I've perhaps been a bit harsh to my fellow Yankee Compatriots over the past few days. Some of it deserving, actually most of it deserving, and some of it just silly observations from someone who is trending toward the idealized simple life he envisions in these small European hamlets.
I'm currently sitting in a lush courtyard at the University of Verona, stealing their internet (hence the two new blog posts) and a feeling I haven't felt much over the past week just began bubbling up inside: anger. Yes, the asshole Italian metrosexual leaning on the opposite side of the column from me just fired up a cigarette and, without hesitation, is blowing the smoke in my direction. Forget that I'm allergic to it, hate the smell or that I'm on a continent apparently immune to the myriad health concerns, that was just plain rude.
Normally this wouldn't be a huge issue for me. I'd move or wait it out. But this uomo's puff puff puffing is merely a catalyst and a reminder of the pure rage I felt last night, again caused by an ignorant European.
Danielle and I searched the outdoor bistros (by the way, I've been taking note that we have yet to eat a meal inside since we arrived here, every lunch and dinner have been at outdoor caffes or on the side of a Swiss Alp) for a quaint dinner spot away from the main Verona thoroughfare. Down a side street we stumbled upon a quiet ristorante. Since there are so many, I gauge the quality of these places based on the number of tables filled by people speaking the native language. I figure if the locals, or at least the country's natives, find it tolerable, why shouldn't we?
This place in particular had a good crowd and from what I could tell, most were locals.
That is, until we sat down at a table diagonally next to a group of Danielle's fellow conference-goers. She recognized one as a professor and former president of the organization that actually runs this international conference. Important guy. We gathered from their conversation that a few were Dutch, one Italian and one wonderful, perfect, Dame Judy Dench British Biatch.
For the story's sake, I'll call her Mum. Also, please understand that this became entertainment for us as we devoured one of the best meals I've ever eaten in my life - Osso Bucco with risotto and Danielle ordered seafood ravioli. This after an appetizer of fresh buffalo mozzarella and local olives - thats it, nothing else needed except the caraffe of Italian table wine.
Now Mum was clearly a participant in Danielle's conference, as were the others in her group so my reactions I am about to describe were understandably restrained due to my wife's dire need to get a job in this industry, perhaps backed by some of the people at that table. However, that Italian table wine loosens the tongue.
Mum was ignorant. Mum was not educated in what she was talking about. Mum committed the greatest crime of hypocrisy I've ever been witness to. In this process, she sparked in me an overwhelming sense of patriotism (pay-triotism, not PATriotism, as the Brits say).
She was babbling on about conference things that Danielle explained to me were waaaaay wrong, and even at one point insulted a methodology and project that the former head, the guy sitting directly behind me, was heavily involved in. The man noticeably said nothing and let her babble on in her annoying English way.
It wasn't until she began recounting her trip to "the States" that my ears perked up.
In a nutshell, as she reported to her fellow European xenophobes, Americans are all fat. Americans are all stupid. She had visited the midwest (actually it was not the midwest, she had visited the Southwest but did not know this) and the people she spoke to were exactly as you would think Americans are. At this point, I agreed that yes, we are fat, a good number are stupid. But I can say that because I'm one of them. She then told a story about speaking with some local Americans. They asked where she was from. She told them, Brighton. "And they didn't even know where that was in relation to a major city. How clueless do these Americans have to be?"
Then she went on to say that all Americans don't know anything about the rest of the world. To her Dutch friends, she said, "They think that you all wear wooden shoes and have windmills attached to your houses." This roiled up some laughs and more America-jabs.
It was then that I said, probably too loudly, "Well when your country hasn't been relevant to the world in 500 years, it seems unnecessary for Americans to care about your existence."
Mum didn't hear but I'm almost positive some of the Dutch did. They were silent for the rest of the meal.
She had several more gems highlighting the fact that she was accusing Americans of stereotyping foreginers when she herself was stereotyping Americans. The circular stupidity was mindboggling.
I might have said at one point, in jest, "I find it interesting that the only two good things England ever gave us were Shakespeare and Austin Powers."
I also might have started speaking loudly in a southern, Texas-like accent, sounding as dumb as I possibly could.
But what I'm almost sure Mum heard was when I said to my wife (whose loud laughs drew attention to us, purposefully), "What bothers me is that from a group of islands that gave the world such skillful witticists as Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift and William Shakespeare, this woman arrives here without a single interesting or insightful thing to say."
They left shortly thereafter so we didnt get the chance to stop at their table and say, "You know, not all Americans are as sheltered and stupid as you might think." But Im pretty sure I would have, fueled mostly by the wine.
I understand our place in the world. I understand the world has its gripes with us, and I agree on many points. But sometimes you feel pride in your country and it wasn't a bad thing.
Mum takes the cake as Ignorant European.
Funny sidenote - as Im sitting here writing this, a group of Italian students walked by and a girl said, in Italian (I understood her!) "I had to talk to an American boy today." Her male friend then said, in english and with a hilarious Italian twang, "Whats up bro. What is cracking" - he was immitating what he thought the American boy said and they all had a rousing chuckle.
Timing is everything, eh?
*** We leave Verona tomorrow and will probably not have internet until at least Friday - we'll be staying with Danielle's gradfather's cousin in Rimini - this will be interesting! Look forward to some interesting stories***
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