Tuesday, June 24, 2014

The Post Office

by AJ Davila
Last Friday, I decided that I wanted to ship my souvenirs home so that I wouldn’t have to pack it out with me. I didn’t have much, but I figured sending it home would save me the hassle from having to claim it going through customs. I was kind of hesitant to use the local post office in Cagle beings that I could not speak Italian very well.

I knew where the post office was, but had no idea how the postal system worked here. In all the years of traveling around the world, every post office has a different way of doing things and different forms to fill out. In the US, you can pretty much go to any post office and find the same style of forms with a standard way of shipping things. I assumed that the Italian post office system would have a systematic way of doing things like we do in the US. However, it seemed to be a simpler systems or it was my inability to effectively communicate in Italian that got me the “easy road” of not filing massive international forms to send my stuff.

While trying to communicate for five minutes that I needed a box, between the 3 post office personnel and their supervisor, I was finally able to get the box I needed and the one form to fill out. I was surprised that I only needed to fill out a simple “return address/receive address” form that required nothing more. I was confused thinking that their needed to be more beings that this package was going overseas to the United States. With the massive language barrier, I then started to wonder if my package would even make it at all.

After trying to figure out where exactly my box would be going and when it would get there, the only thing that I was sure of was that I paid a decent price to get the box shipped. Once I paid for my shipping, I figured I would just have to wait and see if my box would get there ok. Since the return address that I put on the box was my own address, I assumed it would reach me regardless, I hope.

I think that the language barrier was probably the hardest thing about the whole situation. Most places that I’ve been to in Cagli, the people understood some English and I knew enough Italian/Spanish to get me by: plus that fact that most of the time it was ordering food, I wasn’t worried if it came out different. Here I was, at the post office spending 30 Euro’s to send 150 Euro’s worth of souvenirs home, and who knows if they will get there. I pretty much have to keep telling myself that the system will work. Just because it is a small town in a foreign country, doesn’t mean they don’t know how to send packages overseas.

In the end, it was just souvenir stuff and nothing of real importance. If it doesn’t reach my house, I hope that wherever it goes, the people enjoy the gifts.

The Concept of Time

by Candice Ward-Ferris 
Jandt wrote in An Introduction to Intercultural Communication: Identities in A Global Community: “When time is considered a resource, it becomes something to be managed and used responsibly.” As this program draws to a close, time is something that has been at the forefront of my thought. Italians, as discussed in class, see time as something more fluid. They take time during the day to “pause” and do not fill it with meetings. Almost everything is closed on Sundays, and while the busses appear to adhere to a regular schedule, there is not an urgent feeling that one must move to the next thing right away in Cagli.

My life in the U.S. is very structured and I am constantly concerned with being efficient with my time. I was looking forward to the Italian’s approach to it, simply so that I could slow down my life. While time in class and the work required after it is a necessary requirement for the academic component of the course, I still feel as though I have been living in a linear pattern – always planning my next step or how I will fill my day. I have tried to make this experience truly about being present, being observant, and absorbing the scenery, but I still wonder how much of my time I have tried to control, instead of just letting it flow. Is this cultural value a harder one to shake? Would letting go of control over time make me a more flexible person? I am not sure I know the answer, but in thinking about cultural values and where the U.S. and Italy differ, time is certainly a value that plays both a covert and overt role in our lives.

A Sign of Magnanimity.

by Sarah Steele 
Last week I walked into a shop to grab a quick slice of pizza. While it was warming up in the oven, I began chatting with the store owners, Anna and Tony. They helped me practice my Italian and told me a little bit about themselves. They even let me snap a few pictures of them around their shop. When my pizza came out of the oven, we had a few more laughs and I left.

I got all the way home and sat down to eat before having a startling realization: I had failed to pay! I rushed back to the shop, embarrassed by my mistake, worried the couple thought I had swindled them. When I came back and apologized, they acted as if the idea of paying was preposterous. I was insistent, but they went so far as to cover the menu prices. They flat out refused my money.

