My hand is extended for all of you to slap.  I know I promised I would finish Sunday night's blog on Monday morning, but when the alarm on my cell phone buzzed at 7 a.m., there was no way blogging was possible.  So I apologize for not following up on the tale of the cugini, but andiamo. (Here we go.)

So this weekend was incredibly restful and pleasant.  My cugini are literally some of the nicest people I've ever met in my life.  For those of you who aren't familiar with my family tree, I will explain how everyone is related to me.  Luigina is in her 60s, and is my Grandma Elise's first cousin, so she's my third cousin.  Giorgio is her husband, who was not in Pesaro this weekend; he's on vacation for a month in Cuba.  (When I asked Luigina if she missed him, she said yes and no.  She said she doesn't have to cook as much now that he's not here.  Those of you who know Giorgio know he's got a bit of a pancia, or tummy.)  Andrea is Luigina's first and only son, whose wife is Roberta.  They're around 40 and have two beautiful girls: Gaia, who's 7, and Elena, who's 3.  Laura is Luigina's second oldest daughter, who is in her 30s and has a 10-year-old son named Mario, or Super Mario, as Andrea calls him.  Elisa is Luigina's youngest daughter, who's 28 and runs the family's pizzeria.  Everyone got that?  There's going to be a quiz later, so study up.

I can't remember if I mentioned this in the last blog, but I have literally never eaten so much in one weekend.  The problem was that every meal was prefaced by another smaller meal, and I never seemed to be aware of the fact that the first meal I was consuming was simply an precursor to the next meal.  For example, when I got off the train, Luigina and Elisa picked me up at the station and took me to the pizzeria--for dinner, I thought.  So I ate up, and as I dabbed the corners of my mouth with my napkin, Luigina asked me if I was ready for dinner.  Apparently the pizza was my first dinner.  For my second dinner, we had a huge meal of seafood, complete with antipasti, primo piatto, secondo piatto, and fantastic white wine.  Don't get me wrong, it was delicious, but I could barely move afterward.  Luigina must have taken it upon herself to make sure that I didn't feel a single pang of hunger the entire trip, always encouraging me to mangia, mangia!  I had to learn how to say basta, Luigina, per favore, basta!  (Enough, Luigina, please, I'm done!)  The next morning Luigina made me coffee and set out some toast and biscuits for breakfast, so again I ate up and thanked her for breakfast.  She smiled and informed me that Andrea was going to be here in 30 minutes to take me to a real breakfast.  Such was the pattern for the rest of the weekend, and by Sunday I began to grow wary seemingly small meals placed in front of me, worried they'd be followed by a huge feast.  But Luigina is a fantastic cook, so I am definitely not complaining!

Luigina is not only a fantastic cook, she's also one of the most accommodating people I've ever met.  I think it slightly pained her to see me exert any sort of effort in any task throughout the whole weekend.  She always insisted on serving me, wouldn't dream of letting me help her with the dishes, and constantly encouraged me to sit on the sofa, covering me in a blanket and telling me I mustn't do any work this weekend; I'm on vacation and need to rest for school!  Luigina doesn't speak any English so there was a bit of a language barrier, but Saturday evening we made a breakthrough.  We were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee, and she took out her family photo albums.  She showed me pictures of all my other cousins and pictures of the kids when they were younger, and for the first time all weekend we had a conversation where I actually understood everything she was saying.  She showed me her wedding album and excitedly pointed out all my different cousins, pointing to a young, thin Giorgio and saying, Giorgio senza pancia!  (Giorgio without his stomach!)  Saturday night was definitely a special evening, because I felt like it was the first time Luigina and I really understood each other.

I really like Elisa, who runs the pizzeria.  She's very independent and can take care of herself and her family just fine.  (Definitely not one who would have struggled as much as I did with the train trip.)  Elisa speaks a little English, but when she speaks in Italian I can always understand her.  She's as hospitable and good-hearted as her mother, except she lets me do a little bit more than Luigina does.  When she took me to the pizzeria Sunday morning, she let me help her roll the dough into balls to flatten into pizzas.  My handiwork was not nearly as beautiful as hers, but she assured me that if I'd been working in a pizzeria for 11 years as she had, my pizza balls would be beautiful as well.  Elisa is also really good with her nephew Super Mario.  Super Mario is pretty shy, so I didn't get to know him as well, but watching Elisa and Super Mario together was fun because the two of them are really close.  I didn't get to talk to Laura very much because she was working a lot that weekend, but during meals she always helped me tell Luigina e' piena mamma, e' piena!  (She's full, Mamma, she's full!)  

On Saturdays kids in Italy have school, so I didn't get to spend a lot of time with Gaia and Super Mario, but Elena and I became best buddies.  Luigina says that Elena's una pesta, and Andrea calls her a mostra, and I'm not going to argue the fact that she's got quite a bit of energia.  At first she was a little shy around me, so I did my  universal baby-sitting icebreaker: the cowboy game.  It basically involves me singing a song and bouncing the kid on my knees progressively faster and faster until the kid is bouncing around on my knees like a cowboy on a horse.  I've never met a kid who didn't like that game, and I've never met a kid who, after experiencing it once, didn't want to play it another 25 times.  Elena was no exception.  Ancora, ancora!  she'd yell, or again, again!  After that she was my little shadow.  She loved wearing my boots and my purse, and whatever I did, she had to do the same.  She wanted to wear my makeup, when I folded a towel she folded one the same way, etc.  If I wasn't in the room: "Cai-tee, Cai-tee, dove sei?  Dove sei?"  (Where are you, where are you?)   At first I didn't understand why everyone insisted she was such a pesta, until we went out to dinner and Roberta told her she had to stay home with Luigina.  As her piercing screams reverberated throughout the house, I began to realize that her nicknames were more accurate than I thought.  But she really is a doll, so I had a lot of fun playing with her.

Andrea and Roberta are also extremely nice, and they speak English a little better than I speak Italian.  When we all went out to dinner we worked out a nice system of speaking half in Italian and half in English, each of us reverting to our native language when we couldn't quite express what we meant in a foreign language.  Andrea is a huge joker and is very well-traveled, and he's very interested in learning the slang that Americans use.  He got a big kick out of all the expressions I taught him, incredulous of some of the pronunciations.  He couldn't believe that the term V.I.P. was pronounced VEE-EYE-PEE, for he had pronounced it VEEP, so I explained to him that the word was an acronym.  Andrea also really liked learning about the different swear words and expressions, and there were a few times after he'd loudly repeat an expletive I'd just taught him that the word was offensiva, so maybe not to repeat it quite so loudly.  Andrea also talked about some of his favorite restaurants in the United States that he'd frequented, giving El Pollo Loco, Wendy's, and Jack-in-the-Box two huge thumbs up.  I told him next time he and Roberta came to America I'd take them to get some really good Mexican food and steak or something.  "But first, we go to El Pollo Loco," Andrea grinned.

