Come si dice? In italiano? In inglese?

I firmly believe that in order to learn anything about where you are you must completely submerge yourself within that place and culture. So that is what I'm doing. I continually lose myself amongst the breathtaking buildings that create this city. I have walked so many hours here already that the soles of my feet are an indescribable black and my muscles actually hurt. I've been to the central library, the Uffizi, the Duomo, the train station, Piazza de San Marco, Piazza dei Santa Croce, Teatro Odeon, up and down city streets, places I cannot even remember the name of, places I never bothered to learn the name of, but no place so magical as the mercato centrale.

I heard a few girls saying they were headed there after part one of orientation. I knew a few of them so I figured I would just walk over with their group of friends. As we passed yet another church, we came upon the enormous white tents casting shade on their coveted contents. I have never seen fruit so fresh, vegetables so green, or vendors so protective. Apparently, much to out surprise, at the mercato centrale you are not permitted to bag your own fruit and walk around. There is no central checkout line. There is no standard price. Each stand belongs to each individual vendor and only that vendor may hand you your produce. Only after you hand him or her your euro, of course.

Refusing to be the typical American, I set a goal for myself: I will be a local by December. I will be fluent in the language and well versed in their customs. I will not purchase a thing unless I can say it in Italian. This is not an easy task as the language barrier can be slightly challenging. Thankfully, I come prepared with a few key phrases. However, my new mantra is "Come si dice? In italiano? In inglese?" After three difficult linguistic interactions and purchasing four plump susine (plums), three fresh fichi (figs), one perfect melanzana (eggplant), and a handful of dried fragola (strawberries) I went into the second half of the mercato.

Jaw dropped to the floor, I eagerly went up to each and every stand. This was where I fell head over heals in love with this city. Stuffed to the brim with carne (meat), formaggio (cheese), olive (same word), and pesce (fish), the second part of the market is where I learned more Italian in 3 hours than I have ever. The struggle of communicating and learning is what allowed me to really grasp what I was hearing and what I was saying. I wasn't just chit chatting, I was trying to stay afloat in a brand new world.

While I enjoy the struggle, it is also nice to be able to actually communicate. The young woman who sold me un mezza kilo de pecorino romano (about a pound of grating cheese) taught me the first part of my new phrase, "un mezza kilo". (Side note: While I want to seem like a local, the daunting trial of learning the metric system will have to wait until I can speak the language.) After I purchased my formaggio, I was asked by a group of American students to translate something in Italian for them. This I love. This was the third time in twenty four hours, I have been asked something in Italian. I'm not sure that feeling will ever get old.

Continuing through the mercato I came upon bizzare looking foods at each stand. So of course, I had to ask for each translation. "Como si dici? In italiano? In inglese?" And also very key to the meat market, "Que animale? Que parte?" These are very elementary and probably grammatically incorrect phrases, but they get the job done. About three only Italian-speaking meat vendors into the market, I came upon two butchers - one spoke Italian, and one was clearly not Italian or American, but miraculously spoke both. Here, I learned the most. I spent almost an hour asking for each name, animal, and part of that animal in both languages. My real life tutors made me repeat each word in Italian until I pronounced it correctly. I told the little, old Italian man that I would "Tornero domani" (I will return tomorrow). To which he responded, "A domani".

I spent about another hour in the market buying aceto balsamico (vingear) and salmone (clearly salmon) while learning about all of the other meats and fish at a few more stands. Successfully asking for each translation of everything in the entire market, I left smiling ear to ear and feeling quite accomplished.

Tomorrow, I will return and get the recipe I was promised for the most difficult word I learned to say: coniglio (rabbit). Hopefully, cooking it won't be as hard as saying it.