Sorry sorry sorry I'm behind

Hi all,

Sorry x a million. I'm behind. I have one more Italian test to get through tomorrow and then there's lots of fun adventures in Venezia and Milan coming up.

!!!I HAVE A CELLO!!!

*happy dance happy dance happy dance happy dance*

c'mon, everybody sparkle with me!

*sparkle sparkle sparkle sparkle*

(with apologizes and thanks to Amanda for stealing her line)

Weekend

Off to Venice, city on the water. Literally, on. And sinking everyday.

What are you sinking about?

In which I am a complete and utter knucklehead.

I was supposed to get a cello today.

Actually, I was supposed to get a cello last week. But that didn't work, because I was informed on the day that I was told I could go pick it up that the woman to whom I needed to speak wasn't actually there.

So Roberto Andreoni, the director of the IES Milan program and world renowned composer and music teacher, former director of the Accademia Internazionale della Musica, calls over to the Accademia for me, right then and there, to set up an appointment for my for this week to go pick out a cello.

Except, when he tells me "Thursday at 12:30" for some reason, my head goes "Thursday at 6:30."

Why? Because I am a knucklehead.

So of course I show up to the Accademia today, to get the cello that I've been dying to have for the past three weeks, and everything's shut up and locked down.

DAMN IT ALL!!!

I have to perform in Workshop on Tuesday. I honestly don't know how long it would take to get a cello, but I'm guessing an hour is minimum, plus getting there and back is 80 combined minutes on the tram. I have no time tomorrow to go get it, because I'm leaving for Venice for the weekend at 2 and have class until 11:30 before that. Monday I could do it provided the woman is excepting me, but that would probably involve skipping most/all of Italian class and being late to Workshop.

DAMN IT ALL!!!

On the bright side, I'm going to Venice this weekend, and you're not. Ha ha ha so there.

First voice lesson report

Definitely most exacting lesson ever. I don't think I've ever actually sweated from physical exhaustion during a voice lesson. Keep this up and I'll be in great shape.

Patrizia is probably the only voice teacher I've ever had who actually makes me feel motivated to practice and improve. She gives me tangible, physical concepts to work with, rather than trying to get me to correct what I'm doing wrong with incredibly abstract images of spaghetti coming out the top of my head, or whatever. She also doesn't let me get away with anything. ANYthing. If something is wrong, we stop and fix it right. there. Other voice teachers would kind of gloss over what were clearly problems with my jaw or passaggio hoping they would fix themselves, to no avail. And Patrizia manages to do all of this while being so incredibly kind and supportive and encouraging.

And still Maria Callas stares haughtily down from the wall at me.

Bit of a blog before bed

FINALLIE I HAZ ZE SELL FONE!

Translation: finally I have a cell phone. Now I can cease to be completely cut-off from and dependent on my friends for communication. Win!

Had my voice audition today. It took place in a small practice room with a huge poster of Maria Callas staring condescendingly down at me from the wall. "You will try," she seemed to say, "And I will laugh. And then I will kill you with the pearls around me neck. Silly mezzo child."

My new instructor, Patrizia, said three things that made me hopeful.
1) "I like the color of your voice. Really, really I like it."
2) "Finally! Someone who says they are a mezzo and actually is!"
3) "I can tell you are very musical."

She also really liked that I was staying for a whole year. Honestly, these voice lessons were the reason why I thought it'd be worth it to stay for the whole year as opposed to just one semester and then out.

Based on this first 15-minute encounter, these are probably going to be the most strenuous and trying voice lessons I've ever taken. Patrizia is tough, and doesn't settle for anything less than what she wants. No lies, no excuses, no bs.

*deep breathe*

This is going to be worth it in the end, because I know I'm going to come out of it sounding absolutely incredible. It's just going to be very, very difficult and rigorous.

Getting cello on Thursday, a week after it was originally promised to me. Can't wait. I need my cello-therapy. Also, am kind of really terrified to meet my cello instructor. He's a pretty well-renowned cellist. Currently in Paris concertizing. His wikipedia page is only in Italian, otherwise I'd post it here.

Still need to figure out how to get myself out more.

Venice this weekend! Who wants a birthday/Hanukkah/Xmas present from Venice? Keeping in mind that if you all respond "Oo! Me!" I'm not going to be able get something for all of you.


Postlude: Anyone have any advice for dealing with uncommunicative persons of the opposite sex?

Updafe!

Okay, back story to this title: My dear friend Bridget had a little too much to drink one evening and decided to do some facebooking. The result was the following post showing up on one of my other friends walls: "Od, look who updafed there facebooks mr. smalls"

Boy ooooooh boy.

Anyway, now for your updafe!

