As the weeks go by I continue to acquire more Italian flare. It comes not only in style and sass, but skill. When you don’t have a bike in Ferrara, getting around becomes inconvenient. My bike failed me this week with a flat tire. The man at the bike shop works on Italian time. This is something I shall discuss at a later date, but for this purpose, it means it is very uncertain as to when my bike may actually get fixed.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that a nice boy would be the solution to my problem. The Ferrarese have proved that you can ride two people on a bike using multiple methods. For the practical person, there is the mini attachable seat, the risk taker, the handlebars are a good option, and for the traditionalist side saddle always proves sensible. If you are really experienced you can engage in an intense kiss with your man friend whilst he navigates the bike. I aspire to one day be this skilled (that is if I ever have an Italian man friend). As for now, I am just proud that Mike and I could master the art of side saddle. This means, the cross bar becomes the second seat. Besides being useful in getting around, it is truly a workout. Mike is getting in great cardiovascular shape and I am getting a good abs workout. I have decided that if I never get my bike fixed, at least I’ll have nice abs.
I am getting all kinds of workouts in Italy. In Rome, I discovered the secret to staying skinny on a all carbohydrate diet. As they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. It is not possible to truly understand the meaning of this unless you have been to Rome, but here is my interpretation. When in Rome, walk forty- five minutes to get to the bus stop, hope the bus actually comes, end up taking the wrong bus, and walk 20mintues in another direction to find your destination. The Romans love to walk. It is not unusually to walk ten miles a day here in Italy.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
want a cookie? want a date?
Every fairytale has an evil, grim vector in plot of the happy ending. He, she, or it always finds a way to slip in the most quintessential moments of the plot. If Italy is the setting of my current fairytale, I am positive I have met my antagonistic force: the tiger mosquito! I’m not quite sure how something so small can inflict so much pain! After a couple of weeks of wondering why I had multiply inflamed bites on my legs, I finally called a truss and waved flags (modernly called Euros) at la farmacia (pharmacy). I have never been the person to be eaten alive by insects, but evidentially Italy’s mosquitoes have a different taste!
With accords to lesser evils in Italia, I have observed that the Italians don’t pride themselves on speedy service. If you plan to dine out, don’t’ plan to dine quickly. It may take a good twenty minutes just to order water or for the waiter to even grace your table. I find myself thinking of my loved ones back home (JOE THOMPSON!) who can’t even stand the thought of just waiting for a table. But imagine this. If you want the best homemade food in town, you first have to ask, get directions, and then trust that the church on the left has only one right fork. Once you have walked for twenty minutes, all the restaurants on the way to this supposed “best restaurant” start to look really good and you begin to consider settling. With five people and an array of personalities, it is inevitable to get into what I like to call study abroad “conflicts of interest”. Everyone has a different idea of the ideal experience. Lately, I have been feeling the need for a vacation from my vacation. This week, I decided I wanted a break from guided tours or “following lollipops” as the lady behind me on the ferry, described. When I think vacation, I think islands, palm trees, maybe a mojitio. I realize this is a stretch for October in Italia, but what better place to relinquish this dream than Southern Italy. I could picture myself enjoying a limonchelo and sitting in the harbor watching the ships go by as the beauty of this charming country engulfs me.
Naples is less than charming. That’s an understatement. Elizabeth Gilbert writes in Eat. Pray. Love that every city in Italy has a word to describe it. When I get off the train in Napoli the first word that comes to mind is trash. This might be a little harsh being I have not given the city much of a chance. But the only thing I have noticed is there is trash all over the road, piled up on medians and street corners. The whole city contains an aroma of hundreds of garbage flavors. According to Kate and her PBC knowledge the unsaid M word is rioting against the government. The m word (shhh...mafia or what my friends and I like to call “oven-mitts” as a code because heaven forbid you mention the word where it “doesn’t” exist) is on strike and exhorting control where power is held: the garbage. Although appalling, I find this pretty funny and you may never actually believe it until you see it (I didn’t). The streets of undeveloped poverty stricken nations are surely cleaner than the streets of Napoli. I should stay that I only spent one night in Naples and my less than positive feelings towards the city may be something to do with my less then positive experience. After a five hour train journey, we got off the train at 10pm with no definite plans of where to spend the night. We were walking down the street as it began to rain and I realized I had packed all wrong and way too much. At this moment, it becomes clear that the rest of the weekend I must suffer under the weight of my vanity.
Ellie booked a hotel room for two people that in the beginning sounded like a deal, but turned out to be quite the fiasco. After 150 Euros later and much distress, it was decided that we would need another room. Dressing myself in poise, I walked into the hotel across the street and told them what I needed. I felt pretty big in my business boats and came out with a deal at that. Someone important to me once said that if I just smiled the world would buy itself for me.
