I hurt all over

Last night, after obtaining my certificato medico and recovering from my cold, I finally took a Judo class in Italy. (And it was about time, too. My fat pants were starting to fit better than they're supposed to.) It went pretty well, all things considered. The instructor spoke so fast that I couldn't understand a word he said, but there was another instructor who spoke English, and the girl I was working with didn't trust my Italian, so she continuously translated into English, of which I sometimes understood less than I did the Italian. Between them all, and watching very closely, I managed. Linguistically, that is. Physically...well, I've been to Judo thrice since before Christmas, and gone running as many times, so I'm certifiably out of shape, and I guess I looked it, because they kept telling me I could stop whenever I wanted to. Thanks.

Unfortunately, the belt systems are different here, and this leads to unfulfillable expectations, e.g. the expectation that I'm good at this. I should definitely be wearing a different color (read: lower) belt here, but I asked in the office and they said not to worry about it. The people in the office not worrying about it, however, doesn't change the fact that the people on the mats are probably expecting something (i.e. decent Judo) that I couldn't deliver even if I weren't badly out of practice.

All things considered, however, it did go well. I ripped the skin off one of my knuckles, because my hands aren't used to handling anything rougher than Italian bread, and my feet were killing me, because they're accustomed to the comfortable protection of my sweet new Pumas. Tonight, however, my feet feel fine. It's the rest of my body that hurts. Comfort is so last week.

In an unrelated news update, for which I'm sure you've all been waiting, the translator used "giurare," which means "to swear (a promise, a vow)," but which I was unaware also meant "to swear, to curse, to cuss." I'm assuming it does, because Anna explains to Diana about the two different kinds of "giuramento." My most trust-worthy online Italian dictionary doesn't mention anything about the other meaning, though. hmmm...

Furthermore, for anyone who might have been worried about how my non-working, non-studying, violin-playing roommate was going to feed herself, she did take a job - that she doesn't like - playing violin on a political talk show Tuesday nights. In Italy, political shows have live classical music. It's the other one (one moved out) who I guess we should worry about now, because she broke her leg at the beach (I missed the how. She was at Cinque Terre, and then she was in the emergency room. I didn't quite catch what happened in between), so not only can she not work, she can't leave the house at all (no elevator). She watches a lot of TV and other people cook for her. Doesn't sound too bad, does it?

Speaking of cooking, I've decided that the stir-fry is the way to go. Chicken and peppers? Good. Veal, broccoli and asparagus? Good. Veal and peas? Good. Veal, asparagus, and peppers? I might have been getting a little too adventurous there. My adventurous streak extends only to climbing school buildings and visiting foreign countries, not eating asparagus and peppers together.

But the yell of all the yells, the yell that wins the day...

As promised, we watched the Pitt game in a bar (called The Red Garter), and, as hoped for, Georgetown won! It was one of my best "Georgetown moments," despite the fact that most of "my" Georgetown was an ocean away. Most of the Villa and nearly all of the University was there, and we ate "American"-style dinner and/or snacks (and to clarify "American," I'll tell you that the Caesar salad I ordered had tomatoes and carrots (unusual for a Caesar salad) and...dressing that was decidedly NOT Caesar) and drank Budweiser and Heineken, and watched Georgetown win. At the end, when it was close, but we were up and there were only a few minutes left, every Georgetown basket or rebound caused cheers and applause amongst the Hoyas in the bar. Everyone else, presumably, was pissed off and wanted to enjoy their dinners in peace. I'm pretty sure I overheard one kid say, "We go to Maryland, but obviously, we're rooting for Georgetown tonight." After it was over, we started the Fight Song, nice and loud and accompanied by clapping. I wish I were there to see this season in person, but there's also something really special about having that Georgetown experience when you're not at Georgetown.

After that, we went to the other part of the bar and sang karaoke.

