Adventures in Florence Vol 1
I am taking the train from Florence to Milan at the moment. The weather is sunny, although somewhat windy, and typing on my Mac makes a good excuse not having to be sociable with the American couple sitting next to me. So let the journey begin.
The morning of my PhD interview day started with me falling down in the middle of the street just outside my house in Schliern. There I was lying in the snow (it is called April weather, or so they say) and I knew it could not go on any better...
I got to the Bern railway station at 6 and for the first time in my life I noticed that the train platform indicated on my ticket was not the one my train was actually standing at. Pardon me you swiss reading this but it is not exactly what I expect from you. Even if the platform was just the one next to the planned one, I still felt slightly uncomfortable with that.
Although I had slept during the night before the sleepiness was very annoying. It was cold on the old InterRegio train. And there was this guy in his thirties who picked the compartment right next to me and kept staring at me until Brig although we were the only two people in that car. God knows what he was thinking all that time.
In about three and a half hours of half sleeping in all possible positions on that seat I got to Milan and of course, late for my train to Florence from there. So first I had to buy a ticket for the train an hour later than planned and secondly I had to do it all in my non-existing Italian. However, I did manage to get on that train and, naturally delayed again, I also reached Florence. I only had an hour until my interview, so I set about to find the #7 bus in direction of San Domenica di Fiesole. I was successful in buying a ticket, and actually even in getting a seat on that bus that was theoretically probably meant for 40 people or so but in reality, I am sure we were at least two hundred.
The smelly bus took the bumpiest streets that were so narrow it was unbelievable some public transportation there was even possible. We drove through the city centre and the old town and I coud not notice a thing changed after my last visit 9 years ago. The Cathedral was still as big and colorful and there were equally many tourists all over the place. I wonder if any of the hotblooded bus drivers has ever simply driven over some of these thousands of people moving in smaller or bigger groups in the streets. They sure look and act as if they wanted to – at least our driver was a stereotype. I tried to concentrate on carefully reading all the bus stop signs and be sure I would not miss mine.
Some time later, maybe 25 minutes or so, I was sure the driver had reached the bus stop called San Domenica and I got off. I had heard some people scream Aperto! at previous stops for the driver to open the doors but I took the chance of merely pushing the button. It worked. I was alone in the street surrounded by beautiful 15-18 century villas (well, any way very old-looking ones) and had 27 minutes to my interview. I had planned to definitely change my jeans to nice trouser-suit ones and go to the bathroom before the interview so I had to find the place quickly. Yes, most importantly go to the bathroom.
But no University around. I saw two gentlemen, they must have been around sixty, strolling together under one umbrella. Of course they did not speak a word of English but after a brief conversation in Italian and body language that also included something like blessing me for my blue eyes and why a traveler like myself does not carry an umbrella with her, I had found out that I still needed to take 4 more stops uphill in order to reach Badia Fiesole, the academic directorate of the Institute. The next bus was in 20 minutes and I was soaked till my underwear.
I felt like crying but was afraid my mascara would ruin even the rest of the looks on me so I just begged that I could catch a taxi. The fourth one indeed stopped and took me to a spot where I had to still walk 400 meters. I paid 6 euros for the 2-minute ride and a guided tour, apart from the fact that the latter was in Italian, I just did not care at all; the clock was ticking and no-no-no, I was not going to miss my probably the most important date ever.
I ran with my little black stewardess-suitcase I had borrowed from my host family and finally reached the building that looked like a medieval chapel, in other words, simply breathtakingly gorgeous. There was a nice-looking guy who entered the courtyard at the same time on his roller and when I was trying to figure out where my interview was going to take place in just one minute, he asked me if I needed any help. He then took me to the room and I waited for my turn behind the door. Just for the mid-summary, I was wet, still wearing jeans, my poor stewardess-suitcase was standing sadly next to me and I definitely still needed to go to the bathroom. And then I was invited in. I switched off my mobile phone.
The room was very big, quiet and dark. The four huge tables formed a square and there was a man behind every table forcing me to look in every direction at the same time. There was Professor D. who in the picture looks much nicer than in reality and two other whose names I could not catch. One of the two looked especially malicious. And then there was a young guy representing researchers who could have made a handsome impression but his job seemed to judge whether or not he wanted me to be one of them as such and you could just read the verdict in his eyes... Oh, and there was an American man evaluating my English skills. Right. Allora.
