Seven-Hour Car Rides, Survival Kits, and the Start of Spring Break

The next morning we get up and grab breakfast. The bread-and-breakfast that we stayed in had AMAZING food in the morning, and we filled up on yogurt, pastries, and tea. We went back out to the Field of Miracles to take the required pictures of us holding up the Tower. You know you have a good pose when people start laughing at you while you are taking the picture. :)

We also go to go inside the Duomo for free because it was a Sunday. We took about 3 minutes and looked at the inside. I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, though, because I service was going on. Dangit. It was very dark, though, so I doubt that my pictures would have turned out anyways.

After we had seen all that we wanted to see, we went back to the hotel to grab our belongings, and grabbed more pastries on the way out. We met up with Chiara’s mother and she took us to meet Chiara’s father, who then took us to the car. Thank goodness Davide was with us, because they didn’t speak a lick of English. Although, I could understand bits and pieces of their conversation. I laughed because at one point the mother told her husband to stop arguing with her because she didn’t want to fight in front of me and Beverley.

We stop at a fancy rest stop, and the sweet parents buy us lunch. We stop again later to use the restroom, and Beverley and I grab Ritz crackers to split on the way home. We get lost in a tiny town about 30 minutes from Teramo. Again, I laughed, because we never stopped to ask directions. Chiara’s father was driving, and I thought “So typically male. Never asking for directions.”

We stopped again for a coffee break. Wow, these Italians love their coffee.

We finally made it back to Teramo! What I thought was going to be a 5 hour drive turned into a 7-hour trip. But that was okay. What else did we have to do? It was a Sunday…nothing is open. And it definitely beats having to pay 40 Euro to catch a bus that doesn’t get into town until 10:00 at night.

Chiara’s parents drop us off outside my aparment, and we say our goodbyes and thank-yous. Once we get back up to my room, then first thing I do is plop down at my computer and upload pictures to Facebook. You can see my album here.

We look outside my window, and are excited to see that the restaurant outside my room is actually open on a Sunday! Apparently they serve really good pizza, so Beverley and I go there for dinner.

We are seated and a cute Italian guy comes over and asks us what we would like. I point to something on the menu, and he says, “Oh, no. Only drinks.” I see. He is the bartender, not our server. I laugh, and apologize, and Beverley and I get a water to share.

The pizza was delicious, though hard to eat because it was so thin. Bev and I splurge and get dessert. It was fun trying to communicate with the cute bartender, because he didn’t know much English. We managed to successfully communicate our choices for dessert, Beverley getting a vanilla gelato and me getting a lemon sherbet. Cool thing was, it was actually served in a frozen, hollowed out lemon! How cute! The bartender laughed.

He was cute. I told Beverley he was going to be my new boyfriend.

We left feeling very satisfied and retired to my room. I showed Beverley Jimmy on Facebook, and saw that he had written me a message. “Where are u??? What are u doing??? Have u thought about what I tell u??? When I see u again??? I want to speak with u about something.” Oh. My. Gosh.

So I blocked him on Facebook.

That’s right. No messaging me. No poking me. No writing on my wall. No FINDING me at all when he searches for me. It’s like I don’t even exist. Thank goodness. Creep.

Beverley checked her e-mail. “Jimmy’s added me as a friend too!” she said. She said she was going to reject it. I told her to block him completely like I did. Our original plan was to watch a movie on my laptop, but we were so exhausted that we just decided to go to bed at 10:30. That’s the earliest I’ve been to bed since I got here. It was AWESOME.

The next morning we headed out to our Italian lessons. Beverley was so excited about her sunglasses that she wanted to wear them out. But it was overcast. “Do I look stupid?” she asked. “Well, nobody else is wearing sunglasses, soooooo…you just look a lot cooler than them!” I reply. She laughs and takes them off. “We could just say they are cloud glasses?”

I told her I didn’t believe in cloud glasses.

At our lesson we filled Asta and Francesca in about our trip. Asta told us how her boyfriend Alessandro used to live outside of Pisa and told her about how he would go into to town just to flirt with the pretty girls. She wanted to know if we had been targeted. I told her we weren’t, probably because we had a boy with us. She said that was probably the reason, because the 2 of us would have definitely been “targeted” by harmless flirters in any other situation.

That night I went to class like usual, only this time I met up with a new friend named Paolo. He had added me on Facebook and sent me a message, saying he hoped he didn’t alarm me with his random request, but that he recognized me from class. He remembered Professor Burroni saying that I was American, and wanted to say something to me, but kept getting pulled away after class or having to do something that he never got the chance to introduce himself. I was ecstatic when he messaged me. Someone who speak English! In my class! How awesome!

So I finally met him in person Monday night. He is super sweet, and said I could sit by him in class so I’m not alone with my Italian-English dictionary like every other lecture. It is so nice to have a new friend in that class.

Class ended early, but a couple of minutes after the bus picked up. Meaning I would have essentially 30 minutes to wait before another one showed up. Paolo offered to give me a ride on his Moped.

I have always had this dream to ride through the streets of an Italian city on the back of a Moped with an Italian guy. Think, The Lizzie McGuire Movie…

So I took his offer, hopped on the back of the bike, grabbed on to his shoulders, and off we went! It was so much fun! He dropped me off at the store by my apartment, and told me if I ever needed anything to just let him know. I told him thanks, and that I would see him in class the next day, then he drove off.

The rest of the week progressed pretty normally. Wednesday I got a random phone call, and the person on the other end didn’t speak English. I managed to understand that it was the mail delivery man, but I was at the University waiting on a bus. There was no way to get back home.

He left a sticker on my door, so I sent Paolo a message asking him to translate. I had to call the number given and ask for someone who spoke English.

I did just that, and managed to explain to the lady what the problem was. After first giving her the incorrect shipping number (There were 2 numbers; I just took a guess), she finally figured it out and told me they would deliver the package between 9:00 AM and 6:00 PM the next day. Are you kidding? I have to be at home for 9 hours waiting for them to show up? I asked if she could tell me a specific time, but she couldn’t. I had Italian lessons the next morning. I just hoped they wouldn’t show up that morning.

So I waited from 12:30-6:00 that evening. No package. I was a little upset, because I wanted to go running that afternoon. But nooooooooooo. I had to wait around on the postman who never delivered.

That night, Francesca, Asta, me, and possibly Beverley were going to meet up for pizza and see a movie in Italian. We arranged to meet at Don Miguel’s pizzeria and (at my request) if the cute guy with gorgeous blue eyes was working, we would eat there. If not, we would grab a kebab.

On my way to meet the girls that night, I see Jimmy. Crap. It’s been almost a week since I ran into him. I keep trucking it in the direction of Don Miguel’s. He sees me and asks where I was going. “To meet my friends!” I say over my shoulder as I keep powerwalking past him. “Oh, all right.” he replies, and continues down the street. What? He didn’t follow me? SUCCESS! I think he finally got the point and will leave me alone. It’s about time.

I see Francesca, and only Francesca, waiting outside the pizzeria. I guess Beverley was coming, and Asta must be only minutes behind me. “Ciao!” I say. “Ciao!” Francesca replies. “He is working,” she says as she motions with her head to the pizzeria. “So we will eat here.”

My night keeps getting better and better.

Asta shows up about 30 minutes late. She thought we were meeting at a different pizzeria across town! We go in and order. I tell the beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy what I would like, and he laughs, smiles at me, and puts it in the oven. We sit down after paying, and enjoy our pizza. 20 minutes later Beverley comes in and dramatically plops herself down in the chair across from me. “You made it!” we exclaim. I started laughing at her, because she looked so out of breath.

“I got dropped off on the other side of town,” she said. “I trekked it all the way over. Oh, and I think I saw Jimmy. At least, someone said ‘Hello’ to me in English and it looked like him.”

I told her that it probably was him since I ran into him earlier. She says she wants to get a pizza, and I told her I would be happy to accompany her since that meant I would get to talk to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy again. Beverley decides she wants a pizza with broccoli on it. “How do you say ‘broccoli’ in Italian?” she asks me. “Uh, broccoli.” I reply.

When beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy asked her what she wanted, she pointed and said “Broccoli?” He pointed to the correct pizza and we said “Yeah!” I asked him how to say broccoli in Italian as he cut a piece for Beverley, and he said, “Broccoli,” smiling as I fell hopelessly into his bright blue eyes. We threw our hands up in victory as he put it in the oven, and he laughed at us. “Where are you from?” he asked, looking at me. “America.” “Canada.” He nodded his head. Then he had to go in the back to get something. So Beverley and I moved down the bar.

When he came back out, there were no customers, and he looked like he wanted to talk. So I went back over.

“What part of America?” “Arkansas?” He looked confused. “Ar-kan-sas,” I said, pronouncing it like “Ar-Kansas.” Then he understood. I have started pronouncing it both ways, because I have found that Italians usually only understand when I pronounce it “Ar-Kansas.” Silly silent “s” throws them all off.

He asked me where that was, and I tried to draw a makeshift USA with my finger on the glass covering all the pizzas. “Sud-oeste” (southwest), I say. “Texas?”

“OH, Texas!” Of course everyone knows Texas. By then Beverley’s pizza was ready, so we went down to the register to pay. He printed out her receipt, gave her change, and we said thanks. As he went back to his position at the pizza he cast one last look over his shoulder at me.

I sighed. I just talked to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy (whose actual name is Andrea). My night is made.

We sit back down at the table, and Asta goes, “Well?” with that look that said it all. “He asked where I was from. Well, where we were from,” I said. “But he was really only talking to her,” Beverley said, smiling at me.

I sighed again.

After we finished our pizzas, we decided to grab a cornetto, since Asta had never had one. To my dismay, beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy was across the restaurant talking to his boss or something. I kept looking at the door as we left, hoping to catch one more glimpse. But, he was gone.

We grabbed a cornetto and headed to Francesca’s car, with her complaining the entire time that we make her eat to much. The woman is TINY; she needs to eat more. Being around us will be good for her. We get to the theatre, and watched that movie “Il Concerto.” Despite being in Italian, I managed to understand what was happening, and very much enjoyed the movie.

Afterwards, Francesca and I drive out to Colledara to drop off Beverley, then she swings me back to Teramo to drop me off. Between talking to beautiful blue-eyed pizza guy, seeing a great movie, and just enjoying company with good friends, it had been a good night.

The postman called me again Friday morning, but this time the guy spoke English. He said that when they came by yesterday, someone told them that no Anna Alderson lived at my address. That's weird. I told him that I would be here, and he said they would be coming between 12 and 12:30. I went running early, so I would be back in time to catch the mailman.

