Let me explain to you the context in which I heard this phrase, first off, and secondly why it hit home for me.
First I have to lay the groundwork; bare with me if this is slow, but it’s all very important.
Picture this, you’re sitting around with your friends, having a few beers, generally enjoying life and most importantly, doing nothing when someone (in my case my roommate, Gustav) comes up to you and starts talking about plans for a trip to Florence.
“Oh, maybe I’ll come, I don’t have anything better to do”.
Stop. Let me just point out how spoiled I am here. How is it possible that I can make a decision to go to Florence and Tuscany while getting drunk with my friends the night before we are supposed to go. What?! Is this happening?
Needless to say, I was up and at em’ at eight in the morning after a night out at a bar and a delicious slice of pizza at two in the morning and heading to Florence.
Rule of thumb, the more spontaneous the trip, the better it is.
Gustav wanted to meet a friend of his for lunch and while we were on the train we decided that maybe it would be cool to check out Siena….SIENA! You know, that beautiful Tuscan town tucked in the sun kissed and rolling Tuscan hills… yeah that one.
Lunch was wonderful (after a train, ps, that was 45 minutes late) and incredibly simple. We picked up some food in a small market and ate on the side of the river close to the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. Now, I realize it’s not everyday that you decide to eat lunch in Florence… This. Was. Fucking. Cool. We sat there, talking for a good hour two; the conversation somehow drifting between Swedish (Gustav’s friend from Sweden) English and Italian, sitting in the sun, talking about life, exchange, studies…
Then Gustav’s friend says it…
“Just smile, you’re in Italy…” All the stress, preoccupation, worrying, isn’t worth it…especially when the sun is shining.
Living a charmed life? I am for sure. Um, hi, I went to Florence? To eat lunch?
After lunch we took a stroll through the historic part of Florence and climbed the Duomo. I needn’t discuss the views… just think of how you feel when confronted with overwhelming beauty and majesty…Done.
After, we were off to Siena (I had been to Florence twice before, but never Siena, so this was a real treat). I don’t think we really knew where we were going and if we were even on the right train...but we were there.
The ride between Siena and Florence was breathtaking… even if our views were from a regional train window. All those sun kissed and rolling hills, dotted with small walled towns and vineyards that everyone talks about… is incredibly accurate and more beautiful than you could imagine. Enough said.
Siena was unbelievable and after a small detour (one of those “rights when you should’ve gone left) we managed to make it to the main square (famous for the fact that twice a year there is a horse race that goes on right in the center of the city between it’s different quarters). Sparing you the urban geography lingo (again) I will just say that it is a marvel how they built the square and how the city itself fits in unbelievably with the hills.
More food. We were starving. Luckily there was this small bar with an outdoor terrace that afforded us a view (from a few stories up) of the whole square. We (Gustav and I) sat, enjoyed the scenery, sipped chianti, and had the best damn panini I, at least, have ever tasted before in my life. One of those “really good ends to a really good day” kind of things. For dessert we were recommended at bar/bakery where they serve a regional specialty called “Ricciarelli”… Italian for fucking delicious… well maybe not that, but it was good.
Good food. Check. Café an dessert at a nice bar. Check. Beautiful views. Check.
We got back to Bologna at around midnight…all of this traveling… about 200 KM in each direction, cost less than 26 Euro. How? I don’t know.
Most importantly, and the point that I was trying to make from the beginning… Smile, you’re in Italy. So much of this exchange experience goes beyond studying. It’s really about life. To horribly quote two songs which some up my situation right now.
-It’s time like these you learn to live again…
-I’m no superman…(I love Scrubs way too much)
The “not being superman” probably is the most important for me specifically because, I don’t know if its an only child thing or not, I am soooooo independent (sometimes to my own detriment). Realizing that a) its ok to depend on people and b) that you absolutely CAN’T do everything has been so important. I think my biggest problem is realizing that I can’t have/do it all and that I will NEVER be the best at everything I do…this meaning of course that I have to make choices, be it parties on a Friday night, places to go in Europe, or even majors in university. I can't tell you how many times I've overextended myself and tried to be too many places at once, which of course in the end that I missed out on a lot...just in the time I spent to get from point A to point Z.
No more making myself miserable.
The moral of the story, for me at least, is pick wisely, enjoy the choice you made and don't set the bar too high for yourself.
So here I am, learning to live again, learning what makes me “me” in the context of being constantly confronted with things that are new and different (I never thought I would say that about Italy) and learning to just smile and go with the flow.
THAT is what is most important.
Quick updates... little bits and pieces of life here
Here are a series of miscellaneous stories that I couldn’t really put anywhere:
-The other day while out with my friend Mike from Prince Edward Island, I did a shot of absyinth at three in the afternoon…We had gone to a bar called Transylvania (gothic décor and everything) that advertises an all you can eat, five Euro buffet… I’m hi, my name is Matt, I’m a…starving…university student. On the way out we noticed a bottle of absyinth behind the bar. The conversation went a little something like this:
Me: “Oh hey, a bottle of absyinth…wouldn’t it be funny if…”
Mike: “I’ll do it if you do it…”
::Look at each other for a few seconds trying to figure out who is serious::
Me: “Ok! Done.”