So my weekend with the cugini was really fun, and it was great to get so much practice in speaking Italian.  On the train ride home, I found myself actually thinking in Italian: mamma mia, ci sono troppi personi sul questo treno! (Mamma mia, there's too many people on this train!)  I'm becoming una vera italiana indeed. The train ride itself is quite lovely, though.  The ride is through the hills, and I felt like I was going through some kind of fairy tale.  After being in the city so long it was nice to see green grass, winding creeks and rolling hills, as well as a little bit of snow on the tops of the mountains.  It was a nice ending to a very lovely weekend.

Monday was a cold day in Firenze so we spent the afternoon in Florence's national photography museum.  I'm a big photography fan, so it was cool getting to look at all the pictures from the early 1900s of the peasants and farm workers.  Monday night my roommates and I went out to dinner at this really popular place in Florence called Za Za's.  It was a little expensive, but extremely worth it because the food was fantastic, and although the wine was really cheap it was still really good.  Mom, Grandma, and Aunties, we will definitely go there for dinner one night when you all are here!

Tuesday my roommate Sarah and I went to the volunteer center and met with a woman who helped set us up with some volunteer work.  I really enjoy volunteering but at home I feel like I never have enough time to do it.  Here we have free afternoons, so it seemed like the perfect time to do some volunteer work.  Whenever I think of Italy, I think of this magical fairy land in which there are beautiful clothes and jewelry, fantastic food and wine, rolling hills and scenery, creamy gelato, warm and welcoming people, cobblestones, and a secret language you have to know that sounds like music when people speak it.  And Italy is all of those things, but it's also a real-life place where people live and work and are poor and have problems.  Sarah and I went to the women's homeless shelter where we'll be working and it hit us that Italy is not a fairy-tale land for everyone.  We'll be working in a homeless shelter that accepts women from many different parts of the world who escaped to Italy from their hard lives in other countries.  A lot of them have children and most don't speak any Italian.  Sarah and I start next week, and I think it will not only  be an opportunity to practice Italian with other women who don't speak the language, but I think it's also going to be a really great opportunity to reach out to women and children who could really use a friend.

Tuesday afternoon my roommate Ai and my classmate Nick and I went for a run up above the Piazzale San Michaelangelo, the place where you climb up the steps and can see the whole city perfectly.  There's another hill you can run up and it takes you to this park that overlooks the Tuscan hills.  It was an absolutely stunning view, and the sun was shining so that made it all the better.  The gates to this vineyard off the road were open, so we ran inside and ran through the vineyard, illegally most likely, but it was so worth it.  We ran up and down the hills and through the trees, and the whole time we could see this magnificent panorama of the Tuscan hills and the city.  On our way back we ran into a smiling old man named Fernando, who wanted to know where we were from.  He talked to us in very fast Italian, telling us that we were in Florence, beautiful Florence, oh, how Florence is so beautiful.  He told us he was an old man who was going for a walk, an old man of seventy-seven years old who likes to walk around the road.  He told us about the church that was up the road, and when Nick asked Fernando if he believed in another life after death, he replied, "Oh, certo." He smiled broadly, and I noticed that his eyes were like marble, comprised of brown, green, and blue in the center.  He looked at us fondly, touched my cheek and said, "Che belissimi giovani," you beautiful young kids.  He bid us good-bye and as we waved, I found myself hoping very, very hard that I'll run into Fernando again someday.

Well, it's now Wednesday and I've got to start packing for my trip to Foggy Londontown.  I leave tomorrow afternoon with the other girls in the program right after school, and I'll be there til Sunday (back in time to see Bruce perform at the Superbowl!).  After I pack we're having some of our classmates over for dinner, then we're going to Sam's for the famous 70s disco party.  Groovy, bambino! (I tried to translate "Groovy, baby" in Italian, but I don't think it's quite the same.)

Vi voglio bene, e vi manco moltissimo! (Giula's been quizzing us on reflexive verbs, so there's two I can show off to her next week: I love you all and I miss you tons!)

Love, 

Caity  

Saluti a tutti!  I am currently lying on the couch right now, digesting all the food I consumed this weekend (more about that later).  I just showered and for some reason I feel exhausted, although considering how restful, relaxing, and sedentary my weekend was, I think I could probably go to sleep now until it's time to get up for class this morning.  However, at twenty years old it might be a bit of an embarrassment to hit the hay before 8 p.m., so with a Herculean effort I'm going to attempt to produce a somewhat entertaining entry.  But don't be surprised if my words start to look liiiiiekkkkk tthiiiiissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss all of a sudden.  It simply means I've started to zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Allora, cominciamo.  I'm pretty sure I left off my blog on Wednesday, and I'm pretty sure nothing too memorable occurred Wednesday night, so we can begin with Thursday.  As usual, Thursday mornings are fantastic; class with Michela and a nice long pausa in between.  Every Tuesday and Thursdays during our pausa's, almost our entire class treks outside and across the street to the bar where we enjoy a cup of coffee.  The baristas who work there have gotten to know us, and one of them even remembers what type of drinks we usually order.  I've noticed that there's a level of intimacy in different restaurants and bars here that you don't experience in the U.S. of A.  The only chain restaurant I've seen here in Italy is the ubiquitous McDonald's, but I have yet to try the European chain so thus I can't comment on it.  So as a result, each restaurant is very personal and unique; because it is usually owned by the cook or the manager, they put a lot more effort into their job.  If they don't make sure your experience is excellent; their business suffers.  This is not so in the United States, where Starbucks patrons are by the millions, and Burger King employees could probably care less if you've "had it your way" or not--they get their paycheck either way.   Because everything is done by the masses, employees don't really get to know their customers on a personal level like they do here.  I guess things just ain't what they used to be.

Thursday afternoon there was a chocolate festival in Florence and my roommates, classmates and I just about went into a chocolate coma.  They basically have any kind of chocolate in any shape texture, size, or color you can think of: chocolates shaped like animals, chocolates shaped like tools, chocolates shaped like flowers, chocolates shaped like people, dark chocolate, white chocolate, pink strawberry chocolate, green mint chocolate, hot chocolate, hot chocolate with rum, chocolate shots (which I would not recommend), chocolate pudding, chocolate cake, chocolate covered oranges, strawberries, grapes, figs, etc. etc. etc.  It was basically every lovesick, PMS-ing girls' fantasy.  Everything was pretty expensive, but if you acted like you were going to buy something (inquiring about the prices, gazing with a serious expression), they would offer you an assaggio, or taste.  So as a result, we ate about enough chocolate for a month pretty much for free.