When he arrived, he brought TWO packages. One from my aunt and uncle, and the other from a bookstore. MY TEXTBOOK FOR WOMEN'S HISTORY! Finally! I can get started on this class.

I went back up to my apartment and opened up my aunt and uncle's care packages. I was speechless. Someone has VERY impressive packing skills, considering the TONS of stuff they crammed into that box. It was full of goodies that were distinctly American. A perfect survival kit. Included were Oreos, Girl Scout Cookies (my two favorite kinds: Samoas and Thin Mints), green tea, sweetners, hot chocolate, Crystal Light mix, Us Weekly and Seventeen magazines, Cheez-Its, Easy Mac, Rice Crispies, Strawberries and Cream oatmeal (again, my favorite!), pens and calendars from their log home business, toothpaste, 2 bars of Dove soap, Advil, Tylenol, and razors, along with a handwritten postcard from the fam. I can't even explain how excited and thankful I was. My day was BEYOND made. :)

That night 5 of Romeo’s friends came over, so I met and hung out with them. One of his friends Stefano actually spoke English, so I had some good conversation with him. We ended up going out that night, leaving Romeo home because he was too drunk to walk straight. I’ve decided I love being sober, because it makes it that much more entertaining to watch drunk people. So, leaving Romeo and Renato behind, the rest of the group and me went to a bar to get drinks and tea. I had a good time, even though Stefano was the only one who spoke enough English to hold conversation with. They were going out dancing that night, but I told them I would go back and check on Romeo and Renato.

We said our goodbyes outside my apartment, and I went up. When I returned, no Romeo or Renato in sight. Oh goodness, I wonder where they went? I laughed to myself and went to sleep.

Last night we celebrated my roommate Valeria’s birthday with a huge dinner and lots of her friends over at the house. The dinner was delicious; her sister Alessandra and Alessandra’s boyfriend Roberto had come to visit just for the occasion. During the preparations, Roberto and I talked about lots of things. He didn’t speak English, but we were able to communicate about a lot, regardless! He has a MacBook Pro and iMac, and noticed mine. We talked about those. We talked about my travels. He loves opera, and I love opera. So we talked about that and musicals and he showed me a fantastic Italian opera soprano on YouTube.

At dinner, 2 of the gentleman visiting were obviously friends, but they obviously liked to push each other’s buttons, especially when one had drunk a little too much wine. I don’t know what they were arguing about, but I heard the inebriated one call his friend a “false Communist” and “Fascist.” The rest of the party was just laughing and laughing. There other friend sat hopelessly to the side rolling his eyes.

They went out that night, and too tired and not up for going out, I stayed in. Plus, it was Daylight Savings Time, meaning I was already losing an hour of sleep. By the time I rolled into bed, it was 1:00 AM, meaning it was really 2:00 AM once I put my clocks forward.

I woke up this morning, hoping to go to the beach or shopping mall with Beverley. But she never called. I just sunbathed in my room and enjoyed being lazy. Which is normal for me here. Plus, tomorrow starts my 3-week Spring Break, so I need to rest up beforehand, right?

This week I’m off to Florence.

The week after is Dublin.

And the week after is Barcelona and Madrid.

This should be FUN. :)

In Case You Didn't Know, There Are Actually TWO Leaning Towers

My phone alarm buzzed at 5:00 AM. Time to get ready. Beverley and I were in a stupor from our 5 and 3 hours, respectively, of sleep. But that couldn’t stop our excitement of going to Pisa. We head out the doors around 5:50, to go grab some breakfast at a bar Bev frequents before Italian lessons in the morning. As we walked along the street the vendors for the Saturday morning market were beginning to arrive, setting up their goods for the day ahead. No one else was out. It was very strange. Then again, I don’t know how many people are willing to catch a 7:00 AM bus to Pisa; especially if you live here and have a car.

But we are foreign. And we have no car. 7:00 AM bus, it is!

We arrive at the bar, and I think the man at the register was surprised to see us. He asked if we had been out dancing. No, just catching a bus to Pisa. He serves us our tea and wishes us a safe trip. We arrived a little later than our stated time of 6:00, so I was worried that Davide was going to be waiting on us. He, however, didn’t show up until 6:20ish. He went to be at 2:45, he said. Wow…he is certainly dedicated to come this early!

We headed out around 6:40 to grab Davide a ticket. After he bought it from the travel agency, we walked over to the bus stop where people usually catch rides to Rome. Beverley jumps up and down trying to see across the Piazza Garibaldi, above the wall of construction work in the center of the piazza. There were a couple of buses. I didn’t think buses ever picked up by the travel agency. Then again, I was never up and about at 7:00 in the morning to find out.

We decide to walk back across the piazza, and I nearly lose my ticket. It somehow fell out of my bag on the ground. Thank goodness Bev realized before I had even taken two steps. We make it over to the buses. They were in fact going to Florence, our destination. Thank goodness we walked back over here!

The ride was pretty uneventful, besides me almost losing my ticket again. It had fallen between my feet somehow. I honestly think it had a mind of it’s own and was trying to escape. The 3 of us sat in the very back of the bus, because it was the only row that had enough seats across for all of us. On the way to our first bus change, we talked about random vocabulary words and made up silly ways of remembering them. We taught Davide the difference between “fun” and “funny.” Beverley and I did most of the talking. I think Davide was too sleepy to do much contributing.

We stop at a rest stop off the highway, and kill some time by looking at the food and taking pictures. An elderly gentleman was coming down a set of concrete stairs to where the buses were parked when he lost his balance and fell off the side. These stairs didn’t have a railing, because they were only 4 steps high and meant to get people from the pavement up the 2 feet to the sidewalk. Ambler travelers, like ourselves, chose just to step up the 2 feet without messing with stairs.

Regardless of how few stairs there were, it was a long fall. It was one of those horrible moments the you saw happen in slow motion but couldn’t move fast enough. I didn’t know what to do once he hit the ground. I can’t speak to him in Italian, and I was simply to shocked to conjure up my limited vocabulary. One of the bus drivers comes over to see if he is okay, and Beverley tells the elderly gentleman, “Aspeta! Aspeta!” (Wait! Wait!), as he tried to pull himself up. His head was bleeding, and his hand was scratched. The bus driver tried to have him go to the bathroom to clean up, but the man refused.

I really hoped he was okay, but there wasn’t much we could do.

After we were sure that he could at least walk, we loaded our bus to Florence. We tried to sit in the back again, but the ticket man exclaims, “Regazzi! Regazzi! Qua, per favore.” (You guys! You guys! Here, please.) pointing to seats closer to the front of the bus. I guess he didn’t want any one sitting past a certain point? Davide will have to sit alone, I guess. We take our seats, and Beverley and I throw our backpacks into two seats across the aisle. I hope ticket-man doesn’t get upset; I highly doubt that anyone will be boarding after this point. He walked by checking tickets and counting heads. “He runs a tight ship,” Bev whispers to me. Well, he didn’t say anything about backpacks. So he’s still on my good side.

The bus ride there was pretty uneventful. The most exciting thing was my impression of Igor at one of the stops along the way. Davide fell asleep for most of the ride, and Beverley and I managed to find something to talk about for the 5-hour ride. But we are girls; talking comes naturally.

We finally arrived in Florence, and what is the first thing we do? Hit up the MacDonald’s.

I had a McFlurry and fries. It was delicious. The place was 2 stories, and absolutely packed. We finally found a small table, without chairs. No big deal, we’ll just stand. We’ve been sitting on a bus for hours, anyways.

The next thing to do was to get a train ticket to Pisa. We walked down to a larger piazza, determined to find the station for ourselves. We turn around and Beverley says, “Is that it? I see trains!” The station was directly across from where our bus just parked.

Well, they certainly make this easy, don’t they?

Beverley buys some sunglasses at the market, with my professional assistance. She told me before that sunglasses just don’t look right on her face; I told her that was impossible and that we would find the perfect pair. She bought some and was going to wear them. I made fun of her because it was overcast outside, and turned to Davide. He had is aviators on.

“They are cloud glasses!” he said. I told him I didn’t believe in cloud glasses.

We bought tickets to Pisa, and for some reason I thought the tickets were meant for 30 minutes before the actual time. Of course our train would be picking up at the farthest point of the station. We rush over to the terminal, only to wait. And wait. Beverley points out the ACTUAL time of arrival, so we go back to the main hub of the station and buy chocolate.

Our train finally arrives, and we board to Pisa! On the way there, these high school kids came into our car and hid in the bathroom. The unusually tall Italian conductor/ticket-checking man comes into our car and stands outside the tiny bathrooms. He says something in Italian, trying to get the troublemakers to come out. He wasn’t letting them ride for free. One by one the 6 kids leave the train…I was simply amazed by how they managed to fit ALL of them in those claustrophobic stalls.

Good try kids. But you aren’t getting away with that one.

Then entire train ride there, Davide is texting his friend who lives in Pisa and planning to meet up with her. It will be nice to have our own personal tour guide of sorts! We make it to Pisa, exhausted from our long ride and needing to freshen up. We arrive at what we thing is our stop. Then in a moment of panic think it’s not our stop, and hop quickly on the train. Davide asks a rider if this is our correct stop. She says it is, and in another moment of panic we hop off the train before it closes its doors and move on.

All this hopping on and off and on and off happened in a matter of 2 minutes. We move fast.

We walk underneath the station to get to Pisa. The next thing I know a girl in a long black coat with dyed red-orange hair comes flying by, says “Hello” to me and Beverley, and literally attacks Davide in a hug. That must be his friend.

Davide introduced us to her. Her name was Chiara, and she was a little silly and different, but incredibly sweet and fun to be around. She took us to our hotel, where I had made a reservation online. We spent 10 minutes trying to find my reservation on her list. Not there. Maybe they spelled my name wrong? Whatever was closest to my last name wasn’t for a double bed though.

I was stressing out. Beverley told me everything would be okay, and we ended up getting a room with two double beds so Davide wouldn’t have to pay for a room all by himself. I would check if they had charged my credit card online once the boss got in for the night. For now, we had a room. That’s all that mattered.

We put up our things, and relaxed for about 5 minutes. Then, Davide arranged with Chiara to take us around. She showed us the river that separates North and South Pisa, told us some interesting things about the local architecture, showed us the building that Galileo Galilei was born in, explained that Davide should do all the ordering because shopowners charge more for coffee, etc. to obvious tourists, pointed out that best gelato shop in town and a good sandwich place, and finally took us to the Field of Miracles.

It was incredible.