Afterwards I happily attended my history of Renaissance theatre class (where I essentially know nothing and then capoeira….Needless to say I crashed pretty early that night.
Moral of the story…You do things on exchange you normally wouldn’t do at home.
-On the exam for history of Renaissance theatre (where I thought to have essentially known nothing) I received full marks...30/30…with “lode” (honors). Don’t ask me how. The exam was oral and in a group. We went around in a circle and expounded upon a pre-pared point, which was well and good by me until of course the girl in front of me chose my topic.
Panic.
Somehow I managed to connect the papacy of Urbano VIII, who happened to be a large patron of the arts and especially theatre, in 16th century Rome, to urban planning and city restructuring.
What?
Afterward the prof went around the circle and asked questions…Here is the thing, as much as oral exams are nice because you have actual contact with the professor, they are also difficult because you can’…frankly, bullshit…as well as on a written exam (hello typical B+ in the Faculty of Arts at McGill). So the first question fired off at me I had no clue about…The second I had a vague idea…something about 16th century caricatures and how they relate to theatre. Anyway, I didn’t know. That’s what I said…
I don’t remember.
In the end, somehow, I got full marks. The prof said, because I was an American and because she could tell I made an effort I deserved it.
GRAZIE!
Moral of the story…Always make the effort and take the ball back to your court (ie, the topic YOU know the most about…that’s, of course, where you’ll shine.)
-In theory (a very comfortable and widely used phrase in Italian that I love) everyone pays for the bus in Bologna (a Euro per ride… not a bad deal). In practice, no one pays. I have spoken to people who have gone five years without paying once. I, being the law abiding dork that I am always pay…simply because I am one of those people who, I don’t know always looks guilty when they break the rules or something, because I ALWAYS GET CAUGHT. So, one night I went to capoeira with some friends (neighbors from across the street, see earlier blog) on the other side of the city, requiring of course the use of mass transit. I didn’t have a dime on me, and of course I wasn’t going to the ATM just for a bus ticket, so I got on. We got to capoeira no problem; I, of course, was slightly (ok, you got me, overly) paranoid the whole time.
Insert nice capoeira class here. I sang. I danced. It was right after being sick so of course I was really happy to be getting back into my groove.
So we hop on the bus on the way back. No problem.
Stop. Hammer time.
You know when your spidey-sense goes off two seconds too late…that is exactly what happened at the next bus stop. I got that sinking feeling in my stomach.
Something was wrong.
“Ragazzi.. biglietti…” The guy flashes his badge for the transport agency of Bologna.
Now the girls that we were with had a ticket that they stamped about eight million times and somehow it was still valid…even though they were sharing it as well. I, however, had “stupid international student” as my only aliby.
Shit. Shit. Shit. What about my passport, my visa? Did they just say they would call the cops?
“I.. don’t know… it’s my first night here…” Ok, I may have been accentuating my accent a bit to get the point across.
So, sometimes, like in class or in other situations, the Randy “lie there like a slug” routine from A Christmas Story works. This time it didn’t.
Ok, I gave in. I’ll pay the fine….40 Euros. We got off in the city centre, and the guy, with my identification in hand, waited as I painfully withdrew 40 Euro from the Bancomat… I gave in without a ticket or anything; this was something that I just wanted to BE OVER….white flag and all, I surrender.
Um, hi, Matt, that’s 40 rides on the bus.
Moral of the story… I CAN NEVER BREAK THE RULES (every since the time when I was four years old and my friend Nick convinced me to put my four fingers in my mouth and say truck, the result being that I went crying to HIS mom to tell him what I had done)…. Period. (Grrr)
Last Sunday, I sat in the main square for about five hours, taking the sun and essentially doing nothing.
It felt so good…’nuff said.
Moral of the story…Do nothing sometimes, especially in sunny places…It’s incredibly gratifying, more so than finishing papers, writing long exams and getting good grades on both.
Amongt other things I went to the opera (incredibly gorgeous and amazing, five minutes by foot from my apartment, where I had a front row seat I had bought that day that normally costs 70 Euro that I got for 15 because I was a student), pleaded with a bouncer to let me and my friends OUT of a bar (all because they messed up and let us in without giving us proper drink tickets that we needed spend ten Euros on or spend a 75 Euro fine…needless to say we were guilty until proven innocent…very frustrating and something I don’t care to delve into too deeply), AND registered for my FINAL year of courses at McGill (and panicked not only about the future, but about the fact that they changed a backdoor way of signing on to the overloaded course registration program, essentially rendering a maybe well known trick useless…).
I’d say after reading all this you’ve been fully updated on my existence apart from eating and sleeping.
France in a week!
