Italian Fashion Trends (for Women)

"What are the Italians wearing" is a common question.  It comes as a surprise to many that not everyone walks around in their Gucci, Prada, or Dolce&Gabbana.

As the weather turns colder, the style is completely changing.  Here are some of the current fashion trends in Rome.

First there are the common rules of dress in Italy.  Quality over quantity, dress up (no hoodies, t-shirts, crappy shoes), black is king.  

Shiny, puffy coats.  Seriously.  Romans are babies and completely bundle up in 60 degree weather while I'm in a blouse, but the puffy winter coat is coming out in full force.  Purple, silver, and black are the favorites.  

Scarves.  This hasn't changed much throughout the years, because a fabulous scarf is always an easy way to spruce up an outfit.  Solid colors or checkered.

Shawls.  Huge, wool shawls you just throw over the entire outfit.  

Matchy matchy.  The Italians love getting matchy matchy.  It is not unusual to see a girl with bra straps, belt, purse, and shoes in exactly the same raspberry pink.  

Superga's.  "The people's shoe of Italy."  These are similar to keds sneakers, but come in fantastic colors.  Yes, I purchased a pair of sparkly silver and can't wait for the stares when I get back to the States.  Everyone here is wearing them or knock-offs.

Boots.  It is definitely boot season.  Above the knee is everywhere.  Black, light brown, dark brown, grey, and purple.  

Black & Brown.  Yes! It is ok to wear black and brown.  Go ahead and wear brown boots with a black outfit, or throw a light brown belt over that black dress.  Embrace it America. 

Tights/leggings. Patterned tights, really opaque black tights, fall color tights. Wear them with boots, a little sweater dress, and a big coat.  

Pajama sets!  Adorable little pajama sets!  Even young adults wear them hahaha.  I don't think I'm going to hop onto that bandwagon.

Alviero Martini 1a Classe Handbags.  They are purses with maps of the world on them.  Pricey and very popular.  

Black Winter Coat.  The pea coat is everywhere, but rising in popularity are the coats with some type of adornment around the collar.  Huge and puffy collars or just something unique.  

Equestrian.  Everything my Mom was wearing 10 years ago is all the rage at Zara.  Tweed, equestrian style pants, shoes I'm pretty sure I wore to ride horses.  There is also a bit of a 20's throw-back.  

Solid Colors. Patterns are scarce, stick with simple.

That's all for now! I'll update if more comes to mind.

Inconsistencies

Many facets of Italian life and culture just don't make sense.  Here we go . . 

Skinny People.  One of the most anticipated experiences of any tourist in Italy is tasting the food.  Italian food is famous for pasta, pizza, and gelato.  These foods are obviously not on any diet list, but for some reason everyone is extremely thin.  So thin that many of the Italian teenagers would incite concern from American high school counselors everywhere.  Granted real Italian food is much different from the nasty fried and cheesy American versions (although there is a fried cheese dish in Italy, but that is a different story).  Clothing size tags differ by the country. I.e. many say "U.S.-S IT-M."

Cleanliness.  Italy is a bit dirty.  Streets, ALL public restrooms, you name it.  However, in the home Italians are insanely clean. 90% of the time my Italian roommates are talking, they are talking about cleaning (and they are from Naples!).  It just doesn't add up.

Coffee.  Italians know their coffee.  They love their coffee. In this country that spawned the idea for Starbucks, one can find the best coffee of their lives.  Ironically, they don't harvest any coffee beans in the entire country.  Also there aren't any Starbucks (if you want to know why, I'd be glad to chat about the business aspects of that decision).  

Business savvy.  On the small merchant scale, Italians are fantastic business people.  Cunning, tricky, smooth, persistent.  However Italy continues to flounder on a national scale.  Berlusconi represents the country.  Come on.  

Made in Italy.  First of all, the saying 'made in Italy' is used by Italians.  They say it in English, to other Italians.  It is sewn into clothes and printed on leather goods in English.   

'Italian' chefs.  As the immigrant population continues to rise, the number of Italians doing 'blue collar'  jobs like cooking and cleaning diminishes.  Therefore it's more likely that Hussein from Pakistan is making your pasta all'amatriciana than Giuseppe from Orvieto.  

Small Victories

Living in a foreign country presents issues where they would not normally be expected.  Hence normal day-to-day activities become challenges, and this is why people get fed up living outside of their cultural comfort zone.  So I work myself up to tiny events. execute them (hopefully successfully) and then add them to my mental list of 'small victories.'

Yes, the things I am about to describe can be done by any monkey.  My challenge was to complete these activities without standing out as a foreigner, or just doing it the correct way and completely in Italian.

Finding an Apartment.  This was by far the most challenging undertaking since I've been here.  I was looking for a double room in an apartment rather than an entire apartment, so I used a website called easystanza.it to find it.  Basically I found places online, called people, and went to see their apartments.  Speaking on the phone in Italian is more difficult than in person, and I was a bit nervous going to strangers apartments as a solo foreign girl.  I usually gave Jimmy the address so if I was 'taken' there was somewhere to start looking haha.  I just never thought the annoying experience of finding my first apartment would be in a different language.  Also a few of the landlords tried to screw me over, and most people required a year-long contract.  The whole apartment thing hung over my head since April.  However I ended up with a great apartment with a fantastic landlord.  Ok this was a huge victory.

Ordering Meat at the Meat Counter.  Doesn't sound like a big deal, right?  Wrong!  Since I studied abroad, I was always afraid of ordering beautiful meat and olives from the deli because I didn't know how to do it.  My Italian probably was not good enough then to understand any follow-up questions they asked, and this metric system really screwed everything up.  So I resigned myself to packaged meats while gazing longingly as the butcher masterfully cut slices of fresh prosciutto thin enough to see through. No more, my friends, no more.  When I moved into my apartment in August, I knew it was time.  I speak Italian and have an apartment in Rome - I should be able to order meat.
So I did! "May I have 150 grams of prosciutto?"  Rookie mistake.  Whenever you ask if you 'can' have something, they say "Certainly, why not?"  Instead just state what you want and say please to be polite.
"Certainly, why not?  What kind of prosciutto?"  Oh no, there are different kinds?  Prosciutto is prosciutto, right?  Definitely not.  I remembered hearing prosciutto di Parma often, so that is what I said and hoped it was right.  Here you order your prosciutto based on where it is from.  Parma is a town in the northern/central part of Italy.  He didn't laugh or look at me strangely, although he did give me 250 grams instead of 150 and it ended up costing around 6 euro.  Nevertheless I was happy.  Unfortunately I got cocky and screwed up ordering olives, but it still counts as a victory.  I'm now friends with one of the meat men.

Having a Relationship Completely in Italian.  My housemate for the month of August, Jercia, was from Mozambique.  She did not speak any English, and I couldn't be more excited.  So our entire relationship was in Italian.  It got a bit difficult when she didn't know the word in Italian and would just insert the Portuguese word instead, without telling me it was Portuguese.  They are similar enough that it's difficult to distinguish, so I was unsure whether she or I sucked at whatever conversation we were having.

Haircut.  I put this one off for a while.  I've needed a haircut for a solid couple months, but the idea was daunting.  I did not want to walk out of there bald or with a bob or something.  I waited until Francesca could come with me for moral support.  There is a parrucchiere around the corner from my apartment, so I finally gathered enough confidence and headed to the shop.  It went beautifully.  Not only did my hair turn out well (a little shorter than I would have liked, but she got really into cutting it.  She looked like she was conducting an orchestra on my head) but we talked the entire time.  She told me about her bastardo ex-husband who took off with the Brazilian, her American friends at the embassy, life in Italy, etc.  I guess hairdresser talk is global.

The Market.  Shopping at the market without being yelled or started at is high on my list of priorities in Rome.  It may sound stupid, but it is daunting jumping into a jumble of yelling Italians and fighting your way to the front of the queue to buy some spinach.  Often my on my walk to the market I think 'why not just go to the grocery store? That is so easy!' but I remember the price difference and how I won't be able to go to these markets in a few weeks.

Angry Pizza Man.  There is an angry pizza man at a pizzeria near the Pantheon.  He really is grouchy, and talks to tourists like they are complete morons.  I have been courting this angry old pizza man for months now.  I wanted to be buds.  The more he saw me, the less angry he got with me.  He even started joking with me.  Now we are at the point where he gives me my pizza for a euro less.  Victory is mine.

