It's Time For The Ruby Slippers

We have reached it. The day before. Less than 24 hours until I'm back home. (Not exactly actually, I am spending one night in New York because I couldn't get a flight back to California until the following day but still)

As I look back on my 4 and 1/2 month adventure through Italy, several things stand out. As it would be insane to right all of them down, I shall just choose a few and give a brief summary.

THE SOUTH

My trip started in the South of Italy in a town called Lecce. It was around 100 degrees almost every day and I took one grammar course. The rest of the time was spent at beaches, eating gellato, sweating profusely, and recounting the past 6 years of my life with the people I just met. The two major restaurants I went to served, in total, over 15 courses which left me 1)gasping for air and 2) thinking everything else back in the States was uncivilized. The three weeks went by crazy fast and right after I took a trip with a friend to some Italian cities.

CENTRAL

The trip began in the city of Rome. Between seeing most of the historical sites (there is always something you missed), going to a soccer game in an 80,000 capacity stadium built for the Olymics, and just realizing I was in Rome, it was great. However, the heat was unbearable, and my hostel was worse than the trash can Oscar the Grouch lives in. After getting sick from the 3 Irish people and swimming laps in own sweat while I slept on the floor (yeah, it was that bad), I was ready to move on. Next was Siena. A small town in Tuscany with a lot less tourists than Rome. No place better to be when wanting to relax and take some deep breaths. After that was Pisa. The Leaning Tower is everything it is advertised to be. The longer you stare at it the more you think it is going to fall. You throw the fact that I slept in two train stations throughout these 4 days and all in all, it was a success.

Bologna

Housing

Now I'm where I'm supposed to be. Where I will be studying. Living. And finding my pizza spot and preferred grocery store. Although my original housing assignment started off super-duper wack, I was placed in an apartment style dorm where I should have been all along. Two of the original four guys have since moved out (bureaucratic reasons) but it's still cool. We have had numerous dinner parties. I have played one on one soccer in the hallway for an hour (I won in penalty kicks). We have had actually parties. Watched soccer games on TV accompanied by constant screaming and two of the guy's moms have came and cooked home made meals. The list is endless.

Food

Before I set foot in the country, I knew the food was going to be great. But, I didn't know that I would have all these meat and cheese options. The pizza was a sure thing and the pasta was, too. But I never really thought that the M&C could be that different. Boy Howdy. Having the cooking class was probably the best thing out here as the teacher really knows what she is doing and she hooks me up. As far as pizza, me and my girl Robin go to this one place AT LEAST once a week. They give slices that are better suited for Paul Bunyan at a crazy price. Yesterday was her last time there (she isn't coming back second semester) and mine till February. We were treated to lots of first. The workers, usually grumpy and scowling, let me come around the barrier and take pictures. Then, another guy gave the first 'buongiorno' which was a total shock. (for the record, he couldn't have looked more pissed when he said it but he still gets credit) Then to top it all off, the guy who was literally making the pizza had part of his crack showing. Gotta love it. There is of course great restaurants but I won't even lie: I have not been as adventurous as I should be. Next semester I hope to hit up more spots. I just find my comfort zone and stick to it. What can I say?

The Other Cities

The two weeks traveling was truly great. To go to these amazing cities that I had always heard of but never imagined going to, was special. Florence, with the beautiful art and delicious food. Michaelangelo's David is more impressive than anything I've ever seen. Venice with its architectural set up and overall uniqueness. And Lake Como as just the most relaxing and beautiful place you'll ever see. (The food in Venice was mediocre at best in contrast to Lake Como where I had the best meal of entire life)


As I could go on and on, I will stop here. Before I finish packing, there are 15 observations that Mr. Spectacular would like to make before he boards the plane:

-The South of Italy is very different than the North of Italy
-Gellato lives up to the hype
-Folks are crazier for soccer than I initially thought
-Clothes, especially shoes, are unbelievable
-Words such as "I'm not trippn" and "You feel me?" or "Ya digg?" don't translate well
-It is not looked down upon for guys to use a hairdryer
-Or spend more time in the bathroom than girls for that matter
-Pasta is more common than breathing
-Hospitality is more wide spread here than in the South of America
-Sweatpants don't exist
-Tabasco sauce is not popular
-Ralph Nader is popular (Just kidding)
-Everyone wants to go to New York
-The words 'flamboyant' and 'gaudy' mean nothing
-People are really, really good looking. Really

Well folks, that'll do it. It is my job to make a reservation at this pizzeria tonight for THIRTEEN people. Truth be told, I only wanted about 7 or 8 people there so we'll see how it plays out. It's going to feel good to be back home. Burgers with BBQ sauce, Tropicana orange juice, bacon, carnitas...

Mom, let's stock up that fridge. Your boy is coming home!

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200

Every now and then I think about childhood. The good ol days or GOLDS as I like to call them. The sleep overs at friends' houses, the staying up late to watch a t.v show, and, perhaps most fun of all, the boardgames.

Everyone had their favorites. And with those favorites came categories. You had your standards that everyone knew such as connect 4 (my man Max G. is a killer) and candy land. Then their were the straight nerds who would always talk about D&D or Dungeons and Dragons. And of course, the pompass brats who only played Trivial Pursuit because everything else was 'below them'.

That all being said, I think it is safe to say that everyone, no matter how rich, spoiled, insecure, or stupid, knows the big Kahuna of them all: Monopoly. Granted some people might only be familiar with Monopoly through McDonald's game.

I haven't had the luxury of playing Monopoly in a long time. It is a game where you need at least 3 people (4 is so much better) and one then requires some time. In a day and age where we feel we are unproductive if not doing at least 4 things at a time, its hard to sit down and play a board game. However, last night I had the pleasure, no the honor, of playing Monopoly with some folks and really taking them to school.

After my girl Robin and I got our pastries at a local bakery, we were asked to join our fellow roommates in a friendly game of Monopoly. We accepted the offer even though I was a bit weary. I did not know if their style or rules were different. As you may or may not know, the rules of Monopoly vary from every family member to every U.S. state. (For example, Special Rule # 12 states: all the money from luxury tax or any other penalty goes under the 'Free Parking' spot. If someone lands on that spot, they get the money)

As I looked at the board itself to check out the names of the avenues and railroads I quickly noticed something was off. WAY OFF. There was no money around. None in the box, none in the hands of my competitors. I asked what the hell was going on and was told this was the modern version which meant everyone got 'credit cards' as opposed to money. There was even a little ATM type machine where you stick the card in following money transactions. Needless to say, I was shocked.

Once the game began, it became clear that the motive for everyone was to buy any and everything you land on. Whats that? Atlantic Avenue? Yeah I'll buy it. What's that? A pile of used diapers? Yeah, I'll buy it. As Robin and I were a team we decided we would just follow their lead and buy everything as well. After a few rolls, Robin and I were on the verge on getting a Monopoly. I told Robin to roll a 9 and sure enough, she did. We put some houses on those bad boys and we were ready to roll.

At this point in the game, we were the only ones with a monopoly. One of the other players, my housemate who is from Kosovo, was in bad shape. He only had 2 properties and was low on money. He was constantly sighing. This other guy named Ernesto was in the same boat. He had a few more properties than the first guy but, he too, was not happy. Part of the Italian rules is that you can buy properties from each other. All you do is just negotiate the price. Once Robin and I were really starting to dip into their pockets (we had 3 houses for each avenue we had in the monopoly) I decided to negotiate with this one girl. She was low on money and was in a desperate situation.

Robin told me we shouldn't buy the avenue from her because it would make the other two guys mad. I said F that and went ahead with the negotiating. After about 3 minutes, she caved. At this point, we had acquired our second monopoly. Not only that, this second monopoly was right before our first. We had an angle of the board. There was no way around our real estate. And what's more, we then went ahead and got three houses for each one of the avenues we just bought. Same to say from there on out, it was game over.

Once the two pouty guys noticed our angle of monopolies, they were furious. One even said, in Italian: F*CK THIS! and he threw his cards (of properties) onto the board and got up. His girlfriend, either out of being embarrassed or just wanting him to keep playing, began talking to him but to no avail. This dude was pissed. They were going back and forth arguing for about 4 minutes straight. Robin and I just looked at each other. I would have been counting my money in my hands rubbing it in his face but all I had was a credit card. But it still was sweet.

She eventually convinced him to stay in the game. However, shortly after this meltdown, the game would end anyway. As the Kosovo guy was approaching my territory, he became angry. In my opinion, he would not have blown up had he rolled a number that would have avoided my territory. Once he saw the numbers on each of the dice, he blew up. He said it was unfair and what is he to do. This lit the fire under Ernesto who continued with the argument that its no fun this way and its stupid to play like this. As soon as the Kosovo guy put his piece on one of the properties and saw how much he had to pay, s*it the fan. Ernesto decided it was time to end the game and once again through the cards on the table. The Kosovo guy did so as well. My boy Luigi said in Italian "I think Ari and Robin win". A Grinch like grin came across my face at this point.

As we all got ready for bed (it was past 1:30) I listened for a little while as Ernesto, the guy from Kosovo (his name is Fejsal, pronounced Phase-all. That's what I didn't mention it till now. You wouldn't be able to pronounce it), and Ernesto's girlfriend were still arguing over the game.

I thought to myself it is a beautiful thing when you win a game but other people are fighting over it. Like always, the aftermath of the monopoly game is always problematic. For me it was going to sleep wishing all the money I just made was real.

One day soon, it will be.

SHOWTIME-There Is No Tomorrow

The following is the second part of a two part article by Frank Taters that will appear in next month's edition of "Figure It Out Later" Magazine.

