One of my new favorite hobbies is going through my Stat Counter and Lijit reports and discovering which terms readers search to reach this blog. Popular terms include “Pasta Puttanesca Recipe,” “How Do You Eat a Persimmon” and “Things You Shouldn’t Say in Italy” – and we’ll get back to that in a minute.

It is an eye-opening experience, glimpsing into the mind of the average Italophile Internet-searcher, and it brings a certain responsibility that I refuse to take lightly.

So, you asked-or someone did!-and now I’ll answer. Here are five of the most interesting terms that were searched this week on My Bella Vita.

photo credit: Spencer E Holtaway

1. Che Cazzo Fa

See? I told you we’d get back to things you should say.

Che Cazzo Fa is literally translated as “What the …” wait, we’ve been over this. I’ve already warned you about this one.

2. You Dirty Pig in Italian

You dirty pig-or brutto porco-is yet another example of something you shouldn’t really say. I pressed my husband for details on this expression and his words to me, and thus to you, were, “Cherrye, you shouldn’t really say it. It is not very … classy.”

He did, however, admit that friends freely toss this term around when joking with each other.

3. Why Do Italians Say Ma Va

I almost fell out of my chair reading this because I instantly envisioned a young Italian-American struggling to decipher the words his grandmother muttered in moments of frustration as she walked around her kitchen table.

Seriously, can’t you see it?

She’s walking around the room, an over-sized moo-moo like dress hanging to her knees-in my vision it is white with tiny red and pink flowers-and she’s throwing her hands into the air in utter annoyance, muttering, “ma va …”

Ok. I’m back.

Anyway, dear Google searcher, your grandmother-yes, I’m still hung up on that-says ma va as a precursor to the granddaddy of Italian expressions, “ma vafaculo.”

And no. It isn’t nice to say.

4. Flirting with Italian Men

Interestingly enough, my blogging pal, Jessica of Why Go Italy recently wrote an article about impressing Italians. Her tips might help if you’re looking to date one or take him home to mamma. I’d also recommend you flirt unabashedly.

They do.

And you know … when in Rome.

5. Should I Sleep with an Italian Man

Seriously, I could not make this stuff up.

So, honey, if you re-Google this or come back here on the seemingly off-chance that I answered your question, you are in luck.

My initial thought was, “it works for me!”

But then I decided to go the more responsible route and reply with “get to know your partner and use a condom. Or just in case he doesn’t speak English … un preservativo!

Bloggers, have you had any funny search terms come up in your stats lately? Please share. And readers, feel free to leave a comment or question. This little post could turn into a series.

I type this post-one day before it’ll be published and you’ll read it-on the one year anniversary of the day my life  forever changed.

Yes, that sounds dramatic-and those of you know me know I have that flair … but this time, it is true.

One year ago today I received that middle-of-the-night phone call from my mother that spurred my last-minute trip to Texas, the fight to arrive at my father’s side “in time” and the inevitable services and formalities that follow when things don’t go as you’d hoped.

One year ago today, I was still a rather naive American living the dream in southern Italy.

One year ago today, I had that sense of indestructibility of people who’ve never been crushed.

One year ago today, I didn’t think we’d make it.

But we did.

I’ve been thinking lately about the events in our lives that forever change us. It doesn’t have to be something as dramatic as a middle-of-the-night phone call or as traumatic as the death of a loved one. For many of us it is the moment we met our future spouse, the day your children were born, the day we moved abroad.

And it is that positivity of change I want to focus on today.

photo credit: dodo1976

For starters, I want to welcome Leanne of from Australia to Italy to bella Calabria. She and her bel ragazzo (aka: new fiance) recently relocated to Malito in the province of Cosenza-about an hour northwest of me here in Catanzaro. They have a lot of things in the works up there and I wish them good luck with their new endeavors.

Elsewhere in Calabria, Michelle of Bleeding Espresso has been talking about Zen in the Pen and one of her kids, Pasqualina, was recently entered into a photo contest at Huffington Post. I gave her a “10″-and you should, too … but I still don’t see the family resemblance, Michelle.

Natalie Trusso Cafarello of Letters From Tuscany recently wrote about a love affair of a different kind-a love affair with a woman, whose tough past and complex future is often at odds with Natalie’s own plans for this lovely lady. It is poignantly written and soulful, and I’m sure this woman’s other lovers feel the same way about her.

