28 February 2010

"Singin' in the Rain!"

Bologna gets a lot of rain. One good thing is that it's normally not snow (although this winter was the "worst" in fifty years or something). Another good thing is that most of the city is protected by the porticoes, making the job easy for your umbrella, unless of course you leave said umbrella in your Dramaturgy of Music classroom...not mentioning any names...

Any way, what I'm getting at is that it rained a lot when my friend Mike came to visit me last weekend. However, we really made the best of it and had, as Mike put it, a very "Italian" weekend. (He's in the Rome JCU program where they take most of their classes in English, so Bologna was quite a change for him.)

Friday night we strolled down via Zamboni until we arrived at l'Irish, or the Cluricaune. Every city needs a pub or two, and it just so happens that the Irish ones are the best! Then, with the addition of Rodolfo and his friend Tote, we set off to find the music. Serena had told me about this group of guys that gets together every weekend to play classic rock songs, Aerosmith, Pink Floyd, you get the picture. Well, they meet in this guy's basement in via Broccaindosso, and have been for the past thirty years or so. When I asked for the number of the house, Serena just told me to "follow the music." And we did, and we found the band: Doc Bartocchi's. The basement was filled with youths and bookshelves and a sign that said "E' vietato fumare l'erba qui." I'll let you look that one up.

On Saturday we explored Parma, home not only to Parmesan cheese, but also prosciutto. Can you guess what we ate for lunch? Parma is a really cute little town, all the buildings painted pastel tones and cobblestone streets. We tried to get lost, but it turns out that we were not successful, inadvertently finding ourselves after a few minutes.

Another thing we found in Parma was a puppet museum. We decided it was worth the 1,50 EUR entrance fee as this was probably the last puppet museum we're going to see for a while. It contained hundreds of marionettes of devils and queens and sailors and everyone else. The last room had modern puppets, including a flock of singing flowers!

We barely made it onto the train coming back to Bologna, jumping through the already closing doors. It was pretty epic, and saved us a half-an-hour wait for the next train. That night, after delicious Bolognese cuisine, we headed over to Tiffany's to watch a bit of the Olympics.

Sunday lived up to its name and was sunny, giving me the perfect opportunity to play tour guide and show off my city before I saw Mike off on the train.
"I have often walked down this street before..."
-My Fair Lady

"Over the river and through the woods!"

"Open a new window, open a new door!"
-Mame

"Here comes the sun!"
-The Beatles

Signed,

the Singingblogger

22 February 2010

Carnevale!

Anna, Eric, and I in our pre-Venice masks.

How can you possibly choose?!

A picture's worth a thousand words, or a thousand romantic
Italian songs sung by a Venetian gondolier.

The costumes were almost always in pairs.

"Elementary, my dear Watson!"

Costumed spectators watching the costume contest.

The king of colors in Piazza San Marco.

He told me he had a cask of Amontillado, so I had to go, right?

18 February 2010

Once upon a time

Thinking of Italy, one comes up with images of pealing church bells on every corner, wide Italian mammas rolling out an infinitude of pizza and pasta, throngs of noisy vespas zipping through the narrow streets, gondoliers singing romantic songs from as the paddle the canals of Venice, and short, dark, and handsome Italian men flattering American girls.

I hate to be Debbie Downer, but unfortunately, this Italy does not exist. Or so I thought. Last weekend Eric and Anna came to visit me in Bologna, and it was the closest I think I'll ever get to that Italy we all dream about.

First, the weather. After being rainy and cold for a week, the sun came out as soon as they set foot in Bologna on Friday. We went out for real Bolognese that night, and while we were waiting to get into the restaurant, this Italian guy bought Anna and I each a red rose. Maybe because we were dressed like twins for the Carnevale party we were going to afterward? Maybe because Italy loves these guys.

The next morning, before going to Ravenna for the day, we made pasta for breakfast, Spaghetti alla Carabonara, which is kind of like bacon and eggs...and pasta. This sumptuous meal fulfilled Anna's lifelong dream of eating pasta for breakfast, but unfortunately made us a little behind schedule for our trip. After a nearly disastrous encounter involving a decision not to buy bus tickets and the entrance on the bus of the man who checks bus tickets, we sprinted out through the doors and arrived, breathless, at the train station, about three minutes too late. However, this was not the rain on our parade. We went across the street to the AB gelateria (See "Bologna la Golosa") and my new friend was working.

