Anyone up for some Gnagno?

Looking for the gift for those kids who have everything? How about a pack of Triestine playing cards and a quick lesson in "Gnagno." Basically, it's the same as UNO but with skinnier cards and funkier suits.

What?!?

You Never knew the Triestini had playing cards of their very own? Ever heard of the game Scopa?

Whaaaaaaa?!

Well, here you are, my friends. YOU ARE WELCOME! 

We are going to the States this week and guess what we are bringing. Yep, two packs of cards (and some Olive Oil and some trinkets).

In Trieste, quality time with family means playing cards. 

You can buy them in most Tabacchino shops (look for the stores with a big T sign outside). It's what the kids here play when they are skipping school. It's what the senior citizens most love and fight about with their friends.

Having a deck of cards can be a good way to make friends and/or enemies. Either way it's a good way to pass the time.

If cards aren't your thing, don't worry, your new Triestine pals will entice  you into a nice game of Tombola (Bingo basically) after Christmas supper, which is also a great way to practice your numbers in Italian.

Sunday Lessons in Village PR

We finally had some time to get stuff done around the house today so Cristian was out in the driveway cutting wood this morning. See, we have this woodburning stove we use to supplement the regular gas heat (and having fires in winter rocks). Since there are other people at his work with fireplaces and woodburning stoves, they order their firewood together. You can load it up and take it home when you want (company perk, Triestine style). The wood is cheap but you have to cut it to fireplace size yourself, which is a great excuse to buy a chainsaw.

Which brings me to the lessons I learned today.

Lesson 1.
My husband really loves his chainsaw.

Lesson 2.
Chainsaws are Man Magnets.

Within about 10 minutes there was a 3-man fanclub out there talking wood: where to find it, how to cut it, the best ways to burn it.

And in this neighborhood, when men come over to talk anything, you better offer them something to drink. This is met with, "Oh no, I couldn't. You are so busy..." followed by "Oh, alright. Let me bring home the hound and I will be right back."

When they come back, they bring a bottle of wine and you know it's going to be good because it has no label, which means that it is "Domace" and if they didn't make it themselves, someone close by did. This is a precious gift and a gesture of friendship.

Of course, you will not open it (now) because you also have a bottle waiting. It also has no label and is "Domace," fresh from the cantina of someone in the village up the hill. In this case, it is Emil's, the one with the twin boys who just graduated from College. Uncle Boris gets his wine from him, too.

The neighbors stay for two drinks and in that time they talk about what the village looked like 40 years ago, when our house was a small grocery store and the yellow house on the corner was a bar, and the house behind ours was the bakery.

Oops. Look at the time, they drink up, and say their goodbyes. They, too, have a lunch to get to. We call the mother-in-law and explain that we lost track of time. We were cutting wood, the neighbors stopped by and Cicole Ciacole, an hour has passed. In the meantime the washing machine finished its cycle and we still have to hang out the clothes (in our village you hang clothes outside even in winter), then we will be right over. Of course, she says, that's life in a village.

How Not to Look American -- from an American who sticks out

Triestini can spot their own kind from a Kilometer away. "You can tell by the way they walk... Check out those sunglasses!" My husband says, "Italiani in vacanza!!"

The Triestini say the Germans wear sandles with socks and, in summer, they are anywhere they can be naked (boats, nudie camping grounds, anywhere in Croatia...).

Americans are also abbastanza obvious. Use this guide and maybe you can fool the Triestini (not likely), or at least not stick out too much.

1. Yellow gold.

Leave it at home (it's considered old-fashioned) unless it's your wedding ring. White gold is okay.

2. The Diamond Engagement ring.

Triestini don't do engagement rings. They would prefer that money go toward a down-payment for their very own apartment or an awesome vacation. Two rings on one finger means you are a widow/widower and you are wearing your deceased partner's ring.

3.  Bottles and Bottles of water.

What is it with Americans and obsessive hydration? American tourists can be spotted in European capitals wearing contraptions in the Baby Bjorn family designed for holding bottles of water. They seem to be hanging everywhere: on the backpack, over the shoulder, one in each hand. You might as well be wearing a sign that says: "I am not from here, please pick my pocket."

Having a bottle of water with you in your bag is fine. Many Italian cities have water fountains in various places where you can fill up your reusable bottles with "aqua del sindaco," and it is perfectly delicious (Trieste and Rome are great for this). Better yet, why not do like the Italians? Stop at a bar and order something to drink and have a conversation with someone or do some people watching! Be careful what you order if you don't want to stick out. According to my mother-in-law, "Water is for washing." She would order an espresso or a glass of wine.

4. White Tennies.

Italians prefer shoes that can work in both casual situations and in a professional context. Their reasoning is you can never be overdressed, only underdressed. For this reason, it is a safer bet to go dark, which is always more elegant than white, or, godforbid, dirty.

5. How you stand can make a difference.

This video by an ex-CIA Chief of Disguise explains that you can even spot an American a mile away because of how they have a tendency to lean on one leg rather than distribute weight evenly to both legs...

6. How you use space.

Americans are used to having lots of space and not having to touch anyone on public transportation. David Sedaris says you can spot an American on a metro in Paris because they "hug the pole" rather than hold on with one hand so that others can hang on, too.

Same with elevators. Americans will not get on a full elevator. They will wait for the next one. A European will squeeze in and be happy to be so close to the door so they can be the first off.

7. Going to the back of the line.

If there is a line, Americans will go to the back of it EVERY TIME.

I was just in Rome with American friends who have lived in Italy longer than I have. At the conference where we were presenting, they saw a line and went immediately to the back. I did not.

Like a good fake Italian (observer), I went to the front of the line to understand the situation. There were actually TWO lines: one for speakers (no waiting) and one for guests (big long line). I registered immediately and went back to rescue my friends.

All this is not to say that I don't look American. I do. I also sound American, but I do not look or act like a tourist. It's all about situational awareness. You want it to be clear that you know what's up!

You know me, I just want you to fit in!

Let's Stop Being So Available

I had a shocking experience in the Adult Classroom this week (it was not at the Italian American Association, but in a company). I realized that many adults can't detach from their cell phones anymore.

There have been cell phones in my classes for as long as I remember, but the difference is that in the past they were a discreet presence. You would do a hip grab to see if that ringing phone was yours, you might pull it out of your pocket to see who called or where the message came from, if you actually took it out all the way you would be genuinely embarassed to take attention away from those around you.

That has changed. Apparently people are now allowed to disengage on a near constant basis. What I mean by this is that they were physically present in the space (a small group course, workshop format) yet they continued working with their laptops and cell phones as if they were in their office and not in a classroom, and when I say working, I mean checking their emails and text messages and responding to them in real time all the while I am trying to teach the coolest lesson plan I have come up with in a decade and yet I am feeling like an analog dinosaur speaking in Morse Code because they are just NOT FOLLOWING ME AT ALL.

What I wanted to say to these people was this:

JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN BE AVAILABLE 24 HOURS A DAY, DOES NOT MEAN THAT YOU SHOULD.

The messages I received:
Real people are a waste of time.
Creativity is not useful.
The participant is in no way responsible for the success of a course. 

One student even told me that she "tuned out" because I showed a video that was longer than 4 minutes. Wow.

So it was a depressing day because it didn't matter what I did, there was always going to be something better going on somewhere else.

And it hurt. Boy, did it hurt. I have never left a workshop with less energy than I had going in. I usually go home riding high on the energy of an excellent group making something incredible out of nothing.

At first I couldn't figure out where I went wrong.

Yes, there were a ton of unforeseen annoying obstacles because there always are. Normally we get past them with a little empathy and a sense of humor. Technology that doesn't work the way we want, a room that doesn't fit our needs,  big whoop, we laugh and go to Plan B.

But this time there was no shared understanding. Instead, each glitch was an opportunity to check email again (and rack up nasty feedback points for the form at the end of the day).

Phones and laptops became barriers that never allowed us to connect as human beings, and that broken circuit made all the lights go out on the string.

There is a huge price to pay for this semi-presence.

1. It kills the vibe of an otherwise positive atmosphere.
2. It communicates disrespect for colleagues and the instructor.
3. It substitutes reflection with distraction. 
4. It makes it impossible to create a productive working group.

It's not just in the classroom, though. Even in restaurants, chefs are getting annoyed at people taking constant photos of their food rather than enjoying the experience. One article I read (which I can't find at the moment) linked an increase in complaints for cold food with people taking longer to eat it because they have to photograph it first.

