Camera Woes

I mentioned earlier that I currently am camera-less, and have been since Vignola, which was quite early in my trip. I had used my camera one day to take some photos of the countryside where I was walking, and everything was fine. Later that same day I turned it on to take a photo with a friend, and the lens wouldn't extend properly. I continually got a message to turn it off and on again, and nothing I tried would make it work again. I kept my eyes peeled for camera shops, but I was in the desert of small-town Italy and camera shops were water. Not even Perugia had one.
When I got to Milano and moved to my apartment, one of the first things I did was find out where to get the camera fixed. I went in to DARTY which is like Future Shop, but French and you can also buy a travel hairdryer for 6 euro, and asked at the camera desk. The girl there was very helpful and gave me an extensive but not exhaustive list of the Sony stores in Milano. I had to call three or four numbers before I got an answer, and they gave me another number to call, where I would theoretically reach the "laboratory": that is, where repairs are done.
Fine. I call. I find out where they are. I set aside a day to go. A few days, a subway ride across town, a 15-minute bus ride, several wrong turns, and a 25-minute walk later, I have arrived. I take a number, as you do at any store/bank/post office here, and settle in for the wait.
When my number is called, I'm told that because my camera is Canadian, its warranty isn't valid here (that sounds so familiar...) I have to pay 15 euro to have it looked at, and then any repairs they do will first be run by me, then done if I agree to the price.
Great. That was the 17th. Today is the 27th and I still had heard nothing. I picked up the phone to call and had to dial a few numbers before I finally got a very quiet, faraway voice -- I had to ask a few times whether I had the right number. She sounded a bit annoyed, but put me through to the right department anyway. Turns out they never had any intention of calling; good thing I did -- the looking-at was done and the figure I was quoted was NINETY-FIVE EURO (yes, 95) to replace the lens.
Now.
I am pretty sure there is a less expensive, invasive, or thorough way to fix the problem. So I told the guy I was going to think about it and call him back.
I've been thinking about it and trying to pinpoint why it is that I don't just trust that the problem truly is only fixable by replacing the lens. Is it because I wasn't offered any explanations about the mechanics of the problem? If I were in Canada, speaking ENglish, I would have no trouble or shame asking, "What exactly is wrong? Can you explain why the part isn't reparable?" I either don't have the capacity or the nerve to do so in Italian, and maybe I am afraid I won't understand the response. Or is it because I just don't trust the guy behind the desk who knows I am a foreigner? It's really disempowering, in a way, to be identified as "not from these parts"; you question everything, because you hear so many stories about the way foreigners get taken advantage of.
Anyway. The big problem here is what to do. WHen I am in a situation like this I always ask, What Would My Dad Do? I know for sure he would not pay 95 euro for a camera lens. He'd march in there and ask some questions. Then he'd stay there until he got some answers. Then ... well, I haven't gotten that far yet. I just know it doesn't end with me paying almost 100 euro to Livolsi Assistenza Tecnica!

I am appending some of the last photos taken with my precious Sony... a moment of silence, please...

PS. I wore my sandals today.

Incominciamo!

Seeing as the one-month anniversary of the beginning of my sojourn in Italy has come and gone and nary a blog entry is in sight, I have decided to bite the bullet and post something -- anything. When you put something off for so long because you are waiting for the perfect circumstances, it tends to build in import until you can never find it in you to live up to your now obscenely out-of-proportion expectations. To avoid such an imbroglio I humbly present Blog the First.

Where to begin? Because I am beginning mid-journey I will begin where I am and fill in the gaps as the drift of the discourse allows. I am currently in Milano, living happily in a small room in a family's apartment. (If I had a camera right now, I'd post a picture of it, but I don't-- and that's another blog entry altogether...) There are five of us -- Valentina, Ilario and their two daughters Emma and Bianca who are rather cute, but tend to be up pretty early in the morning, doing as children do... Valentina and Ilario couldn't be nicer people, though. I am very happy to be living with a built-in family; it makes me feel like if I needed it, someone has my back. For instance, Vale' took a morning to go with me to get a certain form for which we thought she would also need to sign -- she didn't but it was no problem for her to put that time aside to do me the favour. I like people like that.

