I took a TrenItalia train from Ravenna, Italy to Ferrara, Italy, not really knowing what to expect, but knowing that I was starting to make my way over to Rome. Ferrara ended up being the Copenhagen of Italia. There were bicycles everywhere in this town, so much so that the town had dubbed itself "La Città delle Biciclette" of Italy meaning that it's the bicycle city of Italy.
I had been in Italy for over a week and was starting to pick up a little more Italian. I wasn't able to get by with speaking Spanish to people. It just confused them. They would stop talking to me, walk away, and would send over someone who would lean over the counter and coolly say "Digame."
In Ferrara, it seemed to be a day designated as my real-life Italian conversation exam. Early in the morning, I thought maybe I was earning a B- when I talked myself through getting my bicycle from the garage behind the pension and getting an extra breakfast ticket from the hotel clerk, but I didn't (non ho capito) understand when she started to give me back 30 euros when I had already paid online and didn't pay in cash the night before. I listened and nodded while she counted the money into my palm. Maybe I wasn't doing that great. She did not understand any English at all. A few minutes later, I felt better about myself when I saw a British man utterly fail at any sort of meaningful communication with the same woman. He kept talking at her in English with no results. When you stay at these cheap and local places that aren't exactly the Hilton, you need to know a few phrases because sometimes they're mom and pop penziones.
I didn't know that this was just the beginning of my Italian exam. I made my way to town on my bicycle and an old man stopped me. He was walking his bicycle down the street. With my awful Italiano, I asked him "bici beni," wondering if he bicycle was good or broken. He just talked and talked. I could tell he was asking for directions. I kept telling him in Italian, "I don't know. I don't speak Italian." Eventually, he started complimenting to test my comprehension. Clever man. "You understand this, right?" Essi sono complimenti. Que bellissima." He grabbed onto my hand and spoke to me. The old man apparently was flirting with me. It only took me 5 minuti to figure it out. I figured my grade had dropped from a B- to a solid C.
My next language task was to find a laundromat or a lavandria. I don't think I'll ever forget that word for as long as I live. It was a terribly mundane task to have to do in such a beautiful city. None of the online listings were accurate. Non aperto. Non aperto. I asked 4 people about nearby laundromats. Niente. On the way, I buy some pants in an unrecognizable European size at the outdoor market so that I can wash what I'm wearing. Eventually, someone gives me directions to an actual, real laundromat.
The man at the lavanderia preemptively yells at me because I'm wearing flipflops. I wanted to wash my socks, not my shoes. He pulls me over to the sign. The washing of shoes is not allowed. VIETATO LAVARE LE SCARPE: It is forbidden to wash shoes.
He scolded everyone though. I wondered if the blue drops of water decorating the laundromat were tears or rain. They were sad either way. I watched another woman get treated like a ragazza and she rolled her eyes at me as he was showing her step by step how to use the washing machine.
I have time to rest and study Italian for a little bit. I get some food and drink, and the server struggles to understand what I'm saying, but I eventually communicate. I am killing time before I meet up with a friend. He spots me before I see him, and I am awkwardly holding up my telephone to listen to a pronunciation of the word that would have made a conversation simpler. I am so obviously American, but he forgives me quickly, and we walk and speak a little Italian that bleeds quickly into English.
I saw people old and young riding bicycles here. I spotted a man with a cane hanging from his handlebar riding around the city. There were some downright dapper uomini riding around. Seeing so many people on bicycles in a beautiful place like this just made me dizzy with happiness.
People had some stylin' rides.
I took a TrenItalia train from Ravenna, Italy to Ferrara, Italy, not really knowing what to expect, but knowing that I was starting to make my way over to Rome. Ferrara ended up being the Copenhagen of Italia. There were bicycles everywhere in this town, so much so that the town had dubbed itself "La Città delle Biciclette" of Italy meaning that it's the bicycle city of Italy.
I had been in Italy for over a week and was starting to pick up a little more Italian. I wasn't able to get by with speaking Spanish to people. It just confused them. They would stop talking to me, walk away, and would send over someone who would lean over the counter and coolly say "Digame."
In Ferrara, it seemed to be a day designated as my real-life Italian conversation exam. Early in the morning, I thought maybe I was earning a B- when I talked myself through getting my bicycle from the garage behind the pension and getting an extra breakfast ticket from the hotel clerk, but I didn't (non ho capito) understand when she started to give me back 30 euros when I had already paid online and didn't pay in cash the night before. I listened and nodded while she counted the money into my palm. Maybe I wasn't doing that great. She did not understand any English at all. A few minutes later, I felt better about myself when I saw a British man utterly fail at any sort of meaningful communication with the same woman. He kept talking at her in English with no results. When you stay at these cheap and local places that aren't exactly the Hilton, you need to know a few phrases because sometimes they're mom and pop penziones.
I didn't know that this was just the beginning of my Italian exam. I made my way to town on my bicycle and an old man stopped me. He was walking his bicycle down the street. With my awful Italiano, I asked him "bici beni," wondering if he bicycle was good or broken. He just talked and talked. I could tell he was asking for directions. I kept telling him in Italian, "I don't know. I don't speak Italian." Eventually, he started complimenting to test my comprehension. Clever man. "You understand this, right?" Essi sono complimenti. Que bellissima." He grabbed onto my hand and spoke to me. The old man apparently was flirting with me. It only took me 5 minuti to figure it out. I figured my grade had dropped from a B- to a solid C.
My next language task was to find a laundromat or a lavandria. I don't think I'll ever forget that word for as long as I live. It was a terribly mundane task to have to do in such a beautiful city. None of the online listings were accurate. Non aperto. Non aperto. I asked 4 people about nearby laundromats. Niente. On the way, I buy some pants in an unrecognizable European size at the outdoor market so that I can wash what I'm wearing. Eventually, someone gives me directions to an actual, real laundromat.
The man at the lavanderia preemptively yells at me because I'm wearing flipflops. I wanted to wash my socks, not my shoes. He pulls me over to the sign. The washing of shoes is not allowed. VIETATO LAVARE LE SCARPE: It is forbidden to wash shoes.
He scolded everyone though. I wondered if the blue drops of water decorating the laundromat were tears or rain. They were sad either way. I watched another woman get treated like a ragazza and she rolled her eyes at me as he was showing her step by step how to use the washing machine.
I have time to rest and study Italian for a little bit. I get some food and drink, and the server struggles to understand what I'm saying, but I eventually communicate. I am killing time before I meet up with a friend. He spots me before I see him, and I am awkwardly holding up my telephone to listen to a pronunciation of the word that would have made a conversation simpler. I am so obviously American, but he forgives me quickly, and we walk and speak a little Italian that bleeds quickly into English.
I saw people old and young riding bicycles here. I spotted a man with a cane hanging from his handlebar riding around the city. There were some downright dapper uomini riding around. Seeing so many people on bicycles in a beautiful place like this just made me dizzy with happiness.
People had some stylin' rides.
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