12 January 2008

I’ve been in Florence for three full days now. Naturally, not that much has happened yet, but I do have some thoughts to share with those who will hopefully be my loyal readers. And I know that’s probably just Monica and my family, but a girl with journalistic aspirations can dream, no?

People aren’t kidding when they say living in a foreign country is an adjustment. Right off the bat, my sleeping schedule has really been thrown off, for various reasons, the least of which being jetlag and the most of which is just the ol’ insomnia kicking in at top speed. Which does not surprise me in the least. I hardly expected my body to think, Dorothy, we’re not in the United States anymore; let’s fall asleep normally! (Yes, my body is an “us”.)

About an hour or so ago, I was walking around in the pouring rain, saying, “No, thank you” (Note to self: Learn how to say that in Italian. Also, “please”.), to all the peddlers who kept pushing their umbrellas at me, and, in the hopes of not coming off as an “Ugly American”, I pondered how many of my behaviors might be seen as offensive in Italy. For example—Am I allowed to eat or drink while walking? So far I’ve seen nothing of the sort. Can I wear my headphones in public? Probably not, and I probably wouldn’t want to anyway; that’s only for places like Manhattan where I feel less desire to observe my familiar surroundings.

I’d say the biggest test of my Americaness (or as Michael Scott from The Office might say, my Americanity) so far has been ordering coffee at a patisserie. Due to the rain outside, I had this lovely mental image of sitting down with my novel The Unbearable Lightness of Being while sipping a steaming hot latte and listening to classical music in the background.

Having found a waitress who spoke English, I asked if I could have a latte. She asked me if I wanted just milk or milk and coffee, and of course I said, a tad incredulously, milk and coffee. But then when she told the barista (do they call them that here?) what I had ordered, she said “caffè latte,” and I realized my mistake. Unlike in the U.S., Italians (and other Europeans too, I suppose) aren’t in a rush to get their words out. And that even shows in how they order coffee. The way I (and most other New Yorkers) abbreviate our drink orders at Starbucks just won’t work here.

She also asked me whether I wanted my coffee to sit or to stand, which was not a question I expected. When I said to sit, she informed me that my drink would cost quite a bit more. Thus dissipated the dream of me sitting with my book.

So I stood awkwardly by the gleaming marble counter, shifting from one side to the other, hoping I wasn’t in anyone’s way. When I realized what music was playing in the background, I was very disappointed. Over the loudspeakers Bonnie Tyler was crooning “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.

My coffee appeared before me in a tall glass adjacent to a long spoon. First of all, no one serves hot drinks in glasses in the U.S. (Something to do with convection or precipitation or some physics term that ends with “-tion”.) Secondly, I couldn’t figure out what the spoon was for. Was I to spoon the coffee into my mouth? I never put sugar in my coffee, so there was nothing to stir… Fortuitously, a man in a similar situation who was standing next to me knew what to do with said spoon. I surreptitiously watched him stir sugar into his coffee and waited to see if he picked up the glass or not. Of course, he did. Feeling a little foolish, I lifted my own drink to my lips and sipped.

In terms of the atmosphere—well, naturally, the place was very charming. No one does interior design like the Italians. While eating my cookies that looked like Madeleines but weren’t, I heard someone say “chocolate”. Amazed that I recognized a word of someone’s conversation, I looked at what the man was indicating to his friend and discovered there was a short fountain flowing with dark chocolate sitting on the far end of the counter. Seeing as I’d been in there for about ten or so minutes at this point, the fact that I hadn’t noticed said fountain on my own was a little depressing. A future journalist should be unnaturally observant, no?

Unfortunately, since the two-hour speech about safety and other basic rules I’d heard Thursday afternoon had scared me to death, I did not have my digital camera with me for fear of purse-snatchers (the Florentine equivalent of body snatchers, just less murderous). But since the coffee was indeed amazing and since the patisserie is only two blocks from the building most of my classes will be in, I definitely intend to return, and, once I figure out how best to protect my baby (yes, that’s what I call my digital camera, if you weren’t already aware of how eccentric I am) from thieves and vagabonds, I’ll snap a photo and post it here. Assuming I can figure out how to do so.

To wrap up this overly lengthy description of my stop at the coffee shop, I needed to figure out how to pay. Being super polite and not knowing any Italian, I asked the woman who had helped me before what I should do. Then, while I was rooting through my wallet for €2,50 in change, the older woman who rang up my order just walked away and started talking to other customers. Not wanting to bother anyone I just stood there, again, awkwardly, with a five Euro bill in my hand. Thankfully the barista who brewed my coffee took pity on me and took the money.

Now that I had some caffeine in my system (in a possibly interesting side note, during the past few days I’ve realized I have three vices, if you can call them that—orange juice, coffee, and shopping) I decided to get lost in the streets of Florence. Due to the soon to be torrential rain, all I actually did was pass a store and notice that there was a gorgeous deep purple jacket in the window on sale (saldi in Italian). So I bought it. If this fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants brand of shopping becomes habitual, I may be in trouble.

And then I walked around in the freezing rain. And didn’t get lost. And now I’m in my apartment listening to the sound of the rain bouncing off the roof. Which, if I were at home, would soothe me. Here it just puts the kibosh on exploring.