This football game included many more graying heads and receding hairlines than they normally do. Players’ birth years ranged from 1966 to 1991. Jeering at the team’s Old Man Winter would turn several heads – if any of them understood you. This game included some slightly unusual cheers, like De-Fense, Go! and Of-Fense, Go! Only one of the teams had a cheerleading squad, whom the announcer thanked after every cheer. Some of these ladies, in their turtlenecks, could have used a couple more rehearsals before the game. With a final score of 47-44, and way way more two-point conversions than normal, it included a lot more points than many games. Conclude what you will about the quality of the defense. This field was shorter than standard, with ten yards between the two forty-yard lines. It included some really low punts and some barely-made extra points. In sum, this was the best football game ever.
On this perfectly sunny day in March – with more flowers and fewer people than football usually sees, too – the Parma Panthers triumphed over neighboring rivals, the Reggio Hogs. The game started with a low wobbly kick and if this seemed to portend the quality of the game to come, the assumption was at once accurate and erroneous. The offense charged forward, converting after almost every play. The Hogs squeezed in a field goal and in no time at all the Panthers responded with seven. Speaking of time and scores, that was up to you to keep track of. When asked where the scoreboard was, I joked that it is in your head. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Well, when each team flies across the field, Parma with its golden-handed receivers and “tiny but swift” running backs, and Reggio with its unstoppable giant of a quarterback, the numbers start to become a blur. At the third quarter, Parma was maintaining a comfortable cushion, closing at 24 to 16.
With the start of the fourth quarter, however, Reggio’s dreaded dreaded quarterback, charged the Hogs forward, dreads flying, to a score of 32-31, moving Panthers fans to start yelling to the hapless defenders, “grab him by the ponytail!” Suddenly, this game that at the start seemed like it would be one of those games where the fans get to calmly love their team was one where you couldn’t look away. If there were an electric current running through the seats, no one would have noticed; they were jumping to their feet with every play. Even worse than the impossibility of remembering the score, whose ambiguous closeness only added to the suspense, was trying to keep track of game time. How are you supposed to avoid delay of game penalties when you don’t have a play clock? How long can fans gnaw their nails when they know the fourth quarter is drawing to a close but have no idea by how much? Maybe Parma could at least invest in a sundial, provided you could convince the sun to stop at the right times. And why wouldn't the sun cooperate? This is football, after all.
A smattering of Hogs fans, seated in the midst of a larger smattering of Parma fans, would not be out-yelled. Mostly, one particular Hogs fan would not be out-yelled. Fortunately, a Panthers-loving young lady brought her drum, with which she rallied her fellow fans – or at least the ones who weren’t busy chain smoking. Other grizzled Panthers fans cheered on their balding buddies, perhaps co-workers, who gave their aged sweat to the team. All kinds of colorful expressions were flying through the air. Spectator mothers gave their benched sons thumbs up. A player ejected from the game earlier on alternated between smoking, pacing, and rattling the fence. Voices were giving out, right and left. Anxious fans were yelling at the announcer’s booth to reveal how much time was left. How much longer did we have to hold our breath? An impossibly long three minutes after five minutes was announced, there were two minutes left on the clock and Parma had the ball. Fans started high-fiving anyone in their vicinity after every successful play. The Panthers locked it down with a touchdown, which put them a point up. The man in front of me did a jig. The Panthers went for the two-point conversion and, after their success, the man in front of us grabbed my dad’s stomach and gave it a celebratory jiggle, before commencing the high-fives all around. It was over! We had won!
Oh wait, it wasn’t. There was still a still unknown but surely small amount of time left on the invisible clock. With a few spiked balls and some solid Hail Marys, the Hogs might still have a chance. The game came down to the wire, and the lackadaisical springtime feelings of the early afternoon were long forgotten. Parma’s defense remembered that they had feet and should run with them and bodies that they should tackle with, and the Hogs were held at bay. Panthers received the ball, spiked, and celebrated. It was a storybook finish, a book come to life. What year is better than one in which I get to have two football seasons?
Infinite thanks to John Grisham's Playing for Pizza for making this possible in my life. For once in my Italian life, I didn't care about being loud and invasively American. This was football!
For more game details visit the Panthers' website
Good luck understanding the botched translation.
29 March 2010
26 March 2010
A cheesy tourist
3. 26. 10
It's been two weeks since a real update! At this point, I will try to stick with the highlights. I have recently come to two conclusions:
1. I love sour like people love spicy. I finally ate the cedro/citron, the giant lemon-looking fruit I bought a while back. It was half peel and so intense I could feel it in my heart. No joke. It was like working out too hard. I gave in and put sugar on it after dismembering it into a bowl, and very much enjoyed it.
2. Misadventure is the variety that gives the spice to life. I had my first experience with overbearing Italian men – two at once – and to call it unpleasant would be more than an understatement. I had my second bus accident, but it was quite minor, so no worries. I decided to walk home and enjoy the sunshine. Spring has sprung at long last (though I fear that if I type this, the weather will take a turn for the worse once more). All of the lawns are covered in little blue and white flowers (the blue ones are called Madonna’s Eyes) and the flowering trees are blooming.
In other news, I had the beginnings of a phonological breakthrough. When Italians speak English, they are capable of pronouncing the h even though it does not exist in Italian, but they put it in weird places. Where? Why? 'half' is pronounced like 'alf,' the alien. 'the Alps' can become 'the Halps.' Current hypothesis: we insert a glottal stop between a word-final vowel and a word-initial vowel; could it be that the Italians instead insert an h? So far not true for everyone, but fairly consistently true for some people.
3. 20. 10
Saturday Matt and I went to Milan. More of us were supposed to come, but everyone flaked out until there were only two of us left. It was perhaps the most packed day of sightseeing I have had so far. The Six decided to zip by my stop at no time relevant to its schedule, and I would have missed the train had it not been delayed by ten minutes. Instead, things worked out and we arrived in Milan bright and early. We took the subway, an activity that always has an inexplicably positive effect on my mood. I think it is something about the efficiency involved. In sum, I am a city girl, and even if my city’s public transportation is a crapshoot, subways make me happy by association. They energize me.
We arrived in the main square to find a strange gathering. Some kind of political protest or rally was going on. Maybe both? There were the rainbow flags that here signify peace; there were people in medieval-looking attire bearing flags with family crests; there were platforms and speeches. We never quite managed to figure out what was going on. We entered the Cathedral, and saw its intricate gothic interior and went underground to see the saint interred there. We went to a nearby commercial center and ventured into the Prada and Louis Vuitton stores. Even though I am sure they are used to having tourists wandering in for the heck of it, it still seemed quite daunting to push open their doors, walk past the guards, and breathe their air and touch their shoes. We found a monument to da Vinci. Next we did some wandering and ended up in front of the irresistible cherry red façade of the Ferrari store. Inside, there were five levels of merchandise, from fan to kids to luxury. Cologne, pencils, mugs, children’s clothes with the embroidered stallion logo, $30,000 watches, engines, red leather loafers.
We went to the Palazzo Reale and accomplished one of my main goals: to see the Egon Schiele exhibit. He is an Austrian artist known for his contorted, troubled, contemplative portraits. (Here is one of my favorite pieces from the show.) I have been familiar with his work for a long time, but I had never seen any of his pieces in person. Just like last time, the setup of this exhibit was very unique. The exhibit was titled 'Schiele in his time,' and the whole point was to give a context to the artist’s work. There was music by Austrian composers of the period playing in each room. Timelines of his life and simultaneous world history stretched over the walls. His drawings, paintings, and photographs were accompanied by works by his influences and contemporaries. Among these were some drawings by his mentor, Gustav Klimt, another artist I enjoy. I confess that after a while I often get tired of reading everything in art exhibits, but in the (over)abundant information, I discovered that Klimt had traveled to Ravenna and been influenced by the Byzantine mosaics he saw there, the same ones I saw only a few weeks ago. !
Next was lunchtime and we had a waiter who for some reason decided that we were Spanish, despite the fact that we only ever spoke to him in English or Italian. Another one tried his hardest to speak to us in English, and I got to teach him a few words useful for his business (check and pay, among them). Refueled, it was time to go back to the Cathedral, to go to the now-open upper-levels of the church. After going round and round in an enclosed stone spiral staircase with no visible end, we made it to the roof. Wow. On a clear day, it might be impressive how much of Milan can be seen. Instead, I was riveted on the amount of detail and dedication in the construction of the church itself. Who would have appreciated this? A lonely priest clearing off bird’s nests? From the ground, the saint-decked spires look like indistinct jagged spikes. As I stood outside the top of a stained glass window, I thought about the people down below, inside the church, who might be staring up at the very window outside of which I stood. We went further up and we were on the roof proper. I wished I had a language bingo game. I was hearing so many different languages, had I the capability to identify them all, I would have had won the game in five seconds. Instead, I took too many pictures. Down down down the stairs and on to the next sight. We were apprehended by a Senegalese man harping ‘free’ string bracelets who, after seizing your wrist and tying one on despite your protests, then asked for just a small recompense so he could afford a lunch. I have a new bracelet.
We heard loud noises and, ruling out thunder, thought that perhaps some structure were being taken down. Wrong. Canons and rifles were going off. Now, some kind of war reenactment was making its way through the streets. We approached to try and see better what was going on, but amidst the masses of people all that happened was that I kept jumping out of my skin. We made it to the Castello Sforzesco, now converted to a series museum, half an hour before it closed, and saw some furniture, paintings, and Egyptian artifacts. Among the paintings I saw a few Anguissolas, which was very exciting for me because I did a research project about the most famous member of this little-known artist family when I was in fifth grade. Again, I had never seen one of their works in person.
As always, despite our plans to stay later, by five we were pretty wiped out. I did some shopping (aka store perusing, since I bought nothing) for the sake of the fact that I was in Milan. I am a sporadic reader of The Sartorialist, and I admit that I expected Italians to be dressed like the people featured in this street fashion blog. For the most part, this expectation seems unfounded, but in this regard, Milan does not disappoint.
3. 21. 10
Sunday started bright and early at eight am, to go visit a Parmesan cheese factory. It is owned by the dad of Alice, my tandem partner, and is a little ways outside of town. Every morning at nine thirty, the cheese-making begins. Giant vats filled with milk and whey-starter in the evening have now yielded a curdled mass that gathers at the bottom. This is scooped up, sliced in two, cooled and shaped, and put into molds. They make about twelve wheels every morning, using 16 liters of milk per eventual kilogram of cheese, and each wheel weighs about 40kg. The remaining milk product is drained and used to create butter, cream, or sold to people who want to bathe in it. Apparently, it has some sort of curative properties (for cuts?). As the vats drained, we were told that when Alice’s dad was growing up and hanging out at what was then his father’s factory, they would put him in an empty vat to keep him from getting into trouble. After sampling some of the fresh cheese, still warm and spongy and unsalted, we went into the next chamber. Here, the day’s cheeses rest in their molds, which imprint them with the ‘Parmigiano Reggiano’ insignia as well as the production details. In the adjoining room, the cheeses rest in a saltwater bath for several weeks, and start to acquire flavor. Next, the maturing room, like a library of cheese. Shelves upon shelves of wheels upon wheels of cheese. The older the cheese, the tastier and the more expensive it is. Periodically, experts from the overarching guild/consortium come to test the cheese, firebranding each 40kg wheel with the official seal. We saw one from October 2007. After all the marveling and picture-taking, it was time for the final stop, samples! A hunk of 24-month-old Parmesan cheese to savor. Pure goodness, and 100% natural! Good for the health, good for the bones, good for the soul.
More detailed and perhaps accurate information via the ever-trusty Wikipedia (except when it crashed).
3. 26. 10, in conclusion
One more week of classes, as a student and as a teacher. Some good groups, some better groups, some less good groups. I have found further evidence as to why navigating Parma has thwarted me for so long. I recently realized that there is a stop for the Six that is closer to me than the one I usually take. Here’s the thing, now:
If I walk out of my house and turn right, I get to an intersection with the street on which I catch the six.
