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
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