I Wish This Were an April Fools Joke
I’ve withheld this blog post until the end of our time in Italy because I really wanted to give the Italians a fair shake. After spending a month in Italy, I certainly cannot call myself an expert on Italian customs or culture, but I feel I have enough information to merit a blog post about what we experienced while we were here.
Rather than begin by making the judgments for you, I will simply tell you five of the countless incidents that happened to us while we were in Italy and let you form your opinion on your own. Chronologically, I will begin in Rome.
1. As you have read in our previous blog post, we had terrible troubles getting a lost suitcase back from Alitalia after we arrived in Rome. Our hotel didn’t provide much help, not telling us until we spoke to a manager three days after arriving that Alitalia frequently loses luggage and that no promise of the luggage arriving is worth believing.
However, this is not the only misinformation our hotel gave us. On Friday afternoon, we had asked a man working the reception/concierge desk if FedEx was open on the weekend. He assured us they were and that mailing to the U.S. was a piece of cake. The hotel had a scale that they could measure the weight of what we wanted to mail, they would tell us the price, and FedEx would come to pick it up.
The manager happened to walk by while the receptionist was telling us this, and questioned whether or not FedEx was really open on the weekend.
“Yes,” the receptionist assured us and his manager. “FedEx is definitely open tomorrow.”
Believing this was the case, we headed out for the day and intended to mail some of our souvenirs the next day. The next day, Saturday, we found out that FedEx is not open on the weekend. It was a bit of a problem for us since we were going to be leaving Rome
Monday and wouldn’t have much time to deal with FedEx at that point.
As we were leaving the hotel on Saturday, we noticed that the same receptionist was working, and we decided to let him know FedEx was not open on the weekend. When Dave told him this, the receptionist completely denied ever having a conversation with us about FedEx and began to argue vehemently with Dave over it.
Since we could not go to FedEx over the weekend, we set out to do it before our plane on Monday. Our intention was to have the hotel hold our bags while we took a taxi to FedEx. We were going to close out our bill at the hotel, but didn’t have enough cash on hand to pay for a tour we had taken during our stay.
We explained to the receptionist that we would go to an ATM while we were at FedEx and get enough cash to pay. Our luggage was still at the hotel, so clearly we would come back to get our luggage and pay at that point.
The receptionist was very insistent that we pay for our tour immediately and told us we needed to find an ATM close-by. I explained to her we were in a hurry because we had thought we could go to FedEx over the weekend and didn’t find out until Saturday we
couldn’t.
“Who told you that? FedEx is never open on the weekend,” she retorted.
“A receptionist here told us that,” I said.
“No. I don’t believe you. No one here would have told you that.”
“Well, yes, someone did tell us that here or we would have gone this weekend. But now we have to go today and we don’t have much time before our flight. Our luggage is all here. We obviously can’t leave Rome without paying.”
“No, no one told you that here. I don’t believe you, and you need to find an ATM around here to go to. You are not allowed to go to FedEx without paying for the tour.”
Dave set out to find an ATM near the hotel to no avail. When he returned, he told the receptionist we were going to go to FedEx and would find an ATM there. She just nodded her head.
On our way out the door, Dave requested they call for a taxi to pick us up at a designated time when we got back. Taxis to and from the airport are regulated by the government to charge 40 euros one way, but we knew we wouldn’t get that price. Since arriving in Italy, we have heard every manner of excuse from taxi drivers.
The meter is high because:
- night driving
- we start the meter the moment the hotel calls no matter where we are
- heavy luggage
- I had to drive all the way to the airport to pick you up.
- Now that I have dropped you off, I will have to drive back to the airport to pick someone else up.
- I have to pay a fee to use the road.
- This is outside the zone.
The list could go on, but it isn’t exactly the point. Dave asked the receptionist how much a taxi to the airport would cost us (knowing the government regulated price).
“Ninety euros, at least,” she told us. Translated, that’s $135. The airport was 30 minutes from our hotel.
“I won’t pay ninety euros for a taxi,” Dave responded. “I won’t pay above fifty.”
