Signs of Cultural Immersion, Part II.
As I lay in my bed last night, I was in that limbo between being asleep and being awake, and as the logical thoughts started to subside and the irrational fantasies of dreams began to commence, I swear I heard a woman's voice say "E che cos'e succese?" or, "And then what happened?" The voice then proceeded to talk much faster than I could comprehend, and I opened my eyes, trying to figure out what was going on and what the woman was saying. I'm sure it made absolutely no sense at all, but let's ignore the fact that I was hearing voices, which is a slightly disturbing development, but concentrate on the positive aspect, the fact that the words were Italian. A sign that I'm beginning to learn? A sign that I'm going insane? If nothing else, hopefully a sign that I'm becoming immersed.
It's kind of cool; I've noticed that when I call friends and family at home, I begin to form sentences in Italian in my head as if I'm going to have to answer them in Italian. (It still takes quite a bit of planning for me to form grammatically correct sentences.) But then I realize that I can speak in English, and I relax. As many of you know, I enjoy the art of speech quite a bit, and sometimes I get frustrated when I speak Italian because it's difficult to express exactly what I want to say. I can get the general point across, but I love being able to say precisely what I mean, and I'm not quite there yet in Italian. But as the butcher in the market said yesterday when I told him I'm still trying to learn Italian: "Ma hai pazienza. Piano, piano:" "But have patience. It comes slowly, slowly." I know he's right, but I've never been one to have much pazienza.
I realized in class the other day that we often tend to associate a person's ability to communicate with their intelligence level. In most cases, a person's ability to speak properly is an absolutely accurate way of measuring intelligence. For instance, if you hear someone say something along the lines of "All y'all shore do seem like real nice folk," you are most likely justified in assuming that he or she is something of an idiot. However, I've realized that when foreigners try to speak in other countries, we tend to have the language abilities of five-year-olds, if not worse. We need to preface everything with, "I'm sorry but my English/Italian/German/Swahili is not very good," and when we don't understand what the person to whom we are speaking has said, the person will usually just begin shouting, as if our comprehension will increase with their number of decibels. I was ruminating over the challenges that come with language barriers the other day when I was talking to Leonardo, one of my classmates from Japan. He says Leonardo is easier for people to pronounce than his Japanese name. Leonardo is a really nice guy, probably in his early 40s, and he's a professor back in Japan. I never feel inferior in my language abilities when I sit next to Leonardo, for the poor guy can barely string two words together in Italian without whipping out his electronic dictionary. And yet although he sounds completely ridiculous when he speaks Italian, he's an incredibly intelligent man. He's a mechanical engineering professor who studies the history and philosophy of technology. (Not really sure what that even entails; I wonder what Jung or Nietchze would have to say about gigabytes and RAM?) However, he can't express himself to save his life, and I thought it was interesting that I never would have known how smart he was if I didn't take the time to patiently listen to him try to translate what he does back at home.
Life's been good; busy as usual since my last post. Our school had an excursion to Perugia on Sunday, and upon arrival, we felt somewhat gypped to find out what the 16 euro fee was for: our entrance fee to TWO more freakin' archaeological museums! Man, if I had known what we were in for there's no way I would've set foot on that bus; ALL MORNING of listening to an archeologist lecture us on more bones and old pots in Italian. Oh well, at least we got to go to a pretty good restaurant for lunch. I got the minestrone; it was quite tasty.
Speaking of restaurants, you all will be happy to know that my cooking adventures are becoming much more frequent and occur with much less incident than usual! My specialties include many different varieties of pasta, soup, eggs, and cereale con latte, a very difficult Italian dish that some of you may be familiar with; I can give you the recipe if you want. Tonight I'm really going out on a limb by making some chicken, most likely with the help of my roommates. As long as they're around to make sure I don't set anything on fire, I'm usually golden!
