Men in Rome

Acknowledging the danger of resorting to reductive binaries, I’ll nonetheless follow up on the previous post regarding Roman women by writing of their counterparts.
There are a number of stereotypes attributed to men in Italy (and Rome in particular). That they are sexist and aggressive in their—how to say?—romantic advances on women; that they are hyper-masculine; that their eyes, whistling, and catcalls are ever-following the women who stride the streets of Rome.
This is, however, but one side of the story.

Now, there’s little use in attempting to deny these stereotypes. That old (and occasionally false) maxim of ‘There’s a grain of truth in every stereotype’ certainly applies to these descriptions of Roman men. There is here a grain of truth—a truck-sized grain. I’ve heard too many stories from women friends about the “undue” attention they’ve received from men in Rome. Some of the stories refer to the everyday, minor yet tiresome treatment; some tell of frightening experiences.
A friend of mine was sexually harassed by a man while walking, during the day, in the streets of Rome. She reported the harasser to a pair of carabinieri (military police). The policemen filed report about the harassment…and then one of the carabinieri asked her out for coffee. It seems the predation is everywhere. But, again, this is one side of the story.
There were two carabinieri (one mid-30s, other early 40s) present. The younger one preyed upon her situation to ask her out, but the other policeman was very respectful and nice, speaking in slow Italian, very attentive to her frightened state. My friend and the latter officer couldn’t quite communicate with broken Italian and minimal English, respectively, so the officer pulled out his cell phone and called his wife to have her translate. This is but one example of the multi-faceted character of Italian men.

Some more observations: the lessening of personal space for everyone in Italy affects women, understandably, most. Italian men can be overly touchy both in friendly, dating situations and as strangers.
Staring is a national pastime in Italy. American women are unaccustomed and made most uncomfortable by the socially accepted norm of staring. Truthfully, it is disconcerting for men as well and takes some time to grow used to. Returning the stare is the best way to combat it.
There are lots of catcalls: ‘Ciao bella’ is commonly heard (and terribly lacking in originality). My friend, a blond, reports commonly receiving verbal harassment such as ‘ciao bionda’ or ‘bionda bella’. Women are caught in a double bind when encountering these men. Either they respond to the attention and invite a great deal more, and with greater intensity, or attempt to ignore it. Ignoring the catcalls and whistles, though, receives dismissive raspberry noises or other comments.

This kind of behavior can be seen in all ages of men. From the youngest of 10 years of age, even! It must be remembered: this behavior is taught and learned, not inherent.
A friend told me once that she distinguished two types of older men (ages 40-60, but not older). The first kind typifies the “disgusting” male with his roving eyes and clichéd ‘Mamma mia’ exclamations/jaw drop. But, again referring to the multi-faceted population of men in Italy, the other type is fiercely opposed to the sexist treatment of women by their fellow males. These men will go out of their way to make women feel comfortable and safe, telling off harassers (often harshly), and generally making a splendid effort to counteract the terrible treatment dealt women by the sexists. For all the tales of harassment and fright that I have heard from women students, they tell me also they’ve had just as many, if not more, positive experiences with kind, attentive and respectful men in Italy.

The women students also see a great deal of comedic merit in it all. Italian men are always gazing at the young/attractive women walking the streets. The men are transfixed by the women all the time: while standing on the sidewalk, while walking, while driving cars and motorini, while operating heavy machinery (!!!). Whether there is power for the women in this gaze, as some feminist theory claims, is beyond me. But I take heart in the fact that most women see entirely what fools these sexists are.

There’s no end to the gawking, but there are ways to fight it. American women students could take a few pages from the Italian women. After all, they have to put up with these fellows all the time. It’s often thought, erroneously, that the Italian women are jealous of the American girls who come over and occupy the attention of the Italian men. A friend of mine asked an Italian woman what she thought of this, and the Italian said: “No, we’re not jealous. We don’t want the Italian men! They’re rude!”
For the most part the Italian women are outwardly hostile to the attention received; there’s a no-nonsense grit to these women that is tremendously admirable. However, while this attitude is fine and good (and necessary!) in Italy, it skews Italian women’s perspectives while in the U.S. My Italian professor recounted in class awhile back how her friends return from America with similar attitudes. The Italian women who travel to the States typically return to Italy confused. They often remark, ‘Are all the men in the U.S. gay? What’s wrong with them over there?’ [I would argue that the same degree of sexual/gender oppression exists in the United States as in Italy, but in the U.S. such oppression is veiled, obscured, and denied, while in Italy it is naked, exposed, and everywhere apparent.]

