I wake up from my Sunday afternoon nap and look at the long boring afternoon ahead of me and decide to spice it up a little. There's a pool less than a mile down the road from my apartment. I decide to go try it.
I got out my cute little swimsuit. Let me just say, thanks to Weight Watchers, I am really excited to wear it for the first time. I had found one that was sophisticated and elegant and covered me in the right places. It's beautiful, really. And I was ready to show it off.
I cover it with my T-shirt and jogging pants, grab my flip-flops and pack my bag. I hop on my bike and in five minutes I'm there.
This is where the trials begin. I stand looking at the sign holding my traveling Italian dictionary. When does it close on Sundays? Well, 2:30 on normal days but not until 9 on holiday days. It's 2:15 now. Is today a holiday day or a normal day? And what about the price? Finally, I take a deep breath and go in. In Italian I ask what type of day it is - it is a holiday day, so they're open all afternoon. I'm trying to ask about prices, should I just go ahead and get a pass or pay for one day at a time? After looking at the fliers and digging through the dictionary, someone trys a little English. Tries. A little. Which, was more than my trying my little Italian. (I do know the Italian words for swim and for pool but don't know the words for things like "season pass" or even "How does this season pass work?") Anyway, after about ten minutes, and a growing head ache, I decide to just pay for today straight up. And then I go into the woman's locker room. Which is nice that it is separate from the men's. They have little stalls that you can change in. However, there are no doors.
I find my way out to the pool, but I can't get to the pool itself. All the turnstiles are for exiting. I'm looking, looking. How do people get in? I walk all around the pools. Actually, there are two outside - a kiddy pool and a big old Olympic size pool with lanes. I keep walking until I find a grassy area behind another building. This is where everyone is laying out. Umm... let's just say, that Italians are way less modest than Americans. Way less. So, from that park area, there is a little place leading to the big pool. But, again, the turnstile only leads out of the pool. I figure out that the little area that looks like a fountain is what you're supposed to walk through to get to the pool. OK. I guess I didn't figure it out - I just was tired of looking for any more options. So, I walked through it - and I'm finally at the pool.
I want to swim laps. But, all the lanes have someone in them. Some lanes have several people in them. Do you just jump in a lane? Do you have to ask someone? I see some people waiting on the end. Is there a system? I watch and watch and wait and wait. No one's getting in. But, I've already wasted half an hour just trying to get here. I sit my bag and towel down on a bench. It's the only bag and towel around. And I go to the end of the lane. And I jump in.
And the whistle blows.
Shoot.
I am not allowed to swim without a cap.
Seriously.
I have to wait by the side of the pool for this young buck of a life-guard to go find me a cap. He comes back with a bright orange one with bears on it and is so amused with himself he can't even stand it.
I have no idea how to put it on. I'm looking around checking to see how everyone else is wearing their caps (which, yes, everyone is. And goggles. Do I have to wear goggles? He didn't bring me a pair.). I'm hanging on to the rope trying to put this thing on my head. I'm trying not to watch the lifeguard laughing at me. I just want to go for a swim.
I finally get it on. And I swim. And I watch him go to every other lifeguard and point out the bright orange cap on the American idiot's head.
I swim and it's nice. A good workout.
Finally, I get out and wrap my towel around me. No one else has a towel. Are they going to try to take it away from me? Now, I'm entertainment for all the lifeguards. Crazy American.
At least I know four ways of exiting the pool area. Seriously.
So, I make my way back through the dressing room and back through the front desk area where the lady tells me that next time I need to speak all in Italian. Yes, thank you for the advice.
I am so happy to get on my bike and I'm so happy to walk in my front door.
Writing it doesn't seem as traumatic as it felt. And I can see the humor in it all now. But, during it I was exhausted. I didn't know anything that was expected of me. I just had to jump in and be the idiot. So, now I know the hours, and to not take a towel into the pool area, and to buy and then wear my own swimming cap, and I did see how everyone else got to the pool.
Sometimes, when you're learning a new culture you've got to sink a little so that you'll be able to swim.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Dinner Party Number One
Menu: pasta and homemade marinara sauce
Guests: Matt and Angie
Decor: On the floor
Monday, July 06, 2009
How to Make a Cappuccino.
