O Sole Mio!

Buon giorno tutti!  I'm happy to report that I'm currently looking out the window, and nothing but blue skies do I see.  This past week has been a phenomenon from my experience here in Florence, for there have been FOUR clear, sunny days in a row.  This sunny streak currently holds the record for most sunny days in a row since I've been here, so I'd better not say much more about it in fear I'll jinx it.

I left off Tuesday telling you all about the women's center, and I'm happy to report that I had a great experience there.  As soon as we walked inside we met a woman holding an adorable 2-month-old baby whose name was Saba.  You all know that I'm not really a huge fan of kids or babies, so when she offered him to me I rolled my eyes a little bit and accepted him grudgingly. What a pain it was to hold him, rock him, sing to him, talk to him, give him my finger so he could wrap his tiny little hand around it...only joking of course.   I was thrilled that there was an itty-bitty little baby to hold!  I haven't held a baby that little since Charley was a wee one, and I definitely had to hide my disappointment when his mom came back to take him to go run errands.

Luckily there were a few other kids there on Tuesday to keep us busy, and they definitely kept us busy.  There's Gabri, a chubby little 5-year-old who is most certainly un mostro, and Mari, a beautiful 7-year-old girl who's as sweet as they come but can also turn into a bit of a little mostra herself under the influence of Gabri.  They were very fond of games of the varieties that included them running around the hallways as much as possible, screaming at the top of their lungs, and making farting noises.  However, after we introduced "The Silent Game" to them they were a lot more manageable.  There was also some older kids there, including 15-year-old Napoleon and 12-year-old Valerio.  I especially liked Valerio because he reminded me of my seventh graders back at St. Ignatius.  He told me that he loves playing soccer and that he plays goalie like I used to, so he took out his ball and started taking shots off each other in the huge rec room.  This proved to be a terrible idea as the echoes of the ball slamming into the walls and cupboards reverberated throughout the room, so we agreed to find a park to play at next Tuesday.  

We were also able to talk to all their mothers a bit, most of whom have lived in Italy for a few years and are still learning the language and trying to get back on their feet.  Unfortunately the calls of "Viene, viene" (come here, come here!) from Gabri and Mari distracted me from spending a lot of time with their mothers, so hopefully next week I'll be able to find out more about them.  I'm already looking forward to going back next Tuesday.

Tuesday night we went and watched a Beatle's cover band at a club called Bebop (love that name) with some of the other studenti, and following Tuesday was the half-week of perfect weather.  The sun has caused somewhat a euphoria among us all, and we have taken full advantage of our sunshiny days.  Activities throughout the week have included:

1. A long run that actually took my friend Nick and I completely outside of Florence...you know this because in Italy, as you leave a town, they have giant white signs with the name of the town in black with a great big diagonal red line through them.  We found a quiet, hilly little town with lots of trees and windy little streets that were about the width of a Vespa, but it was really pretty and the locals were very friendly. By the run/walk home we were absolutely beat, but it was well worth it.

2.  A 463-step hike to the top of the Duomo.  Although you feel like you're ascending the dark, dank, stone steps into a medieval torture chamber, it looks like heaven at the top--what a view!

3. A soccer game played in a little park with some of my classmates.  We felt a little self-conscious playing soccer next to a group of 8-year-old Italian bambini who most likely would have kicked our butts if we played with them, but it was a good game all the same.

4. A picnic up at Fiesole, a town you can get to by bus that's located in the hills above Florence.  We found little piazza and ledge that had a great view, so we stayed there all afternoon to watch the sunset.  This was followed by a tipsy game of pick-up soccer which, although in theory sounds like a bad idea, turned out to be an excellent game.

5. A Valentine's day excursion to Chianti in which we got tours of a winery there and all their different types of wine.  This was followed by a delicious lunch and some excellent wine tasting.  There was plenty of food and plenty of wine to go around, so we obviously had a pretty good time.  Our excursion also included a tour of the pretty little town of Siena, but seeing as we were all fairly inebriated I don't think we fully absorbed the tour guide's lectures on the town and its history.  

