In Bocca al Lupo/ Buena Suerte/ Break a Leg

Sounds like 'inboccaloo' in Italian, wicked freaking fast. And literally, it means "In the mouth of the wolf." I'm not sure about the etymology of the phrase, but neither am I certain of the origins of many English (American) sayings, like "It's raining cats and dogs" (I heard once, but I forget...), or even "Break a leg." Regardless, "in bocca al lupo" is a common saying here in Italy used to wish someone good luck (also "buona fortuna").

Luck, if you want to call it that, has been on my side, as mentioned in my last post. But this post isn't so much about luck as it is about an update on culture here.

Lesson 1: If you want to cross the street, look both ways, even if you are right behind someone who already looked both ways. You might almost get pummeled by un moto (motorcyle) and have a near death experience. When this experience happens, don't panic; remember your zen. Glad I had it (thank you yoga). I learned this my first night in Perugia and didn't post it before because I didn't want my mommy to worry :). It's okay; I won't ever do it again. I'm afraid of Perugian traffic now (if you think it's irrational, there was also a fender bender six inches behind me while I was walking on the 'sidewalk').

Lesson 2: Don't talk to, or even make eye contact with, random Italian men on the street. They might start talking to you, and sucking you in to talking back and feeling uncomfortable. Italian women are infamous for being 'cold' and completely ignoring everything around them, especially needy ragazzi e uomini (guys and men), while walking through the city. Vecchi uomini (old men, middle aged rather) will stop you and your friend and try to make conversation:

"You are from Gli Stati Uniti? In level A2 all'Università per Stranieri?" Blah blah blah... ten minutes later when they still won't let you walk away:
Sketchy Balding Old Guy Getting A Bit Too Touchy: Haley, when can I see you again?"
Me Backing Up And Looking Away: "Oh, you know, maybe if I walk by you or something."

Say, we're in ritardo (late). No I don't want to go around that dark corner with you at night 'to see the view' (sends desperate look towards roommate who is stuck with un altro uomo).
My Roommate: Say, sorry guys, we're in ritardo. Yeah, we gotta go. See you later.
Me in My Head: HALLELUJAH!!!
Me for Realsies: Exhales.

Point: Walk like a n Egyptian Perugian woman. At all times. Even if you want to "go all Feminism on their asses" when people tell you not to walk alone at night or to walk with a guy friend, it's not worth it. Freedom and equality are too high a need on Maslow's hierarchy (Shout out to Jenn and P...psych!) to worry about when the safety-first need is threatening to give you a myocardial infarction (Shout out to Sabrina Salmela and Nicole Reynolds, biology/pathology/kinesiology nerds). Yes, that does mean 'heart attack' to normal people.


Lesson 3: Shhhhh! The syllabus is a secret. You don't really need to know what is expected of you in class, what you will be covering, or even how to get there. Just follow along blindly and trust the professori italiani to do what they do. Want to see the (plausible) method to the (absolute) madness in the classroom? Go to Francesco at Umbra. Don't count on Stranieri (che strano...how strange...).

If you are a teacher or you are an Education major, listen up: DO NOT TAKE TEACHING TIPS FROM ITALIANS. They are still stuck in the lecture-style-only past. They don't come around and see if you get it. If you do get it and are bored to tears, they don't give you something to move on to. There isn't all that much interaction (except in my favorite class here, Esercitazioni Orali). They don't frame lessons (they flip through and see what the book has in store for the day). They don't tell you what you're doing and you can't guess why. Yes, you do learn Italian. But really, you learn about Italians. Keep on exhaling the frustration. You're not in Amurrica anymore, Toto. The only red shoes you have are time and a plane ticket home (but it goes to Germany first; no complaints here, though!).
Allora, if you can't beat them (and you can't...), then call them dumb eyetalians to your blog, sing some Float On and Three Little Birds, be freakin' Amurrican (damnit!) and look like it too, and remember what you're here for:

To live outside your comfort zone, and stay there for a while.
To figure out how to make order out of chaos.
To see chaos as what it is (just a B+ instead of an A-; just a normal pace instead of too much too fast).
I stole this quote from Liv (she found it first): "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." -Neale Donald Walsch

I love this quote, because yes, it is exactly what I'm talking about. But I also love it because the main reasons I'm here are simply, well, to live and to learn. Period. Uber straightforward contexts; nothing incognito at all. And whether it be by studying, or daily living, or even luck, I am learning and will continue to learn.


