Apartamento Dolce Apartamento

I've never had much of a history of giving up. When I say I'll do something, no matter how difficult it gets (usually without realizing it will be that way in the first place), I tough it out. If I sign up for a class that turns out to be the opposite of what I expected, I don't drop. It's a blatant stubbornness, I suppose, so when my initial reaction to arriving in Italy was wanting desperately to go home, I was floored. As overwhelming and frustrating as the first day was, I'm glad I steeled myself and made a bargain in my head, agreeing that if I gave it a week or two and I really just could not stand it, I would cry for help. So, after the first few days of getting accustomed to Milan piece by piece, I'm certain that I will like it here. It was weakness that almost got the best of me, nearly drowned me in frantic emotion. But I'm glad I never give up so easily. 

It is currently the eve of day five of my being in Milan, and so far, I have successfully gone to the grocery store twice, withdrawn money from an ATM, and traveled via the metro and not gotten lost again! It certainly has been a trying week, but things are getting better. I am getting more and more used to life here and how certain things works, but there is still much for me to learn of the local customs.

As for right now, though, I’ve been happy simply exploring my apartment, the complex, and the street it is located on. Lucky for you, I want to share these things, so welcome to the grand tour of my apartamento! Andiamo!

Okay, the first quirk I noticed upon entering the apartment is that there are keys for every single door in the place. There are two front doors (three if you count the gate to get into the apartment complex from the street), a bedroom door, and a bathroom door. Yes, the bathroom does indeed lock from the inside via key. 

When you walk through both the front doors, you are immediately in the kitchen and dining area. There’s a stove, over, dishwasher, fridge, and sink. As you can see, the kitchen isn’t very different from a typical American kitchen (except for the color scheme, which is laughably relevant to my family – Go Blue!).

Down the hall just a few steps to your left is a bathroom. This bathroom, as might come as a surprise, is actually fairly good-sized. By American standards, it probably would seem tiny, but for me it’s perfect. The largest thing in the room is the sink (perhaps because it doubles as a wash basin for washing clothes). There is also a tiny itty bitty washing machine (that according to my roommate takes “forever and a day” to do a single load, which just lends even more to the fact that most Italians simply hand wash their clothes), a bidet, a toilet, and a shower. The shower is about the size of a phone booth. My best estimated measurements are that it’s two and a half feet wide with a depth of about two feet, whereas the top of the door and where the tile stops is probably somewhere between six and six and a half feet tall. 

At the end of the little hall is the bedroom, which my roommate and I share comfortably. (I apologize for the poor, grainy quality of the photo – the lighting in that room is horrendous.) My bed is larger than a twin, more like a one and a half, and hers is a twin. There’s a chair and ottoman combo in the back corner, and a desk in the opposite corner. The wall to the right is primarily covered in closet and storage space for clothes and belongings. There are only two windows in the apartment – one is located in the kitchen, looking out into the apartment complex, and the other is in the bedroom, looking out onto the street.

I don’t personally have much experience with apartments, but in my experience with living spaces in general, I think this place is very nice and roomy. None of the rooms are too small and I had no trouble unpacking my things. Overall I am thoroughly pleased with my living space!

We are located on the first floor, so I don’t have to take many stairs to venture out into the streets of Milan. I can’t complain about the location of the complex, either. I’m half a mile away from my ATM, just a block or two away from the metro station, and right around the corner from a supermarket. In addition to that, there are food shops and bars lined up and down our street as well as those branching off of ours, thought thankfully it doesn’t get loud at night!

So far, things have been shaping up nicely. Each day I have been able to push myself out of my comfort zone a little bit more and be brave. After being in Peru for a couple years, I’m used to experiencing things that breach those safe comfort zone walls, so it comes as no surprise to me to have to do those sorts of things again.

So, sitting here in the kitchen, eating dinner and enjoying a crisp cold beverage at the end of my first Saturday, I feel I have done all right. I’ve stumbled and bumbled my way through numerous situations, but I’ve emerged out the other side braver and more experienced. If I had to choose just a couple words to describe my week, they would be bravery and familiarity for sure.

