Molto piacere. Sono ubriaca.

I'm more than halfway through my stay in Sicily. I've eaten more bread, pasta, and olive oil consecutively than I have in my life, and have heard enough Mama mia's to keep me satisfied for a while. I've tanned every possible way there is to tan in the sun, from laying out on a rock island to relaxing on a boat this afternoon. I now know how to say important things like "cold water!" and "I like eggplant," in Italian, and I got plenty of practice counting to ten due to a paddleball game on the beach with Giulia's 5 year old cousin. I only made a fool out of myself once that I know of, when I was trying to say "Nice to meet you" to a girl we had just met and instead said "Molto obrigada," which is some nonsensical combination of Italian and Portuguese meaning "very thank you." I think I have too many random Catalan, Portugese, and Italian words in my mind waiting around until I commit to actually learning how to form a sentence.

On an island where there's an aversion to sunscreen and working more than 11 months a year, where the Mayor can't pay the city's electric bill yet fireworks light the sky every hour, and where and you can know how much time has passed by seeing how far the lava has crept down Mt. Etna, I've naturally noticed some cultural differences. For example, while we were driving one evening, Giulia's Dad asked me if I liked horse, and I replied, all wide-eyed and naive, "You mean, to ride?" Then I saw the man flipping over a piece of meat on the grill, and a picture of a stallion in front of a restaurant. Apparently her father is against the idea of it, but Giulia is all about it. I told them I didn't judge, but I couldn't eat it because we used to have a horse as a family pet. Although maybe the threat of being sent to Sicily would have made Seeker behave...

The other major difference is the casual Mafia presence here. Instead of paying a parking fee to leave your car for a few hours, there's a nice man who will watch your car for you and only ask for a euro or so on your way out. Of course, if you refuse to pay he might write down your license plate # and smash your window the next time, but is that really any worse than when a faulty parking meter eats your quarters?

Tonight we're going to a friend's party. I'm getting better each time at navigating social gatherings where I don't really speak the language. When we went to a pool party last week, I hung around Giulia until I identified who knew English or Spanish, then assigned myself the task of making Mojitos. We'll see how it goes tonight, but I may soon be able to file this in with my mainly useless talents, right next to being able to understand Spanish/Catalan people speaking English.

I hope all is well in America!