Stopping Over in London

I did not fly directly back to the United States.  Instead, my flight for Oregon did not leave 'til 18 December 2012.  I did that for two reasons:  1. I thought I was going to have to take the train back to London, and I wanted to give myself enough time to get back without missing a flight (and it's cheaper to not fly out on weekends), and 2. I wanted a mini vacation in one of my favorite European cities. So I had a four day layover in the UK. I had many adventures during those four days, and I will admit that I wish I had had more time (and more money) to do more things while I was there, but I did get some really nice pictures.

When I first got there my flight out of Italy had been delayed, so the directions I had printed off based on time no longer helped. Also, I had heard from the woman sitting next to me (a really nice person who actually let me use her phone so I could call the hotel I was staying) told me that the directions I had received made little sense to her for where I was going. We got separated at the visa station (since she was a resident of the UK and they had their own line), and while I was getting my passport stamped I had to explain to the lady that no, I was not in the UK to work, I was just stopping over on my way back to the States. It took a couple tries to get that across, but eventually we understood what the other was saying. I met up with my seatmate again and we discussed how I would get to my hotel, which was over by Heathrow, while I had flown into Gatwick. We got our bags and made our way down to where the trains were, and we asked the guy at a table--I think he worked for the transit system, but I can't remember for certain--the best way to get me to my hotel. He asked why I did not just get one near Gatwick? I spent a few minutes explaining to him that my hotel room had not been purchased by myself, and I did not want to waste the reservation, and that I would be flying out of Heathrow Tuesday morning. He told me to go over to the ticket station and buy a specific ticket combination so I could use both the train and a bus when I needed to get to my final destination.

So I get on this train (sans seatmate, because she had a car and had left me when I told her I felt comfortable), the "Gatwick Express", and we head off towards King's Cross. About halfway through the ride a ticket inspector comes through to take a look at our tickets, and I discover that my ticket was not the correct one for this train. There really wasn't much he could do, though, so he left it at that. I felt like a moron, though.

The train stops at Kings Cross, and I have to figure out what to do next. One of the Tube employees very nicely told me to take the Victoria line for one stop, and then transfer to the Picadilly line, since that was the only line that went out to Heathrow. I managed that with no problem, though I got off a stop earlier than I should have (which I learned the next morning) to catch the bus. I saw the Holiday Inn Express Ariel--which was where my directions had pointed me to--and got off at the stop and made my way into the hotel. By now it's about 2200. I've been up for over 12 hours and had contacts in. I've been lugging around a suitcase that had all the clothes that I had kept plus my presents in it, and a little messenger bag full of books. I walk into the lobby and there's a party going on in the dining room, which makes it almost impossible to have a conversation at a normal tone. After giving the hotel concierge my name, I get hit with bad news:  I'm not registered. They checked my name, they checked my mom's name, they even checked the reservation number... Nothing. Luckily, this guy calls another Holiday Inn Express that is right down the road from this one, and I was registered there. I was given two options of how to get there:  I could go back out and take the bus, or I could get a cab. By this point I do not want to deal with the buses, so I opted for the cab. It cost me £15, but I got there and got checked in. I go up to my room to collapse, and hit my next stumbling block: I have no idea how to turn the lights on in the room. There are a couple that had been on when I entered, but for the most part none of them are working when I hit the switch. It made for an entertaining time brushing my teeth.

The next morning I realize something else: I'm on a limited budget here. I can't feasibly spend the money I have willy-nilly because I need to save some for when I get home. So my breakfast becomes one chocolate ball that was part of my present from the family and a cup of tea with the little milk carton they leave in the room (similar to the single serving creamer cartons here in the States, but they use actual milk in these.... And it didn't kill me. Go figure).

After using the business center to check email, classes, and get directions, I head off in search of how to get around London. It turns out that there are certain buses within a set range of Heathrow that will pick people up for free and they can ride to the airport (this factoid becomes a lifesaver later). I get to the line to buy Tube tickets, and find out that the smartest way to work things is to buy an Oyster card with £20, using a £5 deposit on the card. With that purchased, I make my way down to the train.

