Sunday, October 17, 2010

Crazy Grades, Chips and Salsa, and Gnocchi

This past week has been pretty busy. I got back from the Barcolana in Trieste and plunged right into school. About school, I got the official confirmation that I will be staying in the class that I have been in so far. I am very happy with this decision, because had they moved me to a different class, I would have to start from scratch making friends and whatnot. This also means that I will finally be able to buy the books I need, since up until last week, I was waiting in order to not buy the wrong set of books.
Also, I realized how much I miss American gym class. One would think that a concept as simple as physical education would be essentially the same thing worldwide, yet this is not true. Here in Italy, our gym class only plays sports as a result of inclement weather. Whenever the weather is even remotely good, we get to go run. I will say that it is nice to do our running in Vicenza's city park as opposed to a track around a football field, but the concept of running for a whole hour and getting graded on it is not exactly my favorite (or anybody else's for that matter). Unlike in the United States, where it is fairly easy to get a decent grade in physical education by simply participating, here we are graded on our physical skill. Every day we run a certain distance, for which we are individually timed. There is a grading scale, and you get a grade based on where on the scale you fall. Therefore, only the most athletic students in the school can get an A in P.E. The top runner in our class, for example, was in the 9.5 bracket (in Italy, grades are on a 10 point scale, as opposed to a percentage). I came in third and took home an 8, which would logically translate into an 80% - a grade most people would find ridiculously low for a gym class, yet I was content with my B.
Even crazier than that is my English class. Apparently, I do not speak English. Well, that's not entirely true, but according to my English teacher, I speak it incorrectly since my accent is American rather than British. I thought about pointing out the fact that British English has actually evolved further from the English that Shakespeare used than American English, but then I decided against it. Considering who my English teacher is, it is probably best not to argue. Anyhow, on an English test I took, I got a 7. At first I was really taken aback by it, considering it probably ranks among my lowest English test scores ever, but then I looked around. Although mine was not the highest, it was definitely among the best. Most people had gotten a 6, and were content just to get the necessary passing grade, and some others even had lower grades. But still, this time I did go ask the teacher why I had gotten a 7. She was not happy. Apparently she writes down her own answers to the essay questions, and if your answer is not word-for-word identical, she takes off points. I had answered all of the questions right, with no grammatical errors, and good vocabulary, and yet I only got a 7. Then I remembered what had been told to me: the Italians are on a different scale. Even the best students are thrilled to receive an 8 on an assignment, while 9's and 10's are rare to none. Here, since somebody's grade point average does not count for anything as long as they pass and get their diploma, teachers and students alike are accustomed to lower grades (in the 6 to 7 range). But because of this skewed scale, I was really happy about a different 7 - the one I got on my philosophy test.

Last night, like most Saturday nights, I went out with my friends in Vicenza. We went to a restaurant called Papa Joe's. I do not know why. This place was the epitome of the word eyesore. You would walk in, and it looked like a typical Mexican restaurant that you would find in the United States. It had the equipale chairs and tables and the Tex-Mex color scheme of reds and yellows and greens. But then you would look at the pictures on the wall. My goodness! The first one that I saw actually was not that bad, a cowboy and a chuck wagon (somewhat with the restaurant's theme). But then, next to it, was an unexpected piece of art - a portrait of Frank Sinatra. And next to that, a picture of Babe Ruth. I then purposely looked around to study the furnishings and could not help but laugh. There were some steel cactus sculptures, some Easter Island-ish looking masks, a mural of Cinqueterre, and a picture of a lumberjack. I could not decide what kind of restaurant this was anymore. Then the menus came, and along with them, something which very few people in our group had ever seen - chips and salsa. I would like to point out that since Italians have no dipping sauces in their gastronomic tradition, there do not seem to know the general rules on double-dipping. But still, it felt like I was in America (except for no free water or free refills). Well, sort of. The titles of the items on the menu were in English, but the descriptions were in Italian. And even more unique were the items featured in the menu. On the first page, you could find a vast array of appetizers, including buffalo wings. On the next page, there were ribs and other barbecue type food (I could not imagine this to be any good, so I refrained from ordering, though I do love baby back ribs). But what really surprised me came on the following page - Indian food! After that came the Mexican food. Well, Tex-Mex. And everybody asked me to tell them what to get. I sort of wanted to refuse to tell them because I did not want to be responsible if they did not like it. For many in our party it was their first experience with "Mexican" food. I ended up ordering the chicken fajitas. It was a mistake. But so was everything else that was ordered, so I did not feel that bad. At least we still had fun.

