Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Italy. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Monday, June 14, 2010
Weirdities - Bogota
Top 5 weirdities in Bogota:
1) A truck playing "La Lambada" when driving in reverse (a "beep" wasn't enough);
2) A street seller of "steamed dogs" (perros al vapor);
3) The saddest McDonald ever (really, you can only understand power of design when it's missing);
4) The shortest Presidencial Guards ever;
5) The most confusionary museum ever (Botero Museum);
More will follow for sure...
1) A truck playing "La Lambada" when driving in reverse (a "beep" wasn't enough);
2) A street seller of "steamed dogs" (perros al vapor);
3) The saddest McDonald ever (really, you can only understand power of design when it's missing);
4) The shortest Presidencial Guards ever;
5) The most confusionary museum ever (Botero Museum);
More will follow for sure...
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
New horizons
I am two days far from leaving Italy to Colombia, where I will spend around three month. I have no specific plan, or maybe it's better to say I have too many.
Hopefully, I will have time to close the "Trip back home" series of photos (Istanbul is still to be uploaded) and to work out some unedited taken in Kyrgyzstan, and the new Colombian series.
More news coming soon...
Hopefully.
Hopefully, I will have time to close the "Trip back home" series of photos (Istanbul is still to be uploaded) and to work out some unedited taken in Kyrgyzstan, and the new Colombian series.
More news coming soon...
Hopefully.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Immigration - a scant view from the other side of the fence
Being a "rich Western European" - as Franziska is kindly used to remind me any time I show little surprise for some local cultural peculiarity - I'm used to think to immigration in a one way only.
To me - oddly proud member of the above mentioned category -, immigrants are poor indigent or needy people somehow entering Europe or USA to find a job or reach some relative.
In rich Western European's mind immigration is a smooth, neat process involving some lazy immigration office employees and a line of visa-endowed poor people waiting to file their requests.
The nerd or youngest will dare picture poor people sitting in front of a pc monitor in an internet point waiting for the right moment to send all documents via immigration office web portal, but this is already the farthest point our imagination is able to reach. Let's say that it comes very close to science-fiction...
To me - oddly proud member of the above mentioned category -, immigrants are poor indigent or needy people somehow entering Europe or USA to find a job or reach some relative.
In rich Western European's mind immigration is a smooth, neat process involving some lazy immigration office employees and a line of visa-endowed poor people waiting to file their requests.
The nerd or youngest will dare picture poor people sitting in front of a pc monitor in an internet point waiting for the right moment to send all documents via immigration office web portal, but this is already the farthest point our imagination is able to reach. Let's say that it comes very close to science-fiction...
Monday, April 6, 2009
Thinking about my shaken land
Tonight, a powerful quake (magnitude 6.3 Richter, 8-9 Mercalli) hit the center of Italy, not far from Rome. Abruzzi region and L'Aquila city in particular, that was mainly interested by the earthquake are now counting his losses both in terms of human life and artistic/historical patronage.
Up to this moment 40 people died (at least 5 of them were children) and 40 are missing.
A civil protection official told the BBC that 3,000 to 10,000 buildings may have been damaged only in L'Aquila, a medieval city founded in the 13th Century and rich of Baroque and Renaissance buildings. Italian journalist Paulo Pacitti told that the city centre had been hard hit.
Apparently not only civil buildings were damaged, but some churches, chapels and historical buildings collapsed as well. A legacy of the past of immeasurable value got lost in few seconds.
At the same time, many other small towns in the area are completely burned to the ground. Their buildings, much older and less subject to static measurements more common in bigger cities.
From time to time, I am giving a glance to the dozen of yellow daffodils I bought this morning on my way to the office from an old lady sitting on the wayside.
Today, I cannot avoid thinking yellow is the color of danger.
Up to this moment 40 people died (at least 5 of them were children) and 40 are missing.
A civil protection official told the BBC that 3,000 to 10,000 buildings may have been damaged only in L'Aquila, a medieval city founded in the 13th Century and rich of Baroque and Renaissance buildings. Italian journalist Paulo Pacitti told that the city centre had been hard hit.
Apparently not only civil buildings were damaged, but some churches, chapels and historical buildings collapsed as well. A legacy of the past of immeasurable value got lost in few seconds.
At the same time, many other small towns in the area are completely burned to the ground. Their buildings, much older and less subject to static measurements more common in bigger cities.
From time to time, I am giving a glance to the dozen of yellow daffodils I bought this morning on my way to the office from an old lady sitting on the wayside.
Today, I cannot avoid thinking yellow is the color of danger.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Landing in Manas airport
15/02/2009
Note: This post has been written on the date specified in the very first line, which could differ from publication date.
