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Destination: Italy

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America: "Chili Soup"…but No Piazza

My friend Claudia (a favorite local Roman guide among our tour groups) is spending a month in Seattle. She’s enjoying an extensive — and romantic — private tour with one of our ace American guides. They came over to our house for dinner, and I enjoyed quizzing her on culture shock an Italian might experience in the USA.

Claudia’s thoughts reminded me that a good guide is a keen observer of cultures. While she enjoys America immensely, she does have a few challenges here. Here’s a review of Claudia’s comments (the best I can recall them) as she settled into American cultural soil this month:

“In America, the cityscape leaves me feeling isolated. Buildings of steel and cement have no stories to tell. When alone in a city with a long history (such as Rome), your imagination keeps you company.”

“We Italians relate to urban space. American cities seem to be grid after grid…without public squares. Piazzas are fundamental to Italian life. At the piazza, you can imagine life in the past. Yes, with piazzas filled with people, I feel connected…not lonely. Sure, you have lots of people — but they are always going someplace.” (Her boyfriend replied, “Yes, in America, people work.”)

Claudia is loving the food here. Her favorites include the BLT sandwich and “chili soup.” While we lack people-filled piazzas, Claudia is charmed by our breakfast culture and that we “meet for breakfast.” You would never see families “going out for breakfast” in Italy. And she had never encountered a waffle.

After eating Italian in Seattle, it seems clear to Claudia that the typical American notion of “Italian food” is heavily influenced by peasant village Sicilian food (tomato sauce, big meatballs, and spumoni ice cream). It was the poor people who left Italy in droves for America, and they took with them not Italy’s high cuisine, but their peasant cuisine.

After plenty of eating out in Seattle, Claudia and her boyfriend developed a game. She claims that the average number of ingredients in an American restaurant salad or pasta is 8 or 10, while in Italy the average salad or pasta has only 4 or 5 ingredients. And she can’t understand our heavily flavored dressings. “If your lettuce and tomato are good, why cover it up with a heavy dressing? We use only oil and vinegar.” When I tried to defend the fancy dishes as complex, she said, “Perhaps ‘jumbled’ is a better word.”

Claudia’s favorite souvenir so far: a five-pound block of cheddar cheese from Costco. A favorite experience: going to a bingo parlor and learning to use a dauber. A big surprise: Going to an American football game and finding that they stop play to make time for TV commercials. “That would be unthinkable in Europe.” Politically these days, Italy is cynical and fatalistic. (They are preparing to see Silvio Berlusconi — an openly corrupt right-winger who makes GWB seem meek and mild — return to power.) Just waiting in line to get into an Obama rally, Claudia felt America was a country awakening. Seeing families together at a political rally astounded her, as she’d never see that in Italy. Claudia’s father cannot understand the appeal of a guy he calls “Alabama” — a man with charisma and vision, but little experience.

To Claudia, her father is emblematic of Italy’s political doldrums: “In Italy, there’s no renewal. We have the same old faces, over and over again. So it doesn’t surprise me that Berlusconi is back.”

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Happy New Year. Should I Roll the rr’s in Buonarroti?

I just spent five days in the studio recording audio tours. They’re designed for iPod users visiting the dozen most important museums and sights in Venice, Florence, and Rome. Reading the scripts out loud into a microphone for literally eight hours a day was a slog. But the idea that our work will help thousands of travelers made the chore a joy.

I have never been so immersed in reading, and I had two great coaches: Lyssa Brown (editor and professional voice for Cedar House Audio Productions) and Gene Openshaw (co-author of many of my guidebooks and editor of these tours). It was a fascinating week filled with quirky factoids, pronunciation challenges, and wording decisions.

As we’re investing lots of time and money in these tours, I wanted to get the pronunciation and wording just right and produce tours with a long life.

