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?

My one month-i-versary in Turin

So, without consciously realizing it, I set it up so I had a date in Turin on the celebration of my first thirty days here.  Now, I managed to luck out and meet a British man, so at least we could speak in English and more or less understand each other.

The fact that my friend M and I (yes, I am only going to refer to him as M.  I don't want to get him in trouble with his job, so I'm not giving out full names of anything, just references) managed to meet up is kind of a miracle.  See, we had talked back and forth for a few days saying that we wanted to meet up and ended up planning for Saturday, but we never did set a place to meet or exchange phone numbers.  All I had to go off of from his messages was that he was working in a store on via Roma and would be off work at 6.  So I figured if I got to via Roma with some time to spare I would be able to find his store and hopefully pick him out.

Since I do occasionally like looking nice, I figured putting on a little eye makeup wouldn't hurt.  I forgot that my makeup bag had exploded at 28,000 feet, so there was blush and glitter all over the inside of my bag.  It made getting my eye makeup out and not covering my room in a pink glittery haze an extraordinary feat.  Luckily, though, only a minimum of glitter and pink escaped.

So I tell the family that I'm going into Turin for the evening, because I was expecting to get back a few hours later.  I caught the bus a little after 1620 and got to Torino a little before 5.  I figured I would have some time to look at the map before catching the tram to head to via Roma.  So I spent the next ten minutes looking at the map trying to figure out where via Roma intersected with the tram I would be taking.  And, of course, I don't see via Roma intersecting.  But I did remember that I needed to take the 4 to get there, so I figured I would ask the ticket inspector how to find it.  I catch the next train, and when the ticket inspector takes my ticket I say the following:  "Dove trovo via Roma avec... con esta--?" and pointed down to my feet.  The fact that the poor man understood what I was trying to communicate was fantastic.  He explained that he was also information, and stayed near me for most of my ride (except for when he had to go check tickets).  When I told him I was American, we spent some time discussing Yellowstone and what he wanted to do if he ever got to vacation in America--I didn't laugh when he said that America was so expensive.  

He pointed out the stop I needed and I got off, walking over the block to see that via Roma runs parallel to that part of the tram, not perpendicular.

Now, via Roma is similar to via Garibaldi in that it is a huge street full of shops and cafes.  The main difference is that there is also a road running through the middle of it.  So I figured I could walk around for a little bit and find the store.  No big deal, right?  Long story short, I barely managed to find his store before 1800--I think I had about 4 minutes to spare--and I realized I had no clue how I would be able to recognize him definitively, or if he would even leave through the doors.  The store had quite a few people in it, but I decided to brave it anyway.  I thought I saw him approach a couple of other associates in the store, so I called out his name.  When I didn't get a response, though, I left sadly.  I made the decision to stay around that store by a column for about 10 minutes and see if he left while I was waiting.  Otherwise I figured I'd get dinner, wander around some, then head back to Rivalta.

About 8 minutes later the guy I had called out to reappears outside the store, looking around as if he's confused.  Once again, I take a chance and make eye contact with him, saying his name.  And it turns out to be M.  He had heard me call out to him in the store, but he didn't think anything of it because no one he worked with calls him that, so he didn't pay any attention to it.  He admitted that he realized earlier today that we hadn't finalized plans, so he had sent me a message around 5 telling me to meet up with him at a certain square.  I explained that I had left the house around 1620, so I wouldn't have seen the message anyway, but I figured I could wait here and see if he showed up.  We agreed that it was a good thing that I did, and proceeded to leave the store.

We wandered around for a bit--with a pit stop in the square so I could stop and enjoy the view, and apparently "insult" the entirety of Italy by saying "soccer" instead of "football" (though in Italy it's called "calcio"...) before heading off again.  Neither of us had any particular ideas of what we wanted to do, but we knew that food and a drink of some sort should happen since it was around dinner time.

