Unhurried

We're all starting to settle into a rhythm here at school, slowing adjusting to a new way to eat, to sleep, and to focus. Class runs from nine in the morning until noon, and again from one until four in the afternoon. At school they feed us a great big lunch, with three courses (pasta, some main dish, salad, and sometimes dessert) and table service. After lunch I always have an espresso before going back to class, and by the time I get back from school around five I am ready for a nap.

The late afternoon and evening seems to roll on forever; dinner is always late, and the time just feels suspended and easy. We've mostly been eating salame, bread, and cheese in evenings because lunch is pretty hearty. Many Italians enjoy an aperitivo in the evening, a pre dinner drink and light snacks that can go on for hours. They can be seen all over, in groups sipping sparkling wine, pink cocktails made with bitter, herbal spirits, and lager beers, solidly rooted in conversation, looking as if the whole purpose of the day is to arrive at their table outside the cafe.

You can't help but fall into this slower, unhurried pace. Today my roommates and I woke up around eleven, chatted a bit and then went to the market to buy something to eat for lunch. We strolled around the town, ran into classmates, and once we had everything we needed and a menu in mind, we went back and cooked. We had crostini, pasta, salad, cheese, and fruit, lingering after each course, and the whole time I felt my old insticts reacting to how unhurried we were. Eating lunch was the whole point of the day; there was nothing to run off and accomplish. We all made it to Italy and were nibbling artisan cheese and cherries, nectarines, and apricots from the market. The point was to be there, doing that.

After each course, I could feel a layer of my old habits peeling away. By about 5:30, lunch was over, and that was all we had done so far that day. We tossed around ideas of walking into town for gelato later that evening, but no one needed to commit to anything; we had already gotten so much out of the day, and in a way, accomplished so much.

If we wanted gelato, it would be there.

Molto Fortunato!

Somehow, I knew I would have some adventure getting here to Bra. Everything was going too well: all my flights were on time, I slept almost the entire way to Rome, and I felt great upon arriving. After getting off the final plane to Torino I was lulled into a happy stupor: I felt like I had made it and I immediately had a victory espresso before getting on my first train.

Twenty minutes later, it all evaporated. I was riding a bus which was to take me to the central train station, but I never saw the stop I needed; it seemed I had ridden the bus too far. I asked an Italian man what to do, and he said to get off now and take the metro. I gathered 150 pounds of luggage, got off the bus, and made to cross the street. Then I realized, my small red backpack was still on the bus, with my wallet, passport, camera, iPod, and a snack sized bag of trail mix, which I was planning to eat on the train.

I had a small moment of panic, released a few f-bombs into the street, and then quickly calmed down. I had copies of my passport and back up debit cards in my other bags. I could always fly home and start over again if I needed to.

As it turns out, it didn't come to that. A young kid tried to call the bus company for me, but his phone was out of minutes, so he pointed me towards the police station, and I started walking. I wish I had left one of my heavy pieces of luggage on the bus. 15 minutes later I ended up at the training academy for the Italian highway patrol. Close enough. The secretary there, Fabio, was incredibly patient and eager to help. He called two different numbers and was able to talk to the dispatch for the bus line. Luckily, there were only two buses that made the loop I had been riding. He sent me back to the bus stop; both busses would pass by within an hour, and there would be good chance they have my bag.

After a few buses passed, I saw the "Dora Fly", the bus I had been on. I boarded the bus, and in my best Italian told the driver, "I'm the stupid kid who left his...." He stopped me and pointed to my bag, which was hanging on a hook right behind him.

I rode back to the station, an official checked my passport and filled out a report. I felt like hugging the bus driver, but that is not the custom here, so I thanked him and went on my way, feeling very lucky. Molto fortunato.

Packing Up Life

Here is my stuff.


I've done this six other times since finishing college: pack up everything you need and take off. This was the first time I've had to put it all in suitcases. Amazingly, after laying out everything I thought I would need for the year, it all fit perfectly into the luggage I had. I even brought my yoga mat, a 2mm wetsuit, tennis racket, and a 4.5 pound tub of Prolong Energy Drink (for cycling).




And it all fits.