Snow-Pizza

People have been 'chalishing' for more pictures, and I have been 'chalishing' for snow. Looks like we can all be happy now :)

I donned my South African scarf and went on some camera-adventures outside :) I also had my fisrst Italian pizza today, in the snow, thus the title. My friends laughed themselves silly at me when I was looking out the window of our class in absolute awe at the snow falling outside. Snow can make even the ugliest things seem beautiful and romantic. I've decided: freezing cold winter with no snow is like... chocolate chip biscuits with no chocolate - its not worth anything without the other.

Buon Compleanno, Salmon :)

First of all, a beautiful birthday wish to Romy "Salmon" Rabinowitz, my other older sister. :)

Though the weather is usually a filler during conversation, I find this all very exciting. Torre Boldone, my suburb, doesn't get snow, but I saw pictures of my one friend's home - 5cm of snow!! The pictures are beautiful - I'll post them as soon as I figure out this MMS-in-Italian business. Torre Boldone might not get snow, but it gets FLIPPING cold. You see, you get the whole smoke-out-of-mouth thing when you breathe, but the cold burns your throat, so, you try breathing through your nose, but I'm pretty sure the air freezes your shnarlies (how do you even spell that?) and mucous (hmmm, nom nom) into snotty-icicles that cover the interior-nostril-area. It HURTS. :(

Embarassing story of the day: On the tram this morning, not having anything to hold on to, I took a proper bail during the acceleration and fell square on to the lap of a pre-teen boy, who made some sexual comment about me to his friends afterwards that I, unfortunately, was able to understand. Gross.

I'm typing this post with 9 fingers, considering I sprained my finger at basketball today. Basketball, you ask? Yes. Basketball. Who the hell knew that Meggi-Jean had ball-skills/hand-eye co-ordination? Besides actually enjoying myself, I somehow managed to score 2 baskets, which made my team the winners. Wow, I love winning. #WINNING. (@ melodyjanesch-naaier.) The coach was super-proud of me. She's a right legend, despite her English being virtually non-existant.

On the other hand, the English teacher is either A) unqualified, or, B) RETARDED. Our English grammar lesson today got me so frustrated, I began (NOTE: not, "have began") (wow, now "began" sounds like a really weird word. Don't you love it when that happens?) doing figurative shoot-me-in-the-head sign-language to my classmates, who laughed and said "idiota" under their breath - condemning this teacher to the hells of idiocy. I mean, I don't want to overstep the boundaries and correct every second statement, but it got to the point where I actually burst out laughing.

I was considering the following: in high schools in South Africa, our Afrikaans lesson is taught by a 1st-language Afrikaans person, Hebrew by a 1st-language Hebrew person...etc. This confuses me.

Regardless, when she said, "Will I have got a job?", I lost my shit - threw my toys out the cot - had a fannywobble - whatever you want to call it, I laughed and shook my head, corrected her ("Will I find a job?"/"Will I have a job?"/even "Will I get/be given/have GOTTEN a job" - infinite more-correct possibilities), and the stupid bitch had the AUDACITY to tell me I was wrong. Obviously I backed down, not wanting to cause a scene. The teacher was called out by the administrator a minute later, just in time for the class to erupt in hysterical laughter - I got high-5's, I got "You go, girl!'s", I got "She is, 'ow you say, em, a stupid bitch"'s. The BEST part, when she returned, with her textbook in hand, she said "Yes, it seems "Will I have a job?" is what the memorandum says..." - no admission of her mistake, or an apology for telling me I was wrong.

I had a double Spanish lecture today - 2 hours worth of a language that to me, sounds so similar, except for the Thpanish lithp that dithtinguishes between the two - that I asked if I could be excused. Granted, instead of studying Italian like I had said I would do, I went to a classroom and took a well-deserved English-and-Physical-Education-hero nap.

If you think South African admin is bad - WAIT until you experience Italian bureaucracy. I needed to get some document today - I don't even know exactly what it was - but I knew that I HAD to get it and I had to get it PRONTO. I went to the post-office with Sara, with allllll the papers we needed/might have needed to complete this process. After waiting at the post-office for 45 minutes, we were told - sorry, rather SCREAMT at by some witch who told us that the process had changed this very morning and we needed to go to some other place to get some other official something. And so we went, a 20 minute walk in the effing snot-freezing cold to go to some OTHER office, where we again, waited 45 minutes to be attended to, upon which we were told everything was in order and that the stupid cagna (not even going to bother posting a translation) at the post-office was wrong. And so we returned, only to be shouted at AGAIN, and then AGAIN by the superior, who eventually just conceded and gave me the one piece of paper I needed. FFS.

