Moonbows, Racism, and Alternative Families

Last night when we were walking towards the bus stop, there was a hazy, muted rainbow all the way around the moon with all of the colors, red through violet. It was like those rare circular daytime rainbows except whited and ethereal. We risked life and limb by walking up the hill by the school offices (frequently populated by whizzing motorcycles and buses that barely fit in the narrow street) with our heads craned up, and, about halfway up the hill, the clouds receded, dragging the moonbow off with them until it was gone.

There's a little bit of beauty to balance out the rest of this post. My host family, I have been continually realizing, is, like much of Siena, firmly rooted in the past. I mean, our host mother has talked to us about premarital sex and abortion and all manner of rather modern topics, but, in some ways, she and Giulio may as well be living in the first half of the last century. For example, there has been a recent and rather large immigration of Albanians into the area, and the natives are dead set against them. Giuliana has told us the Albanians are always getting pregnant and leaving their babies with the state and that Siena is safe except for the Albanians. Apparently large groups of them gather in the Campo at night and we are to avoid them or travel in pairs when they are around. I have, by the way, seen no such large groups, and our program directors assure us that anywhere in the city walls (especially in the Campo), we are perfectly safe. Apparently, it has also become something of a habit to say of anything shabby or poorly made that it is Albanian or made by Albanians. This makes Flannery and I pretty uncomfortable, but there is a certain line we don't feel like we can cross with them.

Along the same lines, I am convinced that there are no gay people in Siena or, at least, no openly gay people. All of the women are as feminine as feminine can be and the men as manly as manly can be, and they all exude heterosexuality. The only places I have seen homosexuality even mentioned are American MTV (dubbed into Italian) and a rather cultured (not exactly a blockbuster) movie. I feel like I am back in Kansas times ten, and I don't like it one bit.

Anyway, that is it for now. Tomorrow, I shall write about Lucca and my thesis.

Oggi è veramente la primavera.

The title of this post is what my host mom said to me yesterday morning, and it turns out she is right; it is well and truly springtime. Behind my apartment, a solitary tree is blooming pink against the green and rolling Tuscan hills. The sun has been shining warm enough to make me shed my jacket, and I have even broken out my springiest of dresses.

I apologise, by the way, for not posting recently. I got caught up in applying for summer stipends to cover this amazing internship I have been offered in Spain, and I have been figuring out my senior thesis and planning visits and trips and all manner of things. I shall post more details tomorrow, but suffice to say, I am falling ever more in love with linguistics. I shall also post, by the way, some photos from a lovely trip to Lucca, which has an antiques market and a carnivale celebration to be reckoned with.

For now, I have been in this office all day and am looking forward to the soccer game this evening. Other students and even some of the program directors get together once a week for a scrimmage, and this is the first time I have been able to go. Ciao, amici!

A Trip in Pictures

We left Siena Friday afternoon and arrived at about 10:30 in Sessa Aurunca, the home of Albert's great-grandfather. It is a sleepy, tiny town with wrought-iron balconies and cracking plaster. It was damn near empty when we arrived, and we had to ask people until we found the single trattoria (restaurant) that rented rooms. It was actually a bit frightening since the town is tiny, and outside of the town is only rundown buildings and roads that peter off into dirt paths and barbed wire fences. The owner of the trattoria seemed to be making prices up on the spot, but it cost about the same as a hostel, and there was nowhere else to stay, so we settled ourselves into our rooms. Below is a view from the balcony of one of the rooms:



We had a surprisingly fun time that night, listening to music and enjoying surprisingly strong wine that our hostess mixed with sparkling water and sent up to us in a plastic bottle. If any of you are planning on traveling in the South of Italy, let me warn you: the wine is generally home-made and strong as all get-out; basically, it's the moonshine equivalent of wine.

When we woke up, we discovered that the town that seemed slightly eery by night was actually quaint and lovely. It is smoother than Siena, with less rough stone and more plaster. The churches have these lovely Byzantine domes, a little architectural reminder of distant history. Below is a picture of a church just outside of homes. It isn't as lovely as the duomo, but I adore that red color.



Just outside of town, we happened upon the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. I still find it remarkable that, in Italy, one can just happen upon such things.


After a few hours exploring Sessa Aurunca, we took off for Pompeii. 'Twas a beatiful drive, except when we passed by Naples, which is rundown, though in a way that was more indifferent than sad.