My first day was spent wandering around Covent Garden looking for a specific shop. On the way I had someone try to sell me face wash that uses 24 karat gold flecks as an exfoliant. I never did tell the guy that I was more of a winter than a spring for my complexion, and that gold would do nothing to help my overall coloring (which was directly competing with the "People actually spend money on this crap? The hell are we coming to?" thought process), though I did impress him by correctly guessing that he was French and not Italian. He asked me to come back to the shop even if I did not buy anything. I quickly got out of there.

After about 5 hours of wandering (oh, and Subway has/had a deal where you could get a six inch sub and a drink for £3. I like that deal much more than the $5 footlongs that aren't a foot long...) and swallowing my pride to ask for directions, I finally found the store I wanted, got what I went to purchase, grabbed a celebratory mug of mulled wine (since you could walk around and drink it and not get in trouble), and made my way back to the hotel. I ate dinner at the hotel restaurant--and probably scared the wait staff, since I got a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, and proceeded to have my eyes and nose water because of the spiciness--went back up to my room, and read. That was day 1.

Day two started out more or less the same, though this time I got off the Picadilly line at Hyde Park to try and see if I could find the hotel I had stayed at the first time I was in London. I didn't, but I did learn that during the Christmas season Hyde Park has one section that turns into a giant carnival with vendors and rides... And the Brits do know how to build a roller coaster. After wandering around there for a while (if I can ever afford to, I want to go back and see if I can find some of the things I saw while I was there), I went off in search of the hotel. Long story short I failed miserably, though I did manage to get over to Grosvenor Square, and I think I found the American Embassy without meaning to. While out wandering I got hungry, so I went in search of food and found a little Lebanese restaurant on a side street. I got an order of shawarma to go (insert Avengers reference here). I also managed to walk over to Buckingham Palace during that tour, and ended up catching the Tube back to Heathrow from Green Park instead. Dinner was once again at the hotel restaurant, and passed out.

Day three started like the other two, though this time I managed to get a hold of my British friend that I met while I was in Torino, and we set up a tentative time to meet up. So with that out of the way, I went into town again, once again heading for Hyde Park, because hey, carnival! After having mulled wine both in Italy and at a good stand in Covent Garden, I decided to see how the quality of it fared at this carnival. Long story short: it sucked. After wandering around there for a while but really not seeing anything worthwhile, I left again and made my way to a shopping center. I found a bookstore where I grabbed a copy of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, and before checking out saw a book that I would have purchased had I had more money: 1001 whiskeys. I was tempted, but I didn't want to drop £20 on a book that I did not have room for in my luggage. I did use that book to determine whether or not a type of whiskey actually existed that a friend asked me to see if I could find. It did; I just couldn't find it. I went back to my wandering and found St. James Square and the Piccadilly Arcade, including a statue of Beau Brummell (cue Regency England nerd girl squeal here). Eventually went to a pub and got a sandwich and a cider for lunch (no mulled wine; they had run out for the day), then made my way back to the hotel to wait for my friend. Getting him to my hotel room turned out to be a feat in and of itself, which sucked because he did not have a lot of time to hang out because he had a co-worker's party to go attend. Since I did not have the entire 100 euros to repay him, he told me to not worry about it. So I made him take all my loose change--both euros and pence--because he would be able to use it before me.

After I got him safely on his way I stopped at the hotel restaurant to get some room service sent up, because I wanted to read and relax. As I was about to pay my order, though, three men came up all wanting to get cashed out at the same time and swarmed the desk. The waiter took care of them first, and I waited and smiled, because I understand how it feels to have everything hit all at once. After he took care of them he took my order, apologizing for making me wait. I told him I was in no rush and that he didn't have to apologize for doing his job. I don't what transpired, but he decided to waive my room service tray fee.

That Tuesday I woke up around 0545 because that's when my body decided to wake me up. I had set a call for 0630 (or so I thought), so I grabbed a shower and turned on the television to keep me company while I repacked. When the phone rang at 0613 I realized why the front desk had sounded so confused when I asked for my wake-up call. I guess they say it "half" of the hour instead of "thirty".

Got to the airport without a problem, and got a little over £5 back from returning my Oyster card. The flight to Dallas was long, and I watched three movies because I could not sleep. In Dallas I had the tomato seeds I had purchased confiscated because the Ag people were not sure that they would be safe and non invasive, and then had to play musical terminals to get to my plane, which flew out of Dallas later than I had heard of originally. Also, I actually used a payphone to call the friend who was letting me crash and my parents. I think I gave that payphone more money in one sitting than it had seen in a long time (in other news, I still miss my old cell phone). I made it back to PDX, managed to meet up with the friend who was picking me up at the airport (another feat since I had given the wrong time about when I was getting in), and made it safely back to Corvallis.

