For those of you without facebook, here are some pictures.
http://www1.snapfish.com/snapfish/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=2906178015/a=146803481_146803481/
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
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.
Friday, June 25, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
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.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
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).
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).
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Things to do in the rain
Not to say that we Northwesterners don't know how to deal with rain, but I don't think any of us were really expecting the same kind of weather here in generally "sunny ol' Italy" that we were having when we left the states. In fact it has been rainy everyday and thunderstormy most days. Puts a little damper on sightseeing and garden picnicking plans. However, while there are plenty of churches and museums which could get us out of the rain they were even more packed than usual with hordes of damp tourists and that just didn't sound too nice either. So we decided on grabbing umbrellas and braving some water.
Yesterday was just an orientation day but we actually got some pretty great information regarding the city. Like this useful info- How to Find Good Gelato- yes it's everywhere and I'm sure none of it is Bad but some is much more authentic and delicious than others so here are things to know: don't buy it near tourist attractions- it's overpriced and not authentic, brightly colored means it's fakely colored, never pay more than 1- 3 euro for gelato (the cheapest stuff is usually the most authentic), and it should never be mounded up in a pile over the top of the container because real gelato will melt. If it's not melting it's not right. It should be level or lower than the top of the container it is being displayed in. Well we found a place that met this criteria and lo and behold it was AMAZING. When I tried mine I nearly married the little old man serving it to us. I then had to go around and try everyone else's. My peach and strawberry flavors though were to. die. for. Holy cow. The peach tasted like the best peaches you've ever had but multiplied by heaven.
We then found our way to a wine shop where you can bring old wine bottles and have them filled for a fraction of the price of a bottle of wine, a chocolate shop owned by one of the most famous chocolatiers in the world and a produce market that has the most beautiful fresh produce I've seen. I left the happy owner of grapes the size of golf balls and a giant yellow pepper probably twice as big as any I've ever seen for only 80 cents. Lovely. Now to make some pesto gnocchi, salad with fresh ingredients from the market this morning, caprese salad, wine, fresh bread... etc. :)
Yesterday was just an orientation day but we actually got some pretty great information regarding the city. Like this useful info- How to Find Good Gelato- yes it's everywhere and I'm sure none of it is Bad but some is much more authentic and delicious than others so here are things to know: don't buy it near tourist attractions- it's overpriced and not authentic, brightly colored means it's fakely colored, never pay more than 1- 3 euro for gelato (the cheapest stuff is usually the most authentic), and it should never be mounded up in a pile over the top of the container because real gelato will melt. If it's not melting it's not right. It should be level or lower than the top of the container it is being displayed in. Well we found a place that met this criteria and lo and behold it was AMAZING. When I tried mine I nearly married the little old man serving it to us. I then had to go around and try everyone else's. My peach and strawberry flavors though were to. die. for. Holy cow. The peach tasted like the best peaches you've ever had but multiplied by heaven.
We then found our way to a wine shop where you can bring old wine bottles and have them filled for a fraction of the price of a bottle of wine, a chocolate shop owned by one of the most famous chocolatiers in the world and a produce market that has the most beautiful fresh produce I've seen. I left the happy owner of grapes the size of golf balls and a giant yellow pepper probably twice as big as any I've ever seen for only 80 cents. Lovely. Now to make some pesto gnocchi, salad with fresh ingredients from the market this morning, caprese salad, wine, fresh bread... etc. :)
Friday, June 18, 2010
l'drivers
In Italy, drivers treat pedestrians like an American driver would treat a pigeon. "It'll move it'll move." And if they end up hitting it they say, "awe well it should have moved."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Arrival
Well it wasn't easy...
I left my boyfriend with a car seat full of dirty tissues and dragged myself into the airport on Tuesday morning at 6. I was relieved to see my classmate Kim in the exact same situation. The trip actually started out just fine. We were able to change seats so we could all sit together and even ended up an hour early to New York. The problems began there. We only had two hours in Rome to go through customs, get our bags, check back in, go through security and get to the gate, so when our flight ended up leaving an hour late we knew we were screwed. Once we stumbled off our 8 hour plane ride (on which I was befriended by my seat mate, a 12 y/0 boy named Kevin who ended up falling asleep on my shoulder at one point) no one wanted to help us with our now dire situation. "You have to speak with Alitalia about that" "You made the reservation with American, you have to do it through them" "You have to talk to the help desk upstairs" "In terminal 1" "In terminal 5" "You have to take a bus to get to the terminal you're going to" "The train for your terminal leaves in a minute" "I can change her ticket but no one else's" After no less than 12 responses like this and we were trudging around like sedated sloths. But that's nothing a good 9 hour wait in an airport couldn't fix.
