Home ?

It’s Sunday evening. Last week this time I was at the Rome airport waiting to board the plane.

In the morning, I had asked Patrizia to call a cab for me. Thank God she was the one on duty! She helped most cheerfully, and was on the phone for almost 10 minutes trying to get a cab. I was wringing my hands in nervousness. No doubt, the train station is only 5 to 10 minutes away but who knows how long it would take to get a cab? According to her, cabs are not so easy to come by early Sunday mornings.

When the cab finally arrived, Patrizia was really sweet and carried my luggage out for me. She needn’t have to at all (no receptionist has done that for anyone, as far as I could see). At the gate, she still had an animated conversation with the driver about the front gate that he should have entered. And there I was still very kan cheong about getting to the station on time.

‘’How much is the fare to the station? I do not have much cash with me,’’ I asked the driver, when I saw the flag off fare already at almost 8 euro! I didn’t remember it being so much when I first came to the residence from the station. ‘’It’s about 10 euro, not more than that,’’ he replied. When we arrived, it was about 10.35 euro, but he said kindly, ‘’10 euro, è basta’’ (it’s enough).

When I arrived I saw Marcia, from Saint Petersburg, already waiting at the station. She had been there much earlier, having taken a bus to the station instead. She was delighted that we were waiting for the same bus to Rome. ‘’That way we have company,’’ she said happily. Marcia, an undergrad, stayed at the same residence but we hardly talked as we were in different classes. Now that we were on the same bus, (followed by train later) to the airport, it gave us an opportunity to chat. It was her first time to Italy and she was really brave. She had arrived late at night in the middle of Siena city centre and had tried to catch a bus to the residence, luggage and all. A few Senesi helped her look for buses and eventually she had to take a taxi.

Where the bus dropped us, we had to take a train to the airport. We had forgotten to look for a ‘’stamping machine’’ to validate our ticket before boarding the train and was wondering whether to make a dash back to the entrance, when we met an elderly man, who explained, ‘’it’s ok, just write the date and time of the journey at the back,’’ and he did just that for us! True enough, when the inspector checked our tickets later, he ‘’cleared’’ them! Only in Italy do you get such whimsical actions of writing on your own tickets to validate them.

At the airport lounge in Rome, I went to help myself to a juice and some peanuts. Next to me, I saw a woman trying to scoop some nuts on a napkin and when she saw me scooping them into a drinks glass, she said to me, ‘’smart idea, I’ll do that too. They don’t even provide a plate!’’ I just smiled. She looked at me again, as if trying to elicit an agreement from me, ‘’it’s terrible isn’t it, how do they expect us to eat this?’’ I just shrugged, and mumbled, ‘’oh well’’.

Although Singapore was still at least 15 hours away, but I knew I was already very, very near home, when I heard the typical complaining and whining in perfect Singlish.

So, what did I do this weekend when I got home? For a start, memories slowly kick in. Though I was very much in touch with my friends here while I was in Siena, there are details that I have filed away. Like trying to remember how to get from one destination to another, or how ill mannered people are.

It feels like I had been living on a different plane in August. I was fully aware of the happenings in Singapore, while living a contented student’s life in Siena. Despite the gripes about mosquitoes and having to share limited facilities, I have grown to miss the simplicity of life there, and how unassuming the people are.

As I got pushed and shoved while getting lost in the maze of new entrances and exits at the Orchard MRT station linking up new spanking malls today, I could not help feeling aghast at the crass materialism and aimless shopping that got everyone crazed.

Back in Siena, Sunday is a family day where family members spend a large part of their time having a nice home cooked meal together, not out roaming the streets to check out the latest shop or gadget, or the latest gourmet food in downtown supermarkets.

The Senesi are happy to shop at residential or suburban hypermarkets, where house brands rule the market, and whose quality are superb, if not indiscernible from the ‘’branded’’ ones. (I know – I ‘’tested’’ this on my colleagues with a taste test!)

Sigh – I knew I was going to miss Siena – not just its monuments and sunshine, but its values and lifestyle.

Going Home

This morning, I bumped into Rosy, the Brazilian lady, at the kitchen. ‘’Ah, you are still here, when do you leave?’’ she asked. ‘’Tomorrow,’’ I told her.
‘’Good, there’s still you! I leave tomorrow too, almost everyone is leaving today, she replied’’.