Pompeii was incredible. For much of our time there, we hardly passed any other tourists, so we wandered the ancient streets in an eery silence, never knowing whether we were allowed into the rooms and courtyards that we wandered into. It was large enough to be overwhelming, and all I remember clearly are the frescos and the faces of the frozen people.


This picture of myself in Pompeii I stole from Flannery. It captures the mood of our visit well, I think.


After Pompeii, we had a rainy drive to Sorrento, a coast town where we spent the night in a rather severe hostel that had pages of rules posted everywhere. We snuck in one euro bottles of cabernet sauvignon after our dinner out (gnocchi, pizza, lemoncello, and a sampler of traditional, alcohol-soaked cakes from the region that were really to die for. Seriously, they put tiramisu to shame, and that's saying a lot for me) and chilled in our room for a bit before taking a walk through the city. It was all lit up for Carnivale, and there were tons of people out and about, as opposed to when we had arrived at seven or so and the place was near empty.


We woke up the next morning to a beautiful day. Below is a picture of the Sorrento harbor:


We decided to spend the day (which was also, coincidentally, Albert's birthday) in Capri. All of the swank shops were closed for the season, and there were only two resolute tour guides trying to convince people to pay a ridiculous amount of money to take a boat ride into the blue grotto (a cave that has really blue water). Below is a picture Flannery took of me on Capri (note how warm it was!):


Here's a picture of all three of the girls:


Really, Capri is intensely gorgeous. I am so glad we went when there weren't any tourists. We hiked all the way up the hill and around the island on completely empty back streets and stopped for drinks at a mostly-empty cafe. We ended up misreading the schedule (Italian dates are written day-month-year, not month-day-year) and missing our ferry, but we didn't actually mind spending an extra three hours on the island.

We decided to save ourselves the cost of another hostel room and drove all the way home on Sunday, stopping a couple of times so our driver could nap and get some food. We arrived home late at night, and I collapsed into bed and slept long and well. All in all, it was a thoroughly successful trip. The perfect road trip, in fact.

Food and Travel

Greetings, Friends,

I am taking off today on a road trip to Pompeii (and then . . . the world!!), so I shall post when I get back with stories and pictures.

So the other day, Giuliana asked Flannery and I if we liked hamburgers. A little confused, we said that, yes, we did like hamburgers, and she said that night we would have them for dinner. Flannery and I waited all day, with some trepidation, to see what her version of hamburgers would be (she even asked us if we preferred hamburgers or cheeseburgers!). As it turns out, it was the most delicious thing I have possibly ever tasted. She served us hamburger patties covered with this amazing sauce made with olives and tomatoes (she makes her own tomato paste and canned tomatoes and jars her own olives, all from the garden her husband keeps).

Ciao

Bambini and Boots

I love my children. And I get to see them every week this semester! I took off to go to the Scuola Materna yesterday morning half an hour ahead of time, since I knew my directional sense (or lack thereof) was likely to get me in trouble. As it turns out, that was good. I got halfway to the city before I was sure I'd missed my turn, but I managed to find my way to the correct school via three Italians (an little old lady, a newspaper deliverer, and a young woman) who didn't really know quite where it was but knew there were a couple of Scuola Materne somwhere close by. As it turns out, I got there right on time, but it took me five minutes to get through the rather complex security (you have to get buzzed into two separate doors). The children, though, were adorable. I taught them the Good Morning song, how to introduce themselves, the names of their family members, and the colors. Classroom discipline being not quite the same here as in the states, all the children had to show me their pictures individually before we could proceed to a new activity.

They were also pretty cute while learning colors. The Italian word for yellow is giallo (pronounced with a g like the one in "gym"). They were so excited that the English word for yellow is similar to the Italian one that our color learning went something like this:

Micaya: In English, this color is yellow. Can you say yellow?
Bambini: Giallo!!
Micaya: No, listen: yellow.
Bambini: Giallo!!
Micaya: Yellow
Bambini: Giallo!!

Sigh.