If I walk out of my house, make a slight left and then right such that I am essentially going straight forward, I get to an intersection with the same street on which I catch the six.
Triangular blocks and stumpy streets do not get along with my sense of direction. With the sun out, though, I’m doing much better.
Last night, we went out with a group of Erasmus students (exchange students). With Greek, Italian, Austrian, German, French, Brazilian, and Polish contingents, it was quite the international affair. I didn't get to speak much Italian, but it was fascinating to compare cultural notes with so many different people. It was also really refreshing to be with a different, broader group of people. I confess that this was much more along the lines of how I imagined my abroad experience would be, full of interactions with European people my age, so I very much enjoyed it.
Now, the ‘rents are here and in a few days I will be on spring break. We saw a rainbow (arcobaleno) today on the way to the hotel. Good omen, yes? It will probably be a while before my next post. Then again, whenever I say things like that I seem to go on a posting frenzy. As always, pictures regarding most of the above can be found via the links on the right.
It's been two weeks since a real update! At this point, I will try to stick with the highlights. I have recently come to two conclusions:
1. I love sour like people love spicy. I finally ate the cedro/citron, the giant lemon-looking fruit I bought a while back. It was half peel and so intense I could feel it in my heart. No joke. It was like working out too hard. I gave in and put sugar on it after dismembering it into a bowl, and very much enjoyed it.
2. Misadventure is the variety that gives the spice to life. I had my first experience with overbearing Italian men – two at once – and to call it unpleasant would be more than an understatement. I had my second bus accident, but it was quite minor, so no worries. I decided to walk home and enjoy the sunshine. Spring has sprung at long last (though I fear that if I type this, the weather will take a turn for the worse once more). All of the lawns are covered in little blue and white flowers (the blue ones are called Madonna’s Eyes) and the flowering trees are blooming.
In other news, I had the beginnings of a phonological breakthrough. When Italians speak English, they are capable of pronouncing the h even though it does not exist in Italian, but they put it in weird places. Where? Why? 'half' is pronounced like 'alf,' the alien. 'the Alps' can become 'the Halps.' Current hypothesis: we insert a glottal stop between a word-final vowel and a word-initial vowel; could it be that the Italians instead insert an h? So far not true for everyone, but fairly consistently true for some people.
3. 20. 10
Saturday Matt and I went to Milan. More of us were supposed to come, but everyone flaked out until there were only two of us left. It was perhaps the most packed day of sightseeing I have had so far. The Six decided to zip by my stop at no time relevant to its schedule, and I would have missed the train had it not been delayed by ten minutes. Instead, things worked out and we arrived in Milan bright and early. We took the subway, an activity that always has an inexplicably positive effect on my mood. I think it is something about the efficiency involved. In sum, I am a city girl, and even if my city’s public transportation is a crapshoot, subways make me happy by association. They energize me.
We arrived in the main square to find a strange gathering. Some kind of political protest or rally was going on. Maybe both? There were the rainbow flags that here signify peace; there were people in medieval-looking attire bearing flags with family crests; there were platforms and speeches. We never quite managed to figure out what was going on. We entered the Cathedral, and saw its intricate gothic interior and went underground to see the saint interred there. We went to a nearby commercial center and ventured into the Prada and Louis Vuitton stores. Even though I am sure they are used to having tourists wandering in for the heck of it, it still seemed quite daunting to push open their doors, walk past the guards, and breathe their air and touch their shoes. We found a monument to da Vinci. Next we did some wandering and ended up in front of the irresistible cherry red façade of the Ferrari store. Inside, there were five levels of merchandise, from fan to kids to luxury. Cologne, pencils, mugs, children’s clothes with the embroidered stallion logo, $30,000 watches, engines, red leather loafers.
We went to the Palazzo Reale and accomplished one of my main goals: to see the Egon Schiele exhibit. He is an Austrian artist known for his contorted, troubled, contemplative portraits. (Here is one of my favorite pieces from the show.) I have been familiar with his work for a long time, but I had never seen any of his pieces in person. Just like last time, the setup of this exhibit was very unique. The exhibit was titled 'Schiele in his time,' and the whole point was to give a context to the artist’s work. There was music by Austrian composers of the period playing in each room. Timelines of his life and simultaneous world history stretched over the walls. His drawings, paintings, and photographs were accompanied by works by his influences and contemporaries. Among these were some drawings by his mentor, Gustav Klimt, another artist I enjoy. I confess that after a while I often get tired of reading everything in art exhibits, but in the (over)abundant information, I discovered that Klimt had traveled to Ravenna and been influenced by the Byzantine mosaics he saw there, the same ones I saw only a few weeks ago. !
Next was lunchtime and we had a waiter who for some reason decided that we were Spanish, despite the fact that we only ever spoke to him in English or Italian. Another one tried his hardest to speak to us in English, and I got to teach him a few words useful for his business (check and pay, among them). Refueled, it was time to go back to the Cathedral, to go to the now-open upper-levels of the church. After going round and round in an enclosed stone spiral staircase with no visible end, we made it to the roof. Wow. On a clear day, it might be impressive how much of Milan can be seen. Instead, I was riveted on the amount of detail and dedication in the construction of the church itself. Who would have appreciated this? A lonely priest clearing off bird’s nests? From the ground, the saint-decked spires look like indistinct jagged spikes. As I stood outside the top of a stained glass window, I thought about the people down below, inside the church, who might be staring up at the very window outside of which I stood. We went further up and we were on the roof proper. I wished I had a language bingo game. I was hearing so many different languages, had I the capability to identify them all, I would have had won the game in five seconds. Instead, I took too many pictures. Down down down the stairs and on to the next sight. We were apprehended by a Senegalese man harping ‘free’ string bracelets who, after seizing your wrist and tying one on despite your protests, then asked for just a small recompense so he could afford a lunch. I have a new bracelet.
We heard loud noises and, ruling out thunder, thought that perhaps some structure were being taken down. Wrong. Canons and rifles were going off. Now, some kind of war reenactment was making its way through the streets. We approached to try and see better what was going on, but amidst the masses of people all that happened was that I kept jumping out of my skin. We made it to the Castello Sforzesco, now converted to a series museum, half an hour before it closed, and saw some furniture, paintings, and Egyptian artifacts. Among the paintings I saw a few Anguissolas, which was very exciting for me because I did a research project about the most famous member of this little-known artist family when I was in fifth grade. Again, I had never seen one of their works in person.
As always, despite our plans to stay later, by five we were pretty wiped out. I did some shopping (aka store perusing, since I bought nothing) for the sake of the fact that I was in Milan. I am a sporadic reader of The Sartorialist, and I admit that I expected Italians to be dressed like the people featured in this street fashion blog. For the most part, this expectation seems unfounded, but in this regard, Milan does not disappoint.
3. 21. 10
Sunday started bright and early at eight am, to go visit a Parmesan cheese factory. It is owned by the dad of Alice, my tandem partner, and is a little ways outside of town. Every morning at nine thirty, the cheese-making begins. Giant vats filled with milk and whey-starter in the evening have now yielded a curdled mass that gathers at the bottom. This is scooped up, sliced in two, cooled and shaped, and put into molds. They make about twelve wheels every morning, using 16 liters of milk per eventual kilogram of cheese, and each wheel weighs about 40kg. The remaining milk product is drained and used to create butter, cream, or sold to people who want to bathe in it. Apparently, it has some sort of curative properties (for cuts?). As the vats drained, we were told that when Alice’s dad was growing up and hanging out at what was then his father’s factory, they would put him in an empty vat to keep him from getting into trouble. After sampling some of the fresh cheese, still warm and spongy and unsalted, we went into the next chamber. Here, the day’s cheeses rest in their molds, which imprint them with the ‘Parmigiano Reggiano’ insignia as well as the production details. In the adjoining room, the cheeses rest in a saltwater bath for several weeks, and start to acquire flavor. Next, the maturing room, like a library of cheese. Shelves upon shelves of wheels upon wheels of cheese. The older the cheese, the tastier and the more expensive it is. Periodically, experts from the overarching guild/consortium come to test the cheese, firebranding each 40kg wheel with the official seal. We saw one from October 2007. After all the marveling and picture-taking, it was time for the final stop, samples! A hunk of 24-month-old Parmesan cheese to savor. Pure goodness, and 100% natural! Good for the health, good for the bones, good for the soul.
More detailed and perhaps accurate information via the ever-trusty Wikipedia (except when it crashed).
3. 26. 10, in conclusion
One more week of classes, as a student and as a teacher. Some good groups, some better groups, some less good groups. I have found further evidence as to why navigating Parma has thwarted me for so long. I recently realized that there is a stop for the Six that is closer to me than the one I usually take. Here’s the thing, now:
If I walk out of my house and turn right, I get to an intersection with the street on which I catch the six.
If I walk out of my house, make a slight left and then right such that I am essentially going straight forward, I get to an intersection with the same street on which I catch the six.
Triangular blocks and stumpy streets do not get along with my sense of direction. With the sun out, though, I’m doing much better.
Last night, we went out with a group of Erasmus students (exchange students). With Greek, Italian, Austrian, German, French, Brazilian, and Polish contingents, it was quite the international affair. I didn't get to speak much Italian, but it was fascinating to compare cultural notes with so many different people. It was also really refreshing to be with a different, broader group of people. I confess that this was much more along the lines of how I imagined my abroad experience would be, full of interactions with European people my age, so I very much enjoyed it.
Now, the ‘rents are here and in a few days I will be on spring break. We saw a rainbow (arcobaleno) today on the way to the hotel. Good omen, yes? It will probably be a while before my next post. Then again, whenever I say things like that I seem to go on a posting frenzy. As always, pictures regarding most of the above can be found via the links on the right.
21 March 2010
Mixellaneous
When I got gelato with Vicky I had a rather amusing and gratifying experience. Thanks to the perpetual confusion about the proper order of things, when we tried to place our order, we were sent to the end of the line because we were supposed to have paid first (though I'm pretty sure the last time I was there I paid second). Anyway, probably because of our confusion, she assumed that we were not Italian, and so when we approached a second time, receipts in hand, she tried to inquire about our cup/cone preference in English. I responded in Italian, and her face underwent about five transformations of shock. Oh! She never explained it, but it was clear that all of a sudden she realized that this 'silly tourist' actually spoke 'perfect Italian.'
Success.
Graduations happen three times a year here, and when you graduate, you wear a crown of laurels. You spend the day at bars with your friends, who find ways to good-naturedly humiliate you all day long. For example, when my sister's friend graduated, they dressed him up in a giant diaper made of a bedsheet, put him in a grocery cart, and pushed him all around town and the main square. If you don't know about this, you may be confused by the leafy crowns and tomfoolery you seem to find everywhere. We inadvertently found ourselves in the middle of a private graduation party, but no one seemed to care. They were too busy lofting the grad onto their shoulders, blocking the exit we were subtly trying to approach, and taking pictures.
Dear Six,
Really? Really? I was writing you a love letter on my way to meeting you, to say how glad I was that we had finally figured each other out, that I might be willing to call you more than a friend, that I appreciate you. Even if you have now been truncated and don't take me exactly where I want to go anymore, I know that's not your fault. And then you had to go and mess with what we had going for us. I was early, but you were earlier, and I got stood up. You're always playing games with me and I'm tired of it. If my train hadn't been delayed, I would have missed out on a lot, all thanks to you. At this point, the only thing I can say in your favor is that, while you toy with my emotions, you haven't made any attempts on my life. I love Five, but two accidents is two too many.
Peace.
Despite the fact that 'I Gotta Feeling' is practically mandatory at every party and everyone sings along, apparently it is not mandatory to know what you are singing. I have now been asked several times what the song is about.
