Conversation in Italian

Piacere! Io sono Cecilia.

Io sono turista di Charlotte. Sono americana.

In Italia voglio mangiare spaghetti e pane, e beviate vino. Troppo! E mi piace la pizza e il gelato.

Ci vediamo!

The Short Line

I'm a big Googler -- you've prolly guessed that by now -- and I love to follow links in online articles I'm reading. I've learned some really obscure interesting facts by chasing these blue lines......

One day recently I chased an article down the rabbit hole and found myself learning exactly how those folks at the airport get the cred to use the Short Line at TSA (something that I've lusted for on many an occasion).

In typical American Capitalistic fashion -- they pay for it!!!!

Yes, pay a fee, approx $90, for a five-year US Airport Only Membership to the Short Line. Pay another $25 or so and get Short Line benes in airports worldwide. The fee covers the cost of your Super Invasive Patriot Act background check. (And really, if you've got nothin' to hide, why not give up a little privacy to skip to the front of the line!!)

It really is an almost painless experience. I filled out the application online and scheduled an appointment just a few blocks from my office at a strip mall office jointly shared by a drug testing establishment, what seemed to be a local Saul-Goodman-esque operation, and the TSA Pre Check office.

We took a photo, reviewed my passport, and I paid my fee (no cash, no check). In and out in 15 minutes. I got an email with my 'case number' which I could track online. And within a matter of weeks I got a hardcopy letter with my Known Traveler Number.

Short Line, here I come!!!

Click here to get started on your own Short Line cred!

Imparare a parlare

I started by downloading Duolingo -- If you don't know about Duolingo listen to the fabulous Ted Talk about it here. It's great! The price is right and success ratings are comparable with Rosetta.

It's built like a game, which makes it fun. I can actually hear the pronunciation (which is a problem I've experienced in the past with electronic / digital language learning), and -- and this is a biggie -- Duolingo can listen to my responses and grade my enunciation (pronunciation? Enunciation? Enunciation!)

Next, I signed up for a basic 'Traveler's Italian' class at a local travel agency. Ten lessons taught by an American who lived in Italy for eight years.

Also, I started watching Italian movies on Netflix and listening to Italian radio on TuneIn. Radio Skylab -- "tutta la musica che ch'e".

Italian Lessons

I am an American. I talk loud. I credit this (blame?) to being raised with everyone around me talking loud and laughing loud. We don't consider it loud -- it's just the way we communicate. Those who are unexposed to non-Americans truly do not know there is any other way.

As I learned by working in a multi-cultural environment, I also 'listen loud' -- meaning that I can't hear the words when people speak in a soft voice. The natural volume for many of my teammates is very soft and gentle, and it is truly a Seinfeldian experience at times (thank goodness, no puffy shirts  in sight!).

But one thing I do not want to be when I travel is an Ugly American -- the loud one who speaks louder and louder in English until the (foreign speaking) listening gets the message. And to that end, I'm taking Italian lessons.

Italian language lessons.  (I'll save the cooking lessons for my trip.)

Mark Your Calendar!

29 days to Vacation-palooza!

Rub Your Butt

My Googling re: driving in Italy finds words about the local drivers such as "aggressive", "skillful" -- and warn of a "white-knuckle experience".

I'm cautioned about 80+ mph tailgaters, scooters appearing out of nowhere, ZTLs (no traffic zones), and medieval streets.

I learn that gas stations close during siesta.

But the most strident warnings by far are about the parking -- or lack thereof. Parking is at a premium, lots fill up quickly, meter maids are ruthless, and towing is not rare.

Luckily for me I'm driving in Liguria, where the locals have a foolproof gesticular blessing to appeal to the parking gods -- rubbing your butt with sincerity.

Full Stop for The Ages

Since this is my first rental car experience in Europe, I give myself permission in advance to make a few mistakes. I can always refine and improve on future trips.

The second-guessing averted and after being overwhelmed by the volume of rental car ads screaming at me from Google, I gravitate toward those with comfort-food Ameri-recognizable names... and end up at Hertz.(Cue Roberto Benigni che attraversa l'aeroporto.)

