Daily living.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that food takes a central role in day-to-day life in Italy. It’s always amusing to hear friends making fun of each other for the way they cook pasta - “you put onion in your carbonara?!” - and slightly less amusing when they make fun of me for eating dinner at 8pm - “you’re going to eat at 8 like a nonna*?!”. I’ve sat through hours of unbelievably in-depth discussions of meals, ingredients, cooking methods and restaurant comparisons: making sure to learn as much as I can while also trying very very hard to not say anything that would be met with a similar comment. I, of course, would never dream of putting onion in my carbonara. 

I’m slowly learning the tricks to a perfect plate of pasta, although the one time I was left unsupervised to cook dinner, I could barely eat from the pressure and stress I felt for the fear of an Italian person critiquing my Italian dish. I can count the days on one hand that I haven’t seen pasta since I’ve been here and the question on everyone’s lips is - how on earth do Italians not gain weight?? I think I’ve cracked it. Italians spend a disproportionate amount of time standing up. Coffee and a croissant, aka breakfast, are often taken standing up at the bar. A lunchtime slice of pizza or an afternoon tramezzino** (a triangular sandwich normally white bread with crusts cut off) are often consumed standing up. And meeting friends for drinks in the evening normally involves grabbing a drink in a cheap bar and standing in the piazza or surrounding area to chat, joke and have the odd in-depth discussion - probably food-related. It is not uncommon to be “standing around” for a few hours before going off to squeeze in a couple hours of dancing. So, I have come to the conclusion that all this standing must counterbalance the daily pizza and pasta. Surely. Or the hourly espresso - burning off all the calories from the constant caffeine buzz.

Apart from the ordering at the bar and consuming your drink there or outside, another aspect of Italian life that might take getting used to is getting your scontrino (receipt/proof of payment) at the cashier separately from where you order your drink. In busy or touristic places you are normally asked to pay first, but in the majority of places you pay just before you leave and, as my brother remarked on his recent trip with me to Rome, “it’s absolutely genius” as it saves time with baristas trying to take payments as well as take orders and make drinks. Not that I brought this up to remark on this “revolutionary” payment system - I understand that restaurants work like this all over the world, but I’m talking café’s and bars. The thing that strikes me here is the amount of TRUST this system requires - I cannot imagine so much trust in any other place I have lived. [Well, perhaps apart from Hornby Island.***] One wonderful Italian characteristic. Trust. Italians speak their mind and are sincere. There’s no games, reading between the lines or trying to second guess. Candour - accompanied by a flourish of gestures and dramatic expressions, which should generally be taken with a pinch of salt. But don’t put too much on your pasta, or you will be the next joke at the dinner table. 

Alla prossima,

A xx  

*grandma

**the word is composed of tra-mezz-ino: tra - meaning between, mezzo - meaning middle, ino - the suffix used to denote something small in size. So all the signs pointing to something small to be consumed between meals in the middle of the afternoon.

***i will leave you to google this one

roof top cacio e pepe con carciofi  

the eastern boarder

1st may bbq vibes 

1st may fresh mozzarella vibes

Where am I?

Back in Europe now for a little while and, after having truly discovered and awakened my Russian side that had stayed dormant for so long, I was fascinated to see how I would adjust back to life in Europe, in Italy. 

Moving to any new place for an extended period of time always involves a few boring, often unnecessarily-complicated errands that take up the first week or so of your time. Now was no different. Coming from a city where everything is open late into the evening, if not 24/7, and lunch break is something to be taken when one has a minute to spare, adjusting to the sacred 90-minute Italian lunch break and generally limited opening hours meant morning rushes to get to places before they closed for lunch as well as factoring in the much more relaxed pace Italians have when it comes to getting things done. I kept missing the guy helping me with my bank account - as it turns out being in “in the afternoons” means arriving at 14:30 and leaving by 16:00. [A guy at the hospital the other day even made a joke to to his colleague who was leaving early; “do you work in a bank now?” - a common theme?] At least everyone is unbelievably friendly so it always feels like you’re talking to an old friend doing whatever they can to help with a big, cheeky grin. 

