Morcheeba sings about 'living free' and the words waft through the trees from the dj booth on the shore. White pebbles glint in the sun and little kids squeal as they paddle in the water, it's 'freddissima'; very very cold. Mountains loom across the lake in different shades of blue, rolling clouds obscuring their peaks. Listening to the many Italian voices undulating around me, I realise that for the first time, I'm the only foreigner in a group of Italians. (I'm picking up a lot of useful slang.)
I'm lying on the grass at Lago del Borgo. Germans and Dutch holiday here a lot, as well as Italians of course. There's a good wind here for 5 months of the year so it's packed with windsurfers. Today there's a competition so plenty of guys are walking around looking like they think they're hot (admittedly, a lot of them are). There's a notable absence of alcohol here, as always in Italy there are just a few beers here and there, for an Aussie it's pretty weird.
Gio and his friends are great, always friendly, often stopping to check that I understand at least a bit of what's being said and often assuring me that I am 'bravissima' - very clever. Yesterday we ate dinner at the top of a hill, overlooking the lake and the mountains with the lights of the town glittering below us. The drive back was a gentle spiral around the water, down the hills into the town with the oncoming headlights of maniac Italians dodging around us. Today has been a day of relaxing, listening to surprisingly good music, watching my friends struggle to control their sails in the wind, talking bits of Italian and teaching a few English words on request, lying under a sun that is pleasantly warm, opening my eyes every now and then to take in the bella vista.
Not a bad way to spend a weekend.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
wwoof
WOOF stands for 'willing workers on organic farms' and it's a worldwide organisation. Travellers, or oter interested parties can join wwoof and in exchange for food and board, you work on the farm and in the kitchen, doing whatever needs to be done for usually around 5 hours a day, 5-6 days a week. I'm going to be working on a farm in Veneto (the region where Venice is, in the north) in August.
They have goats which they milk to make cheese, they have an agriturismo (farm stay), they teach yoga and are affiliated with a company that organises mountain bike riding, skiing etc. It looks quite interesting. I'm sure it will be hard work but at least it will give my wallet a break and also give me the opportunity to speak Italian.
The website is http://www.lacortedeglielfi.it/ but it's all in Italian. You can look at the pictures though!
In early September I'm heading to Arezzo for a jousting festival, and then I'll be going up through various countries, namely Hungary, Estonia, Finland, Sweden, Norway (not necessarily in that order)and some others for about a month, maybe longer. We will see is my bank account still loves me at that point...
They have goats which they milk to make cheese, they have an agriturismo (farm stay), they teach yoga and are affiliated with a company that organises mountain bike riding, skiing etc. It looks quite interesting. I'm sure it will be hard work but at least it will give my wallet a break and also give me the opportunity to speak Italian.
The website is http://www.lacortedeglielfi.it/ but it's all in Italian. You can look at the pictures though!
In early September I'm heading to Arezzo for a jousting festival, and then I'll be going up through various countries, namely Hungary, Estonia, Finland, Sweden, Norway (not necessarily in that order)and some others for about a month, maybe longer. We will see is my bank account still loves me at that point...
gio
Giordano (nickname Gio) has been our self appointed tour guide during our stay in Bologna. We met him through Yohann who goes to school with us. Several times now, Gio has organised something special and taken us along for the ride. The first weekend he drove us to the beach at Ravenna and last weekend he took us to a nearby river nestled in a valley, the scenery on the way there was stunning.
Driving with Gio is always terribly entertaining. Gio is your typical Italian, but better, funnier and without a trace of arrogance. He drives like a maniac for the first ten minutes until he notices someone flinch when he squeezes his car through a gap at least 50% too narrow. Then he laughs and says "Ahh I have stranieri in my car, I will drive properly" and he slows down. Occasionally he breaks into a very slow, relaxed, amusing diatribe on the 'Vecchi Bolognesi" ‑ the old people of Bologna. "Ahhh, questi vecchi Bolognesi, dico ohhh prego maaaa lui solo guarda, ahhh non mi ucchide! Si, si, e domenica, bah!" These old Bolognesi, I say "by all means, cross the road" and they just look at me and think "oohhhh don't kill me!" Yeah yeah, ok it's Sunday, bah!" His style of speaking is almost as though he forgets you're there, he just mumbles away to himself, calmly swearing and then laughing when he realises we are all in stitches listening to him. Quite the experience.
This coming weekend he is taking me to a lake near Verona, with one of his mates. They're into windsurfing and Gio tells me that he likes to teach, so it looks like I might be in for some free lessons. I'll tell you all about it next week!
Driving with Gio is always terribly entertaining. Gio is your typical Italian, but better, funnier and without a trace of arrogance. He drives like a maniac for the first ten minutes until he notices someone flinch when he squeezes his car through a gap at least 50% too narrow. Then he laughs and says "Ahh I have stranieri in my car, I will drive properly" and he slows down. Occasionally he breaks into a very slow, relaxed, amusing diatribe on the 'Vecchi Bolognesi" ‑ the old people of Bologna. "Ahhh, questi vecchi Bolognesi, dico ohhh prego maaaa lui solo guarda, ahhh non mi ucchide! Si, si, e domenica, bah!" These old Bolognesi, I say "by all means, cross the road" and they just look at me and think "oohhhh don't kill me!" Yeah yeah, ok it's Sunday, bah!" His style of speaking is almost as though he forgets you're there, he just mumbles away to himself, calmly swearing and then laughing when he realises we are all in stitches listening to him. Quite the experience.
This coming weekend he is taking me to a lake near Verona, with one of his mates. They're into windsurfing and Gio tells me that he likes to teach, so it looks like I might be in for some free lessons. I'll tell you all about it next week!
spezzata cuore
// broken heart
This is my final week in Bologna (for now) and already I am starting to miss the city! I feel as though I am still discovering the characteristics that make Bologna unique and it seems a shame to leave so soon.
It's been interesting to watch my impressions of the city change and rearrange; when I first arrived, I found myself in a large, open, empty piazza which is ugly and bare. Since then, the city has revealed herself to me layer upon layer. I've discovered that behind my favourite portico lies the most beautiful church I've ever been in, that the whole city smells of dog poo and dog pee, that there are no trees and there is no grass except around the edges of the centre. I've chosen my favourite gelateria, my favourite street, my favourite door knockers, my favourite pizza, my favourite coffee shop. I've become a regular at four different bars and made friends with three different shop keepers and two waiters. But soon, I have to leave it all behind. I will be missing the jazz festival, the summer festival, the wine festival. It was really surprising to settle so quickly into a new place and a new life, and now I have to uproot myself from it, not for the last time.
I have decided while living here is that I want to travel slowly, taste places properly. Where other people might stay for a day, I will stay for two or three. I'll choose places to remain for a week or two, to peel back the layers the way I have in Bologna. The upside of this is that I'll save money; the downside is that I won't see so many places, but I would prefer to know fewer places better. Hopefully I won't grow to love them all the way I do Bologna, because it will break my heart!
Everybody warns you about the Italian men, but nobody mentions that you will find cities so charming that even the smell of dog pee will give you a feeling of nostalgia.
This is my final week in Bologna (for now) and already I am starting to miss the city! I feel as though I am still discovering the characteristics that make Bologna unique and it seems a shame to leave so soon.
It's been interesting to watch my impressions of the city change and rearrange; when I first arrived, I found myself in a large, open, empty piazza which is ugly and bare. Since then, the city has revealed herself to me layer upon layer. I've discovered that behind my favourite portico lies the most beautiful church I've ever been in, that the whole city smells of dog poo and dog pee, that there are no trees and there is no grass except around the edges of the centre. I've chosen my favourite gelateria, my favourite street, my favourite door knockers, my favourite pizza, my favourite coffee shop. I've become a regular at four different bars and made friends with three different shop keepers and two waiters. But soon, I have to leave it all behind. I will be missing the jazz festival, the summer festival, the wine festival. It was really surprising to settle so quickly into a new place and a new life, and now I have to uproot myself from it, not for the last time.
