Mariangela

My Italian landlord is a terrific character.  Mariangela (Angie) has an easy going demeanor and is friendly, helpful and very talkative. If you ask her a question, her meandering Italian answer becomes a 10 minute conversation.

I like her immediately.

Her name, Mariangela, is the combination of her grandfathers name on her mothers side (Mario) and the grandfathers name on her fathers side (Angelo). They combined the names and feminized them into one beautiful name...Mariangela, though most people call her Angie.

Angie runs the Hotel Mary in Vicenza, Italy so some people call her Mary as well.  The hotel is a block from a U.S. military base, Caserma Ederle  and Angie has been taking care of people passing through Vicenza for 32 years. American soldiers and contractors might stay at the Hotel Mary for weeks or months at a time while finding permanent housing.  Angie also owns a 9-unit apartment building a block away, where my parents and I have rented a 2 bedroom apartment.

She is a force of nature. She's always in the middle of 3 or 4 tasks, but somehow never seems harried or stressed.  In fact, in spite of how busy she is, she always stops and talks to people and does so without any hint of impatience.  Each guest has her full and undivided attention.  It's Italian time... they'll get to it all eventually...no stress.

When I arrived in Vicenza late Monday night, I was completely exhausted, starving and desperate to lay down. Angie helped us load all of our bags onto carts and (Frogger-style) sprint across the main street dodging speeding Italian cars. Down a dark road, through a locked gate, another locked door, up stairs, and presto, we are in our very own Italian apartment. That night, desperate for a bed, Angie seemed like an angel to me.

The next day, I walked over to the hotel to thank her.  We chatted and I started asking questions and before long, 30 minutes had passed.  She offers to teach me a new Italian word each day. We make a deal - I'll stop by the hotel each day (or email her) and she'll give me a word.  In exchange, I agree to teach her some more obscure English words, phrases and American slang, as her English is already excellent.

The first word she teaches me is persiane (wooden window shutters that block out the light).  I pronounce it slowly.
"No, no," she says. "Not per-see-ah-NAH...that's a Persian person. Nay!  Per-see-ah-NAY."

She asks me to recite the words I know in Italian so far and I slowly and painstakingly pronounce the words Rosetta Stone has taught me - numbers, colors, family members and a few other miscellaneous words. She listens patiently, corrects me a few times and when I finish, she says she's impressed. I don't have any trace of an American accent, she says, which is rare. Lots of Americans have accents, she says.  Someone calls to her and she says "si" and is off to handle something requiring her attention.

"Persiane," she calls over her shoulder, emphasizing the "NAY" sound at the end. "And you come tomorrow for a new word."