I thanked them, promised to return and pay double, but reflected on the experience. I come from a country that values profit and personal responsibility - by not paying, I was violating both of these principles. But Anna and Tony hail from a culture that emphasizes these principles significantly less, and values personal connection above the dollar. On the cultural mismatch scale, we were in the realm of covert culture. They seemed to be confused and even a little annoyed by my insisting to pay, but I felt confusion and guilt by not. Perhaps my tendency towards guilt in such a situation is a bit idiosyncratic, but the culture from which I hail has covertly taught me that not paying could be seen as taking advantage of my new friends, and theirs has taught them to give freely as a sign of magnanimity.

Collectivism

by Katie Hutchens 
While queuing at the Coliseum in Rome, I encountered a cultural mismatch. My group had been in the queue to purchase tickets for almost an hour when an Italian-speaking family suddenly appeared behind us. They attempted to squeeze past our group and others near us, in order to improve their position in the line.

After learning in class that Italy is more of a collectivist culture, rather than the USA, which tends to be more individualistic, I was surprised by this behavior. With hindsight, I recognize that the unwritten rules for how to line up in public must be encoded within their culture, specifically within the “covert” aspect of the culture. My mistake, or stumbling block, was to assume similarity between our two cultures in this specific social situation.

Recycling

by Amanda Taylor
Recycling seems to be a very important issue in Cagli, Italy. It has been my observation that people – especially the older folks – put a lot of work into it. I saw an elderly women yesterday carrying many very carefully sorted heavy bags down the steep hill to the six large garbage bins. They are color coded according to what content belongs in them. Some need cardboard, some glass, and some are for the excess from what I can understand. This sense of doing things for a greater purpose for the community is an extra step that people seem to be willing to take.

I was carrying a small bag of trash down to the garbage bin area and was about to put it all in one bin as I would usually do, but an elderly lady came over and very intensely corrected me. She took a glass bottle from my bag and pointed to the correct bin. She placed the empty wine bottle in the glass recycling bin making eye contact with me the whole time. I could not here what she was saying as she walked away but I assume that she was not pleased at my recycling habits. From this experience I understand the Italian’s relationship to nature to be that humans are the keepers of nature in that we must take care of it.

Monday, June 23, 2014

the Iceberg Model

by Janet Feliciano
I went with a couple friends to Acqualagna on the bus one day, and to Fano on another. Each bus out of Cagli has the schedule and the prices right there in the bus - so that took two mysteries out of the mix right away. A cultural mis-match occurred when we were approaching Fano and the police got on the bus and started making everyone show their bus tickets. I figured out we were supposed to show our tickets only because I saw that the people ahead of me were doing it!

I found my ticket just when the policeman got to my seat. There was an older woman, however, who didn’t have her ticket. She must have received a fine because she was yelling and yelling at them. I have to say this is a custom that I did not expect. I had heard about it for the train system, but not the public bus system. I was relieved that I hadn’t used the little ticket to wrap my gum and throw in the garbage! I would say this situation could fall below the water on the Iceburg Model of Culture. It speaks to the beliefs and values of a collective society where everyone is treated equally. The police made no exception for the old lady. Even though she argued with them, they gave her a ticket just as easily as they would have given one to me.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

The Bank

by Suzanne Ali
One of the more confusing moments in Cagli came during a visit to the bank. I wanted to change 100 dollars to euros. I pushed on the glass door, but it didn’t move. The bank was open-- I could see tellers at their windows and customers at the counters. So I pushed on the door again. Again, it didn’t budge. The door was clearly locked. I stood at the door looking in, and a teller looked up and straight at me. I smiled, but she nonchalantly looked away and resumed her work. It was really awkward.

Then I watched a customer leave the bank. On the other side of the glass, she walked to my left, pushed a button, and stepped into a plexi-glass tube a few feet from the door I had been pushing on. The tube door closed on the inside of the bank, and reopened on the outside. She stepped out of the tube and left. Ohhhhh.

I approached the tube, pushed a small green button, and the door to the tube slid open in front of me. I stepped in. Once the outside door slid closed, the inside door opened. I stepped into the bank feeling like Scottie had just beamed me up.

