because no matter where you go, there you are

Spring Break

bessgkretsinger — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 13:07:18 +0000

Spring Break February 12- March 7

Let’s see what I can recall from Spring Break, this post is a little late…

VALENCIA

After nearly missing our flight, we landed in Valencia, feeling completely incompetent due to the fact that none of us spoke Spanish. I felt like I came so far in Italy, you know, speaking Italian, and now I felt like I was back to square one. Everywhere I went I found myself making excuses for speaking English, “oh well I speak Italian, I swear!” Basically, “I’m not that ignorant American that only speaks English!” But, in retrospect, that reasoning seems the silliest of all.

Valencia was amazing. So beautiful. In fact, I instantly fell in love with it, and felt very guilty for it. Italy is my true love, and now I’m being tempted with Spain… even cheating on Italy if you will. I felt conflicted. Spain seemed like a bohemian Italy to me. Less rinestone wears, more beer, better beer, and an overall more relaxed atmosphere. I wasn’t getting stepped on, and I wasn’t getting run over by cars. What a concept! Yet, I felt easily tempted.

The first night in Valencia we decided to go on a pub crawl to introduce ourselves to Valencia and the people of it. So who did I meet? Two girls from Holland, ha, in Spain. One was beautiful, blonde haired, and laughed a lot, and her name was Hana. Get that. Really? I was so blown away by the fact that there was another Hana that I didn’t pick up the other girl’s name even though I spent most of the night with her. At the same rate, they were surprised that my name was Bess. Apparently in Dutch that means some kind of red berry? I tried to figure out what the English translation was, but apparently it doesn’t exist exactly. They said it was “cute” to have a name after it and not to worry because the berry tasted good. Ugh. Cute. What an awful word. In fact, at a later bar, we shared a drink together and they said it tasted like Bess. ha.

The next day, Laura and I woke up and went to the Valencia Aquarium. Amazing. I love zoos, aquariums, pretty much anything of that nature. We just ran from exhibit to exhibit because we really underestimated the weather. After leaving a cold Perugia we thought 50 degree weather was a tropical setting, until it got cloudy. We stopped at the cafeteria for lunch and upon walking in I got a huge whiff of fish. Surely this is just coming from the aquarium? No, they were eating fish. I mean, I love eating fish, but not after I’ve been admiring fish all day. And as I looked around, every kid was eating fish unfazed. I guess some things don’t translate. I did have a nice seafood paella later that evening though, have no fear. I saw some Italian in the men though. Upon leaving the restaurant, our server stopped me and said (I thought), “Wow, you look really different.” Excuse me? I look really different? Thanks bucko. After cowering he repeated himself, “No, I said you look really beautiful.” Oh. That’s awkward. Okay bye! Thanks for the free salad. Also, you kind of look like Flash from the Incredibles.

Tired from spending a day with the fish, Laura and I went back to the room for a little nap. Just submersing ourselves in the “siesta” culture if anything. I thought I was waking up from the strangest dream, when I realized it was reality. It involved Spanish music, someone on a megaphone, and tons and tons of kids. I looked out the window to see sack races, a more intense version of dodge ball (where they hit heads only), and a woman with a microphone commentarying for all the activities. Then a birthday song. It was some kids 7th (?) birthday and they were going all out. I think they were so loud all of Valencia could have heard them. Welp, rise and shine then! ha. I hope when I leave the hostel I don’t get jacked in the head with a large red ball.

After getting on the bus bound for Barcelona, our second stop, I realized I was missing something. That something was fifty euros. When I was paying for my bus ticket someone must have slipped in and taken my bill. Damn. Spain felt less of a lover and more of a prostitute. Italy’s pay back for my wandering eye I suppose.

