Of all the difficulties, the one that surprised me was an inability to understand the amount the cashier says when checking out at a store, restaurant, etc. Numbers are second nature to me when reading or speaking but, as with all of my listening skills, my comprehension is lacking. Hearing “dicianovequarantacinque” isn’t the same as reading €19,45 and intuitively speaking that glob of words in your head. It’s not that much a necessary skill: when was the last time someone mis-charged you at checkout? And at every place except at a caffè I use a credit card where: the cashier says something, I hover my card over the ))) little radar symbol, and finally they shove a long piece of paper at me. Voila, my four bottles of wine are on their way home (I am of course kidding, I don’t have to pay that much for four bottles of wine).
Well it may have taken me a month to get here but I can finally understand. (Me: “I can COUNT!”. Everyone, patting me on the head: “…”).
As I was walking out of the apartment elevator the day I arrived, I met my neighbor Georgio. A wonderful older gentleman who speaks mostly Italian but some English. We greeted, I was a little roughed up from travels, and he quickly offered his help if I needed anything in the future. How the Genoese people became known as unapproachable–an epithet I’d heard twice–I have no idea. We’ve met a couple of other times since then. He owns another apartment directly below me that is in the early stages of being renovated. Workmen were expected to hang the new shutters and, for safety, he want to string a cord outside one of the windows in my apartment so they could use it as a safety harness for the shutters. There’s a hook (gancio) just outside the living room window that we threaded it through. Later, he showed me the apartment, filled with older furniture, an old record player cabinet very large and probably from the 50s, boxes throughout, standing shelves with boxes, and some stacks of books distributed without obvious intent.
We spoke some (whenever I say I spoke, understand how very limited that is) and I explained how I was just that day searching online for a simple book detailing the history of Genoa. I’ve tried to start conversations elsewhere with semi-useful questions as prompts. At stores for items I couldn’t find and that maybe I knew they were unlikely to have, at a museum regarding other events that are scheduled, or with Serena for general nonsense. Most people are polite and excited to help this inexpressive foreigner, others… well, a little unapproachable. I asked Serena about where to find messenger bags and she was puzzled and simply replied “Amazon” (I clarified my interest in digging through the city’s local shops and I think she understood though I think I still puzzle her a bit just generally.).
I realize now it may have seemed like I was hinting inappropriately, but as soon as I spoke of the history book Georgio went digging through the stacks. His wife is deceased, I’m not sure for how long, and she had collected a range of those books that were distributed throughout. One stack had books on: skiing, a history of the Arabian peninsula, another history book if I’m remembering, and some science fiction paperbacks of which the only author I recognized was E.C. Tubb (I read one of his books from the 3rd batch of pulp sci-fi I purchased several years back). And now added to my library through the kindness of widower Georgio is a history book and an E.C. Tubb I may be able to read. I promised him (gli ho promesso) that I’d return them before I returned to the states at the beginning of November, but he of course insisted that they were not in my possession. Again, the Genovese are so nice!
I knew of the Italian fumetti heroine Valentina for a while but became more aware after researching the Barbarella books and finding Valentina referenced frequently as “the Italian Barbarella”. A little unfair because it suggests her as a lesser achievement when they were both born around the same time. Reading Diabolik and Julia I wanted to dig into more Italian fumetti and Valentina was the natural next choice. Dylan Dog is also very popular and like Julia is long-running and still active (and sounds like a lot of fun), but possibly because of the Barbarella-adjacency, possibly because of his adept ink-work, and possibly because of the sexuality, I went with Valentina. Also like Barbarella the many many different and stylish releases are a collector’s dream. The seven pastel-spined books in my library above, at the left, are the 1994 Blue Press editions that cover the first six years in their entirety, plus a couple of additional stories. Like my luck with many of my Barbarella purchases I found the set of all seven for the price of what one usually goes for.
I am obsessed now with the different releases but will probably only create a site based on the web framework I created for The Barbarella Library and will not start collecting. I just can’t right now. Budget, man. Budget.
I found the set on the Ebay-ish site subito.it (immediately! Good name.) but In order to get them I needed to have an Italian/European phone number. I thought that I had to go to a TIM store so looked for that and found what was not that. They sold SIMs which was all I needed (my phone doesn’t support eSIM) so after my initial look of confusion one of the directed me to take a number to wait to solve my SIM-related quandary. Odd fact: you need a visa to get a SIM. Is that normal? And as an international flex I just purchased a Samsung Galaxy A3 so I don’t need to swap out SIMs. It’s my burner that’s not really a burner and that runs Android from eight years ago and that probably won’t get used at all. Still a flex.
