Italian for Beginners

Italian for beginners

In 1980 I spent three months as an au pair in Rome, caring for two little boys who attended the kindergarten of the German school in Rome. Stefano was three years old, and Andrea was four, and I was supposed to teach them German.
I had a light blue Volkswagen Beetle, and it was my responsibility to take the children to the kindergarten each morning and to pick them up again in the afternoon. Their parents – a doctor of political science and a teacher – didn’t pay much attention to me. They said, “We don’t care what you do overnight; the main thing is that you’re there in the morning to take the boys to the kindergarten.”
Rome is a city for lovers, much like Paris. You simply have to experience the city as a couple, and this made me feel quite lonely. Nevertheless, I managed to do a few things. I visited a large flea market along the banks of the Tiber, where I bought a nice big leather handbag (I tend to carry half my household goods around with me) and a light-coloured leather wallet for my ID and credit cards.
My Italian improved rapidly as I practised every day. I enrolled at the Società Dante Alighieri (Italian Adult Education Centre) for a language course and a course in Italian history.
I discovered caffè freddo (cold-shaken, sweetened espresso – perfect for quenching thirst!) and saltimbocca (veal with ham and cheese).
I had my hair cut and went to a photographers, who took lovely black-and-white photos of me.
One day, I took the two boys to a car wash to make them feel safe while they were with me. And they had a blast!
I also went to St Peter’s Square and said a little prayer. I visited the ‘Bocca della Verità’, the Mouth of Truth. It’s a large lion’s head with an open mouth. Legend has it that if you are a liar and put your hand in its mouth, your hand will be bitten off. I stuck my hand in – feeling quite apprehensive – but nothing happened.
Despite all this, my loneliness deepened. Then one day, when the family was visiting relatives in northern Italy, I packed all my belongings into my Beetle and left Rome, leaving the family a letter explaining my decision. I prepared some sandwiches, took some biscuits, yoghurt, and juice, and set off, driven by homesickness. My only thought was to get home as quickly as possible! I drove 1,600 kilometres in one go, speeding through the Alps, with only brief stops for toilet breaks or snacks, and, of course, to refuel, and headed towards Germany, to Saarbrücken, which was my first port of call.
I arrived in Saarbrücken at four in the morning. Since I had left my house key from my flat share at home and none of my friends were around (there were still university holidays), I went to a friend’s parents’ house in a small suburb and rang the doorbell. The father opened the door, not exactly pleased about being disturbed at this unearthly hour, but he let me in and I could sleep on the couch in the living room. The next day, after a hearty breakfast, I continued my journey towards Münster. 150 km went by, then 100 km, 50 km… until finally I saw the thatched Westphalian farmhouses with their characteristic bull’s-eyes and the extended fields bathed in the early autumn sun.
My homeland was calling me back!

© Marion Albrecht

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