You were probably hoping for nice photos...

But, well, today you don’t get any. :D

...

It may have been the (expired) yoghurt I ate, or the heavy lasagna dinner, or perhaps just a 24-hour bug. Whatever it was, I went to bed feeling more than a little funky, but told myself I could tough it out.

But one restless night later, at 4:30 the next morning, my stomach announced it would not put up with that sort of nonsense any longer, and unleashed a rage describable only as a Gastric Catastrophe.

I will not be investigating the details here.

So this morning I felt terribly sick, and explained this to Adele. Italian mothers, I think, are like the domestic version of superheroes. Someone needs to be taken care of!? Instant red alert! All other things have ceased to matter! I shall rescue you! No cost shall be spared, no cure untried! Nothing you ask for could inconvenience me!

She hurried me back into bed and took my temperature to make sure I didn’t have a fever (I stuck the thermometer in my mouth only to find that it was supposed to go to your armpit—wish THAT could have happened the other way around...humility, I am getting a heaping serving of you today), and told me she would “bring me something.” This of course filled me with terror. I was thinking about the inevitable bowl of chicken noodle soup and how I couldn’t possibly even think about eating anything. I was just about to protest that I had sworn off food for the rest of my life and would take my nutrition through IV, when she came in with a tray for me.

Oh. What’s this, some sort of drink? Lemony, fizzy, and it calms down sad tummies?—why, yes please. And little yummy crackers…well, that’s not so bad at all. I think she must have a secret arsenal containing every medecine known to man, because every time I don't feel well, she magicks the perfect thing out of nowhere.

Thank you for taking care of me, Luca's mum. :( <3

As I write this at 3:00 p.m. my time, I still haven’t been able to stand up for more than five minutes at a time, but I am feeling a lot better.

Okay, you can have some pictures after all...I have been saving some. But they won't be relevant! o.ó

Vespa with a doggy. Doggy seemed like he was having a fabulous time.

Sneaker at an open-air market. I don't know how you could better spend 2 euro!

The party never stops at the open-air markets...

Not Italy, but still a fun photo. This is the annual burning of the Christmas tree, with doggy nervously watching on. Less than a month after this picture was taken, Peter (far right) gathered together four Christmas trees and set them on fire at once, with the flames from the resulting inferno reaching so high over the roof of the house that a neighbour called the fire department.

I title this one "AngerSurprise." Yes, it is probably just fodder for your DO NOT WANT collection, but it made me laugh. I'll regret it later when I feel like it.

Below, a chair in the Sala Borsa library, near Piazza Maggiore. Apart from having enormous dedacent frescoes all over the place and Roman ruins that you can look at through the transparent floor, they have these fabulous chairs. Julie demonstrates:

Relaxation-style, facing one way...

Business-style, facing the other way.

The chair pleased me a great deal and I want one. O_O

We ate at an all-you-can-eat sushi bar--18 euro for as much sushi, miso soup, fried rice, tea, and fresh fruit you could possibly eat. And the sushi came round on a conveyor belt on little colourful trays!

Slightly more relevant photo... =S Taken a while back at the house of Andrea Ricci, the BCSP director, where we stopped for lunch after a tour. Now look at this contraption. I mean two buttons!? What does what!? I pressed both of them. :3

SMORKIN' LABBIT. :D

H&M on Via dell'Independenza, Bologna's major north-south road.

More to follow later. Until then, I'm going to read the next chapter of Harry Potter e la Pietra Filosofica and sleep off some nausea. 

Cat + Insomnia

Carnevale laid waste to my sleep schedule. I thought lying awake for hours was bad enough.

But gentle reader, I cannot impress upon you what horrendous mental damage is incurred by the sound of a cat’s nails screeching down glass at 5:55 the next morning.

Never again does he sleep on my bed!

Catherine Gets Hit On by Random Italian Men (Well, One Man)

Let’s follow Catherine as she walks by herself in Piazza Maggiore (think: architectural theme-park with a paved football field in the middle). Catherine is waiting for a friend by the fountain of Neptune, walking slowly and without particular direction, like a tourist, because she can’t remember if Federico said 8:30 or 9:30, and the phone number that Becca gave her is mysteriously eleven digits long.

“La-dee-dah,” says Catherine to herself. “I bet nothing interesting will happen to me today, ooh, I wonder what's happening at that end of the piazza!” 