I had five minutes to shortly (well, how long can you take it in five, guys?) present my research proposal and I could already witness their utmost boredom after about 25 seconds. I must say that I suddenly felt I was worth nothing. The whole research topic seemed so empty and absolutely useless and the audience surely did not do anything to make me feel any different. After my voice died D. started with his problems about him not understanding the scope of my planned work. Mamma, I felt like I was 17 again, you know, sitting in the history lesson and having to answer the questions you actually have heard about but you are too embarrassed and afraid that you might get it all wrong so you'd rather not say a word. (And those of you who remember the history teacher know what I am talking about). I do not think I convinced Professor D. with this first one. Next shot came from the meanest-looking guy and actually sitting here on the train a day after I cannot even remember what the question was. However, it was not a friendly one, either, so I guess I did not do well again (It must have been something about the contents of my work and weather it is precise enough or so). The third professor was the first one to approach me with a slightly warmer tone but now thinking back on it – it was probably simply pure sarcasm. Well, I did answer this one more or less satisfyingly, because it was somewhat clearer than the previous ones: How do you imagine to technically reach the people for your research? /I had been ready for that and my answer was OK/. And, I mean, do you actually speak all these languages of the countries you have listed here? /For the first time in the 10 minutes that seemed like a day I was happy I could give an answer that was true. Yes./
The mean man I think continued to be mean to me but I seem to have deleted his words from my memory, and the end question came from D. who again doubted my point of comparing the research results of 8 different countries. By then I was so exhausted that I basically snapped it in his face that I did not agree and gave a short explanation. Then I got the first nod. It was a positive nod and I cannot even remember noticing anything ironic about it. After that the mean man asked if I had any questions to them and I said I could read the website perfectly well not to just ask a question for the sake of it and wasting any more of their time. The mean man could not have looked happier, I think I got the second nod of the day there and I was let go.
I gathered my coat, my stewardess-suitcase, my handbag, my pashmina, and my wrinkled research proposal and found my way out of the totally quiet room. The last thing I could see was D. leaning back in his chair, slightly smiling. At this point I was sure I had failed.
I went back to the reception, and found the guy from before waiting on the second floor. He asked me how it had gone and all I could say was they had been mean to me. He smiled and said he was sure it was just a mask, that they were actually all really nice. Yeah. I found out his name was Roger and that he could now help me with finding the language test class. The room was just behind us and I could see it very well. Are a l l IE people so sarcastic? Anyway, he was nice enough to wish me good luck and a classy Italian lady in short skirt and black high heels smoking a cigaret took me in. She asked me if I was OK and I did not really know if I was. I sat down and looked around me. There were all these other interviewees, about ten of them, mostly men and a couple of females. Everyone was wearing a suit and a tie and a bright white shirt and their quiet statues remineded me on American missionaries. My hair was still wet and I was hoping they were all too busy with their papers not to notice my damp blue jeans. And I had indeed not been able to go to the bathroom.
The first test was a piece of cake but in the end I had to write 250 words about weather or not I agree with technology and traditional cultures not being incompatible. After getting so far with reading here you will probably not believe it but I had a total writing block. Finally I forced myself into composing a relatively poor piece of opinion where I said something like don't-worry-be-happy.
Then there was this little white dog, like the one in those deluxe dog-food advertisements who kept distracting me with rubbing his nose into the carpet and I decided I was ready to leave.