I was bound and determined to climb the Leaning Tower, so we go get tickets and (to our surprise) are allowed to go straight up. Chiara says to call her and we can do something for dinner, and leaves us to our Tower climb.

Davide takes off like a little kid on Christmas.

I guess he never HAS been here before, so his excitement is just like ours. We quickly ascend the Tower (also because we didn’t have too much time before it shut down for the night). The steps never seemed to end. We got to one opening, and thinking we were at the top rested for the view. “Keep going,” one of the security people said. Oh, more stairs. Okay.

We kept climbing.

We got to another opening where 3 bells line the Tower. This must be the top. We were told to keep walking, and then directed to a tiny flight of stairs about 2 feet wide. Just wide enough for my hips to pass through.

We kept climbing.

We FINALLY get to the top, and I take a few pictures before my battery dies. Just my luck. I try my second battery, forgetting if it was charged or not. It wasn’t. I managed to trick my camera and get a few more shots. But it finally died for good.

The view was magnificent. We asked a guy in Italian to take a picture of us. He answered in English. “Oh! You speak English!” I said. “Yeah!” he said, laughing. Beverley and I walked around the Tower balancing against the lean as we moved from side to side. Davide stood hunched over clinging to the bar in the middle of the Tower, away from the edge. “Are you okay?” Beverley asks. “I’m scared!” he said. What? This guy who had fearlessly RAN up the 294 stairs was now scared? We thought he was joking at first, and pretended to throw ourselves over the edge. “Noooo!” he exclaimed. He was really scared. Oh goodness.

It was time to go down anyways. Fighting the lean of the Tower was more difficult going down the stairs than up it. The Tower had 3 different architects, each trying to correct the tilt and adding his own artistic flair. You could even see when architects changed by paying close attention to the window style and you move up (or down) the circling steps.

We get to the bottom, a little dizzy, and decide to walk around the other building. Outside the Bapistry is a large field…which I deemed Make-Out Central, due to the countless number of couples enjoying each other’s company on the soft green grass.

Too bad I didn’t have some beautiful Italian boy to make out with. Oh well, life moves on.

And so did we. We unanimously agree that a nap would be fantastic before dinner, and rest up in the hotel, my feet absolutely killing me. I thought a pair of flat boots would be great for trekking across Italy. I was wrong. Never. Again. Tennis shoes all the way.

Or my TOMS. I may have to try those out in Florence.

During our rest, Beverley decides to grown down a couple of years and starts jumping on the bed. We take pictures, and Davide becomes amazed by the picture I caught of him jumping up like Spiderman. After getting our 5-year-old impulses out of us, we head out to meet Chiara for dinner.

We walk around for what seemed like ages trying to find a place to eat. The original restaurant Chiara wanted to take us to was full, so she had to think of another place. After 30 minutes of walking around. I was getting irked, because when I’m hungry, my temper shortens. And I was starving, meaning my nice demeanor wasn’t going to last if we didn’t find a spot to eat. And quickly. We settled on a homey little place that served great home-cookin’, and Chiara said she wouldn’t eating with us. Her parents were in town, so she would be eating with them. They also lived in Teramo and offered to drive us back so we wouldn’t have to pay for a train and an expensive bus ticket. How sweet of them!

After dinner we went back to the Field of Miracles to see the Tower at night. It was beautiful all lit up. On the walk back we teach Davide the difference between certain words in English. In Italian, the letter “I” is always pronounced like the “ee” in “sheep.” So, they often pronounce English words the same, prouncing “rip” like “reap” for example. So Davide wanted to know the difference between “beach” and “b****” and “sheet” and “s***,” because to him the 2 words in the pair sounded the same. We enlightened him and tried to demonstrate the short “I” sound. His misunderstanding definitely made for some good jokes on the walk back.

We stop by a bar to grab some tea before heading back. When we at last made it to our hotel room, Davide and I decide to shower. He complained that his was the worst shower he had ever taken. I didn’t think mine was too bad, except that I couldn’t get my water to heat up for a long time. I was bit by bit adjusting the tap, talking to Beverley the entire time. I said something about not wanting to burn my “rump” and she starts cracking up. Apparently she thought the word “rump” was funny.

We all crawl into bed after I brush my teeth and say our goodnights. We have a long trip tomorrow. Okay, Bev, hit the lights.

Goodnight, Pisa.

Not Exactly a Midnight Wal-Mart Run...But Close.

Yes. The 7 hours between 7PM and 2AM had enough craziness in them ALONE to deserve a post. Read on…

That night I waited to hear from Beverley about when she was coming into town. 7:00, nothing. 8:00, nothing. 9:00, nothing. What in the world? She calls around 9:30. Apparently she was at the grandparent’s house, and her host parents had just disappeared after dinner. It was far too late to catch a bus, and she had no way of getting back to the house. Okay, call me when you get home., I told her. She called me from the house, wondering what she should do. I told her to ask the parents if they could drive her into Teramo, since they told her the other day that she could come with me. Plus, I had a hotel and TWO tickets; maybe that will give them some incentive.

Beverley called me back AGAIN saying she must not be very good at asking for things, because her host parents were going to bed now. She would look for a taxi if she could.

I had a nasty feeling that she wasn’t going to be able to find a ride. So I text Anna Giulia, Greta, and Davide. No answer from any of them. Greta was on chat, so I asked if she would be up to a roadtrip to Colledara. She never answered.

I called Anna Giulia. She answered, but said she wouldn’t be able to take the car tonight. My last hope was Davide.

I called him. “Sorry I didn’t answer your SMS,” he said. “I got a new phone and don’t’ have money on it yet!” I said it was fine and explained my situation to him. I needed to pick up Beverley from Colledara because we were going to Pisa in the morning. And I needed a car. And I would pay him gas money if he could just drive me out there.

I was 95% sure that he wouldn’t be able to do it. “Okaaaay,” he said. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Oh my gosh. He is amazing.

Beverley calls me again saying that a taxi isn’t probable and there was no way to catch the bus from another town because she would have had to call the bus agency today to let them know to stop at a non-scheduled pick-up place. “It’s okay. I’m coming to pick you up!” I said. “What?” “Davide will pick me up here and we are coming to get you. We’ll be there in 45 minutes.” “This is kinda weird…but okay!” she replied

I grabbed my Google Maps directions and ran down the stairs. Davide rolled up outside my apartment and we headed out to Colledara. It was 11:00 PM.

We picked up Beverley and drove the 20 minutes back to Teramo, laughing at how ridiculous the whole situation was. I don’t know what I would have done without Davide. We told him he was the best driver ever, because he found his was to the tiny town of Colledara without my Google directions AND because he was willing to be chauffeur for the night. “Cornetto, anyone?” I say. We were definitely up for it.

Italians must not take random late-night roadtrips very often. I’m so used to randomly driving around town or making a Wal-Mart run at 11 or 12 at night, that this almost felt normal to me. Davide had never done anything like it. Life is so different here.

We were talking about the roadtrip in the cornetto shop, when a guy walks in and orders some food. He comes next to Beverley and says, “Excuse me. Can I take this?” In English? I thought I imagined it, so I didn’t pay any more attention and let it slide. It must have been this crazy night playing tricks with my mind. When we were talking about something else though, he said something in agreement, in English again!

Turns out this guy was born in Teramo and spent 6 years working in different parts of Great Britain. He said he didn’t run into many people that spoke English in Teramo, so whenever he did he couldn’t help but say something. I completely understood. Once again, though, his conversation was mainly aimed at me, even though there were 2 other people with me. I guess I have to get used to this. He wasn’t a creeper; it was just random to have a guy in a cornetto shop speak to me in English. We said goodbye and headed outside.

Davide mentions that he has never been to Pisa before. Beverley says, “Well, why don’t you come with us!?” He says he has to work, but he gets this childlike gleam in his eye and says, “Buuuuuuuuut, I can have some one cover for me. What time does the ticket office open? I can go ask my parents?!”

He gets so excited that once we get in the car, he forgets to go by the ticket office first to see if he can even get a ticket before our 7AM bus. I remind him, and we laugh as he turns the car around. I hop out, run to the door, and throw my hands up victoriously on the run back. “6:30! We can get you a ticket! YAY! Now all we have to do is hope your parents will let you go!”

We drive to Davide’s restaurant. His mom is going to think I’m crazy. First, I drag her son out to Colledara at 11:00 at night. Then I have him planning to travel to Pisa within 7 hours of departure time. She’s probably thinking, “This American girl is trouble, taking my son on spur-of-the-moment road trips.”

Amazingly, both his parents say yes. We plan to meet for breakfast at 6 and grab him a ticket afterwards.

Davide drops Beverley and me off at my apartment, and we finish my packing. I take a shower and finally roll into bed around 1:45. We are waking up at 5AM…3 hours of sleep. This trip better be worth it.

But I’m more than sure that it will be.

I Should Have Spelled My Name Wrong

So it’s been a LONG time since I updated. 1.) I’ve been busy with school and travels, and blogging isn’t at the top of my priorities right now. 2.) I haven’t had as many crazy things happen to me, compared to my first month here. By this point, I’ve lived in Italy almost 2 months to the day. I am finally confident in the normalcies that define Teramo life. I no longer tick off the lady at the supermarket because I don’t know how to print off labels for my fresh produce. I can catch a public bus and take classes at the University without feeling like I’m flying by the seat of my pants. My nights are spent in the kitchen making dinner and at my computer chatting with people back home. The past 2 weeks have been…regular. Strange.

Who would have thought that I would run into creeper Jimmy 4 times out of a 7-day week:

Monday night: I go to the grocery store. Of the 10 or 12 groceries in Teramo I just HAD to choose this one. I was perusing through the tomato sauce aisle when I see someone coming my direction. Jimmy. CRAP. He asks how I was doing, comments on the new purple streak in my hair, and asks me out for another drink. I told him I had to study. “What about tomorrow?” “I don’t know,” I said. He gave me his phone number (I made him write in on a piece of paper so he wouldn’t know I had a cell phone) and told me to call him. I didn’t.

Wednesday night: ST. PATTY’S DAY! I call up Anna Giulia and tell her we must go out to dinner at the pub. It’s Irish (sort of) and it’s St. Patty’s Day and I can’t go another day without seeing my friend. I meet her friend Ada, who spent 6 months in California. Needless to say, she speaks very good English. We had burgers and waited for Davide and Greta to show up.

I decided that for some reason, American burgers are just better. Maybe they are infused with grease and could cause a heart attack with one bite, but the burger I had just didn’t compare. Even to my mom’s burgers at home…it must just be an American thing. Mom's burgers are AMAZING.

