"You're going to gain SO much weight when you go abroad!!!!"
Yes, this warning was given to me more than once before I embarked on my journey. My mom told me that when she spent a summer in Italy during her youth, she managed to gain 30 pounds. Impressive, I thought, and I almost made it a goal to come back looking completely unlike myself. As luck would have it, Siena makes it nearly impossible for this to happen. Everything is up hill both ways. There really isn't such a thing as an easy walk. And when I get to school each day, I am panting and sweating profusely, which is very attractive. In the early weeks of the semester I thought that this walk would kill me. But as time goes on, I become more accustomed to just how disgusting I get as a result of walking to school. Even though the interior of our school building is devastatingly cold, I always immediately rip off my coat and my first layer, wipe the sweat off my neck and back and then wait about 15 minutes. Then, I realize just how cold it is inside, look around at my classmates wearing coats and scarves, and ultimately decide to put all of aforementioned clothing back on. Sweating bullets.
I have picked up a new fitness regime, though, and it's all Margherita's fault. She loves watching Mila e Shiro. Have you ever seen it? Oh God, look into it. If you are an anime fan then you know it as Attacker You! and I only know that because I looked it up on Wiki. It's classic 80's anime with, of course, Italian dubbing. There came a point in the fall when Margherita stopped demanding Friends ("sempre Friends!" as Arianna would say) and made this switch to cartoons in the evening. That is when Mila e Shiro came along. The premise of the show is...well, I don't really know what the premise is but I do know that they play volleyball and I feel that there is some element of super heroine-ess that is attributed to their ability to play volleyball. Within about a week of watching the show, Margherita appeared with a volleyball. I mostly ignored it. Sometime at the end of last week I started playing with her before dinner, tossing the ball back and forth. Then we upgraded to actual passing. I think she was very impressed with my skills, as well she should be, because I played volleyball in high school for that whole year. Passing was not enough for her; she wanted to play actual volleyball games. The hilarity of the situation mostly consists of the fact that we play in their mom's office. It's really small. The walls are lined with framed diplomas and an entire shelf is dedicated to novelty coffee mugs. Everything is capable of being broken. And yet, I sit on a couch while Margherita bounces around while we "play volleyball." She wants to be just like Mila and Shiro so she demands that I pass the ball far away from her so she can make an epic attempt at getting it. She never gets it. But it's so epic when you get to slide around on the floor, you know? Last night she wanted to make a net so I helped her. She stacked up all of the Fischer-Price toys that were laying around and then she laid a stick across the top. After some attachments here and there it more or less acted as a barrier between the teams. And she always yells at me! She always want me to set the ball to Arianna. And in order to do that I get down on my knees and just kind of toss the ball. The best part about all of this is that the 3 of us get to eat dinner immediately after playing, and they both like to huff and puff at the table and really call attention to how hard practice way. And I do the same thing because I really like fitting in.
I understand that I should blogging about Venice and Florence, and the art I saw and the food I ate and things of that nature. But my host family is just so hilarious and great. Another example:
My birthday was on Tuesday. After dinner, Margherita and Arianna began whispering frantically. I knew that a surprise was on the horizon because I actually understand what they say, something they often forget. They ran around the table a few times (because they just do that) and then they turned off all the lights. Barbara led the parade with my cake and its one lit candle while the girls began a rousing rendition of Tanti Aguri. Fabio told me to make a wish and then I blew the candle out. They had gotten me a frutti di bosci cheesecake and as a decoration was a picture of Layla, a character from Margherita's favorite cartoon Winx, as well as the one character that looks most like me. Layla is black. The whole family sang an English only version of Happy Birthday as well. So to all of you haters who told me turning 21 while abroad would suck-you were wrong.
I'm watching John peruse the American Apparel website. I hope he buys that cardigan and the 8 others that look just like it.
October is nearly over! And today I had such a lovely stroll through Siena in search of traveling size toiletries. They do not exist, by the way. Tomorrow I embark on my fall break journey, beginning in Florence, going to Milan and then ending in LONDON! English speaking. Delightful. Speaking of languages (kind of) last night Arianna asked me if my cat bites. Bites="morse." I heard "morte." So in my head I heard "is your cat dead?" as opposed to "does your cat bite?" And i said NOOOO. which is the correct answer to both of those questions.
Lesson: Pack many wool socks if you are traveling in Italy in the fall time. Tile floors are a killer.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Mezzo e mezzo
We have reached it! The halfway point, that is. On the one hand, I really cannot believe that it has already been 2 months. Wasn't I just at the Cleveland airport yesterday, watching the Segway cop fall over a row of chairs? Then there is the other hand; the hand that is slightly more foreboding but not entirely daunting. 2 MORE MONTHS??? Yes, that sounds about right. My concept of time is completely off, though, to be entirely honest. 2 months flew. 2 months dragged. 2 months will feel like forever! 2 months will be gone before I know it. I think it is a day by day kind of thing, right?
My family is currently visiting in Italy which is, admittedly, bizarre. It's great, yes, but bizarre all the same. I have spent the last 2 months adjusting to simply being here. I have re-regimented my daily routine, sleep patterns, eating habits, etc etc. So, with that in mind, having familiarity again has been strange. I don't fear the same kind of strangeness when I go home in December, mostly because I will need to adjust everything that I had worked on for the past 4 months. It is a tricky little game, this abroad business. Just when you think you have Italy down to a science, it is time to re-emerge yourself in American culture. But back to my family. They are coming over to my host family's home for dinner tonight, which should be interesting. I truly hope that I am not expected to do all of the translating- that would surely be a big fat joke, and not a very funny one at that. Most unfortunately, Fabio will not be there! The girls will, though, and that will surely be more than enough entertainment for the evening.
