Tomorrow I will have been here a week

Some thoughts from week one:

My course has started, and it is magical-- yes, we're still loosening up, and no, we don't speak as much Italian as I'd like (in that I kind of don't want to speak english, but I am in the extreme minority on this one), but there is something in Giuseppe Mazzotta's voice and musings that turns me into a sponge that attempts to stutter intelligent thoughts in a language I've really only used conversationally. There's something to be said for being intellectual in another language; given that I think differently in Italian I find myself discovering the use of DS over a year later, with my want to reference everything from Plato (Platone, in italiano) to John Locke. But I truly love it. Our classroom is in the Facoltà di Lettere, which is an old Psychiatric Hospital. Go figure.

I've found lots of new friends, as well, even though I know so many kids coming to Siena. My class, team Glimmers as we've called ourselves, has really bonded, and I think this will be a fabulous group of kids to spend time with for my duration here. We've been on adventures, hung out on the Piazza, and had conversations about life. In vino, verità.

Soccer/football/calcio is big here, and the people gather in all the bars in town to watch "La Partita." We did the same, knowing enough to stake out seats an hour before the game so we could see the azzurri fail against slovakia.

Our corner of the bar

I love the essence of just being, here, where life moves slower but somehow more chaotically. I love the little street signs that are centuries old, and recognizing the etymology of the street. I love seeing the Duomo from my desk window, and I love seeing vespas on ancient passageways that might lead to a 1000 year old fountain instead of a classroom. Siena is an onion that is slowly peeling for me, and I bask in the knowledge I receive from it.

Fontebranda: REbuilt in 1293.

All of this makes me want to work harder at Italian-- sometimes cashiers simply look at me or hear me speak a phrase before switching to English; and though they smile when I persevere and continue speaking la bella lingua, I want to be able to eliminate the americano from my tongue and let it speak freely the language of this land of planned strikes that create long weekends, nutella, vino, and a personality that one simply feels and acknowledges.

Coming soon: adventures in Florence, or why I have legs of steel