Last Night In Paris

One final thing:

No one is probably reading this anymore but just in case anyone is, Paris lead us to one more fun little experience before we left. We had more than enough time to just go out to dinner and neither of us were hungry yet so we decided to copy the day before and go back to the Eiffel Tower one last time. This time with, however, we upped the ante and instead of wine brought champagne. We sat on a different side sipping moderately priced champagne for a while and then when the fact that I had to pee was overruling everything else, we took off to find a restaurant.

Our original plan was to walk several blocks away from the tower in order to find a restaurant that wasn’t super kitschy or over priced. This plan changed to - let’s find the first restaurant we see and go there. The pee factor was getting rather over powering. We did just that, but when we came back from our restroom using and actually looked at the menu we were reminded again of our first plan. The unreasonable expensive menu was filled with things like cheeseburgers, pizza and fries. Really not up for having this be our last meal, we covertly grabbed our stuff and snuck out and down the street. The next several places we found were of a similar vein. It was then that I said, “I bet you once the tower is out of view we’ll find a good place.” Quite literally, the first place we found once the tower was out of view was a cute little mom and pop owned restaurant specializing in duck. We stood outside for a moment doing the, “I’m good with it if you are, “ “you’re decision,” “no, yeah I mean I’m fine with it if you are.” When a girl sitting out side leaned back and said, “if you need help deciding, this place is really good. If you like duck, it’s the best. It’s owned by a really sweet couple.” That was enough for us.

The inside was cosy and resembled something you’d expect to see in the countryside rather than the middle of Paris. The doors were made of wine crates and corks and each table had a toaster on it. The two who owned the place were absolutely darling and the food was outstanding. When we were paying the woman at the register, the girl from outside came in. “Oh hey! Did you guys love it?” We told her we did and she proceeded to gush extensively about the place. The woman said, “tell her about what you eat.” “Oh yes,” the girl said, “ I was actually vegetarian when I came here, but then I tried the duck and now I’m not! This place changed me!” The woman who owned the place just giggled. The girl then began to ask question after question and tell us her life story. She was American but had moved to Paris 2 years back with her French husband. The were regulars at this place and she was there with him, her two brothers in law and her mother from Chile, all of whom she introduced us to. She had us tell them about what we were doing there and how much we loved the place. She went on and on for several minutes and even went so far as to say, “That is such a bummer you are leaving tomorrow! We’re having a bbq and I would have definitely invited you! Awe, are you sure you don’t want to stay a day longer?” At that moment in time we kind of did. But there wasn’t much we could do. When we finally said our goodbyes and gave each other hugs- like true Americans, no kiss kiss for us- and made our way back to our hostel. It was quite a charming way to end the day, trip, and summer. And I never had bedbugs! ...Other people did... But not me.

Berlin and Paris- fin

We got to Berlin starving and tired. The street our hostel ended up being on actually had quite a few street vendors but the crowds and lines were ridiculous and we wanted to have a seat. And a drink. The first restaurant we came upon once getting off our block was a Thai place and I have to be honest, we were both dying for Thai food. So yes. Our first night in Berlin we had Thai and it was great. But don’t worry, we quite literally had bratwurst, beer and sauerkraut for every meal for the next two days.

I felt a little bad getting into Berlin because I’d actually done little research on what to do. I wasn’t even sure what the big monuments in the town were but I could guess some so on day 1 we hit up some obvious must sees. The Berlin wall (a little piece of it), a museum called Topography of Terror about HItler/ the Reich and the Jewish Museum during which I saw a grown woman lose a tooth. Or at least run up to her friend in a tizzy and pulled it out of her mouth. I’m not sure how it happens. Not that that was the most memorable thing in the museum, it was actually fascinating and gigantic and thankfully not only about the holocaust, but that is a moment I remember clearly.

Day 2 we hit up Tiergarten, not only because it is a Rufus Wainwright song, but that point wasn’t lost on me. It is right next to a bunch of other must sees like the Brandenburg Gate and that hotel where Michael Jackson hung his baby out the window. Important stuff. Anyway, Tiergarten is a huge, beautiful park which you could ride your bike around for hours in and never see it all. It also has a zoo and an aquarium, the latter of which we actually went to see. I’m pretty sure aquariums just don’t get old. I could go to one a week and still be amazed. This one had a bigger than average insect exhibit which was interesting though unnerving. And I accidently saw a frog take a giant poop. I just happened to look at it at that moment but you would not believe how big it was compared to how he was. What was with me seeing things I would have preferred not to? I’d love to go back to Germany one day a little more prepared and see more. It was an interesting place. And Berlin is rocker central so all you music kids would love it there.

Then it was time to take a 12 hour train ride from Hell over to Paris. It was an overnight train but we hadn’t been able to get a sleeper car so we were stuck in a 6 person room of 3 seats facing each other and the train was full. So please imagine sitting pretty much straight up and down, for 12 hours, with 6 people in a tiny compartment. It was both muggy and cold at the same time and I’ve never gotten so little sleep in my life. Well, when I’m trying to sleep that is. I’m not getting much sleep right now but I’m very clearly trying to be awake.

We arrived in Paris, sleepy and sore. A nice thing about our time in Paris is both Michelle and I were willing to take it easy. We’ve both been here relatively recently so we got to hit up some things we’d been meaning to see before but then also just chill and walk and eat pastries.

Day 1 we went in Notre Dame which both of us had seen but neither had been in. The line to get in was impossibly long but it was free entrance and we just decided to do it anyway. What’s a little standing around uncomfortably when you’ve been sitting uncomfortably for hours? It was worth it. The line moved quick and the inside is beautiful. It was definitely more gothic and darker than most of the cathedrals we saw in Italy. We then went to The Orssay, an art museum with an amazing impressionist section and some other surprisingly famous pieces. Van Gogh, Matisse, Monet, Toulouse Lautrec... Lots of the biggies. It’s perhaps my favorite art museum and Michelle had never been there so we were excited to see it but on a day when we were both barely able to stand without one hand on the wall, a long museum walk can be tough. By the time we were done we decided the only obvious solution was a bottle of wine, baguette, and cheese under the Eiffel Tower. And that was a good way to spend the evening. It was especially fun walking through the area where our hostel is to get home that. We’re situated quite close to the Moulin Rouge, which those of you who have been here know is the sleaziest part of town. We went to a bar Michelle had been to before that was right next to the Moulin Rouge and then pranced home rather quickly past all of the sex shops and bum fights.

Which leads me to today. Our last day in Europe. We only had two things in mind to do. Last time I was in Paris, I had decided too late that I wanted to see the Dali gallery by Sacre Coeur so we hit that up first. Sacre Coeur is an amazing church with of course a beautiful view, however walking up the steps to the church on the hill one must dodge literally something like 25 of those guys who grab your wrist, tie on a friendship bracelet and make you pay for it. I kept my head down and jogged past them as quick as I could with a constant stream of, “No merci, no no no merci no!” coming out of my mouth. Michelle, on the other hand, got nabbed. I saw it happened and kept running. Anyone who watches Flight of the Conchords- I felt like Bret when he left Jermaine behind when he was getting mugged. I guess I’m a pretty horrible friend. Now she’s one euro poorer but the proud owner of a mediocre friendship bracelet. We found the Dali museum quite quickly. It was actually exactly where I kind of guessed it was from seeing it for a second when I was there 2 years ago. That rarely happens so score for me. It was a beautiful exhibit. We saw a Dali exhibit in Prague too and I liked this one better.

And the last thing on the list for our whole European trip. Michelle had made reservations a while back as a surprise at Laduree. Obviously Paris has some of the most most renowned pastry shops in the world and Laduree is one of the most prized in Paris. It specializes, like many Parisian shops, in French macaroons. Pastry students, I know you know this, but everyone else: don’t think of coconut macaroons when I say macaroon. French macaroon are little round sandwich cookies which come in every color and flavor imaginable. They’re chewy, and delicate and creamy and delicious. There spread is awe inspiring. The shop itself is the most adorable little place you can imagine with dark wood, with gold and mint green elaborate decor. The lunch is not cheap, but it is an experience. Ours was simply stunning in display and taste (I had anglerfish with puff pastry filled with vegetables in a lemon verbena sauce). And the dessert, my friends, was to die for. The top and bottom was a giant rose flavored macaroon, so a chewy light cookie, and in the middle was whipped cream and fresh raspberries. It was beautiful. I’ve pretty much been thinking about it all day. Our waiter asked us where we were from when we were paying and we said the states. He told us that 2 days earlier Natalie Portman had sat in exactly the spot we were sitting. I, being quite a huge Natalie fan, was more than impressed by this. He then went on about other people who’d been there lately like Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz and ended with “and now you two!” (He’ll be telling other Americans about us for years). But I was still stuck on Natalie Portman and kept asking questions about her. Was she polite? Apparently she was. When we left I kept one eye open the rest of the day just in case we happened to run into her. If only we’d been at Laduree when she was there. Eating pastries with Natalie Portman in Paris is just about as close as you could get to eating breakfast with Audrey Hepburn in front of Tiffany’s in this day and age. So close.

We slowly made our way home and now is the time to get our final things packed up and squared away.

This trip has been an adventure. It’s had ups and downs, it’s had hots and colds. Mostly hots. Hot and muggies. But come colds too up in the Alps. Anyway I’m so glad I decided to do it even though there was a period of time when I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, or I wasn’t sure if it would happen even if I thought it was a good idea. Thanks to anyone who read this. It was half for my own purposes as a journal and log of my time here but making it public for other people to read forced me to make it at least a little more interesting too. Then perhaps when I read it again one day in the future it won’t just be like reading a blank itinerary. But it’s nice to know some people were following along and were remembering me while I was gone. But I won’t be for long. Thanks again friends. And see you soon. Ciao!

Pronounced Krako"v" not Kra-"cow"

Before we got to Krakow, I showed MIchelle a picture of my cousin Soren who was meeting us at the train station. Soren moved to Poland about 10 years ago and I haven’t seen him since. Before 10 years ago, when I saw him at our cousin’s wedding, it had been another 10 years or so since I’d seen him- point being, the times had been few and far between and best to have two sets of eyes looking for someone neither or us would recognize.

