Lessons in Italian
After obtaining food and shelter, learning to communicate in Italian has been my most important survival skill. English is not commonly spoken here. In Rome or Venice or Florence you can generally revert to English when you’re stuck, but in Naples, when you’ve run out of words in Italian, you’re really stuck. Naples is a less touristed city, and Vomero (our neighborhood, or “quartiere”) is mainly residential, so the restaurants and stores are geared for locals, not foreigners. Occasionally I’ll come across a salesperson who speaks a little English, and between their English and my “Italian” and a lot of miming we can communicate. At the synagogue, several congregants speak English, which has helped with our integration into the community and in learning what’s kosher at the grocery store. But the majority of people I interact with while running errands don’t speak any English. Further, Italians speak at warp speed. Without being able to recognize words, it’s very difficult for me to get the gist of what’s being said. Another layer of difficulty is that many Neapolitans aren’t actually speaking Italian — they’re speaking the local dialect. I can’t distinguish well between Italian and Neapolitan — there are different words, different rules, and different pronunciations to both — so I don’t know when someone is speaking to me in Italian or Neapolitan. This is all a long way of saying that 95% of the time I don’t know how to say anything or what anyone is saying.
The first few weeks here I used Google Translate on my phone to learn phrases and ask for things in stores. Not a foolproof method — Google is often imprecise — and it was awkward to stand around typing while the salesperson waited impatiently. Duolingo was okay for some basic vocabulary words, but knowing how to say “the boy reads” or “the woman eats” is rather useless when what you really need to say is “do you have any vinyl tablecloths?” or “does this pastry have lard in it?” (Side note, the answer to the second question is often yes. Lots of southern Italian pastries are made with lard, unfortunately. Or fortunately, depending on how you look at it. I did eventually find a vinyl tablecloth.)
I’m learning Italian with a tutor. We’re starting with basics, conjugating the verbs “essere” (to be) and “avere” (to have), as well as some useful vocabulary words, like “busta” (shopping bag), “parole” (words), and “cappuccino” (okay, kidding on that one). I’ve started to begin all interactions with “I learn Italian, but…” to indicate that I’m still a beginner, although of course it’s immediately obvious once I can’t get past the second sentence of a conversation. Even when I do understand what’s being communicated, it takes me some time to formulate a response.
Italian person: words words words Italian words!
Me: [beep boop beep boop activate translation boop bop beep activate response translation] words hopefully in Italian?
At the grocery store I cheat and look at the cash register to see what the total is, because the cashiers speak rapidly and are impossible to understand, although now that I know the word for “shopping bag” it’s been a little easier to distinguish what they’re saying. (Another side note: plastic bags in Naples cost 10 cents, which is probably why no one has any available plastic bags to pick up the dog doo.)
I had a brief flash of brilliance in the pharmacy this week when the pharmacist inquired where I was from — “di dove sei?” — and I knew a) what she was saying and b) how to respond! Alas, the soaring feeling of glory! achievement! pinnacle! of expression came crashing down on Friday at the grocery store, where ensued a comedy of errors beginning with my failure to WEIGH THE VEGETABLES before I checked out. The cashier, visibly irritated, had to page the produce clerk to take the vegetables back to the produce area and weigh them. Flustered, I immediately forgot all my Italian, and when the clerk returned and added the vegetables to the total, I realized the cash register screen was broken and I had no idea how much I owed. I handed the cashier a 20 euro note and hoped it was correct.
Cashier: unintelligible speedy Italian or possibly Neapolitan, not that I could tell the difference
Me: ?
Cashier: more unintelligible words
Me: ??
Casher: ventisette
Me: ???
Cashier: VENTISETTE
Me: ????
Cashier: VEN TI SET TE
And then the cogs in my brain squeaked and creaked and clunked into place, and I realized that “ventisette” is 27, but I had only handed her a 20. Mortified, I dug through my wallet for the correct amount and slunk out. I guess I’m never going back. Well, it was nice while it lasted.
Ah well. I’ll get there. Eventually. Piano, piano — slowly, slowly.