“It’s a bigger culture shock than you’d think,” a friend told me. She studied in Rome the semester before me, and despite her four months of experience, I didn’t believe her.
Maybe for you, I thought. But not me. I’ve traveled a lot, and I’ll be fine.
Three days into my program, I began learning the public transportation system. We had no cars, so taking the tram was vital to getting around the city. Two friends and I were riding from the train station to our apartments, holding the yellow pole to steady ourselves.
A hunched man was walking around the tram, speaking Italian and intoxicated in some way. He was old and scruffy, like he hadn’t shaved in a week. He sat down in the green plastic seat closest to my friends and I, made eye contact with us, and began speaking Italian. “Sorry, non parlo Italiano,” I chimed in confidently. I memorized this phrase on the first day, knowing I’d use it often. He became agitated and continued speaking. I smiled at him shyly.
“He’s asking you for money,” a nearby woman voiced. We gestured that we had no money to give, and the man began to yell. Still not understanding what he was saying, we stood there gesturing confusedly.
He threw something at our feet, stood up, and began stepping towards us. He stopped in front of my friend, just inches away from his face. We were cornered. The man stopped yelling and his fists were tight at his sides. He huffed like a caged Rottweiler that sees a stranger approaching, and I could almost see the blood pumping through his forehead veins.
I held my breath like I was hiding from a burglar. With one wrong movement or sound, I would be exposed. Everyone on the tram stared silently. They were face to face, one seething and one scared. I could see my friend preparing to take a punch, and the other friend preparing to throw one. I scrunched my face a little, ready to be caught in the crossfire.
The door of the tram opened, and we sprinted out and down the street. The entire walk home, we tried to figure out what had just happened.
After living in Rome for two months, I now understand everything that went wrong. We made eye contact, which is an invitation to approach, and should never be given to strangers. Then, we spoke to him, which allowed him to stay. I told him that we didn’t speak Italian, which gave him an initial reason to be angry. We were guests in his country and couldn’t even speak the language. Next, I smiled at him. I thought this would be a gesture of good faith, as I am accustomed to doing with strangers at home. In Rome, this meant that I was laughing at him.
We continued the interaction and showed that we had no money to give. Another mistake. He knew we had money, and we didn’t want to give it to him. This built upon his already poor view of us as privileged American travelers.
Finally, we did something right by standing still – breathless – ending our engagement and getting out of the situation.
Only three days into my program, I realized how wrong I was about culture shock. Being a tourist and being a resident are completely different experiences. Living in Rome, every aspect of my life changed, in ways as minuscule as how I respond to people asking me for money. I had to relearn what “normal” was. It was a demanding and testing chore that made daily tasks seem impossible. And months later, I think I’ve finally figured it out.
Grocery Shopping
Grocery stores in Italy are what American grocery stores should aspire to be. They are small, at least half the size of a Publix or Trader Joe’s. Why? Everything is fresh. Take green beans for example. There aren’t canned green beans, frozen green beans, pre-cut, pre-washed, pre-bagged, and individual and family portions. There is one type of green bean: fresh. And this goes for every food. Fruits, vegetables, meat, cheese, bread. You won’t find Hostess bagged, pre-sliced bread. You’ll buy a baguette at the deli counter.
People typically walk to grocery stores rather than drive, which means you have to carry your groceries home. It is frowned upon to use the store’s plastic bags, so most people bring their own reusable ones. What surprised me the most was the reduced size of the fruits and vegetables. Sweets potatoes are ⅔ the size of American ones, at the absolute largest. Food is grown more locally and organically in Italy, with a lot less of those tasty chemicals and delectable GMOs that make American vegetables so big.
The freshness of groceries can also make cooking more difficult. For example, at home, my family keeps a plastic jar of minced garlic from Costco in the fridge. Adding it to a dish takes about five seconds. In Italy, garlic comes in cloves – only cloves – so if I wanted garlic in my homemade bruschetta, I had to peel it and chop it into small enough pieces. Five minutes. It is a more wholesome shopping and cooking experience, but a quick recipe can turn into a night-long event without the simplicities of prepackaged food.
Trash
In Rome, there are strict laws surrounding the disposal of trash. Each household must separate their trash into five categories – nonrecyclable, paper/cardboard, glass/metal, plastic, and organic food waste. Since people live in apartments rather than houses, it is up to them to carry these bags down to the dumpsters each day. The dumpsters are also labeled in respective categories. The idea behind such specific separation is to help the environment – less reusable things being sent to landfills. However, it is a flawed system. Rome is severely overcrowded with residents and hosts 20 million visitors each year. The amount of trash produced overflows every dumpster in the city, with dozens of bags stacked on the outside. People put their bags where there’s room rather than next to their coordinating dumpsters, creating a sense of carelessness when it comes to separating trash. If the trash bags are going to end up intermingling anyways, what’s the purpose of spending time separating wine bottles from banana peels?