As I descended the stairs to the theater, I heard several people speaking. It seemed to be more English than Italian. I looked around and there were several other American students, presumably part of the same program as Ari and those in the show. As it was 8:25 I quickly made my way to grab a seat. I would have liked to get there at 8:00 but that gellato is no joke.


There was a good size audience and there was some buzz being generated. Everyone was excited to see their friends on stage and I must admit, I was too. The director/professor of the class went on stage and gave brief introduction of the plays that lasted about five minutes. Then, the lights went out and we began...


The first play was about the three men who were after the father. As there was only one male in the class, two females played the male roles. I was patiently waiting for the arrival of Ari and after 6 minutes he appeared. The curtains were pulled back and there he was in a black cape. It was full length and quite impressive. Ari stood for a second like Batman on a skyscraper and then revealed himself. The three women on stage were quite frightened and after a few lines, ran away. He stood on stage by himself and then gave a brief monologue. Although brief, the solo performance was good and the laughs came at the right time. The rest of the play went very well and nobody, as far as I can tell, messed up the lines.


The second play was the Venetian one and began with 5 women on stage who looked like Jehovah's Witnesses. Midway through the play, the actors on stage changed with those sitting in the front row. Ari switched with a girl and was given a black hat, a bag of lottery tickets and money. I had no idea what was going on in this play because of the dialect. After the women backed out the gambling at the last minute, Ari packed up his briefcase and came into the audience. He asked an audience member to give him a hand with the briefcase and gave money to another. He then yelled to everyone in the audience and asked: who wanted to go with him and place some bets on some roosters. Again, the students had all their lines in order and there were no (obvious) problems.

The third and final play was somewhat different than the previous two in that there was always several people on stage and after every 10 lines or so, everyone on stage would scream "Prima o Poi La Amore arriva" (Before or after love comes)

The highlight BY FAR was when Ari was on stage in the second act. A girl started screaming for help because there was someone in the ocean who couldn't swim and she was drowning. As if he was one of the boys in Stand By Me with the leeches on his body, he ripped off his clothes in about 3.7 seconds. The only thing he was left wearing was long black socks and hot pink boxer briefs. Nothing else. He jumped off stage and ran to the back of the audience. Next thing you know, he is carrying this girl who he just saved from drowning. At this point, the audience was yelling and cameras were flashing. After he stood on stage with his hands on his hips like a super hero the others said their lines and completed the scene. He then gathered up his pile of clothes and went backstage. There were some more comical lines and entertaining gestures throughout the remainder of the play but everyone's mind was on the pink underwear.

Once the students took their final bow and ascended into the crowd to mingle I asked Ari if the underwear act was part of the play "No. Not at all. Today was the first time I did it. When in Italy right?" Yes indeed, when in Italy. Except, I got the feeling that this wouldn't be the last time he would do something like this.

As more group pictures were taken and people congratulated the students on their performance I asked Ari how everyone pulled it together.

"I don't know how everyone did it. Somehow they got it together.To be honest I just focused on one thing the whole time since day one"

"What one thing was that?"

"Just have fun"

Between wearing a black cape and being a vampire, a hustler from Venice, and stripping down to hot pink underwear, I think it is safe to say that we all had fun.

SHOWTIME- The Countdown To The Big One

The following is an article written by Frank Taters and will appear in next month's edition of "Figure It Out Later" Magazine.

For me, Christmas came early this year. Heading into last weekend I had nothing to write about for next month's magazine. The only thing I was working with was a farmer from Tuscany who had one eye and had never heard of the internet. As I was getting ready to go home for the weekend, my boss approached me and asked if I would be interested in doing a piece on an upcoming theater show in Italian but done by American students. It was a topic I had never done before. One that could bring in some new readers and give me an opportunity to use my English.

I contacted the director of the program of these American students and he told me that I should email a young man by the name of Ari King. I was told that he was the only male in the class and that I could probably get the most out of my article through him. Ari emailed me back almost immediately and told me I could come over to his apartment on Tuesday and shadow him until the show began that night.

I rang the doorbell of Ari's house on Tuesday and before I even thought about ringing it a second time, the door flew open. Ari greeted me with a handshake and welcomed me in. He quickly offered me a beverage but I declined. "You sure? I got water, orange juice, tropical fruit juice, Coke, wine, Rum, Sangria"

He then showed me his apartment which is inhabited by 4 other guys. I asked to see his bedroom to get a feel for who he is and what kind of things he likes to do. Several newspaper clippings were cut and taped up on his walls. Shelves that normally hold books but, for Ari, now held shoes. Posters of his favorite basketball team" the 'Golden State Warriors', 'The Sopranos', a map of Florence, and of a Coca-Cola wrapper with Santa Claus on it all grazed the walls.

At this point in the day after asking him various questions from his hometown, to his school, to his hobbies, it was time to go to the last rehearsal. As we took the bus to the theater I asked him to explain the plays and what I was to expect. "Well, I don't know whether you should expect that much" he said. "We are doing three short plays. The first is about these three guys who are trying to convince three daughters to let them talk to their rich father. The second is a play in Venetian dialect that is about a hustler trying to get people to place bets. And last is a poem that I don't really know what exactly is going on"

The look on Ari's face appeared to be that of worry. It seemed that it was lacking confidence. He didn't know whether or not he and his classmates would be able to pull it together and do these three plays. The last couple of rehearsals had been filled with long pauses and massive stutters. "Hopefully" Ari said while taking a deep breath, "we'll be alright"

We got off the bus at the main Piazza and walked a short way to the theater for rehearsal. I sat in the audience as Ari and the other students went through their plays. There was some serious miscommunication and missed-lines. The play in the Venetian dialect appeared to be proving the most difficult. The words and pronunciation is starkly different to the normal Italian language.

After 2 hours of rehearsal and 'do-overs' the class was dismissed and the only thing left to do was come back tonight at 8 and get ready for the 8:30 show. Ari and his friend Robin, a girl from Ft. Lauderdale, went to a nearby supermarket to get some lunch. I asked Ari how he was feeling about the show and he replied: "Not too much you can do at this point. I know my lines so I'm okay. I'm about to get this wild boar salami, some cheese, bread, and Ritz crackers and have a great, relaxing lunch."

That seemed to be a hint that there should be no more discussion of the plays. At this point, after about 3 months of practicing, there was nothing last to do. Tonight was it. I told Ari I would see him after the show and in the meantime I would wonder around the city of Bologna until it was time to go back to the theater to see the finale.

The Holdout

Having five college guys living in one apartment can spell trouble in lots of ways. Dirty laundry, food left out, dishes not washed, etc. I have tried to beat this stereotype of the college male ever since I arrived for freshman year in college but in order to shed this title, everyone needs to be in on it.

Fortunately, Italians are rather clean and neat and that does indeed translate to the college life. (Complete opposite of the jackasses I lived with my sophomore year) We compiled a list that has one person clean the bathroom and kitchen every weekend. Everyone pitches in and the place is relatively clean.

HOWEVER, there is one thing has been lacking as of late...

I would say there is a select list of basic things one needs while living. Some of the items are up for debate depending on the person but the list includes, but is not limited to: refrigerator, bed/futon/couch, windows, running water. The undercover items range from potatoe peeler to alarm clock to washer machine. But, in my opinion, one thing is not up for debate: toilet paper.

You NEED toilet paper. No doubt about it. Everyone uses it. Everyone needs it. If you are feeling otherwise I would kindly ask you to stop reading my blog. In addition, I am revoking our friendship.

When I arrived at this apartment there was a big pile of TP and until about a month ago we didn't to buy a new one. As we were dwindling down I took the initiative and went out and bought some. As we were approaching the last roll last week, I had a feeling nobody was going to step up to the plate. So, what did I do? I ripped off some of the TP and stored it away. "Use in case of Emergency"

I just noticed that someone has put the paper towels in the bathroom and that appears to be the substitute as of now. I have no plans on using it and I plan on telling the guys and that using it will probably result in damage.

I wonder how long this will go. I don't if the guys don't want to spend the money, or they keep forgetting to go to the store or what. All I know is I bought it last and I got my secret stash so I'M COOL.

You can maybe get by without using parmesan cheese on your pasta, or ketchup on your burger but you can't get around the TP. Now, might be saying to yourself that I'm stubborn or hardheaded. "Just go buy some!" Why should I though? I bought it last. I have my stash. Plus I'm curious to see how it plays out. Its kind of like an experiment. I'm just sitting back. Chilln.

Anybody want to place bets on how long it will take?

It's a Shame

Before coming to Italy, I knew my classes were going to be fairly different than my one's back in the States. The classes were going to be bigger and, of course, they were going to be taught in Italian. What I didn't know is that the American students would display a great lack of respect in those classes.

My program offers a select number of classes to all the American students that is taught at a slower pace than those through the University. The professors speak slower and there is a more of an emphasis on making sure everyone understands. Obviously it is tough for us to learn in Italian but it also is tough for these Italian professors to teach a handful of American students.

The one and only class I'm taking through my program is a theater class. I had been told that it was extremely fun and I enjoy getting my act on. My professor is about 50 years old, has a beard, and is a RABID smoker. He more or less looks like Ben Falik's father Bill, and also General Raddick from the movie Air Force One with Harrison Ford.

He is a great guy and a great teacher. He chose three short plays for us to perform for our final show and we have been working on them for some time now. I cannot think of too many things I dislike about the class except for how we, the students, treat him and the course.

Students show up late all the time: anywhere from 5 to 45 minutes. As of now, with the big show on Tuesday, it is safe to say that there are MAYBE 3 out of 13 people who know their lines. Our only homework the last month has been to memorize these lines. But barely anyone has done so. (For the record, I know all of my lines. Believe that!) When he starts to criticize people for not studying he gets a surly response and the excuse that 'its hard to study because its in Italian'.

