Verona is not ugly

A few weeks ago, my roommates and I took a day trip to fair-enough Verona. It was pouring, and freezing and absolutely lovely.


Some people complain that Bologna is a dirty city, and on some level that is true. Many of the beautiful porticoes and buildings are covered with graffiti and the Bolognese have a relatively lax attitude towards throwing things away in garbage cans. But that actually ends up being something I like about Bologna. It is very much a living city, and I like the way the modern day graffiti brings the old fashioned architecture into the present. While many of the cities in Italy are painstakingly preserved, living mausoleums to an era long since past, Bologna seems rather content to be indifferent to its own history. I think that is part of what keeps tourists away. It's not that there's nothing to see here, but rather the way the city presents itself.

It might be related to the dominating presence of the University here. The University of Bologna is huge, and a major academic center for Italy, which I think contributes to the city being very forward focused. But I suppose I can write an epic on local politics etc. another day.

So, as much as I enjoy Bologna, Verona made for an interesting contrast. Both cities are pretty affluent but that is about where the similarities end. Bologna has a much more closed in feeling. The streets are narrow and twisting and those beautiful porticoes contribute to that confined feeling. Verona was much more open, and was much closer to what I had expected an Italian city to look like. It's clean and well-maintained and very tourist friendly. Everywhere we went you could hear at least three or four different languages being spoken. The streets are comparatively rather wide, and paved with something closer to marble or granite than the treacherous cobblestones here.

Verona was about a two hour train ride from Bologna, so while it was cloudy when we left, it was pouring by the time we arrived. So, we only saw two of its major tourist sights: the Arena, and Giuliette's Balcony. (That picture over there on the left).

The Arena is a Roman amphitheater dating from about 30AD. It is the third largest in Italy, so, well done Verona. We couldn't get inside because our train was late but I suppose it seemed very nice and Colosseum-like. Also, there were men wandering around in gladiator outfits. There's something about watching a gladiator nosh on pizza while smoking a cigarette during his break from work that's pretty entertaining. They still hold events in the Arena, namely opera and theater during the late spring and summer, so we are hoping for a return visit then.

By far, my favorite thing in Verona was seeing Giulliette's house. As you know, Shakespeare based Romeo and Juliet in Verona. Although they were fictional people, the two rival families the Capulets and Montagues were based on rival families that existed in Verona. According to the museum, the story actually dates back to the late 15th century, and was originally set in Siena by the writer Masuccio Salernitano, who swore the events took place during his lifetime.

A Veronese writer Luigi da Porto later adopted the story and moved it to Verona, giving it much of its modern form, including the names Giulietta and Romeo, and those rival families of Montecchi and Capuleti. Shakespeare presumably drew from da Porto's account. Since then, some entrepreneurial Veronese designated a house on Villa Capuleti as Giuliette's house and it is a very popular tourist sight. There is a superstition saying that if you make a wish about true love underneath Giuliette's balcony, it will come true. Sweet, huh? Just so you don't get too sappy there is a bronze statue of Giuliette about five feet from her balcony, and it is apparently good luck to rub her breast. Needless to say, it is impeccably polished.

That is all good and nice but what I found really beautiful was the passageway into the courtyard. The walls are covered in love notes, some written directly onto the paint, others scribbled on paper and taped on top of other notes. All in every language you can imagine, as high up as you can see. We stood there and read as many as we could for awhile, until we got so sappy and teary that the guy we were traveling with made us leave to go drink in the square.

Which is what we did for the rest of our time in Verona. The rain was coming down like crazy, making it virtually impossible for us to walk more than five feet without getting soaked. We settled in at a sidewalk cafe with some heavy canvas umbrellas overhead and sat out the rain for a bit, drinking wine and watching our fellow tourists scramble through the rain. We eventually had to trek the mile and a half back to the train station and made it about 5 minutes before we gave up trying to stay dry and took turns jumping in puddles instead.


Although we spent the whole time there going on about how much we loved Verona (particularly around the time we found the shopping district), the trip made me look differently at Bologna and my time here. I find I really appreciate the experience afforded to me by the city, that in many ways in Bologna we see the way the Italians actually live, and our lives are as close to that as would be possible for a bunch of Americans living abroad together.

