Bring me back!

I'm back from a month of vacation, well rested and dreaming about the next time I can go back to Europe. When I scheduled my tickets, I thought a month seemed like a long time, but as always, it was so full that the time flew by and after two weeks, I was already evaluating how I might be able to extend my stay. But here I am, back in ol' NC and I want to share some of the highlights from my vacation to remember living after grad school. To edit the list, because I could go on forever, since my mini-trips worked themselves out like this, I limited myself to highlighting the B's from it all. Buon viaggio!

From one of my manual shift driving lessons with Anna & Ermelindo.

• Breath taking views. In case you didn't know, G lives in Tuscany, where they forget what beauty looks like because it's everywhere around them. I missed the greenest greens of the hills when it was rainy but got to see the green change into gold. On the bus route to the city or out on the country roads, like where I practiced driving (shifting gears is TONS more work), these hills are better than the movies.

• Bologna. I decided I wanted to take a trip alone. Solo travel is a really exciting way to see a new place. 

Bologna's Two Towers. The one in the foreground is actually leaning!

But it doesn't hurt when the city is gorgeous and the food is fantastic! I even got to catch up with my friend Megan from my Fulbright cohort who gave me all the best tips about what to do and where to eat (SUPER imperative) and made a new North Carolina friend at the hostel where I was staying. How does that song go again...?

• Buds. It's always wonderful visiting friends, especially since you don't get to see that often. My time in Italy is full of reunions of this type, whether it's over a dinner with lively conversation, on a stroll through the streets, or sitting side-by-side on the couch, I've learned that it's really my people make the place home. This time I was also visited by one of my very best friends, Filippo. It had been two years since I had seen him last. For offering a bed in his kitchen, I was happy to return the favor.

•  Bold patriotism. Out of curiosity, G and I went to the US Cemetery in Florence the day I flew in. We had talked about it several times, and I'm glad we went then. There couldn't have been more than 4 people there with us and we were really able to soak in the space and pay respect for the lives given. But I returned about a week later with Filippo for the Memorial Day service. The ceremony was done in both English and Italian, there were veterans and active service members from both countries, and even the US Ambassador came from Rome. For such an important day, it was uplifting to see so many people, Americans and Italians alike, honoring the service members to which we owe so much.  

Zia Sam with Sofia--I'm in love.

• Basketball: After I shared the Cameron Crazie experience with G in Durham, he wanted me to see what it's like to be an Italian fan in the curva. I arrived at the beginning of the playoffs and Mens Sana, Siena's team, was ranked #2. We went to the first game together and I returned with some friends for the third. I think an average Crazie would feel pretty comfortable in the middle of the biggest fans--as long as they learned the songs. All four quarters are non-stop cheers, on your feet, for your team with big flags and a drum to keep time. You can see a couple videos here. Mens Sana made it through that series and the quarter finals, and are currently playing their hearts out in the finals against the team from Milan, owned by the fashion mummy designer Giorgio Armani. Did I mention that Mens Sana is going bankrupt after the season? Only in Italy. Forza Mens Sana!

•  BABIES! I saw three newborns in a month and it was heaven! Sean, Sofia, and Samuele. They were all between 3-8 weeks when I visited so it was glorious.

• Budapest. 

This city was one of the most wonderful places I have ever been. It was beautiful, full of history, and a place where you can eat and drink well for sure! If you like art nouveau architecture as much as we do, you certainly won't get bored simply walking around this city! Although we are told it wasn't hot, I was thrilled to finally pull out my shorts and G didn't mind the fountains much.

Plus we met friends, old and new, which always makes traveling the best! Not to mention I knocked off another goal from my bucket list!

• Baths. Budapest is known for its Turkish baths. We went to two and they certainly didn't disappoint.I was surprised how refreshing the 30°C/86°F water was after a day in the sun. But I also redeemed my Christmas present from G and we went to some in Tuscany. Considering how rarely I get to go to a place like that, I certainly had my fill of rejuvenating waters.

• Belly full of food. Culture, art, love, whatever. Don't listen to any of that. The reason you go to Italy is for the food. On this trip--who am I kidding?! Every trip I eat my weight in cheese, olive oil, and the artichokes. But really. Artichokes.

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Puglia

Recently G and I took a trip to Puglia. Southern Italy has always been fascinating to me in part because my ancestors are from there, but then again, it's a whole other Italy from the Tuscan world I've gotten so used to. The rub is that visiting the less-touristy regions is better done with a guide. And by guide I mean someone who has lived there for years. It's the only way to find the very best gems of the place. So when we received an invitation from Antonio, our dearest pugliese friend, and Bonnie, his wife--also American!--there was no way we could turn it down.

English Wiki for Puglia

We had originally planned to leave on the 7 hour car trip before the break of dawn on Wednesday morning, but after an urgent phone call from Antonio, we realized the only option was to leave on Tuesday after G's half day of work. Why? In order to eat at all of the houses and restaurants that we could not miss. At first I thought that was a little crazy, but having returned, I can see now that there really was no other way.

After a road trip filled with the Questions Game, learning tongue twisters, and watching the countryside change, we arrived at Antonio's father's house in time for dinner. The meal prepared for us was marvelous, but this night will be remembered as my official introduction to mozzarella cheese. That particular city is famous for its mozzerella and even has a big production plant where most residents work to send out their goodness to the world. I could not begin to describe how wonderful this snowy white cheese is in it's many forms. Mozzarella in milk, strips of mozzarella in cream, creamy mozzarella inside a normal ball of mozzarella wonder... I'd never had anything like it. Just trust me that it's good. Better yet, it's always fresh and always on the table.

In recovery/preparation, we planned on not doing much eating the next day, and so we started off the day with an espressino. Best. Invention. Ever. It's like a mini cappuccino that's a smidgen taller than an espresso. I usually don't drink coffee because my nerves can't handle it, but I think I had one of these nearly every morning. And so we set off on some sight seeing. Our first stop was to see the trulli. These little houses have been around since the 1700s, much more recent than I expected, but are way neat. You can see them all around the countryside, but we headed to a little town jam full of them.