Today I was supposed to go to Verona, but it got canceled due to the rain. One of my Italian friends actually told me a decent joke regarding Vicenza's weather patterns: "What do you call a sunny day after two rainy days? A Monday." And more often than not, this has been true. We will see if tomorrow's weather validates this claim. Instead, we stayed home today. We had homemade gnocchi for lunch, which I really enjoyed, and pretty much just stayed dry and warm inside.

This is the gnocchi as it was being made. Gnocchi is a potato-based pasta, in this case stuffed with cheese, and a specialty of the Veneto region. Typical gnocchi is actually more spherical than these tubular ones, but they ended up tasting the same.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Trieste and the Barcolana


On
Saturday, I decided not to go to school. Well, actually I had decided not to go in advance, and I had cleared it with the school. But still, I did not go to school. Instead I caught the early train to Trieste, about three hours away. I went to see the Barcolana, which is the Mediterranean's largest regatta. While I was there, I met eight of the other eleven Rotary Youth Exchange students that are in this Rotary District. We walked around Trieste a lot, and it was great to meet all of them. Here are some pictures. 


Trains in Italy are keep you informed - even about restroom availability.
I thought Trieste was one of the crossroads between Eastern and Western Europe. Who would have expected to see American Indian music?
Pictures of boats never get old.
The main building on Piazza Unita by night.
Three countries. I took this picture from Italy, which is in the foreground. The peninsula in the middle-ground is part of Slovenia, as is most of the peninsula in the background, while the very tip of the far peninsula is actually Croatia. I think we might have driven through part of Slovenia to get to this spot.
Me with the Adriatic Sea behind me. You can see where the boats participating in the Barcolana had to turn around and head back towards the Trieste harbor.
Also I am very sorry if I made any of you feel bad with my last post. That was not very nice of me.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Feeling Lonely at School


So today I realized how terribly lonely I was at school.  I really thought I had made good friends here, but as I looked around the classroom, there was not a single person I would be able to call a pal. And tomorrow I doubt I will be able to relate to any of these people I thought were my friends either. And the day after that is Sunday so, once again, probably not. I know this sounds really sad, but as soon as the bell that signaled the end of school rang, I walked out with my head held high and a big smile on my face. You are probably thinking, “Aw, I feel really sorry for Alex. I hope it gets better.” I am courteously asking you to please stop.
The truth is that there is no reason for you to feel sorry for me. It would actually be quite absurd to assume that I have no friends here. Well, I had no friends today, but today was different than most days. Today, I was alone. Today, I was seriously the only student in my class that attended school. All the rest of my classmates, as well as a good majority of the school, were on strike.

[Disclaimer: I am simply stating that which I have been told. This in no way reflects upon my political stance either in Italy or in the United States. I choose to abstain from articulating any of my opinions regarding politics on this blog. I do not claim that any of the following is fact, yet rather the interpretation from my sources.]

Now, in America, most people would look down upon such behavior as “truancy” or “ditching”, but this is not the case. But here the students were actually on a purposeful strike against the Italian government’s Ministry of Education. According to some of my sources, the Italian government is trying to add new educational programs, yet cutting back drastically on the overall funding, resulting in many teachers losing their jobs. This eventually trickles down to the students, almost all of which participated in today’s “sciopero”, which for some included a march of hundreds of students going from school to school protesting. Many students, though, used this as an opportunity to stay at home for a day. In America, such a manifestation would probably lead to some students getting suspended or other reprimands, but here the school actually somewhat approves of the strike. My guess is that since the students are picketing for an increase in funding for the school, the administration appreciates the effort and therefore allows the truancy. All a student needs for the absence to be justified is a signature and a note that says, “I was on strike” and I think they are off the hook.

The reason I will have no friends at school tomorrow, though, is that I will actually be going to Trieste for the weekend for a Rotary (Rotaract, actually) event to see the Barcolana – the Mediterranean’s largest regatta.  I have actually made some great friends and love hanging out with them. Most days at school are quite enjoyable because of this.

Here are some pictures of the strike.

Part of the strike in Piazza San Lorenzo in front of my school. These students, as well as others across Italy, went from school to school calling for change.
A picture of my classroom. I took this opportunity to photograph it, not only to prove that I was there alone, but also because it would be a bit awkward to pull out the camera on a regular day.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

First Month-iversary

Exactly a month ago was my first night in Italy as an exchange student. Before coming, I had certain expectations about my year here, which I knew were just fantasies, yet in the back of my mind, I still hoped my exchange would be like. Here are a few of the hopes and expectations I had before coming, a month ago, that were wrong. Some things are good, some are bad, and some I have not decided whether they are good or bad, but that is just how life is.
About myself:
I never really thought I would miss my family, friends, etc. I was wrong.

