I woke up one morning with the rueful thought that I had slept too late, even though I was the first in bed and the first to rise after a Friday night of sharing rum with my fellow colleagues who were celebrating a successful completion of week 2 in Siena, Italy. We had a plan to make an excursion to one of the nearby Tuscan villages - Monteriggioni or San Gimignano. That, of course, didn’t happen. I had considered hopping on a bus by myself to Chianti, perhaps, but remembering the admonishment of my boyfriend to not become the “outlier” in the group, I decided instead to go for a late morning walk around Siena.
Strolling up San Caterina, I passed a coffee bar with amazing pastries in the window - millefoglie glassata, bombolone alla panna, bignè chantilly - and almost went in when I noticed a cluster of men chatting in boisterous Italian to the baristas. I turned and continued walking until I found a smaller less populated coffee and pastry bar to step into. This has happened multiple times since I have been here in Siena. Why do I have this timidity about going into a more crowded shop? I’m not a particularly shy person. And I’m not so concerned about being misunderstood and unable to order. It’s fairly apparent that people around here can communicate in English.
I’m realizing that I have developed somewhat of a phobia about being identified as “American.”
I’m trying to understand why this is. It’s not because of the current political landscape in the U.S., and it isn’t due to the results of the recent presidential election. I do not consider myself to be an American apologist. And our host professor, Luca, of the Dante Aligheri Institute I’m studying at, told us that Italians (particularly the young people) still think America - at least for now - is “cool.” They are amazed that we have such diverse culture all existing in the same country, even in the same cities and neighborhoods. You would think I’d be glad to flaunt my “American-ness” proudly. But I’m not. I want to dress European, speak as they do, order coffee the way they do, and not commit any social faux pas.
I’m trying to remember when I first started to feel this way. I recognized it while I was in France more than 6 months ago with a larger group. I felt self-conscious when we would walk into restaurants talking and laughing loudly. Was it because our instructors who led our orientation told us over and over how Americans are perceived by Europeans? Loud, colorful, flamboyant, arrogant…ignorant. I would feel flustered seeing members of our group take up center space on the metro, crowding others out, or blocking the doorways and then actually getting annoyed when a local would brush past them uttering a terse “excusez-moi.” A friend and fellow colleague I was traveling with said “Rumors are true. French people are rude.” Are they? Were they actually annoyed with us or was it that they were simply more in a hurry than us? (And to be fair, the train doors shut very rapidly at stops.)
I have observed in reticence some similar situations here while in Italy, though to much more subtle degrees. For one thing, we have not had to get on and off trains as much, and our group is a lot smaller. We also tend to migrate around the city independently in groups of 2 or 3 (or in my case, just 1), as opposed to being a mini-mob of 14 pushing through the crowded thoroughfares of Paris like a bulldozer on legs.
Referring back to my timidity about entering the coffee bars, I feel sure that a lot of it has to do with my not yet reaching a fluent proficiency in Italian. I feel deeply that to assimilate into and ultimately enjoy a host country’s culture, it behooves one to know at least the basics of the local language. Being able to understand and speak the language actually makes me appreciate the food more, as well as the sights and sounds and smells.
As such, I have been striving every day to learn Italian as quickly as possible. I practice on Duolingo every day and have passed multiple lessons and tests with the goal of reaching at least 50% fluency. I’ve watched several popular American movies in Italian audio and captioned with English. I want to make sure that I’m learning it to enhance my enjoyment not just as a challenge to be met. I am also going to task myself with relaxing about being American. After all, it is a cultural exchange. They are curious about me as much as I am curious about them (if that isn’t an arrogantly American thing to assume.)
When I was in England in 2006 studying at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, I was self-conscious about my Southern accent. I listened with a keen ear to the various dialects that were cultivated from all over England - London, Manchester, Leeds, Liverpool - and tried to make mine a little more subtle, if not neutral. Then one day, a group of English students at RADA crowded around me and told me they loved my accent that to them sounded “like a fairytale.” This was in contrast to the few American students I met who were also at the school who had studied theatre in NYC. When they imitated my accent, they would exaggerate it to sound more “country.” When the Brits tried to copy my accent (with a slightly more elegant take), I felt like I must sound like Scarlett O’Hara to them, but when the New Yorkers did it, I was a caricature of Larry the Cable Guy (which basically made me a caricature of a caricature.)
When I reflect on all of these experiences in combination with reading the musings of other travel writers, I am beginning to realize that perhaps it is not entirely Europeans who make Americans embarrassed about being American, but it is other Americans making Americans feel embarrassed about being Americans. (Try saying that a few times really fast.)
As I continue my experiences and travels, I want to be conscious that while I am enjoying the opportunity to learn about other cultures, dialects, languages and customs, I will not let my appreciation be hampered by American self-consciousness, nor will I let it affect my fellow travelers. For each person, these experiences are sensory and palpable in a unique individual way.
I am also developing more cognizance about what it means to be a “world traveler” versus a “tourist,” why there seems to be a condescending perception attached to the latter, and if there is a bit of elitism (perhaps even an overuse) of the former term. I plan for a discussion of this topic to make it into a future blog.
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