When I first started working for The Setonian in my freshman year, I spent most of my week in a perpetual state of terrified. Having to talk to strangers was not my strong suit, and, being a shy, eager-to-please kid all my life, I was even more terrified of asking the wrong question and being thrown unceremoniously from some important person’s office. I was terrified of the administration hating me and even more terrified of the newspaper staff hating me if I dropped the ball on a story.

But then I realized that spending one’s life in a perpetual state of fear of everyone else’s reaction was a really bad journalism tactic. Also, and most importantly, it just made me a really cranky and stressed out person, and that’s not a fun way to go through the week. So, I got over it, and just learned to accept that if you do your best, nothing else matters.

Once I got this assignment, though, I felt a familiar prickle of fear as I realized I had to find a Florentine business owner who was willing to let some American student who barely spoke Italian wander around their business for hours at a time, making requests for poses and to go in back rooms and generally cause disruption, where there would be no real benefit to their business. Plus, I had to explain all this in my broken, kindergarten-esque Italian. By the end of my professor’s explanation of the assignment, my hands were literally shaking and I was imagining all sorts of awful scenarios, including, with some wild leaps of imagination, a run-in with the imperious and notoriously rigid Italian police officers.

Luckily for me, none of these awful scenarios occurred. In fact, the project only served to reinforce my love of the craft of journalism, as, week after week; I spent hours wandering around and snapping pictures of Nebrone, a fast-food shop in the San Lorenzo market.

Of course, to call it a “fast-food” restaurant, lumping it in with all the McDonalds’ of the world, would be a serious disservice, but I am unsure of how else to describe it. Nebrone sells Paninis, (roast beef, lamprodoto, and a Florentine special, trippa,) as well as many other specials that change daily, including soups, vegetables, desserts and pasta dishes,) and, because it’s Italy, they also sell wine by the glass and by the jug. Nebrone is open at odd hours because of the way the rest of the San Lorenzo Market is run, from 8 am-2:30 p.m. Monday-Saturday, and yet, every time I’ve been there, no matter what the hour or the day, there are always customers. The place gets so busy around lunch time that you have to fight the crowd to get your order in before it closes.

Not only did I have the pleasure of capturing this thriving, home-grown business and the special relationship the customers have with its employees, but I was able to bond with the wonderful employees too.

The first week I was there I asked for permission to photograph in Italian, trying very hard to explain that I was a photography student and this was for a school project. I think they got it, because they let me photograph, but they didn’t seem especially keen and I hung back. A customer I tried to photograph also made a very rude hand gesture and told me off in Italian and I left, dejected and in tears. My photography professor, though, gave me a pep talk in which he insisted I return, and, as a sort of bargaining tool, I took a print of one of my photographs as a gift.

The suggestion from my professor was brilliant, as upon presenting them with the picture, I got hugs and kisses from everyone and was immediately invited behind the counter and presented with a roast beef Panini. Each week I went back, I brought a photograph as a gift, and they continued to give me unlimited access to their store, even posing for me despite customers and other stand owners’ teasing. They also gave me free meals and wine, introduced me to all their customer’s and friends, and affably joked with me in broken English as I ride to respond in broken Italian. They were warm, kind, caring and thoroughly attentive to all their customers, (quite a feat considering how many of them there were,) and overall showed me exactly why this was the most beloved “fast-food joint,” in the area. I loved getting to know them, the business they all care so much about, and the customers they serve. It was a pleasure and an honor to photograph something that should be so common, and yet is so rare in this world, people who really love and care about what they do.

Thanks to everyone at Nebrone, especially Simone, Fabio and Stefano, for making my job incredibly enjoyable, too, (and for the Paninis, especially the “Caterina Panini,” named after yours truly.)

I had suspected that Thanksgiving was going to be a difficult time to be away from home and that I would experience a great deal of homesickness. However, it was actually the two weeks prior to Thanksgiving that I felt down. It rained almost every day in Florence, got dark at around 5 p.m. and I hadn’t talked to my family or friends back home in a while. I just felt lonely, depressed and a little defeated, as I had also had a few bad classes in computer graphics.

As Thanksgiving came closer, though, I gradually started to pull out of my funk for three main reasons: 1) ISA organized a Thanksgiving dinner at a restaurant open to all of their students 2) as the lives of my family and friends became less hectic around Thanksgiving, they were able to Skype with me and cheer me up, and 3) My friend and I planned a last minute whirlwind weekend trip to Paris for the day after Thanksgiving until Sunday night.

