Fresh Hell of the Day

I am a complicated creature. Now some of you reading that statement who know me well or even just have a nodding acquaintance with me are thinking: “Well, duh. You went 8000 miles to Italy, spent an ungodly amount of money and that is your great epiphany? I could told you that for a quarter and half an uneaten tootsie roll.” Allow me to explain why I feel the need to point this most glaring fact out. I am in a picturesque village in the Italian countryside, whose architecture is breathtaking, the people smile at me when I pass them, mostly because I look like a cute little fat American. I can hear the rain tap the cobblestone streets, my neighbors are playing an Italian love song of some kind out their window and my apartment looks like a movie directors dream. In short, this is one of those moments that are supposed to carry you throughout your old age, those blissful minutes that you keep tucked in your memory to tell your grandchildren. I am so fucking miserable I can’t even stand myself. See!?!?! See?!?! Is that nuts or what? How can you be miserable in Italy? In TUSCANY?!?!?! What the hell is wrong with me? Allow me to explain why I feel this way so that you can gain further insight into what has the potential to be one of the great clusterfucks of my life. There is no TV, no newspaper, no radio, no satellite radio, and NO INTERNET!!!! I have no internet. I can only get internet by going to an internet spot that for all intents and purposes is only open from 4 to 8. Of course, for all intents and purposes, ITALY is only open from 4 to 8 because the Italians eat lunch from 1:30 to 4. Normally, I would not mind this as I am all for a long lunch. However, I have class until 1:30 every day and after that, I am alone. Yes, alone. Totally and completely alone. People who will tell you that most Italians speak English have never been to Viterbo. No one speaks English here. I want to converse with these people so much and yet, I can’t because of a language barrier that is so wide we might as well be from other planets. No international students! I have only met one and I didn’t get a chance to talk to her because she was leaving the coffee shop I was in. I am going to try to find more of them but its really hard because the University is really just a few buildings, a joke of a library, and a cafeteria. And most of the Italian students don’t exactly look thrilled to see an American in their vicinity. Of course now we must get to the heart of the matter, what about the other Americans? Most people like you Crystal, so you must be making friends with the other Americans right? Well not exactly. To say we are not getting along is not accurate. I have been the soul of southern gentility, as unbitchy as possible and I think it just comes down to I can’t keep up with all their walking and they have left the weak link behind. And I don’t blame them. You see, you walk everywhere in Italy, EVERYWHERE. Which actually I was surprised to learn that I did not mind this. Unless its uphill. My little legs have never actually walked up a tall hill in their 22 years of existence. They don’t know how to function. And of course, I had either the stomach flu, dehydration, or poisoning from the water the first few days so that didn’t help matters. But in my inner most heart I can’t help think a lot of it is we have nothing in common. Though in truth there is one or two, I would like to smack the living crap out of. But they aren’t a bad sort, in fact most of them are very very very nice And I have party central, their main meeting place, right above me. But I have different interests from them and don’t know how to make conversation. I know, I know, I never thought there would be day that I couldn’t make conversation. But maybe it’s because I come from a different culture or maybe its just I’m having such a difficult time adjusting, but I’m just not having any fun with them. I hope that will change. Of course, over the last week, I’ve been asking myself what I wanted out of this experience. And I realized now I wanted 4 things: to eat as much Italian food as possible, to see Rome and Florence, to have intelligent conversations with people from other countries, and to learn how to live on my own. Also I guess I thought living here for a month would help heal me from the Great Depression of a couple years ago. Yes, I got this from Eat Pray Love and now it’s turning into “Lets All Pray Crystal Gets Out of Here Alive.” Having purged all the poison, all my misgivings, all the pain from this experience from my soul, allow me to tell you what I love about Italy. Yes, there is some kind of magic in a place that you can still love even when you’re miserable. A place that even almost getting run down by a crazy fiat driver puts a smile on your face. There are so many things to love about this little corner of the world. I love Italy so much that I even don’t mind that every shower I take is a new experience in second degree burns and hypothermia, that learning how to use the washer was a week long epic journey that involved more work and brainpower than any final. I love the rain here so much that I splash in every puddle I can. I wouldn’t even do this when I was little, but, here its so wonderful for the skies to open up and let down all this beautiful water. I didn’t even care that my sneakers got completely and utterly filthy, ruining the pristine white that had caught my eye when I saw them on the shelf. That just made them more Italian. I love going to all the different stores and buying just what I want. I don’t care that’s its inconvenient or expensive. I just love getting to have a new encounter with an Italian every time I buy something. I love looking out my window and saying buongiorno to my neighbor across the alley, who is about 10 feet away. I love leaving my windows open at night and letting the cool air in. It makes me feel like I’m a part of everyone’s home, that we are all connected. I haven’t had much Italian food in the restaurants because I had a yen to cook. I didn’t like going to the supermarket the first time I went but now I love looking at all the different foods, guessing what they might be by the pictures. I bought some chicken at the supermarket here and sautéed it in a little butter, olive oil, and garlic, and it was the juiciest, plumpest chicken I have ever tasted in my life. I had pizza here and its so good that I ate almost the entire pie. Even the coke is better here and its so terribly expensive I’ve been hoarding it like a squirrel’s nuts. And then there are the pastries!!! Oh the pastries. Every morning I go by a little bakery that makes cookies to die for and croissants with little pockets in them. Once they are done baking they put either apricot jam or nutella in them. “Oh the nutella!” She screams in rhapsody. It has given me so much satisfaction its almost sexual. I eat it with everything---bread, fruit, potato chips. I’d even have it on top of pasta if I didn’t think it would freak out my roommates. Maybe not, but it is so good I cannot describe to you how wonderful it tastes. The best thing about everything being in Italian is that I can’t read the food labels, which means that I cannot be held responsible for the calorie count in the food I eat. Yes, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’m getting fatter but hey, blame the Italian language!!! And yet, I had not gotten to the best part of my Italian food journey. The Gelato. Oh gelato, how did I live 22 years without you? Gelato is the new love of my life, something so blissful so absolutely lovely that were it not blasphemous I would make it my religion. But them God would smite me and where would I get my beautiful gelato? Bellissima gelato! . For one of the first times in my life, I have no words. There are no words. It’s the greatest ice cream on Earth and a passion that has been kindled in me. How I love it! I could live off of it and whenever I eat it I cannot imagine being miserable in Italy. How could anyone be miserable in the vicinity of Gelato? Like I said, I’m a complicate creature.