Speaking of love affairs, the Italophile site has information on dating and mating in the bel paese, complete with facts and data about marriage in Italy, who the Italians are marrying, when they are marrying and why, while Jessica at Why Go Italy has helpful hints for anyone wanting to snag-snag, guys, not shag-an Italian.

If you already have that someone special, visit Melanie at Italofile for a roundup from the Twittersphere of the most romantic places in Italy locals go with their sweethearts.

As for me and my sweetheart, we are going to lay low this weekend, reflect upon the events of this past year and give thanks to all of the loves of our lives. Valentine’s Day is not just a day for lovers, it is a day for love. It’s a day for friends-both real-life and virtual-and a day to celebrate the impact these people have in your life. And I, for one, am glad you are here.

Happy Festa di San Valentino!

(This post was originally published on this site in May, 2007)

Old Wives’ Tales.

We’ve all heard them. We’ve all repeated them. We might even believe a few of them.

Like, “Don’t play with fire or you’ll wet the bed,” which always scared me a little bit.

Or, “Don’t cross your eyes or they’ll stay that way,” which I believed until I was in my 20s!

Or even, “If you swallow gum, it will stay in your system for seven years,” which I am embarrassed to admit I believed until I researched this article!

Stop laughing.

Please…

The funny thing about Old Wives’ Tales, though, is that most of the time intelligent, logical-minded people (myself included, despite the above revelations) know they are not true.

This is sooo not the case for Southern Italians. In fact, to hear them, you’d be amazed how we have managed to dodge death all these years and how the American race hasn’t yet become extinct.

Therefore, since I have been fortunate enough to be bestowed with this knowledge, I feel I absolutely must, in good faith, pass this information on to you. Consider yourself warned!

photo credit: Fiore S. Barbato

Did you know you are risking DEATH if you…

- Walk around with wet hair? Oh yes, my friends, death could come a knockin’ – so keep your head dry (and covered, if possible) at all times. Peppe’s dad warned me once against this, but stubborn ole me, didn’t listen. A few hours later I had a bad headache. Hmmm ….

- Stay outside in the cold without a coat? Apparently you can get pneumonia which will inevitably lead to a quick demise. This includes, not only a coat and close-toed shoes (until summer arrives) but long-sleeves when there is wind and socks after dark. Proceed with caution and avoid that draft whenever possible!

- Sit in front of the air-conditioning? Well, maybe you won’t DIE from this, but you could catch a horrific sore throat! Apparently the cold air, when blown directly towards your face, is toxic. Who knew? So, once again – dodge that draft!

- Use the air conditioning? Who knew Americans were such risk-takers? People throughout the country put their lives at risk every day simply by turning on the air. Italians are much smarter about this. If you are hot, you must stay hot, or your body will react badly and incite a sudden death! I kid you not. My gym is not air conditioned for this very reason, and I have to get plum pissy at home before they turn on the AC in the summer. This, by the way, applies to all central heating units and ceiling fans. Another case of draft dodging? I think so!

- Sit by an open window when the wind is blowing? For reasons similar to the two above examples – I wouldn’t do it!

- Drink ice cold water? Ice water alone won’t cause death but will likely lead to a brutal sore throat. However, after working out or being in the heat, you could die an early death from consuming this ice-poison. Here’s an example: I went for a 45 minute jog the other day and returned home to a locked house. So, I visited Zia M.

Zia M: “Can I get your something “fresh” to drink?”

Me: “Sure! How about some water?”

Zia M: “Oh, no, you can’t have water. Maybe some nice pear juice instead? “Fresh” water will make you sick.”

Me: Thinking … uhh, can I have some stale water, but instead said, “No, I don’t like pear juice. Really, I’ll just have water.”

Zia M brings out the warmer-than-room-temp water, thus causing me to worry about the millions of Americans who drink cold water every day at their local gym. I did, however, feel a pang of guilt for insisting Zia M provide water after a workout. (Inevitably, forcing her to double-up on her daily Hail Marys since she quite possibly provided the venom that would lead to my swift, albeit foreseeable, death.)

So, to make her feel better I added …

“I have a little headache today … it must be because the weather is changing!”

