Dec 16, Day 125, Farewells

I’ve become increasingly excited about going home each day for the past couple of weeks. But when the big day finally came, I felt a little gloomy saying arrivederci. I’m happy to finally go, but this undeniably marks the halfway point in my Italian adventure -unless I decide to extend it. I’m extremely pleased with my decision to come here, and all that has passed since my arrival, but I thought I’d would somehow see more, do more, and build stronger relationships. I guess I set a high bar. These 4 months have passed incredibly fast, and somehow I feel “behind schedule.” I’ll consider corrective actions one my return (like booking low-cost flights to places I’ve been meaning to visit and programming some more social opportunities by joining gym or salsa class,) but right now I can’t wait to see the family!

Dec 13, Day 122, Quarter-Century

I’ll try to revisit the last-weekend entry, but things are accelerating as my departure approaches, and I may not get around to it.

I don’t have very much to say about my 25th birthday other than that twenty-five sounds shockingly old for me. How can I be 25 already? Neglecting relativistic effects, I’m closer to 30 than 20, closer to 40 than 4, and half way to 50. It’s probably better that I don’t remember the mathematics well enough to work out the relativity because that will only make 50 seem closer! I’m reflecting a quote that I wanted to include in the England/Thanksgiving entries that I never wrote. I was talking to a guy on the train about my recent adventures (Italy, Argentina, Stanford, Australia, Peru) and he told me that, The world is yours. I think it sounds a little James Bond-ish, but I like it. It reminds me that I’d better ensure that I don’t start to become complacent in my old age as there’s a lot more of the world left than I’ve seen! I’ll continue to mull it over as a potential starting point to evolve a new chapter in the 2007 emendation of my Manifesto.

I’m struggling a bit to define this document. Last year I called it a Manifesto; which seemed appropriate because it was somewhat public. However, I think manifesto has a more political connotation that I’m reaching for at this time. Distorting it into Latin (manifestus obvious) has a nicer ring to it, and I like the slight ambiguity because it’s understandable but not colloquial. I keep thinking that Credo is also pretty close, but I feel that it implies a certain amount of dogmatic acceptance without reasoning. Ideology could work, but it may suggest an amount of speculation or idealism that I’m not going for. Convictions hints at a guilty verdict. Philosophy would be a broader scope than I’m going for. How about Resolutions! Duh.

How about getting back to my birthday?

Ricardo turned 26 on the 12th, so we had a little shared party for the two of us on Tuesday night. I left the office at 6 with Ricardo, Fabrizio, and Antonio, but between traffic and some other delays we didn’t arrive at Gloria’s apartment until 9PM. We snacked on some chips while waiting for a couple of their friends to arrive. I think it’s interesting that I’ve recently stumbled into this island of southern Italians but I guess it’s appropriate because I’m at least part terreno as well. I’ve come to realize that this is the part of Italy that I’ve been searching for. I believe it does exist, but I’ve only seen it though the stories of other people so far. Unfortunately, I can’t foresee a way that I could test-drive that lifestyle while furthering my career experience unless I do it on my weekends. This is something I plan to focus on as spring approaches.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to cut this entry short because I’m still tired from the escapades of last night. Sorry for getting bogged down in some semantics back there.

After the chips we ordered pizzas to be delivered. Frabrizio and Ricardo went to go pick up one of their buddies, and I was left with Antonio and the girls. Giovanna told me a charming story about spending a few weeks sailing from Genova to Sicilia. I’ve wanted to sail around the Bahamas for some time, but the Mediterranean is also very appealing! Her voyage reminded of when I stayed on a house boat on Lake Powell. The boys came back, and before long it was time to open the champagne. For the past couple of weeks I’ve been teaching the guys a bit of American culture, or at least some of our (my) expressions. So I was asked to repeat “my toast.” I taught the guys this toast a while back: “Live like movie stars, Party like rock stars…” The ending is a bit vulgar, so I’ll omit it. They seem to really like it. I guess it represents a certain element of the American dream that is highlighted by the off-color decadence in the American tv shows that are imported here.

Then it was time to open presents. I even got gifts! -A cover for my ipod, and a little cube-book. I was not expecting such a gesture, so it made the surprise that much better. I I couldn’t think of anything as thoughtful, so I gave Ricardo a bottle of a well-crafted Venezuelan rum.

The next morning I saw frost on the ground and some of the cars on the way to work. I wore my alpaca wool scarf that I bought in Pumamarca, Argentina last summer. I think this is the first time I’ve ever worn a scarf! It made me feel very Italian.