It's a small, small world

Last night, I went to a bar called Astor with a number of the other University kids from Georgetown and a bunch of Villa kids (not the ones I like best, though!) We're all at a table, and I see this kid who looks really familiar, but I can't place him. I'm pretty sure he's not at the Villa, he must be visiting. Who is he? He actually looks a lot like this kid Derek I took karate with when I was younger, and he also looks somewhat like a guy I work with, but he's obviously neither of them. We all went downstairs to the other part of the bar, where there were couches, and I was sitting across from him, staring at him for the entire first part of the night. Did we have a class together? He doesn't work for Vittles, but maybe he's a Corpie and I've seen him at parties? Could he look so familiar if I've just seen him around campus?

After an hour or so of this, we happen to go up to the bar at the same time, and he says, "You're from Suffern, right?" He IS that kid Derek I went to karate with! ("With whom I went to karate," but they're right when they say that, on occasion, bad grammar makes more of an impact than good grammar.)

(Cue music:
It's a world of laughter, a world of tears
It's a world of hopes and a world of fears
There's so much that we share
That it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all)

Apparently (I knew this but had forgotten), his family is very close with Jena's. And I didn't know that he came with her parents to visit this weekend. Crazy coincidence! And also, a faaaar cry from seeing him in karate, where we used to get visits from the DARE cop and lectures about how alcohol is bad for you.

Me and Derek

I'm also very excited to announce that I am now the proud owner of Anna dai capelli rossi, the Italian translation of Anne of Green Gables. Most, if not all, of you are probably having the same thought right now that I had when I saw it: How on earth can she be "Anne with an 'e'" if her name is Anna? There are certain things that make a book a book, and that's one of them. It has her wanting to be "Anna instead of Anne," which doesn't make a whole lot of sense because I don't think the two would be pronounced identically in Italian, but yet the paragraph continues with her saying, as she would in English, "When you say a name, can't you always see how it's spelled?" I'm interested in how they cover Anne asking Diana to "swear" to be her bosom friend, and Diana's shocked reaction, because I don't think there's a word that fits in both senses in Italian. I'll know soon (and I'll certainly update you, don't worry!), because when I last left them, Anna was getting her hat in preparation to go to Orchard Slope to meet Diana for the first time, as the latter had just returned from visiting her aunt in Carmody.

If there was one person who was interested in that last paragraph, I'll consider myself lucky.

Yesterday I went to Il Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, the museum that houses the everything that was once in the Duomo but no longer is. It was very cool. Thanks to the class Medieval Saints, I'm now content to spend hours wandering museums trying to identify evangelists, doctors of the Church, Apostles, and various other saints based on their appearances, attributes, and the scenes from their lives. I think I've realized that I shouldn't go to museums with other people, because they often are not as thrilled to stare at a painting and try to figure out why that saint is holding eggs in a bowl of soup. (Wait, those are her severed breasts in a bowl of her own blood! That makes her...anyone? anyone? St. Agatha!) I've also learned to spot a reliquary a mile away, and make a beeline for it across any church or museum. I started making a list of saints whose relics I'd seen in Siena, but it would be way too long if I'd continued it. Highlights include Sts. Peter, Paul, Mary Magdalene, John the Baptist, and Simeon Stylites, who was one of the saints we studied in class (google him - he stood on a pillar for years. Flagpole sitting used to be considered a way to glorify the Lord), as well as relics of the Passion.

The other most interesting thing I saw there was this statue of Jesus giving the Peace sign:He's supposed to be giving a blessing, but I think my interpretation works, too.

And now, I'm off to meet Amanda and Lauren, and everyone else who goes to Georgetown to watch the Pitt game in a bar that agreed to show it for us. And I'm doing so Italian-style, i.e. without having showered.

So far, my experiences with the Italian health-care system are as follows:

1) I had a headache (read: hangover). Having no idea what brand-name medicines were available, and didn't know how to say "pain killer" in Italian, so I asked at the pharmacy for "something for a headache." I gained no confidence in my Italian skills, but I did get some Ibuprofen.

