"Our Italian Neighbourhood ... Part Uno" by mapakettle

We've been living in Padova for over two years now, and during this time we have been fortunate to have made many acquaintances, as well as some very good friends.

Finding friendships was a worry for Ma Kettle and I, since we had moved to Italy with no support system in place. The culture is so different, and of course the language barrier causes many difficulties. Ma Kettle had spoken Italian with her parents while growing up, but over the years her mom's english improved, and her Italian became watered down with a smattering of improvised English thrown in for good measure.

How we were to communicate was never given a thought. After all, we considered this to be our adventure of a lifetime, so what happens, happens. The pitfalls associated with our foreign tongue only became apparent upon our arrival, but manage we did.

Ma Kettle has been very quick to pick up the language, improving her skills on a daily basis. She is like a sponge, absorbing all the nuances of speech, learning the various rules in using masculine and feminine forms, and gradually dissecting the differences associated with various dialects among the Italian people. It is so difficult living within the Veneto region because the Veneto dialect is very hard to understand. They tend to 'drop' parts of words, and the speech pattern is entirely different from the Calebrese dialect which Ma had been taught. Many words and their meanings are entirely different, even among people living in Rome and the Veneto.

My ability to learn is handicapped due to a short term memory disability I have. I can't recall certain words or phrases that I've used all my life, and I often forget words in the middle of a sentence. Attempts to memorize Italian have proven to be an almost impossible task. Often, pressure to use the proper word at the appropriate time causes me to forget, however if I sit on the sidelines and listen, I usually catch the drift of the conversation. I'm better with the written word as well. Understand, I often mistake the conversation too, resulting in a completely different meaning. Ma Kettle has found me to be a bit of a liability out in public. LOL.

To be truthful, we expected to find more English speaking people in Padova, especially with the University situated here. We thought that with Venice only a half hour away, tourism alone would encourage shopkeepers to grasp a limited amount of English, but, alas, tis not to be. To be fair, this is Italy, and it is our responsibility to learn the Italian language. I just wish there were a pill I could take.

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Our apartment, overlooking a corn field

If you're from Canada, why move here??

The area we live in does not benefit from tourism in any way, and Ma Kettle and I still attract a lot of interest when we jabber away in our native tongue. I must say though, the interest generated is of a positive sort, and it seems everyone we meet loves Canada, or at least the idea of Canada.

Canada appears to be a favoured destination for the average Italian to relocate to. They often question why Ma and I chose to move to Italy, while they in turn would love to live there. Toronto or Montreal seem to be the extent of their knowledge of our huge country however, with the occasional person having heard of Vancouver, and some possibly knowing about the Rocky Mountains and the city of Banff. Everybody has seen pictures of our Mounties though, and are always disappointed to hear that their red jackets are primarily worn as ceremonial garb.

Don't misunderstand, the Italian people love their country, and although they are the first to make fun of it, their joking remains their perrogative, best you not join in. They are fiercely proud of sunny Italy.

A recent government survey disclosed Padova is the leading city in per capita savings. They lead the pack in salting money away for a rainy day, an average being almost 20,000 euro a year. Interesting, and amazing. I wonder about the accuracy of the survey however, as Italians believe in the term 'bella figura' (spelling??) which means basically that it is important to put your best face forward, even if it costs you money you don't have. Perhaps a few people surveyed overstated their savings then.

Padova has been very good to us. The people as mentioned are, for the most part, very warm, kind, and generous. It took awhile to break through, basically the first year I was ignored because it was easier than trying to understand my butchered Italian. I recall one day walking into a local bar for a coffee. All conversation stopped!! I didn't feel hostility, but I felt much like an uninvited dinner guest. The barman was polite, I placed my order 'cafe doppio' (double espresso), and took my rightful place at the long marble bar. Italians tend to line the counter, with tiny cup in hand, drink their coffee in two swallows, and carry on very loud and animated conversations. Today it became deathly quiet. I felt all eyes upon me, questioning my right to be there.

You see, a neighbourhood bar attracts the same clientel day after day. A quick coffee or drink, followed by an intense round of light hearted bantering over the previous nights soccer game, is carried out in customary fashion. The customers have, for the most part, known each other for years and years, often being school chums from way back. Italians generally don't stray too far from their original home, and often occupy apartments supplied by parents for their children. Conversation is always loud, fun, and they feel at total ease with one another.

They were wondering about me, and had likely discussed Ma and I at some point as we strolled outside the bars perimeter in previous weeks. Being a small community, strangers were noted real fast, and attempts were made to find out as much as they could. Italians are not aggressive people, and I have found them to be very, very polite, so I simply felt uncomfortable standing with my belly pressed against the counter, wishing I had not chosen to make my stop this day. The fellow standing beside me (our local green grocer) attempted a greeting, but I was too rattled to say anything appropriate, and certainly nothing witty. I finished my coffee in true Italian style, two quick gulps, and escaped with simply a burning red flush to my ears.