I was surprised at the level of security just to get inside the bank. It felt more like I was passing through security at the airport than trying to change 100 bucks into Euros. Are they holding enormous amounts cash or gold bullion? Had there been a rash of bank robberies in Cagli? It seemed to illustrate a different Human-Nature Orientation than I am accustomed to. While bank robberies do indeed occur in the United States, I’ve never seen such security precautions taken in a U.S. bank. I’ve never considered my culture as a particularly trusting one, but comparing this Italian bank with my bank back home, it seems like we trust more in the innate goodness of people than they do in the Italian culture. Not sure how accurately this would translate across other situations in each culture, but as an American friend says, “People are good. Let’s not tempt them.”

Rome

by Linda Gorman
When I first stepped off the bus into the bright sunlight, my senses were immediately overwhelmed. The smells, sights, and noises were unfamiliar and seemed very obtrusive, and I soon realized I was experiencing another culture shock. While I had spent the last 10 days adjusting to Florence, then Cagli, it occurred to me that Rome would be an entirely different experience. Grateful for our trusty and knowledgeable guide, we followed him like sheep to an unknown destination, which thankfully turned out to be the metro.

As we approached the platform to board, it seemed implausible that the subway car could hold all of the people waiting eagerly to get on. Undeterred, we moved forward with the sea of people, securing our small space in what was fast becoming a sardine can. While I have had the experience of riding mass transit in large urban centers before, this experience was unlike any other. Bodies pressed together as everyone had to relinquish personal space preferences to make way for the throngs of passengers. Turning to talk to my classmate, I found my nose embedded in a stranger’s wilted and foul-smelling armpit. How soon can we get off this car, I wondered.

Relieved, the subway came to a halt, and we exited, making our way through the crowd once again. The street was a carnival of sights and sounds, horns blaring, cars weaving their way through the streets, and vendors shoving their wares in our faces, imploring us to purchase sunglasses, knock-off purses, scarves and shoes. All the while, we were clutching our bags, considering every stranger a potential thief.

Several blocks later, we arrived at our destination—our room for the night. We unloaded our bags and changed into our walking shoes, readying ourselves for the real adventure: our tour of Rome.

The cultural mismatches I experienced in this situation and the following day involved verbal, non-verbal and overt cultural mismatches. The manner in which the passengers rushed the bus and the lack of personal space were overt cultural mismatches, as were the seemingly disorganized and haphazard traffic patterns. The mix of different foreign languages and gestures were verbal and non-verbal mismatches, while the aggressive street vendors were likely a mixture of idiosyncratic and covert cultural mismatches.

Despite being initially overwhelmed, I found I was able to adapt and navigate through the various situations fairly quickly. Thus, I was able to maximize my experiences, enjoying similarities and appreciating the various differences.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Pausa

by AJ Davila
I’ve had a very interesting experience here in Cagli, Italy. Coming into this new culture with an open-mindset, I’ve still had to make adjustments on how my daily routines would go. One in particular adjustment that I’ve had to make is how my daily meal consumptions would play throughout my day.

I’m used to being able to grab a meal whenever I can or when it’s convenient back home. In the United States, you can grab breakfast 24-hours a day if you want at a local Denny’s or Shari’s. In Cagli, breakfast is an espresso or cappuccino with some form of pastry or bread, and that’s it for the most part. Then, lunch doesn’t seem to be a very big deal here as majority of the shops and cafés are closed during lunch time for pausa. Who closes for lunch?

I would literally scramble around trying to find a place to eat for lunch beings that I don’t get to eat a big breakfast, because breakfast is the most important meal of the day – or so they tell us I in America. Given that I’ve never had an actual breakfast since I’ve been to Italy, I’ve had a hard time adjusting to the eating schedule here. In order to compensate for a different eating schedule, I found myself buying small meals at the local supermarket in case I miss an opportunity to have a meal at a local café during Cagli hours of operation.

It would take me longer than a couple weeks to accustom myself to the fact that 98% of the shops and café’s close for a 3 hour period in the middle of the day. It’s almost as if the town goes on a mini-holiday for a few hours, and if you need something, well, you have to wait till later in the afternoon.

Caffe' del Teatro

by Janet Feliciano
So I’ve found my morning coffee shop. It’s the one right there by the theater. Café Teatro. It is two minutes from school and I like that it’s sort of working class and out of the way. There are some older men who play cards in the back room. I can see them when I order my coffee and croissant. They have a direct view to the front door. The same barista is there every morning and I think she must internally shake her head at me every morning. I can’t get my coffee order right.

