Italia, Mamma Mia !
Living in a foreign country gives you a not-to-be-underestimated asset: perspective. You learn to look at your own country from a distance. This doesn’t mean being detached or indifferent. In fact, never as now have I felt so strongly about my country, my culture, my people.
Never as now have I been constantly reminded of where I come from. It is inevitable. Every time I introduce myself I am no longer just my name, I am “from Italy”. This has given me a lot to think about concerning the question of personal identity. Where does it lie? Is it in the genetic code? Perhaps - as long as it concerns the colour of my eyes, how tall I am and how long I am going to live. But what if it is not in the body or in the so-called soul, but in my consciousness? And then, to what extent does this consciousness concern my nation, i.e. where I come from? My answer is - a great deal: because it is my past.
It is like being in front of an invisible mirror. I look at my fellow countrymen here in England (no matter whether naïve tourists or experienced Londoners) and while I laugh with or at them I learn something about my own inner self. Teenagers spend so much time and effort criticizing their parents only to realize, a few years later, that they have ended up looking precisely like their fathers and mothers. Similarly, Italians abroad are usually very opinionated and critical towards their compatriots. Many times I have found myself ashamed of those screaming and undisciplined bunches of Italian school kids on the underground. Or at the Post Office, whenever someone jumps the queue, there comes the unavoidable comment from the crowd “Must be Italian!”. I can’t help blushing and feeling sorry.
But, call it homesickness or whatever, all of a sudden you begin to enjoy those selfsame “national imperfections” that for ages have been the butt of jokes by the rest of the world. You agree to play by the rules of the country that now is giving you, literally or not, shelter. But while queueing in a orderly way (you finally learn to!), there is a part of you that will always smile inside, maybe a bit cynically, noticing how nobody ever talks to anyone, everyone absorbed in avoiding eye contact.
There is a peculiar inferiority complex about being Italian. We are not patriotic. Flags, national anthems etc… are still too widely associated with the troubles we had in the last century. So, for Italians abroad, objects of daily life, like the “caffettiera Bialetti” (the typical Italian mocha coffee maker), rise to the high office of national icon and Proustian madaleine. I have seen refined businessmen and cultured intellectuals bursting into tears in front of a mozzarella di bufala!Joking aside, we are no longer immigrants with brown paper packages tied up in string. Nowadays we “emigrate” (“emigrants” seems to be a somewhat more dignified and appropriate epithet to refer to “rich immigrants”) because we want to and we like to, often on a whim. But whether made of paper or crocodile skin, the Italian suitcase will always contain food. In this city where you can find virtually anything you might think of, we stick to bringing food “from home”. I read once somewhere that the act of eating is considered the Catholic answer to the Protestant work ethic. That is surely true, but I would keep it simpler. To me, the small bottle of “olio di oliva” that my beloved grandma gave me before coming here has got the same figurative power of that jar of soil the sailors used to take with them during their long and perilous voyages out on the ocean. And for people who do not feel much affection for anything national, this speaks volumes!
Probably due to the aforementioned inferiority complex, Italians are crazy about foreign things. We call it “esterofilia”. I spent half an hour with the Oxford Dictionary looking for an English synonym, but apparently there isn't one. How bizarre! I suppose this shows clearly how much language reflects culture (besides, pardon my irony, we don’t have an Italian equivalent for “hangover”)! As a result of this passionate love for foreign things, Italians use English words for anything regarded as stylish, innovative, new and cool. To my greatest surprise, I found out that here in England things work exactly the other way around. Italian words everywhere. The size of my “cappuccino” is not big, but “grande”. “Piazza” is where you meet up with your friends or colleagues. And life is “dolce” if you can have your lunch “al fresco”. Often such imports are so inaccurate as to become hilarious. Like “pepperoni”, which in Italian means “peppers”. Well, I consider these vegetables particularly loathsome so have always kept clear of “pepperoni pizza”, only to discover lately that the notorious dish was nothing other than “salame piccante” (spicy salami)!
After the fall of the Roman Empire, Italy boasted very few military victories. Our colonies were (thankfully?) a joke but maybe our Commonwealth is indeed in this “Italian way of life” we are exporting everywhere. To get an idea of how this is perceived I love to go and browse in the “Travel Section” of libraries. Here I enjoy reading how my country is seen and explained by foreign eyes to foreign ears. So far I’ve learnt that literary clichés about Italy generally fall into two categories: either Italy is a heavenly place, a kind of Arcadian watercolour of simplicity and joy, or Italy is an infernal mess, a country degraded by corruption and intrigue. As always, the truth is somewhere in the middle.
