My Italian class was postponed this week because Alberto’s schedule was too crazy, so I’ve determined to speak as much as possible on my own so that I haven’t forgotten everything by the time we resume.  To this end, I’ve been spending two or three hours every afternoon hanging out with new friends on the street.  Literally on the street.  On the main Corso, close to where Caterina, Gabriella and Antonella have their shops, there are also the shops of the butcher, a sprinkling of shops selling local goods, a place called Pantalomania with clothing and jeans, as well as a pizza place and gelateria.

There is something almost cozy about having a chat on a stoop with people who you are getting to know.  The stoop in question is someone’s residence, but there is not much activity in and out so it’s the perfect place for people to congregate, smoke a cigarette, and still keep an eye on their stores.  They all seem to have an innate sense of which people are actually going to buy something, or just browse for a minute and depart.  The world walks by– tourists pushing strollers, licking melting gelato, carrying precious bottles of newly-purchased vino– as well as residents, going about their daily routine, older ladies prettily-dressed and heading to mass, and local misfits and personalities.  I’ve been watching this activity for two months, but now my vantage point has changed to that of one who is gradually being welcomed into the fold.  And I’m able to express my curiosity about people I’ve seen over the past couple of months.  Now I am able to say, “tell me about that little old man in the suit who has the pompador,” and I learn that he is one of the richest men in town and tight with his money.  His suits are immaculate, but are so old as to be considered vintage.

I’ve been told by more than one person that it’s hard to make lasting friendships here.  I know that in my first weeks I despaired of having a real conversation or connection with someone.   I was daunted not only because of the language barrier, but because I didn’t seem to be charming the pants off everyone in the way I had expected to.  I thought that it was enough to want to be here.  But what I’ve discovered is that the people here aren’t closed at all, they are reserved.  And this is an important distinction.  Perhaps by sheer proximity, in that I would determinedly say hello to the same people every day, I began to make inroads.   And as people discover that you aren’t just here on a lark, that you are interested in speaking their language, learning about their culture, and that you really do want to live and work among them, they are warm, open and accepting. (I received my first invitations for dinners, and a party, this week!)

Conversations with my new friends have ranged from intimate chats with one or two people at a time, where we are learning about each other’s families and history, to larger groupings where everything is discussed from the weather, to the lack of tourists this summer, to local politics (which I can’t follow at all yet) and of course, lots of talk of recipes and food.  I learned yesterday that the butcher would have polmone today.  It took me a minute before I realized that this is “lung.”  Everyone laughed when they saw my expression, so I tried to smile gamely as the butcher was standing right there.

The cultural differences are the most interesting to me.  Talking about why Americans are always portrayed as carrying humongous cups of coffee on television shows leads to a twenty minute discussion of coffee, the amount both cultures work, quality of life, and the media.  Commentary on someone’s nail polish leads to a heated debate about beauty salons and a personal attack on someone who has fallen out of favor.  I do my best to field the questions directed at me, while listening attentively so that I don’t lose the thread of the conversation.  My comprehension isn’t stellar yet, and if I tune out for a minute, I’m lost.  I look up words in my dictionary and share English words with them.  For some reason, these conversations seem to deteriorate rapidly into new slang expressions, and we are amused no end when someone repeats a vulgar word in the other’s language.

One of the teacher’s from my language school walked by yesterday while I was sitting with about six people and was happy to see that I was conversing it Italian with such a “bel gruppo.”  For my part, while I am happy to be speaking in Italian, I’m more content that I’m learning about my new town, connecting with people… and that my humor translates!

Yesterday started out as one of those days where everything seemed overwhelming and hard.  Thankfully these days are few and far between here.  But when I do have a day where a) I am pursuing my thousandth job lead and have to hike thirty minutes to get there only to find that not only is the man I’m supposed to be meeting with not there, but the whole place is shut up tight due to an electrical problem on the whole road, and b) just as I am at the farthest point from home it starts to pour, thereby soaking my one decent outfit for such interviews, I decide to do what I do best when I’m stressed, worried, or abbattuta, my new favorite word, which means beaten down.  I bake.