Every day I ask for a different coffee – by accident. I’m trying to get a café latte with two shots of espresso in it. The first day I ended up with one shot. The second day I ended up with twice the milk. Yesterday I ended up with no milk, but two shots of espresso. Good grief. Yesterday I finally remembered not to take my money out and try to pay when I order.

On a deeper level, Suzanne and I were out walking one night and went to the playground to look at graffiti. We passed the youth center where a number of young men were laughing and talking and keeping to themselves. They came outside to sit and we had to pass them on our way out. My American gut kicked into “stranger danger” mode – so automatic. So sad. They didn’t pay any attention to us as we walked by and out of the park. I feel safe here, but my American radar about strangers apparently is apparently lagging behind.

A small victory.

by Amanda Taylor 
Wanting to make use of our kitchenette in the beautiful Bed and Breakfast, I headed down to the supermarket. Once there I immediately headed for the produce section. After observing many of the locals, I saw that after they bagged their selected produce they would go over to a machine that printed out a barcode sticker that they would put on to their bag. The machine was a scale that also had buttons with numbers labeled 1 – 100. All of the produce bins had signs with numbers written on the sign that showed the price. I selected two peaches (that smelled amazing) and saw that they had the number '53' written on the sign in the bin where they were held. Once at the machine I pushed the '53' button and a sticker printed out that I stuck on the bag. A small victory.

At the check-out stand, I placed all of my items on the small belt. The cashier noticed that one of the produce bags did not have the sticker on it and gave me a 'Really?' eye. It seems like even in this high context situation where signs are posted and obviously coordinated – this must be a common mistake. I imagine it is like when I worked in the world of customer service at a retail store and I came into a dressing room where people had left all of the items they didn't want on the floor. I would think, 'Really, you are going to make me do this?' It is understood (a low context situation) in the US as common courtesy that it is rude to leave a fitting room in a mess. It seems like it doesn't make one popular here to not make use of the produce sticker machine.

The Monastery

by Linda Gorman 
On the evening of June 17, I embarked on a trek to the monastery with a small group of students and one of our instructors. The clouds were ominous, yet the threat of rain refused to dissuade us from our adventure. Shortly after we stepped onto the long, steep road leading to the monastery, the sky opened up with a loud clap and the downpour began. Only one of us thought to bring an umbrella, so the rest of us soon became drenched, despite our quickened pace. Too far along to turn back and in the mood to explore, we continued on towards the stone building.

Finally, we made it to the front door of the ancient structure. Dripping wet, we exchanged glances and giggles while the rain continued to fall on the gravel driveway. “Bongiorno”, a man called out, walking from behind the building to greet us. Returning the greeting, we then nervously laughed as he glanced at us in amusement. He continued the conversation, stopping suddenly when we explained, in broken Italian, that we were students from America with a very limited grasp of Italian.

Soon, he beckoned us inside and disappeared with the promise of towels. Drying off, we all switched to a combination of limited English, nonverbal gestures, and Italian, eager to communicate. Slowly, he led us down the hall of the monastery, pointing out photos and illustrations along the way. Improvising and collaborating, we worked together to understand the history of the monastery, the monks that lived there in 1550, the war that occurred there, the tower that was destroyed in the war, and the lives that were lost. We also all laughed when we understood that he had taken care of a stray cat that made his home near the site.

We continued on this improvisational tour, laughing, taking pictures, and doing our best to communicate. After about 30 minutes, we looked outside at the night sky and decided it was time to make our trip back down the hill. We exchanged our goodbyes and thanked him “mille” before starting our return walk down the mountain, marveling along the way at our serendipitous, once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

The cultural mismatches in this situation were verbal and nonverbal. At first, I was a little panicky at the lack of a shared common language. How would we communicate? How could we understand what he was trying to tell us? However, I soon became delighted and surprised at our ability to find a way to communicate. I was also surprised by my ability to adapt to this situation and connect with another person in a unique and unforgettable way.

