“I can tell you’re American by three things……..
- You ordered a Cappuccino after lunch
- You are studying abroad in Florence
- You only speak English”
Ouch. I laughed as my cousins went back to talking to their friends at lunch in Courmayeur, Italy. Trying to look the least uncomfortable as possible, I sat at the end of the table swirling the foam in my cappuccino. I couldn't understand a word they were saying.
At least I wasn’t alone, making this one of the better episodes in my series uncomfortable situations.
I am a pretty independent person and like to pride myself on that. I have traveled around Europe alone before, never getting lost for more than 10 minutes. However, I can’t seem to shake that feeling that everyone around me is thinking “American, American, American”. It’s something I don’t really think about when I booked my weekend trips or decide to go to a café alone.
My mother immigrated from Italy to the US when she was 10-years-old, so am I really an outsider? I constantly struggle with this question. My family still centers around our Italian heritage, yet I am the only one of my siblings who has spent extended periods of time here. For some reason, I feel almost as if I have a deeper connection here but can’t figure out why. I am constantly getting frustrated and upset about my inability to feel like this is home.
On this trip, everyone went to Turin for a few days for the weekend a few people went to Venice and the rest back to Florence while I ventured by myself to Courmayeur-- three hours by bus total. I went to the train station with everyone else to kill some time and because the bus station was near the train station.
I made it through the next hour and made it onto my bus to Courmayeur. I first had to stop in Aosta and switch to a smaller bus up to the mountains. Just my luck though, my first bus was running late, therefore causing me to miss my second bus. I stood there in the cold, dark, bus station— well not even in it, outside—as the people from my first bus all greeted loved ones and went home. I started to tear up and could feel myself losing it. I tried to calm myself, convincing myself everything would be okay but in that moment-- I felt helpless.
I turned and saw a girl around my age, maybe even younger, holding a ticket that said Courmayeur. She looked only slightly less panicked as she ran after the bus driver to catch him before he left. At first, he seemed to have a “sorry about your luck” approach, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. After some tears and persuading, he agreed to drive us to where we needed to be.
I thought about how lucky I was and how horrible my evening could have turned out. In the US, that situation would’ve made me laugh. I would’ve called a friend or someone who lived nearby to come pick me up. Worst case scenario, I would’ve booked a hotel.
I get really upset when I find myself struggling but don’t know why. It’s not like one day I will wake up and speak the language. I have attempted to learn but between my age and dyslexia, learning languages doesn’t come easy. I am lucky that my cousins speak pretty good english, but I'm embarrassed that I have to sit at the table in silence when they switch languages. Being in a different country warrants uncomfortable feelings that would take years to go away, no matter how many times you have been. As much as I like to think I am a travel connoisseur, situations like this bring me down from my high horse and remind me I am still an outsider.