Old People on the Metro Conversations.  Often in Rome you may find yourself next to a nice elderly Italian on the metro.  They will strike up conversation.  Many older Italians speak in dialects that I have difficulty understanding, so maintaining conversation is a challenge. An elderly lady stared talking to me, and although I didn't know what she was saying I somehow kept the convo alive.  Ok so maybe this isn't really a victory.  Eh, va beh.

Today, I ran

Yes, this is worthy of a post.  It was the first time I went running in longer than I care to admit.  Not because of laziness, but because girls don't really run here, and I didn't bring running shoes.  When carrying your entire life around in a bag for 3 months, packing light is a must.  Running shoes take up too much space, and sticking out as an American was not appealing.  I didn't even bring my iPod, because it will probably break (going on 6 years old, still in black and white Chicago font) so it would just be dead weight.

So today I ran.  Thank goodness for roommates, because Francesca brought her running shoes and I could wear them.  It finally warmed up and needed to clear my mind (and my body of the FANTASTIC tiramisu from last night.  Pompi by Re di Roma claims to be il regno di tiramisu.  I concur).  I chatted with Daniella before I left.  Like most Italians, she thought it was odd I was just going to run around the streets, and looked at me like I was crazy when I told her my plan to run over to the Parco degli Scipioni and the baths of Caracalla and back to Furio Camillo.

The moment I walked outside it started to rain, but I knew it was now or never and took off.  Immediately the stares began.  I was definitely la brutta figura in my shorts, long-sleeved t-shirt, and tennis shoes.  I have never worn any of these items outside since I've been in Italy.  Men stared, old women averted their eyes.  As I ran by a coffee bar, the chatting old men stopped to scrutinize over their cappuccini and cornetti.
For the first time, I didn't care.  I'm very proud of the U.S. lately (not because of current events, just because I miss it) so sticking out was not as horrific a concept as usual.

Running in Italy is not a chore.  I prefer to think of it as faster tourism - see more in less time.  I ran through the Porta Latina, which was an ancient gateway to the city.  If I tried that 2 thousand years ago I probably would not have made it back.  Crumbling brick walls covered in ivy, umbrella pines dotting the streets, slick cobblestones beneath my feet (very concerned about falling).  Exhaustion was held at bay by the impressive and empty parks that became my personal track.  The leaves are changing and Autumn is definitely in the air.  Bellissima. The rain slowed to occasional refreshing droplets.

I'm not sure what grabbed my attention first - the strong smell of incense of the haunting voices of half a dozen chanting priests, but I followed my senses and ended up in front of San Giovanni a Porta Latina.  I peaked into the doorway, since a sweaty and scantily clad girl might alarm everyone at their All Saints Day mass.  Another  of the beautiful little churches in Rome I just came across by chance.  It is believed to be the spot St. John survived immersion into a vat of boiling oil.  Hmph.
I continued down a road between two high walls with no sidewalk, so I probably pissed off some drivers.  Eventually I popped out at Piazzale Numa Pompilio, ran up the the Baths of Caracalla to say 'ciao,' and turned around.  It still blows my mind that I can just go to these ancient places, whenever it strikes my fancy.
On the way back I decided to get creative (aka I was tired and tried to take a short cut.  It didn't work.) and found some fun new places to explore in my neighborhood.  The street sellers were just setting up their stalls after sleeping in for the All Saints Day holiday.

Probably won't be able to walk tomorrow, but I don't care.

Apartment Life

I love my apartment.  It is in a good location, not too expensive, and has some great qualities.  We have a microwave, a new washing machine, and a flat-screen tv.  I live right off of Appia Nuova, the new Appian Way. How many people get to say they live on the Appian Way?  Kind of cool.  The landlord is very nice and easygoing.  The neighborhood is nice and safe, and I live across the Appian Way from the grocery store (kind of a big deal when you have to carry your groceries.  Olive oil, wine, and a massive tub of mozzarella di bufala is heavy).  Dozens of clothes stores, coffee bars, and restaurants are nearby.  The huge park across the street occasionally has ponies.  

I mention these good qualities so I don't sound unappreciative with this next bit. Although it is great, there are a few quirks we have to deal with.

There are 7 people living in this 5 bedroom apartment.  Francesca and I share a room.  Two Portuguese girls, Carolina and Andrea, share another double.  Daniella and Federica are from Napoli and they each have a single.  Matthias is a German doctor doing his residency in Rome, and he has a single as well.  There are three bathrooms (Francesca, Matthias and I share the largest while the pairs of girls split the other two).  

The only common space we have is about 10x20 ft and includes the kitchen, table, and tv.

We light the stove and the oven with a lighter.  Occasionally this is dangerous when making a groggy morning espresso.

The washing machine is in our bathroom, so everyone is constantly running in and out.  Annoying when trying to get ready for work and someone is fussing with laundry for 10 minutes.

The shower overflows.  The hot water also runs out, and then you are stuck with a freezing shower.  

Never, never, never use the microwave while the washing machine is on.  The power will go out.  

If washing clothes at night, keep as many lights off as possible, or the power will go out.

When the power goes out, go down 5 floors, walk outside onto the terrace, and flip the breaker.  

Everything going on in every room can be heard.  Even with two closed doors between you. 

Everything.

Our room is freezing!  The balcony door/window leaks air.  To deal with this we have shoved foam in cracks, taped a tablecloth to the window, and taped a pair of pants to the border.  Francesca and I pushed our beds together in the middle of the room (to keep away from cold walls) and wear multiple layers to bed.  The bathroom is freezing as well, so in the morning we turn the shower on hot to steam up the bathroom.  

The intercom doesn't work.  So when people continually buzz our apartment we can't ask who it is.  The choices are 1. let a random person into the building or 2. potentially ignore a roommate/friend.

Until we received the new washing machine last week, the old one randomly wouldn't drain and occasionally turned clothes green.  Even if there wasn't anything green in the wash.  

A couple weeks ago the sink broke and would not turn off.  We resorted to filling pans with water and dumping them out in the bathroom to avoid an overflow until figuring out how to turn it off.  Until it was fixed, we had to reach under the sink every time we needed water (then we could only use hot or cold).  

You need to open three doors to get into the elevator.  

I'm not really complaining because nothing is too bothersome (except for the cold.  I don't know how we're going to deal with that).  These are just some of the quirks!  

NO, I am not a whore.

Rome is continuously revealing more of herself to me as the weeks pass by.

I was meeting a friend at Piazza della Repubblica in front of Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri around 22:30.    He was late, so I went to sit down on an old piece of wall.  A minute or so after I sat down, a car stopped in front of me and the man inside rolled down his window and tried to chat.  This isn't that unusual in Italy, so I just ignored him.  My phone rang and I began talking to Mary.  A few minutes later, someone else stopped and tried to start up conversation.  Again, not that unusual, so I paid it little attention.

A minute later, a man sidled up beside me with a big grin on his face. I continued chatting away with Mary, telling her how creepy men can be.  He seemed to be waiting for me to get off the phone so we could talk.  I continued talking with no indication that I noticed him, but he still inched his way closer.

What is going on here?

At this moment I notice a girl walk up and stand near me.  Her breasts hung out like she wanted to be the she-wolf and her skirt was literally tied to make it shorter.  This obviously warranted a commentary for Mary, and I watched as another car stopped to say hello.  This time, the man inside wasn't disappointed as the new girl walked up to the car and spoke with him.

Mamma mia!  They think I'm a whore!

I jumped up and walked in front of the church, hoping it would somehow shield me from the STD's that were surely swirling in the air.  The she-wolf didn't reach an agreement and instead approached the gentleman who was waiting for me to get of the phone.  They chatted for a bit and walked off.

Over the next 10 minutes more scantily clad girls convened on the corner.  I took stock of my outfit:  skirt, cute sandals, tank top, and a sweater.  Definitely not skanky.

It is a bit ironic, because the legend is the Fountain of the Naiads in Piazza Repubblica was modeled after two famous Roman prostitute twins.  Maybe the present ladies of the night gather here to pay them homage . . . or maybe it's just a great place to pick up a john.

Una Giornata Particolare

Francesca knows some nuns from a convent near her house who are now living in Rome.  Sister Raffaella planned to give us a tour of St. Peter's Basilica, then take us back to the convent to make pizza.  This does not happen every day, so needless to say I was excited.  However October 22 was not chosen on accident.  Today is the 9 year anniversary of Francesca's Dad's death, so we figured going to the Vatican was the perfect way to spend it.

