Urbino, lezioni, e dentifricio (Urbino, classes, and toothpaste)

Finally - I am officially a student of l'Università di Bologna.  And you thought it would never happen, right?  But Italians don't really care much for time, anyway, things just sort of happen when the happen.  So I guess it's sort of nice to know that my 9 am class will never really start before 9:15 - we're talking 15 extra minutes sleep, right?

But I digress - time to back up a little bit.  This past Saturday I went to Urbino, which promptly won me over and has taken a place among my top 3 Italian cities.  Urbino is in Le Marche (this is very cool - I had never been to this region before!), which is on the Eastern side of the boot.  But here is the kicker - Urbino is literally impossible to reach by train.  As in, it is built into the "hills," which are actually more like mountains to a midwesterner such as myself (let's face it, these "hills" far surpass any black diamond run I've ever seen east of the Rockies).  So I think if you ever felt the strong urge to make it to Urbino, and you didn't have a car to drive there, you would have to go through some complicated process of taking the train to Pesaro, then a bus from there, etc etc...you get the idea.  So we drove 2 1/2 hours to this walled city, built into a mountain, and I slowly came to realization throughout the day that I never would have even known of Urbino (much less made it there) had I not been doing this program.  To think I never would have seen this place!  Urbino is incredible!  First of all, the city really is walled, and you need really climb to get in centro - in this way, it reminded me a lot of Siena, with lots of little winding, climbing streets.  In the morning we toured the Palazzo Ducale of Federico III da Montefeltro (this is just a fancy way of saying "that one really rich Duke who practically owned the place during the Renaissance).  This was a special treat as well because it holds a Raphael work (if not more than one) and also "La città ideale," a famous Renaissance painting that shows the ideals of perspective and linearity (I suggest searching on google images for this).  

And oh yeah, did I mention that Raphael was born in Urbino?  How cool is that!?  So we took a little trip to his house, which is now a museum, and we wandered through his hallways that afternoon.  However, since we were obviously famished after the Palazzo Ducale, we went to lunch at a cute trattoria where I ate, I think, some of the best food of my year here yet.  The best thing about these Italian restaurants is that they are so unassuming - they often look so modest inside, and they are not trying to be something grander than what they are, and yet the food always takes your breath away.  The quality of this food was simply amazing.  First we had two different types of pasta, one with a red tomato sauce and the other a wheat pasta with veggies.  Simple, but pure and tasty.  Our secondo piatto was even better - "stinchi di maiale con rosmarino".  Basically, we were given mini crock-pots of what was pig shin meat, and it was made with oil and rosemary.  I have never loved pork more in my life - this meat was so tender and the rosemary was the perfect flavor to add to it.  This was served with patate fritte also made with rosemary.  Afterwards, along with lemon cake (which I actually didn't like, sadly), they gave us little glasses of cherry wine and espressos.  And thank goodness my friends made the right decision to order a slice of WARM flourless chocolate cake.  In short, it was heavenly.

After our meal and before Raphael's house, we walked up to the top of the hill that Urbino sits on and got a view of the surrounding countryside - it was beautiful, especially with the trees and grass beginning to change colors for autumn. Pictures really do not do it justice.  However, since I have been sans camera and have been unable to show you all what I have seen, here is my latest suggestion: go to http://www.bcsp.unibo.it - click on "Events" on the side bar.  Then to see the updated albums of my class, you can look at "Villa Ghigi" and "Ravenna" (Urbino isn't updated yet).  

Anyway, to continue this long and arduous post, I finally had my first italian university class yesterday.  This class is called "Gli stati uniti nel mondo contemporaneo" - yes, I am taking US history.  This is actually sort of my extra class, the one I don't really need, but the professor is really great.  He is interesting and clear, and I am mentally thanking my American profs for directing me toward taking US history abroad.  In my two days in the class, I can already tell that it is going to be a really different experience.  The past two days have really been all about religion and politics, and the difference between a catholic vs. protestant/separation of church and state nation.  Really fascinating stuff, and so far the Italian hasn't been too hard to keep up with.  We'll also be following the election, which I am grateful for - this is a historic year! VOTE!!!!

