666
Finalmente, I procured all the necessary keys (3) to go in and out of the apartment as I please. This morning I joyfully took advantage of my freedom.
The Via di San Luca takes you up and up and up to the Santuario della Beata Vergine di San Luca. It's a covered path, and you pass under 666 arches (methinks this is significant) on your way to the top. I didn't notice any other non-natives; there were plenty of locals exercising, cell phone talking, dog walking, and church going. Not too many though. G warned me that it's a different story on weekend mornings. It's supposed to take about 40 minutes to get to the top, and I didn't time myself but I did break a sweat and find myself breathing rather heavily because the path is relentlessly up and occasionally steep. I'd love to be able to run it. Every so often, there are painted domes with perching pigeons, and the walls are covered with decades worth of the fierce carvings of sentimental youngins.
All along the path but especially once you reach the top, there are gorgeous views of snow-covered countryside and the city spread out below. When I got to the top, a man pointed and asked me if this was the right way to mass (and also something about sand?) and I almost definitely sent him in the wrong direction. He'll probably forgive me. Vale said next time I go, I should bring the dog, Mela.
In other news:
Franci and his parents were arguing over the size of his hair the other day. The Italian pouf (a.k.a. long tuft of hair on the top of the head) is very real, and it’s called a “ciuffo.” Franci defended his ciuffo valiantly—there was lots of gesturing and hair-grabbing—but it looks like the ciuffo's gotta go.
How to end a phone call like an Italian: This is pretty simple. First, you’re probably thanking the person for something, so do that. Then say “ciao” as many times as you can before the other person hangs up. It should sound something like, “Grazie. Ciao ciao cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-ciao.”
Vale asked me when my birthday is, and upon finding out that it’s in July, said, “Aahhh, cancro.” Then she said half to herself that I do seem like a cancer. So apparently, I am cancer-like! Also apparently horoscopes are a thing here.
We had vitello milanese for dinner last night, and Franci went to the fridge and pulled out ketchup. He said everything fried needs ketchup. G called him a barbarian.
The Via di San Luca takes you up and up and up to the Santuario della Beata Vergine di San Luca. It's a covered path, and you pass under 666 arches (methinks this is significant) on your way to the top. I didn't notice any other non-natives; there were plenty of locals exercising, cell phone talking, dog walking, and church going. Not too many though. G warned me that it's a different story on weekend mornings. It's supposed to take about 40 minutes to get to the top, and I didn't time myself but I did break a sweat and find myself breathing rather heavily because the path is relentlessly up and occasionally steep. I'd love to be able to run it. Every so often, there are painted domes with perching pigeons, and the walls are covered with decades worth of the fierce carvings of sentimental youngins.
All along the path but especially once you reach the top, there are gorgeous views of snow-covered countryside and the city spread out below. When I got to the top, a man pointed and asked me if this was the right way to mass (and also something about sand?) and I almost definitely sent him in the wrong direction. He'll probably forgive me. Vale said next time I go, I should bring the dog, Mela.
In other news:
Franci and his parents were arguing over the size of his hair the other day. The Italian pouf (a.k.a. long tuft of hair on the top of the head) is very real, and it’s called a “ciuffo.” Franci defended his ciuffo valiantly—there was lots of gesturing and hair-grabbing—but it looks like the ciuffo's gotta go.
How to end a phone call like an Italian: This is pretty simple. First, you’re probably thanking the person for something, so do that. Then say “ciao” as many times as you can before the other person hangs up. It should sound something like, “Grazie. Ciao ciao cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-ciao.”
Vale asked me when my birthday is, and upon finding out that it’s in July, said, “Aahhh, cancro.” Then she said half to herself that I do seem like a cancer. So apparently, I am cancer-like! Also apparently horoscopes are a thing here.
We had vitello milanese for dinner last night, and Franci went to the fridge and pulled out ketchup. He said everything fried needs ketchup. G called him a barbarian.
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