Italian TV

Hey all, I am going to be in Cinque Terre this weekend, so I thought that rather than trying to rush my last Spain post, I'd pop in a post I've had up my sleeve for a rainy day. I present to you, my dissertation on Italian television.

I had a lot of fun with this one. :P

Italian TV is one of those weird phenomena. Like Bollywood. There really aren't that many channels, at least not compared to the 4-digit American digital colossus that the BCSP students are all used to. 

I thought I might share some with you, and see what you all think. Feel more than free to leave opinions.

 

A clip from the most-watched show on Italian television, Striscia la Notizia.

Two things:

1. When Michelle dances around in the opener, take a gander at those heels she's in.

2. Yes, the thing she's holding is literally a "Buttcheek Detector." She says it's to detect the "improper use of ciapett' [buttcheeks] on television." This is standard fare for Striscia la Notizia.

If you suspend your disbelief, it's really quite a lot of fun. In a lot of episodes, they have a puppy that hangs out on the desk with them, and generally makes a nuisance of himself. And there are always loads of unnecessary sound effects that add to the chaos. I can't tell if the strangeness is motivated by low budget or if it's cultural preference (Your opinion, Luca? :P). All I want to know is...How do Italian women stand up to this kind of pressure? It's a miracle all the 14-year-olds aren't having nervous breakdowns and developing bulemia.

Ms. Raffaela Fico from Cento x Cento, the game show we watch at dinner (roughly equivalent to Family Feud). Good gracious, woman. D:

If you don't have mile-long bare legs, six-inch heels, perfect hair, D-cups and a hot body, you're probably either 1) male or 2) supposed to be the ugly person. Hoo-boy! The Women's & Gender Studies majors would have a heart attack to see this stuff.

This commercial just weirds me out. It's for bidet gel. Perhaps it's my American sensibilities overreacting, but 0:10 just makes me uncomfortable on all sorts of levels, not the least of which is the fact that it looks just like those Neutrogena commercials with face-splashing shots...only it's not her face... >:S

Slightly lighter American fare. :3

In addition, I thought I'd share with you that I have officially watched and understood TWO un-subtitled movies in Italian--Inglourious Basterds was one, and recently, Dragon (Dragon-Trainer in Italian). I paid 13 jolly euro for it, too, to see it in 3D. The Italians only sell you -nice- 3D glasses. >>

Here's the trailer, anyhow. VERY cute movie. :B



BUT. I have to say, if I ever thought to complain about Italian TV, that promptly ended once I turned the TV on in Spain. It was about midnight, and I was waiting for my hair to dry since I didn't have a hairdryer, so I thought I'd surf the channels a bit. Here are my findings:

Total channels: 33 (Italy has 20 and change)
Channels that didn't work: 14

Channels that were hard-core pornography: 8-10


(After a horrified cycle through the channels, I just turned the thing off). Don't they censor these things at all? >: Highly unpleasant, really.

I really have grown to like Italian TV, though. The dubs are familiar (most of the voice actors are quite good, actually), and the original showsmake me laugh, always in good fun.

Spain Vol. 2: Almuñecar

This post is subtitled "Spain, and What We Ate There." But first, I thought I'd lead with a non-food photo:

In all its untechnical, unedited glory, this is my favourite picture taken yet. I didn't do anything to it. It was perfect, and I'll tell you why. This is a photo with a story.

It started with Erik craving tapas. After a long day at the Alhambra, we didn't want to hunt around--we beelined for Granada's main strip and started looking at posted menus. Note to travellers: Main strips are a) touristy and b) expensive. Always. We knew this and were disappointed anyway. We were almost ready to get fast food, but I voted for us to go off the beaten path a bit and see if we could find something on a side street. Suddenly, we hit a tiny corner street where an old man in a woolen sweater flagged us down from where he stood in a lighted doorway. "Tapas?" We wanted to know. Yes, he served tapas. He walked over to show us his menu, with very reasonable prices, describing in Spanish all the different dishes with promising hand gestures. We decided to give it a go.

