Lo Shock del Rientro

Allora. First of all, I think it's quite all right for me to say fuck Vienna, as a city, capital, center of transportation, and a staff and record label. No, I know I can't actually blame a city for screwing up my plans, but I think everything worked out for the best-I'm in Italy.

What happened was me and Mean Gene, aka a Mexican guy named Hugo (the h is silent, so it sounds like Oo-Go) who complied with a dare to not shave or cut his hair for three months, which in turn makes him look like a Colombian terrorist, made our way from Budapest to Vienna, when it started to rain. And rain and rain and began to flood as we went to two different hostels in Vienna. They sent me to another one , but before I made that trip I bought my train ticket for Italy for the next night. When I got to the hostel, some guy from North Carolina took the last spot in the hostel, and as I found out seconds later, in all of Vienna. ALL OF VIENNA. In the city, outside the city, all the hallways-occupied. Hugo and I ran to the train station, a pleasant Turkish woman with two kids at her side let me cut her in line (the wait was 55 minutes) and I changed my ticket. 2 kebabs later I made it on a night train, and arrived in Bologna at 5:30 a.m. I was falling asleep in the train station, and decided my luck would be better indoors, so with my mental map guiding me like a biological GPS on recharged batteries, my eyes barely open, I made it to my friends Stefano and Mario, on Via Strazzacappa.

The city is more beatiful than I remembered. It's quite undescribable to be honest, what I'm feeling right now. LIke nothing has changed, though everything is different. Not because of the anti-smoking laws passed in Italy, but I've grown older, different, graduated, yet the city stays the same, exactly as it was before. We're all just mere blips in one enormous space, competing with each other for everything. The woman who sells dried fruit recognized my face, she promises. I don't know if she was being totally honest, but I'll grant her the benefit of the doubt. I have an urge to go to all the locali I remembered, places where I made more of a deep dent than a shallow impression just to see if Italians remember me. That will be some sort of victory for me I think, but more importantly it'll feel like I'm really at home.

I miss home. I've been away for 8 days but it feels like 6 months. I don't miss the amenities, I can't deal without those. It's family, but what is that exactly? family is affection, and being appreciated by people who understand you, your personality, your flaws-YOU. When I saw Trenitalia, and the graffiti, written on the side of the train cars I knew I was headed home. I can't explain to you how excited I am to just EAT. Tortolloni, gelato, tagliatelle, ragu bolognese...And a shower!! I don't even KNOW how long it's been since I had one of those. Everyone I meet tends to keep their distance, and I haven't double kissed anybody here yet. I don't blame them though. I mean come on.

Alla doccia!!!