A fairy tale ending....?

As we drove past Milan’s impressive Medieval-style cemetery a few days ago, Sophie (being obsessed with all things Princess) shouted out “Look mummy, that’s the castle where the princess lives with the dragon!”. “Oh yes, so it is” was my reply. To which she responded “but then the prince comes and kills the dragon and the princess says thank you prince!”. Obviously, this old gem is nothing to be alarmed about, but since it’s 2014, girl-power has been around for a while, and so I thought it was worth offering an alternative ending to this slightly tired version. “OR”, I suggest, “the princess could just kill the dragon HERSELF and then she wouldn’t need the prince. What do you think?”. Sophie considers this for a minute, and concludes “OR…… she could just call the prince.” OK, I see that, at the tender age of three and a half, those classic clichéd fairytale endings are already deep ingrained, and as we go through the various stages of Cinderella and Prince Charming, Beauty and the Beast, Barbie and Ken….there will probably be little I can do to suggest that these little ladies are just as interesting and capable without their male companions ….. This got me thinking about something (perhaps quite controversial) which has been playing on my mind a lot lately, as we go back to work and school and re-haul the family budget for the nth time this year. I went to an all-girls grammar school which was what you might call “high flying” (yes, I know – I’m not a perfect representation of its usual turnout!), and where the mantra that was drummed into us on a daily basis was “you can be who you want to be, do what you want to you…”. The school motto was “wisdom giveth life”, but it might as well have been “girl power!” given the sheer amount of conviction that we were the future, the world was ours, and nobody could take that away from us. Now, I admit that many of my school peers have gone on to be doctors, lawyers and so on, and obviously these professions bring with them a certain prestige and – not to be underestimated – economic security. BUT, what bothers me is the extent to which the lifestyle, finances and social standing of every woman I know - here in Milan at least - is influenced by their husbands / boyfriends / significant others. I have a real-life example (because this blog is serious so scientific proof is obviously required!). Take the girls that work in my office. We are all around the same age, from similar backgrounds, with very similar educations and do the same job in the same place for roughly the same salary. This, however, is where the similarities end and the ENORMOUS lifestyle gaps open up. D’s husband is a company CEO. They live in a penthouse in Monza, have a cleaner and a nanny, take several holidays per year and own a second home on the Tuscan coast. K’s boyfriend is a manager in the fashion industry. They own a detached house with a big garden outside the city and spend a fortune on clothes and eating out with friends. They also spend lots of weekends away at spas or similar and so are permanently tanned and relaxed. V’s boyfriend does a fairly ordinary office job in a small-ish company. They have a two year-old and manage to make ends meet by making lots of sacrifices. The family holiday is an option only in the case that they both get their full annual bonuses, otherwise they stay at home. Finally there’s G. Her husband lost his job a few months ago and is having trouble finding something permanent to replace it. They also have a child, and G is worried that they are soon going to have trouble paying the rent and fees for their son’s nursery. It would appear that they have less than nothing left at the end of the month. So there we have it – 4 girlfriends who started the race lined up together but who appear to get ahead or fall behind as a result of the earning power of their other halves. I used to think of my friends who put “someone with money” high up on their list of requirements for a potential partner as shallow and gold-digging. Now I’m starting to think that they were definitely onto something, and that alongside “wisdom giveth life”, perhaps my girls’ grammar school should also have taught us that “husband giveth money and husband taketh away”. Or maybe I should start teaching Sophie that it’s fine to call the Prince to slay the dragon, but make sure you do a credit check on him first……

Sintesi

I thought it might be time for a quick round-up of current events - also as an excuse for my poor blogging of late....

1. I had a car accident on the tangenziale di Milano 2 weeks ago and pretty much wrote my car off. It's still being repaired.

2. The very same morning, Luca came off his bike 100 metres from our apartment, because of a typical stordito local driver who wouldn't know an indicator if it hit him in the face. The bike is destroyed and Luca has 10 stitches in each leg.

3. We picked up the keys to our new apartment and started painting the master bedroom (me on the ladder, Luca on a stool with his leg up)

4. We bought a car (to replace the bike) and discovered just how much paperwork and expense is involved in what should be a simple process....

