30. Ottobre 2011: A Medley: For Sentimental Reasons, Tenderly, Autumn Leaves

I’ve decided to take a quick break from studying about the Medici as patrons of the arts. It is freezing in our house now because, well, it’s the end of October and Florence has a 3000€ fine for anyone who turns their heat on before November first. So our reward for finishing this exam on Tuesday will, hopefully, be to come home to warmth and coziness. Right now, it’s generally colder inside than it is outside. Even my Minnesotan roommate is cold!

Tonight I attended the Vespers service at San Miniato al Monte. The church is huge but Vespers is held in the smallest part of the church, underneath the main level in a space that feels a cozy but eerie—sort of like a crypt. There were five rows of very small pews but the area for the priests was about as big as the area for the congregation. The priests sat in a caged area with wooden stalls and a ceiling that looked like the ceiling of the Chiesa San Francesca di Assisi diluted by about a thousand. A priest was actually sitting next to me during the service and kindly let me look at his program. The chanting was beautiful and echoed gloriously off the walls of our little space. About halfway through the service my priest neighbor took out his cell phone and began fiddling with it. Huh. But when the incense came out, Kari and I (she is allergic to incense, I am asthmatic) took that as our cue to exit! They were about to take communion, anyways and, neither of us being Catholic, we were not allowed to participate.

The view from San Miniato al Monte was beautiful. It is finally looking like fall here so the panorama has little splashes of color here and there. We also got to see the panorama lit up at night which was quite a sight and is pretty indescribable. As we waited for our bus back to the city, the yellow leaves of a nearby tree were slowly falling under a yellow streetlamp. The whole evening felt so spiritual and was an incredible break from studying.

I’m not sure how many observers understand quite how lonely it can be studying abroad. There have been some tough moments along this trip for all of us. This evening reminded me of a poem that has been playing in the back of my head ever since I first felt that despair of loneliness at sleepaway camp when I was in the seventh grade. I think that no matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, the idea that this poem presents is helpful. If you are not religious, then change the Lord to a spirit, to Mother Earth, to the wind, whatever works for you. Because we are never alone.

Footprints in the Sand

One night I had a dream.

I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord

Across the sky flashed scenes from my life.

For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand.

One belonging to me and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of my life flashed before me,

I looked back at the footprints in the sand.

I noticed that many times along the path of my life

There was only one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed

That during the low periods of my life,

When I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat,

I could see only one set of footprints,

so I said to the Lord,

“Lord you said that if I followed you,

You'd walk with me all the way.

But I have noticed that

during the most troublesome times in my life

There is only one set of footprints in the sand.

I don't understand why, when I needed you most, you would leave me.

The Lord replied,

“My precious child, I Love you

And I would never leave you.

During your times of trial and suffering

When you see only one set of footprints,

it was then that I carried you.”

27. Ottobre 2011: Play That Funky Music

Today I attended a very interesting lecture about musical instruments. We attended a special exhibit in the Galleria dell’Academia which held many old musical instruments (some which were connected with the Medici family). The first instruments we saw upon entering the exhibit were three cellos from 1650 (made by Niccolo Amanti), 1667, and 1696. The cellos got wider as time went on, supposedly to give it a bigger sound. Next we saw a bass lute with strings that were strung to the side of the fingerboard. These were played as drone notes, giving the lute a multidimensional sound. It was very popular to play accompanying vocalists—Verdi even wrote a part for it in his opera Orpheo. Next up: a bass with real gut strings! Apparently dried sheep gut was the common gut-of-choice for stringed instruments. Oh there were so many cool instruments!! I’m sad I couldn’t take pictures but I will continue to name each of them, forgive me. We visited some Stradivari violins and I learned that originally, violins were not very popular; they were used mostly for dancing, like a fiddle. It wasn’t until the late 17^th century when music was first composed specifically for the violin that the status of the instrument was elevated. Then, a truly fascinating instrument showed up: the Hurdy Gurdy! One cranks a wheel so that the string rubs against keys that you press to play melodies while the constant tone sounds. Now, I know I said that we weren’t allowed to take pictures but…I snuck one.

The next case wasn’t too impressive—an old timpani and some triangles (though they are good for something! You know how to see if the stage if level? Make sure drool is coming out of both sides of the percussionist’s mouth.)—though there was a pair of cool castanets that someone behind me thought were an ancient form of the spoons (that elegant musical instrument). The lecturer made some offhand comment about castanets never really being important anyways. I mentioned that they were actual a pretty central instrument in the opera Carmen and a visiting professor suggested that we replace those castanets with spoons. I told her we could set it in Appalachia and dress the gypsies in flannel. I think it’s a brilliant idea.

The next instrument is one that I urge you all to google-image-search. It’s a brass instrument called a serpent. It has a mouthpiece like a trumpet and makes several S-curves, like a mutated French horn. It was apparently played to accompany men’s voices in church choirs around 1802 and is mentioned in a Thomas Hardy book.