Miraculously, we got her to get us a cab for 50 euros.
2. We arrived in Naples, our second stop. We left the airport to get in the taxi line. The line was converging in the center between two exits, and we got in the line nearest the exit we had just left from.
After waiting fifteen minutes or so, we got to where our line met the other line. At this point, a woman started to tell us we were in the wrong line and we needed to get to the back of the line she was in. We tried to explain there were two lines and indicated to the long line that had formed behind us.
She continued to insist loudly we get to the back of the line and started to point out to the other people around her how we were cutting in line. It was very confusing to us since there was clearly other people who had been in our line now in the center line and people behind us. For whatever reason, she was picking out us to choose to say we were cutting. We had to battle our way into the center line.
3. We were outside the duomo in Milan when Dave noticed a slushy stand. He ordered a slushy, but the man only filled it a little over ¾. Dave asked if he could fill it all the way, but the man didn’t seem to understand. When words don’t work, gestures are usually universal, so Dave pointed to the slushy machine and put his cup near it.
The man hit Dave’s hand (hard), and told him no. Dave isn’t one to back down, and he insisted his cup be filled all the way before he paid for it. After all, who wants to pay 3 euros ($4.50) for a slushy if it isn’t full?
4. I was standing in line at the train station to buy tickets to Bergamo. The line was rather long, and two twenty-something girls were ahead of me in line. For whatever reason, they decided to leave the line. About five minutes later, the girls returned. Without even looking at me, one of the girls literally pushed me out of the way to get back in line. I wasn’t sure quite what to do, and thought maybe this was protocol in Italy. To be fair, I don’t think these girls were Italians.
When I reached the front of the line, I waved Dave over to pay for the tickets. The woman behind me got rather upset.
“You cannot get two tickets. Only one.”
“Well, he’s my husband,” I told her. “We are buying the same ticket. We pay together.”
“You cannot do that.”
“Well, we have to do that. We are together.”
She was already upset at me because I wouldn’t let her buy her ticket before me. She was in a hurry to catch her train, but our train left at the same time as hers. We proceeded to buy the ticket while she gesticulated and spoke rapidly to the people she was with about us. While we were waiting for the woman working to issue our ticket, the woman standing behind us began to slap Dave’s arm.
“Hurry up!”
“We are going as fast as we can,” I told her.
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’m sorry, but we are.”
“No, you aren’t. I’m going to miss my train.”
“I already told you our train leaves at the same time as yours.”
The conversation ended there as we got our tickets issued and left the line.
5. We had our hotel issue tickets to Florence for us so we didn’t have to fight the line at the train station. When we arrived at the station, we couldn’t figure out where our train was leaving from. The train wasn’t listed on the board. Dave waited with our luggage while I went to find where our train left from.
I didn’t want to cut in line at the ticket stand to ask, and I couldn’t find any other personnel to ask either. I noticed a short ticket line; there was only one girl in line. So I stood behind her and waited. As I was waiting, I noticed the next line open up. The open line was merely six steps from the line I was in, so I walked over there. As I got there, I realized the woman only did currency conversion, and I turned around to get back in line.
In the ten seconds I had been out of line, two men had gotten in the line. I remembered how you can shove your way into a line, but decided that wasn’t the best course of action. I smiled at the men and told them I had gotten out of line for a moment because I thought I could go to the next counter but she couldn’t help me. I explained I already had my ticket and just had a brief question.
“You aren’t in line. Get behind us.”
“I just have a quick question. I was in line; I just got out for one moment.”
“You were in line. You aren’t any more. Get to the back.”
“I already have my ticket. I just have a quick question. It will take one moment.”
“Stupid, typical American. You think you can do whatever you want.”
“No, I just was here. I got out for one moment. I already have my ticket. I just need to know where my train leaves from. And everyone here cuts line. I got shoved out of a line for the train the other day.”
“Whatever. That’s America. You’re in Italy now.” He rolled his eyes in disdain.
“No, that happened to me here in Italy. Lots of people in Italy are rude.” (I was sick and tired of this by this point.)
