An attempt to learn the “language”…

For me, before I can experience the “real” France as I investigate it each day, I try my best to experience the France that sits at the surface. Fortunately, at this point in the program, I’ve seen Paris and Marseille, as well as parts of the Provence region, including Avignon and Aix-en-Provence. The only way for me to discover what’s truly “real” and authentic is to consider what isn’t. Through observation and comparison, I can look to draw conclusions about the city I’m living and studying in and the country it belongs to. The possibility of being a part of the culture and the different dynamics of a city that has its own identity and people excites me. Having the opportunity to not only feel like a visitor or a tourist, but instead like a member of the community means that some kind of authentic experiences, at least in my eyes, have occurred or need to occur.

While in Paris, I looked to be a tourist and I looked to be a Parisian. I didn’t just want to be one or the other, I knew I would walk a very fine line between the two, hoping to take on each role. While guidebooks gave me tips on how to be more like a Parisian than a tourist, my need to snap pictures and carry my luggage around tipped off those around me that I’m not a native of the place I’m visiting. But while I identify with being an American while traveling in France, I realize foremost, I’m simply a person. I have this in common with the many others who inhabit the same city spaces as me, regardless of nationality, occupation or the language we speak. As I think about what makes an experience in France authentic or what makes someone “French,” I also consider what I have in common with a place that’s different than my own, a culture that varies from what I’m accustomed to. I consider how I fit into a global scheme, and how my customs and cultural traditions mesh and meet with those here in France. I look to observe what’s similar and what’s different, as I try to discover what I have in common with the French, and more broadly other people in the world. Being able to step back and consider this not only gives me a greater appreciation for the culture and country I’m visiting, but a perspective that I can use as I continue my studies in the future post-college graduation.

A picnic in a Paris park.

A picnic in the park with a crusty, fresh, delicious baguette allows me to blend in with the other groups of people who spend part of their day enjoying the beautiful weather in a small park for a few hours over lunch. An experience of this kind, low-key but perfectly wonderful feels and seems authentic. A walk through the gardens to see the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night prior to climbing up nearly 800 steps to view the city below, feels more like something the adventurous tourist would do while visiting Paris. Although both experiences are ones I myself had in Paris, I realize they’re both examples of ways I’ve personally experienced France in an attempt to discover the “real” France. To me, there’s something thrilling in searching for the kind of experience and realization, as it allows me to not only engage in activities that are popular to other people from other cultures and countries, such as those tourists from Australia or Germany, in addition to the more uncommon activities that are a part of the everyday life of a Parisian. Being able to engage in these two sets of experiences gives me the opportunity to further explore where and if the “real” France exists.

As I look for ways to understand what’s “authentic” and what isn’t, I consider ways in which I can relate to the people around me. When I’m in a place or part of the city that is commonly popular amongst tourists, or those individuals traveling from other places in the world like myself, I consider it inauthentic, although it still has the potential to be a piece of the “real” France. When I stumble upon a back alley, or find myself in a movie theater with other French people who are taking two hours out of their day to watch a film in English with French subtitles, I feel as though I’m experiencing something a little more “real.” Being able to distinguish between the two, especially for an American tourist, is quite difficult. However, a key indication to me in this search for the “real” France is the sense of feeling or ways in which I can confirm some kind of connection with France, whether it be with the country or a city itself, or an individualized experience with another person.

Outside a French cinema.

As I take notice of the people around me as the bus moves from one stop to another, I realize I’m surrounded by so many different kinds of people, many of which are French and likely to be living a lifestyle that I’d consider “real” and authentic to France and others like me. I take notice of the simple laughs two people have in the midst of a conversation. Although I can’t understand the French, I can understand the laughter, as it sounds very much like the laughter I share with my roommates here in France. When there’s a hold up on the bus and the minutes pass by without any movement, I recognize the sighs that fill the air, the aggravation and restlessness that sets in, as it sounds very similar to what I’m also experiencing myself. And, as I watched a film in a French cinema, I take notice of all the scenes that are without subtitles because they depict images that can be understood by a person regardless of the language they speak. As I think about these kinds of scenes, usually filled with a kiss or a hug, a band playing music or a crowd of people dancing, I realize these actions and symbols are not only ways to communicate with other people, but ways in which I can personally relate as well as communicate with someone in France without speaking a word of English or French. As my time abroad continues, I look to be in tune with these symbols and sights, as I realize a part of experiencing the “real” France, or the city I’m in authentically means being able to first make a connection with another human being regardless of the language we each speak.