They say success is a string of failures. I count yesterday as a turning point (which is what you call a failure when you don't want to keep feeling like a loser) because it made me approach my next workshop differently. I planned like crazy, put as much paper material together as possible and ordered a room with only chairs. Then I made an excellently detailed plan with a disclaimer.

PARTICIPANTS ARE STRONGLY RECOMMENDED TO REFRAIN FROM BRINGING ELECTRONIC DEVICES INTO THE CLASSROOM.

And just to make my point, I turned off my own phone for an entire six hours. When I turned it back on, I was happy to note a good 15 different fires that had been addressed to me and subsequently (and rightly) extinguished by somebody else because I was not available.

Hooray For Useless Languages!

Today I went into my classroom and made the following list on the whiteboard. See if you can figure out what it all means.

International Cities:
Dubai, Budapest, Nurnberg, New York, London, Manchester, Paris, Lisbon, Bolzen, Rome, Florence, Bologna, Ancona, Milan, Sao Paolo, Dakar.

Professional Sports:
NBA, World Championship Sailing, World Championship Paratriathlon, Formula Indy.

Other Sectors:
Insurance, Toys, Tunneling, Engineering, Food and Bev, Wine business.

Did you get what they have in common?

My students couldn't figure it out either, so here the solution.

These are all of the cities (actually it is a partial list of just the sexiest ones) that I have visited for work in the sectors above (Formula Indy was not work but thanks to languages). I had all of these opportunities because I studied what other people called "useless languages."

The "useless" languages that led to these experiences were French, Portuguese and Italian.  I have lots of others I am working on with varying degrees of commitment as well: Albanian (specifically Kosovan), Triestino (yes, it's a language), Wolof, Slovenian, and, most recently, Swedish.

What are your useless languages? Who knows what doors they will open for you.

Get your Students to talk NOW

Today's post is about teaching foreign language. Specifically, I want to propose an answer and a solution to this question:

Why is it that practically everybody has to study a foreign language, yet so few people actually speak the language they are trying to learn?

Normally I address the student because we all have to take personal responsability for our language learning. This time, however, I address the foreign language teacher.

What students want: To speak the language so they can use it in practical situations (especially while traveling around the world on a mega yacht sipping mohitos with the movers and shakers). I know this because I have asked every student I have ever had. 

What teachers teach: Grammar, which is more often than not taught in the native language and NOT in the target language.

Why do teachers get so hung up on grammar? There are several reasons.

1. It's easy to put a grade on because it is either right or wrong.
2. It's comfortable and familiar.
3. It is a teacher-centered activity (I teach, you take notes, then you do the exercises at home) and therefore easy to control and not noisy.
4. The pressure to follow "a Program"
5. So kids will do well on standardized tests.

Why do teachers teach in their language and not in the target language?

1. Because the students won't understand if I teach in the target language.
2. Because the grammar is so technical, they will lose something if I do it in the target language.
3. I don't feel comfortable teaching in the language because I am not a native speaker.

The problem with the grammar-based approach.

1. It encourages perfectionism, which is the enemy of language acquisition.
2. It is discouraging (see above).
3. It is difficult to apply to real life because the focus is on rules rather than usage.
5. It assumes there is a uniform "ideal" way of speaking (which does not exist) and therefore leads to impossible expectations and fear of judgement.

How many people do you know learned their native language by studying grammar? Just saying. 

I feel that our job as foreign language teachers is to provide as much contact with the target language as possible (you can never get to the point of understanding a language if you never hear it. Simple). The LEAST we can do is use it as our teaching language. Will our students understand absolutely every word? Of course not. Each student will get something out of the lesson based on their experience with the language. The more experience I have, the more I will understand. That being said, I am the teacher, so I will use my entire bag of tricks to MAKE SURE my students understand what is really important in the lesson (that's what tone of voice, body language and cognates are for).

Anybody who teaches teens will know that you get the same blank look from students no matter what language you use. Try it, I am not kidding. So if this is the case, you have nothing to lose by teaching in the target language. It may even keep them a little more alert.

Our second job is to prepare our students to use the language in practical situations. This means setting into motion rehearsed conversations that we repeat a gazillion times until they become so automatic we don't have to think to use them, and we can bend them to fit our real life needs.

Here is one you can start using today in the first five to seven minutes of class. We call this beginning part of the lesson "circle time" because when children are little (pre school- elementary) we sit in a circle on the floor and go through the same information each time (How are you? How's the weather? etc) with flashcards and get them used to asking and answering basic questions. That repetition is comforting and gets them speaking immediately (with no worries about grammar).

Circle time from Middle School to adults looks a little different. I like to go around the room and shake each person's hand and have this individual conversation (I print up a copy and distribute it on day one. I write it on the board when I add a new piece, which is usually once every two to three weeks).

Phase one.

Teacher: How are you?
Student: Fine thanks and you?
Teacher: Fine thanks. Nice to see you.
Student: Nice to see you, too.

Phase one  + Phase two.

Teacher: How are you?
Student: Fine thanks and you?
Teacher: Fine thanks. Nice to see you.
Student: Nice to see you, too.
Teacher: How was your day yesterday? (on Monday you can say WEEKEND)
Student: It was fine.
Teacher: What did you do?
Student: (choose one) I went out with my friends. I went to school. I stayed home.
Teacher: Great. Have a good day!
Student: Have a good day!

Phase one + Phase two + Phase three.

Teacher: How are you?
Student: Fine thanks and you?
Teacher: Fine thanks. Nice to see you.
Student: Nice to see you, too.
Teacher: How was your day yesterday? (on Monday you can say WEEKEND)
Student: It was fine.
Teacher: What did you do?
Student: (choose one) I went out with my friends. I went to school. I stayed home.
Teacher: What are you doing today after school?
Student: (choose one) I'm having lunch. I'm going home. I'm going out with my friends.
Teacher: If I were you, I would do the same! Have a good day!
Student: Have a good day!

FAQs:

Is it repetitive? You bet!

Is it a rigid conversation? Oh yes. No creativity required or desired. I make it clear that this is a formal conversation accompanied by a firm handshake and eye contact. Yes, even if it's the worst day of my life, everything is "fine". This is the rule of grooming talk in English.

Do I do this with every student at the beginning of every class? Yes, I do.

Isn't that a waste of time? No. Here's why.

1. I shake their hand and look them in the eye and we talk to each other. This creates rapport and the human connection that is so important for learning.
2. It is a clear signal that class is starting, yet gives them a moment to transition from their native language.
3. It becomes automatic for them, so it is a positive way to begin. If I don't do it, the students are disappointed!
4. I always remind myself that even if my students learn NOTHING from me, this conversation will be part of them for the rest of their lives. They can use it anywhere in the world and make friends immediately.
5. There is about three years of grammar in that little conversation!
6. I teach many types of students including students who have had bad experiences in the foreign language classroom. This conversation increases confidence, especially when they use it on a real foreign person and they are able to have a real conversation.

Is it noisy?

Yes, because students do not typically go silent the moment the teacher's back is to them and they are not in the spotlight. I don't mind this, as long as I can hear the person I am talking to. If the volume gets too loud, I stop and remind the class to be respectful.

The payoff.

Your students will use it on you even when they see you around town and hearing "Nice to see you" from your students is it's own reward.

We teachers need as many personal victories as we can get.

Kids Playing in the Street

My thought of gratitude for this Sunday evening was supposed to be that the weather changed and it got cold, which normally happens during the second half of August. It did get colder yesterday, mind you, but NOT COLD ENOUGH. It's still effing hot and I don't know what to wear anymore. Because my skorts that I normally wear ALL SUMMER are like ENOUGH ALREADY!! And my jeans are all like YOU'RE TOO FAT and it's STILL TOO EFFING HOT TO FAKE IT!!!

So forget that moment of gratitude, because even at our FAVORITE OSMIZZA this afternoon in San Giuseppe (Zerjal, but please don't go, because it's already too crowded) the women are all grimacing (in the bad kind of way) because they have never suffered such hot weather in September. But they are happy to see me, since we are neighbors.

Instead, I will tell you that the best part of this little Osmizza outing was when the lady at the counter said, after telling me it's never been so hot in September since the beginning of time (and I know she is right because in the last 15 years of proof I have this is absolutely true, and why wouldn't it also be true for the several million years before that?)...

 "Your daughter? Where is she?"

and I was all like: Daughter? Who Dat?!

Because, you see, I live in a PAESE, or a little VILLAGE, where the children leave the den at sunrise and return at sunset because they are PLAYING TOGETHER IN THE STREET.

