the kindness of strangers

There is something about the friendliness of Italian people which never fails to warm my heart, even on such a cold day like today (it's currently three degrees warmer in the south of England than here, and I envy you).

Today saw the hundredth time I went in to the Copisteria to photocopy another bajillion or so pages of music. The owner of the shop and I are getting to be warm friends, and he always greets me with a big grin and prepares himself to be stood by the photocopying machine for a long time, as I hand him delicate book after delicate book and try my best to give him specific instructions as to which pages to copy and how I want them. Today I was ten cents short when it came to paying. He smiled and said "ti faccio uno sconto, non ti preoccupare" - I'll give you a discount, don't worry. And off I went feeling that little bit happier.

Then after a days' worth of lessons, as I left the Conservatorio, the very first member of staff I ever met (called Vittorio - he was very happy when he learnt my name), handed me a small gift. A pin of Verdi's face. Nothing much, but again it made me so happy that I never forget to smile and say hello to him every time I see him.

After previously having talked with a lady who worked at a market stall on Sunday about how the Italians were just naturally friendlier people, always keen and eager to help when they can, and never wanting to pass up an opportunity to practise their (sometimes quite hilariously terrible) English, my agreement with her thoughts was sealed when the lady in the bakery gave me an extra little pastry for free and wished me a good evening.

And just for the record, those two pastries were delicious.

la mia Parma

Perhaps it's just me who had never previously heard of Parma the City. I was discussing this today with a classmate: everyone knows Bologna, Milan, Rome, Venice, Florence, but Parma not so much. I was having to tell people I was going to a city near Bologna. He couldn't understand that. Being from Parma himself, and its University being one of the oldest, as well as the fabulous food and the longstanding history (mentioned below) it was of course, one assumes, a city much talked-about between Italians.

Yet when someone mentions prosciutto (parma ham) or parmigiano reggiano, something immediately clicks. These things are well-known to most English people. My town is the town that these two delicacies were named after! And the town which takes so much pride in every aspect of eating and cooking food possible.

But it's also rich in its history. An Italian friend was telling me how many parole parmigiane have something of a french twist. Owing to the influence of Maria Luigia, wife of Napoleon, who ruled Parma in the 1800s.  They absolutely love her here. They take pride in their heritage and their history (by naming every single shop possible a different variation on the Duchess' name).

There's also this building:

Grand and somewhat the antithesis of beauty, it somehow manages to house the Italian equivalent of the Globe theatre (that being it's all wooden and was also destroyed, and is honestly breathtaking) called Il Teatro Farnese.

This, plus the food, plus the Parco Ducale, mentioned fondly in many other posts, means that even in winter, when the fog comes rushing all around us and the cold becomes unbearable, there is something magical about this place.

This video was just posted to my town's erasmus page. I think it perfectly sums up everything about this wonderful little city that should be better known.

Enjoy!

the first taste of Christmas

Saturday the first of December - an excuse for all Christmassy objects and foods and drinks to make a proper appearance without being scoffed at.

And my first day of December was spent in true erasmus student style getting up at a quarter to five in the morning, excitedly hopping on the bicycle and cycling down to the meeting point where our coach would be departing (nice and pronto at 6am) for the region of Alto-Aldige: the beautiful mountain-filled home of some very fine Christmas markets. After a three hour journey, including an Italian-style '20 minute stop', we arrived in the small town of Merano. As soon as we set foot in the main part of the Christmas market I was squealing with excitement (despite the few hours of sleep) to see an actual varied landscape. Anywhere you turned, you could see a beautiful snow-topped mountain peeking out from behind grand and slightly German-style buildings.

We stayed there long enough to sample the Strudel, the Brulé di mela (hot apple juice) and the Würstchen in all their true German/Italian glory, and wander round the town to the sound of a live Brass Band playing Christmas songs.

Our next stop was a mere half hour drive down the road to Bolzano, also known as Bozen.

I completely fell in love with Bolzano. For the picturesque streets, the atmosphere of the place and the friendliness of the inhabitants. It seemed to me that the fact there were German and Italian-speaking inhabitants somehow made this town seem more like home. I was even shocked when I asked for a caffè normale and the barista looked at me blankly then corrected me and called it an espresso. It seems that living in such an Italian town like Parma has rubbed off on me without me realising!