V

Carving Ruts (and Getting Stuck)

On Wednesday, my very first full day in Milan, I got lost. For two hours. 

As I've established in the previous post, I have extremely poor navigational skills and have shed my extrovert skin (either that, or I've grown an introverted shell), so despite the fact I was armed with a detailed map of Milan, it was little help. 

It was my first time powering through the metro stations alone (that morning my roommate so graciously let me follow her down the streets, through the stations, and to the university), and I've had very limited experience in dealing with these trains and tiled subways that at times smell faintly of urine. I had successfully made it from the university to the final stop near my apartment, but I managed to surface out of the station on the wrong street. Though I was still relatively close by, it was the biggest mistake I could have made. 

Since it was my first full day ever being in Italy, the only streets I knew were the one where my apartment is located (which just so happens to be a tiny little diagonal side street that's about half an inch long on the map) and where my school is. Otherwise, the names are all jumbled to me. 

So I simply started walking. At the very least, it was a worrisome but great way to begin creating my internal map of Milan in my area of residence. I kept walking, sometimes turning corners when I thought I saw a street name I recognized. And I kept walking. And walking. 

It was starting to get dark (at almost six on the dot it's pretty much night time) and I'm not yet comfortable being out in the streets alone after dusk settles. That was when I actually started to worry. My feet were cold and wet due to the rain earlier that day leaving numerous unavoidable puddles splashed all over the sidewalks, and the map tucked in my bag was as much help as all the street signs I was passing by. 

A few possibilities for help zipped through my head. The first one was to simply stop a kind face on the sidewalk and ask them if they knew where my street was (I figured I could get that far, but understanding their response would have been the hard part). After only a moment, I banished that idea. Earlier that day, I had been researching Milan and it's quirks, things to expect, what the people were like, etc., and I had read that the Milanese were very cold on the streets. That last thing I wanted was to make someone feel threatened in some way and cause trouble I couldn't even understand. 

Option two was getting more and more inviting, though less doable. I could get a taxi and simply tell them my address and pay for the trip regardless of how far it was. If I was totally out of my district, I would just have to eat it and deal with it; at least I would get home safely. The only problem posed was that there were no free taxis, even as I continued walking down several streets, looking out for any cars with taxi hats. Isn't that the way, though? When you don't need one, they're all over, and they hound you, but when you do, not a one is in sight. 

Darkness crept over the tall buildings, bathing everything in shadows. Lamps began to pop on. 

It was down to option three. 

Without hesitation, and with all the gratitude my tired body could muster, I pulled out my phone and called my mom. We had set up an international access plan so that if I ever needed to call her and I wasn't in a wifi zone, I could (for an extra fee, of course). I figured this was an emergency (I had absolutely no idea where I was in a country where I barely knew the language, and I'm just an idiot when it comes to reading maps) so I stayed put under a street sign as the phone rang. 

She answered and it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I said “hello, how are you, I'm lost!” in a joking, cheery voice, though I really felt far from it. We got down to business immediately. Dad joined in, too, once I told them where I was and they mapped out my route home, telling me where to take turns and when to stay straight. 

Forty minutes and a run-up phone bill later, I was back at my apartment. Apartamento dolce apartamento.

I hung up, wandered to my room in the apartment, sank onto my bed and cried. I was so relieved and thankful for the connectivity, especially after having none from Dulles to Milan, that the pressure built up over the time I had been walking, and I finally had room for the release. I thanked God for my safety out on the unknown streets for so long, and also my family and the fact that I could reach out to them. Without that connection, I am honestly not sure when I would have gotten home. 

It was a more or less terrifying learning experience, but I can now proudly say that I went to the university and back without any issues this morning! And I went and got some groceries! It's also sunny outside today, which doesn't happen very often in this season, so I was being set up for it to be a good day from the start. I managed to slow down a little bit during my travels and take lots of pictures. They'll be up soon, if the wifi chooses to cooperate!