Classes: I only have two right now, Italian and the Music Workshop. The Music Workshop is just basically a twice-weekly master class-type deal. I'm not too worried or stressed about that, at least I see no reason to be, yet. The first two lectures that we had last week were rather existential, talking about art and music and the similarities therein. It was interesting but my brain tends to shut off after about 45 min of semi-bs like that, and this is a two hour class. Blah.

Italian's alright. I'm in the 200 (intermediate) level. Our instructor is very nice, speaks very clearly so I can understand her. However, she tends to assign homework on topics that we don't cover in class, like, oh, I don't know, assigning two pages of fill-in-the-blanks with prepositions. I. Despise. Propositions. In any language. Another problem, most other people in the class seem pretty apathetic. It's become a Thursday morning tradition to come into class hungover (yes, you read that right, THURSDAY morning), because apparently one of the bars in town is free on Wednesday nights. Right-o then.

Milan: I'm settling in pretty well. My Italian is improving (very....slowly....), although I still need to convince myself to get out more. I've become very familiar with the Centro part of town, but not much else and that doesn't make me happy. I want to know my city. However, right now not having a cell phone is kind of cramping my style. I'd like to be able to contact someone in case I got lost, you know?

As for the city itself, it's kind of a combination of the best parts Chicago, the worst parts of New York, and the street and public transit system of Boston. You have Fratelli Prada stores juxtaposed with piles of dog poop on the sidewalk. Businessmen wearing three-piece designers and silk ties ride motorcycles and mo-peds to work.

Speaking of men, Italian men are CREEPY! STAY THE HELL AWAY!
Seriously, if I had a nickle for every time I've been honked, whistled, stared or otherwise sexually harrassed at in the States, I would have about 5, maybe 10 cents. Here, I would probably have about $5 now. Which, granted, is only 3.52 euros and could maybe buy me a cookie or two, but still! Geez.
Italian men stare. They stare shamelessly. And the only way to make them not stare is to just ignore them. Not only that but they are pushy as hell! They latch onto you and won't. let. you. go. My roommate Kaz, who goes out every night, comes home every morning with, like, nine new boyfriends who are all promising her the world on a string. We're in the second week and she's already sick of it.

Speaking of boys, for those of you who didn't get this news through LJ, there's a now more-than-slight anomaly in my life who hails from Chicago. Wow. Wasn't expecting that.

In other news, I went to Mass today like a good little Jew. In the big fancy church too! How exciting! Actually it was really nice. Relaxing if nothing else. Also a great excuse to just sit in the Duomo and look at the art.

Um, I think that's all for now! Ciao. A presto

Days 3 4 and 5 of (dis)Orientation

Day 3 started off with more long group talks and meetings, and then, JOY OF JOYS...going back to Milan and moving into our new APARTMENT!

The apartment is not huge, but it's a lot bigger than what I was expecting. We have a very nice-sized living room/dining room combo with a TV, two comfy couches and an upright piano. The kitchen has no diswasher but it's large enough to fit all four of us comfortably in. One bathroom (with a tub!!) and two pretty large bedrooms for the four of us. It's cozy, but very clean, and best of all, great location. About a fifteen minute walk from the Centro, a ten minute walk from the IES center, two supermarkets, a bunch of cute shops, cafes and pastiserie. Our street is almost always bustling, there's one of the best markets in the city that goes on right at the end of the street every Tuesday and Saturday. Best of all, this apartment actually makes me feel like I'm living in Milan, not just staying here.

Biggest fear: I have to cook. For myself. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. I won't be surprised if I end up poisoning myself, cause I'll totally put something in an unmarked bottle into a bunch of sauce, thinking it's vinegar or something, and it'll turn out to be, like, H2O2 or something like that.

Okay, no, I won't actually do that. But still. This will be interesting.

Laura, our Italian roommate, made dinner for us the first night which was so nice of her and so incredibly good.

Anne looks like Scarlett Johansson. I'm not kidding.

I feel asleep that night pretty much the most exhausted I've ever been.

Day four started out pretty uneventfully. We had a little tour of the center of the city and were then pretty much set free. At this point I started voicing my concerns to the few people I was hanging with about other people in the group: about how, at this point, I didn't really feel like I had really connected with anyone while everyone else, it seemed like, had already found new bffs. To my surprise and delight, they voiced the same concerns. So that made me feel better.

Part of my social isolation at that point probably had a lot to do with the fact that I still didn't (and don't) have a cell phone. So while everyone was calling and making plans to do this and that and go see this and go out here tonight, I had to latch myself onto some kind person who was willing to invite me along. That's changed a lot now. I've also just, in general, learned to stop being a Debbie Downer and not assume that people are out to hate on me. Middle school was 6 years ago, so it's time for that to stop.