“Whatever. No, they aren’t.”
The woman ahead of me in line walked away, so I approached the ticket counter.
“I’m on the 14:00 to Florence. Where do I go?”
“The board will say Salerno.”
“Thanks.” And I left.
I’m going to stop here, although I could continue with other incidents like the waiter who told Dave he must hate all lasagna since he didn’t like the lasagna served at their restaurant or the bystander who responded to my question to Dave of which boat in the harbor I should wait by for him with, “the only boat.” (There were probably twenty boats in the harbor.) Or the man who wouldn’t issue us a bus ticket because he was scratching his lottery ticket. Or the woman who ran my feet over with her baby stroller rather than move out of the path of where I happened to be standing. Or the girl who practically refused to make me a Nutella crepe. Or the time we waited one hour for our food to come at a restaurant while the Italians who arrived twenty minutes after us finished an entire meal: drinks, appetizer, and entrees (after an hour we finally left). The dirty looks and cold shoulders have literally been countless. I have not had a single Italian person initiate a conversation, smile in passing or step aside if we are going to collide with one another.
I hadn’t heard anything about Italians before coming to Italy, but our encounter was confirmed by several people we spoke with on the trip.
A Pakistani man living in Italy for three years told us he has come to hate the Italians because they have been so mean to him during his time here.
A Canadian woman living in Italy with her family said they are incredibly indifferent to all foreigners, but have a particular dislike for all Americans.
A Brazilian woman we met has lived in Italy for eight years. Despite that she speaks Italian and is, in fact, half-Italian, she still finds herself treated poorly by many Italians who can tell she is a foreigner. She also vouches that the Italians are not kind at all to tourists.
A Mexican woman who has been to Italy twenty-three times told us she has found the Italian culture very cold, but they are particularly prejudiced against Americans.
On our way through customs when we returned to Denver, we ended up in line next to a man who lived in Italy full-time for a while and still owns a house there. He went to far as to call the Italian people racist and xenophobic.
An Isreali woman told us she had been so discouraged by the mentality of the Italians that she had multiple times wanted to just hole up in her hotel room rather than go out and face them. “I live in a war zone,” she told us. “And if there is any place for people to have their guard up and be cold, that would be it. Yet, I have never experienced in Israel the treatment I have experienced in Italy.”
We have similar sentiments. We imagined apprehension toward us in a country like China where there is significant cultural and political tension between our two countries, but we were met with kindness. Egyptians and Moroccans are well aware of the tension that lies between America and the Arab/ Muslim world. But I have never felt more welcomed in a society than I felt there. We have heard comments everywhere we’ve gone that the people don’t particularly like the American government or policies, but these same people are able to differentiate between us and our government. In a country like Italy that shares so many political, cultural, and religious ties, we thought there would be more common ground. It’s unfortunately not the case.
Italy is a gorgeous country with an enormous amount of history, and I can completely understand why people would want to come here. My recommendation would be to go somewhere else. In addition to feeling friendless in the country, Italy is not a very clean place. Graffiti litters everything (one Burger King we ate at had graffiti from at least 2006 still on the walls and chairs of the restaurant), we have been served off dishes used by other people and not cleaned, and we’ve sat at tables with food leftover from other people on the tables, to name a few. The mafia runs the trash business in southern Italy (strange, I know), and trash is everywhere in the country. It’s unfortunate to walk down a charming street only to want to hurry through because of the smell.
If you are still determined to go to Italy, at least wait until the dollar is stronger. We have been charged between $6-10 for a can of Coke, and a meal at a streetside cafe is running us around $20/person for just a main course and water. The other day I paid $15 for an ice cream cone because I didn't look at the receipt before taking a lick.
Italy isn’t all bad, of course. As you have seen from the previous blog posts and photos, we have had a marvelous time while we have been in Italy. And not all Italians are mean people. As in any culture, you cannot define a whole country by the behavior of some. Sadly, though, we can count the friendly encounters we had on our fingers. We have seen a lot of incredible sights and learned a lot. There is definitely a lot Italy has to offer, but we won’t be returning any time soon. We would rather go to a country where we feel respected and welcomed.
