Israel: Capernaum and the Jordan River

(this little town is on the north end of the Sea of Galilee)

This is where Jesus taught, among other things, the great sermon in St John 6.

More of the original city:

Another stop later in the day at the Sea of Galilee, for some wading...

And a ride on the so-called "Jesus Boat": a small ship constructed after the typical boats of Jesus' time. We sailed around the calmest lake I've ever been on and in the meantime, our young captains enthusiastically hoisted the American flag and blared the anthem at top volume. Then they did the same for us Canadians. In the middle of the lake they also roped our two boats together and taught us all how to dance the "Haveh Nagileh."

It was all a bit surreal, considering the history of the place.

And finally:

where you, too, can be baptized for only 10 euro (video is extra)

Israel

First stop (after three days of sailing from Venice):

It was about an hour and a half drive to this spot:

the Sea of Galilee (which is actually a lake)

and

one of the traditional sites of the Mount of Beatitudes

I hadn't thought much about the "religious tourism" market, but it's alive and thriving!

blessed are those who don't...

"unkeep", awesome

a church built on the site

decipher these Beatitudes, if you can

overall, a beautiful site.

Venice: the upgrade

I was kind of already living a dream life before the Venice rendezvous.

Then, in early October, my dad said, “Instead of just meeting me and your aunt and grandma there before we go on our cruise, why don’t you come on the cruise with us?”

A chance to spend two weeks visiting Israel, Egypt and Turkey? With a bunch of relatives (including great-aunts and uncles) who are interesting even if they’re “golden-aged”? The answer is: YES!!

everyone's as friendly as they look!

My grandma, who celebrated her 90th birthday on board. Sure hope I look that good at her age!

I’ve got to say, Venice is one of those few places that actually lives up to its hype. It’s a magical city.

 More pictures here.

a winter day

This afternoon a two-hour lesson got cancelled at the last minute. With the unexpected free time I thought, well, maybe I should go into school and get caught up on some work. Then I had a much better idea. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and I was right near the train station, so I decided to take a train down the coast to try and find a new gelateria!

It was highly recommended by one of my students, and the path he described to get there was the best kind of treasure hunt. "Follow Corso Italia [the wide pedestrian walkway beside the sea] until the end, where you'll find a little church. Don't follow the road up, but take the path that goes down. There will be some stairs, and then just before the beach you'll find a tiny little gelateria on the left. If you go a bit further, you'll see another, bigger one, but DON'T go there because it's not as good!"

Shockingly, I was able to find the place without any difficulty (practically a first for an Italian address!). I got myself three scoops (cinnamon, a special Sicilian pastry-flavour and something called pancetta -- I don't know what it is either). Then I found a nice spot in the sun on the nearby, tiny beach. I shrugged off my heavy coat and sat in my shirt-sleeves for an hour with a book and not the most amazing gelato in Italy, but it isn't really that important if it brings you to this kind of perfect experience.

my (legal) drug

It's official: I am addicted to the internet. I've just come out on the other side of an imposed two-week hiatus (breakdown of home network; cause unknown) and it's no coincidence that for that same period I was cranky and irritable to the point of misanthropy. I couldn't have it when I woke up nor before I went to bed; I was bumming it off friends; I was spending every minute thinking about how I would get my next fix.....and now, with the glorious restoration, I'm back to mainlining.

Yikes.

Anyway, while I get my act back together, I'm posting for your reading pleasure a fascinating article from the Huffington Post on the so-called "last taboo" for adults...which ties in nicely with my previous comments on feeling the need to "earn" pleasure.

Thoughts on laundry, pleasure and umbrellas

Dryers don’t exist here. But I’ve found that I enjoy the meditative aspects of hanging each item of clothing on the line. Of course it takes longer, but there’s something about simplifying, using what Mother Nature provides for free without any adverse effects. It’s nice. You feel good.
 

Also: hanging laundry comes with an adrenaline rush! My heart beats faster when I lean out the window, 6 stories up, with my favourite shirt in hand, consigning it to the winds and only a thin rubber-enclosed wire. My new house is not well-stocked with clothespins (mollette), so I can use only a risky one per item (I’d feel better with 7 or 8).

And I have a lot to learn about pinning techniques. While I hang my clothes evenly divided, half on each side of the line, for security, those courageous Italians pin their clothes only at the top. That’s a level of daring I’m not ready for yet!

Theoretically, of course, it wouldn’t be that difficult to retrieve anything that might fall to the ground floor. If it doesn’t get blown away, and there’s no feisty dog, and if I can make myself understood in Italian. But that’s a conversation I would like to avoid; it’s a matter of pride. “Silly American,” they would say [because all English speakers who aren’t British must be American], “can’t even hang on to her clothes!”