In search of the “real” France…

After graduating from King’s a little over a week ago, I knew my love of learning would follow me all the way to France where I would have the chance to study abroad for a second time. Prior to leaving for France, I reflected on the time I spent last summer in Italy and Turkey studying abroad and the experience I’ve had as an undergrad at King’s these last four years. After researching the city of Paris for the last six months, I eagerly awaited being in the place I had read about. I was eager and excited to be exposed to a new culture, where I would be a part of a new social scheme filled with different people, language and lifestyle. I remained hopeful and excited by the opportunity of being able to continue my learning after just recently completing my degree at King’s.

In Front of the Pyramid at the Louvre Museum.

Much like any traveler before arriving at their destination, I wondered what France would be like. I anticipated so many things, wondering what the culture, food, people, places and overall experience would be like. I came with the mindset that when my time in France comes to an end, I’ll leave with not only a few souvenirs but also knowledge about the country I’ve studied in and myself as a person. I wondered how France would compare to the United States and my time spent in Rome & Venice, Italy and Istanbul, Turkey. I wondered how dominant my American ways would be in a European country and how much of a language barrier I would witness. Would I need to be able to speak the language? Would I have the opportunity to interact with natives or simply tourists? And during my time in France would I get to experience different places within the country that I’d consider the “real” France? Places that are authentic and natural, places that aren’t simply for tourists, but for the people who actually live in France and consider themselves French?

As I wondered about some of those questions, in addition to the many others that stemmed from my research about Americans in Paris in the 1920s and the narratives guidebooks like Frommer’, Rick Steves’, Fodor’s and Lonely Planet provide to American tourists visiting the city of Paris, I reflect on a short conversation I overheard on the Metro.

A little boy, no more than the age of 4 or 5, decided to converse with some of the people standing near him on the train. He was speaking English and so I was able to listen to the conversation he was having about his vacation in France. He seemed excited and happy to be there, and he said that he and his family were beginning their visit in Paris, just like us, and that afterwards they were heading to the “real” France. Before I could hear more about the latter part of their visit, he and his family got off at the next stop. I wondered what part of France they were going to and why he didn’t consider Paris to be the “real” France. I wondered what he meant by “real” anyway, and if he was going to the same region we’d be visiting. And finally, I wondered why there’s such a great value for the traveler to see a place that is “real,” that is more authentic than it is made-for-tourists, what’s the appeal in seeing the “real” France, and how does one find the “real” France? Much like the little boy on the Metro, I keep my eyes open for the “real” France as I reflect on my first week in Paris and as I adjust to the new culture in the South of France.

Au revoir for now!

A “reel” experience in Italy…

Piazza San Marco, Venice.

The Trevi Fountain, a dish of spaghetti, the Grand Canal, gondolas floating gracefully on the many canals, these sights and ideas about Italy were something I experienced long before my study abroad experience to Italy. Although I never visited a city abroad before, I had a picture painted in my head of what Italy would look like if I ever had the chance to visit. These ideas were shaped by the common American perceptions and different ideas that arise from watching films that are set in Italian cities. Over the summer, prior to my study abroad visit to Italy and Turkey, and throughout the weeks after my participation in the program, I researched the difference between films’ depictions of the cities of Rome and Venice and compared them to the experiences I had while in these Italian cities.

Once I had arrived in Italy, I was instantly interested in comparing certain sights, like the Coliseum and the Spanish Steps in Rome and Piazza San Marco in Venice to what I had seen the films I watched, would they look the same in person? The excitement of having an idea of what Italy looked like, due to watching films, is kind of like watching a movie trailer before seeing a movie, the trailer gives you a good idea of what the movie will be like, but it doesn’t reveal everything, that’s what the films I watched prior to traveling did for me. They gave me a broad idea, but it would differ in some ways to what I experienced when I was on the Spanish Steps or standing on the Rialto Bridge in Venice looking out at the Grand Canal for the first time.

The Coliseum, Rome.

Many of the films I watched before my first visit to Italy told exciting stories about the cities of Rome and Venice, they created great excitement for me, a first time traveler, and someone who would be studying and living for a short time in these cities. They seemed to depict Rome and Venice as romantic places where adventures can happen for the common tourist. These cities would play host to a place where you could become immersed in a culture different than your own, especially for an English-speaking American, where the language that surrounds you would be Italian and the occasional English for those Italian who really want to speak and appeal to tourists who don’t have any idea how to pronounce a word of Italian. In Rome, you could indulge in delicious cuisines, while in Venice, stumble upon an Italian and find yourself falling in love with them during your stay in the city.

