tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67409511741229381722024-02-20T14:00:35.023-08:00Adventures of a Redhead in ItalyPaige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-75213235451700450622011-11-14T08:30:00.000-08:002011-11-14T08:30:11.815-08:00Your not pregnant.... Your an exchange student!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Their’s weight loss, then weight gain. Sickness ,nausea. Cravings, mood swings, and randomly bursting into tears. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you type all these things into WebMD. They’ll most likely diagnose something like pregnancy. But you could just be an exchange student. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I kid you not. Especially with the craving and food phases. Mexican food, they don’t have it in Italy so you go try Nutella. You get addicted to Nutella. Run out of Nutella you go to the grocery store and find m&ms. Run out of m&ms your back to Nutella. Then your host mother comes home with clementines<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a whole month before they would be in stores back in Texas and those are your obsesion. Then you have an apple and suddenly it’s apples, apples,apples, and maybe some Apple and Nutella if you are attempting the homework from school today because you could sort of kind of understand the teacher, and the math problem that look more like they threw a graph with greek and latin together. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is so true. And I know this is horrible to say but there for a while I literally thougth “there is no way this is culture shock, homesickness, or whatever they call it. I’m having the next baby Jesus.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Turns out I’m just an emotional eater and Italy has made me emotional. Maybe it’s because I suddenly fell like Malibu Barbie, all plastic no brain. Because even when my host mother speaks English to me she has to draw it out at times. Or maybe because I ride the emotional high of speaking Italian only for the person I’m talking to, to have this completely lost look on their face equivalent to the first day I was here and someone spoke Italian to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Turns out I can pick up math easier than a language. Who would have thought that!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anyways I get happy over something, the next hour I’m sitting their huddled against the heater trying to read my text book and thinking if I was at home I would have finished this by now and could be sitting outside with my dad while he grilled or talking with my step-mom while she cooked dinner. And I wouldn’t be freezing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then my host brother (who I happy to say, we have bonded much better than I thought we initially would that first two weeks were he never<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>acknowledge me. We actually got into a fight the other day. We were at the dining table eating lunch, which just happens to be in the coldest room in the house, and he was telling jokes. I told him to just stop because they were horrible, in Italian of course, and he replied to be quiet because I just couldn’t understand them and I snapped back that I didn’t see anyone laughing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this afternoon it took us an hour between his broken English and my broken Italian to discuss what I did in three of hours school that morning and how I liked my new math class. (I will tell more of this later) Ans who and then my host brother will walk in and do soething that makes me laugh. Or Micia the devil host cat will come strolling in and attack my feet. Or Ludo will ask me to help her with her English homework. And the homesickness is gone and it usually stays away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But these emotionl shifts were me out, especially since more Italian is being spoken to me every day and I’m actually understanding the different tenses and understanding completely and not just the jist and it’s like the strain of listening ot every accent and translating rapily at times for unfamiliar words that just aren’t immediate tire me out. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But this morning I did correct my English teacher, and it wasn’t on her English it was on her Italian. My class was so proud of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And my orario, or time table, got changed once again to a lower math class. (I feel really good about this one) and while meeting the kids before the teacher arrived the girl spoke to me in italian. I was busy looking at my new schedule an asked her to repeat. She got this look on her fast most get when their about to speak English and I without even thinking said. “No englese, solo Italiano. Repeti, per favore”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No english, only Italian. Repeat please. And they all smiled and I conversed pretty well with them. Also I was able to hold my own this morning when one of the nice women in the apartment building offered me a ride in her car to school. Of coruse at first I thought she was just asking if she could wlak with me to the bus walk, the notion of car rides now are so weird. I think. “That’s so close, you can take the bus, or train, and not have to worry about parking.” Italian mentality. Also Italian road rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anywho after she said” macchina”, car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried best to explain to her that I preferred to take the bus since I still had a while until I had to be school since I entered later on Mondays. Also because I’ve seen these Italian drive in cars, I only trust my host mother and that’s barely as she zooming around these break neck curves on these high sheer cliffed mountains. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But these little winning moments make my day. And my friends are truly amazing because they sit their as I struggle to get out a complicated sentence or when I don’t understand them and they have to talk very slow one word at a time. (omedays my brian processes better than others.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also these new classes I’m in I love because it’s amazing when your walking down the halls with your friends and someone from one of your other classes says. “Hello Paige” (They refuse to great me in Italian. I don’t know why even after I’ve asked.) and I say “Ciao” back and my friends. (These are the people from my first class I stayed with every day for the first two months) just look at me. I can only smile. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But my new math class I love it. I will admit I learned very precious lesson today of “Do not judge a book by their cover”. My new math teacher is shorter than me and while pretty she looks way to young to be a teacher. Also she has this short cropped hair cut but growing off right side of her head is this long three foot braid just out of no where. My first impression was. “Oh God, please be with me.” This was going to be some spiteful, or weird teacher that would yell and scream. It turns out she very soft spoken, until she’s teaching then her perfectly articulate and easily understood Italian floats to your ears and she very fun and nice. I even complimented her Italian today, saying that I couldn’t understand it very well. And she smiled brilliantly. She has very good English (which hopefully won’t have to get used much) and was her self an exchange student for a year in the Neatherland area, or maybe it was Denmark. This little tidbit of information was introduced to me when I was still in shock over her appearance. My counselor for school who helps me with my schedule actually had to ask me twice to say my name for her because I was in such shock. So just be glad I remember that bit</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I have learned one thing else, Italians love to rag on each other in English. Even if it’s just simple sentences such as “He is a pig” it was “He is pork” until I corrected them.Or things like. “He is a bush” I had a trouble figuring that one out until she pionted to the guy and he had this afro going on. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>OH!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speaking of appearances. There is this boy, (let me finish before you role your eyes), but he’s not this scrawny , or sleek muscled bean pole that plays soccer<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while were studying volleyball in gym. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HE bigger in the I’m a line backer for a football team but tall and a wall of muscle, kind of way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I so want to say hi and just talk to him and tell him<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he reminds me of a football player, in a good way. Maybe it’s me searching for familiarity while kind of going through a second slump, or maybe its just that he seems like a funny guy . But I just want to meet him!! Say hi or something. So when I’m fluent in Italian the first person I’m walking myself up to and introducing myself to all by myself is this guy. It will become my personal mission!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I guess you could say it’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>just been a good day. And on another note I got to skip school Saturday!! And go to Massa to pick up my residence card. It took only ten minutes and we didn’t pay a thing. (Which is really a shocker because in Italy nothing is every free, it always atleast a few euros especially when dealing with government) and it was funny because we walked out and my host mother turned toward me with a straight face said. “Were not a third world country after all”. I could only laugh. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of course then we went t this little small mall called Carrefoure. And I call it a mall but really think of a SAM”S Club/ slash giant super wal-mart as in set-up and not so mch bulk, but then their’s little stores like in a mall with a small food court and little café area. But the whole thing is referred to as Carreforre. Confusing but weird, anywho we went there and I saw all the little chocolate and sweats and Christmas things and I got so excited. And that’s when I decided I’m going to do stockings for my host family. And in my family stockings are just a little but in a felt clumbed red sock. Their better than the presents and often more looked forward to. Of course they won’t be as amazing as if I was in texas but they will be pile high with chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate. And maybe something else, but defiantly “sweeties” as my host mother likes to say. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On a last note, I’m already humming Christmas music and technically Thanksgiving hasn’t even passed yet. Maybe it’s because it as cold as winter here already as it is in Texas. I don’t know. But me and my host mother are going to try to makes a small Thanksgiving. No giant turkey of course. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Buona giornata all. (have a good day)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Love, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Paige.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-23016489319901216612011-11-01T11:17:00.000-07:002011-11-01T11:17:24.300-07:00Let Sleeping Exchange Students Lie......<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you look at any Exchange students life, now or past, their webs connecting to them to other people are so much more vast and colorful. Their so much stronger than those of others. These relationships, survived distance, heartbreak, emotional distress, extreme happiness and doubt. These relationships have overcame language barriers and cultures, they have created friendships that people who don’t have this experience can never fully comprehend. You can say as an exchange student your linked to all other exchange student. When one falls everyone will reach down and give a hand to pull you out, because they did it for you. You can’t let each other fall, because that means you all fall. These people becomes you friends even if you have never meet them because they have experienced things no one else on this earth can even began to comprehend no matter how much you try to tell them or explain. They are a family and a support system of a bunch of fumbling young adults of the world who took this step off a cliff that was so high you couldn’t see the bottom of the abyss, so that they could open their minds, their hearts, and take the time to see what others won’t. Our elders are people not much older than us trying to guide us from their experiences. And while they are helpful like thumbprints, exchanges can be similarily close but never the same. When one falls from this link it makes one over come with guilt wondering if you could have helped, reached out more, done anything MORE….. and then when one fo the links that fall is a mighty one, someone who you know was so excited for this experience that they made you that much more excited for you, they were the ones who pictures and stories made you push even harder through the tough times so you could get there, smiling and enjoying it all. So when one of the mighty fall, even if not for the weakness that almost pulled you down it makes you wonder if you posses the strength to continue. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Which goes onto to make an Exchanges student life so much more complicated. If you ever truly want to know who you are as a person, become an exchange student, you strength, physical, mental, emotional is pushed and stretched until your sure you’ll rip right apart, and you learn to live like that. For the rest of your life truly, because your always wanting for one place or the other, always missing friends from here and there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have your life back home, and the emotions from there, the events of your friends and family. You have your life in your host country, your everyday life and experiences and emotions that go along with that. Then you have your friends spread across the world, their downs and their ups, you ride the rollercoaster with them because as exchange that’s what you do… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t think one can truly describe all these emotions and explain what it feels like. I truly believe if there is one thing Rotary could add to their interview process of application requirement is an evaluation by a physcologist. Because it’s one thing to say your going to be an exchange, it’s another to put yourself on that plane and land in a foreign country by yourself, and a totally different one to live everday, thorugh the amazing, the good, and the ugly until it’s time for you to go. It’s one of those things were you either learn to swim or your going to drown. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I know this makes an exchange sound horrible, but at the same time it’s one of the best things to feel in the world. Because when you get see the pictures of your friend smiling, facebook statuses no longer in English… if pushes you and it feeds into your happiness knowing when you all back together the stories that while flow will be endless, vast, and everlasting. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s another feeling you can’t explain….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I’m going to try, because there are those that don’t get this experience, there are other that get it and are forced home for some reason or another….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And as a good friend just recently told me, I have a great story to right. So that’s what I’m going to do….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I know most of you are wondering how my birthday went and how life is going, but with certain recent events that have happened talking about my trivial life seems so meanial… Just know that I am fine, I am living my life contently, but that is about to change, I’m about to live, because I have realized now is not the time to float through an exchange… I have one year, one year in Italy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will not send spend it sitting in bed, writing abut what I ate or how treadful school is… I can tell you all of that when I get home… I am going to live, now! , in this moment, for every moment. Because I am lucky, so lucky to have this experience, and I’m not going to waste it… I’m going to live, for those who can’t have this experience and for those who lost their chance to live it…. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the mighty have fallen… they don’t pull you down with them, they show you your true strength and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>reveal your wings. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I going to keep my head held like I’m always wearing a crown…. And I’m going to fight every challenge that life through at me to knock me downa dn ruin this.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because this is my crowning battle….. and I will be victorious not only for me, but for those that this chance was stolen from…. I will live this for you… for me… for everyone.. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because this is my chance to change the world…… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I’ll be damned if I let the torch you passed die out…</span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-25147201085720996162011-10-24T07:48:00.000-07:002011-10-24T07:48:19.571-07:00Take a Walk in My Shoes.....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So first off I would just like to warn you I’m about to go into a rant. Now I know it’s wise to do It on such a public place, but I just need to get this off my chest. But I also know others just don’t like people who rant so if you don’t want to hear me verbally nag someone to death then skip down to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(***********) and you skip the rant and start to read about my life in Italy. If you need a good butt chewing sessions then read on as you please. Thank you…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last week I got my personalized intercultural student timetable. Otherwise, I’m not in class, though philosophy, latin, etc… I’m in different classes all over the school. (which is a real blessing because I’m not very okay with sitting in one place for so long and my butt going numb) I have around<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6 to seven hours of Math each week and around the same for Italian. Even getting moved toa<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>first year class to help with my grammer. Perfect. I get to meet more people, the teachers won’t get taken by surpise when I go wide eyes when they speak rapid Italian and maybe they won’t hand me a test that I have no clue how to take and looks more like Greek than Italian. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also before I start ranting I know it’s very generous for the school to allow me to do this. They could have just sat m at the back of some classroom and left me there. Never acknowledging me, not giving me a test, just letting me be. Not that I would have complained but I’m sure after a while I might have started chiseling lines on the wall to pass the minutes of school. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I would just like to say before you start bitching at me, how about you step into my shoes. You go be an Exchange student, get dropped in a completely different culture, away from your support system, across an ocean, in a place that is foreign as the ancient world in American minds at times. Then you come back and talk to me and see what tone your whistling. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What I’m talking about is how at school today I was told that I really needed to start learning Italian. On the outside I smiled, looked ashamed and said “Yes. I’m trying” But on the inside this is what I thought. “No **** Sherlock, really?”