Parliamo Italiano.

by Katie Hutchins 
A quick stop at a small, pizza-by-the-slice shop turned into a cultural lesson this week. I am unsure if the cultural dissonance was due specifically to language, culture or idiosyncratic/personality, but I suspect it was a bit of all three.

After ordering my pizza slice from a serious man, and then navigating the many questions regarding where I was planning to consume the pizza and beverage, I paid at the register. The man would only respond to, and speak Italian. The woman at the register was smiling and using English words, even telling me my total in English. When my classmate went to pay, I heard her tell the woman she had a slice of pizza and a bottle of water. I noticed the man behind the counter give her a stern look, so I told my friend to say "acqua" instead of "water". When she said "acqua", he nodded his head approvingly and started speaking rapidly in Italian to us. From what I could make out, he was basically saying, "In Italia. Parliamo Italiano." The English translation would be something like, "In Italy, we speak Italian." The entire time he was telling us to speak Italian, the woman at the counter was apologizing and saying she was okay with our English because she wanted to practice hers.

I understand the importance of trying to assimilate through language, but as a customer from a country with strong capitalist values, I found it surprising to be spoken to in such a direct manner by a business owner. It was also interesting how other person in the shop, the woman at the cash register, was trying to speak to us in our native language. She made an effort to lessen the severity of his advice, while practicing language skills that will help her assimilate in English-speaking cultures. This experience will certainly make me more sensitive to non-English speakers I encounter in the future.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Meeting Cagliesi

by Candice Ward-Ferris 
Gonzaga University When hearing all the names of the characters I would meet in Cagli, I crafted an image in my mind of an Italian town that was warm, welcoming, and open to meeting new people. The reality was different. While I understood that, culturally, Italians do not smile at every passing person as Americans may be inclined to do, I found them to be harder to meet. From the first day in Cagli, I tried going to a café where there were no other Gonzaga students. I would sit in what I thought was an open position, but no one seemed to notice or care about the "straniera" in their town. However, when I was introduced to someone, the exchange was quite different and in general, positive. This made me question: Is it me? Is it them? Is there some rule about meeting people in a high context culture I don't know? Richard Lewis (2014) wrote that Italians are in a multi-active cluster, so perhaps the importance of family, relationships, and loyalty requires being introduced? Could it also be a form of etic knowledge in that I am learning how it works in Italy and because of that, I am projecting my own ideas on what works and what doesn't work in that process?

Culture refers to a "shared social experience," so determining where a communication mismatch, or an unconscious reaction when we don't know what to do, is an interesting question to ponder (Caputo, 2002, p. 291)? Nonverbal behavior and language are both important, but I think it may also be in what our expectations are. I came to this conclusion as people within the U.S. experience this same mismatch when moving from one region to another. For example, in the south it would not be unusual for a stranger to start talking to you in a café. However, if you were new in a large city, you may not receive the same reception from a stranger. I have to recognize that I might have unknowingly projected Cagli to be like a small, southern town. With that projection comes expectations. It can take time for people (in any culture) to warm up to a new person in their community. In this communication maze we are navigating, we aren't all working off the same map, so meeting new people isn't always a fast process. Maybe the art of meeting people in a new place, and not just Cagliesi, is one of patience and open expectations. 

Caputo, J.S. ( 2002). Chapter 12, Interpersonal Communication in a Global Village: Issues of Culture and Gender. In J.S. Caputo, Hazel, H.C., McMahon, C. & Dannels, D. (2002). Communicating effectively: Linking thought and expression. Dubuque, WI: Kendal-Hunt Publishing. 

Richard Lewis Communications. (2014). Introducing the lewis model. Retrieved from http://www.crossculture.com/rlcintro.html.

Grocery Shopping

by Amanda Long
Grocery shopping was a cultural mismatch for me. Walking into the grocery store for the first time was a little overwhelming. As I began my grocery shopping experience I realized that I was suddenly overwhelmed with the idea that all the labels on the food were in Italian. I am not sure why I thought for sure there would be English on the labels as well. 

When I got over my original shock I realized that I recognized labels or pictures from the food that I was used to back in the states. This realization allowed me to pick my products easily. Then the mismatch problem occurred again when I went to buy fruit. I did not know that I had to weigh my own fruit in order to get the price. I am used to my fruit being weighed during check out. Over all I was able to have a successful grocery shopping experience.

