On my first Italian night, I ate dinner with my host "mother," Anna, as well as her other temporary residents Atalia and a Turkish boy whose name I can't remember. We struggled through elementary conversations over spaghetti con pesto and green beans. The Turkish boy is either shy or knows as little Italian as I do, but Atalia seems to be able to hold her own. She's Polish and speaks French and English as well. She and Turkish boy are here in a language intensive school. Anna told me Turkish boy, who's 16, wants to move to Italy and open an Italian restaurant. Atalia, later in English, said she wanted to learn so that she could speak to her Italian friends. Both are leaving this weekend.
After dinner Atalia showed me around Florence. We talked about Europe and our families, got a little lost, then met up with her friends, all of whom are at the language intensive school with Atalia and were either German or Polish. Fortunately all of their second or third languages were my first language, so I felt uncultured though at ease speaking English with them. We bought a box of wine for less than two euro and sat on a curb in front of the Duomo and drank. Unclassy and almost sacrilegious. I called it a night early.
The next day was orientation, and Atalia told me she would walk me to school. We thought we were going to the same school. We weren't, which made me bemusedly question whether we were not on the same page during other conversations as well. I was terribly late, but I caught 3.75 of 4 hours of orientation so I think I got the gist.
That afternoon I ran a pathetically short run with Blair Lindsey and Emily Hopper, friends from UNC, along the Arno River and over its bridges, passing easily on one side and dodging loiterers and tourists exiting buses on the other. I went back to my apartment to shower, had a late start and took the long way to get to dinner with our group from UNC, therefore ate a panini and gelato alone outside a small restaurant. 'Twas tasty, though I hear the free meal with company was slightly nicer.
Later that night I finally got in touch with Blair and Emily, and after hanging out in their apartment we went to meet up with the rest of the UNC group at a karaoke bar. Along the way I heard two boys speaking English and struck up a conversation. They were from London and were passing through Florence on a multiple-week backpacking trip. I sat with the UNC group for maybe 5 minutes and got the names of about 5 of them, then talked to the Englishmen. We then went to an Irish pub, I had a Harp, and I talked to Mark, one of the Englishmen about politics and universal health care, among other things. The last time I talked health care after drinking was in Chapel Hill with Catherine Smith and Sam Jacobson, the conversation elevated into a yelling match and concluded with all of us agreeing to disagree, silently swearing to ourselves that we would never bring up taboo subjects in social settings again. This conversation with Mark was civil and interesting, possibly because we aren't receiving the same federal care. Neither of us have even visited each other's home countries.
After leaving the Irish pub, the Englishmen (I learned the simple, one-syllable term "Brits" is offensive) and Emily and Blair and I went to the girls' apartment and hung out until about 5 in the morning. We didn't talk about politics or health care.
Today I woke up at 9, determined to find the Italian and not tourist side of Florence. I walked to a caffe' and had a caffe' latte and panini while reviewing my Italian textbook from UNC. I've forgotten so much. I was looking at chapter 2 vocabulary. Eek.
I then walked aimlessly down streets near the Duomo, stopping into shops that looked appealing. Many salespeople would speak to me in Italian, hear my response, reply in English, and I would continue to try to speak to them in Italian. I eavesdropped on other conversations, trying to pick up what they were saying, and would quietly read aloud street signs and store signs to myself. My creeping didn't make me new friends, but hopefully I'll develop a relationship with Anna and other Italians in their language later if I look a little crazy now.
Heading back to my apartment, I overshot my street and stumbled upon a marketplace with clothing, jewelry and produce stands. Ecstatic about reasonable food and clothing prices outside the tourist target zones, I bought earrings, sunglasses and fruit. I continued to resist holding conversations in English.
I made it back to my apartment now, and I really think I could find the market again, though who knows with my sense of directions. I just realized I haven't spoken English today. Hope that'll make the Italian stick.
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