I still had to take another test and get my travel reimbursement so I went looking for the Institute Bank in the campus. Roger had taken off so this time I was on my own. Of course, the bank had been closed a half an hour ago and the lady I could locate in one of the rooms of the Applications' section told me that I had to come back the next day. By that time it was clear that I had missed my second test, as well as my last train home, I was still wet and had not been to the bathroom yet. Besides, the first and the last thing I had eaten was a sandwich and a cup of bad, bad coffee on the first train at 6 in the morning. Plus, I had nowhere to go. The lady took a glance at me, took her phone and talked to somebody about a “camera”. Indeed, she managed to book me into a single room in a villa close to the campus and drew three lines on a piece of paper that were supposed to be a map and instructions for me to get there. I left the building and after being a half a way up the hill again I realized that I had forgotten to go to the bathroom. I reached the bus stop and waited for the bus with a couple of other interviewees. They will make good IUE researchers, I am sure, because they did not even nod for hello, not speaking about exchanging a couple of words and maybe going for a meal together. Finally I heard some Finnish spoken and these two girls from the third year of Law helped me get on the bus. They also told me the story behind the Aperto-screams I had heard earlier. Namely, according to the rules, you are supposed to only leave from the middle door and some drivers are indeed evil enough not to let anyone out from the last door even if the bus is crowded. What do you think where was I standing now. So I got out of the bus two stops too late and I had to walk back (up!) again to find the hotel. I was very pissed off at the italians who obviously enjoyed staring at me and occasionally shouting something out of their car windows but never caring to stop and ask if I perhaps needed a ride up the hill. After asking a guy on the way and receiving the whole set of the Italian instructions again I finally reached the Villa La Stella. I think my room was about two square meters big but there was a bathroom.
I put away my suitcase and changed for dry clothes. I will at this point not describe the reflection in the mirror. I did something about it and then I went back downhill to catch a bus to the center. Coming from Switzerland, the mess here seems unbearable at times: people screaming on the bus, cars constantly signaling and men just being rude all the time. Or perhaps it was just my state of mind and my stomach aching from hunger. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I could not switch on my mobile again after the interview because the SIM card I have has a PIN code and it is not like in Estonia that the first pin is always 0000, no-no-no, it is a code like 54288363853253 or similar that you are expected to memorize. And of course I had left the paper on the table in my room in Schliern.
I bought a prepaid phone card and tried to use it in at least 5 booths. Finally I understood I had to dial the free number written on the card and not try to stick it into the phone. I must have looked like Mister Bean to the locals... Within an hour I could reach my dear host family in Switzerland and let them know I was not coming home. It felt so good to just hear a friendly voice and receiving an sms saying everything was going to be ok after I had entered the pin.
I then entered a pizzeria that looked very nice with its flamingo table cloths and white napkins. I ordered spaghetti and house wine that unexpectedly was served by a half size bottle and not a glass. The somewhat elderly waiter was a bit worried about me eating alone and refused to let me go away without an ice cream and a proper cappuccino. As a matter of fact I was quite drunk when I left and it took me a while to find the bus stop again.
I woke up several times during the night. Partly, because I kept receiving letters in my dream – a couple of saying I was accepted to the Institute and others saying I was not, but partly also because I was probably just having a hangover and needed to drink water.
I was quite happy when it was time to get up and go downstairs for breakfast. However, when I got there, most of the food had already disappeared into the mouths of a school class of Americans and their teachers. I sat at a table in another dining room around the corner, so that I could be alone. Suddenly, a mother with her equally overweight daughter came to the room and stopped right beside me. “This is how they do it,” she told her daughter in a manager-tone. I looked up and she explained to me that when her daughter had said I was skinny they came to see what I was eating. I glanced at my breakfast plate and there were exactly three things: a brownish bun in the size of a small potato, a children's yogurt and one of those 10-gram jams with plum flavor. The mother and her daughter left before I could really defend myself. A minute later a weird shaking man came to me and asked in a clear but clearly American Italian what a beautiful ragazza like me was doing sitting alone like this. Then I decided I did not need any company nor another cup of coffee.
I left the hotel and climbed back to the Institute. I received the money and stopped in front of the lists of today's interviewees. Several from Finland and Sweden, around 5 from Poland and lots of them from Romania. I believe I am the only one from Estonia, so they could have a little mercy on me and still grant me the scholarship even though I might not have earned it in their eyes. Come to think of it, I myself might just think I have not earned the scholarship. I am used to sparkle at presentations but just as Riin said later last night – it is so easy to be a star in your own surroundings. I learnt a lot about myself yesterday, and if I did not pass, I do not think I would be very sad. It would just mean that I would have to work so much more to reach the point so many people have trusted me to have reached already, including myself. The Institute will let me know by the end of April.
I went to the railway station and stood in the ticket que for 40 minutes. Luckily I had my criminal story with me so it was not as painful as it could have been. As a true Blonde would have it, I did buy the new Vogue and when taking it from my bag I found the ticket man had put some postcards into my ticket envelope as a gift. Not a bad finish after all, don't you agree.
