Loudness

by Libby Weber 
What is the deal with all this noise pollution?? I understand that we are living in compact housing, the streets are narrow, neighbors are close, and all the stone walls and hard surfaces reflect noise of any kind. But what’s with the acceptance of loudness at the most inappropriate times of the day? I am the only one that thinks normal sleeping hours are generally 11:00pm to 7:00am? Apparently so. I hear kids screaming long after midnight, boisterous conversations starting at 4:00 in the morning, and obnoxiously loud and high pitch squeals of moped motors any time in between. It doesn’t matter which day of the week it is either. Do they really need to dump all glassware in the recycling bins in the middle of the night? My only saving grace is that the bakery outside my window is closed on Sundays, so I don’t have to get up at 3:45am and close my shutters. If this I was this loud at home during these times, I’d have neighbors that would be giving me dirty looks, local police stopping by asking me to ‘keep it down’. I don’t think two weeks here in Cagli will give me enough time to understand or adjust. And here’s the real kicker….I got shushed and scolded in a foreign language by an Italian women two floors above me for having a phone conversation in the street at 11:00 on a Saturday night! What?!? C’mon…

Sidewalks, Bike Lanes, and Cobblestones

by Lori Shannon
The little town of Cagli was destroyed in battle in 1287 and rebuilt in 1289. People still live in houses that are over 400 years old. The village and its residents have survived famine, earthquakes, and epic snowstorms.

So have the tiny streets that wind in and out and up and down the hills of Cagli. They are paved in cobblestones and are just wide enough for a single compact car to squeeze though. There are no sidewalks or bike lanes. Pedestrians and cyclists must share the narrow one-way streets.

But this doesn’t create problems – everyone patiently waits their turn to cross the intersection. Despite having a car whiz by you, it’s not alarming. You know the driver has navigated these roads for years and has expertly steered his car avoiding anyone on foot or bike. He’s also not driving a gigantic SUV that weighs eight tons and has multiple blind spots.

In the United States, roads are constantly being widened to accommodate more and more vehicles. Sidewalks and bike lanes are everywhere – as a child you’re told to stay on the sidewalk and never walk in the street. Cyclists cling to the bike lane for safety – many drivers are distracted and accidents involving crashes between cars and bikes are too common. Eating, drinking, texting and talking are more important that paying attention to the road for many American drivers.

It’s nice to be in a place were widening streets to add lanes for more cars isn’t an option. Here everyone on the road must get along. In Cagli, the cobblestones and tiny roads don’t discourage people from walking and riding their bikes.

Volume in the Piazza

by Christy Ward
 In the time that we have been in Cagli, it is interesting to be able to realize the small things that have become more apparent of how we, as American citizens, stand out in different ways. One of the things that has stood out to me more and more recently as we sit and enjoy a glass of wine or gelato in the piazza is how loud our group is compared to the Italian people around us.

Our group of students, families and instructors enjoy gathering and creating an ever-growing table that some of the locals join in on. It is a fun time of conversation and a time to wind down after our day of work to debrief or share our experiences and thoughts. This is probably not so unique as compared to what many of the other families do, but what I have noticed is that the volume of our conversations is generally much louder than all the other tables.

It is not uncommon for people to begin to talk or laugh louder as more people join in or there is a point that we want to share in the conversation with others. I now have begun to notice looks and curiousity from other tables as our volume escalates. I am at the point that it has become a bit of an embarrassment. I don’t want to be disrespectful to this community that has so openly and warmly welcomed us, and so as I observe it strikes me that this is a point of dissonance.

Even sitting quietly at a table in the piazza it can be unusual to be able to hear a conversation from an adjacent table. Rarely can you hear a child being fussy or argumentative with their parents. They appear to generally be well mannered and quiet. A similar scenario in the United States could often be louder and more chaotic. This is certainly something in my future travels that I will have a heightened awareness of.

Flow of Life

by Heather Hafer 
A quote from The Doors “Ride the snake…until the end of time” keeps coming to mind as I continue to experience the natural flow of life in Cagli. Life flows as naturally here as the Bosso River just north of town. The Cagliese do not attempt to control time or anything for that matter.

Each day I visit Mimi’s café where I order an espresso from Mimi who greets me with a friendly “Buon Giorno.” People drink coffee together while watching out over the piazza or quietly reading the newspaper. Often people sit quietly content in the presence of one another. There aren’t people rushing about with paper to-go cups of over-sugared coffee-flavored drinks in sizes that could serve an entire family. People simply have one coffee, cappuccino or espresso and, should they need another boost of caffeine in a few hours, they simply return among friends to share another.

Meals are not rushed. There may be a 30-minute wait for the eggplant Parmesan or lasagna being made fresh in the kitchen and if asking for the bill, the staff may wonder ‘what’s the rush?’

Meetings with people may change to new times and often do. Scheduled events often are not at any specific moment in time. Often, things are not what they seem. And the most amazing part of it all is that it all works out perfectly.

If we simply have faith in the natural order of things, and let life meander as it may, we find that we truly enjoy the ride.

The third bowl

by Molly Rupert
 It was time to find out just why there is a third porcelain bowl in the bathrooms here in Cagli and most of Europe. Bowl #1- the sink. Bowl #2 - the toilet. Bowl #3 - the bidet.

The unusual looking contraption, with its multiple water spouts and shower-like attachments, is a standard in every restroom. American’s stretch bathrooms to fit larger showers and tubs, Italians add the third bowl.

I wasn’t sure how to use it beyond a general idea of how it worked. There is no manual and no instructions printed on the side of the bowl. So I did what anyone would do, I Googled it. There are MANY instructions in multiple formats, but the cartoon was my favorite. There are a lot of different ways to say bum!

After I stopped laughing, I got ready, took a deep breath and turned on the water. I made sure it wasn’t too hot… I like those parts down there and burns didn’t sound pleasant.

When the water was just the right temperature, I sat and let the bowl do it’s magic. I moved the spigot here and there to make sure I got the full experience. Sure enough, everything got wet.

Getting the water on your bum isn’t the problem _ the bowl does that for you _ but getting the water off and your bum dry is trickier. It takes some work. Toilet paper sticks _ a lot _ and there would be significantly more laundry if you used a towel each time you used the bidet.

While it was an interesting “cultural experience,” I am going to keep my big shower and leave the bidets here.

Combining work and pleasure? No…!

by Darlene Wilson 
A funny thing happened to me on the way to the piazza. Okay… at the piazza. It was the morning of our first Italian quiz, approximately 7:10 a.m., and as dutiful new students of the language we crammed words and phrases into our brains before we slept, perchance to dream of les mots italiens (hang on that’s French)… parole italiane… (that’s italiano) …a.k.a. “Italian words.” We even used home-made cue cards to reinforce the key words and phrases that Giovanni introduced in class—hopeful that this quick study method would be the ticket to an A on the test.