We spent the afternoon wandering around the City, sampling Lebkuchen, Glühwein and coming to terms with having to switch between two languages very rapidly. I wish I could have spent even more time there. I have to go back there. Every twenty metres or so we passed the most beautiful-looking café or restaurant or even just a shop sign painted on the wall above its door, and I craved to go inside every single one. The menus for nearly every single place were a good healthy mix of Italian food and German too. I fell in love with Bolzano even more when I saw this - in Parma I've found one Indian restaurant and one tapas bar, but they're not often frequented. It is baffling for an English person to consider only eating stereotypical English dishes but for Italians, it's simply the done thing. They only eat Italian food.

Continuing our exploring of the city we found ourselves drawn towards the archways behind which stood an almighty tree decorated with bright red baubles, their shiny red strings fluttering gently in the wind. We struck up a conversation with an Italian family whose daughter was telling her mother all about how she was learning English at school (but shyly refused to say anything to us), as we tucked into our Goulasch soup, hardly being able to believe how delicious it was.

We drank our Glühwein in the middle of the trees with the baubles, on bright red tables, surrounded by fir trees, like we'd somehow stumbled across the real life Winter Wonderland.

The whole City seemed to have been infected with Christmas joy, all the residents proud of their long-standing Christmas traditions and their truly beautiful decorations.

I was glad we stayed long enough for the lights to come on, as we did one final tour of the main square to the sound of live singing floating down from somewhere nearby.

I slept the whole three hour journey home, exhausted from the early start and the tonne of excitement yesterday brought to me. 

And now I feel appropriately Christmassy and cannot wait to go back home in England and try a mince pie or two! I've been told that my sister has been busy making around six and a half kilos of mincemeat!

As much as I loved experiencing this mash-up of cultures, both of which not my own, and how they do Christmas, I know that no tradition will ever beat that of your own. The way you open presents (even the time of day it's done), the things you eat, the things you watch on TV if anything at all, and maybe even the places you go. But the most important thing will always be the people you choose to celebrate it with. And I couldn't ask for a better group of people to do so than my own family.

who says being poorly can't be fun

It's not as if my poorliness is particularly life-threatening, but unfortunately in the life of a singer, if you have a cough or a sore throat, you're rendered completely useless. The only thing you can do is go home and not sing and take good care of it until it goes away. So yesterday and today sees me once again holed up in my flat, this time humidified as per the pharmacist's request - she had me at the words "dust in the mouth and throat" and I was back home with the flatmates in a flash to put a bowl of water on the radiator, after having been given special throat-numbing magic pills.

It's the boredom that's been getting me more than anything though. That and when my cough gets so bad it's a struggle to breathe. So I woke up late yesterday, faffed around on the computer and came across a recipe for cinnamon swirls. I immediately fell in love with the idea, having watched my two Italian flatmates cooking and baking for their boyfriends and brothers since the day I'd arrived and always been very jealous but too lazy (or should I say busy...) to do the same myself.

I pulled my socks on and my big fluffy boots, wrapped my scarf a hundred times around my neck, popped on my Dad's old Barbour coat, fetched my bike and off I cycled to the supermarket to fetch some baking ingredients. I was surprised to see that even on a Monday (the Brits' most feared and un-wanted day according to The Boomtown Rats) the town here still seems empty and void of life.

As I cycled down the long road bemused at the silence, I wondered if my coughing had rendered me slightly deaf, but abandoned that idea when a passing car honked really loudly in my ear. I instead decided that the November fog, slowly making itself known, had stolen the sound.

After wobbling about on the journey back (having bought too much of course, and having found real Scottish biscuits here - Shortbread!!) I returned, switched Buffy on and waited for Meg to arrive.

We then passed a lazy afternoon complaining about fictional vampiric or vampire-boshing characters, drinking hot water, whisky and honey (good for the throat, people tell me) and turning each other into vampires through the wonders of photo-editing. I was glad to have found a friend like Meg, who never fails to remind me of Englishness (or Welshness come to that) and who turns being bored into an art form. We finally remembered that we'd invaded the Kitchen table with baking ingredients so began to set to work mixing and 'measuring'.