Capri is a breath of fresh air, literally, after Napoli. The ferry ride over was a Carnival experience. The sun was warm and salt sweet on my checks .Oddly for late October, my pink North Face was a green thumb. As we pulled away from the harbor, I exhaled a bit, and let out the tension built up from weeks of adjusting to my new life. As this was a pleasant experience for me, it wasn’t for some. The man on the boat was handing out baggies that didn’t take me long to understand what they were for. In case you lose your cookies, these are for your assistance! Colin was one of the unfortunate few. I found him sitting inside the ferry cabin embracing the floor for the sake of sanity. I’ll admit, the ocean was a little rough with an impending storm, but I still gave him a hard time. In the end, we all arrived safely in Capri with not much more than nappy hair and pink cheeks.
The trip after this ferry ride was epic. Naturally, if you are in a town where every street looks the same and you have never been here before it is hard to get where you are going. The Italians don’t exactly give great directions. It is not unrealistic for you it to take an hour to find something that is 100 yards away. Take my cousins Mike and Lourdes, for example. They missed their plane from Florence back to the States solely because they couldn’t find the airport 5 miles from them. It doesn’t matter how intelligent you are, or if you have a good sense of direction, it’s not easy making it to the building behind the cathedral on Via Garibaldi; every third street in Italy is Via Garibaldi! If nothing else, at least this man is well honored.
After about an hour of lugging around my vanity, we finally find the hotel we were directed to ten minutes after we got off the ferry. Hotel Bussola is a quant and clean place in Anacapri. Capri is made up of several towns; Anacapri would be the equivalent of Hilton Head in comparison to Myrtle Beach. Here I found my much needed vacation. I finally let loose and did something almost sinful. I took a thirty minute shower! This might be the best shower I have taken all year. Europeans only know two water temperatures: scalding and not scalding. I gladly too scalding and stood under the faucet washing away four weeks of toxic stress and staggering emotions.
According to Frommer’s, “Italy guide 2008” here are two treats you shouldn’t miss as a tourist in Capri: lemon gelato and limonchello. I will have to add my own favorite to Frommer’s suggestions. If you are ever in Capri, you must go into a bakery and have a Caprilu’ limone cookie. Better yet, plan a trip to Italy in honor of this simple delicacy. If you are anything like me you will most likely order three, try one, and then order ten more. This lemon sugar orgasm is more like a potato chip than a cookie; once you start, it’s hard to stop. Upon discovery, I instantly forgot about the large anti-Adkins dinner I just ate. Who counts carbohydrates anyway? I count cookies, the more the better! Just take an extra pro-biotic.
It’s expected that one will make mistakes when learning to speak a new language, especially when there’s different type of phonetics and words so close, such as casa and cassa. At the continental breakfast, I mistakenly asked for dog sugar (zucchero di cane) instead of raw cane sugar (zucchero di canna). My attempts to be healthy in another language have officially turned into a caffé carnivore. I’m pretty sure I will be in a wheelchair before I live that one down.
With accords to lesser evils in Italia, I have observed that the Italians don’t pride themselves on speedy service. If you plan to dine out, don’t’ plan to dine quickly. It may take a good twenty minutes just to order water or for the waiter to even grace your table. I find myself thinking of my loved ones back home (JOE THOMPSON!) who can’t even stand the thought of just waiting for a table. But imagine this. If you want the best homemade food in town, you first have to ask, get directions, and then trust that the church on the left has only one right fork. Once you have walked for twenty minutes, all the restaurants on the way to this supposed “best restaurant” start to look really good and you begin to consider settling. With five people and an array of personalities, it is inevitable to get into what I like to call study abroad “conflicts of interest”. Everyone has a different idea of the ideal experience. Lately, I have been feeling the need for a vacation from my vacation. This week, I decided I wanted a break from guided tours or “following lollipops” as the lady behind me on the ferry, described. When I think vacation, I think islands, palm trees, maybe a mojitio. I realize this is a stretch for October in Italia, but what better place to relinquish this dream than Southern Italy. I could picture myself enjoying a limonchelo and sitting in the harbor watching the ships go by as the beauty of this charming country engulfs me.
Naples is less than charming. That’s an understatement. Elizabeth Gilbert writes in Eat. Pray. Love that every city in Italy has a word to describe it. When I get off the train in Napoli the first word that comes to mind is trash. This might be a little harsh being I have not given the city much of a chance. But the only thing I have noticed is there is trash all over the road, piled up on medians and street corners. The whole city contains an aroma of hundreds of garbage flavors. According to Kate and her PBC knowledge the unsaid M word is rioting against the government. The m word (shhh...mafia or what my friends and I like to call “oven-mitts” as a code because heaven forbid you mention the word where it “doesn’t” exist) is on strike and exhorting control where power is held: the garbage. Although appalling, I find this pretty funny and you may never actually believe it until you see it (I didn’t). The streets of undeveloped poverty stricken nations are surely cleaner than the streets of Napoli. I should stay that I only spent one night in Naples and my less than positive feelings towards the city may be something to do with my less then positive experience. After a five hour train journey, we got off the train at 10pm with no definite plans of where to spend the night. We were walking down the street as it began to rain and I realized I had packed all wrong and way too much. At this moment, it becomes clear that the rest of the weekend I must suffer under the weight of my vanity.
