10. Books (2)

Although I love traveling, and therefore feel as if I should have been as dazzled and intrigued by Bruce Chatwin’s famous travel tale In Patagonia as so many other people seem to be, I just couldn’t get into the book. I tried to give it time, hoping that I would become more engaged as the story went on, however the story continued in its fragmented un-orienting way of talking about different unrelated people throughout his Chatwin’s travels. Both my professor praised the book in class, and I read many good reviews, but for some reason I could not maintain interest.

I am presuming that the book’s style is supposed to mimic the disorienting and transitive traits of traveling, however I could not manage to value the tails of different random characters because they always seemed like unrelated digressions. Each mini biography and each character listed appeared in a manner which made me feel as if they would not be relevant in the grand story and therefore easily ignorable, however to my disappointment there never ended up being a grand narrative plot. Furthermore I felt like the novel focused too much on people and not enough one other aspects that would root me to the different geographies he was travelling through. His book could not bring me on the journey along with him nor capture the sentiments of travel that I love.  

Contemplating the value of this book made me think about what I would have do differently if I decided to write a book about my big trip I dream to take in the future. When thinking about the kinds of thoughts I had about the people I met and the places I went when I travelled to Northern Argentina during Spring Break I certainly can not relate to Chatwin’s impression of travel he creates through his style of writing. First of all, I feel that all of my descriptions and my stories would always be inevitably connected to me, in that I would not be able to just describe the lives of the people I meet as if I was a third person narrator writing a fiction piece as Chatwin often does. I feel that if I were to write a travel piece I would be obliged to capture what I think is the essence of traveling—the ways in which all the new things you see are foreign to you, and compare to all the things you already know. What I like about travelling is how every new landscape you come across, culture you are introduced to, and strange person you meet, makes you rethink your previous perception of life in general. When I think back about my memories of my travels I know that  my opinions and my point of view would inevitably have a much larger role in the narrative.

In his collection of short stories and essays titled Labyrinths, Jorge Luis Borges characterizes Buenos Aires – his hometown and the place where he spent the majority of his life – as a place both muted in terms of physical appearance as well as personality. His Buenos Aires is built from the crumbling facades of European-style buildings and the silent tension between the bourgeoisie, growing more stagnant and unbearable as the country slowly crawls toward modernization. For Borges’, this city seems to be a place that contains nothing extraordinary in the present moment, though it has potential, if only its inhabitants recognize their worth and act on it. His hope for the city seems to fade a little more with each passing page though, as the years continue to move forward and he grows older without any signs of change occurring.
 
This focus on the ordinary and lackluster character is perfectly summarized in the opening paragraph of Borges’ short story titled The Zahir. He explains that in Buenos Aires, the zahir is an “ordinary coin” (156) with which any person can buy a glass of whiskey, as the main character in the story does. However, after mentioning this mundane fact about money, he weaves an elaborate history of all the amazing things that the word “zahir” once represented – tigers in Guzerat (?) in the 18th century, blind holy men in Java, and a historic astrolabe in Persia. This glorious word and thing have since been reduced to nothing more than a coin, something insignificant, passed from one person to another in automatic daily transactions, completely routine and impersonal. The word is no longer special, and it seems to be that Borges believes the city shares the same fate.
 
Later in the same story, and after characterizing the city itself, Borges moves on to the people that occupy its space. He discusses the recent death of a notable, upper-class women named Clementina Villar, and is truly saddened by her passing. She is a perfect example of an Argentine socialite, and Borges says “Her life was exemplary, yet she was ravaged unremittingly by an inner despair” (157). This dead woman represents Borges’ opinion on the health of Argentine society – everything looks fine at a glance, but on closer inspection, everyone is suffering and the city only suffocates them further. He focuses on his perceptions of the city’s inhabitants so closely that we become aware that for Borges, the people are the city. The physical city has already begun to fade, and now the people are slowly disappearing into the background with it.
 
