Bologna: No Funk in Italian

Dish of the Day: Homemade Spaghetti with chopped Eggplant and Fresh Parmesan
Wine: 2008 Chianti
Dessert: Mascarpone Cheese topped with shaved chocolate

Studying is so much easier when one is properly equipped!


There is no Funk in Italian. What I mean to say is, I do not blend in here. For one, I am blond...and not just a little bit blond, no I am 100% pure blond to the very end of every hair follicle. This of course makes me fair skinned and green eyed, features that are typically Swedish and German, not Italian.

Also, I don’t smoke. I almost purchased a pack of cigarettes today purely so that I could at least hide behind a veil of smoke like everyone else. My right hand seems so lonely comparatively.

I don’t speak Italian. Even my Gratzi sounds forced and squeaky, as if every time I say it I’m not sure if the right consonants are being pronounced. I ended up sounding even more pathetic then if I would just woman-up and say "thank you" instead of trying so hard to sound nonchalantly Italian. When people ask me questions, for some reason it is my reflex to answer in Spanish, making my attempt to not draw any unnecessary attention to myself even more feeble.

I shed layers far to quick. It is warm here and my hardy Canadian physic can’t stand to be separated from the sun by any sort of insulated layer. The locals however, seem to think that 25 C is only mild, as most people spend their day under thick jackets, while I walk around in a bright yellow tank-top.

I’m not Catholic. This was very evident as I happened to be in downtown Bologna during some kind of St. Something Day, where a military escorted Catholic Processional overtook the Piazza and had 1000’s of locals singing and chanting in Italian. While they kneeled and echoed the Priest, I searched for the best spot to perch from. While they sang the songs they’ve sung since infancy, I took pictures. While they crossed themselves I stretched my wrist which grew stiff from holding my camera. And while they observed a moment of silence, I reapplied my lip gloss. Balloons were brought and release, for what significance I don't know, but it only made the absence of my own balloon more significant.

I guess that’s just it. I’m not like everybody else...I don’t look Italian, I don't speak Italian, I don't act Italian...perhaps this is because I’M NOT ITALIAN! Instead of wanting to fit in, perhaps I need just need to be what I am and enjoy the experiences laid before me. Celebrate the beautiful cappuccino I had this morning, novasly participate in the St. Whoever's Day, and embrace the look of confusion on my face as I get lost in the allies as dusk.

Yes, I am Erin...I’m Canadian not Italian...and I’m okay with that! Sorry Red Jacket, looks like your cameo powers didn't clear customs.