 So those are the highlights of my week so far!  I'm looking forward to the arrival of the Sacramento Women's Cultural and Touring Society [title coined by John Doyle], and I've been in touch with the other Italian cugini so that we can have a nice reunion when all the americane arrive.  Mom, Aunties, and Grandma, if I don't talk to you before Wednesday, have a safe flight, can't wait to see you all!

Allora tutti, c'e' il sole today as well, so who knows what adventures the day will bring!

Vi voglio bene; auguri e cent'anni!

Love, Caity 

Singin' In the Rain

Ciao tutti!  I am happy to report that I am feeling much better since the last time I wrote, and a lot less bored.  The weather, however, with the exception of yesterday, has not improved, hence the title of the following discourse.  Today our teacher Michela apologized for the amount of rain we've had here in Florence this winter.  Apparently, it hasn't rained this many days here in over 30 years...perfect timing for my arrival, no?  But we have had a few sunshiny hours, which are very highly appreciated.  And I suppose without the rain, I would have missed out on the experience of seeing a young drunk Italian man wobbling on his bike through the streets singing  "I'm seeeee-ngeeng een the raaahn....I'm dahhhhhh-nceeng the raaahn" over and over again.  It felt like my very own Gene Kelly had come all the way to Florence to serenade me.   

OK, so let's see...I left off on Wednesday, and of course it was raining in the morning on Thursday,  but by the time class was over the sun had started to peek through the clouds.  

I was feeling well enough to go for a run, so I took advantage of the few hours of favorable weather and went down the Arno in the opposite direction that I usually go, which I'm so glad I did.  I went down the river a ways and spotted this church at the top of one of the hills, and for some reason I had this incredible urge to go see it for myself.  Crossing the incredibly busy streets on the other side of the Arno was no small feat, and sometimes the effort that it takes to simply avoid being turned into roadkill in Italy almost makes me want to avoid running altogether.  But I never regret it in the end, for once I get outside the city my runs always take me to places that I'd never discover otherwise.  I've gone through vineyards, found secret gardens and pathways that overlook the Tuscan hills, green parks and soccer fields nestled in corners outside the city I'd never go otherwise.  Thursday was no exception, I ran up a cobblestone path to the top of a hill where there was a church and a garden, and below it was a huge park with benches and shaded by trees.  Living in the city is fun, but sometimes after days of trekking over cobblestone and seeing nothing but buildings I long for the grass and the trees.  When I go for a run, my feet always seem to lead me outside the city where I can actually be in nature again, and I always return from my runs with my nature cravings satiated.

Thursday night we had our classmates over for dinner again, this time for a potluck.  We made it an international theme, so our friend Massa the cook made some great Japanese food, and everyone else contributed various dishes from their homelands.  My roommate Megan had the brilliant idea of making apple crisp (I know the expression is "American as apple pie," but we lacked the necessary ingredients for that analogy, so we had to modify it a bit).  It turned out to be absolutely delicious, and it was a big hit with our international amici.  When our Brazilian friend Fellipe asked what it was, he misheard Megan's pronunciation of "apple crisp" and started calling it "apple crack," which was probably just a more accurate name seeing as it was just about as addicting.  We had planned on going out after dinner so as not to wake up our kind neighbor Anne, but by then it was, as the Italians would say, Sta piovenda a catinelle, or raining buckets, so we enjoyed a very interesting game of charades instead.

Friday afternoon we departed for Roma on the bullet train, so we got there in about an hour and a half.  I have mixed feelings about Rome, so I arrived slightly unsure as to what to expect.  Rome is an incredible city; it's a history lover's dream and is surely the most exciting, bustling city in Italy.  However, Rome can be just as brutal as it is lovely, for it's incredibly crowded and overwhelmingly huge.  Reflecting over my weekend now, I'm glad I went to Rome for a second time, but it's like what they say: It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.  After a weekend of the crowds and the metro, I was happy to come back to mia Firenze.