Antonio, Bonnie, and the trulli!

Inside a trullo shop.

We continued on and kept eating little... unless you want to harp on that gelato I had at a world class gelateria for lunch. We explored this town Polignano a Mare and I fell in love. It's gorgeous! And on a hot day, it had the coolest breeze.

One thing I've learned this summer is that hot weather muddles the brain and makes the world a big foggy. But here, the blue water was so blue it seemed unreal. Tempted by the tons of people on this little beach, we headed to a place we never would have found called Porto Ghiacciolo to spend the rest of the afternoon. I'll let Bonnie's pictures speak here.

Smiles: what other proof do you need?

After a record cold and speedy shower and a swift change, we headed to eat, and boy, did we. This night was fish Dallo Squallo (The Shark's) and we had to go early just in case they ran out, because that's how it works. You snooze, you lose. I've eaten at places like that here in Italy before, but it's a good thing we got there when we did. We were the only customers when we arrived, but had to push our way out to a line trailing from the door only 10 minutes later. Anyway, we chose our food from here.

And they brought it to us looking like this. Although I only got a picture of the fried plate, all of it was great! We ate this wonderful meal in good company and then headed into the city. After a drink, we took a stroll around the city and found a bunch of people waiting. For what, you ask? FIREWORKS. ON. THE. SEA. Gabriele and I are the biggest firework fans and have really specific tastes about what a good firework show is all about: how the build up should go, which ones look good together, how it should feel, and when the rhythm and dissonance should play, and what the ending is like. This show was a real pleaser in all groups and it happened right before midnight... my birthday!

Now, I am not really sure how it happened, but celebrating my birthday is not something I like to do in the traditional sense. I'd prefer that it go completely unnoticed, but spent in company or celebration of something else. Timing makes Italy the perfect place for that as a national holiday is right around the same time. But after the fireworks, G and friends surprised me with a bottle of prosecco and I rang in my new year with good company.

Because we were out so late, we had a lazy start in the morning which was well enough for me. G surprised me, having Antonio and Bonnie transfer some presents and hiding the rest. Two sets of tickets to the theatre, a white board and colored pens for my organizational needs (also known as idiosyncrasies), and 12 American beers. Eventually we set off for Antonio's grandmother's house. My birthday falls on the feast day of the second patron saint of the city. We are in Italy after all, so lunch with the family is the perfect way to celebrate. We had a great meal (with mozzarella on the table, of course), but the general favorite was the eggplant parmigiana: a plate I've had many a-time, but it was just so good.

One of the funniest parts about this scene was that I felt so at home. The food was the same plates I had eaten in my family. The atmosphere around the table, so relaxed and welcoming. Quickly I was teasing and being teased along with everyone else, a quality at every table I sat down to in Puglia. My comfort made Gabriele's foreignness as a Tuscan in the South more obvious. Despite the heavy accent and very different dialect, I was understanding just as much as G, sometimes more. Looking across the table, we would translate for each other. A fun game to even out our skills: his knowledge of Italian language and culture vs. my ability to read people and to see the big picture. It was a great thing, having Antonio--the native--and Bonnie--the informed and experienced "foreigner-no-longer"-- to lead us both around. Through their tag team we were able to see things we never would have found and understand them through our everyday experiences.

After lunch, a walk around the town to see the cousins' new house, and a cool drink in respite from the heat, the four of us hopped in the car towards Matera. One of the other Fulbrighters was there and talked wonderfully of the town. Unfortunately Rebecca had already returned, so no reunion was had, but I was so glad to be able to put a space to her words. Boy, was she right! Now Matera is known for being the place where some film was shot, but let me tell you, it's so much more! We took a tour of an huge underground water cistern, then wandered around the twisting roads of the city. Just a couple of decades ago, Antonio told us, Matera was a wasteland and really dangerous. Walking around you could see some evidence of this time, but that only made the beauty even more shocking. We took a tour underground in the recently reopened cistern, which Matera was known for instead of the rocks. Afterwords, we dropped by a top-notch bed and breakfast worked into the caves. I wish I had taken some pictures, but it was stunning. After a stroll around, we headed back to the car and admired the wonderful and OLD olive trees that pepper the hills at sunset.

The valley was deep and scary!

Underground tour

The lines indicate how high the water was!

Choosing the meat...

After our trip to the sassi, the rocks for which Matera is famous, we headed back and prepared for dinner. Dinner was at a place generally called un forno to have a meat-filled dinner. The process for the oven is that there's a butcher, you tell him what kind of meat you want, he cuts it up, then it's sent to the restaurant's kitchen next door. If you hate meat, you're going to hate the rest of this post, but it's really a different experience to see the fresh meat go from butcher to plate. That trip is one of the reasons to love Italy.

Where some of it was cooked.

The super particular thing about this place wasn't just how the food was prepared, but what we ate. It was horse. Now some of you might just hate me or think I'm cannibal material like my parents did. Italy's not everything you expected, huh? But if you'll indulge me for a minute, the city we went to eat is best known for these restaurants and the meat was very lean and simply well cooked. The first plate however was a bit hard for me to swallow: raw slices of the thinnest cut meat we "cooked" in lemon juice and ate with oil, salt, and cheese. In the end, I give that plate distinction to cross off Goal #15: Eat something really different from my 25 before 25 list. The meal went on with so many different plates. I just barely lost an eating contest to G, but got applause for my American eating skills. But so much was eaten that we walked to the bar across the street for a Padre Peppe, Puglia's pride and joy, to help us digest before dropping into bed.

Our last day in Puglia was spent soaking up the sun at the beach with Antonio and Bonnie. The beach was jam packed with people, going at the heart of vacation season, but we were able to find some sand to lay out on our towels. We even got a pedal boat which we took out into the ocean. The waves were a bit much for me and we had to dodge the windsurfers who zoomed by, but it was a ton of fun! Plus getting away from some of crowds and just hanging with good friends makes any day beautiful.

