Southern Invasion: How Cowboy Hats are Ruining Today's Italian Youth

Going out at night in Florence usually consists of bars with color changing lights, thumping music, and a heavily crowded room you can barely move in.  Some nights this is okay.  Other nights you just want a simple drink that doesn't involve a cosmic lighting or a sound system that will blast you and your hearing into oblivion.  This is where the Dublin Pub comes in.  Normal lighting, good drinks, pleasant people, and the sound of the human voice can be heard above the music without shouting.

For all it's good qualities, Amy and I discovered last night that it does have one little abnormality.  This may not have been an everyday occurrence, but I secretly hope it is.  This experience is one I wouldn't mind being witness to again.  Italian line dancing.

If you've never seen an Italian line dance to country music, you're missing out.  The clash in cultures is comical and unexpected, turning an okay night into something entirely amusing.  Imagine it: mid-aged Italian men and women, in cowboy hats, line dancing in the Dublin Pub.  Magical.  And here I thought all of the best sights of Florence were in churches...

When Thirteen Fails, Twelve Prevails!

Wednesday evening was a night meant for the opera.  Tosca was playing.  The tickets were bought.  The house was packed and everything was ready to go.  Too bad we were all too tired to properly enjoy it.

Two days before Tosca (Monday)  there was a paper due.  As can be properly assumed, Sunday was a late night full of cramming and desperately trying to find the words that would end the paper writing agony.  Another long night followed.  Tuesday night was not spent catching up on the sleep that was so desperately needed, either.  Instead, it was used preparing for a midterm in our other art history course.  Needless to say when Wednesday came I was ready to curl up into a ball for a nap just about anywhere.  This includes the opera, unfortunately.

Honestly, and I feel bad for admitting this, I may have dosed off a few times during Tosca.  What my mind could mentally process, though, was very enjoyable.  The scenery was absolutely amazing.  Mind blowing, really.  The costumes were gorgeous and the singing was delightful.  The orchestra didn't play a bad note the entire night, either.  Everything was beautiful.  I just wish I could have been more awake for it.

As I have already stated, I was dead tired at Tosca.  And, fun fact, the theatre is about a 45/50 minute walk from home.  This is not exactly a recipe for success.  Walking being out of the question, next we turn to the bus system.  Now, the placard with bus times at the station says the last time bus 13 hits the station is at 23:25.  Well, we got out of the opera around that time and knew we would never make it.  Without the bus system, the only option left was a taxi; an expensive taxi.  We had to walk to the station anyway to find a cab and when we arrived we were pleasantly surprised for there sat bus number 12.

Bus 12 usually takes us from home to the station, which is right next to school.  So, naturally, if we left the station on it we'd get home eventually.  And eventually get home we did.  We may have had to ride the bus for half an hour and could have walked home in that amount of time, but it was still a pleasant ride.  I prefer to think of it as the scenic tour we never had.  I swear, if I remember nothing else about Florence, I'll remember the buses.

Multi-Culture Doesn't Even Begin to Describe It

I must say, dinner conversations in foreign countries do tend to have their fair share of amusements.  Sure there is the normal, "How was your day?" talk, but there is a lot more to learn as well.  The new company makes things fun and the language barrier makes things interesting.  Many a night Amy and I have had an odd conversation with Nino and Gabriella.  One night Gabriella asked us about Mormons.  She meant the Amish.  We proceeded to correct her and then try to explain what a Mormon was.  Like I said, interesting.

Nino likes to make Amy and I eat second helpings, too.  His argument is that it's good for our skin.  We don't believe him, necessarily, but we always take that second helping.  Gabriella chimed in with a bit of history.  She told us that Nero used to bathe in monkey's milk in order to have better skin and to look younger or whatever.  Shocked, Amy and I asked her to repeat.  "Asino," she said.  Surprisingly, Amy and I knew this word.  "Oh, you mean donkey!" says Amy.  "A monkey is, you know, ooh-ooh."  Now, you have to picture her doing the traditional imitation of a monkey at this point as well.  Gabriella burst out laughing, as did we all. There is rarely a quiet moment at the dinner table.