We arrived late Friday afternoon and got to see the Trevi Fountain at night before we met our group for dinner.  The Trevi Fountain is beautiful by day, but I would highly recommend seeing it at night; for it's lit up and gives the piazza a warm, romantic glow--very Italy.  We met up with the other girls in our group for dinner (girls and one guy I should say--there's 22 girls in our group and one guy.  Whether he's incredibly lucky or incredibly unfortunate to be the sole male in a group of traveling, hormonal females is yet to be determined).  Chiara took us to a delicious restaurant where we had a huge dinner in a private room downstairs.  

What I love the most about Italian food is the variety.  In America, you go to a restaurant, order one thing, and get a huge portion of it.  You choose between either the ravioli or the steak, the large salad or the sandwich, etc.  In Italy, you get a little bit of everything: a few nibbles of antipasti, which usually includes some type of bruschetta, cheeses, and breads, then the primo piatto of some kind of pasta, such as lasagna, ravioli, or penne, and then the secondo of some kind of meat, and always followed by dolce e caffe.  You only get a small serving of each, so it's not like you end every meal feeling like you're about to burst.  A very small amount of the rich food is sufficient.  The Italians eat only the best cheese, the sweetest wine, the richest desserts, so you don't need heaps upon heaps of it to feel satisfied.  It's quality, not quantity here, and I think that's the secret as to how the Italians can eat pastas, cheeses, creams, and pastries every day without becoming morbidly obese.  

Saturday we got up bright and early to beat the crowds to the Vatican.  Armed with umbrellas, we only had to wait in the rain for a few minutes before being allowed inside.  (Another phenomenon about the rain in Italy: you can be walking down the street umbrella in hand, and you are still bombarded by the Moroccan guys on the street corners who shove umbrellas in your face saying, Ombrella, ombrella?  Tre euro, ombrella?  This practice is much more aggressive in Rome, where they nearly shave the skin off your nose by getting so close with their ombrelle.  What do they think we're going to do, take another umbrella?  Gee mister, it's so nice having my one umbrella in my right hand, I bet it'd be twice as nice to have one for my left hand as well!  Sure, I'll take one, and maybe a third in case one breaks!)  But as I was saying, we made it to the Vatican before a lot of the crowds had arrived, and I suppose it was good it was raining because I think it deterred the normally huge crowds from making the trek.  Without the crowds, it felt a lot less touristy than the first time I went, and I actually felt like I could appreciate each room's artwork without being hustled along like a salmon.  We walked through each of the rooms of the musei vaticani and saw the various statues and paintings, but the true climax is La Cappella Sistina, maybe you've heard of it?  Each room holds a sign with an arrow-shaped sign guiding you in the direction of the chapel, so you can tell those Swiss guards are really trying to get you pumped.  You go through each room thinking, wait, there's painting on the ceiling here...is this it?  Is this it?  Are we there yet?  Are we there yet?  But once you finally step into the chapel, you know you've arrived.  The expansive walls and ceilings are just covered in gorgeous paintings, and you can truly spend hours in there without looking at the same picture twice.  I had already been once before, and seeing it for a second time was no less climactic. 

We walked around in St. Peter's square for awhile and then got some pizza and gelato for lunch.  Following our trip to the Vatican was a walking tour around Rome where we were taken to the various important landmarks: the Spanish steps, the Trevi Fountain, and the Pantheon.  It only rained a little bit during our tour, so that was fortunate.  Our Italian tour guide was very nice but also very boring.  I noticed that she had this tendency to end about every other word in the "a" sound, which was slightly distracting: "And this building-a that we see now-a was built in honor of the pope-a," etc.  So I once again enjoyed people-watching rather than listening to the actual history, but again, that history stuff is Kelly's job.

