Divine Retribution: The Tales of Bernadette and Public Transportation

                                   
                                        (that is most definitely not me in this picture)

I would like to dedicate this post to my bad luck with public transportation. Maybe by paying homage to bus and subway systems everywhere, I can be absolved of my sins and convert to the humble following of public transit.
You would think that by now I would have learned. Two summers ago, I rode the bus home in London after a late night at a comedy show. As I stood up for my stop, my wallet spilled out of my lap scattering all my change (and Europeans use a lot of change) everywhere.
So embarrassing, right?
Well, not nearly as embarrassing as sliding down the stairs of the bus two seconds later. With the in-bus camera displaying the stairs at that exact moment.
I was scarred.
So, when I heard that Bologna has a fabulous bus system, I naturally decided to avoid it at all costs. Unfortunately, living outside the city walls means sometimes you really just can't speed walk fast enough to get to class. I decided to give public transportation another try. 
My first time waiting for the bus, I'll admit, I was nervous. Where do I pay? What if it's broken? Where is my stop? Should I sit or stand?
When bus number 13 stopped in front of me, I realized that all of those questions were irrelevant. I couldn't do anything to stop it. A crowd of people herded me onto a bus and I simply stood squished between a white-haired Italian women cradling milk and eggs and a crowd of middle school boys sporting half-shaved heads and some interesting bling. I couldn't have gotten to the red ticket box to pay, even if I had wanted to.
I got off at the first stop that I was able to and walked the rest of the way home, terrified because I had been on the bus without a ticket. They could have caught me!
The next time I rode the bus, it was less crowded, but of course, I didn't have any change. I was far away from home though and didn't want to make the thirty minute walk. So I sat, paranoid, whipping my head back every time the door opened to see if I needed to make a run for it.
The third time it happened, I had change, but I really wanted to use that for gelato...
And so it goes.
Before I knew it, I had turned into a master bus thief! I rode that bus where ever I wanted and paid if I was feeling generous. Sometimes I even rode for fun! As a non-paying user, I clearly ruled over all. I gave (semi-accurate) directions. Helped people with stops (even if I wasn't totally sure). I was king, queen, and the Lord Almighty of the ATC Bologna.
And the best part was it was free! I scoffed at my friends who paid for tickets.
"I've taken the bus here fifty times already and no one every comes on to check anything!"
And then they did.
I should have known the end of the month would be one of those times. After only one stop on the bus, I found a short, round, mustached man next to me wearing clearly wearing his uniform with pride.
"Il biglietto, per favore?"
Shit.
I tried the dumb American card, but he wasn't buying it.
"I documenti?"
He said something to me about my passport (it was a copy and he didn't seem to like that), wrote my name down, and then asked if I wanted to pay now or later.
Since I had absolutely no clue where to go to pay "later", I opted for now and had to fork over 50 euro, fresh out of the ATM.
50 euro poorer and with a severely deflated ego, I got off at my stop, finishing the most expensive 2 minute bus ride of all time.
I no longer feel like a master of the bus system. I'm back at step 1 in "how to use public transportation" and I think I need to try a different strategy. Maybe some humility and bowing to the bus gods will do the trick.
Or maybe tomorrow, I'll just buy a bike.

How To Speak Italian (even though you’re at a party and can’t understand a word that anyone is saying)

Sometimes, speaking, hearing, living, and breathing the Italian language makes my head want to explode. The sheer process of describing my day to my roommates takes about three times as long as it should. So even though I live with Italians who don't speak a word of English, I find myself speaking a lot of English throughout the day with other American students in the program. It's hard to force myself to talk about my day in another language when it's just so much easier in English.
So when my roommate Peppe informed me that we would be having friends over for dinner Tuesday night, I was immediately grateful for the opportunity to really force myself to speak.
I came back to my apartment on Tuesday around 7:30 pm (19:30 in Italian time). I had been working on a group project with American classmates all afternoon, speaking very little Italian. I walked in to a living room in disarray. My roommates had pushed all the couches to one side of the room and brought out two more long tables, creating a dining hall in our already crowded apartment.
"Quante persone vengono stasera?" (How many people are coming tonight?)
"Seidici" (16)
My jaw dropped. Family dinners at home usually get no bigger than 8 people. I should have realized that "a dinner with friends" is really just an excuse to have a party.
Dinner in Italy doesn't ever begin until after 9:00 pm. So I made myself busy by finding and washing every drinking container in the hous.e We definitely didn't have sixteen glasses. Or sixteen chairs for that matter. No one seemed to worried about it though.
As people started arriving, I felt the shape of my first Italian dinner start to form. There was no trickling in of the guests. Every time someone new walked through the door there would be a cheer...
"Bella! Ciaociaociaociao!"
The new guest would usually raise their arms to receive a barrage of hugs and kisses. With the way people were greeting each other, you would think they hadn't seen each other in years.
Someone started a playlist. The lights dimmed and christmas lights went up to frame the window seven stories up facing the hills of Bologna. And soon after the food arrived. Pasta al forno with plenty of wine to go around. Of course by now there were way more than 16 people present and my hopes of having that pleasant conversational dinner was over.
Instead, I found myself straining over the blare of music and twenty different voices jabbering away to at simply understand the context of the conversation next to me. I have found that I can understand perfectly when someone speaks to me directly, but mix in music, background voices, and a decent amount of alcohol and all I can do is shrug my shoulders, nod and smile along with someone's rapid hand gestures.
As the night progressed, however, I forced myself to start up one-on-one conversations with some new people. I talked about Kansas and "Il Mago di Oz", I discussed the Italian public school system, my roommates mysterious Macedonian girlfriend, the couple making out in the corner of the room, "Musica Trash" (which took me forever to understand that they were pronouncing "trash" and not "tresh"), and a neighbor's scuba-diving trip in the Red Sea.
I participated in my first Italian dance party, where males and females alike jump around shamelessly to "Musica Trash," a guilty pleasure not too far off from my generations constant fascination with the Spice Girls, 'Nsync and old school Britney Spears.
 

