I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about expats in Italy-about what motivates us to move to this country, what encourages us to stay and even more about what it takes to make a life in the bel paese.

And I plan to write more about this soon.

But today, guest blogger, Katie Greenaway, comes to us from the rolling hills of Tuscany with tips on how to make it. Katie fell in love with Italy in 2002 and her love affair has carried her back and forth between her home in the US and Renaissance Florence for most of the last decade.

Today, Katie is sharing four steps to finding a job in Italy.

So, give her a warm welcome, my friends …

Living in Italy isn’t always la dolce vita, especially when you are trying to find a stable job. I was struggling to find just that this past fall. I sent my resume/CV to every language school in Florence and to every announcement on Anglo-Info and in The Florentine.

I was desperate for anyone to give me a shot as an English teacher. Here are some tips I can offer my fellow expats in Italy in finding a job.

1. Network

I asked people when I would be out with friends in the center. If they knew of a good language school to apply to and if they were looking for new teachers. I then would go to the school and with my CV translated in Italian and explain what experience I had. If I didn’t network like I did, I wouldn’t have found some schools that I didn’t even know existed in Florence. It pays to just ask. You can’t lose when you ask.

2. Be Persistent

If you are persistent in Italy, you will eventually get what you want or need. For example, I had an argument with a woman in one language school here in Florence who kept telling me that she couldn’t take my CV because I didn’t have a Permesso di Soggiorno. I had to explain to her that the law had changed for EU citizens and being a dual American/UK citizen, there was no reason I needed a PdiS to apply for this job.

After 10 minutes, I finally convinced her to take my CV to give to her boss because I am legally able to work in Italy. Be bold and confident, like everything else in life, when you are confident you exude power and confidence.

3. Classifieds

I found my job in one of the classified sections like in Anglo-Info and The Florentine. These are your links to the jobs that out there. You can’t just wait for the job to fall into your lap. There are many other sites on the Internet that can assist you in finding a job. Have a friend or use Twitter to find someone to translate your CV into Italian. Send an email with your CV attached, in Italian and English and think positive. Good things are a-coming.

4. Don’t Give Up

It is a difficult when you an expat, away from family, trying to find a job. The support system is non-existent unless you have friends. You must know that it will always work out for the better. If you keep finding the negative in each situation, from each response from each job you apply for. This will kill your spirit when you want to keep yourself grounded and strong. Keep your eye on the prize. Whether it is finding a teaching job, a university job or working for a tourist agency, something will give and you will be happy when it does. Keep your hopes soaring high and you will soon receive the job you were dreaming of.

I try to be positive in all aspects of my life, but I know how hard it can be when you are without a job in a place you wish to be your home. I live by these words from the late Randy Pausch, hope this helps!

“Brick walls are there for a reason: they let us prove how badly we want things.”

What about you? Do you have other tips for expats-or would-be expats-for finding a job?

PS – In other news, the Blogging from the Boot Winners have been announced! Head over to AffordableCallingCards.net to congratulate the winners!

(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?

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.

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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

Last week Emily of Don’t Call Me Gringa wrote about the overwhelming choices expat women face. No, not choices about where to live, which new cave to explore or which new food item to devour, but rather the overwhelming selections that welcome us back home.

photo credit: TheTruthAbout…

Maybe it is a gradual thing, like expat’s Stockholm, but I think we get used to the choices, or in many cases, lack of choices in our adopted countries, so much so that we don’t even realize what we are missing.

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It is that time of year-just after the first good post-summer rain, when the air is fresher, the trees are brighter and the faithful edible snails, or lumache, as we say in Italian, are coming out to play.

And this is serious business for people in my neck of my woods.

You see, the French don’t have the stronghold on preparing these delicacies … the Calabrians think they are just as good. (They just don’t market, or shall we say, share them as well as the French do.)

I saw this little sucker the other day and knew it was just a matter of time before my husband and father-in-law were digging in the dirt and growling at me for not trying them.

Unfortunately, somebody beat them to it.

Oh yes, I give it another week or so before my suocero fills his bag and starts serving ‘em up with a thick homemade marinara to my husband and his brother. And I’ll be there … just watching.

Have you ever tried snails? What did you think? Would you recommend them?

For the last three years, I fought my Texas ways and struggled to become Calabrian. I practiced their language. I mimicked their habits. I absorbed their culture. Then it hit me. Calabrians are really just Texans … you know, without the hat.

photo credit: jerseygal2009

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