Then, we turned to the piano and I learned that the piano was actually invented in Florence. A renowned harpsichord maker named Cristofori was commissioned to make a new, more expressive instrument. So Cristofori changed the mechanism that plucks the string on a harpsichord to a hammer that hits the string, adding different dynamic possibilities. This was all around 1711 but the piano didn’t really catch on in Italy. It wasn’t until 1726 in Germany that another harpsichord maker, Silvermann, tried his hands at Cristofori’s new piano. When it was finished, Silvermann asked J.S. Bach to try playing it, but Bach did not like it one bit. Frederick of Austria, on the other hand, loved the new instrument and bought fifteen from Silvermann. Around 1746, Bach visited Frederick and was asked to try this new, amazing instrument! From that point on, the piano was a hit. A pretty cool history, if you ask me.

After this very interesting lecture (and taking a peek at Michelangelo’s David) I ran across town to my final day of my second figure drawing session. This time we were drawing a standing pose and I think that the technique is starting to grow on me. We were only given three days for this sketch, but here are my progress shots from the end of each day.

I came home to a Festa di Halloween! We all dressed up (I was a ninja) and were joined by Massimo, the grandson of my host-parents for dinner. Then we sent Massimo trick-or-treating to each of us and we all gave him a handful of chocolate. Of course, he asked in Italian, “dolcetti o schiretti?” Molto carino!

This weekend, however, there will be no parties for me. I have a midterm to study for and a paper to write! Wish me luck, ciao!

25. Ottobre 2011: Postcards from Italy

I sewed for the first time today. I’m not supposed to be sewing on this trip (my carpal tunnel is getting worse even without sewing every day) but I couldn’t help myself. I bought a pair of harem pants, cut them with very dull foldable scissors and then borrowed my host-mom’s needle and thread to hem the bottom. I learned that to sew is cucino and a needle is l’ago. I also told my host-mom how to take shoulder pads out of a blazer (she asked).

Getting back into classes is an interesting process, especially because this week is visitor’s week. We have six visiting professors from various ACM schools giving lectures on random subjects throughout Florence which is moving the schedule around and making it more difficult to get homework done. I will, however, proudly say that my Medici paper was returned with an A grade! That gives me hope for the midterm that is coming up next week.

Yes, I realize that this is an incredibly short post but you know how getting back from break is. Preparing for a midterm, finishing a midterm project (which we weren’t given until today) and figure drawing. I’ll have progress pictures from that one at the end of the week, though I can already say that I’m happy with the progress I’m making with this technique.

Oh, I also wanted to briefly thank my folks for the four postcards in my mailbox when I returned from break! The value of receiving tangible mail has skyrocketed for me in Italy, especially because I cannot regularly connect to the internet. So again, thanks mom and dad!

I will end this quick post with an Italian lesson! You know how it’s bad luck to tell someone “good luck” in the theatre? Well, it’s bad luck to tell an Italian “buona fortuna” so instead they say something negative, “boca di lupo,” in the mouth of the wolf. One responds “crepi” to this, which in essence means “I hope the wolf dies.”

If that wasn’t enough Italian for you, here is my Diario assignment, documenting my break in Italian:

Venerdi, 14. Ottobre: Al’inizio della mia vacanza io ho lavorato per il mio classe di Storia dell’Arte. Quando io ho finite saggio l’io ho fatto una passegiatta.

Sabato, 15. Ottobre: Oggi la mia compagna di stanza e io siamo andate a Assisi. Noi abbiamo vistato la chiesa di San Francesco di Assisi—il santo da lui il mio nome viene.

Domenica, 16. Ottobre: Molto divertente—io ero una modella oggi! Io e un bravo fotografo siamo andati in molti posti a Firenze. Io ho imparato gli edificii e la storia di Firenze.

Lunedi, 17. Ottobre: Non mi piace viaggiare con il Pullman e l’aero. Tutti due sono in ritardo e tutti I viaggiatori erano meschini e fastidiosi. Ma Kari e io siamo arrivate a Londra finalmente alle 23:00.

Martedi, 18. Ottobre: Io voglio traslocare a Londra. Io ho fatto molto! Ho visto Hyde Park (bel parco!), Harrod’s, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s, Globe Teatro, Tower of London e Piccadilly Circus. Tutti sono belli e con interessant storia. Io ho incontrato la mia amica di Knox College per cena e noi abbiamo parlato quattro ore.

Mercoledi, 19. Ottobre: Oggi era un po rilassante. Io sono andata al Victoria e Albert Museo e ho visto molti beli costume. Dopo sono andato a Camden Town e ho incontrato un’amica del Ginnasio. Noi abbiamo mangiato sushi! Poi sono andata al’Imperial War Museo e poi a cena. Dopo la cena Kari e io abbiamo visto uno spettacolo teatrale “Billy Elliot” con molte brave ballerina e cananti.

Giovedi, 20. Ottobre: Oggi ho visitato il British Museo e ho visto la pietra di Rosetta, mummie e le medaglie per le Olympiadi di Londra 2012. Dopo ho visitato Covent Garden e poi la Tate Modern museo. Io ho preferito la Tate Modern e la mostra di fotografia di Taryn Simon e la fotografa Diane Arbus. Per la cena io ho incontrato il mio amico di Knox College e dopo la cena noi siamo andati a un pub inglese e abbiamo bevuto London Ale. Buona!

Venerdi, 21. Ottobre: Di nuovo viaggi e di nuovo era fastidioso. Ma prima noi abbiamo mangiato la colazione! Uova e cereal e pancetta!

