So I have managed to strike a truce with youtube, and you should be able to find my videos now. The ones about me being in Venice are entitled The Night (I couldn't think of a more creative title while I was uploading. I'm sorry). It starts with number one and goes on from there. Then there is another one called Venetian balloon dance.
All of them have the tag of sam howell, so hopefully you can find them. Let me know what you think.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXhpmZITD84
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Masks, Tiredness, and Oranges
So, long time no see right? Well I guess technically its still long time no see but now you can at least hear me, or see my words anyway. Okay, now that we’ve got that straightened out let us move on. I obviously never got my video update to post. Apparently it was to big size-wise for blogger (Pansy server) and it was too long time-wise for youtube (Fussy stickler server). So I’m going to boil it down and say that the first few weeks have been: tiring, amazing, irritating, hungry, stuffed, cramped, epic, lost, boring, and so on and so forth. I’ll go back and talk about a few things but if you really want to know everything about the first few weeks, you’re just going to actually have to talk to me at some point. (Crazy right? This is a call for all of you to get skype by the way) So where to start….how about a quick overview of my classes so far? Sound good? No? Well tough noogies, it’s where I’m starting.
I started off the semester taking Intensive Italian, La Cucina Italiana, Intro. to Digital Photography, and Shaping the Contemporary :Working with Artists in Milan. Sounds pretty awesome right? I thought so. Then classes started. While I knew La Cucina Italiana was listed as a conversation class, I was down with struggling along and having difficulty understanding the directions as long as I got to cook. Then on the first day our professor began outlining the syllabus, and as it turned out half our grade would be composed of a 4-5 page paper and an hour presentation. AN HOUR. IN ITALIAN. NOT GOOD. So I began to start thinking about dropping it. My mind was made up later when the professor came up and told me that she didn’t think I could pass the course. (A little blunt manybe? Cripes) But all in all I appreciated her candor, so I am no longer in La Cucina Italiana. Bummer.
As for my art classes, I’m afraid I’ve been spoiled at Maryville with awesome art teachers and now I’m forced into the real world. My digital photography teacher is this dude who really likes being a photographer and wants to let us all know how it can set us free. (I mean he REALLY likes being a photographer and gave us his entire resume to be impressed by. It was like 5 pages of “Look at me!!”) The first evening of class he went around and asked why we take pictures. I told him it was just another method of image-making. He followed up by asking me “But what makes you prefer photography to other mediums?” to which I had to respond that I didn’t, and enjoyed drawing or ceramics far more than photography. I think I kind of pissed him off. But I was honest, and was respectful in my answer (Like I didn’t say “Photography SUCKS. I would rather attend the Republican National Convention than take piscture”(No offense to my Republican readers)). So yeah, that class is off to a good start. Then my other art class, Shaping the Contemporary, isn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be either. Turns out we don’t actually work with artists until around the midterm. We have two professors for the first month or so who alternate b/w classes. One is an art historian who keeps trying to teach us to view artists as some type of ubermensch (It’s kind of weird and irritating), and the other is a gallery designer who spends half of class wondering about the roots of words like “display” and then making random jumps of logic to monsters and stuff. He also tries to teach that an exhibition designer is an artist. I don’t think I agree with him, but I don’t want to say it considering that is what he does and thinks of himself as an artist. Unfortunately, he just assigned a paper where I have to discuss whether or not I think a exhibition designer is an artist. Crap. No way out. Looks like I’m going to alienate another professor soon. :/
On the good side though, my Italian class is rockin and our professor is one chill dude. His name is Paolo Della Putta, and makes 4 hour Italian classes interesting for the entire time, and that takes mad skil. (Also, he is a Juventus fan. A man of good taste). My Italian has come a long way, by which I mean I have come from not speaking to almost equaling my Spanish speaking ability, which may not be saying much. But we went over past tense today, so I can start not sound as stupid when I trip through Italian on a daily basis. Now just to continue building a vocabulary and things might not be so bad. I will say though, being immersed completely in a language like this can be rough sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I’m going crazy and I think my English is getting progressively worse. Ugh, I just can’t win with languages. But anyways, that’s the majority of stuff about class.
So in other news, I went to Venice this weekend for Carnivale. We got up at about 7:30 on Saturday morning to give us plenty of time to catch our 9:00 train. We were kind of tired from the night before, but overall spirits were high in anticipation of Venice. Originally, this “we” I keep talking about was composed of myself, my roommate Arseniy, and our friend Carolyn. But that morning Carolyn texted us and told us she was sick so Arseniy and I were flying solo. (Not exactly because there were two of us. I couldn’t think of another phrase. Willickers) We got on the train and after much puzzling of our tickets, found our car and seat assignments. Unfortunately there were two old ladies in our seats. Whether or not this was a mistake or not, neither Arseniy nor I were confident enough in our Italian abilities to argue with these ladies and explain why they, two old ladies, should get up for us, two young men. (Italian culture is VERY big on respect of elders, especially giving seats to elderly ladies. But I caught one of their eyes, and she knew….oh she KNEW she had stolen my seat…) So I withheld a well desereved stank eye and we settled down in the floor for the three hour train ride to Venice. Weak. But you make do with what you can and don’t complain too much….that comes later. We got into Venice around 12:30, and after being dazzled with our first view of the city, we
began winding our way through the throngs of people towards where we thought the main square, Piazza San Marco, was.
