Italia, ce l'hai il mio cuore?

This blog post is not going to particularly pretty, because honestly, I could probably express myself better right now if I were a jellyfish. That’s sort of what my brain feels like to tell the truth, a blank, floating, jelly-ish mix of gunk. Trying to analyze my feelings and my experiences is not even possible right now, so I’ll just write what I’m feeling at this moment, 40 hours from my departure.

I am a bag of tears, and that’s about it. I’m a jellyfish sack of salty tears made more salty from all the seawater I’ve swallowed in the past months of glorious sun and sea. It’s like all the joy and beauty that I’ve collected throughout the past year has finally reached the rim of the cup and now it’s all spilling over in my tears. As of two days ago, I now cry on the bus, I cry when I hear a song about goodbyes (and they’re all about goodbyes), I cried when I went to buy souvenirs and the owner asked me if I was from America.

I don’t know if I can really make it clear how hard this is for me and (I think) for all the other exchange students. I mean, I knew this year would be hard, and that’s precisely why I wanted to do it. I remember thinking about all the challenges I would face during this year: trying to make new friends, participate in new activities, and understand a new culture, all while attempting to learn a foreign language, and without the comfort of family and friends or anything familiar. I was so excited to take on these challenges, and I remember thinking that even though times may come during the year when I would lament my decision because it was just too hard, those moments would prove to be the ones in which I grew the most. I craved those challenges because I knew that they would help me become a better person. And so I smugly set myself up for this year, readying myself for the personal and cultural difficulties. Now I’m looking back and thinking, “How stupid was I that I thought that I could do this! I can’t do this. I can’t.” Somehow I underestimated just how much I would love Italy by the end of the year, because here I am with the hardest challenge still before me, and it’s the one that I didn’t even think about. This goodbye is heartbreaking.

I don’t want it to seem like I can’t bear to return home, because that’s not the case at all. It’s just that I’m really not very good at thinking into the future. Right now I’m not thinking about how great it will be to see my friends and family again, to sleep in my own bed, to eat tacos, go biking, drive, listen to my favorite classic rock radio station, hang out at Blue Monday, just relax in Northfield. I’m not even thinking about how excited I am for college. These emotions will all come soon, I know, and then I’ll be just as melodramatic as I am now. But the only true awareness I have right now is that I’m leaving home. Again. And this time, I don’t have a return date set ten months from now.

Seeing as I’m near the end of my journey, I suppose I should say goodbye, but I’m not sure I can handle another goodbye right now ;) I’ll probably write one last blog post once I get home and I’m in a less melancholy mood, hopefully with pictures and lots of happy stories. Until then thanks to everyone for reading and following along with my year. This experience has been more than wonderful and I can’t wait to hear about the next batch of adventurers so that I can live vicariously through all of their blogs!

A presto! Ciao

La Bora's back!

Oh my goodness. I think I'm a little bit in shock, and a little bit in glee. I just walked home from school after getting out early because of excessive danger caused by, I kid you not, the wind.

I guess in theory this wind is strong enough to cause about the same amount of concern as a violent thunderstorm (or hailstorm...from which some cars in Northfield still have dents) or even a tornado would cause back home. The thing that makes it strange for me is that this isn't a storm, it's simply wind. I've mentioned the bora before, but I'll add to the previous information a small fact that someone told me today: the wind has its origins in Siberia. Now, there's not much here in Italy that can turn a beautiful seaside city into a wasteland, but if anything can it's frigid wind from Siberia. Walking home from school just half an hour ago, the streets were practically deserted, there was wrecked foliage flung everywhere, and even the huge trash bins were laying on their side.

At school, we had an "emergency assembly" in the small gym halfway through first hour. Everyone was jam packed into the tiny space, with some older students leading the entire gym in song as we sang the Trieste anthem to la bora. I felt more like laughing than anything, since for me the whole situation was so different from anything I've ever experienced at home, it was absurdly comical. Unfortunately, I was informed by a few serious students that this is no laughing matter. Most students were indignant because, despite the week-long student-organized occupation of all the schools in Trieste earlier this fall, the province has not given a reply to the extensive protests. A large part of the reason behind the protests is the lamentable condition of the school buildings; to me my school, the best public school in Trieste, seems fine, although extremely lacking in a library or technology of any kind. However, apparently the buildings themselves aren't safe; a couple of years ago part of the ceiling fell down in a classroom and since nobody was hurt, nothing's really been fixed up since then.