I have decided while living here is that I want to travel slowly, taste places properly. Where other people might stay for a day, I will stay for two or three. I'll choose places to remain for a week or two, to peel back the layers the way I have in Bologna. The upside of this is that I'll save money; the downside is that I won't see so many places, but I would prefer to know fewer places better. Hopefully I won't grow to love them all the way I do Bologna, because it will break my heart!
Everybody warns you about the Italian men, but nobody mentions that you will find cities so charming that even the smell of dog pee will give you a feeling of nostalgia.
Friday, May 23, 2008
per fiore/profume
Bologna is a good city to study Italian in, because the lack of tourists means that the locals still find 'stranieri' interesting and, more importantly, amusing. They make a lot of effort to talk to us, repeating things slowly when necessary and acting as though they are our personal Italian tutors. From people on the bus who make sure that we are able to understand their (apparently not private) conversation, to shop keepers who tell us what we need to pay in English and then repeat the amount slowly in Italian, everybody helps us with our Italian.
Today I bought a basil plant from my local grocery man. An old lady nearby smiled at me, pointed at the plant and said (I thought) "per fiore" which would mean "for the flower?". I replied "no, per mangiare" (to eat) and she laughed, and said, more slowly, "no, proFIUME" (perfume) which meant, basically "can I smell your basil plant". Totally random, but I laughed and said "si, certo". Laughing back at me, she smelt the basil with great relish, then winked at me and tottered away muttering in amusement "per mangiare, ha ha ha!".
These somewhat embarrassing moments are becoming more common because I am speaking more Italian as my confidence grows (and is subsequently shot to pieces!) but they're fun. I like that I make someone laugh at least once a day!
Today I bought a basil plant from my local grocery man. An old lady nearby smiled at me, pointed at the plant and said (I thought) "per fiore" which would mean "for the flower?". I replied "no, per mangiare" (to eat) and she laughed, and said, more slowly, "no, proFIUME" (perfume) which meant, basically "can I smell your basil plant". Totally random, but I laughed and said "si, certo". Laughing back at me, she smelt the basil with great relish, then winked at me and tottered away muttering in amusement "per mangiare, ha ha ha!".
These somewhat embarrassing moments are becoming more common because I am speaking more Italian as my confidence grows (and is subsequently shot to pieces!) but they're fun. I like that I make someone laugh at least once a day!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
san rita
Today is Saint Rita's Day, la festa della San Rita.
Saint Rita worked miracles, especially for the blind. The people pray to her by buying roses and holding them while they ask her for whatever miracle they desire. Today, Piazza Verde in Via Zamboni is full of flower markets and everywhere people are carrying bunches of roses. We visited a nearby church to discover a crowd of people lighting candles and waving their roses around in front of the saint, it was very festive!
Today, after five days of constant drizzle, there is sun. Perhaps San Rita has worked another miracle...
Saint Rita worked miracles, especially for the blind. The people pray to her by buying roses and holding them while they ask her for whatever miracle they desire. Today, Piazza Verde in Via Zamboni is full of flower markets and everywhere people are carrying bunches of roses. We visited a nearby church to discover a crowd of people lighting candles and waving their roses around in front of the saint, it was very festive!
Today, after five days of constant drizzle, there is sun. Perhaps San Rita has worked another miracle...
pezzi d' Italia
//pieces of Italy
Easily my favourite thing about Italy is the aperitivi. Each evening around five, the bars all serve aperitivi, like tapas, for free for as long as you drink alcohol.
As a warm up to dinner (or maybe to tide your stomach over until 9pm when people eat here), you can linger over your 3 euro glass of wine for at least two large plates of food.
It's worth noting that they aren't just any old tapas; they are the kind of things you expect to be served at somebody's wedding. Walking down the street is mouth watering, Each bar has its own style, some are classy, some do salads, some do proscuito with cheeses, others do little mini sandwiches and still others serve pieces of fruit and tiny sandwiches.
Every country has something to offer the world; Italy gave us pizza, but sadly it's keeping the aperitivi to itself.
....
Swimming pools in Italy are not worth the visit. when I asked Giordano for advice on which pool to visit he said "there's one that's 50 metres long but it's only open during the week". Umm, it's NOTEWORTHY that a pool is 50 metres long? At home it's the other way around, we take 50 metres for granted.
Never mind, we went to a 25 metre pool instead, and it was DIRTY. Remember, I am not some prissy little rich girl, I worked in a mine site and consequently I have showered in tiny cubicles that smell of urine and sweat, so when I say a place is dirty, it means something. Maybe to combat all the grunge, they had the chlorine turned up to the max, it practically burned my skin and my eyes nearly fried right in their sockets.
Maybe I would cut the place some slack, but the entry fee for a swim was around ten Australian dollars. For that price, I expect the services of a personal lifeguard, thanks very much.
Just don't swim in northern Italy, head south or visit in winter. No joke.
...
Italians don't make much use of supermarkets, it's far cheaper to buy each item you need at the relevant shop. For meat, the salumeria, for cheese it's the formaggeria, for fish it's the pescheria, for pizza it's the pizzeria and for bread it's the pasticceria. This sounds time consuming and frustrating and at first, it is. However, there's an upside: you make friends with your chosen shopkeepers and suddenly shopping is no longer a chore, but an enjoyable social occasion.
The shop next door to our house is run by a couple of shy Indian guys who speak Italian only marginally better than we do. They sell us our daily (ahem I mean... weekly) bottle of wine. The guy around the corner owns a little grocery shop and he speaks excellent English. He always expresses surprise that I am here because Australia is "troppo lontano" very far away. Everywhere, they greet us with a patient smile and speak to us slowly, repeating and explaining things when we look confused.
In Italy, it's obligatory to make friends with your local shopkeepers. The guy that runs your local bar (bar being coffee shop as well as pub), the guys in the little shop next door, the dude at your closest net cafe, the salumeria, formaggeria, paticceria, pizzeria. The first few times you visit, you are usually ignored, until suddenly you walk in and are met with a wide smile, a 'ciao bella' and, sooner or later, you are greeted by name. It's the best way to get good service and it makes the time consuming affair of shopping in Italy more bearable and even fun. (Living there might not be so fun but for tourists it's fine.)
...
Bologna is a good city to study Italian in, because the lack of tourists means that the locals still find 'stranieri' interesting and, more importantly, amusing. They make a lot of effort to talk to us, repeating things slowly when necessary and acting as though they are our personal Italian tutors. From people on the bus who make sure that we are able to understand their (apparently not private) conversation, to shop keepers who tell us what we need to pay in English and then repeat the amount slowly in Italian, everybody helps us with our Italian.
People always shyly speak English when it gets too confusing, but more and more often I am managing to leave shops without revealing my ignorance of the language.
...
Everybody always talks about how dangerous it is to drive in Italy, and while it is indeed a little hair raising at times, it has nothing on WALKING in Italy!
Every day Maaike and I take our lives gingerly in our hands and cross a particularly scary street on the way to school. At one particular point, the footpath is only about ten centimetres wide, and for some reason the buses and cars all seem to wait until we get to that point before roaring past. If there's a puddle, even better! The rear vision mirrors of the bus seem to miss our ears by only a few centimetres.
At the strisce pedonale (pedestrian stripes, zebra crossings) the cars beep you if you take too long, even when the little walking man is green. Be quick, be wary, and above all appear to be confident!
...
They have one and two cent pieces in Italy. God, I hate those little copper bastards.
...
Easily my favourite thing about Italy is the aperitivi. Each evening around five, the bars all serve aperitivi, like tapas, for free for as long as you drink alcohol.
As a warm up to dinner (or maybe to tide your stomach over until 9pm when people eat here), you can linger over your 3 euro glass of wine for at least two large plates of food.
It's worth noting that they aren't just any old tapas; they are the kind of things you expect to be served at somebody's wedding. Walking down the street is mouth watering, Each bar has its own style, some are classy, some do salads, some do proscuito with cheeses, others do little mini sandwiches and still others serve pieces of fruit and tiny sandwiches.
Every country has something to offer the world; Italy gave us pizza, but sadly it's keeping the aperitivi to itself.
....