However, recognition was relatively instant. We stepped off the train and I said, “He said he’d meet us but I don’t know if that meant on the platform or...” but at that moment we both saw each other and knew quite obviously that we were related. He walked up and said, “Hey Cuz!” and we were off to explore Krakow. And how lovely it is to have family in such a place. He lead us to his apartment only 5 minutes walking from the station where I met his wife Scotia and 6 year old mountain climber MIlo. They live a perfectly adorable Bohemian lifestyle. Soren is a freelance translator, Scotia a working accordion player and, as I mentioned, Milo likes to climb mountains, read Tintin and eat “hot cheese” which I will get to later. Their apartment was a type of enviable classic vintage; the kind which is becoming almost trendy these days- I myself have been known to purchase new, old looking Anthropoligie items- but here their style was legit. In the room we stayed in there was a stack of 4 large blue and orange, on top of which sat 3 xylophones and an old typewriter. They, I’m sure, were placed there not to look quaint but because 4 trunks, 3 xylophones and an old typewriter have to go somewhere.

We were welcomed in to a delicious, homey dinner of homemade pasta- half of which Milo made. It was about 9 when dinner was over and Soren asked if we were totally exhausted or had some desire to go out. When asked what kind of “going out” he was implying he said an old warehouse turned bar, music venue, art gallery (of which Krakow apparently has several) was showing of Plan 9 From Outer Space, and afterward a few of his friends were having drinks at some classically Polish bars if we wanted to experience them. Soon we were walking to the movie and Soren was giving us a rough description of the neighborhoods he was taking us through. We sat in lawn chairs drinking beer and watched the last half hour of Plan 9- which is plenty- after which followed an old public service announcement featuring Little Jimmy and some sleazy man in a business suit lurking in the bushes, warning against the dangers of homosexuals.

Thoroughly warned, we headed to a dark, charming, stoney walled bar where Soren introduced us to some classically Polish drinks including a “Mad Dog”- a shot of vodka, raspberry syrup and tabasco- and some beer which he warned us to take slow because it was higher alcohol than we’d be used to. We met some of his lovely friends who have dinner parties every Saturday and upon hearing that Michelle and I were learning about pastries, invited us to dinner the following night if we’d bring the dessert. We agreed. From there we transfered to another similar bar where we got some more classically Polish drinks, these tasting like apple pie. Again he warned us they were more than they seemed. You can warn all you want, but is one not supposed to finish their drinks? Of course we did. On the way home we stopped at a kielbasa stand where he insisted we try what he claimed would be the best sausages we’d ever have eaten. Although I was unable to recall exactly every sausage I’d ever eaten, I was quite sure this was right up there with the best. The next “morning” I thought about all the times I’d been handed a drink and told to “take this one slow” and probably didn’t. A few glasses of wine with dinner, a large beer at the movie, mad dogs, stronger than average beer, and a mystery apple pie drink later led to quite a persistent hangover. I was determined to work through the pain. This was, after all, my only full day in Krakow. I got up at about 10:30, took a cold bath, shakily ate one egg, tried to chat with some conviction, then went to wake up Michelle and fell back asleep for an hour. I got up again, at about 12:30 having slept most of my opportunity to see the city away. The dinner party was at 4, we still had to shop for ingredients and make the dessert, as well as stop by the train station for tickets to Berlin. I dragged Michelle out of bed and Soren walked us to the train station. We saw a little of old town where Soren pointed out some gruff old women from the mountains selling smoked cheese (or “hot cheese” as Milo called it) out of baskets. Apparently the government had recently declared this act illegal so these women were gravely sticking it to the system. Soren needed to get home to get a little work done so Michelle and I went to the store to grab the ingredients for our Chocolate Mousse. This is when we realized we didn’t know the names of any ingredient in Polish. I was little to no help as I nearly doubled over from nausea and the mere idea of food would force me to sit down from time to time and take a few deep breaths. Eggs we were obviously able to figure out as well as chocolate. Sugar Michelle figured out by taste and cream... We we had some trouble with cream. We were tipping all the bottles over to see how thick they were but after concluding they were all milk, we found that the cream is actually kept on shelves, not refrigerated. Unable to tell the difference between the brands, we bought the one in the cutest looking box, yes box, and we were on our way.

We bought the ingredients by memory of what is in a mousse but needed to look up a recipe for the exact proportions. Of course then we couldn’t find one with exactly the ingredients we used so we picked one that was close and made some changes. The changes, however, began to get so great that we weren’t sure it was really chocolate mousse that we were making. This one had called for egg yolks but we cut those out. Then when trying to whip the cream, two things happened. We were using an electric hand mixer they’d just purchased and never before used. In any bowl we tried to use it splattered more cream out of the bowl than kept in. I was covered in cream as was the kitchen- repeatedly. Finally we figured out a strategy of covering it with a towel as we whipped it. But as I was not looking at it, next time I check the cream, it had turned to butter. Luckily we had enough cream to try again. We did. It did the same thing and this time I was watching it closely but it went straight from liquid to butter. Again, improvising happened, We strained, we folded, we guessed and we made something. We had bought some crispy wafers to use as the bottom and middle layer, spread our chocolate puddingish mixture in between, threw some raspberries on top and we had some sort of chocolate dessert.

We took the bus out to their place. An interesting spot- it was out in the countryside, yet in a little housing complex of duplex type apartments. The dinner was delicious and the company was entertaining. Scotia brought her accordion and wowed us all her talents. When our dessert came out we were a little nervous. The chocolate pudding layers were quite tasty although quite rich but as the moisture soaked into the wafer layers they had become extremely chewy and tough. A slice of cake held its shape surprisingly well but trying to cut the wafers that had become like fabric caused the soft chocolaty layers to smush out in a rich chocolaty mess. The guests praised the dessert but as we looked around the table at everyone intently leaning over their plates and sawing away with their forks, we knew in the future we’d do something differently with this one.

On the way home Milo piped up, “so because I’m still just a little bit hungry when I get home I should have some hot cheese.” Soren: “No, Milo, that was your dinner and we don’t have any hot cheese right now.” Milo: “But I think that hot cheese is... It’s very good you know?” The way kids get hung up on a phrase and use it too often, this was how Milo was with, “you know?”

On the bus somehow I brought up a story about when I was in the pickle isle at a grocery store and leaned over to set my basket down and drooled a small puddle on the floor. Soren said I should have told him earlier that I felt that way about pickles because Krakow was the home of pickles. Apparently they were invented there. So it was his idea that we would go get a drink and get a jar of pickles from a 24 hour grocery store and eat them. We agreed quickly and soon were off to a bar called the Art Bunker, which looked like an old bunker, and had some nice vodka then headed to the grocery store to see the entire isle of pickles he’d told us about. However, it was closed. The 24 hour grocery. A little crestfallen but not giving up yet he took us to another. This one was closed except for the alcohol and candy section. He cursed the heavens but was determined to find something. Soon we passed a small store, hardly more than a tobacco shop but had some food, and sure enough pickles. They were a kind he’d never had but the shop owner said they were the best and we really had no choice. We grabbed them and Soren also noticed some Canadian maple syrup he had to pick up as well. Being originally Canadian and all. They love their syrup. But then Soren insisted they’re actually best as chasers to vodka and that we should sit outside at a bar and eat them all. I asked if they’d care if we brought them to a bar and he said, “ehhh we’ll be outside,what are they gonna do?” So we sat out and ordered our vodka, eating our jar of pickles when the waitress came up and told us unfortunately we couldn’t eat those there since they served food. We smiled and nodded but this did not persuade us. We were feeling a little reckless having already taken the bus without paying, and so he just hid them under the table and would hand us one from time to time. She seemed to be standing guard very close to our table and we often had to palm the pickle in our hand, dripping brine all over our laps. By the time we left there were only 3 left in the jar so we walked them to the park, sat on a bench, cheered our Polish pickles and finished the jar.

We got home and chatted a bit more but then had to say our goodbyes. We were leaving early in the morning ant didn’t expect them to wake up at 6 to say farewell. Upon saying goodbye Soren gave me a copy of his book- ya’ll should check it out. It’s a book of short stores called “Hymns for Millionaires” and I read half of it on the 10 hour train ride to Berlin. That’s right. 10 hours. Yikes. But now were in Berlin, a little groggy and beat. Krakow was wonderful. A beautiful town. Great to see family and something other than museums and churches for a change- as great as those are.

Prague Blague

One can’t help but feel a little empowered when going on a trip like this. Everyone at home is doing their regular jobs and going to their regular classes, but for a minute I think I, the traveler, am doing something different. That is, until you meet all of the other travelers along the way. As soon as I’ve proudly told my story about living in Italy for a few months while going to school and then doing a whirlwind travel of several countries afterward, someone else talks about how they just camped in Mongolia for 3 months, or got an internship in Prague for 2 years, or have been living out of their pack for 7 months and have 14 left to go. Well ,aren’t you all just great and more extreme than me. Put me in my place, why doncha.

The last two days in Prague were pretty go go go. We left our nightclub hostel on Wednesday and stepped into the morning sun to see what Prague had to offer, and the first thing we saw was a woman holding her little pantsless child above a grate in the street to pee. A good image to get us motivated for the day. This was our across the river day so we crossed the famous St. Charles bridge, with its old dark statues, and gothic design and started with the Kafka museum on the other side. Kafka would have been proud to have such a place dedicated to him. It has the atmosphere down pat. The building is small and dark and each section is dimly lit and accompanied by erie music- not in a cheesy “I’m in a Halloween haunted house” way, but in a creepy, “this house could be haunted way.” It’s different. From it you learn about his life, his loves, his writing, and his death but there are also sections devoted to creating the atmosphere to feel that you were in one of his books. Everything was dreamlike and whimsical. One room was white with some walls made entirely of mirrors and one screen. Playing on the screen was a film created to trick the mind into creating mirages. A mirage machine, it was called. It was created from ideas that came from his book The Castle. There were also a few winding hallways made entirely of black file cabinets. A few were open to display an exhibit, and in others were tvs playing bizarre soundless images not unlike the movie in The Ring. One just had severed mangled hands floating into the distance. There was also a black rotary telephone mounted on one wall that would occasionally ring and when picked up there was a recording of a man yelling in German on the other end. Anyone thinking of traveling to Prauge, I would highly recommend that place. It is bizarre and fascinating.