Sabato, 22. Ottobre: Io ho dormito molto! Quando io mi sono svegliata ho fatto una passegiatta inorno Firenze. Dopo ho visto un film, “From Hell” con Johnny Depp su Jack the Ripper. Un buon film.

Domenica, 23. Ottobre: Di nuovo io ho dormito e ho fatto compiti. Ieri io ho versato il caffe sopra il mio computer. Allora oggi io lo provo a riparare. 

20. Ottobre 2011: London Telecommunicating

This morning I walked around Bloomsbury for a bit (where our hotel is) and then headed to the British Museum. I was buffeted by tourists while trying to get a look at the incredibly underwhelming Rosetta Stone. I thought of my twin neighbors back home when I laid eyes upon the cool science gadgets like the astrolabe from the Enlightenment period. There was also an incredibly interesting preserved corpse that someone in that age had tried to pass off as the corpse of a mermaid. It is, in fact, two corpses—a monkey and a fish—surgically attached to one another so that they resemble a mermaid when all of the fur falls off of the monkey. The things people do for money, oy. I moved through the Egyptian mummies. I have always been fascinated by that burial ritual as well as the colors and designs used on the sarcophagi. I stumbled upon a mini exhibit on the metal and making of the London 2012 Olympic medals. Very neat!

I mentioned before that museums in London are free which means that they get crowded rather quickly. So I headed towards Covent Garden. I suppose I didn’t really know what Covent Garden was, though somewhere in the back of my head I assumed that it was a garden of sorts. I was pleasantly surprised when I came upon this quaint little market. It was a tiny famer’s market and art fair rolled into one, bordered by little shops liked Thornton’s Chocolate and Whittard’s Tea Shop (free samples!). I gazed at some wonderful artwork, bemoaned my student budget once again and then headed towards Muffinski’s for a mango and dark chocolate muffin.

Upon leaving the muffin house, my attention was captured by a street performer with a wonderfully low class British accent. He juggled knives and seven balls until finally roping three strapping young men into helping him hold up his incredibly tall unicycle while he climbed on top of them to mount the seat.

But on to serious matters—it was time to conquer the Tate Modern Museum. I anticipated staying in this museum for an hour or so until moving on to gaze at the beauty of London again. I ended up staying for the duration of the afternoon, mostly in one exhibit. I moved slowly past pieces by Rothko, Monet, Pollack and Dali. I loved gazing at Diane Arbus’s controversial photography of a “different side of America,” including people with Down Syndrome, homeless people, tattooed people and other supposed outcasts. But the exhibit that truly captured me was by Taryn Simon entitled “A Living Man Declared Dead and Other Chapters I-XVIII.” Each work was comprised of three frames. The first frame was comprised of deadpan portraits. The next frame listed the names, ages and locations of all of the portrait subjects as well as several paragraphs describing how these portraits were related. Each group of portraits was connected to a cause or social event. The next frame contained pictures or documents that more generally related to that cause or social event.

 These causes could be anything. There was one about albino poaching that is common in certain African poaching, connected to a family in which the albino gene runs. There was one about the supposed body double for Saddam Hussein’s brother. There was one about the family of Heinrich Himmel—this one really caught my interest. The portraits were of Himmel’s living family members (if anyone refused to be photographed or could not be photographed, their place in the sequence was simply left blank). The first two paragraphs talked about Himmel’s involvement in the Holocaust and that he had been charged as guilty of crimes against humanity at the Nürnburg trials. He denied that he was guilty all the way through the trials. It wasn’t until the last paragraph when they mentioned that Himmel had shown the seven letters of resignation that he had given to Hitler, all of which had been rejected. It gave me an idea of a different perspective on one of the most widely hated men in history. Can you imagine being related to this man? Knowing all of this and needing to decide what stance to take. Will you forget about the fact the your relative may have actually been imprisoned in his job and try to make amends with any Holocaust survivors or anyone who approaches you about that particular side of your family history? Or will you try to defend your relative, knowing that you will probably be more hated for that? I would be curious to find out more about this case. Indeed, I would be curious to find out more about many of the causes exhibited by Simon. Like I said, it was my favorite exhibit.

I realized that I need to run and meet my friend from Knox, John at Russell Square and ran to the Tube. We wandered around Bloomsbury and he showed me his school for the term, University College of London. We each had a gourmet burger (they were having a student discount night) and then headed to the Blue Lion with some of his friends and roommates. We chatted about the philosophy behind photography has evidence over an IPA. The bar closed so three of us headed down street to a pub called Calthorpe Arms and I had the best alcohol beverage I have ever tasted: London Ale. It’s a dark ale that goes perfectly with discussions about politics and the death of Gadafi.

 After some of the best conversation I’ve had since arriving in Europe, the three of us wandered over to the Senate House which is the building that Hitler intended to make his London headquarters, which is why it wasn’t bombed during the Blitzkrieg. And one can see why Hitler would have loved this ominous building. The geometry and the way it looms over everything around it make it the perfect grounds for intimidation.

On that happy note, they dropped me off at my hotel and bid goodbye to some of the coolest people in Europe. A wonderful way to end a wonderful trip! The next time I arrive in London, I will not be leaving so soon. 

19. Ottobre 2011: Too Marvelous for Words

*note the addition to the previous post.