And that, my friends, was my three months in Italy. I hope you enjoyed reading about my travels. Thank you for your support. <3

~J

And on the last day, it snowed

That's right.  This evening I will be flying our of Torino and into London, thereby completing the first leg of my trip home.  When I woke up this morning, I could hear the children excitedly chattering over something.  Turns out it started snowing between when we all went to bed and when we woke up.  Both the ten year old and the five year old were really excited to have a chance to play in the snow.  The three year old didn't seem to register.  I have a feeling he will while he's at school today.

Last night I received a Christmas present from the family.  They had given me money, a neck-scarf, two packages of chocolate, a piece for a Nativity scene, and blue house socks with reindeer.  As I opened it and saw everything inside, I started crying.  I was not expecting anything like this, so it definitely came as a shock.

Thursday afternoon I went out for one last walk around Torino with another of the au pairs.  We went to the River Po and got some pictures there, then went back to Porta Nuova (and no, I did not encounter creepy Italian man there, thank the snow!) to get Chinese food... Yeah, that's right.  I got Chinese food on my last day in Torino instead of going to an Italian restaurant.  And it tasted fantastic.  We each got buffets, soup, and a drink for under 10 euros each.  I got Hot and Sour soup, and it had to be one of the best hot and sour soups I have ever had.  This just goes to show that Italy is fantastic for food, no matter the ethnicity.

One of the grandfathers is taking me to the airport today around 1330.  I still need to finish packing and clean my room and lots of other random little things.  I'm not sure how much I'll be on the computer in London (I need to go into town at least once to get some shopping done).  Most likely I'll either end up vegging in my hotel room or wandering around going "Yay, London!!!"

I'll let y'all imagine that.  I'll be back soon!

Guidare, il caffé e West Coast Swing

So, I bit the bullet on Sunday.  I borrowed the parents' second--and less shiny--car and drove to one of the "mega-shopping" (that's what they're labelled, honest!!) centers close-ish to the house... Without either of the parents riding shotgun to give advice/lessons.  That's right.  I drove a manual solo for the first time in a foreign country.  And I only came close to getting into a wreck once--which is kind of a miracle considering the amount of terror I had every time I saw another car.  Not only did I manage to drive the car, I also managed to safely park the car without playing bumper cars with either the wall or anyone else's car.  In hindsight, having my daily cup of coffee thirty minutes before making the decision to go to the store probably wasn't one of my better ideas.  I'm pretty sure I annoyed at least three other drivers with my "American driving in a foreign country and not wanting to die" antics, but all in all it was much less dramatic than I was expecting.  This whole experience has just solidified my desire to get a manual when I purchase my next car.  It's too much fun to pass up!

While I was at the store I found the one book I'm willing to buy in Italian.... Harry Potter #1.  The parents have a copy, but I don't think I will be able to finish it in my remaining time here, and I want to have something that I can use to keep my Italian at least somewhat sharp (because my cookbook is not going to have "dài!!" in it).  After finding the book--and doing a small victory dance in the middle of the book section--I decided I was also going to go search the wine to see if I could find pinot noir/nero.  Either my eyes have gotten worse in the time I've been here, or the Italians label their wines way differently than I was expecting, but I could not find an Italian label with pinot nero.  I found a French label, but since this is a gift I want to get an Italian label.  Though I did come across a few bottles of Yellowtail wine while I was searching.  I started chuckling at that.

I ended up grabbing what looked like a good bottle of red wine and went next to look at the beer--since I've found at least one kind of beer that I'm willing to drink.  It took me a while here to find McFarland Red, but I eventually found a three pack of 33cl bottles.  The next time I have pizza I'm definitely cracking open a beer.

So I go to check out with one children's book, a bottle of red wine, a three pack of beer, and a package of spinach/basil pasta (one of the tastiest things I have ever experienced!).  Not only did the cashier not check my ID, she didn't even bat an eye at my purchases.  Now, I know I'm 23 and above the legal age required to consume alcohol, but every time I buy booze back in the States I get my ID checked.  This threw me off, but I guess I looked old enough to the woman.

