American Thanksgiving invades Italia

For the past few weeks, an army of angry, gray rainclouds have been residing over the beautiful city of Florence.  Thus, the weather forecast did not quite make for a fabulous start to Thanksgiving-week here in Italy... especially while everyone on Facebook is posting their statuses about being home, my mom is telling me about all of the Thanksgiving errands that she has to run (GASP without me!), and here I am far, far away from anyone that even knows that Thursday is a holiday.

I will not lie to you... I was a bit sad come Wednesday because the day before Thanksgiving is one of my absolute favorite days of the year!  Our house always smells so delicious: Mom is hard at work in the kitchen while Pearl and I live the dream for a day--taste-testing and living life to its fullest.  The thought of all of my favorite foods--double-baked potatoes, chips n’ dips, stuffing, kielbasa--together on the same table, four-thousand miles away from me, is just plain upsetting.

However, let’s be honest. A) I don’t even like turkey and B) I’m living in Italy for a year. I’d be out of my mind to complain.

And as it turns out, I had an awesome Italian Thanksgiving with my wonderful friends here in Florence.  Anna, a Tulane student who studies Museologia with us at L’Universita, planned quite the event--assigning each of us to a different dish and inviting us over to our British friends’ Florentine flat to celebrate.

I was obviously put in charge of bringing the gelato for the pies.  This should not surprise anyone.  

However, since my mom usually puts me in charge of the melon-balling for our Thanksgiving-day fruit salad (yup, I’m a pro) I decided to make a fruit salad too. In Italian, “macedonia” is the word for fruit salad.  This absolutely cracks us up.  Guys, don’t you think it’s a tad awkward to name a dish after another population?

Anyhow, I scoured the Coop--our colossal Supermarket/Walmart/Shopping Mall--for fruit and filled my wheeled-basket (no, not a carriage... this is literally a basket with wheels) with every type of fruit that crossed my path.  La macedonia ended up being a bit different than usual.  Let’s just say that there was a lot of yellow, the grapes were dissected one-by-one so as to be seedless, and an excessive amount of money was spent on berries which are essentially nonexistent in Florence.  Fortunately, the final product was pretty darn good.

The rest of the Thanksgiving menu was perfectly traditional--turkey, stuffing, carrots, potatoes, pumpkin pie, apple crumble.  It was exactly the meal that a group of Americans away from home needed on Thanksgiving.  

Our British friends were great little hosts and extremely excited about their first Thanksgiving celebration. We arrived to an apartment decked from ceiling to floor in a tasteful mix of Christmas and Thanksgiving decorations.  Anna hand-painted adorable little place settings with all of our names on them and I, being the craft-obsessed nerd that I am, took it upon myself to make eight, crazy, finger turkeys--one for each of us.

I am so blessed to have met such a great group of friends here in Italy.  I honestly cannot think of a better way to have spent my first Thanksgiving away from home.

Anna, the house-wife, hard at work in the kitchen

I am also thankful...

1... that I have people at home to miss. I am so fortunate to have family and friends that I love so much and that care so much about me.

2... to be an American.  Italy is amazing, but there’s nothing like the good, old U.S.A.

3... to be a student.  My only job is to study as hard as I can, do as well as I can, and attempt to figure out my life. It does not get any better than that.

4... for technology. It is great to live in an age where I can skype my family for free and post pictures on my blog for all of you to enjoy anywhere in the world.

5... for this amazing, study abroad experience.

Auntie Cindy: Note ruffly, JCrew tank.  I wish they could've all appreciated it!

Who am I kidding? I cannot limit my list to just five things. I’m also thankful for Coca-cola, fuzzy dogs, Gossip Girl, tweezers, JCrew, gelato, central heating, google maps, nail salons, elliptical machines, sunny days, all of my fast food favorites, french braids, hand-written letters, and chocolate in any form.

Xoxoxo I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving with your families and friends!

Rain, rain go away

Mix one “City of Water” with one, rainy weather forecast and what do you get? One very wet weekend.

Even with all of the rain though, Venice was still quite miraculous.  Zero cars. Zero streets. Only canals, boats, and water, water everywhere.  It’s a magical place.  (For some reason “magical” is the only word that seems appropriate right now... Possibly because today is the day that I finally get to see Harry Potter? Si, certo! This anxious and impatient nerd simply cannot wait any longer.)  

As much as I love a good, kayak-ride and water view, there is no way in the world that I could ever actually live in Venice.  There were far too many instances over the course of the weekend--when my friend became sick, when it got cold outside, when it torrentially down-poured--when I became downright frustrated at not being able to hail a cab ride home. 