We adapted the recipe a bit, as I was keen on adding sultanas to the mix. We were actually quite lax with all measurements and ingredients to be perfectly honest... Also, the types of flour they have a different here. So I spent many a long minute in the supermarket trying to look for some sort of clue as to which flour to use. I think I got it wrong, so was very surprised by the end result!

Although they may not be quite Nigella-worthy, or picture-perfect, they nonetheless filled the appartment with a glorious scent of Christmas (which was almost going to be the smell of Curry as in my hazy ill state, I accidentally started shaking the wrong spice container over the flour mixture...) and gave me and Meg a sense of pride as we gazed upon our creation. We even evoked positive reactions from both my flatmates, them seemingly approving of my English style of baking. I didn't have the heart to tell them that the English/British way is, of course, the best way.

ghost town

For the past few days, I've been holed up in my flat, eating home-made soup, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer non-stop and coughing and spluttering into my hot water, honey and lemon concoction. Living the dream...

Since arriving officially in October, I've been intent on making the most of my precious time here in Italy, craving to get started on real lessons and experience La Dolce Vita for myself. My wanderlust couldn't be abated and my fascination for the beauty of each new place I went to always left a smile on my face. As the weeks passed and my dreams of having a busy schedule at the Conservatorio and being a part of a group of friends who were as passionate about enjoying every bit of their time here as I was began to came true, the free days filled with nothingness that I used to complain about became fewer and fewer. My work ethic at the Conservatorio was forever increasing with each new and incredibly talented singer I met.

And then, after spending a Thursday afternoon sat in awe and delight in a huge classroom, watching my singing teacher lead the final rehearsal of the one-act Opera Il Signor Bruschino by Rossini, performed by eight truly spectacular young singers from the Conservatorio, I walked home happy, but feeling much worse for wear. My body had finally caught up with me and was not at all enjoying not getting any free time any more... So it gave out on me - left me exhausted and tired and shakey and fluey. And bed-bound.

I've spent this long, cabin-fevery weekend half wishing I could be with my family and not in Italy, and half just wanting to leave the house. I was truly glad that my friend Meg came to visit (and helped me eat the soup I made). So when I woke up this morning managing to keep the cough at bay, I walked with her and her friends to the bus stop and waved them off on their way to watch the Rugby.

I don't know if it was because I'd been watching and listening to things non-stop all weekend long but I suddenly noticed how quiet it was. Even on the main road. Then I began to walk towards the river and try and see as far as I could into the distance, enjoying the emptiness of the paths, the roads and even the skies. The trees seemed to all be surrounded by mist showing off their recently-bare branches in the stillness of the air.

My cabin fever had subsided and I walked around my empty town enjoying feeling like the only one there.

It was like Winter had finally arrived here. It had seemingly sneaked up on the town overnight and no one had noticed the change.

oh England

This weekend, the boyfriend came to visit. A brief, flying visit it seemed to be, and hardly long enough. But it was so good to see his face again for one last time before we finish our Autumn terms in our own places then head back to England for Christmas.

It was nice to get a feel for a new city that both of us had never been to before, so we made full use of the fact that the boy had flown into an airport in Milan and stayed a night there, the next day panning out as touristically as we could manage round the city centre. One of my favourite things about being somewhere new with nothing too specific really planned is that you get to wander down the roads and through the winding back streets, with your eyes peeled for beautiful things that - in your home town - would usually pass you by.

We then took the train back to Parma and I began to show him my City - the streets I like to walk, the places I love to eat and drink copious amounts of Italian-style coffee, the places I am now a regular at, and the things I usually stop and stare at and really make me appreciate being here.

And now it's as if my man has made his mark on Parma. Little things will remind me of him now whilst I'm here - even things as small as us holding hands and walking through the Parco Ducale - and it puts a smile on my face just thinking about it.

But as I walked away from him in the airport today and made the long journey home, not only did I already miss his arm round my shoulder or even just our conversations, I started to miss everything about England too - my thoughts centering mostly around how best to speed up time between now and when I next see my man again.