Many films manage to depict Rome and Venice accurately, but they don’t forget about the entertainment factor that they must uphold, as movies are a product of the entertainment business, after all. The experiences that characters have in films may not be as accurate or true to the experience I had in these cities because they’re a part of a film, a narrative, a story about a fictional character’s experience. The experience I had in Rome and Venice was my very own, however it was influenced by what I watched in many films, wanting to see certain sights, like the Trevi Fountain to throw my coin in, or visiting Piazza San Marco at night just to sit at a sidewalk café in the piazza, or even wanting to indulge in a whole pizza pie. I was influenced by films to have a comparable experience to what I may have analyzed in films, the idea of being able to relate to a character that is similar to myself, may not be unrealistic at all. However, the experience I had in Rome and Venice was one that would be appealing to many tourists, to people who have never seen Italy before because it captured the excitement of these beautiful cities and managed to live up to certain expectations that I’ve always had. Of course, I never imagined the pizza, spaghetti and gelato to be as good as it was, or for the famous sights to be as amazing as they were, once I learned more about them, but perhaps that’s one of the perks of actually seeing these cities instead of just watching a film about them.

My research gave me the desire to continue to explore similar media studies in my academic career, as I search to better understand how influential the media is and how it shapes our ideas about places we’ve never been to. The search to understand a place in its true light, or at least from my perspective is something I’m very fortunate to have had, as I had the opportunity to realize from my research and my study abroad experience. As I complete my research, I wonder what cities I can explore next and what films I can view to continue to paint pictures of the places I’ve never seen, until I see them for myself.

A City of Wonder…

I wanted to give myself a little time to fall back into place with my home life before reflecting on my time abroad. This meant readjusting to the time zone on the east coast. I figured it would take me a week or two for my experience abroad to really hit me, for the genuine reactions to free flow as I tried to reflect, but I didn’t need that much time to understand my time abroad. Above all, I realize I’m very humbled to have had the experiences that I had. As I talk about my experience to the people I returned home to, I almost can’t believe I’ve seen the things I’ve seen and had the chance to learn about Italy and Turkey while in Italy and Turkey. For me, it’s very humbling to reflect. I almost can’t believe I’ve had this experience happen to me, but that’s because it’s exactly what I wanted…I had always hoped I would study abroad and for it to happen now and at this point in my life, I can’t help but be humbled, extremely happy and, quite frankly, a little jet lagged.

Being abroad made me realize I have so much more to discover about the world. I find that each city tells a story, and I still have so many cities I’ve yet to see with so many stories that haven’t been told. I want to embrace this, I want to learn about the places I’ve only heard about and hear their true story and make something of it for myself. I’ve come to realize one of the beauties of traveling and seeing new places is that there are things you’ll discover along the way that are unique to you. Things that will speak directly to you in such a way that the impression they’ll leave will always remind you of where you’ve been. The things you’ll encounter don’t have to be big and grand in their make, nor do they have to sparkle, they just have to click with you in a way that makes your heart feel like you’re in the right place. For me, there was something so neat in the simple act of ordering a cappuccino in Italy and enjoying every sip of it. I marveled at the place I was in and the part of the world I was visiting. For me, a cappuccino anywhere else in the world will always remind me of the ones I had in Italy. Sure, this could have to do with my love for a good cup of coffee anywhere in the world, but in Italy, a cappuccino was so much more for me. It was a simple joy that made me so happy I didn’t have to rush on to the next part of my day, but instead could fully enjoy it sip by sip. When I was in Turkey, my eyes were drawn to the

A beautiful pattern in Istanbul

many patterns on textiles, ceilings, walls and the like. Each pattern was more beautiful than the next. When I went through my pictures from the program, I realized I had taken many photos of different patterns. At the time, I had just been taking pictures of everything around me trying to take in the sights with my camera and just for myself. I didn’t realize I had focused so much on patterns, but I guess there was something about them that fascinated me, something that made me want to search for these patterns to bring them back home with me. There was something about these beautiful patterns of Istanbul that were unlike any other that I’ve seen, and I know that I’ll look at patterns and prints with a different kind of eye upon returning from Turkey.

The experiences that I had abroad, both small and large, both planned and unplanned, can sum up a new kind of narrative that I can tell about the places I’ve seen. Italy is no longer a land of just pizza pies and the phrase “that’s amore” and Turkey isn’t a stop on “the Orient Express”. Instead, the experiences I’ve had will work to tell stories of these places that will differ from those of my classmates or even the other tourists who were waiting in the same line as me. I think that’s the beauty of being abroad, my story and the stories of these cities could very well be my favorite thing about my study abroad experience.

