tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6061096146224324782024-03-13T19:51:24.457+01:00SINGLE MULTILINGUAL - The Diary of an Au Pair in ItalyA blog detailing the author's language learning experiences in various countries. This year's theme: life as an au pair in Italy!heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-27855390819295785382008-12-27T10:09:00.001+01:002008-12-27T10:13:29.539+01:00The Bell Curve<div style="text-align: justify;">For this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">au</span> pair, the Christmas season has brought with it a new set of unexpected difficulties. It all started a week ago when 7 year old Marta, for the first time, threw a fit when I attempted to help her dress herself. To be fair to her, perhaps I was feeling a little impatient at the time as she was already late for school and would not relent in her daily routine of whistling whilst holding her unused toothbrush in one hand and twirling around her knickers in the other. However, this seemed to be to be the turning point in Marta's overall behaviour, not only with me but with her parents as well.<br /><br />Every day which we spend together is now plagued by temper tantrums, crying fits, and misunderstandings on Marta's side, and unbearable frustration on mine. H<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">alf of these incidents I put down our increasing ability to understand each other's languages. Yes, I know, its strange -- you would think that the more English she understands, the more we should be able to communicate. However, I have realized that mutual understanding does not necessarily develop in an uphill fashion. </span>Rather, it is more comparable to an upside-down bell curve. This is because, at the beginning, both parties make a conscious effort to understand and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">accommodate</span> to the wishes of the other, just as strangers tend to be very polite on the first meeting. This stage, though, is followed by a time when both understand about 50% of what the other is saying. As a result, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">while there is much comprehension between the two parties, they is also a wide </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">berth</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> for misunderstandings as well.</span> This, unfortunately, is the stage at which Marta and I find ourselves and it is putting a certain degree of strain on our relationship. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Marta's grimaces in my direction and her tendency to cry or yell hurtful expression my way whenever I say something even slightly displeasing to her are weighing heavy on my soul.<br /><br />This behaviour has also been extended to her parents. I am hearing fewer and fewer <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pleases</span> and thank <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">yous</span>, and whenever they try to have a deep conversation with her, they receive empty responses. I only hope that this new behaviour is not the result of bad influences from school. As we all know, you can understand a person fairly well simply by observing the people they spend time with.<br /><br />I only hope that her behaviour improves after the stress of the holiday season is over. It would be a shame to spend the rest of the year with a girl who cannot stand my presence.<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-31404441881636345202008-12-18T22:43:00.004+01:002008-12-18T23:17:05.059+01:00This Exciting Life of Mine<div style="text-align: justify;">This Thursday marks the end of a string of late nights and social gatherings. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I have gained the new nickname "</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mondana</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">" (social butterfly) for the </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">extraordinary</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> number of times I find myself returning home when the only sign of movement on the streets is that</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> of the odd "</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ubriaco</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">" </span>and the only prominent lights in view are the Christmas illuminations that remain lit throughout the night. I am not used to being a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mondana</span> -- a girl whose original idea of a curfew when she first arrived was 1:00 a.m., but it is when the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Torinese</span> are at their most alert. So, when in Rome (or in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Torino</span>), one must follow suit.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrKmK7aKXI/AAAAAAAAAJM/Cnbegp-gV8s/s1600-h/PC140022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrKmK7aKXI/AAAAAAAAAJM/Cnbegp-gV8s/s200/PC140022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281256270162700658" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">On Sunday, I experienced my first live football game. It took place on a rainy and cold day between two Italian teams, Juventus and Milan, and my companions for the evening were RaeAnne, Sarah (from England) and her school chum Simon who just so happens to be a dead ringer of Jeremy Northam</span>, my favourite actor. (Swoons!) RaeAnne and I were incredibly fortunate as the father of the family for which Sarah works is friends with the manager of the Juventus team. As such, the tickets were free and in a fairly descent position. As I am not a football fan in general, I will not attempt to comment on the game itself, but I will comment on the fans. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">From what I noticed, Italian fans really don't seem to give two hoots whether their team makes a mistake or not. A player could kick the soccer ball and completely overshoot the net and the crowd would still break into a supportive cheer. </span>This attitude seems to lie in contrast to that in other countries like Canada where players are more often booed than not if they foul up on the field. In the end, the team which Torino supports, Juventus, won by two points, a result pointedly emphasized at the finish by the team when they ran from goalpost to goalpost and threw themselves sliding into the mud. It took us almost an hour subsequently to get home since it was pouring with freezing cold rain, and there wasn't a taxi or bus in sight for over 20 minutes, but we still maintain that we do not have any regrets, despite the fact that our heads hit the pillow at 2:00 am.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Monday night was planned to see off a girl I only just got to know recently though we've been </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">acquaintances</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> ever since I arrived. </span>Kim, a fellow <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">au</span> pair from Australia, was in my Italian class and also looked after a couple of children who go to the same <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nursery</span> school as Anna and Pietro, so we had quite a bit in common, but never got around to hanging out outside of these two environments. Since I am always one for throwing random people together, I decided to call up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Mathieu</span> and Nicola to join us, and Kim did the same to her friend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Loredana</span>, giving us a substantial group of five people who really didn't know each other that well, but were happy to spend time together regardless. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">The movie we saw was called </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Slumdog</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> Millionaire</span>, originally filmed in Hindi but translated into Italian, and I recommend it to anyone, even those who cannot stand the proverbial <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Bollywood</span> dance that is bound to appear at the end of each Indian film. To give a very brief summary, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">the movie takes you through the life of Jamal, an 18 year old orphan whose troubling life experiences give him the knowledge to win 20 million rupees on Who Wants to be a </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Millionaire</span>. It has an excellent blend of humour and seriousness, and provides <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">in depth</span> insight into the wealthy and impoverished sides of India. If you're looking for a movie to see, this is the one folks! Afterwards, we went to a local pub for a beer and a chat, and by the time I got home, it was already 2:30.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrGMGCocuI/AAAAAAAAAI8/8AzuvW-l8TA/s1600-h/PC160038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrGMGCocuI/AAAAAAAAAI8/8AzuvW-l8TA/s200/PC160038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281251424127709922" border="0" /></a>The next day had long been in the making. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I attended my first </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Zucchero</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> concert at the </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Torino</span> Olympic Hockey Arena <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Isozaki</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, and I was once again accompanied by </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Mathieu</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> and this time Marco as well, who I hadn't seen in almost a month. </span>Though the whole concert was fabulous, my night was truly made when <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Zucchero</span> sang both <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Il</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Volo</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Mente</span> a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Rosamarino</span>, my two favourite songs off of the Best Hits album. (And <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Il</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Volo</span> has a special significance for me since it was always the one I would sing along to with my family when it came on the French radio station, Cherie FM!) Throughout the show, the three of us were on our feet dancing and singing, taking videos and random photographs, enjoying the human energy that overwhelmed the arena. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Another favourite part was when, during the prelude to the encore, everyone in the stadium began stamping their feet loudly to call </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Zucchero</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> back on stage. The vibration created by our feet shook the entire stadium and sent shivers through my spine. </span>After the concert, we once again headed for the nearest English pub where we met up with Nicola for supper, drinks and an intense lesson in Italian slang and proverbs. This time, my key entered the lock of our front door at 3:00 in the morning, and I could hardly sleep for worrying about whether my alarm would wake me at 7:00 the next morning.