Adventures in Baloney

In with the new ...

2010-08-27T22:55:00.001+02:00

I'm home. The flight went fine, the weather is nice, the packing is endless, and I miss Bologna.

Here's the new blog; it may not be in your native language, but there will be photos:
distantemma.wordpress.com
Visit it!

Note the box covered in stamps ... No joke!

Goodbye, for now

2010-08-22T20:30:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow is the big day, my departure from Bologna.

I feel heartbroken at the idea of going, even though I know it's the right thing, and the new chapter of my life is going to propel me forward in the right direction. I want to move forward - I just wish that I didn't have to leave so many loved ones behind here. Couldn't the Atlantic Ocean be just a little bit smaller?

Over the next few weeks I will post an update here about the next blog, that is, Emma's Avventure Newyorkesi (ehmm, suggerimenti per il titolo sono benvenuti!).

Thanks to my teeny group of regular readers (aka family members and close friends).

In Italian, there are various ways of saying goodbye - a dopo, which means "see you later", ciao, which is a casual way of parting, the more formal arrivederci, which is literally "until we meet again", and addio, which is a real, serious goodbye. Yet another point in Italian's favor, with such a rich choice of words for every action.

Anyway, it's time for my last dinner in Bologna, at least for now.
A dopo!

Lessons Learned at the End

2010-08-18T17:08:00.000+02:00

As I come to the final countdown in Bologna, which is really not so fun at all; every morning the sense of time passing becomes more stressful. I had made myself a mental list of the things I just had to do before leaving - like, I wanted to go to Venice, I wanted to see an exhibit in Rimini, go to various museums, and the list goes on. Hmm. Not much of that stuff been done.

I have been able to say goodbye to my life in Italy in a few small ways, though, that have been really meaningful to me.

I went back to this special place, with some of the people most beloved to me in Italy. We sunned ourselves on the rocks, hiked up to the abandoned town, and ate at the same amazing restaurant.

I had a wonderful belated-birthday surprise-trip-weekend-with-food. The best present ever, and despite an unfortunate bout with a stomach bug (yes! my stomach always manages to act up at the best times) it was just the right gift.

A friend (who is cooking me dinner tomorrow) told me to name my ideal menu, all the dishes I wanted before I left Bologna. There was nothing, really, that I could think of - not because I've already OD'd on everything - full disclosure, because my favorite meatball meal is already planned for this weekend. But this question did help me realize that there was one thing I really, really wanted: a bombolone (basically, a doughnut without the hole) filled with cream. The best, most decadent, unhealthy, delicious breakfast Italy has to offer.

So I got one this morning, and it was amazing. It wasn't a trip to Venice, or a day spent in a museum ... but it might've been better.

The Next Step

2010-08-13T11:43:00.004+02:00

As my time in Bologna is coming to a close, it seems that "Adventures in Baloney" won't make much sense anymore as a blog.

I have received various suggestions about what to do about this, and the best, I think, is the idea that I open a blog about my adventures in New York. This time I'll write in Italian. That way I can keep my Italian somewhat healthy (hopefully) and I can also update my Italian friends on the next phase of my life. But then I think, maybe it would be better to start up the new blog anonymously so that I can really write whatever I want.

Is that a bad idea?

I know that this will be an unfortunate change for my few American readers, but maybe Google translator can help you.

The thing is, I'd also like to try a different blog server. I like Splinder, which I think is only in Italian, but I've been warned that it's not as good as it looks. Wordpress might be the best bet. I already have a close friend who uses it and you can see, by clicking on the link, that her blog looks pretty great.

So that's an option.

I do wish that Adventures in Baloney wasn't nearing its end, but I think that sensation might be more related to real life than to my feelings about the blog itself.

(P.S. What do you think of these last-minute changes?)

To-Do List

2010-08-10T15:08:00.006+02:00

There are so many things that I absolutely, must, upon pain-of-death do before leaving Bologna. And I'll probably never do most of them, because there are only two more weeks, and it's August and everything is closed, and I'm tired and sad and overwhelmed by moving.

But I did manage to do one important thing. I went to Grom to get a gelato. Grom is a gelateria in the center of Bologna, known for its super-high-quality, Slow Food ingredients. In this case the hype is pretty much worth it, because they make delicious gelato. Grom is also in New York City, and the New York Times recently called it the most expensive ice cream in the United States (!!) - that's really something. All the more reason to enjoy my cheapy cone in Bologna.

For all of you Americans who want to get a really fancy ice cream, of anyone who is visiting Italy, my favorite Grom flavor is "Crema di Grom". It's basically the best version of cookies-and-cream possible: pastry-cream flavored ice cream, grainy, not-too-sweet cornmeal cookies (according to Grom's website, the corn is stone-ground to make the cookies as grainy as possible), and Colombian dark chocolate shavings. So, so good. Especially with homemade whipped cream.

The above photo is really a photo of Crema di Grom, but I didn't take it. Got it here.

Moving

2010-08-07T13:56:00.003+02:00

Of course, one of the most stressful parts of my return to the US is the fact that I have to move. I've been in Italy for almost four years, so this means that I have a lot of stuff - from t-shirts to dishes to the records of my Italian bank account - and I have to somehow move it across the ocean. That is, some of it will move across the ocean, and some of it will end up in a trash can. It's a stressful mess and I don't wish it on anyone!

The only positive part of this moving experience is that I'm enjoying getting to know the post office workers; the best way to transfer my stuff is by ship, which is less exorbitantly priced and customs-officer-harassed than the UPS/airplane method. I've collected various boxes from the supermarket (every time I do my food shopping, the cashiers now ask me how my move is going and if I've managed to deal with all my books), filled them, taped them up and wrapped them in packaging paper, and sent them off. My obsessive taping has garnered many compliments from the postal workers (not one, but ALL of them), that "THIS is how a package is prepared"; here we are talking about truly ugly, masking tape covered boxes, but apparently security trumps neatness. My taping, and my equally anxious compilation of customs forms ("23 pairs of socks, 3 photographs, 2 pairs of jeans, etc") has made me a fast friend of the Italian post office.

Yesterday this burgeoning love affair was further promoted by one of the stranger employees, a woman who resembles a forest elf and has the corresponding voice and slightly antisocial air about her. As we settled my payment for the package (about sixty euros), she peered up at me from under her gray bangs and said that she wanted to attach the full tariff in the form of postage stamps (!!) to the package instead of simply printing out the mailing label. This, she informed me, was the most picturesque way to send a package, and August being a slow month, she could take the time to attach each of the 100 necessary stamps in order to render my box a bit more attractive. As her supervisor glared at her, I nodded my assent (what else could I do?) and headed home to pick up the next box and fill out the next set of forms. When I came back 40 minutes later, there she was, still attaching each stamp individually with a glue stick.

This woman's desire to pay attention to the details and make even the most boring items look pretty is pretty much the most Italian characteristic ever. I will miss this country so much.

Familial Ties

2010-08-04T15:25:00.004+02:00

The next few weeks are full of goodbye-dinner engagements before my departure for the States, and these evenings tend to be extremely heart-wrenching. The positive side, though, is the realization that the past four years here have allowed me to create friendships for which I am incredibly grateful.

One of these stems from a blog entry I wrote in April, about my beloved teenage students. My friendship with Frieda, a German woman from choir, created the opportunity for those lessons, and her daughter Matilde took part. Over the past few months my boyfriend and I have grown closer to both Frieda, Mati and the rest of the family, which includes Gian (dad) and Lucia (younger daughter). We even spent two weekends together in the hills outside Bologna; Frieda and Gian lent me their country house for my goodbye party.

On Monday, I said goodbye to the Frieda-Gian-Mati-Luci conglomerate - goodbye, that is, til I visit Bologna again. We showed up with a bowl full of presents, including from balloons (which Lucia likes to fill up with water), an indoor frisbee (which Gian started using immediately), and washable markers for glass (which the girls started using on the windows).

Above is their family portrait, by Lucia. Below is our "couple" portrait, by Mati. Even the shoes are perfectly accurate!

Of course it was also necessary to start writing a list of "People We Love Very Much". Notice Emma and Max in pink under the list of relatives. We aren't underlined, which was initially very offensive because all important friends are underlined, but then we were informed that there are too many important grownups to be able to underline them all. That seems fair.

I think the best way to sum up my feelings about this family, and the other people I'm saying goodbye to right now, is that I don't even know how to express how lucky I feel. And how much I hope, I really do, that these relationships manage to survive notwithstanding the upcoming distance. It's the only way to make these dinners bearable.

Too Short

2010-08-02T10:46:00.005+02:00

There was no sign of Napoleon ... But I think that I can safely say that Elba is incredible, and not at all a bad place to be exiled to.

There are amazing beaches and lots of greenery, and we have scientific proof that 9 people can share one bathroom without any dire emergencies or problems. Plus, beaches with pebbles are way way more comfortable than sandy beaches, leaving ears and bathing-suit bottoms free of discomfort.

If you add on some great eating, singing, and relaxation, a weekend is barely enough time to enjoy it all ... I want to start all over again!

On a different note, I think that I've gotten better at roasted pepper-peeling over the past few years. I started out pretty shaky but now I might even be ready to peel some peppers unsupervised!

Taking a Ferry to the Seaside

2010-07-30T08:46:00.004+02:00

Today I am leaving for a weekend at the beach. This isn't the first time I've been at the seaside this year ...

And it's not even the first time this year I've been on the Tyrrhenian coast of Italy (that is, the coast where Tuscany is, and where Rome is) ...

But it IS the first time I've been to the Island of Elba, which I'm very curious about. I've heard great things, though - especially about the nature and the clean water.

Can't wait!

Makin' Meatballs

2010-07-29T11:19:00.010+02:00

Hi, readers, if there are still any left. I apologize for my bad blogging recently - this is probably due to various stresses/distractions present in my life right now, such as:
- boyfriend
- hot weather
- departure from Italy (it's true, it's terribly sad)
- preparation for a pre-med post-bac (studying calculus!)
- trying to move, which in this case means eliminating my belongings as fast as possible, often by throwing them away.

Anyway, I'm sorry. I thought that I might try to get back into your good graces by writing about a meatball-making lesson that I received a few weeks ago. I have wanted to learn how to make them forever, because I've eaten some really delicious ones in Italy and they're basically the perfect picnic, party, and snack food. The lesson was held by the above-mentioned boyfriend, who is shockingly competent in these things. Unfortunately, like most good cooks (my mom included!), his recipe is based mostly on intuition and memory and not many facts.

Basically, meatballs start out in a dough-like form, then they're made into little rounds or ovals, and then they're sauteed or fried. As I understand, the "dough" recipe depends on the cook and his or her preferences. But you can make good meatballs by including ground beef, chopped garlic, chopped basil, an egg, breadcrumbs, and some grated cheese. You have to mix it all up, ideally using your (clean) hands, and then add more dry or wet ingredients until the consistency is more or less like Play-doh.

At this point you can start rolling your dough into meatballs!

At this point you need to cook them. One of my favorite ways to eat them is in tomato sauce with peas, and that's what we did. Or at least, that's what I witnessed. Get a pot, start sauteeing some onions in a mixture of butter and olive oil, and when it's hot, put in the meatballs. Brown them slightly and then add tomato puree and frozen/fresh peas. Add more basil, salt, pepper, wine, or whatever else you like in your tomato sauce. Let it all cook for about a half hour.

Then eat it. The only crucial part of the equation is bread; the other stuff is optional.

Girls, girls, girls

2010-04-27T18:33:00.004+02:00

For the past two months or so, I've been teaching English to a group of 3 thirteen-year-old girls, who are in their last year of middle school. One of them is the daughter of a German woman in my choir, which is how I was put into contact with them. We spend an hour together speaking English, talking about whatever we want, and the idea is that they'll get a chance to practice speaking (they learn only grammar in school).

The cast of characters:
Matty, the half-German, half-Italian daughter of my choir-mate. She has grown up bilingual and is extremely gifted with languages, as I frequently tell her mom (her mom just rolls her eyes; I think she's OD'd on teenage girls). She understands everything I say and is often subjected to bizarre rules ("Matty, you have to be silent for 7 seconds every time you want to say something!") so that her two friends get a chance to speak.
Marta, one of her childhood friends. Marta looks like a fairy-tale character: she's almost as tall as me, super skinny, and has wispy blond hair and massive blue eyes that take up almost all of her face. She is sort of fairy-tale-like as a person, too, with lots of independent nature-related interests and spaced-out moments.
Sofi, the third Musketeer. She's more recognizable to me, as far as teenage girls go, because she wears her insecurities more visibly. She recently created a diet for herself that included the following rules: no pizza, lots of fruit (which she hates), take the stairs (this is an established rule despite the fact that her apartment is a walk-up and she takes the stairs anyway) and she has to drink water for 92 seconds at a time. At our last lesson the girls learned the verb "to pee", because Sofi had to use the bathroom 7 times after her water-drinking session.

The wonderful thing about conversation lessons is that you end up learning tons of stuff about your students - including the most unexpected tidbits of info - because your position as a "listener" means that they tend to open up more readily than they normally would. And I've discovered that 13 year olds, at least Italian ones, are totally adorable - they're slightly vain and insecure, but still young enough to want your approval and enjoy the attention of someone a bit older. And they're utterly bizarre and irrational, which makes them hilarious company.

One highlight stemmed from their frequent descriptions of Omar, a 16 year old high schooler whom they met through mutual friends. Among his shining qualities: he's Moroccan, he plays the guitar, he plays soccer, he's very sweet when they all chat online. And after a few weeks of their giggly descriptions, the girls actually dragged him to Matty's house one afternoon so that I could meet him before their lesson! I have to admit, for a 16 year old he was extremely polite and very handsome. Perhaps most endearingly, though, when it turned out that he actually had a crush on Matty, she became embarrassed and terrified and prayed for it to pass. Many of these boy conversations take place in front of unsuspecting, non-English-speaking parents, which is something that the girls seem to relish.

But it's not all boy talk. We also discuss their ballet competitions, their siblings, and the differences between Italian and American breakfasts. They've given me a little window into Italian life that otherwise I'd never have been able to experience; despite the many cultural and linguistic differences, they come from families not too different from mine (including violin lessons, younger sisters and organic groceries), and this familiarity makes the lessons interesting and poignant for me as well.

Tomorrow we'll be talking about Matty's recent breakup, and the girls' classical dance competition, along with some classmate of theirs who predicts the exact dates in which their high school friends' will be "doing it". I'll keep you posted...

My Trial

2010-03-04T12:04:00.002+01:00

I think I've probably written here, in the past, about my feeling that living in Italy sometimes echoes life in a Kafka novel. Actually, it's probably a good thing that I've read The Trial, because it lets me pretend that certain frustrations are taking place in a fictional land, and it is all engineered to make me smile and think about literature. This helps.

The following blog entry is pretty long, but I tried to add as much detail as possible so that I could accurately depict a recent experience. Sorry - if you fall asleep halfway through, I understand!

Italy has never seemed more like a vortex of bureaucracy than it did this morning, when I had to complete a task for one of my various bosses. I have been working recently as an assistant to a woman in my choir who has a business as a naturopath/healer/tour guide/B&B owner. She wanted to insert the name of her business in the city's web directory, which for linguistic purposes we'll call "Bologna Web". (It actually has a different, unpronounceable name.)

To be added to Bologna Web, we were informed that first we had to go to the city's PR office and request an application at the front desk. I did this, and was promptly given an application, which I brought back to my boss. She filled it out and sent me back to the PR office. This is when Kafka stepped in.

I returned to the original front desk, ready to hand in the application. The man there told me that I had to give it to the woman who takes applications for Bologna Web, at a different desk in the back of the room (the PR office, which is open to the public, is a large room with various stations that give tourist info, internet cards, etc). He waved me along. I went to the desk labeled Bologna Web, and the woman there looked blankly at the application. She had no idea what it was. I went back to the original desk. The man there, now oddly furious with me, told me that I hadn't listened to his directions and I needed to go to a different desk that had nothing to do with Bologna Web, but with Free Information.

Feeling slightly discouraged, I went to the Free Information desk and handed the application to the woman there. She flipped through it and immediately informed me that it was missing the Certificate of Association. Indeed, on a page of the application, it was indicated that my boss was supposed to staple the Certificate to her application. So I took back the papers and went to the office, where my boss printed out the the Certificate and we stapled it on.

The next day, I brought the Certificate and application to the Free Information desk. It was accepted and I was given an official receipt with the time and date.

A few weeks passed. Yesterday I received a phone call informing me that the application was being processed, but the company Statute was missing. "But why was it accepted if we need to submit the Statute?" I asked. "When I handed in my application, the woman at the desk told me that all the documents were complete!"
The voice on the phone was stern. "It's not her job to tell you what's missing, it's your job to follow the instructions."
Odd, considering that the woman had been perfectly happy to tell me that the Certificate was missing. But, okay. What now? I was told to go directly to the office of Free Information on the building's second floor, where I could hand in the Statute without re-submitting an application.

This morning I set off in the rain, Statute in hand. I arrived at the city offices and immediately started to worry. The PR office is easy to find, as it opens onto Bologna's main piazza. But the Free Information office on the second floor proved to be quite impossible to find: the city offices are located in a huge building comprised of many wings (including the police department). Each wing has its own entrance and its own second floor, and I did not see the words "Free Information" on any of the various directories.

