Category Archives: Italy

Schoolbooks: Part of the Cost of an Italian Education

Education through university level is basically free in Italy, at least in theory. You don’t pay tuition at most schools, but there are costs, including buying textbooks every year. There is something of a used-textbook market (in the Milan area, dominated by a chain of bookstores called Il Libraccio), but the publishing companies dilute its effects by frequent new editions. The teachers play into the system by insisting on the new edition, or changing the books entirely. I wonder if they get a kickback…?

The Ministry of Education has set theoretical limits for how much a family should be required to spend per child per year. According to a consumer group, this limit is 280 euros for 6th grade (the first year of middle school), 108 euros in the second year, and 124 euros in the third – the expense is front-loaded on the first year, as some books may be used throughout the three-year cycle of middle school. This consumer advocacy  group found that 34% of the families surveyed in Rome and Milan had spent more than the ministerial limit.

The limits are naturally higher in high school. Our daughter’s choice of liceo artistico (art high school) may be the most expensive option of all: besides a full quota of books for academic subjects, there are books for art history, and the ongoing expense of art supplies.

There are no lockers in Italian schools, so whatever books and supplies you need for class each day must be carried from home, in bulky backpacks. Years ago, parents began to complain that the number of books required each day was excessive, resulting in very heavy backpacks. Pediatricians pitched in with tales of childhood back pain and scoliosis, so a decree went forth from the Ministry of Education about the maximum weight a child could be made to carry (I think it was expressed as a percentage of body weight). How this was to be enforced was never specified; it would have required coordination among the teachers to decide who would require what books to be brought on any given day. I doubt that it was ever enforced. Backpacks with built-in wheels are popular, like that rolling carryon luggage that people use on planes, but, like the luggage, they are unstable, tending to flop sideways and twist your wrist, and the wheels only make them heavier when you have to tackle stairs. Backpacks are more comfortable to carry than old-fashioned leather satchels, but older adult commuters fondly remember the satchels – the habit was to drop them on the floor by your feet, whereas backpacks stay on backs and bash into everyone around them on the bus.

From what I remember of American public schools, books were lent by the school to each student every year. Presumably this was part of the school budget, and therefore covered by the parents’ taxes. American schools also have lockers to keep books in, though you then have the problem of forgetting at school a book you need for homework. When I was looking for a school for Ross in California, I found one that had resolved that problem by giving each student two full sets of books: one for school, one for home. Must have been expensive for the taxpayers, though.

How to Get (Slightly) Better Customer Service

David Pogue of the New York Times has written a series of articles on “Customer Service Cluelessness,” in which he postulates that the incorrect billing many of us suffer from various companies is actually a money-making stratagem: most of us won’t notice small discrepancies on our bills, or won’t spend the time to communicate with the companies to get them fixed, so the companies get to keep the bulk of their ill-gotten gains.

As I mentioned before, Tiscali, my former ADSL provider, tried to stick me for € 570 back in July, after I had left their service. But that was only the end (I hope) in the Tiscali saga.

That began two years previously, when I was first trying to get ADSL up and running in Milan. I applied online in April, had some paperwork problems, and didn’t actually receive the modem until June. Then there were problems with the line, which would have to be fixed by Telecom Italia, and Tiscali told me that could take weeks – by which time I expected to be out of the country. I told them: “Call me as soon as it’s fixed;” the only other way for me to know it was working would have been to test it myself every day.

I didn’t hear anything. I returned to Milan on September 10th, 2001, and called tech support again the next day.

“Oh, that was fixed back on July 11th,” he said, “Why don’t you try it now?”

I tried to go to to CNN, but couldn’t get through. “Still not working,” I said.

“Try our site,” he said.

I did. It had a news feed. And that was how I found out about the Twin Towers. “Something very bad is happening,” I said, and hung up on him.

The good news was that the line was in fact working. However, when the bill arrived, they had billed me back to July, wanting me to pay for two months in which I had not been using it, because I didn’t know it was working.

I called customer service. “We got it working in July,” they said, “so we began billing in July.”

“I was home and could have used it til August,” I replied, “but you were supposed to TELL me it was working, and you didn’t.”