-The other day while out with my friend Mike from Prince Edward Island, I did a shot of absyinth at three in the afternoon…We had gone to a bar called Transylvania (gothic décor and everything) that advertises an all you can eat, five Euro buffet… I’m hi, my name is Matt, I’m a…starving…university student. On the way out we noticed a bottle of absyinth behind the bar. The conversation went a little something like this:
Me: “Oh hey, a bottle of absyinth…wouldn’t it be funny if…”
Mike: “I’ll do it if you do it…”
::Look at each other for a few seconds trying to figure out who is serious::
Me: “Ok! Done.”
Afterwards I happily attended my history of Renaissance theatre class (where I essentially know nothing and then capoeira….Needless to say I crashed pretty early that night.
Moral of the story…You do things on exchange you normally wouldn’t do at home.
-On the exam for history of Renaissance theatre (where I thought to have essentially known nothing) I received full marks...30/30…with “lode” (honors). Don’t ask me how. The exam was oral and in a group. We went around in a circle and expounded upon a pre-pared point, which was well and good by me until of course the girl in front of me chose my topic.
Panic.
Somehow I managed to connect the papacy of Urbano VIII, who happened to be a large patron of the arts and especially theatre, in 16th century Rome, to urban planning and city restructuring.
What?
Afterward the prof went around the circle and asked questions…Here is the thing, as much as oral exams are nice because you have actual contact with the professor, they are also difficult because you can’…frankly, bullshit…as well as on a written exam (hello typical B+ in the Faculty of Arts at McGill). So the first question fired off at me I had no clue about…The second I had a vague idea…something about 16th century caricatures and how they relate to theatre. Anyway, I didn’t know. That’s what I said…
I don’t remember.
In the end, somehow, I got full marks. The prof said, because I was an American and because she could tell I made an effort I deserved it.
GRAZIE!
Moral of the story…Always make the effort and take the ball back to your court (ie, the topic YOU know the most about…that’s, of course, where you’ll shine.)
-In theory (a very comfortable and widely used phrase in Italian that I love) everyone pays for the bus in Bologna (a Euro per ride… not a bad deal). In practice, no one pays. I have spoken to people who have gone five years without paying once. I, being the law abiding dork that I am always pay…simply because I am one of those people who, I don’t know always looks guilty when they break the rules or something, because I ALWAYS GET CAUGHT. So, one night I went to capoeira with some friends (neighbors from across the street, see earlier blog) on the other side of the city, requiring of course the use of mass transit. I didn’t have a dime on me, and of course I wasn’t going to the ATM just for a bus ticket, so I got on. We got to capoeira no problem; I, of course, was slightly (ok, you got me, overly) paranoid the whole time.
Insert nice capoeira class here. I sang. I danced. It was right after being sick so of course I was really happy to be getting back into my groove.
So we hop on the bus on the way back. No problem.
Stop. Hammer time.
You know when your spidey-sense goes off two seconds too late…that is exactly what happened at the next bus stop. I got that sinking feeling in my stomach.
Something was wrong.
“Ragazzi.. biglietti…” The guy flashes his badge for the transport agency of Bologna.
Now the girls that we were with had a ticket that they stamped about eight million times and somehow it was still valid…even though they were sharing it as well. I, however, had “stupid international student” as my only aliby.
Shit. Shit. Shit. What about my passport, my visa? Did they just say they would call the cops?
“I.. don’t know… it’s my first night here…” Ok, I may have been accentuating my accent a bit to get the point across.
So, sometimes, like in class or in other situations, the Randy “lie there like a slug” routine from A Christmas Story works. This time it didn’t.
Ok, I gave in. I’ll pay the fine….40 Euros. We got off in the city centre, and the guy, with my identification in hand, waited as I painfully withdrew 40 Euro from the Bancomat… I gave in without a ticket or anything; this was something that I just wanted to BE OVER….white flag and all, I surrender.
Um, hi, Matt, that’s 40 rides on the bus.
Moral of the story… I CAN NEVER BREAK THE RULES (every since the time when I was four years old and my friend Nick convinced me to put my four fingers in my mouth and say truck, the result being that I went crying to HIS mom to tell him what I had done)…. Period. (Grrr)
Last Sunday, I sat in the main square for about five hours, taking the sun and essentially doing nothing.
It felt so good…’nuff said.
Moral of the story…Do nothing sometimes, especially in sunny places…It’s incredibly gratifying, more so than finishing papers, writing long exams and getting good grades on both.
Amongt other things I went to the opera (incredibly gorgeous and amazing, five minutes by foot from my apartment, where I had a front row seat I had bought that day that normally costs 70 Euro that I got for 15 because I was a student), pleaded with a bouncer to let me and my friends OUT of a bar (all because they messed up and let us in without giving us proper drink tickets that we needed spend ten Euros on or spend a 75 Euro fine…needless to say we were guilty until proven innocent…very frustrating and something I don’t care to delve into too deeply), AND registered for my FINAL year of courses at McGill (and panicked not only about the future, but about the fact that they changed a backdoor way of signing on to the overloaded course registration program, essentially rendering a maybe well known trick useless…).
I’d say after reading all this you’ve been fully updated on my existence apart from eating and sleeping.