Oh, you're right. It is hard in Italian. Is it also hard to talk in Italian to the guy with the gel'd hair, plucked eyebrows, and a manicure? Is it hard to complain to your roommate in Italian?

People always ask each other why he is picking on them in class. Why does he have to single me out?

My response-"Oh, oh, call on me. I know. I know why. It's because you don't know your lines."

If you ask me, if this class was at one of our universities back home everyone would have their lines down cold. People don't really take this (and maybe others) class seriously. Believe me, I'm here to chill and have a good time but when you got a professor who is devoting his time to snot nose private university American students you gotta show some respect. Normally all these kids are running around freaking out come this time of year. Worrying about finals and how this could exam could affect their future.

To be fair, not everyone is slacking. There are some folks who know their lines (and even the lines of others)

As far as my role on Tuesday, in one play I am a vampire, in another I'm a hustler from Venice, and the third is a giant poem and the highlight is when I save someone from drowning. Yeah, you know I got some surprises in store. Trust me.

There is a high probability there were be more than one person who is going to have to say 'line' when on stage on Tuesday night. But maybe everyone will get their s*it together and come through come Tuesday night.

Maybe not

Gobble, Gobble

First things first: Happy Birthday ma. Yesterday was ma's birthday and I wanted to put that out there.

Onto the other, less important topic from yesterday: Thanksgiving. Even though I still don't know why we have this holiday, I enjoy it very much. This time around, I wouldn't be spending it back home with the fam or Central Massachusetts with the Winters' but rather in Bologna, Italy.

Do they celebrate Thanksgiving over here you might ask? Well, no they don't. You won't see anyone glued to the television watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade nor will you see turkeys hanging in windows of stores. But, given the fact that my program pulls out all the stops and takes care of the students, we had a great feast.

The dinner was to be held at this house of my cooking instructor. I have been meaning to write about these classes but have yet to do so. The woman is names Rita and she is a chef and a nutritionist and overall, just one hell of a woman. Her house is very nice and her kitchen is extremely impressive. When the sign up sheet was posted for cooking shifts, I signed up for the first one in the morning.

When I arrived at Rita's house I was informed that I would have to wait until she returned from grocery shopping. (For the record, I was late and she decided to do some more shopping until I showed up) When she came back she asked if I wanted to go get cheese with her and I responded with a "certo" (of course in Italian).

It was a short walk to her cheese spot. Literally, as soon as I opened the door I was hit with a one heck of a scent: fresh, delicious, cheese. It was everywhere. Cheese behind the counter, cheese on the counter, cheese in the refrigerator, cheese hanging from the ceiling, cheese hanging from the wall. Everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if there was cheesse underneath the floor or on the roof.

I was looking around like a kid in a candy store but more like a Oakland cat with a beard in a cheese shop in Italy. While we were waited on, Rita was pointing to different cheeses and explaining where they come from, what you eat it with, what type of wine to drink it with, and all kinds of good information. She then, after getting a hefty amount of cheese, asked the man working their to give me a taste of Parmesan cheese that was aged 24 months and 30 month. I couldn't really taste a difference but they were both excellent.

Once we finished with the cheese, we headed back to her place to begin cooking for the 27 people she was having over for Thanksgiving.

I, along with 2 other girls from my program were there for the morning shifts and we were going to work on the dessert. There were in total: apple pie, pumpkin pie, and a special dessert of Rita's recipe. She assigned me to her special recipe and I was all for it.

Her recipe was sweet potatoes and white chocolate in a sort of pie/cake. I was to peel and cut white sweet potatoes, put the potatoes in warm boiling milk, melt white chocolate with milk and then put it all together. It took a while to prepare and cook all of it but it turned out well. And the smell of it while cooking was incredible. Made me want to just start biting the air.

Once the second group, who were cooking the entrees showed up, I headed back to my spot to finish some homework and relax a bit.

All the food we ate last night for dinner was great. Turkey, mashed potatoes, cabbage, stuffing, pumpkin soup, roasted potatoes. The turkey was absolutely huge. 27 people ate from it and not until the end of the night, when we were asked if we wanted doggy bags, did I know there was a second turkey that wasn't touched. Yes, these were your standard American Thanksgiving dishes but this was from an Italian kitchen so it was better. Naturally.

The desserts all tasted good and I was happy to see my final product. It is a whole different take on the day when you are one of the people that help cook. There is more that goes into the meal than meets the eye. Plus, if you ever go into the kitchen during the meal it is like a behind the scenes of a DVD. Everyone is busy working, cutting, pouring, etc. while the others are calmly eating away in the dining room.

Once the night seemed to be dying down, Rita shocked everyone by putting on sum tunes over here big speakers. She encouraged everyone to dance and although it was to Marvin Gaye's 'Sexual Healing' I was jammin'. (It's not like I don't like the song but rather I was not to sure how to rock out to it) After a few songs, we called it a night and bid are farewells.

So here is to Rita and a great Thanksgiving.




And here is to my ma: Happy Birthday

Slovenia- You're paying right?

Every so often, I receive emails from a group here in Bologna that organizes trips for students. Some have been to Tuscany, some to Genoa, and some to go wine tasting in the city. A few weeks ago, I received an email with information about a trip to Slovenia. After conversing with ma, I signed up.

This trips are usually very cheap because the European Union pays for most of it. This Slovenia trip was no different. For transportation to and from Slovenia, a hostel, and 3 meals it was a total of 50 Euro or about $70. How can you say no to that? Even if it is Slove...wait, what's the country called again?

My boy Jake was going on the trip as well and seeing as how we had to be at the bus at 6,and we live in the same complex, we met up and walked together. Being the responsible chap I am, I figured we were on the same bus and did not read the email sent out the day before. I'd just go where Jake was going. Once we got there, I learned there were three total buses and Jake and I were not on the same one. Fortunately, the location of my bus was not too far off.

As I was standing with a bunch of students I did not know as well as rolling solo, I noticed a tall girl who appeared to be in the same situation. As I had Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on my Ipod, a fantastically self-packed lunch (ma, you taught me well), and it was a 6 hour bus ride, I was not looking to commit to a seating partner whom I did not know. I therefore turned my head as quickly as possible as to eliminate any possibility of striking up a convo that would result in a seating arrangement.

Once on the bus, it payed off not knowing anyone. I took an isle seat and put my backpack on the window seat. I then did a little role play and acted like those mean kids on the bus in Forest Gump. You remember, when little Forest is on the bus and he has the leg braces. There is more than ample seating but nobody wants to sit next to him. Yeah, I was one of the mean kids. I wouldn't have said no to anyone if they asked to sit next to me but I was by no means going to seem welcoming. (Come on, its a 6 hours bus ride. You would do the same if you could. Don't try to act like you enjoy having people next to you on the airplane)

I slept for most of the way but once we arrived, I still couldn't really believe I was there. Slovenia? I mean sh*t. Slovenia. I probably would have put Nebraska on my list of places to see before Slovenia. Actually, I take that back.

The hostel was okay. Nothing like the one in Rome. Sufficient bathrooms and fairly okay beds. After everyone dropped off their bags, we got the tour of the capital city we were in: Ljubljana (pronounced Lul-bin-yawn-ah) It was pretty whatever. "Here is this building that was built on this date, here is the park...etc." The highlight throughout the whole tour was seeing this German guy. He was in my group and every time I saw him, he was drinking beer. When we had our breakfast in Bologna before we left, he was drinking beer and then in Slovenia, he was drinking some more.

Every time he saw me looking at him, I gave the 'cheers' gesture as if I had an imaginary beer and was about to drink myself. This cat is about 6'6". He is from a small town in Germany and is studying in Bologna for the year. As the tour ended and we had free time, I walked over to him and struck up a convo. We talked about American & German politics, soccer, and food. As Jake and I wanted to go out to some bars, we knew this guy was down and he came with us.

This guy's name is David and while in the bar, he informed me that he had been drinking since 7 that morning. Mind you, this guy isn't a typical frat bro or something. He wasn't drinking to get 'hammered' but rather because, well, he really likes beer. After we left the first bar looking for the second one, we stumbled upon two Native Slovenians.

As Jake and I were talking about the directions we just received, one of the Slovenian guys stopped walking and asked:

Slovenian-"You speak English. Where you from?"
Jake- "New Jersey"
Me -"California"
Slovenian" Wow. Come with me. We go to bar"

As we were rolling three gentleman deep, we saw no problem with this and decided to join these two Slovs at the bar. Boy howdy, it turned out to be a great choice.

After two minutes of sitting down at a table, the guy who spoke English (the other one spoke zero English and would just mumble and gurgle sort of like Jabba the Hut) told us that he did the art work on two of the walls in the bar. I turned around to look at it and it was entirely of caricatures. You know, those goofy, overly exaggerated drawings of people. Well, this man did about 50 of them on two walls of this bar. Does anyone know what that means? It means he drinks for free. And that means anyone with him drinks for free, too.

We didn't really know whether or not to believe this guy. After all, we are in Slovenia, we just met this guy on the street, and who really does caricatures in a bar? Oh, and he looked like Nick Nolte's mug shot.

(If you haven't seen it, copy and paste this address immediately: http://z.about.com/d/crime/1/0/l/7/noltenick.jpg)

The server told us that it was indeed true that this man did the caricatures and does drink for free. From that point on, everything was cool. This guy spoke great English in addition to Italian, German, and Russian. At one point, Sittin on the Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding came on. I started singing along thinking that nobody else would know it but sure enough, this caricature drawing Slovenian dude was right there with me. I'm not sure if he had drank before and was tipsy or he was like this in general but he proceeded to tell me he was "all about Black power" from that point on.