Davide and Greta arrived, and we all decided to go get a cornetto (like usual). After we downed those beautiful pastries, we had a photo shoot outside of the shop. As we were taking photos, 2 guys came walking by and had to squeeze by us to pass. Greta let them go by, and I look up to see Jimmy. He smiled at me and kept walking. I let out a sigh of relief…and told my friends, “We have to go. That was Jimmy!” I had told them about him at dinner, and they all turned to look. “Don’t look!” I exclaimed. “Let’s just go!” I was laughing, because at least I had 4 other people with me that time. Anna Giulia said his accent was funny; he definitely wasn’t Italian. Just as I thought.

Thursday night: I spend the afternoon/evening at Italian lessons and then in the library trying to move forward in the online class. The bus drops me off in the largest piazza in town, and I have a 10-ish minute walk back to my place. I made plans to drop of my computer at my apartment and run to the grocery store as I scrolled through different artists on my Ipod. I look up to make sure I’m not about to walk over some slow-moving Italian old lady when I see him walking my direction with HIS Ipod in. Jimmy.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

He sees me, beelines, and turns and walks with me. The questions begin. Where are you going? What are you doing tonight? What are you listening to? I made it a point to walk continuously away from being anywhere near him in proximity, but he would close the space between us. I probably switched 3 or 4 times from his left to his right trying to add at least 5 feet of bubble space, taking the chance to switch every time I hit a curb. I made it obvious that I didn’t want to talk to him.

“Why didn’t you call me when you were out with your friends?” “Uhhh….because I was with my FRIENDS. Why would I call you?”

“Well, when can we get a drink?” “I don’t want to get a drink with you alone.”

“I know, that’s why you go with me.” We probably went through just this part of the conversation six times alone. I finally realized that he understood me as saying, “I don’t want to go to a bar alone,” which is why he kept saying he would go with me. I decided not to walk back to my house and made a trip to the bread shop. I could say bye and go inside and he would be gone when I get back. Of course he is more persistant than that.

When I got to the shop, I said, “Okay, I’m going in here. Bye.” He said, “I’ll wait for you out here. If that’s okay.” Good gosh. I gave him a weird look and went inside. Too bad there wasn’t a huge bouncer in here that could tell this guy to lay off. But all the workers at the break shop are nice ladies. Darn.

I walk in the direction of my house and he keeps saying that he wanted to know if he was disturbing me. If he was, he would stop. We stop at the corner; I was not showing him where my apartment was. “So, am I disturbing you?” “Well, kind of!” I reply. Even when I say that, he said that he would give me time to think about whether I wanted to be friends or not. I’m not going to need that time, thanks.

I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to convince him (without knowing it) that I don’t have a cell phone over here. “You don’t have a phone?” he asked. It dawned on me, “Nope,” I said. “Why not?” “Uhh…I don’t need one? Who am I going to call anyways?” This entire time I am praying that my phone doesn’t go off.

“Well, how do you meet up with your friends then?” By now I’m just annoyed. And I’m making it pretty apparent. “Facebook.” “You’re on Facebook?” No buddy, I just said that for fun. “Yes.” “What’s your Facebook name?” “Anna.” “Surname” “Alderson.” He looked at me funny and said, “What?” “Alderson.” He held out his phone and told me to type it. I look back now and realized I should have typed it incorrectly. Too late. It actually worked out better this way, though. I’ll explain later.

“Okay, I’m going to go now.” He laughed and asked why. “Because. Goodbye Jimmy.” If he couldn’t tell that I was annoyed and freaked out and giving him the stay-away-from-me-you-creep vibe, then he is NOT the brightest crayon in the box.

I went down the street, passed my apartment and turned the corner. After a few minutes, I peeked around the wall. No Jimmy. Finally.

Friday afternoon/night: I was waiting for Beverley to call. I had booked our hotel in Pisa, bought 2 bus tickets, and was about to pack. I decided to take a waltz around the city, because for some reason they had the market running on Friday afternoon. I thought this was just a Saturday morning thing…SA-WEET! I spend about 20 minutes looking at the tables. It was more craft fair based, with woodworkers, textile people, baked goods sellers, and crepe people filling the piazza in front of the Duomo. It reminded me of the War Eagle and Applegate craft fairs back home. Funny how little comparisons like that in Italy of all places can send good memories of home. As I am walking through the fair, I see Jimmy and a friend walking my direction.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I slide my sunglasses over my eyes and pretend to be looking at my feet as I picked up my pace. “Please don’t see me,” I thought. Not likely. I have blonde hair, with a purple streak, and I am wearing a bright pink jacket.

By some miracle he didn’t see me. I wasn’t taking any chances, though. I powerwalked all the way home checking over my shoulder every now and then. That was close. Thank goodness I’m leaving for Pisa tomorrow. No Jimmy there for SURE.

I sit down at my computer to see if Bev had said anything about coming to Teramo. I had a friend request…from Jimmy. Only his name started with an X and was definitely NOT Italian. Who IS this guy? I’ll just let his Friend Request sit unanswered for now.

"No, Really. You Should Meet My Son."

We woke up the next morning, and after a light breakfast of yogurt, Beverley and I decided to find tickets to Giulianova. I didn’t think we would be able to, considering that the ticket office was closed the last time Beverley tried to return home on a Sunday. But it was worth checking. And if they are closed, maybe the travel agency is open.

It was a big negative on both places. Certainly SOMEWHERE had to sell bus tickets, though. The city buses and buses to bigger cities were still running that day. We called Francesca, our Italian teacher, and she said that the bar by the Piazza San Francesco would be selling tickets on a Sunday. By my house…okay back the OTHER direction.

As we were walking, I pulled out my mini dictionary to look up the word “ticket.” If we were going to buying them, I suppose I needed to know how to say it. The word was biglietto, or biglietti for more than one. A difficult word, so I was practicing saying it while looking at my dictionary.

The next thing I know, this older gentleman (he was probably in his late 40s) was saying something to me. He had two friends with him, and he kept motioning to my dictionary. “You speak Italian,” I kept thinking. “Why do you want to borrow my dictionary?”

We finally decided to tell them that we were looking to buy bus tickets to Giulianova. They said “Noooooo. Non posso.” We tried to tell them that our Italian teacher told us we could buy them at the Piazza San Francesco. The gentleman decided between themselves that we could buy them at a bar near the Piazza Garibaldi. Bar? I asked. Yes, they said.

We said “Grazie” and started heading to one of the multiple bars near the Piazza Garibaldi. We had only walked about 20 feet when the gentleman who first approached us motioned for us to follow him into a magazine store. “This isn’t a bar,” I thought. “But okay.”

He asked the employee where we could buy tickets, and they said at a specific bar near the Piazza Garibaldi. So, being the nice gentlemen that they were, they offered to take me and Beverley to the bar. I didn’t think they meant any harm, so we followed them. Me and the main guy in the front, Beverley and his two friends behind us.

On the walk over, the man I was walking with started asking me questions. Why are you in Teramo? Where do you live? (Okay, these questions must just be normal for Italians to ask. But HIS asking them was soooo much less creepy than Jimmy’s asking them). When I said I was studying Communications, he started saying something about his figlio (son) and studying Communications at the same university as me.

The next thing I know, he is telling me that we should exchange phone numbers so I can call him and meet his son. Keep in mind, the majority of this conversation (minus a couple words here and there) is completely in Italian. So I second-guess myself, and laugh. Certainly I misunderstood him. Not to mention, this entire time all 3 gentleman are directing most of their conversation towards me. Why do I attract all the attention? Talk to Beverley!

We get to the bar where the tickets were supposed to be located. My new friend asks about buying bus tickets, and the lady points us to another bar across the Piazza Garibaldi. We all sigh in frustration, laughing at our luck, and walk over to the other bar.

We finally get there. Guess what? No tickets.

The gentlemen tell us they are sorry, but they don’t think we can buy tickets on Sunday. I was upset, because I really wanted to get to Giulianova. Then, the main guy says something about us going with him to Giulianova. He was offering to give us a ride out there! How sweet…but I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. We DID just meet after all. Like I said, his intentions seemed well, but you never know.

We said thanks anyways, and he said he was going to give me his phone number to call him. I didn’t necessarily want it, but I gave him a piece of paper and a pen anyways. He wrote down his digits. Score for me. Hah. One of his friends said, “You call me too!” and eagerly shook his head. The main guy, looks at me and says, “No.” So, he was genuinely looking out for me; I guess I can trust him.

After saying our Grazie’s and Ciao’s, Beverley and I walked around to the other side of the Piazza. I looked down at the sheet of paper. Renzo. Cool name. I probably won’t be calling you though. I’m sure he was just being welcoming. He kept emphasizing how he wanted me to meet his son; “You go to the same University!” he said once during our search for bus tickets.

Beverley and I make our way back to the Piazza San Francesco to look for the bar that sells bus tickets. We stop at another magazine store and I ask, “Dov’e possiamo comprare bigletti per Giulianova?” The lady understood me and spouted off something about a bar and pointing to her right. I didn’t catch half of what she said, because I was so stoked that she actually understood me! I’m getting good at this! Since I didn’t listen very closely, I decided to follow her finger in that direction and look for a bar.

We passed by a bar, but go figure: It was closed. By the Piazza, there is a big bus lot where people get picked up and dropped off all the time. Beverley suggested going over there, and I remembered a bar being over there as well! Yes! Let’s go!

We make it over there, and the bar is clearly closed. No way. I decide that we will make our way around to the other side of the ancient Roman wall that still surrounds part of Teramo. There are some bars on the other side, so certainly we will find something.

As we are walking, we smell something DELICIOUS up ahead. We find a small serve-yourself restaurant, and on the door a little sticker said “Ticket” and something in Italian. I said, “That says ticket! It won’t hurt to ask…”

I (successfully!!!) ask the man at the counter where we could find tickets, almost giving up hope. He says, “Qui!” (Here!) Beverley and I throw up our arms and give a shout of joy. He starts laughing, calls at one of his friends in the kitchen and says something in Italian. Beverley and I successfully get 4 tickets; 2 to get us there, 2 to get us home. I ask him, “A che hora parte il autobus?” (What time does the bus leave?), and he shrugged his shoulders, saying he didn’t know. Oh well, we can wait. We said multiple Grazie’s and headed to the bus stop that I use to go to the University.

As we are waiting, a car pulls up right in front of us. The window rolls down, and it is Renzo and one of his friends! Oh my gosh. How in the world did they find us? Oh yeah, I have a bright pink jacket on and I’m blonde. Not hard.

