Straniera...

So, I live in Bologna now. I gave someone directions, I sent a letter at the post office, I've had multiple phone conversations in italian and I bought a quart of milk at my local grocery store. Mamma mia, sono italiana!

Well, not quite.

Wherever I go, I still stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe it's my pale skin, freckles, light brown hair, jeans, flip-flops, map or a combination of all the above... but at a glance, any Italian can tell you that I am straniera. Foreigner.

Two days ago, I was walking across the street looking (in my opinion) like I absolutely belonged in Bologna. Groceries and keys in hand, no map visible, shoes that weren't flip-flops... Ah yes, I was the epitome of a Bologna native. I passed a man in the street and gave him a polite smile, and he turned to his friend and said in italian "Lei è straniera." He emphasized it just like that, SHE is a foreigner, as if he were proving a point.

Oh, I just couldn't believe it. I had groceries! I had keys! Yet I was still straniera. As you can imagine, this was quite an emotional blow. I managed to maintain composure though, and with a bruised ego and a heavy heart, I headed to my hair appointment (how can I be straniera if I have a hair appointment?!). As the sylist was cutting my hair, she made some comment about my hair and Madonna (???) which I didn't entirely understand, so I figured that nodding politely would be a safe bet. She laughed and turned to her friend, another stylist, and said in italian something like "these foreigners don't understand anything" to which he replied "it's because they eat too much fish."

...

Too much FISH? TOO MUCH FISH? First of all, I haven't eaten fish in 7 years. Second of all, that statement doesn't even make any sense. THIRD of all, well... it's just rude. He went on to say "they just want to come to Italy and get their exotic haircuts and then go back home to show their friends."

Of course, everyone knows that I'm not the most assertive person in the world, so I just sat there listening to them making fun of me - also, the woman was holding scissors about an inch from my head so it wasn't a particularly good time to get in an argument. When it was finally over, I left feeling defeated, with less hair and less dignity. I needed to clear my head so I decided to go to my favorite spot in the city so far. There's one room in the museum with forests painted on all four walls. Since there's not much nature in Bologna, this room is the greenest place in the city! When I got to the museum, I couldn't get up to the door because there was a show going on in the piazza near the entrance, and a crowd of people was blocking my way. There were huge speakers set up, loud trance music playing, and literally hundreds of people, so I knew it must be something interesting.

I made my way through the crowd to see what was going on, and when I finally got to the front I wasn't even sure what I was witnessing. I guess it could be called "interpretive dance" but I personally think that would be an insult to interpretive dancers everywhere.

There was a man, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, writhing on the ground as if he were in terrible, agonizing pain. He was (more or less) moving along with the music and every once in a while he would freeze in some strange pose or another. He wasn't doing anything difficult, or anything graceful, or... anything at all, really. Yet there were hundreds of people crowded around, looking extremely interested.

This was the last straw. I just didn't get it, and I obviously didn't get it because I was straniera. I thought to myself "How am I going to survive here for a year? I don't speak the language, my hair stylist hates me and apparently writhing on the ground is considered art." I missed home, I missed being a local, I missed people who speak English, I missed trees and I missed dancing that is actually dancing.

I don't know when I started feeling better, but I did. When I got back to my dorm, we all went out to a tiny trattoria for my friend Molly's birthday. The people at the restaurant were amazing, the food was amazing and the wine was especially amazing. The next day, I looked at several really nice apartments and talked to my mom on the phone. I bought comfortable pajamas and found my way across the city without a map, and did yoga in the evening. This place, this incredible city full of adventures and treasures and evil hair stylists which must be defeated at all costs... yes, this place is my home now. I am a pale-skinned, freckled, flip-flop wearing straniera but I'm exactly where I belong.