I'm Not Italian

This may come as a shock to some of you, but no I don't actually have any Italian heritage.  Perhaps somewhere along the family tree there was a branch that created artisan cheeses or spent summers lounging on Mediterranean beaches, but I'm still sure I'm not Italian.  And I'm okay with that, I've fully embraced my italophilic tendencies, I even relish in the fact that I can blend in here.  That is, until I start speaking.

Granted, I took 3 years of Italian lessons in college, and those courses finished over 2 years ago so I'm not really fresh on grammar or vocab, but I get by just fine.  Often I can keep up conversations with the little old ladies on the bus that want to talk to me about the weather or the latest public transportation strike, but at a certain point my sentence structure gives me away.  At school we speak entirely in English, also at home in my apartment aside from when my Italian roommate keeps a lengthy conversation going with me. But now that I've been practicing a bit more with local friends I feel fairly confident in certain situations.

because this post needs an obnoxious self-confident photo.  

(almost bought this shirt though, isn't it great?  not 10 euros great, of course.)

This week I had some issues with my phone so I tried calling customer service.  The second I stated my problem they hung up!  And it's not that my pronunciation's all that bad either, in fact I think it's quite stellar, but people here just don't want to deal with foreigners.  Period.  I decided it would be better to express my problems in person, after all the Italians speak with gestures almost as much as they do with words.  There were so many people waiting for help and when it was my turn I said what I needed as confidently as possible and the woman (prepare yourself for another customer service lamentation) loudly declared "You're not Italian."  Well, no.  I'm not, lady.  But what does that have to do with me needing to get some help with my phone?

I thought about this a bit and I realized we'd never have something like that happen in the States.  In fact, that would be incredibly rude if a service person called you out in the middle of the store and announced "You're not American."  An expression from the '90s clearly sums up this situation: Yeah, duh.  But maybe as Americans we're more used to the melting pot of cultures, races and religions.  Either way, I find that being an "other" and feeling like a cultural pariah sure does give some perspective.  I feel like as Americans (at least in my opinion) we've always looked at the world from where we stand, heck, I've always considered America the center of the world and everything else as "the rest of the world."  It isn't so for "the rest of the world" because for them it is the center and I'm from "elsewhere."

take that, all of Italy!  you and your silly t-shirts with trendy phrases!

Don't worry, I'm not feeling sad or dejected - merely piecing together some observations from this week's events.  I find myself to be doing rather well here, as you all know, and generally I am close with all the people with which I am in constant contact.  I also had a professor of mine tell me I had an "American face" this week, and I wonder what that's supposed to mean.  Wide-eyed and innocent, perhaps?  Because I can't say there is a stand-alone stereotype when it comes to our faces.  Well, in summation, no, I'm not Italian, but me and my American face are going to keep on trying to master idiomatic phrases, brush off brusque Piedmontese comments and master the art of confidence no matter what!

Genova/Genoa

We know it as Genoa, a foreign land from which delicious sandwich salami hails, but here it's known as Genova.  A port town of about 600,000 inhabitants and a claim to Christopher Columbus' origins (to be debated by Spaniards).  Yesterday I took a day trip with the roommates to check out the capital of the neighboring region of Liguria.  A two hour train ride later, we arrived in Genova - a picturesque city by the sea with bitterly cold wind whipping through the streets and lovely views of surrounding hillsides.  Locally Genova is known for being a bit snobby, as it was once teeming with royalty - the proof's in the palazzos - but it's not considered as hoity-toity as Milano.

view of gardens and palazzo rosso.

In the Renaissance Genova was considered one of Italy's most important cities, with an extremely renowned painting school all its own as well as a port with access to France, Spain, and Africa for trade.  As a result this is a dynamic city with many different cultures, lots of good food and plenty of foreign influence.  We took a walk through the historic center and popped into the Royal Palace which overlooks the Ligurian Sea.  Incredible architecture can be found on each street, we even found the remnants of a medieval castle!

what remains of old fortifications for this port city.

Next on the to-do list was focaccia.  Yes, that tasty bread you find at the market often glistening with olive oil and sprinkled ever-so-slightly with rosemary.  My roommate Sara, a native Italian, told us focaccia in Genova is unlike any focaccia in Italy (likely the world).  I immediately spotted a focacceria and selected a tasty-looking number dotted with green olives.  And it was gooooood.  Somehow unlike any similar bread I've tasted, maybe thicker and somehow softer - it can't be captured in mere words, my friends.

doing the wind-blown hair thing.

