I...SPEEEAK...ALLLLL...LAN-GWA-GES

Most people have cringed at one time or another at the following scene in Anywhere, USA.  Someone from another country, with limited or no English is trying to communicate with a store clerk, waitress, taxi driver, policeman, etc, etc.  The foreigner is obviously trying, but struggling, and as the American responds, you can practically read their thought process broadcasted above their exasperated heads:  “Overly loud, painfully slow English = whatever language this person speaks.”

It is an often used, and, often failed formula.  

Take comfort, though, in the knowledge that Americans are not the only ones who use the translation method of “my language spoken really loudly and really slowly equals your language.”  My experience at the butt-end of this method here in Sicily is not cringe-worthy, however.  More often, I’m trying so hard not to giggle that I forget to concentrate and try to understand what she’s saying.  Because the person who uses this method most liberally is a young girl who is my 11-year old neighbor.

I’ve mentioned in a previous entry (“A Dinosaur in Sicily,” Sept 4, 2011) that our neighbors are a group of wonderful, incredibly friendly people.  The one that is the most outgoing and full of smiles, P, has a bold and vivacious young daughter, Jessica.  Dinosaur and I often return home in the evenings to find a group of the neighbor women and Jessica outside chatting, sitting on chairs spilling out into the street.  They always greet us and invite us into their circle.  Dinosaur and I are generally able to exchange pleasantries and perhaps tell our neighbors a little bit about what we’ve done that day (in first-person, present tense as opposed to past tense – don’t give our Italian that much credit.  Generally speaking in the present tense while using the Italian gesture of a hand wave over your shoulder to mean “in the past” seems to get our point across).  I’m better at being able to speak audible Italian than understand what’s being said to me.  Sometimes I understand, but I’m slow to comprehend.  I’m also in the habit, when in a group of Italians, of the following:  being spoken to, not understanding, and then glancing around the group, hoping someone knows a little bit of English and can say a key word or two of the phrase that was spoken to me.  Often children, especially, are helpful because sometimes they study English in school.  Far too often, P will say something to me, I will immediately become a deer in headlights and I automatically look pleadingly to Jessica.  Jessica, without fail, will repeat exactly what her mother just said, in Italian, three times louder than her mother said it, and in an adorable adolescent voice that is six octaves higher.  If I still don’t comprehend right away, Jessica will repeat it again, this time shouting it, accompanied with flailing hand gestures.  She’s a petite little thing, literally half my size, and when she’s at the point of shouting and flailing her hands at me, I lose all hope of understanding and I just crack up.  Jessica, however, never seems daunted by this, and without fail the exact scenario will repeat itself next time.

I’m not saying it’s ok, America, to speak to a foreigner at the pace of a dying robot turned up to full volume.  Let your adorable children do it instead.

Our outdoor table, set for a lasagna dinner (overlooking the street where our neighborly interactions go down).

Lol, ur xtra gr8 u qt!

I learned some Italian text speak!  We Americans shorten words when composing texts without thinking about it: lol, u, r, gr8.  I assumed that other languages do this as well, but taking time to figure out Italian text speak was well beyond my current curriculum priority.  However, a text from Bella the other day gave me a delightful impromptu lesson… 

Because my iPhone is on an Italian carrier now, it was in airplane mode throughout the duration of my recent month-and-some stay in the US.  Because I left for the US on such short notice, I wasn’t able to inform all my friends of my impending absence.  While in the States, it did occur to me that poor Bella might be wondering where I am, but since she and I only communicate by text or phone call, I was unable to let her know my predicament.  Besides, I figured, she and IMMA were probably travelling for Ferragosto, the Italian vacation season.

Shortly after I returned to Sicily, I received a text: “6 viva?”  My phone didn’t recognize the number that sent the text, so I figured it must be a wrong number.  But still, I wondered what the text meant.  “Viva” means “alive,” so…6 alive?  I didn’t get it. 

So I thought, “What’s the proper thing to do here?”  If it is a wrong number, should I respond and let the person know?  Obviously the sender is Italian; I’d have to carefully craft my response to make it legible to a native speaker.  As I pondered that, I realized that not many people text me.  Really, Bella is the only Italian who would text me.  What if she has a new number?  How terrible would that be if, when she hasn’t heard from me in over a month, I reply to her text by saying “you have the wrong number”??  So I decide to reply [in Italian], “I don’t recognize this number. Are you Bella?”  That last part, “Are you Bella?” is written, “Sei Bella?”  As I hit send, I pronounce my message out loud, because I say all things Italiano out loud when I can – practice, practice, practice:  “Sei Bella?”  That’s when it hits me! – uno, duo, tre, quattro, cinque, SEI!  The spelling and pronunciation of the Italian number six and the conjugation for “you” of “to be” are both “sei.”  When Bella texted me, “6 viva?” she was asking me, “Are you alive?”  Eureka!

…And hence, the story of how it took me an entire evening to comprehend one small instance of Italian text speak.  6 entertained?