When speaking of the physical spaces within Buenos Aires, Borges uses fantastic diction to make the reader feel as though these places are actually fading away, falling apart in the mind of the author and no longer quite tangible – like trying to grasp onto smoke with one’s hands. Though this isn’t quite apparent in The Zahir, it cannot be ignored in a different short story titled The Waiting, in which Borges describes a residential area of Buenos Aires as a “square plot of earth” with “respectable houses with their little balconies” and “dull lozenges of the paint” (165). The city is plain and lacks any real personality, and though it tries its best to look respectable, it is still falling apart. Borges’ view of the city, as well as his earlier opinions on its inhabitants, don’t really fit with how I view Buenos Aires. I see color flashing through the streets when I ride on various buses and constantly pass by vibrant Argentines, their conversations a blur of fast Spanish and grand gesticulations. However, when I think of Borges’ descriptions and what I have seen of and experienced in the city, I can feel the little similarities. When I look at the once bright aqua of a building’s front, now faded to light sea foam and peeling, I can’t help think of Borges and his frustration with the city that seemed to be slowly falling apart – bit by bit – in front of him while no one else took any notice.

After reading “A Small Place” by Jamaica Kincaid, I felt both unmoved and awkward. Firstly, I felt as though the author overtly assumed an over-generalized portrayal of “the Antiguan” and his or her perspective on tourists when narrating the text. With that said, I don’t want to go to Antigua. I don’t want anyone to hate me. Secondly, the author’s continual plight against the English draws no connection to the horrible place, unpaved roads, broken library, leaded gasoline, I solely yearned to know about the actual person. The Antiguan, and never got a sense of that. With Kincaid blaming England for the Antiguan errs, the author seems to associate too much blame on one group of people, and in that hatred, states vengeful comments that hold the potential to invoke distrust in the reader.
 
With the direct referencing of “you” in the first section, I found the literary device to be both overused and accusatory. I wanted to argue Jamaica on a couple of points. I hated her. I speak English, although I am not English either! I don’t think slavery was right, is right, or will be right, however, the author fails to acknowledge of attempts to ignore the fluidity in English as a language. With many people identifying as different individuals, people other than English, the English language has take on new forms in the globalized world. As a language of communication and commerce, I contest the reasoning that Kincaid’s expression that English is the language of the slave-trader when she states, “for isn’t it odd that the only language I have in which to speak of this crime is the language of the criminal who committed the crime? And what can that really mean? For the language can contain only the goodness of the criminal’s deed” (31-32). Using this means of irony, the author comes from a generalized place, both resentful and assumptive, but all the while, tries to create a sense of innate guilt in the reader—probably a white person who has (most likely) traveled.
 
I guess my huge question to Jamaica would be whether or not she feels that all traveling is, in a sense, slavery. Still “working” for those in charge, the author seems to attack any richness, cultural limiting, or wrong-doing, particularly with the powerful individuals. Practically making every Antiguan a martyr, I question whether her biases of the traveler spur simply from the treatment of the Antiguans, and stay with the Antiguans, or go further—and make presumptions on the “traveler” in any context. 

It seems Takers and I have unwittingly read the same pleasant novel, A Tramp Abroad, by Mark Twain. Though I must admit I had a much different reading of the book, the experiences bound by “pinhole” description was spot on- such little fairy tales and one-night hotel descriptions are accurate for the traveler. Recollection and analysis often come with respite, not with the movements of traveling life, and I much appreciate Twain's style of depicting this is his small, intimate, and bright little passages.

Some of what I found most interesting in the novel was Twain's descriptions about the differences between America/Americans and Germany/Germans. While I realize the book was written over a century ago, and hasn't been modified with the gloom of the two World Wars, I found that some of his opinions still carry some steam. Firstly, he noticed the German dogs. And oh, how I love the dogs in Germany. He captured the essence of the lifestyle that goes with one, and everyone, having a companion of this sort- life is modified to it and, like the Germans themselves, these dogs are well behaved, put-together, and clean (22). Again, with the cleanliness and modesty- there are no others like the Germans. While Berlin is the exception, the towns outside of berlin convey such a pristine sense of upkeep it is hard to imagine their shoes get dirty by touching the ground. Dresden's quaintness was reminiscent of Disneyland, but of course even more modestly proud of itself.