And now, I am libera - completely free.  My next class doesn't begin until October 8th.  So I have a few days to putz around.  Maybe I'll go to Florence?  We'll see what happens.

And oh yeah, toothpaste!  So I ran out of my american Arm&Hammer toothpaste - a sad day, but obviously I'm not in England and this isn't the middle ages, so dental hygiene exists here.  So I go to the store and decide, "Hey, I am adventurous.  I try new things.  I'm not going to buy Colgate or Aquafresh...time to try some Italian toothpaste."  So I pick up some sort of Italian natural looking toothpaste, figuring it will be pretty good and kind of gentle like my Arm&Hammer stuff.  Well, I don't know whose idea it was, but "Mint and Eucalyptus" as a toothpaste flavor is...interesting, to say the least.  I still haven't decided if you could call it refreshing.  And I also haven't decided if it tastes like hand lotion.  But who knows, maybe I'll love it after I go through this first tube...

For now, arrivaderci!

Una spiegazione di Bologna (An explanation of Bologna)

Allow me to explain.  Many of you who read this have been all over the world and seen many, many places (or perhaps have not...it doesn't really matter).  The point is, I think I need to explain exactly what Bologna is.  Let me start with what it is not: it is not Florence.  It is not Rome.  It is definitely not Naples or Milan.  And though I joke about all these Italian cities sort of melting together in a "seen one, seen 'em all" sort of way (and this statement does have truth), Bologna is really una cosa diversa - something totally different.

I realized this the other day when I was walking down a little side street and happened to see a record store.  So I obviously went in, only to find myself in a little Italian "High Fidelity" situation (John Cusack movie, centering around this type of record store, highly recommended).  And as I was flipping through the 99 eurocent records with my friend Veronica, both of us musing about how we should just buy lots of records to decorate our rooms, and as I leafed through a free schedule of music and culture events in Bologna for September, I couldn't help but think: huh.  This feels a lot like Ann Arbor.

And then I realized that this is exactly where I am.  I am in an Italian Ann Arbor, or any other sort of university town.  The population of Bologna is around 150,000 people, and nearly 100,000 of that is students.  I feel pretty slow on the uptake, but I think it's because the students still haven't really come back yet (after all, classes don't begin until September 29th at the earliest...and even that's being optimistic.  Two of my courses don't begin until October 13th!).  

Having realized this, it all makes sense now - there are organic-fair-trade coffee shops, independent record stores, music festivals, and obviously tons of bars geared to a college crowd.  In fact, the number of pizzerias open late into the night should have been the most obvious tip-off (name one college campus that doesn't have late-night food).  It is for this that Bologna feels different to me - it's actually more familiar than I thought.  I can't really send postcards that show off some well-known monument or a famous church, and it's not like the city is known for marbled paper or leather or gold (no, it is fortunately...and unfortunately for my pant size...known for food, but I can't exactly ship that home).  In fact, I hardly knew anything about Bologna before I came here - it's no wonder I wasn't expecting something like this.  But frankly, I am still not surprised that people don't put this on their list of places to go (although they should, since this is truly some of the best food of Italy).

So yes, I will take pictures, and I will send letters, etc etc.  But I now I realize - and I want everyone else to understand - that what is so special about Bologna is perhaps not quite as tangible as the Trevi Fountain or the Duomo of Milano.  But this is what makes it such a great place to shack up for a year.

Ho comprato il pesce (I bought fish!)

This was, in all honesty, a huge adventure.  And as we have now learned, going from A to B is never so straightforward here, yet after some slight stress and panic (all beneath my cool facade of feigned understanding) I succeeded in buying a fish fillet to cook for dinner.

Let me explain.  Like anything else in Italy, to buy fish, you need to go to the pescherie - the fish guys.  This is really the only way to do it - there is no "get out of jail free" card because you literally can't buy fish in any of the supermarket type stores.  So I realized I had to go for it when I felt like I was going to burst open with ragù sauce - I needed to eat some fish.