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrGoZAcZBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/DpDMcMpahTs/s1600-h/PC170002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUrGoZAcZBI/AAAAAAAAAJE/DpDMcMpahTs/s200/PC170002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281251910255141906" border="0" /></a>Wednesday was the final event in my string of late evenings out. I had to chuckle a little when I saw <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Mathieu</span> waiting outside for me in his car as he had done the two nights previous -- though it hadn't been planned intentionally, this was the third night that we were in each other's company and it was becoming rather amusing. From my house, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">we went to an Argentinian restaurant where a massive group of </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Mathieu's</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> friends were dining in style. </span>Many of them I had met before - Enrica, Pietro, Marcella, and her boyfriend - and I had a wonderful time trying to hold mediocre conversations in Italian with those who were close to my seat. Since I had eaten already, I went for a small plate of french fries while everyone else splurged on an expensive "menu" - basically a four course meal crowned by a tender, juicy piece of steak. We were joined by Nicola later on who had just come back exhausted from volunteering at an airline conference, and by 12:00, we decided to call it a night. All the way home in Mat's car, the three of us serenaded each other with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Zucchero</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Coldplay</span> songs from the new album -- a great end to an exciting four days. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">(Note: The picture above is of Mat's yummy lemon cake...mmm mmm!)</span><br /><br />And that brings us to today when Zombie Heather decided that 12 hours of sleep in three days wasn't enough, and took a well needed nap from 9:00 to 11:00 to recharge her batteries. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Tomorrow, the excitement starts again as I have salsa lessons booked, and if I am lucky on Saturday or Sunday, I may be able to join my favourite boys for another couple of late night get-</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">togethers</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> depending on when my babysitting duties end here. </span><br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-28728662087942482952008-12-13T13:06:00.004+01:002008-12-13T13:13:47.183+01:00The Alps and Sauze D'Oulx<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUOl9rYhEMI/AAAAAAAAAIs/20nlDJe91Ns/s1600-h/PC060021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SUOl9rYhEMI/AAAAAAAAAIs/20nlDJe91Ns/s200/PC060021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279245667244511426" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">This past weekend was my first spent in the Alps of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Torino</span>, a jagged line of sharp, snowy tops slicing Italy and France directly down the middle. </span>The place in which we stayed was called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sauze</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">D'Oulx</span>, a mountainous town snuggled in the centre of the Mountain Community Alta Valle <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Susa</span>. Though the name is obviously French, the town lies on the Italian side of the border -- evidence that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">frontier</span> between France and Italy is really less defined than the nationals of each would like to think. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">It is apparently a destination which every <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Torinese</span> tends to frequent at some point in their life. Just how every Italian knows someone named "Andrea," it is impossible to live in Italy for more than a month and not find someone who has a cottage in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Sauze</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">D'Oulx</span>. </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Initially, I expected that I would be skiing on the weekend, and I dressed myself accordingly -- long johns, tank top, t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, sweatshirt and puffy coat - six layers in total, to be precise. In the end, I didn't ski at all (no great loss), but the six layers were more than appreciated. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">The snow reached as high as my waste in some parts, the wind when it blew was bitter, and the temperatures were comparable to Toronto in the dead of winter. </span>It was a bit of a shock for someone who, puffed up with Southern Ontarian pride, turned her nose up with a laugh when told it would be freezing.<br /><br />For me, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">most of the weekend was spent dancing, drawing and playing "mama and baby wolf" with Anna </span>who, being only three, was unable to start skiing lessons. Pietro and Marta, on the other hand, were bundled up beyond recognition in preparation for ski school - the younger squealing in joy and the elder in misery at the prospect of spending an entire two days in the cold on a snowy mountain top. As it turned out, the school was extortionate, charging 40 euros for one child to ski twice, and so the next day, after cancelling their reservations at the school, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">the entire family went skiing together while Anna and I spent our first three hours out together alone</span>.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">These three hours were probably the most challenging for me so far</span>, for many reasons. First of all, it was the first time I had ever taken a three year old out on the town without another adult around to lend a hand. Secondly, Anna gave definition to "separation anxiety" by wailing on and off for an hour after her parents left to ski. Thirdly, I had been charged with not only getting this sobbing child a specific type of chocolate croissant and a specific store which I had never been to, but also with buying a massive package of paper and a newspaper -- all in very broken Italian! The entire time I was on edge, but I found that as I checked off each "chore" on the list, the easier spending time with Anna became. I attribute this to the fact that I am becoming very familiar with the various ways of distracting Anna's attention from things that instigate her crying spells, like missing her parents. (For instance, whenever I pick her up from school these days, I tell her first of all that her mummy is at home waiting for her, even if she isn't. Then, when we arrive and tears start to well up in Anna's eyes, I tell her that her mummy has gone to buy some milk for her baby bottle. This prospect always seems to delight Anna (perhaps it is the idea that her mum is doing something especially for her?), and she usually quiets down.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">As for the scenery, it goes without saying that my mouth was unhinged in astonishment the entire time. </span>Unfortunately, the first day was rather snowy so most of my photos took on a misty blue tint, but the next day was clear enough to take some excellent shots. My favourite moment was sitting at the ski coffee shop after completing a long walk up the highest ski slope in the area, looking out over the town of <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Sauze</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">D'Oulx</span> -- a mixed bag of little wooden apartments from the 70's, ski stores, Christmas lights, and a cute miniature church plopped appropriately in the middle, centred against a backdrop of almost exaggerated beauty -- peak after peak of harsh rock and snow, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">remnants</span> of previous landslides, precarious roads winding around each cliff face, and the brilliant sun forcing its reflection onto the blinding whiteness that covered every pike.</span> I was cold, but it was a moment of true happiness.<br /><br />Our next visit will be in about three weeks time, so I hope that I will be able to tell you more of this beautiful area of Italy soon.</div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-15774868510771070122008-12-08T19:56:00.002+01:002008-12-09T09:14:03.550+01:00Colours and Language<div style="text-align: justify;">The human perception of colour seems to be more subject to change than other phenomena observed by the senses. If you ask an American or a Canadian what the colours of the rainbow are, no doubt the Rainbow Song will burst from their lips with the colours <red,>. However, if you visit the most Southern Region of Japan, Okinawa, you will find that they divide their colours primarily into only three primary groups - black, white, and red. The various shades in between (what we perceive as individual colours) will fall into one of these categories. One of the most ambiguous colours in existence, perhaps, is green which is often interpreted as a shade of blue. (Take for example, Japan, once again where they consider the grass, vegetables, and the colour for "go" on traffic lights to be "blue.")<br /><br />Why do I bring this up? It is because, yesterday, I came across such a difference in interpretation in the Italian language as well. The difference exists specifically with regards to the colour of hair. In Italian, there exist the colours blonde, brown and black, but the cut off line between what is actually defined as blonde or brown is different to that in English. Anyone who has seen the colour of my hair will agree that it is a medium to dark shade of brown in English terms. However, when I attempted to explain this to dark haired Marta, I was met with rigid opposition.<br /><br />"Absolutely not,” cried Marta, “There’s no way. I have brown hair! Yours is "biondo scuro" (dark blonde)."<br /><br />"She's right," added Ludovica, "in Italy, anyone with your shade of hair would choose to dye it blonde. It is light enough to be possible. As for us, we have true brown hair."<br /><br />The bristles went up on the back of my neck. I was prepared for a fight. What right had they to steal my identity as a brown haired individual? Yet I managed to hold back, because I realized that not everyone is metalingusitically aware that even something so simple and seemingly straightfoward as the colours in our world are not interpreted in the same way in every culture. Instead, I attempted to explain to Marta that in English, we use "brown" for many different shades, even for shades such as Pietro's, which is verging on dirty blonde.<br /><br />Did it work? Not quite. "No! You're dark blonde and that's final," she cried at the end of our discussion, and that put the kibosh on that.<br /><br />Ah well, she is only seven after all!</red,></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-24038856109980898032008-12-05T09:23:00.002+01:002008-12-05T09:28:56.460+01:00The Week of House Boundedness is Over!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">The family and I have finally reached the end of a lack luster week during which little Pietro was continuously out of commission.