Loyola University Chicago

First Impressions - American in Italy: Parla l'inglese?

Arriving in Rome alone, I managed to juggle my two over-sized, heavy bags from the airport to the train station and begin my journey to the Rome Center. I planned to take a taxi from the Trastevere station to Via Massimi. I confidently approached the man behind the ticket window. "Un para Trastevere,"(an Italian/Spanish mix). He mumbled the price. "Huh?" He continued, this time slowly and in English. "Seven thousand." Feeling like a wonderful idiot, I paid the man and moved on.

The train ride went smoothly. When it came time for me to get off, I dragged my bags to the exit. There was a gentleman standing by the door. I wanted to ask for some assistance but I wasn't sure what to say. Showing my ignorance, I tapped him on the shoulder, pointed to my heavy bag, and said, "Help?" He carried my monstrous bag, the other bag was on my back. I attempted to ask where the taxis were. "Taxi?", I said with the same puzzled look. He responded to my strangely formed question by asking, "Do you speak English?" I felt foolish.

My final part of the trip was the taxi ride. The driver loaded my bags into the trunk, looked at the address that I had written down, and off we went. Again, I knew that the communication barrier would pose a problem. I would ride in silence, stare out the window taking in the sights of Rome as we passed them, and then get overcharged because I didn't know the cost. But as it turned out, the taxi ride was interesting.

"Welcome to Roma!" were the first and only English words the driver spoke. Otherwise, he spoke Italian and I attempted to respond in Spanish. Laughing during the whole ride as we struggled to communicate, we learned each others names as well as other pleasantries. When we reached Loyola, he kindly lifted my bags from the trunk while I paid the fare. Luckily there was a meter in the cab so I was not over charged.

Through my journey, my first impression of Italians was that they were both friendly and helpful. I only wish that I had been more prepared by learning the key phrases necessary for travel. However, because of the knowledge I gained through this experience in Rome, I will be better prepared for my future travels.

Walking down the steep hill of Via Massimi, you almost have to do a double take to remember that you're in Rome. Look around you and you'll find owners walking dogs, BMWs, and large red-and-white signs proclaiming "SNACK BAR". All of the familiar items interspersed throughout the Italian names make one's initial reaction to this city seem quite surreal. In order to feel like you're in another country, you must defeat the overwhelming tendency to flock toward that which you already know. Entering places with English names and ordering a Budweiser or a Coke can make you feel like you're right back in the United States.

The idea of the Rome Center building being separate from everything outside was prevalent throughout my first week in Rome. In fact, my first impressions became jumbled as I tried to make distinctions between my new "home" and Italian culture. Life becomes like a game of tag, and Loyola is base. Each day, you might venture out further than the day before, but you always run back to base, safe and secure once you walk through those big green Loyola gates.

But once inside, you've entered yet another realm of a seemingly artificial reality. Not only is everything and everyone new, but it's all so contained. You eat on one floor, sleep on another, and attend class on yet another. What was once a hike has now become a stumble down the stairs. But don't leave home without your "Hello My Name Is " sticker on. It's standard procedure to ask people where they're from, where they go to school, and their major. Without classes, you almost feel like you're on vacation. Only vacations aren't so tiring. In any case, this does not feel like something you can do for four months.

But as the days pass, this tenth planet suddenly begins to feel a little more familiar (as do your clothes). You still have the name tag on, but you know a lot more people. You've now figured out that this building that seemed so confusing is actually quite small. So you venture out on a bus with a nine on it, and you don't get lost, and things begin to look a bit more hopeful. Still surrounded by people speaking Martian, you might still feel like you're trapped in a "Mork and Mindy" episode. But the distinction between visitor and dweller has begun to diminish. Slightly.