Davide drove me to his parent’s restaurant. I asked him what was good, searching for a recommendation on what to order. “Everything is good,” he said. Well that doesn’t make anything easier.
I remember something Greta said about Davide’s restaurant having good pizza. And that was a recommendation of his anyways. Pizza it is. Now WHICH pizza? We spend a fun 20 minutes trying to translate the menu, and I decide on a pizza with a spicy salami. It’s the closest thing to American pepperoni that I can find. And I explain to Davide the difference between American pepperoni and Italian pepperoni pizza. He was surprised.
We talked about Carnivale versus Halloween.
We talked about learning other languages.
We talked about the difference between American universities and the University of Teramo.
We talked about biotechnology.
We talked about coffee (neither of us like it. Coffee. Cappucino. Coffee flavored things. Nothing.).
We talked about smoothies versus slushies versus shakes versus malts versus Italian frappes.
We talked about the difference between prosciutto cotto (cooked ham) and prosciutto crudo (dry, cured ham).
And we spent about 20 minutes talking about French fries alone. Not gonna lie, this was one of my favorite parts of our conversation. Italians have 20 kinds of cheese. Americans have 20 kinds of French fries. Regular fries. MacDonald’s fries. Potato wedges. Curly fries. Those teeny-tiny fries at Steak-N-Shake. And waffle fries.
Davide had never heard of waffle fries. So when I explained to him what they were, the look of amazement on his face was priceless. Waffle fries are my favorite, so it made his expression even better. I promised if he ever comes to America, I’ll take him to go get some waffle fries.
In my head I was planning to take him to Chik-Fil-A. He needs the whole chicken/waffle fries/sweet tea experiences. MMMMMmmmm…sweet tea. How I miss thee.
After our 20 minutes spent on French fries, I then spent another 10 minutes on the endless possibilities of cooking potatoes. Davide said they had 2 options for potatoes: cooked with meat in a soup, or cut into French fries, which can then be added on top of pizza. Weird.
These Italians need to open their minds! I told him about potato soup. Baked potatoes. French fries. Potato skins. Mashed potatoes. I felt like such an American. Again, Italians have 20 kinds of cheese, and I get to talk about the endless possibilities of potatoes. I think they win.
The pizza was AMAZING. But absolutely everything I have eaten in Italy has been amazing. Except for these stuffed olives I tried at Anna Giulia’s house. I don’t like olives, but I tried them to be polite. I probably won’t try them again…
We had a dessert that is a secret recipe of Davide’s family. Something similar to ice cream with almonds and chocolate drizzled on top. I thought I was in heaven. I was sad to leave the lovely little restaurant, but Davide wants me to try other things on the menu. So he promised that we would come back.
Plus, it’s his restaurant. So he didn’t have to pay. He can probably afford to bring me back.
This morning I woke up and walked to the main administrative building of the University to stop by the International Relations office. I sent an e-mail 3 or 4 days before, and still had no response. I figured I would just have to make a personal appearance.
All I needed was for one of them to take me to somebody named Daniela Musa to get a username and password for the University’s library wireless internet. When I get there, they tell me it’s not possible. WHAT.
I have to have the wireless Internet to do my online class. I have to do this online class to get credit at UCA. You have got to be kidding me.
Apparently, I cannot get a username for the wireless because I do not have a school e-mail. And I do not have a school e-mail because I am not a student at the University of Teramo.
Excuse me. I am taking classes, and doing homework, and taking exams at your University. How can you tell me that I’m not a student? How are you going to get other international students to come if they cannot use your facilities like any Italian student? The library’s wireless internet should be available for any student taking classes at the University, which would include me. Whether I am American or not.
Excuse my language, but they need to get their shit together.
Yes. I just cursed (which is odd for me). And on Ash Wednesday, no less. I am a terrible person. But I think the Lord will forgive me, because at this point I am just frustrated beyond all belief. I left the office incredibly upset, on the verge of tears because I couldn’t figure out how I was going to manage to keep in touch with my friends and family and finish an online class with only my lousy 3 hours of Internet at day. I stormed to the bus stop to catch a ride to the University. Maybe Marcello could help me. I planned on talking to him about it at lunch.
I arrived at the University about 10 minutes late for my meeting with another professor. I am usually early in America. But this public transportation thing is throwing me off. You either have to get to the University incredibly early, or late. Because no bus can get you there only 5 minutes before you need to be. Man, I wish I had a car.
I met with Professor Silvia Salvatici, who will be guiding me through my independent study on Women’s and Gender history.
I already LOVE her.
She did research in America the entire last semester, and her English is practically fluent and easy to understand. She is super thin, with this shocking black curly hair and a rather loud voice. We are going to get along. I’m reading a textbook published last month, and my job is to talk to her about it. Not only about the subject, but whether I liked it or not, because she is thinking about using the Italian translation for this very class in the Fall. Once again, I am the guinea pig. But growing up as the oldest of three, I am used it; I’ve actually come to like being a trailblazer.
After my meeting with Silvia, I already felt better. I traveled back into the city to meet with Marcello for lunch. On the way there I grabbed a Snickers. This stressful morning deserved chocolate. I got 4 passport photos taken and printed for when I go to get fingerprinted at the police station for that ridiculous permesso. And I walked to the main administrative building to meet Marcello.
He was right on time.
I told him about how I couldn’t get access to the wireless Internet and looked just as surprised as I was. I told him the reason, because I wasn’t “a student of the University,” and he said exactly what I thought: “But you are.” Then he started explaining how if they wanted to have other student come from abroad, they need to open their facilities, and how me being here is revealing problems in the system that need to be fixed. One of the negatives of being a trailblazer. But, I guess I’m happy to help!
Plus, he said that he would see what he could do about getting me an Internet log-on, even if that meant getting the University president’s approval.
If he can make this happen, Marcello is officially a saint.
We had lunch at a small restaurant. Nothing fancy. Actually, quite the opposite. But, true to Marcello’s word, the food was absolutely incredible! He laughed at my surprise that there was a second course, telling me that usually there is a third course as well.
Then he explained the art of drinking wine in Italy. You have it with your meal, on a normal basis. You don’t start drinking until you have started your meal. It should make your pasta taste better. And ideally it is gone by the time you finish your meal.
I’m learning a lot today!
We had spaghetti and meatballs for the first course (my first spaghetti in Italy!), followed by a second course of steak with lemon and cooked spinach. I was full and very much in food heaven. During the meal we discussed my plans after graduation, Kindles, how old people don’t understand technology, and made plans for me to come to Florence with him and meet his girlfriend and daughter. Then we talked about the possibility of me helping him recruit Italian students to go to the U.S., and I said that I would love to! I love telling Davide about the difference between Italy and America, and I love hearing him say, “I have GOT to go to America.”
I know. We are pretty awesome.
Then I have homework. Write down my experience up until now. What to worry about. What not to worry about. What could be fixed. I told him he could just read my blog, and I’m sure he’ll get most of what I am going to write. So I’ll give him both!
He is a very busy man. So after lunch, as he went to advise students on their theses, he dropped me off at the bus stop, apologizing that he could drive me back into town himself and promising me that we would be in touch
I have a feeling that we will be good friends, he and I.
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