First Couple of Days in Italia

Alright then, I am back. I am really sorry that I had to leave right at the climax of that story, but I really had to sleep.
So as I walked out the "Nothing to Declare" doors, I see tons of people with wimpy paper signs that said things such as "Smith Family" or "John Doe" or some unheard of name in Arabic and I thought, "I am way too tired to read every single one of these signs to find my name" but still I veer to the right looking for any sign that might include "Alex" or "Alejandro" or "Cuadrado" or even "Alessandro" (which I admit I was hoping for - that would be so cool). Of course nothing except for a bunch of tour guides and other throngs of people. So I turn around and start walking the other way looking for my name and finally, like stepping out of a dark room into the sunlight, an oversized bright sign that read, "ALEX Benvenuto". I had seen pictures of the family before and I immediately recognized them and we greeted and went out to the car.

From left to right, Giuditta, Maria, Cristina, and Osvaldo.

A little side note about cars: I have never seen so many Fiat Punto's in my life.
Anyways, we began our drive from Venice back to Longare, the suburb of Vicenza where I am living. And as we passed through the main street we began hearing some very loud pop/rock music. This was not very loud in the way you would think, such as small children using their outside voices indoors. This was extremely loud, about the equivalent of standing next to an airplane during takeoff. Or so it sounded. I asked Maria where the music was coming from and she replied casually, "La sagra, we will meet Oscar there," which I had no idea what that meant. I knew that the word was derived from the same latin root as certain words such as sacred and sagrada in Spanish and I assumed it probably meant just that. But a sacred? Thats a noun isn't it? How does somebody attend a sacred? So I assumed she was referring to church. "But who plays this loud of music at church?" I asked myself. Cristina saw the look of confusion on my face and explained that a sagra is an annual church fundraiser that lasts about a week. She explained that there was music, games, and food. At the very moment when she said the word "food", I realized how hungry I was. It was almost 8:30 PM and all I had eaten so far that day was something which appeared to be an omelette somewhere over Ireland in the plane and a lousy sandwich in Frankfurt. I was starving. Or at least I thought so. I had always had an overly-romanticized vision of my first meal in Italy as an exchange student. I somehow pictured a small, tucked-away trattoria or something involving an old lady singing opera and a Venetian gondola. I knew that this was not very likely, but still, it was kind of what I expected. So as the small red Fiat moved closer to the source of the the loud music, a large bell tower started to show up in front of me. Cristina managed to park the car in a spot which seemed ridiculously small, yet big enough.We got out and started to make our way behind the church.

The church in Longare and its bell tower.

The smell was amazing. It was no tiny trattoria or gondola, but behind this church there was a massive tent that might have even been able to fit a football field inside. With about forty long tables, the place was almost full, but Oscar (my host father) and Lorenzo (Cristina's uncle and my Rotary counselor) had already saved seats for all of us. I greeted them and then we went over to the counter to order our food. I asked Giuditta (my 19-year-old host sister) what her favorite item on the menu was, which by the way is what everybody should do when ordering food in a foreign country - ask the locals what their favorite is. She indicated something that started with an "O", whose name I cannot remember right now. Anyways I agreed and said I would take that. We went back to the table and sat down and a waiter came by and said that it would be a little while for our food and brought us three small styrofoam boxes and set them on the table. Osvi passed one down to my end, and I was surprised. Inside were french fries. Yup, the first thing I ate in Italy was french fries. And then the waiter brought me a Fanta. I was thinking, "Wow, my first meal in Italy could not be more American." At first I resisted eating some of the fries in order to try to keep my romanticized view of my first meal. This actually worked for a few minutes until Lorenzo, my Rotary counselor, said, "Alex, mangia, o non hai fame?" I wasn't going to lie and say that I wasn't hungry, so I had some fries. They were delicious. A minute later, the waiter comes with the first tray of food: pasta with ragu for Osvi, pasta with some other kind of meat for Maria, gnocchi with ragu for Lorenzo, and a jug of wine to share. I thought, "Wow, how American - a spaghetti dinner as a church fundraiser." The waiter then turned back and emerged from the kitchen with an immensely large tray. As he made his way back to our table I was amazed at the size of the styrofoam plates. He set the tray down on the table and gave one first to Cristina, then Giuditta, then Oscar, then me. The waiter seemed to know the family. I was astounded at the sight of the plate before me. It was huge.

