Italia 2003: Roma

*Homestay friends at the Trevi Fountain
*Scootermania near Spanish Steps
*Nicola and Gladiator - Colosseum
*Advertising near Trevi Fountain
*Class in Roman school
*Homestay friends at airport
*Nicola & Denise in Rome
*Swan in Villa Borghese
*San Pietro
*School

Roma

Ahh... Roma. If not for this whirlwind experience I may not have had quite the travel adrenaline rush that has kept me coming back for several years now. Visiting cities is always a fun and valuable experience, but it is the real life experiences that really shape who you are.

After a whole day of driving from Venice to Rome we were haphazardly ejected from the bus onto a crowded suburban street corner in what I now know was the outer suburb of Ciampino. We were in a frenzy trying to retrieve our suitcases from the bus, listen for our names being called by the Italian organiser, and trying not to trample the passersby. What would transpire is a classic example of the Italian take on organisation.

Unwilling to push to the front to ask for my homestay buddy, I waited back until most people had been called, matched up, and sent on their way. Finally when the coast seemed clear I went to the list-holder.

Nicole? Oh. Nicol-A?? Oh. Hmm. Ahh. Hmm.. I talk... one moment... your teacher.

As it turned out, our dear organiser had in fact sent another "Nicky" off with what had been planned to be my buddy. However this did not seem to be a problem, as I would simply be sent with the family that Nicky had originally been assigned. I was introduced to the girl who was 4 years older than me, as Nicky was. The father seemed very nice. They packed me into their car and headed off into suburbia. Even the most simple Italian babble refused to enter my brain. Their attempts at conversation sounded like complete jibberish, despite having studied Italian for a couple of years. Upon arrival at their house I was warmly greeted and shown my room. I was introduced to her sister who was more my age. All seemed well. I felt comfortable. Yes... this will be fine. The girl said she and her friends were having a party and we all got ready. Some hours pass and we are waiting downstairs... we get a phone call.

There is a problem. The other girl is your age. You have to go to her now.

So... I awkwardly re-packed, said my friendly farewells and was packed into the car with Marco and sent hurtling back through the suburbs. I was not very pleased about this at all.... I had just alleviated the stress of finding a friendly family and then was immediately uprooted to be put through the same anxiety again. Upon arriving at the new house I was somewhat coldly greeted by a family that must have been irritated by being uprooted as well. I was hastily fed some pasta. I was not feeling so welcome this time round.

However.... apparently the best way for Italians to open up is by them helping to unpack your suitcase. Whether you consent to them rifling through your collection of underwear, holding it up for examination, and questionining me on my colour choices or not. I was then herded into the shower and had the process of the technological wonders that are taps meticulously explained to me. No sooner did they hear the water stop running were they barging back into the bathroom, ushering me onto the bed, where my feet were promptly hand-dried by them... and then I was sent back into the bathroom to dress.

Can I just say... that I am extremely proud of the way my 15-year-old self handled the week and a half with this family.

The mother keeps hugging and kissing me. Denise proclaimed me as her little sister even though I am 1.5 years older than her.

Despite being bored.. well... most of the time, school was a very interesting experience. They were kept in the same classes and classrooms all day, with only the teachers swapping.

Diary excerpts:

The first question I was asked when they sat down to talk to me was “What mean slut?”

I was also informed about how funny it is to steal things, which her friend seems to enjoy doing.

They have a weird sense of humour. I tried to make a sort of joke because I had the word “Dimenticare” written on my hand. I wrote it there because I wanted to know what the word for “to forget” is. And I think Silvia asked me why it’s there, and I go “Ah, perche non voglio dimenticare la parola ‘dimenticare’" (Because I don't want to forget the word "to forget!") And she just stares at me totally not getting it.

I can’t even remember English anymore.

They’ve already had me singing Avril Lavigne and J-Lo songs for their entertainment.

I suggested to the teacher that it seemed better to say "I have brown hair" than "I've got brown hair" to which she replied "No, no, no, you speak wrong. You speak Australian. We teach English.” She can bite me.

I just got interrupted because that Marco guy appeared with Emily and Michael from another school. So I used it as an excuse to go out of the room for a while. Apparently they’re going somewhere. And we can’t. Marco came only to tell us that they were going out, and we weren’t allowed to come. Nice guy.

Aside from school my homestay family and friends were good value when it came to sightseeing. I was taken to the Colosseum a couple of times (never did manage to find it open, however), to the Trevi Fountain, the Vatican, Piazza di Spagna, Villa Borghese and various shopping and McDonald's trips.

Damn this cigarette-filled Italian air. Hmm, that’s all I have to say for now. Oh dear Denise is doing her dancing exercise so I should keep writing or she’ll get me to join in.

I was fed so much I could barely breathe. I was forced to cross roads when every part of my intuition said that the oncoming traffic would hit us. I was driven around at breakneck speed, defying a lifetime of brainwashing about wearing seatbelts. I was hugged so much that I almost developed a nervous twitch (I was not a very touchy person... at all).

Despite being completely thrown out of my comfort zone, isolated in an unfamiliar city, unable to speak the language and freaked out by a swathe of social and cultural customs... when it came to going home I suddenly felt a huge loss.

I thought it was great that I was barely spoken to in English. When I was reunited with the old tour group the onslaught of familiar vocab was a shock to the system. I came back streets ahead of the rest of my Italian class and, if I do say so myself, remained there til the end.

I think you most notice the effects of a trip once it's over.

Which is why I asked for a second homestay in 2005....