The following article was written for the Naples Consulate.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the work of Jane Austen unites readers of all nations. Nothing affirms this truth better than the fact that on January 16 the Google page featured a Regency man and woman strolling, arm in arm, in a park. The image was a tribute to the 235th anniversary of Austen’s birthday.
High school students of Matera, Italy, paid their own tribute to the writer they had studied and loved with Fulbright grantee Lauren-Claire Kelley. Kelley is a participant in the English Teaching Assistantship program, organized by the Fulbright Commission to foster appreciation of American language and culture. American Jane Austen is not, but she has a special significance for Kelley and the students of the licei E. Duni and Dante Alighieri. After studying Pride and Prejudice, the students were inspired to start a book club, in which they read the work not only of Austen, but of American and Italian writers. Thanks to Jane Austen, the students frequently practice their English-speaking skills outside of the classroom.
On the evening of the 16th, the book club convened for tea. The table for 20 barely provided enough space: students clustered around tea, butter sandwiches, muffins, fruit platters, ladyfingers (known in Italy as savoiardi, that staple of tiramisù), and at least four varieties of scones. The spread was inspired by Lizzy Bennet’s visit to Pemberley, one of the most important scenes in Pride and Prejudice.
As for books, there were as many versions of Pride and Prejudice as there were of scones, the students having brought both English and Italian copies of the classic. Throughout the evening, the students read aloud favorite passages, challenging their classmates to identify the chapters. Two students, one from the liceo E. Duni and the other from the liceo Alighieri, performed the famous scene in which Mr. Darcy appears. Often the performance was interrupted by some objection to the word or phrase chosen by the translator, the students by now being experts of the original text. Kelley and two of her students performed the book club’s rite: after intoning the celebrated first line (“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”) they compared Austen’s words with the various translations.
Lucrezia, our hostess, read aloud the passage that had inspired the evening’s menu. Recounting Lizzy’s visit to Pemberley, Austen writes: “The next variation which their visit afforded was produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of all the finest fruit of the season...There was now employment for the whole party; for though they could not talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table” (Ch. 45, p. 218 Guinti Classics, 2001).
With two languages from which to choose, there was little danger that our party would resort to the food for conversation. The students spoke English as they nibbled savoiardi, Italian as they sipped tea. The discussion of translations yielded many new words, and even more idiomatic phrases, which were quickly adopted and inserted into the evening’s conversation. 235 years after Austen’s birth, her language is no longer that of nineteenth-century England; it is a universal language that fosters the exchange of other languages and cultures.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Daily Life in Matera
In my last post I compiled a list of signs of adjustment to life in Matera. But those were just little signs, part of a daily routine that I am heartily enjoying. It was necessary, however, to adopt another Italian habit—the siesta—in order to sustain this daily routine: I am always running about. Sei sempre in giro, said my room mate the other day, but so it is. The shop schedules here are so varied as to require careful strategizing in order to accomplish basic errands. The fact that, as a teacher, I work in the morning, when most of the shops are open, and come home around 2 o’clock, during the siesta, makes organizing errands even more difficult. Yet I wouldn’t exchange this running about from shop to shop for one stop at the supermarket.
I wake up about 6:45. As soon as I enter the kitchen, I open the balcony windows and start preparing the caffe’. No longer do I use a coffee maker: instead, I use a caffetiera, which is a device with three sections. In the bottom section you put the water. Then you heap the filter with coffee grounds. The filter is placed in the bottom section, and on top of the filter is placed the third section, which vaguely resembles a tea kettle. Within three minutes, the water boils up through the filter into the top section. Before pouring, you must stir the coffee, as the strongest brew boils to the top. Until last week I drank the coffee straight, with perhaps half a cucchiaino (one of those adorably tiny spoons) of sugar, but now I copy my room mates and drink coffee with milk—or rather, milk with coffee. And it’s proprio buono.
