Despite the recent developments, there is no damper on my trip thus far. It is indeed bittersweet to leave Bologna, but what remains are only good memories step outside my boundaries and in the meantime learn how to not step in front of a vespa. My limited time here encouraged me to take advantage of the city and to eat tortellini until I can’t move. Bologna also became my point of reference. My home base from where I traveled to Modena, Ferrara, Milan and Venice. I recognize faces now. I know that one particular Signore always eats at my favorite restaurant at 8pm, I see the kids that were studying at the Archiginnasio around town. I’ve seen GP and Bianco twice since our first encounter – the first time next to my hotel at “pizza casa” and the second time on his way to apperativi (drinks+mingling italian style). I know where to go for the best cappucino, where to not go to get a panino, where to listen to jazz. By stepping out of my comfort zone to get to know the city I have grown incredibly comfortable here and in a way sort of attached. Certain personalities have also made it incredibly easy to love Bologna.
There are the Bologna Boys, or that’s the name I’ve given the five boys that frequent the Archiginnasio, pretending to study hard from 9 in the morning to 6:45 when it closes. They are always dressed in Burberry or Polo or Diesel. They are all studying law or engineering. They take breaks every few hours to grab a caffé, smoke, or not study. Thomas, the snow boarder from northern Italy, told me he studies at the Archi because that’s where the girls are… Oh the Bologna Boys. And then there is Serena who works at the Biblioteca Universitaria. On my way out of the library we always have great conversations. She was very interested in Hurricane Katrina and how Texas and New Orleans are doing. We talk about politics and why, as she puts it, a lack of objectivity just ruins everything. There is Lisa, the darling elderly Italian Signora, who for a half an hour told me the entire history of the Church of Bentivoglio, all about its 34 chapels, and that it was only opened for the public 11 years ago. Cieki, who works at Lime, a bar near my hotel, and when I walk by he says, “Ehh-oh Shelley! Come stai!” He’s a dred-locked hippy who spent a month in California and can’t wait to go back. Then there is Fabio who is obsessed with Rachmaninoff and Schubert. I was in an internet cafe and paying for my half hour when I noticed he was looking at one of Rachmaninoff’s etude-tableaus. So I asked him if he ever played for singers. He said no, but why not. Since then we’ve meet a couple time at 8 am (the only time the practice rooms are open at the Conservatory) to sing some Mendelssohn and Schumann. And then there’s the team at Cafe Rosso, who always treat me well and tell me what I have to eat before I leave Bologna.
Within the first few nights after my arrival in Bologna I walked into Hotel Accademia late in evening after one of my nightly dinner + a stroll I met Stefano. Stefano I like to describe as the younger, designer wearing, 100% Italian brother of Babbo Natale (aka Santa Clause). Leaving the whole beard, and velvet suit aside, Stefano has all the qualities. He has a smile from ear to ear, he has that heart-felt chuckle, and the belly to boot. When I walked in he said, “Ciao bella!” and asked me where I was from and then, with the biggest smile, arms stretched out wide he said, “Ma com’è bella America!” After that point, every time I came home from dinner and my nightly walks, he gives me the loudest and warmest greeting, “Ciao bella! Come stai!?!” He asks me how I am doing, and before I can even answer he says with the biggest smile on his face, “Ma sicuramente stai bene, c’è Italia!” You got it Stefano, how could I not be happy in Italy. Stefano likes to tell me about all the places I need to visit. He tells me I need to go to Calabria, do nothing but eat and lay by the beach, meet an Calabrian and have 10 babies. Another time he told me I need to go to Sardinia to eat, lay of the beach, and have 12 babies. Then he told me I needed to go to Sicily. If I go to Sicily I will eat so well, and I will be so happy, and that I will never-ever-ever leave because I will meet a Sicilian and have 15 babies… Ok Stefano, I will never-ever-ever go to those places! Stefano is also like Babbo Natale because he just takes likes to take care. When I was working in the hotel lobby around midnight he walked in with two apples, a tall glass of orange juice and a handful of candy, “Here’s some sugar. It helps you study!” Stefano’s philosophy on life is that we are always moving forward to where we are happiest. His phrase is “si mangia bene, si crede bene, si vive bene,” so as long as you are in Italy, you eat well, you believe, and you live the best you ever have. Stefano may actually love Italy more than the whole population of Italy put together. He shows me Youtubes on the Pope, videos of panoramas of Calabria with some cheesy Italian sentimental music in the background. And everynight before I head upstairs to go home he asks if Italy has found me well and if I will return. And I say, of course.