On our way we purchased two essentials for the day… masks and tricorner hats. (Awwww yeah!) I guess this is a good point to describe what Venetian Carnivale is like. It isn’t as wild or bacchanalic as what the stereotype of Brazilian is. Its 
more like a kind of classy Halloween. Everyone dresses up and walks around all day. This isn’t to say there isn’t drinking, but there aren’t people staggering around piss-drunk or doing it in the road. (But why don’t they? Why don’t they do it in the road?) Its kind of calm for the most part…
The majority of our day was spent wandering around the city, just kind of enjoying the Carnivale atmosphere and every once in a while trying in vain to meet up with our Italian friend Francesco. It was a great day and Venice is an epically beautiful city. I would love to go back sometime later this semester when it won’t be as crowded and I can take it in more and go to the museums and visit the palace and the basilica and stuff. But I would totally recommend it, it truly is that beautiful. You might want to hurry before it sinks into the sea though… sad face. The day was amazing and once the sun had set there was this crazy awesome show where there was this lady floating through middle of the square attached to a balloon and was dancing. The best way I can describe it is….ephemeral. I know that sounds overdramatic but it was unbelievable. You can get a little taste in the video I seen here. After that, we finally found Francesco and hung out with him for a while, and asked around when the last train left for Milan. Some peeps said they were catching a train at 10:20, so considering it was only 6:00 we took our sweet time winding our way back to the train station. We got there about 8:00…only to find that the last train for Milan had left at about five minutes before.
Shit.
Turns out the girls we had gotten our information from had forgotten to tell us they weren’t going to Milan, but Verona. Awesome you guys… maybe should have mentioned that to us. So we hung our heads and resigned ourselves to the fact that it was going to be a long night. We started off by going back to San Marco and drinking three bottles of Bellini, the cocktail of Venice. This may sound like a lot of drinking for three dudes but it had a lower alcohol content than beer. We drank it in a toast and an ironic finger to the city we were about to spend the night in. We tried to stay around the ocean until 2 (or that was the plan at least) but we ended up getting back to the station around mezzanotte (midnight). Things grew progressively worse from there. Please enjoy the following documentation of the night. WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE BY WHICH I MEAN USE OF THE F-BOMB TWICE AND ONE RATHER DUBIOUS RACIAL STATEMENT (note times were hard. Realizing I wanted to post these I withheld serious language, but you know I couldn’t control my companions, so I apologize and hence the warning for anyone who doesn’t want to be offended.)
(I HATE BLOGGER. IT WON'T LET ME UPLOAD ALL MY VIDEOS. I'm going to post a long sequence of videos on youtube (yes it will work this time) and you need to watch them chronologically to get the full effect of the Venitian night. Sorry for the let down, but just look at it like you get another surprise tomorrow! ALRIGHT!)
Thank all things good that we were able to get on the train a half hour before departure. Not only did we get seats, but it was warm too. Ah. Well considering I hadn’t slept at all during the night, I quickly lost consciousness. I don’t remember any of the train ride back to Milan, except one delirious moment when I think some lady sat down next to me. Luckily we woke up just as we pulled in Stazione Centrale. Then we stumbled blearily off the train and managed to find Carolyn, who was at least feeling good enough to join us for the next leg of the journey, which was to go to Ivrea for La Battaglia delle Arance, or Battle of the Oranges. Basically what happens is there are various squares around the city, and there are a couple hundred defenders with ridiculous amounts of oranges at their disposal. Then a horse drawn wagon with 8 or nine offenders makes a circuit of the square, during which the defenders try to beat the hell out of the offenders with as many oranges as fast and hard as possible. The offenders return fire of course, but they are by far on the receiving end of one hell of a beating. Which is why they get to wear armor and stuff while the defenders just have to man/woman up and take oranges straight to the face and stuff. It was epically brutal, awesome, and juicy. For a slightly better description of why they do this, look up Ivrea on Wikipedia. Oh yeah, at the entrance to the Carnivale they sell red hats, b/c it brands you as an outsider and not part of the juicebath within. I bought one but once the fights started I couldn’t help but participate a little bit. (I mean really, how could I not) I personally hit three dudes in the face, and a couple others in various body parts. I got beaned in the back of the head, and my hand got destroyed. I could try to go into details but… words fail me.
Later we squished our way out of the city through about 4 inches of orange sludge (Gross) and ate an awesome sausage sandwich from a roadside stand. We then made our (unbelievably) weary way to the train station to begin the 2 and a half hour journey home. (I’d only had maybe 5 hours of sleep since I woke up on Saturday. And that was all on-a-train-wake-up-every-five-minutes-because-my-head-fell-down sleep. Since there wasn’t orange carnage going on around me to distract me, at this point I hated life). Once again I can’t share any anecdotes about the train journey home b/c I don’t really remember what happened. I think I slept, but sure as hell not good.
And that is a short overview of what’s been going on…so yeah. Be glad I didn’t tell you all that happened or it would be far more than… where are we now…2173 words. So once again, congratulations to all of you that actually read it all, though hopefully pictures and videos helped break the monotony a little bit. Well, I’m going to try and work on that sleep debt I still have hanging around since this weekend. I miss you all and I’ll see you ‘round. Ciao.
I started off the semester taking Intensive Italian, La Cucina Italiana, Intro. to Digital Photography, and Shaping the Contemporary :Working with Artists in Milan. Sounds pretty awesome right? I thought so. Then classes started. While I knew La Cucina Italiana was listed as a conversation class, I was down with struggling along and having difficulty understanding the directions as long as I got to cook. Then on the first day our professor began outlining the syllabus, and as it turned out half our grade would be composed of a 4-5 page paper and an hour presentation. AN HOUR. IN ITALIAN. NOT GOOD. So I began to start thinking about dropping it. My mind was made up later when the professor came up and told me that she didn’t think I could pass the course. (A little blunt manybe? Cripes) But all in all I appreciated her candor, so I am no longer in La Cucina Italiana. Bummer.