We both requested the day off (my first in 3 weeks!) and slept in.  Then we headed over to meet sister Raffaella at their house a stone's throw from the Vatican.  Literally, we could have thrown a stone into the Vatican from their home.  Perks of religious life.  Sister Raffaella is Roman, but also lived in the States for a few years.  She is super cute and gentilissima.  Since we had her with us, she led us in the gate of Sant'Anna (which is the guarded gate you pass on your right if you walk to the square from the metro), passed three security checkpoints, and behind the scenes.  I could not believe we were just walking around the Vatican, passing through doorways and passages I never knew existed.  I recognized our location when I looked left past a Swiss guard and down some stairs to the crowd of people in the square.  We were on the first floor of the Papal apartments.  This is an area I had seen countless times as I walked from the security checkpoint into the basilica (always wondering how those lucky people got to go in there).  Instead of walking out and joining the throngs of people, Sister Raffaella instead lead us in the opposite direction, deeper into the Vatican.  She pointed out a stairway on our right and said "that is the way to the Papal apartment."  I suggested we go say hello, but apparently he doesn't like surprise visitors.  We walked towards the grand staircase.  This hallway was gorgeous with carved and gilded ceilings perfectly framing the stairs.  I'm failing at describing it and unfortunately we couldn't take pictures (since this area is forbidden for tourists), but suffice to say it was one of the most impressive staircases I've ever seen.

Eventually we joined the crowd and headed down into the crypt, a space filled with the tombs of previous popes.  As we neared the tomb of Pope John Paul II (which is a huge deal, complete with guards and ropes and people forcing you to keep walking) Sister Raffaella asked if we had anything of significance to be touched to the tomb.  Francesa had the necklace her Dad gave her, so Sister said she would ask the guard if it was possible.  He refused, telling her they stopped doing this years ago because there were just too many people.  She told him it was a special day and asked what else we could do.  For some reason he relented and agreed to quickly touch the necklace to the tomb.

A word about the tomb of John Paul II;  his tomb is unlike all others.  It stands out and is particularly impressive, but not because of gold, mosaics, or extensive marble work.  JP II's tomb is impressive because it is completely opposite of all the others.  Instead of a masterpiece, he has a simple slab of marble with his name in plain gold lettering.  This speaks to what a humble and dedicated person he was, and he wasn't overly affected by the spectacle that can surround the papacy.

When we walked away from the guard Sister Raffaella was muttering 'very unusual' and telling us 'we just go with the flow. Unusual.'  We headed up to the basilica and Francesca saw the most magnificent church in Christendom for the first time.  Although I was there yesterday, it was just as impressive as my first time 12 years ago.  St. Peter's Basilica is spectacular.  Thanks to baroque design, almost tangible light mixes with shimmering gold, rich bronze, and stark white marble.  Love love love.  We toured the church, then Sister Raffaella brought us back down to the crypt.  Fran and I did not know why, but we just 'went with the flow.'  When we approached JP II again, the guard told us to stand to the side.  At 5 they kicked everyone out and we were left alone in the Papal crypt.  The guard removed the rope, and allowed us to pray at the tomb of John Paul II.  Sister Raffaella was in tears, saying this was most unusual and she had never been allowed to approach the tomb in all her years working at the Vatican.  Only the Pope and Cardinals are allowed the honor.  We said our prayers then went to thank the guard, Gianlucca.  Sister Raffaella was talking to him about how much it meant to us, how kind he was, etc. She did not understand why he let us do this. Gianlucca insisted that it was nothing big, and he was happy he could so some small favor to make people happy.  Then he decided to give us a tour.  He brought us into parts of the crypt Sister Raffaella had never seen, including the Polish chapel where JP II used to pray.  None of us could believe we were in these parts of the church.

Then Gianlucca brought us into the basilica.  Although a cardinal was saying mass and most of the center was blocked off, he brought us to the statue of San Pietro with his feet rubbed smooth by centuries of pilgrims passing by.  He then led us to the tomb of Clement XIII by Canova (one of my favorite sculptors), and to the Spanish chapel behind the organs that is strictly forbidden to tourists.  It was mindblowingAstin walking us around the Vatican and giving us a special tour.  At the end he told us about the closing ceremony for the Papal Senate on the church in the middle east on Sunday.  Basically all of the cardinals and many bishops go to the service and the Pope says mass.  Gianlucca gave us special tickets and told us to call afterwards and he would take us up to the dome.  Perhaps he should have a number for us as well, he said.

Ah, there it is!  Always the exchange of phone numbers.  I'm still not sure if he is an outstanding person, we are super cute, or maybe a combination of the two that instigated his generosity.  Nevertheless this was an extraordinary experience and we had a nun with us, so it's ok.

We left the Vatican and walked a few feet to the convent, where we proceeded to make four pizzas from scratch.  Yep, making pizza with nuns in a convent. In Rome.  Fresh tomato and mozzarella, margherita, zucchini and peppers, and a pizza bianca.

Before cena we went into the chapel to 'pray vespers.'  I had no idea what this was, but today was all about 'going with the flow.'  In the chapel sister Raffaella showed us a special relic in a tiny golden case.  They had piece of St Francis' bone just sitting in their house (since they are a Franciscan order and the feast day was recent, a friend allowed them to borrow it).  We listened to their chants and the smell of fresh pizza wafted in from the kitchen.  I looked at St. Francis and marveled at what a special day it was.  I can't say good day because a death anniversary is never a good day (as I am acutely aware), but it was definitely extraordinary.

One concern Francesca and I had was that we were supposed to work Sunday morning.  They sisters said they would pray that we could get the morning off.
Well, we got the morning off!  I'll tell the Pope everyone says hello.

Il Mercato

A few weeks ago I woke up super early to slip out of my apartment and avoid an awkward roommate situation.  Since I had some time to kill before work, I decided to explore my neighborhood.  In my exploration I discovered a huge outdoor market just a few blocks away, and vowed to come back when I could.

Today I went into work but didn't have a morning tour, so I decided to walk back from Vittorio Emanuele to my apartment near Furio Camillo.  After some fantastic window shopping I came upon my market and dove right in.

First was the walk through.  I really didn't plan on buying anything and just wanted to check it out.  Rows of stalls filled with every kind of fruit and vegetable you can think of, and more you've never heard of.  Jackets, shirts, underwear, toys, socks, espresso makers, pots, shoes, toilet paper and other random household items are readily available as well.  Meat stalls sell veal, rabbit, tripe and other bits of animal I would never consider eating.  Cheese booths display round wheels of parmigiano and huge soft balls of mozzarella sitting in water.

After a once-over of the market and all the colorful offerings, I remembered all I had sitting in my fridge was a tomato, some lettuce, and a yogurt. Common sense would say to just pick up some food items here, but my nerves were getting the best of me.  Yes I confess, the market intimidates me.  I never know how to act for the different shopkeepers.  At the massive Trionfale market by my old apartment near the Vatican, some forbade you to touch the veggies yourself while others expected you to pick your own.  A mistake could result in an angry old lady.  It sounds silly, but I hate not knowing how to act and want to blend in these situations.

I didn't move alone to a foreign country to be intimidated by vegetables, so I observed the etiquette of a particularly fantastic stall and made my approach.  After I grabbed a bag for my vegetables, I approached the tomatoes.  I bypassed the shopkeeper yelling at an old man after the man asked him how much where the oranges.  "Can't you read? The sign is right there.  Read it, it's not hard. Oranges. There. See?" he rapidly chided in Italian. I decided not to ask this man any questions.  I chose my vegetables and handed them to the scary man.  Thankfully Italians love young ladies, so the only thing he yelled at me was "bella ragazza!"
I bought a few more things at the hectic market, and no one batted an eye at me.  I didn't get any of those "where are you from" looks, and pretty much just blended. Success.

I ended up with:    4 beautiful, huge tomatoes.
                             some basil (my basil plant is hurting after some bad plant advice, so I'm giving him a rest)
                             2 eggplants
                             2 zucchini
                             a big hunk of some fantastic bread
All for 2.50.  That is so much cheaper than the grocery store, I don't think I can ever justify going to the grocery store again.  Unfortunately the market is only open in the morning and I usually work then, so I'm going to have to wake up earlier.  Hmm.

La Festa d'Uva

During my semester in Rome two years ago I attended the famous Marino wine festival. Marino is a tiny town about an hour outside of Rome, but on the first weekend in October it becomes inundated with thousands of people from Rome and the surrounding areas.  All of these Italians gather to witness the 'miracle of the fountain that gives wine' and to enjoy the festivities in a way usually more befitting of American college students.  This festival is one of the few times I've ever seen really drunk Italians.  