We then stopped briefly by the Lennon Wall. A Graffiti art wall that began as a symbol of protest to the communist government but is still kept up and ever changing. Finally, we went to the Prague Castle. This place is enormous and let me tell you, you’ve got to have energy to go there. Already exhausted from walking and climbing the hill to get there, we probably should have given the castle more time than we did, but it was all we could do to not collapse from hunger and exhaustion by the end. It is many buildings including cathedrals, palaces, galleries, towers, and bastilles. It was quite amazing but a ticket is actually good for two days and it’s easy to see how it could take that long to see it all.

Finally, we dragged ourselves home for a quick rest and then it was off to see Swan Lake at little theatre in Old Town, which was delightful.

Our last full day in Prague, we actually spent out of town. First I woke up with a rash covering my whole face and my lower forearms. It’s itchy and red and has yet to go away. Hopefully that will be resolved soon. I’m sure everyone is anxious to know how it turns out. But anyway, yesterday morning we took a train about an hour out of town to see what had been described to us as a church made of human bones. And.. That’s because that is what it was. It wasn’t actually built with bones, but it was highly decorated with them and contained huge, unsupported pyramids of bones throughout. Apparently it began when holy dirt had been sprinkled upon the grounds of this church and it became a highly popular place to be buried. Then the plague came and everywhere became a popular place to be buried. Soon they started piling bones up along the outside of the church and finally moved them inside- simply as a place to put them. Finally they began to make a design out of it, and I’m not sure how recent that was. Definitely a sight to see though the church itself is quite small and quite crowded.

aaand on to Prague, part 1

There is a lot to do in Prague. We're going to be here a few days so today we decided to kind of take it easy and wander around but we ended up doing lots and lots of things.

We bought some train tickets to go to Krakow, we went to a Medieval Torture Museum, we went to a Belgium Chocolate Museum, we went to Salvador Dali exhibition, we found both an Adria Hotel AND a Palace Adria (I am everywhere in this city. A regular celeb.), we went to the Old Town we saw the Astronomical Clock, we went to a Jewish Synagogue, we bought tickets to go see the ballet Swan Lake tomorrow night, we ate, we wandered, we were exhausted. There is a lot more to do too but we've got a while still. We also never knew exaaactly how much we were spending. Just as we were getting used to Euros, we go to a country where they aren't used. Now we've got the Czech Crowns. About 25 Crowns to a Euro and 1 Euro = 1.30 Dollars. Lots of conversions. We'll think, "oh that was cheap! I.... I think. I don't know though, I just payed with a 100 bill."

And we're getting used to our hostel situation. We're staying in actually a really really nice hostel. When you come in, you walk into the bar area which has live music every night and kind of looks like a night club. The building is really new and nice. We're staying in a 6 bed room which is fine. Each night so far we've been with only guys however. We met the first one when we got in late last night, a little lost and a little exhausted. His name was Jim, from San Francisco, 21, studying landscape design, traveling alone. A very pleasant guy. The other 3 guys were rowdy, possibly Czech guys who partied late and snored loudly. This morning I sat up quietly trying to see if the other guys were still here and just saw a sea of hairy legs. They were all sleeping in their underwear with just their legs exposed. Yup. Still here. Those 3 left today but this very instant, in walked in our other 3. All again look rough and tumble. One from possibly Australia and the other two from Mexico? So far I've only said "Hi" to everyone. --- Never mind, they all just introduced themselves literally just now. And yes. Sydney and Mexico. I was correct. Booya. And also the guys from Mexico seem very nice actually. Sydney still seems rough and tumble. He introduced him self, threw his stuff in the corner and said, "I need a beer" and left. And now we're resting because day after day of walking walking walking and being lost gets tiring. And seeing as how beer is cheaper than water here (about 45 crowns- 1.80 euros-ish) we'll probably partake in that pretty soon as well.

Austria

Michelle’s words when we woke up on Sunday were “I feel like I was sleeping between layers of butter.” In her half asleep way, that was a good thing. I think we’d both slept better than we have yet. Our beds were soft, it was cool enough to use a blanket, and it was silent and dark. We probably could have slept all day if breakfast weren’t only served until 9:30. And quite a spread it was too. Probably the closest to an American breakfast we’d had. I mean, pastries, bread and pizza are all great... But eggs, fruit, and yogurt are nice too.

Well fueled and rested, it was time to explore Salzburg and after some mild resistance from me about being the only person able to actually forget how to ride a bike, I caved and we rented bikes from our hostel. It has to have been at least 10 years since I’ve ridden a bike and perhaps I didn’t forget completely how to ride one but I definitely struggled from time to time. Overall it was a lovely idea. We rode paths through fields that would occasionally turn a corner and present us with some stunning view of a castle or church on a hill that we weren’t expecting. We rode into Old Town, parked our bikes and walked around. Sazlburg is a beautiful city. Quaint, cute, and old. The architecture is breathtaking. The scenery has a way of making one constantly wish they were sitting drinking tea there with their grandma. AND I would like to point out, that locals actually DO wear lehterhosen and the women wear the complimentary tight bodiced dresses with the fluffy white sleeves. It is too cute.

Of course visited Mozart’s birthplace and residence both of which were pretty facinating. We had a light authentic lunch of bratwurst, a giant pretzel and strudel. And goodness, things are cheap in Austria. Our lunches totaled about 3.50 each. A nice change, I must say.

Once we digested a bit, we quite accidently got lost on our bikes, but that was nice too. We found a cute outdoor vendor market and then later a slumyier part of the city which I guess doesn’t fit with my previous statement, but we also found out way out which was positive. We returned our bikes to our hostel and asked them to call us a cab to our next hotel. Due to the inability to get some of the trains we wanted before we left Italy, we had ended up having to reserve an extra night in Salzburg. We’d reserved our second night first but when we found out we had to add a day, they were sold out so hence our staying in two different places. The cab came up and I was again struck by the difference between Austrian taxi drivers and any other I’ve ever seen. The one we’d had from the train station to the hostel had been a well dressed man in a business suit and the second looked like someone’s stylish grandmother. Anyway, the second hotel was an adorable bed and breakfast on the outskirts of town that I happened upon by accident while figuring out how to get to Salzburg while still in Italy. Cheaper than many of the hostels we’re staying in in other countries, it seemed like a nice little getaway. Haus Am Moos was a little cottage up against the giant mountains, where we were greeted by a little white dog with a gaudy blue bow in his hair. On the front door there hung a sign on the door saying, “please only ring once, It takes us 3 minutes to get to the door.” It was certainly nothing less than charming. I took lots of pictures. We asked what to do for dinner and they said there was a restaurant about 10 min walking down the street. The wee restaurant had two rooms- smoking and non smoking. The non was full so we accepted what we could get. The room was small and there was a thick cloud of smoke covering the top third of the room, and while it made my eyes water, it had it’s own charm. Everyone was huddled closely around tables, talking quietly and it was obvious every knew everyone. People would come in and sit at other people’s tables, smoking and chatting and wearing letterhosen. At one point a little farmer came in and placed a pepper on the table in front of a young man he obviously knew and then laughed uproariously as the boy took a bite and went running from the room to grab water. Our food, though very inexpensive and limited in choices, was both delicious as well as plentiful. I had turkey with potatoes and grilled veggies and Michelle had a steak in an amazing sauce (cooked much more than in Italy) with potatoes. Mostly out of politeness, we forced ourselves to finish what was probably 3 times what would have been sufficient and were thankful for a walk home.

This morning we woke up to another lovely breakfast and are currently on the train up to Prauge. I found in my guidebook both an Hotel Adria and Adria Palace. I know what we’ll be doing when we get there.

PS. If you’re ever in Austria and on an elevator, do Not reach your hand out to stop the doors to open them back up to allow on a lady with a stroller or a big, old, angry, German lady will yell quite furiously at you thinking your fingers will be cut off. Apparently elevator doors don’t open back up when touched like they do in the states. No harm will be done to fingers as the doors only very very lightly close on them but no need to be startled like that by all the yelling.

to Austria

This was the big day. The departure from home base. This morning we packed up and caught our 9:30 train. Boy I’ll miss that station with it’s hour long lines and over priced water. For a while it seemed like we were there everyday, that’s how much we liked it. But anyway, we said goodbye and got out our train that stopped in a little town just outside of Venice we’d never been to before. Our train running slightly late, our 20 minute layover was shortened to 5 minutes during which we leaped off the train into an unfamiliar station where we then had to transfer to a bus. Of course it couldn’t be at all clear where the busses pick up so we ended up running (hobbling... Lots of bags mind you) through the station, down some stairs, around a corner, ask directionsed, ran down a street and then across a street and we were the last to get our bags under the bus before he closed it. Then we embarked upon the 2 hour bus ride that for some reason took 4.... It was never clear why. We got off the bus in Villach, a little Austrian town (I just love that name for some reason. Pronounced Vill- Lock) where they played the song, “Fuck You” by Lilly Allen in the grocery store, and finally we got on our LAST train. Lots of travel today. We took nearly the most convoluted way of getting here that we could- although there were actually worse. By the time we arrived in Salzburg it was about 8:45.

Longer than necessary trip aside, let me just say that Austria. Is. Beautiful. We were on the bus when we crossed the border into Austria. Driving through Italy it was flat, flat, flat, flat, then we came to the check point into Austria and MOUNTAINS. It was mountains the rest of the way. It was an amazingly immediate change. The last train had views like I’ve never seen. I kept trying to take pictures but they didn’t do the sights justice. We had really large and tall windows on our train and sometimes the mountains were so tall you couldn’t see the top from where you were sitting. There were huge jagged pastures of bright green grass covered in little black shacks and white pointy churches. It was rather cloudy and foggy but the mistiness added to its mysterious charm. Just awesome.

