Thursday, May 29, 2008

Italians and English

Before we packed our bags and headed off for Frankfurt last week, we realized the importance of having Jared with us. Jared has taken German since he was in the seventh grade, so it was nice having him on our team. He would be our dipolmat, our communicator, the one who could get us out of potentially sticky situations. When we walked up to our hotel, Jared spoke German to the clerk. Immediatley, she replied in English. She could tell by his accent that he was American. This was a common theme throughout the trip. We would go somewhere and attempt to speak the language, and people would simply respond in English. It seemed like they did not want to waste their time attempting to communicate through a language barrier.

On the other hand, in Rome it seems like no one speaks English. When I go to cafes, pizza shops, or restaurants, if I blurt something out in English, they shoot me a confused or annoyed look. To this day I still do not know if they are mad at me or genuinely lost by my words. They usually follow with a question in Italian, and this usually ends with me giving them the same exact look back. It's a vicious cycle, but I kind of enjoy and look foward the complications as weird as that sounds. Trying to communicate with people who do not understand me is like a puzzle or game; a game I usually lose. Sadly, this may be a game to me, but to the poor Romans it is an exhausting chore.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Weather

Just last week, I was complaining about how the rain and cool weather was growing tiresome. I whined that I could not meander around the city without getting soaked and that Rome was not supposed to have this climate. However, a week later I am longing for that brisk weather. This proves the old adage, you always want what you can't have. I guess I was idealistically hoping for a pleasurable balance. Sunny days with a a few clouds and a slight breeze. Those perfect days where you can walk around for hours without feeling the least bit uncomfortable because of the gentle wind. Sadly, I think the days of the cozy spring days are long gone.

I am a firm believer that excessive heat is blessed with the ability to drive people insane. People become confrontational, irritable, edgy, and petulant. For years I have witnessed this craziness as a caddy in Philadelphia. On the hot and humid days, generally nice guys complain for hours about slow play, get upset over pretty good shots, and even throw clubs. I truly feel that this primal behavior stems from people tiring of the scorching ball of fire the looms from above in the summer. Without air condition in our apartment or at school, I am scared that I may slip into a state of senility as the summer progresses. I have always had the luxury of air condition at home, so this next month without it may be the biggest culture shock that I will face on this trip.

Street Walking

When I first arrived in Rome, crossing streets was quite the ordeal. I was certain that at some point a car would hit me; I just prayed that it would not be too bad. The streets are jam-packed with cars like an American city, the only difference is that in Rome there are no apparent rules for driving. This is especially true for the Vespas. As cars are stopped at a red light, the bikers shoot past them and lead the pack of automobiles. When the little walking man flashes green, it is your turn to walk on the crosswalk. At first, I would jump up out of fear everytime while crossing because a Vespa would speed up right where I was walking, always halting in the nick of time.

Initially, I would look at them in shock thinking that they were erratic drivers who despised pedestrians. Through their facial expressions, they would tell me that these roads are meant for driving. As the weeks have progressed, I have become accustomed to the daily chaos in the streets. Now when the motorcycles zip close to me, I am undaunted by them and barely even flinch. Instead of waiting for the green walk man at crosswalks, I have become like the Romans who just bolt out whenever they feel like crossing. Their motto: the cars will stop for us. It is liberating to not fear being hit, but it is also a little troublesome. With one false move, there is a decent chance that my confidence will fail me and it could end horribly. This proves that being confident is not always a good thing.

Aira Condizionata

Compared to last week, which was unseasonably cool and rainy, this weather feels like a hot August day back in Philadelphia. Tuesday was by far the worst. We had a long walk to a few churches yesterday, and by the end of our trek my shirt was soaked and sweat was dripping down my face and back. I was craving a nice long shower to cool me down, but sadly we had more class in the afternoon. Our classroom is right next to some very busy streets, so in order to hear everyone we have to close the windows. It obviously gets even hotter and more uncomfortable. I am scared to see what this classroom will be like by the end of the summer.

While walking home, I walked by Gi-Ma and for the first time I noticed that all the doors were closed at this hour. Curious about this, I walked up to the door and noticed in small red and white print on the glass doors, "Aira Condizionata." Ah, air condition; something that is even better than the cold showers at our apartment. Our showers often feel more like sleet attacking your back than something soothing, so I decided to go in for a minute and cool down. This was around 5 PM, and this was the highest volume of people that I have ever seen in Gi-Ma. To go along with this, for the first time almost everyone was willing to pay a little extra to sit down at the tables while enjoying the artificial coolness. Businessmen in suits were eating paninis and drinking water while fanning themselves. Little kids were running around being little kids. Some couples were sitting at a table just conversing about their respective days over a cafe latte. Everyone was just trying to forget the excessive heat from earlier and relax in a nice, cool place. This was the first truly hot day of the summer, so I am sure that the Romans even need some time to adjust to the intense warmth.