“The technician tried to call.”

“He must not have tried very hard. We have an answering machine. Or why didn’t he send email?” No satisfactory answer was forthcoming.

I decided to make a formal complaint. The customer service rep said I should write all the details in an email and send it to an anonymous customer service address.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll copy it to your president. What’s his name?”

“That’s not necessary,” said the lady stiffly. And she refused to tell me the name. I was surfing the net while on the phone with her. A few clicks later, I found Tiscali’s corporate site.

“Ah, here he is: Renato Soru. Okay, let’s try renato.soru@tiscali.com…”

She went into a panic. “He’ll never read it!” she said.

I wrote a long message with all the details, being careful to give praise where that was due (“The customer service rep was very polite, even when I was screaming at her.”) and to explain what went wrong and where, and what kind of restitution I was expecting.

Renato Soru did read it, or at least his secretary did, and she replied politely that Dr. Soru thanked me for letting him know how things were going in customer service. She claimed that I would still have to pay for those two months, but in fact I was never billed for them, either through oversight or because someone realized that I shouldn’t be.

Writing to the big boss is an old trick in the US, but it seems that Italians are not used to it. It will still get results even in many US companies, if nothing else to get you off upper management’s back. Of course the email address of the president/CEO is not going to be posted on the website, but it’s usually pretty easy to guess: try variations on firstname.lastname@companyname.com, firstinitiallastname@, etc.; something is bound to work. webmaster@companyname.com may never answer you, but the president might.

Now we’re having a big hassle with Telecom about overbilling (to the tune of 500 euros). It’s time to write another letter…

Hospital Stay

I have suddenly landed a temporary but demanding job: nursing my daughter. Ross fell off her horse Sunday afternoon, onto hard ground, and broke her humerus just below the shoulder joint.

The emergency room was humming – it was a beautiful day, everyone was out getting hurt. Just before we got there, an ambulance had brought in a young man in motorcycle leathers, who looked pretty severely injured. According to a conversation I heard among the nurses, Lecco gets a lot of motorcyclists – and accidents – on sunny weekends. Another young man had been out hiking in the mountains, slipped on a patch of ice, and banged his head and chin.

They quickly got Ross through an initial examination and x-ray, drew blood, then took us up to a room on the orthopedic ward. Ross was trembling when the anesthesiologist came to talk to her; given recent family horror stories with hospitals, we were all terrified that she had to go under anesthesia. But those stories took place in the US and the UK. So far, I have no complaints about Italian health care. [later on, we had an Italian horror story to add to the family history]

The anesthesiologist gave her a sedative, and off we went to surgery. Ross told me later that, by the time they actually got her into the operating room, she was giggling and wondering why she had been so scared. She lay there looking at all the bustle around her, wondering if they had a machine that goes “ping!”

We had arrived at the emergency room at 5:15; by 7:15 she was under. The surgeon had to pull the bone back into place, and then put in three wires to hold it while it heals; Ross is also wearing a sling-and-strap to hold her arm against her body. Her right arm. No drawing in art school for a while.

Giulio (owner of the private stable where we now keep Hamish) and Viola (his daughter, Ross’ classmate and riding buddy) came racing down from their ski weekend to be there, and passed the time during surgery regaling me with stories about their numerous family sports injuries (they ride and ski, Giulio and Viola compete seriously at both). As Giulio pointed out, it’s lucky this happened right before Christmas vacation, so Ross won’t miss too much school.

Giulio also demonstrated the usefulness of the small-town grapevine: when he heard the name of the surgeon, he called his sister-in-law, who happens to work at the hospital as an orthopedic surgical nurse. She said that we were lucky: this surgeon’s a good one. And she came by the next morning to see us in person. If we need any inside information on this case, we’ll know where to get it.

There was a spare bed in Ross’ room, so I was allowed to stay with her. The first night she was in a lot of pain, understandably, but since then has bounced back with most of her usual energy and sense of humor. They let her out yesterday (Tuesday), and today she’s gone back to school (the doctor said there was no reason she shouldn’t, as long as her arm doesn’t get bumped). She’ll need to have the bandage changed every 3 or 4 days, to ensure that no infection enters where the wires are; those will come out after 25 days, and she has to keep wearing the sling til then. So I’ll be accompanying her to doctors a lot, as well as helping her dress, wash her hair, etc. As I said, it’s a job. But that’s what moms are for.

