Welcome to my boudoir

I spent several hours yesterday walking around (trying to find the gelato place with 99 choices) when it occurred to me 'I left all my possessions back at the hostel and at some point someone new is going to call it home'. As I walked up the stairs to the room I was slightly afraid of who I would open the door to and what they'd be doing. At first I opened the door only a little to give them time to take notice of me coming in (incase they were indisposed) but I heard nothing and saw nothing but a bag laying where the old roommates stuff had been. It took her a minute to notice that I had come in the room but when she did she didn't seem startled or remotely awkward about being only in a thong on the bed. It was dark in the room and from where I was standing she looked like an older woman and as I went further into the room I couldn't help but notice a new aroma, a smell that reminded me of black liquorice filling my nose.

As per I felt like I needed to sound smart and as soon as the pressure kicks in for me to do so I start stumbling over my words. She clicked the light on and I apologized for waking her but told her as a peace and welcome offering I had just bought a bottle of 4e wine for us to consume. We began talking and already I've learnt so much from her. She is a very unique individual who is so wise beyond her 22 years. She is soft yet courageous and is an artist who came here to take an art class. Funny because looking at her makes me want to paint her myself. She has this renaissance quality to her despite her funky haircut. As we talked we realized how much we had in common. Not that this is a huge thing but we're both Pisces which is helpful because we (and I'm not all that into astrology but all the pisces i've met before have possessed these traits) understand each others vibes and very sensitive to the feelings around us which to most people can be perceived as us being weird. She told me about all of these incredible things that she does (all very artistic) and she has this one phrase "follow your bliss" which is coincidental because that is essentially (in different words) my motto in life. We decided to go and find our bliss in gelato but again could not find the place so settled on going to the beach instead. While we were standing at the top of the boardwalk looking down onto the beach a older french man approached us. He began saying things like "how are you this evening? and do you speak french" all very normal things but then he began asking us to come and talk with his friend as he pointed over to a thin older man sitting on the bench nearby. I told him that we were not interested and said goodbye but he got more insistent and so I nicely but confidently told him that we were together had no interest in talking with him or his friend. He looked blankly at me as if he didn't understand what I meant by saying we were together. Without hesitation (my roommate) 'Rose' leaned over and kissed me. It was only a soft and quick touching of our lips but it was enough to inspire this man to grab not only is own swollen member but reach out and cup my breast. I got very heated and thrashed his hand away from me and told him to get away from us. We quickly turned and headed down to the beach. Thankfully the men didn't follow, which allowed us to continue our conversation. We sat and drank wine and talked for awhile and planned out our day. We held hands as we walked home that night.

Alice in Wonderland

I got lost…big surprise. On my way back from the restaurant I figured if I took a short turn instead of walking the exact way I came I could still find my way. I was wrong. I got all turned around and had no clue where to go next. Since asking people things has done nothing but good things this trip I figured I’d go ahead and ask. He was very kind and told me the way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into…seems I was walking into a “not so friendly” neighborhood. I finally arrived back at the hostel and encountered my roommate. He’d been backpacking for the last 2 months and mentioned to me as he coughed up a lung and blew his nose, that he had been sick the week before. We began talking about what we were doing in Nice and exchanged basic pleasantries. I decided I wanted to have a coke and a smoke (my favorite combo) and invited him to tag along. We talked for quite a while and he mentioned that I reminded him of someone he just couldn't recall who it was. We decided to go to the beach and just sit and chat. While we were there he began chuckling out of no where. When I asked what was funny he told me that he felt like we were on a strange French blind date were the partners have no choice but to go home together. I laughed and said “yeaa it could be considered that but more accurately a blind French slumber party”. To which he responded “So you know the door man? Well when I was checking in he asked if I’d met my roommate yet and when I said no he laughed. I gave a perplexed look and asked what you were like. He told me, well she’s a girl…and she’s Canadian… and she very attractive”. I was flattered but tired and told him how cute the story was but it was time for me to hit the hay. He agreed and we walked back, me feeling somewhat awkward. I got ready for bed while he was in the bathroom and vice versa. Regardless of me turning all the lights off and turning my head away from him (we have two single beds) he kept talking to me. At first it was normal questions then they became more sexual and about whether I had a boyfriend or not. I said no I had no boyfriend but I was also on a sabbatical from sex, for a period of one year I was completely celibate. He inquired further so I just told him I was abstaining from all sexual activity until I felt it was right for me because I value my body in that way and didn't think it necessary to engage in sexual activity just for the 'fuck' of it (to each their own). He then blurted out “that’s a shame!” I didn’t know what to say so I turned around and shut my eyes. The next thing he says is that he has double jointed fingers…and proceeds to extend his hand to my bed so that I can feel how they flex. I told him that was very weird and then a soft goodnight.* I mean really…first of all he’s sick, second of all he’s completely random and I have no attraction to him, 3^rd as if double jointed fingers would make any difference * About 5 minutes passed of pure silence when all of a sudden he says “so you’re honestly telling me you don’t feel like we should be doing something right now?” I respond “the only thing we should be doing is sleeping, g’night”. Needless to say the next morning he got his things together and said he was going to find a single room for tonight (probably for the best I said). He wished me good luck with my new roomy and then just before he left he said “oh and I remember who you remind me of now, Alice…from the new Alice and Wonderland.”