In regards to coffee and my general sugar intake, I've been working on minimizing my addiction to sugar while I've been in Italy--which is no easy feat.  Slowly, though, I'm starting to see improvements.  I used to add a lot of sugar/artificial sweetener to my coffee in order to drink it, and as of Sunday I was able to drink my caffé latté with only 1 tsp (approximately.  They don't have teaspoons here, but from eyeballing I'm estimating that the smaller spoon is about 1 tsp) of sugar.  In order to make a caffé latté I get about 2-3 shots worth of espresso and half a glass of heated milk and combine.  Yes, I'm making it up as I go, but it tastes good to me.  My eventual goal is to drink this without having to add *any* sugar.

Thursday night I ended up introducing the ten year old girl to West Coast by way of YouTube.  She's been arguing with her parents lately about what sports she does and does not want to do.  Her parents want her involved in a variety of sports because they believe it's important that she stay active--since she mostly sits when she's at home.  They also want her drinking at least 4 glasses of water with lunch and dinner so she's properly hydrated.  She got mad and said that since I wasn't active she didn't see why she needed to be.  I laughed as I told her that I am, in fact, quite active:  I walk at least 10,000 steps a day, I go on a run 2-3 times a week, and I dance (alone, in my bedroom, to the radio).  "O, buono.  Danza classica!" She retorted.  I told her no, I did not do danza classica (ballet); I did ballo liscio (ballroom dancing) and West Coast Swing.  Neither she nor the parents knew what I meant, so we migrated from the kitchen table to the computer so I could pull up an example.  In hindsight, while Myles and Tessa's US Open Showcase is quite impressive, it probably wasn't the best choice to give an accurate idea of what happens on most WCS floors. She saw the lifts that they were doing and wanted to do those.  I couldn't figure out how to tell her that you have to start with the basics and get a good handle on those before moving on to more advanced moves.  Though I think I earned at least a little respect on her eyes after she watched that clip.  Here's hoping.

As my time winds down in Italy I find myself looking more and more at job postings back in Oregon.  I need to remember that I have to replace my cell phone before I can really start applying for jobs (because it's kind of hard to talk to people when you don't have a phone).  Anyway, I will be seeing you all in Oregon before you know it.  Hope you have a good week!

Insert witty title here

Sorry in advance, but this post is going to be rather short.  Why?  Because Tuesday I woke up sick and ended up losing the contents of my stomach--and then the water I tried to use to replace it--over a period of 4 hours.  Wednesday I felt slightly better, but today I'm back to feeling sick to my stomach and I have the beginnings of a migraine.  At first I was hoping it was food poisoning, but now I think it's the flu, because both the mother and both the boys have been sick before I got sick.  Whee....

On Tuesday the mother made me riso bianco for dinner (white rice with butter and Parmesan).  The daughter started complaining because she wanted rice too instead of the soup they were having for dinner.  I ended up giving her at least half of my rice because I honestly couldn't eat that much (barely managed 10 bites).  She was happy that I was willing to share, though she might not be as happy if she catches what I have right now.

One of the times I went into Torino I found a little comic book shop that sells both the classic comic books and manga in Italian.  Included in the manga section was the re-release of Sailor Moon.  I thought I saw the first one there, and so today I went into town hoping to get it after my Italian lesson.  I ended up going to my lesson just long enough to tell my teacher that I'm sick, then made my way over to the store.  Sadly, though, the first volume they have is volume 3.  I asked if they had a copy of volume 1, but they didn't.  The shop owner was nice enough to pull out her laptop to see how long it would take to order it and have it arrive, but we found out that it would take two to three weeks to arrive, and most likely I would be back in America by the time it got there.  I'll most likely end up giving the title to the parents to order for her.

The reason I wanted to get her the Sailor Moon comics?  Well, in my personal opinion the children spend too much time watching television and not enough time doing things like reading, playing, or using their imagination.  The three year old and five year old do not know how to read yet, but even getting them to sit down long enough to listen to me read them a story can be a hassle.  The ten year old does know how to read, but she has some problems following the line of the words.  She got mad when I suggested she try reading the Harry Potter books (which the family has all of in Italian), so I told her I would see if I could find my favorite comic book from when I was her age if she would actually take the time to read it.  Hopefully we can find a copy to get for her before I head back.

