I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious.

I’m now the proud owner (can you own this?) of a job in Italy. Well, maybe two, but that’s still in the air as of right now. I’m now employed by a school here in town, it’s not set hours, which as some people know, drives me crazy (I like the idea of having a set schedule, the thing that drove me insane while I worked at the liquor store was not the drunk crazy people but the lack of set hours… and here I am again), but it’s work, so whose complaining? (Me, evidently)

It is now very important that I get learning how to drive a stick shift soon and get some sort of sense of direction. Luckily the school has a car for me to use to get to places where I have to teach, so that’s a bonus right there. But like I said, lets try to work on not crashing it while I try to teach myself the art of shifting.

I went for my training today and attempted to take the bus back home. I say attempted because the bus system here in Schio is almost non-existent, especially up to the house. And for someone who doesn’t speak the language, I’m generally leaving it all up to fate and a bus driver. So, I got on the bus and rode up the mountain, all went well until he dropped me off halfway and said something that sounded like I had to get off or else head back to the city. Sheesh. I was only halfway home, so I made the trek up the (sometimes steep) hill, good times in not suitable for walking shoes.

Last weekend was filled with fun times as Frank visited from Canada and we went out to dinner on Friday night. Here’s the thing, if you want to confuse an Italian, or at least my Italian family, ask to bring half your meal home. It apparently has never happened. Saturday night we had a ‘feast’ at the house, where a lot of meat is roasted on open fire (real wood, not coal, I’m told makes the difference) and a lot of vino is had. It was fun and again, for my family back home keeping count, I ate the sausage and polenta and enjoyed both (seriously, polenta is actually good when it’s not mush).

Sunday marked the beginning of hunting season, a day comparable to Christmas for grown men. As of Sunday little birds hid for their lives as shots were blasted in their direction. To those who may have thought that I was eating birds already (and not duck), nope, but I’m sure the day will be coming soon, although so far my uncle and cousin have only caught one bird apiece, I’m told business should pick up soon.

As for my brain, is constantly drawing comparisons and taking note of different things (damn you anthropological training! but yeah, it’s finally useful… for this blog? can I get paid for that or make some kind of career?), a few things I’ve come to learn (none of which is to do with the Italian language, sadly. Although I do know how to give one word directions to bus drivers and ask for things from convenience store clerks):

-Coca-cola light tastes different from diet coke, dare I say better? It tastes more like real coke, maybe coke zero (although they also have coke zero, I should give that a shot)

-I understand the phrase “dropping like flies” now. As I write there are two flies buzzing around my head, when I come back to my room later on tonight their carcasses will be somewhere on the floor, because they literally do drop dead on the spot. They’ll join the many other flies before me. Trust.

-Whenever you buy the wrong bus or train ticket or forget to validate it (forget? more like I don’t know these things) all you have to do is tell whomever is getting mad at you is “I don’t speak Italian” and they take pity on your pathetic self and let you go. I think I throw in a sad eye look too, I’m not sure, my face is apparently really expressive says the guy that hired me. I do know that this is a technique I will continue to employ even after I learn the language.

-I now have my own doctor in town (you must get one when you get medical… hooray for medical!) and I’m not too sure about this yet, but by reading the brochure given to me by the hospital, written in Italian, I think the name of the clinic is called “Gimmy Cricket.” This pleases me (although don’t be mistaken, my doctors name is unfortunately not Gimmy Cricket).

-I saw a donkey Sunday when we were in another province. It was metal and it was on someone’s front lawn, so goal not quite attained yet. I know this doesn’t count but I will continue my search, if I don’t find a real one soon, I’ll go back there (yeah right, like I can find that place again) and take a picture of it, hopefully they decorate it for Christmas, otherwise I’ll have to do it myself and take pictures on this family’s front lawn.

So that’s it. I’ve been here for a week and a half and that’s what I have to write about. And for all of you that thought you would miss my random thoughts and stories, pshaw I say, we have the blog for that. But as you can see, I’ve already learned much about the culture and life here in Italy, next step: language.