Lady Gaga or, more specifically, Bad Romance, is so popular everyone hates it. It seems like marketing executives show up at meetings and say, 'Hey, what's that song that is on all those other commercials?' 'Oh, Bad Romance? Yeah, that's a great song.' 'Why don't we use that in our commercial, too. It's popular, so our product will be popular.' 'Great idea! Let's go for it!' So good luck going a day without hearing the lilting strains of 'Ra ra ah ah ah. Ro ma ro ma ma...'. If ad execs aren't using this, they're using some seriously arbitrary or misguided American music, cutting it off right before it gets weird, not that many people here would notice. An ING commercial has snippets from the Gorillaz's Clint Eastwood, which may or may not have drug references in lyrics that manage to still be heard as the music and commercial fades out. An Audi commercial features the song, The Cat Came Back, which my tandem partner liked so much she put it onto a CD. I never knew how gruesome the song's lyrics really are.
If I have understood correctly, it is now illegal to use 'gay' or 'woman' as a derogatory term. Ergo, you can't say things like, 'you drive like a woman' or 'that's so gay.' Punishable by fine? Don't ask me for more specifics; I don't know them.
One of my students says his grandfather is one of the people responsible for bringing baseball to Parma (Italy?). When I asked him whether he likes any American teams, his response, of course, was the Yankees. But he also likes the Patriots, so what can I do?
There doesn't seem to be a taboo about talking about money. I have been asked how much my house cost, to share with the class how much my cellphone plan in the US costs, and the price of pretty much anything else I have bought here. Other friends of mine have been asked about their parents' incomes.
Zodiac signs are somewhat more relevant here than in the US. My host mom asked me mine on the first day here. Your horoscope is part of the morning news, right before the weather report (which usually only includes today and tomorrow, not the whole week.) People are always asking you your sign, and not in the cheesy pickup line kind of way. I can't figure out why, though, because it doesn't seem like they put particular stock in any of the expected traits associated with them.
A few posts ago I mentioned that I saw a da Vinci in Parma's museum. What I did not mention in my hurried conclusion was that it is the selfsame Portrait of a Woman that is at the center of the movie Ever After. Just thought I should put that out there, for the many of us who loved that movie back in the day.
Success.
Graduations happen three times a year here, and when you graduate, you wear a crown of laurels. You spend the day at bars with your friends, who find ways to good-naturedly humiliate you all day long. For example, when my sister's friend graduated, they dressed him up in a giant diaper made of a bedsheet, put him in a grocery cart, and pushed him all around town and the main square. If you don't know about this, you may be confused by the leafy crowns and tomfoolery you seem to find everywhere. We inadvertently found ourselves in the middle of a private graduation party, but no one seemed to care. They were too busy lofting the grad onto their shoulders, blocking the exit we were subtly trying to approach, and taking pictures.
Dear Six,
Really? Really? I was writing you a love letter on my way to meeting you, to say how glad I was that we had finally figured each other out, that I might be willing to call you more than a friend, that I appreciate you. Even if you have now been truncated and don't take me exactly where I want to go anymore, I know that's not your fault. And then you had to go and mess with what we had going for us. I was early, but you were earlier, and I got stood up. You're always playing games with me and I'm tired of it. If my train hadn't been delayed, I would have missed out on a lot, all thanks to you. At this point, the only thing I can say in your favor is that, while you toy with my emotions, you haven't made any attempts on my life. I love Five, but two accidents is two too many.
Peace.
Despite the fact that 'I Gotta Feeling' is practically mandatory at every party and everyone sings along, apparently it is not mandatory to know what you are singing. I have now been asked several times what the song is about.
Lady Gaga or, more specifically, Bad Romance, is so popular everyone hates it. It seems like marketing executives show up at meetings and say, 'Hey, what's that song that is on all those other commercials?' 'Oh, Bad Romance? Yeah, that's a great song.' 'Why don't we use that in our commercial, too. It's popular, so our product will be popular.' 'Great idea! Let's go for it!' So good luck going a day without hearing the lilting strains of 'Ra ra ah ah ah. Ro ma ro ma ma...'. If ad execs aren't using this, they're using some seriously arbitrary or misguided American music, cutting it off right before it gets weird, not that many people here would notice. An ING commercial has snippets from the Gorillaz's Clint Eastwood, which may or may not have drug references in lyrics that manage to still be heard as the music and commercial fades out. An Audi commercial features the song, The Cat Came Back, which my tandem partner liked so much she put it onto a CD. I never knew how gruesome the song's lyrics really are.
If I have understood correctly, it is now illegal to use 'gay' or 'woman' as a derogatory term. Ergo, you can't say things like, 'you drive like a woman' or 'that's so gay.' Punishable by fine? Don't ask me for more specifics; I don't know them.
One of my students says his grandfather is one of the people responsible for bringing baseball to Parma (Italy?). When I asked him whether he likes any American teams, his response, of course, was the Yankees. But he also likes the Patriots, so what can I do?
There doesn't seem to be a taboo about talking about money. I have been asked how much my house cost, to share with the class how much my cellphone plan in the US costs, and the price of pretty much anything else I have bought here. Other friends of mine have been asked about their parents' incomes.
Zodiac signs are somewhat more relevant here than in the US. My host mom asked me mine on the first day here. Your horoscope is part of the morning news, right before the weather report (which usually only includes today and tomorrow, not the whole week.) People are always asking you your sign, and not in the cheesy pickup line kind of way. I can't figure out why, though, because it doesn't seem like they put particular stock in any of the expected traits associated with them.
A few posts ago I mentioned that I saw a da Vinci in Parma's museum. What I did not mention in my hurried conclusion was that it is the selfsame Portrait of a Woman that is at the center of the movie Ever After. Just thought I should put that out there, for the many of us who loved that movie back in the day.
17 March 2010
A weekend of Vicktry
03. 12. 10
Toschi again this morning for two English classes. The first one was with teacher who was new to me, and she wanted me to ‘help her’ aka teach/lead some exercises. Again, students obviously couldn’t have cared less, and pretty much no one had done the homework we were supposed to be going over. She wanted me to help them review ‘the first form of the conditional.’ (If this is as unfamiliar to you as it was to me, an example would be: ‘if it rains today, I will stay inside.’) Some of the kids could not get what they were supposed to be doing, and most of them were just completely disengaged. I had to reach into my teacherly bag o’ tricks. I finally got the ball rolling a little by having one student make up the first half of the sentence and then pick a classmate to complete it with the second clause. Then this person got to start the next sentence. This broadened the participation and kept me from having to call on people, which is hard to do when you don’t know people’s names and can’t point because students won’t look at you. My technique worked well enough, but students were either not motivated enough or they weren’t able to come up with clauses on the fly, so it was a little stilted.
My next class was with my now-favorite teacher. As I stood in the front of the class, waiting for the teacher to show up, a girl walked by and said to her friend, ‘esta chica no la conozco’ (I don’t know this girl). Shortly thereafter she and her friend came over to say hi and ask whether I was on ‘interculture,’ essentially an exchange student, and I explained. I also asked her, in Spanish, whether she spoke Spanish, not so much to call her out on her previous comment, to which I had not taken any offense, but to start up conversation in Spanish. Nonetheless, she felt very embarrassed about her offhanded comment that had been made assuming that I wouldn’t understand her. She turned out to be Chilean, and we had a rapid-fire conversation switching back and forth between Spanish and Italian and maybe even a little English, as needed, which would have made my head spin had I taken the time to think about it. Anyway, this class went by quickly, and was small enough and had enough interested people to keep it lively. The teacher asked me to read them an article about the birth of hip-hop culture, and then make up some comprehension questions to ask them.
Throughout the week, I have found myself in several situations that make me feel like I know nothing about the mechanics of my language or the structure of my country. If somebody said, ‘explain your educational system,’ how would you respond? It’s not that I know nothing about it, it’s just that it is such an insanely broad question. Now factor in the fact that the people listening have the ability to understand maybe half of the words that come out of your mouth. I can’t just say, ‘I don’t know;’ I have to answer something. I have this scenario that flashes into my mind when I face a question I feel unprepared to answer:
I rattle off my logic-based assumptions and generalizations as though they were certain truths. Some time later, one of the students encounters someone else and has a conversation regarding this topic. The other person says something different than what I taught. My listener authoritatively counters that ‘an American told him so’ and therefore he must be right. Further research uncovers a very different answer than what I gave. It is concluded that that crazy American girl had no idea what she was talking about.
Anyway, home for lunch and all that. I actually managed to start my paper probably around way too late o’clock.
03. 13. 10
I wake up at a decent time and actually manage to do some work and cleaning before the big moment. Around three I head to the train station and shortly after my arrival a one Miss Victoria Fantastic rounds the bend and the sun breaks out from behind the clouds and angels sing. But really. It was hard to believe that three short days ago I was wading through snow. The sun had come and melted most of it away, such that save for a few dirty white patches you wouldn’t know Parma wasn’t in the throes of glorious spring. After some arbitrary wandering I passed off as sightseeing, we arrived at Café Chagall. It was the first place I went in Parma, and I suggested an Italian-style hot chocolate to Vicky. Cappuccino for me (shocking!) and a mug full of melted chocolate topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder for Vicky. And then the talking commenced. Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do, and catch up we did. We spent at least as many hours there as I put sugar packets in my coffee. Eventually we decided it was time to head home, but swung by the grocery store to grab some 'thank you for hosting me' wine and some drinks of our own. On the bus, Vicky gets the pleasure of experiencing fifteen minutes in the life of a sardine. Even better, we get to ride around next to the wide-open rear door. I’d seen it happen before, but I’d never been the one watching the pavement zip by, inches from my feet. We arrive home just in time to see everyone leaving. We cook for ourselves, meaning Vicky cooks, and she falls in love with the kitchen. We have leftover pasta, fresh pasta, scrambled eggs and pancetta, leftover spinach, and my contribution of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes with oregano and olive oil. We then met Matt for a night out. Vicky and I got dolled up and I finally wore the dress I bought during my first week here. For the irony of it, we went to Irish, a – you guessed it – Irish pub. There, after enjoying a Guinness, I had the pleasure (?) of being called upon to defend Houston and America as a whole to a drunken Italian fellow. Even if we never made it to anything close to an agreement, I got to practice several of the argumentative Italian gestures I have acquired so far.
03. 14. 10
Vicky and I woke up reasonably early and went to the modern church west of my house. It is a big gray cement spiral that could almost look like a prison were it not for the cross cut out of one side, and it has held my curiosity for quite a while. The interior had some beautiful paintings and some interesting lighting effects from the windows, but left much to be desired after the intriguing exterior. Also, the acoustics were really not optimal.
Afterward, we decided to head into town on a quest for horse. Unfortunately, afternoons in Parma, especially Sunday afternoons, tend to mean everything is closed. After wandering around looking for a place whose exact location I did not know, we caved and went to a pizza place. Because things weren’t open yet, we decided to go shopping. Whoopee! A successful endeavor for the both of us. Next, I took Vicky on ‘the tour,’ and gave her a condensed regurgitation of our lectures regarding the Duomo/cathedral, the Baptistery, two other churches, and the plazas and their namesakes. Maybe I should get a job as a multilingual tour guide. We saw a street performer and were treated to an impressive yet creepy accordion rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. We freshened up with some heavenly gelato: pepper chocolate and berry for me and orange chocolate and mango for Vicky. Sunday ended up being full of the most stereotypical Italian/Italian touring activities: pizza, gelato, churches, and shopping. Italian indeed.
When we came home, Vicky took a nap and I finally finished off my paper. Tonight, we would be having dinner with the family, and Letizia went all out. Risotto alla Milanese, peas and carrots, a pork roast, bread and cheese, and an Easter cake shaped like a dove (colomba). The wine we brought, a Parmesan Lambrusco, was well received. With gestures, miming, and my translations, a successful conversation accompanied our splendid feast.
