Simple.

Today I listened to the rain.

Now, to say something like that is simple, sure, but have you ever listened to thunder rolling in? Smelled the approach of a storm?

Today wasn't my first time. In fact, I do this a lot. Getting away from the pointless worries and needless babble of every day life and every day people is something I try to do as much as possible - especially after returning from Italy. Going for a run in the morning, a bike ride in the afternoon, sitting on my porch listening to raindrops or reading a book (or both). It's a necessity for me. It makes me happy.

I wonder how many people go day in and day out without taking in the world around them? How many people never stray from their routine day-to-day? Never take a minute to just revel in life?

I also wonder how much happier they would be if they did.

I have a challenge for those who read this blog. It's nothing truly extravagant... and, yes, I realize this post isn't about my travels. It's just simple.

Find some time today, and spend it with nature. 

Turn your cell phone to silent, 

        leave your iPod at home..

 

and listen.

Let me know how it goes.

My Thoughts

Here I am, sitting, looking at a panino, iced coffee, and less than a month left in Firenze. The cafeteria is full of students and teachers, alike, chatting about their trips this semester...past and future; talking about home, and what they're going to do first when they get back.

I'm torn.

On one hand, I love this place...mostly. There are, inevitably, things about a place that one doesn't necessarily adore (read: I'm sick of cat-calls from Italian boys...not men, boys) -- some things just won't be missed. But then there are the ones that I am going to miss terribly: speed-walking to class every morning past open-air markets and ancient chapels, doing my weekly shopping at il mercato centrale where the food is always fresh and always cheaper than any supermarket in Firenze, going out for gelato with what friends I have made here... yeah, I'm going to miss this.

What is more, the ability to country-hop when living in Firenze is incredible. In the same time it takes for one to travel from one state to another in the U.S., one can cross borders to new countries, cultures, languages... it's amazing. But, and here's where my other hand comes into the picture, all of my traveling has made me realize just how little I know about my own country; my own home.

I was hiking in the Italian Alps last weekend, and traveled to Lake Garda and I realized, while I was sitting there staring into the clear water of the lake, that there are beautiful places in the U.S. that could compare to the one I was seeing... yet I had never even taken the time to seek them out. I've never been to Yellowstone... Yosemite... the Grand Canyon.... the Smokey Mountains.... so many more. It's ridiculous when I think about it, really. I'm so obsessed with getting out of my home country that I'm forgetting what a treasure it is in and of itself. There are so many subcultures to our own culture, so many different dialects - just as there are in Ireland or England - that I have yet to become acquainted with, so many problems that need solving, so many history-altering things taking place there.

My other hand begs me to mention, also, that I am in dire need of a group hug from my family...or, better, several individual bear hugs. Especially with the recent visits from my friends' parents, I have been feeling the pangs typically associated with missing something or someone terribly. I miss going to my grandparents' houses just to chat, hanging out with my cousins, being the typical little sister figure to my older brother and the youngest child to my parents...I miss going on bikerides with H, going for a drink with V. It's so strange to think that those two will be graduated when I get back. My younger cousin is graduating from High School...if that doesn't make one feel old, I don't know what does.

I feel like I've missed so much in the time I've been away: three birthdays, three graduations, concerts, soccer games, dances....my family is growing up and I'm not there to participate. It's depressing!

And, while Firenze and Europe in general is wonderful, I feel less than useful here. Yes, I have class to attend to, and trips to plan, and a blog to write in (although, as you well know, reader, I have been slacking on that front), my journal to keep up...but no job, no means of searching out internships past the occasional online browse when I come across internet. I miss having a job - some sort of income - I don't care for this borrowing-of-monies from my parents at all. At ALL.

I think, then, that a trip home is just what I need at this point. For all of my running away from it, I find it keeps reeling me in like an unwilling fish on a hook. My home and family are more a part of me and my life than I wanted to realize before this trip. I know now that I can do this on my own... survive, that is. But what is surviving when the people who know you best aren't there to make it worthwhile? My friends are great, but their companionship just leads me to think of time spent with my family... in turn making me miss them more.

I've recently compiled a list of goals - for summer, senior year, and life in general - I look forward to reaching them upon my arrival to the States. A new sense of perseverance has instilled itself within me during this experience. With all that I've been through, I know I have sold myself short in the past in regards to what I can achieve. No more.

March 30, 2009

"When I look back on my ordinary, ordinary life. I see so much magic though I missed it at the time." - Jaime Cullum

Where have I been?! Not only have I seemingly forgotten about my blog-writing, but apparently I have fallen off of the face of the earth as we know it; not emailing my family, uploading pictures...nothing!

The truth is, I’ve been having some ‘me time’. In fact, I’ve been laying in bed all day (it’s just about 2pm here in Firenze) sleeping and allowing my mind to wander. Let’s see…where did I

 last leave off in this journal of mine? Ah, well, I suppose I shouldn’t begin where I left off, but begin where I feel I have left off significant amounts of information, no?

I’ve been traveling a great amount since I last wrote…I feel that every place was just as beautiful as the last, opening before me like a new book and, with each page turn, revealing to me the wonders of its culture, people, history.