You would drink too much as well if instead of water, the public fountains emit wine.  Yes, wine instead of water.  They call it "The Miracle of the Fountain that Gives Wine."  


Unfortunately, two years ago I did not get to see this miracle because I was too busy taking a nap in a piazza.  That is an entirely different story and not the focus of this post.  A few months ago I realized there was another chance for me to take on this wine festival. 


The festival lasts all weekend, but Sunday (yesterday, 3 Ottobre) was the main event.  I worked in the morning (a tour of all Aussie's, my favorite!) and then Fran and I left on the 2pm train to Marino.  After a beautiful trip through the Italian countryside, we arrived at Marino Laziale.  A quick hop over a 7ft fall to avoid the queue and a run up some stairs and we were there.


First off, we bought two of the huge 1.5 liter bottles of wine for 4 euro.  The seller handed us a bunch of cups to go with them, and we giggled. No m'am, just need two.


I'm back Marino.  


The town was packed, almost impossible to move.  My friend Andrew had come earlier and met some fun Italians, so we went to join them.  Problem was, the streets were so packed we could not get anywhere!  Then I noticed the parade of traditionally dressed Italians marching up the street with thousands of people crowded around to watch behind barriers.  To solve this little problem I grabbed Francesca's hand, found an entrance in the barriers, and joined the parade. We did not fit in. I did not wear my Renaissance outfit today. We tried to ignore the exasperated yells of old ladies and parade workers (and an icy stare from the Queen of the parade when we stole her spotlight) while searching for a way to get out of the parade.  This seems to be the one place Italians are thorough - parade blockades - because we could not get out.  
Finally we made it to the main piazza and hopped out of the parade.  After a traditional panino di porchetta (which was way better with ketchup, even if it was trashy and American), we found Andrew and his new friends.  
For the next couple hours we drank and sang and danced with a mix of Italians, Americans, and Scots.  We met so many new and fun people, including an Italian woman living in Chicago who I may meet up with in the States.


Finally at 5:30 it was time for the miracle.  Everyone gathered around the fountain like dogs at feeding time.  

Sorry for the shoddy camera work, I was getting jostled around.

When the wine began flowing, we all rushed forward.  Madness.  As we neared the front, I began to lose Francesca to the mob.  She was being dragged to the ground and trampled, and I was seriously nervous about what was happening.  I tried to pull her up and get people off of her, but there were just too many people in such a small space.  I looked at the fountain not more than 5 feet away, at Fran sinking and crying out in pain, and at my bottle of wine.  With a sigh and the realization that there was no other option, I opened my bottle of wine and began pouring it on the people trampling Francesa. Not on their heads or anything, just enough to get them to move away.  The mob broke up enough that I could pull Fran back out of the crowd.  Then I realized that I was at a wine festival, and I wanted my wine from the fountain. So I ran back into the crowd and fought my way to the front.  Success - I got the wine-man's attention and received some vino immediately.  Being a girl has advantages, especially in Italy.  

After everyone had their free fountain wine, we all gathered around singing along to "Volare" on the loudspeakers (ironically the version from Lizzie McGuire) and dancing. After a while of this we realized one of the last trains was leaving soon for Rome, so we ran down to the station.  Hundreds of people were waiting to cram onto the tiny train, so we faced another battle getting on.  One smashed into the train, everyone became fast friends.  We shared wine, orange juice, and inappropriate Italian songs.  That evening we wandered around the city with a new Italian friend, met an Italian soap opera star on the bus, and enjoyed some delicious tropical hookah at my neighborhood hookah bar.

I love Italy.

Employment!

Yes, that is right.  I found a job in Rome, and it couldn't be more perfect for me. I'm giving tours of Rome to people staying in a hostel right by Santa Maria Maggiore.  So basically, I get paid to walk around with fascinating people from all around the world (usually my age) and introduce them to the city I love.  There is nothing better than being the first person to show people sights like the Colosseum and the Trevi Fountain and watch their faces light up. Then tell them all about it and they have to listen to me, because they paid.  For hours on end people give me their undivided attention, and they enjoy it!  A few people have told me it was their favorite tour from their entire time abroad.
I've been working for a couple weeks now, and have met people from: Brazil, India, England, Wales, Ireland, Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, Paraguay, Sweden, Japan, Hong Kong, Canada, France, Germany, Australia, and more I can't remember.  It's a schmorgas board of different cultures, and everyone knows I love anything foreign.
One of the perks of having a job is getting paid.  Hallelujah! I can loosen up and start enjoying everything this crazy city has to offer!  I've even been visiting bars and restaurants with friends again. Different restaurant and bar owners are getting to know me, and I relish the shouts of "Jessica! Come va?" when I walk in the door.

I thought life was basically over after college - but this is definitely just the beginning : )

Buon Ferragosto!

On August 15 Italians celebrate Il Ferragosto.  Technically it is to celebrate the Assumption of Mary, but it is more widely celebrated than most religious holidays in the States.  So widely celebrated, that the entire city shut down.  Empty.  It has it's roots in the ancient Roman Feriae Augusti (Festivals of Emperor Augustus).  It was basically a huge party, where even the slaves could party with their masters.  The Italian people loved this holiday so much that the Church decided it would be easier to just convert it into a Christian holiday than try to stamp it out, so August 15 is now the day of the Assumption.  It's surprising how many dates Christian holidays are determined by old pagan celebrations.

August is already notoriously dead.  Every good Italian goes on vacation for the entire month and heads to the beach.  At least a third of all stores are closed.  Busy streets are quiet.  The population of the city drops from 3 million to 1 million.  The government has to regulate which grocery store in the neighborhood stays open, just so the poor unfortunates that do remain in the city can survive.  If living in Rome in August is even worth surviving (that is the opinion of Romans I've met, not me).
When Ferragosto rolls around, those that did remain get out of here.  This year it fell on a Sunday, so I don't know if it was especially quiet or if it is always such a ghost town.
I remained in the city and saw this as an opportunity for a unique experience.  I debated going to the Vatican or Santa Maria Maggiore (St. Mary Major, the basilica for Mary) to attend the mass of the Assumption.  Since Pope Benny wasn't going to show at the Vatican (even he went to his summer house for the holidays), I decided it would be cool to go to Mary's church for her feast day.  So off I went to the Pontifical Mass at Santa Maria Maggiore.  The mass was said by a cardinal, and his accent indicated he might be a native English speaker.  He walked into the basilica in a fantastic procession of around 20 people.  Although it was great to see the cardinal, there was someone else I was more interested in.  The man in the blue hat.  I don't know what his position is, but it must be special if he could wear that blue hat.  It was the best hat I've ever seen

If anyone can figure out who he is or why he gets to wear that hat, I would appreciate it.

The mass was beautiful. Santa Maria Maggiore is one of the 4 main basilica's of Rome, and it is just absolutely gorgeous.  If I found my mind wandering (ha, if), I let it wander to the centuries old gold mosaics.  My justification:  that when people couldn't read they looked at these mosaics to learn about the Bible, so I was just learning in a different way than listening to Italian homily's :)

After mass I wanted to see how empty the city was, so I headed down Via Cavour to the Colosseum.  There were people, but all tourists (save for the Indian man selling hats).  What really blew my mind was the walk down Via dei Fori Imperiali.  This road is one of the roads tourists believe they are risking death when they cross.  It is ridiculously busy.  However, on Ferragosto I walked right down the middle of it, all the way past the Forum and to Piazza Venezia.  I don't think I will ever be able to do that again, unless it is Ferragosto.

Crazy.  Most, if not all of these people are tourists.  I grabbed some pizza at the Despar (surprisingly open!), and sat with my feet swinging over Largo di Torre Argentina as I munched my lunch.  I was in such a good mood.  I listened to some American tourists trying to figure out where they were going, and as they were heading off in the wrong direction I asked if they needed any help.  After pointing them in the right direction, I got the now familiar yet still annoying "Wow! From Ohio to Rome."  Guess what world, Ohio is not farms and hicks.  After they left, a line formed of people asking me for help.  I loved it.
After everyone left I saw a clearly confused Asian man.  I asked if he needed any help, and he just said "ni hao."  So I said, "ni hao."  He responded with "ni hao."  We went on like that, exchanging "ni hao" a few times until I thought I would laugh.

The rest of my Ferragosto was spent wandering around, until I got bored that EVERYTHING was closed.

The Formaggio Affair

I now consider myself an honorary Italian, because today I had a truly Italian experience - I got into it with the grocer.

