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Archive for the ‘Living abroad’ Category

Don’t Call Me “Expat”

Posted in Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, Travel to Italy, tagged , , , , , on July 26, 2013| 20 Comments »

American In Rome

I don’t like the word “Expat” –  it feels exclusionary, divisive and, dare I say it, a bit elitist. 

I never liked being a member of a clique in school either, preferring to spread myself around, hopping from one social and ethic circle to another.

1ex·pa·tri·ate verb \ek-ˈspā-trē-ˌāt\

1: banish, exile

2: to withdraw (oneself) from residence in or allegiance to one’s native country

…Nope, that doesn’t quite define me.

Look, it’s perfectly obvious that I am not from around here (especially when I open my mouth) so I see no real need to announce it, label it, or hide behind it.

Go ahead and call me an “American”, call me a “Straniera” (foreigner), call me “crazy”, but don’t call me “Expat”. 

 

Photograph “American Girl” by Ruth Orkin, 1951

 

by Toni DeBella

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Amore di Mamma

Posted in Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Orvieto Italy, Rome, San Francisco, Travel, Travel to Italy, Uncategorized, tagged , , , on May 30, 2013| 20 Comments »

Every single path we take in life has its price to pay. Fulfilling my dream comes at the expense of living far away from my son.

IMG_2181Today I especially felt the sting of that choice as I accompanied Andrew to the train station. I decided not to see him off at the airport because he absolutely hates it when I make public displays of emotion.

Honestly, I should have earned an Academy Award for this morning’s subtle and realistic performance as the upbeat and nonchalant Mom…smiling as I gave him a big hug, two kisses on the cheek (Italian style) and waved goodbye through the train window. I waited until I was on the Metro back home to burst into tears.

Andrew arrived in Rome in January to do a semester of university study.  This once shy, introverted child had become a confident, independent and adventurous man.  It’s astonishing how quickly he immersed himself into the experience: A year ago he was asking me, “How do you say “fork” in Italian?” and now I’m asking him, “Should I use the imperfect or simple past in this situation?”  I admit it does bug me a little when he orders the dinner in a restaurant to avoid the embarrassment of his mother (who’s been studying the language for six-something years) mispronouncing menu items.  I suppose I should be used to it by now – he’s been smarter than me since the third grade. 

We spent his last day in Italy quietly walking around Rome. I could tell he was sad too, but he claimed he was just tired. I know he’s ready to return to his life in San Francisco and resume his studies, earn his degree, begin a career and get on with building the life he wants for himself. I want that for him too, but I will miss my Amore di Mamma more than I can say.

by Toni DeBella

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On Italian Time

Posted in Americans Abroad, Expat in Italy, Living abroad, Living in Europe, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, tagged , , , , , on September 2, 2012| 13 Comments »

60 days, 8 weeks, 1440 hours, 86,400 minutes and 5,184,000 seconds…

Everyday I obsessively enter my impending departure date into a duration calculator, but strangely the “days remaining until I arrive in Italy” number never seems to decrease. Time is not just dragging, it has come to a screeching halt and I’ve begun to wonder if my new life in Orvieto will ever begin? I fear I could be trapped in some kind of weird vortex or bizarre Italian space-time continuum!

Harry’s touching sentiment in the film, When Harry Met Sally echoes my own:

“…when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone (or, in my case, somewhere), you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

Unfortunately like a pot, a watched country never boils.

by Toni DeBella

 

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A Lame Duck American

Posted in Americans Abroad, Expat in Italy, Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, tagged on August 14, 2012| 10 Comments »

There’s a mind-set you adopt when you’re about to move far, far away.  You become a short-timer drawing an arbitrary line in the sand – a sort of invisible cut-off date after which you won’t be forming any new relationships.  Now when I meet someone I’m tempted to say, “Hi, my name is Toni and you can’t get attached to me.”  I’ve put into place a “friend moratorium” because I just can’t like any more people – it hurts too much to leave them.

A perfect example is Reggie. I met her just under the wire at a Starbucks on Union Street about a month ago.  She is hysterically funny, super smart and very cool. Now I’m going to miss her, damn it! 