With cappuccino and breakfast treat in hand we gazed across the piazza for…hmmm… about 10 seconds. “Ready to study?” I say to Shelley. Out came the cue cards.

As the cappuccino cooled nicely (I find it’s already lukewarm when served) we shuffled through the deck of cards: Prime Minister? Mario Monte. Or President? It’s hot! Fa bello! How are you? Com’e sta? Nice to meet you. Piacere. My name is…. Me chiamo, Darlene.

There was a stirring from the table next to us, then a chuckle. Two elderly gentlemen pointed and smiled. Are these ladies crazy? This time is not for work…it is for awakening…greeting the day and each other. Nothing can be SO important that you must interrupt this social time to work. Americani!

Ahhh… but they don’t know the aroma of a freshly earned “A.”

p.s. We’re pseudo-Americani!…known here as Canadese. ☺

Dots on a Map

by Chris Roark 
You won’t find Cagli, Italy brochures in the front window of your local travel agent’s office. As a matter of fact, when using Google Earth, it’s a barely visible “dot” on the northeastern side of Italy. And, when you’re actually in Cagli, the small dot feel is real – home, and all the things we are so familiar with in the U.S., feels a million miles away.

Yet, everywhere I turn, there are people wearing t-shirts, sunglasses, hats, shorts, and flip-flops with American flags, slogans, phrases, and logos. It seems the U.S. is quite popular with people in the Le Marche region of Italy. Maybe it’s a new fashion fad or trend. Maybe it’s been this way for a while. Or, maybe not.

No matter, the dissonance is real. One moment you are lost in time in a charming foreign land, the next, you are reminded of the massive influence we have on the rest of the world – even in those barely identifiable little dots on a map…

Fiat 500L

by Lori Shannon
CNN is reporting that the next model of the Fiat 500L will include an option never before seen in a car - an espresso machine. The news story says, "The 500L is the first standard-production car in the world to offer a true espresso coffee machine that utilizes the technology of the 'A Modo Mio' pods," the company said in a press release. "It is perfectly integrated in the car with a deck designed expressly by Fiat."

This seems like such an odd idea for an Italian company to think of because you don’t see Italians eating on the run or getting a coffee to go. When you ask a barista for a coffee to go, they look at you odd. In Italian culture, sitting down to enjoy a meal or a coffee is the norm. “Take out” and “to go” don’t exist. Since Fiat is tied to the America carmaker Chrysler, maybe this brilliant idea came out of Detroit, not Torino.

While this may seem like a feature that American car consumers would appreciate, according to the CNN report the car is scheduled for release in Italy, not North America. However, backlash about the idea was over safety and that was from Americans. It will be interesting to see if this new option affects Fiat’s sales.

The Bridge

by Molly Rupert
The Italians recycle - a lot. This is not a new concept to them like it is to us in the Western world. They reuse things over and over and over again. Most of the buildings are hundreds of years old. Yes, they have Internet (when it works), lights and modern bathrooms, but the structure of the buildings remains the same. They use what they have until they can’t any more. Their first thought isn’t to destroy the building and build a new one, but how to improve the one they have and make it better for their purposes. There are exceptions. Old and New Cagli are separated by a bridge. It’s a nice bridge, in a modern ”I’m only 60 or 70 years old” sort of way. But on the left, down below the “new” bridge is one that was used for years - about 2,100 years. The Romans built it over 2,200 years ago. Legionnaires walked across it. Great names in history may have lingered there to view the water. It survived multiple wars, famines, floods and other natural issues.

It was still used until the 1950s. But it couldn’t survive the big trucks. According to Prof. Giovanni Caputo, the bridge was replaced because big trucks couldn’t cross. The goods being transported would be unloaded and hand trucked across the bridge into Cagli. So a new bridge was built. The Roman bridge still sits there, resting for more than 60 years. It was used enough.

Conservation

by Tracy Ging
“Non piace?” I am asked again and again by waiters who shake their head and tsk, tsk as they take away my half-eaten pizza. It’s not that I don’t like it; I just can’t eat a pizza double the size of my head. Sadly, I often waste food when I eat out. That’s not something I’m proud of, but I am also not a fan of eating five times what my body can comfortably hold. Yet in the U.S., no one gives it a second thought. I have never registered scorn from a waiter for not cleaning my plate. My impression of Italians is that in general, they consider it foolish to waste. From their careful use of electricity, to bikes or smaller and more fuel-efficient cars, or craftsman industries like shoe repair, there seems to be a concerted effort to conserve. As I hang my clothes out to line-dry, I think about how on earth I would find the time to do my laundry this way at home. But I am also reminded that productivity doesn’t necessarily mean efficiency.

Shopping

by Heather Hafer
My roommate Libby and I completed our first shopping trip at a small grocery store near the piazza. Pleased that we had managed to find most of what we were searching for, including fresh mozzarella and frizzante, we headed up to the cashier to pay. Believing we were waiting in line, we watched a mother stroll her infant up to the cashier to buy diapers. We watched a woman purchase a small item. We watched two nuns meander in front of us to pay for a few items. Surely a nun would not cut in line, I thought. We may still be standing there were it not for the cashier motioning us to move up to the counter. This line we were attempting to recreate was one formed by culture. In American we wait in lines. The Cagliese confidently approach the counter when they are ready to check out and participate in natural order, bending like a willow in the wind.

Pronunciation

by Jessica Guiton
 The morning after arriving in Cagli I entered a cafe and ordered a cappuccino. I told the woman behind the bar “un cappuccino, per favore.” She understood what I wanted and began making my drink. I noticed an old man sitting in the corner who was laughing at me and when I looked at him he said, “CAP-pu-ccino, CAP-pu-ccino.” He was obviously correcting my pronunciation despite the fact that I said the word clearly enough that the person I was actually talking to understood my request. I smiled, laughed, and repeated the word in the same manner as the old man but this incident really made me think once I sat down to enjoy my coffee. All I could thinking was, “who the heck is that guy and who is he to laugh at me and correct my Italian pronunciation.” I don’t think I have ever observed a situation in the states like the one I experienced in Italy. In fact, in most places in the US if a complete stranger tried to correct another person for something as minuscule as the pronunciation of a word I would say that nine times out of ten a verbal argument would ensue.