I love my mozzarella di buffala campana.  There is no cheese like it in the world, and it may be 15% why I decided to relocate to Italy.  This cheese is like heaven.  Those soft white balls floating around the milky white water always put me in a good mood.  I'll save the description of its goodness for a later post devoted to food, but suffice to say it is vying with gelato for my favorite food in Italy. Yeah.

Mozzarella di buffala campana is the one food item I splurge on, and buy the big container for 5 euro.  Like a kid at Christmas I opened my mozzarella yesterday to make un'insalata caprese.  Imagine my disappointment when I take a bite and . . . it's bad.
No, it can't be.  My mozzarella can't be bad!  I don't trust my taste buds and try it again. My gag reflex doesn't stand for mistrust, and I have to spit it out.

Now this creates all sorts of problems.  One, I am without mozzarella di buffala campana.  Two, I I have to deal with this somehow.  The easy thing would be to just go buy another one, but I would never be such a push over at home, so I can't allow it here.  Today I got ready and went back to the grocery store to attempt an exchange. I grabbed another one, took it the the register with my receipt and just asked to exchange it.  The girl working said it was no problem, but she couldn't do it and we had to wait for someone else.  While we are waiting (or maybe we were waiting for him, I don't know)  this old grocer comes over.

I tell him what the problem is and he tells me that since I opened it, he can't sell it anymore.
I respond, "Well you couldn't sell it yesterday either, because it's spoiled."  Oh yes, I got sassy.  That is how 'un discorso' goes over here.  You take up your cause like it's near and dear to your heart, no matter what it is.
           "It is our job to sell the food.  You took it out of the store, and I don't know what you did to it.  When you buy a sandwich, it is yours and you can't return it."
           "No, your job is to sell food that it is possible to eat.  This food is bad, and all I want to do is exchange it for exactly the same thing. This is not a sandwich, this is a container of cheese."
The idea of 'the customer is always right' does not exist here.  Not in restaurants (they don't work for tips), not anywhere.  I thought about how this would absolutely never happen in the US.  He keeps getting more and more animated, so I do too.  Meanwhile the first girl I talked to is rolling her eyes at him, so it gives me more confidence.  I wasn't mean, but I definitely got worked up.  People started to stare at this old man and young girl arguing about cheese.  After I continued to counter everything he said and held my ground, he realized he had lost and followed the formula for an Italian defeat - he pretended he thought we were arguing about something else.
           "Oh! You just want to exchange this one?  I was confused because there were two here."
Despite myself a grin started spreading across my face.  He tried to keep giving some ridiculous explanation, but I just shook is hand and told him to have a nice day.  I won.  I knew it, he knew it, everyone in the store knew it.   The other check out ladies just rolled their eyes at him and I bounced out of there with my mozzarella.

Although it may not seem like much to you, I was so proud that I had my first little argument, won, and only made one error (as far as I know).  I said si e' gustato instead of si e' guastato.  I am so mad I did that!

Funny thing is, I just opened the new mozzarella and it's bad too.  I think it is just too close to the expiration date, but there were only 3 left.  Ah well.  At least I got to argue in Italian.

Finally Home

After 6 long weeks of bouncing around Europe, I finally arrived in Roma to start this next adventure.  My heart was all a flutter as I rode the metro to my apartment (well, shared with a bunch of people, but my room).  Finally I could stop carrying around all my belongings in a backpack and actually unpack.  Too bad for my arms though - I was getting some nice biceps.  

As I neared my apartment building a woman blocked my path, trying to sell me tissues in the middle of the sidewalk.  Yep, I'm home in Roma.  

I promptly hopped in the shower to wash off all the train crazies, and to my pleasant surprise it is a 'raining' shower head! I've always wanted one, so I am pretty excited.  The apartment can hold up to 7 people, but Francesco said it usually isn't full.  For the month of August it is just me and Gersica (from Mozambique) because everyone is on vacation.  The apartment has three bathrooms, a washing machine, microwave (yeah!), flat screen tv in the common room, wifi, and air conditioning .  All of that is fantastic, but what really cooks my pasta noodle is my room.  The room itself is nothing special - two twin beds, two closets, a desk - but the balcony and windows make it my favorite room in the apartment.  The desk faces these two massive windows.  The view is at the same time pretty and entertaining.  My room faces the other apartment buildings (but I can also see a lot of sky and some tree's).  This way I can watch all the Italians go about their life, 'rear window' style.  I hear Mama's yelling at their bambini, watch women hanging up their sheets (or granny panties) on the rooftop terraces, and smell the wafting aroma of Nonna cooking some calamari. I love it.  

I promptly passed out on the sheet I bought in Germany for just this purpose, then woke after 5 hours still groggy.  Don't judge - I didn't sleep the night before, remember? I went to the grocery store and was just so exhausted I did not want to speak another language. Everything just seemed so difficult, and I began to think I am in way over my head. 

The next day I was ready to go, and decided to do a grand tour of the city as a welcome home.  I hopped on the metro two blocks from my apartment at Furio Camillo and timed how far I am from everything. 10 minutes from Termini Station.  15 minutes from the Spanish Steps. Less than 20 minutes from the Vatican.  I grabbed some Old Bridge to celebrate my return to Rome (at the request of Allie).  Cioccolato, fragola, banana.  I took my first lick and OH. My. Goodness.  I forgot how fantastic gelato was.  It really is like nothing else in the world.  Frozen, delectable goodness in a cone, the far superior sibling in the frozen treat family.  It should have its own family. Secondo me, it does, and each branch of the family is indicated by gelateria. Old Bridge, Giolitti, Del Teatro, Grom, Carabe, etc. I said hello to the Vatican and stared in amazement at the hordes of tourists.  August is such an odd phenomenon in Rome.  All of the Romans are gone, and at least a third of all stores are closed.  This gives the residential areas of the city a very abandoned feel.  When I got on the metro at my stop, only 2 people got on with me, in the middle of the day.  Very unusual.  However when I neared the tourists areas, mass hysteria stuck and I was swarmed by sweaty people with large cameras.  

I walk along minding my own business, until suddenly I'm surrounded by people all wearing the same outfit.  What is it with people on tours thinking a matching outfit is the only way you will stay together?  You look ridiculous. The hats and fanny packs really cross the line.  The Vatican is packed.  I think I want to do a photo comparison of Rome in August, and Rome in the Fall.  They are vastly different places.

My walk takes me about 5 hours, and these are some of the sights I greeted: Vatican, Hadrians Tomb, Piazza Navona, Pantheon, Largo di Torre Argentina, Piazza Venezia, Roman Forum, Colosseum, St. John Lateran.  It was a very far walk.  This journey also had an ulterior motive - to find a pillow case and a sheet.  However, there is no Target or Walmart or Bed Bath & Beyond, and I'm beginning to think Italians just don't sleep, because I can't find una biancheria.  Oh yes, you have to go to a special sheets store.  I search all over this city, and am starting to get really frustrated.  Eventually I find some (on sale!) and call it a day.  They even match my other sheet, so it must be a sign.  

The next day I walk by the guy with his one-person market outside of my apartment.  He is selling pillowcases and sheets.  In shock and frustration, I look at these.  While he starts offering me prices, I ask if he is here every day. Si.  Hmm - I distinctly remember someone selling toy trains and underwear here yesterday. He says it is a different product every day.  Because that makes so much sense.

I've waited a few days to write this post because I needed to get into the right mindset.  I've been swinging back and forth between blissfully happy and ridiculously anxious these past few days, and if I was anxious the post would be depressing.  One night I was seriously questioning my sanity and getting very worked up about the job situation, since nothing seemed to be coming together.  At the exactly right time I got an email from my Dad saying 'Don't give up.'  It was exactly what I needed to hear.  I also got an email from my friend Kat, and she just said so many positive and flattering things it couldn't help but put me in a better mood (I know I still need to write back Kat!).  Thank you so much to everyone else who sends me fantastic emails, I really enjoy them :)

On Friday I was researching work and financial information and just got overwhelmed.  This whole idea of moving to Rome just for kicks seemed ridiculous, and I even went so far as to figure out how to change my flight.  I couldn't focus on any positives, and didn't really understand what I was doing or how I would function for the next few months.  I could not form rational thoughts.  Then in a moment of blissful clarity I realized "Oh, I'm panicking."  So that's what panicking is like.  I never panic or get too worked up (except when I'm angry, but that's passion so it's ok), so this was an entirely new concept for me.  I decided to just ride out the anxiety, because tomorrow would be better.

