2017 – Page 7 – SLA Profiles (2017)

Italian Soccer Moms

While in Siena I am staying with a host family. It seemed like the best way to learn the language, but it has turned out to be much more difficult than I expected. My host family is by no means anywhere close to a horror story but it has certainly taken some time to get used to living with them. My host family includes Katia and her 10-year-old son, Alberto, her husband, Donatello, and their 2 month old son Giorgio (my favorite member of the family since we currently have the same ability to speak the language). Below is a picture of “Babbo” (the grandpa) pushing Giorgio in his stroller outside of the apartment. Both sets of grandparents (along with other miscellaneous family and friends who are basically family) visit often making for long and loud dinners.

Language is a huge barrier, which I knew coming into the summer, but the cultural differences have been surprisingly challenging. These differences wouldn’t be so noticeable except for the fact that I’m staying with a host family, so I am constantly confronted by them. Not everything is totally different, though.

This past week my host mom brought me to pick up her son at soccer practice and invited me to join her and her friends at lunch. As I had only been in Siena for a of couple weeks, I was still trying to get a feel for the culture and way people interact, so I mostly remained in the background and observed at these events. At lunch, after a few brief conversations about who I am and why I was there, I sat quietly, limited by my speaking ability, but all the while listening. It turns out a bunch of Italian moms like to gossip the same way American moms would back home. At soccer practice, I watched Katia interact with the other moms in the same way my mom acts when she takes my younger sisters to soccer.

My comprehension has been getting much better. It has taken me awhile to get used to the speed, musicality, and accents of native Italian speakers, but now I am able to understand the gist of what’s being talked about. At lunch I learned what everyone’s kids and husbands were up to and whom everybody wanted to win in the Palio the next weekend (none of their contrade were participating). At the soccer practice I watched the miniscule drama play out between the moms and between the boys. Italy is definitely not America, but people are still people, so some things are universal.

I am very happy to be living with a host family because it really has made my experience here so much more immersive. At least twice a week, my host family and I go out for aperitivo at the di solito (“the usual”) bar. Now the bartender recognizes me even when I am on my own. The neighbors/family friends say hi to me when I pass them on the street. My host family has included me in their life in a way that opens up experiences for me that I never would have had otherwise.

Siena: a city of the past?

The day I arrived in Siena, I took a taxi from the train station to my host family’s apartment and waited outside to meet them for approximately 30 seconds before a parade of men dressed in Renaissance garb, colorful tights and all, beating drums and waving flags, marched through the streets around me. Needless to say I was slightly overwhelmed by the fact that it seemed like Dante Alighieri himself could be in this crowd, and it was almost impossible to hear anything except the beat of the drums as I attempted to greet my host family.

I asked myself, “Harriet, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” My host family is wonderful, but at the time I had no idea what was happening around me and barely understood anything my host mother was saying. But seriously, why were there men walking around like it was a completely different century? [see images below]

In the beginning, I could hardly utter anything other than “ciao” and the occasional “come va?” to my host family, but slowly but surely I was able to gain the confidence and language proficiency to gather information about the modern day medieval city I’m living in. It turns out almost every weekend during the summer, one of the contradas marches around the city in their traditional costumes.

One of the neatest things about Siena is the 17 Contrade. The best I can do explain the enigma is that they are essentially neighborhood organizations that developed from the guild system during the medieval ages. Most tourists and other non-sienese know the contrade as the different participants in the Palio (a horse race that occurs twice a summer).

So far the contrada has been a great way to experience Sienese life. I join my host family at the contrada dinners, try new foods (like anchovy bruschetta), meet new people, and observe how Italians interact. There are lots of spirited discussions every time we go. Most of the people my host family knows and says hi to while walking around the town seem to be from their contrada; however, the contrada serves as more than just a place to get dinner and socialize. They keep the history of Siena alive as well as serve an important role for the community. In the Onda contrada, there is free academic tutoring everyday after school for all of the younger members. Contradas maintain traditions, such a “faciando un giro,” and each one has its own museum and church to collect significant artifacts such as old costumes, Palio banners (the prize for winning the Palio), artwork made by their members, etc. Each member is baptized into the community, usually when they are just babies. My host family has invited me to their son’s baptism into the contrada, so more on that soon.

The picture above is Onda doing a giro, which is a march around the entire city. The men of the contrada walk through the streets for the whole day in the hot sun, wearing their traditional costumes. There are flag twirlers and drummers, and each man has been practicing the particular flag spin and drum beat since they were little. My host dad plays the drum and hopes his 2-month-old son, Giorgio, will follow in his footsteps.

