January 20, 2011
The sky is dark, nero (black) like my pea coat that warms me in its hugging embrace as I walk the bellisima streets of Bologna- the backstreets, the graffiti walls a masterpiece although not Michelangelo’s work on the Sistine Chapel- the anonymous painters are the Michelangelo’s of Bologna’s streets, the Napoleon fountain with mermaids replenishing the fountain waters with their bosoms- all becoming a familiarizing cue each day as to where I stand on the map of Bologna.
I woke up at 1pm and was unaware of the fact I had slept in so late until Chelsea alerted me. I went to our “toilet” believing it was 7am and as I sat on the throne of thought I heard my stomach roar. I was excited to walk to “la mensa” for a novella croissant, some coffee and perhaps some “ferme.” After being shocked by the time I had awoke I rummaged for an apple and ate it to the core. I quickly dressed myself in a meager turtleneck, scarf, jeggings, socks, boots, coat, and hat- all in that order. (I forgot my gloves and my hands froze as I sipped on my Ferrare decorated Coca-Cola light!) Chelsea and I were headed off for a stroll in the streets- destination: Zara, H&M, train station to buy our ticket for Verona tomorrow, and a café to grab some breakfast (lunch?).
Congratulazioni to noi (us!) We made it everywhere smoothly, asked for directions and understood them as clear- well as clear as the Bologna air today (it wasn’t as foggy as usual).
Roll of Thunder Hear My Roar. Chelsea and I opted to take a backstreet and saw where the locals assumingly live. Nothing like America- I can just imagine their lives so much simpler- all the Italians do their grocery shopping with one bag they stroll down the street as they walk to a from the shop- usually a market to gather fresh food- breads, cheeses, wines, and fruit. Like Chelsea said, imagine what they would think if they saw us loading up our vans from the grocery store. Already our cars are HUGE compared to their tot toy vehicles. The amount of food we purchase at the grocery stores- not markets- is indeed a gross (massive) amount. It is all packaged in boxes and we all purchase the same food with the same labels made by the same companies who are interested in our money and not the quality of the food. Here people buy fresh loaves of bread from a man who has taken his time, his life, to make the bread for the enjoyment and gusto of his shoppers.
After a turn off the local street I peered into a window of a café and read “café Latino,” The Latino part didn’t catch on to me until I was inside and started to speak Italian and the man asked if I spoke Spanish. Then Chelsea informed me I could speak Spanish because we were in a Latin Café. Jaja! Well, the Latin Italians do it right- the croissant and café for due euro were delitziossi! It was a nice smell, taste and Latin feeling of home.
It is hard to communicate with my family and loved ones with this time zone difference and barrier of communication- without free telephone calls, no proper cell phone and the uncertainty of being on Skype. Although I do thank technology for its wonders, I do not miss having my phone on me at all times of all hours of the day- I feel much more free. Less attached to my phone, my attached to the world around me- and where I am is a beautiful world. Yet, I do yearn to hear the voice of my mother and father and sisters and brother and loved ones. Whenever I turn my computer on, Skype is the first thing to upload and I wait staring for my mother’s username to turn green- Just as I wait for the pedestrian crosswalks to turn green, because in Bologna the streets lights pertain not only to cars, but pedestrians have their own set of street lights. How illuminating italianos can be!
I want to share with my family my gratuity- (no gratuity is paid in Italy!)- And all the wondrous moments I am experiencing. As much as I am beyond happy- I just want them to know it.
Chatting with Sofia over face book made me want to tear up- not because I missed her, but because I realized I am so fortunate for my family. She told me to never blink, and trust me I am not- I keep my eyes wide open, especially for bicyclists and pickpocketers.
Chelsea and I did not know whether we had to pay for the bus today and observed the other locals who were boarding on the bus- they did not pay, so we took a free bus ride to the train station- “stazione de train” is what I asked everyone, making sure we were getting one the right bus to get there. Upon our arrival to counter of the train station we were informed we were at the BUS station- and laughed our way to the train station.
VERONA demanti. Verona tomorrow! I bought my very first train ticket! I can recall my father purchasing and organizing all the train stops and plane tickets and meal times and everything while in Italy when I was 15. Now I am doing it all on my own- it feels surreal. Yet, it is happening. I am venti now. Venti seemed so old to me on my birthday but now I don’t feel so old- I feel so young and so alive experiencing a life in Europe on my own. With the purchase of one train ticket for 7.20 euro I can take myself anywhere here- that should make me feel old but it doesn’t. It makes me feel like a young wind whirling through the world for the first time. Alive and free wind, not a dead wind that sits still over a barren lake.
On the way to the post office it began to rain. It was rain and not snow unfortunately. I did not have an umbrella and walked under the canopies as much as the streets allowed. I did not mind the drizzle, but when the group crossed a street and several others and I were left on the other side I pretended to get under an Italian ladies umbrella- and she saw me and let me perch like a little bird on her should- but under her umbrella. I tried to chat with her about her dog but it just turned into me saying nonexistent Italian words. The night before at dinner I had learned “en boca il lupo” which is a phrase meaning good luck but literally translated as “in the mouth of the dog” although Giuseppe told me it was wolf- but I never know whether to believe him or not- he calls me bella sometimes and patzo the other times- I think he thinks I’m mostly Patzo, crazy.
The post office was another smooth ride, a smooth ride into being legal here- although I was quite confused when I got an appointment to go to the police station to get fingerprinted. Todd says that’s normal. Phew. As I sat on the seat waiting for my number to be called- like if at a deli- I did what I do best- people watch. My main observation: the Italians wear comfortable shoes. Yup, half an hour and that was my best observation.
And half an hour just now is what it took me to figure out directions in Italian to print out a friend’s love letter to post on Giuelliets house. Thank goodness Vittorio popped in and was able to help me- he’s the greatest help. At dinner tonight he taught me how to eat pasta Bolognese the proper way. When Jacqueline and Gia were cutting their pasta you should have seen his face, but since you cant just imagine your face if you saw an American seeing someone eat French Fries with a knife and fork. Weird. But his face was more like- you sinner, you foreigner THAT IS NOT HOW YOU EAT PASTA! But he’s a sweet guy so it was more like LET ME HELP YOU. He came to my side and explained something about gravity. Anyways, he grabbed a spoon and fork and twirled the pasta on the fork onto the spoon, like a backboard. And voila! I had a nicely spun big fork load of pasta. Delitziossi!
I would say I am full- but then that would limit me to being already full. And I am not. I am eager for more, more adventure, exploration, and living. Viaggiando Vento. Week one…two countries…I’m still Viaggiando Vento.
No comments:
Post a Comment