He told me, amongst other artists, that he liked Al Green, Otis Redding, and Marvin Gaye. He also told me these guys as well as other Black musicians had been there in Ljubljana and performed "multiple times". At this point, I thought he was yanking my chain and wanted to see if he was telling the truth. But, as I was ordering my second Jameson, and it was free, I kept my mouth closed and just responded with a lot of "Oh yea?" and "Wow".

The night continued with mass helpings to rather tasteless olives and plain potato chips. He would lecture me about Black musicians and White musicians and continued to state he was "all about Black power". It soon became time to part and we graciously thanked this mystery man. Once out of earshot, I turned to Jake and asked:

"Did that really just happen?"
Jake-"Sure did, man"




Sure did, indeed.

Venice-Ready to Rumble Pt. 2

(Note to reader: Please read 'Venice-Ready to Rumble Pt.1 before reading this post)

I don't recall if he said it in English or Italian but either way my ma understood. 'Oh no!' she said. 'No'. As she began speaking she walked from the public side of the bar to the bartender side. She was saying that the bartender said that he could change the drink. She was under the impression that she was only going to pay for one drink.

At this point, the woman bartender who was not in the mix until now, was speaking in English as well. 'You ordered two drinks. Two drinks. You will have to come back and speak to the manager about it tomorrow' HA! Come back tomorrow? Speak to the manager? Surely you jest. Do you know who you are dealing with?

If you were to look at the picture at this point you would see two bartenders, one male, one female on their rightful side of the bar. In addition, you have my ma who is feet away from them ready to, how do they say it, 'take this outside'. I'm on the public side of the bar with a 10 euro bill and the bill itself in one hand standing next to 3 Italians who picked one hell of a night to go out.

My ma, at no point was going to go on the retreat. She would either maintain her ground or continue to go on the offensive. We could have been posted there all night if need be.

As the male bartender sees my ma is not going anywhere he goes over to the cash register in a hurry. The woman bartender realizes she underestimated this woman and continues to argue but without really looking up from the drinks she had probably stirred over 57 times. Next thing I know, the male bartender is handing me a 5 Euro bill and takes the 10 while saying 'Ok. No problem. Its over'

I look at the bill, realize this jackass finally did the right thing and conceded. I yell to ma that everything is cool now and taken care of. (Up until this point, I never motioned or asked my mom to stop. Sure I had myself positioned to jump over the bar and break some faces but when my ma is on a roll, you just sit back and enjoy the show. Can't stop her, you just hope to contain her. Sort of like guarding Michael Jordan) Ma was startled but accepted my invitation to leave after I told her it was alright.

Once we got outside, I informed her that we paid 5 Euros instead of the 15 that was originally printed on the receipt. 'How'd that happen?' she asked. 'That guy just handed me the 5 and took the 10.' She said 'OK' and we continued our walk through the streets of Venice.

Moral of the story: Don't f*ck with my ma

Venice-Ready to Rumble Pt. 1

To tell of what went down while my ma and I were in Venice is truly a treat. Sure, walking through the unbelievably unique city was great, seeing the numerous canals was cool, and even visiting a nearby, less touristy island was peaceful. But none of that compares to what occurred at a bar we went to.

As most, if not all of you know, walking around a lot can be tiring. Especially when you are in a new city and stop to look at everything. When one gets tired, they get thirsty and/or cranky. This usually results in the need for a drink. As my ma and I were on the third leg of our tour (Lake Como and Florence was blessed with the Dynamic Duo before Venice) we had reached several 'let's take a break points' including this one on the first night in Venice.

As we headed out of St. Marco's square, we found a comfortable bar with nice chairs and couches that made it appear more like Sherlock Holmes' study. As I was in no mood to sit on a stool and have my back ache, I was happy to be there. My mom had been talking about ordering a 'Bellini' which is supposedly a tasty traditional Venetian drink. Although we were not at the famous Harry Bar where they are apparently delicious, she decided to get one anyway. I, on the other hand, was not feeling adventurous and decided to play it safe: I ordered a Proseco.

When the drinks arrived, my ma's Bellini looked like a orange dream machine or mango madness (or whatever the hell they are called) smoothie from Jamba juice. I had a funny feeling she was not going to be satisfied. As she took her first sip, her words of complaint were already out of her mouth before she even swallowed.

'Can't taste the alcohol. I'm going to get something else. I don't want this'

Oh boy.

I knew I was going to be asked to convey this message to the bartender who was also the server.My mom was on a mission. She watched him like a bald eagle scans the terrain for prey waiting for the right time to gesture him over to re-order. When he did come, ma jumped right in and spoke English.She informed him that it didn't taste right, and would like something else. He said 'Sure, we can change that for you ma'am'. Problem solved. Dude spoke English, ma is getting new drink, and the ass grove in my seat is starting to form.

After about 30 minutes of sipping our Proseco's (ma got one, too) and relaxing, we decided it was time to leave. As I went up to the bar to pay, there was a second bartender there, a woman. When he gave me the bill, I looked at it and saw there was 3 drinks listed. Mom was a few steps behind me because we were talking in Italian, and she was looking at the paintings. I asked why there was a 3rd drink and he said 'she ordered it' and pointed at ma.

Wrong move my man. Wrong move

Florence-Steak & David

Riding the trains to and from every city in Italy is a treat. Just sitting back and looking out the window is great. It is the prefered way of travel for sure. Don't have to pay attention, get gas, or use your blinker. Its great. That said, there is always some characters on the train. Going from Bologna to Florence, I had the pleasure of being next to two unique ones.


The train from Bologna to Florence is only an hour. Ma and I wer just sitting back relaxing when an asian woman behind us began talking. She was speaking to a German or Russian woman who wasn't seated across from her but two sets of seats ahead of her. How they met, I don't know. All I know is that at one point, their conversation was terribly hilarious.


The Asian lady worked for Shell and the other woman lived in San Diego. When the Asian lady was asked if she had ever been to the U.S. she responded:


AL 'No. But I have a friend who works in...um...Misery'

G/RL 'Where?'

AL 'Mis-ery. Miss Erry'

G/RL 'Ummm...Not New York'

AL 'No, no. Misery'



At this point my ma and I were looking at each other wondering wheter or not this was serious. Barely anyone else on the train is speaking and here you have two women practically yelling across seats trying to figure out where some other woman works. I began laughing. I looked around to see if anyone else thought this funny but either they did not or they couldn't understand. Finally the Asian lady pronounced a little differently...



AL 'Miss Or E'

G/RL 'Ohh, Missouri?'

AL 'YES!'

Then the Asian lady said to 'look her up' when, and if, the other woman goes to Asia. I really don't understand when people say this. Is there some giant, 50 foot, address book in most airports or something? Have I not been told where the secret white pages is with everyone's number in the world? Give me a break. Stop with the 'look me up' phrase and just write down your phone number and email address on a nearby napkin.

We got in late on Thursday night so we just ate and went to our hotel. The next morning we went to the museum that houses Michelangelo's David. The line was only 15 minutes long. I didn't know which room David was in but when my ma told me to 'look up' as I turned a corner, I was blown away.



It stands at the end of a hallway under a glass roof. Even from a distance it is huge. As I walked toward it, it became more and more impressive. Standing beneath it was truly special. Seeing the veins in his hands and neck, as well as the size of his hands, is mind-boggling. Everything, the eyes, the toenails, the hair is just crazy. Highly recommend to see it if you are in Florence. Actually, its a must. One of the unexpected highlights of the David was seeing those who were there to draw it. Some were very impressive while others were not. There was one woman who's shoulder I got to look over and her drawing of the David was horrible. I honestly think a blind mule with no limbs could have done better



The rest of the day was filled with glances at the New York Times article entitled '36 Hrs in Florence' and doding toursit groups. This part of travling really gets me angry. Every other stree there is another group lead by a woman holding a one foot sign in the air so the group can see her. It reminds me of the Halloween parades I went to in lower school but with a lot less enthusiasm and more grumpy, old people. (Although, for the record, you would catch an occasional grandparent looking sour that they were there to see their grandkid be Batman or a fairy for the 4th year in a row)



We went to the open air markets, ponte vecchio, several piazza's, some museums, and the Duomo. Everything was enjoyable and all the restaraunts we went to were all very good. I had home made pasta with sausage and mushrooms one night while my mom had spaghetti with clams. (Of course pizza was thrown in there somewhere also). The lunch we had right before we left was absolutely great.

We went to a place that is only open for the afternoon and I got roast beef and ma got her veal chops. (She had been absolutely fiending for these the whole trip). Got some crisp french fries with it. Oh man. One thing on the menu that caught my attention in addition to the roast beef, was the steak. Florence is known for its steaks and their size and when I saw the server bring it out, I was shocked.

These steaks are GIGANTIC. Again, like most things in Italy, you have to see it with your own eyes. To better help some of you with the size, its like the size of Max Menke (for you Head Royce folk) or Gabe Gonzalez-Kriesberg's head (Wesleyan folk). It is utterly ridiculous. Next time I'll go, I'll have to get it.

Following a great stay in Florence, it was off to Venice to conclude my 10 day, 3 city trip of Italy with ma.

Lake Como

Although I will be writing about my 4 day, 3 night trip to Lake Como, I will not even begin to do it justice. Like most, if not all of Italy, one must come here and see & experience everything for themselves.

Firstly, my ma arrived last Wednesday and we have been rollin together ever since. After 2 nights in Bologna (So ma, over here on the left is where my class is, this is where I get pizza...), we took the train up North to Como.

When we first arrived at the train station, although sad to admit it, I got a slight feeling of being at Lake Tahoe. I would soon find out that Lake Como makes Lake Tahoe look like The Oakland Raiders and their fans:bad. We took an hour long bus ride to our Bed & Breakfast with the road being right along the water. Fortunately for my ma, she snagged the window seat. Nevertheless, my face was still glued to the glass the whole ride.

