24. Settembre 2011: Walking Far From Home

Our hotel serves actual breakfast. Not just coffee and toast, we were given an assortment of croissants, sweet raisin bread that resembled German Stollen, yogurts, cheeses, meats, cereals…it was a welcome change for this breakfast-person. After this filling breakfast (I think I had about five croissants on top of everything else…they kept bringing them out so I figured it was appropriate) I set off on my own to find a post box with a special bounce in my step. Not two blocks into my walk, I passed a garbage man going about his work and singing loudly in Italian. It was so beautifully cinematic that I had to smile. The man noticed my smile and greeted me with a booming “Buongiorno!” that echoed across the little square. I beamed and responded with enthusiasm, “Buongiorno!” I wondered if he knew that he had just made my day. I found myself singing my own special song for the rest of the day. I hummed to myself, walking from one colorful neighborhood to the other. Hardly anyone was up and about yet, at 9 in the morning. My smile only grew when I crossed a bridge to see Alex, a young man in the same program as I, sitting in a niche of a church building cross-legged with eyes shut, meditating. It was like he was meant to be there; a beautiful morning ritual.

I finally found a post box then promptly found myself at the Peggy Guggenheim Museum of Modern Art. The gates to the museum grounds were a beautifully intricate design of woven vines. I wish I could have taken pictures at this most extraordinary collection of artwork. Peggy Guggenheim, the same woman who had discovered Jackson Pollack, had collected and displayed works by Salvador Dali (a personal favorite of mine), one of her several husbands Max Ernst, Paul Klee, Yoko Ono and many others. If photography had been allowed inside the museum, I would have displayed here pictures of my favorites in the collection: John Tunnard’s “Psi,” Robert Delauney’s “Windows Open Simultaneously, 1^st part, 3^rd motif,” Gino Severini’s “Mare=Ballerina,” and Salvador Dali’s “Untitled, 1931.” Outside of the museum were some more interesting pieces, including Yoko Ono’s donation. She had given Peggy Guggenheim a live olive tree. The piece was entitled, “Wish Tree Venice 2003. To Peggy with Love x Yoko.” The branches were trimmed in such a way that one could—and we were advised to—write a wish on a small piece of paper and impale it onto one of these branches. Some wishes were personal; others wished for the obvious world peace, justice, etc. I wrote a wish of my own and impaled it on a branch close to the trunk.

I could have spent the entire day in this museum but had to duck out after only an hour to meet the rest of my group in front of the hotel. From there, we walked about forty minutes to the other side of the island and boarded a train for Padova (or Padua…another Shakespearean locale). About an hour later we arrived and trekked to the Scrovegnian Chapel. This chapel was built as a gift to God from Signor Scrovengi as a mean to help ransom his father from hell. This sounds more like a prideful venture (hey God, check it out! I have enough money that I can build you this amazing chapel…wanna let Dad free? Pretty please?) than a truly Christian sacrifice, but hey, this was 1300. The inside of the chapel was temperature controlled (at freezing!) and only 25 people were allowed in at a time for fifteen minutes. Supposedly this was to protect the incredible frescoes painted by Giotto the Florentine from 1305-1308. However, our group of 29 (we had split into two groups for the tours since 29 was too big for this chapel) arrived late for our ticket times. The first group got in fine but when the next group tried to enter, our access was denied and we ended up filling in the open slots in the next four ticket times. It was a little ridiculous and the ticket man was kind of a jerk, but what can you do. When I finally entered the chapel I understood why the tickets are so hard to come by. The frescoes are breathtaking and the symbolism is beautifully thought out. It was like reading the world’s oldest, biggest, holiest cartoon strip that told the birth and life of Mary and then the birth and life of Christ. Each frame of the story was particularly placed so that one could draw meaning from the vertical juxtaposition and the decoration around each frame also symbolized an Old Testament story that could be related to the New Testament story being told.

We scurried back to the train station, expecting to be late but making our train and arrived in time for dinner in Venice: the-type-of-pasta-that-is-like-a-tube-that-I-forgot-the-name-of-but-I’m-sure-it-ends-in-an-i with pesto, fish, and finally stracciatella torta (chocolate-chip cake). Wanting to see more of Venice, I joined several friends on a nighttime adventure of the island. We discovered quickly that the nightlife in Venice is almost nonexistent after 9 o’clock, though we did find a place that served bellinis (recommended to me by the all-knowing-Italian-learned-genius). A bellini is simply prosecco (a sparkling white wine, an Italian specialty) and peach juice. Delicious, refreshing and the perfect nightcap. We clinked our glasses in the name of celebration (I proudly toasted to my wonderful boyfriend, Joseph, of six months!) and wandered back to the hotel as the moon glimmered magically off of the canals. 

23. Settembre 2011: Down By The Water

What a whirlwind weekend in Venice! It was such a packed three days that I will be writing one post per day and posting them as I finish them. So here is day one, expect two more.

We woke up at 5:45 this morning (that’s right, again before most of you were asleep across the ocean!) and ended up making it about a half hour before our bus was supposed to leave (better over-budgeting time than under-budgeting!). So we watched the sun rise above Florence until we finally boarded the bus and departed for Venice at 7:30. Four hours later we crossed the lagoon to Venice and boarded a private boat which took us to the neighboring island of Murano which is known for its glassblowing. Here we were given a glassblowing demonstration; he blew a vase then made a horse. They ease with which he handled the immeasurably hot molten glass so incredibly. I proudly remembered all of the glass pumpkins, bunnies, cups, bowls and plates at home that my dad has made. I found myself wishing that I could hear his commentary as I watched the demonstration, knowing that he would have much more to say about what was going on than the rushed Italian saleswoman. I imagined the conversation that he would have struck up with the glassblower if the glassblower spoke English about the various techniques and sciences of glassblowing. I hope that we can come back here together some day.

