No wondering why people is being asking if this was really the end of Full Immersion nel Megalomanismo or not. Well, I’m not really gonna blame anyone here, I totally agree with you guys: I’ve been a horrible blogger lately. I can’t even think that I haven’t been writing for almost two months. Hopefully a few of you are still waiting for some update. And by the way, no, this blog is not closed, and yes, I will keep updating it once I come back to California, not as often as I used to, but I will do so, promise!

The title of this post is somehow dedicated to one of my American friend or I should better say my only real american friend Peter who refers to Europe as a country itself and not an actual continent. “Francesco, this is time to get a hair cut. I can actually see an European mullet (that actual awkward extension of hair on the back head also known as cresta alla Reggio Calabrese) growing on the back of you head: cut it off!” or “No Francesco, let’s not enter in Abercrombie & Fitch, it’s a store for Europeans only.” Well, Europland just sounded more interesting: in case you don’t think so well, just screw you .

Being back brought up a lot of thinking. I now see everything with a foreign eye. It’s weird indeed. The night I got home, after sitting at the table with my parents ready to have dinner, I realized how everything seemed to be coming out from one of those movies where Italian Americans are playing main roles, for instance Il Padrino, Sleepers, or Jersey Shores. Well, maybe Jersey Shores it’s not quiet the case.

My father screaming vaffanculo out loud to every car driver who would have cut his way in the middle of a round intersection on our way back home, or I should better say screaming vaffanculo out loud to every car driver.

Narrow streets everywhere, even in centro (downtown) of Bologna. Every time that a car in the other lane of the street was coming toward us, I was afraid that my father and I would have got into a car accident.

Buildings not higher than 300 feet anywhere.

But I noticed the real good stuff just when I got home. The yellowish and not too bright light in the kitchen, a dozen of Tortelli on a plate waiting for me. The italian espresso made with the old coffee machine of the house, and with it, the thoughtlessness of my mum that leaves it there on the stove till the coffee starts burnings and boiling out the top of the coffee machine. It’s still delicious though. The flushing device of the toilette was almost ridiculous: the way the water flows down the hole is so odd. Even the italian bide’ was another one of those re-discovery that made my day a little better. Everything looked so Italian and so somehow foreign that I felt more excited than Elisabeth Gilbert in her last book Eat, Pray, Love.

Euro coins are brutally deforming my card keeper; normally in my card keeper I save only bills. I didn’t remember they give so much coin change in Italy. If you don’t pay attention at the end of the day you’ll find yourself keeping the rhythm of you steps by shaking tons of euro coins in your right pocket that is suddenly got into an ideal piggy-bank.

The only part I didn’t really appreciate was the low temperature – wow. Moving from San Diego to Reggio nell’Emilia is a step you don’t wanna take before going through a special survival training. Got fever right the day after I arrived that also went away the very same night but still it wasn’t such a wonderful surprise.

In two words, it was a wonderful and, in a good way, shocking reenter.

What could I add? Oh well, Happy Christmas guys! I’m happy to be back home!