Interesting Things in Numbers

1. I miss when I was a kid and falling down on the ground was fun. I think that’s one of the great things about acting – it allows you to still think falling on the ground is fun.

2. I wore all black the other day…with brown shoes. I’m assimilating.

3. I’m buying a guitar on Monday! Luca is taking me to Parma to find an inexpensive acoustic to last me while I’m in Italy. I’m very excited – Pamela has a classical guitar, which means I’m always playing, but I’m so frustrated with the constraints of a classical guitar. (When Laurel and I are next in the same country, we’re starting a band….I don’t know if she knows this yet.)

4. Life Rule #16: No matter good an artist you are, no matter how close you think you are to a person, always ask before drawing them naked, clutching only their national flag, and then showing it to the entire town.

5. I think I’m going to cut my hair. Long hair was fun, but I’m bored with it. And I need to re-dye it, but I’m not certain what color – everyone here has natural, gorgeous dark hair, so I’m not certain I want to go dark as per usual.

6. The Italians generally have two buttons to choose from when you go to flush the toilet. One is smaller and uses less water – for those easy flushes. I think this is a great way to conserve water!

7. What’s the point of disciplining a child for hitting someone by hitting said child? This is what one of Filippo’s friend’s parents do, and it makes me angry – especially when that child is hitting Filippo.

8. I’m about four days behind on my blog; there are posts a-coming. These include posts on Italian tv, Italian music and Italian holidays, as well as my trip to Tuscany. Interesting, right? Stay tuned!

9. My life in Italy is nothing like what I imagined. In all honesty, I can’t stop laughing. Which leads me to point #10….

10. I really like it here. Pamela told me again today how thankful she is that I’m here and how they got lucky with me. But for me, I feel like I totally lucked out with this family – they are welcoming and warm, speak English, are intelligent and just plain wonderful. I am entirely confident that I can happily spend a year here.

Men; or The Post in Which I Generalize Grandly

I came to an unsettling realization today: While in Italy, I’m going to have to grow some balls. While you recover from my impolite reference to the male anatomy, allow me to explain:

At noon, the Irish Tata Ali – or Allison, to those who can pronounce her name – knocked on my door and asked if I’d like to go on a walk with her. Well, I had been fancying a walk to Bosco di Correga (a local nature preserve), and was delighted by her offer. So we headed to Bosco per my request. It was a beautiful spring day, and the nature preserve was lovely, if a bit dead from the winter. A bubbling brook kept Allison and I company as Filippo’s old tata bubbled along (she’s very chatty and lovely, and a bit eccentric in the best way).

Imagine my surprise when the wooded trail opened into an obviously ancient manor. Ends up, it was Maria Luigia’s summer house. You know, Maria Luigia – Napoleon’s second wife!! He wrote her some letters from the war…maybe this rings a bell? I was totally floored. I knew that she lived in Parma; in fact, she basically set up Parma as a premier theater town. But here, in a small nature preserve in Sala Baganza, is her old summer house! Had I known, I would have brought my camera. I did find this insufficient picture via googlesearch.

Well it ends up that there are over 300 castles in this region of Italy. I don’t know if that number is correct at all, but seeing as there is one right here in Sala Baganza – in addition to Maria Luigia’s summer home – I guess I can believe it! It makes sense because I’m right up here near the mountains and the old border.

But how, Lindsey, does this have anything to do with your need to grow another body organ, you ask. Well, don’t rush me, I’m getting there. We have a slower lifestyle here in Italy....

After our walk, Allison took me to Floyd for a panino and a couple more hours of conversation. This is when the conversation turned to men. Italian men. And let me tell you, the stories she told me have sufficiently scared me off Italian men for the present. Allow me to share some of her wisdom: In a nutshell, the stereotype of Italian men being hot-blooded is entirely accurate; they fall in love/lust quickly and by the time you’re ready to enter into a relationship with them, they’ve fallen right out of it. Also, if they can’t physically see/touch your significant other, then you’re available. In some cases, this applies to when you can’t see/touch their significant other...in which case, even if they are married, you are still available. And, whereas American and UK men will usually take rejection on the chin, Italian men are absolutely flummoxed by it.

The stories Allison told me about her experience with Italian men in her seven years in the country were shocking, if a bit amusing. However, it was these stories that convinced me that I have to spine-up: apparently, you have to be incredibly straight-forward with these men and not take any of their crap. I certainly prefer to take the “how can I avoid hurting this person’s feelings” approach. But I also don’t like being treated like an object for someone’s amusement.