Every small model car available has standard transmission, and with a slight frown I sigh and accept my fate of reliving 25 years of stick shift driving, and the closely related sciatica, during those three motoring days in Western Liguria.

Fiat-Nation has taken the US by storm and I'll admit I am a bit Fiat-curious. So after a few days of reviewing and debating I book a Fiat Punto Evo.

(Full disclosure: I currently drive a smartcar and am very happy with my ownership of it.)

[After booking I did a little more poking around... The Punto Evo -- translation Full Stop for The Ages -- has 4 doors. Perhaps I can mini-size me at the counter. But if I can't, no second-guessing grief allowed!]

IDP, idk

If I'm going to drive in the hills between Genoa and the French border catching sight of East facing sea views, I'm gonna need a car. This is a facet of international travel I haven't tackled yet, and requires some research, so naturally I turn to my old friend Google.

First, I will need an International Driver's Permit, which is basically an official document attesting to the fact that you have an active driver's license back home. This meta-document can be obtained from AAA for about $15. If asked "Papers, please!", you will present said US driver's license and said international driver's permit to the official who's asking -- in all their redundant glory.

IDP in hand after a 10 minute visit to my local AAA office, I start researching cars -- Italian cars.

Allegedly

Plans to visit Genoa prompt vivid memories of my earliest history lessons in elementary school.

We had switched from the big, fat green pencils doled out by the teacher's assistant du jour, to personally owned and maintained yellow #2 pencils with attached red erasers which we sharpened multiple times a day queueing up for the Boston hand cranked sharpener screwed securely into the window ledge -- shoving and pinching and whispering as stealthily as we could before being called out by the not really intelligent and (still today) smug moon-faced girl who had spent the first month of first grade crying every morning after her mother slipped away. But I digress in bitterness....

This would have put us in second grade, which would also make sense because my best friend in second grade, at least while he still lived in my town before his father was transferred, was a guy named Chris, and he taught me how to spell Christopher. And so I only had to learn to spell Columbus, Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria to ace the test!

So, we were taught that Christopher Columbus was Italian and he sailed westerly, hoping to find a quicker route to the East Indies (India to you and me) but instead ran smack into the New World -- which was really great for him because an alternative was to fall off the edge of the Earth due to it at that time having a plane-ular shape.

While in the story we memorized Sig. Columbus was Italian, and his three little ships sailed from Genoa (pronounced ji-KNOW-ah in my little town), he was given financing for his adventure by Queen Isabella of Spain. And even for my 7-year-old brain this didn't make much sense, because common folk having audiences with a Queen were pretty rare occurrences (except in scenarios like the pussy cat who goes to London), and getting in to see the Queen and immediately asking for a pile of money was just a ridiculous idea.

So I, with my superkid powers of analysis and detection, knew that something was hinky with the allegedly Italian Columbus and the tale of the New World.

A quick Google re: Sig. Columbus, and a heated conversation about visiting Genoa with a zealot-ous Spaniard, suggests that Chris is a garlic that may not be fully peeled yet.

(Just, don't mention this in New York... especially in October. Unless you want to sleep with the fishes.)

I think I'll learn some maritime history while in Genoa.

Countdown!

The hoops I jumped through determining where I would go on my adventure this year are only interesting to me, and only because it gave me insight into musings of a caterpillar dreaming of butterflydom.

At any rate I eventually decided that I would:

1. Fly to Florence 
2. Train to Genoa 
3. Drive in the hills to the French border (East facing sea view) 
4. Back to Florence for some days in the city and some more days in a suburb (which actually predates Florence as an Etruscan city). 

I've never been North or West of Monterosso and I'm excited to explore the Italian Riviera. There are indeed sweet little towns in the hills above the coast, with eastward views down to the Med.

I've started a countdown on the whiteboard in my office, where friends pop by to check the days and visibly feign jealousy.

I'm sooo excited!