Ma Kettle and I have returned to this bar since, a few times in fact, and with Ma's linguistic abilities, satisfied the barmans curiousity. Finding out we were Canadian made a big difference to the patrons who were listening with elephant ears. Many questions were fielded by Ma, and after a couple of visits, the stares stopped. I don't feel at ease there however, and simply continue past with a casual wave each day.

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this is simply a sampling of the delicious goodies

Our favourite pasticceria, 'ALFIOS'

Ma had decided to do some exploring on a warm Sunday in early September before my arrival, and was a tad surprised to find all the neighbourhood shops closed. She was hot, thirsty, and rather hungry as she had yet to find the grocery stores from which to stock our kitchen cupboards at home. You see, it is the custom to roll down metal shutters covering shop windows during hours of closure, and Ma had not seen anything resembling a place to purchase food in our neighbourhood. Being alone, and not having a car or having a working knowledge of the transit system made it doubly difficult to grocery shop as well.

Our apartment building is located quite a distance from the main street, in fact the bus stop is 20 minutes distant, and the retail section is an additional 15 minutes away, so it was quite a trek, rather unnerving as well since she had no idea where she was going. Seeing the shuttered shops and deserted streets made our area of Sacre Coure look rather bleak in fact. She was feeling quite discouraged this day, and wondering whether we had made the right decision in moving to Italy.

Sheer curiousity made Ma continue her hike, and when she reached the intersection Of Via Po and Via Sacre Cuore, she looked about in desperation for a vending machine from which to purchase a cool drink. Straight ahead was a overpass, with no sidewalk on which to walk. To her left was a shabby looking bar, but closed that day, and to her right was a series of shops, all shuttered for the day. Immediately in front of her was a freestanding newpaper kiosk, but also shuttered.

Feeling very sad, very hungry and thirsty, and very disillusioned about Italy in general, Ma did a final 180 degree turn to begin her walk back home. In doing so, a huge transport on Via Po which had been stopped for a red light, started its forward motion. On the other side of the truck, was a pasticceria, originally hidden from view. To Ma's great relief, it appeared to be open.

Holding her breath, Ma waited, and waited for the light to change. We have since found this traffic light to be one of the longest in Padova. Crossing the street, she watched the shop, fearing it might be a mirage, simply a fools last vision while dehydration settled in.

The door was open, outside tables with clean green and white cloth coverings on each, and a freshly swept seating area covered by an awning offering wonderful relief from the sun. Ma stepped through the door, into what eventually became known to us as Alfio's Bar and Pasticceria.

Ma was met by a short, slightly rounded figure with the warmest of smiles. This was Graziella, who was later to become her best friend in Padova. Ma stared about her in absolute fascination, as Alfios was reminiscent of a fifty's style cafe in Canada, with small round tables and metal chairs, and two booths in the far corner. Bright blue decor, lots of mirrors, and a twenty foot glass display case filled with the most incredible pastries and gelato. Immediately in front of her were numerous thick, filled sandwiches of varying kinds, and oblong sheets of pizza, covered with a layer of mozza cheese and mushrooms. The scent of fresh brewed coffee filled the air, and wonderful big band music of a bygone era was playing in the background. Ma felt like she had died and gone to heaven.

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son Lorenzo (a real neat kid) with mom Graziella

Contact...

Graziella has a certain way about her, instilling trust in those upon first meeting. Ma took to her right away, and felt very comfortable in her new surroundings. With stomach rumbling, in fact crying out in desperation, Ma quizzed Graziella on the ways to reheat the various paninos. Our apartment was equipped with gas, and Ma had never in her life used gas. Lighting the top burner had been quite an experience, using matches earlier that day for a cup of tea had resulted in burned fingertips, so the thought of attempting the oven was rather a fearful feat left for my arrival.

I'm sure Graziella must have wondered who this strange person was, looking so bedraggled, sounding so confused, and who didn't even know how to light an oven. Besides which, this person was so uncultured in her speech, and her accent was really weird. However, Ma is the friendly sort, always quick with a sincere smile, and sees only the good in people. This was Ma's appeal, and Graziella felt drawn towards her.

Ma sipped her cool drink outside, nibbled on her pastry, and watched the traffic drive past. As the afternoon progressed, she noticed the sidewalk gradually becoming filled with people, women and old men on bikes, and oh so many scooters fouling the afternoon stillness. The pasticceria started filling up, with wave after wave of patrons purchasing goodies to take as offerings when visiting friends. Countless people emerged with brightly wrapped red and white packages, secured by a red ribbon, dangling from their little pinkies. Plastic bags are not used here, instead each parcel is carefully wrapped in tissue paper, something new for Ma to file away.

She carried her dishes back inside and handed them over to Graziella who thanked her with her traditional warm smile. Ma paid her bill, using exact change which promoted a further smile, and carried her freshly wrapped red and white treasure home, to be enjoyed with tea later that night.

All in all, it proved to be a fruitful day for Ma. Her anticipation of wonderful times ahead was restored by a very sweet and warm lady who has proven to be a very good friend to us. Lorenzo, her son, has a great interest in Italy, and is hard to stump on any question pertaining to its history. He has been a wonderful source of information for us, often greeting us with suggestions of places to visit, festivals in the region, and clarifying articles read with interest in the newspaper.

