Last week was the Palio, one of the world’s greatest horse races and the center of Sienese culture. I will write to you about the August Palio, but this time a horse was killed in one of the warm-ups and I didn’t have the heart. If you want to see amazing pics, though, go to Jack Zerbe’s blog, Travels with Jack (google the phrase and it will show up). I was standing next to him for many of the pictures.
Right now it's Sunday morning and I am at a bar (what they call the coffee shops here) next to San Domenico, the church where St. Catherine’s finger and head are kept. I’m listening to the church bells and zooming on two cups of espresso and a morning walk – wheeeeee! I’m finally finding my feet and learning lots of entertaining lessons, not all of them having to do with Italy. For example, did you know it’s possible to put your laptop in a bag and pull it out with the disk drive full of pennies? It’s true. This is where strategically manipulated hairpins can work their magic. Some things are truly multicultural.
I’ve been here just long enough to need to replace a few things. Last weekend I realized that I left my ipod charger at home. I wondered if this was a sign from the travel gods that I need to unplug or a gauntlet being thrown down to challenge my baby Italian. I decided it’s the latter and went to the electronics store (on foot, way down the hill out of town) to work on replacing the charger. I’m positive my question sounded something like, “Is possible here to buy ipod classic electricity?” but the kind man at the store knew exactly what I meant. One down. On to the drug store.
In Italy, one doesn’t go into the Farmacia (the pharmacy) and pick out anything medical. One goes to the pharmacist, describes what she needs, and allows the pharmacist to make the decision for her. Last year I spent an entertaining half an hour being prescribed ibuprofen by an Italian pharmacist after I rode a horse for six hours and could barely walk (since I basically had to pantomime my symptoms it was probably pretty entertaining for him too). He had a delighted “AHA!” moment as he reached for the box of six pills and carefully described their use. I nodded and smiled a lot. This week I needed contact lens solution: Here I went again: “Is possible to buy liquid for the eyes to clean the lens?” The pharmacist brought out Visine. Nope, for the lens (I pantomimed taking out a contact). She let out a shout of concern and leaned in. I think she thought I had something in my eye. No, no, for my vision…And another delighted cry. Oh! Contatto! And here was a simple bottle of soft lens solution. Ahhhh.
I do have enough vocabulary now to conduct short conversations or beg forgiveness. I’m finding that a smile and the phrase, “Mi dispiace, il mio Italiano e non troppo bene” (I’m sorry, my Italian is not too good) goes a long way. Even the grouchy older women smile and then apologize for their English when I use this phrase. Everyone here is a teacher. Anytime I go into a shop, I explain that I’m just beginning my Italian study and would prefer to try speaking in Italian. There’s a lot of Sienese pride in speaking the most “pure” Italian in the country, so I can’t get away with any grammatical mistakes. Even the man working at the bar near the school has taken to checking my homework in the mornings. He doesn’t tell me the answers, just leans over my shoulder wagging his finger, “ah, ah, ah, numero diece” and I know to fix it.
I’ll share one final lesson for the week. I have dinner plans with friends tonight. I’m in Italy, so naturally I want to wear high heels. I have this great pair of 3-4” blue heels (about average height here) and a quarter mile walk to dinner instead of the American voyage across a parking lot. Keep in mind that Siena is paved in cobblestones and built on steep hills, so there is only one thing for it: practice. Yes, practice. Yesterday I spent the day tottering around, first traversing the flat Piazza di San Francesco and progressing to the rolling Via Dei Rossi. I think I’ve got it now, that look of casual confidence worn by Italian women on their ubiquitous stilts. Vediamo (We will see). I’m just hoping that my next entry isn’t “Negotiating an Italian hospital.”
Be well.
Anna
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