 I’ve heard from other classmates who have similar stories from their time in Italy so I find it very interesting how in this country they are so particular about the pronunciation of words and will take the time to correct you, while in the US if we can understand what another person is saying, despite that it might be incorrect, we just let it go. My guess is that a lot of it has to do with the big hurry everyone in America seems to be in. It takes time to correct a person and give them a mini-lesson in English, time most people don’t think they have, so they just forget about the mistake and move on.

Building in Italia

by Shelley Svedahl 
At home in Saskatchewan the construction of a new house begins with excavation. Step one: dig a big hole. The next steps are setting the forms and pouring the basement. The solid concrete basement walls are lined with 2 x 6’s for energy-efficient housing.

Here in Italia the foundation is constructed by piling building blocks one-on-top of another. Void spaces are filled with concrete. The process is extremely labor-intensive and involves mixing the cement on site and using a trowel to scrape the cement where it is needed. During this process, the structure is supported by a series of metal posts.

One of the first questions a buyer would ask when considering the purchase of an older home in Saskatchewan is “Is the foundation concrete or cinder block?” Older homes were built with cinder-block foundations, but that was a long time ago. In today’s market those homes are considered a poor investment because of the potential for movement or shifting with the clay-based soil and freezing and thawing weather conditions.

The soil must be significantly different here in Italia. Many of these homes date back several centuries so obviously this method of construction is appropriate to this region.

Market Day in Cagli

by Jill Tellez 
 Every Wednesday in Cagli, vendors come to sell their wares. Instead of shopping at a mall, Cagliese’s have the mall brought to them. There was definitely no shortage of shoe and clothing vendors, which at one point they all began to look the same. With some guided navigation through the narrow streets, you can find a fresh fruit and vegetable section including plants and flowers. In the US, this would be the equivalent of a combined flea market and farmer’s market. The one glaring thing that was missing was prepared food vendors or perhaps a lack of variety in food vendors.

There are two vendors who do come and clearly have reputations are stellar among the regulars: the fried fish wagon and the pork sandwich wagon. Business at the two wagons was steady with a clear demand for their specialty. Unfortunately, those were the only two choices for food besides the existing local restaurants and many of them are only open for dinner. Once again, thinking like an American capitalist, it seems as though an opportunity for additional revenue was lost by the local restaurants by not opening early for the occasion or by not providing a food wagon for additional variety. In the end, it appears to be more customary for the locals to shop for their wares and have their lunch back at home during pausa.

To Stay

by Chris Lopez
When I first came to Italy I found it very difficult to see any cultural differences. Perhaps this is because the majority of my traveling experience has been in Asia. Taking that into account, Italian culture is relatively similar. Now that I've been here for a while I'm beginning to notice a few differences.

One thing that I seem to be having a rough time wrapping my mind around is the inability to order anything “to-go.” When you order something in Cagli, Italy you sit there and eat it. I’m not exactly sure why we as American love our styrofoam packaged food, but we do! We love to eat on the go. Perhaps we are busier than the Italians. Either way, I am starting to enjoy the experience of staying at the Café while I eat.

It’s Not What You Say… It’s How You Say It…

by Darlene Wilson
I think I’m a pretty empathetic person. I try to choose my words with some care—especially in a foreign culture. Today…apparently—not carefully enough.

Here’s the setting. Several tables pushed together—bottles of local vino rosso and vino bianco shared amongst locals and students. Jovial conversation as we discussed the next day’s market.

Lucky enough to be seated next to two native Cagliese, I piped up to show off my italiano.

 “Markato?” I offer. It came out a little louder than I’d anticipated. My Italiano amici (friends) cringed... looking left, then right. “Shhh. Shhhh.” They crouched down and leaned in, apparently for secrecy. “It’s not the right word.”

Of course I knew that I had sinned…but what had I said? Since I’m a visual learner—out came the pen and paper. My interpreter ignored this… a pen and paper was too slow for this explanation, this faux pas!

He told me that my “interpretation/pronounciation” of the word might have two meanings… none of them meaning the communal sense of the market occurring in Cagli tomorrow. The first one he acted out, and it came across as a couple of key words: sheep… and branding. That made sense: marking or branding. The other interpretation? Well let’s just say that that one involved some serious shaking of his head, a little muttering under his breath, and a comment regarding women and unmentionable activities.

And just when I’m starting to feel comfortable.

Mirrors

by Christy Ward 
 It is interesting to realize how vain it may be to discover a dissonance in the use of mirrors in the United States compared to what I have seen in this part of Italy. In the majority of restrooms and establishments it is interesting to note the lack of a mirror being present in most areas including bathrooms. It is also interesting to recognize my own internal reaction to the inability of being able to check my hair or general appearance as I’m washing my hands to return to activities.

 It makes me wonder why this has become such a necessity in our own culture and / or why the same does not exist here in Italy. Is it that we are so engrossed in what our culture has deemed acceptable or attractive that we have to ensure that we attain a certain standard of physical acceptability at all times? Part of this may be how the American culture has evolved through media and so perhaps the culture in this part of Italy has not experienced as much of an influence at this point. Or maybe there is more of a sense of self-acceptability here that does not recognize the need for this personal moment. It has been an interesting observation and reflection regardless.

Portions

by Kim Alba
Every time I buy food and drinks in Italy, I observe the difference in the portions served in Italy and in the U.S. In the U.S., the size of food and drinks served anywhere has grown radically over the decades. I still remember the time before soda came in plastic bottles for a single consumer, when the 12 oz. aluminum can ruled the refrigerator shelves at the convenience stores. Nowadays, we have soda being sold in 24 oz. bottles. The label may say that the contents are for two or three servings, but the American consumer sees this bottle as a “super sized” serving for ONE person. In Italy, the plastic bottle is smaller. Soda is also sold in a much thinner aluminum can. At restaurants, the only item I’ve seen served in a large portion is the pizza. But the pizza has a thin, crispy crust and isn’t loaded down with cheese. Everything else looks small on the plate — at least to my American eyes. The one time I ordered dessert after a dinner of grilled lamb and mixed salad at Osterio Sant’Angelo in Cagli, the warm, dense chocolate cake was smaller than my fist — and as a short person, I have petite hands.

Despite what looks to be smaller portions of food and drinks, I end up fully satisfied.

Day Planners

by Libby Weber
As we soon approach the end of our first week in Cagli, I can’t help but still notice some fellow students (names not need mentioning) feverishly updating their day planners and calendars with various schedule updates – appointments with faculty, details on day trips, etc. Some pages are even tabbed or marked with highlighter, all color-coded and nicely organized. Although I myself do not keep as detailed notes during this trip, I can’t help but continue to create “check lists” throughout the week – just a way to keep my assignments and deadlines on track. At times I even find myself craving post-it notes. But then I sit around the piazza in the morning or in the evening, and as a people-watcher I study everyone else around me. Other than the loud and obnoxious Americans (and some, Canadians) that tend to get riled-up, no one else is pulling out such ludicrous contraptions such as day planners. How in the world do these Cagliese folks keep track of their day? What if they miss a very important meeting? Or an appointment with another Cagliese that ALSO doesn’t have a day planner??

