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.