After checking in, ma and I decided to relax a bit. I opened our window to get some fresh air and was treated to a fantastic view. We laid down for about an hour and then took a ferry to the island of Bellagio. (Yes, that is where the hotel in Vegas took its name). Two minutes after exiting the ferry, we walked past a group of girls. One of them yelled out: 'Ooo, San Francisco'. Taking one look at my ma (she neither heard nor noticed anything) all I could respond with was a weak 'Yeah'. Maybe that was moment to swoop in and strike up a convo about SF and what the city, along with myself has to offer. However, I never broke stride. In retrospect, I was glad I didn't. Being there with ma and without anything to think about was truly enjoyable. We walked throughout the town and, after recieving direction assistance from a man in an eyeglasses store, settled on a restaraunt. We split pizza, pasta carbonara, and grilled vegetables. We took the ferry home and knew this was going to be a cool 4 days.

Via Balbianello

Before even coming to Lake Como, both my ma and I knew we would have to see where they filmed Star Wars. For those of you unfamiliar, in Episode II: Attack Of The Clones, the final scene where Natalie Portman and Hayden Christensen get married is at this villa on Lake Como. There are also other scenes throughout the movie from here (Later found out that Casino Royale was also filmed here) As we missed the ferry to take us there, ma and I decided to walk it out. We got to see a lot of the town and test our arm flexibility as our hands were constantly reaching for the water bottles in my North Face backpack.

Upon arrival at the villa, I knew this was going to be amazing. The small house is perfectly placed on a hill so that every room has a unique and slighlty different view than the next. The trees and hedges on the grounds are exceptionally well kept. Every few steps we were both snapping pictures. I, with my 7 lb digital camera with unrechargable batteries ( I know, I know) and my mom with her one time use disposable from Rite Aid. As a family, we like to keep things old school.

The colors on the villa itself, along with the statues on the grounds, made this day great. To just stand or sit and look at the water, mountains, boats, and houses, was something extremely unique. I kept telling myself that people actually lived here and how unbelivable it must have been. As ma and I left, I thought the day couldn't have gotten any better. But oh, how I was mistaken.

The Bed & Breakfast we were staying out had a restaraunt downstairs. There is only a price fixed menu every night and, upon first reading the menu posted outside, I was not feelin it. As my ma made me look at it some more, I got a sensation that this was the place to eat that night.

When we walked in, we were greeted by the chef who is a rather large man with a white beard and white hair. Tiziano is his name. Ma and I decided to each get the first plate, second, and share dessert. For the first plate, we had cocoa pasta with Goose Ragù. For the second, we had stewed rabbit with chestnuts and small, whole onions. For dessert, choclate and hazlenut fudge. Everything that night as well as every night is made by Tiziano. He only had one other person who works with him (clears/sets tables, etc.) and does all the cooking himself. I cannot even begin to describe this meal. It was however, the single best meal I have ever had. To give you an example of how good it was, I requested a copy of the menu in English and Italian to hang up in my room and bring home.

The next few days were very relaxing and enjoyable. We walked around some more, took in views and relaxed. As I said before, I cannot do Lake Como justice by writing about it. The pictures will be up as soon as I come back from Florence and Venice.

All I can say is that Lake Como was too beautiful. And I'm going to have a house there.

What's That Smell?

My suitemate smells. BAD.

The only good thing about this whole situation is that he is not my roomate so I don't have to deal with this in my sleeping space. Nonetheless, it is still horrible.

When I first moved in, I did not notice any odor at all. Maybe I was too excited to smell it, maybe it wasn't too potent yet. Either way, it didn't hit me until about 3 days later. You expect to have some odors going through an apartment which is inhabited by 5 college guys. Usually, that odor is in the bathroom or near the dirty laundry pile.

But this. This stench. This smell. Its like a phantom that travels in every single room all day and night. It comes from one guy and one guy only. His shoes smell awful and he puts them in the hallway every night. Sure, some people just have bad smelling feet. But it goes beyond that.

My suitemates and I have had discussions about how to handle this. It seems they have become more accepting of it than I. When I asked my other suitemates what the deal was, I was informed he isn't into showers. He goes on numerous treks and dissapears for numerous days and returns without having taken a shower in addition to not taking one when he is back. I have seen him take 1 shower in my 5 weeks here. Therfore, whenever he raises his arms or if you are withing 9 feet of him, it stinks. But it goes beyond that.

The smell, wheter or not this guy is present in the room, is everywhere. It is not funny. I intially belived it comical until it was everywhere at all times. The shower, although occupied once by him, has his smell.

His current roomate, was forced to take desperate measures and bought all kinds of incense, candles, and rose peddals. Thats how bad it is. I bought orange scented candles for my room and am contemplating how to help the kitchen and living room areas.

At this point, I am convinced this guy needs medical attention. Not for being crazy or anything (although an evaluation wouldn't hurt) but rather to get some prescription medicine for this. Whethere it be internal or external, I don't care. All I know is Right and Left Guard would not be able to do the trick.

I have concluded that his odor is a mix between three things:
1. The worst smelling guy on a middle school basketball team following practice
2. Soccer shinguards after a game
3. Hiking boots after someone climbed Halfdome in Yosemite without socks



If you, are anyone you know has suggestions about how to help my situation, please contact me.

My First Number

Being in a program where they ratio of girls to guys ( 22:4) definetly has drawback. Don't get my wrong, I love the females but 22:4 is not as sweet as it seems.

For example, a few nights ago I was asked to go to this party with these 4 girls from my program. Apparently, they had met these three Italian dudes who had invited them to a party outside the city walls and the only way to get there is by car. When I was asked to go, I wasn't totally against it but the fact that it was so far away made me think that it would be that much more difficult to leave on my own time. ( I always have an escape route) Plus, 4 girls going by themselves, in a car, outside the city, with Italian dudes, doesn't equal the best scenario.

As I walked to meet up with everyone, I thought that maybe this would turn out alright. I might meet some new people, Italian girls perhaps, and everything could be alright. We met these guys on the corner of a nearby street. Upon first glance you could have thought these guys were pushing weight or ready to rob someone the amount of times they kept looking up and down the street for signs of the American girls. Going into the handshaking, I knew I was already minus 1 with these guys. They had invited girls to this party and here comes a guy. Its never cool when you were planning on seeing just honeys and they bring along a dude.

There was a total of 3 Italian dudes: the first was pretty skinny and about 6'6'' and in the military (so he says), the other two were twins who sort of resembled Joe Pesci in the early days. We hopped in their cars and were on our way.

I went in the car with the tall guy and sat in the back. I had one girl in the back with me and there was another riding shotgun. He was doing your classic one hand on the wheel, one hand on the radio while every 3 seconds looking over to the passenger seat. I tried to be friendly and asked my standard questions: 'Where you from? Ever been to America? Sports fan?' This guy only gave me one word answers. He was keen on shutting out the American guy and focusing on the American girl(s)

I already got the wack vibe before we even entered this party. When I first walked in there was some techno playing and 4 awkward people dancing. Your classic more guys than girls party with the drinks damn near all gone. I headed straight for the balcony and after 2 minutes, realized this was an International party. There was a group of students from Turkey to my left, Germans to my right, and the host was Japanese!

I thought it would be the right thing to do, so I introduced myself to guy who's place it was. I wasn't trying to pull one of the suspect high school moves where you just crash a party with your squad not knowing the person who's house it is. (GOSH, THOSE WERE THE DAYS!)

I walked over to the guy and started speaking Italian and introduced myself. From that point on, I had one of the most diffucult conversations I have ever had. This kid spoke Japanese fine. Italian, he had told me, he has only known for 5 months, and English he has known for 2 years. After getting nowhere speaking Italian we switched to English. He told me his English was much better but, to be honest, he was horrible with both.

After him nodding vigoursly after every one of my sentences, especially the California line, I was looking for a way out. This guy either could not think on his feet or loved silence. He didn't ask me anything or, if he tried, it would take him too long and I would interject. I had exhausted the Japanese food topic, the Italian women topic, and the classes we took topic, I noticed a basketball and decided to switch gears.

Ari 'Do you (I had to point at him when I said this) play basketball (had to dribble an imaginary ball)?'

Japanese Guy 'Uhhhh, sorry?

Ari 'Basketball. (I pointed to the ball)'

Japanese Guy ' Ohhhh, hahahaha (he laughs for bout 5 seconds). Yes yes yes. Sometimes. You want to play?'
(note to reader. it was 12:30 at night and there were no lights on the nearby court)

As I started to say no, he was overcome with one of the saddest puppy dog faces I've seen in about 5 to 10
Ari 'Maybe, maybe next time' ( It was more likely that I would become a famous horse jockey then come back to that house)

Japanese Guy 'Great. Here. Take my number!'

From there, he and I exchanged numbers. He seemed so happy to get a new number. His name was Tutsaya.

As I walked away with my contacts with one more entry, I couldn't help but think that this was ridiculous. Not only was the first number I got NOT from an Italian girl, it wasn't even from an Italian. Hell, I could maybe deal with a country that borders Italy.

But no, I meet Tutsaya from Japan.

RAVE

There is nothing like being in a university town. Espeically when that university has 100,000 students and drinking alcohol outside (in a park, on the streets) is legal. Combine that with an infatuaion of techno and you got yourself one hell of night.

I am by no means a raver. I don't like the music palyed at raves and would probably not like the people who attend. I am not a big drinker and have never done any drugs. (Come on, this bod is one of a kind. Got to take care of it).

There is an annual party that is held the last saturday of Setemper: Lo Street Rave Parade. I asked my boy Luigi why it was in English and why it wasn't just 'Street Rave' or 'The Prade' but he did not provide me with a good enough explication. I tried to tell him that having both the word 'Rave' and 'Parade' was unecessary. He wasn't having it.