Ah, families- both American and Italian.
Do you want to know about my trip to Venice? You should look at the album on facebook entitled "Venice gets its own album." I actually tried to insert some pictures on the blog but I am sooo terrible with the technology and the picture would not upload. On the bright side, though, I managed to fix the WiFi on my laptop. It was some business about an IP address? That means nothing to me, and it also meant nothing to other people when I complained about it. You should go to Venice, though. And you should also not miss your train to Venice. We managed to do that. Everything was going so well-we arrived at the train station nearly 2 hours early and all we had to do was physically get on the train. That part was difficult for us. We stared up at the board for what seemed like a life time, concentrating on "Venezia, 17:30" and waiting for a track number to appear. We then saw that the train was delayed 5 minutes...10 minutes...15? 20? 25! 30 minutes....All we did was wait. And then, sweet Hannah spoke up and said, "hey guys, we've been looking at the Arrivals board." Did you know that in order to depart from a specific location, you must look at the Departures board? Well, now you know. In a flurry we ran to the customer service office, received the good word that we could hop the next train for a mere 8 euro and have our Venetian adventure! On the train, we met a conductor named Fabio who asked us all where are are from. Usually when I say "Ohio" people politely nod and smile. Not Fabio! He said, "Ohio! Yes, Ohio! Beautiful song! Neil Young!" Yes. Yes. Yes. So, when he made his way to where we were standing (no seats for us) I showed him my I-Pod. "Look," I said, "I have it." His eyes lit up but he clearly did not believe that I knew this song. I took it upon myself to begin the sing along. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'-I sang to him and waited for him to finish the line. We're finally on our own! Fabio and I continued to sing most of the song. Afterwards, he asked me if I liked Pearl Jam. What a cool guy. (Please refer to the previous post in which I informed all travelers to know the music of generations past-it will get you anywhere.)
Since Venice, I have mostly been frittering away my time in the library at school, watching stupid things on You-Tube and having the most ridiculous giggle fits with my friends. Clearly, not alot is different from my time in the States. I do more writing here, though. I like that. I am currently writing a story about Dragons. That is all I can tell you about that. Fall break in 1 week! And then, I go to London and that will surely be an adventure.
Lesson: Savor your naps. I haven't taken one in about 2 months.
My family is currently visiting in Italy which is, admittedly, bizarre. It's great, yes, but bizarre all the same. I have spent the last 2 months adjusting to simply being here. I have re-regimented my daily routine, sleep patterns, eating habits, etc etc. So, with that in mind, having familiarity again has been strange. I don't fear the same kind of strangeness when I go home in December, mostly because I will need to adjust everything that I had worked on for the past 4 months. It is a tricky little game, this abroad business. Just when you think you have Italy down to a science, it is time to re-emerge yourself in American culture. But back to my family. They are coming over to my host family's home for dinner tonight, which should be interesting. I truly hope that I am not expected to do all of the translating- that would surely be a big fat joke, and not a very funny one at that. Most unfortunately, Fabio will not be there! The girls will, though, and that will surely be more than enough entertainment for the evening.
Ah, families- both American and Italian.
Do you want to know about my trip to Venice? You should look at the album on facebook entitled "Venice gets its own album." I actually tried to insert some pictures on the blog but I am sooo terrible with the technology and the picture would not upload. On the bright side, though, I managed to fix the WiFi on my laptop. It was some business about an IP address? That means nothing to me, and it also meant nothing to other people when I complained about it. You should go to Venice, though. And you should also not miss your train to Venice. We managed to do that. Everything was going so well-we arrived at the train station nearly 2 hours early and all we had to do was physically get on the train. That part was difficult for us. We stared up at the board for what seemed like a life time, concentrating on "Venezia, 17:30" and waiting for a track number to appear. We then saw that the train was delayed 5 minutes...10 minutes...15? 20? 25! 30 minutes....All we did was wait. And then, sweet Hannah spoke up and said, "hey guys, we've been looking at the Arrivals board." Did you know that in order to depart from a specific location, you must look at the Departures board? Well, now you know. In a flurry we ran to the customer service office, received the good word that we could hop the next train for a mere 8 euro and have our Venetian adventure! On the train, we met a conductor named Fabio who asked us all where are are from. Usually when I say "Ohio" people politely nod and smile. Not Fabio! He said, "Ohio! Yes, Ohio! Beautiful song! Neil Young!" Yes. Yes. Yes. So, when he made his way to where we were standing (no seats for us) I showed him my I-Pod. "Look," I said, "I have it." His eyes lit up but he clearly did not believe that I knew this song. I took it upon myself to begin the sing along. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'-I sang to him and waited for him to finish the line. We're finally on our own! Fabio and I continued to sing most of the song. Afterwards, he asked me if I liked Pearl Jam. What a cool guy. (Please refer to the previous post in which I informed all travelers to know the music of generations past-it will get you anywhere.)
Since Venice, I have mostly been frittering away my time in the library at school, watching stupid things on You-Tube and having the most ridiculous giggle fits with my friends. Clearly, not alot is different from my time in the States. I do more writing here, though. I like that. I am currently writing a story about Dragons. That is all I can tell you about that. Fall break in 1 week! And then, I go to London and that will surely be an adventure.