Venice was especially beautiful, dispite its immense crowds gathered to witness the commencement of Carnivale. The winding canals of the town and its narrow walkways made one feel as if the times of mask-wearing Venetians were here and now. The costumes of the festival, while brilliant in color and in elaborate detail, drew ones eye upward and onward in the crowd, desperate for that next surprise. Giant puppets roamed the squares – raptors with sound effects and ten-foot-tall features delighted the people…and scared the children (which, of course, fed my own personal amusement). The descending of the angel, which signals the actual commencement of the festival, was truly a sight to behold. Granted, the point from which this traveler viewed the spectacle was from behind a crowd of about thirty to fifty people…and through building scaffolding. Nonetheless, the music and regality with which the whole weekend played out was astonishing. Even on Murano and Burano, the islands visited by tourists for glass blowing and painted houses, the excitement of Carnivale could be felt.

Brighton…ohhh Brighton. My first trip to the land of the Queen could not have been a better experience. After just walking around the ocean-front town on the afternoon of my arrival, confirmed was my desire to pack up and move to England. The weather was perfect: a faint breeze, sunshine to bathe in, and light, fluffy clouds to gaze at when one was tired of observing the runners, bikers, and walkers all drawn to the seafront path and Brighton Pier. The beach, itself, is a detail of the town that especially caught my attention – a stone beach! No sand at all! If there was ever a better idea in the world other than to have NO sand at a beach, I have yet to hear it! The stones, baked in the sun, served as my seat for a great part of both days that I was in Brighton. The other part was spent in celebration of a friend’s birthday, and let me tell you – the Brits know how to party. When our train was cancelled due to a passenger committing suicide by throwing themselves from it, my fellow traveler Katie and I opted for a ocean-side bus ride to Eastbourn. Eastbourne itself seemed a quiet town, and actually reminded me a lot of my own hometown.  We hadn’t spent much time there, however, when my friend Dean and his buddy Darren came to pick us up from the bus station. One winding holy-crap-we’re-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-car-and-we’re-all-going-to-die car ride later, we were at a clubhouse being ushered inside and onto a couch to meet the rest of the ‘gang’ (Not a literal gang, no worries. I keep my gang dealings in the States, yo.). The group was great; a bunch of working kids my age and up, some still in Uni (university) and others already part of the working force of Great Britain. Their fascination with our accents threw me off completely – Katie could hardly understand theirs, and I have always thought that to get rid of my own would be a fantastic thing. The night passed in a blur of limo-rides and clubs – this was, actually, my first clubbing experience – and lasted until the small hours of the morning when the majority of the group found themselves at a late-night grub hub after much intoxicated wandering. Food had never tasted so good. The next morning was a sad one. But I knew I’d be back.

My next adventure came in the form of a quickly planned – and even more quickly executed – trip to Sicily with three of my surrogate family here in Firenze, Courtney, Nick, and Jen. Sicily was beautiful. As the plane approached the island, the water glowed a deep sapphire blue, the mountains an emerald green, and the rooftops an ancient terra cotta red. The sun shone down its approving light upon the scene as if to welcome us to this beautiful land: come on in, have a look. We were all thrilled just for the simple sunshine after a week of straight rain and gloom in Firenze. The markets I wandered in my first hours in Palermo, Sicily, were fascinating, but it was when we ventured forth from them that I found a really startling side of this beautiful island: its poverty. Our only intention was to find a way to kill a few hours before we could check into our hostel, but in our wanderings we found a run-down Sicily; filthy streets and dilapidated buildings; churches that, for all of the brilliance in their domes, looked as if completely out of place in the scene.

The place looked as if no prayer could reach it. I had not expected this, and I think that is why it is my favorite thing about having traveled to Sicily. So often people travel simply for pleasure – and don’t misunderstand me, I was also traveling for pleasure – but in their traveling see only a veiled interpretation of the place they are supposed to be exploring. So often we see only what we want to in a foreign place. We see only the stereotypes of Italians: warm, family-oriented, easy-going, enjoying the pleasures of the land and of life in general, that we forget that these are real people, too. Americans don’t fit every stereotype formed about us, so why should anyone else in the world? The poverty-stricken Palermo that I discovered that day in the sun set the mood for the trip. The whole weekend my eyes were opened to what I was really seeing as opposed to the fun and excellent food that awaits Palermo’s visitors. I walked down the street, saw a gypsy, and thought about how she probably lives just north of the city in the part that no tourists’ eyes see. I look back on that trip and still wonder just how badly the fall of the world’s economies effected the poor of Palermo. Were they better off before the most recent economic struggles? Have they always been this way? Could they look through the haze of misfortune at the beauty surrounding them and still say at the end of the day htat at least there was sunshine and blue waters and Sicilian cannoli to enjoy? Could they even afford a cannolo? That trip to Palermo is seared into my memory. It reminds me to constantly be aware of my surroundings. To look out from behind the tourist veil and to see what everyday life means to the natives of the places I visit. The train ride to Trapani, and my flight back to continental Italy, lifted my spirits ever so slightly. Our path wound delicately along the coast, lit by the sunshine reflecting off of the still sapphire-blue ocean, through olive groves and fields of green with spatters of small houses and herds of animals. An excited dog chased our train at full-speed, the thrill of life emanating from its sun-drenched fur. That dog made my trip. I have never seen so much freedom and happiness and thrill for life as I did in that canine’s unrelenting sprint. What a happy animal. Perhaps it is truly something we all should learn: to find happiness and joy in the little things in life…sunshine, green grass, the ability to be free even though chains of some sort of oppression may hinder us. That dog brought a sense of hope to the sadness that I had seen in Palermo.