When he extended the invite to accompany him and his friends to this Rave I immdediately said yes. I knew I probably wasn't going to like it but I want to take advantage of everything offered to me while I'm here. Plus, I knew I was going to see some wiiiiiiiiiiiild sh#t.

While we were waiting for the bus I knew we were in for quite a night. I was with around 7 other students and they were all on their way to drunkness. I had to pass on every beer, and bottle of wine that was offered to me for two reasons: 1. I honestly did not want any and 2. I thought it was best to not be 5th person to drink out of the same bottle.

We boarded the bus along with two other groups of students who were either drunk, or in the process of getting. We arrived at our destination and as I exited the bus I looked at the bus driver and although he didn't say it, I felt like he was praying for all of us. He knew where we were headed and he knew what goes down at these things. But hey, this guy doesn't get paid to give advice, (thats what your therapist is for. Or for others, to also prescribe a little sumtin sumtin) he is their to drive and he did his job damn well.

The walk to the rave itself was only 2 minutes but you could have been standing ontop of The Statue of Liberity and probably caught some tunes. Upon first glance of the scene, I precited the amount of time until my migraine was felt. I gave it 11 minutes.

Every 20 feet there were massive white vans with giant sound systems. Each one was blasting techno music and had hords of people dancing in front of them. Well, I don't know if you could call it dancing. In my opinion, it was more like every person's crotch was fire and they were trying to put it out with invisible water.

Every 10 feet there was a vendor selling beer. Man, they were raking in the dough on this one. Every 30 seconds a drunk and/or possibly drugged out italian would stumble up to the vendor and just point and hand them money. I say the odds the vendors hustled them was 1 out of every 4. Shoot, I would've.

As the rest of my group was getting absolutely HAMMERED (they were now passing around an espresso liquor) I began trying to remeber at what hour the buses stopped running. I wanted to plan my exit route now so I could encounter as few problems as possible when I actually decided to split. At this point, I had been there for 15 minutes and was going to give it another 15.

Luigi then saw someone he knew and she told us to come to where her friends were raving out (Yeah! Totatally!) so we relocated. I was up for it. Maybe a change of scenery would provide new entertainment. Nope.

As I began walking it seemed as if I was entering the smoking section. Everywhere I turned or looked someone was smoking a cigarette or something else. Me, being asthmatic and an anti-smoker in general, was dodging the smoke like I was in a boxing match. I must have looked ridiculous. I put my swetshirt over my nose and mouth and was bobbing and weaving like the heavyweight championship was on the line.

Once we reached our new destination, I knew I was about to head out. I took one last glance around to make sure I wasn't about to miss anything.

To my left: I saw two people, genders unknown, making out.
To my right: Guy wihtout a shirt on and eyes half open whom you probably could have told that he was currently on Mars and he would have believed you (assuming he is familar with the planet, of course)
Behind me: Giant tree with two guys laying down with their dogs who appeared to be having a misearble time (the dogs that is)
In Front of me: The greater part of the rave which consited of people who, independently could not stand up but, thanks to the compact dancing that occured, were erect.

'That'll do it' I said to myself.

I decided I had raved enough.

I took the #28 bus back home and called it a night.

The Begining

It is officially ladies and gentleman, I have moved. I am currently sitting in my new room and I couldn't be happier. (Thats not true at all, if you gave me a double double with some fries and coke...oh gosh. Throw in a cool $10 million too)

I have unpacked all my clothes and put up my posters (warriors, Gladiator, and Sopranos. Slight apprehension when I put that one up but its cool). Now, it is time to have some fun. I mean study. Now it is time to study.

In order to properly understand the last few days, I must take you back in time. I must take you to the departing of myself and G-Sep and the arrival to Casa Nostra (that is what Im calling my spot.)

As I stated in the last entry, I was extrememly excited once I saw the apartments and immediately went back and packed as I thought I could move in the following day. In typical Italian beaurocratic fashion, there were complications and I was forced to wait. Mind you I had already packed up everything in my room and was no forced to live out of my suitcase while fearing for my life when G-Sep went through his morning routine.(see last entry)

Once everything was cleared, and I was told I could move, I had to properly plan the goodbye with G-Sep.It had to be just right. Couldnt be too serious or anything. It wasnt like I disliked the guy or anything. We had nothing in common other than we were both of the male species and each had two nostrils.

When I was ready to leave the room, G-Sep was nowhere to be found. I figured I would just leave and not say anything. I mean, it would probably be better this way. It wasnt like I was breaking up with him. I wasn't firining him. I will never see this cat again. So does it make a difference if I say anything? No. But I couldnt just go out like that. I came up with a perfect plan that would show I care but not that much. Kinda like that half-ass Christmas present you give to someone who you are cool with but not that cool with.

Anyway, I decided I would write him a brief note saying good luck with your studies in italian and cap it off with a postcard of The Golden Gate Bridge. (Great touch, I know. How do I come up with these things.) As I headed out of my room, I gave it one last glance................. to make sure I didnt forget anything.

When I arrived at my new spot, I was greeted by all the inhabitants. I wasn't expecting this but, nonetheless, was pleasantly surprised. My current suite mates are ass follows:

Ivan-(pronounced E-Vahn). 22 years old. From Lecce, small town in the South where I was for three weeks prior to Bologna. Real friendly dude who's computer I have used twice to talk to my ma on skype. The second time of which I interupted a...um...study session with his girlfriend. He took me out on the town last weekend and hooked a brotha up when it came to the drinks. Unfortuantely, he has to move out on Oct. 1
Gennaro-(pronounced Ja-Nar-Oh) Age unknown. Oldest of the group. Does not attend university but rather has a 9-5 and wears a suit and tie everyday. Why he lives in student housing, who knows? He asked me yesterday how old I thought he was and I said 24 and he told me to stop lying and tell the truth. I did not know how to respond. Wont be talking about age with this guy too much more. He cooked me some pasta the other day with meat sauce that his mom sent to him. Best sauce Ive had hands down like its 6:30. He also paid for my laundry the first night.
Gianpiero- (pronounced John-P-Ero) Age unknown. From Sicily. I asked him about cannoli's yesterday. He has, since I have arrived, worn a very interesting shirt several times. It says, in English: 'Why drink and drive, when you can smoke and fly?' I am least cool with him out of the group. He is a great guy who likes to have fun though. Also has a receding hairline with a mohawk...what a sight it is!
Luigi- (no need) 20 years old. From Bari, small town in South. He is my roomate. Hates a clean shave. Carries a man purse with im wherever he goes. Has a best friend named Francesca who cooks some mean pasta and is cute. Only owns one article of clothing that is white(a t-shirt). Good sense of humor and speaks a little english. I joke with him alot. Has a horrible ringtone, however.

I am real satisfied with my group of guys. I'm upset Ivan is leaving but we will hopefully still kick it. Speaking to them in Italian all the time has been fun and good practice. I'm looking forward to throwing some good parties and eating some more delicous home cooked meals.

However, I have to work a little harder on trying to explain the rules of American Football in Italian.

That has just been a disaster.

I Got The Call

Grocery shopping is no joke. Especially when you are by yourself in a foreign country. Sure there is a bundle of delicous food for the taking, but its just not the same. As I had already gone up and down every isle looking for the deli that would sell some chicken fingers (they just do not exist here) I stopped at the yogurt section.

As I am away from home, it is a little more difficult to eat healthy. I consume less vegetables not necessarily because I don't like them but rather because I don't know how to properly cook them. (I know what your saying, you just grab some asparagus and thrown them in the oven. But what about the flavor aspect?) I figured getting some yogurt could provide an easy breakfast that would be healthy and tasty. As I started to reach for the stracietella (a delicous flavor in Italy that is more or less like choclate chip ice cream) I began to feel my hip vibrate...

I got the phone out of the holster and saw that Marcello, my director was calling. Could this be it? Could he have found a new place for me to live? I felt like I was a B level actor who's agent was to bring him good news. As soon as I said 'hello?' I put down my shopping sack/crate, (what the hell do you call those things? Not the cart obviously, but the other one that has the straps like a purse and is more portable. Do they even have a name? Sheeesh!) and then I closed my eyes. Not necessarily because I was praying to the G-Man upstairs or anything but rather because it is dreadfully hard to talk on the phone and pay attention in the grocery store.

Right off the bat Marcello told me he had 'good news'. There were two beds available in two different apartments in the dorms I originally wanted to live in. He told me I should go check them out that same night and decide if I wanted to switch. Following the convo, I put all my food back (only eggs and tortillas at this point. I can be rather indecisve when it comes to food) and headed straight to the new dorms.

The porter was very nice and called the apartments and informed them, in italian, that 'an american student is here to see the apartment and maybe he will move in'. Oh come on bro. That just doesn't sound good. These guys probably don't want another suite mate. Especially an American one. Gosh, I was already minus 1 without even showing my face. Its ok though. Ill make it work.

After the porter told me to go to apartments 20 and 22, I was giddy. I was getting the words ready in my head to say without messing up. First impressions are KEY. And with roomates? From a different country?FUGGETABOUIT!

I knoced on the first door (apartment 22) and was greeted by a rather short guy with glasses and dirty blonde hair. I said 'Ciao' and introduced myself. I said I was from California, blah blah blah. He told me he was from Lecce, the same town in the south of Italy that I spent 3 weeks in before now. Fantastic. We now have a foundation to work from. As I recalled where I stayed and some of the landmarks, he began to smile and seemed proud. (Italians are EXTREMELY proud of where they are from. Wheter it be Rome, Milan, Lecce, or Bari. They love home)

This guys name was Ivan, pronounced E-vahn. He gave me a tour of the apartment and I was pumped. As you enter, there is a little lounge spot on the left with two couches and a TV to accompany it. On your right is the kitchen area with a fridge and stove and oven. As you walk straight there is a bedroom on your right with two beds in it as well as a bedroom on your left with two beds in it. Also, at the end of the hall lies a single which is across from the bathroom. I absolutely loved it.