</span> It turned out his cold had developed into an infection in his throat, which later became a form of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">tonsillitis</span>. Throughout the week, I was his caregiver from 8:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. and I have learned many things. Firstly, a sound I will never relish in is the wail of a child as he gulps down a dose of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">disgusting</span> medicine <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">clumsily</span> hidden by a flavour that could have been 'banana' in another life. Secondly, Sesame Street and Wallace and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Gromit</span> are lifesavers when a child will not stop asking you to play "monster." And lastly, there is something special about the bond that develops between a sick child and the person who stays with him. You become like a second mother to him, which is one of the best feelings in the world. While the little monster drives me nuts sometimes, I think a part of me will miss having him around in the afternoon.<br /><br />Before my week of house boundedness (yes, that IS a word), <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I made a point to fill my life with activities completely unrelated to childcare. I </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">visited</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> an authentic Italian </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">discoteca</span> with flashing strobe lights that conveniently obscured the dance moves of anyone with two left feet. This was a particularly exciting experience since I had never stayed out until 4:00 a.m. to dance before then, and I found that once I got over the 2:00 a.m. mark, my second wind was able to propel me forward throughout the rest of the night. (Hence I didn't fall asleep until 5:30 despite the fact that I was ready for bed before then!) I met some wonderful friends of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">RaeAnne</span>, in particular Andrea, who has promised to take us both salsa dancing at a club sometime. Maybe the ballroom dancing I learned two years back will finally come into use!<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I also went to see Changeling with </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Mathieu</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, and his two best friends Nicola and Marco.</span> I must say that, for all of its gruesome content, it was a fascinating story. It was about a woman whose child is abducted by a serial murderer back in the 1910's, and the Los Angeles Police Force that does everything in its power to cover up the failure of its investigation into the case. Overall, it was acted out very well...that is, by everyone except for Angelina Jolie. (I don't know if my personal bias against her is clouding my judgment, but she didn't come across as very convincing due to her tendency to overact. And yes, I know, if you lose your son, you are bound to be hysterical, but certain tactics have to be applied to genuinely project that hysteria. In Jolie's case, she successfully went through the motions - she cried, screamed, and tore into the flesh of other people intent on bringing her down - but her performance as a whole left me completely cold.) I was interested to learn that the script was based on a true story which was discovered in the archives of the Los Angeles Police Department, just before it was to be sent to the incinerator shaft. I was also interested to learn that cases such as these were rife back during the first part of the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">th</span> century. As for the film itself, Eastwood did an excellent job of capturing the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ambiance</span> of the 1910's. It was almost reminiscent of a film <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">noir</span> in the way it was shot. The Italian voice actors, too, were brilliant as usual, and I found that I understood about 20 percent of what was being said this time around. I am sure that <<hai>Hai ucciso mio figlio> (Did you kill my son?), which was repeated probably 100 times, is a line I will never forget.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I also finally purchased a new camera - a waterproof Olympus - with which I plan to take many photos of the Alps this coming weekend. </span>It will our first ski trip out of the city, and apparently everyone goes at the same time because of the long weekend. Personally, I think I would rather take two days away from home and have no traffic rather than three days and a traffic jam there and back, but hey...<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">beggars</span> can't be choosers! See you all next week!</hai></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-63961909179907844682008-12-03T15:10:00.002+01:002008-12-03T15:12:32.662+01:00The Development of the Children's English: 2 Months On<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">In this post, I would like to make a small update about the changes that have occurred in the English of the children.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Anna: </span>After two months, Anna (age 3) now understands many of the questions I ask her, the most common of which include "What are you doing?" "How are you?" "How was X?" "Do you like X?" and so on. She also understands my commands, especially those relating to regular household routines such as having a bath, brushing teeth, cleaning up, and sleeping. However, she is still the least likely to speak with me in English, and only does so when her siblings speak English as well.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pietro:</span> Pietro (age 5) is probably learning the most from me as we spend the most time together. Thanks to Sesame Street, he is now familiar with many adjectives such as "heavy, light, long, short, big, small" and so on. The number of nouns he knows are increasing by the day, and he can easily expression emotions, feelings and sensations such as "happy, sad, hungry, sleepy, thirsty, and funny." He is getting used to informal exchanges such as "Hi - How are you? - I'm good" and he has picked up on "run out" and "full" when used with regards to markers and pens.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Marta: </span>Marta (age 7) learns English at school and is therefore the most advanced as she knows plenty of nouns, adjectives and adverbs from her lessons. She is the most willing to speak and is also the eldest, so she is capable of producing the most complex grammatical structures. She is quite comfortable with "because" and the expression "This is my favourite." She has also managed to successfully acquire the structure "If I were a X, I would be..." after teaching me the Italian <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">equivalent</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">All three children: </span>The three children have picked up on a number of sayings English speakers use. Their favourite is "Yummy yummy in my tummy" which Anna pronounces as "Yummy yummy tummy." They also like the word "bellybutton" (which Anna has <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">humourously</span> turned into "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">bacho</span>"). Sesame Street has taught them a number of directional terms such as "around, over, under, through" which were learned through a song sung by Grover, and they have also picked up on the numbers 1 - 20 thanks to numerous games of hide and go seek, Sesame Street, and a hopping game I invented where I act as a monster who counts the number of steps she takes before she captures the children. An interesting developmental error that both Pietro and Marta seem to make is the use of "my" in the place of "I am" and "mine." For instance, they will say "My hungry" or "This is my." They are both becoming familiar with the use of "you" and "your" but often mix up the two, and often use "this" or "this one" to indicate items or the desire of these items.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I apologize for the severe lack of posting as of late. I have only just started to recover from my cold which left me incapacitated for about three weeks. Hopefully, I can get back into the swing of things this coming week!</span></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-36861046503618267352008-11-26T14:22:00.001+01:002008-11-26T14:25:55.847+01:00The Film Set<div style="text-align: justify;">As some of you may have discerned from my posts, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">my experience in </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Torino</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> has been intimately intertwined with cinematic production</span>. My friend and fellow <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">au</span> pair Rae and I know an actor, two directors, an electrician/cameraman and a number of other people who pop in and out as extras. We have explored the Mole <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Antonelliana</span>, the cinema museum of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Torino</span>, seen a plethora of films in Italian, and most interestingly, we once visited a set for a commercial on which our friends Marco and Federico were working. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Since I didn't write in detail about my experience on the set, this will be the theme for this particular post</span>!<br /><br />Initially, my friend Rae and I figured it would be impossible to go. After all, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">how do two </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">au</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> pair girls without a car, a ride, or a sense of direction even begin to attempt to find a studio hidden in a back alley in some obscure part of </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Torino</span>? It was by good fortune that our director friend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mathieu</span>, who was originally supposed to work with Marco on the set, had a car and a couple of hours to spare to take us there, and after what seemed like hours of stopping and starting on the dusky backstreets, we finally came to a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">halt</span>.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I would never have imagined that a set could have existed inside the building in front of which we stopped.</span> It seemed there wasn't an entrance in sight, save a large, rusty garage door which looked as if it hadn't been opened in decades, and a number of barred windows lining the sad, grey walls. I watched <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Mathieu's</span> shadowy figure a little doubtfully as he made a few <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">phone calls</span>, and was about to ask if we were really in the right place when a faint voice sounded from the top floor of the flat. It was our signal to enter, and we did so through the rickety garage door, which when opened, flooded the street with a cascade of light. Then it was a lengthy ride up the miniature elevator, and a long walk along a narrow corridor before we began to see traces of a set in action - a camera, a flood light, funny costumes, and people buzzing around solely on the power of late night coffee. Two of those people, we soon saw, were Marco and Federico, looking weary from the day but happy to see us at long last. We were finally at the set.