The Differences

So I can post numerous stories that (I think) are funny about our experience here in Viterbo so far.  But as an international educator, let me be clear that I'm not saying one way of doing things is better than another...just pointing out the cultural differences which can lead to disbelief, joy, and/or frustration.

We live on a pretty commercial street, with plenty of retail stores.  At the end is the supermarket (about the size of a 7-11, but that's another cultural difference we're not getting into right now) where Max and I often go to get our "daily groceries."  Not because we are now so "Euro" that we only shop for what we are going to eat that day, but for a far more practical reason: we don't have a car and it's hard to carry all those bottles of water back home!!  Back to the story...

On the way home from the market one night, I stepped into a little pothole (for lack of a better term) and went flying.  Grocery bag crashed too, exploding a packet of cat food -- gross.  Several people ran to my aid (in particular, the couple from the children's store downstairs who are now our friends), asking if I was OK, asking what happened, citing the missing cobblestones on the sidewalk as causing my accident, blaming the government for not fixing it, encouraging me to call and complain, etc...It was a bit embarrassing, actually.  The interesting part, for me, was when a man in his 20's came up to me as I started toward home again.  He asked if I had fallen in the hole and if I was OK.  I assured him that I was fine.  He looked me in the eyes and with complete sincerity, responded: "Well, the important thing is that you are OK."  Yup, little life lesson...

Here's another example of how different Italians and Americans are in temperament.  I was in a  cafe having a lovely cappuccino with my colleagues from SYA.  It was fairly crowded with people having un caffe e cornetto.  A man came in and asked if anyone had a red Lancia (car).  A man at the bar said yes, apologized, and said he'd go out and move it (another cultural note: parking is nearly impossible in Italy, so they park anywhere and everywhere they can...most often blocking off someone else).  The man who was blocked in by the red Lancia saw that the offender was only halfway through his cornetto and pleaded that he stay and finish breakfast before moving his car.

The flip side of this, however, is the little old nun who parked across the handicap ramp as Rick and I were trying to cross.  I looked at her in disbelief and pointed out that Rick was in a wheelchair and needed the ramp to get on the sidewalk.  She looked at me, with no malice or hostility, and said: "oh, it's OK, I'll just be a minute," as she gestured to the store she planned to go into.

I have several "stories" to tell about Max's school, but you'll have to read that section of the blog instead!