My school schedule varies from day to day, though on Mondays and Thursdays I start at the first hour, at 8:15. In the licei, the days are divided into hours: first, second, third, and so on to the sixth. They start one after the other, with no break that I can divine except for the recreazione, or recess. The lack of breaks makes hopping from one school to the other difficult, but fortunately there is a shortcut between the two. And somehow I always have time to stop by the coffee machine in the sala docenti, or the teachers’ room. America needs to adopt this wonderful machine: Imagine a vending machine with an array of buttons, each of which offers drinks like lemon tea, cappucino dolce, cappucino al ginseng, espresso, caffe’ lungo… You put the money in the slot (40 centesimi for a lemon tea), select your drink, and within 50 seconds a piping-hot drink appears, complete with foam, if you selected a coffee.
I adore teaching; but I will save my account of the schools for another post. My working day ends typically at 1:15, though there is one particularly grueling day when I don’t finish until 2:15, which means that I don’t get home until 3, and that I don’t eat lunch until 3:30 (if I’m lucky). But Materan food is well worth the wait! The walk home is about 20 minutes. On the way, I stop at the fruttivendolo across the street from the school, and then, if need be, I stop at la DIVA to buy the necessities for the day—milk, water, etc. Cheese and meat I hardly ever buy at the supermarket (which is supermarket in the most diminuitive sense; Americans blinking might miss la DIVA). Instead, I go to my macelleria of choice, which is a couple of alleys away from my house. I’m sure that the butcher there only says Mi dica, out of politeness: He knows that the foreign girl is going to ask for two slices of chicken, or turkey if she’s really adventurous. (Ah, but I am going to surprise him within the week with the unprecedented request for an entire turkey.)
Sometimes I buy cheese at the macelleria, but as last week I made friends with the owners of a caseficio a block away from my house, in the future I will vary my dairy purchases between the macelleria and the caseficio. In Italy, casefici are small shops where you can buy dairy products right from the source; instead of merely distributing the cheese and milk, the shop owners produce the items on the family or partner farm. Thus far I have not been too adventurous in my purchases of cheese; but I am still intoxicated with the joy of buying fresh mozarella, which comes in many different forms. Of these I can only name a few—nodini (little knots); bocconi (balls of mozzarella); treccie (braids); stracciatella (shredded); sfoglie (sheets)… and so on… Each of these types is for a different purpose, such as melting on pizza or eating in salad. The other day I discovered la scamorza, which is a fist-sized sphere of cheese, similar to mozzarella but firmer. At first, untutored girl that I was, I ate it chopped in little pieces in pasta, but yesterday my room mate showed me how to eat la scamorza sciolta: You cut circular slices of the cheese and place them directly in a frying pan, cooking them until they just begin to melt. You then remove the slices and dress them with olive oil and salt. The texture is neither hard nor spongy in the way that mozzarella usually is. Che buono!
So lunch is clearly an important affair. Even if I’m ravenous, arriving home after 2 o’clock, if the stove is free or if I’m not eating with my room mates, I pull out the pasta pot. Another small change must be added to my list: I am thinking about abandoning the American custom of eating everything on the same plate. Instead, I shall eat my primo piatto (pasta) on one plate, the secondo piatto (chicken or meat) on a second plate, and care nothing for the washing up that must follow. As I said in my last post, the meal is not complete until I have made coffee, which I drink straight in a minute cup. (Though I will admit that finishing one’s coffee in one mouthful is still a strange sensation.)
After lunch, I try to study, but usually the walking and the lunch prove too much and I doze for half an hour. Then, depending on the day, it’s off to the library to study some more or to prepare the next day’s lesson. After 6:30, which is when the library closes, I start the evening round of errands—here to buy the cheese; there to buy the meat; here to buy the band-aids; there to buy the baking sheet; to this supermarket to buy the honey; but to this supermarket to buy the eggs; and to yet another supermarket to buy the pasta. Errands are not conducted on the basis of convenience; I keep a running list in my head of the best deals and plan my trips accordingly. These trips can take me around the city, back to the center, and around the city again. In truth, I often plan these trips so; because starting around 5 o’clock, the city starts to hum with an energy that makes staying inside impossible. Although most people go out on Saturday and Sunday nights, even on week nights the streets are crowded with people leaving work, shopping for dinner, or just strolling.