Day 5 I did something amazing. I went grocery shopping and cooked for myself. For the very first time. And I lived to tell the tale.
Actually, I thought it was really good. I just made a really basic mariana sauce and threw in some garlic, extra tomatoes, carrots, oregano and balsamic vinegar. Topped with some parmesan it wasn't bad. The sweet taste of the tomato sauce combined with the acid of the vinegar made it really tangy and interesting. Can't wait until my parents get here so I can duly impress them.

Also, day 5 we had our first Italian class. I was placed in the "Intermediate" class, which is good, that's what I wanted, and out professor is nice but I am so. far. behind. Or even if I'm not, I'm so rusty. The first time she called on me to speak in class, my voice so soft. I mean, actually soft. Not Maya-soft. Like, I could barely hear myself. I was tripping over my vocab and started conjegating verbs and sentence structures in German in my head instead of Italian...it wasn't good. I was pretty mortified. Things have gotten better since.

Friday night was interesting. Two of my friends and I decided to go to Piazza Duomo, and just walk around. On the way home we encountered two anamolies: The first was a gang of what I can only describe as figure-rollar-skaters. They were doing some pretty incredible one footed/toe-spin routines that were impressively entertaining. Just, in the middle of this pedestrain-street off the main piazza. Just, because! The main trick they did was to skate in various formations and styles down these two rows of cones that they had set up parallel to each other. Sometimes one footed, weaving between the cones, sometimes with two feet, making braid-looking tire tracks on the stone under their wheels. Sometimes one person went at a time, sometimes two, but in any case we must have sat there for about half an hour in the crows, just staring.

Then, walking back across the piazza to the metro stop, we encountered another wad of gawkers standing around the outside of a cafe that had a live band playing outside. As we go closer, we saw a bunch of people in the center of the wad, salsa dancing to the music.

Omg, salsa dancing. It was the first moment in a long time that I missed being on the ballroom team.

Anyway, me being me, I finagled my way to the front and managed to dance for a whole song with the one guy that everyone was staring at. He was incredibly sweaty, but it was still so much fun to be dancing again.

Then he proceeded to turn around and dance with Anne, who is a very good dancer, except in the middle of them dancing together, this gaggle of not-so-sober women shows up. One of them has a little fake veil on that had a tiny plastic penis on top, and was carrying a giant inflated cock that was signed all over by, I suppose, her friends.

Okay, bachelorette party.

Except, the guy Anne is dancing with promptly drops her like a sack of hot potatoes, runs over, grabs the inflated cock and starts prancing around with it, waving it and parading around like a douche.

Anne, Rachel and I look at each other and decide it's time to make a graceful exit while we can.

Day 2 -- Commence primary ignition

Sorry to drop the ball on last week everyone, I promise I'm going to get to it right now.
Before I do...OMG THE EURO'S DOWN TO $1.41!! EVERYBODY PARTY!

So, you know about day 1. I arrived, felt gross and disoriented, got to the IES center, felt even more gross and disoriented, met a bunch of people with whom I randomly wandered around, thus getting even more disoriented and gross, and then was whisked away on a bus to an agriturismo outside of town, supposedly so that we might better orient ourselves to each other and the rules of the IES road.

Whether or not this was actually a successful ploy...remains to be seen. I will tell you that the agriturismo that we stayed in was light-years nicer than the one my family got stuck in outside of Firenze in December of 03. First of all, it had running water. Well, okay, when I say "running," I mean that when you got under the shower head you had to choose between running water and hot water. Apparently the two don't go together. But hey, at least the shower had curtains.

Second of all, the food was incredibly delicious. Apparently the trattoria there is actually well-renowned, and I'm not surprised. With the exception of breakfast, every meal had multiple courses and great wines to accompany them. The place even had the most gorgeous pool I've ever seen, plus a little mini soccer field, and an adorable little farm, and this great guy Sergio who gave us free wine at 2 in the morning.

In terms of actually meeting and bonding with people, I feel like this was marginally successful, at least on my part. Being forced together with 103 other people for three days with no where else to go and not much to do except talk, walk, and swim compels you to meet people.

So, cool people I've met thus far (non-comprehensive list):
Anne, my roommate.
Kazarae, my roommate.
Sarah, who goes to Bowdoin
Rachel, another singer who goes to Kalamazoo and with whom, it turns out, I went to Interlochen.
Travis, a classical guitarist from UDenver
Michael, a composer from Iowa
Jocelyn, another singer
Tera Reid. No, she's not named after the actress.
John Deppe. No, he's not named after the actor and he will smack you if you call him Johnny.
Kristen, the only other person who's staying for a whole year.
Emma, a very sweet girl in my Italian class.