View of Piazza San Marco from Caffe Quadri

Of course, I had the opportunity to experience many amazing sights. One night in Venice, I insisted on taking a trip to St. Mark’s Square. I knew our time in Venice was drawing to a close and on our last night, what better place to be but Piazza San Marco. When you first arrive in Piazza San Marco, you almost become overwhelmed with the beauty of this area at night. You hear the sound of orchestra bands playing songs that you recognize and you see a softer side to the city of Venice. Before I even arrived in Venice, I knew I would be making a visit to Piazza San Marco at night.

The band at Caffe Quadri

For my film independent study, I watched several movies that take place in Venice and in some of them, the characters visit St. Mark’s Square at night. For Katharine Hepburn in Summertime, her visit to Piazza San Marco is so inviting she returns again another night. In the film, her character falls in love with an Italian man and you can see the way she views Venice as a city of romance. While in Piazza San Marco at Caffe Quadri, I seemed to view Venice more as a city of wonder. Even after being in this city for five days, I was still in wonder over the beautiful sights on a gondola on a canal, the small bridges that take you from one side to the other, and the little flower boxes that hang from so many homes. As I sipped my espresso and listened to the sounds of the band play, I became overwhelmed with happiness to be in this city that some people only dream of seeing. How could you not feel humbled to be in the presence of St. Mark’s Basilica and Doge’s Palace? These were even the stomping grounds of Casanova, and it’s here I found myself. I began to self-reflect, as I could hear another caffe’s band play “New York, New York”, in Venice, at this point, I’m so happy to have been where I’ve been because it’s led me to this place. Piazza San Marco is just a little thing that helps me put into perspective this bigger thing; my experience abroad and how grateful I am to have had this opportunity. As I try to settle in to home life again, I’m still in wonder as I think about the experiences I’ve had and the stories that I’ve been given to share with so many.

A Little More Turkish, A Little Less Tourist…

 

Our first night in Turkey, I had opened up the door of our hotel balcony only to hear a loud sound that seemed to echo through the air. Unsure of what it was, having never heard anything of this sort before; I looked at my roommates to see if they could make sense of what we were hearing. As we listened closer, we realized it was a call to prayer coming from one of the mosques somewhere in the city below. Although it was 8pm, call to prayer is something that we noticed would happen several times a day throughout the city of Istanbul. The following day when I had heard the sound of call to prayer again, I listened and watched in more amazement as Muslims answered this call to prayer by going to a mosque. We had been very close to the Blue Mosque at this time, and I came to realize that I wasn’t just experiencing the city of Istanbul visually but instead fully on all sensory levels.

 

To me, there was something very beautiful about hearing this religious experience, as opposed to just hearing about it. Call to prayer, soon after, became a very distinct sound of Istanbul that I will always associate the city with. Of course the sounds of a city are very different than the sights or the tastes. While in Italy, I came to associate the country with the sounds of an accordion down a side street and several vespas that would ride past you on either side of the road. Istanbul’s very distinct sound of call to prayer is something that relates to its prominent Muslim population. Although there are a great deal of mosques in the city of Istanbul, there are also places of worship for the Christian and Jewish populations.

 

 

It is custom in Istanbul for women who worship Muslim faith to wear veils as a sign of their religious beliefs and customs. When we visited the Blue Mosque, I wore modest and respectable attire and a veil, or head scarf that would cover my hair, shoulders and neck. As a woman, I was happy to comply with this sign of respect before entering a place of worship. Every person who entered the mosque, regardless of gender, had to take off their shoes. Being inside the Blue Mosque, with a veil on my head, gave me a strong sense of cultural and religious tolerance. As an American woman in Istanbul, I thought more about what Muslims and the people of Istanbul believe rather than my own personal beliefs and expressions. This was my attempt to genuinely experience the Muslim faith and the city of Istanbul. Even though I am unfamiliar with the faith, the languages of Turkish, Islam and Arabic, I was still able to make a connection inside the Blue Mosque and respect and experience this place of worship for all it means to so many people world-wide.

The girls of our group wearing veils before entering the Blue Mosque.

 

Over my days in Istanbul, I thought about what it means to be a woman in the city of Istanbul. In a place where most women are covered from head to toe with clothing and a veil, I wore my American threads modestly realizing this city was unlike any other I’ve ever experienced. I questioned why it was so difficult for me to adapt to this place where men and women would look at you and see someone so very different than what they were used to seeing. Sure, this happens everywhere you go in the world, whether you’re in a city not far from the one you call your own or half way around the world. But what I was feeling was so very different and I wondered if it was due to the difference in our ideologies. Of if I had crossed some kind of boundary when I entered Istanbul that varied so greatly from Italy and even America? Or if there was some kind of cultural norm here in Turkey that was much more pronounced than I had expected?

