Some more Italian-South African reflections

Whenever I return to rural Italy from a distant land, I’m prompted to reflect on the peculiarities of my adopted homeland, along with those of the place I’ve just returned from. Having just spent 3 weeks in South Africa helping my parents adjust after my mother’s hip replacement surgery, I’m once again in that mode. And while I was just there some 6 months ago, bringing back a clutch of reflections from that trip, there are always nuances and new discoveries. This time was no different.

The most obvious of these is the advent in South Africa of “load shedding”, or it’s more specific form, “predictive load shedding.” If I didn’t know what the term meant (from first-hand experience), I must confess I’d be left scratching my head. Seems that the country has applied for membership in the club of those supposedly “advanced” countries who hide their problems under confusing, spin-doctored terms which bear no resemblance to their actual nature. I’ve often wondered what they try to achieve with this approach – do they really believe the public is so gullible as to be diverted by their contorted terminology?

But I digress. Turns out that “load shedding” involves shutting down of the electrical grid, rendering homes, businesses, and streets – playing havoc with the traffic systems – blacked out. “Predictive” translates as “scheduled”, an arguably preferable version to the random shutdowns that interrupt washing cycles, cooking, and livelihoods.

It seems that the warnings several years ago that the country would not be able to support its power needs in the future went unheeded, and they’re now paying the price. As is their wont, South Africans, so long used to disruption and challenge, have accepted its inevitability and inconvenience in their stride.

I wonder how Italians would deal with it. Probably similarly, actually, much as they accept the inefficiency of the postal service and Telecomm. However, unlike South Africa, where the sole provider of power, Escom, is partly owned by the government, Italy’s power supply is totally in the hands of private providers, and as such, it operates with a modicum of efficiency.

Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of its national airline, Alitalia, which recently entered bankruptcy protection proceedings, following the failure to find a suitable buyer for the beleaguered company. A sorry state of affairs, it must be said, for the country’s standard-bearing airline. There are other (mainly regional) airlines in Italy, but given the size of the country, its proximity to others nearby with their own national airlines, and its membership in the EU, these smaller companies tend to fly below the radar (sorry).

The landscape – or perhaps “airscape” – of carriers in South Africa, however, abounds with low- and full-cost carriers, sporting colourful planes and staff that typify the “rainbow” of the country’s character. One example is kulula (yes, with a lower-case “k”) – meaning “it is light” or “it is simple” – which encourages their staff to inject personality and humour into their work. “I hope you find your car where you left it” was one such kulula steward’s quip, eliciting a wry chuckle from the theft-weary passengers on board. Another is the low-cost alternative of the country’s giant, South African Airways – it’s called Mango, and its planes are bright orange, adding a welcome dash of colour to the concrete expanses that typify airports these days. So too does one of its competitors, 1Time, whose aircraft are bright red.

Inside the country’s airports, you’ll find a plentiful supply of bars to whet the whistles of its beer-loving citizens. Like Australians, Englishmen, indeed even Americans, South Africans frequently go out “for a few beers” (not only to airports). “A few” has something of a different meaning here as well, and while it’s perhaps unusual, it’s by no means without precedent to hear an unshaven, bleary-eyed, raspy-voiced fellow sitting in the sports club bar with a beer in his hand, recounting the previous night’s 25-30 beer beano.

Italians, in contrast, drink only when they eat. When invited to a home to enjoy some local cooking, you won’t be offered a drink until the antipasti are laid out on the table and you’re starting to dig in. And while bottles and bottles of after-dinner drinks typically clutter the table in the aftermath of each monumental feast, their consumption is tempered by the fact that the stomach is full. In addition, the grappas and the like are digestivos, to help the digestion process. Unlike these other beer-thirsty countries, I’ve only ever seen one inebriated Italian in public (or in private, for that matter). They may be the world’s leading quaffers of wine, but clearly they do so responsibly.

Now if only that could be carried over to their driving ...