France in a week!
I HATE my sinuses....period.
Just when you think you start to get the hang of something, life throws you a curve ball.
This past week I had my seasonal “oh my God I want to cut off my nose and pray to the God of Nyquil” sinus infection. Looking back on the week before and retracing my steps that led me to rolling around in a mountain of snot for well over a week, I guess there were a few bad decisions that I had made.
Bad (for my health, but incredibly cool).
Staying out until three in the morning essentially piazza hopping with some of my Erasmus friends. Picture this: via Zamboni, one of the main streets in Bologna filled with people overflowing from the bar right next door to some ancient (were talking 12th century) university buildings. As per usual, everyone just kind of hangs out, drinks outside, and enjoys life. The whole experience was compounded by the lunar eclipse that was taking place the very same night. After exhausting the Piccolo Bar (which, I assure you, wasn’t so piccolo) we made our way to another square in one of the oldest areas of the city; Santo Stefano. This is where it gets dicey but incredibly cool. Just to paint a little backdrop for all of you, the church in Santo Stefano was built by the patron Saint of the city and was consequently where they keep his relics…so we’re talking a pretty important spot. Now imagine this: people just sitting out in front of the church, drinking, smoking (not sure what substance), singing and even dancing a bit…for the Montreal people in the audience it’s kind of like tam tams alla italiana…only in front of the church built by the patron saint of the city…
Sacreligious is the new…something….I guess.
It was so cool though and I couldn’t help but think…my favorite line for this trip:
“Oh my God guys, this is like L’Auberge Espagnole” [geeky noise followed by hand movement adjusting invisible glasses].
So needless to say, sitting outside until all hours of the morning probably didn’t help my sinuses out too much.
Good (for my health and neighborly relations).
I discovered recently that we have access to our roof here in Bologna! This is a very exciting prospect for me because it doesn’t require me climbing the same death defying rickety old ladder that I had to climb in Montréal to get to the roof (sometimes with a beer or garbage full of food in my hands) and affords some unbelievable views of the city and surrounding country side….we can see…everything.
Sweeeeeeet.
So… it was about 70 degrees, sunny and clear….views of rolling hills, the cathedral and two towers…this would be healthy and all natural solution to my nascent illness… some fresh air…maybe actually doing some readings for courses…you get the point.
Some of my apartment mates and I were outside on the terrace/roof enjoying and taking in the warm Italian sun when a lady from a terrace across the way called over to us.
“Hey! Hey! Are you guys students? Where are you from?”
I had a this point pretty much lost my voice, so when I responded it sounded like an old New York City pill popping lady with big hair that somewhat spoke Italian… no matter, I still got my point across.
“Want to see my puppy!?”
Um… YES. The dog was ADORABLE. Although I forgot the name.
Then she started telling us about her life in Bologna, how when she moved in there was no one living here… and about the plants on her terrace….one of which was an olive plant.
“You know, I like it but it attracts too many birds that ruin the terrace…YOU want it?”
Ok… so you just complained about it, but you’re still offering it to us…
“YES!” Delight trumps reason yet again.
“OK I think about it, bye!”
Later on that very same day while one of my apartment mates was studying for her exam outside, all her papers blew away, consequently causing a neighborhood raucous that would lead to us meeting more of our neighbors. She bolted out the door and down the street and was maybe able to recover 1 or 2 pages… but on the bright side, as we were all leaning out the windows (again very Italian) a guy from a way called over to us. He’s an Erasmus student, Portuguese, just kind of interested in meeting people. That is what is incredibly cool about being here, everyone has no one so they are always looking for some one to talk to. Turns out that one of his apartment mates I had already met through another Erasmus event, a Belgian girl who’s kind of teaching herself Italian as she goes….and studies economics. So after yelling back and forth for about 10 minutes we all went our separate ways again. I ended up at their place later on that day because we consequently gave each other little tours of our apartments.
Very cool.
Bad for my health (and I think spiritual well being).
Going toe to toe with a gypsy girl that was aggressively begging for money in the main square probably wasn’t the best of ideas. I was sitting with two English girls who I had just met in the main square (if you find native English speakers here, you are ALWAYS best friends and shouldn’t be ashamed to interrupt and awkwardly barge into conversations to prove your mother tongue). Then a little girl came over, probably 10 or 11, and started climbing on these girls…
“You’re so pretty, you’re so pretty… .some money.”
Now, most of the time, when people ask me for money, I really don’t have any. Even though I probably seemed cold hearted, you probably would’ve done the same.
“OH! We don’t have anything.”
Little girl turns to her friend and whispers something in their language… which I still to this day believe was a curse on my poor sinuses or something… then cursed me out again in Italian… nice huh?
So after unsuccessfully getting some money out of the British girls they moved on, but right before they left, the little girl pretended that she was going to spit on me. Was that to seal the curse or something… I don’t know. I just know that after that I day I started feeling worse.