I will let you know.
Always,
Blond
The morning of my PhD interview day started with me falling down in the middle of the street just outside my house in Schliern. There I was lying in the snow (it is called April weather, or so they say) and I knew it could not go on any better...
I got to the Bern railway station at 6 and for the first time in my life I noticed that the train platform indicated on my ticket was not the one my train was actually standing at. Pardon me you swiss reading this but it is not exactly what I expect from you. Even if the platform was just the one next to the planned one, I still felt slightly uncomfortable with that.
Although I had slept during the night before the sleepiness was very annoying. It was cold on the old InterRegio train. And there was this guy in his thirties who picked the compartment right next to me and kept staring at me until Brig although we were the only two people in that car. God knows what he was thinking all that time.
In about three and a half hours of half sleeping in all possible positions on that seat I got to Milan and of course, late for my train to Florence from there. So first I had to buy a ticket for the train an hour later than planned and secondly I had to do it all in my non-existing Italian. However, I did manage to get on that train and, naturally delayed again, I also reached Florence. I only had an hour until my interview, so I set about to find the #7 bus in direction of San Domenica di Fiesole. I was successful in buying a ticket, and actually even in getting a seat on that bus that was theoretically probably meant for 40 people or so but in reality, I am sure we were at least two hundred.
The smelly bus took the bumpiest streets that were so narrow it was unbelievable some public transportation there was even possible. We drove through the city centre and the old town and I coud not notice a thing changed after my last visit 9 years ago. The Cathedral was still as big and colorful and there were equally many tourists all over the place. I wonder if any of the hotblooded bus drivers has ever simply driven over some of these thousands of people moving in smaller or bigger groups in the streets. They sure look and act as if they wanted to – at least our driver was a stereotype. I tried to concentrate on carefully reading all the bus stop signs and be sure I would not miss mine.
Some time later, maybe 25 minutes or so, I was sure the driver had reached the bus stop called San Domenica and I got off. I had heard some people scream Aperto! at previous stops for the driver to open the doors but I took the chance of merely pushing the button. It worked. I was alone in the street surrounded by beautiful 15-18 century villas (well, any way very old-looking ones) and had 27 minutes to my interview. I had planned to definitely change my jeans to nice trouser-suit ones and go to the bathroom before the interview so I had to find the place quickly. Yes, most importantly go to the bathroom.
But no University around. I saw two gentlemen, they must have been around sixty, strolling together under one umbrella. Of course they did not speak a word of English but after a brief conversation in Italian and body language that also included something like blessing me for my blue eyes and why a traveler like myself does not carry an umbrella with her, I had found out that I still needed to take 4 more stops uphill in order to reach Badia Fiesole, the academic directorate of the Institute. The next bus was in 20 minutes and I was soaked till my underwear.
I felt like crying but was afraid my mascara would ruin even the rest of the looks on me so I just begged that I could catch a taxi. The fourth one indeed stopped and took me to a spot where I had to still walk 400 meters. I paid 6 euros for the 2-minute ride and a guided tour, apart from the fact that the latter was in Italian, I just did not care at all; the clock was ticking and no-no-no, I was not going to miss my probably the most important date ever.
I ran with my little black stewardess-suitcase I had borrowed from my host family and finally reached the building that looked like a medieval chapel, in other words, simply breathtakingly gorgeous. There was a nice-looking guy who entered the courtyard at the same time on his roller and when I was trying to figure out where my interview was going to take place in just one minute, he asked me if I needed any help. He then took me to the room and I waited for my turn behind the door. Just for the mid-summary, I was wet, still wearing jeans, my poor stewardess-suitcase was standing sadly next to me and I definitely still needed to go to the bathroom. And then I was invited in. I switched off my mobile phone.
The room was very big, quiet and dark. The four huge tables formed a square and there was a man behind every table forcing me to look in every direction at the same time. There was Professor D. who in the picture looks much nicer than in reality and two other whose names I could not catch. One of the two looked especially malicious. And then there was a young guy representing researchers who could have made a handsome impression but his job seemed to judge whether or not he wanted me to be one of them as such and you could just read the verdict in his eyes... Oh, and there was an American man evaluating my English skills. Right. Allora.
