Lucky Breaks

Lucky Breaks

All things considered, I had a great time in Venice. Things could have gone horribly wrong, but somehow I've been lucky enough to meet great people everywhere I've gone - Thierry, the security guard at TNX, Michele da Pisa, Enrico da Pisa, Enrico da Venezia, loads of Americans both in the States and here who have looked out for me when they had no obligation. For sure, I've encountered people with bad intentions, but there's something that shines through in good people that helps me recognize them.

Maybe I'm just lucky. I think that luck is a feeling, though - a sense that things have gone your way. So, lucky, maybe, but I think I should give myself some credit too - I had a lot of things on my side. I had a map, mace, sobriety, cash. I speak the language. And I have common sense.

Of course, bad things happen, and they have, can, and will happen to me. Here's to hoping the luck in my equations doesn't run out.

Vacanza di Primavera has begun! Rimarrò in Firenze.

I'll be working on my paintings and sculpture during the day. SACI closes at 5, so I'll be forced out of the making-art world back into the being-art world.

Oggi (Today) - Art opening for 3 SACI students

Sabato - Troy Pierce @ Tenax - a DJ from Indiana who now lives in Berlin

Domenica - climb Duomo, visit Boboli Gardens

Lunedì - Chianti with Anne to visit sculpture professor Dario at his farm

Martedì - Jazz Club

Mercoledì - wander Firenze, maybe treat myself to an entire pizza, mmmm! (it's easy to eat an entire pizza by yourself here; they're sized for it)

Giovedì - Vinicio Capossela

Venerdì - Berlin (Sascha Funke at Watergate, a beautiful club I've never been to)

Sabato - Explore Berlin (if you've been there, I'd love suggestions)

Domenica - return from Berlin. Do laundry ... sleep.

Ah, planning. Sounds like a good week to me. Now, where to stay in Berlin? And how to get around? I have always my feet .... but in Berlin, not the language. It's been comforting knowing I can get around and understand signs in Italy, and I wish I understood more German. To some extent there's a natural translation and I think I could read a sign and get something from it. But I certainly couldn't put together my own sentence.

So far, traveling on my own has meant going with the flow, and I'm open to that.

Venezia: in to, and in love

Venezia: in to, and in love

Venice is another world from the one I have known. This weekend was magical, convoluted, lucky. I walked for 16 hours on Saturday, 7 on Sunday: this is destined to be a long post.

Where we have cars, they have boats.

There are no Vespas, no SmartCars, not even bicicletti - just canali, ponti, and marciapiedi.

Life is neccessarily slower.

And during Carnevale, life is weird.

Ducking under the feathers.

I have not been so enchanted with Firenze as I have been with Venezia. It would be hard not to fall in love with it.

Thursday night, Anne and I made masks with materials found at the Euro Store. I cut up a plastic gold mask that originally covered my entire face, and I painted it with nailpolish - the only thick paint I could find at the Euro Store. Then I went in search of feathers on Friday, and I found a cloth base with premounted feathers, so I mounted the plastic mask to the cloth mask for a more comfortable fit.

We took a bus Friday night to Mirano, a little town 30 minutes outside of Venice. We stayed in Leon D'Oro, where they fed us dinner and the best panna cotta I've ever had - it fell apart in my mouth so beautifully! After dinner we discovered the zipline and the trampoline behind the hotel. Zipping through the treeline and bouncing around like a maniac was exactly what I needed after being in Firenze for many weeks.

I went to bed early while the rest of SACI got drunk and loud, as I hadn't been to bed before 5 am for a week and a half (ah, the over-active mind). Then Saturday morning, I woke up, teased my hair out as big as it would get, and painted my face to match my mask.

We had breakfast in the hotel, then got on the bus for Venezia.

SACI people were ready for fun.

When we arrived in Venezia, I walked around with Alex all morning in the unbusy parts, looking for hidden courtyards and small alleys.

After a few hours, we stopped for lunch at the least expensive place we could find. Then we wandered accidentally into Piazza San Marco, where all the festivities and people gather. Alex and I parted ways, as I wanted to wander by myself.

