I cannot believe that this year is almost over. I spent a good part of this last month wishing it would fly by so that I could go home, see my family and friends, and relax in NH before leaving for Middlebury for the summer. Now? Now I want to stay. Now I want time to slow down. Now is when pre-leaving nostalgia and sentimentality begins.

Now, really? I still have exams to think about!

Actually, I have spent this entire past weekend NOT thinking about exams and basically blowing off any work I have to do. This is bad, because I now have a paper due tomorrow that I have not started, but it is also good. I feel as though I have changed for the better in this past year. Anyone who knows me well knows that I do not put off work. I do not start things at the last minute. Well, I do, but I often spend a great deal of time agonizing over what I have to do in upcoming days. Yesterday, instead, I went to the beach at Cinque Terre and did absolutely no reading or studying. A miracle, if you ask me.

It was such a perfect day. Or, more like a perfect weekend. Lunches out with the Smith girls, my first moped ride, hiking at Cinque Terre & an amazing swim afterwards; even the delay of ALL of our trains while trying to get home last night didn’t bother me as much. Sure, it sucks getting in at midnight when you were supposed to arrive at 9, but we made it and that’s what counts.

Now time to get to work. Anyone know anything about Mazzini?

Yeah, me neither.

Cinque Terre

Music for Today: Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead

She asked, “Are you cursed?” He said, “I think that I’m cured.”

When spare time re-enters into my life, I will update on the greatness amazingness intense amount of spectacularly great amazingness that was the Josh Ritter concert at Vicar Street in Dublin. Until then, I leave you with this video for “Curse” made by  Liam Hurley, the drummer for The Royal City Band.

What I Did Today

I got up early in order to catch two buses to the eye clinic on the other side of the city. I made sure to take buses well before my 10:30 am appointment time so I wouldn’t be late, mostly so that the doctor wouldn’t just skip over me, a little in order to “fare bella figura” (make a good impression.) I showed up at 10:20 on the dot and found my way to the waiting room.

And wait I did.

For two and a half hours.

Now I’m not saying that we don’t ever have to wait in the U.S, but two and a half hours for a 10 minute visit? Really?

I guess there are some things about Italy I will never understand…

Music for Today: Something Pretty by Patrick Park

The Language of Swearing

A lazy sunday spent studying, and procrastinating by watching videos of Noam Chomsky and Steven Pinker talking about linguistics.

Music for Today: Linguistics by Cunnin\’ Lynguists

It Almost Feels Wrong Writing This Post to DMX

But I’m doing it anyway.  After about two weeks of refusing to read from my critical literature about Alessandro Manzoni’s “I Promessi Sposi” and letting it stare at me from a corner of my desk, I’ve decided to open it and start. 2 pages down, 58 to go? Gross. It seems so much harder to get down to work here. It could be because work is sporadic at the Smith school and there is no such thing as a syllabus at the Italian university (my two professors made syllabi almost specifically for the foreign students in their class, aka me and the other Smithies in the classes) or possibly because everyone else I meet that is studying in Florence seems to be on a semester long vacation, whereas I have class from 9 am to 7 pm at least three days a week. (Whaddup kids from Kansas that I continuously meet on the bus who NEVER go to school.) In any case, after finishing a midterm on Italian Cinema today, and reading 2 chapters of my 456 page literature book last night, I feel empowered enough to get down to work. Which is exactly why I’m writing this post.

Obviously.

I cannot believe March is almost over. Before I know it, it’ll be April. Spring break (long awaited.) Then, May. Exams (horrifying.) Then June. Home (ridiculous.) It seems as though I’ve been in Italy forever, but that I just got back from winter break last week. I’m fairly certain Florence is in the epicenter of a time warp. Time moves too quickly and too slowly at the same time for it to be real. IS THIS REAL LIFE?

No, this is Italy.