Ellie booked a hotel room for two people that in the beginning sounded like a deal, but turned out to be quite the fiasco. After 150 Euros later and much distress, it was decided that we would need another room. Dressing myself in poise, I walked into the hotel across the street and told them what I needed. I felt pretty big in my business boats and came out with a deal at that. Someone important to me once said that if I just smiled the world would buy itself for me.
Capri is a breath of fresh air, literally, after Napoli. The ferry ride over was a Carnival experience. The sun was warm and salt sweet on my checks .Oddly for late October, my pink North Face was a green thumb. As we pulled away from the harbor, I exhaled a bit, and let out the tension built up from weeks of adjusting to my new life. As this was a pleasant experience for me, it wasn’t for some. The man on the boat was handing out baggies that didn’t take me long to understand what they were for. In case you lose your cookies, these are for your assistance! Colin was one of the unfortunate few. I found him sitting inside the ferry cabin embracing the floor for the sake of sanity. I’ll admit, the ocean was a little rough with an impending storm, but I still gave him a hard time. In the end, we all arrived safely in Capri with not much more than nappy hair and pink cheeks.
The trip after this ferry ride was epic. Naturally, if you are in a town where every street looks the same and you have never been here before it is hard to get where you are going. The Italians don’t exactly give great directions. It is not unrealistic for you it to take an hour to find something that is 100 yards away. Take my cousins Mike and Lourdes, for example. They missed their plane from Florence back to the States solely because they couldn’t find the airport 5 miles from them. It doesn’t matter how intelligent you are, or if you have a good sense of direction, it’s not easy making it to the building behind the cathedral on Via Garibaldi; every third street in Italy is Via Garibaldi! If nothing else, at least this man is well honored.
After about an hour of lugging around my vanity, we finally find the hotel we were directed to ten minutes after we got off the ferry. Hotel Bussola is a quant and clean place in Anacapri. Capri is made up of several towns; Anacapri would be the equivalent of Hilton Head in comparison to Myrtle Beach. Here I found my much needed vacation. I finally let loose and did something almost sinful. I took a thirty minute shower! This might be the best shower I have taken all year. Europeans only know two water temperatures: scalding and not scalding. I gladly too scalding and stood under the faucet washing away four weeks of toxic stress and staggering emotions.
According to Frommer’s, “Italy guide 2008” here are two treats you shouldn’t miss as a tourist in Capri: lemon gelato and limonchello. I will have to add my own favorite to Frommer’s suggestions. If you are ever in Capri, you must go into a bakery and have a Caprilu’ limone cookie. Better yet, plan a trip to Italy in honor of this simple delicacy. If you are anything like me you will most likely order three, try one, and then order ten more. This lemon sugar orgasm is more like a potato chip than a cookie; once you start, it’s hard to stop. Upon discovery, I instantly forgot about the large anti-Adkins dinner I just ate. Who counts carbohydrates anyway? I count cookies, the more the better! Just take an extra pro-biotic.
It’s expected that one will make mistakes when learning to speak a new language, especially when there’s different type of phonetics and words so close, such as casa and cassa. At the continental breakfast, I mistakenly asked for dog sugar (zucchero di cane) instead of raw cane sugar (zucchero di canna). My attempts to be healthy in another language have officially turned into a caffé carnivore. I’m pretty sure I will be in a wheelchair before I live that one down.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Italy is full of Cheese . My Cheesy Poem.
Cheesy Poem.
I hung you on my wall today
Your faces all smile back at me
And even though your 10,000 miles away
I can see you on my wall today
I love the colors your faces reflect on my heart
I love the way I feel when I see our memories
I miss you more than the longer we are apart
But rest assured, You are in my heart and on my wall, everyday.
**I have failed to post for almost two weeks! I have a blog almost written, but my discipline has been blindsided by tunnel vision for Kappa Due Gelatria, excursions to beautiful destinations, and the pure fact that I never sit still unless it is ungodly hours of the night. Speaking of which, I'm going to bed. I love you all. Hope you enjoy my cheesy poem until I can tell you about Florence, the balloon festival, and Umbria (and all the crazy things in between)!
I hung you on my wall today
Your faces all smile back at me
And even though your 10,000 miles away
I can see you on my wall today
I love the colors your faces reflect on my heart
I love the way I feel when I see our memories
I miss you more than the longer we are apart
But rest assured, You are in my heart and on my wall, everyday.
**I have failed to post for almost two weeks! I have a blog almost written, but my discipline has been blindsided by tunnel vision for Kappa Due Gelatria, excursions to beautiful destinations, and the pure fact that I never sit still unless it is ungodly hours of the night. Speaking of which, I'm going to bed. I love you all. Hope you enjoy my cheesy poem until I can tell you about Florence, the balloon festival, and Umbria (and all the crazy things in between)!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
"Come sei diche TACO?"
