Social Criques and Entertainment

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American Indecency:
I am often offended to be called an American, because I often here it in reference to the mess that young American college students make on their semester-abroad. “Look at their stupidity. Those are your people,” as they drunkenly yell and sing walking home from the bar, vomiting in the streets and kicking and throwing empty beer bottles at trash cans, or even up at windows. I’ve never seen Italians do this, even in their most intoxicated states. I flinch when I see American girls dressed Italian style (minimalist clothing) and asking for directions in the middle of the street, in point-blank English with no hint of the slightest notion of even trying to speak in Italian, from the blatant, sketchiest, untrustworthy Italian (often only Italian-LOOKING) men on the street-slick dark hair, glasses, tight, sleeveless shirt.

I am ashamed at the behavior of some of these students. Loud, raucous, rude, expectant. This is no campus fraternity. Whether you like it or not, whether you even ever thought of this or not: you are an embassador of your country. How you act changes and defines the perceptions that the people around you have of your culture. America. You are studying abroad, and that includes studying more than just painting or economics from your American teacher in an Italian classroom. Study how the people around you relax, party, argue, communicate, live, etc. If you made the effort to be here, you obviously have the intentions of broadening your minds. So do it and let go of the discreditable habits you’ve picked up in the United States. Step out of the world YOU know a minute, and get to know this one.

Almost automatically, shopkeepers will welcome you in Italian, if you are a young, American-looking person, assuming you’ll respond English and be thrilled that “wow, somebody here speaks my language.” Every day, on my walk through the outdoor market of San Lorenzo on my way to work, I hear familiar phrases that strengthen my increasing disapproval of ‘Americanization’: “Wow, it is so great that everyone hear speaks English.”

In my thoughts-the whole purpose of traveling to a new country, a new city, a new part of the world, is to discover what it has to offer. To understand the city within the country-its culture, music, heritage, tradition, habits and customs must also be experienced (and be respected)! The LANGUAGE, and all the inflections and connotations and gestures that it brings with it, is a huge key to understanding a culture! Speaking English minimizes it, numbs it and looses it’s flavor.

Why is it you love about Italy?

My neighborhood-the crackdown on fake Gucci and the black market vendors.
One of my Senegalese familiars is gone. Probably arrested and possibly deported. Large spaces are empty where a few weeks ago were fake designer glasses, watches, posters, jewelry and rows upon rows of rich-black men, often wrapped in African prints even on the hottest days. These men, immigrants from various parts of Africa, now talk and gather in the shaded corners of San Lorenzo on the steps behind the market stalls. I wonder what their choices are and if many of them will travel to another city or decide to try to move back home, home was never Florence and never will be.

Several incidents have happened in my neighborhood, a neighborhood consisting of many immigrants from Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, Senegal, Albania, etc. Months ago my old professor (from my University in the U.S., here with a semester abroad group) was mugged at gunpoint at 1pm around the corner from my apartment. Several weeks ago an old woman, at 10:30 in the morning, was hit severely and mugged, on the same street I had taken to walk to my bus stop 2 hours earlier.
After the market closes, the piazza at San Lorenzo is a mess-the garbage left behind is immense. The empty grounds around the day-time market and the late night food spots open until the wee hours of the morning, have also been targets for late night fights and aggression. The residents are not happy and have picketed and paraded, asking for more security and a change of regulations.

I am sorry that here in Florence the majority of non-white people I see are selling wares illegally on the streets-packing up quickly to avoid the strolling Carabinieri. When I compare this to my memories of Boston, Jamaica Plain in particular, I realize how at peace I was in a community so diverse. In Jamaica Plain, Boston, I lived and worked shoulder to shoulder with Japanese-American, Puerto Rican, African-American, Dominican, Irish-American and a whole crew of people of every tint and accent and a mix of ethnicity that has only made my life feel richer.


Hot Days and Summer Snacks-May 29, 2005
The days here are now hot, 38 centigrade. I sleep on top of the bed, keep my windows open and shutters closed, even though the hot nights are noiser than ever. We have what are called “Zanzare tigre” or tiger mosquitoes. They are beasts.

But what can be better than gelato on the hottest of days? When you’re hungrier still, this is my solution:
Quartered slices of cucumber, fresh cherry tomatoes (here they are more oblong, but less soft and tender, and sweeter), fresh mozzarella and small chunks of ripped Tuscan bread. Drizzled with olive oil, a bit of balsamic and a few sprinkles of salt…
(this is called something, because my sister-in-law has made it many times, but I cannot remember! Shame on me in Italy and I cannot get the right name for the Italian dish that my sister-in-law knows better than me!)

the cherries and peaches are coming into season and I am buying them several times a week. There is also mangoes, kiwis and strawberries, which are always stocked in my refrigerator! I am surviving on crisp salads and fresh bread (which you NEVER store and always buy daily) and am still buying all sorts of shapes and sizes of pastas to mix with tuna, olives or various vegetables. When Klajd and Miri have time, we’ll whip together another elegant menu-but until then I’ll have to dream with my tastebuds for Klajd’s mother’s recipes-pasta dishes with egg and feta, carne con yogurt, polpette (his specialty) and mussels.

One of my small pleasures-walking through the famed Mercato Centrale-as the scents and profumes are STILL wondrous the millionth time I’ve walked through-the scent of tomatoes as if they’ve just come off the vine, marinating olives in huge vats, lettuce and salads of every shade of green, fresh basil, rosemary, and parsley. Melons vary in size, grapes always have seeds, zucchini comes attached with its white and orange whithered flower.


June 1, STAR WARS Italian style
Last night I went to see the third installment of the 21st century STAR WARS
series:
- in Italy
- in Italian
- With Klajd who never saw any of the other movies, including the originals.

How amusingly odd. The music began, and I was transported instantly back home, 15 years ago, when that same music came blasting from our living room TV, my mother on the couch with me and a cat on her lap, my father in the old chair and the volume up so high that our neighbors a quarter mile away would have had to buy a ticket for the show. Those fight scenes, Yoda’s famed method of speaking (like Shakespearean English- made Klajd crack up), R2D2’s humanistic beeps and squeals, the creatures and robots and the origins of Chewbaka. Klajd was definitely amused, but it was I that was wide-mouthed the entire 2.5 hours of the film. The origin of Darth Vader (they call him Darth Vaner here) is a fantastic idea. The ultimate choice between aligning oneself with the dark or the light. What legend-like symbolism of black and white that never seems to die (although I think it should).

Anyway, very interesting to have such sentimental attachment to this film, sitting beside Klajd who has no idea what Skywalker signifies or why Yoda can fly. And watching all in Italian, I’m dang proud of myself to recognize some rather famous Star Wars phrases: “Anikin e con il lato scuro” (He’s with the dark side) and “La forza con te, amico mio” (The force be with you, my friend).

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