As my time lapses here in Cagli, I begin to understand that maybe it really is just foreign to be so diligent of your schedule. Maybe I won’t need those post-it notes after all. But I am keeping my eye on you fellow students – keeping track if the highlighter usage rate will start to decrease…

Socializing

by Jael Cooper
In Cagli, everyone seems to socialize in the piazza after dinner has finished, even the children. The evening is the time they get together and see how their friends and neighbors have been doing and what they have been involved in that day. In America this time does not always exist, but when it does it is reserved for the daylight or early evening hours. You will not find groups of people eating gelato and drinking wine right next to children kicking a soccer ball. The world of children and the world of adults do not mix so easily. In the American town I grew up in, for example, a few families may gather at one house and spend the early evening chatting while their children are off in the backyard or the playroom. If the adults were to be out together in public, the children are most likely handed off to babysitters who typically feed them and get them into bed before the adults get home. There is a separation of family life that, in Cagli, seems to be more about the integration of friends and children than the boundaries of time and space.

Late Night

by Karen Skoog
Getting used to different times when you travel is more than just jet lag. In fact, jet lag can be the easiest part of the change. You can usually adjust your internal clock after a few days of long naps at odd hours. A bigger mismatch for me is the late night, fairly loud activity in the streets on most nights here in Italy. The houses are closer together, there is less vegetation to absorb the sound and entire families just stay up later, a lot later. My memories of late summer nights outside tended to last until the sun went down unless we were “camping outside” and even as an adult I am not outside much late at night. Here in Italy, outside activity goes on well past midnight, even on the weeknights. Since I am tend to go to bed earlier than that, it can be difficult to sleep when there are major conversations going on in the streets. The ability to stay up late outdoors can probably attributed to mid-day pausa, pleasant temperatures during the late hours and smaller houses where people entertain and socialize less at home and more in communal places. Definitely an adjustment.

Your Last Stroll

by Molly Rupert
To walk or not to walk? That is the question Italian tourists must ask themselves. Unlike California, and much of the United States, pedestrians do NOT have the right of way here. That was learned quickly when the cabby in Florence almost hit a man. The man jumped out of the way, arms flailing. A swear word springing from his lips (some words don’t need an interpreter). The cabbie used the international hand symbol for “stupido” _ the shaking fist _ before racing off to find the next unsuspecting pedestrian. So be cautious where you walk. It just might be your last stroll.

The Miscommunication at the Caffe

by Christopher Lopez
 The word “Café” or “Caffe” in Italian, is pretty much a universal term when referring to an establishment that sells beverages made from coffee beans. Your average American on a summer Euro-trip may me a bit surprised when they enter a European café. In Italy for example, these “Caffe’s” more closely resemble a bar than your neighborhood Starbucks. The walls are lined with a variety of wines and spirits. The person across the counter serves as both a barista and a bartender.

While visiting Cagli Italy I experience a humorous miscommunication with one of these establishments. As an American I find it very odd that alcohol and coffee are served and consumed in the same location. My mind naturally separates the two beverages into the times of day I feel these beverages are normally consumed. In the United States coffee or espresso is a drink for the morning. Also, in the United States alcohol is a drink for the evening. The consumption of alcohol too early in the day is even a taboo.

When I entered this café in Cagli I entered with presuppositions of what a café was. I walked up to the man and asked for two espressos and one latte. He looked mildly confused and repeated “two ‘espritzers’ and one latte?” Now, I am aware of what a spritzer is. I figured “there is no way that this barista would mistake an espresso for spritzers.” A few minutes later the man handed me the one latte and the two light alcoholic beverages I had apparently ordered.

Coffee

by Jill Tellez
Given that I begin every day with a cappuccino, I frequent many of the local cafés for my daily fix. With a language barrier and no Starbucks menu to choose from, just ordering what you want can some times be a challenge. I finally learned how to get what I want on the first round – cappuccino con due caffe’ dopio. The bigger challenge for me is to understand their ordering and paying system. The café owners are so trusting – they serve you your order, let you sit as long as you like and trust that you will go in and pay on the honor system. In some ways it’s similar to the US in that we wait for a bill at a sit down restaurant, but as a counter service café, such as Starbucks, I can’t conceive of them allowing people to pay when they after they are done and ready to leave.

Parenting

by Lori Shannon
Parents in the United States are commonly advised against giving newborns pacifiers. If a baby is given a pacifier, parents are told to wean them off of it as soon as they can. It’s rare to see a toddler or small child running around sucking on a pacifier. Sitting in the piazza, I noticed several children that were at least five or six-years-old running around with a pacifier. Even while playing, they kept their pacifier encased firmly in their mouths.

Another difference in parenting styles is on smoking. If an American parent smokes, he or she is often judged and shamed. Mom or Dad may continue to smoke, but often refrain from doing it around their children. In Italy, parents smoke with little regard to how it may affect their children or anyone else sitting near them. Smoking in public is more acceptable and it seems like there are generally more smokers in Italy.

Life as a Child

by Christy Ward
As I watch the children play around the piazza each evening, late into the night, I am struck by the way of life as a child in Cagli, as compared with children in the United States. Families in American can often begin the evening rituals of getting their children fed, bathed and settled into their beds in the early evenings. Many times I hear of families that have their children in bed by 7:00pm so that the parents can enjoy a relaxing evening to themselves. In other cases children even spend their time planted in front of a television as part of their nightly routine, in preparations for sleep.

In contrast, many families in Cagli bring their children to the piazza in the evening to spend time running about with one another; eating gelato; and enjoying friendly play with others in the community. Even teenagers can be found perched on the wall, socializing with others of their age group who are enjoying the bonding moments together. As I listen and watch I hear the sounds of playful chatter and giggles from happy children who are not spending time squabbling with one another. Chasing balls, riding bikes and running about is the highest priority of the evening ritual for these children.

