La Famiglia Repak in Italia

This week my family visited Italy! They spent their week here doing the tourist thing. (No, I have not yet submitted myself to a classic tourist-holding-up-the-Leaning-Tower photo. But I still have five and a half months…) They swung by my apartment on Sunday, were thoroughly impressed by the view from just outside my front door (see photo of me with grandparents), and then swept me off to their spacious mountain home in a remarkably large vehicle. This car served as our silent alarm to notify all local drivers that Americans were in the vicinity (because, come on, who else would select such a beast of a machine to transport 6 people?). I was stuck in lab while they toured Italy, but it was still cool to get to see my family on this side of the ocean!

My First Sagra!

What is a sagra, you ask? According to about.com, a sagra is defined as "a local fair, usually a celebration of the bounties of the earth." And I just returned home from a sagra celebrating the food of Sardinia. I went to this sagra with a large group of people from my lab. The sagra was held out in the country, right alongside a giant sunflower field. By 9pm, I really had no idea quite what to order (and was so hungry I could hardly think straight! How do these Italians all eat so late?), but as I've never tasted a kind of fish I didn't like, I figured I'd be safe with that. While the fish was indeed delicious, I'd been expecting a hunk of meat, not a whole fish still closely resembling the animal it recently was! I've also learned that patience is a virtue. Italians don't just order a meal. They order their appetizers... then their first plate... then their second plate... then a dessert... then coffee and after-dinner liquer. And in between each course, there is lots of time for chatting. If you make the mistake of only ordering a second plate, you may find yourself going crazy in the meantime. But live and learn, right?

The Things We Take for Granted

My grandmother was hospitalized today. My Mémé: a woman who braved a new country to make a better life for herself and her progeny, the woman who sparked my passion for the study of French, the woman whose name I call my own.

I may never have another chance to tell her I love her, to hold her hand, or to give her one last au revoir. It's all those little things taken for granted that living overseas can steal.

Take the time to tell people you love them. You never know which chance may be your last.

The First Italian National Conference on Bioengineering

Last week was an excellent work week. Finally having finished reading my small heap of papers, I stretched on my first pair of latex gloves and began my wet lab work. For now, I'm in a small lab in the Cisanello Hospital in the outskirts of Pisa. Here, I am making small PLGA (clear gel) microspheres (diameter on the order of 1 micrometer) that will slowly release a chemoattractant (drug) over the course of two weeks in order to chemically direct neuronal growth in Petri dishes.

On Thursday, I had the good fortune to attend the first ever Italian National Conference on Bioengineering! My heart-rate skyrocketed yesterday morning: I walked into the Neural Engineering poster session on the third and final day of this conference. I finally met some of the scientists whose work had lured me away from France and to this country whose language I hardly know. There were so many amazing research presentations. I've since been in touch with one of these researchers and might even take a weekend trip to check out just how he uses cultures of rat cortical neurons to control his robots. (Amazing!)

Independence Day as an Expatriate

For the Fourth of July, my Pisan MIT friends and I decided to share a bit of American culture with my Italian roommate Claudia (in the photo) and her friends. We bought burgers, sausages, and watermelon. As the meat sizzled, I bit into a juicy slice of watermelon and a couple of cold beers were cracked open: I felt truly American. However, as somehow striving for perfectly authentic American cuisine while living in Italy didn’t sound like the best idea, the burger and sausage buns were sliced from loaves of thick Italian bread.

Chris, Ramòn, and I were excited to realize that Camp Darby, the largest US military base outside of the US (and only a few kilometers from the center of Pisa, on the Mediterranean), would be open to the public to enjoy fireworks and celebrate our Independence Day! Sadly, the winds were so strong that no fireworks could be released. I was heartbroken, but assuaged by the feeling of the sand between my toes. Bringing back memories of my days in track and field (I was a triple and long jumper), pretty soon I had an irresistible urge to slip off my flip flops and run freely. At the water's edge, I came to an incredible realization: the Mediterranean is very warm! I starting laughing and running through the water as the wind blew through my hair. I ran until I could hardly breathe. Then I stopped and just stood there staring out into the dark waters for a long time. (Of course, from time to time I’d get hit by a particularly large wave, burst into laughter, and have to splash around a bit.) I've never felt such wonderfully warm sea water in the cool evening air. Last night while celebrating American independence, I fell in love with my Italian life.

Chianti: the Wine and the Region

On July 3, I left lab a bit earlier than usual, caught a train to Florence with Chris and Ramòn (MIT '09s), met Adam and Heather (MIT '07), and drove through the Tuscan countryside in Chianti. As the sunlight began to wane, we randomly turned into a side street to look for a local winery and perhaps a field in which to have a picnic. We inadvertently stumbled across one of the smallest wineries in Tuscany. There, a wonderful woman who spoke English quite well took a break out of her evening to teach us all about Chianti, give us a wine tasting session--her 2004 vintage reserve was remarkable-- and tell us the story of how she ventured into this romantic career. Afterwards, we drove into the setting sun and enjoyed the scenery through the rolling hills of Chianti. Eventually, we found a small medieval castle and fortressed town. After exploring for a bit, we decided to picnic in the outskirts of the village on a set of steeply angled, very large stairs. Underneath the stars, looking out across the Tuscan vineyards, we shared a delicious meal. The following day, Heather and Adam moved to Germany. My memories of the short time we shared together are filled with laughter and big, broad grins. I wish them all the best as their adventures take them across Europe and the world.

How to Practice Speaking Italian

Happy to no longer be homeless (living from a hostel), I moved into my new apartment last week on Monday (June 23) (see the photo taken from my front door?!). Finding this apartment was quite possibly one of the best things that happened to me since arriving. I am living with three students from the University of Pisa: Claudia, studying history; Alessandro, studying Earth Sciences; and Enrica, my roommate, finishing her thesis in literature. These three people couldn’t be friendlier. The very day I moved, they kept me up late chatting and swapping stories despite my very limited Italian. (Did I mention they don’t really speak English? Yikes!) We kept an online English-Italian dictionary open to help us out, but it wasn't too difficult and I had a very fun evening. Since then, we have shared plenty of dinners together. They take me out with their friends, show me around the city, and offer me an infinite reserve of patience as I’m still learning Italian.

I’ve been thoroughly impressed by the kindness all of the Italian students have shown me since I’ve arrived. I’ve also learned that a great way to practice my Italian is by letting it slip to an Italian that I am in “una confraternità” (a sorority). This works like a charm. It consistently sparks interest and prompts a certain standard set of questions: What do you do in a sorority? Are you a cheerleader? How do you join a sorority? What is the name of your sorority? What does it mean? Oh, boy…