Thursday night we went out to a few different bars and then hit the discoteca's again.  I really wish the Italians would get the memo that the hours between 2 and 6 in the morning are traditionally a time period meant for sleeping.  Having the sleep habits of a 90-year-old woman, I could probably go to bed at 9 every night and wake up at 7 every morning, perhaps with a midday nap as well.  I think the wee hours of the morning should be spent unconsciously in a bed, but I can't constantly be a party pooper.  Thus, I have learned the art forms of taking evening siestas pre-going out and espresso shots before class post-going out.  When in Rome, I guess.  Or in this case, Florence.  All complaining aside, it was still fun.  We stopped by Sam's before we went out, and they're really excited because they're throwing a party next Wednesday.  They asked us for ideas for themes, and we came up with 70s disco.  (At first the only party themes we could think of were of the "bro's and ho's" variety, but we didn't think that would be as popular here.) So we're all practicing our renditions of "I Will Survive" and perfecting our Tower of Power impressions.  

As many of you know, I have a large amount of cousins here in Italy whom I had the pleasure of meeting when I came here the first time with my dad and Grandma Elise three and a half years ago.  Armed with lists of phone numbers so kindly compiled by Gramps and Grandma Elise (one on 8 and 1/2 by 11 paper, one on an index card, one on a quarter of an 8 and 1/2 by a 11 sheet of paper; obviously they wanted me to be prepared), I was able to contact my cousin Luigina who lives in Pesaro, a beach town about 100 miles from Florence.  She invited me to stay with her for the weekend, so on Friday I hopped on a train and headed off to Pesaro.  

Okay, it wasn't as simple as that.  I'm a miserable failure when it comes to traveling and along the way I ran into all kinds of issues that anyone with the common sense of an eleven year old would have probably been able to figure out.  I couldn't get the machine to stamp my ticket, I couldn't figure out what platform to go to (maybe looking at one of the probably ten huge signs that read "departure information" would have been my first clue, but that took me awhile figure out), I couldn't figure out which car I was supposed to ride in and thus I had to sprint to the right car so that the doors didn't close, I couldn't understand why my ticket read that I arrived in Pesaro while the train conductor said it arrived in Bari (Pesaro is a stop; Bari's the final destination, dummy), I couldn't find my seat number once I got on the train, almost missed my next train because I couldn't find a bathroom; etc. etc.  But I finally arrived in Pesaro where Luigina and her daughter Elisa were waiting for me.  When they asked how the train ride was, glimpses of my travel experience flashed through my head like a horror flick.  I smiled brightly.  "Bello."

Allora tutti, I am very tired.  I will continue the fabulous tale of my weekend tomorrow morning before school.  But for now, it's bedtime for this 90-year-old lady.  Buona notte, vi voglio bene!

Love, 

Caity

Signs of Cultural Immersion, Part II.

I am beginning to dream in Italian.

As I lay in my bed last night, I was in that limbo between being asleep and being awake, and as the logical thoughts started to subside and the irrational fantasies of dreams began to commence, I swear I heard a woman's voice say "E che cos'e succese?" or, "And then what happened?"  The voice then proceeded to talk much faster than I could comprehend, and I opened my eyes, trying to figure out what was going on and what the woman was saying.  I'm sure it made absolutely no sense at all, but let's ignore the fact that I was hearing voices, which is a slightly disturbing development, but concentrate on the positive aspect, the fact that the words were Italian.  A sign that I'm beginning to learn?  A sign that I'm going insane?  If nothing else, hopefully a sign that I'm becoming immersed.  

It's kind of cool; I've noticed that when I call friends and family at home, I begin to form sentences in Italian in my head as if I'm going to have to answer them in Italian.  (It still takes quite a bit of planning for me to form grammatically correct sentences.)  But then I realize that I can speak in English, and I relax.  As many of you know, I enjoy the art of speech quite a bit, and sometimes I get frustrated when I speak Italian because it's difficult to express exactly what I want to say.  I can get the general point across, but I love being able to say precisely what I mean, and I'm not quite there yet in Italian.  But as the butcher in the market said yesterday when I told him I'm still trying to learn Italian: "Ma hai pazienza.  Piano, piano:"  "But have patience.  It comes slowly, slowly."  I know he's right, but I've never been one to have much pazienza.

I realized in class the other day that we often tend to associate a person's ability to communicate with their intelligence level.  In most cases, a person's ability to speak properly is an absolutely accurate way of measuring intelligence.  For instance, if you hear someone say something along the lines of "All y'all shore do seem like real nice folk," you are most likely justified in assuming that he or she is something of an idiot.  However, I've realized that when foreigners try to speak in other countries, we tend to have the language abilities of five-year-olds, if not worse.  We need to preface everything with, "I'm sorry but my English/Italian/German/Swahili is not very good," and when we don't understand what the person to whom we are speaking has said, the person will usually just begin shouting, as if our comprehension will increase with their number of decibels.  I was ruminating over the challenges that come with language barriers the other day when I was talking to Leonardo, one of my classmates from Japan.  He says Leonardo is easier for people to pronounce than his Japanese name.  Leonardo is a really nice guy, probably in his early 40s, and he's a professor back in Japan.  I never feel inferior in my language abilities when I sit next to Leonardo, for the poor guy can barely string two words together in Italian without whipping out his electronic dictionary.  And yet although he sounds completely ridiculous when he speaks Italian, he's an incredibly intelligent man.  He's a mechanical engineering professor who studies the history and philosophy of technology.  (Not really sure what that even entails; I wonder what Jung or Nietchze would have to say about gigabytes and RAM?)  However, he can't express himself to save his life, and I thought it was interesting that I never would have known how smart he was if I didn't take the time to patiently listen to him try to translate what he does back at home.  

Life's been good; busy as usual since my last post.  Our school had an excursion to Perugia on Sunday, and upon arrival, we felt somewhat gypped to find out what the 16 euro fee was for: our entrance fee to TWO more freakin' archaeological museums!  Man, if I had known what we were in for there's no way I would've set foot on that bus; ALL MORNING of listening to an archeologist lecture us on more bones and old pots in Italian.  Oh well, at least we got to go to a pretty good restaurant for lunch.  I got the minestrone; it was quite tasty.

Speaking of restaurants, you all will be happy to know that my cooking adventures are becoming much more frequent and occur with much less incident than usual!  My specialties include many different varieties of pasta, soup, eggs, and cereale con latte, a very difficult Italian dish that some of you may be familiar with; I can give you the recipe if you want.  Tonight I'm really going out on a limb by making some chicken, most likely with the help of my roommates.  As long as they're around to make sure I don't set anything on fire, I'm usually golden!

