Final Italian Update

Yes, yes, yes I am home now. I apologize profusely for my despicable lack of updates and blogs over the past 3 months. I wrote a contemplation piece that I posted on "the" facebook and neglected to post here. But now, weeks after my return, you can read the final chapter in MY ITALIAN ADVENTURE. Enjoy and thanks for watching. "My NYC/GRAD SCHOOL Adventure" coming soon to a blog near you.

Pace, Amore e Italia,

Geni

"How was Italy?"

Being that I will be leaving for Arizona in less than 24 hours after a 5 month adventure in Italy (and the surrounding European countries), I became a little contemplative and wrote the following:

When I get home to the states everyone I know will ask me the same question in the same exact way – “How was Italy?” This will become boring and obnoxiously repetitive almost immediately. But this is a human question and as I have been guilty of asking such a question, I will try to respond in a way that does justice to my experience. Because how awful is it to respond to a boring question with a boring answer? How could I possibly respond to that with an “It was great!” and then move on with my life?

Should I tell them about my professors who were never on time to class and cancelled lectures because they had to go to a birthday party? Should I explain how I spent my afternoons lounging in the sun drinking prosseco and chatting with friends from around the globe? Might I mention that being sexually harassed by Italian men incessantly is NOT fun and drove me to learn a few Italian curse phrases in order to stand up for myself? I’ll probably tell them all of these things and more because these are the stories they want to hear. These are good small talk stories. And while I like small talk these were not the things that made my experience GRAND.

The people! How do I describe the people that literally MADE my experience? Do I describe them as “the men and women who touched my heart and broke down any preconceived notions I might have had”? Or “the friends with whom I spent countless hours discussing and embracing the beauty of our cultural differences”? How about “the companions that broke bread with me and shared in a family meal - even though we were miles away from our own biological families”? There aren’t enough words in the English or Italian languages to describe how deeply in love I fell with these people.

The Travel! How exactly to you describe a clear night sky and a full moon shining over the majestic duomo in Florence? How can I articulate the colors of the rainbow that shot across my apartment in Verona? Can I really tell someone about the greens and blues of the countryside that shot across my window as I rushed pass on numerous intercity trains?

And OH GOD THE FOOD! I’m not even going to bother with the food. Better writers than I have failed ferociously in describing such heaven.

But it wasn’t all pizzas and rainbows. I certainly had my days of “Holy crap-pants! What have I gotten myself into?” and “Why did I decide to do my last semester abroad again?” There were times when I was so homesick I thought I wasn’t going to be able to take it. I had my moments when all I wanted was a hug from my mom or to hold my little goddaughter, Lily, in my arms. There was a week that I was so done with Verona that I barely left my apartment – my only consolation being card games and dinners with my Scottish mates a few floors below me. It wasn’t until later that I realized homesickness was just part of the process, part of the journey.

Perhaps all I can say with honesty of expression is the following :

I feel braver now than I have ever felt – I could look a lion straight in the eye and not flinch. I feel more independent, successful and open – I could cure the world of sorrows at this point. I feel like if I tried I could spread my arms out, sprout wings and grow bigger than the sun- and then challenge the angels to a game of “spoons”. I can do anything because I have conquered the smallest to the grandest of my fears. By stepping out of my comfort zone and away from the place I knew, I stepped into myself. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling grateful for Italy and the experience that came with it. And I’ll never stop saying “Grazie” either…

May Day

Well, it’s May, ladies and gentlemen (at least in this country it is). And as of today I have two months and seven days left of my Italian Adventure. The bittersweet truth of this fact leads me to believe that I am one of the most blessed people this world has ever known. I am blessed because I have had the opportunity to explore a new country and discover new parts of myself in the process. I have been immersed in a language and a culture that is completely different from my own, and yet somehow have managed to make it my own. I’ve met people who have become friends, traveling companions, drinking buddies, kindred spirits and soul mates. True, I have met people that I hope to never meet again (ie. creepy man in the bar who followed me around, homeless person who tried to attack me and cranky lady at the grocery store) but they are few and far between. I am blessed because no matter where my traveling wings or my dancing feet may take me, I have loved ones who will always welcome me home again. Finally, I still have two more months (and seven days) to soak up what I can from this experience and carry it onwards with me to my next excellent adventure – Grad School in NYC.

I am taking the road less traveled and dancing upon it. Isn’t it grand?

