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.