Of course, as I discovered when I baked my first batch of brownies a few weeks ago, baking dolce Americana is not easy here because it’s hard to find some of the ingredients we take for granted.  It took three stores to find baking soda, scouring the internet to find a substitute for brown sugar, and sampling of four different types of butter to find one without salt since they are not labeled this way.  And perhaps the most exciting find, locating chocolate chips after numerous requests.  I actually thought this would be the easiest ingredient since I am close to Perugia home to Perugina chocolate, but since the gocce di cioccolato are mostly used at bakeries, they are harder to find in a grocery store.  The grocery store baking aisle usually consists of two shelves with some cake mixes, chopped nuts, and decorations.

I decided to bake my chocolate chip cookies and some banana bread to give to all the girls who have been helping me day after day with my job hunt.  Work is not abundant here right now and my task is made harder by trying to find some jobs that aren’t through the local work office since I can’t do that until my citizenship application is finished.  But Gabriella, Laura, Antonella and especially Caterina have been telling everyone that I’m offering English lessons and basically keeping their ear to the ground for opportunities.

As the rain poured outside, my apartment filled with comforting smell of baking banana bread.  I wasn’t able to bring my mixer with me so I’m beating everything by hand.  The consistency isn’t perfect but thankfully I had enough built up frustration from the morning to beat the butter into submission. As the banana bread baked, I peeked through the oven door to see that one was bubbling uncontrollably.  I then realized that it must be something to do with the altitude and the baking soda I used.  After a quick conversion I discovered that although I’m not over the three thousand foot mark, which normally requires recipe alteration, my recipe was definitely reacting in a way that it didn’t normally.  I adjusted the temperature as a website suggested since it was too late to decrease baking soda and this seemed to quiet things down.  With the chocolate chip cookies, my only worry was the brown sugar.  Multiple forums had said that you can’t find anything close here.  I found something called zucchero di canna demerara and decided to take a chance.  It looked brown and smelled strongly of molasses which our brown sugar has in it, but it’s consistency was granular and didn’t have the “packing” humidity of the sugar I’m used to working with.  But other than the fact that I probably lost three pounds as I tried to incorporate its graininess into the butter, the end result was fine.   It would be even better with a mixer, I think.

Around four o’clock just as I finished putting cookies and slices of banana bread into small packages for my new friends, the sun came out.  I took it as a good sign.  I spent the remainder of the evening hanging out with Caterina and Antonella outside their shops.  They sit on a stoop when it’s not busy and reluctantly go see to a customer when someone wants something.  They both have long days and I think the final chunk after pranzo must be hard. We chatted about our backgrounds and at their request, I translated a couple of Italian swear words for them.  This didn’t go over so well with some passersby as both women were excitedly repeating “dickhead.”  As they munched their goodies, Antonella told me I should start my own pasticceria, or bake shop.  I was heartened by her words and felt my confidence flow back to me.  It was a dolce (sweet) end to the day.  I still don’t have work, but I’m starting to have friends and for right now I think this is the more important thing!

The sun hits my porch every morning from 11:00 to about 12:30.  I’ve been taking advantage of the glorious weather by bringing my laptop outside each day.  It’s 80 degrees at this hour and I’m told (by Marinella and every other person in town) that this is hot for mid June.  Talking about the weather comes right after every “buongiorno” or “ciao” here.  Alberto calls it the national sport of Toscana.  Despite my SPF 30 applications every hour or so when I’m outside, I am getting quite the tan.  And in weird irregular ways, as I usually start writing and don’t change positions for a while.  This has led to the aforementioned “laptop legs” and other strange markings. Cinder too takes advantage of the sunshiney porch by lying beside me for about thirty seconds before retreating to the cool tiles inside.

