Buongiorno! I haven’t been able to access the internet very well until now and so I will catch you up on my journey’s first experiences:
January 6th began with coffee and doughnuts in the car on the way to the airport. After figuring out how to check my bag we waited in the lobby until it was time for me to enter the airport and go through the numerous security procedures. I told mom and dad beforehand that I would not be looking back at them once I began my ascent to the second level of the airport, where they were not allowed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to board the plane if I looked back. So after a very teary goodbye I departed on the longest flight, but not the longest I would take that day.
On the plane to Dulles I found someone sitting in my aisle seat with no one in the window seat. I did not complain or ask the man if he was in the wrong seat but gladly took the seat that would allow me enjoy the beautiful flight over the states. Unfortunately all I saw the entire trip was clouds, heavy, heavy clouds. The man sitting next to me, a pilot on his way to his next flight assignment, felt that it was his duty to inform me of all of the happenings throughout the duration of the flight. When the in-flight movie began I politely donned the headphones while he still mumbled away in pilot gibberish.
At Dulles, my flight was delayed for unexplained reasons for nearly two hours. Upon boarding the Italian French economist sitting next to me informed me there had been a mysterious package that TSA was investigating in the baggage area, delaying all departures. An eight hour flight seems small in comparison to the 24 hour bus ride to Denver four years ago. However, tired from traveling but unable to fall asleep in the cramped quarters made the flight seem incredibly long.
Zurich was beautiful and I hope that I am able to return there at some point in time, if not during the course of this trip. The Alps were calling to me in their snow-covered glory as our plane coasted quietly above. I nibbled on my complementary Swiss chocolate and contemplated the intense avalanches that must thunder down the towerous Alps. The chocolate alone will make me return if not the train ride that I am dying to take that somehow winds its way through this:
Upon arriving in Rome I was disappointed by the lack of Italian recognition that Callie Kitchen had arrived to conquer their language and immerse herself in their language.
And so my five month course of Italian Culture 101 began this morning, first when I learned how cramped Italian living is when I smashed my nose on the bathroom sink at our hotel and then when we American students were tossed into a variety of speeding vehicles to spread like a foreign disease throughout the quiet town of Viterbo. Riding in the front seat of Francesco’s taxi was absolutely terrifying and strangely invigorating. Italians do not pay attention to speed limits which are rarely enforced by the police that we saw throughout the town, mostly enjoying gelato. Francesco, who spoke a little English, told us as soon as we got into his car that as foreigners it was our duty to learn the local language. “You come Italia, eh, you e speaka the language, no Englese. You learn quick. Then, return to Americana, e, you teach.” Having been chastised from speaking English within the confines of his speeding Italian vehicle, the rest of the trip to our apartment was a silent one, except for his shouting at pedestrians, some to say Ciao to and others to yell at to get out of his way.
When we reached la Piazza della Morte, Francesco and the other taxi driver left us standing in the street surrounded by several housing possibilities.
To our left stood an amazing church, which must be hundreds if not thousands of years old. A nun attempted to help our broken Italian questions, but was unable to direct us to our apartment building. Eventually, I and one other girl ventured into the church. Stepping into that church felt forbidden and I was sure that when we opened the interior doors we would find a flock of scolding nuns holding rulers ready to discipline us. Our “ciaos” rang off the stone walls to no answer. Finally from an adjoining room our landlord, Louisa, emerged. She showed us to our apartments in silence. My apartment happens to be up two flights of stairs, the second staircase being a winding, concrete one which made me wish that I had brought no luggage whatsoever, but thankful that I did not bring the multiple suitcases that both of my roommates did. The apartment is rather large with old tile floors that are icy to the touch at the moment because we cannot figure out how to work our heater. This is not because we lack the language abilities however, the advisors, who were all born and raised in Italy, could not figure it out either. My freezing room is off of the kitchen and looks like a room that would be in someone’s attic. The ceiling slants, which makes for another great way to hit my head, and houses a large skylight that looks out to the stained glass windows and ringing bells of the building next to ours. I am wondering if I will enjoy their tolling in two months as I do now.
The streets of Viterbo are long, narrow shoots of cobblestone that bisects each other like similar to the way spaghetti falls together on your plate. In other words, Viterbo seems like a maze to me, but I am sure that within the next few days its streets will reveal their secrets to me. It is amazing to be walking along, window shopping and scrutinizing the shiny, puffy jackets the Italians find fashionable and then cross the street and be spellbound by a building, still in use, dating back to when Michelangelo was working on his masterpiece.
Enjoying my first gelato-yummmmmm!
After 2:30, the streets--which from 12 to then are completely abandoned because everyone is at home eating lunch with their families—become packed with more people than I could imagine even living in the surrounding city, even less so the town of Viterbo itself. However, it is Italian custom to go out in this manner in one’s hometown and socialize. We went to a café/bar where we observed this socializing and tried to partake in it but were distracted by the bartenders, by their bartending skills and by other things as well.
While waiting for our dinner we were served free champagne because we had to wait. It was delicious, just like the first taste of spaghetti, real spaghetti, I was given soon thereafter. Spaghetti is not like American spaghetti drenched in heavy tomato sauce, no this was freshly cut tomatoes tossed with feta cheese and some type of butter sauce. Deliciouso!! I will be returning to eat there. Upon leaving dinner we were introduced to yet another aspect of Italian culture: the men. Guessing that we were American, several twenty year olds followed us making comments that none of us understood but could guess the meaning of. Earlier on, when we were roaming for a place to eat dinner (Italians do not eat dinner until 8, so, as we found out, restaurants do not open until then), the neighborhood began to look a bit darker and dangerous. Leading the group I turned around on them announcing “that man just smiled at me, let’s get out of here” and marched off. None of them protested and later agreed that smiling means much more here.
January 9th
Today we were adopted by an Italian couple who own a bakery/café that is practically outside our front door. Entering we were struggling trying to order the squished croissant pastries dipped in chocolate--which hopefully we will be able to figure out the name—when the man asked us where we were from. Answering we were from America he told us “Well then speak English!” He and his wife told us that we must eat breakfast every morning in their café and they will teach us Italian. I believe that I will allow them to do so if it means they throw in a few squished croissants every now and then.
Girls who live in my piazza as well.
The rest of the day was spent exploring the town. I was tempted to purchase many things in the cute shops that line the streets but was able to leave every store without spending a single euro. Well, that is until I was returning to my piazza when I found a small shop offering boots made in Italy. I broke down and bought a pair of amazing leather boots that I know will last forever and will never tinge me with regret.
The heat in our apartment has still not been turned on but I am hoping that tonight, Marco (the beautiful program advisor that many of the girls have already claimed to be their future husbands) will come to our apartment and make it work. Last night was absolutely freezing, so I really hope he is able to figure it out.
And now I am going to strut in my new boots to one of the many ristorantes that is only now opening even though it is almost 7:30 pm!
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