I went to the main stairs, which have already had a starring role on this blog, as they're connected to the area where city marriages take place. I've photographed various just-married couples as they joyfully descend the steps. Today, though, the stairs were wet and empty. At the top, everything was closed. A door had a "Secretary" sign on it, but peering in, I saw nobody. I headed back down. Nearby, I found the City Archives Office, and asked the two women at the desk if they could help me. Unfortunately, they'd never heard of the Free Information office.
"But you could go to the PR office," one suggested.
"I was told that I could skip that, to hand in the Statute and enter Bologna Web," I answered.
"Well, Bologna Web is located in the PR office," she replied. "Try going back there. Otherwise we just don't know what to tell you."
I went back to the PR office, and headed directly to the Free Information desk.

The woman there, whom I recognized, stared at me blankly. I explained that I had recently applied to be added to Bologna Web, and I needed to hand in a Statute.
"That's impossible," she said. "I don't take Bologna Web applications."
I had a moment of confusion. "Well, I applied with you."
"If you applied with me, you didn't apply to Bologna Web."
"Ah." I'm still confused. "But can you tell me where to hand in the Statute?"
She exchanged a look with her coworker, as if to say, 'What a moron this girl is!'. "Go up the stairs and to the Secretary's office. But don't say a word about Bologna Web - just say that you want to hand in your Statute!"

Now unsure as to what I had applied for, I went back up the marriage-stairs and pushed open the door to the Secretary's office. The long hallway was empty and silent except for the hum of the Xerox machine. However, I was determined to get rid of that damn Statute no matter what. I walked through the main corridor and looked into a few offices. They were all empty. I heard voices from afar, but saw nobody, and there were no signs of life (or even papers on desks).

Luckily, further down the hall, an open door revealed an extremely young-looking girl at a computer. I knocked.
"I am trying to add a Statute to an application here. Can I give it to you?"
Amazingly, I was in the right place. The girl (who seriously appeared to be 18) looked through a mountain of papers and found my old application. She flipped through it.
"Your Statute isn't here," she said.
"No." I showed her that I was holding it in my hand.
"But on the phone, you told me that you'd handed it in."
This was patently untrue. I told her that I hadn't said that; I'd said that I hadn't known that the Statute was even necessary.
"You're right!" she said, laughing. "You did say that. Sorry." [This was probably the only sensible interaction I had in the entire place. Thank you, nameless child.]
She took the Statute and told me that she'll call me if we're missing something else.
Please, please, let that application be complete.

The Importance of Having Friends

2010-02-25T12:10:00.002+01:00

Conversation overheard between two friends.

Friend 1: "My coworker told me today that he sleeps with two guns under his bed."

Friend 2: "Whoa. Really?"

Friend 1: "Yeah. He's a really nice guy, though. I didn't really expect him to tell me this thing about sleeping with guns."

Friend 2: "Hmm. If he sleeps with guns maybe he's not so nice all the time."

Friend 1: "He's just a regular, normal guy. Well, it's true, he told me that he had to come to Italy because he killed a guy in Bangladesh."

Friend 2: "Ah."

Friend 1: "But yeah, like I said, he's a really peaceful normal guy."

Customer Service

2010-02-09T18:13:00.003+01:00

My favorite pair of boots recently developed a hole in the toe area, where the leather connects to the sole. Considering that the rest of the boot(s) is in great condition, and the leather is good as new, I located a shoe repair shop about 10 minutes from my apartment and went there today on the way to a babysitting job, boots in hand. The sign says something like this: "Shoes and Boots repaired instantaneously: we repair leather canvas all materials blah blah". I felt confident as I entered and approached the desk, where the cobbler (is this term still in use?) was surrounded by piles of mismatched shoes. The air smelled like chemicals.

Me (holding out my boots): Would it be possible to repair these?"
Cobbler (not moving): No. Can't do a thing for them.
Me: In what sense, you can't do a thing for them?
Cobbler (visibly irritated): In the sense that I can't do a thing for them.
Me (gesturing towards the sole of the boot in question): What about replacing this part here?
Cobbler: It doesn't make sense to replace that part. It would be better to just throw them away.
Me: Throw them away?
Cobbler: It's not convenient for you to repair them. It makes more sense to throw them out and buy another pair.
(At this point he's returned to his work and is no longer acknowledging my presence.)
Me (bewildered): Okay. Bye.
Cobbler: (silence)

Can someone please explain to me WHY this always happens in Italy? I would really, really be happy to pay to repair my boots. Willing cobblers, please apply here!

New Tenants

2010-01-29T13:14:00.006+01:00

After practically turning into a hotel during the summer, my apartment experienced a low period throughout the fall and early winter. No visitors! However, this sad state was recently turned around upon the arrival of Doreen and May, who stayed with me for about a week in mid-January.

They look really tourist-y and adorable in the above photo. But does your impression of them change if I add that they were marveling at the Fountain of Neptune in Piazza Maggiore, especially the fact that the "fountain" function is represented by water squirting out of mermaids' breasts? (Would a US city ever allow this? In the name of art, maybe.)

While Doreen is a beloved old friend from NYU - literally, from the first day - I had never had the chance to get to know May, and this was a great opportunity. Considering that Do and I haven't had the chance to spend much time together since I moved to Bologna, it was really as if I was exploring new friendships with both girls. And they were sooooooo good to me! See below:

Pancakes (somewhat like crepes) for breakfast with honey, yogurt, apples, bananas and nutella.

Polenta, tuna, baked tomatoes, salad with pears, salmon spread.

This is only a small example of their culinary generosity. Not to mention their cleaning skills. And the fact that Doreen gave us an amazing private yoga lesson. But the real best part was just hanging out with these two terrific women and enjoying a full, warm, sweet-smelling apartment.

Love! (And they have the cutest haircuts.)

I am trying to convince them to come back. I wish the Atlantic were smaller.

New Friends

2010-01-14T02:07:00.002+01:00

It's still too strange and sad for me to think about writing a memorial post for our beloved, deceased cat Dinkie. However, it feels much more cheerful to introduce our new kitties to Blogger. These two new entries to the Gilmore-Valenze household probably weigh a collective 10 pounds, but they're already wreaking havoc. Thankfully; we need them!

This is Lulu, who's a female between one and two years old.

And the oddly-named Carrot - who knows why the shelter gave him this name - who is a male around 7 months old. His name is subject to change. (Suggestions?)

HOW CUTE ARE THEY???????? I wish I could import them to Bologna - or visit them in Cambridge. My apartment really, really, really needs a cat.

High Line Hijinks

2010-01-04T02:45:00.009+01:00

This is a post that I've wanted to put up here forever and I kept putting it off because it required a search through old photos. Done, finally! I am becoming much more proactive in 2010.

This year I visited the new and amazing High Line, a park in New York City that has been created out of an old stretch of railway line. The line was above-ground on the west side of the city, and it was closed for years. Now it's been refurbished and replanted and there are wild plants, amazing wooden benches for sunbathing, art installations - basically it's the best park ever.

To all Glee fans, PLEASE NOTE THE BILLBOARD! How could I not have taken note of this earlier? I would've started watching much sooner.

I learned on an educational Jet Blue flight (TV watching can teach you things!) that the plants were specifically chosen because they can grow wild there. And many of the railway pieces were added to help with authenticity.

And the traffic observation deck (above) is genius.

One of the reasons I was so excited about this park is that I visited the High Line before it was re-done, while I was still a student. In the company of two creative, adventurous friends, I snuck through a fence and onto the tracks. At that time everything was gray and deserted, and probably pretty hazardous. But it was totally enchanting. We were above some of the city's most busy streets, walking over traffic and pedestrians and stores, peering into apartment windows. We were exposed, but felt totally hidden.

(I took this photo on 1600 ISO film, which is why it's so grainy. Ah, the days of real film!)

It's wonderful to see the new park but I have to admit that there was a tinge of something bittersweet. I'm so glad that I saw it "before" - I think that the experience really enabled me to appreciate the current "after". The place in the photo above doesn't exist anymore - but now it can be appreciated by everyone. I guess I'm just barely unselfish enough to be happy about that, and still pleased that I got to be an explorer there, once upon a time.

(Sorry for the cheesy blog title. Couldn't resist.)

Import Export

2009-12-30T23:25:00.004+01:00

I love Christmas lights. I actually should've done a better job of photographing them in Bologna, where they are the best in the whole world (in my biased opinion), but the ones in NYC aren't bad either. Italians put them on every street and Bologna has them not just over the street, but in the market, in the porticoes, on the towers, everywhere. It's beautiful. I'm sad that they'll be gone when I get back.

It's good to think that 2009 is ending, even if all of the year's little loose ends can't be tied up and left in December. I'm sure that 2010 will be better!

Speaking of great things coming in 2010, here is one:

Eataly, Flatiron Building, New York City, Summer 2010! Yipppeeee! Full of Slow Food and good vinegar and rabbit ragu and basically every other delicious thing to come out of Italy. Probably fewer people will want to visit me, now that a part of Italy (and Bologna, though mostly Turin, where Eataly comes from) has been directly transported to Midtown. I'm almost jealous.

No More Snow

2009-12-27T04:29:00.003+01:00

This is the weather in my Italian home:

This is the weather in my American home:

That's why it's pretty great that we're going to Florida for 6 days, starting tomorrow. This is what it looks like, there:

Yay!

Hot dog!

2009-12-24T23:34:00.008+01:00

My NYC trip has been completed (see gourmet culinary exploits above). All my presents are wrapped. It's really Christmas. There's the same bittersweet feeling of being in one place and feeling as if part of me is elsewhere; I should be used to it, but with possible upcoming decisions about my big future, it feels even more poignant than usual. And our catless house feels rather empty; I think that we all keep expecting Dinkie to be in one of his old hangouts, and he's not.

Hopefully more snow and festivities are coming up; along with visits to shelters and new animal friends. The first step is stuffing my face with Christmas Eve dinner. Hurrah!

While we may not know the identities of our future kittens, we do know the identity of our future vet. She's already preparing the ensemble that will help make her seem friendly to her patients. (No comment about the cash; it has more to do with vegan-food-related tips than with animals.)

P.S. The location pictured below is a the view from my friend's house in a town called San Lorenzo in Collina. It's about 20 minutes outside Bologna in the hills. Her house is a bit chilly, but the view makes up for it (note: that's the exact view from her bedroom window).

Bad Blogger

2009-12-23T23:54:00.003+01:00

It's Christmas and I haven't blogged in forever. Probably it has to do with the fact that I felt the need to write a fitting farewell blog for my beloved cat, Dinkie, who passed away this fall. But it's probably better to get back to blogging, even without the right memorial post.

I'm in Cambridge for the holidays and it's been a wonderful whirlwind of activity so far. I'm looking forward to more food and Florida and possibly even new kitties.

More soon.

Grownup Homework

2009-10-21T11:47:00.004+02:00

About 6 months ago I decided to enroll in a graphic design class. Among other things it has provided me with unlimited junk food, constantly occupied weekday evenings, new friends, a disrupted eating and sleeping schedule, body painting experiences, and most importantly, a little info about graphic design, which I really enjoy.

The photo below is a basic representation of what I do with my free time. It may look like hieroglyphics to you. It still feels that way to me, pretty much. Plus, there's the fact that I'm taking the class in Italian, while web code is in English, but my computer programs are in Italian because I got them here . . . um . . . help me.

However, there is an immense satisfaction that comes from actually creating my first web page after months of lessons. And my little Flash buttons actually scroll and enlarge the way they're supposed to. And (sometimes) I actually manage to fix my own problems. Pretty cool. The only problem is that now, when I look at a really fancy website, I almost faint from the realization of all the work/sweat/misery that it took to create it.

P.S. Advice/suggestions are more than welcome. However, the color scheme above was chosen after hours of obsessive-compulsive deliberation. Please do not comment on it unless you have a real problem with it. (For a closer look, click on the photo; it'll load much bigger in a different window.)

Blueberries for All

2009-10-04T19:57:00.008+02:00

I went home for a few weeks at the end of August/early September, and it was (as always) a wonderful trip. Especially because I didn't have to get any teeth pulled. Plus, we went to Vermont during the best weather ever. Is it really necessary to state how beautiful Vermont is?

And blueberry picking is up there with the best activities of all time (along with strawberry and apple picking). We had a grand time and picked a bajillion berries. The only problem with these situations is that you pick so much (because picking is fun!) that you pick more than you can eat, and then spend the next week or so trying to give fruit to everyone you know. But berries picked in Vermont are so much better than supermarket berries, so they're a good gift.

Rosa and I worked on our photo posing skills. We may have perfected the art.

And again. We are explorers of a new land, or something. Either way we deserve a high score for duplicating our poses!

Blueberries aside, though, it's important to comment on one of the things that the US does better than Italy, and that's cake. Cake with frosting. How I miss it! However, I made a special trip get a slice of red velvet cake, excited to eat the whole thing, and I started to feel sick halfway through. Perhaps my time abroad has weakened my stomach - sad!

What else? Oh yeah. Smartest cat ever. Notice that he hangs out and watches TV just like a human?

Dinkie is the best.

Puglia-ing

2009-09-11T20:17:00.009+02:00

I will now repeat something that I've already written at least twice on this blog. I love Puglia. There are many positive things about this region of Italy, the heel of the boot, probably too many to count. But here are some. The food - see capers and tomatoes above - is fabulous.

Plus, there are really good mussels.

And figs, and watermelon.

There are meddlesome but endearing relatives who like to know what you're up to. The vacation wouldn't be complete without them.

I stayed for 5 days with my friend Francesca, ex-roommate and frequent celebrity on this blog. Her family's beach house has its own claim to fame: it used to be the beach house of one of Italy's most important musical stars, Lucio Battisti. This year Francesca's father was invited to a gala honoring Battisti. Unfortunately the sponsors thought that Dr Ruberti actually knew Battisti, but he actually bought the house 15 years after the musician's death and never met him. So this plaque, which reads "for the precious testimony of many years spent with Lucio Battisti at Porto Cesareo", is extremely mistaken! It was too late; Francesca's dad accepted it politely and then escaped from the party.
Anyway, the house is beautiful and spacious and right on the water; I'm lucky to have visited two years in a row!

All this being said, I think that the most beautiful characteristic of Puglia is the sea.

I want to go back, now!

Abandoned Altars

2009-08-30T17:33:00.006+02:00

Twice this summer I went to what is one of my most favorite places in Italy: the Santerno River near Moraduccio. The river itself is beautiful - clear water, deep pools among lots of shallow little streams, a waterfall, greenery, birdsongs, etc. Basically, it's paradise. And you don't even get sand in your hair, because it's replaced by big, smooth white rocks. They're perfect for sunbathing, if you enjoy such activities.

The counterpoint to this river is the old town of Castiglioncello, which sits high above the river on a mountaintop. It's been abandoned and the half-collapsed, decaying buildings and churches are an amazing sight. To get there, you have to climb about 20 minutes up a dirt road, and suddenly you find yourself among stone buildings with splintered wooden rafters and blackberry bushes growing up inside the old houses. According to this website, the inhabitants already numbered a sad 85 in 1833. A friend told me that the residents all left to come to the USA. Or they realized that their village was incredibly inconvenient, since the road is basically vertical, and they all moved down the mountain.

As always, in any isolated part of Italy, amazing food can be found at super low prices. The nearby restaurant (which, I believe, is named "The Waterfall" or something equally creative) is full of truffle ravioli and steak and amazingly thick mascarpone. Plus, the owner has 5 Siamese long-haired cats that have to have their eyes bathed 3 times a day. She is a superwoman.

The funny thing about my visits to the river is that, the second time, we HAD to replay the exact same experience again (day by the river, late afternoon climb to abandoned town, extravagant dinner before heading home) because it was amazing. And surprisingly enough, it was equally wonderful the second identical time. This must be proof that originality is overrated in the face of good food and days spent lounging by bodies of water.

Biological Clock (or not)

2009-08-25T17:09:00.009+02:00

At the beginning of August I spent four days in the Dolomites, a mountain range in northern Italy that is actually a section of the Alps. I don't know any Americans who have heard of them, but in Italy everyone goes there to ski and enjoy nature or whatever. I'd never been (I don't know northern Italy very well at all), but I received an invitation from a choir friend whose father spends his summer avoiding civilization in these isolated mountains. How could I not accept?

The weekend was a fantastic mix of food, hiking, sunshine, and family time (I was staying with three generations of my friend's family: her kids, husband, and her parents). Regarding children, I had the important revelation that some - maybe a very select few - are truly amazing. These kids, Mila and Nico, are beyond wonderful.

Smart, funny, affectionate, sensitive - if I have kids one day, they'd better turn out this great. Mila and Nico accompanied us on every hike and were great sports; being small, they were also talented wild berry harvesters. This is important in these mountains, where the wild berries are amazing.

I enjoyed the scenery, especially because it's light years away from Bologna's landscape - even the architecture seems to come from a different nation altogether.

Plus, the dialect is a mix of German and who knows what. The kids and I understood very little of what was said, even when the locals were speaking in Italian - their accents were just too much for us. We let the grownups figure things out.

Between forests, ancient cowpaths, lessons on the significance of Harry Potter and mushroom scavenging, it was the best long weekend I could've hoped for. And we've already started discussing possible babysitter exchanges during the year. It's probably one of the best surprises to come out of the entire summer!