So there was quite a bit of anger about the government's inaction in improving school conditions today at the assembly. The reason an emergency assembly was called in the first place is because a part of the school roof fell off. And when I say a part, I don't mean one little red tile. I mean an entire huge strip of roof had been wrenched off by the wind and had fallen in the courtyard, scattering pieces of concrete everywhere and blocking one emergency exit. On the fourth floor of the school, windows had been broken and it had thus been declared off limits. During the two subsequent hours in which I waited with my class in the gym, another piece of the roof came off at the front entrance of the building, and people were redirected towards the back exit. And that's just the damage at my school. Throughout the city, you see policemen cleaning up certain areas and I've heard more ambulance sirens today than I've heard in a while.

In the past two days, 90 people have been taken to the hospital due to injuries caused by the bora. On the way to school, I saw dozens of mopeds lying on the ground where the were parked, one after the other as if they fell like dominoes. There were cars with their windows smashed because branches, little pieces of construction, or flower pots from apartment windows had fallen. Actually, every single road was littered with tiny red remnants of the clay flower pots that had fallen from nearly every apartment window. Newspapers, leaves, bits of clay and other trash was swirled into mini-tornadoes on the sidewalks. This wind is just crazy! And even though I shouldn't be happy about this wind, seeing as people are actually getting hurt, I really do love it, just because I feel like I'm experiencing something extremely unique. People in Italy know that Trieste has la bora. If you're late to work or you fall down on your moped, all you have to do is say "La bora" and everyone nods sagely and understands. Now I can talk about my personal experiences with la bora; I feel like a local. It may be selfish, but I love this city, and with each new, unique experience here it becomes a little bit more my own.

Now, I'll try to brave the weather, face the danger, and stare Mother Nature in the eye so I can take some pictures. Wish me luck. I would rather my epitaph not be Death by Flowerpot.

EDIT: I have just been informed that school is canceled from now until Friday. Gotta love life in Italy :]

Misty Mountain New Year's

Dear Readers. I'm not sure how many of you are fans of The Lord of the Rings, and even those of you who are fans may not remember the opening scene of 'The Two Towers' movie. But the breathtaking, snowcapped Misty Mountains of Moria, ablaze and glorious in the golden light of the sun, are impossible for me to forget, even if they were hardly the main point of the scene. Luckily for me, I got to spend my New Year's among those mountains!

Well, not exactly. Those mountains happen to be in New Zealand, not in the Dolomites, which is where I spent five days skiing and enjoying the beauty, constantly reminded of what I now call 'The Lord of the Rings Mountains'. I was in the small town of Tarvisio, right in the northern nook of Italy, separated from both Austria and Slovenia only by the Dolomite mountains--in fact, I received the customary three text messages from Vodafone welcoming me to Slovenia when I reached the top of the ski mountain! And let me tell you, the top of the mountain is COMPLETELY worth the mind-numbing fear of making my slow, winding way back down the mountain.

After having not skied for at least five years, I made the very sane decision to go to the absolute peak of the mountain, despite the signs on the ski-lift labeling it an 'expert slope.' What convinced me was the sight, from the bottom of the mountain and masked in its shadow, of the ski-lift tracing the summit in an orange glow from the sun. Even from the bottom of the ski hill, one look to my left showed me jagged, towering mountains more beautiful than the hill itself, and I knew that getting to the very top would be worth any broken bones I might acquire along the way. My parents would probably agree that it wasn't the smartest decision I could have made, but the blue skies and the promise of a beautiful view were too tempting.

The peak of that mountain is one of the most perfectly beautiful places I have ever been. It's amazing that when you're in the presence of such earth-shatteringly natural beauty, you don't really care what you look like. I probably resembled some sort of Middle-Earth gremlin going down the flat slope at the top: my mismatched-and-borrowed ski gear, the wind whipping tears from my eyes and promptly freezing them on my cheeks, my arms flung out for balance, my teeth chattering, my eyes squinting, my back hunched, and my head turned completely to the side, my eyes never leaving the most beautiful mountains I've ever seen, conveniently located directly to my right. I literally felt as if I had been dropped into the scene of some epic National Geographic photo shoot. Coasting right long the line of the peak like I was some mountain god, I tiptoed on the tightrope of the summit, one quick peek to the left revealing the misty valleys and hills of Italy, a glance to the right showing me the blinding, glittering white of peak after peak after peak, and the bluest sky I've ever seen, and the icily majestic evergreens, with everything made even more colorfully glorious by the sun's fierce gaze.