Piazza San Marco: Insanity

I painted my lips gold and dusted my face heavily with shimmer. I wore the gold shawl my mother sent me for my birthday over an all black outfit. Then I played with some strangers, peaking out around corners and dancing under a pathway, acting mysterious.

It's easy to do strange things while wearing a mask.

Lots of people acting mysterious:

There were so many ornate costumes as well.

I saw so many strange things. I was apparently one of them, as several people snapped my photo - one woman was just inches from my face with her telephoto lens. Later, when I was sitting down, a couple approached me and asked for a photo. Then the girl said, "Lui non è il mio fidanzato!" and the man came to put his arm around me for another photo. It was fun being both a spectator and a spectacle.

One man came up to me in full-costume, with a mask to his nose and fabric over his mouth, a rose in hand - he moved towards me slowly like a mime and pulled me into him for a brief kiss through the fabric. At the time I had no idea what was happening; I was very confused as his blue face moved closer and closer to mine. Then my face made a second of contact with the sequins over his mouth, and my eyes popped behind my mask. He twirled away, and immediately after, I laughed to myself and remembered hearing Carnevale in Venezia was famous for strangers doing all kinds of things with strangers.

In the evening, I met up with Marisa, Alex, and our friends Paul and Lindsey. We walked around and looked for a place to eat. We wandered into Ristorante La Feluca. I ordered minestrone all'ortolano - minestrone, grocer's style with fresh vegetables - and the most interesting thing I could find on the menu in the vegetarian section - il camembert caldo con miele d'acacia, le noci, e l'aceto balsamico - warm camembert with acacia-blossom honey, walnuts, pinenuts, and balsamic vinegar. I had no idea what camembert was but when it came, I was excited to dig into the soft, creamy white blob drizzled artfully with honey and crushed nuts.

(For those who aren't more gastronomically educated than me, I looked it up when I got home, and it's a famous soft french cheese.)

After dinner, we wandered over to the Ponte Rialto and down to the square on the other side. I found a drum circle - always my calling - and I stayed to dance in the deep beat of the drums when the others left. I danced with my mask on in the middle of the circle, and I met two girls from Bologna named Debora and Antonella. We danced together for a while, and then we left to go find a bathroom.

When we returned, we immersed ourselves in another square where minimal techno throbbed through the columns. "This is my music!" I thought to myself, and I danced and danced away. Antonella, Debora, and I collected good people along the way and we wandered back over the Ponte Rialto. As the night progressed so did the vibe, and nearing midnight, I realized I wanted to stay. SACI gave us the option of going back on the bus at 12:15 or finding our own accomodations, so I spoke with the girls and they helped me figure out a way back.

I phoned the TA on the trip to let them know, and everything was all set ... until I lost Debby and Antonella in the madness on the way back to San Marco. But I had a map in my pocket, and so I headed that way, thinking I could figure out a way back by myself. I ran into a group of American students who were studying in France but staying in a Venetian hostel; I told them my story, and they said, "Just stay with us! We're in a hostel and there are extra beds."

We wandered around, following the music which originated from a speaker mounted to a cart. It was like a mini-Love parade, with 30-40 people trailing the cart as it went up and down the bridges through the city. We ended up in an empty piazza and danced for a while; I spoke with some guys from Spain and some of the students from France.

I went down by the canal to talk with Phalyn, one girl from the France program. We sat on the steps with our bags behind us and we compared programs. Then when I stood up, my foot slipped on the algae and I slipped into the canal up to my chest. I kicked my legs around to keep afloat and reached for the bottom step to hold on, but it was so slippery that I slipped back into the water. Phalyn grabbed my arm and pulled me up. I wrung out my tights, socks, shirt, boots as best I could, and then we went back to the music.

I could only laugh at first, because the situation was so absurd. Then I could only shiver. I asked the Spaniards where they were going next, since the music had stopped.

They said, "We are going to dance! You just need to dance, then you will be warm!"

One of them gave me his wool sweater, which instantly improved the situation, but it was clear that neither of them realized the seriousness of being wet in the middle of winter.

Since my phone was fried, I decided I needed to find someone from Venice. I went to the guy with the music and told him, "Ho una problema. Sono caduata nell'acqua! Il mio telefonino non è funzione, e ho fredda - troppo fredda."

