Wardrobe Malfunction

The past couple of weeks have been, well, a little disorienting for me. Regardless of the fact that I carry a map with me wherever I go, I feel as if - in the vernacular of Florentine stereotypes - someone has thrown me into a duomo full of crazy rice (with milk) and I'm expected to wade though it. There is a definite plus side to this: crazy rice tastes amazing. I have never been so, well, at peace with getting lost. Navigating my way through a foreign city has been an adventure to say the least, and learning the nuances of Florentine culture never ceases to amaze me.

Our hike to Fiesole was stunning. Very cold though. Especially when wearing shorts, which I found out, is like a visual mating call on the dark streets of Florence, even when they are just gym shorts. I feel like graffiti-ing il Duomo naked, while eating a sandwich could not afford me as much attention. Not that that is advisable. Anyways, speaking of clothing choice, in Bologna we stumbled across a huge outdoor, mostly vintage market where I bought a white and purple ski suit and wore it around town and to a few clubs. Words don't do that jumpsuit justice, trust me; it was the best purchase of my life. And much more practical than the heels I wore it with when I shuffled over to the club (the suit is very warm and somewhat waterproof). Oddly enough though, I got more stares and catcalls with the gym shorts, although I believe some American tourists honked at me while I was exiting the nightclub in this Michelin-man-miracle. So, note to self, if you want to create deliberately awkward encounters, dress like a soccer mom from the states and not like a backup dancer from a Whitney Houston music video.

Sorry if that was a rambling, disconnected entry - it was a stylistic choice mirroring my tendency to get lost in side streets around the city.

Monica

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