One of the crown jewels of this city is the aquarium, in fact it's the 2nd largest in Europe and all Italians say it's a great place to visit.  We spent a few hours here checking out manatees, sharks, eels, dolphins, piranhas, penguins, seals, crocodiles, everything you could imagine!  I even mustered the courage to stick my hand in the petting tank and touch a ray - so slimy and fishlike, it was.  Lots of the exhibits allowed the visitor to stand right next to the tanks, meaning for the first time I was mere inches - nay, centimeters! - from some of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen.  A very cool experience.

aquarium and pirate ship at porto antico.

these creatures are so very beautiful.

Back to food, though.  Genova is above all known for its pesto - all the locals are proud of the unique recipe that only Genovesi can boast.  An Italian friend of mine claims it's due to the way basil grows in and around the city which cannot be matched anywhere else in Italy.  Well, you know me, I'm not about to let Genova claim they've got the best pesto and not allow them to prove it - that'd just be rude.  Now I understand why they've got such a reputation, it was delizioso, people.  There are no words.

trenette al pesto = life-changing.

We also checked out 3 other palazzos - royal palaces with incredible collections of Caravaggio, Rubens and Van Dyck to name a few.  We had the opportunity to visit the roof of Palazzo Rosso, the former home of a Genovese duchess, which provided a most lovely view of the city at sunset.  Overall this was a wonderful day of discovering Italy and its many splendors.  I believe next on the agenda will be Bologna.  I hear they've got lunch meat as well...

view from atop palazzo rosso.

My Pyramid

I had my first full week of class this week and I can say I'm again looking forward to the semester.  Courses on tap for this Spring are: Cultural Policy and Arts Organizations, Economics and Decision Making, Marketing and Communication, Technology and the Arts, and Urban Development/Economics/Visual Arts.  I've got a few of the same teachers, so I'm excited about that - except my Monday/Tuesday consists of 4 classes back-to-back, so that's a solid 7 hours of class those two days.  Then Wednesday/Thursday I've only got one course and it's 8:30AM - 10, talk about not being favored by the scheduling gods.  Oh well, that means there's ample time for post-lunch napping.  This should be a great semester with lots of opportunity for learning and mastering new concepts.

oh yeah, and opportunity for trying new dishes.

Already I've had the chance to relate some academic material to my life.  My professor and I were discussing Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs to introduce Marketing concepts - it's something we've studied in Project Management, but worth revisiting for the sake of this course.  The bottom of the pyramid represents basic needs: food, shelter, social interaction, etc and the top is a need for which we constantly strive: self actualization.  She described this to me in terms of the art world, why collectors seek new works - often for self esteem or respect from others, but in some cases the desire to obtain artworks is part of what makes up the apex of Maslow's pyramid.  Self Actualization: to realize one's full potential; man's ability to actualize himself, to become his potentialities.  Interesting.

www.psychology.wikia.com

She continued with the lesson, saying that point is a rare occurrence for a person, one in which nothing else is needed to satisfy his/her wants or needs.  I immediately piped up saying, well that's exactly what I feel at this point in my life.  I explained to her a recent situation in which I'd responded to a query about what I'd like for Christmas - well, nothing.  I couldn't imagine anything I wanted or needed to make me more happy or more complete than I already felt, and that must be self-actualization.  The point when nothing else is necessary to finish construction on my psychological pyramid.  She seemed amazed and impressed I was currently residing at the top of said pyramid and immediately told me to relish in that feeling and enjoy it to the fullest while it lasted because though it seems everlasting, it will soon be a fleeting memory.

which is why i should eat as much lasagna as possible, right?

Although these posts must seem repetitious in nature and often I admittedly deserve to be labeled a braggart, my hope is that I can enjoy this time as much humanly possible and one day (when  I'm hanging out at the lower levels of my pyramid, aching for better days) I can look back and relive some of these moments.  I am equally thankful for my ability to share these experiences with people most important to me so they may too feel like 6,000 miles isn't as awfully distant as it seems.

A First Class Experience

Well I'm back safely in Torino, ready for round 2 of my graduate education in the beautiful, scenic region of Piedmont.  Let me just say that this was the best, the BEST international trip I've ever had the pleasure of taking in my life.  How's that, you say?  Nine hours on a plane while you're subjected to horrid C-list movies and beverage carts running over your toes?  Traveling sucks, and the trip started stressful as I waited an entire hour in line just to check my bags.  During my time in the queue I glanced over at First and Business class with their zero waiting time and fancy rugs to denote class distinction.  I considered how I would compose an application for future sugar-daddies (in English and Italian, just to be fair) because how else would I ever be able to travel with the upper-echelons of society?  It's always been on my bucket list, and damn it, that would be nice - just once.

the breathtaking alps.

