Where Are 10 Weeks?

I could have sworn I was gunna be in Italy for 10 weeks-- so why am I leaving for Ireland tomorrow? Oh, because it's already been 10 weeks? Oh, my mistake. What the actual fuck. I am shocked. I took my final today, and within 30 minutes finished my study abroad experienced. But it wasn't a big sparkly finish, there was no finish line I ran across as people cheered, there were no fireworks, or cake. I handed in my final and walked out of the cultural center turned classroom. So many afternoons spent doodling in my notebook there, and I may never see it again. I did a lot of things for the last time today. I drank my coffee flavored milk for the last time, I saw the entirety of the people in the program for the last time, I ate gelato in the center of town for the last time, I walked 35 minutes home for the last time, I ate lunch with my family for the last time, I snuck up to the attic to watch my sneaky mom smoke a cigarette for the last time, I made a cake with my mom for the last (well, also the first) time. Tonight we are going to have a party for everyone. Tomorrow I leave with two other girls on a train, headed for Rome, and then after that, I meet with my mom and dad in Dublin. I have, exactly, 2 weeks of this adventure, and I am astounded. I am trying to think of goals for myself for the next couple of weeks and this is te beginning. 1. Drink one Guinness everyday. 2. Walk as much as possible. 3. See as much as possible (see above). 4. Speak in English. 5. Listen to really awesome music, perferably live. 6. Finish reading Treasure Island and keep reading Harry Potter in Italian. 7. Eat not Italian food. That's all I got for you now, but I'm working on it.

The Difficult Thing About Blogging

The difficult thing about writing this blog is that it's premise is to publish the discoveries I've found during my journeying. Discoveries about myself, about travel, about life, about cultures, and just realizationy bits in general. Which is... hard to do. I've been here almost 8 weeks and I don't feel particularly different. Everyone, including myself, kept saying, you are gunna change so much during this time. But besides my hair being a little longer, and my Italian being a little better, I look in the mirror and see the same girl, and I use the word girl very specifically, looking back at me. It reminds me of the sad realization I had that the monologue in my head (I use monologue rather than voice because it sounds less like I'm a crazy person) wasn't going to change much. The way I thought when I was nine, I thought, would magically revolutionize by the time I was nineteen. When I was about twelve I realized that was not going to be the case. The same disappointment is occurring. I had it in my head that in 10-12 weeks I could, or rather would, completely change. This is not the case. I see the world in essentially the same way. I feel similarly about myself, and my place in the world. I feel a little more at ease than usual, but that might be the warm weather and lack of strenuous school work, rather than a new emotional stability. Developments are happening, I'm learning, but they are minute, instable, and hard to put words to. I'm making discoveries, but really they are more like hypothesises-- yet tested ideas about the world that are based on observation. I'm a careful explorer, a careful scientist, and I don't want to publish findings that have not adequately been tested and applied. That's what makes this blog so hard. Because there are ideas rattling around in my head that have been spurred by my travels, but they are too young to be properly processed. I can feel them, swarming just below the surface of my conscious and comprehension, sometimes bubbling up in a muddled way that I spend hours trying to decipher. It takes more than 8 weeks to discover everything. Luckily I have 4 more weeks to sift through the chaos. I don't think I'll find anything too earth shattering in the net 4 weeks. Mostly clarification, I hope.

Notes from an Italian Village

I know, I know, I get the award for worst blogger ever. I've been busy, I guess, or distracted. It is beautiful here. Warm and sunny and wild. We are a town perched on a mountain looking over a valley. From our view into the valley, we can see other small towns sprinkled over the mountain-side, all pressumably attached to each other by the same windy road that brought us here. We went to the beach on Friday and Saturday, and I've come to realize that my desire to be close to the water is almost insatiable. The water is so pristine and so blue that sometimes near the horizon it is hard to distinguish water from sky. The sand is a bit rough on the feet and the water is a bit cold, but in May, during the tourist off season, the beaches we visited were almost unoccupied. There is a church in Tropea, where we visited yesterday, built on a rocky outcropping, jutting over the sea. People be warned, I will probably be getting married there, so start saving for your plane ticket. Future husband, get ready. The most pleasant pass time I have found here is reading. When I usually cannot prioritize time for pleasure reading, it has become a bit of addiction here-- preventing me from wanting to really do anything else. I vow that in Seattle I make it a point to read more, and waste less time. When you are placed amongst 30ish of your peers, gossip is outright epidemic. Everyone talks about everyone else, what thy did, what they said, and I'm getting a bit tired of it. Not that I don't participate, but it's not something I spend a lot of energy doing usually, and I'll be honest that I'm going to be happy when all that is over. Time moves slowly until you realize how much time has passed. Each day feels like an eternity, but I still can't believe I've been in Rogliano for more than two weeks. My host sisters are using my shampoo and conditioner. I bought them right before I came to Rogliano and they are almost gone now. I didn't want to believe it, but when I came back from our beach trip and took a shower, I could tell it was a lot less than when I left. I just bought body wash, too. I wonder how long that's gunna last. Anyway, those are some thoughts of mine this morning, for you to mull over.