* * *

As an industrious Canadian I’ve always meted out pleasure for myself in small doses. And only after a hard day’s or week’s work.

It’s quite an idea, being here and considering that the enjoyment of leisure might not have to be earned.

Perhaps even the concept that pleasure is deserved is anathema to this way of life. Resting, walking by the sea, having an espresso with friends, it’s all as natural and a necessary part of living as buying groceries.

* * *

Once I came home and accidentally did something terrible.

When my normally-easygoing roommate approached me with a grave look on her face, she looked so upset that it struck fear into my heart. She took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how much BAD LUCK you’ve brought into this house??” she demanded, pointing to the wet umbrella I’d left on the floor, open, to dry.

“Uh, no, gee, I’m sorry...what...?” I stammered. She seemed to mellow a bit when she realized I hadn’t deliberately conspired to bring the forces of hell against her.

Christmas holidays in Genova

(In Europe, Santa gets creative)

What you might experience if you were in Genova in December 2010:

- panettone-flavoured gelato at the local artisanal gelateria (panettone being a fantastic sweet Christmas bread filled with nuts and candied fruit)

can't get enough of this stuff

- the local 65-year-old lady accordion busker playing Jingle Bells

- illegal Africans trying to sell knockoff Vuitton bags on the main shopping streets, jostling among the well-off

- a giant Christmas tree in the main piazza, and, if you’re there at the right time, Perry Como’s “O Come, All Ye Faithful” purring from speakers nearby

- a little cafe called Barbarossa, with a statue of Elvis in front and four menu pages devoted to different kinds of hot chocolate, so thick you can stand a spoon in it

- protest upon strike upon protest regarding highly controversial reforms to the university system

- midnight mass on Christmas Eve, where the biggest cathedral in town is jammed full of people and the fragrant notes of the organ music and the incense waft into the air

- burnt brownies baked by friends who love you more than they can cook

- a large hand-crafted presepe (nativity scene) at every church, some office buildings and even the local library

- high-powered spray from a salt truck that welts you in the knees

- ice-skating on the ocean!

at the port

- twinkling white and blue Christmas lights strung across the narrow alleys and streets

- giant kisses on each cheek and “Auguri!” (Merry Christmas + happy holidays + all the best + have a great time, all rolled into one)

- on a windy night, church bells that ring themselves

And of course, concerts.  Christmas is unthinkable without them.

I saw a poster advertising a free concert the Saturday before Christmas with the choir Coro Soreghina at Chiesa di San Donato, a church in Genova’s medieval centre, just off the awesomely- named Vico dei Tre Re Magi (Alley of the Three Wise Men). 

I invited a couple of friends and took my trusty, and worn, map with me; after four months here I’m still not sure of my way around in the ancient maze of veicoli (alleys).

 

For once I didn’t get lost. I arrived early enough to read the blurb about the choir, which was comprised of (mostly retired) men from the Alpini branch of the Italian army. That’s the one that patrols the mountains and gets to wear really cool hats.  

Also exciting was that I recognized only two songs on the program: Silent Night and Adeste Fideles (O Come, all Ye Faithful). The rest were ancient Christmas songs from Trentino (Italy’s northeast mountainous region); Piedmontese hymns (the area north of Genova that includes Turin); old Latin verses, and a few antique songs in Genovese, the local dialect that not many people speak or understand anymore. (Speaking of understanding, no, unfortunately I didn’t! Guess I’m not at stage 2 yet.)

 

The concert was quite enjoyable, yet during the singing I found myself thinking about the oddest thing: WD-40. See, it was inside this small stone church, where everything from the bricks to the archways looked like it had been carved right out of the mountains. There were only about twelve rows of pews, and when the church began filling up, I thought the high-pitched whines I heard were the door hinges opening and closing as people entered. Yet even when people stopped coming in, the whining continued. Baffled and totally distracted, I looked all around the church...and found the culprit -- actually two of them -- on four legs and leashes. Yes, two animal- and music-loving attendees had brought their dogs with them.

“Siamo in Italia!” (We are in Italy!) -- this is what people say, with a shrug of the shoulders, when something happens that defies logic.

New year, new look, new approach

First of all, tanti auguri to everyone! Happy New Year 2011!

In shame, with my head held low, I must admit that I'm woefully behind on the updates (in case you hadn't noticed). I realize the point of a blog is not to publish what was happening to you four months ago, but what's happening now. So, with a fresh new year, I'm going to begin from where we are now, and I'll fill in the details as needed. 

Number One: The Job

Well, as some of you know, I came to Genova with absolutely no job prospects. That meant I was in for a lot of pavement-pounding. Since I am in Italy, it was of course an interesting experience.