A Dinosaur in Sicily

Though Dinosaur and I are still “enjoying” a 1980’s lifestyle free of home internet, the cause of my latest blog entry absence was a month-long hiatus in the States.  I traveled over to the US to say a final goodbye to my amazing grandmother, to whom I can probably attribute a large amount of the adventurous spirit that allows me to so fully embrace my overseas living experience, I got to visit with both familiar family and some truly wonderful long-lost relatives whom I had never before met, and due to some crowded conditions at the Norfolk AMC terminal, I enjoyed an extended stay in my former town with some close friends.  Dinosaur wasn’t able to get away from work on such a short notice, but he managed to fill his time.  I came home to a beautiful villa with new IKEA furniture, no more boxes, a patio covered in bamboo sheeting, a squeaky clean car, and the retelling of some Italian adventures that I missed while I was away.  Here, in Dinosaur’s Mi Scusi blog debut, are some excerpts from emails he sent to me while I was gone:

“I've been trying to pay the electric bill for about a week now.  Initially, I was just going to wander up to the tabacchi that's around the corner and take care of it there, but it's closed for Ferragosto.  Everything's closed for Ferragosto.  [Editor's note: Ferragosto is the time the Italians take their vacation - pretty much all of August.]  Well, maybe not everything, but the difference is definitiely noticeable; I didn't think the mass vacation was going to be so striking.  A lot of stores are closed (especially the smaller, tabacchi-type places), and traffic is much lighter (that's nice).  Italian vacation time!

[Paying the electric bill probably would've been something that I would have done, had I been home.  I probably would have struggled much, much more, cried a bit, and written a drawn-out, pathetic tale for you about my misadventure.  I was pretty happy Dinosaur was able to take care of that first one.]

[Our Italian neighbors are SUPER sweet and friendly.  They often pull chairs outside in the evening and sit in their stoops, talking, as is the Italian way.  Dinosaur relates a time here, when he came home from seeing a movie, probably around 10pm:]

"As I pulled up to the driveway, the three ladies were sitting across the street; I said hi, and they said something about me working too late, I think.  I was in my car at this point, and trying to explain that I had gone to a movie, but that wasn't working, so I decided to get out and try to chat for a sec.  They had me sit down, and then we had 30-40 minutes or so of sort-of successful conversation.  Here are some of the main points:

- You are not here, and are back in the States because your grandma passed away
- They are sorry to hear that, but are sure that she's in heaven
- They think you're very pretty (I agreed)
- We established that I'm 29, and I guess I look either old or young; I'm not sure which
- I work on [base] with fuel (for jets, not cars)
- I left the patio lights on all day
- Something about limoncello
- Something about German
- We have a cat, and he is fat
Toward the end if was more them talking amongst themselves, with me kind of awkwardly sitting there...I wasn't sure how to make my exit. *Shrug*  Anyway, I finally did, and headed up to the house to water the plants; that was easy enough.  Predictably, Fat Cat was starved for attention, water, and food, so I petted him for a few minutes, refilled his food, and then headed to the bathroom to refresh the bidet (this first kitchen crossing was uneventful) [Editor's note: Fat Cat drinks out of our bidet].  When I went back into the kitchen, a bird was on the microwave, and when I passed by it went crazy, thus scaring the crap out of me.  That passed quickly, followed by a feeling of "this is the las thing I want to deal with right now".  I opened the laundry window and the kitchen door and tried to get it out that way, but it kept fluttering around the kitchen, and finally went over to the living room.  Awesome...at least I could isoloate it better in there.  So I did that, and eventually got it to fly out the door in there.  Ugh.
My first thought was to install the blocker-thing for the kitchen hole [Editor's note: there's a hole high up in our kitchen wall, since we have gas appliances, in case there's a gas leak.  The landlord gave us a thing to put in the hole, but we hadn't up to this point.  Allegedly, this is how the bird got in.] and as I was climbing up to do that, it occurred to me that I had no idea how long the bird had been inside, and that birds are essentially just crap factories.  So, after putting in the hole-blocker, I started looking around, and sure enough, found some bird crap to clean up.  Fortunately, it was just on easy-to-clean surfaces that have nothing to do with the storage or eating of food...the only exception to the "easy-to-clean" part was on the tiles on that high super-high shelf; I don't think there's a lot we can do about that.  Actually, isn't there more in yard somewhere?  [Editor's note: There are.  There are lots of bizarre objects piled in our expansive yard.]  Maybe I could replace them..."
........

So I missed paying the first electrical bill and the run-in with a bird (as well as the subsequent clean-up).  Something tells me I won't have to wait long for another Italian adventure to come our way.  And readers, my typing fingers will be ready.

Anyway, when my initial target fell through, I figured I'd just try to pay through the Community Bank; the problem was that since I'd already withdrawn the money, I'd have to re-deposit it, and then have them pay the bill.  The Italian lady at the bank made this process seem like it was going to be much, much, much harder than I had envisioned, so I abandoned that strategy and figured I'd try to find another tabacchi.  The only two that I knew of absolutely were the one in [place we used to live] on the hill and the one in Catania by [place we took Italian lessons], so I figured I'd try [place we used to live].  It was closed, too.  :p  I decided to mostly give up for the day at this point, but figured I'd keep my eyes open on the way back to the house, in case I came across another one.  And I did!  On [the main drag in the village where we live], there's one behind that little green gas station on the right, and thankfully it was open.  I think I managed to conduct my business without looking like it was first time (and all in Italian), so I felt pretty good about that.  The only bad thing was that someone had double parked and blocked me in while I was inside, but he came back soon enough.  *Shrug*

My other mini-adventure was getting a panini for dinner.  That wasn't as exciting, but again, I think I did it all in relatively understandable Italian."