Later that night I met up with more cugini for dinner.  Luigina's sister Ersilia, who's 56, lives in Rome with her husband Bruno and their 20-something son Marco.  Just some more names to add to the list; there will be more in two weeks when we meet up with the cugini in Pianello when my mom and grandma and aunts get here, so make sure you have these ones down.  Marco very kindly picked me up and drove me out to their house, where Ersilia prepared dinner for all of us.  I had a really nice time talking to them, for I hadn't seen Ersilia and Bruno in almost 4 years, and I had never met Marco before.  Marco speaks great English and Bruno is taking classes to learn, but we spoke in Italian pretty much the entire night.  Bruno really likes to practice his English, so Marco let him try to explain the few Italian phrases I didn't understand.  The cooking genes definitely run in the family, for Erislia's dinner was also fantastic--I just don't understand how the genes skipped over me completely, but oh well.  I had so much fun seeing them again and actually being able to carry on real conversation.  Ersilia even told me how much my Italian had improved: "not like the last time you came here and you couldn't say anything!" We had a good dinner and then they took me out into the city to show me some piazzas I hadn't seen yet.  Seeing how it was pouring, this probably wasn't the best idea, but it was still nice to see the piazzas lit up at night, the slick cobblestones glowing from the reflection of the light on the water.  They took me to the Pantheon where I met up with my friends, and I was surprised at how sad I felt saying good-bye.  I know I haven't spent much time with my Italian cousins, but they really do feel like family.  It's comforting to have familiar faces so far from home, and I'm always overwhelmed by how welcomed and loved they make me feel whenever I visit.  

That night we went to "Ice Club," a club that is literally made entirely of ice.  They give you these huge coats to wear, and you go inside the bar where your drinks are served in an ice glass and there are little igloos you can sit inside to drink.  I thought it was really cool, but business wise I don't know if it's a good idea or a bad idea.  You can only spend about 45 minutes in there seeing as it's so cold, so thus you don't buy that many drinks, but there are always those who reason that the more you drink the warmer you get, so maybe people end up buying more drinks overall?  I'd like to take a look at their books to see how they compare financially to other bars.  

The next day we met up with our tour-a guide-a again and she took us to the Colosseum and the the Roman Forum.  When we got off the Metro it was like a torrential downpour, but by the time we got to the Colosseum it had stopped raining and the sun actually came out!  Thus we were in much better spirits by the end of the second tour, and we got to spend the rest of the afternoon strolling Rome and lounging on the Spanish steps in the sun.  We went to a cute little restaurant where they had five dollar pizzas, and we had such a good experience!  Our waiter, Giovanni, was friendly and funny, and he brought us a huge bottle of water and a basket of bread for free (yes, you have to pay for these things in Italy) because he said he knows what it's like to be a studente.  He had a big smile and when we'd flag him over, he'd pinch our cheeks and go, "Dimmi tutto!" or "tell me everything!"  After other patrons paid he'd loudly count the tips they left and comment on whether he thought the tip they'd left was sufficient.  When we left, he gave us all big kisses on the cheek and told us to come back soon.  Gosh, do I love the Italians.

We got home from Rome on Sunday exhausted, and awoke yesterday to find that the sun was out!  We hurried home from school so we could go outside.  I went for a long run and met up with my roommates on the steps of the Piazzale Michaelangelo, the place where you can see all of Florence.  We sat out there for awhile and bought some champagne to toast to the fact that it actually wasn't raining--a real occasion these past few weeks, let me tell you.  It's amazing how the sun can really make everything seem so much better.

Today the rain is back, but it's probably for the better since I have a midterm on Friday and probably need to get to studying.  There's no way I'd be able to get anything done if it was sunny.  But considering this is our first test in over 5 weeks of not having any homework or quizzes, I guess that it makes sense that it's time to hit the books.  Oh, also, I get to start volunteering tonight (I was sick and missed it last week) at the women and children's shelter, so I'm really looking forward to that.  I'll meet you all back here in a few days and let you know how it goes!

Lost in Translation Moments, Part III.

1. In class:  our teacher asked to come up with 3 words to describe Italians.  I volunteered the word appassionato, which means "passionate," and by this, I can assure you, I simply meant that the Italians are really enthusiastic and excited about life.  However, in Italian, appassionato means "passionate" in the sexual sense, and apparently I was the only person in the class who was unaware of this.  This became clear to me when my teacher exclaimed "Catia!" in horror and the rest of my class burst into laughter.  "You know this from experience, Caity?" Julian snickered.  I hastily had to explain myself.  