Is there TRAFFIC? You ask. You bet! Tons of it, but the kids do like we used to do when we were little: scream CAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!!!!! And then they take the ball into their arms, and flatten themselves against the nearest house in order to avoid being run over.

All of us parents know that our kids are hanging out together in one big girl gang (plus a couple of boys) that has a triangle of influence that goes from Anna's place, to Eva's, to Isabelle's. There is always one set of parents on duty, which means that you get a ton of stuff done at the house that you can never get done during the week because your kids are outside and not asking you to do anything for them. Even if they are inside, they are on their own.

So, today, our friends who, in the not-so-distant-past did not believe such a utopia could possibily exist, came over and liberated their monkey with ours, and we went to the Osmizza, had a couple of sparkling malvasia's and came back to our place for one last drink.

We could hear the girls, of course, because they were playing some sort of ball game with a deflated volleyball that resembled a cross between volleyball, rugby, and dodgeball, and created several minor injuries.

But it didn't matter, because there were also three fridges, and three freezers full of ice, and towels all over the place, ready to ice all of those old-fashioned play in the street wounds.

Viva Domenica!

The Opposite of Happiness is Boredom

The opposite of happiness is not sadness as it turns out. According to my new favorite book The 4-Hour Workweek by Tim Ferriss, it's BOREDOM!

Which explains a lot. Like, why I keep procrastinating in getting my work done (WHY THE HELL DID I TAKE ON THIS CONTRACT ANYWAY, DOING THE JOB IS AS EXCITING AS WATCHING PAINT DRY), why I keep putting off what I REALLY need to do to feel better in general (RUNNING AN ULTRA MARATHON, NOT JUST TELLING MYSELF TO GO OUT AND RUN FOR HALF AN HOUR AND THEN FINDING EXCUSES TO STAY HOME ON MY KEISTER).

I AM EFFING BORED BECAUSE I HAVE LOWERED MY STANDARDS AND EXPECTATIONS FOR MYSELF AND THAT IS THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD YOU CAN DO TO YOURSELF.

As a result, what I am SUPPOSED to be doing (as defined by ME) is MEDIOCRE, BORING CRAP that I have NO INTEREST IN DOING.

I AM DESTINED FOR GD GREATNESS (pardon my French)!! I just COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THAT (does that ever happen to you??)

Now, to be fair, I do not believe that everything has to be exciting all of the time, but I have generally lost touch with what I find EXCITING and WORTH MY PRECIOUS TIME. I need to get back to KNOWING what will make me SUPER MEGA PSYCHED to wake up in the morning (although I do not wake up unhappy, I am not JUMPING OUT OF BED the way I could be).

My TO-DO List has nothing to do with what I am DYING to do before I DIE. So I am creating a new list (don't laugh).

I know it is strange, but this revelation (the opposite of Happiness is Boredom) explains my SEA LEVEL EXISTENCE over the last six months: why I fell off my Vegan diet (still vegetarian but HATING IT, want to get Cheese out of my life for good!!) and can't get  motivated to create a lifelong healthy running habit past the next small roadrace. I am running but have gained 25 (not kidding) pounds since Christmas. This has GOT to stop.

So here is what I am going to work on in the SHORT TERM (0-6 MONTHS)

1) Write consistently (blog and other writing) and finish my next book on learning foreign language super fast.
2) Sign up for an Ultra Marathon (50k or more. I may do the Bora run because it is in Trieste). I am not a fast runner, but the spare tire around my middle tells me I am meant for DISTANCE!!
3) Learn Swedish so I can get in touch with my mom's roots (and read IKEA boxes better). For this I will use Duolingo.
4) Sign up for the Stockholm marathon in June and thus kill three birds with one stone (running goal, practice my Swedish, dig up my Pippi Longstocking long lost relatives and hopefully talk my mom into coming along for the ride).
5) Make a plan to become financially independent (I live in Trieste, so I am looking at real estate opportunities) and cover my expenses so I can be free to plan even wackier things that are NOT BORING.
6) Finish my house inside and out so I can rent her out and get paid to go on crazy vacations around the world with my family (wish list: Turkey, India, Japan, Sweden, Middle East, Greece, Brazil, and go back to Belgium, France and Brazil to visit old friends)
7) Find the joy in the jobs I am doing. Everything I do must be AWESOME
8) Get a new bike.

This list should keep me busy and get me motivated again.

My friend Monica used to tell her students that being bored is a reflexive verb in French (Italian, too). That means getting out of it falls entirely within our own control.

I feel like it is my responsibility.
Wish me luck.

Welcome to Ricmanje

Now that we have moved to a small village in Val Rosandra, our life has changed. While we live about five minutes away from our old apartment in the periphery of Trieste, it's like we moved to a new planet.

Today I want to tell you a little bit about my new village: Ricmanje, or San Giuseppe della Chiusa, as it is known in Italian. The fact that it has two names gives you a sense of the place. It has a split identity and the name you choose to use with people says something about YOU (hint. with Slovene speakers say Ricmanje).

Here are some other fun facts!

1. Ricmanje has a unique  sign on the Bike Path that cuts through it. It looks like someone designed and made it in metal shop class during their lunch hour. There is no other sign like it on the bike path. It catches your eye as you pass on your bike or you huff through on foot. 

2. Ricmanje is part of the Comune of San Dorligo, which means it is in Val Rosandra, so it's on the prettiest part of the bike path (not to brag!!)

3. It is 124 meters above sea level. From here you have a view of Cattinara hospital (isn't that everyone's dream?) and the gulf of Muggia (just in case you thought, like I did, that you had to live in Barcola to have a sea view!)

4. If you live here you do not need a watch. The church bells tell you everything you need to know. During the week they even ring at 6am (first chime of the day, time to start waking up) and 7am (too late!)

5. The village has two symphonic bands. I guess there used to be just one but there was a split at some point. Isn't that crazy? I live close to the place where they practice. This summer it was like having a free concert every night.

6. There are two actvie Osmizas here. There used to be 15.

7. San Giuseppe is full of cats. If I were a photographer (which I am not, as you can tell by this blog) I would make a poster and profile each one and call it "The Cats of San Giuseppe" in the style of "The Doors of Dublin" my mom used to have hanging on her wall. Feel free to steal that idea. I will buy a copy of it and put it on my wall!

8. The houses here were built around the church and the ones closest to the church are about 1000 years old (although our house had its last face lift at the end of the 1970s, doh!)

9. The church here is famous because a miracle happened here in 1749 the Priest is an Exorcist. I am not kidding. All well documented.

10. When locals order pizza delivery, if they want their pizza to be hot when it gets here they order from San Dorligo, the only pizza place that knows what questions to ask to be able to find your house which is NEVER "what is your address?" Houses are numbered  in the order they were built. The question to ask when you make an appointment in San Giuseppe is "where are you in relation to the church?"

If you want to come up, take the number 41 bus from the Station. Check the schedule, though. There are few busses during the day and the timetable largely reflects the old train schedule that took people to work in Trieste in the morning and brought them back to San Giuseppe in the evening.

My house is on the street below the church. If your back is to it, hang a left. If you go around the big curve, you have gone too far.

We are Tracking Bears!!

So far the Refugee Bears have travelled or are on their way FROM


TRIESTE, ITALY

TO:

CINCINATTI, OHIO
RACINE, WISCONSIN
LEROY, NEW YORK
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA
STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN
Somewhere in DELAWARE

We will keep you posted!

If you have a bear, make sure to let us know where you are and send a picture!!

How You Can Help the Refugee Bears

Celebrating July 4 in Trieste

1. Can I Buy a refugee bear?

Bears, like humans, cannot rightfully be bought or sold. However, you CAN obtain a refugee bear. These Bears are free spirits and love to travel and meet new people.

Outside of Trieste: order here: aia.fvg@gmail.com or karolinesteckley@gmail.com
Trieste: call the Italian American Association or come by during opening hours.

Contribution: 30 euros/35 dollars + postage

2.  Where does the money go? 

The materials the Teddy Boys use to make the bears are donated. This way all of the money goes directly to the Teddy Boys.

3. How long does it take to make a bear?

The Teddy Boys are fast machine sewers. The time consuming part is the nose and the mouth because they are sewn by hand. As you know if you make things, the price of the bears does not cover the time that it takes to make a bear. We wanted to make the bears accessible to as many people as possible to raise awareness about refugees and showcase refugee artistry. Because the materials are donated, it keeps the overhead low.

