Its night two in this ridiculous Roman apartment I live in, and I couldn’t be happier. I landed in Rome yesterday. I think it was yesterday…I’m too jet lagged for words. What day is it? My flight from London to Rome was short, but that didn’t stop me from taking advantage of the free wine! I think I might move to Europe, just for the free in-flight booze. HeineCAN, thank you very much. I sat next to a charming man from somewhere in the English countryside. He works for a plastic bottle manufacturing company (snore) and has lived all over the world for his job. Ralph told me all about the places he’s lived and when I mentioned my desire to visit Milan, he told me that he has an apartment there! Tour guide number one: check! The plane was filled with chattery Americans who were all going on the same study abroad program. Judgmental me hated them and their obnoxious “I just met you” pleas for social acceptance. Ralph and I however, discussed art, literature, and travel over wine. Suckers.
After we landed, I got in line for Passport Control. There were two lines; one of mostly annoying students, and mine. Theirs was moving quickly, so I said to the girl in front of me, “Looks like we chose the wrong line, huh?” Oh, small talk! We started chatting. “Are you studying abroad?” “Yeah, you?” “Yep. With what program?” “Uh…it’s called CEA.” “Wait me too! What’s your name? I’m Sienna.” “Wait, I think we’re roommates.” And just like that, Noel and I crossed over to the dark side and started babbling away all the way back to our apartment.
In an oversized van, seven girls were driven by one crazy Italian driver to our apartments. “He doesn’t speak English, and he doesn’t know who lives where, so pay attention,” advised the CEA representative who met us at the terminal. The roads were insane. In Rome, there are no lanes. It’s a complete free for all that somehow results in seamless movement and minimal honking. Is turning left on a red light legal here? I didn’t think so.
We made it to the flat with low expectations. The front door was the first indication that we were in for a treat. It’s about 10 feet tall. The key to our front door looks like this:
The apartment is one giant maze. With high, rounded ceilings and yellow walls, it feels truly European. It’s decorations are sparse, but include a glass coffee table filled with wine corks (we’re planning to fill it up), antique wooden armoires (goodbye dorm closets), and scientific drawings of plants and flowers interspersed throughout.
Even without my posters and photos up yet, I already feel at home. Every morning, I’ll wake up to this view of a courtyard between four apartment buildings. This is the life.
Last night, my six roommates and I field tripped downstairs to the Tabacchi on our corner. It’s technically a “tobacco store,” but is also a bar, coffee shop, liquor store, and postage vendor. Looks like I won’t need to leave my block! We bought three bottles of what we thought was cheap wine. Four Euros seemed pretty affordable, until we found out later that wine goes for 1 euro some places! We added our corks to the table, made some unintentionally al dente pasta, and got to know each other until the jet lag took over.
I woke up at the crack of dawn today (7A.M.) and wandered around the maze that is my home in awe of my surroundings. Natural light flooded through the windows and onto our patio. I opened the window in the living room to the “pa-pa-pa-pa” of Vespas and a view of my neighborhood. I showered up under the violent spigot in our tiny tub, trying to make the most of the toiletries I brought from home. The towels provided are tiny, and for someone with a lot of hair to dry, this is no good. Needless to say, I looked like a truffula tree.
Orientation began with nutella filled croissants and awkward mingling with 30-some students. Then we were sent to our first Italian course: SOS Italian where I learned enough to get by (as long as I have the vocab sheets in front of my face wherever I go). Let the flash card search begin! Mario, our instructor, says that there is no word in Italian for Flash Cards. Communication barrier, let the games begin.
During our two-hour lunch break, my roommates and a few other people from our program went for pizza and beer. It took all of 20 minutes for the woman behind the counter to understand what I wanted. The result was a cheesy mess, folded in half, and wrapped in paper.
Because my armoire only came equipped with seven hangers and I brought all 500 dresses I own, I needed to find some more. We wandered around Rome for about an hour before realizing we were perfectly lost and couldn’t remember how to say it in Italian. “Scusi, dove via Nomentana?” I asked time and time again. Each plea was answered either with a frown and no response or a lengthy description that no one understood. We finally made it back, hangerless and exhausted.
After wave two of jet lag hit hard with a 2-hour nap, we dragged ourselves out of bed and went out for dinner. We knew we made it to a good spot when there wasn’t a single American to be found in the restaurant. I’m a big fan of Spaghetti Carbonara, a dish made with eggs, cream, and pancetta. In the US, it’s usually made with cream sauce, but I knew I’d get the authentic treatment here. It was outrageous, and accompanied by red wine, obviously. I couldn’t finish the whole thing, and can’t imagine how Italians eat four course meals on the daily! Carbonara’s made with eggs, so I’ve decided that my leftovers will be a suitable breakfast tomorrow morning! Maybe a little Chianti too?
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