It's odd that freedom is freaking me out.  All through college I took the max amount of credit hours and worked as much as possible, while being involved in a billion campus activities.  Right now I can do whatever I want, and it's weird.  I know I'm going to look back at myself in six months and want to smack myself in the head, but it is a strange feeling.

This is getting too long, so I'll discuss the glories of finally being Home in Roma later.  One word - tomatoes.

The Night Train

The train is always an experience. You sit facing strangers for hours, and somehow always end up next to the crazies.  The night train is like the normal train on crack.

I had an 11 hour night train from Rosenheim, Germany to Roma Termini.  I was dreading the journey and wished I could somehow just appear in Roma. Bernadette and her mom took me to the station at 9:30.  I think all Americans are drawn to each other, because somehow I found two girls from NY.  As I was talking to them, a woman comes up and says "Did someone say Ohio?"  Oh yes. I found someone who goes to Bowling Green in this tiny town in Germany.  Go figure.

As the train pulled away, I leaned out the window and waved to Bernadette and her mom.  I have ALWAYS wanted to do that, so I was pretty pleased.  Then I headed to my compartment, which was of course full.  The train was full and super expensive since it is the holiday season, so I just bought a seat instead of a bed.  Unfortunately for me the only seats available were the middle.  

For those of you who don't know, the trains are set up like this:  a thin corridor runs along the car, off of which there are compartments.  Each compartment seats six, with two rows of 3 seats facing each other.  They are small.  After kicking out some guy in my seat, I squeezed in.  Next came the inspection of the people I would be spending the night with.

On my right (in the window seat, lucky puttana) was a round German woman.  She seemed ok.  Across from her was an easter european girl/woman.  I'm not sure, because her face seemed like a 30year old, but her clothes (a tshirt with a flower on it that said 'flower' and some flowery shorts) seemed like a child. I stared at her for a while and could not come to a conclusion.   Next to her and across from me was a very skinny, tall, and manscaped Italian 20 something.  He was wearing a Wendy's "Where's the Beef?" t-shirt.  He was so thin, I wondered if he was seriously asking. Next to him and next to me were these two Italian teenagers, maybe 17 years old.  They may have been sisters, because they had the same strong schnoz.  They were bratty kids, and annoying to sit by.  The one next to me decided to sit sideways, with her back pressing against our shared armrest and me.  It was a constant battle to claim the space.  Usually people try at all costs not to touch the strangers around them.  This girl was all over me, but I did not want to lose so I just leaned into her to.  This completely backfired, because she had no problem.  She was cuddling me like we regularly sleep together.  Fine.  I could deal with that, but her headphones were emitting loud euro techno. I don't know how she could listen to that for hours. I had images of discotech's bouncing around my mind, and I still can't get that bass out of my head.  I finally fell asleep for a bit, but these girls just started talking and laughing at 2 am, so then I was up.  At this time the eastern european girl/woman left at Trento, and on came a normal Italian man who talked on the phone for 30 minutes. Otherwise he was fine.

At 4 am the girls got off at Bologna.  I wish they hadn't left, because what came next was much worse.  This huge man whose nationality I don't know came and sat across from me (by this time I moved to the aisle).  His friend, who looked like the oompa loompa from the new Charlie and the Chocolate factory (except taller) sat next to him.  As I was drifting to sleep, the huge man started muttering, loudly, on every single exhale.  The words (a language I  did not even recognize) would start out extremely loud, and then trail off into unintelligible mumblings.  Everyone was staring at him with 'wtf dude' in their eyes.  I was starting to wonder if he had some problem, when I realized he was saying his prayers.  Fine, if you want to pray at 4am, go ahead.  But go out into the corridor, or say it in your head.  Don't start yelling in a compartment full of people trying to sleep, jackass.  

But that wasn't the most offensive part.  Oh no.  Then, he took off his shoes. He started putting his nasty bare feet all over. Anyone who knows me knows I hate feet.  Strangers feet are the worst.  At one point he tried to put them on my seat and I was like helllll no. The Italian guy actually asked him to move them off of his seat.  He was creepy as well.  I would open my eyes and would catch him staring at me.  Normal people look away when you see them staring, but he did not.  There had to be something wrong, because I know I did not look cute at 4 am, curled up in a ball, disgruntled.  

Sleeping. Ugh.  Every part of me fell asleep - right butt-cheek, left butt-cheek, back, pinkie toe - but I could barely sleep.  We sat for an HOUR in Bologna, not moving.  At 8 am a man with some kind of mental disability came and sat in the one empty seat in our compartment, although there were compartments with more empties by now elsewhere.  He started YELLING into the phone.  I mean yelling. Screaming.  It was time to get up.  He just stared  at the oompa loompa man, and made him very uncomfortable.  As it neared 9am I looked around and noticed we were still in the country, and the train would be late.  Everyone was up looking out the windows, and I watched with interest as a really tall, thin, bald, and pale guy did sun salutations in the corridor.  

The train arrived an hour late, so we got to Termini at 10am.  SO glad we sat in Bologna for an hour.  It wasn't a horrible train ride (especially since it wasn't hot at all), and I am a bit amused looking back on it. Night trains are just one of those European experiences everybody should have. 

Auf Wiedersehen Germany

After two and a half weeks of wandering around Bavaria, I am preparing to leave this sausage filled country.  Altogether I spent 4 days in Munich, a week in Augsburg, and a week with Bernadette.  My time with Bernadette was filled with visits to the Alps, fun time with farm animals, and visits to relatives.  One of my favorite evenings was a trip to her uncle's farm near the Czech Republic.  There I sat at a table with 10 people speaking German and had no idea what was going on, but all the same had a great time.  I'm pretty sure they thought I was crazy because the most random aspects of the farm got me so excited.  'A water trough! Cows! A big oven!' I couldn't believe there were people actually walking around in lederhosen and the other traditional outfits.  At one point this adorable 10 year old girl started playing a humongous horn.  Ah, Bavaria.

I'm afraid these posts are getting too long-winded, so here is a concise compilation of good and bad feelings about Germany:

Pro's
 - The Alps. Everywhere you look the mountains are peeking around at you.  Monstrous, snow-capped, gorgeous.
- Peanut Butter.  It exists here!
- Animals.  I cannot get over all the animals.  I've played with pigs, cows, horses, cats, dogs, kittens, ducks, sheep, and bunnies. Love it.
- the Autobahn. It looks like Ohio so I got really excited.  The only difference is people actually know how to drive here, and they drive fast.
- Weather.  It hasn't been 90 degree's here, which is nice.
- Food.  Pretzels, strudel, cheese, potatoes, sausage. . . I don't know how I'm going to go back to being poor in Rome.
- Wood.  Today we moved and stacked an entire trailer of fire wood.  Thank goodness, because it provided some much needed exercise.
- Hot pants . .  for men.  Although it is disgusting, I get a great laugh every time.  These are shorts I would be uncomfortable wearing, for decency's sake. They're like daisy duke's for men.
- Bernadette and her family.  They have been fantastic, driving me all around and showing me fantastic sights. We even went over to the Austrian border and basically to the Czech Republic.  They are also all putting up with my terrible German and are practicing their English.
- Bernadette's house.  It is so nice, and I finally feel clean.
- Traditional Clothes.  I love when people are actually wearing the cute German outfits. I want to tickle them.
- Relatives.  I wander around meeting German relatives and friends and pretending to know what is going on. Great fun.
- Castle's.  King Ludwig II may have been insane, but he built some really pretty castle's that seem to pop up around Bavaria.  The most famous one was the model for Cinderella's Castle in Disney world.

Con's
- Speedo's.  The 'old fat man in tiny speedo' is in full force here.
- Food. Delicious, yes.  Damaging to my figure, yes.  Butter is in full force.
- Hot Pants.  Hilarious, but painful to see.
- German.  I do not understand this language.
- Rules.  I think the Germans like rules. No driving in flippy floppies.  In Berlin they had crazy rules in museums.  I don't do well with rules.
- Nausea.  I've been feeling sick and I don't know why!  Perhaps my body is just tired from moving around the past 6 weeks.  Dad says I am just suffering from 'homesickness.'  Thanks for your professional opinion Dad.
- Slugs.  Bavaria has the biggest slugs I have ever seen.  Would not be a problem, but I'm always afraid of stepping on them.  No good.

Tonight I leave on my train to Roma.  I'm nervous it will be as hellish as the way up here.
Tomorrow I start real life. . .

Deutschland : )

Rainbows, pretzels, beer and mountains.

