Italian for Beginners, or, Where Sarah Had Many a Silent Disco

I have no idea who I've mentioned this to, or if I've even mentioned it before, but now you know, I tend to think that everything about me is common knowledge, when it turns out I forget to tell anyone anthing. Knowing me now, you probably wouldn't believe it but it's the absolute truth.

When I was little, around ten years old, I wanted to become a nun. Like, I really wanted to become a nun. I really liked our school nun, Sister Anna, and I thought Father Chris was great. I was in the school choir so we used to have a lot of dealings with them. I wasn't overly religious growing up. Every few years or so I think Dad would get the guilts and drag us to Christmas Eve or Easter Sunday mass, and I went to a Catholic school so we'd go to church a few times each term, plus I was in choir so we had a few other obligations. But that seemed irrelevant to me in becoming a nun. To me there was something about becoming a nun that seemed really worthy - dedicating your life to one goal, cloistered up or doing charitable works. The religious aspect seemed to be an after thought to me, but I have always loved the ritual aspect of a Catholic mass, the iconography, the songs...

Fast forward fifteen years and things are a little different, what with that whole "atheist" thing I have going now. And the fact that I've screamed down both Sister Anna and Father Chris on separate occasions for their family-meddling and general c-bombishness. Honestly, if there is an afterlife, it hurts me to think that I'm going to have to be spending mine in Hell with the two of them, although I'm sure it's big enough so I'll never have to see them. (And if I do I'll throw some fire and brimstone at them or something, get my posse to gang up on them.) BUT it still hasn't killed my love of nuns and priests because as a general rule, I think they get into it for really noble causes (or because they can't come to terms with the fact that they're gay...).

What does that incredibly long-winded story have to do with Italy? Hello? It's Italy! Do you know how many random nuns, brothers and priests are walking around? They're everywhere! There's even brothers that have that old fashioned monk hair - shaved on top and at the bottom but with that one-inch thick strip of hair running around their head - wearing old fashion monk robes. You're constantly catching glimpses of white collars on various men, and there's always groups of little (is there a height restriction for going into convents?) women running around in their grey habits, either with the obligatory stern, wrinkled face or the smooth, pious, benevolent face. I love that in a group of six little nuns rushing around (and they always rush) there'll be equal parts angry nun to sweet nun.

And on almost every corner there's some kind of Catholic shrine, be it a picture of a saint or the Holy family or a cross. I really do think it creates a sense of community - there's always a fresh bunch of flowers there and it's always taken care of. And it's just pretty.

So I've already mentioned that I began my Italian journey with my cousins in near Cuneo. My post about that might seem really whiney, but I do want to stress that I did enjoy my time there. It was just difficult with the language barrier and the fact that I'd spent the past month doing everything independently, answerable to no one, and suddenly I was having to ask for permission to go anywhere. It was hard to adjust. But it was a lovely place to be. In the mornings I would sit in their living room looking out at the mountains and the church courtyard down below, or I'd sit on their balcony overlooking all the rooftops. I read my book. A lot. I travelled two hours on the train to the closest beach with my cousin Andrea and his friends and got a dirty tan (which would only be added to during my time in Italy. Yuck). I ate lots of food. Lots. Of. Food. I saw ZEBRAS IN SOMEONE'S YARD. We were just driving by and I'm like, WTF is THAT?? They're like, zebras (and I could practically hear the "duh" formulating in their mind). You haven't seen a zebra before? Well, yes, but in the zoo, or on Discovery Channel. So yes. A zebra.

Another difference that I found in Italy - bread and butter. Many of you will know that if forced to live on one thing for the rest of my life I would choose bread and butter. Oh, how I love bread and butter. So one day I was asked if I would like something to eat. "Pane con burro, per favore." Bread and butter, please. "Pane con burro??? BURRO?" "Errr.... si? Burro? Come si dici 'butter' in Italiano?" How do you say 'butter' in Italian? They told me I must be mistaken, but surely I couldn't have forgotten the word for my favourite bread topping! I ran to the dictionary and looked up butter, but there it was: burro. I pointed it to them, and they just shook their head and told me that butter on bread is disgusting, and proceeded to pour some olive oil instead. Possibly a sign that I could never live in Italy (although I do love bread and olive oil... just not when I want bread and butter!).

But I have decided that as soon as I come home next year (after starting uni the very next day) I'm going to restart Italian lessons. I love the language and I'd love to be able to communicate with my family members properly. It was frustrating not knowing anything there, but I feel like the language comes to me naturally, if that makes sense. Actually, I think I'd like to just be fluent in something. I'd like to get to the level in German where I can read this magazine called "Der Spiegel" which I used to look at in Borders and think, those articles look great. But I'd really like to pick up my Italian again. Actually, all these random languages running through my head is really annoying. I go to say, "Yes," to someone in German and my mind goes through Italian, Japanese and English before finally getting to "ja". How is it that I'm still getting random Japanese words running through?