My New Family: Or How It Feels To Be A Zoo Animal

Now for the blog post my parents have been dreading. Since I last talked to you I have moved from the bustling city of Rome to the obscurely quaint city of Marzi. I am studying here for the second half while staying with a traditional Italian family. My family is very nice, and I like them quite well, but I'll be honest with you guys when I say this is all a bit overwhelming. First of all, I don't speak Italian. I mean, I might as well have been studying Chinese for the last seven months. At best I understand about 50% of the words that come out of my families mouths. But don't get too excited, that's 50% of the *words*, not 50% of the *meaning*. Try reading every other word of something and you'll start to understand that 50% of the words becomes something like 15% of the meaning. Second of all, they all speak in a southern dialect. I mean, I think they do. Otherwise, they are speaking fine, and I'm just giving myself too much credit, or them not enough, or something. Anyway, they seem to be speaking with a certain slur, that probably (more like definitely) have when I speak English. They are totes about abbrevs here, making it a bit difficult to understand when you are used to formal speach. "Come stai?", becomes "Come?", which means "How?" and the first time they said it, I stood dumbfounded for about 10 full seconds wondering, "How what??" Another example is "Grazie" which when my family says it sounds a bit like "Gratis", which means "Free" and is equally confusing. But at day four, I've started getting the hang of their abbrevs, and am now working on keeping up with the general slurrrr... Besides the fact that I can't really speak more than "I'm full" and "How are you" and "I'm happy" and besides the fact that they must think I am the dumbest Italian student, I think we get along great. I have two sisters who are both on me like white on rice (what does that meannn?) and every once in a while I find myself overwhelmed and exhausted by their constant presence. While I do my Italian homework they stand over my, looking down, and correcting my mistakes. While I eat they sit, one next to me, the other across from me, staring at me as I eat, forgetting that they have their own food to eat. When we sit and watch TV in the livingroom, I feel their eyes staring at me watching the program I don't understand. Even now, Carmen, 8, is playing in my bedroom, telling me about her Puffi (Smurf) and her stuffed dog and her toy guitar and... It takes an extreme amount of patience, which as an only child, is easier said than done. I have twice now, told them I needed a "pausa" and watched them mope out of my room, closing the door behind them. The dad is home infrequently, and rarely see him except during mealtimes. I cannot understand a word he says, and now my brain tends to shut off when he speaks, preemptively giving up. It's getting better, though. He has learned to slow down, but I don't know how patient he is. He seems less fatherly than many of the dads I have met. The most fatherly thing he has done for me is cut me up an apple after dinner one night. A sweet gesture I thought. The mom is very nice, but a bit odd. Mostly because I think she is very self-conscious. She keeps asking me if I like her house, which I must say is very nice. She also cleans a lot. I have been here for approximately four days and I have seen her mop twice. Not to compare, but I'm pretty sure our house gets a full mop down every other week, and by a maid-- which I thought was standard. Well, maybe not the maid part, but the every other week part. Anyway, she is also worried that I don't like her cooking. Her cooking is fine. It's good. It's what I imagine to be average Italian cooking. It's not, like, restaurant style, crazy phenomenal, but I like it. The house is big. There are two kitchens. And maybe five bathrooms-- I only have seen four but I was told there are five and I'm not going to argue. The attic has been made into a playroom for the kids. There are two main floors, and the basement is where the second kitchen is. Other people in the program have smaller apartments, so I feel pretty lucky to be in a big house. The mom asked me how big my house back home is and I said it was about the same size. The was before I knew about the basement and the attic. Oh well. Marzi the town is about the size of my high school. Actually, more people attend my high school-- Marzi having a population of 1,000 people, and my high school having about twice that many. Rogliano, the town next door, where I study is about 5,000 people, the metropolis that it is. Everyone knows everyone. I mean, no exageration. I am also pretty sure everyone is related to everyone. Everyone I meet is a cugina or a zio or a nonna or something like that. There are a lot of young people. Actually, there is a diverse range of ages, grandmothers, older parents, younger parents, young couples, teenagers, kids, babies... I am pretty sure you settle down pretty fast here and have kids almost immediately. That is the impression I get. By more than one person I have been asked if I was "fidanzata", which I was taught meant engaged, but apparently they make no distinction between having a boyfriend and being engaged here. I have observed a lot while I have been here, lot's of things to say and stories to share, but this is all for now. One last note, thought, to address the title. You do feel a bit like a wild animal on display the first few days. It's getting better but I still feel like an intruder, rampaging around their house, a spectacle not to miss.

