Boo-Logna!

I realized i've been really lame and haven't posted anything about my SOCIAL LIFE. which i have one ( I SWEAR). usually i'm really awkward and can't make friends but luckily people here like me! (maybe it's the blonde hair?).

Last night we celebrated Halloween AMERICAN STYLE. At our friend Maggie's house. It was a beautiful mixture of Americans and Italians (with the occasional random other-type of foreigner thrown in the pot). Maggie was an amazing host and made Sangria, Jungle Juice and a million types of sweets that (obviously) Maried, Ellen and I wolfed down when we were being anti-social. Standing in the kitchen. Alone. At least we have each other. Around 2 o'clock we all got kicked out of the apartment because the neighbors were fed up with the noise and threatend to call the cops. (at least I didn't have to be worried about underage drinking! but still, I don't want to get in trouble with Italian law). So we lingered in the streets for about a half hour, being as loud and disrespectful as we could (why not? we are in Italy.) and finally made our way to a bar, with Ellen's roommates. This wasn't the tipical bar you would find in America (dark, loud music, filled with drunken sluts and manwhores) it was like a quaint little breakfast bar. No music. Brightly lit up. And about the size of a walk-in closet. The bartenders were like 2 fathers, I swear. We took shots of limoncello and other things that ew...my stomach can't even handle the description of them right now. I tried to have the bartender make me my favorite girly shot (A Kamikaze...well in Italian Kam-EE-kah-tzay) but my underage self couldn't remember how to make it. UGH. So they tried to make it, from what I remembered was in it, barf. For next time I promised to bring them the recipe .

Anyways, long story short I didn't go to bed until 4. And I don't remember the walk home. Just kidding Dad, I do.

All in all, a successful Italian Halloween. (actually probably more fun than the overrated Madison Halloween, to be honest.)

ps. I was so creative and went as a cowgirl. BAMF costume, I know. I got amazing stares walking around in cut off jean shorts and high boots. As if I don't eady feel like a foreigner with my platinum blonde hair. Whatever, I'm different. I'm a hipster (or in italian, HEEP-stare. love it.). ew.

I'm a photo thief. Thanks for the photos paparazzo Maried.

Gomorrah: Italy's Other Mafia

When uncultured Americans (unlike me. obviously.) think of the Italian Mafia, we think of The Sopranos, Goodfellas, or The Godfather. We think of this fancy gang of men: all good looking, all in Armani suits and all smoking expensive cigars. American filmmaking has created this stereotype. In reality, it’s not the hot-chic-bad-ass-gang I so desperately wanted to marry into (hence why I came to Italy. Who wouldn’t want a BAMF for a boyfriend?) No, it’s nothing like that.

The mafia is more than just spaghetti and guns: it is, in a sense, the black market, although something much more dangerous. It’s where drugs, sex, toxic waste deposits and illegal labor are sold upon violence. These activities have led to high levels of murder all over the country. 30% of Italy’s economy is reported to be underground black economy, or in other words part of this dangerous mafia affair.

The mafia is something very painful, disgraceful and even embarrassing for most Italians: rarely spoken about and most definitely despised across the nation. What many people don’t know is that there are different mafia gangs all across the country (also spreading internationally, especially in America). The most famous (as we know it) is the Sicilian mafia-Cosa Nostra (or Our Thing). Then to name a few: Sacra Corona Unita (United Sacred Crown) from Puglia; ‘Ndrangheta (there isn’t really a direct translation, but more or less means “Courageous Men”) from the region of Calabria; lastly, the Neapolitan Camorra, the oldest and largest criminal organization in Italy.

In 2005, an Italian man named Roberto Saviano (who now is on the run from the Camorra) decided to expose the mafia and their activity to the rest of the world. Saviano witnessed a lot of Mafia activity and documents his findings in the book “Gomorrah” (The title is a reference to the biblical cities Sodom and Gomorrah. Paralleling Mafia areas to the destroyed cities of the Bible). I am currently reading the book and it is so interesting to learn about the violence that is rapidly deteriorating the country I live in.

Anyway, If you have the time I suggest you to read the book or watch the movie to get a better understanding of the real mafia. Both works are beautiful and terrifying at the same time. The matter is truly eye-opening and more close to home than you think.

Trailer to the movie:

(another cool fact: The major part of this movie is spoken in Napoletano (the dialect of Naples) so even Italians that aren’t from the area have to watch the movie with subtitles because they don’t understand the unique dialect.)

