My unshakeable immigrant status is something familiar to most other Polish people like me. Having grown up at an English school for the majority of my life, I am used to being regarded as ‘the foreigner’. So when my parents decided to move to Italy this summer, as much as the prospect of infinite ravioli and rolling Tuscan hills seemed delightful, apprehension also loomed over; of the language barrier that I had been all too familiar with when first arriving in England. However, to my great relief, my experience in Italy could not have been more different. Having been subjected to countless awkward encounters in England, eternally aided by the confusion that was ‘the British wit’, I braced myself for the imminent faux pas I was bound to commit in Italy. Predictably, several faux pas did indeed occur, but what was most refreshing about Italy was the reception with which they were received.
Armed only with the phrase “per favore”, I began my Italian journey in a service station, as my family stopped for petrol on our momentous drive towards Tuscany. After much English-inspired polite elbow nudging, I finally managed to wangle my way through the chaotic Italian crowd to ask for a latte. Though the barista looked surprised, he nodded and understood that I wanted to avoid communicating in my clumsy Italian. But when I heard him say “caldo”, I confidently asserted that I wanted it hot, surprised
ITALY AS A FOREIGNER
Julia Gardener
BY
VIAGGI