Happy Feet

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.