Blues, French Fries, and Canals

Friday night the whole family went to a concert. At first I thought that it was going to be a classical music concert like the one we had gone to a week ago, but this was not the case. We approached the Teatro Astra in Vicenza and I could hear the loud heavy metal from outside the venue. The sign outside the door read, “Concerto per i bambini di Tibet”, or “Concert for the children of Tibet”, a fundraiser for the service organization of Vicentine doctors that help out an orphanage in Tibet, which my host mother is part of. A few minutes later, the event officially started with a teenage band called Plastic Smile. Their music was mediocre at best, and also not my preference of genre. Their main song, called “Hey, Daddy” was a cacophonous mix of the terrible sounds coming from a bad drummer, two long-haired guitarists, and a lead singer with a thick Italian accent singing in English. They also used way too much stage smoke than their musical skills entitled them to. This made me feel even sorrier for the Tibetan children whose orphanage had been destroyed in the recent earthquake. It was then followed up by a much better group of older men playing ‘70s “rock progressivo”, also in English. After that was a second teenage band, which I was hoping would be better than the first. Luckily, it was, as they played a lot of Queen covers and definitely did deserve their amount of stage smoke. To end the night, a fourth band came on stage, and was definitely not what I expected - a Louisiana-style blues band who played classic blues songs but in Italian. For example, instead of playing “Sweet Home Chicago” they played “Dolce Casa Asiago”.

The Italian blues band.

Yesterday, had school, but that night, I went out with a bunch of friends for a pizza to celebrate the birthdays of two of them. I ordered a “margherita”, or the classic cheese with basil and it was very good. But to my surprise, many people there ordered a different kind, called “patatina”, which is a regular pizza crust with tomato sauce, but French fries on top. It was not exactly how I expected the Italians to eat their pizza. While eating, I had a nice conversation with my friends in which they explained to me in great detail the Italian government.

My friends were amazed that we did not eat this in America.

After dinner, we walked around Vicenza for a few hours, which was very pleasant. Vicenza is a great town by day, but by night it is amazing, especially when with some friends. At almost midnight, we all said our goodbyes and headed home.

This morning, I woke up at about nine, which was nice considering that I had been waking up before six for six days straight. I went downstairs, where Cristina asked me what I wanted to do today, to which I replied the easy, “I don’t know, whatever you are doing.” She then looked outside and told me to go search the weather forecast for Venice for today. I went and found that, unlike what she thought, it was going to be a beautiful day. She then told Oscar, my host father, that we were going to Venice for the day. I was extremely excited and ran upstairs for my camera. We then went to pick up Osvaldo at his soccer game in a nearby town, and drove the remaining part of highway to Venice. When we were in the car, I was talking with my host siblings and not looking outside, but then I took a glance and saw something totally unexpected – a ferry. I then looked further and saw Venice further off. We were on the highway over the Venetian lagoon. We then parked and walked around Venice for a good four or five hours. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then below is a 100,000 word essay on today. I would rather let you see what I saw today as opposed to just tell you about it.

Piazza San Marco, flooded due to a high water level.

Me in front of one of Venice's hundreds of canals. Of course, the gondola in the back.

I could not help but take the classic postcard picture. Here you can see what a beautiful day it was.

And another postcard picture. This was later in the day when the sun was beautifully reflected on the canals.

From left to right: Giuditta, me, Osvaldo, Maria, and Oscar. Cristina is taking this picture on us at Piazza San Marco.

A traffic jam, Venetian style.

A young girl having some fun in flooded Piazza San Marco.

One of Venice's many shops selling masks for Carnival, which I hope to be able to attend this spring.

Always have to have your vegetables - these funghi where outside of a Venetian restaurant.

The stilted walkways in Piazza San Marco.

Fish, Peaches, and an all-around Update

Sorry I have not written in so long, I just have been very busy this past week. Other than school, which is going very well, I have done a few nice things this past week. Yesterday we all went as a family to a nearby lake for a fairly short walk around it. While we were there we did come across an unexpected visitor, though. After than that Oscar and I went to the Rotary meeting. I am actually a bit confused about this restaurant, since last week every course included mushrooms, while this week we had none. I think every week they change their theme; this last week’s being seafood. We started off with a very good plate of penne pasta with shrimp and scallops, followed by a large chunk of fish, whose Italian name I could not translate. Even for dessert, which is very hard difficult to make out of fish, they came about as close as possible. The Italian word for fish, pesce, is very similar to the word for peach, pesca, which is what was served for dessert. I need to start drinking caffeine on Thursdays when I am going to Rotary meetings, as spending a whole day speaking Italian is very tiring, and towards the end of the meetings around 10:30, my eyelids start feeling like they are made out of lead.

An unexpected critter I would expect to find in a Louisiana bayou rather than in the Veneto region of Italy.

I was also quite busy writing an article for the Summit High School newspaper, Tiger Tracks. Once that goes into publication in Colorado, I will post it on here, as it would be wrong for me to publish it first. Also, I have walked around Vicenza a lot and I would be comfortable saying that I know my way around pretty well now. I have also decided that by the end of my stay, I would like to have visited every gelateria in Vicenza, judging both their stracciatella and fragola flavors (vanilla with chocolate, strawberry). Maybe once I am done, I could write a book about it.

As for school, it is going very well. I have really gotten to like history and philosophy, partly because it is the only class where the teacher writes everything she says on the chalkboard, making it easier to understand. Reading Italian is a little bit harder than I would have expected, as I cannot quite skim the book and get the meaning – I must make an active effort to comprehend everything. And it is also a little bit harder when we are reading Dante’s Purgatorio, which is hard for all of the Italians also. I really enjoy the fact that my school is situated a block away from Vicenza’s main avenue, and on one of the city’s main downtown plazas. Here is a picture of the Church of San Lorenzo as seen from the window of my classroom.

Chiesa San Lorenzo as seen from my classroom. 

Tonight, after soccer practice, we will all go to Vicenza for a concert that is a fundraiser for a project Cristina (my host mother) is helping with. I do not know the details, but I do know that she goes to Tibet often with some other doctors to offer medical assistance and that the fundraiser will benefit the reconstruction of an orphanage/school that was devastated by the recent earthquakes.

Also here are some miscellaneous pictures that I was not able to post last week. We got a high-speed Wi-Fi modem just yesterday, so it will be easier for me to post more pictures more often.

Some odd-looking veggies from last week's Festa di Zucca.

And some more normal, yet less colorful ones.

From left to right: Cristina, Maria, Oscar, me, Osvaldo, and Giuditta on my birthday, last Sunday.

A picture of my room, or at least half of it. On the other half I have a desk, a bookshelf, and a dresser. Despite the bunk beds on the right, I have this room to myself and I sleep in the bed on the left.

Birthday Pumpkins

I definitely had a different birthday experience today than what I am accustomed to. Usually, I get woken up by my parents and siblings singing “Happy Birthday” at the top of their lungs and carrying some kind of present. After that I go to the kitchen and have a great meal of bacon and eggs with cream cheese and chives. I then take off to school, which is better than usual just because of people acknowledging you just a little bit more. After school I would usually go to football practice (considering my birthday is in the middle of the season) and have a better than usual practice. I would then probably go home and be enchanted by the delicious aroma of some homemade lasagna about to be served for me. Yum.