She strolls merrily along, passing Bolognesi walking in twos and threes with faces full of smiles from the warm, blue-sky afternoon. She thinks how happy she is to be in Italy and what a nice day she has had.

Suddenly, she makes the mistake of making eye contact with a passing Italian man. His eyes narrow slightly. His impeccable Italian shoes shift their purposeful striding towards her. She is done for.

“Ciao,” he immediately pipes up. When she says nothing, he repeats himself with a “Buona sera” and bows deeply (okay, it was more of a gallant nod plus flirty eyes).

Catherine freezes, an awkward thing to do mid-step, but she recovers. Great, she thinks, I’ve done it now. She breaks eye contact. She changes direction without saying anything. She has been told that if she strikes up a conversation, it might be interpreted as a come-on.

The Italian man follows. “Where are you headed?” he persists, smoothly cutting off one possible escape route.

Catherine attempts a polite, disinterested smile and ends up with a ridiculous look on her face. Her vocal cords contract into a useless lump. “I was just, I’m waiting for someone... (?) ...?”

Either her Italian is bad or she is speaking too quietly, because the man tips his head to the left with a polite “Scusa?” and plants himself in front of her.

“Waiting. Waiting for someone,” she stammers out, her Italian marginally clearer this time. She changes direction again, heading toward a tabaccheria/convenience store where she can escape.

“Well look,” he purrs in fluid Italian, coming effortlessly to her side, “We’re walking straight towards that bar over there—” (GOOD POINT THAT WAS A MISTAKE) “—why don’t we go in, and I’ll buy you a few drinks?”

“No, grazie…” She is feeling ridiculous by this point.

“We’ll only be a few minutes, so you can meet your friend.”

...I didn’t really want to use my new phrase Lasciami stare (Please leave me alone)—I think it’s rude to tell people to just go away—but at that point, I was glad that one of the boys at dinner the night before had taught it to us, because I didn’t know how else to get him off my tail. With the conversation safely ended, I scuttled back to the safety of the Fountain and didn't budge.

Lesson learnt: Look stern and purposeful when you walk alone across the piazza. Or glue warts on your nose.

Carnevale

That’s me. At Carnevale. In Venice.

***Note: I took 350 pictures in 12 hours. While only a percentage made it here, this will be the longest post of my whole trip.***

Being neither Catholic nor a hard partier, the Lent/Mardi Gras season usually passes almost unnoticed by me. I hadn’t even realised it was coming up until another study abroad program, Meltin’Bo, sent out an invite to the BCSPers to go to Carnevale on Saturday in Venice.

I googled it. I fell in love. There was no chance of resistance.

There were thirteen of us going: Federico (who organised the trip, pictured below), another Federico (a Bolognese student), a second Meltin’Bo organiser whose name was Igor, five BCSP students (me, Bianca, Becca, Tiffany, and Marc), another Marc (from Barcelona), and several Meltin’Bo students. Miraculously, none of us got separated for more than ten minutes the whole trip.

Part of our group. From left to right, Sarah and Federico from Meltin’Bo, and Tiffany from BCSP.

Federico gave Tiffany the nickname of “Tiffanuccia” (tee-fan-OO-cha—little Tiffany!) which was absolutely adorable, and I was very jealous that I didn’t have one.

We spent the whole week getting ready, since Bianca and  I wanted to go mascherate.
I painted my nails in honour of the event. :D I like my index finger—he’s so snarky and sly-looking.  

I searched very hard (more than 12 hours) for a mantello or traditional black cloak, but there were none to be had for less than 45 euro, so I made do with what I had and wore all black with a white mask and hat decorated with a rose and a peacock feather.

Bianca and I matched: both of us in hats and masks, with her in white and me in black with the semi-androgynous look. In the photo we have our jackets on, which spoils the effect a bit. Surprisingly, most people wore street clothes rather than costumes, although a lot were in masks. Bianca and I were in the minority as full-costumers. And I got asked for photos by THREE PEOPLE! I was terribly proud.

All of us at the train station. I look like I'm attempting a bad sexy pose, but in fact I was just squinting into the strong sunlight. Not bringing a purse was an excellent, excellent decision.

