Blowing in the wind.

I had my last day with the cooking school at Dante Alighieri.

Naturally there were about three times more students than usual: 11 students, which doesn't sound like much but is a lot more than 3 (as I had in my class the day before that). It left less time for taking picture and made me do a lot more translating, as there was a family there that didn't speak a lick of Italian, though they definitely knew how to say thank-you in Spanish.

Working here is a riot. I translate for tourists that come to learn how to cook, though half of the time English is their second, third, fourth language. Not their first. But that's ok. We always make it work.

The food is incredible. We always make four courses, and always make our pasta by hand. It doesn't get much better than that. Want to hear some of what I've made?

-Torta Salata ai Porri Leek torte

-Pici con l'aglione Pici with garlic

-Soffice di Cioccolato con Panna e Menta Chocolate custard

-Patate Arrosto alla Toscana Roasted potatoes

-Tagliolini al Limone Egg pasta with lemon sauce

-Panna Cotta con Frutta di Bosca Cream custard

-Ravioli Burro e Salvia Homemade spinach ravioli with sage

Friends, the list could go on. This food is scrumptious. I think this is enough to make your mouth water though. Mine is.

Leek tort.

Gnocchi in the making.

Stirring some potatoes. Hard work.

Chef Luisa. She's spunky, sings, calls everyone her "bambini", can wash dishes and show someone how to do something at the same time (or so it seems) and makes anything taste good. Even rabbit.

Slow exposure of the moon and city, off of the terrace where we eat dinner.

When I had to stop working at L'Osteria del Gatto, I foolishly did not want to switch to Dante Alighieri. I was terrified to translate and didn't want to work until 9 at night. However, now I wish I had gotten to work there more, as the interactions with the students and the chefs I had while there are some of my favorite memories. The night I came home from working with Nando I was ecstatic- we had talked for over two hours, just us, about life. About the world. About things that matter. And he doesn't speak English. Best. Feeling. Ever.

Saying good-bye to Luisa Thursday night was incredibly difficult. Every day I keep having to say good-bye to someone, and I feel myself being sprinkled throughout Siena.

It stinks.

Currently, the men in the apartment across from mine are trying to get my attention. They can see right in my room, and apparently think I'm going to answer to "Scusami? Scusami?". Fantastic.

Now they threw in a paper asking me to go eat with them. Dear me.

There's something in the air.

My nerves are tingling. I step outside and, despite the often oppressive heat, I can smell, feel and see signs of the encroaching autumn. It makes me giddy.

Fresh picked fig. Heavenly.

University of Siena.

Onda Contrada fountain.

This is where I live- in one of the buildings at the very left of the picture. Nifty, eh?

Estrucian tomb, bizzare sea creature skeleton, medieval era books and maps, the meteorite of Siena. All for free. All in twenty minutes.

The church of San Giuseppe.

Oh, how I am going to miss this.

Forget Pete the Plumber:

Meet Layne. She's smart, motivated and the perfect size for fitting in those small, hard to reach places.

Why is she taking apart the sink? Well, dear reader, I will tell you. As she was putting on her makeup in the morning, she had the unfortunate mishap of dropping her eye liner down the sink. Clever girl that she is, she managed to, without any tools, dismantle the pipes and retrieve her pencil. Clever girl.

This and that.

"'...I am far younger than you, and I could not bear it.'

'Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.'"

Jane Eyre

One thing I've found on this trip is that no matter how many times I thought I just couldn't talk to one more Italian, or I just couldn't handle going to work for one more day, I did. And I survived. And in fact, I've done quite decently.

Now, about my other activities last week: I went to Firenze again. However, I was on a mission to get certain errands done. Consequently, it was not nearly as enjoyable as last time. I'm glad I got to go back though.

I swear there's a church on every corner here. It's like Utah, but these are a lot cooler. Architecturally.

This is Moe. He owns a leather shop in the market, and he gives 'special prices for nice people'. That sign doesn't lie.

The cute but confusing wedding we watched- there seemed to be two brides and two grooms, all the guests were wearing jeans and there was an abominable amount of glitter and silly string showering the poor couples.