Fresh Towels Galore

2009-08-12T10:08:00.007+02:00

Somehow it became August, which means that soon summer will be over. I have no more guests coming to visit me, at least as far as I know, so I can obsessively clean my apartment and eat weird meals in peace. Actually, though, I had great times with the people who visited me this summer. Having guests is so easy when you live alone! I could hand out keys and maps and towels like nobody's business, and there were no roommates to worry about. Here is a photographic representation of my summer guests:

Gallatin invasion, part 1. Anthony and Christine are probably the lowest-maintenance guests ever. They somehow trained their stomachs to be hungry only upon command (if only I had that talent). And they had matching red sneakers, so I never lost track of them.

My super adorable cousin and cousin-in-law (well, almost). How cute are they? It was so nice to have first-time Italy visitors who not only appreciated the phenomenon of Italian fashion, but actually got to know Bologna better than me. Eataly fans unite!

Gallatin invasion, part 2! Chinaka came to Italy and Venice almost moved her to tears. Plus, she was speaking Italian after five days here. I think that she should get ready to move.

However, if I'm going to host guests full-time, I think I need to get ahold of a washing machine. And a bigger coffee-maker!

By the way, I'm a zebra now.

Ghosties

2009-07-29T14:38:00.003+02:00

In the past weeks I've visited a haunted castle and an abandoned village. Apparently it's a good time for spooky adventures. And especially after the visit to Azzurrina's castle, I'm becoming convinced that this stuff is real! The castle provides scientific recordings of chanting and singing, which were taken during the night when no one was there. I wonder why ghosts feel more believable in Italy; possibly because the country itself is so full of ancient buildings and memories? (To be fair, the US is too; it's just that the people who could've taught us about the country's history pre-400-years-ago have been silenced and/or decimated.) Everything here seems to have a whole set of different meanings according to each century. It's good and philosophical, because it leaves lots of room for interpretation.

Well, bring on the ghosts. There are still 6 weeks left of summer; there's lots of time left.

Sweat, Corn and Babies

2009-07-22T15:17:00.007+02:00

My last choir rehearsal took place here, in the beautiful countryside outside Bologna.

Though this farmhouse is surrounded by greenery and plants, which naturally make you think of health, the food we ate after our final rehearsal was anything but. Pasta with sausage, various meats and cheeses, and fried bread. But of course only Americans eat fatty foods!

Until the second half of August I'll be in Bologna and I have to brace myself for the heat and the emptiness of the city. People keep encouraging me to take a trip alone, but I don't know if I want to; any suggestions?

On a brighter note, I recently went to visit an ex-coworker, Massimo, to meet his new baby girl. Luckily he was at his vacation house on the seaside, so we were able to combine baby viewing with beach time, watermelon, sunshine . . .

. . . fried and grilled seafood, naptime . . . Basically, a day of relaxation.

I did learn from a removed perspective, however, that having a baby is hard work. New parents cannot relax the way other people (i.e., layabouts such as myself) can. Instead, they have to adhere to an extremely busy schedule of feeding, burping, pooping, bathing, crying, laughing, sleeping, and other such behaviors. Matilde even had her own ideas when it came to posing for photos.

This being said, there's a lot of evidence that it's all worth it - as Massimo explained it, in a single moment a real person with needs and a personality appears in your life. It's pretty amazing to see a friend transformed by parenthood.

Something borrowed, something blue . . .

2009-07-08T10:52:00.007+02:00

How did a month pass since I last posted here? Now that I'm 25, I'm prone to lose sense of time and forget things. Problem of old age, clearly. Plus, I've had a super-full month. Two weddings!

First there was the wedding in Lecce, in Southern Italy, of two beloved choir friends. It was sunny and there were emotional moments and good food and pretty dresses. Perfect!

It didn't hurt that it was also my birthday, and I actually had my own cake. Only the best bride and groom in the world would put a surprise birthday cake next to their wedding cake.

The next wedding was in Bologna, in the same beautiful municipal building where Massimo (my ex-roommate/landlord) had his wedding in April. This wedding featured more choir friends, lots of thrown rice (the bride, who had an elegant upswept hairdo, couldn't get the rice out of her hair for the rest of the day), and tons of family and friends.

The two different weddings were ideal complements - one with a traditional church mass, the other a bit more laid back - and it was especially touching to see my friends so happy and (strangely) relaxed on their wedding days.

And now it's really summer . . . I can tell by the 200 degrees present in my apartment. I will probably have to start putting bowls of ice cubes in front of the fan to simulate air conditioning.

Graduation and Tooth Removal

2009-06-10T23:30:00.009+02:00

What else happened during my trip home in May?

First, Rosa (that is, my sister) graduated from college. This was an exciting experience - despite the icky weather on the big day, it was a really nice ceremony that even included mortarboard-throwing (something I'd never seen in real life). Even though Rosa isn't supposed to turn into a grown-up, I'm still proud of her!

The graduation weekend began with one of the most weird driving experiences I've ever had. Rosa's friend Ashley was taking us to a dinner at another friend's house, and about 5 minutes into the trip another driver on the highway communicated to us that we had a massively flat tire. Worried (and hungry), we pulled into a nearby gas station. The tire was entirely deflated and unpatchable. We (the four passengers of the car) had no idea how to change the tire, or even if there was a spare in the trunk. But no fear! Not only was the station attendant super willing to help us, but soon after our arrival, two men and a little boy pulled up in a truck and proceeded to change the tire, almost wordlessly. The boy was parked on the curb, left to eat his fruit cup in peace. Rosa tried to befriend him, and failed.

Immediately after Rosa's graduation, I had four wisdom teeth extracted. At the beginning it seemed like the easiest medical procedure ever: 15 minutes, 4 teeth gone, no pain, and a happy dreamy feeling that would have been prolonged by Vicodin. For a few days I was in high spirits and proceeded to get excited about cake-baking and other optimistic eating adventures.

Like barbecue.

It was great at the time, but it ended with dry socket. As that name suggests, dry socket is a gross, uncomfortable, generally BAD thing that can happen to you if your empty tooth-holes don't heal the right way. And as luck would have it, Vicodin makes my stomach hurt, so I couldn't even start to build up a painkiller addiction! Instead I relied on Advil and clove oil, which is magical and really does numb all dry socket pain. Nowadays dry socket is just a memory! Though I wonder: when do these tooth holes actually close up? Can anyone tell me?

For the first time in years, I went to Vermont with my whole family, which was really wonderful. We enjoyed all the nature, food and 99 cent baskets that this great state has to offer. It was one of those happy, too-short experiences that makes you feel nostalgic even while you're in the middle of it.

As always, I feel a little incomplete on either continent - always missing what's on the other side. Older, wiser expat friends tell me that this feeling never goes away. But the bittersweet feeling is proof of a full life; plus, I appreciate barbecue and cake much more if I spend some time craving them.

Spill the Milk

2009-05-26T00:29:00.011+02:00

It's true, I should post some stuff regarding my trip home. I'm heading back to Bologna tomorrow, so - as always - my blog is chronologically messed up. Oh well. What do you want from me? I have dry socket. It hurts.

My time at home has been great, despite the ouchy wisdom teeth problems. Perfect weather, lots of loved ones, plenty of kimchi. I can't ask for more! One of the highlights was my trip to NYC, which was too fast (it always is), but included a lot of adventures. New York City in the spring is so wonderful - it's really full of energy, and people seem cheerful (whereas everyone is mean in the winter).

One of the highlights was going to Jean's new second home, a super unique Japanese restaurant, Kajitsu, in the East Village. The food, which is served in a bunch of pre-set courses, is amazing - it's all vegetables, but you come out feeling as if you've eaten a million different food groups. Everything - literally, from floor to ceiling and every plate and chopstick - is specially selected and beautiful to look at. The bowl pictured above is 200 years old. I can't even believe we were allowed to touch it.

This lovely creature comes with the restaurant.

Of course, too much elegance is not something we can sustain. So we found the Ukrainian Festival down the street and I became determined to win a stuffed animal by knocking over the cans. But how difficult is this game?! It was impossible, I sucked, and truth being told I may have started out with some kind of alcohol-related handicap. Pictured below is one of my attempts to throw the beanbag.

This is how I ended up NOT winning, despite my leaning over the barrier and the fact that the guys running the stand blatantly re-organized the cans so that I had a better chance.

One can away from a neon stuffed dog!
But wait . . . we couldn't leave without taking photos with my kind, cheating-inclined stand managing friends.

After this grand scene, I had to leave New York to go to Rosa's graduation. That's for the next post. But first there are some required photos.

Like a cliched shot of New York:

And me with the best cat in the world:

He's awfully photogenic, especially when he poses for the camera and appears to have both eyes!

Green Grass

2009-05-18T17:35:00.009+02:00

This is a belated post to commemorate spring in Bologna: commemorate because it's over. According to my handy Mac weather forecast, this week is going to have temperatures in the 90's. (I'm in Cambridge right now, so I can say this without actually feeling the icky sweaty humid fear of that weather.) So, spring in Bologna is a thing of the past. It's beach time.

But there were some great times.

This was a picnic that included real plates and silverware, salad (with salad dressing made on the spot), and cake. Among other things. I think that it was probably worth five stars. During this weekend (the weekend of May 1) I played frisbee twice, and was terrible. I remember being pretty good at it when I was younger, but I guess I lost my skills somewhere along the road to becoming about extremely tall and uncoordinated.

And here's the view from my new apartment, starting June 1!

Hopefully I'll be done moving after this. I have an awesome new mattress, too. The only thing missing is a shower, but I swear I'm going to get really good at washing myself using this facility here:

The photo doesn't even do it justice. The tub is about two feet long, the eaves of the apartment are basically three feet above it, and I'm going to have to become a pro at washing myself with one hand while kneeling. As my new landlady told me, at a pause during her endless stream of cigarettes and advice on romance: if a six foot tall French student managed to shower there for five years, I can certainly do it. I'm shorter than him by two inches, after all!

Next post will include info on Rosa's graduation, lilacs in Cambridge, and my awesome tooth extractions. Not the front teeth, though.

Joy

2009-05-05T16:25:00.010+02:00

I was recently reunited with the (musical) love of my life, Ginevra Di Marco, when my choir sang with her for the second time. For my few regular readers (hi parents!) you may remember that we participated in a concert with her last March. She and the super-talented musicians she works with recently released a new album and had a concert in a beautiful old theater in Florence. That's rehearsal, below.

I am a truly rabid fan of this woman, with an enthusiasm that's probably seen most often in connection with Michael Jackson or Madonna. But Ginevra's voice is better. This was my general feeling during the concert . . . with my fellow fan, Sarah!

Like any good fan, I took photos of (and then stole) the song list.

Last year we were all starstruck and excited to participate in an event with such a talented singer, but for some reason this year was even more special. Maybe because the faces are familiar and we felt more comfortable onstage with her - I really don't know. But there's something really thrilling about being onstage with a musician whom you respect and admire, both for her talent and musical choices (plus the talent of her band). Also, the choir kicked butt. And the theater, which had a capacity of more than 700 people, was full.

(Didn't take this photo or the next, but they give you an idea of the whole setup.)

Mermaid hair and amazing-ness.

And, of course, a photo with her (with the same people as last year, for tradition's sake)! I am attached to her arm which is holding a cigarette; this does not diminish my excitement!

It was definitely a Sunday well spent. And my inner fan will remain slightly calm until next year.

A Romantic Interlude

2009-04-07T14:42:00.009+02:00

Last weekend I was a witness for Massimo's (i.e. my eccentric ex-landlord's) wedding. See the pretty couple, below.

Massimo got married in what is basically the equivalent of city court, in the city municipality building in Bologna. Because everything is much more beautiful in Italy, this official ceremony (which lasted about 15 minutes) still seemed like a super-elegant, almost royal affair.

Being a witness was supremely exciting, even though I had been skeptical up until the last minute (I knew nothing about my duties before showing up at 11:30 on Sunday morning). We had to submit official ID in order to be approved as witnesses; luckily for me, an expired student travel card (the only thing I had in my "nice" purse) was accepted! I got to sit up front with the other three witnesses and the bride and groom. Here is my fancy chair.

And this is what the official ceremony looked like. There's the ring bearer, the bride's nephew.

I got to sign those huge marriage certificates sitting on the table. Oddly, the guy who officiated (the President of the Provincial Council or something similar) pronounced Emma and Gilmore perfectly, and stumbled over Valenze. Go figure.

The entire experience was made more interesting by the fact that Massimo's family has very deep roots in Bologna and they made an effor to organize a traditional, Bolognese wedding. I felt like a tourist, as usual, in the best possible way. Not to mention that the guests were a cast of characters made for a movie. Late bride, lecherous uncles, stressed parents, flamboyantly dressed inlaws, you name it.

This has been a nightmarish week due to my particularly bizarre moving situation (or lack thereof, really), and I'm currently scrambling as I try to figure out where I'm going to end up living. So this happy event was much needed. And now my signature will live forever in Bologna!

(Regarding the earthquake, I'm just fine, and so is Bologna itself. We're pretty far away from L'Aquila, so I've been seeing the same scary and upsetting news coverage as all of you.)

Waiting

2009-04-02T21:09:00.007+02:00

These past few weeks have involved a lot of patience. I was waiting to move, and then I was waiting (and hoping) to find out that I would still be able to do so. It was almost spring, and then it got cold again, so I think that everyone is looking forward to this weekend when it's supposed to be 70 degrees.

I haven't written since my parents' visit to Bologna, which was wonderful. We ate lots of good food and I tried to be a good tour guide (despite the fact that it's impossible to predict anything in this country). That's another example of patience: my parents have lots of it and it makes them really flexible travelers. Luckily for me!

We saw the amazing mosaics in Ravenna, to which this photo does not do justice.

And paintings in Modena. In this photo the color of the wall may be more beautiful than anything else.

I also got a hair cut: bangs!

This may be the most patience-trying change of all! I made it to almost 25 without ever really having to spend much energy on my hair. It is probably appropriate that I start learning now.

So, in two days I am changing apartments for the first time in two and a half years. My whole point of reference in Bologna is about to change. Finally!

More Tourism, in Tuscany

2009-03-17T17:25:00.009+01:00

Part II of my travels with Sandra: our visit to Tuscany, particularly an agritourism that was amazing in every way, located right outside Siena. Agriturismo Marciano fed us and put is up in the best little room imaginable. They make everything on-site, including some green tomato jam that we were crazy about.

I unfortunately got pretty sick during this leg of the trip, but Sandra was a trooper and weathered a full vineyard tour without me. It's safe to say that she was the only one (between the two of us) who came away from the agritourism with any real knowledge about what they did. I just passively appreciated it all!

I personally loved the bed.

We were constantly admiring our surroundings. Siena, and all of Tuscany, is so beautiful.

On every corner we found something to look at. Lots of bright colors everywhere.

It helped that the weather was perfect.

I realized that despite the fact that I've traveled a lot here, I've never really gotten a chance to explore and enjoy things as a tourist. There's something about not being anyone's guest, having a car, and not being on the job - three different freedoms that I never experienced during past travels. I'm very grateful to Sandra for coming! She was a superstar travel buddy.

Hoping for more travels as the summer approaches . . .

Playing Tourist, Part I

2009-03-05T11:53:00.010+01:00

A recent bright spot in this otherwise rainy, foggy winter: my friend Sandra just came and visited for almost a week, and we had a great time exploring! The trip deserves more than one post, because we managed to do tons of stuff. This is just a preliminary entry!

I would first like to state, with UTTER PRIDE, that we conducted our adventure BY CAR. I drove, and I wasn't even a total disaster - Sandra was my incredible navigator, and thanks to her we actually did not get lost even ONCE. Is that a miracle, or what? If you've ever driven in Italy, you know what I mean. Below, our trusty vehicle.

No joke!

Along with a beautiful little road trip through Tuscany, we visited the hills outside Bologna and the mosaics of Ravenna.

Notice the little fish swimming around! This is my favorite site in Ravenna, under the pulpit in the church where Dante is buried. If you pay 50 cents to a machine next to a dark little window, the lights go on and you can see this water-filled room with a mosaic floor, fish, coins, and pretty columns. I love it.

We enjoyed all kinds of mosaics, too.

Most important, however, was the FOOD!

This is some enormous piece of pig that was marinated in milk and wild fennel. It was good, too - but way too much for the two of us. We did our best, but we couldn't eat it all. That may have been our general feeling about Italy, too. It looks delicious, but there's sooooooooo much to see and do - it's impossible! Better to pick and choose the most yummy, succulent bits. So we left the rest for next time.

City Hopping

2009-02-26T22:39:00.004+01:00

I can't help but start this entry with a shameless plug for my camera, which takes such purty photos. I love my elph!

This is a photo of the Fiera (Expo Center, I guess) in Milan, where I recently spent 5 days working as an interpreter for my old office. By interpreter, I mean jack of all trades: box unloader, product presenter, plant waterer, technician, etc. We all had to work together as a team to do everything. It was exhausting, but fun - I enjoyed spending time with my coworkers and it was nice to have a change of scene.

I tried two cuisines for the first time: Brazilian and Iranian. Brazilian was the famous meat restaurant, where the waiters come around with skewers and shave off bits of meat for you. The Iranian food was home-cooked, by an Iranian-Brit whom I know from Bologna. She just happened to be taking a photo class in Milan, cooking a feast, when I was there.

Brazilian!

