One Month Down, Two to Go!

Salve amici,

Ah, it’s been about two weeks since I last posted. I’m about forty days into my stay here and only two months from heading back to the states – already nearly halfway done with my time here! Crazy.

The past two weeks have lacked surprises in the form of transportation strikes and losing power, which I suppose is good. Really my days have consisted mostly of class and wandering the city (without getting lost – ha!). And also eating. Mmm, Italian cuisine….

There’s not much to say other than I’ve been getting used to the city life okay. My poor navigational skills aside, Milan really is set up in a very efficient way. You have easy access to everything through combining walking and public transportation. Grocery store? Three minute walk around the corner. Metro entrance? Each one is only blocks from another. Bus stops? They’re everywhere. ATM? Every other street corner has one. Lunch/dinner out? The streets are riddled with restaurants.

I already know the efficiency and convenience of public transportation is something I’m going to miss when I get back home. I love my car, my Riley (on March 27, he’d been operating for me and my family for two years!), and he’s perfect to have in a place like Fredericksburg, but I very much like how everything is within walking distance here.

Initially this idea made me wrinkle my nose back in February – one-hour commute round-trip every day for class? No way. Not after getting used to only having to walk five minutes to get to class at Roanoke’s tiny campus. Eventually I warmed to the idea, mainly due to necessity, but only after a few days I began enjoying the long walks through the metro, listening to music and absorbing my surroundings.

One of the sometimes-neat and sometimes-annoying things about the metro are the traveling musicians that wander around playing music on their instrument of choice in attempt to earn some pocket change. I’ve seen an accordion, a guitar (with not too shabby vocal accompaniment), and a violin thus far. They’ve all sounded decent, and I’ve wanted to record some of their work just as a snapshot of my time here, but I’ve only managed to get the violinist so far. Here’s an audio recording of some of his performance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gmq_8bLAjn4

Another thing that is common to see in the metro are beggars holding gross cardboard signs claiming poverty or some sort of sickness (blind, deformed, limping, etc.). There’s a woman who sits in the same exact spot on the steps every afternoon who is pregnant and asking for money for food and I see her when I’m going home from class. One day after lunch on my way home, I hadn’t been able to eat my roll (they’re individually sealed in plastic), so I stuffed it in my bag. Instead of taking it home and trying to find a use for it at the apartment, I handed it to the woman on my way down the steps. I never wanted to toss money in the beggar’s cups because I share the common fear that they’re just going to use it to feed an addiction of theirs or otherwise spend it irresponsibly, so I figured there was only so much she could do with actual food.

When I bent over and gave her the bread, I didn’t hang around long to see her reaction. I just showed her a smile and went on my way. Over my shoulder I heard a sound and to this day I’m not sure if she was laughing at me or crying.

I really don’t like handouts. I observed a lot of these sorts of things during my time in Peru and it’s just unfortunate because it’s hard to tell if they’re truly hurting or not. I don’t ever want to throw fuel on the fire and make the beggars think I’ll always wander by and drop them some food, but I also don’t want to be on the end of a wrong decision when I could have made a difference between someone’s life or death. I doubt it is ever really that serious, but it’s still something I think about.

Aside from that, the city is clean and full of well-dressed people. Everyone here dresses nicely even for a quick stroll to the grocery store, which is new to me. I’m used to going to class in whatever is comfortable for me that day whether I want to wear heels and a dress or comfy pants and a big t-shirt. (Never sweatpants or leggings and Uggs, though! Bleck!) Here, however, if I went out in my pajama pants, which I was never afraid to do back at Roanoke, I would get strange looks and it would probably label me like a bright neon sign that I wasn’t from around these parts.

Along those same lines, I don’t feel quite as out of place as I did in Peru. Obviously a white face among dark skin stands out very easily, but here the difference is much more subtle. I blend with the crowd, as far as overall skin tone goes. A half-Italian, half-Spanish girl in one of my classes has told me I don’t look America, which I wholeheartedly took as a compliment. After three years of feeling like I didn’t quite belong under many curious eyes, I’m thankful for this change while being in a foreign land.

As is obvious, being in a foreign country also warrants foreign culture and ways of doing things. After a month of being here, I finally ran into the first obvious one: toilet design.

It surprised me to stumble upon this, though I suppose it shouldn’t have. While in Peru I dealt with hole-in-the-floor toilets, but the ones here in Italy are much more deliberate. In Peru it was due to the simple fact that they just couldn’t afford the whole porcelain outfit.