While Siena is definitely a medieval city in its architecture, society, and activities, the tradition is alive and constantly evolving. Even the most notable activity, the Palio, which originated as a war between the armies of the different contradas, has evolved into a horse race based on strategy. It’s still changing today due to recent interests of animal activist groups. The Palio races or the highlight of the summer and even inspires tears (happy or sad) and fights depending the winner. I could read about the contradas and the Palio, but anything other than experiencing them for yourself is missing something.

Below are some images of the setting for the living history in Siena.

“Hoha Hola” and Accents

All the different accents and dialects in Italy make it very difficult to for the beginner speaker. I first noticed the accent in Siena when my host brother Alberto asked for a “hoha hola” and received a coke. In Siena they pronounce the “c” sound as an “h.” No wonder I couldn’t understand when my host mom said we were going back to the “hasa.” Eventually I was able to tune my ear to the Sienese accent, but everything would change when I met someone who didn’t live in Siena and didn’t speak proper Italian like my professors.

It turned out that these accents almost always go further than just pronunciation. In different regions they use different words to refer to the same thing, different slang, and sometimes even different grammar. In Siena they call watermelon “cocomero” but some regions use “anguria” and others use “melone di acqua.” In the Bologna area, apparently they use “zio” meaning “uncle” to say “bro.”

“Cathedral, Milan”

In Milan they use the formal third person instead of the informal second person like they do in Siena. I visited Milan one weekend, and despite the heat and mosquitos, I managed to have lots of conversations in Italian, whether it was with my taxi driver, with the owner of a pasta food truck, or getting sightseeing advice from an old man in a bookstore. A couple times I tried to ask why each person used the formal tense with me, but quite frankly could not get my point across. After fifteen minutes trying to explain what I wanted to say to my cab driver, he finally understood my question and replied that that’s just something you do.

On reflection, I realized the reason I was having such a hard time explaining my point about the intricacies of Italian grammar was because I have a completely different understanding of Italian grammar than native speakers do. I think of conjugating verbs with a chart, but Italians just speak. In the same way the verb “to know” is the same regardless of the person i.e. whether I say “I” know, “you” know, “he” knows…, in Italian the verb sapere has the same significance whether I say io so, tu sai, lui sa… Italians don’t even realize they’re conjugating verbs.

This realization was actually very helpful for improving my speaking ability. Later that weekend when I ate lunch a pasta food truck I decided to stop thinking about how I was conjugating verbs and just speak. I ended up having a 45-minute conversation about food trucks- how they were up and coming in Italian cities, their popularity in Italy and the US, and what the legislation was like in both places, and how this guy started his business. Once I was able to just let the conversation flow, I received my highest marks yet for my conversation ability. I was no longer “abbastanza bene” (pretty good, sufficient), I was simply “bene” (good).

“the pasta food truck”

The Vaccine Debate: Italian Edition

Who knew the question of whether vaccines should be mandatory was as big of a question in Italy as it is in the United States? The first protest as ran into in Italy (there seemed like there was a protest or strike every week) was an anti vaccine march. While I steered clear of any protest I encountered, I did try to figure out what “la liberta di scelta” meant after the fact.

Recently, Italy passed a law the mandates vaccines for all children attending schools. It turns out there is a fair amount a disagreement with this decision and many Italians want the “liberty of choice.” The more research I did, the more I found that the same arguments made in the United States, such as the link to autism, were being expressed on the protestors’s posters, through their megaphones, and in the courtroom.

I asked my host family what they thought about the mass protests across Italy as a result of the mandatory vaccine laws. My baby host brother was getting vaccines at the time and I was curious about their take on the issue. Katia and Donatello basically said that those people were “cretini” meaning stupid. Even though Giorgio cried for the entire day after he had to get a shot, my host parents both said it was important to get vaccines, and that they didn’t have a problem with the new regulation since they would have already gotten Giorgio vaccinated.

I asked my professor what he thought, but he was more interested in me describing the debate in Italian to practice explaining a point. He has refrained from commenting on the issue for now.