Getting out of my apartment for the Thanksgiving dinner with my friends here was definitely the best thing that could have happened to me. We all came together that night, being nicer and more accepting towards each other than usual; each thinking that the others might be having a hard time being away from home for the holiday. When we all gathered at the restaurant, I was touched to see that I.S.A had filled the room with Thanksgiving-esque decorations, from a “Happy Thanksgiving” banner, to fall-colored garland strung throughout the room, to the corny Thanksgiving poem they put on each of our plates.  And the restaurant did an admirable job trying to imitate an American tradition in Florence, where there only real knowledge of Thanksgiving comes from the dubbed Thanksgiving episode of “Friends.” We had apple cider and said a toast, and then were given our first course, (Italy just can’t comprehend putting everything out at the same time,) pumpkin soup, which was excellent. Then we had turkey, peas, onions, cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes. Aside from the mashed potatoes, which were mashed to the point of soupiness, although still good, everything was completely on-point. The waiters even brought out any extra turkey and vegetables they had and put them on the tables, creating an almost family-style atmosphere. Finally, the meal was finished with a slice of apple pie, which was tasty, albeit incomparable to my aunt’s homemade pumpkin pie, but given Italy’s preferences for cakes and all things ridiculously sweet, it was quite a feat. Truly, it was the nicest American holiday I could have asked for in a foreign country, and being with my ISA family helped to lift the last bit of the depressed fog that had surrounded me for the week prior.

Thanksgiving in Florence

Then, we were off to Paris, taking a quick and dirt-cheap flight on Ryanair, (definitely the best bargain airline in existence, in my opinion.) From the moment I arrived, Paris stole my heart. It was beautiful, (although very, very cold,) and had a feel of greatness that seemed to just hover in the air. Each city I’ve been too, I feel, has had a different “aura,” for example, Florence, to me, gives off a an air of great tradition, with an easygoing, if slightly arrogant swagger, while Dublin has a beautifully haunted and gothic feel. Paris, though, was bustling, modernity and history coming together seamlessly.

We stayed at St. Christopher’s Hostel, which I chose because it was the top-rated hostel in Paris on hostelworld.com. That rating? Yeah, it’s for a reason. While it was a little pricier than Avalon House or A Casa Di Amici, (although, to be fair, everything’s pricier in Paris,) it was definitely the best hostel I’ve stayed in. We stayed on the all-girls floor in a six-bed dorm, (mostly because it was the only room left since we booked so late,) but to be honest, not having half-naked boys roaming around at all hours of the day and night was pretty nice. The rooms were incredibly spacious and had big cages underneath to store your stuff, (I think you can buy a lock if you wanted to lock your cage, although I didn’t feel it was necessary.) The bathrooms were also bigger, and while the shower stalls still had the push-button, which meant the water only stayed on for about a minute unless you continuously held down the button, the stall themselves were much bigger, making things like shaving a much more pleasant experience. The beds were the standard bunk beds (the pillows were oddly small like the ones you get on a plane,) but there was a curtain in each bed so there was a little bit more privacy, which was nice in case someone had to turn the lights on at some unfortunate hour. The one thing I didn’t like, even though the website advertised free Wi-Fi, the Wi-Fi was decidedly not free. Even though it didn’t cost much at all, I still like to know up front what I’m getting.

The hostel staff was incredibly nice, and everyone I spoke to spoke some English, although the reception desk generally had a much better grasp of it than any other staff members. The reception was open 24/7 and they gave us a GREAT recommendation for a free (yes, you read correctly, free,) walking tour. The kids that do the tour are studying abroad in Paris and are native English speakers, and work on a tips-only basis. They don’t pressure you to tip at all, but my friend and I were so impressed by the tour we each gave 5 Euros. The tour is run by the New Paris division of New Europe tours, and if you’re going anywhere in Europe, you should look to see if they have a group there. They also run other tours in Paris, such as a Montmartre tour and a pub crawl. The other tours cost money, but are still cheap in comparison to a lot of other tour groups. Based on our awesome experience with the walking tour, my friend and I signed up to go on the pub crawl later that night, which took us through the Montmartre nightlife district of Paris, which was an amazingly good time, (although we barely slept at all.) The leaders of the pub crawl were just as nice as our walking tour guide had been, and watched out for us the entire way, (I witnessed them force the bouncer to throw this guy out of the bar that had been following these two Australian girls the whole pub crawl.) Pub crawls are also a great way to meet people your age from all around the world, and in fact my friend and I had an awesome time talking to this group of British guys who were doing a weekend trip from a university in Bath.

I fell in love with Paris as soon as I first glimpsed the city, and I want nothing more than to be able to go back, really soon. It was an amazing place with a great vibe, and I didn’t experience any coldness from the Parisians that I was expecting. I am so thankful to be having the experience of my life with some great friends, new and old and to everyone who has helped (or is currently helping,) me to make all these great things happen.

Hope everyone had a great holiday!

