Hey Italy, I Hope You Remember All the Good Times We Had!

A much-needed cleaning of my room ended with my suitcase being unearthed from the depths of my closet, and partially filled with clothes and the material accumulation of almost four months in Italy.

As I started to sort through all the things that I’ve accumulated over the course of the semester, I battled the pack-rat’s urge to hold on to various useless mementos—ticket stubs and fliers and receipts—which are tangible reminders of a semester that still doesn’t seem real. I think there’s some part of me that worries that if I toss my grocery receipt in the trash, I might also lose the memory of all the tomato and mozzarella salads I’ve eaten. And also, as I begin the packing process, I’m slowly erasing any mark of my occupancy of this space for the past four months.

Even from this side of the ocean, I can see that Italy has left some pretty big marks on me. I already know I’m going to be that annoying person answering my cellphone “Pronto!” and peppering my conversations with ciao ciao’s and che bella’s and andiamo’s. I’ll turn up my nose at college pasta, tomato sauce, lasagna, and pizza for the rest of my life, and probably be in a permanent state of sticker-shock at the prices of stateside vino. I know that studying abroad has been one of the biggest things I’ve ever done, though I don’t think I’ll be aware of all the ways it’s affected me until I finally get back the US (or, as we’ve come to affectionately call it her, Ahmurrrr-kuh).

But what about Italy? It doesn’t seem fair that it could have such an impact on me, but that once my plane launches me out of the country, there’ll really be no trace of my ever having been here. Doesn’t this country care?

There will be some less-than-stellar photos left hanging on the walls of the Siena School, and I guess I’ll exist in the medical records of the clinic that treated my Pink Eye…hmm, not exactly the legacy I was going for. Of course, the whole point of coming to Italy was to imbibe all it had to offer, to soak in the sweetness of la dolce vita and maybe come out the other end with some fantastic experiences, not the other way around. And I think I can say that Italy has done that for me.

But still. Anytime you spend a significant chunk of time in a place, you start to feel like you own a little piece of it. I have my favorite spots to sit in the afternoon sun, my favorite pasticceria for pastry and gelateria for a sugar fix, and a regular table to meet up with friends at the Baron Rosso. I want to be able to claim these things a little more permanently, to know that even if never come back to Italy again, those places can still belong to me in some way.

There’s a pizza place in Florence whose walls are solidly scribbled over with the signatures of thousands of patrons. I was excited to find another Abby who had written “Abby from Baltimore ate pizza here!” and I wrote next to it, “Abby from Boston did too!” Graffiti is and instinctive way of affirming our existence in a place and a time; it’s been going on forever. At the British Museum in London, I saw an enormous Assyrian gate with a board game etched into its side by the palace guards to help pass the time; Michelangelo’s David has a small graffiti initials on his right calf where some Renaissance passerby made their mark, back when the statue stood outside.

I’m obviously not going to take a chisel to any priceless works of art—I guess I’ll have to be satisfied all the people who’ve made this whole thing so special—my host family, who are the best, and who I’ll miss a lot. And all the Siena Schoolers , who’ve shared the same experiences as I have and know which bar is the Elizabeth’s Bar, which is the Cheap Bar, which server at Kopakabana gives the most generous gelato scoops, where to get the biggest pizza slices. And exactly what we mean when we say, che schifo?!?

Che schifo or not--it's usually more on the side of che brava-- this has been a great couple of months. I'm excited to drag out my time here after the semester officially ends on Wednesday, but I also know it'll feel great to get back to the USA.

It's been fun keeping this blog, this may be my last post ever, so I'll say ciao ciao for now : )

Che schifo or not--usually it's more on the side of che bravo--this has been a great couple of months, and I'm so excited that I get to drag my time out here are little longer, after the semester finishes this Wednesday. This is probably my last post, so thanks to anyone who's been keeping up with me, I've had a lot of fun doing this!

ciao ciao for now : )

Setting My Place at the Family Table

Today Annalisa asked me to set the table. Let me tell you why this is important:

Living with a host family means sharing intimate space with a unit of people who talk a lot, fight sometimes, have loud phone conversations, hog the bathroom, watch their favorite TV shows on high volume, take trips together, have friends over, and everything else. Living with them means constantly walking a line between inserting yourself into parts of their life where there didn't used to be a 20-year-old American girl before. And sometimes it's awkward.