Today, though, was pretty different. It was a weekend, so that takes school out of the picture. But still, I had not set my alarm, so therefore I woke up to a silent house. I went to shower, downstairs to have some breakfast (more like two small sugar cookies and a glass of water), and then was happy to see some nice e-cards in my inbox. As far as I could see, I was essentially alone in the house. Oscar had been in Udine for a dentistry conference, Cristina was at Osvaldo’s soccer game, Ana (the resident household helper) had her day off and was probably out in Vicenza, and Giuditta and Maria were not to be found. They were probably upstairs in their room. Without much to do, and feeling a bit glum, I went to my room and started doing some homework. After being in there for over an hour, I decided to go downstairs and go outside. It was a beautiful, clear day and I could see the bell tower of St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice way off on the horizon. Then Giuditta came out of the house saying, “Tanti auguri”. She said that Oscar had arrived and that Cristina and Osvaldo were on their way back home. She said that we were going to be visiting a nearby town to attend their “Festa di Zuccha”, or “Pumpkin Festival”. Actually, at the time, I thought that it was a carrot festival, because of a bit of prior confusion. A few days before, Ana had served me some orange soup and called it “zuppa di zuccha”. I asked her what zuccha was, and since she speaks zero English, she started to describe it. She said that it was orange and “largo cosi” (This long), putting her hands up in the air about a foot and a half. Her choice of the word “long” as opposed to “big” or “large” made me think she was talking about carrots, when really she meant pumpkin. I guess my palate is not good enough to distinguish the main ingredient in the meal which I have had at least six or seven times while I have been here.

Anyhow, once the whole family had arrived, they all said “Auguri” and we climbed into Oscar’s Fiat minivan and Maria came out of the house and handed me a large bag. “Wow,” I thought, “they got me a present, how nice.” I looked inside, and pulled out a very cool briefcase for my computer. When I was shopping for a computer, I made the bad decision of choosing the largest laptop I could find, making it near to impossible to find a briefcase to carry it in. This one was big enough though. Cristina then told me to open the outside pocket. I could not imagine that there was anything else in there, since the thing weighed about what I would expect it to. I opened the pocket anyhow and found a small slip of paper. I looked at it, and it was the confirmation page from a flight booking! It read, “Venice-Budapest: 11-Dec-2010; Budapest-Venice 14-Dec-2010.” I guess I will be spending some time in Hungary! Cristina said that we would go and see the Christmas lights there, which apparently are spectacular.

Five minutes later, we arrived at a nearby town and made our way to the church, which is always the in the center of town and the center for most social gatherings as well, including this one. There was a large tent set up in the parking lot, and we went inside and sat down with some people my host family knows and whose son plays soccer with Osvaldo. The waitress then came and set a plate in front of each of us. It was actually kind of smaller than what I expected for a full lunch, but I was not going to complain. On the plate there were two thin slices of a kind of salami-ish looking meat and pumpkin polenta. On the side was a slice of toasted bread that looked like garlic bread, yet was made out of pumpkin. I was finished with that and thought I would probably have to eat some more upon arriving home. But then to my surprises came the second course, a bowl of rice with a pumpkin sauce and pumpkins chunks. This was followed by a bowl of pumpkin soup like the one we had eaten at home. After that came the main plate: some turkey beside stewed pumpkins. After that they served us pumpkin bread for dessert. Outside they were selling pumpkins and zucchinis, some about eight feet long. I thought to myself, “I don’t need to eat anything anymore when I get home. Also, I’m done with pumpkins for a few weeks.”

I then started receiving some phone calls from parents and grandparents. This was nice, considering I had not spoken with my family since the night I had arrived here in Italy almost two weeks ago. It did take a long time though. By the time I was done, it was time to go to church, which was a lot shorter than last week, probably because there was not a priest leaving.

When we got back home just about two hours ago, we started to have a dinner of bread, cheese, and a chocolate cake Giuditta had made. Overall, it was a good day. It feels good to be seventeen.

Rotary - First Meeting

So yesterday started off pretty normal, except that I had to wake up an hour earlier than usual to walk down the hill and catch the bus to school since my host father could not take Osvaldo and me. School was good, as usual, and afterwards I rode the bus back home with Osvaldo. I did a little bit of homework (Yup, my first real homework assignment in Italy, but it was in French). Then Osvaldo and I went outside to mow the lawn. Well, lawn is an understatement. I think “large amount of land around the house” is a better description of it. Anyhow, Osvaldo started using the large lawnmower cart (the kind you sit in and drive around), but I got to use a traditional push lawnmower. They did have another one like Osvaldo’s that I would have been able to use, but one of the conditions of my exchange is that I not allowed to drive any motor vehicle whatsoever. So I did it the harder way. After about almost an hour of mowing, Oscar came out of the house telling me that there was a change of plans and that I should hurry inside and change as fast as I could because we had to be at the Rotary meeting in Vicenza in twenty-five minutes. It takes almost fifteen to get there. I asked him what kind of clothes I should wear, expecting him to just want me to change from my t-shirt and ragged jeans into a collared shirt and my nicer jeans. He told me to dress with as nice of clothes as I had. I ran up to my room, and got all dressed up. Well that’s the first major difference between the Rotary club in Italy and the Summit County one. Here we are apparently expected to be very nicely dressed for dinner, while in Colorado it is a very casual breakfast event.


When we arrived at the restaurant, I was sporting my blue Rotary Youth Exchange blazer with various pins from other exchange students. Oscar and I met Lorenzo, my Rotary counselor and also my host mother’s uncle, in the parking lot. We walked in the gate to the restaurant’s garden and into the main indoor dining area. I saw the room where the meeting was to be held, and I noticed the main difference number two. The Summit County Rotary Club meets at the Community and Senior Center in Frisco, a large facility with more than enough room for the 150-ish Rotarians that attend. This room was about one-fourth of the size and had seats for only about 45 people, at the most. I met some of the Rotarians, and most of them seemed to be more or less like my counselor. Lorenzo, an older man probably in his late 70’s, is a prominent lawyer and one of the foremost politicians in Vicenza. I would be willing to say that the youngest Rotarian there was probably in his late 50’s or early 60’s. This is very different than the Summit club, which has a handful of member’s in their 30’s. Part of the reason for this, I believe, is that Rotary here is more of a social status organization than a service club, as it is in Colorado. During the part of the meeting in which the President goes over the weekly business, he only mentioned a lunch that they would be having this weekend and introduced me as well as a visiting Rotarian and the guest speaker. He summoned me to the podium to introduce me to the club, and I presented him a banner from the Summit County Rotary Club, but it does not quite have a place to go, as it would in Colorado. At the Senior Center, the Rotary Club has about a dozen massive banners draped on the walls and showing all of the small banners from around the world that the club has accumulated over the years. Back at my table, I asked the lady sitting next to me, what kind of service projects the club did, to which she replied that she does not think they have done one in quite a few years. That is definitely very different. Shortly after, our first course of rice with wild mushrooms arrived. I would not say that mushrooms are exactly my favorite vegetable. I can deal with them, but it is not what I would choose to eat every day if you know what I mean. I ate the rice, and then the second course came – polenta with wild mushrooms in the middle and a few little bits of meat in a wild mushroom sauce. I then eyed the menu that read, “Da Remo: specializzato in funghi da Colli Berici” or “Da Remo (the name of the restaurant): specialized in mushrooms from the Colli Berici (the nearby mountain group). After that, dessert came, and I have never had such good grape gelato. I guess I never really have had grape gelato, but it was heaven on earth. After that, a guest speaker spoke about the situation of water level in the Veneto region and the Vicenza province. After this was done, the meeting had gone over three hours long, while in Frisco it is usually limited to about an hour and a half since many people need to get to work afterwards.