He felt my legs around my ankles and responded in English, "This has happened to me twice. I live very close to here. You need a hot shower and to get dry quickly. We can go to my house and you will take a hot shower and dry your clothes."

So Enrico and I walked fifteen minutes to his house, where he lives with his parents and sister. We walked quickly to keep me warm.

"Mi sento stupida, Enrico," I told him. I felt I had made a bruta figura, but he reassured me.

"No, no, this happens sometimes. The steps here are a problem. I work on a boat, and people fall in. In the summer it is not a problem, but in the winter you must get dry very quickly."

We arrived to his house, which was a large apartment many flights up with a view of Venice. He showed me where his sister was sleeping, and led me to the bathroom, where he gave me a towel and a hairdryer for my clothes. I showered until my feet no longer felt cold, then dryed my shoes and socks and clothes. I was glad I had worn two pair of tights instead of jeans, as they dried quickly.

I had planned on walking to Piazzale Roma after showering to catch a bus, but by the time I was dry it was somewhere between 3-6 am (I'm not exactly sure, since my phone was salty and wet). Enrico explained that the busses and taxis don't run during these hours, but he offered his couch, which was ready with blankets and pillows. He brought me a sweater and some of his sister's loose pants, and pointed up the stairs.

"Si hai bisogno di qualcosa, sono qui."

"Grazie mille, Enrico."

Then I fell asleep.

I woke in the morning to the sound of someone firing up a gas stove. It was his sister's friend, and she was surprised to see me on the couch. I explained to her why I was there, then asked what time it was. It was 9, so I got ready to meet SACI at Piazzale Roma - the bus was due to arrive at 10:15. While I got ready I heard the many church bells of Venice - it is not like Florence, where the Duomo rings out one chime at a time, loud and clear. The bells echoed off the water and rang like a chorus, one after another after another, each sounding a little different.

More to come ...

Blue Sky, Pink Eye.

Blue Sky, Pink Eye.

I've had a difficult time finding the energy to update this past week or so. After the jazz club last week, I realized how short my time is here: next week is midterm, the week after is spring break.

On Friday I went to Pisa to visit my friend Michele whom I met at TNX. On the way to Pisa I took a very comfortable train; I sat across from a man reading the newspaper. I nodded in and out of sleep for almost an hour. After waking to a phone call from Michele, I asked this man, "C'è un bagno?"

"Eh...," he looked around, "Ah, si!" He tapped on the big plastic cave behind him.

After navigating the strange train bathroom, I returned to my seat, and asked him if he was headed to Pisa. He was, and he helped me perfect my grammar in a text to Michele with information on our arrival.

He had a little voice, but was very kind. His name is Enrico; he's lived in Pisa for 40 years, but works in Firenze as a cashier. He was really curious about what I was doing in Italy, and also about what I was interested in doing with art. I told him I want to teach, but I also want to design album covers (to get to that point, I had to draw a record with an arrow to an envelope, because I couldn't remember the word for vinyl record - disco is the word). He was so helpful throughout the conversation, encouraging me to just try to say something in Italian, even when I thought I didn't know the words just right.

Enrico da Pisa

When I meet people like Enrico, I am filled with happiness. It makes me feel more comfortable while I bumble through a language that I love, and it is good for both parties to make a cross-cultural connnection. I wrote my blog address on a flyer I had in my notebook from an electronic event we helped my friend Seth promote; he wrote his email in my notebook. Enrico looked thrilled to have a piece of America; his hand was shaking just holding the paper while he smiled and said, "Grazie, grazie!"

While I waited for Michele, Enrico waited with me. "This is not a good place for you to wait alone," he said. I looked around. I saw that there were indeed some dubious characters; many people had come for respite from the bitter cold. The Stazione is sort of a run-down place; it was in this train station that I used my first squat toilet.

BEFORE my squatting commenced.

Pisa itself is sort of a dying city, but it was interesting to see the night life, which seemed to revolve around one bar and walking in groups. Pisa is full of one way streets; Michele explained to me that if you have to go somewhere 5 meters away in your car, you might have to drive 100 meters just to get there. As he explained this he snaked through Pisa in his car on the way back from seeing the tower.