In the next post, I must tell you about shopping in Matera. Until then, Buona Notte!
I wake up about 6:45. As soon as I enter the kitchen, I open the balcony windows and start preparing the caffe’. No longer do I use a coffee maker: instead, I use a caffetiera, which is a device with three sections. In the bottom section you put the water. Then you heap the filter with coffee grounds. The filter is placed in the bottom section, and on top of the filter is placed the third section, which vaguely resembles a tea kettle. Within three minutes, the water boils up through the filter into the top section. Before pouring, you must stir the coffee, as the strongest brew boils to the top. Until last week I drank the coffee straight, with perhaps half a cucchiaino (one of those adorably tiny spoons) of sugar, but now I copy my room mates and drink coffee with milk—or rather, milk with coffee. And it’s proprio buono.
My school schedule varies from day to day, though on Mondays and Thursdays I start at the first hour, at 8:15. In the licei, the days are divided into hours: first, second, third, and so on to the sixth. They start one after the other, with no break that I can divine except for the recreazione, or recess. The lack of breaks makes hopping from one school to the other difficult, but fortunately there is a shortcut between the two. And somehow I always have time to stop by the coffee machine in the sala docenti, or the teachers’ room. America needs to adopt this wonderful machine: Imagine a vending machine with an array of buttons, each of which offers drinks like lemon tea, cappucino dolce, cappucino al ginseng, espresso, caffe’ lungo… You put the money in the slot (40 centesimi for a lemon tea), select your drink, and within 50 seconds a piping-hot drink appears, complete with foam, if you selected a coffee.
I adore teaching; but I will save my account of the schools for another post. My working day ends typically at 1:15, though there is one particularly grueling day when I don’t finish until 2:15, which means that I don’t get home until 3, and that I don’t eat lunch until 3:30 (if I’m lucky). But Materan food is well worth the wait! The walk home is about 20 minutes. On the way, I stop at the fruttivendolo across the street from the school, and then, if need be, I stop at la DIVA to buy the necessities for the day—milk, water, etc. Cheese and meat I hardly ever buy at the supermarket (which is supermarket in the most diminuitive sense; Americans blinking might miss la DIVA). Instead, I go to my macelleria of choice, which is a couple of alleys away from my house. I’m sure that the butcher there only says Mi dica, out of politeness: He knows that the foreign girl is going to ask for two slices of chicken, or turkey if she’s really adventurous. (Ah, but I am going to surprise him within the week with the unprecedented request for an entire turkey.)
Sometimes I buy cheese at the macelleria, but as last week I made friends with the owners of a caseficio a block away from my house, in the future I will vary my dairy purchases between the macelleria and the caseficio. In Italy, casefici are small shops where you can buy dairy products right from the source; instead of merely distributing the cheese and milk, the shop owners produce the items on the family or partner farm. Thus far I have not been too adventurous in my purchases of cheese; but I am still intoxicated with the joy of buying fresh mozarella, which comes in many different forms. Of these I can only name a few—nodini (little knots); bocconi (balls of mozzarella); treccie (braids); stracciatella (shredded); sfoglie (sheets)… and so on… Each of these types is for a different purpose, such as melting on pizza or eating in salad. The other day I discovered la scamorza, which is a fist-sized sphere of cheese, similar to mozzarella but firmer. At first, untutored girl that I was, I ate it chopped in little pieces in pasta, but yesterday my room mate showed me how to eat la scamorza sciolta: You cut circular slices of the cheese and place them directly in a frying pan, cooking them until they just begin to melt. You then remove the slices and dress them with olive oil and salt. The texture is neither hard nor spongy in the way that mozzarella usually is. Che buono!
So lunch is clearly an important affair. Even if I’m ravenous, arriving home after 2 o’clock, if the stove is free or if I’m not eating with my room mates, I pull out the pasta pot. Another small change must be added to my list: I am thinking about abandoning the American custom of eating everything on the same plate. Instead, I shall eat my primo piatto (pasta) on one plate, the secondo piatto (chicken or meat) on a second plate, and care nothing for the washing up that must follow. As I said in my last post, the meal is not complete until I have made coffee, which I drink straight in a minute cup. (Though I will admit that finishing one’s coffee in one mouthful is still a strange sensation.)