Yes, we bade farewells to many of our housemates this morning. I asked Min, the Korean guy when he would be leaving. ‘’In February,’’ he replied. He studies Italian as part of his University programme in Seoul and will be here for quite a while. That’s great for him; I am sure by February he will speak very well. Already I am hearing more complete and comprehensible sentences from him.

Another Korean girl asked me when I was leaving (‘’when are you leaving’’ seems to be the greeting these last few days) when I met her on my way up to my room. I told her tomorrow and she said, everyone is here only for a month, I will be here for a year, she replied. It must be sad bidding farewells to people every month. I asked if she was going to stay in this house for a year and she told me that she would be looking for another residence somewhere nearer town.

If I were her, I would have the same desire to find another residence too: one month in this sua ting villa, and I have donated enough blood to the greedy fat mosquitoes here to open a private blood bank.

And though having two stinking fridges exploding with food stuffed in a chaotic manner is still tolerable, what is not is: having people take your food without your knowledge or consent. Apparently this happened to some students on many occasions, but it just had to happen to me on my second last day here, when I am trying to manage my food supplies and not stock up too much. But as a result of this pilferage, my limited supplies got depleted and I had to make a trip to the supermarket last evening.

I asked Stefano, the cute and friendly receptionist, a silly question. Better to be save than sorry, never mind if I sound stupid. I asked if there is taxi early in the morning at 7 am tomorrow, as I had to leave by 7 am to go to the bus station to catch a bus to Rome. ‘’Do I have to book today, or call tomorrow morning?’’

He told me to call on the morning itself, rather than book the day before. I asked again, ‘’it’s early in the morning at 7 am, there is taxi?’’ I know I doubt this medieval city and the medieval way they do things, and was not going to take any chances. After all, if they have such infrequent bus services, which terminate after 9.30 pm, what can you say about taxis? ‘’Yes, yes, our taxis operate 24 hours every day,’’ he assured me.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Rome, to catch a flight home, transiting first in Bangkok. A month has jet by quickly, as quickly as the aeroplane.

Arrivederci

Today is our last day together as a class. In the morning we still had class till 1 pm, though we had an exam at 2.30 pm, and the individual oral exam tomorrow.

Though many of us look forward to going home, there is always a tinge of melancholy in us. Melancholic about time whooshing past so quickly, melancholic about having to leave newly made friends, and simply – melancholic about an ending.

Yesterday evening, Ilker, Deimante and I went out for our last dinner together. As usual we hunted around for a ‘’budget’’ dining place. Hard to come by, since Diemante did not want an indoor dining area, nor a ‘’stand up-fast food-pizza-kebab’’ type place.

We had wanted to try the one and only Chinese restaurant around but since Diemante preferred outdoor sitting, we decided to wander around to look for something else. In the end we managed to find Il Grattacielo, a cosy ‘’hole in the wall’’ place that offered simple ‘’home cooked’’ dishes.

Today during the break many of us were busy exchanging contact details, and taking class photos. School mates from other classes were laden with various cameras trying to help us take the group photos.

And it was just so apt that our last 1.5 hours of lesson was spent watching the rest of the movie ‘’I Cento Passi’’, which we had been discussing and from which our exercises had been based.

The movie was also a kind of ‘’goodbye’’. It ended with the death of Peppino. The movie is very touching and although our teacher wanted to fast forward certain portions that we have seen and discussed, some of us requested her not to.

At punctually 1 pm, the movie ended. This time, when she invited us for comments and views, the silence was even longer and more deafening than the previous day. She did not push for any comments, only saying that she could tell the movie had left us bereft of words.

In fact, the movie left many of us in tears. Without a word, we shuffled our papers, and left the class.

Somehow we decided to go back to the Chinese restaurant for our meal, instead of eating at the school canteen. We agreed to order take-aways and find some place outdoor to eat, before returning for our exams.

Since we were so hungry, the minute we could find a place that we could rest our bums, we stopped. Take a look at this happy photo.

There will be many memories of Siena that I will bring home. But the most beautiful one will be this - having a 2.50 euro meal somewhere in the middle of Siena, near our school, and my friends ooing and wowing over the yummy fried rice and noodles. ‘’It’s so yummy! It’s so hot!’’ they exclaimed, gingerly handling the hot foil container. ‘’Is Chinese food always so yummy and always eaten so hot?’’ they asked.

This memorable scene sure beats the experience of having dined in a chi chi osteria or trattoria.

Characters that you Meet

I suppose the others are doing what I am doing now, except perhaps they do it verbally, or in their heads.