We decided to take full advantage of our time and really live it up. We sampled the local McDonald's cuisine. Well, Ross and Cassie did, Kim and I wanted to be a little more ethnically legit and got airport pizza (think Pizza Hut with salami instead of pepperoni). We then tested the comfort of the chairs by napping in them the rest of the time. Frankly I've seen more of that airport than I've ever cared to.
The next problem was our airport-home transport. It had been set up for us through the school but we never had a chance to tell them we were coming on the later flight. But then as we walked off the jetway, we looked amongst the sea of names printed neatly on laminated signs and saw a hand scrawled "South Seattle" paper. Boy were we excited. We asked how she'd found out about the switch and she said she'd gone to ask about what happened to our flight and where we were and when they told her it was confidential information she cried and they decided to tell her. She grabbed us cabs and we were finally on our way home. The cab ride reminded me that there is absolutely no way I will ever drive in Italy. Our cabbie told us in detail about this being fashion week with all the seasons new Dolce and Gabbana, Dior, Gucci, Prada having fashion shows and that there would be a lot of sexy people walking around the streets. He made sure to look at us straight in the eyes through the rear view mirror while doing this, demonstrating the Italian stress on in depth conversation, and lacksisity on attention while driving. He would accelerate through extremely crowded tiny streets, and whenever he almost hit bikers and pedestrians, which was often, he'd then yell at them out the window like it was their problem.
The apartment itself is a sight to behold. A super long narrow hallway leads to 4 extremely high ceilinged bedrooms, a family room, a kitchen area and 2 bizarre bathrooms. Let me explain the bathrooms. #1: you open the door to a room which is barely wider than the door itself. It is dark marroony red with a toilet and a shower head. That is all. #2 is about twice as long as a bathroom needs to be. It includes a washing machine which has a tiny short cord that leads to nothing. The one outlet in the bathroom is right next to the door which means anytime the washer is to be used, it is to be moved. We'll see how that goes. The bedbug situation is curious. I don't think we have them but mosquitoes we do. Michelle was covered in bites this morning- I nagged that they could be bedbug bites... but she was convinced they were not. Oh I hope she's right. We bought repellent so if they're gone then we'll know.
Day 2 was today and my jet lag has yet to lag. We picked up school issued phones today and walked a little more around the city. We explored Il Duomo, and the Ponte Vecchio and some cuter quieter areas further away from the touristy center. This was a big relief. I know I haven't been "living" here long at all but I'm already annoyed by other tourists and can't stand being categorized as one (though I know I am). But the hordes of people, the pushy sales people on the street, and the over priced food was a little much.
Though the weather here has been a little more like warm Seattle weather so far than the scorching hotness we were expecting, were introduced to some plague like weather today when in a matter of seconds it went from breezy and dry to thunder and lightning, sideways winds and torrential rain and quarter sized hail. The entire piazza fled into doorways and we hid out for the minutes that it lasted. When we could have no more and were literally drenched to the bone, bone marrow even, we decided to brave it and just go home as we weren't that far away. And after wading our way through deep puddles in sandals and a little dress we arrived home just in time for the rain to subside.
And that is one reason why now I'm exhausted. You don't want to know how I smell or how my feet look. With that image, ciao!
I left my boyfriend with a car seat full of dirty tissues and dragged myself into the airport on Tuesday morning at 6. I was relieved to see my classmate Kim in the exact same situation. The trip actually started out just fine. We were able to change seats so we could all sit together and even ended up an hour early to New York. The problems began there. We only had two hours in Rome to go through customs, get our bags, check back in, go through security and get to the gate, so when our flight ended up leaving an hour late we knew we were screwed. Once we stumbled off our 8 hour plane ride (on which I was befriended by my seat mate, a 12 y/0 boy named Kevin who ended up falling asleep on my shoulder at one point) no one wanted to help us with our now dire situation. "You have to speak with Alitalia about that" "You made the reservation with American, you have to do it through them" "You have to talk to the help desk upstairs" "In terminal 1" "In terminal 5" "You have to take a bus to get to the terminal you're going to" "The train for your terminal leaves in a minute" "I can change her ticket but no one else's" After no less than 12 responses like this and we were trudging around like sedated sloths. But that's nothing a good 9 hour wait in an airport couldn't fix.