Good and bad (Good for mental well being, bad for my cold)
So I wasn’t having the best day… anyone who has been or is currently on exchange knows that moods change faster than you can say “study abroad” and you can, within the same day go from loving to where you at to posing that all encompassing question to yourself:
“WHAT AM I DOING HERE?”
Needless to say I was going through one of those mood switches and was also getting sick… for consolation I made my way to the main square (begrudgingly) to access the internet (on a side note, you think that with the limited time and access I have to the internet, I would really be organized and use it efficiently, but unfortunately old habits die hard and I can’t help but open messenger programs as soon as I get there… meaning that I kill any shread of productivity in my body.)
As I got closer to the piazza huffing and puffing and whipping my nose on my sleeve (oh, sinuses) I heard some music that sounded really, really familiar.
PEOPLE WERE DOING CAPOEIRA (ANGOLA) IN THE MAIN SQUARE.
Sick or not, I made my way over…first sat down in the circle and started singing…then eventually worked up the courage to play a wheezy game with someone I had never met before in my life.
It. Was. So. Cool. Wheezing like the former fat kid I once was while doing the mile run or not, I was so happy.
This is all very anti-climatic because needless to say, these were the events that lead up to me being SICK AS A DOG. I have a nice gap in my life that started about a week ago (Monday) and went until I reemerged from my room a few days later.
Ok I wasn’t deathly sick and ended up forcing myself to go to some classes in true McGill style, but I was aslo watching a lot of Scrubs (in French), drinking a lot of tea, and sleeping… a lot. I also tried about every kind of herbal cure you can imagine and have come to the conclusion that Nyquil and synthetic substances always work better in the end... no matter how horrible they are for you.
Ta da! That's my life.
(In other news, in a few weeks I'm going to the French alps with a friend of mine from France....and all his friends from university... don't ask how I get myself into these situations but I'm so psyched for it.... roadtrip à la française here I come.)
This past week I had my seasonal “oh my God I want to cut off my nose and pray to the God of Nyquil” sinus infection. Looking back on the week before and retracing my steps that led me to rolling around in a mountain of snot for well over a week, I guess there were a few bad decisions that I had made.
Bad (for my health, but incredibly cool).
Staying out until three in the morning essentially piazza hopping with some of my Erasmus friends. Picture this: via Zamboni, one of the main streets in Bologna filled with people overflowing from the bar right next door to some ancient (were talking 12th century) university buildings. As per usual, everyone just kind of hangs out, drinks outside, and enjoys life. The whole experience was compounded by the lunar eclipse that was taking place the very same night. After exhausting the Piccolo Bar (which, I assure you, wasn’t so piccolo) we made our way to another square in one of the oldest areas of the city; Santo Stefano. This is where it gets dicey but incredibly cool. Just to paint a little backdrop for all of you, the church in Santo Stefano was built by the patron Saint of the city and was consequently where they keep his relics…so we’re talking a pretty important spot. Now imagine this: people just sitting out in front of the church, drinking, smoking (not sure what substance), singing and even dancing a bit…for the Montreal people in the audience it’s kind of like tam tams alla italiana…only in front of the church built by the patron saint of the city…
Sacreligious is the new…something….I guess.
It was so cool though and I couldn’t help but think…my favorite line for this trip:
“Oh my God guys, this is like L’Auberge Espagnole” [geeky noise followed by hand movement adjusting invisible glasses].
So needless to say, sitting outside until all hours of the morning probably didn’t help my sinuses out too much.
Good (for my health and neighborly relations).
I discovered recently that we have access to our roof here in Bologna! This is a very exciting prospect for me because it doesn’t require me climbing the same death defying rickety old ladder that I had to climb in Montréal to get to the roof (sometimes with a beer or garbage full of food in my hands) and affords some unbelievable views of the city and surrounding country side….we can see…everything.
Sweeeeeeet.
So… it was about 70 degrees, sunny and clear….views of rolling hills, the cathedral and two towers…this would be healthy and all natural solution to my nascent illness… some fresh air…maybe actually doing some readings for courses…you get the point.
Some of my apartment mates and I were outside on the terrace/roof enjoying and taking in the warm Italian sun when a lady from a terrace across the way called over to us.
“Hey! Hey! Are you guys students? Where are you from?”
I had a this point pretty much lost my voice, so when I responded it sounded like an old New York City pill popping lady with big hair that somewhat spoke Italian… no matter, I still got my point across.
“Want to see my puppy!?”
Um… YES. The dog was ADORABLE. Although I forgot the name.
Then she started telling us about her life in Bologna, how when she moved in there was no one living here… and about the plants on her terrace….one of which was an olive plant.
“You know, I like it but it attracts too many birds that ruin the terrace…YOU want it?”
Ok… so you just complained about it, but you’re still offering it to us…
“YES!” Delight trumps reason yet again.
“OK I think about it, bye!”