For me, I am more ‘’lethal’’ – I write about them and spread the word, ha ha.

At the 24 hour portineria (concierge/ reception), there are a few people on duty, working in shifts. The one I like best is Patrizia. She is jovial, bubbly and has a hearty chuckle. She is the one making funny gestures to express how hot the weather is. Two days ago, she placed a chair smack in the middle of the entrance landing, so she could slouch on it, because it was ‘’soooo hot!’’

There is a bald guy called Marco. He is the one I dislike. The first week we were here, he came to the room where the TV is located and shouted, ‘’this is for TV, not for working’’, knowing very well (and we stressed that to him), that this room is where the internet connection is decently acceptable.

At times when we returned from school and wanted to retrieve our key from him (yes, we have to leave behind our key when we are out) he would make facetious jokes and say ‘’why must I give it to you’’. Once he pretended not to understand me and when I repeated the request, he gave it to me in slow motion, after peering real hard into my face like a clown.

Yesterday, he told me that he could not give it to me. I did not bother to joke with him, not even smile. He explained, ‘’I can’t give you # 17, I only have 17A’’. He was trying to be funny. Every one knows there is only one 17, the ‘’A’’ is not important.

Then there is one lady who is usually grouchy and grumbles to herself. I had the misfortune of having her sign me in when I arrived on Sunday. She was far from informative or helpful. It was Patrizia who showed me around and explained a lot of things later.

Another lady whose name I did not ask is quite helpful too; so is another guy (rather cute as well) who is very cheerful and friendly. I dread Sunday evenings, it’s usually the time that Marco is on duty.

Marco was once quite pally with a girl from Beijing, who even massaged his shoulders. But yesterday, she was furious and used both Mandarin and Italian expletives complaining endlessly about him, even saying he has ‘’no respect for her’’ (?!). Apparently he had been facetious with her too, and even followed her around. Whenever she cooked, he would go to the kitchen to ask what she was cooking. I told her my experience with him and suggested perhaps he was interested in her.

It turned out that one of my roommates disliked him too and had an exchange with him last week. Everyone says that there is something wrong with him.

Then there are my teachers. The one teaching us grammar, Lucia, is pretty international and can pronounce names from most countries. Except mine. The first few times she called out ‘’Yah net’’ I didn’t know she was referring to me. You see, in Italian, there is no ‘’J’’. She seems to know quite a bit about Singapore because each time I am asked to talk about certain aspects of Singapore (it’s all part of our class oral practice) she would ask questions and ask me to confirm, eg, ‘’Singapore is one of the most advanced Asian countries, isn’t it?’’

The other teacher who gives us all sorts of ‘’maddening/ interesting texts’’ is also called Lucia. She is not popular. She did not make an effort to remember our names and always points and says, ‘’you, you sitting there, answer this question!’’.

Lately she has taken to trying to call us by name, by reading off our attendance list. But she mis pronounces any name that is not Italian. Ironically, she got my name right!

She reminds me of the stereotypical image we used to have of a teacher from her dressing to her behaviour – old spinster like, hunched and judgmental. And very defensive. We could not give any little criticism about Siena or about the Palio. She would just slam down any comment you make (yet she was the one who invited comments) and then rebut with something dismissive, with that awful ‘’old school teacher look’’.

There is a bunch of Maltese who behave like you are invisible in the same house that you live. No nods, no smiles, no ciao even if I initiate it. They even brush past you like you are thin air. I am sure that if I gneh gneh stood in their path and not budge when they wanted to walk towards me, they would have razed me to the ground as if I didn’t exist. (That said, to be fair, there are about 2 who are not like that.) This bunch would cook up a storm every evening, hogging the kitchen. Even their breakfast every morning is a big deal.

There are 3 Chinese here who are pretty friendly to everyone. One of them – the loud one – is the gang leader and quite a show off. She is the one that had over reacted when she got mad with Marco.

One Brazilian woman initially had this permanent scowl on her face but now that we are all more familiar with each other, she smiles more. Plus, now that she knows my name she bothers to greet and chat with me. Today, she said, ‘’Janet e il suo computer!’’ (I am known for sticking with my computer all day long after school). The other Brazilian, a guy, was initially quite reserved too but is now friendlier, especially when last Saturday he was a bit drunk and kept calling me, ‘’Janet, ciao’’ when he saw me – you guessed it – at my computer’’. Both of them were so happy and thrilled/ surprised that my name is so simple – Janet, and not some words resembling bottles and pots clanging together (you know who I am referring to)

Ilker from Turkey also just could not understand how I could have an English name, since I am Chinese. In Turkey, it’s unheard of, he said.

