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Essere tra Leone e Todaro
Oct. 31st, 2003 07:59 pmIn the Piazetta San Marco, right by the library, two tall pillars define the sea-side edge of the square. On top of one is the Lion of St. Mark, and the other St. Theodore (standing on top of the dragon/crocodile he's killing). People used to be executed there, publically, and hence comes my new favorite expression. "To be between the Lion and Theodore," say the locals in their dialect (perhaps even spelled correctly in my title to this entry), is to be in a bad spot indeed.
This goes on my grand list of my two favorite non-English expressions, joining, "Yom ba-ed al mishmish," which is Arabic (and so I can spell it anyway I want to) for "The day after the apricots." If you've ever experienced digestive complications from eating too many apricots, you'll understand. If not, go eat a lot of apricots! Don't blame me though.
Anyway, yesterday there were some computer problems with the library computer card catalog, and Viviana (a local art history student who I see sometimes) decided she'd stick around for a bit and see if the server came back up. We stepped outside for coffee, walked around the piazza talking about politics and history (she's very curious about Ah-nold, doesn't see how Bush can be re-elected, and is personally disappointed in Colin Powell, who she used to think was such a smart and good man), and about Venice, of course. Her English is vastly better than my Italian, so I try to speak Italian at her as much as possible, which means the conversation goes slowly.
About halfway around the square I turned, and the Chiesa di San Marco was framed perfectly in a little arch, people milling about, so perfectly beautiful in the chilly autumn wind. Viviana commented about how, although she's lived here all her life, as with many locals living in marvelous places she forgets just how beautiful it can be. She's never seen Torcello, one of my favorite places in Italy. But she does love her city.
Her father calls Venice, 'the city of thieves,' just because everything here is so damn expensive. I can't disagree, but for me the issue isn't that things are expensive, but that the prices are so variable.
In America, except with cars and houses, a thing tends to have a cost, and it has the same cost for everybody, and it has that cost whether you are sitting down, standing up, carrying it away, or whatever. In Venice, unlike, say, Turkey, there are prices listed, but these prices can be radically different depending on circumstances. Somedays I find this charming, mostly when people I have come to know give me reduced prices. Basically all coffee drinks in the spot next to San Marco cost me about a euro, and most sandwichy things cost me about a euro fifty. Actual retail prices are somewhat, though not much, higher. My prosciutto and sausages today at the butcher's, which I don't frequent, cost a suspiciously high (and round number) 5 euros. But I don't mind, I'll just have to go more often to be treated as a local. The coffee shop that charged Bruce, Karen, and me 15 euros for coffee and pastries (worth 6-7 euros), irritates me everytime I pass it. Fortunately, there are alternate routes. It can be annoying, but I like the fact that with a little time, a little friendliness, prices change for the better. It makes me feel like I'm fitting in.
I'm writing now, and that's pretty exciting. And it's writing like I've never had to do before, both focused on the small point but trying to remember how it fits into the larger project. One of the blessings of my dissertation is that I do, in fact, have an argument, and it fits together from beginning to end. I just found another piece, something that I thought was just context, but which fits into my argument brilliantly and which no one has ever pointed out before. It makes me feel like I deserve the spritz I get at the end of the day.
A spritz is a drink with white wine, campari, a little prosecco sometimes, some spritzy water, on orange and an olive. It costs 80 cents. It's lovely. I think I shall have another.
This goes on my grand list of my two favorite non-English expressions, joining, "Yom ba-ed al mishmish," which is Arabic (and so I can spell it anyway I want to) for "The day after the apricots." If you've ever experienced digestive complications from eating too many apricots, you'll understand. If not, go eat a lot of apricots! Don't blame me though.
Anyway, yesterday there were some computer problems with the library computer card catalog, and Viviana (a local art history student who I see sometimes) decided she'd stick around for a bit and see if the server came back up. We stepped outside for coffee, walked around the piazza talking about politics and history (she's very curious about Ah-nold, doesn't see how Bush can be re-elected, and is personally disappointed in Colin Powell, who she used to think was such a smart and good man), and about Venice, of course. Her English is vastly better than my Italian, so I try to speak Italian at her as much as possible, which means the conversation goes slowly.
About halfway around the square I turned, and the Chiesa di San Marco was framed perfectly in a little arch, people milling about, so perfectly beautiful in the chilly autumn wind. Viviana commented about how, although she's lived here all her life, as with many locals living in marvelous places she forgets just how beautiful it can be. She's never seen Torcello, one of my favorite places in Italy. But she does love her city.
Her father calls Venice, 'the city of thieves,' just because everything here is so damn expensive. I can't disagree, but for me the issue isn't that things are expensive, but that the prices are so variable.
In America, except with cars and houses, a thing tends to have a cost, and it has the same cost for everybody, and it has that cost whether you are sitting down, standing up, carrying it away, or whatever. In Venice, unlike, say, Turkey, there are prices listed, but these prices can be radically different depending on circumstances. Somedays I find this charming, mostly when people I have come to know give me reduced prices. Basically all coffee drinks in the spot next to San Marco cost me about a euro, and most sandwichy things cost me about a euro fifty. Actual retail prices are somewhat, though not much, higher. My prosciutto and sausages today at the butcher's, which I don't frequent, cost a suspiciously high (and round number) 5 euros. But I don't mind, I'll just have to go more often to be treated as a local. The coffee shop that charged Bruce, Karen, and me 15 euros for coffee and pastries (worth 6-7 euros), irritates me everytime I pass it. Fortunately, there are alternate routes. It can be annoying, but I like the fact that with a little time, a little friendliness, prices change for the better. It makes me feel like I'm fitting in.
I'm writing now, and that's pretty exciting. And it's writing like I've never had to do before, both focused on the small point but trying to remember how it fits into the larger project. One of the blessings of my dissertation is that I do, in fact, have an argument, and it fits together from beginning to end. I just found another piece, something that I thought was just context, but which fits into my argument brilliantly and which no one has ever pointed out before. It makes me feel like I deserve the spritz I get at the end of the day.
A spritz is a drink with white wine, campari, a little prosecco sometimes, some spritzy water, on orange and an olive. It costs 80 cents. It's lovely. I think I shall have another.
