A candid look at the Rotert family as we learn to navigate Italian life.
Heidi spent some time tutoring a friend in English this afternoon. We have been having some unusually warm weather lately. Heidi’s friend commented on how strange the weather was, and explained that she had heard several older people saying that they feel like an earthquake is coming. I have no clue how those two things are connected, but I suppose time will tell. Yikes!
We had the pleasure (!) of experiencing an earthquake this weekend. Heidi has felt a small one before, but this was the first one where both of us looked at each other and knew what was going on. It only lasted ten seconds or so, but was eye-opening for sure. No damage to anyone or anything.
Read about here in english, or here in Italian - for the brave! Just one of the fun parts about living in Italy!
Today I found myself with some extra time between a couple of appointments, so I decided to take a stroll through the open air market. Every morning about 20-30 vendors set up tents and tables along a certain street. I don’t go their often, but today I noticed that suddenly everyone was selling winter items. Sweaters, big coats, scarves, mittens - no more swimming suits and flip-flops.
It’s an interesting experience. The vendors yell out their little catch phrases: “Good quality! Low prices!” … “Real leather” … “Must go” … that kind of thing. In between customers they take time to greet friends as well as the other vendors. It’s really a community “watering hole” of sorts, were people (mostly ladies) go to catch up and see what’s going on with so and so.
About 6 or 7 in the evening, they pack up their stuff, take down the tents, and take it all to their storage units. The street cleaners come by at night to clean up, and it’s like the whole thing never happened.
More schoolhouse drama! Last weekend our daughter brought home a note from school. There was a meeting planned on Monday to discuss “the recent problems with the projects.” A puzzling note. Heidi inquired around Monday morning. One mom said, “It’s about chess. We have to be united.”
In Italy, 27 hours of the school week are devoted to the main subjects (reading, math, etc.). Three hours are devoted to “projects” - special things like music, art, and (for the first time this year), chess. However, each project much be approved by all of the parents - 100% approval - in order to pass. The vote for chess was 18 parents in favor, 4 opposed.
So the teacher brought us all together to work out our differences. She had heard that there are parents that are mad at each other, and wanted to fare la pace. She claimed that she had no agenda and didn’t care one way or the other if chess passed or not (though her glowing reviews of the benefits of chess helped me to see where she really stood). She then turned the discussion over to us.
And that’s when the yelling began. Those in favor of chess were upset that a small minority could overrule the wishes of the majority. However, the law says (there are laws for such things?!) it must be 100% or nothing. We all agreed that this law should be changed, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. Those opposed to chess were upset because if they vote “no” we’re just going to call a meeting and try and get them to change their minds anyway. Phrases like “false democracy” were used.
Both sides had valid points. But I could not for the life of me figure out why everyone was so angry! I think I’m a pretty involved parent, but I really just don’t care very much if chess passes or fails. And perhaps the most unsatisfying part of the whole meeting - we couldn’t revote. The votes must be secret and there was no way to assure that secrecy in the meeting. So if anyone wanted to change their vote, they couldn’t unless they spoke privately with the teacher later. Such a let down to get all riled up and we couldn’t even change anything!
I think I learned a little bit about the Italian culture. But I think the meeting brought up more questions than answers!
We had a little bit of craziness in Ancona yesterday. Around 11:30 AM a water main broke. The break was near one of the main intersections in town. In addition to around 1/5 of the population of Ancona being without water (around 20,000 people) traffic was backed up for Kilometers going in and out of the city. The eventually had to close one of the tunnels going to downtown because there was just too much traffic.
The police went around with megaphones telling people where water tanks would be set up, but there was still a run on water at all the stores. Even though the news listed our street as one of the streets without water, we’ve had water the whole time. Our teammates weren’t so lucky, so we ended up making dinner for everybody last night.
As of this morning, it sounds like most of the water is back on. And they’ve assured us it is safe to drink, even if it’s a little “red.” Gross.
Today was the first parent’s meeting for Trey’s school. And at the first meeting of the year, by law, the class must elect a class representative. This person is supposed to be the liaison between the parents and the teachers. But in reality they just collect money for field trips. Apparently, there are actual laws governing the election process.
At the very beginning of the meeting, one of the teachers explained that they needed a volunteer to watch the ballots. The voting would be open from the end of the meeting until 7 PM. But one volunteer wouldn’t cut it. They needed two. The second person to volunteer ended up not being able to because she had served (at one time) as a class representative. So we waited in awkward silence for a third volunteer. Oh - and a teacher cannot watch the ballot boxes. Conflict of interest, apparently.
Then, we take nominations, and the nominees must be on the list of parents provided by the school district.
