Last month in PG!

Alas, it has finally come around. My last month in Perugia. I know I should be all sad to leave but I'm pretty pumped.

Louisa, shame on you. Happy to leave? No. Look outside, eat some handmade pasta, drink some wine...

My response: it's raining, I have enough pasta lbs. tyvm, and I think wine will mess with my cold haha. Your immediate reaction: what a grump! My retort: seriously. such a grumpy gremlin attitude.

Despite my natural ability to complain tirelessly, it's very difficult to leave Italy. I have a lot of regrets. One main problem is forgetting the "movie version of living in Italy" expectations. For example, I'm frustrated how hard it is for me to speak Italian comfortably. Because in the movie version of my life, I would be fluent after 7 months. Alas, in reality, learning a language takes a really long time. Also, I wouldn't say it comes natural to me at all, not the humility nor the knack! I'm so envious of people who grew up speaking two languages. They had to play around with languages long ago! Most importantly, I cut myself short. My doubt leads me to make dumb mistakes or give up when I am totally competent to express myself in the situation but too proud or scared to.

For awhile, I planned on staying until the end of June. That would be sufficient time, right? However, as I got closer to June, all I could think was how impatient I was to get the hell out of Europe. How I dreaded having to move into a new apartment and start from scratch socially. I found myself being tense with anxiety. I realized it was time to go home. I thought perhaps I was making a mistake, until multiple people told me they had no idea how long I lasted here/they were jealous that I could go home first. I know for certain I will return but I think 8 months in Perugia has been quite enough. I started C1 last week and I hate it. It's all lecture and I cannot translate and remember at the same time.

Though C1 is terrible, I have an excellent mini vacation to distract me coming up. My friend John's family friend is the (Ukrainian?) Orthodox archbishop of Palermo. (!!) A big group of us are going to Palermo Friday-Wednesday to visit! I'm so EXCITED! I've never been to Sicily and it'll be warm. We'll go to beach. Eat excellent seafood. Hang out with the archbishop. But most of all, we will be missing classsss!! Thrilling.

After Palermo, it'll be a week of class and then the program ends! My dad will come see me in Perugia for a day or two. Then we'll pack me up and go to Rome for the weekend. Next, Bari, methinks. Then Trieste, Slovenia, Venice. I will be flying out of Venice May 7th and LANDING May 7th in Phoenix. I'll be the girl kissing the ground crying tears of joy.

Paris: That Monstrous Dream and Nightmare

Our weekend in Paris... both a dream and a nightmare.

How did I find myself in Paris?

It was Tuesday afternoon, at 6 PM. Tuesday are hell on earth. I have class from 8 am to 11 am. Then I have tutoring with Umbra from 2:30-4:30 PM. My day is finished back at Stranieri for one last class from 5-7PM. I was a slap happy mess. I turned to Loraine and suggested going to London to eat something besides Italian food... suddenly, we were scrolling on my phone for airfares from Rome to Poland, Czech Republic, ecc... when we see Paris... where Amanda was going for the weekend to see her friend Jordyn who is studying there.

Three hours later, we had tickets to Paris, Thursday evening to early Sunday morning.

We show up... after taking a mini metro, train, bus, plane, bus, two metro trains and walking for what felt like hours in the freezing weather... at our hostel. Whew. We were a mess. On the first bus in Paris, we were sitting in front an American girl studying in Rome. She felt rather friendly and engaged a handsome Italian man next to her in conversation.

So as this conversation went on... we realize he was a speciman indeed. He was a 30 year old doctor and really close to his family, especially his 22 year old sister. He spoke pretty decent English and of course was, let's face it, possibly more beautiful than many women I know.

Unfortunately, this American girl was the stereotype that haunts every young American woman abroad: superficial, ignorant, and oblivious. She was living in Rome... spoke no Italian. She couldn't even say Italian words correctly. She WAS of Italian descent.. but couldn't remember the name of where her family was from. No, not some great-great uncle or something. She couldn't remember where her GRANDPARENTS were from. Isn't that the second thing you pack after your passport for studying abroad in Italy? Any information of your ancestry? It was maddening to listen to. No wonder we have such an terrible international reputation. We keep letting idiots leave our country.

