The past few days collectively upped the anty for my Italian experience. Since I will be traveling for each of the remaining weekends, I made a point of pushing my boundaries during this one. Good decision, I must say, although I’m finding it difficult to keep track of all the things I do!

The bus can actually be a great place to meet people. Interestingly enough, I’ve managed to use other people’s poor behavior to my benefit. Case in point: while on my way across town Friday night, I overheard the conversation of a strikingly attractive girl in front of me and her companion. The man turned out to be an unwelcome tag-along from a previous club so I politely interrupted their conversation, managed to supplant myself in the seat previously occupied by said offender, and found myself in the delightful situation of making a new Swedish friend.

Speaking of, I really enjoy the variety of people in Rome. Just this weekend I’ve had drinks with people from Senegal, the UK, Brazil, Spain, and all parts of Italy and even the good ‘ol US of A. Erica, a friend of the family, invited me to a party on Thursday where I met several persons involved in the Italian film industry, including a certain famous director that I am familiar with. We ate shawarma’s (one of my favorite foods), talked film and culture, and basically hob-knobbed the night away. I love it!

Most that I meet consider those from Texas to be exciting and almost exotic. Italians certainly light up when they learn that I’m from the Lone Star State and one even wanted me to sing Deep in the Heart of Texas for her! American might not be the most desired nationality in Europe, but Texan sure is. Even at the massive open-air markets, vendors will haggle a little less with me when I say that I’m Texan. The narcissist in me enjoys being the import.

From bars made fully of ice and being on set with Tom Hanks–did I forget to mention that? haha–to nargilah and absinthe, Rome never ceases to entertain. There’s nothing like finishing the night by sharing a bottle of wine and watching the sun rise on La Fontana di Trevi. Jealous Sound lyrics keep playing in the background: The sun’s coming up, as we’re coming down… For once in your life.

I created this small list of interesting notes about Rome:

• Whoever said Italy is the fashion capital of the world was certainly NOT talking about Rome. Half the people look like early 90’s rejects from American fashion, the next 25% are tourists who just look cheap, and only the last quarter have managed to maintain my faith in Italy–because they all dress like Armani models.
• Speaking of models, Italy has kept up its end of the bargain and delivered on the gorgeous women. They’re funny about it, though: if you look for one, you can’t find her, but as soon as you give up a whole group of beautiful raggaze will appear out of nowhere. Wonderful.
• Situation dictates an incredible amount of Italian dialect; for instance, the word prego can mean “thank you,” “come again?,” “after you,” “what would you like?,” etc.
• Toilets here have the flush mechanism implanted into the wall behind the unit, and there are two buttons: one for light loads, and one for, uhmm, heavier ones. The walls and doors of public stalls are also floor-to-ceiling for complete privacy.
• If you’ve ever ridden the eBus coming back from 6th street–or any other bus completely overflowing with people–then you know what it’s like to ride the bus here every day. For an hour each way. Or more. With stinky people and annoying tourists. And no air conditioning. Perfect.
• Flip the light switches up to turn the lights off. Down to turn them on.
• Traffic here is amazing: any rules or regulations are more like guidelines, actually not even that, and it appears that just about anything goes on the road. Everyone seems to have a certain understanding, though, and it all works out. Riding a moto is incredibly fun, because you can go in the opposite lane, up on the sidewalk, in between stopped cars, etc, and nobody bats an eye. My kind of driving.
• Despite the thousands and thousands of vehicles on the road, pedestrians always have the right-of-way. You can walk across any crosswalk–or “magic zebras,” as I call them–and all traffic will immediately stop for you. I love to walk up to Piazza Venezia, seeing a group of tourists fearfully looking at the constant circle of six lanes of traffic, and just walking out into traffic and watching their eyes pop as all vehicles either completely stop or just simply avoid me. It’s great.
• One annoyance is the purchase of personal hygiene products. If you’re planning on traveling to Italy, I highly recommend that you bring everything you will desire, because they probably don’t have it here. Even if they do have your favorite brand of whatever, it will cost you two to four times as much, not counting the exchange rate.
• Guys are extremely obvious when checking out girls and couldn’t care less if they notice or overhear their rude remarks. I’ve been called a gentleman a half a dozen times simply because I’m not a creep. On the flip side, girls are much more forward, although no one seems to mind this (including myself).
• Nobody owns a drying machine. Hang-drying your jeans takes the laundry cycle from an hour to almost a full day.
• Restaurants charge extra to sit, but tips aren’t expected. They also won’t give you a cup of free water. This is ok, because there are ancient drinking fountains all over the city with continuous cold, clean, drinking water.
• A lot of the food here is exquisite, don’t get me wrong, but often I find myself craving some good ‘ol Texas grub. There is nothing here like American restaurants. If you see something that looks like American food or even has the same name, the taste is completely unsatisfying. Even items such as beef, ham, and chicken all taste different.
• Don’t even get started about pizza! It may have been invented in Italy, but America certainly perfected it. I have eaten a wide variety of pizza since I’ve been here and have yet to find one that tastes better than the local pizza shop in Austin. Deep dish is completely out of the question.
• Gelato, however, is another story. The flavors are sooo good and taste so real, that I feel like I’m in the Willy Wonka factory every time I go. The strawberries taste like strawberries. The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!

