Let me tell you about le zanzare. Le zanzare are the mosquitoes. There are lots of them. Also, Italian windows don’t have screens—so when you open the window (and the windows are these magnificently tall, heavy, wood-and-glass affairs that swing open), it’s OPEN. This can be useful: after dinner is cleared off the table, we simply bundle up the tablecloth, stick it out the window, and shake it clean (there is a sort of cement streambed about 10 feet down on that side of the house, so we don’t even need to worry about dumping dinner crumbs on some poor pedstrian); you can also stick your head out and admire the stunning vistas of mountains in the distance (or the neighbors’ vegetable garden!). However, it also means that there are as many mosquitoes INSIDE the house as there are outside; in fact, there are probably MORE inside, because that’s where all the lights and people are. It’s worse in the evening, especially at dinner time, and everyone in our house, including Emilia, detests le zanzare. This leads us to develop ever more elaborate and creative ways of getting rid of them. First, there’s the good old hand smack—NEVER against the wall, mind you, because then you’ll have a squashed mosquito on the whitewash (che schifo!)—always between two hands. The one-handing mid-air grab is more difficult to pull off, but much admired. Dinner is full of sudden SMACKs, and no one blinks an eye, except to ask “Preso?” (“Taken?”, ie, “did you get it?”). Then there’s the coil of some sort of mosquito-poison-incense that apparently smells horrible (I, thankfully, had a cold that night and couldn’t smell a thing). There are various contraptions that plug into the wall and give off a vapor or force field or something.
And then Emilia came home with the newest contraption the other day—a sort of electrified tennis racket. You turn it on, sweep it through the air, and the mosquitoes make a very satisfying sizzle. Demonstrate this to someone who has been futilely slapping at mosquitoes all week and her (no guys in our house) eyes light up; she then stalks around the table hunting mosquitoes, cackling and saying “HA!”. I think the best moment was at dinner several nights ago, when Emilia wound up perched on one foot on the bench at the table, trying to sneak up on a mosquito that kept landing juuuust out of reach on the wall. Tonight we decided that what we really need is a bat (as in the animal. Emilia had seen a TV program about how about a bat eats upwards of a thousand mosquitoes a night).
But it’s more or less a lost cause. There are always more of them. Or even if there’s only one, it buzzes right over your ear in the middle of the night. I’ve actually gotten rather good at pointedly ignoring my bug bites and not scratching them. But the fact remains that at night you have to choose between fresh air and the chance that leaving the windows shut might cut down on the mosquito population in your room.
All this so that you will understand why, when Emilia said something the other night at dinner about how if she opened her windows at night, i penguini would come into her room, I immediately assumed she was talking literally about some sort of small, annoying insect or animal. I knew the word for mosquito, and also squirrel, so I knew un penguino was neither of those (at this point, all of you have most likely thought of the obvious translation for the word penguino. So had I, but I discarded it as unlikely). I asked what un penguino was, and everyone else (faster on the uptake than I) tried to explain at once. You know, they said, those black and white birds (seagulls? I thought, trying to picture an invasion of seagulls through Emilia’s open window, in Florence? Surely not…) that can’t fly (but then how, I wondered, do they get in the window?). At this point I couldn’t think of any other bird that fit the description (short of ostrich, which was even more unlikely) besides the obvious, so I said, indignantly (in Italian) “But… penguins live at…” Yes, Emily, at the North Pole (or is it the South pole?), Emilia said, laughing, and Caitlin and Sophie (also giggling) chimed in to explain that this was a METAPHOR. Emilia meant that her room gets very cold (like the north pole) when she leaves the windows open at night.
I will now pause a moment to collect my poor, battered dignity.
. . .
But we all had a good laugh at my expense. And in my defense, it IS difficult to pick up on things like dry humor when you’ve has been concentrating all day on understanding even the literal meaning of all the words and phrases that aren’t yet in your (still limited) vocabulary.