Also, I couldn't help but notice a few things:
1) The ratio of guys to girls in this ensemble is about 1:362. Okay not quite, but you get the idea. Why? Well, it's Milan, fashion paradise. As Travis said, "Every girl wants to spend Daddy's money on new shoes and purses." I will admit I had entertained the idea, but I find window-shopping to be a lot better than actual shopping. No money involved, and you get nicer daydreams. Stop having a heart attack now, Dad.
2) Almost every single girl here own a pair of what I am going to call "thong-flops." They're sandals that seriously look like thong underwear. I had never seen, or at least never noticed them on people until I got here, and suddenly it seems absolutely unacceptable to wear anything else (please note, I do not, nor will I ever, own a pair of these shoes).
3) Something I was not expecting, probably because I was so incredibly zoomed in on my own agenda and goals: the vast majority of participants in this program at NOT music people. About 90% are majoring in some combination of business, marketing, communications and economics. There were 4 or 5 other psych people, but again, they are here to take business courses. Somehow I was expecting that the music program was going to be the most competative thing ever, what with La Scala being right here and all. But no, there are, like, ten people out of the 100+ who are here for music. Cool.
4) I didn't remember nearly as much Italian as I thought I did.

So on day two, we were basically put through a grind of extremely long, hot stuffy informational meetings. It was all good information that we needed to know, but the combination of jetlag, weather, and disorientation did me no good. Really, all I remember is some information on how not to get raped (this would be a good thing to know, yes), and the repeatedly emphasized sentence, "DON'T HAIL TAXIS!" Apparently, hailing taxis is not done here. If you do, the cabby will automatically know you are American. This is not necessarily a good thing, especially if it's late at night, and your treatment will depend on how the cabby feels about Americans and whether or not you support Barack Obama. I'm barely kidding.

So we sat. And we sat. And we sat some more. Everyone was fanning themselves and falling asleep. All we needed were some flies buzzing around and we would have had one of those still lifes of the rotten fruit. Finally, when we had some free time. Kazarae and I were hanging out in our room with our other roommate, Andrea, and suddenly, outside our window, we hear these cars pulling up and two guys shouting at each other in Italian. Curious, we open the window and Kazarae leans out.

Okay, before I continue this story, you have to understand something: Kazarae is gorgeous. Originially from Jamaica, she's actually multi-ethic, which looooong black hair, brown perfect skin and about size zero thinness. She's one of the most exotic-looking people I've ever seen, and she definitely sticks out in Italy, where 80% of the population has my type of coloring.

So Kazarae leans out the window and starts chatting with the two guys outside. Like, actually chatting, in italian, despite the fact that she swears her italian is no good. The conversation's not very complicated, I have no trouble following it, but despite it's placid tone of "Where are you from?" "What are you doing here?" the guys definitely ended up asking Kazarae out.

Public Service Announcement: Italian guys are creepy. During the "how to not get raped" talk, the woman speaking told us about this saying her grandfather used to have: "If a lady says 'no,' she means 'perhaps.' If a lady says 'perhaps,' she means 'yes.' And if she says 'yes,' she's not a lady." I'm dead serious. I've been here a week not and this is how the guys still think. If you say no, they think you're joking.

Continuing the story, Kazarae actually did end up haning out with these guys that night until about 6 in the morning. I chose to keep my mouth shut.

Other more positive and exciting things that happened on what were the three longest days of my life:

I'M GOING TO GET TO PLAY CELLO!
Seriously this is the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. Long and complicated story short, the director of IES Milan, Roberto Andreoni, also happens to be a very well-reknowned composer and teacher and is thus incredibly well-connected. When I went in for my music interview, the first thing he asked me was. "So, I see you are here for voice. That's good, but why do you not want to pursue your cello also?"

The answer to that question is actually a bit complicated, stemming from the fact that since about age 15, I've started to feel far more superior to others in terms of my voice, and far inferior in terms of my cello. Basically what I told Roberto was that I'm just really trying to focus more on my voice right now, and plus I didn't really want to drag my cello all the way across the ocean...

At this point he interrupts me and says "Oh, we can get you a cello here."
Oh...........really now?
"Because you know, as a cellist, you would be courted by all the orchestras and chamber groups in the area. You could really have some great opportunities."
*freakout*

He then proceeds to get on the phone with this guy, Silvio Righini, who is apparently one of the greatest conceritzing cellists out there right now, and convinces him to give me private lessons. All of this, the rent of the cello, the lessons, both for cello and voice, the orchestra and the choirs are all on IES's tab.

*song and dance of joy and joyesness*

So I'm getting my cello on Friday. As in two days from now. As in I can't wait to be playing and studying soloistically again.

