As of right now within the BCSP (Bologna Consortial Studies Program) Roster, we are split into two schools: a) the school who believes that practicing their Italian with the other American students will be immediately beneficial and so refuse to speak English to anyone, and b) the school of the "rebellious" homesick twats who refuse to speak Italian to anyone that does not possess some kind of authority slash anyone that is legit Italian (i.e., waiters, cashiers, stray Italian dogs, etc.)
I am proudly and forever in school B. We'll be starting actual university courses next month, and we're in the meantime expected to find apartments and begin to integrate ourselves with actual Italians. Assuming you find Italians willing to just let you waltz into their lives and introduce you to their friends and attempt to teach you how to be less gringo. I don't need to speak Italian to my American friends from day one. Once we're sure we can carry a conversation in Italian without sounding like assholes and stuttering between every word, we'll use it.
As far as my language skills is concerned, I'm a lot more confident after that creeper convo with those rapists yesterday. I could understand a lot of what they were saying. Turns out when you're actually talking to someone and not just attempting to eavesdrop on their hush-hush conversation as you walk by them on the street, you can comprehend a lot more.
Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah, dinner. My friends and I decided to avoid the people in charge (because we didn't want to feel pressured to speak horrible Italian for 3 hours straight - you can really sense that I'm trying very hard to have a fulfilling and educational experience here in Bologna). Thanks to this, we were able to order about 9000 bottles of wine. Or rather, the waiter who looked like the Terminator just kept 'em coming. No, wait, it was the other guy. The one that reminded me of an Italian Mr. Bean. Who, strangely enough, had been my waiter at another restaurant a few nights back.
I don't know precisely how many bottles of wine I had, it couldn't have been more than one, and if it was, I am extremely proud of myself for holding it together. And either I became quickly accustomed this summer to drinking - period - or I'm simply a natural, because never have I been able to literally chug alcohol without cringing. I can't even chug soda. Don't worry, Mom. It was only like a mL. Course-wise, we had bread, a pasta dish (containing two types of pasta, they were fucking magical), a salad course, and dessert. In that order. After about a 3-and-a-half-hour dinner, instead of walking back to the hotel, we decided to walk around Via Independenza, some piazzas, and Via Zamboni: Home of the Clusterfucks.
Just read Rafa van der Vaart was sold: WHAT THE WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS EFFING INSTITUTION??????
So we walked up and down Via Zamboni. Were really tired. Skyped with the fam. Chilled with Claude. Went to bed.
We just got back from a bus tour around Bologna (I was comatose for half of it), but we went to a sweet "balcony"-type thing where we got a sweet panoramic view of most of Bologna (lol I just used "sweet" twice in the same sentence. Something to add to my list of Things I Need to Stop Doing Preferably Forever). I took some pics. Very exciting. Much joy. Babies. Candy. Synergy.
Earlier today we met our program physician, if you will. He works in various hospitals around Bologna but he's the one to call should we ever have any medical emergency that we don't need to go to the ER for. He was interesting. American, kind of crude, but in a completely amicable way. Talked to us about doin' the dirty. Apparently there are some condoms sold in Italy that come in sets of 11 and in blue, to mirror the Italian National Football Team. If only I had a shaft to try it out on.
Oh, the doc put a picture of George Clooney on his PowerPoint. I was immediately sold. The interesting part was that he said the best way for us to reach him was via text. Yeah, the shit anybody usually as old and/or older than our parents can barely do, and this doctor was much older than my parents.
This afternoon we were also introduced to our counselor person. Also American and preggo. I hope to never need counseling. Not because it'd be unfortunate emotionally, but because her office is way too far away. In the time that it would take to get there, I would probably go through all the stages of grief. After her, we met some cops. They spoke very fast Italian and basically repeated everything my mother has been telling me for the past, IDK, three years of my life with regards to alcohol, drugs, sex, strangers, responsibility, knowing your "limits", etc. Oh, and apparently pepper spray is illegal here. I guess it's a good thing I didn't accidentally smuggle it through Customs in my purse again. Put it in one of the bags I checked instead - score. All in all: informative, but all I really paid attention to were the moments when he, the other cop, and our Resident Director would all start speaking in Italian, in a very Italian manner (obv; as in, using the hand motions, being loud, sounding like they're angry but aren't really, friendly touching, etc. etc.) and all of us were just like:
Well, more like:
A.k.a. since we're in Italy and are likely to gain 500 lbs. (I'M SORRY - KILOS), we are fighting the odds and are off to walk around Bologna. That is, until we pass out. Everyone's pretty worn out today. For no apparent reason, actually. In fact, tomorrow, I'm accompanying the gemelle on their apartment searches and this quest requires us to walk across the entire city of Bologna. Literally.
It seems a lot farther than it is, actually, but my sausage legs are hardly capable of such a trek.
Also I'm getting a cold. For the first time in years. I LOVE CONVENIENCE!
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