Eat. Play. Love Italy.: Firsts

First warm greeting at Fiumicino from beaming IES staffers. First shuttle trip through the city, a mishmosh of emotions: captivation inspired by breathtaking views of ancient churches and storied fountains mixed with constant fear as the van hurled its way through the streets, making last minute turns inches away from pedestrians. First home-cooked meal with my adorable suitemates, a lovely concoction of al dente pasta, mozzarella, zucchini, and tomatoes, served with warm Tuscan bread and iced tea. First impression of Susanna, our Italian Student Companion: affable, easygoing and the go-to girl for 20-something Roman living. First view of the Colosseum through the window of Metrobus 44. I had predicted it would be an overrated sight, but one glimpse of the real thing proved me wrong: what a gorgeous must-see! First (legal!) bottle of rosé wine to accompany our first pizza dinner in Piazza Venezia. First trip up Michelangelo's steps (ow, calves). First night out on the town with my bubbly classmates in Trastevere at the swanky Bar San Castillo.

The past few days have been rife with exhilarating firsts (I didn't even mention my first delicious mango gelato in the massive paragraph above). These lovely snapshots have quickly shown me that coming to this remarkable city was absolutely the right choice for me. However, I can't deny that I am totally in the "Ignorant American tourist falls head over heels for Rome" phase of my journey. I know that I have so much to anticipate and to learn and that not all of it will provide that warm, fuzzy feeling I feel so often right now. For just a few brief instants over the past couple days, I have experienced that bit of squeamishness that arises in the pit of one's stomach when the mind tells the body, "Hey, this isn't home." There are the little things, like the lack of drying machines in our apartment (an inconvenience), and there are the bigger signs, like the language gap I struggle to bridge and the romanticism of the Italian lifestyle that poses such a great contrast to the American drive for hustle and bustle that was reinforced during my summer working in DC. My goal for this semester is to embrace the squeamishness and to conquer it. To stop seeing the drying racks as an inconvenience and to understand why Italians do what they do the way they do it. I want to learn this culture, but more importantly, I am here to live it. I guess the sociologist/anthropologist in me just can't resist analyzing every inch of this experience, but I'll liven up the post for those non-liberal artsy friends and throw in a few new pictures (this time, my own). Here are a few initial snapshots...more to come (with me in them)!