Cantautori

PS: I got into a little fight with two Italian girls. When I told them I loved Jovanotti, they were thrilled. Everyone does, apparently. And they added: "he's also really gorgeous." And I said: "Well, he was when he was younger. Now that he's pushing 50, he's not as good-looking." They laughed for about five minutes until they realized I wasn't kidding, and then the argument started. Fun times! 

Italian dorm life

Last night, I couldn't sleep. At first, it was because there were students setting off firecrackers directly inside my window. That was a bit annoying. I felt like I was in front of a firing squad. Then, it was because the mattress was unbearably uncomfortable. I barely got any sleep last night, but was still able to talk more than anyone else in class. Though, the professor is a lecturing type, which is fine because I enjoy that type of class; but also a bit disappointing, since I want to be speaking as much as possible to improve. Tonight, I've flipped the mattress over, and just sitting on it, I can feel a huge difference. I don't think I'll have much of a problem. 

The Urbino dorm was apparently designed by a famous architect. I don't know his name, but he must be an Italian Frank Lloyd Wright, since the way he designed this "collegio" to fit into the countryside is brilliant. The part I'm living in is called "tridente" and, no surprise, is shaped like a trident. Three prongs, each descending down the mountainside. The reason I have such a great view is because it's designed that way. Everyone has a great view! The room itself is pretty standard as far as dorms go, but it does have a very clever system of moveable shelves. The door handles don't turn, if you want another fun fact. They have a little button on top that allows you to open and close them. A student's space here consists of the bedroom, a cabinet in the bathroom, a cabinet in the kitchen, and just another cabinet outside the room for more clothes. I don't have enough clothes here in Europe with me to make use of all the space they've given me, which is definitely impressive. But there is one very impractical aspect to this room: the view is very distracting. 

The location of my room according to Google maps. 

This was what I saw from my window tonight when I sat down to do my reading for tomorrow's class. As you can imagine, it was hard to concentrate with that intense beauty in front of me, so I headed over to Gabriella's room (she's a Tulane student who's in my literature course) and the two of us went to work at the Caffè degli amici where we have breakfast every morning. 

My first Italian prof, Sara (from Venezia *insert rowing motion here*), told me that the best part of the whole program was this Caffè and Davide and Luca, the two men who run it. Well, this morning, I realized why. They are the two friendliest, nicest, and most helpful people I have ever seen. We order in Italian, they chat with us while making the coffee, and they already know me by name. Luca stole my hat, and when I called him out on it, he was like "boh!" So, I informed him it was a French hat, and he gave it back immediately. Tonight, I asked Davide if it was too late to order a spritz (an Italian cocktail), and he said it's never too late, and that I'm his new favorite person because I like spritzes! 

I got back to the dorm and there were tons of parties going on. The Italian students are leaving soon (on the 12th...), and they're constantly celebrating birthdays and completed exams apparently. They gave me gelato instead of letting me go to bed, and I was fine with that because they were all extremely happy speaking Italian with me! They all say they don't speak English, not even the ones who say they're studying English, which is a bit silly. They're all extremely impressed that I speak three languages, which is a bit strange for me, since I'm used to being the one impressed by Europeans' language skills. They are all so friendly, so quick to compliment your Italian no matter what level you're at, helpful if you don't know a word, and they NEVER switch to English or act snobby like French people. They also are apparently jokesters—when someone gets their "laurea" or undergraduate degree, they make them walk through Urbino with the "laurea" (laurels) on their head. Then they push them into the fountain (for which they don't get fined, because it's a special occasion—if they weren't wearing the laurea, apparently they'd get fined). When someone gets a dottorato, they have to do various other silly things. Today, we saw a newly awarded PhD student who had to wear a box on her head that was designed to look like a TV, and then recite something for a table, who then sang her a song. Then, apparently, they were going to head to the fountain and push her in.