When we finally got off the train in Salzburg- by far the biggest city we’d seen. Everything else was villages- we were struck by the crisp air. Molto crisp. In fact, according WeatherUnderground.com it is currently 54 degrees. Quite the change from the 90/ 100s we were “used to” in Italy. We realized also that we had no idea where we were going and when we found our relative location on a map vs the location of our hostel, we figured a taxi would be needed. Our super friendly taxi driver pointed things out to us and constantly let us know where we were. When we asked what we should do while we were here he said, “well tomorrow you can come to a bible reading with me. It’s in English actually so you’ll do well.” We might have to take him up on that.

Turns out our hostel is kind of on the edge of Old Town. Not too far away from things, but not close enough that we really wanted to go out exploring at 9 at night when it was wet and cold and we had no idea where we were. The hostel itself, we noticed as we walked up to it, is a “youth hostel” making it appropriate of younger people and families. This can be good and bad. It means children but probably nicer accommodations- and both of these things turned out to be true. When we walked in, I told them my name and they asked, “you have a 6 person dorm room reserved?” “Yes.” “Well you can upgrade for a private for free.” I don’t know what kind of deal that was but after some deliberation we took it. The rooms here actually amazingly new looking and clean. It looks like we were the first people in our rooms AND we have our own bathroom and this may be the cheapest place we’re staying. So far so good, Austria. Now we just have to hope for a day without rain tomorrow so we can go explorin! Possibly by bicicletta. I’ll let you all know how Mozart’s house is later. Yeah. That’s right. Be jealous.

wave goodbye and say hello

And now to pack.

Today I packed up a box to send home of things unnecessary for the last 2 weeks. I can only imagine how much it will cost tomorrow. I've been going through my stuff, throwing things away like crazy. I guess I don't need my citronella candle that never worked or my little boy's white tees that I bought here for work that are already filthy. I could throw away my 56 ticket stubs to the Boboli gardens and if I want to be really frugal, the green and pink cat mask from the dollar store given to me on my birthday (or just hide it in my closet for the next resident). I even just found my self deleting probably hundreds of unneeded files in my "download" section of my computer as though that would lighten the load too. I stopped part way through. Because it won't.

It's starting to get sad, thinking about leaving. But exciting about traveling. And seeing home again. Yup, I'm getting bored of being able to leave breakable things laying out on tables which means, I even miss my kitty. But the last few days have been fun.

Yesterday we went to our morning internships and then skipped class and went to Venice. 1st of all, it was probably my best day at the shop yet. I was getting a little bummed, thinking the guys kind of resented me being there and thought I didn't know anything. They'd ask me a question and if I didn't understand, just kind of ignore me. So yesterday I just piped up and talked and talked and talked. Even though it was more than just a little broken they understood enough and they began commenting on my work more and telling me what things were etc. Just in time right? When I have 2 days left. (1 now). But still, it was nice.

We then trained up to Venice. I wouldn't say I had low expectations but they weren't sky high. People have told me such things as, "I was there for a weekend and that was definitely enough. I wouldn't have wanted longer," or "It's pretty but really dirty" etc. so I figured I was just going because it was a place I hadn't gone. Well, I thought it was gorgeous. And Clean! I don't know what everyone was talking about. Without any cars or streets it seems Way cleaner than Florence. And it is beautiful. It's almost like Disneyland. The buildings were so ornate and colorful and all of the Carnival masks were amazing. I was hardcore theatre-nerding out at all of the Commedia Dell'Arte masks. I really liked some paper mache masks but couldn't think of a safe way to take it home. There were too many heavy/ smashy things in my box to send home and I didn't have room to just carry it with me the rest of the trip. But they were still amazing to see. Anyway. It is delightful. Perhaps there isn't a whole lot to do, but it would be a good place to go relax for a while. I'm really glad I made it there.

And now for an immature moment. My Canadian friend Adrienne told us about a game called Bros Icing Bros the other day (I had never heard of it but I know it exists in the states too... but let me explain). The rules are basically- from time to time you hide a Smirnoff Ice somewhere where another person will accidently find it one day and when they do, they must immediately take a knee, put an arm in the air and chug it. Silly yes. But our dear friend Eric was iced good today. Good enough to write home about. We were eating lunch at a place called The Diner (yeah... we're in our last 2 days in Italy and we craved American breakfast that much... don't judge) and had just finished a belt busting meal. The waiter came to the table and placed the check down saying, "this is for you," then leaned toward Eric and said, "and this is for you." placing a lovely blood orange flavored Smirnoff Ice in front of him. Adrienne had brought it with her and asked the waiter to deliver it. Eric was shocked but had something up his sleeve. "Pretty good," he said, "but how's this for a block?" and pulled one from his pocket and placed it on the table. This meant Adrienne would now have to drink both. And yet she said, "oh but wait.. what is this?" pulling another one from a sock in her purse. Double block. How nerdy is this? Well, these two are hardcore and don't back down- so now it was time for Eric to chug, not one, but 3 sickly sweet, slightly alcoholic Smirnoff Ices. The waiter was cool about the game but said it'd have to be finished outside. Fair enough. So we waddle outside, stuffed to the gills with food, into the thunderstorm and downpour and in the middle of the sidewalk, under no cover, down on one knee, Eric chugged them. He had to take a break between two and three and another one half way through three, but he did it and even kept his food down. What a champ.

I know that's super mature, but I haven't laughed that hard in ages. Twas a sight to behold. Now go ice someone.

a moment for foodies

This is entry is entirely devoted to tonight's amazing dinner experience.

Ahem:

Kim, a fellow South Seattle student, lives on the same block as a really adorable restaurant. It has several wide doors that open all the way up onto the street, a second floor with an iron railing and charming stone walls. We walk by it all the time and always say to each other, "let's eat there some day soon." A few weeks ago we got our internship placements and lo and behold... that was Kim's. "Now," I said, "we are going For Sure and you are getting us the hookups." And let me tell you, hookups are the way to go.

Since Monday's are Kim's night off and this is the last one of our our internships, this seemed like a fitting evening. So tonight, 6 of us from South accompanied Kim to her delightful little Osteria. The servers greeted her with obvious warmth and recognition and treated us the same. Our server turned out to be a character on every level. Sporting the only legit Italian afro I've ever seen, as well as a gaudy red and black apron with dancing people all over it and white framed goggle like glasses, he really didn't fit in with the surroundings at all, but couldn't have been more hilarious and great.

And now I'm going to straight up describe everything we ate because it was so wonderful.
For an appetizer afroman said, "I bring you an assortment" and brought us a platter of several Italian meats, toast with pate , bruschetta, and a delicious and olive oily flat bread. We asked for a recommendation on wine and they brought us a wonderful medium dry, slightly flowery white wine which was of course amazing. Our entrees were displayed beautifully, mine being marinated chicken with grilled assorted vegetables. Others included, thinly sliced pork in fig sauce (so. so good.), potato ravioli and beef in a some sort of magical sage sauce. And let's not forget a Bisteque Florentine- a dish famous in Florence, these steaks are cut literally 4 fingers thick, lightly grilled on each side, and taken off the grill when the middle is still dark red and bleeding. This is something I would normally never lay a hand on but being such a quintessential dish I ended up actually ordering it once before and it's really rather unbelievable. When we finished our deliciousness, and they asked if we wanted dessert, we respectfully declined and they respectfully filled our glasses with a dessert wine instead. When That was finished we asked for the check and he nodded, left the room, and came back with two Giant (and I mean giant) pastries which turned out to be some sort of chewy flat bread folded like a calzone and filled with Nutella and cream. As I gathered the buttons from my exploded pants we finally actually got the check. This- I might add- was not a cheap restaurant and for the amount of food we each consumed, we each should have owed at least 40 euro (euro mind you, not dollars) but in fact, we each owed only 25. Hookups. They're simply the way to go.

I had to quite literally drag myself home and was almost bummed to see the horse and carriage guys by the Duomo had turned in for the night or I just might have hailed one. If one of those guys down by the water front in Seattle on the rickshaw bikes had been around I definitely would have taken him up.

Now the food coma sets in.

the final countdown

We're only in Florence for 5 more days now which seems like absolutely nothing. We'll be here for another 2 weeks traveling after school, but Italia will no longer be home base. A strange thing is, to be honest, time didn't seem like it was going that quickly until I realized it was going quickly. ... If that makes sense. Days and weeks seemed to be going by at a rather regular pace but now that it's time to think about mailing stuff home, checking out of our house, and saying bye to new friends, yes, it has been quick.

This last weekend was fun filled and by fun filled I mean boringish. It wasn't horrible but it went from grand plans to plans that were "mehh." Originally it was: Sat- go back to Cinque Terre with a friend who hadn't yet been and Sun- go to Venice. It ended up like this: Sat- friend who'd never been found another friend to go to Cinque Terre so I opted out since I'd been before and was hoping for a day to finally sleep past 5am and get some chores done. Friend who was going to go slept through her train. I did chores, went to the Boboli gardens, and saw Toy Story 3 in 3d in Italian. (Even in Italian I laughed and cried and followed the movie quite well. Not because of my Italian skills.... sorry Francesca, but because of the brilliance of Pixar. A deaf and blind person would probably understand that movie) (exaggeration) Sun- go to train station early to get tickets to Venice, they're sold out until the late afternoon. Got a picnic lunch and went to the Boboli gardens again. Watched Dexter on Michelle's computer. Went to a pub for a bit.

The end. But our fight to get to Venice is not over yet (we tried another time a few weeks back and it was sold out too). We went TODAY to book a train for WEDNESDAY and this time succeeded. Hallelujah. 100 euro gondola rides, here we come (no exaggeration there). It'll be just like we're in the real live Venetian in Las Vegas.

Well... I am missing home a bit. I miss getting free water at restaurants/ at home. And I miss you- specifically. (No one else really though.) But when I leave I know I'll miss $1.50 wine. And unlimited free pastries. And other things.

