Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Images Of Chalky Stool

Empathy

Sorry. I was wrapped up in one of the most satisfying and relaxing conference of my life as a philosopher. Then I saw very little of Dublin, say in the evening (perhaps at night) with my colleagues and in the morning, crossing the street between the hotel and the campus. The Touring Club guide says that the Irish do not respect traffic lights. It should, however, put the information in context. Driving in Ireland is in the opposite direction to our own, ergo if you do not respect the red, it pecks a car in reverse.

The first night we tried a typical place to go from our hotel (underestimated) to three stars. An Irishman has suggested: look for a place with special atmosphere, good music, where you eat well. Certainly. Ten minutes on foot. However, I suspected something at the Radisson Restaurant. Garden, avenue of the pavement, huge marble facade or whatever, with columns, restaurant attached to five-star hotel. I tried while we were away to make it clear that we were looking for something "like a pub" food, music and atmosphere in our two stars, not above. Three waiters and the maitre d 'we open the door and introduce us to a wonderful room with balcony, frescoes and marble. A girl in long dress playing a piano. I feel like the Blues Brothers scene in the restaurant. The difference is that I'm ashamed as hell. I am resigned when it comes to the appetizer menu. Reasoning in Italian, I prepare to follow my companions in misfortune: patience, tomorrow I do not eat, but we bring the tragedy to an end. Instead, after a drink of my American friends decided to leave and I sink if possible even more shame. One wonders where you can eat well at a good price (but you had to just tell him?) We show our hotel.

Vendetta, terrible revenge. My American friend seems tired, I am seriously worried I try to understand what is happening, no, you can not, you're tired?, Yes, but no, there is something more, but you ate, no, and why not eat, mah then, finally: I have no money and I will not ask anyone. The Italian first blush that the day he discovers that the Americans out of money and possible ways out, enter into crisis. They say that most of the crisis in the U.S. depends more on fear than from a real situation. The average American should be covered. We cover in the short and above all we do eat.

returned from meeting the other day, talking with a colleague, we are stuck on an island and pedestrian while talking about what we have heard, a lady of a certain age is part of us. We are gripped with intense debate. She stops, does not pass, we smile, we turn around, began to smile, keep smiling, is the typical Irish lady, happy to please two foreigners, sometimes inserted between us and always smiling. I try to turn around, turn too. The light snaps several times, she does not go through. I understand that poor woman needs money and I try in my pocket. Seeking a confirmation in my interlocutor, who was also slightly embarrassed. When I'm about to pull out money, the old lady decides to go through. Thank goodness. It was an Englishwoman, a professor emerita. The colleague with whom I spoke knew it, I do not. I risked a diplomatic crisis.

short, be aware of things that happen around seems to be something important, you learn over time. But one thing I realized. Paradoxically, at least among us Europeans, may be more difficult. It seems that we are the same, in fact, perhaps we are less equipped to understand that an Indian or a Chinese. If I were to make a statistic of the misunderstandings that arise with the Italians, I would say that we misunderstand less easily (generally speaking) a Spaniard, a German, a Frenchman, an Englishman ... but this is a speech to be continued ...

Good night and good luck

Marco

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