Interlaken, Switzerland (and the day before that: Bologna, Italia)
My first sight of snow (besides in Philadelphia from the tiny circumference of an airplane window) is from this Italian charter bus (biggest car for the transportation of people in all of Europe guaranteed!) all 27 of us “Spring Hill Collegio Alma Mater” plus Kyle Trusgnich, Todd Waller, his wife Lorenza and their two children Carlo and Liam- my ski school partners (and Kyle too!), and Hilary (assistant director) have all boarded en route to Interlaken, Switzerland!
It took me a complete nine minutes to thoughtfully stuff my mini duffle bag- my “backpack” for the Swiss “Backpackers” lodge youth hostel we are staying at for two nights.
Yesterday was an “eyes wide open” 30-hour day consisting of no sleep, only adventure. Last year Chelsea’s dad told me, “You can sleep when you’re dead.” I know sleep is necessary for fully functioning human beings, but I have a feeling I may be functioning on the minimal hours of necessary sleep. The day began with my landing into Bologna, Italy- where, to Chelsea and mine’s surprise (and Chelsea dislike) did not do customs and immigration. Well, although Italy may not know it, I am here (and trust me, you shall know it Italia!) Chelsea and I were sitting at the wrong terminal in Brussels, Belgium until I sped walked half the airport to ask which was the proper gate for Bologna- my first personal encounter with speaking to someone of differing tongue. There was some language barrier but there is no barrier one cannot cross without determination and perseverance (this sentence inspired by my father- my families personal motivation speaker). As I shared the news of the new gate to Chelsea, some Africans overheard me and understood me, although from a different country with a different language they understood my body language, the universal language.
As we lined up to board the plane Chelsea and I met three other students from Xavier University in Cincinnati: Kristin, who’s looks just like the American Girl Doll Kristin, Elle who is an avid reader, and Lee. The second my butt touched the airplane seat I passed out right until people were getting up to exit the plane. –The first 1 hour and 35 minutes of shut eye thus far.
As Chelsea would say, “Dang, this has been the smoothest and easiest airport trip…I’m just waiting for something to happen.” Well, nope. Within seconds of the luggage belt turning on, all five of us lugged our luggages off the belt and headed to find a taxi. Uhoh. Chelsea and I looked at each other and laughed, our body language spoke “how do we ask for a taxi?”
Apparently, I know more Italian than I think I know…I think it’s my ingenious subconscious skill of intermixing Spanish, Italian and English…and pretending like I know what I’m saying (all you got to do is sound confident, and it’ll fly). Chelsea took out her virtual translator once we were inside the taxi but there was no need for it.
I called the taxi man “Senorino” and he was very flattered. Senorino= young man; Senore= man… this man was not young. It was an honest mistake, just like our tipping the man. Tipping is not customary in Italy, according to Tod (Director) but this Senore took it. Good lesson to learn though on day 1- save some euros to buy some vino…2.30euro (though I will soon share the remarks of the Italian young male students when I entered the dorm building Collegio Alma Mater with my cheap bottle of wine). This dormitory building is extremely competitive for the Italian students to live in as it is their honors dormitory and it is not usual for Italian student to move out of their houses into dorms.
Carla, Giuseppe, Bruno, Stefano, Francesco. Giuseppe is from Sicily but as he said “I not dangerous.” I teased him he was in the mafia…I really hope he knew I was kidding. Giuseppe invited us to his vineyard in Verona. Oh these Italian men… Todd said they were all waiting in the lobby since 9am and he had never seen any of them before.
Anyway- it felt surreal looking at the Collegio Alma Mater, a simple brick building. Beautiful Bologna bricks. Cozy Carolina and Chelsea Cave. We were welcomed by Hillary and shown our room. Small, simple and cozy. Chelsea and I share one closet, one dresser, one desk two windows and have bunk beds. I could not like it better. It feels quite nice.
Chelsea and I went to say bon giorno to Todd who gave us a quick tour of our one and only classroom, gave us a snippet of a history lesson of Bologna: Bologna is a circular city, like a spin wheel everything comes from the center: Piazza Maggiore, it used to be walled but was destructed as were some of the towers which Bologna is famous for). Todd gave us a vaguely highlighted map, without the school on it, and told Chelsea and I to get lost. Whether or not he was kidding, and whether or not Chelsea and I intended too…we did indeed get lost.