And to all of you who are going to point out that I have been known to take things too literally on occasion even in English: Yes, yes, I know. But I mostly do that on purpose. Mostly.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Cooking classes, mosquito bites, and orange slippers
The bad news is that I am sick. My sore throat and runny nose are just the latest in a string of illness among the Smithies here in Florence--Giovanna says this always happens in the first few weeks, due to all the new foreign germs we're coming into contact with. The good news is that a) it's not that bad, I just feel kind of bleh (plus everyone is taking very good care of me, and I bought myself large quantities of kleenex on my way home), and, b) it means I have been all but ordered to stay home and rest this weekend. So I have time to update all you lovely people on what I've been up to, without feeling guilty about not being out and about seeing Important Landmark X or Talking to Italians and Making the Most of My Year Abroad, and all that.
Orientation classes started Monday, and continue until mid October, at which point regular classes at the Sede and UNIFI (the Florentine University) begin. For orientation, we have a daily Italian language lesson with Giovanna, as well as weekly or bi-weekly orientations to Florentine history, art (including field trips), and cooking! We also have a class called "in giro per Firenze" with a fabulous woman named Costanza, who I love already, and who also teaches the history of Costume and Fashion class in the fall. She is friendly and irreverant and enthusiastic and wears great outfits, and essentially we meander around Florence all evening, learning how to take the bus, where to go for the best ice cream, or good dancing, or cheap notebooks, where and how to get your train ticket validated, etc. I really want to take her class in the fall.
The cooking class is at Giovanna's house with a woman named Pam; essentially we cook lots of delicious food and then eat it. Actually, Pam cooks lots of delicious food, and we help (mostly with things like grating chocolate, or mixing ingredients, tasks that aren't easily messed up). This week the theme was a phrase I can't remember now, but translated roughly as "peasant food"--relatively simple dishes historically made by poorer families in the countryside. Two of the dishes were recipies that called for stale bread: Pappa al Pomodoro, a sort of porridge that reminded me of couscous, with onions, tomatoes, olive oil, peppers, etc.; and Panzanella, a delicious, tomato-sauce-and-stale-bread based savory dish. We also made Pollo in Fricassea, a dish that predates tomatoes in Italy, and hence has a sauce of nearly-raw egg, olive oil, minimal flour, salt, pepper, and parsely. It sounds odd, but it was REALLY good. And there was a white wine that went very well with it (yes, I am continuing to practice drinking alcohol with meals. This one I actually enjoyed enough to realize it went well with the chicken, but not the dessert). And the dessert was Tiramisù, which is technically not a peasant dish, but, I mean, really, how can you complain? My host mother also cooks well, and I am quickly running out of ways to say "this is really good!". I will have to work on my food vocabulary, since I've only been here a week, and it needs to last all year...
And the conversation (led by Pam) over this heavenly lunch (more accurately dinner in the middle of the day) of hers was as follows: vomit (and the details of how one of the students present can't eat much at the moment because it makes her do so), mosquito bites (of which we all have many), ticks, lyme disease, other types of bug bites, and (sorry) pus. This is very, very Italian. I am learning that for many Italians, the details of your (and everyone else's) health are considered public, and are perfectly valid dinner table conversation. And, oddly enough, it feels perfectly normal. It only occurred to me half way through lunch what, exactly, we'd been discussing so casually, at which point it was amusing rather than gross.
Finally, (and then enough, because this is getting long), some details about my host family, because I realized I got sidetracked in the last post. Sophia, Caitlin, and I are living with a woman named Emilia, who has two twin 21-year-old daughters who live elsewhere, but come home frequently for dinner and a visit. Francesca studies art (specifically sculpture) in Bolognia, while Leonora studies math (!) here in Florence. All three of them are lovely people, friendly and welcoming and easy-going. Emilia teaches karate to kids nearby, and the house (which is unusually large by Italian standards) is outside of Florence, towards Fiesole, about 20 minutes by bus. At some point we're going to try walking it, but Emilia says it'll take at least an hour, if not longer, so we're saving it for a day when we're not in a hurry. The area is not what I would call rural--we live on a somewhat busy street, with other houses and small businesses next to and across from us. There's an elementary school down the street, a free book swap table on the way to the bus stop (I found an elementary school math work book, to help with learning vocabulary!), and a lovely path a few blocks away that winds up through fields to a villa. And did I mention the view of the mountains from my window?