Furthermore, what I found to be another extremely accurate and quite hilarious description was Twain's passage on the German sense of timeliness. “Let this be a warning to the reader. The Germans are very conscientious, and this trait makes them very particular.” And however “immediate” strikes a German it is never so immediate as a moment that flies by the American watch. And “a long time” is something of an expanse of time quite unimaginably long. This translates to: don't expect anything too fast, and don't expect to not be taken seriously (121). At a cafe the other day in Schoenberg, a very impatient American friend of mine, in a great and unnecessary hurry to leave, rampaged the entire cafe looking for the server. Coming back exasperated, stating the server was nowhere to be found, he suggested we get up and leave. I was of course a bit shocked- not only does this man trust us in his place of business, but he gives us the leisure- unlike many American restaurants, of staying however long we like. Americans are the type- myself too no doubt- to be aware of taking advantage of every situation. We sort of thrive on opportunity that way.

I really enjoy Twain, and I really can't cite enough passages or count the number of places he has described in full, precious, and self-conscious detail that I would not like to visit after this- perhaps finding them destroyed, perhaps exactly as imagined. His manner of style is inspiring in it's joviality and beautiful descriptive qualities, something I wish I had picked up on earlier in this course because for traveling and new-living it is oh-so fitting to be light and quick about things.

"A Tramp Abroad", by Mark Twain, documents the journeys of the traveler much as a scientist would document his findings concerning a certain species of plants. Though thorough and at times moving, these series of documentations serve as a very dry window of opportunity to allow the reader to project certain amounts of The Camera Obscura: the first known camera to have been invented in reproducing images in the real world. With photographic precision, an image projected through the smallest of pinholes could be reproduced, recorded, observed on a larger scale. It was a great invention, a magnificent one even. But one fact remained the same: the first great photographers were still reproducing live, tangible experience, and attempting to preserve it through a small, limited pin hole perspective. Limited, unchangeable, this perspective was situated in the dark boxed confines of the camera, lodged in the preconceived notions of the artist intent. The Camera Obscura was only meant to record, from one limited viewpoint, an understanding of the world from one point of view. Being an instrument, it was unbiased, simply recording. Observing.

Similarly, "A Tramp Abroad", by Mark Twain, documents the journeys of the traveler much as a scientist would document his findings concerning a certain species of plants: dry, matter of fact, and to the point. Though thorough and at times moving, these series of documentations serve as a very succinct window of opportunity. It is almost as if the main character approaches his travels as if he were a blank slate, similar to the documentation qualities of the first camera, allowing the world and his experiences to write the tale for him. There is no bias, no assumptions, and certainly no interpretations. Only clear, concise descriptions of what is going on around him.

I had the recent opportunity to visit Spain for spring break. Upon constant reflection of Twain’s writing style and the detailed, scientific descriptions of each and every experience that he has had, I have had the same kind of knowledge of the Spanish cities. My inexperience with Spain, and previously with Berlin, better prepared me to react to Spain with a blank-slate motive, if you will. It was not a conscious decision, however. There comes a point in time as a traveler where your brain, while hardwired to constantly analyze, control, and interpret the world, is so over stimulated by the newness of the experiences around you that it reverts to its primitive state of simply processing the experiences most immediate. This reactive method of survival, while seemingly terrible in higher brain logic, is liberating in that all at once the past and the future become unimportant, and one becomes present in the action at hand: the smell of the fresh salt air, the dazzling sun of near-equator brilliance, the glowing turquoise sea almost fluorescent in its glory, the sheer cliffs ending in the clearest horizon, sky meeting sea divided merely by a hairline thin line of distant lands.