All things considered, it was a great experience, and I might be going back next Thursday. It was nice to see a different approach to the Rotary system then what I am accustomed to. My counselor seemed apologetic that I had to go, for he thought that I would not like being around all these old people. After he saw that I do, indeed, like the presence of older folks, he invited me to go back sometime.

Today was nice because I got to start school an hour later and sleep in a little bit after a long day yesterday. I believe I will go to soccer practice tonight with Osvaldo.

Haud magis Latin!

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So school keeps on getting better every day. What you see in the title is about as much Latin as I will need this year, thanks to the fact that I will no longer be required to take this class. Today, for our first hour, we were scheduled to have this Latin, which is supposedly the hardest subject for all students, and also one of the few with four hours a week. The class was chaotic as it usually is, until one student a few rows ahead of me did a short, but definitely audible whistle. He was telling the class that the teacher was on her way. Our classroom is situated in a perfect location for this kind of routine since it is at the very end of the school’s longest hallway. Anyways, as soon as everybody heard the whistle, they put away all of their books, folders, notebooks, pencil cases, or anything else on their desks and set their hands on top. Not once this week had I heard the class be so silent. It was amazing because for about a minute while the Latin teacher made her way down the hall, all that we could hear were some cars four stories below and some church bells way in the distance. Once the teacher arrived to the doorway, she stood there for some time waiting for something, obviously relishing the moment. Then she set foot in the classroom and everyone in the class stood up. My reaction was a bit delayed. She then walked over to her desk at the front of the room and said, “Buongiorno ragazzi” and the rest of the class said in unison, “Buongiorno professoressa”. Once again my reaction was delayed and I chose to not say anything as opposed to say it alone. The teacher seemed to sense that I had not said hello to her, and she strutted across the room to my desk. She asked me who I was and from what school I had transferred. I replied, “Mi chiamo Alex e sono un studente di scambio dagli Stati Uniti. Sono qui per un anno.” (My name is Alex and I am an exchange student from the United States. I will be here for one year.) She went on to ask me how good my school’s Latin program was. I told her that my school did not teach Latin, which she seemed to be appalled at. She then rambled on and on in Italian about how my Italian was not even perfect and that this was the fourth year of the Latin curriculum and that I would be totally lost reading Seneca and Cicero and Ovid. Let me interrupt this for just a minute to describe this lady. She is appears to be around eighty years old, has a noticeable hunch in her back, looks at the floor with her eyes almost shut, yet is able to see and hear everything around her. I think she would qualify as the fitting the definition of “creepy”. Anyways, she then went on to tell me that it I was not worth her valuable time and that therefore I would not be permitted to participate in her class. She said that I could sit and listen, but that I would be wasting her time in trying to learn Latin. “Well that’s a very different way of looking at education,” I thought to myself. She asked me if I had understood everything she had said. I was actually quite surprised that I had, but still I humbly replied, “Piu o meno, quasi tutto” (More or less, almost everything). I had learned from experience that it is better to not say that you understand completely because then they think you are at a higher level than you truly are and they start speaking extremely fast. But this teacher had not liked my reply. “Tu hai detto che quasi tutto, che cosa non hai capicei?” (You said that almost everything, what part did you not understand). This was actually a hard question to answer. Had I actually not understood something, I would not be able to tell her what it was. But in my case, I had to tell her that I did actually understand everything she said. So I turned to the boy that sits next to me and speaks English perfectly. I asked him to translate, urging him to play along. He is a really funny guy and was actually happy that I asked him to do this. We talked for a little bit in English about the situation, which considering everyone in the class speaks very good English, all were informed on the circumstances except for the Latin teacher, who understood none of it. After we were done talking, he just turned and remained silent. The teacher asked him, “Cosa ha detto?” (What did he say?). He said simply, “Adesso capiche” (Now he understands). This was obviously a greatly abridged version of our conversation and the teacher was not happy. She asked if that was all that I had said, and the interpreter said innocently something along the lines of, “Yes that is all. Americans just need more words to say something simple.” The class, except for my translator and I, began to laugh, while we worked hard on keeping a straight face. The teacher turned away angry and my translator gave me a high-five under the table. The teacher then said that if I cannot even understand Italian well, that I would stand no chance with Latin and that she would not allow me to participate during our four weekly hours of Latin and that I was just to sit and listen if I wanted to. I then turned to my interpreter and he said in English, “I envy you”. So did everybody in the class. Phew, no more Latin.

Yet I still have French. Usually French is no problem whatsoever. Speaking Spanish as I do is a great asset in French class. For some of you this will sound absurd, yet others will understand completely. During my French class at Summit High School, I would think in a Spanish mindset because Spanish is more similar to French than English is. Likewise, here in Italy on a day to day basis I am thinking in Spanish because it is so similar to Italian. Therefore, today in French class, I was thinking in Spanish, but since for the last week and a half, when I think in Spanish I speak in Italian, I could not speak very good French. I ended up putting together a jumbled up mix of Italian, French, and even a little bit of Spanish, making me sound like a complete fool. But it is alright because this is what being an exchange student is all about – utter confusion. This is exactly how to describe my mental organization of languages right now.

Now, for a little bit of cultural oddities I have witnessed so far. First of all, Italian food is not what the average American thinks it is. Contrary to popular belief, you will not find spaghetti and meatballs at a restaurant in Italy. So far, I have eaten more rice than pasta, more soup than meat sauce, and I have not yet really had a salad. There are always various vegetables on the table, but they are seldom mixed. Also, I have not had any pizza while I have been here, yet I have had a hamburger. Another difference is the general perceptions of sexual identity. Usually in America (I might be making things up here, but I doubt it), if a grown man is carrying a small bag slung across his shoulder, otherwise known as a “murse” for man-purse, the general onlooker would question that man’s sexual orientation. Here though, more people wear “murses” than not. On the other hand, in America, I am used to setting my pen or pencil on my ear when it is not in use. I know I am not the only person that does this, and it has become a habit. The first day of school here in Italy, the teacher was calling roll and I did not need my pen, so I rested it on my right ear. Apparently that is the wrong thing to do. Luckily, the boy that sits next to me and speaks English, told me before anybody else saw me. He said that in Italy, the right ear is associated with homosexuality and that it is common knowledge that one who has anything on it – especially an earring, is not exactly straight. That was the last time I set my pen there. And I also made it a point not to touch my right ear – something that is a lot harder to do when you are thinking about it. Anyways, let’s go back to talking about food. Last night for dinner, my host brother Osvaldo reheated some plain pasta that was in the fridge. To my surprise, instead of putting ragu or olive oil on it, he grabbed a bottle of ketchup. I thought this was like some sick nightmare made in Dante’s Inferno. I am not particularly a fan of ketchup, but I understand why some people like it on some foods. I completely understand hamburgers, hot dogs, French fries, etc. and I can even tolerate seeing my cousins in Mexico have it on their eggs for breakfast – but to ruin something so beautiful as pasta in the country of its birth with this artificial American tomato substance was a sin in my mind

Also for you farm lovers here are some pictures of the garden on top of my family’s garage.

