Category Archives: Italy

Italian Winter Weather

The first time we visited Milan, in January of 1991, there were about four inches of snow on the ground. It melted the next day, and in the 12 years we lived in Milan after that I only saw snow falling once or twice a year, some years not at all, and rarely enough to stick. For the last few years, February has been mild, April cold and rainy, and everyone complained about how the seasons weren’t what they used to be (a lament that has probably been heard since the australopithecines).

Today it’s snowing in Lecco. A lot. Just like it did the week before last, and the week before that, and I lose count before that. A few weeks ago we took in “refugees,” six of Ross’ classmates who had commuted up to an hour to get to school, only to find it cancelled because snow was falling and the heating system wasn’t working.

The kids weren’t a problem, but I’ve had enough of winter. I never liked cold weather in the first place. I was born in New Orleans, subsequently lived in Texas, Hawaii, and Thailand. I never saw snow actually falling out of the sky until we got to Pittsburgh, when I was 11. I hate having to dress up in layers and layers of clothing to go outside, then when you go into a shop or come home again you’re too hot and have to undress. I have no circulation in my hands and feet, so they’re always icy cold (cold hands, warm heart – I’d settle for the reverse). I even have chilblains on my toes this year, probably from wearing wimpy shoes in a misguided attempt to be fashionable, before I found a pair of decent-looking fur-lined boots in England.

One problem specific to Italian winters is that most of us have no control over home heating – condominium buildings are usually centrally-heated, and the thermostat is set according to government regulations. Heating goes on October 15th and off April 15th, regardless of actual outside temperatures. And it’s turned way down during hours that most people are out of the house, e.g. 10 am to noon, which happen to be my peak working hours in my home office. So I’m sitting at my desk wearing ski socks and fleece slippers (still going strong – thanks, Laura and Larry!), a turtleneck, corduroy trousers, and a Kashimiri shawl.

Heating also gets turned off at night when we’re all supposed to be in bed. There are few things more miserable than being wide awake at 4 am with jetlag, and you can’t even read in bed because it’s too cold to put your arms outside the covers (yes, there is another activity which could warm you up in bed, but that only works at 4 am when both of you have jetlag).

Randy Newman in Milan

Monday night we went to hear Randy Newman in Milan, on the last date of his European tour. I didn’t realize it was the last til I looked at his site just now – he certainly didn’t look any worse for the wear of 22 shows in 30 days. This was the Songbook tour, just Randy and his piano; I’d heard about the tour (and bought the CD) thanks to a review in the NYT or somewhere. It was sheer dumb luck that I stepped out of a hotel in Milan a few weeks ago and found myself face to face with Randy Newman on a poster, glued to a fence around the Pirelli tower (re)construction site (this is how I usually learn about concerts I want to go to, usually too late).

The promoters missed a marketing opportunity – I think Rossella and I were the only Americans in the theater. Ross was also very much the youngest person there, but that’s less surprising. I watched as the crowd entered, and amused myself speculating on who these people were. My guess is that this concert brought out every old-school lefty to be found in the Milan area: I have not seen so many beards in one room since about 1975. There was even one guy with long sideburns and a gold corduroy jacket – thirty years of fashion had passed him right by, even in Milan! Or maybe that stuff’s back in now, and I, as usual, am the laggard follower of fashion.

We hoped not to be subjected to a constant audience singalong such as we had suffered through at the Alex Britti concert. This was a very different audience, but Ross was plagued by the two guys behind her singing along through most of the show, albeit so quietly that Enrico and I didn’t hear them. Unfortunately, she didn’t mention this til afterwards; she hadn’t wanted to disturb anyone else by shushing them, though she might have said something during intermission.

There was one song that Randy asked us to sing along on: “I’m Dead and I Don’t Know It,” about all the geriatric rockers still on tour (referring to himself as well). I had recently been thinking about this phenomenon: my daughter is the third-generation Who fan in our family. That’s a bit scary, but at least it’s something we can share, though my tolerance for her generation’s music is limited.To sum up, the concert was wonderful. If you don’t know Randy Newman, or only know him via such pop hits as “Short People” or “I Love LA,” or his movie scores, I recommend a closer aquaintance. He writes songs unlike anyone else’s: three-minute stories narrated by characters very distant from himself, sad, funny, touching, and often with an ironic punch that gets you thinking.

Songbook Vol. 1 Amazon UK

About Randy Newman

Strangers on a Train

A question that often arises in the travel forums is: “What’s it like to travel in Italy with small kids?”

Speaking from my own experience, it’s great. Italians love kids, and, when you enter a train compartment with a child in Italy, you don’t get the suffering looks that you get when boarding a plane with one in the US. Everyone’s ready to ooh and aah and spoil your child rotten. Well, almost everyone.