So let's see; Monday we had class and afterwards my roommate Sarah and I went to the Pitti Palace to look at this costume exhibit that they had and their jewelry museum.  My favorite piece was probably a golden brooch shaped in the outline of a male torso.  Apparently to make it as accurate as possible, the creator of the piece felt the need to represent the male's genitals as well, and did so with two circular white pears and a long cylindrical white pearl.  The art never ceases to amaze me here.  Other than a few odd pieces though, we had fun looking at all the old clothes and fashions of the time periods.  That night we went out with some friends from my class and went dancing.  As a shoe salesman in one of the markets told Sarah and I: "Tutti le sere puoi ballare qui!"  "Here, you can go dancing every night!"  That may be true, but I learned a very important lesson.  Sure, you can go ballare-ing every night, as long as you don't wear heels.  Limping to class on Tuesday morning, barely able to squeeze the enormous blisters on my feet into sneakers, I chastised myself for my vanity.  Ah well, lesson learned.  Next time I'll wear more comfortable shoes, and then I'll be able to come home singing "I could have daaaaanced all night..."

Tuesday was a really good day; my classmate Alex and I had to give a presentation on Sicilia, Sicily.  It had to be completely in Italian and it was supposed to be at least 15 minutes long.  As Alex and I finished translating all the information we found, we realized that three pages of size 16 font probably wasn't going to cut it.  However, we were masters of improvisation and used our time wisely, pausing to ask if there were any questions and taking time to write information on the blackboard.  Favorite teacher Michela was extremely encouraging, helping us with our pronunciation and making comments here and there.  We all love Michela because she's one of those warm people who automatically make you feel at ease.  With Michela, if you make a mistake, you're never wrong, you're just not...quite right.  Ma va bene, va bene! she'll say if one of us butchers a sentence terribly.  So it was easy to present in front of her.  Our classmates were interested as well and had plenty of questions about the Mafia, especially Julian, who had just watched The Godfather.  (He really liked it, but he did say it was difficult for him to understand what the fat man [Marlon Brando] was saying.  I told him not to feel bad because Americans can't even understand what he's saying.)   So luckily, we ended up going well over fifteen minutes, and Michela even said that our presentation was bellissima!

Tuesday was also the day of the inauguration of our 44th president.  I went over to Syracuse University's student center and watched it with a bunch of other American students.  It was definitely standing room only, and it was really exciting to watch it with other people who felt passionate about Obama.  At one point the sound went off and a riot nearly erupted, but luckily the poor tech guy was able to correct his mistake.  I thought Obama's speech was incredibly eloquent and inspiring.  It was pretty emotional to watch.  I don't care what party you are; I think we can all be excited about the fact that "a man whose father less than 60 years ago might not have been served at a local restaurant can now stand before you to take a most sacred oath."  I'm not going to get on my soapbox and talk too much about it, but walking home last night, I felt proud of my nationality.  Here Americans are not always everyone's favorite population.  At times when I see some of the American students stumble drunkenly outside the clubs (okay, I know we've all been there, but you know the ones I'm talking about), or the ones who expect everyone to speak in English and never even make the attempt to learn the language of the country in which they're staying, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I hail from the United States.  But last night, walking home in the rain after the inauguration, I would have gladly told any Italian who asked me that I hailed from the U.S. of A., and I would have told them proudly.  Not that anyone asked, but you get the idea.

Not an extremely eventful day today; class with un-favorite teacher Giulia, which always leaves us feeling flustered.  But I think our class' common frustration with Giulia's teaching style has helped us form a bond, so if we ever run out of things to talk about, we can always complain about Giulia.  After class it was onto the supermarket where I stocked up on nonperishable items; they're much cheaper at this big supermarket on the outskirts of Florence.  You have to take the bus and it's always slightly difficult to coordinate your purchases, for the amount of food you buy can't exceed the amount you can carry home.  But I somehow managed, looking extremely ridiculous in the process and earning mixed looks of both pity and derision from bystanders who watched me lug my groceries onto the bus and get hit by the bus doors three different times during the ride home.  But the day improved after I got home; I went for a run with some of my classmates along the lovely Arno, which always lifts my spirits. :)  Life is good!

Vi voglio bene e auguri e cent'anni!

Love,

Caity

Sitting here working on this blog, I'm trying to recall everything that's happened since the last time I wrote (yesterday's nearly hysterical-with-happiness entry not included).  I feel as though so much time has passed, but it's really only been a few days since I've written.  I'm still trying to understand how time works here in Florence.  It's surreal that I've been living here for two whole weeks already, and I can't believe the time has gone so fast.  Yet on the other hand, I feel as if each day here is bursting with at least a week's worth of new experiences and adventures, so part of me feels like I've been here for a very long time.  I'm pleasantly surprised by how comfortable I feel already, and I feel very fortunate that I'm adjusting so quickly to the rhythm of this lovely new city I'll be calling home for eight more weeks.

I left off with the promise that I'd be joining some of my international friends for beer pong on Tuesday night.  Excited to show those new to the game how it's done, my roommate Sarah and I teamed up against an American named Mike and either an Australian who now lives in Scotland or a Scotsman who now lives in Australia named Tom (I can't remember).  An epic battle ensued, and we matched our opponents cup-for-cup.  Bystanders were biting their nails; our brows brimmed with sweat.  But alas, with one cup each remaining, our opponents sank their last ball, and Sarah and I failed to sink ours.  Disappointed, yes, but we could still hold our heads high, for we fought valiantly and walked away from the table not as losers, but girls who didn't win.  Trust me, there's a difference.

We had fun on Tuesday night, but the bar we played in, called the Red Garter, simply screamed "American!" It seemed as though everyone there spoke English, and part of me felt as though I was at any old college party back in California rather than halfway around the world in Italy.  The plus side of such a bar is that it's the perfect crowd for the watching two events occurring back in the States that I don't want to miss: Obama's inauguration and the Boss's halftime show performance at the Superbowl.  But other than that, if I wanted to feel like I was at a frat party, I could have saved myself a whole lot of money on that plane ticket.  

At this point, I would like to take a brief moment to thank my lovely Auntie Sharon.  Wednesday afternoon, I received a package of toiletries from her that she sent me so that I wouldn't have to pack them in my suitcase.  Thanks to her, I am now well-stocked with items that I will most definitely need, items that are nice to have, and superfluous items that I laugh at now but will inevitably end up being essential at some point in the trip, at which time I will be extremely grateful for Auntie's foresight.  So thanks, Sharona!