As for my art classes, I’m afraid I’ve been spoiled at Maryville with awesome art teachers and now I’m forced into the real world. My digital photography teacher is this dude who really likes being a photographer and wants to let us all know how it can set us free. (I mean he REALLY likes being a photographer and gave us his entire resume to be impressed by. It was like 5 pages of “Look at me!!”) The first evening of class he went around and asked why we take pictures. I told him it was just another method of image-making. He followed up by asking me “But what makes you prefer photography to other mediums?” to which I had to respond that I didn’t, and enjoyed drawing or ceramics far more than photography. I think I kind of pissed him off. But I was honest, and was respectful in my answer (Like I didn’t say “Photography SUCKS. I would rather attend the Republican National Convention than take piscture”(No offense to my Republican readers)). So yeah, that class is off to a good start. Then my other art class, Shaping the Contemporary, isn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be either. Turns out we don’t actually work with artists until around the midterm. We have two professors for the first month or so who alternate b/w classes. One is an art historian who keeps trying to teach us to view artists as some type of ubermensch (It’s kind of weird and irritating), and the other is a gallery designer who spends half of class wondering about the roots of words like “display” and then making random jumps of logic to monsters and stuff. He also tries to teach that an exhibition designer is an artist. I don’t think I agree with him, but I don’t want to say it considering that is what he does and thinks of himself as an artist. Unfortunately, he just assigned a paper where I have to discuss whether or not I think a exhibition designer is an artist. Crap. No way out. Looks like I’m going to alienate another professor soon. :/
On the good side though, my Italian class is rockin and our professor is one chill dude. His name is Paolo Della Putta, and makes 4 hour Italian classes interesting for the entire time, and that takes mad skil. (Also, he is a Juventus fan. A man of good taste). My Italian has come a long way, by which I mean I have come from not speaking to almost equaling my Spanish speaking ability, which may not be saying much. But we went over past tense today, so I can start not sound as stupid when I trip through Italian on a daily basis. Now just to continue building a vocabulary and things might not be so bad. I will say though, being immersed completely in a language like this can be rough sometimes. Sometimes it feels like I’m going crazy and I think my English is getting progressively worse. Ugh, I just can’t win with languages. But anyways, that’s the majority of stuff about class.
So in other news, I went to Venice this weekend for Carnivale. We got up at about 7:30 on Saturday morning to give us plenty of time to catch our 9:00 train. We were kind of tired from the night before, but overall spirits were high in anticipation of Venice. Originally, this “we” I keep talking about was composed of myself, my roommate Arseniy, and our friend Carolyn. But that morning Carolyn texted us and told us she was sick so Arseniy and I were flying solo. (Not exactly because there were two of us. I couldn’t think of another phrase. Willickers) We got on the train and after much puzzling of our tickets, found our car and seat assignments. Unfortunately there were two old ladies in our seats. Whether or not this was a mistake or not, neither Arseniy nor I were confident enough in our Italian abilities to argue with these ladies and explain why they, two old ladies, should get up for us, two young men. (Italian culture is VERY big on respect of elders, especially giving seats to elderly ladies. But I caught one of their eyes, and she knew….oh she KNEW she had stolen my seat…) So I withheld a well desereved stank eye and we settled down in the floor for the three hour train ride to Venice. Weak. But you make do with what you can and don’t complain too much….that comes later. We got into Venice around 12:30, and after being dazzled with our first view of the city, we
began winding our way through the throngs of people towards where we thought the main square, Piazza San Marco, was.
On our way we purchased two essentials for the day… masks and tricorner hats. (Awwww yeah!) I guess this is a good point to describe what Venetian Carnivale is like. It isn’t as wild or bacchanalic as what the stereotype of Brazilian is. Its 
more like a kind of classy Halloween. Everyone dresses up and walks around all day. This isn’t to say there isn’t drinking, but there aren’t people staggering around piss-drunk or doing it in the road. (But why don’t they? Why don’t they do it in the road?) Its kind of calm for the most part… 
The majority of our day was spent wandering around the city, just kind of enjoying the Carnivale atmosphere and every once in a while trying in vain to meet up with our Italian friend Francesco. It was a great day and Venice is an epically beautiful city. I would love to go back sometime later this semester when it won’t be as crowded and I can take it in more and go to the museums and visit the palace and the basilica and stuff. But I would totally recommend it, it truly is that beautiful. You might want to hurry before it sinks into the sea though… sad face. The day was amazing and once the sun had set there was this crazy awesome show where there was this lady floating through middle of the square attached to a balloon and was dancing. The best way I can describe it is….ephemeral. I know that sounds overdramatic but it was unbelievable. You can get a little taste in the video I seen here. After that, we finally found Francesco and hung out with him for a while, and asked around when the last train left for Milan. Some peeps said they were catching a train at 10:20, so considering it was only 6:00 we took our sweet time winding our way back to the train station. We got there about 8:00…only to find that the last train for Milan had left at about five minutes before.
Shit.