-Caitigirl

• The first thing we had to do to get to Dublin was to get from Palermo (the very southernmost point in Italy) to Milan, (the very northernmost point of Italy.) We had two options: 33 hour hop-on, hop-off “hitchhiker” like bus (which caters to the backpacking students of the world,) or a slightly more expensive three-hour flight. As intrigued as I was by the epic adventures that bus ride might entail, we decided, mostly based on my tendency towards motion sickness and a lack of time, to go with the flight.
• In Italy there is definitely no shortage of public transportation like there tends to be in the U.S, so there wasn’t really an issue getting to the airport in Palermo. It did, however, require much finesse, forced calm and patience as there are many transfers between city busses, coach busses and trains. Once we figured out where we were supposed to get on and off and which busses and trains we needed to get on, we were all set.
• Intra-European flights, I’ve found, are much more lax about security than intra-U.S and “international” flights. I was informed, in heavily accented and impatient English at the Palermo airport that I was not supposed to take my shoes off. I hastily shoved my boots back on, only to set off the alarm off. “Please take your shoes off,” the guard glared at me. I tried to get my boots off. Unfortunately, having shoved them back on, they were not on properly, so taking them off would have required grace and balance, two things I do not possess. I fell over. The official and my roommate burst out laughing. Whispering an expletive at my roommate, I went back through the metal detector, and mercifully, did not set it off. Karma, though, my friends, is real: my roommate set the thing off two times and, after the officials could not figure out the source of the problem, she got a visit from the latex-glove lady.
• Our flight flew into one Milan airport and our flight to Dublin left from the other Milan airport (we were unaware of this when we booked.) Luckily, our flight from Palermo arrived in Milan in the morning and our flight to Dublin left in the late evening, because it was, as usual, a little tricky to figure out transportation from one airport to the other. This was complicated by a few unlicensed, sketchy looking “chauffeurs,” who were most assuredly trying to con us. Fortunately, the actual taxi drivers presented us with a few options, even mentioning a bus that was half the price of a taxi ride. This is important, readers; don’t EVER go with an unmarked or unlicensed taxi, as there is a definite reason they could not get licensed. Additionally, my roommate and I have found, throughout our travels, the actual licensed drivers, (train conductors, bus drivers, taxi drivers,) have been incredibly willing to help out, and generally know the real deal, sometimes even better than the tourist information booths.
• Once at the second Milan airport, we met up with another ISA friend who was coming with us to Dublin, and spent most o the day killing time in a McDonalds, relishing the French fry in a way I never knew possible.
  

  My roomate, me and a friend at Mickey D's in the Milan airport. You can always count on a Mickey D's when you're missing America.

• We didn’t arrive in Dublin until around 11 pm, and by the time we got our things and found the bus that took us to Trinity College, it was really late. The first thing we noticed upon exiting the bus is that Halloween is apparently a really big deal. Everyone was dressed up in costumes and loudly parading down the street spilling out of bars and pubs, which were literally on every street corner. Unfortunately, we couldn’t figure out how to get to the hostel from the bus stop, and none of the people on the street were in any condition to help us. Carting our luggage down the street, tired, worn out and cold, we felt increasingly frustrated, awkward and out of place, until we finally asked a taxi driver, who mercifully (told you they’re always helpful,) pointed us in the right direction.
• In Dublin, we stayed at the Avalon House Hostel. This hostel was a completely different feel than A Casa Di Amici, with blaring rock music, 12-person co-ed rooms and co-ed bathrooms one each floor. Despite it being very different from the sweet, quiet Bed-and-Breakfast style of A Casa di Amici, it was still a lot of fun, (in an entirely opposite way, of course.) There was a 24-hour reception, and most of the staff was in their 20s and spoke decent English. I found them all to be very helpful, and they had many postings of activities and coupons galore. They also sold toiletries on the cheap, which came in handy since I forgot my towel, and was able to purchase one at the front desk for 2 euro. In addition, Avalon House Hostel had free Wi-Fi throughout the building and about a half-dozen computers in the café area, which was a really nice change from Italy, which seems to be filled with internet-haters.  
• The next morning I awoke to find that my boyfriend, Matt, was coming to Ireland and had arrange to stay at the same hostel at us, which I, of course, thought was really awesome. It was really nice to see someone from life back home, and made my trip even more memorable and awesome. I also met up with a friend from high-school who is currently studying abroad in Spain. Bringing all the different groups together was a little difficult, but it was nice to catch up with an old friend.
• We did most of the important “tourist” things in Dublin, all of which I felt were worthwhile, the Guinness Factory, Kilmainham Goal, Dublin Castle, Trinity College, the writers museum, the James Joyce Cultural Center, Grafton Street, and St. Stevens Green. The only thing we didn’t really get to do is Temple Bar, because it was so crowded we would have had to wait until last call to get in. Oh, and they I.D, which brings me to my next point:
• The drinking age in Ireland is 18, but unlike in many other European nations, they are strict about enforcing it. Living in Italy where the drinking age is 16 (and is very rarely enforced, anyway,) I got used to not carrying around my passport, which is generally the only accepted form of ID. In Dublin, I was actually carded a few times. Some bars in Dublin also specifically say 21 and up, even though the legal drinking age is 18, so check that out before you try and get in.
• My absolute favorite thing (I guess because I’m a dork,) was Kilmainham Goal. The tour was excellent and the attached museum was quite fascinating and chock full of interesting historical goodies. I highly recommend it.
  