A Smile

by Suzanne Ali
I was born and raised in the United States. In my culture a smile is a sign of friendliness, so I assumed (incorrectly) that a smile would be received the same way everywhere, or a universal sign. But the Italians don’t smile at strangers, and don’t like strangers smiling at them. Rather than communicating friendliness, my gesture came off as creepy. My smiles were met with distrust, even scowls. The stereotype I had in my head of “warm friendly Italians” quickly dissolved and left me really confused. The affect of a seemingly insignificant non-verbal behavior (smiling) had created a cross-cultural communication failure. 

Dr. Caputo explains in Interpersonal Communication in the Global Village. According to anthropologist Edward T. Hall, Italy is considered a high-context, culture, with members being more sensitive to non-verbal behavior and in reading their environment. They also expect others to be sensitive to nonverbal messages. Bound by a unifying force of tradition, behavior doesn’t vary radically.

 The United States is a low-context culture, without the same kind of bond of tradition. Without the predictable behavior of a high-context culture, “information is not readily available in the environment,” (p.306) making certain types of more direct communication necessary in low-context cultures. Smiling is a non-verbal form of communication used in the United States to quickly signal friendliness in our low-context, multicultural society. 

Dr. Caputo explained this cultural mismatch to his bewildered students in class.

I know all of us are trying to stop ourselves from the automatic act of smiling at strangers as they pass. It challenged something I take for granted as “the right way” to greet any other human on the planet.

Buying a Drink

by Sarah Steele 
A woman I had just met in a caffe offered to buy me a drink. In the states, when someone you don’t know offers to buy you a drink, they usually want something in return, if only your time and attention. And in our culture, someone buying you something when you are giving them nothing in return often causes the receiver guilt. 

To complicate matters, I don’t drink alcohol, which is not especially extraordinary in America, but seems much less common in Italy where wine can be seen at most every meal. When I tried to politely refuse the drink, the woman first seemed confused, then slightly offended. 

On the cultural mismatch model, I was in letter C - culture. While widespread consumption of alcohol is overt, Italians' understanding of how to respond when someone offers you something is much more covert. I wanted to do anything but offend my new friend, but I could not completely compromise my own cultural (and religious) standard. 

 My solution was to thank her again, explain that while I didn’t drink alcohol, I would love a gelato! She quickly agreed and we continued our conversation.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Time isn’t money

by Suzanne Ali 
One of the most immediate examples of cultural dissonance I’ve encountered in Italy has been with time orientation. As Dr. Caputo wrote in Dominant Cultural Patterns, “in the United States, time is viewed as a commodity” (p. 240). After arriving in Cagli I quickly realized how tightly I adhere to that cultural norm. 

There is a pace here, almost a set speed…and I am out of sync. I rush to my destination—a café in the piazza-- even when no one is waiting there for me. The Cagliese local strolls the same cobblestoned streets to the café, and stops to chat with an acquaintance along the way. 

I grow restless looking for someone to take my order in the cafe. The Cagliese relaxes and takes in the scene, socializing while he waits. The waiter gets to both of us in time. He is working hard, but at a different speed than I am accustomed to. I get antsy when the check doesn’t arrive immediately after a meal. The Cagliese glides to the bar and pays when he’s ready to leave. It all seems so inefficient, yet everything seems to get done with a certain grace. 

Time isn’t money here. It’s more the space one occupies in any given moment. I wonder if/how to import this Italian cultural norm to my Los Angeles life.

Firenze

by Sarah Steele
Inside the Bologna airport, the flood of Italian voices sounds foreign to my foreign ears. A placard at the information desk advertises a bus schedule and it takes a moment to realize 14:00 means 2:00. I check my watch - 1:45. The bus to Florence would be arriving in 15 minutes, and the woman working explains in broken English the bus would arrive out the door on the curb. 

I grab a bottle of water from an airport cafe, feeling grateful the short request is within my 10-word Italian vocabulary. As I make the exchange with the woman behind the counter, she returns my bright smile with a cloudy look. Had I irritated her? I stride toward the glass doors and forget everything as a bus speeds past. My heart skips - Could that have been mine?