Sorry for the lack of seriously lame jokes in this post, but I thought I would share something a little bit more intellectual than the dimensions of my refrigerator or why I wear wet clothes to school, just to show you I'm not a complete academic failure.

The lock on my apartment’s door is as strong as a toothpick. And there is no double bolt. I'm not scared of the Mafia.

Mal

Traumatic Apartment Search

So since everybody is still wondering whether I’m homeless or not, I’ve (against my will) decided to share the tale of my apartment search. I’ll explain the dreadful experience now…but then lock it away forever….in a few minutes you will understand why.

My first 7 days in Italy were not spent savoring vino, olive oil and gelato or sharing my American flair with the Italian stallions I one day will marry…they were spent hopelessly searching for a place to live for the year. The process is something I am happy to say I will never have to endure again, but in retrospect was probably one of the coolest things I will have done here. Props to BCSP for FULL ON IMMERSION.

The way apartments work in Bologna is very different than how we do things at home. For example: last October two friends and I signed a contract 10 months before we were to move in. We went through every single step: how much everything was going to cost, how everything works, and our parents had to sign it etc. etc. etc. (Actually, I just started the process again for next year…yeah ABBIE woot woot. Thanks to my wonderful friends that did all the work for me. I love you and I will make delicious pasta for you next year). In Italy, as you can probably imagine, it doesn’t quite work that way. Students come to Bologna about a month…or even less…before classes start and search for an apartment.

Honestly, with all the technology that we have these days, I would call the process kind of primitive and completely disorganized(no offense Italy). Realtors and “student housing” don’t really exist here. (Obviously realtors exist but not for students; as we have Steve Brown Apts. or like C.H.T. housing in Madison). Instead, handwritten or typed flyers line every single building, trash bin, bridge and pigeon in Bologna. Usually the people that post the flyers are people that live in the apartment and are in search of a roommate. So, what you do is look around the city…find flyers that look good to you. Call the number on the flyer, set up a time to meet the person on the other end and see their apartment. Sounds easy, right? Psht, yeah right.

I was terrified. Legitimately sick I was so nervous. I’ve never really gone apartment shopping before in the U.S. let alone in Italy, speaking a language that still isn’t easy for me. So, after wandering aimlessly through the streets of Bologna searching for the perfect apartment (or rather the perfect apartment advertisement)…or maybe convincing myself that living in the hotel for a year was completely acceptable, I finally built up the courage to call Gianfranco, the owner of an ad that literally covered every single building. Dude must have spent 5 grand on flyers. So…my trembling hands picked up the phone and called him:

(Obviously, I translated this to English for you non-bilingual idiots)

“Pronto?”

“Pronto…ciao, I saw your ad and I would like to see your apartment. I’m a student from the US studying here for a year”

“Sure! I will be home in 5 minutes, can you come then?”

“Yes! See you then.”

Woooo….easy enough. He sounded so NICE! All of my fears escaped me and I skipped on to his apartment which is situated in the CUTEST area. I was already imagining myself making delicious Italian delicacies with my new (attractive and obviously buff) roommate Gianfranco. I found the building and immediately fell in love with the place. The huge cherry-wood doors, bronze door knobs and marble stairs were exactly what I was looking for. I decided at that moment, I was going to take the apartment if I liked it, which obviously, I was going to.

…Then Guido-man Gianfranco emerged from the corner, holding worlds largest takeout bag from MacDonalds. If the jorts didn’t immediately turn me off then it was the inch thick chain he wore around his neck or maybe the way his sweat stained wife beater clung to his fupa. I don’t know.

He started to explain the apartment. I would have a single (NICE). I would share a bathroom with only one other girl (NICE). There would be 3 other girls living with me (Meaning Gianfranco wouldn’t be my roommate! Yes. I’m reconsidering). Fast internet, nice kitchen, washer, great location, terrace…everything was shaping up. The overly-gelled proprietor was redeeming himself.

I walked into the apartment, expecting little doves to fly out of it and an orchestra to commence. Well not really…eh it was okay. There was no living room, but the kitchen and terrace were huge. I could deal with that.

Now it all depended on my roommates and my single.

Marta, one of the roommates was the only one that was there. She came to greet me. I shook her hand and all I could focus on was the soaking wet palm that contacted mine. Girl was on some sort of crack. She didn’t even say a word to me. Hell no can I deal with a sweaty crackhead. Ok, relax Mal. I kicked myself out of my paranoia…

Ok now time to see the room, at his point I was ready to get the hell out of Gianfranco’s hell house…but then he showed me where I could potentially live. Up about 10 adorable oak stairs was a cute (from the looks of it) room. I scanned it…ok, hospital looking bed, no light, but there was a skylight. OBSESSED. It lit up the whole room and had a beautiful look to the bright blue sky above.