  Matt and I at Kilmainham Gaol

• I also highly recommend the Dublin bus Hop-on, Hop-Off tour. The first day we were there, we wandered around by ourselves, which was fine, but we definitely got to see more with the bus tour, which was 7 Euros (for students-another thing, always ask for a student discount as there almost always student discounts in Europe,) for a 24-hour pass. The drivers were knowledgeable, and some were very friendly.
• On our last full day in Dublin, we took a day-trip (recommended and arranged by Avalon House staff,) to the Cliffs of Moher, which were absolutely stunning. The tour was run by Dublin Tour groups, (although we got a discount by booking through Avalon House,) and our bus driver was very entertaining and even brought us to an excellent restaurant just outside the Cliffs. It was a long day, to be sure, but it was so worth it.
  

  Me at the Cliffs of Moher

• Dublin was hands-down my favorite city, however, I don’t know how well studying abroad would have gone there. Dublin is a city that is always ready for a party, and party we did, every single night we were there. Then, we got up early in the morning and saw the amazing sights Dublin had to offer throughout the day, ate dinner, and stayed up all night again. It was a lot of fun, but I felt like I needed to sleep for a month afterwards to recover. I also caught a fierce cold from, I think, being so run down and the dreary weather, which was a combination of cold and rain.
• A final note: when booking busses, make sure you look up where they pick you up and drop you off before leaving on your trip. We decided on a bus back from Milan to Florence because it was a lot cheaper than a train, but if I had to do it again, I’d pay money for the train. The bus picked us up at some random piazza in Milan, which we had to take a subway to from the train station, (again, we only got there in time due to the help of a bus driver at the train station,) and dropped us off on the side of the highway about five miles outside of the city limits of Florence. In the dead of night. In the rain. Luckily, (there is always a lot of luck involved in our travels,) an Italian girl got off at the same stop as us and led us to a city bus stop, which at least got us into the city center, where we were able to safely walk home.

Similar to spring break in the States, Fall Break is a week-long break from classes in Italy that occur the week after midterms.  In Italian universities, there are set dates for midterms and every class is required to give one, similar to how many U.S universities (including Seton Hall,) have Finals Week. In Italy, I have found, professors do not seem to give out as much work on a week-to-week basis as in the U.S, instead placing a much higher weight on two grades: the midterm and the final. For a majority of my classes, those are the only grades I will receive for the entre semester, and my final grade depends almost entirely on them. I conferred with a bunch of my fellow students who told me much the same thing. Thus, midterms take on an entirely new (and slightly panic-inducing) level of importance, and, given the amount of studying we do for them, it seems only fair that FUA gave us the week following midterms off. I, at least, desperately needed a brain break.

I heard many epic tales about other students’ breaks, from the amazing (a week-long Safari through South Africa,) to the disastrous, (missing one’s flight home and having to sleep in a Moroccan train station.) Some students, such as my next door neighbors, tried to cram as much travel as humanly possible into their break, traveling to four different countries in eight days, while others (such as one of my flat mates,) decided to stay in Florence, choosing to relax and explore all the beauties Florence and the nearby Italian cities had to offer. My roommate and I chose what I think was a very happy medium, splitting the break in half, spending the first half in Sicily, Italy and the second half in Dublin, Ireland. En route to our destinations, we also got to catch a glimpse of the Italian cities Pisa and Milan. Here’s my roundup of the highlights, (and lowlights, because there were many of those too,):

