Non capisco. Sono americano!

Wrote this little essay for my travel writing class here in Florence, Italy. Enjoy! 

Italy: The trip had finally arrived. I had been counting down the days for months.  I couldn’t wait to study photography in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I was looking forward to meeting all the new people, taking in all the history around me, and not to mention indulging in all the delicious food I’ve heard so much about.  The only real concern I had was the language barrier. I hadn’t taken any Italian lessons, so how would I know how to communicate? Would everyone be able to understand me, take my order, and give me directions? I hopped on the plane with two Italian dictionaries and an “Italian for Dummies” CD programmed into my iPod, hoping that was enough.

Since my arrival less than a week ago, I have known only a small percentage of the words spoken around me but surprisingly enough I’m still able to be involved in most conversations. How is this even possible? It makes me wonder if there is more to language than just consonants, vowels, dialects and slangs? 

            On only my second day in this beautiful foreign country, I was walking to the market and heard an elderly couple talking.  From the bits of the conservation I could understand, I gathered that the woman was going on and on about something while the man would just calmly nod and apologize.  Even though I didn’t know the specifics of their argument, by their tone and gestures, I can deduct somewhat a narrative.  As they squished themselves into their tiny Italian car and drove away still arguing, I wondered to myself how many times have I heard my parents have the same argument?

            That same evening while site-seeing through the Piazza della Repubblica, I noticed a group of women in white pants, red shirts, and sporting all sorts of animal ear headbands.  Being the beginning of June, I highly doubted these women were already practicing for Halloween.  After a few minutes of casually following them around I realized one was wearing a veil along with her rabbit ears.  That’s when the light bulb went off: Italian Bachelorette party.  Since I already had my camera hanging from my neck, I decided I must get a photo of this celebration. A few unsuccessful attempts later, I worked up the courage to test my limited Italian vocabulary and ask these women for a photo. I forced out something to the effect of “Vorrei prendere lei fotografe. Poso?” I’m still not sure if what I said was correct or just the fact that I was holding my camera and pointing to them, but they replied “Si.” I couldn’t help but smile as they posed scandously, soaking up all the tourist attention, and then handed me their camera so that I could take another one for them.  As the future bride came to get her camera from me, she said “American?” I shook my head, “Si.” She said something in Italian and when I look confused pointed to her veil. I replied with a smile, “Si, We call it Bachelorette Party.” She said, “No. Bride.” I said, “Si.” After a smile, wave, and “Ciao,” we all went on our merry ways. 

Even yesterday, I had maybe the most touching encounter since I’ve been here with a local.  Being a new tourist, I still haven’t figured out how to judge the weather yet.  Almost out of nowhere it starts pouring just as I begin the walk back to my apartment from a day of class. I was caught of guard and had no umbrella or jacket. My labtop and cameras were in my bag that was quickly getting soaked. I took of my flip flops and decided to sprint the five minute walk back to my place dodging under balconys and awning when I could. After only my second stop under a balcony, a middle aged Italian woman stopped next to me and motioned for me to hop under her umbrella. She said something in Italian but at this point the words didn’t matter, I was more than happy to walk with her. I’m sure to her I looked almost comical: typical American tourist, unprepared, heavy backpack, no shoes, half drenched hopping from balcony to balcony but she still stopped. I just kept saying “Grazie! Grazie!” She would say, “Prego” and then continue speaking Italian words I will never understand. When she began to turn down a side street just a block away from my apartment, I thanked her one more time pointed straight, waved, “Ciao” and took off to sprint the home stretch. 

Going into week two of my stay here in Florence, I sometimes find myself getting frustrated for not being more prepared: “Italian for Dummies” just didn’t cut it. But none the less, all of these recent encounters have just lead me to believe that while knowing many languages may make things easier and quicker, humans still communicate in many ways. I’ve found that a smile is still a smile no matter what language comes out of your mouth. 

:) Ciao! :)