The island of Murano should be
regarded as "Pandora Bead Heaven"

Yeah, the rain put a real damper on our weekend:  Boo hoo we were left hopping from fancy jewelry store to jewelry store, awing over all of the gorgeous, Venetian glass for two days.  I was in heaven; my cash-flow in hell.  Fortunately, I escaped the island before spending alllllll of my life savings. (Though I did manage to treat myself to a little Murano bling along the way!)


We ventured over to St. Mark’s Square on Sunday amidst the icy rainfall.  Our raincoats were no match for the immense precipitation... Neither were the silver-and-gold flats that I foolishly chose as my Venice-touring-footwear.  

The poor, little guys are goners. My host-mother, Sylvia, saw them perched pathetically beneath the heater today and uttered “Oh what a shame!” I just don’t want to believe that they are gone.  Sadly, I guess if other people have begun to notice their shabbiness then I should probably just toss them... Mom, I’m in the market for some new shoes, I hope you have the DSW-trip planned.

Anyhow, by mid-morning when we reached St. Mark’s, we were greeted by “aqcua alta” or “high water.”  This means that the giant piazza that is usually filled with tourists and pigeons (schifoso) was instead filled with tourists on bridged-pathways over the inches of canal water flooding the square.  Hoping for the opportunity to see the inside of the church, we knew that we only had two choices: (A) swim there or (B) purchase something called “Flippers.”

We opted for the latter and spent ten Euro a piece on the most absurd plastic, slip-on booties that anyone has ever seen.  What a joke.  We jumped into the flashy yellow slippers, tightened the strings around our legs, and waded our way to St. Mark’s--quite fashionably if I do say so myself.  

Venice is an absolute, must-see.  However, I advise visiting it outside of Italy’s rainy November!

On Saturday, before the rain...

On Sunday... in the rain!
Here we were only a few inches deep...
Back by the church, we were up to our knees in water!

Jenna takes Spain

Since my last blog post, I have fled the country, attended a British bachelor party, and drank a little something called panther milk.  Yes, reread that sentence if you must.  Believe it or not, all three of those statements are true.

Reunited with Miss Eva :)

However, you can rest assured by the fact that I am writing to you now that I did in fact survive my trip to the wonderful land of Madrid, Spain.  Last weekend, with Lauren by my side, I set out on my Spanish adventure, in search of the lovely Eva--one of my best friends from home--who is studying in Spain for the semester.

Aside from booking my flight and the hostel*, however, I was a bit of a slacker when it came to the touristy logistics of our trip.  Luckily, Eva was a fabulous (and hilarious) tour guide--leading us all around while we attempted to perfect the Spanish lifestyle.  

You may think that living and learning an entire lifestyle over a span of three days would be difficult.  And here, you would be wrong (A) because this was our one goal for the weekend and (B) because we were in Spain... meaning all that truuuuly matters is the food, siesta, and nightlife... right?!

Of course, we did hit up the congress, the palace, an awesome market, and all of the most fabulous plazas in Madrid:  

Meanwhile, we became quite well-acquainted with the city’s infamous, bear-sniffing-tree symbol along with the overwhelming number of incredibly creepy street performers.  (I’m not sure if I can even call them “performers” in all seriousness.) 

In Florence, we cringe at the sight of them and scowl when tourists crowd around to photograph them. Um ew. Anyhow, at least we are just stuck with the silver-faced ones that freeze-dance like statues outside of the Uffizi. 

MADRID

FLORENCE

Madrid, there should be laws against the sparkly, clicking goats that roam your streets. 

Scarred. 

For. 

Life.

For such an awesome city, it is also a bit disconcerting the number of “Museos de Jamon” that permeate the streets.  For the non-Spanish speakers, that literally translates to “Ham Museum.”  They’re obsessed with ham.  

Yup, this is an actual photo from the San Miguel Mercado

Arriving in Spain, I realized how worryingly little I learned about Spanish cuisine after studying the language since sixth grade.  Hey Colleen and Pia, remember that time we served Senora Jenkins’ Spanish class nutella and pineapple soda in conjunction with our oral presentation? Yup, that, right there, is my memory of Spanish food.

Eva introduced us to “tapas” which are the staples of Spanish cooking and generally involve some combination of eggs, potatoes, and yeah...you guessed it...ham.  Yes, a weekend of Spanish food was certainly more than enough for me.