Okay, but as you may have guessed by now, Perugia isn't like a palace or the Walgreens commercial about the town of 'Perfect' to me. I hated Perugia the first two nights I was here (severe culture shock and Lessons 1-2). I hated it today in class (frustration, culture shock and Lesson 3). But hey, lessons were learned. And I guess even though I'm not skipping through the prairie with daisies while smiling at all the spedcial things about dumb eyetalians, I am conscious of the fact that I am--in this moment--realizing my goals.

I'm not saying I hate it here, or even that I don't like it here in general. It's just different. I like experiencing different because, well, it's just different. The beauties of this place will be in the next post (promise).

But finally for now, I'd like to say that life is sometimes like a box of Perugian chocolates: Some may taste like miracles while others might have yucky stuff in the middle, but after you try them, you'll know which ones to eat again tomorrow (Shout out to Forrest Gump.... He's real. Don't hate.).

Pace/Paz/Peace,
Haley

Essere Qui Adesso/ Estare Aquí Ahora/ Be Here Now

Ciao! So I've been in Italia for almost two weeks now, and I finally have time to sit down and write about it. First of all, I am SO glad I came early. I definitely utilized that time to adjust to new surroundings and start picking up on cultural nuances, and of course, la lingua (language).

I had the opportunity to stay in and explore the city of Gaeta on my own for a week (south of Italy, right on the coast) before coming to Perugia, and I actually liked it that way. There was no one I knew or cared about around to tell me I was speaking incorrectly or whatever, so I felt pretty comfortable giving it a go. I definitely had and still have a conscious awareness of the surrounding language, meaning I am always trying to pick up lessons from how others are using the language I overhear (eavesdropping and snooping are two of my favorite activities...so guilty there).

Now that I arrived in Perugia (a few mornings ago; anticlimatic), I have already noticed, however, that there is something different about the speech here than in Gaeta. I'm not sure I can quite pinpoint it, though. I have noticed that culture wise, there is a LOT more diversity here in Perugia than in Gaeta. Also I'd say it seems like more people speak English here than in Gaeta, but that may or may not be true. I may just be noticing that Perugia seems bigger and more populous, because I'm pretty sure it is. Definitely more of a 'city.' I'd call Gaeta a Beverly, Mass because it's right on the cost, it has it's downtown area, and then it has its houses set back a bit from the main strip. <Special shout out to downtown Bev goes here. Perugia is kind of like if Plymouth State and its scenic mountains views were hills all over instead, and the climb to Prospect from D&M was twice as long, one fourth as wide, and surrounded by old Italian buildings. oh, and every place you want to go is a hill, including but not limited to: Prospect to the HUB (uphill), the HUB to ML (downhill), Hall Hall to Belknap (uphill), etc. etc. Oh, except this version of Plymouth is also a hybrid between Manchester, NH and Boston in terms of city-ness. <Shout out to PState goes here. I bet the old ladies are even in shape from all the hills they have to walk everyday just to get to the freakin' supermercato or bar (two kinds of these; one serves cappuccini, the other serves alcohol. I'm guessing the old ladies would be at the first, but there's a first time for everything).

But back to the first week of my trip (Gaeta). Here are some highlights:

