Time to detox and defrost

This weekend, we ventured to Munich, Germany. 

It’s the end of September.  

In Munich.  

Surely, this can only mean one thing...

OKTOBERFEST.

 In other words, the beautiful city of Munich was completely inundated with Oktoberfest celebrations and lederhosen-wearing-Bavarians.  I cannot even attempt to describe Oktoberfest in words.  Instead, how about this very accurate, mathematical equation?

[(Typical County Fair x 1 million coolness points) + A little German Culture + 6 million people] all submersed in beer

Essentially, my crew of Holy Cross amici and I spent the weekend eating/drinking our way through Germany.

CALORIES CONSUMED:

WURTSEL

Who knew I even liked sausages?  I learned that if it looks like a hot dog and is eaten in a bun with mustard, it can be pawned off as a hot dog.   

PRETZELS

Saturday morning’s breakfast of champions.  It’s probably important to mention that these jumbo-sized pretzels are the size of newborn children.  Nonetheless, I devoured it.

CHOCOLATE-COVERED FRUIT

If it's fruit, it's nutritious. That's final.

GINGERBREAD HEARTS

Each one is inscribed with a different, little German saying. People wear them around for the entire day as necklaces.  Sadly, the gingerbread “Ich liebe dich” heart that Audrey and I shared was so soft and sweet-smelling that it was very short-lived as jewelry.

Ich liebe dich, Audrey!

WIESEN BIER

In order to be served, a person must be seated at a table.  These tables fill “beer tents” which are in reality enormous buildings that hold tens of thousands of people.  Despite the extreme capacity of these buildings, groups must arrive at ungodly hours--hours in which normal people should not ever be thinking about drinking beer--in order to gain access. 

The crazy view from the upper-level of our beer tent
But... you gotta do what you gotta do!  So we woke up at 6:30 and made our way through the German drizzle and muddy fairgrounds to Hofbrau tent where we were lucky enough to not only get in, but to also snag a table on the upper-level with a random group of Italians. 

Breakfast time. Raunchy, I know.

Drinking starts promptly at 9 am when dirndl-adorned beer maids carry ridiculous numbers of mugs at a time to appease the rowdy crowds.  Ten euro a pop and four times more alcoholic than American beer. Yikes.

CALORIES BURNED:

* Non-stop laughter with HC friends, old and new.

Random, ridiculous poses throughout Munich? Check.

* A climb to the top of Munich’s Marienplatz city hall.  Um.. ok.. this may have involved an elevator.

Munich appearing so perfectly European from above

 * A vertical teacup-esque fair ride with Miss Kate Connelly on which I punctured a lung screaming so loudly.  So what if we were the only wimps shrieking the entire time.

Horrifying/fantastic

* A walk in the rain because apparently the Munich subway system can choose to strike whenever it pleases.

* Two nights spent shivering in tents.  Uh-huh, tents. Yes, it was raining torrentially.  No, we did not have sleeping bags.

Our fabulous, camp-site

Thanks for the fur hat, Adair

The proud inhabitants of TENT 722

Needless to say, I had a fabulous weekend with all of my friends in gorgeous Germany.  I was very happy to return home to my Florentine apartment for a shower and a bed with a blanket and I gained approximately 20 pounds in one weekend, but overall, the 200th anniversary of Oktoberfest was quite a success. 

Immigration Office Blues

September 20, 2010

Today, while I lounged lifelessly in the waiting area of Florence’s immigration office, my latest blog post was born.  

I spent my morning in immigration because American students living abroad in Italy are required to obtain a “permesso di soggiorno” or pass to stay in the country for a prolonged period of time.  The idea behind the soggiorno is pretty logical; the process of acquiring a soggiorno is quite the opposite.  In fact, sitting in the waiting room for over FOUR HOURS I realized that this system is one of Italy’s many little flaws.

Thus, I now give you...

Jenna’s little list of improvements for Italia

1. Appointment times should be relevant

This one’s for you, Immigration Office.  

When I receive an assigned date and time for an appointment, I expect that I will be seen at said date and time. Unfortunately for me, this is not how Italy works. 

Though my appointment time was at 8 this morning and I did, in fact, wake up before 6 to make it to the office by 7, I only did so in order to wait in line and receive a numbered ticket at the door...with everyone else.

After hours of watching the five employees plow slowly through an absurd number of Asian immigrants, I was summoned to the window to...receive another number. Yep, that’s right---the first number was completely irrelevant!

A few more hours and a few hundred more Asian immigrants later, my new, real number was called.  At the window, the friendly, Italian man took my picture, my prints, and offered me a new, return-appointment time.  

If you followed my description at all, you should be very confused at this point.  (I, myself, am still confused.)  As it turns out, this entire appointment was pointless. I will not receive my soggiorno until I return to the immigration office next month and wait for another insane period of time.  C’mmmmon Italy.

2. Pillows should be thicker than a pancake 

A stack of this many pancake pillows might suffice...

Call me a princess, but I like my pillows fluffy. 