On the downside, everyone said I looked like an axe murderer. Okay, I know it’s a little creepy with the all-white face, but come on, I was going for the polished mysterious look, not Jason. >:

Above, Federico and I party it up on the streets of Venezia. He was terribly interested in my nails…something that really threw me for a loop. Even Michael gets that glazed look when I start talking about nail polish (and we're going on two years). And yet Federico, straight, male, and pratically a stranger, wanted to see each one individually and made intelligent comments about each design. I suppose European men are just different that way. American boys—take notes. :P

I had fun with the morning trip to get there. We were told to meet at 8:40ish in front of the McDonald’s at Stazione Centrale, but after getting there at 8:40 and suddenly realising I hadn’t the faintest idea where the McDonald’s was, I planted myself outside the train heading to Venice and hoped the group would pass me by—and thankfully they did. PHEW. New phone and everything.

The train was a bad situation that turned out to be surprisingly fun: there were so many people going to Carnevale that we had to stand in the space where the cars joined—for the whole two hours. But, that meant that we got to know Marc from Meltin’Bo. He was from Barcelona and had all sorts of great stories to tell, and it was very pleasant chatting alternately in Italian and English, laughing, and in general having a great time.

Later in the day: Marc with a feathery pink mask poking out of his bag. The two Federicos gave him such a hard time over it—it was wonderful.

Squashed into the train with us were two Italians who were also very friendly (it’s amazing how many friends you can make in one square metre of floor space on a crowded train), and they gave us heaps of recommendations for which cities to go to and when. We talked about all sorts of things, like cars, and American stereotypes, and which languages were our favourites to learn (aren't we trendy?).

BCSP-Marc with a good-natured smile on the train. In this picture, I am in the middle. Behind me, Bianca’s back is pressed against the wall, so you can see how cramped we were.

Two hours. Then suddenly, Ocean. Venezia. Salt-smelling waterways. We stepped off the train into a scene that reminded me of turn-of-the-century Ellis Island.

Becca in front of the train station. It was a teensy bit crowded. 

This lady’s house was right next to the station, and she was glaring out the window at the thousands of revelers outside her window. The two Federicos started catcalling and trying to take her photo, and she would duck and hide until they lowered their cameras, then reappear with a murderous scowl. Poor grumpy lady.

…

Venice

is

magical.

…

Below, views of a canal from atop a bridge.

Above: Reflection in a canal + floating cigarette butt.

Above: The perfect haunt for a writer.

Venetian architecture embodies a perfect marriage of stunning and charming. You can see why the city is called La Serenissima.We were moving fairly quickly through the streets, so my camera was snapping at a million clicks a minute without much time to stop and check how the photos were turning out. Unfortunately I had my shutter speed set very high and aperture open with the flash off: perfect for Bologna’s bright-white skies but not the best for Venice’s unseasonably warm, bright blue weather. We really have been very lucky with the weather for our trips.

A good many of my photos turned out overexposed, so I hope you’ll forgive the fact that most of these photos are fairly heavily edited to correct the light. So in the pictures where the sky is white, it was actually deep blue, I promise. Just imagine it!

There were hundreds and hundreds of masks for sale on every street corner, predictably, ranging in price from 10 euro to well over 300 euro.

Venice has a very small resident population and therefore relies hugely on tourism to stay in business.

It was like a city full of candy shops. Every street was so full of colour and tiny careful details. A masked manikin in a shop. This was the point at which I realised my camera settings were off, and my picture quality went way up from this point on… Poor little point-and-shoot.

The actual process of moving through Venice wasn’t what I had expected. I had expected fewer actual streets—just canals all the way through the city. Instead, the city is honeycombed with very narrow, twisting streets, foot-traffic-only, with bridges across the canals. While Bologna’s narrow streets are able to accommodate small cars and Vespas, Venice has no motor vehicles whatsoever (at least, I saw no evidence of them). (Look, blue sky!) This was the widest street we went through in the entire city, on the Ponte Rialto over the Grand Canal. Most were a quarter of this size—some couldn’t fit more than three people abreast.

Now that’s more like it. >>>

Carnevale forces 800,000 tourists through these teeeeensy streets, causing all sorts of traffic problems. It wasn’t like a mob, though, it was more like a river. There was a designated flow of people in one direction, and you moved in that direction whether you liked it or not. It made it easy not to get lost, but frustrating when you wanted to slow down and just take a picture.

Like this picture of real, live gondolas! Photo of the day.

Here is what a gondola-for-hire looks like on the inside. Eighty euro gets you a 40-minute ride through the canals.