On Wednesday afternoon a trip to the Uffizi gallery was in order, so my roommate Ai and I took advantage of the rainy weather to stay inside and gaze at art.  The medieval and renaissance paintings were gorgeous, but what I was really drawn to (no pun intended) was a collection of sixty drawings they had on display for a special exhibit by an Italian artist I had never heard of called Guercina.  Guercina's drawings depicted everything from rustic scenery to portraits and figure drawings.  The lines seemed to be drawn quickly, giving each piece the effect that it was alive and pulsating.  The delightful aspect of living here for a while is that I don't have to rush through things as a tourist on a 20 day vacation would.  I can go back and look at the drawings again at my leisure.  Another aspect of our art-gazing that Ai and I enjoyed was the creepy baby count.   I don't know how many paintings of the Madonna and the Christ child you personally have seen, but if you flip through an art history book you see a whole lot of depictions of those two figures.  And some of those Christ babies sure are creepy.  I have never in my life seen a baby with a body of a five-year-old, the nose of Dustin Hoffman, the agility of a ballerina, or the face of an adult, but Google some paintings of the Madonna and the Christ child, and you'll see that medieval artists had some weird perceptions of the typical baby.  

Wednesday night we went back to Sam's; the coffeeshop/bar that's right down the street from our house.  I'm actually not quite sure what the actual name of the bar is exactly, but it's easier just to call it Sam's.  We discovered the place on Monday and yet I already feel like a regular there.  On our way home we'll pop in just to say hi to Sam and Alessandro, or stop in for a coffee or a glass of wine before going out, and it's nice to have a little place that feels so homey.  When I think of Sam's, I think of that feeling when  sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name...and they're always glad you came.  You wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same.  You wanna be where everybody knows your name...you know what I mean, right?  Anyway, Alessandro, Sam, and another girl who works there, Orsina, all wear funky varieties of glasses: Alessandro's are similar to that of Waldo's (main character of the popular series Where's Waldo), Orsina's are oversized Ray-Bans, and Sam's change daily depending on his mood.  I actually haven't seen him in the same pair twice.   Alessandro likes to ask me where I'm from so that I answer "California."  Inevitably follows the question, "Ma perche' non sei bionda?"; "But then how come you're not blonde?"  It hasn't gotten old yet, but he's pushing it.  

Anyways, we went in there Wednesday to watch a band called Musica per i Bambini, who hung a large tarp from the ceiling with holes cut out in the middle of it.  They stood behind the tarp and stuck their head through the holes as they played, so we immediately knew we were in for an interesting show.  After each song, two of the band members would come out and perform little skits in which one of the band members seemed to be playing two roles.  I tried to follow the skit as best I could, and I congratulated myself on how well I was comprehending the story of the little boy who was visiting his grandparents, played by one band member who alternated playing the roles of the kind grandmother and the cranky grandfather.  However, when Sam came over to clarify what was going on, he explained that the character I thought was a little boy was in fact supposed to be an insane person, and the band member who played the two roles was actually depicting an angel and a devil.  The whole concert was about the man's struggle between giving into or resisting sin and temptation.  So much for my excellent comprehension.

Thursday there was a  trip to the archaeological museum near our school.  A group of my schoolmates were going, and I didn't want to miss out on the educational experience.  However, as my eyes glazed over gazing at the endless rooms of ancient pottery, I realized that just because Florence is exciting does not mean that its archaeological museums will be.  Lesson learned.

Thursday night was incredibly monumental for me: for the first time in my life, I cooked myself pasta.  Those of you that are reading this blog know that cooking is not exactly one of my strong points.  Cooking is such a mysterious and foreign art form to me, and it never ceases to amaze me how, when I cook for myself, the food seems to go from raw to cooked to burnt so quickly.  So my trials and tribulations of the cooking of the pasta will not surprise you at all.  With a bit of coaching by my roommates, I found all the necessary pots and pans and began boiling the water.  When it came time to dump in the noodles, I somehow spilled half the box all over the stove and countertop.   I hastily grabbed the dried noodles and stuffed them back in the box and went on stirring my pasta.  We have a gas stove though, and I quickly realized that a few of the dried noodles had found their way under the pot, into the flame, and then proceeded to catch on fire. I managed to turn off the stove and fling the flaming noodles into the sink, thus averting disaster.  The happy ending of the story is that the rest of my pasta-boiling went on without a hitch, and I enjoyed delicious spaghetti for dinner that night and the leftovers the next day at lunch.  The pasta-making incident was followed by a fun evening at a much more local bar with some friends from class and a few of their Italian roommates.  

Friday in class I realized that school is going to be a bit harder than I thought.  Italian can be challenging for me, but in the past Italian classes I've taken, I've usually felt pretty on top of things.  However, our teacher for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Giulia, seems to be on some kind of mission to cram in as much grammar as possible into our heads in the few hours she has with us.  She hands us out worksheet after worksheet and doesn't pause for questions in between.  I much prefer the teaching style of our teacher on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Michaela, whose job it is to focus on conversation and culture and is always encouraging us at our pausa, or break, to fate venti minuti e prendete un buon caffe'!; "take twenty minutes and enjoy a good cup of coffee!"  This is a sharp contrasts to Giulia's five-minute pausa in which she comes downstairs to reign us back in if we've accidentally taken a five-minute-and-thirty-second pausa.  Despite her strictness, Giulia flashes a lot of warm smiles throughout class.  However,  we're not sure if it's because she's unaware of how difficult her class is and thinks she's being nice or if she's purely sadistic.  But with a bit of extra studying, I think I'll be able to keep up with her hectic teaching style.  I don't know if I can say the same for the optional cultural lessons that take place after our language classes, though.  Taught completely in Italian, they're hard to follow because it requires so much concentration on my part to hang on the professor's every word.  However, when my classmate Julian (pronounced HOO-li-an) and I aren't playing tic-tac-toe during the lecture, I can actually comprehend more than I give myself credit for.  So with each lesson, either my comprehension or my tic-tac-toe skills will improve.  I see it as a win-win situation.

Before I talk about Friday afternoon, I'd like to talk about my attitude towards the infamous luggage situation.  I congratulated myself on being able to take such a Zen-like approach to the matter.  Although it was a huge annoyance at first, by the middle of this week I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to come.  Thus, I could either moan over my lost wardrobe and make myself miserable, or remind myself that clothes are replaceable and not let one little inconvenience ruin my experience.  Why place so much value on material goods?  I'm in a city I love having an experience of a lifetime; material items like clothing are purely minute details.  I felt good about being able to rise above such superficiality.  

Yeah, right.  When I got the call on Friday afternoon that my luggage had come, I think my excited scream rendered the airport employee on the other line deaf in one ear.  So much for my Zen-like attitude.  I promptly sprinted down the four flights of stairs to meet the employee at the door of my apartment, ecstatic to have my superficial, replaceable, material goods in my hot little hands.

Lost in Translation Moments, Part II.

A classmate baked some torta, or cake, the other day in class.  She offered me a piece, and I complimented her on her cooking.  "Sei una buona cucina!" I proclaimed loudly and enthusiastically, thinking I had just told her she was an excellent cook.  She stared back at me, confused.  It wasn't until I walked away that another classmate kindly informed me that I had just told her she was an excellent kitchen.  Guess I'll need to clarify things for her on Monday.