Turns out the girls we had gotten our information from had forgotten to tell us they weren’t going to Milan, but Verona. Awesome you guys… maybe should have mentioned that to us. So we hung our heads and resigned ourselves to the fact that it was going to be a long night. We started off by going back to San Marco and drinking three bottles of Bellini, the cocktail of Venice. This may sound like a lot of drinking for three dudes but it had a lower alcohol content than beer. We drank it in a toast and an ironic finger to the city we were about to spend the night in. We tried to stay around the ocean until 2 (or that was the plan at least) but we ended up getting back to the station around mezzanotte (midnight). Things grew progressively worse from there. Please enjoy the following documentation of the night. WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE BY WHICH I MEAN USE OF THE F-BOMB TWICE AND ONE RATHER DUBIOUS RACIAL STATEMENT (note times were hard. Realizing I wanted to post these I withheld serious language, but you know I couldn’t control my companions, so I apologize and hence the warning for anyone who doesn’t want to be offended.)
(I HATE BLOGGER. IT WON'T LET ME UPLOAD ALL MY VIDEOS. I'm going to post a long sequence of videos on youtube (yes it will work this time) and you need to watch them chronologically to get the full effect of the Venitian night. Sorry for the let down, but just look at it like you get another surprise tomorrow! ALRIGHT!)
Thank all things good that we were able to get on the train a half hour before departure. Not only did we get seats, but it was warm too. Ah. Well considering I hadn’t slept at all during the night, I quickly lost consciousness. I don’t remember any of the train ride back to Milan, except one delirious moment when I think some lady sat down next to me. Luckily we woke up just as we pulled in Stazione Centrale. Then we stumbled blearily off the train and managed to find Carolyn, who was at least feeling good enough to join us for the next leg of the journey, which was to go to Ivrea for La Battaglia delle Arance, or Battle of the Oranges. Basically what happens is there are various squares around the city, and there are a couple hundred defenders with ridiculous amounts of oranges at their disposal. Then a horse drawn wagon with 8 or nine offenders makes a circuit of the square, during which the defenders try to beat the hell out of the offenders with as many oranges as fast and hard as possible. The offenders return fire of course, but they are by far on the receiving end of one hell of a beating. Which is why they get to wear armor and stuff while the defenders just have to man/woman up and take oranges straight to the face and stuff. It was epically brutal, awesome, and juicy. For a slightly better description of why they do this, look up Ivrea on Wikipedia. Oh yeah, at the entrance to the Carnivale they sell red hats, b/c it brands you as an outsider and not part of the juicebath within. I bought one but once the fights started I couldn’t help but participate a little bit. (I mean really, how could I not) I personally hit three dudes in the face, and a couple others in various body parts. I got beaned in the back of the head, and my hand got destroyed. I could try to go into details but… words fail me.
Later we squished our way out of the city through about 4 inches of orange sludge (Gross) and ate an awesome sausage sandwich from a roadside stand. We then made our (unbelievably) weary way to the train station to begin the 2 and a half hour journey home. (I’d only had maybe 5 hours of sleep since I woke up on Saturday. And that was all on-a-train-wake-up-every-five-minutes-because-my-head-fell-down sleep. Since there wasn’t orange carnage going on around me to distract me, at this point I hated life). Once again I can’t share any anecdotes about the train journey home b/c I don’t really remember what happened. I think I slept, but sure as hell not good.
And that is a short overview of what’s been going on…so yeah. Be glad I didn’t tell you all that happened or it would be far more than… where are we now…2173 words. So once again, congratulations to all of you that actually read it all, though hopefully pictures and videos helped break the monotony a little bit. Well, I’m going to try and work on that sleep debt I still have hanging around since this weekend. I miss you all and I’ll see you ‘round. Ciao.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Fluch d'Schiesse
So, I have left my computer on for the past 24 hours trying to upload my video update. And it didn't work. CRAP. So my backup plan is to either post it on youtube and then give the link here, or otherwise buckledown tomorrow and write a post of biblical proportions in the evening...hopefully you can just watch it. But for you dear readers, I will write the entire epic tale if it takes me hours upon magical hours. Willickers.
Okay: I think I got it search Sam in Italy 1 on youtube and maybe you can watch it. Leave me a comment or something letting me know if it works.
Okay: I think I got it search Sam in Italy 1 on youtube and maybe you can watch it. Leave me a comment or something letting me know if it works.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
A Catch-up Formula
So, obviously the first few weeks have ludicrously hectic, more hectic than a bunch of ADD marmots on a coffee bender. So at least intermittently, I will post a short video of me updating you all on the goings on in Milan. I'll still do text, but that way I can just zip one off instead of typing for several hours. Not that you all aren't worth it. That isn't it at all. I just can't think of any other way to catch you all up on what amounts to two weeks of stuff without writing something of about the same length as Crime and Punishment (More interesting though ;) I'm just kidding Sara). So I hope you all enjoy the video, and that way I can still tell bad stories with no point, and it will be like I never left. Maybe they could be played in Pearsons...
So this video, while not an update, is me lost in Milano at about 3:30 in the morning. My friends and I had tried to go to a cool club called Le Banque, and perhaps because it was Valentines Day, they were wanting more girls than dudes. So without too much whinging from me, it boils down to my friends got in and I didn't. Later I would get home and find my phone and twenty messages telling me they could get me in, but obviously that didn't do me the most good. Anyways, enjoy the clip.
So this video, while not an update, is me lost in Milano at about 3:30 in the morning. My friends and I had tried to go to a cool club called Le Banque, and perhaps because it was Valentines Day, they were wanting more girls than dudes. So without too much whinging from me, it boils down to my friends got in and I didn't. Later I would get home and find my phone and twenty messages telling me they could get me in, but obviously that didn't do me the most good. Anyways, enjoy the clip.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Heh Heh...
