Pinching Italians

Recently asked on the Fodor’s travel forum: “We’ve been told it is customary and acceptable for men in Italy to pinch women’s bottoms. Is this true and, if it is, what is the customary and acceptable response?”

Over the years I’ve lived in Italy I’ve been asked this question several times. And it always makes me laugh because, while it may once have been normal behavior for Italian men, I experienced this kind of thing far more in India (where it’s called “eve teasing”) than I ever have in Italy.

When I was a teenager in India in the late 70s/early 80s, foreign women were considered “easy” and therefore worth a try (verbal or physical), though Indian women out alone were also harassed. I don’t understand what drives men to do this. How stupid do you have to be to believe that some woman whose bottom you grab or to whom you say “Hey, sexy baby” is going to swoon into your arms?

By the end of my high school years in India I had been groped and “hello darling’d” enough to know how to avoid it (as far as that was possible). When I returned for a college year abroad in Benares, I was surprised to find myself the only woman in our group who was never bothered at all. In retrospect, I think I went around that year with such a forbidding expression that no one dared come near me. (I am also taller and heavier than many Benarsi men, which may have scared them off.)

I didn’t know much about Italy when I first began travelling here, so it never occurred to me to expect such. (I was always accompanied by Enrico in any case.) And, in all these years, it’s never happened. Except once, riding in a very crowded bus in Rome, I got groped. If I could have identified the culprit I would have slapped him, but of course these slimeballs judge their situations very carefully, and I didn’t want to slap the wrong man.

An Italian colleague tells me that she’s been groped a few times in the metro in Milan. It’s called palpeggiamento, and the favored technique is the mano morta – the “dead hand” left dangling where it will brush up against something, but the culprit can claim innocence if confronted.

My colleague’s response is to step back hard onto the guy’s foot with her sharp high heel, then turn around and say sweetly, “Did I step on you? I’m soooo sorry.” This or something similar would be the response of most Italian women – who do NOT consider being fondled by strangers to be expected or tolerable behavior!

Someone else in the Fodor’s forum said that her daughter, on a study abroad year in Florence, had been warned by her university to expect verbal and physical harassment, and that the best response was simply to ignore it. She duly was hassled, and, as instructed, ignored it.

It seems to me that the administrators of these college programs are encouraging bad behavior by instructing their students to put up with it, when no one else in Italy would, and the girls themselves would not tolerate such treatment back home. So the Florentines obligingly perpetuate their grandfathers’ myth of the butt-pinching, wolf-whistling Italian man. (Perhaps if we pointed out to these young men how desperately old-fashioned this is, they would be embarrassed into stopping.)

Then there are the American women tourists who, having heard all the stories, claim to feel disappointed if they don’t get grabbed in the street – they feel they’ve missed out on a quintessential Italian experience. Umm, well, the guy who pinches your bottom is surely not one you would actually want to have sex with – it’s not exactly a smooth approach, is it? Wait for the one who hands you a good line and buys you a good dinner. Quite a few tourists have had a great vacation this way, and some have even ended up married!

(On the other hand, don’t be surprised or shocked to learn that he’s already married. Adultery is something of a national sport, and what could be easier or safer than a fling with a woman who will soon be leaving?)

Some Italian terms for seduction can be found here (along with a lot of very rude words).

So… ever been pinched in Italy?

Digital Camera Fixes: When Your Camera Jams, Try Fixing It Yourself

We now have three digital cameras in the family (not counting cellphones). The first was a Nikon Coolpix 775, purchased in New York for $500 in early 2002. I can’t remember how many megapixels it has, but certainly its capabilities are unimpressive by today’s standards. It takes a proprietary rechargeable battery, of which I’ve bought two more as the first one won’t hold much of a charge anymore.

Two Christmases ago, Ross’ uncle Bruno got her, at her request, a Canon point-and-shoot. It ended up being a fairly expensive model, in part because I had suggested getting something that used the same Compact Flash memory as my Nikon. It takes rechargeable AA cells – much cheaper to replace when needed. It also offers more megapixels, so requires larger memory cards…

A year ago October, during the day in Varenna when I shot a lot of both video and photos, my Nikon jammed with its lens out, showing “System Error” on the screen. All the basic fiddling I could think of (battery in and out, memory card in and out, on and off in all positions…) did not solve the problem. I even opened it up and took a look, but the lens assembly was not in a position I could get to without doing damage.