We tell them excitedly that we got tickets to Giulianova, and surprised, they ask where. We point to the small restaurant down the way. The next thing I know, they are saying, “Non qua. Li!” and pointing across to the bus depot. We were standing in the wrong spot. Renzo gets out of the car and shuffles through his wallet. He gives me his business card, explaining everything on it. He points to the address and then across the bridge to the other side of Teramo. That’s where his office is, and his son works there too. We could even meet there, if we wanted.

I said thank you, and he got back into the car. We waved, laughed at the coincidence, and I looked down at his business card. His last name is Stranieri. “Foreigners” in Italian. This is so meant to be.

We were about to head over to the bus depot. “Do you think we should ask this bus driver, just in case?” Beverley asks as a city bus pulls up. I hop on and ask him where the bus to Giulianova picks up (in Italian, mind you). He understands me, and says over at the bus depot. We quickly walk over there, hoping we haven’t missed the bus in these last 5 minutes. I’m glowing. I’m 3 for 3 in asking for things in Italian. It’s a good day.

We sit around for a couple of minutes, until another bus pulls up. It’s too big and nice to be the bus to Giulianova. I go up to the bus driver and ask him if HE knows when the Giulianova bus is bound to arrive. 4 for 4. :)

He didn’t know, but took us over to the bus times. I think he had as hard a time deciphering the bus charts as we did! But we came to the conclusion that the only bus that runs to Giulianova leaves at 9:30 in the morning. Well, we definitely missed that one. We decided to wait around for the possible 12:30 bus. When it didn’t show up, we gave up. No beach today.

We made a lunch of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, then tried to figure out what to do with our empty day. The only stores open in Teramo on Sunday are the bars. So you can eat, walk around, and then eat some more.

We went to the park to do some exploring, and ended up sitting and watching a soccer match between some guys. The sun was out, and it felt slightly warm. Spring is on its way.

After deciding we had been creepy enough by watching the guys play, we decided to text Francesca and see if she wanted to get a coffee or some gelato. That women works on the weekends, and we decided she needed a break.

She said she was waiting on someone to call, but she would let us know later. We waited for about 10 minutes, and then decided to get some gelato for ourselves. We bought our gelato, and headed over to the steps of the main church to soak up some sun and enjoy our Italian delicacies.

We were walking back to my apartment, and hadn’t gone 50 feet when I get a text from Francesca. “What time could we meet? Where would u like to go?” We laugh, and turn around. After talking on the phone to Francesca, we decided to meet at our usual bar.

Beverly and I were walking that way, when I hear someone behind me repeating something in Italian. I turn around out of curiosity, and guess who it is?

Renzo and 3 friends of his!

“No way!” I exclaim. “Are you following us?” I tease. They start laughing, and we talk for a little while. We say we were going to meet a friend for coffee, and Renzo once again says to call him. I think, “Okay, 3 times in one day? That can’t just be coincidence. I’ll probably give this guy a call sometime this week!”

We meet Francesca for tea, and have a great time. She needed the break from work, and Beverley and I were dying for something to do on a Sunday. After our nice break, Beverley and I head back to the other side of town. We decided to go back to my apartment. I texted Davide, because Greta had mentioned him wanting to meet Beverly when we met up for kebabs.

So I asked him what he was doing. We were hoping he would be down for driving us to the shopping mall, but unfortunately he had a test to study for and couldn’t meet Bev. Oh well, next time.

So now what are we going to do with our time? We decide to make a marinade for the steak. Beverley and I do a lot of experimenting in the kitchen, so we made a marinade of Worcestshire sauce, orange juice, oil and oregano. We had no idea how it was going to turn out, but we are up for anything. Unfortunately the steaks were too big to marinate in a bowl, and we had no Ziploc bags. So, being the creative youth that we are, we filled the shopping bag that the meat came in with water to see if it would leak. Nope.

Yes. We put the marinade in the shopping bag and made a makeshift Ziploc of sorts. It was so ghetto, and so AWESOME.

We headed back out to the streets of Teramo to kill time while we let our meat marinade. As we leave the streets, I jokingly say, “We better watch out for Jimmy!”

We decide to find the pub that Anna Giulia took me too, to see if it happened to be open on a Sunday. It took a little while, because I wasn’t quite sure where it was located. Once we managed to find it, it didn’t matter. It was closed. Beverley knew of another pub, but we had no success in finding it. We decided to walk around some more, giving our meat time to soak in our marinade. We were walking down the main street, and I was talking about how I want to go to the “Café New York,” simply because it has New York in the name and reminds me of America.

Right as I am looking into that very café, I see him. Jimmy. And he makes eye contact with me. I’ve got to learn to stop jinxing myself.

“Oh CRAP.” I say. “What?” Beverley asks. “Nothing, just keep walking,” I responded, quickening my stride to no avail. He caught up.

“Hey,” he said. I didn’t respond. “Hey!” he said louder, catching up right behind us. I turn around to face him. “Do you remember?” he asks me. I look at him like I don’t really recognize him, secretly hoping to hurt his feelings.

“Uhh…the guy from last night?” I said, pretending to be only somewhat sure. There was no way I was letting him know I remembered his name. That is only giving him hope.

“Yeah. Sooo…is everything good?”

“Yeah.”

A couple guys walk by and say something to him. He motions them away, and they look at me and Beverley as they walk away. Please come back! Take him with you!!

“What are you doing?”

“We are going back to my house.”

“Can I come with you?’

WHAT? He did NOT just ask that. “Umm…no. I don’t think so.”

He actually looked surprised. “Oh, okay. Well, see you around. Ciao.”

The way he said his last sentence seemed like he got the picture. We did NOT want to talk to him, let alone have him come with us back to my house. What a creep.

I realize at this point that Beverley said no word during this entire conversation. She just stood there looking at him like, “Who the heck do you think you are? Can’t you tell we don’t want you around?” She said she couldn’t believe he actually showed up, and was completely speechless.

We quickly walked back to the apartment, nervously watching for any sign of Jimmy. We make it back safely, and go up the stairs. Cooking will make us feel better.

And it did. The meat was just okay. It needed to be marinated longer, but it was a step up from the last dinner we made. We are improving. :)

We both showered and decided to watch another movie. Afterwards we climb into bed. I think, “Thank goodness I have Beverly with me on the weekends. I don’t mind creepers if I have another girl with me. Maybe I SHOULD meet Renzo’s son. He could be my stand-in boyfriend when Jimmy comes around. Unless…

…”Bev! What if Jimmy IS Renzo’s son?!?!”

“Oh, noooo. Renzo is far too nice to have a creepy son like Jimmy. He’s not his son. You don’t have to worry.”

I certainly hope not. That’s okay, I’m planning on going to Pisa next weekend. And I’ve never seen Jimmy during the week. As long as I can avoid him Friday night, I should have a Jimmy-less 2 weeks. Let’s hope luck goes MY way this time around…

Care Packages, Communication Failures, and (Yes, Another) Creeper

Sometimes I wish my weekends went by with as much normalcy as my weekdays do. I know it’s not possible.

Thursday, I began planning my weekend with Beverley. We would go to Pisa, spend the weekend, and come home Sunday night.

When I returned to my apartment, the mailman showed up with a package. FROM MY MOMMY! I opened it up, to find an amazing array of 2 cards, Twinkies, Oreos, Lemonheads, and a Reese’s Heart from Valentine’s Day. This is not going to last a week, I know it.

That afternoon I went to the University to try to find the correct room for my Italian class. I found it! But once again, there were only 5 other students in the room, 4 from Spain and 1 from Portugal. Needless to say, I kinda stuck out. So when the teacher asked me where I was from, I said America, and he expressed the same surprise that most people express when I tell them where I am from. And American in Teramo? What? Well, “you are welcome here” he said. Thanks, man.

He didn’t know much English, but did his best to translate when he could. The lessons actually went really well! I understood a lot of what was being said, and one of the Spanish girls knew a little English, so if anything needed to be clarified, she tried to help me out. At least I was in the correct class this time…

I checked my Facebook messages that night, and Beverley had sent me one. She said that she thought it would be best if we left for Pisa Saturday afternoon so she could get some thing finished around the house. We could do the Tower and stuff at night, do some more exploring on Sunday, and come home after that. I told her that sounded great to me, and I would check on bus departures the next day.

The next morning, I went to the International Office to meet Rina. I had told her daughter Giulia that I was wanting to get a hair cut while I was here. My hair could use a trim, and services like that are so CHEAP over here, compared to the United States. So I may as well keep my hair as healthy as possible! When I arrived at the office, Rina gave me a map and the directions to her friend’s hair salon. I have an appointment for Tuesday at 3:00. I already looking forward to it…but I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to express what I want in Italian. This could be interesting.

I walked to the hair salon to become familiar with its location, and then turned around to head to the travel agency. I needed to find out when the buses ran to Pisa. Technically we would be taking a bus to Florence, and then to Pisa. I got to the travel agency and successfully asked the lady in Italian what time the bus left. She said 7:00AM. “Solo sette?” (Only 7?) I ask. Yes, she said. Well, crap.

I sent Beverley a message telling her that the ONLY bus we could catch was at 7 in the morning. Then I sent her another message 30 minutes later about something else. Then I sent ANOTHER message about an hour later telling her to just call me that night, because I probably wouldn’t be on the Internet in the afternoon.

I didn’t hear from her all night. No Facebook message. No call. I wonder what happened?

Well, no Pisa for me. And I was really looking forward to that trip.

Romeo had some friends over that night, so I made dinner and ate with them. Then, I stayed up until 2 in the morning talking to people back home. At least I had a good time doing that. I can stay up this late because I’m not catching a 7AM bus anyways!

The next day, it was sunny-ish in the morning and mid-day. I got up around 12 and decided I would go running that afternoon. After taking my time getting ready, I looked outside. It had gotten gray and cold. A couple of minutes later, I heard a clinking sound outside. Was it raining? Opening my curtains, I see little pieces of hail falling on the roof across the road. HAIL? Okay, scratch that run.

I spent the morning in my pajamas, drinking tea and reading Pride and Prejudice. For a lazy Saturday, I’m definitely not complaining. I had written on Beverley’s wall telling her to call me if she wanted to do anything. We may not be going to Pisa, but I LOVE any company on the weekends.

That afternoon, she called me saying that her host mother was coming into Teramo around 5 o’clock that night and she would come too. Great! My day suddenly got better. At least my uneventful weekend in Teramo would be spent with someone else.

I think our weekend was just as eventful in Teramo as it would have been in Pisa.