Twain’s methodology, therefore, becomes “reactive” in light of my recent experiences. The methodology becomes personal as well, knowing full well that my own experiences mirror his. My writing becomes succinct, to the point, beautifully descriptive, and unbiased, similar to his documentation. Through this reaction comes a sense of presence in the beauty that one has to admire. Therefore, the moments are rare, for the world has few of these places to offer. And through it all, if one can move out and away from his own proverbial Platonic Cave, grounded in preconceived notions and upbringing, to experience new perspectives from an unbiased, succinct point of view, one may just find more beauty than anyone could hope for.

Beppe Severgnini's book La Bella Figura is full of well-crafted, astute, and most of all entertaining comparisons and commentaries on the Italian mindset. (In fact, in Italian, the title is La Testa degli italiani, directly translated, the head of the Italians/the mind of the Italians) Recently, I heard Severgnini speak at a dialogue NYU had to discuss his feelings on Mario Monti and Silvio Berlusconi, the recently elected and former prime ministers of Italy. His clever diction came out even in person when English is not his first language, which made me respect him even more than I already did from reading his book. He called Mario Monti “Mary-o Poppins Monti,” referring to him as the babysitter Italy has always needed, even if they are not content with him currently.

The book is full of crafty comparisons like this. One of my favorites is when he explains the difference between rosso and rosso pieno when it comes to traffic lights. Rosso pieno is a “full red,” a “bureaucratic formula,” while plain rosso is a “personal comment,” an “almost red, a relative red” (22). He says that when an Italian is at a traffic light, “their brain perceives no prohibition...instead, they see a stimulus” (22). If there is no one coming, if it's early in the morning, if they can see who's coming, they “think about it for a bit, then...go” (22). He advises the reader that these decisions are not automatic, they require a “logical process,” which is oh so very Italian of him to say. Italians aren't unruly, they think about breaking the rules before they break them, and then make an informed decision.

He goes on to say that this rule transfers to just about any rule in Italian society, “the law, taxes, or personal behavior” (22), which I have noticed on my own. When there is a stop sign, it is more of an invitation to stop. If you are crossing the street, a car is coming, and there is a stop sign, you better start walking and stand in the middle of the street and stare them down before you just assume they are going to stop. Same goes for lines. Don't assume that because you were in the cafe first, that means you are going to be served first. La fila non existe... the line does not exist. This isn't Starbucks in Washington Square with a curving line and an employee coming to take your order to make it move more quickly. This is an all-out coffee war and you should probably make use of those elbows. 

"No Sweetness Here" by Ama Ata Aidoo is a book of short stories that spoke to the relationship of neocolonialism and human rights all in beautifully written and almost poetic form. What I enjoyed most of all was the medium in which she presented her writing. As a creative writing minor, I'm a sucker for short stories. I also loved her imagery and beautiful descriptions of her characters. Here is an example of her describing the food I walk past and see people cooking on the street every day.  
 
"She was sitting on a low stool with her load before her. Like all the loads the other women would bring from the farms into their homes, it was colourful with miscellaneous articles. At the very bottom of the wide wooden tray were the cassava and yam tubers, rich muddy brown, the colour of the earth. Next were the plantain, of the green colour of the woods from which they came. Then there were the gay vegetables, the scarlet pepper, garden eggs, golden pawpaw and crimson tomatoes. Over this riot of colours the little woman's eyes were fixed, absorbed, while the tiny hands delicately picked the pepper. I made a scratchy noise at the door. She looked up and smiled. Her smile was wonderful flashing whiteness (pg 67)."
 
One of her biggest themes that weaves it's way into almost all of her stories are that of women's rights and the changes that neocolonialism has on Ghanaian and African women in general. I really enjoyed this because I think we all have a perception and preconceived image of African in our heads. We don't need to visit and see and experience anything in order to stamp a label on the continent. Instead we get our experience from all the books, facts, and stats that we learn each and every day. Ama Ata Aidoo changes and challenges these thoughts by representing the modern African woman. A woman who speaks with as much sass in her voice as I do, a woman who isn't afraid to say what is on her mind, a woman who wears westernized clothing, and a woman who struggles with balancing pre, post, and neocolonialism. She slips in little lines that make the reader sympathize with her struggles.
 