A Google search revealed that this model of Nikon was particularly known for the dreaded System Error, but this problem arose over time, usually after the warranty expired, so I could not have known about it when I bought the camera. Repairs were likely to cost more than the camera was worth, especially since I had bought it in the US and would have to send it back there for repair.

I sadly put the camera away in my pile of electronic junk (SCSI cables, anyone?), thinking vaguely that I might sell it for parts on eBay.

I concentrated instead on video, very occasionally borrowing Ross’ Canon, and, when desperate, using the camera in the cellphone that Ross and Enrico got me for my birthday last year – only when desperate because the quality isn’t good, and it costs me 50 cents to send a picture from my cellphone to my email. In fact, I only ever started doing so as a result of a one-month-free offer from Vodafone, but since that gave out, I have done it very rarely.

I missed having a decent still camera, and was tempted by the ever-cheaper new models available. Especially when, this summer, my videocamera also gave out. It suddenly couldn’t record or play back a tape without a lot of horizontal lines in it. I wrote to Canon USA (I had purchased it in Las Vegas) and they said it was a known manufacturing defect that entitled me to free repair. That was the good news. The bad news was that this was only possible if I shipped it back to the US. Which set me back 60 euros for FedEx, but the rest was very kindly handled by the friends in DC with whom we’d be staying when we went in July, so I could pick up the repaired camera from them and not pay shipping again. But, until I got there, I was without a camera of any kind. I felt as if my hands had been cut off.

Ross had grown so keen on photography that I had decided that I would get her a digital SLR for her birthday, which would also allow me to borrow her point-and-shoot more often. We bought the camera (also a Canon) the day after her 17 th birthday, at New York’s famous B&H Photo, with the help of Woodstocker Amal. He spent half a day with us between the store and walking around showing Ross how to use her new treasure.

She’s been learning more and more about how to use it ever since, as can be observed on her fotolog. She’s even gotten some paying gigs, photographing parties and fashion shows at discos. Her next project, as a Christmas fundraiser for the charities supported by the nuns at her school, will be to take gag photos of kids at the school (e.g., “Your photo with Santa”) and charge them for the prints. Her class will raise money for printer ink and photographic paper, and I’m about to go help her with a spreadsheet to figure out what they need to raise and charge to make the whole project profitable.

A few days after we got the new Canon, the old Canon went on strike – jammed with its lens in the out position, just like the Nikon. I was furious – this one was just 18 months old! Another Google search turned up the information that these lens assemblies are cheaply made and prone to open crookedly and then jam. There was advice to try turning the lens gently and/or pressing on whichever side seemed to be sticking out more. I tried all of this, at some point heard a little click, and the lens slid back into its housing. It took the camera a few photographs to unscramble its brains and remember its job, and it’s been fine ever since.

A month or so later, back home in Lecco, I was clearing out junk and ran across the Nikon. Remembering my success with the Canon, I applied the same techniques. Click. Whirr. The lens, after a year, went back into place. And the camera has been working since – that’s why there are so many new photos on my site lately. It’s nice to be a photographer again.

Return to Bormio

My birthday present this past weekend was a trip to Bormio, to indulge in the natural hot spring water as we have before. Enrico and I left Saturday morning, while Ross was in school – we are thankful that she is now old enough to be left home alone from time to time!

To get to Valtellina, you head north from the top of Lake Como and turn right. It’s a deep valley surrounded by high, rocky mountain faces.

As we neared Sondrio, where most of Valtellina’s wineries are headquartered, we debated whether to try visiting any, though I knew from recent research that none offered Saturday visits without advance reservation. But we decided to try Nino Negri, the area’s biggest wine producer, whose offices are a recently-refurbished 14th century castle.

The lady at reception was willing to sell us some wine, but, as expected, said we couldn’t have a tour of the cantina without a previous reservation. While we were choosing a dozen different bottles (including some new to us, one completely new developed to celebrate the re-opening of the castle, and the Novello that I enjoyed so much a few years ago and never was able to find again), I mentioned to her that I had emailed recently about the possibility of a visit. As I suspected, she was the same woman I had corresponded with. I talked about my website and how we had met Casimiro Maulé, the enologist and managing director of the Nino Negri winery, some years before.

“I’ll go see if Dr. Maulé is still around,” the lady said. “He was here just a minute ago.” He was, and gave us an hour-long tour of the cantina, with a head-spinning recital of facts and figures.