All of a sudden it was as if a trigger went off in my head and all these thoughts and things that I missed and will miss and that mostly wouldn't be possible here came flooding into my mind.

I wrote them down:

- The boyfriend, and all the boyfriendy things he comes with

- Clementines and mince pies

- English countryside and walks with my dog

- Cosy cafés and chats with friends; the kinds of chats which are so busy and quick-paced and full of catching-up and about three thousand things at the same time

- Proper British Pubs

- My Dad's cooking

- Fresh bread and toast

- Car chats with my mum

- Gin and tonic made properly

- My sister Dawn's excitement about Christmas

- Conversations about science-fiction or good books or good films with my brother Toby

- Sleepovers with my other sister Faith

- Real bacon

- Singing in church every Sunday

- Nearly every aspect of studying and being at Newcastle (including the friends there)

- Floors with real carpets

- Real milk

- Marks and Spencer

- Sunday Lunch; and, to be honest, any other food which doesn't involve ham, pasta or cheese (tomatoes still acceptable)

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a complaint about things here as much as just a wistful reminiscence of back home in England. The fact of the matter is that it is genuinely difficult to adjust yourself to living in a new country. Rules and regulations will never be the same - even the system of paying at a café here still confuses me. The people are not the same. They're no worse or better, just different. And I will always be a foreigner. A foreigner who orders a cappuccino after midday even though it's almost offensive to real Italians here, who eats the wrong things at the wrong times of day, who even sings differently, who looks different and who acts differently.

To all of you also on a year abroad, I'm sure all of this is a completely common feeling.

And to all of you currently in England - I envy you. Take pride in your Englishness/Britishness and appreciate (on my behalf) everything you'd usually take for granted. Like a toaster.

I miss toasters.

the autumn leaves

In terms of lessons here, I am actually having some now. I am absolutely loving the challenge of being in a place so full-to-bursting with fantastic singers in all shapes and sizes. Walking through the corridors of the Conservatorio on this foggy yet peaceful and pleasantly cool Saturday, I could hear snippets of everyone's practise (the singers being the loudest and most easily-audible by far owing to most of them having what seems like iron-like lungs) and felt so happy to have got in to this place.

My teachers are throwing handfuls and handfuls of the most Italian pieces of music for Soprano they can find at me, as well as some truly mind-opening advice. My favourite of the pieces is currently this one sung by Cecilia Bartoli especially.

The standard of the performers and the teaching here, in comparison to Newcastle has made me have to re-think my whole daily routine, as what I had been doing in terms of hours of practise simply isn't enough. And every time a fellow singer sits in on my lesson, or I theirs, they always seem to have a quality in their voice which I too would love to work towards. So I leave every lesson feeling happy, but oh-so-downhearted at the same time.

And then I hop on my bike and take a cycle round the Parco Ducale. 

This wonderful place is so full of life at the moment, especially half-swathed in fog, with millions and millions of red and gold leaves scattered about. I plug myself in to my iPod and pedal with the music. Today was a pretty long cycle - long enough to finish the album I was listening to and to get to see the wind help the leaves off the trees and land them gracefully on the ground.

This is one of my favourite things to do at the moment, as it leaves me time to think about things, and to get my perspective straight after another terrifying yet enjoyable lesson.

when I'm not sleeping

I'm still suffering under the terrible habit of being unable to get myself out of bed when there is not a real reason to leave it. This is typical Autumn-into-Winter syndrome; when the air becomes crisper, the days become shorter and sure enough the streets start emptying themselves as if everyone wants to hibernate until Spring arrives. I too am included.

It means that I know full well I'm not making the most of every single day. Sometimes I wake up and see a glorious day outside and am very sorry I missed it.

But with the ever-drawing-closer arrival of real lessons at a real hour of the day (including a choir rehearsal at 9:30 in the morning... which I still am struggling to wrap my head around), I'll be more inclined to spend more afternoons like this:

I genuinely did learn a song by candlelight.

A happy wander round the streets of Parma and an elevated mood after a
 fabulous sing
led me to look up at the sky and marvel at its artistic streak.