I think it is a rule of thumb that when you move to a foreign country you acquire many practical skills (and maybe some not so practical ones). I have recently found myself saying things like “Oh yea, my aunt is a hair dresser” and “My roommate is Italian”. This weekend Mathilde, (from New Orleans) volunteered me to trim up Austin’s (from Oregon) hairline. I can’t say I have never done this, but I am no expert. I believe the perk of being volunteered for such activities comes if the subject is attractive. Isn’t one more apt to volunteer if this is true? Anyway, I digress. It would be nice if my roommate (Daniela) being Italian actually helped take my test on Friday and explain that I lost my key and need a new one. Maybe it will even help me lose my Spanish accent while speaking Italian!
There is a restaurant here called “Tex Mex”. That’s right, even Italy has Mexican Restaurants! On Sunday night, the girls and I went out for margaritas and tacos. After examining the menu intently, Ellie says, “I wonder what the word for taco is in Italian.” Oh man! I’m pretty sure taco is taco in every language. Although this isn’t your authentic Mexican (what is authentic Mexican anyway?), I did have the freshest cheese I have ever had on my enchiladas. It turned out to also be the most expensive Mexican food I have ever paid for...25 Euros! But the best part was when I got home, I didn’t even smell like I had been at a Mexican restaurant!
Last night we had a potluck in my apartment. It amazes me that you can get 15 American students from all different regions together to eat and still call it a “potluck”. I thought that was only a southern United States tradition. Kate says it is a “church thing” and it us 10 minutes to explain to our Italian teacher how to say potluck and then what it actually meant. We should have just told her it meant we wouldn’t be studying last night. The whole shebang turned out to be a true success besides the whirlwind that wind through my living room. Let’s just say I swiffered before and after the party. Nevertheless, it is now a permanent statue on our weekly social calendar; Gretchen (from Virginia) says “our parents would be proud!”
There is a restaurant here called “Tex Mex”. That’s right, even Italy has Mexican Restaurants! On Sunday night, the girls and I went out for margaritas and tacos. After examining the menu intently, Ellie says, “I wonder what the word for taco is in Italian.” Oh man! I’m pretty sure taco is taco in every language. Although this isn’t your authentic Mexican (what is authentic Mexican anyway?), I did have the freshest cheese I have ever had on my enchiladas. It turned out to also be the most expensive Mexican food I have ever paid for...25 Euros! But the best part was when I got home, I didn’t even smell like I had been at a Mexican restaurant!
Last night we had a potluck in my apartment. It amazes me that you can get 15 American students from all different regions together to eat and still call it a “potluck”. I thought that was only a southern United States tradition. Kate says it is a “church thing” and it us 10 minutes to explain to our Italian teacher how to say potluck and then what it actually meant. We should have just told her it meant we wouldn’t be studying last night. The whole shebang turned out to be a true success besides the whirlwind that wind through my living room. Let’s just say I swiffered before and after the party. Nevertheless, it is now a permanent statue on our weekly social calendar; Gretchen (from Virginia) says “our parents would be proud!”
My Not So Organic Life.
I feel the need to take a minute and comment on my recent supermarket experiences. It never occurred to me that shopping in a supermarket in Italy would mean I would not know how many calories are in something, or heaven forbid, if it contains high fructose corn syrup (I can hear Daniela gasping from 10,000 miles away). Now instead of going to Whole Foods or Trader Joes, I am shopping in Milano Bianco euphoria (i.e. Italian Cookie Company). It also freaks me out that the same company that makes all the cookies also makes the bread, and my “natural” granola. Hmmm…
The good news is I am finally mastering the art of shopping for only what you need each day. This means I am now eating more yogurt than anything because everything else takes more time than my allotted grocery excursion can handle. By the time I get the plastic produce bags open (a task indeed) and remember the number to weigh all the produce I have just resorted to finding my way to the yogurt isle. I made sure I learned the word for “soy” and I have stayed faithful. It’s a good thing the Europeans know how to do yogurt!
Mom thinks that going to Harris Teeter in Fayetteville is a visiting party. Try having a grocery store in your apartment building. It is impossible to get out of Inters-par without seeing people you know having at least three different conversations. Yesterday, such happened to me as I was hustling around in my 10 minutes of free time. As if looking Italian, and being accompanied by two blonde girls doesn’t make me enough of a spectacle, we all walk around speaking English. This is how we make friends. “You speak English?” “Where are you from?” “Wow, English! I haven’t heard that in a couple of months.” Meeting people this way is not surprising to us anymore, unless they are 7’4! Yes, a foot taller than my brother, my dad, and most men in my life. I seriously met the tallest man I have ever seen yesterday and all I could think was “Wow, I need a ladder”. Matt, from Maryland, is playing basketball for a team here in Ferrara. Kate and Ellie are disappointed that we didn’t get his number, but I’m sure it won’t b e hard to find him.