Oh but I saw a pigeon that had been run over by a car today and I won't miss that. All the pigeons. Dead and alive. I miss uncaged chipmunks (did I mention they have them in pet stores here? Even if I did, I think it's fair to bring it up again).

Alright. TIme for a nap. And then I might just go hang out at the train station again. I've made it a habit of going there about everyday or two, and I'm definitely gonna miss that too.

a dark and stormy night

I'd finally gotten to bed a decent hour last night and was just falling asleep when I was abruptly awoken. I sat up extremely disoriented, not even sure which direction my bed was facing. And for the first few minutes I was awake, that was what I concerned myself with. Why, when woken suddenly, is that a concern at all and even more puzzling- why does it take preference over the bigger question "what the hell just woke me up?" Regardless, it did and for the next several seconds I sat on my bed trying to orient in my mind the pieces of furniture in my room. When I finally realized my door was to the right, I was able to actually listen. Someone was insistently ringing our doorbell. This is not an action that could go unnoticed because our doorbell just happens to sound like a cross between a old timey alarm clock, a school bell and a fire alarm, and the presser was pushing it with quite some vigor. I was a little uneasy since I knew it was definitely our apartment doorbell and not the buzzer from the street to the inside of the building. I knew this because about a week ago we came home to find the lock to our outside door completely gone. Now to get into our building you don't need a key, just a firm bump of the shoulder.

I sat still for a moment longer after it stopped trying to build a little courage to go check the peep hole. People have buzzed our door by accident before thinking our button was the light but this seemed way too deliberate. I didn't hear anyone else getting up and since my door being the closest to the main door, I decided to suck it up and go check. Then, straight out of a cheesy horror movie, I opened my door and at that very moment there was a strike of lightning and a giant crash of thunder just as my roommate also appeared at the end of the hallway. Seeing each other just as the lightening lit the room was truly terrifying and we both screamed so whoever was outside would be absolutely sure there was someone in the apartment and they were awake. And close. We tiptoed to the door and I apprehensively looked out. Well, we saw no one. Pretty anticlimactic yes, but in the amount of time it took us to get the balls to actually go to the door, even an angry mafia leader probably would have gotten bored and left.

And that got us right in the mood to go to the Serial Killer Museum today. It wasn't covered by our museum passes but we went anyway. Pretty disturbing, gruesome, cheesy (in the way any kind of reenactment is), and kind of fascinating. Complete with audio guide and mini videos at each little station, we learned about Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper, Blue Beard, Charles Manson... etc. All the biggies.

And Then when we got home, I discovered my lovely friends had set up a mini surprise birthday party for me. It was a few days ago and we went to dinner but not everyone could come since some people had evening internships. But this late birthday had balloons, cake, toilet paper streamers, and candles that sparkled, smelled horrid and wouldn't blow out. It was pretty adorable.

Anyway- only one full week left and then off to travel all over the place for a few weeks. Sa-weet.

Wine Country

Saturday morning around 9ish, Kim, Ross and I made our way down to the car rental to pick up our accidentally fancy car. To explain- I had been pushing for a Tuscan countryside trip. One weekend I wanted to rent a car and drive around looking at sunflowers and drinking wine. A few of our friends were gone in Paris last weekend and with nothing else to do the 3 of us decided this would be the moment. We found a car rental place with an extremely accommodating staff- accept for the little fact that they didn't have the car we wanted. First they weren't entirely sure if they had it and had me leave my number with them so they could call me as soon as they found out. Well they ended up not having it, but they were so sweet we decided to take the more expensive car anyway. Even if they conned us into it... well so be it. It turned out this fancier car had a GPS which we found out was entirely crucial.

We began by spending a nice long morning driving back and forth and around the streets of Florence which proved to be something like the movie In the Mouth of Madness (every time you try to leave you end up back in the middle). Going the wrong way down one way streets doesn't even get you out- we really tried everything. (I wasn't driving. Just for the record).

We eventually got out though, the fates felt pity on us I suppose, and it was like a breath of fresh air. Florence's muggy damp heat immediately began fading away as soon as we started to enter the hills. It is hard to describe the countryside as being anything but exactly what you would expect it to look like; rolling green and yellow hills with scattered villas, farm houses, vineyards and those tall pine cone shaped trees. Just lovely. We didn't have any real destinations. Our hope was to pass through several of little towns in Chianti, do some wine tasting and eventually end up somewhere near Montepulciano and that is exactly what we did. There are numerous little towns in Chianti which take exactly 15 seconds to drive straight through so we stopped in a few to eat, or take pictures, or use a 25 cent bathroom where everything was constantly dripping wet from being sanitized after each use and sported an automatic toilet paper dispenser. I realized as we began to look at what seemed like hundreds of little wineries that I wasn't totally sure if you really could just drive up like you do in Oregon- but as we were nearing the end of the Chianti region we saw a sign saying "Wine Bar" and quickly swerved off the road. Quick decisions made by 3 indecisive people is tough but in this case it was something like,"Wine bar?" "Yes!" "Turn now!" And a great decision it was. Located on top of a small hill, the main building was an adorable old stone structure with a restaurant and free tastings. As we sat outside under ivy covered trellis, drinking incredible wines, looking over a stunning landscape, I thought very contently, "perfect." (The landscape and layout actually looked a lot like King Estates in Oregon, for those of you who have been there). This went on for a while because none of us wanted to leave. There was one other group of 3 people there and the bartender, otherwise it was empty. I couldn't have asked for something better.

Having no reserved lodgings we decided to head toward Montepultiano (once we finally dragged our butts away from heaven) and stay somewhere nearby. The drive down took another hourish, with Kim and Ross in the front battling with our GPS who would occasionally tell us to suddenly turn around, while I battled a bee in the back seat for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably closer to 2. I ended up conquering while sitting on the floor, cowering behind the driver's seat with sunglasses cases on both hands but it was conquered it nonetheless. When we reached Montepulciano we found it to be a lovely old town that you can drive through but shouldn't. We'd found a cute hotel in our guidebook we wanted to check out and our GPS was leading us through streets about wide enough for 2 vespas to drive past each other but nothing wider, and what street space there was was packed with people. I felt like a movie star with everyone ogling at our car driving a 1/2 mph through the sea of people. We finally parked to check out the place we were looking for and though it was pretty cute we felt we could do better and the streets of Montepulciano were making us claustrophobic. With the second unanimous decision of the day we decided to get the hell out of the town and stay somewhere breathable.

Barely outside of town Kim suddenly said, "Hotel!" pointing to a sign on a hill, like a red Hollywood sign that read- "Hotel." As that was what we were looking for, we decided to investigate. We began our investigation by driving up a steep, curvy, gravel driveway exactly the width of our car with tall shrubs on either side that ended with an iron gate. Excited to try his hand at backing down such a road, since there was obviously nowhere to turn around, Ross inched us down, literally an inch at a time, running into the bushes here, bending the rearview mirrors back there, with the fresh smell of a grinding transmission to sooth us the whole way. By the bottom we were all convinced the real hotel was going to be really great and with our moods brightened we finally found the right driveway and headed up. We first passed what seemed to be a Broadway in the 20s themed restaurant that had once been something fancy and now was gutted and covered in plant life. This was also reassuring and we continued on up. We then came upon the actual building which we had to stare at for a few minutes to figure out if it was in the same situation as the restaurant or actually in operation. Obviously built in the 70s, this building also had sad feel of something once grand that lost it's grandeur. There appeared to be an addition to the building that was begun but never finished. A large open concrete structure was attached to one side but it seemed to have been a project abandoned. This didn't dissuade us a bit. We walked in and checked out the lobby (which now confirmed the 70s origin) toward the desk behind which stood an extremely sad and tired looking man and woman. The following was quite verbatim the conversation, "You looking for a room?" "Yes," "For 3?" "Yes please, if you have it." "We don't." We looked at each other, "Oh... well OK..." "Well we do. We have two. But they're bad." "...They're... they're bad?" What does it even mean when the hotel clerk says their room is bad. Haunted? A recent murder? These were the only things we could think of. "Well," they said, "we'll show you." He led us to two rooms and opened one door. They smelled a little musty (with a sales pitch like that they probably weren't used much) but other than that they were fine. "They don't have views, just construction. 90 euro for both together, breakfast included." He opened the other door and before we had a chance to say a thing headed back to his desk. We looked at each other. Breakfast included? 90 euro? A pool (which I forgot to mention but was a selling point for Ross from the beginning)? Haunted rooms? We were sold. We walked back down the halls that looked not unlike the shining, through a huge dining room with chandeliers and long orange curtains and said "we'll take it!" They seemed mildly surprised.

We went up to our new rooms and each spent a healthy 15 minutes opening our doors (the skinny keys would go straight through the keyhole and had to be finagled juuust right in order to work). Then we finally opened the blackout curtains to see our lack-of views. They weren't kidding. Kim and I had a nice view of a construction site and Ross... well Ross looked into that old abandoned concrete construction project. It's weird to have a window that looks into something as opposed to outside, let me tell you. And an old concrete skeleton with wheelbarrows and piles of brick that smells faintly of... unpleasantness is even odder. But hell, it had character. We left our stuff and checked out the surrounding area before heading to dinner. I've got to give the outside of the place credit. It wasn't in it's prime but it must have once been a sight to behold. The full name was Hotel Panoramic, and for good reason. Situated on the very top of a hill, it had an absolutely stunning view of the countryside from every angle. Montepulciano, an ancient hill city one direction, rolling hills and a large lake in another, vineyards all around. The pool area was actually very nice. It was outside, well maintained and right next to an olive grove also owned by the hotel. The olive grove was sprinkled with other trees including pears and plumbs and a foosball table. Yup. Right in the middle of the trees. Kim an I had an epic battle the next day which ended in a knock down drag out tie.

