Over New Year’s, Paolo, Naomi and I spent about 10 days in
Ireland and England. My husband and I both love pub culture, so we were looking
forward to settling in for a few pints wherever we went. But since we don’t
travel with an au pair, that would
mean taking Naomi with us into pubs. Yet a little advance research clued me
into the fact that for the British and Irish, it’s not normal to take kids into
bars.
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Of course we stopped at the bar right after our wedding! |
What? I suppose my shock at kids in bars not being a culture norm just goes to
show how much I’ve acclimated to life in Italy. In Italy, especially, maybe, in
small Italian villages like my own, the bar is not just a drinking bar. It’s
not just a place to adults to go and mingle and get their drink on. And it’s certainly
not a nefarious, smoke-filled den full of drunks crying in their beers (though
that occasionally happens—and no, I don’t mean me!) and single hotties looking
to hook up (though from what I hear, that occasionally happens, too).
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It all happens at the bar... |
In the late afternoon, the usual suspects roll in for their
apertivi—before dinner drinks. Some of them have a lot of those and stay way
past their suppertime. But the majority have a glass or two and then head home.
After dinner, a younger crowd trickles in. Sometimes they’re there to get drunk
but most often as not, they’re there to get out of the house, hang out with
their friends, and play foosball or briscola, that baffling Italian card game.
Naomi has grown up in our Allerona bar. She walks in like
she owns the place, and now, at a chattering 3 years old, often demands to be
taken there. “Andiamo a bar, andiamo a bar!” We often go to dinner in town, and
we’ll stop in with her for a drink before dinner and then, as often as not,
pass by after dinner for another. She takes it all in stride, as do the other
bar patrons. They all fawn over her and usually, no sooner do we walk in before
someone scoops her up and entertains her.
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No need to be tall enough to see over the bar to order a drink... |
Hell, the bar is my babysitter! Did I
really just say that? I think I did.
So picture us in Ireland and England, where bars, and
evenings out in general, are the realm of adults. It was New Year’s Eve in
Dublin, and we were sitting in our blah hotel room at about 9:30, trying to
figure out how to kill time and stay awake until the clock struck midnight.
There was a pub in the hotel (it’s most appealing feature, really), so I suggested
we go down and nurse a pint or two until the New Year. We figured that worst
case scenario, we’d be told that Naomi couldn’t stay in the bar, in which case
she could sit in the lobby while we got our drink on in the pub.
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But we DID take her to the Guinness Storehouse... |
Okay, I’m kidding about that last part…
We walked into the crowded pub, packed with New Year’s
revelers and rocking to the strains of traditional Irish music. I asked the
bartender if Naomi could stay and he replied, “Only if she can sing!” I
signaled to Paolo that we were okay to stay, and ordered us two pints of
Guinness.
And then, we both started to notice The Looks. We got the
stink-eye from so many different Irish women, we instantly felt like the Worst.
Parents. Ever. Paolo even saw a woman elbow her husband and point. He gestured
to me to make a quick exit and we took our beers to the lobby, where Naomi
played and we sat, waiting for it to be midnight.
After we got back to Italy, I recounted this story to my
friend and fellow blogger Toni. She reminded me of that funny scene in "Sweet
Home Alabama," when Reese Witherspoon bumps into a childhood friend:
Maybe Reese was right to be judgmental of her friend’s
parenting skills, just like that elbowing and pointing Irish woman in Dublin. I
probably would have judged me too, were this several years, a baby and an
Italian village ago.
So next time I venture to Ireland, I’ll respect the cultural
norms and keep my kid out of the pub after a certain hour. It’s really not such
an outrageous rule, after all. But when it comes to our little bar in our
little village, I will take no stink eye from anyone. Because in Italy, babies
in bars is just how we roll…
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Corrupting my child, one prosecco at a time... |
Being an "orvietana" living in London I can totally relate - but the other way round ��.
ReplyDeleteI miss my little italian bar where everybody is welcome. Here there is no chance to take my kids out anytime after 7,30 pm without being judged an awful mother!
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ReplyDeleteJust finished reading all your posts! Really great, you could make a book out of this, I would buy it. I hope the last post being about 10 months ago does not mean you have stopped. I spent a few weeks in italy this year (following a week last November) met and italian and now find myself thinking what you did all those years ago, if there is some way I can make a life in italy...glad to see it has worked out for you, love the contrast between cultures.
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