After yet another delicious and filling breakfast at our hotel, I departed alone for the Victoria and Albert Museum. I got off the Tube and started walking towards the museum when I realized that a group of people in long black robes were walking towards me. I gasped quietly because I knew what this meant. Everything was real. These were obviously wizards in their everyday wear. The world in which Harry Potter existed was real. My heart pounded for a moment until I realized that I was approaching the Imperial College of London and I remembered that students in the UK wear graduation robes for matriculation at the beginning of the year as well as for graduation. But for one moment there, everything had been perfect.

I entered the striking Victoria and Albert Museum (did I mention that all museums in London are free? Yes, free!) and meandered through the Greek and Italian art until I saw the sign for the theatre exhibit. I made a beeline for the costume exhibit where I saw some truly beautiful originals including Lady Bracknell from The Importance of Being Earnest and Mufasa from The Lion King. There were also several renderings displayed including a design for a stripper outfit that represented Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The headdress, featuring a skull and the head of a ghost was also displayed.

I won’t lie though, the museum was quite overwhelming. There was so much interesting material within a single building and it became clear to me that this museum deserved several weeks of visitation. So I resolved to move to London so that I can visit the V&A at my leisure until I have seen every last item on display. I had to hurry through the rest of the museum because I had a meeting to get to!

I boarded the Tube to Camden Town which had an entirely different feel from the center of London. Everywhere I looked I saw tattoo and piercing parlors and the bustling on the sidewalk was comprised of a younger and more eclectic demographic. I walked towards Regent’s Park and was stopped by someone who asked me for directions. I smiled, happy to finally be fitting in somewhere. I did not, however, have any idea where she was talking about so I apologized and moved along. I met Sophie, a friend from high school theatre, in front of the British American Dramatic Academy where she is studying this term. We had lunch at a sushi place and I realized how much I’ve missed sushi! I’ve also really missed discussing the philosophies of theatre, which was the topic of most of our conversation after we had caught up for a bit. Our goodbye was not sad at all because she informed me that she will be visiting me in Florence in several weeks! I look forward to her visit.

At this point, I decided to be the brave Harry Potter fan that I am and visit King’s Cross Station. I had forgotten, of course, that all of London is under construction for the Olympics so it was very difficult to navigate around the construction. When I finally found the entrance to King’s Cross I discovered that it was entirely covered with construction crews. I timidly entered the station, saw the sign for Platforms 9, 10 and 11 and saw that I could not follow the signs without a ticket. So, being pushed by irritated travelers, I snapped a photo of the sign and moved back towards the Tube station...missing Platform 9 ¾. Of course, that is another site that would have been much more fun to visit with a fellow Harry Potter geek. I did, however, visit Tottenham Court Road (Harry Potter Trivia, anyone remember the significance of that location in the final book?).

I then trekked to the other side of town (changing Tube lines four times and thanking my experience on the Chicago “L” for preparing me for this) to visit the Imperial War Museum. This was possibly one of the coolest museums I have visited yet. It has displays on every war that England has been even remotely involved in since WWI. It would take me hours to describe how incredible this museum is and again, it requires several weeks’ worth of visits but I will try to touch upon the most striking experiences for me.

First would be to describe the “Blitz Experience” where they take you through what it would be like to be in a bomb shelter during the Blitzkrieg in London and then emerge to find your town destroyed. The lighting, the smell, the sound effects were quite potent and it gave a new perspective to that experience. I found myself incredibly angry while watching a video on the Vietnam War—a war that has never sat well with me. The exhibit about the “Children’s War” was a heartbreaking account of what it was like for children to experience WWII. Many of the children in London, especially Jewish children, were taken to Canada or another safe place for the duration of the war. However, many did not make it or when they did, they had awful experiences.

 I got to hear some of the real King’s Speech and see the uniform that George VI wore during that speech. I watched part of a video on Crimes Against Humanity and was appalled to learn that it was during the Rwanda Genocide that rape was first recognized as a crime connected with genocide.

Finally, I entered the exhibit on the Holocaust. As a person who is quite proud of her German heritage, the Holocaust has always been a bit of a tough subject for me to discuss. However, I am a firm believer that one must learn about history so that one is not doomed to repeat it. So I’ve developed a bit of a thick skin when it comes to the Holocaust, wanting to learn as much about it as possible so that I can combat future genocides with my knowledge. This exhibit was different though. I’m not entirely sure what happened—if it is my current circumstance or situation, but I couldn’t handle it. I could not look at the pictures, look at the names of the victims or read their stories. I took some anti-anxiety medication and hurried through the exhibit.

I finally looked at the time and raced back to Victoria Station to meet Kari for dinner at The Shakespeare, an English pub and restaurant. We ate quickly and headed to the Victoria Palace Theatre to see the London hit musical Billy Elliot.

Now, I have been scolded on my choice of theatre to see while in London but here I shall defend my choice wholeheartedly. Billy Elliot is, first of all, nothing like the movie. It was a lot of fun and exciting to see such beautiful talent from such a young cast. The funniest part of the show was not on stage though. Before the show, I was looking around and realized that a group of Asian tourists were taking up most of three rows behind us and about thirty of them were fast asleep. The picture on the right is us trying to subtly take a picture of all of them. I was bemused at why a tour of so many people would choose to sit in a dark theatre when they are clearly victims of jetlag. But maybe they would wake up during the show. The first act ends with a number titled “Angry Dance,” which is an incredibly noisy tap dance to almost metal music. When the lights came up, I looked around, sure that this group would not have slept through that number. Proved wrong! All thirty of them were still asleep. Bewildering. 