For the first time in a real long time, Amanda, Loraine and I start speaking Italian of our own accord. To trash talk of course. What else do you do when you are angry, tired and hungry while also spending a lot of your spare time studying another language?

It gets worse. She starts talking about her nose job.

I am not making this up.

"It was the BEST decision I've ever made. Dr. Vainandsuch was amazing. He changed my LIFE!"

Loraine, Amanda and I are horrified and start listening closer...

The poor polite doctor is listening... and comments that his baby sister wants a nose job but he thinks she's beautiful and discourages her to consider surgery. (N.B. Italians have great noses. Think sexy Marlon Brando noses. Nom nom. But they look better on men, if we are being honest. This doctor has a delicious Italian nose himself.)

But the American girl tries to change his mind: "TELL HER TO DO IT! SHE WILL NOT REGRET IT."

And that was our first hour in Paris.

Though we only went a few weeks ago, it seems months ago. I want to write an honest portrayal but not ruin my own memories by reminding myself of the trials and tribulations this trip entailed. So I'm going to gloss over the frustrating bits. The nose job story survived the reality quota sufficiently methinks.

The first full day we visited the Louvre. We were there for maybe 5 hours... felt like we failed as museum goers none the less. One of my favorite paintings:

and this also by Paul Delaroche was HUGE and in the same room:

The best part of the Louvre is the building itself. It's a stunning piece of architecture and it has some of the best views of Paris. Our feet felt thoroughly pummeled so we would sit and take it in whenever we found a bench. When we got bored of dull Flemish paintings, we stood by the wind just to take it all in.

We were freeeezing our butts once we got outside. We met up with Amanda's friend Jordyn who was studying in Paris. Together, we walked through the Tuileries Garden walking towards the carousel. It was beautiful, even without flowers. Eventually, we went out of the cold and got some hot food, courtesy of Jordyn's French.

I know people always think, "Oh, Italy! Best food in the world!" I'm sorry, misguided people. You haven't tried French onion soup. It almost brought me to tears. (THAT CHEESE! The BROTH!) Nor have you tried a Croque Monsieur, vin chaud (hot wine), escargot cooked in garlic, or fresh French bread. I ordered goat cheese by accident at a tourist trap kind of place. It was creamy and delicious. I hate goat cheese. We had very many glasses of hot wine to get through the downright miserable cold.

Our hostel didn't have hot water... I braved it and washed my hair. It took 6 freezing sprays.

Saturday was long. We saw Notre Dame, Eiffel Tour, Champs-Elysees and Arch of Triumph. (I stuck with the English names. It's easier and yes, I know better.)

My French, or should I say, my Francais came back slowly. I've realized that if you spank one Romance language, you get everything else. French and Italian are half brothers. But I finally got to the point where I could order in French, understand their question and then respond "Si!" in Italian. Fail.

The Champs-Elysees was magical. It began to snow beautiful little flakes... it was the first time I had been in snow since I was 5. I kept laughing with joy because it was framing the surroundings perfectly. I struggle to find the words to describe what I saw and how it made me feel. Joy and delight are the most appropriate words I can come up with. I felt like a child so simply delighted by the sheer prettiness  of it all.

The Eiffel Tower had a glorious introduction. It was the last thing on our list. I was openly dreading visiting it. It was after 10 PM and I was completely out of steam. On the metro to the tower, two men with accordions got on. The best part of the French transportation system is all the live music you hear. Sometimes it's dreadful and awkward. (I.e. that puppet guy with all the scars on his face.)

This time, it was insanely perfect. They begin playing, something along the lines of the Amelie soundtrack... when the train suddenly comes from the underground to above the Seine. In the car windows, the tower is HUGE and GOLDEN in the window. It was a moment to be stolen by a movie. We were speechless. Those musicians knew exactly what they were doing.

I never understood those stories or novels that would be looking back on a wild crazy love affair. "It was beautiful, passionate, miserable, downright insufferable and overwhelmingly blissful," they would write.

Paris was my crazy rollarcoaster ride. A dream and a nightmare.
 

A Brief (Ha!) Encounter with Italian Medicine

Sorry, it's been awhile. I haven't felt like writing for awhile. Going back to life was rather tiring and then I got a cold... Basically, when you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all! I spared you many a complaining post.