Lesson: Savor your naps. I haven't taken one in about 2 months.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Con
One downside to studying abroad in a beautiful country: When people die in America, one must remain in said beautiful country. Not only must one remain but one must also accept that communication only comes in the form of e-mails at odd hours and ill fated skype appointments. One must persist and still manage to effectively communicate in Italian while telling her host sister to please please please keep her grubby paws off the laptop keyboard while she attempts to type an e-mail to her brother. It is strange when survival instincts combine with raw emotion. You know what it results in? "Margherita just...no. no no no no no. No. no no no no no no no." The Italian is gone but yet I am still understood.
Before coming to Italy, I had a legitimate moment of panic in which I realized that I could put all facets of my life on hold except for the part where people die. And now, as I sit here watching the Facebook newsfeed automatically update with reference after reference to Brian, I realize: It doesn't matter where you are in the world, or what time it is at home or how many e-mails and messages you sent today. It is going to suck. Regardless of any other factor, I guarantee you, it will suck. How's that for some wise advice? It actually is because my mom tells me that all the time when things are going badly. "Katie, I don't know where this fits into God's plan. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't. It just really sucks." I think she's onto something there.
Last night Angelica threw up down my shirt. Not on it. Down it. It was after I had given her a tour of the house, walking into rooms and saying things such as, "What's that? A table? Yes, it is a table." All in English, mind you. I can't wait until her first word is Katie. Anyway we were nearing the end of our stroll when she realized that she knew exactly what she must do in order to make her stomach feel better: empty it. She did so in a quantity so plentiful even I was impressed. And as I stood there dripping I looked at her and said "Thank you." Because what else is there really to do at that point? If only I had known that puke in my bra would be the least of my worries for the week.
That anecdote was an attempt at frivolity. Haha, get it? A baby threw up on me! Yeah, it's gross, but I thought it was funny. Whatever, Brian would have laughed at it.
Lesson: "Che scifo" translates to "that sucks" as well as "that's disgusting." Che scifo, indeed.
Before coming to Italy, I had a legitimate moment of panic in which I realized that I could put all facets of my life on hold except for the part where people die. And now, as I sit here watching the Facebook newsfeed automatically update with reference after reference to Brian, I realize: It doesn't matter where you are in the world, or what time it is at home or how many e-mails and messages you sent today. It is going to suck. Regardless of any other factor, I guarantee you, it will suck. How's that for some wise advice? It actually is because my mom tells me that all the time when things are going badly. "Katie, I don't know where this fits into God's plan. In fact, I'm pretty sure it doesn't. It just really sucks." I think she's onto something there.
Last night Angelica threw up down my shirt. Not on it. Down it. It was after I had given her a tour of the house, walking into rooms and saying things such as, "What's that? A table? Yes, it is a table." All in English, mind you. I can't wait until her first word is Katie. Anyway we were nearing the end of our stroll when she realized that she knew exactly what she must do in order to make her stomach feel better: empty it. She did so in a quantity so plentiful even I was impressed. And as I stood there dripping I looked at her and said "Thank you." Because what else is there really to do at that point? If only I had known that puke in my bra would be the least of my worries for the week.
That anecdote was an attempt at frivolity. Haha, get it? A baby threw up on me! Yeah, it's gross, but I thought it was funny. Whatever, Brian would have laughed at it.
Lesson: "Che scifo" translates to "that sucks" as well as "that's disgusting." Che scifo, indeed.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Why Host Sibs are Hilarious
I have been here for a month!
And it took until today to tell Margherita that I have a boyfriend.
Let me give you some background on the recent weeks of my host siblings. Starting school knocked something loose in their heads. The concept of attending this place is too much for them to even fathom. This is the second full week for them and they are still completely shocked when it is time to turn off Friends (on DVD, not syndication, and ALL Italian) and get ready for bed. There is usually alot of crying, alot of coaxing, and alot of me sitting with the baby and whispering to her, "What am I supposed to do?" It is amazing how rarely she gives me any sound advice. Sometimes, though, she throws up on my jeans, which is nice.
Since the girls know that bed time is quickly approaching by the time I get home from school, they intend to make every second with me count. The only thing that usually stops them is the notion that I am tired or if I am actually asleep. On Saturday when I was in my day long coma, I was half conscious in bed when Margherita busted in. She looked at me, considered jumping on me, then decided that she should let me sleep. Good girl. Well, guess what? I have found one other form of kryptonite. I thought for sure that telling them I have homework would work but they actually laugh at me when they see me writing in a notebook and pull me into the other room to play or watch tv. Usually Friends. And I like that. But they love playing school and restaurant and doing card tricks and coloring and endless little kid activities. The newest obsession is watching Mamma Mia songs on youtube on my laptop. This is especially hilarious because of my personal (and heated) aversion to Mamma Mia. But I do it to appease them. Because I'm a pleaser, you know? Especially when it is my host sibs who have to live with me for another 3 months. Anyway, I was on the internet today, chatting up some of my pals, and Margh came in and plopped herself on my lap. She moved my hands off of the keyboard and just said "Mamma Mia!" over and over again. When this happenened before, absolutely nothing would settle her. I would tell her I had homework, or simply, or "THIS IS NOT YOURS THIS IS MINE" which is what I yelled at her when she started deleting a story I was writing. So after timidly saying no a few times I finally said, "Parlo a mia amica, Emilia." I talk to my friend Emily. She did NOT care. Emily? Big deal. MAMMA MIA.