This was the most sterotypical Italian guy I've seen and this other dude in the brown turtleneck. I saw them at this club called Old Fashioned. I don't know which one I thought was funnier. I hope you enjoy it....
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Weird Stuff..
I'm having weird formatting issues with blogger at the moment so my apologies. When I try to place pictures I just get the html code. So I'm placing here, in no particular order, pictures of my street and flat.
Moving in
*yawn*
So after my minipost the other day, I went to bed at about 1:30. I woke up the next time, feeling like a million bucks. I jumped vigorously out of bed (okay more like groaned and wrenched myself into a sitting position), and looked at my phone to check the time.
1:46 Schiesse damn
I guess I needed sleep more than I had previously thought. There was a chance that I was supposed to go to a market this morning. Yeah….well, I ‘m good to go now, so be prepared to delve into a wondrous world of literary excellence detailing the thrilling accounts of an intrepid young man in the far off and distant city of Milan.
As I recall, I left off going to sleep in the hotel. So after one of the deeper sleeps that I can remember I woke up to the sound of my alarm at about 8:00 local time. I needed to call the International Relations Office and see what time I needed to be at the school to check in. Unfortunately, when I checked the paper with the phone number it also said that the office didn’t open until nine. Crap. Grumbling and cursing under my breath, I climbed back into bed with the intention of getting up in about 30 in to an hour anyways. Next thing I knew it was 10:10 and we were in danger of missing out included breakfast, which stopped at 10:30. I went over to wake up Carolyn (This was awkward. Have you ever had to wake someone up that you don’t really know except having chatted to on facebook? No I guess not. Well it’s a little strange) I didn’t know if she’d appreciate being woken up. But it was all good and we stumbled up to the café for our breakfast. I was stunned. As you may have deduced from the pictures of our room, we weren’t staying in hotel Calypso here (That’s for all of you Malta and Tunisia people. You know what I’m talking about). But here before me lay a barista and an 8.000 euro espresso machine. At this point I knew all of the stereotypes about the Italians and their coffee might have some validity. We sat down at a little table and I ordered “Verrei un cornetto e un cappuccino per favore”. It was admittedly the best cup of cappuccino I have ever had. After eating a delicious breakfast and bemoaning the canned-ham sized flakes of snow coming down, Carolyn and I went to call Lea Senn, our program coordinator about moving into our apartments. I got a hold of her easily enough and I asked her when we needed to be there.
In about 30 min, and Carolyn was supposed to be there at about 9:30. It was currently 11:25. WOOOO nothing like getting started off on the right foot. We ran around like a bunch of chickens who had drank coffee before having their heads cut off, throwing our stuff into suitcases and stuff. We checked out and called for a taxi. Standing ankle deep in slush, we waited in the frigid cold for the taxi to arrive. Finally it pulled up in front of the hotel, we muttered a harried “Buongiorno” and helped load our luggage. A few minutes later we arrived at 28/30 via Carducci, our destination for all things international relationy. I was a little nervous about having incurred the wrath of Snra. Senn, I mean I was late and I didn’t know what was going on. Luckily, she was incredibly nice and told me not to worry about it. I filled out some paper work and sat around talking to this lady named Julie, who made fun of me for my passport photo. (Damn I hate that photo. Any of you who have seen it understand why I loathe that thing. Keely stop laughing….AND I have to keep it for another 6 years. Damn it.) But after a while a guy named Stefano came into the room and told me that he was going to take me to my flat. We loaded my three bags into his yellow fiat and started off. Stefano was a cool dude and we talked about how much we liked food. The only thing Stefano and I argued about was over the merit of a hot dog. Stefano thinks they are God’s gift to man, while on the other hand I still subscribe to my cousin’s description of hotdogs as pus rockets. There, now none of you ever want to eat a hot dog again. As it should be. ;)
But as we went on, Stefano explained to me that I didn’t really have flatmates of a permanent nature just yet. For the first week I would be living with two French girls who were finishing up their fall semester exams. After they left a couple guys from another apartment would move in and either a guy from Mexico or my friend Aresiny would be moving in as well. I told Stefano that sounded cool to me. Finally we arrived at the flat. Stefano, in his desire to make my life as easy as possible, parked the car in what must have been a puddle that qualified as one of the largest bodies of water in Italy (I mean, 4 inches deep and 10 feet wide? Should have packed water wings or something. Cripes). But after fording the lake and losing several teams of oxen, I finally had all of my luggage inside of the apartment building. We took a tiny, tiny elevator to the second floor and opened the door to the place that was/is going to be my home for the next 5 months. I met my me temp flatmates, Pauline and Coline. They’re both very nice and I enjoy hanging out with them. They showed me around the flat, and told me about some of the stores and bars near our flat.
After throwing my stuff into my room, Pauline asked if I wanted to split a beer with her. After much arm twisting and cajoling, I agreed. (Okay I said yes right off. No judgement per favore). We sat and shot the breeze, chewed the fat, and all those sorts of things. As it turns out, both Coline and Pauline are from the same general region of France as Chloe. Cool beans. After a while, I asked if they minded if I could sneak off and shower off my travel scum and take a much needed nap. Our bathroom is pretty awesome. We have a rotating glass door to shield the shower portion of the tub, and Jacuzzi-ish jets in the tub itself. (Don’t be too jealous, I haven’t taken a “bath” in about 4 years. All showers).