My Italian doctor experience was comical. I went to the emergency room for a few hours, got an x-ray, etc. The main doctor I had was straight from a novel. He was short, had a very Sicilian face, wore a v-necked shirt that exposed his grizzled chest hair and a gold chain. Don't let me forget to mention his age: in his late fifties. Nor was I ever in the same room as him without three other useless people standing around. I'm not exaggerating. No wonder I had to wait so long...

...to be told "Wear your wrap... for..." (here he pauses to pick an ARBITRARY NUMBER!) "TEN days... Yes, ten days."

This is why hillbillies don't believe in modern medicine. Sometimes it's total crap. My third cousin Billy Jean Jimmy Cake could have told me that medical advice last week at the bean peeling circle. 

My first Italian exam is on Monday. I'm pretty nervous because I didn't have a chance to study yet this weekend. Eeeeekkk..

Friday was my roommate's birthday. We went to lunch and then went to a tattoo parlor for her to get her birthday tattoo: an anchor on the back of her forearm. We chatted with the tattoo artist Andrea.... poor guy. His dream is to go to Los Angeles and blossom as an artist... He also had an obsession with American "traditional symbols." Unfortunately this meant Eddie Hardyesque designs... Good luck, Chuck.

Then we got Carnivale Italian donuts called Struffoli... basically giant dough balls smeared with honey. Oh oh... so goodddd. Even though my cold made taste practically non-existent, I could tell it was good.   

From the Mixed Up Files of L. Scamperle, Hermit Esq.

It's Tuesday, about 1 pm. I've been in my apartment since Friday afternoon. I haven't lost my mind yet! I've also managed to sleep a huge amount despite minimal exercise. This morning I could barely wake up even though I was approaching Hour 11 of sleep.

I am greatly impressed/somewhat horrified. Are my homebody tendencies really this bad?! I can spend endless hours in bed and not go insane? Maybe it's the way I have fought off cabin fever with my activities.

Normally, I get stircrazy so easily. I think it's because I feel guilty for doing nothing when I am able to be doing things. However, I finally have an excuse to just lay in bed and watch tv for hours. I'm pretty darn relaxed.

"How To Not Go Insane In Confinement":

the accidental findings of L. Scamperle, Hermit Esq. 

1. Skype and talk to anyone! I really lucked out. I got to Skype with Dana, Anna AND Louise. Also, thank God for facebook chat and messages. I am so grateful to everyone who have been great correspondents, it's been essential to my sanity. I LOVE YOU ALL. 

2. Remember that life goes on... and you should maintain excellent hygiene. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Or rather, you feel gross when you are gross. Simple. 

3. Give yourself tasks that you normally are too lazy to do. I tried to learn how to curl my hair with a flat iron. Fail. Ok, that's not completely true. I got 3 amazing curls... and then the rest looked like sad bent hair. I also did my nails! My graduation app got started. So. Much. Left. 

4. Find a TV show that lifts the spirit. I would like to thank The Big Bang Theory for keeping my disposition on the more cheerful side. Sheldon and Amy? I love you. 

5. Finally watch the movies people make fun of you for never seeing. On Day One of Confinement, I watched Super Troopers. My next movie is Shawshank Redemption... but I don't think they will have the same effect on me hahaha. 

6. Keep perspective and DON'T feel sorry for yourself. This is essential to not going insane. This week of confinement is a blink in my life, a tenth of a blink in eternity. Things have been less than ideal. I've had great opportunities to be upset... but I haven't been as emotional as I thought I would have been. 

7. Have awesome friends like Rachel and Sigrid who will bring you food. The worst part of this whole thing is feeling helpless and asking for help. Rachel has been a sweetie and brought me kebabs, haha! Sigrid brought me cookies, chips and chocolate milk. MMMmmm. I've eaten so many cookies already, Sigrid. THANK YOU. haha. No one else has come by, but if you plan on doing so and you are reading this, bring me junk to eat, haha. I will reward you someday with endless affection/alcohol. 