After lunch, I try to study, but usually the walking and the lunch prove too much and I doze for half an hour. Then, depending on the day, it’s off to the library to study some more or to prepare the next day’s lesson. After 6:30, which is when the library closes, I start the evening round of errands—here to buy the cheese; there to buy the meat; here to buy the band-aids; there to buy the baking sheet; to this supermarket to buy the honey; but to this supermarket to buy the eggs; and to yet another supermarket to buy the pasta. Errands are not conducted on the basis of convenience; I keep a running list in my head of the best deals and plan my trips accordingly. These trips can take me around the city, back to the center, and around the city again. In truth, I often plan these trips so; because starting around 5 o’clock, the city starts to hum with an energy that makes staying inside impossible. Although most people go out on Saturday and Sunday nights, even on week nights the streets are crowded with people leaving work, shopping for dinner, or just strolling.
In the next post, I must tell you about shopping in Matera. Until then, Buona Notte!
Sunday, November 14, 2010
One Month
Ciao a tutti,
If I had any wish to prove that I am not a compulsive blogger, than I have surely accomplished that aim. I'm sorry for having neglected you all for a month. But perhaps it is better than I write to you only now, after a month has passed. Looking back, I can track the changes in my lifestyle since I arrived. They are not great changes; it is the little things that help one in adjusting to a new culture. The other day, the principal of the liceo scientifico asked me the usual question ("Come ti trovi a Matera/Are you happy in Matera?"), adding "Ti stai integrando/ Are you integrating with the city?"). Well, you know that you've been in Italy for a month when:
1. You shudder to think of lunching on a mere sandwhich. Lunch means pasta, at the very least.
2. You think nothing of seeing women hiking in the mountains with suede shoes, even suede boots, because you yourself are wearing suede ballerinas.
3. You scorn pedestrian crosswalks, or if you use them, you do not wait for cars to stop for you.
4. Even if it is 70 degrees (Fahrenheit; I estimate, because I am still learning the Celusis system), you do not remove your jacket, nor your scarf. It is autumn; therefore, I wear a jacket and a scarf.
5. Lunch is not complete until you have had a coffee. Without the coffee, how can you be expected to continue the day?
6. You don't start to think about making dinner until 8 o'clock, and even then it seems rather early to dine.
7. You wish friends "Buon Pranzo" (Have a good lunch!). You also ask, as an alternative to discussing the weather, "Che cosa hai mangiato oggi?".
8. And finally, the most revolutionary change of all (at least for me): You begin to question the necessity of eating breakfast (fare la colazione) all'americana. Instead, you begin to appreciate the attractions of breakfasting on only coffee and milk. However, I can only pull this off after having eaten pizza at 11 o'clock the night before, as happened this past Friday night.
9. Which leads me to another sign of adjustment to Italian life. When you order a pizza at a restaurant, you actually order a pizza, all of which you eat. You never, ever take the leftovers with you.
Just as I am fascinated by small details of Italian life, my Italian room mates are intrigued by my American habits. For example, the first morning that we breakfasted together, they were incredulous to learn that I eat una fritata (an ommlette) for breakfast. Even if my omlettes are quite plain, consisting of eggs, milk, and either olive oil or butter, my room mates still think my breakfast excessive. However, this did not prevent my room mates and their friend Cele, who is very curious about exotic foods, from experimenting, in order to, as my room mate said, "understand what Lauren-Claire eats." When I left for school, they were preparing their own version of my fritata -- with Nutella. However, this Nutella was added after the fritata cooled, as Rossana, when I asked her just now, was anxious to make clear. I can hardly wait for Thanksgiving, when I hope to share some typical dishes with my room mates and some mutual friends who are intrigued by our American holiday. But will I be able to find a turkey? That is the question. In Matera, whole turkeys are not to be had until Christmas. Will I be able to enlist the help of my neighborhood butcher to find an entire turkey?