On a side note, I passed my Italian oral exam today. I can now officially tell you about my last vacation, what my apartment looks like, and the basic plot of Saved by the Bell. However, I still can't order wine, work my washing machine, or explain to the Italians what is wrong with Sarah Palin. Not surprisingly, almost every Italian I have met wants to talk US politics and explain to me why McCain will win "because Americans are stupid."

I'm going to blatantly break my promise not to write about how things are SO DIFFERENT

I know I promised not to write too many of those posts about how things are oh so different here, but this post will be one of my major exceptions. Actually, I'm thinking I will gather little tidbits and then post all my little Europe is Foreign! observations together, say once a month. So for instance, today I'll share that Potato Pizza is pretty popular here. For the uninitiated, that's French Fries. On pizza. I thought the Italians were above that sort of thing. Apparently not. Also, the entire country seems to have a vendetta against turkey. The meat product, not the country, although that could be a whole different post on European stereotypes.

Anyway, so you all know I like to cook. Therefore it will probably not come as a surprise that the local supermarkets are getting their own post. I predict that this is without a doubt one of the silliest things I will ever post on. We have one in our building, called Plenty Market, although some Italians told us the chain is nicknamed Vuoto (Empty) , since they are often out of most things. (so clever). It is about the size of the Secret Safeway in Dupont Circle, maybe a smidge larger.

However, this posting is mainly concerned with the shopping baskets. I'm slightly smitten with them. They don't seem to have carts at most markets here (it seems that the Italians do their shopping rather frequently, which negates the need for those monster carts we have at home.) Instead they have these things resembling regular shopping baskets but a bit larger, and really awkward to carry. It took me three trips to the store to realize that no one else was carrying theirs. Instead, there are tiny tiny wheel-like things on the bottom of the basket and a really long handle on the side. Everyone just drags their cart around the store, doing their best to steer and not play bumper cars with the aisle shelving. Everyone else seems quite good at this. I knocked over a display case of fresh bread on my first attempt. I can't tell you how many strange looks I got while carefully arranging my basket to take this picture. Also, that is 1/3 of the cheese selection in this tiny store. Frustratingly, it is almost all different kinds of Parmesan and Mozzarella. Oh how I long for some Gouda. We found some Cheddar the other day, but it was in a can and sloshed a bit when we shook it, and not in the awesome Cheese Wiz way. Also, there is a poor selection of mustard and I have not been able to find broccoli anywhere. The spices and seasoning are limited to three different kinds of dried basil, salt and pepper, and an overwhelming amount of fennel.

Luckily, there is a Asian grocery store about three blocks away. They have almost every spice known to mankind and I can tell already that I will miss it when I leave. There is a whole aisle exclusively stocked with different types of soy sauce, and three aisles worth of ramen. Seriously, three whole aisles devoted to flavors never before seen in the Western Hemisphere. Like, dried octopus eggs in tamarind seasoned chicken broth. I did not just make that up. It is fantastic, and will probably drive me to poetry one day. There is also an entire aisle of juices, which always makes me think of Kenneth and Ana, because you guys are the only people I know who would drink some of these crazy flavors, like mango flavored coconut juice, or citrusy apple. Don't stare at this picture for too long because it will make you sick with its blurry juice-ness.

What my extensive time in the grocery stores comes down to is that my apartment has been challenged to a cook off against another apartment here. I had absolutely nothing to do with it. My roommate Kristin was bragging around about how I cook a lot and she got cocky and started trash talking Dan and Tracy, throwing down a gauntlet saying I could beat them in a three course cook off. They laughed their faces off and accepted. Keep in mind they laughed their faces off because it is a commonly known fact in our program that Kristin's idea of gourmet cooking is opening a can of corn and pouring it into a bowl (what she actually had for dinner last night), while Karen has been known to occasionally salt and pepper some olive oil before eating it with bread.

Five judges have been recruited and I have two weeks to draft a three course menu that must be delicious, impressive, and easy to make (though to their credit, Karen and Kristin are both excellent at chopping things, doing the dishes, and buying wine). Any suggestions? For those who have eaten my cooking, any favorite recipes I should break out?

For the most part, I lucked out on the housing front. Namely, I had an apartment found for me without having to do absolutely anything. Add to that the fact that I essentially live in Bologna's Adams Morgan. It feels shockingly like home, from the hints of late night prostitution outside my window, to the drunk Italian kids drag racing through the streets.