Pictures of Vicenza, My School

A view of Liceo Lioy from the center of Piazza San Lorenzo

The facade of Il Duomo, or the cathedral.

One of the many Palladian villas within Vicenza.

The piazza next to il Duomo (not shown).

Sorry I was not able to post these yesterday.

Second Day of School and a day in Vicenza

So last night, after I had written yesterday’s blog post, I went to calcio practice again with Osvaldo. But this time something really exciting happened. I know that none of you will believe me, but I scored a goal during a scrimmage, while playing defense. Yup, I took the ball away from someone on the other team, dribbled through the midfield, refused to pass the ball to our team’s star player (because I knew he would not give it back), juked out one of their defenders, and tapped the ball gently into the goal. It felt good. But after that, I just played defense. I did not want the Italians to think that a foreigner was better than them at their own sport.


Now, back to today. It was the second day of school, and I picked up on a few other noticeably different elements that they have here and not in the United States. I found out that in Italian high schools, all grades are 100% subjective. A teacher can, and is encouraged by the school administration, to give a student whatever grade he or she deems appropriate. Even in subjects such as math and physics, where you would think that the answers would be all objective and either right or wrong, at the end of each term, the professor can choose what grade to give. According to everybody I have talked to so far, due to this system, most students are content with average grades, seeing as teachers rarely give out nines and tens. Oh, the grading system here is out of 10, as opposed to the American 100. Apparently I should be happy if I get an eight in any of my classes, save English, which I think I might be able to ace. Just how this grading system would be detrimental to me in the United States, here I get to see the other side of the coin. Since the teachers can give me whatever grade they please, I hope that I will be able to achieve good grades if they see that I am making an effort, even if I get questions wrong. I guess we will just have to wait and see.

Another notable difference is that regarding substitute teachers. Believe it or not, today, only the second day of school, one of our teachers was absent. I started off the day with physics, which is the same teacher as my math class which I had yesterday. Apparently this also is purely theoretical, as we do zero written work, and the professor just demonstrates a pendulum’s trajectory using his hands. They weren’t kidding when they told me about these Italians! After that I had art history, which was actually better than I expected. The teacher is a very nice lady and apparently this class is just an excuse for field trips. If I understand correctly, as part of the class we will spend at least one day in Venice (though probably more) studying various art pieces there, we will ride bicycles in and around Vicenza studying the architectural works of Andrea Palladio (which seems to be this city’s favorite person of all time), as well as various other possible excursions. That doesn’t sound too bad to me. After an hour of art, the physical education teacher came up to the classroom. Although we will have to dress out for PE, today she was just going over rules and expectations. From what she said, we will be spending the first semester doing mainly running. I was not too happy to hear this because I am not particularly a fan of running around a track. Then she said that she had changed the location for this year’s running section. “What?” I thought to myself, “How do you change the location for running if all this school has is a gym (It is in the middle of downtown Vicenza, so it has no athletic fields).” She said that instead of running in one of Vicenza’s parks, we were going to switch to another, larger one. That seems like a pretty nice place for PE if you ask me. She later went on to explain that in the second semester we would be training for tournaments. I asked the boy that sits next to me what she meant by that, and he explained. Liceo Lioy does not have any Varsity sports, as in American schools, but it does have an all-school tournament series. Apparently, each class composes a team for table tennis, calcetto (literally “mini soccer”), basketball, volleyball, and a new addition for this year – dodge ball. In this intramural tournament, the champion class from Liceo Lioy then goes on to a city-wide tournament against other schools with similar tournaments. Sounds like fun to me.

Anyways, back to substitute teachers. There are none. After PE and a short break, we were scheduled to have chemistry. The teacher did not show up, so the class continued in its usual state of chaos. Some of the boys started to play an interesting card game which I hope to learn (I suppose that this happens quite often because they did this as if it were routine), some girls went back and re-read their notes, and some of the others were just talking. After about fifteen minutes without the teacher arriving, the class president (a student) told us we could all go home. This was odd to me because our class was scheduled for an extra hour after chemistry today – Latin. I guess that was irrelevant because we all left the room and went home. Well about half of the class went home. The other half, including myself, waited around in Piazza San Lorenzo until, 45 minutes later, the rest of the school came out of the building. No complaints with their way of handling this. I then met up with Osvaldo and we walked around Vicenza for a while. We went to have lunch, at McDonald’s to my dismay. I was hoping for something Italian, or even a Doner Kebab, but he wanted Mickey D’s so that is where we went. We then continued our walk through Vicenza, which is actually quite beautiful. We then had a gelato (the first of my exchange), and made our way to la Questura, or the Federal Police. We went to meet Oscar there in order to finish the paperwork for my permesso di soggiorno (extended stay permit). We waited there for almost an hour and finally, when we got to the front of the line, the man looked at my passport and told me that I needed to go to the post office to fill out a packet there and then mail it back to him, at which point he would call to schedule an appointment. Ah, how I love Italian bureaucracy. Oscar then took us to the post office, where we purchased the packet to then take home to fill out (it is way too long to fill out then and there). Osvaldo and I then continued our tour of Vicenza, which I am proud to say I could now navigate like a local. We visited all the main piazzas and also the gardens where I will spend my time running during PE – they are much nicer than a track around a football field. We then went to buy our bus tickets back home. The ride back was nice, but unfortunately the bus leaves us in Debba, a town at the bottom of the hill where the house is, and about a 35 minute walk up a steep road. But it’s all good. I also bought my school supplies today. One euro per notebook! And I have eleven subjects! At least I think Rotary reimburses me for that.

I am really sorry that there haven't been any pictures with these past two blog posts. I had actually taken pictures of my school and Vicenza for this one, but my camera is in my host father's car and he eating out and supposedly will not return until very late. I will try and post the pictures tomorrow early in the morning. Sorry about that.

