People who talk to me who are living in the states constantly ask me the same question. So, you are living in Italy. Do you just LOVE it?!?
Well, there ARE things I love. The food, for example. The access to amazing historical, architectural, and artistic treasures. I love that too. And the crazy. I have really come to love the crazy.
But don't get me wrong. Living overseas has its' share of complications, frustrations and challenges. About every fourth day I have my "I hate Italy" day of the week-- where I curse and stamp my feet and cry at the drop of a hat over some tiny little inconvenience which has served to catalyze the recollection of the eight million "tiny little inconveniences" that I had already suffered in the three days prior. And I have a mini-meltdown.
Here is a tiny sample.
The Parco. We live in a Parco. This is what the Italians call a gated subdivision. Parcos are very common in Naples-- there is a lot of petty crime, and people like to take precautions. We have fabulous gate guards, Pasquale and Antonio, who let us in and out of the Parco with a smile and who keep an eye out for gypsies and ne'er do wells that might interfere with our bliss. When Pasquale and Antonio get time off on Sundays, however, there is a big automatic steel gate that allows access to the Parco. It is operated by a remote that we carry on our keychain. Said remote goes on the fritz (as does EVERY electronic, battery powered, or internet enabled thing in Italy, it seems) a lot. Access to Parco, denied.
Garden Gates. We live in a gated yard in a gated Parco. As I said, there is a lot of petty crime, and people like to take precautions. The gate to the yard MOSTLY works. Sometimes it won't open. Sometimes it won't close. It can be operated from inside the house with a buzzer style remote opener, or by key. Inevitably it decides to remain stubbornly locked when I am carrying a thirty pound toddler, a purse, two sweatshirts, a diaper bag, a sippy cup, a bag of goldfish crackers, my cellphone, and a bag of fresh vegetables.
House Keys. The keys used to open your front door in Italy are ENORMOUS. The first time I saw our house key I immediately started singing the Addams Family theme song in my head. They look like old castle skeleton keys and don't fit in ANY pocket in ANY piece of clothing you own. You end up getting a key ring the size of a dish plate to manage your Parco gate key, garden gate key, and house key. And then you spend most of your day trying to figure out how to jam this giant key monstrosity in your purse and the other part of the day fishing it back out when it jams in the zippered pocket.
Maneuvering your car. Every Italian, or at least every Italian I know, drives a glorified rollerskate. There is a reason for such. First, the gas prices are REdonculous. You cannot afford to fill the tank on a good ole american automobile and still eat. Second, the roads are a terrifying tangle of foliage overgrown, 270 degree turns onto one-way wide but two lane driving, wrought iron gate half-open, and trash filled madness. There is no room to place a good ole american automobile. Finally, all the openings into parking garages seem to have been spec'd for a Fiat. The first time I drove into my garage I hit the bumper on my Pathfinder going in AND going out. Now I just park outside.
Staying Warm. Electricity in Italy is the most expensive in all of Europe. And the houses have high ceilings and marble floors. So it takes a lot of heating to heat up the houses. So, in order to avoid hundreds and hundreds of dollars of heating every month, you have the heat follow you around the house. Each room in our house has a little heating unit on the wall. Enter the room, turn on the heat. Huddle in front of it. Leave the room, turn off the heat. Move to next room. Repeat sequence.
Cooking. Darned Kings English. Fahrenheit--->Celcius and Fluid ounces--->milliliters for EVERY SINGLE RECIPE. Fortunately "there's an app for that."
Hard water. Naples itself has a water system that has some issues, one of which is lots and lots and lots of minerals. You have to use special shampoos to keep your hair and skin from going to heck and need to add vinegar and salt to the dishwasher to get the dishes clean.
The Washer and Dryer. I am convinced that some fiendish woman-hater came up with these contraptions to keep moms downstairs in the basement full time. The washers are teeny-tiny. Like 4 shirts, a dish towel, and a pair of socks tiny. And the wash cycles are looooooooong. And you have to empty the dryer of the condensed water after every cycle, or sometimes midcycle. And clean some dirt gathering contraption that fills up with I-don't-know-what and makes the dryer fail to operate every 17th cycle. I can understand why many Italians resort to the soap it up in the bathtub and hang it out to dry on a line method. With two dirt-seeking stinky boys-- laundry is 24x7x365 torture.
Italians don't seem to believe in garbage disposals. I don't know why, but something about scraping day-old peanut butter from the drain strainer gives me the dry heaves.
Taking out the trash. It actually MEANS that here, because nobody comes to get your trash in a trash truck here. To get rid of your trash, you put it in a black garbage bag, load it into the back of your car, and drive to the nearest dumpster. Mind you, this needs to be done between 7pm and 8am in order to avoid a "trash fine". Hunh, you say? Yeah. And I have one in diapers. It's icky.
Recycling. The good news: There IS recycling! The bad news: The recycling bins are big dome shaped containers that have an opening about the circumference of a 2-liter bottle for inserting your recycling, which you must insert...one...piece..at.......a.....time. (Between 7pm and 8am, OK?)
In short, next time you feel overwhelmed by life's little household curveballs, think of how many more you could
:)