BARCELONA

I couldn’t stay mad at Spain for that long though, because soon I was in the Catalyan speaking city of Barcelona. Woo, finally even if I could speak Spanish, it wouldn’t be useful here. I could’ve strolled up and down Las Ramblas all day. I feel like it catered to every aspect of entertainment. There were street performers of all kind, Spanish cousins of Todd (parakeets), bunnies for sale, markets, the whole shabang (I just realized I have used “shabang” and “bucko” in this entry, my apologies). And, to our benefit, when we only spoke Italian to each other on the street we didn’t get hounded by all the crazy promoters. Everything is more enjoyable when you aren’t getting targeted.

Day two in Barcelona is one, if not the most, enjoyable day I had on Spring Break. Katie, Laura, and I rented bikes and headed to the beach. The beach is such a foreign concept to my little Missourian self. We drank sangeria that we purchased from a little market store earlier, and sat out and soaked everything in. The only thing we had to dodge there was little asian women walking up and down offering massages. Prostitutes perhaps? Then we ran into a couple other people from our program, and encouraged them to rent bikes as well to begin a second annual “crunk ride.” I know that sounds stupid, because it kind of is, but last year in Okoboji Evan and I started up a growing tradition. We had a day of beers, biking riding, exploring, and overall fun. I still remember how hard I laughed when Evan and I stopped at the Ritz to split a fish bowl (a literal fish bowl) of margarita and after completing the first task on the ride, Evan wiping out after 30 seconds on his bike in the parking lot outside. It was graceful and in slow motion. Sometimes riding bikes on gravel is difficult.. haha. So I decided to name this “crunk ride” Eurocrunkride ’10 because Evan and I still need to do the official one this summer. Get prepared by the way, Evan, no more rookie mistakes. haha. So, as a gang of bicyclists, we rode the entire shore of Barcelona fully equipped with more sangria. Videos to come by the way.

Day three in Barcelona, we ventured out to Guell Parc. We spent a whole day wandering. It was simple and great. I wish I had more details, but the what made it great was just the park itself.

PARIS

When we landed in Paris, I was eager to scope out all the people around me, mainly because every Italian thinks I’m French. And quite frankly, I was trying to decide if that was better or worse. Since I took French in junior high school, I was hoping I could be of some aid in Paris lingo wise. Before we left, I went to the local bookstore in Perugia to find a simple phrase book that would be useful. I’m not sure why I expected and Italian bookstore to sell an English to French phrase book, but I was greatly disappointed when I could only find one from Italian to French. Alright Bess, it’s time to put your languages to the test. So I entered the French boarders with an Italian to French book. Two points for adventure I suppose! Luckily all worked out well in that department. Pretty much I sang the Champs Elysees song the whole time (Au soleil, sous la pluie, midi ou minuit, Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysess) and said “Je suis desole” which means I’m sorry. ha. And I ordered us some drinks and food with “Nous voudrians” but that’s all I got. They were real patient and nice with me. Hey, I said it America, the French are nice.

At times, I felt like I spent my entire time in Paris on the metro, but I feel like I got to see everything I wanted to. We took a free tour around the city the first day (6 hours of walking!) so that pretty much rounded all the corners and I got to hear some good stories. I found out that I do not mix well in french night clubs. Nicole has been dreaming about this venue called, Social Club, for years with her brother, so we decided to go because, perchè no? Live DJs. whatev. So we all went. Strobe lights plus loud music are bad news for me. I thought I was going to ralph after 20 straight minutes of strobe lights. I think it should be illegal. Especially with all the epileptics out there. Luckily, Allyson’s feet hurt, so we called it an early night and there was no puking involved.

But. Paris is the city of puke. At first I thought puke was just following Nicole, before the trip she had a french girl puke next to her on a ferry, but now I think that Paris=Puke. For instance. One day the metro was packed, so packed that after the first one went by with people like sardines, we decided to wait out for the next one that would be arriving in about five minutes. The next one pulls up. Not bad, one cab wasn’t full, so we hopped in that one. We found out very quickly why that one was empty, yes puke. Everywhere. Laura was smart in hopped in another car but for some reason or another Nicole and I waited it out for about ten minutes before we did the same. I just feel like everywhere we went there was some girl puking, or some puke somewhere. But don’t get me wrong, despite the puke I loved Paris. Maybe the “city of love” got to everyone.