Todd pointed to a coffee shop (I was determined to go to it) and then pointed the way to the city and marketplace. After learning that pedestrians do not always have the right way and have their own set of street lights, we managed to make it to the coffee shop where I had my first and so far best one euro shot of Italian coffee! Served with a shot of water. There was both a man and lady behind the counter who chuckled at me when I once again resorted to my trilingual sentences to order the coffee.
After shooting coffee into my system Chelsea and I, with map in hand, found our way to the bridge where we ran into other Spring Hill students Josh and David who pointed us into the direction of the city.
The map contained several pictures of towers and mini castles and it was quite the puzzle to figure out which one we were by. Chelsea titled me the official tour guide as I tried my hardest to read the map- and lead us in the longest way possible to every destination. Destination one: market open only on weekends. The market was an incredible and overwhelming experience. Coats, hats, sweater, coats, shoes, shoes, shoes, rinkets, shoes, underwear, bras, purses, shoes, shoes, shoes, coats, clothes, socks, galore! Everything and anything was sold there. All I ended up purchasing was some soap for the dorm. The market went on for streets and streets and while inside the market it felt like a Swiss Tunnel- there was no end. When we finally escaped, the market from the view of some steps above was just a million white tents- you couldn’t feel the hustle underneath them. We ran into Todd at a coffee shop, who once again enlightened Chelsea and I with some local Bologna knowledge as he took us for a personal tour. Via Zambonni-university centre, old cafeteria, do not be there alone at night- druggies and crazies. Todd told us we could walk back with him or continue walking. The decision was ultimately left up to me and I decided to continue the adventure with another couple sightseeing’s just to start to get a feel of Bologna (I didn’t know I was ultimately making a decision that would cause Chelsea and I to walk another 1,000,000 steps across Bologna- not an exaggeration friends). (Today, on a guided tour with Hilary we got to the same location and back in 20 minutes!...It was only day one, so I’m sure as the days come, I’ll get better of finding my way around…although I still ask my mother for personal map quest directions everywhere I go in Miami). I’ll get to know Bologna’s circular system soon, I hope.
I wish for just one moment I were one of the people who back in Bologna’s history sat atop one of the towers to watch all who would enter and exit the city so that I could see how to maneuver around this city
Chelsea and I stopped in the piazza at the sound of music. A grey haired man stood barefoot strumming his guitar while an Italian woman danced her way around with an angry expression, yet she was just extremely happy and passionate dancing. She danced in front of me (and my camera lens), sweating, dancing, and living.
The sun began to set, and Chelsea started to worry but quickly turned her worry away as she said it was “a gift from Buddha.” I really liked that. We tried to ask two men how to get to the Collegio Alma mater- the first man was my first unsuccessful encounter with the language. The man could not understand me and I could understand him as much as my cat understands me. I said gratzie and proceeded to follow the map. Chelsea had to take her shoes off for one moment, her soles needed a breather.
Although Todd he had never seen some of the Italian students who gather in the lobby to see us, I’ve already felt like I’ve seen so many of them and about them. The Italian men shook our hands and kissed them. And laughed with me as I tried to speak to them. I think they think I’m funny. Gia, another of the girls from Regis school in Denver Colorado, calls me the energetic little Carolina. I think she’s got that right and I’m cool with it. There’s another short little Italian girl and another named Carla who are extremely sweet and showed us around the building: the rec room, smoking room (yes, there is a room designated for smoking (according to Carla a smoker), the techo- where you can go on the roof outdoors and see the sky, the cafeteria, study rooms, gym, library, and computer rooms.
Day two. We had a tour today, one in which we passed everything Chelsea and I had seen during our unguided self-tour. We passed a Neptune fountain, no Mont Piss as in Belgium. Although we opted to eat at McDonald’s (because mostly everything closes on Sundays) it was still quite an “Italian experience.” Really, the serve Paninis. I got my first warning that ordering a coffee, not an espresso, still merits a small small cup with a small small amount of coffee.