“What’s your budget?” Asks Gianfranco

I replied…”I don’t know around 400?”

“Ok 400 it is do you want it?”

Jesus Christ man, let me think about it for a second. So negatives: Mafia looking guido proprietor and crack addicted perspiring roommate. And the positives: SKYLIGHT….well then it dawned on me. Gianfranco works with the guys that take Shannon from LOST ..(you know the one that runs without moving her arms) from Liam Neeson and throws her into the sex trafficking industry. Seeing as Bob Warner isn’t quite as knowledgeable in this particular area of expertise as Liam, I had to say no thank you.

“So? What do you think?”

“No thank you Gianfranco. I WILL NOT be living in that prison cell that offers easy access to my sleeping self in the middle of the night through the skylight by the Gypsies that are going to take me and sell me to Albanians. Enjoy your McDonald’s Guido-man.”

And that was my first housing experience.

….really. That was EXACTLY what happened. I didn’t over exaggerate at all.

Here are brief synopsizes of a few other apartments I looked at:

Paola—Paola’s apartment was really nice. A bit outside the city than I wanted to be. I would have my own room with two twin beds in it, everything was new and decorated nicely. The only thing was that Paola was a chain-smoker. The house reeked of smoke and quite frankly looked like The Legends of the Hidden Temple with all the lingering smoke around. So I ixed her…sorry girlfriend.

Sylvia—Sylvia was the proprietor of a cute apartment. The place had two rooms and an adorable kitchen. Sylvia lived in an apartment that connected to the one she was renting out. Sylvia was such a DIVA. She was wearing this silky pink robe (that looked like it was made for a queen) and had this great perfume on that basically just smelled like money and diamonds. I want to be her. Anyway, I had noticed a bunch of homeless people outside of the apartment on the way and asked her about the safety of the area. She replied “Oh yeah there is a soup-kitchen right across the street. But it’s really safe. They’re has only been one murder on my block since I’ve lived here.” ….oh is that so?

3 Swiss guys-This was one of my favorite apartments because of the people that lived there. Yeah, it was 3 guys. Mom and Dad were not too happy about that one. But they were all so nice and very interesting. They were also very clean. I really wanted the apartment, but unfortunately (to my parents delight) they chose someone else.

I think I looked at a total of 9 apartments before finally settling on the one I live in now.

I LOVE IT. I live exactly in the center of the city. The apartment was just redone a few years ago. It has dark cherry wood floors. I have my own room with two twin beds in it (one that I have turned into a couch). I have 2 roommates. Sylvana is 32 and writes freelance and Laura is 26 and is in the process of getting her P.H.D. in Philosophy (so smart.). They have been really great to me so far and SPEAK NO ENGLISH. Which is great, so I’m forced to speak in Italian always. Even though they are a few years older than me….we get along great and still have interesting conversations with eachother.

So that was that. My apartment search was COMPLETED. I guess it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But I’M SO GLAD IT’S OVER and I have a place to call HOME SWEET HOME

If you would ever want to send me a letter, or like a Qdoba burrito in the mail you can send it to me at:

Mallory Warner

c/o Laura La Bella

Via San Vitale 18

CAP 40125 Bologna (BO)

(make sure not to insure it because then I have to pay a ton….and I’m broke)

I still cringe every time I see the name Gianfranco.

Mals

ps. i will upload photos a) once my technicologicallyeiobahy-challanged-self can figure it out and b) once i clean my room :-)

Dryers.

Why don't they use dryers in Italy?

First of all, the washers fit like 3 shirts at a time. So, every time I do laundry I do 10 loads to wash like 7 pairs of jeans. Stupid.

Then once my clothes are done being washed, I have to hang them ALL (socks too) on a rack and wait for like 10 days for them to dry. Stupid.

Yes, I've stooped as low as wearing semi-wet jeans out because I couldn't wait another WEEK for them to be dry.

Oh dryer, how I miss you.

BCSP Program.

To learn a little bit about the program I'm doing...

Second List.