 

 It didn’t take me very long before I realized I would do everything I could to both blend in and remain who I was while in Turkey. To do this, I kept my eyes open to the clothing I was surrounded by both on the streets and in shop windows. I figured the clothing of local people would clue me in on what it means to be someone living in Turkey and the narrative it tries to tell about itself. I saw the women who wore veils typically in long pants and long sleeve shirts, however they wore veils on their heads that had some of the most beautiful prints. The prints of the head scarves revealed a personality behind the veil and a very free expression to be one’s self. In many of the shop windows, I saw beautiful tiles that had vibrant colors and many different shades of colors. On the streets, I noticed modern dress, or what we might see in America, as well as more customary dress, something that was related to one’s faith. In one neighborhood, Taksim Square, I even made the comparison in my mind that it felt a lot like New York City’s SoHo. The shops and the people gave me a very trendy vibe that I found comparable to what I’ve experienced in New York City. It was here that I felt even more comfortable to wear my clothes proudly and comfortably.

 

After a great deal of observation both on the street and within restaurants, I found comfort in wearing long pants, a sweater to cover my arms when it got cooler at night, and a scarf to cover my neck even when my shirt was appropriate. I didn’t just want to come to Turkey to see Turkey, I wanted to experience Turkey and meet the traditions and customs in the middle. As I mentioned, I didn’t just want to blend in to the culture here, instead I wanted to continue to be myself but also experience who I am on Turkish terms. By doing this, I’d feel the way a visitor to New York would after buying their first Sabrett on the street from a vendor… a little more Turkish and a little less tourist.

It’s All Turkish To Me…

Me in Hagia Sophia

When we arrived in Istanbul a few days ago, I found it very hard to believe I was in Turkey. I suddenly realized I would have to adjust to a new country, culture and environment rather quickly to fully understand and enjoy this new place during our time here.

In hindsight, I never realized how quickly I adjusted to Italy and each of the cities I got to visit and experience. I think the ability to adapt came from the moments in which I was lead to be outside of my comfort zone. It was when I was in them that I became most comfortable with the new country and environment I was in and found I was able to adjust.

As I attempt to adjust to Istanbul, Turkey, I begin to realize I may have to step away from my comfort zone in order to adjust and feel the most comfortable in this new place. Although I’m not quite sure how to step outside of the box that is my comfort zone, I’ve come to realize how unfamiliar I am with two things here in Istanbul: transportation and language. In many ways understanding the language will transport you to where you want to go in any country, but for me, I’m speaking in the most literal terms.

During our week in Italy, I realized how unfamiliar I was with public transportation and their version of the subway. In Rome, we would go on class “walkabouts” at night to different historical sites and jump on the metro. It was during these instances, as a group, that I personally realized how inexperienced I was with the means of transportation. Many local people take the metro and in any given ride from one stop to the next, you’re surrounded by a language that you can’t always understand. In many cases, it wasn’t just English or Italian, sometimes I could hear German, and sometimes I wasn’t even sure of what I was hearing. In any case, as I’d wait for our stop, I would listen to the conversations that surrounded me, much like the other passengers could listen to our English exchanges with one another. Even though I couldn’t understand the language, I desired to. I wanted to. Occasionally there would be a word or phrase I could pick up on, sometimes I would be able to understand bits and phrases of what the over-head voice would say.  When my ears were able to pick up a small amount of Italian at a time, I could feel my comfort level increase and my ability to adjust was much more natural. With time, I became more comfortable with public transportation and the people who surrounded me. We got to know the lines and the stops and could navigate our way around Rome. Although we did not experience as much public transportation in Venice, it was much more a matter of foot to street. In Venice, it took us a few days and several times across the same path before I found myself comfortable enough to navigate my way around Venice.  To get to know the area, I found looking into many store windows and keeping an eye out for memorable restaurants and stores, much to my surprise this helped me the most. In fact, one night, when I was on my way to St. Mark’s square with a very small group, we found ourselves slightly lost. This was only because we had walked down a street that we had never been down before. Since I was able to remember some of the displays I had seen in the store windows, having walked by them several times, we were able to find our way back…with the help of an Italian or two. It felt really great to be able to find our way back to our hotel on our own. Although an instance of this kind doesn’t seem like a big deal, at night piazzas look very similar to one another, and to me, it felt like a major accomplishment to find our way back. At the time, I had been very unsure about where I was, but this experience definitely helped me come into my comfort zone by putting me outside of my comfort zone. I was able to adjust to Venice.