I remember from a podcast I used to listen to was that one way Italians spot foreigners is that they wear short-sleeve shirts. Though there were a wealth of other fashion-related reasons. (The podcast was entertaining at first but then got grating as the hosts became vain in that micro-famous-podcast-host manner). Over the past week or plus it has gotten into the upper teens (low 60s) and just before I arrived temperatures were in the 30s (low 90s). While still in Atlanta I asked Serena if I was going to die when I got there. She affirmed without hesitation that my death would be quick. When the temperature inverted I was unprepared but am now in possession of the necessary wardrobe to maybe fit in. Although now they’re wearing heavy jackets completely unnecessary for the weather so I’m not quite there. It reminds me of when we spent the week in the Dominican Republic and were talking with a local early in the morning. It was morning-cool out (upper-60s?) and he was shivering as if stranded amidst the tundra while we were in shorts. Yep. Takes all kinds.
Again, Fridays I try to do a local thing before work. It can be low-key or whatever, just get out and see the city in some way. Well last Friday it was to Pallazo Spignolla e Galleria Nazionale Liguria.
When I was studying Siennese artist from the 1400s/1500s I fell in love with the early Renaissance religious art (ok, so there wasn’t any other type). What enchanted me were the colors, the segmented formality of the scenes, and wonderful landscapes that exist unimportantly/importantly in the background. Sometimes I’ll only look at those landscapes. They’re Polaroids: mundane yet more important than the photographer thought they’d be. Or: important in a much different way. This is what those artist felt of nature and they inserted it into the only art they could produce. There are often people in the fields, on the meandering roads, fishing in the streams that flow down that painting. They’re like Thomas Kinkade’s but they don’t suck and actually express sincere emotion. While leaving, after noting a room with a baby grand (? maybe larger) piano, I asked the docent (always ask questions!) if there were concerts and if so when. Si! This Wednesday and every Wednesday for October called Autunno a Spinola. I made my plans but it wasn’t until later that I realized I had to take a day/half-day off in order to go. I work `12-22 or so, concerts are at 17. Worth it. Some things are never different no matter your country and, I hate that that rule applies here, but at a classical music concert 90% of the people will be over 60. (Unlike me who is not yet). I’d read recently that your perception of your ages stops at 35 and you imagine you are that old no matter the interaction. Actual 35-year-olds or younger absolutely know it’s not true. But you don’t.
Anyway. Everyone at the concert was waaaaay older than me.
I now have a year’s subscription to both la Repubblica and Corriere della Sera. Both had one of those €1/month deals and so you bet I have an alert in my calendar a week before that goes down. But I also have access to an unfiltered view of Italian media (as approved by Italian corporations, but I still don’t know how hellish it is in relationship to the American/Australian/British/Murdoch version). These are two, as I understand it, center-left papers that in America-speak means they promote Stalinist Postmodernism, free love, and force you to read Derrida.
I went to see a special exhibition of a Genovese artist from the late 1800s early 1900s named Giovanni Quinzio. The exhibit is L’Ottocento dei Quinzio tra realismo e colore. Acquarelli, bozzetti, dipinti, sculture and I’ve discovered that he has no Wikipedia entry. This must change. Showcased were his and his sons’ studies for frescos, done in watercolor, ink, pencil, and oil. It was at Palazzo Rosso, one of three neighboring museums called Muesi di Strada Nuova which also includes Palazzo Bianco and Palazzo Doria-Torsi. Rosso was the residence of a wealthy Brignole family in the 1700s; Bianco holds the main art gallery; Doria-Torsi has decorative arts of the period. (I just bought an annual ticket for all museums in Genoa).
I fluctuate between feeling like I’ve see a lot and feeling like I’m not taking advantage of the city at all and am being a lazy guest. There is no inbetween.
Carmen Consoli dropped a new album on the 3rd. Lisa arrives just before the end of this month and we have tickets for her show in Bologna before we both return to the States. I’ll have another month of experience and will have either seen more, not enough, or will have lost the ability to count change.