Pace, Amore and All Things Good,

Geni

Comfortable Awe

Forgive me, dear readers, for not updating you on my Italian adventure in well over a month. I believe I have been neglecting my blogging duties not because I’m forgetful but because Italy (and Verona in particular) has become more of a home than a strange, foreign land that I’m visiting. Don’t get me wrong. I miss my family and friends stateside more than words can describe and the craving I have for a starbucks chai tea is unsurpassed. However, I have formed a routine here and I have become comfortable. Not lazy, but comfortable. I have nestled into my niche. Yet I still awe at the underestimated beauty of this place. I’ve taken to running along the Adige River every other day and I can’t help but think how lucky I am to be running not on a treadmill at a boring old gym but in a medieval city, where people bustle through their busy lives and slightly crumbling towers shoot up into the sky. Who gets to climb up a hill, among ancient ruins, and look across at a convent that has been nestled in the mountains for hundreds of years? Who gets to walk along streets, although cracked by years of wear, that are laid in marble? Who gets to walk through frescoed piazzas in order to buy something as simple as groceries? I do.

This past Sunday was Easter. I usually spend the day eating mounds upon mounds of my father’s glorious food, drinking champagne and homemade wine, hiding eggs so that my sisters and friends (though in high school and college) can relive their childhoods and go on an egg hunt, and spending an all around good time with my family. Unlike many other of the international students here, I did not get to go back home. So in order to prevent any form of homesickness of setting in, I decided to host my own Easter dinner, for those of us still in the area. At first my guest list was a total of three people. Then the number grew to six, then eight and increased by two until it hit twelve at which point I had to put a cap on it. Well, dear readers, I went all out. I went to the local “euro store” and bought plastic tablecloths, decorations and candles. I boiled and dyed eggs. I even had some pastel colored M&M’s for the occasion. Turns out that I wasn’t the only one who was used to celebrating Easter in a big way with lots of family around. My friends that attended appreciated the togetherness even more than I did…and I’m notoriously touchy-feely, lovey-dovey. Without even knowing it, our mis-matched, motley crew of international students had turned into a family. And holey moley am I going to miss them when I leave on that Alitalia jet plane.

Pace, Amore e Famiglia Internationale,

Geni

Rugby Tartar

Cultural differences can be so enlightening. And I’m not talking about Italian ones this time. Yesterday the French (three good friends of mine in the Erasmus program) made me “beef tartar”. Being the foodie that I am, I was very excited to try something new, different and, well, FRENCH. However, yours truly did not realize that “tartar” means “raw”. At first I thought my friends were having a laugh at my sometimes gullible nature. It took a lot of convincing before I realized that they were dead serious. Not only were they serious, they were very excited about the dish because it’s apparently one of their favorites. I’ve heard that you should do something you’re afraid of everyday. I’m slightly perturbed by salmonella poisoning so I think that counts. I tried the tartar, and I didn’t hate it, but I couldn’t really wrap my head around the raw part.

After I bid my beloved French “Adieu!” I decided to run errands because I was getting ready to head to Rome. By an act of serendipitous happenstance, I ran into an Italian friend of mine who invited me to watch the Francia v. Italia Rugby match with him at a local bar. (Side Note: Ever since my sister started playing Rugby at our University, I can’t get enough of it. It’s the perfect combination of soccer, American football, “playful” aggression and tackling. What do you think my answer was??). It turns out that I was one of three women at the bar enjoying the game. Not only did I enjoy it but I was yelling and screaming along with every other slightly intoxicated Italian in there. My shouts of “GO! GO! GO!” and “Move your ass!” were harmoniously accompanied by “Giù! Giù! Giù!”, “Vai! Vai! Vai!” and the occasional “MERDA!”. Needless to say, we (that is the Italians) won. It was the perfect ending to a very emotionally RAW day.

Words of the day: "Vai" meaning "Go", "Giù" meaning "Down" (Side note: when you are screaming your head off during a rugby match, it is not uncommon to shout "DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!". This could be interpreted in numerous ways, like: to take someone "down" or to get "down" by using your freaking legs), and "Merda!" meaning "Oh, darn!" (rated PG).

Pace, Amore e Vittoria,

Geni

Corsi

Isn’t it funny how the stereotypical image of a professor is kind of universal? Corduroy blazer, messy unkempt hair, glasses and a bright orange tie…that’s my professor. Well, at least he’s ONE of my professors. So far only one of my classes has begun and that’s “Storia della musica moderna e contemporanea”. Translation : History of modern and contemporary music. I understand about 60% of every lecture and that’s not just because my Italian leaves something to be desired. This isn’t a regular history of music class. Somehow, this class was turned into a look behind the PHILOSOPHY of the history of music. If this concept doesn’t make sense to you, don’t worry because I don’t understand it either. I’m a musician, and I know a lot more about music that your average ragazza (trust me, it’s in my blood) but for some reason, this class is making my head loopy. Luckily, after introducing myself to the prof on the first day, I get to take my final exam in English. He said that he doesn’t care what language I write in, as long as I understand the concepts. Buona fortuna with that one, Geni.

