The photos of my move-in-progress are still trapped in a borrowed digital camera for the moment, but I had to write an entry describing the 2-week cleaning process our new apartment has undergone.I don't know if it has anything to do with Italy's pervasive-yet-oddly-concealed Catholic culture, but these people are obsessed with purifying, sanitising, bleaching and starching. Not to mention engineering booby-traps to foil future dirt/dust...but that's another story.
Two weeks ago, Filippo and I held the keys to our new apartment in our hot little hands, having reclaimed it from his tenant that had been occupying it for the past 3 years. The former tenant is a cleaning woman by profession, and though it smelled strongly of smoke, the apartment needed a little paint but was otherwise immediately liveable.
My two suitcases still being largely packed and taking up valuable floorspace in Filippo’s mom (Franca)’s tiny apartment, I told Filippo that I was willing to move in immediately and clean a little bit here and there during study breaks. With a look of pure disgust, he announced that neither of us would shift a single belonging before using Franca's steam-cleaning machine to scour every blessed centimetre of the 100 m³ apartment –floors, walls, ceilings, tiles, doors, inside and outside of all cabinets/drawers/heating ducts/windows.
This steam-cleaner deserves a paragraph of its own. Its body is about the size of a large vacuum cleaner, and though there are larger attachments for outdoor patio use, the nozzle I was introduced to was approximately the size of a toothbrush. Meant to be used after surfaces have been washed and wiped dry, steam shoots out of the toothbrush at 300ºC to pack that final anti-bacterial punch.
I was openly mocked for suggesting vinegar and baking soda as cleaning agents (don't get me started on the reception of my idea of searching for unique furniture at Milan's Saturday flea market), so embarked on a cleaning adventure that has destroyed my mucous membranes and peppered my skin with chemical burns.Franca and I had our first and only fight when I refused to go over all outdoor window shutters with the steam-toothbrush; I was (am) certain of having killed any lingering bacteria in the 3 hours that I’d scrubbed them with bleach.
But there is a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel –the bedroom is now sky blue, the hallway and bathroom light grey to match its tiles, living room sage green and kitchen tangerine to match its tiles. On Wednesday, Filippo and I proudly coasted the highway at 60 km/h with Evje and Fågelbo (beige) strapped to the roof of his VW, unloaded them at midnight and will piece them together tonight.
My clothes, €160 worth of groceries, a lemon tree, gardenia and basil plant already occupy the apartment, and by tomorrow sundown, I will as well. Can’t speak for Filippo, but won’t pressure him too much because (though my Canadian brain screams: this is an abomination of nature) he’s quite happy to remain one of the comfortable “40% of Italians aged 30-34 living with [his] parents”…
Crocuses are popping up everywhere