THE CHRONICLES OF CURIOSITY

August 24th, 2009

The second I got off the plane the old familiar smell of Europe inflated me.  The warmness I feel when I'm in this city keeps me comfortable.  The people bring joy to my soul with their natural gestures, making me laugh to myself for no reason at all.  I am confident to say I am thoroughly in love with Rome.  Thirsty?  Go to the nearest fountain on the street.  Stick your thumb in the hose and watch water shoot out of a hole and into your mouth.  Always wanted to ride a moped?  Why wouldn't you?  Everyone has one.  Dare to mingle with 500 year old statues of Saints over a glass of wine?  Easy.  Walk two minutes down la via, make a left, and you'll find yourself at the square, where each cobblestone, statue, shameless opera singer, fountain, musican, vespa, and overflowing cone of gelato exasperates one simple word: beauty.

If you do not experience the Roman way of life, you will forever be eating the skins of apples, and severely deprived of how juicy, blissful, and beautiful life can really be.

I arrived two days ago (at least I think two days ago) at the Fiumicino Airport, one of the only two airports in Rome.  After a night with no sleep and suppressed anxiety, due to the pills my mother loaded me up on, I was on another planet when I touched down in Italy.

"Mi Scusi, ragazza," the beautiful Italian woman said to me, nudging me on the arm, trying to wake me up.  She was your typical Italian woman.  Tough as nails, dark, bold, and intuitive.  "Ragazza! Up!  Up!  Wake up!"

You know those dreams you have when you're going about your daily 'dream business' and then you suddenly hit a wall, or fall off a cliff, or get hit in the head with a bulldozer, then proceed to jump 300 feet into the air?  Yes, that’s exactly what happened when "ragazza" woke me up.

"Ragazza!  Io so che tu non vuoi a rimanare cui!  Viene!  Benevuti in Italia!"

-Girl I no you don't want to stay here, come on, welcome to italy!

I honestly don't remember what I said back to her.  But I'm glad that I made an Italian friend.  Lord only knew if it weren't for her, I'd be on my way back to America.  Things were looking good so far.

So after standing in the wrong visa line for an hour, fumbling around with my broken Italian, getting yelled at for cutting into the right visa line, and dropping my 3 suitcases, backpack and purse, resulting in Italian social suicide, I made it to Terminal B where my program picked me up.

The first two nights I stay in a hotel (which is four stars may I add, o la la!) and go through a bit of an orientation.  I really enjoy the people I'm living with.  They are a bunch of adventurous, fun, and sweet girls.  Like I mean REALLY nice girls.  Our orientation involves us touring the city of Rome with bright green listening devices that hang from our necks, with a man holding a neon flag so our group of thirty doesn't get lost (once again Italian Social Suicide).  I felt so stupid.  Unbearably stupid. 

Until I reminded myself of the time I was in Time Square and a NYC tour guide attached a group of 50 Chinese tourists to a rope.  With that single thought I sighed, put the earpiece in my ear, and videotaped the Arch of St. Constantine while listening to its history.  As long as there was no rope, high socks, fanny packs, or white trash Disney world sweatshirts, I was ok with being a tourist in Rome.

I'm going to be honest.  If you want full on details about The Church of Agatha, The Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Piazza Novona (which is by our apartment :-), Basilica of Saint John, Campo dei Fiori (such a cool story, research it), and the Victor Emmanuel Monument, wikipedia it. I'm too obsessed with it all, and if I were to start, I would never stop.  SO!  To save my time and yours, I've posted pictures.  The images speak for themselves.

After our tour Emma and I went out to lunch with a few girls we met: Alex, Lauren, and Hilary.  After deciding which bistro to land in (it is honestly so hard, they're all beautiful), we picked a cute little one which resided in a narrow alleyway blooming with red flowers that spilled out of apartment windows.  We were quickly greeted by a man with long, brown, slicked back hair (that’s a given), braces, and charm (another given).  He helped me and my new friend Alex with our Italian, rewarding us with food when our requests were right, and blank stares of confusion when we slaughtered our sentences.  Ho avuto I pani con mozzarella e pomodoro, while Emma had a Greek Salad.  There was also a pizza margherite (which I learned was named after a very wealthy Italian woman who loved pizza so much she shipped a pizza maker to her home, from another country, to make it for her.  She's a boss.  Don't worry, Margherite, I would have done the same.)  I was so dehydrated and hadn't drunk anything in days, but my libido wanted red wine.  So red wine is what my libido got.  Un bicchiere later, I was feeling good and ready to nap. 

I'm so fucking jet lagged right now.  Emma is passed out on our tiny European hotel bed while I write in my blog and listen to our tiny little European toilet run (dad never taught me how to fix foreign toilettes…).  So you all better fucking read this.

Last night Emma woke me up at 5:00 in the morning to tell me that someone was breaking in to our hotel room.  I freaked out and then realized she was hallucinating off her sleeping pill.

We’re hitting the town tonight.  There will be great stories tomorrow I can promise you that.  Our apartment that we'll be staying in is in a town called Trastevere.  Its supposed to be a really fun, young and happening part of Rome where a lot of the Universities are.  Partyy onn

Chlo