Like any secret agent, I began by scoping out the scene.  So I discreetly wandered around the three pescherie (of course they are all right next to each other) one afternoon, trying to make sense of the place and, obviously, form a plan of action.  The problem was, I couldn't make any sense of it - it was absolute mayhem.  At every pescheria there was a huge crowd of loud civilians standing outside the shop, gathered around all the fresh fish, shrimp, and prawns, conceivably yelling at the one big Italian guy in the fishmonger apron, and this guy was throwing all of the fish people wanted into newspaper before sending it up to worker behind the counter, who would then ring up the order.  Simple, right?  Obviously not.  Here was the major problem I had with this process: all of the fish outside had EYES.  And scales.  And bones.  In other words, it was all whole.  

Now don't get me wrong, I will always try new cuisine and am not terribly picky, but I definitely do not know how to clean and gut a fish, much less remove the eyes, much less remove the legs from prawns, etc etc.  And the worst part was that I saw all of these delicious-looking, cleaned fillets sitting inside the store in the counter.  But how to get at that holy grail of a whitefish fillet, not to mention get past the huge Italian fishmonger with his scary newspaper hands, was completely beyond me.

So enough scoping.  Plan of action totally out the window.  I decided to bite the bullet and dive into the scene.

I walked inside and realized I had to grab a number from one of those deli tabs.  Number 10.  Ok, I could deal with this.  So far so good.  Until the next obstacle presented itself to me - the big guy who was working outside was yelling "Sette! Sette! (Seven! Seven!)", while inside a screen above the counter read "2".  My heart started beating slightly faster - dear god, I do not want any of that crap with the legs and eyes and scales, I will seriously go hungry, and how I am supposed to explain this situation to this huge fishy man and in front of all these Italian grandmothers who just want to get dinner for their kids and grandchildren and friends and friend's kids and friend's grandkids.  And what is going on with that number 2?  Why is it not number 7?  Am I the only one who is confused here?

I sat there for a minute in a moment of zen, willing my language skills to their maximum power and potential, as my number approached.  Finally, the moment of truth: "DIECI! DIECI!"

"Ah, sono io, that's me!"  And before he could say anything else to me, I proceeded to explain in hurried Italian that, no, I don't want any of the stuff outside, I just want something from inside, and what do I have to do to get my one stupid whitefish fillet?

This guy looked at me for a second, and then said in the kindest voice, "Cara, stai tranquilla.  Aspetta per il tuo numero qua."  This basically translates to "Dear, just relax.  Wait for your number here." And he pointed to the mysterious screen (which now read number 7, those tricky tricky fishmongers).  So it turns out, he was just ahead of the game and getting people ready to pay.  And so I waited for number 10 to show, told the guy behind the counter that I wanted "un filletto di quello" with some strategic pointing, and paid my 1 euro and left.  And you wonder why that had to be so stressful, right?  It all makes so much sense in retrospect.

However - I am still not entirely positive what type of fish I had for dinner that night.  But I know it was the cheapest, and it had no eyes.

Da Bologna a Ravenna, accessori sono necessari (From Bologna to Ravenna, accessories are necessary)

Alright, this post involves two important things in Italian culture: Ravenna, and accessories.

I should begin with Ravenna, because this is where I was for all of last Saturday.  As part of my pre-session course that I am taking right now, we have a cultural aspect - meaning every Wednesday I get to sleep in instead of going to grammar class, and then I get lectured by the brilliant (and terribly stereotypical) art history prof, Dottore Benvenuto.  So we took a little class day trip to this city, which is about 1 1/2 hours north of Bologna.  I'm going to be honest - after a while, these cities start to look pretty much the same (even one of the program directors said this to me).  Ravenna is no more picturesque than any other little Italian town, and you can tell why it's not at the top of the tourist list.  However, I loved this city so much because it was such a diamond in the rough.  The thing is, Ravenna is most famous for all of its incredible Byzantine mosaics that are in the churches there.  It was a capital of the Byzantine empire, meaning it is a pretty unique place in terms of its art.  There is this crazy juxtaposition between your basically average Italian baroque decoration and then these entirely unique (and OLD) Byzantine mosaics.  And the coolest thing about Byzantine art is that you can see the incredible influence of the East on it - slides and pictures just do not do this stuff justice.  There is just no way to represent the exoticism and lushness of the colors and shapes that these mosaics have.  So we trekked around this fairly normal city with Dottore Benvenuto, going in and out of churches that continued to amaze once you got through the door.  