For any negatives that I’ve listed Italy provides a hundred wonderful things to make up for them. The countryside creates a sense of speechlessness and is every bit authentic to the postcard images that you may have seen. Historic Rome is impressive during the day and magical at night. The girls walk with a confidence that comes from their beauty as well as their spirit. I could go on forever. Italy needed barely two weeks to make me fall in love with it.

Oh, and Laura Bush is coming to my school tomorrow. Arrivederci!

The most difficult thing I encounter daily in Rome is not my attempts at communication with the Italians, but rather it is simply trying to keep up with all the things that keep happening to me! A few examples to illustrate my point.

Yesterday, after school, Gabrielle and I went out walking around the city. This is not an unusual thing and I have started to become pretty comfortable going anywhere that I please. We stumbled upon a group of kids playing soccer in a piazza, and the moment was ripe for a good photo, so I busted out the camera and started shooting. Out of nowhere two rather large, official-looking men came up to us and unloaded a barrage of questions in Italian. Who are you? Are you journalists? What are you doing here? You’re students, huh? Where?! Etc, etc. It was all we could do to spit out simple responses in an attempt to placate them. Suddenly one of the men grabbed my camera in an effort to take it away, but I yanked back and quickly stowed it in my backpack. Gabrielle and I exchanged a quick glance which confirmed our mutual feeling of uncertainty.

Our confrontation resulted only in my deleting of a single photo taken at the location. Only afterwards did we examine the various factors that could’ve been at play. Turns out that we were in the Jewish sector of town, right outside the Hebrew school actually, and the Jewish community has had to go to great lengths to insure their security as of late. We were also right around the corner from a building operated by the CIA which is famous for being the location of the mysterious death of a certain Italian official. On top of all this, Italy is hosting many heads of state at the moment and all police forces are on high alert. Thankfully we were able to explain ourselves and diffuse the situation.

That night my Italian family and I had a Bar-B-Q at our place. I had given them all kinds of food items from Texas upon my arrival–Stubb’s BBQ sauce, Texas wine, etc–and they were eager to try them all. Several friends of the family were invited over, including a fellow film director, an editor, a professional photographer, and even the brother of one of Rome’s soccer stars. Everyone loved the food and I put on some good American music in the background, which quickly became a favorite of those present. I enjoyed very much joking and laughing about the differences between our cultures as well as getting to talk shop with like-minded enthusiasts from another country. It was another great evening.

I haven’t even had time to write down my other excursions in the city, like stumbling upon a chase scene being filmed at the Piazza del Popolo, my visit to San Pietro e la Citta del Vaticano, or even finding a piece by my favorite poet frescoed onto the wall of a side-alley shop. I’ll try to fit everything in, but in the meantime you can view various photos that I’ve uploaded. Ciao!

As sleep fades to the dawn, I slowly become aware of my surroundings. The exquisite ambiance of my environment greets me: the sing-song play of young birds dancing on the terrace, the sweet aroma of flowers growing in harmony with the building that contains them, the happy chatter of children coming from the winding staircase that leads to the family room below me. I realize that this is not a dream, but my reality for the next six weeks. Sono in Italia, ed è incredibile.

***

I awoke on Sunday to an entirely different world than I had known previously. Everything about Rome I find intriguing: the epidemic of graffiti, the utter madness and clutter of the roadways, the gentle kindness that is shown to tourists who speak in Italian–and the harsh rebukes that are issued to those who don’t. Parts of Rome contain multitudes of high-rise apartments and residences which combine with a peculiar mix of foliage to create a world not unlike a softer version of Blade Runner. Other areas remind me of San Francisco and still others of New York, and all the buildings exude a certain quiet elegance.