I spend three days a week with him, usually for two hours per visit, giving him English lessons. He is a willing student, and I usually get him to talk about his interests (which are quite varied), discuss his job, and as mentioned, we review the newspaper together allowing me an opportunity to learn current events, and for him to fine tune his English skills. His abilities are remarkable, and he practices an ancient form of martial arts using traditional swords and other weapons under the tutilage of Swordmaster John **** (will return with name). In fact, his company is featured in a famous comic strip called 'Dago', published in the magazine 'Lanciostory', and written by Robin Wood.

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Alfio making pizza dough

This is Alfio, such a good friend.

Alfio is Graziella's husband, plus the namesake of the pasticceria. He is a rather short but stocky man, who walks with a limp as a result of a very serious motorcycle accident over ten years ago. He almost died as a result, and remained in hospital over a year and a half, enduring operation after operation.

This lack of mobility has been quite a blow to him, as he was once a very physical man, being an avid cyclist and mountain climber. He has retained his sense of humour though, and works countless hours preparing the baked goods we saw in the picture above.

His day begins at 3am, and works until 3pm, six days a week. We have often been in his company after a full day in the mountains (pick up time 5am), and he will drop us off at home, and go directly to the pasticceria to begin his twelve hour day. He never complains, his attitude towards life is amazing.

Dispite his gruff mannerisms, Alfio is known and loved by countless people throughout the Veneto region. We've been in many towns, and people come over to shake his hand. In fact Paola, our adoptive daughter VT member Paseao was surprised to hear that her coworkers were impressed that she had met him. I've been told numerous times, if I ever have trouble in Italy, just to mention his name. At first I thought it was false pride, but I know differently now.

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Nando, a Prince among men.

Nando...such a great guy

Nando is a short statured man, slightly taller than Graziella. He is a good friend of Aflio and Graziella's first, and a faithful employee second.

Always smiling, always cheerful, and a dynamo when it comes to his job. Every customer is greeted with a big grin, and he makes sure the customer is taken care of in every way. I've never heard him say a harsh word about anyone, and incidents which have occurred in his life which would make a lessor man cry, he endured, accepted his fate, always creating a humorous twist in the telling of it.

Nando has often sat alone with me, and will tell me stories or jokes, or a funny event, understanding I speak little to no Italian, but the quick smile, the twinkle in his eye describes the story perfectly. He has told me stories with great pride in his voice, recalling many of his children's accomplishments. I really really like this man, and respect him in every way.

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He always waves as I pass his shop

Our Green Grocer...

Zulian Claudio was one of the first people I met in Padova. He owns our local produce shop (Ortofrutta) on Via Sacro Cuore 27/2. A shameless plug if I may.

It was Zulian who taught me that the green grocer is the only one to handle our purchases. The customer might do it in a supermarket, but they must wear plastic gloves to do so. We are to simply ask, or point in my case, and he will select the best for you.

He has been responsible for teaching me the names of the various fruits and vegetables, and has given long and detailed receipes to Ma Kettle for preparation of unidentifiable vegetables, for which she has been most grateful. He always laughs at my inability to speak Italian, but always in a joking manner. As he told Ma the other day, " Who gives a s**t "!! Presumably he meant that it didn't matter, because we always got along well. At least I hope that's the way he meant it. In fact, it was Zulian who made the effort to make me comfortable in the bar mentioned above. I'll always appreciate and remember his effort.

The lady in the photo is an employee, name escapes me, but for the better part of two years Ma and I assumed she was his wife. She wants to learn English really badly, but has yet to take the first step.

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Our neighbours on the corner

Our neighbours on the corner

The lady in the photo was the very first neighbour Ma Kettle spoke to. It was this lady who gave her directions where to catch the bus, and sent her in an entirely different direction. Ma walked for over an hour in the August heat, looking for a bus stop that didn't exist. Well, actually it did, but it was the wrong bus. However, we blame this on miscommunication and Ma's anxiety. Another story already mentioned somewhere else in my gibberish.

For a year we walked past their house, a nod perhaps, but nothing more. Then one day her dog came running out of the house to greet me. Cute little thing, and finally I got to meet the dog which barked every time I walked past. The ice was broken.

Now, we always stop for a five or ten minute conversation, and in fact their son Marco was anxious to meet our son Stephen this past spring. Marco has a smattering of English and a love for Harley Davidson Motorcycles. He was planning a trip to Canada in August, and was flying to Edmonton to rent a Harley and tour alone to Las Vegas. Hearing that Stephen was living in Calgary got him quite excited.

They went out for dinner and drinks a few times, and Steve (Baby Kettle)was treated like royalty.

We casually mentioned the other day that it would have been nice to taste the wine made from the grapes in the vineyard we passed everytime we left the apartment. The husband has told us not to worry, he'll take care of obtaining a five gallon bottle when fermentation is complete. We wouldn't even know how to go about asking.