I thought about this.
"Parlo a mio....ragazzo." That literally means I talk to my boy., which I was doing so it was not a lie. As soon as she heard this she slowly slid off of my lap and looked at me. The expression on her face was not what I expected. I assumed that she would react in typical Margh fashion: jumping, teasing, demanding to see pictures, etc. Instead, all of her 8 year old wisdom took over and she simply nodded. I can't help but think that there was a hint of a smile. Like, she got it. "Yes," she seemed to say, "I can totally relate to you right now," Then she picked up my camera, located a picture of said boy, and showed it to me. I nodded. She sized up the picture, realized that her assumptions about this boy had been correct, and then left my room.
There is a fairly good chance that this subdued nature will not last for long. In fact, she ran into my room about 10 minutes later and covered my arms and hands in butterflies and stars using oil crayons. That's ok, though, because I like to come up from behind her, cover her cheeks with my hands and yell "FREDO." That means cold. And then I tickle her and have a good hearty laugh at my defeat over the 8 year old.
What is Arianna up to? The other night she came into the living room to say good night. I was looking away so I only heard her voice. "Buona Notte!" Her voice sounded sweet-too sweet. What does this kid want? I turned to respond. "Buona No-OH GOD." Sweet Ari had blown her nose with her face. Seriously. It was everywhere. I quote Suzie Graham when I say "It looked like her face got caught under the glaze machine at the donut shop." Snot. Snot. Snot. Everywhere. This was her best joke. Her crowning achievement. And I reacted just as she wanted me to. And then she coyly asked me....oh, is there something on my face? Perhaps this is payback for when I pointed out that she had Nutella on her cheeks a few Saturdays ago. But probably not, because snot jokes are super funny when you're 5. "Che scifo. Oh, Jesus, scifo. Just-yeah-(pointing) go. Uh, va. Ari, just, oh my, just, va. Scifo." That is basically a verbatum re-enactment. It surely didn't help that Ari had just recently started eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise at dinner every night. Italian mayo. Have you SEEN that stuff? So that image plus the snot....che scifo. Che fucking scifo.
Jokes aside, the girls are great and so is the family. I am pretty constantly entertained and sometimes when I think I need to just brood and be by myself they remind me that it is much more fun to brood while watching Friends in Italian. Also, Margh does a pretty spot on Janice impression. She kind of cocks her hip, one hand on and the other snapping at the wrist as she whines, "OH! MIO! DIO!" It's hilarious and we love watching episodes with Janice. One time Fabio was watching with us. It was an episode in which Chandler woke up with Janice and he totally regretted it. Needless to say, I could tell by ol' Fab's face that he could perhaps relate to this situation. His simple response: "Janice. She is....horrible."
Lesson: Italian mayonnaise makes me want to die. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Of all the things I have legitimately learned in Italy, I can honestly say that so much as seeing myself write about it makes me want to take some Tums and try to think of any other image but Italian mayo.
And it took until today to tell Margherita that I have a boyfriend.
Let me give you some background on the recent weeks of my host siblings. Starting school knocked something loose in their heads. The concept of attending this place is too much for them to even fathom. This is the second full week for them and they are still completely shocked when it is time to turn off Friends (on DVD, not syndication, and ALL Italian) and get ready for bed. There is usually alot of crying, alot of coaxing, and alot of me sitting with the baby and whispering to her, "What am I supposed to do?" It is amazing how rarely she gives me any sound advice. Sometimes, though, she throws up on my jeans, which is nice.
Since the girls know that bed time is quickly approaching by the time I get home from school, they intend to make every second with me count. The only thing that usually stops them is the notion that I am tired or if I am actually asleep. On Saturday when I was in my day long coma, I was half conscious in bed when Margherita busted in. She looked at me, considered jumping on me, then decided that she should let me sleep. Good girl. Well, guess what? I have found one other form of kryptonite. I thought for sure that telling them I have homework would work but they actually laugh at me when they see me writing in a notebook and pull me into the other room to play or watch tv. Usually Friends. And I like that. But they love playing school and restaurant and doing card tricks and coloring and endless little kid activities. The newest obsession is watching Mamma Mia songs on youtube on my laptop. This is especially hilarious because of my personal (and heated) aversion to Mamma Mia. But I do it to appease them. Because I'm a pleaser, you know? Especially when it is my host sibs who have to live with me for another 3 months. Anyway, I was on the internet today, chatting up some of my pals, and Margh came in and plopped herself on my lap. She moved my hands off of the keyboard and just said "Mamma Mia!" over and over again. When this happenened before, absolutely nothing would settle her. I would tell her I had homework, or simply, or "THIS IS NOT YOURS THIS IS MINE" which is what I yelled at her when she started deleting a story I was writing. So after timidly saying no a few times I finally said, "Parlo a mia amica, Emilia." I talk to my friend Emily. She did NOT care. Emily? Big deal. MAMMA MIA.
I thought about this.
