Buona Pasqua

Well, it's Easter Sunday in Italia and it's actually pretty much a miracle that I'm a living, functioning person right now. Yesterday, Jones, Anderson and I went to Florence after our field trip to meet a friend of Anderson's who is studying in Edinburgh this semester and came to visit for his spring break (because some study abroad programs actually get a spring break, thanks for nothing UGA). We hop off the train in Santa Maria Novella, excited to drop our bags at the hotel and maybe run around Firenze for a little while before Rob was supposed to show up. This is the scene that unfolded in the hotel lobby, which was, by the way, a dump:
(Jones puts email confirmation on the desk)
(Man looks up)
Man: No.
Jones: Um, what?
Man: No.
Jones: No what?
Man: No reservation. No.
That's pretty much it. Turns out, the internet booking service we used was some sort of scam (or maybe the hotel was) and we had no reservation. I don't know if you've ever been in a major Catholic city the night before Easter, but hotel reservations (at least those under 500 euro) are not too easy to come by. Jones, Anderson and I spent the next 2 hours running around Florence looking for a hotel. We finally found one at about the 20th place we tried. It was a single room for 100 euro. We ended up putting 4 people in a room meant for 1. In America, this is not so much of a stretch, but in Europe, a single room means a single room. The bed was surprisingly big enough for 2, but the floor was hard wood. Also, there was very little space around the bed for sleeping, which meant that Rob and Anderson (later, I ended up switching with Anderson because of my inability to sleep in a bed with another human being) were a tad cramped. Actually, Anderson (later me) was fine, but Rob, whose nickname is Big Rob, may have felt a little squished. Also, hard wood makes sleeping on your stomach very painful, so Rob had to sleep on his back, which meant Rob snored. By "snored" I mean he made a sound like he was eating his snores. Luckily, we had gone to Tijuana that night. Tijuana is the only Mexican restaurant in Florence, and they have very good margaritas and cheese dip that tastes surprisingly like Cheetos. Well, before that we drank 2 bottles of wine at dinner and liquor drinks at the Lion's Fountain (not to be confused with the Lion's Well of Cortona). After the 2 pitchers of margaritas, we (and by 'we' I mean Jones and myself) decided we needed a pitcher of beer. Of course this all led to a rousing game of Never Have I Ever that got real graphic, real fast. After my giggle fit subsided, falling asleep was not a problem. Then I woke up and went to church. The scene from this morning, after I crawled out of the bathroom.
Anderson: How are you feeling?
Me: I think I'm dying.
Jones: There's a bottle of water in my backpack if you want it.
Me: Really?! THANK YOU.
Florence was cold and gray and rainy and we almost didn't make it back from the train station. It's been a long, silly 24 hours. I am so tired. Also, Anderson sleep in a belt, which is weird. It's just my opinion, but it's true.

Oh the Weather Outside is Weather

I'm just going to steal a phrase from my good friend Sarah (who actually stole it from Peter Griffin anyway, so I don't feel as bad), something has really been grinding my gears lately. When I signed up to go on this trip, a large part of my deciding was due to the fact that it was in the town where Under the Tuscan Sun takes place, operative word being SUN. Now, I'm no meteorologist, but we haven't seen a whole lot of this sun. It's been cold and rainy/snowy here for about a month and a half now. That's not to say that we haven't had a few pretty days here, we have, but I'm getting just about sick of statuses on the 'book saying things like "i got so sunburned today :(" and "can't wait to get to the beach :)" and "is loving this warm weather, summer's on the way!" I'll ignore the use of emoticons for now (though I disagree with them on so many levels) and just get to my point: why does God hate Italy? I know many of the Italians are sleazy and creepy and live with their parents for entirely too long (it's completely normal for a 30 year old to still live with Mom and Pop), but is that any reason to punish the whole country? More importantly, is that any reason to punish me? I'm just saying, it's really sad when I see that the high is going to be 64 and get excited. No one recycles in this country and they all drive diesel cars, so why the hell hasn't global warming picked up? I'm cold and I don't like it.
Moving on, another thing that grinds my gears: creepy Italian men. Now, there are plenty of creepy men in Amurrica, but at least there we don't have a language barrier so I can get rid of them easily. Here, when you speak English to them they pretend they don't understand and when you speak Italian to them they act like you're mispronouncing/misusing every word so they still don't understand you. They always understand you. And they're not just creepy, they're rude. Last night, for example, a drunken man spit on 3 of my friends and me, and when I say spit, I mean hocked the biggest loogie I have EVER seen. It was rather upsetting. We told the bartender, Gianluca, who we're friends with. He responded with "Oh, I'm so sorry, I can't do anything though." Wow, thanks Gianluca, quite chivalrous of you. Also, when you are coming to Italy, people will try to tell you that Italian men think all American women are sluts. And they will be right. I know this because I asked. Here's the conversation:
"Hey, Michele, do all Italian men think all American women are sluts?"
[no hesitation]
"Yes."
That's pretty much how it went. Michele is Gianluca's brother and they are actually shining stars compared to most of the other men we've met here, which is not saying much. To be fair, there are some really nice guys here who look out for all of us in the program, so don't get too bad of an impression about the men. The majority are creeps, but the minority are actually quite possibly better than guys at home.
I don't want anyone to think that I'm anti-Italy or that I'm not having any fun. On the contrary, it's a blast. Despite the weather and the men, it's freaking Italy. Even the ridiculous things that happen just make for really good stories. I might never come home.

