Rudyard Kipling said, "The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it." When I first found out I would need to keep a blog, I planned on writing a post about the smells of Italy. When I was in China last summer, I definitely noticed the smells (everywhere, all the time, something I never got used to in two weeks). But here, I haven't noticed them at all - unless I catch the the gentle waft of freshly baked pizza on the afternoon air as I walk by a crowded pizzeria. Maybe my sense of smell has been temporarily disabled by the cold mountain air; although nothing stuck, it snowed yesterday which is very unusual and tells you how cold it got compared to the relatively mild temperatures of last week (Filiberto told us we must have brought the American snow with us). I'm sure Rome must have a distinct smell in the heat of the summer and I've also heard Venice doesn't smell pleasantly (but I'm going in February for Carnevale, I'll let you know!). But here, with the fresh air, it smells just like the fresh air of Fisherville, minus the smell of hay.
So while the air smells the same, one big difference I've noticed is the sounds. I've only ever lived in Louisville, Kentucky or Greencastle, Indiana. Both houses I've lived in have been by wooded areas and are pretty quiet. At school, I get to hear raucous frat party music and people talking in the rooms next door. But here, in my apartment, there is the sound of the piano teacher above us clapping rhythmically and instructing her pupils on how to play the piece in her loud Italian during the late afternoon and early evenings. While I'm pretty sure some of my friends from home would hate it (AXO piano haters, you know who you are), I think it's actually really nice; I like hearing the piano and it's fun to try and figure out what she's saying since I took piano and am trying to become fluent in Italian. And even when I'm in the apartment by myself, there's nice background music and the reassurance that someone is close by (since I can't listen to my dogs barking, piano music will have to do). My bedroom's outside wall is 60% glass (windows and a door) and so the sounds from the street below are constantly going. But instead of it being angry honks and zooming cars, it's just a constant slow grumble. The cars and pedestrians here work in sort of a funny dance. Cars can't drive very fast (the streets are too narrow and there are too many pedestrians), but they move quickly and it's understood that while you will move to the side of the street to allow them room to pass on narrower streets inside the city walls, they will stop the moment you set foot in the crosswalk. Their brakes must be fantastic. Then finally, as people walk by on the sidewalk below the kitchen window, I can hear their conversations. Is it eavesdropping if I don't know what their saying? Even if it is, it's become my favorite thing to do in the morning. Eat my breakfast, look out at the rising sun and over the Italian hillside, and watch and listen to the people walking below. I feel like a nosy Italian mother already.
For what I see in Macerata, I already covered in other blog posts and pictures, so I won't go into that again (brief recap: sheer gorgeousness).
What I taste, now that I've gotten the hang of cooking down a little bit more, is lots and lots of olive oil. Except for when I eat my salad and use the only salad dressing I could find at the store - a very strong balsamic vinegar. I suppose I knew I wouldn't be able to find Italian salad dressing here (my favorite), but I guess I expected some sort of equivalent. No go. But now I've made several successful trips to the grocery store, trying out some different kinds of cheeses, using lots of tomatoes -- mom, I'm bring home the recipe with tomatoes and mozzarella I had at the restaurant the other day, you'll love it -- and I even bought salami tonight. Not sure exactly what I'll do with it, but I'm sure it will involve olive oil. And finally, I'm tasting the wine. Which is cheap. I bought a bottle for one euro, another for three. So delicious.
As to what I feel, which will complete the five senses I promised you in the post title, is cold. Here they primarily have tile or marble floors, because that's what is available to them. But in the winter, the floor is really really cold, and literally, that's what I'm feeling (someday, I will live somewhere warm). But in the more metaphysical, emotional state of being, sense of feeling, I'm feeling really good. I've been here for over a week now, and I've gotten the hang of the city down, I've been to all my classes (post on that coming soon), and I'm settled into the apartment. Today we got a calendar of the whole semester, tomorrow I'm booking a trip to Venice, soon I'll be booking the rest of my three day weekend trips and then by April 28, I'll be home. It seems so quick already! So I'm just trying to soak in as much of it as I can, and I'm not even sure I'll end up traveling out of Italy at all, even though that's not what I'd originally planned. There is just so much to this beautiful country that I want to see before April 28th rolls around.
So while the air smells the same, one big difference I've noticed is the sounds. I've only ever lived in Louisville, Kentucky or Greencastle, Indiana. Both houses I've lived in have been by wooded areas and are pretty quiet. At school, I get to hear raucous frat party music and people talking in the rooms next door. But here, in my apartment, there is the sound of the piano teacher above us clapping rhythmically and instructing her pupils on how to play the piece in her loud Italian during the late afternoon and early evenings. While I'm pretty sure some of my friends from home would hate it (AXO piano haters, you know who you are), I think it's actually really nice; I like hearing the piano and it's fun to try and figure out what she's saying since I took piano and am trying to become fluent in Italian. And even when I'm in the apartment by myself, there's nice background music and the reassurance that someone is close by (since I can't listen to my dogs barking, piano music will have to do). My bedroom's outside wall is 60% glass (windows and a door) and so the sounds from the street below are constantly going. But instead of it being angry honks and zooming cars, it's just a constant slow grumble. The cars and pedestrians here work in sort of a funny dance. Cars can't drive very fast (the streets are too narrow and there are too many pedestrians), but they move quickly and it's understood that while you will move to the side of the street to allow them room to pass on narrower streets inside the city walls, they will stop the moment you set foot in the crosswalk. Their brakes must be fantastic. Then finally, as people walk by on the sidewalk below the kitchen window, I can hear their conversations. Is it eavesdropping if I don't know what their saying? Even if it is, it's become my favorite thing to do in the morning. Eat my breakfast, look out at the rising sun and over the Italian hillside, and watch and listen to the people walking below. I feel like a nosy Italian mother already.
For what I see in Macerata, I already covered in other blog posts and pictures, so I won't go into that again (brief recap: sheer gorgeousness).
What I taste, now that I've gotten the hang of cooking down a little bit more, is lots and lots of olive oil. Except for when I eat my salad and use the only salad dressing I could find at the store - a very strong balsamic vinegar. I suppose I knew I wouldn't be able to find Italian salad dressing here (my favorite), but I guess I expected some sort of equivalent. No go. But now I've made several successful trips to the grocery store, trying out some different kinds of cheeses, using lots of tomatoes -- mom, I'm bring home the recipe with tomatoes and mozzarella I had at the restaurant the other day, you'll love it -- and I even bought salami tonight. Not sure exactly what I'll do with it, but I'm sure it will involve olive oil. And finally, I'm tasting the wine. Which is cheap. I bought a bottle for one euro, another for three. So delicious.
As to what I feel, which will complete the five senses I promised you in the post title, is cold. Here they primarily have tile or marble floors, because that's what is available to them. But in the winter, the floor is really really cold, and literally, that's what I'm feeling (someday, I will live somewhere warm). But in the more metaphysical, emotional state of being, sense of feeling, I'm feeling really good. I've been here for over a week now, and I've gotten the hang of the city down, I've been to all my classes (post on that coming soon), and I'm settled into the apartment. Today we got a calendar of the whole semester, tomorrow I'm booking a trip to Venice, soon I'll be booking the rest of my three day weekend trips and then by April 28, I'll be home. It seems so quick already! So I'm just trying to soak in as much of it as I can, and I'm not even sure I'll end up traveling out of Italy at all, even though that's not what I'd originally planned. There is just so much to this beautiful country that I want to see before April 28th rolls around.
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