Submitted For Your Consideration

October 2009

Found in Translation

As anyone who friends me on Facebook, follows me on Twitter or just otherwise knows me in what I laughingly refer to as real life, knows that my husband and I recently took a two-week trip to Italy.

I love to travel and have always wanted to go somewhere (anywhere!) in Europe. Since my husband has Italian ancestry, Italy seemed like a great choice.

Not only was it a great choice, the experience far exceeded my best expectations.

First, Italy is beautiful. The landscape and climate reminded me of one of my other favorite places on earth -- Northern California. I can think of no higher praise, right there.

But wait a minute. Yes, I can! I loved the food, the wine, the coffee (the downside: Italy's espresso has positively ruined my taste for the standard American cup of joe), the gelato -- in short, the cuisine is amazing.

And, of course, the sights! Rome was awesome -- the Colosseum, the Forum, the Sistine Chapel, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain (into which I pitched no less than three coins). Florence was also lovely. Smaller, less boisterous, but full of charm and beautiful art. (Must go back someday to see what we missed this time around.) Venice was quaint (so full of skinny little streets and bridges!) -- the Piazza San Marco (St. Mark's Square, in Americanese) was molto romantic. All the cafés around the square, a few of them with live orchestras that kept a steady stream of music going in the background.

Finally, the people. My only concern about going to Italy was my lack of knowledge of Italian. My husband speaks only a few words (most of the swearing variety, so not terribly useful for tourist needs, if you know what I mean). But here's the thing -- Italians are great people, very friendly, very tolerant of American eccentricities (to put it nicely). Not only do the vast majority of them speak at least some English, but even on rare occasions when they didn't, it was amazing how well we could communicate between our broken Italian, hand gestures (and Italians DO talk with their hands -- it's very cool to watch) and smiles.

What was really cool, on the language front, was just listening to Italians talk to each other. I swear, I could sit at a café and listen to them talk for hours. (Just keep the espresso and biscotti coming, thank you very much.) Plus, they look so good. Even their casual clothing is well-tailored and made with high-quality, beautiful fabrics.

Frankly (and I don't mean this as a slam at Americans, honestly), it got to the point where we got so used to hearing Italian being spoken all around us and not understanding a word or caring about it, that when we rode the train from Florence to Venice in a car full of Americans, overhearing them talk (and it was, sadly, unavoidable) was ever-so-slightly annoying. It's like -- Hey! We've been having a really nice time savoring the sound of a language that's gibberish to us, but beautiful. Having to hear and understand you is killing our buzz, okay?

I will admit, though, that finding the occasional English-as-a-first-language speaker during our travels was nice. We shared such pleasant moments with a British couple, who ducked under an awning in Venice with us one rainy afternoon (the first inclement weather we encountered on the trip), as well as a couple from Canada who, like us, had made advance reservations for a gondola ride through Venice's lagoons (which we also did in the rain!). Not quite the romantic ride we'd envisioned, but we had plans for the next day and the rain started as a light sprinkle... well, it's something we'll always remember, anyhow.

But to bring this round to the (ostensible) topic of the column, rather than being lost in a foreign land, we found so much to appreciate. The wonder of exploring another culture, of becoming "temporary locals" (as Rick Steves would say -- and I highly recommend his guides), of simply being somewhere other than the usual -- these are experiences everyone should have.

So despite any language barriers, we had no trouble being understood and having a wonderful time.

Case in point: on the morning we left Italy, we went down early for breakfast (our hotel had an awesome spread, included in the price of the room -- everything from scrambled eggs and bacon to biscotti and brioches, served with juice and your choice of coffee). As we waited for the dining room to open, a woman joined us, taking a seat in a chair near our sofa.

The hotel staff needed to rearrange the furniture and asked the woman (who was Italian) to move so they could reposition the chair, only a few feet away from where it had been. They made kind of a big deal about the need to do this, so when the staff left, the woman rolled her eyes and muttered, in words I couldn't understand. However, her mood was so plain, I knew what she was saying. My husband picked up a word he recognized (one of those swear words I mentioned?) and started laughing. I began laughing, too, simply because the situation was funny.

The woman ended her diatribe with a plaintive, "Madonna!" (I got that one, of course.) She looked at us, no doubt realizing we weren't responding in kind and said, "Where are you from?" We said the U.S. and she nodded, smiling (thank God!) and said, "Ah. America." Then, added, as if to make her meaning absolutely clear, "My God! My God! My God!"

We all laughed, and I said, "Actually, what you said before translated really well!"

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