To Mustache or Not To Mustache?

This week, like every week in the magical fatherland of the Guido (which is an actual first name here and I know someone who is the proud owner of said name), has been quite eventful. The most intriguing question we have been faced with: To mustache or not to mustache? For weeks we have been saying we are going to host a Mustache Bash at the Lion's Well (or L-Dub, as I like to call it), so we've already had mustaches on the brain. Then, this weekend in Orvieto, my roommate Jones and I had a discussion with Anderson about how funny it would be if he shaved his week's worth of beard and adopted a mustache. Once back in Cortona, Jones and I promptly forgot about this conversation, however, Anderson did not. That evening, at the L-Dub, we were introduced to Javier, Anderson's mustachioed alter-ego. Javier enjoys not smiling in pictures, touching people's faces, playing with balloons, and being a general creep. Now, a mustache as a joke is one thing, but a mustache for serious? I'm pretty sure Anderson's is a joke (though it may not be, he's an odd young man), but here is a list of the only persons who should wear a mustache, if for no other reason than to identify them in a crowd:
-Pirates
-Sea Captains
-Swarthy Latin men
-Europeans (men and women)
-Pedophiles/Sex Offenders
-Members of barber shop quartets
-Cops
-The musical group the Village People
-Burt Reynolds
That's pretty much it. If you do not fall into any of these categories and don't want people to laugh at you incessantly, please go shave. If you choose to retain your 'stache, I will laugh loudly in your face and so will everyone else. That's just my opinion, but it's true.

