Travel Reference
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tracts or the way that an Italian couple on a first date might order dinner in a stylish restaur-
ant. One side of a tape would help 30 minutes fly by while I peddled away on an exercise
bike at the gym, trying to get in shape physically and linguistically for the next season of
pasta and cappuccino.
On our third trip to Italy I distinctly remember a brief conversation that I had with an eld-
erly visitor to the village of Montesantini where we were staying. We passed each other on
the street, he asked me something, and we chatted for a moment about the weather. Then
we wished each other good day and went our separate ways. As he walked off, I realized
that I had just had my first real conversation with an Italian I didn't know. I didn't stumble
over words and smile abashedly, nor did I need to use gestures to get an idea across. And
the topic of where I was from, and how did I like Italy, never entered the conversation. It
was definitely a milestone.
Over time one's comfort zones within the language slowly grow. Getting coffee and pastry
at the bar in the morning; having the
benzinaio
fill up your tank with non-leaded, please;
asking the clerk whether they take credit cards; telling the nice lady in the post office that
you want to send your letter registered and via airmail; ordering your steak medium-rare so
it doesn't get up and walk off your plate. Little by little all of the things we did during our
years as tourists entered into our language comfort zones. Ah, but once you actually begin
to live here, the game changes dramatically!
Stuff happens and you suddenly find yourself plunged into zones of unfamiliarity. The
shower faucet starts dripping and you need to know for the first time what a “washer” is
calledinItalian.Youdecidetorollupyoursleevesandstartdoinghandymanchoresaround
the house; shelves, drills and bits, molly bolts, screws, pliers—a whole universe of com-
pletely unfamiliar terms. A screwdriver is called a screwchaser (
cacciavite
) and pliers be-
come pincers (
pinze
). The rest isn't even close. Then your child gets a nasty cold, and you
try to explain swollen sinuses, post-nasal drip and yellowish phlegm to the pharmacist. You
go to buy flowers for your wife's birthday and are reduced once again to pointing at what
you want after your attempts to Italianize the names of the flowers bring only blank stares.
These are humbling moments. It makes you appreciate the richness of the vocabulary you
have in your native language. Even the kids who drop out of high school know the names
of common tools, spices, flowers, plants, and wild animals, not to mention typical ailments
and diseases, computer accessories, car parts, sports jargon, and the ins and outs of the
body. When you start living in a foreign language, all of this needs to be acquired anew.
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