Point? I’ve been trying to balance my time between traveling and studying. So far, traveling is winning by a mile. This past week marked the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy. Thursday, the day of the anniversary, there was a “festa”, a fact that my host sisters were not too happy about. Though I was completely stoked about the idea of no school, I could understand their point of view about the celebration of a country that seems to be stuck in a period of regression rather than progression. Their argument consisted of not wanting to celebrate a country under the leadership of “an idiot” (reference to Berlusconi.) In their eyes, the holiday, created only two weeks ahead of the actual date, was a way for Berlusconi to prove to the world that his country was thriving and spirited, a front that could potentially help him with public opinion when he goes to trial in April. Personally, I don’t think a holiday will do anything to change his fast declining reputation (as if it were ever good) but my host sisters were firmly against any kind of celebration – and screamed about their opinion on the matter for at least an hour. In short, as my own form of protest (or so my host sisters would like to think…) I skipped the holiday festivities in Florence and went to Paris for the weekend. A good trade off, in my opinion.

Paris was glorious, and it was an added bonus to be able to see two very well missed friends from home. Finally having more than 2 days in a place, I was able to see almost everything I wanted to – L’arc de triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, Palais de Versailles, the Louvre, les Champs-Élysées, Notre Dame, and of course the Paris metro. The last one I probably could have done without, but I’m pretty sure I’m now a pro. Or as pro as I will ever be concerning public transportation, with the exception of the Florentine buses. Without boring you with details, let’s just say I have a newfound obsession with the Eiffel Tower and was able to reunite with my long lost love, Nutella. Apart from being yelled at when I replied “I don’t know” to a question posed in French, it was a lovely trip.

And now, “The Last Letters of Iacopo Ortis” are calling to me. Probably more like screaming from lack of attention. Dubstep will keep me alert enough to finish this.

Paris at Night

The Modern Way to View Art.

Dear Paris, I like you.

L'arc de Triomphe

Music for Today: Animale ft. Dragonette (Datsik Remix) – Don Diablo

On To The Next One

Right. So apparently I am horrible at keeping up with this thing. Lack of motivation, mostly, not lack of material. It’s a new semester, and has been for about a month now. However, I feel as though every week is the first week of school. Homework has been fairly non-existent, so it’s pretty hard to believe that we’ve actually started new classes. Am I really complaining about a lack of work? Slightly. I mean, coming home with nothing to do is getting a little old. I’m not looking for a huge paper, but maybe something to do? Possibly?

Pros to a light workload: TRAVELING! My goal this semester is to go on as many trips as possible without a.) damaging my health because of lack of sleep, b.) failing all my classes and c.) wiping out my bank account. So far so good (with the exception of my depleting funds. Anyone care to donate to my worldly travels?)

After our school trip to Sicily, where we lucked out on weather but went a little crazy with all the tours we went on, I set right out on planning out my last few months here. (That is quite weird to say. Have I really already been here for 5 months?) Our first weekend back, our destination was Rome. We completely lucked out with our hostel, having found it for a mere 25 euro per person for two nights. Sounds sketchy right? I will admit that it was incredibly out of the way (when we forgot to buy bus tickets to get home after going out, we ended up walking over an hour – at 3 am- through Rome to get back to the hostel) it was probably one of the best places I’ve stayed in while traveling. Our room was huge, we had our own private bathroom, free internet, a fridge, a TV with a DVD player (which came in handy when our feet refused to move the day after our late-night Roman trek), and wonderful hosts. Upon our arrival, the owner went out to buy us cappuccinos (and chocolates) and had them delivered to our room. Talk about a warm welcome! If you ever go to Rome, I HIGHLY recommend the Sleeping Beauty Hostel.

The perfect welcome to Rome

After Rome, it was time for a weekend at the beach. It was off to Alghero, a seaside town in Sardinia, Italy. It was a VERY early start, leaving my house at 4 am on Saturday morning (rough), but completely worth it for a weekend of relaxation. When we arrived, we felt immediately welcomed to the area. Seriously.