We viewed some of the most beautiful pieces of glass I have ever seen in my life and then wandering around the colorfully quaint canals of Murano. Along the way I found the quintessential Italian street performer who was playing the Godfather theme but switched to this tango as I started filming.

Then we hopped back on the boat and sailed to our hotel in Venice. A brief sit down and we were off again to the Palazzo Ducale. We walked most of the way but to quickly cross the Grand Canal we all boarded a traghetto—the cheapest way to ride on a naked gondola. It cost 50 cents to ride the gondola for thirty seconds across the canal but for 50 euro you could take a picture of the gondolier. I raised my eyebrow when he suggested this but he was serious! (Don’t worry, Mom, I didn’t take the picture).

Finally we arrived at the Piazza San Marco—the only Piazza in Venice—and witness the most illegal pigeon-feeding I have ever seen. It was quite disgusting to see people sit down to have pigeons sit on their shoulders and eat out of their hands. I mean, really, pigeons are just rats with wings. Now let’s think…what started the Plague and where did it start? Oh yeah! Venice! Yuck.

But after I gagged past the Piazza we entered the Palazzo Ducale where the Doge of Venice used to live (until the Plague…how interesting). The Palazzo had no furniture in it because each Doge was expected to bring his own furniture and when he died, whatever his family did not claim was up-for-grabs for any Venetian. However, the walls were covered in splendid fabrics, wooden and marble carving and faux-frescoes. There are no real frescoes in Venice because all of the water and humidity would have quickly ruined anything painted directly on to the plaster of the walls or ceilings. Most of the carvings and sculptural art were made out of wood for its lightness; too much marble or bronze would weigh down the building and remember, Venice is ultimately built on top of the floor of the sea and one wouldn’t want such glorious art to sink into the sea. We also walked through the Sala del Consiglio dei Dieci, the room where the pound of flesh would have been granted to Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. Then across the famous Bridge of Sighs, where prisoners condemned in the Sala del Consiglio would have seen their last light of day.

After going to jail we were set loose to explore Venice. I wandered; getting lost and then finding my way back amongst all of the shops and tourists. It was the best time I’ve ever had being lost. With all of the masks, the Murano glass, the sun reflecting off the water—everything sparkled. There is not enough space for me to post all of the pictures of masks and costumes that I passed but I encourage you to visit my facebook pictures to see them (as well as all of the colorful buildings and canals). I learned that one should not visit Venice for their gelato but here’s a tiny taste of the masks:

When I finally found my way back to the Piazza, our group visited the Basilica San Marco. We visited it quite late because the Basilica is owned by the city and our private tour had been double-booked with the Catholic mass. I have no idea how that might happen but…we entered eventually. There are no frescoes but if you took all of the mosaics off of the walls you would cover over an acre of ground. And a majority of these mosaics used actual gold leaf in the tiles. The church was made of marble and apparently it took “ship loads” of marble to build (I was in the back of the group and was shocked the first time I heard the director of our program say this! I misheard her the first time…). The best part of the visit was the private organ concert. The church is so huge that the organ echoed in a way that was both haunting and extremely spiritual. The music was coupled with a bit of a light show; the lights were dark when we first entered and as the music played on the lights came up in various parts of the Basilica until the entire church was lit. I was not allowed to take pictures inside the sanctuary but I did keep my camera in my bag and recorded the audio of part of the organ concert.

We returned to the hotel for a delicious meal of canolini (like lasagna), pollo (chicken…but pronounce both of the L’s; this isn’t Spanish, Allie), and ciocolotto torta (chocolate cake). And then I slept very very well. 

19. Settembre 2011: Just Another Night

I am always the last one finished with dinner. My mother always taught me not to scarf down my food, to eat slowly and enjoy. With the incredibly flavorful Italian food, I have so much to enjoy but for everyone else at the table…it’s scarfing time! By the time I’ve chewed and swallowed my first bite, my host mother has already finished half her plate. They’ve told me that it’s fine, I don’t need to eat quickly, but now they’ve started giving me less food so that I finish about the same time. So now I am eating more quickly.

During dinner, I find that I am picking up on more of my host family’s quirks. Mio babbo, Andrea, really enjoys the fattening foods with butter and sugar. Mia mamma, Daniella, notices this so she disguises the healthy food. It’s quite amusing. Tonight we had fettucini con burro e formaggio as a first course, then lentils (which reminded me of home…oh, nostalgia) with some sort of spinach and cheese dumpling (almost like an empanada). Then Daniella came in with a tray and proudly stated, “Salad Fruit!” Kari and I looked at one another… “fruit salad,” Kari smiled and Daniella scowls, “sempre, sempre,” because she was so proud at getting it right. Well, the Macedonia was delicious, which overcomes any language.

Tomorrow, another quiz and Thursday brings with it our Italian final exam. In class today, we gave speeches about the first time we met someone important in our lives. Here was mine:

Durante il primo anno di universitá, ho incontrato Joseph. Noi abbiamo fatto una classe insieme e lui ha sempre dormito durante classe.

All’inizio del second anno di universitá, ho incontrato mio ragazzo. Mentra ballavo a una festa, ho histo che lui fissava me. La settimana dopo un’allarme ha suonato nel mio edificio. Mentre ciascuno usciva l’edificio, io ho visto lui di nuovo. Lui abitava nel mio edificio! Mentre noi aspettavamo fuori, lui ha invitato me a stare insieme con lui. Io ho accettato.

Pretty good for my fourth week of Italian, eh?

Oh, and all of my other classes start next week…oh boy. They will be:

-The Medici as Patrons of the Arts: an art history class taught by the director of the program. I think this will be my most difficult class, mostly because it has already given so much dense reading (which is not my strongest suite). But the subject is quite exciting to me, I’ll admit.

-Dante’s Divine Comedy and the City of Florence: a class that will combine literature, history and art with an incredible professor from Cornell College. I am stoked for this class.