                        For some reason, this is a huge favorite here within the Musica Trash category

Around three in the morning, I left the apartment with three new Italian friends to visit Signore Paolo, a crazy seventy-year-old Bolognese who owns a gelateria cart in the piazza down the street. At 3am the cart turns into a last minute spot to purchase alcohol. Here, you can come to buy a forty and get mildly harassed by an old man who believes girls should never have to pay for their drinks.
To top off the night, the police arrived at the door of our apartment around 4:00am because of a noise complaint. We received a fine of 400 euro, which has been pinned to a bulletin board and I have been informed is "not a big deal and I don't need to worry about it".
I ended the night more proud than ever of how far my language skills have come. If I can fudge my way through conversations in a setting like this now, I can't wait for how easy it will seem in three months. Sometimes I still feel like my head wants to explode, but at least I know it will explode with phrases in Italian!

A new kind of schedule

Those of you who know me know that I like to be busy. I get a pretty strange thrill out of filling every hour of my day up with something productive. Back at home I joined as many clubs as I could find, I've never taken less than 18 credit hours in a semester, and I usually forget to schedule in time for eating and showering. Even though this sounds kind of crazy, I love it! I love being proactive and making things happen. And I've always had the power (or at least pretended I did) to get things done when I wanted them to be done.
I'm starting to realize that this is exactly the opposite way things happen here. The only thing that runs on schedule is the buses. Other than that, I've found that Italians function on a very different level.
Classes here will start anywhere from early to mid October (maybe even at the end). No one "enrolls" in a course; they just go and eventually sign up to take an oral exam. If they feel they aren't ready for an exam, they can take it the month after...or the next semester...or maybe a year later.
The university is not the only thing that functions like this. Stores close on Thursdays and most random afternoons. Dinner can be anywhere from 7pm-midnight. Even the bikers here take their sweet time moving down the street.
I never thought that I could experience culture shock, but it's kind of snuck up on me. I'm used to going all the time, and now that I'm here everything has just stopped.
And it's more than just learning how to have a flexible schedule.  My days are filled with huge gaps of free time.
Sounds nice right?
Right now, I kind of hate it.
When you only know 30 or so people in the entire city and can understand about 70% of the language, free time can feel pretty lonely. I keep envisioning the day when I can understand my roommate perfectly and have Italian friends that I can just call up to meet for aperitivi. But, these aren't things that you can just "get done". They take a long time with lots of adjustment periods and backtracking. So even though I feel kind of lonely right now, there isn't necessarily a way for me to find my new best friend who understands perfectly broken Italian tomorrow when I'm riding the bus.
Who knows, maybe I'll come back completely readjusted with a laid back schedule and a strong desire to eat meals at 1 in the morning. But right now, actually going through the adjustment is one of the hardest things I've ever done.
This is my home now, and it's a little intimidating.

                             (Photo stolen from Sarah Tolman because I haven't been taking any)

There's no place like home!

I have found an apartment! Yes, that's right. In only one week, I managed to find myself a home in Bologna! I can't even began to describe how stressed out I have been about this whole process. After seeing seven different apartments (that's on the lighter side) and exchanging broken Italian about l'affitto (rent) and la caparra (security deposit), I managed to find a place where I feel somewhat comfortable.
The apartment is actually located "fuori le mura" meaning outside the city walls, so it's not exactly in the city center, but I really like that it's further away. It's right next to i Giardini Margherita, the central park of Bologna, and in a city literally devoid of any greenery, it's nice to have a place to really be outside. The apartment is only about a twenty minute walk to the center and with that comes quiet, a great view, and a good reason to work off some of this gelato.
Also I plan on buying a bike!
I'm living in a 6 person apartment with three boys and three girls, all from different places in Italy. We haven't picked the sixth girl who will live in my room with me yet, but I get to participate in the interviewing! Of course this basically just means I sit and smile. When everyone talks to each other it's like listening to five different radio stations and once. Completely confusing and a bit too difficult for me at this point.
I brought some of my things over today and I can definitely say that it's still pretty awkward. I don't know yet how to be polite in Italian. Or if they really are polite here. I once heard that English is a language that demands a sense of space. We're always side-stepping around each request.
"Do you think it would be OK if you listen to your music on a little bit lower volume?"
"Maybe later, would you be willing to show me how to use the stove? I don't want to ruin anything."
These questions definitely don't translate into Italian. I keep asking myself, how do I live with other Italians without stepping on anyone's toes? And then also, how can I keep my toes from getting stepped on? Of course, I think one of the main goals of this program is to put yourself way outside of your comfort zone. And even if I lose a few toes in the process, I'll still be alive right?
Tomorrow morning I check out of the hotel for good. I haven't yet taken any pictures of my own so below are the pictures apartment from the online ad. I promise more pictures will come once I've really moved in!