I had five minutes to shortly (well, how long can you take it in five, guys?) present my research proposal and I could already witness their utmost boredom after about 25 seconds. I must say that I suddenly felt I was worth nothing. The whole research topic seemed so empty and absolutely useless and the audience surely did not do anything to make me feel any different. After my voice died D. started with his problems about him not understanding the scope of my planned work. Mamma, I felt like I was 17 again, you know, sitting in the history lesson and having to answer the questions you actually have heard about but you are too embarrassed and afraid that you might get it all wrong so you'd rather not say a word. (And those of you who remember the history teacher know what I am talking about). I do not think I convinced Professor D. with this first one. Next shot came from the meanest-looking guy and actually sitting here on the train a day after I cannot even remember what the question was. However, it was not a friendly one, either, so I guess I did not do well again (It must have been something about the contents of my work and weather it is precise enough or so). The third professor was the first one to approach me with a slightly warmer tone but now thinking back on it – it was probably simply pure sarcasm. Well, I did answer this one more or less satisfyingly, because it was somewhat clearer than the previous ones: How do you imagine to technically reach the people for your research? /I had been ready for that and my answer was OK/. And, I mean, do you actually speak all these languages of the countries you have listed here? /For the first time in the 10 minutes that seemed like a day I was happy I could give an answer that was true. Yes./
The mean man I think continued to be mean to me but I seem to have deleted his words from my memory, and the end question came from D. who again doubted my point of comparing the research results of 8 different countries. By then I was so exhausted that I basically snapped it in his face that I did not agree and gave a short explanation. Then I got the first nod. It was a positive nod and I cannot even remember noticing anything ironic about it. After that the mean man asked if I had any questions to them and I said I could read the website perfectly well not to just ask a question for the sake of it and wasting any more of their time. The mean man could not have looked happier, I think I got the second nod of the day there and I was let go.
I gathered my coat, my stewardess-suitcase, my handbag, my pashmina, and my wrinkled research proposal and found my way out of the totally quiet room. The last thing I could see was D. leaning back in his chair, slightly smiling. At this point I was sure I had failed.
I went back to the reception, and found the guy from before waiting on the second floor. He asked me how it had gone and all I could say was they had been mean to me. He smiled and said he was sure it was just a mask, that they were actually all really nice. Yeah. I found out his name was Roger and that he could now help me with finding the language test class. The room was just behind us and I could see it very well. Are a l l IE people so sarcastic? Anyway, he was nice enough to wish me good luck and a classy Italian lady in short skirt and black high heels smoking a cigaret took me in. She asked me if I was OK and I did not really know if I was. I sat down and looked around me. There were all these other interviewees, about ten of them, mostly men and a couple of females. Everyone was wearing a suit and a tie and a bright white shirt and their quiet statues remineded me on American missionaries. My hair was still wet and I was hoping they were all too busy with their papers not to notice my damp blue jeans. And I had indeed not been able to go to the bathroom.
The first test was a piece of cake but in the end I had to write 250 words about weather or not I agree with technology and traditional cultures not being incompatible. After getting so far with reading here you will probably not believe it but I had a total writing block. Finally I forced myself into composing a relatively poor piece of opinion where I said something like don't-worry-be-happy.
Then there was this little white dog, like the one in those deluxe dog-food advertisements who kept distracting me with rubbing his nose into the carpet and I decided I was ready to leave.
I still had to take another test and get my travel reimbursement so I went looking for the Institute Bank in the campus. Roger had taken off so this time I was on my own. Of course, the bank had been closed a half an hour ago and the lady I could locate in one of the rooms of the Applications' section told me that I had to come back the next day. By that time it was clear that I had missed my second test, as well as my last train home, I was still wet and had not been to the bathroom yet. Besides, the first and the last thing I had eaten was a sandwich and a cup of bad, bad coffee on the first train at 6 in the morning. Plus, I had nowhere to go. The lady took a glance at me, took her phone and talked to somebody about a “camera”. Indeed, she managed to book me into a single room in a villa close to the campus and drew three lines on a piece of paper that were supposed to be a map and instructions for me to get there. I left the building and after being a half a way up the hill again I realized that I had forgotten to go to the bathroom. I reached the bus stop and waited for the bus with a couple of other interviewees. They will make good IUE researchers, I am sure, because they did not even nod for hello, not speaking about exchanging a couple of words and maybe going for a meal together. Finally I heard some Finnish spoken and these two girls from the third year of Law helped me get on the bus. They also told me the story behind the Aperto-screams I had heard earlier. Namely, according to the rules, you are supposed to only leave from the middle door and some drivers are indeed evil enough not to let anyone out from the last door even if the bus is crowded. What do you think where was I standing now. So I got out of the bus two stops too late and I had to walk back (up!) again to find the hotel. I was very pissed off at the italians who obviously enjoyed staring at me and occasionally shouting something out of their car windows but never caring to stop and ask if I perhaps needed a ride up the hill. After asking a guy on the way and receiving the whole set of the Italian instructions again I finally reached the Villa La Stella. I think my room was about two square meters big but there was a bathroom.