A month in a city I know and love deeply, before going to Parma to study at the conservatory until June, Rome allowed me to gently settle back into Italian life before the late end-of-February start of term. Within a couple of days I found my go-to coffee and croissant place and it took a mere few days before I was greeted with a morning “Ciao bella, come stai? Cappuccino, vero? e un cornetto, si?”* 
[see 'Feeling Raf and Ready' http://arussianabroad.blogspot.com/2018/10/]. 
In any new place I live in, I tend to get my bearings and orientate myself through food. I like to try as many potential cafe’s, coffee places, restaurants and on-the-go spots as possible (money permitting of course). This not only gives me a perfect opportunity to explore the city, including smaller roads, shortcuts and less touristy areas, but it allows me acquaint myself as quickly as possible with the area as well as giving me some kind of “local” knowledge - a crucial factor in feeling like you have a life there. I found the best ice-cream spot in Rome this way, and of all the people (including a couple complainers about the 15-min walk from the metro to get there) I have subsequently brought there, no one has yet to disagree. Relaxing my diet rules slightly, after some encouragement, I allowed myself to try bucatini all’amatriciana and the best spaghetti alla carbonara Rome has to offer, while also indulging in the normality of having slightly under-sized donuts for breakfast. (They count as a “pastry” here, and who am I to tell them otherwise?)

I quickly adjusted to hectic drivers, buses that run on their own, as of yet, undisclosed schedules and the late dinner time (around 9/9:30pm), and after a few weeks I felt ready to tackle real life in Parma. Having never been there, but knowing the city was located not far from Bologna and with a reputation of a good university and a very good conservatory, I expected the city to be a smaller version of Bologna. Oh, how mistaken I was. I was greeted with this hybrid german-dutch-italian city and I was caught off guard. Parma is clean and orderly. People are on time and follow the rules of the road - including slowing down for pedestrians at a crossing. It feels like there are more bikes than cars - especially in the centre - and the number 5 “bus” is some kind of strange hybrid between bus and electric tram. Think electric tram on wheels. The buses are regular and reliable and people seem to be trustworthy. I have seen bikes left on streets secured by a lock between the back wheel and the frame but standing otherwise freely on the pavement. Things and people here are organised, straightforward and calm - a surprisingly welcome change and breathe of fresh air. 

A city known for its Parma Ham and Parmesan, I wasn’t surprised to see Parmesan being sold in outdoor vending machines to ensure 24-hour access in case of emergency and I’ve vowed to find the best Parmesan in town before my time is up. The coloured houses and clean architecture weirdly remind me of Dusseldorf, while the overwhelming number of bikes, of Amsterdam - this impression not at all hindered by the legalisation of CBD marijuana in Italy and the shops that have been popping up since. However, go into the historical centre and the “italianness” is unmistakeable. The beautiful duomo completed 900 years ago is as stunning as ever and radiates with rich Italian history and art. And there is the ever present slightly hexagonal-circular shape of the old city walls, which are clearly visible on any map and typical to these cities. A day spent in the nearby city of Reggio Emilia (on the same line between Bologna and Piacenza) and the feeling was the same and very comforting. An architecture and a history giving these emiliane cities a character that is beautiful and completely and truly Italian. And, of course, no other country will make ice-cream like they do here. Thankfully I’ve already found my Parma gelato place and it is conveniently right around the corner from my house. 

Visitors are more than welcome. 

Un bacio,

A xxx

*the name for a croissant tends to vary region to region but cornetto/brioche/pasto are all acceptable options. 

breaking rules

mid-winter lake trip

freak hailstorm to cool us down in the heat

central Rome morning views that melt my heart

Parma bike parking

the tomb of the composer of one of the most famous tunes ever written

Time.

This is now my 3rd winter in Russia (I have stayed much longer than I originally planned), yet I still get excited as ever when heavy snow starts to fall and cover the city in a glistening blanket of white, transforming it into a magical wonderland before your eyes. I still look on in astonishment as hoards of workers in head-to-toe bright orange arctic gear appear as if from nowhere within minutes, like ants after a storm, snow shovels in hand - they have been waiting and this is their moment. I feel like a child as a I get a kick from hearing the roar of the 20-long line of industrial-sized snow ploughs, tearing through the main roads of central Moscow leaving a wall of snow in their wake, and as they pass I look on with a huge grin on my face. Within days, courtyards, pavements and roads are cleared, huge piles of snow on street corners are loaded into dump trucks and taken out of sight, and life in Moscow ploughs steadily on without even batting an eyelid.