We ended up on what M said was via Rizzoli (turns out it's not Rizzoli, it was Vittorio Emmanuel II), which according to one of his other British co-workers is the longest street in Torino.  As we were walking down the street we saw a pub that claimed to be an "Authentic English Pub", but the writing on the outside of the building made little sense.  So we decided to go in, because M wanted to see if they had any British beer.  They didn't, but we decided to stay anyway.  We each ordered a pint of McFarland Red and sat there talking about random things.  At one point we were discussing how Italians dried their clothes in winter.  M figured they didn't, because I had been saying earlier that the little boys generally feel really hot to the touch.  He was guessing that they just wore the clothes and they warmed up.  Hypothermia didn't seem to make any sense for him.

After ordering a second round, we started discussing what we wanted for dinner.  M wanted something a little more Italian since the "authentic" English dishes offered were only fish and chips or English breakfast.  While looking over the menus I joked that I could make a killing going around to the various restaurants and offering to edit their English versions of the menus.  M agreed, telling me that even the menu in his 5 star hotel had multiple errors and made little sense.  Not seeing anything that sounded good for dinner, we paid our bill (and by "we" I mean M.  He decided that he wanted to pay for the food since he had an expense account with his company while he was here) and received a discount of one euro because M was from Britain.  We made our way back out into the evening.  

Now, each of us has just consumed at least a quart of beer, so snarkiness starts to run rampant, and we feel comfortable enough to tease and joke with each other about anything our minds come up with or we see.  I can't remember all of the topics of conversation we hit.

M remembered that he wanted to take me to a gelato shop that he claimed was better than Grom.  But to do that, we needed to get back to via Roma, since that was where the shop was located.  The name of the place was "Paradice", which M anglicized to "Paradise".  I got a cone with "limone" (lemon) and something else that I can't remember the name of.  It was light green with random little sprinkles and associated sweets in it.  M teased me that it looked like the store assistants had taken yesterday's leftover gelato and additions and thrown them into this container.  It tasted fantastic, though, so I didn't care.  M got a cup with two scoops of "English cream" (I don't remember what it was called in Italian) and a scoop of something else I don't remember.  We sit at a table outside and eat our gelato.

I ended up crashing at M's hotel that night because I was tired and didn't trust myself to get back to the tram (especially since I felt kind of lost as to where I was).  The next morning he had to check out because he and his British coworkers were flying back that evening.  I got a firsthand look at the difference between how guys pack and how girls pack.  When I packed for Italy, I made sure that everything fit in my suitcase and still ended up having a couple pounds to spare.  M had to leave things in the hotel (mostly toiletries) because they wouldn't fit in his bag.  I was forbidden from helping, which is probably why he had to leave things.

While this was going on I got two calls on the cell the family is loaning be.  I ignored the first one because it happened at 0900 and because the screen said "chiamata bloccata" (caller blocked) , and I wasn't sure who it was.  The second time this flashed up on the phone, I answered.  Turns out it was the family; they wanted to make sure I was all right.  Apparently the middle child had gone upstairs to make sure  I was home, and when I wasn't he got very worried.  After assuring them that everything was OK, M and I went out to meet up with one of his coworkers and go find lunch after M checked out.

We ended up making our way back to the store so M could get some things shipped, then went out to get brunch at a restaurant down the street.  Neither of us could decide what kind of pizza we wanted to split, so we asked our waitress what she would suggest.  With her help we ordered the Fume, which turns out to be pizza with tomatoes and bacon.  Now, this isn't cheap bacon bits sprinkled over lukewarm cheese.  No, this bacon covered most of the pizza with 8 slices (the kitchen was nice enough to slice the pizza since we were splitting).  Despite not having eaten any substantive food for about 24 hours, I could barely finish my second piece.  I honestly can't remember most of what we talked about, except that he was adamant to make sure I made it back to Rivalta OK--since I wouldn't let him pack me into his bag to take back to the UK so I could pull my own version of Victor, Victoria by being an American impersonator--and he gave me 100 euros to cover the cab fare.  The restaurant boxed up our remaining pizza and I took it with me.

We went back to his hotel once again where we got a couple drinks at the bar while waiting for the rest of his coworkers to show up. I ended up getting a cab back to Rivalta from there shortly after 1430, because I figured that I should show the family that I was in fact all right.

And that is how I spend my weekend of my first month in Italy.  Don't ask me how I managed it; I just did... ^^;;