4. How can I help with the Refugee Bear project?

If you live in the Trieste area, you can donate your time and expertise to teach refugees about marketing, accounting, and other tricks of the entrepreneurial trade. We will give you the space to do that.

If you have sewing supplies you would like to donate, great! Stuffing is especially appreciated but thread is also important.

If you have clothes you would like to donate, we will take them. No stretchy material please.

We are also looking for an industrial strength sewing machine (or two). If you or someone you know has one or would like to contribute to helping us buy one, let us know.


5. I would like to make a monetary donation. How can I do that?

Contributions can be made to the project through the Italian American Association of Friuli Venezia Giulia or email us here: aia.fvg@gmail.com

Donations will be used for materials and equipment.

6. Who is helping out already?

American Corner Trieste has donated stuffing. The Salesian nuns (CIOFS) have donated used clothes. AIA teachers have donated used clothes. Malena & Lucia are donating their time to teach the Teddy Boys English. Lucia is producing photos and video for the project. Stefano Gropaiz donated accounting advice.

7. What else can I do to raise awareness about Refugees? 

Talk about the Bear project with your friends and family. If you know refugees, share their stories, too. One personal story can do a lot to change perceptions about refugees and challenge stereotypes.

8. What else do I get with my Bear?

A selfie! If you are in Trieste, you can have your picture taken with the Teddy Boys. If not, please send us your selfie with your bear, the name of your bear and your location. We want to map the Refugee bears as a classroom project at the Italian American Association.

Thank you!

The Teddy Boys, Eva and Nina Bear,Trieste
July 1, 2018

The Undocumented Bear

Note: This article has been updated for clarification and correctness. KS

I have a friend named Azim, who was my student a couple of years ago when he first arrived in Trieste as a refugee. We have run into each other on and off since then and now I am working with him and his friend Abbas to help them run their own micro business. 

Here is what I can tell you about Azim. It's actually not much because he would rather talk about the present than the past and I don't have enough cultural literacy to be able to interpret the information he has given me into something more. 

He is 32 years old. He was born in Afghanistan but his family fled to Iran because his country was at war. In Iran he lived in a refugee camp and then in the city of Asfahan. He was never recognized by Afghanistan as a citizen and he was not recognized by Iran, either. Not being Iranian, he was not allowed to go to school in Iran. He began working in a tailoring shop when he was 7 years old. He became an expert tailor. He learned how to read and write on his own. When his father died, he decided to go towards Europe. After a long and arduous trip he ended up in Norway where he applied for asylum and worked as a tailor for two years. When his number came up, he was denied asylum and sent back to Afghanistan because that was where he was born. Having never lived there and having no rights there as a citizen (because he was never recognized there), however, he decided to try again, this time he ended up in Trieste. 

Have you ever met anyone without a nationality? With NO CITIZENSHIP? Can you imagine what that must feel like? Now, I don't want to go on a political tyrade here, but I do want to humanize for a moment the refugee situation we are experiencing here in Trieste. 

So I met Azim when he ended up in my classroom. What impressed me about him was how hungry for school he was. He spoke English quite well, but he came to the beginner class, too, just so he could be around learning longer. When he told us his story, I understood why. Our kids don't understand that school is a privilege. 

Sometimes when we teach we go to the sewing machines. It is pure, hands-on problem-solving in English. Azim  became everyone's teacher. He could sew so fast, and was so at ease with fabric and needles and thread while I just bumble my way through the basics. Sewing is  an art and mastery is a pleasure to witness. From then on, we begged Azim to volunteer for us when we taught sewing to children. He was so patient with the kids and what a gift to see sewing as a skill that brings people together.  

After that, we saw Azim less. His English classes had finished and he was busy taking other courses and doing internships as part of the city's unemployment programs. Each time he hoped that he would get hired. Mostly, however, companies rely on these programs to help them get by, as times are still hard economically in Trieste. 

He came to my office one day to talk. I knew what he was going to ask. All of our refugees come back at some point desperate to find work. They love Trieste, they say, but there are no opportunities here. I know what he means. Contracts are very hard to come by. Ask any new graduate. It is very difficult to find a full-time job. Add to that being a foreigner and things are even more difficult. 

I try to spread the word to my friends and acquaintances that my refugee friends are looking for work and they give the same downward-tilted shake of the head and the sigh that say I know, these are tough times. 

Everyone tells them that, too. They say they want to go to the UK, Germany, Denmark, and we try to tell them, even worse than Italy right now! Governments have changed, there is no more tolerance, people don't want to help anymore. But this myth exists. Somewhere there is a job for me. 

But I don't believe that crap. Nobody wants to hire anybody these days. It's that simple. If you want to make it you have to create your own business. I have written about this here before, so I am sorry if I sound like a broken record, but THE FUTURE IS IN ENTREPRENEURIALISM, PEOPLE!! 

I could feel myself perk up with a little blast of Do-It-Yourself energy. 

YOU CAN SEW! YOU NEED TO MAKE THINGS!! YOU NEED TO SELL THINGS! YOU NEED TO RELY ON YOURSELF!! 

Duh, his look tells me, thanks for the MAN-SPLAIN, Karoline. As if I hadn't thought of that. 

He pulls out his phone, opens up the gallery and shows me photos of magnificent women's purses he makes out of used jeans. 

YES, I SAY! DO THAT! BUT NOT PURSES. Something else... 

We go back and forth for a while. He sticks on purses for a bit, I get stuck on baby clothes and baby blankets since my colleague is pregnant and I need to get her something. 

Then I get this BRILLIANT IDEA (and in this whole altruistic affair, let it go down in history that it was my dang idea!! At least that!!). BEARS. Yes, Bears made of Used Blue Jeans. 

He looks at me like I am wack! 

But at this point I have A VISION. I see the future! It is paved with teddy bears. And I remember that we have an embassy visit on Tuesday. 

Yeah, so, like can you make a teddy bear by Tuesday? And he is like, um, ok, I guess. And we decide to meet on Tuesday. 

In the meantime, I go back and forth on it. He will never do it on time, where are we going to get a pattern? What does this mean? How can he do this legally? 

And I make an appointment with an accountant, because if we are going to launch this super duper teddy business, we need to make it real, people! 

He basically tells me it can't be done. Unless they open a business and I am like duh, that is why I called you. I later found out it is even simpler than that if they start out as Hobbyists and sell at a few markets a year, but that is for another story. 

So fast forward to Tuesday. They come with TWO bears. One looks like a mouse, but I don't have the heart to tell him. Later in the meeting he says "One is a bear, the other look like mouse," so that cleared the air. 

We told the story. I threw some marketing magic into the mix. 

The symbolism of it all! Two hands up thumbs faced in, framing the pretend movie screen. 

A Bear (and a mouse)

A Refugee (and his friend Abbas, who sort of showed up and became part of the project)

What do we all need? Love, Security. 

Could these bears be the secret to both?

Fade out.

The embassy was enthusiastic and with American Corner Trieste they donated stuffing. The Salesian nuns donated used clothes, "Even the poor don't want to wear clothes that are torn and tattered, maybe the Teddy Boys can salvage something," said Sister Giovanna, and the Teddy Boys got to work.

They made 41 (forty-one) prototypes in about a week. Each one is marvelous and unique and dressed up with CRAZY COLOR COMBINATIONS. Seriously. They are gorgeous. They were the belles of the Fourth of July party we had on July 1st. Little people lined up while parents got out their wallets.

I thought I saw Abbas tear up when he saw the little girls choose outfits and then change them and change them and change them again. That was a turning point and perhaps the moment where he realized that Bears are kind of a big deal, and also that the CLOTHES are THE BEST!!

Then I thought about it. 

Bears, made in Italy, by men who are from Afghanistan but not really and Iran but not really and Trieste, but not really. 

Where will they end up? And where will they tell people they are from?

The bears are refugees too. They have no real documentation except the receipt we give people who  buy them. They do not have passports. Some will get stuck in suitcases and flown to distant destinations, especially since my mom got a hold of a picture of them and ordered ten for her friends and neighbors.

Another is on its way to New York next week.

Will they be turned away at the border?

If they are allowed to stay, will they be able to vote on important toy issues?

There are no clear answers yet. I will keep you posted.

Photo: Lucia Villegas

I Finally Went to the Pedocin

For those of you who are new to Life in Trieste, you may not know that there is a special beach here in the center of the town, just around the corner from the fire-spewing iron foundary, The Ferriera, (kindly polluting the Triestine coastline, air, Adriatic, and Servola with heavy metal nano-particles for over 100 years!!) nestled in all cozy-like next to the Port-of-Trieste (Varga 1, arrival port for ships going back and forth from Turkey to Trieste): it's the Pedocin, or it's official name, La Lanterna.