A couple days later, white snow clouds lighten the night sky and you know you're in for a treat.

Although, that's not to say that I'm a big fan of cold climates. I once again took advantage of having January off to get as far south as my bank account would allow and I ended up spending a couple weeks in Italy. Five years after I first fell in love, my heart is never far from the wonderful country. I had only been to Rome twice before for short, touristy trips and I was intrigued to see how "living" there would compare with Bologna. Admittedly, after so much time in Russia, it took me a few days to adjust to the pace of life - very relaxed - and to afternoon closing times between lunch and dinner. When expressing my surprise that a local store that had clearly said "open all hours" was closed when I stopped by in the evening, my friend explained that that simply meant it was open during napping hours in the afternoon... I soon had the main stops on the two metro lines memorised and I learnt to not trust "arrival times" at metro stations or bus stops - Italian minutes seem to have a funny way of being able to last anything between 50 and 150 seconds.

Joking aside, I was reminded of two important messages I had long forgotten since moving away. Family and Time.

The people I met working at the recording studio next door to where I was practising every day were shocked to hear I was planning to come in on Sundays. "What about family day?" they asked. "You shouldn't be practising on a Sunday...it's a day of rest and for spending time at home with your family." With a family that travels and works constantly and living in a city that never sleeps and where working days can easily be 12 hours long, I had to take a minute to let it sink in and then quickly try to explain myself... "in Russia, blah blah blah". Not surprisingly, my explanations were met with looks of amusement and disbelief.

A common and popular conversation topic between people from different countries is often stereotypes. During the first of a few magical al fresco lunches in the magnificent Roman winter sun I was treated to while I was there, this topic came up and I was asked if it was generally assumed that Italians never do any work. A smile in response answered the question for them, but I was quick to add, that with weather and food like they have, who's to blame them? Later that afternoon, I took a quick break from playing and walked into the next room to find everyone (six or so men) standing around chatting without a care in the world - I did a coffee round and joined in, trying to catch on to their Roman lingo. As one of the them was about to leave, I joked as kindly as possible: "and they say that Italians never do any work..". Putting his helmet on, he smiled, looked me in the eyes and said, "I don't live to work, I work to live."

The general concept of Time is that we have lots of it, but it is also precious and every minute should be enjoyed. Whether that be having an espresso with friends, relaxed lunch breaks in the winter sun, making that effort to pick some fresh chilli's from the garden for lunch, taking that detour to stop by the best place for pistachio croissants, working half-days to spend time with your family or taking time out of your busy teaching day to introduce a newcomer to fellows colleagues and musicians, it is about really respecting the time we are given. When I tell people my age at academy in Moscow, they frown and and give me a look of concern, commenting that I'm quite late on in the game and instilling in me a great sense of urgency to press on. In Italy, people smile with hope and anticipation, telling me how I'm young and I have so much time ahead of me. This concept of using every moment, relishing it and appreciating it whether it be work- or play-related is a message I was grateful to have been reminded of.

Back in Russia, I am more appreciative than ever of reliable public transport and 24h shops, however, I'm also doing what I can to keep those pieces of Italy with me.

(This may or may not include cooking pasta on an almost daily basis and constantly bugging my friends to send me pistachio croissants* and gelato).

More frequents posts to come from now on (I promise)...and a website and some music in the making.

Ciao for now,

A-M xxx 


*though croissants are technically french, a 'cornetto' is Italian and a 'cornetto a pistachio' even more so. 

This ceiling fresco in Villa Borghese took my breath away (and get me sever neck pain) and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

The best lunch 5€ will buy you - a regional 'mini-pizza' called a pinsa. 

0 km farm produce at your service.

Start your day the right way.

River and canal walking in St. P - the perks of cold winters.