Primo Piatto/ Language Athletes and an Unwanted Public Reading
This was a short school week since the celebration for the
patron saint of Florence, San Giovanni, was on Friday. Friday night there were
fireworks that we were able to see just over the top of Ponte Vecchio as a
reward for muscling into a crowd of tourists and locals and holding our phones
aloft while guarding our wallets from pickpockets. We also went to a beautiful
concert of baroque music performed by a clavichord, flute and soprano. The
concert was in the Santo Spirito church that overlooks one of the liveliest and
less touristy piazzas in Florence. We always wondered why the front of the
Santo Spirito church is so plain, but this week we discovered that Filippo Brunelleschi,
the ingenious designer of the Duomo, was supposed to also build an elaborate façade
of that church in the 1400’s and didn’t live long enough to do the project. The
façade is left plain, apparently in homage to him. Occasionally, artists will
design art that is projected on the front of the church at night.
This week we dug into tough grammar in my
intermediate-advanced class. I understood more and more of what we worked on,
but realized I still have a long way to go. We had a test over literature on
Wednesday. I figured, “Hey, I’m here to participate in every possible thing and
learn as much as I can” so I said, sure, I’ll take the test. On the afternoon
of the test the school seemed to be empty. I went into the classroom where we
had the culture and literature classes expecting a dozen or so students also
preparing to take a written test. “You have to go to the office and sign up for
the exam” I was told, so off I went to tell the secretary, Desiree, that I
wanted to take the test. It turns out that the test was an oral exam (apparently
the prof had announced it and I didn’t catch it) and there were only three of
us, two Japanese girls and me, taking the test. I didn’t want to back out at
that point since I had signed up, and I got smashed pretty flat, since my
communications skills are still pretty rudimentary. Right now I can order a
meal and ask about the bus with aplomb, but talk at length about renaissance
Italian literature, not so much. I felt bad (ambushed, really), but I write it
off to a learning experience. I remember feeling the same way early in my
immersion experience in Spanish, being unable to communicate as well as I want
to; not being able to speak any better than a small child. Jesus said we must
accept the gospel with the faith of children, and I think language learning
requires similar humility, the willingness to strip off your degrees, your
professional and personal achievements and your stronger language(s) and take
that naked walk of "incommunication."
After winning five NBA championship rings and a couple of
Olympic gold medals, Michael Jordan subjected himself to a similar "stripping away" when he humbled himself to try to play major league
baseball. He wound up in the minors, never playing beyond the AA level. I can
imagine how he must have felt, riding the bus from game to game with the
Birmingham Barons, willing to take several steps down the ladder to pursue a dream. His Achilles heel,
his inability to hit the curve, kept him from ever being able to reach the majors
and he eventually went back to basketball.
Thursday afternoon I sat down for a few minutes and talked
to Muriel, a girl in my class from Chile. We immediately switched from Italian
to Spanish, the more comfortable language for both of us. We talked for a good
twenty minutes and it occurred to me that all of the complex constructions I more or less easily and smoothly
used in Spanish with Muriel were totally out of reach for me when I was learning Spanish in the late 90’s. They took time
and study and reading and practice, and I realized I will need to walk that
same road with Italian to get to the same point. But I know how to get there. I’m
a language athlete. The sport may be different, but I know how to train and
complete. And no one will say, (like they didn’t say to Jordan), “Oh, you’re a
Spanish professor, here’s an easy pitch you can hit over the fence.” They’ll
throw me curves. And I, unlike Jordan, will get to the point where I can hit
them. So the training continues.
Today Margaret and I solved the puzzle of the out-of-town
bus system and traveled to Siena, a beautiful medieval city just about fifty
miles from Florence. We saw beautiful cathedrals and fantastic architecture and
breathtaking art and just enjoyed breaking another piece of the code of
international travel together. I bought a skinny book in English on the history
of Siena and was looking forward to reading it on the bus ride home. But the
calm that I counted on for reading turned out to be illusory. The bus back to Florence
was packed and we had the misfortune of sitting two rows up from a woman from
Mississippi or Alabama. This well-heeled and well-cared for woman felt it
appropriate to read out loud from a spiral notebook where she recorded, in excruciating detail, a journal of their trip that had started about ten days prior. Her friend
was sitting right next to her, but this woman insisted on reading in a voice loud enough to
make me think she intended for people in neighboring villages to hear as we passed. Only her
own bowel movements escaped the faithful transcription of her
activities. Everything else: the hour of waking, walking over a bridge, being
picked up for transportation to the next tour, the food upon which she and her
pampered friends dined, the bargains hunted for and procured, were faithfully
recorded in longhand and now, proudly read for the edification of a busload of
weary, sweaty people who alternately prayed to God that she would die of a
stroke and thanked Him for every tunnel through we passed that darkened the
bus too much for her to continue reading. She had been transported across an ocean
to visit the Cradle of the Renaissance where humanity was pulled out of the Dark Ages, but her commentary was bereft of commentary
on art, history and architecture, to make room for detailed overviews of how
rubbery and tasteless the eggs at breakfast were, and where she got a good deal
on a reversible genuine leather belt.
I guess we travel with different goals.