She agreed and I had once again passed the “I’m-cool-enough-to-be-married-to-your-Godson-even-though-I’m-not-Italian” test!

In addition to the above warnings, you should know that you can “protect” yourself from a sore throat by wearing a scarf tied tightly around your neck, hence covering your throat, and once again, dodging the draft.

You can also prevent an array of undesirable ailments such as diarrhea, infertility, hemorrhoids and pneumonia by wearing slippers in the house. (Infertility?!?)

All laughter aside though, some things really can be fatal! I told Peppe about this post and about some of the information I discovered about Italian wives’ tales.

Me: “You know, Peppe, you CAN go swimming after you eat. You won’t get cramps!”

Peppe: “What? No, Cherrrrrye!”

Me: “Peppe, I just read it.”

Peppe: “No, baby, no … you can DIE from this!”

Me: (trying to conceal a laugh) “What?”

Peppe: “You can screw up your digestion system and you can really DIE!”

Well, I’m glad to know that! Just in time for summer, too.

So, blog readers, take heed! Tell your mothers. Tell your sisters. Tell your friends. It is up to us to let America know the risks lurking at every air duct and water fountain. Are you up for the challenge?

Happy Dodging!

(This post was originally published on this website in April, 2007)

***

No woman should ever be party to the following conversation with her true love …

Her: “Happy Six Month anniversary, sweetie…What did you do this morning?”

Him: “I am so tired. I spent all morning with my hoe!”

Her: “WHAT?!!?”

Him: “Yea, I am just worn out!”

—

This was us 48 months ago. Forty-eight months and that hoe is still in the picture!

photo credit: chidorian

At least she was this week.

Peppe decided that Thursday morning was the perfect day to work in the giardino. To me, a garden is a cute little nest of fruit and veggies or a bed of colorful flowers … Yea, not so much the case around here.

We have a B-I-G yard, full of orange, mandarin, and lemon trees, cherry trees, grape vines, a few quasi-dead blooms, and lots of TALL weeds! In a word? Tragico!

I met Peppe downstairs and was immediately handed “the little hoe.”

I was, it seems, too much woman for her, since after two or three smacks in the dirt, she broke. “Never fear,” I am told, “Nino (mio suocero) is great at working with broken hoes. He’ll have her working again in a minute!”

And, he did.

A few hours pass … yes, you read that right … a few HOURS pass, and we are still in the garden. I’m hacking away at some random weeds when Peppe puts his hoe down and says

“Cherrye, sometimes it’s better without your hoe – you gotta use your hands!”

He says this, you see, without cracking a smile, as I am standing there all nasty-minded in the blinding Calabrese sun. I smile to myself, but continue to beat the ground with my hoe. I don’t want to get my hands dirty!

We finally finish and I spend much of Thursday afternoon in a pain-filled stupor. I express my anguish to my mother later that evening, only to have her say …

“Well, Cherrye, you just aren’t used to ‘hoe’ing’ around. I, for one, am glad to hear it!”

And, boy is she right! Two days later I am still stiff! (No pun intended…really!)

I am pretty sure I have bruised my palms, I can’t turn my neck all the way to the right, and Peppe hurt me tonight, when he HUGGED me!

He, on the other hand, isn’t sore at all. Should I be concerned about his “hoe’ing?”

***

In related news, today, December 30 is Peppe’s (cough)th birthday!

Auguri, tesoro … and please after all of these years … no. more. hoes. Deal?

Having a Calabrian father-in-law takes some adjustments.

- No matter how much you eat, it is never enough.

- You have to learn a new language to communicate, and I’m not talking about Italian.

- And no matter how hard you try you might never-ever!-decipher his hand gestures and grunts.

But all that aside, having a Calabrian father-in-law really takes the torta.

And here is why.

1. It is never boring

I’ve written a lot about how funny Italians are, especially my Calabrian suocero, Nino who told his sister he prays for me every night … because he is worried I don’t eat enough.

He also called the weather a bastard and told me I’ve given his son a disease, when my husband refused another piece of chicken and more broccoli … and a few weeks ago, he did it again.

My husband was serving guests at our bed and breakfast and one of them walked outside to enjoy the crisp Calabrian air. I heard my father-in-law mumble something under his breath, followed by a classic “Nino” grunt.

“What did you say?” I asked, thinking he was speaking to me.

