Speechless

            There are the occasional moments when life offers us an experience so magnificent that it exceeds the boundaries of language – a site so beautiful, a moment so moving, an interaction so meaningful that we are left speechless.  It is in these moments that words escape us because the only words we have would diminish the experience.  It would be as if I drew a stick figure interpretation of the Pietà and expected those who saw only my drawing to be overwhelmed by its beauty. 

            I have not shared much about my town with you, and for that, I am sorry.  I will try my best to explain Perugia, but much to the point of this post, words cannot paint an accurate picture of this city.  Nonetheless… Perugia is a university town, in the words of the locals.  The other students, however, do not begin school until the end of September and for the primary and secondary school students, October.  This has left the study abroad students to explore without much help from local students.  There is a town center (il centro) where a beautiful fountain sits surrounded by stone buildings in which one finds the Cathedral of San Lorenzo, a retired town hall, a three-story art gallery, a museum (much to my chagrin, I couldn't tell you what is in the museum), and a variety of small shops and restaurants.  My school sits on the second and third floors of a building behind the fountain.  Its screenless windows offer a view below to the fountain and down the main street that is called Corso Vannucci.  This street runs from Piazza IV Novembre (where the fountain is found) to Piazza Italia with a small park, a bus loop, and government buildings that sit with colossal elegance near the edge of the cliff from which can be viewed the lower part of the city, the distant mountains and Cyprus tree ranges, and the small towns that dot the horizon, including Assisi.  Parallel to Corso Vannucci is a long street, whose name I would wager nobody knows, with many shops, small supermarkets, and cars that skillfully avoid the pedestrians and their leash-free dogs that meander through the street.  Connecting these two parallel streets are many small alleys with boutiques, gelaterie, and restaurants.  Surrounding these areas are countless streets that lead one away from the center with the reminder that to return, she will have to climb back UP the stairs.  Nonetheless, the climb is always worth it for the delicious Italian cuisine to be had or the breathtaking view to be admired at the end of the steps.

            Last evening, I decided to take a short detour on the way home from the supermarket.  As I neared the walls at the top of the hill, I looked out at the lower part of Perugia, the misty horizon, and the beautiful contrast of red roofs against the distant green mountains.  The clouds were thick and heavy but from one of them was a large ray of light that shone down at an angle toward the city.  In this ray was a small but thick band of a rainbow whose bright colors popped against the dark grey clouds.  I was speechless.  I was blessed with this view simply because I had taken a detour, and at that moment was overwhelmed with gratitude and a feeling of how small we are.

            Such has been my exploring of Perugia when class is not in session.  Most evenings I have spent walking the city a few times over with friends to find our favorite place for aperitivi, the best view of the sunset, the cutest bar (in Italy, "caffe" is solely the word for coffee and it is bought at a bar), or the cheapest supermarket to support my newly developed Ricotta addiction.  Many weekdays and most weekends there are small markets with all types of artisanal goods from fresh and aged pecorino to hand-painted pottery.  It is in these small stores and at these markets where I have had many conversations that have challenged, confused, and embarrassed me.

            I came to Perugia with the ability to say "Hello," "I don't speak Italian," and "I'm allergic to gluten," three phrases that I deemed most important to my initial survival.  I think, most inconveniently, that my ear for languages and my ability to pick up an Italian accent (Señor Sosa, I still can't roll my Rs), mistakenly convinced locals that I could understand them.  I have had to explain a few times that I do not speak Italian when the server looked to me to translate what she said for the rest of the table.  Although I can now understand more than when I first arrived, it is, of course, a process and I am by no means even at elementary proficiency in my Italian.  There is, however, one phrase that I said once and only once since arriving:  "Inglese, per favore?"  I did not make that mistake again.

            In a town where many locals speak only Italian, it was at first overwhelming (especially for someone who has to ask if everything has gluten in it) to order something to eat.  One of the first evenings, my friend and I stumbled upon a creperie where we found gluten-free crepes made with Italian meats, cheeses, and vegetables…but knowing what they were and ordering them felt impossible.  I approached the cashier and explained (at least I hope this is what I said) that we are students from America and don't speak Italian well.  I intended my next sentence to be, "Do you possibly speak English?" but I had no clue how to say this.  The only words I could find were "English please?"  Her smile widened but from kindness to pity and we received a curt, "NO. L'italiano, per favore."  In that moment, I realized how presumptuous it had been for me to ask a local Italian to speak English for us.  Although this was in no way my intention, these were the only words I had.  I was ashamed and embarrassed that I had seemed like I wanted something handed easily to me.  This is not what I wanted, but it was all that I could say.  Words eluded me.  I had no idea how to say anything more.  I quickly remembered the way to say "I'm sorry," and mustered the courage to speak again.  Everything I said to her from that moment forward was an attempt at Italian.  It was not perfect, and I'm sure most of it did not make sense.  I could say only very basic things, but nonetheless I was trying.