"Parlo a mio....ragazzo." That literally means I talk to my boy., which I was doing so it was not a lie. As soon as she heard this she slowly slid off of my lap and looked at me. The expression on her face was not what I expected. I assumed that she would react in typical Margh fashion: jumping, teasing, demanding to see pictures, etc. Instead, all of her 8 year old wisdom took over and she simply nodded. I can't help but think that there was a hint of a smile. Like, she got it. "Yes," she seemed to say, "I can totally relate to you right now," Then she picked up my camera, located a picture of said boy, and showed it to me. I nodded. She sized up the picture, realized that her assumptions about this boy had been correct, and then left my room.
There is a fairly good chance that this subdued nature will not last for long. In fact, she ran into my room about 10 minutes later and covered my arms and hands in butterflies and stars using oil crayons. That's ok, though, because I like to come up from behind her, cover her cheeks with my hands and yell "FREDO." That means cold. And then I tickle her and have a good hearty laugh at my defeat over the 8 year old.
What is Arianna up to? The other night she came into the living room to say good night. I was looking away so I only heard her voice. "Buona Notte!" Her voice sounded sweet-too sweet. What does this kid want? I turned to respond. "Buona No-OH GOD." Sweet Ari had blown her nose with her face. Seriously. It was everywhere. I quote Suzie Graham when I say "It looked like her face got caught under the glaze machine at the donut shop." Snot. Snot. Snot. Everywhere. This was her best joke. Her crowning achievement. And I reacted just as she wanted me to. And then she coyly asked me....oh, is there something on my face? Perhaps this is payback for when I pointed out that she had Nutella on her cheeks a few Saturdays ago. But probably not, because snot jokes are super funny when you're 5. "Che scifo. Oh, Jesus, scifo. Just-yeah-(pointing) go. Uh, va. Ari, just, oh my, just, va. Scifo." That is basically a verbatum re-enactment. It surely didn't help that Ari had just recently started eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise at dinner every night. Italian mayo. Have you SEEN that stuff? So that image plus the snot....che scifo. Che fucking scifo.
Jokes aside, the girls are great and so is the family. I am pretty constantly entertained and sometimes when I think I need to just brood and be by myself they remind me that it is much more fun to brood while watching Friends in Italian. Also, Margh does a pretty spot on Janice impression. She kind of cocks her hip, one hand on and the other snapping at the wrist as she whines, "OH! MIO! DIO!" It's hilarious and we love watching episodes with Janice. One time Fabio was watching with us. It was an episode in which Chandler woke up with Janice and he totally regretted it. Needless to say, I could tell by ol' Fab's face that he could perhaps relate to this situation. His simple response: "Janice. She is....horrible."
Lesson: Italian mayonnaise makes me want to die. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Of all the things I have legitimately learned in Italy, I can honestly say that so much as seeing myself write about it makes me want to take some Tums and try to think of any other image but Italian mayo.
Monday, September 13, 2010
I am not Stupid; I am just American
I have an important and heartbreaking message that I wish to share with all of you: I was lied to. Before coming to Italy, I received an eclectic collection of tips and advice from a multitude of people, all of which intending to let me in on the "insider information" pertaining to Italy. They are all liars. Yes, I'm sure there were truths in the mix, but for the sake of being dramatic, I will commit to saying that everything I was told was folklore.
I think you know what I'm talking about: "Italy? Everyone speaks English there anyway."
Guess what? FALSE. That. Is. False. Some people speak a little English, true. But not everyone speaks beautiful, fluent English. A shocking concept, right? I have to admit that my hopeful naivity got the better of me in the weeks before my trip because speaking English is so easy, right? And anyone who is reading this might think, "Katie, that was a really stupid assumption to make." And it totally was! I wasn't completely dependent on it, and I knew I would have to bust out the Italian every once in awhile, but I've started speaking Italian. No, I take that back. Out of necessity and survival, I've started speaking Italian. Here's another fun fact: High School language is a joke. I am sorry, High School language teacher. You are a very nice lady and you were very patient with me. But the whole concept of sitting in a desk and learning a language 42 minutes a day for 5 days a week now makes no sense to me. I sit in a desk, learn Italian for 3 hours a day for 5 days a week, and then leave class and try to speak Italian in the city and at home. Guess what? I'm still not good at it. I'm not even ok at it. My 6 month old host sister speaks better Italian than I do, and she just drools all the time. I get by. And as my host dad, Fabio, told me: "We do not care about tenses or grammar. Just say some words and we will get the point." Fantastic!
So I took French for what seemed like forever and by the time I graduated high school I was mediocre at best. I've been in Italy for 2 weeks and though I am nowhere near mediocre, I find it a million times easier to learn it by just sucking it up and doing it. There have been a few times in which I have had to tell my host mom, Barbara, certain pieces of information such as "I won't be home for dinner tonight" or "I am going to the beach tomorrow." First I pace around in my room for awhile, giving myself a pep talk and tirelessly rehearsing what I am going to say to her. Then I sneak out into the hallway, trying to hear where she is and how many additional seconds I have to prepare. Finally, I nonchalantly wander into the living room, see that she is breastfeeding, and turn around and go back in my room. I have used her breastfeeding as a sort of crutch; a reason not to talk to her, ask her questions, present her with gifts that were sent from America. I think, "Well, I don't want to bother her." Well guess what? She is already being bothered, she is breastfeeding a child! My attempts at telling her pertinent information usually take 2 or 3 times of pacing, pep talks, and repeat. It's pathetic, but I promise I am getting better. I think she can even vouch for that.