1. Getting to Sicily was in a cinch. We took a five euro, hour-long train ride to Pisa, and then a free, five minute shuttle to Galileo Galilee airport in Pisa. Getting to the hostel from the airport, however, was not. We left late on a Thursday night after we had finished our final midterms, and arrived in Palermo, Sicily completely exhausted only to discover we had forgotten to bring our confirmation for the hostel, so we had absolutely no idea where we were going. A quick call to the U.S allowed us to figure out where we were going and we took a (rather expensive) taxi ride to the hostel. 
2. A Casa di Amici hostel/Bed-and-Breakfast is a cute, small hostel with an artsy sort of vibe that is run by Claudia Vitale and a couple of young women (who I believe are sisters.) They were super sweet, although only Claudia really knew how to speak English, and since it was so small, there was not a 24/7 reception. When we first arrived we had to ring the doorbell repeatedly and wait outside for a while before we finally found a number to call to be let in since we got there so late. Claudia and the girls, however, were exceedingly welcome and willing to do just about anything to make sure we were comfortable.
3. At the hostel, there was quite a wide range of people, many of whom, I was surprised to find, were a good deal older. My roommate and I befriended an older German couple, an Australian who had just graduated from university, and a German med student. Most of the people we met were awesome, but we also met one Russian kid who seemed to be about our age that was a little on the creepy side and made blatantly racist remarks to us and made us want to lock the door behind us when we finally escaped his company.
4. Palermo, Sicily is a much bigger city than Florence, much harder to navigate and much more spread out (making it difficult to walk everywhere like we do in Florence.) A combination of a badly scaled map and two bad navigators led to a lot of time spent getting completely lost. However, everywhere my roommate and I went, we met
   

   A Casa Di Amici-Female 4-Person Dorm. Super Cute

   people willing to help us, whether they spoke English or not.

5. The Sicilian dialect is entirely different from the Florentine one, and my roommate and I could not understand the Sicilians at all. It was quite difficult.
6. We took the bus out to Salame (a very small city outside of Palermo in Sicily,) to see some of my roommate’s distant relatives. Getting there was quite frustrating, (in Palermo they sell bus tickets in coffee shops, obviously we should have known, and then we got off at the wrong stop and had to be picked up by one of my roommate’s cousins,) and being there was pretty difficult as well. None of them spoke English, which made things quite interesting, but I was still struck by their dedication to family. Even though we had never met (and I wasn’t even family,) they welcomed us to their home with open arms, accepted us unconditionally, stuffed us full of amazing Sicilian food, and invited us to stay the night at their home. One of the things that struck me was the importance put on family, rather than work. They all came home from work at around 1 pm on a Monday afternoon and gathered at one home to eat a four-course lunch, which lasted around two and a half hours before they headed back to work. They also had no qualms about taking frequent breaks from work to show us around Salame or to drop us back off at the bus station the next day. The whole family ate all of their meals together, and everyone moved in and out of each other’s houses without even knocking several times throughout the day just to drop in and chat or show off a recent purchase. Going to Salame to meet my roommate’s relatives was one of the most interesting and incredible experiences thus far in Italy, and I think I have learned the most about Italy from my two-day trip.

Be on the lookout for Part 2 soon!

When we arrived at the race, we found hundreds of people stuffed into the small Piazza di Signoria. They were all ages, from babies in strollers to tiny old women in skirts, stocking and flats. They were in all kinds of getup, from genuine cross-country running wear (short shorts, tiny tank tops and running sneakers,) to jeans, blouses and heels, (yes, heels.) Some bought their dogs; some bought their children, and most were in large groups chattering animatedly.

After what seemed to be 45 minutes of important people making important speeches, (this, I can only assume, was very similar to the speeches before such events in the United States, although understanding only minimal amounts of Italian, I am mostly unsure about who was speaking and what was said,) we counted down from 10 to one, the organizer shot off a gun and we were on our way. Here is where the biggest differences between charity events in the U.S and charity events in Italy are run became apparent.

There were no guides or guiding markers as to where we were supposed to go, and unable to actually successfully ask anyone in Italian, we just decided to follow the huge swarm of purple (the color of the t-shirts you purchased to participate in the event.) Because the roads are small (and the alleyways even tinier) and many restaurants have tables and chairs spilling out onto street corners, our pack soon went from an odd sort of shuffle to a complete dead halt. It did not help matters that there were only a few people blocking traffic, so the odd vespa or, in some cases, car or truck, got through and honked at the purple mass until they could fight their way through. In addition, the event had many points where you could exit the race to go through museums and churches for free, most of which you need to pay to see regularly and some of which are never even open to the public. This was a really cool idea, and I loved getting to see all the historic sites, however, since the event was so crowded and so many people got off the road at the same time to see the same site, lines to get into the sites were very long, (and by line, I mean unorganized huddle, as that’s what lines in Italy are like,) and the sites themselves were very crowded once you got in.

Funniest of all to me and my (also American) roommate was the scene, about five minutes into the “race,” of hordes of purple off to the side on a line in a café for espresso and brioches (croissants.) There were not only frequent walking breaks to see the historic sites of Florence, but also to get coffee and food, (and they sat down in the café to drink their coffee, there is no eating/drinking and walking in Italy, it’s practically treason.) People also frequently stopped to look in the little jewelry and clothing shops on the side of the road.