And that's all for this week, everyone.   Between classes and feeling like death warmed over, I really don't have the energy to type a lot.  Hope everyone is staying warm!

Coffee, pasta, and green leaves still on the trees?

Yep, that's right.  There are still green leaves on quite a few of the trees in the Torino area, despite the fact that it's late November, and I saw a couple daisies in full bloom as I got off the bus.  It's kind of weird that things are still green and growing here, while back home fall is happening/has happened.

So Thursday I was doing my usual thing:  walking a little longer to get a stop farther away from the school than I normally do (exercise is good), when a man I did not know caught my eye.  He asked if I wanted to go with him to get a coffee.  I said "Non, grazie.  Devo tornare a casa" (No, thank you.  I must return home).  I thought that would be the end of it, but he was most determined.  He kept asking, saying it would not take long; we would go get coffee, talk for a while, and then I could leave.  I said no again, repeating my previous phrase, but he still didn't want to give up.  I finally said "Non posso.  Devo tornare a casa e prendere i bambini" (I can't.  I must return home and get the children), and started walking off, hoping he would get the hint.  Nope, not only did he not get the hint, he started following me.  Cue adrenaline rush.  I did everything short of breaking out into a run to get away from this guy:  I crossed the street, went down a parallel side street. hid behind a column, and ducked into a store.  Luckily I lost him during the last two actions, and was able to get home with no further trouble.  My adrenaline level took a while to calm down, though.  When the mother got home I asked her about this, because it struck me as odd that telling someone I have to go home would not be the end of it.  It turns out that saying "Non, grazie" when someone offers you something is similar to meaning "yes" but saying "no".  Normally if you are a little more firm they get the hint, but in my case I should have been rude to the guy.  Well, next time I will know to say "Non interessa; vai via!" (I'm not interested; go away!).  The weird thing is that morning I ended up talking with one of the ticket inspectors on my way to school, but when I told him I had to go he didn't try to keep me or trap me on the tram; instead he let me leave.  I know for a fact that my follower was not the same guy.

A little over a week ago I discovered the family's coffee pot.  It's not like our American coffee pots where you plug it into the wall, use a filter to keep the grounds from getting in the coffee, press a button and go.  This coffee pot only makes an espresso's worth of coffee.  In order to make it, you first fill the bottom part of the metal pot with water up to a certain line.  Then you put the filter on top of this and add the grounds--no paper.  The coffee grounds are almost powder and to get a stronger coffee flavor you need to pack the grounds tightly.  Once that is accomplish, you screw on the top kettle.  In order to make this, you put it on the stove (the family has a gas powered stove) for about 3 minutes.  Once it starts making weird noises, turn off the gas and pour out the coffee.  It tastes fantastic, and there's less chance of getting stale coffee three days later.  I've taken to making caffé lattés.  I'm seriously considering buying one of these little pots to bring back with me.  It's an economic alternative to an espresso machine, and the quality of coffee is fantastic.

So I've actually managed to start coming in at under 20 euros a week for the past couple of weeks.  It's amazing what happens when you cut out going to restaurants to eat unless absolutely necessary (and to me, absolutely necessary means I'm spending at least 7 hours in Torino, or I really don't want to cook).  Out of sheer desperation, I discovered a recipe that tastes fantastic, and that I will most likely keep making even after I get back to the states.  It's really simple:  take two cups of broccoli, one regular sized tomato, 100 g of pancetta (bacon) diced, and sauté them in a frying pan in the order given.  At the same time, start boiling water for the pasta; once the water is boiling, add pasta (I like the spinach and basil fettuccine I found at the store).  After adding the bacon, add about 1 cup red wine until the wine has thickened (you don't need flour).  Make a small bed of pasta in a bowl, then spoon as much of the toppings (I can make this last two days), and grate some Parmesan over.  It has to be my new favorite homemade dish.  I eat it most days when I'm at home.

So my mom did something awesome for me:  she got me a hotel room for while I'm in London before I head back to the states.  This means I don't have to worry about missing my flight--the hotel is right next to the airport.  I just get to get another chance to use the London public transportation so I can do some shopping before I head back.  =)

To all of you in the United States:  Happy Thanksgiving.  I hope you get to spend a relatively stress free day with the ones you love.  To my other readers:  Happy Thursday.