The best part about having host siblings is that they have no filter and do not hesitate to call you out when you say something incorrectly or do not undestand. A few nights ago I was sitting in the den with Margherita (8) and Arianna (4). While Margherita understands that I speak English and not Italian, Arianna doesn't even recognize that as an option. She thinks I am a quiet Italian girl who does not talk. After a lengthy rant, she looked at me and said "copisci?" I said "no." She turned her head and mumbled, mostly words I did not understand, but I definitely caught "stupida." Do you speak Italian? You don't? That means "stupid." Margherita flashed her most sympathetic eyes at me and patiently explained, "Ari, she's not stupid; she's just American." I don't think I need to say anything more than that.
Not everyone thinks I'm stupid, though, and that is a huge comfort. That has been one of my biggest concerns actually. Oh, God. They think that the school sent them a moron. They talk about me in front of me because they know I can't understand them anyway. Totally not. Last Wednesday I ate dinner with just Fabio. I explained as best I could that sometimes I understand things very very clearly; other times, I am completely lost. He then comforted me by saying that he is 42 years old and his English is still bad. (Not true-his English is better than my Italian. In fact, it will probably remain better than my Italian for the next 3 1/2 months.) He was explaining that he learned alot of his English by listening to music at the discotech (lol) and then, the most fantastic moment of my entire life happened. He said, "You know 'Take on Me'? Aha?" I squealed with delight and said "Of course! Certe! Yes! Take on Me! Si! Yes! Mi piaci Take on Me! On my laptop!" He did not believe me at all, saying that I am much too young and it came out in 1982 so there is no way I know that song. At the same moment, he and I looked at eachother and began singing the song, starting with the intro and transitioning into the organ solo. We played air organ together. This actually happened to me. We were the only two people in the house, sharing a gorganzola and hot dog pizza (don't get me started on the Italian obsession with hot dogs) and singing Take on Me. Needless to say, we bonded. I am in with the family. This is a great relief to me.
Lesson: Learn 80s music before you go abroad. Odds are, it will be the only thing you have in common for awhile.
Some day I will put pictures on this blog. But probably not. Here's a description: Everything is really pretty. I have painted you a picture, I know.
I think you know what I'm talking about: "Italy? Everyone speaks English there anyway."
Guess what? FALSE. That. Is. False. Some people speak a little English, true. But not everyone speaks beautiful, fluent English. A shocking concept, right? I have to admit that my hopeful naivity got the better of me in the weeks before my trip because speaking English is so easy, right? And anyone who is reading this might think, "Katie, that was a really stupid assumption to make." And it totally was! I wasn't completely dependent on it, and I knew I would have to bust out the Italian every once in awhile, but I've started speaking Italian. No, I take that back. Out of necessity and survival, I've started speaking Italian. Here's another fun fact: High School language is a joke. I am sorry, High School language teacher. You are a very nice lady and you were very patient with me. But the whole concept of sitting in a desk and learning a language 42 minutes a day for 5 days a week now makes no sense to me. I sit in a desk, learn Italian for 3 hours a day for 5 days a week, and then leave class and try to speak Italian in the city and at home. Guess what? I'm still not good at it. I'm not even ok at it. My 6 month old host sister speaks better Italian than I do, and she just drools all the time. I get by. And as my host dad, Fabio, told me: "We do not care about tenses or grammar. Just say some words and we will get the point." Fantastic!
So I took French for what seemed like forever and by the time I graduated high school I was mediocre at best. I've been in Italy for 2 weeks and though I am nowhere near mediocre, I find it a million times easier to learn it by just sucking it up and doing it. There have been a few times in which I have had to tell my host mom, Barbara, certain pieces of information such as "I won't be home for dinner tonight" or "I am going to the beach tomorrow." First I pace around in my room for awhile, giving myself a pep talk and tirelessly rehearsing what I am going to say to her. Then I sneak out into the hallway, trying to hear where she is and how many additional seconds I have to prepare. Finally, I nonchalantly wander into the living room, see that she is breastfeeding, and turn around and go back in my room. I have used her breastfeeding as a sort of crutch; a reason not to talk to her, ask her questions, present her with gifts that were sent from America. I think, "Well, I don't want to bother her." Well guess what? She is already being bothered, she is breastfeeding a child! My attempts at telling her pertinent information usually take 2 or 3 times of pacing, pep talks, and repeat. It's pathetic, but I promise I am getting better. I think she can even vouch for that.
The best part about having host siblings is that they have no filter and do not hesitate to call you out when you say something incorrectly or do not undestand. A few nights ago I was sitting in the den with Margherita (8) and Arianna (4). While Margherita understands that I speak English and not Italian, Arianna doesn't even recognize that as an option. She thinks I am a quiet Italian girl who does not talk. After a lengthy rant, she looked at me and said "copisci?" I said "no." She turned her head and mumbled, mostly words I did not understand, but I definitely caught "stupida." Do you speak Italian? You don't? That means "stupid." Margherita flashed her most sympathetic eyes at me and patiently explained, "Ari, she's not stupid; she's just American." I don't think I need to say anything more than that.