Now there are two new members in the house as well.  Silvia and Maria are sisters, each in the mid- to late-40s or so and have come to Florence to take a cooking class for two weeks.  Silvia is from Phoenix and has a horse ranch there and Maria is from Mexico and owns part of an island in Cancun.  They are extremely friendly and the dinner conversations have only gotten more interesting with them at the table.

While Silvia speaks English very well, Maria does not.  That means that Silvia and Maria will talk in Spanish, which Silvia will translate into English for us and then Gabriella will translate that into Italian for Nino.  Confused?  Me, too.  I already was mixing in Spanish with my Italian.  Poor Elisabetta.  My Italian teacher will be all flustered with me.

Mountain Majesty and Sweet Serendipity

This weekend was Assisi and Sienna.  Two fabulously desirous cities complete with churches, duomos and hills. Both had fantastic views of the mountain surrounding them and it was there that I discovered something new.  Mountains are awesome.  They are beautiful and I can't get enough of them.  I feared to sleep on the bus rides for fear of missing something fantastic.  I want to have a view of the mountains all of my life.

Also, I miss water.  On the way to Assisi we passed a lake that Saint Francis used to go to pray.  That, too, was beautiful.  I feel as if I'm going to over use the word, but I don't know how else to describe it.  The sun was setting perfectly over the lake on our return trip, lighting the sky a fabulous, vibrant red and mixing perfectly with the dark blues of the shadows.  Again, I must say, I miss water.

Assisi was tranquil, quiet, cute, and bright.  The day was perfect and not even being enclosed in a cold church for two hours could dampen the mood.  The churches there were devoted to Saint Francis and Saint Claire, both originally from the town.  Google-ing their life stories would be more fun than me telling you, so you can do that.  Also, I saw a friend from high school in the church of Saint Francis, who also happens to be studying in Florence this semester.  It was extremely lucky and coincidental.  The main thing to take away: Assisi = quaint, hilly and perfect.

Sienna was a day trip also, this time just Amy, Krystal, Steph, and I.  With this journey we will be caught up with the other students.  The cathedral is nuts, by the way.  I wouldn't be able to have a mass there; too many distractions.  And I am convinced that if you look at it too long it will all blur together into an amalgam of colors and shapes that may end up blinding you.  But it's still a site to see, especially the library.

This is one picture from inside the church.  And I may have gone a little picture crazy, since I took about 300 pictures today... but there was a lot to see.

Another time I went a smidgen overboard was when we finally got up this bridge/tower/thing in the museum.  It gave us a panoramic view of the city and it's mountains.

Pretty.  Overall, not a bad weekend.  And now to papers.

Fickle May Rhyme with Pickle but it Describes the Internet

So there was supposed to be internet when we got here.  That didn’t happen.  But that’s okay.  Amy and I got a crash course in how to “rough it,” essentially.  However, the problem has been remedied.  The Pagani household now has internet.  Of course this means that homework will be that much harder to complete, but it also means that we’ll actually know what’s going on in the world.  I guess there are plusses and minuses to everything.

Forget Freaky Friday, 13 is a Lucky Number

Since my morning spent roaming the other unknown side of the city I’ve been somewhat weary of the bus system.  I know it was not the busses, but my own erring that caused my misdirection, but I still wasn’t all happy-go-lucky about busses.  However, bus 13 has restored my faith in the whole institution.

Every time Amy and I head home from a long day or need to take a new route to some historical monument 13 has our back.  It was waiting for me the day I went home late after having dinner with a friend.  It even waited for me to cross the busy, car-packed street before leaving.  When we wish to get away from the stupid, frightening birds that nest in the trees near the station, 13 is always there waiting.

It never disappoints and there is never an extremely bad driver either.  Sure, there are some who like to take sharp turns and slam a little too much on the brake, but never is there a driver truly unpleasant.  And let me tell you, there are some drivers on other busses I would gladly avoid.  13, however, is forever pleasant and will forever be my favorite.

Alfred Hitchcock’s Kind of Florence

Can we pause for a moment and just think about the birds here.  They are crazy.  Seriously crazy.  The pigeons here can’t fly, or don’t fly, or a little of both.  Everywhere you go, there’s a little pigeon hopping along.  They don’t fly out of your way, they just run along.  And when they do fly they fly low and clumsily.  One has already hit me and I’m not going to be surprised when one hits me again.  As annoying as they are, though, I can deal with the pigeons.  It’s the other little suckers I can’t stand.

There are these trees by the bus station, you see, and these little buggers like to nest in them.  They aren’t there in the morning but they come by the hundreds when we wait for the bus at night.  When they land in a tree that tree no longer exists.  There are only birds visible and no foliage.  They scare the shit out of me.  Honestly.  I’m developing a phobia. And this new little gem of a phobia is not going to be all too handy when we hit London, where only more pigeons await. 

And the Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round

In my defense, I have been known to screw up my share of things.  I often misread letters and speak in a confusing manner.  This is not an uncommon occurrence and I have come to accept and anticipate it.  However, the problem gets a little out of hand when I can’t tell the difference between a C and a 6.  In my mind they are extremely similar, along with B and 3, among others.  To the bus system in Florence, on the other hand, they are extremely dissimilar and travel in opposite directions.  This is how I got lost in Florence for the first time.

When I stepped off the bus after counting to the appropriate number of stops I immediately realized I was not where I wanted to be.  This was a part of town I had never seen before.  In fact, it was a part of town that was barely on the map that I had.  I asked a friendly looking lady what direction the Duomo was in.  She looked at me with a concerned expression and said, “Oh, it’s very far.”  Not a great sign.  Trying to beat down my feeling of extreme paranoia and anxiety I asked her to show me where I was on the map (barely) and proceeded confidently in the direction I assumed was the correct one.

Lucky my deductive skills are better than my reading ones.  I found myself at my desired destination thirty minutes later without any more wrong turns.  Yes, I was a bit late for class, and yes, it was an extremely terrible way to start the day, but at least I know that I’ll never be as lost as that again as long as I keep to the tourist habits and have a map close at hand.

Just Don’t Call Me Ishmael

Day two in Rome was much better, thanks to the purchase of much needed rain boots.  The snow had continued through the night and gotten icier.  Rome was closed.  Literally closed.  People were not allowed to drive, public transportation had stopped, and people couldn’t make it into the city limits.  This means that only the outside of some buildings were accessible.  The Coliseum was closed.  The Pantheon was closed.  The Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps were roped off.  The only things open to the public were churches, and even some of them were closed.  Still, pictures were taken and fun times were had.  Cold still permeated our multiple layers of clothing, but at least the snow had let up some.  There were two different walking tours that we took.  We walked most of the day but saw a ton of stuff.  The day was packed and honestly it was all quite a blur.  At the end of the day all I wanted was the blisters in my feet to stop hurting and a nice soft bed with two pillows for a change.  Despite my wish going unfulfilled, I still conked out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next day the Galleria Borghese was closed.  That led to a free morning and an early trip back to Florence to avoid ice.  Krystal, Steph and I headed out toward Piazza San Bernardo on the opposite side of the city.  There was a sculpture there called the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa that Steph wanted to see.  Unfortunately the church was at mass when we arrived the first time and then closed when we came back the second, so we didn’t have a chance to see it.  The morning wasn’t wasted, however.  We all had fun exploring and were ready for a nice long bus ride home come one o’clock.

It wasn’t until that evening when we arrived back at our host family’s house that we realized how much we missed it.  Afternoon tea has been something that we have come to love.  And dinner is a ritual we can hardly give up.  Gabriella served gnocchi, a dumpling/potato/thing that tasted like home.  There was also some ham with gravy and peas, yes, peas, and a Carnival special for dessert.  Another thing I had come to miss, however odd it may seem, being called by Italian name.  Don’t worry, I’ll explain.

Many people may not know that the vowel sound in my name is actually very unique to the English language.  People from other countries, namely Mexico and Italy (b/c that’s where I’ve traveled) have a difficult time pronouncing it.  This was proven my first day in my Italian class.  Elisabetta, our teacher, was struggling with comprehension until her face lit up in understanding.  “Oh, Alba,” she said in her exuberant way of speaking.  It being much easier for her, I consented to the name change.  Upon arrival at Gabriella and Nino’s it seemed the same problem with my name was occurring.  So, to simplify matters, my name for any Italian has simply become Alba.  I do believe it’s rather fetching.

Sometimes, When in Rome, Even the Romans Don’t Know What to Do

Rome.  A beautiful city everyone should experience once.  This is where our group went on the weekend of February 3.  Friday started fine.  Amy and I made it to the train station early and got cappuccino for our efforts.  The train ride went swimmingly and even the early morning cold couldn’t dampen our spirits.  What did dampen us was the cold rain drizzling in the city when we arrived.  Persevering, we dropped our luggage off at the hotel and set off for the Vatican.  There we experienced something many are never able to. Beneath Saint Peter’s Basilica lies the remnants of the church that came before it; a church dating back to the first century in the Common Era; a church that contains the original burial place of St. Peter.

To get to this church beneath the church we had to enter through the Vatican grotto.  Here, awaiting our turn in the necropolis is where the snow started to fall, but I’ll return to that one later.  The necropolis was extremely interesting, being a communal burial site for Christians and Pagans alike and ending with the tomb of St. Peter.  We were extremely lucky to have been able to be that close to something so holy.

The tour ended and we were lead into the modern church.  St. Peter’s Basilica is absolutely amazing.  I am awed completely and totally by the size and spectacle.  It is a site that I was hard-pressed to leave, but leave I must.  The Vatican Museum awaited, along with the walk to get there.

This is the first instance of extreme snowfall the group encountered.  St. Peter’s Square was completely flooded with slush and ice and the sidewalks were not much better.  The wind was whipping and our bodies were plastered in no time at all.  I don’t believe I’ve ever been so cold.  Except for maybe the walk back to the hotel that came later.

The Vatican Museum was a great relief.  It was warm and lovely and a perfect distraction from the weather outside, for it was extremely frightful.  Our tour lead through most of the museum and deposited us in the Sistine Chapel.  The whole museum made me never want to leave.  There is so much to see and think about, too much for the few hours we spent there.  Then came the dreaded return trip……

First we have to pause and go over some history…  The last time Rome saw snow was in 1986 (or there abouts).  The last time they saw this much snow was in the 1950s.  This was therefore the worst snow that Rome has seen in over 50 years.  Unique?  Yes.  Fun opportunity? No. Especially not when wearing tennis shoes.  My feet were numb within ten minutes and the walk lasted for an hour.  Needless to say all I wanted was warmth and a bed. And that concluded our first marvelous day in Rome.

Julia Child Ain't Got Nothing on Gabriella

Tuesday afternoon rolled around and it was time for us to depart the hotel and make for our host families.  Moving in with our hosts was an adventure.  The cab ride over was generously provided by ACM and we arrived without too much struggling with suitcases on our part.  Gabriella is our host mother.  She is petite, cute, and a wonderful cook.  The first night we arrived she served us a zesty pene pasta, breaded, thinly sliced chicken and fruit for dessert.  Last night we were fed a magnificent risotto for a first course.  The second consisted of this delicious type of mozzarella cheese and a vegetable that I have never even heard of before, but it was delicious.  Dessert was a pear in the vanilla cream and honey sauce.  Amy and I have been blown away by our host's hospitality and cooking ability.

Our host  father, Nino is adorable.  Amy has accurately described him as the old man from UP minus 100 pounds.  He doesn't speak any English, which is unfortunate, but that just means that we have to learn Italian that much faster.  He was so kind, he even road the bus with us to Santa Croce the next morning to make sure we didn't get lost.  I know I said it before, but it needs to be said again: he's adorable.

We also have a Japanese student staying with us.  Kaori.  She's a student at linguiviva and is here to learn Italian.  She is also extremely kind.  She has a very mild temperament and likes to laugh.  Unfortunately, she's moving into an apartment on Saturday.  Both Amy and I will miss her.

Our classes continue with the same vitality.  Every bit of information is important and it's sometimes hard to keep up but I think we're all adjusting.  We went to the Duomo Museum and Santa Croce yesterday.  Both were interesting.  Santa Croce was beautiful but the Museum was actually warm.  It's a toss up to which one I liked better.

Friday we depart for Rome.  The train leaves at 7, so Amy and I are catching a bus at 6:16.  Early, I know.  Rome will be worth it, though.  And Gabriella, in all of her wonderfulness, has decided to make us a picnic for Friday lunch  to bring with us.  I dare say we got the best host family.