Iranian!

But of course the highlight of the trip was seeing Nemo, his father, and Dory in the fishtank at our hotel. Do you think that they specifically chose fish to mirror the movie?

Fantasy World

2009-02-15T22:31:00.002+01:00

Do you recognize the girl in the drawing???

I've been back in Italy for a month and I think it's been one of the hardest transition periods yet. I wonder if it's from a lack of vitamin D (though the sun has shown its face once or twice recently). The main thing I keep realizing (re-learning, I guess) is that keeping track of my own wants and needs is something I need to remind myself to do, regardless of the avalanche of of interests, demands, and responsibilities that surround me (and everyone, of course). Living abroad provides an amazing set of challenges and triumphs, but it also has a way of knocking you off your feet abruptly and unexpectedly. You realize in those moments that you're far away from the people who understand you innately and whom you can talk to in your native language; but you also (hopefully) realize that living so independently has given you the tools to take care of yourself.

Not a bad trade-off . . .

Bad Bad Groundhog

2009-02-03T13:09:00.006+01:00

It has recently come to my attention that the sun isn't going to be around much for the next six weeks.

I wish it would come back. Instead, this gray weather makes me feel like this:

And I want to dress like this, every day:

I can't believe that I spent any time, at all, complaining about the heat during the past few months.

I want to go back to the sun!

p.s. Many thanks to all of my readers (you are a passionate few, apparently!) who wrote to me about the mold issue. I'm also trying to convince my landlord to pay attention, so . . . We'll see what happens. I'm going to combat it as best I can, even if that means leaving it alone so that I don't have to breathe it in!

Snowing Snowballs

2009-01-24T18:02:00.007+01:00

I was recently reminded that I haven't put up photos of Bologna in a dog's age. Here's one that doesn't really demonstrate much about the city itself (there's only one canal) but it's one of my favorite spots.

This morning there was lots of snow in Bologna - which is supposed to happen once every few years, and instead has happened more than three times so far this winter.

This was particularly bizarre because instead of falling in flakes, the snow was coming out of the sky in big clumps.
Here are some of the melting non-snowflakes on the terrace. If only this place weren't so wet, they might've actually stuck.

Otherwise I'm still trying to get over jetlag, battling various illnesses, looking for a new roommate, and translating like a maniac. If anyone knows how to get mold off the walls, let me know. It's really that damp here.

And it's gray, as you can tell from all of these photos (including my own).

Passing time, Jetlagged

2009-01-17T03:33:00.007+01:00

Now that I'm sitting at my computer in Bologna, with translations to do and Italian in my head, it's very strange to think that just a few days ago I was at home in Cambridge.

I never seem to get over the disorientation that comes from passing from one country to the other, maybe because it's not just a change in culture and surroundings: there's the big difference between enjoying your mom's cooking and being a self-sufficient semi-grownup. Since my "grown-up" life takes place in Bologna, it's certainly not possible to have both.

And then there's the foggy Bologna weather, which is a bit different from this:

And this:

And the comfort of family.

But that I'm here there are upcoming weddings to look forward to (one of which I'll be an official witness to!), various visitors, new places to go, tortellini . . . So it appears that family (and good food) are quite present in Bologna; just in a different way. I just have to realign myself. Before long I'll be wondering why I was so disoriented.

Time's Up

2009-01-14T18:02:00.007+01:00

It's almost time to head back to Bologna. This is always a bittersweet departure; well, it's bittersweet to go either way. There are lots of things to miss. Like . . .

My family.

My beloved cat.

My friends.

Food from all over the world.

But there are also lots of great things in Bologna to look forward to. Upcoming work projects, friends, choir, more food, my bike, etc etc etc. It's just a matter of getting out of home mode and back into the life that, for me, has become my real, daily existence. Time to go.

The Motor Show: 14 Surreal Days

2008-12-27T03:48:00.000+01:00

(Translation: "Women and Motors. Motors.")

It would probably be impossible to describe, in this space, the experience that was the Motor Show in all of its craziness and absurdity. I spent 14 days, with no break, utterly immersed in a world that has no bearing whatsoever on the life I'm familiar with. It was exhausting and weird, but rivetingly interesting. How could it not be? When will I ever spend 14 days around race cars and fashion models again?

My job (alternately known as "image girl" and "hostess") was a mix between desk attendant, car ornament, travel guide, translator, gadget distributor, and peacemaker. I spoke and wrote so little English after the first few days that I stopped thinking in it at all.

Since I survived, I think that I can say that I passed through some kind of unnamed life test. (When I started, I honestly didn't know if I would make it through.) And I not only survived - I did just fine and even managed to keep my spirits up amid the cutthroat behavior exhibited behind the scenes, and the sleaziness on display 12 hours a day.

I got to ride in a race car, on a race track, driven by a professional race car pilot. Twice. Amazing!

I tried to protect my feet, but they hurt. They feel somewhat better now.

I was actually under the protection of a bouncer. We were amazed by his water bottle crushing abilities. We actually arm-wrestled with this man - 4 against 1. He won, anyway.

No one was really stuck in his or her prescribed role. And I found that the people I least expected to be kind and genuine really were; and vice versa. It's a cliched lesson that I learn time and time again.

It was probably the furthest out of my comfort zone I've gone while I've been in Italy. And it's really satisfying to know that I made it through, and that I can enjoy talking about and dissecting the experience. Whether or not I ever do anything like it again, I have no regrets. I am a Motor Show survivor!

Brussels Sprouties

2008-12-10T20:41:00.000+01:00

This blog entry is for Rosa, who asked me to post again. It's been too long since I wrote here, and I apologize to my small readership. I haven't been home for an extended period of time in what feels like forever; and when I've been home, I've been sleeping.

A week and a half ago I got back from a lovely trip to London. I stayed with Kasia, who I hadn't spent so much time with since high school (and I missed out, in that time) and Eva, who was my traveling buddy in Puglia as well. Here's Eva, navigating the big city.

And Kasia, learning about the cool stuff in the Victoria and Albert Museum.

I enjoyed my usual culinary adventures, including lots of Korean food...

...and a big ex-pat Thanksgiving dinner.

As always, Borough Market was one of the best parts of the trip. We had the most fun at Neal's Yard Dairy, where we received an enormous amount of free cheese and admired the display. This picture should be scratch'n'sniff.

There were so many good moments to this trip. My Tangfastics (the best sour candy ever; why does Italy not have sour canddy?), cheddar cheese, Christmas lights everywhere, the Google office and all of its goodies (homemade whipped cream!!), getting a chance to play house and travel alone in such a big, beautiful city. It was cold and damp and rainy, which was uncomfortable but appropriate nonetheless. I had never seen London during holiday season.

I'll be back!

Chill

2008-11-23T12:25:00.000+01:00

The caption reads, "the world changes". I don't know what I think about the constant appropriation (and manipulation) of Obama's image by the Italian left, but I'm glad that we can celebrate his win together.

I recently finished a very tiring but stimulating interpreting job in which I had to present the machines pictured below.

They look like robots, but they're really meant for cultivating the ground between and under grapevines (and fruit trees). I learned how to say a lot of new things in Italian (tractor! open field!) and I gained a momentary entry to a new world. Because I came to Italy and immediately started working in an office at a cooperative - then moving to an office at a consulting and tourism company - I've had contact with lots of Italian college grads and office workers, but almost no one outside that bracket, aside from some of the parents of my friends.

There's so much of Italy that I don't know, and working at an agricultural convention really helped me see that. In two years it's impossible to really know a new culture or a new country. I wonder if it's ever really possible. After all, there's a lot of my own country that I'm not familiar with.

Now I'm off to London for some good Thanksgiving turkey -- and next week I start my job as a Fiat girl . . . Apologies to anyone I've been out of touch with, I haven't had much time to breathe recently!

It's November and Obama Won!

2008-11-08T13:44:00.000+01:00

I guess I've been a bit absent from my blog lately, and for no real reason at all. It's still a weird time here and the rhythm of my life has changed. It appears that I still haven't adjusted.

Fall is always beautiful, though. And this fall is even better because Obama won and suddenly things are much more hopeful. It's been wonderful to see how involved and happy Italians are about our election. It can be easy to forget how interconnected we all really are.

I'm still feeling uncertain and a bit lost as I look for work, but last Tuesday made the whole world seem more cheerful. Though I've been doing work at home, I miss having the opportunity to interact with lots of people on a day to day basis. There is a wonderful freedom in being able to control my time, but it's also lonely to be so much more solitary than I used to be.

But surely character building, right?

At the moment, the most pressing question is: how can I remove a temporary tattoo of a wolf scratch?

Absentee Ballot

2008-10-19T17:51:00.000+02:00

Still looking for work.

But I've had some adventures since my last post, which have (in my cheerful moments) convinced me that it's okay to be at loose ends even though the world is in a crisis and in six months I'll be a quarter-of-a-century years old.

In seven days, I walked a runway, got my hair cut on stage in front of hundreds of people, had my makeup done for the first time, found out that I have a Maserati (not Fiat) face, was informed that 4 inch heels are just barely high enough (those shoes lift me to the grand height of 6 foot 2 inches, if you're interested), and sweated it out in front of a real camera for the first time. I made a historic pilgrimage (doubling as a 40 minute hike) four times, translated a relay race handbook and found a place that will make soy milk cappuccinos for my milk-hating stomach. These experiences brought only enjoyment.

Possibly the best of all, though - and certainly the most important - is when I voted on camera.

I'd sleep better if I had a regular routine and a paycheck, but this isn't so bad.

In Search of Gold

2008-10-11T17:54:00.000+02:00

Since I got back to Bologna about a week and a half ago, I've been overly stressing myself about finding work. It actually makes sense that I haven't found my perfect job in 11 days, doesn't it? I think that a job search makes it easy to lose perspective, and I'm trying not to (though in some moments it's pretty frustrating).

The possibilities open to tall female English speakers are very strange, and sometimes promising - sometimes depressing. Interpreting jobs may be based on your skill at speaking another language; or it may be based on your hair color and height.

I've already had some amusing adventures. Yesterday I met an Italian girl who is taller than I am (an unseen feat in my two years here). She told me that when she doesn't want to be bothered on the street, she wears heels. That way, men (all of whom are much shorter, obviously) just stare at her in shock and are unable to make annoying comments.

If I were better at wearing heels, I would consider this idea myself.

In the end I suppose I just have to accept the fact that transitions suck. Someday when I become inspired to write a book about this whole experience, which becomes an Oscar-winning movie, and then a syndicated TV show with reruns on Lifetime, I'll say it was all worth it.

(P.S. These photos were taken this summer at this exceptional vineyard in southwestern Sicily. Go there someday if you ever have the opportunity.)

Bi-Coastal

2008-10-02T07:56:00.000+02:00

Having just returned to Bologna after my weeks in Cambridge (and DC and NYC), I'm feeling a bit sad and disoriented. Jetlag is only a small part of it. It's odd to feel at home in two places so far away from each other. I wish there was an easier way to go between my two homes.

My first post-trip blog entry must, of course, center on the wonderful lobster meal that I had with my father. This dinner was a subject of much planning and anticipation. If you don't know this already, Boston is a good place to eat lobsters. Especially at Legal Seafood. Here I am with mine (what happiness!) . . .

And here's my dad with his. (His happiness may be even more intense. Please note that we were real high-rollers and we got medium sized lobsters.)

As you can see, he's holding his hand back to stop himself from devouring the lobster while I take the photo.

If you've ever eaten one, you know that lobsters are not the easiest creatures to pull apart. It takes strength and determination to get all the meat out of there. But it's so satisfying. And once you've gotten the hang of it, you want to keep going.

Not so different from my bi-coastal lifestyle.

My Prize: Grazie Serenaaaaa!!

2008-09-17T04:50:00.000+02:00

Right before leaving for Cambridge, I found out that I received a blogging prize, Punto d'Arte della Vita, thanks to the lovely Serena. The explanation and rules are here in Italian and English.

Si tratta del premio di qualita'di Punto d'Arte della Vita, creato tempo addietro per onorare e riconoscere il lavoro svolto dai bloggers,i loro blog motivano la "terapia d'arte":

Ecco le regole:
1)Indicare da chi si è ricevuto
2)Dire perché si è deciso di creare il blog:
3)Dire qual è la propria arte preferita.
4)Onorare altri blogs amici.

The Punto d'Arte della Vita award was created some time ago to honor and recognize the work of bloggers whose blogs inspire or motivate "art therapy".

The rules are:
1) Indicate who awarded you.
2) Explain why you created your blog.
3) Describe your favorite type of art.
4) Award other blogs.

I'll try to follow the rules!

As I wrote above, my friend Serena gave me this award.

I created my blog as a travel journal at the suggestion of one of my NYU professors, June Foley. I wanted a place to note down my impressions of Bologna and put up photographs. I knew that it would be a good way to motivate myself to do more than just write emails, since I'm not really a diary person. I think that June realized, when she made her suggestion, that the experience would be much more fulfilling than I expected. I've really come to see my blog as a sort of scrapbook or album of my experience over the past two years. I think that my readership has gone down with every moment, but I know and love everyone who comes here!

My favorite type of art - this is difficult. I will never stop loving photography, especially certain images, like those by Sally Mann (who inspired me to pick up a camera in the first place). And creating photographs is something that's a part of me.

But I think that I only manage to lose myself in music and the written word. I have a split vote.

For my blogging friends: Eva, so that she will START BLOGGING. (Evina Boema, e' ora di cominciare con quel blog!) And Giorgio, so that he'll start another blog, for example: Via Avesella 24!

Happy Feet

2008-09-08T02:28:00.000+02:00

In three days I'm going home to Cambridge, where I'll be until the end of September. When I first planned this trip, I made the choice to travel home this month so that my coworkers could take vacations during August. Also, because I wanted to attend family events that would take place this month.

Things have changed since then - no more job (luckily, my ex-coworkers got to go on their vacations regardless), and nothing to attend when I go home. I've been looking for work here, but have had mixed results and I realize that the search is going to be a long one. Over the last week, my roommates Massimo and Francesca (of 2 years and 1 year, respectively) both left the house. Now I have two new roomies, Corinna and Giorgio (ciao, Giorgio!). I've been instructed to manage the household as if it were my own, something I have no idea how to do. I found out two days ago that my work permit, for which I applied almost a year ago, was accepted and then rejected on the basis of a bureaucratic error - something that could've been entirely avoided. My expectations had been low, but it was still a huge disappointment.

Since I just got back from a terrific vacation, I don't feel prepared to depart for what seems like an undeserved (second) vacation. But there's something about going home that recharges me in a special way. There's a unique combination of one-eyed cat, abundant kimchi, and sweaty yoga that I can't find in Italy. I think that it'll be good for me, even if I haven't really earned more relaxation time.

Despite the transitions of this summer, and certain stresses which are now weighing on me, something strange happened in Italy during the past few months. I feel as if I've found piece of security blanket in Bologna that wasn't here before. Maybe it's because over the past few months I learned a lot about relying on myself. It's helped me open my eyes to the good stuff within the people around me, many of whom have supplied me with a great deal of unexpected love and support. So I'm stressed and jobless and permitless, but really lucky, too. And grateful.

Let's talk about food.

2008-08-27T17:00:00.000+02:00

The food in Puglia is delicious. For this reason people are not happy when they have to wait for it.

There's seafood everywhere. In pasta, for example.

Mussels in Puglia are super good. The best I've ever had; I also tried my first fried mussel, which I had never even heard of. Reaaaaaally good.

Fish can grilled, with herbs and other delicious things inside.

Side note: This fish was grilled for my friend Eva, who spent her Puglia vacation with a terrible wisdom tooth-ache. She couldn't eat anything hard. On her second-to-last day, she had her tooth pulled by the friend of the father of our friends (yes, it's complicated, but the important thing to know is that our friends' father makes fake teeth for a living).
From then on, she was fine.

Fish can also be fried. In this case, it's sailing off the plate. Hence Francesca's un-photogenic expression.

You can eat sea urchins, too. But first you have to clean out all the sand and seawater inside them. The little ridges of orange are what you can eat; possibly eggs? I'm not sure what it is. The strangest thing is that the sea urchins are still alive while you cut them open and wash them out; all those sharp little spikes are moving around. It can be a bit unnerving.

When not stuffing yourself, it is worthwhile to go to antique markets and try on old-fashioned ladies' underwear.

It'll definitely fit you after all the eating.

The Most Beautiful Sea in the World

2008-08-22T12:07:00.000+02:00

I just got back from my trip to Puglia, and I fell completely in love with the place. The hospitality, the food, the landscape. Everything. And especially the beaches. Puglia is the heel of the boot, and the southernmost part, where I was, is really shaped like a heel - a spike heel. So depending on which side of the heel you're on, you face the Adriatic Sea or the Ionian Sea, and you can drive between the two in a matter of hours.

The water is so beautiful - in every place I went to - that it's like a swimming pool. But better. Anyway, this post is dedicated to the sea in Puglia.

This is the water at Castro, near the southern tip. We went to visit the lovely Serena who took us on a boat tour with her father - the sea wolf - and stuffed us with food. This was my favorite seaside spot from the whole trip. The water is incredibly clear and blue. Grazieeeeeeee Serena!

At the Baia dei Turchi, in the Limini area. The presence of the man in a Speedo is accidental, but a good illustration of the Italian beach scene.