Later on that very same day while one of my apartment mates was studying for her exam outside, all her papers blew away, consequently causing a neighborhood raucous that would lead to us meeting more of our neighbors. She bolted out the door and down the street and was maybe able to recover 1 or 2 pages… but on the bright side, as we were all leaning out the windows (again very Italian) a guy from a way called over to us. He’s an Erasmus student, Portuguese, just kind of interested in meeting people. That is what is incredibly cool about being here, everyone has no one so they are always looking for some one to talk to. Turns out that one of his apartment mates I had already met through another Erasmus event, a Belgian girl who’s kind of teaching herself Italian as she goes….and studies economics. So after yelling back and forth for about 10 minutes we all went our separate ways again. I ended up at their place later on that day because we consequently gave each other little tours of our apartments.
Very cool.
Bad for my health (and I think spiritual well being).
Going toe to toe with a gypsy girl that was aggressively begging for money in the main square probably wasn’t the best of ideas. I was sitting with two English girls who I had just met in the main square (if you find native English speakers here, you are ALWAYS best friends and shouldn’t be ashamed to interrupt and awkwardly barge into conversations to prove your mother tongue). Then a little girl came over, probably 10 or 11, and started climbing on these girls…
“You’re so pretty, you’re so pretty… .some money.”
Now, most of the time, when people ask me for money, I really don’t have any. Even though I probably seemed cold hearted, you probably would’ve done the same.
“OH! We don’t have anything.”
Little girl turns to her friend and whispers something in their language… which I still to this day believe was a curse on my poor sinuses or something… then cursed me out again in Italian… nice huh?
So after unsuccessfully getting some money out of the British girls they moved on, but right before they left, the little girl pretended that she was going to spit on me. Was that to seal the curse or something… I don’t know. I just know that after that I day I started feeling worse.
Good and bad (Good for mental well being, bad for my cold)
So I wasn’t having the best day… anyone who has been or is currently on exchange knows that moods change faster than you can say “study abroad” and you can, within the same day go from loving to where you at to posing that all encompassing question to yourself:
“WHAT AM I DOING HERE?”
Needless to say I was going through one of those mood switches and was also getting sick… for consolation I made my way to the main square (begrudgingly) to access the internet (on a side note, you think that with the limited time and access I have to the internet, I would really be organized and use it efficiently, but unfortunately old habits die hard and I can’t help but open messenger programs as soon as I get there… meaning that I kill any shread of productivity in my body.)
As I got closer to the piazza huffing and puffing and whipping my nose on my sleeve (oh, sinuses) I heard some music that sounded really, really familiar.
PEOPLE WERE DOING CAPOEIRA (ANGOLA) IN THE MAIN SQUARE.
Sick or not, I made my way over…first sat down in the circle and started singing…then eventually worked up the courage to play a wheezy game with someone I had never met before in my life.
It. Was. So. Cool. Wheezing like the former fat kid I once was while doing the mile run or not, I was so happy.
This is all very anti-climatic because needless to say, these were the events that lead up to me being SICK AS A DOG. I have a nice gap in my life that started about a week ago (Monday) and went until I reemerged from my room a few days later.
Ok I wasn’t deathly sick and ended up forcing myself to go to some classes in true McGill style, but I was aslo watching a lot of Scrubs (in French), drinking a lot of tea, and sleeping… a lot. I also tried about every kind of herbal cure you can imagine and have come to the conclusion that Nyquil and synthetic substances always work better in the end... no matter how horrible they are for you.
Ta da! That's my life.
(In other news, in a few weeks I'm going to the French alps with a friend of mine from France....and all his friends from university... don't ask how I get myself into these situations but I'm so psyched for it.... roadtrip à la française here I come.)
Tofu and Pesto, Peanut Butter and a Kilo of Brie (the life of a university student in Bologna)
Ok, so I’m finally starting to get this whole exchange thing…it goes a little something like this.
First you have to get over yourself (something that is much easier said than done...) Here’s why…
Erasmus is universally regarded (in Europe at least) more as a…social experience than an academic experience; not so much a joke, but definitely…less…academically rigorous than let’s say [insert your home university here]. I wasn’t really aware of this until, while talking with the pack of Swedes one night over a bottle of wine, they made it pretty clear that people who go on Erasmus exchange (in Europe at least) often to have to do ANOTHER year of university; this is obviously not an option for me so I have to tread the fine line between North American and European university cultures.
Ok, so keep this in mind while you read everything else.
What has been really pissing me off more than anything else (but I’ve come to realize is warranted) is how Erasmus students, and international exchange students get treated around here. I, more than anything else (and here’s where a substantial amount of arrogance comes in…of which I have only recently been aware of) to be treated like an Italian student.
RIGHT.
