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

“I Knew You Must Be American…”

“….Because you’re holding a cupcake in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other, and you’re grinning from ear to ear.” (Classically American, or just classic Trofie Wife?)

Trofie Wife spoke to more people on Monday than she has in a month, and the above gem was just one of many great outcomes of her roving afternoon adventure. But first, a little background.

Readers might have noticed from the large slew of writing posted to the blog in recent days, that Trofie Wife spent little time out of the house last week, apart from the Thanksgiving movie. In addition to putting pen to paper, as it were, the weekend was a dull and dreary one, and with a midweek deadline looming, Martello wanted to spend sabato (Saturday) and domenica (Sunday) getting in some extra (laptop) screen and snooze time; our big weekend highlights were a trip to the Voltri grocery store and our sublime concoction of rimasugli (leftovers)—it’s amazing how good a (slightly burnt) amalgam of jarred peppers, tomatoes, sundried tomato paste, sweetened (we’re not sure why) zucchini, tuna (but not the yucky, wet kind that Trofie Wife abhors) tastes over extra-long fusili! (Martello would like to add that despite the pouring rain Saturday night, he actually did suggest doing something that evening but Trofie Wife demurred. Trofie Wife would like to note that she wanted to go into Genoa on Sunday afternoon, but Martello was less enthusiastic.)

So, given the casa fever to which Trofie Wife was likely about to fall victim (how do you say “red rum” in Italian?), on Monday, she finally made it as far as the Genoa Brignole station to attend the Natale (Christmas) bazaar hosted by the friendly ex-pat group that she has been scoping out since September. Not yet certain that I wanted to make the financial commitment of membership, I wanted to be sure to attend at least one event before sealing the deal, and the one involving shopping that was open to the public seemed like just the ticket. Trofie Wife was thrilled to meet the ex-pat woman with whom she had e-mailed and spoken to (on the payphone advertising the funeral home) during her first visit to Arenzano and to be introduced to many other English speakers (and more than one or two New Yorkers, including the club doyenne, who made a sneering comment about another peer originating from “lowly” Philadelphia—a lady after my own heart!).

 The club seems more akin to the Junior (but certainly not “Jew”-nior) League than anything else. The women (some of whom, I was pleasantly surprised to learn, work) socialize and raise funds for local charities benefiting women and children in need (certainly a plus). The bazaar raises funds for the local international school in addition to the charities the group supports. Most of the available items were gently used toys, clothes, and books (three of which may have ended up on Trofie Wife’s bookshelf…I just can’t help myself!!), but there were also delectable delights. In addition to the cupcakes (rumored to have been made by someone with a connection to the actual Magnolia Bakery! In Genoa! I must find her!!!), there was an entire table filled with processed American staples—canned cranberries and pumpkin (likely left over from the group’s Thanksgiving event), marshmallows, sundry baking supplies and mixes (I resisted), and Jif peanut butter (Martello actually enjoys the sugar-free peanut butter he found in the Voltri grocery store. I wasn’t so much missing peanut butter, and when I tried a scoop from the jar, decided it was definitely something I could forgo for the year. With that vow in mind, I passed on the Jif).  As I scanned the table I realized how easily our cupboards have adapted to the Italian offerings. While it would, of course, at times be easier if we had all the usual ingredients at hand, such convenience would stifle the culinary creativity that has captured us in recent weeks.

Everyone that I was introduced to at the bazaar was lovely and invited me to partake in their regular tea-fueled card and Scrabble games. While the thought of entering the drawing rooms of these welcoming 40-somethings is appealing on one hand, in many ways it only further served to illustrate Trofie Wife’s peculiar position. One particularly wise member gave me a concise overview of the Genoa expat community that served to confirm the general weirdness of us being here, especially at this (still quite youthful!) stage of our lives. Unlike some of Europe’s more cosmopolitan (globalized?) metropolises, Genoa tends to be exactly the opposite of a constantly-in-flux, itinerant city that attracts young and energetic expats. It sounds as though aside from Martello and his colleagues, few people pass through here for short stretches of time. In fact, the only person I encountered at this event who had been in Genoa for less than five years, arrived from the UK “a mere” 18 months ago. In other words, they’re lifers. Apparently, with the cruising industry so big in this port town, many couples meet aboard while working or traveling. Given their long-term position as wives of Italians, these women are able to work while others are either forced—or content, especially while raising children—to stay at home with their Scrabble boards. Most of the husbands are either import/exporters or engineers involved in some aspect of the shipping business (plus a few architects).

I was also relieved to learn during this tutorial that my hesitancy towards teaching my native tongue is well-founded; it’s not considered a plum employment opportunity, especially for someone with a graduate degree (plus, my interest in teaching faded when my Cabbage Patch kids—ever the attentive students— received their diplomas).  This state of affairs is in line with Italy’s trend of having one of the lowest rates of women (especially mothers) in the workforce. Indeed, aside from the cupcake, the highlight of the event was the opportunity to conduct some networking regarding nonprofit-related volunteer opportunities in the community (in addition to my high hopes for the canile, from which I’m still anxiously awaiting a ring!). Even so, as with most things in Italy, while there is an increasing hunger (especially amongst youth) to connect with community-based organizations, ridiculous bureaucratic restrictions impinge upon their rapid actions (and the kids only have so much patience before they decide to move on). So, we’ll see if any related projects pan out. Nevertheless, I left the event with a good feeling about the group, and determined that membership would be worth its weight in euros— even if productive contributions to the world would have to be sought elsewhere.

Before heading back to the train station, I wandered through the nearby market, which mostly sold the same mix of food, schlock, and crafts that the Arenzano and Voltri markets feature. Upon my arrival home, Martello seemed pleased that I was buzzing about my encounters and had more to share than the usual events of making a mistake at the grocery store or post office. BF would be proud.

Baci e gelato,

Martello e Trofie Wife