It's the COOLEST BEACH IN THE WORLD because it separates the Boys from the Girls.

The Girls side is PACKED FULL OF WOMEN of all ages, all body sizes and shapes, and all colors, all hanging out and enjoying the estrogen. (Boys up to 13 years old accompanied by a woman can come to the women's side)

The Boys side? There are a few people. Um. Maybe a handful.

Isn't that interesting?

Even MEN don't want to hang out with men.

Just saying.

Entrance fee to this exclusive Grrrrl Escape Wonderland? One WHOPPING euro!!!

BEST DEAL IN TRIESTE!

Why I Can Finally Blog Again!

I have been strangely silent, I know. But this is because I was feeling STRESS about my situation with Social Security and INPS. Here is what happened.

Italy and the United States have a special agreement when it comes to paying taxes. When you become self-employed, you are supposed to pay Social Security in America, not in Italy (INPS) if you are American. (Dear American ex-pats in other countries, For international agreements between the country you are living in and the U.S., you will want to check, beause there are different agreements for each country). The problem with this is that your accountant in Italy will not know this and your accountant in America will not know this, so you are liable to pay twice (which really hurts) or, (like I did) pay once, but in the WRONG COUNTRY and then have to pay again in the correct country before you get reimbursed in the wrong country, so either way, you pay twice and (in shallah) get reimbursed later.

To show that you are exempt from paying INPS in Italy, you need a Certificate of Coverage from the Social Security Administration. This is no problem if you request it at the time you become self-employed. In fact, my friends who learned from my mistake got theirs no problem. At that point you just send a little letter to INPS telling them to cancel your position with INPS and you hold on to that Certificate of Coverage in case you get audited and the Italians want to see the proof.

Today is a day for celebration because.

I RECEIVED MY CERTIFICATE OF COVERAGE
and
I SENT IT TO INPS.

Now let's just say a group prayer that INPS pays me back with the Quickness because I had to pay a giant tax bill in the states (and who knows how much the penalties and interest will be. It gives me tremors just thinking about it!) even though I ALREADY PAID THIS MONEY IN ITALY.

Here is why it was worth doing.

1. It's the Law. And I was breaking it without understanding that.
And I am NOT A RULEBREAKER.

2. This little-known perk: My Italian husband who has never paid into the American Social Security system now has a right to his own little pension (half of mine in addition to the one I will receive) which he can claim even if we get divorced (as long as he doesn't get hitched again).

3. The number of years you need to contribute to the Social Security system in the US is 10 years (or 40 credits, which is the equivalent of 10 years of work) to be in the system, so everything you earn above that is gravy. The longer you stay and contribute to the system the more you receive when you are retirement age. In Italy you must contribute at least 25 years to get the minimum. Keep in mind, even in America, the less you contribute, the less you will get later.

4. When I moved to Italy I thought I was kissing the idea of a pension goodbye forever. I didn't know anything about Totalization agreements back then, so all of this has changed my view of being an old fart. Now I can't wait to get old!!! ;) For those of you who don't know what a totalization agreement is, it just means that many countries count the years you worked in other countries towards your pension. Great news for expats who paid their taxes in the foreign country.

Now that this situation is on the tail end of being solved I have found my desire to blog again without complaining.

See you soon and I hope you are enjoying your summer!!

Behold, The Naked Lightbulb

Italians pay such attention to detail, their houses are perfect, except for one thing...

Naked Lightbulbs. Just hanging there. Like, everywhere.

I know why, and now I will explain. It is because they care so much, too much. Light fixtures are important.  You have to consider every characteristic: type of room, type of lightbulb, the look you are going for, hot or cold light, diffused or direct, etc.

So many things you can get WRONG. The best way to handle this monumental decision?

A naked lightbulb. This will work in the meantime until we find the PERFECT LIGHTING SOLUTION.

Babies in Lipica

I can't get enough of this picture. I even put it on as the background photo on my phone, much to my daughter's dismay as she usually chooses which pictures of HER I should put there. 

This was the area at the Lipica Stud farm where mares and their new foals hung out before being introduced back into the larger group. As you can see, the babies are black and become white when they are adults. For now that little one just has the white socks. 

There was one little baby who lost his mother during childbirth, which broke everyone's heart, of course. They were feeding that one every half hour with a bottle and working on getting him "adopted" by another mare who had lost a baby. In the meantime, that horse got some serious love from the human visitors. 

So sweet. So worth the visit.

Creating a Garden on my Porch

If you have been keeping up, you probably know that my family and I moved into a real live house last November after 14 years of living in an apartment half the size with a view of a cement wall located on the first floor (which we Americans know is really the second floor) with absolutely no natural light to speak of. We used to call it our little cave, and when we were really down we would say we lived in a wine cellar. There were some good things about it, otherwise we would not have stayed so long. First, it was cheap and we could afford it even when we didn't have much money. As the years went on and we earned more, the expenses magically stayed the same, allowing us to save more money and eventually buy the house we happily reside in today. Let's just say ours has been a slow, upward trajectory with low expectations and modest returns. It's the get-rich-slowly approach that appeals to few but has worked for us. Our daughter misses that apartment because she had access to the (dark) front porch through a door out from her room (there are perks to living in a bedroom that was converted from a kitchen), there were loads of busses near the apartment, so we could come home for lunch and check on the dog (R.I.P. Luna), and we had fantastic neighbors. 

The only thing that place did not have was light. This meant we did not have plants. Well, we did have a couple of flourishing ferns for a while, but then we somehow killed those too. Something about watering them the day of a big freeze or something. Ooops. 

Fast forward, now we have SPACE and LIGHT and SPACE and MORE LIGHT. As you probably know, it is every Triestino's dream to live in a house with a "Toco de giardin". We do not have that. Instead, we have something like a courtyard where we can park two cars, and a porch off of our kitchen upstairs. This is what I intend to convert to my very own Toco de Giardin.

I started with plants my mother-in-law and sister-in-law gave us around easter: Basil, oregano, cilantro (per my request), and mint. I have since added geraniums (un toco de color!) to a flower box that will hang over the railing. 

My newest addition is tomato plants, and, get this: LETTUCE! Dudes, I am growing salad. Apparently it will be ready for eating in one month, then I can replace it with autumn salad (really! Things can actually grow in autumn here?! Hello, we are not in Wisconsin anymore!) and then endives or some other winter greens (a whole new world!). Wooo hooo! 

It's so exciting. I will keep you updated on our progress.

Welcome to your new home, little Buddies!!

May Day May Day

Tuesday of this week was Labor Day. The day of the workers. It is a special day for the left-leaning Slovene minority of Trieste. In the villages of San Dorligo in the Breg, which is what the area is called (do not accidentally call it the Carso just because people speak Slovene here), there is a tradition where the best cherry tree of the village is chosen by a select group of people, usually the single males, in the village and chopped down during the night. Then, the next day, it is up to them (with some help) to secure it to a giant pole, decorate it with red flags and oranges and that sort of thing, then raise it up high in the sky and secure it while the rest of the village drinks wine and laughs at you. The reason it is so funny is because, even though this tradition has been around for years and years and years, putting it up each year is like doing it for the first time. Frustration, things going wrong, problems... But, in the end, the job is finished usually in the wee hours of the night, and the party continues. My daughter tells me that it is called L'albero della Cucagna. Sure, it exists on Wikipedia, but read it in Italian. In the English version it gets translated to "Greasy Pole" and that is an entirely different tradition. 

Today, in Ricmanje (San Giuseppe della Chiusa) there is a ceremony to take that bad boy down and a BBQ to accompany it. Apparently they go from one village to the next to take down the May Day Tree. I tried to find a good picture of this tradition online but couldn't find much. I will share my crappy phone picture of what I saw yesterday on my way home from the bike path. It was a little rainy, but I hope you get the idea.

I am hoping the weather holds out for the party tonight. Asking around today, I realized that not everyone in Trieste even knows about some of these traditions that are alive and well and living in the Slovene communities on the outskirts of Trieste and in the Carso. The Slovene minority loves to party so it is worth looking them up on May day, around Saint Martin in November (San Martin' Bevi Vin!!) and even for Carnevale. For historical reasons, Slovenes living in Trieste sometimes keep their traditions to themselves, but if you show a genuine interest in getting to know them, the doors will fly open and you will be welcomed in to experience some of the best of what Trieste has to offer as far as culture and folklore. 