I have been in Germany for almost two weeks, and I absolutely love it.  I left Augsburg on Monday to go to my friend Bernadette's home town near Rosenheim.  Bernadette and I met first semester in Italian class at UD. She came to Akron for Thanksgiving, and now she is graciously showing me around Bavaria.  If we were keeping score, she definitely wins - Bavaria is much more interesting than Akron.

I am having SO much fun with her and her family.  They are so kind, and it feels great to be with a family in a real home for the first time in months. I'm afraid the weight loss will pause while I'm here - the food is fantastic.  Last night I learned how to make spaetzle. which is a type of cheese noodle, and also these cookies made out of chocolate and nutella.  Today I ate a pig leg, complete with skin and big bones (no, I didn't eat the skin).  Some German's thought the silly American girl was funny, because I was fascinated by this pig.  Bernadette's mom wanted me to have true Bavarian food, and she said it doesn't get more Bavarian than that.  We also took a shot together after the meal.  I love Germany.  Bernadette claims she is not the traditional Bavarian, because she is a vegetarian who doesn't like beer!  She is an exceptional person and I'm so lucky to have met her.

Driving through the Alps, the most vivid rainbow I've ever seen appeared. The landscape is just gorgeous here.  Green streams running from the mountains, charming houses with paintings on them, cobblestoned streets and old arch ways.  Everything is picture-worthy.  Even Bernadette's house is beautiful!  I'm such a creep.

Another aspect I like about this country is the focus on the environment.  Bernadette's house has government subsidized (hint hint USA) solar panels on the roof, which heat the water during the summer.  They also recycle and have a compost pile so there is little wasted in this house.  In the U.S. people taking these measures would be considered especially 'green.' Here I think it is the norm, as it should be.  There is little extra effort put in for many benefits.

Although I am having a great time here, there is bad news from home.  Great Uncle Bob passed away yesterday.  I'm not the type to garner personal attention for these types of things, so I will just say that this is hard and I wish I was home for it.  He truly is a great man, and I'm not just saying that because he's gone.  It's ironic I'm in the country which nearly caused his death in WWII all those years ago after he was shot and run over by a tank.  He is one hardcore badass, but also an awesome person. I really want to be there and wish I could have said a proper goodbye . . . but it's not the last time that counts, but all the other times we've had together (if that makes any sense, which I don't think it does). Still I'm glad I held him extra tight before I left.

Allora.  I'm trying to learn German because I can't stand not knowing what is going on! I have no idea what I've been eating, because I just try to say stuff and then eat whatever I end up with.  Bernadette is being a great translator :)  I suck at German.

A HUGE apology to Jimmy, who apparently is not entertained enough by my blog. Stronzo.

Grumpy

I love being here. It is incredible.  However, it just hit me yesterday that I am going to have a lot of difficulty sustaining myself, especially if I can't find a job.  On the bright side, I've found the greatest diet ever - unemployment!  I hope this continues in Italy!  I just find it silly to spend money I don't have on food, something I can do without.  I'm also having my first bought of homesickness.

 The past few days have been relaxing and fantastic. I'm in Augsburg staying with my economics professor BJ and hanging out with students in the UD study abroad program.  Augsburg is a small but old town in Germany, and a sister city to Dayton.  My time here as been peacefull and very enjoyable.  I went shopping with BJ and her daughter Rachel, then we watched old movies all last night.  Tonight we had quite the adventure trying to find this Mexican restaurant in Augsburg.  After over an hour of searching, we found it and had a fun time.  Mexican is delicious.  BJ is so much fun.  You never know what to expect, and I love it.  She can adopt me.

Yesterday I went to Friedburg with Bernadette, where we met her friend Annika and toured the quaint city. It was beautiful, and not some place I would have found on my own.  After touring we sat and chatted at her house over cappuccino and gummy bears.  It was a very pleasant day.

Yesterday was also the day Dad had his wedding reception at home.  This was the first pang of sadness.  All of my siblings are home, and that is becoming rarer and rarer (Vince even came from Vegas).  The family from Atlanta, some of which have not returned in almost 10 years, also came.  I'm being silly, but I'm just left out.  Today is Allie's birthday.  I trekked around looking for a pay phone to use the phone card Vicki left me.  FINALLY I found one, but turns out the card was empty.  I was too annoyed to go back and try to skype on the internet that doesn't work after such a long search, so I just made a quick call with my cell.  I feel extremely guilty that I am not there for her 18th birthday.  I've worked hard to make sure she made it to 'adulthood,' and I'm not there.  So it was important I made the call.  Turns out the 2 minute call used 4euro.  Great. That means no lunch.

I got back and finagled with skype so I finally got a call through.  However it was too busy at my house with everyone over, so I gave up and let them go.  I'm here, all my friends and family are there, this is how it works.  2 month blues.
Uncle Bob is sick, and I'm so removed from the situation.  I should be there and feel terrible.  My goodbye in May cannot be my final goodbye.

Ugh. It's time to be more positive.  I'm spending some time with Bernadette and meeting her family in her home town, and couldn't be more excited!

Prost!

We made is to Munich after a long and painful night train from Florence.  Before we got on the train, a drunk man army crawled out of the bushes and stole our water . . too strange.  The train was horrible.  It was booked solid so we were just in a compartment of 6, without beds.  The compartment was full, so we had to 'sleep' sitting up for 9 hours.  I addition, it was upwards of 90 degrees in the compartment, and some girl who I am STILL angry at kept closing the window. We played that game all night - when she fell asleep I opened it, when I fell asleep she closed it.  Like a can of sweaty sardines, that is how we spent the night.  It smelled like the homless hangouts under a bridge in that compartment.

We got to Munich and thanfully were allowed to shower before we checked in.  After some much needed coffee we walked around the city.  I pushed really hard so we could see the Glockenspiel (a century old clock that dances around) at noon.  I don't think Maggie and Kate cared though.  I was in Munich during my semester, so this visit was purely for their sake.  We continued wandering around and cooing and the adorable Bavarian buildings.  They are so cute.

That night we we to Hofbrauhaus. Although it is super touristy, it's a must.  Especially because there is another Hofbrauhaus in Cinci.  The three of us went there last summer, and I never imagined we would go to the real one together, ever.  Of course I found some Italians and made friends, and we also met people from Doner's Grove (where Vicki went to grad school outside of Chicago).

The next day we went to Augustinerkeller Biergarten.  Awesome.  It was massive and beautiful, with the huge tree's and even a playground.  There met some crazy Austrians on a bachelor party.  We keep being forced to leave different sites when I get accosted by creepers (trevi fountain, pantheon, etc) so I decided this time to just put up with it because we were having a nice time at the beer garden.  Eventually I said I was married and we were left alone!  Good one.  I'm gonna use it more often.  Regardless of creeps, the beer is so delicious here.  It is probably a good thing I finished college and am done with Natty Light and Beast. I don't know if I could stomach them anymore after the golden deliciousness that is German beer.

The English Gardens are massive, but that is not the impressive part.  The truly unique aspect is the surfing.  You walk around this beautiful park, and then you happen upon people actually surfing in the little canal.  Fantastic.

On Sunday, Maggie and Kate went to Dachau Concentration Camp.  I went there last year, so I stayed in Munich and explored.  In my exploration I discovered that dogs are allowed everywhere here.  I knew from Italy that the rules are much more lax about bringing dogs into grocery stores, pharmacy's, etc.  However, I walked by a fancy restaurant, complete with white tablecloths and chandeliers, and saw a dog hanging out at a table.  It amazes me!  I thought the Germans were supposed to be more strict.  Awesome.  I also went to the Jewish museum.  I was fascinated by the idea that proudly displaying these religious images, books, and symbols in Munich was once a death sentence, not too long ago.  There was also a public exhibit of discussions between descendents of the Nazi's and descendents of the persecuted Jews.  It was fascinating to read the dialogues . . . so much guilt and remorse, but also helplessness . . I'm having difficulty explaining.  Here is the website:  www.speaking-germany.de

Kate and Maggie left Sunday night to go back to the States. I am going to miss them!   They had a completely different travel style altogether, and I found it easier to just adjust to them since they are only here for 2 weeks.  It was fun, just way different than my usual. It's weird that I won't see them until Christmas at the earliest.  They are the last American friends I am going to see for the next 6 weeks, until Francesca comes!  That will start an entire new chapter.
Next is Augsburg, where I am staying with BJ.  Now that is an adventure. : )

Homeless no more!!!!