After such mind-clarifying trips as the one to Palermo, it is nice to come home to Firenze. In fact, my wanderings of my still-foreign home still enlighten me and fill me with wonder of its past. On a field trip with my travel-writing class I visited Santa Croce here in Firenze. That day it was raining…no, pouring. We set off at a brisk pace, dodging cars and puddles as we tried our best to find an open path between people on the one-foot-wide ‘sidewalks’ that line the narrow streets. The rain was relentless. So much so, that upon arrival to the church, the majority of the class, myself included, had soaked-through shoes and pants wet up to the knees. Never had I wanted wellies (Wellington Boots) (rain boots) more than that day. The church itself was enough to make me forget about my soaked apparel, however. I entered the sacred place with awe of its artwork and architecture. The ceiling, composed of wood beams, was beautifully accented by painting and etching in the wood in a fashion that made the ceiling look almost as if it were a weaved basket. It is what that ceiling covers that really caught my attention, though.

A look at the end of the left-hand side of the building, after just turning right at the entrance, reveals to the observer that this place is not only magnificent, but it houses the magnificent as well. Michelangelo is buried here along with Galileo. I imagined their two great minds swelling upward from their tombs in this immense space, and in their expansion holding up the very ceiling which I admired. Other great minds find their resting place there in Santa Croce. One monument, which shares the wall with Michelangelo’s tomb, is in honor of Dante Alighieri, author of ‘The Inferno’. After his great success post-mortem because his literary works, Dante Alighieri was sought after by the Florentine’s in order to bolster their growing collection of famous corpses. The exiled writer, however, had found sanctuary in a near-by town, and resides there still to this day. The Florentine’s settled on a monument to Alighieri which looks like it could very well be his tomb (the naive visitor to Santa Croce believes this to be true).

To the East and South of Firenze lay the towns of Arezzo, Cortona (see previous post), Pienza, and Montepulciano. These were the next Italian towns to which I journeyed. The trip was through Lorenzo De Medici, the school at which I am studying, and these sorts of trips always make me a bit nervous. It always waits to be seen whether or not the group of students will be carted around like cattle from place to place on a coach bus or actually allowed to soak up the culture in what little time we have to spend at each destination. This trip was fantastic. Having the chance to get in a car and to see the Italian countryside speeding past you is something I would recommend to anyone who can afford to do so. Never can you get a sense of a country by simply visiting its most rural areas, never can you see it by traveling by the straight-shot of a train track. The bus climbed through the mountains and hills and curved through small towns and back roads until we reached the first town of Arezzo. The town itself is known because of the scenes shot there for the movie La Vita E Bella, but personally I think that its churches hold much more esteem to the people who live there. In our guided tour of the town by a local woman with fantastic English skills – no doubt the result of her many years of teaching – we saw church after church after church…after the third one I began to wonder if all that the town had to offer were churches. During the brief free-time that we were granted between church viewings, I discovered my favorite part of Arezzo: the view. Arezzo sits upon a peak hill which borders four valleys. That being said, the wind was incredible! I sat staring out over the green valleys, admiring the houses that I would never see any closer than where I then sat and wondering at the lives of the people who lived there, and then walked back to the group’s meeting spot – my ten minutes were up. How frustrating, the time-limits given for soaking up a culture, a place, a history, when traveling in with a group! I have been asked by my own mother why I ‘insist on traveling alone’ and I suppose that this is one very big reason as to why I prefer to see a place on my own. It takes a very special relationship between people to be able to travel well with each other. Even my friends with whom I have traveled around Europe with will agree, sometimes people get on the nerves of their fellow travelers and such…I think the true test to see whether someone could ever handle being married to me is to see how we work as traveling partners.

Arezzo passed in a type of blur, its light beige stone and beautiful churches blending together in all of their similarities and time-constrictions. On to Cortona my trip commenced, the bus climbing ever higher to reach this hill-top town where, no matter your location, your destination is almost always uphill. Cortona was amazing. Its outer walls overlooked the valleys, just as Arezzo’s had, but this time it was as if , when looking down past its stone walls, the whole thing could just tip off of the top of the hill and over the steep precipice. I wandered with the group through the town, taking in its medieval aspects and, inevitably, the churches we passed. By the end of the day we found ourselves at the very top of Cortona, looking out over what no doubt was once thought of as the entire world. I could see forever…and as the sun set over that forever, I sat on a rock and imagined the stars preparing for their nightly show, the sun glad for a few hours of rest. The colors were breathtaking...

To Continue...

"like a book elegantly bound, but in a language that you can't read..."

March 7^th, 2009

An uphill trek had led us there; the top of Cortona. I stood in awe at the beauty of the surrounding Tuscan countryside. It was a wonder to me that people live in such a place. From my personal experience with seeking out diversion, it seems to me now that should I ever live in such a place I would become jaded in very little time. It has already begun to happen in regards to my current city of residence, Firenze, after having resided there for only one short month.

I have often remarked, when observing photos of where I have been, that there is no possible way to capture the perfection of each moment; the brilliance emanating all at once from the people, buildings, nature, smells, sights, tastes, touches…of the places to which I have traveled. This holds true for Firenze, yes, but the rapidity with which my mind has allowed my conscious hours to be spent staring straight ahead as opposed to at the splendor around me is all at once alarming…and fantastic.

It is no wonder that I have the urge to travel as often as I do. Perhaps, deep within my psyche, there is a knowing of when it is time to leave so as to not become exhausted of a place. As my family often repeated to my dear younger cousin who suffered from a severe separation anxiety, no doubt the result of being around five or six years of age, “If you don’t leave, then you can’t come back!”