At Otranto. This is the water in the port of a small city. It's definitely not the port of Boston, that's for sure.

This is the beach right outside my roommate Francesca's family beach house. You opened the door, and you saw this.

The same water, with me in it.

I want to turn around and go back!

Train Down the Coast

2008-08-11T00:47:00.000+02:00

Bologna is so empty right now that the streets seem haunted. And it's getting gradually more difficult to buy stuff - something, anything - because all the stores are closing. Not just the stores: the hospitals, public offices, university, you name it. Whether you have a hernia or a broken kitchen sink, the message is the same: wait until September. All of this means one thing: it's time to go on vacation . . . in another place!

Tomorrow I'm heading to Lecce (that's the heel of the boot for the geographically inclined). I will stay with various wonderfully hospitable friends. Oddly, my most hospitable friends all come from the same city. This is a clear indication that they are worth visiting, simultaneously.

The plan is basic: beach and food. Can't wait.

Summer Coma

2008-08-01T23:26:00.000+02:00

I have been officially unemployed for a little more than a week. This is the first time that I've spent a week in Bologna without working in more than 14 months - all of my vacation since then has been spent in Cambridge or (even cooler) Korea.

So it's been nice to see Bologna during the day, on weekdays. To actually be able to go through the day without worrying about having time to anything not related to work - grocery shopping, ironing, cleaning. All the boring stuff. But I've also been able to see more of the people I care about, and I've eaten good gelato. I registered for a library card and as dorky as it is, I'm extremely excited to start taking out books. Even better, tonight I went to dinner in the hills outside Bologna to eat a meal that's already been immortalized more than once on this blog - basically, bread and meat and cheese. But it's so good.

The restaurant is in an incredibly beautiful place, which looks like this.

Or more specifically, like this.

It's really hot here, but I have lots of sunscreen - brought from the US, where SPF 20 isn't the highest level of protection and doesn't cost 30 euros a bottle - and tap water runs freely. I don't regret the decision I made to leave my job, at all, even though I really don't enjoy the uncertainty of not knowing what comes next. I do miss my coworkers, but that probably won't change, because they're wonderful. I'll just have to get used to it.

Bologna is emptying out. Almost everyone I know is leaving for vacation next weekend. And I might be going too! We'll see. Plans are in the works for a trip to southern Italy. Hopefully I'll be able to re-imprint my brain with something other than memories from my trip south during June, which was less than ideal (to put it mildly).

It feels like it's really time to relax and I'm excited. My anxious brain needs to calm down for a bit, even if I have to force it. This is what summer should look like.

I Do

2008-07-28T23:34:00.000+02:00

Skipping ahead a few weeks in my list of things to blog about, I want to write about the wedding I went to this weekend! Guido, one of my beloved ex-coworkers, got married on Saturday. Our entire office went, bosses included, and we had a good time - this was not a drunken celebration wedding, but a calm nice pretty wedding. Strangely, the live musicians also played Hava Nagilah - why on earth an Italian band would ever know this song, I have no idea. But one of the guests actually got onstage and sang along, and I felt a moment of Jewishness! (It helps that my choir is learning the song, so I actually know all the words.)

Anyway, the beautiful couple is pictured above, trying to avoid the rice that they were being pelted with. For my readers who actually want to know what her dress looked like - and it was an amazing dress - it's pictured below.

This wedding was an anomaly because the food was really good, the flowers remained perfect, the musicians had endless energy, and the newlyweds stayed pretty and fresh all night long. However, this is all very much in the style of Guido, so I believe it.

Pictured above is a collection of my male ex-coworkers. Is it any surprise that I have one of the vastest repertories of vulgar Italian language of anyone I know - including Italians? (And yes, I'm proud of it!)

This is me with Giovanna, who was my wholehearted supporter during all of the drama that took place at work over the past month. She fed me, reacted sympathetically yet wryly to my tears, lost sleep over my own problems and defended me with all her might. Pretty great, right?

Giovanna told me the bouquet-throwing story of her wedding. As a hard-core feminist with pink hair, Giovanna invited like-minded friends to her wedding. When it was time to toss the bouquet, she turned her back and blindly hurled the flowers, as tradition requires - only to turn around and find that all of her friends had fled the scene. The only woman remaining was her sister, who despite standing alone and having 100% bouquet winning potential, had let the flowers fall to the ground. No one received a guaranteed marriage that year.

That's me with Francesca, who was my partner in Marketing and Communications shenanigans. She titled this photo, "The Model and the Dwarf" - and yes, I do look way too tall. But really I just wanted to show you my awesome dress.

A general shot of the chaos that follows us around. But also, doesn't Guido look remarkably fresh and awake for a just-married man? There's an Italian tradition that I don't really understand, in which the groom has friends over for drinks while he gets ready to go to the church or town hall to get married. Anyway, Guido had 80 (!!) friends at his apartment, drinking, while he was getting dressed. Ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start, he still wasn't ready. But he managed to show up in fine form, regardless.

Here we are on take two - Sara, another ex coworker, looks quite inebriated. Already.

And of course, the dancing . . . which was interesting.

Thinking Time

2008-07-15T17:27:00.000+02:00

It's funny how the past two summers have brought huge changes to my life even though I've been out of school (and therefore the summer should be a part of the year like any other).

Last summer I went home, went to Korea, and settled into my job. It was a whirlwind, but despite the confusion I felt as if I'd made the decision to make a go of my life in Italy.

This summer things are different. A year has passed in Bologna - I feel more confident with my Italian, I feel more rooted socially, I've become more attached to the city. And it looks like I'll also be leaving my job. So things have changed a lot.

I know that I want to stay here, at least for now. Strangely, my non-school life ha s only taken place in Bologna (I almost called it "my grown-up life", but that it is not!!). I'm probably more attached to things here than I would be if I'd stayed in the States, because being on my own has led me to invest more energy into everything I've done. And giving a lot, you receive a whole lot in return. I think that the most wrenching part of this change will be saying goodbye to my office and my coworkers. I was incredibly lucky to find a job among a group of young people who have been incredibly understanding and supportive. Our office has become my point of reference, and in its own way, my home away from home. I know how everyone drinks their coffee, what they eat for lunch, how they express their thoughts, how they dress. I know everyone's bathroom schedules! So it's not going to be easy to leave, and the next few weeks will probably be pretty sad for me because of it. But adjustments always happen, even if they happen slowly.

In the meantime, instead of having deep or heavy thoughts, I need to figure out what I'm going to do with my free time (other than look for work). I've had some thoughts of my own. Like, buy a bathing cap and actually try swimming for athletic purpose. Or visit some of the cities nearby that I've still never seen - Parma, Pesaro, Mantova. Or try cooking more often. In the end, there are lots of possibilities . . . Do you have any suggestions?

Dreaming of Beaches

2008-07-03T16:52:00.000+02:00

It's so hot in Bologna. Doesn't this water look nice? It's really that color, too. I took the photo in Tropea, a town on the coast of Calabria. That's the part of Italy that's the toe of the boot. I have to say that it won my love for one thing in particular: Calabrese cooking is full of hot pepper.

And it's extra special because the surrounding regions DON'T have the same prevalence of spiciness: this tradition evolved because of specific geographic and cultural requirements in this little pocket of the world. The motivation is the same as it is in Korean cooking (and maybe every cuisine that uses lots of hot pepper?): spice helps preserve food. So there's super spicy sausage, and preserved vegetables, and regular old hot peppers everywhere. At the restaurant where we ate dinner, you are given a platter of 4 different kinds of hot pepper condiments. The best ones were the round little hot peppers stuffed with tuna and capers.

I miss Korean food.

Anyway, I also wanted to write a little bit about the birthday dinner I had before leaving for the trip. It was badly planned, at the last minute (my fault!) but it was still a really touching, happy dinner, with some of the people who are most important to me in Italy.

Perhaps the most notable present was from Massimo, who gave me a series of books to facilitate my life goal (as he sees it): becoming Italian. I have now, at my disposal, four books to study: one each on Bolognese cooking, soccer, dealing with idiot bosses, and sex. Apparently these are the four main points of Italian life; here I reserve the right not to comment.

My lovely friends made me feel very special. And it was pretty unexpected, really, considering that I haven't been in Italy for very long and I was feeling a bit down about the fact that I was spending my birthday away from home. Grow up, Emma! It was wonderful.

We ate at my favorite restaurant, San Carlino, to be found about 50 feet from my house. Very convenient. They also had my favorite main course, which is baby pig cooked in milk. Sounds strange, but it's amazing.

So, in the end my birthday went just fine. Thanks to everyone who helped me celebrate.

And my lovely roommate has left me for Barcelona. I'll have to go find her one of these weekends! Maybe I'll find a beach when I go there.

Trials and Tribulations

2008-06-25T11:34:00.000+02:00

This is a little entry meant to tide you (or me) over until I gather my thoughts and actually write about the past few weeks.

Thanks to everyone who wrote birthday wishes up here. Meglio che lo scrivo in italiano: grazie a tutti che mi hanno fatto auguri! (Considerando che eravate quasi tutti italiani.) I actually spent my birthday in Sicily, on the first leg of a Wine Tour (sponsored by work) for which I was the translator/guide. In this case, obviously, I was a co-guide - because what do I know about the indigenous grapes of Southern Italy? But I learned an incredible amount of information. Simultaneous interpreting will do that to your brain - you're forced to absorb the info so that you can regurgitate it properly.

The tour was a massive challenge for me personally, emotionally, mentally - in every which way. I've only been back home for about 18 hours, so I haven't really processed it yet. However, I wanted to list a couple things I learned. Did you know that . . .

- A certain kind of grape native to Puglia grows in heat resistant soil?
- That in Calabria you can drink wine made from the same grapes that Ancient Greeks used for the celebratory wine at the Olympics?
- That the pressure created by fermenting wine can break a sheet of glass three inches thick?
- That you can put a train on a ferry boat? (Between Sicily and the mainland.)
- That there are cities in Southern Italy where you can see old cave dwellings that are 10,000 years old?

And most importantly . . . that in the south, you can find a level of warmth and hospitality that, in my cynical American brain, I had never even imagined? The people I met on this tour, especially in the vineyards we visited, made me grateful to live in Italy, and even a little bit proud.

I also learned that I'm stronger than I thought. I hope that I can hold on to that.

Pause in Action

2008-06-18T00:47:00.000+02:00

I'm currently traveling for work, and I have lots of photos of my birthday that I wanted to put up here, but instead I'm using the resources I have at hand.

The photos below were taken by the amazing camera of Robert Marnika, who has recently been visiting our choir and possibly thinking of joining. (We need more baritones!) Robert is Croatian, and runs an amazing-sounding photo workshop in Croatia in August. Worth drooling over.

He lent the camera to my friend Michele, who then took these photos (which I love). There are quite a few crazy-looking ones of me, which will not go into this entry, but I liked many others. We had a party last Friday, with lots of wine and music, and these were the results. (The above photo was taken by me, in the hills outside Bologna. I think it's some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen in Italy, but I might just be biased.)

Dancing!

Critiquing photos.

Sarah, sei bellissima e abbronzattissima. Colpa del giardino! (E vedi che ti ho scritto un messaggio in italiano?)

This is me being Korean. Jean, do you appreciate the peace sign?

Also, the poetry reading that I mentioned below went off without a hitch. I actually managed to speak in Italian in front of 50 people and I wasn't too much of an idiot. I spoke in sentences, didn't sweat too much or turn neon red (as I am wont to do), and I read my poem from start to finish. How amazing is that?

Traveling to New Places

2008-06-09T20:09:00.000+02:00

I'm about to go to a poetry reading organized by my friend Carla, in which foreigners will read poems from their native countries, accompanied by an Italian translation. I chose an E.E. Cummings poem, which I've pasted below in English and in Italian. I originally chose it by instinct - I read it and I loved it immediately. But later I realized that it's really perfect for the event. The idea of opening one's heart, for me, is very closely related to the experience I've had as a foreigner in Italy. For all that it's been difficult or exhausting, it's also been an incredible rewarding 20 months. So, while I harness my stage fright, enjoy. (The photo above is a classic Bologna skyline, taken from my friend's rooftop terrace. Bologna is so beautiful!)

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

In un luogo dove non ho mai viaggiato

Da qualche parte ove non ho mai viaggiato, gioiosamente aldilà
D’ogni esperienza, gli occhi tuoi hanno il loro silenzio:
Nel tuo gesto più lieve è un qualcosa che mi cattura
O che non posso toccare, perché mi è troppo vicino.

Uno sguardo tuo, il più rapido dei tuoi sguardi mi dischiuderà
Sebbene mi sia chiuso in me come si chiudono le dita nella mano
Tu poi sempre mi schiudi, petalo dopo petalo, come la Primavera apre
(con tocco esperto, nel mistero) la sua prima rosa.

O se vorresti chiudermi, la mia vita e
me stesso ci chiuderemo a riccio, all’improvviso, splendidamente
Come quando il cuore di questo fiore si raffigura
La neve che scende piena di cura, in ogni dove.

Non sentiremo nulla, nulla in questo mondo
Che il potere eguagli della tua fragilità intensa
Le cui forme mi stringono nei colori delle sue terre
Donando morte ed eternità ad ogni suo respiro.

(Non so cosa in te abbia il potere di chiudere e aprire
Soltanto, in me qualcosa mi dice
Che la voce dei tuoi occhi è più profonda di ogni rosa)
Nessuno, neanche la pioggia, ha mani più minute.

The First Constitution

2008-05-25T11:36:00.000+02:00

It's strange that my brain is still on a school year calendar, even though I've been in Italy, and working, since 2006. Now that we're on the border between spring and summer, I feel like all the hard work should be winding down, and it's time for vacation. Is it ever possible to stop thinking like a student?

Bologna is already hot and humid. Now that it's warm after the sun goes down, at nighttime the streets are flooded with students. In the area of the university, people even sit down along the sidewalks (and sometimes in the street) to drink and talk. It's really nice, unless you need to get around them, and then it becomes an obstacle course.

Something happened at choir practice a couple weeks ago, one of those events that makes me think, "this could only happen in Italy". I also have the "this could only happen in the US" reaction, like when I see the selection of salad dressing in the supermarket, but I think you'll get the idea when I describe this anecdote.

Next weekend my choir will perform in Florence, at the Palazzo Vecchio, in the most important room (the Salone dei Cinquecento). Because the event commemorates the creation of the Italian republic, the concert will be accompanied by a reading of the Italian Constitution. My conductor described to us his efforts to pair certain songs with particular passages: for example, after the passage about womens' rights, we'll sing a lamentation (really a lullaby) of the pain of being a woman without choices.

After providing us with a few examples, my conductor admitted, "It's really difficult, because most songs are about love, and there's not much about love in the Constitution."

In the silence that followed, one of the tenors responded, "But love is the first constitution."

We applauded, my conductor bowed. The next day I bumped into Elio, the tenor, on the street. He didn't even remember what he'd said.

Superheroes

2008-05-18T19:39:00.000+02:00

This is a much belated post that I've been meaning to write for weeks now: in April, I went to Modena with some friends/coworkers to eat a traditional Modenese dinner as chosen by Massimo, a beloved ex-coworker. There was also Letizia, who was an adored work companion, Tiziano, and Massimo's girlfriend, Katia.

The food is pictured above. It centers around gnocco and tigelle, the bread - gnocco is like fried dough (but it's savory, not sweet), and tigelle are like little English muffins. They come to the table piping hot, and you put in prosciutto and other meats, with soft cheeses like squacquerone (try saying that 10 times fast). That cheese is actually from the other half of this region (Romagna), and I have no idea how it ended up in a meal that's traditionally Emiliano. Suffice to say that these longstanding rival areas will just have to admit that they eat the same food.

One of the highlights was lardo, pictured below. It's a mixture of lard, bacon, rosemary and garlic (I hope I got that right, Massimo must correct me if I'm wrong). You put it on the hot bread and then sprinkle on parmesan cheese, and make a little sandwich out of it. I have to say that it did not appeal to me much at first, but it's sooooooo good and sort of addictive that you can't stop eating once you start.

Anyway, this fat-saturated meal is accompanied by cut up raw vegetables, which you dip into a bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Incidentally, balsamic comes from Modena. It's so, so good. And somehow the acid-y vegetables cut the fat of the bread/lard variations, so that you can go on forever. (My parents may or may not be proud to know that I was the last standing at the table, eating-wise. Not just because I'm slow, but because I ate everything in sight!)

The post-dinner activity was one of the more bizarre experiences I've ever had in Italy. Katia works in an action figure importing company, and she took us to visit her office. This is an insane place. There are action figures of every type, all over the place, including some very gory ones with blood tubes that you can use to make vivid injury scenes. The mechanically animated figures, some of which are monsters, are light activated. Katia explained that it could be a bit scary to work in a place where monster figures randomly start talking when you turn the lights on. Indeed, it was incredibly creepy.

Tiziano enjoyed the blood and gore. (Typically!)

Massimo enjoyed the laser swords. (This is what the company owner's office looks like. And the entire place was like this. There were toys on every available surface. Literally. Can you imagine having light sabers and 3-D Godfather posters and Simpsons action figures in your office? For business purposes??)

All in all, we had an enriching experience. Gastronomically and culturally.