Not everyone thinks I'm stupid, though, and that is a huge comfort. That has been one of my biggest concerns actually. Oh, God. They think that the school sent them a moron. They talk about me in front of me because they know I can't understand them anyway. Totally not. Last Wednesday I ate dinner with just Fabio. I explained as best I could that sometimes I understand things very very clearly; other times, I am completely lost. He then comforted me by saying that he is 42 years old and his English is still bad. (Not true-his English is better than my Italian. In fact, it will probably remain better than my Italian for the next 3 1/2 months.) He was explaining that he learned alot of his English by listening to music at the discotech (lol) and then, the most fantastic moment of my entire life happened. He said, "You know 'Take on Me'? Aha?" I squealed with delight and said "Of course! Certe! Yes! Take on Me! Si! Yes! Mi piaci Take on Me! On my laptop!" He did not believe me at all, saying that I am much too young and it came out in 1982 so there is no way I know that song. At the same moment, he and I looked at eachother and began singing the song, starting with the intro and transitioning into the organ solo. We played air organ together. This actually happened to me. We were the only two people in the house, sharing a gorganzola and hot dog pizza (don't get me started on the Italian obsession with hot dogs) and singing Take on Me. Needless to say, we bonded. I am in with the family. This is a great relief to me.
Lesson: Learn 80s music before you go abroad. Odds are, it will be the only thing you have in common for awhile.
Some day I will put pictures on this blog. But probably not. Here's a description: Everything is really pretty. I have painted you a picture, I know.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Half Showers
I just took half a shower. In both space, water pressure and all around temperature, I'd say it was all at about half mast. I am a small person. I actually never knew I was short until people started mentioning it all the time, but as it turns out it is true. Even at this height, I still struggle to fit completely in my shower, and I end up contorting my body in ways that are simply not natural. The shower is actually just a bathtub with a hand held shower head, one that does not stay in its little wall holder, mind you. So I have choreographed a kind of dance in which I hold the hose in one hand, at an extremely awkward angle none the less, and try to splash water as well as pour body wash with the other. It's charming. I have often heard that one of the biggest stereotypes of Americans is that we use too much water. You're damn straight, we do. My last two showers have been taken at mach speed, giving myself just enough hot water to rinse my body once and then get about half way through washing my hair. I usually condition in an icy tundra. And then after shivering for awhile, I put on my robe and dance around my bathroom, wondering if my host parents think it weird that I am showering so late.
I had planned on telling two anecdotes this evening but I find that I only have the energy for one. The ommitted anecdote happened at the Cleveland airport and it's about a bitchy mom who cried when her son bought Pop-tarts. Ask me about it-I'll be happy to talk about it.
The second, and now only, anecdote is from Sunday. Barbara and Fabio (my host parents) told me at breakfast that morning that they would be going to church at 11:00. Barbera mentioned that they would be back at 12:30 and I was free to walk around the neighborhood and get to know the city a little better. I thought this was an excellent idea! Afterall, Margherita had presented me with a smart leather keychain the night before and I was super excited to have my own set of keys. Once the family had left, I puttered around my new room for a bit before I decided I would be adventurous and venture off into the city by myself. When I left, I locked the door and went on my way. If you've looked at my Italy pictures, then you've seen the Piaza del Campo and how beautiful it is. I took lots of pictures, became acquainted with my surroundings and felt pretty independent and adventurous by the time I made my way home. You have to understand that I am fairly independent but negative adventurous, so being out in a foreign land was very exciting.
I got back to the apartment at probably 12:15. Good, I thought. I had wanted to make it back before they were home. I unlocked the main door at the street level and it worked perfectly fine. Then I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the top floor where I live and I casually put my key in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Huh, that's weird, I thought. Maybe I did it wrong. (Whatever that means) I tried the key again but still no luck. Then I went through a seemingly long period of not being able to remember which way the door opened, which is ridiculous because doors generally open in. Unless it is my bathroom door at home. I inspected the hinges and the door frame, wondering why nothing would work. I continued with the key and immediately realized that a neighbor definitely could NOT catch me struggling with this stupid key. The clock was ticking and there was no way in hell that I was going to allow my family to find me on their front stoop, dripping in sweat, and clearly waiting for them to let me in. My initial plan was to wait until they got home and then perform a series of flustered "where did those keys go!?!" gestures that would illustrate to them that I had JUST gotten there moments before and was in the act of finding my keys! Everytime I heard the door open, I began this act of contrived fumbling. Then it dawned on me that I just needed to break the damn thing down and get in the house no matter what it took. So I got a running start and slammed myself into the door. Nothing happened. I considered climbing in through the window, or just leaving and coming back again. And in a fit of sweat and frustration I put the key in one last time, turned it, and the door simply opened as though there had never been a struggle.
Lesson? I don't know. Don't forget to switch the voltage on your keys, I guess.
But seriously-Italy is awesome and someday I will find time to write about classes and my host family and the atrocious amount of food I've been eating. You'd rather hear about some Italian misadventures though, right?
I had planned on telling two anecdotes this evening but I find that I only have the energy for one. The ommitted anecdote happened at the Cleveland airport and it's about a bitchy mom who cried when her son bought Pop-tarts. Ask me about it-I'll be happy to talk about it.
The second, and now only, anecdote is from Sunday. Barbara and Fabio (my host parents) told me at breakfast that morning that they would be going to church at 11:00. Barbera mentioned that they would be back at 12:30 and I was free to walk around the neighborhood and get to know the city a little better. I thought this was an excellent idea! Afterall, Margherita had presented me with a smart leather keychain the night before and I was super excited to have my own set of keys. Once the family had left, I puttered around my new room for a bit before I decided I would be adventurous and venture off into the city by myself. When I left, I locked the door and went on my way. If you've looked at my Italy pictures, then you've seen the Piaza del Campo and how beautiful it is. I took lots of pictures, became acquainted with my surroundings and felt pretty independent and adventurous by the time I made my way home. You have to understand that I am fairly independent but negative adventurous, so being out in a foreign land was very exciting.