These silly words of wisdom did not penetrate the thick skull of the young girl who was clinging to the door-jam with her hands – feet being pulled by my aunt and uncle – crying and screaming that she just did not, “wanna leave!!” In hindsight, the words that were meant to trick my cousin mean more than I realized.

Maybe I want to leave the places so that one day I can come back to them refreshed and with the naïve happiness that so often permeates the memories of my childhood; my mind winds backwards to a younger version of myself at Disney’s Epcot. Maybe, as my body becomes more acclimated to a place – more comfortable and familiar with the idea of being foreign – my mind begins to wander into thoughts of other places the likes of which I have never seen before…or maybe I am just a hopeless romantic.

It seems to me, though, that there is always something missing to a place…no matter how beautiful. Perhaps it is possible that we, as humans, become bored with a place because it does not have what we need – whether consciously or subconsciously. This would explain the multitude of people who never leave their hometowns: their home-life and family are right there with them…and perhaps even their partner in life as well. I have my family…but still the need to leave tugs at me constantly when I am in Lemont…one thing is for certain: I have yet to find my place.

I stared out over the Tuscan valley, watching the sun slowly descend; a weary traveler laying down his head. The scene itself was breathtaking. The warm transient light of the sunset washed its colors over the vast landscape, bathing small stucco houses and lines of olive trees in its blanket of orange, red, and pink hues. Like snakes, the roads wound through fields of green and over the grey streams that feed their color and tiny cars, containing – from this vantage point – tiny passengers, raced for their own independent destinations…completely unaware of my existence.

Walking the steep path down to the town I admired the simplicity with which Cortona was planned. There were no skyscrapers here; no buildings that would fit into American standards of cityscape. The slope on which I walked was once a finely laid stone path, that much I could tell. But time had ravaged its face and now it laid out beneath me like a ruined masterpiece, threatening with every step to send me tumbling down the precipice in some sort of bitter resentment for its timeworn appearance. What an oddly vain path this was. Along it stood tall, proud Cypress trees, reaching up toward the darkening sky and keeping my weary feet from straying. As I reached the town, the scent of dinner filled my hungry nose and brought me back to my body. I prepared to delight in the gastronomic specialties of the people under the Tuscan sun.

--

Monday, February 16th, 2009

Sitting at my table, reflecting upon my week...I find that I have forgotten to tell you readers about my new plan. No, it's not a new plan for world domination - I've already tried and failed miserably and my ego is still mending - it's my plan for this here blog of mine. I've decided that, rather than write a post for every single day that passes, I will only post if I feel that I have done something worthy of posting or if I have seen something I'd like to share. As I wrote to my grandmother today in an email, "...I'm only going to write posts every couple days and only about the most important happenings. I figure it's better to write really well about really amazing things than to write semi-well about only half-interesting things. Who cares what we ate for lunch, anyway?" Of course, I went on to tell my grandmother that there is to be an exception made for a certain Pizzeria that I ate at in Roma, where the pizza crust melts in your mouth, and a Gelateria here in Firenze, where the gelato is so good that you wish it wouldn't melt in your mouth, both of which I plan on bringing both my grandmother and my mother to.

I digress.

This past week I attended class, as always, on lunedi, martedi, and mercoledi, completed my homework and reading assignments, and did all things related to my schooling. I'm not on vacation, after all (something that I don't think everyone who says 'I'm so jealousss' realizes). I am finding that I love all of my classes. This is really quite a statement as a semester full of good classes rarely happens to a person. Lunedi ho Italiano at 9am and I really do love it. The likenesses between espanol ed italiano are strikingly abundant and thus I find it very easy to understand my teacher while she rattles off different terms and rules in italiano. I really do feel sorry for the other girls in my class who stare dumbfoundedly at the teacher for most of the lessons, muttering to each other about how they have no idea what is going on. But, at the same time, one would think that those same girls would raise their hands and ask questions if they didn't understand...apparently not. I have gotten many a sideways glance when I speak up and answer the teachers domandi (questions). Nobody else will!

My list of great classes continues on lunedi at 6pm with Web Design. I may have posted this before, but I love listening to accents. Aside from my teacher's accent being enjoyable, though, I like this class because of the fun that I have in it. Manipulating a real-life-image feels so powerful in so many ways. I can take a portrait and make the subject of it look completely opposite. I can take that same subject and then put them in front of a whole new background. Amazing!

Martedi ho Cibo Italiano, Food of Italy, at 9am. This class, if my life depended on it, I would probably say is my favorite. Last week was my first lesson during which we, as a class, cooked a full dinner...and ate it for breakfast! 

The Antipasto that one group of studenti prepared, pictured below, was Canederli Tirolesi, or Tyrolean Dumplings. This dish is a favorite in the northern state of Trentino - Alto Adige, Italy. Trentino, an Italian-speaking town, is located just south of Alto Adige, where the main dialect is German and where these dumplings are called Knodel. This dish is quite simply german, consisting of various herbs and spices, bread, eggs, and Speck - a type of salt-cured ham similar to the Italian prosciutto. After all of the ingredients are mixed together and rolled into egg-sized balls, they are boiled in stock for 20 minutes and then plated and covered with a layer of fresh Parmesan.