Do you know when people sigh dreamily and say they want to experience authentic culture off the beaten path? This was the place: one-room restaurant, pictures plastered over the wall, a TV in the window set to a Spanish news station, the smell of frying oil.

Erik unfurled a crumpled bit of paper on the table; it was a list of foods that Bianca (having grown up in a Spanish family) had recommended to us. Erik and Marc each decided to try sangría, and I stuck with water. But when those tall, round glasses came with dark red wine and juice and orange slices floating with the ice, I took a sip of Erik's and changed my mind. The owner shook his finger at me and nodded with a sage grin. "Aha!" he said, followed by something that was probably along the lines of "I thought so."

He was the only one working in the restaurant, and he hummed as he got the seafood out of his fridge for our tapas. First he brought out a plate of jamon, which is Spanish cured ham. It was the colour of very rare steak, and rather dry compared to the juicy ham we're used to. Salty, lightly smoky, very rich and very meaty. The way I saw it served in Granada, you take this enormous pig leg, put it on a stand, and just shave away at it until it's all been eaten. Delicious.

Then came fried calamari. I have nothing to say about that except it was the most tender, fresh, non-rubbery, burn-your-fingertips-hot calamari I've ever eaten. 

The owner so pleased we were enjoying his food that he decided to cook us his specialty as an extra dish. We tried to say no, but he already had it in the fryer, and there was no refusing.

The specialy, tapas #3, turned out to be whole fried sardines. I had been reading a memoir about living in Paris, and when he described fried sardines as delicious, non-oily treats, I didn't believe him--but this dish changed my mind entirely. Instead of being heavy, greasy, and overpoweringly fishy, the little white-fleshed fish were delicate and flaky. The owner, in between conversations with his friend who had showed up for a coffee, showed us how to take off the tail and lift out the spine (although the bones were so soft and small that Marc just ate them whole to save himself the bother). We got up from the table very, very satisfied.

I wanted something to remember the meal by, though, and so as the owner held the door open for us, I asked him rather shyly for a photo. His friend jumped up all excited and posed with the three of us, while the owner tried to work the camera, and ended up taking the picture at the top of the blog with all our faces cut off except for that infectious Spanish smile of his friend. (By the way, Marc, on the left? His smile is fake. He was busy being uncomfortable that the guy's hand was on his neck). Then the friend told the owner to pose with us, and as luck would have it, he couldn't work the camera either, and the shutter clicked just as I was telling him which button to press.

Catherine is 0 for 2 on good photos taken of her tonight.

All in all, fantastic night, fantastic meal. I think this photo perfectly captures what it's like to go off in search of the real culture of a place; it won't be perfect, and there will be parts that make you uncomfortable or that you don't understand, but you'll be left with a story that is better than any tourist trap, and in the end, it's the people that you remember and who are important--not the things. After all, just look at that smile!

*

Continuing the food theme, the Spanish do breakfasts far better than the Italians. The Italians largely get by on no breakfast except a strong sugary espresso, and my theory for this is that pasta is not a breakfast food, therefore breakfast must not be that important. The Spanish, on the other hand, have TOSTADAS.

At just 3.50 euro in the bar attached to our hostel, this baby will keep you going well into the afternoon. This one was spread with tomato, and served with a good strong coffee and pineapple juice. It was a warm and clear morning, and I was waiting for Marc and Erik to wake up, listening to the Spanish dance music playing on the radio while the hostel/bar lady chatted with her friend over the newspaper. I ate the tostada slowly, which was toasty and warm with olive oil and pepper spread in with the tomato, and wrote postcards while I munched.

The aim of day 2 was a relaxing day on the beach on the southern coast. We asked the hostel receptionist for recommendations for beaches, and between our Spanish and her...well...Spanish... she pointed us to a little beach called Almuñecar, near Málaga.

Well. It was a two-hour bus ride through the most gorgeous set of mountains (the Sierra Nevadas). We were snapping pictures like Japanese tourists, to the amusement of all the Spanish people riding the bus with us.