"But I was a teacher, and I went the white man's way.... As I passed the old people, they shouted their greetings. It was always the Fanticised form of the English (60)"
 
Aidoo focuses a lot on the changes that Ghana goes through and is still going through post-colonialism. She wrote this set of short stories shortly after independence was gained and focuses them around the struggles of a newly independent country. As a female who is struggling even now to gain any respect in this country I really enjoyed seeing the same struggles through her eyes and words. In the story titled "For Whom Things Did Not Change" she empowers the woman to challenge the system and follow her dreams. She talks about the gender opression and expresses how independence hasn't change the struggle women face each and every day. She touches on neocolonialism through the descriptions of dress, makeup, and even language without realizing it.  The western world has a new form of colonialism over Ghana and many other parts of the world in general through fashion and modernization. Overall, Aidoo brings to light many strong and controversial topics that are still very much at large in Ghana today.  It was almost a little disheartening to see how similar things still are now in terms of women’s rights. 

Jorge Luis Borges is an internationally known author and poet… an icon and ambassador for Argentina, and above all for Buenos Aires.  In a place where literature was the art form that allowed for a people to shine and be recognized by their former colonizer crown, Borges is a name on the top of the list.  Above is a picture of a street sign in my neighborhood, the barrio of Palermo, where Borges was known to have lived.  Literacy as a whole skyrocketed in Argentina in the first half of the 20th century. There are bookstores, librerías, all over every city.  This generalization really came into perspective recently, since I just returned from my spring break in Chile, where the amount of book stores in Santiago seem minimal to nonexistent in comparison to Buenos Aires. This is not to say they are any less literate, or do not have their respective artists that represent their country (Pablo Neruda and Gabriel Mistral to name a few Chileans), it’s more that Argentina paved the way for all Latin American writers to become read worldwide and known worldwide for where they’re from.
 
Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings is a collection of Borges’ works, translated and organized into categories: Fictions, Essays and Parables. His short stories (Fictions) dip in, develop, and end with a complete drawing of a character and that person’s story. And in what I have read, twists, secrets, murder, religion, dreams, history, truth and identity are frequented themes, the last holding particular importance. Cultural heritage and actual legal identity like that of “The Shape of the Sword,” or family identity in “Emma Zunz,” and even existence of identity in “Everything and Nothing” seems so Argentine to me. Defining a culture can be so difficult, especially when that culture is made up of so many others, like in Argentina and many other countries in Latin America. Writing helped define Argentina and allowed Buenos Aires to shine to the point where even Spain could not ignore the city.
 
But what does it mean to be Argentine, and thus an Argentine writer? Who is Borges, really? What does he tell us about his nation, his self? Does not one’s writing always let this trickle between the words? Borges himself addresses such questions in his essay, “The Argentine Writer and Tradition.”  He notes that much of it, as others have claimed, begins with the “gauchesque,” or the writings and poetry of the gauchos, or those of the countryside that could be considered the ‘cowboys’ of Latin America.  Yet, he then turns around and states that his belief is that writers do not necessarily need to define themselves in terms of themes or national traits. “The idea that Argentine [writing] should abound in differential Argentine traits and Argentine local color seems to me a mistake” (180). And thus this further complicates what makes an Argentine writer truly Argentine.
 
What he eventually gets at, however, is that an Argentine is truly a mutt, and adopts different ideas culturally, just as Shakespeare and other examples of great writers and poets. A text is “no less Argentine for having accepted such influences” (182). I find that the city of Buenos Aires is no less Argentine for having Italian influences mixed with Latin American vibes. And the presence of Italian and other European influences are felt strongly, because history here in Buenos Aires is felt “profoundly” (183). Borges said it, and in my experiences thus far, I only know it to be true. And because the history is profound and abundant in different cultures, the country of Argentina, “our patrimony,” should thus truly be “the universe” (185), and this I feel, too.
 
Borges, Jorge Luis. Labyrinths. New York: New Directions Publishing Corporation, 1964. Print.