“Ah, nothing.” He grumbled. “I thought that was Peppinuccio outside in shorts-but it is not. It is some other asshole!”

2. Every day is a gift day

Likely in an attempt to offset the fact that, at least in his mind, I don’t eat enough, every other day or so is “gift day.” Like many Calabrians, my father-in-law goes grocery shopping every day and almost every day he comes back with a surprise for me.

Check out the loot I got last week. Two Nutella Snacks (with tea), a three-pack of Pocket Espresso and a Kinder Sorpresa. What is not pictured is the two-pack of Gran Soleil desserts. Yum!

3. You can’t pull one over on him

I considered posting a photo to help you visualize my Calabrian father-in-law experience, and like any blogger worth her Wordpress widgets, I asked my subject’s permission.

“Nino,” I began slowly. “I would like to put a picture of you on … ilmiosito … , ok?”

“What?” He asked. You know, he doesn’t hear well.

“A picture. Of you. sulmiosito.”

He looked at me, not smiling.

So I bargained.

“If you let me use your picture, I’ll eat meat. Every day.”

“Watch out,” my husband warned.

“Every day this week,” I clarified quickly.

He looked at me.

“Well,” I told my husband in English. “He didn’t say no.”

Nino’s head jerked up.

“No?” He repeated the one word he’d understood correctly.

“But I’ll eat meat every day.” I told him. “Please?”

“You’re tricking me,” he told me. “You can’t trick me!”

And that was that.

So, dear blog readers, I’m sorry, but you will have to continue to visualize my 70-something year old father-in-law, with his white hair, neatly combed back, his thin-rimmed glasses and gruff grin until I can convince him to pose.

Or you could just come visit us at our bed and breakfast. He shows up here from time to time, too.

Are your in-laws from a different culture than you? What are some of your favorite moments or stories?

A few weeks ago I asked where all of the good customer service guys had gone? I lamented the lack of a customer-service oriented mentality in south Italy and wondered how businesses could remain open with the attitude they have towards their customers.

Well today, I have that answer.

photo credit: Gudlyf

But before we get to that … I have a back story.

There is a steak house in Beaumont my family frequents as often as possible. They have great steaks, great sides and according to my cousin, Angelique, great fajitas-although I leave my Tex-Mex to the professionals.

One day seven or eight of my family members met there for lunch. Since my husband and I had a lunch date a few hours later with friends, we skipped the meal. We didn’t, however, skip the company and we joined them towards the end of their meal for a chat.

It was about that time my mother noticed a hair (eek!) in her plate. She didn’t complain, just pushed it back and continued talking. The ever-attentive server noticed, asked her about it and immediately apologized and offered to bring her a replacement dish.

She was finished anyway, she said, and insisted she wasn’t upset.

A few minutes later, the manager appeared.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am (we are in Texas, remember!),” he said.

“Are you sure you don’t want a replacement?”

When she refused, he made another offer.

“We’d like to offer you all desserts-on the house!”

Well my family never met a dessert they didn’t like and they were thrilled with this customer service gesture.

“And what kind would you like?’ He asked, looking at my husband and me.

“Oh no. We didn’t even eat here,” I said apologetically. “We just came in to see them for a few minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You are here now. What can I bring you?”

—

And that dining moment-at The Cattle Company restaurant in Beaumont, Texas-became the standard by which we measured all other customer service experiences.

And no one has ever matched them.

Until now.

Fast-forward three or four years and 6,000 miles to last Tuesday, November 17-the night of our 2nd anniversary.

We chose Carn & Vino in Catanzaro Lido-and if that name sounds familiar to you, it is because I’ve written of them before.

The restaurant has more elegance and class than any restaurant I’ve been to in southern Italy and the chef is among the most creative I’ve seen-anywhere.

But Tuesday night, I did not choose wisely.

Among the list of primi plates was a cocoa pasta dish, made with Gorgonzola cheese and topped with shredded black truffles.

Although I wasn’t sure if I liked truffles, with their strong, earthy scent and matching flavor, I thought I’d give it a try.

Now I know.

I don’t like truffles.

I picked at the plate and with the antipasto we’d shared and the quickly-diminishing bottle of wine, I was fine.

The owner stopped by the table.

“You didn’t like it?” He asked me.