-Classical Figure Drawing: the orientation for this class isn’t until Thursday so I don’t have too much information on it other than that we will be learning a classical technique for figure drawing. We will be drawing from live models and taught by a renowned professor, Charles Cecil.

And we will also be continuing our Italian classes until mid-November. Well, I should probably get back to this reading for the Medici course (this is my third night trying to read it and I’m a little more than halfway through it. Please pray for me!). A dopo!

**addition: I got another 100% on my quiz this morning!

17. Settembre 2011: Love and Some Verses

Before I start this post, I must give a huge shout out to my wonderful mother:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!! I love you!!!

And if Shany is reading this (which I don’t think she will be because she’s just starting college this week), Happy Birthday to you (and your twin sister Mor) as well. The big eighteen!

Wow, today was a big today…in fair Verona, where we lay our scene! I went to Verona with Kari. We woke up at 5:30 a.m. to make our train. I have written up a schedule for what times in Italy correspond with times in Illinois and California and put it up on the wall. When I glanced at it this morning, I realized that I was awake probably before any of you reading this were heading to bed last night! That would be 10:30 p.m. for Chicagoans and 8:30 for all you west-coasters. It brought out a surge of emotion in me though, even now, I’m not sure what the emotion was. Just realizing the extant of my separation from the U.S. from a different perspective, I suppose.

Anyways, we made it to the train station by 6:30 and we greeted at platform nine (no, not 9 ¾) by an extraordinarily chipper Italian train attendant. It was quite jarring but a smile never goes amiss in my book. We changed trains in Bologna (and almost missed our train because there are two different sets of platforms and we were waiting at the wrong platform 6 for ten minutes before we realized) and arrived in Verona by 10. It was at that point that we realized how minimal our knowledge base for Verona was; we didn’t even have a map. So we followed several different groups of tourists until we finally found the center of the city (a note to tourists: if you are carrying a guidebook around with you, expect to have dumber tourists follow you). The first thing we saw was the Arena, a roman coliseum that still plays concerts and is surrounded by cheesy, costumed “Romans” who will charge you an obscene amount of money to take a picture with them. We actually saw some English women taking a picture with them and after they had taken the picture, one woman asked, “so I’m not sure what’s customary…do I pay you now?” Kari and I looked at each other incredulously and snorted. I am honestly amazed that any tourists are ever gullible enough to fall for those traps.

We walked from the Arena through the most expensive street in town (I gaped at all of the designer stores) to a colorful and beautiful square. From here, we simply wandered which was a nice change from our first two weekends as a part of one huge tour group. We passed the Scaligeri graves (very gothic and extravagant tombs), a towering statue of Dante and a simple art fair where I witness a man dying leather and binding journals right in front of us. We reached the Fiume Adige and I realized why Shakespeare was so inspired by this town. The campagna, countryside is breathtaking.

These two gentlewomen in Verona walked along the river and found the remains of the Teatro Romano. These ruins were overgrown with beautiful greenery and, for the most part, blocked off to anyone but the paying tourists. So we gazed in through the gates and I smiled to notice a pomegranate tree by the edge of the ruins. I was reminded of one of my favorite scenes from a Shakespeare play, when Juliet is trying to convince Romeo not to leave after the first night that they spend together.

Juliet: Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale and not the lark that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

And then we realized that we should visit Juliet! We crossed back over the river and began to search for Juliet’s house until I was distracted by a trickle of fancily-dressed couples walking towards town. I veered off-course, dragging Kari with me and we followed the dresses to the church of San Anastasia. We were actually able to enter the church and witness the wedding ceremony that these guests were clearly invited to. I raised an eyebrow at the tourists who were taking pictures of this wedding ceremony, then realized that I was one of those tourists and immediately hurried out of the church, slightly embarrassed.

Finally, we found the Casa di Giulietta and swarmed in with the mass of tourists. The courtyard is a sweet, romantic place with the famous balcony next to an ivy covered terrace. I’ll be honest here; I wasn’t overcome with a romantic need to be with a loved one. I understand that before Shakespeare got to it, the story of Romeo and Juliet was supposedly based on a true story. But before Shakespeare got to it, the story of Romeo and Juliet was just a tragic case of two overly-obsessed teenagers who took their love to an extreme. I do not find the story of Romeo and Juliet a romantic story; I find the Shakespeare poetry that is inspired by their story extremely romantic and beautiful. So no, I did not pay to have my picture taken on the balcony. I did have my picture taken with the statue of Juliet—touching her left breast will grant one everlasting love, legend has it. Frankly, I think there are better and more reliable ways to go about achieving everlasting love but I was there so I touched it and then gratefully accepted some of Kari’s hand sanitizer. Excuse me, if you couldn’t tell, I am a bit of a cynic when it comes to the hopeless romantic. But I did write a letter to Juliet, for the sake of being a tourist and woman. No, I didn’t ask for advice or leave my address for her minions to respond to. What did I write? Let your imagination run wild.

After Juliet’s house, we joined some of the wedding guests (it was over, apparently) at a quaint little restaurant and enjoyed some of the best ricotta and spinach ravioli I’ve had and some of the worst prosecco (a sweet, sparkling white wine) I’ve had.  After lunch, we realized that we probably didn’t need an entire day to explore Verona. On our student’s budgets we had pretty much done everything to be done in Verona…though I would have loved to have tried on that splendidly forties-style pencil dress in the window of Dolce and Gabbana. So we continued to wander along the Fiume Adige and stumbled upon a castle. That’s right, we stumbled upon a castle! Only in Europe can one realistically stumble upon a castle. On the drawbridge, the sign said that it was that Castelvecchio (literally, the old castle). Again, we stuck to our budget and did not pay to enter the museum but we appreciated the beauty of this classic castle and then walked back into town. We got some gelato, watched street performers do gymnastics, and then found ourselves in the middle of a renaissance-costumed band and flag throwers: the first annual Festival della Dottrina Sociale.