The next dish, and the one that absolutely nobody wanted to be in charge of cooking - or eating, for that matter - was Fegato alla veneziana, Liver, Venetian Style. I was the only one who actually wanted to cook this dish, but was joined by another girl in the class and, later, the only guy in the class. The girl and I first had to clean up the liver by slicing off any fatty excess or grizzle, and then cutting the liver into small strips. We then chopped up some onion and parsley. After sautéing the onions in some olive oil and buttter we added the liver, browned it, added the parsley and some salt and pepper, and finally some sweet white wine to complement the sweetness of the liver and onions. The outcome of this dish was delicious. I love to try new foods, and don't have any food aversions to speak of, so this dish was the cherry on top for me in this lesson. Too bad only the teacher, myself, and the only guy in the class actually liked it. The majority of the dish was thrown out. What a waste.

The dessert of the day, and the dish that absolutely everyone wanted to make, was Tiramisu. Tiramisu is actually a fairly young dessert, most popularly served in Veneto (Venice). Simply made it calls for marscapone cheese, eggs, espresso powder, sponge finger cookies, and sometimes liquor, among other ingredients. A well-made Tiramisu dessert is usually allowed to sit in the refrigerator for a good six hours before being served. 

We also prepared a frittata as an appetizer, which was the first thing to be inhaled by the class - thus the lack of photo. I've decided that I don't need to eat dinner the night before or breakfast the day of this class. We make so much food!

This weekend it was instilled further in my mind that delights of the gastronomic kind are most certainly highlighted here in Italy. Saturday, upon arriving in Veneza the group with which I was traveling was given a tour of the islands Murano and Burano, one famous for its array of beautifully colored houses, and one for its specialty in glass production. This past weekend on my trip to Venice I was lucky enough to have a complete Venetian Carnivale Dinner: Antipasti, 3 Primi, and Tiramisu to die for. Along with a bottle of Venetian Red Wine, 2007, and several bottles of Aqua Naturale, the meal was definitely a perfect way to end the busy day.

Apologies for the belated post --- many more posts (with much better quality) to come - and soon - my dear readers.

My Roman Vow

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Last day in Roma. The girls and I woke up around 10am as we had to be out of Hostel by 11. We had planned to see the Catacombs, but the ones that didn't charge entrance and that were on our way to the train station closed at noon on Sundays for siesta and didn’t reopen until 2pm. Sadness. We all packed what few bags we had and handed in the room key. Saying a sad goodbye to Hotel Colors, the five of us made off towards the leather shoppe where I had bought my belt the previous day. 

While we had been there yesterday Jaimee had seen a purse that she decided she could not live without. On top of that, I had woken up that morning and put on my belt just to find that it was still too big. So Jaimee bought her white leather purse and Jen picked out a coin purse for her mother while I had the lady at the table re-size my belt. The purses were beautiful, and I plan on getting an Italian leather purse at some point, but I wanted my own purse to be from a small town where I could talk to the person who tanned the leather. I really wanted it to be special and not like any other.

Afterwards we walked around some more, bought gelato – I had the regular (larger) size for a change, with Nutella flavor and Chocolate Rum-Cake flavor. Delicious. We walked and ate, curving our path gradually towards the train station where we would be leaving on our 1.50pm train. We passed the Roman baths on the way there, but didn’t have time to go in and explore. I vow to return to Rome to explore its gardens, catacombs, aqueducts, and baths. There is really far too much to see in Rome. One could probably live there all their life and not see all of its wonders.

As we sped off away from Roma and towards Firenze I caught myself mid-thought: I am so lucky.

Epic

Saturday, Febuary 7, 2009

We woke up late today. After being out until 1am this morning and then not going to sleep until 3, I dare say we needed it. We lunched at the same restaurant where we had the phenomenal pizza bread yesterday. We all got pizza and I downed an excellent cappuccino. Then we departed - in the rain - for the sights of the day, the first of which was to be a Tomb Memorial.

The view from the Memorial of the Colosseum, Roman Forum, and Constantine's Arch was breathtaking, but I realized halfway up the steps that camera wasn't working properly. For some reason my 1G memory card was not storing more than about ten photos. Even camera-guru Nick couldn't figure out what was going wrong. Therefore, my dear blog-readers, the photography from here on out is by my fellow travelers: Courtney, Jaimee, Jen, and Nick. I'm so lucky that they let me take copies of their photos.

We came upon a friendly little cat that lived in the Roman Forum, and we petted it for a while. After petting the kitty and admiring the Roman Forum from afar - the price to get in, we decided, was not worth walking around longer in the rain - we continued down the tourist-packed street to the Colosseum. We rented an audio tour and walked around on our own. 

The tour took us through the Colosseum beginning with the top floor and working its way down to the first. The intricacies of the building were amazing. The Colosseum, at one time, was frequently flooded for Naval battles and Swamp battles in which various different animals and warriors would be showcased - alligators, for example. Even in all of its green decay, the structure was truly something to marvel at. I couldn't help wishing that I could help in its restoration, or at least walk around in the dark and damp recesses of the lowest and unaccessible floor of the Colosseum. The only living thing - aside from moss - that was seen in this area was a young tabby cat, chasing after some irritated looking birds. Worked into our audio tour was the Arch of Constantine, which could be seen from the one side of the Colosseum. Pictured below, its beauty is hardly captured as so much of its elegance comes from miniscule details in the stone carvings covering it. 