After I left the party, I took my first shower in the dorm, and it was NOT as bad as people said. Actually, it might be the best dorm shower I've ever seen. Acceptably clean, there's a place to put your toiletries, a chair in the locked portion with the shower where you can put your keys/clothes, and the door didn't get stuck like they said some do. The water heat/pressure was excellent, the students were all out on the patio eating gelato, so I had the whole bathroom to myself. All in all, I'd say between the view and the amazing company (the Italian students...the American ones all went out to party together, and are probably still out speaking English right now), this dorm experience is ideal for studying abroad for such a short time in Italy! 

And for some pictures: 

A "laurea" procession. The person with the laurea is behind the guy in the blue shirt. Sorry...I didn't want to be rude and act like a tourist to get the good picture. 

My class is in a high school, and there's an actual crucifix on the wall! 

Creepy clock store in Urbino. 

The basilica

One entrance to the ducal palace 

Just a pretty church

Okay, I'm going to bed since I have to wake up at 7:30 again. Hopefully tonight I'll sleep better now that I've "fixed" the mattress. 

Urbino: pros and cons

Pros: 

1) The weather is pretty cool at the moment. I'm not the slightest bit uncomfortable because of the heat, which I wasn't expecting after last summer in Avignon.

2) My view. If you don't believe me, here is a picture I snapped quickly from my window when I got here: 

3) The Italian students in my wing of the dorm: they are so sweet. They carried my suitcase up three flights of stairs, and think my Italian is great, and love New York, and are just all-around friendly. One girl just knocked on my door, apologized for interrupting what sounded like a phone conversation, but wanted to let me know they're spraying for bugs tonight so I shouldn't leave the windows open. I love that she felt the need to apologize for telling me urgent and important information. 

4) The caffè where I'll be eating breakfast: the guy who owns it, Davide, seems so nice! He recognizes this year's group of professors, hugs them, chats like it hasn't been 5 years since he last saw them. 

5) Class size: 4 people in my class, including me. So 3 other people. That's a lot of Italian speaking! Plus, 3 hours per day! 

6) This town: it's so hilly, and adorable, and there are NO TOURISTS. 

Cons: 

1) It's in the middle of nowhere. So, if I want to go on trips during weekends, there will be major traveling involved. 

2) The other students in the program seem to speak English all the time. Maybe it's just because they're severely jetlagged. We'll see I suppose. 

3) Communal bathroom: and apparently if you close the door all the way when you're showering, the wood expands and you could get stuck inside. But, since the other girls in this wing seem so sweet, I doubt sharing a bathroom will be much of a problem. Besides, it's clean enough. My "apartment" last year in Avignon was worse. 

4) This dorm room: it's small, none of the things that are supposed to lock actually work (except for the main door), there are no hangers, and someone has written all over the walls. There's a squished spider on the ceiling, and there is only one outlet. The internet seems sufficient so far, but they were also a bit intimidating in our orientation about making sure we lock our doors at all time. Apparently, people have gotten things stolen in the past. 

Strange quirk:

1) My key has a block of wood attached to it. Not sure why...

Also, that is a face of a weary traveler who is the least tired of anyone in the group. Time for bed, given I have to wake up early tomorrow for class. Ciao!

Ciao Bologna!

See what I did there? The last word of the previous title was "Bisous" and the first word of this one is "Ciao." I know, very clever, right? Especially since I feel the need to explain it. 

Anyway, this morning I took the RER to Charles de Gaulle airport, caught a flight to Bologna, and now I'm in Italy. If I weren't so forgiving, I'd probably spend a good portion of this post complaining about the incompetent woman who works for my mom at the travel agency. She booked the flight (because I thought it would be the responsible thing not to do it myself, given I'm not a travel agent!) and when I asked her about the baggage allotment, she told me I had the right to one checked bag. Apparently not, and I technically wasn't allowed to pay for one at the airport. The lady was pretty sympathetic given I spoke French and was clearly quite annoyed with American incompetence. I think she really understood, because she let me pay to check my bag. But it was too heavy. 