As I reflect on my time in Italy and the way I adjusted to that country, I consider how and what it will take for me to adjust to Istanbul fully. In many ways, I think transportation and communication are two barriers that I look to overcome as a way to better adjust this city. Istanbul is absolutely beautiful, it feels like no other city that I’ve ever seen before, although it has attributes that remind me of New York City and what I imagine parts of Greece to be like. Since the city is so large and there are so many sights to see and learn about, we find ourselves using public transportation. I’d say this has been the most difficult thing for me to overcome since I’ve been abroad. I realize each time I step on the metro here in Turkey I’m among local people who are commuting like they would on any other day. Riding from one part of the city to another may not seem like a big deal, but I feel a leap outside of my comfort zone each time I do. As I politely take in the scene around me on each train, I wonder how American I appear to be. I recognize myself as being very American in Istanbul because of the communication barrier.

I never realized how much of a barrier there was in Italy because I felt well acquainted with the language, much to my surprise. Being able to understand basic phrases, question words, numbers, and polite expressions is a major help to any traveler. It wasn’t until we arrived in Istanbul that I realized the unfair advantage I had had in Italy. Here in Istanbul, Turkish is spoken all around me and I’m unable to recognize even a word of it. Even with a guide book’s pronunciations, it’s much more difficult than I could have ever imagined. I think a reason I’m having a harder time adjusting to Istanbul is because of the language barrier. I wonder how far outside of my comfort zone I will have to go, in terms of language, to fully feel adapted.

Many of the Turkish we encounter can understand some English, they’re able to answer your questions, greet you or ask you where you’re from. But from where I’m standing, I can’t even tell what they’re saying when they switch to Turkish. I feel a great desire to understand what people are saying and I wish that I could communicate with them. I never realized how much the verbal word really does tie people together.

Tonight at dinner, I encountered an instance of the communication barrier when we tried to ask for our check. We had a wonderful meal at a really great restaurant, but we, as Americans were unable to ask for anything in Turkish. On the flip side, our waiters were able to understand what we wanted to order, but exchange of conversation or any small request was much for difficult for them. In the process of asking for our check, we somehow asked for tea, and after talking to three different waiters to try to communicate, we realized we weren’t even able to meet in the middle to understand one another. Although we were able to pay for a very enjoyable meal, I found myself wondering why the barrier is so great when it comes to communication here in Turkey. I wonder if I’ll be able to pick up a Turkish word or two, or do my best to pronounce at least a simple phrase. I feel this kind of exchange will help me to fully adjust to Istanbul, if not fully, at least the way I want to…because until then, it’s all Turkish to me.

There’s No Place Like “Home”…

For five days, I’ve called Venice my home. My morning commute involved walking over a few bridges rather than driving over them like we would at home. Even in a quaint hotel, I came across a feeling, one that felt like home, and I soon realized that home doesn’t have to be just the place you stay for a while, but rather the place where you feel like you can stay for a while. Over my few days, this is what Venice became to me.

Inside the Ghetto Novo

During my time as a Venetian, we visited the Jewish Ghetto. A place I would come to better understand and appreciate even more as the time progressed. The ghetto is made of three sections, the Ghetto Vecchio (old), Ghetto Novo (new) and Ghetto Novissimo (the new new). When I had first passed through each of them I could appreciate their long history and what they stand for, but it wasn’t until the readings, the tours and even some Jewish breakfast, that I could sense some emotional attachment. I found myself attached to Venice, I seemed to have made some kind of connection with the city and I wasn’t quite sure how, but all I knew was that it felt like home and I didn’t want the time to come to say ciao!

When I took a day trip to Firenze or Florence, I realized I was calling Venice home even more naturally than I had done while in town. In Firenze, I had the chance to see the Duomo, a beautiful cathedral and the Ponte Vecchio, a bridge with houses/buildings right on it. The sights and sounds of another Italian city in the region of Tuscany were beautiful to experience. While we were there, I was reminded of my American sense of identity when two members of the cast of Jersey Shore were filming an episode for their new season. As I came across the filming, I put my antenna up and tried to absorb the experience for what it was. Naturally, as a Mass. Comm student, I saw it as something more than just filming. For me, it was greater awareness of the place I call home- the United States. This show has taken a similar path to my very own to also be in Florence, Italy, where American ways will be exposed to a city that has been exposed to rich, historical brilliance for centuries. As I walked through the crowd of people who were gathered to see the cast mates in front of the cameras, I observed the crowd. I was sure to listen closely and watch briefly, only to find that most of the Americans were stopped at this “road-side attraction” to see the sight. With cameras in hand and excitement in their voice, I listened to their excitement and wondered why Italians and other tourists seemed to pass the cast right by. To many, it was no big deal, but to some Americans it was more exciting than being in this amazing Renaissance city where Michael Angelo’s David resides. Curiously, I took the experience all in, even without ever seeing an episode of the show, Jersey Shore, and realized what this tiny event says about who we are as Americans. I feel like it speaks to our culture, whether it’s reflectively completely of the way of life in the States or not, people- American and all others alike- have been told some kind of story about the way they think Americans are. Whether the story is fact or fiction remains to be seen. As people try to figure out the story that could lie behind the show, Jersey Shore, I wonder about the story each city I visit tries to tell about itself. As it begins to tell its story, I do my best to sit back, listen and eagerly wonder what else is in store.

