Everyone wants to learn English. It is the international language of business, science, culture…it is the first language people use when they cannot communicate in their native tongue. There is a stereotype about Americans that we refuse to learn other languages, that because English has become so universal, we are entitled to speak it wherever we go.

This has not been my experience. In fact, the first five years of my life were the only ones in which I spoke English exclusively: from kindergarten to sophomore year of high school, I studied French. I am not claiming to have been a Zola or a Molière at the ripe old age of five, but I did excel (as I remember it, anyway). I added Italian to my list of conquerable languages when I was 10. The point is, I have always had a natural talent for language.

Consequently, my recent trip back to Paris was disheartening at first. When Orianne, Inès, and Eric came to pick me up at the airport, I struggled quite a bit with speaking. My pronunciation faltered. I failed to find the words in a language that I had grown up with, a language in which I considered myself to be if not highly proficient, then highly competent. The words I did manage to find were not, in fact, French but Italian. And so for the first week of my vacation with the Dattins, I could not accurately express my happiness that their company brought me. We went to Vendome for Christmas, where I met almost the entire Dattin family. I was quiet most of the time, embarrassed and frustrated that I could not communicate. When offered the opportunity to speak English, I adamantly stated, “Je suis en France, je parle en français!” Towards the end of two weeks, it became easier. I began to remember verb tenses, more vocabulary, and particular expressions. Of course, by then it was time to leave, and I wondered if my brain would be able to switch yet again to another language. My transition back into Italian, however, was without difficulty (although I still occasionally substitute “oui” for “si”).

When I returned to Bologna, my friend (and fellow Bruin) Sasha, came to stay with me for a few days. We saw several highlights of the city: San Luca, the Archiginnasio, and the History of Bologna museum. While the first two required very little explanation, the museum was a bit trickier. Everything is written in Italian! I did my best to translate the most important facts for Sasha, but I still found it challenging. Understanding a concept and explaining it require two different thought processes. When another language is involved, it becomes even more complicated.

That is why I am in Bologna: I rarely hear English on the streets, and when I do, it strikes me as foreign. After Sasha’s visit, she left for Florence to stay with her family friends, and I followed her a few days later. It was my first time in the city of the Medici. Before arriving, I was skeptical and a bit snobbish. After all, I had heard from all of my friends that everyone in Florence speaks English since it is a tourist city. I had specifically chosen the EAP immersion program in Bologna instead of the UC Florence-live-in-Italy-but-take-classes-in-English one. So, I was ready to be unimpressed. My unjustified prejudice completely melted away, however, when I saw the Duomo. It is one of those monuments, like the Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids, whose majesty does not translate in a photo. For an art history student, Florence is a dream. There is such a thrill that comes with recognizing a painting from lectures or textbooks. At the Uffizi, it happened in almost every room.

And it was true, everyone did speak English. Apart from the overwhelming number of Renaissance masterpieces, Florence sometimes felt like an American city. I heard American English the most out of any language during my five days there. Even the shopkeepers and baristas initially responded to me in English, something that can discourage anyone trying to speak a foreign language. I insisted, however, on speaking Italian, and my perseverance was rewarded. (Once, I even caught a hint of the wonderful Florentine dialect… “hoha-hola,” anyone?) In the end, I loved Florence and my experiences there, despite the English.

It is very apparent in Europe that speaking English as a native language is a huge, almost envious advantage. But it should not preclude us from exploring new ways to communicate. If anything, being a madrelingua inglese encourages me to disprove the stereotype surrounding Americans. I like to think that I’m doing a pretty good job.