Before this trip I was certain my ancestors had wronged the universe in some way because I constantly bore the worst airplane curse imaginable - that's right, sitting next to a baby.  Not just any baby, not the sweet ones with the pudgy cheeks and firmly placed pacifiers, but the ones who insisted on touching my arm every 5 seconds and grabbing my water cup because it's shiny.  UGH.  This time I found my seat, 30D, and settled in for an intense travel day when a German lady and her son sat right beside me.  Drat!  Again!  Alas, will my suffering never end?  The dastardly airline curse will plague my descendants for generations!  Then suddenly the German husband exclaimed I had his seat - I thought, nein, it can't be.  But there it was in print, 30D as well.  The attendants rushed away with our boarding passes and I imagined the next baby I'd undoubtedly be seated next to - but to my amazement I was handed a new pass: 4D.  What could that even mean?  No.  No way.

ohhh heck yes.

That's right people.  First Class.  Eat your hearts out.  I don't even care that I'm bragging, it was niiiice.  And could there have been a better flight for the airlines to screw up?  I'll take the 9 hour flight with the rich folks, thank you very much.  Now, I didn't technically earn this spot in row FOUR of a several hundred seat plane, but I sure as hell milked it for all I could!  It.  Was.  Awesome.  My seat was on its own between two rows in the very front of the plane - oh, what's that?  you're going to take my jacket?  why thank you.  oh, and my bag?  just put it right up there.  thaaaaanks, darling.  The seat had a massage system, incredible reclining capability, its own pop-out table and personal TV monitor where I could choose my in-flight entertainment.  Ohhh, the glory.  The power!

allow me to peruse this menu whilst sipping a glass of viognier.

I think I gave myself away as a newbie because I was fidgeting with all the gadgets, adjusted my chair constantly and generally beaming.  I looked around to see the excitement I expected from the others in my area but they were all accustomed to this mode of travel - luxury.  I sat back, turned on my massager, unwrapped my blanket (even those are better in 1st class) and grabbed the fancy headphones to watch a movie.  Soon they passed out the hot towels, linen for my table (oo-la-la!) along with a menu for my dinner.  A menu!  None of that "chicken or beef?" they yell across the row at you in the back of the plane.  I had three courses to select!  A cheese plate, yes, that's what 1st class me would like.  Oooh, a wine selection!   Viognier!  None of that "red or white" they throw at you in the plebeian section.  And there's real glass up here, not plastic cups!  The short ribs and the Bordeaux for my second course, please.  What?  You're out of Bordeaux?  *sigh* Unacceptable.  Sure, I'll have the Burgundy.  Flan for dessert with fresh berries - hmm, I wonder what they're doing back in economy class… Oh wait, I don't care.

you know, h'ors d'oeuvres.  that's how we do it in first class.

Now I'm onto my second film and readjusting my footrest for maximum comfort - I can hardly believe how much space I have.  No one's in my personal space, no one's child is touching me.  In fact I can't even hear the slightest noise that would indicate a child is even on board this flight.  Bliss.  Yes, you may offer me some chocolates.  Oh, and is that Bailey's you've got there?  Mit eis, danke.  This is the life.  And I didn't even need a sugardaddy, just someone's ever-so-fortunate clerical error or computer mishap, what a joy!  Getting kinda sleepy from dinner, kinda full on short ribs, I think I'll kick back and put on the ol' eye mask and ear plugs provided in my business class kit found tucked beside my seat.  I successfully snooze, something I never EVER manage to do on planes, even with the aid of my buddy Mr. Tylenol PM and when I stir, thinking I'm a bit parched, I find a glass of water has been placed at my seat.  Oh, I almost can't handle it.  It's too perfect.  May it never end!  Soon breakfast is served along with all the warm muffins and croissants you could imagine.  I've just finished my morning tea when - wait, we're an hour from Frankfurt?  No.  NO.  I won't leave.  Ever.

a little nightcap.

But I must go.  They bring me my jacket and allow me to disembark among the first 10 people - I can hardly say goodbye to my German flight crew, I feel like they really cared about me.  Didn't they?  Or was that just good customer service training?  Either way, I'm thrown back into the airport bumping into people, dodging carts, thinking - how did that go by so terribly fast?  And why do normal people smell kind of sweaty?  Well, it was fun while it lasted.  My stint as an in-flight elite was short-lived, but WELL worth the relaxation and comfort I never knew existed on mass-transit vehicles.  I arrived safely in Torino several hours later and promptly described my experience to everyone who would listen.  I suppose that's not very posh of me to brag, but it really has been on my bucket list for years.  So glad I was fortunate enough to be able to experience that at no extra cost!  Though I can't say I'm looking forward to economy class Trans-Atlantic flights anytime soon...