But what would a day be without pranzo (lunch)?  And god knows how the Italians love their food.  So we stopped for "lunch," which turned out to be a beautiful three-course meal of pasta ragu, pork with potatoes and zucchini, and creme caramel for dessert.  And needless to say, I didn't eat dinner that night (but somehow found room for some candied almonds before leaving Ravenna...somehow...).

So I think I can safely say, and especially having studied middle eastern history, that I saw my favorite church of all time in Ravenna - totally blows all others out of the water.  It was just so unique. Here is a picture from my friend John at the top, one of the churches we saw.  As soon as I can get pictures of the mosaics, I will put them up.

Anyway, on to another reflection on Italian culture: accessories.  Seriously, these people love their accessories.  I realized the other day that the reason why vespas are so widely used here is because they are the perfect excuse for another accessory: helmets.  Why wouldn't you want the zippy helmet to match your red motorcycle?  In fact, while we're at it, why not make that a Hello Kitty helmet (yeah, don't ask me why, Hello Kitty, Abercrombie, and Uggs are suddenly things they go nuts for...I'm kicking myself for having outgrown that at the age of, oh I don't know, ELEVEN).  And you know, now that you have the Hello Kitty helmet, may as well get a keychain to match.  And please, for the love of god, don't even start the ignition without your leather jacket - that's just a given, you do NOT leave home without it.

The Italians just like...things.  I mean, life can be as inefficient as possible, but it doesn't matter because you have on three-inch heels that look pretty damn good while you ride your BMW bike (yes, bicycles from BMW exist) home for lunch.  And god knows you probably cannot see the road as you pedal slowly down the strada, because you have on some pretty thick Dolce&Gabbana sunglasses, but no worries, you'll make it there eventually.  That is, if you don't get hit by the girl in the Hello Kitty helmet along the way.

So here's my resolution - perhaps I will just start wearing every piece of jewelry I own at once.  Sans bike, vespa, motorcycle, and leather jacket, I think its the best I can do for now.

Non posso (I can't...keep up, that is)

So my internet is spotty at best - for some reason the Italian ethernet cord does not seem to like my American Macbook so much - but here I am typing away in my new luminous room.  I have completely moved in!  After a long and arduous trip to Ikea (which, let me tell you, if you think its stressful in the US, try doing it in a country that in no way supports making useful information obvious, such as where buses pick you up), my bed is at least ready for sleeping.  As always - how does this always happen to me in Italy? - I schlepped my suitcases up 5 flights of stairs.  But, that's what I get for wanting the top floor with the terrace, the killer view, and the cool exposed wooden beams in my ceiling.  Vale la pena - it's totally worth it.  My camera is disfunctional at the moment and the pics I took on my computer just don't do it justice - so pics will have to come in the next post.

So right now, my days involve grammar class with the other people in my program from 10-12:30...and that's about it.  Of course I do have homework and I really need to do a lot of work - I find that I can understand basically anything people say to me, but being able to produce those words is another story.  So I definitely need to work on my language a lot more.  However, now that I am finally all settled in, I feel I can really start to see Bologna in a different way.  I'll have my afternoons to go see churches, go to museums, and that sort of thing.  Bologna has such an amazing history, and the university is literally the oldest in Europe (founded in 1088!  I am literally in the company of Dante and Galileo!).  The thing is, I realized that I have seen Bologna really only through one perspective so far...and that is through the lens of FOOD.

Yes.  Bologna is known as the "grassa," or fat.  As in, it is known as the place in Italy where you will literally eat the best food of your life.  And that is saying something, because, let's face it, it's Italy, and I can't imagine eating poorly anywhere.  But no, Bologna has this awesome reputation for being awesome at food.  And it has taken me only two weeks to realize, dear god, I cannot keep up with these Italians.

Really, I just need someone to explain how 45 year old Italian women can have 4 children, live in Bologna (where it is impossible to hate food), and literally be a size 0.  It makes no sense.  But not only are my taste buds constantly accosted by course after course of rich and beautiful food, I have to drink too.  I don't just mean alcohol, I mean in general, I need to drink all beverages possible.  Example of the days when I follow the true Italian schedule (NB: feel free to throw extra espressos in whenever you feel so moved):

Breakfast - cappuccino or espresso (duh), and bread/croissant product.  Fruit?  For breakfast?  What?  No, ok, maybe some dates, a hard boiled egg, dry dry dry toast, jam, or straight-up whole milk.  I think we all know that this spells constipation.  So maybe 2 espressos to start the day off right.