What a fool I am

I have a theory about the Italian restaurants cafes. If it is packed with Americans, stay away. If it is packed with Romans, you stumbled upon a hidden gem. Luckily, right around the corner from our school is Remo's Pizzeria, a small little store that is nothing special to look at. The same man (is it Remo?!) works behind the counter every day, and each day he concocts a different yet equally delicous kind of pizza. Some of the the slices are rather exotic for the typcial American. For example, one that he makes often features eggs, prosciutto, and a paprika-like condiment sprinkled on top of the mozzerella.

Instead of paying by the slice, you tell him how big of a piece you want, usually via hand signals, then he weighs it and tells yow how much you owe. I thought I had this method down to a science, but yesterday I severely botched the order and embarrassed myself in front of my favorite pizza chef. I only had one euro in my pocket but was hungry, so I ask for one euro worth of the cheese pizza. Subconsciously, my four years of high school Spanish seeped into my brain and I blurted out "Uno euro, por favor" as I pointed to the cheese pizza. The man shot me a puzzled look, so I repeated, "Uno Euro, por favor." This time, he looked even more confused and irritated. Brian was standing next to me, so I gave him my own puzzled look. Brian softly whispered, "Spanish," and I finally realized the err or my ways.

The man finally intervened and said, "No. No 'uno.' Es un, un." My face started to turn bright red. As I stated earlier, this is a popular spot for the Italians so I imagined that he was incredibly frustrated over this American kid who thinks that Italian and Spanish are the same language.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Food Differences

Growing up in a completely Italian household has made me love pasta, meatballs, sausage, pork, and everything that we think of as Italian food. However, after arriving in Rome I realized fairly quickly that Italian food in Rome is not very similar to the American version. Here, there are no meatballs, I have seen sausage only on a few menus, and there is no such thing as chicken or veal parmesan. In Rome, the typical choices for food is some variation of pasta, pizza with exotic toppings, or a panini. To go along with this, most of the panini stands and shops offer only one type of meat, prosciutto. As a result, before going to Germany I was craving some delicious meat filled platters that I could gorge.

In Germany, we would stop at basically every vendor and restaurant that we saw to partake in some gluttony. All of the food was incredible. The potatoes were crispy. The sausages were tender and moist. It was everything I hope it would be. Not eating enough meat for two weeks as left me craving protein, so Germany was the perfect cure for this. I ate so much schnitzle, sausages, and brats that hopefully it should hold me for at least a couple more weeks. Until then, it is back to my diet of Italian foods.

Italy vs. Germany

Before heading over the Frankfurt, I thought that it would be a city like New York because of all the hustle and bustle that is so common in major business districts. Frankfurt is one of the main business centers in all of Europe, but if you walked around not know this you would not believe it. On Friday around noon, there were no people in the business areas and it resembled more of a ghost town than a major financial district. There were very few cars on the road, and not too many people on the street in the downtown areas. Granted this was a Friday, but it was early in the afternoon so it was suprising to see only a handful of suits with briefcases. Perhaps Frankfurt is different than the U.S. Maybe they get out extremely early. Nonetheless, this did suprise me.

After getting back to Rome around 10 PM, I immediatley noticed the differences between the two cities. It was pretty late on a Sunday, yet the roads were still packed with cars and Vespas, and there were a decent amount of people walking around. On Moday morning, I was overwhelmed by the mass amounts of people on the street because I became accustomed to the lax German attitude after spending just over two days there. The people in Germany walk and drive slower compared to Italians. In Rome, constantly you are being bumped into and passed by speed-walking pedestrians who are usually in a rush for no apparent reason. Although we flew for just two hours north of Rome, the two cultures are completely different. I kind of like the German easy-going ways because they never seemed rushed and it was more peaceful.