On the crowded curb, I am welcomed by a thick haze of smoke billowing from too many mouths to count. Where was the designated area? I see a bus with people clustering around it. I try asking a woman next to me if this is the bus to the Florence station, but we had too few words in common. I ask a man, who looks confused, but then nods, assuring me that this bus goes to the station. But the vehicle was dirty and impossibly crowded inside. Could Italians stand with their face in a stranger’s armpit for an hour and a half?

Unconvinced, I rush the opposite direction, although there is no bus in sight. It is 5 after 2:00 now, and I feel my panic start to rise. I stop another man who is more patient with my tragic Italian. He confidently points me around the corner, and as I turn it, see a coach labeled “Firenze.” I melt into my seat, weak with relief.

The Journey Begins

by AJ Davila 
Having to start a new journey is always something most people are timid about. Whether it’s a new job, buying a house or traveling around the world, it always seems to open up new doors and new beginnings. 

I started my new journey about a week and half ago in Barcelona, Spain. I then found my way up to Paris, France shortly after to check out the view from the Eiffel Tower. Next, it was off to Milan, Italy where I got to walk through Castello Sforzesco that was built in the 15th century. 

 Finally, I found my way to Florence, Italy where I met up with my new team of colleagues. The first week of travelling was fun, but sometimes the experiences of travelling are better when shared with others. After a few days in Florence, we made our journey down to Cagli, where we have fully immersed ourselves into the Italian culture.

I can admit, I was curious to see where this new journey would take me as a person. I think that I could speak for all my team members and say that so far, this new journey of expanding our knowledge and becoming a better global citizen is one that will stay with us forever. The people of Cagli have made it possible for my colleagues and I to gain a better understanding of what the Italian culture is all about. 
Since I have been in Cagli, I have found that people in this community are very welcoming and understanding of our purpose here. The people are just as curious as we are to learn about who we are, where we come from and teaching us about their traditions and language. The language barrier has been a little difficult for most of us, but given that communication is not only spoken with words but with nonverbal communication as well, the people here have help us bridge together this new relationship we have begun to create with the people of Cagli.

Reflections

by Amanda Taylor
Arrival into the airporto de Roma June 8, 2014, the journey has begun. It has been a slow integration process as the busy city is buzzing with the singes and language that show the pressure to conform to a global norm of western civilizations. After a short two-hour train ride I arrived in Florence. The Firenze Santa Maria Novella was surrounded with the recognizable 'McDonalds' and 'Subway' signs. I very seldom indulge in these chain restaurants at home, but whenever I see them in foreign countries they have a strange appeal. Why did I all of a sudden want a McChicken

Having booked a hostel 'near' the main train station in Florence I set off to find a refreshing shower and soft pillow. It was a scorching 84° and very crowded. One local train ticket and four failed bus rides later, I finally found the white canopy labeled 'Hotel Emma.' I really probably should have printed a map or drawn myself some directions. It was too late now. The hostel owner was obviously excited to point me in the direction of the main attractions of the city, but all I could think of was taking a shower and passing out.

I woke up at around 19.23 and was not satisfied with the airplane breakfast I had eight hours before. Finding a grocery store open I grabbed a mini baguette, prosciutto, provolone and much deserved white wine I went and sat in the Piazza del Duomo. The pigeons were all too eager to eat my scraps and I starred on the colorful, sun warped crowed. Tomorrow will meet my classmates and instructors in the scheduled hotel and the cultural immersion will began. But for now I was happy to fall asleep to the next episode of Orange is the New Black.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Beautifully Patient

by Janet Feliciano
After spending some time in Florence and among the streets and cafés of Cagli, the most challenging thing for me has been the language differences. Not learning the language so much as being brave enough to use it – to drop my self-consciousness about it. I am always so nervous that I will offend whomever I’m trying to communicate with and I just want to get it right. There’s also the fear that after I ask for what I want, they will ask me a question in return and I won’t understand and we will both be standing there just staring at each other. Here’s a sample of the dialogue inside my head:

“Be brave Janet. Just say it. Okay good. That was good….don’t ask me a question…don’t ask me a question….don’t ask me a question….”