In 2013, the largest landfill in Rome was closed because it was deemed unfit to manage the waste. Since then, government officials have yet to implement a garbage disposal system that works. Currently, Rome exports its garbage to other cities, which happens slowly and costly. It works for now, but it won’t last. And sometimes, it seems like garbage isn’t picked up for weeks at a time. This is not only unsightly, but has serious implications for residents, spreading diseases and bringing unclean animals in the city, like rats. Rome’s system of trash separation is ideal in its nature – a way to reduce our environmental footprint by improving the recycling system. But when paired with Rome’s population, inadequate preparation, and nowhere to put it, the trash remains in the streets.
Public Transportation
Rome is densely populated, has extremely narrow streets, and lacks sufficient parking space. Because of this, most residents use public transportation to get around the city. The system is intricate, consisting of buses, trams, metros, and trains. I’ve never lived in a city with a widely used system of public transportation, so this was something I had to learn from scratch. Rome is geographically much larger than I would have ever imagined – about 200 square miles larger than New York City. Trains are used on the periphery, connecting to other cities and airports. Metros are underground trains, used to get to different locations inside Rome. Trams are frequented in the historic center, where I traveled to piazzas and restaurants. I rarely used buses – only when the trams didn’t show up.
Oftentimes, it takes many different forms of transportation to get from one place to another. For example, to get to the airport, I would walk three minutes to the tram stop, take the tram ten minutes to the train station, and take the train 30 minutes to the airport. It took a few weeks to get the hang of it, but it was a lot better than paying €50 for a taxi.
Aperitivo
In Italy, it is customary to have Apéritif, or “Aperitivo,” before dinner. This happens around 5pm — a social hour of appetizers and drinks. The appetizers often consist of different foods each night, but usually include little meats, cheeses, and breads. It is common to go straight to Aperitivo with friends after work. The group can then stay for dinner or go elsewhere for a full meal.
Machine Guns
On every street corner, there stands at least two military men holding automatic rifles. At first, I would walk by them straight and fast, hoping they wouldn’t notice my nervousness. With the elementary realization that I had nothing to hide, they eventually made me feel safer. With so many soldiers, a threat could be eliminated in seconds.
Public Displays of Art
Art of all forms manifest in Rome. There is the obvious architectural miracle of Ancient Rome, still standing after thousands of years. But more simply, chalk on sidewalks, musicians on the metro, professional graffiti, and people expressing themselves through their fashion. Every Sunday, a local man sings for hours with his guitar in Piazza Trilussa. People sit on the steps eating gelato and listening. When it is warm out, the bridges over the Tiber River are packed with painters, people selling jewelry, and men with their keyboards and guitars. On one of my first days in Rome, a man was publicly dancing on the street to the music of a restaurant. He was skinny, wearing a newsboy flat cap and looked to be in his fifties. He was alone but drawing quite the crowd. His entire body was driven by the dance. His moves were quirky and sporadic, but it was clear that he’d taken a jazz class in his past. This man, and the other artists in Rome, don’t make a living this way. They are bankers and businessmen and chefs. They perform because art is woven into the veins of the city, and because it makes them happy.
Power Dynamics
The way that men and women interact in public is the most foreign custom that I had to adapt to. Our program directors warned us repeatedly of Italian men’s fascination with blonde American college students. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. All men stare at all women. All the time. Whether it is 9am on my walk to school, or at 9pm from six tables away at a restaurant. And men don’t try to hide it. They don’t divert their eyes at accidental eye contact or stare in short increments. It is blatant, unadulterated eyes glued to women all the time.
More to my surprise, it is considered rude for women to notice. Women can’t make eye contact, ask them to stop, or curse them out. They are socially expected to absentmindedly carry on with whatever they are doing, staring out of the tram window like a proper woman. Men often decide to act on their thirst. Most frequently, they smooch at women, make a comment about their body, or lick their lips “seductively.” A woman is supposed to ignore this or accept the compliment bashfully. If a woman acts negatively, the men get aggressive.
This is a cultural norm that has persisted for decades, as far back as when my mom studied there in high school. I chose this topic for a research project in one of my classes, and learned that it is a kind of game men and women play with each other. It’s all about the chase, and while it might not be “feminist” per-say, it is the culture. As Maud Bracke said, “it is sexual tension that makes the Italian wheels go ’round.”
Sirens
Just like living in any big city, the sirens are constant. Rather than having different sirens for police, ambulances, etc., it is all the same siren sound. Instead of the typical wee-woo wee-woo sound, it is de-do-de-doooo de-do-de-dooo. And it is loud.