Dec 10, Day 119, Last Italian weekend in ‘06: (Weekend #18)

















It’s finally stopped raining, and I’m writing to you looking at unfamiliar stars though my window.

Friday was a national holiday, so I was able to extend my last weekend in Italy this year by an extra day. Although this extra day off made the workweek 20% shorter, the time in the office seemed to drag along slower than ever just to spite me. The unrelenting drizzle outsize made the office even gloomier than usual, regardless of my anticipation towards the approaching holiday. I had hoped to go skiing in Austria with some of the guys from BMW, but it’s been too warm to snow so we decided to wait until January and looked to make other plans this weekend.

I left the office on Thursday evening in haste although I still had no plans of any sort for the evening. I was on the bus after an unusually short wait, and spent a good chunk of the ride pinging people in my phone book looking for someone interested in going out. I got no takers and decided I’d try to get to bed early to get up rested to go to the motorshow in Bolognia with Paddy and company. After dinner I slipped out to the bar downstairs, ordered a gin and tonic from Luca the bartender, and planted myself at a table with a good view of the area. I decided it was time to move on to a new venue after trying (unsuccessfully) to start a conversation with the cute waitress. I strolled across town to find Igor planted in his usual station, smoking while he guards the door of Vanity cafĂ©. Any conversation died off after a short time although I hadn’t seen him in quite a while. I went inside to see if anything was going on. Instead of the usual scene, I found the lights dimmed and most of the tables were filled. The waitresses were playfully skipping around as they delivered the drinks, and I got an energetic smile of acknowledgement from one of them that I had been recognized. But I felt disconnected from the seated groups that were singing along to the Italian music. I clocked out early so not to be too tired in the morning.

To be continued…

6Dec, Day 115-(10 Days until leaving for NY), Strufuli and Dust

According to the laws of the universe that most of us subscribe to, matter is not usually created or destroyed. However, dust is a strange exception. I can almost measure the speed at which it collects on the floor of my apartment --but it seems to have no source. Just think, if my floor is gaining a few hundred cubic centimeters (about a cup when you weep it into a pile) of dust every week, then something else must be losing a few hundred cc of dust every week. I know! It must be falling from space. All those theories about the oceans rising because we’re melting the ice couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s cosmic dust. Call Steven Hawkings because I have all the evidence right here.

While we’re studying the universe, I’d also like to know why my candles were made 3 inches wide, but the only wax that burns makes a tunnel down the middle about 1 inch wide. What am I supposed to do with a tube of wax with a hole in the middle where the wick was? Anyone who’s seen a hybrid rocket engine might suggest making the wick longer next time. Why don’t the make it a spiral?

And speaking of wax with an empty space in the middle: who is the idiot who put Paris Hilton on tv doing Vodafone commercials in Italian?! She’s deplorable. (Does Linus say that?) They’d be better off replacing her with the girl who made the news tonight for exotic dancing on the subway trains for tips. I bet she makes a pretty good turnover. It’s bound to be a lot better than the people who mumble at you with their hand out. I want to give them a high five, but I’m not in the mood to get stabbed.

It’s been another miserably dreary day, but the neighbors brightened up my evening and brought me a plate of strufuli. They’re like the little nuggets of fried dough covered in honey and sprinkles like grandma makes, but these were about half the size, and a bit fluffier. They also use silver bb-like balls, white jellybeans, and little pieces of candied fruit to augment the traditional rainbow sprinkles. I definitely need to get them at least one thing in return, but I really have no idea what they might like. I guess a poinsettia plant is a safe bet, but I’ll take suggestions.


2Dec, Day 111, Rockefeller Centro

This entry is dedicated to Jessica -for remembering me when I forget.

I went “downtown” today to look for some Christmas gifts. In Europe, they usually call it the centro-in italian, but with things decorated for Christmas I felt some nostalgia of NYC. They even have some kind of a tree in the piazza duomo, but it’s not decorated for Christmas, so I’m not sure what’s the motivation for sticking it there. It would really be really festive if we got some snow, but the people bundle up in scarves and long coats as though it could be snowing although I’m told this is an exceptionally warm year. (However, although it has been quite damp.) But the streets were packed with a bustle of shoppers walking with bags and packages, and I think we’ve also increased the number of window-shoppers by at least a factor of three. Now they have to jockey for space in front of the glass to study the shopkeeper’s wares.