Alla prossima!
If I had any wish to prove that I am not a compulsive blogger, than I have surely accomplished that aim. I'm sorry for having neglected you all for a month. But perhaps it is better than I write to you only now, after a month has passed. Looking back, I can track the changes in my lifestyle since I arrived. They are not great changes; it is the little things that help one in adjusting to a new culture. The other day, the principal of the liceo scientifico asked me the usual question ("Come ti trovi a Matera/Are you happy in Matera?"), adding "Ti stai integrando/ Are you integrating with the city?"). Well, you know that you've been in Italy for a month when:
1. You shudder to think of lunching on a mere sandwhich. Lunch means pasta, at the very least.
2. You think nothing of seeing women hiking in the mountains with suede shoes, even suede boots, because you yourself are wearing suede ballerinas.
3. You scorn pedestrian crosswalks, or if you use them, you do not wait for cars to stop for you.
4. Even if it is 70 degrees (Fahrenheit; I estimate, because I am still learning the Celusis system), you do not remove your jacket, nor your scarf. It is autumn; therefore, I wear a jacket and a scarf.
5. Lunch is not complete until you have had a coffee. Without the coffee, how can you be expected to continue the day?
6. You don't start to think about making dinner until 8 o'clock, and even then it seems rather early to dine.
7. You wish friends "Buon Pranzo" (Have a good lunch!). You also ask, as an alternative to discussing the weather, "Che cosa hai mangiato oggi?".
8. And finally, the most revolutionary change of all (at least for me): You begin to question the necessity of eating breakfast (fare la colazione) all'americana. Instead, you begin to appreciate the attractions of breakfasting on only coffee and milk. However, I can only pull this off after having eaten pizza at 11 o'clock the night before, as happened this past Friday night.
9. Which leads me to another sign of adjustment to Italian life. When you order a pizza at a restaurant, you actually order a pizza, all of which you eat. You never, ever take the leftovers with you.
Just as I am fascinated by small details of Italian life, my Italian room mates are intrigued by my American habits. For example, the first morning that we breakfasted together, they were incredulous to learn that I eat una fritata (an ommlette) for breakfast. Even if my omlettes are quite plain, consisting of eggs, milk, and either olive oil or butter, my room mates still think my breakfast excessive. However, this did not prevent my room mates and their friend Cele, who is very curious about exotic foods, from experimenting, in order to, as my room mate said, "understand what Lauren-Claire eats." When I left for school, they were preparing their own version of my fritata -- with Nutella. However, this Nutella was added after the fritata cooled, as Rossana, when I asked her just now, was anxious to make clear. I can hardly wait for Thanksgiving, when I hope to share some typical dishes with my room mates and some mutual friends who are intrigued by our American holiday. But will I be able to find a turkey? That is the question. In Matera, whole turkeys are not to be had until Christmas. Will I be able to enlist the help of my neighborhood butcher to find an entire turkey?
Alla prossima!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Pranzo di domenica
Ciao di nuovo,
I never would have thought that I would become a compulsive blogger, but what happened this afternoon is just too wonderful, proprio bello. Today I really experienced Italian hospitality. I was working on lesson plans when the doorbell rang again. When I peeped through the spyglass, I saw a young men whom I did not recognize, so I didn't open the door. I returned to my desk, but the bell kept ringing, this time with more insistence, and I meanwhile I heard the voices of the signora. When I finally opened the door, there was the signora, who was very worried on account of my delay, and the same young man, who turned out to be her grandson. She insisted on giving me stuffed mushrooms and a piece of chocolate cake, which I accepted with very little persuasion. At first I refused her offer of pasta, but she was so kind and so persistent that I accepted, but offered to come pick it up from her house. To make a long story short, I ended up in the middle of an Italian Sunday lunch.
There was the signora, her husband, and their daughter, who was accompanied by her husband, and of course, their son. A merrier, more animated group I have never found myself with. I don't think that a single sentence was spoken throughout; they sang or intoned, but never did anything so mundane as spoke. I was hard put to concentrate on either the food or the conversation. (Wise were the words of the grandfather, who admonished the others when they asked me questions: Chi mangia non parla/either talke or eat, but don't do both.)The signora had made the pasta by hand, along with the sauce, the vitello and sausiccio, and the mushrooms. Her daughter had made the cake, which was lined with nutella and the lightest cake that I have ever eaten.