On an unrelated but semi-related note, I continuously have to stop myself from speaking Spanish in order to communicate. It's true that Spanish is much closer to Italian than English is, but it's still not Italian. On my first day here, I was trying to confirm with a taxi driver whether he accepted credit cards in my broken/brain fried Italian, but I ended up saying “tarjeta de credito” which in Spanish means credit card. Thankfully the Italian equivalent is “carta di credito” so it translated more or less and he understood me after a moment of processing.

I think the fact that “yes” is “si” like in Spanish doesn't help me differentiate at all. I'm slowly picking up on my words and phrases in l'Italiano, mainly because I have to, but otherwise because I want to. That's one thing in retrospect I wish I had been more proactive about - learning/teaching myself the language. I brought all the resources with me that I was using, so I can still continue teaching myself, but all in all it's a little late in the game. Oh well. I'm just incredibly thankful that everyone I've had to work with so far has been nice, understanding, and known a good amount of English. It makes me feel like a rotten little North American sometimes, but I hope they can see the gratitude in my eyes and hear it when I say “grazie mille” because I mean it - thank you, very much (I'm sorry I'm so inept, that's my fault, not yours, but I really truly appreciate the fact that you didn't get angry with me for not understanding your beautiful native tongue).

Strangely, I've heard a handful of other international students participating in the same program as me talk about how hardly anyone here knows English. I find myself in the opposite situation. Everywhere I have gone and every time I've needed assistance, there has always been someone who speaks enough English to help. Maybe it's just that I've been pointed in the right directions by a certain Master Creator. Obviously it's not been by my power alone. 

Well, that sums up day two of my stay in Milan (although it was the first full day). It feels like I’ve already been here a week, and not exactly in a good way. It has been stressful, and I’m not used to that because I do not normally allow myself to get stressed. Here and now, however, I don’t have much choice. It will ease off soon once I can carve these darn ruts down a little deeper so as to fall into them easier.

As always, thanks for the support and words of encouragement!

Ciao,

V

Volata da Solo (Flying Alone)

It’s curious, flying alone when one has been accustomed to some form of company, (I’ve always either had my brother or my family as companions on our journeys) but in this instance I had to fly solo. As we were rolling up to Dulles airport in the big blue truck, I figured this would be no problem. My parents raised me to be independent, so how much trouble would it be?

After getting everything sorted out and my baggage checked-in, my family bunched up together in a prayer hug and we exchanged teary goodbyes. Thankfully I didn’t lose myself in the middle of the airport. Would have been messy, and not even like a ‘oh-there’s-a-bad-crash-let’s-stop-and-look’ sort of deal; one like you just want to put your head down and scurry past because there’s no other viable response to help the situation.

So off I went, trucking through security with my passport clamped so tightly in my hand I’m glad the covers seem to be sweat-proof. Everything on that end went without a hitch, my Visa checked out and my passport was good-to-go. Now, the only trouble I ran into was the extremely invading bag checks that were going on just before my gate. This was due to the fact that my layover was in Moscow and because the Olympics are going on, TSA really does not want any unpleasant aerosols, eyeliners, and hand-sanitizers to wander into Sochi as bombs. Thus, every single person’s carry-on bags had to be groped, prodded, and dumped out on a line of white plastic tables before being swabbed around the inside seams with a strange white pad that apparently would tell the TSA agents whether or not there was anything fishy going on behind the scenes. Needless to say this made the boarding process a lot lengthier than originally intended (which made me a little later for my connecting flight than I would have wanted). 

As neat as it initially sounded to fly through Moscow, I instantly regretted that thought as we taxied in after about ten hours of airplane time (thankfully the passengers were sparse and I got a whole row to myself to spread out on). There are just a handful of things I noticed about Russia (specifically Moscow) as we came in for the landing. The earth and sky are made up of a bland assortment of gray scale colors, but the citizens have attempted to liven this up with audaciously colored roofs and siding on their houses; the outside air smells like sadness; and Russian sounds like a giant conglomeration of half-pronounced grunts and tongue flicks.