I’ve actually been very productive this week–not with homework, which I’m saving for next week when rain is forecast–but with writing and with exploring my town.  I’d forgotten how much I enjoy writing in the mornings.  With class every day for the past three weeks, I hadn’t developed a routine, and now that I have I will almost be sorry when it’s disrupted.  It won’t be disrupted by class since we’re going to meet in the afternoons when Alberto returns, but I am hoping some work will come along soon and that I might actually have some place I need to go.   Some days I like to fantasize that I’m on holiday in another era and that I have no money concerns, that I can wander the streets of my little town, browsing in shops, buying whatever I’d like, tasting new cheeses, having an aperitivo in the afternoon without a care in the world.  Unfortunately, my limited resources makes the buying part of this difficile, so I’ve limited my indulgences to an afternoon shakerato.  This is what Massimo made me when I described an American iced espresso.  He makes it in a shaker, hence the name and then pours it into a martini glass.  It’s quite delicious and feels much more extravagant than the two shots of espresso a couple of packs of sugar and ice that it actually is.

I’ve been stopping in to see my new friends regularly at their shops.  Gabriella had to go to Romania to visit her dying grandfather, but Antonella and Caterina are hard at work.  Antonella runs a small alimentari or grocery store, which doesn’t have a lot, but I buy my biscotti for breakfast (I gave up the brioche after week two; it was just too heavy), and usually I’ll get paper towels, yogurt and water.  The paper towels are my secret shame because the women here don’t really use them much, preferring I guess to launder loads and loads of cloth dishtowels–this girl isn’t a fan of that approach.  I know it isn’t ecologically friendly, but since I’m hoofing it around everywhere, I hope this excuses somewhat my obsessive compulsive need for sanitary clean up.  I do notice that, after my time in New York where it’s taken for granted that you will recycle, I’m a much better recycler than some of my neighbors.   Although the town provides humongous bins everywhere for bottles and plastic, a small fraction of the garbage I see outside houses each morning is actually separated.

I stopped in this morning to see Antonella and Caterina.  Antonella’s mom just died a few weeks ago so after the store was closed for a few days “chiuso per lutto,” which means “closed for mourning,” she has been busy restocking shelves.  She also posted my flyer for English lessons prominently, so I’m grateful!  I bought a couple of things, and got a recipe for eggplant which I will try tonight.   The eggplant and zucchini are plentiful now at the mercato.  Marinella gave me an armful of zucchini and a simple recipe for a frittata with zucchini which I made the other night.  I’ve posted the recipe for this as it’s only a few ingredients and was delicious.

My visit to see Caterina at the cheese shop ended with me dashing back to my house for Advil liqui-gels.  Caterina had a bad headache, which she said the stuff she was taking couldn’t touch.  Always one to convert another person to the wonders of Advil, I told her to try it and see if it worked.  Thankfully, I brought a big bottle with me, but if this goes over I can see I might end up needing more so I can share.  When I was leaving after the second visit, she insisted I take some pecoranzola with me as a thank you.   I didn’t shout “Yippee,” but was thinking it.  I’ll check back this afternoon, and see how she’s doing.  Now I’m off to cook my new eggplant recipe and hope that it’s tasty.

My Italian lessons are done.  Well, not really done, but my professor Alberto is heading off to the Val d’Aosta for two weeks, so I’m free for a little while.  How are my language skills?   Well, if the amount of homework Alberto gave me to work on in his absence is any indication, I’d say I have a lunga strada ahead.  I am speaking much better now.  I don’t always get the pronoun or the prepositions right, but as long as I don’t try to do anything fancy I can communicate pretty well.  I’ll admit sometimes before class, I’ll prepare things to talk about so I sound a little more advanced than I am.  Unfortunately, it’s like when you rehearse a message before leaving it on someone’s voicemail–it never sounds as good in actuality as it did in your head!

So what to do with my freedom?  I decided to do a little research on the history of my town.  I began my new book this week, which I hope will be an amusing look at my life here during the first year.  Although, I’m posting some of this stuff for your reading pleasure, believe me there are many more embarrassing, frightening, sexy and funny stories that I haven’t detailed yet.  When you consider that I’ve only been here about six weeks, it seems likely that I will continue to blunder and stumble my way along as I grow in my new life.  Oh to have the serenity of Cinder who, when she is not chasing flies, or shaking uncontrollably on the couch when I tell her it’s time for a bath, appears to have totally embraced her retirement, or pensioni as I like to call it.  She just had her first close-up yesterday, when a tourist from Tokyo asked if he could take her picture.  I keep thinking if I can’t find work, perhaps I can charge for pictures with my spectacle of a dog!