Cortona, Month 2

So I've been slightly lackadaisical in my blogging of late and I do apologize to all of my fans, all 3 of you. Cortona has been, well, interesting. Don't misunderstand me, I'm having a blast, but it's kind of weird. We call our teachers by their first names, we dance on bars with our R.A. (well, some of us do), and a glass of wine is 1 or 2 euro. All of this, plus school is really hard, like really, really hard. I'm constantly having to read stuff by that ass clown Nathaniel Hawthorne, develop film and then try to pretend to write creatively. And I do all of that after staying up all night at the Lion's Well. Since I can't really recap the entire past month in one post, I'll just give the escapades from the past few days.
Tuesday night, my roommate Laran and I decided to go have wine and do homework. It sounds like a brilliant idea I know, but, it turns out, doing homework while being highly intoxicated does not produce very good results. I know, it surprised me too. I don't remember much of Tuesday night.
We had our first photography project due Thursday at 8 a.m. so Wednesday night was spent in the dark room. Don't worry though, Anderson had his backpack at dinner and we filled it with the leftover wine from the teachers' table. So, I may or may not have been slightly inebriated whilst making my prints. Then, Jones, Laran, Anderson and I decided it would probably be a good idea to stay up until 1 watching Arrested Development and drinking wine. They drank straight from the bottle, but I drank from a plastic cup because I'm a lady.
Thursday morning was barrel of monkeys, as you could have probably guessed, and I had to take a little tiger snooze after photo. I also got to take a quiz in Art History that afternoon which I probably bombed because I was watching a tv show instead of doing my reading. I'm a bit of what is commonly known as an "under-achiever". Well after all of these projects and quizzes and the 2 poems that I almost forgot to write, Jones and I decided that we needed some vino biancho. It was a good choice. After dinner, Jones, Christine and I ventured to the Well and it all went downhill after that. Our R.A., Daniel, and the Italian professor, Marco, turned up and we had a jolly old time watching Canadian students try to hit on Daniel and Marco. I also spent a good majority of the night pretending not to notice that Giulio, the Italian who I drunkenly made out with and then told I had a boyfriend, was sitting behind me. I think I did a pretty good job. And by "pretty good job" I mean I was really awkward. At around 1 we left the Well and Jones, Daniel, Marco and I went and got some foccaccia from a lovely little sketchy bakery. It was the best bread I've ever had in my life. After the trek up the hill we were reunited with Christine who had left the Well with her Italian, Michele. Then we all decided it would be a great idea to play soccer...in the hallway...at 2 in the morning. It was really fun. And then we got yelled at. It was Daniel's fault, he's the one who brought out the soccer ball. Our bad. Obviously, I've felt great all day and I'm pretty sure my brain will never function the same.
It's been a good month and I would recommend Cortona to anyone and everyone. It's quite the odd little place, probably all of the Etruscan ghosts.

I'm what the French call "les drunk"

So, last night was our first in Cortona, and what a night it was. We arrived in the small Tuscan mountain town in the afternoon faced with the exciting prospect of climbing the world's steepest hill. Once at the top we took the time to look around and really enjoy the beauty of our new home while simultaneously feeling as if we were about to die. Good times were had by all. Upon moving into our dorm, a 16th century convent, we were given time to settle and complain about the hill. A few hours later we were ready to walk back down the hill to Tonino's, the restaurant where we will be dining every week night. You would think walking down would be pleasant, but the thought of the walk back up is rather haunting. Yet, down we went.
At Tonino's, I was instructed that the before dinner drink of choice is the "spritz" (pronounced spreetz), which is prosecco (Italian version of champagne) and some sort of strawberry-ish liquer. The before dinner drinks were the beginning of the end for me. Most everyone had one of those, then my table drank 3 bottles of wine with dinner. By the end of dinner, I was very excited and ready to go to the Lion's Well for "one drink." Then I peer-pressured pretty much everyone else into doing the same. That was our mantra, "I'm just going for one drink, just to check it out, we won't really go out till Thursday or Friday." False.
We arrived at the "English pub" (Italians love to call their bars English pubs, I guess they think it attracts tourists who don't speak very good Italian. Clearly they're right) around 9 o'clock and were promptly greeted by several Canadian students who are also studying in Cortona for the semester. We made friends with them. So, we all had several more drinks and at some point I decided to casually lean on a stool. As I'm going into the lean saying, "I'm what the French call 'les drunk'", the stool breaks and I almost fall to the ground. Everyone saw, and laughed.
More drinks and shots go by and about 8 of us end up in a booth in the back playing Thumper and then Never Have I Ever. I failed miserably at Thumper, though I did succeed in coming up with the dirtiest word of the group, managing to even gross out the guys present (cum dumpster, in case you were wondering, thanks for that one Peggy). Never Have I Ever may have been a bad choice, as we ended up learning some things about each other that no one needed to know. For instance, two people have made sex tapes, a few have had threesomes, and at least one has had sex in a public place more than once. I'm not going to name names on the off chance that the guilty parties stumble upon this blog, but they know who they are, and so do I. And yes, though I was very intoxicated, I do remember exactly who put fingers down for the items listed above. I don't, on the other hand, remember most of the walk back up the hill or how I managed to make my bed.
All in all, I'd say it was a very successful night and one that won't be repeated any time soon. Especially because I spent all 20 euro that I took out with me last night and am now down to about 35 for the rest of the week. Ooops.