Nice is nice :)

Feeling like a dink. I’m on this train for 5 hours from Milan to Ventimiglia (then transfer to the French railway) but I’m completely unaware of what train I’m supposed to get on (the ticket doesn’t say, it’s not just me) but I don’t care. I’ve let go of that fear I had before of being on my own and having to have a plan. I tried to find a hostel online the other night for my arrival in Nice but no luck so I figured I’d just wing it : ) I actually saved quite a bit of money by staying in Milan with Kitty. Not to mention Sausage bought dinner for Kitty and I the first night and the food I’ve had the last night and today have cost no more than 10euro so I may splurge on a sweet room for my last 3 days. Back to my dinkyness… picture, if you will… a small (but somewhat larger than when I left)) blond girl peering out of the window aboard the train as it parallels the sea. Have you ever felt like you were in a music video or film when you move around listening to your ipod? Well as I sit here listening and looking, certain songs come on that make me feel like I’m in a movie..you’d laugh if you could see the seriousness on my face as I feel the vibe and take in the scenery.

Got to Nice safe and sound. The first hostel I tried was booked all but for a singleut room that ran for 75e a night. I said I’d splurge but fack that! It was funny because when I walked in a man greeted me in French but I responded in Italian. I think he was happy about it because it turns out he’s actually Italian and offered the room to me for 60e . However, that was still too steep for my likings so I asked if they knew of another hostel close by as I was pouring sweat from every orifice and clearly in need of some rest. The man behind the desk made a call. It seemed their sister hostel down the street on Rue Paradise had a room…a two person dorm for 25e a night, SOLD! I hastily made my way over and greeted the man at the desk. I had to fill out a form in order to get the room and on it was my nationality. “Canadian?!”he said. “ah yea?” I responded. He was ecstatic! Apparently he had applied to the French embassy to allow him to move to Montreal. That worked in my favor because he had a look over the books and slyly mentioned that it was possible for me to stay all three nights (I had been told originally there was only one night available here by the other hostel). I decided to take all three nights and spend some of that left over money on dinner because I hadn’t had any the night before. I’ve never been so happy to have greens on my plate. The best salad I ever ate cost me 16e so it better have been the best salad (although I doubt it had anything to do with the salad itself and all to do with the fact that I was starving and hadn’t had legit veggies in several weeks). I normally don’t like tuna, or tomatoes..or radish but together with some egg and celery this was where I found heaven. Not to mention the server was the hottest thing I’d ever seen…no joke! The restaurant I decided on was quite a ways out from my hostel but it was on the beach and the sun was setting and I just had to do it! I know what you’re thinking 1.did I talk to the server? à yes, but only to order my food and ask where I could rent a kayak (that’s tomorrows big outing, if I can find the place). 2. How expensive was the place Salad 16e, the 4e, pina colada 12e. But I figured I’d saved myself more than that with this hostel.

Random thought: I hope my roommates not hot…I also hope he’s not smelly and gross either. A hot roommate would make me all self conscious to go to the bathroom my usual 50 times a night and a gross roommate would just be the pits.

I don't think we're in Italy anymore Totto...