I put away my suitcase and changed for dry clothes. I will at this point not describe the reflection in the mirror. I did something about it and then I went back downhill to catch a bus to the center. Coming from Switzerland, the mess here seems unbearable at times: people screaming on the bus, cars constantly signaling and men just being rude all the time. Or perhaps it was just my state of mind and my stomach aching from hunger. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that I could not switch on my mobile again after the interview because the SIM card I have has a PIN code and it is not like in Estonia that the first pin is always 0000, no-no-no, it is a code like 54288363853253 or similar that you are expected to memorize. And of course I had left the paper on the table in my room in Schliern.
I bought a prepaid phone card and tried to use it in at least 5 booths. Finally I understood I had to dial the free number written on the card and not try to stick it into the phone. I must have looked like Mister Bean to the locals... Within an hour I could reach my dear host family in Switzerland and let them know I was not coming home. It felt so good to just hear a friendly voice and receiving an sms saying everything was going to be ok after I had entered the pin.
I then entered a pizzeria that looked very nice with its flamingo table cloths and white napkins. I ordered spaghetti and house wine that unexpectedly was served by a half size bottle and not a glass. The somewhat elderly waiter was a bit worried about me eating alone and refused to let me go away without an ice cream and a proper cappuccino. As a matter of fact I was quite drunk when I left and it took me a while to find the bus stop again.
I woke up several times during the night. Partly, because I kept receiving letters in my dream – a couple of saying I was accepted to the Institute and others saying I was not, but partly also because I was probably just having a hangover and needed to drink water.
I was quite happy when it was time to get up and go downstairs for breakfast. However, when I got there, most of the food had already disappeared into the mouths of a school class of Americans and their teachers. I sat at a table in another dining room around the corner, so that I could be alone. Suddenly, a mother with her equally overweight daughter came to the room and stopped right beside me. “This is how they do it,” she told her daughter in a manager-tone. I looked up and she explained to me that when her daughter had said I was skinny they came to see what I was eating. I glanced at my breakfast plate and there were exactly three things: a brownish bun in the size of a small potato, a children's yogurt and one of those 10-gram jams with plum flavor. The mother and her daughter left before I could really defend myself. A minute later a weird shaking man came to me and asked in a clear but clearly American Italian what a beautiful ragazza like me was doing sitting alone like this. Then I decided I did not need any company nor another cup of coffee.
I left the hotel and climbed back to the Institute. I received the money and stopped in front of the lists of today's interviewees. Several from Finland and Sweden, around 5 from Poland and lots of them from Romania. I believe I am the only one from Estonia, so they could have a little mercy on me and still grant me the scholarship even though I might not have earned it in their eyes. Come to think of it, I myself might just think I have not earned the scholarship. I am used to sparkle at presentations but just as Riin said later last night – it is so easy to be a star in your own surroundings. I learnt a lot about myself yesterday, and if I did not pass, I do not think I would be very sad. It would just mean that I would have to work so much more to reach the point so many people have trusted me to have reached already, including myself. The Institute will let me know by the end of April.
I went to the railway station and stood in the ticket que for 40 minutes. Luckily I had my criminal story with me so it was not as painful as it could have been. As a true Blonde would have it, I did buy the new Vogue and when taking it from my bag I found the ticket man had put some postcards into my ticket envelope as a gift. Not a bad finish after all, don't you agree.
I will let you know.
Always,
Blond
tinkerblond - 9. Mai, 15:31