2. While walking through rainy Rome with Ersilia, Bruno, and Marco, I pointed to a puddle and asked her how to say it in Italian.  She didn't understand what I was pointing at, so I tried to explain to her what I meant and ended up saying, le piscine dell'acqua nella terra, or "the swimming pools of water in the earth."  I didn't hear the end of that one for the rest of the evening.  "Watch out for the swimming pools!" Ersilia would laugh.  

Vi voglio bene,

Caity

 

Niente da fare...

I'm currently contemplating whether or not it's worth posting a blog today seeing as my life the past few days has been, as the Italians would say, molto noiso, or very boring.  But studying abroad definitely has its ups and downs, so I suppose I need to share the downs with everyone as often as I share the ups.  And unfortunately, my immune system has been on the down this week.  

Monday afternoon after I went to watch the movie I came home feeling pretty tired.  I called it an early night, hoping some much-needed rest would help me feel better, but I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling quite the opposite of better.  I managed to pull myself out of bed for class but nearly passed out face-down onto my desk by the end of the lesson.  I stumbled home, stopping by a pharmacy on the way to pick up some medicina.  Through the fog in my brain I tried to describe my symptoms to the pharmacist, who, although she spoke no English, was very patient with my fragmented attempts.  I couldn't for the life of me think of the Italian equivalent of "sinus infection," so I felt like a contestant on The $100,000 Pyramid.  It was as if I could describe the term in any other way besides using the term itself. In Italian, I explained to her "It's not a fever, it's similar to a cold, it causes you to feel very tired, it's when your nose is congested and it causes your head to hurt," and after she figured out I was describing a sinus infection I nearly expected a host to jump out and tell us what kind of prizes and merchandise we'd be winning.  She gave me some kind of Italian miracle cure, because I slept throughout the day and got about 11 hours of sleep that night.

I woke up this morning feeling much better, but still not totally enthusiastic to doing anything too active.  After class my roommates and I found a little hole-in-the-wall trattoria for lunch that was cheap and delicious, but that was about the most exciting part of my day.  Other than that I've just been laying around and making myself mugs of hot water and lemon juice.  Molto interessante, no?

The one positive aspect of feeling under the weather this week is that the weather itself is pretty gloomy.  It's a lot easier to be stuck indoors when it's raining.  I don't think I'd be able to stand it if the sun was out!

One more night of good rest and hopefully I'll be feeling better tomorrow.  I want to be all better for our excursion to Rome this weekend!

Yours very sniffly and very bored,

Caity

Pip, pip, cheerio ol' chaps!  I'm about to have a cuppa tea and maybe some biscuits, Bob's your uncle!  Oh bugger, look at the time, I'd better dash.  Cheers!

There we go, just needed to set the mood for myself before recounting all my British adventures.  So where did we leave off since last time?  Let's see, so I guess I left off Wednesday afternoon, so I'll give a quick recap of Wednesday night before talking about London.  Wednesday evening we had a group of classmates over for dinner, and as Borat would say: Great success!  We brewed up some bruschetta, two different types of pasta, and salad.  Our Japanese classmate Massa is a chef in a restaurant here, so we anxiously awaited his learned opinion as he munched on our pasta.  He very kindly proclaimed, "Buona!" But seeing as our pasta had far too many red peppers in it, I think he was only trying to be kind.  We're having another dinner this week, but this time Massa's cooking.

After dinner we trouped down the street to Sam's 70s party, where they had a DJ spinning some 70s tunes.  My German friend Leonie and my Swedish friend Martina and I got the night started by boogy-ing (spelling??) to Abba's "Dancing Queen," and from there on out the dancing didn't stop.  A bunch of my classmates met up with us at the bar later, and I couldn't believe that the lyrics to classics such as "Disco Inferno" and "Stayin' Alive" were so world-renowned.  (Hearing such classics sung in accents from places such as Brazil and Norway is not something to be missed, let me tell you.)  Everyone had a good time, especially Leonie.  Leonie is usually pretty quiet in class, but after a few glasses of wine at our apartment she definitely wasn't quiet.  She turned into a dancing machine, and I'm pretty sure every time I saw her at Sam's she had a different drink in hand.  When I saw her in class Thursday morning she said, "Yeah, the party was great!  I thought it was so cool that they were handing out free drinks!" 