First Day of School

Today was the first day of school. From what I understood, I do not have any homework tonight, but the key words there are “from what I understood”, because that was next to nothing. The day started off quite nicely with a beautiful sunrise that I could see from my bedroom. We then left the house early, and Oscar took Osvaldo and me to downtown Vicenza, where the school is. It was my first time being downtown, except for the small ordeal at the bus terminal, but that was at nighttime and not in the very center of town. It is a very nice city with small roads and many bridges and other interesting architectural features. For a few minutes before school started, Osvaldo and I talked with some other kids from Longare, some of which I had met, and most of which were in their fifth year of high school. It was Osvaldo’s first day of high school as well since he is now in the first year, so I think it was nice for both of us to see people we knew. Liceo Statale Scientifico Paolo Lioy is situated on the medium-sized Piazza San Lorenzo just a couple blocks from Vicenza’s central garden. During this time before school, it was fairly similar to what one would see on the first day at Summit High School, yet this was outside. And many students were smoking, which I do not think would go over too well in the SHS commons. Like at Summit High School, there was a warning bell five minutes before classes began. Unlike Summit High School, when this bell rang, all of the students went straight to class, as opposed to waiting around and arriving at the last minute. I looked at the chart and saw that class 4A was in room 37, which took me a while to find since Liceo Lioy has split-level floors and not much sense to its numbering system. But I found it after a while. Upon entering the room, I saw that desks were arranged in rows of three, all facing the front of the room. It reminded me of how most science classrooms at SHS are set up. There were only two open seats when I got to the room; one was a sole desk in the very front of the room that was the only desk that was not adjacent to two others, and the other was in the back row, next to two other boys. I chose the latter, and introduced myself to the people around me, and I was surprised to find out that one of the boys in my triplet spoke next-to-perfect English. Apparently most of his cousins live in Rhode Island, and he visits them quite often. Anyways, it will be nice to have someone to translate important things.


At the front of the room, the teacher was waiting for the starting bell. I asked what subject he taught and they told me math and physics. It fit him perfectly. This man was the living manifestation of the stereotypical mathematics professor. He was tall, slim, and was balding on top. He wore glasses, as well as a V-neck sweater over a dress shirt and khakis. Once the bell finally rang, the professor sat down, and looked at his paper. He briefly explained what he was going to do, but I could not understand a word he said. It probably was not because of difficult language, yet because the students’ noise level did not go down at all once the bell had rung. The teacher then started calling off names and talking with each student for quite a while. I believe after calling off each name on the list, he wanted to hear what each student had done over the summer. He seemed like a pretty nice guy. While he was doing this, all the students but the one he was talking with kept on talking, so it was hard to understand anything that was said. But when he called “Cuadrado, Alejandro” all the students turned and look at me. My Italian skills are not developed enough to be able to give a decent answer, and he also caught me a little bit off guard. I was confused and said simply, “Ciao” which I guess was the wrong answer because everyone started laughing, including the teacher. I think I was laughing as well. I then covered up and said, “Si, io sono Alex. Sono un studente di scambio da gli Stati Uniti. Sto qui per un anno.” or, “Yes, I’m Alex. I am an exchange student from the United States. I am here for a year.” That seemed to work because he then moved on to the next student. The whole roll call took about an hour and a half, and today I was scheduled for a double session of math that morning, then an hour of English, and finally an hour of philosophy. For the remaining half hour of the math period, he just stood in front of the class and talked about circles, ellipses, hyperbola, and other conic sections. The only full sentence I was able to comprehend was something about changing a curve so that it was more aesthetically pleasing. I am not exactly sure what that means. I guess this is how most math lessons will be because some of the students were taking notes as if this was normal procedure. I should have listened to Mafy (the Italian girl that is with my family in Frisco), and not brought my graphing calculator. I was sure that since this year we are supposed to do trigonometry, we were going to need one. I guess not. At the very end of class, I went to the teacher and asked if I should buy the necessary textbooks now. Apparently, after a month of me being in the fourth year class, all of my teachers are going to get together and evaluate me to decide if I should stay in the fourth year or move down to the third. Therefore, it would be unwise to buy the fourth year books if in one month I could be moved down to a class where they use a whole different set of books. He seemed to understand the dilemma, but replied at such a fast pace, and the only thing I understood was his last sentence: “Ho capito?” (Do you understand?) I did not at all, but when someone goes to such a great extent to try and explain something, I feel bad asking them to repeat something. I said that that I understood and he left.
Unlike in the United States, schools in Italy do not have students roaming the halls. Here, you are put in a class with about twenty other students and you all take the same courses. It is sort of like elementary school in the United States, but they do treat us like adults. My next class was English, which made me happy. I was going to be able to understand everything that was to be said! The class was reading Frankenstein, and I was surprised to see that participation in the classroom is 100% voluntary. Unlike in most American classes, if somebody wants to doze off for the entire period, the teacher has no problem with it. It also sort of surprised me to hear the English teacher’s accent. Apart from having a slight Italian touch to her speech, she spoke with a noticeably British accent, which makes sense, because to Europeans, the authority for English is England. At the end of class I asked her (in Italian) what I should do about the books, and she told me to hold off for a month and then to buy the right ones. She said that in the meantime, we would just make photocopies of the materials.
My fourth and final hour of class today was philosophy. The teacher, which also will be teaching our history classes, was the only one that could get the classes attention. It was amazing to see how she smacked a book on her desk, and the room went silent. Anyways, she asked me if I had ever studied philosophy, and I said no. She did not seem too happy about that but said that I would therefore not have to take the tests regarding past material. At this point another boy in the class said that he hadn’t studied philosophy either. She threw her chalk at him. Her class today was supposed to be a quick review of last year, and she said that we will finish reviewing later in the week. Instead of giving a syllabus, as most American teachers do, here they just tell you what to expect more or less and that it will be harder than the previous year. This year in philosophy we will study Christian philosophy and maybe at the end read a little bit of Kant. But for today’s review, we looked at Stoicism and its main beliefs. I was glad to see that she was going to write out notes on the chalkboard, that way I wouldn’t have to rely solely on my ears, but once she started writing, I changed my mind. She used an odd form of cursive that I could not decipher and the words she spoke while writing were just as hard to comprehend. We will see how I do in this class. I just hope not to fail
After school ended, I met Osvaldo out in the plaza and we walked to the bus stop which brought us back to Longare. We were lucky enough to catch the bus that Osvaldo used to take in middle school to take us up the hill where the house is. Otherwise, we would have had to walk about fifteen or twenty minutes in the rain to get back home.
Later I will let everybody know whether or not there was homework I should have done. I will also post pictures of my school eventually. I would have looked pretty funny taking a picture of the school, though it is beautiful.

Some ceremonies ... and their respective receptions

So yesterday, though historically a very important day, did not bring much excitement to me here in Italy. For most of the day, I was either waiting in my host mother's office in the hospital in Vicenza, or helping out my host father with some yard work.