Don't forget, tutti, tomorrow is the day of birth of two very important men of my life: my brother, Timothy Lynch Doyle, who will be turning 22, and my father, John Anthony Doyle, who will be 52.  I don't want to hear about any of you forgetting to call them! 

It's now Saturday and life is pretty darn good.  I had a fun night out with my roommates and classmates last night, we went to the Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens followed by lunch with the girls in my group today, and tomorrow our class goes on a trip to Perugia, a little town in the countryside outside of Assisi.  Lots has happened, lots to come.  Like the McDonald's sign down the street from our apartment says, "I'm lovin' it!"

Auguri e cent'anni,

Caity

  

Saluti a tutti!  This blog entry is short yet incredibly sweet; I promise I'll write a longer one sometime this weekend.  I would write it now, but it's just because I'm so busy unpacking my suitcase that I simply don't have time to write a detailed one.  

Oh I'm sorry, I forgot to mention that my luggage arrived!!!!!!! :) :) :) :)

More to come later...Stay tuned!

Love, Caity

Whoops; meant to post my new mailing address.  Here it is!

Caitlin Doyle

c/o Centro di Cultura per Stranieri

Via Francesco Valori 9

50132, Firenze, ITALIA

C'e il sole a Firenze!  Everyone, the sun is shining here in Florence and I couldn't be happier.  Today I was actually able to venture outside without my black winter coat, so that was really exciting.  In honor of the sun gracing us with its presence, on Sunday some of us went outside and walked around.  We walked down the Arno and then went all the way up this hill (Grandma, have you been walking??? I want you to see this when you come!) to a lookout point that overlooks the entire city.  I know I'm an English and Creative Writing major, but I feel like any description I try to write will pale in comparison to the pictures I took.  But rest assured, the view is absolutely breathtaking, possibly because of the uphill hike to get there, but for romantic reasons let's say it's because it was so beautiful.  

When we got to the top, we sat down on the large set of stairs they have that overlooks the city to eat lunch.  While sitting, we were approached by a man with a half-full bottle (not half-empty; it's the optimist in me) of beer in one hand and a cigarette dangling from the other.  He was probably in his mid-fifties, with medium length blonde hair, grayish-blonde stubble, and yellow teeth.  "You ladies sound like you're American," he said.  "I'm an expatriate, been in Florence for four years and I'm returning to the states soon.  What can you tell me about what's going on?"  And of course, he makes himself quite comfortable next to me.  We chatted for awhile about the economy, gas prices, the war, and Obama (which he pronounced O-BAM-a, not O-BAH-ma).  After we had covered the basics, he started talking to me about his life.  I soon realized that this man was a combination of very drunk and slightly insane.  I don't know why eccentric people always seem to approach ME, but for some reason they do.  This expatriate named Peter was one of those people who could talk for hours, and all he needed was a slight nod of the head from me as a cue to talk for another 10 minutes straight.  Yet I was intrigued, so I didn't excuse myself right away.

He talked to me about Florentine history, and as he educated me he would laugh at very inappropriate times.  For instance, he was telling me about a monastery that had been around since the time of "William," he said, "...the Conquerer!"  And then he threw his head back and laughed explosively in a the very phlegm-filled laugh of a heavy smoker.  Except the laugh would last for about two seconds before he would abruptly stop laughing and look back at me, straight-faced.  He talked about his wife, who didn't want him to learn Italian because she didn't want him to run off with another Italian woman.  His wife's family was royalty, he said, and her mother had an inheritance that they were after.  But his wife's sister was preventing his wife from seeing her mother somehow, so his wife had sent Peter out that day to go kill her sister.  

"Peter," I said, "You shouldn't kill her sister."

He paused for a minute, looking out into the distance.  "Nah," he said, "I'm not going to."

He then went on to tell me about how they were moving to the States because he had just made this incredible invention that was going to make him loads and loads of money.  It was an incredible idea, and no one had ever thought of it before.  "What's the invention?"  I asked.  Peter didn't have an answer.  He looked at me for awhile and said, "Concrete.  Concrete that will withstand nuclear attacks."  I felt better knowing that if nuclear war ever broke out, any survivors would be able to use Peter's concrete in future reconstruction.  He also told me about a sculpture he wanted to make before he moved back to the States.  It sounded very strange and very complicated.  "You should make it," I said.  "I tried," Peter replied.  "But my wife destroyed it.  She's jealous, you know.  Jealous of my artistic ability."  He laughed maniacally for two seconds, and then stopped.  

When we were ready to leave, I told him it was nice to meet him, and good luck with everything.  "Sorry to be so depressing," he said.  "It was very nice talking to you.  What's your name?"  

"Caity," I replied, reaching out to shake his extended hand.

"Caity," he repeated.  "My sister's name is Caity.  I hate my sister."  And then he dropped my hand, waved, and looked back out into the distance.  

So there was that interesting encounter.  Monday we had class, and although the class itself isn't easy, I really like all the people in my class.  We all get coffee together during our breaks and are kind of forced to speak to each other in Italian, for it's our common language.  I'm pretty sure we sound like cavemen when we talk to each other, but the point is to practice, right?  "Where you from?"  "You like Florence?"  "Me like Florence.  City is nice.  Am happy be here."

Monday afternoon I went shopping on AirFrance's dime and bought some basics; jeans and sweaters.  I feel a lot better not being completely dependent on my roommates for clothing.  Later that evening, getting a little tired of pasta, salad and bread for dinner, we decided to go out to dinner.  We were going to go to this Greek place we had heard was pretty good, but it was strangely closing early that night, so we decided to go to this Chinese place down the street.  Word to the wise: do not go to Italy to eat Chinese food.  The chicken was slightly questionable, and the seemingly kind owner totally gypped us.  As we ordered, she asked us if we wanted steamed rice with our meals.  "Does it cost extra?"  I asked her.  "No," she replied, "no extra cost!"  So why not?  We got the steamed rice.  Well, when the bill came it turned out they DO charge extra for the steamed rice, and even after much protesting on our part, she would not admit to telling us 30 minutes prior that it was in fact free.  We grudgingly paid (in EXACT change, mind you, not one extra cent for a tip) and walked out, angry yet wiser after our first time being bamboozled.

But after that our night improved greatly.  There's this bar down the street from our house that's always filled with people, and we always want to stop in when we pass by, so last night seemed like the perfect night to do so.  (Keep in mind, "bar" does not necessarily mean "pub" here as it does in the U.S.  You can order a drink there, but they're also for coffee, pastries, etc.  So when I write about all my ducking into various bars, don't think that I'm becoming a raging alcoholic.)  We went inside and ended up having a great time.  The bartenders, Sam and Alessandro, were extremely funny and nice and talked to us in Italian, teaching us new words and correcting our mistakes.  We met some American students and some really nice Italian guys.  They were the first group of Italian guys who didn't creep me out completely.  They actually talked to us like human beings, not pieces of meat, which was incredibly refreshing!  I think we've found a fun new hangout.

