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I finished my first month of school, had visitors from America, and travelled to the village from which my grandparents immigrated. | |
| All righty--the picture pretty much said it all...my fourth week in Rome was a bit of a blur. As I was wrapping up my last week of school--for the month, anyway--I was showing my aunt and uncle around Rome. A bit of a challenge because, despite my limited knowledge of Italian, I became the Great Interpreter. I realized this week that the longer I live in Italy, the less I really know it. I had grown accustomed to certain day-to-day differences -- like how to order coffee, and how to navigate streets full of mopeds, trucks, bikes and automobiles. But, the nuances of social intercourse continued to elude me. |
School was pretty interesting, as we ended the month with an International party. We were asked to bring a typical dish from our country to share with the other students. “What should I bring? Hamburger, coke and fries?” “My God, no!” they replied. “But,” I exclaimed, “America is a land of immigrants! How about spaghetti and meatballs? Burritos? Sushi or fried rice?” I finally decided on that all-American dish: guacamole and chips. It took me three days to find tortilla chips. With my broken Italian, I kept getting polenta. Or, a can of corn. I finally got it together, and the dish was a hit! |
Q - Who are some of the rudest people you have met so far in Rome?? A - No surprise: taxi drivers. Of course, there is a universality to their rudeness. But, in particular, they are adamant about your getting out of the cab at the end of the ride. “Just get out!”, they snarl. Q&A ARCHIVES  NEXT WEEK: The Ancestral Homeland |