It is hard to impress how dry Spain looked; all warm colours, orange dirt, and a hot, strong sun, although the shade was very cold. All the mountains were green, sprinkled with trees and olive groves with the occasional white-washed town. We passed ponies with clipped tails, and citrus farms, and a field bright with poppies.

Almuñecar was the real gem, though. The bus snaked around the roads cut into the hillside, and we all crowded against the window to get a look.

We stopped in a restaurant just off the beach and ordered the menu of the day. People. People, I have to tell you about this meal.

First course (after the crusty hot bread): Paella made with mussels, whole shrimps, teeny clams, calamari, and real saffron! (You know, the most expensive spice in the world).

Second course: Swordfish steaks with garlicky butter sauce, warm potatoes, carrots with peppers, and a little pansy flower on the plate. <3

Dessert course: Zuppa Inglese (left) with caramel sauce and apples, Chocolate mousse cake with raspberry sauce and whipped cream (top), and my dessert, at the bottom right...the mysterious nameless dessert. We asked the waitress what it was called, and she spelt it out for me: "tarta queso"...cheesecake. But it was so much better than any cheesecake I'd ever eaten. There were alternating layers of cake and cream cheese filling, and then it was topped with a blueberry sauce and then decorated with raspberry and kiwi sauces (they were so delicious that we completely cleaned the plate of them).

Digestif: We weren't even expecting this, but suddenly they came out with three frosty glasses of a non-alcoholic drink, which was sweet and tasted faintly of raspberries.

BUT.

BUT.

BUT.

Then the bill came. We had been expecting it to be at least 30 euro a head, with the seafood, saffron, and swordfish, as well as all those desserts. But no:

Eleven euro a head for all of that, and the service and tip was included! What a perfect start to a day on the beach.

The weather was HORRIBLE. Look at all those clouds and wind.

The beach was rocky, but we didn't care--it meant that it wasn't crowded.

This is what I did.

This is what Erik did. He had the right idea, seeing as it was too cold to swim.

Marc mostly waited for the waves to swamp Erik, but they never did.

Then we found an outcrop that was kind of a rocky hill overlooking the ocean, where there was a cross monument, and some great photos and people-watching happened while we waited for the sun to set. :)

Little girl in a very big world.

We don't know who this statue was of, but he was wearing a turban. :)

 

This is the cross monument atop the outcrop.

 

Parting photo: I call this one, Best Seat in the House. (As in, the guy in the middle right of the photo--he had a good thing going).

Thank you, Almuñecar. It was a pleasure.

Spain Vol. 1: Granada and the Alhambra

I know you're shocked that Catherine, queen of reliable updates, has not made a peep for TWELVE DAYS, but I do have a handful of wonderful excuses: a day-trip to Verona, my two-year anniversary with my boyfriend, many pages of Macroeconomia, and most significantly (time-wise), a four-day trip to Spain.

Onward! You want to hear about it. Here is my dilemma: 

   300 pictures in Verona 
+ 700 pictures in Spain 
+ at least 500 more in other trips
= over 1500 pictures.  

And I still want to blog about other non-trip adventures too. Bear with me as my giant wad of content struggles unclog itself from the tubes of the internet.

A synopsis of what you're in for: (some of these won't appear until part 2)

• two pickpocketing attempts and a sneaky rosemary-seller
• mountains everywhere
• orange trees, also everywhere
• weather that went hot-cold-hot-cold
• garlic + seafood + deep-fryer = Andalusian cuisine
• ridiculous Arabic architecture
• Italian gelato vs. Spanish helado
• rocky beach with excellent food
• good tea and tostada breakfasts
• city-wide KKK rally (...believe me, you'll want to hear this story)
  

The planner behind the holiday was fellow BCSP-student Marc, who wanted to go to Paris and London over break. But when Erik joined us, we realised our schedules were having a hard time overlapping. So then it became just Paris. Then, after realising how crowded and expensive it would be during spring break, we changed course completely when we found a cheap flight to Granada, in the south of Spain.

Having never studied Spanish and never really studied Spain at all, I hopped onto the trip more out of convenience than anything else. It was a complete unknown to me, except that unknowns rarely have such excellent outcomes.