So since I’m trying to flesh out what to write about, it seems prudent to learn a little more about my town.  Sure, knowing that there is a super tasty cheese called pecoranzola which is a cross between pecorino and gorgonzola, is all well and good, but I feel slightly guilty as I walk by the beautiful churches and squares and have absolutely no idea of their history.   In addition to my homework, Alberto made me buy two books written by Iris Origo, which detail her life here after World War II.  Apparently, any scholar worth his salt would read these before attempting to write any sort of book on Montepulciano.  As you might have guessed, Alberto feels strongly on this subject and we have had long discussions in class about the danger of writing books that the audience wants to read, as well as the tendency of Inglese authors to stereotype Italians.  He is severely disapproving of Under the Tuscan Sun.  I of course attempted to defend the book for although I’m sure Frances Mayes got on the money bandwagon with her succeeding books, I felt that the first book came from the heart.   I didn’t tell him that of the twenty or so books that I selected to bring with me to Italy, this is one of them!!!

So now I have Ms. Origo’s two books with a historical perspective, but decided a trip to the Museo Civico might also be in order.  I trekked up to Piazza Grande this morning.   (It’s back to normal now since the filming of New Moon has finished.  I’ll confess I just read the third book in the series because it’s one of about ten titles in English that were available at my little bookstore.)

The museum is small and has the usual array of Etruscan pottery and historic books from the area.  There was a showing of Francesco Crociani’s collection of paintings and these gorgeous paintings are just hung on the wall like they were in your living room.  You can put your nose right up to the canvas if you so desire.  I took a few pictures as I wandered through.  I also bought a book in English with a more detailed guide of the art and architecture of the town.  I will try to visit some of the churches next week.

As I was sitting in Piazza Grande reading a little on the history of the piazza, Alberto walked over.  (Did I mention the town is small–I only know four people, but I see them constantly?!)  He leaves for his vacation in the morning, but couldn’t help asking if I was studying.  “Sono una turista oggi,” I told him.  I’m a tourist today.  Then, since that didn’t seem to appease him, I told him I’d just been to the museum.  I got a “Brava” for that and I guess now he can head off to hike and play and not worry that I’m not learning anything!  Little does he know that my mind is preoccupied this week with the blind date that Laura has arranged for me.  More details on that later.

Okay back to work!!

This week was all about stretching myself a little beyond my comfort zone…both literally and figuratively.  The literal came when my laundry cord, which I had attempted to salvage with duct tape, finally breathed it’s last.  I was running late for class and had just put my sopping wet duvet cover out to dry and was taking Cinder for her pre-class outing.  I looked up at my window to admire my handiwork, since I still can’t quite believe I’m hanging laundry out to dry, and there was no laundry.  The duvet cover and the cord were in a heap on the ground.  I did my first vocal Italian curse…a loud “VAFFANCULO,” which I’m sure all of my neighbors heard.  I was late getting to class and wasn’t in the best mood.  It wasn’t helped when Alberto told me that this was a small thing (piccola cosa) and not to be upset.  Sure, easy for him to say.  I had no idea how I was going to hang out of my window to install a new laundry cord.  I attempted to get on with the class, but I was definitely out of sorts.  Then my last pen died.  This of course is another piccola cosa, but I’ve been doing a lot of writing here and I like to use ink pens.  I hate ballpoints.  I hadn’t seen any stores with office supplies, so I wasn’t sure where to start looking.