Exhibit A. In my masters (yeah, that’s right… insane much) level History of Renaissance Theatre class the prof makes a point of giving the…easy…readings to the foreign students. It’s not like she’s handing us coloring books with pictures of Bernini’s masterpieces and speaking to us like we are 5, but the implication is specifically that less work is expected of you because you are in idiot (and by idiot I mean that you don’t speak Italian that well.) Here’s my dilemma, I’m pretty much in between the typical Erasmus student who just came to Bologna three weeks ago and only started taking Italian then…and the superstars in my class who have already studied Aristotles’ theories on acting and performance. My Italian is good and I can survive conversational stuff but I can’t expound upon the notions of classical theory with regards to theatre: catch my incredibly uncomfortable and in between linguistic drift? We have to present each of these readings in class, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m intimidated or I just reached way beyond my limit as far a course content, but I don’t have much to offer to the debate. So here’s what always happens: I say something. Prof repeats it louder. I say something. Prof expands on the point. I say something…and then I get a glimmer of hope and someone a syntax in my theatrical mind connects and I push it a little more.
Ok that’s enough. SHOT DOWNNNNN.
Exhibit B. I’m taking your standard intro to Italian literature course for all the aspiring Italian studies and Literature undergraduates here in Bologna; the only problem is that since Dante (and other Italian masterpieces) are…studied in such complex detail in…kindergarten…that when the prof says something like:
“As you can see this clearly relates to the Scuola Siciliana based on the
rhythmic…[not understanding]….troubadours who brought this style to
Italy…[really fast tirade of numbers that I don’t’ catch]”
everyone nods in approval. I sit there, incredulous to the fact that everyone else gets it.
So needless to say for this course there is both a written and oral exam; the written being the requisite for the oral. I went to a prep session for the written exam and almost cried. It was more of the above mentioned dialogue, but for two hours without any respite.
Shiiiiiit.
I went up to the prof afterwards and basically admitted my stupidity/pleaded for mercy and asked what would be the format for Erasmus students…I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Oh for you guys, it’s like nothing… two books instead of five…no written exam
[insert my sigh of relief because he talked specifically about attention to language
and how errors would automatically disqualify the essay], just an oral.”
Then here’s the weird thing: he just started speaking in French about how standards for international students are different. I responded, and this of course led to the weirdest and most disjoint conversation I have ever had with a prof about language, university culture, etc…
Switch back to Italian. He mentions the superiority of British to American English (Europeans an their languages…) And then…
“So your French is better than your Italian.”
Hummmmma what? Thanks?
So here we go for getting over yourself. These standards are put in place and upheld for a reason… they NEED to be there. As much as I would love to be able to expand on the tenets of Renaissance theatre in Italian, I can’t.
You can’t imagine how hard it is for me to admit that I can't do something, but like I said, it means hanging up your pride and realizing that you’re a little Erasmus student-guppy swimming in the Pacific Ocean that is the University of Bologna: not caring and not taking yourself seriously is essential to survival here.
Click! My environmentally friendly IKEA light bulb turns on.
In other news that is somewhat disjointly related, somehow yesterday when I went to the market to pick up some food for a dinner…I ended up buying a kilogram of Brie. After a night of apperitivi and carbohydrate overloading, I was craving some eggs and veggies (aka my peasant food). I was thinking, you know, some sort of frittata and, since I’m such a wannabe French person sometimes, some cheese and bread. I saw the sign for 7 Euros and that was it, formaggio francese for Matteo. I admit it, I can do kilometers and Celsius stuff, but with metric weight measurements, I am clueless and slightly less than proficient. It didn’t look that big in the glass…so I said what the hell.
Just to put it in perspective for all of you reading this, take one of your dinner plates and measure about half an inch in height…that’s a kilogram of Brie.
Yum.
Talk about a crash course in life. This is, getting over yourself/ learning some humility/ learning how to appreciate life 101.
So here we go, here’s the list to survival in Erasmus at the University of Bologna:
-Get over yourself. The cardinal rule I will from here on dedicate myself to. You will never be Italian/the best at everything; so why disappoint yourself when it doesn’t seem like everything is going right? You're always your own biggest critic.
-Humility, Humility, Humility. Maybe taking masters courses in Renaissance theatre wasn’t the best idea… just ride the wave.
-Have a sense of humor about life. Buying kilos of cheese really helps hit that one home.
-Do stuff you wouldn’t normally do. Like…live a little? Hello?
-Adapt, but don’t bitch about it. Like…making tofu with pesto and veggies?
-Realize that you’re pretty fucking awesome for everything that your doing. Umm.. I was speaking in French with some Belgians and then Italian last night…fuck that’s cool PLUS the fact that I’m figuring all this shit out by myself (and getting by with a lot of support from the home front and Montréal)
-Find some peanut butter for those rough in betweens…which I did the other day at the supermarket.
First you have to get over yourself (something that is much easier said than done...) Here’s why…
Erasmus is universally regarded (in Europe at least) more as a…social experience than an academic experience; not so much a joke, but definitely…less…academically rigorous than let’s say [insert your home university here]. I wasn’t really aware of this until, while talking with the pack of Swedes one night over a bottle of wine, they made it pretty clear that people who go on Erasmus exchange (in Europe at least) often to have to do ANOTHER year of university; this is obviously not an option for me so I have to tread the fine line between North American and European university cultures.
Ok, so keep this in mind while you read everything else.