Real life Tinder

Beijing, China

This weekend was my last weekend in Beijing. I decided to wander around the city all day Saturday, to see as much as I could. I hadn’t gone to the Forbidden City so I headed to Tiananmen Square. For breakfast, I stopped at my favorite café, by Dongzhimen, a neighborhood near Tiananmen. I got to the Forbidden City a little later than I originally planned. From the outside, the Fortress didn’t look too busy. There were a lot of tourists outside, but nothing crazier than any average Saturday in China. I waited in line for the first security check, at the entrance of Tiananmen Square. Chinese people seem to be very worried by safety and there is a safety check before any entrance, whether it is a famous historical site or the metro. As I walked into the Forbidden City, I saw a line for what seemed to be tickets. I was surprised by how short the line was but I bought a ticket without questioning what I was buying.

I made my way through the first gate, and saw a beautiful building. There was a ticket check, when I showed my tickets the guard said it wasn’t the right one and if I hadn’t bought it yet I wouldn’t be able to visit it today because all the tickets were sold out. It was only 11 and the thousands of tickets allotted for the day had already been sold out.

I must admit, I was a little sad. Had I gone all the way to China not to see the Forbidden City? It seemed so. I decided to go visit a little garden, part of the Forbidden City, for which I didn’t need to have a specific ticket. I made my way to the park. It had a lot of shade, which was very agreeable after the blazing sun of Tiananmen and the Forbidden City. We could see the river, which circles the Forbidden City. I couldn’t help but notice the amount of old people gathered in the park. They all had little posters at their feet, it intrigued me. I tried to read what they said, some were handwritten, and some were typed. They said people’s ages, names, sex and social situation. I thought these people were seeking a job. I asked the man sitting next to a sign what he was here for. He answered, that he was there to help couples meet and help people find love. So the man wasn’t looking for a job, he was a matchmaker. I couldn’t help but think “Woah, a real life Tinder”.

It reminded me very strongly of Mulan, where at the very beginning she visits a matchmaker to help her find a husband. I thought it only happened in movies. For some reasons, I expected that was one thing social media had replaced. It was very interesting to walk in between alleys and read everyone’s offer. Some people seemed to be grandparents, others seemed to work as third parties and finally, some people were there, representing themselves. This one man, gave me his card when he saw I could speak Chinese and after I told him I was studying at Beijing Da Xue. Guess, I could be a good match.

The more I walked, the more interesting it got. There was an area for girls, another for guys. Some people seemed to visit it themselves other sent their families or maybe they came on their own, to find the perfect match for their sons and daughters. Most people were in their 30s, were educated people with an apartment and a car. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take a picture because people’s numbers were on there and a man explained if I took a picture he ran the risk of losing clients.

This random encounter, was far more interesting that visiting the Forbidden City or at least that’s what I convinced myself of to make myself feel better about not being able to see it. This place was a gem, a cultural center were various generations intertwined together. I am very glad I stumbled upon this park because I was able to witness a very unique moment and grasp the difficulty of finding your perfect match in a city as big as Beijing.

The taste of Xi’An

Xi’an，China

Food occupies a very important place in my heart. I love nothing more than a good a meal and whenever I travel I always try anything I am offered. In my opinion, a culture transpires by the food cooked by locals. It is no wonder that Xian has been one of my favorite Chinese experience so far. The Xianese food is famous in China to be tasteful and spicy, one of the best. Our trip schedule consisted of meals scattered by visits to various tourist attractions. Xian’s most well known street is one dedicated to food, the Muslim street. It is a 丰富多彩 street, rich and colorful place where a great diversity of food is laid out in front of hungry tourists’ eyes.

This street is a paradise to anyone who loves food. Sweet options, salty options, adventurous options, comfort food, you can pretty much find anything. Amongst the most famous options figures sour plum juice, rice cakes, biang biang noodles and the 肉夹馍, pronounced Rou Jia Mo.

The 肉夹馍 is the equivalent of a Chinese burger, and it was by far my favorite thing. It’s simplicity makes it convenient to eat at any time and the content is delicious. I tested it twice, the first in a muslim restaurant and the second at a Muslim street vendor.

Street vendor selling various sauces and spices.

Xi’an’s Muslim community is one of the biggest in China. So more than simply the taste experience, eating肉夹馍 was interesting because it shows the impact the Muslim influence on Xianese cuisine.肉夹馍 are often made of beef and rarely of pork, depending on the shops you can sometimes find pork ones though. In Xi’an, finding pork is harder and most restaurants don’t offer dishes containing pork. There is a lot of sheep instead. Beijing food contains a lot of pork and beef, so testing sheep dishes was a nice break from what we ate on a regular basis in Beijing.

