Italian Men Wear Speedos to Yoga

The most important bit of information is in the title. I went to a yoga class. I went to a bikram yoga class. It seemed like a good idea, seeing as I hadn't gotten any exercise since arriving.

Hah. 

First of all, I tried to select a mat location at the very back of the class, but it turned out to be the very front. (Awkward thing #1.) This ruined my plan of figuring out what was going on by watching others, as all others were behind me.  

I thought that it would be taught in the international yoga language, but it was definitely taught in Italian, of which I still have a limited knowledge. (Awkward thing #2.) Is bikram that much different than regular yoga or is it because I'm in Italy? Either way, weird. For example, no downward dog? Also, they did shavasana more than a dozen times. Every time, I thought the class was over and got all settled in (awkward things #41-58). 

The class smelled like sweat, as expected, but it additionally spelled faintly like food. How is that possible? I'm not kidding; I think Italians sweat olive oil. 

My issue now is the fact that I paid 20 euro for 20 days because I figured it would be 4 euro/class if I went five times. Too bad I'd rather staple the class schedule to my forehead than go that frequently. 

In happier news, I have essentially mastered the bus system. My laziness beat my directional incompetence and now I can bus around the city like a pro. It's a pretty poorly operating system regardless of my abilities. Several times I've waited at a stop forever, only to watch it pass the second I leave, like Spongebob at Glove World. Please know that reference. 

Still, after making mistakes that include waiting for a night bus in the middle of the day and taking the correct line in the opposite direction, I feel that I more or less know what I'm doing. Check.

I've even given Italians directions on numerous occasions! If the directions were wrong, that only made me more Italian. 

This new skill has developed just in time because my internship starts tomorrow. I was offered an internship at the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, a reeeally beautiful place to go to work, but I decided to intern for the Rome Independent Film Festival. There, I'll have a diverse set of tasks that should be interesting/enjoyable. It only helped my decision that the guy I interviewed with was named Fabrizio. I have to get at least 300 Italian points for knowing a Fabrizio.