That evening I ended up hanging out with John (Deppe, the one who's not the movie star), who's a very sarcastic and funny person, in sort of the same way I am. We convinced a two other guys to play hearts with us. PSA #2: I officially suck at hearts. This minor detail, however, is not going to stop me from having a great time here. Plus the guys got to feel superior the "The Harvard Girl." Whatever. I make no apologies for being smart. I just happen to suck a strategery.

The agriturismo was fun, but it really honestly felt like camp, especially emphasize by the fact that we weren't settled in yet, thus creating the feeling that I wasn't actually going to be here for a whole year. I kind of felt like I was going to be here for a week, maybe two, and then go home. the reality of distance and time had yet to sink in. That changed the next day when we returned to the city and finally, finally, moved in.

More misadventures and piteous o'erthrows

Upon returning from Verona, I was about ready to fall off my feet. So instead of going out clubbing as per my original plan, I decided to play it nice 'n easy this Saturday night and just go to a cafe with some friends. Anne, my roommate with whom I had gone to Verona, was with me, but she and a bunch of other decided to split early. So the three of us who were left found a small bar that was still open, split a bottle of 18 euro very nice wine and headed home around 1 am.

At about 1:45 I arrive at my door. Here's what you have to understand about our door. There are two locks on it; one locks the actual knob, the other locks this bolt for which we do not have the key. In fact, Laura, our Italian roommate, even told us, do not touch the bolt. Under any circumstances.

So I arrive at about 1:45 at my door. I put in the key in the lock. I turn the knob.

The door does not budge.

I try again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And....my hands are starting to bruise.

I pound, I scream, I ring, I buzz. I know Anne is inside and asleep. How she can sleep through the ruckus I'm making I haven't the faintest, but currently, she is.

I start looking around for some way out of this. By now it's about 3 am and I'm so incredibly sure that the neighbors hate me (these walls aren't exactly soundproof). I go back outside, trying to see if there's a way I can climb up onto out balcony that faces the street. There isn't. I start looking around for a night warden, someone or something to help me. Nada.

I continue to pound on the door, but it remains impassive, it's one-way eye staring at me. So close, yet so far.

"I cannot do this," I tell myself. "I am not about to let myself fall asleep on the doormat."

I fall asleep on the door mat. Which is extremely uncomfortable. As I fall asleep I realize that this is what being homeless is like, and I felt so incredibly grateful that I don't sleep like this every night. Cause there are people who do. There are people who know no other.

Around 5 am Kazarae comes home, slightly not sober. I wake up and wish her luck opening the door. Pretty soon we're both at it, pounding the door, ringing the bell, shouting. I keep running outside to look at the situation from another angle, cause I just know, I know, there's gotta be a way out of this.

6 am. Nothing. I wonder for the 20th time if Anne is actually there. What if she got hurt on the way home? But no, there's no way, cause the bolt can only be locked from the inside, so she has to be in there. Why hasn't she woken up? How can she possibly be sleeping through this incredible ruckus we're making??
Kazarae starts calling people. Because, of course, as Murphy's law is in full swing here, she's the only one between us who has a cell, it's running out of batteries fast, and she doesn't have Anne's number. We call her friend Andrea, who's roommates with Rachel, who we know has Anne's number. No one picks up. We call Walter, the head of Student Services at IES. He says "I don't know. It'd be useless to call the police. They won't be able to do anything. Just keep knocking and ringing, and try not to wake up the neighbors." We call Laura, our Italian roommate who was out of town for the weekend. She's a bit more sympathetic, but still offers no knew advice.

7 am. I fall asleep on the stairs, my scarf cushioning my head. Kazarae curls up on the doormat. We both look incredibly bedraggled and defeated. I keep having dreams about doors magically opening to me. I can see the other side of the door, the inside of the apartment...then I wake up.

8 am. Anne should be waking up by now, as she said she almost always wakes up between 8 and 8:30. Both Kazarae and I are beginning to get a little delirious. More than a little. We're starting to think that every little sound, every tiny squeak, is coming from inside the apartment. The whole world is there, and here we are, unable to do anything but sit and wait. There is nothing more frustrating, I promise you.

9 am. Still nothing. I look at my emergency card and see a number that I hadn't seen before. "Housing Emergency."
D'oh.
We call. Finally! A lifeline. Manuela tells us she's sending over another RA. We're not sure exactly what the RA will be able to do, but it's something, which is more than what's happened in the past 7+ hours. We recommence making a ruckus.

