Category: Italian beauty

Swearing in Italy is an art form and quite ubiquitous. Perhaps it’s because things just sound better and are more fun to say in Italian. I learned the hard way that there is a limit. I had been under the impression that “Vaffunculo” has no heavier of a connotation than, “you jerk!” even though I knew its literal translation had to do with telling someone to screw himself. But I heard it everywhere…from tight-jeaned, spiked haired Roman teens on the subway jokingly using it with each other, to dubbed over American movies (there are no subtitles, but rather actors who make their livings as the voice of Brad Pitt or whomever). I could have sworn it was said on soap operas and even by old ladies in the grocery store, so I came to underestimate its power.

Cut to a rainy night in Rome. There I was, heading out in the cold November rain on my shiny silver brand new motorino, that, truth be told, terrified me and had been set aside for trips of no further than 5 miles from home. Traffic is an entire subject unto itself, but suffice it to say it is scary with lots of close calls and left turns made into dense oncoming traffic. Once I had asked Fabio about how they did it and why there didn’t seem to be a disproportionate number of accidents. He turned his head to whisper in my ear (we were riding on his scooter at the time) and said, “When we Italians see a hole, we try to fill it.” Or something like that. But I digress. After tearing myself away from “Charmed” in Italian, to head to dance class. Since I was embodying my alter ego, living out my Roman adventure, I thought starting adult ballet classes would be a soul liberating, fun thing to do. I didn’t realize I would be the heaviest in the class, and the only one to have not taken lessons as a child. I can still hear the teacher’s voice, “Su, su Samantina!” or “up, up”, reminding me to lift my butt. And the nickname? Italians find it endearing to add an “ina” or “ino” to the end of names. So in spite of all this humiliation, I was ready to brave the weather.

My heart pounding with impatient drivers beeping the whole way, I finally pulled up to the dance studio. Driving is only half the stress, as any Italian will tell you. Then there is parking, a true art requiring creativity and daring on the part of the driver. If no spots exist, angles are used, or worst case, hazard lights are simply left flashing. So imagine my frustration when the perfect spot right in front of the studio was suddenly blocked by a man in a car telling me I couldn’t park there! What business of it was his anyway, I thought. Emboldened by the adrenaline from the ride, I told him emphatically, “I’m parking here!” He said, through his open window, “You can’t park there!” I retorted back, “Yes, I am parking here!” He again told me I couldn’t. So I decided to try to be a real Roman and bring out the big guns. “Vaffunculo!” I brazenly yelled. Suddenly this professionally dressed business type looking man was out of his car with his hands on my scooter telling me he was going to throw my vehicle to the ground. So I did what any self respecting, empowered American woman would do given such circumstances. I screamed bloody murder. “Auitoooo!!!!” My dance teacher heard me through the open window and came running out, and the rest is a blur that ended up with me parking there and him disappearing.

Later, walking arm in arm and eating banana and chocolate chip (straciatella) flavored gelato, I asked my best Italian girlfriend, Nadia, a stage actress, what I had done wrong. I theorized it was my being a woman, that perhaps it was inappropriate, or the fact that it sounds ugly to hear swear words from a non-native speaker. She laughingly assured me that neither of these explanations fit: “Samy, Samy, Samy! Not at all.” It turned out her explanation was quite simple….In her words, “Roman drivers are very rude and very aggressive. Also, you were pretty, what is the word…ballsy…in saying that you were parking there.” I breathed a sigh of relief realizing my use had been, after all, appropriate.