It was wonderful to find myself in the middle of a family again, three thousand miles away from my own family. And now for Jane Austen!
I never would have thought that I would become a compulsive blogger, but what happened this afternoon is just too wonderful, proprio bello. Today I really experienced Italian hospitality. I was working on lesson plans when the doorbell rang again. When I peeped through the spyglass, I saw a young men whom I did not recognize, so I didn't open the door. I returned to my desk, but the bell kept ringing, this time with more insistence, and I meanwhile I heard the voices of the signora. When I finally opened the door, there was the signora, who was very worried on account of my delay, and the same young man, who turned out to be her grandson. She insisted on giving me stuffed mushrooms and a piece of chocolate cake, which I accepted with very little persuasion. At first I refused her offer of pasta, but she was so kind and so persistent that I accepted, but offered to come pick it up from her house. To make a long story short, I ended up in the middle of an Italian Sunday lunch.
There was the signora, her husband, and their daughter, who was accompanied by her husband, and of course, their son. A merrier, more animated group I have never found myself with. I don't think that a single sentence was spoken throughout; they sang or intoned, but never did anything so mundane as spoke. I was hard put to concentrate on either the food or the conversation. (Wise were the words of the grandfather, who admonished the others when they asked me questions: Chi mangia non parla/either talke or eat, but don't do both.)The signora had made the pasta by hand, along with the sauce, the vitello and sausiccio, and the mushrooms. Her daughter had made the cake, which was lined with nutella and the lightest cake that I have ever eaten.
It was wonderful to find myself in the middle of a family again, three thousand miles away from my own family. And now for Jane Austen!
Ciao a tutti!
Dear friends, family, and colleagues,
It's hard to believe that I have now been in Italy for two weeks. Having more or less settled in, I thought that it was time to start the long-promised blog. I will do my very best to update the blog regularly; there is so much that I would like to share with you.
But where to start? These past two weeks have been crammed with experiences. Let me start with Matera itself. I feel very lucky to have been assigned Matera. Without being too small, it is small enough that after two weeks I can find my way around (and for those of you who know my sense of direction, that's saying something!). Fortunately, everything is centered around the Piazza Vittorio Veneto. Whenever I get lost, all I have to do is leave whatever tiny street I have landed in and make my way to a larger street, which will eventually lead to the piazza. The street names are evocative of a rich history and geography-- Via Lucana, Via XX settembre, Via IX novembre, Via Dante... There is even a street, though I have not found it yet, named after the author of Pinnochio (Carlo Collodi). Before I leave I must learn the history behind all of these names.
I also consider myself fortunate to be in Matera because of the city's people. The two teachers whom I will assist are fantastic. We joke that I have already found quattro mamme (four surrogate mothers) here in Matera, and that I will find even more. I live with two other girls, both students at a religious school, and they have also taken me under their wing. Last night was the first time in two weeks that I cooked a full meal for myself: Up until then I had enjoyed Maria Pia's cooking. Pasta con basilico, brodino con vegetali, pasta e mortadella-- These vague names reconstructed from memory do not do justice to the meals that we have enjoyed. Time permitting, I have going to keep a journal dedicated to the meals prepared by my flatmates. And perhaps the year will end with my actually cooking for them!
Indeed, I could do no less than learn about cooking while I am in Italy. (No potrei fare a meno d'imparare a cucinare che sono in Italia.) Meals are very important here. My flatmates discuss with great seriousness what is to be eaten at lunch and dinner, and rarely do we congregate for a meal of less than two courses. When we meet our neighbors, conversations often include discussion about what has been or what is to be eaten that day. As I was writing this post, the doorbell rang: It was the two signore across the hall. They wanted to make sure that I was doing well and that I had enough to eat. I reported what I had eaten for breakfast and what I planned to eat for lunch. "Pasta" would not suffice as an answer; the signora wanted to make sure that there was sauce to accompany it, but she seemed content when I replied that I had no sauce, but some cheese to put on top.