The whole day it rained. Poor Courtney, her umbrella broke so she had to buy another for E5 off of a guy selling them in the street. Her hair ended up getting caught in that one, and it broke as I was trying to free her from its potetntially lethal grasp. (Note: Beware of umbrellas. They are frequently underestimated.)

After the Colosseum we wandered to the Pantheon.

 This famous building, hosting several masses each week, is a known piece of architecture because of two things that are usually taken for granted: the floor and the roof. 

The roof of the Pantheon is built with an enormous hole directly in the center. Opening to the heavens, it is meant to celebrate the god Jupiter. Because of this gap in the roof, the floor is angled downward from its center allowing any sort of precipitation to drain off to the sides and thus out of the circular temple.

At this point in the day, we were all needing to let our minds relax a bit. We walked out of the Pantheon and into the cloudy day, turning right and walking down a side street. We browsed shops, looking at knick-knacks and touristy things, and came upon a shop with beautiful leather purses in the window. Of course, as women - and Nick - we had to investigate. We opened the door to a brown shop. Now, when I say brown, I don't mean to give the impression that the walls were painted brown. When I say brown, I mean to say that there was so much leather in the shop that brown was all we could see. Upon further examination, though, bursts of colors from the purses we had admired through the window, and others hanging in bunches from the ceiling, assured us that we hadn't gone some sort of color-blind.

The three women who were working at the shop had made everything in it. One of them, a skinny, tanned woman, was sitting at a work table in the middle of the store pounding away at a leather belt while smoking a cigarette. I was sold. I bought a beautiful leather belt, which the same woman sized to fit my waist perfectly, for E20. Jennifer bought a pink leather rose keychain.

With a brand-new belt and pants that had no chance of falling down, I ventured with my four friends into other various shops, trying on Carnival masks. I bought a datebook for E4.50, during our first Italian mall experience, which is made of completely recycled material. Courtney almost bought an Italian leather purse for around E130, but decided not to. After having rained on and off all day, the weather got decisive and started dumping buckets of rain over the city. We almost went back to Hostel, but decided to walk to Campo de Fiori in the rain instead.

Luckily it stopped raining on the way there, affording us time to slow our pace and browse some more shops. Nick bought new hat, and Court bought another new umbrella (a sturdy one - we tested it) from a hat shop that boasted such clientele as Anthony Hopkins.

We ended our night with a simple dinner at American music-playing restaurant/pizzeria on the Campo. The Campo itself we discovered to be a major tourist trap. While quite picturesque at night, many of the bars around its edges were rather Americanized.

Walking back we kept our eyes peeled for a gelateria, but none were open.

I collapsed into my lovely down comforter after a hot shower, jotted down the happenings of the day, and closed my weary eyes for the night.

Oh Mister Sun, Sun, Mister Golden Sun...

Monday, February 9, 2009

My lamplight fills the room with a kind of pallid splendor. So much has passed since my arrival in Italia, yet it has been just barely two weeks since I’ve arrived. This morning I awoke in a bleary state at 8am to hit the snooze button on my alarm clock. When I actually woke up, at 8:15am, I readied myself for my 9am Italian class.

As my roommate had left early, I walked to class with my flat-mate, Emily. The morning was sunny – it was the first clear day we have had in some time. Not one drop of precipitation darkened my day today. It was lovely. When the sunlight happened to make its way through the gaps of Firenze’s beautiful buildings it warmed and wakened my body as if from a deep hibernation. I had missed the sun. The sunshine cleared my head and senses, and the walk to class seemed too short.

My Italian class, on Via Faenza, is in a first-floor room with two windows, only one of which is ever opened – and rarely. As Emily and I were the first to arrive in the room, and I was not wanting to miss the sunshine for one minute, I set down my things and went directly to the window to open the shutters and let in the morning. The class went by as quickly as the walk preceding it, and Emily and I parted ways as I ventured once again outside in search of my required reading.

I walked through the stone streets of Firenze, hopping onto the narrow sidewalks only when automobile traffic found its path aligned with mine. The sunshine continued to play upon my head and shoulders from time to time. I felt as if I was in a continuous hide-and-seek game with the sun. If I were to pick one bad thing about city life, it is that there is never enough sunshine. City buildings, while each beautiful and architecturally intricate in its own way, make a sun worshipper’s life quite difficult. But I am living in Firenze, and nothing can dampen my spirits. The name of this city alone is enough to stifle any complaint.

Again, the walk was far too short. I gingerly opened the door to the International Bookstore in which I was to find my first textbook, priced by my teacher at E30. Upon finding the book in the corner table of an upstairs room, I found that it was actually priced at E17,50. Excellent. I bounced on my toes as I descended the stairs to the main floor to pay. I made ready to hand the cashier lady a E20 bill, but was again surprised when she told me that, because I am a Lorenzo de’ Medici student, I get an additional discount. I ended up paying only E14,50 for what I thought would be a E30 book. ‘Grazie, ciao!’ I called, as I once again made my way onto the narrow stone sidewalk of Via Cavour, my home stretch here in beloved Firenze.

For the next book, or rather, a series of excerpts copied and bound, I had to travel a bit further down my street and to take a right onto Via Guelfa, which turns into Via degli Alfani. It was there, in number 103R, that I found my bound copies.