Whoops. "Uh, Leonie," I replied, "I don't think they were handing out free drinks.  You just didn't pay for any of them."  

We'll have to pay Sam and Alessandro back later.

Thursday morning we had class and straight after that we hopped (not literally of course) on a train to the Pisa airport.  By now, I think I've made it pretty clear that I absolutely love Italy.  But there is one town that is an exception to this ardent love of mine, and that town is Pisa.  I think Pisa is absolutely pointless and overrated.  But the leaning tower! people say, the leaning tower of Pisa!  I mean, I guess the tower is okay, but honestly, it looks exactly the same as the pictures--you could save yourself a lot of time and money by Googling pictures online.  And I mean really, should we really be celebrating the fact that some architect couldn't draw a straight line on his blueprints?   I think it's time we acknowledged the fact that yes, the tower is not in fact straight, and moved on to more exciting places.  And really, the tourist pictures are just getting old, people.  You were NOT the first to come up with the "oh-look-I'm-holding-up-the-tower-with-my-hand" pose.  We had four hours in Pisa from when our train arrived to when our flight departed, and if you ask me, it was 3 hours and 55 minutes too many.  (The 5 minutes I enjoyed in Pisa were spent taking pictures of the tourists doing the hokey poses.)  OK, enough griping.  We actually did enjoy a pretty delicious lunch at an outdoor cafe, and the sun was out so we got a bit of warmth before heading off to London, so that was nice.

As we waited in the airport, I thought I was hallucinating because I heard someone call out my name.  You don't hear the name "Caity" pronounced too often in these parts, and when someone does try to pronounce it, the variations are hilarious.  But I heard the proper pronunciation of my name and turned around to see Jim, a friend of mine from high school!  I couldn't believe it.  We hadn't seen each other since senior year, and not only were we in the EXACT same country on the EXACT same flight going to the EXACT same other country, he's also studying abroad in Florence this semester!  After a good 5 minutes of incredulous exclamations of "Wow!", "I can't believe this!", or "This is crazy!", we agreed to try to meet up in London and were able to hang out together one night.  I tell ya, sometimes it feels that the farther away I go, the smaller this world becomes.

We flew with a European company called Ryan Air, which is known for being cheap and on-time.  But we couldn't help feeling a little nervous about any plane that could get you to another country for only 30 euro.  We quickly found out that Ryan Air planes are definitely the lemons of the 747s, and the bright yellow interior of the plane and matching yellow seats go well with this theme.  Ryan Air calls itself "The on-time airline," and I noticed that on both flights we arrived 20 minutes ahead of schedule.  I couldn't help wondering though, if all the flight times hadn't been slightly overestimated so as to ensure that all the flights land "on time."  It's actually a brilliant business strategy.  Going from Sacramento to L.A.?  Yes, it's going to be an 8 hour flight....oh look, we've arrived 6 and a half hours early, imagine that!  It's why we call ourselves "the on-time airline!"

We got to London without a hitch, and let me tell you, London is COLD.  Don't ever let me complain about the cold here in Florence again, because London is freezing! (Literally.  0 degrees celsius upon arrival.)   At first it was a bit of a shock to have everything in English, but it was nice to actually be able to ask someone for directions without having to pantomime like an idiot.  However, just because someone speaks English does NOT guarantee that you will be able to understand them.  Brit-speak might as well be a foreign language at times.  For example: "Cheerio mate, did ya come by your jack?  Crikey, take a dekko at this gobsmacked grub!  We should gen up on this place, I'd fancy another visit, it's ace!"  I'm sorry...what?

We really had a great time in London though.  There is so much to see there, and I felt like there wasn't time to do everything!  I definitely want to go back again for another visit someday where I could go for at least a week.  I got a good taste of London after two days, a nibble perhaps, but I want to return again someday to take a really big bite out of it.  We did pretty well in two days though, considering we got off to a bit of a late start both days.  (Late night pub-crawl's are not exactly conducive to early-morning sight-seeing.  Now having experienced one, I understand why they're called "crawls," for that's about all you can to do after visiting 5 different London pubs in which they serve discounted drinks.  Pub-"stagger"s would also be a fitting term.)  