Fun fact: I found out that our beloved pizza-and-other-amazing-stuff restaurant, "Col Cacchio", means "with shit"/"to hell". I don't know whether to be scared, or amused. Still, probably never going to eat there again.

Jelly of all the people going to visit Stellies this week - have a jol :)
Lots of love to everyone xx

Brioche con Marmellata, per favore.

As school started at 9 again this morning (I LOVE this concept), a few of the girls in my class and I went or breakfast, again, to "Suite" - a caffe with its doors right on the main street "Pappa Giovanni". My sister, who went to France on Rotary in 2007, recounts stories of "Notting Hill" - a caffe she frequented in Lille with her friends. I have a feeling that "Suite" is the new "Notting Hill".

Everyone orders the same thing: un cappuccino e un brioche (croissant). BUT, they've fancied up the conventional cheese-jam-and-crean combo. They put the shit INSIDE the croissant. I don't understand the process - I envision someone getting fancy with syringes - but everyone is satisfied with their choice - jam (on the INSIDE. My word.), flavoured creams, chocolate, spinach and feta, pancetta, cheese...pretty sure they could work out something for the freaky-of-preferance people, too.

Something I am desperately trying to understand: Italian pigeons.

How is it that the pigeons are MORBIDLY OBESE but all these Italian bitches are anorexic and eat brioche con crema for breakfast every morning? Makes NO sense. Does someone have a possible explanation for me about this (terribly unfair) phenomenon?

On the subject, I now have an exercise bike in my room. (Not on the subject of pigeons. The subject of morbid obesity [or the prevention thereof]). It's great. And the buttons are all in English. Yay.

The girls at home have all been pounding (oh, how appropriate) me with questions about Italian men. Oh, Roland also. Let me clarify: the ratio of girls to guys in Luceo is about 20:1. The ratio of hideous men to decent or above average men in the street is about 10:1. (Things are looking up!) (Note, not "hooking up". LOOKING up.)

Suite has 3 regulars who are old-school-Italian-movie-gorgeous. The girls strategically position our table to optimise staring and being-stared-at potential. It's great.

I wore my "Ciao, Bella" hoodie today, to great response.

Special shoutout (as requested) to Sir Jeff Seeff, of awesome origins, who I miss dearly. Have heard wonderful feedback about the blog - thank you to everyone who takes the time to read it :) I hope you're enjoying living your Italian dreams vicariously through me.

OH! They predict snow this weekend. STOKED.

Hot Sad-wich.

Despite being in a foreign country, things have settled down to the point that I actually have very little news.

I was absolutely exhausted the day before yesterday, so Sara allowed me to sleep in and miss school to catch up on much-needed sleep: so brings the day of Italian internet discovery. I bow down to super-fast Italian internet. Series, movies, music albums, Italian-language guides, photo-uploads...

School this morning started at 9AM, so I met some school friends for breakfast before. FREEZING cold to the point of frostbitten fingers and cloudy breath.

The sign outside made my day.

Haha. Hot Sadwich. :(wich.

Another interesting experience for the books - http://outcomemag.com/news/2012/01/25/earthquake-hits-northern-italy/ - A 4.9 earthquake ("terremoto") hit in Northern Italy this morning and was felt across the region. No damage to my city, but the building shook for a good few seconds - the aftermath of everyone freaking out was more scary than the actual experience.

The day went back to normal after that, but I was thoroughly entertained in German class when the teacher played interactive audiotapes that sounded like a prelude to a porno. Along the lines of, "Auw, Frau Fischerrr."

Shopping trip yesterday was very successful - Wowza, I love Zara. And "SALDI", my favourite word <3

Buon Compleanno, Aaron Vardi, and good luck everybody who is starting uni this week :)

Cobblestones & Bubbles.

I was really excited for today - a tour of the city of Bergamo with all the other exchange students in district 2040 (that being a region of Northern Italy inclusive of Milan, Bergamo and Lecco).

Meeting everybody was truly amazing - we are such a diverse group: Taiwan, America, Australia, China, Canada, Brazil, South Africa... and everybody was so friendly and had something to add to the group.

Then again, our tour-guide was an insensitive stronzo who spoke in impossiblyfastitalian even when we asked him to slow down. By the time I had seen my sixth church, besides the fact I couldn't even understand the history of it so couldn't appreciate anything but its beauty, all everybody wanted was some free time. We walked past a United Colours of Benetton store with "SALDI 70%" signs EVERYWHERE, and yet, it remained unexplored. Such a shame. :(

I'm really isolated compared to the other exchange students - they all seem to be close to at least one or two others. Regardless, I appear to be the only one who loves my school and classmates - perhaps I'm the luckier one.