As I began to converse with Ivan more, I noticed that his Italian was a litte different than I was used to. Then I remembered. Some people from the south have a different dialect and, to foreigners, are more challenging to understand. As he began speaking real fast and for longer amounts of time, I had to perfectly time my smiles and nods so I didn't look like an idiot. I had to pretend I understood him and did so by strategically timing my word-less reactions. As the conversation began to dwindle, I said 'thanks' to Ivan and went to check out the other apartment. But do I even need to? I was so sold on this one I almost didn't even go to 22.

But I did.

Once I stepped into apartment 22, I knew this spot was something. The TV was on and was showing a basketball game between the Italian national team and Slovenia. My eyes then darted upward to a massive stereo system that, upon first glance, could have put Best Buy's finest to shame. I was greeted by two young men: Antonio and Domenico. They, too, were from the South and after I told them which towns I had visited they grew excited. I dropped the California bomb and everything was cool. (for the record I be getting MAJOR points for this one. Oh California. Specially with the females. Wooo, gotta love it. Imagine saying I'm from Nebraska...)

I said 'grazie' and called my director and said I want to move. Lets do this. I went straight back to my dorm room and began packing. I threw everything into my suitcases and was thinking about what I was going to tell G-Sep. Do I say the room is too small? Do I tell him the truth? That I fear for my life when you uncessary blow your nose every morning?

Ehh, Ill figure it out later.

For now, I gotta pack.

Get Me Out Of Here

When I was first given my room assignment, I did not know what to think. I was excited and nervous, just like everyone else. I did not know anything about the structure of the building, what my room would look like or wheter or not my roomate thought negatively of Americans. All I knew was that I was going to be sharing a room.

When everyone met with the porter, prior to being shown are rooms, you could feel the jitters in the air. I wasn't even really worried. I knew that either way, it was going to be an experience and I should just go into it feeling calm, cool, and collected. I was shown my room last and chose not to look into any of the others because I wanted it to be a total surprised. I did not want to see the setup or layout so I just stood in the hallway. When the porter unlocked my room I was overcome with...with...nothing.

I don't want to sound like a spoiled individual but my room sucked. It was narrow and small as opposed to spacious and wide. There were two beds, two desks, and two huge dressers. But, because of the room's size, they were all touching each other. My desk touched my bed. My roomates desk touched my dresser which touched his dresser. I could have layed down in the middle of my floor and been touching the dressers and my bed. Thats how little space there was. Oh, my bed also was perpendicular to his resulting in little to no comfort space. But, hey, I could deal with this. I mean, everyone else's was the same plus I wouldn't spend all my time in my room.

But wait.

As I said hello to my roomate, Giuseppe, we breifly talked about hometowns and interests. I happend to notice that he was wearing soccer cleats and immediately was excited.
(In Italian)A: 'I see you have soccer shoes. Do you play soccer?'
G: 'No'
At this point I wanted to ask why the hell he was wearing soccer shoes but I chose not to. But I sure was baffled. He was just casually walking around the dorm in soccer shoes for the rest of the day. No Biggie. I guess.

I thought he would be asking me all kinds of questions but he wasn't saying nothing. I asked if he played any sports. 'No'. If he watched any sports. 'No' Does he know anyone who plays or watches sports. 'No'. What he liked to do on the weekends. 'Not much'. At this point, I told him I would be back and went to scope out other peoples rooms.

The others' rooms were nothing like mine. They had the more square shape with beds that were parallel to each other and had ample space in between. I was growing very frustrated. I took several deep breaths in the hallway and then returned to my room to unpack. As I was unpacking in silence, I began to think if I could really do this for 3 months. I told myself I had to give it a chance before I reached a conclusion.

When I awoke the following morning, I initally thought I had slept through my alarm. I looked at my phone and saw that it was 37 minutes before the alarm was to go off. I sat up and noticed that G-Sep (Giuseppe, but that was the nickname I gave him behind his back. Its not mean. Its just a nickname) was awake. What took place shortly thereafter would continue to happen every single day, at the same time, even on the weekends.

His routine is as follows:
1. Wake up without an alarm clock. Dont know how he does it but he does
2. Walk over to our tiny ass fridge and remove 'fitness yogurt' and place it on his desk
3. Get a placemat from the dresser and place it on the desk. Then place the yougurt on the placemat and enjoy
4. Go to bathroom and put on pants and shirt
5. VIOLENTLY blow nose while in bathroom. VIOLENTLY. Ladies and Gentleman, this is serious. If I did not know any better, I would have thought he was either trying to hurt himself in some fashion or sacrifice a baby goat. I understand when you blow your nose when you have a cold or allergies and you get the goods outta there but G-Sep was dry. It sounded so forced and uncecessary.
6. Return to desk and begin studying.

Now the breakfast, blowing of the nose, and getting dresked took maybe 10 minutes. He would literally study all day only to break for an occasional run around town or to bust out his newly purchased workout bench to do some sit-ups. He told me he wanted to be a veteranrian but come on. He was studying all the time. Most of our daily interactions would consist soley of 'Ciao'. We didnt dislike each other by any means, we just didn't click.

After conversing with my ma, I decided that I would make a request to switch rooms. I spoke with my director, Marcello, and the wheels were put into motion. All I had to do now was wait and see if there was any availability...

Rosh Hashanah in Italia? Better Believe It Baby

First off let me say Happy New Year or L'shanah Tovah. This past Wednesday I, along with 4 others from my program did the unthinkable: went to services here in Bologna, Italia. OK so it might not be totally crazy but you must admit that there is something to be said about celebrating a Jewish Holiday in Italia.

As you may or may not know already, I always try to look my best. This day was no different. It was the Jewish New Year and I am in Italia. It was a neccessity to come looking splendid. The Italians, both men and women, look absolutely dapper whether or going for stroll in town or out to dinner. I had to at least try.

I was told, by my Jewish counterparts, to meet in the main piazza at 7:10 to get to services for a 7:30 start. In typical Jewish services style, we showed up at 7:30 only to find out the services started at 7. No difference wheter you are in the States or in Europe, there is always going to be late people at services.

We initally had a bit of trouble getting in. We are, afterall, American students and nobody had their passports on their person (what up ma! what up Deadwood). And, when a bundle of Jews congregate in one area for a given amount of time there is always a need for extra precaution (just so many haters out there, shheesh). We ended up getting in after about 10 minutes and upon entering the synagouge, I was hit with something I have never experienced before: an orthodox setup.

I informed the girls with whom I was with that they would need to head upstairs where the rest of the women were seated and I, along with my director Marcello (his wife is Jewish), took seats on the bottom floor. Although the entrance was off to the side everyone still turned when I entered. (Even though this is a natural occurnce when I enter a room because my charm and good looks are just positevly glowing, I was still a little taken back). Maybe it was the fact that they knew I was American. Maybe it was because I was wearing a checkered red shirt with a skinny tie instead of the standard white or blue. Who knows?

As Marcello and I took seats (we would have sat together anyway but you gotta imagine that the 6'3'' American student with two earrings had to pair up with the Italian who, to the best of my knowledge, had never set foot in a synagouge and eats prosciutto on the daily had to stick together), I began looking around the room. I was real eager to see what services would be like in Italia and was not dissapointed to find out that they are indeed different.

It was very nice to see several Italian Jews. Granted, nobody had 'Goldstein' or 'Cohen' written across the forhead. As the rabbai began, or should I say continued, (remember I strolled in late), I began to notice and hear lots of chatter. Intially, I thought it was those around me saying the prayers aloud or signing. But no. It was just the men yukkin it up. And I mean YUKKIN.

I have learned over my stay in Italia so far that Italians like to talk. Often. This evening was no different. Nobody had any reservations about talking during the ceremony. Sure, you turn to whisper to your parents, siblings, or friends every now and then (Oh my goodness, did her nose get bigger or is it just me??) but it seemed that these men were having running conversations about anything and everything. I was constantly looking around to see if anybody was giving those talking dirty looks or the look that means 'shhhh' without saying it. You know what I mean. But no. There was nothing. The Rabbai never broke stride and the men never stopped. But that wasn't even the half ot it.

After about 10 minutes of not understanding anything (it was all in Italian. Half the time I don't know what is going on in services back home so you know I barely stood a chance here), I heard what sounded like two children biting each other and screaming. It turns out that everyone's child came with them to the services and each child just had two espresso's. And the place or room where they were suppose to remain ended up being the hallway immeaditely outside the door to where the services were taking place.

There were at least 10 kids who would scream, play, kick, run, scream, yell, or scream throughout the whole service. They would even come running into the service, find their father or uncle or whomever, talk to them, not in a whisper, and then run back. I honestely did not believe what was going on. Howevr, nobody seemed to mind. As I said, the men were talking, the Rabbai was preaching (can a Rabbai preach? Is that kosher to say? You can't say Rabbaing), and the kids were running.

Then you had the family that showed up maybe 15 minutes before the service ended. You had the father who was angry at the rest of the family for making him late when, in actuality, it was he who held everyone back. You had the mom who had to pretend she had everything together but you could see that, internally, she was reaching her breaking point. Then you had the younger of the two children, the daughter, looking cute and shy and sticking close to her mom. And you had the son, slightly older then the daughter, forced to dress up for the service but comprised and only wore a polo shirt and jeans to go along with the look that he is constantly smelling dog sh*t. Good to see that Jewish family still exists over seas.

Marcello and I must have chuckled at least 5 times throughout the service over its bizarness. It was a free for all. I felt like I was in an Italian Chucke Cheese just with no video games and better looking people. It was a trip.