And I have to report that my experience with men in Italy has been on par with Allison’s stories. Between my run-in with the Italian man on the train and the free drinks I’ve gotten at the bar, I’m afraid these men are out for one thing. Does this make them different from American men? No, probably not, but their approach is definitely more dramatic and intense.

For the sake of fairness, I must say that I have also met a bunch of great, respectful Italian men – many of whom are in long-term relationships. Indeed, the first guys I met in Sala (Michele, Marco and Luca) are all solid, trustworthy guys. And they keep getting better on acquaintance. But Allison warns “be careful with the Italian men” and I take her caveat to heart.

Besides, you know what my grandpa said: Don’t marry an Italian man. And I listen to my grandpa.

First Friday Night on the Town: The Director's Cut

Tonight was exactly what I needed! Though initially hesitant (see previous post), I went to Floyd (my bar/café) for a beer and social hour. I met some people my age – all of whom were nice enough to be patient with me as I stumbled through Italian – and hung out with Luca and his girlfriend, Elisa. Luca made me a “Big Mac” for dinner, though it was better than any fast food hamburger I have ever had. They invited me to go to a bar with them after Floyd closed (Floyd is an establishment that can only sell alcohol until midnight), but I ended up making new plans. And those plans were dancing!

A group of three women that Stefano had introduced me to earlier that day came into Floyd and asked me if I liked to dance….

Oh man, I love to dance! Though my ability to converse suffered on the way to the discoteca (no joke, that’s the Italian word for dance club), I knew I wouldn’t have to talk at all once we hit the dance floor. Dancing is in my language. Oh it felt good; all that frustration that has settled into my body – from trying to express myself with only minimal success and feeling stupid – all of it evaporated, I was able to release it. Funny enough, it was American music night, so I knew all the words to all the songs that played (Madonna, Roxette, etc). In fact, I was probably the only person in the discoteca who fully understood the lyrics. It made me laugh to myself.

So let’s talk about Italian dance clubs: Not that I’ve frequented a ton of American dance clubs (I go to dance night at bars for my fix), I must say that the Italians are a classy bunch. The dance club, which my new friend assured me was totally normal for Italy, was huge. Two big rooms featured different dance floors with different music. Both rooms were full of futon-like couches, which is common I’m told. And both rooms glittered with the lights of disco balls – fitting, methinks.

I had so much fun! My friend assures me that we’re going out dancing again. I can’t wait.

My First Thursday Night on the Town

I had a great night! (My first “on the town” that has gone successfully). I got to talking with a Floyd-regular earlier in the day and was invited – or maybe, invited myself – to go out with her and two of her best friends. These girls spoke very basic English and I spoke very basic Italian, but it worked wonderfully. I had a ton of fun. The girls are 24 and attending the University of Parma, so they are the first ladies my age with whom I’ve connected. We made vague plans about going shopping in Parma and then out to dance! (I know how to say “I love to dance” in Italian, and I know how to mean it).

Also, in the pizzeria was a poster for Karaoke. Hurrah! So the Italians have karaoke … and I put good money on most of the popular karaoke songs being in English, so I’m set. Now I need to find some people to go with me….

Tonight, I’m going to Floyd for the evening. Apparently, it’s pretty hopping on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. (I find this hard to believe: during the weekdays, this place is a casual, slow-paced café where kids go to play). I have never been one to shy away from going out on my own (the key is just pretending you know exactly what you’re doing), but I’m a little hesitant tonight. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m tired of looking bumbling.

The Best Medicine

Today, I ate cookies for dinner. It wasn’t intentional – I am afterall, in the country renowned for its cuisine. But what with Nonno being ill and all, I brainstormed how I could help the family and the answer was obviously my mother’s cookies.

Yeah, well, have fun trying to make Mom’s cookies in metric with weird brown sugar and no measuring spoons. Needless to say, I made a mess. And, because the ingredients and portions were so weird, I had to taste the cookies at all stages to make sure I was on track. By the time the first batch came out of the oven, I had no room for real food.

On the up-side, the cookies turned out well! They’re not as good as my mom’s, but I can dream.

In response to my mother’s inevitably chiding look, I will say that I had a very solid lunch. Marco took me out to Sala Baganza’s premier restaurant, Fiori. It was very classy and undeniably Italian. The place setting had far too many utensils and beverage glasses, and the rolls were crusty enough to kill a man (if thrown with impressive force). I had a very tender steak (filetto con l’aceto balsamico) and it was wonderful.