Next, we all head into the voting room, where there are three big boxes. One for each class. Sitting nearby are the two volunteers, who have everyone sign the roll next to their name (I noted that they weren’t checking ID, though there was a space on the roll sheet to check when we present our ID). Then, they hand us a secret ballot, where we write in our candidate’s name. Fold the ballot in half, put it in the box, and you’re done.
I have to confess - I really don’t have a clue who I voted for. There was so much chaos during the nomination process that the poor foreigner (me) didn’t have a chance of hearing the names. So I peeked at the ballot of the person in front of me and voted for the same person.
Tomorrow we’ll find out the nail-biting results of the neck and neck race. But since there was only one nominee, I think I can probably guess.
My team leader, Jason, graciously is letting me use his scooter while he is away in the states. Scooters are a very popular mode of transportation here. Parking is always free, and I paid €?3 in gas last month. It’s a good deal.
Today, I took the bold step of deciding to take the scooter to some slightly out-of-town stores. I needed to return some things, and since each stop would only take a few minutes, I really didn’t feel like waiting on the out-of-town buses. So I hopped on the scooter and off I went.
I wasn’t exactly on a highway. In Italian it would be called a secondary, out-of-town road. It was legal for me to be on it, but man were those cars passing me in a hurry. The top speed of the scooter is about 60 KMH (37 MPH) on a flat road, and it just couldn’t keep up. I especially liked it when the truck passed me in my lane while we were on an overpass. I kind of peeked over and thought, “I’m just one pothole away from flying off the overpass.”
Next time, I’m taking the bus.
The kids were sent home with a note from school yesterday advising us of a teacher’s strike planned for next Friday. I was actually kind of surprised that they gave out notice. The wording of the note was kind of funny.
First, it mentioned that the mayor has approved the strike. I didn’t realize that you had to have permission to strike, but apparently you can’t even strike here without going through the proper bureaucracy!
Second, the note “strongly urged” us to accompany our kids all the way to the door of the school, in case there is a strike. Thus avoiding a bunch of kids stuck outside all day because their parents drove off too quickly.
And third, our youngest kid’s teacher winked as she handed us the note and said, “Don’t worry about it. We never strike.” So what’s the point of a strike if they never actually do it?
There are some things about Italian culture that you just have to be Italian to understand.
We took a quick trip to Perugia this weekend to visit some good friends there. On the way home, at the train station where we had to change trains, a man came up to me. He looked scared, and he sort of gestured to me towards the train tickets he held in his hand.
I looked down and saw where he was trying to go. I realized that he had no idea what he needed to do. I asked him several questions in English and Italian, but it was all lost on him. I took him over to the schedule, and found the track where he needed to be. However, they had made an announcement over the loudspeaker that they had changed the track, but since he didn’t understand, he probably stood at the wrong track and watched his train leave without him.
I finally figured out he was from Pakistan (the only word he used with me). I took him to the ticket window, which was already closed. I went to the computer to see if there was another train. I talked with the guys working in the control center. He had missed the last train of the night. So I had to explain to him that he needed to wait 2 hours for a bus, that would take him to another station. Then, he had to get on a train at that station to get to where he was going.
I sat him down in an area where he could see the bus, held up 2 fingers to symbolize how long he needed to wait, and pretended like I was driving a bus.
The thing that really struck me was how scary that situation would be. Coming from a country where public trains barely exist, I understand how confusing the system is to the uninitiated. Missing the last train of the night would be awful. Finally, I boarded my train, and prayed for him to get to where he was going safely.
This morning I had nothing on my calendar except for one thing - my written driver’s exam. Unfortunately American licenses aren’t valid after one year of residency here. I am a little ahead of schedule, but figured I might as well get it over with.
Here, you have to attend driving school. So I attended class a few times a week. It was actually good language learning for me - a whole new set of vocabulary that I hadn’t ever learned. However, they recently changed the test to include other languages besides Italian. Since I’m a chicken, I decided to take the test in English. Since each time you take the test it costs €?50, I didn’t want to flunk because there was a word I hadn’t ever heard of.
British English is what everyone here means when they say English, which is really pretty different from American English. “In Britishen” (as Lance says) a verge is a shoulder, a motorway is a freeway, and a carriageway is a lane (I think). So even though the test was in English, I had to pay close attention to make sure I didn’t goof up something dumb because the word was different from what I’m used to.
But I passed! My driving instructor drove me to the office (they are required to attend), and waited while I took the fancy-shmancy touch screen test. He gave me the good news and took me home.
Now I have to pass the driving test, which should be easy since I’ve been driving in America for a while!