03. 15. 10
I had morning classes at Toschi, so I left my darling Vicky bright and early. First I had two periods of graphic design, but people were still finishing up their projects, so I was left to my own devices. I had been instructed to bring my laptop, so I fiddled around on photoshop, developing some ideas for what I ultimately want to do in this class. Near the end of class the teacher came over and said, ‘oh tell me what this beautiful thing is that you are doing!’ So began several minutes of ego inflating. I told him I wanted to work with some of my pictures and make either an alphabet using my pictures of Italy or maybe make illuminated letters or something like that. He asked to see my pictures and marveled and cooed over all of them. What an eye! What good taste! What strong images! Excellent! And so on. Yay me.
Next was English class, and I sat in the back with a handful of advanced students. We talked some, but the problem with a conversation is that only one person can talk at a time, which means that everyone else disengages. I get more and more respect for teachers every day, but at the same time I feel like on some level it is the teachers’ behavior that has taught students that their behavior is acceptable.
After class I met Vicky in the main plaza. Quest for horsemeat, take two. Due to the limited time available and the fact that I still didn’t know the exact location of the restaurant that serves horse sandwiches, we opted for the horse butcher. We got a neat little pack of ground meat and, on our way back, spotted some irresistible strawberries. Vicky has now gotten to experience some of the several examples of what to Americans seems like bizarre Italian behavior. Sometimes, you order and pay first, then get your food. Sometimes you order first, then sit and eat, and then pay. Good luck trying to figure out which one to do, when. At this little grocer’s shop, like at most others, you stand there until somebody offers to help, and they come over from the cash wrap to grab the tub of strawberries that are right next to you, and take them back to where they were so they can wrap them and charge you. The strawberries were fantastic. We arrive back home to lunch, which was pasta and a quiche-like tart and our horsemeat and more colomba. With that, it is time to go, alas. We take Vicky to the airport and say our goodbyes.
Afterward, I had a little time to catch up on my homework before heading to class. Apparently, I was more tired than I knew. We were to watch Roma Città Aperta, the quintessential Italian neorealist film, but as the lights dimmed so did my consciousness. I managed to stay awake long enough to appreciate the fact that I could now understand pretty much everything, unlike the first time I watched it several years ago, and I coincidentally found myself awake for many of the major scenes, but other than that I was out like the lights.
Toschi again this morning for two English classes. The first one was with teacher who was new to me, and she wanted me to ‘help her’ aka teach/lead some exercises. Again, students obviously couldn’t have cared less, and pretty much no one had done the homework we were supposed to be going over. She wanted me to help them review ‘the first form of the conditional.’ (If this is as unfamiliar to you as it was to me, an example would be: ‘if it rains today, I will stay inside.’) Some of the kids could not get what they were supposed to be doing, and most of them were just completely disengaged. I had to reach into my teacherly bag o’ tricks. I finally got the ball rolling a little by having one student make up the first half of the sentence and then pick a classmate to complete it with the second clause. Then this person got to start the next sentence. This broadened the participation and kept me from having to call on people, which is hard to do when you don’t know people’s names and can’t point because students won’t look at you. My technique worked well enough, but students were either not motivated enough or they weren’t able to come up with clauses on the fly, so it was a little stilted.
My next class was with my now-favorite teacher. As I stood in the front of the class, waiting for the teacher to show up, a girl walked by and said to her friend, ‘esta chica no la conozco’ (I don’t know this girl). Shortly thereafter she and her friend came over to say hi and ask whether I was on ‘interculture,’ essentially an exchange student, and I explained. I also asked her, in Spanish, whether she spoke Spanish, not so much to call her out on her previous comment, to which I had not taken any offense, but to start up conversation in Spanish. Nonetheless, she felt very embarrassed about her offhanded comment that had been made assuming that I wouldn’t understand her. She turned out to be Chilean, and we had a rapid-fire conversation switching back and forth between Spanish and Italian and maybe even a little English, as needed, which would have made my head spin had I taken the time to think about it. Anyway, this class went by quickly, and was small enough and had enough interested people to keep it lively. The teacher asked me to read them an article about the birth of hip-hop culture, and then make up some comprehension questions to ask them.
Throughout the week, I have found myself in several situations that make me feel like I know nothing about the mechanics of my language or the structure of my country. If somebody said, ‘explain your educational system,’ how would you respond? It’s not that I know nothing about it, it’s just that it is such an insanely broad question. Now factor in the fact that the people listening have the ability to understand maybe half of the words that come out of your mouth. I can’t just say, ‘I don’t know;’ I have to answer something. I have this scenario that flashes into my mind when I face a question I feel unprepared to answer:
I rattle off my logic-based assumptions and generalizations as though they were certain truths. Some time later, one of the students encounters someone else and has a conversation regarding this topic. The other person says something different than what I taught. My listener authoritatively counters that ‘an American told him so’ and therefore he must be right. Further research uncovers a very different answer than what I gave. It is concluded that that crazy American girl had no idea what she was talking about.
Anyway, home for lunch and all that. I actually managed to start my paper probably around way too late o’clock.
03. 13. 10
I wake up at a decent time and actually manage to do some work and cleaning before the big moment. Around three I head to the train station and shortly after my arrival a one Miss Victoria Fantastic rounds the bend and the sun breaks out from behind the clouds and angels sing. But really. It was hard to believe that three short days ago I was wading through snow. The sun had come and melted most of it away, such that save for a few dirty white patches you wouldn’t know Parma wasn’t in the throes of glorious spring. After some arbitrary wandering I passed off as sightseeing, we arrived at Café Chagall. It was the first place I went in Parma, and I suggested an Italian-style hot chocolate to Vicky. Cappuccino for me (shocking!) and a mug full of melted chocolate topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder for Vicky. And then the talking commenced. Needless to say, we had a lot of catching up to do, and catch up we did. We spent at least as many hours there as I put sugar packets in my coffee. Eventually we decided it was time to head home, but swung by the grocery store to grab some 'thank you for hosting me' wine and some drinks of our own. On the bus, Vicky gets the pleasure of experiencing fifteen minutes in the life of a sardine. Even better, we get to ride around next to the wide-open rear door. I’d seen it happen before, but I’d never been the one watching the pavement zip by, inches from my feet. We arrive home just in time to see everyone leaving. We cook for ourselves, meaning Vicky cooks, and she falls in love with the kitchen. We have leftover pasta, fresh pasta, scrambled eggs and pancetta, leftover spinach, and my contribution of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes with oregano and olive oil. We then met Matt for a night out. Vicky and I got dolled up and I finally wore the dress I bought during my first week here. For the irony of it, we went to Irish, a – you guessed it – Irish pub. There, after enjoying a Guinness, I had the pleasure (?) of being called upon to defend Houston and America as a whole to a drunken Italian fellow. Even if we never made it to anything close to an agreement, I got to practice several of the argumentative Italian gestures I have acquired so far.
03. 14. 10
Vicky and I woke up reasonably early and went to the modern church west of my house. It is a big gray cement spiral that could almost look like a prison were it not for the cross cut out of one side, and it has held my curiosity for quite a while. The interior had some beautiful paintings and some interesting lighting effects from the windows, but left much to be desired after the intriguing exterior. Also, the acoustics were really not optimal.
Afterward, we decided to head into town on a quest for horse. Unfortunately, afternoons in Parma, especially Sunday afternoons, tend to mean everything is closed. After wandering around looking for a place whose exact location I did not know, we caved and went to a pizza place. Because things weren’t open yet, we decided to go shopping. Whoopee! A successful endeavor for the both of us. Next, I took Vicky on ‘the tour,’ and gave her a condensed regurgitation of our lectures regarding the Duomo/cathedral, the Baptistery, two other churches, and the plazas and their namesakes. Maybe I should get a job as a multilingual tour guide. We saw a street performer and were treated to an impressive yet creepy accordion rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. We freshened up with some heavenly gelato: pepper chocolate and berry for me and orange chocolate and mango for Vicky. Sunday ended up being full of the most stereotypical Italian/Italian touring activities: pizza, gelato, churches, and shopping. Italian indeed.
When we came home, Vicky took a nap and I finally finished off my paper. Tonight, we would be having dinner with the family, and Letizia went all out. Risotto alla Milanese, peas and carrots, a pork roast, bread and cheese, and an Easter cake shaped like a dove (colomba). The wine we brought, a Parmesan Lambrusco, was well received. With gestures, miming, and my translations, a successful conversation accompanied our splendid feast.
03. 15. 10
I had morning classes at Toschi, so I left my darling Vicky bright and early. First I had two periods of graphic design, but people were still finishing up their projects, so I was left to my own devices. I had been instructed to bring my laptop, so I fiddled around on photoshop, developing some ideas for what I ultimately want to do in this class. Near the end of class the teacher came over and said, ‘oh tell me what this beautiful thing is that you are doing!’ So began several minutes of ego inflating. I told him I wanted to work with some of my pictures and make either an alphabet using my pictures of Italy or maybe make illuminated letters or something like that. He asked to see my pictures and marveled and cooed over all of them. What an eye! What good taste! What strong images! Excellent! And so on. Yay me.
Next was English class, and I sat in the back with a handful of advanced students. We talked some, but the problem with a conversation is that only one person can talk at a time, which means that everyone else disengages. I get more and more respect for teachers every day, but at the same time I feel like on some level it is the teachers’ behavior that has taught students that their behavior is acceptable.
After class I met Vicky in the main plaza. Quest for horsemeat, take two. Due to the limited time available and the fact that I still didn’t know the exact location of the restaurant that serves horse sandwiches, we opted for the horse butcher. We got a neat little pack of ground meat and, on our way back, spotted some irresistible strawberries. Vicky has now gotten to experience some of the several examples of what to Americans seems like bizarre Italian behavior. Sometimes, you order and pay first, then get your food. Sometimes you order first, then sit and eat, and then pay. Good luck trying to figure out which one to do, when. At this little grocer’s shop, like at most others, you stand there until somebody offers to help, and they come over from the cash wrap to grab the tub of strawberries that are right next to you, and take them back to where they were so they can wrap them and charge you. The strawberries were fantastic. We arrive back home to lunch, which was pasta and a quiche-like tart and our horsemeat and more colomba. With that, it is time to go, alas. We take Vicky to the airport and say our goodbyes.
Afterward, I had a little time to catch up on my homework before heading to class. Apparently, I was more tired than I knew. We were to watch Roma Città Aperta, the quintessential Italian neorealist film, but as the lights dimmed so did my consciousness. I managed to stay awake long enough to appreciate the fact that I could now understand pretty much everything, unlike the first time I watched it several years ago, and I coincidentally found myself awake for many of the major scenes, but other than that I was out like the lights.
12 March 2010
Stories of snow and students
3. 08. 10
Just a couple of weeks and I’m out of practice with getting up bright and early. To be fair, bright and early was never as early as seven thirty. Time to discover what the Toschi fates had in store for me. Apparently, good things. Despite my least favorite introduction as The American (or in fact, probably because of it), all the kids seemed delighted to have me in their class. I made a friend in Chiara, who proceeded to offer to show me the ropes of the class and gave me a list of places to go and things to do in Parma. She told me she was going to New York and I recommended some museums and stores to her. My previous apprehensive predictions of moody, ‘too cool for school’ teens was unfounded. After two hours of sitting around in the graphic design class, I finally discovered the true nature of my term at Toschi. Other than those two hours, all of my other shifts will be spent helping to teach English. Today, to a bunch of first years. I was kind of shocked by how the class was allowed to behave. Students made no efforts to be dissembling in their disrespectfulness, and were constantly chattering amongst themselves. The teacher suggested that they would all probably have questions for me, and encouraged them to each ask me a question. She also asked me to draw a map of the US on the board, demarcating Texas and Houston, so that everyone would know where it was. After a while, it became apparent which students bore the winning combination of good English skills and outgoingness, one girl in particular. From there, the class quickly became an exchange between her, me, and the teacher. The rest of the students did their own thing.