All in all, it’s been a good couple weeks here. Experiencing the culture and bathing in the language every day has been glorious and humbling. I can’t wait to see what the next two months have in store, but I know two things for sure: I’m going to Verona (the city of Romeo and Juliet) and Venice soon! Hurrah! I’m pretty excited for those trips, hehe.

All right, well, I suppose that’s all I have to say for now. I’m sure I’ll have a post about Verona shortly after I get back next Sunday, and another about Venice, so I don’t think you’ll go more than a week hearing from me, but I can’t promise anything ;)

Ta ta!

V

Chatter, Strikes, and Killing the Power

I sat on one of the wooden benches lining the grassy courtyard. Professors and students alike mingled, ambling aimlessly through the grass or sitting and talking. 

I scooted further down in my seat and let the sun's beams spread across my face; I became a lizard, stretching languorously in the heat. I closed my eyes and opened my ears. 

And I listened. I listened to the conversations like one might tune into radio chatter. I let the language roll over me in waves, picking out words and phrases I knew, but overall losing myself in the unknowns and mysteries of the foreign melodies.

It was beautiful. Everyone surrounding me could have been talking about what they had for lunch, or complaining about homework, or gossiping about that stupid boy in class - it didn't matter. The words hit my ears like silk and were beautiful all the same. 

With a strange smile spreading over my face, I knew English could never sound this way. It was polluted and trashed beyond saving.

-----

Ciao tutti!

I guess it's been a while since I've submitted a new blog post. The past couple weeks have been pretty groovy, I suppose, without many strange or otherwise intriguing happenings (like my getting hopelessly, horribly lost, for example). There have been a handful of curious instances, though, which I will briefly touch on here.

Last Wednesday, (the 5th of March), I experienced my first Italian strike. Apparently they are very common here and the Milanese people just groan and grumble about it before adjusting their schedules around it. The strikes are held by the public transportation employees, those who pilot buses and guide the metro through the bowels of Milan underground. So, on these days (which are generally Wednesday's and sometimes Friday's, or so I'm told), the drivers declare that they will collectively run only between specific, brief hours in the morning and evenings - nothing more. 

As a person who has only encountered a strike in the way of seeing it on the news days after the event, I found the organization odd. Typically, in my little head, I thought strikes were definite, a sort of all-or-nothing deal, but that's not how they work here. 

Thankfully this complication didn't contort my schedule too much; I needed to use the metro to get to and from school within their operating hours anyway, so I didn't have to walk or taxi in either direction. Attempting to walk would have been flirting with disaster, so I'm glad I didn't have to (it's a forty-five minute stroll at best, two-point-three miles - that leaves a huge spread of opportunity to get lost). 

Aside from the metros being impossibly crowded and stuffy (I couldn't even lift my arms on the ride home) and the overall dismal atmosphere constructed by everyone's mutual frustration, nothing was different. I survived the strike and the longest day of my week at school (9:30am to 5:30pm straight, four back to back two hour classes with no real lunch break) and was eager to get to the apartment, cook up something to eat, and relax.

Well, that had been asking too much.

I had hit the store just a five minute walk away and bought a pre-made pizza I could heat up in the oven (not necessarily frozen, but not fresh, either). Thus, I cranked on the dials and waited for the beast to warm through and pop the delicious, cheesy beauty in.

As soon as it made the clicking sound that indicated it was beginning to heat up, everything in the apartment shut off.

The kitchen was dark. The fridge quit humming. The oven was dead. The lights on the modem stopped blinking, cutting me off from nearly all communication to the outside world.

Keep in mind, too, that darkness descends here right around 6pm, so I had no help from natural lighting. I had to use the flashlight on my phone to maneuver through the apartment.

Thankfully I was able to contact someone of the housing staff from the international office after several frustrated attempts on the phone, and he was able to walk me through how to fix the issue. I had thrown the breaker by turning on the oven, which was odd because my roommate and I had used it numerous times before without any trouble. Anyway, I was able to restore power to the apartment after about an hour or so of uncertainty, and I knew how fix it if it ever occurred again. Piece of cake, glazed over with familiarity. 

