The Binazzi Fall Out & The New Firenze

10 October - 4:41pm.
Bottle of open prosecco. Italian books sprawled across desk.

I’ve been here six days, though more accurately described as a 144 hour mini-series.
The popping of the prosecco cork was reward for completing my self-induced Italian homework. I should be writing this in Italian, but my brain hurts. Verb conjugations and my teacher’s pronunciation is running through my head in fast forward, and hence, the need for some prosecco induced numbing of the mind. My teacher also assigned an actual legit writing exercise, so no need for me to go totally overboard here...

The past three days have had a slightly manic quality. Or maybe it’s just me. Regardless, here goes…in a slightly chronological mush...

7 October - Midnight.
After writing the last “blog” entry, in which I attempted to give a positive spin to how I was actually feeling, I spent the remainder of the evening in tears. In our very techy Macintosh savvy world, I had the pleasure of Videochatting with my family, which was a scene all of its own. I was simultaneously laughing and crying so hard that I couldn’t even speak. And every time I tried to talk, I felt the way you do when you are 11 years old at overnight camp, trying to whisper to your bunkmate after “lights out,” while the one token nasty counselor is on duty for the night. Granted, having slept a combined ten hours since my arrival three days before, I was beyond exhausted. But I was also feeling very off about living so far out of the city center, and about living alone with Signora Binazzi. The thought of returning to her home every night by 8pm to eat a TV dinner - Italian style - without anywhere to easily go out to afterwards, seemed, well, molto depressing. And my gut, which has tended to work for me in the past, was telling me this was not feeling so right.

1am/ 2am/ 3am/ 4am/ 5am:
My insomnia took on a mixture of cognizant and hallucinatory thoughts.
I knew it was a living situation that I could try to make the best of, and one that I could certainly get through. But I also knew that I had three weeks in Florence to make the absolute most of my experience. And it felt as though I might as well be living with a widowed grandmother in Queens.
I was a 40 minute walk to the center of Florence, or a somewhat sketchy bus ride home if I were to go out late at night. She didn’t serve any wine with dinner. And I was served so much pasta, I thought I was going to burst. But, vino, food, and all trivial bits aside, in all honesty, I didn’t know what to think or do. I had opted to live with a family because, in my head, I invented a very authentic Italian family experience. I imagined my own adopted Italian family – with long family dinners, and a taste of true Florentine culture. While I was aware that this was my fantasy, I didn’t expect my reality to slap me so hard in the face. I felt lonely and sad, but mostly I felt like, “Why the fuck am I here?”

***7 October - Side Note:
I learned two important things this day:
1) If you are waiting for the light to change to cross the street, and an Italian guy who is waiting next to you starts talking to you, and he starts walking with you and talking and talking and talking….and you realize that this is actually kind of funny because it’s helping your Italian…and you can’t get away from him because he is walking with you block for block… and he is going to follow you whether you make a right or left turn, give him your phone number. Really, it’s true! It’s the only thing that will make him stop walking with you, and you never actually have to answer your phone. Let him think that the dumb American is actually going to go to the discoteca with him later that night.

2) Along the same lines as number one – do not set up the voicemail on your Italian cell phone. This is an excellent preventative measure. For example, Alessandro, the very sweet, but over anxious waiter, keeps calling me. And texting me. But without a voicemail message, he is not leaving messages. So I am not guilty of not returning his phone calls.

Allora…

8 October - 7:45 am.
Breakfast with Signora Binazzi. I am served brioche with a side of toast. Not exactly high fiber cereal and yogurt, but she makes very good caffe and we watch the morning news.

8 – 8:40am
I walk to Scuola Leonardo da Vinci

8:45am.
I am handed the written portion of my Italian placement test.

8:45- 9:05am
I feel like I am back in high school Latin class. I am trying to conjugate verbs and outsmart multiple choice questions.

9:15 am
I am given the oral portion of my Italian placement test.

9:30am
I meet Andrew. Andrew is finishing his test at the same time as me. He is a sound engineer from LA and is the first person I have spoken English with in 3 days. He feels just as Italian illiterate as I do. We are told to come back to the school at 11am to find out what class we are in, so Andrew and I take a walk and have coffee. Since I haven’t been able to communicate the riveting inner workings of my mind, in person, to any other American, Andrew gets the full download. Poor guy.

11am
I am placed in Level 1 / Part 2.
Part 2??? What happened to Level 1/ Part 1?

11am – 1pm
My first conversational Italian class. There are 12 of us, and Andrew is placed in the same class. Along with 10 other people who seem to understand and speak much much much better Italian than I do.