Postscript: At the end of the evening I was forced to harass this poor statue, which was completely dusty and forgotten at the beginning of the stairwell. Massimo and Tiziano, in particular, were hoping for obscene gestures. This is my original reaction - uncontrollable laughter and inability to carry out their requests. (I eventually succeeded, though. Please contact me for those photos!)

Baking Red Velvet Cake and Other Pastimes

2008-05-06T11:36:00.000+02:00

I write this blog entry in a haze of jet lag: I just got back from a 10 day trip home, which was wonderful in every way, and I will spend the next few days trying to recover. (Why is jet lag worse every time I travel?)

The trip was great. I am also proud to say that I managed to visit Vermont and Connecticut along with Massachusetts, which almost makes me feel like a world traveler (though I spent most of the travel time sleeping). I saw my wonderfully talented sister perform (twice) in a crazy and entertaining play - The Increased Difficulty of Concentration by Vàclav Havel - including a mistreated fish and a robot.

My mother and I made another famous red velvet cake. It looks scary in the early stages.

But it's amazing when finished.

Thanks to generous friends and family, I ate my fill of raw fish and all the wonderful things that I can't get in Bologna.

Raw fish and raw egg together: super protein. No salmonella.

Vermont was super beautiful. It was cold enough to wear a jacket in the house, but everything was turning green and it was nice to see spring arriving.

The landscape was somehow more wild than usual. And there were lots of animal noises, though luckily I didn't get too scared at night when I heard them from my bedroom. Without Rosa there to protect me, it could've gotten a bit hairy.

Other exciting adventures included buying my first powder-based makeup, being reunited with pickles, and trying to make a dent in the debris of my bedroom in Cambridge (which is a high-school time capsule).

My friend Natasha became a doctor, or more specifically, a PharmD, and I saw 99 people take pharmacy's version of the Hippocratic Oath. I didn't even know that such a thing existed, but Natasha's wealth of pharmacy knowledge has helped me realize that she can be my on-call doctor. We got her a cake to celebrate, since she turned 24 the day before she graduated.

Wish-making is very stressful. But spending time with close friends is not.

And we're trying to become more normal as we age.

It's always bittersweet to go back and forth between homes. There's always something on one end that you can't have on the other. If only there were a highway that connected Bologna and Cambridge. The trip would be that much easier, and maybe I could even get my family to come back and forth with me.

Eating at a Wine Festival

2008-04-25T23:34:00.000+02:00

In the beginning of April I made a work trip to Italy's (and maybe one of Europe's) biggest wine conventions, VinItaly, in Verona. I was there with a coworker, Nicola, who's the author of wine and food guides to Southern Italy, and we went to do research for a tour we're creating at work. I was a bit apprehensive at the beginning, since I was required to wear a business suit and I was dreading potential business-y meetings. Luckily, Nicola regards his profession as a call for enjoyment, and that's what we did.

On the first day of the festival he took me to the biodynamic wine division, which was located about 20 minutes by car from the main center (apparently due to tension between the two different types of producers). Biodynamic, as Nicola explained it, is a method of production without chemicals or any kind of environmentally-destructive interference. That even means no machinery! The wine tastes different, too - with all of the different kinds I tasted, there was an actual fruity flavor, and most of the wines weren't the typical white or red colors that we're used to. The best part of the wine tasting area was that all visitors were given a wineglass to wear in a little pouch that was slung around the neck. (Mine is now hanging in my room in Bologna as a badge of pride.)

Nicola pointed out to me that biodynamic wine producers are a rare breed, as their calling requires them to be involved in production around the clock. And it was clear that these were interesting characters, many of whom did not appear to spend much time with normal society. But even stranger were the organic cheesemakers, who had a separate tasting room before dinner. You can see a small example of the insane spread, below. Cheese galore, and it was incredible. The cheesemakers bustled around, manhandling crusty wheels of cheese and wearing their wool hats indoors (for the duration of the evening).

Cheese eating was followed by a five course dinner, the photographs of which follow below. One of the perks of the dinner was that the half-drunk wine bottles from the festival were left out so that diners could keep drinking their favorite wines as they ate. I was seated with a group of wine and food aficionados; this is our table BEFORE dinner started. Nicola and his comrades actually hid some of the most sought-after bottles under the table so that they could drink without being harassed by other wine lovers.

This is the first appetizer: a cake made of Adriatic bluefish and "crunchy" sardines.

Second appetizer: veal loaf with seasonal vegetables. The stringy dark green stuff must've been found in a forest somewhere, and it was the best part.

Third course, the "primo", which is usually pasta-related. This was rolls of pasta stuffed with Abruzzese black pig, juniper ricotta and wild asparagus. The black pig is a specialty (the meat itself isn't black, of course), but slight disappointments were the ricotta (which didn't taste anything like juniper, whatever that must be like) and the asparagus (which was mostly ground up into a sauce).

"Secondo", or meat course. Veal cheek cooked in Montepulciano wine and glazed onion. The meat was really good, but I'm generally sort of freaked out by eating cheek meat, because there are always strange gummy bits in it that remind me too much of my own cheeks.

Dessert, "sweet pizza", which was a mix of chocolate cake, amaretto paste, and some kind of cream. At this point I'd had enough biodynamic wine that I forgot about my photo project and started eating before I took a photo. I then tried to put my "pizza" back together. It's a bit of a patchy job.

The dinner was followed by one of the most bizarre and unique performances I have ever witnessed in my life. A group of Georgian winemakers were the celebrities of the gala dinner, as they had traveled thousands of miles by van to attend the festival (apparently biodynamic winemaking is a big thing in Georgia). About three-quarters through the dinner, strange and interesting sounds started to emanate from the Georgians' table. We were soon informed by the host that polyphonic singing is a UNESCO Heritage-protected patrimony of Georgia. Who knew? The mustachioed,7-foot tall (including the women) Georgians proceeded to give us a concert of polyphonic music, which I cannot describe accurately except to say that it's sung without words.

Speaking of life-changing experiences (as the Georgian polyphonic singing clearly was), I recently attended an alter-ego themed party. My friend Natasha and I decided to dress up as men (my idea, probably somehow related to the fact that I feel out of sorts in Italian gender dynamics) and we had a terrific time. Suspenders are an amazing invention; so much better than a belt! And I learned how to tie my tie from the internet, which I am infinitely proud of.

As for the alter-ego theme, it's unclear what some of the other partygoers interpreted themselves as. Though it was interesting, regardless.

The Weather Outside's Delightful

2008-04-07T22:48:00.000+02:00

In recent days the sun has been out all the time in Bologna, and I have to say that spring in this city is so beautiful that it makes up for all of the misery, gray, and damp that is the winter here. The red-orange paint that's used on all the old buildings gets really rosy and glow-y and it's light past 7 pm already, and it feels like it's something worth celebrating.

Last weekend my choir had a Sunday-afternoon concert, and the wonders that are Italian organizational methods provided us with a good 2 hours between our rehearsal and the performance itself. While my innate American-ness (read: obsessive tendencies) chafes at these things (waiting, confusion, etc), on this day I really appreciated being in Italy! The sun was out and we took advantage of the wait by lying out in the park adjacent to our rehearsal space.

The pretty little daisies were so abundant that my friends Elisa and Michelina decided to adorn the head of Michele (who happens to be Michelina's twin brother). He was a willing victim and kept his daisies on for the rest of the day, throughout the concert.

Spring fever makes people do strange things, I guess. I can definitely say that it has massively improved my eating situation. I've made two discoveries over the past few weeks that are making my stomach happy on a regular basis.
1. This gelato place. I was told by an American food writer, living in Florence, that this is the best gelato in Italy. I don't know if that's true, but it's absolutely my favorite gelato in Bologna (it's also run by an American woman). Best flavor? The cinnamon-pumpkin. Which goes perfectly with the brownie gelato, and a dollop of whipped cream. Most interesting flavor? The bergamot-jasime, which tastes sort of good. And a bit like soap. I daydream about this gelato ALL DAY. It's a 20 minute walk from my house, which is sort of an obstacle, but when it gets really hot out I think I'll overcome it.
2. Fresh peas in the pod. They're already in season! My mother has always encouraged my love for these things by buying them for me during the summer. But already, in April, I can go to the supermarket and fill a bag to bursting. This is my new favorite snack. Dollar users beware: my habit is costing me a full $14 dollars a week. It's like cigarettes!

Anyway, the point of all this is that spring in Bologna is a wonderful time to appreciate the fact that winter's over and stuff like fresh produce and cold dessert are actually available. Sitting outside in the sun, though, is probably the best perk.

Beautiful Michelina. I love this photo of her, though I'm not sure why. She's as sunny a person as this photo makes her seem.

At the end of our afternoon we decided to commemorate the event by taking some fotos. Miki took charge of the camera. The first try was a bit poor.

But we improved.

The people in this photo - Gustav, with sunglasses, Michele, with daisies in his hair, and Elisa, with the short curls - along with Michelina, who took it, are some of the most important people in my life here. The twins in particular have taught me so much about what strength and inner beauty really is. They're three years younger than I am, and they've experienced things I can't even begin to imagine - as cheesy as it sounds, their ability to open up and love other people inspires me daily. A great deal of the good I see in my life in Bologna is due to them. On that note, happy spring.

Easter Eggs and Illnesses

2008-03-29T23:15:00.000+01:00

I've been meaning to post for a while but have been dragging my heels, probably because not much noteworthy stuff has been going on. Perhaps most memorable is the fact that I succumbed to a very bad case of the flu, which involved a first semi-collapse followed by another attack of fever, chills, nausea (and other pretty things) etc a week later. I hit 104 degrees for the first time in my adult life! Below is my collection of medicine, which grew gradually over the two and a half week span of the sickness.

I was lucky enough to find a variety of very caring nursemaids (or whatever would be the male version of the word - nursemen!) who applied cold compresses, carried computers for me, bought me crackers and generally helped me out. I especially needed assistance navigating the world of Italian pharmacies. It's difficult when you don't know the names of any of the drugs! Italian pharmacies are especially interesting (for me) because pharmacists can make diagnoses like a doctor would in the States (and it's an open secret that they can also give out prescription meds, but don't tell). Anyway, I know have a full flu-related pharmacy at my house. Luckily, I'm better!

I have a theory that my illness came from a trip to Switzerland that I made with one of my coworkers, to attend a tourism trade show. We both got sick directly afterwards, maybe from the stress of the many immigration checks we were subjected to on the train. Here I am on the train, before my passport was scanned repeatedly.

It may be worth noting that Francesca (my coworker) and I were the only people whose passports were checked in our entire train car. Why, we cannot imagine.

This is Lugano. It's pretty! I wish I'd seen more of it. Instead, I was able to appreciate the various culture shocks of not being in Italy. Here are a few: plentiful chicken entrees on restaurant menus, tea served at breakfast, no bidet, and clean sidewalks.

Otherwise life proceeds normally. I spent most of Easter in bed with the flu, but here are the huge chocolate Easter eggs that people normally consume here. Ours are only half finished! You can see how big they are by comparing them to the candle to the left, in the photo. Thanks to Tiziano for mine - inside there's always a little gift. I am now the proud owner of a cell phone carrier with a little strap attached.

My work stress is not diminished. But through the craziness, I think that my coworkers have somehow bonded, which isn't such a terrible thing. (One of them is getting married this summer, which is hugely exciting! And it'll be my first time at an Italian wedding!!) So all is not lost.

Ginevra, Ginevra

2008-03-10T23:01:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this blog entry with a single objective: I cannot gush over the events of Sunday, March 9, as much as I want to - if I did, it would be impossible to read this! So I'm going to do my best. Unfortunately this may not be the final entry on this topic; between all of us choir members there are about a million photos of the evening, in total, that I'm waiting to see.

On Sunday, my choir sang in a concert with an Italian folk musician, Ginevra di Marco, and her band. We performed at a church near the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, on a very gray day. In fact, we started the day at 8:30 am, singing at a church in a town called Fiesole outside Florence. This is the landscape around Fiesole, which is beautiful.

From the courtyard of the church, we could see a foggy view of Florence with its bell towers and red roofs. It's much less industrial than Bologna, and with all Tuscan green hills and trees it almost seemed like a postcard. If only it hadn't been so gray.

After Fiesole, we headed to Florence to prepare for the big event. First, some background on Ginevra. She's somewhere in her mid-thirties and is a semi-famous singer who for many years sang with left-leaning music groups from central/northern Italy. By left-leaning, I mean communist, or almost. In a good way. (Sample lyrics from one of their songs: I sing war, and I know I'm not in good company/I sing peace, which isn't a profession, or an ideology/I sing liberty, difficult and never given, must always be defended/always regained.)

Anyway, nowadays Ginevra tours Italy with her band (which includes her hubby, who's the musical director). She sings folk songs from Italy (in a gazillion dialects) as well as songs in Spanish, Greek, Romanian, and other languages. And we were invited to sing on her tour because my conductor's cousin knows someone who knows someone, etc etc. We rehearsed four of her songs with her and she sang two of our songs with us. Somehow she managed to learn our songs perfectly after a single listen. I guess it's her job, but even so.

Here's my conductor walking to the church in the rain, with his little podium. Luckily, when we got there, the technical team supplied him with the priest's pulpit (I believe that the church is no longer sacred) and he was all set.

The streets near the church were full of signs for the concert.

We proceeded to rehearse for a few hours, and were reminded once again of the fact that Ginevra is AMAZING. Her voice is out of this world, and she and her band are all super welcoming and open and willing to share the spotlight. They really enjoyed playing with us and on the spot decided that we'd sing a seventh song together. She, her husband, the drummer and the guitarist all speak in wonderfully thick Tuscan accents (which for me are the hardest to follow).

Here are some of my choir buddies. On edge and ready to go!

Here's the church 20 minutes before the concert started. It was totally packed and they had to start adding extra chairs. I know it's a cliche, but it really did feel as if the air was buzzing. We were super excited; to put things in perspective, we are a folk music choir, so this was like singing with a number one celebrity!

And of course the concert itself was just wonderful. Someone once described Ginevra as "becoming" her voice when she sings, as if her voice is so beautiful that it eclipses her as a human being. It actually happens! And we had a great time singing along (at some points, especially for a Neapolitan fighting song, we were yelling). We ended the two hour concert exhausted and happy. Not as exhausted as Ginevra's kids, though, who were sleeping in the front row as their parents danced around onstage.

Now for the best moment: my friend Michele, who knows all too well of my crazed-fan-love for Ginevra, has been promising me a photo with her for weeks. I was too nervous to go up to her by myself so he dragged me over after the concert was over. The star of the show was all too happy to take a photo with us, even though I was so star-struck that I stuck Michele between the two of us. (I REGRET IT NOW!) I am only disappointed that I take up more of the photo than she does! Ginevra, why are you hiding behind Michele and your flowers?! (In retrospect I can see that I did not manage to conceal the fact that I was utterly giddy - it's apparent on my face!)

After the photo, she gave me a hearty Italian embrace and told me to email her the photo. So, please excuse me - I have to compose my email now, or at least faint while doing so.

(Here is an interview with my conductor and the amazing Ginevra herself, along with her hubby. If you speak Italian, it's very sweet. And even if you don't speak Italian!)

(And HERE is a video of the concert itself. It's long and may not be as fascinating as I present it to be, but the singing starts around 4 and a half minutes and I swear it's beautiful. And part two is here.)

London Town

2008-02-27T19:35:00.000+01:00

This weekend I was the lucky recipient of a four-day weekend with my parents in London. My mother's need to study milk close-up forced her to come all the way to my adopted continent! My parents have been in London for the past month and I caught them just at the end of their trip. As any tired, overworked daughter knows, time with parents is also known as face-stuffing time. This is something I definitely did.

Above is a photo of a "cream tea". This means, apparently, tea, a scone, a jar (!) of jam, and an entire teacup full of whipped (or as the English would have it, clotted) cream. I certainly didn't think I would eat it all, but I did. And it was great!

My parents had rented an apartment outside central London, near Hampstead Heath, and it was gorgeous. Plus, there was more fresh air and nature than I generally see on a daily basis in Bologna.

We also made sure to take in some tourist activities, like the London Eye. The London Eye is basically a ferris wheel made out of enclosed metal pods. But it's very big and very slow, and it's on the Thames, so you can look out over the river and all of London. Even though my own family members derided me for my cheesy touristy-ness, I'm glad we went. Thank you, Mom.

Of course, no big city trip would be complete without my most favorite cuisine. This weekend I had two Korean meals. This brings my grand London total to: FIVE. That is, I have eaten at five different Korean restaurants in London. I am very proud of this fact, not least because I have spent a grand total of 8 days there during the past 10 years. Below, my parents ponder the mysteries of Korean barbecue (their first).

And, especially exciting (Rosa), we went to a pub and had our very first English drinking experience together. One beer each - but being a family of lightweights, we still had to stumble out the door.

It was a really great trip. Thank you, parents.

Celebrations

2008-02-06T22:53:00.000+01:00

Now it's Lent, but a few days ago it was carnevale time. This is actually not something that really affects Bologna, or me - especially now that I spent more time at my office than my home (including sleeping time, which is disturbing). But over the past couple weeks I've gotten a chance to see and experience some festivities, which has been nice.