**Follow up** The entire family loved my mom’s cookies. Score!

My First Saturday on the Town

Overall, today was kind of miserable. Even before I moved to Italy, I thought I was good at rolling with things, but my ability to be flexible is being further stretched.

I went to Parma yesterday, with plans of spending the whole day exploring the city. I made it three hours and then plopped myself down at a bus stop. It wasn’t that the day was unsuccessful; in fact, I enjoyed many small successes: I didn’t get abducted, I managed the bus system all on my own, my purse didn’t get stolen, I certainly didn’t go hungry, I bought an umbrella, and I got asked out. On the flip side, I was only successful in my Italian speaking half of the time, I didn’t find any of the things I needed to buy, and I was wandering around Italy with no one to keep me company.

For a while, I would stroll down the Italian street – one-thousand-year-old churches to the left and specialty shoe stores on the right – and I would do my best not to beam at the fact that I was in Italy...a dream come true. Then, ten minutes later, I would be walking with no place to go, feeling trapped by the fact that I was unable to communicate with the swarming masses around me. I think this dichotomy sums up my experiences in Italy thus far.

At one point, I went into a chocolate-bakery for a yummy baked good and walked out with three scoops of gelato in a bun. I don’t know if this is common practice in Italy, this ice-cream-in-a-bun, or if I just really messed up my order. Well, either way I really messed up my order. It was kind of the chocolate-with-rum scoop of ice cream on top of my Parma-sucks-Sundae. It was pretty tasty, though.

Also, I found out today that Nonno needs surgery for a cancer relapse. It was a lousy day.

However, I have high hopes for my next trip to Parma. I think I'll make sure to take a friend.

My First Friday Night on the Town...

... was a little underwhelming. I went out with a group of women from the town; two of whom speak a bit of English. We went to a local pizzeria/restaurant. The good was good – I had my first Italian pizza (more on that later)!

The whole night was just frustrating. I was exhausted from my full day (Filippo and I went to a huge park in Parma), and I was basically falling asleep at the table. Everyone was speaking spitfire Italian and by the end of the night I was halfheartedly attempting to pick out words that I knew. In fact, I developed a hatred for this one woman based solely on the fact that she spoke so quickly and laughed off the second half of her sentences.

The food was good, though! Italian pizza is floppy and light; the crust is airy and there isn’t a pound of toppings on top, like the Americans prepare it. I can’t say that I like it more or less than the pizza I am accustomed to because it is so different. I will say that the Italians put quite a range of food groups on their pizza – mushrooms, artichoke, tuna....

We also ate a fish dish – lightly breaded shrimp, tuna and calamari. I was shocked when I saw our plates because the fish actually looked like fish. I ate tuna that could have been swimming around – spine and all. I think if I were more awake, I might have been a little creeped out. Also, the shrimp was in-shell. I was peeking at my companions to see how I was supposed to go about eating it. (Ends up there was no one way of eating, so I just stuck the whole fish into my mouth ...with a fork, I figured that part out). (We also used a fork to eat the pizza, though using your hands is not taboo).

I’m always exhausted by 7:00 in the evening. Not only is my body adjusting to a new life – new schedule, time zone, responsibilities, climate – but my mind is working overtime trying to constantly translate (or merely understand) what people are saying around me. And then, when I finally get away from the Italian-speakers, I’ve got my nose stuck in an Italian book trying to learn this language. Add on top of these adjustments the fact that I’m thousands of miles away from my family and friends, and I am just exhausted!

I’ve got a plan for handling my lack of energy. One, I’m going to start exercising – running in the mornings before my Italian lessons. Also, I’m going to give my brain some time off from studying. I really want to learn this language ASAP, but my habits are overloading my system. Also, I’m going to avoid people who speak too quickly – they stress me out. And finally, I’m going to settle down when it comes to Italian cuisine; I’m doing my best to truly appreciate living this life, but my body still can’t handle sugar and caffeine, so I’m laying off. (I figure, European chocolate doesn’t really count).

Food

A few things about the food and habits of the Italians:

1. They eat oranges that are red on the inside. I find this confusing....

2. They drink carbonated water often with meals. It’s called “Frizzante,” which I find very appropriate.

3. Parmesan cheese from Parma is da bomb (in the words of my 90s-brethren). Just like Champagne can't legally be called such if it isn't from Champagne, France, Parmesan cheese is only cheese from Parma.