It's safe to assume that the Martinis don't usually spend a lot of time fussing over their spot at the beach, worried that a certain palid someone will fry in the Italian sun. And most of the year, 10 year old Olga has her own room, and Mom and kids don't all share a bathroom to politely privatize their second one for a houseguest who drinks more milk than all of them combined and takes longer-than-average showers.

As much as I'm part of the Martini household, being such a close observer of their lives reminds me constantly that I'm not actually a part of their family. When Olga and Livio come home, Annalisa hugs them both, slowing kisses them each on the forehead, then her hands on their shoulders and asks them about their day. It's adorable and endearing, but also reminds how far I am from my own family. Annalisa scolds Livio for sleeping too late and berates Olga leaving clothes and shoes strewn across the floor of the room they're now sharing, but would never comment on the state of my room or on my sleeping habits. When she warns Olga to stop taking bread because she'll get fat, she pushes bread-and pasta-and meat!-and cheese!!! towards me with an encouraging smile.

Tonight I sat at the dinner table in the kitchen as Annalisa prepared dinner and chatted with a friend who had come over. I felt awkward, holding my book and alternately trying to listen to their conversation and look like I didn't care if I had no idea what was going on. I'm always doing this; trying to be a part of their family life without disrupting it. So when Annalisa looked up from her slicing and dicing, halted her rapid conversation and spoke a slow sentence simply telling- not asking- me to set the table...well, I was pretty delighted. It means having a reason to be in the kitchen with her and her friend and her family, it means doing something useful instead of just adding another place setting and another set of laundry to her household duties.

I counted the number of places correctly: one for Uncle Andreas at the foot of the table, regardless of whether he's present at the time of dinner or not. One for Annalisa's friend who said her name too fast for me to catch, and one for Annalisa beside her. Livio at the head of the table. And, as usualy, my spot is next to Olga.

Una settimana under my belt

OK.

It's been one week, and I'm starting to settle down a bit, but we've been so busy that I really haven't had a chance to process anything. We arrived last Thursday in Rome, drove 3 hours to Assisi to bond and get oriented at an "agrituristica" surrounded by vineyards, then met our families on Saturday evening outside of Siena. My family took me to Arezzo on Sunday, and then I started my 5 hours/day of intensive Italian and culture study on Monday. But I've identified a few trends and aspects of life in Europe, in Italy, in Siena, and even just my host family that I'll be keeping tabs on while I'm here. So, here's what I'll be paying attention to:

• THE FOOD. Eating habits, attitudes about health and the body, all that stuff. So far, everything in Europe is smaller, fresher, and less processed. The traditional diet is extremely carb-y (think pasta TWICE a day, plus bread, plus cheese), but luckily my whole life has conditioned me to be happiest with this kind of diet (thanks Mom!!). I could go on for ages about the food...oh, and there's gelato...
• Living in a Medieval City. It's nothing like living anywhere in the US.
• Rules of the Road. I really thought I was going to puke when my host mom drove the fam out to Arezzo...
• and of course, my HOST FAMILY. They are an endless source of information and intrigue; we're still getting to know each other but it's been going well. Once I can speak more Italian I think it will be even better!
• **Fashion** Man-purses and super skinny jeans? I'm lovin it (and imagining any male from home rocking the same styles)
• and, ever the American Studies major (and feeling guilty about not getting a single credit towards it), I've been tuning in to race relations here in Siena...just from comments made by my host family, graffiti I've seen in the city, and headlines in the paper it looks like a vibrant issue here! Hooray...?

That's it for now! I'm taking advantage of a break at school- everyone just went to the Italian post office to apply for Sienese permits of stay; this is yet another hurdle I've been able to bypass with my Irish passport.

Benvenuta

Haven't quite figured out how to operate my voltage converting thingy yet, so I'll keep this short as my battery is about to croak:

I made it here!!! This was the information given to me about my host family:

"Annalisa move to Siena in July 2007; she fully Sienese in any case...she has two children (ages 14 and 10). Both children shoot archery. Livio practices kung-fu, and Olga does rythmic gymnastics. Annalisa works in a school or neuropathy in Fiesole and has a herbal remedy store in Siena's Piazza del Campo. When she was younger she had four American students in her home. She loved the experience and wanted to repeat it along with her children."

Fantastico!

Intensive Italian classes begin Monday, but for the moment I'll be watching "Honey" in Italian with Olga...