2/3 of the way

That's right.  The 14th of November marks my second month in Italy, meaning I am over halfway through my time here and will be heading towards home in 30 days (I'm taking a short side trip to London to get a couple pieces of clothing that I will need for the future).  It's kind of surreal.

Saturday ended up being a really weird--and kind of scary--day for me.  I was supposed to meet up with one of my friends--another au pair from England--to go to the Egyptian Museum since she hadn't been there yet, and I wanted to go again.   I didn't remember what time we had agreed to meet, though.  So I got to Porta Nuova around 10:30 not sure if I was early or late.  The rain came and went all day, and right then it was only lightly misting.  The men who would normally sell random things all had umbrellas, and I heard the phrase "Bella, umbrella?" at least 25 times.  At first I didn't care because my trench coat is almost completely waterproof, so I wasn't getting too wet.  By the end of the afternoon, though, I was soaked and resembled a wet rat.

While I was waiting for her, I considered getting a coffee to pass the time and went looking to see if there was a cafe near  Porta Nuova.  There was, but I didn't want to go in and see if I could find a menu offering drinks (restaurants often have menus outside their front door so potential patrons can see specials and what is offered at the restaurants.  Cafes sometimes show specials, but I have yet to find a menu).  As I turned away, I caught the eye of an older man.  He had to be at least in his mid 50s, if not in his early 60s.  He offered to buy me a coffee, and not thinking anything of it, I accepted.

I could go into detail about what happened, but the basic gist of it is:  bad idea.  Apparently letting Italian men buy food or drinks for you says that you are interested in them, and that's how he saw it.  I, on the other hand, did not realize this--the friend I was waiting for had mentioned something along those lines before Saturday, but I didn't realize just how far it extended!!--and had an unpleasant surprise.  I have not seen him since that afternoon, but I might should I go around Porta Nuova again.  I just did some homework and figured out how to tell him that if he touched me again he'd lose his hand.  I'll apologize for "leading him on", but I don't need that.

On the plus side, after booking it away from Porta Nuova I managed to find the little bookstore that claimed to have English books in it.  They weren't lying, though their selection is incredibly limited--and yes, I know, duh.   I did manage to find a copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen to replace my copy that was stolen in Paris, and left to find lunch.  By now the rain had decided to that it did want to drench the entirety of Torino and had increased intensity.  I was caught between wanting to just go home--I could not get a hold of my friend and by now I was not in the mood to deal with amorous Italian men--and possibly spending the day in Torino solo.  I found a place to eat and start to dry off, had pizza and beer for lunch, then went home.  I encountered my new admirer while I was on the tram, but luckily he was only on for one more stop and got off way before I did (he tried to get me to get off the tram with him, but I said no.  The plus was he was outside and I was still inside the tram).

Tuesday night I finally got up the nerve to talk with the father and explain that I can't stay in Italy longer than the three months I originally agreed to (between my classes, my stuff in storage, my cat, and my homesickness, I wasn't planning on staying longer anyway).  I told him that if there was any way I could help them find a replacement au pair, I would.  So, if any of you have some spare cash and want to come take care of some Italian children for a few months, I know a family that's hiring!  The next fun conversation will be asking for a ride to the airport.  I could take public transportation, but it would take two hours for me to get there, and the possibility to get lost is great.  Fingers crossed that either one of the parents or one of the sets of grandparents can get me there.

This is going to be shorter than normal, because I don't have much to talk about.  Also, between my Italian class and my online classes, I have more homework than previously.

birthdays, le chiavi, e il museo Egizio

I will admit, I have had trouble sleeping the whole night through here.  I wake up at least twice during the night, and once the children are up or the sun breaks over the horizon--whichever comes first--getting back to sleep is nigh impossible.  While having my own room and bathroom is nice, it would be much nicer if  I had four walls and a door I could shut to cut down on the ambient noise that echos up into my room.  So to help, I've taken to turning on the radio and setting it a pianissimo so I can listen to music to help me get to sleep.  It sure does mess with my dreams, though!  I'll probably end up getting an eye mask to help block out some of the light, but as for the children, short of muzzles I'm not sure how to convince them that there is such a thing as an inside and outside voice...

