it's the small things

coming back to a place after being away for more than a year means that it is easy to forget the subtleties that encompass that place's identity.  

take italy for example.  it is easy to remember the gelato, the food, the extremely attractive men (who never seem to be ugly, be they 5 or 50), the wine, and the small cars.  however, as i was walking around crema the first day, i realized i had forgotten about the small things that make this place unique.  like the overt displays of affection that are a given here.  girls with their underwear hanging out of their pants, sitting on top of their boyfriends in the public square, as they make out passionately for the rest of us to see.

something else is how you have to buy your own grocery bags.  an ingenious way to make people either use less plastic or make sure they re-use it.  maybe LA should try that instead of banishing plastic altogether.

then there is paying (dearly) for bathrooms in many public places, like train stations, or at least never being able to use a bathroom unless you patronize the locale.  and the strange way that toilets flush, be it by turning a metal lever on the wall, turning a plastic handle on the wall, pressing a metal or plastic button on the wall, or simply flushing like our toilets do in the states.  there is the milk, that never comes in bottles larger than a liter.  the eggs, that never come in dozens.  the sirens of the ambulances that are tinny and short. 

and then there is the staring.  oh the staring.  you could be purple in america and they wouldn't stare at you so much.  i'm not dressed like an american, and am not doing anything strange, they just simply stare at you as you walk by.  in the states we might glance at the person walking by, but never scrutinize them closely.  i have come to the conclusion it at least partly stems from the culture of openness here, and the fact that your business is others' business, including loud, public telephone conversations on topics from credit card problems to going on ad infinitum over what a horrible person your boyfriend is.  public and private spheres collide here, and that which is your own simply becomes that of your next-door neighbor, the person in the train seat next to you, or the individual walking down the street.  my first time around i took it personally, but since have realized i can't approach it that way - it's simply a part of who they are and will just be one more thing to get used to again.

getting to (really) know you

i've barely been in italy 5 days, but they already seem like a month.  what never ceases to amaze me is that the moment you go looking for adventure, it finds you right back. 

the trip over here went incredibly smoothly, almost laughably so considering the amount of work it took to get here.  five trips to the consulate and 3 months later, by tuesday afternoon i had my visa in hand.  ninth-hour drama at its best, more like a bad movie than anything.  i was also able to say bye to erika, mirona, mauricio, and several other people at the coop before rushing back to san diego to finish packing my bags.  the next morning it was up at 3.30 am, and the flurry of activity hasn't stopped since. 

what surprised me most about my uneventful and seemingly-short two-leg trip over was that as i approached italy, i wanted less and less to be in those planes.  maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the exhaustion after the emotional uproar of thinking i wasn't going to be leaving on wednesday then, oops, by the way, you're leaving on wednesday thing.  but i was getting more and more emotional, wanting to turn back the plane the more we approached milan.  by the time we landed at 6 am, i was in a down-right bad mood.  i couldn't remember why i had wanted to come back in the first place, why i would decide to do 9 months here with no break, why i would want to leave family and friends for a place that is foreign and not my own.  nonetheless, there i was, having just gone through the passport checkpoint, and there was no going back on a one-way ticket.  i had my 95-pound and 85-pound pieces of luggage and a duffel bag around me, pondering my next move.  i decided to go outside and look for the bus instead of waiting for the ticket kiosk to open, and i realize that had i decided one second earlier or later to do so, the next part of the day might not have happened. 

an hour and a half bus ride later, i am at the train station in milan, pulling my impossibly heavy bags out of the bus, and a guy comes up with a dolly and starts putting the bags on it.  at first i protest because he's going to want money, then i concede, considering that i was not looking forward to dragging those things wherever i had to drag them.  as we walked to i didn't-know-where, still not having decided on how to get to crema because taking the train was one of my only possibilities, if not the only one, except that i would have to change trains twice with the aforementioned bags.  i then ask him if there's a bus that goes straight to crema: no.  the train's the only option: yes.  or taxi.  so, on to the taxis. 