“Menagerie” (of beasts from all over the Roman Empire) has a “szh” sound in the middle. The first syllable of “obelisk” rhymes with “Bob.” Should I roll the rr’s in Buonarroti? Lay-en-ar-do or Lee-en-ar-do? …sometimes the correct pronunciation is distracting and sounds pretentious to me. I no longer struggle with “gesture” (jes-jur). How on earth should we pronounce the sculptor Pollaiuolo? I went with a Sam the Sham “Wooly Bully” accent: “pole-ay-woe-low.” Just when I got that, I came to the main pedestrian drag of Florence: Via Calzaiuoli (“kal-tsie-wolly”…take, it Sam).

While you write “A.D. 312,” we say “312 A.D.” At what point can you dispense with the “A.D.” and just say the year? We decided that while Constantine became Christian in 312 A.D., Rome fell in the year 476.

Reading the tours had me marveling at the variety of information we concern ourselves with: The Colosseum is likely named for the 100-foot-tall “colossal” statue of Nero that once stood out front. Roma spelled backwards is Amor (“love”) — and the temple of Venus (love) and Rome had a sign that said two different words with the same four letters (depending on the viewer’s vantage point). With licensed casinos and a reputed 20,000 courtesans, Venice was Europe’s Sin City. (And what happened in Venice…stayed in Venice.)

We labored over wording questions that probably didn’t matter much: Was Roman concrete made of cement and “light rocks” or “rubble”? (We said rubble.) Did exotic animals from Africa “herald” or “celebrate” Rome’s conquest of distant lands? (We went with celebrate.) Did Rome grow from a small band of “tribespeople” or a small band of “barbarians” into a vast empire? (We said tribespeople.) Should we say “The Jews of Israel believed in only one god,” or “The Israelites believed in only one god”? (We said the former.) Were they slave “marketers” or “traders”? (Traders.)

Do people care that the pavement stones in the Forum were made of basalt? Do people need the word “capital” defined (the top of a column)? Affirmative.

How did the street-corner preacher actually sound when he cried out, “Beware the Ides of March!” And how did dying Caesar utter, “Et tu, Brute?” Joking about how mean Emperor Caligula was, should we say, “He even parked his chariot in handicapped spaces” or “disabled spaces”? Is this even a sensitivity issue? (We went with handicapped at the risk of not being PC.)

Do we need to introduce Bernini by saying his entire, difficult-to-pronounce name: Gian Lorenzo Bernini? And what about Leon Battista Alberti? When noticing the tiny cross atop the towering pagan obelisk, do we say, “Here we see Christian culture is but a thin veneer over our pagan roots” or “pagan origins”? (Our choice: roots.)

The Vatican is an independent country with a few extra bits of land that come with its lead churches. Are these Vatican-owned properties called “territories”? Exactly what do people expect to gain from touching the toe of the statue of St. Peter? Can you say “ecumenistic spirit” rather than “spirit of ecumenism?” Is it too crude to say, “While seventh-century Constantinople flourished, Dark Age Europeans were still rutting in the mud”? (Yes.) Must I say “friars” rather than “monks”? (There is a difference, but “friar” makes you think of a big fat Tuck.)

Did Giotto’s tower “set the tone” for Michelangelo, or “inspire” him? Does Donatello hold his “hammer and chisel” or hold his “trusty hammer and chisel”? Do you say “The Vatican” or simply “Vatican”? (We went without the “the.”) Do people know what a tanner is, or should I say “leather tanner”?

All the decisions have been made, the recordings are finished, and the post-production work has begun. These 12 audio tours will be available here at ricksteves.com (and on iTunes) within two months. (When they are finished, we’ll let you know.)

P.S.: This summer, I ranted on this blog about how un-Christian it seemed to keep the Vatican Museum hours so short with all the tourists baking in lines for hours trying to get in. Travelers’ prayers have been answered: I just heard that the Pope will stretch the museum’s opening hours. In 2008, we can expect it to be open almost daily from 8:00 until 18:00. Hallelujah!