4. Frozen pizza in Italy is not good. I know its sacrilege to even think about eating frozen pizza while in Italy, but I was expecting an elevated level of quality for my sacrilegious ways. There was almost no cheese or flavor.

5. Tuna is a staple in the Italian diet – it is in ragu, on pizza, in my mouth. In cans, they store it in olive oil instead of water and it’s amazing.

6. The hot chocolate is literally hot chocolate. It’s much stickier than American hot chocolate. French hot chocolate was similar to American, except not as sweet (it’s not uncommon to add granulated sugar to it before drinking, similar to coffee). This Italian stuff was downright decadent.

7. Fresh fruit! All the time! Especially for desert – they eat fresh fruit before the sugary-dessert, such as gelato.

8. Perhaps you assumed as much, but the wine in Italy is not only fantastic, but inexpensive. I splurged the other day on a good bottle of Cabernet-Merlot…it cost 4.5 Euro.

An Old Blog: The first time exploring Sala Baganza

I had a really nice day exploring Sala Baganza. I went to the bar and discovered an impressive tour guide in Marco. (He, like many of Sala Baganza, has lived here all of his life). We walked around and he bought me my first taste of gelato. (The gelato is very creamy and there is a strange selection of flavors, like sour cherry and nutella and … other Italian words).

I am so glad to have friends! And the bar in which Marco, Luca, and Loridonna (their mom) work is right near Fillipo’s school. So after I drop him off, I just go hang out there for a while, study, chat. It’ll be like my Italian Donkey (Athens coffee house). Furthermore, a lot of kids hang out there, so I could just take Fillipo with me!

Because Sala Baganza is such a small town (around 4,500 pop.), everywhere I went people were looking at me. A surprisingly large percentage already knew who I was. And as fun as it is to meet knew people, it’s exhausting struggling to express myself and looking foolish. And though a smile is universal language, my face is pooped.

I’m watching an Italian beauty pageant. Italian tv makes no pretenses – you get direct shots of the busts and buttocks. Why am I still watching then? Because I am so amused by the Abba soundtrack. Super Trooper, lights are gonna find me....

Worth note is the fact that I haven’t felt self-conscious a bit. The Italians are a beautiful, slender, fashionable people; yet, I don’t feel big or bland or anything. I think that in Italy I feel more allowed just to be me, because I am allowed to be different than the Italians (since I’m not Italian. Are you following my logic?). Now, I know this is true in any country (Be Yourself, the after-school specials cry), but I had to struggle for that level of comfort in my own society. I blame the media. Stupid media.

On the subject of appearances, I’m very aware that I am constantly representing someone while in this country. In general, I represent the US; in town, I represent my host family. I’m not sure how I feel about my constant awareness and even the negligible amounts of pressure – in a perfect world, I would have only to represent myself, right?

An Old Blog: Parma

Michele and Pamela took me to Parma today, and it was so much fun! Not only was today gorgeous, but Parma was a wonderful little city. I forgot my camera, but I think I’m going to spend next weekend there and I’ll be sure to take pictures.

We visited the Duomo di Parma, which translates to “freaking-big-church of Parma.” Now, I just saw two churches in France and was duly impressed by their grandeur – tall, with ornate designs in the columns and the numerous conclaves for the saints. But this Italian church: wow. If it weren’t so impressively old and religious, I would go as far to say that it was downright gaudy. The ceilings, walls, columns were covered with gorgeous religious frescoes. The altars and conclaves were so ornate, the iron (bronze?) work was intricate … I can’t even begin to describe this church. It wasn’t what I was expecting; I thought it would be exactly the same as the French churches. Some of the architecture was similar (18 m vaulted ceilings), but the decoration was just incredible. (I’m starting to understand why the Europeans might think Americans are stupid – we walk around Europe with our mouths hanging open).

We continued to walk around Parma, checking out the opera house and the old Duke’s Palace – which was incredible. Part of it was destroyed in World War II, and it was downright shocking to see the destruction. As I explained to Pamela, we Americans all know someone who fought in the war – grandpas, mostly – but though we might see the impact the war had on those around us, there is no physical evidence of it. It was shocking to see the destruction, especially so close to my new residence; it made the war, or the general idea of war, more real for me. No surprise, I still don’t like it.