Straight, straight, straight, tilt.

I spent a few hours walking around with Michele - the first uomo italiano willing to be just my friend. We successfully conversed in a mixture of Italian and English. I really was enjoying the bus ride back, too, but it got me into a pensive place. The bus and the train were both very comfortable. On the bus there were maybe 10 people and 40 seats; it was dark and warm and though I couldn't see much of the countryside, I knew I was seeing some trees.

I walked back from the Santa Maria Novella train station at 2:30 am Saturday morning, saw lots of drunk American students, and went to bed.

Walking into the kitchen Saturday morning - mamma mia, could it be sunshine?

Sunglasses provide instant attitude to any outfit, which is why I love wearing my aviators. After I looked out into the courtyard and saw a blue sky on Saturday, I thought it might be a badass day.

Yes, yes it is! Blue skies, hallelujah.

But when I got into the bathroom, I realized that despite all the sunshine, there would be no sunglasses for me for many days. I woke up with pink eye, or what I think was pink eye. I wore my eye glasses instead.

I didn't want to go to the doctor again, so I looked up some natural remedies and decided to use a cold chamomile tea bag. It was soothing to my eye, and when I woke up Sunday, the redness had diminished drastically. A haze of pink remained until today, but it never got worse. Maybe chamomile works; maybe I just didn't have pink eye. Either way I'm glad.

Saturday, Valentine's Day, I saw many couples walking around, and despite all the sunshine, I couldn't help but wish for something more. Though I believe Valentine's Day to be a commercial excuse, I also think it's a good day for reflection. I saw an old man with eyes so bright blue that he still looked youthful, and it had me thinking of Justin's bright eyes. Since we couldn't spend Valentine's Day together in analog, we spent a few minutes together digitally.

After our Skype date, I had a platonic date with Alex at the Jazz club. Before jazzing it up, we (or I should say, Alex) made dinner at our apartment - chicken with pepper with onions with garlic with peas with rice. It was delicious, and we ate every last bite. Then we headed out to the Jazz Club around the corner and around the street.

My hot date was a headphone monster.

Acoustic Trio, with lounge covers of Oasis, Nirvana, and Prince.

All around, it was a good weekend; I spent a bit of time working on my projects, and that's what I'll be doing all week too. I have an etching critique on Thursday and a book due Monday, and I'll be at school until closing time at 10 all this week. There's no time to work on my projects this weekend, for Friday, I go to Venezia for Carnevale, and I shan't return until Sunday!

Of course, many photos of Venezia to come.

Spiritata?

Spiritata?

Just a quick update that I'm sure I'll edit later; this week has been all ups and downs and I needed time to digest before writing anymore.

Last night, met up with some other SACI kids at the Duomo and went to a jazz club we've been hearing about. We walked around for a while trying to find it; as we were walking I talked to a new friend that I don't know very well yet. We shared a cab from the airport the first day we all got here, but we haven't spent much time talking. The subject turned to music, and apparently he also listens to a lot of minimal techno (among other electronic genres). We talked about maybe going to a show sometime; maybe I will have a companion for TNX next time; we'll see how it pans out.

We finally figured out where the jazz club was, it turned out that it's a minute walk from my apartment in this little alley with an unassuming sign and stairs into a basement. It cost 8 euro to join, but there is a free jam session every Tuesday (blues) and Wednesday (jazz), and I'll never have to pay to get in again. I joined a club - oh my gosh!


The scene had exactly the vibe I've been missing from home; the musicians were awesome and they looked so damned thrilled to be up on stage. There were musicians all over the place, and they switched out through the night. At one point these two young musicians, maybe 15 or 16 years old, came up and started playing. One played bass guitar, the other maybe an electric guitar, I'm not sure. They were really good and the vibe just got better throughout the night.

I met a guy from London who's been living in Florence for two years, and his friend from Poland. The Londoner was showing his friend a magic trick with two corks, and his friend was trying to figure it out. I was sitting a couple of seats away, and he handed me the corks. I tried a few times, and from there, we started talking. It was refreshing to meet them.