8. Sweatpants. Need I say more? 

Update on ankle: I haven't gone to the doctor yet. Wait! Hear my reasoning before you yell at me. Yesterday was Monday. I talked to Umbra and they said I would have to go to the ER. Yet yesterday it was raining so I didn't want to go. I knew I was going to get drenched and fall on my butt. Today is St. Costanzo, the patron of Perugia. There's a festival, no Italian school and most businesses are closed. Umbra suggested today would be a bad day to go to the ER because their staff would be limited. Alas, I am going tomorrow morning at 930 am. I have a lot of fears... for awhile there, I was excited to leave Italy but now I want to stay... argh. We shall see! I'm trying to stay positive and remember no matter what, nothing will change, only my knowledge of reality. I'm hoping to score a walking boot and no cast. Casts are the WORST! Showering with a cast is bad enough, but in an Italian shower? Kill me. 

Pray for me! 

That Time My Professor Force-Fed Me Cake For The "Pain"

I find this blog difficult to write sometimes, hence the lack of consistent entries. I want to give you all a rounded idea of what I am doing... but I dread filling out the boring details to the point of simply not writing anything at all. Sorry if this blog seems abrupt... but I find it impossible to write a novel here.

The latest news in my life: I'm lying in bed with a swollen ankle propped up and iced.

<<Che è successo?>>, you ask yourselves with grave concern. Did Louisa beat away a gypsy woman with her ankle from stealing an infant? Did she slide into home base at the wrong ankle (oops, I mean, ANGLE)?

I wish. That sounds kinda dignified.

Nope. I opened the door to my classroom, knowing there was a deep step immediately past the door frame, and fell down anyway with a GIANT SNAP to my ankle as I went down for the count.

Oh, and it gets better. I started crying out of pain and shock to the sound of all my classmates jumping out of their seats to help me. Did I mention I was interrupting class because I was 5 minutes late from the break?

So my Russian classmate Sergei is my new hero/doctor/official class badass. Once I identified my ankle as the source of my misery, he got my shoe off in record time, ripped off my sock and felt it to see if it was broken. Fortunately, I had a PERFECT PEDICURE STILL (yessss, some remaining shreds of dignity) and clean socks on.

My classmates are absolutely gems. They all instructed me how to take care of my foot, whether it be ice, Italian icy hot gel (my professor wrote the brand name ON THE BOARD and then Sergei copied it and gave it to me with the instructions "twice a day"), and elevation. My Korean classmates stuck a special Korean bandaid on my foot. The best moment was when Sergei noticed it and said, "What is this?!" as if he was actually saying "What is this bit of nonsense in this time of gravity?!"

But because we are in Italy, we sent for the university doctor... who had already left for the day. It wasn't even 2 PM yet. Someone went to the cafe for ice... they didn't have any. My Irish classmate Avril went across the street to get a synthetic ice pack at the pharmacy across the street.

Throughout this ordeal, I couldn't speak Italian. I was so shocked. I was supposed to go to Verona in 2 hours. What if I broke my foot? I'll have to leave Italy. How the hell am I even going to get back to my apartment if I can't walk? How the hell will I get that damn gel if I can't walk? Oh, I'm so embarrassed right now. Everyone is looking at me. I just want to disappear.

 So I sat at the front of the classroom with my foot on a chair, a blank face with tears sneaking out every 4 seconds. My professor tried to keep teaching, I guess to distract me? She brought cake that day and she kept offering me some and finally I took it so she would shut up haha. She said I should take some to help my "dolore" (pain/sorrow/suffering). That at least made me laugh.

My American classmate Bill, who is a dad and used to his kids injuring themselves, was so kind to me. He helped me get out of the building and called a cab so I could get home. He tried to get me to go get an X-ray but I couldn't bear the thought.

I turned to him and said, "So, Bill, what do you like? Wine, food, chocolate?" which made him laugh.

This happened yesterday. I've been icing it, put the gel on it, wrapping it, elevating it...

...and it still hurts whenever I move it or try to put some weight on it. Normally, 24 hours of a wrap helps sprains. I'm worried for sure. If it isn't better by tomorrow night, I'm going to go get an X-ray and hopefully a boot of some sort. If I can't go up a flight of stairs easily... I might just go back to the US. (If I can't get to a grocery in under 40 minutes, living here will be my personal hell. How could I do anything?! I live on a flight of stairs. I'm not kidding.)