I texted Anna Giulia to see if they were doing anything that night. She said that we would go get a kebab and then go to the disco. Sounds great! Beverley can come experience the disco and legit fist pumping with me and the Italians! The next thing I know, she has texted me again, saying that she and Greta got into a fight and she would no longer be going with us this evening. Oh, and that we weren’t going to the disco after all.

Okay. Well there go my Saturday night plans.

I texted Greta to see if she was still going dancing. She said she wasn’t but that she was still getting a kebab with her friend Chiara and that I was invited. I asked if Beverley could come, and she said “Of course!” Saturday night plans are back in motion.

Beverley showed up around 5:45, and we decided to kill some time before meeting up with Greta. We weren’t eating our kebabs until 9:00, so we had a lot of time to kill. I wanted to find a long-sleeved black half-shirt that didn’t cover more just my shoulders. Then we would go to the supermarket and get dinner for Sunday, since NOTHING is open.

We found my little black half-shirt at a store we visited the last time Beverley was in town. AND it was half off. I was beyond excited. We went to the supermarket to grab Sunday night’s dinner. Beef. Broccoli. Bread. And spinach and potatoes, but I already had those back at the apartment.

After we dropped off our groceries, we decided to grab a slice of pizza. I was STARVING considering I hadn’t eaten but a thing of yogurt at 12:00. We went to the Pizzeria di Mario, our favorite pizzeria in town. We had to grab a ticket, because that place is happenin’, especially on a Saturday night. We were number 24; they were on 99. I guess the numbers start over after 99…so we had a LONG time to wait. What do you do to kill time in Teramo? Walk around.

We went to the ATM so I could get some money for the next 2 weeks. Walking around, we found a candy store. Two girls, planning to watch a movie that night…candy is a necessity. We manage to tell the 2 guys working that we were just looking around. We began filling up a bag with random gummies and marshmallows. We we got to the register, he said “10 Euro.”

10 EURO? You have got to be kidding me. Of course, we couldn’t put the candy back. So we just sucked it up and paid.

When we left, we started cracking up. I can’t believe we just spend 10 Euro on candy. Never. Again.

We went back to Mario’s to see what number they were on. 3. Fantastic. Back to the walking we go.

Beverley and I just meander around Teramo, killing some time before we could get our pizza. We make it back to Mario’s. Number 17. Okay, we’ll just stay here. We get split between the millions of people inside the restaurant. And end up on either side of the door, pushed into each corner to avoid being smashed by pizza boxes. It finally gets to our number, and I choose my regular: margherita. Beverley gets this piece covered in peppers, salami and a few mushrooms.

When we get a seat, we exchange bites of each other’s pizza. I LOVED hers. I admit, I am afraid to branch out and try pizza when I don’t know exactly what the toppings are. Thank goodness my friend is braver than me. Next time we go, I’ll probably get that one.

After we finish our pizza, it is not quite time to meet up with Greta and Chiara. So we head back to my apartment to put up the candy and re-straighten my curling locks. We end up eating about half the candy while we talked. We are such girls.

We were meeting up with Greta and Chiara at the Piazza Garibaldi. We got there, and waited. And waited. And waited. No Greta and Chiara. I know Italians usually run late, but if it becomes 9:20 and they aren’t here, we are going back home.

We chill by the ticket office, because I wanted to see what time they opened. As we stood talking, these 2 guys walk by us twice. And then one of them comes over to the ticket office and starts looking at the bus times. I think.

Regardless, Beverley and I moved out of the way. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, we went down to the kebab shop. Still no Greta and Chiara.

Beverley had never had one of the amazing cornettos that I love so much. So we went inside and I introduced her. She is now in love. As we were sitting there, Greta and Chiara show up! Only 30 minutes late. Silly Italians.

We go to the kebab shop, and I order but Beverley doesn’t. Then again, she ate breakfast AND lunch. I had yogurt. The kebab is AMAZING. It’s not a kebab on a stick like I am used to in the U.S. It is a sandwich, made of a pita pocket, stuffed full of beef and turkey meat, and any other toppings you could want. I was already full, but I had to try one.

After Greta, Chiara and I finished our kebabs, we said our goodbyes. Beverly and I wanted to go back and watch a movie, and Chiara and Greta didn’t really know what they were going to go do to kill the time. Greta and I promised to go dancing or do something soon. I haven’t seen her enough lately.

Beverley and I head back to my apartment. The next thing we know, this guy is coming up from behind us, asking “May I ask you something?” In ENGLISH. We were surprised that someone was talking to us in English, so we turn around to find this younger guy coming up from behind.

“Uhhh…yeah?”

“We are you from?”

“America.” “Canada.”

He proceeded to ask questions. Where was I studying? Do I live in Teramo? Where does Beverley live? He studied at L’Aquila. Do we know where that is? How long are we here? He hadn’t seen us around. When did we get here? Just questions that people don’t usually ask when they come running up after 2 girls they don’t know.

It was freaky.

And he was freaky-looking.

I don’t know if he was the same guy creepily hanging around at the ticket office. But I thought ticket-boy had a friend with him. This guy was all alone. But for some reason I think it IS the same guy, because he had acne scars all over his face. They just looked very similar.

It was a very awkward conversation. Usually, I can make those situations not so awkward, but Beverley and I were TRYING to make it obvious that we were uncomfortable. Not wanting to be mean, but still not wanting to encourage any more conversation, I answered his questions as shortly as I could. Beverley didn’t say much but kept giving him a look like, “Who the heck are you?”

His name was Jimmy. That’s a weird name for an Italian, I thought.

He asked if we wanted to get a drink with him, and thinking “Not if you were the last person on Earth and the continuation of humanity depended on us having a drink, would I go out with you,” I politely said that we had just eaten and were full, therefore we couldn’t possibly stand for a drink. I then said we should be heading back, and started walking. As we were leaving, he asks, “When will I see you again?”

Hopefully NEVER.

“Oh, you’ll see me around.”

We turned the other way, and walked. Beverly said, “We are NOT going back to your apartment right now.” I was thinking the very same thing.

After making a long detour back to my place, and after our hearts had decided to somewhat slow down from the freaky encounter, we finished off the bag of candy. We got ready for bed, and settled in to watch a movie on my computer.

As we crawled into our respective beds, we decided we would try to go to Giulianova the next day. It was supposed to be a pretty day, and Giulianova is right by the beach. By the time I fell asleep, I had nearly forgotten about Jimmy and was dreaming about spending a beautiful Sunday next to the Adriatic Sea.

Cute Mugs and Multitasking

I now have a cute mug to add to my very small collection! After our Thursday lessons and coffee/cappuccino/tea break (I’m going to start abbreviating that: CCT), she and I went on the hunt for a cute, inexpensive mug. I had been pouring my tea into plastic cups, but one cracked the other night. I think it was because of the heat. Regardless, I don’t want to crack any more cups, so I am investing in my very own mug.

Beverly and I run around Teramo trying to find a mug. All we can find are tea sets and cups and saucers. I don’t want the saucer; I just want the mug! We finally have success at a random shop that was a combination of Best Buy and Bed, Bath and Beyond. But I found a cute, relatively inexpensive polka-dotted mug. How perfect.

Beverly and I had spent the entire period running around Teramo talking about Disney movies. Which movie was our favorite. How Disney went downhill recently and Princess and the Frog was supposed to renew it. How Pixar is awesome. How we love that the classic Disney movies are essentially semi-musicals. How I thought when I was a little girl that when the Beast transforms into a man he was ugly because he had long hair (what was I thinking?! I watch now, and that man is GORGEOUS!). How Aladdin is by far the hottest Disney cartoon character.

In short, it was one of the best conversations I have had in a while. The next day, Beverly sends me a message on Facebook. “I just want you to know, I watched Mulan today.” I like this girl.

Outside of my perfect Disney realm, this online class is WAY harder than I anticipated. Friday I went to the library to do some more of my online class. It’s talking about this fancy Turing machine-thing, and uses all these mathematical equations to show how the machine works, and there is an interactive website, but I can’t figure out how to use the website let alone the machine it is trying to demonstrate. Grrr.

But, I have wireless internet now. So I give up and watch an episode of Tool Academy 3 online. I wonder if the University can track what you use the Internet to do? Because while I’m waiting for this stuff to load for my online class, I’m totally Facebook creeping and watching this show. I’m a multitasker, what can I say?

After the show ends, I try very hard to focus on this class. I just skip over the fancy mathematical material and move on to the general theory stuff. Now, this I can understand. All about communication between one person to another with a mediator (the computer) in between. Maybe that Turing machine info won’t be on the test. I just want to make a web page, dangit.

Not to mention that I brought my charger, but forgot my European adapter. So the charger is useless, meaning I only have about 20 more minutes of battery life on my computer. Guess I won’t be staying here as long as I thought.

And remember that 60-degree weather three days ago? Well, it’s snowing now. I think this weather is more bipolar than the weather in Arkansas. I am wearing a heavier jacket, but not my winter coat. When I boarded the bus in town, it was only raining. As we climb up the hill to the University, the rain turns to snow. I look at my jacket and look at the snow in disbelief. Just my luck.

So, in general, it is just not my day. But, I am meeting Rina’s daughter Giulia at the market tomorrow morning, so maybe things will turn around!

Saturday morning, I met Giulia and Rina at the market. Rina left me and her daughter to walk around, so we decided to get a book for Giulia. After that, I went shopping for fruits and vegetables. I figured out why the guy yelled at me when I went a couple of weekends ago. Giulia pointed out that there are two separate vendors right next to each other! So, I was crossing over to the other guy’s market with his competitors produce. I understand now. I won’t make the same mistake.

As we are walking through the market, I hear a “Ciao!” directed towards me from a man on a bike. It was one of the employees at the bar where we have a CCT stops! He recognized me, even with my huge red sunglasses on! How sweet…that must make me a regular! I couldn’t wait to tell Beverly.

After running around town, enjoying my first porketta panine, and getting to know Giulia, we said our goodbyes. She found me on Facebook a day later. We are going to hang out again when she comes back to Teramo. Again, another English-speaking friend who doesn’t live in my city. Oh well, perhaps I can go visit her one day.

To make my day even better, I climbed my stairs to find a package addressed to me outside of our door. From my grandparents! I opened it hurriedly, excited about my first care package in Italy. It contained M&M’s, two containers of hot chocolate mix, and a beautiful pink and purple scarf. Perfect for my spring wardrobe, since my other spring scarf is lime green!

The rest of the weekend went by normally. I didn’t do much outside of spending time on Facebook and going running. Sunday I went running, and as I was coming up the hill back to the main road, these 2 guys start yelling out there car. Really? THAT hasn’t changed either, I guess. So I roll my eyes at them and keep running. Grow up.