We climed to the top of this one cathedral view point thingi - the view was absolutely phenomenal.

 

 We then proceeded to go to the piazza where a man was making balloons and bubbles.

When asked to make a sword by one of my companions, he, for some unbeknownst but BRILLIANT reason, chose a fleshtone balloon. Needless to say, we got some fantastic looks on the streets.

And I'm going shopping on Tuesday :)

(See Facebook for more pictures)

CALDA vs. FREDDO

Surely, just SURELY, "calda" should be cold, rather than hot? Just by basic principles of alike-soundingness. (Yes, I am aware this is not a word, but I just burnt myself for the fortieth time and I'm angry.)

And here, just as relevant, is another extract from La Bella Figura:

"What about flushing? Well, I've counted eighteen different flushing actions, most of them camoflaged, ranginf from side-levers, vertical levers, wall-mounted buttons and pedals to a cord hanging from the ceiling. For some time now, the fashion has been for a rubber hemisphere on the floor that you press with your foot. Only rarely does it work the first time. You generally have to pump away as if you were inflating a beach mattress. So if you here a rhythmic panting sound from behind a closed door, don't worry. It's not furtive sex, just foreplay to the flushing... There you have Italian bathrooms. Have a good trip into the bowels of catering. Come back soon, if you can."

Luceo Linguistico G. Falcone

TRE.
6:10AM wake-up for scuola.
On a SATURDAY.

Regardless, il madre takes me on the train to my stop at Bergamo FS (but, effe-esse. Don't be mistaken.)
And we take the brisk (note, it's about 3 degrees at 6:40 in the morning) 15 minute walk to Luceo Linguistico, where I am greeted by this sign, and all my class mates huddled about 2 metres from me, trying to talk about me under their breath, but failing dismally. (Volume control in Italia is non-existant.)

They escort me to my class, 3F <3, where the teacher's banco is laden with cakes, pastries, cupcakes and drinks. Una festa per me! Okes were stoked. Wish my friends at home got that excited to see me.

ANYWAY.
People introduced themselves. Not sure if every Italian girl loves to dance, or if it's just one of the only verbs they know how to conjugate. Regardless, dancing and music seem to me similar interests among us all :) They are friendly and kind and patient and enthusiastic and amazing. I love them. Could not be happier with what has been thrown at me so far.

German, Latin, Spanish, Italian, Philosophy, Maths, Chemistry... again. In Italian this time. Give me strength.

Auguri e Buon Compleanno, Jonni Lev. :)

La Fabbrica Di Cioccolato

DUE.

I woke up in an unfamiliar, but very nice, bed and proceeded downstairs to where my host-sister, Lucrezia aka "Luci" (Loo-key), was watching Grey's Anatomy on Italia-uno. But we're talking Christina-getting-married-to-Burke, George-failing-his-exam, George-and-Izzy-still-alive time. (GASP - spoiler alert) And the show just isn't the same with different voices. And in Italian. I eat an unexciting breakfast of corn-flakes, with Nesquick, just like at home.

Today was my day off - Sara and Alessandro decided that I needed sleep so I got to put off school one more day. I took a walk to the bibliotecha, got a library card, and took out Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in Italian, and "Il Cane Balu" (from the children's section: big writing and lots of pictures.)

This language is a slap in the face waiting to happen. I called a friend "struzzo" (ostrich), instead of "stronzo" (asshole) yesterday. Weird how he found the former more insulting...

At 6pm, Sara comes home from grocery shopping and plonks down a packet of saccottino cioccolato (The Italian, more chocolatey, more amazing, version of Twinkies, but on steroids.) and tells me to take them to school for my lunch. I ask her if in future, can I also take a fruit or a sandwich, because I want to be healthy. She replies "What is not healty about zis?" I point at the massive 'Cioccolato' text on the label. "Ah, merda," she says, "Chocolate is anti-oxidant!"

Apparently in Italy, you don't need light to see. Sara, il madre, is very environmentally conscious, and believes, as I see it (or don't) that if you aren't doing something that requires direct light, you sit in the dark. They recycle like crazy. I was told to throw an expired yogurt down the toilet. The TOILET. YOGHURT.

(I miss my dog.)

Words of the day:

assaggiare - to taste

comprare - to buy

cucinare - to cook

capire - to understand

domire - to sleep

stanchi - tired
esausto - exhausted

prima colazione - breakfast

pranzo - lunch
cena - diner
(Do you get how I'm feeling?)