A Spanish custom that I would, however, like to adopt in my everyday life:  A routine, power siesta before late nights on the town.

The idea of returning to the hostel at 7 in the evening for a lovely, little nap before heading out around 11 for the night, blew my mind--while making me a generally happier and more energetic person.  Granted, the fact that people do not leave the house until 11 means that they do not return until 4 or 5 the next morning.  

We spent our first night out with Eva and her school friends in a cave bar.  The venue was equipped with a bar and a dance floor.  Why is that anything special? Um, maybe because it was casually decorated with thousands of stalactites, hanging from the ceiling, because it was a cave.  Unbelievable.

Dad, last week when you asked me what I have been drinking lately--since (reminder) I can legally drink alcohol here--my response was: Wine. Red, white, sparkling, whatever...wine is how I do. 

Well, this week let’s add “leche de pantera” (also known as panther milk) to Jenna’s alcohol index.  Panther milk is a sickening combination of booze, milk, a mountain of sugar, AND--see my photo as proof for this one--the substance that oozes out of the cave’s stalactite.

Sadly, after spending Friday night in a cave, we didn’t have much faith in our ability to do any better on Saturday.  After a similar day of touristing and eating our way through Europe (per usual) we attempted to go to a Flamenco show.  Don’t get too excited... we didn’t get to go.  From the look of shock on our concierge’s face, it became rapidly apparent that these things require planning. Whoops.

Instead, Lauren and I decided to treat ourselves to an incredibly romantic dinner for two--Seriously, with the number of pictures of the 2 of us from this trip, people are going to think we are dating...it’s disturbing.  Anyway, we had been eyeballing this adorably swanky restaurant on our street from day 1.  The menu outside looked great! 

Upon entering, however, it was a totally different story.  After staring at a menu that was quite blatantly NOT the menu outside, I ended up uncomfortably ordering us whatever sounded the least-risky.  Nonetheless, the two of us sat in a state of utter panic until our plates were in front of us.  

The result? The relieving arrival of two very normal, albeit very pricey, omelets accompanied by, none other than, french fries.  (What else for the silly, confused, American girls?)

Well this isn't incredibly awkward or anything

The rest of our night was spent in a bar that was playing host to a British bachelor party.  The party-goers were all middle-aged, married, and decked out in foolish red hats.  Hilarious.

Surely the greatest photo ever taken.  Note: the man behind Lauren does not have a real mustache--that is Lauren's hair.

  

Madrid was a definite success and being able to reunite with Eva in Europe was absolutely unreal.  

What is my life?  

Though it must seem like I have grown fully accustomed to casually bopping around Europe like it is nothing at all, I can assure you that this is something that I will never get used to or take for granted. Promise!

My friends being friends!

*I should probably mention that I managed to screw up my only task.  

A double for two people in the fancy, Salamanca district sounded delightful via hostelbookers.com.  I mean, honestly, who wants to share a room with sketchy strangers? Certainly not this chick.  Maybe I should’ve considered the fact that a double for two could actually refer to the size of the bed; not the size of the room.  Whoopsies. 

Yup Lauren's body length = the length of our room. Hello, Europe!

It goes without saying that Lauren and I received quite a stare from our friendly (and unfortunately, very good-looking) concierge upon checking in... Clearly, Room 55, the 2 by 4 complete with just one bed, was meant for a couple. Roomy? Awkward? Hilarious? Check, check, check.

Ro-ma, Ro-ma-ma

A nine o’clock University class and frigid, drizzly skies made it a lot tougher to jump back into reality this week.  Today, Adair and I returned to the Questura police station for the fourth time.  Yes, the fourth time.  Fortunately, this time we left with Italian ID cards in hand and will never have to return again. (Or so we hope.)

Anyhow, our long weekend in Rome could not have possibly been any better.  Being November, there were hardly any tourists--in Rome this probably means that there were only millions instead of billions--and the weather was an ideal, seventy-five degrees and sunny all weekend long.

Although it was my second time in Rome, I was no less amazed than my friends who were experiencing the Colosseum and St. Peter’s Basilica for the first time.  Honestly, I think that the sight of things that were built in the year 80, when it is now 2010, will always be mind-boggling to me.

It was a bit strange, at first, to be in Rome because it is a city that I have seen once before.  The last time, nearly five years ago, I was accompanied by my mom, Nana, cousin, and two aunts.  The six of us explored the ruins among the elite--staying in a lavish hotel and unearthing Rome without the hassle of infinite, tourist lines.  As my friends and I were climbing the steps up to Capitoline Hill, I couldn’t help but imagine the girls in my family all there together just a short time ago, one April afternoon.