My 2 roommates are from Serbia and are shopaholics and vain pots with their constant nail painting and application of make up. I try my best not to be influenced by their shopping habit but I must say they are very good at sniffing out bargains! One of them is 30 and the other is 32. When they found out I was … er… my age, they could not believe their ears and insisted I was joking. ‘’I thought you were 28 max, and that’s after you told me you are already working. If not, I would have guessed even younger!’’

Since then, once in a while they would still say, ‘’I really can’t believe you are not 28.’’ I modestly replied, ‘’maybe it’s my hair style, and very little make up’’. ‘’But no, it’s your skin, and look how firm and toned you are, and your face, no wrinkles…’’

One of them even asked, ‘’what cream do you use?’’ She is chopstick skinny but kept saying I am very slim, and that I have no cellulites. Yes, she is very conscious about such things, massaging herself with gadgets daily to prevent cellulites. ‘’I have a lot, but you don’t have any,’’ she always says.

Every morning I would be the first to get up, shower and get ready. (I am, after all, a kia su Singaporean!) If both have woken up by then, they would be looking at me with great curiosity as I get dressed or prepare to go out. ‘’That’s a nice dress/ blouse,’’ they would often comment. (No, they are not gays – they are both engaged)

There is an elderly Japanese lady who has already retired but took up Italian as a hobby. She keeps very much to herself. She is the typical Japanese, polite, organized, and pretty conscientious in her food preparation. She would even bring a white towel to the kitchen as she cooks. For breakfast, she actually brings a little manual juicer so she could have freshly squeezed fruit juice!

We have a Korean guy, Minh, who does not understand anyone and whom no one understands. Trying to converse with him requires a lot of 6th sense. Sometimes he would say ‘’no’’ or ‘’si’’ and you would think, eureka! he understood you; but no, he totally misunderstood you, or seems to contradict what you had understood from him.

There are 2 Lebanese girls – one very quiet and the other behaving like a typical French – drama queen, in her gestures, exaggerated speech, etc (Lebanese speak French as their second language) They speak Arabic to the Egyptian girl, but the drama queen would then say, ‘’we should speak Italian and not Arabic’’. I guess that’s because the Egyptian refuses to speak (not even try) Italian. She would not even learn how to go to school or how to get back in the first week !!

The 2 Lebanese girls share their room with an obese elderly woman from Russia. She is pretty anti social and keeps to herself. She would not let the 2 girls turn on the light (not even the small ones above their individual beds) when they get home past midnight. Once there was a huge quarrel among them, that Marco had to intervene. I could hear the Russian woman shouting at the top of her lungs in very fluent Italian, while the poor Francophones struggled with limited Italian.

There is a blond girl from Finland. Very pleasant. The only thing about her is, she likes to sigh. Her greeting is always, (deep breath) and then a big sigh. In the middle of something, she would sigh again. Another of her favourite expressions is ‘’O dio’’ (O God) Either she is always very bored, or tired with life, or it’s her way of self expression. She is what I would call the ‘’nua’’ sort, soft spoken, does things in slow motion, and very indecisive. But when it comes to hanging out, she will not sigh! Maybe she is easily bored and needs to get out often, so much so that she has cut a few classes to go to other cities, or to visit Siena’s Wednesday open market.

In my class there is Efi, a pleasant girl but also a mini drama queen, in the sense that she complains a lot and exaggerates. She hates class and says the teachers are no good, she has learnt nothing and that everything is so boring. It’s not true that she has learnt nothing. If she hasn’t, how come she kept complaining that she did not know so many words in the texts?

Maybe it’s the warmth of the Mediterraneans, but she likes to throw her whole self at Ilker, who is pretty gentlemanly and tries not to touch her even if she pours herself all over him. (and I mean literally – like sitting on his lap, leaning on him and lying on his shoulder) Ilker likes to joke about men’s superiority (typical man’s viewpoint in Turkey, according to him) and Efi likes to stress that she has a very successful career, that she earns much more than many men in Greece.

Then there is So, from Cambodia, who is quite funny, until he has to talk about his country. He would harp on Pol Pot and the war, and the suffering that Cambodians went through. Not wanting to belittle the massacre, but to me it seems that he could link every thing and every phenomenon in Cambodia to Pol Pot.