Now, I had heard that there was a difference between Northern and Southern Italians in terms of their hospitality towards foreigners, but my weekend in Sardinia was the first time that I was really able to pinpoint them. First off, we have been living in Florence for about 5 months, but have yet to make any Florentine friends. They really want nothing to do with us, unless it’s 2 am on a Friday/Saturday night. Other than that, nothing. Conversations that we try to start go nowhere and fizzle out within seconds. Even when we ask questions from people on the street (directions and whatnot) we seem to get mostly single syllable answers, or are spoken to in English -even when we initiated the conversation in Italian. In Sardinia, however, when we asked 2 gentlemen for directions to our hostel, they literally accompanied us there, speaking to us in Italian the whole time. Typically some of the other girls can get away with seeming Italian, however I ALWAYS stick out like a sore thumb. Tall, blonde, blue eyes -I scream American. (Or apparently German, according to the son of one of our directors.) I’m not sure if it’s because the Sardinian’s didn’t know English or what, but they all spoke to us in Italian – a very welcomed change. It was refreshing traveling somewhere and having our Italian language skills be appreciated. The woman who ran our hostel (another wonderful place to stay if you’re ever in Sardinia) gave us a wonderful complement, telling us that our Italian was very good, and that we should be proud of ourselves for being some of the few Americans who come to Italy with knowledge of the language. Most students who come here don’t know any Italian, and then hardly try to learn it while here. I am so thankful that Smith requires near fluency to come to Florence. It allows for us to at least try to make connections with the Italians, whether it’s within our host families, people on the street (we’re still working on that one…) or with a lovely woman running a small hostel in Alghero. My weekend there really made me appreciate the Smith program, and how hard I’ve worked to get myself to this point of near fluency.

Unfortunately, we forgot to take any pictures whatsoever.

The next weekend, aka last weekend, we headed off on Sunday to Venice for Carnival. This was my fourth time in Venice, and every time it has been filled with tourists, but this time it was completely PACKED! I’m talking the kind of packed where we could have picked up our feet and been carried through the streets with the crowd. It took us about 10 minutes to get through the main piazza, something that usually takes about 45 seconds. It was ridiculous. We went there with a student group based out of Florence called “Florence for Fun.” Never again. We left that morning at 7:30…or we were supposed to, but ended up not leaving until after 8. Then, once we arrived to the place where we were to take water taxis to San Marco, Venice’s central piazza, we waited for another hour for our boat. When we finally got to the center, we had missed the main event for the day. The rest of the day walking around by ourselves was fun, getting to see all the elaborate costumes and masks that people had put together for the event. It really felt as though the whole city had been turned into an amusement park – from the 1500’s. We spent the day wandering the area, going to the Doge’s Palace, staring at masks until we FINALLY committed to buying one, and drinking caffé corretto, cappuccino with a shot of Bailey’s. Perfect for warming up on such a cold, rainy day. I would have been fine with the waiting in the morning, if that had been the last of our upsets with Florence for Fun. However, when it came time to go home, we waited an hour and a half for our boat back. Now THAT was ridiculous! I had told my host family I would be home around 10 pm, but came strolling in around midnight instead. A long day, indeed. Next time, I think we’ll just plan it on our own.

The mask makes all the difference. Too bad everyone looks ridiculous in them.

This weekend is being spent at home, wandering around the hills behind my house and going to my first Florentine soccer game on Sunday with the other Smithies. Monday I begin my classes with the University of Florence. Instead of just taking one, as is required for the year abroad, I have decided to take two, mostly in order to get out of a History of Fashion course that I wasn’t too thrilled about at the Smith Sede. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I’m ready to fill up my days with something a little more productive: Italian Literature, mostly Manzoni’s Promessi Sposi, and the History of the Unity of Italy, which seemed appropriate as this is its 150 year anniversary. This week is going to be a change, but hopefully a good one. We’ll see!

And now, back to planning more travels, and a gluten-free dinner for tonight. Home alone with the kitchen with permission to invite people over equals the perfect time to try cooking something delicious. I tried making a cake last night that turned out disastrous (why does all my food always burn on the top but stay raw on the inside? Puzzling…) Hopefully this will go better. Wish me luck!