That evening we had quite a meal: quartered sheep. We went to a bare house in the countryside where people had been cooking all day long in a wood stove. Fun fact: sheep can only be eaten during the summer when grass is dry and the meat is at its tenderest. It was a lot of food... again, but oh-so good. Maybe better than the sheep was the potatoes and the other goodies made by our hostess. Them, on top of the company, great conversations, and hearty laughs, lightened up the night.

We took a trip the next morning to the panificio to grab some yummy southern bread and everyone had a nice laugh when I tried to order some. Who knew how many choices and new words there were all around different types of bread?! These people take this stuff seriously. A lunch with Antonio's aunt and uncle, who graciously gave us a bed to sleep in during our trip, put a nice end parenthesis on our whirlwind Puglia tour. G and I headed back north, stopping to see some of the very best theatre I have seen in my life, Julius Caesar, at our very favorite Globe replica in Rome--a birthday present from someone who knows me very well.

Summary: Puglia is a place full of warm people who justifiably take so much pride in their food culture, but it's important to remember the beaches and other beautiful landscapes certainly add a lot. My trip to the heel, "real Italy" as Antonio calls it, was definitely a trip to remember.

The Bicycle Thieves

If you have never heard of it, the title of this post refers to a classic Italian film I wholeheartedly suggest for those who enjoy foreign, black and white films whose ending does not resemble mine in any way.

When I arrived in this little town where G has lived his whole life, he set about teaching me the ways of the land. Where to go for this or that. How to act. The usual decorum of the land. Among these lessons, I learned that 1) a bike was necessary and 2) that it was a safe place. I had already inherited a bicycle from my friend and former roommate Linda and coming from Florence I was looking forward to using it without the super high traffic density, so we packed up my old rusty blue bike (or MORBB) and brought it to our little home. But he also told me, don't you worry about locking it up because in this small town everyone would see what happened.

Still in my big city mindset, I was a bit unsure about this idea. I tried it out at the grocery store, 5 minutes from home. All the other bikes were unlocked, I thought, so I left MORBB on the rack and kept my lock inside. I went in and when I came out, all was well. I repeated this several times, at other stores, in other parts of town, all to the same results. I started to feel safe in this small town.

People teased me and MORBB. "It's ugly," they declared. "Who would ever want that rusty old thing?" they exclaimed. "Do the breaks even work?!" they challenged. I was just glad to have MORBB. It worked--erm, well enough--and I was happy to have a companion in my exploration of the small town. Despite lacking lights, reflectors, and having only the bottom half of the bell (rendering it useless), we shared memories together and it got me from one place to another, skidding or huffing, whatever you may call it.

One day I met G "downtown" to learn a bit more about my dual citizenship goals at the city offices and I didn't lock my bike, as per usual. After the appointment, we went around, trying to escape the heat, and I left MORBB where it was. Wrapped by my security blanket this small town had become, I knew nothing would happen to it.

They say hubris ruins people. They are right. When I returned to the center to retrieve MORBB in the hot sun which I thought could only be reserved for the Sahara, MORBB was nowhere to be found. I walked home heartbroken. My solace from the sun came only from the tears on my cheeks. I already missed MORBB.

And so the search began. G called his parents right away and G's dad, a hunter, went out on his bike to find MORBB. G made trips looking for MORBB each morning before departing our small town and upon coming back from work.

Maybe someone saw MORBB abandoned and rode it a while before leaving it somewhere else. Maybe a young kid had taken MORBB, not understanding what it meant to me. Maybe--oh goodness, no!--someone had taken MORBB to another little town to be sold. G and his father the hunter continued to search. They assured me MORBB would be found. I had already said goodbye in my heart to MORBB and had little hope.

Saturday morning, G received a call from his father the hunter who said he found a dark looking bike that might be mine. My heart soared! Could he really have found MORBB?! I recollected myself and thought logically. Could he really have found MORBB??? I asked G where his father the hunter was as I slipped on my tennis shoes, just in case I could ride MORBB back home. G explained that his father the hunter had brought the possible bike home. "But what if it's not MORBB?!" I blurted. I ruminated on someone else loosing their MORBB.

My stomach tightened as we approached G's parents' house. His father the hunter was sitting outside with one of his ferocious hunting dogs just waiting for us. "If this isn't yours, I guess we'll have to take it back," explained his father the hunter, opening the garage door.

"That is definitely not my bike."

There sat a beautiful shiny new bike with a basket up front. The seat wasn't cracked or weathered from spending ages outside. Lights and reflectors were whole and attached right where they were supposed to be. And there, sitting sweetly on the handle bars, was a tiny little bell on the left and a 7 gear changer on the right.

"That REALLY is not my bike."

"But I kind of remember it that way," says G's father the hunter.

"Now that you say that," G begins, "I kind of remember it that way, too." Now since he spent HOURS changing the break pads and a tire on MORBB, I know there is no way he could mistake it for this gift from Heaven.

Slowly it starts to dawn on me. I can't believe it. I want to cry. I take my new bike, a gift from G's parents, on a ride up and down the street, beaming like an 8 year old. I couldn't be happier. My shiny new bike couldn't be more elegant.

MORBB was really stolen. Sometimes I take a little giro around the town looking for it for sentimental reasons, smiling happily on my shiny new bike. Moral of the story: Don't trust G. Lock up everything.

And don't worry. G's father the hunter bought me a new shiny lock for the shiny new bike, too.

I long, as every human being does, to be at home wherever I find myself. - Maya Angelou

I've moved! In the interest of saving a little bit of money, I transferred to the little apartment in the Tuscan hills with Gabriele for these two months. Talk about an adventure!