The most interesting facet of this morning’s adventure was talking with Pamela. We discussed the politics of America and Italy, the new racism that is popping up in Italy, and the culture of the different parts of our respective countries. Allow me to break it down:

Politics: Unlike America, which has two major political parties, Italy has many, many political parties. Right now, they are mostly all separated into two groups; however, according to Michele, there are more differences between two parties in one of these groups than there are between the American Republican and Democratic parties. He made the point that both American parties are based on some basic understandings. For example, in America, we don’t discuss the idea that humans deserve human rights, or that capitalism is the way to go – these are basic ideas upon which our government was founded. In Italy, this is not so.

Racism: Riding the bus this morning, I had a first-hand look at the new racism in Italy. A black woman got on the bus with her crying child. This prompted an older Italian woman to make some comments about blacks in Italy. I won’t repeat what she said (largely because I only understood half of it), but Pamela told me later that, though this was the most blatant display she’s seen, this racism is common in Italy. About 15 years ago, there was a sudden influx of immigrants from the south – e.g., Africa. Because the Italians have never had to live with other cultures before, this is creating some particularly racist tension in the country. [I’m so happy that my host family is modern and open-minded – I got lucky for sure.] I did my best to explain to Pamela how racism in America was different. However, I got a little stuck. Unlike the Italians, different cultures are a part of the American culture (the melting pot, and all that), but if the color of one’s skin or religion isn’t an assault on other’s culture, where does the prejudice originate? Perhaps I’m way off the mark, or being naïve, but I could use some feedback on this topic.

Marriage: I was quite stunned to find out that Pamela and Michele are unmarried. I know Pamela has a different last name, but the Italian women do not take their husband’s last name, so I thought nothing of it. However, Pamela explained that in the north, this was no big deal. The Roman Catholic priest had a few things to say when Filippo was baptized, but my host family is not shunned because of this. Things would be quite different in the south, however. Of course, anyone who knows me understands that I have absolutely no problem with their unmarried state; I come from a family in which the parents were unmarried for a length of time. However, the news really overturned my perception of the family with which I am living.

This conversation about marriage prompted discussion of the differences between Northern and Southern Italy. I was not surprised to hear that there was quite a cultural difference between the two parts of the country. Italy wasn’t politically united until relatively recently (about 150 years ago). I also wasn’t too surprised to hear that the south contains a lot more traditional Italian families. It was Pamela who was surprised to hear that the U.S. had its own pockets of “backwards” peoples. She was under the misconception that everywhere in America was modern and rich (and thereby, educated).

So I’m starting to truly understand how learning about new cultures helps you learn more about your own. Fascinating. I’m very lucky that I found a family that is willing to have these conversations with me.

I’d also like to say how weird it is to be living with Michele. Not only does he look shockingly like my father, but he’s also a mechanical engineer and shares many traits with my dad. If I have any latent daddy issues, this next year might get very interesting.

…that last part was a joke, in bad taste (my dad would probably like it).

Now I think I’ll enjoy the weather by walking around Sala Baganza in hopes of finding a bar (café) in which to study my Italian.

Italian Grandmas Living Up to the Expectations

I walked up the stairs to my apartment this afternoon to find Nonna waiting at her door. “Sei bella!” (you are beautiful) she told me, then stuck a jar of fresh, hot, homemade ragu into my hands.

I love Italian grandmas.

The second day I was here, she comes down the stairs sporting a Reds Baseball sweatshirt! She had never even read it! What are the odds?! [She won’t allow me to take a picture of her in the sweatshirt, to my continuing despair].

[One day, Nonna…one day…]

I Proffessori

As Marco’s mom said, I’m very fortunate because everyone I meet is my Italian teacher. She is absolutely correct – and her boys are the best ones I have because they also speak English (and they’re just awesome…and they make awesome café and panini). The grandparents are also wonderful because they are so patient and fun. However, I know have a real, official Italian teacher….read on….

Stefano is a 32-year-old veterinarian who will be moving to Florida in a few months to teach at the state university. His English is very impressive, but he wants to become more proficient. So, three times a week for an hour and a half, we are trading language conversation lessons. He’s approaching it very professionally, so I look forward to learning a lot of practical Italian and hope to teach him a fair bit as well.