Miranda’s family and mine joined together to celebrate Uogo’s birthday that afternoon. Michele cooked several different dishes for the festa, all of them absolutely delicious, and we met the others on the terrazzo of Uogo’s building. The children played while the college students and adults talked, ate, and–of course–drank wine. It was a wonderful celebration indeed.

I left to go explore the city around four in the afternoon and Miranda decided to join me. Together we covered a host of centuries in several hours time: il Foro Romano, il Pantheon, la Basilica di San Clemente, il Palazzo Venezia, il Monumento a Vittorio Emanuele II, e certamente il Coloseeo. After having our collective jaw hit the ground one too many times, we decided to call it a day. I still cannot completely comprehend what I’ve been able to see; the buildings of Rome are simply awe inspiring.

The next two days flew by with a constant sense of overwhelming appreciation. Everything turned into a chance for excitement: breaking into the Forum for free, climbing the Arch of Triumph, taking back allies and side streets, navigating the chaos that Romans call “traffic,” bartering with street vendors, discovering amazing restaurants, bars, and night clubs. Even interacting with strangers in Italian is a bit of a thrill. I’ve begun to take offense when tourists approach people, even myself, and don’t make an attempt to speak in the native tongue. I’ll pass for a local soon enough!

***

I must take this chance to thank those closest to me who made my trip possible: Mom, Michelle, Paul, Joe, Joshua, and Andrew. I would not be experiencing this magnificent adventure without all of you. Thank you so much; I love ya’ll!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The bus pulled up to the station and I could see a line of people eagerly awaiting our arrival. All of the students streamed out and then our new “parents” mixed with the crowd, many holding photos of their student and calling out his or her name (poorly pronounced, of course). I stood in the middle of this chaos and allowed it to swirl around me. Then I saw the face of one man filtered through the rest and he immediately walked up to me. “Will?”

I soon learned that Michele was the father of the family I would be staying with. He had brought his son, Eduardo (seven), with him, but his wife, Lorenza, and daughter, Isabella (thirteen), were not able to come. Michele is friends with Uogo, another host family dad, and they rode together, bringing along Uogo’s daughter, Viola (fourteen). A fellow student of mine, Miranda, and I piled into Michele’s car with all the aforementioned people.

Eduardo and Viola asked question after question in Italian, and it was all Miranda and I could do to attempt enough replies to keep them satisfied. Eduardo is one of the cutest little boys that I have ever seen and his energetic and optimistic attitude reminds me of my own little brother, Andrew, so I immediately took a liking to him. Michele and Uogo simply smiled and interjected their own comments whenever appropriate.

Suddenly we rounded a corner and Michele made one single statement that silenced everyone in the car: “È il Colosseo!” How does one vocalize such an immediate introduction to one of the world’s most treasured monuments? I was not able to utter a single word, but rather I tried to let my mind comprehend what my eyes were just beginning to absorb. To see it in person is astounding.

Our car drove on, Michele announcing the names of various artifacts and ruins as we passed them, but Miranda and I were still dumbfounded by our brief viewing of the Colosseo. Michele asked if were were hungry and, upon receiving an answer in the affirmative, proceeded to take us to a local pizzeria. We walked up and discovered that this innocent sounding question was really a setup: both of our host families were waiting with authentic Italian pizza’s and wine. It was a surprise festa just for us!

What a true welcoming! All my nervousness about the trip and the people that I would be staying with instantly melted away and was replaced by a subtle–what’s the cliche?–warm, fuzzy feeling. My family had the waiter bring out a special pizza just for me. It was a mix of cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, a big slice of salmon, and a raw egg dropped right in the middle. Now, if you know anything about me, you know that I dislike just about all of those ingredients, but there was no way that I was going to let all these people down. So I just manned up, shoved the whole thing in my mouth and swallowed as quickly as possible! They loved it.

The eating and drinking continued for several hours–I would quickly learn that this is a normal occurrence in Italy–with the whole lot of us laughing and enjoying ourselves despite our many communication errors. Finally it was time to go, however, and Michele and Lorenza led the short walk to my home for the next five weeks. I was so tired after my journey and the huge meal that not five minutes after they showed me my room, I was fast asleep dreaming about all that I had experienced.

To be continued…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3