Siena, the city I studied and lived in on my other sojourns to Italy, is right nearby, but I'm settling in here about 20 minutes away in a much smaller town. First up was the chore of finding some space for me and my stuff in this little apartment. We stretched our imaginations and abilities, and G transformed a shelving unit into an awesome hanging space for some old clothing for potential costume parties... Some adjustments and sacrifices were made by both parties, quite willingly, although the timely finding of this article made some moments almost comical.

But now that that's worked out, my sights have been set on getting to know this little town. It's fairly small, but there's plenty for me to explore. Where do I get a hair cut? Found a new hair dresser! Where can I buy the best quality fruit and veggies? In under two weeks, I've already been there three times. Where can I find a replacement part for the sink? Discovered that store, too. Going about trying to make acquaintances in a new place is hard sometimes, but by now I should be a pro, right?

Mostly, I get around by bike. Luckily my dear friend Linda left me her bike in Florence, which also got some tender loving care from my handy man. Going around Florence was rough though between the cobblestones and crazy drivers. Here things are a lot easier, so I don't mind going to the edge of the town, even if I look like the weirdo on the bike. Plus, I'm learning quickly how the streets flow together and how to get from one part of town to another, which will certainly comes in handy for my driving lessons.

Yup, I'm learning how to drive, again thanks to G. Of course I have my license in the US, but I never knew how to drive a standard manual shift. In order to get around here where automatic cars are difficult to find, I'm learning how to juggle a clutch, "joy stick," and hand brake. After an amount of time in deserted parking lots, I've made it to the roads in short periods of time. Working my way up, slowly but surely.

So far my only friend in our little town is our next door neighbor, Signora Adriana. For now we mostly talk about the weather and her family, but she now remembers my name so things are looking up. Plus I'm hatching a few plans in my head on how to make some more. Sometimes I feel like that makes me creepy, but I know you all have done that some time. Don't lie! Yet a few times I've met someone new only to be greeted with something along the lines of "I've heard talk about you." Certainly not the most settling thing to hear. Considering that, to my knowledge, I am increasing the town's population of United States citizens by 100%, I am assuming that's my preceding reputation, but with this being my first time living in a small town, I can only imagine what's to come.

The best day so far was a few days ago, August 10, La Notte di San Lorenzo. The Night of the Shooting Stars! When G came home from work, we made a delicious picnic of Mexican food (new recipes!), resourcefully using the black beans and bell peppers left over from other dinners. Cooking time was spent singing and dancing to some sweet tunes and then out into the countryside to eat, to drink, and to watch the stars. I definitely won on sightings, wracking in somewhere around 20 in a couple of hours. We talked and sang and talked some more. G protected me from unknown animals. We had a blast.

All in all, it's everyday life here and that's all I have to report for now about my new home. Above's a picture I took, without editing, on the way home one day. It's hard not to love something so beautiful. Keep checking back for updates!

Today is the day.

Today is July 30th.

Today is the day several months revolved around: the day I would leave Italy again.

I've blogged a lot about my life decisions, revelations, and changes here, so I figured why not add a few more? And so the story begins:

My Fulbright year could be defined in many ways, but as I reflected the most fitting word is "challenge," be it referring to both the stand taller with a puffed chest type and the "am-I-ever-going-to-get-through-this?" moments. There was challenge everywhere. Challenge in my work. Challenge in my personal life. Challenge in my path to know myself. Challenge in living on another continent. I realized, maybe later than some or just in a different way, that growing up is hard. There are lots of things to do, many more than could ever be done in one lifetime, and so with that comes priorities and hard life choices. And that became my biggest challenge.

Among the series of challenges I fell into or created for myself, I started to doubt the plans I had set. Who knows why, but it was like a slow developing bacteria. A serious talk with a friend, a family member, or an acquaintance now and then grew in number and emotion. Soon attacks came more frequently and were stronger. My resolve strengthened and imploded on itself so often that I started to doubt my whole person and that, above all, made me unhappy. The only thing I could gather was that something had to change. So I took off the cruise control and pulled off the road to look at the map. My route had to change.

So then in May I emailed the professor at Western Washington University and informed her that I would no longer be attending the Experimental Psychology program. It was one of the hardest decisions I've made to date because it meant saying goodbye to something I still found interest in, but just wasn't a priority. The fear of making the "wrong" decision filled me with anxiety because WWU was an atmosphere and a setting that I wanted, that I had worked towards. Alas, I had found in my reflection more of a desire to add to community planning or policy change than I did to grow within an academic environment. Some work here in Florence with a conference called Diversi. E Allora? (Different. So what?) really enlightened that area inside my consciousness.

After that, I realized that I had to get to work. I have student loans to pay, after all. Which brings us to another more humiliating thing to admit: after all of this time, my project still isn't done. I got lost in theory. I made my life harder. I stumbled over my ideas and got discouraged instead of cleaning them up. I wanted so much and then didn't know how to ask for help. I could skip out of town or buckle down and make things work. In reflection I realized how much I had learned reading and not, interviewing and not, writing and not. This time with some real help from Gabriele--the person who knows best how to give it to me straight... in the nicest way possible, I recognized how much of a shame to my experience and a general disappointment to myself it would be to not complete a project. Plus I would feel so much better citing things I had learned from a finished product at job interviews.

And so today is the day I didn't leave Italy again. At least for now.

If there is a purgatory, this is it.

Today I went to the post office. I've talked a lot about the post office because it's a place no one really visits while being here for a short period of time, and, well, they are really Italian. At my particular branch you enter and take a number from one of three sections (finances, where you pay bills among other things signified with the letter "A"; banking, because the Italian post office also has a bank system, which have the letter "F"; and sending, for, you know, doing normal post office things, which is accompanied by the letter "P"). When I usually go, it's always a toss up what I'm going to find, but I'm usually pretty sure it's going to be a wait. If I'm both lucky and go at really unpopular times like early during lunch time or Friday evening, I usually only have to wait for 15 minutes. Tops I've been there for 45+ minutes before being called. Trips usually lean more towards the side of eternity than not. Usually I bring a book or my journal. Often I tweet. Anything to pass the time.