My husband jumped in to help. “It was really just the truffles. They are too strong for her. She just didn’t choose well.”

Thanks, honey … .

The owner took my plate.

A few minutes later he returned.

“The chef is making you something else,” he told me.

“Oh no,” I insisted. “I’m ok. I’m not even hungry anymore.”

About that time, my husband asked him about the dessert options.

He chose homemade tiramisu. I chose panna cotta with frutti di bosco topping.

We finished our desserts and proceeded to the front of the restaurant.

“The desserts were compliments of the chef,” the owner told us.

We chatted briefly with the chef, thanked him profusely and left.

In the car my husband looked at the receipt and noticed that not only had the chef offered dessert, but the owner had removed my plate from the bill.

We were shocked.

We had finally found a restaurant whose customer service rivals our favorite steak house back home in Texas, and we found it in the most unusual place.

In another favorite steak house … in our new backyard.

Have you had any good customer service stories lately? Please share!

While most American expats I know are happily settled into their new lives, being abroad for holidays, birthdays and special occasions can still be tough. We miss our families. We miss our friends. We miss the customs and traditions that made these events back home so darn special.

photo credit: di_the_huntress

If you are an expat living with your expat spouse and expat children, it might be easy to celebrate holidays in the same ways you did back home. However, for expats like me, who tied the knot with one of the natives, there is a little thing called compromise.

Here are three tips for merging cultures during holidays and special events.

Post continues here.

photo credit: Leandro Martinez

I’ve been an expat in Italy for more than three years and I’ve experienced more than my share of crazy Calabrian moments. Yes, like the time I marketed our B&B at the GYN or the time my husband’s uncle tried to cut his son from a tree or when I was offered fruit from my own garden.

Oh yes, being an expat in Italy is interesting, but somewhere along the way, between the three-hour lunches, homemade pistachio liquor and short, but stout, coffee shots, I became one of them.

Almost.

Post continues here …

photo credit: goddess of chocolate

Have a very Happy Halloween and a peaceful All Saints’ Day tomorrow. You can read about how we celebrate Halloween and All Saints’ Day in Calabria right here.

I have high standards.

I expect good customer service. A welcoming smile. A polite thank you.

Even in the US, I get riled up with businesses who lack accountability, who take their customers for granted, who act like they don’t give a damn. Here in Italy, I get riled rather often.

This really could be an (insert large number here) series on Customer Service in Calabria, but since I like to keep things bella here at My Bella Vita, we’ll keep this short and sweet.

I am heartbroken.

Our former favorite pizzeria, which I have written about both here and for my new gig at EasyJet Airlines wielded the blow and I just can’t, for the life of me, understand why businesses don’t care about their customers.

A few weeks ago my husband and I gathered a group of friends and asked them to join us at our favorite pizza place, da Ciro, in Catanzaro Lido. Our American friends were in town, we had another expat in tow, and a few of my husband’s cousins who hate this pizzeria.

Waiting is to be expected on a Saturday night, so we weren’t surprised when we arrived and found a crowded restaurant.

“We’ll wait outside so we don’t disturb you and your other clients,” my husband told them.

And we did.

We waited. And waited. And waited.

We watched while they seated another group-who had arrived after us-and we waited some more.

After an hour and a half, a large group of teenagers arrived and stood in the middle of the restaurant until they were seated.

My husband asked the waiter, the owner’s son-in-law, about the table.

“They were here before you,” the man told him.

“No, they weren’t,” my husband told him. “We’ve been waiting outside.”

“Well,” the man said, becoming defensive, “I’m working here. I can’t keep up with who gets here first.”

The owner walked by to listen to their conversation and continued to her seat without intervening.

There were small tables vacant and we assumed they’d push them together and offer us a seat.

We waited five more minutes. When no tables were combined or apologizes offered, we left.

And I won’t go back.

The worst part of this is that da Ciro Pizzeria isn’t alone.

Our B&B guests report incidents that are almost impossible to believe.

Apparently, there is a bed and breakfast in Catanzaro Lido that refused to serve breakfast to their guests because they were only staying one night. Another nearby bed and breakfast doesn’t offer breakfast at all. Another one charges guests for water.

Will someone explain this to me, in basic terms, as if I was a child? How do businesses operate with such lousy service and live to tell the tales?

Photo courtesy of Matchstic Blog