Sometimes Slovene speakers are hiding in plain sight. If you are not sure, just ask! Sometimes first names can help. If you happen to know anyone who is named Boris or Igor or Stoyen or Istok (names I associate with extreme fun), start with them!

 

I Still Get Surprised Sometimes

I had a great long weekend! We spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday hopping on and off a big bus full of people from various Lutheran churches in Racine, Wisconsin. My mother was one of them. The tour guide, Sue, was kind enough to let our family join in the fun (there was space on the bus) for the last leg of their trip, which started in Dubrovnik and ended today in Venice. We rented a small studio apartment in Ljubljana that was a ten-minute walk from where the group was staying and hung out with them as much as we could. It was so fun being an American tourist!! We got to wear little orange receivers around our neck with a little earphone and everything!

We have been to Ljubljana several times, but this time we did the guided tour and went up to the castle. Very nice. The next day, we went on the bus to Lake Bled, where we have also been more than once, but this time we went to the island on the little boat and visited the church.

The next day, we went to Lipica Stud Farm, which is where the famous Lipizzaner horses are from. This is about a ten minute drive from our house but we had never toured the stables before. It was an interesting visit and everyone really enjoyed seeing the horses. I learned so much. Had no idea, for example, that baby Lipizzaners are born black but become white as adults. Also had no idea that they used to be many colors but everyone wanted the rare white Lipizzaner horse because Napoleon made it popular. Now they are 99% white.

The next day, we went to the caves of Skocjanske  . Now, if you have not visited this place, please promise you will do it soon. It's one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, and I am not a big fan of caves. It is incredible. Yesterday we did not go down in the caves (the others did) because it is a big hike and the elevator that pulls you back up was out of order, so we decided Grandma Mag could do it next time she visits Trieste. Instead, we sat outside and had a nice lunch and did some gabbing.

One of the interesting things about the Skocjanaske caves is it is where the Timavo river disappears underground and doesn't resurface until Duino 43.6 kilometers later. Talk about coincidence. After we left the Americans and went home, we got ready for work the next day. My school was going on an all-school field trip. I didn't really pay attention to where we were going (I wasn't driving, after all) so imagine my surprise when the FIRST STOP was Duino, where the Timavo comes out. Now, again, I had seen this area before, but what I had NEVER NOTICED was the very cute church that is right there!  The most surprising part is that INSIDE the church, there is a garden.

Have you ever heard of a church with an indoor garden? Some people say they get sick of visiting Europe because it's all the same. Churches churches, villages, villages, churches, blah blah blah. I never feel this way, however. I find it so incredible that even after fifteen years of living here, there are still things I haven't seen and it is still a joy to discover them.

How Advertising Has Changed in Fifteen Years: Less Boobs on Display

Ignore the Boobs on that Billboard!!

One day I was on the bus and I counted how many times I saw a semi-nude woman advertising something from my house to central station. There were 17 different women in all, and that is not counting when the same woman was repeated (street advertising here is often posters glued next to each other like pixels on a much bigger billboard-sized advertising space). This was a fifteen-minute ride including all stops and just two major streets. A little mind-blowing perhaps? Not so much if you lived here fifteen years ago, which was when I carried out this experiment.

Actually, there was something therapeutic about this exercise. It was the first time since I had arrived that I was able to look at these women without getting pissed off or taking it personally. I was able to see the women on the posters as objects. And isn’t that the point of this kind of advertising? I had officially become the Male Viewer.

At about the same time, my husband and I took a ride to Udine and I was surprised to see a billboard with two naked boobies on it (and that’s all) with some writing underneath. As I got closer, I noticed it was a mattress company.

“What the hell do boobs have to do with mattresses?” I ask him, curious to understand the machinations of the Italian male thinking process.

He wrinkles up his brow in a way that made it clear he was not used to making connections between female body parts and what they are advertising (which was exactly my point). Then he comes up with a doozy.

“Boobs. Soft pillows! Pillows and mattresses!”

Problem solved. He felt smug and unflustered by the whole thing. I still felt pissed off.

So, two lessons from that first summer living in Italy.

1) Sexism is pervasive, and nobody seems to care.

2) We Americans take a lot of shit personally.

I could elaborate on point one all day, of course, because that’s what I do, but I want to take a moment to talk about point two because it is something I feel we can work on as a people.

Jumping back into the mind of the Italian male (or at least the mind of the one I know best, my husband’s) I can tell you exactly why he was unflustered by the booby campaign. The first, most obvious, reason is point number one above. That is the easy answer that even an international audience can agree on. “Those Italians, so sexist!!” And they wouldn’t be wrong. 

The second reason is a little more subtle and it is this: Boobs are not a big deal here and I mean that for women and men. In Trieste for example, the important thing is the tan line (or not having one) not the boobs. Boobs are considered part of a woman’s body, thrilling to look at, no doubt, but not something to gawk at as there is no pressure here to hide what is perfectly naturally a part of YOU.

To understand this one, let’s do a little role reversal and talk about the warnings that Italians give their friends when they hear they are going to America in the summer.

“Be careful in America when you go to the beach: even little babies must wear a bikini top!! No boobies yet and the Americans are worried about indecent exposure!!”

This is usually followed by the story about the friend of a friend who got a good “speaking to” by “the police” and a warning to “cover up” their little one-- the confusion and shame that ensued.

See, little girls’ swimming suits come in two types here: a classic full one-piece affair that you would use for, say, swimming class, and the other type of one-piece, which is a bikini bottom. There is no top because it is considered strange to put a bra-like contraption on anyone who is pre-pubescent. Looks like you’re trying to dress a child like a woman, and that, if you think about it, is a little strange.

Kids in Italy wear practically the same style of swimming suit until they are teenagers. While the girls have the bikini bottom, boys and men wear what Americans call “Speedos” for going in the water. They are considered “more hygienic,” and faster to dry once you get out. I would add that it is the closest thing to running around in your underwear that you can get, and don’t all dudes love hanging out in their underwear? They may throw on a pair of longer swimming trunks or shorts for hanging out and playing with friends and kicking a ball around in between swims.

Nobody is scandalized or titillated by the presence of a scantily clad person of the opposite sex. The training starts at an early age. Take locker rooms. They are mixed until middle school (the rule is kids go in the changing room of the gender of the parent who is helping out. While with daddy, go in the boys' locker room, while with grandma or mom, go with the women). Kids see each other naked (locker room at pool, for instance, or at the beach in the summer) or in their skivvies all the time. No body shaming. No embarrassment. Even as adults, there are plenty of times when a good swim (which takes precedence over nearly anything else in the world, including Pride) requires changing in the presence of other adults. The Triestini are experts in the art of towel manipulation and have Houdini-like precision when it comes to escaping one type of clothes and throwing on another.

Thus, when in Italy, don’t take it personally. After that bus ride with the naked ladies, I realized that it wasn’t just me. There is a system in place here that I cannot change on my own overnight. Taking systemic misogyny personally was not going to take me very far. Instead, I decided to see those posters in a more neutral way and work on something I can have some influence over. First, my relationship with my own body (a work in progress, I can tell you, even after fifteen years of trying) and… my husband.

It starts here with this little question.

“Don’t you men get tired of being marketed to as if you were cavemen?!”

Now, I can’t take credit for  progress that has been made in the meantime (and there has been some), but I can tell you that fifteen years later advertising has changed. Apparently I am not the only one to desensitize from the in-your-face booby caveman advertising because you just don’t see it so much anymore (in the streets, that is. TV is a completely different beast, so I just don't watch it).
Of course, sexism is alive and well in Italy and will not be going away anytime soon (in case you are a male chauvinist and worried about this), but other things have changed. For one thing, I feel like women (especially women with some work experience, but also young women who are just starting out) are no longer waiting for the contratto a tempo determato to fall in their lap (because it won't). Instead they are opening their own one-person-show businesses, negotiating their salaries and timetables based on their personal needs. 

If women can work on their own terms, they can also shop in places that see them as whole people. Perhaps the advertisers have woken up to this reality.

Liberation Day April 25

Tomorrow is April 25, Festa Della Liberazione, as they call it around here. A day for celebrating the fall of Mussolini and the end of Nazi occupation in Italy. Here is a little link that gives you more info. 

On a sadder note, did you know that Trieste was home to the only Nazi Concentration Camp in Italy? It is called the Risiera di San Sabba.  Definitely worth a visit if you have never been there. Surprisingly, a lot of Triestini, especially young people, have never been there.