Women who come to Rome can ensure that they have a scare-free time. Frightening harassment is not inevitable and a few tactics can go a tremendous way towards making women feel at ease. Temple International Programs can provide information on this. These are a few of my suggestions:

Do not walk alone at night—at all. If you must walk at night, having a male companion or walking in a medium-to-large group will provide safety. If you must travel at night, take public transportation (it’s excellent in Rome), and even then it’s preferable to not do so alone.

Do not return any ‘affectionate’ attention in any way. Even an embarrassed smile, a nervous laugh, or a glance will encourage the harasser to continue. The typical signs American girls use in the States to discourage attention have no effect in Rome. Try to act as the Roman women do. They show complete and utter contempt for the harassment they might receive. I find it unfortunate that they must walk with hostility on their faces, but I suppose it’s necessary.

I do not mean to predispose people to gender and sex roles, but women who walk with male companions are far less likely to receive harassment than if they walked alone or with another woman. It’s been remarked to me when I walk with women friends that with me they encounter far less unwanted attention (and it’s a benefit for me: cars stop for women pedestrians where they would never stop for a guy! Everyone wins!). This lack of harassment is likely due to the patriarchal notion that women can be “owned” in a proprietary way. A man walking with a woman signifies that she is “his woman” and therefore off-limits. Again, an effective tactic with unfortunate implications.

Anyway, to conclude, there is not a monolithic population of Italian men. One can be sure to encounter the sexist, but also to meet kind individuals hoping by their actions to negate the harassment women receive elsewhere. These men in Italy are genuinely embarrassed and angry at their compatriots’ actions and mean well. For example, a friend of mine lost her wallet and a man returned it to the residence directly after she lost it with all its contents. It is best as a woman to approach Italy in a cautious manner, but to remain aware that the good souls exist there too.
Cheers!

Roman women

It’s surprising how much resemblance women in Rome bear to their American counterparts, and yet they remain entirely different, separated by a vast cultural gulf that spans a greater distance than the miles between Italy and the U.S.

I believe a good indicator of a city’s people is the kind of commerce one finds most prevalent. In Rome, then, the perfumeria dominates and one can find such a shop with the ease of locating a 7-11, Starbucks, and McDonalds put together in the States. Every woman that passes in Rome leaves a scintillating trail; each scent is tailored to its bearer.
One can apply this rule equally effectively to the cultural indication of finding a tabaccheria as frequently as a perfumeria. That means if your nose isn’t picking up the remnants of a passing woman instead cigarette smoke takes the place, that or exhaust fumes owing to Rome’s atrocious addiction to the internal combustion engine. It’s also not uncommon to see (and smell) a woman smoking and riding a motorino—combining those three Roman scents into one magical package. Of course, in addition she’ll likely be riding the motorbike in high heels, grasping her handbag while driving, and yelling authoritatively at le machine that cut her off.

The women who here stride the streets with confidence and a take-no-shit attitude are certainly cut from a different cloth than those in the United States. Women here are less timid, ready to return the inquisitive stare or lowbrow comment with double the malice—and they teach their daughters to do the same. But they also maintain a high standard for their physical appearance as do many American women. It should not be believed that the (necessary) tough mentality of the Roman woman leads her to dress in any way “masculine.” I’ve never seen such attention paid to fashion and appearance as the people of Rome. I feel positively ugly in their presence (I hope this says more about them than it does about me, but oh well…).

The beauty of the Romans is not to be overestimated. One must marvel at the fine and sculpted features and their remarkable figures. I’ve asked classmates at Temple Rome why the Romans are so beautiful in ways that Americans never are (doh!). Some responses include: ‘they’re like purebred dogs and we Americans are all mutts’; ‘it’s because of the good quality food they eat and in small portions’; ‘there’s something in the water, man!’ Well, what do you expect? I wasn’t asking a geneticist or biological anthropologist!

I write of a monolithic Rome, as if it is a city of one people. Yet, while Rome is certainly an international city, it remains tremendously homogenous as compared to Europe’s typical metropolis. There simply is not a sizeable presence of non-ethnic Italians, leading one to the conclusion that Rome is populated by a historically-consistent ethnic line. This appears the case within the Aurelian walls of Rome, but neglects the peoples forced into squalid existences on the outskirts of Rome. The immigrant population, while still negligible compared to, say, Paris or London, is growing steadily. This population will be addressed in later posts.
Cheers!