Today I went around 6pm. I'd never been there at that hour and thought I'd pass by. If there were too many people, I figured I'd head there tomorrow. I scan the room and find about 5 people waiting. I go to take a number. Of course there was a choice to make. Do I take an A for the bill I had to pay, or a P for the letter I had to send? Most times I take both, but I started with A244 and found that on the list of numbers recently called my number there was A243 making mine next up. I sat myself down without getting a second number. At least the place is one of the few here that has good air conditioning. People, it's hot here.

Anyway, the time stamp on my ticket was 17:55/5:55. Around 18:15/6:15 some girl jumps toward an open counter to ask if any A's will be called. P134. P135. P136. The woman sitting next to me had P137. She came in at 17:52/5:52. Apparently in this office they mostly pull numbers by order of arrival, but that's not always the case. Certain counters have certain functions. They can do it all, but they don't. Then there are people who jump the line. Why? Because they have something "urgent" or they just have a "quick question" that turns into being helped. After all, we are still in Italy.

So finally at 18:23/6:23 my number is called. Everyone with an A number behind me is saying "Finally, we're moving." I offer my bill to pay and ask if I can also get a stamp. She said of course. I take out my cash and she asks me if I'm paying my 75 euro water bill in cash or using a bank card. I tried once using the bank card, but apparently they discriminate about that, too. I didn't have this tiny design on the back so I had to withdraw from the ATM outside. "Cash," I reply.

In the meantime, a man walks up and asks if he can have the bag. "All of it?" she whispers. "Yes, I'll take all of it." He isn't an official. I don't know who he is. The woman goes in the back room, comes back with a medium sized shopping bag from a retail store. They start talking about lawyers and contracts. I white noise them because I don't want to be privy to any information I shouldn't be. Six minutes pass in this hushed conversation. The man walks away.

The woman returns to my aid, printing out the postage for the letter. I wrote down the address exactly as my friend had given it to me. Apparently I missed something he didn't write.

The woman asked me, "This is going to Holland, right?"
"No," I said quietly, trying not to avert the other clients, "it's going to Afghanistan."
"What?"
I clear my voice and raise it half a decibel. "This letter is for a soldier in Afghanistan."
"But the state isn't written!" she exclaims.
"Va bene. Okay. I can write it. Or I can just take it back and ask him again. Either way."

Maybe she didn't hear that last part. I'm not sure what happened, but the next thing I know this woman he got up and went to the two other women with clients and is "asking" what she should do. But really this asking is more like complaining. And she's doing it very loudly. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. Especially the other A's. My cheeks get hot. Despite the cool atmosphere, sweat starts to appear on my hands. A real Italian would have turned to someone nearby and pleaded their case. I can't even turn around to face the A's. I purposely don't pay attention to the words they are saying, a skill I now realize that I have clearly perfected. I hate that Italians seek to publicly shame, but it's part of their way. Especially postal workers. I think it's a job requirement.

After another two minutes in which her colleagues scream their advice and commiserate with her about just how impossible it is to send a letter without a state, she explains to me that this letter cannot, in fact, be sent if the state to which it is being sent is not known.

"But I know where it's going. It's going to Afghanistan."
"Oh." She pauses. "And this address in the corner of the letter is yours?" she says while pointing to the address of the street around the corner, followed by "Firenze, Italia."
"Sì." I say. "That is me."
"Ah, well, we didn't understand each other."

Yeah, something like that...

Say "duty" five times fast.

I have far too many things to write about that are greater adventures, but I wanted to tell a fun little story here for two reasons: 1. To remember it myself; 2. To give you all a chance into my daily life.

The theme of this story centers around the blunders one learns while learning to speak Italian.

As most of you know, today is election day in North Carolina for some primaries and a really big issue known as Amendment 1. Because I feel strongly about this issue and am even more aware of my citizenship while living abroad, I made sure to do my civil duty and get my absentee ballot. Not having a printer, I've had to visit the cartoleria, or paper shop, to do all of my printing, faxing, and scanning.

In years (let's be real, months) in the past, I was so insecure with speaking to strangers that this would have been a near-impossible task. Speaking to unknown people involves spontaneous changes in conversation, unknown words, and sometimes impatience and even bigotry. Plus my need to be right always put a damper on chatting with someone new. But after all this time here, I've mostly gotten over all of that. Some people are just not going to have the will to talk to a straniera like me.

Thankfully, though, the young and older man that work in my local paper store aren't like that at all. I've gone in about 7 times since October to handle paperwork, and although we had never had a conversation before yesterday, they were always patient and kind with me. So I walk in the store tranquillamente with my pen drive, ask for them to print a document, and say I'd like to fill it out and then I need to scan it. Both of these men jumped back a bit so I insisted that it'd be really quick, but then I needed to scan this document.

The young man took my pen drive, printed out my ballot, and I stepped to the side to fill it out while he helped someone else. When I finished, I handed over the papers to the young man and he went to the fax machine. I pointed to the scanner and said, "Excuse me, I wanted--" to which the older man interrupted, "Yes, I remember," and the young man laughed, excusing himself for forgetting. Great customer service, right?

I thought so, too. Then I got a whopping dose of humility with a language lesson:

Old man: You know why I remember you wanted a scan?
Me: No, why is that?
Old man: Because you wanted to use the word scannerizzare but said scannare.
Me: Oh, excuse me, you're right....
Old man: Do you know what scannare means? (He chuckles.)
Me: No, what does it mean?

At this point I'm getting nervous thinking of all the things I could have said.

Then the old man takes a pen in hand and holds it up to his neck, demonstrating how I wanted to skewer slaughter really quickly after having my document printed. Cue laughter and blushing. Remember that great customer service? The young man insisted it was okay. I decided his job must be really tough since he admitted it's difficult for him to hear the difference between "sheet" and, well, some other word starting with "sh" and ending with "t."