My roommate and I had clearly worried for nothing, as this was the least intense marathon I have ever seen in my life. It was also one of the most crowded and yet, it was a lot of fun. I have decided that the U.S should really allow their runners to stop for coffee and a croissant along the route. It definitely made me much happier throughout the day.

A lot of students complain that Seton Hall lacks a genuine sense of community, of college spirit. Unfortunately, as the students had to discover in the worst way possible, we are a community, more tightly bonded than I think even we knew, in sadness as well as in happiness. From a distance I watched as my fellow students came together because they had lost one of their own and other Pirates were suffering. In that instant I felt, more intensely than I ever have before, a loyalty as a Seton Hall student, as a Pirate.

Stay strong, Seton Hall. I love you, I miss you.

R.I.P Jessica Moore. You will be missed.

The day I locked myself in the laundry room had not been a good one to start with. While the day had started out sunny, clouds had ominously gathered while I was in my first class of the week, Beginning Italian, and by the time class had let out, it was pouring. Gypsies ran up to me, insisting I buy an umbrella (“Tre euro, tre euro bella!”) even though I already had my lovely polka dotted one from Forever 21 at my apartment. The only reason it was not with me, in fact, is because it had not rained a day in Florence, Italy since I had gotten here. On my way home, I stopped into a grocery store to buy some oranges to eat with my lunch, walked out a different exit, and promptly got lost, in the rain. Things were not looking up. 

I had planned to do laundry on this rainy Monday, since I hadn’t done it since I had gotten to Italy (three weeks ago) and the situation was getting fairly desperate. The reasons I had been avoiding the task were quite simple: there are no dryers in Italy, so I would have to hang all my laundry out my window (and the thought of hanging my undergarments out the window was slightly off-putting,) and the “laundry room,” as it was, was a small outdoor courtyard in the middle of my apartment building that contained a few laundry lines and one solitary, rusting washing machine that looked like it had been standing there since the days of fascism in Italy.  The loading door was off the hinges, the buttons blinked erratically, and to top it all off, the directions to use the thing were in Italian, a language I am just barely beginning to understand. 

And now, it was raining. Given that you have to hang out your clothes to dry, I presumed this was going to be a slight problem. However, I had no pants left by this time, and I felt my professors (not to mention the Italians) would frown upon me not wearing any pants, (plus, Americans have enough stereotypes to contend with when visiting or living here, and I didn’t really want to add to the hostility.) So, I trudged down the stairs to the courtyard to do my laundry and then hang it outside where it probably would get wetter instead of drying. I assured myself it had to stop raining sometime, and hopefully by tomorrow the clothing would only be a little damp when I put it on. 

After fighting with the machine for upwards of 20 minutes and failing to get it to turn on, I angrily shoved my clothes back into my laundry bag and made my way towards the exit. Upon pushing on the door, I discovered it would not open. There are many strange things I have witnessed in Italian culture, but the absolute strangest I have seen is the doors that lock from the outside. I was now stuck in the laundry room with the door locked from the outside and a bag of dirty clothes at my heels. 

I had never thought I would miss Seton Hall’s washing and drying machines, which, in the past, I had complained about. Students must pay a dollar to wash and a dollar to dry each load, the dryers did not sufficiently dry, and if you put too much soap in the “ecologically safe” containers, the washing machine locked it’s door and held your soapy clothes hostage. But here I was, ready to break down in tears, wishing I could be back in the cozy comforts of the familiar, of my home university.

The library at Seton Hall recently cut its hours, and I understood and sympathized with the many angry students at home, who felt the previous 24/5 system helped them to study and get their work done when college students are most apt to be working. Then I looked in my Florence University of the Arts handbook to find that the libraries here were only open during normal business hours, 9-5, Monday-Friday. Any other time, and you were out of luck. Suddenly, even the reduced hours seemed incredible. 

The coordinators of my study abroad program here in Florence, (International Studies Abroad,) continually tell us at orientation that we will find things to be very different here. The best way to adjust, they say, is to not judge as good or bad, but just different. That statement was what kept me from getting on a plane back to Jersey the minute I escaped from the dreaded laundry room. I’m not saying that Seton Hall or Florence University of the Arts are by any means perfect, and generally, their relative pros and cons tend to even out. I am saying, though, that students should always be appreciative of what they do have. While they shouldn’t stop striving for more, they should also take the time to realize what Seton Hall does provide for them, and the enormous amount of effort that goes into making sure each student has an above-average college education experience. 

 Their laundry rooms are definitely above-average, at least.

After a (much more traditional) lecture on attendance and the virtues of drinking in moderation (unsurprisingly, many an American study abroad student has apparently made a fool out of him or herself because of the significantly lower drinking age in Italy, 16, to be exact,) we are given our class schedules for the semester and set free to wander in Florence, most likely looking dazed and confused. 