Each of us has our own room, and the three of share a bathroom. Each of the bedrooms has a color theme (not that the entire room and everything in it is that color--just enough to be a nice theme without over doing it): mine is red/yellow/orange, with a massive bunk bed; Caitlin's is blue, and Sophie's is green. Emilia got us each a pair of IKEA slippers that match our room colors.
I will send pictures of the house, of us, of various trips when I get a chance. At the moment they're all on my laptop, and I'm using Emilia's. Let me know if you want to receive email updates whenever I post something to this blog--I can add you to a list, and Blogger will automatically email you each new post.
A dopo,
Emily
Orientation classes started Monday, and continue until mid October, at which point regular classes at the Sede and UNIFI (the Florentine University) begin. For orientation, we have a daily Italian language lesson with Giovanna, as well as weekly or bi-weekly orientations to Florentine history, art (including field trips), and cooking! We also have a class called "in giro per Firenze" with a fabulous woman named Costanza, who I love already, and who also teaches the history of Costume and Fashion class in the fall. She is friendly and irreverant and enthusiastic and wears great outfits, and essentially we meander around Florence all evening, learning how to take the bus, where to go for the best ice cream, or good dancing, or cheap notebooks, where and how to get your train ticket validated, etc. I really want to take her class in the fall.
The cooking class is at Giovanna's house with a woman named Pam; essentially we cook lots of delicious food and then eat it. Actually, Pam cooks lots of delicious food, and we help (mostly with things like grating chocolate, or mixing ingredients, tasks that aren't easily messed up). This week the theme was a phrase I can't remember now, but translated roughly as "peasant food"--relatively simple dishes historically made by poorer families in the countryside. Two of the dishes were recipies that called for stale bread: Pappa al Pomodoro, a sort of porridge that reminded me of couscous, with onions, tomatoes, olive oil, peppers, etc.; and Panzanella, a delicious, tomato-sauce-and-stale-bread based savory dish. We also made Pollo in Fricassea, a dish that predates tomatoes in Italy, and hence has a sauce of nearly-raw egg, olive oil, minimal flour, salt, pepper, and parsely. It sounds odd, but it was REALLY good. And there was a white wine that went very well with it (yes, I am continuing to practice drinking alcohol with meals. This one I actually enjoyed enough to realize it went well with the chicken, but not the dessert). And the dessert was Tiramisù, which is technically not a peasant dish, but, I mean, really, how can you complain? My host mother also cooks well, and I am quickly running out of ways to say "this is really good!". I will have to work on my food vocabulary, since I've only been here a week, and it needs to last all year...
And the conversation (led by Pam) over this heavenly lunch (more accurately dinner in the middle of the day) of hers was as follows: vomit (and the details of how one of the students present can't eat much at the moment because it makes her do so), mosquito bites (of which we all have many), ticks, lyme disease, other types of bug bites, and (sorry) pus. This is very, very Italian. I am learning that for many Italians, the details of your (and everyone else's) health are considered public, and are perfectly valid dinner table conversation. And, oddly enough, it feels perfectly normal. It only occurred to me half way through lunch what, exactly, we'd been discussing so casually, at which point it was amusing rather than gross.