What makes the Italian way of life so distinctive? Contradictions, I suppose. Like being internationally pilloried for the shameful football corruption scandal and then, in a short few weeks, winning the World Cup with the most heartfelt and sincere playing. Or the nude calendars displayed for sale next to the “Lives of Saints” in every newsagent. That law regarded as absurd by all the political parties but that they unanimously approved and signed. Or again, our flair for cheating, the obsession with being more “furbo” (cunning) than one´s neighbour, and then, by contrast, our disarming generosity and friendly nature. This swinging between extremes can lead to a sort of crisis of credibility, but the extraordinary contradictory character of Italy also mirrors what are, to me, the best features of its inhabitants: flexibility, both of mind and spirit, and “estro”, a concept between “creativity” and “elan”.
London, finally. I will be honest with you. I am deeply in love with this city. How could I otherwise stand weeks of incessant rain? Aristotle once said that the whole is more than the sum of its parts. I have always suspected that that Greek guy was pretty wise. His dictum has, indeed, proved to hold true for many fields, from biology to theory of perception, but only in London, if you let me romanticize, you can actually experience it. My personal game of changing perspectives here reaches to a kaleidoscopic level. I do not know if I still have the same funny expression on my face I had when I arrived, like saying “Hello, I am a tourist. I am amazed and confused, so please, help yourself, steal everything I have on my person!” What I would like to keep, however, is the same tourist attitude: basically wonder and surprise. I know I am temporary, I know I am not permanent here. So I try to get the most of what this city can offer me. Theatres, clubs, museums, exhibitions, of course. But, mainly, a ticket for the biggest zoo on earth, where mankind is exposed to hundreds of mirrors and questions. I don’t believe it is now a mere matter of “nationality”. I have come to think that “British” (or “European”, considering the place where we are) might just be another name for that “whole” that Aristotle was talking about. Some time ago I heard a song on the radio singing: “You worship the sun, but now you can fall for the rain”. Well, I guess this now applies to me also.
[FOOD and DRINK] Ok, you can probably name many delicious Italian dishes much better than I can! I would suggest you avoid hyper-advertised chains. I am not saying this as a victim of an anti-globalization rush. It is only that good food should be enjoyed in the appropriate environment. For the best espresso in London visit "Amato", Soho. Bar Italia (also in Soho) is something of an institution. Go there whenever there is a televised Italian football match. [FILMS] Gabriele Muccino is a (relatively) young Italian director and screenwriter who has gained much success in the last few years with films such as L'ultimo bacio (One Last Kiss) and Ricordati di me (Remember Me, My Love). Lately, he has been discovered by the American film industry and made a switch from Italy-based stories to Hollywood blockbusters (The Pursuit of Happyness, A Little Game Without Consequence). Italian actresses who are doing well internationally are Asia Argento and Monica Bellucci. [MUSIC] Andrea Bocelli, Eros Ramazzotti and Laura Pausini are, as far as I know, quite popular worldwide, but they all fall into the "bel canto all’ Italiana" stereotype (Italian melodic pop). If you like rock, I would suggest Afterhours. If you are “indie kids”, then listen to Jennifer Gentle. Into hip-hop? Go for Frankie Hi –NRG or Fabbri Fibra. Clubbers? Claudio Coccoluto and Benny Benassi are always a success on the dance floor. [BOOKS] The greatest Italian poet of the 20th century is, to me, Eugenio Montale. Italo Calvino is also much loved by the Anglophone audience. Among the contemporaries, Umberto Eco is a distinguished personality known worldwide. Oriana Fallaci is also considered one of the most famous and controversial Italian contemporary intellectuals.
About MariaBeatrice Fazi
MariaBeatrice was born and brought up in Italy. In her home country she studied Humanities and completed a Masters Course in Philosophy, graduating with a thesis on the social and philosophical aspects of new media. Since her graduation, she has been involved so far in the publishing, educational and IT sectors. Her current intense experience as a stagiaire with the European Parliament, she says, is enriching, both professionally and personally.