Italians: Making Things Less Efficient Since at Least 1945

Things I crossed off my bucket list this week: going to France. Skiing the Alps. 

They took everyone on the program (Lewis and Clarkies, Easterners, the straggler students from other random colleges) to Valle d'Aosta, and if you had been in our class last week, you would know all the things about Valle d'Aosta, because we gave presentations on them! The highlights are that it's up near France and Torino (which you might remember from some winter Olympics a while back), it's bilingual in French and Italian, and there are the Alps. 

Wednesday we drove up in a big bus, all one billion (by which I mean thirty something) of us, at the crack of dawn (by which I mean 7:45 - only we were late departing, of course). It took forever. Really. Aosta is five hours from Siena, but it took much much longer than that because we had bathroom breaks and we stopped in Torino to visit the Museo Nazionale del Cinema. Which we had a reservation for, but still had to wait 30 minutes to see. So Italian. But the museum was neat. It would have been a lot better if we weren't all dead from so many hours on the bus, and we'd been allowed to wander around and look ourselves. But hey, you know me, not gonna pass up a free trip to a museum! And we did see some neat things - like famous movie posters, but the Italian versions. And some scripts to famous movies, and some of Federico Felini's stuff. And some masks, of questionable value - pre-production stuff from various movies including Superman and Star Wars. 

We finally arrived at our hotel, Etoile du Nord (North Star, in French - remember, Aosta is bilingual) at some god-forsaken hour in the region of 7pm. Which is insane if you remember that I got on the bus at 7:54. It was a kinda strange spirally hotel, but otherwise very nice. They fed us dinner, and we all passed out. 

Thursday most people went up the mountain to ski/snowboard. Those of us uninterested in sliding down the mountain at breakneck speeds on little pieces of plastic promptly went up to look around at the view anyway. After which, we changed our minds and decided to spend Friday skiing. But we descended and puttered off to find a bus/train to take us to France for the day. Because we were so close. It was about an hour by bus to Cormayeur, a small town on the Italian side of Monte Bianco (tallest mountain in Europe - Mont Blanc in French) and then less than that through the tunnel to France and Chamonix on the other side. 

We met a British guy who was also going to Chamonix and had been before, so he knew the good places to eat. His name was Tim, and he was an ice climber. Robin pointed out that of all the foreigners to befriend, we had to pick the one with the ice pick on his pack, but he was very nice. He hung out with us, had lunch with us, talked in his cute little British accent, and then departed. It was lovely - there was no way we'd see each other again, since he was going back to England in fairly short order, so it was a perfect exercise in the serendipity of travel. We got a good lunch and he got to hang out with seven girls who spoke English. 

Chamonix is a beautiful little town nestled in the mountains. But truly - there is not a direction you can look that these fantastically imposing mountains don't tower over you. Snow-tipped, jagged, they're just... breathtaking. Pictures do not do it justice. I cannot even imagine living in such a place - waking up every day, with that view, with those awesome giants always there, always the same. That I were so lucky. 

Other things about the town - we had macrons, which look a little like mini hamburgers, especially if you get the right flavour, but are actually delicious pastries. We also had French french fries, which were delicious, with French mayonaise which was also delicious. I saw a bag for "Harry Potter et les Reliques du Mort". Robin saw moonboots and wanted them, but they were extraordinarily expensive. I bought French brie - a sizable piece that would go for at least $5 back home for €2.50. It was so so good, I wanted to eat it forever. Apparently, in Europe, they don't have to pasteurize their milk, so the cheese is better. We were very sad to leave France. It definitely had a different feel than Italy did, and it was, in some ways, nice to get out of Italy for a bit. I mean, I love Italy, but the day trip was a nice change of pace from the Italian inefficiency. We were very sad to leave, but it was nice to get back to the hotel and relax after our international super-adventure (you will notice almost everything is a super-adventure for me). 

Onwards to Friday! Friday, again, I woke up super early, but this time because I was going skiing! The verb in italian is sciare pronounced shee-are-ay, and goes very well to the tune of that song "Nel blu dipinto di blu" which you might know by it's popular name "Volare", meaning to fly. Which is a long winded way of saying that all day I was humming "Sciare..." to that tune. Anyway. 

There were a number of us who decided to go skiing on Friday - Fiona and Libby, who had skied once and never respectively, Megan who used to ski regularly with her parents but had retired from the snow life, and Trevin, who both skis and snowboards and skied Thursday, so was switching it up. I have been skiing (or had been...) approximately 3 times in my life, and the last time was waaay back in high school with Isabelle and company. But apparently that made me good enough to keep up with the big kids, Trevin and Megan. Who deserve all of the thanks in the world for being so patient with me. Mad props to them. Especially Trevin who not only coached me ("It's all confidence. You know that little engine that could? Instead of saying 'I think I can...' he should have gone, 'Dang, I KNOW I can!'") and took it so slow for timid little me, but waited on his knees (you have to do this when snowboarding, you can't really just stand waiting) over every ridge for Megan and I to catch up. I wish wish wish I had a picture of Trevin's "waiting-on-the-other-side-of-the-hill-for-the-slow-pokes" face. It was a very encouraging face. 