But these were exceptions to the rule (of being lazy). And it's nigh on impossible to live every day in all its glory. Even someone like me, with such an eager, positive viewpoint about this year cannot spend every day being impressed and blown away by everything all the time. 

I remain, therefore, pleasantly enchanted by this vibrant and through-and-through Italian City but do would rather get to know it slowly through moments like the above. Each then has its place in my heart as a stand-out moment, and I will come to look back on all of my stay here in Italy very fondly, instantly forgetting the days I felt like I was stuck in a rut, refusing to leave the cosy confines of my wonderfully thick duvet (though maybe I'll remember these moments fondly too).

this time as a tourist

A couple of weeks ago, my Dad came to visit me - about a week after I'd arrived in Parma. I was feeling relatively un-settled in, and despite already having made a small collection of friends in the city with whom I could talk to and meet up with and wander round with, I'd done very little sight-seeing in Parma itself, saving it all for when my Dad came to stay.

The weather had been dreary, grey and very wet and the "torrent" (because it doesn't dignify the name "river") that ran through Parma looked positively as high as the knee! But Dad's arrival into Bologna airport seemed to bring some much-needed sunshine and I thanked the weather for showing off the beauty of Italy out of the rain to my Father on my behalf.

Dad's three favourite things are reading, food and culture - the latter seeming to span over history, art, architecture and a general enthusiasm for all things new. He's inspired me to be courageous when it comes to doing things here in Italy (though at the moment, my enthusiasm is dwindling as the weather gets colder and I still haven't got a fully-functioning timetable yet), so when he arrived, we aimed to fit in as much as we possibly could in his short stay.

- Wandering round the gorgeous Parco Ducale, stopping for a fresh orange juice and spotting an old man in a shell-suit and working out the best way to get a photo without him noticing.

- Being bowled away by the beautiful Cathedral. Enjoying the silence and the stunningly-painted ceilings.

- Taking a caffé and cake in a cute little 'bar'.

- Feeling awkward as we realise we've unintentionally sat down in a cinema showing a film which is essentially pro-Nazi propaganda...

- Visiting museums galore. And seeing Teatro Farnese in all its beauty.

- A whole day-trip to Florence (this time as a tourist), and soaking up the culture as well as spending three hours in the Uffizzi and eating ice cream, waffles and meat sandwiches.

- Watching Opera Arias being performed by soloists and the orchestra of my conservatorio in the Teatro Regio and feeling amazed that I get the privilege of working with some of those students this year.

And then, before we knew it, it was time for my Dad to go home. We'd exhausted ourselves from walking miles and miles and taking in as much as we possibly could, and I thoroughly enjoyed his visit. He also encouraged me to talk to a lot of people in Italian and that week my language level actually improved, despite spending the majority of the day speaking only in English. But it totally helps having someone to show off a new skill to!

do something better

So yesterday, after having had a whole week of late nights with amazing people, making my presence known a bit more in the conservatorio, buying a bike and finally riding it in the daylight and consequently getting drenched in the pouring rain, I made a promise to myself that I would have a lazy day. 

And I did. 

I set no alarms, and when finally waking up I snuggled cosily up in my pyjamas after a breakfast of nutella on toast, cup of tea in hand, and set out to watch films and generally not move outside the confines of my cosy bedroom, occaisionally smugly peeking outside and feeling good that I was not one of the ones caught in the rain.

The day should have been great and perfect and just what I needed but why was it that I just felt so guilty about it? Then, as I was trying to get to sleep last night, I had a thought - "what on earth am I doing... in Italy... stuck inside my bedroom...?"

It really was a simple question and I was annoyed at myself that I hadn't asked myself sooner in the day.

So the lights went back on and I started writing a list.

Night-time-me is a bit more cheesy than daytime me, so forgive the phrasing of some of these points.

But I am determined to stick to this. Make it my little project for every day. And let's face it - I actually have time to do 90% of this every single day. And will need all the help I can get about it really, so if anyone has ideas about what I could be doing instead on a rainy day inside, please do let me know...

that was delicious, thank you

During my time at language school in Firenze, I did not get to take full advantage of the restaurants dotted in and around the city, only once summoning up the courage to try a bit of lampredotto and pasta. For those of you who aren't familiar with the Fiorentinan-to-the-core 'lampredotto' I urge you now to never look at a picture of it uncooked... The image still haunts me and I still can't believe that, whilst eating it, I was savouring every satisfactory mouthful.