Music for today: Swimming by Florence + The Machine

No Matter How Far Away You Roam

The most snow Florence has seen in 25 years.

It’s true. There’s no place like home for the holidays. Leaving the second time was harder than the first. (Oh Emilia, why are you always right?) However, (almost) all the sad feelings passed when I woke up from my after-flight nap and sat down to dinner with my host mom, and it was like I never left. I went home to the States to a family, and came back to Italy to a family. I like that idea, and am comforted by it.

Home was glorious, if only for the fact that it was familiar and I could lounge around doing close to nothing without feeling like I was missing out on an adventure. I am all for traveling and having life be “go, go, go”, but a “rest, rest, rest” was highly needed. Christmas Eve didn’t disappoint, though it may have gone by too quickly for my liking, and I was able to catch one good snow storm. (Even if the temperature did shoot up to around 50 for the few days after.)

The trip home, however, was not glorious in the least. In fact, it was horrendous. Remember how excited I was about all the snow Florence was getting? Well, that feeling went away FAST when I learned that my flight home might be cancelled. Here’s the play-by-play:

• Saturday, 6 am.: Wake up, getting ready, and immediately start calling for taxi’s for myself and my housemate to get to the airport and train station, respectively.
• 7 am: Keep calling.
• 8 am: Keep calling.
• 9 am: Get the gist yet?
• 10 am: My housemate gives up, and snags a ride with some nuns that live across the street who have agreed to drive her to the nearest train station.
• 10:30 am: Time to “fare l’autostop.” AKA, hitchhike. My host mom and I set out with my bag and try to thumb down a ride for me, for however far they will take me.
• 1 pm: Three different cars, a slip-sliding bus ride, and some difficult trekking with my suitcase later, I finally arrive at the train station. A good place to get to, even if it’s not my final destination quite yet.
• 1-1:30pm: Wait in the ridiculously long line, that continues to grow on account of all the trains being cancelled due to snow on the tracks, for taxis.
• 1:30 pm: Finally! A taxi…shared with 4 other people.
• 2 pm: Arrive at the airport. Flight has been cancelled. Time to wait in line…again.
• 3 pm: Finally get up to the counter to talk to the worst airline representative in the history of airline representatives. She puts me on a flight for Tuesday, assuring me it is the only possibility.
• 4pm: After trying to get to a non-existent hotel that the airline graciously did (or I guess, in reality, did not) set up for me, I go back to try to talk to the representative again, only to overhear her put 6 students on a flight TO BOSTON for THE NEXT DAY. No. No no no. Not happening.
• 4:15: The fight ensues. Said representative lies to me, continuously, about putting these students on the flight, until I bring one up with me (We’re all american. We’re all from New England. Obviously we’d already been talking. Come on lady) to dispute the lies that the representative tells me. In yo’ face. No progress was made. Boo.
• 6 pm: Back to Via Gabriele D’Annuzio, 202.
• Sunday, 10 am: Back to the airport. This time, I get my way on a flight to Zurich at the last minute. They assure me the flight is full and that I got the last seat. I get on the plane, and to my surprise, no one is sitting next to me, and no one is sitting in the row across from me. By this time I am fed up with Italy.
• Sunday, 4 pm: Zurich. Yes. Now to get to Boston. I should be on standby for the next flight, which leaves at 5:30. I make it past passport check, to security, where I get stopped. “You are not on the list Miss, and the flight is full.” Fight with them for about 10 minutes, then run back to check-in to straighten this out.
• 7pm: No Boston today. Still waiting in line at check-in, making lovely friends who watch my bag while I go to buy a bag of M&M’s, the ONLY gluten-free food I can find. Ha.
• 9pm: Give up on the economy check-in line, and go to the first class one. Cry. Yes, cry. The woman at the desk tells me the earlier flight to Boston left with 10 empty seats. Whhaaaaaat? She puts me on standby for the next day, and the next, and the next. I WILL get out of here. Hopefully with my luggage, which is somewhere in the airport, but seeing as my boarding pass in Florence was hand-written, I have no information on my luggage for the airline to check on it. It will have to wait until tomorrow.
• 11pm: Arrive at the hotel Swiss Air paid for. It is wonderful, and I cry (again) when I see my amazing room. Shower, mint tea, and Bridget Jones’ Diary, and I’m out.
• Monday, 2 pm: Back at the airport, camped out in front of security. Made friends with a lovely french businessman who happens to have a house on Lake Sunapee. He assures me he will do everything he can to get me on that flight home.
• 5:25 pm: Plane leaves in 10 minutes. French man and I stand at the desk, and he uses his frequent flyer miles to get me a seat. However, they won’t give it to me yet, because there are 35 other people on standby. Ah!
• 5:35 pm: En-route to Boston. Played babysitter during the flight for two belgian kids, but I could have cared less. We play cards and they tell me how weird American accents are. I trade M&M’s for an apple. Score.
• 12am: Home. Home home home.
• The End.