Milan is an interesting place as it mixes the old world architecture with new world hustle, bustle and congestion! I like Milan for this and yet I find myself feeling like I’ve left Italy and gone back to Toronto. My Italy is mountains and hills, some areas by the sea, some not. But for the most part, my Italy is slow paced where everything you view looks as if it was taken from a renaissance painting and for the most part people are practicing Christians. This is not exactly Milan. A beautiful brunette “Kitty”, the cousin of Mimma picked me up from the train station. I am very grateful to have met Mimma as she is truly one of a kind and she certainly hooked me up. When we arrived at her apartment I was in awe. It was so beautiful, not what I had expected from my previous stays in Italy. She told me that her home was mine and because she would be leaving for work the next morning very early she’d give me the keys and show me around to the outdoor pool, tennis and basketball court in case I got bored…HA!

Kitty told me that we were invited to a celebration and as I was probably starving there would be food. I wasn’t entirely sure what the celebration was for but I’m sure never to forget it now. When we got the house we were given some water and asked if we’d like anything else to drink, wine, beer, appaertif.. I was already dehydrated and it was hot as Hades in Milan so I opted for water. Once all the guests had arrived we were ushered into a small narrow room with just enough seating for everyone (approx. 10) behind a chair that faced a small wooden desk decorated with Japanese style writings. These tiny books that looked like scriptures were handed to each guest. The owner of the house sat in the chair that faced the desk, with her back turned to face her guests. As soon as she took her seat the chanting began. A woman pointed to a part of the scripture that contained the words being said. I looked around and almost everyone was chanting (except for Kitty and her other friend Sausage). I decided to join in so as not to appear rude and of course for the experience. There were some tears, some words (in Italian Japanese) being spoken, more tears, signing of a scroll all the while chanting that mantra and then it was complete. It was a Buddhist ceremony to welcome her into the religion. It was interesting. Once finished we went back into the main room and ate. I got to talking with this man who was 43 about what I knew of Buddhism. I told him I knew of it as a spiritual religion that was centered around the self as a spiritual vessel, not toward any specific deity. He told me later that I must have done something terrible because it seemed my karma was bad because I’d yet to have a good experience with men (the conversation was obviously much longer and started from Kitty admitting she’d never had a boyfriend) and that that was not normal. Something to ponder I guess.

In Milan the nightlife rages on until the wee hours by the canal, even on Sundays. I was told the canal is a man made structure and as it is filled with polluted water (very Toronto) it is best to go at night, so I did. As it was my first night there I was extremely tired and didn’t feel much like raging so we ate at an incredibly delicious pizzeria on the canal strip. I try to eat veggies wherever I can so when I saw a Mexican pizza with beans, mozzarella cheese, hot sausage, peppers and tomatoes I had to have it. It was incredibly delicious and something my mouth has never tasted before.

The next morning I decided to take a dip in the pool. As I surfaced I noticed everyone’s eyes on me. Next thing I knew I was tossed a swimming cap and told that long hair is a problem. After swimming I made some lunch and had a shower. While deciding what to wear I thought ‘I’d look pretty cute in that red dress for pictures in the Duomo’. What a good idea that turned out to be! I took the metro on a solo mission to the Dumo (it was pretty refreshing to be alone and go about things at my own pace…turtle mode). 10 stops from Gorla (my new home) and I arrived at the Duomo (Italy’s 2^nd largest church, 3^rd largest in the world). Upon leaving the station I was struck by the grandeur of this structure. It looks like an ice castle with all of the pointed silo’s resembling icicles. As I was stopped to star at this gorgeous monstrosity I was apprehended by a vendor. “Italian bracelet for free for free, for YOU” despite my attempts to say no thanks he began tying it on. I figured at this point I’d indulge him so when he asked where I was from I said Canada. When it was tied he changed his tune and began asking me for money. I ripped my arm from him and shouted as I began walking hastily away “you said it was free”.

To get inside you must pass guards that tell you whether or not you’re appropriately dressed. Funny, you’d think I’d have learnt something about appropriate dress codes from all the times I was sent home from junior -high for being inappropriately dressed. The guard pointed to a sign that showed a picture with a woman bearing her shoulders, it had an X through it. Guess that meant my attempts at looking cute with my little red dressed were in vain. I departed and took a walk around the square looking for something to cover up with.

Finally I got inside to take some photo’s and then went up what felt like the CN tower stair to get to the top to take a birds eye view of Milan. Next on my agenda was to go to see Da Vinci’s ‘Last Supper” painting. My map completely fooled me into thinking it was within walking distance. 2 blisters and wobbly legs later I had to stop for a drink and ask for directions. Turns out I was nowhere close. I purchased a metro ticket and hopped back on the subway. By the time I got to the church where the painting is held it was closedà 3 hours later. I went back to the apartment defeated. I decided that I might stay another day and try to take in more of the sites but when I checked the schedule for this church it said that one needed a ticket in order to get in to see the painting and tickets were sold out until August. So I set my alarm for 8am to catch the train at 11am. However, much like it would happen in Toronto, I woke at 7am to the sounds of a police/fire siren and crazy man yelling out into the morning light. Bon voyage Milan!