Had school again today, which was pretty fun.  Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are grammar lessons and Tuesdays and Thursdays are conversation days.  So Tuesdays and Thursdays are by far superior to M, W, F.  It's hard speaking in Italian for an entire class period, but I think it'll get easier as each day goes by.  I noticed myself actually thinking in Italian today...that was pretty exciting!

As many of you know, I really enjoy running.  I go for runs almost every day at home; it relaxes me and clears my mind.  I packed running shoes in my luggage but obviously they are unobtainable at the moment.  (Of course I had bought a brand new pair two days before the trip, but such is Murphy's law.)  Not having been able to run for almost a week and a half, I've been itching to get out and stretch my legs.  We actually get in a lot of exercise just by walking here, but it's not quite the same.  With the help of my roommates I was able to deck myself out in running gear and shoes, and off I went.  I went all the way down along the Arno on this dirt path that led out of the city.  It was SO peaceful.  It was quiet and calming, and in the distance you could see the Tuscan hills and all the little yellow houses scattered among the mountains.  I was kind of like a mosquito drawn to a light, running towards those hills, but then I snapped back to reality and realized it was probably time to turn around so that I won't have blisters the size of quarters on my feet tomorrow.  Maybe by the end of the trip I'll make it all the way to those hills, climb up the cobblestone pathways to one of the bright yellow houses, knock on the door, and be invited inside by a kind Italian nonna for a steaming plate of gnocchi for dinner.  Maybe :)

Signs of Cultural Immersion, Part I.

1. Upon seeing a Range Rover this morning, my friend Sarah and I commented on the ridiculousness of having such a colossal car.  We looked at each other and realized that about every other car in the States is the size of a Range Rover or bigger.  

OK everyone, I'm all blogged out.  Tonight a very important event is taking place.  On Tuesday nights at a club here called Red Garter, they have beer pong tournaments.  Some of the Brazilian and Japanese kids in my class have never heard of that great American sport,  so some of the American students have taken it upon themselves to introduce them to the game.  Don't worry, I know...everything in moderation!

Vi voglio bene, e io sento i vuoi mancanzi!  (Miss you and love you all!)

Love,

Caity

Saluti a tutti!  Okay everyone, hold your breaths, because I have some news about the status of my luggage!  I am about to tell you the status of said luggage, and my luggage is...

Still not here.

I'm sorry.  That was a cruel trick.  But you should have seen the look on your face!

On a serious note, unfortunately my luggage has not yet arrived.  My heart skips a beat each time my phone rings (the airport said they'd call when it arrived), but alas, I have not yet received that blessed phone call.  The good news is that AirFrance is giving me 100 euro for the first 21 days that I'm here without my luggage so I don't run out of underwear, and if I don't receive it at the end of 21 days they reimburse me for everything.  Yesterday I began to dwell a bit on my unfortunate situation and almost threw myself a pity party.  But eventually I calmed down and reminded myself that everything in that suitcase is replaceable.  Sure, it's a bummer not to have my clothes, but those are replaceable.  I have my computer.  I have my books.  I have my pictures of loved ones.  I have my warm winter jacket, and in the words of Grandma Elise, "most importantly: my health."  The other girls on the trip have been kind enough to lend me their clothes while I get this whole issue sorted out, so what's the big deal?  If it comes, great; if not, it's not the end of the world.  It really doesn't matter if it comes or not.  (Eh, who am I kidding?  Of course it matters if it comes!)

Now, on to the important things in life.  Friday night was fun; we made a big dinner together at the other girls' apartment with Chiara.  Then we met up with some of my American classmates and enjoyed a little night on the town.  We might have enjoyed it a bit too much though, because one wouldn't have heard the rustling of little feet in our apartment until about 1 p.m.  When I finally arose from the grave and opened my shutters, I saw that the sun was shining!  Our first sunny day in Florence!  My roommates and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather and walk around.  We went into Florence's equivalent of a farmer's market, which had assorted varieties of fruits, vegetables, meats, and cheeses.  And when I say an assorted variety, I mean an incredibly assorted variety, as in parts of the cow you never would have dreamed of using.  Long folds of hairy, blanket-like cow stomach lay in the display cases, along with kidneys, and, ahem, bull testicles.  I want to experience Italian culture while I'm here, but perhaps not that aspect of it.

We grabbed some pizza for lunch, and, we were told, the best hot chocolate in Florence for dessert.  It was incredibly thick and rich, and as it slid down my throat I felt like I was drinking chocolate syrup.  After about a half a cup I felt like I never wanted to look at another piece of chocolate again.  We walked for awhile after finishing them, which helped clear that sickening headache and stomachache that inevitably follows the consumption of too much sugar.  Was it worth it?  Absolutely.

My roommates and I then ventured out onto a bus to go to the grocery store to stock up on staples so we don't go broke eating out here.  The fun thing about being in a foreign country is that even the most mundane activities, such as grocery shopping, feel like grand adventures.  Perhaps it's the novelty of living in a new city, or the rush of adrenaline you feel when you realize you're not quite sure which bus stop is the one at which you need to get off.  Wherever that feeling comes from, all I know is that it feels incredibly exciting to do the incredibly boring.  Going to school, running errands, getting lost...it's all part of the ride.

Lost in Translation Moments, Part I.  

1. In English, asking someone to take a picture means the same thing as asking someone to take a photograph.  Thus, I asked a kind Italian man if he would please "fa una pittura," or take a picture.  However, to "fa una pittura" in Italian does not mean to take a picture, but  to take a painting, and the poor man looked utterly confounded and kept repeating, "una pittura?  Una pittura?"  Finally, he said, "Una fotografia?"  I stared blankly back at him for a second and realized my mistake.  "Si," I sighed.  "Una fotografia."

2. When purchasing my hot chocolate today, I confidently walked up to the counter and ordered one hot chocolate at the bar without whipped cream, please.  Words I've studied since my freshman year in high school; piece of cake.  The correct way of saying this would have been: "Una cioccolata calda al bar senza panna, per favore."  I said, "Una cioccolata calda al bar senza pane, per favore."  To the untrained American ear, it sounds right.  However, the difference between "panna" and "pane" is huge to an Italian, for instead of ordering a hot chocolate without whipped cream, I ended up ordering a hot chocolate without bread.  Luckily the barista had the good humor to laugh at me and gently correct my mistake.  "Si," I sighed.  "Senza panna."

Can't seem to post pictures online except for on Facebook.  You guys will have to have Kelly show you them until I get back; sorry. Also, if you want to send mail, it now has to be sent to a different address.  I'll find it out tomorrow!

