If my posts have been infrequent as of late, it’s because I’m winding down for my departure back to the United States. This week is exam week and then, sadly, the program is over. 

My host mother’s sister (I guess that makes her my host aunt?) is visiting. She’s from the northern region of Lombardy and lives near the Swiss border. It’s been interesting hearing them talk together in their native dialect. In many cases, vowel sounds seem more French than Italian and consonants are pronounced with a more closed mouth. Like all Italian dialects, the lexicon is radically different from standard Italian. It is incomprehensible to non-speakers in other regions who have their own, incomprehensible dialects- a product of over 1500 years of political disunity. 

In recent years, local dialects have become more scarce across Italy as the government works to standardize the language but the Lombard dialect is in the most peril of extinction. 

As I watch and listen to the two septuagenarians speak in the tongue of their ancestors, I can’t help but wonder how it must feel to be among the last speakers of one’s language.

Pietrasanta

Real, live Italians!

(Venice)

Padova

What Gondola drivers do when they’re not Gondaling.

La Serenissima è bellissima.

I had a swell time in Dublin town but I’ve now returned to Italia.

The cliffs of Howth were especially impressive. 

In case anyone is interested, the area of the city around the Guinness factory reeks of malted, roasted barley. 

Samuel Beckett Bridge, Dublin

Yesterday I took the ferry across the Irish Sea from Holyhead, Wales to Dublin: my last port of call in the British Isles.

The cliffs of Beaumaris, overlooking the Snowdonian Mountains.