A Real Juicy Topic

Giugno 23, 2008
America: 12:29 AM
Italy: 9:29 AM
Days in Italy: 2
Known Bug-bites: 6

I wake up confused. My alarm hasn't gone off yet, and it tells me 2:28 AM. I have no clue what that means at the moment, but I notice my roommate just heading out, and my other one still asleep.

So that, I think, means, that it's 5:30 PM here. Wait. No. That can't be. Take the...3.....hours...um. Jono's clock says 8:28AM, so I have an hour. But he just left. That can't be right. I figure I'll just assume the worst and get up.

Breakfast is great.
Cereal.
Milk, unrefrigerated (that's how they do it here so I assume it's safe).
Yogurt.
Soft cheese.
Butter that looks like soft cheese.
Jams of all sorts.
Bread.
Generic Nutella.
Juice.

I realize you can't really go wrong with breakfast. I mean, jam...bread...juice and you're set. Pretty much juice and bread...bagel...baguette...pan de sal...whatevs. Just gimme my juice.

America: 5:12 AM
Italia: 2:12 PM

#1 Blessing of the Day: found a fan.

The day is off to a slow start. Dory takes us on a facilities tour, showing us room after empty room, sharing stories and whatnot. That's nice Dory, but I'm pretty sure we don't need to stand around this long to understand that it's a room.

Very sorry for that...the heat...it likes to inhibit my patience.

This Italy place is consistently giving me flashes of my time in the Philippines. The heat, the clotheslines (no dryer), the cracked walls, the smell of dirt and gasoline perfumed by sewage; heck, even the kitchen staff is Filipino. I managed to muster up the courage to have some Tagalog conversation. I have yet to muster up the courage to use our cultural-connect to get the hook up on juice. Man, juice is so good.

We head to town and, after stopping to get a Fanta, Scott, the founding director, drops some knowledge about the history of the place. He passionately explains the local intercity rivalry, and just how to insult our rival city in Italian. For a native American (not a Native American), he sure has assimilated himself to Italian grudgery. We visit the birth-house of Petrarch, who according to Scott is responsible for starting the Renaissance. Pretty big stuff.

Another look at my phone explains earlier confusion; it must have been slowly adjusting to the area, because now the time had become accurate to Italy. Sure, I often lament this new guy can't measure up to my old phone, but Sir Mirrorton Durrable sure wouldn't have been able to do this.

After the unexpected Art History sesh, he lets us loose and I finally get to do what I came to town for...fooood! Food is such a funny word, isn't it? It kinda sounds like boob, or maybe onomatopoeia for one of those t-shirt cannons you see at basketball games. Think about it. Wait the cannon would be more of a "foom." It would be "food" perhaps if the t-shirt ended up stuck in the cannon or something. But I digress...

Among the eatery hotspots are cheese and pasta shops, abundant gelato chains, including Il Gelato, what Dory hails as the best gelato place she's ever been to. She often speaks in superlatives, so I don't know how credible her praise is -- but hey, I'm down for acclaimed ice cream, disputed or not.

About one hour marks the total duration of the tour, including Dory's mini-tour of her favorite nooks and locales. We finally get to the market. I've been longing for some juice of my own. Juice that I could refrigerate (unorthodox to Italians); juice that I could write my name on with Sharpie and be sure nobody would take it; juice that I could drink from the carton, as much as I want, without feeling like a jerk.

After excitedly filling my basket with the necessary quenchery, including lotion (I brought the wrong kind with me...calamine), I go to the cashier, only to find that my American Express card gets a shake of the head, thumbs down, and the phrase, "Visa-eh, MasterCardo, solo."

The walk back is long, inclined, and juiceless. My only consolation is dinner, and a minimal but necessary 20-minute nap before the mandatory concert.

America: 1:30AM
Italy: 10:30 PM

I wake up to Dan asking me if he should turn the lights back off. He walks out the room.

I feel rested. This is not good.

My phone affirms this, showing me I've slept through the concert we were supposed to watch. Being 1/3 of the male population here doesn't grant me much anonymity, so Dory is sure to have noticed. I think I'll just stay up here for the rest of the night.

America: 4:34 PM
Italia: 1:34 AM

It's late, and having Jennifer Chung's "White Lies" on repeat hasn't done much to keep me from tiredness. I must stop here for now. Plus the lights in my room are off, so bugs are swarming to my screen.

Besides, they have all night to find my pasty, light-reflective skin anyway.

"and by juice, you mean orange Fanta." - Dana