7/23/07
In the plane on the way to Bologna for the first time I sat next to three Russians: two dark young men in a highly festive mood and a gorgeous blond woman who was so tall and big-boned that I would guess her shoes were special order. They were on their way home after working on a cruise ship for four months. This enthusiastic group kept me entertained with charming beginning English, Russian seaman songs, and continuous requests for rounds of free cognac served by fresh-faced German stewards who had yet to blow out 19 candles on a birthday cake. About four hours into the flight, despite their raised eyebrows, our generous staff kept the cognacs coming.
Daniela, a woman who I had never met but to whom I had spoken on the phone thanks to a common friend, came to pick me up at the airport. My first impressions of her were attractive, very THIN, and stylish. She is fifty-one with the free flowing tresses and the close-fitting clothes of a twenty year old. Born in the heart of Bologna, the musical lilt of her local accent turns her dialogue into a dance. She has long chestnut colored hair, slightly freckled amber skin, and two large moles on her face, both in the right places (one above the lip and the other above the opposite eyebrow).
My second impression of her -- in a RUSH. Along with her aunt Fiorella who was waiting in the car in a no parking zone, Daniela packed me and my two overweight suitcases up into her minuscule car and we took off after my day long journey and my 3rd (or was it 4th?) round of drinks to go look at an available bedroom for rent in an apartment that belonged to some people she vaguely knew. Needless to say, I was completely unprepared to go apartment hunting in that moment and remember very little about the place or about what was said in rapid-fire Italian. I do remember doing a lot of nodding and smiling. Though I had no interest in the place at all I had to feign congeniality, mostly by holding my head up and forcing myself to stay awake.
8/12/07
The first three weeks here have flown by and I'm still smiling. My memory of these past few days is tangled up in a web of new words, winding streets, sorry exchange rates, summer heat reaching to 100 or so without AC, and the numerous kindnesses I have received. So far I've gotten lost almost everyday, I've had my ATM card blocked for 24 hours, been locked out, opened an Italian bank account, bought a cellphone, and found an apartment near the Porta Santo Stefano -- the last of which was by far the most challenging since I refused to go through an agency and pay a 1000 Euro fee. Daniela kindly agreed to let me stay at her place an extra few days so I could find the right apartment. Actually it was a good experience for me to have a couple of full weeks living in her home to see what Italian family life is really like. Lively is the first word that comes to mind.
I've signed the contract for my new place (in blood it seemed due to the fact that there are hidden fees for everything). At first the bureaucracy of it all gave me a fright, but now I'm calm with the knowledge that I have my own beautiful little place in Bologna and that I can most likely make some extra bucks tutoring English. However I have become extremely conscious of my water, gas, and electricity usage. This is a new awareness for me that feels very un-American, and almost cheap, but things just cost more here. We're really lucky in the States not to have to fret about long showers and lights left on. For the most part people don't even have bathtubs here but choose to have showers instead because it's more economical. Ditto for clothes dryers: they just don't seem to exist -- too much electricity, a dear resource that Italians buy from Switzerland and France.
I'm now in the process of gathering housewares from new friends and neighbors so I can throw out the aluminum trays and plastic cutlery I started with. I carry my mini-dictionary with me everywhere and, thus, have learned to use more intelligent words than this "thing" and that "thing" for every object I refer to. My best blooper yet was when I told a friend that I still needed silverware for my apartment. I translated it literally to the Italian word "argenteria," which means sterling (think wedding silver). It was as if I had asked her to loan me her finest China.
Yesterday I went by train to visit the site of an ancient Etruscan Village called Marzabotto that was built 500yrs before Christ. The excavation of the original stone walls, all extraordinarily intact, is still in progress but it was easy to imagine what everyday life there was like before the Celts destroyed it in 200BC. There was a main drag and many workshops where craftsman and smiths produced wares. Oddly, the location recalled Taos, NM for me in that a large plain looks up to rolling wooded mountains on all sides. The guide said that the site is little known for its ancient history but, rather, is remembered because the Germans bombed the nearby town during WWII killing 1800 people -- a memory that is much more recent. I wonder how many people died there at the hands of the Celts? While there I scavenged a nice little herb plant (a kind of wild mint) to take home and plant in a pot. I hope it flourishes and will make my little terrace smell as aromatic as Marzabotto does.
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