Bing Bing Bing

In Canada, on the ttc, I’ve not only been attacked by a homeless man (twice) but I'm late for nearly everything I need to arrive early for. However there is always enough time to get on and off the train (despite a few elbows to the jugular). And just in case you’re preoccupied there are the sweet sounding chimes “Bing Bing Bing” that let you know the doors are closing.

I’m writing this blog entry on the train to Milan after one of the funniest things to happen yet. My poppa drove me out to catch the 7am train and even set me up with a place to stay (with his 26 yr. old female cousin). The morning went by very quickly with some sad goodbyes to momma and the pooch. The kids were still in bed as I left the house but I had said my goodbyes the night before so I’m glad they got a chance to sleep in as they have some pretty late nights in that house. I was pleasantly surprised to hit our first stop before the train station…the pastry palace! With cream filled coronary in hand I approached the platform await my train. Poppa decided to wait with me so we could recap some of the things that had occurred over the last two weeks. When my train finally pulled in poppa graciously helped me get my bags onto the train. As he placed my bag down and turned to face the door, without warning we watched as the train left the station taking poppa with it. Luckily the next station wasn’t too far form where he lived but he’d need to take a bus to get back to his car. Poor poppa.

The Last Supper

The name of this post is exceptionally fitting as the next day I left for Milan where the painting of the ‘Last Supper’ is on display. For a final hurrah the teachers and their host families were all invited to a bbq at “stampede’s” family ranch. We had a splendid time eating different meats and I finally got some vegetables…in the form of pickled peppers “how many pickled peppers did peter piper pick?” apparently a lot because it seems the only vegetables offered in the parts of Italy I’ve been to, are pickled! Once we arrived “England” popped a bottle of champi that had been given to us by the cleaning staff at the school. I think it might have gone to some of the other teachers heads because they decided to hop into the pool with their clothes on. Some of them had a change of clothes but others did not (such as myself) so I decided to sit this one out. There is a saying in Italy (or at least among some groups) that when a young person doesn’t do typical young things or just as an insult “you’re old inside”. As for me I’m self proclaiming to be old inside because I am just as happy sitting and watching people full of energy act crazy. I hate to say it but I think I over did it as a youngster. My energy levels are so low I don’t know how they do it. Haha now I really sound old. What I do find fun is singing along to random songs with a group of people. Throw a little dancing in there and I’m set. So from the time our mouths were free of food they were filled with song. It was lovely to see Luca and Mimma singing and enjoying themselves too.

Horsepower

The first time I came to Italy (approx. 2/3 years ago) one of my biggest regrets was that I didn’t find the site where there was horseback riding. As trivial as that may sound, I have had a love for horses since I could pull up my own pants. This time around I got right to the point with my family asking if there were any places I could ride near the area. Sadly they knew nothing of it. However, the first day of work, in the quick 5 minutes we had before piling the kids into the gym the tutors got to say what they got up to with their families over the first two days. I was over the moon when “stampede” told me that she’d gone riding because her family owned a farm. Naturally, I jumped right in and asked her if she’d be so kind as to put in a good word for me with her parents in hopes they’d let me ride too. It took over a week before I was able to convince her that this was something that I just had to do. It worked! On the last Thursday of work her parents came to pick us up to take us to the farm. I was smiling ear to ear the whole way! It was incredible to see these horses because they were well cared for and a mother had just had a calf not too long before and it wouldn’t leave her side. It was beautiful to see that (animal) maternal bond between mother and child. (I skyped with my mom that night). On a different note, I felt like I was reading a harlequin novel as I watched the father (who is a very attractive older man, kind eyes yet firm and in control) had to tame a horse that had gone wild. I am a very lucky girl. Riding was amazing. I’m certainly rusty but my horse was gentle and reinstilled my passion for riding.