What I took away was that Valtellina before the 1900s was one of Italy’s chief wine-producing regions – da Vinci centuries ago mentioned that the area produces “wines that are very strong – and how!” The phylloxera plague that destroyed most of Europe’s vines took a heavy toll on this region as well, from which it has not yet recovered its previous glory. Nino Negri, founded in 1897, is the largest producer in the area now, thanks to Dr. Maulé’s talents as both enologist and businessman… and I will write more about all that when I have time to go into the details.

barrique barrels

wine being aged in wooden barrels (barriques) for additional flavor

The winery goes several stories down, covering a city block or more underground in cavernous vault-ceilinged rooms and long, sloping tunnels. On a Saturday, no workers were around, and an eerie silence reigned in which it was easy to concentrate on the all-pervading odohuger of wine – unfamiliar and sour at first, then overwhelming and heady in the room where the first “cooking” of the grapes takes place in big fat stainless-steel tanks.

Other rooms contain rows and rows of wooden barrels two or three meters in diameter, or rows of stainless-steel fermentation tanks, and other equipment, all of which Dr. Maulé explained in every kind of detail – the tour was an education in both the art and the business of wine-making.

You can arrange your own tour, including tasting (and, of course, buying), Monday through Friday from 8 to 12 and 14 to 18, Saturday from 9 to 12:30. Call the winery in advance on 0342 485211 (or write to negri@giv.it) to arrange it, especially if you will need a tour in English as they have to get someone in for that. Nino Negri is located in the town of Chiuro, just outside Sondrio, in Via Ghibellini 3.

(NB: I hope to be able to report on other Valtelline wineries in the next few months.)

wine barrique

As we prepared to leave, it was nearing lunchtime, so we asked Dr. Maulé to recommend a restaurant on the way to Bormio. He said that it would have been easier to recommend one in the other direction (Chiavenna): Lanterna Verde, Passerini (where Enrico and Ross have eaten once before – they tell me it’s good) and il Cenacolo, which we hadn’t heard of and will have to go try sometime. He was less pleased about the options on the way to Bormio, until he remembered a place in Grosio, a hotel called Sassella with “Ristorante Jim” attached, which proved to be an excellent choice.

giant pumpkin

Jim (named after found Jim Pini), in addition to a very interesting general menu, was offering a “Festival of Pumpkin”, which made me very happy – I adore pumpkin. The little welcoming taster was two different yummy pumpkin-based spreads, with a basket of very good whole-wheat bread. I then had a mixed platter of pumpkin based antipasti (some good, some a bit strange).

pasta

For our first course, we had a trio of local specialties (clockwise from upper left):

  • Toscanei di baita – a whole-wheat crepe with creamy melted cheese inside and out, toscanei being the name of the crepe while a baita is a mountain hut where cheeses are made.
  • Manfriguli alla Grusina manfriguli are another type of whole-wheat crepe (Grusina derives from Grosio, the name of the town), this time filled with a mixture of breadcrumbs soaked in milk and grated cheese. These are sliced into rounds and then gratined in the oven to a crisp brown.
  • Bastardelle di Fraina in Salsa Alpinabastardelle are whole-wheat ribbon pasta (I have no idea what Fraina means), in this case served with an “Alpine” sauce of pancetta (bacon) and wild mushrooms.

We were full after all that, but there were so many tempting secondi on the menu that begged to be tried. Jim is a Ristorante del Buon Ricordo (part of the “good memories” restaurant group) whose signature dish is cervo (venison). But the Piatto del Buon Ricordo was an expensive piatto unico (single-course meal) that included gnocchi, and I’d already had enough pasta. So I ordered a costoletta di cervo (venison rib steak), which was somewhat disappointing – it seemed very heavy. I might have enjoyed it more had I not already eaten so much.

Enrico made the better choice with a bastone (stick). This was a wooden rod wrapped in a thin layer of pancetta, then a thin layer of beef, and cooked on the piotta (or pioda), a heated stone – a local tradition. Designed to be eaten, as the waiter said, alla primitiva – primitive style:

Italian kebab

Seated by a window at street level, we were startled to see a procession of priests and other men/boys in vestments, carrying tall golden croziers – and one carrying a pair of loudspeakers on a pole. “Don’t be scared,” said the waitress. “It’s just a funeral. They’re going to pick up the body from the house. There are only 5000 people in this town and they all know each other so, since it’s Saturday afternoon, everyone will turn out for the procession to the church.”

Sure enough, we soon saw a parade of townsfolk going in the other direction. “They take the old people first,” explained the waitress, “to make sure they get seats in front.”