9:24. What....what??? WAS THAT A NOISE? OH MY GOD!
The door clicks, the bolt turns. Anne's tired face appears. "What's going on?"
Kazarae hugs me. All I can do is laugh. Just laugh. Out of desperation, out of exhaustion, relief, disbelief that I just spent 7.5 hours locked out of my own house, sleeping on the stairs,I don't know. I'm so maniaically far gone.

Kazarae and I had been so determined to be incredibly pissed off at Anne, but when I finally saw her blessed, blessed face I just couldn't. Turns out, as she was the only one home at the time when she came back, coupled by the fact that a creepy guy had just stalked her all the way home out of the Metro stop and to the apartment, she decided to lock herself in. This in itself is not a bad thing, except that, in a moment of mental abstraction, she threw the bolt instead of locking the knob. She then proceeded to put in earplugs so that she could actually get some sleep, as she had not slept well the proceeding nights.

We've learned our lesson now. I'm going to talk to Manuela tomorrow about either removing the bolt or finding new keys for it. And we all have each others numbers.

At some point during the night, I had the very weird thought that this must be what giving birth is like, 'cept without the blood and screaming. But, more just because it's an incredibly painful psychological struggle (and somewhat physical; Have you ever tried sleeping on a set of cold stone stairs?) that lasts for hours and hours. You can see no clear end in sight, you're doing all you can to get it over with, yet really all you can do is just wait for it to happen by itself. And you know there's going to be a fantasticly beautful reward at the end of it.

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene

(there were no ancient grudges breaking to new mutiny, I promise)

Hi guys,

I know I'm a week behind, and I'm sorry. I'm going to skip ahead to this weekend and fill you in and then go back and describe my first week here. Needless to say, like everything in my life, it was epic.

On Friday, after posting an unusually angtsy and self-loathing LJ post about how lonely and isolated I'm still feeling, my friends gave me the slap in face I needed and I decided to email some people to see if they wanted to hang out this weekend. I really had nothing specific in mind, maybe a day trip to Lake Como or Venice. Just, you know, something to be around people. I ended up getting invited to spend a day in Verona with Anne, my roommate, Sarah, and a bunch of other people.

Here's how much of an idiot/nerd I am. As soon as I started talking to Anne about the trip, I said, "Oh yeah, and isn't....some Shakespeare play is set there. Not Merchant of Venice...Oh! Of course! Two Gentlemen of Verona!"

Lit and English people, feel free to slap me in the face for forgetting that THE GREATEST LOVE TRAGEDY OF ALL TIME is set in that damned city. Woops.

Also Friday night, I went grocery shopping and cooked for myself for the first time. I made a simple marinara sauce, which turned out really well. It was nothing special but I was proud of myself.

Anyway, so I got excited. Verona is about an hour and a half outside of Milan (there are no Shakespeare plays set in Milan, as far as I know). Anne and I got up and headed over to the train station and met the others at 9. Buying the tickets was interesting, as there were no trains indicated on the monitors as going to or stopping in Verona. It took a bit of deciphering through the thick plexiglass and our collective lack of italian skills which train we wanted, and then when we got our tickets, they all said "Posto Non Garantito."

Che?

We found out soon enough. Turned out the cheapest tickets we could buy were a sort of standing room only seats. Instead of seats in the compartments, we got to crouch in the aisle on these little fold-out seats with a bar sticking into our necks as we tried to sleep a bit on the way there. There were beautiful scenes of the Italian countryside flying past the window, with mountains and sprinklings of villas...all of which I could not see, because the guy sitting in the compartment in front of me pulled the curtain down. Gee thanks.

Verona was quaint, but very touristy, at least the parts that we went to. Two FYIs: if you ever find yourself in Verona, buy yourself a VeronaPass. It's a 8 euro card that lets you into most of the major tourist spots for free. Totally and completely worth it. Also, La Casa di Giulietta is cute, but unless you think it's worth 6 euro to go into this house, stand on a balconey and pose cutely for the dozens of people below while your friends take your picture, and then walk around a "museum" which has basically nothing in it, don't bother.

The entryway to the courtyard where the balconey is (yes, this is supposedly The Balconey [except it's not, cause, you know, these people didn't actually exist]), is worth taking a gander at. The walls are completely plastered with love notes and declarations, either stuck there on a piece of paper, or carved into the wall. I mean, COMPLETELY. PLASTERED. It's far, far worse than a postering kiosk in the Yard. Also, in the courtyard, there's the supposed statue of Juliet that the Capulets erected when she died the first time. It just basically looks like a statue of a young girl, except one of her bronze breasts is completely discolored. As I watched people walked up and take pictures with the statue, I suddenly felt as though I was in an Italian Harvard Yard. Supposedly if rub you the statue's right breast, it brings you good luck in love. I don't quite understand the logic behind that, considering, you know, SHE DIED, but I supposed it makes as much sense as rubbing the thouroughly urinated-upon foot of a man who's not John Harvard, hoping to get into Harvard.