Caffeine

Before coming to Rome, I never thought that I would see a culture who guzzles as much caffeine as Americans. On the way to work, nearly everyone stops by a Dunkin' Donuts or a Starbucks to get the shot of adrenaline that they need to get through another macabre workday. Then during the day, the best way to escape from the dreaded cubicle is to get up and visit the coffee room. However, after going to Cafe Gi-Ma a few times during our lunch break, I see some of the same people there again ordering paninis and another shot of espresso. Italians love their coffee as much as the average American, and they must also get drained from their workdays just like us. Watching people in suits suck down an espresso in order to make it through the long and hot afternoon hours of work. I even think that the hours around noon may even be busier than in the mornings. But this is probably because we usually go around 8:45 AM, so most of the people are already at their jobs.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Analyzing the Romans

I have fallen into a routine with my favorite cafe, but I am curious to see how the actual Italians approach these shops, particular in the morning. Every now and then, I change it up a bit and get a cafe latte. The lattes are great at Gi-Ma, they fill it with whipped cream and then pour some chocolate syrup on the top which makes for quite the delectable shot of energy that I need in order to scrape by the early morning sessions. However, I go there basically every day during the week and I have not seen one Italian order anything other than espressos. This intriques me, as I thought everyone loves a little variety in life, but thus far I have not seen them stray away from their ways. Maybe I have just been there at bad times, but I wonder if they do drink anything else. One of these mornings, I am going to sit there for an extended period of time and really analyze what they eat and drink and how the interact with the workers.

On a positive note about the cafe, the woman behind the counter who works there every morning has begun to recognize us. Every morning, she shoots us a wide smile and tries to converse with us as much as possible. I know that has the days and weeks pass we will become even more familiar with each other.

The Vatican

Today while at the Vatican, which is spectacular by the way, I experienced different type of Roman congestion: the hoardes of tourists waiting in line at the entrance to the smallest country in the world. When we first got to the Vatican at around 9 AM, it was not quite pakced yet so we were able to move around freely and see everything without many problems. However, after some of us were finished walking around the tombs of the popes, we walked outside but made a wrong turn somewhere. Because of the error, we ended up outside of the Vatican and in order to get back in we had to wait in a line that almost reached to the entrance of the city. I wanted to go back in, so I figured that the line would move somewhat swiftly but I was wrong. As more and more people began piling up behind me, I was overwhelmed but the amount of different languages that were being spoken and the sheer volume of people in a condensed area. After realizing that the line was moving at the speed of a slow crawl, I finally gave up and headed home. At least I know I will go back there soon to see everything, so I was not too upset.

Shelter

For the last three-four days, Rome has been bombarded with sudden down-pours and perpetual cloudy skies. Before coming, I was expecting every day to be filled with sunshine and sweltering heat, but so far it has been semi-cool and overcast. I am not complaining about the temperature, but I would like to see the sun a little more. This weather has directly influenced the number of people who go in to the Gi-Ma Cafe during the days. Last week, there was always a steady flow of customers who would come in and out quickly to get a quick bite or coffee. But this week, the afternoon rainstorms has meant that there have been more people packed inside Gi-Ma because they are seeking shelter from the horrendous weather. Instead of being able to casually stroll to the counter and order something, I need to wiggle my way in and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the people on both sides of me as I eat. Although this has made my lunch a little more hectic, I am sure the owners of the cafe do not mind this weather because it means more business for them.

The Morning Commute

Yesterday morning, I actually slept later than 6:30 which was a first for me this trip. However, the ramifacation of sleeping-in meant that I actually had to take the tram for the first time in the morning. I did not think this would be a problem, but as I waited at the stop and saw the tram pull closer and closer to me, I quickly realized how crowded they get during the morning rush hour. Trying to squeeze in was extremely difficult as there were not many places to move or stand. It was almost like everyone was playing human Tetris, just tryng to fit their bodies into tight spaces somehow. To make matters worse, the roads were full of traffic, so the tram took about 20 minuntes to get to the last stop. Also, we are one of the earlier stops, so as the trip progressed it got more and more crowded. Finally, we reached the end and I got off the tram with sweat tripping down my face. With so many people there, it got extremely hot and uncomfortable. I have been on congested public transportation vehicles before, like the Philadelphia and NYC subways, but there were so many people crammed in that I actually felt uneasy. Needless to say, from now on I am going to try my best to continue waking up early instead of having to deal with jam-packed tram.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Bingo con't