That said, I was a bit disappointed that my very hospitable family made my bed with one, super-thin, pancake pillow.  The thing is, my host-family is not alone when it comes to these “pillows.”  All of the other Ho Cro kids--as well as virtually all of Florence--are sleeping on them.  This is a fad that’s got to go.

3. There should be at least one STAPLES in Italy

Why are children buying their school supplies in the grocery store?  I am twenty years old and the child in me WILL NOT buy school supplies in the grocery store.  It’s just plain upsetting.

Once I introduce Italians to the wonder that is STAPLES--and notebooks with lines, not graph paper--I will surely be a kabillionaire.  Sadly, I do not have time to be that kind of an entrepreneur right now.  Even sadder, I am a little girl and desperately miss my 1000 pack of fine-tipped Sharpies.  

Mi mancano, Sharpies, mi mancano

Dear Friends,

     I know that you have all become quite accustomed to receiving hand-drawn-Jenna-birthday-cards, but unless you are willing to spend $23309324 for shipping my beloved markers to me, it looks like generic, store-bought cards are all you’re going to get this year.  

     With deepest sympathy,

Jenna 

4. People with dogs should scoop poop  

I personally hate picking it up---even with pebble-sized poops like Pearl’s.  However, when there is no one else to persuade to do it (Mom) I become a big girl and do it myself.  

Hey, Barbie can do it!

It’s just plain disgusting when you don’t.  It’s not that hard--take a second, grab a plastic baggie, and save my bike tires from utter nastiness. Thanks.

5. Clothes should be cleaned with fabric softener

I have accepted the fact that my pants are going to stretch out because they are being dried au-natural. I can deal with the airy and very stereotypical Italian clothes-line.

I will not, however, accept the fact that I now dread my once softest (and favorite!) pair of jeans. They scratch like a sheet of sandpaper.

A good pair of jeans should NEVER bend like this

Fabric softener is a beautiful thing.  It’s not going to do the clothes any harm... it’s going to sof-ten the fab-ric.  

The funniest thing about the Italian-fabric-softener-boycott is that fabric softener is sold in Italy.  It’s very possible to buy it. Sylvia, my host-mom, claims that she doesn’t use it because she likes the clothes to “feel clean.”  According to her, soft clothes do not feel clean; clothing is only clean when it is rigid and stark.

Italy, you’re a fabulous country, don’t get me wrong.  After just a month here, I know that there are many things that you do SO right: blueberry chocolate-chip gelato, hand-crafted leather sandals, the perfect combination of rolling hills and red-thatched roofs...the list is truly infinite.  Please consider these few minor adjustments as a token of my deep adoration for you. xoxo Jenna

Always obey Rick Steves

I received “Rick Steves’ Italian Phrase Book & Dictionary” as a gift from my Aunt Laura right before leaving the US.  And, boy, am I glad I did! 

Lauren giving Rick Steves a little love

Adair (a friend from HC) and I spent part of the flight from Boston to Frankfurt in stitches as we read the phrases that were supposed to be preparing us for our first taxi ride in Florence.  Some lines were quite sensible (Quanto costa fino...?/How much will it cost to go to...?) while others were downright absurd (Questo viaggio e piu divertente di Disneyworld/This ride is more fun than Disneyworld).

Upon arriving in Italy, we learned that not only do I have Rick Steves in phrase-book-form, but my HC friend Spencer also has Rick Steves’ overall Italian guidebook.  Clearly, Rick is now a part of our Holy Cross crew and joins in on all of our Italian adventures.

This past weekend, however, we made the amateur mistake of not consulting Rick Steves before venturing to Pisa.  In fact, we did not actually read Rick’s review on Pisa until we were lying out on the lawn next to the leaning tower.  FYI he says that Pisa is not even worth the stop...

Reading his very honest review...while already in Pisa

For those planning on going to Pisa, I suggest listening to Rick and rethinking it a bit.  Sure, we did get some pretty sweet, tourist pictures with the infamous tower... And yeah, we did have the luxurious experience of staying in a 2-star hotel with 4 beds and no bathroom, but all in all, I’d suggest crossing it off the list of places to see.

Don't let these awesome photos tempt you!

Pint-sized running partner

At Holy Cross, the gym is my private retreat--the place where I can sweat away the thought of treacherous problem-sets and research papers.  I genuinely enjoy exercise and am a strong believer in those feel-good endorphins.  But hey, let’s face it, with the insanely caloric, Italian dinners that I’m eating every night, it’s probably a good thing that exercise and I get along so well!

I was pleased to discover a lovely, little park virtually outside my door here in Florence. There, natives run, ride their bikes, and walk their dogs. It’s perched perfectly along the Arno and is fairly reminiscent of Boston’s Esplanade and the Charles in the summertime, when people are out-and-about, running and enjoying the weather.

This isn't my park...but it is my side of the Arno!

I’ve spent the past few weeks--Reeboks on my feet and Gaga in my ears--jogging through the picturesque park and returning home with my runner’s high.  