1. Delivery men bring the stove but won't hook it up because the gas isn't turned on.
2. The gas guy comes to turn on the gas but won't hook up the oven because it's not his job.
3. Matt sends over a gas guy that is working at his house.
4. The gas guy arrives but there is no tube to hook up the stove to the gas pipe.
5. Walk with the gas guy to the hardware store to buy the tube and two other little parts. Have a real conversation with him.
6. Gas guy works on hooking things up while you ride your bike to an ATM to get the cash you'll need to pay him.
7. Return home to pay him.
8. Gas guy lights the stove and gives you a thumbs up.
9. Buy an espresso pot, espresso, milk, a frothing pitcher, a tiny spoon and a tiny cup.
10. Put water in the bottom part of the pot and espresso in the middle part. Turn on stove and set the pot on the fire.
11. Pour milk into the frothing pitcher. Warm the milk on the stove, but don't boil.
12. After the coffee boils, remove from the fire. The towel you use to do this will be stuck to the plastic handle because you set the pot in the middle of the fire. You didn't know it was to be only on the edge so the handle melted. Peal away the towel.
13. Use the pump on the top of the frothing pitcher to froth the milk.
14. Pour the espresso in your tiny cup.
15. Using the spoon to keep the froth from going in your cup, pour a little milk into the tiny cup.
16. Spoon a little froth into your cup.
17. Take your cappuccino out onto your balcony and drink it in two sips.
Perfecto!
Sunday, July 05, 2009
My Floor Plan
I'm pretending to be an architect! This is closeish... but I'm not promising it's to scale!
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Refuge
I worked in my apartment today (I'm still sleeping at Matt and Angie's.). Started washing walls. Planted flowers for my balcony. Organized my closet which is housing everything until furniture arrives. Went to pick up my bike and ride it home. Went for a walk around the neighborhood. Discovered a few little parks. Cleaned the bathroom.
Late in the afternoon a wave of loneliness and sadness came over me. I knew I needed to distract myself. So, I went for a bike ride. I had heard that there was a pool up the street from me. So, I went to find it. It turns out to be a big complex with indoor and outdoor pools, basketball courts, play grounds... looks like fun!
And behind it is a beautiful walking/biking trail. OK. When I say, "beautiful" you might have a half-hearted response. Turn it up a notch. And then another notch. Maybe one more. This is on the edge of the country side. We're talking vineyards. We're talking Villas and Cyprus trees on the hills. We're talking about air that is literally scented by hibiscus and other voluptuous flowers. Stone walls covered in ivy. Churches. And church bells. Old Italian men wearing little hats. Benches that when you sit on them you're looking at hillside villages.
It was in this spot that I poured my heart out to God... I want You more than anything. I'm lonesome. And though I'm a little sad right now, it doesn't change how much I want to follow Your will.
And I went riding. I weaved through one of those little villages (one on flat ground) and then I took a little road to the right. It was the one at the base of the hill... and I knew my house was somewhere at the base of the hill if I went right.
And that was the road. The road covered with the branches and leaves of trees. The road with tall powerful trees so close I could almost touch them from my bicycle. And I felt like I could breathe.
I had just told a friend the night before that I needed to find trees. Real ones. Big ones.
And the Lord provided. He provided. How in the world could I have found that road on my own? What's crazy, is that I had been on another section of that road when I was walking. But, this part - this was a gift.
And, the best part, is that it really is just around the curve of the hillside. Those trees are only five minutes away from my home.
A little refuge. A little place to breathe.
I came across a beautiful Christian prayer yesterday with a word I didn't know at the end of each stanza. It's Hindi: "saranam". It means refuge... as in "You are my refuge."
I want to nestle down into understanding that the One True God is my refuge. I want to know that. I want to rest in what it really means for God to be my refuge... my refuge and my strength.
Late in the afternoon a wave of loneliness and sadness came over me. I knew I needed to distract myself. So, I went for a bike ride. I had heard that there was a pool up the street from me. So, I went to find it. It turns out to be a big complex with indoor and outdoor pools, basketball courts, play grounds... looks like fun!