That evening we drove back to Montepulciano (and this time we parked the car and walked in). We stopped at a restaurant we'd seen the first time drove through with barrels of wine that must have been 15 ft tall. The dinner was superb, mine being homemade pasta which they brought out and then took the biggest truffle I've ever seen and grated a hefty mound on top. It was still reasonably priced and amazingly good. And of course the wine was delicious as well. That night we brought one more bottle home from the same restaurant and drank it outside on the patio, just above the other side of the red "Hotel" sign, which was a bright green "Panoramic" sign, looking over the scattered lights of Tuscany.

The next morning we were slow to leave. We ate a huge breakfast (which consisted mostly of about 9 different types of pie) and they told us although checkout was at 11, we could stay at the pool as long as we wanted, so we did just that. Finally we decided to get a move on but in a slightly different direction this time. We headed over to Cortona through what was obviously sunflower country. This is my favorite. The fields that from one direction look green, and from another are bright yellow from all their sunny little faces. In Cortona we once again ate a delicious meal (lots of good eating on this trip) and spent some time in an outdoor antique market. But the clouds were looking ominous for the first time in a long time and we were getting tired, so we finally decided to set our GPS toward Florence. Back in the car the rain finally set in but it wasn't until we were right at the top of a mountain that we experienced probably the closest lighting strike any of us had seen. It lit up the already light sky so entirely we couldn't even see where it was coming from and we felt the car rattle before we heard it which was about 1 second later. And with that, it was back home for us.

The rest I don't know because I was sleeping.

Besides the trip, I've been mostly just going to my internship and class everyday. My Italian seems to be having trouble improving but I think I've grown in my sign language. I am the Frutinni queen (little tiny fruit tarts essentially). They occasionally show me another thing or two but that is my go-to everyday responsibility. Also eating. That is also a responsibility. They make me eat some pastry for breakfast when I come in (which I don't argue with) but then continually hand me more pastries and sandwiches throughout my time there (which is two hours). I leave having eaten at least 3 huge pastries, one being a sandwich, each day. My pants remind me everyday these pastries aren't going unnoticed by my waistline and so for the first time today I respectfully declined an offer of food. Now, I'd already eaten pie before I left home (we made it last night and I was making sure it set) and a croissant when I got there. Giovanni asked if I wanted a panino. I said no thanks, I'd already eaten and he brought me one anyway. I said I was full and had eaten but he just continued looking at me saying "Mangi mangi!" but I was really very full. Finally, feeling I'd insulted them enough, I ate half of it. But nope- that's not enough. I got hell for it all day. Comments to the other chef like "well you have to eat 1 and 1/2 because she only ate half of hers." and every now and then it was nudged toward me as though in the 10 minutes after I'd eaten my 3 other meals of the day, I'd worked up an appetite. Finally, the other floater chef came in and said, "whose is this?" picked it up and ate it. Thank goodness. Don't get me wrong, they're absolutely delicious but one can only eat so many pastries between the hours of 6:30 and 7am.

I have learned.

The Internship

I stood in front of the bakery with its closed/ gated front, sweating from my 30 minute walk, thinking- "how the hell am I going to get in there?" I met the owner of the shop I'm interning at once last week. I have her phone number but it was 6:15 am (by far the deadest I've ever seen the streets of Florence. Even in comparison to say 4 am) and she usually isn't there with the baking crew in the morning. Luckily at that moment a guy walked in front of me, put in his key and raised the gate. I walked up and said, "Ciao! Mi chiamo Adria. I'm the new intern here for the next few weeks." He smiled silently and then said, "...here?" "..Si." "Oh... OK. Upstairs."

I walked up stairs. There were a few levels. And a few half levels kind of Being John Malkovich style. So by "upstairs" I was already confused. I just decided I'd go all the way to the top. There were a few small kitchens and I walked in the first one I saw. 3 men were bustling around and I waltzed on in and introduced myself the same way as before. Again I got some silent stares. Finally one said, "you work here?" ".. er.... I think so." By this point I wasn't so sure anymore. "OK" He introduced himself, having a very ethnic African name I couldn't say even after repeating it aprox 7 times and then promptly forgot. He introduced me to the head pastry chef (Giovanni?) and didn't even bother with the other guy who was apparently an assistant. Neither of the other two spoke a lick of English. My one English speaker (ish) friend showed me where to put my bag, explained to the other guys sort of what I was doing there (although I don't really think any of them entirely understood) and promptly left to do something else. And there I was. Standing in the way of the work these guys were trying to do, complete with a language barrier about 2 feet thick. I'd like to add here, that when I first came in to the shop and met the lovely owner Joanne, she was the only person I met and she is actually British so of course spoke English. That put me in the comfy mind set that there was at least English to fall back on. This was not the case.

Now, for those of you who have never worked in a commercial kitchen or have ever just cooked with several people around- the worst thing you can do is be in the way. Unfortunately, since these guys couldn't ask me if I'd had any experience, or how long I'd been in pastry school (I tried to explain... but I think when I speak Italian they still think I'm speaking English at them) they couldn't explain anything or ask if I knew how to make things. I'm quite sure they assumed I knew nothing. So my problem was: I was in the way. I don't have a problem watching. It was actually fascinating to watch how quickly and smoothly they worked. A well oiled machine really. But I figured if staying out of the way was the most helpful thing I could do, I was gonna show them I could do it damn well. I tried to keep my reflexes sharp and move before I needed to be asked. So far so good.

At one point, Giovanni looked at me and said, "colazione?" (breakfast) and pointed to rolling racks full of croissants, turn overs and plenty of things they couldn't describe to me. "Si?" I asked, and he made a gesture to said take any of them. Gladly I did. It was some sort of laminated croissant type dough filled with pastry cream. Quite delicious. And that became a theme of the day. If I was standing doing nothing, (believe it or not, it happened once or twice) they'd say, "mangiare, mangiare" ("eat, eat") and push croissants and danishes at me from a pile of those misshapen and unsellable. Other times the cooks would come over from the other side with sandwiches that were shoved in my face (and holy cow one was this amazing salami one on focaccia with parmesan and sort of a cabbage salad) but you better believe I was taking all that was given to me. I guess, in a small way, I was doing my part.

Eventually, I did get my hands a little dirty- and not just from washing the dishes that I gladly snatched up as something to do. I was given the job of placing fruit on a few trays worth of adorable mini assorted fruit tarts and brushing them with apricot glaze. A job I've done countless times and so as he was showing me what apricot glaze was, I excitedly exclaimed, "capisco, capisco!" In other words- I understand this! I also tried to joke with them a little, implying it would look nice to put whole kiwis on top of tiny tarts, and at least got them to smile. Although I do think they thought I was "just that dumb" for a second before they saw I was joking. I did this partly because the main chef was another one of those giant biceps, I-could-mees-you-up type looking guys, and was trying to get on his good side. He definitely told his assistant what-was-what a few times in a tone I'd like to avoid hearing aimed at me, so I certainly tried my best to listen closely, seem always interested and smile sweetly like I thought the place was just the most charming thing I'd seen. I haven't been yelled at yet, partly because I haven't done much. But. Let's keep it that way. Oh, I also got to fill cannoili shells. And learned how to use what was pretty much a mini food elevator. I say that as opposed to saying a dumbwaiter because it had buttons just like an elevator and...now that I think about it, maybe that's still what a dumbwaiter is but I always picture them with the rope pully thing. Anyway. I used one of those.

Watching these guys work really was a kick though. I often understood what was going on even if their process was different than how I'd been taught, and trying to sound informed I'd sometimes point a dough and ask "cornetto?" (Italian croissant) or "pate a choux?" (batter used for eclairs etc). I just wanted them to know I'd seen this stuff before. The sanitation in the joint was pretty awesome. Chef Harris (for those of you who don't know him is exceptionally clean and a stickler for sanitation) would have loved it here. And by loved I mean passed out. Hands weren't washed, sweat was wiped off faces (though that couldn't be helped, I could feel it dripping down my back and stomach), and best of all, Giovanni smoked a good deal of the time. He stood at the sheeter (a large machine for rolling dough extremely thin) with one hand on the lever to operate it and the other holding a cigarette and tapping it in the ash tray on top of the machine, while practically leaning against a No Smoking sign. Other times he'd just set the cigarette on the work bench with the lit part hanging off the edge. He would smoke and then pick up ready-to-eat foods (how very Food Handler's Permit of me) with his bare hands and place them on trays- something we'd probably be kicked out of school at South for doing. This being said, don't think I thought poorly of this establishment. Quite the contrary. The products were lovely and delicious. I think this speaks more of Italian culture as a whole. Not that sanitation is not important at all but they certainly aren't germaphobs. As Chef Berger, our French chef at South, says in his explanation of the Tart Tartin (basically a french upside down apple pie) "it was invented by two French sisters who dropped pie on the floor. Now, in France we have the 30 minute rule, so they had time to think about what to do and finally they just picked it up and said 'Tart Tartin.' "

At the end of my shift I managed to butcher some Italian into the basic shape of, "I'll be here for three weeks, just a few hours each morning, I get in at 6:30 and the go to class." They seemed to understandish. There is the worry that I will get there tomorrow and not just Happen to arrive with someone else to open the door and be suck outside just to throw rocks at the top floor window and yell, "buongiorno!" over and over because I don't properly know anyone's name. It's a real possibility.

Kos

We had it all planned out. It was Friday, our last day of finals and if Michelle, Kim and I finished our finals in under an hour and brought our stuff with us we could run and juust catch the bus that would take us to Milan so we could catch our early plane the next morning to Greece. We'd made this decision last minute to avoid the fact that the trains were striking on Friday. With little time to spare, we made it out of our finals in time and booked it to the bus stop but were a little confused to see just a few empty buses and a couple of bus drivers smoking and talking. We apprehensively showed them our printed out bus tickets and asked them where we should be. They looked quietly and then told us to catch that bus at the train station. So we ran there. We found a few buses lined up and one said to Milano. We showed the driver our printed tickets and he looked quietly and then said, "No, I have no idea what this is. This is not a ticket. This is not for this bus. We're leaving." Shut the door and left. That was the exact time our bus was supposed to leave and there is still debate on whether that was our bus or not but we ran over to the ticket office anyway to see what we could do. She also claimed to never have seen such a paper and at this point we were out of luck. We'd wasted some money and done a lot of running for nothing. Wherever this so-called "bus" was that we'd booked, it was surely gone by now and there were no others that left Friday night. We were forced to do what we'd been trying not to do, go hang out at the train station and wait for the strike to end.