Lunch - Panino with cheese, tomatoes, eggplant, maybe prosciutto.  Search arduously for a fruit vendor to battle the carb overload.

Aperitivo, around 6:30 - well, this is just great.  By a drink for 5 euros, get a glass of wine and unlimited buffet of all types of crostini, antipasti, pasta, etc.  Basically, this could be dinner.  In fact, sometimes it is (on my faux Italian days when I can't adhere strictly to the schedule).

Dinner, possibly at 8, but really the later the better (perhaps 9 is ideal) - And seriously, one plate is more than enough.  Pasta ragu, e finito.  But if you are really Italian, you have a primo and a secondo piatto (pasta, then meat dish), often preceded by antipasti (think bruschetta).  Obviously, more wine.  Espresso post-dinner equally necessary, desirable, and expected.

Dolci - oh yeah, it continues.  Just go for it.  How good does tiramisu or panna cotta or mascarpone con frutta or even gelato sound after all that?  No don't worry, you are not ready to puke yet, its all those espressos, they just do the digesting for you.  Plus, consider dessert an opportunity to fit in your second helping of fruit for the day.  Easy.

Then, after dinner and dessert, and if its a weekend, head out to a bar and have drinks with friends.  Perhaps it will help to postpone your FOOD COMA that is almost fully onset by that final bite of panna cotta.  Because lets face it, if an espresso can't cure it, then alcohol probably can.

Seriously, there is no way real people can do this.  I mean, merely ignoring the fact that this diet includes more bread and carbohydrates then even I can process (and I certainly love carbs), never did I expect to be so violently accosted by, of all things, food.  This is practically a sport.

I mean really, my life has revolved entirely around meals.  Luckily, now that I am settled, I will have more control over this seemingly impossible schedule of gastronomic activity and perhaps won't feel so peer pressured by all of the trattorias and caffes.  At least I have hit the point where I can accept the fact that my American body, mind, and stomach just cannot handle - or rather, truly embrace - every aspect of the Italian food system.  Which is why I ate Indian food for lunch the other day (and while the naan was a bit like foccaccia, it was quite a nice break).

All'inizio, c'erano appuntamenti (In the beginning, there were appointments)

So, finally...hello from Bologna!  To explain a bit, this blog is in lieu of writing the same email 30 times each time I want to tell you all about my experiences abroad, whether it be my life here in Bologna or the trips I plan on making throughout the year.  Since this is, for me, just another form of correspondence, I strongly encourage you all to write me back so that I can be updated on your lives too (come on people, this is a two way street, here).

I won't lie, the move was harder than I expected it to be, especially after such an incredible summer at Watervale.  In fact, I can't imagine a stranger transition to make.  As usual, though, these things never really hit me until they are actually happening...so this didn't even seem completely real until I was actually on the plane.  And even then it didn't seem entirely real since I flew Lufthansa, and a German flight is probably as different from an Italian one as you can get.  Literally in Bologna was where it all truly began.  Checking into my hotel, meeting my program directors, buying a cell phone...and somehow I pulled my (terribly grammatically incorrect) Italian out of the back of my lazy, sun-soaked summer brain.  

In all, my program consists of about 25 students, all from different universities across the states.  For these first couple weeks, being together, it's a little hard - we alternate between English and Italian, but it's obvious that we all make mistakes (not to mention that it still feels strange to get to know each other in another language - you can only go so far in your non-native tongue).  The amazing part is, we have an fantastic group of people.  Everyone is incredibly different, but the group seems to click so well.  I love that this program is so independent, but as for this first month, it's great that we can all bond with each other.  We joke that each time one of us makes a foreign friend, they get 25 Americans for the price of one.  Frankly, I am amazed that we all share the same sorts of priorities for the year - we want to be friends, but we don't want to live together.  Even though doubles are easier to find than singles, none of us would think of being roommates.  So, what am I trying to say here...it's great to have this security, this circle of friends who you know will understand you in an American way, but it is in no way a group that inhibits your experience or your immersion abroad.  I knew I picked this program for a reason.