<br /><br />Since filming was about to recommence, Rae and I were ushered silently to the back of the dark room where I was reunited with Max, the director of the commercial, who I had met at the Halloween party. In front of him was a large camera with a screen smaller than a postcard. On it, I could see Federico shuffling his papers at a desk. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">"We are preparing a commercial dealing with investments," someone whispered in my ear, "and </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Fede</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> is the main character." I nodded. This would be an interesting lesson in Italian, I thought.</span><br /><br />And indeed it was. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I never realized until this night exactly how many times a commercial had to be shot, and re-shot.</span> I knew almost all of the dialogue off by heart by the end of the night. And there were<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> so many variables</span> -- obvious ones such as the position of the lights, the quality of the acting, and the speed at which the camera moves along the track -- and not so obvious ones such as the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">inevitable</span> disagreements that occur between the actors and the director, the number of video cameras of which the director needs to simultaneously keep track, and the amount of mist that should be sprayed into the air to reflect and subsequently spread out and soften the lighting. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I couldn't help but laugh when Marco was forced to dig out a massive sheet of cardboard to blow away the excess mist that loomed over a slightly annoyed Federico's shoulders as they were waiting to shoot. It looked as if they were filming a commercial for fire safety rather than insurance!</span><br /><br />I was also <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">impressed by the incredibly </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">affable</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> relationship that exists between Max and the people that work under him</span>. Apparently, while most directors assume an air of superiority, Max treats everyone as an equal. (Perhaps a little too much at times -- <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I cannot help but recall the time when a cheeky cameraman decided to sick a piece of duct tape to Max's arm, which he couldn't remove without the kind of yelp you would only hear at a woman's beauty salon!</span>) It was obvious to me that everyone relished being involved, and made it even more clear to me that if you are going to have a profession in life, it has to be something you love.<br /><br />Rae and I spent only an hour and a half on the set, but it was <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">enough to make me realize how physically draining yet intellectually stimulating the film business can be</span>. Creativity is required at every step, and if you don't have the money or resources to make something work, you improvise. (<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Take for instance the camera track that Max made out of a skateboard, a pillow, and a piece of wood </span>- "cheap, fun and easy to use" is what we dubbed it, without the slightest bit of sexual innuendo intended!) <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Though the life of a film maker isn't for me personally, it is fascinating to watch and I stand in admiration of anyone in the business.</span><br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-91529098786566728502008-11-21T10:21:00.003+01:002008-11-21T10:29:21.277+01:00Random Smatterings of Update<div style="text-align: justify;">Since I am sitting here without a specific theme in mind, I thought I might enlighten you all to the events of the past week.<br /><br />First of all, the reason for my absence is that <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I have been as sick as a dog</span>. Not once. But twice within the course of a week and a half. It is one of those colds that rears its ugly head for a day or two, decides to take a break during the subsequent two days to gather strength, and comes back with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">vengeance</span> to incapacitate its victim. Okay, so maybe I sound like I am describing an unreleased Harry Potter sequel, but the yearly routine of coming down with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bronchitis</span>-type symptoms is really starting to become a bore. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">It doesn't help that all three kids have the same infliction</span>, and we can only pray that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ludovica</span> and Emanuele's habit of "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">tocca</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ferra</span>" (knocking on metal instead of wood) will keep them safe.<br /><br />This dreadful cold, however, has not stopped me from going out and enjoying myself. This past weekend, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I had a wonderful dinner at a pizzeria with some friends of Marco and </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Mathieu</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, during which I spoke more Italian than I had ever spoken previously</span>. I give thanks in particular to one of Mat's female friends who is not a native Italian, but speaks the language better than most. ("She can EVEN use the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">conjunctive</span>!" is the line that was admirably used to describe her!) Being foreign herself, she could empathize with the feelings of a foreigner in a strange land, and as such, patiently listened to everything I tried to say, and corrected me whenever necessary, without once switching over to English.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I also had my first "</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">aperitivo</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">" experience in Italy. An "</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">aperitivo</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">" is the equivalent of "happy hour" in Canada. </span>You basically pay seven euros up front, and with that payment you receive one alcoholic beverage and all you can eat at the buffet table. Not a bad deal if you are hungry, but unfortunately, I had eaten beforehand being under the impression that the seven euros included "all you can drink" as well. (My, I am an optimistic soul, am I not?) So, after chugging back the first drink, I sat there twiddling my thumbs wondering whether I should invest in another. After all, I assumed, it couldn't be THAT expensive. (Scratch the last bracketed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">comment</span>. I am optimistic AND naive!) <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Unfortunately, the beer I ultimately decided to purchase was the same price as the "all you can eat" deal</span>, and while my sunken and shrivelled expression gained me a two euro discount from the owner, I was still five euros out of pocket for a drink I could have bought at the supermarket for a quarter of the price. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Yes, </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">aperitivo</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> bars are great social meeting places, but if you plan to drink, take your time and money elsewhere. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">As for news regarding the children and their English, I am sensing great improvement all three. </span>Yesterday, when Pietro and Marta stayed home from school to recover from their colds, we reenacted a number of the scenes from Sesame Street - specifically the skit between Grover as a waiter at a restaurant, and Big Blue, the customer. I was shocked at their ability to recall much of what was said between the two characters, despite not really knowing where word boundaries begin and end in English. In Pietro's case, in particular, he tends to interpret phrases such as "Just a moment sir!" as single words, and runs the words together as a result. However, he has associated meaning with these clumps of words, and that is what is most important for progression. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I have also noticed that the children will now willingly answer me in English, demonstrating to me an interest and a confidence in their own ability to communicate</span> that wasn't present before. It also helps that all three children have, as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Ludovica</span> puts it, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">"fallen in love with me" </span>and will do anything in their power to impress. And what better way to impress than to speak the language of the person they love! This being said, they still have their moments of stubborn pride. For instance, if you ask them outright if they like English , they will completely deny having an interest and will <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">adamantly</span> insist that anything English related is "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">brutta</span>" (horrible). It seems that even children have a reputation to maintain!<br /><br />Last but not least, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I have decided to go and see a </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Zucchero</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> concert on December 16</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">th</span>! I still don't know if I will be accompanied by anyone, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I am alone or with ten people. All I know is that I must take this bull by the horns, and continue to experience as much as I can of this beautiful city!</div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-12535650889654956552008-11-14T17:19:00.001+01:002008-11-14T17:23:20.439+01:00A Victim of Petty Theft<div style="text-align: justify;">I'm not going to mince words. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I'm incredibly irked at the moment with the Italian postal system, pretty much everyone responsible for controlling what happens to the post in this apartment, and the world itself.</span><br /><br />Two weeks ago, I bought a book for Marta on eBay for her 8<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> birthday. It was bad enough that the parcel didn't make it in time for her birthday, but I figured that as long as it arrived in the end, all would be well.<br /><br />Well, it arrived all right - on the one day that week I decided to stay after my Italian class to have a coffee with some friends. At the time, our cleaning lady, Maria, and the apartment janitor who is also in change of keeping large parcels safe until the owner returns home, were both in the building. Apparently, the postman had rung the doorbell, but Maria had not answered because she did not want to be responsible if that person were to break in and steal something -- a completely reasonable decision, which is why she is not the target of my anger.<br /><br />The janitor, however, apparently spoke with the postman after he gave up on ringing the doorbell and told him that the person to whom the parcel was addressed (a.k.a. me) was not a resident in our apartment. (Let me mention that the janitor has met me many times before, and knew that I was an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">au</span> pair at that address.) <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">So, in the end, the postman simply left the parcel with her, without leaving a note in our mailbox to say that it had arrived but not been signed for, and went on his merry way. And the janitor, who for some reason was one card short of a full deck that day, decided to leave the parcel unprotected on top of our mailbox.</span><br /><br />There were only 15 minutes between the time the parcel was left on top of the mailbox and my arrival back home. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Within those 15 minutes, someone entered the apartment from outside, decided they liked the look of said parcel, and </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">absconded</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> with it, without actually knowing what it was.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Boy, am I annoyed. My only consolatio</span>n is that the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">thief</span> will not benefit much from their smutty act. The present was a book for children, written completely in English. And it order to understand any of it, you need to know the song that accompanies it. Excuse me while I smother a laugh.<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-48972240437296647572008-11-13T09:02:00.004+01:002008-11-13T09:22:29.259+01:00The Fate of the Apostrophe<div style="text-align: justify;">An interesting news item was brought to my attention by my mum the other day. Though I didn't see it myself, there was apparently a program on British television <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">featuring a discussion about whether it is worth keeping the apostrophe in the English language</span>. The guest speaker was a professor from Bangor University in Wales, and the f<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">inal conclusion he reached was in favour of keeping the apostrophe. This is because, without it, clarification of certain sentences like "He always dots all his </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">i's</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> and crosses all his </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">t's</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">!" would become far more difficult.</span><br /><br />However, not everyone wishes to protect our little grammatical companion.<br /><br />According to Dr. Richard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Nordquist</span>, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">those who would abolish the "morbid growth in English orthography" (</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Byington</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, 1945) see it as unnecessary for clarification in writing since the context, above all, will tell you whether "well" is intended as "we'll" or if "its" indicates </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">possession</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> or not. </span>The same would go for "He always dots all his is and crosses all his ts!" because it would make little grammatical sense to throw a random "is" in between "his" (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">possessive</span>) and "and" (connector). In other words, a native speaker would never confuse this particular "is" with the third person singular form of "to be."<br /><br />On the other hand, some like the members of The Apostrophe Protection Society in England say that while they recognize that languages are forever changing, they feel the need to preserve "the correct use of this currently much abused punctuation mark in all forms of text written in the English language." However, there does not seem to be a clear rationale behind why they feel it is necessary to preserve the apostrophe except for the purpose of preservation for the sake of preservation.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">So, what do you think? Is the apostrophe necessary or is it simply another reason why second language learners call English the bane of their existence?</span><br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-38756518927200852532008-11-12T09:19:00.002+01:002008-11-14T21:25:07.874+01:00Another Addition for The Lexicon<div style="text-align: justify;">I haven't posted an item for The Lexicon in quite some time, so here is a goodie for you all, courtesy of my father.<br /><br /><ul><li><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Amateur</span> - Notice the "ama" at the beginning of the word? Anyone familiar with the French word "amour" will see the connection. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">This word actually means "lover of" in French </span>and stems from the Latin root of the same meaning. While in English, amateur can have a positive ("amateur sports") and pejorative meaning ("What an amateur!"), the positive connotation is more closely related to the original French meaning. This is because most amateurs do what they do because they are driven by a passion for their sport or activity. </li></ul></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-42949069466059080482008-11-08T08:25:00.002+01:002008-11-08T08:34:35.651+01:00My Quirky Neighbour<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Everyone has to have a crazy neighbour.</span> If there were a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">testament</span> on modern living, 'thou must have a crazy neighbour' would be one of the top five commandments.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">In our case, we have a neighbour across the way who I will call Signore V for his privacy. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Signore</span></span> V is what I would call an eccentric. Probably in his mid sixties, he is often seen strolling the halls whenever you come out on the house, regardless of the hour of the day. His dress is plain - usually full-bodied plaid, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ruffled</span> grey hair, glasses which magnify his peepers two fold, and the most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">crucial</span> accessory, a walking stick to compensate for his slight hunch.<br /><br />If you come out midday and are knocked backwards by the stink of cigarette smoke, you know Signore V has completed his daily routine of wandering your halls. I<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">f you dipped your hand into your mailbox on the day on the American election and found your newspaper crumpled with its pages out of order, you can safely assume that Signore V knew about </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Obama's</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> election before you did. </span>And if you hear random banging on the living room wall when your music is only up to level 10 on the CD player, or receive the evil eye in the hall, Signore V is probably trying to send you a pointed message in the best way he can. After all, he isn't the most verbal of folk in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">neighbourhood</span>.<br /><br />Signore V isn't all bad, though. He is great with children, especially our little ones whose eyes glimmer and voices squeal at the sight of his scruffy form. Not once has he failed to greet me when we have come in contact, with either a mumbled 'hello' or a slightly wary '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bounjourno</span>.' And he provides endless humour to the family and me.<br /><br />So, let's hear it for Signore V, a man who really knows how to keep the definition of 'quirky neighbour' alive!</div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-51617932219350578182008-11-05T17:48:00.006+01:002008-11-05T17:55:17.352+01:00Why Obama Really Became President!<div style="text-align: justify;">It doesn't matter where in the world you are -- "Obama" is the one name on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">everyone's</span> lips today. But what makes Obama so inspirational to the masses? Most would say it is because he is a symbol of forward thinking and change to the American people. He is the antithesis of "white, old and stodgy," a symbol for young voters, the perfect candidate for an America that pines for reform.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">But what else makes him so special?</span> In response to this question, I would like to share with you a short video I found on the CNN website that discusses the linguistic take on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Obama's</span> success with the people.<br /><br />http://edition.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2008/11/04/intv.martin.obama.reax.cnn?iref=mpvideosview<br /><br />In this video, Bill McGowan, a body language specialist, explains <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">the criteria which we use to pick our favourite candidate. He explains that our decisions during an election are based on only 30% of what the candidate is actually saying. The rest is based mostly upon "their </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">demeanour</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, their facial expressions, their tone of voice, [and] their movements."</span><br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Obama's</span> appeal exists because <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">his overall </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">demeanour</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> precisely matches what we would expect from a 'president of the United States'</span>. He has the loquacity of a university professor, the energy of a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">gospel</span> preacher, and the caring tone of a protective father or brother -- all qualities we associate with a true leader. When he speaks, his manner is cool and collected, and his body language, direct and confident.<br /><br />Perhaps the most important body language cue Obama has down pat is the <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">use of eye contact</span>. McGowan explains that this was most salient during the debates when Obama consistently maintained eye contact with whomever he spoke, and leaned forward to express interest and concern. McCain, on the other hand, was jittery and rarely maintained eye contact with one person for more than a few seconds. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Unfortunately</span> for McCain, those who are evasive of the gaze of other people are generally considered somewhat duplicitous, regardless of whether or not they actually are.<br /><br />Additionally, a personal observation I made about Obama is <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">how he utilizes his hands to earn the trust of his audience</span>. When he speaks, he has the tendency to caress the air, as if it were the head of a young child in need. (Metaphor for the desperate American people, anyone?) And more importantly, as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">McGoman</span> suggests, he moves his hands only when necessary, mostly to emphasis the presence of an important statement. In contrast, McCain became somewhat of a practical joke after the debates because his movements didn't seem to have a purpose. He would move around <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">sporadically</span>, or simple wander about the stage without a particular aim. This kind of body language can project the image of instability and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">volatility</span> -- not exactly something the United States needs right now.<br /><br />Alone, any one of these characteristics would be insufficient to secure a place in the heart of people. But Obama has them all.<br /><br />What else can I say? Obama = president. I sure am convinced!<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-49313586846295279882008-11-04T14:46:00.002+01:002008-11-04T17:37:07.374+01:00I Wish The Eurostar Stopped In Provence Instead<div style="text-align: justify;">And now, I would like to present you all with a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">teensy</span> weensy commentary that has been <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">gnawing</span> at my mind since I arrived. It revolves around the <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">tragic tale of a poor Canadian girl (a.k.a. me) and her experience at the Paris train station</span>; a girl with poorer French language skills that a London-baked baguette, and a kind of naive optimism about "La Ville-Lumiere" that should have been suffocated hours before the train arrived in Paris.<br /><br />Perhaps I had such optimism because I had been to Paris before. I was only eight at the time, true, but the city left such an impression on me that the memories of riding the elevator in our <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">oversized</span> hotel, circling the Arc De <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Triomphe</span>, and gaping open-mouthed at the Eiffel Tower have never left me. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">It is no wonder that I had every hope of disproving the stereotype of Parisians as rude, unhelpful and most importantly, anti-English</span>.<br /><br />I was in for a very rude awakening right from the word "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">aller</span>".<br /><br />At the information booth at the Gare <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">du</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nord</span>, only one sour looking gentleman was on duty. He looked as if his wife had just told him that she had never loved him. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Hesitantly</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">, I tried to explain in garbled French that I was looking for the </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Eurostar</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> to </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Torino</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> and hadn't a clue where to go because I couldn't see any English signs directing me to the proper station. I received no response. </span>Next I tried in very simple English. No response again. I would have knocked on his head and yelled in his ear to ask if anyone was home if there hadn't have been a six inch piece of glass between us, obviously put there just in case I pulled out, you know, a machete or something. However, I came to my senses and decided it would be more worth my while to ask someone else.<br /><br />Who would have guessed that the same event would occur <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">four more times</span> -- literally?? I was almost at my wits end when I finally found a lady who was willing to lend an ear to my troubles. In the end, thanks to her help, I did find the train but with only a couple of minutes to spare.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I am always bereaved to discover that certain stereotypes have more than grain of truth to them.</span> However, I have been forced to join the masses in saying that Anglophones would be best to stay as far away from Paris as possible, unless their French is passable. And even then, according to some of my French friends, it's a gamble.<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-40439228318848406282008-11-03T21:36:00.000+01:002008-11-04T17:33:23.049+01:00Darn Those Motherly Urges<div style="text-align: justify;">Since every other day during the week is filled with extra curricular activities for the children, I used today, Monday, as the time to whip together a homemade "pin the tail on the donkey" poster for Marta's 8th birthday party this coming Friday. Except it wasn't a donkey. Instead, I agreed to draw a Sandra Boynton pig by special request of the birthday girl herself.<br /></div><br /><span class="fullpost"><div style="text-align: justify;">At first, I thought I would be designing the poster alone. And being as much of a perfectionist as I am an artist, I had an elaborate and meticulous design planned out in my head to 'wow' the children. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I must admit, my heart sunk a little when Marta, Pietro and Anna started insisting on assisting me with not only the colouring, but also the drawing itself. It was a difficult amount of control for me to relinquish </span>since I have always preferred to draw alone and have never had young children around to twist my arm.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">However, that hour I spent drawing with the children turned out to be one of the best moments during my time here so far.</span> I found that the more work I gave the children to do on the poster, the more they warmed up to me. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">It didn't matter anymore that the poster wasn't perfect -- we were having a good time together, and that was enough. </span>Anna was in charge of gluing down the stars while Pietro took to drawing various faces on them, and Marta and I did most of the colouring and the designing. My heart especially swelled when Pietro affectionately babbled over and over, "Heather is such a wonderful artist. I love her drawings." <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I was good and ready to give up my freedom and produce my own affectionate little spawn right then and there!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I might as well mention as a side note that the kids no longer despise speaking English. In fact, all of them now make a conscious effort to memorize and use the new phrases and words that they learn. And now that they are genuinely interested, boy, has the speed of their learning picked up! I would say that Pietro averages fifteen new words a day, while Marta and Anna are only trailing behind slightly. (And then there is me who feels lucky if she remembers even a couple of phrases a day!) I cannot wait for the day when I will actually be able to hold a full conversation with them, with the knowledge that everything THEY know is the product of what I have taught them.</span></span><br /></div></span>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-37573883105735467472008-11-02T20:23:00.008+01:002008-11-02T20:44:16.944+01:00Total Immersion Not The Answer<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ahh</span>...what a momentous occasion! <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Today, I carried out my first full conversation solely in Italian!</span><br /><br />This fulfilling event happened at a birthday party to which the family brought me this evening. Our hosts were two relatively wealthy friends of the family called Marco and Nicola who had welcomed over twenty guests to their grand household on the outskirts of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Torino</span>. (When I say grand, I mean <span style="font-style: italic;">grand</span>...they have an entire hill to themselves, a massive front and backyard, and gates that open on their own at the front of the property!)<br /><br />At the party were two ladies who spoke very little English. Armed with all of the idiomatic phrases and grammar Emanuele and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ludovica</span> had taught me over the past month, I<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> managed to speak quite fluently about: my nationality, how I had moved from one country to another five months ago, the languages which I speak, the languages which I DON'T speak - a.k.a. French - and why, despite the fact I received nine years of French education, I cannot speak a word.</span> I surprised even myself because, up to that point, I had never been given the opportunity to use Italian without English as a crutch, mainly because everyone around me speaks English so well.<br /><br />I think this experience has taught me that it doesn't really matter if you use your native language on a daily basis, because learning WILL occur in a second language environment regardless. Plus, using both it and a little of the second language prevents you, as a learner, from becoming overly exhausted.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">So, in short, forget complete immersion. It is too darn tiring and will probably impede your learning rather than foster it! </span>Rather, try mixing your own language with the second. If you do, you will find that all the stresses associated with language learning will fade away.<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-62832009421491707682008-11-01T10:57:00.012+01:002008-11-01T11:50:11.687+01:00Goths, Satan, and Crazy Devil Worshippers: Halloween in Italy<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQwzt93ZdsI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/6IzCxqD1L0U/s1600-h/DSC05293.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQwzt93ZdsI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/6IzCxqD1L0U/s200/DSC05293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263638929283315394" border="0" /></a>For me, All Hallows Eve was a time usually spent at home, taking shifts with my parents at the door while waiting for that impending ring at the doorbell, and hoping that the next visitors wouldn't be a boorish group of sixteen year old boys with only fake moustaches for costumes. Either that, or we would make a trip to Swiss Chalet to escape the stress of the night.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Last night, however, I ditched my stay-at-home routine in favour of <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">a local Halloween <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">festa</span> at a famous pub in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tori</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">no</span> called <a href="http://www.hiroshimamonamour.org/">Hiroshima Mon Amour</a></span>, a name taken from the famous black and white film. Marco, once again, was my companion as he had volunteered to help with the filming of the performance his friend was to put on for the evening, and two <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">au</span> pair friends of mine, Allie and Aida, also came along for the ride.<br /><br />To say that last night was a strange experience would be a huge understatement. The most unusual thing was that <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">everyone</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"> was dressed up as a witch or some variant of that theme</span>. I was expecting to see a number of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pikachus</span>, fairies, and perhaps even a Homer Simpson or two, but no -- we were four normal people in the midst of most <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">gothic</span> of company I have been in since high school!<br /><br />And not only were they <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">gothic</span> - <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">many of them at least appeared to be dedicated satanic worshippers</span>. To understand this, I have to explain the performance of Marco's friend, who is a professional make-up artist. The show basically went as follows:<br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>Five or six witches dance around a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">calderon</span> behind a misty screen.</li><li>The witches appear to faint and slowly, Satan himself (well, actually, Marco's friend dressed up as Satan) rises out of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">cauldron</span>.</li><li>Satin cuts down the misty screen and takes his place on the stage along with a vampire and a few other servants.</li><li>Satin starts to summon people out of the audience to sign themselves over as his eternal slaves.</li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">What I had to stifle a laugh at was how </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">serious </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">the chosen participants seemed to be about signing over their souls!</span> For instance, there was a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">blond</span> lady, probably in her early-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">fourties</span> dressed up in a tight leather suit, and when she was chosen, she threw herself right into the part of the dedicated devil worshipper, running her hands all over the actors and tossing her head this way and that. It was like a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">cosplay</span> show gone terribly wrong!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQw0EwLfxcI/AAAAAAAAAIY/V9mG7dtINE8/s1600-h/DSC05281.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 113px; height: 151px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQw0EwLfxcI/AAAAAAAAAIY/V9mG7dtINE8/s200/DSC05281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263639320746509762" border="0" /></a>This being said, it was an amusing evening overall. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">There was lots of dancing, delicious drinks to be shared, and good company</span>. We even managed to amuse ourselves by taking loads of pictures -- mostly of this particularly scary red witch with a green face, and of the various couples making out. Though it perhaps wasn't the best Halloween I've ever had (the best ones were when I was a child!), it was certainly the funniest!</div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-64390894936460220832008-10-30T01:21:00.002+01:002008-10-31T15:34:53.947+01:00Bonding Over Truffles in Alba<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjYYZ20_I/AAAAAAAAAIA/s2Z2AmnCaYA/s1600-h/DSC05234.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjYYZ20_I/AAAAAAAAAIA/s2Z2AmnCaYA/s200/DSC05234.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262706172589691890" border="0" /></a>I first read about truffles when I picked up and dusted off a copy of A Year In Provence from my mum's bookshelf a week before I left for Italy. In the book, the main character is intrigued by the value ascribed to, and the effort dedicated to finding these seemingly non<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">descript</span> little lumps of fungi, most of which can be found deep in the woods buried a foot or so under the trees. He mentions how one truffle of average proportion can cost a few hundred dollars, making it a delicacy that only the likes of Brad Pitt could enjoy on a regular basis. I also recall skimming over line or two about how the French like to believe that truffles are a native product of France, whereas in actual fact, they are imported from Italy.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Well, the concept of truffles went from being an abstract line in a book to reality this past weekend when I had the opportunity to visit a <a href="http://www.fieradeltartufo.org/en/">The National White Truffle Festival in Alba</a>! My companions were: Marco (a friend I met a week ago through the University of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Torino</span> message board), <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">RaeAnne</span> (a fellow <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">au</span> pair from Colorado), and Federico (an actor friend of Marco's), and though we knew very little of one another, we managed to have one of those weekends you just want to mark down as one of the best in your life.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjHSg55tI/AAAAAAAAAH4/mzLfJH56JFU/s1600-h/DSC05229.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjHSg55tI/AAAAAAAAAH4/mzLfJH56JFU/s200/DSC05229.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262705878950864594" border="0" /></a>The truffle festival itself was a <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">crossover between a farmer's market and a wine tasting festival in its make-up</span>. Downstairs was a small theatre where a documentary about the significance of truffles was being played, and it just so happened that <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Marco was the electrician for the film, while Federico was one of the actors</span>. Upstairs, you could find booth after booth of vendors selling not only truffle related products, but also wine, cheese, meats, sauces, breads, and more. The confluence of smells was overwhelming, and the hall was so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">chockablock</span> that it was hard to move. We managed to taste a number of delicious samples, the best being a wine called <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Moscato</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">D'Asti</span> -- a sweet dessert wine that was so full and flavoursome that it may as well have been a meal in itself</span>.<br /><br />This was followed by a savoury meal at the <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Osteria</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Nuova</span> on via <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Calissano</span></span>, a miniature but unmistakably popular lunch destination on one of the side streets of Alba. The price was more than a bargain considering what we received. For only eight euros, we were able to share a full plate of deliciously smelly, old cheese covered in truffle slices and thick slices of salami. For another eight euros, we had the pleasure of tucking into a dish of rosy pink beef and tuna. And while we could have probably spent an additional eight euros on something else, our stomachs told us no, and we moved on promptly to the final destination of the day.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjoPJ1fAI/AAAAAAAAAII/V9MTS34Wbl8/s1600-h/DSC05258.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SQjjoPJ1fAI/AAAAAAAAAII/V9MTS34Wbl8/s200/DSC05258.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262706444984482818" border="0" /></a>We soon found ourselves looking at what could have been paradise. A mere two miles from Alba sits a wine production farm, located at the top of one of the many rolling hills that rumple up the Italian landscape. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">What was once an expanse of green vines heavy with purple grapes is now a palette of reds, yellows, oranges and browns - a view just as spectacular as one you might see in Ontario's deciduous regions during the fall months, but uniquely Italian all the same.</span> At the pinnacle of the hill stands a proud looking tree which Federico tells me has been around since the mid-1800's. From its lower bows, we sit and take in the landscape, a little despondent knowing that we cannot stay forever.<br /><br />Though much more happened, this is a taste of what we saw at Alba. Having now experienced the natural and unaffected beauty of rural Italy, I realize now, more strongly than ever, how much of a city person I am not.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Update:</span> Oh, and my impression of truffles? They're not as good as everyone makes them out to be, as with most things in life. They taste a bit like potent mushrooms. Personally, my eyes were glued to the varieties of cheeses most of the day!<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-4808423592848462092008-10-27T09:37:00.008+01:002008-10-27T09:56:30.321+01:00Shoo Japanese, Don't Bother Me!<div style="text-align: justify;">My Italian must sound truly alien to native Italians for reasons other than the fact that it is as poor as poor can get. Probably the funniest thing that I do that other English natives do not is unconsciously fall back onto Japanese whenever a word escapes me in Italian.<br /><br />These words are usually not nouns or verbs, but "fillers" -- those drawn out utterances we use when we are thinking up a response (ummmm!) or when we attempt to contradict someone's opinion (yeah i know but...!) or when we are simply trying to fill an awkward silence (well...).<br /><br />Here is an example conversation I might have with Emanuele!<br /><br />(In Italian with <span style="font-style: italic;">highlighted</span> Japanese fillers.)<br />E: So, did you have a nice day?<br />H: <span style="font-style: italic;">Maa</span>...it was good.<br />E: That's good. Are you going somewhere tonight?<br />H: <span style="font-style: italic;">Nnn sou sou</span>, uh I mean, si si...yes...ahh...what was the question??<br /><br />I find it most amusing how the brain automatically seems to resort to the second language when words and expressions in the third are inaccessable. And it is even more amusing that this happens despite the fact that Japanese and Italian are like chalk and cheese, while English and Italian are literally long lost cousins.<br /><br />Perhaps Italian should have been my first opponent in the ring...life would have been so much easier!<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-77430035860578712912008-10-24T13:27:00.000+02:002008-10-25T13:56:32.136+02:00Pietro's Kind Words<div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday I found out that my little proteges aren't as indifferent to me as I originally thought. It was when Ludovica, Emanuele and I were watching Juno late in the evening that Ludovica turned to me and said...<br /><br />"You'll never guess what happened while you were out at the movies tonight!"<br /><br />Visions of children hurling water over the side of the bath, screaming up and down the hallway, having uncontrollable 'capricci' (temper tantrums) while yelling "bruta" and "cattiva" in my direction sprung immediately to my mind. Curious as I was, perhaps I didn't really want to hear what I had missed that night after all.<br /><br />Seeing my apprehension, Ludovica quickly continued...<br /><br />"No, no, you'll like this! Apparently, when Marta was complaining about how you hadn't let her and her friends put their backpacks in the bathroom, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Pietro came to your defence! He said: Heather's not mean, she's nice and beautiful! We love her! We should teach her lots and lots of Italian and we must learn more English!"</span><br /><br />"WhHHHAAAT?? This is not the Pietro I know!" I thought. (And apparently, Ludovica had said the same thing at the time!) Pietro, out of all the children, is the one I am the most strict with. He calls me the most names, and the most trouble, and has the most averseness to speaking English, so to have him say such a kind thing about me really took me aback.<br /><br />I think that Pietro's acceptance of me is proof that an easygoing attitude with children is not the key to ultimately gaining their respect and affection. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">It takes rules and order to have a good relationship with young children since they feel more confortable when there is a structure in place. </span>After all, if there weren't a structure, they wouldn't have the opportunity to break the rules, and that wouldn't be any fun at all! This being said, a caring, and most of all, forgiving attitude must go hand in hand with the strict rules you put in place. Children do not understand the concept of grudges, so it does no good continually resent a child for something they did one week, one day, or even one hour ago. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Rather, the most effective method is to tell the child off when they do something wrong, let them hate you at the time, and forgive and forget once all is said and done. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">At least, in Pietro's case, it seems to have worked.</span><br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-18279511699826344032008-10-21T15:01:00.005+02:002008-10-21T15:20:32.784+02:00Anna the Lean Mean English Machine<div style="text-align: justify;">Lately, I've been experimenting with various ways to teach 2.5 year old Anna how to speak English. While Marta is quite easy to teach as she already has the basic knowledge of English grammar to get by, and Pietro, despite his protestations, has a fairly good passive knowledge of the language, Anna is a blank sheet waiting to be written upon, making her extremely impressionable! My favourite way so far is put into practice whenever I pick her up from school.<br /><br />What happens is that whenever we walk home together, we stop at a small shop with a window display bursting with colourful Halloween decorations. Stuck to the window itself are a number of leaf and pumpkin themed stickers, most of which are arranged in an alternating pattern along the edge of the bottom sill. And when Anna runs up to the window, as she always does, I make a point to say outloud "leaf, pumpkin, leaf, pumpkin..." as I point to each sticker.<br /><br />We have done this for three days in a row so far with no response from Anna except her insistence that pumpkins aren't called pumpkins, and leaves aren't called leaves (they are "zucce" and "foglie" she says!). However, <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">today on the fourth day, just as I was losing all hope, she started copying everything I said! Pumpkin! Leaf! Toes! Knees! Legs! Arms! Belly! Cookie Monster! I couldn't have stop her rampent imitating even if I had wanted to.</span><br /><br />It seems that all she needed was daily reinforcement! (And perhaps, the sweetie I gave her after she said "pumpkin" for the first time helped a little as well!)<br /><br />Hurrah for early second language teaching!<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-1682461992613514402008-10-16T09:06:00.010+02:002008-10-16T15:20:47.128+02:00Homelessness in Torino<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SPbyjqE4gII/AAAAAAAAAHo/qhKEEMBT3Kk/s1600-h/DSC05134.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 164px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4gjbYpAZAWE/SPbyjqE4gII/AAAAAAAAAHo/qhKEEMBT3Kk/s200/DSC05134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257656309405745282" border="0" /></a>Ludovica and I have just returned from picking up Marta from swimming. It has been a long day for all of us - Anna is yawning big gaping yawns, Marta is talking a mile a minute (a sure sign that she is overtired), and Ludovica has fallen into a deep, thoughtful silence, as have I.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />As we turn into the parking lot, a sight which pleases none of us meets our eyes. A man, with unwashed clothes, a barrette, and eyes that roll in different directions was directing us into a free parking space.<br /><br />"What is he doing that for?" I asked. "It's obvious that there is a space. It's right in front of our noses!"<br /><br />I should have guessed because I had seen it numerous times before. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">He was one of the many homeless people in Torino employing one of the many "creative" ways of making an extra euro. </span>Only last week, our car had been stopped to a screeching halt in the middle of the road by a women and a man dressed in Gypsy garb, holding signs with the word of Christ scribbled upon them in one hand, and a small plastic cup filled with small change in the other. Others hand out newspapers and ask for money afterwards, and still others sell extremely cheap merchandise on the sidewalks that line the streets.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">What surprises me most about these people is that unlike homeless people in Canada who are quite passive, those in Italy will push and push until they receive that precious Euro from you. </span>What they say to convince people, precisely, I am not yet certain, but the most common pitch seems to be something along the lines of "God will bless your children if you help me, and if you don't help me, may you burn in h***." (Pleasant, I know!) The closest experience I had to this in North America was the time my friend and I arrived in Chicago and attempted to find the information desk. When a man offered to show us where it was, we took up his offer and followed him, only to be asked for two dollars for his services afterwards. Worst of all, he would not leave us alone until we had handed over the money. This is the only time that I have been met with this kind of persistence in North America that I can recall.<br /><br />To be honest, I don't really know how to feel about the "creativity" of the homeless people here. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I understand that many of them have no other way of surviving, but their persistent nature personally causes me to feel quite uneasy whenever I walk along the streets, especially when the children are with me.</span> Plus, I do not appreciate the threats regarding the so-called fate of my soul. The only option seems to be to have a pocket full of small change whenever I go out, just to keep them at bay.<br /><br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-62989294054725457902008-10-13T22:06:00.005+02:002008-10-13T22:19:16.994+02:00Italian Comes With Its Own Challenges<div style="text-align: justify;">And now for a little bit of linguistic reflection...<br /><br />While grammatically speaking I have been having quite an easy time picking up Italian, I have found that I am having a harder time attempting to have conversations with people than I did when I was first learning Japanese. It is not that Italian people are unfriendly or evasive of foreigners. Rather, it is their <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">rapid turn-taking strategies that make entering and, more importantly, continuing a conversation such a challenge</span>.<br /><br />Let me explain. You see, I have found that when two Italians are speaking, quite often they will not wait for you to finish your sentence. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">They will either a) finish it for you or b) continue with their own contribution to the conversation. </span>As such, whenever I try to formulate a sentence, the Italian person I am speaking with will more often than not spew out at a native's pace the correct version of what I want to say, leaving me no time to internalize their corrections. Either that or they will simply carry on the conversation as if I had made my contribution already. This characteristic lies in contrast to Japanese people who tend to wait for you to finish before they begin speaking, or at least try to help you complete the sentence yourself.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Arg! It can be so frustrating!</span><br /><br />It also doesn't help that most Italians can speak at least mediocre English, leaving me convinced that it will not be before I reach intermediate level Italian that I will be able to actually participate in a proper conversation.<br /><br />Looks like it is time to get back to the books and study, study, study!<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-33885648308524937402008-10-11T23:49:00.001+02:002008-10-11T23:59:32.535+02:00Photo Slideshow of the Kids and Me<p style="visibility:visible;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://widget-33.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" height="320" width="426" style="width:426px;height:320px"><param name="movie" value="http://widget-33.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf"><param name="quality" value="high"><param name="scale" value="noscale"><param name="salign" value="l"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"> <param name="flashvars" value="cy=ms&il=1&channel=2594073385378323251&site=widget-33.slide.com"></object><p style="white-space:nowrap"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=2594073385378323251&map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-33.slide.com/p1/2594073385378323251/ms_t016_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=2594073385378323251&map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-33.slide.com/p2/2594073385378323251/ms_t016_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=2594073385378323251&map=F" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-33.slide.com/p4/2594073385378323251/ms_t016_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide42.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></p></p>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-606109614622432478.post-88209823185530592352008-10-10T22:11:00.007+02:002008-10-10T22:35:46.733+02:00Living Dangerously: The Perils of the Italian Pedestrian<div style="text-align: justify;">I was nearly hit by a car. Not just today, nor yesterday, but almost every day since I have been here. <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">I thought that 'bad Italian driving' was little more than an overblown stereotype. How wrong I was!</span><br /><br />Just two days ago, when Ludovica and I were taking the children on a walk around the Piazza Vittorio Veneto, the most despicable event so far occurred. A lady with a cigarette hanging loosely out of her drooping mouth and a cellular phone to hear ear came screeching up in her blue piece of scrap metal to the pedestrian crossroads where we were standing, waiting to cross. Knowing that crossroads are little more than a suggestion to stop, we moved out into the road, making it known that it was our turn to go. (After all, if you don't make a move, you end up waiting forever!) <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">This maniacal woman, however, obviously didn't care that she could end up with a life sentence in prison for running down three children and two ladies, and charged forward, leaving only a hair's bredth between her car and little Anna's feet</span>. Both Ludovica and I cursed out to the woman as she tore by, but to no avail. It appeared that her cellphone was permanently attached to her ear, and no one, not even three helpless children crossing the street could divert her attention from it.<br /><br />The sad thing is, this woman is the rule, not the exception in Italy. It is a shame because Torino would be a much lovelier place to live if people would just have a little more consideration for others while out on the road.<br /></div>heather-in-italiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04596316932307571009noreply@blogger.com2