SUPERsition

There is a superstition that when a black cat crosses your path it is bad luck. I’ve now been in Italy for three weeks and no word of al lie 3 black cats have crossed my path. This can only mean 1 of 3 things:

1. Bad luck is on its way 3 fold and it is just brewing
2. It actually means good luck
3. It’s just a myth

Pisa

Pisa…what more can I say? No really…what more can I say. It is home to the leaning tower but everyone knows that. It was really incredible to see but Pisa really doesn’t have anything else…even the landscapes in Pisa are underwhelming. However, I must give props to my family who piled myself, my (Italian) sister, my (Italian) brother, momma, poppa and friend “Stampede”..oh and the dog Meliu. For someone who gets car sick, I’ve been doing pretty well as there’s been a lot of driving be cause of how far up the mountain we live. Poppa is great because he knows a lot of history and his English is probably the best in the family. Despite some hilarious miscommunications we pretty much get each other. à never ask an Italian to say “I like the beach” as it comes out quite crass when the e sounds more like an i.

The funny thing about Pisa is that aside from the tower the next big attraction is the barrage of vendors aligning the narrow streets. We took the very touristy typical pictures with the tower and walked around. I think one of the things I love most about Italy is how rich in history it is. It is very humbling to know that you’re standing in front of a church where Galileo first realized the earth revolved around the stationary sun. He was not the first to propose this idea but he was the one to confirm it. This church is what led him to the inquisition because during that era it was widely held that the world was geocentric- the sun revolved around the earth.

Captain Pineapple

The first night that I arrived at my host families house they wanted to know what things I typically ate at home, in Canada. One of the last things I ate was pizza with pineapples and Italian sausage; so I figured why not indulge them and make it known that I eat pizza like any true Italian. Much to my surprise they were awe struck when I confirmed that in fact the pineapples go on top of the pizza. Apparently putting potatoes or eggs on your pizza is normal but pineapples is unheard of. It’s now been almost two weeks here and Momma decided it was time to sway my way and let me make a pizza myself w/ pineapples. Papa said that because it was my night I was the captain of the table, later to be renamed Captain Pineapple. One other random food fact is that Alfredo sauce does not exist here. As to its origin I do not know but it is a common misconception that you will find it in Italian homes. The pizzas were amazing, so many choices: Pizza w pineapples and Italian sausage, pizza with fresh mozzarella cheese and wieners, pizza with rosemary and olive oil & lastly pizza with 4 different fresh cheeses, all made by hand (even the dough). My pizza was such a hit that the neighbors (who’d heard about my crazy idea for putting pineapples on pizza) were delighted and even came back for seconds. I feel so happy that I’m learning how to cook things from scratch! I even know how to make my own mayonnaise, beer and gelato (although I doubt I’ll be dabbling in the beer or gelato anytime soon). After our glorious pizza’s we went in the backyard for homemade gelato (coffee flavor and blueberries and cream flavor) while listening to the easy listening of The Eagles. Pretty spectacular night!

On tonight’s menu: (I’m only sure of two courses, the rest is a mystery but there are always 4 even for lunch) - mussels a la tomato sauce

- Linguini made with Octopus ink (so it is black) I’m told it is a delicacy…

Oh and just a short mention: Since arriving in Italy I’ve had wine almost every day (it is served at both lunch and dinner) and I can honestly say the sight of it now makes me ill.

--> update: the octopus ink pasta was actually delicious (mixed with crab meat). After pasta came the mussels two types: first, mussels stuffed with bread crumbs, mozzarella and garlic. second, mussels in a light oil and tomato sauce with herbs. Then the bricks of cheese came out but I opted for the gelato instead (honey flavoured and coffee) . After dinner we smoked cigarettes while looking up at the moon and singing "italian" songs such as "when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie" they got a kick outta that one.

p.s. think I've smoked too many cigarettes and now my throat tingles...I better not be getting sick.

Idiot’s Guide to Life

So I realized that I’m a bit of an idiot. It’s more oblivion than sheer stupidity but I’m sure you get the picture. I’ve always known that I’m a bit “slower” than your average person and it’s only now that I acknowledge it, I laugh about it and I embrace it. From the very start of this trip I began showing signs of my oblivion (case and point:

- leaving my passport on the check in counter

- the boarding pass in the bathroom

- burnt out 2 converters only to find out I didn’t need a converter just a plug adaptor :(

- I left my envelope of all the Euros I had on the conveyer belt at the supermarket

- I have been making spelling errors the entire time while teaching these kids English.. lol but really how often to I spell Rhinoceros…it isn’t like I had a dictionary or plan to use the word…it just came up! Hahaha

I know that people may look at me being oblivious and think “Wow she’s pretty dim” but I’ve realized it makes me life more fun and at least I laugh A LOT at myself and I’m certainly not opposed to having people laugh at me too!

