Dreaming of Florence, Oh and Gelato

Florence is the prettiest city I have ever been.  Hands down.  Whether you have a taste for old or new architecture, Florence is truly enchanting.  I have yet to travel to Paris, but Florence at night takes on a whole new level of magic.  Watch out Disney World, I'm pretty sure Florence has you beat on the whole magical feeling.

Last night I decided to venture out (with my roommates of course, Florence isn't the safest place at night) to find this famous gelateria.  I know you're probably thinking, 'Corinne has been in Florence for a full week and has not even thought to get a gelato!?'  I know, I know.  What was I thinking.  As I ventured out, the night cold and wet, I admit I was almost dreading walking around.  Unfortunately, the weather hasn't been very friendly to me aka raining and freezing.  When it rains in Florence, it literally pours.  But to my surprise, Florence at night takes on a new vibe, that's inviting and warm.  Walking down the street it was almost as if I was seeing a whole new city, the reflection of the lights illuminating the street giving the buildings a soft glow.  The hectic sounds of traffic were quieted and the stores looked brighter and more colorful.  As we walked through the streets in awe, I realized Florence was still very much alive.  


Unlike Americans, many Europeans like to shop at night which I find strange, and as I strolled into the more busier area of central Florence, the city came to life.  Vendors were busy selling their various street food, which included some sort of bread and toasted walnuts. Men and women with children walked briskly from store to store with bags and bags of clothes.  Older couples strolled slowly down the sidewalk.  Vendors were busy trying to convince anyone to buy their leather goods. So alive; I loved it.  

As a kid, when asked 'what's your favorite food?', I would always respond, ICE CREAM! (says a lot about me as a child), and I knew my first gelato would life changing.  Before I knew it, I was standing in front of 'the best gelato in Firenze' according to my host mom.  Entering it looked like any other Gelateria.  In Florence, they display the gelato like candy in a window, sculpting the creamy goodness into beatuiful waves of pure deliciousness.  I decided on the basic chocolate and stracciatella (similar to chocolate chip).  As I placed the first bite in my mouth, done.  Gelato is different than ice cream, in that it's a thousand times better.  Honestly, it's the creaminess.  I highly recommend it.  Before I knew it, my small cup of gelato was gone, sadly, but I was satisfied. 

Walking home I couldn't help but wonder, what is it like to live in Florence?  Florentines walk around everyday like it's nothing, but how can you get used to a beautiful city like this?  My deep thoughts on life were then interrupted by me stepping in a large puddle. It really needs to stop raining.

Enjoy the pictures I took, and come to Florence!

xoxo
Corinne

Not So Lost or Found

I was contemplating on not writing today, but decided to be productive, so here I am, writing about being sick in Italy.  I guess I was banking on not getting sick, I pride myself on having a strong immune system and a healthy lifestyle (cough, cough literally)  I was pretty sure I was not going to get sick. BUT, I was wrong.  Whether it be from my lack of sleep or my increase in alcohol consumption (it's part of the culture, mom and dad!)  I definitely felt it.  As I groaned in my bed, I realized I should just stop complaining and venture out to find this so called american doctor.

Our program gave us the number for an English speaking doctor, and I was skeptical.  I called cautiously an a beautiful English voice was heard over the line, I sighed with relief.  Not only was he able to understand me, he texted the directions just in case, "across from the H&M."  That obviously wouldn't be a problem finding for this girl.  As I zipped up my puffer jacket, I contemplated on putting on my vans, but decided to still make a vain attempt on looking italian, a sick coughing italian.  So I put on my leather boots and was on my way.

The doctor was easy enough to find (1 point for Corinne for not getting lost!), and I stood outside the large building and rang the bell.  I was buzzed in, looking like an idiot pulling the door with my whole body weight (1 point for Italy). PULL TO GET OUT PUSH TO GET IN, heads up for anyone going to Europe.  I looked to my left and saw the scariest elevator ever and decided to take the stairs, as I wheezed to the top I decided not to judge elevators again. The doctor was a very helpful english man with a beautiful accent.  Leaving, I preceeded to ask him where I could find the pharmacy and orange juice.  Very helpful. Assuming his secretary was of the same nature,  I asked her if she thought I should take the elevator down, she just stared, I said "lift?" Long stare. Okay "Buongiorno"* I said PULLING the door and taking the stairs once again.  

*Side note, apparently it is rude to say ciao to someone you have never met, I just learned this.  Now I understand the looks of confusion from my loud CIAO.

Another thing I have learned from being here for a few days, don't expect to find anything you need ever.  It is very difficult to find shampoo and conditioner where I live.  It also took me the whole week to find orange juice (nature's cure for anything) and water bottles.  ALSO, wine is cheaper than water, which normally would make me a very happy girl, except when you're sick. Last thing, Italians barely eat breakfast, eat lunch around 2, and eat la cena at 8 or 9 (stomach currently grumbling).

 Here is a picture of me and a ginormous water bottle which was only .8 euro (!). Come to Italy and we can learn together (and bring me some dayquil).

xoxo
Corinne

My first disaster, in Gucci.

So today was interesting.  I definitely wouldn't say the best day ever.  The best part of the day definitely  was my pomodoro and prosciutto sandwich. But my adventure for the day was to the Gucci Museo.  Honestly walking up to the museum itself is intimidating, a dark stone building that screamed expensive, but I was confident that I didn't hold myself as a confused American, so I strolled up to the door, not knowing about the disaster that was to follow.