We visited two other major sites, the Castlevecchio (Old Castle), and the Arena di Verona, reputably the third largest outdoor Roman Ampitheater still standing, and is still used to stage a regular opera season and Shakespeare Festival! Not kidding! It was huge. And of course there was no shade anywhere. Castlevecchio is exactly what is sounds like: an old castle that's been refurbished into an art museum, displaying all sorts of religious art and statues and interesting architecture. Most importantly, it was indoors, therefore out of the sun.

Actually, this entire trip was spent pretty much sweating as much as possible. I once happened to glance at a thermometer and discovered that it was in the upper 30s (that's Celcius, people). By about 4 we were all sufficiently pooped and eventually headed home.

While we were there, we must have run into about a dozen wedding parties. Literally, 12. We asked our waitress at lunch what was going on, and she explained in italian, which I understood surprisingly well, that getting married in Verona is extremely popular for Italian couples. Apparently, the tradition is to rent out one of the huge cathedrals around town (trust me, there's no lack of those), get married there, then go to Le Casa di Romeo e Giulietta, write a declaration of love on the wall of each of those houses, get pictures taken, etcetera, and then go visit "Juliet's Tomb" (that's one site we didn't get to), and emphasis the "Til death do us part" part of the vows. Cute, no?

But wait! There's more to come...interesting events the following night involving an unstoppable force (yours truly) meeting an immovable object (the locked door to my apartment).
As well as the rest of the preceeding week of orientaion and disorientation.

Ci vediamo!

Hahaha!!

HEE HEE HEE!!!


http://www.everybodywantstobeitalian.com/

It's probably not really that good, but the trailer, at least, is cute.

An image

Of coming down into Milan.

I had kept my window open during the flight, and when I awoke suddenly from "sleep" (I can't really sleep on planes) by the captain announcing that we were descending into Milan, I chanced to look out. In the two or so hours that I had been out, the sky had turned from an inky black to an sparkling bright blue and the clouds were making shapes in the air. I flew by huge grey stone heads, next to little white flurries lying in huge blue pools, and golden stacks of pillows and bowls of spaghetti, streaming by in mid air. Everything was shades of orange, gold, grey and blue, even some black, in every shape and size. I even saw a sheaf of dull knives.

And then as we descended through the clouds. The landscape below was round with rich colors of brown and green, dotted with those little red-roofed Italian villas you see pictures of and wish you could live in one, backed by those blue mountains majesty through the fog and sunlight. To top it all off, a rainbow followed me down from the clouds to earth. I took it as a good sign.

Well, benvenuti in Italia.

I've run so long, I've run so far. (Day 1)

Hello all. Long time no post. But don't worry! I'm back shall sate your appetite for risotto and rigatoni!

Plan ride over was uneventful for the most part. Drank a lot of ginger ale. As soon as I waved goodbye to my parents one last time and officially turned my back to go down the escalator on the other side of security, I could feel tears starting, and the finale from "Children of Eden" starting playing in my head, which has lyrics along the lines of "How lovely was the world we had/In the beginning/Now we begin."

Full disclosure: I. Was. Terrified. I honestly had barely any idea what I was getting myself into, and over the summer I had kind of lost a bit of sight as to why I wanted to do this in the first place. I never changed my decision, but the whole idea of this trip, and the fact that it was actually going to happen, had been pushed so far back in my mind that I started to half-believe it wasn't actually going to happen. And then, going down that escalator, the reason why I was terrified hit me. I was the most alone I had ever been in my life. Everything else I had ever done had been done either before by or with someone in my family. I've been to foreign countries before. I've gone to prestitious and expensive institutions before. But this is the first time I was doing both on completely my own initiative. That realization, that basically I had and have no one to blame but myself for whatever happens, that you have finally learned how to make your own decisions and control your own path is a scary, scary thing.

While in Newark (aka New Jersey trying to be NYC) I espied a few people who looked like American college students, and sure enough, when we landed in Milan I saw them with IES luggage tags and folders and booklets etc. We all kind of collided at the luggage claim, picked up our many and heavy bags and silently decided to stick together and find our way into Milan.

You see, Malpensa airport is Milan's international airport. However it's actually located about a 40 min. express train ride outside the city. We had to lug our luggage (seriously, why do you think it's called luggage? You LUG that bag with you. It does not come along quietly and compliantly) down so many stairs, wander around until we found the sign reading "Treni," figure out if it was the treno we wanted, then find the booth or what have you that sells i biglietti per i treni, and then find the platform. All while lugging the damn luggage.