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Pardon my potty mouth but that phrase looses it’s power if altered, truly)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I mean I’ve been ehre not even two months. I’m trying, truly. If you talk slow enough I can understand, or use hand movements and you won’t even have to wiat a second after speaking for me to understand. But if there’s a verb you have to wiat for me to conjugate. You’ll know when I’m lost, I’ll tell. Otherwise I’m translaiting in my head or double checking that I have it right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know my Italian is not amazing. But truly this is a hard language. It would make English professors at Cambridge bash their heads against brick walls if they had to learn. Even my host mother agreed. But I still try. Also it’s hard to make perfect sentences so if a sentence is new to me or I’m trying to explain. I often speak neadethalicly. Think tarzan, the verb and subjects, no articles, very broken. Yes that is often times me speaking Italian. Of coruse around my host family, I’m a lot more bold. But in public, not quit. They would probably run screaming at how bad I butchered the language. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anywho back to my rant, so this unnamed unidentified person has the audacity to tell me that I really need to start learning Italy. (That is their words nicely) What I wanted to say to them after I said I was trying and they still said “I know” but… was this… . I have been here less than two months. I can understand pretty well, read a lot better, and get around town byself. Im sorry if I don’t understand school. But I’m not going to shove my head into an Italian book and learn Italian now! I have one year, ONE YEAR, in Italy. tO enjoy this. I want to learn the language, but if that’s all I wanted to know I would have just taken a class back in Texas and stayed comfortable at home. But instead I wanted to learn the culture and the people. I choose to leave my<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>comfortable life in Texas to have an once in a lifetime experience in your country. That means going out, walking around, being in the culture. Watching it. Not sticking my head in Italian work books twenty four seven<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sicne I landed so I can speak fluently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean for two of the weeks I was here I was going through culture shock so bad I about sold my soul to go home. When you dispising a place that much, or yearning for home that much your not going to want to learn the language of said place! Of course now I don’t feel like that. But I also don’t have an edict memory, I’m not going to remember everything. Truly I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked how to say washing machine in Italian. I still can’t tell you how to say it let alone spell it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean I’m leanring a new language while I’m leanring a new culture. I’m not making exscuses for myself, but unless I’m that pointy eared guy off of Star Wars (Spoke is it) and his race that aren’t supposed to have no emotions therefore they learn at supper lightening speed i’m not going to speak fluently by Christmas, truly sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be able to speak fluently. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And I don’t know if it just cause this is a sensitive cord with me, or the fact that this person has repeatedly hinted at this and now just bluntly said it but it about dang near put me in tears. If it wasn’t for my friends I most likely would have to have the school to call my host mom because I would have sat in the middle of the floor and cried. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And when I came home and wasn’t excited after lunch just rushing through my meal to open my package that had arrived from home for my birthday my host mother asked me what was wrong. Que the almost tears again. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But this time I had my host family, and they like always make any crappy day better. MY host mother talking about how monsterish the Italian teachers are and my younger sister comforting me by saying she wouldn’t want to be in my shoes learning Italian. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: windowtext 3pt dotted; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding-bottom: 1pt; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Okay I think I’m done for now, I feel just a bit better. But I’m still stewing, partially. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay the rant is finished…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>MY life here has been going very well, time slipping past my fingers at the speed of light sometimes it seems. I have discovered little treasures about my town on my own, bonded with my host family (especially my host sister) more. I’m really loving Italy and at times never want to go home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m teaching myself to knit, my host sister already<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>asking for me to make her one once I get good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s getting colder, and sometimes I wish I were the kid of the Christmas Carol movie. You know the one with the red rider BB gun. I want to be the little brother bundled up to tight he has to waddle when he walks, because sometimes I’m that cold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wiat for halfway through Novemeber when we can turn the heater on. I will be clinging to the one in the bedroom, curled up right in front of it. If you don’t believe me I’ll take pictures. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We had a famous Italian racecare driver come and tlak to use at school about safe driving ( I found the irony.) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My parents miss me, and I love it when they do. Because their really nice to me, If I was any more spoiled I might take advantage of it. (That’s a joke. I love my parents, nanny and certain other family members and people. You are all amazing!!!!) The certain other people, eh……Family politics, the only politics I don’t enjoy because you just can’t turn off the TV to shut them up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The Nutella finally found me, I’m gaining some of the weight I’ve lost back, so I’m going to start running. I thought about doing it today but I procrastinated long enough the rain decided for me. Can’t say I complain. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also today I got a ackage in that my Nanny, mother , dad and step-mother all cooperated on for my birthday. This thing probably weighed the size of a one and half year old. And was stuffed. But in it was little things not only for but my host siblings and host mother. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But there was also ingrediants for me to make Mexican food. Ranch and my nanny even put a small jar of Nutella in ther which made me and my host mother laugh. Also there was a pouch of chocolate chip cookie mix. I think my host mother was more excited about it than me, and that’s saying something. We discussed when we would make them as we ate NUtella and pre-preped the apple crumble that is going to be made tonight. (Have I mentioned how spoiled I am?)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also got my fluffy pajama pants, my house shoes and my sweetshirt, I’m currently the warmest I’ve been since it started to get cold. Translation: I don’t feel the need to hibernate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>OH also someone should have been videotaping me eat lunch today because we had “buccine” which means something with a hole-bucco(in Italian, I do believe). Think<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of spaghetti nodles so fat their hard to widn around a fork, and then they have a small hole in the middle of them (like sour puch straws) so you can’t slurp them or suck that small little tail part inot your mouth because you just suck in air. I thought I was going to have to just start picking it up and eating by hand because I couldn’t get any to stay on my fork for my life. Truly it was a sight to see, I’m laughing at myself as I think about it. But despite being very difficult to eat they were very good. Add them with some fat Italian grapes and it was the perfect lunch. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So life here is good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My parting words and lessoned learned. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Someone once said that an Exchange students exchange was built on awkward moments. I don’t remember who it was but they were so right they should get an award. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also the life of an exchange student is not glamourouse as many believe, and it’s not easy, or all about partying. But I would not pass up this chance if I had the choice to go back in time and have never picked up that pre-assement sheet, or what ever it was called. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I’m doing good. I wish you all. I’m going to go curl up under a blanket and knit some. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Y’all take care. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-59744787699512740652011-10-11T09:30:00.000-07:002011-10-11T09:30:10.851-07:00Paige, this isn't spanish....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The title is once again dedicated to my host sorella who loves to remind that Italian is not Spanish because I often pronounce a new word or say the word in Spanish if I don’t know the Italian one for something. A really bad habit but atleast my three Spanish teachers would be proud. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also I would like to say at this moment I will be trying to type every word correctly and triple reread this. Because someone put my blog post on the website for my Rotary club, and put the horrendous picture from my application on there as well. You could have warned me, or picked a better post. Better yet let me have sent you a better picture, I look earily like death warmed over in that picture. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also informed my whole high school about my blog post as well from what I gathered. (Glad I’m all the way in Italy) I’m not naming names because you know who are. But guess what? Your still an awesome person, scratch that an amazing person and part time saint.. so your forgiven. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> But a small heads up next time would have been awesome…. Food for thought. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So last time I updated I had just informed of a semi-normal week compared to this last one I had. I’m not going to go into full detail but I am going to hit the main points. Monday was an awesome (they always seem to be in Italy). Tuesday school didn’t start until 9, because the Chemistry teacher was not going to be there. Yes I said Chemistry I nearly danced with happiness. And that’s another upside to Italian schools, they don’t waste money on substitutes who just give you busy work, you get the hour off. (Someone should suggest this to the Texas School board, I think it has merit.) Wendsay as well as Monday I had gym. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now I know I did a whole blog about gym before but let me just say for insurance reasons it should be one of the Rotary 6 D’s when it comes to me. My gym teacher will eternly remember me as the clumbsy, ungraceful, most unatheletic American alive. I haven’t had a hand full of gym classes yet and I had fallen off a balance beam. Pegged myself in the head multiple times with a tennis ball. Gave myself rope burn from a jump rope. Messed up my back when she tried to get me to so a somersault on the floor. (yeah that didn’t work out. I have a fear of that, always have and was in near tears by the time that one was done. But I guess it paid off because I roll on the floor now. Like a three year old. Yep.) I have crashed into hurdles, fallen onto hurdles, plan just fallen and have become that kid when getting picked for a team its out of sympathy that no one wants to leave the exchange student as the last one. In other words they should just have a ambulance ready outside the school because I can assure with my grace before I leave I will have broken something... that’s almost guaranteed with the way this is going. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Okay so I had gym, then Thursday we got out in hour early (NO CHEM AGAIN!!!) and had Arte. In a school for Science and Math that’s code word for something that earily looks like college grade architect design involving graphs compasses and those triangular rulers you always wonder what’s for. I know now. And because I have no clue how to do any of it my teacher let’s me sit their and color. Thought I do watch when he draws on the bored, because he pretty funny, even If I don’t catch everything he says. And every time he sees my face, which I’m sure is confused or awed, he cracks a smile, and gives a chuckle. But this time in art I drew the Texas Flag, and it was pretty good if I do say so myself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thursday night I hung out with friends. And the funny part, aside from the whole night, about this is. Usually you know once a day I’ll post something on facebook, or send my mom a facebook message that I have not been ran over by a moped. (By the way in Italy they don’t have motorcycle gangs, but scooter gangs.) Now the rule my YEO from home has there is talk to your parents at most once a week. I wasn’t ever told anything here so I abide by that rule as a guideline. Or I’m sure after something amazing just happened I would jump on Skype and talk my mom or dad’s ear off. But to ease my mothers worries I’ll send her a message usually later in the afternoon my time so she wakes up knowing I’m okay. Well because I was out with friends I didn’t get to send the message and I hadn’t posted on Facebook so she actually talked to my dad and asked him if he had heard from me and if I was okay. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I never had much of a social life back home because I was always so school focused. And since I don’t have school seriouse here pretty much anytime my friends from school are in Carrara I go and hang out with them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So after my mom told me about worrying about when I Skyped with her on Sunday I laughed. Because never before would I have been out with friends, it was rare. So it just goes to show in ways I’m already changing. I’m becoming a social creature… and that’s a scary thought.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Friday was the best day because their was no school. Why? You might ask because their was a sciopero ( I believe that is spelled correctly) and that translated, is strike. It was also the first day it was freezing cold in Italy and I stayed huddled in a blanket most of the day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saturday there was school. One a side note of that, I’m ready for my school to go ahead and figure out the permanent timetable so that way I can get my personalize one to see if they put me in school on Saturday’s or if there going to allow me to have the day off so I can roam Italy unleashed and unsupervised. (also a scary thought, though most likely won’t come to fruitation.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But Saturday was also the day of “Red River Rivalry” in Texas. The football game the cotton bowl between my boys the Longhorns, aka the greatest team ever. And the Sooners. Who are only known because they play the Longhorns. I stayed connected to my computer the whole night listening to the game and getting updates from my dad via e-mail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even thought we got squashed we are still the greatest team ever. I’m also glad I’m in Italy it helps make the defeat a bit more easier to cope with and never again will I miss a game. They lost because their favorite and biggest fan was not in the stands cheering, or screaming is more like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But next year victory will be ours…. I will just say that and start the gloating now.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday was also freezing, and once again my blanket was sewn to me. But I also got to Skype my mom and Nanny which always crack me up when their together, and it’s great to talk to them. I also got the treat of Skype-ing with my Mamaw for the first time as she is visiting my dad and step-mom for a while. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Monday was Monday. And Tuesday, today.. well were Monday’s weren’t my day in Texas Tuesday’s don’t seem to be my days here. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though we got to enter school at nine again today. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As for my Italian. Sometimes I am convinced I will never learn. Other times I feel like I just won the Olympics with it. I’m starting to understand simple sentences and catch words. But as for talking, or anything complex,or even a book? Yeah you might as well forget it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today in Physics we had an intergoation. Think of it as an oral exam as you may, but only a few people at a time. Well I had been drawn. But I, of course, could not do it. Well you get three times to say no, that was one for me. And no doubt two will come around before Christmas. I just shudder to think what will happen when all three strikes are gone and I pray by then that I can atleast say something or understand something, because as of now I would most likely start crying in the seat and think it was cruel and usual punishment. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also because I don’t remember what day it was, but I just have to share this with you because it’s hilarious. I was waiting at the bus stop and at the stoplight this guy pulled up in this beat up old pick-up truck. I swear up and down to god above if you had stuck him in a line-up neck to a bunch of rednecks from back home he wouldn’t have stood out until he opened his mouth and spoke Italian. It shocked me so bad I had to look around at the streets sings and shops to make sure I hadn’t somehow click my heels three times and got back home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Which would have been great, not the being home part, but just clicking my heels three times. After the flight here I’m dreading the flight back. Like “hey dad/mom why don’t you fly here and then fly home with me?” dreading. First of all I know I will most likely but either a numb or hysterical mess. And then theirs customs, which I avoided going through in Italy somehow, so I still have never gone through them, so add that on top of being a mess. I’m just not looking forward to it. No sirey. Plus I officially hate planes. I mean you get preferred economy and you have more leg room but unless your against the wall you can’t curl up and go to sleep comfortably. Yet if you have regular economy class I have this fear that I’m going to get stuck next to a bigger person, or worse yet one that snores. I’m not skinny myself so I need all the seat I can get anyways. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Bust speaking of body image. I have come to be a lot more comfortable with my body in Italy. I think it’s because I’m surrounded by statues that were sculpted when people remembered and men appreaciated that real woman had curves… and not size 0 waistlines. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not saying that I’m embracing obesity but a love handle is not the end of the world. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And speaking of food, okay fat, but you get fat from food so it coincides. I was informed that Italians eat horse. Now I know your never supposed to turn food down and atleast always try it, which I have, and everything has been surprisingly delicious, even vegetables. But I looked my host mother straight in the eyes and told her I would eat tar tar for the rest of my exchange as long as she did not make me eat horse. An then proceded to tell her if she made me eat it I would most likely have a mental break down worthy of “one who flew over the cuckoo’s nest” in the middle of the floor and have to be sent home. This was more to try to distinguish the evil glint that had appeared my host brother’s eyes. I think it only feed the flame. I have already resolved not to trust any food he gives or makes unless my host mother is around to confirm that he’s not about to feed me Charlie’s ( my horse) long distant cousin.