So my other exciting news from yesterday was: my boots. I have never understood women's obsession with shoes. I mean, they're just things that go on your feet so they don't get hurt, right? What's the big deal? Well, now I understand. I love these boots. I adore these boots. And buying them was fate . . . fate, I tell you. I decided to walk down a new street yesterday, and I walked past a tiny shoe shop. In the window were these boots, just sitting there all innocently looking gorgeous and sexy at me. They were a little above the price range I'd been looking for, even at half off (Everything in Italy is currently on sale since it's carnivale). However, the shop was closed for its mid-day break, so I told myself I should just go study and leave the boots be. Well, I then proceeded to get horridly lost. Sienese streets don't ever go in a straight line, and I got completely disoriented. By the time I got back to the piazza, it was an hour later, which was when the shop opened. So I told myself I'd just go and try them on. Well, as it turns out, there was only one pair of these boots left in the entire store, and they were my size. So I bought them. I bought them and walked out of the store with an enormous carrier bag, and I've been basking in the purchase ever since. Last night, Flannery and I literally just sat on my bed staring at my boots where they were propped against my desk talking about how lovely they are. They're made from this rich, dark brown leather that is incredibly smooth. They lace all the way up my calves. Anyway, I have never been so in love with a thing . . . I know it's very unQuaker of me, but I really love these boots.

Ciao, amici!

They Cancelled Soccer and I Can't Believe my Host Father

There was a riot after a national soccer game in Sicily this weekend during which many people were injured and one police officer was killed. As a result, all national soccer games in Italy have been put on hold indefinitely. I was actually kind of proud of myself that I could understand the report on TV (TV journalists here speak really, really, really quickly), but I'm disappointed that I won't be able to go to my soccer game tomorrow (and also kind of embarrassed to be disappointed about such a thing).

And now, the most recent incident involving Giulio, my host father. Below is a paraphrased and translated dialogue involving Giulio, his wife, Giuliana, Flannery, and myself. Without further ado . . .

The Most Embarrassing Dinner Conversation Ever

Guilio: So, Micaya, where do you and your boyfriend like to go?
Micaya: (confused look)
Flannery: Well, they're poor college students, so they probably can't afford to travel much.
Micaya: Well, we go into the city for dinner sometimes.
Giulio: So you spend all your time in his room, do you? You know . . .
Giuliana: Giulio!
Giulio: . . . as I was saying . . .
Giuliana: GIULIO!
Giulio: GIULIANA!
Giuliana: GIULIO!
Giulio: GIULIANA!
Giulia: That was true of our times but not now.
Giulio: Sex before marriage is a mortal sin!
Giuliana: Not anymore . . . people live together before marriage all the time and no one cares.
Giulio: I waited six years for you! In Italy, it's a sin! You girls can make love when you go back to America. You know girls, when you go to confession . . .
Giuliana: Giulio! That was only in our time, not now.
Giulio: . . . the priest used to make you say everything you'd done with your significant other. You had to say, "Then I held her hand; then I touched her leg; then I touched her . . . "
Giuliana: Giulio!
Giulio: Really, the priests are just jealous because they can't go to bed with a woman.
Micaya and Flannery: (become suddenly fascinated with the tablecloth)
Giulio: I speak only the truth.
Flannery: Because, you know, not telling the truth is also a sin . . .
(everyone laughs and the conversation moves on to other things)

So Flannery and I are pretty sure Giulio is generally kidding when he has these sorts of conversations, but he seems so earnest. Mostly, I think he just likes to rile his wife. Anyway, Flannery and I were highly embarrassed.

A Day in the Life

So apparently certain parties (hi Herbert! *waves*) have been complaining about the lack of details in this blog. Therefore, here’s a “my typical day” post.

I wake up most days at about 7,30 or 8,00 and brush my teeth, get dressed, etc. I also tend to clean up my room a bit, since if I, for example, leave a pair of shoes out, my host mother will just put them away when she comes in to dust, and, frankly, that makes me a little uncomfortable. I only shower every other day and then only for about ten minutes because it’s a miserable affair. Water pressure is miserable, the water is so soft that it takes minutes to wash the soap off, and there’s not really a shower, per se, only a hand-held thingy, meaning that I generally just give up and sit in the darn tub. Flannery says it’s practically degrading. At the very least, it’s cold and doesn’t particularly make me feel clean after.

Breakfast is also somewhat different. Italians tend to just have coffee and a pastry for breakfast, which would make me rather sick. Mentioning eggs as a breakfast food tends to provoke a certain amount of skepticism. I mentioned the first morning I was here that I liked to drink tea. Now, every morning when I come to breakfast, I have “tea” waiting for me. I use the quotations because it’s not exactly the tea I’m used to. First of all, Italians seem to be rather fond of the lukewarm. Water comes without ice, and milk is served warm. At any rate, my host mother puts a teabag and a lemon in a cup of water and then heats it on a burner until it’s not quite boiling. The end result is that the Twining’s English Breakfast she serves me every morning is unrecognizable. I’m actually getting rather fond of it, actually. I drink my tea and have yogurt (also inexplicably different) and sometimes a tangerine (I eat about five of those a day; we always have fruit after every meal).