The airport also was a little sketchy feeling to me, so I was clutching at my things, staring wide-eyed at all my surroundings (as wide-eyed as I could get, flying across nine time zones and not getting much sleep), but I was fortunate enough to get to my connecting gate on time. However, much to my family's worry, I wasn’t able to check in with them on the wifi at the airport (that I had done my research to find out whether it existed or not, and it did, but apparently that wasn’t true or recent information), so I was desperately attempting to connect with any of them in some way or another. And when the futility sank in as the plane took off towards Milan, it settled so deeply in my gut I haven’t eaten for several hours, and I’m not getting hungry any time soon.

The sudden, jolting lack of connectivity just spun my entire world around and around, when I’m so used to being able to send a text or read an email wherever I am. Thinking of flying solo and actually doing it ended up being two totally different universes.  I realized I was, in fact, alone. Even if I wanted to call mom with a few questions, I couldn’t. It simply was not possible. I have never been so demoralized to see “no service” at the top corner of my screen in my life.

I was on a plane going through foreign countries, surrounded by people who spoke languages that I had no hope of following. Lacking that airplane-companion to laugh and communicate with really took a toll on my sanity.

I was so shaken, staring at my phone, staring at the severed connection and willing it to somehow work despite the fact we were climbing higher and higher into the clouds. I trembled all over and my stomach writhed, threatening to lose everything I had packed into it that morning for the trip. I focused all my energies and thoughts on gazing out the window and waving goodbye to the solemn snow-covered land that was Russia, but the unwarranted tears flooded forward anyway.

I. Was. Alone.

In a grand, dangerous mixture of lack of sleep and worrying, I had fried my emotional endings. I had no control of the liquid welling behind my eyes.

So I used my sleeve and wiped at the mess, but every time I thought anything remotely close to how much I missed my family, or being so detached from them, the tears surged again. A few minutes into the flight, I managed to wrangle my emotions and hold them down – unfortunately it didn’t last for long. The stewardesses were coming around offering drinks, and the nice lady asked me what I wanted, and when I opened my mouth to say two small words, my eyes drowned again.

I was past the point of it being acceptable.

Nevertheless, the trend continued. I tried watching a movie to reroute my train wreck of a brain, but when there was any mention of “don’t let go” or missing someone, I had to bite my lip to stop it from wobbling. It was pathetic, truly, but I was helpless against the onslaught of these powerful waves of emotions.

It was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, without a doubt. Leaving the States to live in Peru didn’t even touch this trip, somehow.

Finally we hit Italian dirt and I hurried off the plane, 1) because I had to pee badly, and 2) I had spent enough time on an airplane (about fourteen hours total in one day) and was ready for some real ground to stretch out on.

So I hustled for the bathrooms and rejoiced at the wifi signal. I would have sold my soul to the sign-in window, just to get on for a second and let everyone know I was all right. I had been freaking out the whole flight, trying to send mental and spiritual feelings of well being so that my family wouldn’t worry, that I had made my connection and was on my merry (not) way.

My mother hadn't spammed my email and Facebook with messages asking where I was and if I was okay. She trusted that the only reason I wouldn’t contact her was due to inability, not choice.

Instead, my inbox was crammed full of sweet things and thoughts just waiting for me to sign in and see. So I cried again, of course. I wept in the bathroom stall for a good ten minutes at least, but this time it was a relieved cry. Mostly.

Upon figuring my way out of the airport and into the city of Milan (it very much resembles Philadelphia, from my experience), I kept going through bouts of wanting to be there in Italy and experiencing everything, and coming so close to wanting to tear out my laptop and book a flight home as soon as possible. It was terrifying, conquering the metro for the first time alone, when dealing with a language I was a mere beginner at. I didn’t believe in myself to be able to properly find my university and then get to my apartment, all by my lonesome self, so I thought perhaps the easiest way out would be to claim homesickness (which wasn’t a lie) and feeling utterly incompetent and incapable.