Although Jared winning was probably the highlight of our night, the real reason that bingo was so much fun for us was the two Italian women seated next to us. At first, we thought they knew at least a little English, but we quickly noticed that they did not understand one word we said. This led to an interesting and hilarious night, as we would try to communicate as we flipped through Jared's English-Italian translation book. The pinnacle was when we attempted to order some French fries for the table. After finally figuring out what the Italian equivalent for our nation's favorite appetizer, the women next to us began to laugh hysterically about the name "French fries." Although I could not understand completely, they seemed shocked that we would name a food that is so immersed in our culture after another country. The fries were delicious, they were the thick kind where you can actually taste the potato. The only problem is that they do not use ketchup in Italy. We asked the women, and they seemed surprised that people would dip their fries in ketchup. Instead, the only condiment we received was mayonnaise, which was equally as shocking to us. All in all, it was a very fun night because we were able to have legitimate, albeit choppy and unpredictable, with two Italians who helped us with words, pronunciations, and fed us little tidbits about he culture.

Jared Penn is my hero

Whilst sitting around bored on a Monday night bored because we have no TV or internet, Brian had a stroke of genius. The other day while walking to get gellatos, we passed by a Bingo parlor not thinking much of it. Brian suggested we go, as we needed something to cure the malaise that we were all experiencing. Myself, Jared, and Brian went to the parlor not knowing what to expect. As we walked down the corridor and stairwell into the main bingo hall, we expected the building to be packed with screaming Italian senior citizens, because everyone knows that screaming seniors and bingo is like Forest Gump and Jenny. However, upon entering the main room that was musky from all of the chain-smokers, we realized that this was pretty serious. After finding our seat in a booth next to two middle-aged Italian women, we were thrilled to learn that single tickets were only one euro, so we were headed for a night of cheap, innocent fun. The Italian man reading the bingo balls rattled off the numbers so quickly, so initially it was hard to find the numbers on our slips. Although I ended up losing close to ten euro for the night, the real champion ended up being Jared. In about his sixth game, Jared won the grand prize and turned his one euro into a whopping 140, which he said would pay for the trip to Paris that he just booked. When his last number was called, we all enthusiastically jumped in the air and screamed bingo, not even caring about the scene we just made. Thankfully, everyone there smiled at us because they knew it just made our night.

Soccer Game

While watching the Roma game in the street, an Italian man wearing a maroon and gold Roma shirt approached Cole, Brian, and I and started asking us questions about what had happened in the game thus far. This seemed unusual to me, as clearly we look like Americans by the way we dress, walk, act, and even stand, so why out of a crowd of nearly 100 people in the street would he ask us? Then it hit me, I look like a citizen here. So far, multiple times random Romans at bars, on the tram, or on the streets have tried having a civilized chat with me, the only problem is that I do not know the language. After they find this out, they typically roll their eyes and turn around in disgust. I am not quite sure yet if they are annoyed at me for being an American or if they are just embarrassed for the mistake. Regardless, because of my looks and if I am dressed appropriately, I know that this misconception will not be uncommon, so at least this will give me some practice in cross-language conversation.

Monday, May 19, 2008

how i wish i was a rich man

On Sunday afternoon after watching the Roma game with some real Italian soccer fanatics, we decided to go for a walk in the area around the Campo. After getting somewhat lost and wandering around aimlessly for an hour or so, we ended up on the road that leads to the Spanish Steps. Most people are amazed by the steps, which truly are a sight to behold, but something else caught my attention: the designer stores on the street. Now granted, I know nothing about fashion. My idea of getting dressed up is wearing a pair of jeans and some t-shirt that I found at the bottom of one of my drawers, but these stores were unreal. Out of pure curiosity, we went in to the Gucci store just to see how much a suit cost. Upon entering the glass doors, I suddenly realized that I was wearing shorts and one of my aforementioned so-stylish t-shirts. The woman who was working kind of shot me an awkward look, so I immediatly put my head down and made a direct and swift move to the stairs that led to the men's department. After navigating through the store, I finally found the suit department. The first suit I looked at was a black pinstripe three-piece suit. The price: a modest 1400 euro. The second suit was an all black, and upon feeling the material, I realized that the appeal to these fine suits is that you would feel as if you were walking around so freely, almost like you were not wearing anything. This suit was even more expensive, selling for 1600 euro. Sheepishly, I left the store knowing that I really did not belong there. Someday, after I hit the lottery, I will be the most stylish man in the world after I stock my wardrobe with suits that are worth even more money.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

crowded streets

Since day one, or for that matter even before I made my trek overseas, I was bombarded with warnings about the thieves and scoundrels whom possess the ability to accurately pinpoint a tourist and rob them blindly. We were taught to be leery of the pick-pocketers that are supposedly lurking in every back-alley and crowded street in Rome, but so far I have not had or seen any problems. With the aforementioned population density that is omnipresent every morning, day, and night, occasionally I catch myself peering over my shoulders afraid that my valuables will be snatched without me ever noticing. Being cautious about pick-pocketers a culture shock to me, as I have gladly become attached to the friendly confines of State College, where the fear of crime somehow exceeds the scope of being considered an afterthought. However, so far there have been no problems and hopefully there will be none, as that could put a serious damper on my trip.

