Kennst Du das Land??

As a child and young adult, I recall having a distinct image of The Personification of Italy. It was a dark-haired maiden, olive-skinned with caramel-colored eyes, flashing a brilliant smile with a gelato in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Growing up with the grandchildren of the three-I's of New York area immigrants (Italy, Israel, Ireland), Italy for me has always been a mythical, other-worldly place. The home of a good part of American cuisine, the land of big families with big hearts and smiles, the place of unspeakably beautiful landscapes, delicious produce and wine, and eternal sunshine.

For those of you who haven't watched enough Tony Soprano, allow me be the first to disabuse you of this fancy. Italians are defensive. Let me re-phrase that. Italians are not half as cuddly as you might expect, at least not to fragile me.

"Auhhh?" and a grimace appear to be a perfectly acceptable way of expressing miscomprehension to a foreigner trying to speak Italian. Do Americans do the same for foreigners in the States? And your first encounters with people are not always likely to be smiles and kisses. In fact, I am often reminded of German reservedness.

I bristle when store clerks take one look at me and insist on speaking English before I even open my mouth. Do they speak Chinese when Asian people walk through the door? I know that they're trying to help, but tell me why they keep speaking English when I answer in Italian?

Yes, Italians are warm people. But sometimes behind the smiles is a more sinister intent. If the first word you need to learn in Italian is scioppero (as in strike, which merits its own section on the Treni Italia homepage), the second word should be fregatura, or rip-off. Even the most unassuming of places can slap you with an outrageous bill, it's something you always need to be careful of. When mom was here, we had a nice meal in a local place, but were surprised at the final bill. The waiter showed me the menu and said that everything was a posto, but it took a bit of a scene to convince him that it didn't add up.

But then again, what appear to be rip-offs are often just mistakes, or at least curious judgment calls. Once, after I had waited on line for movie tickets, the clerk informed me that she didn't have change for my €10. All I needed was a €2 coin back, but she didn't have one? I asked if I could come back, and she said sure, and tossed my money back at me. I then insisted on buying the tickets (you see, I had already waited on line and the show was starting and I didn't want to wait again), and said I would return for the change. In fact, making change at almost any institution is always a chore- If you put down €2 your for your €1.70 gelato they will ask if you have exact change, even after you're juggling the cone.

I learned of a phenomenon that happens in Italy every summer, and it chills me to the bone. When people go on vacation, they abandon their pets, mostly dogs. They just drive out to some abandoned part of the countryside and leave them by the road. And we're not talking a couple of hundred animals; more like thousands. It adds up to one animal every two minutes during the months of July and August. Whether or not this is strictly an Italian thing to do or more universal, it breaks my image of the big-hearted Italian. But what I can't understand is that the same people must do this every year: get a dog, hang on to it for ten months, and get rid of it when they all head off to the shore. In Pompeii, where it got so hot at midday that I felt I could relate to how the residents felt when the volcano hit, dozens of dust-imbued dogs were roaming around, seeking out an ounce of shade.

Yet, I can't complain entirely. As much as it took a while to build up my nucleus of friends, some amazing connections have happened that I would never expect to see in New York. Once, when I was unable to make plans with a friend for the evening, she called her sister and had her hang out with me instead. I don't know if I would do the same if my brother hooked me up with one of his friends. And while it's always wise to be on the lookout for fregature, 9 times out of 10, you'll be alright. I was picking out a canteloupe at the market the other day, and the shopkeeper said that that particular breed doesn't smell like anything, but is delicious. I was wary, but I bought it anyway, and she was right.