We did, though, attend a 9/11 remembrance ceremony at a nearby Palladian villa. For those of you who do not know who Andrea Palladio was, he was a 16th century Italian Renaissance architect who designed a plethora of villas and other buildings in and around the city of Vicenza. He is actually so renowned that his work is the bulk of what makes “Vicenza and the Palladian Villas of the Veneto” a UNESCO World Heritage site. Anyways, this ceremony to honor the events and heroes of September 11, 2001 took place at one of his more famous villas located a few kilometers west of Vicenza. At the ceremony, various notable people from the region spoke about 9/11 and about the brotherhood between Italy and America as well as how the terrorists attacks also hurt the Italians. Also present there were the American consul from Milan and various United States Army personnel that are stationed at the large base in Vicenza (which is the head camp for all American operations in Africa). After they all spoke, a mandolin orchestra played various Italian classical pieces.

The Palladian Villa lit up during the mandolin orchestra concert.

The garden in front of the villa.

Once this was all over, there was a reception in a nearby courtyard for all the people who had attended this event. It was interesting to see how people segregated within the group. It seemed as if all of the Italians were in large circles making lots of noise, while the Americans were typically in smaller groups speaking quietly. It might be cultural differences, but I suspect that it is probably because the Americans were there to mourn a sad day in history, while the Italians were probably there for the buffet of good food and unlimited wine. But that might also be over-generalized. I did get to meet General Hogg, the American in charge of the Vicenza base, as well as a very kind couple (that also works on the base) who might be able to facilitate my use of an APO box so that I am only paying American postage, as opposed to international. I am not sure if this will work out or not, but it would be nice.

Early in the morning today, my host mother Cristina and my older host sister Giuditta, left for Madrid. They will be there until Friday because Cristina has some sort of medical conference.
At ten in the morning, Oscar, Osvaldo, Maria, and I went to church here in Longare. Before arriving, I was wondering to myself whether it would be more like church in the United States or in Mexico, two totally different approaches to the Catholic mass. At the beginning of mass, I thought it would be exactly like mass in Mexico. The church was huge, incense was burning, and even the music playing was the same as what they play in Mexico.
After a certain point in mass, when the priest gives his sermon (which usually indicates that mass is about halfway through), I looked at my watch. It read 10:41, which is pretty late for being halfway through what typically lasts an hour. Well, what typically lasts an hour in the United States. In Mexico, on the other hand, mass is usually close to done by then. I do not know how they do it, but Mexican priests are able to chop a good ten to fifteen minutes off of every service without omitting any part of mass. This is when I realized that Italian mass was not going to be like in Mexico. About twenty minutes later, during communion, I saw that the priests were placing the hosts in people’s hands, not on their tongues (like they do in Mexico). When mass finally ended at about 11:17, they told us to go visit the banquet hall in the back since they were hosting a goodbye party for a priest that was leaving later this week. This is also not Mexican at all. So I guess that it was not going to be that easy for me to classify Italian mass as either like American mass or Mexican mass – I was going to have to make a third category. Oh, and on our way out of church, the priest stood guarding the door, making sure that nobody left church without first giving him his proper greeting. He would shake your hand, and then you would give him a kiss on each cheek. Well, more like an air-kiss with your cheek next to his. It is not as creepy as it sounds, I swear.
Immediately after going to the reception, we got in the car, and Oscar said, “Andiamo a vedere la nonna,” or “Let’s go see the grandmother.” Two days before, I had met Cristina’s parents, who live about five minutes away. We got in the car and Oscar said we were going to try a different route because he thinks the GPS will get us there faster. While Osvaldo messed around with the GPS, I wondered why we would take another route to somewhere that is a direct path from the house. We started driving and it seemed like Oscar had lost his mind. “What is he doing?” I thought to myself. After about an hour of this confusion, I see a sign that says Treviso, and I remember that I had heard something about Oscar growing up in Treviso. “Oh, I guess they have another set of grandparents,” I told myself. I really felt stupid. At least I hadn’t said anything about it. We got to her house and I met the very nice old lady. After being there for about fifteen minutes, we all got in the car. I wondered why the grandmother was coming back with us. This was really confusing. So as we pull out of her street, Oscar makes a right, instead of the left he should have made to go back to Vicenza. We were on the road towards Trieste and Venice. I was extremely confused. So I finally asked where we were going and that answered a lot of questions.
We ended up in a town called Fontanelle. Though officially still part of the Veneto region of Italy, now that I look at a map, we were closer to Slovenia then we were to Vicenza. We got there and waited outside of a church for a little while along with lots of other people and a marching band. Then a procession of flag-bearers, dignitaries, and priests came out of the church and walked to a nearby statue that was draped with a bluish purple cloth. It was a statue of Padre Marco d’Aviano, a Capuchin friar who preached throughout the Veneto region. For about two and a half hours, the various priests and dignitaries spoke about this remarkable man, with the marching band playing occasionally between speakers. Marco d’Aviano, who was beatified by Pope John Paul II in 2003, helped win the 1683 Battle of Vienna against the oncoming Ottoman Turks. Supposedly, he waved a crucifix at the Turks, and prayed for this unlikely victory, which eventually came. It is also said that he invented the Cappuccino after this decisive battle, though that cannot be confirmed. So the town of Fontanelle decided to make a statue that would be unveiled today, hundreds of years after the Battle.

The marching band.

A nice view of the bronze statue.

From left to right: me, Osvaldo, the grandmother, and Oscar in front of Marco d'Aviano.

Some abandoned brass instruments during the reception.

As with the two previous events, this unveiling of the statue had a nice reception afterwards. Apparently Oscar’s mother had contributed to the making of this statue and was therefore invited to the ceremony.


Tomorrow I start school in Vicenza where I will probably have to study a lot to keep the decent grades that are a condition for this exchange. I will therefore probably not be able to write as many, and as long of blog articles. I will try my hardest to keep everybody posted.

Calcio Practice and Italian Bureaucracy

For today's blog post, I will do something highly unorthodox and describe my day in reverse order. Nothing so exciting happened today that it would require me to tell things in the order they happened because today's events were completely unrelated.
So about a few hours ago, I was out on the field playing defense. I went with Osvaldo to his team's calcio (soccer) practice. It surprised me to find out that in Italy, the name for this sport is not on par with that of the rest of the world. At first I wanted to call it futbol, like in Spanish, but I was quickly corrected and told that "football" is what the British play, while the Italians practice the art of calcio. Anyways, I accompanied my host brother to his soccer practice. While changing in the locker room, I asked him how long practices usually ran because I was surprised that they would start so late as 7:00 PM. He replied casually, "Una ora e meza, più o meno" (An hour and a half, more or less). "Wow," I thought, "I was expecting this to be at least something like Coach Hollingsworth's football practices!" I was accustomed to practices running at the very least over three and a half hours, sometimes even five. I then went on to ask him how many times a week they practices. I was expecting him to say that it was a daily or six-days-a-week ordeal. Again he replied casually, "Due per settimana, ma non compresa la partita" (Two a week, not including the game). This really surprised me. How can the Italians be so good at soccer if they only practice three hours a week? But then again, see how they did in this year's World Cup. He was astonished at the amount of practice time we had and said something along the lines that we Americans are too obsessed with nonsense, yet in a good joking manner.
So I am not really sure whether I should be proud of my first soccer practice or ashamed. Osvaldo and most of the team are 13 years old, with a couple aged 14 and an short, but quick 12 year-old. Here I am, almost 17 years old, struggling to keep the ball in the air during a juggling drill. But later, during the short scrimmage at the end, I was not the worst. By no means was I even close to being any good in comparison to the better three/fourths of the team, but I was not the worst man out on the pitch as I had expected to be. Just as I was starting to gain some pride from my perceived accomplishment, I looked over to the field next to where we were practicing and saw the team with players of my age and all the glory I had accumulated in the last five minutes was crushed. These guys were striking the ball from about midfield, curving it with just the right amount of spin, and right before going directly into the top left corner of the goal, being blocked by a leaping goalkeeper that had been more than fifteen feet away when the ball was first striked. Yup, I guess the Italians just have calcio in their blood.
Before taking us to soccer practice, Cristina had to stop at a house in the middle of a good-sized vineyard to buy some fruit. It looked like a scene taken right out of a romantic movie about Italy. Anyways, the lady in the room that was selling her fruits exclaimed right as we walked in, "Tutto e biologico" (Everything is biologic). I asked Cristina what that meant, thinking to myself, "Aren't all fruits biologic?" It turns out that "biologico" is the Italian word for "organic".