2) I need a "certificato medico" to be able to do Judo. Or play any sport at all in Italy. Why make something simple when it could be complicated instead? So I go to the English-speaking doctor's office, because, let's face it, if I can't ask for Advil in Italian, how am I going to be able to answer in-depth questions about my health? This particular doctor's office only has office hours from 11-12 and from 5-6 everyday, but I don't know that. I try calling for an appointment, but don't get through. (Surprise! There's no one in the office!) So I go in during what I know are their walk-in hours (and what are in fact their only hours), and after being treated rudely by the receptionist, get to meet with a doctor who asks me whether I have a history of heart disease, whether I have high blood pressure, and my age (twice). Then, to make sure I'm telling the truth, she listens to my heart, takes my blood pressure, and tells me I'm healthy. It costs 40 Euro, which is apparently the "special price for students," even though she doesn't need any proof that I'm a student. I have to pay in cash, which she puts directly in her wallet, while spending a very long time trying to make it clear to me that this certificate won't be good enough if I want to go to the Olympics. Damn.

3) I bought a decongestant today. I also didn't know how to say decongestant, so I asked if they had Sudafed or anything like it. I got the store brand, and I think it worked? Then when I took another one today, and didn't have any water with me, I discovered that they don't coat their pills here. I spent the first half of my class looking like I was about to vomit.

What all this leads up to is that I may have a cold, but right now I'm just thankful I'm not really sick. What I mean is, I'm extra-thankful that I don't need an Italian organ transplant.

First Post

Now that I've paid more than my life is worth to have internet at home ("so I can apply for internships"), I've decided to start a blog. Because you're all dying to know what I'm doing with my life (classes, food, more classes, grocery shopping...it's very glamorous). And also because I don't want Matt showing me up.

To bring you up to date, I've been here a month now. I'm living with a French singer, a Hungarian singer, and a Hungarian violinist. I don't think they really liked me until I cleaned the bathroom, at which point they became very friendly. The Hungarian violinist, actually, is always friendly. And always here. She doesn't have a job or take classes, as far as I can tell, and I'm not sure whether she has friends, either. I never see the other two. The apartment is nice, except there's no oven, and no George Foreman Grill, so all of the sudden I have to learn how to cook different stuff. I eat lots of Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches (I brought my own Peanut Butter, since I'm very picky about my Peanut Butter), and my roommates think this is odd. The first time I made one, they thought it was dessert. Then they assumed it was breakfast. When I told them it was lunch, they thought I was mixing up the words for breakfast and lunch. The other day the Hungarian violinist asked whether they ever give me stomachaches. I don't know why they would.

I've climbed the Leaning Tower of Pisa, seen Venice during Carnivale, and visited Brussels.

Atop the Leaning Tower of Pisa

Wearing my long-awaited Venetian mask on the train back from Venice (because that's what the locals do, right?)

With my "O'Hara's Celtic Stout" at Delirium (the bar with 2004 beers) in Brussels

Classes started yesterday. I was sick. I went to class and snarfled and sniffed for four hours (2 of Medieval History and then 2 of Eighteenth Century Italian Theater, back to back but in different places in the city. You thought a walk from St. Mary's to the Car Barn was bad! These buildings are spread out all over Florence. I imagine it's something like NYU.), and didn't make any immediate best friends. I hope they were thinking, "Ew, she looks contagious. We won't sit next to her" instead of "Ew. She looks American. We won't sit next to her." Today I bought cold medicine before I went to class, and still sniffled, but it must not have been as bad, because instead of giving me the evil eye, someone offered me a tissue. Someone else asked me where I got the syllabus (not a real syllabus. The professor said, "The American students here will know that American professors have a day-by-day plan of what they'll be doing. I think this is a very good idea, but I haven't printed them out for all of you, because it would have created a scandal." They try to be very eco-friendly here in Florence.), and later someone asked me if the professor had told us what books we'd need for the class. I felt very popular, even though I managed to make a fool of myself each time by not understanding what they were saying.

Off to go make dinner on my stove. Does anyone know how to cook veal?