"Um, water please," I said, when the waiter's glance met mine. Like everyone else at the table, I ended up ordering water to drink — perhaps because it was the only thing we knew how to say. While a humbling experience, it was also inspirational to realize that the student serving us lunch and speaking what sounded like perfect Italian had begun his study of the language at Middlebury, like me. This had been the first day at the language tables, where we "intro" students could sit together with a professor and chat freely about whatever, in Italian.
That summer, after my freshman year at Middlebury, I found myself back at the College for the Italian School, one of the renowned summer Language Schools at Middlebury. The first few weeks were characterized by a strange mix of emotions, ranging from the overwhelming impression of knowing nothing to the surprise of being able to handle deceptively simple, everyday tasks in another language — for example, instructing one of the professors from Italy, who shared our dorm, on the use of the washing machine. One thing was certain: The rate of improvement was noticeable on a day-to-day basis, and there could have been no greater reward for my efforts.
Another one of the beauties of the Italian School was having students working toward their master's degrees alongside me on the soccer field, at theatre rehearsal, or at the dining hall, telling me in their fluent Italian about their experiences abroad. I had never felt so excited to experience a foreign country firsthand.
"Um, water please," the student replied when I asked her at the Italian table for her drink order. I was the waiter working that day, a first semester sophomore, and I smiled as I remembered my first time at the language tables a year before.
Later that year, I was faced with one of those good problems to have: trying to choose from among the many Middlebury programs for my junior year abroad. Italy, naturally, was an enticing option, but I ended up choosing to directly enroll in one of Chile's leading universities, in Santiago. In another country, one can't help but notice the native language infusing itself into everyday life, appearing on a tube of toothpaste, or coming over the loudspeakers in the subway station, not to mention chatting over a cup of coffee with friends. My involvement with the Comisión de Acogida UC, a student-run organization that coordinates events for international students and helps them make the transition to Chilean life, and my participation in a forum sponsored by the National Institute of Chilean Youth on immigration and tolerance of foreigners, further enriched my invaluable experience abroad.
"Um, water please," I responded to the waitress during a trip to Panama during my year in Chile. She gave me a puzzled look, and asked me what part of South America I was from. That extremely flattering moment made it absolutely clear how much progress I had made at Middlebury's program in Chile.