Well, I think that about wraps up my Spring Break. As much fun as I had, I was really happy to touch down in Italy again accompanied by the clapping of everyone on it (for some reason Italians always applaud the captain for not killing them). Finally I could understand what was going on around me again.

Some of Milano

bessgkretsinger — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 17:10:49 +0000

For the past year I have had these reoccurring dreams/nightmares about my return to Milano to visit Margherita and her family. They are always set in her kitchen, and there is a huge anticipation for the performance of my newly learned Italian, yet when I try to speak anything in Italian every gender is wrong and my syntax is awful. I feel like last time I was in Italy, I was unable to give the Spinelli famiglia a proper thanking for how accommodating they were due to the fact that I could only say, “mi piace le prostitute,” a nice phrase Meggy and Tommaso taught me at the sea and consequently my first sentence in Italian. I have always loved Meggy’s mother, Carmen. Despite the fact that she is approaching her sixties, she has only sped up with age. Everything she does is for a good laugh and even though she could not speak any English upon my first arrival, she made me feel so welcome.

So as I was traveling on the long train to Milano I just tried to not think about the many possible language mistakes I could make while in her presence. After a slight train mix-up at the Milano train station, I hopped on a train to the suburbs without a ticket. How rebellious of me. I didn’t care that I missed my original connecting train, I was getting to Margherita and I was getting there fast and illegally.

I was greeted with snow and lots of it, and next thing I knew I was in the car with Carmen, Marghe, and Manu Meggy’s friend from Rome. My emotions were running wild and I didn’t even care that my Italian was surely awful, I was just so happy to be there. I wanted to immediately spit out to Margherita, “You and your family are the reason why I started learning Italian and why I am now here. And you all mean everything to me, etc etc” but I saved that for later and kept back my tears of joy. We arrived at la casa di Marghe and it was just as I remembered. Every knick-knack where it was when I was last there, everything perfect as always. I know I creeped out Meggy when I took photos of her kitchen, but someday I want to live in a house just like hers. It’s so homey, and it has such love in it. It’s hard to explain, it’s just a feeling about it. I was really embarrassed the next day when Carmen kept telling me how clean I was being this time. I just thought, OH NO was I that messy last time? After a lot of laughter, it was explained to me that I was just disorganized but not dirty. I guess I have grow up a little but I’m definitely still Bess the Mess. I have Vicki Personette, my first grade teacher, to thank for an explanation for my messiness. Apparently at parent teacher conferences she commented on how my desk was messy, but was quick to say this is because creative minds are messy. Not only did that give me a reason to not have to clean my room as a child, but it also was a nice compliment to me at a young age.

While being in Milan, I noticed how much my brain is turning more Italian. For instance, my emotions are all sorts of all over the place. Tears form and dry in my eyes daily it feels, but not from anger or frustration but rather due to sentiments, or being sad for other people’s sadness, or for no reason at all. Like transportation, I always cry on trains and it is always within the first 30 minutes I am on it. I cry when I’m really happy, I cry when I see the mountains. I cry at a documentary of the Palio, a horse race in Siena, for Christ-sake! And don’t worry, I’m still the same ol Bess because I still cry when I laugh really hard, but besides that, that is the only thing that is consistent. It makes me feel like a crazy person, but thankfully it is only three tears tops so it is easy concealed. However, this emotion is no longer an outrage to reason like it used to be. I cry for friends and sights instead of fury of frustration. It’s weird.