We returned to Florence safely (and on first class…an unexpected and unpaid upgrade!) though to a different station than usual and ended up winging it by bus. The bus schedules have been updating in the last week so it’s been very confusing to follow but we managed to get on the right bus then off again before it veered too far away from our neighborhood. We ended up walking the last dozen blocks back to our house which started out slow. Then, while going through the tunnel, we both jumped, startled at what we realized a second or so later was the loudest, most obnoxious wolf-whistle we had ever experienced. The Vespa zoomed away as his whistle continued to echo through the tunnel and the each of us laughed at the other’s reaction. Still, it was enough motivation to make the rest of our journey about twice as fast as our initial pace. Personally, I find cat calls to be some of the most obnoxious actions in the world…and are they really productive in any way? But there you go! Verona adventure accomplished! My plans for the next month are pretty exciting too. Venice is next weekend, followed by Oktoberfest in München, then for fall break Kari and I will be spending a week in London! Plenty of things to look forward to. So until the next adventure…Ciao!

15. Settembre 2011: Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell

In the next room, my roommate is sitting and playing with the cutest little Italian child, Marco. He is the five-month-old grandson of our host-parents. He is irresistible, yes. So why am I sitting in the next room writing to you and listening to Broken Bells? Because the moment I poked my head around his stroller, he started bawling. So I figured I would instead tell you about my luck with the other side of the age spectrum!

Today I went to the train station to purchase my tickets to go to München for Oktoberfest (!!!). The line was long and monopolized by American tourists but I waited patiently because I had two hours to kill before my next class meeting. I stood alone for no more than five minutes before a very Italian old (in her 80’s or 90’s) woman got in line behind me. She was about two feet shorter than I (and remember, I stand at a towering 5’2 ½”), overly made up and clearly in fretta, in a hurry. She eased her way up the line until she was standing next me. I suppose I don’t look particularly American today, my half shaved head has a black bandana tied around it to match my black menswear vest over a floor-length pleated skirt (which, granted, is the “in” color in Italy right now: a vibrant sea-green) because she turned to me and began to speak to me in very quick Italian. I picked up that she was talking about how confusing the station was, she wasn’t sure which line to stand in but chances were, she needed to stand in the longest line as usual. I nodded and shrugged my shoulders, indicating that I had sort of understood what she was saying and had sympathy for her cause. Her eyes lit up when she thought that I had understood every word she said and she continued to rattle away in Italian for the next 20 minutes as we waited in line together. Luckily she knew everything that she wanted to get off her chest and did not require a response from me other than the occasional sympathetic head-nod and “Oh, si, si.”

From what I could understand, she was in quite a hurry and was frustrated that so many tourists where in the train station because tourists never know where they are going, they have to ask the employees so many questions! Where to go, how to get there, how long it will take…plus she had bicycled all the way over here from the other side of town and she couldn’t find a place to park it (apparently she had missed the enormous bike racks at the entrance to the station) so she had parked it in the middle of the station. When she told me this, I looked in the direction she was pointing and realized the truth in her statement: there was an old, white, cruiser bike sitting in the very center of this high-walled, old train station. I chuckled and nodded. She continued to talk about the multitude of tourists (I’m still a little confused about her frustration at this…she was, after all, in a train station) and then noticed that the group for four very overweight Americans in front of us weren’t moving the line forward quickly enough for her taste. She switched to English and said “I am in a hurry!” then turned to me and commented on the weight of the tourists. Now this, I think, I can roughly translate; she said “I mean, I am overweight for an Italian (she was not at all overweight) and clearly you are skinny. But these Americans are all so fat! Molto, molto grasso!” I looked at the fattest of the Americans who was looking straight at the nonna without a trace of understanding on her face. That was when I lost it. My laughter echoed around the tall walls of the station and this nonna was extremely pleased at my reaction. She joined in my laughter as everyone around us watched us with confusion. I felt amazing to be looked at like I belonged there, like I was an Italian. But of course, that was when she asked, “Dove sei?”…where are you from? Without a second thought, I responded, “Io sono Tedesco. A Monacho.”…I am German, from Münich. She smiled at told me that I understood Italian very well for a German! Thankfully, that was the end of our conversation because I let her go in front of me in the line for tickets. My heart was pounding. Thank goodness I had figured out how to say that from day one! I purchased my tickets completely in Italian, just in case anyone was listening, and booked it out of the station before she could catch me and ask me anything else. What an adventure! And a bit of a superficial ego-boost for this American who had been speaking Italian for less than three weeks.

Before I go, I’ll briefly note our museum visit from yesterday. We attended the Dali and Rodin exhibit on Dante by the Ponte Vecchio. It was quite something! There must have been about a hundred or more original Dali watercolors depicting every chapter of Dante’s Divine Comedy (Inferno, Purgatorio, e Paradiso). These were both beautiful and terrifying. My favorites were (in order):

Hell- Canto 1: Departure for the Great Journey

Hell- Canto 9: The Furies

Hell- Canto 30: The Men Who Devour Each Other

Purgatory- Canto 1: The Fallen Angel

Paradisio- Canto 11: Opposition

Purgatory- Canto 33: Dante Purified

(forgive the glare of the pictures…we were there at midday and there was glare on the glass that was, at times, unavoidable)

Then of course, we saw the original mock-up of Rodin’s Gates of Hell which is surprisingly different from his full-sized final version and shows an interesting perspective on his thought process. My favorite sculpture, however, was the Eterna Primavera/Eternal Spring depicting the damning act of Paulo e Francesca, the adulterous lovers that sit in one of the deepest circles of Dante’s Inferno. This was the story that we focused on for this museum visit and it took me a little while to get over my discomfort of my nominal similarity with the female adulteress.