This week is a good time to learn more about Jewish history in Trieste. Start here.  Then go here and scroll down.

Also make time to visit these museums.

Civico Museo Morpurgo (Via Imbriani, 5)
It's only open on Tuesdays, so plan ahead. 

Jewish Museum Carlo and Vera Wagner (Via del Monte, 5/7)
Explanation here. 

What's for Lunch in America?

Does the subject of conversation always have to come back to food? Sometimes it's my fault. I am often hungry during lessons because I forget to go grocery shopping (more often than I'd like to admit) and therefore don't have any convenient snacks to fill me up. If I did, my brain could move on to other things.

Thankfully, since I am the Teacher, I can steer the conversation in the direction of my desires.

"Kebab or pizza?"

"What kind of pizza?"

"Where do you take a date for a really yummy meal?

"Like, what's the address and is dinner avilable right after this class?"

This time, however, the conversation turned to me.

"What Americans have for lunch?" asks curious studente, catching me off guard.

"Hmmm. What DO Americans have for lunch?" I am buying time.

"No. What YOU have for lunch?" and I realize this is no time to review how to ask questions. There is something bigger happening here.

Do I tell them?!

"Um. Well, in a perfect world... I would have a grilled cheese sandwich (onion, yes!) and a bowl of canned tomato soup." Because that is the truth.

But I don't say it.

See, the canned soup part sounds tacky. It's, like, too American, like America before Whole Foods, before Brie Cheese made it to Wisconsin, before they started putting fresh basil on pizzas (available in participating pizzerias in college towns near you)... It is what Americans  my age still long for (but deny as much as we deny how much we love and miss tunafish in a can), and I am an Ambassador (well, not actually, but I do feel like a small-time representative of the Stars & Stripes, especially since I am expected to explain The Trump Thing and The Gun Thing almost daily and seriously? I don't get it either).

So on some level I feel like I need to present something other than the stereotype (even if I do jones for some tomato soup and a greasy grilled cheese)...

I'm going to come clean here.

The Truth is I had cheese and crackers for lunch.

And that was only because some generous kind of kitchen goddess left the cheese in the fridge at work without a nametag on it and there was an open pack of crackers leftover from some book club meeting on the table and I was starving and I went for them.

Then Denise walks in with a bottle of Regular Coke, which she never drinks, and neither do I except for at kids' birthday parties (which parents are expected to attend) but she's had a long day and I am looking for some easy empty calories to get my oomph back  so we split that baddy and oh! It tasted good!

And now I am back in class and need to find a solution to the age old question but I have no solution. The real problem, of course, is not the food itself. Not at all. It's the randomness of it all. It's how I just leave it all to chance. Nothing is worse to Italians than an Unplanned Lunch. 

Leave your weekend plans, that coveted vacation (in August, the highest of high seasons), your retirement, to the last minute, but Please, Please Plan your Lunches, Friends!

So, I need a plan B.

Or At Least plan a decent answer that doesn't start with "McD," which is what they are really expecting to hear.

Just say SALAD. Better yet, INSALATONA. That is something they can understand and you can save face.

Let's just Never reveal the truth of what we really eat. We are going to have to agree on this one, okay? (wink)

The Wild Asparagus Eye

Spring has sprung, friends. You know what that means, Doncha?

Wild asparagus hunting, you say?

Right on! Well done, you are now a Triestino.

"The conditions were just right this year," they say at the water cooler  coffee machine at the office. "Rain rain rain, sun sun sun! Just wait 'til this weekend! We are going to canvas the Carso!!"

There is a secret language and word-of-mouth-only culture surrounding wild asparagus that only the locals speak. It involves things like "recognising the right bush" and "getting there before anyone else" and having "the eye" for wild asparagus.

Monday morning break-time (which is actually the first half hour of work, between 9:00 and 9:30am) usually involves fisherman-type boasts about how "big the bunch" was from the weekend, and new secret spots discovered.

Now, I do not speak this language, and I definitely do not have THE EYE. But. I can tell you that my family went this weekend (I had to work and they decided to have fun without me) with some experts (Little Sweetie's classmates and their parents). They came home with a nice bouquet of wild asparagus (which is thin thin thin, by the way, and can be mixed up with just about any other weed in the Carso if you ask me) and a handful of ticks burrowed sweetly under Sweetie's skin (belly button, butt, shoulder-blade), but no pain no gain when it comes to Asparagus Hunting. These are small inconveniences compared to the delight of a nice frittata with wild asparagus and a spritz bianco at the end of the Asparagus Expedition...

But, can I just say something? My advice to you. The Asparagus is delicious, but the hunting seems like a lot of work. Do like I do: skip the hunting and cultivate your friendships. Asparagus Hunters are wonderful and generous people. If you are nice to them maybe they will share with you. The asparagus, I mean. For the secret locations, good luck!

Signing up for the Trofeo

I did something courageous last week. I signed up for the Trofeo di Trieste, which is a series of nine trail races around town and up in the carso. I have Always wanted to do it but felt like I needed to be in better shape to compete. I wanted to be thinner and faster and then knock everyone's socks off at race one.

Surprise suprirse...Never happened. The years continue to tick by and I just get fluffier and slower. So I decided to just sign up. I reasoned I could use the races to shame me into getting fit.

The first race was on Sunday in Basovizza. It was a 12k with about 8k of the most boring and straight trail you can imagine, not even one curve. BOOOOOOORING! The rest was a little more exciting even if there was a hill in there that kicked me in the pants pretty good.

I brought up the back pretty well, I must say. At some point I was running neck and neck with a friend of mine who has survived a stroke (hats off!!), and behind people who were about 30 years my senior. I decided to embrace the fact that I am out of shape, but I am running anyway (How do you get back into shape if you don't?).

I also had plenty of time to recognize and reflect on how many people in Trieste run these races year after year and never miss even one. There are some seriously ANCIENT runners in Trieste, and many, actually, MOST of them are kicking my ass.

Let's hope that I get my consistency on, too, and start kicking ass again, too. In the meantime, I feel very proud.

By the way, if you are interested in getting into the running life in Trieste, I highly recommend it. I have mentioned it before, but Triestini make friends through hobbies, not work. It's a great way to practice your Italian and meet new people. Italians love to run in groups, so if that is your gig, you can Always get into one of the groups that meets in Basovizza on Saturday mornings, for example, or Barcola during the week. I found they are open to new people, too. To run in the races you do have to have a medical exam and fill out specific forms, but it's Worth it.

If you are not into running, try a new sport, there are tons of groups that are willing to take you under their wing!

Oh You're Late? Me too... NOT

Here's a little cultural difference I experience all the time. I am running something like 35 seconds late and I write a message to my appointment saying "Gosh, so sorry, I may be a little late. Get there as fast as I can." The reply is always a curt "OK." There is never any added "Take your time, no problem, I'm in the office anyway" or "No worries, me too." Then I get to the appointment and the other person is like 10 minutes later than me and there is no explanation and certainly no apology upon arriving.

What is up with that?

This is in the same category as the crazy advice I got from an Italian client a few years ago who said "Never say you're sorry, for ANYTHING. The other person will always want a discount."

It's as if saying you are sorry or admitting you are late is also admitting that you are weak or you are giving your power up. Here is another example. 4 out of 5 people in a class tell me they can't make it to our last class, which is a makeup class and which is also a party. So I decide to reschedule it when more people can come.

I send the message. Here's what I get for an answer:

"OK."

And I think, how about a THANK YOU! THAT'S SO THOUGHTFUL or GREAT, HAVE A NICE EASTER!

Not so much. Well, one of them did say Happy Easter.

I will put that in my joy box.

Trail Running for Dummies

I could write that book because I am the Dummy.

Chapter 1 working title: "Sign up for an impossible run in the mountains and hope that your fear will make you run again."

The content would explain how to have your husband (who is in much better shape than you because he has a running group he runs with every weekend) sign you up for a SKY RACE (yes, that means exactly what it sounds like: RUNNING IN THE GD SKY, as in UP A FRIGGIN' MOUNTAIN for 12 kilometers and down for two!!) that will take place exactly MUCH sooner than any decent training plan can prepare you for (especially if you have done essentially no running since about, say, 2014).

Chapter 2. Run for Two Weeks and then Have Someone in the Family (not you) Catch the Flu and then Use that as a Convenient Excuse to Stop Running again COMPLETELY.

No content here, the title says it all. (Don't mention the fact that the Flu Sufferer started training again as soon as the fever went down-- besides the point).