            I could tell by her smile that my "Grazie per la sua pazienza!" (Thank you for your patience!) meant so much more to her than being able to read the menu and order perfectly.  I was trying, and that was all that she wanted.  As someone who relishes meeting others and learning their stories, I was disappointed that I could not learn more about the shop owner.  I wanted to ask where she was from, if she had lived here for a long time, and if she had children.  I wanted to explain that we were students and were here for one semester studying Italian and other classes for our majors.  But in this moment, all I could say was thank you and walk away smiling at my embarrassment and the lesson that it taught me.  This moment was a gift.  The shop owner's demand that I speak Italian did not require that I understand her, nor did it require me to be fluent.  It did, however, demand that I try.  I had no words for what I wanted to say, but I had an understanding now of my place in this town.  I would be welcomed, and I would be helped, but I would not be coddled.  This challenge is exactly what I want.

            When a moment is wrapped in embarrassment and defeat, do not assume that it is devoid of a valuable lesson.  I have had many encounters since this first one where I could not explain what I wanted to say because I didn't have the words.  I have tried, however, and I have asked for help (in Italian) because "Non posso parlare l'italiano molto bene, ma voglio imparare."  I cannot speak Italian very well, but I want to learn.  These moments when I have been left speechless have each been a gift.  They didn't unfold as I admired the horizon from the end of Corso Vannucci nor did they leave me feeling blessed because I saw something rare.  They did, however, much like last night's beautiful sunset, remind me of my place and ground me in my humanity.  The world is larger than we are.  Certain moments exceed in significance the sum of our entire lives.  Our words are rarely enough, and our language is not superior.  It allows us at times to share with others what we have experienced and at other times prevents us from communicating our entire sentiment.  Despite disappointment, defeat, or embarrassment, language allows us to connect with others.  For connection's sake, I shall not stop trying.

Blessings,
Sarah 

If you look closely at the horizon behind the bell tower, there is a small segment of a rainbow,
but I couldn't capture it well with my camera.  Apparently, words and pictures sometimes both fail to capture a moment!

Sitting with Homesickness

Within a week I was sitting on my bed crying because I missed home, something I've never done before despite having been on my own.  It was a gentle cry, a soft yearning for something to which I had said goodbye just a week before.  It wasn't nostalgia, nor was it discomfort elicited by a lack of things from home. No, that day, I was simply lonely. So I did some chores, and I did my homework for the weekend, and I ignored the voice that told me to invite friends to go find something to do in town. Thankfully, I also ignored the voice telling me to call home and tell my family how much I missed them. That would have to wait because I just wasn't up for that conversation. As I finished up what I had to do around home, I dried my own tears and let my mind wander. I could have wasted time trying to figure out what was making me feel lonely, but I knew that that would lead only to me figuratively kicking myself for feeling that way when I am here. Instead, I embraced this feeling as a blessing and began to realize how seldom it is that we are fully cognizant of our emotions. Today, I was lonely. And today, I wouldn't ignore that feeling.

When I allowed myself to acknowledge and accept that I was lonely, I learned a lot about myself as much of a cliché as that might seem. First, I realized that loneliness didn't mean I was doing something wrong.  It wasn't this emotion against which I was supposed to guard myself but was unsuccessful because I was weak. No, loneliness, I learned, is a human emotion that I was feeling simply because I'm human.

When I allowed myself to acknowledge and accept that I was lonely, I learned also that I am completely and independently responsible for my happiness. There was no big event that day with which I could busy myself, no television that was playing in the background while I was doing my laundry (although that's rarely the case at home...), and my host mom had gone to a neighboring town for the day. I had a choice to make. I could stay in my apartment and think about what is making me lonely, or I could figure out what would make me happy and do it. And so I did. I worked out followed by a walk around the city and decided to go to the farmer's market in town without asking anyone to go along. I did run into a friend in town and she came with me, but I had been fine with being alone. Realizing that I was okay with being alone even when I was lonely was a surprisingly satisfying feeling.

