"Piano, Piano"

It has gotten incredibly cold and hearing the temperature in Celsius makes it seem even colder. Today the low was 2 degrees. The weather keeps threatening snow, though thankfully we haven’t gotten any yet, and I’ve heard it doesn’t get much colder than this which will be a welcome change from Massachusetts. On the bright side, since there is no such thing as Thanksgiving here stores have already started putting up their Christmas window displays and some of the little streets and alleys in Centro have strung lights and garlands in between the buildings. It’s beautiful and I already can’t wait to celebrate an Italian Christmas.

Last night a group of us bundled up in our layers of coats and scarves and returned to the Libreria/Café that has live music and we had some wine and listened to a group of Italians singing Indie-American songs. The place was so crowded that we sat on the floor of the loft and just watched everyone else mill about. Rachel and Sarah met a group of Southern Italians and when the café closed at midnight we all headed to a jazz club and they came along. On the way they kept repeating how incredible it was that they had found American students in Italy who actually speak Italian. Then they asked us what our honest opinions of Italians so far were. I told one of them that it was hard to tell because there seemed to be so many different types of Italians, but for sure they seem completely different from Americans. I could really tell for instance, that these people were Sicilian, as they were much more honest and open to talking to us than most Florentines would be. They seemed more genuine.

We then asked him what he thought of Americans and without even thinking he strung together five or six different words for “stupid,” both in Italian and English. Our new friend went on to explain, “You know when there is a house? And it is empty?”
Sara and I laughed and agreed, although he had to explain himself more clearly to our two Texan friends who were offended by his statement. “I know not every American is like this, I have many American friends who are incredible people, but for the major part this is the American image that I have.” He then clarified that for the most part the only respectful thing to come out of America is our art and music, “Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa.” Needless to say, these men were hippie Sicilian musicians who were reminiscent of the three musketeers.

In all honesty though I agreed with Davide and told him so, this is what the major part of Americans are like, and it’s sad. A little while later when the Musketeers left the jazz club for their next adventure Davide told me, “Don’t worry, it might be empty now, but you can fill it up, first a bed, then a couch, then a refrigerator. Piano piano.” One step at a time.

My only response was “Spero.” I hope.