The trip was budget in every sense of the word: we booked with Ryanair, the kings of cheap when it comes to flights. They discourage you from ever calling the help hotline, sometimes don't bother checking if you set off the metal detector, and nearly cancelled Bianca's flight to Ireland without a refund due to an airport strike. BUT! Their prices can't be beaten by any other airline, by a long shot--130 euro for a round-trip!

(For anyone planning a trip, http://www.skyscanner.com is the most user-friendly, helpful site ever. You can search for flights based on airport, price, or time. It has an option to search the cheapest flights to "Everywhere" or entire countries from your airport, and you can look at prices by "entire month" or "entire year" to see the cheapest days to fly. Highly recommended.)

So very early on Friday (very early, as I'd missed trains and buses in past trips due to getting off the bus only to find that the connecting bus doesn't come for another forty minutes), I met Marc at the Stazione Centrale, and we took the shuttle to the airport. The flight was uneventful, except for some stunning views. The sky close to the horizon was a clear, light blue that darkened to a deep, blue-black colour (you could imagine seeing space above) at the top of the sky.

I seem to have a sixth sense for picking seats over the wing of the plane. Every single time! The grainy white you see near the bottom of the window is a haze of frost crystals.

Spain: It has some hills. ;)

Out-the-window photos are notoriously greyish and difficult, but the weather was kind.

This was the sky. (!)

Needless to say, we were all pumped by the time we stepped off the plane. This is Marc's ready-to-pwn-Spain face.

Above, one of our first looks at Granada (and the Andalusian countryside) from the airport shuttle. Look at those snowy mountains!

Click this one for full size. Half of it is cut off.

First impression: Granada? Gorgeous. There was a summery sun, although the buds had just burst into bloom. It was 70-something in the sun, but 50s in the shade, so no matter what you wore, you weren't dressed for the weather.

Sexy bronze drapery.

It was along this avenue that we ran into Sneaky Rosemary-Seller #1. At the entrance of a big iron gate that we passed under, smiling girls held out sprigs of rosemary to the passersby, and we each took one, thinking it was some kind of religious symbolism. Then my lady took my hand and started to point and tell me things in Spanish, which I thought was a prayer or a blessing, but then realised she was reading my palm. Then she wanted money. "Todo il mundo paga," she insisted--The whole world pays. I don't want to talk about what happened afterwards, but for the rest of the trip, Marc and Erik joked whenever we saw a rosemary seller if I wanted to give her all my money.

Thanks, guys. Sorry that I'm trusting. D:

Not long after, we ran into Pickpocket #1. I was wearing a giant orange backpack (it was the only one I had), which served the purpose of tourist-identifier--I felt a pull and whipped around to see a man melt into the crowd behind me, having unzipped my pocket and nearly getting away with my wallet, passport, and credit cards. o___x Really, really bad feeling. I don't know anyone whom this has happened to in Bologna.

Our hostel was a nice encouragement after that incident, though. They didn't speak any English or Italian, but we managed. The place was cheap and cheerful, and as we walked down "Calle de las Navas," we discovered that we had unknowingly booked a hostel on the biggest tapas hot-spot in Granada. On this tiny little street were no fewer than ten tapas joints.

My room. I'm disappointed I didn't take more pictures, because the whole thing was so cute...and so tiny. You had to step over the toilet to get to the shower, and the toilet was so close to the wall that you had to sit on it sideways.

Well, we weren't expecting much in the way of views from the window...

We ate at one of the tapas places for lunch. The menu and our waiter both spoke English, so I suppose it could have been more authentic, but none of us cared because the food was delicious. I had a potato omelette and salt-baked shrimps, which were fantastic and boiling hot.

Yum!

Meanwhile, Marc and Eric were busy discovering that 80 percent of food in Andalusia is 1) fried and 2) bathed in garlic. Fantastic. We had been expecting Mexican-style spicy beefy food, and it was completely the opposite, and made for a refreshing break from Italian food.