Swimming pools in Italy are not worth the visit. when I asked Giordano for advice on which pool to visit he said "there's one that's 50 metres long but it's only open during the week". Umm, it's NOTEWORTHY that a pool is 50 metres long? At home it's the other way around, we take 50 metres for granted.
Never mind, we went to a 25 metre pool instead, and it was DIRTY. Remember, I am not some prissy little rich girl, I worked in a mine site and consequently I have showered in tiny cubicles that smell of urine and sweat, so when I say a place is dirty, it means something. Maybe to combat all the grunge, they had the chlorine turned up to the max, it practically burned my skin and my eyes nearly fried right in their sockets.
Maybe I would cut the place some slack, but the entry fee for a swim was around ten Australian dollars. For that price, I expect the services of a personal lifeguard, thanks very much.
Just don't swim in northern Italy, head south or visit in winter. No joke.
...
Italians don't make much use of supermarkets, it's far cheaper to buy each item you need at the relevant shop. For meat, the salumeria, for cheese it's the formaggeria, for fish it's the pescheria, for pizza it's the pizzeria and for bread it's the pasticceria. This sounds time consuming and frustrating and at first, it is. However, there's an upside: you make friends with your chosen shopkeepers and suddenly shopping is no longer a chore, but an enjoyable social occasion.
The shop next door to our house is run by a couple of shy Indian guys who speak Italian only marginally better than we do. They sell us our daily (ahem I mean... weekly) bottle of wine. The guy around the corner owns a little grocery shop and he speaks excellent English. He always expresses surprise that I am here because Australia is "troppo lontano" very far away. Everywhere, they greet us with a patient smile and speak to us slowly, repeating and explaining things when we look confused.
In Italy, it's obligatory to make friends with your local shopkeepers. The guy that runs your local bar (bar being coffee shop as well as pub), the guys in the little shop next door, the dude at your closest net cafe, the salumeria, formaggeria, paticceria, pizzeria. The first few times you visit, you are usually ignored, until suddenly you walk in and are met with a wide smile, a 'ciao bella' and, sooner or later, you are greeted by name. It's the best way to get good service and it makes the time consuming affair of shopping in Italy more bearable and even fun. (Living there might not be so fun but for tourists it's fine.)
...
Bologna is a good city to study Italian in, because the lack of tourists means that the locals still find 'stranieri' interesting and, more importantly, amusing. They make a lot of effort to talk to us, repeating things slowly when necessary and acting as though they are our personal Italian tutors. From people on the bus who make sure that we are able to understand their (apparently not private) conversation, to shop keepers who tell us what we need to pay in English and then repeat the amount slowly in Italian, everybody helps us with our Italian.
People always shyly speak English when it gets too confusing, but more and more often I am managing to leave shops without revealing my ignorance of the language.
...
Everybody always talks about how dangerous it is to drive in Italy, and while it is indeed a little hair raising at times, it has nothing on WALKING in Italy!
Every day Maaike and I take our lives gingerly in our hands and cross a particularly scary street on the way to school. At one particular point, the footpath is only about ten centimetres wide, and for some reason the buses and cars all seem to wait until we get to that point before roaring past. If there's a puddle, even better! The rear vision mirrors of the bus seem to miss our ears by only a few centimetres.
At the strisce pedonale (pedestrian stripes, zebra crossings) the cars beep you if you take too long, even when the little walking man is green. Be quick, be wary, and above all appear to be confident!
...
They have one and two cent pieces in Italy. God, I hate those little copper bastards.
...
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
idioms ecc
// ecc is Italian for etc
I thought I'd note on here a couple of idioms. They're cute and fun.
1) There's a saying in Italian : e una barba
It's a way of describing something that's boring, such as a book, a subject at school, a film etc. It means "it's a beard" and the idea of it is that it's so boring and takes so long to finish, that you grow a beard while trying to get through it.
Similarly, una barbone is "a bearded one", and it's their word for hobo.
Both seem appropriate, no?
2) costa un occhio della testa
In English we say it costs an arm and a leg, in Italian it's "it costs an eye from the head". I like that the translation from Italian to English rhymes with our own saying, and I like how evocative it is.
3) In bocca al lupo. Crepi il lupo!
Much the same way that we say "break a leg" to wish someone good luck, the Italians say "in the mouth of the wolf". How you respond is important - you must say crepi il lupo. The literal translation is "may the wolf die" but a more accurate translation is "to hell with the wolf". If you say thank you, you will spoil your good luck!
I thought I'd note on here a couple of idioms. They're cute and fun.
1) There's a saying in Italian : e una barba
It's a way of describing something that's boring, such as a book, a subject at school, a film etc. It means "it's a beard" and the idea of it is that it's so boring and takes so long to finish, that you grow a beard while trying to get through it.
Similarly, una barbone is "a bearded one", and it's their word for hobo.
Both seem appropriate, no?
2) costa un occhio della testa
In English we say it costs an arm and a leg, in Italian it's "it costs an eye from the head". I like that the translation from Italian to English rhymes with our own saying, and I like how evocative it is.
3) In bocca al lupo. Crepi il lupo!
Much the same way that we say "break a leg" to wish someone good luck, the Italians say "in the mouth of the wolf". How you respond is important - you must say crepi il lupo. The literal translation is "may the wolf die" but a more accurate translation is "to hell with the wolf". If you say thank you, you will spoil your good luck!
Monday, May 19, 2008
racconti nuovi
// new stories
I've been writing bits and pieces on my phone over the last few days in an attempt to get something on here, so that you know I'm still alive! The next few posts are the results. (There are also some new photos on flickr.)
Quick update on the Questura, I visited between the hours of 9 and 1 as directed. A lady there told me I had to return in two days, at EIGHT to collect a number. I did so, received a number, waited 4 hours and finally went in, to have my fingerprints taken (this had already been done at the other Questura, but hey, it's Italy) and now, finally, after advising the policeman on the cheapest domestic flights in Australia (he's going to visit a friend there soon) I am done! The other policeman there is married to a woman from, of all places, Mount Isa!!
So, finito! Finalmente!
I've been writing bits and pieces on my phone over the last few days in an attempt to get something on here, so that you know I'm still alive! The next few posts are the results. (There are also some new photos on flickr.)
Quick update on the Questura, I visited between the hours of 9 and 1 as directed. A lady there told me I had to return in two days, at EIGHT to collect a number. I did so, received a number, waited 4 hours and finally went in, to have my fingerprints taken (this had already been done at the other Questura, but hey, it's Italy) and now, finally, after advising the policeman on the cheapest domestic flights in Australia (he's going to visit a friend there soon) I am done! The other policeman there is married to a woman from, of all places, Mount Isa!!
So, finito! Finalmente!
la citta e la sculoa
// the city and the school
Bologna
When I arrived in Bologna the city was filled with fairy dust. All through the air floated white cotton flowers from the nearby fields, I almost expected to see Tinkerbell flitting past. In the sun, the flowers glittered and every now and then one would find its way into my hair. It lent a very surreal air to an already surreal arrival.
Bologna is one of those cities that's easy to gloss over as a tourist, but also incredibly easy to fall in love with as a resident. Maaike (my flatmate) and I both felt at home here after only a few days!
The city is famous for a few things and has many nicknames to show it. Bologna La Grassa, La Rossa, La Dotta, La Toured. Meaning, the fat (most Italians apparently admit that the food in Bologna is the best), the red (Bologna leans a long way to the left and is the communist centre of Italy, also there are 'pace' - peace - flags everywhere), the Learned (the oldest university in the world is here) and the Tower'ed (once the rich families of Bologna showed off to each other by building towers taller than everyone else's ‑ now there are only two left and they both lean.)
There are also many porticoes in Bologna, built above the streets when the students over-filled the city and more accommodation was needed. Some are plain while others are decorated beautifully and it's possible to traverse the whole city under the 42km of porticoes. 666 of them trail up a steep hill to the Church of San Luca which presides over the city, nestled in green parklands. It's quite incredible once you know your way around, each street takes on its own personality but all the way along you feel protected and welcome.