Today was just great. I am a little embarrassed to admit it, but I’m just now really connecting with Filippo (and I think I might finally be spelling his name correctly – oops). We had a lot of fun today. He’s such a bright, good-natured little kid. It was tough for me to figure him out because in many ways, he acts much older than he is – I call him “little man.” But then he whips out a little three-year-old and I get totally thrown off! I’m figuring it out.

Also, I’m starting to understand what he’s saying to me … that helps the whole connecting-thing. My Italian has improved a ton, which is a great feeling. From day one, the grandparents told me that I would be speaking proficiently in a month, and I’m starting to believe them. And now that I have a teacher(!), I hope to surpass everyone’s expectations.

I’m settling into my life here and having a lot of fun. I think about how I miss my family and friends (and I really do miss you tons!), but I have to admit that this life beats the hell out of serving at Uno’s.

The Adventures Continue

I just made my first cup of Italian coffee! It’s strong, for sure. It ends up that I like my café con zucchero molto. Seriously – that stuff will put hair on your back. (Which wouldn’t be so bad – they keep it chilly in Italian buildings). But WOW do I feel awake! I’m trying to accustom my body to caffeine, but right now – no coffee after noon.

My Town

I went exploring Sala Baganza and took my camera. Here are some professional-grade photos for you viewing pleasure. This is where I live!

Shopping

I just got back from my first trip to the supermercato (three guesses what that means…oh, cognates, I love you). It was adventure all its own.

First, the supermarket was packed! And the Italians drive their carts like they drive their cars, so I was in perpetual danger of getting run over. Then, I made a shopping faux pax when I touched the fruit with my bare hands. Apparently, even when you only touch your own fruit (shut up, Laurel, that is not an innuendo), you have to wear a plastic glove. Fortunately, I had Nonnno (grandpa) to guide me – he’s awesome.

Speaking of his greatness, he stopped me from buying red wine vinegar. Ends up, he makes his own, and wow, is it good. I could drink that stuff right out of the bottle. But I won’t, because I have real wine waiting for me in the kitchen.

Check out this fridge. Who can be unhappy with a refrigerator that looks like this? Also, out of frame is my huge bowl of fresh fruit. Apples, bananas, and pears, oh my!

I also bought a flower plant. I think it was my mom who taught me that it’s nice to be surrounded by living stuff. Doesn’t it match the tablecloth wonderfully?

Hurrah for Friends!

This is my friend Marco! My first friend in Italy. He's cool -- he's an artist, loves Star Wars, and in general his dorkiness is right in line with my own. He's a barista in the local bar, so I'm there hanging with him and his bro and his mom all the time. Also, he speaks pretty good English. He's a keeper.


Yay friends! (When you come visit me, you'll get to meet him!) Seriously, life is so much better now that I'm starting to make friends. We have plans with a couple of his friends to go to the neighboring town for a Guinness or three. And his big bro invited me out to pizza with his friends. Stellar.

Marco drew me a picture. Seriously, sat down and sketched it out in 10 minutes:

Good News and Pictures

So, the Italians don’t change their clocks forward for Daylight Savings Time until March 29^th. That means, for a few weeks, the U.S. and Italy are an hour closer together. I hope this will make communication a little easier between me and the U.S.-ers.

Also, I put up all my pictures from France! Check them out.

Fillipo

I have discovered a few things these past few days with the 3-year-old:

-I hate Teletubbies.

-Silly sounds are universal.

-No matter where you go, people are people. Even more so, kids are kids.

So, while I’m working as his tata, my goal is to get him to start using the English that he knows. I also would like to incorporate my love of theater into our pastimes, but haven’t quite worked out how.

On a side note, I just bought a chocolate bar for 0.33 Euros (so, about 40 US cents), and it kicks any American chocolate bar’s butt. For real. It makes little sense that such FANTASTIC chocolate would cost less than half the price of our insufficient chocolate.

…oh no! I can’t stop eating it!

End of Week the First

Today was a great day!

Well, actually today was pretty rough. (Stick with me here).

I wrote down all the reasons that I was having a bad day to remind myself that they were all temporary:

- I was missing my family and friends because I had no internet access.

- It’s rained every day since I’ve gotten to Italy. (Not only have the gray days had an adverse effect on my mood, but they’ve kept me from exploring Sala Baganza, or taking Fillipo to the park, or being warm…ever.)

- I haven’t had a hairdryer. (Silly this might seem, but it’s no fun looking like I just had a run-in with a violent curling iron.)