Home Sweet Home

I must begin by apologizing for the recent lack of posts, but darn it I've been having too much fun back home in The Lone Star State!  I've been promptly attending cocktail hours, frequenting the hot tub in dad's backyard, relishing in the fact that I don't need a jacket here most days, catching up on the TV shows I can't get my hands on abroad, enjoying the blessed tradition of brunch, sleeping past 10AM, donning my cowboy boots at trashy honky tonk bars, reminding my taste buds of the glory that is queso (oh sweet Jesus how I've missed you!), singing along to American pop radio in the car, meeting friends at Austin-y hole-in-the-wall coffee shops -- it's been a busy few weeks, everyone!  I've reunited with family and friends from across the state and country, celebrated Christmas in 2 cities, had a tour-de-texas-comfort-food, and rang in the new year with my best friends.  Now I find myself in that interim period where all my Austin friends are back at work and I desperately need to catch up in my journaling.

probably why I've lost weight in Italy.

I've had a great time seeing my family, and I'm feeling incredibly at home in this region of southern hospitality.  It's an added bonus that here I can indulge in a bath, use wifi just about anywhere, and get away with finagling free drinks at bars.  None of that is really possible in Italy.  What's the old adage?  Home is where the heart is.  Or is it where your bed is?  Sometimes I think it's where your mom is, but not everyone has one.  Home seems to be what you make of it, because I find myself at home in the Woodlands sipping on wine at cocktail hour, in the Heights grabbing tacos and holding my friends' baby, in downtown Houston catching up over all-you-can-eat gnocchi, in Austin decorating cookies and crafting, at Kerbey Lane for brunch with my best buddies.  And somehow I'm missing Italy a bit already - my little room with the ghetto internet connection, the old ladies peering off their balconies, the riotous crowds at the marketplace, even having to put my clothes on the line to dry.  Yet at the same time I'm ecstatic to be back among my most loved people in the world in a city that just fits like an old leather glove.  So if home is where my heart is, then my heart must reside in several planes of existence, and several time zones, for that matter.

with friends at a country bar - just prior to line dancing.

I've come to realize that even when you leave what you consider to be "home," things still change.  People change.  Buildings go up, old hang outs are torn down, people move away or have new priorities - but some things never change.  In Italy I've struggled with the professional lack of hospitality in establishments, which is part of Northern Italian culture.  Yet once I met a few Italian friends I was immediately treated like family to an extent I'd never known.  This strange dichotomy of experiences in hospitality has both annoyed me and astounded me in the past few months.  Through a few conversations with old friends over the holidays, I've been given a new perspective on the idea of hospitality.

God bless tacos and homemade tortillas.

Simply having a personable waiter at a restaurant can drastically improve your overall experience.  Heck, someone smiling during a 2-minute transaction at a shop is priceless in the way it makes everything easier.  As far as service is concerned, Texas, and the US in general, has trumped Italy.  But look at our idea of hospitality in a more personal sense.  As Americans we expect proper notice and opportunity for planning before allowing someone in your house or meeting for dinner.  We don't like inconvenience and things need to be on our terms - we'd never offer our guest room to a traveler we just met on a train (reference to a desperate moment of mine while traveling near Milan in 2008).  It's just not part of our culture.  We're nice to people we just met, but strangers are kept at a distance - we'd never give an acquaintance's friend our apartment keys for a week (reference to offer by a girl I'd just met in Torino when my roommate's boyfriend needed a place to stay last minute).

old friends, new year.

Isn't it odd the level of trust required these days to let people into our home, into our lives?  Italy may have a poor level of customer service, but they're rich in hospitality.  And while I can feel at home in a restaurant or shop here in Texas, it's often possible to feel like you're inconveniencing someone when asking them to make time for you.  There are people who once made up your idea of "home" who now can't seem to make the time to meet for coffee.  But the true nugget of wisdom here, if I can even claim to be a blogging sage, is that the beauty of true friendship and family is that those who love you could be too busy for words but would happily rearrange their schedules, change their plans, drive out of their way, and do whatever it takes to see you and spend time with you.  And to me, that's exactly what home feels like, no matter where you are.