I never expected that I would write in my journal so much and be able to commit to writing daily. I was wrong.

I had told myself that I was not going to communicate so much with home. I was wrong.

I never thought that I would ever be sad – I thought I was as hard as a rock. I was wrong.

But also, in those times of sadness, I never thought I would be as happy as I am right now and most other days. I was wrong.

I never believed that my network of other exchange students would be so helpful. I was wrong.

I never truly believed that I would learn Italian so quickly. I was wrong.

I thought I was going to gain weight while I was here. I was wrong.

I thought I would be the worst at soccer. I was wrong – but I also play with kids three or four years younger, so I am not counting this as an accomplishment.

About Italy

·         I would have never thought that Italian streets would be as safe as they are. I was wrong – they are probably safer than the Summit High School parking lot.

·         I thought they ate pasta every day. I was wrong.

·         I also thought they drank wine with every meal. I was wrong – my parents at home drink wine more often than my host parents, and they do not even drink wine that often.

·         Never in my wildest dreams did I expect Italians to be so American as to put ketchup on their pasta or French fries on their pizza. I was wrong.

·         I never thought I would have visited so many places in just a month. I was wrong.

·         I had heard that Venice was great, but I never expected to fall in love with it as much as I did. I was wrong.

·         I never thought I would make wine in Italy. I was wrong.

·         I never expected to have a Big Mac in Italy. I was wrong – that was actually my first meal in a restaurant here.

·         I had seen pictures, but I never thought Vicenza would be as beautiful as it is. I was wrong.

·          I never expected the view from my house (even my bedroom) to be so great. I was wrong.

·         I thought school would be okay, but not great. I was wrong – I love it.

·         I never thought I would have made so many friends so quickly. I was wrong. 


So far my exchange has been a great experience and has helped me grow immensely as a person. I am sure it will continue to do so as it continues.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Doner Kebaps and Wine (but not together)


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Once again, I am very sorry I have not written in so long. This past week was normal, in the sense that I had school Monday to Saturday, I went to a Rotary meeting on Thursday night, and went out with some friends on Saturday night. I received my birthday package from my parents (a little bit late, but greatly appreciated) and I went to soccer practice a couple times. At school I also signed up to play volleyball, which I am no good at, but it will give me something to do.
Saturday after school, I decided not to go home for lunch because a few friends and I were going to be seeing a movie three hours later. I did not feel it was worth taking the bus home and then back in order to be there for an hour, so instead I ate lunch in Vicenza. Later that night my friends and I were going to go get a pizza, so I decided to get something that was not Italian for lunch – a Doner Kebap perhaps?

One of Vicenza's many Doner Kebap restaurants. They are the European equivalent of Mexican food.
This has got to be one of my proudest photographic works.

Later I killed some time in Vicenza and went to meet my friends in front of the movie theater. I probably should have gone online to read a spoiler on Inception, considering it is supposedly hard to follow even in English, but I was amazed at how well I understood. Only once did I have to ask what a certain word meant and at certain points I even found myself not noticing that the film was in Italian because of how well I understood. After that we walked around in Vicenza, and then met up with some other friends to go get a pizza. I noticed that at this place, unlike the one last week, nobody ordered the French fries pizza, so I ordered the cheese again. After that we walked around a bit longer, and then went to a bar. Unlike in the United States, a bar is not a place that serves mostly alcohol. They definitely do, but more people in the group ordered coffee or some other non-alcoholic drink than anything else. I got home late and fell asleep pretty quickly because I was so worn out from speaking Italian all day. It truly is physically exhausting to communicate completely in a different language.
Yesterday morning I woke up to an empty house. The whole family had gone to Osvaldo’s soccer game, and apparently they had come to see if I wanted to go, but I was sleeping. Once they came back, Cristina said to help Dante when he arrived. “Who’s Dante?” I thought to myself. Later he arrived and we helped him carry a contraption out of his car and into the backyard. Then we started making wine.
Here is an illustrated guide on wine making.

Step 1. Grow grapes.


Step 2: Pick grapes.
Step 3: Have your Italian host sister wash her feet and stomp the grapes.

Step 4: Have an Italian wine expert put all the stomped grapes into the cool wine-making contraption.


Step 5: Have the same Italian wine expert use his cool wine-making contraption to get the last drop out of those grapes.


Step 6: He then passes it all through a filter into this large jug. We filled about three or four of these.
Step 7: Store for about three weeks. Then filter again to remove any remaining seeds, grape skins, etc.
Step 8: Store for about  two or three months until the grapes ferment.
Step 9: Drink.
This is what the grapes look like after they have had all of their juice pumped out.
All steps of the process were done here.