18. Ottobre 2011: London Calling

Today I did everything. Ok, not everything…one would need years to do everything in London (which I plan on doing eventually, by the way). I did manage to pack a lot of the big stuff into one day. But I should start where everything should start…BREAKFAST! Remember, Italians don’t do breakfast so when we sat down for our complimentary English breakfast and were served cereal, eggs, toast, tomatoes and ham I fell in love with England.

We probably could have spent all morning eating breakfast but we quickly remembered that we were in London and boarded a bus to Hyde Park. Here, the leaves we were turning colors and I remembered something else I had been missing…autumn! Mostly it was still green but there were the most beautiful splashes of yellow and orange and red. We walked through, past a statue honoring the magic of physics and through to the Italian fountains where we found a free public restroom! What a concept! From there, we walked along the Serpentine River (which runs through Hyde Park) to find the statue of Peter Pan. As if that weren’t enough, our next stop was the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain which is quite an incredible work of art. It’s circular, going up a slight hill with as many different little waterfalls and bubbling fountains scattered within the circle but with all of that going on, it is still incredibly tranquil. I dream of one day sitting and sketching by that fountain.

 Walking out of the park something shiny caught my eye and we veered towards some equestrian training going on in a ring in the park. There were about eight horses with riders wearing what looked like half a suit of armor and hats with ridiculously tall feather plumes. We watched for a bit until Kari made the astute observation that it was probably “some royal training thingy,” and we continued towards Harrod’s. Moving through the famous department store was a little bit like walking through a museum—loving everything you see but knowing that you could never have it (in this case, afford it). It was certainly the most elaborate store I’ve ever been in (and no, I don’t regularly visit Saks, Dean & Deluca or Tiffany’s…which, rolled into one and expanded tenfold is pretty much what Harrod’s is). It was very obvious who was there to take pictures and who was there to shop, to say the least. So we changed direction and moved towards Buckingham Palace.

As we approached we heard marching music and saw a mass of people in the distance. We had no idea what was happening for a moment, then we realized that we had inadvertently stumbled upon the changing of the guard. Of course we both tried to push through the crowd and take a peek at what was going on…now let’s take a moment to picture two young women, both under 5’3”, one claustrophobic and one agoraphobic. So you can imagine how successful our ventures to see anything might have been. Standing on tip toe the entire time, I managed to hold my camera above the crowd and got to sort of see what was going on via my digital camera screen.

The Beefeaters were pretty fun looking and they all wear these platform tap shoes that are pretty dramatic when they all march together across the grounds of Buckingham Palace. They are platform though and cannot be easy to walk in. This was proven when the guard was actually trying to change; one is standing in front of a doorway, is dismissed, then a beefeater marches sideways to take his place but the beefeater right in front of me stepped on his shoe wrong and almost fell over sideways. Oops! Other than that…well, here’s about how exciting most of the ceremony was:

They played pretty classic marching music through the first part of the ceremony, but when they were going through the long, tedious process of ceremonially changing the guard (which is done inside so the assembled crowd can’t actually witness the ceremony) the beefeater band started playing some pretty jazzy tunes that got me wondering who got to choose these tracks!

Oh, and can someone please tell me what the name of this song is? I was sort of singing along and could not for the life of me remember anything more about the tune.

Pretty soon, both Kari and I were quite finished with the pushing and the shoving so we started slowly making our way out of the crowd. The policeman stopped us before we crossed the street so that some guards on horseback could ride through and we realized—these were our “royal training thingy” friends from Hyde Park! Yup, that’s some royal thingy to be training for! We eventually got out and wandered towards Westminster Abbey (plastered with Royal Wedding memorabilia), Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. All of these are quite ominous and glorious when you’re right next to them.

I wish I could have gone inside both of these important and historic buildings. However, my traveling mate had already visited both buildings and as I considered going in by myself (and paying the ridiculous entry fee) I realized that these were two places where it would really matter who I went in with. They are too big to not be able to share one’s excitement with another, so I saved those visits for a later point in my life.

We walked along the Thames past various shops and galleries (including a Starbucks-like establishment called “Eat.” by which I was thoroughly amused) until we finally reached the Globe Theatre. I will admit, as an avid Shakespeare buff it seems I was not nearly as excited as I should have been on approaching Shakespeare’s home theatre. However, this Globe Theatre is a recreation of the original. Though it is in the same place, the original burned down during a performance of Shakespeare’s Henry VIII in June 1913. Also, the Globe is currently in its off-season, so there was no chance for me to see the inside unless I wanted join a group of German highschoolers in their tour of the theatre. So we meandered through the gift shop and then headed back to the Millennium Bridge—that’s right! The very bridge that was destroyed by the death-eaters in final book of the Harry Potter series. I timidly crossed the bridge, checking the air around me for smoking black robes or maybe a dementor’s chill, and reached the other side safely and excited to see St. Paul’s Cathedral looming ahead of me.