In Firenze, in front of the Ponte Vecchio

An American in Italy…

It’s been several days since we first arrived in Venice or Venezia, a city that’s surrounded by water and takes your breath away when you stop to gaze down one of the many canals that have a gondola or two slowly floating down it.

I wanted to give myself the chance to become adjusted to the Venetian lifestyle, to feel as though I’m a part of this small community even if only for a week or two. Each day on our way to a class meeting or historical site, I notice the many shops and the people who belong to each of them. Every day is the same, they greet people who pass by with a “ciao,” or an “hello” if they can really tell you’re an English speaking tourist, and they try to invite you to visit their store or have a bite to eat at their ristorante. Since our first day here, I’ve come to realize the daily routine of our little neighborhood and the shops and people who surround us. By passing by the same little places daily and knowing which bridge will take me to a designated location, it feels like I’ve come to be a part of Venice. I feel like I’ve finally adapted to this lifestyle and that in itself feels rewarding.

Each morning, a small group of us look for a place to get breakfast. Sometimes we take a walk over the bridge which is very close to us where we can find a cappuccino and croissant for a reasonable price. The woman at the counter can speak Italian and a little English and is quick to wait on you when you walk in the shop. Here in Italy, the culture for a bar, which is what we’d call a café or coffee shop back in the states, is to stay at the bar while you drink your cappuccino. This gives you the chance to enjoy each sip without having to run around with a reusable coffee cup container like I would on a normal day at home. Sometimes our morning breakfast leads us to the Jewish Getto, a place that we’ve come to know a little bit better since our first day in Venice. There’s a small bakery in the Ghetto Vecchio that smells of delicious baked goods. When you walk in the bakery, you feel like you’re a part of a community, and the place you’re in is a place where locals pass by and grab what they need on a regular basis. And it’s here we find ourselves intermingling. Even something of this sort gives me the chance to realize that I have this amazing opportunity by simply being here to become immersed in this city’s culture. A culture that is so very different than our own, but so incredibly willingly to extend an arm or two to me and make me feel as though I’m actually a part of it.

Being a part of a new culture has given me the chance to think about my own culture, the lifestyle that I’m most familiar with, the one I’ve always known, and to compare it to this new Italian culture that I’ve adapted to. Sometimes when we walk through a piazza or pass over a bridge I find myself observing the people around me, even though I’m not sure where they come from, whether they’re Italians or tourists in the city of Venice, I try to soak up their characteristics and what it means to be who they are. In return, this causes me to think about what it means to be who I am- an American in Italy.

Our course has led us to investigate the concepts of identity and community, and I’ve extended them from our class discussions about the Jewish community to what I’m experiencing personally as an American student who is studying abroad in Italy. We’ve been questioning what it means to be Jewish in Venice and how Jews think of themselves here, whether it be as Venetians or as Jews, a concept which can relate to community.

I wanted to take these concepts of identity and community and think about them on my own personal level. I began by considering what’s most obvious, in America I would identify myself with the state I live in, the place I grew up, the kind of ethnic traditions I’ve practiced and the lifestyle I currently lead. Here in Italy, I can identify on a much broader level of just being American or being someone who is not from Italy. But I knew that before I began studying abroad I had made a connection between being an Italian in American to actually visiting Italy, since it’s a part of my heritage it became a part of my identity and how I think of myself. However, when in Italy being an Italian here means something totally different than being an Italian in American. I wonder, upon returning to America if I’ll still identify as much with being an Italian after actually seeing the country of Italy, does this change my sense of identity and what it once meant for me to be Italian (in America)? Will it strengthen or weaken my sense of identity? I know that the answer comes from the community and the atmosphere in which I’ve previously been exposed to in America, as opposed to this new environment of actual Italians. The sense of community has begun to change my sense of identity just as my identity will change based on the community I find myself in.