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW HARD IT’S BEEN TO POST THIS. The internet decides when it wants to work…usually when I’m wasting my time facebook stalking random people I haven’t even met. And then it decides to break when I’m A) trying to post on my blog B) when I’m trying to study for Benevolo’s lame exam C) when I’m trying to watch GLEE (aka my treasure or crack-cocaine whatever you want to call it. I can’t live without it. It was a horrible day when I had to wait an HOUR for it to download.)

Anyways, onto the good stuff…

Now that I’ve torn apart Italian culture (my previous post) from my Gringo-perspective…It’s only fair to make a list about what I’ve already fallen in love with. I only wrote 10 but trust me, you will hear about many more things that have made my experience already amazing.

1. Italian

I know I said I missed English but it’s kind of a love-hate relationship. There are few people in Bologna who speak English and it’s awesome. Most other places in the country are tourist developed and many people speak English. Although sometimes frustrating and a little uncomfortable, my Italian has already gotten better. I’m now at a level of Italian where I am using without thinking—complex tenses, complex forms, idiomatic phrases that I would have never thought I could use with such second nature!!! (if you’re in the BCSP program you know who I’m mocking….everyone elseàyou can reference the BCSP promo above)

…But really, Italian comes easier for me after every day and I’m beginning to love the rhythm, sound and structure of the language more and more. Sometimes I’ll hear people speaking in passing, and I’ll swear I’ve heard English…but then I turn around and see the greased hair and tight white pants and realize I couldn’t have been English…I just understood Italian!

2. History

To make my mom happy, I’ll say that I love the history of this city.

(Even though sadly, I’m more interested in knowing what 3^rd world country Angeline Jolie is excavating babies from or whether Lindsay Lohan is going to be spending the night in an LA jail or dancing naked on tables, than I am interested seeing Dante’s tomb or one of the bajillion churches that was built for a greedy king.)

However—for me—the historical magic comes from walking through the streets of Bologna knowing that hundreds of years ago people walked along the same cobblestone, looked up at the same sky and breathed the same air I am breathing today. It amazes me that these buildings still stand strong today. But what amazes me more are the stunning appearances of all the buildings, and how people long ago, with hardly any technology were able to build things so beautiful and so stable. After habitually seeing these buildings, now I don’t quite understand why at home we construct heinous-looking-buildings (like strip malls, fast-food restaurants and athletic facilities—aka the SERF) when obviously human hands and minds are capable of so much more.

3. Aperativi—probably the best thing ever invented.

What is it you ask? Most bars offer an Aperativo from the hours of 6-9 or 10ish. Basically, you buy a drink…you get all you can eat buffet. Around a $7 dollar deal—perfect for the pocket of a study abroad student. It’s baller, and clearly not helping my Skinny B!tc# self. Anyway, the buffet ranges from different types of couscous, foccaccia, salads, pastas, French fries, prosciutto, sausages….any thing and everything that will seduce you into obesity.(Most of the Italians get a couple plates for the table at the buffet and quietly munch while conversing, making their conversation the primary purpose of the meeting.) When we go, there’s usually no talking…only sounds of us shoveling forkfuls of delicious food into our mouths and the clinking of empty plates stacking up after each visit to the buffet line. Okay, we’re here for a year…we’ll learn to do as the Romans soon enough. Just let me indulge in this godsend for a few weeks.

A typical drink to order at Aperativo is called “lo Spritz” (pronounced Low-Sbreetz-uh…ha). It’s 2 parts Prosecco, 1 ½ parts Aperol Orange Liqueur and a dash of seltzer and garnished with an orange slice. The first time I tried it I almost spit it out because of it’s bitter flavor and strong alcohol content. I managed to finish it and ended up liking it. Although it’s not my drink of choice, I’ll do as the Italians and get it more often.

I still quite can’t put my finger on why aperativo hasn’t made its way to the United States yet. Oh wait, yes I have: Over-indulging Americans wouldn’t be able to handle the liberty of a buffet+alcohol for $7. I picture the stampede scene in The Lion King or maybe the animal scene in Mean Girls when I think of aperativi back home.

4. Straightforwardness

I love the straightforwardness of the Italian personality. A lot of times Americans can be passive aggressive. We work around things and beat around the bush a lot. Italians do not what so ever, and I love it. For example: one day we were sitting in my friend Nicola’s apartment, doing homework in her living room where her TV is. We weren’t watching TV. Her roommate comes into the room, asks if we are okay in that room or if we want to move into the kitchen where there is better light and larger table. We say no it’s fine in here no worries! She responds: Actually, you need to move into the kitchen because I’m going to watch TV in here. It kind of caught us off guard, but we were totally fine moving into the kitchen and she was able to watch her shows. Back home I can see me being like “Hey, so I was um gonna try to um catch The Bachelor at like 8 so do you think I could watch it in there…IF NOT IT’S TOTALLY FINE!” And then even if it was an inconvenience the other person would be like “Oh, yeah…sure totally. I wasn’t like doing anything anyway…totally fine totally fine. But like uhh can I come back when it’s over because like the light is better in here…(or whatever)” MAN THAT JUST WASTED SO MUCH TIME.