肉夹馍 is cooked in a savory sauce and a variety of spices are added to it. The bun in itself is pretty salty but it balances very well with the sauce of the meat. It is also very simple and plain which surprised me at first, it is a little hard on the outside while being softer on the inside. The overall taste is amazing; it is an explosion of savors.

Overall, I would recommend to anyone travelling to China to take a detour to Xi’an, if not only for the food, also to visit the Terracotta warriors and the other touristic attractions.

Different but the same

Xi’an, China

While travelling, I often reflect on cultural differences. I like to observe people, trying to understand, how their culture differs from mine. In China, I have enjoyed looking at how people interact, how people observe foreigners, how they eat, what they eat, what they do while riding the subway. These small details allow me to piece up together a greater and more accurate image of how Chinese live.

We travelled to Xi’an this weekend. Often considered the cultural center of China, it is the home of the Terracotta warrior, an entire army of soldiers that were buried along the side of Emperor Qing, amongst many other famous 名胜古同, historical sites。In my country, France, we treasure our cultural tradition to the extent that cities have done everything possible to maintain the cultural identity and historical tradition in every city. China does not have the same desire for authenticity. It is quite the opposite actually. Even though Xi’an is a very renowned city in China with constant flows of visitors, the city’s charm is far from being comparable to a European city. Most buildings are from the 70’s, the colors have started to fade and they are cramped together. I know the purpose is to create a new, 现代化, modern city, where the 8.06 million people can live and work. Beyond the modern appearance of the city, which, is far from the small provincial town I imagined before arriving in Xi’an, the city holds many treasures of old dynasties. When I talked to a local, on Thursday night, I realized people take great pride of living in this city. They like it for its safety, the old architecture and the tourists. The guy I was talking had great pride in his cultural cultural heritage. I was surprised nonetheless when he explained to me destroying smaller districts to ensure the growth of Xi’an was a good thing. It was very interesting to see his point of view when, for me, destroying historical districts to build modern buildings breaks my heart.

Within the large differences between Western cultures and Chinese cultures, Xian also showed me that we all share deep similarities. On Friday, we visited beautiful palace. While wondering around, I stumbled upon a wish tree, beautiful, with red charms hanging from all the branches, bringing them down with the weight. Magical, truly. Some charms had little bells attached to them. The bells were ringing as the wind was blowing through them. It was peaceful and soothing. I started looking at some of the wishes written on the charms. One of them particularly attracted my gaze, “我希望我和你在一起”.

It was very simple, the words said, “I hope we stay together”. Others wished for luck, happiness, health of themselves and, most importantly, their loved ones. I can’t specifically explain why but it resonated with me. And I thought it was beautiful to see so many charms from very different people wished for something as simple happiness and health. It goes to show, that no matter our cultural differences, humanity shares a similar hope. We all have different ways of attaining it but remembering the essence of our lives is the same should help us be closer.

Farewell For Now

As I’m writing this, I’m also preparing for the new school year at Notre Dame. I’ve had a week to flip my cultural switch and settle back in to my American habits. In that week, I had time to relax, unwind, and think about everything that happened during my six weeks of study. I learned a lot in class, but the most valuable things I took away from my experience weren’t linguistic in nature.

At the time I really didn’t realize just how challenging and sometimes uncomfortable it was to live in a country where practically no one speaks your native tongue. I didn’t realize how nearly overwhelming all of the kanji and new customs and attempted conversations were until I came back home. Being able to speak English again was a breath of fresh air. In comparison to having to navigate all of the new experiences in Tokyo, simple things like small talk and asking strangers questions in English seemed so much easier. I felt more assured, as silly as that might sound.

That said, I definitely picked up some funny quirks in my six weeks that have stuck with me a week later. I still bow a little bit when introducing myself or thanking someone. I drift to the left when walking anywhere rather than sticking to the right. Just little mundane things like that. My favorite quirk is how I mix up English writing and Japanese writing sometimes. Katakana and hiragana are both phonetic scripts, and they both have symbols for “to.” The Japanese “to,” however, it more like “toe.” Regardless, I got into a habit of writing quickly and writing the hiragana “to,” then the katakana “to,” and then finally writing in English. And it’s still happening.

All this rambling is to say that I really think this experience will stick with me academically and personally for the rest of my life. It seems strange to say it, but I think those six weeks are a part of me now. It wasn’t just fun, it was formative, and I think what I took away will help me shape my future. Grandiose proclamations aside, I am truly grateful for my time in Tokyo, and I can’t wait to go back.

