Lady on a red boat with parasol - Firenze, Italy

On the bridge parapet sits a girl who reads 

against a misplaced blue-lagoon background

while the Oltrarno and the Historic Center swap

tourists turned hostages of their own accord.

Not a painting - Padova, Italy

Cotton balls,

dipped in lead,

weighing down

on worn out roofs.

Smell of storm,

moistened lips,

hurrying steps 

on fake fruit slabs.

Eyes transfixed

I watch that scene,

I sense a monster

watching me.

Blinking lids,

shiny eyes, 

am I enthralled

or terrified?

The air explodes,

my heart restarts,

I'm the only madman,

who doesn't rush.

The ground is blue,

the sky gray-white,

It's reversed reality,

more than just art.

The enchantress of Florence - Salman Rushdie

This is not the first book by Salman Rushdie that I read. He somehow reminds me of Umberto Eco: impressive historical references, wonderful command of the language and astonishing creativity.
The main locations of the novel are Mughal Hindustan and Florence, Italy; many chapters, though, are based in between those two places: Uzbekistan, Persia and the Ottoman Empire above all.

Confessions of a citizen (Egy polgár vallomásai) - Sándor Márai

Some chapters of this book read like an autobiography, others like a travel diary. And yet, the whole work is probably neither. It starts with the author's upbringing in a Magyar hometown, before WWI put an end to the Austro-Hungarian empire. After that Sándor Márai started to travel abroad. This is a summary of those years: a collection of impressions, experiences and encounters of a clever, refined, erudite and restless young man, moving around Europe between the two world wars. Tension is in the air. Excitement, desperation and extravagance as well.

1914 - Luciano Canfora

This is a brief essay about the sequence of events that, over the course of a few weeks, triggered what has come to be known as The Great War or World War I. The year is 1914. Europe has enjoyed almost fifty year of peace, marked by economic growth, scientific and technological progress and social reforms. There still are some unresolved issues, neglected tensions and unsatiated appetites in the air though, and the situation will come to a critical point in the summer of that year.

A violent life (Una vita violenta) - Pierpaolo Pasolini

Pierpaolo Pasolini - poet, novelist, journalist, political commentator, civil rights activist and movie director - is one of the very nicest Italian (and European) intellectuals of the 20th century. Clever, knowledgeable, well read, refined, independent, original and brave, he has had and still has a great impact on Italian culture, society and politics.
“A violent life” is his second novel based in post WWII Rome (the first one being “The street kids”, original title: “Ragazzi di vita”).

M: Son of the century (M. Il figlio del secolo) - Antonio Scurati

Classifying this book is no easy feat. Most of the time it reads like a fictional novel but - especially if you are Italian or a foreigner who’s well acquainted with contemporary Italian history and culture - you’ll be thrilled and quite upset by the fact that the characters portrayed are real life people such as Mussolini, Giolitti, D’annunzio, Sarfatti, Balbo, Togliatti, Kuliscioff, Marinetti, Gramsci or Matteotti, who had a tremendous impact on the events of that period in Italy, in Europe and worldwide as well.
Most of the chapters are supported by official documents, telegrams, letters, articles and recordings, which might temporarily interrupt the flow of the plot, but at the same time contribute to increase the sense of authenticity of the events narrated.

Mazzini - Denis Mack Smith

If there is a person that every Italian should be proud of, that person, in my humble opinion, is Giuseppe Mazzini. He probably deserves that gratitude even more than Giuseppe Garibaldi, another protagonist of the Italian Risorgimento (the 19th century Italian struggle for independence). Even though the famous general - due to his action hero aura - was arguably more famous than the Genoan ideologue, he has had a less far reaching influence on Italian culture and political education. Camillo Benso, count of Cavour, the third main character of that famous era, a very skilled politician and tactician indeed, can’t even compete with Mazzini as far as moral, philosophical and literary standing is concerned.

The Mussolini canal (Canale Mussolini) - Antonio Pennacchi

Besides being an excellent read, this is also a very good summary of twentieth century Italian history: the rural society at the turn of the century, the First World War, the socialist uprising, the birth of fascism, Mussolini’s takeover, the Second World War, the post war reconstruction and the ensuing economic growth. These events are all part of a story which revolves around a family - the Peruzzi - from the Veneto (that’s actually where I come from). They are sharecroppers, people who - for generations - have worked the land and farmed animals, gone to war, brought up dozens of children, eaten meager meals and made up for that by drinking barrels of wine, coped with natural disasters and famines, economic crises, pandemics, political instability and social abuse, who have fallen in and out of love, made friends and enemies, fought family vendettas and formed strong social bonds.

