Cultural Observations or "Where are we going!?

I have enjoyed meeting locals in Sanespolcro in the past two weeks. Last semester, I lived in Ferrara for four months and only met a handful of people. But, because Sansepolcro is such a small town it is easy to be known and seen by others. All I have to do is get up and walk out my front door. Although as of late, we have been instructed that is essential to use the back door. I presume that we draw to much attention from the “raggazi” at the pizzeria downstairs. It is almost impossible to camouflage Hannah in a mass of Italians with her long blonde hair. Sometimes I think if I could just shrink a few inches, be a little tanner, and keep my mouth closed, I may blend in better.
In order to make friends in Sansepolcro, I have made an effort to frequent the same gelateria, have coffee at the same bars, and say “Ciao” to recent acquaintances. I am sure I am easily identified as one of those “American Girls”, but having this routine creates a unique opportunity for me to make friends, as well as observe people in their natural environments. (This is when realize I should have studied Anthropology). Although I have come to understand that we are a novelty of sorts in Sansepolcro, I am still fascinated by how we must appear to the locals. I feel that a study abroad experience should be about how you perceive your culture as compared to the foreign culture, but also the other way around. It should be an opportunity to walk a mile in a different culture’s “shoes”. Let’s say, I am an Italian woman living in Sansepolcro. I have lived here my whole life and suddenly nine new American women come to town for four months. They dress differently, they walk differently, and they just do things differently. “Are they going to flirt with “il mio raggazo”?” There is so much uncertainty about the differences between our cultures.
I have come to understand that these culture differences are not identifiable solely by our looks, or the fact that we don’t speak Italian. What makes us different from the locals penetrates much deeper than surface level. We have different values, ideas, and mannerisms. Even our non-verbal language is different.
Many of my Italian friends have never been to the United States. They are as unfamiliar with my culture and core values, than I am about theirs. It is easy to stereotype someone by their heritage. I hope that this semester we can emphasis the good stereotypical ideas about Americans and redefine the bad ones. As for the notorious M.B.A. students that are here from Seattle, there is no hope. They are tromping on our territory, invading our turf! Anyway, I digress.
I have already found myself getting frustrated with the Italian concept of time. Through observing the slow pace life here, I have learned just how much we value time structure in the United States. For the Italians, the transit is just as important as the destination. The “negozio” may open back up after siesta at 4pm, or not, depending on the owners discretion. And after work, they saunter down the street as if they have nowhere to go. It is a mystery to me how an empty “strada” at 4pm transforms into a crowd of meandering Italians by 5pm. And where are they all going? “Scusi” “Promesso”. “I WANT TO GE T THROUGH RIGHT NOW!” The other girls like to laugh at me as I squeeze through one bunch and jog in the free space until I reach the next turtle-paced crowd three feet ahead. One night this weekend I was in a hurry to get down Via XX Settembre. I was extremely hungry- and not just in a conventional way. Giacomo and I ran 7km that day and I had not eaten for a few hours; by this point I was ready to eat my left foot! Sansepolcro was hosting a festival comparable to the super bowl, which meant there were about 500 people more than usual. With this said, you can imagine my frustration when I took almost 15 minutes to walk four blocks. Later that night we ran into some of our Italian friends and joined them for the nightly festivities. It was funny to watch my American friends squirm as we would walk ten feet, stop ,chat, and then proceed for another ten feet. Samantha looked at me and said, “Aren’t their seats at the bar!?” This is simply a value difference. We rely on the clock and an agenda, but the Italians rely on the…well I have not figured this out yet. Whatever it is, I like it! As long as I can get where I’m going, I’m happy to adapt. I’m sure in December, my family and friends will be making fun of how slow I walk!