In the Land of the Guido, A Very Long Post

Well, I’m finally here, and what a journey it has been. First of all, let me say that I can definitely see why guidos dress the way they do. Italian men are all about the tight, fitted tees and hair gel; it must be deeply rooted in their DNA. Even the men who have the potential to be attractive ruin it with their fashion choices and accessories. The women, on the other hand, are nothing like the guidettes that are at this moment classing up the great state of New Jersey. That does not mean that I particularly agree with their clothing (designer logos prevail, with the added bonus of 5-inch heels at all times regardless of the freezing weather and cobblestone streets), but most are not sporting that ever-so-attractive orange skin pigmentation and the elegant-yet-simple bump-it with obvious hair extensions. Whatever their outward appearances may suggest, the people of Italy have been nothing but friendly (save for a very rude thief cab driver) and helpful. They try their hardest to accommodate my greatly lacking Italian language skills by using their greatly lacking English language skills. They take the time to ask where we’re (my roommate Ellen and I that is) from and what we plan on doing on our trip. Overall, the experience has been lovely so far.
Before I get to my first day abroad, let me briefly discuss the trip across the pond. It kicked off on the flight to Atlanta with my being seated next to an overweight Gap employee on her way to a conference in Vegas. She yapped incessantly for almost the entire 45-minute flight no matter whether I had my headphones in or not. I think we’ll probably be best friends for life. In the Atlanta airport, the people were miraculously even more colorful, Hollister and Abercrombie everywhere, mostly on foreigners who could not have been more excited to be showing off their American souvenirs. Mostly I just sat at a bar and drank beer trying to make myself sleepy enough to doze off on the flight. As luck would have it, said bar was in terminal E, the international terminal, the terminal printed on my ticket, the terminal that my flight was supposed to take off from before it was moved to terminal T which is at the exact opposite end of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. Long story short, I almost missed my flight because I spent too much time talking to the bartender who bore a rather striking resemblance to Lil Wayne minus the teardrop tats and his coworker the Kim Kardashian wannabe.
When I finally made it to the plane (I was the last person on before they shut the door), I was pleasantly surprised to see a rather meager crowd, mostly made up of real-live Italians. I ended up with 2 seats all to myself and all the free beer I could drink and the chance to watch 500 Days of Summer for the 5th time in a month (which I happily did). The beer made me drowsy enough to sleep in a really awkward position for a couple of hours, though sadly it wasn’t enough. When I got to Roma, I was drowsy to say the least, but I knew I must stay awake, so Ellen (my roomie for the night from Boston College by way of Minnesota) and I trekked it from the airport on the Leonardo Express and then took a cab from the train station to the elegant Torre Rossa Park Hotel. From there we set out on quite an adventure that involved lots of walking, a failed attempt to hail a cab and finally the discovery of a metro stop which led us to St. Peter’s Basilica where we spent a good 3 hours staring at one of the most amazing buildings and some of the most incredible art I have ever seen. We then somehow made it back to the hotel, went to dinner and then fell asleep at around 10.
On Monday everyone else arrived in the afternoon and we became acquainted with our new roommates and had dinner with the group. Not going to lie, I was a bit nervous, as I didn’t know a single person besides the four people I had met the night before. In order to keep this from being the longest post ever, I’ll just say that the 4 days in Rome consisted mostly of a lot of walking and a lot of sightseeing and just a dash of awkward broken Italian. I started this post on Sunday, but because I am way too cheap to pay for internet, I just waited until today when we got to Florence, or the Land of Free Hotel Internet as I now know it, to finish it and post, which is why I’ll have to just give you the highlights:
• Saw St. Peter’s, the Pantheon, the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, the Spanish Steps, the Keats-Shelley House, the Piazza Navona, the Villa Borghese, the Vatican, and many other things that I can’t think of after no sleep, a long bus ride, and 4 glasses of wine.
• Made some friends (thank God)
• Somehow managed, on Tuesday night, to knock the sink off of the wall in my room. It’s a long story, but, quickly, I came in at around 1:30 after a long drunken conversation to use the restroom and went to wash my hands. I set my left hand on the sink basin as I went to turn on the faucet and noticed that the sink was moving. I heard the loudest most horrible noise I have ever heard in my life and felt the sink hit my legs. I tried to get it to sit back against the wall until I found someone to help me, but it had another plan. As I tried to set it on the ground, a jet of water began pummeling the ceiling. I was fucked. I ran out, woke up my roommates, sprinted to the front desk and got a security guard who looked like he was about to shit his pants once he saw our room. The room flooded and we were moved to another where my roommates went back to sleep and I had a semi-panic attack. It was a blast.
• Walked by the “Cat Sanctuary”, which is an enclosed ruin where Roman cats can live undisturbed. Apparently, Italians LOVE cats because they are everywhere in some form or another (real, stuffed animals, calendars, posters, etc.). In our delirious state my friends Heather and Christina and I decided that the Coliseum was actually a cat sanctuary and the whole “gladiator” thing was a myth created by Russell Crowe who lives next door. We were also babbling something about gladiator kitties and lion kitties (they fight each other). I really hope no one spoke enough English to know what we were saying, because it got real weird, real fast.
• Went out in Rome last night, got way more drunk than I thought I was, and rode back in a cab with 2 girls and the one boy on the trip. One of the other girls was so drunk she began telling us about how Carrevaggio was gay and if she had lived at the same time as Bernini he “would have been hers” and how Anderson (the lone boy who feels like he has a disease because everyone keeps telling him how sorry they are and looking at him like he’s really pathetic) was just not her type (she was sorry, he just isn’t), she likes men with broad shoulders and narrow hips (guys like “upside down triangles”). The bus ride and cold, rainy, 5-hour stop in Viterrbo was really fun with a hangover.
• Italians, as well as loving cats, really love penguins. They are everywhere and we’re pretty sure they actually live here.
Basically it has been a long, exhausting, amazing trip where I’ve been either deliriously, hysterically tired to the point of uncontrollable laughter or drunk on copious amounts of free wine. Also, I recant my former statement about Italian men. I fall in love about 15 times a day, but Francesco, the guy at the photography shop, really holds the key to my heart. Not only is he beautiful, but he has a country house in Cortona. We’re probably going to get married; you’re all invited. I love Italy, I may never come home.