Two weeks. I’ve lived here for two weeks already, but it feels like quite a bit longer and conversely, like I left two days ago. Time and activity has such a way of filling your mind so, depending on your perspective (age included), it creeps by or is gone in a flash. But I think that is why I journal and blog. Yes, I want to share my experiences with you, but it keeps me reflecting on where I was, am now, and will continue to go. I don’t like to feel like time is getting away from me. It moves without consulting me first, but at least I can appreciate it to my fullest extent, no?

But enough with the lofty reflection and down to the happenings in life. Since I left you, I went to a huge concert on Friday, sponsored by a group called EMERGENCY. The foundation of this group is very liberal, so don’t investigate it if that doesn’t interest you, but we were going for the music. The headliners were Fiorella Mannoia, Elisa (who has put out some things in the USA and sings a lot in English), Casa del Vento (or House of the Wind), and—believe it or not—Paola Turci. I heard that lady sing twice in one week, so I guess I’m turning into a real fan. In all honesty, I had very little expectations going in, but it was a really great show. I took this phenomenal video (which somebody else seemed to get, too!), but unfortunately it seems like I dropped my camera at the concert and based on the number of people that were in attendance, there is no way of getting it back. Great luck, huh? I suppose you’ll have to do without quality pictures for a while and just trust my descriptions.

Anyway, I was able to take my first trip “back home” to Siena on Saturday. It was wonderful to see my friends there! For those of you who don’t know my biography, I lived in Siena on three different occasions (July 2008, Spring 2009, and July-October 2010), so I might be more familiar with that medieval city than I am even with my hometown. I certainly took more time to explore Siena.

The strangest sensation was walking around the city, especially alone. At first I became discouraged when I tried to think about the way to get from one place to another because I couldn’t remember it. Often I would try anyway and was shocked (although I shouldn’t be) by the way my feet seemed to lead the way without missing a step. The brain is a powerful thing, I tell you.

But Saturday, afternoon and night, I spent time at Filippo’s where I lived for three months…in the kitchen. 

That apartment will always be home for me, more for the company shared than the place itself. But then Filippo and I had dinner with our dear friends Anya and Deanne and I was so happy that my cheeks hurt. As I got ready to go out after dinner, the lovely ladies serenaded Filippo and me (and the rest of Via dei Rossi). Finally we went out and met all kinds of characters, which was entertaining, of course. It was just nice to be with my friends and be speaking lots of Italian again in the city where I feel most comfortable. I must say, though, that I’m not very used to going out Italian-style which often means going to bed near dawn. That is definitely going to take a while to get used to.

After another lazy morning, I had a wonderful reunion with Ennio and Tina, my house parents from my semester in Siena. That place will always be full of good food, great language lessons, and better company. We had a lunch you can only dream of and a little nap before I had to get moving.

Sunday afternoon I gathered my things and took a whirl-wind trip to Rome with my friend Gabriele. Last year we saw two of Shakespeare’s works at the Globe Theatre in Villa Borghese and wanted to catch the last one of the season. I really have never seen better professional theatre in my life than at this place. Just sitting down on a little cushion in the middle of that Globe excites my heart.

We saw Riccardo III, which I was very unfamiliar with as far as Shakespeare goes. It was the most difficult to follow linguistically of the three I had seen there, but I grasped the gist of most scenes and the art was enough that they could have said nothing and I would have enjoyed it just the same. So moving! I certainly appreciated it even more after spending several months with my Theatre Alliance family. And, believe it or not, there was confetti. In a Shakespeare historical play. I couldn’t help but laugh out of pity for the poor souls sweeping and recycling it for the next show since that was my job at the theatre. (PS: If you are in the area, you should go see Theatre Alliance’s production of Kiss of the Spiderwoman that opens this week. Get your tickets here! These people are brilliant.)

So despite starting this week with very little sleep, I enjoyed my weekend tremendously. And to think the next is right around the corner!

And it begins...

To start my updates as an official Fulbrighter, I need to remind all of you that this site is not an official site of the U.S. Department of State and that everything expressed here are my own opinions and do not represent the Department of State or the Fulbright Program.

Now that I got that business, I'm here in Italy and doing well, despite some difficult bureaucratic issues getting here. And, might I add, those that I'm continuing to work through being here. The strange thing is not that I'm finally here, but how comfortable Italian life still feels. Part of me wonders if I'm ruined for life as an American because I am spending such "formative adult years" in another language and culture, but I'm willing to take that risk for whatever I'm going to learn in the meantime.

At the moment, I am living with my colleague, and now friend, Valentina. We spoke a few times in email and on Skype and she invited me to live in her home until I found my own place. Italian hospitality at it's finest. Valentina studies under the same professor as I will at the Universita' degli Studi di Firenze (UNIFI) and has very similar research interests. Sometimes when we talk, I feel like I am with a version of myself from an alternate universe. She's almost me, just Italian. But joking aside, I can't imagine how much better my life is and how much easier my transition is thanks to Valentina and her family. I can't imagine how I could ever repay them, other than a trip to Wilmington and the Dawson's Creek sites.

Last weekend we went to a free concert in a nearby town. The square was packed but somehow we ended up directly in front of the stage. I really got into the music and the singer, Paola Turci, is apparently pretty famous. She sang half an 80s song in English and then I heard this song which sounds exactly like this one, which I knew. Apparently it's a cover, but the translation isn't that similar. Plus, the song is Paola's claim to fame. Interesting, no?

Yesterday, we came into the city to get some work done in the dipartimento, but we found the locked doors like this:

One of the political parties had a big old-fashioned sciopero, or strike. Getting home was even difficult because most of the trains were cancelled and those that were going were late and crowded. Sadly, we stood as merely victims to the strike.

