Italian women can do anything in heels

Ok, parliamo di qualcosa...

Every day during my Italian class we take a 30 minute break halfway through during which almost everyone in my class smokes (almost everyone in Europe smokes.  Actually during an exercise in class today we were talking about things our grandparents did that today are almost nonexistent: typewriter, record player, etc.  I said smoking and everyone in the class was confused and thought I didn't understand the lesson).  We meander across the street to the closest bar, each get our own version of coffee and settle into our morning routine.  Anastazia always orders a cappuccino and a croissant, the two men from Japan order cappuccini, and I have finally figured out that my drink of choice is caffe macchiato.  The barista remembers all of our orders and salutes us with them as we walk in.  It is very endearing.

Un macchiato

Caffe italiano = american espresso
macchiato = an espresso with a little milk foam ~a small cappuccino
cappuccino = espresso with a gorgeous mound of milk foam
caffelatte = a tall glass of milk with a little coffee in it

Un cappuccino.  Also, is that soccer player in the newspaper carrying a Louis Vuitton? Italian men- so fashionable! 

I often like to go for a walk around downtown Reggio Emilia during the break.  It is a great site for window shopping, but be sure not to go on a Sunday, Thursday or any afternoon between 1:00-3:00 PM, because everything will be closed.  Actually, I've noticed that window shopping is the rule unless you're actually going to buy something.  I see people huddled around store windows as if they're looking at a cage full of puppies rather than socks or purses.  I've walked into shops just to browse and I get strange, expectant looks, but I go on and do my thing.  Most of the shop attendants look like they need something to do anyway.

An example of my window shopping; check out our US friends on the left window.

 One day during our break I strolled to the main piazza of Reggio Emilia and found a skirt and a pair of pants I wanted to try on.  The attendant directed me to the back of the shop where there was a tiny closet with a sheet hanging as a door and mirrors inside.  I tried my things on, found a perfect fit and was preparing to leave when the attendant came over to ask if a little old lady by her side could borrow the mirror to look at a skirt.  I said of course, and the meek, little old lady launched into a ten minute conversation without coming up for air.  I was excited that I could understand most of what she was saying, and I gave very short responses to allow for my Italian to seem perfect.  She told me (I think) all about how she used to go to school in the area and one time she was out shopping with her sister and someone asked to borrow the mirror, except she herself was still inside changing and she was scarred by the experience.  Now she picks her grandchildren up from school and cooks them dinner every night.  I kept making eye contact with the attendant during this rant and she nonverbally said, "sorry for latching this woman onto you".  I ended up returning late to class, but I laughed the entire walk back.

Piazza Mazzini, where I met my nonna friend.

Another day, after class, I accompanied my host mom to her hair dresser just down the street from my school.  Her hair is phenomenal, so I was interested to see the master at work.  It is amazing how little he actually looked at the hair while he was cutting, and how much everyone chatted.  It was more like going to a social club.  His apt hands weren't bothered by the head motions of his client as she animatedly told stories, and she wasn't worried when his scissors found her hair while his eyes were following a conversation elsewhere.  They told me about a phenomenon called "Shatoosh" where the ends of the hair are lightened to make it appear like you've just gotten back from several weeks at the beach.  The hairdresser was being very persuasive, because the color would take so well to my virgin hair.  He drew a picture of me and whipped out a highlighter to demonstrate the effects of a Shatoosh.  Later at home I google-imaged the word, and figured when in Italy, why not?  The next day I went back and made an appointment.

Projected effect of a Shatoosh

It ended up being a glorified highlight, so I didn't feel ahead of the times, but the process was entertaining.  My hairdresser would have conversations with people all over the room, and politely make eye contact, while he was cutting my hair.  It was a little nerve wracking.  He would intermittently hand me his iPad and have me search something (Kansas City, Smithville Lake, a piazza I have to go see).  He also said he was going to set me up with one of his friends nearby to go horseback riding.  We will see.

Before:


After:

Last Friday night my family here and I went out to a pizzeria, because I hadn't had the "good" Italian pizza yet.  I have to ask every time we go out to order if the pizza is to share, or each person orders their own, because there's no way I would sit down in a U.S. restaurant and order a pizza for myself.  But every time they answer that it's every man for himself, and I usually only eat half of mine.  I ordered the Sottobosco (bottom of the forest) pizza that had lots of mushrooms on it, which tasted like they had been marinated in balsamic vinegar.  It was absolutely delicious!  I asked for the Northern Italian thin crust as opposed to the Napoli thick crust.  It was so thin and brittle that when I grabbed the edge to pick up a slice it crumbled.  But it was so delicious!  We each ordered a dessert, and one of the kids decided to try cheesecake for the very first time in his life (whaaaaat??).  I ordered a gelato di crema with strawberries, which were drizzled with an aged balsamic vinegar specific to this region.  I was thinking about the life of wine, and asked how many months a vinegar is aged before bottling to become "old".  They scoffed and explained that balsamic vinegars are aged up to and beyond 50 years, which makes them quite expensive.

Gelato di Crema with strawberries drizzled in balsamic

 Ok, in regards to high heels, Italian women have a magical talent for living every aspect of life in them: cleaning house, walking across the lawn, shopping, teaching, going to school.  I can't even go out in a pair for a couple hours on a Saturday night!  The proof is in the pictures:

Walking the town

Picking the kids up from school

 The following picture doesn't involve high heels, but it does display a fashion sense just as popular; camouflage is EVERYWHERE here!  It makes me laugh every time I see it.  The border land between Missouri and Italy is not so big after all.

The flavor on the right is called libido.  It was straight up Nutella.  Delicious, but overwhelming.

 Bea and I built a house for her beautiful dog Neve.  However, we could not get Neve inside of it for the life of us.  She was petrified of our construction.  (I think any architect might be, too).