“Right…right…right…Madonna [crosses himself]…left.”

Salve! This Sunday night witnesses the death and burial of Temple Rome’s ’07 Fall Break. Alas, if only it could have survived another week! But Fall Break was a good time while it lasted and offered me the opportunity to travel to Athens, Greece.

From Friday October 19th to Monday October 22nd four friends and I attempted to see as much of Athens as possible. I think we did a pretty good job (simply judging how exhausted I was on my journey back to Rome) and here are some observations from the sites of another ancient empire:

The food, oh the food. I’m confident that I overate with every meal in Athens. And how could you possibly be expected to not overeat?! The food is just too damn good. Start the morning off with a Greek pastry (or two): cream or chocolate, coconut or banana, heated to blessed awesomeness that melts in your mouth. “A mouth orgasm” as one of my companions described it. Pretty appropriate, I think.
And then the dinners, oh my! A plate heaped with kebab of lamb and pork, baked lamb with potatoes, fried pita bread and plenty of tzatziki to mop up with bread too! Often at meal times I would find myself not hungry, yet dying to eat—it’s a dangerous place, Athens.
A few more notes on food: the price compared to Rome is pretty good. Of course you can mosey into a deluxe restaurant and expect fantastic Greek food (for fantastic prices, naturally), but the five of us ate splendidly at decent restaurants recommended to us by our hostel manager for 50-60 euros. The food was amazing and came in bountiful quantities and the price was great too.
Also, the portion sizes in Athens were much larger than Rome and Italy. Athens, on a whole, felt more “American” than Rome (bigger cars such as SUVs are prevalent where they are nowhere to be found in Rome; the architecture and urban layout often feels very modern in an American way). There are also many American-sized people in Athens. Overweight people are difficult to find in Rome, owing largely to small portion-size and food culture in Italy.

The dogs. While Rome is famous for its stray cat population occupying many monuments in the Ancient City, Athens instead boasts roving packs of dogs. It’s very common to see dogs sprawled all over the pavement, at the curb, in the middle of the sidewalk. They’re entirely tolerated and (I imagine) loved by many people in Athens owing to the fact that they appear well fed. These dogs roam around entirely calm among the tens of thousands of strangers that daily throng the streets of Athens. They beg food and drink out of fountains and go generally unacknowledged by the locals (the tourists, as one might imagine, go crazy over the dogs). The dogs only get unfriendly when their natural environment (paradoxically an entirely non-natural environment: packed urban life) is disturbed. I witnessed a pack of 5-6 dogs bark furiously and attack a car that had driven into Syntagma Square, a park in the middle of Athens. Evidently, cars aren’t supposed to drive in parks, so say the dogs. And they’re a pretty good authority because essentially the dogs own Athens and everyone recognizes this. While I never got used to it–being American, dogs have very much a different significance–the dogs of Athens are a fixture of the city and as part of the urban scenery as the fountains or streetlights.

The street vendors. In this Athens was similar to Rome, yet still markedly different. If there is a class hierarchy for street vendors, then the upper-class vendors reside in and monopolize the market of Rome, leaving the more impoverished vendors to scour the streets of Athens for sales. I write this because of the utter destitution exuded by some of the vendors in Athens. Often with little more than a handcart, these vendors would set up “shop” on any street corner and spread out their “wares.” I reflect on this only because these vendors typically had the oddest commodities for sale. There was no apparent order or rationale for the products sold, each by individual vendors, such as ankle support sleeves, pliers, carrot peelers, and transparent packing tape. It was as if each vendor had managed to get his hands on a crate of some product and then struck out on his own as the fabled self-made businessman on the streets of Athens.

The greetings. Athens is overwhelmingly a tourist city and, while in no way could I deny that Rome possesses the very same label, Athens is much more…friendly to English speakers. Nearly everyone that a tourist has the possibility of encountering speaks English. We did our best to learn Greek greetings and utility words, but it was entirely unnecessary (this is both disappointing and a relief). Waiters in restaurants, clerks in stores, and Greeks manning tourist kiosks would greet you with a cheerful “yes please?” The use of “yes please” (in both question and affirmation form) was mildly disconcerting. For example, at a restaurant:
Me: I’d like an order of mixed kebab.
Waiter: Yes please.
Me [perplexed]: Uhhhhh…and an extra order of pita bread?
Waiter: Yes please.
Me [getting the hang of it]: And a Sprite, please.
Waiter [scribbling furiously]: Yes please!