So irritates Diemante, our classmate from Lithuania, to death. They live in the same residence, and he would call her in her room daily, once up to 7 times a day. Often she would not bother to pick up the phone. She is lucky to have a single room, but that also means no room mate can pick up the call for her. She once told him not to call her and he asked stupidly, ‘’are you angry’’ and when she said no, he said, ‘’I am so glad you are not!’’. Finally on Saturday at 11 pm, when she has already gone to bed, he rang her again to ask her out the next day, and she flatly refused. Come Sunday, they bumped into each other in town and he kept taking photos of her like a papparazi. He did the same during the Palio too.

In the same class there is a guy from Bosnia who talks non stop, worse than any woman. He looks, acts and dresses like a sam seng. I think he must have a very low self esteem and must create opportunities to draw attention to himself. He has a comment, facetious, or stupid, for anything and everything. The teachers seem to like him, thinking that he could speak well. However today was the last straw. Most of us were extremely annoyed with his non stop chatter, while we were trying to read our text and do our exercises; even when our teacher was trying to explain something. At one point, the teacher told him off and to get out of the class. He kept saying ‘’sorry’’ but would not leave. ‘’If you are not interested in the lesson, it’s ok to leave,’’ she kept saying. But I don’t understand why he didn’t want to leave, since during most lessons he did not bother to take notes or seems to have already known everything.

We also have a guy from Bulgaria, who has a chubby baby face. He tends to mumble and swallow his words and this annoys the class. He makes facetious remarks that no one appreciates.

I suppose I soundly really catty here in all these descriptions but heck, I am sure I am not spared their comments. I wonder what they will say about me? I can hazard a guess – ‘’she is that Chinese looking girl with an English name but could not speak Mandarin very well. She does not talk much, but sticks with her Blackberry the minute she wakes up and then with her laptop the minute she returns from school. She has a very boring diet – she eats only bread and salads and fruits. Either she is on a permanent diet, can’t afford anything else, or she just does not know how to prepare anything else!’’

Should I defend myself? Well, maybe for the Blackberry and laptop bit: can I help it if my boss sends me emails everyday asking questions, telling me to do this and that, despite it being my legitimate annual leave? Efi my Mediterranean friend from Greece has the typical Mediterranean response for me, telling me to tell my boss, colleagues and even customers: ‘’if I am not around, too bad, I am not around; I’ll attend to your queries when I am back. Come back again when I return!’’ (Apparently she tells her patients that at her dental clinic!) Ilker my friend from Turkey, a civil servant, says something similar, ‘’when I am here, I turn off my mobile and use an Italian SIM!’’ Maybe I should try this one day. Sure, I won’t be fired, but there will be other consequences too complicated to elaborate here.

I guess, no matter what we like to say - about it being a small world, and how international some of us are, or how a common language unites us – nothing can change how each culture thinks and works.

A Singaporean will always be a workaholic, a European will always know how to enjoy life first.

Profondissima

I am glad we are no longer talking about architectural details of a cathedral, or geological formations. It’s still on to more Italian things, but this time with a bit more colour and excitement.

We spent quite an amount of time talking about the Mafia and its origin, something Italy, especially Palermo (capital of Sicily) is known for. Of course we were thrown with some complex texts which embeds all the hierarchy of a mafia nucleus and we had to unravel that as part of our comprehension text.

Not to mention in addition to learning Italian we now have to learn quite a fair bit of the Sicilian dialect. The vocabulary is quite quaint, I must say.

Once, we had to watch the beginning of a famous movie (I Cento Passi - a real life story about a mafia’s son, Peppino, who renounced the mafia society and who paid the price for it by being assassinated), with the volume switched off. No, we were not learning how to lip read. The task was to figure out and discuss the subtlety of how the mafia behaves and thinks.

Then, we watch it again with the volume and on, and we discussed again, to see if our impressions have changed.

Before this, we had to listen to the cryptic dialogue of one of its middle segments (without the visual this time) and analyse the conversation between Peppino and his brother, and insert punctuations for the dialogue.

Today, we continued with the text and parts of the movie. This time we saw the actual visual of the dialogue we had listened the week before.

We also had to analyse the poem that Peppino has read aloud in the opening scene. It was a ‘’cheem’’ poem and we were struck silent. Profound silence! (It was ‘’profondissima’’ – a word used in the poem too!) Part of the difficulty arose from the vocab – if you do not understand certain key words, you will never understand the poem, no matter how you bluff your way through. The teacher did a great job explaining not just the literal meaning but the metaphorical sense, in her typical intense Italian way.