So let's see; Monday we had class and afterwards my roommate Sarah and I went to the Pitti Palace to look at this costume exhibit that they had and their jewelry museum. My favorite piece was probably a golden brooch shaped in the outline of a male torso. Apparently to make it as accurate as possible, the creator of the piece felt the need to represent the male's genitals as well, and did so with two circular white pears and a long cylindrical white pearl. The art never ceases to amaze me here. Other than a few odd pieces though, we had fun looking at all the old clothes and fashions of the time periods. That night we went out with some friends from my class and went dancing. As a shoe salesman in one of the markets told Sarah and I: "Tutti le sere puoi ballare qui!" "Here, you can go dancing every night!" That may be true, but I learned a very important lesson. Sure, you can go ballare-ing every night, as long as you don't wear heels. Limping to class on Tuesday morning, barely able to squeeze the enormous blisters on my feet into sneakers, I chastised myself for my vanity. Ah well, lesson learned. Next time I'll wear more comfortable shoes, and then I'll be able to come home singing "I could have daaaaanced all night..."
Tuesday was a really good day; my classmate Alex and I had to give a presentation on Sicilia, Sicily. It had to be completely in Italian and it was supposed to be at least 15 minutes long. As Alex and I finished translating all the information we found, we realized that three pages of size 16 font probably wasn't going to cut it. However, we were masters of improvisation and used our time wisely, pausing to ask if there were any questions and taking time to write information on the blackboard. Favorite teacher Michela was extremely encouraging, helping us with our pronunciation and making comments here and there. We all love Michela because she's one of those warm people who automatically make you feel at ease. With Michela, if you make a mistake, you're never wrong, you're just not...quite right. Ma va bene, va bene! she'll say if one of us butchers a sentence terribly. So it was easy to present in front of her. Our classmates were interested as well and had plenty of questions about the Mafia, especially Julian, who had just watched The Godfather. (He really liked it, but he did say it was difficult for him to understand what the fat man [Marlon Brando] was saying. I told him not to feel bad because Americans can't even understand what he's saying.) So luckily, we ended up going well over fifteen minutes, and Michela even said that our presentation was bellissima!
Tuesday was also the day of the inauguration of our 44th president. I went over to Syracuse University's student center and watched it with a bunch of other American students. It was definitely standing room only, and it was really exciting to watch it with other people who felt passionate about Obama. At one point the sound went off and a riot nearly erupted, but luckily the poor tech guy was able to correct his mistake. I thought Obama's speech was incredibly eloquent and inspiring. It was pretty emotional to watch. I don't care what party you are; I think we can all be excited about the fact that "a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath." I'm not going to get on my soapbox and talk too much about it, but walking home last night, I felt proud of my nationality. Here Americans are not always everyone's favorite population. At times when I see some of the American students stumble drunkenly outside the clubs (okay, I know we've all been there, but you know the ones I'm talking about), or the ones who expect everyone to speak in English and never even make the attempt to learn the language of the country in which they're staying, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I hail from the United States. But last night, walking home in the rain after the inauguration, I would have gladly told any Italian who asked me that I hailed from the U.S. of A., and I would have told them proudly. Not that anyone asked, but you get the idea.
Not an extremely eventful day today; class with un-favorite teacher Giulia, which always leaves us feeling flustered. But I think our class' common frustration with Giulia's teaching style has helped us form a bond, so if we ever run out of things to talk about, we can always complain about Giulia. After class it was onto the supermarket where I stocked up on nonperishable items; they're much cheaper at this big supermarket on the outskirts of Florence. You have to take the bus and it's always slightly difficult to coordinate your purchases, for the amount of food you buy can't exceed the amount you can carry home. But I somehow managed, looking extremely ridiculous in the process and earning mixed looks of both pity and derision from bystanders who watched me lug my groceries onto the bus and get hit by the bus doors three different times during the ride home. But the day improved after I got home; I went for a run with some of my classmates along the lovely Arno, which always lifts my spirits. :) Life is good!
Vi voglio bene e auguri e cent'anni!
Love,
Caity
No comments:
Post a Comment