Yellow Lights
Yellow lights for pedestrians and drivers last much longer in Rome. A full ten seconds longer. It seems like a minuscule change, but as someone who walked to school every day, it was something I noticed quickly. I would see green turn to yellow half a block away, stop at the corner, and be waiting there for what seemed like forever as the walking light was still yellow. Drivers would watch me confusedly, wondering why I wasn’t crossing, and I felt like a fool. Since then, whenever I saw a yellow light, I always had the mentality that I would make it across in time.
Drinking Culture
The way that people drink in Italy is completely different than in America. People don’t get drunk or drink to party, but it is always complimented with a meal. At my 11am coffee break, people are enjoying a rosé with their early lunch. Every coffee shop doubles as a bar, with vodka bottles sitting on the espresso machine. People drink beer and liquor, but wine is dominant over all other drinks. Sometimes it is considered rude not to order wine with dinner, and sometimes it is cheaper than water.
Eating Culture
In America, I eat for the sole purpose of nourishing my body. There is an unspoken understanding between a restaurant and a customer to leave when you are finished, freeing up the table for someone else. Waiters check on their tables frequently and customer service is at the heart of every restaurant. Now, take these customs and throw them out the window.
In Italy, eating food is an experience. It is about conversation, trying new things, and diving into the taste. Most people don’t start until 8pm, and they spend three hours at dinner. They order multiple courses, always ending with coffee. Waiters rarely check on tables because of how long people stay, and when it comes to getting the check, you usually have to chase them down.
Most restaurants refuse to split the bill. Whether it is between two people or twenty, going out of their way for customers isn’t customary. Once again, it’s about the food, not the customer service. Waiters have rolled their eyes at us for asking, and it is always quiet until someone volunteers to pay the $200 tab.
For the most part, locals don’t go to restaurants. They cook at home as often as they can, so fine dining is reserved for visitors, the wealthy, and special occasions.
When eating lunch at a local pizzeria, I ordered bruschetta to start and pizza for my meal. I ate as much of the full-sized pizza that I could, to the point where I felt sick trying to finish it. When our waitress saw my plate, she came to our table with a disgusted look on her face.
“You didn’t like it,” she announced.
“No, no,” I tried to explain to her. “It was very, very good. But I cannot eat anymore. I am full.”
“No. You didn’t like it,” she repeated. “Dessert or coffee?”
When I said no, she scoffed and stomped away. As I left the restaurant, she eyed me for two blocks like she was peering into my soul. It wasn’t until I turned a corner that her eyes left me. This was the only truly bad experience I had with a restaurant, but I’ll never forget it.
Cigarette Culture
Smoking is integrated into daily life in Europe. Everyone does it. All the time. I wondered why it is so prevalent as compared to America, but after weeks of observance, I realized that people don’t do it because they like the feeling. They smoke to be social. In America, we go to happy hour with our boss and offer a beer to our tailgate neighbor. In Europe, the same customs are attributed to smoking. It isn’t about the buzz, but to build connections with people. It’s an excuse to talk to someone for as long as the cigarette lasts.
Coffee
Rome doesn’t have Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts. You won’t find Frappuccinos, iced coffee, or even to-go cups. There are no flavored syrups – no mocha, chai, vanilla, caramel apple spice, peppermint, gingerbread holiday blend. There is only “coffee,” with different amounts of cream. Restaurants always have caffé lattes, cappuccinos, and caffé americanos, which I frequented. It is most common for locals to drink espresso, which comes in a glass slightly larger than a shot glass. It is hot, often with frothed milk on top. It is to be sipped on while standing at the counter, making conversation with the barista. All restaurants charge a cost for sitting, so when drinking coffee, most people stand. In Italy, all cups have the same amount of coffee, whether it is a small espresso shot or a cappuccino. This being said, the coffee you choose is more about how much time you have to drink it.
Digestivos
After every meal, it is customary to drink a “digestivo” to help your digestive system. Depending on the restaurant, the digestivo could be limoncello, jäger, or something unidentifiable that tastes like cough syrup. Contrary to popular belief, these digestivos are not supposed to be taken like a shot. That will immediately mark someone as a naïve tourist. They should be sipped on gently, just like the espresso shot. However, most are ghastly and unenjoyable, especially when drank slowly.
Laundry
In my Rome apartment, the washing machine was outside. And it was about ¼ the size of my one at home. Italians are more environmentally conscious, so only cold water is used to wash clothes. The cycle can run anywhere from three hours to nine hours, with many pauses. Once the machine is started, it cannot be opened until it is finished – not even to add a sock in. Sometimes, my roommates and I would start it and realize we accidentally clicked the nine-hour cycle. Our frantic attempts to open the locked door always failed, and we would trudge back to our rooms with regret.