When it rains, it pours…

Wouldn’t you know it?  The other day on the ferry a handsome man smiled at me PAST THE DEADLINE!  

I was thinking…perhaps some rules are meant to be broken?

by Toni DeBella

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Brian’s “Ape”

Posted in Expat in Italy, Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 6, 2012| 14 Comments »

I don’t know why, but the sight of my friend Brian “putting” about Orvieto in his 2000 forest green Piaggio Ape makes me smile.  Perhaps it’s because he’s such a distinguished and elegant Englishman that the visual of him in that little Italian pickup truck (“ape” means “bee”) creates a contrasting effect – as if one is looking at an enigma.  But once you get to know Brian you’ll discover the many facets of his personality: father, grandfather, friend, soul mate to the lovely Antonella, and an adventuresome, rugged, country-boy-at-heart hobby farmer.

I got to wondering about how Brian happened to land in Italy, so on one of our morning jaunts around the Rupe I asked him, and he graciously agreed to spin his wonderful tale of two teenage boys, a yellow and grey 150 LD Lambretta scooter and 4,000 kilometers of roads that began the dream to live in Italy.

Just sixteen and eighteen years of age respectively, he and his friend Michael Williams set out from Rotherham, England for Italian parts unknown.  It was 1957 (a very good year) – a decade post-World War II when Italy was a much different country than it is today.  He remembers it as a simple and innocent time.  

Brian  doesn’t recall the girl in the photo’s name, only that “she didn’t fancy me.”

The exchange rate to lire was good, the girls were pretty and exotic, and the boys’ youthful exuberance and open hearts bought them life lessons you couldn’t pay a million euros for today.  Per esempio, a collision with the back of a tractor ended amicably with a “wine” summit on the tractor owner’s portico.  Both parties agreed to assume equal fault in the matter with just a gentleman’s handshake, a “grazie” and a “ciao”. 

As with most journeys, this one came to an end and Brian dutifully returned to England to join the family’s tile business.  When it came time for a trade course, his father sent him off to Malmö, Sweden – knowing full well the risk of sending him to the training in Modena, Italy – Brian might never have returned!

Enjoying a visit with the grandchildren

Brian worked hard and raised his family, venturing back to Italy whenever he could.  With his children grown and his tile business sold, he retired at the young age of 51 and made a “bee” line straight for Italy where he has now lived for 21 years…and counting. 

Although today he drives around on three wheels instead of two, I think it would be safe to say that life in Italy is very sweet for Brian and his little Ape. 

by Toni DeBella

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Full of Art is Not that Bad!

Posted in Expat in Italy, Italian Culture, Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, Umbria, tagged , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2012| 18 Comments »

You’ve probably heard of the Stendhal syndrome, named for the famous French author who detailed his experience of being overcome with emotion by the immense beauty of Florentine art.   In 1979 an Italian psychiatrist finally gave the syndrome its official name after reporting nearly 100 tourists at the Galleria degli Uffizi had fainted – some sent to hospital when their heads hit the hard marble floor. Personally I have never actually swooned from viewing a painting, but I do get a bit light-headed at the sight of Michelangelo’s David.

Art: The Good, the Bad and….

Unfortunately there won’t be any swooning happening here. You see, at the base of the rock that I live on, in front of the town’s train station sits a sculpture in a fountain. This “work of art” makes a very strong first impression to visitors arriving by rail on their way up to town. It is my understanding (I did some asking around) that the artist is internationally renowned and important enough that the City commissioned not one, but two of his works for installation.   I don’t get it.  I can’t even describe the fountain to you without using terms that would make a 9 year old boy collapse in a heap of laughter at my “potty” humor.  Fortunately no one really cares what I think about the fountain, and why should they?  Who the hell am I to judge the merits of a piece of art?  What I know about art couldn’t fill an espresso cup.  Art, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder.  Enough said.


by Toni DeBella

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Scrivere: To Write

Posted in Expat in Italy, Italy, Living abroad, Living in Italy, Orvieto, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , on March 12, 2012| 10 Comments »

writ·er [rahy-ter] noun. a person engaged in writing

The words scribbler, dabbler, pencil pusher and hack all come to mind as a description of the activity in which I am now engaged.  But the term “writer” – that particular word sticks in my throat. For me the title has always been reserved for those who actually deserve it, such as the likes of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Capote, Irving and Bradbury. 