I head out to Milan this Saturday and then Monaco on Monday…getting there on my own should be a riot!

TGIF

I’ve never been so happy that it’s Friday! One of the tutors momma’s put together an evening for us to all get together for dinner and dancing at a beachside Mexican restaurant. The food was excellent- tortilla’s with all the fixin’s, some sort of other hard shell taco, a fruita de mare (fruit of the sea) and the vino rosso flowed like water. It was really fun to have a large group of people together for a good time after being teased with events during training and then surrounded by people you’d like to talk to but whom you’re just lost in translation with. There were many random events to come from this night such as my developing crush on my English friend’s momma (who is also a piercer- also 38 and has a boyfriend, who is a tattoo artist). While I was relishing in my affection for this woman (who really is the cutest person alive- her voice alone sounds like a smurfs…so cute!) I noticed just beyond her there were a group of girls stripping each other on the dance floor (area of sand). It was the most bizarre thing I’d ever seen. These girls were chasing each other, knocking themselves down one by one and taking off their undergarments. Naturally I decided to refrain but take photos of it instead J Then came the naked men. Several of the guys joined in on the opposite side and took their shirts off. No one groped one another, they just danced. Okay maybe there was a bit of groping but not the kind you’d get back home…it was more playful. As I walked away from taking the photo’s one of the guys approached me. He asked my name and so I told him and kept walking toward my friends, he followed. My English friend decided to get on it and try to play cupid. Unfortunately for…him…I noticed he had a hickey on his neck and proceeded to tell my friend that despite him asking me to dance I was going to decline. I imagine she told him it was because of the hickey because what came out of his mouth next made me more perplexed and certainly less interested. Apparently the hickey was not from his girlfriend but rather his sister. (You’re scratching your head with that one aren’t you?...that or grimacing). Needless to say I walked away and went inside to dance for a while. I thought I was clear of him but no such luck. He approached me again, this time with rose in hand. As flattering as it is to receive a rose from someone…it’s still a no go. So I told him I was too cold to go outside and had a boyfriend. I've come to enjoy the single way of life but having a boyfriend can also be a good excuse to get out of bad situations without lying… and I’ve been lying for a while now.

Sisters

My sorella (sister) is hilarious! I was told during training that the host mothers usually want for their guests to call them “momma” but not mine. My host mother, even with the language barrier, has become one of the funniest people I know and the barrier has definitely added to the humor. For instance, one evening we were talking about random subjects when she began discussing her passions. Trying to understand her Italian was difficult so she tried English. What I understood her to be saying was that she’d had many passions in her life and I smiled and said how great that is and then nudged her with a devilish grin. She looked back at me perplexed. Apparently she had said she had to have a lot of patience.

Momma My Pimp

Last night the family and I went out to dinner at this beautiful restaurant to celebrate the end of the school year and give a send off to the teacher. It seems that teachers here are admired and appreciated much more than in Canada. My eyes lit up when I saw it…a pizza…big and round…without cheese, without tomato sauce, only covered in nutella!!! I almost died with delight. Naturally (even though it was placed at the kids table, not mine) I darted over yet politely took a piece, ensuring I stood close enough to my little sister so that it looked like I was relishing in her enjoyment. As I held this delicious treat it dawned on me that it was important to teach kids proper eating habits, so I decided to share. So...naturally I stuck my finger into the nutella and smeared some on her upper lip while she followed suit and gave me a nutella stash. J The rest of the night was beautiful but exhausting and I was already tired from working all week. Momma and I went out to get some air when I spotted a very attractive older (30’s) Italian man in the gazebo next to ours. As I mentioned before the language barrier makes it very difficult to have lengthy conversations but I assumed by explaining what he was wearing and where he was that there’d be little confusion. I was wrong. After pointing him out I went and sat down as they were distributing the lemon granitas. I was only 3 sips into my “slushie” when momma sat down beside me and handed me a piece of paper with several numbers on it and a name that read: Vincenzo. Apparently while I was catering to my sweet tooth momma decided to also indulge me with different Italian treat. However, instead of the man in the gazebo she pointed to one of the servers. Despite his beautiful hair, tanned skin and wrist tattoo I don’t think I’ll be dialing those digits.