But finally today I was able to do some work today and it feels so nice to be busy again. It's a little difficult getting back into the swing of it (especially in a different language), but I just love studying psychology. I know I'm a nerd, but there's just nothing like it. I was just so excited I forgot to eat lunch. Suffering the consequences now (because in Italy you can't just eat whenever you feel like it), but I'll live.

Running around much busier than normal, I stopped by the mailbox. There was a big envelope and I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be cool if that was for me?" I slid it out from under the other mail and saw my name on the label. The seal looked familiar. I squatted in the middle of the driveway, dropped the pile on the ground, and tore up the envelope.

"Dear Ms. Cibelli,

On behalf of the J. William Fulbright Scholarship Board, I am pleased to congratulate you on your selection for a Fulbright award to Italy."

Since then, I've been through a few stages of emotional extremes. Shock came first. It might not go away. There I was sitting like a frog in the middle of my driveway all alone and I cried a little. I had done the inconceivable. And after I was just getting excited about moving to Washington! I've been told a few times that it didn't seem like I was very excited, but in the last year this grant's been a lot of things to me, mostly circling around frustration. Leave Italy or stay? Get a real job or don't? Move to Washington or don't? And at the end I just waited...and waited...and waited. It was kind of a miserable existance but left a lot of time for good reflection, so it couldn't have been too bad, huh?

Next came the grateful stage. I couldn't help but reflect on how I got into this position as I told only a handful of people at first. The opportunity to be a grantee didn't just happen. I got a lot of help to get there. Mostly, it's impossible to express just how indebted I am to my parents. They took some hard sacrifices over the years to ensure that I was in the best educational setting for my holistic growth. There are also not many parents out there that will tell you to do what makes you happy and back you up when you tell them you're buying a one-way ticket to move to Europe. Then, of course, I can draw a timeline for you of all the most meaningful conversations with teachers, professors, mentors, and friends, who were behind the exposure to certain ideas, linking them together, and the fact the application was actually completed. I'll never be over that.

The third stage was being overwhelmed. Until recently, I've pretty much been in hiding because the news became bigger than me or what I could deal with at any given moment. I like to do big things, but I find recognition to be an awkward experience. Don't get me wrong, I've sincerely appreciated the well wishes and being chosen as a grantee is the highest honor I could imagine for myself at this point, but it's simply humbling. It became hard to swallow that so many people were proud of me. So thank you all. Know that I could never articulate just how much I appreciate the support.

But today, I officially got my medical clearance and an email with all the names of the other grantees, tips on finding real estate, and LOTS MORE paperwork for me to do. So I can officially say that I'm excited. I'm moving to Florence for, more or less, a year and I'll be doing research I'm passionate about pursuing. I'll be learning and growing in so many domains. And I'll finally be busy with a purpose! And not just any purpose--I'll be doing the one thing I dreamed about doing for several years.

All that makes me think about one of my brother's favorite quotations: "The greatest pleasures in life is doing what people say you cannot do" - Walter Bagehot. I admitted before that applying for the Fulbright was the first thing I did despite some unconvincing counsel. If I'm honest, it's also the first thing I didn't think I could do. There were several times throughout the process that I was practically pushed by others to get it done because I didn't believe in my capabilities or the odds or whatever it was at the moment. So to that I say, tenacity is a virture to hold dear. Work hard. Sometimes dreams do come true.

I had to take a break from blogging, but beyond working with the children and on a phenomenal run of ASSASSINS! with Theatre Alliance, nothing much happened. That is until my life was turned upside down just last Monday. It's taken some time to process, but I went on a glorious run yesterday with beautiful weather, awesome shuffle music, and the aroma of dogwoods and sweet burning wood. And that perfectly simple moment brought all the clarity I needed.

I had gotten tired of waiting. Most of all, I was exhausted by the uncertainty. There's nothing quite like the mystery of the future to make you uncomfortable with everything. One of the principles I stand on is that discomfort naturally brings growth, but I felt like I had done all the growing I could. I started doubting. Doubting the decisions I had made, the state I am in, and my plans for the future. And because these were no longer investigative questions, I needed to gain some control over my own life.

The way that is done is making decisions and dealing with the consequences. So Monday morning I sent an email to Western Washington University accepting their invitation to be a part of the Experimental Psychology program. I applied to the master's program under the direction of Dr. Kate McLean, whose work I've been following for years. It's a perfect fit with my interests and seemed like a good foundation to start my graduate career in that atmosphere.

In the afternoon, my parents and I all arrived home simultaneously. I followed Dad out to the mailbox telling him about my decision. He handed me a letter, which is odd because I get about 5 credit card offers and one Meredith mailing each month, rarely anything else. My eyes blurred to comprehend the page quickly and focused on these words in the first paragraph: "alternate...Fulbright...later date...." I had read all I needed and handed it off.

All at once the tension was released from my surroundings. I took a deep breath and all I could say was, "Well, that's that" as I plopped on the couch. I didn't know what to do with myself. My parents were saying encouraging things and I'm sure I was responding to their questions and comments, but I could really only feel myself breathing. Dramatic, yes, but true.

Then the tears came and I felt a surge of disappointment. I was never sure I was going to receive the grant, but I was always hopeful. I knew I had submitted the best application I was capable of and I wasn't upset about that. I had to mourn my dreams of returning to Italy with a passionate purpose. I had to say good-bye to my dreams of living where and working on what I love at someone else's expense. I also had to let go of my hopes that this opportunity would be my golden ticket for a fellowship and a life without student loans.

Yet, I can't help but marvel at the timeline of these events. I made a choice and received near immediate feedback that it was good. Call it what you like: luck, fate, divine presence. The title is not my concern. I'm simply pleased about the content.

But still, I am so grateful to have had this experience and for what I've learned because of it. Sure, now I have knowledge of a grant application process and somewhat survived a patience stand-off. Valuable skills. But to have the opportunity to hear words of support has been, in a sure contradiction of terms, both uplifting and humbling. One friend wrote that they just couldn't say no to me. A nice perspective, I may just adopt.