Coal

by Kim Alba
I ventured to the Coal supermarket for a cucumber and onion so I could make a pasta and tuna salad. After making my choices and bagging them individually, I thought about weighing the veggies. This only came to mind because, at the small grocery store we went on our first day in Cagli, a woman took my vegetables and weighed them. But when I lined up to pay for my groceries at Coal, the clerk looked at my vegetables and told me something in Italian, which I took to mean that I had to get them labeled with the price and weight. So I had to go back to the produce section and figure out how to use the scale/labeling machine. Luckily, I saw each type of vegetable was marked with a number, so I pressed the corresponding numbers for cucumbers and onions for each bagged item and — presto! — out came a label. When I went back to the cashier line, the clerk did not have see any problems with anything else. The experience reminded me that the grocery stores in the U.S. have inputted all their items into computers, so customers just have to bring their produce to the checkout line and the clerk would handle the transaction.

Gastronomic Art

by Tracy Ging
It seems no one photographs food here. Perhaps Instagram hasn’t caught on in Cagli. I look around and not a single cell phone is out – no texting, no checking in on Four Square, no Facebook posts. The restaurant swells with laughter. Family and friends gather, relaxing into a meal. Wine is poured and conversation flows. I watch as a young woman grabs her grandmother’s hand. My meal arrives and I can’t resist grabbing my phone. Surely my friends want to see this pizza. Actually, I suspect they don’t. What am I trying to convey by posting food anyway? My interest in “gastronomic art” captures the attention of the table next to me. They chuckle. I am sure it appears strange. I suppose I use food to symbolize certain experiences. Among the Cagliese, I realize there is a difference between capturing a moment and living one.

Change

by Jessica Guiton
After leaving the United States for the first time in my life I found myself walking the streets and taking in the sights of Florence, Italy. My first experience with a cultural and communication mis-match in this country occurred while making my first purchase in a gelateria. Upon purchasing two bottles of water, which cost two euro, I handed the woman at the cash register a bill for five euro. After looking down to put my wallet away I turned my attention back to the transaction expecting the woman to tell me the amount of my change and to hand me the coins. This is not what occurred. My understanding of the situation was that she forgot to give me my change, therefore; I told the woman that I gave her five euro and indicated that I still needed my change. The woman looked at me with an expression indicating her annoyance and pointed to two coins sitting on top of the counter. It turned out that the woman had remembered my change and she had placed it right in front of me while I wasn’t looking. In the United States it is rare that a cashier won’t hand you the change and in fact, I almost believe that it is disrespectful not to hand a person their change. After making several more purchases I noticed that it was very common in Italy for the cashier to simply place the change on the counter without anything more than a simple “grazie.” This cultural dissonance occurred because I was unaware of the way in which transactions occur and in fact I thought that handing another person money at a cash register was universal. Out of habit I still find myself handing my money directly to the cashier but now I expect my change to be placed on the counter.

Pausa

by Chris Roark
Pausa. With no formal exposure to the Italian language, I had a simplistic idea what this term meant. To pause. To take a break. But, from what?

Twenty-four hours after arriving in Cagli, Italy, I was able to witness pausa. However, even after 72 hours, I’m not sure I can fully process the idea. After all, most of us here visiting come from a frantic 24x7 American way of working and living (or is it?). The concept of pausa is as foreign (to me) as the language itself. Closing your business in the middle of the day? Shutting down your computer? Turning off the lights and locking the doors to go home, eat and maybe rest for a few hours? Insanity! How can they do this? Yet, somehow it works.

From what I can tell, Cagli’s society hasn’t collapsed because of pausa– it appears to be doing rather well. People appear to be content, maybe even happy. What a novel concept! By the time I get home I’m certain I’ll feel an almost genetic urge to walk out of my office and disappear for 2-3 hours. Ahhhhh, if only…

A bit of cultural dissonance

by Karen Skoog
“As soon as you walk in the room, on your right or left, a little below shoulder level you will see a small rectangular plate with knobs coming out of it. To illuminate the room, push the knobs upward.” We cannot imagine having to outline these instructions in such detail to anyone when they entered a room. In the United States the placement and function of light switches is so standard that we can locate and use them in the dark. Recently upon entering a hotel in Italy, though the switches were in their usual place, we could not figure out how to turn on the lights. After much experimenting, we called the front desk and were told to insert the key card for the lights to function. We wondered how we would have figured that out without talking to the concierge and why that was not explained to us. They probably could not imagine having to explain “As soon as you walk into the room, …”.

Knowing Smiles

by Shelly Svedahl
Bright sunlight and exhausting heat are welcome features here in Italia but I’m wondering if its possible to have too much of a good thing. I wear my straw hat and sunglasses wherever I go to create my own shade.

Yesterday I opted for an indoor seat for the pausa and sipped my cappuccino quietly inside. In my upbringing, it is considered disrespectful to wear any type of a hat while indoors, so I immediately removed my hat and placed it on the table next to my cappuccino. Observing the activity of the coffee shop I snapped photos and was busy jotting notes when the server approached me and spoke in what I perceived was an angry annoyed voice. She was pointing at my table and I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble for depositing my hat on the table or if maybe my photographing and note taking was offensive or if perhaps it is bad form to set your hat on an eating surface.

I stammered my best “non parlo italiano… non capisco”… and waved my arms apologetically. Canadians are always quick to say “I’m sorry” so I added my best Italian accent and threw in the “Mi dispiace”.

In the end, we were able to communicate and I learned that she was complimenting me on my hat. Had I not been so worried about the possibility of offending her because of my cultural incompetence, I might have understood her gestures and realized they were not adversarial. We shared a laugh and each time I see her now, we exchange a knowing smile.

Grocery Shopping

by Libby Weber
As my roommate Heather and I attempted our first purchase into a Cagliese grocery market to stock on some apartment essentials – myself with a deceivingly heavy basket of can goods, olives and cheeses, and Heather arms full of oversized water and juice bottles – we stood in what we anticipated as being a checkout line. The same line we are used to standing in at the Kroger or Whole Foods back at home did not technically exist in this little market. We continued to stand there, trying not to get in anyone’s way, as numerous other shoppers approached the counter and took charge of their purchases. We looked at each other wondering if these shoppers were intentionally budging in line because we were invading their territory. And trying to remain respectful of the locals and their market and their routine, we continued to take small hesitating steps backward, shying away from everything unfamiliar. Finally, the checkout lady with a goofy smile on her face signaled to come forward and share the counter space with what seems to be no order whatsoever. So I guess when it comes to small Italian markets (or at least those in Cagli), you fend for yourself – and your groceries – when finalizing your purchases.