Sometimes when I pass by other people who are speaking another language, I listen to how their words and phrases, body movements and facial expressions communicate their message and then I wonder how my emotions, tone and expressions communicate my message. How does the English language sound to the foreign ear? And if they were able to observe the delivery of my phrases, would they still be able to communicate with me regardless of where they’re from and the language they speak? They say Italian is a language you can speak with your hands, and as someone who has studied communication along with performing arts, I feel as though our bodies can communicate for us. The other day, I had been walking along a street, or strada, and I heard a mother and daughter arguing behind me. Their tone was loud and the daughter started to get louder and louder as she got closer to me. She was storming off, scurrying in a frenzy and I could hear her tone as I tried to identify a word or two she was saying in Italian. She was not happy, they seemed to be arguing about something, and as she passed me by, I noticed a tear falling onto her cheek. Even though, I was unable to understand the language, I was able to understand their conversation and the way in which they were communicating. While there may be a language barrier, I’m coming to believe communication is universal. A laugh is a laugh, a cry is a cry, and a smile is a smile- no matter where you go, no matter where you’re from and no matter who you are. As people, we’re all the same, even though we may feel so very different.

As I continue to explore the rest of what Italy has to offer us, I continue to keep my eyes open to the conversations that surround me, the people who are fleeing and the feelings that I try to express to those who I communicate with, but as I do, I wonder if someone else is trying to figure out who I am and what I have to say, as I do with them.

Ciao for now!

One Coin in the Fountain…

After two days in Rome, we’re on our way to Venice. My first impression of Rome started long before I arrived in Italy, of course this was because every movie I’ve ever seen that’s set or said to be set in some part of Italy. The Coliseum, the  Vatican and the Trevi Fountain just to name a few were something I had only seen before on a movie screen, so I packed these impressions with me in my 27lbs luggage to Italy. While we’re safe in Venezia (Venice) tonight, we spent the last two days getting to know the Eternal City- Roma- a little better.

The culture here is very different than what I’ve been exposed to as an American. Most of the Italians we’ve come in contact with are very good at speaking a little bit of English, presumably to understand tourists, and are able to make sense of what we’re trying to say. Verbally there is a communication barrier that is very interesting to observe, especially after taking Beginning Italian for two semester. I find, much to my surprise that I’ve been able to read menus, understand bits and phrases of conversations that pass by, and of course, what may be most important, order the food I’d like to eat. For instance, I ordered un prosciutto e mozzarella panino and felt a sense of major accomplishment when the Italian man behind the counter asked “Italiano?” and proudly I could say si. This first very subtle attempt at communication may not seem as impressive as it actually feels when biting into my panino. And, because of this, I confidentially knew when the time came to place another order, regardless of the time of day, I was more than ready.

Our time in Rome was filled with so many sights and a great deal of excitements. One of the sites that seemed to really connect with me- I was nearly jumping up and down when I saw it for the first time- was the Trevi Fountain, which we visited last night. The Trevi Fountain is on nearly every tourist’s list of sights to see when in Rome, while at the fountain you’re supposed to throw a coin in, over your shoulder. If you do, they say you’ll return again to Rome. With this promise in mind, I found myself overly excited to throw my coin in the fountain. I wanted to be sure that I would get the toss just right so I did a few practice tries without actually letting go of my coin. When I finally found a good spot, I turned my back to the fountain and tossed my coin in with great excitement with the hopes that one day, my wish would come true.

The area surrounding the Trevi Fountain is known as Piazza di Trevi, which was filled with so many people when we were there last night. I stepped back a few times to just take in the view of the crowd and the fountain in amazement that it was so much bigger and grander than I had expected. Of course, this was not the first time I’ve seen the Trevi Fountain, as I’ve seen it in a hand full of movies where a character goes to the fountain with a coin to toss with the hopes that their wish will come true, and of course they usually do. At this time, I can’t say whether or not my wish came true just yet… but if I should return to Rome, I’ll credit it partially to the Trevi Fountain, and definitely make another visit to the fountain of Trevi.

Mid-air throwing my coin into the Fountain.

After the excitement at the Trevi Fountain, we had dinner at which I was able to order my first dish of pasta- Spaghetti pomodoro e bascilia, spaghetti with a tomato sauce. This dish looked very much like the one Julia Robert’s character in Eat, Pray, Love indulges in while she’s in Rome. It was absolutely amazing and it felt extremely authentic swirling my fork around into little circles. For dessert, we stopped at a small gelateria where I had my first taste of genuine gelato italiano, and I ordered straticcella e caffe, chocolate chip and coffee, which surpassed all my expectations and was the perfect way to end my evening in Roma. It was the perfect way to end the night, a simple thing that made us feel like we were living “la dolce vita!”

We’re off to explore Venice! Hasta luego!