Non Capisco!

I have long been told that there is no such thing as a free lunch....this is not to say that I am a complete skeptic of altruism, but I have my doubts (a person should not believe in an ism, he should believe in himself...*name that movie*) Moving along, one would expect genuine altruism to flourish in a society as warm and friendly as Italia!

The Picturesque Dolomites

After several weeks of studying intensive German in Austria, a few friends and I decided to migrate south to the Mediterranean for the remainder of the summer. After an interesting train ride out of Werfenweng (to be noted in a later post), we found ourselves snaking our way through the scenic Dolomites of Northern Italy, and finally over the Ponte della Liberta, signifying my long-anticipated return to the enchanting "city of masks".

Upon arriving into Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, we were elated to have finally touched down onto lo stivale! With our overpacked luggage clumsily bouncing down the steps behind us, we quickly found ourselves directed into a sizable herd of vibrant Italians exchanging kisses and shuffling toward the exits signs. Thanks to google earth (my savior), I knew that we would pour right out near the mouth of the Grand Canal, and had purposely booked a nearby hotel just across the beautiful Ponte degli Scalzi for convenience.

Ponte degli Scalzi

Now I recall back when I was just a little bambina, on vacation in la bella Roma, my father was pickpocketed by an adolescent gypsy. Naturally, this incident taught me to keep a close eye on my belongings at all times while traveling, especially in/near the train stations of Italy. With that being said, we each had sizable pieces of luggage that needed to be hauled over this enormous bridge in front of us. Within an instant, these quaint, romantic steps had suddenly turned into the bane of my existence as I began straining my repugnant beast of a suitcase up one stair at a time, whimpering with disdain. Just as I began envisioning pleasing images of the case tumbling down the steps and into the canal so that I could finally go for a cappuccino, a pair of young men came rushing to our rescue. "Scusi! Bellas! No, no! I carry for you, yes!? Allow me! non c'e problema!" I stepped back, a bit confused, but an intrigued confused, wondering why we have so few gentlemen like these in America to alleviate a damsel in distress. As these strapping Italian stallions lifted our luggage over the steps with ease, I followed in delight, even more eager to unearth the many pleasures of this culture. After descending down the south end of the bridge, the men planted our suitcases down in front of the water with affectionate smiles, continually reassuring us that it was really no inconvenience to them at all because we were beautiful (definitely a "you know you're in Italy when...." moment!) Just as I took hold of my case, pleased with my first day in Venezia, the men expectantly put their hands out and demanded that we pay them for their service.

Having never been faced with slimy Italian conmen trying to rip me off before, I found myself speechless for what felt like an eternity, before I finally found the words to clumsily croak out a flustered 'non capisco'. Of course I capisco'ed very well what they were asking, but I didn't feel like handing out my limited collection of euro coins to a few greasy vagrants looking to pray on innocent young women. Thankfully, my friends and I had just come from Austria, and were completely comfortable having spoken in nothing but German for an entire month. My English felt surprisingly awkward to use, so I instinctually shot off a sassy "Ich verstehe nicht, und habe ich kein Geld!", hoping they would take the hint. After squabbling in an intentionally confusing linguistic row rotating between English, Italian, and German, we had finally convinced the men that we could not understand what they were asking for because we did not understand English or Italian, only German (which they thankfully did not understand/speak a word of). Succumbing to the language divide, they finally turned around, defeated, to sink their corrupt fangs into another naïve foreigner. At that moment, I couldn't help but smile at what a joy it is to speak a language that is not as mainstream. After all, it paid for a private escort over the Grand Canal!

Atop the Ponte degli Scalzi