Also, the title of this blog entry are the directions given to us by an elderly gentlemen as we mistakenly stumbled on to his property attempting to get to the Parthenon. If only we could have recorded it!

The dirt of the city. Why Athens is so filthy I don’t know. While in Greece we weathered several rain and thunder storms (several quite comically while eating outside at a restaurant) and the resulting deluge through the streets and sidewalks always failed to clear them of dirt. I do not intend to offend any Greeks or residents of Athens with these comments, of course, as I don’t believe a city’s appearance necessarily reflect on their residents (Philadelphia, anyone?). But with the exceptions of the major tourist sites the city made relatively little attempt to hide the inevitable outcome of mass urban life—the accumulation of trash.

Those are some observations of Athens. If only I could have spent some more time there and familiarized myself with the city in its non-tourist faculties! But that is for a later visit.

Cheers!

Road warriors in Roma

[I wrote this looooong ago, Sept. 5th]
I didn’t have to wait long to experience my first adventure in Rome. The van ride from the airport to the residence provided enough thrills and sights. The drivers in Rome are truly a sight to behold.

First, the traffic lines painted so uniformly on the roads are absolutely arbitrary. Drivers in Rome do not change lanes—they drift them. Turn signals are nearly obsolete. Drivers instead indicate their intent to change lanes by driving between two lanes for hundreds of yards. At first, as we pulled away from the airport, I thought there was something wrong with my perspective in the van. Our driver frequently occupied two lanes (occasionally meandering into the oncoming lanes as well) and only frenzied honking from a too-close automobile could discourage him otherwise. But soon I realized that traffic lines are merely paint on pavement and of no concern to drivers whatsoever.

If it sounds as though cars abuse the traffic laws, that is a misconception; for while cars are terrifyingly erratic, the motorcycle and scooter drivers here are clinically/certifiably insane. Such drivers find no qualms with passing on the shoulders, passing (and driving) between lanes, motoring up on sidewalks, and shooting through red lights and pedestrian crossings without the mere thought of braking.

Speaking of pedestrians, that’s another common assertion of Rome that needs affirming. Crossing Broad Street in North Philadelphia is a cakewalk compared to walking in Rome. Drivers and motorbikes practice absolute disregard for the welfare of those who walk. Already I’ve nearly died (or, best-case-scenario, been horribly mangled by a motor vehicle) three times—it was only the caution of friends and fellow pedestrians that kept me from cutting my Rome excursion tragically short.

I’ve never lived in a city without a bicycle. A bike seems essential to my well-being. But, I must admit, I believe I am too sane to pedal about in the traffic of Rome. There is a necessary amount of insanity one must accumulate before taking to the streets of Rome on any sort of wheels. I don’t yet have such insanity. Yet.

Dispatches from ROME

Hello! I’m humbled that you’ve interest of my exploits in Rome. Yes, a Temple University Honors Program serf has hightailed it out of Philadelphia and Main Campus to seek refuge at Temple Rome from Honors feudalism.

I’d like to contribute to this blog continually (if not daily, then at least in major installments weekly). It’s likely I’ll be consolidating the week’s observations into a single or several cogent post(s). Capito?

Two helpful notes regarding this blog:

1. As an anthropology major (of the cultural breed) I make constant observations of people and their daily activities. This blog will be helpful to me to spill such observations on a hapless and undeserving audience (ha!). But seriously, I will attempt to restrain myself from using anthropological jargon as much as possible. I want to keep this blog readable and as helpful as possible to those interested in Rome, studying abroad, and an American’s experience in a foreign environment.

2. Politics thoroughly inform my thought, provide guidance, and structure my approach to and vision of the world (this is undeniably true of everyone, however with my writing it is a difference of degree, not kind). I do not intend to inject “politics” into this blog and will write on such matters only if they pertain to the localized topics addressed in this blog. For those interested in my political writings, they can be read at this location. Also, I sporadically post and comment on news stories at this location.

Thank you for reading (at least) this introductory post. I hope I can provide a perspective (if only a single and situated one) of daily life of a study abroad student in Rome, Italy.
Cheers!