I take a bus to class, since my host family lives outside the city walls, as do most Sienese people. I actually don’t mind so much. I have a lovely hilly view from my window (see below), and the bus ride isn’t too long. I’d always rather admired the way Alan (who’s been in Boston his whole life) can stay standing on subway cars. Well, after a few months here, I’ll be able to give him a run for his money. Seats are in short supply on these buses, and during busy times, people pack in like sardines.

Thusfar, I only have intensive Italian classes (five hours a day of Italian!). The hours change daily, so I’m always having to check where I am when. Similarly, deadlines seem to be more suggestions than anything else, and my teachers very often forget what homework they assigned or whether they assigned any at all. At any rate, there are two offices in the city, one right by the campo (the main piazza) and the other at the base of an enormous hill (seriously, this city puts San Francisco to shame). Between classes and wandering around Siena (I’ve already bought two incredibly lovely scarves during my long walks and am in search of the perfect pair of lovely leather boots) I spend the entire day in the city.

I always get back for dinner, though. Dinner, you understand, is the most important part of my day. I mean, I’ve always loved food, but now I think about it all the time. Dinner last at least an hour, often two and is always a mutliple-course affair. We start with pasta or soup, which is my favorite part. In the two weeks I’ve been here, we’ve only once repeated a type of pasta. I never knew there were that many kinds, actually. After pasta, we have our meat and vegetable courses. Tuscan cooking favors thin slices of meat, and I’ve had some really quite interesting veggies. My favorites have been the stems of the artichoke plant, which tastes like artichoke but more bitter, and fennel. After dinner, we eat a slice or two of cheese (I am officially in love with pecorino, which is Italian sheep cheese). After cheese, we have dessert (cake or chocolate or a Sienese specialty called panforte) and then fruit. I have also gotten used to drinking rather potent red table wine with lunch and dinner. My host father is very insistent that it’s good for me and that I should always drink it.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Sorry if that was rather boring. My next post will be stories about my host father (he’s quite a joker, that one).

Italian Lesson o’ the Day:

If you want to say someone is courageous in Italian, you can say:

Ha palle quarati (literally translates to “has square testicles”)

And now, for your viewing pleasure, some views from my bedroom window:

Italian Bureaucracy and Other Musings

I was supposed to teach English to my tiny Italians (five-year-olds!) Wednesday morning at 10am. However, this being Italy, plans changed. The service director called at 9,00 (I’m getting to like the 24-hour clock; it saves some confusion) to say he’d talked to the teacher who had said, no, it was actually 11,00 that I was teaching. We arrived, therefore at about ten till eleven. We first went to the door of the preschool and tried to get the attention of the teacher to ask where the entrance to the kindergarten was. While she made her way over, there was a whole posse of two-year-olds with their hands and faces pressed against the glass, staring up incredulously at the blond lady in the garish red coat (Italians tend to dress in more somber colors) and the incredibly tall man (Mike, our service director, is 6’5’’). I wish I could teach them, instead . . . not that they’d actually learn, but playing with small children counts as service, right? So we finally found the door to the scuola materna, and the teacher came to meet us to say that, actually, it was Monday, and at 10,30, and, besides, she had to check with the students’ parents and let them know they were starting to study English first. This explanation actually took about 10 minutes of incredibly fast Italian, after which she shook my hand and asked if that would work, and all I think of to say was “Sì.” I swear Italians must think my language skills are none too grand because I don’t quite have the quick response thing down. I can understand what they’re saying darn near perfectly, and all I have to say in response is “sì” or “no” or “va benne,” which means okay. At any rate, this sort of organizational difficulty is apparently typical and perhaps the reason why no two clocks in any home or office will give the same time and the buses are always arriving early or late. Not that I’m complaining. A relaxed sense of punctuality actually suits me quite well.
Now, for your viewing pleasure, a couple of pictures of what this lovely city looks like in the winter.





Also, a short Italian lesson o’ the day:

When in a shop or restaurant, to be more polite and avoid directly demanding something, you can use, of course, the conditional:

Vorrei la pane con olive. I would like the break with olives.

Or, as we talked about in class today and I’ve heard a few times, you can use the imperfect:

Volevo la pizza margherita. I was wanting the pizza margherita