The Prague cemetery (Il cimitero di Praga) - Umberto Eco

It happened a few times while I was abroad. I said that I was from Italy and the person with whom I was speaking suddenly informed me that their favorite author was also Italian. Once they even asked me to guess who it was. Dante? I thought. No, too old. Montale? Too obscure. Volo? Come on! I give up, who is it? But of course, Umberto Eco! That was their answer. Eco? Wow, I’m surprised, I said. But why was I surprised, then? I have read my first Eco’s novel when I was a kid (if you guessed “The name of the rose”, well, you guessed right) and I have read every novel by him that I came across ever since. I loved each and every one of them. There was no reason to be surprised at all.

OOO SOOOOLEEE MIOOOO...

It's something I do everyday: I open the Corriere della Sera website, to find out what's going on back home. I read the first ten news and I learn that a few more people have just been arrested: the general manager of Milan Expo 2015, a former ministry of the Republic and the current president of the Italian basketball league. I close the Web page, I place a hand on my chest, the other on my crotch and, under the bewildered looks of the nice Filipinos, i start to sing OOO SOOOOLEEE MIOOOO...

Those mainland Chinese - Hong Kong

View of Hong Kong skyline from Tsim Sha Tsui

M is about to complete a Master in Educational studies at a famous Hong Kong University. She is from the People's Republic of China, we've know each other for years. She a nice, sweet, extremely well-mannered girl. Nothing to do with the stereotypical Chinese who expectorate everywhere, clean their ears, nose or something else in public, chew seeds and radishes while they're sitting next to you, sucking noisily and spitting out broken shells and crushed fibers. However, since she came to Hong Kong, that stereotype has never stopped frustrating, embarrassing and humiliate her for a moment. 
Sometimes at a shop after she asks the second question about the product she intends to purchase the salesperson will tell her that "this is not mainland China, this is Hong Kong!" She tells me that the Chinese immigrants are accused of "stealing" job positions that should actually be given to the local citizens or - and this is something that directly involves her - master or doctorate posts at the best universities. She is paying for her studies, much more than what a local would by the way, and she finds this type of generalized accusations rather irritating. 
We are taking a walk in Kowloon and when we get to a junction as there are no approaching vehicles I go ahead and cross the road, as I always do, regardless of what the traffic light color is.

The legend of the "good" German policemen

Demonstrators and police have recently clashed in numerous Italian cities. As usual, the country is torn over matters of this kind: who is right, who is wrong...probably the truth is that both among the demonstrators and the agents there are a few hotheads, not very interested in the issue at hand and willing to make some noise, show off and get into a fight. Just like those bare chested guys at the football stadiums, yelling into a bullhorn, a scarf wrapped around the face and their backs always facing the field. This is not the main point of this post though.
After the incidents many Italian Facebook users have decided to post a few-month-old photo, taken in Frankfurt, whose caption states that those smiling German cops have just removed their helmets and are marching shoulder to shoulder with the demonstrators.
That picture, or at least that kind of interpretation of it, is a fake. Proven by an online newspaper, linkiesta.it, in an article published few days after the photo was taken, in May 2012. Everything is backed up with statements by the paper correspondent, the same AP photographer and the leaders of the demonstration.
However, those who like to spread this kind of stuff in Facebook are not interested in this details at all. What matters to them is playing the part of the know-it-all educator and ending their posts with a "WAKE UP ITALIANS!!!" call, yelled by means of those arrogant upper case letters. While continuing to sleep unperturbed in real life. Well...sweet dreams then!

A reality joke about jobs in Italy

A friend of mine recently told me a new joke...I find it fantastic!
This friend and the company he has been working with for years are redrafting his contract. When he enquires about the termination clause the HR employee tells him that he shouldn't worry too much about that, they don't need to be too specific and cautious when writing the clauses as the right to work in Italy is absolutely guaranteed by the constitution. HAHAHA! isn't it a great one?

