Brazilian night

So after my last post where I perhaps wallowed a bit in misery, only a few hours after putting it up my fate changed. So if you remember a post from September when I mentioned some people I had already met, including one Brazilian maid named Fernanda. Well I decided to text her to see if she was free, and she called me back. Our conversation (translated for your convenience) went approximately like this:

"Hey Jenny! I am so glad you called, me and a friend are going out tonight! Want to come?"
"Sure! When and where?"
"Well, where are you?"
"I'm at home near Campo di Marte."
"Oh, well can you do [garbled stuff I didn't understand]."
"Huh? Speak more slowly, it is hard to hear."
"We're doing [lost in the background noise]."
"Sounds fun. Where should I meet you and when?"
"What do you think? She keeps asking the same question, why don't you talk to her?"
"What?"
"Okay, here, you try."
[new voice] "Hi, Jenny? Do you know where St. Jacob's piazza is?"
"No, but I can find out. Is that where you are?"
*"No. That's where she lives. [More stuff in fast Italian blotted out by background noise. Clearly asking me a question.]"
**"I can't hear, I can't understand you, what do you want me to do already??????"
We went back and forth between lines * and ** until they gave me instructions to get ready to go out and leave now for the stazione, and then call them. Well I didn't know what kind of going out was going to happen (it was still way before dinner time even), and so I just threw some makeup on, threw the bread that I had rising in the kitchen into the fridge, along with a prayer (cinnamon buns, they turned out fine and my whole family really liked them, they're almost gone only a day after I baked them! More on baked goods after the story), and I ran out the door.

I got to the statzione and asked where they were, they told me, but because of the noise again I heard wrong, and so while I kept asking everyone where the Sabaionni was, apparently I was supposed to be asking for the Baglioni (a hotel). I even asked the doorman of the Baglioni where the Sabaionni was, and he said that he had no clue. The girls could have told me that I was looking for a hotel. That would have helped a lot. Stupid cell phones. Anyway I did eventually find them. We took a bus from the stazione to Fernanda's house, and she called lots of people and we all ate dinner together.

Then they decided that I wasn't dressed appropriately for dancing (I wasn't, I didn't bring clothes for that) and so Fernanda pulled a suitcase full of dressed out from under her bed and picked out an outfit for me. They dressed me, did my hair, did my makeup, and at the end I was in an all-black getup with my hair down and extra curly and lots of volume and eyeliner and glitter and perfume and I thought I looked like a jersey girl. They told me I looked like I could be from the south of Brazil, where people are white and pasty like me. I'm waiting for the facebook photos to go up, I will add them to this post for sure!

After finally getting ready we got into a car with some of her friends and drove about a half hour to the other side of the city to this place called Otel Varietie (or something near that). It was a dinner/theater variety show for the beginning of the evening, and at midnight they remove all the tables and turn the place into a giant discoteque. We caught the end of the show, which included dance acts, a woman with lots of hula hoops, someone singing aretha franklin who clearly didn't have an idea of what the words meant and hardly knew what the words were, and the charming announcer. Then when the club started they revealed that the stage actually had a gigantic bar behind it, and they opened the disco part by lighting the bar on fire while the barmen did crazy tricks and spit fire and juggled flaming bottles. It was pretty cool. Apparently all the bartenders in the club did those kinds of spinning tricks, or at least mine did. He was tossing ice into the air, spinning glasses, pouring from an arm's distance away, shaking with extra flourishes, and all sorts of fun stuff.

The disco played American top 40 hits for the beginning of the evening, which I enjoyed because I knew them, and then slowly transitioned into the stereotypical Eurotrash house stuff. By that time my feet were starting to hurt because the shoes weren't quite right for me and had no padding, so I was perfectly happy to sit a few dances out, enjoy my caipirinha (I was with Brazilians, after all), and watch the festivities. Of course I was in one of the most scantily-clad groups of the whole club (again, I was with Brazilians, after all), but luckily I had borrowed a big, bright, flashy ring which happened to fit right on my ring finger, and showing that off was an easy way to keep the casanovas at bay.

The night ended with us stopping at a roadside truck for hamburgers (or at least ground beef on bread with condiments) and I spent the night at Fernanda's house since we got back after 3 and I didn't want to make my way home at that hour. I got up the next morning too early and made my way home.

When I got home, after a long, hot shower I finished the cinnamon buns I had started the day before. They turned out terrifically, and my host mom told me twice that she liked them and needed the recipe. So after the success of the banana bread and now this, I've decided I will keep up a rotation of baked goods to keep around, at the very least so I have something to eat for breakfast, and also because it seems to make people happy. So I'm taking advice and suggestions for what to make! Vote in the poll on the right, and use the comments section or email me with other ideas.

