I finally have Internet on my own computer/in my homestay, so I can upload pictures to this blog. Here is my space on the day I moved in. It looks a little more...ahem..."lived in" now, but it's still pretty clean. It needs more decoration, but I had no room to pack anything:
Two nights ago, I ate dinner with my host mom, Franca. My program's meal plan allows me to eat out for lunch and dinner pretty much daily, but Franca told me from the beginning that she wanted me to feel welcome to cook or to be cooked for in her house. The food Franca cooked was good, nothing spectacular (not particularly Italian...I think she knew I subconsciously wanted something other than cheese/bread/tomato sauce/prosciutto). But the "conversation" was fantastic. Read me: The term "conversation" is used very generously here. Any time that I remotely question my decision to live with a 65-year-old woman instead of English-speaking girls my age, I will remember that I get to have unparalleled experiences like the one I had two nights ago, and that i can live with American friends in...America. Imagine that. I'm terrible at the language since I JUST started learning, but sitting down with someone and being forced to focus on how to communicate my ideas sure is an ideal way to improve. In two hours spent with Franca at the dinner table, I felt like I learned more than I did in weeks of class. Obviously there were lots of smiles and "si's" and oohing and aahing from my end of the conversation, but I got great satisfaction from trudging slowly through the conversation and occasionally seeing Franca's face light up when I was able to form a coherent sentence (which wasn't too often).
Franca seriously just oozes elegance and grace and intellect. You can't buy class like she has. It has nothing to do with her apartment being elaborately furnished (it's not) or dressing to impress (she doesn't, although she does seem to have a keen awareness of and interest in what she wears). It's in the way she moves and speaks, in her kindness and warmth. I don't know, maybe it's just because she's speaking Italian and I'm totally ignorant and so it all sounds singsongy and beautiful. Hahaha, likely. But knowing some of her background, that she spent time as an architect and studied art, and considering the number of subjects/people we discussed last night (I use "discussed" loosely) and how freely and elaborately she was able to talk about them- I can tell it's not just the beauty of the language that's giving me this impression of her. She talked on and on and on about everyone from Brunelleschi to Salvatore Ferragamo... Michael Jackson was even thrown into the mix.
Tomorrow I'm going on a day trip to Assisi with one of my art history classes. I'm excited to see the Basilica San Francesco and all the Giotto and Cimabue frescoes and the burial place of St. Francis. Eeeeee. It is so cool to see all these things and ideas and people that I have studied come to life DAILY here. Today I realized that the Ponte Santa Trinita, the bridge I cross every day, not even a minute away from my school, is the place where Dante and Beatrice allegedly first met.
Tonight I went to a pizza making class at Finisterrae, a restaurant in Piazza Santa Croce. The restaurant is right next door to the famous church:
Pictured below is the great work of culinary art I created. I can't believe I'm admitting this, but the pizza took two tries; like my driver's test (can't believe I'm admitting that either), the first one was a big fat FAIL. (Side note: I didn't actually do Driver's Test Try #1 in Tupelo-I did it out in the boonies because some off-the-beaten-path DMV was open and Tupelo's was closed and I was a VERY impatient 15 year old. FACT: DMV workers in Middle-of-Nowhere, Mississippi, test much harder than in Tupelo. And that's not just me making excuses. Anyone who has seen how people who live in rural Mississippi drive can understand why the people at the DMV would be extra cautious. I did way worse on my Tupelo test, but I passed with flying colors. Go figure. Anyway, moving on...) Back to the matter at hand. The first pizza I made died in the oven. It was tragic. Erika, another AIFS girl participating in the class, also had to watch her pizza meet a similar fate. We learned from our instructor that our pizzas were destined for doom from the get-go. Apparently we put too many toppings on them (fulfillment of Fat American stereotype: CHECK) *and* the toppings were too close to the crust, so when the chef reached in to shift the pizzas around with his giant tool that looked like an odd fusion of a spatula, pitchfork, and a crosier (crazy), some of the toppings fell off and burned. This chef accepted nothing less than perfection, and I watched him whisk my pizza out of the oven and literally catapult it across the room into the trash. I felt my jaw drop as this happened; he was visibly frustrated with our lack of pizza-making proficiency, and I told him I would have gladly eaten it, but he replied curtly, "No. You eat good pizza." Well, if you say so. I made another one, this time under close supervision.
This semester is helping me to gain at least a kindergarten-level perspective on globalization. Sadly, whenever anyone uses that term the only image that flashes through my mind is McDonald's golden arches plopped down in the desert, cacti nearby, maybe a camel hanging out in the would-be parking lot area for good measure. My understanding of the world economy is...limited, and that's a polite way of putting it. I walked by a sushi restaurant today just a block or so away from Piazza Santa Croce, and on the walk back I realized it was a "Sushi and Barbecue Restaurant." (Sounds like they're catering to pregnant women with weird cravings...they should open a Peanut Butter & Pickles bar next door). Yesterday I stumbled upon an American Episcopal church near Piazza Rucellai; incidentally, it is right around the corner from an American Apparel, a "diner," and the only steakhouse I've seen in Italy. Careful planning, I think. Last week I was browsing in a department store with my friends Brittney and Noni. We were walking upstairs, and just as we came to a pause in our conversation, we suddenly heard an all-too familiar chord progression blast through the speakers, as if on cue. There she was, right there with us in Italy (well, kind of; I mean, she was on Italian radio): none other than Miley herself. Hearing the voice alone was surprising enough, but even more surprising was the specific song playing: "Party in the USA." It caught me off guard; by now I'm used to hearing "California Gurls" absolutely EVERYWHERE, but hearing Miley sing "Who's that chick that's rockin' kicks? She's gotta be from out of town" to a room full of Italians was just...odd.
Despite this weirdness and my initial response of I'm in Italy, why the heck am I hearing this?, by the second chorus I was singing along, glad to have Destini Hope back on my radar (that's her real name-Billy Ray sure knows how to pick 'em, huh?) I've been an unashamed fan of the song since it first came out. However trite the tune may be, it was a nice dose of familiarity, funny and unexpected. Whatever distaste Florentines may have for the hordes of Americans who converge on the city in September (peak of tourist season), it was no longer an issue when this silly little song was playing. Yep, the universal language always wins. It's a little early in the semester to act wistful and pretend-profound-ish, but I have to say it: hearing the song made me think back to the time I, like Miley, hopped off the plane "with a dream and my cardigan" (not at LAX, minor incongruity), exactly one month ago this Saturday. And how, like Miley, the "chick rockin' kicks from out of town," I've relocated, and I've found ways to make a home of this new place. I'm making it a home without trying to Americanize the place or completely Italianize (ha) myself. I already feel more educated, more excited, more engaged with the world at large.
The below video of the PS22 chorus has nothing to do with Italy, Miley Cyrus, or anything I've talked about, really, but I just recently saw it and wanted to share. The original Talking Heads version of this song is one of my all-time favorites; it's just beautiful and brilliant. I think the kids in this video do a fantastic job of capturing the song's inherent joy and innocence that I love so much. Awesome and encouraging and I just wanted to pass the video along. Hope it brings a smile to your face. Love and miss you all!
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