Il quinto, penso?

There's a woman living just around the courtyard corner from me who exists, I believe entirely, via pulley. She has a pretty elaborate system of ropes and hooks mounted on her second floor balcony, and the most impressive clothesline I've ever seen. Instead of the two lines strung out in front of the railing that everyone else has, she's strung four different lines, each about five or six Fiat-lengths, (one lower Manhattan city block, roughly), all the way across the courtyard to a lightpost at the center that she reels in and out daily. She also lowers her trash via another pulley that reaches exactly street level, and uses the same one to bring bags of groceries or wooden crates of fruit aboard. I'm fairly certain she hasn't left the apartment in several decades. I think she's a genius.

Last weekend, I took Callie on a pretty terrible tour of Rome that ended with some of the best gelato I've ever had. We escaped, relatively unscathed, and had a somewhat more manageable day in Assisi. As in Francis. It's still my favorite. When an overly American middle-aged man was having his picture taken in front of the basilica, he yelled to his wife behind the camera, "Can you see my face?"
"Yes, yes. I can see your face."

My parents arrived in Ferrara from Paris the following weekend, which I guess is actually last weekend. We saw Venice when it was completely packed with people and twice as many pigeons as I remember. On their last night, we had a nice dinner in leany, crumbly Bologna, food capital of Italy, you know, and toured San Pietro after dark. I had never been inside, and I don't think I've ever been anywhere as silent as the belly of those seven churches. I thought for a second I might climb in Pilate's cup and take a nap. Cal and I spent the rest of the weekend making lasagna and chex mix in my apartment, which was an incredibly nice reminder of our dorm days. We took the train back to Venice late Sunday, and all of the pigeons had deserted. If you ever get the chance, ignore what the guidebook says about arriving early in the morning and see San Marco at night. All light up and bigger than you thought it was.

That's probably enough itinerizing for now, but suffice to say it was a pretty hectic week and a half. I spoke more English than I have since I got here, which was completely overwhelming in itself.

My professor, Monica, came for dinner Monday night. Coinquilino mio Carsten made a traditional Italian dinner, with un primo piatto (Strozzapreti with cream sauce), un secondo piatto (Vitello. yep, that's veal), insalata and dolce. Monica was very impressed, and also seemed to enjoy the Lambrusco (sparkling red wine) more than most.

I'm supposed to be working on my final paper for her class, probably the only paper I'll write this year as the rest of my exams are oral. I should probably get working, though. I heard the leaves are red in Paris and I think this is my last weekend to see them.