What the Irish could teach the Italians

This may come as a surprise. The Italians have, after all, given us so much: food and cooking, fashion, art…come to that, the civilised world itself began in Italy did it not! What could we possibly have to teach them? Quite a lot, as it turns out. I’ve been living south of Rome for just over a year, and far from the pages of a Catherine Fulvio cookbook it has been. Of course, there’s no denying the great weather, the wonderful produce, the wine… It’s the ordinary things that you miss and take for granted in your homeplace, the unspoken ‘rules’ that keep things civilised, or not…

It’s nice to be nice:

In Ireland those smiles (or half-smiles) we exchange as we pass a stranger, denote mutual acknowledgment and respect. In Italy this smile is replaced with a stern/blank-faced stare, and possibly a crane of the neck to fully give you the once over, if you’re lucky. They’re not actually being hostile, but it doesn’t really set the tone for a nice little chat. This stare has even more impact when executed from a car window; there you are, innocently taking the dog for a walk, when suddenly this set of eyes is searing into you momentarily, before hurtling round a bend. And you just know the stare is not because you’re devastatingly attractive.

How to have the craic:

The Italians take themselves seriously. Dressed to kill and too cool to crack a smile, they’re not often inclined to see the funny side. In fact all Italians could probably do with a night in an Irish pub as a sort of induction course to FUN. Perhaps we could make it fancy-dress to add an extra challenge. I’d just love to see an Italian in a chicken suit. In reality, all the men would come as James Bond and all the women as Marilyn Monroe. And they’d completely nail it. Grrrr.

How to cope with inclement weather:

Being accustomed to blue skies and sunshine 90% of the time, wintry weather comes as a great shock to an Italian. Last November, the heavens opened and the deluge continued for hours and days at a time, and was quite unlike the ‘bad weather’ I was used to in Ireland. But, you know, life goes on, it’s only water, it’s probably not going to kill you. Try convincing an Italian of this. They will be kitted out in full, fashionable winter/waterproof gear, their children like miniature Antarctic explorers, all fur and boots and scarves up to the eyelids. Suggest that a trip to the park with the kids might be do-able tomorrow and you’ll receive one of those legendary stares. Suggest that a walk at the coast might be nice at the weekend and you’ll be laughed out the over-heated room.

How to interpret speed signs:

The Irish, on the whole, have a reasonable appreciation that speed signs on the motorway dictate the legal maximum speed, not the minimum. The Italians continue to get this confused. Driving here is an every-man-for-himself experience, with road markings and signage being strictly optional. Take roundabouts; a relatively new addition to Italy, many people have no idea how they work so it is quite usual to get to a roundabout and find it at a momentary standstill as each driver tries to figure out whose turn it is. Or worse, an enormous Jeep cuts you up mid-roundabout, assuming the right of way is his/hers. Not much fun when you’re driving a Nissan Micra. Still, all this doesn’t stop me trying to inject a little compassion into the highway habits of this town. Alas, I recently discovered why flashing my lights at another driver to let them pass, was mostly met with inaction/confusion. Apparently, the flashing of lights is usually taken to mean “Get outta the way! I’m coming through!”

How to treat the countryside:

So the weekend finally arrives, and you take a stroll in the sunshine through the rolling Italian countryside, pausing for a moment beside a little stream, to wistfully reflect, perhaps, on what a great choice you made to move here…and before you lies an assortment of plastic, disposable tableware. Clearly somebody had a big family picnic here yesterday and forgot to take their supplies home! Such fun they were having, drinking Prosecco and playing cards! Of course, by the tenth time you’ve seen this, in a variety of beauty spots, you realise that it’s sadly unexceptional and commonplace. If a big blot on the landscape, literally. Seemingly, the use of the bin is as optional as the road signs.  Which all leads to further ponderance of that ‘great choice.’ Hmm, perhaps the jury’s still out on that one…