I was however a big fan of exploring the Mercato Centrale - the central market in the city of Firenze open every morning and lunchtime selling fruits, vegetables, cheeses, herbs, meats and nuts, as well as housing the odd restaurant.

But I always enjoyed our almost daily visits to this place, taking in the sights and smells of such wonderful displays - the likes of which are much less common in England. I loved spending time in amongst the different stalls, searching for the ripest, most perfect tomato that would later that evening be turned into a simple pasta sauce.

And then when I came here, nothing changed. If anything, this wonderful food-choosing experience just got better. 

Emilia-Romagna is famed for its food, Parma especially for its (take a wild guess) parmigiano and prosciutto di Parma, otherwise known as Parma ham. When my father came to visit me last week, he insisted we get stuck into the finest that my new city had to offer, and encouragingly pushed me towards the three ladies sat behind the desk in the Conservatorio and sat and listened whilst I spoke eager yet timid Italian and asked them where the most typically Parmigiano food could be found.

The three ladies (now my idols for so many reasons), being Italian ladies, immediately started talking excitedly about all the things we must try, insisting we go immediately to a restaurant (which one of the women had just called to make sure they would definitely take us right away without the need for a reservation), and try all the things written down for me by one of the three:

Torta Fritta con Salumi

Tortelli con l'erbetta

Punta di Vitello ripiena alla parmigiana

I never recommend eating all of that for lunch as we attempted to do. But it was one of the most astonishingly delicious meals of my life. And my Dad's too judging by the perseverance on his face as he mopped up the last drop of sauce.

Here's what we spied on the way out the door, after having digested.

I feel incredibly lucky to have chosen to live in a city with such a gastronomically-rich culture; where food is how you judge people, how you meet new people and greet old friends. And I also feel lucky that the people of the city are willing to share it with me. Nobody here would ever think of eating a bad meal. Food is just too important. As is the coffee that follows it.

I think here's a perfect moment to say that I've got myself a bike and plan on using it every day... Otherwise the outcome is inevitable!

waiting for something to happen

Although I may be settling into life here in Parma, and going out, spending time with new friends, slowly getting adjusted to wearing a coat even when in England the optimists would go without, my life is still lacking that one important thing which, being English to the core (and there's no helping that really), I crave.

Structure.

Having had a meeting the other day (moved from 11 to 12 to 1 to 3 to 3:30) and hearing first-hand that "no one can really be bothered to arrive until November and none of the lessons officially start until then", at least I understand that this is the way. But the fact of the matter remains that without a plan laid out for me each day, I simply do not know what to do with myself. I find it so difficult getting myself up and out of bed and out the appartment if I don't know where I need to be or what I should be doing.

But thankfully I at least have practise rooms available to me so I can finally sing again and I am so glad about this. But when I'm not spending two hours in each practise room, waving my arms about, making silly warm-up noises, doing my own kind of form of yoga and wondering if the loud echo in the room means that people in the corridor can hear me, what is it that I should do with my time?

I've been walking, drinking tea, going out for drinks and watching far too many American TV series but I feel horrendously un-productive.

Today, after another horrendously slow start, I'm off to a practise room to start composing music for my Mum's wedding. This little project she set me is giving me something to look forward to completing. I'm enjoying the prospect of finally sitting down with a pen in hand and manuscript in the other and writing something for a purpose.

Here are two pictures of the mundane activities I have so far been participating in....

Arranging tea boxes.

Making pasta patterns.

So hello. If anyone feels like coming to visit me and going on an adventure then please do. I clearly need some better entertainment!

the settling-in days

I have been in Parma now for a little under five days, getting myself completely accustomed to the unexpectedly grey, drizzly, dreary mid-October days here in this city. I am already loving it.

I have to admit that even from less than five days' experience of the way things are done here I know it'll be driving my stolidly English mind slowly crazy before long as I'll be sure to experience not having teachers turn up to the lessons on time, having to wait for an hour and a half to see a guy in charge who I was told would "be there soon", but of course the fun is in the experience, and mixed with all these things there have been some wonderful moments already. 