• Ordering a beer in the Dublin airport. It was an Italian beer (Peroni), not an Irish beer, and it wasn't a pint. But it was still cool even though I didn't have time to drink it because we were boarding right after I bought it. But still.
• Meeting Fabian Wood, who greeted me with a sign with my name on it (I felt special) in Naples after my flight. He and a friend of his drove me to the U.S. Navy base in Naples where I spent my first day. Side note to all: Navy bases are not intimidating once you get past the guard in his ocean-blue camo suit. No my friends, your tax dollars go to (in the tone of the little green aliens from Toy Story): THE MALL. At least the part I was in, the 'base' consisted of a commissary store where you can buy wicked cheap American groceries, and basically a glorified Walmart, except the things you buy probably won't break in two weeks. And a food court and cellphone store, etc. It was sweet. I bought my first smart phone from Vodafone (Android network) on the base. For my entire week in Gaeta, it was my lifeline for navigation, places to eat and shop, contact back home, Italian translation, Celsius-to-Fahrenheit converter, and so much more! (Insert infomercial). I'm glad I got it on day one.
• Learning bad words in Italian that I don't remember (thank you, Fabian). Also, realizing that all Italians know how to drop F-bombs in English, even if they don't know any English (Fabian is half American, so he knows them all).
• Meeting Maria Sortino, a friend of my uncle Chris that oh so kindly let me stay in the apartment she keeps above her own home, for free, all by myself! The view from the little terrace coming out from the bedroom was amazing. I could see the sea :). She was busy working all week, but I am extremely thankful for her hospitality. If it wasn't for her, I would have had to wait a whole 'nother week to get to Italia, and my patience only goes so far...
• Learning not to go shopping during la siesta (1PM-5PM) because absolutely nothing will be open, not even la farmacia (yep, you guessed the cognate: pharmacy). (In Perugia, however, la pausa only lasts until 4PM and some things remain open. Apparently the more south you go, the less often stores are open. Regardless, the word difference describing the break in the middle of the day from south to central Italy is noteworthy).
• Trying to walk like an Egyptian Italian, and talk like one too. I've definitely fooled a few people with the walk, but as Richard, my Italian tutor over the summer had predicted, the second I open my mouth to speak, my American pops out. The other day in Perugia, a tourist couple asked me a question in italiano about a museum I had just walked out of (not that cool). I said, "uh, che?" to which they immediately looked at each other, said "no," and walked away. Damnit, I would've tried! Can't we just try to negotiate meaning? Ask the question one more time? I have a hell of a lot of Italian in my blood so I'm good and using my hands. Parla italspanglish? No? Okay =(. I just want to learn Italian!
• Darkening up (well, trying to). In Gaeta, I was extremely conscious that I was the whitest one in the entire city. So, I went tanning on the beach all of one time =).   I was still the palest one on the beach. Whatevskis, my people are from the North (Pescara, Abruzzo).Oh, and as I was laying out on the beach all of one time, I was silently snickering to myself at the song I created in my head to describe Italian beach-goers. You must sing it to the tune of "Do Your Ears Hang Low": Do your rolls hang low, do they wobble to and fro? Can you scrunch 'em up in bunches, can you shake 'em like jello? Can you throw 'em over your shoulder and be proud of all that pasta? Do your rolls hang low?

Now about that ^. Ridiculousness aside, I find it admirable that men and women just let it be without any anxiety of their appearance in public. Their perception of modesty definitely does not mirror that of the American tradition (but hey, that was just a Dream anyway <Shout out to Paul Rogalus goes here), but that could just be because we are all afraid of being anything but anorexic in front of everyone (wait...we're afraid of that too).  But in the south of Italia, there's bikinis and Speedos for all! (Well, some short shorts for guys). Their lack of concern is again, definitely admirable, and also, um, hard to look away from when a hunky regazzo struts by in what I can only describe as a 'masculine' version of  low rise bikini bottoms, crack-attack and all.

Finally for now, I'd like to end by saying karma has been on my side. Things have worked out when I've needed them to, and I've been able to be patient with the few annoyances and culture shockage (is this relatable for you? <Shout out to Liz Ahl goes here =P Yes I know that's not a word).

I'm not sure why, but perhaps to pay my karma forward, I gave a male beggar in la piazza ten pounds of excess luggage I didn't want to carry to Perugia so he could sell my stuff and hopefully get some money for food. But I was especially affected by a homeless old lady asking for change in the same piazza a day earlier. I took out a box of granola bars I had just bought and gave them to her. She was extremely gracious. It made me feel slightly appalled that in the States, if you give a homeless person some food in Cambridge during the National Poetry Slam, as did a good samaritan poet/emcee by the name of Michael DiTomasso (obvious shout out...), the down-and-out group may consider robbing you for drug money. But here, people are gracious for what you go not so out of your way to give. Pay it forward around the world. I still wear that bracelet, not because I'm trying to earn good karma, but because it makes me happy to see poor old ladies find joy in a box of granola bars. She could have been la mia nonna (my grandmother). Nonna, why must you beg? You sit there with your sign up, hands out, you are old. Vecchio. I think you are hungry for justice, or maybe just something from il supermercato. Here you go, nonna. Prego. Take my kiss blown your way. I'll keep your smile for collateral until you remind me of all the crumbs of memories that make you happy. Gratzie, nonna. Grazie. (<Shout out to Kristen Russell here just because I'm thinking of you and how we would read this in a ridonculous voice in the Poets office and would find ways to make fun of it)

Finally for real, in Gaeta, I was living in the present. Be here now. It's a solid mantra I've always tried to keep, and often lost and found and lost and found again. Now in Perugia, the culture and the language are also constantly here, as I am trying to be. I'm floating onwards towards adapting to this city, one day at a time. I don't like the nonexistence of mattress pads, or sheets with a thread count of two, or only small backpacks sold which are made for a smaller culture, or the additional nonexistence of yoga mats and dryer sheets. But hey, I love this opportunity (mi amo), this experience of me scaring the shit out of myself on purpose, and consciously living outside of my comfort zone. I'm here to learn, and I plan to keep doing that everyday, just like always =). (<Shout outs here to Liv, Savy and P... I miss you!)

Pace/Paz/Peace,
Haley