Adventures in IKEA

IKEA doesn't exist in Kansas. I had never even heard of it before coming to Bologna. So when I heard we could by everything we needed for our apartment, I immediately thought Target. Nice simple Target with its clear organization and easy to understand layout.
Boy was I wrong.
My first mistake was thinking I could tackle this by myself. On a Sunday. While it was raining.
Little did I know that Sunday is prime shopping day since IKEA is the only store actually open. And since it the weather was bad, spending Sunday with the family at IKEA seemed to be everyone's number one destination.
And they weren't just there with there family. Mom, dad, screaming toddlers, newborn children, grandmas in their wheelchairs, and EVERYONE had their dog with them. With all these people and their giant IKEA bags there was barely room to move my elbows. I just followed the crowd.
We began our movement through the kitchens. Each one had people sitting in it, examining the dishwasher, and the sink fixtures as if they were testing out whether out not they would be moving in soon. We moved on to living rooms, bedrooms, children's rooms, bathrooms. I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing there! Do I pick up the hanger that's hanging in that fake bedroom? Where do I find just one pillow and not an entire bedroom set?
If I strayed to far from the mob that was the main walkway, getting back in was like diving in to a stampede. I found myself constantly saying "Mi scusi, mi scusi" when really I felt like everyone else was in my way. After making my way through the offices, studys and playrooms I found myself pushed down a staircase to another floor. Here all the items from upstairs were conveniently packaged and shelved so you could take them and go.
Everyone's bags were full of chairs and lamps. I was just full of confusion. I had forgotten what I had even wanted to buy. Did I need a decorative bowl for a coffee table? Do I have a coffee table? Do I need one of those? Or what about that shoe organizer? I should probably be more organized.
After a two and a half hour walk through IKEA's simulated life of the perfect Italian household, I left with only one pillow, a set of sheets, 8 hangers and a desk lamp.
All things that I could have bought at Target in 15 minutes.

The search begins!

Ciao from Italia!

After being in Bologna for only three days, the best word that I could use to describe this situation is overwhelming. The flight to Europe was nine hours long. And of course I sat next to two screaming children. The moment that I arrive at the Hotel, I sat down with Danielle (our student services coordinator) and she described how to buy a Italian cell phone. In Italian. That same day I went to Vodafone and purchased my very own bright pink flip phone. I hate pink and I swear that I asked for red, but I guess pink will have to do. I probably couldn't explain to you what my plan entails, but I can make calls, so at least it works!
And it's a good thing too because Day 2, I started apartment hunting. One of the main reasons I chose this study abroad program is because the students are required to find their own apartment with Italian students during their first two weeks. I am now doubting my ability to make any practical decisions because this is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I have never even found an apartment in English!

My process started with searching for "gli annunci". There are hundreds of annunci all over the city and they look like this:

 So when I find something that looks interesting (after decoding everything with my trusty Italian dictionary and map) I make a phone call. The call kind of goes like this.

Potential roommate: Pronto!
Me: Ciao! Chiamo per l'appartamento. E ancora libero? (I'm calling for the apartment, is it still free?)
Potential roommate: asckadsjghv;dfhjg;adhfg;
Me: Come? (Excuse me?)
Potential roommate: ashfkj la stanza dklkjf vederla (room, see it)
Me: Mi scusi ma non parlo italiano molto bene (Excuse me but I don't speak Italian very well)

And so on....
During my first phone call, the man on the other end got fed up and hung up on me. Then his wife called me back and reassured me that I could still come see the apartment. When I got there, they were both waiting outside and he didn't say one word to me the whole time.
Usually after stumbling on the phone, I'm able to get an appointment time out of someone, usually for adesso (meaning now). I'm not really sure what Italians do during the day, but they are always available to show an apartment. I have seen 7 apartments in the past 2 days and it has been a very strenuous process. Some are complete dumps and others are nice, but way too far away. I always make a point to try and talk with the residents about more than just the apartment. I'm trying to look at it as a good way to improve my Italian and have good conversations with locals. I think I'm getting better! At least more confident, but I definitely still sound like a two-year-old.
Hopefully tomorrow's apartment visits will go well. I'll leave you with a picture of "la fontana nettuno." It's a popular meeting spot and Piazza Maggiore and I think it's just beautiful!