I also like people who are sympathetic to foreigners' plight here in Italy. Italy has a reputation for being rather closed to foreigners -- it is notoriously difficult to obtain any sort of documentation you may need to stay legally in the country, thus rendering it impossible to do so; the language is Italian and too bad if you need me to speak slower; political parties like the Lega Nord are spoken of in foreign media in a light which implies racism and extreme patriotism in the North of Italy. On one hand, Italy boasts something like 8,000 km of coastline (don't quote me) and is easy to use as a gateway to the rest of Europe; it is therefore home to a lot of illegal immigrants (and the displeasure at this is vocalized pretty freely; graffiti like Tutti i clandestini a casa (All clandestines go home) is not uncommon). I get it. It's hard enough to find work, let alone that pays (more on that as well); leave the jobs to the residents. Not that I espouse that viewpoint, or any, for that matter. But there are so many people here that completely debunk the stereotype. Of course, the expat community is strong; every job interview I have gone to has also been a session of legal counsel, friendly advice, or simply socializing. But store owners, railway employees, Tabacchi cashiers (where you get your phone card to add credit, or your cigarettes if you're into that), hotel owners, doormen, parents of children I teach, strangers at the bus stop -- everyone is happy to smile and repeat what it is they are trying to communicate to me, or to share advice on the cheaper grocery stores, or to make sure I know to be careful walking through the area I am in, or just to make small talk or regale me with the stories of their lives. It's nice to know advice is dispensable here, that people are not hostile or closed on an individual basis.

I make it seem like Italy has this awful reputation. In fact, it is a wonderful place and most Italians are very outgoing people. I have made some friends and rather quickly; one of the first things I did was attend a masterclass held by Mirella Freni (I audited) and a couple of the singers there have kept in touch. I went to see Olga Borodina at La Scala tonight and made fast friends with the Japanese girl beside me (hilarious that she's from Japan, I'm from Canada, and we are speaking Italian) and we are going to go out soon with some of her friends. It is true, however, that Milano has a reputation in the rest of Italy for being a miserable, grey, un-Italian wasteland; one lady at the bus stop put it like this: "We only leave our houses to work and we only go home to sleep. And we earn nothing. We live badly here." Strong words indeed! What they don't know is that that is how it is in North America, and that in fact, Milano is as Italian as it gets next to Toronto or New York. I can't imagine a typical Milanese in New York! Good luck! Everything closes on Sundays here, and at lunch a lot of places will close as well; that's typical of the rest of Italy but with Milano's reputation I thought it would be different. I was shocked and amused to discover that the Milanesi don't realize they should just count their blessings!

Speaking of feeling different, my first transformation into a true Milanese has occurred. Usually I am not one to care too much about what you think of my clothes, but I have become painfully aware of my appearance, and that most of the time, I feel terribly underdressed and undercoiffed. They use the expression tirato here which comes from the verb tirare, to pull -- someone who is tirato is therefore pulled together, with no loose ends. I, on the other hand, feel like I am trailing threads and flyaways all over the city. This week, my fixation is shoes. It rained the first few days I was here, and I had some interviews to go to. I needed some nice shoes but not anything too warm, and not the sandals I had brought; I didn't want to spend too much because soon I need to buy some shoes for the colder months (I won't say winter, it only gets to be about 5) so I picked up a pair of faux leather pumps for 15 euro. Biggest mistake of my life in recent memory. Right now the back of my right heel looks like I took a pair of scissors and removed the first 9 layers of skin; my left isn't much better. I am limited to my flats, and they are so painful to wear that I can't picture another day with them on my feet. I have therefore carefully noted the types of shoes of every woman I see on the metro and come to the conclusion that my sandals are now considered unseasonal, and I should be wearing either a ballet flat, an ankle boot, or a sharp pair of black sneakers, think Skecher or Steve Madden, or even Puma, preferably with some bling. I am going to a discount shoe store I know of tomorrow and hopefully, I'll be able to face another day a piedi.
Next up: the eighth wonder of Danielle World, La Scala, and its array of interesting ticket-procurement procedures...