Via Zamboni is the uiversity street and it's where the action is. Every night there's a random street party and the place is littered with students and empty bottles, which are cleaned up every morning by the street cleaner. Piazza Maggiore is the main square and it's where the whole city goes to hang. There's an old market street with the best cheese, salami, fish and sweets in Bologna. Sadly it's just around the corner from our house.
Our street is 'molto rumorosamente'‑very loud. It's Via Mascarella and is littered with bars, and excellent gelateria, and various restaurants. Yep, if you remember me when I was thin, let go of that image pronto!
The people of Bologna are everything I hoped they would be. Punks all over the place, emos, rockers (Italian rockers though which to be honest are kind of funny), lots of 'bikies' with scary looking dogs and hilariously cute little vespas. Hells Angels they are not. I saw a guy do a wheelie on his Vespa the other day and had to stifle a laugh, it just isn't the same! There are gays and lesbians all around the place, strange looking old dudes, crazy men who live in boxes and show each other all their stuff. Like 'this is my shoe, I found it over there'. And EVERYWHERE there are rose sellers. The place is open, welcoming, happy in that serious way that Italians have (smile but make sure there's nothing in your teeth).
Our walk to school each morning takes in the sights and smells of an incredibly ancient city with an incredibly young heart. On Via Mascarella, we walk past the daily 'pazzo' (crazy man), skip around a couple of Italian boys who leer at us, and check out the timetable at the cinema on the corner. We take a right, walk past our favourite little restaurant 'Osteria dell'Orsa' where we always have wonderful, simple, tasty meals. There's a high wall with gardens and we pass them, and then come into a wide pedestrian‑only street with ancient grey cobble stones and bars lining it on one side. With Yohann, I had a flaming strawberry shot kind of thing at one of them ‑ hard to describe but it involves alcohol, sugar, strawberries and fire.
Around the corner we come into the always‑hectic via Zamboni. People line the street, drinking coffee in the mornings or alcohol at night. As we walk under the porticoes of the Opera School we pass speakers that blare opera music at us, it feels like being in a movie with your own soundtrack. Passing an International bookshop, a gelateria, and the famous Due Torri (two towers) we swallow our fear and dash across the blind corner that we have seen buses and bikes speed around, and occasionally crash in! We speed up to make it past the weird section where the footpath and the street are the same thing and then with relief, we are on the street that takes us to school. We press the button, the door opens, we walk up a very large, very wide, very ancient white staircase and past many beautiful pieces of furniture to our classroom.
The only thing I miss in Bologna is trees‑it's a city of buildings, porticoes and bricks. Very little greenery, only two parks at the edge of the city walls, and a large park overlooking the city which is about a 30 minute bus ride away.
The city is beautiful, I wish I could bring you all here to see it!
Cultura Italiana
This is the name of my school. It's close to the main square, in a huge building owned by one of Bologna's most pretigious families.
Italian is fun to learn, which is lucky, because for an english speaker it's also bloody hard! Many words are similar but the verbs come with about twenty thousand variations each, depending on whether it's you, me, them, us, rformal or informal and THEN whether it's the past, the present, how many people are involved, oh the list goes on. Constructing a simple sentence takes a lot of effort and time! However, I'm able to understand most of what is said, at least enough to get an idea of what's happening. I can communicate with shop keepers realtively easily and find my way around without too much hassle. I'm really enjoying the lessons and both of our teachers are great.
In the morning, we have a grammar lesson from 9‑11, then at 11.20 our very expressive, very Sicillian teacher comes to give us our 'practical' speaking lesson. We make up bizarre stories about photos of people, talk about our weekends and so on. I don't think I will make much progress in four weeks, but maybe after I've been in Italy for a few months I'll return to the school and do some more lessons. It's really a fantastic experience, so well organised and so much fun.
I love the way a new language slowly opens itself to you, revealing secrets and little familiarities, until suddenly it feels strange to think that one you didn't understand a word of it. My English is suffering though, because I am the only native English speaker here, and because the more Italian I speak, the more I start to speak English as though it's a direct translation from Italian. It won't be long before I am asking Maaike "Did you have seen the my shoes red?"
I find it really interesting to notice how speaking an unfamiliar language changes one's personality. We have all commented to each other that we feel somehow restrained. It's impossible to be funny, often it's hard to elaborate on a story. We frequently find ourselves responding with enthusiasm to someone's story and saying "Si! Si! Quando io...er....ahhh... um...si." Often your responses stop at "yeah I agree". On Mercoledi Italiano - Italian Wednesdays - when Maaike and I try to communicate only in Italian, we both reach the end of the day feeling like we are someone less ourself, a little restricted and relieved to switch back to a more familiar language.
I also use my hands a lot more, to describe whatever word I am trying to find. We are all fast becoming very good actors!
I'm writing all these new posts at the same time so it's hard to conclude them neatly. Scusate! (Excuse me).
Bologna
When I arrived in Bologna the city was filled with fairy dust. All through the air floated white cotton flowers from the nearby fields, I almost expected to see Tinkerbell flitting past. In the sun, the flowers glittered and every now and then one would find its way into my hair. It lent a very surreal air to an already surreal arrival.
Bologna is one of those cities that's easy to gloss over as a tourist, but also incredibly easy to fall in love with as a resident. Maaike (my flatmate) and I both felt at home here after only a few days!
The city is famous for a few things and has many nicknames to show it. Bologna La Grassa, La Rossa, La Dotta, La Toured. Meaning, the fat (most Italians apparently admit that the food in Bologna is the best), the red (Bologna leans a long way to the left and is the communist centre of Italy, also there are 'pace' - peace - flags everywhere), the Learned (the oldest university in the world is here) and the Tower'ed (once the rich families of Bologna showed off to each other by building towers taller than everyone else's ‑ now there are only two left and they both lean.)
There are also many porticoes in Bologna, built above the streets when the students over-filled the city and more accommodation was needed. Some are plain while others are decorated beautifully and it's possible to traverse the whole city under the 42km of porticoes. 666 of them trail up a steep hill to the Church of San Luca which presides over the city, nestled in green parklands. It's quite incredible once you know your way around, each street takes on its own personality but all the way along you feel protected and welcome.
Via Zamboni is the uiversity street and it's where the action is. Every night there's a random street party and the place is littered with students and empty bottles, which are cleaned up every morning by the street cleaner. Piazza Maggiore is the main square and it's where the whole city goes to hang. There's an old market street with the best cheese, salami, fish and sweets in Bologna. Sadly it's just around the corner from our house.
Our street is 'molto rumorosamente'‑very loud. It's Via Mascarella and is littered with bars, and excellent gelateria, and various restaurants. Yep, if you remember me when I was thin, let go of that image pronto!
The people of Bologna are everything I hoped they would be. Punks all over the place, emos, rockers (Italian rockers though which to be honest are kind of funny), lots of 'bikies' with scary looking dogs and hilariously cute little vespas. Hells Angels they are not. I saw a guy do a wheelie on his Vespa the other day and had to stifle a laugh, it just isn't the same! There are gays and lesbians all around the place, strange looking old dudes, crazy men who live in boxes and show each other all their stuff. Like 'this is my shoe, I found it over there'. And EVERYWHERE there are rose sellers. The place is open, welcoming, happy in that serious way that Italians have (smile but make sure there's nothing in your teeth).
Our walk to school each morning takes in the sights and smells of an incredibly ancient city with an incredibly young heart. On Via Mascarella, we walk past the daily 'pazzo' (crazy man), skip around a couple of Italian boys who leer at us, and check out the timetable at the cinema on the corner. We take a right, walk past our favourite little restaurant 'Osteria dell'Orsa' where we always have wonderful, simple, tasty meals. There's a high wall with gardens and we pass them, and then come into a wide pedestrian‑only street with ancient grey cobble stones and bars lining it on one side. With Yohann, I had a flaming strawberry shot kind of thing at one of them ‑ hard to describe but it involves alcohol, sugar, strawberries and fire.