what ensued was what lifted my spirits and showed me why i had decided to come back to this place.  we stand there, as i ask one of the taxi drivers how to get to either treviglio (to avoid a train change there) or crema.  he then tells me to ask another driver, but soon the two, and another guy, are all discussing how to get to treviglio, crema, train this, taxi that.  soon we're off in search of a taxi, one that will hold my massive luggage, not an easy task in a country full of couch-sized cars.  soon all the other drivers are involved in the search, and the whole taxi area is abuzz with activity as the first driver starts dragging one of my suitcases around as i follow helplessly behind him with the other, all the time looking for a taxi.  finally, at the end of the taxi area, is a guy who looks like the youngest of the bunch, who has a car that is big enough, and in the luggage goes.  we get in, and i'm still not decided on whether or not to go to treviglio or straight to crema.  yet the moral of the story is, i'm convinced that few are the places where an entire team of taxi drivers would crowd around you and argue with hand motions over the correct way to arrive at your destination, all while dragging your luggage around.

we decide on crema, and there the adventure really begins.  there's horrible traffic at 8 in the morning, and what should have been a 70 euro cab fare soon turned into much more.  after an hour of traffic-filled roads, we arrive in crema and first went to my apartment, while simone (we got on a first-name basis quickly - him smoking, me chomping on goldfish in the traffic) waited for me while i knocked to see if there was someone there.  of course there wasn't, and of course my italian cell phone was dead after a year of disuse.  so, back to the taxi it was, where i make a few unsuccessful phone calls on simone's phone, while he smoked another cigarette.  he then took me to the school so i could look for my tutor who's guiding me throughout this internship.  all the while the taxi meter is climbing higher and higher, past 110 euro, and i have only 95 in my wallet.  at the school, there are what seem like hundreds of formidable-looking italian high schoolers milling around while i, the american in flip-flops, explain my desperate situation in a garble of stressed-out italian to the first person who looks informative.  finally after checking with a couple of other people we find my tutor, mariella, who is the sweetest person, and completely welcoming despite my unannounced arrival (i was supposed to call her to pick me up in the afternoon from the train station in crema, thinking i was taking the train).  we then go back out to the taxi, where simone is smoking another cigarette, and has by now stopped the ever-climbing meter.  we drag my luggage out of the car, and i hand my meagre 95 euro to simone, who i think is by now enjoying himself, along with my number as asked for, as sort of compensation (though i ended up having to get a new sim card so poor guy won't be able to reach me at my old number).  

i then waited at the school while my tutor had a meeting, then we went and ate lunch at her house along with her three adorable daughters, two 7-year old twins and a 9-year-old, who, after lunch, showed me their gerbils, the dog, and then made me simultaneously watch cartoons and listen to italian music on their walkman as they brushed, played with, and put ribbons and headbands in my hair.  in the meantime i had gotten in contact with my roommate, who was coming back to crema from milan shortly, and after lunch my tutor dropped me off at the apartment.  

the apartment was another adventure.  once there, i was informed that the person who was in my room before me and was supposed to have vacated was...still there.  meaning i couldn't move in there right away (when all i wanted to do was make my bed and fall asleep).  one of the roommates was going to belgium for the week though, so i've been staying in his room, and the my-room guy should be out in a few days.  the guys are amazing, one a sicilian, vincenzo, who was teasing me within 5 minutes and vice-versa and with whom i was downloading music by the end of the night, and the other a romanian expatriate, dany, who's been here so long he's practically italian, is very sweet, speaks english incredibly well, and took me on around on his vespa and on a tour of the city after i got there.  the apartment needs a bit of a feminine touch, but it's big and spacious and my room is enormous.  there's a grocery story around the corner and the train station is a 15-minute walk away, as is the center of town.  i am hoping, and know, that i will like this place even more once i get to know it.

if the journey really is what counts, and not the final destination, that first day was a true example.  in one split second the events were plotted, as i walked out into the chilly milan morning and onto that bus.  and what was frustration and confusion coming off the plane dissolved into a multitude of examples of what had made me want to come back here in the first place.  that is not to say there will not be ups and downs, but simply that i have never wanted boring in my life, and boring, for better or for worse, i have never gotten.  and that was just the beginning.