In Italy, as in many European countries, stores are largely closed at midday so families can have lunch together. That's why you see morning hours and afternoon hours on the sign above. They also usually close one day a week, as many stores are run by the owners, not by "employees" on rotation. Typically stores close on Sunday, although more and more seem to be opening in the afternoon. Restaurants, by and large, close on Mondays. I can't remember where I took this photo, but apparently they are open 7 days a week!
Another cultural note -- time is flexible. The other morning I was hoping to get into the cell phone store to recharge my plan (this is yet another cultural oddity: even though I have a monthly rate locked in, because my phone is "pay-as-you-go" -- no contract, very common -- I have to go to the store to "load credit" every month.). I was thrilled to see that the sign said they opened at 9:30, and it was 9:45. But when I tried to open the door, it was locked. A woman calmly sitting on a bench informed me that the owner was having breakfast and jutted her chin toward the caffe next door, as a way to indicate he was inside. Well, Italians drink the coffee quickly (yup, another cultural note: the coffee cups are tiny, coffee is served hot, not boiling, so you can drink it immediately, and people down it at the bar pretty quickly, rather than lingering over their mug of coffee the way we do.) I sat on the bench next to her, as I worried standing in front of the door with my arms crossed might leave the wrong impression. Time is ticking away, I'm wondering what he's doing in there. Then I see his daughter, laughing and hanging out with someone at the bar, not a care in the world. At 9:57 guess who walks over to open the shop? The daughter! It wasn't her father, as I suspected, who was opening up, it was his daughter, the same one I saw inside chatting away. There were four of us waiting at this point, but she floated by with a smile (not a concerned "sorry") and unlocked the door.
Can you figure out what this is? They do it in Spain too. It's the "bulletin board" of obituaries. Clever. They are right there on the street, so as people pass by, they may say, "Oh look, the plumber's mother died..." No scouring through the paper, hoping the family was important enough or paid to have a paragraph and a photo about their loved one.
While this isn't really a fast-food, eat on the street culture, and there are no lunch trucks parked outside construction sites, the porchetta wagon is always a welcomed sight. You can often find one on the edges of a "farmer's market" or when there is some kind of celebration going on (definitely another blog entry: the never-ending parades, music, tents and celebrations that take place in this city!). Porchetta is a roasted pig, stuffed with all sorts of stuff, lovingly sliced by a pro who will put it inside a fresh roll for you. Delish!
Let's face it, these medieval streets are tight. There is no way one of our hulking trash trucks would make it without carving off sides of buildings. Plus, it's not really a "trash can" culture. They use very small trash cans and prefer to get rid of the stinky stuff every day. Why would you want it for a week?? So, this is one variety of a trash truck in Viterbo. It only has 3 wheels and is powered by something similar to a Vespa engine.
Another cultural reality? Starbucks would never make it here. As if there aren't plenty of bar-caffes on every street, there are also coffee vending machines. And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than a latte in the States. And the variety! Check this one out (inside the Abbey at Montecassino -- first Benedictine monastery ever, dating back to the 500s).
And lastly, I'll tell you a little bit about parking. First of all, it's kind of a free-for-all. Cars can been seen on the sidewalk all the time. More typically, they simply block each other. When you hear a whistle, it's a warning that you need to move your car or get a ticket. This is an old country. There is no way they are going to put meters on the beautiful streets or ask meter maids to chalk your tires to see if you stay past the posted limit. Here are some of their solutions:
I love this! Makes so much sense. When you park in a spot that has a designated limit, you turn the dial on this handy contraption, on the inside of windshield, and let the meter maids know what time you arrived.
Centralized meters are also common (they are finally catching on in the States too). Pay for the time you want and stick the ticket on the dash. One "meter" serves dozens of spots.
In Rome, although I confess I don't know if they still do this, you could buy what looked like lottery tickets at the local tabaccheria or newspaper stand. You could buy them in bulk and have them in your car (just as I used to get rolls of quarters to prepare for my trips to Cambridge!) or just buy as you needed them. You scratch off the correct month, day, and time and place it on your dash. Genius!
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