This shoppe was more difficult to find because of its R (Red) address number. The Red addresses here in Firenze tend to be higher up on the walls of buildings and more faded compared to the Blue residential addresses. To add to that, the outside of the establishment was mostly advertising for Wi-Fi, not photocopies (although, maybe there was something about photocopies and I just didn’t understand it). The two people working, a guy a bit older than myself who spoke broken English and an older woman who spoke none at all, were both very nice and helpful. The packet, which I had been told would be sixteen Euro, was exactly that. I left with my good mood and sunshine filled day still firmly in place, bolstered by a backpack with a few added pounds in the form of knowledge-seeping pages bound together into books. Sunshine and literature in Firenze: who wouldn’t be happy?!

At this point in my day it was about 10.45am, so I walked back to Via Cavour and took a right towards my apartment. Walking in my door I realized that nobody was home, so I unloaded things that I knew I would not need, and reloaded others that I knew I might. My bag, in the end, was a bit fuller; the opposite of my intent.

I left my apartment in all of its tranquil and empty silence and walked back to the area of town in which Lorenzo de’ Medici’s buildings were located. I met Courtney and Jaimee for lunch in the Cafeteria at 11:30. Jaimee was a bit late, so she and Courtney wound up having to wait a bit longer than I did for food (I had gotten there early). I had a panini and an iced café latte. The Cafeteria is the only place in all of Italy that actually has any sort of iced coffee drink on the menu. It is obvious that they cater to an international crowd. When I was in Rome this past weekend at a Bar, the two people working had no idea why I wanted ice in my café latte. If only I had known.

The girls and I chatted, and they left five minutes before their classes started. I stayed put at our usual table. One of eight, it is the only one conveniently located in front of the only window in the Cafeteria. The place was busy as studenti e insegnanti (students and teachers) alike were taking their lunch break. Two girls approached me and asked to sit at my table, so I made like I was just leaving and let them have it to themselves. I had been finished eating and drinking for a good venticinque minuti (25 minutes) by then, so I gathered my things and relocated down the smaller flight of stairs and to the right hallway where there are benches with desks lined up against the wall. It was much more peaceful there. I sat down and finished the Italian homework I had been working on while the girl next to me chatted away with her friend who had met her there. Just as the noise started getting to me they packed up to go, and let me in on the Internet password for the building before they departed. The gesture mended my irritation towards them for their loudness.

I sat there for a while longer, completing my homework assignments, responding to the flood of emails, and, inevitably, writing in my blog.

Perpetually late.

Friday, February 6, 2009

On this fine morning, at the wee, tiny, not-supposed-to-ever-be-seen hour of 5am, I awoke to commence Adventure Roma. Of course I hit the snooze button. You know you’re tired when you get out of bed and walk across a freezing cold tile floor just to hit the snooze button and fumble back to the warmth of your mattress – which, if you’re me, looks more like the nest of some large, alien, bird-like creature.

Of course, I made us late. No, we didn’t have the misfortune of missing our 6:40 train, but we were at least 10 minutes later in arriving at the station than we had planned. We weren’t panicked, or even rushed, per-se, but it wasn’t a good feeling when we didn’t see our destination on the black and overbearing station schedule board. I went and asked one of the TranItalia representatives, and she pointed us in the right direction. It turns out our train’s final destination was, in fact, Naples. We dragged our sleep-heavy bodies over to track seven, certified our four-seat ticket, and boarded car numero sei.

The train ride was beautiful. Misty countryside made itself ever more visible as the sun rose over Italia. The train sped towards its destination through the hills, rather than over them, plunging its passengers into darkness at the sudden appearance of a tunnel and then blinding us with the light and the breathtaking landscapes that it divulged to our bleary eyes. With the scattered houses in Tuscan Gold hues with their Tarra Cotta rooftops, and the neatly lined forms of miles of vinyards, one was almost able to ignore the popping in ones ears. The further south I traveled on that train, the more hills we passed and the more castles and ancient-dwellings. The scenery was magical, and put me into a tired trance. Try as I did, I could not stay awake. I dozed off and woke up when we were about a half hour outside of Roma.

Upon our arrival in Roma, we immediately made our way to relieve ourselves…but toilettes were E0,80. Who pays to pee? I thought, Not Americans, that’s for damn sure.

So we followed the signs that led the way to where taxis were parked outside the station and took a ride from that point to Via Boezia, Colors Hotel. We travelers, new to the sights and sensations of Rome, had no idea how to get to the Hostel from the train. The taxi driver did. He weaved the van between other vehicles, buildings, and pedestrians alike. I felt like I was in a car chase on Cops.

We checked into the Hostel, gave our passport information – Jen had to call her father in the U.S. since she hadn’t brought even a copy of her passport – and paid our dues. We then dropped our bags in Nick’s single room since our quad wouldn’t be empty until 11am and then had to be cleaned. The cleaning process would take until 1pm-ish.

Not wanting to waste a minute of our weekend in Roma, we wandered to a Trattoria for lunch/breakfast…brunch, if you will. We all got sandwiches, and I ordered an Iced Café Latte. They didn’t know what an Iced Café Latte was. I explained in simple words and they looked at me like I was crazy, but obliged. The ice was mostly melted by the time I got the drink. At least they tried.

The Vatican we found in passing il Fiume Tiber. The view from the river of the dome of the church was beautiful, as was the river itself. Steps led down to it and, upon further examination, we discovered that there was actually a walking track that went along the length of the river. We walked around the Tiber for a while, admiring its general splendor and taking pictures. Nick had a moment of inspiration during which he decided to take and assemble six huge stones into pyramid shape. He was too proud. “No one will ever do what I have just done.” I asked him if he was going to sign it in any way, or leave his mark for others to find. “No, it has to be unanimous.” He meant anonymous.