The good news is I am finally mastering the art of shopping for only what you need each day. This means I am now eating more yogurt than anything because everything else takes more time than my allotted grocery excursion can handle. By the time I get the plastic produce bags open (a task indeed) and remember the number to weigh all the produce I have just resorted to finding my way to the yogurt isle. I made sure I learned the word for “soy” and I have stayed faithful. It’s a good thing the Europeans know how to do yogurt!
Mom thinks that going to Harris Teeter in Fayetteville is a visiting party. Try having a grocery store in your apartment building. It is impossible to get out of Inters-par without seeing people you know having at least three different conversations. Yesterday, such happened to me as I was hustling around in my 10 minutes of free time. As if looking Italian, and being accompanied by two blonde girls doesn’t make me enough of a spectacle, we all walk around speaking English. This is how we make friends. “You speak English?” “Where are you from?” “Wow, English! I haven’t heard that in a couple of months.” Meeting people this way is not surprising to us anymore, unless they are 7’4! Yes, a foot taller than my brother, my dad, and most men in my life. I seriously met the tallest man I have ever seen yesterday and all I could think was “Wow, I need a ladder”. Matt, from Maryland, is playing basketball for a team here in Ferrara. Kate and Ellie are disappointed that we didn’t get his number, but I’m sure it won’t b e hard to find him.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
When in Ferrera...Ride a Bike
Ciao! Last Friday my teacher announced that Saturday would be the first day of fall in Italy. When I think Fall I imagine leaves changing to hues of orange and red and cooling of temperatures. With sweat rolling off my forhead in the class with no AC, I rolled my eyes. Beside not having enough summer clothes, I was fully prepared to settle into a few more weeks of 90° weather. (I will just have to wait to buy the big beautiful sweater at Zara!). Friday night rocked that boat! It was like Nestles instant hot chocolate or God saying "Let it be Fall in Italy." Lets just say, I already bought that sweater from Zara because I convienuatly did not bring a coat or any sweaters! Man..DARN IT!
Since Saturday, it is officially and instantly the rainy season in Italy. It will rain for a couple hours a day then be perfectly beautiful with various degrees of temperatures alll day long. I love it! Yesturday I got to be Mary Poppins on my Bike, carrying my umbrella and swaying from side to side. It is like texting and driving except on a bike. Now I just need to master the holding of an umbrella, talking on the phone, and riding my bike to become truely italian.
Since Saturday, it is officially and instantly the rainy season in Italy. It will rain for a couple hours a day then be perfectly beautiful with various degrees of temperatures alll day long. I love it! Yesturday I got to be Mary Poppins on my Bike, carrying my umbrella and swaying from side to side. It is like texting and driving except on a bike. Now I just need to master the holding of an umbrella, talking on the phone, and riding my bike to become truely italian.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
14 hours of Italian in three days
Everyday is a gift...thats why they call it the present.
Ciao! I'm exausted. Wednesday nights in Ferrera are the Thursday nights of college students in the U.S. We had a blast last night (and also met some english speaking Dutch students!). All the young people come out on the piazza for drinks. And the best part...it all happens on cobble stone streets right in front of the huge cathedral. Needless to say, I was trying to blog every Wednesday and Saturday, but that may not happen with such a busy schedule. Well, busy may be an understatement. In these first two weeks I have to have 50 contact hours of Italian. This means I have 3 hours of lecture and 1 hour of of conversation every day. This is a solid program. I love my classes because it is like being in kindergarden all over again. Taking a foreign language in it's orgin country is nothing like learning it in the states; I am learning how to read, spell, do math, and tell time...ALL in Italain. But, besides the four straight hours of Italian each day, I have to spend 10 hours in the lab (signed and recorded) within the first two weeks completeing a 20 or so page assignment. Then I'm expected to finish my homework and be ready to go the next day. Wow! My 1:30am bed time and 7:30 am wake time are catching up to me fast.
But, it has helped to have a bike. Kate (from Michigan), Ellie (from Florida), and I got our bikes on Tuesday. The University is about a 15 minute ride from my apartment. Mom keeps telling me things she is woried about and after discovering that the cars, bikes and walkers all share the same 10 foot (wide) road, she added this to her list.
"Are bikes and cars sharing the road? Do Italians wear helmets? Be careful...add it to your list...the gypsies, the men, and now the bike!"
And no Mom, we don't where helmets. In fact, most of the Italian women where their stelletos and heels on there bikes fashionable clothes. Last night we got dolled up and road to the piazza on our bikes. Lets just say that wrap dresses and tight leggings cause a little crack action on the bike. Kate was a little worried that we may expose our "goods" if we weren't careful. P.S. Did you know you can get a B.W.I here? Yep. Ride your bike after too much to drink and you could get in a trouble with the Italian law enforcement. It is more commen to get a B.W.I than a D.W.I.!