At one point during the night, a woman got up on stage and sang; her voice was incredible. She was really belting it out, and it did something to my insides. Listening to her voice woke something up inside me. There were a lot of SACI kids there too, some dancing, others closing their eyes and moving along in their seats. I got up to dance for a while, and the musicians were loving it. I wish I had my camera with me to take pictures of their facial expressions, but this week I will get one, and I'll be going back every Tuesday anyway. I kept thinking to myself all night, "Man, this is great! I could have a great night every Tuesday if I wanted to!" It's nice to have found something that happens on a regular basis; something to look forward to.



In art news, this is the clay model I have been working from for stone carving. It's my idea of what the Large Hadron Collider might look like if might happen if the fears about it come true - the earth, splitting away from time, collapsing into itself.

The stone isn't much to look at yet, but for progression purposes, I'll be documenting.

This will be the back side, with the beginning of the "black hole" (yes, I know we don't know what they actually look like, but this is contemporary art, where we can imagine anything we want):


And this is the side that is highest - to the right is where the undulation will occur. The left side is the back:


Dario, my sculpture professor, encourages me to use the stone that I have, but I am so attached to the way I want it to look that I am having a hard time not wanting to widdle away the hunk of pietra into my dream piece. It is kind of a shame to waste all that stone, though. We'll see where it goes.

Dario came in to check on my progress today and also ask if I was feeling better about being in Italy. I told him last week that I was feeling lonely, and discouraged by my attempts at socializing, and he offered some suggestions to me. I love this professor; he's a hilarious little italian man with a sharp wit, but also absentminded. Sometimes, quite suddenly, he pops into the room where I am working to blurt something out. Today it was, "I was thinking! Ahermm, maybe those italian raggazi have met girls before who had a boyfriend een the Stayeetes and in Eeetaly, that is why they think it ees ok."

I took a break from carving to go to the Wind store before it closed to get a recharge card for the internet. When I returned, he asked how it was, and I said, "It was a nice, brisk walk." He didn't understand brisk, and so we started talking about what another way of saying it might be, and how they might say in Italian. Anne offered that another word for brisk might be quick, fast, or spirited, and Dario latched on to "spirited." He said, "You could call it una passegiata spiritata, but then the italians will find that funny! It means like you have a little devil inside you." We were cracking up and I was demonstrating what my possesed walk to the wind store might have been like. It was good to goof around. I felt like they got to know me a little more because they hadn't seen that side of me, and it was good to relax and have a laugh. I've been feeling out of sorts here, but tonight, I felt like regular Diana, which is not very regular at all.

Tonight I think we will go back to the jazz club and find out if we like the jazz jam sessions as much as the blues jam sessions. Tomorrow night I am going with a friend from sculpture class, Bre, to have dinner somewhere on the other side of the river (apparently things are less expensive over there); she has similar goals for her experience here, and I really enjoy working alongside her in class.

Last night, while listening to the music, I realized how short my time really is in Italy, and I was both relieved, and sad. Though I miss home, this is where I need to be right now.

So there is hope.

More to come soon.

An Evening for Chamomile.

An Evening for Chamomile.

My birthday evening ended early: dinner, tears, desert, un flautista della via, a postprandial walk, a dance in Piazza della Repubblica, a glass of sangria with four lovely ladies.

Wine can't fix bad group dynamics. It sometimes just brings out caustic humor.


But I loved this, after a stressful dinner with people that should not eat together:

I like to believe there is always something lovely if you keep looking.


If you don't find it, maybe it's you?

It is time for bed. More tomorrow.

Tanti Auguri a Me

Tanti Auguri a Me

One of the most valuable things I've learned from my coworker Amanda and friends at home is to take time for myself. And so yesterday, I didn't go to class. I knew I could afford the time; I felt like I owed it to myself. I had a mental ache; I needed a break from Italy. For the past few days I knew I had been slipping into a negative place, withdrawing from my friends and roommates, feeling miserable because of the rain and disappointed by my attempts at relationships. I stayed home, wrote, drank tea with my roommate Marisa while looking out into the courtyard and the sky above.