 I am off to Verona this weekend to visit the home of so many of Shakespeare’s characters. A dopo!

13. Settembre 2011: A New Way to Say Hooray

So I’ve realized that I’ve mostly been talking about the most exciting parts of my weeks…special trips and museum visits. Though those have made up most of my trip thus far, I have developed a routine and I figure I should let you know what I do day to day. Keep in mind, two weeks from now that routine will be completely changed (because classes will start) but for now, here is a normal day for me (in excruciating detail!).

At 7:30 my alarm goes off and I am generally awoken from a surprisingly vivid dream (usually wonderful, sometimes terrifying. Last night I dreamt that Joseph and I were trying to help the Beast—accused of murdering Gaston—escape from the Disney castle and get back to Belle but Scar was guarding the door and the mermaids were being evil and we couldn’t wake up the seven dwarves!). A normal morning routine ensues (I’m not going to be that excruciating…) and for breakfast I have coffee and toast. Now, I am a breakfast person. I will wake up five hours before my first class so that I can get my eggs and hash browns every morning so getting used to having no breakfast is not an easy task…ahh, the pangs of being in Italy. After “breakfast” we (my roommate, Kari, and I) walk around the corner to the bus stop. There is no shade at this bus stop and by 8:20 the sun has always already been beating down hot and heavy on these two pale-skinned redheads. The regulars at our bus stop have finally stopped giving us strange looks as we wait with them (Italians are, in general, not redheaded or pale skinned).

We ride the bus to the Santa Maria Novella train station in centro Firenze, walk across the street, around the corner, then climb one hundred and ten stairs to the top floor of the building where our classrooms are located. Our Italian classes (the students in the ACM program are split into three different beginner Italian courses) begin at 9:00 and last until 12:30 with a half hour break starting at 10:30. I generally spend that half hour trying to post this blog (I don’t get internet at home and it takes about a half-hour to post any pictures that I might want to share with you). Other students use this as a snack break or cigarette break. After the second half of class we have lunchtime. I break out my newly-purchased Tupperware container with my homemade sandwich (Nutella and peach jam), plus an apple and juice box. Once lunch is finished we will usually have some free time, if not an entirely free afternoon. I have spent these afternoons searching for various items around Florence (cell phone, francobolli e busta at the post office [stamps and envelopes], etc.), shopping for pleasure or groceries or simply exploring the city. Sometimes at 2 we will have a meeting or museum visit. Yesterday we went to Orsanmichele church and museum* and the week will continue with introductory meetings for our elective classes.

*A note on Orsanmichele: the building was built over an ancient vegetable garden and was originally used as grain storage. It turned into a more spiritual area around the 13^th century where each guild (like a union; the butchers, the money-lenders, the tailors, etc.) was given a niche in the building to place a statue to pay homage to. The plague prevented the poorer guilds from filling their niche right away, though this misfortune ended up to be in their favor. The richer guilds immediately hired old, experienced sculptors to build statues of their various patron saints while the poorer guilds were forced to look for less experienced, younger (and inexpensive) sculptors. Little did they know that sculptors like Raphael would be the first in a new and monumental movement of artists (this movement includes Donatello, Michelangelo and the like). These more revolutionary statues are certainly my favorite. The most noticeable details about these new sculptures are the movement (contraposta poses, fabric textures) and the disproportionate bodies. These newer and more beautiful statues have hands and feet that are larger than the rest of their body suggest they should be. I find this proportion to be incredibly interesting and beautiful, though it’s true that those proportions are rare in the real world.

But I have gotten distracted…ah! Right, so after these visits or free afternoons we return home on bus number 4 to relax and study until dinner at 8. Dinner is three or four courses starting with a pasta or risotto dish, then a main dish of meat or vegetables followed by “salad fruit”. Sometimes we also have a sweeter dessert added on to the fruit. It is always delicious and prepared by our wonderful host-parents. As soon as I purchase a new camera (I broke mine the first weekend and have been using my roommate’s photos since then) I will begin photographing my meals and trying to describe them in more detail than I have been (as requested by Joseph and Allegra). Dopo la cena (after dinner) we return to our room to study and write blogs and are generally asleep (or getting my NPR fix through podcasts of “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” and “This American Life” on my iPod) by 10:30.

So there you are! Now that I’ve answered your questions, here are some questions that I have been asked often since I’ve been in Italy:

-How many piercings do you have? Fourteen (and you can see them all if you’re looking at my head).

-Tattoos? Yes, I have two which you can see if I want you to (not always).

Are you in a band? Umm…no…???

-But…your hair? Oh, I got upset one day and literally pulled my hair out (not true, though it’s fun to play with Italians who don’t understand sarcasm).

-Do you have a twin? Yes! But she doesn’t look like me and no, it’s not Kari. She’s my roommate who happens to have the same color hair as me.

-Are you single? Nope! Nice try…and I still am not going to buy what you’re trying to sell me.

I want to end this post with a brief apology: I understand that the dates that I title my posts with do not match up with the dates that they are actually posted on. I need to go out of my way to find internet and therefore I write my blog posts when I have time and then post them when I have internet (never are the two times simultaneous). But alas, I work with what I am given.

Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, the titles of my posts are all song titles. Today’s song (a favorite of mine by Shpongle) was stuck in my head because we actually learned the Italian way to say “hooray!” in class today: Evviva!

Now I am off to study for the penultimate quiz before our Italian final exam! Ciao!

11. Settembre 2011: Wish You Were Here

What a weekend! On Saturday we had a program-run day trip to Monterrigione, Siena and Greve in Chianti. Monterrigione was nostra prima fermata (our first stop). It was short and sweet; a walled city where we spent a matter of minutes. It is tiny—you can walk slowly from one city door to the other in less than a minute—with the classic Tuscan countryside rolling over the hills in every direction…incredibly peaceful at 9 in the morning.