 As we approached St. Paul’s Cathedral (where Princess Di famously chose to marry the Prince, over the traditional Westminster Abbey) we realized that we would be witnessing one of the many protests that are occurring all over the world now (most famously on Wall Street, of course). Here, the difference between Italians and the English was made incredibly clear to me. In Milan, one of these protests just a few weeks ago resulted in injuries and a building being set on fire. In London, in front of St. Paul’s, the protesters were set up in queues of tents with banners strung above them in an orderly fashion. One notable protester was dancing a traditional Irish dance in a kilt; another had a Guy Fawkes mask strapped to his belt. Other than that…not a whole lot was happening. Very English.

We separated here—I wanted to watch this strange protest for a bit longer while Kari was quite ready to leave. After I realized that nothing was actually going to happen here, I moved through the crowds to find the nearest Tube station to take me to the Tower of London. Now, the Tower is not actually one big tower, like I had imagined it when I was first becoming interested in the English Renaissance. It’s more like a huge fortress; an incredibly intimidating place to be brought when you are accused of anything (poor Elizabeth). I learned that in the 400 years that the Tower existed as a prison and torture chambers, a total of 112 people were executed on Tower Hill. As you entered the gates into this foreboding establishment, the royal beasts—lions and other ferocious exotic animals—would be the first things you saw. Not fun!

Around the corner stands the famous Tower Bridge (one would have thought that the London Bridge would be the exciting one, but it’s quite nondescript). While I took in the beautiful view, I was approached by a middle-aged woman who did not speak English but clearly wanted me to take her picture. I smiled and took her camera as she posed in front of the bridge. Then she changed pose, so I took another. She changed pose again, and I took another. Finally, she took the camera from me. I was slightly amused, but handed my camera to her, asking if she would do the same for me. And she shot three shots of me as well, telling me (in mime) to lean against the fence and then look into the light…oy. What a strange experience.

From there I ventured back to the Tube and to Piccadilly Circus, which is sort of like Times Square diluted a thousand times. I met Kari and we wandered around the theatres, seeing where Ralph Feinnes was currently playing Prospero in The Tempest (which I had originally wanted to see, but the awful reviews convinced me not to pay 66£ for a ticket). Then Kari departed to see a show and I met a kindred spirit. My friend, Hannah, from Knox is currently studying at the London School of Economics (!!!) so we met up for a great Indian meal and about four hours of conversation. It was the best night I have spent in Europe yet…so nice to just let loose and talk.

After that, we returned to the hotel and I bet you can guess that I conked out the moment my head touched the pillow. The end of an amazing day…I still have two more days to go!!!

17. Ottobre 2011: Quando, Quando, Quando

We arrived at the Stazione Santa Maria Novella in Florence at 11:30 to catch our bus, scheduled to leave at 11:44. The company we were using was called Terravision and we quickly found a bus with the label written huge across the side. We waited in front of that bus for a while until a small group of older British folk arrived behind us, wondering out loud whether or not this was the bus that they wanted. We found out that they were going to be on the same bus as us and then another member for their party arrived telling us that our bus was in a different part of the station. So we joined their group and trekked over to the roundabout where another Terravision bus was waiting. The man from their group approached the open door of the bus and asked if this was the 11:44 bus to Pisa and the man nodded before getting into a loud argument with a police officer. Before any of us could get on the bus, he shut the bus doors and drove away. We all looked around confused and watched the bus circle the block and then stop between where we were standing and where the other Terravision bus was parked. The bold man from our group walked once more up to the driver’s side window and asked if the bus would let us on now for Pisa because at this point, we were nearing our scheduled departure time. Again, the bus driver nodded and began to back the bus up, then move it forward again, as if he were trying to parallel park it in the middle of the road. We all stood right outside the bus and watched—suitcases in hand—as the bus did this little dance for ten minutes. When the station clock finally reached 11:44, the bus finally departed and this time it did not come back. I was astonished—there was nobody on that bus. The six of us walked towards the bus where we had initially been waiting and a new driver was standing there telling us that his bus would leave at 12:10. The bold Englishman yelled at the driver for a bit, telling him that this was unacceptable. When I finally handed him my ticket, I reassured him again that we had waited directly outside the bus and the driver had slammed the door in our faces to which this new driver responded with a shrug and said, “Eh…this is Italy.” I gaped at him as he turned his back to me. Not bothering to keep my voice down, I turned to Kari, “He’s blaming the incompetence of his company on his country?!”

We made it to the airport on time, if slightly upset. It turned out, of course, that our timing didn’t make a difference either way because our flight to London was delayed an hour and a half. Thanks Terravision and RyanAir! Lesson learned? You get what you pay for.

We finally made it to London and even bonded with an older Irish woman on the plane who ended up accompanying us from the Stansted Airport to London as well. We arrived a little over an hour later than we had planned and starving so we made our way through Victoria Station to a cute little stand with a sign in the same typeface as is used for the Harry Potter chapter titles (yes, I am that big of a Harry Potter buff). It was selling pasties which are like the British version of a calzone, served hot. I ordered mine—in English!—filled with cheese and mushrooms and it was the most delicious thing in the world at that moment. Pasties in hand, we bought Oyster Cards (a week long pass for the Tube and busses) and boarded the Northern Line Tube to Goodge Street. We found our hotel (The Ridgemount, I highly recommend it) and discovered that, though we had paid for a double room (a “twin” in Britain), our room contained four beds. Consequentially, the room was quite spacious and incredibly cozy. We freshened up a bit then headed out again into a beautifully crisp autumn evening to see the London Eye and Big Ben all lit up at night.