While I'm on the subject of music on the radio.... The radio stations here seem to like playing "Say My Name" by Destiny's Child.  I remember liking that song when I was younger.  Listening to it now, though, all I can wonder is if the guy wasn't talking much because he was in the bathroom--since she's obviously calling his cell--and he was trying to nicely get her off the phone without admitting that he picked up at an inopportune time.  And yes, this is the sort of thing I consider as I'm drifting off to bed.  You're welcome.

Now, for a delicate subject:  birthdays.  Birthdays have been an interesting thing for me since I started college (and yes, I'm still technically in college.  I'm getting a post-bacc), and this year was no exception.  I woke up feeling slightly down--not entirely sure why--and it was pouring rain outside.  This made the idea of going out and taking more pictures not a priority.  I had planned to make a cake for my birthday, and so after some time spent lounging around the house (sadly I did not manage to stay off the computer for three days.  I think I need try cutting it out for 24 hour periods instead of trying to go longer. Oh well), I started making the cake.

All I can say about my experience is this:  imperial to metric recipe conversions hurt my brain.  The last time I made a cake I do not remember adding that much oil (355 mL) and not adding any water.  Grating 440g of carrots almost broke the grater, and Italian stores keep weird hours.  I found out that I was short an egg around 1430, and since it was getting close to the time to when I need to pick up the boys from school, I was in a rush.  I went out into the rain and literally ran to Crai to buy eggs, only to see that they were closed.  I nearly broke into the store because I wanted to get this cake finished and in the oven.  I didn't, though.  I simply went back, trying to think of where I could get an egg and considered ringing up the next door neighbor to see if they would give me one for money.  Luckily, the host mother had bought groceries on her way home, and this included a container of eggs.  I grabbed one and quickly mixed it in.  Making the frosting was another adventure.  Apparently they don't sell powdered sugar (zucchero velo) in containers larger than 125 g, so in order for me to make the cream cheese frosting the father had to buy me 8 packages.  I ended up only using 6, because the consistency was correct at six.

The family bought me a digital camera for my birthday.  Nothing fancy, just your typical point and shoot.  Still, it was more than I was expecting.  I nearly started crying when I saw it.

I got to use my new camera on Thursday, because we went into Torino to visit the Egyptian Museum with some of the host family's friends and their children.  The three year old was left at home with grandpa, and the five year old and ten year old came with us.  Just to give an idea of the disposition of the five year old, the mother sometimes calls him "Calvin"--yes, as in Calvin and Hobbes--and he believes that the world does truly revolve around him.

Throughout the day the child threw multiple tantrums over tiny things, from wanting a pair of balloon glasses one of the other children in the group had received (he got them and later popped them and started crying.  I just looked at him and said "Them's the breaks, Spunky," which made the other parents laugh) to wanting to go to McDonalds, then finally to losing the stick of his balloon after I took it away (sorry, but I've seen the condition of the streets.  I told him multiple times--after he had dropped it on the ground a few times--to not put the stick in his mouth.  He didn't listen, and so he lost the stick).  By the end of the day I had a migraine and two surly children.

Il museo Egizio was gorgeous.  There are three main areas:  one shows artifacts that were brought back from Egypt--including small statuettes, various sarcophagi and a couple mummies, and copies of The Book of the Dead--one has statues, and the third is the excavation of the tomb of Kha and Merit, who was a scribe for one of the Pharaohs.  They are also in the process of remodelling the museum, and they have covers on the windows that explain what they are doing and compare it to what would have been done in Ancient Egyptian times.  I'm going to go again because the migraine made my concentration take a dive.

Friday I misplaced my keys.  I didn't realize it until Saturday when I was planning to go out for a walk.  Normally this would not be a problem, but the house is not the tidiest, so trying to find my keys ended up being an exercise in moving couches and digging through toy boxes with no luck.  By Sunday I was desperate, so I admitted to the parents that I had misplaced them.  Turns out the father had found them and put them in a drawer.  I'm just really glad because I thought that the house gnomes had absconded with them, and I wouldn't see them again 'til it was time for me to leave.

Anyway, my next term of classes has started and it's going to be interesting to see how I do.  Wish me luck?