Pig Feet

After seeing 14 apartments I can safely say that the housing market in Bologna is scarier than that in New York City. Potential roommates have ranged from a piano-playing Moroccan barber to a middle-aged female textbook copywriter. And what about the elementary school teacher with an “intolerance” for dairy, the Sardinian sister-engineers, the chain-smoking trio of girls dressed in head-to-toe black (their yapping dog was black too), or the astrophysicist who told me that I didn’t need a window? I’ve almost recovered from the disappointment that ensued after I was rejected by a boy who made me read a page of rules before leaving the apartment: no laundry at night, no cooking with the kitchen door open, always open the bathroom window during and after a poop (well, that wasn’t directly stated, but it’s basically what he said). Let’s not talk about the students who wanted me to pay 500 Euro per month to sleep on their sticky floor. But, now I’m crossing my fingers that all goes well with my favorite, the law student from Venice. She has a cat. (I was hoping for a cat.)

If you ever find yourself in an endless apartment search, the best thing to come out of it (other than an apartment) is a good knowledge of the city. I don’t think I could’ve found a faster way to learn the layout of Bologna. Did you know that there’s a city tax on trash? Or that there’s a transgender member of Italian Parliament? (I didn't learn that from the the apartment search.)

A few days ago I had roasted chestnuts for the first time. They're sold on the street here, all over the place, and you get them in a little paper bag with its own special trash receptacle for the shells. I've heard nuts referred to as meaty before, and chestnuts actually are very meat-like. Yum. I'm not becoming a vegetarian anytime soon.