Ok, I've been really bad about this . . .

Sorry to all who have been desperately awaiting updates to this blog.  I've been really bad about it - for some reason, it was much easier at the Centro.  I guess that ACL Rome in Situ program really ran me ragged.  But it was a blast, so I'm not complaining.

I promise I will update some more with memories looking back on parts of the trip I didn't blog about the first time around.  And even though it's no longer Rome-centric, I'll try to update about my travels around Europe with my mom & aunt.

But don't hold it against me if I still don't update often because even this part of the trip is pretty tiring!

Ok, dinner time soon - more to come . . . hopefully . . . 

The Saga Continues

So, I wake up the next morning - much earlier than originally intended because, rather than having to be at lab at 9 AM, I actually have to be over at the Questura, up the Gianicolo Hill.

My first stop after getting dressed is Cindy's room.  Luckily, she's already up at 7:45.  I knock on the door and explain, as best I can (since I don't really know what's going on), what the situation is.  We talk about it for a little bit and think it best to call Paul, who teaches at the American University in Rome and has been living here for 20 years.  Cindy would feel much better sending me with someone who actually knows Italian (and not just "baby Italian" as she calls her Italian).

So, of course, the call wakes Paul up and Cindy says something along these lines: "Hi Paul.  It's Cindy.  There's a bit of a situation here that we might need your help with.  We had a visit from the carabinieri last night and she - Alicen - needs to be at the police station at 9 AM."  Meanwhile, I'm in the background loudly saying "It's not as bad as it sounds!"  I don't particularly want Paul thinking I was arrested the night before.


The end result of the phone call is that we should be just fine on our own, this type of thing happens, and someone at the Questura will know English.  So Cindy and I finish getting ready (with me gathering various things that might prove I haven't been hiding out in Italy since the Centro program ended and/or things that prove I have an intention to leave the country soon).  We meet in the lobby and head off to the Questura, which involves a short tram ride and a walk up a big hill.


I'll make this next part a bit shorter than it really was (2.5 hours approximately):  We got there, got passed around to a few people - none of whom spoke English (thanks, Paul!) - then were finally taken up to the Immigration Office (the same one I and the rest of the Centristi went to when we got our permissos when we first got to Rome - five years ago!).  The officer who brought us upstairs explains, I presume, what the situation is to the lady working immigration.  She talks to a few other people who are also waiting (presumably to actually immigrate) and then tells me that "[I] must wait" as she walks out of the room with my Questura 'invitation' and my passport.


Yeah, because I'm going anywhere without that passport.


I comment to Cindy that the woman looks familiar, but there's no way it's the same woman who processed me when I was at the Centro.  Once we were finally being helped by said woman, she pulled out my portfolio (how she found that thing is amazing when you consider the filing system seems to be large cabinets with shelves and portfolios simply stacked there).  She looked at the copy of my photo with various stamps and a signature over it and says "That's my signature."  Ah-ha!  It was the same woman!


The entire situation really sucked overall, but that actually made it kind of nice.  Crazy world.


Anyway, what ended up happening was that apparently some paperwork got misplaced or something but they had no record of me leaving Italy when my original permisso expired.  Their way of solving this problem was simply to issue me a new permisso (even though I'm here for tourism this time and not study).  So I had to go buy some passport sized photos - from a photo booth on the street - and fill out some paper work.


So rather than kicking me out of the country right away, they have given me until September 30th to leave.  Awesome.  That makes sense.


Oh well - everything should be fine.  Though they did give me "papers" that I need to carry with me at all times - you know, just in case I get stopped again . . .

Well, that was unexpected

Imagine this scene, if you will:

It’s 12:15.  (PM, mind you.)  I have been asleep since a little after 11 PM – not so much because I am a good student and making sure I get a good night’s sleep before lab the next day but more because, having just returned for a grueling (fun, but definitely grueling) weekend in Naples/Pompeii, I am exhausted.

The phone rings.  The phone is next to my bed.  I am confused.  I think it is my morning alarm going off.  I realize it’s the phone, but think that someone must have forgotten to cancel the morning wake up call when the room switched owners.  I pick up the phone, then promptly hang it up.

It rings again.  Huh.  I pick it up again and this time say “Hello?”  “Hello.  Ms. Foresman?”  “Yes . . .”  “We need you down here.”  “Uhhhhh, ok. <pause>  Right now?”  “Yes please.”  “Ok.  Bye.”

I turn to my roommates – one of whom was also kind of asleep at the time, the other was reading in bed.  “Well, that was weird.  Apparently I have to go down to the lobby right now.”  “What for?”  “No idea.  Catherine, do you want to come with me?”  (I wasn’t too keen on heading down to the lobby at night by myself.  It turns out there were other people about in the courtyard, but I’ll get back to that later.)

Catherine and I throw on our sandals and head downstairs.  We get to the bottom of the stairs, turn left, and skirt around the courtyard to get to the lobby.  In the courtyard are Devondra, Cedric (he’s Swiss!), and someone who I later discovered was Cedric’s cousin (former Swiss guard!).  Catherine and I turn the corner to the lobby and there at the desk are two carabinieri:

Ok, these are not the exact carabinieri who showed up, but you get the idea.

