I turned in my diversity diaries this morning, but I realized I never included these videos in an entry.
Last week, Nicoletta showed us these videos last week. It started out with a comical video of Englishmen going to Italy.
This reminded her of another instructional video about Italian hand gestures. This is an actual study done on body language Italians often use. Some are obvious, some are fun and some are apparently offensive. We had fun watching them. If you have a few minutes, feel free to be entertained!
Friday the 13th
I’m not a huge believer in luck. I’m not really much of one at
all. I prefer the idea that I make my own path. Consequences come from my own
decisions. I’m not going to rely on some distant unattainable magic to get
results.
Subsequently, I’m not fazed by superstitions. Bring on the
black cats, broken mirrors and ladders. I dry my umbrella open inside, what’s
it to you?
Friday the 13th has always seemed ridiculous to me.
I forget it’s even an issue until people start blaming everyday mishaps on this
black voodoo that clouds the date.
Italy isn’t lacking in this superstition. But it’s not Friday
the 13th that gets them in a tizzy — Friday the 17th. bum bum bummm.
I was in Capri Friday the 13th and heard plenty of
my fellow travel companions blaming the unfortunately crappy weather on the
date. I asked a shopkeeper her opinion. She just stared at me with a confused
look on her face until I remembered that Italy’s unlucky number is 17.
I think it’s funny that each culture has this dark date, but
the fact that they’re different numbers here and in the states makes it feel
all the more arbitrary.
Still it’s fun to
realize/find differences that are actually the same idea, just with a twist.
Greece was really the first time I got to talk to talk to
Europeans other than Italians. Although I had been to Switzerland, we didn’t
really get a chance to meet anyone besides other American students traveling
and staying at the hostel. Most everyone else was shut inside for the coldest
weekend of the year.
I mentioned that we made friends with a Brit, James, for a
couple of days in Athens. He made his opinion of Italians clear. “Ohhhh Italy.
Italian men.” Then he proceeded to mock the stereotypical over-sexed,
passionate Italian man. “Kissy kissy ohh mwah mwah mwah.”
It made me laugh, but it got me thinking about stereotypes.
Americans certainly have plenty of assumptions about European countries, but I
hadn’t really thought about the stereotypes formed within Europe of their
neighboring countries.
In contrast to the wildly inappropriate Italian men, James
also said people perceive Englishmen as cold and unfeeling. He didn’t see why
not being as showy as Italians made him cold. It was an interesting
conversation.
A few days later we ran into an Armenian man in Santorini. Now
I’ve already heard Italians’ general presumption about Armenians. “Stay away
from the Armenians.” People have said the inappropriate behavior and
disrespectful cat calls of “Ciao bella!” come from Armenians, not Italians as
American students often mistake. As a whole, they’re not a favorable crowd to
Italians.
Well this man didn’t have too many kind words to speak of
Italians either. When we told him we study in Italy, his immediate question was
“what do you think of Italians?” We didn’t really give him an answer before he
was telling us his own opinion. “They’re not helpful at all. In my culture, in
my country, if your fellow man needs help, you help him. They don’t ever help
me when I’m there. Not for directions. Nothing. They don’t like to help
people.” My best guess is this may be true, but the stereotype Italians have of
Armenians is probably largely to blame. Who knows though?
I just thought it was
really interesting to hear from both sides of this. I felt like I was listening
to both sides of a stupid argument between bickering children.
Coins and change.
I didn't actually notice this for a while, but since we've talked about it a couple of times in Italian class, this difference stands out to me.
Italian cashiers do not want you to put money directly into their hands. It's a serious payment faux pas. If you try to give it to them directly, they'll pull their hand away and point to the counter. Almost every place I've been has a small tray where you're supposed to put the money. And when they hand you change, even if your palm is out they will place it on the counter.
It's the exact opposite of the norm in the U.S. I feel incredibly rude if I just set the money on the counter. I know as an employee, every time someone throws coins and some bills on the counter I am immediately annoyed. It takes more time to pick up all those darn nickels and pennies you insist on paying with and those people behind you aren't standing in a single file line just for fun.
It took me a while to get used to just setting money on the counter without feeling like I would be reprimanded with a filthy glare. But I'm used to it. As far as cultural differences go, it's probably the easiest to manage. It just baffles me.