We decided to take full advantage of our time and really live it up. We sampled the local McDonald's cuisine. Well, Ross and Cassie did, Kim and I wanted to be a little more ethnically legit and got airport pizza (think Pizza Hut with salami instead of pepperoni). We then tested the comfort of the chairs by napping in them the rest of the time. Frankly I've seen more of that airport than I've ever cared to.
The next problem was our airport-home transport. It had been set up for us through the school but we never had a chance to tell them we were coming on the later flight. But then as we walked off the jetway, we looked amongst the sea of names printed neatly on laminated signs and saw a hand scrawled "South Seattle" paper. Boy were we excited. We asked how she'd found out about the switch and she said she'd gone to ask about what happened to our flight and where we were and when they told her it was confidential information she cried and they decided to tell her. She grabbed us cabs and we were finally on our way home. The cab ride reminded me that there is absolutely no way I will ever drive in Italy. Our cabbie told us in detail about this being fashion week with all the seasons new Dolce and Gabbana, Dior, Gucci, Prada having fashion shows and that there would be a lot of sexy people walking around the streets. He made sure to look at us straight in the eyes through the rear view mirror while doing this, demonstrating the Italian stress on in depth conversation, and lacksisity on attention while driving. He would accelerate through extremely crowded tiny streets, and whenever he almost hit bikers and pedestrians, which was often, he'd then yell at them out the window like it was their problem.
The apartment itself is a sight to behold. A super long narrow hallway leads to 4 extremely high ceilinged bedrooms, a family room, a kitchen area and 2 bizarre bathrooms. Let me explain the bathrooms. #1: you open the door to a room which is barely wider than the door itself. It is dark marroony red with a toilet and a shower head. That is all. #2 is about twice as long as a bathroom needs to be. It includes a washing machine which has a tiny short cord that leads to nothing. The one outlet in the bathroom is right next to the door which means anytime the washer is to be used, it is to be moved. We'll see how that goes. The bedbug situation is curious. I don't think we have them but mosquitoes we do. Michelle was covered in bites this morning- I nagged that they could be bedbug bites... but she was convinced they were not. Oh I hope she's right. We bought repellent so if they're gone then we'll know.
Day 2 was today and my jet lag has yet to lag. We picked up school issued phones today and walked a little more around the city. We explored Il Duomo, and the Ponte Vecchio and some cuter quieter areas further away from the touristy center. This was a big relief. I know I haven't been "living" here long at all but I'm already annoyed by other tourists and can't stand being categorized as one (though I know I am). But the hordes of people, the pushy sales people on the street, and the over priced food was a little much.
Though the weather here has been a little more like warm Seattle weather so far than the scorching hotness we were expecting, were introduced to some plague like weather today when in a matter of seconds it went from breezy and dry to thunder and lightning, sideways winds and torrential rain and quarter sized hail. The entire piazza fled into doorways and we hid out for the minutes that it lasted. When we could have no more and were literally drenched to the bone, bone marrow even, we decided to brave it and just go home as we weren't that far away. And after wading our way through deep puddles in sandals and a little dress we arrived home just in time for the rain to subside.
And that is one reason why now I'm exhausted. You don't want to know how I smell or how my feet look. With that image, ciao!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Predeparture
To begin, I would like to explain the title of this blog- "Super Dog Black." It comes from the one other time I've been to Italy. It was even Florence, if I remember correctly. While watching TV one day, my brother and I finally happened upon a TV show that could drag us away from Italian Flipper. It was a Japanese show, dubbed into Italian with only the title in English (Super Dog Black). In a backwards kind of way, it seemed fitting for this adventure I'm about to blindishly embark upon.
Eight years later I'm going back to Florence, sans parents, and this time to study baking at an international culinary arts school called Apicius. Excitement is the word I most often use to describe the trip but I can't deny that I've already experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Let's not forget angst, exhaustion, frustration, curiosity, doubt, empowerment, concern, and straight up fear. It is going to be a wonderful opportunity, I know this. But although people encourage me with words such as, "You're going to have one of those summers chick flicks are based off of," I've had my doubts.
