Canals and Churches: Venice

As I took my first look at the first city on my Italian itinerary, Venice, my sleep-deprived eyes saw something very similar to what the famous glassblowers have been seeing for the past millenium. Sure, now the canals are filled with motorboats rather than rowboats, but there is the same armada of gondale powered only by the sheer willpower of the men in striped shirts. I reached the top of the belltower of San Giorgio with the help of an elevator whereas those medival monks had to climb stair after stair, but we both looked out over the same terracotta roofs.

My three days in Venice acted as a buffer for me in Italy before I started my classes in Siena. Realistically, I was able to see Venice because my parents used my studies as an excuse to finally travel to Italy. So, my time in the city of canals was spent with them hitting all the tourist spots and any church we could get into (of which there are dozens). We saw a glass blowing demonstration, toured San Marco Basilica, crossed the Rialto Bridge countless times, and visited Marco Polo’s house. They looked to me to translate any Italian when there was no English translation provided (which was hardly ever), and I realized that I may have been overly confident in my Italian skills coming into this experience.

First of all, I was embarrassed to even try my Italian with my parents looking over my shoulder. This isn’t because I was afraid of messing up (well, mostly not because of that), but moreso because my parents are so unapologetically, obviously, American. They are too friendly to not spew their English around and they seemed unable to subltly encourage me to speak Italian, so even if I tried, whomever I spoke to automatically deferred to English without giving me a chance.

A great example of this happened at the glass factory. The tour we went on was just walking us through the “secret” showrooms of the master artists, where everything was 40% off and the guides were working on commission, so they tried to buddy up to us. One greeted my mom and me, and I introduced myself with a simple handshake and “Ciao.” The salesman used this as an opportunity to joke around with his real customer, my mom, and responded, “My, what a lovely name for your daughter, ma’am! Ciao–so Italian!” Well, I wasn’t going to be practicing with him anymore.

The problem with this type of travel when it comes to learning the native language is that the places that tourists go have practically adopted English as their first language. Just seeing my family walk down the street, waiters pull out their English menus, and directions or informational signs have English as prominantly displayed as Italian. Since I’ve been here, I haven’t had to speak Italian, so I haven’t.

That isn’t to say that I haven’t learned anything yet. In the four days I have been in Italy, my ability to understand what Italian I do hear has definitely increased. I’ve been to Mass twice so far and I was able to sort of follow the message of the homily the second time around. Bits and pieces of conversations I hear on the streets are recognizable to me, especially children’s conversations.

I move in with my host family in Siena tomorrow and my parents fly home, so my buffer time is almost over. I am beyond scared to push myself to speak in mainly Italian, but I know that I have the capability to survive. I know the grammar, at least as much as I’ve learned so far, and I’ll continue learning that in the classroom. What I don’t have a strong grasp of is the vocabulary, which will only come from living in the language for an extended period of time. Lucky for me, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing for the next five weeks! Venice was a nice bridge between America and Italy, but the other side is going to be a challenge, but I know it will be rewarding. I will fly home out of Venice at the end of my trip, so my goal is to walk down the streets, grab a meal, and converse with a local without my American showing, at least not through my language.