I am currently sitting in my beautiful hotel room in Bologna, listening to the sounds of a gigantic concert/party that is going on outside. When I got here, I decided to spend today wandering around without any sort of touristy agenda (I can do that tomorrow). I got here kind of late, and I was exhausted, so actually visiting churches, shopping, and following an itinerary seemed cumbersome. Well, good thing I didn't have plans, because they would have been ruined. I turned onto one of the main streets to find a giant parade! A gay pride parade—colors, cross dressing, it was basically Kinky Boots the musical but not $140 and I didn't find it insulting to my intelligence! A little farther down the road, I saw 3 groups giving simultaneous concerts. And a bit farther still, by what I can only assume is a famous statue, there was a gigantic outdoor movie theater that had been set up for the cinema festival! 

Bologna is a bit of a mystery to me. All I know is that they have the oldest European university, that there are two famous towers (Le due torri, one of which is pendente or leaning), and that one of my professors is from there and is extremely proud. Also, there's a kind of spaghetti that comes from here. Bolognese, ovviamente. Despite my lack of knowledge of Bologna's history and current status in Italy, being in Italy again after a month in Paris is a bit of a culture shock. In Paris, I feel quite comfortable. I really know the city, can navigate in and out of the métro, can wander around areas I don't know without getting lost, and I've been to every tourist site and know the literature, history, culture, and museums probably better than most Parisians do. But, Bologna, and any Italian city for that matter, are still new to me. Fortunately, my Italian is at that level which will allow me to figure things out. The taxi driver who brought me to the hotel from the airport couldn't believe my Italian—he said it sounded absolutely perfect, no accent, except that I talked a bit too precisely as though I were reading from a book. I told him part of what I did to learn was read tons of Calvino, so I guess that makes sense. 

Anyway, I also got a delicious dinner tonight—pumpkin ravioli in a balsamic sauce with salty bacon bits (that was my primo piatto, because pasta isn't a main course in Italy) and then breaded and fried veal alla bolognese (with a slice of prosciutto and cheese on top, that was my secondo). Then, an espresso. Instead of getting dessert there, I got gelato, and it might have been good enough to make me forget for a second that, were I in Paris today, I would have gotten Berthillon. Just kidding, it was delicious. Salted toffee! 

Oh, and my hotel room has a balcony and you can see the torri from it! Admittedly not the greatest view, but a view nonetheless! 

Au revoir Paris ! Bisous !

French people put spaces before exclamation points and question marks. Don't ask me why. I don't make the rules, I just follow them.

My last day in Paris consisted mostly in laundry, cleaning, and making sure I left Justine's apartment the way I found it. The only annoying part was that this morning, my jeans still weren't dry. They apparently take longer to line dry than everything else. Packing at 8am this morning, I had to wrap them in garbage bags and put them in my carryon, since I was sure wet jeans would really put me over my weight allotment for my checked baggage. If only that had been my only problem...but I'll get to that in a bit. 