Just the day before (Wednesday), I received a long-awaited package from Justin containing a lovely letter, three pair of SmartWool Socks and a pack of white socks, three boxes of tea so we can have transatlantic digital tea parties, my paintbrushes, photos, a spoon from his kitchen (someday soon I'll explain the spoon thing), and some of his clothes (two tee shirts, boxers) that smell like him. It was the ultimate care package. So when I sat down for tea with Marisa, I enjoyed my first cup of the Aged Earl Grey ("Bergamot Assam, robust with fruity notes"!). She had a cup of Indian Spiced Chai.


It was nice to unwind and share a cup with her; sometimes I become so drawn into myself that I forget to connect with others.


After tea, I went to Zecchi's, a tiny art store jam-packed with supplies, located near the Duomo. Half of the things you need you can't find, you just have to ask for them. I needed a stretch of canvas, so asked for tre metri, which turned out to be twice as much as I expected. I wasn't upset when I saw it though, I just laughed to think about how this little 5'4" girl was going to carry a nine foot tube through the center of Firenze for the 10 minute walk to school. I knew I would get some strange looks, and I did; I giggled to myself every time I saw my reflection. There's an unspoken rule about how to navigate the streets here. You have to pay attention to who's coming your way, and who might be behind you, and if you've got an umbrella or something big you had better know when to step out of the way, or hold your ground. I think people thought I was going to hit them, but I knew how to handle it.

I saw my friend Alex at school; I lunged toward him, wielding my tube of canvas like a ridiculous sword. There was a similarly sized package of polyester film waiting at the front desk, and so he grabbed it and we postured playfully in the lobby. It had me laughing, and the good mood set the tone for the rest of the evening.

I stayed to work on the second painting in my series of beets paintings; this one is turning out better because the objective is to paint from memory. I have my easel set up with my still life behind me; I turn around to make a mental note, but I do no painting while looking. Doing so frees me up and I focus less on the exactitude of the objects, more on the impression they make in my mind.

When I left, I walked with friends Libby and Alex to an empty San Lorenzo market, parting ways with Libby when another friend, Anne, came around the corner. Anne was on her way to meet Marisa for a glass of wine. It seemed like the perfect cap to the evening, and so we came along. We met Marisa at the Duomo and then wandered for a while.

We stumbled upon a restaurant - and by stumbled, I mean stared at the menu long enough for the owner to come out and offer us a table. We were drawn in when he started explaining a bottle of wine, which he produced himself. We sat down, intending to enjoy one bottle and go, but Marisa and I split a margherita pizza and the others split bruschetta. The wine was crisp and smooth; the pizza was better than anything I had eaten thus far in Italy. The cheese dripped off the slices, warm and flavorful, deliciously salty (thus prompting more wine)

We were all giggling from the wine, except Alex, who generally isn't too giggly but brings out the best humor in us by being his goofy, witty self.


Here is the man himself, caught in an unfortunate blinking moment - though the expression is still pretty accurate.

I summoned Massimo the winemaker.

"Signore, il tuo vino è buonissimo! Domani è il mio cumpleanno, e vorrei mangiare qui."

"I ahm so flahhttered," he said. He gestured to where my table would be.

We spoke with him for a while after paying il conto. Massimo delighted us with his Italian accent on English words, and he enjoyed our best efforts at Italian.

By the time we left, fifteen minutes remained of the day, and so we headed towards the Ponte Vecchio. I skipped alongside the Arno, singing out single Italian words as they came to me, giddy and pleased that I had turned my mood around.

And so it goes.

When the bells of the Duomo rang out at midnight last night, I sat on the ledge of the Ponte Vecchio, smack dab in the middle, next to the Lover's Locks and three new friends. I'm one for symbolism, and it felt like the best place in Florence to spend the last few minutes of my twenty-first year, and the first few minutes of the next.

I embraced the silliness. "I want to be part of the river!" I cried out. I spit into the river, and then so too did Anne, who was next to me, then Marisa, then Alex.

If the best place to be when I turned into my New Year was on a bridge, then I decided we certainly couldn't turn back around and go home the way we came. We finished crossing the Ponte Vecchio and wandered alongside the Arno down to the next bridge, stopping only for four cannoli and for me, an unknown torta ciocolatta with rum. MMMM! to wipe the sugar dust off your face at 00:30, to enjoy a wine buzz, and then a birthday buzz, and then a dolce buzz.