Outcome

by Jael Cooper
A recent photography assignment required me to wander the streets of Cagli in search of a reflection. I came across a gentleman washing his car who just so happened to have a distorted reflection of a building in combination with the upper half of his body thrown back upon my camera lens. As he already saw me with lens poised to shoot, in an attempt to actually take the picture, I pulled out my English to Italian dictionary. Both finding and pointing to the word reflection for him to read, he nodded his head in apparent understanding and gestured for me to take the picture. As I lifted the viewfinder to my eye he quickly pulled out the now very dirty bucket of water he had been using to wash his car and held it up to my lens. I discovered that despite sharing the word reflection we had two very different understandings of what my gesturing to his project meant. My inability to verbally explain my desire resulted in a nonverbal agreement in which both of us assumed a different outcome to be the result.

Touch

by Mackenzie Yates
Physical touch is a normal part of human interaction and communication. American’s tend to shy away or consider it taboo to use too much physical interaction. It is common within families to hug, kiss, or touch each other. If you are not part of the family, we are taught at a young age to keep our hands to ourselves and stay away from strangers. This does not seem to be the case in Italy.

Today I sat outside a café, drinking a beer and people watching. I was surprised to see two men greet each other with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The interaction between them looked casual and natural. I had expected this behavior from Italian woman but to see two men that cozy was unexpected. Women are considered to have a more affectionate nature than men because they are expected to be feminine and motherly. In America, if two men were seen hugging and kissing, they would be assumed gay. Straight men will give handshakes, back slaps, or high fives to show their affection. Masculinity is a trait that men strive for but I have realized this is shown in different ways between our cultures. The cultural dissonance between a culture that embraces touching and affection vs. a culture that considers it generally offensive to be too close is fascinating.

A Quick Dinner

by Sherri Peterson
After arriving in town late Saturday night from Rome, a few students got together for dinner. It was around 930 and thought we would catch a quick dinner and hopefully getting to bed early. We went to a new (to us) restaurant and sat there an hour before we were able to order and then it took another hour before we got our food. All of us were exhausted from our weekend travels and were looking forward to getting to bed early since classes resumed the next morning.

However, most of us had slipped back into the American way of thinking (without really recognizing it). I was trying to be respectful of the cultural differences to the view of meals: In Italy a meal is an event; you take the time to enjoy your family/friends. However, from the perspective of my dining companions, the dinner took way too long to a point of being outrageous or unacceptable. (Some of the people at the table were considering asking for the meal to go, or to ask them to cancel the food and just pay for the wine.) Although I was exhausted from the day, I was willing to respect their traditions and norms.

I am sure that the staff viewed us as “bruta forma” (bad form/ugly American) because we were so impatient and wanting to leave so quickly. People were upset that we sat there for over an hour without having our order taken, and then waited another hour for the food to come. By the time we got the check (and believe me, we paid immediately) we didn’t get out of there until after 12:30am. It was a good reminder that just because we are tired or hungry, that you can’t expect others to conform to your approach to life. Personally, I really enjoy the Italian approach to meals, and using the time to nourish your soul as well as your hunger. So when I return to the states, I hope that I take a bit of their values back with me and remember to take my time and use the meal as a reason to gather and connect with each other instead of another thing to get through before I can move along to the next item on my “to do” list.

Getting sick

by Laura Snyder
Getting sick abroad is a whole other experience unlike getting sick at home while in the United States. In the U.S., while running a fever and unable to eat or drink the patients are encouraged to use a fan to circulate the airflow and help regulate their temperature. Vise versa, if the patient is unable to maintain body heat they take warm baths and cover him or herself with blankets. In Italy, the people are suspicious of using fans believing that no matter what is wrong with the patient, having air flow will lead to pneumonia. While healthcare in Italy is universal, so all patients including international travelers are covered, going to the doctor can potentially complicate a patient’s healthcare plan, and so patients are often cared for by family and friends unless their condition continues to worsen or become too serious to handle without a physician. However, in the United States, where healthcare is privatized, it is culturally encouraged for patients to see a doctor no matter how minor or serious their condition is, just to ensure they will be all right. Though I have traveled extensively throughout the world, and have experienced varying illnesses in different countries, I have found one thing to be constant and true: no matter where you are, or in what culture, when you are sick all you want are your parents to make you feel better the same way they did when you were a child, even going so far as insisting your father take time off work and fly to a remote Italian village just to make you feel better. Sadly, when you become an adult those once honored requests are often laughed at.

Fifteen-minute rule

by Laura Hutchinson
Week two in Cagli has been a very different experience than week one. I feel myself adapting to certain cultural ways as if they are my norm. Discussing life in Cagli with other students it is apparent that we all may have a bit of culture shock upon returning home to the states, just as we did when we arrived in Italy. It is amazing how quickly a person can adapt to “Il dolce far niente” (The sweetness of doing nothing).

It has become easier to interact with the locals. Although my Italian has only mildly improved, my confidence in trying has increased. Patritzia, the woman I interviewed luckily speaks English, so we have been able to teach each other things along the way. Cultural dissonances have gone deeper than using the wrong word, noticing differences in food, and driving practices. They now are found by conversation and deeper interaction with those who live here.

Patrizia has been incredibly kind since the moment I met her. She has introduced me to her friends, invited me to dinner, and taken me outside the city walls to explore. In chatting with her, I realized that some basic educational practices are not only different than what I am used to, but completely opposite. She described an experience at her campus in Urbino, Italy. Each class is allotted one hour of class-time. However, in true Italian fashion, class starts late. There is a known fifteen-minute delay in starting class to give individuals a chance to arrive. Not only are students expecting this leniency, they will challenge the professor if he/she begins teaching class before these fifteen-minutes have passed.

As soon as she explained this to me I couldn’t help but laugh. “It is exactly the opposite in the US”, I explained. At my university, there was a fifteen-minute rule, but it meant something quite different than the rule in Urbino. If a professor was fifteen-minutes late to class, students were able to assume that the professor was not going to attend class for that day. Students would diligently watch the clock for one second past that fifteen-minutes, take a quick look around to get a visual consensus from other students, and leave class for the day. Professors could not reprimand students for leaving if they came late, because they had “wasted enough of our time”.

The cultural comparison was fascinating to me. It blatantly showed the difference in perception of time between the Italian way and that of the US. Differences like this can seem small, but truly show so much about the roots of our various cultures. Only by diving deeper into conversations with locals, and questioning norms and local practices, can we get greater detail about cultures around the world.

Il Dolce Far Niente

Il Dolce Far Niente - the sweetness of doing nothing
by Mary Stover

Americans want things done NOW. We want our coffee to go and we want to eat while we drive. We don't waste time. The Italians have perfected the art of enjoying life, one moment at a time.

At Caffe d'Italia, Jake forcefully encourages American students to sit down and enjoy their meal/coffee before they pay. This isn't normal for us; we pay and we leave. This sitting down business gets us all in a flutter. For two weeks, I've tried to pay before I've left the counter. I try to wait for my coffee before I sit down, and each time, without fail, Jake shoos me to a seat at a table on the patio. Whether I want it or not, I'm being shoved into relaxation.