Rather than begin by making the judgments for you, I will simply tell you five of the countless incidents that happened to us while we were in Italy and let you form your opinion on your own. Chronologically, I will begin in Rome.
1. As you have read in our previous blog post, we had terrible troubles getting a lost suitcase back from Alitalia after we arrived in Rome. Our hotel didn’t provide much help, not telling us until we spoke to a manager three days after arriving that Alitalia frequently loses luggage and that no promise of the luggage arriving is worth believing.
However, this is not the only misinformation our hotel gave us. On Friday afternoon, we had asked a man working the reception/concierge desk if FedEx was open on the weekend. He assured us they were and that mailing to the U.S. was a piece of cake. The hotel had a scale that they could measure the weight of what we wanted to mail, they would tell us the price, and FedEx would come to pick it up.
The manager happened to walk by while the receptionist was telling us this, and questioned whether or not FedEx was really open on the weekend.
“Yes,” the receptionist assured us and his manager. “FedEx is definitely open tomorrow.”
Believing this was the case, we headed out for the day and intended to mail some of our souvenirs the next day. The next day, Saturday, we found out that FedEx is not open on the weekend. It was a bit of a problem for us since we were going to be leaving Rome
Monday and wouldn’t have much time to deal with FedEx at that point.
As we were leaving the hotel on Saturday, we noticed that the same receptionist was working, and we decided to let him know FedEx was not open on the weekend. When Dave told him this, the receptionist completely denied ever having a conversation with us about FedEx and began to argue vehemently with Dave over it.
Since we could not go to FedEx over the weekend, we set out to do it before our plane on Monday. Our intention was to have the hotel hold our bags while we took a taxi to FedEx. We were going to close out our bill at the hotel, but didn’t have enough cash on hand to pay for a tour we had taken during our stay.
We explained to the receptionist that we would go to an ATM while we were at FedEx and get enough cash to pay. Our luggage was still at the hotel, so clearly we would come back to get our luggage and pay at that point.
The receptionist was very insistent that we pay for our tour immediately and told us we needed to find an ATM close-by. I explained to her we were in a hurry because we had thought we could go to FedEx over the weekend and didn’t find out until Saturday we
couldn’t.
“Who told you that? FedEx is never open on the weekend,” she retorted.
“A receptionist here told us that,” I said.
“No. I don’t believe you. No one here would have told you that.”
“Well, yes, someone did tell us that here or we would have gone this weekend. But now we have to go today and we don’t have much time before our flight. Our luggage is all here. We obviously can’t leave Rome without paying.”
“No, no one told you that here. I don’t believe you, and you need to find an ATM around here to go to. You are not allowed to go to FedEx without paying for the tour.”
Dave set out to find an ATM near the hotel to no avail. When he returned, he told the receptionist we were going to go to FedEx and would find an ATM there. She just nodded her head.
On our way out the door, Dave requested they call for a taxi to pick us up at a designated time when we got back. Taxis to and from the airport are regulated by the government to charge 40 euros one way, but we knew we wouldn’t get that price. Since arriving in Italy, we have heard every manner of excuse from taxi drivers.
The meter is high because:
- night driving
- we start the meter the moment the hotel calls no matter where we are
- heavy luggage
- I had to drive all the way to the airport to pick you up.
- Now that I have dropped you off, I will have to drive back to the airport to pick someone else up.
- I have to pay a fee to use the road.
- This is outside the zone.
The list could go on, but it isn’t exactly the point. Dave asked the receptionist how much a taxi to the airport would cost us (knowing the government regulated price).
“Ninety euros, at least,” she told us. Translated, that’s $135. The airport was 30 minutes from our hotel.
“I won’t pay ninety euros for a taxi,” Dave responded. “I won’t pay above fifty.”
Miraculously, we got her to get us a cab for 50 euros.
2. We arrived in Naples, our second stop. We left the airport to get in the taxi line. The line was converging in the center between two exits, and we got in the line nearest the exit we had just left from.