The one upside of the extremely frequent strikes is there are some trains thats still run. We weren't sure that we wanted to risk it- hence the bus tickets- but we had no choice now but to hope that for some reason Milano bound buses were still running. We were in luck. To Milan was one of about 2 buses still running. This was both a relief as well as a slap in the face just Really emphasizing the fact that we didn't need those godforsaken bus tickets. But we weren't in a situation to complain, so when the train came we got on with our Eurail Passes and thanked our stars that at least this worked out for us. At that point a woman came by saying we were in here seats. Having a Eurail pass means you don't need to book seats and anyone sits wherever they want. We had noticed this train was nicer than most however, and now we were faced with the fact that a few trains do require reservations, we didn't have one and the train was about to leave. We walked back and forth a little, being careful to be as in-the-way and touristy looking as possible when we finally found the conductor, stepped off the train and explained our situation. He looked at our passes, and made a phone call. We waited. We looked around. We gave each other looks like "Does this call involve us or is he talking about something else and just happening to stand by us?" when finally he looked back and said, "10 Euros each." And we were on our way.

We didn't have much time to spend in Milano. It's a huge city, it was late-ish when we got in, we were tired and we needed to find a hostel. Michelle had written down a few so we thought we'd find one close to the train station and probably just relax. The first one we looked up on the map was relatively close so we went straight there. On the top floor, we made it up, sweaty and exhausted to have the two friendly Italian brothers who owned the place tell us they had no room for three. We started to get up, buuuut they had a room for 2 and a 4 person room with 1 bed left. We took it. Heck, we're not picky. As we made the arrangements and paid up, they noticed my last name and refused to speak to me in English anymore. With a name like that they said I had to speak Italian. One brother said, "to you, I speak only in Italian," to Michelle, "to you in Korean," and to blond, blue eyed Kim, "and to you.... I don't speak at all." The rest of our time in Milan was uneventful. We found a nice restaurant close by and sweated ourselves to sleep just to wake up at 4:45 am to catch a taxi to the train station, a shuttle to the bus (an hour) and then catch our Ryanair flight to Kos.

But then finally, we were in Kos. Why Have I Not Been To Greece Before? It was simply amazing. Kos was less of a hilly island with all white buildings and blue roofs but more a mixture of that and Hawaii. We rented a little blue car right by the airport and drove the 15 minutes to our town. (It takes about 40 min to drive the length of the entire island). When we got to our adorable little beach town of Tigaki we began looking for our hotel. They don't have hostels in such a little place but they do have some really cheap hotels. We drove through the entire town in about 1 minute and a half and didn't see it so we turned and went back. Still didn't see it. On the third time through we decided to pull into a parking lot of an unmarked building to turn around again when we noticed on the sign, we'd arrived. Not looking at all like a place that would cost only 17 euros per person a night, the Irina Beach Hotel looked to us like paradise. A big white building with blue columns, a big bar lounge area opening into a back patio/ pool area with a pool bar and steps leading down directly to the beach. And lets not forget that the first thing we saw when we walked in was a baby kitten running around that I promptly picked up, named Hercules and carried around the entire time. The staff was lovely (everyone in Greece speaks English. Everyone), and the little old British woman who was the bartender made us fancy drinks every day as we lounged by the pool and even gave us her signature uozo, sambuca and lemonade. Almost too good.

Our days consisted of waking up at some point (we were never actually quite sure what time it is. I'm pretty sure there isn't a clock on the entire island), having a lunch breakfast on the patio with a nice tequila sunrise to start the day, laying in the sun and chillin in the water for the rest of the day, and driving to one of the little towns to wander around and have dinner, and finishing up the evening with a bottle of wine on our balcony, playing with Hercules and once even smoking cigars. At one point we found ourselves in a grocery store buying cards, wine and cigars. Apparently after just about 2 days in Greece everyone starts to turn into little old men who hang out on the steps of churches doing those very things. If we'd stayed longer we would have fully transformed. I pretty much had to shave off my gray mustache when I got home.

We found a few cute little shops in which the owner was also the maker of everything in them. One made beautiful fancy white crocheted (?) table cloths, one of which I bought and the little old woman gave me a free little souvenir bell with Kos painted on it to go with it. Another sold mugs, plates and other pottery painted by the little woman working there, with pictures of gorgeous Greek island scenes. Lovely. And apparently the Greeks love to give things away for free. Besides the drinks and the bell, one day when we went to a little fruit stand to get some veggies, apparently the onion, tomatoes and cucumber we'd picked out would have cost so little she just told us to take them.

Oh and let's not forget the fact that the food was just ridiculous and Greek food being pretty much my favorite kind, I was in heaven. I could have just sat around eating that Tzatziki sauce with a spoon. And I did. And the Kalamata olives were like none I've ever had.

Long story short, if you're thinking of going to Greece, go. It is wonderful. Oh and the trip home was much less eventful then the trip there. It went off almost too smoothly. We kept expecting something to be late or canceled but it never was. And so, we were lucky.

To Travel

First of all, the quote of the week:

In breads class the other day chef was playing around with some decorating bread (able to be shaped into braids etc.) and made one into the shape of a fish. After tweaking some part of it, a fellow student said, "Ah no chef! What are you doing? It looked better before!" and so on and after a moment or two of thought chef said, "...eets just a fucking feesh!"

Anywho, this weekend was a nice change of pace because I really haven't been out of the city much yet. On Saturday we signed up for a trip through our school that took us through Parma and Modena to go see Parmesan being made, a Prosciutto factory and a place that makes fancy Balsamic Vinegar. Being a bunch of nerdy foodies, we were pretty stoked. Parma is about 3 hours away by bus. The countryside was lovely and the little Parmesan establishment in Parma was pretty adorable. It was small and the cheese makers wore cute little cheese making outfits and there was oh so much cheese. Thousands of pounds of cheese. We saw them cooking and stirring and shaping it and then how it was cured and stored for the 2 years before it is sold. At the Prosciutto factory, we walked into what was actually an impeccably clean facility. They showed us the different storage rooms at different temps where the meat goes before/ after/ during the curing process etc. I have never and will never again see that much meat in all my life. A vegetarian's nightmare, behind each door were racks sky high with Thousands of legs of pig. They said they ship aprox 50,000 (what do you call them... pig butt/leg combos?) around the world each year. They then led us upstairs to our lunch where (a vegetarian would pass out) each table setting was complete with a plate entirely covered in meat. Different kinds of prosciutto, salami etc piled in front of every chair. Full to our throats with meat, we then headed to Modena where they make a special kind of balsamic that takes years to ferment. There is nothing in the vinegar but grapes. No sugars no added acids, no wine, just grape juice and time. We tasted vinegars that were aged up to 25 yrs and sold for 78 euros for a tiny bottle.

So the trip was interesting and informative- BUT may I now point out its downfalls. It contained a few of us who had chosen to come on the trip + about 50 who were forced to be there. 80% 18 yr old girls who said things like, "it doesn't even taste good" after tasting just about the most perfectly made Parmesan cheese that can be made. Or girls who would walk into a meat factory (which smelled surprisingly little) and would plug their noses in disgust as the tour leader/ owner was proudly showing us around. Turns out I can't stand American teenage girls. Yeah I was one not long ago... but whatareyougonnado.

Sunday was a welcomed relief. My friends Michelle, Kim and I took a hour and 40 min train south west to a town called Castiglioncello. An adorable little beachy getaway, there were lots of people on the beach but actually almost no tourists. Almost everyone was Italian. The beaches were beautiful but you simply HAD to purchase a lounge chair/ umbrella to sit on. Not because it was required but because the sand was so hot that even while sitting on your towel, the sand would literally burn you. Now granted, my threadbare, Snorkelsaurus towel was probably made in 1982 and has been used generously since then, but I wasn't about to try to tough it out. And something about this sun makes you sweat more intensely than sun usually does. Moments after getting out of the water you would be dry and a single moment later you would be dripping again.. but with sweat. Wonderful and relaxing though regardless of some horrid tan lines I acquired. But there will be time to even those out next week when I'm in GREECE!

Friday marks our last day of Italian 1 with Francesca (I'm actually gonna miss her) and breads with Chef Gabriele. We then have a week break in which me and two friends are going to the Greek island Kos for half the week then parting ways to do a little more European sight seeing before school starts. I'll be coming back to Florence because my dear friend Jenny from Seattle will be in town! And I'm oh so excited to show her around.

But now it's time to study and get things ready for the trip. Wish me luck! (Pictures from last weekend are up on my snapfish for anyone curious).

An Improvement

When I woke up this morning and my paper thin linen sheet wasn't shoved to the bottom of my bed in anger (my thought process in the middle of the night- "why would they give us such heavy bedding in the middle of the summer?"), I knew it was gonna be a good day. I was actually comfortably wrapped in my sheet, the night having proved to be slightly cooler than usual. Usually we must choose between nearly dying of heat stroke with the windows closed or get eaten alive by swarms of mosquitoes and listen to the unnecessarily loud buses all night with the windows open. But thanks to mosquito spray, an incense that repels them and a plug in that periodically releases mosquito repellent, we were finally OK with the windows open and were so tired from lack of sleep, the buses weren't even a problem.

Next we skipped our way to Italian class to take a test. We bubbled with excitement because, who doesn't love irregular verbs? (slight exaggeration). Francesca was especially silly today spouting such gems as "when I have time to think about activities to do in class, I can be dangerous," or "the song was sappy and horrible... I wanted to- " and made a wrist slitting mime. PC-ness is not a concern of the teachers in Italy. She has certainly told us "I kill you," enough times (I can tell though. She's bluffing). She then read to us a few passages of a newspaper article which she thought was particularly hilarious. We didn't understand the Italian at all and when she translated it into English it was really not at all funny... however seeing her have to hold onto the table because she was laughing so hard at really mediocre statements was quite a show. But the best part was her surprise. She was so excited when she sat her gift bag on the table that we had to be excited too. Out she pulled a 2 ft tall American flag on a flag pole (to celebrate the 4th for us), But Wait! There is more. She then pushed a button on the base of it and it started playing "our country tis of thee" and the flag waved. She told us "I love things like this." I can just imagine her kitschy apartment full of Lisa Frank erasers and year-round Christmas decorations.