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As my parting note I would just like to say that God gift to Exchange student’s are amazing host families… and Nutella. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-66959992587304206562011-10-02T10:42:00.000-07:002011-10-02T10:42:54.961-07:00Cucinare- to cook (I think)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My fellow Texans/ Americans… vote Paige for president. Not really but maybe one day. Wow that’s a scary thought. But I do believe after seeing America outside of America I would make a really great president. But you have to be atleast 35 if I remember correctly…..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Anywho. Before I start off into how my life is in Italia I would like to say a few things . Primo… I have been here in Italy one day to day month. It feels so long yet so short at times. And it amazing thinking back to how much in me has changed since I first arrived. For one the waist of my jeans have to be rolled so they fit. Another is I now speak Ingliano, the Inglese e Italiano version of Spanglish. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Secondo…. It’s my birthday month!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be turning 17 in Italy!! How many people can say that? It’s funny because only a few weeks ago when I was going through my dark times and truly considering coming home I remember thinking I have to stay until my birthday then I can go home. It felt so far away then. And now the thought of leaving after my birthday (leaving at all really) makes me start having a panic attack and stressing so bad my hair falling out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think now “What was I thinking?” then. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Third…. Did I mention how much I love Italy? Granted the occasional amazing days are interrupted by a rare bad one, but hey everyone has bad days, even when in a place that could be considered near heaven on Earth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fourth…. I have never been this relaxed in my life. And I love it. I think it’s one of the reasons I’m loosing weight. Besides realizing how horrible and disgusting and processed American food is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because seriously I eat twice as much here than I did at home, plus an amazing dessert<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>everynight and I’ve lost weight. Something that I’m very surprised about, because most people gain weight on their exchange. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay so here I go. For those of you who haven’t read my last blog (the poem). Please go read it. Like I said there I’m not a poem person, but I’m kind of proud of it. Silly enough. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lunedí (Monday)-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Monday was a good day. Let me just start off by saying that. I had my first test. In Mate (Math). It was my first blank test ever and surprisingly enough I didn’t freak out. The teacher just smiled at me as I turned it in. I think she was trying to be nice other wise she would have laughed. I know afterwards I did. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived home to my package of home here. I pulled out my bag of pretzel m&m and hid the other. Because I devoured that first one in about two days. I also shared some with Dodi and Ludo, crabby patty gummy treats not the m&m. Sorry, I love them but those things are my addiction and I don’t have enough to feed three addictions. But I do believe Dodi is now addicted to the gummy treats, he tried bribing Ludo out of hers. I have a few stashed back for when I need to earn points. That night I went to a track complex in Marina di Carrara with Ludo (my host sister) and Ludovico (cousin). It was nice to get out and exercise and hang out with some friends and meet new people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also started speaking some Italian and Ludo commented at one point how much better she thinks it getting. I think she’s just glad I’m not walking around asking “Come che dice?” to everything. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Martedí-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tuesday, I don’t really remember Tuesday well. And I don’t fell like getting up from my favorite chair to go look in my journal to find out. Nothing big must have happened or I would have remembered. Except I do remember one thing. My Chemistry who is the first teacher ever I have just wanted to stand up and tell her that I would not be held responsible for her Stupidity. Yeah if you can tell I don’t like her very much, but neither does the rest of the class. It’s not that she doesn’t like me, it’s just I don’t she grasp that I’m an Exchange Student or that Iv’e taken chemistry before. So when I tell her I don’t have books (because I can’t understand and the girl I sit next to will let me look at hers if were just reading), and I don’t understand, and that I’ve taken chemistry before. I do believe it goes one of her ears and right out the other. Not to mention she thinks in America we only use our Untis of measurement. And not the SI metric system as well. It took me three times to tell her this before she understood. MY classmate just give me pitying looks when she walks in the room. I try no to cry.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Okay but back to the story. Tuesday she actually complimented my notes I copied directly off the board and held them up for the class to see. If I wasn’t about to fall out of my chair with shock I think I would have had half a mind to have been embarrassed at the heavily doodled margins. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Miercoledí- </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wedndsay ( I couldn’t spell it right in Texan and I for sure can’t spell it right now. Sorry). Anyways it was one of those days were if you could have rolled back over and started the day over I would have done. It was not a good day. First of all I was tired for some reason, even though I went to bed earlier than usual that night. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also my mind seemed to hit the proverbial Italian wall, because everything my teachers said went in one ear and out the toher or stopped on it way to give me a major migraine. Then I was cattle hearded onto a crowded bus after school. I didn’t have anything to hand onto, you were pressed right up against the person next to you, and the bus driver was a big believer in brakes and load shifts. So there I was stumbling around at one point grabbing someone elses backpack out of reflex to keep from falling. I was so happy to get off except that my bracelet was hooked to the guys backpack in front of me. I made a noise that sounded German. That I do remember and literally grabbed his backpack forcing him back so I wouldn’t be drug along with him. I was in such a bad mood at this point I didn’t ever care that the guy was extremely hot. I think that’s a pretty good measurement of upset I was. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But my host family mad it better, as did relaxing and listening to a bit of music. So like I told my dad who had the pleasure of sending me a small e-mail to make sure I was still alive got told. It’s wasn’t my favorite day, not homesickness, just life. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Giovedí-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thursday (boy I hope I spelt the Italian one right) lol. Thursday I didn’t go to school. I woke up with a headache like I’ve never had before. I walked into the kitchen still in my pajamas that morning and my host mother say and me ask m what was wrong. I told her I had a really bad headache and non chalantly she told me to just stay in bed. Had I not been worried about having possible internal head trauma later form what ever was banging around up there I probably would have been more than mildly shocked and possibly excited at her tone consisting with me not going to school. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I crawled back in bed after taking some ibeprofuen, threw the blankets over my head and didn’t wake up until ten. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My head was but a shadow at that point, and after getting dressed I hung out with Toni in the kitchen, helping her cook and talking. It was nice to bond with her and I think expressing my interest in food might have brought us a bit closer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Friday-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friday was a great day. School was good. The mental block was gone. And it seemed to just fly by at times. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what was so great about the day happened after school. I went walking around Carrara. Looking into the little boutiques and even found a hobby shop on my street. I was so excited. Of course I didn’t buy anything. I’m holding my cards ( or should I say my money) close until I see everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate shopper’s remorse, I think it should be diagnosed as a form of acute depression, seriously. And while their at it can they go ahead and make “foot in mouth” a social disorder as well. It would really help me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But then after getting home my host mother said that we needed more sliced cheese for my breakfast sandwiches I was making that night. I went down to Esselunga all by myself and bought the cheese. I was so proud of myself, I could have happy danced my way up via Roma to the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course walking in Toni asked me if I got it. When I held it up<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she got about as excited as me. That receipt is now pinned to my Rotary jacket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you very much. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I cooked the sandwiches. Toni hanging around a bit saying she would like to learn how to cook “American”. I really wanted to tell her that I cook “Southern” and if she wanted to learn that I could get her a Paula Deen ( my cooking idol) cookbook. But I think she would be appaled at the amount of better, because she even called my sandwhich cholesterolful. But they still loved. Granted<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they were still hungry afterwards. But nothing some ensalata or a piece of Nutella with Marscopone <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wouldn’t remedy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sabado-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saturday was an even better day. My friends taught me some Italian and I spoke a full sentence and understood a lot as they spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They day went by fast and I laughed when one of my friend told me she tried to read my blog in inglese but couldn’t. So she put it in google translate. The only thing I could think of was how horrible I’ve come to recognize that translator as for some things and shudder at the thought of what it might have said. But she said it was so wrong she couldn’t even read the translation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So school was just good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had my weekly Skype con mi papa (with my dad) and Steph. As always they make me laugh. Because halfway through they’ll figure how to make themselves visible to themselves instead of just m and spend ten minute trying to fix hair or in this case sit up to look thinner. I about died rolling on the floor. And they’ll probably hate me for sharing that, but it was too funny. But my dad also pointed out that I may not know how to tell a Cab driver where I need to go, but I can tell you the name of food and how to cook. Of course I’m in Italia what else do you expect? But we had a good laugh over that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to Skype with my mom but she is sick. So please pray for her to get better soon. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saturday was also my first month in Italy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I said before when I started writing the first past on Saturday it has seemed very long and short at the same time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today was a good day. Went for a walk down at Marini di Massa with my host mother and sister. Found some rocks for my Nanny the short seconds we ventured to the sand of the beach. Learned a lot more about Italy. Talked about Religion and Politics (always my favorite). And was suprisngly happy that me and my host mother agree on so much and what’s not agreed upon is still respected. She was also brought to the attention of how close minded American can be about somethings and she was shocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I believe a quote I read once best described my feelings at that moment. “I love America, to bad it’s populated with so many idiots”. Yep that’s about right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s still home so you love it as it is. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So here is the few things I’ve come to realize part:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgot my love of cooking. Seriously I remember at one point I wanted to be a chief. And then it was pushed aside for things like Doctor, or politician. Or even the dream of a bookstore owner. But since being In Italy and watching my host mother cook, and asking questions and learning the right way. Like how you don’t have ragú (meat sauce) with spaghetti. It’s used with other types of pastas and many other things. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well it’s reminded my love of cooking. I’ve gone so far to download some cookbooks on my Ipod and go through the recipes and star things to make when I get back home. I’m going to start cooking again. Now will I become some courdon blue culinary genius, I have no clue. But will I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>make Julia Childs proud at my effort, definitely. I have also come to the conclusion, as to save room for the trip home I’m not going to buy anyone souvenirs. I’m just going to cook traditional Italian food for them. Their going to be saying “Let’s go to Paige’s house for Italian tonight” instead of “Let’s go to Olive Garden” by the way while the food their maybe good, it’s way heavy compared to traditional Italian food, and I don’t believe completely correct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will I still eat their upon returning home, sure. Will I do it without as much gusto as before, nope. I mean come one I’m eating fresh legit monzerella cheese (which is amazing), nothing can compare. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s also made me realize how much I absolutely miss Mexican food. Like seriously when I’m not going to be cooking something I want to go out to eat at a Mexican Food restraint. Probably for the next five years. I miss it so much. When I get off that plane can someone just have some ready for me? I would love you so much!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also miss Wal-mart and Target…despite the crowds. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another thing is.. I was looking at the calendar of my little day planner for school here. And a year really isn’t that long. I mean you have four weeks on average in a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Theirs only seven days in a week. And while some feel long, really how many times have you reached Saturday and thought “wow that was quick”. And if I’m only here until May or June that’s…. 8 to 9 months still or somewhere between 32 weeks to 37 weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not a lot of time… Life truly is short if you live it right. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Also a little food for thought… this morning my host mother told me this Septembre in Italia was the host in the past 150 yrs. Looks like I brought some of the Texas heat with me. And I’m none to pleased. I’m ready to start bundling up and get this show on the road. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s really all I have to say. Besides the fact that talking about food had made me really hungry, most likely going to go hunt down some Nutella now. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hope you are all taking care. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao, baby. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As always please exscuse bad grammer, misspells. And If you just can’t figure it out use your imaginations. Good luck. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-13855294864185344452011-09-30T06:16:00.000-07:002011-09-30T06:16:33.761-07:00The World Around Me.....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here is a small poem I wrote in Latin class today. I don't usually write poems, i'm more of a story girl. But the inspiration hit and i wrote it down. Please exscuse any bad grammer or unsmooth parts, like i siad i'm not a poet by any standard. I tried to work it out as best as I could. Enjoy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You wake up,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You sit up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You look across the room.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There lay your host sorella still a’snooze.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your ready before eight,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And ride the bus to school.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s no car or horse, but it’s still pretty cool.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You sit in class and strain to listen,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But often end up doodling with precision.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You leave school at one, one day a week at two.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s not as cool as you’d think ;because Saturday thiers school too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cowhearded onto a bus, grouped and pushed and shoved,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stumbling off finally, trying to refrain from shoving back your “bud”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the short walk home a smile spreads across down turned lips.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your host family can make everything better,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because at the end of the day family is what matters.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And for a year they are your family.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Their laughter, their chatting, their banter,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even the slight annoyance when at night your Facebook is full of your host sisters links about the newest Mad Hatter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then thiers the message from mom,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Counting down the seconds until your home.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The e-mail from dad always signed “camp champs”. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You wonder if you’ll ever get the letter he sent,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The one in a bottle, not with a stamp.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You and your host mother agree to disagree,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She thinks her cooking is no good,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And you eat until you feel a little green. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bedtime rolls around and as you prepare, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You remember to keep stockings on your feet and their shall be no water in your hair.