But I made a slight tactical error today in forgetting the map and compass yet deciding to try to walk from Garibaldi to downtown instead of taking the metro. It ended up taking about 90 minutes longer than it should have if I took a direct route, but my roundabout track brought me by the Lincoln Road-esque Corso Como on before reaching the designer district of via Montenapoleone, and then finally Corso Vittorio Emanuele ending at the Duomo. I particularly enjoyed the designer district where one can gaze in awe upon a single outfit that costs more than all the clothes I own. However, after a second or two my attention is drawn to the eccentric people who are actually shopping here. They are a mix of models accompanied by rich men, opulently dressed ‘nobility’, and tourists who probably aren’t going to take anything home but their photos of the window displays.

I stopped in the Antica Ambrosiana to thaw out with a hot chocolate, but the circulating brew actually looks better than they are. (–This one anyway.) Allow my to clarify that statement. The hot chocolate can be seen being mixed above the bar next to the espresso machine. It is somewhat reminiscent of the Ghirardelli factory in San Francisco, but on a much smaller scale. They pour it with a tap, but it comes out a consistency similar to yogurt and is served with a spoon. If you let it cool it begins to develop a film or crust on top, but I just didn’t find it satisfying. In think if I was sitting in front of a fire instead of standing at a bar it might’ve had a different effect on me.

The Piazza del Duomo was just as packed with people as the side streets leading into it. Only here there is little for sale besides pigeon food. I noticed someone had erected a small log cabin with a large tree in the behind it. I’m not actually sure if this is a related to Christmas or not because the tree was not decorated. Meanwhile, on the far side a group of pacifists were juggling to the transiberian orchestra’s Christmas album. I crossed the flock human-birdfeeders in the center of the piazza continuing on to Corso Sempione where I found one of the gifts I was looking for. The street running parallel to sempione was having some sort of crafts fair. I browsed over the goods without seeing anything of interest aside from the first Christmas trees that I’ve seen for sale in Italy. These were small trees in pots. I guess people might plant them in January! I would actually like a potted pine tree on my balcony, but it would be a hassle to carry the pot all the way from ‘downtown’. My last stop was Peck, Milan’s best gourmet restaurant and food store. Here, I did not find what I was looking for at a reasonable price.

I had dinner with the neighbors where we had homemade pizza, a small meatloaf in a piecrust with a carrot in the middle, and a spinach pie. Some of the highlights were hearing how they make lemoncello, strufula, and rococo.

After dinner I went back to Milan to meet a couple of Sicilian guys who are new at work and some of their friends. We went to a warehouse converted into a club I think they called Studio Uno. We had a good time and stayed quite late.

1Dec, Day 110, Bus Woes

The only thing worse than seeing the bus pull away just as you reach the stop, is waiting 110 minutes for the bus on a Friday evening before finding out that there was a transportation strike.

Nov 30, Day 109, The next level of character building

I used to think trying to dance Salsa was difficult in english/spanish. Communication barriers in Italian has raised the bar.

Nov 29, Day 108, The Bacio

“If you gave me all the kisses in the world it still wouldn’t be enough.”
-a quote on a silver candy wrapper that came with my coffee at lunch

Bacio means kiss in Italian. It is a type of candy that might be the inspiration for Hershey’s famous creation; or it might be completely unrelated.

I have my first complaint about Italian food. Ready? Ok. Here goes: I think it’s nearly impossible to eat a small-normal size meal that has the proper balance of the major food groups in a restaurant. If you want carbs, they comes as a whole plate of pasta. If you want protein, that covers a separate plate. And if it doesn’t come with much vegetable, you’ll need to order a third plate to get something green. However, they usually give you about ¾ of a meal on each plate, so you have to eat at least 1 and ½ meals to get carbs and protein. It’s not uncommon to exceed 2 meals in one sitting if you want carbs, protein, and vegetables. I don’t think I’m a light eater by any standard excluding sumo wrestlers, but I’m sick of stuffing myself to feel like I had a complete and balanced meal. So to counter some of these deficiencies that I will face if I start only eating a single plate, I bought some multi-vitamins. They don’t sell vitamins in the supermarkets although they have a plethora of herbal extracts with dubious nutritional value. So I had to go to a pharmacy to buy vitamins for 25 cents/pill. In Italian they call that a fregatura! (rip-off)

Nov 23, Day 102, Thanksgiving in England











Wow, triple digits of days, and 31 pages of writing.