At the first ESL school the woman I met was friendly and open. And when I say “open”, I mean more than willing to tell me about the current economic crisis in Italy (hit even harder than other European countries, which in turn were hit much harder than Canada). Actually she was in a terrible mood: she lamented shockingly low salaries (claiming that some office clerks make just 5 euros, or $6.65 an hour) and the fact that some teachers in public schools, even after many years, don’t make enough to live on. “Why did you come here??” she asked, as incredulous as politeness would allow.

So, uh, you’ll call me when you have something, then?

The proprietor of the next school had taught English in such unusual classrooms as trains and cruise ships. I got a job interview on the spot and was offered some contract work right away....but, given the fact that the place was a chaotic mess, I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy working there. Also, it seemed to be the kind of fly-by-night school that unfortunately exists in large numbers: first interested in making a profit, then maybe imparting a few English-language skills solely through exposure to a native speaker who wants to “teach English” for a few months while partying it up in a foreign country.

The last school of the day was almost impossible to find, due to the completely baffling street numbering system here in Italy. There are two sets of numbers: red for office buildings and black for apartments (or is it the other way around...). They are not in any way related to each other, but they are interspersed along the block, which means you might have red 80, followed by black 3, after which you’ve got red 81 and 82, then black 4, then red 83...you get the idea. If there is some pattern to be found, I might never have enough time to find it out.

I lost count of how many people I asked for directions and, after some pointing and explaining (neither of which was extremely useful) they all asked for “one euro”. Ridiculous! I thought and walked away.

I finally found the place after receiving instructions from an old man who could’ve been the godfather of the Godfather: a short, stocky, dark-haired Italian with a rasp like a death rattle. His short, stocky, dark-haired Italian wife was next to him in the teeny porter’s office; it looked like they had been there for maybe sixty years.

Once at the building I finally realized what the others had been talking about: it was next to an elettrodomestic (appliance) store called UniEuro!

There have been a lot of moments like that since I got here.

Given the lack of funds, I did feel obligated to work for school number two for a while. Unfortunately all my instincts were right, and the time I spent at that gong show was miserable. However, luckily it was only a month before I found something much better. 

I'm still with this much-better school and am quite happy there. Most days of the week I travel to company offices in and around Genova, teaching English to business executives. Sometimes I also teach one-on-one lessons at the school. The pay is fairly good, my co-workers are interesting (all four of them), and my boss is very quirky. Just how I like it.

I'm also doing a bit of English tutoring of my own on the side. To advertise, I took the poster I'd used for piano lessons, changed the graphic and the language, and it was good to go! I put up the poster at various university buildings and have received a lot of inquiries as a result. And boy, am I ever glad that I started studying Italian all those months ago, as it would have been practically impossible to arrange all of this without it.

Number Two: The Learning of Italian

I've been here in Italy for almost five months now. I don't get to speak Italian as much as I'd like -- in fact I have basically the worst job possible in terms of learning the language, since I have to speak English all week! However, lately when I've told people Ci provo di parlare bene (I try to speak well) they say No, non provi, riesci! (You're not trying, you're succeeding!)
At times I can understand exactly what someone else is saying. It's a great day after three hours of church, for example, when I can think, "Yup, today I understood pretty much everything!"
Other times I only catch words here and there and can only get at the fringes of meaning before the person's gone on to the next phrase.

But there was that one time I had a whole conversation with an old woman without any teeth! Now that's a sign of progress. I think it should be added to the How To Know How Fluent You Are list:
Stage One: You can understand a drunk person.
Stage Two: You can understand singing.
Stage Three (true fluency): You can understand a drunk person singing! 

Number Three: The Apartment 

Near the end of September I finished my five weeks of Italian class, which had also included a room in an apartment with other students. I had to find my own place...and was really lucky to stumble across something great on only the second try, even if Italy hasn't yet discovered the wonders of craigslist (gagh!).

Here's what was great about it: it had a view of the sea!

That was pretty much enough to convince me. Other benefits included a roommate who spoke English (she's Italian but lived in London for a while), proximity to town, and not way up in the hills somewhere. Because hiking hills sucks. 

Number Four: So, Is It Like Totally Still Summer There, or What?

Actually, if you can believe it, it's snowed here. Twice.

But it's really not very cold (ok, after seven winters in Toronto it doesn't feel cold).

If I ever do say it feels a little nippy, every Italian for miles shrieks "But you're CANADIAN!!" 

Number Five: Whether I Have Found a Hot Italian Man Yet

The short answer is No. The long answer is also No.

Number Six: So Are You Going to Stay Forever, or What?

Well, that's definitely not in the plans. Italy is an interesting place to be for a while, but I don't think I could live here for the rest of my life. (Confession: Italian food is great, but it's not my absolute favourite.) In later posts I'll write more about that.

Okay, I think that about does it! We're all caught up! Stay tuned for other updates as they happen...