Claudia & Claudio

On the Monday just gone I commenced my 12 week course in the Italian language. I have two teachers: Claudia (cloud-ee-a) and Claudio (cloud-ee-o). You should know that, generally speaking, girls names end with ‘a’ and boys with ‘o’. I have Claudia for three hours and Claudio for one hour every morning. Classes finish at 1:30pm – che bellissimo!

As soon as class is over, all the ravenously hungry students escape the arctic cold of the classic Italian building (made from concrete, stone and… concrete) to get their hands on a panino or a pizza. Being from Melbourne – a kaleidoscope of cultures and cuisines – I was immediately struck by the lack of diversity in the lunch-time options.

Everywhere I turn there is pizza, panino, pizza, panino, coffee, panino, pizza, panino, coffee, coffee, coffee (You want what? Tea?!). It was a similar story with people’s names… Claudia/Claudio, Francesca/Francesco, Alessandra/Alessandro, Roberta/Roberto. Aren’t these the SAME NAMES that people had a thousand years ago? I mean, there are some English names that have stuck around for a few centuries (William, James, Emma), but there are also millions of babies born every year with names like, Tyson, Misty, Callum and Tiffany.

As I pondered these observations and chatted with my new (and wonderful) friend, Sandra, I realized that the Italians have maintained the integrity of their culture like no other nation I’ve ever visited. There’s pasta and wine shops everywhere and not a McDonald’s in sight. (I’m sure the ubiquitous McDonald’s has a franchise somewhere here, but it’s not so easy to find in Siena).

How the Italian girls maintain their figures is a mystery for the ages. They all eat as much biscotti, pizza, pasta, gelati and CARBOHYDRATES as anyone could handle, and yet they are tiny. However, after a couple of days of walking to uni (there are very few cars in this city because it’s small enough to walk around), I think I may have discovered a clue to their fitness. The inclines and hills are worthy competition for any alpine slope. As an Occupational Therapist, I can tell you that their 1:4 slopes do NOT meet Australian Standards! (Ok, so that’s not a substantiated measurement, but still, my lower limbs will be well toned when I leave here!)

The buildings in this city have stood here since they were built, pretty much. Some are literally a thousand years old. Many of the buildings still have the iron fixtures on them where they used to stick a flaming torch on the wall to light the street at night, and big rings that look like giant door-knockers where people used to tie up their horses. Amazing! I can just imagine the medieval scenes as I walk through these streets.

All Australians relate to the wonder of contemplating a place that considers our nation a very recent addition to the known world, but now that I am finally here, it dawns on me afresh every day. I am in Europe; a part of the world that had democracy, literature, architecture and philosophy before Jesus Christ was born, before Africa was poor, before Britain became civilized, and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years before the wonky aesthetics of Federation Square were ever conceived.

I really do feel like I’ve landed in the middle of a story; the story of the world, which has been unfolding for a long time, but a story that I am a part of nevertheless. People who say that studying history is like living in the past, don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t see how we can know where we’re going if we don’t know what has brought us to where we are. For me, this trip is about getting an education. Yes, I am being educated in a new language, but more than anything I am learning about history and life – my life. I’m here to ask myself, What do I want my life to be about? I think this is a question that we should ask ourselves no matter how old we are, and if our life is about something different to what we say we want it to be about, then we need to do something about that.