Dryers were only introduced to Italy about five years ago, and most households don’t have one for environmental reasons. Everyone hangs their clothes outside to dry. When it is cold or rainy, it can take a few days for the moisture to leave the threads. And because they weren’t run in a heat cycle with a dryer sheet, they feel like cardboard after hanging stiffly outside for days. What takes three hours at home takes three days in Rome.
On the Road
My first week in Rome, the simple task of crossing the street seemed impossible. Every driver had their own internal stoplight and road rules. There was no order to the people crossing and the cars passing. The green walking man was more of a “suggestion.” When it comes to crossing the street in Rome, I learned, there is a balance between confidently asserting yourself into traffic and understanding that cars will hit you.
Rome is one of the most dangerous cities for pedestrians in all of Europe. Pedestrian casualties are triple what they are in other major Italian cities. Every street acts as a sidewalk, parking lot, and road, all at the same time – as human preference rather than law.
The majority of cars are two-door, half the size of any American car. This is for one purpose: space. Rome doesn’t have enough space for all of the people that live there, and much less on the road. Smaller cars mean more can fit. They drive where they please and park where there’s room (literally, anywhere there is room). Pedestrians sometimes have to walk on roads because cars will park inches from each other on sidewalks.
Road space is such a problem in Rome because of how old the city is. There are parts of Ancient Rome that haven’t been discovered yet, so any ground that is dug up (road construction) must be excavated by archeologists first. As a result, construction is an extremely slow process. Also, roads must weave around ancient monuments and protected land, which means many roads can’t be expanded. For comparison, Rome and Chicago have nearly the same populations (2.8 and 2.7 million respectively). Dan Ryan Expressway in Chicago has 14 lanes, 7 going in each direction and 3 of which have access to exits and on-ramps. I haven’t seen a road in Rome that is bigger than four lanes. In the heart of the city, roads are one or two lanes, go in one direction, and are made of cobblestone, which means cars have to drive slower. For two cities with the same amount of people, there are some major differences in how those people get around.
Litter
Between every cobblestone is a cigarette butt. Litter laws aren’t enforced, and with the amount of smoking in Italy, cigarettes can be found between every step you take. Rome employs street cleaners who sweep up the cigarettes, broken glass, and dirty napkins each morning, but they always seem to reappear by night. However, this isn’t the main litter issue. It gets worse. It is not customary for owners to pick up their dog poop from the street. Many people have dogs, and no one does it. Instead of the expectation being to clean up after your pets, it is an expectation to watch where you step.
Pickpocketers
Rome is a huge tourist city, which means pickpocketers. We had to be constantly aware of our belongings. While eating, strapping a purse on the back of our chair wasn’t enough. It had to be in our lap. When going to the bathroom, we took all of our belongings with us, even if there were friends still at the table. Everything has to be zipped and held tightly. They strike mostly on public transportation because of the tight quarters. Once, we caught man’s hand inside my friend’s purse while on the tram. Luckily, none of us had anything stolen.
Siesta
Just like in Spain, Italians have siesta. Siesta is a few hours each afternoon reserved for naps. In my experience, people used the time for personal reasons rather than naps. Students did homework, kids went to the playground, and restaurants prepped food for the dinner rush. Most businesses are closed at this time, and restaurants typically don’t open up until 7pm. There is no such thing as “early dinner” in Rome – you couldn’t find a restaurant if you tried.
When I became homesick, it wasn’t necessarily for the people, but for the customs. I missed eating dinner at 5pm, clean streets, and getting into my car with my groceries. Living abroad is more difficult that I would have ever imagined. Everything I knew as normal turned upside down, and I had to relearn how to go about daily life.
It is easy to judge another culture for being different. It is easy to impose your cultural norms on someone else because they “make more sense.” It is easy to give up on learning, because there’s no one to teach you. Hell – I had a mental breakdown about laundry. It is trial and error. And error. And error. But in time, I got it. I understood “Rome.” And realized that our cultures are more similar than different.
Kids still go to playgrounds, and teenage girls still sass their moms. University students hate having 8am classes, just as much as I do. There are sports rivalries, boybands, and reality TV stars. There are members of the LGBTQ+ community, and people of all nationalities. They have rich people, poor people, and a lot in between. They are just as critical of their government and just as devotional in church. And their parents love their kids just as much as ours love us.
If I could, I would relearn the culture a hundred times over, because in becoming “Roman,” I became more aware of my American culture, and therefore myself. No culture is right. No culture is wrong. It is easy to make assumptions about people because they are different. But under all of that, we are all human.