Starting with a positive note, the museum was beautiful.  Every piece of Gucci clothing was well designed, with pieces from the 1920's all the way to pieces worn months ago.  My favorite part of the museum held the evening gowns worn by and made for Cameron Diaz, Blake Lively, Evan Rachel Wood, and Salma Hayek.  These gowns were flawless, with sequins and feathers yet looking perfect.  As I stared at each gown, only guessing the value, I kept wanting to try on each gown.  As a celebrity, when Gucci personally designs a gown for you, that's when you made it. Unfortunately I wasn't able to take pictures in the museum, which begins my tale of the disaster in Gucci.

Walking in the museum there is no direction on where to go, so I just stood there waiting for someone to direct me.  Finally, noticing my obvious confusion, a well dressed employee helped me to the desk and I paid for my entrance.  As I began walking through the first floor of the museum,  I cautiously took a few pictures and began to enjoy myself.  Then some rude woman yelled at me for taking pictures, I knew it was too good to be true.  From that point on I was followed by a security guard through every room, not sure if they just wanted me to be watched but they sure weren't following any of the other people walking from room to room.  Finally making it through the museum, I sighed with relief, knowing I wasn't being followed.  I decided to grab a coffee in the cafe.  Once again getting in trouble for taking my coffee away from the counter, THERE ARE NO SIGNS, I guess it's just assumed you know what to do.  At this point I just wanted to leave, my poor attempt to fit in failed miserably and now I just wanted to be a tourist and eat a Big Mac, because I obviously wasn't Italian and they made sure I knew.  Finally strolling out I was relieved, so you might say to yourself, that's it, Corinne is fine, but no.  Next thing I know the security guard is calling me telling me I need to go back inside.  I should have just ran away but then I probably wouldn't be in the comfort of my home, I would be in some Italian jail crying.  So I just followed him inside, confused.  I was hoping he wouldn't take me back into the cafe, I was already embarrassed.  As he thoroughly searched my bag, I realized he thought I stole something.  At this point, I was completely done with Gucci.  Lesson learned.


As I finally escaped the prison of pretentiousness, I was the most obnoxious tourist on the planet.  I almost threw up the peace sign in a few photos. Super Asian American style.  Then it began to rain.  I decided it was time to go home.  Tomorrow I will look more Italian.  Today I'm that confused American that takes a lot of photos and talks louder than everyone else.  Proud to be an American.  Born in the USA.

xoxo
Corinne

Italian Fashion: First look

So I am currently in Italy. First off, Italian Fashion is insane. Yet I kind of expected it from the women. Which, when people say Italian women wear a lot of black, they weren’t kidding.  Italian women wear almost all black, which, may be because it’s slimming or it looks classic. Either way, Italian women are very image conscious. Which works for me because so am I.  My attempts to look like Florentine women seem to be working based upon the multiple people speaking to me in Italian.  I may have went a little overboard today with the outfit.  Black boots (which I just purchased from H&M, and my host mother disapproved of, apparently H&M is for poor people and she would have preferred me to spend the remainder of my income on boots that must be beautiful but would probably make me cry, 300 or 400 euro ain’t in Corinne’s “I’m in college and in Europe” Budget.), Black skinny jeans, and a black sweater.  I did add a few pops of color (my pink scarf and leopard belt), which made me feel a little less like a poser.  Hopefully I will blend in perfectly by the end of the semester.  Perfetto. 

         Now the women aren’t the forerunners of Italian Fashion.  I do believe they’re well dressed, however men’s fashion represents beyond well dressed.  I know European men tend to dress nicer but I have never experienced fashion that is so beautiful on men.  The men are beautiful.  As in beautifully groomed, beautifully put together, beautifully dressed, truly perfetto.  Men aren’t afraid to wear a silk scarf with a tweed overcoat and green dress pants with light brown leather shoes.  Fabulous doesn’t even begin to describe it.  And they still look extremely masculine, not a trace of femininity which adds to their attraction and perfections.   I sound like a psychopath obsessed with Italian men, but it truly is a shame I’m too timid to stalk these men and take their picture. 

         These men and women, Florentines, are every age, young and old.  However, as in every country, not every person dressed well.  Some may just not care about fashion, some may not know what fashionable truly is, not that I do but I hope I’m close.  These Italians tend to be the stereotypical Italian that is brand obsessed.  For some reason Italians are very brand obsessed, and I’m sure would not understand the simple concept that expensive doesn’t mean fashionable, cheap fashion can be the best and most put together.  Italians would shoot me if I accused them of wearing something cheap, they like caro this caro that.  Expensive, Gucci, Prada, Valentino, Tifffany, Louis Vuitton, and why not when you live less than 5 minutes from each, walking distance (via della vigna nuova).  This unfortunate obsession affects both men and women.  However, all together from what I have noticed, Italians fashion sense rivals the best in the world, much, much better than Americans. No offense.

         That’s it for me here, my neck is currently cramping up since there is no real place to sit and write expect the comfort of my twin bed, I hope to write about the food soon, as long as my fingers don’t get so fat that I can’t type.  Food is dangerous.

xoxo

Corinne

Understanding Dolce Far Niente

This represents what I am looking for, the pleasures of doing absolutely nothing.  Not starring at a screen or looking for something to entertain me, but actually loving life and just living.