So what makes someone a “real” writer?  Are you a writer when you are paid to write?  If so, how much money buys you this status?  Is a writer someone who gets published?  Today’s publishing landscape has changed to include self-published websites, bloggers, contributors, ghostwriters, editors, etc.  Which of these capacities qualifies you as a writer and which do not? How many people in the world must agree that you are a writer in order for you to call yourself one?  Do people fill out a ballot designating you as such?  What is the litmus test one must pass to become a member of this elite club?  

Even if I had answers to the above questions perhaps they might not amount to a hill of beans?  Could it be that the name you give yourself isn’t really that important? Perhaps it isn’t what you say you do that matters, but that what you do brings about fulfillment.  Every day I sit down at my computer and put words onto a page.  Maybe that’s all I really need to know.  I write.

by Toni DeBella

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Scuola dei Duri: School of Hard Knocks

Posted in Americans Abroad, Expat in Italy, Italy, Living abroad, Travel, tagged , , , on February 28, 2012| 11 Comments »

“You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafés.” 

– Ernest Hemmingway

Ahhh…the adventure and discovery of learning about my newly-adopted nation and how it functions – from the everyday (taking a number at the post office) and mundane (small town news and gossip travels like wildfire), to the intricacies of governmental bureaucracy (it took me an entire afternoon and ten forms to deposit money in a bank account).  Mastery of a new system takes an adjustment period.  How long my learning curve will be is entirely in my hands.  My passport may say I am Italian now, but I know this is a legal technicality.  I am a stranger learning to live the way people live here and it isn’t always straightforward.

A rosy outlook, tongue-biting and an almost Pollyannaish mind set is how I roll these days.  Like muttering about the August sun shining bright and hot – complain if you will, but the sun will continue to beat down on you.  My days are about sink or swim, and being educated one mistake at a time. You live, you learn.

by Toni DeBella

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Paris at Street Level

Posted in Americans Abroad, Culture, France, Living abroad, Living in Europe, Travel, tagged , , , , on November 12, 2011| 8 Comments »

One Day – Day 9 of 30 Days of Indie Travel Project

During this entire month of November Bootsnall is inviting bloggers from around the world to participate in 30 Days of Indie Travel : a daily blogging effort to look back on our past travel experiences.  I am a bit behind in my efforts but Bootsnall invites everyone to participate in any amount they can. Here is my belated contribution…

If your tour guide totes a long stick with streamers in the colors of the French flag and speaks at you through a microphone transmitted to a speaker in your ear: it’s going to be a run of- the- mill travel day.  On the other hand, if Christophe, a former pharmaceutical executive-turned fine art dealer (who knows Paris like the back of his hand), invites you for a spin around the City of Lights on the back of his motorbike: you’re about to have one of the best travel days of your life!

For the record let me say that weaving in and out of traffic on the streets of Paris is definitely not for the faint of heart. Caught off-guard by the unfathomable opportunity presented to me, I jumped at this once-in-a-lifetime offer before really thinking it through.  Throwing caution to the wind, I chose to worry about the implications of my decision later.  Hey, if things go badly, it would be a chance for me to experience the renowned French healthcare system firsthand.

I gripped the back handles of the bike tightly and attempted to relax as we zigzagged around gridlocked cars and stylishly-dressed pedestrians, ricocheting precariously into the roundabout encircling the Arc de Triomphe (which Christophe claims is the most dangerous place in Paris).  We reached the Champs-Élysées alive and cruised down this legendary boulevard towards a day I will never forget.  October 6, 2011: My best travel day ever!.

Photographs  by Manuela Calvet and Toni DeBella

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by Toni DeBella

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French Lessons

Posted in Americans Abroad, Expat in Italy, France, Living abroad, Living in Europe, Travel, tagged , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2011| 15 Comments »

It has been nearly eight months since I’ve last set foot in Orvieto – a really, really, really long time in my book. Each and every visit back to Italy has developed its own particular flavor and personality. This trip took on a special “French twist” because it included a 4-day stopover in Paris.

