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).