We went to the Tower of London, where we went into the torture chamber where they had all these different instruments of torture.  Absolutely disgusting, some of the methods, but cool in a sick kind of way.  We saw where Anne Boelyn and a bunch of other people were beheaded, but my favorite room was the room filled with the Crown Jewels.  All the different crowns and swords and gold of various monarchs were on display, and I felt like Rain Man staring at all the glittering jewels.  "Very sparkly.  Very--very sparkly, def-definitely, very sparkly."  They have guards like the ones at Buckingham palace standing in front of the building, and we got to see a changing of the guards ceremony there.  I always wonder what those guys are thinking about staring straight ahead like that.  Are they really concentrating on protecting the honor of their country, patriotically and vigilantly serving their Majesty, or are they making their grocery lists?  "Let's see, eggs, bread, toilet paper...am I out of milk?  I think I'm out of milk."  

We went to a very authentic English pub for lunch, which was nice and warm inside.  I ordered fish and chips and a pint, feeling incredibly British.  So that was an absolutely delicious meal.  We also had a great dinner of Indian food, which is fantastic in London.  We also went to see Big Ben, West Minster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, and Hyde Park.  I think the coolest thing I did though was ride the London Eye.  The London Eye is the biggest ferris wheel in the world, and from the top you can see the entire city spread out below.  Now, ferris wheels normally scare the living daylights out of me and I usually refuse to ride them.  I found it interesting that my first ferris wheel flight in years would be on the largest in the world, but go big or go home, right?  It was a magnificent view, and as long as I didn't get too close to the windows I wasn't completely white-knuckled the entire ride.  We also went to Harrod's, which is a massive department store in which they sell anything you could ever possibly want.  Clothes, books, furniture, fine jewelry, designer gowns, antiques, baby clothes, pet clothes, televisions, chandeliers, perfume, makeup, and any type of food you could possibly imagine.  Lesley, if Charley needs a new Armani suit, I could pick one up for you at Harrod's.  I know the one he has right now is getting a little worn.  And if any of you have 20,000 pounds to burn, you could always buy a mink coat of a diamond necklace there.  I definitely did more wishful thinking than shopping there, but it was a pretty cool store to explore.  Overall, I had a positively splendid weekend.  I know Kelly is thinking about studying abroad in London when she's in college, so I think I'm going to encourage her highly in that development.  She's going to need visitors, right?

We got home from London Sunday afternoon, and it was a really nice feeling coming back to Florence.  Whenever I leave Florence for a few days, upon my return it truly feels like I'm coming home, which is nice.  It's nice when you're so far away from your real home to be able to feel truly comfortable where you are.  Like Thoreau said, you need to be able to make your home anywhere.  Sunday afternoon was relaxing, and my roommates and I siesta-ed in anticipation for the Superbowl, which didn't start here until midnight.  We went to one of the American bars here to watch it, so it was really fun.  While we were watching the game, everyone wanted to know who everyone else was rooting for.  I remained neutral, for the only one I was really rooting for was Springsteen, who was the man I came to see.  After two seemingly endless quarters, I was stoked when it was finally time for the halftime show.  He made a FANTASTIC performance, as always.  The twelve-minute set couldn't really compare to his marathon 3-hour concerts, but I thought he put together a great setlist for the limited time he had.  I was definitely the most enthusiastic dancer and fan in that bar, which proved to be slightly embarrassing for my roommates.  

So that's about all there is to tell for now!  It was a bit of a challenge getting up for class this morning considering we didn't wind down from the Superbowl activities til about 5 a.m. this morning, but I made it through.  Now I'm just enjoying a rainy afternoon and I'm about to go watch an Italian movie.  Every Monday one of my friends from Syracuse has a film class in which they show Italian movies, so I like to go with her and get a taste of the cinema italiana.  Last week was the very moving and very depressing movie The Bicycle Thieves, so this week we're watching the comedy Villa Rossa, which will hopefully be a bit more uplifting.  So thus I really must dash, but don't worry sports fans, new updates will be coming soon to a computer near you!

Auguri e cent'anni,

Caity

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