My trip from Rome to Bishkek with Turkish Airways is divided in two. The first part, from Rome to Istanbul, has been a pleasant an quiet flight with a comfortable airplane and decent food. The second half, from Istanbul to Bishkek, is a totally different story. In Ataturk airport I met with my future colleague Federica, economist mastered at LSE and coming straight from London were she was working before accepting the UNV position in Central Asia. To be honest we met the first time in Bonn, Germany during the UNV briefing, so we were not a surprise one for the other and she immediately recognized me while I was sitting in a bar, struggling with a terrific powerful Turkish coffee and an embarrassing weak wireless signal.
When we moved to the gate we had the sudden feeling of being casually dropped in a totally different world; faces of people around us, their way of dressing, the sound of their voices, nothing of all that was similar to anything we were used to hear in a European airport. The security control seemed much more rigid than usual (at least to me) and the fact of not being able to communicate with us made the guards’ approach a bit rude. To make things easier, metal detector’s alarm was always buzzing, so the guards had to check a second time everybody with the portable metal detector while luggage was accumulating on the conveyor belt; of course this was making security officers even more nervous. While waiting for the crew to start boarding passengers, I went to the toilet that surprised me first of all for the hygiene, and secondly for the ash tray present in all single toilets, just next to the WC and below the No-smoking signal. Of course, the ash tray was half-full of dust. Back in the hall, I saw an American girl passing the security control experiencing the same communication problems we had 10 minutes before. Her nationality was clear to everybody, as she was wearing a tight (she has some problem with her weight, to say it all) green T-shirt saying “Thank you for supporting the American Army”. Now, if there’s something these last years of Bush administration made us understand, is that there’s a good half of the world were is not convenient to show off too much where are you coming from, if you’re from USA. Kyrgyzstan is, even if less than other places in Central Asia, in this half. Probably she was not informed about the though debate arisen few months ago between Kyrgyz Government and USA for the former wants Manas airport – actually the most important USA Air Base in the war in Afghanistan – to be given back under full control of Kyrgyz Republic. Most of all, she was not informed that in 2005 Kyrgyz population raged against Americans in Manas base as a soldier shot to death a Kyrgyz truck driver, right before being taken and brought back to the US accordingly to the classical impunity USA guarantee to their soldier committing crimes abroad. Being Italian I know many other stories like this one (Calipari, Massacre of Cermis, Gladio scandal, etc.).
When we finally get on board, we had an awful surprise: there was no more space in the overhead locker. After many minutes of indecision, I put part of my hand-luggage in the empty space under a free seat, and the rest under the seat in front of me, where in theory passengers can put bags and\or feet. This airplane, clearly made for flying out of European Union, was much smaller than usual and this space was only devoted to have room to put your feet in. Having occupied it with my bag, I had to stay immobile for the whole flight (more than 5 hours); I had twice the impression my legs were close to fall on the floor. Before I sat, the girl sitting next to me asked for changing our places; she was not likely to seat between two unknown men and she wanted to seat close to the window, she explained. I didn’t want to be picky pointing out that in this way she was going to seat close to two men anyway but in a more unsafe and unpleasant position without any kind of control from other passengers, so I just accepted her proposal. Her prudish behavior was in funny disharmony with her English book on George Best, someone declaring that “I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars - the rest I just squandered”. Others curios things happened during the flight, but the strangest moment was when a girl sitting on Federica’s row on the other side of the airplane, in greatest calm, started working with her knitting needles on a wool pullover. We started wondering if knitting needles are not considered to be a dangerous weapon for Turkish security policy, and the only solution we found is that they probably consider that it wouldn’t be enough a serious and honorable way to hijack an airplane.
Another remarkable note I can add is that Federica sat on the same row with UN Resident Coordinator, our boss in general but her future boss in particular, as she is assigned to the RC Unit. He immediately demonstrated to be an open and easy-going person and they chatted for longtime.
At arrival at around 5 am, we immediately started procedure for obtaining the professional Visa and we spent the next 35 minutes filling in modules and arguing with the officer. In the end we get our 1-month Visa (we initially asked for a 1 year Visa) and we went to luggage claim area, hoping to receiving our baggage and to obtaining soon the extension for the Visa. It is to be noted that after passing the passport control we had to pass another security control with X-ray for hand luggage and after that we were all asked to put once more all kind of luggage into another X-ray machine placed next to luggage claim’s exit door. The X-ray machine being only one, the passenger around 120 and their luggage many more pieces, it took forever to exit that room. When we finally get to exit the landing area we felt in the middle of a bunch of self-proclaimed taxi drivers trying to catch potential customers or suggesting hotels. Luckily our freelance driver, Igor (yes it’s his real name, no kiddin’) was still there waiting for us and he took us to Bishkek on his minivan. With him, I had the first hint of something I would have understood being typical of drivers in Bishkek: The impossibility of understanding each other is not a valuable reason to resign communicating. I totally love this people, they continue talking to you trying to use a variety of words and gestures until they finally use the right one which allow you to guess what on the earth are they talking about. Excited by this huge improvement in communication’s level, rather than getting satisfaction from this success they immediately step up to next level restarting from the beginning this exhausting game.
