Nestled among the grand stone towers in San Gimignano, Italy, sits an unremarkable truffle shop. The outside of the store is identical to the surrounding buildings: rough, earthy stone warmed by the Tuscan sun, with red flowers blooming in cracked pots beside the doorway. The air conditioning cuts through the thick heat and a faint umami smell wafts through the store. To me, however, this shop is anything but generic.
Before entering that store, my trip in Italy had been underscored by a quiet shame of being the typical tourist, always saying the wrong thing or offending someone. I’d taken Italian for three years, and had been so excited to use what I’d learned in real life, but I still felt inadequate. I felt that each mistake would be scrutinized, and I found myself thinking, ‘Why even try? You’re going to offend someone.’
However, my mindset shifted in that mundane truffle shop. The shopkeeper greeted us with a warm smile, and she instantly switched to English when she realized we were American. It struck me that she could switch languages so confidently. I knew if I didn’t reciprocate at that moment, I never would. So, with shaky hands, I clutched a cool glass bottle of truffle salt and asked, “dove si può pagare per questo?” (Where would one pay for this?)
Immediately, the woman lit up and switched her language to match. She enthusiastically asked me how I could speak Italian, how long ago I started learning, and how I liked the country. Her joy shocked me, and even as I stumbled through responses, her smile only grew. “You speak beautifully,” she told me in Italian, and I have never forgotten it since. Simply the fact that I made an effort to connect with her in her language, despite my anxiety, was special to her.
I couldn’t stop after seeing how something so simple made her so happy. With newfound confidence, I spoke in Italian with a waiter in a small restaurant in Capri, and he had the same reaction. In his gravelly voice he shared stories of growing up in Germany, how he came to Italy, and his struggles assimilating. At the end of our lunch, he waved me goodbye with a smile and a boisterous “Ciao, bella!”
Although these interactions were seemingly simple, they helped me understand why I love language so much. In a place where I didn’t know the people, the culture, or the way of life, language became an intensely personal link to strangers. It brings people together by giving them a means to communicate, yes, but the shopkeeper and waiter showed me that it’s more than that.
Language is not easy. It constantly changes, encompasses personal histories and cultures, and is often completely foreign. It’s scary, but the more I prepare to study linguistics in college, the more I know that we cannot hesitate to try. Our words, no matter how imperfect, can still foster curiosity, expose us to new ways of life, and help us understand each other. Despite the challenges, the connections and memories foreign language offers will always be worth struggling for.
Written by Claire Heise—17, a senior at Bishop Watterson High School in Columbus, Ohio—for the World Is A Classroom essay contest.
Photo courtesy of Claire Heise.