“Abu Dhabi: Oil and Beyond” by Christopher Davidson was really interesting to read because it highlights and discusses one of the questions most consistent in my mind this semester: “What does ‘developed’ mean?”
 
As I go around this city, I see wide streets, tall buildings, fancy everything (like the fountains in the picture), and healthy, educated people.  For most measures of ‘development’ Abu Dhabi and the UAE are doing not just fine, but spectacularly.  However, in many ways the country is not up to par, and has not prepared itself well for the future.  One main point that Davidson points to is diversification, and another one that I often encounter at my internship, is human capital.
 
For the first point, the economy here is based significantly on oil, which makes up nearly all of the country’s revenue and exports.  The huge wealth in this resource has provided many great things to Abu Dhabi, but has also made it heavily reliant. With oil prices being volatile- changing daily based on external factors the UAE can not control or predict, the government is fearful that it can be at risk of too many fluctuations.  So one of the main goals of the country is to diversify the economy and introduce new industries.  Exploring these opportunities shows that a beautifully designed infrastructure funded by oil is really a façade to a society that knows very little what else to do.  In this sense, Abu Dhabi is not very developed.
 
Going along with diversification is human capital.  The Emirati citizens make up only 10-15% of the residents of the country and receive fantastic benefits strictly for being such.  They receive free education, money for getting married, high starting wages, and enormous discounts on social programs.  They get all of this for doing very little, and because of how pervasive and lucrative oil is, there are few other industries that they see worth joining themselves, instead they let foreigners do it all.  This again causes the country to lose control of its own trajectory.  But to take back control the citizens need to have incentives to form an entrepreneurial spirit and make profit from good ideas.  Although most of the citizens now are educated, they still do not use this to forward themselves or the economy as much as other societies.  This similarly is not a ‘developed’ characteristic.
 
With these two points of how Abu Dhabi still has a lot of development to do comes the interesting fact that the country must also address many other problems of ‘development’ that are further down the line for other nations.  For example, Abu Dhabi is running out of water and food, and is in need of alternative energies.  The unique combination of these needs and the vast wealth means that the UAE can approach, and possibly solve, these ‘development’ issues before the other countries have to.  This puts them into a fascinating position.
 
Lastly, Davidson also points out some societal developments such as migrant labor, censorship, and the creation of tourism.  How to deal with these issues is part of the every day discourse here and involves human rights, inclusive growth, and cultural essentialization.  All of these factors are very pressing here in the Emirates and the approach to them can help forward development around the world.
 
In conclusion, my semester in Abu Dhabi and reading Davidson’s book has forced me to reconsider my perspective on my major, development.  It is not a process with an end, but rather continues for each society as new issues arise and they feel like they can further improve upon themselves.

I enjoyed reading famous American chef, Julia Child’s account of her time in France, My Life in France… just not enough to read the entire book.  I must admit that I got very caught up in reading Harry Potter et L’École de Sorciers (amongst other things).  Luckily, I was able to glean a few excellent tidbits from Ms. Child’s ode to French food, culture and people.

My favorite thing was when I would be reading about a place where she had dined or met friends and find that I either knew the place or had just passed its metro stop.  Julia’s French experience, although similar in locations to mine, differs from it in that she came to France pretty much knowing only her husband, Paul.  However, she and Pail were adventurous; “hungry,” if you will, for all things French and quickly made their way into the culture here.  I find that I am more shy than they.  I also have had the luck (and misfortune in some ways) to have come to France amongst MANY other Americans (they are lovely but I allow myself to speak English to them which only hinders the progress of my French).  Julia and Paul met many, many new people in the pages that I read and tried many, many restaurants and French dishes.  (So many that it would be very difficult to read the book if one was hungry - in the same way that it is now difficult for me to look at the above picture of macrons that I took a few months back).  I want to try to add some of their adventurous spirit into my time here (which seems to be running out so quickly!)