Around the corner we come into the always‑hectic via Zamboni. People line the street, drinking coffee in the mornings or alcohol at night. As we walk under the porticoes of the Opera School we pass speakers that blare opera music at us, it feels like being in a movie with your own soundtrack. Passing an International bookshop, a gelateria, and the famous Due Torri (two towers) we swallow our fear and dash across the blind corner that we have seen buses and bikes speed around, and occasionally crash in! We speed up to make it past the weird section where the footpath and the street are the same thing and then with relief, we are on the street that takes us to school. We press the button, the door opens, we walk up a very large, very wide, very ancient white staircase and past many beautiful pieces of furniture to our classroom.
The only thing I miss in Bologna is trees‑it's a city of buildings, porticoes and bricks. Very little greenery, only two parks at the edge of the city walls, and a large park overlooking the city which is about a 30 minute bus ride away.
The city is beautiful, I wish I could bring you all here to see it!
Cultura Italiana
This is the name of my school. It's close to the main square, in a huge building owned by one of Bologna's most pretigious families.
Italian is fun to learn, which is lucky, because for an english speaker it's also bloody hard! Many words are similar but the verbs come with about twenty thousand variations each, depending on whether it's you, me, them, us, rformal or informal and THEN whether it's the past, the present, how many people are involved, oh the list goes on. Constructing a simple sentence takes a lot of effort and time! However, I'm able to understand most of what is said, at least enough to get an idea of what's happening. I can communicate with shop keepers realtively easily and find my way around without too much hassle. I'm really enjoying the lessons and both of our teachers are great.
In the morning, we have a grammar lesson from 9‑11, then at 11.20 our very expressive, very Sicillian teacher comes to give us our 'practical' speaking lesson. We make up bizarre stories about photos of people, talk about our weekends and so on. I don't think I will make much progress in four weeks, but maybe after I've been in Italy for a few months I'll return to the school and do some more lessons. It's really a fantastic experience, so well organised and so much fun.
I love the way a new language slowly opens itself to you, revealing secrets and little familiarities, until suddenly it feels strange to think that one you didn't understand a word of it. My English is suffering though, because I am the only native English speaker here, and because the more Italian I speak, the more I start to speak English as though it's a direct translation from Italian. It won't be long before I am asking Maaike "Did you have seen the my shoes red?"
I find it really interesting to notice how speaking an unfamiliar language changes one's personality. We have all commented to each other that we feel somehow restrained. It's impossible to be funny, often it's hard to elaborate on a story. We frequently find ourselves responding with enthusiasm to someone's story and saying "Si! Si! Quando io...er....ahhh... um...si." Often your responses stop at "yeah I agree". On Mercoledi Italiano - Italian Wednesdays - when Maaike and I try to communicate only in Italian, we both reach the end of the day feeling like we are someone less ourself, a little restricted and relieved to switch back to a more familiar language.
I also use my hands a lot more, to describe whatever word I am trying to find. We are all fast becoming very good actors!
I'm writing all these new posts at the same time so it's hard to conclude them neatly. Scusate! (Excuse me).
i miei amici
// my friends
These are the people you'll see in the photos on my flickr site.
Maaike is my flatmate. She is Dutch and together we share an apartment in central Bologna, only a few minutes walk away from all the important stuff. She is 28, has a great sense of humour and is always happy and laughing so we have a great time. Luckily, we get along extremely well and share a lot of the same habits, taste in music, interests and food cravings. Yay!
Bettina is a swiss girl who unfortunately went home yesterday, but in only two weeks she has already become a good friend. She has stunning long black hair and beautiful skin, and speaks good Italian so was good for us to hang around with!
Yohann is a French bookseller who has been coming to Italy for years and who speaks excellent Italian. He and his flatmate Giordano (an Italian from Rome who works for the government, the poor darling) keep us entertained. Yohann organises most of our nights out with the group and Giordano woos the women with his big smile, constant laughter and really kind nature. Both really lovely guys and a lot of fun.
You'll pick Giordano by his Italian skin and wide smile, and Yohann is the one who always has a funny expression on his face and usually one eye closed.
Zoe is another swiss girl who speaks fantastic English, Italian and French so she often ends up being the translator in our many 'what's the word for this' conversations. She has cool curly hair and is always smiling.
Andreas, like Giordano, is another clown. He is also Swiss. He bought this holiday for his girlfriend Lucia, because she loves Italian. Very romantic!
So, that's the core crew. There are others you will probably also see but I'll comment on the photos so you know who they are.
These are the people you'll see in the photos on my flickr site.
Maaike is my flatmate. She is Dutch and together we share an apartment in central Bologna, only a few minutes walk away from all the important stuff. She is 28, has a great sense of humour and is always happy and laughing so we have a great time. Luckily, we get along extremely well and share a lot of the same habits, taste in music, interests and food cravings. Yay!
Bettina is a swiss girl who unfortunately went home yesterday, but in only two weeks she has already become a good friend. She has stunning long black hair and beautiful skin, and speaks good Italian so was good for us to hang around with!
Yohann is a French bookseller who has been coming to Italy for years and who speaks excellent Italian. He and his flatmate Giordano (an Italian from Rome who works for the government, the poor darling) keep us entertained. Yohann organises most of our nights out with the group and Giordano woos the women with his big smile, constant laughter and really kind nature. Both really lovely guys and a lot of fun.
You'll pick Giordano by his Italian skin and wide smile, and Yohann is the one who always has a funny expression on his face and usually one eye closed.
Zoe is another swiss girl who speaks fantastic English, Italian and French so she often ends up being the translator in our many 'what's the word for this' conversations. She has cool curly hair and is always smiling.
Andreas, like Giordano, is another clown. He is also Swiss. He bought this holiday for his girlfriend Lucia, because she loves Italian. Very romantic!
So, that's the core crew. There are others you will probably also see but I'll comment on the photos so you know who they are.
abbiamo fatto qualcosa
// we've done things
In spite of my lack of news, I have actually been doing stuff! I won't even try to fill you in on all of it, but instead I thought I'd scribble a few snapshots of some of the experiences I've had since arriving in Bologna.
Rimini aint no Rotto
Before school begins, a trip to Rimini. Feeling a little lonely at this point, not many social types in the dodgy little hostel I'm in. Rimini is what we all pray Rottnest will never become. Beaches so covered with games, playgrounds, chairs, volleyball courts that there is barely any space for the people. The tiny town is virtually ignored by the tourists, the beaches like a goiter on it´s side attract all the people. Lifeless, strangled by too many tourists and not enough culture. Still, not a bad day, interesting to see the place. Best thing about Rimini; an ice‑cream served inside a little pineapple.
Too much whiskey.
A Thursday, meeting some people for pizza. Yohann, Maaike, Bettina, Zoe, Andreas, Lucia. Afterwards nobody wants to go out but Yohann and I so we wander to Via Zamboni, the Northbridge of Bologna. Yohann's flatmate Giordano meets us there and we down a few beers before running into some Swiss girls who are off to the 'shot shot bar' for 1euro shots. We arrange to meet them at another bar and when they arrive the sweet shy girls have become hilarious crazy entertainers.
We all head off to an underground (literally) bar/club that plays half decent rock. I order a scotch, which in Australia would be a few millilitres in the bottom of a glass, but in Italy I discover it's half a (plastic) glass of really decent whiskey. So, from this point forward how much more detail are you expecting exactly...? There was dancing, lots of photos, fairly certain there was some vodka and red bull. Yohann kindly walked me home, we're pretty sure we traversed most of the city in the process given that our map‑reading skills were somewhat non‑existent. The next day I learned that one of the Swiss girls stumbled her way home on her own and has a big semi‑circle injury on her forehead to show for it. Quite a fun evening, like being 18 again.
Scaling the due torri.
Bologna was once full of towers, evidence of the social rivalry of various powerful and rich families. Quite literally a measuring contest; my tower is bigger than your tower. Today, there are only a few left and of those, two are famous. The whole town plan converges on these towers, five main streets span out from them.
So, I climbed the towers the other day, in spite of the fact that you're not supposed to scale the tower until you have graduated ‑ bad luck or something. I figure I graduated from TAFE so that counts, I'll be safe. There are a LOT of steps, not sure how many but it's definitely well into the hundreds. The wooden steps were pericoloso (seriously I have just forgotten the word for dangerous... Perilous?) because they were so thin, old, worn smooth by centuries of feet traversing up and down. There was a lot of puffing from all quarters and many grazies and pregos to the people who stood aside for others to pass.