Tomorrow is my first day as an assistant of English. (The past two weeks were taken up with settling in and then a three-day orientation in Rome at the Ministero dell'Istruzione e della Ricerca). I have prepared a powerppoint presentation on my vicissitudes from coast to coast, and scenes of Fairfax and D.C.. Then, within the next week, I am going to talk to the classes about Jane Austen. Oh, joy and rapture unforeseen! Although I had expected to talk only about American culture, the teachers are required to teach Jane Austen and having discovered my enthusiasm for her work, they asked me to prepare a presentation. It's a wonderful prospect, teaching Jane Austen, but at the same time daunting. Where, oh where, does one start? And, unfortunately, Jane Austen must be my excuse (but a very good one, I think) for closing this post. I need to work on lesson plans for the next week. Ma ci sentiamo presto!
It's hard to believe that I have now been in Italy for two weeks. Having more or less settled in, I thought that it was time to start the long-promised blog. I will do my very best to update the blog regularly; there is so much that I would like to share with you.
But where to start? These past two weeks have been crammed with experiences. Let me start with Matera itself. I feel very lucky to have been assigned Matera. Without being too small, it is small enough that after two weeks I can find my way around (and for those of you who know my sense of direction, that's saying something!). Fortunately, everything is centered around the Piazza Vittorio Veneto. Whenever I get lost, all I have to do is leave whatever tiny street I have landed in and make my way to a larger street, which will eventually lead to the piazza. The street names are evocative of a rich history and geography-- Via Lucana, Via XX settembre, Via IX novembre, Via Dante... There is even a street, though I have not found it yet, named after the author of Pinnochio (Carlo Collodi). Before I leave I must learn the history behind all of these names.
I also consider myself fortunate to be in Matera because of the city's people. The two teachers whom I will assist are fantastic. We joke that I have already found quattro mamme (four surrogate mothers) here in Matera, and that I will find even more. I live with two other girls, both students at a religious school, and they have also taken me under their wing. Last night was the first time in two weeks that I cooked a full meal for myself: Up until then I had enjoyed Maria Pia's cooking. Pasta con basilico, brodino con vegetali, pasta e mortadella-- These vague names reconstructed from memory do not do justice to the meals that we have enjoyed. Time permitting, I have going to keep a journal dedicated to the meals prepared by my flatmates. And perhaps the year will end with my actually cooking for them!
Indeed, I could do no less than learn about cooking while I am in Italy. (No potrei fare a meno d'imparare a cucinare che sono in Italia.) Meals are very important here. My flatmates discuss with great seriousness what is to be eaten at lunch and dinner, and rarely do we congregate for a meal of less than two courses. When we meet our neighbors, conversations often include discussion about what has been or what is to be eaten that day. As I was writing this post, the doorbell rang: It was the two signore across the hall. They wanted to make sure that I was doing well and that I had enough to eat. I reported what I had eaten for breakfast and what I planned to eat for lunch. "Pasta" would not suffice as an answer; the signora wanted to make sure that there was sauce to accompany it, but she seemed content when I replied that I had no sauce, but some cheese to put on top.
Tomorrow is my first day as an assistant of English. (The past two weeks were taken up with settling in and then a three-day orientation in Rome at the Ministero dell'Istruzione e della Ricerca). I have prepared a powerppoint presentation on my vicissitudes from coast to coast, and scenes of Fairfax and D.C.. Then, within the next week, I am going to talk to the classes about Jane Austen. Oh, joy and rapture unforeseen! Although I had expected to talk only about American culture, the teachers are required to teach Jane Austen and having discovered my enthusiasm for her work, they asked me to prepare a presentation. It's a wonderful prospect, teaching Jane Austen, but at the same time daunting. Where, oh where, does one start? And, unfortunately, Jane Austen must be my excuse (but a very good one, I think) for closing this post. I need to work on lesson plans for the next week. Ma ci sentiamo presto!
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