We started watching Stagecoach in my cinema history class, and the dubbed Italian tried to emulate the hokeyness of the original English, much to my amusement and slight confusion.
Today is the International Women’s Day which, even though it started because of events in the US, is celebrated much more in other countries. Here, it is traditional for men to give women a certain yellow flower and then for the women to go out for a girl’s night. This might just be dinner with your mom or your friends, or going to a male strip show, which happens at pretty much every bar/club in town.
3. 09. 10
Take two at Toschi. This time it was an older group of kids. I redrew my map and answered more of the same sort of questions. This time, though, the kids were way more uninterested. When the teacher asked one student if there was anything he was interested in asking, he looked at her point blank and said, ‘honestly, I have no interest whatsoever.’ Ouch. Ok.
We finished Stagecoach today, watching the rest in English, and it turns out the characters spoke so funnily that for a while I had to use the Italian subtitles as a crutch to understand the English before I got used to it.
Tonight we saw that Hurt Locker was on, and since it was so awarded we decided to watch it. I realized that the only best picture nominated films I saw for this Oscar season I have seen in Italian (this and Avatar).
I am constantly amazed by Italian language and regional identity. Please allow me a (hopefully brief) linguistic foray. Despite Italy’s really long history, a unified Italy and the Italian language have not even existed for two hundred years. Every region has its own dialect, which is still spoken, and southern dialects are completely incomprehensible to northerners. (A great example of how the distinction between dialect and language is more often politically based rather than linguistically based.) Anyway, in addition to this, there are also, naturally, various accents detectable in spoken ‘standard’ Italian. Here, it amazes me that my host parents can identify the exact region or even city of origin of a speaker within a minute after they start speaking. We have accents too in the US too, though our speech is much more homogenized thanks to the prevalence of TV and ‘neutral’ pronunciation, but while I may be able to tell that someone speaks differently, it is rare that I can so confidently ascertain someone’s origins so precisely. While part of this is that there is a more definite distinction, it also requires being familiar with which differences correlate to which region.
3. 10. 10
Yesterday, I thought I might have earned my snow legs, since as I saw that snow was starting to fall, I had no reaction whatsoever (other than reiterating to myself that it was probably a bad idea have wet hair while standing outside for 15 minutes waiting for the bus). I figured that once you lose a sense of excitement about snow, you’ve been around it long enough. Having seen this light swirling sprinkle that didn’t even stick, it was hard for me to believe the woman who later told me that there was an expected snowfall of 40cm. Snow is sneaky like that. As we watched Hurt Locker last night, we could see the snow starting pile up on the leaves outside. So far, with the light ‘rain’ we had been having, invisible until you’re in it, my window was only useful for determining whether it is sunny. Now, I have discovered that it is also useful for determining whether it is snowing and/or whether it has snowed.
Today, I can no longer say that I felt no excitement in regards to the snow. I wondered whether I might have my first real snow day. I kind of hoped that class wouldn’t be secretly cancelled, since I was already on my way. Parma was like a white ghost town, and I was the only passenger on my bus. Things were so backed up it took almost twice as long to make it to class and we actually caught up with the bus that left before ours, ten minutes prior. There were fewer than 25 of us in a class that easily tops a hundred, but the professor lauded us for being here today and for showing up in general, since attendance is not in the least bit mandatory, though surely advantageous.
This morning I had the presence of mind to bring my camera with me, for once, and I took several pictures. (Link under the photo album listing on the right, also pictures of my citrus fruit.) I wandered through the park taking pictures on the way back to my stop, and I was lucky enough to make it there just as the bus was pulling up, so I didn’t even have to wait.
When it is snowing:
Have you ever wanted to see how an iceberg forms? Watch a car with a foot of snow in it’s roof brake, and you’ll have a pretty good idea, though lacking the splash.
In need of a good boot polishing? After crunching through 35 centimeters of snow, they will emerge as clean and shiny as new. Also, after crunching through so much snow, thigh-high boots suddenly seem almost practical, and tales of people skiing around town seem quite logical.
Don’t stand under trees heavily laden with snow.
For the record, our wintry weather patterns come to us from Siberia. Sweet. This is the biggest/longest/worst blizzard in several years. They defined blizzard as ‘those things that usually happen in Canada.’ I guess they don’t happen very often in Italy, but our entire region (state) is blanketed, and Ravenna is flooded by a swollen sea (when I told this to someone earlier today, I called it the ocean and was told very vehemently that it is the SEA; there is no ocean).
A few hours later: I have now seen yellow snow, courtesy of dogs. All of my shoes are wet inside.
We had a really interesting strange curious lecture on immigration today, complete with an immigrant to interview! (please note the presence of sarcasm) Olga, from Moldova, somehow managed to exist on both poles of perspectives regarding immigration issues, and consequently I couldn’t decide whether to agree with her or completely disagree. ‘Americans don’t understand what it’s like. It might be difficult or expensive to move to another country, but for people from a poor country it is practically impossible.’ ‘If immigrants weren’t criminals, Italians wouldn’t think so lowly of them. It is their own fault that they are marginalized by society.’ I am looking forward to the completely uncontroversial lecture we will be having tomorrow, on Parmesan food.
I have a paper due ‘today’/by the end of this week, and I keep telling myself I will work on it. Instead, I got a call from my host sister asking whether I wanted to see Alice in Wonderland with her. I weigh the likelihood of me doing any work or just ending up sitting at home wasting time and decide to go for it. In retrospect, it may or may not be the best idea to try to watch a dubbed movie that is mostly gibberish in its original language. Also, ciciarampa (chicharampa) ≠ jabberwocky. Still, it was fun.
3. 11. 10
Snow was not so much fun today. It decided to be sunny, which meant that the world was drippy and soggy and the crisp white snow was brown and gross. As much as I appreciate snowplows, I wish that they could do their duty without obliterating sidewalks and making it so inconvenient to transition from sidewalk to street. I do not like plunging into knee-deep brown barriers of snow. I also do not like being splashed by cars. Never in my life until twice today. Thanks guys.
Today was the day of all days. Early start and back and forth across town all day long. I woke up at 645 (!) so that I could be at Toschi by eight. I was to teach English with a different teacher, and she decided to sit back and relax after introducing me. She suggested that they ask me questions, but pretty much left it at that. Luckily, I had been warned by other American students that this sometimes happens, otherwise I might have been quite taken aback. Instead I took charge. For some reason, the classroom is really deep, and of course all of the students were sitting as far away as possible. I knew that I would never succeed in engaging them if I stayed behind the teacher’s desk. So, I walked over and joined them. If you had to guess two topics that I can talk about endlessly, what would they be? If you guessed Texas and Linguistics, you would be right. (Football would also be a good guess, but is probably less interesting and requires more explanation and confusing visualization.) Anyway, I was pretty proud of myself for being able to hold their interest and talk about things that drew questions from students. Several more participated than usual. I also asked them questions to get everyone to participate at least every now and then. If I have to be up so early, I am glad to be with a class like this one. They asked why I had chosen to work at an art school instead of doing something more relevant to my linguistic interests. Umm, because I didn’t have much of a choice. No, not what I said. I said that every time I talk to someone in Italian, they are helping me learn, and I want to return the favor. Furthermore, hearing the mistakes Italians make when speaking English reveals differences in grammatical structure that in turn help me learn about Italian. All true.
My next class was a bunch of youngsters. I wondered whether this teacher would have me draw the map for a third time, but instead she culled a group of students to go with me and practice conversation in another room. These kids were a little harder to get involved, even if they were good at English. Again, one girl who spoke and understood best seemed to dominate. I was happy to practice with her, but I didn’t want the other kids to sit around for an hour. I came up with what I thought were fairly interesting questions, but they mostly stuck to basic answers. At the very least, I imagined that asking about their favorite and least favorite classes might yield some useful complaining, but alas not much. Since they were all architecture students, I asked what they would build if they could build anything anywhere. My house. A skyscraper. A soccer stadium. In New York City. In Milan. Next. Oh well, at least I got them all to talk.
Then I rushed over to the opposite side of town for the food lecture, after which I rushed home for a quick lunch. Horse again! I won’t be able to finish a whole horse while here, but maybe a leg?
Then back to Toschi. More helping with the kids preparing for the test. One guy sat next to me and pretty much asked me to check each answer before he submitted it. How do you explain to someone how or why something is wrong without giving the answer. Also, you try doing these exercises. Do you know what the present perfect simple tense is, or what the present perfect continuous is? Can you explain them? Try a sample question:
One guy kept looking over and I thought he might be having trouble. When I went over to check on him, it turned out he is really good at English and was in fact just super bored and hoping to do some conversation instead of exercises on the computer. Also, he much prefers the American accent to the British accent. So, even though at first it seemed like Sky and I would be pointlessly sitting in the computer lab ‘in case anyone had any questions’ it was not as dull as I expected.
In Italian, instead of saying something is nice, literally, people say something is pretty. So, when we were asking these students about school during last week's English class, one boy replied that he thought it was not so pretty to talk about school, and that it would be prettier to discuss Saturday night activities. In Italian, as far as I know, there isn’t a single word that means the same thing as ‘funny.’ Consequently, when I told someone that I thought the exercises they were doing were a little funny to me because of the differences between British and American English, he thought I was saying that they were fun, with which he disagreed. Just some little observations that amuse me.
Today, I met three (male) Andreas and two Fabios. I also had an epic three hour nap.
Just a couple of weeks and I’m out of practice with getting up bright and early. To be fair, bright and early was never as early as seven thirty. Time to discover what the Toschi fates had in store for me. Apparently, good things. Despite my least favorite introduction as The American (or in fact, probably because of it), all the kids seemed delighted to have me in their class. I made a friend in Chiara, who proceeded to offer to show me the ropes of the class and gave me a list of places to go and things to do in Parma. She told me she was going to New York and I recommended some museums and stores to her. My previous apprehensive predictions of moody, ‘too cool for school’ teens was unfounded. After two hours of sitting around in the graphic design class, I finally discovered the true nature of my term at Toschi. Other than those two hours, all of my other shifts will be spent helping to teach English. Today, to a bunch of first years. I was kind of shocked by how the class was allowed to behave. Students made no efforts to be dissembling in their disrespectfulness, and were constantly chattering amongst themselves. The teacher suggested that they would all probably have questions for me, and encouraged them to each ask me a question. She also asked me to draw a map of the US on the board, demarcating Texas and Houston, so that everyone would know where it was. After a while, it became apparent which students bore the winning combination of good English skills and outgoingness, one girl in particular. From there, the class quickly became an exchange between her, me, and the teacher. The rest of the students did their own thing.
We started watching Stagecoach in my cinema history class, and the dubbed Italian tried to emulate the hokeyness of the original English, much to my amusement and slight confusion.
Today is the International Women’s Day which, even though it started because of events in the US, is celebrated much more in other countries. Here, it is traditional for men to give women a certain yellow flower and then for the women to go out for a girl’s night. This might just be dinner with your mom or your friends, or going to a male strip show, which happens at pretty much every bar/club in town.
3. 09. 10
Take two at Toschi. This time it was an older group of kids. I redrew my map and answered more of the same sort of questions. This time, though, the kids were way more uninterested. When the teacher asked one student if there was anything he was interested in asking, he looked at her point blank and said, ‘honestly, I have no interest whatsoever.’ Ouch. Ok.
We finished Stagecoach today, watching the rest in English, and it turns out the characters spoke so funnily that for a while I had to use the Italian subtitles as a crutch to understand the English before I got used to it.
Tonight we saw that Hurt Locker was on, and since it was so awarded we decided to watch it. I realized that the only best picture nominated films I saw for this Oscar season I have seen in Italian (this and Avatar).