Way easier to do like the Romans, dude.

5. Davide…ok, well probably not Davide…

First a story…

I had the pleasure of meeting a boy named Davide in the small town of Monterosso in Cinque Terre the other weekend. Davide whispered broken English sweet nothings into my ear the whole night and bought our whole table drinks (obviously with an intent, I’m not stupid…but hey, free drinks?). Finally, it became a little too much, and took the strength of me and my two friends to literally push him away from us so we could continue our night. (FYI I just spared you all many weird details) Anyway, after affirming that this boy was a creep and realizing if it had gone on for any longer I may have gotten taken and never would be able to see my family or watch LOST again! (Unless, of course, my father develops the skills of Liam Neeson (hint DAD!)) I have decided I hate Italian boys and will only consider Americans. Or maybe the Irish.

But that was a while ago and I have finally let the Davide trauma wear off .

After taking like a 4 week hiatus from even thinking about Italian boys (because of Davide), I’ve realized that most of them are really sweet and not self absorbed a-holes like a lot of American boys I know (sorry guys). They make sure to make acknowledge all girls when we walk in the room, and are interested in speaking to us (not with an ulterior motive.) But this theory still needs to be proved more…Davide’s eyes are still pressed in my mind.

But above all, I’ve done the UNTHINKABLE: I’ve started like the way most of them dress. Well, mostly I love the fact that they realize that basketball shorts and a polo IS NOT AN ACCEPTABLE OUTFIT (HINT). And, fitted (obviously not TIGHT) pants are growing on me.

…but DEFINITELY not the white pants thing. Gross.

“While obviously I don’t appreciate getting cat-called by 60 year old Italian men with no teeth when I’m walking to class, some Italian boys definitely know how to treat girls and appreciate them.

6. “in giro”—take a walk…

“Facciamo un giro?”—Let’s take a walk.

At any point during the day, the streets of Bologna are filled with people, casually walking around. With no point at all. At first this was SO STRANGE to me. Why would anyone leave the Work, School, Cyber, Harry Potter, LOST world to just walk around? And then sit on benches in the piazzas to just…observe? The only time we take walks is to walk our dog (and even then I walk her to the corner…make her go and then drag her home…yes, siblings, I usually lie when I tell you I walked her around the block.).

Italians are okay with letting precious time pass and just…living. Something I wish Americans could adapt to, although I know it will never happen.

7. Coffee

Anyone who knows me at home knows I despise coffee. (Unless it’s iced…and even so I put like 90 packets of splenda in it and then shake from being over-caffinated for the rest of the day even if it’s only a Tall from Starbucks.)

Coffee here is amazing. So little so I don’t have to force myself for like a straight hour to drink it…but enough to give me energy to make it through the day (my Italian life becomes very strenuous at times)...without seizing.

8. Public transportation

God’s gift to man. Buses and trains…they are my yellow brick road. My free trip to Atlantis. Love that it only costs me 4 to get to IKEA (where I am reimbursed) so essentially free. Love that it only costs me 10 to get to Florence…even if that let’s me chill at the stazione at 4:35 in the morning, with a fever, fearing that I’m going to get kidnapped by Bin Ladin. Whatever. America…get with it. Trains are the new Range Rovers baby. Here in Europe we ride in style.

And obviously, my favorite part about public transportation, is people watching. European people watching is so much more amusing than watching fat white tattoed people in jorts ride roller coasters.

9. The Euro—who doesn’t love play money?

Just kidding Dad, kind of. Even though the Euro is a lot like Monopoly money to me, it makes a lot more sense than American money. Having 2 and 1 Euro coins is borderline brilliant. Also, Euros maintain crispy, unlike the Green that becomes soft and disgusting to the point you can feel the germs crawl all over it. But money goes fast here…I’ve started to write down everything I’m spending because I’m “responsible”. We’ll see how this goes.

10. Cold bananas.

Italians refrigerate their bananas. It’s brilliant. They are so smart.

I still bleed Red White and Blue,

Mally