Ahhh, Breakfast

When I checked in to the convent, I asked the sister in impressive Italian, if breakfast was included. It was. I asked when it was served, again wowing her with my mastery of her language. Between 7 and 9:30. Great. I emerged from my room this morning and was lured down the stairs by the delicious smell of coffee (thank you, Frank, for making me a crazed fan of coffee before I left--I would be an absolute outcast here otherwise). I went to the front desk and asked the the nuns if they could freeze the cold pack from my ice chest. They said yes. And then all hell broke loose.

Apparently I had caused quite a scene the night before when I had left for dinner and taken my room key with me. I tried repeatedly and failed, to ask if I had to ring the bell in order to get through the outer door, since I could tell that my key would not work. The nuns sent over a young sister who supposedly spoke "un po inglese," although we were unable to say even one word to one another that made any sense. I just kept nodding in wonderment at what all the nuns were freaking out about.

You see, many of the convents have curfews, and I had intentionally booked ones that didn't for my stay. I certainly didn't want to get locked out, but more importantly, I didn't want to be judged for coming home late reeking of Chianti. So the fact that I had to ring the bell just wasn't going to work for me. I didn't want to wake some poor sister at whatever time I finally meandered home. That's precisely why I climbed over the metal gate, each bar capped with a razor sharp sword point, when I returned home last night, nearly destroying one of the two pairs of pants I brought on this trip. I was observed by the driver of a nearby van, thinking to myself all the while that if he called la polizia, the poor nuns would probably be terrified out of their wits at having an intruder, and would have no idea that it was simply little ol' me trying not to wake them. I figured that they would never even notice that I hadn't checked in again before morning.

Well, I guess the redhead with curly hair from America is NOT flying under the radar here. They had ALL noticed that I had not returned home last night (not putting it together that I was already INSIDE when they saw me this morning). All of them congregated around me this morning, gesturing wildly in an attempt to make me understand that I could NOT leave the premises with my room key, and that I must return before 11 pm in order to get back in. So much for no curfew.

Having handles the crazy nuns, I decided to check out the breakfast spread. Here's what it consisted of: cereal (two kinds), orange juice, bread, and an absurdly large assortment of spreads for said bread. AND a fancy machine that made every kind of coffee beverage imaginable. I had a cappuccino and then realized that there were no bowls and no milk for the cereal. Well, that's not entirely accurate. On the table where the cereal was located there were tiny little glass bowls that I assumed might be meant to hold butter or sugar. They were about four inches wide and an inch deep. So I rinsed out my coffee cup, filled it with muesli and started problem solving the milk issue. Ah hah! The coffee machine had an option for milk without coffee, although it would only come out hot. Oh well, I would make do. Of course, hot milk turns muesli into instant mush, so I tucked into my bowl of what was now oatmeal, and observed other guests in the convent in order to determine the secrets of breakfast. I was not to be disappointed.

A dark haired, middle aged woman approached the breakfast table, grabbed one of the tiny bowls and filled it to the brim with maybe three tablespoons of cereal. So that WAS what the bowls were for. I concluded that here must be a nation wide cereal shortage, for which the resolution was to supply leprechaun-sized bowls...but what about the fact that there was no milk? Do Italians simply eat their cereal dry? No, indeed, they do not. For in the next instant, this woman picked up the pitcher of orange juice, poured it over her tiny bowl of cereal, and returned to her table!

Evidently on this side of the world I am, undoubtedly, the weirdo.