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Getting Cozy with the Language Barrier

In Aurora, Illinois, I agreed to have breakfast with the winners of a “funniest story in my travels” contest before I gave my talk.

When I’m on a lecture tour, to be honest, I am focused on the big groups. (And I am amazed at how talking to a 500 people at once can be less demanding of my energy than talking to individuals before or after a talk.) Climbing down the stairs that morning, I went into the breakfast room a little tired and feeling sorry for myself.

The dozen travelers assembled were a delight and I thoroughly enjoyed the breakfast meeting I was not looking forward to. Conversation thrived as the well-traveled gang shared favorite memories of past trips — many were the results of little mishaps, generally caused by the language barrier. Here are my two favorite stories among the winners:

Dear Rick,

On my first trip to Paris several years ago, I was exploring on my own and decided to visit the Musée D’Orsay. I had a museum pass, but the line to get into the museum was still very long. People were standing very close together outside, waiting to enter.

It was a chilly spring day, and I had my left hand holding on to my shoulder bag, while my right hand was tucked into my coat pocket. Suddenly, I felt a gentle touch on my right arm; I turned my head and saw a well-dressed, nice-looking older woman standing next to me. She had linked her left arm through my right arm, and she was smiling happily, looking off to our right.

I thought, “Don’t be an Ugly American and make a scene! She’s not doing any harm, and maybe this is just something they do in France to be friendly. Chill out, relax, and see what happens.”

We stood in line together peacefully for about ten minutes, until the line finally started to move. At that point she glanced at my face and her expression turned to one of absolute horror. She pulled her arm away from mine, turned around and ran away.

I guess she must have gotten separated from her original companion, and I never did see her again, but I was very proud of myself for having kept my “savoir faire” that day.

Thanks for reading my story! Maria C, Oak Park IL

Dear Rick,

My husband and I booked a one-week hotel package at the beach in Italy. We experienced the worst July week at the Adriatic Sea in decades: it rained the whole week. My husband and I had caught a cold and sore throat which were getting worse. My husband decided to buy some Contac (US cold remedy). Being a foreign language teacher, I impressed on him to pronounce the vowels the Italian way (“kohn talk”). He came back and said, yes, he found some.

Before going to bed, I asked him for the “Contac” when I pulled two flat boxes out of the paper bag it was clear that he did not buy “Contac.” The Italian label on the boxes was CONTACTO D’AMORE. He had purchased prophylactics.

Now things became clear to my husband. The (English) conversation in the pharmacy had been difficult. The person had asked him if he wanted 2 or 4. My husband said “Give me 4, my wife has a cold too.” He recalled the clerk giving him a really puzzled look.

Since the product was fairly pricey and my husband was reluctant to return it, I went to the pharmacy and explained the whole thing again. The clerk politely asked me to wait and went to the back of the store. There was a conversation in a low voice and then muffled laughter from the pharmacy staff.

Happy travels, Petra T, Aurora, Il.

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Check Your Sword at the Door and Worship

As a Lutheran Christian, I learned long ago that the best way to enjoy St. Peter’s Basilica — which I have for 30 years considered the greatest church in Christendom — is to check your sword at the door and accept it on its terms: To enter into that dazzling sanctuary and focus on God (which is the intent of the place).

I inhale the incense, forget about gender issues and “infallible truths” that have been fought over and revised through the years, and ditch concerns about financial priorities and where all the money to build it came from. I see St. Peter’s as an awe-inspiring human work done by faithful people for the glory of God.

I used to get all uptight when I entered that church. I don’t anymore. In fact, a highlight of my Roman visits is to go to Mass at St. Peter’s. (As far as the Eucharist and me being of another denomination…it’s “don’t ask, don’t tell.”) My visits lift my spirits and put me in a great mood.

To a Protestant mindset, complaining about your church leaders is just something we do. And it doesn’t bring thunderbolts. We’re all on the same team, and we Protestants complain as we go because we care.