From Cuneo I went to Florence for four nights. Florence was a little difficult for me because I found it quite lonely. My first three nights I was alone in my room so I didn't really meet anyone. I went to the cafeteria on my first night and started chatting to some randoms, but didn't feel like doing that on the other nights. Then on my last night there I finally get a roomie who was great and we hung out that night and went together to l'Academia the next day. She couldn't have gotten there earlier??

But apart from the loneliness, Florence was absolutely beautiful. Stinking hot though, but a good excuse to sample all the gelati. It's a tiny town so it's perfect for walking, and yet I still managed to get majorly lost one night. It was at the end of a very long day. I had done a tour of the local markets, sampled the olive oil, the formaggio (cheese), tried cheese with pear and orange jam on top (HEAVEN), tried various anti pasti and other things. So so good. Then I decided I should go to the Uffizi. The day before I had been told that I should reserve tickets but then saw it would cost an extra 4 Euros to book ahead. Screw that! I thought, I'm fine with lining up, so I'll keep my money, thank you very much. Yeah. I lined up for 4 HOURS. I'm not exaggerating. For an art gallery. Very important art, mind you, but still. 4 hours. But I'm pretty good at lining up. Basically I just grab my iPod, turn it to my dance playlist and have myself a silent disco. Great fun. I didn't really mind the first two and a half hours.

UNTIL SOME PEOPLE PUSHED IN FRONT OF ME.

Oooooh HEEEEEeell NO!

I looked at them for a bit, noticed the mother of the family in front of me looking at them too, made eye contact, gave each other the, "Did they just push in?" look, waited a couple of seconds, then pasted a smile on my face and asked in my politest voice, "Excuse me? Are you in the line?"

"Yes."

[Bigger smile] "Oh, OK. Because the line starts waaaaaaay back there."

"Oh, this is our last day. We can't wait that long."

[Smile gone] "Oh, OK. Except I don't care because I've been lining up for almost three hours."

"Oh, well then you can go in front of us."

"Oh really?? That's SO kind of you. Except, I CAN go in front of you because I'M SUPPOSED TO BE IN FRONT OF YOU. THREE HOURS IN FRONT OF YOU."

The mother was totally supporting me in this and telling them off too. Basically, they moved behind me, and the people behind me didn't care, so they got away with it. ARGH.

Now let's take a moment to talk about racial stereotypes, shall we? (We shall!)

Ok. So, when I was in Paris the two English girls I hung out with mentioned something about Germans and their inability to line up. I thought, that's just silly! I've never noticed my Germanian friends not being able to line up! But as soon as this couple pushed in, my friends' warning words flashed in my mind and I made a conscious effort to listen to the couple speaking. They were speaking German. Surely they were just terrible people, it had nothing to do with their Germanness! But alas, no. It seems to be a regular thing here. I've been here a couple of weeks now, lined up for several things, in several stores, and gotten incredibly pissed off at people ignoring any form of line and just walking up to the counter, in front of you, to the side of you, and just pushing in. As soon as I learn some German I'm going to learn how to tell people off (under my breath...).

So yes, they were one stereotype that was confirmed on that long line for the Uffizi. The other was about the inappropriate familial touching of the French.

So, the family in front of me (and I feel so bad about this because the mother totally had my back during the whole pushing-in saga of '09) confused me greatly. There was a woman in her forties, I'm assuming, a man also in his forties, and a teenaged boy and a teenaged girl. At first I thought, OK, a family. Easy. Then the older woman and girl started hugging. And the mum grabbed her arse several times, patted it, they kissed on the lips a fair bit. And I thought, OK, maybe the girl isn't in her teens and is older and this is a lesbian couple? Then the woman did the same thing with the boy, and the girl and the boy were very handsy, and the dad and the mum..... This was too confusing. I related this information to Mikey via text during the long four hours and he asked, "Are they French?"

Me: I think so.

Mikey: Then that's why - it's what they do.

Me: Really?

Mikey: Oh yes, the French are known for being all touchy feely with family.

Me: How do you know this?

Mikey: Arrested Development.

Me: Aaah, of course.

So those were my racial stereotypes.

I passed the rest of the time chatting to Mikey and hearing all the goss about work and the old Parkhill gang (oh Parkhill, how I miss thee! (the Parkhill group and good times, not the house and certain psycho housemates...)), and then after I hung up I only had a half hour longer to wait. Well done. Except then the guy in front of me in the line decided that NOW he would start chatting to pass the time. Where were you three and a half hours ago, huh?

