Today's moment is brought to you by the Duomo's roof.

I had an "I live here!!!!!?!?!?!?" moment today.

I have them sometimes. They come in two forms.

One form is the type that is accompanied by a contorted grimace of revulsion or sadness and usually occurs in response to one of the following:

1. Berlusconi is on TV saying something incriminating, or having laws made to protect his dealings (actually they rules against his random law-making recently, not that it will change much).

2. I see old ladies curled up on the sidewalk with their hands outstretched. OLD LADIES. They aren't using it for drugs, that's for sure. Why are they so poor? Or, I see desperate buskers board subway trains and begin to play, badly, on a broken violin or a crap accordion, smiling in vain at the obviously annoyed passengers, as their malnourished child goes around and holds out a duct-taped coffee cup.

3. I read stuff like this. Italy's right-wing government doesn't give a ... about gay rights, until three days ago? How many young gay Italians have to conceal their physical injuries and refuse to go to hospitals when they are beaten, because they haven't come out to their parents? How many clubs have to be raided, how many have to emigrate with their partners, how may have to die before this country realizes it's living in a really warped, religion-steeped vacuum?? There was another beating in Rome this week, the homicide rate is way up, and Berlusconi is under fire for a lot of other things, so maybe it's an opportunity to score some points by pouring some of his hard-earned money into a subway ad campaign that will just get defaced by the belligerent youth for whom it is too late, who have learned too early and too well what's right and wrong. Not that I'm proposing a solution. It's a deep-seeded problem. But you might be able to tell I think it's an important one.

4. I try to do things that are green and fail because the facilities don't exist (eg, must take elevators or escalators, must throw out paper or plastic, must use 1290843 sheets of paper to properly document coursework for teaching because everything is so complicated here, must take receipt for every single purchase made because otherwise the police will question whether you stole it, nowhere to compost, too dangerous to bike here, list goes on). Stay tuned for when I try a No-Impact challenge in one of the self-admittedly least green places on earth.

Sometimes, these moments are accompanied by absolute awe and wonder, amusement, reverence, and any combination of these and other similar emotions. Today's was like this and happened on the roof of a building, which, if you're going to have an epiphany, is just as good a spot as any, really. They happen on occasions such as the following:

1. I wander around an ENORMOUS church on a Monday afternoon when I have nothing better to do, see the preserved body of a dead archbishop and numerous very lovely paintings, and then take an elevator to wander around on the ROOF of said Duomo, from which you can see the ALPS and also all the little people and pigeons in the square below, and all the cranes and church spires and wee skyscrapers of Milano around you and all the saints presiding over the cities from their perches on the church spires are at eye level. The gargoyles are fantastic close up. ANd the Madonnina really is a wee little Mary made of gold perched on the topmost spire. THe spires are backlit by the sun and everything looks cream-coloured.
I sometimes have a really hard time getting over the fact that there is so much history just strewn about the cities here, and people go about their daily modern lives as if nothing were amiss, with no air of reverence, no eggshells underfoot, no neck-craning and google eyes. It's amazing to me that I can rush across a square in a hurry to get somewhere and not even notice that the square, and its subway stop, is named after the tenth-century church that is smack in the middle of it.

2. I have chocolate for breakfast, and that's not only OK, it's advised.

3. I sit on the tram or the subway and look around, and there are Italians, Africans, probably Brits and Canadians and Americans, Filipinos, Chinese and Japanese, and I know we all have at least one thing in common: we all speak great Italian. At home I don't take it as a given that you speak English, although most people do speak it. Some speak French, and some don't have a great level of English at all. Sure, in other parts of the world, it's probably the same- in South Korea, I imagine the dominant language is Korean, for example. But this is Europe, where languages mix a lot more easily, and in Italy, the 4 big ones (French, English, German, Italian) are taught in high school. In countries like Germany, the default fall-back is English; France I would imagine too. In Sweden they practically all speak fluent English, as far as my experiences with Swedes demonstrate. Here, you can't really get by -- as a resident -- without a perfect understanding of Italian and a really good ability to speak. Most Italians have very little to no English, ditto French and German. So there is that one thing that each and every one of us on that tram has struggled with and achieved. In a weird way, it's unifying and comforting.

4. Cities are circular and orbit around a main piazza. Life takes place in outdoor open spaces. They are always crowded with people walking, talking, sitting, eating, taking pictures, on cell phones, hanging out. I love piazzas. Why don't we have enormous open public spaces in the middle of downtown where you can set up runways for outdoor fashion shows and rock concerts, and that house enormous artifacts of history called Duomo's, EVERYWHERE?
To me this is indicative of a major cultural difference. It isn't just the church thing. Intersection after intersection in Toronto or New York, laid out in grids that really go nowhere; streets in parallel, angled bunches converging periodically in hubs with bars, banks, street markets, PEOPLE, that help define neighbourhoods and city zones, help drivers easily navigate between zones via roundabouts, and provide a mental and physical resting place from GOING. Which would you rather?
Having these points of arrival along your journey makes it meaningful and somehow, easier. At home I go from point A to point B. Here I go from point A to say, G or H with all the letters in between. I see more and experience more along the way. And resting points are built in. Just like siesta. Yes, that does happen in Milano, too.

5. People have met other opera singers before and they are familiar with the major works in the canon. Most have been to see at least one, usually in their hometown's theatre, and they probably liked it. They might even know someone who could help me, or their mom is a voice teacher. Opera happens everywhere. It's on TV, it's in small towns and it's relatively cheap. Your average Joe knows the words to La donna è mobile, Largo al Factotum, Una Voce poco fa, every soprano aria written by Puccini, and of course Va Pensiero. Entire blocks of streets are named after composers.
My point is... well, do I have to make it? I still haven't gotten over the novelty that I am not a novelty.

I never said it would all be roses, and Italy is a backwards country in a lot of ways. But there are some serious payoffs.

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...