5. My best friend split up from her boyfriend after 6 years together

How's that for action?? Not to mention the heavy workload in the office til 7pm every night, packing of all our worldly goods into cardboard boxes and all of the other random everyday tasks that seem to get longer and more complicated with each day that goes by.....

Mamma mia!!! And it's only Monday!! Ce la faremo???

M'am, why are you still talking to me?

It’s Thursday evening and my friend / colleague K is returning from a 3-day work trip to Athens. As she waits in the baggage claim area at Malpensa airport, she notices that the girl standing next to her, speaking Italian to a group of guys, has a strong American accent. She is about to strike up conversation when her bag arrives, and so, being in a bit of a rush to jump in a taxi and get home, she picks up her bag and heads for the exit. Following a quick trip to the bathroom, she is out in the daylight and heading for the taxi rank. K has lived in Milan for 5 years now, and regularly passes through Malpensa so she automatically knows which way to head and where to wait in order to beat the rush. Dodging through the smokers and rowdy groups of families, she notices the American girl from her flight looking around as if lost and confused, and so K (being the friendly soul that she is) approaches the girl. The exchange goes like this:

K: “Hi, do you need a taxi? Can I help you?”

Silence.

K: “Hey, sorry, were you looking for a cab, because if so you need to go to the front of the cab line”

Silence.

K (confused):”Ummm… can you hear me?”

Girl (in an aggressive tone) : “Why are you talking to me?”

K: “Sorry, I thought you might need some help getting a taxi”

Girl (even more aggressive): “I don’t need your help. I LIVE HERE! And you probably don’t even speak the language!”

K: “Jeez, I was only trying to be friendly and actually I do speak the language - I’ve lived here for five years”

Girl: “I don’t need your help – I have a voucher for 80 euros which will get me anywhere in Milan”

K: “Errr, I think you’ll find that 80 euros is the flat rate whether you have a voucher or not”

Girl (in a really rude tone): “M’am, why are you still talking to me?”

K (now very angry and offended at the ‘m’am’ comment): “Why are you so mean?!”

Girl: “I still don’t know why you’re talking to me”

K: “Wow. I was only trying to help you! Just one more thing before I go… I feel really sorry for you! Have a nice day.”

And with that, K marches to the front of the taxi line, gets in the first waiting cab and leaves the mean girl, still looking dazed and confused on the pavement.
Since the UK / US expat community in Milan is relatively small, I would like to launch an appeal. If anyone knows the super bitch who travelled from Athens to Malpensa on the evening of Thursday 9th April, or if you ARE the super bitch, let it be known that this is NOT the way to treat people – especially strangers who are just trying to be friendly and helpful to a fellow citizen. Grrrrrrrrrr.

Strike it not so lucky (part two)

Tomorrow there's yet another General Strike:

Trains
Buses
Trams
Planes
Boats
Fire-fighters (!)
Healthcare workers
State workers

So, this post leaves you with a book recommendation to be getting on with (literally a bit behind The Times but worth it if you've not got around to reading it yet) whilst I sit on the blog picket line in protest over the lack of transport and public services.

Happy Friday everyone!!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2003/08/03/books/review/03HOWER.html?ex=1224302400&en=9825995e4521b7b8&ei=5070

The grass is (not) always greener

Let’s get something clear. I know I moan. I know I constantly berate Milan and all that it has (n’t) to offer. I know I constantly go on about how I would rather be on a beach in Sardinia than stuck in traffic on the Tangenziale Est. Who wouldn’t?
As I sit in my office looking out over Lambrate station, surrounded by high-rise apartment buildings, with the constant hum of the ring road and the occasional roar of a plane taking off from Linate airport, it is easy to allow the smog on the horizon to cloud my vision of why I came to this area, and why I stay.
Firstly, I am well aware that I could never do the job I do if I wasn’t here in Milan. Whilst it has its drawbacks, I do really like the fact that I work for a multi-national organisation which is pretty much a pioneer in its sector. I have a reasonable level of responsibility, get on really well with my colleagues (some have become my closest friends), and take home a salary / bonus / car which I could never achieve elsewhere in Italy. I know that the first thing that I would miss should I go back to the quiet life would be intellectual conversation, or even just the banter in which you can engage as you drink your morning coffee, with like-minded individuals of similar ages and backgrounds. I also LOVE that we have a little group of mother-tongue English speakers so when the Italians get too…well, Italian…. we can reminisce about people and places far away!
The new apartment is (as I’ve said before) right at the foot of the hills which begin with the Oltrepò Pavese (miles and miles of sprawling vineyards and hilltops farms), and continue down towards the Apennines of Emilia Romagna. The Ligurian coast is one hour away (it’s not Porto Cervo but it’s not Birmingham either), as are the lakes to the north of Milan. Another important factor is infrastructure, healthcare, and all of those little things which seem to become more important as time goes by (even at the age of 28!). Here you can be (reasonably) sure of high standards of medical care, and what the hell – Switzerland is only an short car ride away if necessary! My USB internet connection works absolutely everywhere, and there is a proliferation of cultural and artistic events on offer, not to mention a year-round choice of places to eat, drink and be generally merry.
These are all little things which I remember longing for when I lived full-time in Sardinia (particularly in the depths of winter when not even the occasional warm sunny day could make up for the complete lack of ANYTHING to do other than appreciate the weather….)

