Il dodicesimo. If I had a hammer

Cari miei,


I write to you on the 44th day since the fall of the Italian government. On January 24th, the 62nd government of Italy since unification fell after Prime Minister Prodi lost his slim senate majority, and no new official has been elected to replace him. This has yet to affect my life in any tangible way.

I’m in the middle of baking my three-layer chocolate cake to celebrate Molley’s 21st birthday tonight, using the real brown sugar my mom sent me from the US and the vanilla I bought on my last trip to France, as neither exists here. This is the first full week and weekend I’ve spent in Ferrara since January, I think. I spent most of February traveling. In case you were wondering, flying RyanAir is roughly the equivalent of flying in a yellow plastic lawn chair, with two of its legs nailed to the floor if you're lucky.

Stockholm is probably my favorite city in Europe right now. It’s made up of 14 different islands, connected by bridges and a very useful metro system. The Swedes are tall and blonde, very comforting for me after six months in Italy. The city itself is very diverse, which means great Thai food. It snowed while I was there with Ann and Scott, and we walked around the different islands and the royal hunting grounds, stopping frequently for coffee and Swedish pastry. I’m fairly convinced that the Swedes do almost everything better than anyone else. Think Ikea, H&M, Peter Bjorn and John, and José González. Try not to think of ABBA.

Dublin feels pretty much like any other city, at least any city with a 1 to 1 pub to person ratio. I had more trouble understanding the Irish accent than I did understanding the Swedes’ English. We took a day trip to Glendalough, the ruins of an old monastery in the Wicklow mountains surrounded by green misty countryside and more than one ink-black lake. Ireland is the greenest place in the entire world.

I was surprised by how grand Budapest is, still regally sprawled across the Danube. Everything is under construction, which I should have expected. Converting the Hungarian forint to euros or dollars was a pretty big challenge. And if you ever get the chance to go to a thermal bath, I have to firmly discourage you from taking it.

I went to Vienna for my birthday, which is a beautiful city but colder than Vermont in February (colder than Stockholm, too, if you can believe that. I couldn’t). Jackie took us to one of those famous cafes with a regular clientele she described as, if I remember correctly, “oh I’m so self-righteous.” Very smoky and dark and crowded and just how it should be, I think. I went to the Leopold Museum and the Modern, both incredible. A lot of pretty cool things come from Vienna as well. Egon Schiele, for one. Dadaism. And Ludwig Wittgenstein, who I’m taking a class on this semester. Wikipedia him if you’re bored.

At the end of February, I played hooky for a week to take advantage of a free plane ticket to France. I went with a group of French-speakers to Pau in the elusive Pyrenees mountains, and then to Arcachon on the Atlantic coast. I waved to America from the pier, so if you wave east right about now you’ll probably be just in time.


I’m back in Ferrara for a while now, going to class and making spinach artichoke dip and trying to teach myself a few more songs on my roommate’s guitar. I’m also trying to figure out what I’m doing this summer, applying for publishing internships that I may not actually be home in time to start, and thinking about my thesis topic and next year when I’m back at Middlebury and am in for the most intense academic year of my entire life. That part I’m really looking forward to, though. Just being able to go to class in English will be such a relief. Also, I’m pretty sure I convinced my advisor to let me start French.

Mkay, I think my cake is almost done.

a presto,

jenn