Also, I found myself thinking in a gelatoria, “Ugh, why do Asians always form lines?!” But in all reality, I lead the life of lines in the USA it was just so weird to see it in Italy. I thought the world was coming to an orderly end. Something else strange happened to me in Milano. We were all sitting around the table having lunch when for our second or third course (oh yes there were courses and I’m pretty sure Carmen is always trying to fatten us up) the next plate was ready, steak. I never eat meat in Italy really so I was excited to dive right into it. After taking a bit of the quite rare meat, I told Meggy, “Wow this is the best steak I have ever had” and her eyes got big. “Oh. No. I didn’t tell you?” pause. “No.” “Well, it’s horse meat.” So instead of thinking about it, I just ate it even faster before the news really set in. But in all reality folks, it is so much better than steak. It has a better taste and it isn’t so chewy. But enough on that topic.

Without realizing the time, soon after lunch I had to go catch my train with a lunch sack in hand with two sandwiches made by Carmen. I didn’t even know Marghe was waiting in the car for me, and I didn’t even realize it was time for me to leave. Perhaps that was my brain just telling me that I didn’t want to leave. Once again, I don’t feel like I gave Carmen the correct thanking because it all happened so fast. I need to write them a letter, in Italian, letting them know how much they mean to me and how much I appreciate how nice they have always been with me. Damn. I suck. I think this just means I need to go back. So, I got on the train and cried a little for the Spinelli family because they are so great, and felt really lame for it.

Siena

bessgkretsinger — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 09:10:02 +0000

So, I honestly can see myself one day living in Siena. I will have more updates from this trip on here soon, but until then, here is a video from our trip that I made!

Tom Bark Kretsinger Sr?

bessgkretsinger — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 15:50:49 +0000

On my way to Rome, I found myself sitting across an older Italian man, and when I stopped focusing on the fear of accidentally playing footsie with him, I realized he seems to be someone I know so well. Ignoring this idea, do to its impossibility, I continued reading, yet I was unable to form the book cloud and block out all my surroundings while reading, like I normally do. I had a great urge to study him, yet I had to be discrete, so I pretended to read, and meanwhile discovered this man is Tom Bark Kretsinger Sr.
This man was dressed to a T; penny loafers (which Granddaddy one day made a point to tell me that he was fashion-forward because they are coming back in style and he has worn them his whole life), he had four inches of matching socks showing with a little bit of leg slightly peeking out when he sat, and most importantly, he was sporting an Argyle sweater.
His mannerisms made it nearly impossible for me to remain secretive. Left foot; tap. Five seconds later the right foot, then another perfect pitched foot tap; a sound that cannot be created by a rookie foot tapper if you will. Then it transformed into a mixture of a raised heel to the tap. All subtle, all from another time. Then this man furthered his act with an occasional tap on his knee from his weathered hand, surely reciting a slow song in his head. I even heard a deep whistle escape him, first through his teeth and then through his upper lip that hung slightly lower due to age, while he was studying the newspaper with a slight eye brow raise. The only thing that would’ve completed this image is a bowl of snack nuts and a casual glass of merlot at his side.
I will always remember the whistle performed in his car when I was a child, the deep warble. For most my life I did not think this even came from him, let alone a person because it was too beautiful, but as the cars changed, the warble stayed the same and always when the car started up. It was a whistle that I could never imagine being able to produce, and a noise I doubt will ever be recreated outside of his presence.

Goodnight/Good Morning

bessgkretsinger — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 14:31:17 +0000

Late last night while I was catching up on reading “Christ Stopped at Eboli” by Carlo Levi for my Italian Literature class, Laura and I looked up from our books due to the clatter and commotion of yelling in the streets. First of all, Italians don’t get drunk and yell in the street unless there is a soccer game, plus it was a Sunday. The yelping did not stop so Laura went over to the window to take a peek at the street. No drunk stupid women, damn, but there was SNOW. Everyone was yelling because of snow. And even though I live in a snowy tundra that is Missouri in the winter, I couldn’t help but also get excited. I could hear Italians screaming, and even a Polish accent of some sort saying “Oh my gawd!” I was outside most of the day kababing and what not, and it was 47 degrees. I even recall mocking the Italian weather channels for not only have scantly clad weather women, but for it also always being wrong. I’m the fool now. It’s snowing. And I thought it wouldn’t. So along with the rest of Via Bersagliere, I took some pictures, but refrained from letting out a good holler since Laura and I were already asked kindly to use our inside voices. Buone Notte Italia!