After our lunch we strolled down to the Alhambra. Don't worry, I had never heard of it either. Turns out it's Spain's biggest tourist attraction and one of the AWESOMEST THINGS EVER.

The Alhambra is an enormous palace-fortress of the Moorish rulers, built in the 1300s, and is a combination of Islamic and Christian/Western architectural traditions. Basically, it's an enormous Arab-style palace, has amazing gardens, and blows most tourist sites I've seen out of the water.

This is the gate into the Alhambra grounds.

You can read more on Wiki. (You see wiki's picture!? I stood there!)

Now, Bologna is a beautiful city full of warm colours--Bologna la Rossa: Bologna the Red, remember?--but I missed seeing green (my room at home overlooks acres of forest, and Bucknell is rather along the same lines). Especially after the long winter. The huge wooded area we walked through to get to the main buildings within the wall more than made up for it.

We found a fairy cave. :D

Washington Irving (he wrote The Legend of Sleepy Hollow) is a popular fellow here, since he contributed a lot of money to keep the site running. We saw this statue, two hotels, several palace rooms, and a street that were all named in his honour. Here I am, innocently handing him a 50-euro bill (building off the rosemary joke, of course).

The Alhambra was enormous. It's made up of many buildings, from towers to bathing-houses, and very expansive gardens, pools, and walled-in grounds, so it's a great place for wandering because it's so disorganised. We spent five uninterrupted hours exploring and still didn't see the whole thing.

I'll try to let the pictures do the talking from here. I shrank most of them to fit the blog margins, but if you like it, click on it for the full effect!

 

From one of the towers. Notice the wall running down the hillside (the light brown track running down from the top left of the photo). We're not sure what it was for; Marc suggested penning sheep, and I thought it was to keep marauders from carrying off the hot women.

 

Granada from hiiiiiiigh high up. This was taken atop one of the towers in the fortress part of the Alhambra. The rest of the buildings are to the photo's right.

Imagine growing up here with this view out your window. You'd be the most jaded, unhappy person because of how spoilt you would be. "Muuum, I'm bored... I don't like the trees. The hedges are too square. I want round ones."

 

Happy group of Spanish tourists posing for a picture.

Awesome skylight idea. :D

Marc and I, CONQUERING.

This is a ceiling. A CEILING!

Hand-carved, all of it. And every surface of stone was carved like this. So amazing. My camera can't even start to explain it.

Panorama taken from one of the towers. Click this one especially.

...Coliseum-ish thing?

A KITTY. I followed him. :3

"Dun worry, lion. I gots your back."

A note here: As soon as I shouted "A KITTY" at the little ball of fuzz that was prowling around, I was done for. Marc and Erik both heard me, and for the rest of the trip, whenever we saw a stray cat (often), they would catch each other's eye, gasp and throw their hands in the air, and squeal kitty-talk in New Zealand accents.

All in good fun. I didn't mind at all. :P

The gardens seemed never to end. Every one was as beautiful as this one, planted with flowers, or pines, or hedges cut into castle shapes. We spent about two hours just in the gardens. Everywhere, the sound of flowing water and rustling leaves.

Bliss.

Erik in a contemplative moment. And rightly so.

Another contemplative moment, this time joined by Marc. Don't remember what the plaque actually had to say. :P

If you look closely, you can see that this is an orange tree. The Alhambra, as well as everywhere else we went in Spain, had hundreds of them everywhere, lining streets, filling gardens, and generally just growing about. They were close to ripe, some of them dropping off the trees. I wanted to pick one, but resisted the urge--they seemed to be private trees.

Southern Spain gets an earlier spring than Bologna, clearly...

I like taking people-watching pictures. What a good place to read a book.

Just as we began to wrap up our tour, the sun set with brilliant pink and purple colours. We didn't catch it from the tower, unfortunately, but the light went low as we walked through the last of the gardens, and we caught the sunset through the palm trees to the west.

Dear Spain: Do you ever get tired of rocking so hard?

Next up: The seaside town we visited on day 2, complete with excellent weather, lounging, people-watching, and more great eating.