It didn’t get any warmer. I was liking that 60-degree weather that we had for about 2 days. And then, yesterday, it snowed all day. During the day the roads were warm, so nothing was sticking, at least. I usually love snow, but I don’t like it here. I was on my way to a free Italian lesson at the University, and the bus was PACKED. I couldn’t move, but at least that made it warm. I guess when the weather is bad, people don’t want to drive. Or the bus is usually this bad at 3:00 in the afternoon. I’ve never ridden it at that time. I’ll find out next week, I guess.

I walk into the classroom where the Italian lessons are supposed to be. These lessons are in elementary Italian, and are intended for foreign students. Best of all, they are free! So Paola suggested I go just to check it out.

There weren’t many students in the class, and from what I could tell, they already spoke great Italian. The teacher pokes her head in and asks, “Spangolo?” I thought she was referring to the nationality of the students, so I just sat back and didn’t say anything. In a matter of 5 minutes into the class, I realize I am in the wrong class. This is a Spanish class for Italian students! Oh no.

It was too late to go to the other class. And I didn’t know how to explain in Italian to the teacher how I got mixed up. So what did I do? I pretended to be Italian and sat through the 2-hour Spanish class. Thank goodness I already know a little bit of Spanish.

I must say, I think I was pretty convincing. At least, the teacher never questioned why I was there. After class, however, I pitched the worksheets and decided to check on the classroom when I got home. I’m not going back to that class. I need help with Italian, not Spanish. Although, I did learn a few things. They teach Spain-Spanish over here, not Mexico-Spanish. Things are pronounced differently, and quite frankly, I like Mexico-Spanish better. We’ll say that’s another reason I don’t intend on returning.

Coming back from my unintentional Spanish lesson, I nearly bust it on the nearly 2 inches of slush that have collected. And I think my toes have suffered frostbite. Okay, that is an exaggeration, but I couldn’t feel them when I finally got back to my apartment. I was going to go grocery shopping that night, but I didn’t consider it worth it to slowly ease across the slush, freeze my toes again, and fight the snow. So I snacked on rolls for dinner. Not the healthiest meal, but I was at the point of not caring.

And this morning, I wake up ready to fight the snow and go grocery shopping. But when I pull up the blinds, the window feels warm. What is this? I look outside, and all snow on the streets is disappeared. It was like it never happened! I check weather.com. 50 degrees? Biopolar weather. I’m convinced. Well, at least I can do my grocery shopping today and not risk falling on my rear. Perhaps this 50-degrees will turn to 60-degrees and 70-degrees soon. I can only pray.

Bald Bus Bouncers

So, March came without any major changes. Like I said, my Monday started out pretty normal. On the way to class that night, however, I realized that it was in fact a new month. Meaning, I had to go to the travel place and get a new month-long pass for the buses. Oh well, I can do it tomorrow after class. No worries.

I had been told that there was a pretty steep fine for people who rode the buses without a ticket or a pass. Getting ready on Tuesday morning, I was thinking, “Watch the little bus police come around this morning when I haven’t had a chance to get my pass. That would be just my luck.”

In case you didn’t know, I have terrible luck.

I board my bus as usual. No bus policeman roaming the aisle checking tickets. At least, I assumed there wasn’t one. I didn’t know what they would look like exactly. Uniform? Donut belly? All official and the like? Well, I sat down and no one interrogated me about my bus pass. So that must be a good sign.

We get halfway there, and the bus stops at this pretty random stop. People get on here sometimes, but more often or not they are getting off. So this bald-headed guy steps on in a uniform. Okay, uniform…doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Anna. Don’t freak out. He starts joking around with the bus driver, so I think, “oh, he must just be a regular.” I think that, until I see people in front of me start pulling out their tickets.

Crap. He is a regular. He regularly checks the tickets. The bus police!

Why was today the day I decided to actually sit in the front of the bus instead of the back? Fan-freaking-tastic. In my head I start coming up with all these crazy plans to avoid a fine.

Slowly move to the back of bus? No he’ll eventually go back there anyways.

Pretend my iPod is turned up too loud to hear him? He’ll just tap me on the shoulder or something.

Pretend I’m blind and I don’t know he’s there? Forgot my sunglasses today.

Make it obvious that I’m foreign and blonde and convince him that I don’t know what is going on? Yeah. That’s sounds like the best plan.

So he makes his way over, and looks at me. I kinda look around the bus, and pretend to realize, “Oh, he wants my bus pass.” I give it to him, picture side up (the duration of the pass is on the other side), but he flips it around. Dang, he’s good. He looks at the expiration date, and back up to me. He doesn’t look very nice. I ask him in English, “What’s the problem?” He motions at the date on my pass. I look at it and back at him. “Oh!” I say. “I’m getting a new one today! I promise!” I try to use my hands to motion ‘today,’ but he just looked at me very strictly and moved down the aisle.

I breathe a sigh of relief. That was close. I don’t know how expensive those tickets are, but I didn’t want one. After class, straight to the travel agency. No kidding around. I get off the bus as quickly as I could when it stopped at the University. I didn’t want him changing his mind and finding me to give me a ticket.

After class I make my way to the bus stop. I get on the bus, trying to figure out how I’m going to ask the ladies at the travel agency for a new month-long pass. The bus stops at the most random place on the road.

And then I see it. A bald head crossing the street towards the bus. You have GOT to be kidding me.

It was my friend, the bus policeman. I doubted that I could convince him to let me off the hook again, but I had to try. He comes down the aisle stopping at me seat. I really thought he would recognize me, blonde hair, pink jacket and all. Only when he looked at my pass and flipped it over did he appear to recognize me. “Now,” I told him in English. “I’m going to get a new pass now.”

He looked at me strictly again, rolled his eyes, and moved on. Seriously? Did I just pull that off? Okay, I’m never letting this happen again. Good luck is never on my side like today.

I go straight to the travel agency, pull out my bus pass, and ask for a new one for March. I even said it in English, but once the lady saw my pass she understood. 5 seconds later she had a March pass printed out, and put into my plastic sleeve. It was that easy? I thought it would take longer than that. I was heading to the main University Office to see Daniela Musa about getting wireless access. There was a straight shot right by the bus stop. But there he was. Bald bus policman. Crap. He could recognize me and write me a ticket after all! I took the stairs that go underneath the piazza. Yes, it added about 3 minutes to my journey, but I avoid HIM.

I make it to the University, bound and determined to do this on my own. But I can’t find Daniela Musa’s office. So I ask a lady at the front of the building, “Parli Inglese?” When she shook her head no, I did the best I could to translate what I was looking for. Another lady tried to come over and help, but had no idea what I was saying either. The first lady just shakes her head and says, “Straniera.” Yes, I told her. That’s exactly what I am: foreigner.

She takes me to the International Office. I should have just come here in the first place. I tell Paola what I need, and she grabs her things and take me there. She is always so ready to help me! When we get to the IT office, we are told to come back at 1:45.

She asks if I would like to go to lunch, and I say I would love to. I’m starving. We go back to the International Office, and Giovanna is coming to lunch with us. However, there was a lot to do, and by the time the ladies were ready for lunch, we only had 15 more minutes before my appointment. Okay. Lunch afterwards.

We go back to the IT center. Just like everything else in Italy, they are running late. We finally get called in around 2:10. I write down my information, and they said to come back at 3:30 with my computer. I don’t understand why they need my computer to give me internet access. Do they have to install some software? I’m not sure that I’m okay with this. Oh well, if it give me Internet, I’ll do it.

Paola, Giovanna and I make our way to a bar down the street for lunch. This is the second bar I’ve been to that is hiding a restaurant in the back. We sit down at the table, and are treated to a WONDERFUL meal by a very sweet lady. I won’t go into the details of my food again, but just like everything else I have eaten here, it was incredible.

Oh, and there was a totally cute guy named Roberto working with the lady. He kept smiling at me, so I would smile back, thinking, “Darn, I wish you spoke English.” The chances of that were slim to none. And I was correct in that thought; he didn’t. Well, he was very nice to look at, and I might just have to stop by the bar to get a sandwich one day.

After we paid and said goodbye to the friendly staff, Paola drove me to my apartment to get my computer. We didn’t leave the restaurant until 3:30, so I was wondering if the IT people were going to be upset at us for being late. Paola didn’t seem too concerned, though. She must be used to Italian time.

Once I grabbed my computer, she took me back to the IT department. We didn’t see anyone, and I was secretly thinking, “See? If we actually show up to places on time, we wouldn’t run into problems like this.”

After about 10 minutes, a guy shows up and gives me my username and password. I try the wireless in the building, and it works perfectly! Hooray! My semester is saved! Apparently that is all I needed my computer for, so I stow it back in its bag, and head back to the International Office with Paola. We tell Rina about our success and Rina copies down all the information in case I lose it. Then she asks if I would like to meet her daughter and speak English with her. I told her I would love to meet her daughter, and Rina said she would e-mail me with details later.

I say my goodbyes and head to the bus stop to catch a bus to the University. It’s an absolutely GORGEOUS day outside; 60-something and sunny. While I was walking, I secretly hoped mean bald-headed bus policeman would be patrolling the bus so I could rub my brand new March pass in his face. But he must have called it a day. It was probably for the best. Rubbing my new pass could have reminded him that I didn’t have it before, equaling a ticket. No thanks.

Once in the University library I open my laptop and log on to the wireless. Oh this is wonderful. Information Technology and Online Design, here I come!

I Know the Town Shuts Down, But BUSES Don’t Even Run On Sunday?

I checked my Facebook Friday afternoon and Beverly had written me and Asta. She said she was sorry she couldn’t make it last night, and wanted to know what either of us was doing that night. I wrote back quickly, saying I was doing NOTHING and I would love to hang out! She wrote back saying that she would catch the 7:00 bus that night, and we agreed to meet at the bus stop around 7:35.

Later that afternoon, I got a text message from Davide, saying that tomorrow we are going to a birthday party and I need to bring 10 Euro for the birthday present and that Greta said I should already know.

I had no idea.

So I texted him back, saying I had know idea about a party. And why exactly do I have to bring 10 Euro for a birthday present when I don’t even know this guy? I was explaining to Romeo when we were cleaning (Yes. Cleaning AGAIN on Friday night. What is this guy’s problem?), and he said that it was just expected that when you go to a birthday party you bring money for the birthday boy/girl. Whether you know them or not. I told him I like American birthday parties better.

That night, I headed out to the bus stop to find Beverly. I arrived about 5 minutes late, so I hoped she hadn’t gone looking for me. I couldn’t find here anywhere.