After apologizing for the lack of options of gelato flavors (because they were just making it fresh), he gave each us multiple mini cones of tastes until, when it came time to actually buy some, we had eaten...more than we needed, let's say. But of course that didn't stop us. Thus armed with the freshest gelato of the day, we didn't miss the next train. Ravenna was lovely, and I found out that I still remember how to get around from my trip there in September!

Sunday we dedicated to Carnevale in Venice. Venice is predisposed to being crowed, seeing as it is on islands and has very tight walkways, but there were so many people there that day that I was sure the entire city was going to sink, masks and all. Speaking of masks, they were fantastiche. The city was an explosion of color and sound, swarming with people in masks and street musicians, confetti in the air and covering every inch of walkway. After a long, winding route to Piazza San Marco, we caught the end of the costume contest, an event I can only describe as unforgettable. Pictures are coming soon.

All fairy tales come to an end, however, and while Eric and Anna lived happily ever after, Maria needed to get back to Bologna. Without my good luck charms, I ended up missing two trains because they were so full there was no possible way to fit another body on, and finally ended up on one without heat. Ah, the real Italy. I knew you were around here somewhere.

Signed,

the Sengenblogger

10 February 2010

My Date with the Swiss Monk

Got your attention, didn't I?

Last Thursday I went to the seven o'clock (evening) Mass at San Domenico. Afterwards, I asked one of the friars about the youth group I heard about. He told me that it was on Thursday nights at nine, but that I should talk to Fra Daniele or Fra Davide, who are in charge. But they wouldn't be available until after Vespers, which started in ten minutes. So he passed me off to Didier, a very enthusiastic novitiate from the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland, notwithstanding his French name and his English speaking skills. Didier gave me a book of Liturgy of the Hours in Italian and a quick tutorial in Italiano-English mush on that night's prayers: rapid page flipping and at least five different bookmarks. After Vespers, which included processing (with song) to three different chapels, Didier invited me to dinner with them so I wouldn't have to go home and come back for the group. I hesitated, thinking it might be a bit awkward, but he insisted. So I followed him to the dining room, standing where he stood, only sitting when he sat. And when we sat, no other friar sat next to us. The two of us at one table, surrounded by forty other Dominican friars. I was, obviously, the only woman and, obviously, the only lay person, my pink leg warmers and bright blue sweater sticking out in the sea of white habits. But it was very nice, when I could make myself understood (somehow Italian abandons me in new situations).

After dinner I went with Fra Daniele to the group: Gioventu` Domenicana. One of the highlights: guitar music and singing! Everyone there was really friendly, and I'm so happy to have found a faith group like this in Bologna!

Signed,
the Sengenblogger

05 February 2010

A Small Rant on Italian Education

One of the reasons we choose to study abroad is to learn about another culture, to go beyond our comfort level and see life from a different perspective. However, in cases when the host country is very different from the home country, this can be a very frustrating experience. Coming to Italy from the States, I find the lack of organization in the academic system annoying, to say the least. So I will break from my tolerant, open-minded attitude for a post and let you share in my exasperation.

Some of the classes at UniBo started this past Monday. Of course, not all of them could start at the same time, because that would smack of conformity, and Italians have been a bit wary of it ever since Mussolini. On Saturday, (Yes, the Saturday two days before the class started) I found out that one of my classes had changed times. Now this literature class was at the same time as another class I was taking. And I'm just not close enough to sainthood to be able to bi-locate. Ok, so I re-worked my schedule. But it doesn't end there.

I had been noticing some funny things online about my anthropology class last week. The schedule disappeared from the website, but the syllabus was still there. There were no notifications that it had been canceled, and the times and places were written in the syllabus, so I still went on Tuesday morning. The doors of the classroom were locked. I asked the secretary in the office next door, and the response she gave me made me certain that she never even knew classes took place in the building. She might not be too far off, either. Luckily, as I was walking away, I overheard a few students talking about the class. I inquired as to its whereabouts, and I was told that the professor is on maternity leave and they still haven't found a replacement professor. "Hopefully within the next two weeks," the girl said.

"Are they going to put it online when they have someone?" I asked.

"Hopefully, but this is Italy," she responded with an indulgent smile. Silly American trying to rush things...

There you have it folks.

Sure, it could have been a surprise for this professor to discover she was pregnant, but it could have hardly been surprising seven or eight months later when she can no longer go to work. Maybe the fact that her stomach was as large as a NBA regulation basketball and impeded her movements would have helped her to remind her employers that she needed a replacement!

Or, perhaps this is, after all, Italy, and it isn't that big of a deal...

Signed,

the Sengenblogger