To learn our numbers in Italian, my friends and I have come up with a rating system for the Italian men. You have to be atleast decently attractive to even hit the scale. With uno (1) being the lowest and dieche (10) being the highest, I haven't seen many men that are at least a cinque (5). It is true; everyone is just generally beautiful here. In class yesturday we were talking about Nel tiempo libro in Ferrera (what you do in your free time in Ferrera). So, when Ana got to me, being sassy, I responded, "Bevo un caffe e guardo regazzi italiani, nel tiempo libro a Ferrera." In english: In my free time in Ferrera, I drink coffee and look at Italian boys. Hey, she told us to be honest! Afterwards, I had to ask..."Come se diche dreamy". I think this is a word I will need frequently to describe what I see! If I could just learn how to say, Dr. McDreamy in Italian, then I would be set. I met the most attractive man I have ever seen the other day. By met I mean, We exchanged "ciao" in front of his apartment! Haha. My friends giggled like little girls and Kate teases that "Nicole is going to back peddle everytime she rides past there" It's true. I'm back peddling!
I have a new phrase for my girlfriends who have boyfriends back in America. Posso Guardo ma non posso tocco. : You can look, but you can't touch! Forturnatly, I am not in this predicament. "Ana Como se diche Single?"
Ciao! I'm exausted. Wednesday nights in Ferrera are the Thursday nights of college students in the U.S. We had a blast last night (and also met some english speaking Dutch students!). All the young people come out on the piazza for drinks. And the best part...it all happens on cobble stone streets right in front of the huge cathedral. Needless to say, I was trying to blog every Wednesday and Saturday, but that may not happen with such a busy schedule. Well, busy may be an understatement. In these first two weeks I have to have 50 contact hours of Italian. This means I have 3 hours of lecture and 1 hour of of conversation every day. This is a solid program. I love my classes because it is like being in kindergarden all over again. Taking a foreign language in it's orgin country is nothing like learning it in the states; I am learning how to read, spell, do math, and tell time...ALL in Italain. But, besides the four straight hours of Italian each day, I have to spend 10 hours in the lab (signed and recorded) within the first two weeks completeing a 20 or so page assignment. Then I'm expected to finish my homework and be ready to go the next day. Wow! My 1:30am bed time and 7:30 am wake time are catching up to me fast.
But, it has helped to have a bike. Kate (from Michigan), Ellie (from Florida), and I got our bikes on Tuesday. The University is about a 15 minute ride from my apartment. Mom keeps telling me things she is woried about and after discovering that the cars, bikes and walkers all share the same 10 foot (wide) road, she added this to her list.
"Are bikes and cars sharing the road? Do Italians wear helmets? Be careful...add it to your list...the gypsies, the men, and now the bike!"
And no Mom, we don't where helmets. In fact, most of the Italian women where their stelletos and heels on there bikes fashionable clothes. Last night we got dolled up and road to the piazza on our bikes. Lets just say that wrap dresses and tight leggings cause a little crack action on the bike. Kate was a little worried that we may expose our "goods" if we weren't careful. P.S. Did you know you can get a B.W.I here? Yep. Ride your bike after too much to drink and you could get in a trouble with the Italian law enforcement. It is more commen to get a B.W.I than a D.W.I.!
To learn our numbers in Italian, my friends and I have come up with a rating system for the Italian men. You have to be atleast decently attractive to even hit the scale. With uno (1) being the lowest and dieche (10) being the highest, I haven't seen many men that are at least a cinque (5). It is true; everyone is just generally beautiful here. In class yesturday we were talking about Nel tiempo libro in Ferrera (what you do in your free time in Ferrera). So, when Ana got to me, being sassy, I responded, "Bevo un caffe e guardo regazzi italiani, nel tiempo libro a Ferrera." In english: In my free time in Ferrera, I drink coffee and look at Italian boys. Hey, she told us to be honest! Afterwards, I had to ask..."Come se diche dreamy". I think this is a word I will need frequently to describe what I see! If I could just learn how to say, Dr. McDreamy in Italian, then I would be set. I met the most attractive man I have ever seen the other day. By met I mean, We exchanged "ciao" in front of his apartment! Haha. My friends giggled like little girls and Kate teases that "Nicole is going to back peddle everytime she rides past there" It's true. I'm back peddling!
I have a new phrase for my girlfriends who have boyfriends back in America. Posso Guardo ma non posso tocco. : You can look, but you can't touch! Forturnatly, I am not in this predicament. "Ana Como se diche Single?"