I just woke up from a thick Italian dream that turned out to be real. I tossed in my bed as I heard knocking on my door, my bedroom door. This is strange, so my first impression is to roll over and pretend like it isn’t there because it is difficult to fathom like the creature lurking in the corner as a child. But again, the knocking did not stop, so I let out a “Yeah?!” A woman in her fifties shuffles into the room with her fast violent Italian tongue. Is this my mom’s doppelganger only Italian? All in Italian mind you, she is giggling at my sleepy state and demanding answers as to why I am not awake already. I’m thinking, woman it is 9:30? I’m supposed to be awake? Then she starts inquiring if I’ve been missing class or not and all I can spit out is, “dieci” in my sleepy state. Before I can say “Dieci-quaranta” Ten forty is when I have class, she starts shuffling me out of bed explaining that I am late and must get up. AH. No no no. I must say, the woman is a god-send because she cleaned all the black mold in my bedroom. No more stuffy ears hopefully. But she did comment on how my floors could and should be cleaner even though I swept them the night before. ugh.

And I played “Home” by Edward Sharp and the Magnetic Zeros while she mopped the floor with me in the kitchen telling me I could not get up for ten minutes or I would ruin the floor. Ha. Buona Mattina Italia!

A Roma

bessgkretsinger — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 14:17:56 +0000

Ah Rome. What a great first trip outside of Perugia. And finally I felt at ease with being a tourist… because I was one along with about half the city. To the point where it was difficult to pin point a person to ask for directions because everyone had their reading glasses on with their eye-brows frowned, also trying to locate the sites of Rome. However, I think I surpassed the nerdy point with all the pictures taken on the train.

I am the luckiest person I know, or maybe I’m just determined to be lucky. I booked the hostel online the night before we left, and still managed to get the days wrong so when we went to check in the woman explained that we had booked our room for Saturday and Sunday. Damn. And that we would potentially have stay another place for the evening. BUT the one room we reserved for the rest of the weekend miraculously was the only room open for the night. First big break. Then she described that we would still have to pay 11 euro each for the booking of the room on Sunday. Double damn, Lord knows we are all poor. After one last phone call to what I’m presuming was God, she informed us that we would not need to pay the extra fee, and we could stay both nights no big deal. YIPPEEE. Because not only would it suck to have to pay extra, but it would also suck to have the blame on me. I’m am either lucky (I mean common I’ve won every Bingo game I’ve ever played) or I’m just determined to be lucky. Plus, the hostel was very nice and we stayed in a pink room with six beds that kind of reminded me of that one little French character Madeline from when we were children. Naturally we let Brooke play Madeline because she is fully equipped with red hair. Only bad thing about hostels is the sharing of bathrooms with strangers. For instance, a little Indian man walked in on me while I was on the toilet. Doors do not lock like they should in Europe/I need to figure out how to lock them! ahhh

Anyway, I am finding it difficult to describe the great experience Rome has to offer, so I thought I would just post pictures of the sites seen instead. It makes more sense that way.

Here is the view from the train:

The Trevi Fountains at night:

And The Colosseum:

The Pantheon

Ancient Roman Ruins:

shots?

bessgkretsinger — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 16:33:56 +0000