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ve been here a month,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and have had those mothering lectures quit enough.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You fall asleep after prayers; clutching your stuffed piece of home,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And dream sweet dreams about that giant gelato cone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But sometimes those dreams aren’t so sweet,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because you know way to soon….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll wake up,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll sit up,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You’ll look across the room….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And their in your bedroom mirrior.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Will be your first home reflected back at you. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-13027857123787994672011-09-22T10:32:00.000-07:002011-09-22T10:37:19.890-07:00Non my piace Gym....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gym, in any country, or language, also means sweat. Now I’m not opposed to sweating, and in fact I do like exercise and being active. But I do not like sweating, putting on clothes while still sweating and then sitting in them through the rest of the school day. Or sweating when I’m in non sweating clothes( you know not work out clothes). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now this is not why I don’t like gym…. It’s a main fact about me that ties into the reason why I totally disagree with having gym second period of the day. Though is was a nice breaking from sitting in class for three hours straight and did make the day go by faster. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we went to gym, or I should say my class went to gym, since classes literally rotate together here. And the teachers comes to us. So I guess you could say it’s not the teachers classroom, it’s class 4D’s classroom. (I feel like I should have t-shirts made and be proud over that fact...)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But we went into the changing rooms, the girls and guys right across from each other and their wasn’t a superiser sitting out in the hall way thinking at any moment us teenagers weren’t going to fly into the opposite room and start doing everything inappropriate under the sun. It’s so great to be treated like the young adult<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I am ,inside and outside of school. Seriously. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because I had been in athletics before the thought of stripping practically naked in front of strangerz no longer phased me. Though I will admit I won’t ever go streaking I’m way to body conscious especially in Italy when every corner you turn you run into some leggy skinny woman dressed to the nines. Most of my classmates, boys and girls, could quit possibly make Abercrombie models look like they sprouted from the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. No joke. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we changed, hiked some more stairs (their all over Italy. It’s why everyone has killer legs. If I don’t have a pair by the time I get back I want a refund…</span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">) And ended up in this small gym. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At first the teacher had us warm up you know run a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>few laps and a few other exercises, thought not any flat out on the floor stretching. I was proud of myself, apparently my twenty minute hike to and from school is helping me get into shape because when a few of the other girls were huffing, I was surprisingly not killing over wondering why I left my inhaler in the States. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During this time I started talking to a few of the girls from the beach that first day that were in my class. I kind of wondered if it would be one of those “your so cool” thing outside of school and then after the initial meeting and being around me everyday they would be like “whatever” because besides one of the guys always saying “ciao” and an occasional, if I did first, smile they hadn’t really said anything more to me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our warm up stretched were stopped when the teacher say dirt on the floor, she apperantly is very picky about that and checked all of ours shoes, after giving us a lecture. I never knew who the culprit was, but the whole class kind of rolled their eyes at her. I had a feeling that “coach” attitude many atheletic teachers possessed was an international thing as well… so I understood having my share of those coaches. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then came to the gym part. She had us line up in a line and had four low hurdles set up, two high hurdles, a cone and then these wooden juggling pins set up side down. It was a snaked obstacle course and I was sitting there thinking gym in Italy is so easy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then the coach brings out the tennis balls. She wants us to jogged through the hurdles throwing the ball between our hands, dribbling it (yes a tennis ball on this foam, impact this asorbent floor), we had to dribble to the high hurdles jump up and throw the ball and catch it as we landed. Then we had to dribble it to the pins and dribbling it through there like you would a basketball. Through it over the volleyball net as we ducked under and catch it on the other side. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now for some of you, you might think this is easy. But not for me. Like I said before I can be athletic. I’ve done many sports, but I’m not one of those girls that if you put any type of sports equipment in my hand I’ll immedinatly become a start at it. And the most important fact for this blog is I have no hand coordination at all when it comes to balls. Hence why every sport I’ve ever played has involed feet, no throwing or the simple swinging of a golf club. And why when I played little league baseball they stuck in the outfield. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Most of my class goes in front of me, many of the girls are dropping the balls, the boys are showing off and having fun. It gets to my turn. I nearly fall over the hurdle and land on the others trying to just make sure I catch the ball in my hand that five inches away. She makes me start over. After about five tries she tell me to move onto the high hurdles. I picked up the dropped tennis ball and attempt to dribbling it to the hurdles. Yeah that doesn’t work. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I get to the high hurdles. Never being one for much vertical height I kind of over jumped the first hurdle and threw the ball in the opposite direction. Oops. So<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>nail the second one after one of my class mates hands me the ball and attempts not to laugh. I dribble the ball to the bowling pins. And as the coach is literally breathing down my neck I can’t dribble the stupid yellow ball to save my life. So I say the one thing that every kid jokes about when your handed a basketball and can’t dribble to save your life. “White kids don’t play basketball!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My coach not realizing I was talking to myself nor understanding me agrees fully. My ball went flying across the gym because it hit a pin when I jerkily hit it on the up bound as I busted out laughing….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She made me start over. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So it was disastrous but not over yet. She got rid of the hurdles fixed the juggling pins set out more cones and brought out a medium height balance beams. Now I can do balance beams. For someone who is always tripping over their own feet I have an amazing sense of balance on these things and could probably skip across one without blinking an eye. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But not with a tennis ball….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nearly fall off and break my neck. Luckily my quick reflexes save me, I think it was more to keep me from embarrassing myself in front of my classmates anymore than I already had than the sense of self preservation. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I make it across the balance beam, dignity still partially in tack and make it ot the cones. We have to “bowl” the tennis ball though the foot wide set area between the bowling pins. I suck at bowling, I get gutter balls ever with the lane lines in… seriously. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So of course I miss. I try again. Miss. Finally in the midst of flying tennis balls and the teacher turning her back I tan back into the line. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We had to do it a second time. Except this time instead of throwing the tennis ball up and catching it as we walked across the balance we had to throw it back and forth between out hands. I did it, until the last three feet I was watching for the end so I would falling off and miss catching the ball in my hand. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I got to the bowling part again and this time you had to lay on your stomach and roll the ball across the gym through the set area. I don’t know if it was my background in gold, or having shoot guns before so I kind of knew how to aim or if God finally decided he had his fill of Paige humour for the day and sprinkled down some good luck. But the first time for the next three times I did this the ball not only went seamlessly through but sometimes I read the curve of the floor or nitch and the ball would curve straight through the targets. All the while my classmates balls are missing repeatedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was my sense of pride in gym and my redeeming moment I should say. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So gym was over we went to change, suprisnly it was not rushed like you would think, and there aren’t that many girls, in fact I didn’t realize it until today but there are definitely more boys in the classroom. So it wasn’t crowded at all. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I put my folded cloths back in my bag (I have formed a bit of OCD since being here when it comes to organization and cleanliness of things… I’m sure my parents will be so please.) and head out of the changing room with the other girls. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On the way back up the stairs they tell me across the street they have a “camp”. (think, track soccer field complex thing some small high schools have so everything is in one field). And that usually they play soccer. I mentioned I loved soccer, I secretly think all the boys that heard me cringed. And one of the girls informed that the girls play volleyball while the guys play soccer. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I’ll probably come back a volleyball pro, and I might just have to dust off my goalie skills and show these Italians boys that Texan girls don’t mind getting dirty when it comes to sports and that were not all completely uncoordinated. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gym was a nice break and fanning myself to get my red face back to a normal color took my attention for thirty minutes of philosophy while the teacher was lecturing. And then came our mid morning break. Usually I went out with the two girls sitting beside me who befriended me the first day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But today the girl from gym(and the beach) asked me if I wanted to go with them. I didn’t want to blow the other two girls off who were so kind to take on the lost and wide eyed American girl in the first place. But these girls were also friends with my host sister who was in Texas and my host sister had nothing but nice things so about them. And they were nice girls, but the whole not acting like I’m there thing kind of soured my outlook on them. But after gym and them being nice and actually helping me I thought my host sister was kind enough and smart enough she wouldn’t be friend with such hypocritical people. So I said yes and joined them. I’m glad I’m did because they were very nice and one of the girls form the beach upon seeing me actually gave me a cheek kiss. I think I grinned and yes blushed because I knew they only did this to true friends, and well it was still of kind of awkward. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So they were very nice and I asked me if I had an Italian teacher. I told them no and that my host mother was helping me as I taught myself and often my host sister helped as well. Though she usually laughed and it ended up with us eating chocolate as she fixed my Italian pronunciations. When I told them this they both laughed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They also asked me why I didn’t eat. Because usually kids at least eat crackers if not a foccicia sandwich and maybe a small box of fruit juice. Well at eleven in the morning after eating three pieces of amazing bread each morning (small pieces) with strawberry jam, I wasn’t usually hungry and with school eating at 1 and eating around 1:30 the amazing lunch Toni always has ready for me, I know that if get a bit puckish I won’t go starving soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I told them I just wasn’t hungry. They looked at me weird and even said. “Well that’s good”. I just laughed. (I did a lot of that today). They tried out English idioms or I should say American Idioms in there conversation and got so excited when they got it right. Much like I did when I said something right in Italian. I think having them as friends and spending the break time with them will be a good way to help me on my to Italian. Because right now it’s like my brains rebelling all of it. The more I try to learn, the more it pushes out. But none the less a usually boring, foot dragging, mind numbing school day was turning out to be great. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I did have chemistry. Yeah…. Yeah remember the wood stock teacher. Well she gave me an assignment of doing the conversion chart. Well she asked me five times if it was correct to each time I answered yes… (Because I wouldn’t be using it in the first place. It’s not like the metric symbols she was writing on the board would be foreign to me. And I double checked the calculations.) So then she wanted it bigger so she could hang up on he wall. I tried to explain to her that that wouldn’t be necessary. I only needed to the small right corner of the chart which was the words translated…. And I that the rest of the class didn’t need to be staring at my horrendous hand writing. Though compared to how everyone writes here my handwriting could possibly be considered calligraphy… no joke.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I’m sure when she ask for the big chart I’ll explain that the chart isn’t necessary and she can just let me keep my small one. Because for one thing I may not be in that class once the school get my set in stone timetable figured out. And if she wants a chart wait until my parents ship me my chemistry quaderno I asked for… she’ll be mine blown… and possible want to copy and translate the whole thing at how amazing the notes are. (Thank you Ms. Jones </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you were an awesome chemistry teacher). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So besides her still being slightly dull it seems, the rest of the day went good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I guess you could say that you have bad days, and good days and then you have those rare days that are amazing and you smile your way through them… yeah today was one of those days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh and I forgot to add that the friends I weren't sure about, turned out are really great , funny, and sweet people. I guess it's one of those things were they were as unsure of me as I was of them things....</span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara Massa-Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-6165128192300222372011-09-20T12:16:00.000-07:002011-09-20T12:16:46.478-07:00I gotta...I gotta pocketful of sunshine....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">This blogs title is dedicated to my host sister... she fell in love with this song after hearing it on my Itunes, and was singing it when I started writing it today. It fit my cheery mood and made me think of "Easy A" the movie.....</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…..Because she carries Texas in her heart.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(written Saturday Sept. 17, 2011)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the past few days I realized many things. One, which was pointed out to me, is that my English grammar is already on the decline. (like it was amazing in the first place). That Rotary is truly a family, a great one to have at that. I owe my exchange not only to my YEO who told me he refused to give up on me, when I told him how I was feeling down, but mostly a great friend from outbound camp that sent me an e-mail. He reminded me that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and to remember when times get tough and homesick rears it ugly head that it’s not a year long. So thank you (I’m not naming names), but you know who you are. And if you are reading this, I hope you are doing better as well<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also realized that people who go out of their way to say “good morning” to you in English are actually, in your head, considered more your friends<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>than people who seemed to fawn over you in the beginning. I thank God for those people as well. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So what have I been up too….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">School. That’s about it. All my teacher’s now seemed notified that I speak no Italian, and by speak that means, reading, comprehension. None of it. The last to be on board was my Science teacher and she still doesn’t understand that I don’t know any Italian, atleast not to the level she needs. And then she went to tell m that I needed to make a conversion chart for American Units to metric units so I know what she’s talking about. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling here that as “Americans” were not stupid. We do use the S.I. system in Science (Chemisty) and math. In fact that’s mostly all it is unless it’s a practice problem. And that you can’t convert American to Metric without a whole bunch of decimals. And the reason I don’t understand the chart you just showed. BECAUSE IT’S IN ITALIAN!.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yeah I’m convinced she’s may not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but hey I was never accused of being that either. She also looks like she never left Woodstock……</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Friday my host mother drove up in the mountains on a whim after seeing the view from the grocery store in town. The roads were winding and we ddin’t get to actually go to the quarries but we went up high enough that I about got a nose bleed and passed out from lack of oxygen. We stopped at one point to show me Carrara. The older part. It’s nestled beautifully between two green mountains. And I know it’s a sight most don’t get to see Carrara from, but they should. Because it was breath taking. And then of course my historic thinking mind went back to World History when we were talking about towns and why they were built in certain locations. Such as transportation, trade, protection. I smiled remembering that even back then I did my report about it on Roma. While I may be a good ways away from Roma ,all of Italy is breath-taking and enchanting. Anywho on the way down, it was more frightening that the twist and turns going up. Think two cars passing one car wide road that it’s dangerously twisted and on a mountains. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And while I was praying Toni was telling me a little about Carrara marble. Like how most of the well known, actually any statue ( I don’t know if she meant Italy or really anywhere during a certain time period) were most likely made of Carraran(?) marble. Also how Michelangelo used to go up into the quaries themselves (that man must have had a good set of horses or he was really in shape) to pick out the marble. One time he picked out a piece so expensive that the Pope had to say now. Because it was between buying Michangelo the marble, or paying for a much needed war. You get the picture…..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So the past couple of days haven’t been busy physically but emotionally great hurdles have been jumped. I believe I’m gradually moving out of the second phase of homesickness and culture shock and moving into embracing it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is good, because it’s the uphill side for a while then. Learning Italian, the culture, slowly becoming less of “The Texas<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>American” and more of myself, as I learn to express who I am. You know those kind of things. I was also informed yesterday that my would have been host mother might/will be giving me Italian lessons. Thank God… because flying solo I’m scared to death I’m going to teach myself completely wrong and insult someone. I don’t want to start a war, or you know make this Rotary district never want a kid from American again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I counted today I have nine weeks until I turn 17. Around 19 weeks till Christmas and they say after that first stint your exchange passes so fast days feel like second. So like I said sometimes when the big picture get to overwhelming you have to make of small goals. Of course since the flip switched a fews days ago after nearly packing my bags and going to Pisa myself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>small goals aren’t really needed. I’m enjoying the moments. Like how the weather is slowly getting colder and I can’t wait for Winter ( I learned my host mother gets very festive for Christmas), or the happy fact that I’m an anomaly at this point with loosing weight (knock on wood that I don’t start gaining), how every which way you turn looks likes it could be on a postcard. Those sort of moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men are Complicated, Especially THE MAN</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today…..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today was a great day. Not only did I get to sleep in, but I didn’t have to go to school…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead I got to go to Massa with my host mother for the first part of my Temporary residence card. As we drove into Massa we got to drive through the mountains and it was beautiful as always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also got to see a castle in Massa. The castles here are usually built on the side of the mountains outside of town. And their not royal castles like they have in France but more like forts. Lookout post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like anything historic I was rubber necking out the window to see it until the last possible second. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also realized me and my host mother are very similar. We get lost easily. She even told me that her kids always complain about how lost she gets. I just sit there and smile and try to help her remember. I’m sure if there had been a camera following us they would have died of laughter. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we get to the building and the office is actually on the outside of the building or the waiting are is. But it was nice outside this morning. Cool but not cold if you dressed right. We were next in line and ready to go when my host mother read that we needed four photos for the paperwork. She asked me if I had them and I looked at her wide eyed. The piece of paper was in Italian. I had all the other paperwork, plus more, but of course the one thing I wouldn’t care to translate told of something we needed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But it turned out to be a good thing. First of all my change problem is solved, I now have 1 value Euros, thought not many.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second is in Italy, I don’t know if it’s because so many government and non government documents require pictures. They have booths similar to what you find the picture booths in the mall to be like. You sit there pick the sheet of picture you need and take a picture. It tells your picture is approved for government paperwork and you have three tries to get it right. It wasn’t the best picture in the world but at least it hadn’t been frizzy that morning so my already misbehaving hair was having an outright fit and my bangs were somewhat straight. The only good thing about the picture is that my eyes looked blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we left the picture booth which was actually in a “Subway” (think of walks ways below busy streets so you don’t actually have to cross them.) We found our way back to the building and a woman who Toni actually knew from the gym was there. She talked to her across the area( she was younger) and Toni filled me in she was from Cuba. She was there at the office with her mother. She also talked about how learning a language was so easy for her because she loved to talk. Something that became very obviouse and have me smiling. I was also very pleased because I could start to pick out a few words here and there and comprehend simple sentences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The fact was sitting there next to my host mother listening to this women speak Italian and just the moment was very nice and content and happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much better than the massive head I knew I’d have if I was in school. We went into the office when it was out turn and the women was very nice who helped us. I had everything I needed, though we didn’t have to pay anything besides four euros for the photos, and it confused me a bit because that morning Toni told me to bring the money that was sent with me<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for this type of stuff, because the government always had you pay for something. Yet as we were walking out of the office later she also mentioned some years the prices go up, other the prices go down and some years you don’t pay anything at all. So she didn’t know. Like I said THE MAN is complicated. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As the women was revewing all the paperwork <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked across the wall and saw a map of the world. I startled myself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when I saw the distance between Italy and America. Just that morning Toni and me were discussing the damage done to Italy by World War 2 and how American comes to the wars and they never seem to be on American soil. I now understood exactly why. That’s a long way to send troops and supplies. I know understood just how wars can get so expensive so quickly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It also shocked me that I flew over that ocean and I would be flying over it again on the way back. Both times on emotional roller coasters. Tylenol PM never sounded like a better friend with that thought. But the point is, I am a long ways from home and it’s small things like that, that kind of freak you out and amaze you at the same time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we got the first part of my residence liscense done. I return at the end of November to pick it up, hopefully. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then of course on the way pack to the car my host mother pulls me into a bread shop. It smelled awesome and I kept eyeing this massive Italian equivalent to donut except three times the size and fatter and from what I read it was stuffed with chocolate cream. For those of you who are not following me on facebook, I have a new love of Nutella. It not only cures homesickness, but everything else. It’s kind of like icecream(And I found out they do have Nutella icecream here. Italian’s are genius when it comes to food.) but it’s like icecream. Because you eat it to celebrate, eat it to eat, or eat it when your down. It hands down beats eating icing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We also ran other errands this morning including getting my year long bus pass. That was a funny ordeal because at first the people told me that because I was not a true residence of Carrara I could not get a year long bus pass. But the lady at the office said yes I could one and she made it sound like it was because I was a student that I could. Like is said THE MAN is complicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now I have year long but pass, long story short. We also swung by my school, for many different reasons, and my principle practically gave me the assignment of watching T.V. to learn Italian. My host mother swears that this is the secret to learning any language and I think she might be onto something. But the principle said I was aloud to watch anything but the news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apperantly they don’t like what going on right now ( I asked what and couldn’t get a straight answer.) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Professor Paige….. Wiat… What?!</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So my host mother teaches math lessons, she like a genius, and so are all of her friends. But one of her students isn’t very good at English, which all schools teach here. Said student is going to a private teacher for that but told his mother he just wanted to go to Toni for both math lessons and English. Toni told him she has speaking level but not teaching level and then she thought of me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I first of all was excited…. This was my chance to give and take. Teach a little English learn a little Italian, and make a friend. This kid from what my host mother told me is an awesome kid and an amazing artist, he attends the beautiful art school in town… so he would be a good friend to have. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My second thought was, I’ve never taught anyone anything before, were in the world do I start… and my grammer which was never up to par in the first place is slowly on the decline if you can’t tell. (I give up on editing this post. You can guess and do it yourself. Love you! </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How many Italains does it take to change a lightbulb….</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well it takes two plus a Texan. And the lamp still didn’t work, but it turns out it’s how many it takes to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">MAKE</i> a light build, because the lightbulb was the problem. But still it was pretty funny because this was no typical lightbulb. In fact I think it might have been in France and it looked more like one of those leveler tubes you use when building something and the way it went into this lamp was completely riduculouse….. just saying….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And to round off of the blog in what seems like whats becoming my style, is the emotional, what I’ve learned part. One is Monday’s every where no matter if their in another language stink, school can sometimes feel like a form of torture, and bad days still exist they just seem so much worse when added upon culture shock and homesickness. I believe my exact words to one of my friends were <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“sometimes I just embrace the day and life and it kicks me in the metaphorical balls.” I know it’s not the classiest saying, but it pretty true. Yet I’m starting a life for myself here, and now I’m starting to realize why it’s hard to come home when you’ve been away for a year. Sometimes I take comfort in the fact that I have set return to Texas, I know I’m coming home in a year. Yet as I make a life here, and true friends down the road, I bond with my host family…some moments the thought of leaving them without a set return, never knowing when I’m going to hear my host brother or sister bicker. Or my host mother lecture my host brother because he’s being a typical teenage boy (even sometimes I want to throttle him). See Micia my spastic, hellan, trouble-making, dignified host cat. Or just see them all again in person after I return home, well I thought about that today, and I nearly started crying.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maybe it’s the mood swings that comes along with whatever is that our brain goes through ( I know other kids have them as well, they were a discussion one night on our facebook group… and exchange student munchies) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may just be adjusting, I’m pretty sure when it comes times to get on that plane to go home, I might be thinking Italy is home, and why aren’t they letting me stay…..</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao. Bouna Notte. </span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara Massa-Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-64930109527175675192011-09-17T07:08:00.000-07:002011-09-17T07:08:53.984-07:00Can't take the girl out Texas......<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(This was written on Tuesday. I was just too lazy until now to revise it.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I read a book once in which one of the characters commented on how when on your back all skies look the same. By ‘”being on your back”, he did not mean when times got tough. But simply that. Everywhere skies look all exactly alike. What changes them is what lies on the ground and the people underneath. And while Texas may be known for its wide open blue skies, the skies in Italy are just as blue. But there still not Texas…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last time I updated I had just regaled about the homesick blues, getting the start of the paperwork for my temporary residence license.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well the residence license is now scheduled for a meeting in Massa (that town that is beaucratically the same as Carrara) later in September. Seems weird to think that it’s already September and getting into the later part at that. I’ve never truly thought about how short a month actually is despite the length that it feels at times. Any who... since the government run-around (fitting name I believe) I have gone many places. The first day it rained in Italy my host sister walked into our room and informed me that we were going to Lucca. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The rain was beautiful and we waited for it to abate (SAT word right there) a bit before going to Lucca but it stilled stormed and yes we only brought one umbrella. But for a Texas girl whose been living in one of the worst Texas a drought in a while, rain was a blessing to feel upon my skin and the mist hanging in the air. So like the tourist I was. I ran from the cover of the umbrella with my camera snapping photos of anything and everything. It was all so beautiful. Now Lucca is obviously a town in Italy, but it is one of the few towns in Europe that still has its walls. Downtown Lucca is within the walls and the newer part is outside them. The whole place was beautiful and the whole way around the wall is about 8 km. I would love to walk all the around it one day. As the day went on the skies brightened and we one of the most memorable moments is when we stopped to rest on a bench. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was still fooling with my camera and taking picks from the bench of the mountains in the distance when a beautiful pigeon came strutting towards us. It passed closed by and I raised my camera to take a picture of it. Not two seconds after I lowered my camera Toni bluntly and dead-panned. “Paige kill it?” and looked like she was going to hand me the handle end of the umbrella. I gave her a wide eyed look and once I figured out she was joking a second later I laughed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So Lucca was beautiful and one of the prettiest thing of the downtown that I saw, well it was all beautiful but this definitely stood out was the Duomo (the name for the main cathedral of a town or city). It had three stories of just pillars sitting onto the actually church like a crown. Each pillar was different in carving, as well texture, and color. It was absolutely beautiful but add in the painting and carving into the stone around the door and the room it was a breath taking sight. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We headed home around three in the afternoon. (P.S. nobody warned me that Europe runs on a 24 hour clock. For someone who is dyslexic with math it’s the most tripped up thing I the world. The first time I saw the clock in the kitchen I thought maybe it was a giant timer to match the giant calculator Toni has in the house). The car ride to Lucca was fun. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before I explain why I want all of you to either get something that records your voice or go get someone to listen to you very carefully. I want you to say the word “water”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go ahead do it….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Okay. Well I don’t know about the rest of my fellow English Americans but I do know I tested this on my mother and nanny just a few days ago when they Skyped me and I definitely think it’s for sure all true Texans. But we don’t say “water” with a‘t’ we put a‘d’ there. So it sounds like “wader”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My host sister feel in love with this on the car ride she will randomly just say come to me know and say “dice acqua”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time she said that in front of her friends I scrunched my eyebrows and said “acqua”, confused as to why she wanted me to say water. But now when she smiles at me and says it I roll my eyes and say “water”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We usually both end up laughing. And if anything she’ll never be able to hear the water again after I leave without hopefully thinking of me. Atleast it will be a happy and funny thing to be remembered for. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we returned from Lucca and we had to go down these winding roads to get to Carrara. I thought we were literally about to drive off the edge the only thing I could compare it to. Would be when I was younger and my family took one of those jeep rides in the Colorado mountains. And my dad was driving. For those of you who either know my dad or have done the jeep thing you know that, that is really all that needs to be said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A few days later we went to go get my national I.D. number. It’s not like social security because you could go screaming it down the street and it wouldn’t hurt you. It’s just like you are such and such. And if you were to be hit by one of these scooters and got to the hospital you wouldn’t have to pay anything because Italian healthcare is practically free. You pay about 150 Euros a year and all hospital visits, most prescribed medicines and I believe doctor visits are all paid for by the government. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Afterwards we went back by near the house and picked up Ludo and Dodi and we went to what I could only call a Sam’s Club squished together with a mall. I believe Toni might have called it an outlet but I couldn’t be sure as it was several days ago. But what I did learn is that when it comes to shoes my host brother takes twice as long as a girl to decide and I’m talking nearly an hour. I was ready to cry. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I found out later maybe crying would have been for another reason. I suddenly seemed to hit a depression that day and I think it might have started the night before. But when we got home I had to hold of bursting out in tears several times. I wasn’t homesick, Italy was great, but it was like I just had a mood swing that ran me straight into a hole of the worst kind of depression ever. Trying to calm myself down and for some normalcy, hoping maybe to get my mind off something I downloaded a movie off of ITunes and watched it. But it still didn’t help so I sent my Rotex a message. (Thank God for Rotex’s). Soon after I was called to dinner and we had this pasta with pesto but it wasn’t pasta per se. More like a thinly rolled crepe pasta that was cut into squares. It’s amazing by itself to just as I alter discovered. But sitting at the table I choking back tears and at one point I raised my head and put my hand on my stomach thinking I was about to get sick when Ludo looked up and said. “mama”. Toni whipped around and on the spot I said I was fine and just had a stomach ache. To cover the tears I sneezed a few seconds later, so they thought my allergies might be the cause. That day had been cooler and I had still went out in a tank top and in shorts, so Toni thought I might be getting a cold. I finished eating and she sent me to bed and I was elated and horrible guilty about lying to her but I just needed to be away. But when you share a room and live in an apartment that’s pretty open you can’t really openly cry anywhere. But then I remembered at outbound camp on of the Rotarians said if you feel like you need to cry wait until you’re the shower and just bawl. (Thank you Jaci). So that’s what I did and it helped some to just cry. Like it was cleansing. So crawling into bed very early that night I pulled the covers over my head and messages my mom on Facebook hoping talking to her would help. It did. I also got a message back from my Rotex who helped a lot too and gave me confidence and a bunch to consider. That night I fell asleep with red rimmed eyes, memories of my erased ultimatum, doubts and a prayer for God to grant me strength. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A few days passed and I pulled out of my depression it seemed <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and during that time I went with my host sister and two of her friends to a towns name I could not remember for the life of me. But a bunch of artist live there and it was my first train ride. I saved the ticket to put on my jacket. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And then greatest thing happened. I went to Pisa…. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was an adventure from the start. That night Ludo looked up the train time and I bought my first ticket. And got slightly annoyed when no body understood that I just got my exchange the door before from the small amount of Euros I got at the currency exchange in New York. So I didn’t have any change and yes that meant 1 value Euros. (I’m convinced everywhere has traded in there in their one dollar bills for coins. Because Dodi found one in his room while cleaning it and Toni asked me if they still had them in circulation, she thought they had gotten rid of them. I was really tempted to drag her into my room and show the twenty one dollar bills I forgot I had in my wallet from home to show just how much they still are in circulation.) So we bought the ticket get to the platform one train comes and then they realized that they missed the train. But luckily in Italy there are Trains all the time so catched the next one. Except this one had first class and second class and first class is like the little areas you see on Harry Potter with the six seats three facing each other with the sliding glass door to close you off. Minus the candy cart of course. We weren’t supposed to be there but we rose the whole way to Pisa and it was awesome to watch everything out the window. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we arrived in Pisa and quickly walked to the main street, we into some shops and I couldn’t wait until I knew weather my weight was going to go up or down (it’s still deciding because I put my skinny jeans on for school this morning and they weren’t so skinny anymore. I had to dig out my belt and even that didn’t seem to help.) Because the second it decided for sure I was going on a shopping spree. If Italian fashion is any indication of American fashion right now I do believe for once in history everyone just might be dressed adorably. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we shopped around some and the cool thing about being with natives is that instead of eating at the touristy places on the street like I was expecting they lead me down an alley to this literally hole in the wall little shop that smelled amazing. I had no clue what I was given to me but it was some type of egg hash brown patty (maybe?) between two foccia buns (that’s what making me gain weight, the bread is only in the Tuscan area and is to die for). I ate it and as always thought about how much self control these people had when it came to great food because even with how much they walk they could literally be like America and the “Obese country.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After that we walked to the leaning tower of Pisa. It was amazing to see up close and it was really the driving stake that “oh my god I’m in Italy”. I mean sure I had the language around and had been here for two weeks now and just a little under then but it was just… amazing. Of course like all Americans (The Italain's words not mine) I had to take a picture leaning against the tower. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now when you someone comes back from Pisa and they see the picture it looks so cool and you want one. Well what you don’t realize is that to that photo you’re literally standing hundred yards away with your hands in the air surrounded by a million other tourists doing the same thing. You like a bunch of dorks that don’t the difference between “left or right” (“Which right your or mine?”). Of course I was a cool idiot because I had Italian natives directing. Legit right? And we got the picture taken. But what most people fail to forget is that the Leaning tower of Pisa is not just some random leaning tower in the middle of a grassy field. It’s a bell tower to an equally beautiful and grand church and this other dome thing that nobody could tell me what it was. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The most uncanny part though was as we working our way to the shade given off by the walls they had near the church, tower and dome thing an American Family spoke nearby with a young child. The sound of American English (because Brits are walking around everywhere and I still can’t understand what they say. I’d rather converse with my religions teacher who thinks I’m stupid and can’t even speak English so she speaks it slowly. But more on her later). Anyways the sound of American English actually made me jump and turn around shocked. It was a bit uncanny. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we made it to the shade by the wall and sat down. We had been sitting there for a few minutes when these two guys walked out into the middle of the grass in the sun whipped of their shirts laid down towels and sat back and suntanned. And they were not ugly, yet I still don’t know what nationality they were. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now I knew why so many more women were enthuastic about the Leaning tower of Pisa than mean. I snapped a picture because I knew someone body wouldn’t believe me and I needed proof. Okay maybe it was just for me… but still it’s proof. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We worked our way back to the main street we walked earlier that morning after they took me by a school that is for the prestigious geniuses of Italy. It was a beautiful school and I saw my first Rotary sign. The English translation underneath talked about how the Rotary group of Pisa made this handicap assessable which is really nice because there are so many stairs and thing in Italy. And you see the old people working there up them, it breaks my heart. So thank you Rotary of Pisa. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We sat on the wall that bordered the river and stayed there for a bit enjoying the view. I didn’t turn all the way around with my back to the street because I didn’t trust anybody not to come and push me into the river. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As we headed back to Carrara on the train I saw nun in their black outfits with their habbits, hobbits? Whatever their called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was on Saturday. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday was a day of relaxation and I talked to my mother and nanny. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Monday was school. Because it was the first day school started at nine and ended at twelve. Usually it goes eight to one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I dressed up cut and curled my hair. My bangs were immaculately straight and I was ready for my first day of Italian school. Armed with my Italian to English dictionary and a picture to keep traditions my mother started for the first day of school, me and Toni headed off to school. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As we walked she instructed me to always go straight because that leads straight to the school. Halfway there I was sweating from the humidity I could hear my hair frizzing and I suddenly wondering why I didn’t picked some more northern country where it was always cloudy, rainy and cold. I would rather be drenched and have my hair curl naturally than be sweating and frizzing from humidity. And as we continue to walk I was about to tell Toni that this twenty (she swears by that time but it definitely longer) minute walk to school is more of a hike. As we reached the school my once straight bangs were curled and looked horrible my eye-make up was gone if not running and my face was red. Great first impressions right? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Toni had me introduced to the principal and then the principal introduced me to some teacher. I got to meet my school counselor which wasn’t really a counselor but more of the guy in charge of exchange students. He was very nice. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was lead into my class after everyone was already in their seats and if I hadn’t been sweating, red-faced and frizzy hair I probably would have hammed it up a bit when they applauded. Instead I slowly walked into the class room as the teacher directed me to a seat right in the freaking front and center. Of course. But he turned out to be very nice and he was my Philosophy and History teacher. He even stopped a few times and translated a few of the notes he had written on the board. (They still use chalk boards, it’s legit). Then after his hour was up my Religion teacher came in. She has absolutely no control of the class and said a few things before walking over to me and asking me where I was from. I don’t even say America because I learned in Italy if you are from Texas you claim that first. It’s internationally known so take that you states that didn’t want us in the Union so long ago. (Okay not really but it’s a very proud thing when people automatically know that Texas is an America and there is no further explanation. I will admit I am a Texan by birth and therefore first and then an American. Sad but true. Southern pride right there. ) After she publically announced to the class that I was from Texas a boy from the back yelled “Yeeehaww” that made me laugh. Then she asked me why I was in Italy. Actually she asked me why is “Descended in Italy”. It made me feel like an Alien and I seriously thought about telling her I came here for the marble as it was rare on my planet. But I figured since her English seemed to be basic it wouldn’t be funny and only continue to confuse her more. So I answered Rotary Youth exchange. I had to eventually right it down and then she shook her head huffed and said why I was in Italy again. I stared at her for a minute and then got it. Why did I pick Italy out of all the other million places in the world I could have gone? Well let’s think about this. Thiers the food which hands down smashes Olive Garden to dirt and Starbucks as well. And the coffee and food is so much simpler. Then there’s the beauty, which attracts from all over the world. And finally to a history buff like me there’s all the History. I mean in Carrara you have buildings from the renaissance if not earlier right next to building built after World War 2 when Carrara was one of the cities bombed (a sad fact my host mother told me about when we on the government run around adventure). So finally I decided the easier thing to say would be. “I love Italy” And you know earn brownie points in the process. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She translated it to the class because I “like” Italy. There goes my brownie points. But one of the boys from the back (I believed the one that yelled yee-haw) replied “I like America”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After her hour was up the first teacher came back in and I learned when It came to history many words were the same or nearly identical and if not I could figure it out in a second. School was dismissed and I worked my way out of the building to the bus stop my host mother told me my host brother would wait for me at. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He left me. I was leaning against the back wall when all of a sudden I saw him and was walking towards him when a huge crowd surged in front of me and then they cleared and I saw the bus door closing with him behind them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I scowled after the bus for a second and then pulled out my cell phone navigated my way through the Italian to “last called” (Thank you Toni for making sure my phone worked that morning you’re an amazing host mother) and called Toni. I informed her that I ‘lost Dodi” and that I wouldn’t mind walking home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was a really nice walk and it was the first time I had honestly had just any alone time since being here. I even found a quaint little creek hidden under a bridge that nobody but the old men I passed by and me took notice in. (a side note I love the way the old men in Italy walk. With their hands behind their back slightly forward and a leisurely pace like they have all the time in the world left and are taking the time to just see everything. It’s such a contrast to the traffic speeding by just meters away).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I made it to the house and saw Dodi setting the table. Toni turned to look at him and then me and said. “I’m sorry for my son”. I just laughed and said it was fine. Because really it was I enjoyed it. She asked me about school and I answered her questions. Then I went into the room dropped my backpack and pulled out an Italian verb workbook to fan myself with. It was a hot hike uphill. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I went to bed early that night (yesterday) and had already planned on wearing my “Keep Austin Weird” t-shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I set my alarm for six since school started at eight and we had to leave the house by 7:30. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I woke up this morning to the alarm on my IPod (since the guy down at the electronics shop is still trying to unlock it so I can use it with an Italian sims card. The Phone Toni is letting me borrow now terrorizes me and I swear does it on purpose. I have threatened it a few times to chunk it in the ocean and I’m sure my host family thinks I’m completely technologically illiterate as well as a bull in a China shop. Because I feel like I’m always bumping into and dropping things here. I broke a shelf in the shower the other day and I was so frustrated that I walked out of the bathroom after getting dressed to Toni carrying the shelf and near tears telling Toni how sorry I was. Thankfully the shelf was already broken and had just been glued before. Otherwise I might had just sat on the floor and bawled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These mood swings at times kill me. I don’t know whether their self induced or part of culture shock or whatever but they need to leave). Anyways I woke up to my IPod alarm and it was church bells. I had no clue how it got set to that and when you live in a place where you can’t throw a stick without hitting a church or something slightly holy, I think I muttered to my host sister to close the window because of the bells. But when no response came I looked up and saw Ludo’s bed empty I thought maybe I had just fallen asleep for a little bit but upon finding my phone and realizing it was my alarm I realized it was in fact the next morning and that Ludo had most likely bunked with Toni that night. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I got up and got ready and then remember my cow print bandana I had. I rolled it up so I looked like a head band and thought I could wear under my bangs on my forehead to keep them curling from the sweat. It kind of worked but I’m sure I looked like some weird biker, gang chick. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Any who I was ready a lot faster than I expected to be and that was with me moving a bit sluggishly. I sat in the living room waiting for Dodi as we were walking to school together that morning. 7:35 rolled around and I was worried we would be late remembering how long the walk seemed but when Toni said we had enough time and that an Italian student was never early I chilled. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I and my host brother set out for our walk to school. It was a quiet but not awkward walk. We kept a fast paced and sometimes with me leading, sometimes him and other times us side by side. I hoped it would give us bonding time alter on because it feels like sometimes he doesn’t really want to be around me, or for better just doesn’t care. I’ve been determined to break that. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we got to school and the first class of the day was Italian. The teacher upon hearing that I didn’t speak any Italian and didn’t understand much either looked straight at me and went into a lecture about how she doesn’t speak English and so on in ITALIAN! After I just told her I didn’t understand nor speak it. Which made a lot of sense! Not. And the only reason I caught what she said was because the girl that sits right beside me is so sweet and told me kindly that “She doesn’t speak English” when I looked over at her for translation. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The second hour was my English teacher. She was excited to have me in her class and asked if when they let me make my own time table if I wanted to be moved out. I shook my head no and told her I would very much like to stay, if not just for something to look forward to in the week. She was crazy and bangs books on desk scaring me half to death to get people to listen. She made me get up and try to explain the American high school system, which I never thought was complicated but to Italian it must be so mind boggling because they looked like me when I’m math class. Confused as all get out and nowhere near the light of comprehension. Then they asked me about if I ever ridden a bull. And if Lucrezia (my host sister in Lubbock, TX) would get to ride one. I said no, because of safety reasons. And then I ruined the illusion that we “cowboys” ride wild bulls by telling them that most of the bulls are actually fairly tamed and that what makes them buck and kick is the saddle that’s used. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The third class of the day was chemistry and after asking how to say my name she didn’t say anything else. I don’t even think she knew I was an exchange student and didn’t speak any Italian. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The day before they had informed school me was out at eleven the next day so today and even this morning talking to my friend the minute I showed up before the bell rang they informed me the days were shorts because school was just starting. So I went down stairs to leave and saw that no one was leaving like yesterday and that some kids were walking around with sandwiches. But everyone had their bags on like they were leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went back upstairs and found a group of my friend from class and asked them if school was over. It was passed 11 when the bell actually rang, so people should have been leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl that spoke the best English nodded and said. “Yes school is over for today and that tomorrow school was from 8 to 1.” I was going to go back down the stairs when one of the guys told me I could go out the front. I saw a group of girls head that way with their helmets for their scooters and said thanks and followed after them. I turned to go home and noticed no one else was leaving and almost turned back when I saw kids hanging around the school talking. So I figured they were talking a bit before going home since during the schooldays you didn’t really do anything because they have so much homework. (If my class had any I wasn’t informed so I just translate my notes from class. Actually if I do any this year it might be mind boggling.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I walked home and noticed nobody else was out. I made it home and told Toni that I didn’t know where Dodi was and kind of what happened at school. Her and her sister-in-law looks at each other and Toni seemed to get upset that Dodi wasn’t home and called him. After no answer she got real frustrated and I felt bad that I may have gotten him in trouble. Well after she finally gotten a hold of him he informed her he had school until one (he’s in the grade below me, but the same school). Toni looked at me and I told her I was just going by what they told me at school and that I was sorry. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So we still don’t know if my class got out early or if the second day of school I just accidently ditched school for the first time in my life. I’m still laughing to myself. At least tomorrow I know that school last until one. So worst case scenario I’ll just sit in the classroom (since the teachers come to us) and work on Italian. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And that has been a brief description of my time since I last posted but I am sad to say that even thought I love Italy and my host family and always keep my head high. I don’t honestly know if I can do this (but I refuse to give up!). Because I have learned several things so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is if you didn’t profusely sweat and your cloths don’t smell you can hang them back up and not have to wash them. To relish air conditioning because it really is something we take for granted. (I found one in a store in Carrara the other day and stood there for ten minute pretending to translate a bottle of shampoo just to relish it.) Hairy legs won’t kill you (Actually the jury is still out on this one). That as much as you say you want to get up and leave your hometown and never come back you don’t mean it. Family and friends once suffocating are prayed for so that way they can suffocate you some more when you get back. The only Christmas gift I want this year is a hug from my mom and dad and bad of pretezel m&m’s. Leaving without talking with my sister and not ending this stupid fight was one regret I’ll always carry. My room door will never again be closed unless necessary. I will always cherish hug and kisses from my parents and family and not take them for granted. I will never take my friend for granted or complain about them again. I know that while the grass maybe greener on the other side it’s not worth being jealous over and to cherish what you have. A small town is not bad town. Simplicity is an amazing thing. And that you can take the girl out Texas , but she’s not home and she’s not happy without it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Any who off the dark notes….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I love all of you! And I hope you are all taking care. Sorry what took so long to update but sometimes It takes me a while to filter enough to write it down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Again as my dad would say. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao baby. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Also. (Regarding the bidet I mentioned to him in the bathroom.) “That’s a funny place to put a water fountain.”…. My dad’s joke. Like I said, I won’t ever take<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my family for granted again. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sorry I just had to share that. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Carrara Massa-Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-3379898803266684662011-09-02T10:30:00.000-07:002011-09-02T10:30:47.901-07:00Marble, Marble Everywhere....<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s here and there. The floors, the sinks, the shower, the window seals, the sidewalk, bases of building. Buildings!! ,big ones made of it. It’s the statues, and the fountains, there are benches made of marble. Square blocks in the street. Mosaic marble sidewalks. Carrara marble. It’s bellisimo!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And for those of you who don’t know it’s not because Italia is rich, in fact today my host mother said Italy is a very poor country. But it’s because in the mountains are marble. It’s has been excavated since the Roman Empire and even Michelangelo’s David was carved out it! It’s just amazing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You can see the mountains from the beach, it looks like there photshopped into me, because I’ve never been anywhere were this close to the beach you have towering, cloud piercing( literally) mountains. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And speaking of beach. For my second day, or I should say my first full day in Carrara. Was amazing. But before I get into it I want to share something. Mostly because I shared it with my nanny who shared it with my mom and now she’s freaking out and hopefully posting it on my blog will help her fell better that I’m being sincere and I only cried because I miss her hugs and smile and just her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I first got here I was embarrassed. My bag was big, well no bigger than what I saw other students with, but it was a snug fit in the car trunk. Most of it I do need, so I don’t feel like I over packed. If anything I feel like maybe I should have crammed just a few more things and prepared more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But after arriving at the apartment. I was sick. My stomach heart and I was tired and I really had to go to the bathroom, but I was scared to. I wanted to immediately go home. But I realize now it was a very large panic attack without the tears (though those would come later,) because I was in a place so foreign. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t know the language. And when they asked I kind of felt like a failure because I didn’t know it. (I’m very hard on myself)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because my arrival was delayed a few days my welcome was not as big as what it was going to be. But they did have a get together at the house with food. I snacked on some cantaloupe to be nice, but every bite I was scared I was going to be sick. And then they gave me some authentic lasagna. It was good, albeit a bit rich with parmesan, and if I hadn’t been worried about getting sick I probably would have eaten it all and the rest of the pan. Instead I took small bits and forced it down and then took the excuse of answering questions to set it to the side and “forget about it”. I felt really bad, literally and figuratively. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>By the night and unpacking, I was a bit better, it was like seeing my things they’re kind of calmed me down. My host brother and sister showed me around Carrara. While it is a small town it seems big to me, because you do have many shops, and banks, and lot of things to do. And to me those things are only found in the bigger cities. So to me Carrara is big, that really surprised them. They probably think I’m now from a hick town of two hundred….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once we came home, we ate dinner. It was some left over from the lunch. Now that I had my appetite I tried some. Bruschetta, love it. But my host mother, Toni, made this soup. Bean soup with wheat. It kind of reminded me of Mexican beans but not mashed. Anyways it was awesome and come to find out it’s my host brother favorite, hopefully it earned me points. Also there were these tomatoes with bread crumbs and garlic and cheese. They were good but would have been amazing warm. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Like a good Rotary Exchange student, I asked the first night questions. Most had already been answered, but there were still a few left to cover. I found out that my host mother birthday is two days before mine, and that she thought I was already seventeen. And just other things hat were assumed with both parties were asked. It helped, a lot. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I went to bed that night, I was about dead. I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But with the window and the air cool. The sound of Italian being shouted from the streets below was comforting. I feel asleep almost immediately. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Waking up the next morning was weird. I woke up to my host sister, Ludo, closing the window because the streets below were too loud. It only took me half a second to realize who she was and where I was. I got up and walked out of the room toward the kitchen, still in my pajamas. They asked m if I wanted caff<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">é</span>. But my stomach was still kind of upset. So I turned back to the room after a tired and mumbled, “Boun giorno” and got ready for the day. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I came out to wait for Ludo and Dodi, My host brother, to get ready I sat in the chair and worked on my Italian verbs. Sitting there I felt better than last night and after asking my host sister how to flush the toilet in the restroom I felt a bit more comfortable asking questions. I realized then that I would be more a burden in the long run if I didn’t know how to do anything, so ask questions now. Like they taught us at outbound camp. Don’t assume, ask. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So I did. About nearly everything. But it helps the parroting thing, you know watch and mirror. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But I still wasn’t feeling how I thought I should. Or how they put it at outbound <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>camp the “honeymoon” phase. I made an ultimatum with myself then that I would stay a month, and if by then after grasping the language and the culture a bit if I still was just miserable then I would beg and plead and cry to go home. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So they took me to Marini di Carrara, a port and beach. We walked the markets which were amazing and spanned streets and blocks. There was everything needed and imagined there. I relaxed a bit more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>An interesting thing was as I arrived in Italy things reminded me of home funny enough. There were tall pine trees lining the road, west Texas and Louisiana. A beach like Florida, and mountains like Colorado. But there was nothing of Texas here. Until I saw a small cactus at the market and I nearly pulled a Bella off of Twilight so just I could have a little piece of home with me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As we headed to the beach Dodi went home and it was just me and Luda. We went and sat on the beach which is beautiful, and touched the sea, which was nicely chilled. Freddo=cold. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We sat on the beach for a while and it was an awkward silence. I was tired and wanted to sleep but I didn’t want to mess up my schedule nor did I know how long we were staying. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We ate falcalta (?) a type of bread that is amazing, and brucshetta sandwiches. They were very good but I still wasn’t Hungary so I didn’t eat one. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A little while later we went down the beach to a little I don’t know patio place with a store next to it where you could sandwiches and pasta, as well as ice cream, slushes and drinks. A little snack bar or beach hut you could say. Luda asked me if I wanted anything and water sounded great, but I wasn’t sure of the currency yet and I still had half a bottle of water that I had refilled at the house. So I said no. We went and sat at this small table. Luda said her friends were coming and we waited a while. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once they showed up and started talking, asking me questions, joking, teaching me Italian words and even making a pact that “You teach use American cuss words, we’ll teach you Italian.” It cracked me up, especially when they started saying the basic ones. A little girl who was probably younger preteens in eh group said “shit” and I about died laughing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At that point I was having fun, I felt included in the group and after learning some words and talking, in both English and attempting Italian. I realized that I was just being stubborn and hard on myself. I had just landed yesterday and I shouldn’t be scared to try Italian. So I started asking questions and they helped with pronunciation. I was having fun, and for the first time I took a deep breath and relaxed. And my thoughts of the ultimatum disappeared. I was staying for the whole year, and they were going to have to drag me out of Italy when the time came to leave.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We went and sat down at the beach, Luda, her cousin, a friend and me. Then Lucrezia (my host sister that is in Lubbock, TX) that I “exchanged” with friends came down. I talking to them and we went to what they called a “gazebo”. It was really like a tent or sun cover, shade thing. There were chairs and they all sat around. They asked twice as many questions and I smiled and laughed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Especially when for the second time that day they said. “He is pork”. They meant pig. I cracked up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The day at the beach was fun and relaxing and it made me feel better. In fact right now I’m very optimistic about this exchange. Albeit still a little home sick, just a little. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bus ride was something new to me too. It has a lot of load shifts and at times can get packed it took a minute or two, okay maybe five minutes, to get my balance and to learn the tighter you grip the pole the more your hands sweat and the more you slip. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I also learned that Italians don’t really know the word for sunburn, in English. Because they don’t get it. Well most don’t, they just tan. So when they gave me some sunscreen that was SPF 30 I think that was the highest they had. I’m defiantly going to have to ask my mom to send me some SPF 50. I’m very fair skinned and albino white is actually tanned for me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dinner that night was good. It was this green pasta, with ham and cream sauce. I loved it. And then after dinner they always have fruit. Watermelon, cantaloupe, which they call melon in English, (I smiled at that one), and grapes, even better Tuscan grapes. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Going to bed again was easy and I slept hard until my alarm this morning. I had to wake up early so we could go to the police station to get my temporary residence card. That, like anything government, anywhere, took us all over town looking for the right thing. Finally we got it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After coming home I got on Facebook. And finally, finally Skype with my mom. But she couldn’t here me so I wrote and she talked it was good to hear her voice. And then my dad tried to Skype me but he couldn’t get it to work. It’s hard to catch them because of the time zone difference and I don’t really have a schedule yet. So it was nice to at least talk to them without e-mail. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I got to finally sit down and rest and I found my favorite chair in the house. It’s a low wing back chair that it literally 180 degrees around and is placed right in front of the window. With the light and cool breeze I about took a nap. But I’m still hesitant to sleep outside of bedtime so that I don’t mess up my schedule. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At around 5 we went back to Marini di Carrara to mail the packet for my temporary residence card to Massa. Massa and Carrara are technically the same town. This is how my host mother explained it. They are bureaucratically (?) the same but geographically different. I just nodded. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We took the car instead of the bus and it was a different car than the one they picked me up in it was literally the “town car” because it was smaller. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And while I’m on the subject of cars and driving, Italians are experts at parallel parking, like that is the only parking there is. And those scooters, don’t follow the rules of traffic unless it’s stop and sometimes to turn. Otherwise I saw them weave in and out of cars and one nearly face planted into the back end of one. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Driving here isn’t as crazy as most people thing. But when my host mother, Toni, told me that there two type of police, one from the army, one for traffic I thought “Thiers traffic cops?!”. They stop when there’s a red light sure, but as for jaywalking, I don’t think it exist as a crime here, but they do have crosswalks and most people use them in the town. They don’t honk their horn excessivly; at least I haven’t seen it yet. And Toni told me that in Napoli unless you are from there you can’t drive there because they make their own laws. Also today while getting the paperwork for the residency card she picked me up a foreign driver’s pamphlet they had out in English for me to read. I’ve only read the first page so far. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh and I just remembered while going to the post office in Marini di Carrara, the lady behind the counter help us said “Momma mia”. I thought “Oh lord, its true.”</span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">. I chuckled to myself. And then she expressed how beautiful she thought the American passports were because in Italy the pages are just plane. Also while in Marini di Carrara we went to Italy’s version of a Wal-mart called Super store. And grocery stores here are two stories, with elevators. I thought it was just the one in town because it was smaller, but turns on even the bigger one do as well. They also had special check-out lanes for the disabled and pregnant. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am going to go work on my Italian verbs. Which everyone keeps telling me how hard they are and that they spend eight years in school working on them. I’m crash coursing these babies in one. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Update on the language front, I read one of those “do not use elevator in case of fire” signs today in Italian. I was so proud of myself. Small victories right now seem huge. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Take care all. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ciao. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com1Carrara Massa-Carrara, Italy44.079337 10.10123599999997244.027822 10.024873499999972 44.130852000000004 10.177598499999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-67545566174812952672011-08-31T08:18:00.000-07:002011-08-31T08:18:15.191-07:00Irene, The Big Apple (A.K.A ,Yankie land,) and Cute Boys.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Here is my post if i was able to have gotten wireless internet yesterday at the airport.