Well...my trip to Rome this time was pretty much monotonous with my stay a few years back. Ha ha ha. Riiiiiight.  

Trade in the princess-bed and giant, mousse-filled, chocolate Easter eggs for a family-owned hostel in Chinatown complete with wash-cloth-sized towels and fragile, tin door keys and you’ve got yourself a pretty fair swap. (I actually snapped our door key in half while trying to get in one night... whoops).  

Nonetheless, my friends and I made a pretty, solid, travel-group.

Lessons aced:

1. Public transportation

It’s pretty cool to think that we have now mastered the subway systems in Munich, London, and Rome.  Deciphering the route from our hostel to the Vatican was a breeze.  

Success.

2. Speaking Italian

Because Rome is such a large city and most of the international, college students do not need to learn the language to get around, we impressed nearly every waiter and salesperson that we came across by merely throwing out a few, Italian phrases with ease. 

Success.

Campo dei Fiori & its myriad of outside restaurants

3. Prolonged, Euro meals

Italians like to eat for hours. Seriously, hours. Thus, they despise the American tourists that enter restaurants for a quick, dine-and- ditch. Anyway, we spent over two hours one night in an outside restaurant in Campo dei Fiori enjoying the weather, our food, and the conversation. 

Success.

Lessons learned:

1. Phone chargers

In the U.S., Americans would never go anywhere without a phone charger. It’s just plain silly--what happens when your phone dies? You’re fully disconnected from the universe. 

Well, since none of us are especially connected to the universe right now, none of us thought to pack a phone charger. 

Result: Four out of four, dead phones after Day 1.

2. Coperto 

Nope, that's not a baseball mitt; it's a pastry

There's no way you're worth the sitting fee

In Italy, you are not required to tip the waiter.  Instead, there is something called a “coperto” which is your cover charge or sitting fee.  In restaurants, the two essentially cancel one another out.  In coffee shops, the coperto often comes as a bit of a surprise. Though we have grown accustomed to taking our coffee standing up in Florence to avoid a coperto, we let the vacation get to us on Breakfast #1 in Rome. Never sit down with your coffee in Italy. 

Result: A ridiculous bill for a pastry and cappuccino.

3. Busy Metro Trains 

Part A: If the Metro is busy, it is never a good idea for a group to try to get on a train together. 

Result: All of us entering the train, my friends getting off the train before it left, me being stuck on the train.  

I was absolutely terrified.  Luckily, I was manually yanked from the train and saved before it departed. In retrospect, it is hilarious to think about my friends screaming my name (inaudibly to me, of course) while I was squashed in the midst of a huge crowd of people (unable to move my arms or legs)... imagine the scene in “Finding Nemo” when Dory is stuck in the net of fish.  I was Dory.

Part B: If the Metro is busy, it is never a good idea for a group to try to leave a train together. 

Result: All of us attempting to exit the train, my friends getting stuck on the train, me exiting the train solo.  

Again, terrifying...this time, because the train actually left and I was separated from my tre amici senza a functioning cell phone. Whoops.

Despite a few, minor mishaps, we managed to see all of the major sights--the Spanish Steps, the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica, the Trevi Fountain, you name it--during our four, fabulous days in the city.

The Spanish Steps at night!

Roman sculptures in the Colosseum. Casual.

The Vatican Museum was such a treat, as always.  As a student of Museology, here at L’Universita degli Studi di Firenze, I can honestly say that it is the best collection in the world.  

Yup, that was pretty, darn nerdy.  Deal with it.  

Honestly though, there are so many amazing pieces of art work in one place, that it blows my mind.  It also genuinely excites me that I was able to personally experience the Laocoon, the Belvedere Torso, the Stanze di Raffaelo... all of the pieces that I studied in my Antiquity class at Holy Cross last semester.  We also spent a good forty-five minutes in the Sistine Chapel, admiring Michelangelo’s masterpiece.  I could spend a day there.

We passed our last evening in Rome at the Trevi Fountain, people-watching as usual.  We decided that if we were studying in Rome, instead of Florence, the steps at the Trevi Fountain would probably replace the Duomo steps as “our steps.”  

Sticking with good ritual, I tossed a coin into the fountain before departing.  Legend has it that tossing a coin in the fountain ensures a return trip to Rome...

Next stop: Madrid.

Dear Eva & Spain---I hope you're ready for this!