My New Family: Or How It Feels To Be A Zoo Animal

Now for the blog post my parents have been dreading. Since I last talked to you I have moved from the bustling city of Rome to the obscurely quaint city of Marzi. I am studying here for the second half while staying with a traditional Italian family. My family is very nice, and I like them quite well, but I'll be honest with you guys when I say this is all a bit overwhelming. First of all, I don't speak Italian. I mean, I might as well have been studying Chinese for the last seven months. At best I understand about 50% of the words that come out of my families mouths. But don't get too excited, that's 50% of the *words*, not 50% of the *meaning*. Try reading every other word of something and you'll start to understand that 50% of the words becomes something like 15% of the meaning. Second of all, they all speak in a southern dialect. I mean, I think they do. Otherwise, they are speaking fine, and I'm just giving myself too much credit, or them not enough, or something. Anyway, they seem to be speaking with a certain slur, that probably (more like definitely) have when I speak English. They are totes about abbrevs here, making it a bit difficult to understand when you are used to formal speach. "Come stai?", becomes "Come?", which means "How?" and the first time they said it, I stood dumbfounded for about 10 full seconds wondering, "How what??" Another example is "Grazie" which when my family says it sounds a bit like "Gratis", which means "Free" and is equally confusing. But at day four, I've started getting the hang of their abbrevs, and am now working on keeping up with the general slurrrr... Besides the fact that I can't really speak more than "I'm full" and "How are you" and "I'm happy" and besides the fact that they must think I am the dumbest Italian student, I think we get along great. I have two sisters who are both on me like white on rice (what does that meannn?) and every once in a while I find myself overwhelmed and exhausted by their constant presence. While I do my Italian homework they stand over my, looking down, and correcting my mistakes. While I eat they sit, one next to me, the other across from me, staring at me as I eat, forgetting that they have their own food to eat. When we sit and watch TV in the livingroom, I feel their eyes staring at me watching the program I don't understand. Even now, Carmen, 8, is playing in my bedroom, telling me about her Puffi (Smurf) and her stuffed dog and her toy guitar and... It takes an extreme amount of patience, which as an only child, is easier said than done. I have twice now, told them I needed a "pausa" and watched them mope out of my room, closing the door behind them. The dad is home infrequently, and rarely see him except during mealtimes. I cannot understand a word he says, and now my brain tends to shut off when he speaks, preemptively giving up. It's getting better, though. He has learned to slow down, but I don't know how patient he is. He seems less fatherly than many of the dads I have met. The most fatherly thing he has done for me is cut me up an apple after dinner one night. A sweet gesture I thought. The mom is very nice, but a bit odd. Mostly because I think she is very self-conscious. She keeps asking me if I like her house, which I must say is very nice. She also cleans a lot. I have been here for approximately four days and I have seen her mop twice. Not to compare, but I'm pretty sure our house gets a full mop down every other week, and by a maid-- which I thought was standard. Well, maybe not the maid part, but the every other week part. Anyway, she is also worried that I don't like her cooking. Her cooking is fine. It's good. It's what I imagine to be average Italian cooking. It's not, like, restaurant style, crazy phenomenal, but I like it. The house is big. There are two kitchens. And maybe five bathrooms-- I only have seen four but I was told there are five and I'm not going to argue. The attic has been made into a playroom for the kids. There are two main floors, and the basement is where the second kitchen is. Other people in the program have smaller apartments, so I feel pretty lucky to be in a big house. The mom asked me how big my house back home is and I said it was about the same size. The was before I knew about the basement and the attic. Oh well. Marzi the town is about the size of my high school. Actually, more people attend my high school-- Marzi having a population of 1,000 people, and my high school having about twice that many. Rogliano, the town next door, where I study is about 5,000 people, the metropolis that it is. Everyone knows everyone. I mean, no exageration. I am also pretty sure everyone is related to everyone. Everyone I meet is a cugina or a zio or a nonna or something like that. There are a lot of young people. Actually, there is a diverse range of ages, grandmothers, older parents, younger parents, young couples, teenagers, kids, babies... I am pretty sure you settle down pretty fast here and have kids almost immediately. That is the impression I get. By more than one person I have been asked if I was "fidanzata", which I was taught meant engaged, but apparently they make no distinction between having a boyfriend and being engaged here. I have observed a lot while I have been here, lot's of things to say and stories to share, but this is all for now. One last note, thought, to address the title. You do feel a bit like a wild animal on display the first few days. It's getting better but I still feel like an intruder, rampaging around their house, a spectacle not to miss.