After waiting fifteen minutes or so, we got to where our line met the other line. At this point, a woman started to tell us we were in the wrong line and we needed to get to the back of the line she was in. We tried to explain there were two lines and indicated to the long line that had formed behind us.
She continued to insist loudly we get to the back of the line and started to point out to the other people around her how we were cutting in line. It was very confusing to us since there was clearly other people who had been in our line now in the center line and people behind us. For whatever reason, she was picking out us to choose to say we were cutting. We had to battle our way into the center line.
3. We were outside the duomo in Milan when Dave noticed a slushy stand. He ordered a slushy, but the man only filled it a little over ¾. Dave asked if he could fill it all the way, but the man didn’t seem to understand. When words don’t work, gestures are usually universal, so Dave pointed to the slushy machine and put his cup near it.
The man hit Dave’s hand (hard), and told him no. Dave isn’t one to back down, and he insisted his cup be filled all the way before he paid for it. After all, who wants to pay 3 euros ($4.50) for a slushy if it isn’t full?
4. I was standing in line at the train station to buy tickets to Bergamo. The line was rather long, and two twenty-something girls were ahead of me in line. For whatever reason, they decided to leave the line. About five minutes later, the girls returned. Without even looking at me, one of the girls literally pushed me out of the way to get back in line. I wasn’t sure quite what to do, and thought maybe this was protocol in Italy. To be fair, I don’t think these girls were Italians.
When I reached the front of the line, I waved Dave over to pay for the tickets. The woman behind me got rather upset.
“You cannot get two tickets. Only one.”
“Well, he’s my husband,” I told her. “We are buying the same ticket. We pay together.”
“You cannot do that.”
“Well, we have to do that. We are together.”
She was already upset at me because I wouldn’t let her buy her ticket before me. She was in a hurry to catch her train, but our train left at the same time as hers. We proceeded to buy the ticket while she gesticulated and spoke rapidly to the people she was with about us. While we were waiting for the woman working to issue our ticket, the woman standing behind us began to slap Dave’s arm.
“Hurry up!”
“We are going as fast as we can,” I told her.
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’m sorry, but we are.”
“No, you aren’t. I’m going to miss my train.”
“I already told you our train leaves at the same time as yours.”
The conversation ended there as we got our tickets issued and left the line.
5. We had our hotel issue tickets to Florence for us so we didn’t have to fight the line at the train station. When we arrived at the station, we couldn’t figure out where our train was leaving from. The train wasn’t listed on the board. Dave waited with our luggage while I went to find where our train left from.
I didn’t want to cut in line at the ticket stand to ask, and I couldn’t find any other personnel to ask either. I noticed a short ticket line; there was only one girl in line. So I stood behind her and waited. As I was waiting, I noticed the next line open up. The open line was merely six steps from the line I was in, so I walked over there. As I got there, I realized the woman only did currency conversion, and I turned around to get back in line.
In the ten seconds I had been out of line, two men had gotten in the line. I remembered how you can shove your way into a line, but decided that wasn’t the best course of action. I smiled at the men and told them I had gotten out of line for a moment because I thought I could go to the next counter but she couldn’t help me. I explained I already had my ticket and just had a brief question.
“You aren’t in line. Get behind us.”
“I just have a quick question. I was in line; I just got out for one moment.”
“You were in line. You aren’t any more. Get to the back.”
“I already have my ticket. I just have a quick question. It will take one moment.”
“Stupid, typical American. You think you can do whatever you want.”
“No, I just was here. I got out for one moment. I already have my ticket. I just need to know where my train leaves from. And everyone here cuts line. I got shoved out of a line for the train the other day.”
“Whatever. That’s America. You’re in Italy now.” He rolled his eyes in disdain.
“No, that happened to me here in Italy. Lots of people in Italy are rude.” (I was sick and tired of this by this point.)
“Whatever. No, they aren’t.”
The woman ahead of me in line walked away, so I approached the ticket counter.
“I’m on the 14:00 to Florence. Where do I go?”
“The board will say Salerno.”