On the way home, I stopped by the snack bar where I see Paulo, the elderly shop owner, everyday on my walk home from school. I never buy anything from his store but stop in everyday for a pat on the cheek, a warm smile, and a kind and patient conversation in which he helps me practice my Italian. Today, when he asked "How are you, Bellissima?" instead of the usual "Sto bene," I told him that I was homesick and missed my family. He gently smiled and told me that it wasn't so and that Perugia was here. Knowing that I have started to feel like I have a family here so quickly, even if it isn't the same as home, is rather comforting and beautiful. This helped me to realize that even though I was able to rely on myself, having support from others never hurts.

For brevity's sake, I won't create a list of the ten things I learned. I think the above sums it up well. I was lonely, and I embraced it, learned from it, and refused to ignore it. I am not weak for being lonely but rather strong for embracing it.  Sitting with loneliness taught me to sit even more comfortably with myself.

L'arrivo in Italia

          I'm sitting on the balcony of my host mom's apartment which overlooks an overgrown garden.  A cool breeze is blowing, whispering – if I listen closely – the first mention of autumn and bringing with it a much coveted respite from the unrelenting Italian sun.  In the garden of the neighboring apartment behind a small wall, a lady is doing laundry while her dogs lie beneath a table, their naps disturbed only when their ears twitch at the buzz of a fly.  Somewhere near, I hear the voices of three locals discussing whatever it is that gives their voices such an enthusiastic trill, but I am privy to neither who they are nor what they are saying.  I can presume from the clinking of utensils that their conversation is second in importance to the "pranzo" they are enjoying during the afternoon "pausa."  My classmates and I have quickly learned to embrace the time between 1:00 and 4:00 p.m. as a time to enjoy each other's company which in Italian translates into everything except restaurants and cafes or bars closing for a three hour break each afternoon.  I could get used to this… But before I enjoy a stroll or rather a hike through the hills of the city, I will let you all know how things have been since I arrived. 

           

            If time ever blurs the details of my travels to Perugia, I hope that I can recall – for memory's sake – the exhaustion that accompanied the first couple of days.  After a seven-and-a-half hour flight arriving in Rome at 9:30 a.m., I finally found others studying abroad.  Leaving the airport by bus an hour later was finally able to offer some rest.  The two-and-a-half hour bus ride proved to be a battle between my desire to sleep and my determination to see every part of the landscape that whizzed by the window, making my grand total of sleep in the first two days one hour.  We spent the night in Perugia's beautiful Hotel Gio (pronounced "Joe") where we were treated to our first four-course Italian dinner.  That evening, many of the other students went in pursuit of grocery stores where they could find cheap wine, but all I desperately wanted was water, and so the first euros I spent were on bottled water, although wine would have been surprisingly cheaper.  Having visited Italy before, the wine snob in me knew that the better wine would be worth the wait…

            The next morning, we traveled by taxis and shuttles to the center of Perugia, higher on the hill, where I met my host mom.  I will dedicate an entire other blog post to my adventures with Luciana, but for now I will summarize by saying she is absolutely wonderful.  With the help of her English-speaking friend, we were able to make a basic introduction.

            In terms of class, the first week was spent in orientations, information sessions, and intensive Italian classes.  I was reminded of my very first days as a middle-school student in Senor Sosa's Spanish class where only Spanish was spoken and we were forced to sink or swim. Thankfully, technology provides a bit of a safety net in that we can quickly muster a very rough translation if necessary when no other way of communicating is possible.  Our other classes began this past Monday, and I can already tell it will be an interesting semester.  With Intensive Elementary Italian every morning and countless opportunities to practice throughout the day and evening, I hope to have enough instruction to be able to carry a conversation by the end of my semester.  Besides learning the Italian language, I am also taking a class about the history and culture of food in Italy and a class on the politics of the European Union.  Instead of boring you with class material, I will instead share that the professor of the former is from England while the professor of my European Union class is from Italy.  Both have accents as thick as their enthusiasm for their areas of expertise.  I've had only two classes so far with both of them, but I am sure that I will be writing more on this topic soon.

            I see now that the lady has finished hanging her laundry and hear no longer the clink of dishes nor the excited voices of the elusive neighbors as the afternoon pausa nears its end.  This reminds me that even in Italy, rest must be balanced with work and that I have one more class before my weekend begins.  Before I meet my research advisor for my class, I will take a walk through town.  Mustering the desire to climb the hills of Perugia is easy on a beautiful day such as today.  A presto, miei amici!

Blessings,
Sarah