At the top I was met with the Bologna I have grown to love through photos and postcards. A stunning view over the city, now-familiar buildings, my school, the main Piazza, across to San Luca church on top of the hill. I lingered for a while before heading back down, back past the puffing tourists (I am fitter than I thought!) and around, around, around the little tower.
Lucca
Seriously, if you're single and wish you weren't, don't visit me in Italy. It's the worst country in the world for a not happily single person to be. As I write this (on the little keyboard I bought for my phone, v technological, me), I'm sitting on the city walls of Lucca, where I am surrounded by no less than seven kissing couples! People kiss everywhere in this place. I flashed a smile of approval at a couple of kids who ran up here with little fireworks and set them off near people who were getting a bit too hot. Ok, so I'm bitter, but it was pretty funny to see them jump!
Lucca is a pretty little town totally destroyed by the scourge of tourism. American accents and backpacks abound in this town, with people loudly complaining when it turns out that what they ordered was actually chicken and not fish. Today there were antique markets everywhere. I was a little bit in heaven and a little bit in hell, I love to look but I hate not being able to buy.
Lucca is surrounded by grassy city walls, high above the green plain surrounding the old town on one side, and the treeless streets on the other. Mountains are visible in all directions (like the couples) and there is a distant hum of traffic from the streets surrounding the old town.
There are churches here, San This and San That. I went into a couple of them but there were too many people wandering around with their cameras out, ignoring the 'vietato' (forbidden) signs indicating that photography is decidedly not cool. I learned one of two interesting things by following a tour group around but forgot everything an hour later, so I can't share it with you.
I'm unsure about Lucca, it was worth seeing and it was a pretty day, but the townspeople don't like tourists (don't blame them) so after a place like Bologna (few tourists, people are always happy to help) it felt unfriendly. The grass factor was definitely a bonus though, the Italian cities I've visited so far have all been treeless, so it was nice to be reminded on nature. Oh, and the train ride there was stunning.
Worth a visit but not a long stay.
Food
Can't come to Italy and not talk about food!
My favourite hangout in Bologna is a little restaurant called "Osteria dell'Orsa" and it's conveniently close to my house, and also cheap. They do an amazing pasta dish with asparagus. It has a casual air, lots of students, kind of like hanging out in someone's backyard.
Being as multicultural as we are at my school (there is only one other Australian, most people are Swiss or Japanese), we have had a few nights at each other's houses cooking our national foods. It's great for me because kangaroos and emus aren't exactly easy to find in the shops here, so I get away with just bringing the wine.
I've had a dinner cooked by a Japanese girl and a French boy; rabbit, cheese, spaghetti with rongoli (seafood) and strawberries with mascarpone. Another meal was cooked by Swiss and Japanese; various dishes that I can't spell or pronounce but all delicious.
In general, the food is of course fantastic and the prices are acceptable. But, you really have to love Italian food to visit Italy. You can't be vegetarian (well, you can try). In recent years more and more 'ristoranti etnici' - ethnic restaurants - have appeared, but the main fare is still pizza, pasta, ham and cheese. No complaints from me but we'll see how long it takes before I need to buy bigger pants! Honestly, I realise people go on for ages about Italian food but I think I've just about covered it. It's great, but not exactly varied. Why stray from perfection!
Giordano, paper plane hero.
In a future post you'll hear about the people here. One of them is Giordano, the flatmate of one of the guys at my school. He's Italian, from Rome, and hilarious, much like having your own personal clown in tow. Last weekend, he kindly drove a group of us to the beach at Ravenna.
Italian beaches when compared to Australian beaches are at best ok, at worst really really crap. Ravenna is not bad, you can't see through the water but the sand is ok. We staked our claim and lay in the sun (here the sun is just warm and cosy, not sizzling like at home), I swam for a bit, and then we had a paper plane competition when I started folding my table napkin at lunch. Giordano won and ran around in great excitement. We played volleyball (I sucked) and hung out for a while before traipsing through the beach party crowd (ala the Cott on a Sunday) and heading home, exhausted.
So far...
So far, I've met some really fun people, am managing to pick up some Italian, and have very few moments to myself. I've missed lots of things out, like our picnic at San Luca (a church above the city, you climb uphill under 666 porticoes to get there), our Monday meals with the school, the aperitivi (each evening Italian bars serve tapas for as long as you keep drinking) and my little fling with a french boy (over now but lots of fun). The decision to learn Italian for a month was definitely a good one!
In spite of my lack of news, I have actually been doing stuff! I won't even try to fill you in on all of it, but instead I thought I'd scribble a few snapshots of some of the experiences I've had since arriving in Bologna.
Rimini aint no Rotto
Before school begins, a trip to Rimini. Feeling a little lonely at this point, not many social types in the dodgy little hostel I'm in. Rimini is what we all pray Rottnest will never become. Beaches so covered with games, playgrounds, chairs, volleyball courts that there is barely any space for the people. The tiny town is virtually ignored by the tourists, the beaches like a goiter on it´s side attract all the people. Lifeless, strangled by too many tourists and not enough culture. Still, not a bad day, interesting to see the place. Best thing about Rimini; an ice‑cream served inside a little pineapple.
Too much whiskey.
A Thursday, meeting some people for pizza. Yohann, Maaike, Bettina, Zoe, Andreas, Lucia. Afterwards nobody wants to go out but Yohann and I so we wander to Via Zamboni, the Northbridge of Bologna. Yohann's flatmate Giordano meets us there and we down a few beers before running into some Swiss girls who are off to the 'shot shot bar' for 1euro shots. We arrange to meet them at another bar and when they arrive the sweet shy girls have become hilarious crazy entertainers.
We all head off to an underground (literally) bar/club that plays half decent rock. I order a scotch, which in Australia would be a few millilitres in the bottom of a glass, but in Italy I discover it's half a (plastic) glass of really decent whiskey. So, from this point forward how much more detail are you expecting exactly...? There was dancing, lots of photos, fairly certain there was some vodka and red bull. Yohann kindly walked me home, we're pretty sure we traversed most of the city in the process given that our map‑reading skills were somewhat non‑existent. The next day I learned that one of the Swiss girls stumbled her way home on her own and has a big semi‑circle injury on her forehead to show for it. Quite a fun evening, like being 18 again.
Scaling the due torri.
Bologna was once full of towers, evidence of the social rivalry of various powerful and rich families. Quite literally a measuring contest; my tower is bigger than your tower. Today, there are only a few left and of those, two are famous. The whole town plan converges on these towers, five main streets span out from them.
So, I climbed the towers the other day, in spite of the fact that you're not supposed to scale the tower until you have graduated ‑ bad luck or something. I figure I graduated from TAFE so that counts, I'll be safe. There are a LOT of steps, not sure how many but it's definitely well into the hundreds. The wooden steps were pericoloso (seriously I have just forgotten the word for dangerous... Perilous?) because they were so thin, old, worn smooth by centuries of feet traversing up and down. There was a lot of puffing from all quarters and many grazies and pregos to the people who stood aside for others to pass.
At the top I was met with the Bologna I have grown to love through photos and postcards. A stunning view over the city, now-familiar buildings, my school, the main Piazza, across to San Luca church on top of the hill. I lingered for a while before heading back down, back past the puffing tourists (I am fitter than I thought!) and around, around, around the little tower.
Lucca
Seriously, if you're single and wish you weren't, don't visit me in Italy. It's the worst country in the world for a not happily single person to be. As I write this (on the little keyboard I bought for my phone, v technological, me), I'm sitting on the city walls of Lucca, where I am surrounded by no less than seven kissing couples! People kiss everywhere in this place. I flashed a smile of approval at a couple of kids who ran up here with little fireworks and set them off near people who were getting a bit too hot. Ok, so I'm bitter, but it was pretty funny to see them jump!
Lucca is a pretty little town totally destroyed by the scourge of tourism. American accents and backpacks abound in this town, with people loudly complaining when it turns out that what they ordered was actually chicken and not fish. Today there were antique markets everywhere. I was a little bit in heaven and a little bit in hell, I love to look but I hate not being able to buy.
