My Life Italian, Part 1.
Well, it had been a rough first week for me in Italy for a few reasons, some of which I'll explain in a later post. I decided to leave Berlin slightly earlier than planned because Michi found out his exams were coming up very soon and needed some peace and quiet to study. I booked my flight for the 21st and on the 20th, I receive a phone call from my Italian "tutor" (aka mentor-guide person) Andrea that the apartment I'm supposed to be occupying is no longer available and that there are no arrangements for me at this time, but that I will be temporarily staying with another English teacher from the school, Carla, and her family at their house in Cuggiono, a very small, pretty ancient town located about 30 minutes away from Legnano (on a good day), or 40 minutes west of Milan. Though I suddenly feel like a 16-year-old exchange student, I keep an open mind. And I'm glad I did, because Carla and her family are truly great people. It ends up that there was another Carla who also teaches at the high school, who has an independent apartment in her house, which was where the other two interns stayed before me. But this time it was rented out to someone else, since Andrea didn't bother asking her until two days before I was coming if it was free and then blaming her that I had no place to stay. Good job there, buddy.
That was the first and last thing that my tutor did for me.
Anyway, I get off the plane expecting my tutor to quickly scoop me up since, after all, I had sent him a picture of myself to make life simpler. So you think that after 20 minutes of me standing around in the arrivals hall alone like a jackass, he'd have figured out that the girl looking slightly perturbed, lost and annoyed standing 15 feet away from him with two luggages would be me, right? Right. We finally greet each other and quickly part ways, as I went off with Carla and her husband Franco to Cuggiono.
As we politely get to know each other during the drive home, I tell them how I came to learn my Italian, from my high school days with my genius/crazy teacher, to how I was discouraged by my professors in my undergrad, to my post-baccalaureate days. But instead of saying scoraggiata, which is the correct word for "discourage," I accidentally blurt out scoreggiato, which means farted. I tried to cover it up like one, since I immediately realized my humiliating error, but it was useless. (A week later we all have a good laugh about it.)
Although I'm now living in the city center of Legnano (I'll leave details on that for another post), I spent 10 days living in an apartment in Franco and Carla's 18th century triangular home complete with courtyard and automatic gate. Check out the before and after pics:
1800s:
2007:
View from inside the courtyard.
Since my apartment didn't have a kitchen, I enjoyed all meals and downtime with the family, which was an excellent source of conversation on everything from history, politics, culture, jokes, school systems in Italy vs. the US, etc. Despite having a clogged nose as a result of me being allergic to something in the house the entire time I was there (they didn't have any pets), and usually freezing since the house was normally maintained at 19C (66F), it was really a great way to start my time here in Italy.
Franco is a really amazing cook. He says that he would dedicate his time to cooking and taking cooking classes if he didn't have to work. He sometimes wore an apron that said "Il mago del fornello" which literally means "the wizard (or magician) of the stove," so from then on, I began to call him Mago.
The magician and his lovely assistant, Carla.
Setting the table on the rooftop terrace, or as I like to call it, the secret garden.
Marco (son) and Carla.
Street in Cuggiono, church tower.
City Hall in Cuggiono. Not too shabby, eh? There is a massive public park behind the city hall that once used to belong to an aristocratic family.
Archway leading to the park grounds.
There are about 7 or 8 peacocks that live on the grounds as well. Pretty little things.
Random tiny house towards the middle of the park, which probably belonged to the service of the aristocratic family.
Front of the tiny service house.
Back of city hall.
The little anarchist in me.
The first official day was a bit of a doozy, having spent it at school meeting tons of colleagues and getting weird looks from most. (It's an Italian thing. Why do people love to stare here?) The weather was lovely the first few days here, so after we returned to Cuggiono Carla took me on a personally narrated bike tour all around the surrounding areas, which are flanked by the Naviglio and Ticino rivers. The Ticino is one of the many tributaries of the larger Po River. The Po actually dried up in several spots in May this year, most likely because there hasn't been enough snowfall on the Alps, since Italy had its warmest winter in 200 years. Yikes. Global warming much?
Castle on the Naviglio
Ticino River, where people sunbathed topless on the pebble beach. An old Italian man stopped me just after taking a few pictures, livid about the "scandalous" nature of these topless bathers. Haha.
One particularly gorgeous site that I wasn't able to capture with my camera was also one of the most beautiful. Each day around 7:45, on our way to school with Carla and her daughter Benedetta, I stared out the left hand window to catch sight of the towering snow-topped Alps in the distance, bathed in the pink and lavender morning light.
Marco, the reserved, anti-conformist 24-year-old son of the Mago and Carla, was kind enough not only to let me basically commandeer his computer on a daily basis but also took me out with his friends while I stayed at his house. But while he's on stage, it's a whole different side of him that comes out. He's the lead singer and guitarist for his band, Shopping , who define themselves as "power pop" or under the general indie rock umbrella genre. While I'm familiar with some indie rock, I'm a pretty harsh music critic in general but I honestly have nothing but good things to say about these guys. Marco is a completely self-taught singer and guitarist and the band's music is pretty darn original and the lyrics are far from banal (in fact, some speak volumes; unfortunately, most songs are in Italian) and they've only been playing for a few months. Check out the link above to listen to one of their most popular tunes, Ragazze Bavaresi (Bavarian Girls.)