While the most obvious cultural difference here is the language, there is also something to be said about the nuances of words within that language barrier. In intercultural communication we've talked about the difference between translation and interpretation. For instance, "house" translates to "casa" in Italian. Simple enough. However, the only translation for "home" is also "casa." In the U.S. a house is the mere physical building in which a group of people resides, while a home is the environment and relationships inside that give the building a more emotional meaning. In the Italian language, the two are not differentiated. I find that absolutely fascinating. Is it because one can assume that a house contains a home? Or do Italians just talk about their house using adjectives to capture the meaning of a home? The same lack of differentiating words exists in the English language as well. "Love"is an incredibly versatile word in English used for anything from your partner for life, to a good friend, to your sister, to the stranger behind you who offers a dime when you don't have enough for your coffee. One can hear "I love you!" in so many different situations. In Italian, there are different words to express this. "Ti voglio bene," directly translates to "I want you good" and is often shortened to T.V.B. T.V.B. is the version of "I love you" used for siblings, friends and parents. "Ti amo," which directly translates to "I love you" is reserved for lovers and soulmates.
Knowing the importance of differentiating between friend love and "love love" says a lot about a culture that many consider romantic.
I feel like separating these loves helps to shape a culture itself. I have to wonder what the U.S. would be like if friend and soulmate love were recognized as completely different ideas in the English language.
Fashion. It's not really high on my daily priority list. I certainly don't want to look like a slob, and I'd like to think I do a pretty good job of that. But my general fashion goal is blend in.
I'm not so good at that here, especially with a wardrobe that was limited by a suitcase. I'm an avid wearer of tennis shoes, which immediately singles me out in a sea of boots and heels.
I had gotten used to it though. But what I can't wrap my mind around is Italians apparent obliviousness to the change in weather. Thursday reached 70°F. Clearly not jacket weather. Yet every Italian I passed was still wearing a pea coat or puffy coat. Most of them had scarves on. A man passed me on a bike wearing a giant coat, thick gloves, a hat and a scarf wound tightly around his neck and face. I was in awe.
I was in a t-shirt in 70° weather, yet I was the crazy one. When I went to Viareggio, I decided to pull out my Chacos (also not the most fashionable footwear. at all). I knew it was still a little cold for sandals but only by a few degrees — and I'm usually warm anyway. Sandals in March. Who cares? Well clearly Italians care. As I walked onto the train a group of people didn't even try to hide their opinions as they stared at my feet, turning their heads as I passed them. "Yeah, that's right. Sandals. Take off your gloves, fools." I thought to myself, but soon tucked on foot under my other leg and that foot under Caitlin's seat across from me. I continued to get similar looks from locals in Viareggio. One girl in particular gave me a rather nasty look as she sized me up on the boardwalk. What's it to you? I didn't get it. And even though my feet were pretty cold after the sun went down, I had no regrets about my footwear.
Sunday I saw a man in Billa wearing flip flops. I paid close attention to see if he was American. He was without a doubt Italian. That immediately validated my shoe choice the previous day. I'm marking this one as a victory for me and my Chacos.
I have a list of cultural topics I need to write about and bits and pieces jotted down, but I've gotten behind. I apologize for stacking two on top of one another. I'll try to do a better job of sprinkling them in.
Yet another thing I didn't expect to find drastically different: restaurant eating experiences. From not realizing drinks and food are ordered at the same time to forgetting tipping isn't customary here, I've made my fair share of first-timer mistakes. I think we all have. But I'm learning, in more ways than one. I can now make it through ordering and consuming meals with minimal and recoverable stumbles. But a skill I didn't expect to gain at Italian eateries? Patience. My family can attest to this: I am the most impatient restaurant goer you'll ever encounter. Or rather, I was. Growing up (and even as a legal "grown-up"), I had a hard time waiting around at restaurants. I could wait for the server to take our order, I could wait for the drinks and food to be served, and I could certainly wait for dessert. However, once my plates were empty, I was ready to go. I would sit on the edge of my chair and tap my foot impatiently.
"Are you done yet? Can we go now?" "Hold on, Lyd! I'm not done eating, and I haven't even asked for the bill." My mother and father would take turns hissing at me.