 

My first thought: What the hell?  My second thought: I really wish I had put a bra on for this.

I walk up to the desk.  [By now – and probably even by a few minutes after this happened – I don’t really remember how the conversation went, so what follows is more of a recap of what the issue was.]

Apparently, there was a problem with my passport.  Why they caught it this time and not when I first checked into the hotel a week earlier, I have no idea.  That’s Italy for you.  The two carabinieri did not speak English, so the guy behind the desk was trying to explain what was going on.  Apparently, there was some problem with the permisso [permit to stay] I had requested . . . when studying abroad . . . five years ago.  Awesome.

The guy behind the desk was telling me that it ‘wasn’t a big deal, not a problem, just some paperwork that needed to be taken care of.’  One of the carabinieri was going to check to see if I could do the paperwork that night, if not I was going to have to go in to the Questura the next morning.  I had already tried to ask why this was an issue, but no one seemed to be able to tell me.  When there was a mention of having to go in to the Questura, I chimed in and asked if I could go get someone.  That someone was Cedric, who is one of the ‘instructors’, knows more Italian than I do, and fortunately was in the courtyard at the time.  I walked out to the courtyard and, with a look that I imagine was between confusion and mild panic, said “Cedric, I need you.”  “Why?  What’s going on?”  “I’m not really sure.”

So Cedric came with me and although it was pretty much most of the same stuff being explained once again, the guy behind the desk was a bit more detailed this time.  Turns out that I wasn’t going to be able to fill out the paper work that night and I would have to go in to the Questura di Roma at 9 AM the next morning.  I was even given a ‘formal invitation’ as it was phrased that I had to sign.  (I dislike having to sign things in a language I don’t really know, but luckily Cedric – and his cousin – were there to check.)

So it was going to be off to the Questura for me the next day.  And I’ll tell you about that part of the adventure next time.

I swear I will udpate!

But not right now - because it is too damn hot and I need to go back up to my room where there is AC.  But no internet connection.

Awesome.

I do have a fun (well, fun in hindsight) story to tell and I promise it will be on this blog sometime soon.

Too. damn. hot.

Forum Complaints

This is the new entrance to the Forum Romanum:

 

Apparently Rome has figured out that they could get a LOT of money if they started charging for this.  It's just not right.  When I was here with the Centro, you could just come and go - and it was amazing.  *sigh*  I don't like change!

Fortunately, it still looks amazing:

This view actually comes from the Tabularium - accessed from the Capitoline Museum

 

 

 

I think that's all for now.  We're down in the Naples area now.  Spent most of the day walking around Pompeii.  Still beautiful, still ruined - very hot.  Quite wiped out now.  More walking and heat tomorrow.  We'll see if I survive.

Until next time . . . if there is a next time (stupid heat).

You know when your mother told you . . .

. . . not to play with the glassware?  This is why [not for the weak of heart]:

 So, here is the story.  On Wednesday, we went out to dinner as a group (or, as most of the group) to a restaurant on the end of the Tiber Island.  There's a summer festival going on called Lungo il Tevere Roma, so there is a lot of little shops, restaurants, and bars along the river and on the Tiber Island.  So, dinner on the Tiber Island, a (maybe not quite, but possibly) once in a lifetime experience.


It was good.  The food was nice; it was pretty awesome being on the end of the island where usually you can't go; they had pretty lights shining on the remains of the Pons Aemilianus.  However, it took FOREVER for the check to come.  It's relatively standard for the check to take a little while (you have to ask for it and then the waiters are often leisurely in returning with it).  But this was ridiculous.  20 minutes went by.  30 minutes.  45 minutes.  Our waiter was waiting other tables, but barely even glancing at us.  We asked other waiters who went by.  Finally about an hour went by.  So, getting a little bored, we started building water bottle towers.  (And by we, I mostly mean Catherine and I.)  Then we added in a wine glass . . . on top . . . and as we were deconstructing said tower, it toppled and I tried (in vain) to catch the glass.  Catherine made a valiant effort as well, but it shattered.  I thought I was in the clear; but alas, I was cut.  Not badly, but cut nevertheless.


The story has changed many times in the retelling (anything from me shedding blood for Catherine's illness at the shrine of Asclepius - which was on Tiber Island - to me deliberately breaking the glass in order to threaten the wait staff with bodily harm if they did not promptly bring us our check).  Rest assured, however, that you have received the true story.


I will have more Rome/Classics related posts soon; I promise.  I just wanted to update you on that exciting story.  And now, back to class . . . and then a nap.
 

Grappa!

I had grappa.  It was not death (as it was last time).  Thanks, John!  Then we found gelato - coffee gelato is amazing.  Surprisingly, that's the first gelato I've had since arriving in Rome.  Blasphemy, I realize.  But I've been jet lagged and too lazy to go out.  That shall be fixed as the week goes on!

Class tomorrow at 9 AM . . . I think I can handle that . . .