Upon looking at my schedule, I discover some more differences between SHU and FUA. Firstly, most of my classes are only once per week. Italian, (12-1:25 p.m. on Mondays and Wednesdays is the only exception.) Italian Food and Culture, Digital Photojournalism, Social Psychology and Introduction to Computer Graphics are all only once per week. This type of scheduling has a twofold effect, one, I only have class three days a week, (Monday, Wednesday and Thursday,) and two, all of my classes are very long. Another thing I discovered (in relation to long classes,) credit hours do not seem to necessarily correlate with the amount of time I spend in the class. I, for example, am taking five classes, all of which are worth three credits totaling 15 credits at Florence University of the Arts this semester. While my Italian class meets twice a week for an hour and 25 minutes each, my cooking class meets for two and half hours once a week, as does my social psychology class, my computer graphics class only meets for two hours once a week and, the weirdest one of all, my photojournalism class, which meets for five and a half (yes, you read that right, five and a half) hours once a week. I have yet to figure out who exactly determines the amount of time each class meets, but from what I can tell, the decision seems to be almost entirely up to the professor. It seems to me that FUA decides to run a three-credit course on photography, and then asks the photography professor when he or she wants it to meet and for how long.

The difficulty level of the classes, at least for me, has seemed to pretty much even out with Seton Hall. Some clases are really difficult, some are surprisingly easy.

Before I left for Italy, there were whisperings abound that study abroad classes were a cakewalk, but either that is not true or I just took the wrong classes. Of course, my friends do say I have a perfectionist strain of OAS (over-achievement syndrome,) so while many other students took the bare minimum course load (12 credits), with classes like Wine Making 10l, Pastries of Italy and the History of the Mafia, I not only took 12 credits of classes which would count towards my Seton Hall degree, (Digital Photojournalism, Introduction to Computer Graphics, Social Psychology and Beginning Italian,) I also took an extra three-credit course which would not transfer to Seton Hall but I felt I should take to better understand my Italian experience, Food, Culture and Society of Italy. Essentially, it is a class about understanding Italy through its food, and with the serious emphasis Italians put on food, (they yell at you if you try and walk and eat at the same time as this does not allow you to properly appreciate what you are eating,) this seemed appropriate. I wanted to take a class on Italian culture even though it would not transfer back because I felt it would only enrich my experience in Florence. I was able to take a extra, essentially throw-away, class because I had taken many AP classes in high school (again with the OAS) and therefore could easily take only 12 credits this semester without affecting my expected graduation date.

So far, I’ve found the cooking class to be a very pleasant experience, with a lovely professor who is incredibly nice and easy-going. Her can-do attitude is infectious, and I have been able to make creations I never would have thought I was capable of, such as Crepselle alla Fiorentina, zucchini tarts and rosemary flatbread, (up next week is seafood spaghetti, stay tuned!)

In fact, most of my professors are incredibly nice. My computer graphics class in undeniably tough, especially for me, as someone who came into the class with zero experience in Photoshop and Illustrator. However, my professor has been willing to work with me, and the incredibly small class sizes (another difference between FUA and Seton Hall, there are no more than 10 students in any of my classes, and there are only five students in my computer graphics course,) has worked to my advantage, as the professor has been able to help me a lot individually while still managing the class overall. We are given a lot of homework in this class, which I find difficult to complete as the computer labs are only open a limited amount of time during the week. I do not know if I would encounter this problem should I have taken this class at Seton Hall, although I probably would not have received as much individualized attention and instruction.

My Italian professor and my Social Psychology professor are also very nice and do not assign that much work, although there is always homework. My social psychology professor is actually an American ex-pat., (who left America for Florence for, what else? A guy,) so that class is very similar to what you’d find in America, (we even use the same textbook as Seton Hall’s social psych. class.)

My photojournalism class is definitely the most interesting class taught by the most interesting man. He is an Italian who lived in America for some time, and at one point was a photojournalist for Newsweek, taking pictures of Burmese refugee camps and the like. In addition to keeping us for almost a full five and half hours (we get a 20ish minute break most nights, though,) he makes us each present our photos each week to the class, (each week our homework assignment is take 100 photos based around a different theme), then we present between five and 10 photos to him and the class. He is harsh, critical and oftentimes crass. His idea of a compliment is “this one is kind of good,” and it’s the kind of class where you leave feeling beat up, almost to tears, but knowing you have learned something worthwhile. He says that Americans always find a way to build you up, by talking about what they like first, and then tear you down, by saying what they don’t like. Italians, he said, are opposite; he will tear you down only to build you up again, (although I have yet to see the building up part from him.) It is a HARD class, and last week I nearly left in tears, (it doesn’t help that I have computer graphics and photojournalism in the same day,) but I realized that it’s not always important what he says about your picture so what grade he gives you for your weekly assignment, what’s important is that I learn from this amazing photographer, and make sure I take something about photojournalism away from this class, because if, at the end of the semester, I am taking better pictures than I was before, the goal was accomplished.