Lucca is surrounded by grassy city walls, high above the green plain surrounding the old town on one side, and the treeless streets on the other. Mountains are visible in all directions (like the couples) and there is a distant hum of traffic from the streets surrounding the old town.
There are churches here, San This and San That. I went into a couple of them but there were too many people wandering around with their cameras out, ignoring the 'vietato' (forbidden) signs indicating that photography is decidedly not cool. I learned one of two interesting things by following a tour group around but forgot everything an hour later, so I can't share it with you.
I'm unsure about Lucca, it was worth seeing and it was a pretty day, but the townspeople don't like tourists (don't blame them) so after a place like Bologna (few tourists, people are always happy to help) it felt unfriendly. The grass factor was definitely a bonus though, the Italian cities I've visited so far have all been treeless, so it was nice to be reminded on nature. Oh, and the train ride there was stunning.
Worth a visit but not a long stay.
Food
Can't come to Italy and not talk about food!
My favourite hangout in Bologna is a little restaurant called "Osteria dell'Orsa" and it's conveniently close to my house, and also cheap. They do an amazing pasta dish with asparagus. It has a casual air, lots of students, kind of like hanging out in someone's backyard.
Being as multicultural as we are at my school (there is only one other Australian, most people are Swiss or Japanese), we have had a few nights at each other's houses cooking our national foods. It's great for me because kangaroos and emus aren't exactly easy to find in the shops here, so I get away with just bringing the wine.
I've had a dinner cooked by a Japanese girl and a French boy; rabbit, cheese, spaghetti with rongoli (seafood) and strawberries with mascarpone. Another meal was cooked by Swiss and Japanese; various dishes that I can't spell or pronounce but all delicious.
In general, the food is of course fantastic and the prices are acceptable. But, you really have to love Italian food to visit Italy. You can't be vegetarian (well, you can try). In recent years more and more 'ristoranti etnici' - ethnic restaurants - have appeared, but the main fare is still pizza, pasta, ham and cheese. No complaints from me but we'll see how long it takes before I need to buy bigger pants! Honestly, I realise people go on for ages about Italian food but I think I've just about covered it. It's great, but not exactly varied. Why stray from perfection!
Giordano, paper plane hero.
In a future post you'll hear about the people here. One of them is Giordano, the flatmate of one of the guys at my school. He's Italian, from Rome, and hilarious, much like having your own personal clown in tow. Last weekend, he kindly drove a group of us to the beach at Ravenna.
Italian beaches when compared to Australian beaches are at best ok, at worst really really crap. Ravenna is not bad, you can't see through the water but the sand is ok. We staked our claim and lay in the sun (here the sun is just warm and cosy, not sizzling like at home), I swam for a bit, and then we had a paper plane competition when I started folding my table napkin at lunch. Giordano won and ran around in great excitement. We played volleyball (I sucked) and hung out for a while before traipsing through the beach party crowd (ala the Cott on a Sunday) and heading home, exhausted.
So far...
So far, I've met some really fun people, am managing to pick up some Italian, and have very few moments to myself. I've missed lots of things out, like our picnic at San Luca (a church above the city, you climb uphill under 666 porticoes to get there), our Monday meals with the school, the aperitivi (each evening Italian bars serve tapas for as long as you keep drinking) and my little fling with a french boy (over now but lots of fun). The decision to learn Italian for a month was definitely a good one!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
questura adventura
Adventures in the Questura (police station) in Italy...
To stay in Italy for longer than three months, I need a visa and a permit to stay (called a Permesso di Soggiorno). The visa was issued in Australia, not a problem.
But the PERMESSO! OH!
DAY ONE
On my first day in Italy, I went to the Questura to register. It has to be done within 8 working days so I figure I might as well get it out of the way. At the Questura, I line up behind the machine to get a number, and then I fill in a form that I mostly have to guess at. The form requests two passport photos which I don't have with me, so I leave to find a little photo machine. When I return, the Questura is closed.
DAY TWO
I arrive at the Questura, photos in hand, only to be told that I need to be at the OTHER Questura, which is about a 30 minute walk away, almost off my map. I arrive just in time to see the sign that says 'only open until 1pm' - it's around ten past. Hmmm.
DAY THREE
Primo Maggio, the First of May, national holiday. For my permesso, does this count as a working day I wonder?
DAY FOUR
Again I arrive at the Questura, this time at 7am. I wait an hour and a half with my little number in hand, and then an angry Italian guy comes flying out of the office shouting something about 'il sportello e chiuso, numeri zero alle venti dammi adesso'. This means that the machine that spat out my number is in fact closed, and I need to give him my number. This I do, and he disappears for a while before returning to yell at everyone for a bit. Then suddenly everyone gets in line and waits their turn to be personally yelled at. Eventually it comes to me and I put on my best 'scared little Aussie girl' face and say 'Non parlo Italiano, ma bisogno un Permesso di Soggiorno' - I don't speak Italian, but I need a permit to stay.
Suddenly, the terrifying yelling man becomes quiet, and asks me a few polite questions in English before giving me a new number. Apparently Aussies are special in Italy.
Three hours later, it's my turn to be served. He tells me that I need my passport and I hand it over. I also need 4 ID photos which I give him, as well as a photocopy of my passport and visa. I smugly hand him everything he needs, and when he tells me that I need to pay two taxes, I take the exact change required out of my purse.
"No, you don't pay these here; you must get this one from the tabbaccheria, and this one from the post office." These are, of course, back in town, 30 minutes away, and the place is closing in an hour. I smile, not surprised that there was something I missed, and I return to the city with my documents.
DAY FIVE
I attend the first day of school instead of hanging with the angry yelling man. After school, I line up for 45 minutes to fill in a weird little receipt for my tax payment at the post office. Then I buy the other stamp at a tabbaccheria. Sorted.
DAY SIX
Again, I go to school in the morning, because there is a sign saying that Permessos can be attended to on Thursday afternoons, and today is only Wednesday.
DAY SEVEN
After school, I go to the Questura and again line up behind about 50 people until I finally encounter the scary yelling man. He kindly tells me that the Questura is only open for COLLECTING the permit, not for HANDING IN the documents. I have to go back tomorrow. At this point I almost cry but laugh instead. At least I'm getting a lot of exercise.
DAY EIGHT
My alarm doens't wake me up. I awaken at about ten and freak out, thinking I will never get served today, and it's my 8th working day here! ARGH! So without breakfast I run to the Questura, missing school. Again there are about 50-70 people already waiting when I arrive but there is a new scary yelling man in a funky green t-shirt. I pull the same 'scared little Aussie chick' routine and he says something to me that I think means 'wait and I will get you a number'. So I wait, wait, wait. Finally scary yelling man number one sees me and says "Ahhhh, che!" which means "oh it's you!" He tells me to come inside and wait in line.
The people in front of me yell a lot about something to do with being married to an Italian, it involves old people who are sick, I listen for a while and try not to faint from hunger. Finally they are done and the guy says to me "Arrivo" - I'll be back in a sec.
20 minutes later he returns, and I hand him my hard earned documents. He asks me a few things, and then tells me to line up at the other queue for my fingerprints to be taken.
The other queue is headed up by scary yelling man in cool t-shirt, and about 15 minutes later I get to press my fingers onto the scanner thingy. He gives me a document and tells me that I have to return to Bologna in 3 months to collect my official permite (for now I just have a receipt). I already knew this so I smile, that's fine, yay!
But THEN he tells me that I need to go to the OTHER Questura in the centre, to do something or other with a piece of paper. It has to be a Tuesday or Thursday.
DAY TWELVE
The paper I was given says I can go to the Questura between the hours of 9am and 1pm, so I skip my second class and rock up around 11. The address is wrong, but I stop a sexy Italian cop and he gives me directions. When I arrive, a polite lady says "Dimmi" which basically means "Speak!". I show her my paper and she tells me that I needed to be there at 8am, because by 9am all the numbers are finished. I must now return on Thursday at 8am (again missing school) to collect a number, then hang around until 9 when it opens, then however many more hours until my number comes up.
So the saga continues.