"But I'm dooooone," I'd obnoxiously whine. Although I'm proud to say I'm largely over my whining days, the patience never came with age. Well mother, father and sisters, you'll be proud to know the patience came in Italy. Second only to their lack of tipping, the one of the most notable differences is bill-delivery. In the US, a waiter/waitress often arrives at your table to clear your plates and conveniently leave your bill (having already asked about dessert before you finished your meal). This worked out great for me since it often took "we haven't gotten the bill yet," off my parents list of reasons we should remain at the dinner table. In the states, a bill has a very clear message: "Thank you for dining with us. Now please pay and exit as soon as possible so other patrons can use this table. Have a nice night." Sitting for too much longer begins to feel like you've overstayed your welcome. In Italy, you don't get a bill until you ask. Servers seem perfectly content floating by your table checking if you need after-dinner wine, some coffee or a dessert. Even when I've refused all of the above, they simply smile and move along. In Assisi, Amy and I sat and talked for more than an hour after dinner before I even glanced at the time. I never feel rushed out of a restaurant. It's a nice change that has taught me to relax, digest and chat. It's not until I am exhausted or have exhausted all talking topics that I ask "Posso avere il conto per favore?" Sometimes I even wait for my dinner companion to ask.
Although "PDA," or public displays of affection, are not uncommon in the states, I am always taken aback by seeing the same here. In the US, it feels like a high school trend to me. Couples seem more aware that they will be judged for excessive PDA. It's just a given.
But what I've seen at home is mild compared to how open the PDA is here. Maybe it's the areas I've visited or maybe seeing it just feels wrong and more vulgar in a historical setting.
From teenagers practically consummating their relationship in a fortress in Orvieto to a couple seemingly trying to trade tongues in a piazza in Siena, I've seen more than I ever wanted.
I've seen infinitely more public lovers quarrels here than I have in the states. Someone said they think people are just more passionate here. I disagree. I think Americans can be just as passionate; we're just not as comfortable displaying it for all to see. I shouldn't say it's wrong; that's exactly the opposite of what a diversity diary is trying to achieve. But it's certainly different.
Today in class we talked about the American values. Fabio
gave us all a list of societal values and a few minutes to rank which 10 we felt
encompassed the American culture. It was a lot more difficult than I expected. We traded papers for anonymity, and everyone wrote the top five
values from each list on the whiteboard. The following appeared the most:
(there are roughly 11 or 12 students in the class)
Democracy – 7
Education – 6
(Nation’s) Status – 6
Money/wealth – 5
Fabio said those were exactly the values he most often associates
with America, except for one: Patriotism. It didn’t appear on the board at all,
and only one person could find it lower on the list. Interesting. Fabio was really surprised.
He said the above four values “are a part of the
materialistic nature of America” and emphasized that it wasn’t meant to be
offensive, just honest.
We started talking about another value that appeared in
various forms: competition/success/accomplishment. Americans tend to judge
people based on incomes, whether we realize it or not. One of the first questions
we ask each other when meeting is “what do you do for a living? Where do you
work?” This immediately gives us a sense of that individual’s income. Or for
college students, the question is “where do you go to school?” The price of
that school and how elite it is also gives a good sense of their wealth.
Fabio explained that this is unique to Americans. A career
is not part of how Italians and most other cultures introduce themselves.
Loyalty to careers, jobs and the professional world is a particular characteristic
of the American Culture. I hadn't thought of it like that, but it's so true.
We also listed three values that don't embody the American culture and listed them on the board. It made us sound like a pretty wretched crew. Here's the list for your perusal:
What America is not, according to my intercultural communication class:
Note: I am catching up on posting these diversity diaries. I apologize that this comes so much after I actually visited Switzerland.
A couple of good friends who studied abroad through the Florence program before prepared me for most of the cultural differences I've encountered thus far.
Last weekend when I traveled to Switzerland, I didn't even consider what cultural differences I might find. It's amazing the change in environment and personalities an eight-hour drive can bring.
The first sign I was somewhere entirely new was the driving. As I mentioned before, Italian drivers aren't the most courteous motorists. So when I needed to cross a traffic circle in Interlaken, I stood patiently, expecting to wait for every car to clear out. Much to my surprise, the very first car slowed to a stop and waved me across — as did the next, and the one after that and every car at every intersection for the entire weekend. And every time I was flattered, overjoyed and still shocked at their kindness. It didn't get old.