Without going into too many details, a few weeks ago I was nothing less than a wreck as I struggled to correct incorrect paperwork, prayed my passport would arrive safely and quickly, fixed flights, and payed all kinds of money I barely have. The icing on the cake came when we recieved the addresses of our new appartments. I looked mine up on google maps to see what adorable sleepy old street I'd be calling home for the summer. A map popped up and google told me there was a Bed and Breakfast at that location. It seemed to be more of a hostel so it made sense they'd put us there. I then procedded to read the reviews of the quaint B & B. Every single entry gave it one measly star and included titles such as "Beadbugs!" "Worst Hostel I've Been to in Europe!" "Scary" "Dirty" "Mean owners" "Ticks" and every post mentioned the bed bugs. One poor fellow apparently woke up with so many bites his eyes were swollen shut. Now... I'm not expecting the Ritz here. I'm not going to whine if my appartment isn't luxurious but let's just say I'm not so OK with living in an infestation. I promptly called my friend- who will be my roommate in the roach motel- and calmly explained to her the situation loudly, quickly, and very high piched so she knew I meant buisness. It was her suggestion to write back to the housing coordinator to make 100% sure that was actually the place we'd be. I had kind of jumped to a conclusion so I wrote her back. She responded quickly by reassuring me that the B & B was on the 3rd floor and our place was actually on the 1st. ...Here's hoping bedbugs can't climb down stairs.
Now my departure day is just 10 days away. I say this over and over but it still hasn't Actually sunken in that I'm going to be leaving so soon. There are close friends I won't see again until I get back. I haven't packed a thing. I haven't tried to learn Italin (I can count to 20 and ask "where is the the beer?"). I still need to give my roomie info on bills, the vet, my plant etc. Instead I find myself sitting at home, alone, watching "I Shouldn't Be Alive," eating cookies. This isn't getting me ready for anything. But prepared or not, the countdown begins. I leave at 8:30 on June 15th. It is currently 7:39 pm on June 5th. I better get packin.
Eight years later I'm going back to Florence, sans parents, and this time to study baking at an international culinary arts school called Apicius. Excitement is the word I most often use to describe the trip but I can't deny that I've already experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Let's not forget angst, exhaustion, frustration, curiosity, doubt, empowerment, concern, and straight up fear. It is going to be a wonderful opportunity, I know this. But although people encourage me with words such as, "You're going to have one of those summers chick flicks are based off of," I've had my doubts.
Without going into too many details, a few weeks ago I was nothing less than a wreck as I struggled to correct incorrect paperwork, prayed my passport would arrive safely and quickly, fixed flights, and payed all kinds of money I barely have. The icing on the cake came when we recieved the addresses of our new appartments. I looked mine up on google maps to see what adorable sleepy old street I'd be calling home for the summer. A map popped up and google told me there was a Bed and Breakfast at that location. It seemed to be more of a hostel so it made sense they'd put us there. I then procedded to read the reviews of the quaint B & B. Every single entry gave it one measly star and included titles such as "Beadbugs!" "Worst Hostel I've Been to in Europe!" "Scary" "Dirty" "Mean owners" "Ticks" and every post mentioned the bed bugs. One poor fellow apparently woke up with so many bites his eyes were swollen shut. Now... I'm not expecting the Ritz here. I'm not going to whine if my appartment isn't luxurious but let's just say I'm not so OK with living in an infestation. I promptly called my friend- who will be my roommate in the roach motel- and calmly explained to her the situation loudly, quickly, and very high piched so she knew I meant buisness. It was her suggestion to write back to the housing coordinator to make 100% sure that was actually the place we'd be. I had kind of jumped to a conclusion so I wrote her back. She responded quickly by reassuring me that the B & B was on the 3rd floor and our place was actually on the 1st. ...Here's hoping bedbugs can't climb down stairs.
Now my departure day is just 10 days away. I say this over and over but it still hasn't Actually sunken in that I'm going to be leaving so soon. There are close friends I won't see again until I get back. I haven't packed a thing. I haven't tried to learn Italin (I can count to 20 and ask "where is the the beer?"). I still need to give my roomie info on bills, the vet, my plant etc. Instead I find myself sitting at home, alone, watching "I Shouldn't Be Alive," eating cookies. This isn't getting me ready for anything. But prepared or not, the countdown begins. I leave at 8:30 on June 15th. It is currently 7:39 pm on June 5th. I better get packin.
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