A replica of the Davide at Piazza del Michelangelo.

The Duomo from Piazza del Michelangelo.

To the left you can see Ponte Vecchio.

I also went to Arezzo and Montepulciano again. We had a picnic.

And looked at the view from the top of the city that never becomes less stunning.

Laughed at the Twighlight menu at a bar in Montepulciano.

I found myself a real fixer-upper.

Got caught in a beautiful rainstorm.

Convinced Simone to say, "Buongiorno, Principessa!" in the square in Arezzo where they filmed La Vita Bella.

Fantasized about climbing this bell tower.

We ate. (Layne and Simone)

We talked. (Jamie, Camille and Layne)

And I, of course, took a picture of our fellow picnic enthusiasts. It was a good trip, made better by the fact that we got to drive in a car through Tuscan villages, sunflower fields and vineyards bursting with ripe grapes.

Layne and I also went to visit our branch president. His name is Mario. He's 70 years old but looks 50, he trains hundreds of runners, he acts like Roberto Benigni and lives in a spot where you can see the islands of Montecristo and Elba. Nifty, eh?

Montecristo is on the right. Over the years, hardly anyone has stepped foot on this little, four square mile island. Alexandre Dumas, after a trip to Montecristo with the nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte in 1842 wrote The Count of Monte Cristo, a book that has forever glorified this little island. Elba, the exile sight of Napoleon I, would be to the right of Montecristo in this picture if it wasn't for the obnoxious amount of clouds.

I could get used to living someplace like this.

The epitome of an Italian beach: Overweight women in bikinis, a little boy being trained at a young age to love speedos and a man, standing in front of everyone rubbing his stomach. Yup. It's quite the treat.

I felt like we were in a garden of umbrellas.

And that, folks, is the end of my adventures last week. Besides the every day adventure of smelling curry until 1 in the morning, listening to our neighbors Bollywood music, smelling and hearing the restaurant outside our bedroom window every hour of the day, meeting quirky people at my work (I suppose I should do a blog about that, eh?), learning to cook delicious Italian food- constantly learning, learning about life, about Italy, about Italian, about people.

Excuse my absence, but...

...my life has been consumed by A Tale of Two Cities and Jane Eyre. You can blame Charlotte Bronte, or Charles Dickens. Or both, if you prefer. Contrary to how I feel right now, (I'm recovering from a reading coma- in the past day and a half I frantically devoured the entire story of the life of Jane Eyre), I have been quite active this past week. For instance, I adopted some adorable children.

Courtney, who I think looks remarkably like my niece Bella, and Brady, a near perfect baby.

I did some serious cooking for a dinner with the Lucas family, who, with their five children, now live in Sweden. Due to the lack of dishes in their little rental cottage and a kitchen the size of a closet, it was quite the feat.

Luckily, I had the help of Rhonda, Layne and a slightly menacing Rick.

Meanwhile, Brady slept through everything.

Including Layne and I beating egg whites for tirimasu. With forks. There must be beaters, or at least a whisk that was used, you think. But no, I assure you that those egg whites were transformed into a semi solid froth by the commonplace, taken for granted fork.

Our evening quickly turned to night, as we lingered over courses of green beans with a bechemel sauce, pici with garlic, fish and tomatoes and tirimasu. We talked of life, travels, love and life. It was nearing midnight by the time we wearily wandered back to our apartment after Rhonda, being the saint she is, drove us the thirty minutes through the Tuscan countryside back to Siena. I could, for the first time in far too long, see stars.

We also took the opportunity to watch the Siena Jazz Festival yet again. It was beautiful.

Before heading to the festival, we stopped in the dusk light to admire the austere splendor of the church of San Francesco.

It was fascinating to watch how the piano kept the whole group together, providing the substance of the pieces, while the other instruments were like condiments- barely tolerable on their own, but necessary for the whole.

Later, we visited Roberto Bernini (or at least someone who could have been his twin) and then a couple of Layne's friends came to visit and we went to Arezzo, Montepulciano and Firenze. However, these narratives are for another time.

Opposites:

contrary or radically different in some respect common to both; opposed.