Some of you may know this, but I am horrible with directions and maps, so to challenge the busy streets of Milan after 15+ hours powering through airplanes and airports was an even heavier weight to bear. I got lost three times on my way to the check-point I needed to reach, but I was determined, no matter how many strange looks I got from the locals as I, a five-foot-three-inch, one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound white girl dragged a fifty-pound rolly bag in one hand and a twenty-two-pound carry-on in the other, while a loaded back-pack grasped my shoulders. In the end, I probably walked nearly half a mile from the metro station to get to my check-point, and I was unashamedly sweaty when I got there.

As soon as I rolled through the doors, panting and heart beating hard, a student at the University who was wandering the halls noticed my disheveled, frazzled appearance and asked if he could lend a hand in whatever it was I was looking for. I greedily accepted his help and he led me to the office I needed to get to, all in pretty well spoken English.

Upon arriving upstairs, I noticed that the office was frighteningly empty, and two blonde girls sitting nearby told me they were probably all on lunch break (which takes forever, according to them). So they ushered me over and I sat down next to them. They, just like my first assistant, inquired as to what I was attempting to do, and so I explained to them that I just got in after a long flight and simply wanted my apartment keys. Out of curiosity, the main girl, Sabrina, asked me where I had flown out from, and when I said Fredericksburg she nearly lost it. She was from Fredericksburg also, and her best friend attends Roanoke where I just so happen go. (It’s a school of two thousand students, guys. The odds of that are slim.)

Anyway, the pair of girls had come a few weeks prior for the first session (I signed up for the second) and shared with me a detailed metro map as well as the offer to house me for the night in case my apartment didn’t work out for some reason. I had known these girls all of fifteen minutes, but because they understood what I was going through and we had common ground, they were willing to help me out.

I nearly cried again as they invited me to lunch with them, made sure to add me on Facebook in case I needed anything else, and parted with a “see you later!”

Once the ladies in the international office resumed their work day with full bellies, they led me into the room and explained to me exactly what was about to happen. I no doubt looked like a zombie and an idiot. My brain was about out of fuel.

So I got my keys (there are three just to get into my front door, and two extra ones I have yet to discover their purpose), my info packets, and a call for a taxi to drive me to my apartment without any trouble.

If all that kindness wasn’t enough, I met my roommate just a few hours ago when she arrived back at our apartment from school, and she is so incredibly sweet and nice. I, being a bimbo, forgot one very important thing: an adaptor for my plugs. Italy runs on 220, round prongs. I asked her if she knew of a good place to buy adaptors and she recommended a store just down the road, but didn’t stop there. She also told me I was welcome to use her set up, without any prompting or obligation.

You know how I said I had been tempted to call mom crying “get me out of here!” earlier? Well, after all these amazing shows of grace and compassion, I am convinced that I will have a great time in Milan for the next three months. Not without a few tears (okay, several), and some hard obstacles, of course. But things will truly be all right.

I’m now reconnected to the world via the wifi in our apartment and am back in contact with my family, so that makes me feel infinitely better as well.

The past three days have been a wild rollercoaster ride of feelings, and though it stressed me out (which never happens), I don’t wish it didn’t happen. In the midst of it all, certainly – I wanted to jump out of the plane and land in the snowdrifts just to get away from the fact that I was heading to a destination not my home, away from familiarity.

It has already been an unforgettable experience, and I’m looking forward to the next three months mirroring that.

Now, as I sit in my bed in the apartment I will call home for the next little while, I am reassured and at peace. I am reconnected, feeling the overflowing love and support, and have had no trouble digging my brain out of the dumps it had flung itself into. It’s currently six P.M. here, but I think I deserve a nap after all that.

So with that, arrivederci, friends! I love you all and am so incredibly thankful for the good vibes and prayers. Couldn’t have done it without you!

V