Aside from the topic, the classroom atmosphere is pretty familiar. Students chatting with their friends, sending text messages and waiting for class to begin. A few things are a little different than in the States, however. Instead of gargantuan starbucks mugs in everyone’s hand, students have tiny, baby sized plastic cups from the espresso machine that sits in every hallway on every floor. No one uses laptops in class either. It’s old school pen and paper in Verona. Also, the class doesn’t start on time. Not because the students are late but because the professor walks in five to ten minutes past the scheduled “official” time. He then takes the next ten minutes to set up his equipment, ruffle his papers, straighten his tie and clear his throat. I don’t think I’ve ever heard one person say the word “Allora” so many times within the span of an hour and forty minutes.

Words/Phrases of the day: “ragazza” meaning “girl/lady/young woman”, “buona fortuna” meaning “good luck”, “allora” meaning “then/next/okay/moving on” (it’s a bit of a filler word” and “Mandami un SMS” meaning “Send me a text!”

Pace, Amore e Espresso Machines,

Geni

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Italians are never on time. I repeat… NEVER on time. As you have probably noticed I have been learning many things about the wonderful Italian culture and this is one of them. What is also interesting to note is that once you are brought into the Italian culture you’re not really on time for anything either. J I have decided that things that used to bother me all the time are really no longer a problem. My grandmother used to say, “Don’t sweat the small stuff” and it used to drive me crazy, ironically. However, being here has really made me realize that those small little things DON’T actually matter. Yes, you want to be on time for an interview and probably your sister’s wedding but if you’re a few minutes late to a group lunch don’t kill yourself trying to get there because most likely no one else will be there on time.

Orientation week was quite a success. I have met people from Brazil, France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany, Scotland, England, Portugal, Romania, Poland and more countries that I can’t even remember right now. I have managed to speak to almost everyone in my study abroad class (called ERASMUS here) at least once. I can’t necessarily remember everyone’s names but I’ve made a point to know faces. Some of my newfound friends have been quite impressed with my social butterfly abilities and apparently I’m giving them quite the positive impression of Americans. Thank the Lord! Somebody had to!

Classes for my “major” here don’t start until February 28, so I have the week to continue meeting people, discover my routine and maybe take a trip to somewhere like Bologna or Siena. In Italian fashion, class times and places haven’t been listed online for my courses but am I worried? Absolutely not.

Words/Phrases of the day: “bisogno” meaning “need”, “Ho visuto” meaning “ I lived” and “Quello che mi hanno detto” meaning “That’s what I’ve been told” or “That’s what they told me”.

Peace, Love and ERASMUS,

Geni

The City of Romeo and Juliet

So much has been going on over the past few days that I’ve barely had time to pee, let alone write in my travel blog.

Needless to say, I’m in Verona. I moved into my apartment on Saturday and discovered that I’m not actually living with other international students but with three native Italians. I’ve been mumbling and fumbling over my words ever since but I’m confident that with practice, and remembering the many corrections I’m being given, I’ll eventually learn this danged language. The apartment itself is rather large with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a general living area and a kitchenette. One of my favorite things to do has been to go to the local “fruttivendolo” and pick out FRESH fruits and vegetables for my kitchen creations. I’m still eating like a queen, even though I’m cooking for myself.

Verona is smaller than Rome but bigger than some of the petite Italian towns like Pesaro or Terni. It’s filled with cobblestone streets and all the buildings look pretty old. From a high lookout point (which is quite a hike up some old-school, stone steps) Verona looks like a mini Florence with three tall “duomi”. You can see the river Adige curve around the walled-in parts of the city and it looks like it popped out of a storybook…which I guess it kind of did. Since it’s not tourist season yet, native Italians and students are out in full force. If you walk just outside of one of the main piazzas (there are two: Piazza Erbe and Piazza Bra) you can see college peeps sitting in cafes/bars with BRIGHT ORANGE drinks. This drink is the local specialty and is called “Uno Spritz”. It’s made with compari, proseco, and some kind of mix that gives it it’s neon glow. Most times they’ll also put a slice of blood orange on the side of the glass. È meraviglioso!

Words of the day: “fruttivendolo” meaning “fruit vendor”, “duomo” meaning “tower”, and “meraviglioso” meaning “marvelous” or “wonderful”

Pace, Amore e Spritz,

Geni

Che ora sono?

Everyone in Italy wears Timberlands. I kid you not. Men, women, children…everyone. I even saw a baby with tiny, oompa loompa sized timberlands. I don’t think he was even at the age to walk but that didn’t seem to matter. I have no idea what the fascination is but they wear them anyway. Along with their love of industrial sized footwear, 9 out of 10 Italians have a dog. Big ones, small ones, fat ones, thin ones, all colors and breeds. I was attacked with puppy kisses by a golden retriever puppy yesterday and today I passed a pug, a golden, some labs and a lot of breeds I can’t even name. Not only do Italians love sex, food and wine but they LOVE dogs. Who knew?