Paris: The City of Lights.

The Eiffel Tower, Champs-Élysées, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame de Paris, Montmartre, Foie gras, French wine and the pièce de résistance, French pastries. I loved this city from the moment I arrived. Parisians are so sophisticated, elegant, romantic, chic, and super COOL. I wanted to be cool just like them so I decided to become French.

Becoming French is not something you can do overnight – it takes a lot of time and effort. I was fortunate enough to be traveling with my friend Manuela, staying with her friends, Christophe and Tiphaine, and hanging out with JC and Stephanie: all Frenchies to the hilt. I had round-the-clock exposure to daily life in France and am happy to pass along some of the secrets to be French that I learned.

Introduction: Fake it ’till you make it.

The first and most important thing you must do in order to become French is to stop being American immediately! You must hide all characteristics that would tip people off that you’re from the United States. (You know you’re making progress when someone accidentally mistakes you for a Canadian). It can be quite challenging, but if you put your mind to it I believe it can be achieved. By reading and following my step-by-step instructions, you too may be well on your way to becoming French, just like me!

5 Easy Steps to “Frenchdom”

Step #1: Shut up about it.

If you don’t speak French fluently then don’t speak at all. (For those of you who know me personally, that was the biggest challenge). If you want to buy something, just point at it and grunt. Even a simple “Merci” will give you away. Believe me, your rudimentary high school French isn’t going to help you here; you might as well write “ugly American” across your forehead in Chanel lipstick, for God’s sake.

Step #2: Enchante`

Greet properly. Never hug anyone! Hugging is a dead give away that you’re not from around here. Give two or three kisses on the cheek; never shake hands when introduced unless you’re in a business setting or meeting the President of France.

Step #3: Look the part

Wear scarves, dress in all black and be short.

Step #4: Smoke

I know smoking is detrimental to your health and makes your clothes and hair smell bad, but if you don’t smoke you’ll be left alone in the restaurant while everyone else is outside smoking cigarettes and laughing. You don’t want that! I’m proud to say that before coming to Paris I didn’t smoke at all and now I’m up to half a pack a day.

Step #5:  Eat, pray, gag

In order to survive one must eat. To be French means you will be consuming large amounts of animal organs and garden pests on a regular basis. If you can’t read a French menu, you’re likely to be served a dish that is made from lamb’s brains or its intestinal tract. Pouring ketchup over them to mask the flavor will only draw attention to your “Americanism” (See Introduction above). Thank goodness cheese and bread in France are second to none. Bon Appetite.

Parisian “CliffsNotes”

Being the good friend that she is, Manuela could see I was struggling with my “Frenchness” so she enrolled me in an intensive, crash course entitled “How to Become a Parisian in One Hour?” (Some say this is a one-man comedy show, but whatever). The lesson is presented entirely in English because, if you speak the French, you don’t need this course – you’re probably already Parisian. The teacher/comedian, Olivier Giraud, teaches us how to be Parisian in a shop, restaurant, taxi, metro and even in bed!  Just as Olivier promised, after the one-hour class/show I was hardly recognizable to my family and friends! I had actually become Parisian in just one hour!

En Conclusion

I still love Italy and will continue to live there. I have to admit that it can be very problematic being French and Italian at the same time. When I returned to Italy I was quite confused and disoriented. I forgot to speak louder in order to be heard over the yelling and I’ve caught myself more than once complaining about the perfect Italian weather. I’m so torn, conflicted and split over these two beautiful countries but I think I’ve come up with a solution to my dilemma: I will be “married” to one (Italy) and have a “love affair” with the other (France).  Isn’t that so French of me?

*”How to Become a Parisian in One Hour?” By Olivier Giraud is playing every Tuesday & Wednesday-8:30pm, Saturday-7pm, Sunday-5:30pm at Theatre De La Main D’Or, 15 passage de la main d’or-75011 Paris-Metro Ledru Rollin L8. Reservations: 06 98 57 45 96 www.oliviergiraud.com
by Toni DeBella

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