But before I bore you all to death, this is where the real adventure begins...

I was homeless.  Yup, I can officially claim this.  Thank you BCSP, for putting me up in this little hotel with air conditioning and free breakfast, however, even little Nutella packets cannot quell the uncertainty and reality of homelessness.  So despite the fact that my first instinct was to drown this fear and unhappiness in mountains of gelato (which I only sort of did), I started apartment hunting almost immediately.  The thing is, Bologna is a college town - sort of a medieval Ann Arbor, sans college football - and therefore, everyone needs to find housing.  One would think it would be a painless process, and it sort of is, but the Italians are not exactly known for their efficiency and organization.

So basically, I spent an afternoon running up and down Via Zamboni (the main street that the university buildings are on) pulling flyers down off of bulletin boards, walls, and trash bins, all of which try to convince me that I would be so excited to pay 300 euro a month plus utilities to live in this "doppia luminosa" (yes, luminous double) only 10 minutes from the Piazza Maggiore.  After accumulating maybe 10 of these flyers (and after seeing those same 10 flyers still posted up on my walk back to the hotel), I finally got up the courage to call the first one and make an appointment to see it.  Typical exchange was something like this:

"Ciao, sei Stefania?" (Hi, are you Stefania?)

"Si, chi e'?" (Yeah...who's this?)

"Sono Rachel, una ragazza americana.  Posso vedere la tua stanza se e' libera?" (I'm Rachel, an American girl.  Can I see your room if it's unoccupied? -- this sounds way more inappropriate in translation)

"Si si si certo, blah blah blah blah lots of incomprehensible italian blah blah blah alle 6, ok?"

"Ok, so you want me to come at 6?" (in broken Italian)

"No no, blah blah blah blah blah alle 4, va bene?"

"Ok, alle 4?"

"No, blah blah blah 15 blah blah blah 3"

"Wait, are we in military time now?"

And the confusion continues, but somehow a time is always decided on (usually within 2 hours of the call) and somehow you figure out how to get to the apartment, hope you choose the right name on the buzzer, and generally huff it up 5 flights of stairs only to breathlessly explain in Italian to the roommates that you eat too much gelato, ha ha ha, yes un caffe' would be great even though you have heart palpitations from being offered 3 other espressos that day, and is heat cost included in the rent?  Ok, well grazie, and I have some other appointments, but I'm interested, so I'll call...oh, you'll call me?  Oh we call each other, ok...

Honestly, I'm amazed I found a place at all, but its official - as of yesterday, I am homeless no more.  My apartment is absolutely fantastic.  I'm on the top floor of an old building, so we have a huge terrazza with an incredible view of Bologna.  The kitchen is small, but obviously functional.  My room is...wait for it...luminous.  There are these great big windows that look out onto the rooftops of Bologna and onto the trees that line my new street, Via Righi.  However, the most important part of my new house are my roommates.  Giuseppe, the Italian, is in one room, and Mellie, a German girl (but who has lived in Italy for 4 years) is in another.  I currently have no roommate for my double, but I met the two French girls, Anna and Annais, whose room I am taking.  The vibe was perfect when I went in - everyone seemed so relaxed and laid back.  It was way too reminiscent of L'Auberge Espagnole (if you haven't seen this movie, definitely check it out) - a truly eclectic mix of people.  Of course the language of the house is Italian, since Giuseppe doesn't speak anything else and the other girls are fluent.  When I walked in, I had such a good feeling about the place, and I knew that was where I wanted to be.  I'm actually pretty sad that the French girls are moving out - Anna and I have been hanging out, so maybe I'll try and see her in Paris.  

I don't move in till the end of the week, but there you have it - I officially have a house in Bologna.  And if I thought this was difficult now, imagine what it must be like when the students actually come back to Bologna mid September.  I'd probably end up drowning in a sea of annunci and Italians looking for the same luminous room that I am.  Thank god I beat that rush...

Pictures (and more) to come soon enough!  Ciao ciao!