I had only been to Europe once before this semester: Two years ago, I visited Rome, Florence, and Milan with my parents. Not sure what I was thinking, but we crammed visiting three different cities in six days. Amidst train rides, jet-leg, and immense stress about college admissions, let’s just say I could only minimally recall the sights and how annoyed I was that I did not bring an umbrella during Italy’s peak rain season.
But I’m getting another chance, an entire semester actually, to spend exploring the city of “the red, the fat, and the learned” – red for its red buildings and communist past, fat for its to-die-for food, and learned for University of Bologna (UniBo as it is affectionately called) and the city’s lively, huge student population.
I still had so many items of my list yet to be crossed off, but I already found some of my favorite things to do in the city. I especially love my weekly walks from my apartment above the Dickinson center to Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies.
I pass by Piazza Verdi, the never-boring center of UniBo filled with ever-so-cool Italian students smoking cigarettes between classes. I could never achieve their level of chillness. I don’t think it’s the smoking. I really think it’s something mysterious from our DNA build-ups that separated us on different ends of the scale for coolness.”
I’d pass by the humble building of the majestic Teatro Communle Bologna; at the cost of failing my first Italian 101 quiz, I attended a classical concert there two weeks ago. Extremely uncomfortably and quite awkwardly, I sat between two elderly Italians in a tiny box (I accidentally bought a ticket for over-65-year-olds due to my poor Italian) and listened to a genius from Russia performing Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No.3 with every bit of grace, drama, and explosiveness that Sergey Rachmaninoff had intended for his masterpiece. The woman next to me after the performance, in tears, and said to me in Italian, “That was incredible.” At least that’s what I think she said…my Italian isn’t perfect yet. But we did share a beautiful moment in silence in awe of what we just witnessed.
I’d pass by the many political slogans and passionate graffiti that UniBo students made. I sometimes thought I learned more about Italy and its fascinating history and politics from reading these slogans than from classes: “Eat the Rich”, “No borders; Refugees welcome”, “Northern League; Terrorists; Racists; GET OUT.” Nothing could ever replace the sensation of walking through this ancient city attempting to understand the length in history that it had withstand and, simultaneously, feeling all of youthful restlessness behind its beautiful, red walls.
And did I mention the food?
Three more months in Bologna, and I already knew these months will be life-changing.