I should really be focusing on my final papers right now, but there is snow in the forecast here, and it reminded me of the last time I experienced snow in Florence. I was luckier than most, but still. C’mon Florence, get it together!

 

Music for Today: These Old Shoes by Deer Tick

So Long, Farewell (For Now…)

Tomorrow I head back across the pond to spend 2 out of the 3 weeks of our winter break at home. Home. I feel as though I’ve been away forever, and yet for no time at all. It’s strange how the time here seems to speed up and creep along at the same time. Perhaps Florence is actually a part of some strange time-warp that I failed to inform myself of before coming here…

As I pack up for my visit home, and my house-mate readies herself to leave Florence for good (with hopes of returning someday, of course) dinner conversations have been focused on talk of home: Are we excited to see our families? Do we have any plans for when we get there? And of course…my host mom’s favorite question: Won’t going home make it harder to come back? She is convinced that it’s a bad idea for me to break up my year away and visit home. I think if I were here for a year in which Christmas wasn’t included (ie. January – November…something along those lines) then I would agree. However, being the enthusiastic lover-of-Christmas that I am, I cannot even imagine not being home, in Bradford, with my family around Christmas. And it’s not just because I’m thousands of miles away from home – I get this feeling at Smith as well. As soon as December 1st hits, I long for home. I’ve tried explaining the Bradford tradition of watching the annual pageant in a freezing cold church while inhaling kerosene fumes for an hour, burning your tongue on scalding hot hot-chocolate in the adjacent schoolhouse, and then spending hours upon hours talking with/drinking with neighbors who are as close – if not closer – than family, but she remains unconvinced that this is actually something to look forward to. I guess to outsiders it could seem a little strange, but I couldn’t imagine Christmas without it.

So do I think it will be hard to come back? Maybe. But I think it would be harder not to leave…

On another note, I have been hounding everyone I know back home for news of snow. So far I’ve been disappointed with the responses, but I’m still hopeful for a white Christmas. Then, after all my wishing and hoping for snow at home (I’d totally ruled out any snow here, as my host sister informed me last week that “it just never happens.”), Florence provided me with a lovely little going away surprise: SNOW!!!! That beautiful, white, fluffy stuff. I got so excited I ran down to tell my host mom, who just laughed at me and called me crazy.

Better crazy than snowless, eh, eh?

 

If you look hard at the window across the street, you can see the snow

Snowy view out my window

My farewell snow

Music for Today: Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

December: (n.) The 12th month of the year, usually characterized by great stress and lack of sleep as a result of finals period.

Okay, so it’s not even finals period here. When we return from break in January, we’ll still have 2 more weeks of classes, THEN finals. SO WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE FINALS ALREADY? Probably because we’ve been cooped up in our houses writing papers all weekend. Yeah, that sounds more like Smith.

6 days until home, sweet home, and then another 7 until Christmas. December, if it weren’t for finals, I think I’d love you madly.

I’m on break from Pistoia until January, but I just had to show everyone how cute my little bambini are!

Story Time

Happy Birthday Melissa.

I think of you often. I hope the light from this candle finds you at peace.