I fell approximately ten times. Give or take a few. And I was not wearing snow pants, I decided to ski in jeans (with leggings underneath). My response, when I couldn't find anyone with pants to lend me, was "Well then, I just won't fall." Karma. But I didn't actually get that wet - it was so cold, I could just brush myself off and keep going. My mittens, which are not waterproof, got very very wet by the end of the day, but that was about it. I was, over all, perfectly fine. Besides one bruise on my knee from falling on hard snow, which is not even a particularly bad bruise. So there. 

But it was all worth it to go to the top. Did I mention we skied from the top of the mountain to the bottom? Because we did. And we didn't die, despite my protestations that we totally would (or I would, anyway). Everything that day was worth it for that view. Mountains all around, little valleys, huge jagged snow-dusted peaks. So amazing. And a couple snow-patrolers just having their lunch, hanging out, like it was no big deal they were on top of Europe, in the most amazing mountains. The view was so breathtaking, I could have died. Mountains mountains everywhere. I could go on and on trying to convey to you the sheer might that those mountains have, but you would get bored, and I'd get frustrated because little pixels on the screen are thoroughly insufficient. Just believe me. Close your eyes and imagine for me. This is an interactive blog. 

But despite a minor collapse of will on the last run (Trevin, Megan, you guys are SAINTS), it was a fantastic day. I am so glad I decided to go skiing, it was so much fun, and I know I would have regretted it if I hadn't, since I do actually kind of know how to ski. We had dinner that night in the hotel, drank some vino, and Megan fell asleep on my bed, because we were all so so tired. The next day my legs were aching but in a good way. 

Saturday, we got up at the crack of dawn again. Well, 8 but it felt like dawn after skiing all day the day before. Then it was back to the bus for an eternity. We stopped again in Torino for another museum - Museo Egizio, which is the largest Egyptian Museum outside of the one in Cairo. Which, I explained last night to an American friend, is not weird. Yes, lots of Egyptian reliques were "saved" (read: looted) by people, and yes one might expect all the artifacts to be in Britain, because Britain controlled Egypt for a long time. But, before that, Napoleon was in Egypt. Now, I'm not super on top of this particular history - most of what I know comes from looking at some Orientalist art from the time for a class about Muslim/European relations. But basically, as we were told, Napoleon took a bunch of stuff from Egypt and was bringing it back from France and got tired of lugging it around. So, naturally, he dropped it right before he had to drag it through the super huge mountains, which was Torino. Wikipedia does not corroborate this story, but it's a pretty good story. The point, however, is that there's been an Egyptian museum in Torino since the 1800s. So that's pretty cool. 

It was a lot better than the Cinema Museum trip because it was earlier in the day, so we were less exhausted, and the tour guide spoke very slow, clear Italian. My attention began to wane near the end, but the stuff he was telling us was super fascinating. They have Nefertiti's knees (all that's left after looting), the first mummy ever, and a bunch of really neat sculptures. Megan, who is also an art history major, told me that Egyptian art is particularly interesting, because except for 50 years under this one dude, the art style stayed mostly the same for some reason. After this dude's innovation, it went right back to being the way it was. Which is also pretty interesting. 

We had a chance to eat lunch in Torino, and take a few pictures. Torino, and northern Italy in general, is really cool. It's very different even from Tuscany - it's much more... European looking. The style is more what you might expect to find in parts of France or Switzerland or something. I liked what I saw of Torino. It's still dirtier than Siena, from what I saw, but it also fascinated me just because of the difference in style. I would have liked to have a little more time to putter around, but maybe it was best this way - then I wouldn't have to become disillusioned with it too.

A billion hours later, we finally arrived back in Siena. We got in around 8:30, so almost 12 hours after we left Aosta. OH. MY. GOD. So long. I'd scarfed a ton of cookies and chocolate on the bus, so I wasn't particularly hungry when I got home, but I still managed to eat two servings of pasta. My lady was really happy I got home - she said something to the effect of "I like that I'm not alone" which was adorable. Again, it feels so lovely to return home to Siena, even if it's just because we know what we're doing here.

Since I've been here for almost a month, I should probably do a 'month-iversary' sum up in the next couple days - Monday marks one month here, and Sunday one month since I left. So that'll probably happen, if you want to skip the weird navel-gazing update. Monday also marks the start of the semester! No more intensive Italian! Yay! Finally some exercise for my brain - I'll have something to talk about besides "and then I ate some pasta and then I drank a cappuccino and then I was really really cold". Anyway, just a heads up.

As per usual, I love and miss everyone back in North America. I hope you're all well, and having as much fun as I am. Emails and letters are always welcome - don't forget my birthday is coming up!

<3