My first dinner in Italy. I decided to take this picture after I ws about halfway done with it.

And that was less than half of its entirety. Ribs with polenta, or I guess the official name would be "pork neck", but I thought of it as ribs. Ribs and fries, sounds like Texas Roadhouse to me. Actually it was delicious. I have no idea how it was cooked or seasoned, but they truly lived up to their Italian tradition with this meal. And no, it did not come with barbeque sauce on the side.
So as you can see this was way too much to feed even the most hungry of souls, so we packed it up along with three other plates to take home. After dinner Maria, Osvaldo, and I made our way to the bumper cars. Even in such a trivial situation as a bumper car arena, one can see the differences between America and Italy. In America, children would probably have to pass a certain height, be a certain age, get a parent waiver, stand in line, as well as much other nonsense in order to get to ride. Here, anybody can walk up to the counter, buy a token for one euro, and get in a car and play the game. There were kids running amok on the arena trying to get into an empty car in the middle of the floor, and like true Italians, managed to avoid a collision with oncoming traffic. It was truly a great way of seeing what might seem like a small difference.
After a while we drove back home. As we came upon the house, my jaw dropped. Even with only sleeping three hours in the past 30 or more, I was still amazed at this house. It looked like a Tuscan villa that could be featured in a Conde Nast Traveller magazine. They showed me my room, which by the way is about six times larger than the room I have at home and isn't shared with a younger brother. I thanked them and went to bed.
I have never slept so well in my life. I had put an alarm for 8:30 in the morning, but I guess after not being addressed for a minute, it was shut off. It's a lousy alarm if it did not even wake me up. I ended up sleeping from 11:30 to 1:30 PM the next day. Forteen hours total. I woke up just in time for lunch with Maria, Giuditta, and Ana (the resident household assistant). Cristina and Oscar were both at work at the hospital nad Osvi was at an overnight soccer camp. After lunch, Maria and Giuditta took me on a walk around the house and down ino the forest further down the hill. 

The left half of the house. My room includes the two windows on the top left.

The right half of the house. It is too big to fit in one picture.

Later that day, Maria (my eight-year-old host sister), who speaks next to no English at all, made me a Wii Fit profile which was really funny because when the game needed me to step off of the balance board for a while, it said it in Italian, and she couldn't find the words to tell me that (by the way, Wii diagrams are very bad). It was hilarious because I was standing there pressing the A button constantly thinking the thing had broken and she was laughing at me the whole time. Eventually Giuditta came and told me I needed to step off, then press A. She also laughed at me.
That night, we went to the sagra again and I something called a fritoe, which I believe literally translates into "fritter". I also met Matteo, a family friend of the Pagnacco's and one of my classmates once I start school on Monday. He also introduced me to some other classmates.

Me and my fritoe at the sagra.

Once we were back home, I wrote my first blog post, and then went to bed.
I had to wake up relatively early today in order to take a half-day trip to Padova. Giuditta was taking her entrance exams for the University of Padova Medical School, and meanwhile, Oscar and I walked around. Padova is a very nice city, famous for its claim to being the oldest city in Northern Italy. Immediately after dropping off Giuditta at the University (which is famed for once having Galileo Galilei on its staff), Oscar and I went to a small cafe near the center of town.

Some interesting looks I received while photographing a cafe, especially the policeman.

We then walked around throughout Padova (Padua in English) and saw all of the major sights (yes, all of them). Probably the most famous of sights in Padova is the Basilica di Sant'Antonio di Padova. It holds the tomb of its namesake, St. Anthony, and is a spectacular architectual masterpiece. Unfortunately, photography was not permited, but it was beautiful.

Basilica di Sant'Antonio di Padova.

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Oscar, my host father, in front of the Bacchiglione River in Padova.

That is all so far and I hope you read my next post. Tonight I think we will go to the sagra again and I will probably get another fritoe. Yum.