One gondolier made the unfortunate choice of poling under our bridge—unfortunate because the Federicos caught sight of the couple inside making out, so of course they whipped out their cameras, shouting 

“Action, action!” and suggesting hotels at the top of their lungs. We tried to stop them, but we were laughing so hard that we couldn’t. It would be easier to make them behave if they weren’t so hilarious…

We stopped for a stand-up lunch in the middle of the street. My teeny Nutella jar was the winner of the day and got tons of paparazzi attention.

Look how cute!

Then we hit the central piazza, thronging with probably close to 10,000 people.

And the costumes!
This is what we came to Venice for. (Huge glut of eye-candy ahead).

This guy was so cool that I had to post multiple shots of him. He was just standing on top of a platform in the piazza, posing for all the adoring photographers. It was the most shamelessly fantastic display of hubris I’ve ever seen.

It's so surreal taking pictures with a little point-and-shoot when all around me were professional photographers with enormous cameras, and you realise that better versions of your photos will be appearing in magazines worldwide next week.

I amused myself by making up dialogues for all the mascherati that I was photographing:

“What ho? Where’s me carriage gone off to? It’s got to be by one of these smashing pillars.”

“Marie, when’s this bloody thing over?” 

“Now Arthur, darling, we agreed we’d stay until 4 o’clock and then have a bit of a walk. Don’t fret.”

I loved this lady. She looked like a pink-and-white confection sitting at the cafe table. So dainty!“And then, and then Humbert, she said she didn’t like my lace!”

“Yes Harriet.”

“And then, Humbert, she said my feather was hideous!” *sniff*

“…Yes, Harriet.”

A tip-top classy one-shoulder cloak, with classy socks and a classy hat to match.

^_________^

SLIGHTLY PERTURBED.

To be spoken with a South London accent:

“Marion, my love, what’s say we pop down to the docks for a spot of fish and chips for tea?”

”Oh Harold, with that nose of yours! You shan’t at all be happy.”

(…I really just can’t help myself)

Busy background loses some of the details, but this dress was an absolute knockout. And she was so happy!

Detail of the hat and staff. And look at that smile! She was very gracious to the photographers pushy mob shouting “Over here!” and whistling for her to look at their cameras. 

In the background you can just see the cathedral with gold-leaf detailing. If gorgeous extravagant costumes belong anywhere in the world, it is doubtlessly Venice.

Another couple is sporting the classic Carnevale look: 1700s-era costume with elaborate masks. Traditionally, you go as a pair.

A slightly less traditional pair of costumes.

Blue, the colour of vibrant fake feathers. Also, mystery.

The angle was an artistic decision rather than a mistake, promise. This lady had little kids running after her and shouting “Il mondo, il mondo!” (The world, the world!) How cute is that?

Carnevale is the ultimate occasion for people’s heads getting in the way of nice photos. You just have to crop tightly and call it artsy.

This guy was totally an assassin and I loved it.

One of the stranger ones. Romanesque breastplate plus diamond-encrusted mushrooms…? Can’t say I get it.

They remind me of cakes. Bet the colour scheme wasn’t his idea… (snicker)

I imagine Mr. Purple and Orange is a knight with a deep, sonorous British accent who hails from Narnia, while his high-pitched friend Mr. Stripey Red comes from some bad tribal movie. …And this is their strange friend whom neither of them like. I’m fairly certain there was an actual person inside this costume because he/she was kind of shuffling around, but I couldn’t tell where the head/limbs/body ended or started.

For reasons I can’t articulate, I didn’t like this costume at all. Something about the mask weirds me out.

Federico posing in the middle, looking rather out of place.

I’m terribly disappointed that this one turned out blurry, because you can see how gorgeous the costume was.

This was an exercise in “point-and-shoot in five seconds or less,” while the costumes raced by.

Look how snazzy these people are, posing for their photo.

A mere blink, or disdainful resignation? The world may never know.

I believe that qualifies as an 18th-century mullet, though. >:

Butterfly guy = one of the hardest to photograph well.

Vaguely spooky.

J.K. Rowling’s next hit: Harry Potter and the American Revolution.

Federico found a coniglietto (“little bunny”) and wanted a picture with him. After all, you don’t see a cross-dressing Playboy bunny done up in sequins and tights every day.