I am constantly amazed by Italian language and regional identity. Please allow me a (hopefully brief) linguistic foray. Despite Italy’s really long history, a unified Italy and the Italian language have not even existed for two hundred years. Every region has its own dialect, which is still spoken, and southern dialects are completely incomprehensible to northerners. (A great example of how the distinction between dialect and language is more often politically based rather than linguistically based.) Anyway, in addition to this, there are also, naturally, various accents detectable in spoken ‘standard’ Italian. Here, it amazes me that my host parents can identify the exact region or even city of origin of a speaker within a minute after they start speaking. We have accents too in the US too, though our speech is much more homogenized thanks to the prevalence of TV and ‘neutral’ pronunciation, but while I may be able to tell that someone speaks differently, it is rare that I can so confidently ascertain someone’s origins so precisely. While part of this is that there is a more definite distinction, it also requires being familiar with which differences correlate to which region.
3. 10. 10
Yesterday, I thought I might have earned my snow legs, since as I saw that snow was starting to fall, I had no reaction whatsoever (other than reiterating to myself that it was probably a bad idea have wet hair while standing outside for 15 minutes waiting for the bus). I figured that once you lose a sense of excitement about snow, you’ve been around it long enough. Having seen this light swirling sprinkle that didn’t even stick, it was hard for me to believe the woman who later told me that there was an expected snowfall of 40cm. Snow is sneaky like that. As we watched Hurt Locker last night, we could see the snow starting pile up on the leaves outside. So far, with the light ‘rain’ we had been having, invisible until you’re in it, my window was only useful for determining whether it is sunny. Now, I have discovered that it is also useful for determining whether it is snowing and/or whether it has snowed.
Today, I can no longer say that I felt no excitement in regards to the snow. I wondered whether I might have my first real snow day. I kind of hoped that class wouldn’t be secretly cancelled, since I was already on my way. Parma was like a white ghost town, and I was the only passenger on my bus. Things were so backed up it took almost twice as long to make it to class and we actually caught up with the bus that left before ours, ten minutes prior. There were fewer than 25 of us in a class that easily tops a hundred, but the professor lauded us for being here today and for showing up in general, since attendance is not in the least bit mandatory, though surely advantageous.
This morning I had the presence of mind to bring my camera with me, for once, and I took several pictures. (Link under the photo album listing on the right, also pictures of my citrus fruit.) I wandered through the park taking pictures on the way back to my stop, and I was lucky enough to make it there just as the bus was pulling up, so I didn’t even have to wait.
When it is snowing:
Have you ever wanted to see how an iceberg forms? Watch a car with a foot of snow in it’s roof brake, and you’ll have a pretty good idea, though lacking the splash.
In need of a good boot polishing? After crunching through 35 centimeters of snow, they will emerge as clean and shiny as new. Also, after crunching through so much snow, thigh-high boots suddenly seem almost practical, and tales of people skiing around town seem quite logical.
Don’t stand under trees heavily laden with snow.
For the record, our wintry weather patterns come to us from Siberia. Sweet. This is the biggest/longest/worst blizzard in several years. They defined blizzard as ‘those things that usually happen in Canada.’ I guess they don’t happen very often in Italy, but our entire region (state) is blanketed, and Ravenna is flooded by a swollen sea (when I told this to someone earlier today, I called it the ocean and was told very vehemently that it is the SEA; there is no ocean).
A few hours later: I have now seen yellow snow, courtesy of dogs. All of my shoes are wet inside.
We had a really interesting strange curious lecture on immigration today, complete with an immigrant to interview! (please note the presence of sarcasm) Olga, from Moldova, somehow managed to exist on both poles of perspectives regarding immigration issues, and consequently I couldn’t decide whether to agree with her or completely disagree. ‘Americans don’t understand what it’s like. It might be difficult or expensive to move to another country, but for people from a poor country it is practically impossible.’ ‘If immigrants weren’t criminals, Italians wouldn’t think so lowly of them. It is their own fault that they are marginalized by society.’ I am looking forward to the completely uncontroversial lecture we will be having tomorrow, on Parmesan food.
I have a paper due ‘today’/by the end of this week, and I keep telling myself I will work on it. Instead, I got a call from my host sister asking whether I wanted to see Alice in Wonderland with her. I weigh the likelihood of me doing any work or just ending up sitting at home wasting time and decide to go for it. In retrospect, it may or may not be the best idea to try to watch a dubbed movie that is mostly gibberish in its original language. Also, ciciarampa (chicharampa) ≠ jabberwocky. Still, it was fun.
3. 11. 10
Snow was not so much fun today. It decided to be sunny, which meant that the world was drippy and soggy and the crisp white snow was brown and gross. As much as I appreciate snowplows, I wish that they could do their duty without obliterating sidewalks and making it so inconvenient to transition from sidewalk to street. I do not like plunging into knee-deep brown barriers of snow. I also do not like being splashed by cars. Never in my life until twice today. Thanks guys.
Today was the day of all days. Early start and back and forth across town all day long. I woke up at 645 (!) so that I could be at Toschi by eight. I was to teach English with a different teacher, and she decided to sit back and relax after introducing me. She suggested that they ask me questions, but pretty much left it at that. Luckily, I had been warned by other American students that this sometimes happens, otherwise I might have been quite taken aback. Instead I took charge. For some reason, the classroom is really deep, and of course all of the students were sitting as far away as possible. I knew that I would never succeed in engaging them if I stayed behind the teacher’s desk. So, I walked over and joined them. If you had to guess two topics that I can talk about endlessly, what would they be? If you guessed Texas and Linguistics, you would be right. (Football would also be a good guess, but is probably less interesting and requires more explanation and confusing visualization.) Anyway, I was pretty proud of myself for being able to hold their interest and talk about things that drew questions from students. Several more participated than usual. I also asked them questions to get everyone to participate at least every now and then. If I have to be up so early, I am glad to be with a class like this one. They asked why I had chosen to work at an art school instead of doing something more relevant to my linguistic interests. Umm, because I didn’t have much of a choice. No, not what I said. I said that every time I talk to someone in Italian, they are helping me learn, and I want to return the favor. Furthermore, hearing the mistakes Italians make when speaking English reveals differences in grammatical structure that in turn help me learn about Italian. All true.
My next class was a bunch of youngsters. I wondered whether this teacher would have me draw the map for a third time, but instead she culled a group of students to go with me and practice conversation in another room. These kids were a little harder to get involved, even if they were good at English. Again, one girl who spoke and understood best seemed to dominate. I was happy to practice with her, but I didn’t want the other kids to sit around for an hour. I came up with what I thought were fairly interesting questions, but they mostly stuck to basic answers. At the very least, I imagined that asking about their favorite and least favorite classes might yield some useful complaining, but alas not much. Since they were all architecture students, I asked what they would build if they could build anything anywhere. My house. A skyscraper. A soccer stadium. In New York City. In Milan. Next. Oh well, at least I got them all to talk.
Then I rushed over to the opposite side of town for the food lecture, after which I rushed home for a quick lunch. Horse again! I won’t be able to finish a whole horse while here, but maybe a leg?
Then back to Toschi. More helping with the kids preparing for the test. One guy sat next to me and pretty much asked me to check each answer before he submitted it. How do you explain to someone how or why something is wrong without giving the answer. Also, you try doing these exercises. Do you know what the present perfect simple tense is, or what the present perfect continuous is? Can you explain them? Try a sample question:
They knew he ________ at his computer because there were crumbs all over his desk. Use the verb ‘to eat.’Would you say ‘had been eating,’ ‘had eaten,’ or ‘ate?’ It doesn’t help that they are learning British English, which means that there are arbitrary things that don’t make any sense to me.
One guy kept looking over and I thought he might be having trouble. When I went over to check on him, it turned out he is really good at English and was in fact just super bored and hoping to do some conversation instead of exercises on the computer. Also, he much prefers the American accent to the British accent. So, even though at first it seemed like Sky and I would be pointlessly sitting in the computer lab ‘in case anyone had any questions’ it was not as dull as I expected.
In Italian, instead of saying something is nice, literally, people say something is pretty. So, when we were asking these students about school during last week's English class, one boy replied that he thought it was not so pretty to talk about school, and that it would be prettier to discuss Saturday night activities. In Italian, as far as I know, there isn’t a single word that means the same thing as ‘funny.’ Consequently, when I told someone that I thought the exercises they were doing were a little funny to me because of the differences between British and American English, he thought I was saying that they were fun, with which he disagreed. Just some little observations that amuse me.
Today, I met three (male) Andreas and two Fabios. I also had an epic three hour nap.
08 March 2010
America in four questions
3. 02. 10
Having no class in the morning, Matt and Ellie and I met up to study for our test on Thursday. After our meeting that resulted in little studying but in my acquiring of Matt’s notes, I swung by a store I had seen several times and wanted to visit. Lover of fruits and lover of culinary exploration that I am, I had been longing to try a cedro, a mysterious, gigantic, lemon-looking fruit. The most expensive piece of fruit I have ever bought, at 4.8 €/kg, which this weighed. I got home and Lety thought it was hilarious. She asked if I paid 20 for it. She also couldn’t believe how big it was. Subsequent wikipedia research has revealed that it is what we call a citron in English, and it may or may not actually be pleasantly edible in it’s current form. Never fear, one way or another, I will prevail. They are originally from Asia but also grow in Calabria, Italy. What I do know is that for now it is rock hard and rather daunting. We will wait a while and see what happens.
3. 04. 10
After my test and a swift lunch of horse, I was off to Toschi for my first day of CBSL. Sky and I were to help teach an English class. Toschi is an art high school, and I had to laugh because apparently art kids are art kids no matter where you are. Plaid, combat boots, piercings, and crazy hair. One girl, aptly named Azzurra (Azure) had short dark hair on one side of her head, long bleached dreads, and faded blue hair on top. All that was missing was a smattering of goths. They seemed like a happy bunch, and we had fun chatting for ‘five minutes’ that turned out to be an hour, while their teacher went to set up their CD in the computer lab. I explained y’all to them, and they asked about Texas and whether it is a big desert. I’m not quite sure where that conception comes from (tumbleweeds?) but it comes up a lot.
Then home for just over an hour and a nap and a nightmare and then on to class. It occurred to me that I might be able to actually get of one stop after I usually do and be closer to my destination, so I gave it a try. Note to self: don’t experiment with new routes when you are already running late. In my defense, I thought it might be a shortcut, but I turned out to be wrong.
My next stint home got me an unexpected ride to Leonardo’s house for the dinner he was hosting. There, I had my first real ‘you are American let me interview you on everything I think is American’ experience. The questions I faced:
So NASA is in Houston. What else is there? Is that it?
(follow-up questions included, what is the population of NYC?)
Is it true that in the US if you don’t have health insurance they won’t treat you? If you are taken to the hospital after a car accident and it turns out you don’t have it will they send you back to the scene of the accident to die?
How does your car insurance work?
And most importantly:
Where does Brittney Spears live?
As a side note, I have happily expanded my knowledge of Italian to include some sign language. Elections are coming up so every day there is a long instructional thing on tv that also has an interpreter. My host mom thinks I am fascinated with their electoral procedures, but in fact I am busy trying to figure out signs. I now know ‘candidate,’ ‘elect/choose,’ and ‘name’ and ‘surname.’ The last two are of particular interest because I know their ASL equivalent and can compare them.
3. 05. 10
This evening, Ellie and Matt and I met up with Richard, who helped pair us with our tandem partners, and went to a wine place, an enoteca. There was a thousand-euro bottle of champagne on the menu. Richard told us about some of his favorite places around town, and we looked forward to trying out his recommendations. Originally, the plan had been to meet up at this place and hang out for a while before going to a club or something. Instead, we ended up staying until past one thirty.