Aeroporto, Galaverna e Caffè

UNO.
With tear-filled goodbyes to my family at the airport, I boarded my flight to Frankfurt and cried my way through letters from my best friends, (Special mention @Gabi Stein and @Adam Brews <3), took a Stilnox and passed out for the 11.5 hour flight. (I HATE international flights with no movies :(  #firstworldproblems. )

I got my first taste of (poes-cold) European weather. It was pouring with rain as I boarded my connecting flight to Milano, but again, I passed out until landing, after which I collected by (2x23kg) suitcases, and was greeted by my host-parents Sara and Alessandro. My host-mom claimed not to understand my English because I don't sound American (American accent. Gross.) So I slightly tweaked my speech and spoke very, veeeery slowly.

As I exited the airport, welcomed by -2 degree weather (from 38 at home), I saw what I naively thought was snow - it is, in fact, galaverna - the frost that is formed from the dew freezing overnight on the branches and the ground - proper one of the most exquisite things I have ever seen.

Sara warned me that it would be a busy day because of all the errands we had to run... Visa this, school that, insurance the other. But it astounded her to realise when we got home, 50 minutes drive from Milano, that Alessandro had left my folder of documents at the airport. This reminded me SO much of home - mom complaining not to trust dad to keep things safe - obviously a universal problem.

I watched as Sara made coffee in some medi-evil-looking coffee pot on a gas stove - how old school Italian is that? Con latte, in a huge bowl-sized cup, I knew I had officially arrived in la bella Italia. Sara sat speaking on the phone about "studentessa scambiare" trying to recover the documents, while I watched Italian TV: The most beautiful people I have ever seen in my life, advertising... yoghurt, and... pregnancy tests.

Sara and I, without the documents, left home to do all the errands we could. Walking through the streets of Italy, I felt like I was in a movie - be it Eat, Pray, Love or some other jut movie with typical Italian still-pictures - insanely good looking policemen riding motorbikes in tight pants, teenagers making out on benches on the pavement of the main road (Via Giovanni), old buildings each with something quaint and memorable on its facade, school kids walking home from school with cigarettes in hand - like a scene out of Skins.

Freezing my ass off, Sara suggests we go into a store to buy a coat with "those things from birds" on the inside. Not 5 minutes in the store and I somehow managed to shatter the central pane of glass of the table into a million pieces. With hurried, English apologies, I forked out the €45 for the bird-coat, and swiftly exited in tears, again. 15km walking - and that is Torre Boldone.

(Considering he was #1, Roland, you are #DENCH.)

The Negotiable Red Light.

Dearest friends, family, friends of family, family of friends, Rotarians, Italians, South Africans, or guests.

This blog is the medium through which I plan (note: not promise) to update those who are interested, of my year abroad in Italia.

The title of the blog is a quote from a book I am reading entitled "La Bella Figura - An Insider's Guide to the Italian Mind" (Severgnini, Beppe; 2007). The translated extract reads, "Do you see that red light? It looks the same as any other red light anywhere in the world but it's an Itlian invention. It's not an order, as you might naively think. Nor is it a warning, as a superficial glance might suggest. It's actually an opportunity to reflect and that reflection is hardly ever silly. Pointless, perhaps, but not silly." The page continues to detail the 17 different potential meanings behind a red robot, but then, "Note that these decisions [the consideration of which reds are okay to cross, and which are not] are not taken lightly. They are the outcome of a logical process that almost always turns out to be accurate. When the reasoning fails, it's time to call the ambulance. [My host-sister told me she got ran over by a scooter - she must have crossed at the 'not-quite-red'] This is the Italian take on rules of whatever kind, regarding road discipline, the law, taxes or personal behaviour. If it is opportunism, it is an opportunism born of pride, not of selfishness."

So, as I write to you all about myself, feeling slightly hindered by the fact that I don't know if anybody is in fact interested in my life, I do so out of pride - pride of having the balls (please note, there will be no censorship in this blog - sorry, mom) to come to a foreign country, to study my ass off (there we go again) to learn a language in which I can currently only curse (both at the language, and in it), to stay with new people (thank you, so far, famiglia Locatelli), to use a new transport system (who knew trains could be this complicated?) and to go to a new school (despite having finished already - ok, no seriously, WTF am I doing here?)

I am stuck here for 1 year: "stuck" because my parents have paid for my flights and the Rotary programme binds me to the year contract, but I am here voluntarily and plan (note, again, not promise) to grab every opportunity and to share the details of every result.