Letters from abroad: Taken for granted

BOLOGNA, Italy – A friend recently asked me to what American figure I would relate Italian politician and corporate mogul Silvio Berlusconi. My response was that if Bill Gates and Dick Cheney were to have a torrid affair, Berlusconi would be their love child. At the time, I thought myself pretty clever for putting Gates’ personal wealth and the general public sentiment about Cheney – cold, tyrannical, shoots people that get in his way, etc. – together. I later realized that if living overseas has taught me one thing, it is that European nations, especially Italy, just cannot be compared to the U.S. It is a different world over here.\nI have spent 2.5 percent of my life thus far (that’s right, journalism majors can do math) fully submerged in a different country and culture. My attitude about the U.S. has changed dramatically. The adage, “you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone,” has never rung more true. The things you learn, not about your study-abroad country but about your own home and self while overseas, make it worthwhile.\nSince my arrival, I have taken an interest in politics. A year ago, I never would have made a reference to political figures. Ever. I am an artsy girl. I barely knew a thing about Cheney and thought Berlusconi was a type of pasta. Unfortunately for me, Italians love discussing politics – before and after class, on the train and in the pub. They never seem to tire of Bush-bashing and discussing their own miserable state of affairs. So, in an effort to appear intelligent about world affairs, I got involved. I started reading more than just the arts section of The New York Times. The more I learned, however, the more I realized that the Italians will talk until they turn blue, but rarely take action to solve their internal problems.\nI witnessed a “protest” about a week ago. About 40 grungy, dreadlocked college students stood in the main square, waving banners and shouting on loudspeakers about the severe lack of work in Italy. Twenty minutes later, the piazza was empty except for scattered beer bottles and forgotten picket signs. It was a disheartening sight.\nThe bureaucracy in this country is also something to behold. A couple days ago, for the second time, I sat in line to give my fingerprints to the police station – a necessary part of the application process for my “permesso di soggiorno.” The “permesso,” if I may make another comparison to America to help you understand, is like a temporary green card. It allows me to live in Italy for an extended period of time and the freedom to travel in and out of the country like an Italian citizen. I applied for this document and paid almost 200 euros upon my arrival in August and I have yet to see results. The government doesn’t know I am here.\nItalian MTV features a program called “Pugni in Tasca,” which literally translates to “Fists in Pocket.” It is a forum in which young people sit around and discuss the issues of the day and possible solutions, without the fear of violence or ridicule from their peers. I find it ironic that the double meaning of the English expression, “to sit around with your hands in your pockets” is lost in translation. Might as well call it “Thumb up butt.”\nI have stated in previous columns that Italy is currently in an enormous economic, political and social depression. If it weren’t for the still sturdy column of international tourism, I don’t know what would hold this country up. The worst part is that no one seems to realize it. Those who do – the Italians – don’t seem to be doing much to improve the situation.\nLiving abroad is not easy. It is hard to watch this once proud and beautiful country go to waste. I miss the comfort and organization of home. There are days between trips to Rome and Florence when I don’t feel like getting out of bed. Don’t let the smiling students on the travel brochures fool you. Though study abroad is most of the time exciting and fun, some days are downright depressing. Strangely enough, I know that when this trip is over, I will treasure these days almost more than late nights dancing with my friends or trips to exotic places. It is the days spent in the dumps that really make me love and appreciate what’s waiting for me back home.