There’s a fundamental difference between attacking someone’s faith and disagreeing with their denomination’s leaders. It seems to me that, among Christians, only Catholics believe that if you attack the ideas of their human and mortal leader, you’re “attacking their faith.”

I’ve been inspired by many courageous Catholics in our generation. The Catholics of our era I’ve been most inspired by are the priests and nuns who stand by the struggling people of Central America. They threaten the secular order and are routinely excommunicated for their “liberation theology” by Catholic leaders high in that Church hierarchy. They keep on Catholic keepin’ on because they believe a part of their vow of obedience to the church is (in their words) “disobedience to the Church.”

When I am writing, whether or not I capitalize “church” is a big issue. Capital-C “Church” refers to church government — fallible, political, necessary, and well-meaning…but corruptible. In my denomination, for instance, the church is not homophobic but, in many cases, the Church is. When I have friends so mad at God that they purge faith from their lives, they are usually mad at the Church…not the church. That saddens me. I would never take my frustrations with the Church out on the church. The distinction is critical.

I’m inclined to complain about things the Catholic Church does. But I’m not anti-Catholic. I don’t think I’m any more anti-Catholic than those excommunicated priests and nuns in Nicaragua. I’m married to a smart and beautiful woman who is Catholic. She comes from the best family I’ve ever run into. Our son goes to a Catholic university (Notre Dame). I’m in Rome — donating several days of work to the church (not the Church) to produce a video celebrating the life, work, and Christian leadership of the first pope, St. Peter.

The last time I flew south of our border, it was to El Salvador to honor a Catholic bishop. It was the 25th anniversary of the assassination of the courageous Archbishop Oscar Romero. (Read the journal from that trip on my website.) I marched and worshipped with countless Roman Catholics whose faith was stronger than the faith I encounter (in any denomination) in my city. It was a beautiful and inspirational experience.

Strange. I make a point not to comment much on the discussion my blog entries generate. It’s fun to just share an idea and let all the traveling readers of this blog respond. But in this case, I don’t like to be called “anti-Catholic,” and certainly not “anti-Christian.” My work is motivated by my Christian faith. I just have a style of worship named for a priest/professor who enjoyed beer and sex…and married a nun.

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Gay Museum Busts Must Separate

My guide friend in Rome is getting a divorce. It’s uncontested. They just want to be through. A divorce used to take five to ten years in Italy. He said now, it takes only three. “Only” three years? I asked why so long? He said, “You were there this morning.” I understood. It was the Vatican.

While Italians are not particularly churchgoing, the Vatican still has a huge influence on Italian society. According to my local friends, the new pope (Benedict XVI) is particularly activist when it comes to homosexuality. I was told gay couples have no legal rights in Italy.

Benedict won’t even let the portrait busts of gay lovers (who haven’t sinned in 2,000 years) share the same museum shelf. As long as people could remember, Emperor Hadrian’s head was displayed next to his gay boyfriend (the incredibly beautiful — and young — Antinous). Antinous was recently moved out, leaving Hadrian’s bust all alone.

Horrible as it may seem to us in modern times, in ancient times, it was acceptable for a man to keep a boy as a lover — but only until the boy had hair on his chest. In ancient Greek morality, to love a boy was considered pure — no child possible, absolute love for love’s sake. (Please don’t shoot me — I’m just the messenger.) Many Romans I met — while not negative about the teachings of the Church — had a bad attitude about the Vatican’s wealth and bureaucracy. Guides who deal daily with the frustration of Vatican Museum crowds know that 20,000 visitors pack into the Vatican museum each morning. At 13 euros each, that’s about $400,000 revenue each morning simply from the museum.

Like Americans have a box on their tax forms giving them the opportunity to donate to political campaigns, Italians have a voluntary box to donate to the Roman Catholic Church. By all accounts, it’s rarely used.

About the Vatican labor force — when Pope John XXIII was asked how many people work in the Vatican, he answered, “About half.”