Maggie and Kate wanted to see Rome (and why shouldn't they, it is awesome), so we took Ryan Air one more time from Madrid to my city.  It felt great to know what was going on again and speak the language.  I really liked all the places we've been, but Italy is still my absolute favorite.  I was so nervous they would not like it, and then I would just be pissed off.  Italy is not for everyone; it is a culture you just need to embrace and 'go with,' or you might find yourself frustrated at crappy bathrooms and the constant struggle for tap water at restaurants.  I also wanted to make sure they saw the 'best of' in the best way possible, so I put a lot of thought into how we would spend our days here.  Basically I would drop them off at a site or museum since I didn't need to go into them again, and do my own thing for a bit.  It might seem like kind of a waste for me to go back to Rome for a couple days and then continue travelling, but I really wanted to show my friends the place I have been talking about for ages.  That, and I had some business to attend to.  APARTMENT BUSINESS!!! 

When I was in Rome before I headed to Dublin, I contacted one of the landlords whose apartment I visited over a month ago.  I waited this long because I had a number of setbacks with other landlords - either they wouldn't let us rent for just a couple months, no longer had a double room, didn't respond, or changed their minds.  As I was really starting to lose my cool, I called him as kind of a hail Mary that he hadn't rented the room already.  It was a good apartment, it was just a little farther from the centro than was ideal.  I called him, and luckily he hadn't rented it yet because he wasn't advertising that room anymore.  I told him we would take it!  Before I got to Rome I contacted him to confirm details, and the date was set.  I would come on Wednesday to give him the deposit and get the key.  This scared the crap out of me, because I was going to just hand over a bunch of money and a copy of my id without a contract or anything.  Legally I can't sign a contract because I'm not a resident, and I'm ignorant of most Italian housing laws.  The landlord was kind and seemed like a good guy, but you can never be sure when you are dealing with money.  I asked the previous tenants about him when he wasn't around, and they liked him and said he was fair, but I was understandably nervous to make this big of a financial transaction in a foreign language, putting so much trust in someone I don't know very well.  Riding the metro to the apartment I felt physically ill.  I just told myself to suck it up and don't be stupid.  If something seems amiss it probably is, so make sure the key works, ask questions, etc.  

I arrived at the apartment and was pleasantly reminded of how nice the building is.  It is right next to a Sandro Ferrone dress shop, a blog from a huge supermarket, 3 minutes from the A line metro, and across the street from a park with ponies.  Yes, ponies!  I went up to the apartment and there was Mr. Landlord.  He really is nice.  We chatted for a while about this and that, then got down to it.  I gave him my document copy and money, and he gave me the key!  A huge, HUGE key hahaha.  He introduced me to my roommates,are really nice and don't speak English :)  It will be a challenge, but I'm looking forward to it.  He then left me to my room.  My room in Roma.  I put some things away and took pictures for Francesca.  There are three bathrooms, 4 bedrooms, and a kitchen/dinning area.  I have a balcony off of my room :)  With a nice view :)  We also have a washing machine, which I could not be more excited about!  I left to go meet the girls, after I made sure the key actually worked of course haha.  I could not let go of my key . .I just carried it around like a new Christmas present.  I just can't believe it is happening!  I have a home in Roma, which I found and acquired all on my own.  This was the first big hurdle - I can and am living in Rome.

VIVA ESPANA . . . VIVA! World Cup in Madrid

A few weeks ago I realized I would be tooling around Europe during the World Cup finals, and that one of my stops was favored to win.  I changed the plans so we could be in Madrid for the finals, just in case they made it and . . God willing, actually won.  I could not be happier, since (as everyone should know) that did happen.  Madness.  Complete and utter madness.

First of all Madrid was more than just world cup parties.  We visited the Prado museum which introduced me to a new favorite painter, De Goya.  He paints portraits of people how they actually looked rather than making them more attractive, and the realism is striking.  We also saw the Reina Sofia modern art museum, which houses the Geurnicia (sp?) by Picasso.  The Royal Palace was the coolest house ever, and I want to live there.  Madrid also had the greatest street performers.  These were not your average guy playing a guitar - it would be a guy playing a guitar while shoved inside a puppet and making the puppet play for him. These people really worked for their money.  Some other good ones we saw were:  a toilet, out of which a different animal popped out each time someone flushed money down, and man dressed up like a dragon (complete with 6ft wings), some guy who covered himself in red clay and sat with another statue all day, an asian man serenading puerta del sol in spanish, a belly dancer in a full outfit (she was ok).

Blah blah blah. On to the World Cup.  Things we pretty quiet on Friday and Saturday.  We bought t-shirts (my first souvenir since I've been in Europe. Baller).  Mine says (in Spanish) Spain vs. Netherlands world cup final Fifa 2010.  It's awesome.  On Sunday things started to get crazy pretty early.  Everyone was wearing their Espana shirts all day, running around in flags and blowing vuvuzela.  I really hate that musical instrument.  Random cheers would flare up in the street throughout the day.  Maggie got more and more anxious as the Spanish got louder an louder.

We asked the guy at the hostel where they were putting big screens up, and he told us everything was at the Real Madrid stadium.  We wanted to get there early to get a good spot . . . the metro was insane, with people just running around and screaming.  However, when we got to the stadium there was nothing there.  Nothing but a bunch of confused angry fans and vendors who had set up for the crowds.  Apparently out hostel guy was wrong.  After speaking broken Spanish, English, and Italian with a few people, we found out Colon was the place to be.  We basically ran back to the metro while I fumed.  I couldn't be too mad though, since half of Madrid thought it was there too.

We got of the metro at Colon and stumbled upon a sea of red and yellow.  Just thousands and thousands of people.  It's hard to find the words to describe that view.  There were a bunch of screens set up, so I took off to find a good spot.  We jostled our way into the hot, sweaty crowd to a descent spot.  Everyone around us was smoking, drinking, and screaming.  I think I smoked two packs of cigarettes second hand.  Fans were on top of bus stops, signs, statues, whatever. Some girl climbed a tree and people just threw alcohol at her, trying to knock her down.  It was disgustingly hot, and being in a crowd of people unable to move because it is so packed just made it worse. But it was Madrid, and this was the WORLD CUP, so it was worth it.  There is now sangria and red/yellow paint all over my clothing, but I'm just embracing it.

Everyone was getting antsy as the game progessed into the second half and the score was still 0-0.  Spain was dominating, but still could not get that goal.  Everytime it came close, the crowd went nuts.  Everytime there was any attempt at a goal, even if it was a horrible shot, there was ridiculous applause. Teenagers all over were drinking more than they could handle, and a bunch of kids were getting sick.

The game went on and into 30 minutes overtime.  I would be horrified if it went to penalty kicks, because that is just annoying for the finals.  The crowd was starting to get anxious.  Finally . . it happened.  Spain scored!  Everyone lost their minds.  I have a video, but the first half is super shaky because I just started running and jumping around into the crowd.  I have never seen so many people so excstatic at the same time.  It felt amazing to cheer and shout with everyone.  Even the waiters in the nearby restaraunts came ran out into the square.  That was it - Spain had won the world cup. We bolten to the metro station so we could join the big party in Puerta del Sol.  Everyone one the train was just screaming and playing the vuvuzelas. When we climbed the metro stairs to Sol, what we encountered was pure madness.  People running around wearing flags and carrying beers, dozens people jumping and swimming in fountains, people climbing any and every structure.  I just ran into the fray, but I had to come back for Mags and Kate.  We bought some beer from some guy on the street, and joined the party.  We just walked the streets and cheered with everyone.  I climbed a lamp post and made friends with the people who helped me down, although one turned out to be a creeper so we ran off.  People we just selling beer all over . . and it was cheap.  No shortage.  We basically just went with the Spanish crowd and did what everyone else as doing.  Back in Sol I climbed a big lion statue and made friends with everyone up there.  There were a bunch of people climbing this scaffolding, but Kate and Maggie grabbed me and refused to let me go up.  I was just in a climbing mood!  I really wish I had gotten on that scaffolding haha.  The party continued all night, and we stayed out for the best of it.  Everyone was just so happy, and this was one of my favorite experiences thusfar.  I really don't know if this will ever happen again, unless the U.S. pulls it together and wins one of these times . . . or if Italy wins again ;)

When we left our hostel at 7am for the airport, there were still a bunch of people out and drinking.  Everyone on the train was silent and looked horrible (those going to work).  A few drunk people got on singing, but at that time it wasn't entertaining.  Especially because I was trying not to throw up.