I've been in this small town, Proviglia or ...something, just outside of Brescia, for a couple days. Our camp has been running very well. We arrived an learned we'd have four high school-aged helpers. Between them, the camp directors, and us, we almost have as many adults as kids. My group is between 9 and 14, and a solid bunch as usual. Most speak English well enough to joke around with and such. We're planning a sketch show, water balloon games, and other summer camp-y things.
My family here is amazing. There are several brothers (and their respectives wives and families), a sister, and a nonna, whose house I'm staying in. Nonna keeps me overfed, as I imagine Italian grandmothers have to by law. Marco, one of her son's kid, comes to camp each morning dragging a lunch bag bigger than him, filled with food for the both of us. Today my 'snack' was an entire melon with a whole pack of prosciutto. And that was just after I finished my sandwiches. So, I'm pretty much at the exact spot in life I've always wanted to be in: a place where stuffing my face is seen as the polite thing to do.
Weekend activities included: visiting a 10th century monastery, eating pasta, drinking white sparkling wine that this region -- Franciacorta -- is known for, eating some of the best pizza I've had in my life, drinking limoncello, and discussing today's problems with the mafia, and Deniro bashing skulls in as Capone in 'The Untouchable.' Tonight my family tasted me with grappa, which I was told was a homemade liquor that was banned by the government because there's a good chance you're drinking pure ethonal when you have it. But, I was assured this was good ish right here, so I partook. The bottle was from 1999, and drinking something that had been bottled when Clinton was still in office had a certain nice touch to it. Or maybe that touch was just the moonshine talking.
Fun story of the day: After hitchiking from my friend Fabrice's house in Avignon to Nice, I spent a few days bumming around the French Riviera amongst people much richer and fancier than myself. After a few hours of walking around Montecarlo, I caught a train to Sanremo for orientation. Since I was a day early, I asked some English-speaking folks for directions to the tourist info office, where I was informed all affordable sleeping options were booked for the weekend. Rather than paying over 100 euros for a room, I opted for reading 'The Kite Runner' on a bench until 1am and then sleeping in a plaza on turf (like putt-putt golf grass). I figured if families with baby strollers were okay sitting by me at 2 in the morning, then it was a safe place and people generally agreed I wasn't too creepy to trust around kids. My only company was a drunk man who, having finished gambling at the local casino, tried convincing me to catch a 5 am train to Milan with him. Next day I met my orientation leaders, only to learn that it was them that I had stopped for directions, and that I totally could have spent the night on their apt. floor. Bummer. But an experience, nonetheless.
Now it's late, I've used up the only access to Internet I'll have a good while, and so I'm off to panic about how I'll get through several hours of lesson plans with kids tomorrow.
-PM
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