That seems super dramatic to me but I am oddly not too upset. My sole regret would be that leaving Italy closes the door on my Italian fluency goal. I would probably get a refund of some kind since I got injured in a university building haha. I don't need the Italian credits for a degree, but personal enrichment. Ironically, the 24 hours before I fell, I had thought quite seriously of staying in Perugia for an extra 2 months...

Awesome!

I'll be home all weekend, possibly until Tuesday! If anyone would like to Skype, now would be a great time!

A Jarful of Nutella Helps the Bitterness Go Down!

Well. Perugia is being a pain in my ass. You heard me! I didn't think re-entry would be so difficult. The problem is I have a new apartment... which I HATE. I miss my old apartment. It was practically perfect compared to this place. In my old apartment, I always had hot water, I rarely got splashed by the sink, the heat worked consistently and there was more living space. My new room is a third of the size of my old one. My shower is half the size- which I didn't even know was possible. And I can't wake up to natural sunlight because my shutters are on the outside of my windows which face a street. Counter space? What is this mythical creature of whom you speak?

I cut garlic today with a dull steak knife in a sloped plate because I couldn't find a sharp knife or a cutting board.


ARGH.

The hardest part of living in Italy is the living.

School is going pretty well. I've discovered that I've learned and retained so many things. I like half of my classmates. I enjoy the material and most of my professors.

I haven't slept enough though. Today was a trial. I slept for 5 hours and then woke up at 4 am. I was awake until my first class from 8-11, my tutoring from 230-430 and then my final class from 5-7. Ready to drop dead!

But the fun never ends. I found out my schedule is utterly incompatible with the world. I cannot audit a class at Umbra. I am missing orientation for my internship that is apparently very far away. So I will probably do neither of those things.

So much for filling up my spare time with more education and activities. WHY IS IT SO HARD TO BECOME NERDIER HERE?! Pooh pooh ca choo.

Thank God for this jar of nutella and this spoon.

Good News: I Remember How to Speak Italian

First day of school again...

I've had a lot of jet lag issues.  Yesterday I finally got to Perugia around 11 am. After eating something I decided to lay down because the apartment was freeezzzziiinnnggg. Next thing I know, I've slept for 5 hours. I only got up because I had to go to evening mass. After mass, I went to Sigrid's 20th birthday dinner. The restaurant we went to had some "Tex Mex" options, such as burritos, enchiladas and tacos. I had just said on our way to the restaurant that I would never get Mexican food in Italy. I resisted ordering them... and I'm glad I did. The enchiladas = fajitas in flour tortillas without any sauce. Burrito = soft taco. They made me sad. Fortunately, the girls who ordered them enjoyed them a lot.

So I've been in Perugia for over 24 hours and I still haven't gone grocery shopping. I'm an idiot. I keep putting it off because I'm tired. Also, to go to the store, I'll have to go up the stairs right outside my house. I. am. that. lazy. I also don't want people to see me dying on the steps. Hey, I didn't get to exercise at any point over break. I've got to get my stair muscles back for sure.

Since I have no food, I went to class without coffee or food. I had class from 9-2pm. It was kinda rough. Plus, I had to completely recollect how to speak Italian! Reimmersing yourself without caffeine = rough. But I pulled through! Huzzah!

My class is... funny? There's some smarmy men who think they are God's gift to our class. But they make me laugh because I can't understand them and they make mistakes when they read. I'm such a brat. They are cocky he-men so I get to giggle at them.

The other classmates seem cool. There's a good mix of nationalities. My favorite classmate so far is this older man from San Diego (of course, Sigrid, he's my favorite after you ;) ) . He's a professor/teacher of music theory, I think at a Methodist school, and is on sabbatical. His Italian is so good and he wants to only chit chat in Italian. It's great practice. He's staying in a Catholic monastery in Perugia so he could have a Christian community.  So we chatted about theology and such.

After class, I tried to unpack. Mistake. My new room is a third of the size of my old one and maybe a third of the storage. I tried to organize for over an hour... no such luck. I got upset so I took a break.

Aaaahhhh I kinda want to die. I'm so tired. But I truly cannot postpone shopping any longer.

But I discovered today I remembered a LOT of Italian and I can still speak. YES. I mean, SI!