I was particularly struck by Julia’s short description of her time at Smith College, she says she was “a pure romantic, and only operating with half [of her] burners turned on; [she] spent most of her time growing up” (69).  I feel that this describes much of what I am going through now, being a young college student who has gone abroad to discover myself in quite a romantic way.  I don’t even know how many burners I have let alone whether or not I am using them all!  And don’t even get me started on growing up!  I am overwhelmed in the best way possible by everything that I am learning here as I continue to grow up in this new place. 

Julia’s time in France completely changed her path in life; she would never have gone to Le Cordon Bleu to learn the art of French cooking had she stayed in Pasadena, California.  I know that I too have been irrevocably influenced by France and my French experiences.   I may not be about to go out and write a cook book about it, but I know that nothing but good can come from having lived in this country.

While the Italians I live with explain a lot of reasons for the crazy actions I see around Florence, it was nice reading about every little detail in Beppe Severgnini’s La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind. Everyday I pass through more than one piazza, such as Piazza San Marco or Piazza Della Liberta. In his section about Tuscany, he introduced the use of each piazza. While I thought they were all just squares where people or cars can pass through, I learned that there were many different piazzas in Italy. For example there is the commercial piazza, political piazza, working piazza, theatrical piazza, sexual piazza, sentimental piazza and therapeutic piazza. In each description I tried to see if there was place in Florence with a “political piazza” or if there was a “sexual piazza.” In the beginning I considered them all tourist traps, however now I understand that the Piazza Signoria is an important political square because in Palazzo Vecchio is where there are important city meetings and events. If I had to pick a square that would be a “sexual piazza” it would be Piazza Santa Croce. While in the day time the beautiful square’s focus is the church's facade, at night time it fades into darkness and the  focus becomes the loud music and alcohol from the clubs on Via di Benci. I was told to never go behind the church at night because of how dangerous it can get.

The multiple uses of piazzas is very fascinating after Beppe Severgnini pointed this out to me. From the moment I got to Italy, I sensed that the Florentines have no problem staring at you because your a tourist. However, La Bella Figura explained that Italians stare at everyone and piazza’s are the place to be entertained. An example of these “stage-like squares in Italy is Capri’s Piazzetta. People sit outside four bars - The Gran Caffe, Al Piccolo Bar, The Bar Tiberio, and the Caffe Casso- and watch the world stroll by. When the actors get tired they sit down and members of the public take their place” (98). I was a victim of this theatrical act in Piazzetta in Capri over spring break. Because the Island is so small, the locals congregate where the tourist go as well. Tourists are their business, however I learned they still like to mess around with the foreigners. Walking through this square, I was stopped by the host at Bar Tiberio. The man insisted we come in for his 10 euro pizza and dragged me and my friend inside. As soon as we saw the frozen pizza in the display, we were not going to spend that much on prepackaged food for lunch. Chasing after us, the men around the square laughed because we didn’t fall for his trick. The tourists at these piazzas provide the old Italian men smoking cigars with a comedy show because most of the time they don’t even notice the frozen food and will be oblivious to the tricks they play on them.

People watching is an enjoyable activity and I learned that Italians have no shame of judging or staring at your outfit. These squares were created hundreds of years ago although their traditions continue. From people watching to commerce they are a place to enjoy yourself over an espresso and gelato. These piazzas all have churches in them although Beppe Severgnini explains that “People come here to see and to be seen, which is why they are happy and return the smiles they expect” (99).

 

Work Sited:
Severgnini, Beppe. La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind. New York: Broadway, 2006. Print.