I am determined to not do the number one study abroad mistake; go to a foreign county, take in the surroundings, and get feverishly drunk with other Americans (literally for me because my body temperature raises about 4 degrees when I drink). Okay so I’ve done the first two things already but I do not want to ruin this with going out every night taking shots with other Americans, after all, I can do that in the states. Plus I’m exploring the concept of budgeting my money here. Lord knows I can’t be by myself for eh more than one day now, an improvement, so I will still be around other English speakers, but I would like to see what else is out there for me. It is really difficult to meet other Italian women, and incredibly easy to meet Italian men which I am not interested in doing. In fact I have only met two Italian women (in Perugia) that didn’t dramatically turn their heads away from me and stick their noses in the air… and they weren’t even from Perugia. They were from Gubbio, a neighboring town. While that was a very fun experience for me, especially because apparently I’m very funny when I speak Italian whether I mean to be or not, I’m looking for more. Instead of telling them I didn’t have a lighter for their cigarettes and they should use the butt of a another cigarette I said, “Non ho un’accendino, usi la sua culona.” Whoops, culona means big ass. “I don’t have a lighter, use her big ass.” Why do I retain the words I do? Luckily I only served as entertainment instead of complete embarrassment. They didn’t hate me too much, we’re facebook friends now afterall.

So, all in all, I am going to start making steps towards Italia-dom. There are some Italians in my classes from the Università di Perugia that are very friendly so that is nice. And today I signed up for an internship at a local high school helping a teacher in her English class. Hopefully that works out especially since I am seriously considering teaching English in Italy once I graduate in December. So wish me luck “In bocca al lupo!” which literally means “in the mouth of the wolf.” Hope it doesn’t crunch me up, and all the dogs I’ve seen in Italy thus far are very cute and mostly innocent looking. Which reminds me, as a closing thought, I love walking around and hearing people speak Italian to their dogs. “vie vie, cattivo cane!”

And as a second closing thought, I hope I get over this strange Italian cold/stuffy ear syndrome soon because I’m becoming the grandpa from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. I’m staying bed ridden tonight in hopes of seeing the world tomorrow. Rome this weekend, so I have to feel better..or else.

Mission Accomplished

bessgkretsinger — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 13:57:38 +0000

After sending one load of my clothes through the washer two times, just so that the dang thing would open, I successfully did my first load of laundry in Italia (well so far). Note to self: if the laundry is not completely finished, the lid will not become unlocked. Either way I actually had a very nice day going home, cooking myself some lunch, listening to music (which equals listening to english) and hanging up my clothes on my sunny balcony.

The only thing is this guy might and another twist to the plot. But i have a photo of the perpetrator if he poops on my clothes

I cibi d’Italia

bessgkretsinger — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 15:38:06 +0000

This post is mainly for my mother because she is always concerned with whether or not I am eating anything substantial. So friends, if you’re sitting their with your plain bowl of rice or mac’n’cheese, spiced up a little with tuna or franks, you might get jealous reading this. Girl has been eating great (yet still shedding pounds for some reason or another).

Best pizza I’ve had yet (in Italy and my entire life) is from a pizzeria whose name translates to the prison. I ordered the “Quattro stagioni” just to mix up my food intake away from my basic tomato-mozzarella diet. Unlike pizzas in the US with multiple toppings evenly spread out, this pizza had areas with the toppings segregated. Now for the toppings: sliced hard boiled eggs, black olives, mushrooms, one slide of prosciutto, and artichokes. In fact, when I ordered the pizza I was not aware that I would be eating pizza with egg, but it was so good. So I ate as much as I could, since it is impolite to ask for any food togo once you are finished with it, while sipping down some white wine. After that we had some free lemon ciellos from the owner… he always does that. I had one glass of wine and my face turned bright red. I’m sure you’ll notice in most pictures of me here the presence of my rosy cheeks. Geez, it’s kinda embarrassing because there is a clear physical transition between zero to one glass of wine. This was only really an issue when for class we went to a bar to learn how to order aperativos (which is an after dinner cocktail) and even after sampling a couple, my face turned red. So I appeared drunk in during class hours with my professor. Dang.

