Things that I miss

People speaking Italian. (Still.) French is not bad to listen to either, but I'm dreading walking into immigration in Newark. That lady who stands in the middle and screeches 'immigrants to the left! citizens and permanent residents to the right!' makes me want to stab pencils into my eardrums.

The piazze, the via Emilia, via Calderini, and via Andreoli... and a bunch of others... even if the cobblestones were definitely trying to kill me.

The big blocks of Parmigiano Reggiano in the supermarket. I didn't actually buy any very often, but it was nice that it was there. Here there is only pre-grated grana padano. I checked.

Sitting on the steps of the duomo to work on applications. Doing them here in the kitchen is not quite the same. Especially because my mother seems to have put in this weird stove that cooks by induction (or something) since I was last here. I am scared that it will either blow up the apartment or emit radiation and rearrange my DNA. (And now we know why I almost failed physics.)

Reading in those weird orange chairs in front of the theater and watching little kids play in the fountain.

Caffe macchiato. Although seeing that in writing makes me remember that starbucks has something called that. I may possibly throw up if I hear someone order one. Perhaps I just won't go in starbucks when I get home.

The 'Reggio Emilia' sign in the train station. I really enjoy whatever font that is, with the bubbly-dotted 'i's.

Libreria all'Arco. Enough said.

Rucola. Particularly on my pizza.

Opening my shutters every morning to see the vescovado and people cycling past down below. And looking at San Prospero's campanile every night before closing them again.

On the bright side... finished applications yesterday. Oh, except Newark. But do I really want to go to Newark? No. I would likely get shot in Newark. Or so depressed that I would shoot myself. So... pretty much finished applications. Which is nice because I'm all kinds of bored with them. Medicine, you are kind of silly, you know that? You make it such a pain in the arse to get there that, having almost arrived, I kind of almost don't want it anymore... which could turn out to be a good thing, because I've already had one rejection. 17 more like that and the 'should I be a doctor' dilemma won't be a problem anymore...