1pm
I make it through class, but consider switching down to Level 1/ Part 1.

1:05pm
I meet Alexandra. A very cool girl from London who is in my class. Alexandra has been at the school for the past two weeks, and has just completed Level 1/ Part 1. She said Part 1 is too easy, and I should stay in Part 2. Easy? What’s easy when you don’t speak Italian, but are learning it in a class where they won’t speak any English, and they assume you already understand the basics? I can speak a little, but I certainly do not have a grasp on the 40 hours of grammar and vocabulary that was taught in the “easy” course. Alas, I talk to the teacher and decide to stick it out in Part 2.

1:05pm continued
I am talking to Alexandra and another girl from my class about my living situation. It strikes me that I am in Florence, having just finished my first day of school, excited and making new friends, but completely preoccupied by my living situation. The girls tell me that it is in the housing contract that if you are not happy within the first three days of a housing situation, you can switch without a financial penalty. So, I decide to go back to the school administration and look into my options. I learn that there are no other family boarding options any closer to the city center, and that all of the school owned apartments are completely booked. I leave the school again and start walking, feeling pretty much like shit. Once I’ve outwardly expressed the disappointment in my housing, it all seems that much more real and that much worse. I go back to the school again to confirm that there is no other way to get an apartment. One of the administrators tells me that they can help me find me an apartment, but it will most likely cost 1000 Euro for two weeks. Obscene. I leave the school again. I telephone family, talk the situation through, and decide to return to the school once more to explore the option of them helping to find me an apartment. Just in case. The head housing honcho, Katerina, says, come with me, and takes me to her office. She tells me that she has one broker she can call to see if there is anything. She dials Rachel. Rachel answers the phone, and says, “Actually, I am standing in an apartment that just had a cancellation, and is now available from tomorrow morning until the 20th of October. Exactly the dates I need. I get on the phone with Rachel, who switches from Italian to English, and now sounds like your standard Manhattan real estate broker. I am in near hysterics. Rachel gives me a rundown of the apartment, which sounds fabulous, and then I hold my breath while she tells me the price. When I hear that it is within 50 Euro of what I was to pay Signora Binazzi, I take it. Rachel says she will be at the school to talk everything through with me in 20 minutes.

Approx 2:30pm
I meet Rachel. She’s a hoot. She becomes the second English speaker that I download my brain to. She fully supports the move, sympathizing with my feelings on the Binazzi home, and my desire to live amidst the center of the action in my short time in the city.
We agree that I will meet her to get the keys and move into the new apartment before school begins at 8:15am the next morning.

Please note: Katerina, the head honcho housing woman at the school, says no problemo to leave the Binazzi’s. She says that I need to pay Signora Binzazzi for the two nights that I stayed and that is all. Finito. This information is important for later in the story.

2:35 pm
I leave school. My phone rings. I fail to screen the call, and it’s Alessandro. He is somewhat asking me to go out later that night. Instead, I agree to meet him at his restaurant at 5:30 when he starts work. I guess this is my Italian version of getting free wine.

5:30pm
I arrive at the Enoteca and he tells me I look splendimente. This is why I love Italy. Even after not sleeping for 6 days and having puffy eyes, you can look splendimente. In my very best Italian, I download the new housing situation. I’ll admit, it’s quite fun to have someone patiently listening to you, while serving you free wine & showering you with compliments. During this time, I get a call from my new friend Alexandra, who wants to come meet up for a drink. I tell her to meet me at the Enoteca, and she says she’s on her way. In my stroke of good luck for the day, she arrives right on time. Alessandro has been serving other customers, but comes back to my table and – while I am only understanding every few words – he is asking me how I feel about him. What do you know? Before I have to answer, Alexandra arrives at the table.

7pm
I have to leave Alexandra, Amy (a friend of Alexandra’s who has also joined us) and the free pizzas that Alessandro has been bringing to the table. I must be at the house by 8pm for dinner, and to break the news to the Signora that I’m moving out.

8pm - The beginning of hell.
I get in my first Italian fight. Nothing physical, but there was a brief moment where I couldn’t be certain that she wouldn’t smack me. When I first tell Binazzi the moving news, it seems to be going okay. But then I get the silent treatment during dinner. I am not even hungry, but I am eating a full bowl of rigatoni, Cornish game hen with a side of bread, and fried breaded mushrooms. Binazzi gets mad and will not let up. We also have a slight language barrier, so pardon the expression, but we’re a little lost in translation. I feel terrible. She is counting on the money and the more she thinks about the fact that she will now have an empty room, the angrier she is getting. I am pleading with her. Trying to explain my thought process (mostly unsuccessfully) and that the school emphatically okayed all of this. Somewhere at this point, she decides that she is going to go to the school with me at 9am the next day because she does not believe me.