First Week on the Job

The First week has honestly been so exhausting that I’ve found it hard to write even a few sentences. I wake up at 7am and begin singing/dancing promptly at 8:30am, followed by long and tedious hours of doing what I can only imagine the children picture me as being a teacher in a Charlie Brown sketch. Let me put it this way…even whistles can’t get these kids to make a proper line and we sing and we prance around like fools trying to get these kids to have fun and learn something. I love the kids though. Some of them are true gems, they want to learn and they try and lord knows it isn’t easy for them…but I’m not sure the lord knows how difficult it is as the teacher. I began this adventure thinking how great an experience is would be and I was right. I’ve learnt a lot! And for that I am thankful and I feel like I have another family that will always take me in (or so they’ve told me). But I struggle to find the energy and creativity to communicate with these kids. I think that as someone who is a complete foreigner has no right to come into a country and try to make rules such as “no Italian” when you’re the only one who doesn’t speak it. How can the teacher effectively teach without understanding what the kids are asking you. You cannot get feedback from them and feedback, I’ve come to learn, is a key element in the learning curve. These kids are intelligent. There is this one kid who knows more english than any other in the class and when I ask questions or give instructions the kids look at me until I’ve finished and then as if he blew a silent whistle that only they can hear their heads turn to look at him for some reprieve. I love to see their faces, especially Octavio. He is hard to miss as he has a full head of bright red hair and freckles. One afternoon at lunch he came to me with a bottle of water with this look of defeat on his face. I took the bottle in hand and with one quick twist the cap came off with little effort on my part. He was astonished. He looked at me like I was a superwoman in hiding. It was adorable and every lunch hour since he’s come to me to open the bottle.

Sealed with a Kiss

Officially one week later. I lasted one full week without the use of my cell phone (ok bbm doesn’t exactly count) or facebook, tv, films etc. Basically technology free (unless you count vending machines that serve espresso…I know, right?) I couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of coming to Italy (a.k.a the birthplace of espresso) and finding one of the most tell tale signs of Americanization (Industrialization, taking the human power out of production & mass producing standardized goods). Another rather depressing finding was the free food supplied by, albeit a beautiful restaurant on the beach, a place that knew nothing more than to how to make everything taste like pickled feet. Needless to say I lost a bit of weight over the last week.

NOT TO WORRY when I arrived at my ‘familia’s’ house just outside of Aulla (not on the map, but a central Tuscan town) they had every intention of putting some meat on my bones (quite literally as I found out they specifically asked for a non-vegetarian :)

On the way to meet my host family my nerves got the best of me and I felt as though my stomach had leapt into my throat. I’ve come to realize I’m much more of a pansy than I thought. I couldn’t think of anything but trying to keep the croissants & nutella-like substance from coming back up. I’ve never stayed with people I don’t know, in a country I don’t know, in a language I don’t know. People misunderstand me all the time but at least I understand them…this time it’s “non compisco” from both sides. Alas there is a silver…or should I say velvety smooth red lining…VINO! I brought my host family a small bottle of ice wine and an exceptionally cheap box (ya that’s right I said box) of white wine (because I happened to have it in my bag) to which they were very thankful and inquisitive. “Do I like wine?” The father asked. Hesitantly I replied yes, not wanting to seem like a wino (my cheap bottle of wine didn’t really help in that department). The mother smiled a devilish grin as she sat and smoked her Pall Mall cigarette. “You smoking? She asked. I knew that I had to be smart about how I answered this question because a) she probably wouldn’t understand and b) again, wanting to make a good impression so I said ‘only with friends”. Immediately I was tossed the pack and a lighter. I’ve come to learn that despite the incredible language barrier her and myself have A LOT in common! For starters, we both love red wine and cigarettes (together), we both love cheese and most importantly we both love MADONNA! I couldn’t be happier to have the family that I do. They are exceptionally loving and have already asked me to stay forever, we’ve broken out into song several times with the neighbors and the best kiss I’ve had all trip was the one that was placed on my cheek by their 10 year old daughter Beatrice, spoken with the sweet English words “goodnight”.

Re-cap of the last week (training).