Then, this evening Pamela took me out to Collechio (a tiny town of 5,000 that still manages to out-populate Sala Baganza), and I bought a cord with an Italian plug for my laptop, a hairdryer, and a mobile phone. This one:

So I have internet access now! Huzzah! I only made it though the last few internet-less days knowing that the end was near. Indeed, the only reason you’re reading these words right now, oh two readers, is because of said internet access! And though my hair will still look like devastasione because of the miserable weather, I’m one step closer to fitting through doorways. I bought the phone at the request of my host family – with the exception of Charlotte(!!), there is no one for me to call except the family. I might be able to use an international calling card to call my family, but I could do that on a landline just as easily. However, I like to think that when I make buttloads of friends in Italy, I’ll need the mobile phone to keep up with my active social life.

Alas! The internet has only brought me pain and suffering! Not only is NO ONE online, but my access to my favorite tv shows is unavailable to those outside the U.S.! What misery these poor Europeans much experience every day! Oh, Lost and 30 Rock … don’t miss me too much – I will return to you one day. Maybe not for a while, or maybe via illegal downloading routes, but I swear I will return! [In fairness, Charlotte had warned me about Hulu.com not being accessible from outside the U.S., but my mind protected me from the horrible truth as long as possible. Thank you, mind.]

So, check this out: I just got internet and have a lot of back blogs to post. I’m going to post them under the date they were originally posted, so check back and scroll down or you will miss a good chunk of my adventures thus far. I posted this current one because it’s important to me that you know what I’m doing right now and that I’m happy.

My Daily Schedule

7:00 My alarm sounds. I hit the snooze button.

7:15 I emerge from my unnaturally comfortable and warm bed. Breakfast, clean up, etc.

7:55 I go downstairs to help Fillipo get ready for his day. He is usually eating breakfast when I arrive, and his parents leave for work at 8:00. Then, we wash Fillipo up, go to the bathroom, brush his teeth and get him dressed! At that point, we’ll either play for a few minutes or head to the asilo (nursery school) early.

8:50 If I haven’t already, I take the little man to nursery school. It’s about a 2.5-minute walk from the house, but with Fillipo’s wandering attention, it takes about 5.

9:00-1:00 This time is mine! I go to the bar (café), go for a run, study, write emails, go to Parma (about 20 minutes away by bus), go for a bike ride … the options are endless.

1:00 Time to pick up Fillipo. This is my favorite part of the day because….

1:30 Nap time! Fillipo takes a nap and so does Tata!

2:30 I haul myself off the very comfortable sofa and get Fillipo re-dressed. Then we play – either in the house with legos or cars or drawing, or outside at the park. I also can take him to the bar (café), which is very kid-friendly, or to Parma for a special visit and some pizza.

6:00 Pamela gets home. The evening is then mine to do with as I please. I have all evenings and weekends off.

11:00 Bedtime!

Day Uno

There’s so much to say about my new home. First of all, it’s pretty awesome:

My host family is so very nice. Michele and Pamela speak English well, and little Fillipo understands it perfectly (but will only speak English words when prompted). They live on the first floor of this beautiful, Italian house, while Pamela’s parents live on the second. Nonno (Grandpa) and Nonna (Grandma) are exactly what you’d expect of Italian grandparents – pretty much, the best grandparents ever. They speak nary a word of English and I have a feeling that I’m going to learn a ton from them.

My room is in the apartment on the third floor (though in Italy, it’s called the secondo piano, second floor). I have my own room with a balcony, huge wardrobe that dominates one wall, internet, and two twin beds. (Count ‘em: two). I also have access to a kitchen all my own and it’s balcony. Awesome. From my eastern windows, you can see the foothills of the mountains (they might be the Alps, Apennines, or the Dolomite mountains where the two ranges meet. I haven’t figured it out yet).

Outside the window, an owl hoots at random times in the day and night. On the hours and half-hours, the church bells sound. My room smells of holy water, and though I don’t dislike it, every time I walk into my room I think, my room smells like holy water.

To see more pictures of my new home, check out my photobucket images.

So the title for au pairs is “Tata.” That means that my name in this household is Tata Lindsey, but from the mini-Italian, it comes out “Tata een-say.” I have to say, it kind of fits, doesn’t it?

The three Tatas before me where all different nationalities: Australian, Scottish and Irish. So they are having a bit of trouble understanding my American accent. I find this very amusing.

It’s cold and rainy, but it’s Italian cold and rain, so it’s pretty cool.