3. 06. 10
I met went to the library to meet Matt for lunch after his stint reading to children, and to renew my lease on my two books. As I stood before the front desk, I realized I didn’t know how to say renew or check out, but luckily the woman ahead of me wanted to do the same, so I was able to pick up the necessary vocab just in time. Matt had never had horsemeat, so we set out in search of Richard’s favorite equine butcher. First we went to a place that serves these great artichoke panini and ended up getting two for the price of one. Next all the way down to the bottom of Farini for two etti (hundred grams) of ground horsemeat. On our way back I was struck by a desire for beer, what better to go with raw meat? And so I picked up another Moretti at the grocery store next to Matt’s house. He liked the horse, even if there was a nagging little part of his brain that was not so cool with him eating raw meat. Matt had really been wanting to go to the Citadel, and I was curious so I was game to go a-hunting for it. We overshot it on the bus and even though I still fail to be properly oriented in Parma at all times, I do know how to read a map and memorize a trajectory, so I successfully led the way. It ended up being, essentially, a really large park enclosed by ancient walls. It was a beautifully sunny, crisp day, and it was nice to be able to just sit outside and do some people- and dog-watching.
Richard invited several of us to go out for dinner, but I was the only one who didn't have pre-existing plans. He and Nikki picked me up and we went to Twickenham, a vast pub and pool hall, where we met up with several friends of his. I was famished and it was time to give in and be American. I got a hamburger with an egg on top and, unexpectedly, four little French fries in the midst of the ketchup under the bun. I also went with the recommended beer pairing – this place had three beer menus, too many to choose from – and was pleasantly surprised. I guess you know a beer’s got to be good if its name is so German it sounds like not one but four sneezes and includes the word Oktoberfest. Even better, when it arrived, I discovered that I would be drinking beer out of a proper stein. After this I was still hankering for some grub, so I got a piadina, and unlike the one in Ravenna this one had a much thinner bread. I’ve been told it differs from place to place. We watched the Roma v. Milan game, and had a good time just chatting it up and hanging out.
3. 07. 10
Today I went to mass at Maria Annunziata. You would think that after a while churches would all start to look the same, and maybe they would if you saw all sixty of Parma’s in one day, but as it is this church was still quite beautiful, despite how many I have seen. Certainly more modest than the cathedrals, but resplendent nonetheless. Home for lunch and Cristina asked whether I would be interested in going to Milan to do some shopping. Sure!
On the way we stopped by an AutoGrill, which as my sister said, if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. It’s true. An AutoGrill is like a super-sized Stop and Go. It is a gas station and has multiple stories that include a shop and a restaurant and such, like an über rest-stop. Also, they are structured so that you have to go through the entire store before you can exit. Until we went in, I had forgotten that I had been in one seven years prior on my first stint in Italy. Despite my best efforts, I fell asleep afterward until we arrived in Milan. The only way I can describe Milan is like New York City, or New York City plus Paris, because it has the city hustle and bustle I associate with NYC but of course with a very European inflection. The Duomo was breathtaking, though our visit was brief. Out in front, there was a piano installation on an underground stairway, and I made music with my feet. Despite the description of the invitation, we didn’t do much shopping. Still, I got to see a) the overwhelmingly expensive window displays and b) a couple of overwhelmingly large multi-story stores. As I say every time, I hope to be able to return, and really see Milan. We stayed for aperitivo, which was a huge buffet of everything from marshmallows to meatballs to baked pasta to bacon.
Unfortunately no pictures from Milan because I forgot my camera/was only expecting to be shopping.
Having no class in the morning, Matt and Ellie and I met up to study for our test on Thursday. After our meeting that resulted in little studying but in my acquiring of Matt’s notes, I swung by a store I had seen several times and wanted to visit. Lover of fruits and lover of culinary exploration that I am, I had been longing to try a cedro, a mysterious, gigantic, lemon-looking fruit. The most expensive piece of fruit I have ever bought, at 4.8 €/kg, which this weighed. I got home and Lety thought it was hilarious. She asked if I paid 20 for it. She also couldn’t believe how big it was. Subsequent wikipedia research has revealed that it is what we call a citron in English, and it may or may not actually be pleasantly edible in it’s current form. Never fear, one way or another, I will prevail. They are originally from Asia but also grow in Calabria, Italy. What I do know is that for now it is rock hard and rather daunting. We will wait a while and see what happens.
3. 04. 10
After my test and a swift lunch of horse, I was off to Toschi for my first day of CBSL. Sky and I were to help teach an English class. Toschi is an art high school, and I had to laugh because apparently art kids are art kids no matter where you are. Plaid, combat boots, piercings, and crazy hair. One girl, aptly named Azzurra (Azure) had short dark hair on one side of her head, long bleached dreads, and faded blue hair on top. All that was missing was a smattering of goths. They seemed like a happy bunch, and we had fun chatting for ‘five minutes’ that turned out to be an hour, while their teacher went to set up their CD in the computer lab. I explained y’all to them, and they asked about Texas and whether it is a big desert. I’m not quite sure where that conception comes from (tumbleweeds?) but it comes up a lot.
Then home for just over an hour and a nap and a nightmare and then on to class. It occurred to me that I might be able to actually get of one stop after I usually do and be closer to my destination, so I gave it a try. Note to self: don’t experiment with new routes when you are already running late. In my defense, I thought it might be a shortcut, but I turned out to be wrong.
My next stint home got me an unexpected ride to Leonardo’s house for the dinner he was hosting. There, I had my first real ‘you are American let me interview you on everything I think is American’ experience. The questions I faced:
So NASA is in Houston. What else is there? Is that it?
(follow-up questions included, what is the population of NYC?)
Is it true that in the US if you don’t have health insurance they won’t treat you? If you are taken to the hospital after a car accident and it turns out you don’t have it will they send you back to the scene of the accident to die?
How does your car insurance work?
And most importantly:
Where does Brittney Spears live?
As a side note, I have happily expanded my knowledge of Italian to include some sign language. Elections are coming up so every day there is a long instructional thing on tv that also has an interpreter. My host mom thinks I am fascinated with their electoral procedures, but in fact I am busy trying to figure out signs. I now know ‘candidate,’ ‘elect/choose,’ and ‘name’ and ‘surname.’ The last two are of particular interest because I know their ASL equivalent and can compare them.
3. 05. 10
This evening, Ellie and Matt and I met up with Richard, who helped pair us with our tandem partners, and went to a wine place, an enoteca. There was a thousand-euro bottle of champagne on the menu. Richard told us about some of his favorite places around town, and we looked forward to trying out his recommendations. Originally, the plan had been to meet up at this place and hang out for a while before going to a club or something. Instead, we ended up staying until past one thirty.
3. 06. 10
I met went to the library to meet Matt for lunch after his stint reading to children, and to renew my lease on my two books. As I stood before the front desk, I realized I didn’t know how to say renew or check out, but luckily the woman ahead of me wanted to do the same, so I was able to pick up the necessary vocab just in time. Matt had never had horsemeat, so we set out in search of Richard’s favorite equine butcher. First we went to a place that serves these great artichoke panini and ended up getting two for the price of one. Next all the way down to the bottom of Farini for two etti (hundred grams) of ground horsemeat. On our way back I was struck by a desire for beer, what better to go with raw meat? And so I picked up another Moretti at the grocery store next to Matt’s house. He liked the horse, even if there was a nagging little part of his brain that was not so cool with him eating raw meat. Matt had really been wanting to go to the Citadel, and I was curious so I was game to go a-hunting for it. We overshot it on the bus and even though I still fail to be properly oriented in Parma at all times, I do know how to read a map and memorize a trajectory, so I successfully led the way. It ended up being, essentially, a really large park enclosed by ancient walls. It was a beautifully sunny, crisp day, and it was nice to be able to just sit outside and do some people- and dog-watching.
Richard invited several of us to go out for dinner, but I was the only one who didn't have pre-existing plans. He and Nikki picked me up and we went to Twickenham, a vast pub and pool hall, where we met up with several friends of his. I was famished and it was time to give in and be American. I got a hamburger with an egg on top and, unexpectedly, four little French fries in the midst of the ketchup under the bun. I also went with the recommended beer pairing – this place had three beer menus, too many to choose from – and was pleasantly surprised. I guess you know a beer’s got to be good if its name is so German it sounds like not one but four sneezes and includes the word Oktoberfest. Even better, when it arrived, I discovered that I would be drinking beer out of a proper stein. After this I was still hankering for some grub, so I got a piadina, and unlike the one in Ravenna this one had a much thinner bread. I’ve been told it differs from place to place. We watched the Roma v. Milan game, and had a good time just chatting it up and hanging out.
3. 07. 10
Today I went to mass at Maria Annunziata. You would think that after a while churches would all start to look the same, and maybe they would if you saw all sixty of Parma’s in one day, but as it is this church was still quite beautiful, despite how many I have seen. Certainly more modest than the cathedrals, but resplendent nonetheless. Home for lunch and Cristina asked whether I would be interested in going to Milan to do some shopping. Sure!
On the way we stopped by an AutoGrill, which as my sister said, if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. It’s true. An AutoGrill is like a super-sized Stop and Go. It is a gas station and has multiple stories that include a shop and a restaurant and such, like an über rest-stop. Also, they are structured so that you have to go through the entire store before you can exit. Until we went in, I had forgotten that I had been in one seven years prior on my first stint in Italy. Despite my best efforts, I fell asleep afterward until we arrived in Milan. The only way I can describe Milan is like New York City, or New York City plus Paris, because it has the city hustle and bustle I associate with NYC but of course with a very European inflection. The Duomo was breathtaking, though our visit was brief. Out in front, there was a piano installation on an underground stairway, and I made music with my feet. Despite the description of the invitation, we didn’t do much shopping. Still, I got to see a) the overwhelmingly expensive window displays and b) a couple of overwhelmingly large multi-story stores. As I say every time, I hope to be able to return, and really see Milan. We stayed for aperitivo, which was a huge buffet of everything from marshmallows to meatballs to baked pasta to bacon.
Unfortunately no pictures from Milan because I forgot my camera/was only expecting to be shopping.
Sunshine and magic
How quickly we forget the details of daily life. I guess that’s good for our brain function, but bad for recounting stories days later.
First, some updates. I have now actually seen a purple (faux?) fur coat, as well as an elderly gentleman in bright purple pants and an older woman with hair the same shade of purple as her clothes. I guess you really can’t go wrong with purple.
I have been practicing my Parmesan scarf-wrapping.
My sunny afternoon in the park was lovely and green and buggy and muddy. It looks like it might finally be becoming spring, and little flowers are emerging everywhere like a benevolent army of goodwill. Click on the newest Colorno link to the right, and you will see the culled selection of the excessive amount of pictures I took of general greenery. I wouldn’t say there was any real occurrence of note, but all in all it was a fantastic outing. Furthermore, the sky there is very reminiscent of Texas, and I enjoyed the beginnings of a sunset as I waited for the train home.
2. 27. 10
Anyway, Matt and Ellie and I make it onto the train, which is also a merciful five minutes late, and nab spots on the upper level. Already it was a sunny and beautiful day full of promise. We arrived in Ravenna around eleven, and began our wandering. We had arranged to meet with Ali and Beta, our two hosts and friends-to-be via CouchSurfing, at three, so we had a few hours to explore. Picture time. We traveled through the main squares, one of which had a carousel with horses with tails made of hair and a pumpkin carriage that looked more like a brain. Apparently, Ravenna is allegedly one of the most magical places in Italy (?) because ‘the black and white triangles of magic intersect’ here. I don’t know how much stock to put in that, but it definitely has a very special and invigorating energy. We found a small herbal/botanic garden and had fun looking at fish and bumblebees. We walked on and arrived at the cathedral right as it was closing. It is the lightest church I have been in so far. More often than not, everything is dark stone or wood or painted, but this interior was the creamy yellow-gray of a dust old wedding cake. Even with our quick look, it was easy to see the Byzantine influence. No mosaics here, but the floors were a simpler manifestation of the multicolored geometric patterning we saw in Venice. At this point, hunger was starting to strike. After more noncommittal wandering and window menu reading, we arrived at Pizza Losfizio, whose hours and selection and prices combined quite satisfactorily. Having recently tried fresh gorgonzola for lunch, I dared to order a mushroom and gorgonzola pizza, along with a birra Moretti, product of Milan. I think both items were my thus far favorites of their respective categories. Afterwards we managed to walk to the northwestish edge of the center before it was time to meet Ali. Ali took us to their spectacularly centrally located loft apartment to drop off our stuff before we went out to see more of the town. Right away, she was so chipper and outgoing that it was clear that we would all get along great. I was on top of my game, as far as my Italian conversation goes, and she was quite impressed. I think the fact that I had been speaking solely English for several hours at that point helped me out. She took us to her favorite gelato place, and I got a scoop of zabaione (made of egg and rum and cream, or something like that), paired with a scoop of strawberry. The strawberry was so fresh and pure and flavorful and managed to simultaneously remind me of Blue Bell and Guatemala. So yeah, really really good.