So, all things considered, I’m almost tempted to say that it’s not so bad. I have a place across the water which I can hop across to as and when, and which I appreciate so much more for the fact that going there is now a novelty and not the norm. In the meantime I’ll be making the most of my current location, enjoying the friendships and opportunities I have here, and later in the year- with a little bit of luck and some careful preparation – will be unveiling a plan which might just turn things around for good….

I said in my last post that something needed to change. It was probably my attitude.

Commute

Having spent the past year and a half living a five minute drive from my office, I am now back to living the commuter life, and - mamma mia - it’s a shock to the system. When I first arrived in Northern Italy, I lived for nine months in Bergamo, which is only 40 kilometres from Milan, but on the slowest train line in the western world, so I had a two-hour round trip each day and permanent dark circles under my eyes. I had arrived from a three-year experience in Sardinia, where I drove everywhere and made time everyday for a dip in the sea. Not surprisingly, it took me a very long time to get accustomed to the city commute, and having had a two year break, the past few days have served as a reminder as to why I moved to the centre of Milan in the first place…
I’m not a morning person for a start. My ideal sleep routine is from 2 am to 10am – and I know this to be true because whenever I have a period of time where I don’t have to go to bed or get up at any particular time, this is the routine which my body automatically adopts. Hearing the alarm at 6:40 is not fun at all. I have to say, however that I find the train journey itself rather relaxing. Much as my classic English personality generally steers me away from situations involving close body contact with sweaty Italians with particularly sharp elbows, once the initial dash to the station and fight for a seat is over, it’s nice to be able to lean against the headrest and have a nap or get into a good book. The downside is that when there are strikes or delays, there’s nothing you can do except be inconvenienced, and you have to fall in with Trenitalia’s timetable – bad news for the colleagues who seem to get a kick out of staying in the office until eight o’clock, attempting to drag you down with them. I tried the car alternative on Monday and Tuesday, but spent an average of three hours completing the round trip on both days, such is the chaos to be found on any road that leads into, out of, or around Milan at pretty much any time of day. One thing I do like about train travel is that you get to observe the world around you, listen to people’s conversations and people-watch without fear of recrimination. The closely-packed seats and over-crowding can even turn into a learning experience, even if my most profound example so far was spotting the exact shoes that I want this morning, and asking their owner where she bought them. OK, so it’s not learning in the most academic sense, but at least it passes the time…..

Emergency!

