Small Victories

Living in a foreign country presents issues where they would not normally be expected.  Hence normal day-to-day activities become challenges, and this is why people get fed up living outside of their cultural comfort zone.  So I work myself up to tiny events. execute them (hopefully successfully) and then add them to my mental list of 'small victories.'

Yes, the things I am about to describe can be done by any monkey.  My challenge was to complete these activities without standing out as a foreigner, or just doing it the correct way and completely in Italian.

Finding an Apartment.  This was by far the most challenging undertaking since I've been here.  I was looking for a double room in an apartment rather than an entire apartment, so I used a website called easystanza.it to find it.  Basically I found places online, called people, and went to see their apartments.  Speaking on the phone in Italian is more difficult than in person, and I was a bit nervous going to strangers apartments as a solo foreign girl.  I usually gave Jimmy the address so if I was 'taken' there was somewhere to start looking haha.  I just never thought the annoying experience of finding my first apartment would be in a different language.  Also a few of the landlords tried to screw me over, and most people required a year-long contract.  The whole apartment thing hung over my head since April.  However I ended up with a great apartment with a fantastic landlord.  Ok this was a huge victory.

Ordering Meat at the Meat Counter.  Doesn't sound like a big deal, right?  Wrong!  Since I studied abroad, I was always afraid of ordering beautiful meat and olives from the deli because I didn't know how to do it.  My Italian probably was not good enough then to understand any follow-up questions they asked, and this metric system really screwed everything up.  So I resigned myself to packaged meats while gazing longingly as the butcher masterfully cut slices of fresh prosciutto thin enough to see through. No more, my friends, no more.  When I moved into my apartment in August, I knew it was time.  I speak Italian and have an apartment in Rome - I should be able to order meat.
So I did! "May I have 150 grams of prosciutto?"  Rookie mistake.  Whenever you ask if you 'can' have something, they say "Certainly, why not?"  Instead just state what you want and say please to be polite.
"Certainly, why not?  What kind of prosciutto?"  Oh no, there are different kinds?  Prosciutto is prosciutto, right?  Definitely not.  I remembered hearing prosciutto di Parma often, so that is what I said and hoped it was right.  Here you order your prosciutto based on where it is from.  Parma is a town in the northern/central part of Italy.  He didn't laugh or look at me strangely, although he did give me 250 grams instead of 150 and it ended up costing around 6 euro.  Nevertheless I was happy.  Unfortunately I got cocky and screwed up ordering olives, but it still counts as a victory.  I'm now friends with one of the meat men.

Having a Relationship Completely in Italian.  My housemate for the month of August, Jercia, was from Mozambique.  She did not speak any English, and I couldn't be more excited.  So our entire relationship was in Italian.  It got a bit difficult when she didn't know the word in Italian and would just insert the Portuguese word instead, without telling me it was Portuguese.  They are similar enough that it's difficult to distinguish, so I was unsure whether she or I sucked at whatever conversation we were having.

Haircut.  I put this one off for a while.  I've needed a haircut for a solid couple months, but the idea was daunting.  I did not want to walk out of there bald or with a bob or something.  I waited until Francesca could come with me for moral support.  There is a parrucchiere around the corner from my apartment, so I finally gathered enough confidence and headed to the shop.  It went beautifully.  Not only did my hair turn out well (a little shorter than I would have liked, but she got really into cutting it.  She looked like she was conducting an orchestra on my head) but we talked the entire time.  She told me about her bastardo ex-husband who took off with the Brazilian, her American friends at the embassy, life in Italy, etc.  I guess hairdresser talk is global.

The Market.  Shopping at the market without being yelled or started at is high on my list of priorities in Rome.  It may sound stupid, but it is daunting jumping into a jumble of yelling Italians and fighting your way to the front of the queue to buy some spinach.  Often my on my walk to the market I think 'why not just go to the grocery store? That is so easy!' but I remember the price difference and how I won't be able to go to these markets in a few weeks.

Angry Pizza Man.  There is an angry pizza man at a pizzeria near the Pantheon.  He really is grouchy, and talks to tourists like they are complete morons.  I have been courting this angry old pizza man for months now.  I wanted to be buds.  The more he saw me, the less angry he got with me.  He even started joking with me.  Now we are at the point where he gives me my pizza for a euro less.  Victory is mine.

Old People on the Metro Conversations.  Often in Rome you may find yourself next to a nice elderly Italian on the metro.  They will strike up conversation.  Many older Italians speak in dialects that I have difficulty understanding, so maintaining conversation is a challenge. An elderly lady stared talking to me, and although I didn't know what she was saying I somehow kept the convo alive.  Ok so maybe this isn't really a victory.  Eh, va beh.