Farewell, for now. We will meet again.

Literally lost in Translation

Beijing,

I’m in line waiting to pay for my “baozi”, local delicacies that are similar to a bun of light dough filled with various meats and seasoning. The person right before me gets to the counter and pulls out her phone. Two seconds after, she walks out of the store, without having taken out her wallet. Meanwhile, I get to the cash register and struggle to count my Renminbi, before handing a chaotic pile of ¥1. I would pay with my credit card but most places don’t accept it. Instead, all restaurants have a QR scan code system that allows anyone with a Chinese bank account to use his or her phone to pay any bill. Very convenient isn’t it? No need to carry wallets around, you can just leave the house with your phone, hoping it’s sufficiently charged to get you through the day. I cannot help but wonder, what would happen if you suddenly lost your phone. Ironically, it happened to me, the first day of class at Beijing University.

Living a phone free life in the crazy wilderness of Beijing has certainly been an interesting experience. My phone is usually the answer to many of my questions. Without it, there is no longer an easy access to a Translator in the case where I forget a word. As a result, talking to locals is often followed by a sequence of mimics and gestures to try to be understood. I have to admit, it has helped develop my imagination and it has allowed me to think harder about words I had learnt but forgotten. There have also been many lonelier moments when I wanted to talk with people from home but couldn’t because I didn’t have my phone to communicate with them.

Finding myself phone free in the capital has also proved to be interesting. Last Monday, I had to go check out a fencing club in the Olympic Village (I am on the fencing team at Notre Dame). The trip was a 15-minute cab ride but an hour-long metro ride where I had to change lines 3 times. Before leaving for my adventure, I printed a map of the city, using Baidu, the local Google, to show the cabdriver where I wanted to go. After getting in a heated argument with the cab driver who wanted to charge me ¥20 more than he was supposed to, I finally got to the Olympic village. I did not think it through enough and didn’t expect it to be this big. Since Maps couldn’t help me I wondered around for a while. I asked two people walking down the street where the “击剑场“, fencing gym, was, insisting on the tones to make myself understood.

One of the gyms at the Vango fencing gym

To my surprise they understood immediately and indicated a building a couple meters away. When I finally arrived, I was told today was their rest day, quite unfortunate. I managed however to communicate with a few people who were there. On the subway coming back, I couldn’t help but notice everyone riding the subway was on his or her phone and did not stop looking at his screen for the length of the trip.

Overall, getting lost in a part of Beijing I had never been to, with any way to communicate turned out to be an interesting adventure. I understood that I didn’t need a translator for every word I forgot. It proved more fun and rewarding to communicate with the few words I know. I also had to interact more with people, asking for directions, and help along the way. And even though at times I felt lonely without a phone to keep me company in the huge streets of Beijing, I was able to take a break from the smartphone life and go back to simpler ways.

After Tours

I set my goals high, and I’m not sure I met them. I have yet to take the language placement test to see if I can take Advanced French this semester. I can certainly read, write, and speak better. I solidified the French I’ve learned thus far to the point that vocabulary tends to be the only reading obstacle, and I can discuss films and literature at a higher level than before. The disparity between my initial goals and where I’m at lies in a lack of fluidity. I don’t speak, read, or write as fast as I’d like to. Luckily, that’s the sort of thing that just takes practice.

I learned more than language, and more than culture. French culture differs from American, but not enough to make the country feel alien. I adjusted fairly quickly to the pace of life and to the cultural expectation that everyone should be able to contribute to conversation. More consequentially, I internalized my national identity and felt more globally aware to a surprising degree. To international students, I represented both myself and the US. Rather than the futility I sometimes feel at being only one person in a world with endless complications, my actions seemed important. My sense of responsibility to the world was revitalized. Earning the grant in the first place was an accomplishment in my eyes, but the sense of confidence that traveling abroad affords was a still larger reward.

This experience acts as an excellent springboard. I will continue to study French this semester and of course during my Spring semester in Paris, so the immediate future of my French studies is secured and promising. The possibility of living in a francophone country grows more likely. Ideally, I’ll work as a traveling writer of some kind. With the continued study of French and the passion it inspires to learn about other cultures and languages, I set myself up to be more valuable in that field. My family just moved to Germany, meaning I’ll see a lot of Europe over the next few years. Learning French, picking up some basic German, I’ll nourish what this experience kindled in me.