What a sight. I felt like I should have been in a movie because one simply doesn’t see things that beautiful in real life (ok, I had also prepared myself for my trip by watching V for Vendetta, The King’s Speech, Shakespeare in Love and various other movies that took place in London). We also walked over to the National Theatre which was lit in lovely turquoise, fuchsia and electric blue lights and checked out the bookstore. There was an entire section on costumes and costume design—I was in heaven…which immediately turned to hell when I remembered that I am not a millionaire, I am on a student budget. There should be some grant that would allow me to buy every single book in that section. Though I did cave and buy Costume and Fashion: A Concise History…it would have been a sin not to (but if anyone is wondering what to get me for Christmas…hahaha).

After Kari dragged me away from the bookstore, we boarded the Tube once again and both of us realized that we were about to crash. So time to rest up because tomorrow will be a very busy day.

15. Ottobre 2011: Beautiful City

My visit to Assisi was short and sweet. It started with a nearly three hour train ride through Perugia, which is currently hosting the Euro Chocolate Festival, so you can imagine the hordes of tour groups (mostly American, mostly college students and mostly obnoxious) who accompanied us (my roommate Kari and I) for most of our journey. Upon arriving in Assisi, though, we were only joined by one tour group and a smattering of amusing tourists. The train station is two and half miles away from the actual town of Assisi and at the bottom of the hill so we piled into a bus with the other tourists and rode to the top of the hill. We realized quickly that autumn had finally arrived in Italy—it was frigid! So our walk was brisk through town. We stopped first at a tiny but elaborately decorated church that gave off a very baroque vibe. After we had thawed in the sanctuary, we moved along to an art gallery featuring vibrant painted glass, most of which were depicting Saint Francis in one way or another. Finally, we made it to the Chiesa di San Francesco d’Assisi—for whom I was named.

 The church and convent are breathtaking. It is built into the side of the hill and is incredibly grand (a bit ironic because St. Francis preached anti-materialism, but whatever). The ceiling of the cathedral is a bit like a tie-dyed sky with golden stars sprinkled in—all painted by Giotto. It was the most colorful church I have ever been in. Below the church is another church, just as elaborately frescoed with the life of Jesus. Underneath this church is the tomb of San Francesco. I’m still not entirely sure how to describe how I felt walking into this tomb. There were so many tourists that it was difficult not to feel like I was walking down to ride the Pirates of the Caribbean at Disneyland, but when I laid eyes on the tomb I was struck by the perfection of the tomb. Surely, it was more grand the San Francesco would have designed for himself but compared to the rest of the complex I had seen, it was the perfect balance between simplicity and still giving grand honor to the Saint. It was a long brick hall with a high ceiling. The tomb was at the end of the hall—a large stone pillar rose from floor to ceiling with iron grates around ¾ of it. The front side of this was opened to show the place where Saint Francis is entombed and underneath this is a small alter with candles, some flowers and a crucifix. The entire hallway is lit by medieval-looking iron-wrought lanterns hanging from chains from the ceiling. I don’t know why, I just felt like it was the perfect tomb (and I never that I would say that sentence, but there you go).

After visiting Saint Francis, we wandered around the town and took in the view from the top of the hill. The town is quite small so after walking from one end to the other, we decided that it was too cold to stay any longer and boarded the train to head back to Florence. It was not the most eventful trip that I’ve ever taken, but the Chiesa di San Francesco was definitely worth visiting. It was a relaxing day and a wonderful beginning to our fall break.

On Monday, Kari and I will board a plane to visit a place where we speak the language—London, England! A la prossimo settimana, ciao! Or should I say…La’ers!


Oh--afterthought: Here is my finished caste drawing of Dante. I am quite proud of it.

12. Ottobre 2011: Do, Make, Say, Think

As a break from writing my first paper in several months (about Donatello’s sculpture Mary Magdalen and his relationship to the Medici family) I have decided to update you all on my everyday life, especially now that I’ve gotten the exciting stuff down and my last update was pretty wimpy. So let’s try this again, shall we?

Like I said, I’m writing my first paper for my class, Medici as Patrons of the Arts. It’s a very informative class from a very knowledgeable Professor. You know your teacher knows her stuff when she starts talking about the evidence that she discovered about the Medici. Whoa! Every one of our class sessions so far has been at a museum. We visited the Baptistery (or Chiesa de San Giovanni) to look at the tomb of Pope Giovanni XXIII, built by Donatello and Michelozzo. The tomb—an unusual item to be in a Baptistery—was commissioned by Cosimo de Medici for a friend of the family who had actually been kicked out of his Papacy, but his tomb suggests that he died in Papacy…quite the scandal. At the Branacacci Chapel we saw some beautiful frescoes painted by Fra Filippo Lippi, a friar who ran away to marry a nun but was good friends with the Medici, so he didn’t get in trouble for it. Then there was the Chiesa di San Lorenzo, funded entirely by Cosimo de Medici with a sacristy entirely by Donatello. We also visited the Palazzo de Medici, which had the grandest private chapel I have ever seen with the walls entirely painted in homage to the three Maggi worshipping the Madonna and the birth of Jesus. Other than that, though, a different family had bought the Palazzo during the Baroque period and almost entirely remodeled or else ornamented the original architecture so it was difficult to glean much about where the Medici had actually lived. Then yesterday we visited the Museo di San Marco with all of the friars’ stalls and an incredible number of crucifixion frescoes. I also learned about an interesting conflict between the Franciscans and the Dominicans called the Precious Blood argument. The Dominicans believed that the blood that had split from Christ during the passion stayed on earth and therefore cleansed humanity of original sin. The Franciscans believed that an angel collected every drop of blood spilt from Christ’s body and his blood therefore rose to heaven along with Christ’s body and soul. Apparently it was quite the conflict and I’m interesting in learning more about it. But now I am writing my paper about Donatello’s statue, Mary Magdalen in Penitence which is quite an incredible wooden sculpture. My initial reaction was that it was grotesque, but after gazing at it for a while, I found that it was beautiful and inspiring. Mary’s face looks emaciated and you can even see the skull under her skin (an amazing feat in carved wood!) but her hair is long and luxurious, covering her entire body, although her arms are bare and held in prayer so that you can see her bulging biceps. A woman of great strength even in 1455! I’m digging it, Donatello!