We just sat there, not able to react when she kept asking, ‘’Any comments? Any views?’’ For once even the chatter boxes in my class kept quiet.

‘’What happened to you all today? What’s wrong? Why so quiet?’’ my teacher kept asking. ‘’Are you all very sad that this is your last week and you have to leave your friends?’’ she continued.

In response, and to avoid complete silence, some of us said, ‘’si!’’

A Day at the Races - Il Palio

The actual race took a couple of minutes, but the amount of preparation and anticipation took weeks.

Before the race, there were trial runs, communal feasts and even a band performance the night before. Colourful flags hung proudly from the old buildings in the historical centre.

August 16 was a big day for the Senesi (people of Siena). Hours before the race there were parades along the streets, and some roads were also blocked.

Deimante, Kaisa and I went to Il Campo at 3 pm to get a place that could give us a good view. Even our teacher said we were mad.

By the time we were many others have already arrived. The heat was unbearable. Kaisa used her bolero to cover her head. Deimante took out her umbrella to shelter us. The entire scallop shaped piazza of Il Campo was swarmed with people – Italians, Senesi, and tourists – all craning our neck to catch a glimpse of the pomp and pageantry of this medieval tradition that has its origin dating as far back as the 12th century.

All 10 of the 17 contrada (district) of Siena participating in the race paraded and performed with their flags in full medieval regalia. The wigs and costumes were so thick and heavy I wondered how the poor participants managed to endure marching in the heat wearing them. Some of us sat on the floor, defeated by the heat, some squatted, but many stood through out the entire event. I alternated between sitting, squatting and standing. One Italian guy standing next to me gave me a nudge out of the blue and said kindly, ‘’move your legs so that you won’t be tired.’’ Deimante drank up almost the entire 1.5 litres of ice water that she bought at the piazza. I tried not to drink too much as we were all trapped inside the square and it was impossible to move out to find a toilet.

The positioning/ order of the horses was determined by drawing lots. There was a sudden silence as someone read aloud the order of the horses just before the scheduled start of the race.

The race was supposed to start at 7.30 pm. But it was only after 8.30 pm that it started. The horses were agitated and it was near impossible to get all 10 of them in place. Each time the last one barely managed to stand in line the crowd cheered, or hissed, or boo-ed, depending on how many times the horse ‘’rebelled’’, and all 10 horses started to move away from the start line and the whole painful process of lining them in order began.

This is not the professional race you see at racing or betting clubs. The jockeys were assigned the horses only 3 days before the race, again, by drawing lots. I was told that for some of the horses, it was their first time in such a race! There was no proper ‘’gate’’ to hold the horses in place at the start point before the gun fires its shot to signal the start.

In fact, there were actually 3 false starts – when all horses seemed to be lined up and about to start, in a split second one would bolt away in the other direction, the gun shot would be fired (not realizing the rebel horse’s bolt), leaving the rest running the whole course. Our teacher told us the next day that the final race actually didn’t have a ‘’valid’’ start, as one of the horses actually didn’t start at the same time. But the officials decided to declare the race valid, otherwise the horses would be tired, and it was getting late. In fact, in this race, one of the jockeys fell off and the horse ran its own race.

It turned out that ‘’la nonna’’ (grandma) has won – the contrada called Civetta (Civet). They call it la nonna because it has not won for the past 30 years.

After the race, there was pandemonium, and an explosion of emotions and euphoria. Some people from a contrada that did not win actually were in tears or even violent, removing flags from buildings.

We basically tried to get out of the square by shuffling, and being shoved, by the crowd. If this was Singapore, I am sure the authorities would have used cordons and other devices to direct traffic, and systematically mapped out designated routes for designated groups of people. But hey, this is Italy, the chaos is part of the priceless experience!

We decided to go straight home, to avoid being trapped in the congested streets with emotional or violent Senesi. Besides, we were dog-tired, after 5 hours of wait under the merciless sun.

Extra Large

Look at this cute little carton containing 2 ‘’Toscana eggs’’.

They are ‘’extra fresh’’ and are labeled XL too!

Cooking them is another story. I had left one to boil in the kitchen, with the intention of having a hard boiled egg to top my salad.

Two girls actually removed my pot from the stove just minutes after I left the kitchen to attend to something, and chucked my pot in one corner, so that they could use the stoves to cook their dinner!

Yes, living with 36 people in one house and sharing a kitchen is not fun, not especially when you have selfish housemates like these…