And, Oh! to forget about blending in, to spit in the river, to laugh loudly on the street.

Desidero l'impossibile.

Desidero l'impossibile.

Piove, piove, piove! Brisk weather, and puddles between the cobblestones always. When will it stop?

This is the San Lorenzo market at 8 a.m. Here, the cobblestones glisten because they are damp with rain. Otherwise they are dull. I pass this market every day at least once. The vendors in this market put up their shops every morning only to tear them down at night. I imagine it's better than working in un negozio because there is much more interaction with people on the street and the other vendors. In mercato San Lorenzo, they sell leather goods, journals, umbrellas, purses, belts, clothes.

In the mercato centrale, they sell food: it is a feast for the eyes.

I woke up yesterday with a sore throat (5th day in a row) - un mal di gola - and stuffy head. My voice sounds like a see saw. I called the English doctor listed on the SACI quick reference sheet; when I called he answered the phone himself. I've never had a doctor answer the phone before - just overworked, underpaid receptionistas. He said to come down right away, as he was starving for lunch but he would wait for me.

It was so very informal, yet professional; the examination room was also his office, and he filled out the form for me, as I was a bit out of it. He looked in my throat, ears, listened to my chest, and without really defining what he thought was wrong with me, said, "I think we ought to treat you for tonsillitis."

So off I went, 40 euro later, prescription in hand, to the pharmacy right next door. No little square of paper, just a piece of a small notepad with a stamp from his office. While the pharmacist retrieved the medicines, one woman behind the counter stared me down. She looked annoyed that I was even there but maybe she was just annoyed to be there in the first place.

The pharmacist gave me two boxes of amoxicillin-penicillin horse pills, a cleverly designed bottle of throat-numb spray, and a packet of decongestants - all for the great price of 41 euro ! That's $52. I couldn't help but think of how in America, my insurance would cover me for a $20 visit and the medicine might have cost half of what I paid here. Ah, well. That's what you get for buying minimum student insurance at the italian post office.

But for 2 euro a bottle, maybe I can also self-medicate with succo di arancia, carota, e limone.

In other news, I wonder - Has it come to this? I hope it is not true: Penso che una donna e un uomo non potrebbere essere amici in Italia.

I think it is not possible for a woman and a man to be friends in Italy. Some think it is true everywhere, but my experience has been different in America.

Outside of SACI students, I hoped to make friends with people who live here, but the women are not very approachable, and the men seem to only want one thing. Le americane have a reputation for being easy, and I can see why when I observe them in the discoteche. I'm sure this is somewhat true; when hundreds of young women are unleashed in a city that inspires romance, why wouldn't they go for the dashing italian men? (For the record, italian men are not, in my experience, very good dancers.)

Speaking of embracing sexuality...

I find this pene pasta everywhere. Punny pasta. The picture is foggy because of steam.

Saturday night I met some locals through my roommate and another female friend. One spoke english fairly well, and the other not so much - I'll call him Cupido, since his name has a similar connotation. I was able to converse with them though I stumble often. I told them of mio ragazzo in Stati Uniti; I told them we are in love.

"Ah, brava, brava," they said. So I thought we had an understanding. How naive I must be!

I told them I needed to go shopping, and Cupido offered that he could show me some nice stores the next day. So we met, looked around, had simple conversations, ate lunch. He didn't linger when he dropped me off; he left immediately after the customary cheek-cheek kiss.

He called me last night to tell me he likes me very much! And, that he knows I had a boyfriend, but he wants to see me! I am in Italy! I should have an Italian boyfriend too! I am a brava ragazza! He is in love with me! (So he says).

I laughed, said, "È ridicolo! Questo non è amore. Non è possibile." I knew what he was really wanting, and it was confirmed when I spoke with my roommate the next day.

He told her that he just wants to fare il sesso with me and, dopo, non chiamami mai.

Bravo ragazzo?

No.

It is hard to have intellectual conversations in Italian. I hardly have a vocabulary for it. I wonder how I will make friends if I can't share in Italian my ideas about life. I'll keep trying; I see three promising friendships with locals, but I will only know in time what their real motives are.