After the shower (no I ‘m not going to talk about the shower, I’m sorry), I climbed into my freshly made bed and slipped into blessed unconsciousness and dreamt dreams of Roman forums and gladiatorial battels between fashionistas…. Later I woke up and Pauline asked if I wanted to go to the store. Since I’ll presumably need to feed myself at some point over the next 5 months, this seemed like a good idea. We took the tram down the street to this small Dutch store. It was kind of tucked away down an alley so I felt like I was going to buy some drugs rather than milk and bread. It was a great little store, with very cheap foodstuffs and all the best types of chocolate and wine. I just got some essentials bread and prosciutto, cheese and spaghetti, milk and grapefruit juice. We took the tram back (I got some strange looks from people on the tram. Are you telling me they don’t see a lot of pale red-headed fellers down this-a-ways? Well I’ll be damned.)
After getting back to the flat, the girls invited me to come to an aperitivo with them to meet their friend Ines. Before I continue with my story, I need to explain aperiitvo. It is a big part of the culture here in Milano. You go to a bar or ristorante and buy a drink for anywhere from 7 to 10 euro. Then there is a buffet of little appetizer type things. The food ranges from simple things like cheese and meats to honest-to-goodness pizza and pasta. (I’ve been to aperitivo about 4 times so far and I’m a big fan). We took the metro down to Porta Genova and had a fantastic time. The food was great and aside from a little difficulty deciding what I wanted (No way right? I never take a long time to decide :/ and a little trouble with my ordering language, we had a great night. Getting to know Pauline, Coline, and Ines was a lot of fun.
But it was getting late and the lag of the jet was still dogging my mental processes, so we eventually returned to the flat and I went to sleep in preparation for my orientation the next day. But that’s another post….
So after my minipost the other day, I went to bed at about 1:30. I woke up the next time, feeling like a million bucks. I jumped vigorously out of bed (okay more like groaned and wrenched myself into a sitting position), and looked at my phone to check the time.
1:46 Schiesse damn
I guess I needed sleep more than I had previously thought. There was a chance that I was supposed to go to a market this morning. Yeah….well, I ‘m good to go now, so be prepared to delve into a wondrous world of literary excellence detailing the thrilling accounts of an intrepid young man in the far off and distant city of Milan.
As I recall, I left off going to sleep in the hotel. So after one of the deeper sleeps that I can remember I woke up to the sound of my alarm at about 8:00 local time. I needed to call the International Relations Office and see what time I needed to be at the school to check in. Unfortunately, when I checked the paper with the phone number it also said that the office didn’t open until nine. Crap. Grumbling and cursing under my breath, I climbed back into bed with the intention of getting up in about 30 in to an hour anyways. Next thing I knew it was 10:10 and we were in danger of missing out included breakfast, which stopped at 10:30. I went over to wake up Carolyn (This was awkward. Have you ever had to wake someone up that you don’t really know except having chatted to on facebook? No I guess not. Well it’s a little strange) I didn’t know if she’d appreciate being woken up. But it was all good and we stumbled up to the café for our breakfast. I was stunned. As you may have deduced from the pictures of our room, we weren’t staying in hotel Calypso here (That’s for all of you Malta and Tunisia people. You know what I’m talking about). But here before me lay a barista and an 8.000 euro espresso machine. At this point I knew all of the stereotypes about the Italians and their coffee might have some validity. We sat down at a little table and I ordered “Verrei un cornetto e un cappuccino per favore”. It was admittedly the best cup of cappuccino I have ever had. After eating a delicious breakfast and bemoaning the canned-ham sized flakes of snow coming down, Carolyn and I went to call Lea Senn, our program coordinator about moving into our apartments. I got a hold of her easily enough and I asked her when we needed to be there.
In about 30 min, and Carolyn was supposed to be there at about 9:30. It was currently 11:25. WOOOO nothing like getting started off on the right foot. We ran around like a bunch of chickens who had drank coffee before having their heads cut off, throwing our stuff into suitcases and stuff. We checked out and called for a taxi. Standing ankle deep in slush, we waited in the frigid cold for the taxi to arrive. Finally it pulled up in front of the hotel, we muttered a harried “Buongiorno” and helped load our luggage. A few minutes later we arrived at 28/30 via Carducci, our destination for all things international relationy. I was a little nervous about having incurred the wrath of Snra. Senn, I mean I was late and I didn’t know what was going on. Luckily, she was incredibly nice and told me not to worry about it. I filled out some paper work and sat around talking to this lady named Julie, who made fun of me for my passport photo. (Damn I hate that photo. Any of you who have seen it understand why I loathe that thing. Keely stop laughing….AND I have to keep it for another 6 years. Damn it.) But after a while a guy named Stefano came into the room and told me that he was going to take me to my flat. We loaded my three bags into his yellow fiat and started off. Stefano was a cool dude and we talked about how much we liked food. The only thing Stefano and I argued about was over the merit of a hot dog. Stefano thinks they are God’s gift to man, while on the other hand I still subscribe to my cousin’s description of hotdogs as pus rockets. There, now none of you ever want to eat a hot dog again. As it should be. ;)
But as we went on, Stefano explained to me that I didn’t really have flatmates of a permanent nature just yet. For the first week I would be living with two French girls who were finishing up their fall semester exams. After they left a couple guys from another apartment would move in and either a guy from Mexico or my friend Aresiny would be moving in as well. I told Stefano that sounded cool to me. Finally we arrived at the flat. Stefano, in his desire to make my life as easy as possible, parked the car in what must have been a puddle that qualified as one of the largest bodies of water in Italy (I mean, 4 inches deep and 10 feet wide? Should have packed water wings or something. Cripes). But after fording the lake and losing several teams of oxen, I finally had all of my luggage inside of the apartment building. We took a tiny, tiny elevator to the second floor and opened the door to the place that was/is going to be my home for the next 5 months. I met my me temp flatmates, Pauline and Coline. They’re both very nice and I enjoy hanging out with them. They showed me around the flat, and told me about some of the stores and bars near our flat.