After our test was over, Michelle and I celebrated by going to our favorite sandwich shop where the owner is stoney faced man whose neutral look seems to say, "I could mess you up." The sanitation in this country would make our chefs at home (well the American one) cry. They make your sandwiches, take your money, set different kinds of meat on top of each other, and gloves? Ha! If you can't handle the germs, get a better immune system... is what they imply. But this place has unmatched sandwiches. The crispy toasted bread cuts up the inside of your mouth like it's been through an epic battle but it is oh so worth it. And though the owner could kick me apart, he'll grace you with a brief smile from time to time (usually when I mess up my Italian) and again it's worth it. It's a tough love sandwich shop.

Nursing my mouth wounds we walked over to the Boboli Gardens to hang out during our nice obnoxious 3 hour bread between classes. The gardens are across the river, about 30 min from our house. It's beautiful and much less touristy on the south side of the Arno which makes for a nice little getaway. After a relaxing hour or so in the garden we walked home marveling our lack of sunburns thus far, during which we each developed nice little shoulder and cheek sunburns. (Just moments ago Michelle cut up cucumber slices and set them on my shoulders. Soothing. I just realized they were still sitting there though, like those little Sgt Pepper jacket shoulder thingies....?)

When we got home I was sweating on every inch of my body and we both collapsed on our beds about 10 minutes before we had to leave again for class. Putting on a uniform and baking bread just did not sound like fun today. We both seriously considered ditching for the first time. We never had before... what could one day hurt? But we knew Mark, our other fellow South friend in the class, would give us crap and after a minute we sucked it up and went. We were glad we did because apparently the rest of the class had the same thought and No One Else Showed Up. Just Mark, Michelle, me 'n Chef Gabe. The other 9 decided to ditch apparently. If we'd actually decided not to come, Mark would have given us more crap than we realized! He'd have been the only one. But as it was, the class ran more efficiently than ever before. We got more done in a shorter amount of time, joked with chef, and made the best breads we've made yet. Suckers. It was even relatively cool in the classroom with 9 less people. AND after telling chef that I was an actor, chef told us about this little old town not far from here that has a medieval festival in just a few weeks with what he described as the best street performers in Italy. There are puppet shows, stilt walkers, fire eaters and other carnival type acts that go on in little secret secluded courtyards all over town. He said it was amazing but hard to get to but if we were all interested he'd help us find a way to get there. Yup. Best breads class so far.

A good day.

One more note- a interesting thing I've found being here is, I expected to perhaps start saying a few Italian words/ phrases without thinking, just like in New Zealand. You just hear them so often that they work their way into your vocab. Well... that hasn't really happened. What has happened is I find myself occasionally starting to say/ think phrases in broken English- the way they talk to us. I've had to stop myself from talking back to them the same way a few times. I don't want them to think I'm making fun of them, it just comes out.

pictures

For those of you without facebook, here are some pictures.

http://www1.snapfish.com/snapfish/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=2906178015/a=146803481_146803481/

Block Party

After a long day of museum viewing (the Accademia to see David and the Uffizi to see everything else) I was ready to swear off walking for about a week. Last night, however, was the last night in town for one of the two teachers from South who came with us to Italy (the other left a few days ago) and so it was necessary to have a last hurrah for her. It was her idea to attend a block party in her neighborhood- a quieter/ less touristy part of town on the south side of the Arno river. Hearing this party was going to last until aprox 4am, we dragged our lazy tired legs over to Catherine's (we're only allowed to call her that here) place at about 9 planning on staying a good hour and then collapsing to bed. Instead, amongst the food, music and booze, Catherine (who is in her late 50s by the way) encouraged us to drink more and stay out later and soon enough we were dancing in the street and it was 3am. The life of the party, she had older Italian men dancing with her and people buying her drinks and everyone could have cared less about dancing with us younger folk. But after taking a few shots with her, Catherine decided it was time to slur her way to bed since her taxi was coming in t-minus 2 hours to take her to the airport. That's the most partying I've done yet since I've been here. Who knew it'd be Miss Phipps that encouraged it.

Maestro

I'm beginning to get used to the teaching styles of my new profs. They're offbeat, but once you understand their code, it's not so bad. It's just like solving any other confusing riddle except this one is in charge of your grade.

With Chef Gabriele you need to understand that he often gets "years" and "days" confused. He has told us on more than one occasion, "and if wrapped properly this bread will last up to 15 years," to which the class lets out an audible, "woooah." And after a few seconds of pondering he says, "oh days. Days. No not years. No no." He also explained to us today that you could really use a lot of different kind of olives for olive bread as long as you debone them first.

Today Francesca had something up her sleeve. She came into class (sporting, for the second time in a row, her over sized solar system t-shirt from the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum with a disclaimer saying, "not to scale") with her classic 3 parts gum to 1 part teeth smile. What it came down to is she ended up showing us this video:



And after we watched it she played it again and we all got to get up and dance to it. And by "get to" I mean "were forced to." This really happened.

Cultural Differences

Walking down the street the other day we heard a bunch of church bells ringing intensely. I looked at my watch and it was 4:43. What an odd time for church bells, I thought... but it was because Italy had just scored a goal in the world cup. They love futbol.

la classe

To begin, I'd like to recap a quick encounter that just occurred on the street. Michelle and I were walking home from dinner with our friends (across the Ponte Vecchio and past Il Duomo- both just on the way home) when a young man stops us and quickly asks us a question. Even though I've had a full 2 days of Italian class now I had no idea what he was saying and start sputtering sentence fragments of "non parlo... le? uh... l'Italiano" and Michelle calmly leaned over and lit his cigarette for him. I asked, "Oh you know how to ask for a light in Italian?" and she said, "No he asked for it in English. Just with an English accent."

Anyway, classes are in full swing now and uh... what a swing it is. I have noticed a pattern in which every important figure at my school is young and unfairly attractive. The executive chef is a cross between Fabio and Johnny Depp. The dean of students is a young, pretty, model-y type woman and everyone in between is the same. Even the older chefs have a salt and peppery charm and all the women are beautiful but almost look like they'd rather they weren't. It was really becoming rather annoying. Well, you can imagine how relieved I was to walk into Italian class Monday morning to find nothing but a neon pink scrunchy top backpack with a bright yellow and purple geometric pattern decorating the outside. I found myself wondering, I wonder what kind of young, hip Italian owns that bag? Enter Francesca. A short, skinny legged, plump bodied, shuffly type lady with lipstick that reaches far beyond her lips and an intense ear-length haircut, the likes of which I haven't seen since my peers in 4th grade (which she manages to get sticking straight up every time we don't understand something). I was especially excited to see that today she had the very same gray strechpants/ baggy blue t-shirt combo she wore on the first day... yesterday. It certainly was a good choice on the first go-round. It interests me that she is a teacher of another language because I'm having trouble believing that she speaks anything other than Italian. Hard to teach a beginning level class when you can't even break the ice in their native tongue. An example: Obnoxious Girl from California in my class, "How do you say roomie in Italian?" (Already a good start to a conversation.) Francesca, "eh.... eh?" OGC, "Oh, ha! I mean roommate. How do you say roommate?" Francesca, "I'm sorry I don't.. eh... If you can't afford the book you don't have to buy it today but that is just the one you will need sometime." Well played, Franky. She also informed us that beginning tomorrow she will be speaking only in Italian. That would be day three. Seeing as how so far we've learned numbers and how to conjugate "to be" I'd say we'll all have a pretty good time tomorrow. She has a habit of asking a question she is fully aware we won't know the answer to and grimacing at the silence. I foresee a whole lot of silent grimacing.

Breads class was next. After a nice 3 hour break between classes during which I slept and ate- what I do at every free moment these days- we put on our brand new chef jackets and hustled excitedly to our next class. At least this was something we knew. Enter our next mistro- Gabriele. Picture the count from Sesame Street in a chef's outfit with a more nasally voice. A nice guy, but difficult to understand nonetheless. After explaining biga for about a half hour longer than necessary he stopped and said "I don't understand myself when I speak English." We're right there with ya buddy. While he has some endearing qualities, the rest of the class is lacking. Two older American students (they're all American) in particular are really rubbing us the wrong way. They act like teenage besties and the male of the two- who we've nicknamed Greg- regularly partakes in such hilarious antics as tossing bread around and not catching it smoothly at all, putting a baguette and two round loaves together in the shape of a penis and taking a picture, posing inmfront of things with one finger on his lips and oh-so-funny "I'm a bad wittle boy" faces and having friend "Lucy" take pictures of him. Our poor chef is so out of his element speaking English that he does little to stop it. The class itself might be more interesting if there only about 3 of us instead of 9. Unfortunately there is very little hands on. We made some delicious Tuscan Bread and Ciabatta today but all we got to do was shape two loaves each and then watch the rest happen. The facilities are lovely but the pastry lab is small and the most of the other students are far less experienced. We're hope hope hoping that in the 2 1/2 weeks remaining, there is some pick up in the pace. I want so badly to Love that class but so far it's been mildly difficult to do so.

On another note, I had the first reaction I've ever had to my deathly last name the other day. I asked a girl at a front desk where my class was and when she saw my name she said, "LaMorticella?" and made a "I'm-being-strangled" face/ gesture combination. No one has mentioned that before. So that's a treat.

Now it's time to be harvested by mosquitoes (which are WAY bigger here and bleed all over the place when you smash them..... sick) and go to bed. So arrivederci (a word my friend has been using as Hello and Goodbye since we got here. Don't do it folks. ....It only means Goodbye. And he was wondering why he'd get snickers whenever he ordered something).