I have already met some great people - locals and foreigners just like me - and have experienced new things with them (on Saturday I went to a rugby match... didn't understand a thing but enjoyed the company and the atmosphere and the extremely Irish after party!). I've cooked some new dishes and am slowly but surely getting accustomed to having to turn the boiler on two hours before I want a shower.

But this is all such a wonderfully liberating experience - seeing how a whole nation go about their lives in an entirely different way to England. 

- Wandering about the markets which are everywhere on a Sunday, and sell everything, because absolutely no normal shop is open sensible hours.

- Working out when and where to pay when in a café or a restaurant.

- Knowing that if you want anything done quickly, it just ain't gonna happen...

- Nightclubs are all strategically placed outside of the city centre so a 15 minute bus journey is required.

- It's not polite to scoff all the buffet food whilst out for aperitivi (though this certainly did not stop us)

I'm so far loving the difference that living in Italy has brought to my lifestyle, though praying for much better weather for my Dad's visit starting from tomorrow... I've saved all the extremely touristy things for his trip to see me, so that we can while away the hours wandering round the galleries, churches and museums and I can listen to all the facts he's soaked up like a sponge throughout his life and get to know the historical, not just the (Italian-style) functional side of this beautiful City.

Here are a few pics.

Making the most of the little sunshine there's been!

Connacht vs. Zebre (aka big men with big necks)

The best Gelateria in town

A dog in a pub

The first building I properly stopped and stared at.
Still my favourite.

The ceiling of one of the chapels in the Duomo di Parma

Padlocks on the bridge - and a tree from The Lion King in the background.

why having a long-distance relationship is not as scary as it sounds

Okay so maybe the title is a bit mis-leading. It's not a lecture on why everyone in the world should also go ahead and do it, more just to tell you the good things about it I have so far experienced.

The main one being the wonders of facebook, skype, texting etc. Without which I would not be able to hear about  the completely different yet still magically wonderful time my other half is having in the beautiful Swedish city of Göteborg.

The second good thing is that actually - from England - Göteborg is really not so far. So last week I got to visit. Another country ticked off my wishlist to visit!

But I have to admit that after a months' worth of language course in Italia, soaking up the culture and slowly filling my brain with Italian idioms, I was not at all prepared for the completely opposite attitude to everything which Sweden holds! Nor was I prepared to be spoken to in Swedish as soon as I landed...

But I was so so so glad to see the boy. Glad to see more than just his head and shoulders (from the skype conversations). Even more so to see him happily cooking up a perfect feast of meatballs and  Gräddsås, order a table for two in Swedish and show me the sights of Göteborg. We were blessed with some absolutely gorgeous crisp Autumn weather - which according to him was very lucky considering how wet it had been before I arrived...

So we wandered hand-in-hand round the city, hopping on trams, drinking and eating coffee, cake, steak and beer, going to the Opera, meeting his friends and lazing about - making the most of the three whole days and four nights we had together.

I loved the City he's chosen to spend his year abroad in. It's vibrant and fun, super-slick and super-modern and seriously eye-catching. If not horrifically cold in the winter time... But it truly seems like a worthwhile place for a musician to be in.

The following photos are a combination of the beautiful things I saw and had to capture and the on-going, un-spoken competition between the boyfriend and me about who could take the most arty photo... He won... unfortunately...

An afternoon spent trying (and failing) to find a waterfall

The Opera house where we saw Rusalka

Inside the Palm House 

The wonderful Autumn sunshine

A place which literally translates as the fish church  where they "worship Cod".
Thanks Hugo ... Hilarious.

The standard building in Göteborg

The sunset from Hugo's bedroom window the night before we said goodbye.

After a stunning five days in such a magical City with such a wonderful boy, I was sorry to leave the two of them! But now, as I've officially started my erasmus year abroad too (more to come on that one), I'm looking forward to sharing the Italian experience with him when he comes to visit me. It's always good to have something to look forward to, and counting down the days to our trip to Milan is right at the top of my list at the moment!!