Two weeks ago, Bologna had some kind of Saturday night party that involved an hour of fireworks in the main piazza. Something that I'm starting to realize in my old age is that I love fireworks. They have such a happy mood! And seeing them in Italy, in such a beautiful piazza, was just an added bonus. The show wasn't the obsessively choreographed American fireworks display that we see on the 4th of July, but it was terrific nonetheless - and it really went on for an hour with all kinds of sparkles and booms. The piazza filled up and people started spilling out into the surrounding streets - couples, people on bicycles (like me!), people on scooters (see the helmet, above), children, even buses had to stop because they couldn't get through. Everyone looked towards the sky. There was something really beautiful about the scene, as if the entire city had stopped to watch the show.

To continue with the happy times, I was reunited with two beloved (and much missed) coworkers last week for dinner. We went to a Sardinian restaurant where we were plied with wine and food, including pork stewed in milk, pickled thistles and ravioli cooked in red wine. It all sounds crazy, but everything was great. Letizia and Massimo, whom I hadn't seen since before Christmas, regaled us with tales of non-office life. Massimo then tried to set Letizia up with a friend of his who is currently embroiled in a messy relationship. There she is, talking to him on the phone. As far as I know they have not yet met. And below, me and Tiziano, absorbing our last glasses of wine.

However, all of this business pales in comparison to the real Carnevale, in Venice. Last weekend I made the trip with my roommate to join up with a group of more then ten Italians and Americans. This is basically the way it works: Venice becomes a party. The entire city. People are drinking and throwing confetti and running around in costumes - ALL OVER THE PLACE. (They're also peeing all over the place, because you can never find a bathroom when you need one.) The first photo of this post was taken in a piazza in Venice; they all looked like that. Everyone is crazy, and they're all happy to have their photo taken.

Here is a photo of Francesca and me, at the beginning of the night, around 7 pm. We are fresh and happy. Keep in mind that we spent the next NINE hours walking around a freezing city in February, facing wind and drizzle, sitting down for a total of maybe 15 minutes, and covering a total of 10 miles. Insanity. But, this photo was taken before all of that.

And here we are a bit later, with about half the group we were traveling with. I previously knew one of these people.

This is what everyone started to look like about halfway through the night.

And again.

WHO IS THE BOY ON THE RIGHT? No clue, but we saw him later on, repeatedly. Anyway, we departed from Venice at 4 am, exhausted and practically knock-kneed, to find that there were no more trains running. We had been told that there would be trains all night for the last saturday of Carnevale; like idiots, we believed this and never double-checked. Instead of crying in the station, we hopped on the last train leaving (for Mestre, a station about 10 minutes from the city of Venice). After disembarking, we continued to find, without a doubt, that there were no trains. But we had to get to Padova, to sleep at my friend Michela's house. So what did we do? We took a taxi from Venice to Padova! What a triumph. (And strangely enough, it was the same price as a train would've been. And as the Mastercard commercial says, the worth of NOT having to spend 3 hours in an open, freezing train station at the end of long night? PRICELESS.)

If only we'd had real costumes.

Foreign Exchange

2008-01-27T18:31:00.000+01:00

I'm recycling a pre-Christmas photo. Bologna's very pretty with all the lights up.

Two weeks ago we received the news that my beloved roommate, Francesca, won a grant to study at Georgetown University for the next six months. We're all very happy for her, but it's sad that she has to go! Also, there's been a lot of roommate traffic in this apartment (her replacement will be the fifth new person to move into the house during the year I've been here).

So, before she goes, we need to use the time wisely. That means house parties, apparently. With nutella.

And I think that I'm stronger than I actually am.

Carnivale is starting here, but it doesn't feel like it. Instead, I'm feeling overwhelmed by work and completely exhausted. To paraphrase Good Will Hunting (a masterpiece!) . . . Management has been restructuring, and it's not very enjoyable for all of us who work under said management. But I'm trying to remember that this will result in some kind of learning experience. I will certainly be thankful for it someday in the future. I'm just not yet at that point.

In the meantime, the Italian government has fallen, and it's strange because there are no visible signs of it whatsoever. (I don't know what I imagined. SWAT teams or something.) Aside from the entertaining aspects - crying senators being carted out on stretchers - it's pretty crazy. And it's fascinating to hear the way people talk about it. Most often I hear that the country is finished, everything is going to hell, and so forth - I was told that this is the "classic" Italian response. It sounds pretty familiar to me!

Jingle Bells

2008-01-19T02:50:00.000+01:00

So, I went home for Christmas. It was my first time back in the States since June, and I realized that I really missed being there. Italy feels like home now, but it definitely isn't home home. Like home is home. Etc. And home in this case included Florida and New York along with beloved Boston.

I love Christmas. And I love the fact that being in the US, after being gone for a while, makes me appreciate random things. Like the availability of cranberry juice, scrambled eggs, and non-diesel-infused air. My mom's cooking. Stuff like that.

And snow! It was snowing when my plane touched down, which was a perfect welcome. This was the view from my front door. If you can't see it well, that's because it was entirely white.

And of course it was really amazing to spend time with the people I love, as weird as they are.

It's bittersweet to realize that, now that my life here is full of so many new people, I really value my relationships with the people who've known me for years. In my own language, no less.

Being away makes it ever-so-clear that they're incredibly important to me. So it was hard to leave - even though it's good to be back.

Pre-homecoming Stinchi Extravaganza

2007-12-12T18:13:00.000+01:00

It's my second December in Bologna. And it's clear that I've become significantly weaker in a year away from the East Coast. I find myself complaining constantly about the cold here, and it's not even that cold - but it's damp. So damp, actually, that my clothes keep getting moldy in my drawers. And I keep having to attack these scary mold-like growths on the walls of my bedroom. All the bleach in the world won't make that gunk go away permanently. This place is seriously damp.

The cold has resulted in a few heating wars in my house, most notably last week. There have been small heating battles for a while now, in which Francesca and I turn on the heat via the thermostat, only to hear Massimo run down the stairs to immediately turn it off. This can go on for hours. Once Francesca turned the heat on four times in one hour. So Massimo is obsessive, but we already knew this. Anyway, his brilliant idea was to bypass the thermostat completely and go directly to the furnace, knowing that we wouldn't think to look at it. Indeed, Francesca and I spent a good 20 minutes fiddling with the thermostat trying to figure out why the house was freezing even though we had turned the heat up to 75 degrees. And then we checked the furnace, which is closed up in its little compartment, and saw that it had been turned off. We attached a post-it to the furnace switch, writing, "AREN'T YOU ASHAMED OF YOURSELF?", which Massimo duly received when he ran downstairs five minutes later to see why his radiator was warming up. I won't include the yelling part, but Francesca was very articulate.

Speaking of Francesca, I'm very sad that I'll be missing her graduation next Monday. She just finished her master's thesis and it should be quite a party. I've heard that these celebrations often include scenes in which the new graduate is stripped and pelted with anchovies and flour, while friends write (and read aloud) the best anecdotes about the person's days of drunken college debauchery. In front of his or her parents. It sounds amazing! (One thing that I've always liked about Bologna is that throughout the year people celebrate graduations, and you can always tell who the new graduate is by the laurel wreath and the drunken singing.)

I'll be home in 8 days. I can't wait to eat lots of things that I can't get good versions of here. Like pickles, mustard, turkey, cranberry juice, and non-pasta items. Kimchi! The photos above and below are good reflections of my excitement.

Regarding food, I had a very memorable restaurant experience on Monday. I went out with almost all my coworkers to celebrate two separate birthdays. You can see us singing, below.

Tiziano (whom you can see in this blog alternately peeing, wearing white face paint, and chasing horses off a highway, which does in no way indicate WHY we allowed him organize this event) chose a restaurant nicknamed The Lurido (which means something like "piggy"). The ambience was clear right off the bat, as the hostess/waitress/cook (she seemed to be doing everything) greeted us as "strange people" and reprimanded us for missing one of our party (Letizia showed up late). When I went to the bathroom, a strange man who had wandered in off the street came in and turned off the lights. He then reprimanded me for peeing with the lights on, until the waitress shooed him away. A dog ran wild through the restaurant while her owner enjoyed his pizza.

Her mood didn't improve as Letizia's absence continued. She informed us that, for being late, Letizia "wouldn't fuck anyone until at least the end of 2007". I swear, those were her exact words. The best part was that she said it to Letizia's face when she arrived a few minutes later. (Leti's response: "STILL?!?!") Overall it was a very enlightening experience.

With lots of wine. Notice Massimo's stature in comparison with the bottle size. Okay, I do have a wide angle lens, but still - the bottles were enormous.

One of the food highlights was "stinco di maiale", or pig shank. I can't decide if it sounds more ridiculous in Italian or English, but in Italian the plural is "stinchi", pronounced "stinky". Those shanks (which are technically shins?) were massive. You can see Tiziano and Massimo chewing on theirs, above. Letizia was actually the only person who managed to finish her stinco.
Here she is, eating.

And smiling triumphantly.

The above photo is a good reflection of the restaurant, as you can see the waiter commenting on us as he walks by.

Sara and Luisella. Another good reflection of the restaurant setting.

Anyway, after 4 liters of wine and a large quantity of meat, it was time to stop celebrating and go home.

Start Hibernation

2007-11-27T22:44:00.000+01:00

It's chilly here. And not much is going on here, but I will sally forth with this new blog entry, as I don't want to leave my few-but-faithful readers out in the cold. So to speak.

The past few weeks have been totalllyyyy consumed by my attempts to navigate the bureaucracy that is the Italian immigration system. It looks like I'm going to be spending some more time here, so it's the season to re-start the process, which is a nightmare. My activities have taken place in three different spots:
The Questura, which is the police headquarters (Italy has a bunch of different types of police, but these are the ones who control immigration). This place is miserable. I'd call it worse names but I'm worried that some Questura spy will find this and refuse to let me stay in Italy, so I'm just going to say that this is a decidedly not-fun place. The Questura can take someone like me - basically smothered in privilege thanks to race and nationality - and make me feel confused, overwhelmed, disrespected, and anxious. Entering the building is like getting a zoomed-in view of real desperation - I may not feel it, but it's written all over the faces of everyone else in there, most of whom are in Italy because of dire economic or political circumstances.
Then there's the Prefettura (Prefecture), which is some kind of official governing body. They should technically have the expertise to answer lots of questions about immigration, and have all sorts of labyrinth-like hallways in which you can have the privilege of a 4 or 5 hour wait before even seeing an official. You go to the Prefettura if you need to figure out what you have to do at the Questura. They used to be connected (like, in the same building) but about a month ago the Questura was moved to a godforsaken spot, basically on an isolated dirt pathway, outside the city. Luckily for us, however, the Prefettura hasn't moved an inch.
The CGIL, or Italian General Confederation of Labor. This is one of Italy's three major unions - it's the Communist one. For various reasons, they have the most detailed, efficient immigrant support system (including free Italian classes). There is an extremely chaotic office that manages work queries for immigrants, including legal stuff, and this is about to become my new home: I have been advised to visit every day until the first week in December, because work quotas will be released without warning, and it's a first-come, first-serve situation. They already know me. The cool thing about this office, which makes me a little homesick, is the fact that the staff members come from all over the world - as they should, because they need to communicate with the workers who come through the door. It's one of the rare places here that employs a diverse staff - people from North Africa, Ethiopia, Eritrea, the Middle East, Asia, South America, Eastern Europe. Yay! (I may not be cheering for them once they start despising me for my constant presence.)

Aside from all of that stuff, which is really stressful, it's nice to know that I want to be here for a little while longer. Or a long while longer? Well, who knows. But when it came to make this decision, about a month ago, it dawned on me that I've been here for a year. And despite all the tough parts, it's been worth it - I really do feel as if I've created a life here, and I'm pretty proud of that. I'm not ready to give it up yet, either! So I'll be back at CGIL tomorrow. And the day after.

If you've actually made it through all of that nonsense, here's an anecdote from my day today. It's become a regular joke at work that I should just marry one of my coworkers to end all of this immigration-related stress. Of course, the big question is WHICH ONE I'd marry. Amid all this joking, Massimo (one of my favorites - hi, Massimo!) decided to give me a lesson about love and relationships. It's called, "La Legge del Cornuto Contento" - the law of the happy betrayed person. It is as follows: Everyone betrays sooner or later, regardless of any discussion of true love or whatnot. The secret is to make sure that your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse never finds out - making him/her BETRAYED, yet HAPPY, at least in ignorance. And the final secret: deny, deny, deny, even if the evidence is in full view.
Keep in mind that this was related to me at a lunch table full of coworkers, male and female, ranging from about 25 to 60 years old - and everybody agreed. (Except the American, of course, Puritan Emma: "I don't know if it's always that way." Massimo: "It doesn't matter what you know or don't know. Your thoughts are irrelevant in this case. It's a law, and it's always true.")

Oh well. The cultural learning curve is long.

Audrey, Liza, Elizabeth, and more . . .

2007-11-16T09:25:00.000+01:00

Another blog entry about a house party at Via Avesella . . .

The date for our much-anticipated Halloween party rolled around, and we were ready. This time around, Francesca (my new-ish roommate) and I decided that it was time to mutiny: we were going to invite whomever we wanted. (At our past party, Massimo assigned us a guest quota of 6 people.) So, we got all dressed up, invited our guests, and waited. As you can see above, Massimo bided his time by pretending to be a bat, or something.

One of the first to arrive was Elisa, the girlfriend of Stefano, who runs our favorite gelateria (now closed for the winter). She wasn't in costume, but Massimo called her Elizabeth (as in, the queen) for the entire night because of her hair. Her hair was pretty amazing - we'd never seen it before, because at work she always had it tied up and covered by a cap. Here you can see Massimo bowing to her.

I dressed up as Audrey Hepburn for the second time, which was sort of a lazy thing to do. But it was relatively easy to assemble, and Halloween is a pretty new holiday here, so I was happy to find something that I could pull off. I found out that cigarette holders are sold in regular tobacco stores all over the city. I wonder who's using them?

Here I am in full regalia.

My friend Irene usually looks taller than that, I think.

And here's my roommate Francesca, who was a prom-acid-witch of some sort, and her friend Itala, a cat. Itala is Peruvian and is currently an underwear designer in Bologna (she studied fashion in Milan). As you can imagine, this makes every man within 100 miles start drooling.

And below is my friend Natasha, who is blessed with almost the EXACT same genetic makeup as Rosa and me. She came as Liza Minelli. And my coworker Tiziano came as some kind of character from a Fellini film. I don't really know what he was.

By the time everyone had had a few glasses of wine, we all got to sing (this always seems to happen at my house). Chris, a Johns Hopkins student who owns the guitar in question, knew a full repertoire of grunge songs from the 1990s (incidentally, he came to the party dressed in a brown sweater with a leopard-print towel draped over his shoulders - we never really figured out what his costume was - but as you can see in this photo, the towel migrated around the party, spending most of its time with Massimo). When he was finished, we got started on Italian songs. We all sang all the songs, regardless of the words.

The party was a grand success until about 3 am, when Massimo finally took out a wet mop and started using it to shoo guests out of the house. He literally pushed peoples' feet with the mop. Then he got down on his knees and scraped stains off the walls with a teaspoon. (He's certifiably insane, I think.)

In other news, my choir had an amazing interactive concert last weekend, I went to a salsa club and drank an amazing mojito (with practically an entire mint plant inside it) while dancing to music that made me homesick, it snowed yesterday morning in Bologna, and my work life has become rather chaotic. Due to Italian drama and economic circumstances, it looks like the entire company is going to be restructured. Over the past three weeks I've lost my two support systems: Andrea and Letizia. (Andrea can be seen peeing below, in another blog entry. Letizia handled my visa and is a font of feminist advice.) I miss them.

I will try to ensure that my next blog entry is about something other than parties.

On the Chopstick Trail: London

2007-10-31T20:25:00.000+01:00

I'm becoming a blog slacker! I'm disappointed in myself. It's been too long (despite the fact that I know exactly who my blog audience is, and how very few you are, I like to write something every week). Anyway, I can try to explain my absence by using London as an excuse: last week Rosa played hostess for 5 days and was an extraordinary London guide. While I gawked at the amazing shoes parading around, and ate Korean food at a constant rate (on 3 different occasions), she managed to ensure that I saw a great deal of British culture, too.

We saw a great play. We also saw some great museums, in particular this exhibit at the Tate Modern. We randomly happened upon a collection of gold pillboxes, among other things, at the Gilbert Collection. That was cool because museum-goers are provided with an enormous magnifying glass to inspect all of the microscopic decorations.

This is Rosa, using her glass to look over something-or-other.

Because Rosa has the good fortune to live in a neighborhood nicknamed "Little Beirut", off the Edgware stop, I was able to convince her to come to a hookah bar with me. Don't worry, Mom, it's not addictive. I don't think.

I made sure to enjoy as much non-Italian food as possible. That included a trip to Borough Market, which is basically an endless array of food samples. We indulged in many things that I cannot find in Bologna, such as cheese-y potatoes:

And pickle juice (there are pickles in there, but they're pretty much overwhelmed):

Rosa particularly loves the marinated garlic cloves, which really don't leave an aftertaste - they're a miracle:

But, if I'm really going to get into a food discussion, I should say that the Korean food really hit the spot. Particularly Asadal, which took three days to get into. (on Thursday night, a 2 hour wait!) However, we were given lots of love despite the fact that in my language confusion I accidentally responded to the waiter in Italian. (My English was at times painfully error-filled throughout this trip, which is depressing, considering that my Italian is not anywhere near perfect!) Our waiter seemed baffled by the fact that we knew how to order and eat our food - do British people not appreciate Korean food enough? I finally got into his good graces by ordering cinnamon punch, which is one of my all-time favorite beverages.