That wasn't the only difference.
In Italy, Americans are either welcomed or scoffed at. It's one or the other, and some days I run into a lot of the latter. As soon as they realize I'm an American, which doesn't take long despite my keeping up in Italian, they respond in English — or rather they spit English responses at me as if it tastes bad on their tongue.
In Switzerland they don't scoff or mock. They either welcome or ignore Americans — and much more often the former! There's just a general relaxed atmosphere. It's different from Italy in so many more ways than the nature and architecture.
This is not to say Italy is a bad place in any way. Florence and Interlaken just contrast very sharply in ways I didn't expect to find.
I love them both.
Also, in my crowning moment of stupidity for the weekend, the following exchange happened.
Me: How do you say "thank you" in German? Kind cashier: Danke Me: Grazie!... erm... Thank you! DANKE! I MEAN DANKE!
She laughed, but with me not at my stupidity. It was a nice change.
Something professors here are big on: journals. I have to keep a journal for two of my five classes.
For Intercultural Communication, we are to write a "diversity diary" reflecting on the different customs here and any culture shock we may experience.
So here we go.
Most things, I can get used to.
No heat? My body already seems to be adjusting. The apartment feels less frigid every day.
No dryer? Sure my shirts are stiff and towels are literally crunchy after air drying them, but they soften up after a bit of use. My towel not so much, but its roughness will become an exfoliant.
Only one electrical appliance at a time? OK so just use the washer at night, stove during the day and check the two before I turn on a hairdryer, which I usually don't anyway.
Short showers? Well that's already been taken care of. I've been showering in 5 minutes for the past two years since I am eternally late to something.
No car? I like walking, and my tennis shoes are incredibly comfortable.
Coins for everything under €5? No problem. I'm just pleasantly surprised by how far a little change in my pocket goes.
But what I can't get used to yet is the sidewalk etiquette.
For one, I like to smile at people. Back home when I walk down the street, I always try to smile or at least acknowledge the presence of people around me. If I'm at a park, I'll even say hi to passersby. But here that doesn't work. Not only does it immediately peg me as a foreigner, but it also gives the wrong impression. Apparently even a split second of eye contact with a man will tell them I'm open for business. Not exactly what I'm looking for. So step one: avert eyes from everyone passing.
That makes the second step particularly difficult. Step two: watch out. People don't step aside to let you pass until you've forcibly repeated "permesso" several times. But most of the time, you have three options: walk ahead like you own the sidewalk, flatten yourself against a wall or step around them and onto the street. I usually choose the final one, which hurls a whole new set of problems at me.
The streets are narrow and the cars are tiny, undetectable and fast. I had hoped my insane taxi ride from the airport to my apartment on day one was just a poor example of Italian driving. He sped around cars on roads I would consider one lane, one way. We merged with equally crazy cars missing bumpers by inches. It turns out he may have been mild. Essentially Italians seem to drive as if they think they have snow plows attached to the front of their tiny cars for all those darn pedestrians. The other day a moped brushed against me as it turned.
So let's throw another contradictory precaution in the mix. Step three: keep an eye on the cobblestone. I think you have to walk on these sidewalks for years to be able to gracefully maneuver this city. I saw a girl who was probably around 8 years old walking across cobblestone in rather high wedges as if the place was a runway. I envy her. Being as naturally uncoordinated as I am, even in tennis shoes I'm constantly twisting my foot on the uneven paths.
Once you master steps one-three, try to get a handle on the last one.
Step four: read the street signs. In the end, it won't matter how well you can pass people, avoid cars and hopscotch over the sunken cobblestones. Who cares how gracefully you can walk along the sidewalk if you don't know where you are?
I may look calm as I walk down the street, but look closer. My eyes are darting every which way and all of my rules are running through my head. Don't look at people, watch for traffic, mind the cobblestone, keep track of street signs.
Oh, and make sure your bag is in front of you. Getting pickpocketed didn't quite make my list of things I must do before leaving Florence.
I'm mastering the sidewalks though, and if this is one of the bigger adjustments I've had to make, I'd say I'm doing pretty well.
Please enjoy this video Nicoletta showed us during class.
It's hilarious, and the driving part is all too accurate.