Vi voglio bene e ciao per addesso!

Love, Caity

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007196&I=9168d&id=1053180150

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2007260&I=c46ca&id=105318150

Since pictures aren't uploading to this blog I made Facebook albums of my pictures.  Click on these links to take a look!  Let me know if you are able to see them! 

Picture uploading doesn't seem to be working (see previous post).  I'll try again later!

Still luggage-less...

Unfortunately, after a 3 hour trek to the airport, we were still unable to find my luggage.  Apparently AirFrance is having a lot of problems with lost luggage and are currently bussing misplaced bags to Florence, so I should be receiving mine sometime within the next year.  Seriously though, the lady said it shouldn't be much longer now, although she did say it would come today, and it's almost 6:30 pm here and still no luggage.  If I don't get it soon I think AirFrance is going to reimburse me for at least part of it.  It's starting to get pretty frustrating, but I guess the life abroad can't always be glamorous.

On a positive note, I had a really nice afternoon.  I needed to buy my book for my language class, so I headed off by myself, and after I bought it I didn't really feel like going back to my apartment.  Feeling adventurous, I decided to go for a meander around the city today (I can't really call it a walk because I had no destination...I simply wanted to explore and let my feet take me where they may, thus I meandered.)  I walked through the markets, hoping to practice some Italian.  Even when the vendors spoke to me in English, I answered them right back in Italian, and I found that when I did that a couple of them actually spoke in Italian.  One lady even mistook me for an Italian, which was definitely my proudest moment of the day.  

Being as directionally disastrous as I am, I'm happy I was able to wander and then find my way back to my apartment on my own.  Luckily for me, Florence is pretty easy to navigate.  I was in a very artsy mood, so I took some pictures of what I thought were interesting things.  Ask me what they are if you don't know, and I'll explain!

Probably should get off my computer for now...our program director is going to come to our apartment tonight and teach us how to make gnocchi before we go out tonight.  Che delicioso!

Vi voglio bene, ciao per addesso!

Love, Caity

Saluti a tutti!

So I"m using an Italian keyboard in an Internet cafe to type this, and I can"t seem to find the apostrophe key. Thus, I will be using very little contractions and the quotation key in place of an apostrophe. Just wanted to give you an explanation as to why this entry might sound very formal.

Everything is going really well so far! Yesterday we went shopping for awhile (realized I am going to have to budget my money verrrrry carefully...shopping in Italy can be incredibly dangerous!!!) and wandered around the city. It was raining for awhile, but luckily I had my handy-dandy purse umbrella. Che fortuna! (What luck!)

Later that night we went to this nice little pub called Noir during happy hour when appetizers were free. Maybe it"s the 20-year-old in me, but I"m not going to lie...I felt ultra cool legally ordering a drink. (Don"t worry parents and grandparents, it was a Shirley Temple, I swear!) But the appetizers were really good and we filled up on dinner there. We get really hungry here because we are constantly walking around, so it was nice to have a really filling dinner.

This morning I had my first day of class, and I guess I didn"t do as poorly on the placement exam as I thought. I was placed in the intermediate, which is a huge relief! (Yayyy that means I"m gonna get credits when I transfer schools next year!) None of the other girls from my program are in the class with me so I was a little nervous, but I met some really nice kids in class today. They"re from all over the world; Japan, Russia, Denmark, Canada, Spain, U.S...it is going to be really fun getting to know all these people from different countries! And I think we all had at least one thing in common--the fact that we nearly fell out of our seats when our teacher told us we were having an oral exam. But it wasn"t as bad as we thought; we just had to introduce ourselves to the class and talk about where we were from and all that easy stuff. When I said I was from California, a collective "ooooh" reverberated throughout the room. I"m debating whether or not I"m going to tell the truth when they ask me if I surf and live next door to a movie star. Don"t want to lower my coolness factor too soon!

After class we dropped off our laptops at this place where they are going to hook us up with wireless Internet so we do not have to keep trekking to Internet cafes. Then we grabbed these DELICIOUS paninis and some gelato (I thought gelato would not be edible at such cold temperatures, but somehow I managed to power through and eat it. It was delicious.) I know I"m a nerd, but I"m having a blast speaking Italian to all the vendors! Hopefully by the end of the trip my Italian will be good enough that they don"t respond to me in English...

Now we"re just hanging out to the Internet cafe until we pick up our computers in about 15 minutes. After that, it"s off to the airport to track down my luggage...wish me luck!!!

Oh, and Mom and Dad: turns out it is free for me if you call my cell phone. If you dial 10-15-200, then 01139 before my Italian cell phone number, it is a lot cheaper for you. Everyone else, if you ever need to contact me, my Italian cell phone number is 335-714-6057. I get texts for free, so if you ever get the urge I would love messages from people at home :) You don"t have to dial 01139 before texts, though. Just keep the time difference in mind!!! (I am 9 hours ahead of you, so subtract 3 hours from whatever time it is in the U.S., then change the AM or PM accordingly. See Auntie Erin, me not so dumb!)

Okay everyone, vi voglio bene! Ciao per adesso! (Bye for now)
Love, Caity

Saluti a tutti! So I've been in Florence for a half a week now, and it has definitely been an adventure so far. For those of you who haven't heard, I still haven't received my luggage, so I've reached the point of re-wearing my clothes. Don't worry, I haven't let people get close enough to smell me. :) But if I don't get my luggage today, the Italian program director, Chiara, said she'd take me to the aiport tomorrow to wrangle it from them somehow.

Today we took the placement test for our language course. I took the Intermediate level exam, and it went okay. I couldn't remember how to conjugate some of the different types of verbs, such as the past perfect and subjunctive tenses. But I wrote them a note saying that I know how to conjugate all those verbs, but I just haven't done it in a year so I'm a little rusty. As I was taking the test, I was amazed at how much came back to me. Excuse the cliche, but learning a new language is kind of like riding a bike. It just comes back to you, and it's impossible to forget how to do it completely!

Yesterday we took a walking tour of Florence, which was really great. Florence is so rich in history, and most of the buildings are from the 1200-1300s, which I didn't know. Our tour guide pointed out a bunch of places for us to go, so we're off to explore right now. More updates soon, I promise!

Vi voglio bene e auguri e cent'anni!
Love, Caity

Saluti a tutti! I am at a very expensive Internet cafe so this blog has to be short and sweet. But I arrived in Florence safe and sound and we are all settled in. Tomorrow or Thursday I should be getting cheaper Internet so I will be able to write all kinds of detailed entries. But for now, I have to keep you on the edge of your seats by promising exciting entries to come. I miss you all and just wanted to let you all know I arrived and I will talk more soon!

Vi voglio bene e auguri e cent anni! (I love you all and blessings for a hundred years!)
Love, Caity