After laughing in disbelief, he brought not us only cinnamon punch, but two free Korean cookbooks! ("If you love Korean food so much," he said, "you should learn to make it.") I need to get started. If only Italian supermarkets sold things like soybean paste and Chinese cabbage.

Ice Cream Parties

2007-10-14T19:53:00.000+02:00

It's cooling down here, but that's no reason to stop eating gelato. We have remained loyal fans of Stefino, our nearby gelateria with all-natural gelato, and our relationship with the shop grows all the time. A few weeks ago, we had a much-anticipated party at our house to mark the arrival of our new roommate, Francesca, and to celebrate the cooking skills of Massimo's parents. (Their skills are considerable.)

Massimo embarked on a month-long campaign to invite the employees of Stefino to our party. He called this his "feminine" technique. Instead of aggressively issuing one invite as a man would do, he reasoned, it would be better to invite the "Stefini" every day until they got the message, as a FEMALE would. It's so nice to live in such an emancipated household.

Well, regardless of Massimo's method, we were overjoyed to see the owner of Stefino (named Stefano, surprisingly) at our door on the night of the party, along with a various coworkers whom we've come to know over the past few months. (One is a Brazilian woman who's in training to become a pilates instructor - we're going to do an English-pilates exchange. I can't wait!) We also made a special lasagna delivery to Stefino for the girls who were working that night (including Stefano's girlfriend), and we were given a huge tub of gelato.

Stefano and Maurizio, the gelateria's male representatives, had this bright, oh-so-Italian idea: they wanted to be photographed with the gelato and all the women at the party. We obliged.

I am holding my favorite Stefino item, a chocolate granita with whipped cream. It actually came from our freezer, where it had been waiting to be consumed - the Stefino employees were much amused to see their product emerge from our freezer on command. Francesca is the auburn-haired girl to the left of my granita-arm. Stefano is the semi-balding brown-haired man all the way to the left, and Maurizio (also of Stefino) is the man with the orange classes.

Later that night, Massimo and his best friend from high school, Saverio, entertained us with guitar-playing. Saverio also whipped out a bazooka, which he played for us proudly.

Stefino employees entertained us by dancing.

And force-feeding gelato to party guests.

(That's my friend Arash, who's a John's Hopkins MA student. Maurizio, the Stefino employee who's abusing him, told us that he has been stopped on the street by irate Italians due to his glasses frames. Apparently an ancient Italian woman once grabbed his arm and said, "What the hell is wrong with your face?")

We are now planning for the next party. It will commemorate the end of the gelato season, and partygoers will be required to attend in costume. First prize: gelato.

Language, Vulgarity, and Some Questions

2007-10-02T12:51:00.000+02:00

While I procrastinate about the newest blog entry (which requires me to upload various photos onto my computer) I've decided to do some thinking about language. Language and swear words, in particular. The past two months in Italy have taught me a lot about swearing, probably because I've been working full time with other young people. These young people also happen to be male, and therefore swear more often, which is something I'll get to in a minute. Also, since I figure that I know everyone who reads this thing, I can actually discuss this. It's interesting!

Over the past few weeks I've noticed that various vulgar phrases have somehow ended up in my Italian vocabulary. It's interesting, since I have (obviously) a better command of English, I think that I'm less susceptible to these influences when I'm surrounded by different types of English-speakers. In Italian, since most of what I say is learned through repetition, hearing something frequently is the best way to memorize it. This is how I've learned all of the normal verbs for general bathroom/bedroom behavior that in English are known to all.

The other thing is that a lot of these Italian expressions are tied to gender. Take, for example, the constant discussion of male genitalia. A person who annoys you is "breaking your balls". In fact, anyone or anything that gives you a hard time is "breaking" - or "on top of" - your balls. This statement varies in strength depending on the vocabulary used, because naturally there are many many different ways to say the same thing, and many different tones of voice can be used. In my opinion, nothing beats the commonly heard wish or promise - "I'll do it once so-and-so is out from between my balls". What imagery! This ranges greatly; I've heard it used to refer to girlfriends, which has some degree of sense. It made less sense when one of my choir-mates told me, "I'll start having fun once high school is out from between my balls". Oh well, the idea is clear.

I do wonder at the fact that these words, coming from the mouth of a female, are either jaw-droppingly vulgar (especially from the point of view of an Italian man) or just nonsense. How can you successfully curse someone out by referencing body parts that you don't have? And why is it that any sentence stronger than "devo fare la pipi" (in English this can literally be translated as baby-talk: "I have to go pee-pee") is not permissible for me to say outside the most intimate company?

I don't like the idea that women should be more classy than men by not swearing. And since when does swearing make or break someone's class, anyway?

Some Place Called Abruzzo

2007-09-20T22:53:00.000+02:00

I spent last week traveling through a region of Italy called the Abruzzo. It's right in the middle of the country, closest to Rome (which is in the bordering region, Lazio).

I went with these people:

L to R: Tiziano, Andrea, Sara, Guido. They are not posing in this photo. Poor Guido was entrusted the main leadership of the journey, which is probably why he looks so devastated in this photo (though everyone else looks pretty desperate too). This trip would've been impossible for me without them. Though there were moments when they couldn't understand the locals' accents any better than I could.

This was a work trip. For reasons that are complicated and related to business and politics, we were assigned to do a research project on a certain part of the region known as the Valle Roveto. The idea was, we'd go there and come back with an idea of its feasibility as a tourist site. While isolated, the Abruzzo has been gaining fame as a tourist destination because if its amazing scenery (wildlife, basically), cuisine (lots of sheep's cheese and meat) and religious traditions. It's supposed to have a lot of unique stuff going on because of the isolation of the mountains, meaning that the Catholic church couldn't check up on the way everyone was behaving. This is great news for a region with poverty issues. However, the Valle Roveto has not gotten the memo about tourism. When we began our pre-trip research, I was assigned to call the tourist office in the regional capital, L'Aquila, to ask about options in the Valle.

After calling me back repeatedly, the director of the regional tourist office finally gave up. "Don't go," she said. "There's nothing there. It's pointless for tourists. No services, nothing. It's better if you just rent a car and drive through it."

(This is a photo from a day in which we spent hours looking for a place to eat.)

Obviously this was not an option, since we had to complete our project. But it was an ominous sign.

Perspectives did not improve upon our arrival. We reached Capistrello, our home base, and were quite depressed at the surroundings. Try to picture northern New Jersey, but transplanted into Italy. Sad! It quickly became clear that not much was going on in the Valle Roveto. We noted that in Capistrello the nightlife enfolded thusly: there were two bars, 10 feet apart and open on alternate nights. One was called "My Bar", the other was called "The First Bar" (jokes about His Bar and The Second Bar abounded). Activities included playing other regions' folk music for free on the semi-decrepit jukeboxes, card games, and arguments. By our second day, we knew the name of the local barfly: Monica. Heavy drinkers would have a ball, though. We bought fourteen drinks for $20. Plus potato chips. (To my mom: fourteen drinks for five people, three of whom are over 5'10", is not that much!)

The truth is that we saw a lot of gorgeous stuff during the week. But we had a lot more fun observing the locals, both humans and animals.

First off, all secondary roads (including the regional highways) were a hazard to drivers. The herd of cows walking uphill should've been a decent sign.

However, we were totally unprepared for the horses we came upon, grazing (??) in the middle of the road. Not to mention the villagers who were keeping horses in their garage.

(Tiziano running a horse off the road - a major road, may I add - so that we could go on.)

Other bizarre sightings included horses lying down asleep (also partially in the road!!), with absolutely no fear of cars. There was also the particularly eery sight of a field in which EVERY SINGLE COW was sitting or lying on the ground. Have you ever seen a cow rest its chin on the ground? Neither had we.

We took this to be a metaphor for the depression of the region. Even the cows can't be bothered to stand up.

This was taken even further when we drove through a town and saw a dog lying down in the middle of the central 4-way intersection. Our only possible conclusion was that he had been overcome by the lack of food and other facilities in the area, and he was aiming for a quick death under the wheels of a truck. Unfortunately, the place was so empty that there weren't even any big vehicles.

We enjoyed ourselves, though.

This wine bar will live in my mind forever because I was very embarrassed to find myself locked in the bathroom. The proprietor had me pass the key under the door so that he could save me. It only takes one glass of wine for me to lose my door-opening abilities.

I took lots of photos.

This photo confirms the stereotype of perpetually cool Italians.

Finally, we ate a lot.

We ate too much, actually. Too much meat in particular: Abruzzo is known for hunting. In five days I ate SEVEN different kinds of meat (beef, veal, lamb, chicken, wild boar, roe deer, and stag). Don't ever eat stag. But boar is good.

Fall Foliage?

2007-09-05T18:01:00.000+02:00

I miss fall in New England! Within the space of a few weeks, Bologna got chilly and sunny, just like home in the fall. And every time I step on a leaf and hear it crunch, I get a pang of homesickness. I realized that despite all this Italy traveling, I've never missed a fall on the East Coast. Oh, apple picking . . . pumpkin carving . . . hot cider.

No complaints about Italy, though. A fourth addition to our house just arrived: Francesca, from Puglia. She studies international marketing and is finishing her thesis. I'd forgotten what it was like to live with three other people in my house - I've gotten too accustomed to Massimo's tortured love life. But now it looks like the various players at Via Avesella are in place. Somehow, after seeing 14 apartments last November in search of a normal, clean, non-smoking place, I have ended up as the only non-smoker in my house. How did that happen? I'm prepared to wage war, though. Here is my question: why do smokers think that non-smokers can't smell the remnants of their surreptitious smoking? I always know when someone has been sneaking around.

Next week I'm going with some coworkers to the Abruzzo, a region a few hours south. It's very rural. I'm really excited, actually. This article helped me. There are various political work-related motivations behind this trip, which for me translates (among other things) into lots and lots of photos. But I think it'll be fun, too, since 5 people under the age of 30, with a car and a credit card . . . well, we can't go wrong.

My choir has re-started with a bang. We have about 5 concerts this month. The nicest moment, though, was the reappearance of a beloved tenor, Elio. He's known for his eccentricity (he frequently fixes my bike during rehearsal, so that I begin my journey home and find out that my tires have been pumped) and his penchant for throwing hard candy at us while we're singing (the sopranos sit right in front of him). We appreciate it, since it's good candy. Anyway, he was hospitalized in late July for an aortic aneurysm, and it was extremely extremely serious. He was back and healthy yesterday, though - even if he's moving a little bit slower. We gave him a deafening round of applause, and he responded by throwing a whole bag of candy at our conductor. I knew he was himself when he offered me a perfectly yellow banana in a shoebox lid (being used as a tray, I think) at the end of practice. "Are you hungry?" I was! It was a good banana - I ate it during work today.

Party, Commie Style

2007-08-25T16:21:00.000+02:00

It’s still August and the city hasn’t gone back to normal. Lots of stores are still shuttered closed, as their owners are still away on vacation, and there’s no line at the supermarket. For those of us who have seen the entire month pass here, it does seem a bit livelier. This week, the leftist coalition (Italy has a gazillion political parties, divided into two coalitions) is holding its festival just outside the city. It’s HUGE. Tents selling cars, furniture, plants, and regional food were filled by crowds of people. We entered a raffle – run by a tipsy, jolly Tuscan guy who looked like a young Santa Claus – to win 10 bottles of wine. No win, even though my roommate’s sister was randomly chosen from the crowd to do the drawing (this was indeed very random, since we didn’t even know that she was there).

These photos, though, are from the festival held by the Communist Party a few weeks ago. It was much smaller but equally happy. At times it’s hard for me to wrap my head around the idea of party-based festivals like these (especially the Communist one) because I can’t imagine this ever happening in the States. I do remember when the Democratic Convention was held in Boston, the city repaved a lot of roads in Jamaica Plain. But that’s not quite the same thing.

Even the place mats are festive.

Other than work and yoga, there are basically two edible things that I live for these days in this empty city. One is a chocolate granita with whipped cream. Granita is sort of like shaved ice, sort of like a slurpee. It usually comes in fruit flavors, but about 20 meters from my house, there’s an all-natural, all-made-on-the-premises gelateria that makes my flavor. Aside from the gelato (which comes in creative flavors like rum-cream-vanilla-bean), and the homemade whipped cream (which is free), the granita is killer. It’s made with dark chocolate and they add a little bit of orange peel and cinnamon, which sounds strange, but makes it amazing. And I adore one of their employees, a punk girl with a half-shaved head who won my affection by remembering what I get and always giving me extra whipped cream. Massimo, meanwhile, gets along better with the guy who makes the ice cream in the back of the shop - this is good for me, because it means we always get updates on what flavors are being made and what's being added.

The other recently-discovered passion of my life is the caffe estivo (summer coffee) - pictured above. It’s an espresso with chocolate syrup and cold whipped milk on top. The cold milk whippers look like old fashioned milkshake-making contraptions (with the big metal cup). I want one!

The August Exodus

2007-08-17T13:30:00.000+02:00

Time for a break from Korea. I've been back in Bologna for three weeks, and have been trying to combine work and summertime. So far that's meant one day at the beach, another day at a pool in the hills, and lots of days spent staring at a computer. Oh well. The culture of summer here is somehow more frenzied than in the States. Because of obsessive beach visiting, everyone is extremely tan. Proof: not only is sunscreen exorbitantly expensive, but the SPF system is skewed. My SPF 20 is marked as "high protection", whereas SPF 6 is seen as "adequate". SPF 20 is not high, and any self-respecting recovering sun worshipper like myself knows that SPF 6 practically worthless. All this aside, I'm conscious of the fact that compared to everyone else, I'm white as a ghost.

I've started to look out for wrinkles, but somehow Italians aren't really more wrinkly than we are. How is that possible?

This is one of the most famous meeting spots in Bologna, at the Neptune Fountain. I loved it the first time a friend told me to meet her at the "culo di Nettuno" - Neptune's ass.

All the photos on this entry are from a photo assignment that I did for my boss - to be used for future photo assignments, I had to prove that I could take a picture. So I was asked to create a photo study of Bologna, in a way that would appeal to tourists (as this would ideally be my job). It went well, though it's still unclear (this being Italy) what photos I'll be taking in the future. It was great to get a chance to take photos of Bologna - it's something I haven't done enough, and it helped me see how gorgeous this city is.

This is San Luca, a church perched on the hills outside Bologna. It was originally a pilgrimage site, and you can walk here all the way from the center of the city - and be covered by a portico the whole time! There are 600+ arched porticoes on the way, some with little altars inside. It's beautiful - especially because it becomes a reference point as you enter and leave the city. At night, as you approach Bologna, you know you're getting close when you see the lights of San Luca glittering in the hills. It's visible from the train, the highways, you name it.

The portico walk:

There is some news, which is that I have two new roommates. The first is Massimo's new girlfriend, Paola. By "new" I mean that they got together a few months ago; he promptly asked her to move in. Their relationship is so, so much less dramatic than the Massimo-Lucia scene of a few months ago that I'm really enjoying my peaceful home. Paola's job is also super interesting (to me, at least): she's a lawyer and recently has been concentrating in immigration law. In Italy right now, being an immigration lawyer guarantees you a lot of work and almost no pay - Paola usually asks her clients to pay her around €100 for every job she takes (some may last for weeks or months). It's been really fascinating for me to be able to ask her questions about the legal process for immigrants in Italy - I've also translated some documents for her, which was both riveting and depressing - they were asylum applications for two Nigerian kids who had had some terrible experiences.

In September, a new roommate from Puglia will move in. Her name is Francesca. Thus the household will go back to its original state, with 4 inhabitants. It hasn't been that full since March.

August in Bologna is super empty, but it's been nice to see a different side of the city, and spend time with new friends. Since most of my close foreign friends are away on vacation, I'm getting an intensive dose of Italian culture. This has mainly been demonstrated through dramatics - for example, debating driving methods with Massimo after he declared that he "has never once braked while driving" due to his excellent stick shift skills. He still refuses to back down. Does he really think that he doesn't use his brakes? I don't want to get in a car with him ever again. Massimo also moped around the house telling me and Paola that his mother may have had a stroke. We felt terrible. Later it turns out that she swam 10 laps in the pool, for which she is too old/not fit enough, and had a moment of dizziness. That's all. His mother continues to do her laps.

One of my favorite new characters is Paola's coworker, Pau. She recently bought a new yellow Vespa - it's gorgeous. However, she's still lamenting the loss of her old Vespa, which she'd had for years. It was named Camilla. After a few gin and tonics, she told us this story of Camilla's demise:

Pau drove Camilla to a metal impactor (?? is that the right name??). It was in a basement, and Pau got upset when she smelled the moldy, stale air. She had to leave Camilla in a dark corner. As she left her, Pau got teary-eyed. The owner, trying to comfort her, told her not to worry - Camilla would be reborn. He said (as Pau quotes): "One day you'll open a can of tuna and hear it crying, 'Hello Pau, it's Camilla!'" Apparently this pushed the already-vulnerable Pau into a real emotional crisis and she started sobbing. The owner, who didn't understand why she was upset, repeated the tuna can line a few times. Pau left in tears - and almost cried while telling the story! But she looks at every tuna can differently now . . . I suppose it's possible that she'll see Camilla in another form, right?