A pile of plums sitting on an equally blue tablecloth. 

Some colorful, fresh Italian veggies.

Before going to get the produce, though, we had to go to il Municipio, or Town Hall. Although my host sister Giuditta and I had gone earlier in the day, Cristina had to be there due to the Italian bureaucracy. So earlier in the morning we had shown up and seen a sign that told everyone that had to deal with paperwork to go to a certain office. We were there to get il permesso di soggiornio, or temporary residency permit. We went there and the lady wrote my name down on a piece of paper that she then signed. She handed us the slip of paper and directed us to the police headquarters, also in that same building. Upon arriving there, a large man asked us if we had all of the right paperwor, which we did. He grumbled and held up my passport and after mumbling for quite a while he finally picked up my paper and filled in the information he needed to provide. Then they sent us upstairs to get a different signature, then back down to the grumbling man, and finally back to the first lady again. At what should have been our final destination, the lady told Giuditta that even though she was legally an adult and had written permission to sign for her father, that the paperwork could not be completed then and there. Now, with Cristina present, the lady cheerfully signed and told us that tomorrow we have to go to downtown Vicenza to the Immigration Office for them to complete the process.
But this was not the only instance of bureaucracy we encountered today. As I had promised yesterday, I went to get a telephone today. When Giuditta and I entered the Vodafone store in the nearby shopping center, we had to deal with this before even talking to anybody. In the middle of the doorway there was a machine that asked a variety of questions and then gave you a ticket that said either A, B, or C, indicating which booth to go to. Our ticket told us to go to B, so we waited in line there and the man answered only a few of our questions regarding monthly plans or pay-as-you-go before sending us to the back of the line of booth A. There the man showed us to the phone we wanted and typed in our information. He handed us a ticket and but the box behind the counter at booth C, where we had to wait in line to pay. I guess it worked out fine because I ended up with a small, cheap, functional pay-as-you-go cell phone.
That pretty much sums up the happenings for today, except for a few things here and there. Before going to soccer practice, we drove through a town named Costozza, which is tiny and happens to be the site of quite a few immense villas which, according to Cristina, were the summer residences for the Venice nobility. Above the town is a huge quarry which supposedley is the source for all of the stone used to build the city of Venice. The river that passes through this town enters the sea in the Venice lagoon, making this a feasible endeavor. Also in that town is a tall tower that Galileo Galilei would use for his telescope when he was a scholar at the University of Padova. Only a short distance from the university, this remote location was perfect because during the day, he would be entertained by rich noblemen and at night there would be no lights to obstruct his observations.

A garden at one of Costozza's villas.

A plaque indicating that Galileo installed the world's first air conditioning system in this Costozza house. It was regulated by cool winds coming underground from nearby caves.

Also, here are some miscellaneous pictures that seem interesting (at least to me).

Wine on tap at la sagra.

A rooster and a hen running around in our back yard. My host family has these two, as well as five more hens.

The view from the office (the one from my bed is the same). Here the grate is covering the view of Padova's towers and on clear days I can see the towers of Venice, including St. Mark's Basilica's bell tower.

A little side trip ... and a small lapse in communication

So last night at the sagra, not only did I witness the epitome of the Italian attitude towards parking a car (shown below), but also I was wise enough not to order my own ossi di mas-cio (which is what those ribs are called), and instead split one order with my host father, Oscar. We hung out there for a while and ran into a couple that the Pagnacco's apparently knew. Maria, my eight-year-old host sister, ran over toward this couple yelling, "Ciao zia, ciao zia!" I found out that they were somehow related to my host family and was later to find out that Mariarossa, the woman, was Cristina's (my host mother's) sister.

The great Italian parking job. My host mother couldn't find a spot and did not want to drive somewhere else.

They had come to Longare for only one reason - do have some ossi di mas-cio. I thought to myself, "Wow, this stuff is really a big deal." We sat with them for quite a while and Alberto (Mariarossa's husband) explained that he was on the District Committee for Rotary Youth Exchange for this part of Italy. We kept on talking and Alberto (who, by the way, speaks absolutely no English) started to tell me about a girl that is staying in Bassano del Grappa (the town where they live) as an exchange student through Rotary as well. He also mentioned that he thought she was from Colorado. "Yeah right," I thought to myself, "he's only saying that to convince me to go." Anyways, after speaking with my host father for about fifteen minutes in fast, heated Italian, he turned to me and said, "Do you need to go back home for something, or can we just leave to Bassano right now. It is best if we can leave right now because it is starting to rain." He did not really ask me if I wanted to go to Bassano, although I probably would have accepted anyways, and though I did not completely understand, the conversation he was having with Oscar seemed to be about whether or not it was complying with Rotary policy to let me go spend the night and the next day with them in Bassano. Alberto, part of the regulating body of Rotary in Italy said that it was - as long as the visit was less than 24 hours. After about fifteen minutes he was able to convince Oscar of that. Oh, and to the question regarding whether I needed to go home for anything, I said no as to not inconvenience them.
So we climbed into their tiny little Fiat and took off. It was actually kind of scary. Alberto drives faster than I thought was physically possible with other vehicles on the road. I guess he just leap-frogs over them or something. Throughout the one hour drive North to the small city of Bassano del Grappa, a torrential downpour and rhythmic lighting and thunder seemed to follow us as if it were planned out for a movie. About a quarter of the way to Bassano, we stopped at Mariarossa's and Cristina's sister's house to pick up Clara, my 7-year-old host cousin. She was very humorous, especially in the way that she would tell me and Mariarossa to speak in Italian. Mariarossa, having studied for over a year in Barcelona and traveled extensively throughout Latin America, spoke very good Spanish, and like most Europeans, spoke great English as well. Clara seemed to be able to read her father's mind when she told us to speak so that she could understand. She fell asleep soon after we gave in to her demands.
Shortly before arriving to Bassano, we stopped to pick up Irene, the couple's other daughter who is twenty years old. At this point there were two grown people in the front seats of the small Fiat with their seats pushed as far back as possible (Alberto and Mariarossa) and in the back a small child sprawled across her booster seat overlapping into the middle seat (which is where I was) and to my right a full-size person as well. "Immersion," I thought to myself, "I am living as the Italians do." Upon arriving arriving to their house (which, by the way, is beautiful and situated on a sort of triangle with the edges carved out by roads), we were introduced to Eugenio, their son that was 22, and Cati, his German friend.