After the picture, the bunny planted a flamboyant kiss on Federico’s cheek that left a pink heart-shaped lip-gloss mark. Federico wore it proudly like a badge of honour, all day.

…The bunny’s miniskirt matched his six-inch heels.

Look at the faces I caught in this one! Three for the price of one! Ha ha ha ha!

Crazy feather shot that I love.

Bianca next to a stone lion dressed in traditional bauta. They matched!

“Quick, I have to go to the bathroom. Cover me.”   

“But, won’t people notice?”  

“Your bag is blue. Just put it over your head and no one will be the wiser.”

Meanwhile, above their heads, winged lions and angels are busy bringing sexy back to the architecture front.

Hi-yah! We couldn’t stop staring.Dad, this shot is dedicated to your nice camera, sitting in the drawer at home. ;)

Bianca’s reaction was totally appropriate.

The economist in me can’t help but note that this piece of architectural brilliance required whole generations of Venetians to live and die in poverty without their consent, just so that this building could exist. Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?

 More lions and a sweet 24-hour clock.Above, stonework above the door to the cathedral. Below, the decoration mounted above the stonework decorations.

Yes. Wow is right. This was huge—between ten and fifteen feet across. We would have gone inside, but every single entrance was jammed with hundreds of people. Next time.

I didn’t buy a single souvenir, but I did see these in a shop window. Kiki, this is my dream souvenir for you! A wee string of blown-glass elephants, and duckies and roosters besides!

Wouldn’t have minded taking these home…

A troubadour group regaled us with music as they elbowed through the crowded streets. Such charming fellows, really.

After snapping pictures all over the piazza (Bianca used up her battery, but luckily I had brought two and was able to keep going), we made our way to the other side, where there was a play going on, in mask and in Italian. It was great fun—we couldn’t understand much because of the speed that they were talking, but we could make out that it was very, very raunchy. Like a Shakespeare play.

The mother (played by a man). From what I can gather, her daughter Caterina (haha), the protagonist, was a prostitute in like a five-way love-triangle. There’s a handsome captain involved, and then another guy wants her but can’t have her, and then there’s a ship involved in there somewhere…

And there were only four actors.

I shall gesture dramatically and you shall accept my plan!

A mascherata watching the play, camera in hand.

How lucky was this shot? I had been trying to get a clear photo of the actors, and as soon as my shutter clicked, this guy leapt off the stage for his exit, and I caught the jump.

Bianca and I were standing at the side rather than the front, so it was hard to get shots of their faces, but this one couldn’t have even been planned. :)

One of the actors taking a break between scenes, resting off-stage in the wings.

This actor was my favourite—I loved his costume and his character was just hilarious.

Mainly his costume. I would very much like to own one.

Also his pants.

<3

After a breathless, fast-paced, and beautiful walk through the city, we took a break in a piazza and stopped in a cafe for a round of spritz, a traditional Veneto drink made with prosecco, soda water, and Campari and garnished with lemon and an olive on a swizzle stick. Bianca and I both hate the taste of Campari, which is very, very bitter, so we shared Carnevale pastries (sfrappole) and a glass of hot mulled wine that was so spicy and sweet we could hardly finish it between us.

The Hotel del Sito, with all its windows decorated for Carnevale.

Let’s see, we have a boat and nothing to do with it. I know, let’s go to the canal and sell vegetables!

Igor, one of the Meltin’Bo organisers, clashed a bit with me, not in an unfriendly way, just slightly awkwardly… He seemed astonished that I was able to speak Italian at all and kept commenting on how surprising it was (thanks?). Every time I said something in Italian, he insisted on answering me in English. And then he got the idea in his head that I was the Silent One. At least four times that evening, I overheard him telling someone in our group that I was so silenziosa and why didn’t I say anything. Kind of uncomfortable… especially since I was actually chattering away with anyone who would listen.

We got along great with student-Federico though. After a long train-ride home (with more pastries, including one called “little box of almonds”!), we all went to Tiffanuccia’s apartment, dropped our stuff, and followed Federico to The Irish, a pub in the center of Bologna, and hung out talking over beers until 2 in the morning. I hope we do it again sometime.

I had to make the hour-long walk home because it was too late to take the bus, but you know what? It was worth it. So worth it. I went to bed with the biggest smile ever on my face.

Thanks to everyone who made it all the way to the end—it was truly a huge post.

Love you all. Ciao.<3