After throwing my stuff into my room, Pauline asked if I wanted to split a beer with her. After much arm twisting and cajoling, I agreed. (Okay I said yes right off. No judgement per favore). We sat and shot the breeze, chewed the fat, and all those sorts of things. As it turns out, both Coline and Pauline are from the same general region of France as Chloe. Cool beans. After a while, I asked if they minded if I could sneak off and shower off my travel scum and take a much needed nap. Our bathroom is pretty awesome. We have a rotating glass door to shield the shower portion of the tub, and Jacuzzi-ish jets in the tub itself. (Don’t be too jealous, I haven’t taken a “bath” in about 4 years. All showers).
After the shower (no I ‘m not going to talk about the shower, I’m sorry), I climbed into my freshly made bed and slipped into blessed unconsciousness and dreamt dreams of Roman forums and gladiatorial battels between fashionistas…. Later I woke up and Pauline asked if I wanted to go to the store. Since I’ll presumably need to feed myself at some point over the next 5 months, this seemed like a good idea. We took the tram down the street to this small Dutch store. It was kind of tucked away down an alley so I felt like I was going to buy some drugs rather than milk and bread. It was a great little store, with very cheap foodstuffs and all the best types of chocolate and wine. I just got some essentials bread and prosciutto, cheese and spaghetti, milk and grapefruit juice. We took the tram back (I got some strange looks from people on the tram. Are you telling me they don’t see a lot of pale red-headed fellers down this-a-ways? Well I’ll be damned.)
After getting back to the flat, the girls invited me to come to an aperitivo with them to meet their friend Ines. Before I continue with my story, I need to explain aperiitvo. It is a big part of the culture here in Milano. You go to a bar or ristorante and buy a drink for anywhere from 7 to 10 euro. Then there is a buffet of little appetizer type things. The food ranges from simple things like cheese and meats to honest-to-goodness pizza and pasta. (I’ve been to aperitivo about 4 times so far and I’m a big fan). We took the metro down to Porta Genova and had a fantastic time. The food was great and aside from a little difficulty deciding what I wanted (No way right? I never take a long time to decide :/ and a little trouble with my ordering language, we had a great night. Getting to know Pauline, Coline, and Ines was a lot of fun.
But it was getting late and the lag of the jet was still dogging my mental processes, so we eventually returned to the flat and I went to sleep in preparation for my orientation the next day. But that’s another post….
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Geez....
So I have had several people file complaints that I haven't updated the blog yet. I know I said it would be updated regularly and it will be. Just note I didn't say what the regular schedule would be....
No but really, I apologize for not posting. I just need to find like a three hour block of time to do the past few days some pale shadow of justice. I've taken two days of Italian, and I can at least successfully negotiate my way around a bar. (Not bar in the American sense, a bar here is for coffee. Sorry) And one of my favorite phrases so far is: Non mangio pizza. Pizza e un chibo di paisano. (No I don't eat pizza. It is peasant food.) But it is about 1:30, and I need a wicked amount of sleep. But you all guilted me into staying up and writing just a wee bit to tide the blog over until I can write a full post tomorrow. I hope you're happy. ;)
Sam
This is my room, after my flatmates threw a grenade in and shut the door.
No but really, I apologize for not posting. I just need to find like a three hour block of time to do the past few days some pale shadow of justice. I've taken two days of Italian, and I can at least successfully negotiate my way around a bar. (Not bar in the American sense, a bar here is for coffee. Sorry) And one of my favorite phrases so far is: Non mangio pizza. Pizza e un chibo di paisano. (No I don't eat pizza. It is peasant food.) But it is about 1:30, and I need a wicked amount of sleep. But you all guilted me into staying up and writing just a wee bit to tide the blog over until I can write a full post tomorrow. I hope you're happy. ;)
Sam
This is my room, after my flatmates threw a grenade in and shut the door.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Trip and First Night
So, I finally found a chance to write my first real post for my blog. Hopefully you’ll find it interesting and if you don’t….well there isn’t anything I can really do about it. I’m going to try and do this first post justice however, so here goes.
