On Socks and Body Temperature.

So far, one of the most obvious differences in Italian culture is the importance of not being cold. If you are cold, it is very, very bad, possibly fatal. Now, in the mindset of most Italians, your body temperature correlates directly with the wetness of your hair and your footwear. Most people know that in Italy, you HAVE to blow dry your hair before you leave the house. It's a very strong superstition that you will catch some disease if you have "capelli bagnati." I don't question it, I just do it. Additionally, it is pertinent that your feet are adequately insulated. On Sunday, I ate lunch at my aunt's house. After at least ten different dishes, my aunt (zia Angela) had a minor heart attack because I wasn't wearing socks with my Tom's. Wide eyed, she announced this to the whole group, and then half of them proceeded to feel my ankles for temperature. Apparently, in Sant Agata, word about socks travels fast, and after school the next day, two of Roberta's friends asked me if I was wearing socks. I was. Thank God. Nonetheless, this concern reflects an incredibly genuine concern for your welfare that most Italians have. People want you to be warm not cold, and they take it upon themselves to make it happen. I like it.

A Collection of Short Stories

Really. This is the hardest thing to do when so much has happened in my life over the past three days. Nothing I write could ever include everything, but I will tell the stories I think best summarizes it all.

First, on our way to the bus station in Rome, we got into a minor car accident. O dio. The driver of our taxi van was driving like an absolute mad man to keep with Italian tradition, but his desire to give us a real taste of Italy came back to bite him when he rear ended some poor woman in a tiny, euro-style car. Despite the flurry of tears and hand motions, nobody was really injured. The lady we hit had minor whiplash or a back injury or something, but I don't think it helped when the EMT's dropped the stretcher they put her on...

All was well until I got off the bus in Benevento. I arrived around 6:40 PM, ten minutes earlier than scheduled, so I got my load of cumbersome suitcases and waited near a bench for my family. By 7:30, no one was there, but as AFS instructed, I "DID NOT PANIC". I meander on over to the pay phone and attempted for literally an hour to make a phone call. That didn't work. I couldn't feel my toes, and I hadn't eaten since one, so I hauled myself into a near by pizzaria and used one of my only Italian phrases, "Parla Inglese?" That worked. I used a cell phone to call my liaison, who called my host family, who showed up at the pizzaria not a minute too soon.

Besides those two minor bumps in the road, everything has been fabulous. Sant Agata is one of the most charming places I've experienced. It's a medieval town on the edge of a cliff just like Google Images suggested. So far, the sun hasn't stopped shining, which makes it nearly freezing, but surreally beautiful. We live in the modern part of town which is somehow only five blocks from downtown Sant Agata (centro di historica). My new house is much more modern than the one in Portland. It looks like an Ikea catalog. Our kitchen is orange with a bright yellow espresso machine. The bathroom I share with Roberta (host sister/sorella ospitate) is violet with monogrammed toilet paper and a heater and towel rack all in one. Warm towels and a warm bathroom! I enjoy it immensely. We also have a cook/maid, Nadia, who is from the Ukraine, and doesn't speak very good Italian, which is funny because I understand what she says better than anyone else.

I have been to school twice already. I think it shouldn't be too hard. I probably feel that way now because I don't have any books, and I haven't done any homework. In class, I feel like a bit of a nuisance. The kids pay more attention to me than the teacher, and we waste a lot of time making sure I understand, which is good for me, but I feel a little guilty. It probably won't last long because their show must go on, and hopefully I will understand enough Italian to not need everyone holding my hand.

I don't think I have eaten so much in my entire life. For lunch today, I had a generous bowl of meat tortellini with broth, a green salad, breaded and pan fried chicken, french fries, an apple, and coffee. Bread was also an option, but I decided to forego it. That was just lunch. I can't imagine what's for dinner. Roberta and I are off to the gym for some sort of aerobics class in an hour, so hopefully that will make up for some of my recent indulgences. Ciao for now!