Training was rather interesting. For whatever reason (I’m sure there are a couple good excuses I could dole out but I won’t this time) I think I lost my mind before leaving for this trip. I really believe I was not myself as I was exceptionally anxious and agitated, quiet, not silly just majorly lame. Whatever you call it, it lasted me up until about Tuesday of this week and it was terrible. Despite my best efforts to appear sane to people at training I think my roommates picked up on my bizarre feelings, as we didn’t really click. I generally enjoy meeting new people and similarly get on quite well with them (not to toot my own horn) but it’s a fact…I’m a pretty big deal ;) lol (so joking). Regardless, it was a major buzz kill to realize that I was kind of the odd one out in a sea of awesome people. I did manage to meet a few goodies though. This one girl in particular (let’s call her “bangs”) reminded me of my mom, sweeter than pie and I managed to hang with her a couple times which made the week more pleasurable because she didn’t seam to notice my being crazy and all. In addition, there was one night that I will remember for some time simply because it was just a lovely night with a great person. Let’s call him “Eastside Mario” (kind of an inside joke we have going). Anyways, I was on my way back to my room from a night of drinking and dancing at the café turned club on the beach when I saw a few teachers on the road and decided to stop and say hello. Eastside Mario grabbed my hand and just started twirling me and whirling me until we were just wildly spinning and laughing without pretense. We spun and giggled some more until he asked me to take a walk on the beach with him. Of course at this point I get tense but I decide to relax and see where the night takes me. So in the sand we twirl a little more until he looks down at me and kisses me. Sounds great right? Wrong! Okay that’s a lie, the idea of it still is very nice but the kiss itself was just not working for me. No spark. So I flitted off back to my room to catch a few hours of sleep before the singing and dancing began again. I should mention here that I’m a terrible person because before bumping into Eastside Mario I had been talking with NYC and told him I couldn’t stay because I was exhausted (albeit true I ended up staying out for another 2 hours). NYC and I had been chatting two nights prior to this at a different beach club. I got into a small squabble with a 40 year old Italian bear who decided it was cool to push me when I showed him my disinterest in getting to know him and NYC told me he’d walk me home. On the way he told me how beautiful I was and asked if it would be awkward if he kissed me and I responded “the question itself is rather awkward don’t you think?” but decided that my celibacy thing didn’t include kissing and after all I was in Italy. One kiss, and off I went. I was told the next day that he apparently had a crush on me.

June 06 2010

I’m on this journey to Italy/France (and apparently Amsterdam) as one whose job it is to teach and yet I find myself in the airport learning all sorts of lessons.

1. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been waiting or how nice you are, if your flight is cancelled, it’s cancelled. à My flight was scheduled to leave YYZ at 1pm (so I arrived promptly at 10am for check in etc.). Once all of this had been done it was up to me to just wait patiently. Around 11:30am I received a phone call from a strange number. It was the airline informing me that apparently JFK had some bad weather and my flight was cancelled and rescheduled to depart the next day. Well of course that wouldn’t do, as I had to be in San Remo, Italy in 24 hours. By calling the airline I was able to get on the flight leaving at 5pm that day (Sunday) and arrive in Amsterdam Monday morning, arriving in Nice at 11:40am. So I took it.
2. “relocate e respira“ Be patient, breathe, and be brave because everything will work out à So I may not have gotten the chance to see JFK airport on the way to France (I will have the opportunity on the way home) I get to take my connecting flight in Amsterdam. The AirFrance team at Pearson is incredible. They were so helpful and even asked if I had any preference in seating. Anyone who knows me well knows I had two preferences 1. nearest to the bathroom (small bladder) 2. Window seat (I’ve always had this thing about wanting to see everything I can. Turns out I got seated next to a really nice 20 something yr. old guy who offered me beers until we knew that AirFrance provides you with free booze during the flight.
3. Take inventory of what you’re holding & do one thing at a time à while going to the bathroom, I was also on the phone with my bank, letting them know I’d be traveling and not to freeze my account should some purchases show up from Italy. After setting down my boarding pass and other travel documents (passport securely in my purse…this time) I began washing my hands and using my shoulder to hold up the phone. As I left the washroom and noticed a Tim Horton’s just across the way I darted over ready to enjoy my last “Canadian” meal. It wasn’t until I was mouth full of chicken ranch wrap and needing my boarding pass when I noticed that the hand that held my folder so securely before was now clutching the Timmie’s bag. I ran back feeling incredibly oblivious when I saw a woman carrying, what looked to be, my (hard to miss) green folder. I looked at it, and then to the woman, and upon seeing my panic-stricken expression she said she was just coming to hand it over to the Info. Services desk but I thanked her profusely for saving my arse.
4. It’s always freezing cold in Airports. Despite my best efforts to stay cute and comfortable for my flight I was still exceptionally cold in a long dress and sweater.