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| The trilingual Opera Academy Secretary with whom
I had my first language montage. Bowing his face, his cheeks took on a scarlet
hue when I asked for a photo. |
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The
bearded little man reminds me of some type of hobbit as he sits, perched
behind his looming desk. Watching us climb the stone staircase, he practices
a half-amused, half-professional smile. A cluster of framed Pope John Paul
II photos sprout from his desk.
"Buongiorno, le ragazze,"
he greets us chuckling. "How can I help you," he articulates in bell-clear
Italian. "Buongiorno," we mumble back and attempt to ask if we could speak
with some of the opera students who attend the academy in Cagli. The words
come out in spurts of Italian and English mixed, but my own French background
throws a francaise spin on the conversation. The little hobbit counters
our introductions with his own blend of languages, speaking in between tongues,
three of the seven that he knows. And only moments after, we are desperately
hurling dull words with this trilingual elf in a disproportionate combination
of English, French, and Italian. This attempted interview arrangement almost
grinds to a blockading halt as we stumble, glancing about the room and groping
for possible vocabulary. Where are my verbs now? "It is impossible," with
the Italian emphasis placed on the si,
further skewing our understanding.
Partners in crime and confused as hell. "Facchio
une video,"I plead. "Je
peut etre silente comme un lapin." Wrong choice of rodent. Motioning
with one pointer to my mouth, I force a sputtering ssshhh out of my lips
while softly mimicking my self walking with two fingers between the many
John Paul's. Desperation. Finally the man fumbles. "Tomorrow, you are un
souris."
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Even
as we extricate ourselves from this linguistic entanglement, another encounter
brings me and my partner back into a duel of words. Another race to spurt
out as many possible correlations to the potential topic at hand. As we
descend from Cagli's opera academy, our sandals clack against the steps.
Exhausted from sheer personal frustration. An overzealous opera student
approaches us, one of the very students who we wished to speak with earlier.
This wide-eyed singer yips like a small terrier, eager to make acquaintances
with us, potential amusements. Barreling across our tired path back to the
Atrium, he greets us emphatically, anxious to expedite a friendship. We
almost collide head on, us too slow to react and him too excited to stop.
With a wide toothed smile, he attempts to ask us our names, origins, and
reasons for visiting his secluded operatic haven but jabbers in an indistinguishable
mummer of English, Italian, and Korean. The little hobbit man from before
hovers over us, ready to intervene with his own mix of linguistics. Smiling
politely, we rush past this flustered performer, but he shouts down the
steps after us, "Beautiful, le
ragazze,"
There are obviously not many blondes in Italy. |
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Skipping
victoriously down the steps, I consider the language barrier we,
gli americani, are faced with in Cagli.
Nevertheless, I have found the locals to be extremely friendly and patient,
eager to chat, lentamente
of course, about their mountain city. Every day presents opportunities
to play games with languages. Photographically inspired by the symmetry
of the wall sitters yesterday, an interrogation begins between myself and
these wall gossips. "J'ai
soixante et onze ans," one patrino brags in spliced Fratalian.
"Non!" a stout eavesdropper interrupts.
"Tu as soixante treize ans," he corrects. The first wall sitter
finally relents. "Fine, I am seventy-two." And looking good for that, might
I add.
In a world of global communication, we can find many ways to convey information
with words, motions, and body language. Cagli is no exception. Through exaggerated
gestures and linguistic comparisons, we students manage to surmount the
daily trials in this foreign town, an unearthly place of rest and
laissez-fare attitude. Somehow between the stammering and pointing,
communication gets through, despite the world of difference. |
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One of
Cagli's wall sitters, aged between 71-73. |
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Translations
Buongiorno, le ragazze (Italian)
Good afternoon, girls
Si(Italian)
Yes
Facchio une video (Italian)
I am making a video
Je peut etre silente comme un lapin (French)
I am be silent like a rabbit
Souris (French)
Mouse
Le ragazze (Italian)
The girls
Gli americani (Italian)
The Americans
Lentamente (Italian)
Slowly
J'ai soixante et onze ans (French)
I am 71 years old
Tu as soixante treize ans (French)
You are 73 years old
Laissez-fare (French)
Relaxed |
| A picturesque view of Calgi, land of a multi-lingual
population |
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