The rest of my time in Tarvisio was also wonderful: taking hours to cook pasta and watch Harry Potter and High School Musical with my best friend in our apartment; New Year's Eve, filled with so many fireworks that I honestly got a bit nervous that one of them would accidentally hit a mountain and trigger an avalanche, just like in Mulan; an afternoon of fluffy snowfall and thick hot chocolate; a visit to a sled-dog school, complete with three-week old Husky puppies; exhilaratingly (read: terrifyingly) icy skiing; and a marvelous 19th birthday. But seeing those mountains was more than special.

Here's to a great 2011, even though I may be a week and a half late. And just because everyone needs a little Lord of the Rings every once in a while, here's the opening scene for those who want to watch it :] Love from Italy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBIXENH-70I

Cross-Country Christmas

Something that a lot of people talk about enthusiastically when traveling in Europe is how close everything is. One little hop and you're in Spain, another little hop and you're in France, and in a couple of hours you can be in England. This past spring, I went on the high school band trip to New York, a distance which is pretty close to half of the United States, latitudinally speaking. It took about 24 hours of constant driving. This Christmas, I went from the easternmost part of Italy to the other side of the country in about 5 hours. I loved it.

At times, staring out the window at the gorgeous landscapes on the way to Genova, it almost seemed like I could have been in Minnesota. And then a castle or ancient church or tiny little village would pop out of the hills, and all traces of Minnesota were gone.

But as beautiful as the trip was, it was even better to be in Genova. Checca and I arrived in the pouring rain and driving wind around dinner time, and we ate dinner in a wonderful old ristorante right around the corner from Christopher Columbus' house. After arriving at my host grandmother's house, I realized that despite the rain and the palm trees, Christmas was here; this was one of the most enthusiastically decorated houses I have ever seen. And the next day, those decorations were most thoroughly appreciated by the 29 people (and one dog) who celebrated Christmas there. After years of celebrating Christmas with only my parents and Eduardo, it was definitely a very different experience to be with so many people! The food was excellent, the Santa Claus who delivered our gifts on Christmas Eve was jolly, the people were so kind, and all in all it was an amazing Christmas.

While it was a wonderful experience, it was hard as well. I've spent the last 18 years of my life solidifying the traditions of my family, and as such those traditions were the only definition of Christmas I had: lots of snow, candle-lit church services singing my favorite Christmas hymns, decorating the tree with my family, making cookies and watching movies with my friends, rushing around downtown and buying presents from Blue Monday, Oo-la-la, Monkey See Monday Read, and of course The Cocoa Bean. Without any of those elements, I felt like I was merely skipping Christmas for a year. And then I realized that as I was eating ravioli and listening to Christmas poems in Italian, my family was doing the same thing we do every year back in Northfield. Families were celebrating in Spain, in Florida, in Colombia, all around the world; Christmas was definitely happening. Rather than skipping Christmas, I enlarged my definition of "Christmas." My concept of the word has grown, and I love that. Once you get rid of all the trappings of Christmas that you've grown used to, and you dress it up in the clothes of a different tradition, I think you get to see into the heart of what it really means.

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season in whatever country you may be! Ciao e baci grandi,

Sara

The Time, it Flies

I’m trying to think of a really great metaphor for the way I feel right now, and the only thing I can think of is Captain Hook. I’m not entirely sure what my chopped off hand would symbolize, or who Peter Pan would represent, but I swear that I can hear that crocodile following me around, perhaps lurking in the harbor just outside, and I know exactly what that ‘tick-tock’ means.

Three months and 20 days abroad. As long as forever, and as quick as the blink of a shiny crocodile eye. I’ve got just about two blinks left, and then I’ll be seeing my beloved new country from an airplane.

I knew this year would force me to grow up, but it’s only now that I’m acutely aware of the reality. For me, growing up means taking responsibility for your choices. Unfortunately, this means I have to make decisions for myself. I’m not very good at making decisions. At home, I would agonize over whether to buy this book or that one, whether to take Drawing and Painting 1 or a Watercolor class, and whether I should get ham or roast beef on my hoagie. The choices I had to make back in my sheltered Northfield environment were hard enough. Here in Italy, more independent than I’ve ever been, with thousands of opportunities before me, I feel overwhelmed by the abundance of experiences I could have, at once spurred on and stifled by the omnipresent crocodile counting down the days until I leave this beautiful country.

It’s sort of a terrible truth that no matter how many times people tell you “The time will fly” you never really comprehend it until it’s already flown. I feel like the last three months I’ve lived in a beautiful dream life of an Italian teenager, and now I’m realizing that I’m not an Italian teenager; I’m going back to the United States in a matter of months, and I will never have an opportunity like this to see Italy.