my cafe

The Gi-Ma Café, located about two blocks from my classroom, is a little larger inside than most of the other cafes that I have strolled past, but it still maintains a quaint and welcome feeling. For a little lover a euro, you can buy either a café latte or an espresso along with a freshly baked pastry. In an earlier post, I already professed my undying love for the coffees here in Rome, so this time I will turn my attention to the pastries. I have been to Gi-Ma about four times since I arrived in Rome, and each time I have treated myself to a different pastry each time, and each one can be described a culinary perfection in my humble opinion. I am no food connoisseur, but I do believe that these are the finest pastries that I have ever gorged, and I will miss these when I go back to the states.

local market

For barely learning any Italian in the three days that I have been here, going to the local outdoor market in Campo di Fiori to buy some food was a bold move to say the least. Thankfully, Jared and his one semester of Italian accompanied me on my excursion. Walking through a throng of customers and vendors screaming and bartering with each other what overwhelming at first, but after getting over the initial shock I was mentally ready to buy some meat and cheese. With Jared standing by my side and an English-Italian translator ready in case of an emergency, we sheepishly approached an elevated booth where an older woman peered down at us, and we began to order. Promptly, we realized that she spoke no English, so it was time to improvise. Attempting to nail the pronunciation down as good as possible, we asked for a “meta” (half) kg of prosciutto and a “quarto” (quarter) kg of mozzarella. After a few failures, repeats, and clarifications, she finally comprehended what we were saying and we got a good amount of food for a modest 15 euros.

My new love

The coolest part about Rome to me so far is the cafes, which offer delicious coffee, quick service with a smile, and generally friendly banter between the server and I. Of course, I do not speak much Italian so our conversations are usually choppy and feature lots of hand motioning. Although the friendliness is a nice aspect to these places, it is unimportant because the crown jewel of these little shops is the coffee. My taste buds experience sheer bliss with each sip of an espresso or cafe latte. Although small, only about 2-3 inches high, the taste of an espresso would make any American coffee aficionado profess his undying love for Italian cafes. After going to these places, I do not think that I will ever be able to go to a Starbucks or American coffee shop again. Unlike those places, these shops are generally fairly priced and offer scrumptious food also. As a result, I am going to frequent the same café and observe the everyday happenings. Hopefully I will be able to analyze the daily interactions that occur in the café for both the average Italian looking for some morning coffee and us students.

Friday, May 16, 2008

The City Life

I feel like I am in New York City. The cars. The hoardes of people. The constant brushing up on people as you try to squeeze by on a crowded street. The only difference is the smell. Unlike most major U.S. cities, Rome lacks to ungodly stench that frequent its American counterparts. This amazes me because the density of rome greatly surpasses any American metropolitan. With 50 million tourists coming every year, the streets are perpetually crowded with both tourists and locals, and I am able to witness this every day as I casually walk 45 miuntes to and from school every day. As I meander down the sidewalks, which are about a quarter the size of the typcial American sidewalk that I am accustomed to, I get bumped and walk into people constantly. But soon enough I know I will get used to both the auto and pedestrian traffic that accomponies this beautiful city.

Welcome to Rome

Welcome friends, this is where i will attempt to channel my inner Hunter S. Thompson and dive into the realm of gonzo journalism via this blog. However, unlike Mr. Thompson I hope that I can provide everyone with my insight and vivid descripitions of Rome without the aid of drug-induced hallucinations. First, I would like to detail my initial encounters with the local Romans, on whom I cannot help but feel that I am intruding on every day. Like the stereotypical American elitist, I came to this country with absolutely no knowledge of the Italian language or customs because I was raised to think that the American lifestyle is the only lifestyle. Naturally, my first conversations with the Italians were awkwardly hilarious to say the least. On this blog, I will continue to update the progress of effort to pick up little nuances of the language over the coming weeks, which will hopefully lead to an improvement in my Italian social skills.