When Rossella was three or so, we had occasion to go to Rome by train. We ended up in a compartment with four middle-aged ladies. Three of them were travelling together, and were happy to spend the entire five-hour trip entertaining Ross, who laughed and was charming and sat on their laps.

The fourth lady was travelling alone, and seemed to be allergic to children. She would draw away whenever Ross got near her, and throughout the trip showed clearly, by grimaces and sighs, that sharing a train compartment with a child was akin to being in the seventh circle of hell.

Ross, of course, was not oblivious to this. She tried her best to draw the lady out, with all her most adorable three-year-old wiles. Nothing worked, and Ross was disappointed – she was accustomed to wrapping adults around her little finger.

Towards the end of the trip, Ross looked the lady full in the face and said: “Tu sei brutta. E pure antipatica.” – “You’re ugly, and you’re not nice.”

I made all the polite remonstrances that the occasion demanded, but the other three ladies and I had to avoid looking at each other, so as not to burst out laughing. It was hard to fault Ross, who had spoken the truth as she saw it, with brutal three-year-old candor.

 

The Old School Tie

I went each year to Ross’ class play, taking a seat in front row center so I could videotape. One year, this put me right next to a dignified old woman who had to be Signora Pavone, the retired principal of Setti Carraro. Our friend Patrizia, whose recommendation had originally helped get Ross into the school, had asked me to say hello on her behalf, so I looked for a way to start a conversation with this rather forbidding lady.

During intermission, she was approached by a very stylishly-dressed woman, the mother of one of the students, and clearly an alumna herself. When they had finished their conversation, I turned to Signora Pavone. “I’m glad to see that this school has a tradition of alumni sending their own children,” I said. “I went to a school like that, and it’s always a good sign. I assume that lady was also a student?”

Signora Pavone gelidly replied: “That lady’s great-grandmother was also a student here.”

End of conversation. Apparently, as the mother of a first-generation student, I was a mere upstart. Ah, well. Woodstock may be a few decades younger than Setti Carraro, but at least it is led by – and produces – people who are interested in engaging with the wider world around them.

Some Positive Aspects of Italian Education

Kids commuting into Lecco for high school

I have devoted many words to the things I don’t like in the Italian education system; now it’s time to talk about some things that I do like, particularly in comparison with the American system.

American schools are largely funded by property taxes in each local school district: the higher the value of the homes in the district, the wealthier the schools. This creates a vicious circle: parents buy or rent homes in the wealthiest area they can afford, so that their kids can go to better schools, then the rich (school districts) get richer, and the poor get poorer.

In Italy, the public education system is centrally managed and funded, so you don’t get these kinds of gross inequities. And there is freedom of choice: any child can go to almost any school. Elementary and middle schools give preference to kids living nearby, because most parents choose schools close to home for their young children, but most schools have room for kids from other neighborhoods as well.

The choices are not always obvious. For Ross’ preschool and elementary we chose Parco Trotter, because it was close to home and uniquely situated in a huge park. But the son of our portinaia (building concierge), living three floors below us, commuted a couple of metro stops to an elementary school which had a better reputation academically – it was well known in the neighborhood (though not by us, since we were newcomers) that Parco Trotter did not prepare kids as well for middle school. And, as I’ve mentioned, for the first two years of middle school Ross commuted across town, to an exclusive yet public school.

At the end of middle school, students choose both the type of high school they will attend, and its location. In a city like Milan, there is usually more than one of each type of school, each with its own style, history, and reputation.

You might think that students in smaller cities would have fewer choices, but they can and do go to school anywhere within a large radius. Students commute to Lecco (the provincial capital) from far up Lake Como and its surrounding valleys, and some even come from Milan – 50 kilometers away, 40 minutes by train. Others commute from Lecco to schools in Milan. I have heard of kids commuting from Milan to the liceo artistico in Lecco, even though there are two or three licei artistici right there in Milan. I would not be surprised if the reverse was also true – kids from Lecco commuting to a liceo artistico in Milan – though I don’t know the specific reasons for either choice.

This freedom of choice fosters competition among schools; a recent article in Il Corriere della Sera told how some schools are offering courses such as Japanese and Arabic to attract students, while another is popular because of a well-organized exchange program with foreign schools (I researched this one, and was disappointed to find that this is only for short visits, a week or two, but there is an increasingly popular program wherein kids go away for their fourth year and penultimate of high school).

As the differences fade between licei and technical institutes, in terms of preparing students for university, I expect competition will become even fiercer. We can hope that this leads to more innovation in curricula and other areas, as we all (parents, students, schools, government, and society at large) try to figure out how best to prepare our kids for life in today’s global economy.