The crazy part? I am loving it. I am hoping beyond hope that I can keep this going when I get home. I want to take moments to enjoy my life, my dog, my job, my coffee, my friends, etc. This notion of doing nothing scrapes at my very core, it fights my instincts to avoid all appearances of laziness - and encourages me to relax and breathe. It's awkward. It's new. It's odd. It's alluring.

Here's to more delicious moments on the patio!

The piazza

by Bonnie Brandes
Loud bells announce the arrival of the early evening - it is 5:30. Elderly men line up against the old stone medieval building. As the sun relinquishes its power, people begin to open the worn shutters to welcome the evening breeze. I sit in amazement on how the town piazza fills as a meeting place for people meet or some just to sit. There are no cell phones on tables or distractions of really any kind. People sit alone with their thoughts waiting to welcome a stray friend to conversation. It reminds me when I am alone waiting for someone, I usually am checking my e-mail or surfing the internet on one of many mobile devices. Here they sit in silence at times. It seems special almost hard for me to imagine how to slow my mind to that pace. Time seems unimportant.

Cagli is bustling but peaceful. Large delivery trucks dwarf the small cars that scurry around the square. Same cars repeatedly pass. A banana yellow Vespa whizzes by with a distractingly noisy motor. Cigarette smoke and engine exhaust fill the mountain air. Mimi’s restaurant is the only place open in the square today and every table is full. It is an inviting scene of family and friends spending time together. In the middle of the piazza, pigeons splash in the babbling fountain. The fountain sounds almost like a slowly running faucet. At the base of the fountain, a dark-headed, middle-aged gentleman gently holds a small girl over water, which she welcomes with a quick burst of laughter. Giggles overtake her little body as her mom gazes with a gentle smile from afar.

Two young girls hold hands and walk in a skipping pattern. Italian quickly rolls out of their mouths like a song. It is time for an evening stroll. Young and old walk arm in arm. Couples walk hand in hand. A middle-aged woman pushes an elderly man around in a wheelchair. Another man pushes a woman in a wheelchair up to the table to see her friends. She wears heavy makeup and dazzles in gold and pearls. They share a drink and laughter together. Life is bliss. Smiles fill faces. I sit here in silence contemplating my thoughts. The pressure of time is seems consistent in my life. I live in a world of multi-tasking and overscheduled days. The change is shocking to my soul. I breathe deeply to inhale the peace around me.

Motion Sickness

by Marty Lane
Most of my life I’ve suffered from motion sickness. A sudden curve in the road or a wrong turn of my head can produce a debilitating condition of nausea and vomiting especially if I am a passenger. I trained my husband to negotiate curves slowly and even to avoid curvy roads altogether. At home, the broad and expansive interstate system gifts us with long easy curves. Italian roads and public transportation do not coddle my ailment; respect for center lines and speed limits is compromised; traffic laws are seldom enforced. Buses negotiate hairpin curves at the extreme left side of the road, cabbies weave artfully through traffic at uncomfortable speeds never using turn signals; most drivers are expert at dancing with transgressors of the line. My initial resistance to the Italian driving paradigm was severe and I ventured out doped on Dramamine. On recent trip to several small cities in Umbria, I determined to quit pampering and medicating my issue; for the first time, I rode the curves with no adverse consequence. Learning to live with the dissonance—it’s a gift I will take back home.

Piazza life

by Theresa Carpine
After a week in Cagli, I feel like I have a pretty good handle on “piazza life.” We go inside to order our drinks, we pick them up at the bar and take them outside, and we return to the bar inside to order another round or pay. Perhaps I’m a bit overconfident in my abilities, though, as demonstrated last night when I tried to pay for my glass of vino.

A different barista had served me than the young woman currently behind the bar. I had my money in hand to pay, but I assumed she knew that I was familiar with the Italian protocol, understanding that I wanted to close out my tab. I thought she was asking what I had to drink. “Vino rosso?” “Si, uno,” I said and watched her get another glass and a bottle of wine. “No, no, no,” I said shaking my head and waving my hand, “Il conto, per favore.” “Ah!” she nodded, putting down the bottle and glass before collecting my Euros.

Up until that moment, I had been very careful to say “The check” when I wanted to pay. Although I had adapted to the culture of piazza and bar life in Italy, she still saw me as an outsider, unfamiliar with Italian customs. The assumptions of both parties—the barista and myself—led to a moment of confusion between our cultures.

Trust

by Whitney Stradley
A cultural misunderstanding happened in a café in Cagli, Italy. The café process in Italy differs from the restaurant process in the United States. I believe that my cultural misunderstanding occurred because of the counter. The process of ordering food in the United States in an establishment with a counter includes payment at the counter. In Italy, the customer orders at the counter in the café and then sits down and pays upon exit without being reminded by the server. When trying to pay at the counter at a café, I was told to go sit outside and pay upon exit. I then almost forgot to pay upon my exit because of not being reminded. I believe that the cultural misunderstanding was established because of the trust Italian cafés have in their customers. This level of trust in customers is a foreign concept to me. In Italy, one is able to order at a counter and then go sit down and have to remember to pay prior to their departure. This is in my mind, a much more civilized experience and I enjoy the fact that the owner trusts their customers to remember to pay. I can only wonder what this experience would be in the United States and question if the lack of trust everyone has in each other drives the culture to be more cautious and untrusting. Or, if because the society trusts no one, no one trusts themselves as stated by Cardinal de Retz, “a man who doesn’t trust himself can never truly trust anyone else”.

Sweet Home Alabama

by Mary Stover
On Tuesday, June 26th, the townspeople came out by the dozen to enjoy local music. Most of the music was familiar to the American guests, as each song was a cover of something originally written and performed in English.

Throughout the event, townspeople and guests alike sang along with the music. At one point, while the band was singing “Sweet Home Alabama”, the Italian singer, as well as the Italian audience sang in unison, “Carry me home to see my skin…” A few Americans in the crowd were intrigued by the mistake. While some words rhyme and may easily be mistaken in lyrics, Italians wouldn’t typically know that “carry me home to see my kin” meant “carry me home to see my family”…while “carry me home to see my skin” is unheard of and fairly creepy.

A simple word can change the meaning of the entire song!

Cappuccino to go

by Jessica Fresques
Italians do not eat food or drink on the go. In Cagli you do not see locals eating or drinking in the streets or in their cars. Locals enjoy gathering at cafés talking, drinking and reading a newspaper. They enjoy “the sweetness of doing noting” Dr. Caputo says.

