Oh hey, culture-shock!

Meandering into my fourth month here in Florence, I have become quite used to my quaint, Italian lifestyle.  Yeah yeah, sure, I should be habituated... it’s been three and a half months!  

BUT when you think about it...the list of things to which my American classmates and I are now accustomed is insane: World-famous churches and museums? Casual. Two, little siblings shouting at one another in a different language? Normal. Amazing, four-course meals? An everyday occurrence.

Surely, we still come to terms with a little culture-shock from day to day.  However, it is a bit startling the number of things that are now completely routine and commonplace to us. In the face of something that would cause a normal American to stop short in her tracks, double-take, point, and stare, I instead continue on with my life, completely unfazed. 

To help explain this phenomenon, I’ve formulated a little list--a list of the things in my Florentine life that simply would not happen in my hometown of Danvers or at Holy Cross.  Maybe, this little list will serve as a way for you to see how different our lives are here in Italy.  Maybe, it will prove to you how life in Italy has changed my Holy Cross friends and I. If nothing else, maybe it will provide you with a good laugh for the day!

Toto I don’t think we’re in Danvers anymore...

*Your Italian gym has views of the Tuscan hills and countryside; The ceiling is a mural of angels in pastel colored frescoes. I repeat... your gym.

*It is normal for a line of five men to pass you: all with hair slicked into faux-hawks, all with skintight jeans, all with fur-trimmed winter jackets. It is normal for this line of men to be straight.

*In the Italian translation of Harry Potter, a muggle becomes a “babbano” and You-Know-Who becomes “Tu-Sai-Chi”

*It is socially acceptable for a host family to invite their 20-year-old American student to dine-out with them at McDonald’s and later ask her to sit at the kids’ table accompanied by her 13-year-old host brother (who cannot stop crying and appears high-as-a-kite from not showering after water-polo practice), her 8-year-old host sister, her host sister’s six 8-year-old friends... and their happy meals.

*It does not surprise you when your seventy-year-old Italian professor comes to class each day sporting only Dolce and Gabbana jeans, a Louis Vuitton tote, and silky, straight, silver-blonde locks that grace her lower-back.

*It also does not surprise you to see thirty-somethings wearing Abercrombie and Fitch clothing. It’s all the fad in Europa.

*Purchasing a bicycle for the ride to school will, undoubtedly, make your friends jealous.

*Half of your bedroom is still occupied by Barbie dolls, children’s books, and a giant gummy-bear desk light.  You live in an eight-year-old’s bedroom and you’ve been in Italy for months.

*Children, adults, and elderly people share cigarettes as a common bond.  At the bus stop at eight in the morning or at a nightclub at 2 in the morning, smokers are everywhere.  Apparently, lung cancer awareness is not.

*Every meal consists of a primo (a first course), a secondo (a second course), contorni (the vegetables), frutta (the fruit), and sometimes even dessert.

*Pigeons replace squirrels as the creepiest animals on the face of the earth.

*Students at your University class do not take notes; they literally transcribe the professor’s lecture word for word.

*It is casual that you see a different Michelangelo sculpture, in a different museum, every week.

*Your 13-year-old host-brother shaved his eyebrows (he's in middle school, give him a break) and was told, consequently, that he was gay...by none other than his mother.

I wish this was an exaggeration.
Embarrassingly, this is my bike lock.

*You know that if you leave your bicycle unlocked for 10 minutes, it will not be there when you return.  Better yet, if you fail to lock your bicycle with a heavy-duty, 20 Euro lock, it will not be there when you return. Sorry Lauren and Spencer...

*You gain an instant 100-Italian-points and fit in SO much better the second you throw on your leather jacket.

*You spot someone carrying a designer bag that costs a few-hundred dollars.  That someone is not a woman.

*At the gym, women wear as much as possible.  Men wear as little as possible.  When in doubt, bedazzled shirts, bathing suits, and spandex (senza shorts) are always a viable option. 

*When students are consistently 20 minutes late to your University class, the professor will change the class’ start time so that it begins 20 minutes later.  You’re into this idea, right, Holy Cross?

*You pass the Ponte Vecchio, the Uffizi, and the Duomo on your walk to class.

*You find yourself completely incapable of forming proper English sentences or remembering basic English vocabulary.

*You don’t have class on December 8th because it’s a Catholic holiday... and therefore national holiday... in Italy. Can you say “lunch-in-Tuscany-paid-for-by-your-language-school?” 

*You look around (or down) and realize that you are a solid foot taller than every other person standing on the public bus with you. You are only 5’6’’

*You have a nut-allergy, however, your host-family has attempted on various occasions to serve you chestnuts, almond cake, and pistachio pudding... without understanding why you won’t just “try it.”

I'm trying to decide which one is most fitting. Suggestions?

*The heating in your apartment is so expensive that you find yourself wrapped in a blanket, under the covers of your bed, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and scarf...in the middle of the afternoon.

*You fail miserably each time you hunt for a coffee shop for studying.  Better yet, a coffee shop where you don't have to pay for sitting down.  Starbucks, Dunks, make your way to Firenze per favore.

*You cringe when you see that it is raining outside--not because rainy weather is miserable--but because it means that your laundry will be drying on a stand in your bedroom for the next four days.

Yeah, this contraption is actually draped with
my sopping clothing and expected to dry it.

*You have perfected the art of transporting groceries via bicycle basket.

*You discover that your class at the University is cancelled (because of a student revolt) when you see your classroom filled with scattered desks, people sleeping, and abandoned dogs. 'Atta girl, Adair!

*You find yourself regularly comparing the texture and character of the gelato from one gelateria to the next... In all seriousness.

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!