I guess I just have to hope he grades slightly easier than he critiques, as Seton Hall does not enjoy transferring credits and seems to want to find any excuse not to, mediocre grades included.

1. First and foremost, the roads are almost entirely made of cobblestone. You should bear this in mind with both your footwear and your luggage choice. I had what I thought was (and pretty much is) really amazing luggage. It was super lightweight, bright blue and had four wheels, (all of which had 360 degree rotation.) In America, the suitcases glided easily over the concrete. When I arrived in Rome, one wheel of each luggage piece (I had three) automatically fell into a rut and I was stuck scrambling in the middle of the cobblestone walkway hoping not to get hit by a bus. Same thing when I went to Florence. The cobblestones are not even, bumpy and are often far apart, making it difficult to push anything along them. I ended up giving one of my suitcases to a friend, and dragged two behind me on two wheels. Same goes for footwear-the Italian women walk in 4-inch heels on the cobblestone, but even when wearing my Converses, I have managed to trip fall and generally make a complete fool of myself, so be advised. I wouldn’t necessarily bring really high heels and I certainly wouldn’t wear them the first couple of days. You’ll need some time, at least, to get your footing.

 2. The Italian men and women will put you to shame, clothing-wise. I generally consider myself to be pretty fashionable. I am up on most of the trends, and would never be caught dead going to class in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, as many of my fellow University students do in America. Here, even with my skinny jeans and over-sized tank tops, I feel like a slob in comparison to the Italian women, who are always decked out in skirts, heels and scarves. (The men always wear nice, dark-wash jeans, dress shoes and a collared shirt, usually with a sweater.) They would not be caught dead in shorts, unless they are very dressy ones, and sneaker-wearing seems to be taboo. Even when the women ride bicycles, they pedal in high heels, and manage to wear dresses while zooming around on Vespas (motor-scooters,) without flashing the entire universe, (which I could easily see myself doing should I ever attempt such a thing…which is why I probably won’t.) You don’t have to dress super fancy, just be aware that the Italians generally dress up for outings, (such as going out to eat,) much more than Americans do, and you will be automatically pegged as a tourist if you don’t.

 3. Either there are no traffic laws in Italy, or they are very rarely enforced. One of my tour guides in Rome said “The Italian people drive very similar to their personalities: they think they are right, all the time,” and she was completely correct. The streets, as I said, are cobblestone and incredibly tiny, most are clearly not made for anything but walking. Yet, bicycles, Vespas, cars and even delivery trucks all try to squeeze through the streets, even the incredibly tiny side streets. There are not many sidewalks, and even where there are some, they are tiny and cannot fit more than one, maybe two people across, and so hordes of people just walk in the middle of the street as Vespas weave through the pedestrian traffic. Cars and trucks honk routinely to try and get people out of the way, but they don’t stop. So seriously, when they honk at you, move. If you are crossing the road, ALWAYS look both ways, and if there is a motor-vehicle of any sort coming, wait for it to pass, even if the little green dude, which signifies “walk” is lit up. They don’t stop for you, so be prepared to stop and to move around for them, I don’t think they’d really hesitate to hit you as you fumble helplessly through your purse for your map.

 4. Italian people are very straightforward and tell you exactly what they are thinking. Men will whistle at you and catcall “bella” to girls as they walk by, and really they mean just that, you are beautiful. By the same token, though, they won’t hesitate to tell you if they think you are stupid or ugly too. This can be both incredibly refreshing and incredibly insulting. The best way to deal with this is to just smile and shrug everything off, whether it is a compliment or an insult.

 5. PDA is much more widespread and way more socially acceptable. Be prepared. ‘Nuff said.

 6. The police are hit or miss. Some can be incredibly sweet and very helpful and others can be very rude and just brush you off. If you find the latter first, don’t get upset, just move on to the next one. Chances are, you’ll find someone in a better mood further away from the tourist-y areas, but don’t give up, there are officers out there willing to help you.

 7. Air conditioning is practically unheard of, and the Italians wear pants and long sleeved even in the summer. If you’re really suffering, many drug stores (“farmacias”) sell fans.

 8. Elevators are also not very widespread, and when they are present, they are tiny. Better to just take the stairs and get some exercise.

 9. At the open air markets, they will try to deliberately rip you off. Always haggle, barter and ask for as many discounts as humanly possible. You’d be surprised how many of the vendors will sell you things for more than 50% off the original price.  

 10. It is unspeakably beautiful here and I can guarentee you will absolutely love it.