On the way back I made my first wine purchase! At the tender age of twenty, everyone was shocked. I spent some time telling the Italians of the drinking age law in America. They were all laughing at me, or more my wine bottle. It was so cheap they demanded I never buy it again. I must remember for next time- Cabernet. (I just had some now as I am hungry and have nothing to eat and I think it was quite the wine choice- or at least better than Michael Latady’s purchase of boxed cooking wine!)
Let me warn you now: Patzo means crazy, not catzo. These Italians are teaching me a lot already, but I have a feeling when they laugh at me its not because I’m cracking a joke, or short with a lot of energy, or because I talk so fast… it’s because I’m repeating what they’re teaching me. Cafones. Just thinking of these moments, already several, of sitting in the lobby talking to the Italians makes me smile. It is the wonderful simple moments I’ll remember too.
Last Night: First Night: January 15, 2011
30 hours without sleep, I was not going to go out…but, all it took was a couple thoughts to myself- if I get the chance to go out or stay in I hope I better go out. I was in Elle and Kristin’s room with Hannah, an Australian student, who were all going to go out with the Italian guys living on our floor and next thing you know I didn’t even change and was on my way out to Club Paris and Soda Pop Bar where the night turned into dancing.. To American musica! The first Italian by all means, the next one not so sure. I enjoyed the night and felt wide-awake. Even through the taxi turmoil…when I believed, because Francesco told me so, that an ambulance was a taxi.
My first Italian meal in la mensa was, as Giuseppe taught me today “delitzioso.” La mensa is the cafeteria but is by no means a cafeteria. It is a little restaurant with a cute couple serving us one by one. The wooden tables are long and the wooden chairs hang on the edges of the table. Antipasti, Pasta, Primera, Segundo. Hillary recommended we sit next to the Italian students, but all of us “Americans” (as we are supposed to say we are from the American College so people understand) sat next together, Next time I will sit with the Italians, I will challenge myself to sit next to the people who will teach me the most outside of the classroom. Todd warned us that the cafeteria couple would not be so nice to us, but to all of our surprise they were patient and very nice.
After the outing in the city I quietly crept into my bed, my bed as I am already calling it, and passed out. Thirty minutes later (realistically about 4 hours later) I woke up easily, like if I were a child running to the ice cream man at a park, I hopped out of bed…my ice cream man was the Swiss Alps!
I have survived on “stolen” breadsticks from la Mensa today. Oooops Todd gave us a warning NOT to do that. This is not Spring Hill. I am so tired but I’ve gotta keep all these memories (I’m learning how to blog, and after today’s entry I’ve learned I can not say everything, I have to learn how to blog, concisely and greatly). I j just want to write more.
Italians- we are learning from each other. Cliché’ but so true, we do indeed represent America! TEAM USA…(Shelby loves America).
I keep staining myself with pen ink. I look like the coal miners on the history channel from the documentary I watched on the airplane. “Don’t stain yourself to much”- my mother’s response to one of my first blog entries.
Forgetting y ipod: I must not always entertain myself. Sit and let the world entertain me.
Side Note: The toilet seat is no seat. It’s a toilet, without a seat. It’s a petite drop of doom. You can’t sit…and the toilet paper really is different in every bathroom.
Salami and tortellini crackers “lunchable” devoured from the autogrill. My breakfast and lunch plus a café. Delitziso.
Salami slices silenced my starving stomach, and tasty tortellini toast too.
On skyping with my parents: Was I expecting to speak to them in Italian already? Carolina, not yet but soon.
It feels quite nice to not know the time in America, and even the time in Bologna- I mean I could calculate it but I like not knowing. Living without a sense of time allows you to live more freely. No phone, no computer (on bus), no watch- all good!
Everything, for the most part, is closed on Sundays- truly the seventh day of rest.
On last night: as humans, we may stop to do something because we are tired, but before we stop doing something we must exhaust ourselves- and then rest up before we once again exhaust ourselves with life. Not exhaustion in the sense of physical weakness, but a mentally invigorating sense of exploring fully- well, at least when you are studying abroad- I better rest up for the Swiss Alps!
…Francesco, Giuseppe, Bruno, George. Such authentic Italian names (George?) some of my first real Italian friends.
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