Jan 19, 2004

Rossella‘s arm has healed well. The wounds (from the surgery) were so clean that her bandage needed changing only three or four times over the month. Last Tuesday we went in for a final x-ray and, seeing that everything looked fine, the doctor pulled out the wires, using a pair of common (even somewhat rusty) household pliers. According to Ross, it felt weird, and the idea was gross, but it didn’t actually hurt.

So now she’s down to band-aids over the holes, and only needs to wear the sling at night. We’re trying to schedule physical therapy; in the meantime, she can use her right arm again, as long as she avoids swinging it out from the shoulder – no dancing the Funky Chicken..

The hospital staff were amused: Ross is the only patient in their experience who wanted a picture (while the wires were still sticking out – her arm looked like a construction site), and to keep the wires as a souvenir. But, as they noted, this attitude coincided with the Clockwork Orange t-shirt she was wearing.

Of course she wanted to keep the wires; she couldn’t wait to tell her schoolmates: “Piercing? Hah! I’ll show you REAL piercing.”


Apr 27, 2004

Ross has healed up fine from breaking her arm in December, and is back in the saddle of her beloved Hamish. She’s had some moments of fear, but is gradually feeling comfortable riding again (it was totally up to her to do so; her father and I might have been just as happy for her to give it up now).

High (School) Society

In America, high school is hell. The movie The Breakfast Club (1985) used sharply-delineated characters to illustrate the social divisions that exist in many/most schools: the jock, the prom princess, the stoner, the brain, the geek. It’s a caste system, where positions are won by looks, money, or athletic ability, and the hierarchy is maintained by ostracism, teasing, and violence.

Columbine focused attention on the extreme results: the outcast loners who exacted bloody revenge. Steps have been taken to prevent recurrence; weapons searches have been instituted (in many schools, simply increased), conflict-resolution courses and post-trauma counseling are offered. Yet bad stuff continues to happen, some of it perpetrated by the top dogs on the underdogs, some of it by underdogs using weapons to shift the balance of power. The underlying problem has not changed: there are still top dogs and underdogs.

One solution being tried is separation: if you can’t survive in a normal high school, go somewhere else. The Harvey Milk School in New York city was created for gay students who were mercilessly bullied in other schools.

The New York Times (“School Away From School,” Dec 7, 2003) now reports on virtual high schools, where kids can do high school coursework at long distance, with testing, grading, and teacher support provided online. Some of the virtual school students interviewed had suffered in the high school social system, others feared what they themselves might become under social pressure. Some are simply too smart, and several grades ahead of their age group (a proven recipe for social disaster), others suffer various degrees of distraction/ADD, and find they can concentrate better at home.

Homeschooling (where the parents do the teaching themselves) is also common in the US. For some families, this is a religious choice; for some, it’s about quality (or special needs); for many, it’s probably both.

You have to wonder what the kids are missing in all of these non-standard school experiences. A fair amount of misery, to be sure. But what happens after high school, when they suddenly have to deal with all sorts of people? (Yes, I know that many homeschooling parents go to great effort to ensure that homeschooling does not cut their kids off from the usual kid experiences and contacts; I also know some whose main reason for homeschooling is to keep the kids away from “bad influences.”)

There’s got to be a better way for adolescents to get an education. I don’t have definitive answers, but I’ve been thinking hard about examples I’m familiar with from other parts of the world.

At Woodstock, tolerance was and is the norm, and violence is rare. In my four years of high school, I only heard about one incident in which a guy even tried to hit somebody. (He missed, and smashed his hand into the wall.) Severe bullying and teasing were fairly uncommon in my day, and as far as I know still are.