There’s obviously not enough drama going on at the moment, what with the new house, the bank, work etc. I think we need some more. Last night, hanging out at Luca’s bar, just as they were preparing to close for the day, I hear an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream like something from a horror film from the courtyard out the back. And then another – literally as if someone had been murdered, followed by shrieks of “AIUTO!! AIUTO!!”. Adrenaline shooting through my body, I run through the kitchen, followed closely by Luca and his colleague Paolo, to find Luca’s sister-in-law, Patrizia, clutching baby Maddalena to her, with a blood-soaked sponge pressed to Maddi’s forehead. Still screaming, she removes it to reveal a deep cut, pouring with blood and mixing with Maddi’s tears to produce a bloody puddle on the courtyard floor. I freeze, Luca grabs some paper towels, and Patrizia stands there, screeching like a murder victim. Hearing the chaos, Luca’s mum races through the kitchen (in my mind in slow motion), shrieking “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”, grabs the baby and hurtles out of the gate and up the road, in the direction of the nearby hospital, with Patrizia chasing alongside, wailing like a banshee and dragging three year-old Carolina behind her – also wailing. At that moment, there is a huge clap of thunder, and the skies open as if someone had turned on a tap.
The whole scene lasted no more than 5 seconds.
It took half an hour and two-and-a-half proseccos just for my heart-rate to return to normal. 45 minutes later, Luca’s mum, brother and little Carolina stroll back into the bar as if nothing had happened, Carolina stating quite matter-of-factly that “Maddi had a bobo because she wanted her Koala and slipped all on her own”. Everyone goes back to work, and I am left pale and light-headed, wondering just how they do it.
And that was Thursday.

O-Key D'Oh-Key

Following on from all of my banking woes, I finally took action and filed a claim for 260 euros which I have been overcharged over the course of the past year. Having made an official complaint to the bank manager, and written a letter to the claims department, I then relaxed, under the impression that I would have NO MORE PROBLEMS.
Oops. I forgot that the cardinal rule in Italy is never to relax.
Having lost my wallet, and therefore all of my credit cards in a rather embarrassing incident, which you can read about further down the page, I was assured by Banca Intesa that my brand new bancomat (debit card) and accompanying PIN code would both be with me in 10 working days. This seemed like a lot at the time, but hey – we all know that Italy is an inefficient country, so you just have to take a deep breath and move on. However, bring Banca Intesa-Sanpaolo into the situation and all bets are off.
On the eleventh working day, I went to check my online account and was informed by a pop-up message that the “O-Key” code generator is now mandatory, and that without it I would not be able to log on. In order to get hold of the O-Key, I would need to go to my branch (bear in mind every trip means a missed lunch break and 10 points on my blood pressure), so I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and get my O-Key and brand spanking new bancomat at the same time.
35 minutes after arriving, I get to the counter and the woman informs me that for the O-Key I have to go upstairs and stand in a different line. OK, fine – deep breath. So I ask for my bancomat. Miraculously it has arrived. The woman takes at least 15 minutes to issue it to me, as they have apparently just had a new system installed and are having a few problems – deep breath. I ask about my PIN. She asks her colleague. The colleague asks another colleague, and a fourth completes the circle, informing me that I should use my old PIN as the card is a replacement, not a new issue. It seems strange to me so I question it and the woman’s response is “You are a bit too precise. You’re starting to confuse me. Use your old pin,” DEEP BREATH.
I go upstairs and wait in line to see my old buddy Massimo (the guy who effectively owes me 260 euros). At my turn, I tell him I need my O-Key, and he looks startled. He calls the manager over. She looks at me with a pitying look, and they put their heads together. No, not that way… Ummmm….. Er….. Non ho capito….. Try this….. OK, try that….. Try putting the tax code in again…… What about….. “Sorry, we can’t issue you with the key because we don’t understand how the new system works” is Massimo’s conclusion. I complain that this is not acceptable, he starts to yell and I have to tell him to stop shouting at me. The manager scuttles away with her tail between her legs. I leave the bank, minus O-Key, plus 25 blood pressure points, and go drink a prosecco with my colleagues, who have ordered, waited, eaten, drank coffee and smoked a cigarette each in the time that I have spent at the bank.
I’m not finished.
I get to the cash point after work, following my gut instinct that I would be a fool to go straight to the supermarket with no cash, on the promise that my pin would work, and guess what….. it doesn’t.
Twelfth working day of cash-flow crisis, and I head back to the bank (I swear that sooner or later they’re gonna lock me between the 2 security doors and leave me there….) and very calmly explain that my old pin didn’t work, so could I have a new one please. Much head shaking and conferring later, and their conclusion is “the new pin must be in the post, and there’s nothing we can do if it gets lost by the Post Office”.
It’s now working day 14 ( almost 3 calendar weeks), and I am still without a pin to go with my card. In the meantime, my English credit cards made their way from London to my parents’ house in Felixstowe, sat there for 3 days, and then travelled the 1000 miles to Milan, arriving at my office 3 days later. I’m off to the bank in about 10 minutes. I may be a while….