People say that you shouldn’t feel imprisoned by the relatively little amount of time we have to live. Live in the present, don’t live life in a rush, relax, take time to smell the roses, and my personal favorite, Carpe Diem. So I guess in theory I should hop on the back of that crocodile and ride him around like we’re best friends and Time is on my side.

Well. Easier said than done. Obviously I’m still loving the small things of everyday life. I’m starting to think in Italian. I now want to eat pasta every single day instead of wishing for a bit of variety. I’m completely in love with the bus system. I also love the tram. The Christmas decorations, the rain, the fashion, the soccer, the hot chocolate, the sea, everything; I really, really love it here. But Carpe Diem doesn’t mean Live the Day or Enjoy the Day or even Love the Day; it means SEIZE the Day, and I mean to seize every single one of my days here. So yes, I occasionally find it hard to contain my enthusiasm when trying to figure out how to see Tuscany and Rome and Pompeii and Umbria and Puglia and Napoli and Milan and everywhere else, but that’s okay. I know that even in my rush to do everything I possibly can, I’m still enjoying every single moment here.

Although this is probably already evident to you, enjoying every single moment here means that writing blogs tends to occur more in my head than on my computer; I have several things to write about, and just need to find the time to write them. I’ll try and have a few smaller posts up within the next few days. In the meantime, I hope everyone is enjoying the Christmas season! Ciao e baci grandi da Italia :]

Sara

Il calcio é bellissimo

Soccer is beautiful. Although I think the United States are still rather non-united in this issue, thankfully Italy is a country that appreciates its soccer. Proof of this is my host mom Checca, who, being from Genova, is fiercely loyal to the Genoa soccer team (so spelled because it was founded by an Englishman) and refers to its stadium as 'The Temple.' I think it's thanks to our excellent cheering that Genoa won their game today, and also their game last Wednesday :]

The soccer team that I've joined here in Trieste is called Montebello, and I absolutely love it! Practices are definitely hard, but the joy of playing is so present in everyone that the time flies. So far some things that I've learned are:

-put a woman in shorts and a jersey and it's pretty difficult to tell how old she is; I would never have guessed that the age range on my team goes from 14 years old to over 40 years old! I still have no idea how old everyone is, and I love that nobody really cares--we're all connected by our love of the game, and that's enough.

-the Italian bureaucracy really is insane. In order to play with the younger 7 versus 7 team, I need only my Permeso di Soggiorno, a sort of temporary Italian identity card. However. To play with the 11 v. 11 league, I need a letter from my school here, proof of residence here for at least six months, and my Permeso di Soggiorno. Once I have all that, I give it to one of the managers of the team, who then writes a letter to the Minnesota Youth Soccer Association, requesting either confirmation that I played with them, or permission for me to play in a different league, I'm not quite sure on the details. A similarly ambiguous letter will also be sent to Rome. After all that, there will probably be a few more random requirements, but thankfully the soccer season lasts all year, so I may be able to play in a couple of games before it's time to head home again :]

-soccer is soccer is soccer. Is soccer. Although I haven't yet learned the proper vocabulary to say things like 'shin-guards' or 'cross' or 'square' or 'back' or any of the other things we tend to shout at home, I seem to be able to communicate reasonably well by frantically yelling 'here here here!!!' or 'there there there!!!' And waving my hands around occasionally helps too. Despite the language barrier, we all know the rules, and the same skills apply here as in Northfield, Minnesota. It's true what they say about soccer being the Universal Game; it's also the Universal language.

-I like to get hurt. This probably sounds bad, but I don't mean to confuse getting hurt with getting injured--I've already been injured once, and I have absolutely no desire to do it again. But when you slide into the grass to steal the ball and scrape your knee in the process, that sting is proof that you're playing your heart out, and when you see (hopefully small) bruises the day after a game from colliding with the other team, as is inevitable, you feel a kind of pride in knowing that you put forth all the effort possible to win.

So far, my life in Italy has been amazing. I'm blessed with an amazing host family, great friends, and a beautiful city, country, and culture to explore. And although I've had a few tough times, I can feel myself settling into a wonderful rhythm of life here in Trieste. The last thing I want is to get lazy just because I'm settling into habits. Time is precious, and I want to get as much as I can from this year. My exchange student friends and I are looking into either Yoga or Belly-dancing classes, I may join the Photography Club at my school, and I'm working on my Italian cooking...mostly desserts :]

The point is, I want to get myself into some awkward situations. Some challenging situations. Some unexpected situations. I know that sounds weird. But it turns out that soccer isn't just good for exercise or fun; it also makes for some pretty good metaphors. I crave the scrapes, cuts, and bruises that tell me that I'm trying, that I'm working, that I'm living. This is not a year to play it safe and hope for the best. This is a year for a few bruises that will help me grow as a person and experience new things. And hopefully, in the end, win the game :]

I'm off to eat some delicious home-cooked pizza and then watch the big Italian Derby: Inter Milan versus AC Milan! I hope that everyone's having a beautiful autumn, ciao e baci grandi da Italia :]

Sara

Sciopero!!!