“Thanks.” And I left.
I’m going to stop here, although I could continue with other incidents like the waiter who told Dave he must hate all lasagna since he didn’t like the lasagna served at their restaurant or the bystander who responded to my question to Dave of which boat in the harbor I should wait by for him with, “the only boat.” (There were probably twenty boats in the harbor.) Or the man who wouldn’t issue us a bus ticket because he was scratching his lottery ticket. Or the woman who ran my feet over with her baby stroller rather than move out of the path of where I happened to be standing. Or the girl who practically refused to make me a Nutella crepe. Or the time we waited one hour for our food to come at a restaurant while the Italians who arrived twenty minutes after us finished an entire meal: drinks, appetizer, and entrees (after an hour we finally left). The dirty looks and cold shoulders have literally been countless. I have not had a single Italian person initiate a conversation, smile in passing or step aside if we are going to collide with one another.
I hadn’t heard anything about Italians before coming to Italy, but our encounter was confirmed by several people we spoke with on the trip.
A Pakistani man living in Italy for three years told us he has come to hate the Italians because they have been so mean to him during his time here.
A Canadian woman living in Italy with her family said they are incredibly indifferent to all foreigners, but have a particular dislike for all Americans.
A Brazilian woman we met has lived in Italy for eight years. Despite that she speaks Italian and is, in fact, half-Italian, she still finds herself treated poorly by many Italians who can tell she is a foreigner. She also vouches that the Italians are not kind at all to tourists.
A Mexican woman who has been to Italy twenty-three times told us she has found the Italian culture very cold, but they are particularly prejudiced against Americans.
On our way through customs when we returned to Denver, we ended up in line next to a man who lived in Italy full-time for a while and still owns a house there. He went to far as to call the Italian people racist and xenophobic.
An Isreali woman told us she had been so discouraged by the mentality of the Italians that she had multiple times wanted to just hole up in her hotel room rather than go out and face them. “I live in a war zone,” she told us. “And if there is any place for people to have their guard up and be cold, that would be it. Yet, I have never experienced in Israel the treatment I have experienced in Italy.”
We have similar sentiments. We imagined apprehension toward us in a country like China where there is significant cultural and political tension between our two countries, but we were met with kindness. Egyptians and Moroccans are well aware of the tension that lies between America and the Arab/ Muslim world. But I have never felt more welcomed in a society than I felt there. We have heard comments everywhere we’ve gone that the people don’t particularly like the American government or policies, but these same people are able to differentiate between us and our government. In a country like Italy that shares so many political, cultural, and religious ties, we thought there would be more common ground. It’s unfortunately not the case.
Italy is a gorgeous country with an enormous amount of history, and I can completely understand why people would want to come here. My recommendation would be to go somewhere else. In addition to feeling friendless in the country, Italy is not a very clean place. Graffiti litters everything (one Burger King we ate at had graffiti from at least 2006 still on the walls and chairs of the restaurant), we have been served off dishes used by other people and not cleaned, and we’ve sat at tables with food leftover from other people on the tables, to name a few. The mafia runs the trash business in southern Italy (strange, I know), and trash is everywhere in the country. It’s unfortunate to walk down a charming street only to want to hurry through because of the smell.
If you are still determined to go to Italy, at least wait until the dollar is stronger. We have been charged between $6-10 for a can of Coke, and a meal at a streetside cafe is running us around $20/person for just a main course and water. The other day I paid $15 for an ice cream cone because I didn't look at the receipt before taking a lick.
Italy isn’t all bad, of course. As you have seen from the previous blog posts and photos, we have had a marvelous time while we have been in Italy. And not all Italians are mean people. As in any culture, you cannot define a whole country by the behavior of some. Sadly, though, we can count the friendly encounters we had on our fingers. We have seen a lot of incredible sights and learned a lot. There is definitely a lot Italy has to offer, but we won’t be returning any time soon. We would rather go to a country where we feel respected and welcomed.
posted by Lindsay | 10:16 AM
1 Comments:
Beautiful country!
-Hannah
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