 Siena is a different story…our second and main stop of the day. The city of Siena is built in the shape of a “Y”, following the dramatic geography of the area: a Y-shaped mountain that dips into severe valleys on either side. Beginning on one of the wings, we visited San Domenico where the Sienese pay homage to their own Saint Catherine of Siena. She has quite a story; a spiritual woman from a young age who refused to marry her late-sister’s husband and gained many privileges from the sympathy of her mother, including the money to join the Dominican convent (an expensive enterprise). Inside the cathedral are kept Catherine’s head and a finger, relics of the saint stolen by her confessor immediately after her death. These mummified remains are displayed at the altar inside the sanctuary and are, in my opinion, terrifying to behold (I’ve never had the strongest stomach when it comes to human remains).

Following this most interesting of experiences, we were each given a biglietto (ticket) gaining us entrance to the Duomo, Cripta, Battistero, Meseo e Oratorio of Siena. First at the crypt, a series of stone chambers that were once completely filled with soil, rock and the holiest of Sienese remains, we observed brilliantly painted frescoes of biblical scenes. In particular, there was a set of three scenes that depicted Jesus’ crucifixion and being taken down off of the cross that was quite a bit more vibrant in color than the rest of the frescoes. The spokespeople of the museum insist that all of the frescoes in the crypt have been untouched since the discovery of the crypt in the 1960’s. Our professor-guide raised an eyebrow at this suggestion but politely stayed silent. I agree with the raised eyebrow; there is no way that a painting on stone could have lasted so colorfully for over 600 years.

The Duomo was certainly the most spectacular visit of the day. It was built during a competitive time when a city’s Duomo was the primary point of pride. This Duomo has multicolored marble stripes all along it and the sculptures on the outside are reminiscent of the Notre Dame in Paris. Both the outside and inside are extremely complex and provoke overstimulation. The floor is covered in beautiful marble mosaics, the windows are entirely stained glass scenes, the walls are made up of frescoes and more sculpture, the ceiling is painted in intricate designs with dozens of saintly busts looking down around the dome, the choir seats are carved wooden masterpieces with collages of different colors of wood depicting open cabinets filled with humanly and heavenly temptations and the pulpit is another intensely carved Pizzano masterpiece. Oy, my head is spinning just from trying to remember everything and I’m sure I didn’t even cover half of it!

 A note about the pulpit though: it is from the same father and son team that carved the pulpit in Pisa—Niccola and Giovanni Pizzano—and there are many similarities (both are supported by columns held up by Lions and Lionesses with a center column supported by the figures of the Liberal Arts). However, you can tell that this is the second pulpit carved because it has an octagonal shape (compared with the simpler hexagonal shape of Pisa’s pulpit) and is much more detailed and complex (there are probably twice the number of figures carved into the Sienese pulpit and certainly more stories from the gospel are portrayed). On top of everything else, there was a huge organ with at least three different walls of pipes and I couldn’t even find the keyboards.

Oh lordy, our days are so packed that I begin to wonder how much to remember in these posts. But I suppose I will continue in excruciating detail…after all, if you didn’t want to know everything, you wouldn’t be reading this! (No, I don’t want you to stop reading this…please, leave a comment if you are going to stop reading because my posts are too long and I will filter. I write for you, my loving audience!).

Our next stop was the museum where most of the original statues (including those of Donatello) from the outside of the Duomo are kept (away from the damaging elements) as well as the masterpiece stained glass by Duccho. For the most part, all of the most important frescoes and stained glass in Siena are devoted to the Virgin Mary, to whom the victory of 1260 is devoted (no, I don’t remember what battle was won but it sure was important for the Sienese!). In fact, Mary is the one for whom the entire church was built and therefore her image must be on the altar, which is painted with brilliant color and gold.

After the Museum we were set free to find lunch and a group of us were yelled at for eating on the wrong side of the Duomo. So we walked one hundred feet across the courtyard and ate our lunches (per mè, uno panino con nutella e pesce e una mela) then visited the baptistery on our own. I much preferred the baptistery: a smaller sanctuary with a baptistery font designed by Raphael. Though every wall, ceiling and floor was a detailed work of art, it was much less overwhelming than the monstrous Duomo cathedral…very peaceful in comparison.

Our final group activity in Siena (after gelato at Grom: una piccola cona tiramisu e caramello…delicioso!) was a visit to the Palazzo Pubblico by the Piazza del Campo. This was the church/town hall where the nine governors of Siena lived, worked and stayed starting around 1316. In fact, the governors were so concerned with being non-partisan and working solely for the common good that they only left the walls of the Palazzo Pubblico on feast days when they would process across through Siena. The walls of the Palazzo were covered in frescoes that were painted for the glory and enjoyment of the entire community, as well as to constantly remind the governors that they should work towards the common good of their community (a very enlightened and democratic idea for their time). The Sienese truly believed in the intrinsic value of something that is aesthetically pleasing.

There are two bits of knowledge that I was reminded of on this adventure. The first is of the story of Remus and Romulus. They are the twins that were raised by a she-wolf and Romulus is the supposed founder of Rome. Remus ran away and had twin sons: Sieno and Assio (also supposedly raised by a she-wolf). Seino is the founder of Siena so the symbol of Siena is the she-wolf with twin baby boys at her breast. The second is that St. Catherine of Siena and St. Francis of Assisi (for whom I am named Franzesca) are the only two saints blessed with the stigmata (the markings of Christ’s crucifixion). It is always fun to remember stories told to you by your father fifteen years later. I am constantly reminded of how blessed I am to have been raised by my parents…two extremely intelligent, kind, and all-around beautiful people.

