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