Wait a second...this isn't a year long vacation???

When I signed up for this year abroad thing, I did not know that school was included in the package. It was an extra bonus! Sadly it’s really detrimental to my year long vacation. However, I have to endure the pain. So…time to talk about school! Yipee.

(Note: contrary to popular belief…not all study abroad programs are easy. Thank you BCSP for actually making me study, do homework work and get really stressed out.)

The best part about school here is that it’s all in Italian! Unfortunately, I DON’T SPEAK ITALIAN. This is quite an obstacle. Just kidding, I can speak it…it just means it’s easier to zone out than classes in English. Oh mio Dio.

Anyways, right now I’m taking 3 classes (equivalent to 12 credits.) I took a 3-credit class in September. It was half grammar and half history. The grammar part was easy; the history part was awful. Aside from the fact that I HATE history, I did not enjoy the class because the professor was lame and made loser jokes. So, immediately my attention was drawn to how high he wore his pants, how tight he wore his tie and how see-through his shirt was. We can just say that because of this, I did not do well on the final. (I still got an A!)

Anyways, out of the 3 classes that I’m taking right now, 2 of them are at our program’s office. So they are all with American students, but Italian teachers. My Italian language class has about 15 students in it and my Cinema class only has 9. They are both conducted in Italian. If you even speak one word of English they whip you with a flail (Bologna is a medieval city. And that’s what Italians do. Gruesome, I know.)

The grammar class has been really helpful. We read newspaper articles a lot, which teaches us about Italian culture, as well as teaches us idiomatic expressions and phrases used in daily speech. Then we focus on finding synonyms and antonyms of these words (if you are trying to learn a language do this! It’s very helpful!). We are pretty much all at a level where we just need to be adding to our vocabulary, but it’s pretty obvious we all still need grammar practice. Our professor loves to ask us to explain how things are done in the states. What I’ve learned is there is no way to generalize American life-styles like you can Italian ones. Everything DIPENDE (depends) on where you go and where you are from. Let’s just say many arguments ensue and my teacher thinks we are all wild savages that don’t actually live in the same country because everyone contradicts one another. My role in these arguments is usually to sit there with my mouth open, rolling my eyes at the stupid things people say about our country. Just kidding no one ever says anything stupid. We all use the phrase “Charlie down!”

My cinema class is okay. I can only take so many 3 hour black and white films with no plot or explosions or like…color. Although some of the articles that we read are in English, that’s cool. Here is a little exerpt:

“Bakhtin pits decentralizing energies (speech, carnival) against a hegemonic project of centralization (officialdom, the language system). In both cases what was thought to be marginal (popular festivities, vulgar speech) is brought to the center of discussion. Bakhtin’s valorization of the anarchizing vitality of parole against the ossified rigidities of langue, in this sense, is isomorphic with his predilection for the subversive force of carnival as opposed to the suffocating decorum of official life and style.”

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN. I don’t speak English, I speak American.

And that’s pretty much all I have to say about that class.

And then we get to my most interesting class so far. Not. My 6 credit “Letteratura Italiana” with Professore Battistini. This class is at the University of Bologna. So all in Italian and all with Italian students.

First of all, the class started on October 5^th instead of September 27^th because the professor was sick. Beautiful. Next, the lecture hall seats about 150 students, yet about 200 are enrolled in the class. I’ve found it to be really fun to trample fellow classmates while trying to get a seat.

Then, my lovely professor strolls in about 22 minutes late…every day. Unfortunately, there is no rule here that you can leave after 10 minutes of waiting without the professor. That is why Madison is awesome. Actually, today Battistini was early! He came only 15 minutes late. I didn’t know what to do, I felt so unprepared without those 7 extra minutes of twiddling my thumbs. Why don’t I just come at 11:22 you ask? Answer: I’d rather not have to sit on the windowsill or on the lap of a classmate. That’s usually the only spot open after “The Storm of the Classroom” which happens at precisely 11:00.

Then the professor begins his beautiful lecture. Monotone voice; pacing back and forth; no jokes; no structure; in Italian. I clearly pay attention a lot.

After about 2 hours of his psycho-babble: my brain is fried and I look at my notes à I’ve caught down about a page full of his ramble but luckily I catch the jist of every lesson. I look over at every other Italian student who have each individually written every singly word that left Battistini’s mouth…I’m sure they even leave extra big spaces for the breaths he took. (One girl writes at least 10 pages of notes every day. Front and back.) This is when I feel really foreign. This is when I feel like I’m going to fail the class.