Adair & I with our sweet, matching sneaks!

It’s become very clear to me, though, that Italians are not as gung-ho about working-out as we are in the States.  Rather, my Italian siblings (Oscar and Nina) explode at the sight of me in my running pants and ponytail.  They stare at me in awe as I stretch out after my run--sweaty back, red face, and all--panting on the hardwood floor.

Nevertheless, since my first run here, Nina has been dying to come along.  In fact, after we initially bonded over our shared love of American pop music (Oh hey, Justin Bieber) and Disney Channel TV shows (What’s up, Hannah Montana with Italian voice-overs?), she has been my little shadow.  Each time I go for a run, she begs my Italian host-mom, Sylvia, if she can join me.  Each time, we both tell her that we’ll take her to the park for a walk later on.  This week, however, Nina lucked out...

Sylvia asked me if I’d bring her with me. 

So, there I am, all dressed for a run and about to leave the house.  

Five minutes later, there I am, dressed for a run, about to leave the house accompanied by an eight-year-old. 

Fabulous.

I think my description of this “run” would best be by comparison.  One time this spring, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to bring Pearl for a run with me--you know, kill two birds with one stone, right? It goes without saying that Pearl and I made it all the way down one street at an actual speed.  For the remainder of the “run,” I dragged her home as if she were a block of lead on a leash.  (No offense, Pearl girl.)

Nina and I also made it down one little street.  Then, instead of having the next bridge as my goal, the water bubbler--virtually right next to us--became the goal.  (Fun fact: Even the water bubblers in Italy have the option of flat, “natural” water and bubbly, “gas” water. Strange!)

Though our run was far from a workout, it must have looked pretty hilarious.  We did receive some laughs and adoring glances from other park-goers... I mean, how many twenty-year-old girls have eight-year-old jogging partners? Probably not many.

My favorite part of the run was when we returned home to the apartment--Nina, exhausted, panting and pleased with herself and I...well...not.  Host-mom Sylvia who is a very sweet, Dutch woman proceeded to ask me if Nina was able to keep up with me.

Um, Sylvia... she’s EIGHT.  Has she ever really ran before? No. Was I expecting her to sprint alongside me at a normal pace? No.  If she were able to keep up with me, would I be seriously upset with myself? Yes, probably.

I haven’t dared put on my sneakers since I met my new running partner... I guess, next time I do, we’ll see if Nina thinks this is going to be a regular occurrence or if once was enough for her!

Wine lover, Pigeon hater

September 9, 2010


Today our Holy Cross group went on a wine-tasting trip to Chianti!  

*Yes, today is Thursday. 

*Yes, we are supposed to be in school from 9 to 5 every weekday reviewing our imperfect subjunctive verb tenses. 
*Yes, Holy Cross paid for the five of us to venture around the GORGEOUS Italian countryside, eat a delightful pasta dish in the vineyard, and test the Tuscan wine specialty, Chianti Classico.  


Words cannot describe how incredibly lucky we were today.

My favorite part was obviously the vineyard and wine tour... duh. Later, we drove in our pullman to Machiavelli’s home for a tour and--yup, you guessed it--more wine.  There, they offered us a dessert wine that is far too sweet on its own so Italians dip their biscotti in it. Too bad the biscotti were covered in almonds so that I could hardly even look at them. LAME. (Background: I was recently diagnosed with a nut allergy and am the joke among my friends here because I have to carry my uber-cool, epi-pen with me everywhere I go.)

Anyway, as a result of the almond biscotti incident, my friends promised me a gelato upon our return to Florence later in the day. We took our gelati to our favorite people-watching locale: the Duomo steps. Tourists there (and even locals) are freaking hilarious.

Things that are not hilarious: 

(1) the number of pigeons in Florence 

(2) the fact that pigeons even exist.  

They are so creepy and crawly and there is nothing nastier. Well, that's not quite true but they are definitely in the top 10. Anyway, people in Florence think it's a wonderful idea (as do stupid people everywhere) to throw bread at them. Yeah yeah, fun fun. I hate those people because then all of the pigeons crowd around us and we end up having to leave. Today, they seemed to actually keep their distance so we were able to stick around. When we stood up to leave and part ways, however, disaster struck...

My friends start shrieking and running in all directions. 

Away from me. 

‘Um why?’ you ask. 

I don't know why. 

I can't figure it out. 

But it feels like someone is scratching my head. 

Oh wait. 

That's not a person. 

That's a FREAKING PIGEON. 

OH MY GOD A PIGEON LANDED ON MY HEAD AND SAT THERE. 

EW. 

Obviously, here comes the part where I scream like a maniac.  And, yeah, from my description of the Duomo area, you can probably guess that it is exploding with crowds and crowds of people.  So, hundreds of people sat there, pointing and laughing at me. Lovely. What ever am I going to do when I venture up to Venice?

What a nasty end to a beautiful day. Pigeons, you are miserable creeps and cannot be trusted.

Thanks so much, Spencer, for the fine depiction of what my hair looks like to pigeons...