I got back to the apartment at probably 12:15. Good, I thought. I had wanted to make it back before they were home. I unlocked the main door at the street level and it worked perfectly fine. Then I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the top floor where I live and I casually put my key in the keyhole. Nothing happened. Huh, that's weird, I thought. Maybe I did it wrong. (Whatever that means) I tried the key again but still no luck. Then I went through a seemingly long period of not being able to remember which way the door opened, which is ridiculous because doors generally open in. Unless it is my bathroom door at home. I inspected the hinges and the door frame, wondering why nothing would work. I continued with the key and immediately realized that a neighbor definitely could NOT catch me struggling with this stupid key. The clock was ticking and there was no way in hell that I was going to allow my family to find me on their front stoop, dripping in sweat, and clearly waiting for them to let me in. My initial plan was to wait until they got home and then perform a series of flustered "where did those keys go!?!" gestures that would illustrate to them that I had JUST gotten there moments before and was in the act of finding my keys! Everytime I heard the door open, I began this act of contrived fumbling. Then it dawned on me that I just needed to break the damn thing down and get in the house no matter what it took. So I got a running start and slammed myself into the door. Nothing happened. I considered climbing in through the window, or just leaving and coming back again. And in a fit of sweat and frustration I put the key in one last time, turned it, and the door simply opened as though there had never been a struggle.
Lesson? I don't know. Don't forget to switch the voltage on your keys, I guess.
But seriously-Italy is awesome and someday I will find time to write about classes and my host family and the atrocious amount of food I've been eating. You'd rather hear about some Italian misadventures though, right?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Me No Speaky Italiano....Yet.
I showed up to Italy with no Italian under my belt. Brilliant, right? Pre-departure Katie saw no problem with this, as the program specifically stated that there was no language pre-requisite AND neither Lindsay nor Alison made mention of any kind of language intensity. Of course, as soon as I met the other people in my program, it dawned on me that I was clearly the only person who had not taken any kind of preparations in the way of learning Italian. I am also the only person who did not bring a gift for my host family as well as not bringing any of my paper work in order to obtain a permit of residency. I did, however, bring school supplies, so I have that going for me. I realize that I've only been here for 5 days and I certainly can't be expected to have the language down to a science. I know the important words like "grazie" and "basta" and a barage of other vocabulary words that Margherita has given me during our lessons. I even ordered my own gelato tonight, even though it took Jeanie several times of saying very very slowly the exact words that I needed in order to obtain said gelato. It was a roaring, strawberry success.
But after 5 days of nodding my head and smiling like an idiot, I finally found the appropriate time to take matters into my own hands. Only one day of intensive Italian class had not taught me the only phrase I really felt my host family needed to understand: "I am tired." This was all it took to make Margherita understand that I didn't want to play cards and watch Winx and watch her number all of the bookshelves. Apparently, everyone knows that if someone is tired, that someone should be left alone. After I looked up the phrase in my ancient 1957 edition of Berlitz's Italian American dictionary, I paced about my room, muttering it to myself and making sure it sounded correct. According to the pronunciation guide, it did. So when the time was right and I could see Margherita and Arianna winding up for a second episode of Winx while pulling out the couch bed, I very sternly said to Margherita, "Sono stancana." I have no idea if that is conjugated or if the tense makes sense but she immediately understood and kindly wished me good night. Yes.
Lesson? Understand your priorities and then act accordingly. Especially when you are in a foreign country and your 7 and 4 year old host siblings just want to play with your I-Pod and dance all night.
This is meant to be a travel blog! So why didn't I immediately tell you about the flight over here and staying in the Agritourismo in Farfa or my initial impressions of Italy? Because I am tired. And being 6 hours ahead of everyone does not help at all, because I end up staying up kind of late so that I can catch all the people I want to talk to. The thing I do for you people. More details will come, I promise, and then you all will finally be able to live vicariously through me. Get excited!
But after 5 days of nodding my head and smiling like an idiot, I finally found the appropriate time to take matters into my own hands. Only one day of intensive Italian class had not taught me the only phrase I really felt my host family needed to understand: "I am tired." This was all it took to make Margherita understand that I didn't want to play cards and watch Winx and watch her number all of the bookshelves. Apparently, everyone knows that if someone is tired, that someone should be left alone. After I looked up the phrase in my ancient 1957 edition of Berlitz's Italian American dictionary, I paced about my room, muttering it to myself and making sure it sounded correct. According to the pronunciation guide, it did. So when the time was right and I could see Margherita and Arianna winding up for a second episode of Winx while pulling out the couch bed, I very sternly said to Margherita, "Sono stancana." I have no idea if that is conjugated or if the tense makes sense but she immediately understood and kindly wished me good night. Yes.
Lesson? Understand your priorities and then act accordingly. Especially when you are in a foreign country and your 7 and 4 year old host siblings just want to play with your I-Pod and dance all night.
This is meant to be a travel blog! So why didn't I immediately tell you about the flight over here and staying in the Agritourismo in Farfa or my initial impressions of Italy? Because I am tired. And being 6 hours ahead of everyone does not help at all, because I end up staying up kind of late so that I can catch all the people I want to talk to. The thing I do for you people. More details will come, I promise, and then you all will finally be able to live vicariously through me. Get excited!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)