Like I said before, there is no structure to his lectures. It’s hard for us American students to adjust to this. We come from a world of PowerPoint’s and worksheets. They don’t exist here. Here my grade will consist of a 12-page paper on a book of our choice (off of a list of about 30). Then we have to read The Inferno (Dante), The Decameron (Boccaccio), Zeno’s Conscience (Svevo), Sensilità (Svevo) and The Prince (Macchiavelli). Culminated by a 15 to 30-minute oral exam in which the professor is free to ask you anything about what we’ve done in class or on the books you’ve read. Sound fun? I’m so excited. I love failing.

Pray for me,

Mals

Battistini is a crowd pleaser.
Everyone really enjoys this class.

My professor. Yes, I am the weird foreigner that takes pictures during class. (you've all seen them in lectures at home)

P.S. Today the professor began the class with “Luckily the lock on this classroom door is locked. The rest of the Faculty is on strike this week and they have locked all the other classroom doors so no classes can proceed. Aren’t we lucky! Let’s begin…”

Paper Planes

(Max 1 Bag: IF IT FITS....oooh so threatening RyanAIR)

Ok, my mom finds my travel (yes I travel, soon I'll get around to writing about my adventures! I know you are dying to be up to date) stories incredibly fascinating and wants me to dedicate a post to my friend RyanAir because she thinks it’s oddly hysterical. I don’t really get it. I think flying in a plastic plane is completely normal!

For those of you have had the pleasure of flying RyanAir: read and reminisce. For those of you who have never flown RyanAir this is how it works:

Pretty much, from the get-go, they deceive you and tell you your flight is only going to be like 12 Euros. So after you get conned into that, they charge you for everything: online check-in, checked baggage, travel insurance (that you probably need considering the plane is made of Legos), a text message sending you your itinerary, blah blah blah. Luckily I did my homework and tortured my friends who have taken it before and asked them every little detail so I wouldn’t fall into the traps (thank you Jenny and Emmett, my heros.) So my flights are usually never more than 40 euros. After you buy your ticket they send you the confirmation. You can even print out your boarding pass 15 days before the flight!

When the day of your adventure comes, you have to be able to pack all of your belongings into a zip lock baggie because that’s about all you’re allowed to take. But it’s fine, we’re in Europe, you’re allowed to reuse underwear.

If you have a question about the flight, you have to wait until about 30 seconds before boarding because the attendants don’t show up until then. Sometimes, if you’re lucky you can catch them in the Duty Free shop stocking up on alcohol and Toblerone chocolate before the flight (true story.).

The plane is general seating so naturally people line up at gate at least 30 minutes before boarding so they can get a good seat. (I think they just want to be close for the safety show the flight attendants put on. Because to me, all seats are the same, your legs are going to be crushed no matter what.) However, because we are in Italy and the concept of a LINE is still too technologically advanced, it’s pretty much a blob of people invading your personal bubble for a half hour. I usually use this time to peer around at the other passengers, and search for whoever could be my Sawyer. In case, ya know, we are in the middle section.

Then they start boarding: more pushing and shoving happens and you exit the airport. Instead of leading you directly to the body of the plane, the exit pretty much puts you on the runway. Not to worry, there is always a crossing guard there for your safety so you won’t get hit by a plane. Once you pass the crossing guard it’s a free for all. There are two entrances to the plane: one in the front, and one in the back. At this point, most people break into sprints in order to be the first to climb the scaffolding-like staircase (that’s actually made out of tinker toys) to enter the plane. One boy, traveling with his mother and father, tripped and fell during the mad rush to the plane. His mother paused to help him, but the father yelled “LEAVE HIM” and continued on (this was the background music…). Poor kid; although, I envied the father for his determination. I digress.

Luckily, upon entering the plane, the flight attendants check your boarding pass. Apparently it’s a common mistake to get on the wrong plane. Not joking.

The plane then takes off. The pilots usually like to show off by doing unnecessary tilts and turns in the air. It’s very frightening considering the pilots have the flight equivalent of a drivers permit and really shouldn’t be flying planes.

During the flight the stewardesses are kind enough to sell drinks, bottles of perfume, RyanAir bikini calendars, bottles of alcohol, 5 hour energies, stuffed animals and of course smokeless cigarettes. (Italians obviously cannot make it through a 2 hour flight without their nicotine fix.). Plus they look totally chic walking around the plane with a white piece of plastic hanging from their lips.

Then finally the airplane collides with the ground. Yes, collides. It’s never a smooth landing; you are pretty much dropped to the ground. It’s really fun. Then of course a round of applause erupts from the cabin. Can I just say something: that should not happen. It should not be a surprise that we’ve landed alive and safely. Planes have been around since 1903: we should be past the point of wondering “is this the plane that’s going to make it?!” Um yeah…no. Then a bugle sounds over the loud speaker… like “tah-daaahh! You made it! Without crashing! We are just as excited as you are!”.

And then you get off the plane.

I heart RyanAir.

Mal

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...