And behind it is a beautiful walking/biking trail. OK. When I say, "beautiful" you might have a half-hearted response. Turn it up a notch. And then another notch. Maybe one more. This is on the edge of the country side. We're talking vineyards. We're talking Villas and Cyprus trees on the hills. We're talking about air that is literally scented by hibiscus and other voluptuous flowers. Stone walls covered in ivy. Churches. And church bells. Old Italian men wearing little hats. Benches that when you sit on them you're looking at hillside villages.
It was in this spot that I poured my heart out to God... I want You more than anything. I'm lonesome. And though I'm a little sad right now, it doesn't change how much I want to follow Your will.
And I went riding. I weaved through one of those little villages (one on flat ground) and then I took a little road to the right. It was the one at the base of the hill... and I knew my house was somewhere at the base of the hill if I went right.
And that was the road. The road covered with the branches and leaves of trees. The road with tall powerful trees so close I could almost touch them from my bicycle. And I felt like I could breathe.
I had just told a friend the night before that I needed to find trees. Real ones. Big ones.
And the Lord provided. He provided. How in the world could I have found that road on my own? What's crazy, is that I had been on another section of that road when I was walking. But, this part - this was a gift.
And, the best part, is that it really is just around the curve of the hillside. Those trees are only five minutes away from my home.
A little refuge. A little place to breathe.
I came across a beautiful Christian prayer yesterday with a word I didn't know at the end of each stanza. It's Hindi: "saranam". It means refuge... as in "You are my refuge."
I want to nestle down into understanding that the One True God is my refuge. I want to know that. I want to rest in what it really means for God to be my refuge... my refuge and my strength.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
A Good Morning
Sometimes you just have to stop and celebrate the little things.
I went and got a cappuccino by myself for the First Time. The "Piccolo" cafe is at the end of my street and will be my morning stop. Silvianna was so patient and helpful. She insisted that I not carry my drink in my hand, but in the bag so it wouldn't burn me. It was the First Time I really felt connected (of course on an instant, surface level) with someone.
I stopped by the fruit stand and bought breakfast for the First Time. An orange. The shop owner recognized me (it's the First Time for that, too!) from the day before.
I saw someone I recognized on the street. For the First Time. She works in a little shop under Matt and Angie's apartment. I was able to tell her that I didn't live in the apartments, but that my friend did. ("Feminine Friend. Live." Then point to the apartments.) Then I told her where I live. (Point to self and say my street name.) She told me she lived up the hill from me.
A lady I met through a blog (http://veronadailyphoto.blogspot.com/) invited me for coffee. Angie and I are going to go meet her on Monday. It's the First Time an Italian has invited me anywhere.
The delivery men delivered my appliances. In this I used the little telephone that rings when someone buzzes so that the guys could get in the building. For the First Time. I cried when they brought in my washing machine. It's the First Time I've ever had my own. Ditto for the dryer, dishwasher, oven and stove, and refrigerator. I used the dictionary to communicate with the men and we had a ball. It was the First Time I had to make sure I was really understanding what they said. The guys even stole the dictionary to point to words.
And it's not even noon.
I went and got a cappuccino by myself for the First Time. The "Piccolo" cafe is at the end of my street and will be my morning stop. Silvianna was so patient and helpful. She insisted that I not carry my drink in my hand, but in the bag so it wouldn't burn me. It was the First Time I really felt connected (of course on an instant, surface level) with someone.
I stopped by the fruit stand and bought breakfast for the First Time. An orange. The shop owner recognized me (it's the First Time for that, too!) from the day before.
I saw someone I recognized on the street. For the First Time. She works in a little shop under Matt and Angie's apartment. I was able to tell her that I didn't live in the apartments, but that my friend did. ("Feminine Friend. Live." Then point to the apartments.) Then I told her where I live. (Point to self and say my street name.) She told me she lived up the hill from me.
A lady I met through a blog (http://veronadailyphoto.blogspot.com/) invited me for coffee. Angie and I are going to go meet her on Monday. It's the First Time an Italian has invited me anywhere.
The delivery men delivered my appliances. In this I used the little telephone that rings when someone buzzes so that the guys could get in the building. For the First Time. I cried when they brought in my washing machine. It's the First Time I've ever had my own. Ditto for the dryer, dishwasher, oven and stove, and refrigerator. I used the dictionary to communicate with the men and we had a ball. It was the First Time I had to make sure I was really understanding what they said. The guys even stole the dictionary to point to words.
And it's not even noon.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
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