The low humming of the aircraft engines outside the passenger airliner ignited the feeling that returning to Italy is finally coming to fruition. My thoughts then drifted to the sense of returning to my family’s place of origin. Emotions were once again rekindled by the expectations of walking in the areas where generations of my ancestors had strolled, along with casting my eyes on many of the landmarks still visible today such as the little church, centuries old, which still stands as a silent sentinel and refuge for all who believe in God. Towering above are the awe-inspiring peaks whose faces change, sometimes from moment to moment. The haunting gray of the rock is slowly being enveloped by a carpet of green in an endless trek.
Complementing this are the small villages nestled throughout the valleys so close together that at times one does not know where one village begins and the next ends. In the villages are the homes filled with families whose lives are surrounded by this beautiful, majestic view. It is with these people (our cousins) that we have shared much together. My Italian family is wonderful because they have accepted us with open arms and hearts. This acknowledgment has meant more than words can express. I might add that it was my mother Alice’s dream that the families in America and Italy continue to be connected.
This connection at times has proven to be difficult with the biggest hurdle being the language barrier. There have been attempts to breach it through interpreters and also translation through cell phones, where one speaks into it and it will either display the translation in print or by voice.
For myself, there have been times when I know enough of the Italian language to be “dangerous”, for example, when discussing their problems with an increasing number of brown bears in the Alps, I stated that they should shoot the ortos. That is when I noticed the strange expressions of wonder and curiosity, sprinkled with slight smiles of amusement. Much to my chagrin, it was explained to me that the Italian word for “bear” is orso, and I said instead “orto”, which means garden. So, what I initially said was “Why don’t you shoot the gardens?” Hmmm.
At other times, when just oral communication proved to be a challenge, my relatives would utilize a translation app on their cell phones to expedite conversations between us. It was at that point that their frustrations with the app became apparent. At the onset, they were very patient, but this proved to be rather short-lived. Numerous unsuccessful attempts were made to speak into the phone (with the app running), resulting in translations that were mostly garbled (oral, written, or not at all). Emotions of exasperation, bafflement, irritation, and displeasure were reflected on their faces. At one point, they were so exasperated when observing their cell phones, a cascade of words erupted, laced with high inflections.
Some of the words I could not comprehend, whereas others I could. Those that I could understand, they blamed the cell phones’ malfunction on the app and the cell phones themselves. A few more words I could understand but are not printable. Accompanying all of this were their hands, waving and emphasizing their thwarted attempts.
Immersed in all of this were numerous fantastically delicious family dinners, one of which was pizza at a local restaurant. On at least one occasion, the discussions and contagious laughter were quite evident throughout the meal. In addition to this was the involvement of the owners, who would stop and converse with us, thus again erupting in spontaneous gaiety and enhancing the jovial gathering.
In the end, despite the difficulties and missteps in communication, we were able to convey our most important thoughts on love of family to one another. If any readers of this article have the opportunity to continue the connection with family members overseas, please explore the possibilities. You may open a renewed world for you and your family.