Point-based Italian citizenship

Now and then I happen to meet the children of some foreigners who migrated to Italy before they were born. It still gives me a strange feeling. This is not America or Australia, where people have been used to this kind of situations for decades. In here this is still a recent phenomenon. Listening to what looks like an Indian gentleman speaking with a Bolognese accent or a Chinese lady using open and closed vowels the wrong way, like a perfect Milanese, can still surprise and fascinate me a lot. In cases like this I am not able to flaunt imperturbability.
They carry the obvious signs of their origins on their skin, countenance, hair and height. Then they tell you that they feel Italian, in big percentage at least. Many of them can't speak the language of their parents, they are ill at ease when they sit for lunch with their distant relatives and prefer to have a pizza with their Italian friends instead.
Still, they are to be considered foreigners in every respect. They have their parents' nationality and live in Italy on a residence permit. They are fluent in Italian, they attended Italian schools, from the very beginning, they studied Italian history, literature, social studies and civics. Some of them didn't understand much of it, true, but one must admit that so did lots of "real" Italians too. Well, it all doesn't make a bit of difference. They are almost never granted Italian citizenship. Their applications get lost in a sea of intricate procedures, absurd quibbles and layers of dust that settled on the desks of recalcitrant government officials. The Italian government prefers to grant the nationality to a South American or an Australian who can claim a great-great-grandfather from the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia or the one of the Two Sicilies - perhaps even a fake one - who can't speak a word in Italian and doesn't even know whether Italy is a republic or a kingdom. As a matter of fact thousands of Italian passports have been given away like that in the last ten-twenty years.

Work of art - Padua, Italy

We Italians often complain about our local authorities, their incompetence, disorganization or bad faith. And with good reason, of course. Sometimes though, a government manager or employee does something nice. In that case it's the common citizen the one who will settle (i.e. mess up) the matter the Italian way.
Last year, in downtown Padua, my attention was caught by some municipality billboards providing historical information about the city in the middle-age.Very interesting, at least for those who promoted the initiative and myself, and hopefully for some other local citizen and tourist as well. One year later I went back to that same place to refresh my memory on the subject. I could remember an item - in via Zabarella - about the Carrerese slaughterhouse, the fraglia dei beccai (guild of butchers), the licenses and procedures used in that sector back in the thirteen century.
Well, if you take a look at the photo above you can see what I actually found. An unknown local artist decided to embellish the panel with one of his renowned chicken-scratches. Reading the original text is now impossible, but in order to admire such a refined masterpiece we are obviously willing to make bigger sacrifices than that.
Getting inside the delicate role of an art critic for a minute (even though I don't have any relevant competence) I have a couple of questions that I am going to list below:
1) Baby...why didn't you paint the wall of your children's room instead? Even using a dark shade of that special paint obtained from animal pigments that also have excellent fertilizing characteristics?
2) And then, what does it mean...how do you read it...I mean, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU WRITE THERE???

Motorcycle thieves (or the lack of them) - Pattaya, Thailand

A few years ago in Milan someone stole my brother's brand new scooter. It was parked in his building courtyard, the door to the sidewalk locked, secured to a post with expensive and inviolable chain and padlock.

In Thailand you park your motorbike wherever you find a good place and at any time of day or night, you simply lock the handlebars (but you might even not do it), you leave your helmet in the basket and maybe a shopping bag hanging on the hook. You come back a few hours later or even the following day and everything is still there.

Itamil (it's not a medicine) - Bangkok, Thailand

One night in Bangkok I meet D. If you close your eyes and listen to him you know right away where he comes from. "I was born in Reggio but I'm a Bolognese." Short, slim, with waiving black hair. Under his dark skin there runs Tamil blood, his Indian features are of a southern variant. After having said to me that he is from Bologna he tells some English guys that he's not Italian. "If you have an Italian parent or you were adopted, being granted the citizenship is not that hard. But if your family is from somewhere else it might almost be impossible. D. is nice, self-confident, he studied in Italy and Australia, he's enterprising and smart, a precious human resource. He eats bolognese and tortellini with his Italian friends and he feels quite awkward at a Tamil meal. I'm amazed and bewildered, I can't get it out of my mind, a fraction of guilt is lying in my stomach. I think of the debate about granting citizenship to immigrants. What are they talking about, and with what credibility? In Italy there are thousands of people like D.

Photo of an Italian passport of 1901 (PD), from wikipedia.org