Finally we had some time to rest as our bus wound around the Chianti countryside to Greve. Here, some of us unwound at the 41^st Annual Greve Wine Festival. At 4:30 in the afternoon there were already a multitude of quite inebriated Italians and tourists (including some pazzi Californians who were drunkenly bewildered at my choice of college in the Midwest). I enjoyed seven tastes of local wines for only ten Euros and tasted some of the best (and worst) wines that I have ever tasted. I am partial to the dolce, sweet wines…mostly because I simply dislike the taste of alcohol (and as my host-mother reminded me, le donne preferite dolce (women prefer sweetness). Having gained just un pó lightheadedness, I was grateful to have a bus to rest on and returned to Florence for a wonderful late-afternoon nap.

Even after that nap (and some amazing gnocchi con pesto) I was asleep by 10:30 which meant that I was awake naturally by a stunning 8:45! Having expected to sleep until noon, I excitedly joined Kari on another trip to Fiesole. And for the next five hours, we discovered a routine that we intend on repeating every Sunday possible. The bus took us up to Fiesole and the most beautiful view of Florence. We visited the art fair as well as an amazing pastry shop (we are determined to become Sunday-regulars by December) then hiked up the steep road to the Chiesa di San Francesco. Here we spent a peaceful hour journaling and writing letters. Sunday is, after all, a day of rest. I was reminded of another blessing in my life; my pastor from Palo Alto recommended that, in a strange place, I find a peaceful place of my own to relax and reflect. Some of the best advice that I have received while on this trip (dealing with homesickness and what not) and for him I am truly grateful. Thank you, Dave.

The end to a wonderful weekend could have only been made better by the best gelato that I have ever had in my life. The Gelateria de’ Medici was recommended to us by our host-mother, Daniella, and we hopped off the bus three stops early to try some Crema de’ Medici. That coupled with a lact-aid (another godsend) sent me to bed a happy woman.

7. Settembre 2011: Fire Coming Out of the Monkey’s Head

This evening was the second night of the three-night Festa della Rificolona which celebrates the birthday of the Virgin Mary. We arrived around 8pm at the Piazza S.S. Annunziata. I was immediately let down…there were three or four vendors selling various candies and balloons, several children running about with lanterns and multitudes of tourists. But by 9pm the square was filled with families and colorful paper lanterns hanging from sticks. Older children carried tubes through which they blew paper darts at the lanterns. The older children laughed, the younger children cried. At first I thought it was harmless fun—simply denting the careful accordion-folds in the paper—but then a dart penetrated the lamp in front of me tipping the flame inside and suddenly the smiling monkey head was set ablaze. How dramatic! The energy was palpable as the Cardinal of Florence processed in a corteo with a renaissance-costumed marching band. After many speeches about the importance of this holiday and the unity of Italy (at least those were the words that I picked up after my week and a half of Italian lessons), the children began to sing:

Ona! Ona! Ona!

Oche bella Rificolona,

La mial’è coi fiocchi

La mial’è coi pidocchi!

Ona, Ona Ona,

What a beautiful Rificolona

Mine with bows is tied

In yours do lice reside!

Earlier in the day, though, we visited Fiesole. It’s a small town right outside of Florence: clean, quiet and quintessentially Italian. There are Etruscan and Roman ruins (right on top of one another) of a temple, bathhouse and even a Roman theatre. I was so excited to know everything that the tour guide was telling us about the Roman theatre. Horray for Intro to Theatre class! Anthropologically speaking, it is an incredibly interesting sight. The Romans built right on top of the Etruscan buildings while copying over half of their building plans. I can’t help but wonder if they were thinking of the future and our interest in all of the different cultures. It seems so rare today to think of what future generations might think of us. Every once in a while, though, there is a gem of consideration—I am thinking of the Ponte Vecchio which, during WWII was ordered to be bombed but the pilot whose orders they were refused to do so, thinking of the history that the Ponte Vecchio held.

Oh, but that tangent proves to me that it is time for a nap (which makes me wonder why I chose Italy instead of Spain…how nice a siesta would be right about now). I feel I have been sprinting since I arrived in Florence! I’m looking forward to a free weekend (though it will have to be next weekend because this weekend holds a trip to Siena). So I will write again soon! Ciao.

4. Settembre 2011: Circles in the Sand

It rained today! A relief from the blinding heat (though not the humidity). It is supposed to continue raining tomorrow and I have never wanted rain more. The heat makes ones lethargic and the humidity makes it difficult for me to breathe.

We learned a lesson last night: know your train schedules before you get on one! Especially if there are multiple trains to take before you arrive at your destination. But I should start from the beginning.

We took a trip to Pisa on Saturday. I’m going to be honest; it was pretty underwhelming. The town of Pisa did not have much going on besides the Leaning Tower, which was entirely composed of tourists taking the obvious tourist pictures. I refused to take an obvious photo (holding up the tower or pushing it over). It was fun to see in person though because you can not only tell how dramatically it is leaning, but also how the architect tried to counterbalance the leaning as soon as he realized what was happening.

 No, the tower was unimpressive compared to the acoustics of the baptistery. The architects really knew what they were doing with this one. The dome was built in such a way that one man could harmonize beautifully with his own echo. It was haunting and extremely spiritual to hear.

[video of the echo coming soon!]

The thought that I had while walking through the baptistery and the church was how much time and care had gone into simply constructing these beautiful buildings. Each building was thought about in terms of its building shape (the baptistery in terms of acoustics and echoing three times with the holy trinity and the church’s floor plan was laid out like the cross that Jesus was crucified on), the sculptures carved into the walls and ceilings (the bronze door is a pictorial version of the new testament so that the illiterate poor could still be knowledgeable of the word of God), and the breathtaking paintings lining every wall. Italy is truly holds the most history and beauty in a single location.

Following the path of life, we walked from the church to the burial area where the wealthiest of the remains of Pisa are kept. These dead are placed in the floor and along the walls in intricately carved marble coffins. I was surprised to see a grave marker with a death date in 2009! A reminder that history is constantly being made **.