Having said that, the vast majority of Italians have been beautifully patient. Especially in Cagli. When they see me making the effort to communicate using Italian, then they are completely willing to wait for me to get the words out. It’s like you can sense them secretly rooting for you. I’m learning to be brave in each situation where I’m uncomfortable. I imagine this can only be good for me!

Shooting a Film

by Linda Gorman
Staying in Cagli has been an interesting adventure thus far. I’ve never traveled to a city where nearly all of the signage, products, and spoken language aren’t in English. I found it fairly overwhelming, so on my first few days I coped by blocking out what I found confusing.

On the second full day, a film crew arrived to town and began shooting a film in and near the piazza. Walking from my apartment towards the piazza, I was deep in thought, the class assignments weighing heavily on my mind. I wasn’t paying attention to the sights and sounds around me. Suddenly, I became aware that the shouts and stares were directed solely to me. Jolted back to the present, I looked around, and began to feel my face getting warm from embarrassment. A man about ten feet away turned around and abruptly faced me, wearing a puzzled look on his already worn face. He looked familiar, and as my mind searched to make the connection, a woman jumped between us, her eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, and speech quickened. While I didn’t understand her words, her nonverbal communication made it clear that she was furious at my interruption. “Mi dispiaci, mi dispiaci”, is all I could weakly muster, before turning and darting away, head down. As I passed by the Cagli locals, I caught the eye of an elderly man in a stained tank top, tufts of salt-and-pepper hair sprouting from the shirt’s neckline. “Tsk, tsk” he said, wagging a wrinkled finger in my face. It occurred to me that the man was actor John Turturro, and I just walked through a movie scene. Mortified, I slunk around the nearest corner to catch my breath.

I soon realized that if I had been paying attention, I wouldn’t have made this mistake, despite the language barrier. The most obvious cultural mismatches in this situation are language and non-verbal. Since I couldn’t understand the conversations taking place around me, I mentally checked out, as I wasn’t sure how to handle myself in the situation. As a result, I missed cues and didn’t catch verbiage that could have otherwise allowed me to avoid the embarrassing situation. It will make for a great story to tell when I return home, however!

Coffee

by Amanda Long 
For my first journal entry I wanted to talk about my first experience outside of the states because it really became the base of my attitude and perspective when in a new culture.

My first cultural mismatch was getting off the plane in Germany. I did not have a long connection time until my next departure time but I really wanted some coffee for the flight. I tried to order a vanilla soy iced latte my usual drink back in the states. I was told that the only cold drink is a macchiato so I settled with that. Then I tried to pay with US dollars and ended up holding up the line.

When the payment was figured out I then watch them make my coffee. They made a warm drink and then added ice cubes to make an ice drink. Once I received my drink I then went to my gate with 15 minutes to spare. When I arrived at my gate they already booked me on another flight. I had no idea that you take a bus to your airplane. Instead of getting upset about my experience in Germany I decided to just go with the flow. And have continued that idea through our trip in Italy. Now, I order an Americano.

Italians and Queues

by Candice Ward-Ferris
Dr. Caputo said that, “cultures differ in two specific ways: High versus low context cultures and individualism versus collectivism.” In low context cultures, there is an understanding of the rules, so foreigners may not always be in tune with what those are – especially if they come from high context cultures where rules are readily shared. In my situation, the known rule seemed to involve around the concept of queuing. Standing in line seems like a simple concept, and for situations where there isn’t a place to make a straight line, I have found people just follow in the order that they arrived. But, perhaps that just makes sense for people who like order.

I experienced this trying to get money out of the ATM. As one gentleman was finishing, a woman walked up and looked at me as if to say, “I was next.” Quite certain that she was not next, but not wanting to offend, I let her go before me. However, three more men lined up in random places and all looked at me with the same look. I knew I was next, but again didn’t want to be rude, so I considered going to another ATM. Then I remembered: Italians don’t queue! I decided to go for it when the woman in front of me finished and if I offended someone, then I knew. To my relief they let me go, weren’t the least bothered, and I had money to buy lunch. The next time I went up to a café counter, I applied the concept. I appreciate the idea behind forming a line, but also appreciate that it is easier in some cultures to just adopt their approach!