Yes, I think I will fell in love soon with these people.
Note: This post has been written on the date specified in the very first line, which could differ from publication date.
My trip from Rome to Bishkek with Turkish Airways is divided in two. The first part, from Rome to Istanbul, has been a pleasant an quiet flight with a comfortable airplane and decent food. The second half, from Istanbul to Bishkek, is a totally different story. In Ataturk airport I met with my future colleague Federica, economist mastered at LSE and coming straight from London were she was working before accepting the UNV position in Central Asia. To be honest we met the first time in Bonn, Germany during the UNV briefing, so we were not a surprise one for the other and she immediately recognized me while I was sitting in a bar, struggling with a terrific powerful Turkish coffee and an embarrassing weak wireless signal.
When we moved to the gate we had the sudden feeling of being casually dropped in a totally different world; faces of people around us, their way of dressing, the sound of their voices, nothing of all that was similar to anything we were used to hear in a European airport. The security control seemed much more rigid than usual (at least to me) and the fact of not being able to communicate with us made the guards’ approach a bit rude. To make things easier, metal detector’s alarm was always buzzing, so the guards had to check a second time everybody with the portable metal detector while luggage was accumulating on the conveyor belt; of course this was making security officers even more nervous. While waiting for the crew to start boarding passengers, I went to the toilet that surprised me first of all for the hygiene, and secondly for the ash tray present in all single toilets, just next to the WC and below the No-smoking signal. Of course, the ash tray was half-full of dust. Back in the hall, I saw an American girl passing the security control experiencing the same communication problems we had 10 minutes before. Her nationality was clear to everybody, as she was wearing a tight (she has some problem with her weight, to say it all) green T-shirt saying “Thank you for supporting the American Army”. Now, if there’s something these last years of Bush administration made us understand, is that there’s a good half of the world were is not convenient to show off too much where are you coming from, if you’re from USA. Kyrgyzstan is, even if less than other places in Central Asia, in this half. Probably she was not informed about the though debate arisen few months ago between Kyrgyz Government and USA for the former wants Manas airport – actually the most important USA Air Base in the war in Afghanistan – to be given back under full control of Kyrgyz Republic. Most of all, she was not informed that in 2005 Kyrgyz population raged against Americans in Manas base as a soldier shot to death a Kyrgyz truck driver, right before being taken and brought back to the US accordingly to the classical impunity USA guarantee to their soldier committing crimes abroad. Being Italian I know many other stories like this one (Calipari, Massacre of Cermis, Gladio scandal, etc.).
When we finally get on board, we had an awful surprise: there was no more space in the overhead locker. After many minutes of indecision, I put part of my hand-luggage in the empty space under a free seat, and the rest under the seat in front of me, where in theory passengers can put bags and\or feet. This airplane, clearly made for flying out of European Union, was much smaller than usual and this space was only devoted to have room to put your feet in. Having occupied it with my bag, I had to stay immobile for the whole flight (more than 5 hours); I had twice the impression my legs were close to fall on the floor. Before I sat, the girl sitting next to me asked for changing our places; she was not likely to seat between two unknown men and she wanted to seat close to the window, she explained. I didn’t want to be picky pointing out that in this way she was going to seat close to two men anyway but in a more unsafe and unpleasant position without any kind of control from other passengers, so I just accepted her proposal. Her prudish behavior was in funny disharmony with her English book on George Best, someone declaring that “I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars - the rest I just squandered”. Others curios things happened during the flight, but the strangest moment was when a girl sitting on Federica’s row on the other side of the airplane, in greatest calm, started working with her knitting needles on a wool pullover. We started wondering if knitting needles are not considered to be a dangerous weapon for Turkish security policy, and the only solution we found is that they probably consider that it wouldn’t be enough a serious and honorable way to hijack an airplane.
Another remarkable note I can add is that Federica sat on the same row with UN Resident Coordinator, our boss in general but her future boss in particular, as she is assigned to the RC Unit. He immediately demonstrated to be an open and easy-going person and they chatted for longtime.