There are plenty of differences among Woodstock students – nationality, race, religion, wealth, background, you name it. But there’s no caste system. There are jocks, brains, prom queens, and stoners – and they’re often the same people. Maybe this is because the school is so small that we all had to fill multiple roles. My roommate was a basketball player and a cheerleader, played in band and orchestra, and worked on the yearbook. I was a journalist and public works artist, worked on the yearbook, wrote a student handbook (my first manual/user guide), and was president of the dorm. Another classmate was student body president, on several sports teams, and was a yearbook photographer. Of course we all had plenty of schoolwork to do as well. Maybe we just didn’t have time for the rubbish that goes on in American schools.

The rigid social divisions of American high schools don’t seem to exist in Italy, either. Ross tells me that there are some cooler kids, though in her current class she can’t tell me who they are or what makes them cool. Her middle-school class had an alpha male, so-considered partly because of his trendy clothing. Her current class has some kids who don’t interact much; she is studying the problem, trying to figure out how to involve them more in the social life of the class. In any case, they don’t seem to be particularly bullied or teased.

Maybe the American emphasis on competitive sports is part of the problem. Italian schools don’t do sports in the same way. They have physical education classes, and Ross’ current high school has after-school basketball, but it doesn’t seem to be a big deal. Lecco is an athletic town, and many kids do competitive sports, but elsewhere, either as individuals or with teams that are not related to the schools. So athletic ability is not particularly noticed in school.

Woodstock has plenty of sports, but, in my day, being an athlete didn’t carry more cachet than any other accomplishment. I don’t recall anybody swooning over a guy because he was captain of this or that team. Good sportsmanship was considered more important than winning (though winning was also fun).

Perhaps Woodstock and Italian schools have less strife for very different reasons. In Woodstock’s case, it’s partly due to the extreme variety among the students: there are so many differences that no single group can easily rule the roost.

What works in Italy may be homogeneity: everyone in a given school is very similar to everyone else in background and experience, and any differences are smoothed down, de-emphasized. There are no accelerated classes for extra-smart kids, and those with disabilities (physical or learning) are, as far as possible, mainstreamed into regular classes, with extra teaching support provided right there. This also applies to recent immigrants, who generally attend regular schools and lessons, with some extra help for Italian language.

So what goes wrong in American schools? I’m groping here, but maybe the problem is an intolerant heterogeneity. America is still a melting pot, but American culture demands that people fit in, and take on the same values as some fictive majority. Kids are especially conservative, and not inherently politically correct, so this is played out more overtly in school than later in life. Now there’s a scary thought: is American high school simply a microcosm of what’s going on, clandestinely, in American culture at large?

Note (Oct 7, 2010): Sadly, there have been cases of bullying at Woodstock in more recent years. And it’s all gotten much worse in the US.

Parents Beware: Inappropriate Ads in Italian Cinemas

The other night we went to see “Alla Ricerca di Nemo,” a children’s movie whose original title I think you can figure out. Ross and I had already seen it in the States, but Enrico hadn’t, and it was worth seeing again. The dubbing was very well done, even the difficult Ellen deGeneres character, and the many small children in the audience clearly enjoyed it.

The problem came before the movie started. In Italy, it’s usual before a film starts to show product advertisements (often the same ads you see on TV), as well as upcoming movie trailers. That evening, the very first ad was for a video game: “True Crime: Streets of LA”. In the US, this game is rated for ages 17 and over, as the trailer also should be – it’s all about the violence. Another ad was for a local radio station, an arty black-and-white montage of scenes from everyday life, including a nearly R-rated one of a couple making love.

In the US this could never happen (trailers are carefully rated and shown appropriately), and if it did, there’d be a storm of protest and probably lawsuits for traumatizing the kids. There was no comment in the Italian cinema. Admittedly, most of the kids were still bouncing around and making too much noise to even notice the first ad. Maybe Italian parents are used to this kind of thing and that’s why they don’t make their kids settle down when the ads begin (plus, given chronic Italian lateness, people are still bustling into the cinema during the trailers).

This reminds me of a similar incident from my childhood in Bangkok. I was going to see a kids’ movie, but the trailer was for one of those cannibal horror movies, and showed all the worst scenes – people’s guts being torn out and eaten etc. As you may recall, I am a complete wimp at movies, so this remained seared into my consciousness for years.