This was a lot harder than it sounds. Refer to video in previous post.

So, by now, I'm wearing clothes that I've slept in and basically been wearing for two days without showering, and now I'm sweating. Best birthday ever.

Train comes, and we start to load all of our 100, 5,000 lb. suitcases onto the train. We're all huffing and puffing and trying to help each other load all of this on before the train takes off.

And all the Italians do is stare. Grazie mille, gente. Grazie mille, e grazie per un simpatico e amichevole "Benvenuto!" in la sua paese.

Finally we finish and collpase into our seats. We chat on the train ride into the city. We are not loud by any means, trust me. We are not being disruptive or jumping around. Just chatting very pleasantly.

And all the Italians around us are shooting dirty looks, thinking "Pah, americani ragazzi. Tutti completamente senza respetto."

So we arrive. At this point, I'm was feeling incredibly adrift in this tidal wave of events and emotions that have washed me up on Milan's non-existant shores and was desperate for a hug from someone, or something farmiliar that I could relate to.

That desperately needed hug came in the form of my future roommate, Kazarae Lowe, born in Jamaica and probably one of the most beautiful people ever. Like, seriously.

So we pile into a cab (again, not easy with that huge LUGgage and a teensy tinsy Italian cab). We arrive at the IES center about, literally 30 secs later, and it turns out to be actually a very beautiful, clean, well-kept structure with an inside to match. Honestly, I was expecting, like, a tiny single office in some remote corner of the city. Nuh-uh, this place is outfitted with WIRELESS baby, something that's practically unknown to the average Italian. Windows in every classroom, a gorgeous courtyard, computer lab, the works.

We drop off our luggage in the basement and are told that we are free until 2 p.m. when the bus will be coming to pick us up and take us out of the city for orientation. Or rather "Thea bussa willa arrrrrrriva ata due, e you arrre frreeea until thenna."

I'm sorry, these people speak absolutely marvelous English, but I just ADORE their accents.

This is where I randomly meet Sarah, a junior at Bowdoin in Maine, and the only person thus far that I feel like I truly click with. Don't get me wrong, everyone on the trip who I've met/talked to/spent any amount of time with is incredibly friendly. I just haven't really found very many actually friends yet.

Then again it's only day 3. I have 109 days left with these people. And then the NEW batch comes in, YEE-HAW!

Anyway, Sarah and I and another girl Lauren, who's luggage was lost, ended up going to a cute little cafe at the end of the street and then completely wandering around a couple of streets in Milan and getting semi-lost. Keep in mind, it's hot. I'm still wearing the same clothes, and still haven't showered. Have been and am sweating. Basically I don't feel human.

Finally we pile on the bus and ship outta town. It seems almost impossible, but even then, after knowing these people for about a grand total of 4 hours, the middle school Maya pokes her head up and starts feeling socially isolated. Already. I do my best to tell her to shut the f*ck up, keep an open mind, be patient and be genuinely nice to everyone. Have the personality genes of my father, none of the above are easy.

I'm missing everyone. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and be in my bed. Or that I'm going home in a week. I haven't wrapped my mind around the fact that I'm going to be here for a very. long. time. And all these people who I'm having mixed or good or bad feelings about are going to be here too and I'm going to have to get on with them. I remember a similar feeling coming to the Netherlands. I just couldn't reconcile myself to the fact that I wasn't going home soon. That this now is home, at least for 7.5 months.

But at this point, I'm beginning to realize the following: There are always going to be people who don't like me. There are always going to be people I don't like. There are always going to be people I am jealous of. It's not worth it to dwell on any of the above. Case in point for me: middle and high school.

Also I have to tell myself that it's okay to be a little homesick. The longing for security and familiarity and predictability is something that's ingrained evolutionarily into all of us, to one extent or another. My world has just been majorly shaken up in every way; I'm in a foreign country, with no one and nothing I know, a language I barely speak and a culture I'm familiar with only through Beppe Severgnini's "La Bella Figura." (Good book. Everyone read it). This is a new and difficult situation, but it's nothing I haven't done before in one form or another. And I am going to see all the people I left behind again. Really, I am.

As the day wore on, I met Anne and Laura, my other two roommates. They and Kazarae honestly seemed like the nicestest people in the world. I lucked out in the roommate department, considering how many girls in this group I've noticed who seem like the blonde-preppy-suburb types that I...shall we say I have difficulties getting on with?

Days two and three coming.

Keep this in mind

http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=8L5sMkhUpIQ

...as you read this throughout the year. It's a video that they showed us at orientation, that is just too too true.

Check this out

http://fatcrow.blogspot.com

My dear friend Nell is also taking a year off of Harvard, and going to much more exotic places like India and Israel. Read hers as well!