A Cast of Characters

I know I promised to write a cast of characters, but then I realized that I won't really be seeing any of the most important people for 3 months, so it wouldn't make too much sense right now. While in Italia, if I am reminded of any stories featuring important people, I will give background information then. Also, I'm pretty sure the only ones reading this blog already know each other, so it's probably not necessary.

So instead of a list of friends and family, I will now describe what it's like to be at home for a month longer than any of your friends. I'm sure you're all thinking, "I know exactly what you're going to say, it's awesome!" Surprisingly, you would be wrong. To say that it's terrible is what we in the English major would call an "understatement." I spend my days running errands with my mother, who for some reason thinks that her obsessive need to know what I'm thinking/doing and who I'm talking to/what they're saying is normal. She also doesn't understand why I could possibly not want to tell her exactly what I'm saying to my friends or why I won't let her see every one of my pictures on Facebook. It's never anything particularly horrible, but she doesn't have the same sense of humor as a 21-year-old college student and might get the wrong idea.

Then my father comes home from work and proceeds to make lists of things for me to do because he can't stand the fact that I'm on vacation and don't have anything to do all day. He tacks these lists on top of the ones that he's made while at work and ones that he has emailed me while at work. I'm pretty sure he does nothing all day but make up things for my brother and me to do. It's usually stuff like go to AT&T and check to see what kind of roaming plan I have on my phone even though he already asked them when I upgraded my phone 3 weeks ago. Really urgent, important things.

At 6 we watch Jeopardy, then we cook dinner while watching Seinfeld, then we watch more TV until my father goes to bed at around 10:30. While cooking we start drinking wine which my mother and I continue to do until about 1 a.m. when my father comes downstairs and yells at us for being to loud. The weekends are basically the same, except my father is home all day so instead of making lists, he just tells me what to do. Occasionally, they'll both be gone and I sit in my room smoking cigarettes out the window in a paranoid panic, because that's pretty much the only time I can smoke.

Basically, I'm about to pull my hair out. I was really excited about studying abroad, but now I'm really just looking forward to getting out of this house. Please, pray for me, I might lose it.