Oddly, though, for the next week or so we couldn't use the oven or the itty bitty laundry machine because turning either one on threw the breaker. This was obviously an issue, as we hadn't had trouble with it in weeks before, and it didn't make sense. We were able to get the overall problem solved within a couple days, and the apartment is now operating at full potential, so I can warm up all the pizzas I want without trouble.

Other than all of the above, it's been pretty peachy keen here. The weather has been gorgeous, borderline springtime sort of thing - pretty, clear blue skies, and sunshine everywhere. At one point I glanced at the ten day forecast for Milan on my weather channel app, and it was high 50s and 60s all ten days with zero percent chance of precipitation all across the board. I don't know about you, but I have never seen such a forecast. And it all came true just as it said it would, which makes me a very happy, very warm little individual.

I certainly hope all is well back in the states (except for the weather - sorry! I'll try to send some sunshine your way!) and I miss you all very much. Being here has been a marvelous experience, and I'm only 1/4 of the way into it. I'll be happy to be home at the end of May, but man is Milan a nice place ;)

With love and gratitude,

V

Hesitations

It has been two and a half weeks since I dropped down into the veins of Milan’s streets and I keep thinking that instead of sitting in my apartment reading or otherwise relaxing, especially on beautiful sunny days such as these, I should be outside adventuring. Traveling within my travels, so to speak. I scold myself, saying that this is a huge opportunity to seize and explore this foreign land, and my own existence. But then I realize that during my time in Roanoke, for nearly two years, I haven’t gone to the Star (which is an icon for Roanoke, or so I’m told), or The Home Place, which is a well-known diner for the area that apparently serves some of the most delicious food around. I haven’t neglected to experience these things based on choice - largely I would say it’s simply due to my nature. I like to be adventurous, sure, but on the whole I’m a very tranquil soul and like to spend my time in places that are familiar to me. Also it’s probably due to my way of prioritizing things; if it’s not important and on my way to anywhere I need to go, then I don’t need to waste my gas going there. Because exploring, my friends, costs money these days.

Another thing I have realized is my hesitation on going out to a local restaurant here and trying the food. I have yet to be invited out, or to simply go out with some friends from the international student body (which is, suffice to say, tiny - even by Roanoke’s standards) in order to observe how they do things and where they go first. I would like to be informed of the customs of eating out here before I give it a go myself. (For example, a friend I’ve had a couple brief chats with told me that when you order a pizza, you commit to it – it’s seen as an insult to leave any of it behind.) As I mentioned in an earlier post, I learn best by observation - either that, or asking an exorbitant amount of detailed questions. So, seeing as I don’t speak the language (which falls entirely on me, don’t let me convince you otherwise), the latter is not possible. Sooner or later I will get the chance to go out with my roommate or some friends, it just hasn’t happened yet. (Remember, tranquil soul? That also melds with my introverted nature. I will make friends in due time. It’s just a little slower for me than others.)

In my defense as well, even back home, where I spoke the language just fine and knew the culture and customs like the involuntary systems of my body, I did not particularly like going places I hadn’t before, at least when I was by myself. Heck, I am absolutely terrified of speaking to people in my native tongue on the phone that I am not in regular contact with. I hate making appointments and ordering food through the phone. (Just ask my mother - it takes me several minutes to gear up to a phone call that will last a minuscule fraction of the time I spent preparing, and I still feel like a inept idiot after I've hung up.) Therefore it should not come as a surprise to me when I feel the most comfortable sitting on my bed with the window open to the peaceful side-street my apartment clings to, reading or simply lying here, thinking. 

I have to remember, too, that during my time here I have been pushed to the edge – and beyond – of my limits, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Some are ongoing battles I knew I would be engaging in here long before I ever set foot on my plane; others I have fought and emerged the victor. I have to remind myself that I have been branching out since day one, and though some of those things are common tasks now (i.e. powering through the metro to get to and from class every day; frequenting the store down the street), they are improvements in my little bubble of being. Experiences. Adventures. They may not be quite the Indiana Jones type, but they certainly are adventures to me.

Anyway, as it stands, it’s only been barely three weeks - I still have nearly three months left. There’s no need for me to hurry through all the adventures in the beginning just to check them off a list and be satisfied with that. I will warm to the ideas and possibilities (there’s no way I’m leaving the country without at least seeing Venice, maybe Florence), but it will take some time. Perhaps that makes me a strange breed – but believe me, I don’t mind that at all.

Buona sera, my friends!

With love,

V