Sorry About Living

Sorry for not writing in a while. Been a bit busy lately. Went to Florence and spent a stupid amount of money on presents for myself. Sorry to anyone who expects a gift from Italy, no room in my luggage with all my gifts for myself :). Anyway, I've been doing a lot lately, saw the Vatican museums yesterday and the Colosseum today. Tomorrow I'm going to go to Piazza Navona and buy art. Then after that, I leave Rome. WTF. Where have I even been the last four and a half weeks??? Living in Rome aparently. Who knows, really. I'll be honest, I have mixed feelings about leaving Rome. It's definitely not my favorite city in Italy (thinking Florence might be) but at the same time I teared up on Monday at the thought of leaving and not hsving enough time. I have done a lot in the last week to finish up my experiences and mostly I am exhausted from it. Last Thursday I walked from the Spanish Steps to the Trevi fountain to the Pantheon at dusk in the rain while wearing sandals. One of my happiest memories in Rome, being by myself, soaked and soaking it all in. I've done a lot of walking to cramp everything in. My back hurts, my knees creak, and even my good ankle hurts. Oh God. I'm getting old. How did that happen at the age of 20? There are women with white hair and a cane walking faster than me at the end of the day. Today I woke up at 7, saw the Colosseum, and cane home at 10:30 and slept for two hours. So much for taking advantage of my last few days. I'm going to get to my host family and collapse in a big pile og aching muscles and stiff joints. They thought they were adopting a nice American daughter, not a grandmother with a bad back and a slight limp. I'm nervous about my host family. I'm sure they are nice and friendly and clean and good cooks-- but I'll never know given that my Italisn has not improved in the last four and a half weeks. Everyone in Rome speaks English, leaving me with no way to practice. And with a loose school schedule, I haven'y learned much through school (don't tell my professors I said that!). So communication is gunna be complicated for at least the first little bit. Keep on keepin' on!

A Word on Food

Food is, like, a big thing here. But Italy isn't like America in their food culture. If you want good food in Italy you get Italian food. If you want good food in America you get whatever you want. The best food in my home town isn't necessarily American food. The best food in SF isn't necessarily American food. The best food in Seattle isn't necessarily American food. Not only does non-Italian food not live up to expectations, it is hard to find. On top of my head I can think of two places-- Mcdonalds and a Tex Mex place. Neither of which I am honestly even remotely interested in eating.

But on the other hand, it is really hard to find bad food here. Even the 3 euro pizza is good-- gourmet compared to the comprably-priced Hot-And-Ready Little Caeasers back home. If you do give in to eatting only Italian food, you're basically guaranteed high quality.

While living in Rome, I have eatten out for almost every lunch and only eatten out for dinner once. Lunch time food consists of 3 euro pizza or paninis most days, but dinners get pricey so making my own food had been helpful in saving money. And pasta is pretty hard to screw up.

My new favorite thing is frying up salami and adding it to whatever dish you are making. Bread and brie cost pennies so they serve as good snack food, and Italians have absolutely perfected sugar cookies. When in doubt, eat nutella.

Also, gelato is a must all day everyday. If you walk past a gelato place and DON'T get some, you are actually breaking Roman law. It's best to quietly comply. And don't just try one flavor over and over. In America it is exceptable to claim chocolate or vanilla or coffee is your favorite flavor-- but here you can't just get the same thing. You will find flavors you didn't even know existed in icecream, and with gelato places, it's pretty common to get two or three flavors so find a couple that sound good together and enjoy!

Wine is wine, honestly. I mean, being on a budget makes buying the expensive wines impractical, but as far as I can tell anything from 1-7 euros is all the same. Better than two buck chuck, but nothing worth noting.

Coffee is complex here. Italians are perhaps the only people in the world who have been able to combat the American coffee/ Starbucks influence. If you order a latte you get milk, usually warm, sometimes steamed, and always always disappointing. This has never happened to me, but I have watched, cappucino in hand, while my friend stares blankly and a steaming mug of white liquid, wanted to laugh but mustering a sigh instead. It's an easy mistake. The only complaint I have is that there is no consistency in price for a coffee. In a bar in my neighborhood a cappucino is 1.50. In my friend's neighborhood it is 1.00. In the bar near school it is 3.00. In a bar a block away it is 2.00. And in the vending machine in our school building is .50. I'd like to say you buy what you pay for, but really that's not the case. Well it is to some extent-- the fifty cent vending machine cappucino doesn't stack up to the 3.00 one but I'm not gunna lie, the vending machine makes a better cappucino than Seattle and I rather have six dixie cups worth of that, than one dixie cup at the bar downstairs. That's my other complaint with Italian coffee culture. EVERYTHING IS SERVED IN A DIXIE CUP. Where is my extra extra large to-go cup???

Buona Pasqua

Buona Pasqua everyone! Today I saw the Pope, again. I went to Easter mass at the Vatican, NBD. And although, I don't think church services are for me, my first (and probably last) Easter mass was pretty epic. It's just so slow going, and in Latin, and you have to stand and sit down and stand and sit down-- it's exhausting. But totally worth it. Now that's what I call a once in a life time experience. Afterwards, the group I was in went and got maybe the best pizza I've had all trip! It was fantastic, but we were also starving so that might have helped.

Last night it was one of my friend's birthday so we went over to his apartment and later went out to a pub. There are a stupid amount of Irish pubs in Italy. I had a Guinness because after the program is over I am going to Ireland for almost two weeks. I'm very excited, but I also don't want to look lame, so I've decided to take the time to aquire a taste for Guinness. And, actually, it's not even that bad. I'm so ready for Ireland. (Not that the next 8 weeks aren't gunna be crazy cool too!)

A few days ago I had a nightmare that as I was leaving all I could think was, I need one more week! I haven't done everything! It was a stressful dream, because that's kind of how I feel. We are officially into week three and in less then three weeks we will leave Rome. Tomorrow we don't have school. Time to grab Rome by the balls.

Trying to Take It All In

It's a rainy day in Rome. Which makes me feel slightly better about being so lazy. There is something about a full week in Rome that is exhausting. You are constantly being bombarded by things- language, food, culture, people, architecture- it's easy to get over stimulated. So today is a good day to rest, read, and write. 

Do you ever get the feeling that you are experiencing so many things at such a rapid fire pace that you can't possibly be able to appreciate them or recall them to the extent that you would like? I am trying to take things slow here in Rome, I have three more weeks, I don't need to rush around and see everything at once. But it ends up happening anyway. No matter how slow I try to take things there is just too much to see-- even when you're not looking. 

Yesterday is a perfect example. 

I visited four churches in Rome- La Chiesa Del Gesu, La Chiesa di Sant'Ignazio de Loyola a Campo Marzio, Basilica di Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, and San Luigi dei Francesi- all with significant both historic and artistic- just don't ask me for more details then that. The churches run together after a while, especially when you see them one directly after the other. 

Then, while trying to take the bus back to my appartment, I took the wrong bus and ended up by the Vatican city. I took the metro back to my apartment, grabbed a quick lunch of brie, salami and bread, lay on my bed for 20 minutes with my eyes closed, and powerwalked 30 minutes to my next adventure. 

I met three other girls at a museum with an exhibit featuring Salvador Dali. I had seen several of his pieces before, especially the ones that have made it into mainstream pop culture, so when I saw the sign for the exhibit I wanted to go. At first it was a casual desire, but then after several failed attempts at going, I became obessed with seeing this museum. I tried to see the exhibit on Monday but slept through my alarm. Wednesday I had planned a group trip but we had a group excursion. Same with Thursday. On Friday I WOULD NOT BE STOPPED. And I realized, I LOVE DALI. I don't even know how to describe my love. He is so cool. He just is so weird. I think he taps into a whimsical side of me, he's work is so specific, so distinct. I know he is a surrealist (there is a quote from him that says, "The difference between me and surrealists is that I am surreal") but his work captures emotion and reality so concisely. Kinda wish I was his muse....... Ahhh well..

On the way out of the exhibit we stumbled upon a second artist, named Enzo Fiore, who I also really liked. He does portraits and sculptures using resin, dirt, sticks, roots, and bugs. Very cool, you should google him.

After the museum we met a couple of other people and headed to an early dinner. This was my first meal out for dinner, and we all splurged. It was wonderful. I started the evening with some bread and balsamic vinegar-oil mixture, a glass of red wine, moved onto bruschetta, then spaghetti, and finished with some tiramisu and sparkling wine. $27 later I was very satisfied with my meal out. I've been trying to save money and cooking for myself, which is really actually quick fun and delicious, but I feel like I'm missing part of the experience if you don't eat out!

After that we caught a bus to the Colosseum to see the Pope. No big deal really. I'm not religious but I think that seeing the Pope is kinda a once in a life time sorta thing, so we had to at least stop by and hear him speak. Except he just stood there for an hour while religious things  in Italian happened (aka, doubly confusing to me). Then for the last 15 minutes he said some stuff that I actually did understand a little bit of because he spoke very slowly. So yeah, that happened. 

We had planned to see a movie last night too but the Pope took too long so we ended our night there and I went to bed, my feet burning, my head swirling, and my whole soul glowing. 

This is my life everyday. I can't always write it down, I can't remember every detail, every taste, every conversation, every picturesque moment, every laugh, every adrenaline rush, and it absolutely kills me. 

Last night, the moon was full as it shown over the Colosseum. The Colosseum was lit up and everything seemed to glow. Nuns and priests flocked in groups of black, white, and grey towards the stage where the Pope would be. I saw so many wonderful things yesterday and that is the one image that is completely concrete. And that is a little stupid I think. 

Customs

Here we are, in the evenings it is customary to eat lots of pasta and drink lots of wine. I try very hard not to defy the customs of the country I am in. Thus, pasta and wine almost every night. It is also customary to eat pizza for lunch for very cheap and drink caffe slowly in tiny cups. Thus I have done plenty of that to. Siesta is customary in the afternoons and I take them very seriously-- as do Italians, as they often shut down the city in order to take a rest from their busyyyyy (sarcasm) Roman lives. It is also a custom to go very slowly-- lento-- and I am very good at that. I am in no rush here and it is INCREDIBLE. No agenda, no pressure, no fast paced craziness. Just... lento... Mmmmmmm... So now I am following customs by drinking wine very very slowly. :)

Culture Shock

Culture shock is definitely a thing. I consider myself a pretty worldly individual but I am starting to recognize a pretty distinct schism between Italy and America. There are these small inconsistencies that amount to not much more than inconveniences, but still make complete comfort here a slow transition.

1. Grocery stores close by 8pm. No late night mega-stores to satifify midnight cravings. If you realize at 7:30 you have no food for dinner you best run if you want to eat something reasonable.

2. Italian women are no where to be found. In social contexts there are no women. That I can find. If you walk into a bar it is 99% male-- the 1% are girlfriends who are dragged to bars by their boyfriends. At first I thought it was just the bars that we had stumbled upon-- maybe it was just that we had only been able to find sport bars, whatever. Incorrect. Italian women do not socialize publicly, as far as I can tell. How do I make friends with them, I ask you?

3. Men are not friends. If you are a woman you do not make friends with men. You are not a "bro". You are a sweet-smelling snack for all men to gobble up. If you deny their sexual advances they immediately move on to the next female morsel. Given my disinterest in these men I find myself trailing after my roommates and their male-callers.

4. No means maybe. Whether it is a man or a vendor, no doesn't mean no here. I find saying "vi via" works pretty well, if only because they are stunned that I would tell them to go away. If that doesn't work, throwing in "cretino" doesn't hurt, as long as you are confident that if they get offended you could take them.

5. There are no lines. We are so polite in American, we form ques everywhere. If you want something here you best be ready to push through a crowd to get it-- from a bus to gelato. Don't wait, just go. This also applies to crossing the street, but do this at your own risk.

6. Cars can do whatever the fuck they want. I love being in a car here, but I would never drive here. Taxis are absolutely insane and bus drivers in Rome make the ones in Seattle look like timid bitches. There is no one way, do not enter, or stop sign that would deter any vehicle for long. And stoplights seem to be logical guidelines. At the same time I have seen no one hurt by car here, so this system works, even if it keeps your adrenaline pumping.

7. Nothing is open on Sunday. Or in the afternoons. Romans take their rest periods very seriously. Don't expect much from a siesta-ing Italian.

8. Customer service is not, like, a thing here. Nor is service with a smile. They're straight up with how they feel about you as a customer. It's uncomfortable at the worst and funny at the best.

That's all I can think of at the moment. There are more, certainly, but those are the most obvious/disturbing to me. Especially the gender relations here-- I am very curious to observe that further.

I Live In Rome and It's No Big Deal

Yesterday I got pizza to go at the Campo di Fiori for 3.50E and while walking through the square an Italian man said to me "buon appetito". Actually. And today while in Saint Peter's Basilica a woman looking around said, "mammia mia". Actually. Every single day I walk by the Coloseum to get to my apartment. Actually. It's weird to think that I'm living in Rome, and it's no big deal. I walk past ruins everyday that I barely give a second glance to. And when I do take a minute to acknowledge the impossibilty of where I spend my life now, I can't even comprehend. So I just go along like normal life, and it's cool. Whatever. I'm over it. ;)

Shop Til You Drop-- Roman Style

Today we met the deputy mayor of Rome. I don't know what deputy mayor is, and it seems like a definite down grade from the mayor mayor, but I guess that's pretty cool. Our school (UW) is the hosts the only program that the city of Rome pays any attention to-- at least that's what they told us-- maybe it was all a lie to make us feel special, but it worked.

After that I went to the shopping district with some of my roommates and we shopped til we dropped. Literally. I mean, figuratively. Except, tonight, while I write this, I actually think it was pretty literal. We had been planning on taking a walk tonight but when we got home tonight after dinner with the program, we felt like we would never walk again.

Shopping is good in Rome. I mean decent. It hasn't blown me away, but I feel like however obsessed I am with shopping, I have also become very picky. I put a dress back today that I think I have to go back and get. As they say, when in Rome, buy all the cloths. But the clothes are cute, pretty standard-- I feel like fashion is pretty universal in this world of globalization. We found a store that could have passed for a Macy's-- four stories high and clearly a chain. Someone said it is actually an international store so maybe I'll find one back home. I bought two shirts in total today. We all want to go back again soon and shop for more!

Now I hurt everywhere. My toes, my ankles and my heels all hurt the most. I thought I walked a lot in Seattle-- nope, here is ridiculous. Everyone is so worried they are going to get fat on this trip, meanwhile I'm excited to get toned! I have two blisters so far and one of them hurts like hell. I've been wearing good walking shoes too!

If I have to whip out my running shoes for tomorrow I will be disapointed. I've worked very hard to dress nice here-- I want to be cute in Rome! Plus, with everyone snapping pictures of our experiences I don't want to look crappy. Most girls on the trip seem to be following suit I've noticed-- but there are a few girls who didn't get the memo: I thought it was pretty well established that Italian culture demanded a slightly fancier dress code. Oh well, I guess they don't give a fuck.

Tomorrow we have our second day of classes (almost one week in and only two days of class so far?!) and that should be cool. We also are starting our "internships" tomorrow-- which I have no idea what to expect for that so we will see.

Cheers for shopping and looking good-- and being exhausted afterwards!

Che Casino, Che Casino

If you are having a bad day, it's best too admit to yourself that nothing good is gunna happen and hide in your apartment. Otherwise, you end up crying. Still adjusting I guess, but it's hard. I was seduced by the shiny glory of the Rome party scene. But I don't know it that's what I want. I need to make sure that I'm taking advantage of what I have here, not frittering it away on cheap thrills. New motto: make it mean something.

Via Annia Bitches, YOLO, and Che Casino

In Rome, everyday is an adventure. The first day, as I described last time, was the Guadian Angels day.

Day two was Via Annia Bitches day. This was the first day we were all together and we made dinner and dessert and then went out to a pub. We cooked a really responsible meal and then had a relatively irresponsible night out... Well not really, some of us were worse than others-- but the Via Annia bitches don't judge each other. We are a compatible group of weird, crazy, energetic girls. There are five us and we spent the second night bonding instantly.

Day three was YOLO day. YOLO, or you only live once, was the phrase of the day. We had an understandably slow start to the day on day three. Once we did wake up we went shopping and wandering around. Then we might have taken a recouperating four hour nap and jumped outta bed at 9pm ready to go again. Laura and Julia (two of the Via Annia bitches) had met two Italians who brought their friend and we all went walking through the city. The city is so peaceful at night. It is beautiful but so quiet. Our vivid energy was like a bright light in a dark room. We all wanted to know where we were going but the guys didn't seem in any hurry to get anywhere in particular. And then suddenly we were at the Spanish Steps, in a the balmy late night Roman air. It was devestatingly beautiful. Then we wandered back. They were great guys, other then their inability to speak English which is actually a great thing because it forced us to practice our Italian creatively. By the end of the night I could feel that my Italian had improved.

And today was Che Casino day. Everything today was ridiculous. Without each other and our infalable sense of humor, we would have ended up crying by the end of today. It started with Laura pouring pasta sause all over herself before I had even gotten out of my morning shower. Then little things kept happening. Che casino was today's title because since we have been here we have learned three different meanings for it: What a mess (as in the house is a mess or the dishes are a mess), What the fuck, or What a confusion. Today was all those things!

Things that went wrong today:
1. An Italian man told Julia to "move bitch"
2. We mayyyyy have seen the Mafia....?
3. We got attacked by a pidgeon who had an egg hanging out of it??!?!?! (WTFFF??)
4. I spilled pesto everywhere while making dinner
5. We bought really awful cheap lemoncello... and drank it anyway...
6. We found out we aren't supposed to keep our windows open or keep the lights on while we are gone (even on the third floor) and having been doing that......... So went immediately home and fixed that.
7. We were ignored by the other people in our program group :(
8. We went grocery shopping and almost dropped all our bags because we were carrying out weight in food

BUT THENNNNN... We decided to change our fate and are leaving for a bar right now to wind down-- or wind up-- it's ladies night at the bar so holla for half price drinks... YOLO

My Guardian Angels

I'm not particularly religious but in the last 24 hours I have had enough miracles happen to make me believe in guardian angels.

I got on BART heading to San Francisco and after a few stops a couple entered and sat down across me. They seemed like your average, slightly crazed, bay area hippies. Then, out of the blue, with me only about three and a half feet away, they started making out. Now, I'm all for the modest PDA but this was hot and heavy, steamy windows, quick before someone walks by, I need you now making out. Now I'm not going to use the word sex, because as far as I could tell nothing was penatrated, but things were definitely happening and I was trying desprately to find something else to look at. This is where my first encounter with guardian angels occured. These two little old ladies, sitting several rows to the left of me. They caught my eye after a few stops and beckoned me to join them. But with two loaded suitcases, a full BART train, and the steady awkward motion of the train, moving several rows back would have been quite an ordeal. So I ignored the couple going at it a few feet from me and focused on the ladies. Old and wrinkled with old cotton hair. Eventually the PDA people got off the train but the old ladies stayed on the train with me all the way until Colma.

After that I thought my troubles were over, but I was mistaken. Everything went smoothly until my plane got delayed on the way from Heathrow to Rome. I was alreadying going to be getting into Rome pretty late and any delay might cause trouble. I got into Rome at 7 and headed to the UW Rome Center, hoping I could find someone to point me towards the direction of my apartment. I wandered around the area and happened upon a street performer who for the first time in several hours made my poor tired self laugh, which at the time seemed like a miracle and I named him my second encounter with a guardian angel.

After a few more minutes of hopeless wandering I heard my name being called behind me, only to find several of the other members of my program walking towards me. If they hadn't have had dinner there, if they hadn't have seen me, or if I hadn't have heard them call out, I could have still been wandering around. They were my third group of guardian angels.

Two of them took me to their apartment so I could look up the address and directions to my apartment. Then I started walking in the direction of the apartment, only to realize that I was in a very remote, very dark, part of the city. A part I was unfamiliar with and that I did not want to be walking in alone. Just as I decided to go back to the other apartment, one car drove by, a taxi and I saw my opportunity. I hailed him and he took me to my apartment. He was my fourth encounter.

When I arrived to my apartment I found the front door locked, I had no way of getting in, and no way of finding out what number my apartment was. But by chance, one of the program directors had stopped by, concerned that I had not yet made contact with anyone. He took me to his sister's apartment, where he was staying, and let me sleep on the fold out couch-bed. Guardian angel number five.

I woke up and got ready to go back to my apartment. While I was brushing my teeth, my professor's neice introduced herself to me. I asked her the simple questions that my frazzled head could remember and she rambled on fast about things I only understood about a quarter of. She did teach me what bear is in Italian, which at the time I didn't appreciate, but in hindsight, seems appropriate. She brought just a little bit of sunlight back into my complicated arrival. That's why she's my sixth angel.

When I got back to my apartment I was told my apartment was number three. I spent fifteen minutes knocking on the door to number three until an Italian construction worker working in the building informed me that that was indeed a storage closet. He let me borrow his cell phone, and with his surprisingly good English, helped me as much as he could. And for that he is my seventh guardian angel.

I had just talked to my program leader on the construction workers cell phone about how I still couldn't find the apartment number when I heard on of my roommates voices down the hall. They just happened to be going to the market and they found me and helped me up to the apartment. And if they hadn't found me, I would still be wandering around the building trying to find the apartment. They are my eighth encounter.

Oh, and it was the apartment on floor three, not apartment three. So, good times.

The last +24 hours have seemed impossible. They have been a little bit impossible. Last night they felt EXTREMELY impossible. But what I am beginning to understand after yesterday is that nothing is impossible when someone is watching out for you. Thank you, my guardian angels. Without you I literally do know know what I'd do or where I'd be.

Thank goodness for luck, chance, karma, fate, or whatever. It's a miracle.

Pre-Departure Statistics

I am now sitting in the gate waiting to board. I've got about an hour until anything super exciting happens so I thought I'd check in. Hi, how are you? I'm great. I've reached the point of no return. No turning back now, although you'd have to drag me in handcuffs if you wanted to get me out of this terminal. I'm doing this, nobody can stop me.

I said a drowsy goodbye to my dad this morning and this afternoon said goodbye to a pouty boy and a teary mom. I've said my goodbyes to my friends and now I've just got to go go go!

But first, a few pre-departure statistics, for everyone's information.

Weight: 164
Height: 5'11"
Pant size: 30
Dress size: 10
Shirt size: M/L
Shoe size: 8-8.5

I am chronicling this information because I intend on eating my way through Italy and I wouldn't be surprised if some of these dimensions changed.

But I also plan on taking long walks, doing yoga with my roommates, and playing soccer in the parks of Roma. So maybe I can combat my iminent expansion.

Cheers, to lots of food and lots of exercise.

Cognitive Processes and Conquering Italy

In about a week I am leaving the comfort of my home country to study in Italy for three months. At what point should I stop being in denial about it all? Because it still seems as unreal as it did four months ago when I was accepted into the program. I feel like with a week left, I should feel ready but I feel more unprepared than ever.

Studying abroad was a priority in my college experience from the very beginning. I like traveling and I knew I wanted to find an excuse to spend months in a country, learning in school and out of it. So I started making parameters and slowly it culminated in this.

I had a very simple cognitive process that led me to Italy and, more specifically, this program.

1. I want to submerge myself in the culture.
2. I want to go to a place where I can communicate with the locals.
3. I want to speak the language.
4. I speak English.
5. I should go to England or Ireland.
6. Where would I go if language was no object?
7. Italy.
8. Can I speak Italian?
9. No.
10. Can I learn Italian?
11. Sì.
12. Will I learn Italian?
13. If I take classes.
14. Am I really acing Italian 101?
15. Apparently.
16. Hey, there's a program where I can learn Italian in Italy!
17. Uh, wtf, cognitive process, you just got your answer.

So now I'm off to learn Italian in Italy! Thanks cognitive abilities!

Fast forward to tonight I tell my friend I need a list of reasons/goals/expectations for myself. Big broad concepts that can guide my interpretation of events and experiences. I want to go into my journey with this lense because I didn't do this with college and I actually kind of regret that.

I just went to college because that's what ya do when you are part of the upper middle class socio-economic tier--I knew it was to better myself or get a better job or whatever, but that was based on what everyone in society was telling me, not what I told myself. I never sat myself down and took the time to explain it to myself. At one point this year I finally did and it wasn't very successful because I was already entrenched in habits of my established college experiences. If I could change one thing about college prep, it would be to examine my own reasons/goals/expectations for myself in college.

The one good thing that came from making that mistake is that I learned from it. I know that for me to get the most from this trip to Italy, I need to actively think about what I *want* to get from this trip. I can't just go there and think "I'll learn so much," I think in a way I have to choose what I learn from any experience.

Maybe that's universal. Maybe that's a quirk of mine, in any case, here's my list:

1. Learn the language.
2. Eat the food.
3. Meet the people.
4. See the things.

My friends think I sound like I'm going to conquer Italy. We joked about it for a full 10 minutes tonight, but actually... I like it.

So cheers, to conquering Italy.