Barcolananananana-na

I just finished celebrating the 40th Barcolana, and boy is my liver tired. The festival is centered around Europe's largest sailing regatta and is hosted annually in Trieste, providing us with beer and food tents, free concerts, Italian style revelry, and oh yeah, over 2,000 mahfuckin' sailboats, perfect ingredients for shenanigan stew.  

Friday night led me to my first ever European house party, thrown by my Spanish friend Adrian, which included home-made twister and of course American dance songs.  The theme of the party could be best described as "What Spanish people think the American '70s were about," although there were plenty of guests dressed as hippies and in '80s fitness gear, so I think they were just happy to represent an American decade..  Listening to Spaniards hum and deedeedee through the verses to songs in English like YMCA, We Will Rock You, and Mamma Mia is always a good time, especially when they finally reach the chorus and sing their little Spanish hearts out (See Video below for Spanish Summer Lovin').

Saturday involved walking around the harbor and observing intense Italian sailors, with steadfast expressions and awesome outfits.  The night brought visitors from all corners, including our abductee from Udine, Raf (originally from Togo), and my friend Sarah, from Vermont, who is currently studying abroad in Spain.  Sarah arrived just in time to have a Triestine 21st birthday, prompting many Europeans to sing to her in different languages and to shout things like "You can, you can!"  and "Hooray to you Sarah, drinking, drinking, you drink at home now!"  

We watched some fireworks and a free concert in Piazza Unitá, which included a performance by a strange Italian ensemble, which Keith aptly described as "reminiscent of a bunch of 7th grade parents trying to be hip."  One lyric, translated from the Italian, went something like this,

"My cousin, he is a bit worried...he is in prison."  I gave a puzzled look to my  friend Eric (from Trieste), who chose this moment to tell me,

"I do not prefer this band." 

After staying out all night, we snagged two hours of sleep, met at the supermarket to buy some supplies, and took the old streetcar up the mountain to Opicina to view the regatta.  We found a decent, albeit partially obscured view and had our picnic, with brie, wine, french bread, prosciutto, olives, and some cookies bearing the same name as Raf's home country.  After watching Lucas take his fill, Raf yelled down the line to him.

"Lucas if you have any more, I will have to invade Germany and eat your country."

We walked a few feet to the right and realized there was a much better view, with no trees in the way, we had been completely overzealous in choosing our picnic spot, laughter ensued.

Wine, heat, and sleep deprivation led to a very silly afternoon involving a lot of dancing and daydreaming.  At one point, my Polish friend Kamila and I had a quick foot race then sat on a concrete wall for a minute where we completely passed out, strewn all over each other.  I awoke some time later to the sound of an Italian family, complete with Grandparents, pointing and whispering about us, no doubt warning the wee ones about the consequences of having mountaintop picnics with international students.

Of course, the Poles came prepared for Sarah's birthday, providing Mickey Mouse birthday hats, and one balloon, which popped on the tram ride home, and I feared, surprised an old Italian  woman to death...thankfully she survived long enough to give us an awesome look of disapproval, I don't think she was into birthdays.