THE TRIP
For the most part, my trip went without any major hitches besides the fact that it was ungodly long, and my butt went numb from sitting. O’Hare wasn’t actually all that bad. I got through security in about 10 minutes, just in time to start boarding the flight for London Heathrow. I stumbled onto the plane (GIANT PLANE) and stumbled back to my seat, 45b, and looked around. OH MY GOD. I was surrounded by about 25 children under the age of 3. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that this might not rank as my most awesome trans-atlantic flight. Actually, it turned out that all of the kids fell asleep about an hour into the flight and stayed that way until we landed. My only explanation for this phenomenon was that their parents had deprived them of sleep for two days and then passed out shots of benedryl. However dubious this method of parenting may seem, at the time I appreciated it. One of the people in my row didn’t turn up so me and my row buddy, Ubernerd, were able to put a seat in between us and later have to deal with the awkwardness slumping on the other’s shoulder at some point during the flight. Excellent. There were good movies available. Excellent. And dinner was good. Excellent. And British Airways is considered UK soil so I had wine with dinner. Excellent. I got a little packet with a toothbrush, blindfold, and socks. SOCKS. How cool is that? I made use of all of these fine creature comforts, and then leaned back my seat for an attempt at sleep. The chair leaned back to a surprising angle and I had a good feeling about being able to sleep. Unfortunately I hadn’t counted on Unreasonable-Needy-Whiny-I-Need-To-Get-In-The-Overhead-Every Five-Minutes-For-Eight-Hours-Lady, or UNWINTGTOEFMFEHL for short. Actually, that isn’t very short and admittedly isn’t what I called her in my head. The entire night she insisted on getting up to find crayons, or apple sticks, or carrot slices or whatever the devil else she kept getting up for. She would bump the back of my seat with a force just shy of giving me whiplash. Then sit back down complaining to her husband how rude it was of some people to lean back their seats and how could they be so inconsiderate of other people’s space. Well, lady I needed to sleep, it was a NIGHT flight, and deal with it. This is on top of her dropping a full fledged rolly suitcase on my head, which she chose to just pick up out of the aisle and ignore the fact it had bounced of a person’s head. If her 3 year old wasn’t there the stream of profanity would have probably ruptured the fuselage. But I digress from the trip itself….
I arrived in London, sleep-deprived and with a bump on my head, To find that we had arrived a little late and had missed my original flight into Milan. No big deal, 20 minutes in a queue and I had a new ticket f
or two hours later, and a 10 pound meal voucher. So I went and found a pub in the airport and indulged in a full English breakfast (On right). Nice. I later boarded the plan and was off to Milan. I really don’thave much to say about that flight. I don’t really remember it, just the bewildered pissed-offedness that I seemed to have gotten the one seat that didn’t recline at all. I mean it didn’t even have a button. So my main impression of the flight was the jerking awake as my head fell forward. I tried to see the Alps, but they were covered in cloud. Later I heard we were approaching Milan, and tried to get a view of the city. Clouds. Bummer. As it turned out, I couldn’t see anything until we were about a hundred feet off the ground. Finally we touched down and after trying for 6 years, I was in Italy. And it was snowing.
I don’t really remember much of my train ride into Milan that sticks out as being particularly memorable, asides from the fact that I was on a train in Milan. Happy Face. Oh, I did listen to the Bourne Identity soundtrack….and then next thing I knew I was in the middle of a snowy field with bruis
ed knuckles, a gash across the bridge of my nose, and a 9 mil.
Just kidding.
I got into Milan and took a taxi to the Hotel ABC (inventive right?) I dragged my luggage upstairs, and clumsily checked in. Then stumbled in and locked the door, and fell on the bed, and was asleep within five minutes. (Me on right looking dead before my nap)
I woke up at about 6 and my facebook friend Carolyn who was supposed to share the room with me wasn’t there yet. Yes I do realize how sketchy that sounds but it was totally legit. I was starving, but didn’t feel like wandering by myself into a cold, wet, dark night in a city I didn’t know. I decided to wait it out. I was su
pposed to go to a Super-Bowl party later too. But where was it? I hadn’t thought to write down the email, so I had to resort to texting my mom and asking her to look it up since I was sans internet at the time. (Oh and mom, you know how I thought Andrea was a girl? Well as it turns out it was a dude. Andrea being the Italian form of Andrew. Strike one for Sam and being interculturally competent. (That was for you. You know who you are.) Dang. So I just bummed around and read a book and about 7 I heard a knock at the door and opened it to find Carolyn. It was my first of many experiences of meeting someone in real life who I had talked extensively to on Facebook. It was weird. And it hasn’t really gotten any more normal, even after having re-met/introduced myself to about 20 people. We then ventured out into the -3 Celsius Milan with snow falling copiously about our ears. As it turns out, food is hard to find (cheap food anyway) on a Sunday night in Milan. After about 30 minutes of walking and feeling th
e imminent threat of bumping against something and shattering our frozen limbs, we were face with a dilemma. We had found an open place, we were just troubled over whether or not we should go in. It stood before us, like the Globalization Gates of Hell. Or should I say arches. Golden arches. That’s right we faced the dilemma of the first meal eaten in Italy being a Big Mac. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. We were torn(I don’t know what is the proper punctuation right here, : ; or - ? Ach) starve or sumbit to the Mephistophilic McDonald’s. ….. Sweat beaded our brows….we started resignedly towards our doom…But then we a saw a supermarket and ,went and bought stuff for prosciutto and cheese sandwiches. Sweet. I was much happier with this result. And just as a point of interest, I found a package of pre-sliced deli horse meat. I didn’t get it… but I’m not ruling it out just yet. 
We finally made it back to the hotel and drifted off into sleep accompanied by the sounds of an episode of House in Italian. Molto Bene. ( By the way these two pictures aren't in chronological order. They are at Stazione Cadorna where I first arrived in Milan.)
Oh, congrats to all of you who actually read my entire post. Sorry for it was so long, but I wasn’t able to grab the time until today. So if you talk to someone and they say “I tried to read Sam’s blog but it was just so long and I decided it wasn’t worth it”, Look them square in the eye and say “Fie on you”. But really, sorry it was so long. The next one, detailing my first day of activity at the University, will probably be just as long, but I’ll try to cut it down.
As for now, the international students are supposed to get together for pizza in a while and then go to a club, Hollywood Rhythmateque. Holy crap. The first of more welcoming parties than you and your friend could shake a stick at. Ciao mi amicos & amicas!
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