Clara opening the gate to the house the next day. This gate is situated on the pointy end of the triangle and a pathway leads to the house, which can be seen in the background.

After socializing for a short while, I went to bed. And I slept. And slept. And then some more. For some reason this country tires me out. I think I will start to take advantage of the mid-afternoon naps that everyone takes here after lunch. The next morning I went up to the kitchen, where Eugenio, Cati, Irene, and Clara were all having breakfast. When I say breakfast, though, it is probably not what you were thinking. Eugenio and Cati were each having a very small cup of tea. Irene had a small morsel that looked like the remains of a cookie or cracker. Clara was halfway done with her bowl of milk. Yup, a bowl of milk. Not cereal, just milk. Eugenio, being the good host that he was, asked me what I wanted to have for breakfast. I do not drink coffee or tea, though I should learn how to, and I it would have been rude to say no to breakfast. The only remaining options were milk and whatever that was that Irene was eating. Eugenio grabbed the milk container, and I was slightly disgusted by the situation. I guess milk in Italy, like in certain parts of Mexico where some of my cousins live, comes in TetraBriks. For those of you who do not know what I am talking about, in some places around the world where refrigeration is too expensive to use on milk, it comes in an ultra-pasteurized state contained in a cardboard box, called a TetraBrik. It is disgusting. Anyways, Eugenio started to serve me my milk, in a bowl, and make his way towards the microwave to heat it up. I politely asked him to leave it cold (or room temperature, I guess, since it was not refrigerated). He looked at me confused and set it down for me. I want to be immersed, but not that much. I tried to finish quickly.
After breakfast, if you wish to even call it that, Irene drove Cati, Clara, and me to the center of Bassano del Grappa. We made our way to the central plaza to a fountain where we had agreed to meet Dany, the American girl Alberto had told me about before. We found her and I was surprised to find out that she was, in fact, from Colorado (Grand Junction, so not part of my Rotary District and therefore the reason why I had not met her before). We talked about our experiences and host family's as we walked around downtown Bassano.

From left to right: Cati, me, Clara, and Dany on Bassano del Grappa's famous Ponte Vecchio.

After seeing the town we packed into Irene's car and drove back to her house, where we all had a pleasant meal. Then Alberto went back to work and took Dany back home, Eugenio went to study for a college exam, and everyone else went to take their nap, except for Clara and me. She told me to go watch TV with her and we saw Beethoven II, in Italian. Halfway through I fell asleep on the couch. Three hours later I woke up and went back to the kitchen where the whole family was having tea. Once they were done, they all went their separate ways and left Cati and me there with nothing to do. We therefore went on a short walk up the hill to an old tower where Cati and Eugenio had gone the day before, and supposedly offered the best view of the city.

The tower overlooking Bassano del Grappa. Unfortunately the door to it was locked and we could not get up.

At around 6:30 in the afternoon, Mariarossa asked me if I wanted to stay another day or go back home then. Although I would have liked to, I did not want any trouble with Rotary for being away from home for more than 24 hours and also there were some errands I had to run the next morning. She then drove me downtown to the bus terminal where I bought my bus ticket back to Vicenza. On that drive downtown, I was going to call Cristina to let her know that I was on my way. Mariarossa, though, could not find her cell phone and told me that when she got back home she would let her sister know.
The hour on the bus was not bad at all and I got to see some of the countryside which I had not seen the night before. I also got to see parts of Vicenza, which was neat considering I have not been there even though it is only 10 minutes away and that is where I will be going to school.
Upon arriving to the Vicenza station, I looked at my watch and realized that I had arrived about five or ten minutes early. I did not expect to find my host parents there for a little while. So I moseyed on down to the train station, which is where cars can drop-off or pick-up and also where the taxis were parked. The parking lot immediately next to the bus terminal was a pay lot and I did not think that they would show up there. So I waited. And waited. Then some more. I was walking around a little bit trying to locate any of the cars that they could possibly be driving, but to no avail. I waited some more. It had been 35 minutes since the scheduled arrival of my bus and I thought that maybe Mariarossa had forgotten to call. I kind of doubted that since it at least seemed as if she was not going to forget. "Maybe," I thought, "Mariarossa told Cristina the wrong time and she is expecting me an hour later when the next bus arrives." That seemed like the most plausible reason for the delay. I told myself that I would wait it out until about five minutes after that second bus arrived, at which point I would take a taxi back home. The day before, when I was at the sagra and I did not come home for anything, the only things I had with me was my camera and my wallet with exactly 19.50 euro in it. Now, back at the station, trying to see the logistics of taking a taxi, I asked one of the drivers how much it would cost to take me to Longare. He replied saying that at the very least, if I were going to the very center of Longare and there was no traffic, twenty euro. "What bad luck, huh?" I thought to myself. I had almost the right amount of money, yet there was probably traffic, and my house is not in the center of Longare, yet quite a ways up the hill on an unpaved road. The taximan was probably not going to be up for that. I walked back, thinking that if I were to get past that hour mark, I would find an ATM and take the taxi back. Also, to make matters worse, I had not spoken with my host family at all and I did not know their number. Even if I could have found it in a phone book (which I would be surprised if I could), the phone had quit working two nights before in another electric storm. Trying to be optimistic, I thought, "Hey, at least it isn't raining right now."
So I sat. And waited. Time goes by so quickly when you are oh so much fun. It had been exactly an hour since my bus had arrived and I was on the verge of begging the taxi driver to take me on a substandard rate. Then I heard loud honking. I turn to my left and there is Cristina's car, with her driving, and Oscar running alongside, saying in relief, "Ma che paura, che paura!". I was relieved as well.
On the drive back home, they explained to me what had happened. Mariarossa had apparently called them sometime during my nap and told them that I would return the following morning, something which she never told me. When she finally got around to calling them (once I was already out of Bassano on the bus), Oscar and Cristina were at a neighbor's funeral service. They did not answer their cell phones, so Mariarossa left a message saying that she would have her parents pick me up. She called her parents (who live near Vicenza) and told them to send somebody to pick me up. She described me to her parent's maid, who then went to pick me up at the station. I was not expecting to be picked up by her, and apparently she did not know well enough what I looked like, so she turned back and went back home. After the funeral service, Oscar and Cristina heard the message and drove back home expecting to find me there. When I was not there, they panicked and called Mariarossa who called her parents. Obviously the maid had not told anyone that she could not find me the station. Then my host parents drove to the station to pick me up. Ahh, the power of communication.

P.S. Tomorrow I will go to Vicenza to buy myself a cell phone. This should avoid any more incidents like this.

Also, Eva, here is a photo of the Padova market.

Padova market in one of the main piazzas.