Finally, (and then enough, because this is getting long), some details about my host family, because I realized I got sidetracked in the last post. Sophia, Caitlin, and I are living with a woman named Emilia, who has two twin 21-year-old daughters who live elsewhere, but come home frequently for dinner and a visit. Francesca studies art (specifically sculpture) in Bolognia, while Leonora studies math (!) here in Florence. All three of them are lovely people, friendly and welcoming and easy-going. Emilia teaches karate to kids nearby, and the house (which is unusually large by Italian standards) is outside of Florence, towards Fiesole, about 20 minutes by bus. At some point we're going to try walking it, but Emilia says it'll take at least an hour, if not longer, so we're saving it for a day when we're not in a hurry. The area is not what I would call rural--we live on a somewhat busy street, with other houses and small businesses next to and across from us. There's an elementary school down the street, a free book swap table on the way to the bus stop (I found an elementary school math work book, to help with learning vocabulary!), and a lovely path a few blocks away that winds up through fields to a villa. And did I mention the view of the mountains from my window?
Each of us has our own room, and the three of share a bathroom. Each of the bedrooms has a color theme (not that the entire room and everything in it is that color--just enough to be a nice theme without over doing it): mine is red/yellow/orange, with a massive bunk bed; Caitlin's is blue, and Sophie's is green. Emilia got us each a pair of IKEA slippers that match our room colors.
I will send pictures of the house, of us, of various trips when I get a chance. At the moment they're all on my laptop, and I'm using Emilia's. Let me know if you want to receive email updates whenever I post something to this blog--I can add you to a list, and Blogger will automatically email you each new post.
A dopo,
Emily
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Boboli and Sheep
So, here I am in Florence. Sometimes I still can't quite believe it. Things are going well so far. I am settling in with my host mother, whose name is Emilia (for anyone I talked to before hand, yes, this is the family I thought I was going to get!). She lives a little ways outside the city, towards Fiesole. It takes us (Sophie, Caitlin, and I--we're are all Smithies living with Emilia) about 20 minutes by bus to get to the Duomo, and from there it's a two-minute (longer if the tourists are particularly dense (in numbers, not in intelligence, I mean)) walk to la Piazza della Signoria, where la Sede (the Smith center) is. La Sede has a few classrooms, an office for each of the two directors (Giovanna and Monica), hang out space and a fridge for us, computers, printers, maps, etc, and a great view of the piazza from above! Also Giovanna's two tiny dogs (miniature poodles?), Cocolina (Coco) and Sparky, who are so cute, and always happy to fall asleep on your lap to cheer you up.
Classes haven't started yet, we've just had some orientation meetings and that kind of thing. We've all been doing a lot of exploring on our own; yesterday, after the whole group met with some young Italians who are (hopefully) going to be our conversation partners, Sophie and Caitlin and I walked over to see the Boboli garden on the other side of the Arno. It's HUGE, and we only had an hour before it closed, but we have these wonderful cards that get us free passes to a bunch of the museums and gardens in Florence, including Boboli, so we went anyway, and climbed up to the top to look out over Florence as the sun was starting to set... and we couldn't quite believe that THIS (Florence, not the Boboli gardens) is where we're going to live for a year.
Speaking Italian is both easier than I expected and harder. The simple phrases that I use all the time are easy--in fact, when I switch to English for emails, I often have to stop myself from using the Italian phrases for simple things. I think this is a good sign. On the other hand, I keep running into basic (or not so basic) vocabulary I don't know; that will just take time and maybe a dictionary, I'm sure.