Had a great ending to my first week in Perugia with a trip to the countryside on Sunday. I was a little nervous about the trip at first because it was pretty cold and rainy that particular day, but it turned out to be a great trip. I first learned how to make pasta from five, old, Italian women. Those women know their stuff. I could definitely never be as good at rolling out the pasta as they are. They have this technique where if the dough slaps the table as you roll it, it is a sign of good pasta making. My roommates and I are going to attempt this process soon at the apartment, but I have a feeling it won’t be as good as the pasta we made that day. After that we went on a trip with an Italian man where he showed us his farm. This little town outside of Perugia is so neat, and fully sustainable too. Meaning they never have to venture outside of their small community because everyone contributes. There are fishermen, cooks, farmers, etc and in the end everyone does their part. This area of Perugia is known for their fagiolina, which is a small bean that is only found in this part of Italy, but there is a similar bean in Brazil (go Ben!). They even tasted good raw.

Now here is the main part of the story: we had not a four course meal, but a five. Holy cow. Non farò niete fame ancora. “I will never be hungry again.” Once again I was tricked on the first piatto and assumed that would be all the food we were eating. This was by far the strangest plate of food in front of me. There were three different kinds of bruschetta, one with fagiolina (okay this is normal), one with chopped liver (ah), and to top it off, one with lard (yikes). Pure lard. The woman said it wasn’t actually that bad for you so I tried my hardest to keep an open mind and try new things. I had the fagiolina, and loved it. Moved on to the liver, and definitely didn’t like it (because it had such a strong aftertaste) but that was at least reasonable. Then the lard, which had a strange texture, if you can imagine, and an extremely strong taste afterward. But like I said before, I was afraid this was my only meal for the day, so I ate up. There was one thing on this plate that I just couldn’t bring myself to try. In fact, this is the first time I have not tried a food that was in front of me. It was a slab of some mixture of meat, but what prevented me from even trying it were the hair follicles along with the actual animal hair embedded in the meat. Swhat?! Not for me. In fact most of the meat in Italy is so fresh, that it is almost too strong for me to eat. But I’ll listen to Hana for once when she said before I left, “Don’t do anything stupid in Italy, like become a vegetarian.” However, I do find myself eating way more bread, tomatoes, and mozzarella than anything else.

and for a close up:

So, after realizing that there would be much more food coming, I placed my silver wear away from the plate and put an end to the crazy meat madness. After that we ate the pasta we made earlier with a meat sauce. What really surprised me is how much meat was in every course, the third plate was steak and potatoes. I thought I was supposed to find that in America, not in Italy. Then for desert we had a chocolate torta of some sort with a nutella filling. Yum, but believe me, after all the food and wine I had earlier, no part of me needed to aid in the food coma that was quickly developing. Then the man who showed us around his farm earlier that day announced that he wanted to take all of us out for gelato at a local gelateria. BAH like any of us needed more food. Yes, we’re Americans but what does he expect of us? But, how could I turn him down? I ordered a cup of tiramisu and crème gelato…and finished it all. And by the way, we enjoyed our gelato by the biggest lake in Italy. nice. On the bus ride back I’m pretty sure every single one of us passed out.

The best part about that trip is my roommates and I pitched in six euro each and got a five-liter jug of this man’s homemade olive oil. At first we felt a little impulsive, but I’m pretty sure we’ve already gone through one liter of olive oil in a week mainly because all we eat is bread. And once we run out, if we run out, we are planning on going back to visit this beautiful farm and buy some more oil.

Welp, this wraps up the food entry. I’ll try not to talk too much about food again, but seriously, how can you not?

A presto!

My Schedule

bessgkretsinger — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 12:10:21 +0000

Here is my schedule for the semester. I’ll be taking seventeen hours. I wish my Italian class wasn’t so long so my brain could think during it. My professoressa is so nice with me, but I do tend to make many mistakes and I think she’s on to me.

Advanced Italian Composition and Conversation: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday 9-12

Art History: Michelangelo Tuesday, Thursday 15:30-17:00

Italian Cinema: Monday, Wednesday 17:15-18:45

Contemporary Italy: Culture and Society: Monday, Wednesday 13:45-15:15

Greatest thing about this? No class on Fridays! However, I’ll have to get used to having class with no sunlight. I’ll write more later but here is a photo for the time being!