Haud magis Latin!

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So school keeps on getting better every day. What you see in the title is about as much Latin as I will need this year, thanks to the fact that I will no longer be required to take this class. Today, for our first hour, we were scheduled to have this Latin, which is supposedly the hardest subject for all students, and also one of the few with four hours a week. The class was chaotic as it usually is, until one student a few rows ahead of me did a short, but definitely audible whistle. He was telling the class that the teacher was on her way. Our classroom is situated in a perfect location for this kind of routine since it is at the very end of the school’s longest hallway. Anyways, as soon as everybody heard the whistle, they put away all of their books, folders, notebooks, pencil cases, or anything else on their desks and set their hands on top. Not once this week had I heard the class be so silent. It was amazing because for about a minute while the Latin teacher made her way down the hall, all that we could hear were some cars four stories below and some church bells way in the distance. Once the teacher arrived to the doorway, she stood there for some time waiting for something, obviously relishing the moment. Then she set foot in the classroom and everyone in the class stood up. My reaction was a bit delayed. She then walked over to her desk at the front of the room and said, “Buongiorno ragazzi” and the rest of the class said in unison, “Buongiorno professoressa”. Once again my reaction was delayed and I chose to not say anything as opposed to say it alone. The teacher seemed to sense that I had not said hello to her, and she strutted across the room to my desk. She asked me who I was and from what school I had transferred. I replied, “Mi chiamo Alex e sono un studente di scambio dagli Stati Uniti. Sono qui per un anno.” (My name is Alex and I am an exchange student from the United States. I will be here for one year.) She went on to ask me how good my school’s Latin program was. I told her that my school did not teach Latin, which she seemed to be appalled at. She then rambled on and on in Italian about how my Italian was not even perfect and that this was the fourth year of the Latin curriculum and that I would be totally lost reading Seneca and Cicero and Ovid. Let me interrupt this for just a minute to describe this lady. She is appears to be around eighty years old, has a noticeable hunch in her back, looks at the floor with her eyes almost shut, yet is able to see and hear everything around her. I think she would qualify as the fitting the definition of “creepy”. Anyways, she then went on to tell me that it I was not worth her valuable time and that therefore I would not be permitted to participate in her class. She said that I could sit and listen, but that I would be wasting her time in trying to learn Latin. “Well that’s a very different way of looking at education,” I thought to myself. She asked me if I had understood everything she had said. I was actually quite surprised that I had, but still I humbly replied, “Piu o meno, quasi tutto” (More or less, almost everything). I had learned from experience that it is better to not say that you understand completely because then they think you are at a higher level than you truly are and they start speaking extremely fast. But this teacher had not liked my reply. “Tu hai detto che quasi tutto, che cosa non hai capicei?” (You said that almost everything, what part did you not understand). This was actually a hard question to answer. Had I actually not understood something, I would not be able to tell her what it was. But in my case, I had to tell her that I did actually understand everything she said. So I turned to the boy that sits next to me and speaks English perfectly. I asked him to translate, urging him to play along. He is a really funny guy and was actually happy that I asked him to do this. We talked for a little bit in English about the situation, which considering everyone in the class speaks very good English, all were informed on the circumstances except for the Latin teacher, who understood none of it. After we were done talking, he just turned and remained silent. The teacher asked him, “Cosa ha detto?” (What did he say?). He said simply, “Adesso capiche” (Now he understands). This was obviously a greatly abridged version of our conversation and the teacher was not happy. She asked if that was all that I had said, and the interpreter said innocently something along the lines of, “Yes that is all. Americans just need more words to say something simple.” The class, except for my translator and I, began to laugh, while we worked hard on keeping a straight face. The teacher turned away angry and my translator gave me a high-five under the table. The teacher then said that if I cannot even understand Italian well, that I would stand no chance with Latin and that she would not allow me to participate during our four weekly hours of Latin and that I was just to sit and listen if I wanted to. I then turned to my interpreter and he said in English, “I envy you”. So did everybody in the class. Phew, no more Latin.

Yet I still have French. Usually French is no problem whatsoever. Speaking Spanish as I do is a great asset in French class. For some of you this will sound absurd, yet others will understand completely. During my French class at Summit High School, I would think in a Spanish mindset because Spanish is more similar to French than English is. Likewise, here in Italy on a day to day basis I am thinking in Spanish because it is so similar to Italian. Therefore, today in French class, I was thinking in Spanish, but since for the last week and a half, when I think in Spanish I speak in Italian, I could not speak very good French. I ended up putting together a jumbled up mix of Italian, French, and even a little bit of Spanish, making me sound like a complete fool. But it is alright because this is what being an exchange student is all about – utter confusion. This is exactly how to describe my mental organization of languages right now.

Now, for a little bit of cultural oddities I have witnessed so far. First of all, Italian food is not what the average American thinks it is. Contrary to popular belief, you will not find spaghetti and meatballs at a restaurant in Italy. So far, I have eaten more rice than pasta, more soup than meat sauce, and I have not yet really had a salad. There are always various vegetables on the table, but they are seldom mixed. Also, I have not had any pizza while I have been here, yet I have had a hamburger. Another difference is the general perceptions of sexual identity. Usually in America (I might be making things up here, but I doubt it), if a grown man is carrying a small bag slung across his shoulder, otherwise known as a “murse” for man-purse, the general onlooker would question that man’s sexual orientation. Here though, more people wear “murses” than not. On the other hand, in America, I am used to setting my pen or pencil on my ear when it is not in use. I know I am not the only person that does this, and it has become a habit. The first day of school here in Italy, the teacher was calling roll and I did not need my pen, so I rested it on my right ear. Apparently that is the wrong thing to do. Luckily, the boy that sits next to me and speaks English, told me before anybody else saw me. He said that in Italy, the right ear is associated with homosexuality and that it is common knowledge that one who has anything on it – especially an earring, is not exactly straight. That was the last time I set my pen there. And I also made it a point not to touch my right ear – something that is a lot harder to do when you are thinking about it. Anyways, let’s go back to talking about food. Last night for dinner, my host brother Osvaldo reheated some plain pasta that was in the fridge. To my surprise, instead of putting ragu or olive oil on it, he grabbed a bottle of ketchup. I thought this was like some sick nightmare made in Dante’s Inferno. I am not particularly a fan of ketchup, but I understand why some people like it on some foods. I completely understand hamburgers, hot dogs, French fries, etc. and I can even tolerate seeing my cousins in Mexico have it on their eggs for breakfast – but to ruin something so beautiful as pasta in the country of its birth with this artificial American tomato substance was a sin in my mind

Also for you farm lovers here are some pictures of the garden on top of my family’s garage.