I couldn’t help but to laugh my ass off. Already, within our first three hours in Rome, I had heard the best quote of the trip. It was unanimous. Oh, Nick.

I paid for Nick to get into the Vatican because he hadn’t stopped at an ATM before we got there. We walked up the granite steps, past a giant flat-screen T.V. and various Vatican City Guards, 

make our way to see the tombs of the Popes. I felt out of place with everyone crying. I also took accidental illegal pictures of the Popes’ tombs. They post signs, but for the most part they are in a different language (Italian, who would have thought?) or poorly placed.There was one tomb in particular that I found very striking. The casket itself was a beige yellow, but the top of the tomb was a metal likening to the Pope whose body resides within it. Jaimee called it the Batman tomb. I didn’t get a picture of it because it came into view after I had figured out that I wasn't supposed to take pictures. St. Peter's Basilica was also strikingly beautiful.

We exited the tombs and got in line to climb to the very top of the Vatican church to its cupola, or dome. When we bought our tickets there was an offer to pay an extra E2 for a lift ride (elevator ride) up the first three hundred or so stairs. Who needs a lift?! We scaled the first three hundred and continued up the more than 320 steps that followed those. We came to a platform situated between all of the domes on the East side of the Vatican where we could catch our breath and take some pictures that resulted in our breath being taken away yet again.

It took another hundred or so steps to get into the actual dome where we were afforded some arial views of the inside of the church...through a fence that had probably been installed to keep people from jumping. 

 We then walked down the steps and into the actual church where we walked around more and took pictures. Some of my group prayed. I sat observing the marble sculptures around the top half of the church. Some of the people depicted - angels, i guessed them - were doing strange things like holding onto a unicorn’s horn, or holding the earth down with their foot, or pushing a dog away. One was standing on the head of a man who was holding a serpent.

We left the church, passed the poor Vatican guards who are required to dress similar to court jesters, and went around the outside wall of the Vatican city to the Vatican museum where we had to pass more body guards to enter…one winked at me. *Shrug* Inside the Vatican museums are various exhibits. They all looked very interesting, but we only walked through the Egypt exhibit and the Sistine Chapel.

The Sistine Chapel was never ending. Made of up a multitude of rooms absolutely filled wall-to-wall with fine works of art, by the time we actually made it to the Chapel we were completely exhausted. The half of the museum following the Chapel was a complete blur to my tired eyes and feet and legs and buttocks. I just wanted to lie down at that point and pass out.

I did wonder at how intricate a display the Vatican is…all for something which has not been proven to exist; the epitome of faith. It was as if I were at a shrine for Harry Potter or something – a whole lot of people into something that doesn’t necessarily exist.

We left, exhausted, and chose a path strategically leading towards our Hostel. On the way we stopped for pizza. Jaimee and I shared a Prosciutto pizza and a mozzarella and tomato salad.  I paid for Nick yet again, so at that point he owed me E14,50.

We walked a good three blocks towards the Hostel when Nick realized that he had lost his EuroRail Pass. He acted as if it didn’t even matter, but Jen suggested he go back to the restaurant and look to see if it was there. He did, and it was. He said the owner looked upset that he had actually came back for it. The guy probably wanted to take a nice vacation.

We met back up with Nick at the Hostel where we all took a three-hour nap. It was the most glorious nap ever taken in the history of mankind – 5.30pm to 8.10pm-ish. We hadn’t planned on sleeping for so long, but we also hadn’t planned on our Quad room having down comforters. Excellent.

After my nap I put makeup on my “naked” face, and we all made for the Spanish Steps, dinner, the Trajan Column, and Trevi Fountain

Steps were our first stop, where we took several corny pictures. We then hit up a pizzaria for dinner and dessert. PHENOMINAL. Home-made wheat pasta with clams mussels and prawns and Black Truffel Gelato. I would make the trip back to Rome simply to eat at this restaurant. We actually all go different desserts so that we could each try each others and it was WELL worth it. Outside we saw a Ferrari and the driver revved its engine for us. The night was shaping up to be an amazing one. What we thought was the Trajan column ended up being a replica, but we did see the Trevi fountain. When we walked up to the fountain this Indian guy gave us free roses and offered to take our pictures with our cameras...and then asked for Euro. We should have known. Another Indian guy harassed Nick and Courtney - yet another asked me for a kiss and asked Jen if she was Chinese (duh). The men were all from Mumbai, India...and they were really quite obnoxious.

We escaped the onslaught of crazy Indian dudes and made it back to the Steps. As we gazed upon the gorgeous expanse of Rome, we thought how nice it would be to have a bottle of wine to share between the five of us, but we hadn't seen any open shops on the way there. We decided we would go back tomorrow to drink and hang out on the Spanish Steps all night.

The sky was clearing around 1am, and the view from the top of the Steps was indescribable. I felt as if my life was spread out before me in the form of a beautifully aged city; felt like the world was just waiting for me and that if I reached just a bit further I could grasp the stars that were strewn across that captivating night sky. Walking back, we passed fountains and the Fiorne Tiber.

I fell asleep to the sound of revving engines on the street outside.

Tomorrow: Apple store, campo di fiori, colosseum, roman forum, etc. Lunch at the same place we ate dinner, dinner @ campo di fiori, and wine on the Steps.

I finally fell asleep at 3am