"We can do this quietly here, or I can take you to the police"

I had a terrific flight in. Swissair gets two thumbs up, and I had an empty seat next to me on the cross-atlantic flight, which meant that I could put my legs up on the seat next to me and sleep surprisingly comfortably, especially because the seating arrangement also meant both an extra blanket and pillow.

I even made it from the airport in Florence into town via the bus, and while I had a little trouble figuring out which bus to take to the hotel, I managed it nonetheless, and even remembered to buy my ticket before getting on. I was very proud of myself.

The Italian bus system is a bit strange--you buy your ticket off of the bus, then when you get on you stamp it in a little machine. The system is about 99% honor, assuming that you either have a monthly pass or will buy and stamp a ticket every time you ride. The driver doesn't have anything to do with the process. Last time I was here I used the system without trouble, but also noticed that it would be terribly easy to just ride the bus always for free.

Well today I was doing things the right way, but I put my ticket into the validation machine and nothing happened. A bit concerned, I tried again. Still nothing. There was  a machine at the front of the bus, but there were lots of people getting on and it was very crowded up there. With all my bags, I couldn't reach it. I considered passing someone my ticket and asking if they would stick it in for me, but that was beyond my level of Italian. Oh well, I thought to myself, I bought the ticket, I tried to make it work, and I won't reuse the ticket anyway, so what's the big deal?

Well, it turns out that our bus got hit by a secret inspection. A pair of men flagged down the bus, stepped on, and pulled out badges, asking for tickets. I showed my unstamped ticket, and explained that I had tried to use the back machine but it didn't work. The man nodded and asked if I would go up front to stamp it, and I said of course. I decided to just leave my luggage where it was and work my way up front.

However the inspectors were working as a team. As I tried to pass the other one to go stamp my ticket up front, he asked to see it and then inquired what I was doing. I said that I couldn't do it in back and so was going up front. This was about half a block from the station where I had gotten on, and so I thought it was still within the amount of time appropriate to stamp it. He told me I was breaking the law, and I couldn't figure out how to explain that the other guy told me to go stamp it. He then started pointing and saying other things, trying to explain how this worked, and I was only following every few words. I said that I didn't understand, and so he switched to English. "The fine is 45 euros."

I asked if I could just stamp it, trying to explain how I tried to use the machine in the back but it must not have worked, and how I had just arrived and was still learning. I'm not sure what he thought of that since I was trying to do all of this in broken Italian, something most newcomers don't do (I think), but I pointed to my bags and explained that I had tried! Wasn't my effort going to count for anything?

He just asked for my passport.

I told him that that was a lot of money for me (about 1/8 of my expected rent) and that couldn't we please let this slide, and then I started crying. Some people had been watching earlier, but when I started to do this some people who spoke both English and Italian tried to translate for me to help explain the situation better. I'll admit that the crying was a bit of my trying to be melodramatic, hoping to pull this guy's heartstrings. He shook his head and asked for my documentation again.

I was not going to pull it out, because I knew if I handed my passport over then I was going to have to pay this stupid fine. Continuing the histrionics, I started hyperventilating a little bit (I'm reading a book right now where the girl does that a lot, that was my inspiration) and held on to a rail while I bent over to catch my breath. For all of you who say I can't act--you should have seen this!

At this point several people on the bus were pestering the man to leave me be-- couldn't they see that I had just gotten off a train or a plane and was obviously struggling to follow the situation? He was getting more irked, at which point he told me that I needed to hand over my documents, and if I didn't he would need to involve the police. He explained that if I didn't have the money on me then I could go to a police station later to pay it.

This had been going on for at least seven or eight minutes at this point, me begging him and him yelling at me. I guess there was someone else on the bus who finally figured out what was happening, who had been sitting by the machine I had tried to use earlier. He explained to the good cop (not the one yelling at me) that he had seen me stick my ticket in, and that I probably stuck it in the wrong hole or something, and mistook it for being validated. I could have given this guy a hug. The good cop asked me which slot I had put my ticket in, and I replied with the correct one, and then said that maybe it was the other one--I had forgotten.

At this point they must have been sick and tired of the histrionics, or perhaps this guy had convinced them that I was honest, or maybe it was all the ladies yelling at them for abusing me, but whatever the case was, the good cop took my ticket and demonstrated how to validate it for me. He told me which hole to put it in, and said that I shouldn't let this happen again. One of the women added that I should see about getting a monthly pass if I was moving here, and some of the other women smiled at me while I made relieved faces.

Luckily the next stop was mine and so I was able to bolt off the bus with cries of thank you to the random residents and tourists of Florence who took my side.

One of the people said that while it seemed horrible now, in a little while I would be able to laugh about it. What I didn't tell him was that I was already able to laugh about it--the day I almost got arrested.