I met the theater director at Princeton yesterday for a coffee, a nice promenade through the Opéra neighborhood, and a macaron. His name is Florent Masse, and the work he does with undergraduate students learning French at Princeton is so astounding that this year, I actually told him to sign me up too! That's right: next year, I will be in a French play. According to our conversation, that play will be Phèdre, what many consider to be the absolute perfection of the French language. Written by Jean Racine in the 17th century, Phèdre retells the ancient myth of Phædra, the daughter of Minos and Pasiphaë, cursed by the gods in a similar way that her mother was (Pasiphaë was cursed to fall in love with a bull, and actually gave birth to the Minotaur). Phèdre falls in love with her stepson, Hippolyte, but doesn't reveal her love until she is reasonably certain her husband, the king Thésée (Theseus), is dead. When she confesses her forbidden passion and learns it is unrequited (Hippolyte is in love with someone else), her husband conveniently returns. Then, all hell breaks loose. She tells her husband his son tried to seduce her, he invokes the wrath of Neptune to kill his own son, Phèdre's confidante Œnone drowns for no reason, and Phèdre poisons herself. It's a pretty standard plot for a tragedy. What's interesting is Racine's poetry. Written in French verses called "alexandrins" (12 syllables, rhyming couplets, with accents on beats 6 and 12, and certain rules governing where other less-important accents can lie, what words can end in vowels, what kind of rhymes can end each couplet), Phèdre's adherence to the rules of classical French drama (it also takes place in one day, one place, and only one action is accomplished—otherwise known as the rule of three unities) and French versification makes Shakespeare and his iambic pentameter seem a bit lazy. Back to my point, Florent told me one of the plays for this coming school year is Phèdre, and I immediately started reciting lines from it. It's one of my favorite French plays, and I even wrote part of one of my generals essays about it and a novel by Émile Zola (La Curée) which rewrites it in the 19th century amidst a changing city landscape. Florent, thrilled to hear that I'm already putting my memory to work on French theater (that was the reason he was so excited for me to be in one of his plays at all), said I'd make a great Œnone! So yay! I get to drown after giving very reasonable advice to a madwoman!! But don't worry—all characters die offstage. It's one of the rules. 

After meeting Florent, I met Mélanie and her Italian friend Andrea for drinks and a nice stroll around Les Halles (a happening night spot in Paris). Three nationalities, three languages, and we really confused the bartenders. Andrea didn't speak French, which is a bit unfortunate since he's here working, but we made do. I got home extremely late, and just knew I would be exhausted today. Except, for some reason I'm not. Maybe it's because Bologna is amazing! But that's another post for another time. In the meantime, here is a picture of my cocktail from last night. It's "à l'étage," which means it's layered. I had to mix it up before drinking it, but the picture is before I destroyed it's pretty rainbow structure!

Shopping with a "Parisienne"

I've never been one for style, but one of my goals for this trip to Paris was to buy one of those striped shirts they always wear. One day right when I had gotten here, Alix and I went to the Berthillon salon de thé, and I told her about that goal. She told me I was crazy, that it was just a stereotype, and that not EVERY French person has one of these shirts. Then we walked out of the building and three people on that street alone were wearing them. When Alice was here, I told her I wanted to buy one, and she actually gave me a very useful piece of information: these shirts have a name, and are called Marinières. So, armed with that fact, I went to a store that I had seen every day on the walk to my study abroad program. It's a store called Armor-Lux, and the sign is a Marinière. I figured it was a good place to start. 

So, I walked in and started looking. Unsure of the sizes, I picked up a 5, because that seemed reasonable. A woman came over and asked if I needed help, and then she started laughing when I showed her what I had picked. Apparently I'm a 3 at the absolute most, that a 5 is for fat people! I almost said that I was American so she would reconsider that sentence, but I was so thrilled she seemed to think that I was only a totally inept French person. She didn't attempt to speak English even once. Anyway, I tried on a 3 and a 2, and actually bought both because I really like them. This is not me being a francophile! I used to wear shirts like this all the time in middle/high school, but with a basic color and white stripes. The difference with the Marinière is that it's a white shirt with thin stripes of another color. I got blue and a maroon. One short sleeved and one 3/4 length. I will wear one today!! The 3/4 length sleeve one most likely, given this might be my last chance to wear that without sweating bullets this summer. I have a feeling it will be unbearably hot in Italy. 

After that, I went to Longchamp to buy purses for Americans. This was an ordeal!! Really. I didn't mention with the Marinières, but a few days ago, the "soldes" began. In Paris, possibly all of France even (they were in Avignon at the same time as well), there are two giant sales a year. And not just at certain stores, but EVERYWHERE. I got my mom a 300€ purse for 200€ if you want an example. Normal Longchamps weren't discounted. In any case, the store was a madhouse. There were tourists of every nationality being helped by salespeople speaking their own languages. It was so impressive. I saw a French saleswoman speaking Japanese. And a French salesman speaking Spanish. And of course they were all speaking English. 