As an American student I would like to ask for my cappuccino to-go but I know it is not apart of their culture. Typically my morning consists of me buying coffee at a drive-thru coffee shop. I drink it on my way to school or work.

People in Cagli move at a slower pace and are not in a rush to go places. As I make sense of everything I realize Americans live a more disconnected life. In the morning we do not always take the time to connect. The American culture is faster pace. We have fast food restaurants with drive-thru windows. We disconnect ourselves by not coming together. In Cagli if you order a drink the person behind the cash register will ask if you want a cup. The cup is to use at a table to pour your drink into. It is not common to take your beverage to go. This seemed unusual to me.

Language as a bridge

by Bonnie Brandes
The first night that I arrived in Cagli, I met an outgoing older gentleman named Romero. We bonded watching the Italy vs. England 2012 Euro Cup football match. Since that night, Romero waves eagerly and shouts “ciao” every time he sees me around Cagli. He likes to practice his English but is also very eager to teach Italian. On my second day in Cagli, he was sitting with his friend Gabriel and waved me over to join them. Gabriel had a warm smile. He only speaks Italian so when Romero walked away we began to attempt to communicate. Gabriel gently touched my arm and asked me a series of questions in Italian. With hand signals and broken words I tried to understand anything in his song of Italian. I concluded with my very limited Italian, Gabriel was trying to ask when I arrived in Cagli. In my response I tried to communicate "yesterday or one day ago" and it was clearly creating confusion. My response was not making any sense to him. In fact, it started to create more confusion. We sat together and just tried unsuccessfully for about five minutes until Romero came back to our sitting area. Instantly, I could see a confused Gabriel ask Romero for clarification. Romero promptly told Gabriel that we were leaving after two weeks. Gabriel and I smiled at each other because it was the first moment that made any sense and the confusion was clear. I had misunderstood his question and created more confusion. He was a sweet man that smiled and offer many warm gestures through our efforts. But I was completely frustrated that I was not able to communicate with him more clearly. Language is a bridge that helps you cross over into the world of another cultural.

Cherries

by Sarah Matz
Today, I finally met with interviewee, Pietro. Our actual discussion is set for Monday afternoon, but today he’s taking me to pick cherries for Visciole wine. He doesn’t speak English and my Italian is weak at best, but I arrive at our agreed upon time and location. Despite the intense heat, I’m all set in my sneakers and long pants because I know I’ll be hiking through brush in the steep hills of Cagli. I also have my camera, ready to snap pictures that will help tell Pietro’s story.

First, he takes me through his cantina, or wine cellar. The room is deep below the first level of his house and it’s where he ages the wine and hangs drying meats for salami and prosciutto. Afterwards, he leads me up the cellar stairs, outside, and motions with his hands toward the mountains. He says something that I think means, “let’s go pick cherries.” I agree. He leads me to his car and before I know it, we are driving away from Cagli. He seems nice enough. I was introduced to him by a faculty member so I decide to go with it. After all, I made it out of his dark and musty cellar alive. He also seems to have a gentle eye and kind heart.

Several hours later, I’ve seen the beautiful countryside surrounding all of Cagli, yet only one cherry tree. We haven’t climbed any ladders, filled any buckets with ruby red fruit, or picked a single cherry. Eventually, we make our way back to Cagli and he drops me off in the center of the Piazza. I wave goodbye and hope I’m displaying enough non-verbal graciousness. As he drives away, I am dumbfounded. My first thought is, “What just happened?” The second is, “I can’t wait to peel these jeans off my body and take a cold shower.”

In class today we learned there are six stumbling blocks to effective communication: assumed similarity, language, non-verbal communication, preconceptions and stereotypes, tendency to evaluate, and high anxiety. My day with Pietro was delightful and eye-opening because I discovered new things. However, we stumbled along with very little language in common. We attempted to communicate through hand motions and smiles. Sometimes we just continued in our native tongue in blissful denial or in hope the other would pick up at least one word.

Anxiety was also a prevalent feeling. We had not a single word in common, which I’m sure lead to anxiety on both our parts. However, I was also out of my physical comfort zone. Entering a dark basement or driving away from my temporary home with a stranger is not how I operate. I admit, a little part of me wondered if I would ever make it back to Cagli. But Pietro and I somehow managed to connect, understand our differences, and adapt. As a result, I learned something new. Discovering Pietro’s contribution to the world is now part of me.

I’m not exactly sure how I figured we were picking cherries, but in the end I appreciated the time Pietro took out of his day for me. Next time we meet, I’ll be sure to have an interpreter.

Pink Floyd

by Mackenzie Yates 
Today the town of Cagli was bustling. Later that night, City Hall would be holding a fundraiser for children in Malawi. There was going to be live music and they were hoping for a good turnout. I was excited to see an authentic Italian band and see how the people of Cagli interact with each other. As I approached city hall, I could hear familiar melodic notes. They were playing Pink Floyds’ song “ I wish you were here.” I didn’t know whether to be excited or upset. As the night continued, I heard more American music (all sung in English) and watched how the town folk reacted. They all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Although nobody sang, they did pass out lyrics to the crowd. My expectation for the night was to get a feel for their culture. Instead I felt like I was back in Spokane hanging out with good friends.

Cultural dissonance can span many different horizons. I came to Cagli with a preconceived notion that we listened to completely different music. It made me wonder how much of our culture has seeped into theirs. What does Pink Floyd mean to Italian culture? The music that had meant so much to me growing up was being played in a different country and I struggled to understand if it held the same sentimental value. On the other hand, I smile to think that music knows no boundaries and it is there for everyone to enjoy. That night in Cagli will forever be a fond memory.

Houston, we have a problem!

by Brad Basker
Sometimes we can be so interested in meaningful cultural experiences that we overlook others’ desire for the same thing. My profile subject is a 21-year-old aspiring physicist and full-time classic rock enthusiast named Fabrizio. The nature of our assignment is to document and explore the different perspectives of Cagliese life. I am proud to undertake this journey, but never fully considered the interest that others would have in my culture. Fabrizo only wishes to speak English with me so he can practice. Normally, I like to give a translation of my middle name to foreigners to break the ice, but he, and even his friends, insist on calling me Bradley. One even said it is a much better name and is beautiful. To top it all off, when I told him I was from Houston, he responded, “Oh yes! Houston we have a problem!”

I have shifted to accommodate these occurrences as much as possible, and feel that it is an important dynamic to consider. We cannot be so project-oriented that we overlook the opportunity and interest of others to exchange cultures. Not everyone will be as enthusiastic as Fabrizio, but I believe that sentiments like his deserve recognition.