That afternoon, after a few minutes of wishing I had a man I could order in to take care of pesky things like installing a laundry line, I determined to handle it myself.  But first I started with the pens, since it seemed like an easier accomplishment.  Alberto had gently let me know that the libreria (bookstore) which I’ve been into about five times also has pens and paper.  Observant writer that I am, I hadn’t noticed this on previous visits.  In my defense, I usually have Cinder with me and am desperately trying to avoid having her step on anyone’s toes in the confined space with her gigantic toenails!  I asked the owner about the pens, and I’ll admit I only asked for one.  And here’s why.  In Italian, the plural of pen is Le penne.  Not to be confused with il pene, which means penis.  I was pretty sure after my morning that instead of asking for pens, I’d put my foot in it and ask for a penis!  These are the things that happen when you are learning a new language and I make at least two flubs of this sort on a daily basis.  So after happily collecting Le penne, which I’m happy to report are the same brand  I always use, I decided to tackle the hardware store.

The woman who runs the store knows me well by now.  I’ve been in there for laundry clips, duct tape, lightbulbs, a laundry rack, and now the fifth visit, a new filo dei panni.  I had already measured the length I needed, being the semi-handy girl that I am, and had converted it into meters.  I was able to successfully mime and explain that I needed a new cord and the little silver thingy to secure it.   The woman asked me, as she does every time I come in, if I have a fidenzato yet.  “No,” I tell her.  “Non ancora.  It’s not a priority right now.”  “Brava,” she tells me.  Not sure why she thinks it’s so great that I’m not reliant on a man, but maybe I’ll get that story on another visit.  She tells me exactly what I need to repair the cord and wishes me luck.

The next day I tackle the laundry line, and my first Italian hair cut and color.  This may sound like another small thing, but as most women know any time you go to a new salon and use a new colorist, it’s always a little risky.  So add to that my limited vocabulary about hair care and you can see why I was a little concerned.  Laura’s sister-in-law is a parucchiera, (hair stylist) and had just opened a new shop.  And when I say “just” I mean I was the first client.  I tried not to let this add to my anxiety.  I had met Samantha a few times before Laura’s wedding, so I felt comfortable babbling on in my better-but-definitely-not-yet-fluent Italian, with lots of stops and starts to check the dictionary, about how I would like my hair.  To my relief, Samantha is a great colorist and gave a terrific cut and blow out as well.  I’m not sure if I got a friends and family rate, but I paid about 1/8 of what I paid in New York, for the same thing.

After my vocabulary calisthenics of the morning, my next task was the laundry line.  And when I tell you there was some stretching, I mean it.  I was hanging so far out of my window in my attempt to reach the ends of the cord that I was afraid it was all going to end very badly.  I asked Cinder to hold onto my legs, but she was of little help other than to look on worriedly from her bed.

I somehow managed to secure the line and it works.  It’s not perfect, but I’m satisfied and my newly re-laundered duvet took it for a test drive and at last look was still hanging.

My last bit of stretching this week came in the form of a cooking class.  Alberto told me that there was a writer at the school this week who wanted to take a cooking course and needed someone to translate for her because the chef didn’t speak a word of English.  I think I said yes before he even finished speaking.  I’ve been dying to take a cooking class and this seemed like a fun way to get started.  I also was pleased that they thought my Italian had improved to the point where I could act as a translator!!!

The writer, Sarah-Kate Lynch is from New Zealand and was taking the class with another friend from the school.  (I checked out her website and her books sound good.)  It was a very fun afternoon.  Sarah-Kate had requested to learn four desserts, so the recipes we learned were La torta della nonna,  including the pasta frolla (which is the dough), tiramisu, a crostata and cantucci, the traditional biscotti (ish) cookie of Toscana.  Ginny, the other woman from Il Sasso, is an artist from Illinois and is traveling around Italy for a month by herself.  I did something similar almost ten years ago, so I liked her right away.  Both women were fun and the chef was gorgeous so it was a great time.  I did my best translating both their questions for the chef and his instructions to them.  The chef is going to forward the recipes to the school, so I hope to try practicing some of them on my own.

It was nice to have a “sweet” end to week as I’d found out earlier in the day that I’m technically not allowed to work until my citizenship is approved.  This could be months away!  I will just have to think of some other creative ways to stretch myself over the next couple of weeks.  Until then, I’d better go post some more flyers for English lessons!