I will be venturing back to the synagouge this Friday for Yom Kippur and am contemplating bringing a swiss army knife, a bottle of water, and a compus.

Just in case

From the Beautiful to the Bizzare- Siena & Pisa

As I was departing from Roma, I was looking forward to a more quiet less touristy experience and I was granted my wish when I went to Siena.

Siena is a rather small town located North of Roma in Tuscany. There were a good amount of people there but nothing in comparison to Roma.

When Jake and I got on our train to Siena we looked at our ticket and saw that our stop was called 'Chiusi'. We assumed that Chiusi was the name of the train station and that either way we would be in or close to Siena. Boy, were we wrong.

As we got off at Chiusi we began to walk around and scope out the place. We didn't realize that we were in the wrong city until it was too late. As we walked around the entire city (it took 13 minutes) at 11 at night we looked at our ticket one more again. We had to get off at Chiusi and then wait ten minutes for a second train to take us to Siena. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh

At this point, all the trains had left for the night and we were forced to sleep in the train station. Well, I take that back. It was our plan from the get go to sleep in the train stations as part of a save money/good experience/why the hell not type thing.

So, we slept in the train station. (more like taking 17 minute naps while constantly waking yourself up over paranoia of someone robbing you or just because you cannot sleep sitting straight up on metal chairs) We then caught the 4:31 A.M. train to Siena and everything was cool.

Siena, as I said, was nice. I walked around a bit and even got to take a nap in the Botanical Gardens of the University of Siena. I used my backpack as a pillow, had Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on the Ipod (HP on the Ipod is top 14 greatest things in the world) and was straight kickin it.

Being able to see parts of Tuscany and the lushes green hills and amazing views was very peaceful. I highly recommend going to Siena and Tuscany in general.

As Siena wasn't large, we only spent the day there. We took the train to Pisa (direct train, do not pass go, do not collect...) and got there at dusk.

We headed straight for the leaning tower. I didn't quite know how tilted it was but HOT DAMN! THAT SH*T BE LEAAAAANNNING!

As I was staring at it I kept seeing it lean further and further. I swear the longer I looked at it the more likely it was going to fall over. As I mentioned before, Jake and I made no plans for a hostel (there was no availability anyway) we kind of fell asleep in the main complex of Cathedrals right next to the Pisa.

Now, let me explain something. It was not our intention to go to sleep there. We just happened to fall asleep. We never agreed that this was our 'home' or 'beds' for the night. In actuality, Jake and I said nothing to each other before dozing off.

We were, however, interrupted. As I was comfortably laying on a marble stair (huge upgrade from sitting on a metal chair the previous night) I was awoke by the sound of a whistle. I immediately shot up and was greeted by 3 Italian police officers.

I was shook. I thought they were going to search and interrogate us. Fortunately, they just informed us that the area was closed (as it was 1 A.M.) and we would have to move. Oh okay, cool. As I rushed to pack away my Ipod and fasten my backpack I noticed that Jake, my boy with whom I was traveling with, was in no hurry at all. I mean wow. This guy had no sense of urgency in him. Maybe he did and I just couldn't tell. Either way it was a sight to see. Here we are: two American students sleeping in the complex of the leaning tower of Pisa we three Italian police offers standing over us with their hands on their hips. It honestly to Jake 3 1/2 minutes to fasten his backpack. Nobody spoke. Not me. Not Jake. Not the officers. After a minute or so I began to laugh and had to turn my back to the officers as to not offend them. Jake was real tired and kind of out of it. He was focused on his straps and was not panicking at all. At one point, although I'm not sure, I think one of the officers thought it was funny and we made eye contact. All in all, great moment.

As we had to depart our luxury Pisa spot, we headed back to the train station and caught a Z there. The next day we went back to the tower and chilled out some more. Before we left Pisa, we did what we always do: had pizza. The pizza in Pisa was the best I have had so far in Italia. wasn't impressed with Roma's pizza (way to thin, not a lot of toppings) and have yet to venture to Naples, the birthplace of pizza.

After Pisa we left for Bologna with the intention of sleeping in the train station because we arrived a day before we were suppose to. However, your boy made a few calls and we were given housing for that night. I am now currently in Bologna which is an hour North of Florence. I will be studying here for the next 4 months and I am liking what I see so far.

Every part of Italia has been amazing and different in its own way. I look forward to traveling some more as well as having more adventures.

Roma-Simply the Best

Aside from my hostel experience, Roma was fantastic.

I wanted to see and do as much as possible and I think I came about as close as one could. I arrived in Roma late Thursday night and was planning to depart on Sunday evening. This gave me 2 full days to do everything.

On the first full day, Friday, I walked a whole lot. I saw the Trevi Fountain, Coliseum, Arch of Constantine, Spanish Steps, Forum, Pantheon, several cathedrals, and numerous other sites I cannot recall right now.

Seeing all of these in person was just crazy. Especially since I studied most in Art History class in High School. (What up Ms. Metz) To sit down and just stare at these works was unreal. It was amazing to see them on half visible, slanted, sort of fuzzy slides but this, this was something else.

Each site had its attraction. For example, the Trevi Fountain was so unique because of the sculptures and how they were connected with the water. The flow of water added a certain beauty to the overall work which made it very nice.

The Coliseum was just cool. I mean to think about what took place inside just screams power and aggresion. The structure is obviously not what it used to be but nevertheless, still great. Its like when you first went to your favorite ballpark or coolest stadium and you kept saying 'this place is amazing. How did the do this?' But with the Coliseum, its 12x more impressive.

The Arch of Constantine is very interesting because some of the scultpures and works on the Arch were apparently stolen from other rulers, such as Hadrian, at the time it was constructed. Every part of the arch has something going on and I walked around numerous times to absorb it all.

I forgot the Pantheon was in Roma and it was my darkhorse of the trip in the sense that I never thought it would have been that cool and impressive but I was wrong. The upper half of the building is a perfect half of a circle. I mean perfect. Seriously. It is nuts to just stare up and see how well made it is and contemplate how they did it.

The Spanish Steps were pretty but they were, afterall, just steps. It seemed like a cool place to hangout with friends. I'm not too sure what makes them Spanish but if you know, tell me. The street that was at the bottom of the steps was nice and had lots of different stores and eateries.

The cathedrals we went to were very impressive in that the artowork inside was incredible. Sure I expected some depictions fo Mr. JC but I'm talking about some serious frescoes and even the ceilings decked out. I never thought any cathedrals would have so much detail but was happy to see that they do.

The next day, Saturday, I went to the Vatican Museum and saw some of the most impressive works in my life. This was up there with the first time I had bacon as well as the one off the hook party in high school or college where EVERTHING went your way.

I only waited in line for an hour even though at first it seemed as if it would take 3 to 4. There were charming and handsome Austrailian men who were going up and down the line telling people the wait would be 4 hours but you go with them now and get right in. The catch was that it would cost you an additional 25 Euro. Huge rip off. Just bring an Ipod or start yukking it up with the person in front or behind you in line. It does get hot standing in line so bring a hat, some water, and something for the back of your neck.

Once inside the museum there is numerous works ranging from maps of old Italia to battles in the 11th century. Although everything was delightful, my two favorite were the room of Raphael and The Sistine Chapel.

I did not know that The School of Athens, likely Raphael's most famous work, was in the Vatican Museum and was utterly taken back when I saw it. It is truly hard to describe and believe that work of art can do this to someone but when you see it in person, it just blows you away. (What up to my boy Will H.- he wasn't an Art History fan but even a knuckle-cracking, word-slanging econ major can appreciate true beauty)

I am not sure I have words for the Sistine Chapel and will not do it an injustice by going on and on about it. To think that one man was able to do this, is just out of this world. Every section, every individual work has a detailed story behind it. You can see the time and effort and energy that was exerted in each person and it is truly amazing. I will say that I was very discuoraged by the amount of photographs people were taking. It clearly states, prior to entering as well as once inside that no pictures are allowed. There is even 6 men who patrol the area making sure people do not take photos. However, few people obeyed. Everywhere you turned there were people flashing away and after being confronted would give that nod and say 'ok' only to begin snapping again.

All the flashing and taking of pictures does damage to the work. There is part of the chapel that has not been restored at all and it is jet black. You are able to see what restoration has done and without it we would only visit the Chapel to be in the presence of such work. I cannot believe that people were so selfish and do not, or chose not to understand that if everyone continues to disobey and take pictures, the Sistine Chapel will only be visible in books and the internet.

I also feel that pictures could not even do the Chapel justice. Its one of those things that even when you show others you are going to say 'but you gotta go see it in person. you just have to'

I also went to Saint Peter's Square but did not enter the Vatican itself. I was able to see the Vatican from the outside and was content with doing so.

My last and final day consisted of going to A.S. Roma's first home soccer game of the year. GO CRAZY.

The squad has a plyer by the name of Francesco Totti who is basically the equivalent of Michael Jordan. Everyone knows him and everyone loves him. I had the luxury of sitting rather close to the visiting team's (A.C. Sienna) fan section. The Sienna section was blocked off to Roma fans but I could still see them and hear them clearly. Every single time Sienna fans began to cheer the Roma fans would start booing or whistling as to drown them out. After every goal Roma scored there would be a heard of people who would run to the fence that seperated them and start swearing and making obscene, yet comical gestures. You had mothers and fathers who were with their children 7 or 10 year olds swearing and motioning to their um, how do you say, southern hemishpere's without apprehension. Nobody cared about anything at the game and it was sweet. They were there to root for the team. Anything else was fair game.

That concluded my Roma trip. I was off to Sienna and Pisa for two days to have a more quiet, less touristy vacation.

I have only one word to describe what I saw in Roma: Wow.