Change is usually romanticised. But it’s not always easy learning and adapting to a new way of life. Liguria has been no different.
Recycling, for example is a strict way of life here.
One yellow bin for glass.
One green bin for plastics.
One blue bin for paper.
One small brown bin for umido (organic waste).
One black bin for indifferenziata (non-recyclable waste).
Five bins per household.
The problem was not convincing Italians to recycle – their approach is nearly dogmatic. Instead, it’s a spatial issue: how to fit five bins in kitchens designed for one? Impossible. The solution seems to be compromise. Some bins live inside, usually miniature versions of their outdoor counterparts. Others are banished to the garden.
This creates a never ending game (in the eyes of our dogs) of doors closing and opening. For us, a daily puzzle of classification, transport, and logistics. Small bins into big bins, big bins into even bigger bins. But where, exactly, are the communal bins when you live deep in the Ligurian hills?
The answer seems geographical: on the bends of the mountain roads. Cars perilously perch on blind corners to unburden themselves. Urban recycling may be efficient. Hilltop recycling, however, deserves admiration. It is not simple. It is not intuitive. It requires faith.
Electricity offers another lesson.
Bins emptied, coffee machine roasting; bread toasting; kettle boiling; and: lights off. I’ve always taken electricity for granted. But here, you become acquainted with kilowatts and the Italian residential electrical grid. It’s an education.
Houses operate on a 3 kW connection. In contrast, a North European home consumes about ten times that. What this means is that you need to judge what appliance you turn on and when. In our case, the major culprit is our electric water kettle. Every time I push its lever, off goes the house – a ritual that is becoming both irritating and quietly humiliating.
A solution exists of course: increase the electricity contract. As we are here for only a short time, I can’t give any advice on what follows when you enter contract negotiations with the local electrical supplier. Instead, I’m (slowly) learning moderation and sequencing.
And then there is driving.
This is not Ligurian specific. And this is not about the Fiat 500 loaded with a family of five or the overtaking Alfa Romeo competing with an invisible Lewis Hamilton. Because that all happens and speed limits are strictly a courteous indication.
What fascinated me this time are the bright orange speed camera boxes. They are omnipresent on the coastal roads here. If you somehow manage to miss the bright orange, google maps faithfully pings your attention to their presence. Equipped like this, I thought I could masterfully avoid my first ever speeding fine.
Fear not, however. The bright orange boxes are known to never be working. If you take a glance inside, no camera can be found. Like the speed limits, these join the game of courteous indications and you can trustfully maintain the pace set by the car in front. But, as an outsider, I have a feeling this unwritten rule will one day be enforced – with a flash.