'Sciopero' is a word that I learned early on in Italy, and it is one that I now like to think of as a very good friend. Although I live in northern Italy, it seems that snow days, late starts, or early releases are extremely rare occasions. Apparently it snowed three times last year. And that was a lot. So I had resigned myself to not experiencing that absolutely delicious, cozy, snuggly feeling you get when you wake up and realize it's a snow day.

However. Even if the weather here isn't iffy enough to merit a school cancellation, the teachers (and students) are. Whenever a teacher is absent, instead of getting a sub, we are left to our own devices. The students in my class begin to play cards, go outside to smoke (which is still very strange for me, since they can ask their also-smoking teacher for a light and nobody bats an eye), get a bite to eat at the school's cafe, or throw various objects at the blackboard. We've had late starts and early releases because one teacher was sick for a couple of days, so we rearranged our schedule with the other teachers so that instead of having a free hour in the middle of the day, we could have an extra coveted hour of sleep.

As for the word 'sciopero:' it means strike, and it was probably during the second week of school that I first heard it used. One of the school secretaries came into our class, announced that on Monday there would be a sciopero, said something about our parents, mentioned the words 'all day,' and then left. Seeing as we had talked about parent-teacher conferences previously, I assumed from my rather limited knowledge of rapid-fire Italian that this meant that on Monday our parents could come talk with our teachers at any time of the day. I even wrote it down in my planner.

However, when I mentioned these 'conferences' to one of my teachers, she responded with some confusion. I knew I was on the right track though, so I repeated myself: 'You know, Monday, when our parents come in to talk with all our teachers?'

'No.' This time she replied with such conviction that it began to dawn on me that perhaps I had misunderstood. The teacher then proceeded to explain that on Monday, there would maybe be a strike. Maybe. This part confused me a little. Were we supposed to come to school or not?

Apparently, the Italian government and Gelmin, the organization in charge of education, are not very popular right now; with teachers being cut and their salaries being lowered, it seems to the people as if education is far from the government's top priority. Thus, some teachers want to strike. However, others (such as the teacher explaining this to me) believe that striking is simply taking away more time that could be used for teaching. So really, it all depends on which teacher you get. If, when you get to school, your first hour teacher doesn't show up within ten minutes of the first bell, you get to leave for the rest of the day. It doesn't matter if every single one of your other teachers shows up; as long as the first hour teacher remains missing, school is out!

So today, I forced myself out of bed and got ready to go have first hour Religion, which is optional and thus less than half the class attends, and as the teacher is quite lenient, we tend to not do much. Normally I wouldn't complain about having a relaxed class, but during first hour on a Monday morning my head really starts to nod. Upon arriving at school, I noticed that everyone was gathered outside talking. I met up with my classmates and was promptly informed that today was a 'sciopero' day, and so we were waiting before entering class in hopes that the professor wouldn't show. He didn't show.

We all quickly exited the school, then stood right outside in an excited circle, and I watched as the others texted or called all of our other classmates to tell them the joyful news. As we walked, elated, to a cafe to have breakfast, I asked if this happens often, and they said that it's never happened before. I consider myself quite lucky to have participated in a successful 'strike!' There was also a student-led strike a couple of weeks ago that was held all over Italy, and apparently it was quite the success. I was giving a presentation on American History that day, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed for another student strike so that I can also participate in that experience!

Until next time, I hope everyone's enjoying autumn and enjoying life! Love from Italy,

Sara

PS-last week, while enjoying the warm weather and sunshine, I took a walk along the harbor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something large and white floating in the water. Thinking it was bread left for the fish, I looked and realized that it was a JELLYFISH. And then I realized that there were five more!!! It was very exciting to me. I walked on, passing a large Aquarium that blocked my view of the water for a bit, and when I came to the water once again, my mouth literally dropped open, because this side of the harbor was absolutely full of jellyfish! I asked a fisherman why there were so many, and he informed me that when the water is warm and clear, they always come into the harbor. Luckily, I had brought my camera with me, so here are a few pictures!