Prior to studying abroad, Los Angeles and Israel were ‘home’. I rarely ever referred to New York as home, always viewing it as somewhere that I was temporary living.  The thought that I would soon be referring to Italy as ‘home’ seemed impossible. I grew up in an Orthodox Jewish household and the thought that Italian culture could be similar to the culture that I grew up in never crossed my mind. However, two months later, I catch my self repeatedly referring to Italy as home (even if it is a temporary one). After reading Camille Cusumano’s “Italy, A Love Story: Women Write About The Italian Experience,” I realized that although many may not realize it, Italian culture is very similar to Judaism. Saturdays were my day to rest, hang out with friends, and spend time (most of which was done eating) with my family. I had always assumed Sunday was everyone else’s equivalent to ‘my’ Saturday, but I guess I was wrong. In her introduction, Cusumano writes “our weekly socializing often took place on Saturdays” (X). There was similarity number one.
I couldn’t put the book down. I was eager to figure out more similarities and to share my new findings with my family and friends. I was born and raised in America, but Israel was always my second home.
As I continued reading the book, I came across the short story Aromatherapy, Italian Style and noticed even more similarities. Cusumano introduces us to Holly, a cancer survivor, who came to Italy to experience Tuscany. Although I am in Florence to study the Italian language, culture, and art, she and I share a similarity. Upon her arrival, Holly was shocked by the strong scents, which feel the streets.  Although I’m extremely sensitive to the often-unpleasant smells, such as the whiffs of urine or the smell of ripe cheese, I am immediately reminded of Israel. Israel is filled with intense aromatherapy, whether it is the fresh falafel being dipped in oil, or the week old beer, spilled in the cracks of the stone streets. Of course there are times when I am forced to hold my breath in an attempt to avoid the nauseating smells.  I have come to appreciate these different smells, but over time I have come to appreciate them. Not only do the smells of Italy remind me of Israel, but also I believe that each scent can teach you something about the culture of the place you are visiting.
Ultimately, over these past two and a half months I have come to notice similarities between Italy, Israel, and America, making me feel at home. Although it sounds strange, I guess smells really do have a bigger impact than I thought.  

Work Sited
Cusumano, Camille. Italy, a Love Story: Women Write about the Italian Experience. Emeryville, Cal.: Seal, 2005. Print.

I chose “The Foreigners” by Maxime Swann because she came and spoke to my creative writing class last semester. It was intriguing to me to read a work where I’d met the author and therefore, had a sense of the mind that created the story. I knew that the characters were based loosely on people she had encountered so I thought that would be interesting to see what sort of people are colorful enough to inspire a book. Overall, I found the characters to be unbelievable, acting in ways that actual people wouldn’t. I did relate strongly to one particular theme – the behavior of the upper class.  

The great consciousness of class is a very prevalent notion in Buenos Aires. It is breached mainly through the character of Isolde, an Austrian who wants more than anything to be a part of the ex-patriot upper class. Awareness of wealth and pedigree is incredibly strong in Buenos Aires, more so in my opinion than in the United States. For porteños, they must live in an elegant Recoleta (or maybe Palermo because it’s quite trendy nowadays) apartment, maintain a maid and furnish their home with European antiques. Probably, they have a weekend estancia in Olivos or Pilar. My homestay madre is part of this class and the strangest part about it is that they don’t see themselves as upper class. It’s the norm to them to have a weekend home because all their friends do. My homestay brother thought it was strange when my roommate and I told him that neither of us has one. They don’t act snobbishly, but the separation of wealth in Argentina has left the upper class kind of clueless.

The wealthy ex-patriots are another story. The ones I’ve met are young and live in Argentina because their jobs are online and can be done from anywhere, computer programming, finance, etc., and they can live a higher standard of living here while still getting paid in their native currency. All of them live in Palermo and run in the same circles, going to the same trendy bars and having gentrified asados together on Saturdays. Though they live in Argentina, it’s not an Argentine existence.

Swann captured their lack of involvement with Argentine culture well with a scene about a group of ex-patriot women who meet weekly to discuss their problems and initiatives. They chose to ban Argentines from their get-togethers because they didn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. In other words, they aren’t trying to integrate. I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve experience pangs of this unfriendly sentiment. Even after 6 months here, I have very few Argentine friends. Not for lacking of meeting them, I’ve met many, but I haven’t felt a connection to many. I’m further ashamed to say that the Argentines I feel closest to are from the upper class previously discussed. This is not to say that I’m the face of refinement, but the upper class Argentines have been more relatable from a Western perspective. Swann definitely captured this class hierarchy in her novel.
 
The picture is of my fancy homestay Recoleta living room. Note the antique furniture and ample windows displaying the European style building across the street and park at the corner.