Prudence
Prudent(adj); Wise in handling practical matters; exercising good judgment or common sense. The Italians have predence mastered. Saturday night I took a shower (sitting down) in the most beautiful bathroom I have ever been in. And yes, it wasn't a "bath" as we would consider one. There was half a door to cover the shower head part of the tub, but the shower head part was low enough that you could sit comfortably in the tilted tub. Their arciturture and design is simply smart. I'm a little scared of the bade(if that is how you spell it). In every bathroom there are two ceramic bowls, a toliet and the bade. The only way I can tell the difference is to know that the one with the chain is the toliet and the one with the hose, the bade. But, after a couple a drinks this may get a little confusing. Yesturday, I almost peeed in the bade. Lets just say, I'm not as prudent as the Italians, but I hope to be soon.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
How to speak Italian without speaking Italian
Ciao! I'm on the Eurostar on the way to Florence (to visit Mike and Lourdes). My very first train and I boared [tutto]- all- in Italian!!! Everything is so new to me. I feel like a child learning the moras and folkways of life. I know I must stick out like a sore thumb. Of course not fashion wise! Believe me, I'm dressed appropriately, although style appears to be a liberal idea hre in Italy. I have seen every kind of pants and shirt. It seems to be popular to wear pants that make one loko like Aladain should be sweaping you away on a red carpot.
I am definatly American. Southern American to be exact. As my study abroad friends would describe me...I'm the "nice" girl. I can't help it. As if it isn't bad enough that I can't speak enough Italian to order a drink or ask to use the restroom(which is rude if you don't buy anything and a public restroom in a foriegn idea here), my southern accent has also followed me. Ya'll slips out of my mouth like jello from the hands. Colin from Oregon likes to tease me about this but insist it is only funny because he will probably be saying it soon enough.
There has been several instance where [after the fact] i realized that if I had known better I might have been embarassed with my actions. Did you know you can't buy fruit in the supermarketo unless you have gloves on? OR that they sell German hairdryers in Italy? (FYI: don't buy the cheapest hairdryer, when you can't read the label. I should have known that was GERMAN!) I was so excited to finally have a hairdryer and then it didn't fit the plug. Don't worry Jennifer, I have cute head bands!!!
The first day I was in Italy I borrowed a spoon for my yogurt fromt he breakfast cafe (equivalent to a contiental breakfast in a fancy U.S. hotel). When I went to return the spoon, the room was clean and there was no place for dirty dishes. I stepped back into the kitchen and was caught red handed by an older italain women in a maids outfit. With all the skills I have aquired over the years from surades and jestures, I still could not break teh language barrier and explain to this sweet [donna]- women that i just didn't want to steal her spoon. About 10 mintues later and with the combination or help from the front desk and Jacob from Long Island, the spoon was safely returned and the lady relieved (an exhausitng dance!) Needless to say, this simple, yet daunting task gave me a pretty good laugh.
Last night, the center had a party fro the study abroad students. They have been feeding us good food and makign us merry with more wine, beer, and -as of late- sangria than I have ever seen in the U.S.. We have eaten at simple pizzerias to fancy resturants with three course meals. But either extreme offers the same experience; we always dine. By this I mean, eating dinner is an all night affair. We sit around 8pm and I almost never stand until 11pm. I truely love this. With friends and lots to talk about, time isnt' of essance in this beautiful country! We eat and then we walk. I have most likely walked about 10 miles a day since my arrival, which is probably a good thing considering all the vino e foccia. I'm convinced this is the secret of the skinny Italian women. Everyone walks and bikes in Ferrera. It is estimated that ehre are 130,000 bikes in the city. And on some days, it appears that there are more parked bikes than people to ride them. It is truely a madjestic city. In the old part, there is a castle with a moute and a cathedral, with cobblestone streets. But not so madjestic and not so Italian is a McDonalds right across that cobblestone street. Is that and oximoran or what? All Ferreraians hang out at night on these central plaza. All ages come out to enjoy a drink and walk from bar to bar with friends. Last night there was a designer fashion show outside the castle. This was right up my ally and I enjoyed watching the styles of Italy cast out in front of me.
The girls and I have adpoted a favorite spot around the corner from the castle. It is tagged "lezzy bar" for the looks of it's bar tender. Of course, our pet name for the niche has nothing to do with our taste for it. It is in a great spot in town and not normally crowded. It appears as if they may have forgot to buy barstools, but this adds to the charm. I enjoy standing up, especially when my feet already hurt from walking 25 minutes just to get a drink. ; ). love from italy.
I am definatly American. Southern American to be exact. As my study abroad friends would describe me...I'm the "nice" girl. I can't help it. As if it isn't bad enough that I can't speak enough Italian to order a drink or ask to use the restroom(which is rude if you don't buy anything and a public restroom in a foriegn idea here), my southern accent has also followed me. Ya'll slips out of my mouth like jello from the hands. Colin from Oregon likes to tease me about this but insist it is only funny because he will probably be saying it soon enough.
There has been several instance where [after the fact] i realized that if I had known better I might have been embarassed with my actions. Did you know you can't buy fruit in the supermarketo unless you have gloves on? OR that they sell German hairdryers in Italy? (FYI: don't buy the cheapest hairdryer, when you can't read the label. I should have known that was GERMAN!) I was so excited to finally have a hairdryer and then it didn't fit the plug. Don't worry Jennifer, I have cute head bands!!!
The first day I was in Italy I borrowed a spoon for my yogurt fromt he breakfast cafe (equivalent to a contiental breakfast in a fancy U.S. hotel). When I went to return the spoon, the room was clean and there was no place for dirty dishes. I stepped back into the kitchen and was caught red handed by an older italain women in a maids outfit. With all the skills I have aquired over the years from surades and jestures, I still could not break teh language barrier and explain to this sweet [donna]- women that i just didn't want to steal her spoon. About 10 mintues later and with the combination or help from the front desk and Jacob from Long Island, the spoon was safely returned and the lady relieved (an exhausitng dance!) Needless to say, this simple, yet daunting task gave me a pretty good laugh.
Last night, the center had a party fro the study abroad students. They have been feeding us good food and makign us merry with more wine, beer, and -as of late- sangria than I have ever seen in the U.S.. We have eaten at simple pizzerias to fancy resturants with three course meals. But either extreme offers the same experience; we always dine. By this I mean, eating dinner is an all night affair. We sit around 8pm and I almost never stand until 11pm. I truely love this. With friends and lots to talk about, time isnt' of essance in this beautiful country! We eat and then we walk. I have most likely walked about 10 miles a day since my arrival, which is probably a good thing considering all the vino e foccia. I'm convinced this is the secret of the skinny Italian women. Everyone walks and bikes in Ferrera. It is estimated that ehre are 130,000 bikes in the city. And on some days, it appears that there are more parked bikes than people to ride them. It is truely a madjestic city. In the old part, there is a castle with a moute and a cathedral, with cobblestone streets. But not so madjestic and not so Italian is a McDonalds right across that cobblestone street. Is that and oximoran or what? All Ferreraians hang out at night on these central plaza. All ages come out to enjoy a drink and walk from bar to bar with friends. Last night there was a designer fashion show outside the castle. This was right up my ally and I enjoyed watching the styles of Italy cast out in front of me.
The girls and I have adpoted a favorite spot around the corner from the castle. It is tagged "lezzy bar" for the looks of it's bar tender. Of course, our pet name for the niche has nothing to do with our taste for it. It is in a great spot in town and not normally crowded. It appears as if they may have forgot to buy barstools, but this adds to the charm. I enjoy standing up, especially when my feet already hurt from walking 25 minutes just to get a drink. ; ). love from italy.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Everyone smiles in the same language
I cried when the plane left raleigh. I wouldn't call myself a home body; I live for travel, but home is where the heart is. And right now my home is in Raleigh and my heart's got jet lag. It will catch up, I promise! Mom said I'm not one to let "grass grow under my feet". I promised Daniela I'd keep smiling as long as she did! I'm smiling, but it may bew decieving. I'm not quite sure who I am right now (as I sit on the plane). If you have ever been in a place where you don't know a soul, you may understand what I mean. I'm not lost, but merely I can be whoever I want to be. Just imagine! If I so decide, I may assume an alternate identity, just for kicks. Hell, I may be Clark Gorman for the next eight hours. Or maybe, I want to be an exclusive designer for fashion week in Paris or a yogi going to a conferance in India. No but really, I know no one and no body knows me. I'm literally flying into the unknown and I realy do like it (besides that ting of fear. or is it anticipation?). Don't worry my loves, I will always remember who I am and where I come from. It is too deep rooted. I read something in proverbs a couple weeks ago that reminded me of this. It said something like you may choose your journey but God chooses your steps. Thats where I am for now.
A girl from Belgrade sat next to me on the plane. If you don't know where that is think Bosnia, It is in one of the slovican countries. Anyway she spoke English, was 24 and also a Junior (my American standards). She was great and we talked about fashion and read magazines. There were 4 cute italian boys sitting next to me. They had on sweatshirts that said UCSD. and of course i wanted to know what that meant. My belgrade friend joked with me that they were going where i was going and i should talk to them. Well, I sorta forgot that I didn't speak Italian. So that didn't work. They spoke only Italian. My phrase book has become my best friend. Anyway, more to come. Gotta run get ready for dinner. I will catch up on what has happened since I got off the plane and I sure the next 6 hours will involve last more euphoric happenings to write about. love from italy. nic
A girl from Belgrade sat next to me on the plane. If you don't know where that is think Bosnia, It is in one of the slovican countries. Anyway she spoke English, was 24 and also a Junior (my American standards). She was great and we talked about fashion and read magazines. There were 4 cute italian boys sitting next to me. They had on sweatshirts that said UCSD. and of course i wanted to know what that meant. My belgrade friend joked with me that they were going where i was going and i should talk to them. Well, I sorta forgot that I didn't speak Italian. So that didn't work. They spoke only Italian. My phrase book has become my best friend. Anyway, more to come. Gotta run get ready for dinner. I will catch up on what has happened since I got off the plane and I sure the next 6 hours will involve last more euphoric happenings to write about. love from italy. nic
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
