Lurago d'Erba

It's been over a week since my last entry, but it feels as if it were yesterday... the time just flies by! It's starting to hit me that I only have one more week left in Italy. Although I will be sad to leave such a wonderful program in such a beautiful place, I think I will be ready to return home. I am growing anxious to see my family and friends, and I need to prepare for RA training. (FYI: I will be home by the 27th, and I will be moving into WashU on August 5th or 6th.)

This week has certainly not been my favourite week, but I have survived. On one hand, the camp director was the most controlling person I've ever met. This was her first year with ACLE and she didn't understand that it is the tutors' job to organize the camp, determine what activities should be done and when. She would propose something unsuitable or in a time frame that is impossible for 50 kids to do.... We would kindly suggest an alternative and explain why it would be better... She would nod her head and say okay... Then, next thing we know, she's hauling the kids out of our classes to do her original bad idea. It was extremely frustrating! On the other hand, my host family was incredible and I really enjoyed my time with them a lot! I guess regardless of the quality of the camp, I'm still in Italy pursuing a passion... so I shouldn't complain!

I had a class of 13 five to seven year-olds. This was my first time having such a young class... and it was definitely eye-opening. One of my students was born in 2004; (I was in high school in 2004)... I've never felt so old. It was kind of fun to have to act overly excited and constantly animated about everything. On day one I created a 'quiet bunny' mask and whenever I put it on, all the students had to show me their 'quiet bunnies' by putting their hands on their heads like rabbit ears and stop talking. It worked pretty well until Thursday afternoon... I guess they started to realize that it's a lot more fun to talk than to pretend you're a bunny.

I also had two kids that were absolutely rotten: Diego and Maxim. They were like Bonnie and Clyde. They were always feeding off eachothers' antics and running around screaming thier heads off, stealing stuff off my desk (including the 'quiet bunny' mask that I worked so hard on!). I learned from my father how to yell with a tone of voice that could scare pretty much anything... needless to say, it came in quite handy this week.

Because my students were at such a low level, I wrote a very simple show for them. We performed The Frog Prince, with a princess asking all these different animals if they are frogs. They respond that they aren't frogs, they are_____. Then she asks the frog, he says yes and asks her to kiss him. She kisses him, he turns into a prince, and they all sing a short song about kissing the frog. It was cute, but not my finest work. I accidentally made my princess cry yesterday because she didn't have her lines memorized. I leaned down to eye level and spoke to her in broken Italian (as I often had to do with this class because their English vocabulary is so limited), saying "Desiree, I gave you the paper on Tuesday and there are only four words! Why aren't they in your memory!?" I guess I'm a little harsh during the show rehearsals because I want it to be good, but I'm learning.

As far as my home stay, it has been really great. I have my own apartment within the house where the grandparents lived before they passed away, so I have plenty of privacy and a huge bed. The father makes belts at a factory and speaks no English. And the mother stays home to tend to the house and their twelve year-old daughter. I'm not really sure how they can afford to live in a house this big, but I've noticed that low-paying 'less-respected' jobs in America are perfectly normal and well-paying jobs in Italy (including waiters, pizza chefs, taxi drivers). The mother knows a fair amount of English but she discovered that I knew some Italian, so she's started speaking to me in Italian instead. Although I appreciate being able to practice a foreign language, I think they assume that I know more than I do. I just pick out words that I know in the sentences and try to piece together what they're saying to me. Sometimes I can... sometimes I can't.

They took me to Lake Como last night, which was beautiful. The lake is at the bottom of these tall green mountains, which have fancy villas scattered along the sides. Apparently George Clooney has a villa there. The water was so clear despite it being such a crowded tourist destination.

I only had one awkward moment with this family, but it was horribly embarrassing for me. On television and in movies, they always show that the most horrible thing that can happen to a visitor while staying at a host's house is to have a problem with the toilet... well, that poor guy you've laughed at on TV is now me. On Tuesday night, we went out for gelato and returned home pretty late. I said goodnight and went downstairs. They said goodnight and that they were going straight to bed. I still needed to make my lesson plan for the next day, so I stayed up for a while longer. After finishing, I needed to go pee before I went to bed. So I go pee... so far, so good. Then I push the little button that makes the toilet flush... still good. Then while washing my hands, I realize that the toilet has been flushing for longer than normal. I look over and the button is still pushed inside the wall. I try to pull it out, but to no avail. I get tweezers out of my bag, and use them as pliers to try to pull the button out... it won't budge. By this point, I'm getting a little concerned and beads of nervous sweat are forming on my forehead. I try twisting it a little bit... it moves... YAY... thinking logically, I twist a little more... BAD IDEA! Water starts leaking out of the flusher hole. Now I know I'm in over my head and need to wake up the family. I look in the mirror for a few moments; long enough to shake my head at myself, chuckle at the misfortune that I thought only occurred in films, and gather enough courage to go upstairs. I climb the stairs louder than usual, reasoning that it would be better if they heard me coming instead of just shocking them to death in the middle of the night. I meekly shout for Elena (the mother). She comes out of her room looking confused. Knowing that her English isn't good enough to understand what I needed to say, and that my Italian isn't good enough to explain that I may or may not have broken her deceased mother's toilet, I just said the word 'problem' in Italian and motioned for her to follow me downstairs. She sees the toilet, shouts "Mamma Mia!" and turns the water off from under the sink. Then she shouts for Orlando to wake up and come fix it. Half an hour later, the toilet is fixed, I am completely mortified, and everyone is up later than they want to be.

I suppose my summer in Italy wouldn't be complete without a good disaster story to laugh about later!