In summary, that's it. I am honored to have been named an alternate for the Fulbright, more affectionately titled the Miss Fulbright Runner-Up. I'm still in the running if someone else drops out...but why would they do that? Let's be real--I wouldn't. 

And yet my self-made consolation prize doesn't feel much like one at all. My sights are set on Bellingham, Washington. I'm overwhelmed by even more opposing emotions, but in the end it's an adventure and we all know how I feel about that. Come visit soon!

I'm back in the United States for one week. Unfortunately there's not much to report. I've been doing a lot of organizing, cooking, watching decent television, and applying for jobs. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat again.

Mostly I've gotten used to moving back and forth between Italian and American cultures. But there are things that I certainly miss about living in Italy. The first thing is the walking. Or just general accessibility to other places. I'm going tomorrow to get my car which has been stored while I was away. I've driven a bit, but I hate that I can't just walk 10 minutes to the grocery store or just to look at my favorite windows.

Which brings me to numero due: window shopping. I barely spent money on non-edible items or "experiences." It's part of my travel philosophy, but then it's also just a practical case. You can't go with one suitcase and accumulate too much. Still I loved to waste time just walking around and looking at the windows. Normally you don't go into a store in Italy unless you have the intention to buy, so the merchants spend considerable time putting those windows together as bait. Just stunning.

And while I could go on about lots of things, what I notice, but don't necessarily miss, is the anxiety of speaking with strangers. Most of the time I like to talk to people I don't know just to be friendly. I get it from my momma. Or maybe I'm kind of Southern. Either way, I find talking to O.P.s, or "other people," to be a neat way to meet different kinds of people and learn things I never would have known before that conversation. The thing is that talking with O.P.s is infinitely more difficult when you have to speak your second language. What if you don't know a word? How about if you can't understand something? These are feelings you get used to with time and lots of practice, but I like being able to make jokes and to lead conversations sometimes.

I miss some parts of living in Italy, but I could get used to this.

Lessons Learned 3.0

When asked how I'd like to spend my final moments in Rome, I'll admire art.

I should always prepare for my trip to and from Italy to be at least 5 hours longer than expected. 

While traveling I should be as padded as a linebacker. Too many bruises.

No matter how old you are, you can always run into Momma Bear's arms.

A brother is the best friends a girl can have. Best friends are the sisters she never got.

I can live at home (at least for now) happily unemployed.

“There's nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.” --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

Homeward bound

This entry will be the shortest I will probably ever write:

I'M COMING HOME!!!!!

Sure I'm a little sad to be leaving my friends and Italy. But I miss my family and friends back home. And I'm ready for some new adventures. So stay posted for those from the domestic side of the Atlantic.

Until next time!

When the South comes to town

Of course, my mind is oriented toward coming home. There's only a week left here to enjoy Italian life and finish up business, then I'm back to the States. But to my surprise, I got a strange preview of live back home this past weekend.

Friday night, I went to a local bar gig to watch some of my friends play in their band called The Last to Knows. (Yes, they're completely aware that the name is grammatically incorrect.) The Last to Knows are a pop-punk country/folk band of six Italians from the district of Siena. The lead Mattia writes the songs and sings...always in English. Have any of them been to the South? That seems to be an irrelevant point, but I'll have you know that they have the heart. Three of the guys also performed live on the radio Sunday--after which we had the most awesome dinner of specialty meat, cheese, and olives which we washed down with some tasty IPAs. Oh, the joys of simple life.

I must admit that I was left wondering during the concert Friday night and then on Sunday as Mattia spoke to the disk jockey, what did Italians understand when they hear their music? Now, don't get me wrong, Mattia's English is great. Sure, lyrics are sometimes hard to decipher, but that's the case with any singer. (I just found out the lyrics to this jem are "Just stay close at hand" and not "Just because I asked." Rocked my world.) Although I still think Mattia should get a tutor with a drawl.... But then there's the question of what do they think of the sound? Italians are pretty used to getting inundated with music from the Anglophones, but this is no Lady Gaga or Katy Perry. I guess all that matters is that there was a packed bar Friday and, I assume, some radio listeners out there on Sunday.

Back to the point: if you want to listen to some of The Last to Knows' recent recordings you can download their newest songs, listen to some older ones, or just watch my poor quality video clip (cut short since the file was so big). Also, I only have a point and shoot and Friday night's concert was at not an ideal location for picture taking, but here are a few anyway.

Not everyone likes to be center stage.

Hardest to photograph. The most fun to watch.

 

Saturday, I bribed Gabriele into driving me to Sansepolcro with promises of lots of good food and company. Upon arrival, we were picked up by Sara, had a wonderful lunch prepared by Patrizio, and were entertained by Leonardo, Ginevra, and Veronica. Beyond the fun that children bring to life and the great warmth I feel when I'm at their home, one of the best things about seeing this wonderful family again was being able to actually "speak." I met them at the end of my first trip to Italy and Patrizio just couldn't believe I was following his point about bike racing in detail. Like I said before, it's the simple things, people. :)

Aren't we the cutest?

I was also able to visit Palazzo Alberti and visit with Dr. Betty Webb, John Rose, and the ragazze from Meredith College. We just happened to arrive on the day in which Palazzo Alberti was celebrating a year in Sansepolcro. As a result there was an open house birthday party complete with cake and prosecco. It was wonderful to see how Meredith has started to become a real part of the community. You could hear both English and Italian floating around the room, along with the most important language, MereCollian (or Meredith-ese? I don't know. I just made it up.).

This one was an exclusive tongue known only by a few of us. For instance, Dr. Webb introduced me to some of the students as 2010's Senior Tall Tale and although I didn't know most of them, I was instantly recognized as being a part of Cornhuskin'. Of course it was a mystery to the other guests because...all toooooogether now: You just have to experience it! But it was nice to find others out in the real world who made "good ol' Meredith, Meredith ol' MC" their home, too.

Coming back soon!