I waited at the stop. Didn’t see her.

I walked to the other side of the piazza. Didn’t see her.

I walked back to my original spot. Didn’t see her.

A bus pulled up from what I thought was her town. Didn’t see her.

I waited for 25 minutes before starting to freak out. Beverly had mentioned meeting at the church before we agreed on the piazza. I quickly went that direction, wondering how I could have missed her when I passed through earlier. Didn’t see her.

OH NO. Teramo isn’t a big city, but a girl could easily get lost in all it’s little alleyways, and finding her would be hard. My friend was missing. I half-ran back to my apartment, praying that she had missed the bus. I log on to Facebook and had a new message: it was from her. She thought the bus came early and had therefore missed it.

I let out a sigh of relief.

I told her not to worry about it, and that we could hang out on Saturday instead. She said that sounded like a great idea, and got my phone number so she could call me when she was headed into Teramo.

Well, now I’m spending my Friday night alone. How lame. It actually ended up to be nice. I just talked on Facebook with people and did some major creeping. Plus, I wanted to go to the market, so I needed to get some sleep.

The next morning I headed out to the Saturday market. I wanted to buy a scarf for spring. Not one of those dark colored heavy ones, but a light, bright scarf to compliment my limited spring wardrobe. Right next to my apartment the people with fresh produce set up in a parking lot. I decided to get some fresh fruit and vegetables, since I vowed to start eating healthier over here. I perused through the produce; there were no vegetables besides lettuce. Well, fruit it is.

I creeped on people shopping around me. Apparently you grab a plastic bag and fill it. And then take it to the register and they check you out. Everything was priced for 1 Euro, so that made things easier. I filled my bag and then made my way by the register to head for the kiwis. I got stopped by a man who, when I looked at him confused, took my bag and put it on the scale. I paid for my produce, and skipped the kiwis. Am I supposed to check out separately for every bag? I was just trying to get some more fruit. Well, if you don’t want more of my money, that’s cool too!

I looked into my bag of apples and bananas. A random orange had been thrown in their as well. I don’t know why. Maybe it was to add to the weight so it would equal an even 2 Euro. Oh well, it looked delicious.

I took my produce bag with me, hoping I might have an easier market shopping experience at the other tables. I bought a new pair of red sunglasses for 5 Euro. I’ve ALWAYS wanted a pair of red sunglasses! I’ll be looking fly this summer driving around in those.

I headed in the direction of a table with scarves. They were all so dark. Not what I was looking for. I moved on, and in the distance I saw brightly colored scarves hanging from a tent. Just what I needed. I found a beautiful green and white scarf, and next to it a lime green scarf with a pink and blue and beige pattern on it. That was it…my spring scarf. And I paid only 3 Euro for it.

Summary of my shopping trip: 3 large apples, a bunch of bananas, 1 random orange, 1 pair hott red sunglasses, and 1 cute spring scarf ALL for 10 Euro. Now that’s a successful shopping trip, despite my problem at the produce table.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day outside, and my room is perfectly placed so that sunlight streams through the window and door. I decided to sit outside, sunbathe, and do a little reading. After gathering a little color on my front, and needed to get some on the back of me.

If I open the door to my balcony and open my windows completely, the sunlight streams in perfectly to create my own personal tanning bed. I placed my towel on the tile floor, grabbed my pillow, and popped my iPod in, letting the sun warm the back of me. I rolled over to re-warm my front. Every year I show up to bikini season with slightly tanned arms and legs, and a white stomach. Determined to change that this year, I rolled over to my back and pulled up my tanktop just enough to get some sun on my stomach.

The next thing I know, my roommate comes barging in on my tanning time. Thank goodness I hadn’t pulled my shirt up any more than that! I pretended to be asleep, but it was clear he wasn’t going away. So I looked up at him. He started laughing at me and called me crazy. I told him maybe I was, but I didn’t care. I was still trying to get over the shock of how close I was to almost pulling my shirt up farther. That was close.

He left my room, and a couple minutes later my phone starts to ring. It was Beverly, and she was headed into Teramo! We met at the Grande Italia (where we had our first coffee break after lessons) and decided to drop her stuff off at my place and then figure out where we would go after that. She had came at the point of the day where every shop closes down, so not much goes on in town.

We decided to walk across the bridge to the other side of town. Francesca had mentioned that a specific store possibly had peanut butter. Because nowhere else in this town. We decided to walk over there and find out. Unfortunately, no peanut butter. BUT I found these tiny milk chocolate eggs, so I bought those instead.

We went back to the Grande Italia to get a sandwich. And again we struggled with ordering what we wanted. Being obviously foreign does have its perks, though. When a girl brought out our sandwiches, she brought out a plate of pastries, saying that they were a gift from the bartender. Free. We waved and said thank you. They may laugh when we order, but we get free delicacies because of it.

We did some shopping, and I tried my very first Italian gelato. We managed to get across that we wanted a cup (who knew the word was so simple: copetta.) And when the lady asks me for my second choice, a look surprised. I had gotten the small size, and I STILL get two flavors? Without having to pay more? Legit.

So I tried chocolate-chip gelato and plain chocolate gelato. Beverly got lemon and some mixed fruit gelato. They were all delicious, but for as simple as it was, the chocolate gelato was the winner by far. I may have to get some more this week.

That night we went to the grocery store and grabbed things for dinner. We also stopped by a local pastry shop to get dessert. We made the best dinner, for being 2 foreign girls in an Italian kitchen. We had spinach and potatoes in butter and salt, a fruit salad of pineapple, strawberries, and banana, chicken cooked in oil with basil and oregano, and a loaf of bread. I was very impressed with our cooking skills, and we vowed to do this more often.

My roommate introduced himself while we were baking, and then left us alone. The next time he came in was to tell me to clean up the dishes because he had played soccer and he was hungry. And to point out that we had made the floor a mess.

Why was he suddenly so bossy?

No duh I was going to clean the dishes after we were done. I don’t just leave them out dirty like he does. I clean up my dishes directly after using them. And I would mop the floor tomorrow. It’s not hurting anyone being dirty right now. I couldn’t figure out why he was acting that way, but I brushed it off and continued eating.

That night Beverly and I watched “Nine.” The movie is set in Italy, so it was funny to watch it knowing that we could easily hop on a bus and see all the places they talk about. After the movie, we stayed up doing random things. Beverly read parts of my books, and eventually picked up The Host and read it. I jumped on Facebook and did my nightly creeping. Once I had my fix, I hopped on the bed. She and I then started talking, and the next thing I knew it was 4:30 in the morning. Waaaaaay past our bedtimes!

The next morning (well, it was technically the afternoon) I woke up. Beverly and sat around for a little while and made plans to visit places in Italy. I found someone to travel with! My Italian friends aren’t as excited to visit Rome or Pisa or Venice, so I was so excited to hear that Beverly wanted to travel just as much as I do! I finally have a travel partner.

She left that afternoon to catch her bus back home. And I got back onto my computer to check some e-mails. 20 minutes later the doorbell rings. I open my bedroom door to go get it, and Romeo does the same. I ask him if he was getting it, and he rolls his eyes and walks to the front door. Seriously? WHAT is his issue?

He indicates that it is for me, and unlocks the apartment complex’s door. It must be Beverly. As I was walking out to get her, he feels the necessity to tell me to mop the kitchen floor. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I just woke up. I will mop it. Get off my back. I say something back to him and give him a bit of attitude and walk down to get my friend.

Apparently the buses don’t run on Sundays. Beverly was stuck with me another day. I was actually very happy. If Romeo was going to be in such a foul mood, I needed someone else around. Since everything shuts down on Sunday, we just chilled. I took a shower, and we decided to go get a hot chocolate at our normal bar by our Italian school. After we had stuffed ourselves on hot chocolate and pastries, we decided to go buy something for dinner.

On our way over to the store, Beverly and I decided to stop by the church in the center of town. I had been told it was beautiful inside but had never taken a look myself. We opened the doors, talking, and immediately noticed how quiet it was. Oops. We started walking around, admiring all the pews and ornaments and intricacies in the architecture. It WAS beautiful. I was about to pull out my camera and start taking pictures, when I noticed a little acolyte walking up to the front of the church. How cute! I figure they DO need people in here when the church is open to prevent vandalism and such. Then I noticed about 5 or 6 people sitting in the pews on the side of the church, to the left of where the acolyte had walked. Then, 3 or 4 guys in white robes came filing out.

Oh no. I think we just walked into a church service. Or a funeral.

Either way, Beverly and I quickly looked at each other with wide eyes, turned around, and shuffled as fast as we could out the back door into the piazza. Only then could we start laughing. That was a close one…we didn’t mean to interrupt! Of course, I realize during our conversation that it IS Sunday. We probably should have expected a night service.

And apparently the shop I thought was open on Sundays isn’t.

That’s okay. We weren’t very hungry anyways.

But I knew that there was some kind of store open on Sundays around the area we were in. They had a huge sign boasting “Aperti Tutti Le Domeniche!” (Open Every Sunday!), and I saw it every time I went running. We walked down to a parking garage, out the stairs for a more direct descent, discovered that we couldn’t back in through the door, hopped the barrier and discovered the store.

It was like a Lowe’s or Home Depot. Only Italian.

We wandered around for a little while. I’m sure we looked incredibly lost, because we were 2 girls walking around a hardware store full of mostly men and their wives. That’s okay, we had time to kill.

By the time we made it back to the house, we decided we weren’t hungry. So we watched the last episode of Tool Academy 2, because I was months overdue in watching it. I think I have her hooked.

We weren’t incredibly hungry, so we made a small dinner of chicken nuggets, leftover pineapple, and bread. Beverly hopped in the shower, and I read my book. We then pulled a cot into my room, because we didn’t want to upset Romeo by one of us sleeping in Luca’s room while he was away. We both finished reading our chapters, and settled in for bed. It was like having a sleepover, except that in my room you couldn’t fit much more between my bed and that cot. That’s okay. There was only 2 of us anyways.

The next morning we went our Italian lesson together. Asta is in Lithuania for 2 weeks, so it is just me and Beverly. We had our routine coffee break afterwards, and Beverly and I went to get a hot dog to kill some time.

Hot dogs are not the same as in America. I don’t know which one I like better. Italian hot dogs are completely wrapped in some kind of bread and baked that way. They are delicious, but I think I like American style simply because of that reason. It’s American. We did some window shopping and then said goodbye. I was kinda sad to see my friend go…we had spent nearly 2 days together and I had a really good time. We already made plans to do it again, though.

And I had class that night. And 7 miles to run. Looks like my week is starting out as normal as ever.