We finished off our meal by sharing a pumpkin-apple-chocolate cake with pumpkin ice cream and amaretto (dessert goes into a different compartment in the stomach, right?), then coffee to brace us for the drive on to Bormio. The whole meal, including a half-bottle of wine (Inferno; the entire wine list is from Valtellina), cost only 69 euros – a steal by today’s standards. There were many other intriguing items on Jim’s menu – we’ll be going back.

Another thing we’ll be going back for, leaving from nearby Tirano, is the Rhaetian Railway, a little train that goes up the Bernina Alps, reportedly the highest railway in the world (or something; at any rate, it should be a beautiful ride).

We reached Hotel Miramonti in Bormio around 4, and I immediately had to try out the big tub in our “junior suite,” which had a lovely (if somewhat head-endangering) sloped wooden ceiling with heavy beams. We took a nap to sleep off some of that lunch, followed by a walk around downtown Bormio – which didn’t take long, especially as some shops and restaurants were closed. Bormio is mostly a ski resort, and it’s not quite ski season there yet – even less so than usual as this month has been unseasonably warm and dry.

Not in Tune with the Holiday Season

I have long said that shopping is America’s national sport. It certainly seems to inspire Olympic-level frenzy among the media and many citizens. Hands up anybody who knew ten years ago what “Black Friday” meant? Today, how could you not know?

America’s Thanksgiving headlines this year, as most years, were largely obvious and useless: the age-old stories on weather, traffic, and turkeys. There’s no need to rewrite these every year – change a few details of location and statistics from last year’s stories, and you’re done.

But this year the standard holiday stories had competition from those about the day after Thanksgiving – “the biggest shopping day of the year”, as we were told breathlessly and endlessly. There were stories about people lining up for hours to be first in line to get some special “door buster” deal at a store. The media rewarded shopping commitment taken to absurd levels, reporting on some man who was wounded by a shotgun blast and nonetheless insisted on standing in line. What a legacy: to be remembered as the guy that obsessed with buying a videogame console.

I have commented on this to Americans before, and got some reactions on the order of “But you CAN get really good deals, so it’s worth it.” Not to me. To me, nothing is worth standing in any line unless there is absolutely no alternative. I can’t think of an object that I so desperately need to buy at anydiscount. (Oh, I’m sure someone could come up with a deal to tempt me, but the temptation level of the average American seems to be far lower than mine.)

I am thankful that Italy doesn’t yet make such a big a deal of the Christmas shopping season, though some seem to be trying. In the past, Christmas decorations did not go up until the Feast of the Immaculate Conception (Dec 8th), a national holiday usually made into a long weekend, hence offering a similar day-after-the-holiday shopping opportunity.

But the Christmas “season” has been inching up in Italy, as elsewhere. Lights went up a few weeks ago, and were turned on last week. Last Sunday many shops were open, and most are already decorated for Christmas, which I find tiring. (But at least I don’t live in the UK, where they start decorating for Christmas in early October!)

So far, in spite of it all, I’m not in a Christmas mood. Any other time of year, I enjoy buying presents for people. Right now it feels like a chore. I have no idea what to get for anybody (except Rossella – she’s easy), and I’m broke anyway. I don’t even know what I’d want for myself. Enrico and Rossella asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I couldn’t think of much (except warm socks – I always need more socks). I have Amazon wish lists, but can’t remember anything on them that I couldn’t live without.

I do enjoy experiences: a good meal, a show, or a weekend like the one we just spent in Bormio, which was my birthday present from Enrico. For this year’s Christmases and birthdays, my dad and his wife got everybody tickets to see “Spamalot” in London when Ross and I visit in January, which will be fabulous. Unfortunately, it’s difficult for me to do anything analogous for them (or anyone else).

Return to Bormio Part 2

ceiling of a small chapel – this must have been recently restored, as we did not see it on our previous trips to Bormio, and there was no explanation anywhere in the room, though there were display cases seemingly ready to hold text of some sort

In the evening we went out again for snacks and beer at a pub, which got very rowdy with a large group of young men singing largely incomprehensible songs. We never did figure out what tribe they belonged to, but one song went “Ocker, ocker, ocker, viva i pizzocher’ !” Only in Italy would a drinking song be an ode to the local pasta specialty: pizzocheri, buckwheat pasta cooked with potatoes and greens, then baked with cheese, garlic, sage, and butter.

wooden Schumi

During our walk, we saw outside a restaurant called Rasiga these fanciful carvings of Schumacher with his Ferrari cavallini (horses) and Valentino Rossi, the motorcycling champion

wooden Rossi

The next morning we got up in good time for our included breakfast, then drove up to the Bagni Vecchi (Old Baths), a few hundred meters above the town. We had been warned to reserve in advance because the Bagni Vecchi were likely to be crowded while the Bagni Nuovi are undergoing restoration. We got there half an hour before our reservation time of 11:00, and then they couldn’t find our reservation, but they let us in anyway.