At arrival at around 5 am, we immediately started procedure for obtaining the professional Visa and we spent the next 35 minutes filling in modules and arguing with the officer. In the end we get our 1-month Visa (we initially asked for a 1 year Visa) and we went to luggage claim area, hoping to receiving our baggage and to obtaining soon the extension for the Visa. It is to be noted that after passing the passport control we had to pass another security control with X-ray for hand luggage and after that we were all asked to put once more all kind of luggage into another X-ray machine placed next to luggage claim’s exit door. The X-ray machine being only one, the passenger around 120 and their luggage many more pieces, it took forever to exit that room. When we finally get to exit the landing area we felt in the middle of a bunch of self-proclaimed taxi drivers trying to catch potential customers or suggesting hotels. Luckily our freelance driver, Igor (yes it’s his real name, no kiddin’) was still there waiting for us and he took us to Bishkek on his minivan. With him, I had the first hint of something I would have understood being typical of drivers in Bishkek: The impossibility of understanding each other is not a valuable reason to resign communicating. I totally love this people, they continue talking to you trying to use a variety of words and gestures until they finally use the right one which allow you to guess what on the earth are they talking about. Excited by this huge improvement in communication’s level, rather than getting satisfaction from this success they immediately step up to next level restarting from the beginning this exhausting game.
Yes, I think I will fell in love soon with these people.
Welcome note (Introduction)
Welcome to my blog!
Faithfully,
Giulio
First of all, I want to state immediately that I won’t translate any post in Italian, but in very exceptional cases. The reason why I’m using this language – different from my native and I am still not totally familiar with –, is that I don’t want my many friends living out of Italy to be excluded from this stories; from my stories.
This blog has no specific structure, no clear framework or development. It’s my way to reflect on my personal, professional and human experience as well as a way to share it with all people I would love talking to. Don’t be surprised if you’ll read stories from Central Asia mixed with thoughts on International politics, particular events or facts, and even memories; I could also insert into this space some particular reflection on Italy, Italian customs and habits, and on Italian politics. I usually don’t like writing on these issues: there’s plenty of people much more skilled then I paid for this; but, they usually write in Italian. On the other side foreign observers don’t stay for a sufficient lapse of time to fully understand this crazy country.
While speaking to my foreign friends, I always find out the impression they usually get from medias of Italy being a “weird” country comes from the lack of general framework and historical background in articles about Italy. The truth is that we were, we are and we’ll always be a small but complex country, probably more than other countries could ever think of.
You cannot understand Mafia if you don’t know also Camorra, ‘Ndrangheta e Sacra Corona Unita; you cannot talk about Sicily if you don’t know the stories of Peppino Impastato, Giovanni Falcone, Paolo Borsellino and other martyrs of the Italian Republic. You cannot wonder why “we” vote Berlusconi if you don’t know what happened before him (link available only in Italian, qed) and what is going on since 1994 on the left side of the Parliament.
Still, this blog will be about me. For years and years I kept for me my stories and thoughts, sharing some of them just with intimate friends during long and pleasant talk, sipping red wine or good beer. I think now it’s time for change. My friends are (spread?) around the world, the time for face to face chat is over.
This blog has no specific structure, no clear framework or development. It’s my way to reflect on my personal, professional and human experience as well as a way to share it with all people I would love talking to. Don’t be surprised if you’ll read stories from Central Asia mixed with thoughts on International politics, particular events or facts, and even memories; I could also insert into this space some particular reflection on Italy, Italian customs and habits, and on Italian politics. I usually don’t like writing on these issues: there’s plenty of people much more skilled then I paid for this; but, they usually write in Italian. On the other side foreign observers don’t stay for a sufficient lapse of time to fully understand this crazy country.
While speaking to my foreign friends, I always find out the impression they usually get from medias of Italy being a “weird” country comes from the lack of general framework and historical background in articles about Italy. The truth is that we were, we are and we’ll always be a small but complex country, probably more than other countries could ever think of.
You cannot understand Mafia if you don’t know also Camorra, ‘Ndrangheta e Sacra Corona Unita; you cannot talk about Sicily if you don’t know the stories of Peppino Impastato, Giovanni Falcone, Paolo Borsellino and other martyrs of the Italian Republic. You cannot wonder why “we” vote Berlusconi if you don’t know what happened before him (link available only in Italian, qed) and what is going on since 1994 on the left side of the Parliament.
Still, this blog will be about me. For years and years I kept for me my stories and thoughts, sharing some of them just with intimate friends during long and pleasant talk, sipping red wine or good beer. I think now it’s time for change. My friends are (spread?) around the world, the time for face to face chat is over.
Now it’s time to start telling stories; again, my stories. Hope you’ll enjoy.
Faithfully,
Giulio
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