Finally, last night I went shopping with Andréa after she got off from work. In case you don't know about Andréa, she is half French and half Portuguese, so totally bilingual with those two languages. Besides those, she speaks Spanish, Italian, and English. I don't think she'd say she speaks them perfectly, but I've chatted with her in English and Italian and I can vouch for them. I guess it's true that once you learn a fourth language, additional ones become easier. I really need to learn a new language next year! Well, we met at her favorite store, Mango. It's Spanish, like Zara. She was late (which I expected, being half French and all), so I already had a few things in my hands by the time she arrived. And after examining my findings, she told me I had good tastes!!

To explain how much of a compliment that is, think about your mental image of a Parisian woman, or a Parisienne as we'd call them here. Please, take the beret off. That is the only part of the stereotype that is wrong. Other than that, you should be picturing a tall, thin, dark-haired, stylish woman, with a scarf, nice dress, nice shoes, possibly the Marinière if she's dressing down that day, a cigarette, red wine. Well, this is a stereotype, can't be completely accurate. Andréa doesn't particularly like scarves. Sure, she has a bunch and wears them, but she tends to go without more often than most Parisiennes. She prefers white wine too. What can you do? Her tastes in clothes is otherwise impeccable, and I have NEVER seen her dressed anything less than exceptionally. So, when she told me my choices were good, I squealed for joy internally. 

Mango was even crazier than Longchamp. There was just mass chaos, and so many of the good things in the good sizes were already gone. The line for the dressing room was longer than the Berthillon line was yesterday to put things in perspective. Actually, there was no Berthillon line yesterday, also they recognized me and said: "Hey, weren't you just here yesterday? And the day before? Are you coming tomorrow??" Just in time for me to leave! Well, I ended up buying a really classy-looking navy blue dress with a belt to go with it, and a pink/orange shirt all for about 80€! I love the "soldes"! Especially since, to my American native English-speaking brain, it sounds like everything is already sold! 

After shopping, we headed over to Opéra to go to a fancy French café for a glass of wine. She said that way, we'd be really parisiennes. I should have taken a picture of this café, but I'm sure that real parisiennes aren't tourists. So I restrained myself. Eventually Jérôme met us and the spell was broken...we went to Indiana and got dinner. Clearly, he's not parisien. 

 

Spoiled

I've had a few posts about Princeton students in Paris, but yesterday, I was forced to acknowledge how spoiled we are. Yes, this seems like an irrelevant blog post, but nothing particularly exciting happened yesterday, besides the fact that I got Berthillon ice cream and took a lot of buses and métros. I went to the French/Italian conversation table, and they were still talking about how I brought my flute last week! But, before any of that, I woke up and headed to a "milk café," otherwise known as an Internet café. Why they call it "milk" is beyond me, but the basic premise is this: they nickel and dime you to do everything that you can do for free if you are a Princeton student on campus. 

My bill:

3€ for 1/4 hour of Internet access. I figured that would be sufficient, but it wasn't. 

1€ for a Kinder candy bar

1,50€ for an Oasis tropical juice (my favorite!)

0,30€ per page for my printing...so

0,30€ x 118 pages (all that I could get the computer to print before my 3€ of time ran out) = 29,50€

5,90€ TVA

Total: 40,90€ ($52.76) to print my readings for the first 2.5 weeks of the Urbino program. Yes, that is insane. The craziest part is that I had asked the professor to send me the readings before June if possible, so I could print them in the US. He said he would try. We got them last week. I might just read the rest on my iPad, because I don't feel particularly inclined to spend another $50 or more to print the rest. 

At least my friend Alex back in Princeton gave me a wonderful idea for a snack here—apparently, there is butter you can buy with salt crystals in it, and he said the most delicious thing in the world is putting that on a freshly made baguette with a bit of jambon or saucisson if I feel so inclined. So, once I'm done with this post, that is my goal for the morning! I have laundry in the washer now, so I can't stray too far from the apartment anyway.