Bagni Vecchi di Bormio, external view

external view of the Bagni Vecchi showing the outdoor (hot water) pool next to the old chapel. To the right is the main spa and hotel building.

The price has gone up considerably: at 35 euros each, it’s well over twice what we paid on our last visit to Bormio, and a ten-percent discount voucher from our hotel did not do much to ease the sting. Oh, well. All good things must go up in price, I suppose, and, the once a year or so that we manage to go, we can afford it.

Once we had checked in and paid, we were given a token to get a locker key and a package containing tubes of bath gel/shampoo and body lotion. Then we went along to a desk where a lady gave us big white bathrobes and towels, and plastic flip-flops (presumably sterilized for our use); you pay a 5 euro deposit for these.

The locker rooms are unisex, with curtained booths where you change into your bathing suit (forgot your suit? apparently you can buy one embroidered with the crest of the Bagni Vecchi, though I did not inquire about price). After changing and stuffing our clothes, coats, and bags into the (smallish) lockers, we strapped our locker keys to our wrists, and away we went.

Our first stop was perhaps the oldest part of the baths, a dark, steamy, echoey tunnel carved into the living stone of the mountain. The tunnel splits, with one side ending in a spherical steam room with stone benches, the other trailing even further back and filled about four feet deep with hot water. In deep winter, due to some weird thermal effect, this water is almost unbearably hot (even for me, who adore very hot baths), but the surrounding earth wasn’t frozen enough yet last weekend, so it was merely pleasantly warm.

We then went on to Enrico’s favorite feature, the outdoor pool, which is constantly refilled with fresh hot water from an open wooden trough running along three sides, with close-fitting wooden spigots. It also has several kinds of Jacuzzi jets. But the best thing about the pool is that you’re floating in hot water enjoying this view:

view from the pool, Bagni Vecchi, Bormio

(There used to be a great webcam view of the pool, but it was taken down a few years ago, perhaps for privacy reasons.)

My own favorite feature of the Bagni Vecchi is “Garibaldi’s baths”, a long stone pool in a cavernous dark room, with three waterfalls crashing down five meters or so from near the ceiling. You can sit under these waterfalls and get an excellent massage on your head, neck, and shoulders, and the water was the hottest in the entire spa that day.

There are also saunas – two small, traditional dry ones, and one larger with a view (the “Sauna Panoramica”), and two new large ones which are more like wood-panelled sweat rooms – I liked these even better than the dry saunas. (I was also fond of the mud baths that these have replaced, but apparently I’m in a minority on this.) There is a “chromatherapy” room with stone walls, where you lie on a divan and watch colored lights change while listening to “soothing” music – I didn’t bother with this. Several other “relaxation” rooms are scattered throughout, but I have a bone to pick with whoever thinks that shrill pipe music, however New Age, is soothing!

Apparently the Bagni Romani (Roman Baths) that used to cost extra are now included in the package, but we forgot to go to them – they’re basically rooms five feet deep in hot water. We also never made it into the standard Jacuzzi-style pools; we managed to fill three hours going back and forth among the aforementioned features, plus some time just lying in the sun in our damp bathing suits and bathrobes (which we should not have been able to do in late November! global warming?).

By 1:30 or so we were thoroughly waterlogged and relaxed, and I was getting hungry. We showered, changed, returned out towels etc., dried our hair, and went to the spa’s café for a snack of fruit and yogurt.

The road to the Passo dello Stelvio starts just beyond the turnoff for the Bagni Vecchi, and it was already closed for the winter – which seemed odd, considering how little snow had fallen. So we were able to take a walk up the road, completely unmolested by cars.

I was puzzled as to why so many pine trees had turned yellow. Surely that can’t be normal?
yellow pines

As we returned to our car, we saw climbers practicing on a rock face nearby.We headed for home, stopping along the way to fill our water bottles with fresh spring water, and to buy apples from one of the many stands along the way. The minimum we could buy was six kilos, so we’ll be eating a lot of apples for a while!

apples in crates

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia