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.