Esami Italiani

I’m heading into full swing into Italian Finals. In reality the Italian school system doesn’t have final exams the way we know them. At university you don’t do homework or write papers, you go to class, get notes, do reading, and learn, then at the end you schedule an exam with your professor who asks you questions and grades you on how well you learned. Makes sense huh?

Since the only course I took at the University this semester I only audited I am not actually taking the oral exam, and since the rest of my classes are through the Smith program I have lots of papers and lots of written exams, my only escape will be my studio art class, where we’ll just have a group critique. I don’t mind writing papers here and there, but they definitely take more brain power in Italian, and I’m eagerly awaiting the end of next week, when all papers will be turned in and exams finished and I can start a new semester. Three classes I’m looking forward to a lot at the Smith Center: Racconti (Italian short stories), Contemporary Italian history (think Fascism, and the Mafia), and Italian Cinema, as well as one class for credit at the University of Florence.

As the Italian school system also likes to wait until the last minute to make any kind of plans, I still have no idea what will be offered this semester and therefore what I will be taking there, but it is sure to be a new experience.

Finishing the semester is tough especially after a long vacation, but it also means I’ve gotten to do some really fun things with my classes. Last week my literature class went on a literary tour of Florence on this city bus that is painted up with the picture of every famous writer who has ever lived in Florence. It included a stop at the British/Protestant cemetery in Florence where all of the famous British and American writers who lived in Florence are buried. A little nun (is there such thing as a protestant nun?) took us around showing us the tombstones that were fought hard for in the overwhelmingly Catholic place.

Right after getting off the bus I headed to Palazzo Vecchio with my History of Florence c lass. Palazzo Vecchio is in the same Piazza as my school and was originally a residence of the Medici family when they were still running the city and continues to serve as the seat of Florence’s government today. My teacher knows everyone in Florence it seems, and happened to be able to get us a special tour of the building including entering rooms usually not open to the public. In what looks like a giant Renaissance government office building the Medicis built themselves a labyrinthine system of secret rooms and passageways to get away from their work when they felt like it. It is exactly the castle you imagined as a kid, full of narrow staircases, paintings that open into doors and winding passageways.

Finally on Wednesday night I got to see my first Italian Opera (In Italy that is). We attended Madama Butterfly by Puccini at the Teatro Comunale in Florence. It is a beautiful building and the opera was incredible. The sets were beautiful, the music was gorgeous and the production overall extremely moving. I’ve only ever seen one or two operas in English and always found it strange to be able to understand what the singers were saying, it was very interesting when I realized I was experiencing this same sensation with this Italian opera.

After weeks of rain we are finally back to the beautiful Florentine sun I’ve come to expect, and I hope it makes the next week a little more bearable before heading into the second half of my Italian adventure.


The bus we took for the Literary Tour of Florence.


A view of the Duomo out the window of one of the beautiful rooms of Palazzo Vecchio.



The night at Madama Butterfly, Teatro Comunale.

A quick note on Italian politics.

Yesterday the Italian Parliament voted against their Prime Minister Romano Prodi’s request for a vote of confidence, meaning he’s out and they need to find a new Prime Minister. As an American with a very strict idea of when and how elections are held it is difficult to wrap my head around this idea of political disorganization (during the hearing one Senator while making his statements was spit on by another Senator, then fainted and needed to be carried out of the building on a stretcher). On the one hand it seems much more democratic to be able to express dissatisfaction with your elected officials when you feel like it. At the same time however, Italians have been through this revolving door before: this is Prodi’s second time being voted out of his position, and the only viable option as his predecessor under Italy’s current electoral system is to go to the party leader of the opposition party Silvio Berlusconi, who has also already been voted out of office twice as Prime Minister.
Living here for me definitely sheds light on our own political system, sure the possible Bush-Bush-Clinton-Clinton-Bush-Bush-Clinton Presidential succession might resemble more of a monarchy than a democracy, and our current President would have been voted out of office years ago under Italy’s system, but at least with ours there is the possibility of an actual change by the time our elections do roll around.
It’s depressing to think that even a strong-willed woman like Luciana who consistently has called both Prodi and Berlusconi an entire array of Italian curse words, is now backing Berlusconi’s return. She explained it to me like this: No, I don’t like him, but Prodi hasn’t done anything with our tax money for the last 20 months, Berlusconi may be an idiot, but he has enough money that he won’t pocket ours. Doing something is better than doing nothing, she said.

Here is a link to an article I really enjoyed about Italy recently done by the New York Times that I think aptly observes Italy’s possibly fatal political and social problems.

La Bellezza della Storia

I wrote up an article for my school's news service. I thought you might like to read.


http://www.smith.edu/news/2007-08/JYA-MaggieMertens.php

A Fresh View

Vacation brought with it family and friends and holidays and even though I stayed in Italy, lots of travelling. From Lucca to Pisa to Venice to Volterra to San Gimignano to Siena to Florence and Rome, the time passed just as unbelievably swiftly as it has throughout my entire Italian adventure. Bringing with it incredible memories and also fresh realizations on my Italian life.

My return to Florence with my family and boyfriend gave me a chance to see the city through new eyes. I wanted desperately to show them the city I know but found it impossible to wrap up the place I have come to adore for its idiosyncrasies in a two-day museum tour. How can you decide what is most important? Is it the David, or the duomo? The collection of art at the Uffizi gallery, or the panoramic view of the city from San Miniato? How do you show someone a piece of your life?