Shopping in concert:
That was the first and last thing that my tutor did for me.
Anyway, I get off the plane expecting my tutor to quickly scoop me up since, after all, I had sent him a picture of myself to make life simpler. So you think that after 20 minutes of me standing around in the arrivals hall alone like a jackass, he'd have figured out that the girl looking slightly perturbed, lost and annoyed standing 15 feet away from him with two luggages would be me, right? Right. We finally greet each other and quickly part ways, as I went off with Carla and her husband Franco to Cuggiono.
As we politely get to know each other during the drive home, I tell them how I came to learn my Italian, from my high school days with my genius/crazy teacher, to how I was discouraged by my professors in my undergrad, to my post-baccalaureate days. But instead of saying scoraggiata, which is the correct word for "discourage," I accidentally blurt out scoreggiato, which means farted. I tried to cover it up like one, since I immediately realized my humiliating error, but it was useless. (A week later we all have a good laugh about it.)
Although I'm now living in the city center of Legnano (I'll leave details on that for another post), I spent 10 days living in an apartment in Franco and Carla's 18th century triangular home complete with courtyard and automatic gate. Check out the before and after pics:
1800s:
2007:
View from inside the courtyard.
Since my apartment didn't have a kitchen, I enjoyed all meals and downtime with the family, which was an excellent source of conversation on everything from history, politics, culture, jokes, school systems in Italy vs. the US, etc. Despite having a clogged nose as a result of me being allergic to something in the house the entire time I was there (they didn't have any pets), and usually freezing since the house was normally maintained at 19C (66F), it was really a great way to start my time here in Italy.
Franco is a really amazing cook. He says that he would dedicate his time to cooking and taking cooking classes if he didn't have to work. He sometimes wore an apron that said "Il mago del fornello" which literally means "the wizard (or magician) of the stove," so from then on, I began to call him Mago.
The magician and his lovely assistant, Carla.
Setting the table on the rooftop terrace, or as I like to call it, the secret garden.
Marco (son) and Carla.
Street in Cuggiono, church tower.
City Hall in Cuggiono. Not too shabby, eh? There is a massive public park behind the city hall that once used to belong to an aristocratic family.
Archway leading to the park grounds.
There are about 7 or 8 peacocks that live on the grounds as well. Pretty little things.
Random tiny house towards the middle of the park, which probably belonged to the service of the aristocratic family.
Front of the tiny service house.
Back of city hall.
The little anarchist in me.
The first official day was a bit of a doozy, having spent it at school meeting tons of colleagues and getting weird looks from most. (It's an Italian thing. Why do people love to stare here?) The weather was lovely the first few days here, so after we returned to Cuggiono Carla took me on a personally narrated bike tour all around the surrounding areas, which are flanked by the Naviglio and Ticino rivers. The Ticino is one of the many tributaries of the larger Po River. The Po actually dried up in several spots in May this year, most likely because there hasn't been enough snowfall on the Alps, since Italy had its warmest winter in 200 years. Yikes. Global warming much?
Castle on the Naviglio
Ticino River, where people sunbathed topless on the pebble beach. An old Italian man stopped me just after taking a few pictures, livid about the "scandalous" nature of these topless bathers. Haha.
One particularly gorgeous site that I wasn't able to capture with my camera was also one of the most beautiful. Each day around 7:45, on our way to school with Carla and her daughter Benedetta, I stared out the left hand window to catch sight of the towering snow-topped Alps in the distance, bathed in the pink and lavender morning light.
Marco, the reserved, anti-conformist 24-year-old son of the Mago and Carla, was kind enough not only to let me basically commandeer his computer on a daily basis but also took me out with his friends while I stayed at his house. But while he's on stage, it's a whole different side of him that comes out. He's the lead singer and guitarist for his band, Shopping , who define themselves as "power pop" or under the general indie rock umbrella genre. While I'm familiar with some indie rock, I'm a pretty harsh music critic in general but I honestly have nothing but good things to say about these guys. Marco is a completely self-taught singer and guitarist and the band's music is pretty darn original and the lyrics are far from banal (in fact, some speak volumes; unfortunately, most songs are in Italian) and they've only been playing for a few months. Check out the link above to listen to one of their most popular tunes, Ragazze Bavaresi (Bavarian Girls.)
Shopping in concert:
2 comments :
Daniela,
I think they only stare at us Americans. I get a lot of that too.
Jessica S
Oh dont think its limited to Italy or Europe.
Chilenos stare like theres nothing else around you or them. And if you stare back their eyes just get a little bit wider that whatever it is theyre looking at has eyes too.
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