Bergamo Final Show: An Epic Fail

I just feel like this story has to be shared:


Today was the final day of our two week camp in Bergamo and therefore the day of my kids' infamous "Captain Rihanna Potter and the Twilight Hulk" skit. So we're group six of seven, which is okay, considering that we're one of the two purple book classes (the older classes). However, due to lack of proper scheduling on behalf of the earlier groups, neither Sebastian nor I had a final dress rehearsal run through. No big deal right? My kids were pretty phenomenal in our private rehearsals. WRONG. 

It comes to our turn and the introductions are perfect. However, then the girl, who has the opening line, gets stage fright and freezes. She is panicking. SO I try feeding her the line from the side of the stage to no avail. After a while, I walk out on stage give her a hug and hand her the script. However, at this point, she's so embarrassed she starts crying. BALLS. Now I'm sweating. I have a crying child, a play that stalled from the literal outset, and a room full of restless parents starting to build a low rumble of grumbling. Finally, her angst having left, she delivered the first line and the show went on. My kids missed some lines, but it was passable and--more importantly--over. 

Then Sebastian's group goes on. His play starts with a 2 minute dance to Poker Face, but he can't get his computer to play. So we remove the outdated audio jack from his PC and put in mine. Neither will work. Why do you ask? As it turns out, the 95 year old audio jack fractured inside both his AND my computer--we both have parts of it lodged in our headphone ports--meaning our computers cannot play sound until we find an Apple store. SHIT. Moreover, the only way to use the sound system is now broken. GODDAMNIT. After a twenty minute delay for technical difficulties, we finally gave up and played the audio between his blackberry and me banging on a water-logged piano in the corner.

The show ran over so long due to our two catastrophes that parents and children began to leave without certificates. That's even including that we didn't sing the group song so we could speed things up. A clusterf**k of portfolios, diplomas, and awkward little-big person hugs ensued.

I think tonight I'm going to relax after the ACLE dinner and play drink the beer with Seb. We'll probably try to break the high score hahahaha--not really--but seriously that thing's about to be shattered.

Long overdue: Travel Buddies, Part II

I should have posted this a month ago, but I had written it when I didn't have internet and forgot. SO I'll post date it and hope someone finds it.

I met an adorable couple on the train from Nice to Sanremo my first day in Europe. Having said goodbye to my new friend, Juan, and finally having touched down in Nice after some delay, I was met with a peculiar problem. Although I had been practicing my Italian purchasing phrase--Vorre una passa a Sanremo per favore--and had it passably figured, Nice, nevertheless, remains a part of France, one--I might add--in which English was largely unknown to the ticket booth and passable Italian did not guarantee local comprehension. Shit.

This predicament, however, led me to ask for some assistance from the couple in front of me. Luckily, I had surmised correctly that they were both American. Even more fortunately, one of them spoke some fourteen languages with conversational fluency. Finally, they were headed to Sanremo for a weekend getaway together and allowed me to tagalong the rest of the way. Jackpot.

It’s funny how quickly the report between countrymen grows when one another are the only semblance of familiarity in a different culture. I can safely say that I experienced this with my new friends. By the time we even got to Sanremo, I had heard the story of how they met and had heard the story of how they had just gotten married in Capetown, South Africa some 15 months before. I had discovered that all three of us had graduated from Big Ten schools: IU, Wisconsin, and—most regrettably—Purdue. Furthermore, I had come to recognize the idiosyncrasies that gave them away as a couple: matching monogrammed luggage, the levity that comes with a comfortable couple, the sincerity when discussing their marriage, and the pet names. I honestly don’t think ten minutes ever passed without at least a single “babe” being uttered by one or both of them.

I ended up spending the rest of the day with them (and admittedly also a blur of a night on the town) and it was such a blast. We dined at the best restaurant in Sanremo, walked around the city, and hit up a local nightclub--they even tried to set me up with some chicas. Even though I only got to spend a little more than a day with them, Josh and Ricky are two of the nicest, most genuine, and most accommodating people I've ever met. They are two awesome guys and a fantastic couple and I will always remember them as such. What a great start to the summer.

Travel Buddy

It's approximately 9:00 in the morning and I have been up for what seems like decades. I'm en route to my summer job in San Remo and now it is deathly apparent that my layover will be at least an hour longer. Still, my spirits are high because despite my lack of any sleep, I made a new acquaintance on my transatlantic travel.


At first, I admit I was hesitant in sitting down, slightly perturbed that on a flight populated of American collegiates and young couples I was placed next to a middle-aged Spanish man. Initial assessment: awkward. However, I was quickly proven wrong as soon as I plopped down and introduced myself to Juan.


For the entire duration of the flight, the 46-year old Spaniard and I discussed everything from our travel plans to our hobbies and from politics to econometrics. He was a brilliant, kind man. Having completed a masters in economics, Juan came to America to teach. However, due to the restrictions of his visa qualifications, he found himself teaching Spanish and mathematics to farmers' children in rural Kansas; something--I might add--that he does with great enthusiasm and contentedness. He now spends his breaks touring to America's musical hubs and visiting his family in Spain.


Regardless, Juan provided me with valuable encouragement and insight. On one hand, as a European--more specifically a Mediterranean Euro--he told me what to expect from my colleagues, superiors, and students. On the other hand, as a native-speaking teacher of foreign language also operating in a different country, he was able to give some professional pointers. For a man who doesn't understand baseball and roots for FC Barcelona, he was very insightful.

For a small note of personal acclamation, when we finally parted ways at the queue for customs, my new comrade wished me good luck and commended me. First, he said he was impressed by my willingness to travel and work cultures so different from my own. Second, he told me to continue my pursuit of well-roundedness because the world needs more "renaissance men" like me. Finally, he thanked me for not being a "stereotypical American." To be frank, I consider that last statement to be the highest of praise and will probably take it to my grave as a badge of honor.


Now all I have to do is decide which Italian Series futbol team to root for. As amicable as Juan was, it's kind of too bad that Barcelona is located in Spain.