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I actually studied Italian. I took a few semesters of it in college, lived in Florence for a semester, and even managed to pass (just barely) a graduate-school-level language exam in Italian as my foreign language requirement.
But don't get the idea that I remember any Italian; because I do not. Really. I can barely place an order for wine and pasta at a restaurant, and culinary Italian is common knowledge. Just keep in mind that I haven't been to Italy since 1993, and I haven't studied any Italian since 1997. That's over 10 years of cumulative, degenerative forgetting. So I'm not buying the encouraging words of my peers who suggest: "oh, it will all come back to you easily once you're immersed in the culture again." Let's just say that I seriously doubt it.
Therefore, I will not be even pretending to know any Italian when I go over there in a month or so. Instead, I'll just be another one of the stupid, spoiled Americans, who act as though everyone speaks American. And if they don't, they really should. Perhaps if I just speak a few decibels louder, slower, and do more charades with my hands... yeah, that will work, won't it?
Oooh, I have an idea. How about I wrap myself in maple-leaves? Then maybe I'll get away with my ignorance without the ugly American stigma. Eh?
Labels: travel