We decided to head back home and swing by the supermarket on the way. Originally, the three of us were planning to offer to make dinner, but it turned out Ali already had all of that figured out, so we opted to get ingredients for dessert. We decided on fruit salad, which here is called Macedonia for some reason. On the way, we ran into ß, who had gotten off her shift at the Irish pub. They wanted to get us a favorite wine of theirs, but it was nowhere to be found, so we got a wine from Piemonte, Ali’s home region. As I started squeezing kiwis, I sensed a suddenly very uncomfortable ßeta making the sounds someone makes when they can’t decide how or whether to say something. It turns out people in Italy do NOT touch produce with their bare hands. They use disposable plastic gloves in the interest of preserving hygiene. Don’t you wash your fruit at home anyway? Yeah, but still. Ok, new cultural lesson for me. We get home and Ali gets to making foccaccia, for which she had made the dough ahead of time. Roll it out and pour on some oil, oregano, salt, and onion and it is delicious. Beta shows me her book on Polish, and I read about the different pronunciation of letters depending on their phonological environments.
We talk for several hours, and for some reason everyone is very impressed when I am able to translate pharaoh into Italian (faraone) and later when I know the word for betray (tradire). It was really remarkable to me how well we managed to hit it off. It seemed like we were at an old friend’s house, not with someone we had met a couple of hours before. Eventually, the cooking started. Earlier, I had been a little apprehensive about filling up on foccaccia, but we ended up having several hours between that and dinner. We had a delicious couscous with ground beef and vegetables, and the three of us set to making our Macedonia, and partway through realized we would need a bigger bowl. This fruit salad, which included a 'yellow melon' we got because I was curious about, up being quite good. After a couple more hours of eating and talking, we went off to Beta’s pub.
The place was hopping, because there was a big rugby game on, and we ended up sharing a big table with some other group. Beta recommended an amber ale, Dominus, to me, because they no longer served her favorite. We had a fun time and ended up doing things like playing coaster table hockey and peanut tosses and Ellie demonstrated some camp songs and dances.
2. 28. 10
The alarm goes off at 10, at which point I have been opening and closing my eyes for the last half hour or so. We start waking up and getting ready to go, as I intend to go to mass. I was so tired last night I heard neither the snoring nor Beta’s clamorous homecoming and shower at three.
We all walked over to the church where I would be hearing mass, and it turned out to be the church we had briefly visited yesterday. The rest headed off to still unknown shenanigans while I sat. Afterward, we met up again and went to the baptistery, the museum, and several churches, all intricately and beautifully mosaiced. We wanted to see as much as possible, and we managed to see everything our ticket included, but by the end I kind of lost the ability to relish things in the midst of all of the hustling. I can't go into much detail because I have a) forgotten the names of the places and b) it would mostly be me reiterating how spectacular each place was. Still, it was breathtaking. (The two pictures above give just a hint of the grandeur and labor of what all we saw.) At 330 we re-met Ali and Beta for a long-delayed lunch. Remember those things I’ve eaten at home in tortilla-like things? We ate them at a restaurant today. Piadini. Mine with prosciutto and squaquerone (a cheese, have fun saying the name out loud, skwakwerone) and rucola. These piadini were more like pita wraps than tortillas, with thicker bread. After, we also shared a nutella piadina. I had a fun time explaining the electoral college in Italian, which led to a comparative discussion on governmental structure and processes.
After filling our bellies it was time to start heading home, and we made one last round through the city on our way to the train station and beyond. We didn’t want to return to ‘real life’ (even if it is less real than real real life), nor did we want to say goodbye to our new best buds, Ali and Beta.
First, some updates. I have now actually seen a purple (faux?) fur coat, as well as an elderly gentleman in bright purple pants and an older woman with hair the same shade of purple as her clothes. I guess you really can’t go wrong with purple.
I have been practicing my Parmesan scarf-wrapping.
My sunny afternoon in the park was lovely and green and buggy and muddy. It looks like it might finally be becoming spring, and little flowers are emerging everywhere like a benevolent army of goodwill. Click on the newest Colorno link to the right, and you will see the culled selection of the excessive amount of pictures I took of general greenery. I wouldn’t say there was any real occurrence of note, but all in all it was a fantastic outing. Furthermore, the sky there is very reminiscent of Texas, and I enjoyed the beginnings of a sunset as I waited for the train home.
2. 27. 10
Dear six,This morning we departed for Ravenna, our first time staying somewhere overnight. I was walking to my bus stop and saw a bus pass by. I approach the stop from a perpendicular street, so when I saw the bus I assumed it was the six and that I had missed it. Nothing to do but catch the next one. Since I had missed it, I had no reason to keep up my fast clip. I turned onto the street with my stop, and saw the six trundle by me. It was just fast enough and I was just far enough from the stop that it was a lost cause. Sigh. I decided to walk a few stops to hasten my arrival at the train station and make my wait for the bus seem a little shorter. Still, as I can never quite figure out when the six is supposed to come and it was getting later, I was apprehensive about whether I would be able to catch the train. Instead of panicking, I employed my new favorite technique and set the timer on my phone. I was not allowed to freak out until 8:10, at which point, if the bus had yet to arrive, it would be almost impossible for me to catch the train. In the meantime, I was not allowed to check my watch. Thankfully, the bus arrived just before eight and I made it to the station in time. Furthermore, by walking those few stops, I realized that the time displayed on the bus schedule at the stop is the time it is supposed to arrive at the nearest major stop, which is not mine, which is why it always seems like the time is totally off.
I still do not love you, but at least now I understand you. Perhaps we can reach a truce one day. Love, A
Anyway, Matt and Ellie and I make it onto the train, which is also a merciful five minutes late, and nab spots on the upper level. Already it was a sunny and beautiful day full of promise. We arrived in Ravenna around eleven, and began our wandering. We had arranged to meet with Ali and Beta, our two hosts and friends-to-be via CouchSurfing, at three, so we had a few hours to explore. Picture time. We traveled through the main squares, one of which had a carousel with horses with tails made of hair and a pumpkin carriage that looked more like a brain. Apparently, Ravenna is allegedly one of the most magical places in Italy (?) because ‘the black and white triangles of magic intersect’ here. I don’t know how much stock to put in that, but it definitely has a very special and invigorating energy. We found a small herbal/botanic garden and had fun looking at fish and bumblebees. We walked on and arrived at the cathedral right as it was closing. It is the lightest church I have been in so far. More often than not, everything is dark stone or wood or painted, but this interior was the creamy yellow-gray of a dust old wedding cake. Even with our quick look, it was easy to see the Byzantine influence. No mosaics here, but the floors were a simpler manifestation of the multicolored geometric patterning we saw in Venice. At this point, hunger was starting to strike. After more noncommittal wandering and window menu reading, we arrived at Pizza Losfizio, whose hours and selection and prices combined quite satisfactorily. Having recently tried fresh gorgonzola for lunch, I dared to order a mushroom and gorgonzola pizza, along with a birra Moretti, product of Milan. I think both items were my thus far favorites of their respective categories. Afterwards we managed to walk to the northwestish edge of the center before it was time to meet Ali. Ali took us to their spectacularly centrally located loft apartment to drop off our stuff before we went out to see more of the town. Right away, she was so chipper and outgoing that it was clear that we would all get along great. I was on top of my game, as far as my Italian conversation goes, and she was quite impressed. I think the fact that I had been speaking solely English for several hours at that point helped me out. She took us to her favorite gelato place, and I got a scoop of zabaione (made of egg and rum and cream, or something like that), paired with a scoop of strawberry. The strawberry was so fresh and pure and flavorful and managed to simultaneously remind me of Blue Bell and Guatemala. So yeah, really really good.
We decided to head back home and swing by the supermarket on the way. Originally, the three of us were planning to offer to make dinner, but it turned out Ali already had all of that figured out, so we opted to get ingredients for dessert. We decided on fruit salad, which here is called Macedonia for some reason. On the way, we ran into ß, who had gotten off her shift at the Irish pub. They wanted to get us a favorite wine of theirs, but it was nowhere to be found, so we got a wine from Piemonte, Ali’s home region. As I started squeezing kiwis, I sensed a suddenly very uncomfortable ßeta making the sounds someone makes when they can’t decide how or whether to say something. It turns out people in Italy do NOT touch produce with their bare hands. They use disposable plastic gloves in the interest of preserving hygiene. Don’t you wash your fruit at home anyway? Yeah, but still. Ok, new cultural lesson for me. We get home and Ali gets to making foccaccia, for which she had made the dough ahead of time. Roll it out and pour on some oil, oregano, salt, and onion and it is delicious. Beta shows me her book on Polish, and I read about the different pronunciation of letters depending on their phonological environments.
We talk for several hours, and for some reason everyone is very impressed when I am able to translate pharaoh into Italian (faraone) and later when I know the word for betray (tradire). It was really remarkable to me how well we managed to hit it off. It seemed like we were at an old friend’s house, not with someone we had met a couple of hours before. Eventually, the cooking started. Earlier, I had been a little apprehensive about filling up on foccaccia, but we ended up having several hours between that and dinner. We had a delicious couscous with ground beef and vegetables, and the three of us set to making our Macedonia, and partway through realized we would need a bigger bowl. This fruit salad, which included a 'yellow melon' we got because I was curious about, up being quite good. After a couple more hours of eating and talking, we went off to Beta’s pub.
The place was hopping, because there was a big rugby game on, and we ended up sharing a big table with some other group. Beta recommended an amber ale, Dominus, to me, because they no longer served her favorite. We had a fun time and ended up doing things like playing coaster table hockey and peanut tosses and Ellie demonstrated some camp songs and dances.
2. 28. 10
The alarm goes off at 10, at which point I have been opening and closing my eyes for the last half hour or so. We start waking up and getting ready to go, as I intend to go to mass. I was so tired last night I heard neither the snoring nor Beta’s clamorous homecoming and shower at three.
We all walked over to the church where I would be hearing mass, and it turned out to be the church we had briefly visited yesterday. The rest headed off to still unknown shenanigans while I sat. Afterward, we met up again and went to the baptistery, the museum, and several churches, all intricately and beautifully mosaiced. We wanted to see as much as possible, and we managed to see everything our ticket included, but by the end I kind of lost the ability to relish things in the midst of all of the hustling. I can't go into much detail because I have a) forgotten the names of the places and b) it would mostly be me reiterating how spectacular each place was. Still, it was breathtaking. (The two pictures above give just a hint of the grandeur and labor of what all we saw.) At 330 we re-met Ali and Beta for a long-delayed lunch. Remember those things I’ve eaten at home in tortilla-like things? We ate them at a restaurant today. Piadini. Mine with prosciutto and squaquerone (a cheese, have fun saying the name out loud, skwakwerone) and rucola. These piadini were more like pita wraps than tortillas, with thicker bread. After, we also shared a nutella piadina. I had a fun time explaining the electoral college in Italian, which led to a comparative discussion on governmental structure and processes.
After filling our bellies it was time to start heading home, and we made one last round through the city on our way to the train station and beyond. We didn’t want to return to ‘real life’ (even if it is less real than real real life), nor did we want to say goodbye to our new best buds, Ali and Beta.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