On the bright side, it would have been disappointing if it was too easy. I am, after all, here to experience Italy.
(Let's not forget that this is a country where you do not buy stamps at the post office - instead you buy them at the tabbaccheria. Someone jokingly asked if you buy cigarettes in the post office. Ha, wouldn't surprise me!)
To stay in Italy for longer than three months, I need a visa and a permit to stay (called a Permesso di Soggiorno). The visa was issued in Australia, not a problem.
But the PERMESSO! OH!
DAY ONE
On my first day in Italy, I went to the Questura to register. It has to be done within 8 working days so I figure I might as well get it out of the way. At the Questura, I line up behind the machine to get a number, and then I fill in a form that I mostly have to guess at. The form requests two passport photos which I don't have with me, so I leave to find a little photo machine. When I return, the Questura is closed.
DAY TWO
I arrive at the Questura, photos in hand, only to be told that I need to be at the OTHER Questura, which is about a 30 minute walk away, almost off my map. I arrive just in time to see the sign that says 'only open until 1pm' - it's around ten past. Hmmm.
DAY THREE
Primo Maggio, the First of May, national holiday. For my permesso, does this count as a working day I wonder?
DAY FOUR
Again I arrive at the Questura, this time at 7am. I wait an hour and a half with my little number in hand, and then an angry Italian guy comes flying out of the office shouting something about 'il sportello e chiuso, numeri zero alle venti dammi adesso'. This means that the machine that spat out my number is in fact closed, and I need to give him my number. This I do, and he disappears for a while before returning to yell at everyone for a bit. Then suddenly everyone gets in line and waits their turn to be personally yelled at. Eventually it comes to me and I put on my best 'scared little Aussie girl' face and say 'Non parlo Italiano, ma bisogno un Permesso di Soggiorno' - I don't speak Italian, but I need a permit to stay.
Suddenly, the terrifying yelling man becomes quiet, and asks me a few polite questions in English before giving me a new number. Apparently Aussies are special in Italy.
Three hours later, it's my turn to be served. He tells me that I need my passport and I hand it over. I also need 4 ID photos which I give him, as well as a photocopy of my passport and visa. I smugly hand him everything he needs, and when he tells me that I need to pay two taxes, I take the exact change required out of my purse.
"No, you don't pay these here; you must get this one from the tabbaccheria, and this one from the post office." These are, of course, back in town, 30 minutes away, and the place is closing in an hour. I smile, not surprised that there was something I missed, and I return to the city with my documents.
DAY FIVE
I attend the first day of school instead of hanging with the angry yelling man. After school, I line up for 45 minutes to fill in a weird little receipt for my tax payment at the post office. Then I buy the other stamp at a tabbaccheria. Sorted.
DAY SIX
Again, I go to school in the morning, because there is a sign saying that Permessos can be attended to on Thursday afternoons, and today is only Wednesday.
DAY SEVEN
After school, I go to the Questura and again line up behind about 50 people until I finally encounter the scary yelling man. He kindly tells me that the Questura is only open for COLLECTING the permit, not for HANDING IN the documents. I have to go back tomorrow. At this point I almost cry but laugh instead. At least I'm getting a lot of exercise.
DAY EIGHT
My alarm doens't wake me up. I awaken at about ten and freak out, thinking I will never get served today, and it's my 8th working day here! ARGH! So without breakfast I run to the Questura, missing school. Again there are about 50-70 people already waiting when I arrive but there is a new scary yelling man in a funky green t-shirt. I pull the same 'scared little Aussie chick' routine and he says something to me that I think means 'wait and I will get you a number'. So I wait, wait, wait. Finally scary yelling man number one sees me and says "Ahhhh, che!" which means "oh it's you!" He tells me to come inside and wait in line.
The people in front of me yell a lot about something to do with being married to an Italian, it involves old people who are sick, I listen for a while and try not to faint from hunger. Finally they are done and the guy says to me "Arrivo" - I'll be back in a sec.
20 minutes later he returns, and I hand him my hard earned documents. He asks me a few things, and then tells me to line up at the other queue for my fingerprints to be taken.
The other queue is headed up by scary yelling man in cool t-shirt, and about 15 minutes later I get to press my fingers onto the scanner thingy. He gives me a document and tells me that I have to return to Bologna in 3 months to collect my official permite (for now I just have a receipt). I already knew this so I smile, that's fine, yay!
But THEN he tells me that I need to go to the OTHER Questura in the centre, to do something or other with a piece of paper. It has to be a Tuesday or Thursday.
DAY TWELVE
The paper I was given says I can go to the Questura between the hours of 9am and 1pm, so I skip my second class and rock up around 11. The address is wrong, but I stop a sexy Italian cop and he gives me directions. When I arrive, a polite lady says "Dimmi" which basically means "Speak!". I show her my paper and she tells me that I needed to be there at 8am, because by 9am all the numbers are finished. I must now return on Thursday at 8am (again missing school) to collect a number, then hang around until 9 when it opens, then however many more hours until my number comes up.
So the saga continues.
On the bright side, it would have been disappointing if it was too easy. I am, after all, here to experience Italy.
(Let's not forget that this is a country where you do not buy stamps at the post office - instead you buy them at the tabbaccheria. Someone jokingly asked if you buy cigarettes in the post office. Ha, wouldn't surprise me!)
Monday, May 12, 2008
so busy!
So many things going on. I keep trying to find time to write properly but as you have probably noticed I am failing miserably. Still, loving the school lessons, getting on really well with my flatmate, spending time with some really cool people and eating not too much pizza.
Anyway, still alive, having fun, hope everyone is well, and I will do my ABSOLUTE best to update you properly soon!
Anyway, still alive, having fun, hope everyone is well, and I will do my ABSOLUTE best to update you properly soon!
Monday, May 5, 2008
speedy update
Yet another quick one as I'm about to head out to dinner with the other students.
Just wanted to say that my house is FANTASTIC, I am living with a Dutch girl called Maaike who is 28, we get along very well, she's very normal, has a good sense of humour and we seem to have the same goals and interests, AND a very similar level of Italian / she is better than me though.
Excuse the weird punctuation by the way, some Japanese student has been on the keyboard and changed it all around.
Umm, I have my own room with a balcony that I share with Maaike, we have a little kitchen with pots and pans, some condiments, all the things we need. The place was renovated only last week and still smells of paint, all the furniture is new as we are the first people in there since the renovation! We are also very central, close to the school and the main piazza.
Our classes are in the morning until about 12.40, then we make lunch at home and do our homework, and after that we either hang out in a local bar, of which there are plenty!, or we go on an excursion with the school. Tonight we are being taken around the city to find all the supermarkets, banks, etc, and then we are going to a pizzeria for dinner.
Next week another girl will move in with us, she is German. We also get a tv later this week AND we have a cleaning lady! It will be a great way to spend the month I think.
I will upload some photos of my room and the apartment as soon as I can get a wifi connection to work on my phone...
And soon I will write a proper post about Bologna.
Ciao!
Just wanted to say that my house is FANTASTIC, I am living with a Dutch girl called Maaike who is 28, we get along very well, she's very normal, has a good sense of humour and we seem to have the same goals and interests, AND a very similar level of Italian / she is better than me though.
Excuse the weird punctuation by the way, some Japanese student has been on the keyboard and changed it all around.
Umm, I have my own room with a balcony that I share with Maaike, we have a little kitchen with pots and pans, some condiments, all the things we need. The place was renovated only last week and still smells of paint, all the furniture is new as we are the first people in there since the renovation! We are also very central, close to the school and the main piazza.
Our classes are in the morning until about 12.40, then we make lunch at home and do our homework, and after that we either hang out in a local bar, of which there are plenty!, or we go on an excursion with the school. Tonight we are being taken around the city to find all the supermarkets, banks, etc, and then we are going to a pizzeria for dinner.
Next week another girl will move in with us, she is German. We also get a tv later this week AND we have a cleaning lady! It will be a great way to spend the month I think.
I will upload some photos of my room and the apartment as soon as I can get a wifi connection to work on my phone...
And soon I will write a proper post about Bologna.
Ciao!
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