They are fat and numerous, wandering through the streets with expressions half vacant, half terrified, at every moment about to be stepped on by the careless tread of another denizen, and by some miracle managing, at the last moment, to scurry out from under certain doom. I am, of course, referring to what may well be the largest demographic in this city: the Florentine Pigeon.
Though perhaps once a noble race, over abundance of food and lack of natural predation has turned these beautiful yet stupid creatures into mindless vagabonds who search the streets day and night for scraps of food and hardly seem to care for their own lives. Many a time, my roommate and I have nearly tripped over these pathetic wanderers while innocently attempting to traverse the distance between home and school. Less innocently, we have often joked about kicking them across the streets where the waddle away from our feet — flying only as a last resort, apparently — or catching one with one well aimed grasp. They perch everywhere, sleep anywhere, and appear completely ignorant of the dangers posed to them by human traffic. Still, it is possible that they are smarter than their scurrying feet and vacant gaze suggests, for I have yet to see one dead on the city streets.
But speaking of roommates . . . we moved from the hotel into our families exactly one week ago and I am pleased to report that I now live in a really old building with a family of five. Our host mother was once an American student who married and Italian and never left. You’d never guess that from her accent though. Years of Italian have clearly influenced how she speaks English. Her husband is outgoing and friendly. Their daughter doesn’t live at home anymore, but comes around every once in a while to eat. The sons still live at home, and despite the fact that they tried last night to convince us that the meat balls were made from dog meat, they’re both very nice.
Thus far, most of my energy has focused on basic survival – keeping clear of pidgins, hunting for lunch, finding ways not to spend money and avoiding the Permisso di Sojourno, Residence Permit, insanity for as long as possible. My roommate and I finally went to the post office to apply for a Permit yesterday, and after searching for the building for about twenty minutes, waiting in line for another hour and paying over fifty Euro, plus fifteen for the stamp, I now have the honor of an appointment at the immigration office, scheduled a month into my three month stay here in Italy. Ah travel! how wonderful to be a stranger in a foreign land!
At least I get wine for dinner every night.