What has been really pissing me off more than anything else (but I’ve come to realize is warranted) is how Erasmus students, and international exchange students get treated around here. I, more than anything else (and here’s where a substantial amount of arrogance comes in…of which I have only recently been aware of) to be treated like an Italian student.
RIGHT.
Exhibit A. In my masters (yeah, that’s right… insane much) level History of Renaissance Theatre class the prof makes a point of giving the…easy…readings to the foreign students. It’s not like she’s handing us coloring books with pictures of Bernini’s masterpieces and speaking to us like we are 5, but the implication is specifically that less work is expected of you because you are in idiot (and by idiot I mean that you don’t speak Italian that well.) Here’s my dilemma, I’m pretty much in between the typical Erasmus student who just came to Bologna three weeks ago and only started taking Italian then…and the superstars in my class who have already studied Aristotles’ theories on acting and performance. My Italian is good and I can survive conversational stuff but I can’t expound upon the notions of classical theory with regards to theatre: catch my incredibly uncomfortable and in between linguistic drift? We have to present each of these readings in class, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m intimidated or I just reached way beyond my limit as far a course content, but I don’t have much to offer to the debate. So here’s what always happens: I say something. Prof repeats it louder. I say something. Prof expands on the point. I say something…and then I get a glimmer of hope and someone a syntax in my theatrical mind connects and I push it a little more.
Ok that’s enough. SHOT DOWNNNNN.
Exhibit B. I’m taking your standard intro to Italian literature course for all the aspiring Italian studies and Literature undergraduates here in Bologna; the only problem is that since Dante (and other Italian masterpieces) are…studied in such complex detail in…kindergarten…that when the prof says something like:
“As you can see this clearly relates to the Scuola Siciliana based on the
rhythmic…[not understanding]….troubadours who brought this style to
Italy…[really fast tirade of numbers that I don’t’ catch]”
everyone nods in approval. I sit there, incredulous to the fact that everyone else gets it.
So needless to say for this course there is both a written and oral exam; the written being the requisite for the oral. I went to a prep session for the written exam and almost cried. It was more of the above mentioned dialogue, but for two hours without any respite.
Shiiiiiit.
I went up to the prof afterwards and basically admitted my stupidity/pleaded for mercy and asked what would be the format for Erasmus students…I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“Oh for you guys, it’s like nothing… two books instead of five…no written exam
[insert my sigh of relief because he talked specifically about attention to language
and how errors would automatically disqualify the essay], just an oral.”
Then here’s the weird thing: he just started speaking in French about how standards for international students are different. I responded, and this of course led to the weirdest and most disjoint conversation I have ever had with a prof about language, university culture, etc…
Switch back to Italian. He mentions the superiority of British to American English (Europeans an their languages…) And then…
“So your French is better than your Italian.”
Hummmmma what? Thanks?
So here we go for getting over yourself. These standards are put in place and upheld for a reason… they NEED to be there. As much as I would love to be able to expand on the tenets of Renaissance theatre in Italian, I can’t.
You can’t imagine how hard it is for me to admit that I can't do something, but like I said, it means hanging up your pride and realizing that you’re a little Erasmus student-guppy swimming in the Pacific Ocean that is the University of Bologna: not caring and not taking yourself seriously is essential to survival here.
Click! My environmentally friendly IKEA light bulb turns on.
In other news that is somewhat disjointly related, somehow yesterday when I went to the market to pick up some food for a dinner…I ended up buying a kilogram of Brie. After a night of apperitivi and carbohydrate overloading, I was craving some eggs and veggies (aka my peasant food). I was thinking, you know, some sort of frittata and, since I’m such a wannabe French person sometimes, some cheese and bread. I saw the sign for 7 Euros and that was it, formaggio francese for Matteo. I admit it, I can do kilometers and Celsius stuff, but with metric weight measurements, I am clueless and slightly less than proficient. It didn’t look that big in the glass…so I said what the hell.
Just to put it in perspective for all of you reading this, take one of your dinner plates and measure about half an inch in height…that’s a kilogram of Brie.
Yum.
Talk about a crash course in life. This is, getting over yourself/ learning some humility/ learning how to appreciate life 101.
So here we go, here’s the list to survival in Erasmus at the University of Bologna:
-Get over yourself. The cardinal rule I will from here on dedicate myself to. You will never be Italian/the best at everything; so why disappoint yourself when it doesn’t seem like everything is going right? You're always your own biggest critic.
-Humility, Humility, Humility. Maybe taking masters courses in Renaissance theatre wasn’t the best idea… just ride the wave.
-Have a sense of humor about life. Buying kilos of cheese really helps hit that one home.
-Do stuff you wouldn’t normally do. Like…live a little? Hello?
-Adapt, but don’t bitch about it. Like…making tofu with pesto and veggies?
-Realize that you’re pretty fucking awesome for everything that your doing. Umm.. I was speaking in French with some Belgians and then Italian last night…fuck that’s cool PLUS the fact that I’m figuring all this shit out by myself (and getting by with a lot of support from the home front and Montréal)
-Find some peanut butter for those rough in betweens…which I did the other day at the supermarket.
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