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. . .