Considering my flights over here were canceled, delayed, and delayed again, I was prepared to be in a terrible situation for housing. SAIS doesn't assign housing, but they work relatively closely with a man named Salvatore who owns a vast assortment of Bolognese apartments. He has red wired rimmed glasses, rarely smiles and generally walks around as if someone just made a particularly crass your mom joke. When you arrive in Bologna, you are supposed to immediately go to the center and sign up for a housing tour. At your assigned time, they load you up in a big white van and drive you around until you find an acceptable apartment.

This means two things: 1. Competition is fierce amongst students to get on an early housing tour. There have been accusations of alleged sabotage and one incident of intentional food poisoning.* 2. There are also some very bizarre pairings of apartment-mates, since people tend to end up living with someone on their tour, if only because they both stubbornly want the same apartment.

However, I was lucky enough to meet two nice girls in Washington DC who managed to arrive in Bologna two whole days before me. They found a nice three bedroom apartment in the SAIS "ghetto" (to be explained soon), and were lovely enough to offer me the third bedroom. They both warned me that they had taken the two larger bedrooms as part of a finders fee, but my room is still larger than my one in DC. There are nice tall windows and hardwood floors and I broke out my very refined artistic eye to pick out some colorful posters from a nearby shop. The shop makes me happy because it could be in any college town in the world, lots of old posters of Audrey Hepburn movies and the standard collection of Eschers and Van Goghs. All insanely overpriced and the colors a little off. Just right.

Anyway, my room is nice and cozy and it has somehow turned into our second living room, despite our actual living room being about five feet away. My roommates have taken to hanging out with me in there, trading stories about the day and watching old episodes of Arrested Development. (That picture up there is the night of our first party. Yes, we have already thrown a party. No, there weren't jello shots. Kristin is on the left, Karen is on the right.)

The building itself is referred to as the SAIS "ghetto", since the building of 10 apartments is 80% SAIS. There is a very nice Peruvian family on the first floor who swear they find us all charming, and a local company owns an apartment on the top floor, though we have never seen anyone go in or out. So that leaves about 24 of us spread throughout the other 8 apartments. The building has a large courtyard in the middle, and all of us have balconies overlooking the courtyard (which is boring, concrete, and under construction). This does mean there tends to be a lot of yelling from one apartment to another, and some of the guys are trying to work out the logistics of a 20 foot beer funnel. You can see what everyone is up to from your balcony and hear all sorts of gossipy things when people forget to shut their windows. Basically, it is like the Henle fishbowl all over again. People tend to wander in and out at all hours, which is nice but definitely something to get used to. At least once or twice I've started cooking a late night dinner and before I know it there are about 8 people waiting to be fed. Good practice for the cook off. (Over there we have our balcony, overlooking our neighbor's apartments. There are no Home Depots in Bologna, so I'm not quite sure where they will find long enough tubing for that funnel, but they are resourceful and dedicated young men.)

My neighborhood itself is really so similar to my one in DC. Most of Bologna is closed off to cars but we are on one of the few busy streets in the city center. The lull of ambulance sirens and speeding police cars is mostly comforting, after three years of getting used to similar noises at home. Also just like DC, there is a supermarket in the basement floor of our building (which is getting its own post shortly), a pharmacy across the street, and six late night pizza places on our block. (None of which, have their own disco ball a la Jumbo Slice) We are in the university district, so there's an abundance of bars (including our favorite pirate bar), clubs, and restaurants also nearby. We even found a decent Chinese place about three blocks away, and a sketchy park is just up the street.

So all in all, I'm definitely not suffering, and my life in Bologna is nowhere near as different from my life in DC as I was expecting. Which is a good thing. For now.

*No, I'm being silly. That's false. Mostly.

I keep collecting pictures and stories of things that have happened since I arrived here in Italy, but I refuse to post any of them because I'm operating under the restricting assumption that I have to start at the beginning.

Because I'm sure you all are dying to hear about my terrible flight to Frankfurt, being unable to carry my luggage through the airport, or the detailed exploits of my attempts to secure a cell phone.

No? Not so much? Excellent. Then I'm just going to start posting and if I get overwhelmed with nostalgia for my first few weeks here, I'll retroactively post some stuff and call it a day.