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know those of you who weren’t informed and are reading this are probably thinking this is my first post from Italy. Well I’m sorry to inform you that you’re wrong. Due to Irene my flight on Saturday was canceled because I had a layover in New York. Still do, and that’s where I’m writing from. (And I thought Houston was bad.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thankfully my dad was persistent enough with my stubborn tendency and had me rebook my flight for Tuesday. Although I still stand my ground that if my flight hadn’t been cancelled we could have made it. I just know it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that this <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bit of news is out of the way. Let’s rewind time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was packed. I really was, I just needed to put the finishing touches you could say into my bag and zip it up and I would have been just peachy and fine. Now keep in mind that this was before we figured my flight would be canceled so I still thought my flight would be on. (Keep in mind I’m referring back to Friday). I walk into the room at my mom’s house that I was bunking in while I was in town for the day and none other than the queen of the household Bassey (our Basset hound that thinks the world revolves because she breathes) is laying in the small spaced left in my bag for for my toiletries carrier. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I, like any other person who very much dislikes dog hair all over perfectly clean and packed cloths, snapped at her to get out. Well we suspect she had been beaten before we took her in (she showed up at the farm) so she instantly frightened and peed all over my bag. I was livid and scooped her up throwing her out of the room yelling as I went that I was going to find the nearest airport and send her to one of those countries that’s eats dogs. She went and hid under my mom’s and her boyfriends bed for the rest of the day and refused to come out until my mom crawled underneath there to drag her out. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So yes I was packed and ready and then I had to unpack and wash everything… twice. So yesterday between last minute errands that got postbonned now that we had more time and a visits, I didn’t get around to repacking until later that night. And my overstuffed yet well packed bag shows for it. (That Tetris that I played growing up came in handy for once). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was one before me and my mom finally fell asleep in my room, the faithful and clingy Bassey sleeping between us. (Good news though she stayed far away from my bags.) We had to wake up at four to get ready load my bags and get one ht road by five. She lives about an hour, maybe a bit more away from DFW, the airport in Dallas I flew out of. Factor in our tendencies to get lost and morning traffic that as always insane, we left right on time. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because I was leaving on Tuesday instead of a weekend my dad went back home, a near four to five hours away, and I said goodbye to him on Sunday. So after arriving at the airport a bit early due to good traffic (SHOCKER!) my mom was able to go back to the gates with me. My flight got delayed, I was about ready to rent a canoe and roe it over. Thankfully it was only fort-five minutes late and after laying around for about three hours and people watching as we laughed my mom and me hugged good-bye and I turned to board my plane. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I slept for the first part after watching out the window. DFW actually got rain that morning and there were clouds (another shocker) so there wasn’t much to watch after we got up high enough. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fortunately bit eh time I did wake up, the man across the aisle snoring is to thank for that, literally. I thank him because I woke up to see us flying along the East coast. There was water and rivers and it was beautiful. And then there were large inlets we were flying over that kept getting larger until I wondered why I didn’t look up the route and then name of the Captain that landed his plane in the Hudson and request whatever plane he was on. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I don’t mind water but my thing is why crash 14,000 feet or so only to have to swim to shore. I mean if I was meant to make one of those great swims I would have been born during the Titanic ere and owning one of those model-t fords. No not the motel ford, just one of them. I think their cute cars with personality. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while on the subject of Titanic what did exchange students do before there were airplanes and such? They took a ship across the ocean probably which if you ask me is great. Because you not only get that extra day or two not unwind and not have the stress of flying or restrictions, and those few days when your all packed and have nothing to do would be great for learning your language. It always seems their some type of paperwork keeping me from really just sitting down every day and studying. That’s not to say I don’t already know my reply when I get off my plane and they ask me how I am. “Molto Bene, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ma un po stanco.” Very good but a bit tired, that is my answer whether I sleep the whole way and wake up bright eyes and bushy tail or not. It’s like my lines in theater, it’s rehearsed, sounds good, and make me seem like I know what I’m doing. (Plus it will be a great excuse as to why I’m probably going to be wide eyed and slow and ask them to repeat themselves a million or two times. I’m horrible with accents.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After miles and miles of beautiful beaches and water I see a tall gray figure out of the water away from the main land. Of course being the southerner that I am, and even better a midlander for the past year. And for those that will Google<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Midland wondering where that is, it’s in West Texas and its flat. Like you can see for sixteen miles then stand on a Campbell soup can and see another twenty miles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think this gray figure is the Statue of liberty. Kind of looks like a bent thumb with a hang nail from the height where at. Well as we drop lower I see that it is not the statue of liberty but like a nuclear looking plant thing with smoke. So not only did I over react and was freaking out in my seat but I think I just insulted the statue of liberty, one of America’s greatest landmarks by thinking it looked similar to something that created nuclear waste. Oops!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do the same thing again with a pillar for a bridge. At this point I’m just about to close the plane window to quit making a dork out of myself when the plane pitches the captain starts his descent. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I didn’t realize JFK was so close to the water, because there for a second on our approach I thought out pilot might have been ex-air force and was having a mid-life crisis and was about to prove himself by landing this smaller sized plane on one of the many barge ships. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Thankfully we land at the airport. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s not over yet. I realized I had a Texas accent when I first moved to West Texas. It’s not as pronounced over there as it is in North Texas, but they still have on so it never went truly away. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I get off the plane and got through this tunneled walk way into the main airport, only to find myself surrounded by bustling people and a completely different set up from the quiet easily navigational DFW. I turn to ask the man where to find terminal four and not two second after I open my mouth he get this goofy grin on his face. I realized only too late not only did my accent come across a bit heavy but I said "Ya’all."I might as well put the cowboy hat I have crammed into my carry-one and painted a billboard that said “Hi I’m from Texas” on it, with neon paints and maybe add some flashing lights. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After the guy recovers, probably seeing my annoyed face, he directs me down to a gate that has a bus to take me to the terminal. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>WE DROVE AROUND THE RUNWAY AND AROUND PLANS. I was praying the whole time, comparing it to Houston traffic. It was worse because this is an International airport and these plans are huge!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had been getting glanced from people all day because of my jacket(Nay rotary Jacket for those of you who are lost by that statement), but I walk so fast they probably just saw the small sombrero that my friend and fellow Exchange student had given before he left. I was sitting down and she read the name tag I had on that said not only my name but “Ambassador to Italy.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She asked, I told, and she directed me toward my gate. It was hot in Terminal four and loud, I walked on way, and then the other, texting and calling people who had asked me how my flight had went and if I was okay as I searched. I finally found a table at Panda Express and sat down. Getting a hold of both of my parents and telling them that I was unleashed and unsupervised in New York, but doing well. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was the second I hung up my phone just how many foreign flights there were everywhere. For a second, foreign languages drowned out all English speakers. For a second I nearly had a panic attack, but took a deep breath, remembered that’s what it’s going to be like when I step of the plane in Italy and went to find me some food. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I went to Panda Express. Like I said it was hot and a madhouse I did not feel like walking far. The guy at the line had been pretty much signing as he talked to man about his order. The man didn’t speak English. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So when I stepped up, careful not give myself away and have another person give me a grin, he looked relieved that I spoke English. Saw my name tag, said he liked my name. And que my blush. (I blush as red as a tomato at the drop of a pin in an silent room, even if I’m not the one dropping it) It made everything hotter. I was about ready to go jump into that ocean we flew over. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grabbing my food I sat back down and my mother, bless her. Looked up what gate my flight was going to be assigned to since it didn’t show up on the board yet because it was so far out. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That’s where I’m sitting now. At 6:25 p.m. in New York, JFK airport. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact at this moment a cute boy that I think might be Australian walked by with an Aussie style cowboy hat. Excuse me for a minute while I covertly watch……… </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>MY flight leaves at 9:15 as long as everything stays on schedule. I’ll sit here and twiddle my thumbs and talk to the lady in front of me that also asked me about my tag, and the lady beside me. Who I know is an American citizen, but originally from Italy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’ll try to write as soon as I get settled in. I have to make sure I get a hold of my mom and dad first or I’m afraid they might come hunt me down. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh and P.S. I was going to put pictures on my blog, but was told there’s no way to do it by the masses or on a separate page so I’m going to be posting them all to my Face book. Sorry for that inconvenience.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And as my dad would say. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ciao, Baby. ;-). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Oh I and I forgot to add. Everyone has this preconceived notion that I’m going to fall in love while I’m in Italy. And according to my mother it’s going to be mafia with my luck. I think people read and watched “Eat, Pray, Love”, “When in Rome” and “Roman Holiday” way too much. Plus it’s against one of the rotary rules. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay so now. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ciao, baby. Until domani (tomorrow). Maybe. robably not, but it sounded good. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div>Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-25877503817798820192011-07-25T18:38:00.000-07:002011-07-25T18:38:31.538-07:00Where does time go?It doesn't seem like thirty days ago I did my first post for this blog. In fact I don't know where the time went. I'm down to 32 days, and the final touches are coming together. Each task completed is another drive home that this is actually happening. <br />
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Nothing big has really happened, like I said final touches. I got my visa in and my plane ticket bought. I have a six hour lay over in New York, if i'm not crying hysterically ,my face will pressed to the window. Never been that far north and i'm kind of excited about it. I'll leave the states August 27 and arrive in Italy on August 28, my first international flight ever! I went to the doctor got blood drawn for the first time and made sure I was properly vaccinated before going to Italy. I felt like a pin cushion after it was all said in done. I talked to my Rotary Club and presented them with a power point about my life in America and Texas proper titled "American Apple Pie, Texas Sweet Tea, and Little Ol' Me" that I will be showing to my host club in Italy. <br />
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And last but not least I am in my hometown of Mineral Wells for three weeks saying my last good-byes to family and friends and spending time with them before I leave. <br />
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I can't wait for Italy to be here and I want each day to go faster and slower at the same time. My Italain is slowly progressing (i'm finding four years of spanish impairing me a little), and I only have a few more things ( mostly packing) to take care of. I'm also finding out that my worry of over-packing was placed wrongly on cloths when it should have been shoes. :-). <br />
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Everyone from SCRYE is starting to leave soon, slowly trickling out of the country onto our exchanges while the inbounds slowly start trickling in. I wish all of them luck and great memories to make. If nothing big happens before August 27 my next post will be from Italy. Only 32 days...<br />
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Ciao!Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com0Mineral Wells, TX, USA32.8084605 -98.112822332.7551245 -98.1864108 32.861796500000004 -98.0392338tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6740951174122938172.post-43758916239574842862011-06-27T19:15:00.000-07:002011-07-25T18:12:10.208-07:0060 Days and counting...Okay so before before we get this show on the roll let me just say is writing is not my forte, at least not like this, so just bear with me.And yes my gramer and spelling is horrible, fell free to start a counter and correct, though please only make it constructive critiscm. <br />
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To start this off let me just say when your in an exchange program or atleast this exchange program they don't just ship you off to your country and say "Hope you have a great time". They prepare, alot, and help alot to. So first of all thank you to any Rotarian, Rortex or any one who helps Rotary Youth Exchange in general. Without your time and effort I wouldn't have this amazingoppurtunity. <br />
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Excluding all the time I spent with inbounders (People on thier exchanges from another country)my first outbound session was Outbound camp in Edmond Oklahoma. Living in Midland it was an eight hour drive to the University of Central Oklahoma campus, thankfully it was early so their was sleeping and finishing of camp homework. <br />
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The week itself is to much to write really, I would have you guys on here for hours tryin to tell you everything in detail. So let me just gloss over some of the greater parts. We had hour long lectures, Rotex (ex-exchagne students) Time, group activities, and games. Thier were speeches, hot walks, Short Italian lessons by Serena, discoveries of huge characters flaws and a costume dance. But most of all thier were tears, smiles, and laughs and by the end of the weeks I had a new family of 60 plus people who knew exactly how I felt, and who I will always cherish. If i didn't know thier name by the end of the week, I shared some crazzy memory. <br />
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Those five days felt like five years for the simple fact it was the first time I could say to someone "You know sometimes out of nowhere I get nervouse, then excited, then scared because of all the 'what ifs', then back to excited again with a little bit of anxiouse." (We now refer to this as the "Jack in the Box moments") Instead of them giving you a worried look and asking, "Are you sure you want to do this?". They reply. "I know! Me too! Glad to know i'm not the only one." or "But even though I fell like that i know i'm going. Nothings going to stop me." So it was nice to know I always have that support group taking this journey with me even if we are spread across the world. <br />
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Following outbound camp I came home ,did laundry ,crashed, woke up the next morning, and started re-packing. In order to get my student visa for Italy, I had to make a personal apperance with a guardian in Houston. Now let me say one thing, I grew up in a small town forty-five minutes west of Dallas-Fort Worth so trips to the metroplex weren't uncommon and with those trips came the familiraity of traffic. But Houston!, my goodness! I was gripping my seat and closing my eyes the whole time. It was like bumper cars on the highway! So after we got to the hotel I think my mom secretly kissed the ground, I would have to but I was prying my fingernails from the passenger seat and dashboard. May God Bless you if you live in Houston Texas and have to drive that, and if you ever loose your day job, join Nascar...<br />
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The next morning we drive all over town to get an package to mail my visa back to me, and then have to navigate traffic again to find the Consulate. We get in and I have a "Jack in the Box Moment". My heart thumps and my hand shake, I was sure I was sure I was going to be six, and I kept thinking "What am i doing?". Of course natural response is that moment is to post it on FaceBook. And my Outbound family come through for me, okay so most laughed, and some soothed, my YEO(youth exchange officer) told me to breath. So I did, and after getting called into a very impersonal cubicle with a glass window between a man with an off sense of humor(but still funny) sorts all my paper work, which had to have been three trees worth, I have my paperwork okay'ed and told I'll have it within ten days to 3 weeks. <br />
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Finally after two weeks from home I return to Midland look at the "Days to go" app on my Iphone and it says 62 days. After telling my dad this all countdowns to my leave day became private. Yes I may be daddy's little girl, so give the man a break,he has the right to fret, cry, and become slightly clingy. <br />
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These events are the major starts of my exchange. My next big tackle is writing e-mails, in Italian, to my host family, and making about a thousand safety pin american flags things. Wish me luck...<br />
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Thank you.Paige Crowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15297693007625335731noreply@blogger.com1Midland, TX, USA31.9973456 -102.0779145999999931.8945626 -102.18233809999998 32.1001286 -101.97349109999999