Chapter 3.  (Guilt sets in,we must have full disclosure) Flu Sufferer Goes Back to Training, but NOT YOU!

Chapter 4. Race Day

Learn an hour before the start that the trail is completely covered in snow and that you will have to BUY and WEAR metal spikes that stretch over your running shoes or you will do the entire downhill part of the race on your BUTT.

Chapter 5. Starting place.

The group of participants is actually small enough and professional-looking enough that you will most probably finish last (which is your destiny you big fat loser!!). This is what true mountain people/ultra marathon habitués look like. Enjoy the view and get ready to fake an injury before the starting gun.

Chapter 6. Find Out They Won't Give you that Kick Ass Race Pack Unless you Actually Start the Race.

Don't play dead just yet.

Chapter 7. You May not Finish Last After All, but Please Finish!

There are a couple of slow pokes you can easily pass on the way up (walking mostly with no energy for deep complaining). The man with the prosthetic leg is ahead of you, but clearly he is an incredible athlete, so just get over it.

Chapter 8. Mountains Scare you and That is OK!

Get to the top, down some shitty cookies, slam a hot tea and start going down. Go mostly sideways, make a little squeak/scream with every slip/step. Admit that you are a flatlander, let the phony slowpokes pass you. Eat their snowy dust. Don't let it get to you.

Chapter 9. Don't Listen to the Kilometer Marker Dudes.

They always say You're Almost There!! They are totally lying. Tune them out.

Chapter 10.  Finish the Damn Thing, 

Get the hell out of town and hope you never see these people again. Take 3 ibuprofen before your legs (which have not been communicating with your brain for about 5 kilometers) even feel the pain. 

Chapter 11. Take a Red-Faced Selfie and Facebook it like you Won it!!  

The End.

Lunch and "Due Passi in Yugo"

The weekend has passed and no doubt if you are lucky enough to live in Trieste, you probably went out for lunch on Sunday in Slovenia and then out for do Passi afterwards.

It is a curious tradition that the Triestini preserve. It goes back to times before the fall of the Iron Curtain, which is evident in the language used to describe the phenomenon.

The invitation (in Trestino) sounds something like this:

A: Femo qualcossa in weekend per star assieme?

B: Volentieri. Demo fora maniar qualcossa in Yugo?

A: Va ben. Poi femo do passi.

Eating out "in Yugo" as in: the country formerly known as Yugoslavia, with friends and/or family on the weekend is going to involve some negotiation to 1) choose the right restaurant and 2) decide which border between Italy and Slovenia to meet at to be close to the destination. You will caravan together on the big day.

Choice of location is based on two things: 1) the ratio of price to quality and 2) how popular it is with Triestini. There is a direct correlation between the two. A gostilna has the best quality/price ratio as long as it is somewhat new and caters to the Italian palate yet remains unknown to the mainstream. Once too many Triestini start going (popularity is based on word of mouth), prices go up and portions go down. The trick is to get there "in time" before this happens. Curiously, once the place becomes truly popular, the Triestini no longer go there. They will have found a new place by then. Popular restaurants in Slovenia are much like free illegal parking places where you don't get ticketed in downtown Trieste, they change once too many people know about them. When the Triestini no longer go, the restaurants start to do really well. The "foreigners" keep them alive. First the people from the Veneto start coming (thanks to Tripadvisor), then the Milanesi, and finally the Germans as they pass through on their way to Croatia in the summer.

The "do passi" after lunch should not be confused with an actual healthy hike. It is short and sweet, just enough to say you went for a walk, especially since lunches in Slovenia tend to be a good excuse to stuff oneself with all forms of heavy comfort food. Actually, the smart Triestini meet 10 minutes earlier than usual for their walk so they can "earn" the gnocchi with goulash and follow it with a Lubljanska and a couple of homemade beers without feeling guilty.

If you haven't been privy to this practice and would like to start, feel free to adapt the above dialogue to fit your needs. Here is some more insight into the vocabulary you will use most often. Remember, when in Trieste, speak like the Triestini!

1. Stare assieme: Hang out and be together
2. Magnar tanto pagar poco= Poca spesa tanta resa: Cheap place with big portions/more bang for your buck
3. Far do passi= go for a walk (literally make two steps)
4. Volentieri: Gladly (in the dialogue above). Can also mean: would love to give you what you are asking for but we don't have it. Bad news if you are at a store...

Dober tek!

You call THAT a Blizzard?

 Even Rome did a better job than we did. The best WE could do was a couple of sad snowmen that didn't even have time to come to life because they melted before they could even get a hat on!

The only thing that gave me a TINY bit of solace was when my neighbor at the bus stop this morning asked me how I got home yesterday (I got a ride) because the bus back UP to San Giuseppe STOPPED RUNNING after 10:30am. At least that!

Meno male!!

Ask the Diavolo

A very stupid question I ask people when I get to know them is what their favorite pizza is. This is because I am almost always hungry and asking it gives me a good excuse to think about food.

In Italy you get a menu of about 80 varieties (give or take), which is a lot more choice than we normally have in the States, mainly because we order one big pizza and we share it. You only have so much freedom of choice when you have to negotiate with four or five different people (who almost always have strong opinions on the matter).

So this weekend I asked my students one by one what their favorite pizza was. Along with thinking about food, I am also interested in how people make decisions when there are lots of choices. I ask, and then I immediately judge them.

1. Do they decide by not deciding and always get the same?

If it's a Margarita, they are:
a. Under 10,
b. Picky eaters,
c. always on a diet,
d. risk averse
e. all the above

If it's a 4 formaggi they are:
a. Over 30
b. Like strong flavors
c. Have taken risks in the past but are finished with that now
d. are completely aware that their pizza is disastrous for their health but they "deserve" it because they work so hard.

2. Do they get the same pizza for a certain period of time and then move on to a different one?
This person also probably:

a. Reads every book by the same author before moving on to a new one
b. Is a fan of concept albums
c. Wears team colors the day their team plays
d. Is not afraid of commitment, but appreciates variety.


3. Do they purposefully get a different pizza each time?
That could mean he/she is:

a. a Risk taker
b. Respects processes
c. Loves food.
d. Gets bored easily.

4. Do they have the Pizzaiolo decide?
This person is:

a. adventurous
b. a show off
c. non-judgemental
d. has low expectations and therefore is always happy

So that's what I've got on my mind when this one girl says:

"I just love a pepperoni pizza!"

and I am like, "You would love America then, because that is one of the three pizzas that people can normally agree on."

1. Cheese pizza


2. Cheese & Sausage pizza


3. Cheese & Pepperoni pizza


But then the ex-pat in me kicked into gear and I got suspicious.

See, this girl didn't REALLY like pepperoni pizza, because, if she did, she would have said something like:

"I really love, but I don't know how you say in English, the DIAVOLA pizza. How you say... Devil Pizza?"

Because a Diavola is a cheese and pepperoni pizza (they call the pepperoni Piccante, but if that is hot for you, then, well, I probably won't invite you to my house for dinner, like ever).

So I'm like "You mean a PEPPERONI PIZZA?" and I google up an image of a DIAVOLA pizza and she's like:

NO NO NO!! NOT THAT! I MEAN THAT I REALLY LOVE PEPPERONI!

So then I have to come up with a good Equivalent in English. But there isn't one because who the hell likes Bell Peppers on their pizza?! Nobody!! Except for maybe some kook who gets the veggie pizza and they happen to throw some Green Peppers on it (which is the nastiest of the triplets, as sweet-tasting Red and Yellow Bell Peppers are nummy but completely out of place on a pizza).

Then she clarifies. "Yes, I love this pizza because the Peppers are FRIED."

And I think about it, and I want to be empathic and so I say, "Yeah, I guess I can see that, just about EVERYTHING tastes good FRIED."

And I do believe that when I say it. But then the conversation opens up and another guy (orders same pizza for 2-3 months then moves on to the next pizza) says

"If Pepperoni is Pepper, and Salamino piccante is Pepperoni, then how you say Salame?

which opens up a conundrum

Because then I'm like well there's a word called Salami, but I don't know if that is specific or if it's more like Summer Sausage.

Wait, says he. Summer sausage? You mean your cold cuts have seasons?

No, say I. I think Summer Sausage is more like you Friulani slice up and eat with polenta, and I google a picture of Summer Sausage and the class looks at me confused before Margarita girl says:

Let's just say Summer Sausage is meats in general, shall we?

What the hell do I care? I'm a vegetarian. If it's okay with the Italians, it's ok with me.