Morning. Scrub-a-dub. get dressed; look for light food, a coffee. Take a deep breath: the air is clean, the sky a deep bright blue. Maybe you can hear chickens. Go to class with a smile; it's a few minutes away. The teachers are teaching; you ask questions, take notes, practice speaking, look around--it's really Italy you're in. There's an echo to the classroom. The chalk on the board is too light for easy reading. Well, at one point "a break" comes: you're out in the sun. You stretch, talk to friends, laugh. Time for the next teacher. It's the echo again--but you're in Italy. When class is dismissed, you run toward your dporm room to lay down books and pens. You head for the cafeteria. You want food. Afternoon. In LA MENSA (the cafeteria) there's a line. You get a tray and let the ladies serve you. At the checkout, you show your I.D. These ladies are maternal; they've seen it for years. It's loud here--many voices are competing; there are echoes again: Italians build with concrete and sound does wild stuff as it bounces off it. O.K., you've eaten. You head outside to loll around. The countryside's the stuff of Renaissance paintings. Fields are manicured; every bit of land is put to use; there are hills and little valleys all around; you yourself are on a slope, and in the distance there's the profile of Italy's Apennines--they head down the spine of the country. At sunset they'll blind you with light, as the watermelon sun sinks behind them. By then, you'll have done your homework--at least in part--and you'll have joked around with many people you like. Evening. You've eaten. LA MENSA was less noisy. A look to the mountains stuns you; it's the variety of colors: soft ones, contrasty ones, blue and red ones--how can this exist! A deep breath takes you to your room, where you put on nice clothes for going to town. Everyone who loves living will be there: the locals, the occasional tourist, other students, the professors. What for?! For piazza-sitting, people-watching, coffee-sipping, talking, laughing, exchanging stories, ice-cream eating, strolling, reading newspapers, writing postcards, watching a bit of TV, trying out Italian, listening to Italian, above all for feeling giddy and secure in an environment that's clearly "old" and clearly on a healthy course. Naturally, there's the craziness of motorscooters, with their loud exhausts, yet everything blends into a busy hum, like what you hear from a beehive if you get close. Coffee-bar sitting is cheap, and you don't have to order if a friend's already bought something. Waiters come to welcome you, and they turn out to be friends when you keep on coming back. It's all sooooo relaxed! At 11p.m. you have a decision to make: home to rest or forward to the disco? The hardships of Italian life!!