9pm
I go to my room. I don’t know if I should pack, if I should cry, or if I should do my Italian homework. I decide on a combination of the three.

8 October - between 12am and 6am.
A little more insomnia, but with a whole lot less cognizant and hallucinatory thoughts.

7am
My alarm goes off. I tiptoe around and finish the last of my packing.

7:45am
I call for a taxi to take me and all of my luggage to my new apartment. I tell Binazzi goodbye, and she says she will see me at the school at 9am.

7:45 – 8:10am
The taxi has not come and I can not get another one.

8:12am
I call Rachel, the broker, and she calls another taxi company and tells me a different one is on its way.

8:18am
Binazzi comes outside to get on the bus to go to the school. In a scene from a movie, she walks out the door, cane and trash bag in hand, looks at me still waiting for the cab, and gives a me a hand gesture that only suggests – ha – serves you right that you are still here waiting for a cab. At this moment, I am feeling really good about myself.

8:25am
The cab arrives. I am now on the phone with Commerce Bank. This is almost as bad as my T-mobile phone calls. They have put a stop on my account because when I was trying to pay my bills on line, I had an internet issue that resulted in my screwing up the security questions on my account. Essentially, I locked myself out of my own account. At the same time, the bank was having its own problem resetting the account, and said it would take 24 hours. Excellent news, as I had to pay for the apartment in cash and I could not get any money out.

8:37am
I arrive at Via Por San Maria, Numero 2. This is the street that becomes the Ponte Vecchio, just off Piazza Della Signora. I come upstairs to the apartment and it’s beautiful. I can’t believe this is mine for 2 weeks. Rachel keeps saying that she knows it is simple, and blah blah blah. I remind her that I live in New York, and this is like a penthouse in my mind. I have a huge living room with windows that open to the street—the Ponte Vecchio is to the left, a view of the Duomo to the right. It’s unreal. There is a full kitchen, a huge bedroom, hallway, and full bathroom. I am in complete and total awe. At this moment I think, why don’t I just live here and go to school full time? Thank god the apartment is rented out on the 20th and that I have a commitment on the farm, or I would be in an even more serious mind twist of what to do with my life.

8:51am
I haul ass to school. Somehow I arrive just as the 9am bell goes off.
I walk through the main reception area, and there, sitting on a chair is Binazzi. (This is the next act of the movie.) I find head honcho housing woman, and she assures me that everything is okay. I’m elated about my new apartment, but otherwise, am a total frazzled wreck. This is so not part of my Italian no - frazzle plan. I feel like the New Yorker who comes to Italy to cause the scene of all scenes. In the end, I pay Binazzi for the two nights I stayed. I, along, with the administrators, re-explain to her that the move was nothing personal, nothing against her, that her home was clean and lovely, but that it was a better experience for me to be in the center of town. I try to bid her a sincere farewell, but she won’t have much of it. This is the second time that morning that I’m feeling really good about myself.

1pm
Class ends and I feel like 15,000 pounds of bricks have been lifted off my shoulders. I am thrilled about school, I can’t wait to get to my apartment, and I announce to my class to all come over that night for wine. I actually feel like myself again.

7pm
I host my first vino party at my apartment. It ends up being my two British girlfriends, who are very lovely, very bright, and I think a little bit fancy in London. They both graduated law school in London, and are here taking some time off before they start work at their fancy corporate firms. They mentioned a party they were at with Prince William, and, well, that was funny. They are both incredibly down to earth women and its nice to have some easy going friends that just feel comfortable to explore the city with.

10 October - 7:45am
I wake up after my first amazingly good night of sleep. I feel like a new person.

1pm
School a little bit kicks my ass, but I decide I am going to stay on for a third week of lessons before I go to the farm. Even though I mostly feel like an idiot, my teachers and classmates create an environment where I can feel somewhat secure in class. We have different grammar and conversational teachers -- Grammar from 9 to 10:45am with Sara, Conversation from 11:15 to 1pm with Fiora. Both are tiny, beautiful, young, animated Italian women who have more patience than anyone I know.

Present moment:
Everyone reading this should come visit. Hop on a flight this weekend and you have a free place to stay, with all the Chianti you can drink. Or just call. The cell (though no voicemail) is working: 011 39 377 305 4810