A couple of entertaining lingual mishaps so far: The other night at dinner, I told Sophie she had a mosquito net on her elbow (Zanzara=mosquito, zanzariera=mosquito net/screen. All the windows are open to the outdoors here--no screens or anything, so it's lucky there isn't an infestation of mosquitos at the moment. Enough to be annoying, but not that bad). Also: Emilia has a gas stove. There is also a very small pot for making coffee on the stove, and a hot mit shaped like a sheep for lifting the coffee pot or tea pot off the stove (incidentally, none of us knew the word for sheep, so we've being calling it "il baaah", just among ourselves. We did finally look it up earlier today.). Anyway. This morning, Sophie was making coffee, and was using the hot mitt to get the pot off the stove. However, she hadn't turned off the stove first, and the hot mitt was dangling down near the burner. I saw this, and wanted to warn her that the hot mitt was going to catch fire if she wasn't carefull. Only I got my vocabulary mixed up, and said: "Sophie, look out, the sheep is in the flowers!". She looked puzzled. "The SHEEP," I said, "it's in the FLOWERS." At which point Caitlin looked up and suggested that perhaps I meant "fuoco" (fire), not "fiori" (flowers). Luckily nothing caught fire. So that was all right.
And now I need to go catch a bus home. I know I haven't answered the many emails yet that you all have sent--I do appreciate them very much, and will write back, but have limited internet access for now, just until the wireless at Emilia's is fixed.
Ciao,
Emily
Classes haven't started yet, we've just had some orientation meetings and that kind of thing. We've all been doing a lot of exploring on our own; yesterday, after the whole group met with some young Italians who are (hopefully) going to be our conversation partners, Sophie and Caitlin and I walked over to see the Boboli garden on the other side of the Arno. It's HUGE, and we only had an hour before it closed, but we have these wonderful cards that get us free passes to a bunch of the museums and gardens in Florence, including Boboli, so we went anyway, and climbed up to the top to look out over Florence as the sun was starting to set... and we couldn't quite believe that THIS (Florence, not the Boboli gardens) is where we're going to live for a year.
Speaking Italian is both easier than I expected and harder. The simple phrases that I use all the time are easy--in fact, when I switch to English for emails, I often have to stop myself from using the Italian phrases for simple things. I think this is a good sign. On the other hand, I keep running into basic (or not so basic) vocabulary I don't know; that will just take time and maybe a dictionary, I'm sure.
A couple of entertaining lingual mishaps so far: The other night at dinner, I told Sophie she had a mosquito net on her elbow (Zanzara=mosquito, zanzariera=mosquito net/screen. All the windows are open to the outdoors here--no screens or anything, so it's lucky there isn't an infestation of mosquitos at the moment. Enough to be annoying, but not that bad). Also: Emilia has a gas stove. There is also a very small pot for making coffee on the stove, and a hot mit shaped like a sheep for lifting the coffee pot or tea pot off the stove (incidentally, none of us knew the word for sheep, so we've being calling it "il baaah", just among ourselves. We did finally look it up earlier today.). Anyway. This morning, Sophie was making coffee, and was using the hot mitt to get the pot off the stove. However, she hadn't turned off the stove first, and the hot mitt was dangling down near the burner. I saw this, and wanted to warn her that the hot mitt was going to catch fire if she wasn't carefull. Only I got my vocabulary mixed up, and said: "Sophie, look out, the sheep is in the flowers!". She looked puzzled. "The SHEEP," I said, "it's in the FLOWERS." At which point Caitlin looked up and suggested that perhaps I meant "fuoco" (fire), not "fiori" (flowers). Luckily nothing caught fire. So that was all right.
And now I need to go catch a bus home. I know I haven't answered the many emails yet that you all have sent--I do appreciate them very much, and will write back, but have limited internet access for now, just until the wireless at Emilia's is fixed.
Ciao,
Emily
Sono arrivata!
Buongiorno!
I have arrived safely in Firenze; the flights were long but fine. I'll be in this hotel (where I am writing from) tonight, and will meet my host family tomorrow night. More later!
I hope I haven't forgotten anyone who wanted to be on this list. If you know of anyone who would like to be, let me know and\or pass this along.
Ciao!
Emily
I have arrived safely in Firenze; the flights were long but fine. I'll be in this hotel (where I am writing from) tonight, and will meet my host family tomorrow night. More later!
I hope I haven't forgotten anyone who wanted to be on this list. If you know of anyone who would like to be, let me know and\or pass this along.
Ciao!
Emily
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