baskets. Well, the intrepid Agriculture minister who was so kind as to sponsor the cheese (partial) bailout, is advocating for a shift in this seasonal activity. The politician is pleading with citizens to forego foreign fruits, such as pineapple, in favor of locally-grown products of which many, of course, abound, including kiwis, which Martello and Trofie Wife believe to be totally odd. Kiwis=New Zealand. (They must be having a major existential crisis down under over other countries pilfering their crop.) For more information, see http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jjigsiGD_OudfDwVSKRYIF81LL_wD9557AH00. Disclaimer: we have purchased neither pineapple nor kiwis since arriving here and take no formal position on this matter.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

Herald the Arrival of a New Sport

Trofie Wife would like to proclaim that she has single-handedly invented a new sport—extreme grocery shopping. Now, it doesn’t exactly have its origins in Arenzano, as it’s certainly been played at least once or twice in Brooklyn, but it reached its apotheosis on Thursday, and Trofie Wife has the sore arms (and legs) to prove it.

Extreme grocery shopping entails buying too many groceries with insufficient means to carry them home over relatively long distances. While such a mistake can be merely annoying in Brooklyn, it is torturous over the hills and peaks of Arenzano. Usually, the best way to avoid such a situation is to only use a shopping basket instead of a shopping cart (shopping carts are usually an inconvenience anyway, since users are required to insert a coin in order to release them from their holder—you get it back once you return it; I guess they have a problem with cart thievery in these parts). Yet because I knew from the get-go that there was going to be a lot of glass entailed in my purchase, I wanted to be certain not to buckle under its spell, so I opted for the cart. However, when I got to the self-checkout counter (less disastrous than last time), I soon realized that my bag on wheels and rather large shoulder bag would not be enough to handle the goods. I paid for two more plastic bags (yes, this is Europe, you pay for bags here), and trotted off (at first forgetting to return the cart but then awkwardly about-facing with all my goods in hand to get it (and my euro) back). I then trudged and huffed home (with many breaks; normally it’s a 10-15 minute walk, depending on the route), with shoulder bag and purse on shoulder, plastic bags tied around my wrists and wheeling bag being pulled behind me, with its metal rod poking out and into my jeans all the way home—I fixed it with magical crazy glue the next day. I’m sure my appearance led to several guffaws and clearly displayed that I was not from around here. The good news is that we are stocked in the event of inclement weather, holiday service disruptions, or any orders to quarter soldiers (or any other guests that may appear).

One of Trofie Wife’s finds on this intrepid hunt for nourishment was hazelnut yogurt (yumminess confirmed about 20 minutes ago), which led Martello to ask, “Is there anything in this country that they don’t put hazelnuts into?!” (Note: I have yet to see hazelnut-scented deodorant…). Turns out there just might be a reason beyond taste (and Nutella, which is Italian—from our beloved Piedmonte region, to be exact— if you didn’t know. I always assumed it was French due to the crêpe connection…)—it’s healthy! A couple of years back the FDA actually recommended eating hazelnuts (along with other types of nuts) for good heart health and antioxidant gathering. Yes, it’s biased, but see http://www.hazelnutcouncil.org/health/nutritious.cfm for more information (the Council does not, however, stoop so low as to identify Nutella as health food. Probably because it’s not American made…).  

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife

 

Lessons from Our Elder Down the Hall

Every small town has at least one eccentric character known to all. Our town’s character also happens to be our landlord. As mentioned in earlier posts, she’s advanced in age, lonely, and means well, but sometimes…well, sometimes we just wish we could change our address. Martello first encountered our “Mrs. Furley” during his September premiere here, while awaiting the bus to the office. As Martello soon learned, each morning Mrs. Furley eagerly chats up the gathered young people (her adopted grandchildren, perhaps) with her thorough English, though they tend to see her and some of her pronouncements as well, eccentric. When Martello put two and two together and figured out that she was going to be our landlord, he considered reneging on the contract and going back to the original studio-style apartment that we first stayed in during the September visit. However, Trofie Wife insisted that we retain the larger place with extra bedroom—we’re pretty sure that our incoming guests will prefer the private room down the hall to the Murphy beds across the way from the master bed. In addition to checking in with Martello each morning, Mrs. Furley is certain to drop by at least once a week to monitor Trofie Wife (whom she has taken a particular liking to, due to our shared birth date—which we apparently also share with her late husband).  

On Wednesday, after Trofie Wife finally got around to telling Mrs. Furley about the broken shutter opener/closer in the kitchen, she dropped by with her reliable (and long-retired) workman. (I felt a little bad that this guy was crouched over on our floor when he seemed like he should have been lounging somewhere, but I guess it’s good to keep active if you can.) While he worked on the mechanism (and continued to work even after insisting that he needed a new part and would have to return tomorrow—Mrs. Furley’s, uh, persistence required that he continue trying to fix it with the materials on hand), Mrs. Furley shared some stories about her life and how she came to be proficient in so many languages. It seems like she’s had a tough go of it, being born between the two wars and likely seeing some horrible things on soil here and other parts of Europe (though we sometimes wonder about her family’s allegiances during the war…), and she doesn’t seem to have much—if any— family left (or at least nearby). She also nosily poked through the stuff on our dining room table and insisted that we cut some branches from the lovely tree outside our window (“Ouch!” said the tree) for Christmastime luck. Not soon enough, the Wizened Workman managed to fix the pulley with the parts on hand—I guess that’s one vote for Mrs. F’s style of squeaky wheelism. She left shortly thereafter the fix was complete, and it wasn’t a moment too soon!

And now, for your benefit, Trofie Wife will pass along some wise words from our ever-eager-to-help landlady, which you, too, may find useful in your everyday encounters:

1. Trust no one. Especially in these times.

2. Don’t eat too much fish; it’s all water. Eat meat. That way you won’t be too          thin like Martello.

3. Do not open the door for anyone—except me.

4. If you’re not going to eat meat, take vitamins daily.

5. Do not open the door for anyone, especially Communists selling newspapers.

6. Don’t use so many lights! Even when you need them…

7. Only put up Christmas decorations if your neighbor does.

8. Avoid stupid and ill-bred persons. 

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife