A weekend of Vicktry

03. 12. 10
Toschi again this morning for two English classes. The first one was with  teacher who was new to me, and she wanted me to ‘help her’ aka teach/lead some exercises. Again, students obviously couldn’t have cared less, and pretty much no one had done the homework we were supposed to be going over. She wanted me to help them review ‘the first form of the conditional.’ (If this is as unfamiliar to you as it was to me, an example would be: ‘if it rains today, I will stay inside.’) Some of the kids could not get what they were supposed to be doing, and most of them were just completely disengaged. I had to reach into my teacherly bag o’ tricks. I finally got the ball rolling a little by having one student make up the first half of the sentence and then pick a classmate to complete it with the second clause. Then this person got to start the next sentence. This broadened the participation and kept me from having to call on people, which is hard to do when you don’t know people’s names and can’t point because students won’t look at you. My technique worked well enough, but students were either not motivated enough or they weren’t able to come up with clauses on the fly, so it was a little stilted.

My next class was with my now-favorite teacher. As I stood in the front of the class, waiting for the teacher to show up, a girl walked by and said to her friend, ‘esta chica no la conozco’ (I don’t know this girl). Shortly thereafter she and her friend came over to say hi and ask whether I was on ‘interculture,’ essentially an exchange student, and I explained. I also asked her, in Spanish, whether she spoke Spanish, not so much to call her out on her previous comment, to which I had not taken any offense, but to start up conversation in Spanish. Nonetheless, she felt very embarrassed about her offhanded comment that had been made assuming that I wouldn’t understand her. She turned out to be Chilean, and we had a rapid-fire conversation switching back and forth between Spanish and Italian and maybe even a little English, as needed, which would have made my head spin had I taken the time to think about it. Anyway, this class went by quickly, and was small enough and had enough interested people to keep it lively. The teacher asked me to read them an article about the birth of hip-hop culture, and then make up some comprehension questions to ask them.

Throughout the week, I have found myself in several situations that make me feel like I know nothing about the mechanics of my language or the structure of my country. If somebody said, ‘explain your educational system,’ how would you respond? It’s not that I know nothing about it, it’s just that it is such an insanely broad question. Now factor in the fact that the people listening have the ability to understand maybe half of the words that come out of your mouth. I can’t just say, ‘I don’t know;’ I have to answer something. I have this scenario that flashes into my mind when I face a question I feel unprepared to answer:
I rattle off my logic-based assumptions and generalizations as though they were certain truths. Some time later, one of the students encounters someone else and has a conversation regarding this topic. The other person says something different than what I taught. My listener authoritatively counters that ‘an American told him so’ and therefore he must be right. Further research uncovers a very different answer than what I gave. It is concluded that that crazy American girl had no idea what she was talking about.

Anyway, home for lunch and all that. I actually managed to start my paper probably around way too late o’clock.


03. 13. 10
I wake up at a decent time and actually manage to do some work and cleaning before the big moment. Around three I head to the train station and shortly after my arrival a one Miss Victoria Fantastic rounds the bend and the sun breaks out from behind the clouds and angels sing. But really. It was hard to believe that three short days ago I was wading through snow. The sun had come and melted most of it away, such that save for a few dirty white patches you wouldn’t know Parma wasn’t in the throes of glorious spring. After some arbitrary wandering I passed off as sightseeing, we arrived at Café Chagall. It was the first place I went in Parma, and I suggested an Italian-style hot chocolate to Vicky. Cappuccino for me (shocking!) and a mug full of melted chocolate topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder for Vicky. And then the talking commenced. Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do, and catch up we did. We spent at least as many hours there as I put sugar packets in my coffee. Eventually we decided it was time to head home, but swung by the grocery store to grab some 'thank you for hosting me' wine and some drinks of our own. On the bus, Vicky gets the pleasure of experiencing fifteen minutes in the life of a sardine. Even better, we get to ride around next to the wide-open rear door. I’d seen it happen before, but I’d never been the one watching the pavement zip by, inches from my feet. We arrive home just in time to see everyone leaving. We cook for ourselves, meaning Vicky cooks, and she falls in love with the kitchen. We have leftover pasta, fresh pasta, scrambled eggs and pancetta, leftover spinach, and my contribution of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes with oregano and olive oil. We then met Matt for a night out. Vicky and I got dolled up and I finally wore the dress I bought during my first week here. For the irony of it, we went to Irish, a – you guessed it – Irish pub. There, after enjoying a Guinness, I had the pleasure (?) of being called upon to defend Houston and America as a whole to a drunken Italian fellow. Even if we never made it to anything close to an agreement, I got to practice several of the argumentative Italian gestures I have acquired so far.


03. 14. 10
Vicky and I woke up reasonably early and went to the modern church west of my house. It is a big gray cement spiral that could almost look like a prison were it not for the cross cut out of one side, and it has held my curiosity for quite a while. The interior had some beautiful paintings and some interesting lighting effects from the windows, but left much to be desired after the intriguing exterior. Also, the acoustics were really not optimal.

Afterward, we decided to head into town on a quest for horse. Unfortunately, afternoons in Parma, especially Sunday afternoons, tend to mean everything is closed. After wandering around looking for a place whose exact location I did not know, we caved and went to a pizza place. Because things weren’t open yet, we decided to go shopping. Whoopee! A successful endeavor for the both of us. Next, I took Vicky on ‘the tour,’ and gave her a condensed regurgitation of our lectures regarding the Duomo/cathedral, the Baptistery, two other churches, and the plazas and their namesakes. Maybe I should get a job as a multilingual tour guide. We saw a street performer and were treated to an impressive yet creepy accordion rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. We freshened up with some heavenly gelato: pepper chocolate and berry for me and orange chocolate and mango for Vicky. Sunday ended up being full of the most stereotypical Italian/Italian touring activities: pizza, gelato, churches, and shopping. Italian indeed.

When we came home, Vicky took a nap and I finally finished off my paper. Tonight, we would be having dinner with the family, and Letizia went all out. Risotto alla Milanese, peas and carrots, a pork roast, bread and cheese, and an Easter cake shaped like a dove (colomba). The wine we brought, a Parmesan Lambrusco, was well received. With gestures, miming, and my translations, a successful conversation accompanied our splendid feast.


03. 15. 10
I had morning classes at Toschi, so I left my darling Vicky bright and early. First I had two periods of graphic design, but people were still finishing up their projects, so I was left to my own devices. I had been instructed to bring my laptop, so I fiddled around on photoshop, developing some ideas for what I ultimately want to do in this class. Near the end of class the teacher came over and said, ‘oh tell me what this beautiful thing is that you are doing!’ So began several minutes of ego inflating. I told him I wanted to work with some of my pictures and make either an alphabet using my pictures of Italy or maybe make illuminated letters or something like that. He asked to see my pictures and marveled and cooed over all of them. What an eye! What good taste! What strong images! Excellent! And so on. Yay me.

Next was English class, and I sat in the back with a handful of advanced students. We talked some, but the problem with a conversation is that only one person can talk at a time, which means that everyone else disengages. I get more and more respect for teachers every day, but at the same time I feel like on some level it is the teachers’ behavior that has taught students that their behavior is acceptable.

After class I met Vicky in the main plaza. Quest for horsemeat, take two. Due to the limited time available and the fact that I still didn’t know the exact location of the restaurant that serves horse sandwiches, we opted for the horse butcher. We got a neat little pack of ground meat and, on our way back, spotted some irresistible strawberries. Vicky has now gotten to experience some of the several examples of what to Americans seems like bizarre Italian behavior. Sometimes, you order and pay first, then get your food. Sometimes you order first, then sit and eat, and then pay. Good luck trying to figure out which one to do, when. At this little grocer’s shop, like at most others, you stand there until somebody offers to help, and they come over from the cash wrap to grab the tub of strawberries that are right next to you, and take them back to where they were so they can wrap them and charge you. The strawberries were fantastic. We arrive back home to lunch, which was pasta and a quiche-like tart and our horsemeat and more colomba. With that, it is time to go, alas. We take Vicky to the airport and say our goodbyes.

Afterward, I had a little time to catch up on my homework before heading to class. Apparently, I was more tired than I knew. We were to watch Roma Città Aperta, the quintessential Italian neorealist film, but as the lights dimmed so did my consciousness. I managed to stay awake long enough to appreciate the fact that I could now understand pretty much everything, unlike the first time I watched it several years ago, and I coincidentally found myself awake for many of the major scenes, but other than that I was out like the lights.