So the gallery was great (full of incredibly important works of art, just as the guidebooks said), but I was buggered so couldn't really appreciate it as much as I'd like. I left and started walking back home. Only, the exit is on a different side to the entrance. And it turns out I can't read a map. And I also don't have any sense of direction, but still keep thinking it will kick in? Except it won't, because it doesn't exist in me. So I started heading in a direction, thinking any second now I would hit a landmark I would know (because Florence is basically only one square kilometre). I hit a landmark I thought I could find on the map, but when I finally asked someone for directions they let me know that, no, I was actually looking at the complete opposite side of the map to where I was. Oh, and I had actually wandered off the map. Of course. I got directions off a taxi driver and eventually made my way back. I had to buy $20 Maccas for dinner to make myself feel better, then proceeded to Skype with Nicole for ages having a good old whinge and gossip. It seemed to be a day for it.

I also did a Chianti region tour which consisted of us doing a wine tasting of red and white, learning about Chianti Classico wines and how to distinguish between them and proper Chianti regio wines (the black rooster on the label is how to make sure it's a Classico). We also tasted the different olive oils (oh my GOD, truffle oil! Soooo good) and balsamico. I wanted to buy everything, but at 20 Euros for 150ml of balsamico, I had to restrain myself to one of the cheaper bottles of wine. We then went to a vineyard, had a tour of the wine making process, then continued to drink and eat for the rest of the afternoon, followed by an hour and a half stop at San Gimignano where I had gelato at the world's number 1 gelateria (it had a sign and everything). Basically they're number one due to the crazy flavours they have. I had a cone with FOUR flavours (how do you decide???): limoncello (a yummy Italian lemon liquer - for those that have been, it's the one I keep going on about from my cousin's winery), fragola (strawberry - can never get enough of fragola), raspberry and thyme (ridiculously perfect), and champagne. YES, champagne. And it really did taste of it. And it tasted great. I also sampled someone's cinnamon which tasted like biting into a cinnamon bun.

That night I finally got a roomie and it was good fun hanging out with her. Before I left the next day we got up early and went to l'Academia to see the David before the crowds. There's not really much in l'Academia except for David, but it's worth the entrance fee and more. I was not expecting to be as impressed as I was. We just stood there circling him for ages until finally deciding that we should probably see some of the other things in the gallery. But unlike some other famous artworks, this one is definately not overrated. Everyone go see it!!

On my last night in Florence I also met a girl that seems to epitomise Australian close-mindedness. This is in no way confined to Australians, but it just seems that some of the Aussies I've met do it in a certain way... Here's the thing: isn't travelling supposed to broaden your mind? Aren't you supposed to see everything, try everything, do everything? We all know that when it comes to food, I have the blandest palate in the world. I pretty much hate any food that has flavour in it, and it frustrates me to no end, but while I've been travelling I've basically tried everything that's been offered to me, be that haggis, black pudding, weird seafood combinations, olives (even with my childhood trauma of olives) and other things that I've either surprisingly liked or have struggled to keep down. And we all know that in Australia, I hate going to Italian restaurants. Why? Because my Nonna can always make it better and for free. That's just how it is. But being overseas I (SOB!) haven't had my grandma around. So I've eaten Italian food in a lot of places. Especially in Italy (it's hard to escape it). And I've loved it. So when I met this girl on my last night I had to (literally) bite down on my lips to keep from saying something to her. Basically she was doing Bus-About Europe and was telling me how they were offered to go to a trattoria for a four course meal for 16 Euro, which she had agreed to until she found out the hostel was putting on a buffet for 7 Euro. Sounds fair enough. Then she proceeded to go on and on about how she doesn't want to pay so much money for Italian food. Erm... OK. Why? Because her mum used to be married to an Italian man who was apparently very fussy and she learnt to cook perfect Italian food, and her mum's food would be better than anything she ate over here, so why should she pay all this money for it?

Erm... because your mum isn't here, for one. And also, because your mum isn't even Italian. Oh my god. And I couldn't even say she's young or uneducated, because she was almost 26 and a primary school teacher (although, the primary teachers I've met have been kind of stupid... Jokes, Beau!). Seriously, WTF kind of attitude is that? It's frigging Italy. Also, she had arrived in Florence earlier that day, had done a walking tour with the bus-about guide, and was leaving in the morning to go to Milan because she'd “already seen everything in Florence.” Yet she was spending 3 days in Milan? Cos there's so much culture there, what with the shops and all. Oh my gosh, I hate people so much. And I couldn't even say, oh it's not her fault because she's from Queensland or something like that. No, she was from Melbourne, a more culturally enlightened city than Sydney. Allegedly. And she kept going on about the Italian food, and how Italian her mum is, and how she would make her friends eat when they came over. Keep biting that tongue, Sarah. The problem is that I've met so many people like that and I just want to smack them. I'm quite proud of myself for the restraint I've shown.