After hitting the most important monuments and museums and enjoying several good meals and drinks I still felt as if I had failed to reveal the true spell this city casts over me. Now that everyone is gone and I am back to a routine here I have come to realize where the difference lies. It is impossible to take a group of six people and reveal to them the magic of walking along the Arno on a solitary, cloudy, Florentine morning. Impossible to sit and listen to the symphony of language used by an old woman while doing something as simple as ordering her morning cappuccino. Hopeless to get them to feel the overpowering sense of significance when realizing this is the street that Dante walked on, and this is the same street I take to school every day.

Florence is inundated with tourists, hundreds, thousands, every day. I guarantee I am in more tourist photos than I can count simply by walking past the Duomo and through Piazza della Signoria on my way to school. Florence is a beautiful city that houses innumerable works of art both in museums and out, it deserves this tourism and attention. I love to travel, to see the churches and museums and famous works of art, to be a tourist. But I am happy to know that there is another layer here, one I have found to be just as fascinating, and just as beautiful. Eating my panino on church steps, wishing my favorite barista “buon anno,” returning home to red wine, homemade minestrone, and lively Italian conversation every night: it’s not the Florence you can put on a postcard—it’s my daily life, but it’s just as beautiful.

Lo Sciopero di Benzina

Two nights ago Luciana and I were talking over dinner, she mentioned to me that she needed to get gas the next day.

The next day at dinner the news was on as usual, and Luciana tells me, “I tried to get gas today but I couldn’t, I got there and there wasn’t any.” I thought this was strange and asked why, “Communisti!” she replied and then pointed at the television where the news story was playing about there being no gas available in all of Italy due to a strike.

Strikes are something I’ve already gotten used to in Italy, they happen all the time, though it is mostly the buses or other modes of transportation. When something is happening politically that people disagree with, they strike. The transportation workers most directly serve the public so they are the first ones to go. This shows the government immediately where they would be without the people and it usually only happens for a half day or so and then ends, I never really hear if they are successful, or what the strike is really for, but we are usually told a week or so before, “just so you know, no trains Friday from noon to midnight.” Or something like this.

When we first got here the high school students were striking because they felt they were being treated unfairly by being forced to take certain exams or something. They organized a protest and actually did something about the causes that they disagreed with in their own lives.

This passion and involvement in political goingson astounds me. It is something I find refreshing; can you imagine American high school students taking anything into their own hands? While it is incredibly inconvenient a lot of times I think it is important to remind everyone that the things you depend on daily depend on someone else doing their job. The lack of gas yesterday was because the group of truck drivers who usually deliver the gas all over the country were striking. I asked Luciana why again and she responded “Because they’re communists,” as if that explained it, and then she added, “but they’re right.” They were working without contracts for meager wages and they realized how unfair this was—the country literally depends on them—and they showed the country just how much simply by making them go without for a day.

People couldn’t drive, taxi companies were driving until their cars were on empty, the fresh fruit and vegetables weren’t delivered to the grocery stores this morning because there were no trucks to deliver them, the gas stations saved what gas they had left for ambulances and emergency vehicles, and yet Italian life went on. And those commie drivers got the attention from the government that they wanted.

Some Christmas in Italia

The lights on Via Calzaiuoli, outside of my school.


Roasted Chestnuts. Mmmmm.


The Store windows! Fashion meets Christmas. Italian Style.


More lights.


Me at the Christmas Market at Santa Croce after my crazy Italian haircut!


Christmas Tree at the Christmas market!

Luciana

The past couple weeks I have gotten closer and closer with Luciana, my host mom. The third girl living in our house ended her program and returned to Switzerland, and with just three of us now at the table the conversations have gotten increasingly personal.

Luciana is an amazing woman, she curses every night at dinner as we watch the news, she hates politicians, and criminals and judges everyone initially on their appearance, though she is willing to change her mind if said person turns out to be a good person inside.

She told me the other day that her sister has always had to tell her, “Luciana, count to three before speaking.” She told me that she is just blunt and she never lies. And I believe her. After using a curse word she laughs and looks at us, “we only use these words in the house, right?”

Her husband died of lung cancer fifteen years ago, I think this is the same year she started hosting exchange students. It is also the year she quit smoking. Now she has two sons and three grandsons. All but the youngest grandson are smokers, and she calls them idiots for it. When Katherine and I first got here we couldn’t figure out if her husband had died or if she was divorced, over time we knew he had died. She speaks of him often and always fondly. He was a professor, he sounds brilliant, and I’m sure he was because she is too.

I think Luciana is in her eighties, though when I first got here I thought she was in her younger sixties. She doesn’t have a wrinkle on her face and she is always smiling. She says when she was younger she was beautiful, and I believe her. She says men used to follow her every time she left the house, but that back then it wasn’t a scary thing. She said her husband was one of those men. She never paid attention to them, but he figured out a way to get to know her. Even today she says men will offer her wine at restaurants or ask her out on the street, but she says, “they are all old,” and she will always love her husband.

Sunday over breakfast she told us this year has been hard. She has three friends in the hospital, two, she says, she’s sure will be going to the other world, one she’s not so sure about. Friends call her house all morning and all evening and she is out almost every day going to the movies, or going to lunch with them. She told us you reach an age where you have more dead friends than ones alive. She is never overly romantic or emotional, just honest. She looked at us and said, “but we’re all here, and you two get to go to the soccer game today!”