After Rome, my dad (who is accompanying me until I get set up in Verona) and I went to visit a cousin in Terni. Terni is a beautiful little town in the Provence of Umbria and is so much calmer than Rome. I pride myself on being able to enjoy the hustle and bustle of a fast paced city like New York but every time I stepped out in Rome, I thought I was going to have a hernia. It’s gotten more crowded since I’ve been there last and everyone seems to be pretty cranky. It’s not your usual Italian laid-back-ness. It was frustration, “agida” and a whole lot of crazy. Anyway, Terni was a nice change. Dad and I took a long “passegiata” around town and were pleasantly surprised at how many families were outside enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company. We need more parks in the states and less TV’s. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching the most recent episode of GLEE or House as much as the next person but I wouldn’t mind more community parks where old men can play bocce ball and little kids can play. Our cousin, Anna, whom we were visiting, is probably one of the greatest cooks this world has ever known. However, I had to sing for my supper, so to speak. I was not allowed to speak English, only Italian. NO EXCUSES.

After a lovely visit in Terni we were on our way to Pesaro, a seaside town off of the Adriatic, to visit more cousins. Being the well-prepared person that I am, I packed far too much and the bags we had were HEAVY. I mean so heavy that I have some gargantuan biceps going on right now. Though I digress. Pesaro is really small compared to other places I’ve been. Last night our train got in around nine o’clock and the town was dead silent and covered in fog. It reminded me of one of those fables you hear as kids (or a bad slasher film, your pick). Dad and I took another “passegiata” this morning in order to work off all of the marvelous food we’ve been eating and to see the sights in the daytime. The houses here are gorgeous and the central piazza was filled with happy, cheery people going about their routines. People were actually taking time to stop and talk to one another instead of speeding off. It was great to see people interacting like that and the old men sitting around the square shooting the breeze just made me smile.

Words of the day: “passegiata” meaning “a stroll”, “nebbia” meaning “fog” and “rifiuti” meaning “garbage”.

Pace, Amore e Timberlands,

Geni

Quando tu sei a Roma

Well, I made it! I woke up this morning with the Roman sun shining on my face. I walked into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of blood orange juice and threw a bit of Parma ham on some good, crusty Italian bread and reveled in the beaming rays of happiness. Aaaaaah…this is the life. I had the most random song stuck in my head, Castle on a Cloud from Les Miserables, which seemed counter intuitive to the WONDERFUL feelings I was having. What was incredibly funny, though, was that my brain was playing the lyrics in ITALIAN and instead of “cloud” it was saying “boat”. “C’è un castello sul un barco. Mi piace andarlì quando io dormo…” I guess I don’t even unconsciously know the Italian word for “cloud”. Therefore the word of the day (thanks to Berlitz compact dictionary) is “nuvola” meaning “cloud”. Other words of the day include: “barca”, “castello” and “andare” meaning, “boat”, “castle” and “to go”. Learn a little Italian everyday with me, Signorina Flagello.

Later today we’ll be taking a train to Terni to visit some family. After Terni we’ll be on our way to Pesaro (more family) and then finally to my final destination (at least for the time being): Verona!!

I think it’s finally starting to sink in that: 1. I’m gonna be here for a while and 2. We’re not in Kansas anymore. Which is totally fine considering my Italian is significantly better than I gave myself credit for. But I still have a long way to go. It feels as if the Italians are speaking at the speed of light and my lips are moving at the speed of a 150-year-old tortoise on depressants. Oh well, I’ll catch up eventually. I’ve got six months!

Pace, Amore e Nuvole (plural of nuvola),

Geni

Fellini

"While going to Germany or the Netherlands would have been much more organized, studying abroad in Italy will be like living in a Fellini movie" - My Dad

So far, it seems as if he may be right. I've been running around in circles, like a chicken who has not only lost her head but her sanity, for the past few weeks: "How many suitcases do I pack?", "Will I have somewhere to live?", "I need more shoes", "Seriously will I have somewhere to live?", "Ooooh, I should get one of those neck pillows for the plane", and "OMG WHERE AM I GOING TO LIIIIIIVE????".

After weeks of torment and frustration I can finally relax and be excited about the fact that I am, indeed, going to be gallivanting in a foreign country for 6 months. This fact has only sunk it about half way and I'm sure I'll blog about the mini spaz attack I have when it finally sinks in 100%. This is something that I never knew that I always wanted to do... live abroad, ON MY OWN. I did it as a kid for about 5 years but I was with my family and things are very different when you're not exactly responsible for yourself. Now I am and I'm going to take Italia by storm. Maybe not ALL of Italia but at least a pizzeria here and a gelateria there. Something will get rained on.

I leave tomorrow :)

Peace, Love and a 5am Wake Up Call,

Geni