Three Albanians and two little ladies...

My first day of teaching went about as expected. My boss, who is Australian, was supposed to pick up me and another young Australian teacher, Shawn, and take us to the firm where we were going to teach. He was running a bit late and gave us call to meet him outside. As we stepped onto the sidewalk a beat up silver Honda Civic came screeching to a halt in front of us. We hopped in and sped off in a cloud of dust and squealing tires. Two blown red lights later (stopping is just a suggestion in Italy) we pulled up in front of our destination. A nondescript office building near the Ospedale Maggiore and the Via Emilia. I think they are some type of biotech firm and have arranged for some of their employees to take English classes.

My boss came in and introduced everyone and then I spent the rest of the 90 minutes explaining what we were going to try to accomplish and making introductions. There level is pre-intermediate so I should be able to see some substanial progress made.

After class, I spent about a half hour walking in circles trying to find the Via Emilia which I knew was only blocks away from the firm but I kept hitting dead end streets. Bologna is certainly not laid out on a grid like American cities. When I finally got to the bus stop, I had already missed the 5:30 bus and had to wait another 40 minutes or so for the next. I was taking what is called the Corriere which is bus that goes to the outlying areas. The bus came and almost an hour later I started to get antsy because we were getting close to home. I was really straining to pay attention because I had never taken this bus before and darkness was falling. So, we pull into a town that I later realized was Sant'Agata in Bolognese which I mistakenly thought was my town, Crevalcore. The minute I stepped off the bus I figured out that I had made a mistake but the bus driver didn't hear me yell. Being on the edge of a dark, sleepy little town and having no other choice, I schlepped my two bags on down the deserted country highway. Cars were zipping past me alarmingly close. Dogs were barking from behind vine-covered walls. There was not an open store or bar in sight. After about 500 meters of walking I came upon two old ladies standing behind the cancello (gate) of the driveway of their house. One appeared to be in her sixties and the other seemed to be the former's mother. I greeted them and explained that I had gotten off the bus at the wrong stop and wondered how far Crevalcore was on down the road. About 5 more km was the answer. Damn, I thought. Not yet having a cell phone, I then asked if I could use their home phone. They both demurred and said, "No, no, scusi signore, but we are just two little old ladies. We are too afraid, you know, with all that goes on nowadays." I shrugged and said I understood, not knowing if I was missing out on the news of some serial killer on the rampage in the Bolognese countryside. So I headed out again towards home, weaving a tapestry of profanity in the cool night air.

I hadn't gotten much further when I hear a car pull up and slow down right behind me. I looked into the older-looking car and there was a middle-aged man in the front seat with his wife and young son in the back. He asked me if I needed a ride and I said that I did. They looked safe enough so I hopped in. Turns out that this family was what the Italian refer to as the dreaded extracommunitari or people from outside the European Community. This is a politically correct way of saying immigrants and I don't mean immigrants from the U.S., Scandanavia etc. The driver said his name was Arben and he lived north of Crevalcore. He was Albanian and had lived in Italy for a number of years. I told him my name and that I was American. He said he figured I must be a straniero (foreigner) because only foreigners walk along the highways. He explained that he knew how it was to be an outsider and that nobody helped him when he came here so he was helping me.

He dropped me off at the Coop in the little strip mall by our house. I offered him money but he refused and sped off into the night. I trudged home to a light supper and a lecture on the subtleties of Italian public transportation and not accepting rides from extracommunitari.

Another day, another euro and boy was I tired.