Dopo, nostra siamo andate a Cinque Terre. (Oh yeah, we just learned past-tense in Italian class!) Later, we went to Cinque Terre! We took an hour-long train from Pisa to the beautiful town of Monterosso on the Mediterranean Sea. It was so liberating to see the expanse of sea in front of us and the water was much warmer than the Pacific Ocean (I speak as a Northern Californian where the water at our beaches arrive from the Alaskan current…brrrr). The town was so colorful and alive (though, again, full of tourists). We got to witness the beginning of the Cinque Terre Music Festival too! Marching bands from each of the five towns of the Cinque Terre processed in a corteo through town. As we brushed the sticky sand off our legs and began our return to Firenze, a newer band had taken the stage to sing “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” (a personal favorite of mine). 

And here we have reached the story that I hastened to at the beginning of this post! We didn’t quite move in circles, but we certainly could have in the time it took us to return to our temporary home. Our tickets were bought for an 8 o’clock train that would take us to Pisa where we could take another train back to Firenze. Little did we know that the trains were timed so that if we got on the wrong train, our two hour commute would be expanded to seven hours. Yes, you guessed it, we boarded a train to Sarzana and when we got off we were told that the next train to Pisa left in an hour and a half. That next train took us to Pisa where we waited another hour to board the last bus to Florence. At 3 a.m. we arrived at the Florence train station to discover that the local busses stopped running at 11 p.m. So our final leg was a sleepy haze of Italian taxi negotiation. Mamma mia! The silver lining brought our journey to an end in time to sleep until noon on a Sunday (if we had been required to go to class the following morning, there is no way we would have made it willingly).

Speaking of sleepy hazes, I think I will pull my little turtle head back into my shell and dream of a more successful journey home. Arrivederchi!

**A side note: Remember that saying that well-behaved women rarely make history? There is a popular (and global) notion that piercings, tattuigi and shaved-heads are all connected with badly-behaving women. First of all, I intend to make history (in a good way!), so this notion is not entirely bad news for me. However, my host-father told me at dinner last night (ieri sera) about his co-worker who had recently thrown a fit about his daughter getting inked with a small tattoo and how he had approached this man, telling him that his host-daughter (myself!) had two tattoos and many piercings and that I was one of the most polite and lovely host-daughters that he had hosted in his fifteen years of hosting international students. Hey, hey for international bragging rights!

2. Settembre 2011: Walk It Out

A short blog today…it has been a long week. On Thursday we took a walking tour of Florence starting with Chiesa di San Miniato al Monte. It is one of the biggest churches right outside of the old city walls of Florence on mountain. It overlooks the entire city—one of the most beautiful views in all of Florence. The church itself has so much history that will be very exciting to learn about as our classes begin. There are murals all over the walls, mosaics, an extraordinarily painted ceiling and a beautiful organ that I wish someone had played while we were there. From the church we walked down through the Porta San Miniato (through the old city walls) along the Fiume Arno and over the Ponte Vecchio then back through downtown to the Stazione Santa Maria Novella. A very long walk but entirely worth it! I would like to make that walk again several times before I leave Italy. We also walked by a little olive orchard—hopefully we will see more of those and maybe actually see the olive-oil-making process.

 On Friday we had our first Italian quiz (here I brag—I aced it!) and then visited the public library (biblioteca publica) by the Duomo. It’s a beautiful three-story library with international newspapers, free wi-fi and a beautiful outdoor café. Here I remembered that later in the term I will need to start researching some costuming (I’m designing Twelfth Night when I return to school) and realized that this library will be extremely helpful in that research (especially when I can understand Italian a little better). From there, Kari, Willi and I walked to the Boboli Gardens. They are breathtaking and I know I haven’t even scratched the surface. I walked around the first fountain for half an hour noticing all of the detail in the sculpture. It was a hot day at the end of a long week, though and the exhaustion was starting to wear on me so we walked back and grabbed some gelato on the way (not the best idea for the lactose intolerant, but delicious at the moment).

Now to sleep in preparation for Pisa tomorrow!

31. Agosto 2011: Old Man Waltz

It was our first time taking the bus to class today. Stepping out into this Florentine neighborhood will take a while to get used to; it is so beautiful every time. Kari and I got on the bus and validated our tickets with ease. The very next stop, however, we were greeted by a stern, old Italian man who scolded us in Italian and motioned us to stand up. We looked at one another, then stood, confused because there were many open seats around us (in the front and in the back). The woman sitting across the aisle from us also stood up and the old man took her seat. She looked at him with an indescribably strange expression on her face (a mix between skeptical, annoyed and curious), then sat down in the open seat directly across from him. Kari and I stayed standing, unsure of why we were reprimanded in the first place but assuming it would be better just to obey. The old man then looked at me and told me to “sittare!”—sit down, with a synonymous gesture. I looked at him, then Kari, then back at him and shrugged while slightly shaking my head. “It’s ok,” I said quietly, grimacing at his insistence. When we finally made it to our Stazione and up the five flights of stairs to class, I asked Stefano the meaning of this interaction. “He is pazzo! Crazy!” Stefano replied. I shrugged and put it out of my mind.

But our seemingly untranslatable was not over yet. Un’amica di Daniella (a friend of my host-mother) joined us for dinner because Daniella e Andrea had to travel to the north of Italy for an appointment. I do believe that was the most I have ever perspired during a mealtime—not because I was frightened but because she did not speak a word of English. We made it through about fifteen minutes of dinner (all of the pesto pasta and half of the best eggplant parmesan I’ve ever had in my life) before I retrieved my Italian/English dictionary to look up “to tell.” From that point on, we struggled for about five seconds before I flipped desperately through the pages to find about what I wanted to say. It helped that there were two of us and each of us learning from a different teacher, but we both still only had three days of Italian lessons under our belts. Phew! We were all laughing by the end of it, so it was all in good fun.

But for now, I must study! Arrivederchi, belli.