As for Dante—it started out quite interesting and now I’m curious as to where we’re going. It is discussion based but we don’t move very quickly through the cantos. It’s a shame because I find Dante’s Inferno incredibly interesting and filled with symbolism that I need historical context to understand. Although, we’re on Canto XXVIII now and I find that I can only read one canto at a time so that I can let my stomach settle between the different circles of hell—how does one think of such methods of torture?! In two of the earlier cantos I did find some eerily personal connections, especially to my two tattoos (I have a tattoo of a dove on my ankle and the tree of life along my spine). If you’re curious and know me (because these are quite personal connections), feel free to look up Cantos V and XIII. Read them all the way through. I’m not too bothered by it, though, because I also have good Biblical evidence to back up the positive meanings in my tattoos. Anyways, I continue to be captivated by Dante’s language and imagery, though at this point I’m yearning for Paradiso instead of Inferno or Purgatorio.  

Finally, my drawing class is getting to be very interesting. We just draw for two hours, three days a week in this new technique. It is called sight-size portraiture which we practice with plaster castes, and then we alter a bit to do figure drawings. The technique basically asks you to place your drawing on an easel so that it is next to the caste that you’re drawing, then step back about three meters so that you can see both of them without moving your eyes. You look at the cast, memorize a detail, then move that to your paper, memorize the mark that you want to make, then stop forward and put the mark on the paper. Step back again, check your mark, repeat. You can imagine how this might be frustrating to someone who had learned an entirely different method of drawing and seeing, but three weeks in and I feel my eyes changing, looking at different things and seeing differently. I’m quite proud of how my caste drawing of Mr. Dante is coming. I will have finished it tomorrow, but here are some shots of my drawing after day two (when I was convinced that I was drawing Darth Vadar) and day four.

For the figure drawings, we only had three days to complete it so my progress is not quite as noticeable. Nevertheless, here are photos of that figure drawing. Keep in mind that when you are drawing from a caste, it never moves; whereas a living model needs to breathe and will never take exactly the same pose after break or on the second and third days of drawing. That being said, look at these drawings and just think about the progress I might make in the next six weeks! At least, that’s the optimistic spin I’m putting on things. Alright, enough dilly-dallying…here we go.

Alright, now I should probably study for my Italian test tomorrow…the last day of class before fall break! If all goes well, you shall have a post from Assisi before I fly off to London for the week. A dopo!

8. Ottobre 2011: We Speak No Americano

While waiting for my computer to be fixed, I took advantage of my technological freedom and spent the day with my friend, Ellie, in Florence. We began at the Boboli gardens, meandering through the mazes of greenery and amongst the statues. It was quite relaxing to just chat next to one of the most beautiful fountains in the world.

 We wandered through the Galleria del Costume, looking at beautiful antique dresses and even found the burial clothes of Cosimo de Medici and his wife and son, all carefully restored. I am eager to spend more time there and excited for a new exhibit coming in ten days. But at that point, I needed to head to a Farmacia to find some cold medication, but not before trying a new and strange flavor of gelato. It is called Fiori del Latte e Mento, Flowers of Milk and Mint. And that's exactly what it tasted like. After eating all of it, I still haven't decided if I liked it or not but I would certainly recommend it to the adventurous palate.

We decided to take it easy after that with a movie. “A Dangerous Method,” an English film about Doctors Freud and Jung and their clashing psychological ideas was playing at the Cinema Teatro Odeon with Italian subtitles. I certainly recommend the film to you all back in the 'States, it was intense and thought provoking with wonderful acting by Viggo Mortenson, Keira Knightley and others that I cannot remember the names of. The theatre was an old Italian movie theatre that had been restored. It reminded me of the forties style theatre in the movie Nuovo Cinema Paradiso (an Italian movie that I highly recommend).

 After the film, Ellie needed to find some running shoes so we entered a shoe store. I know that full immersion is the goal with study abroad and the best way to learn a new language and therefore I try to speak only Italian when I can. So when we entered the store, I tried my best to form questions in Italian even though Ellie only spoke English. She tried on several pairs and eventually decided to buy a pair. I accompanied her to the cash register where the cashier told her the total price in English. Then, he turned to me and explained the return policy in very quick Italian. I told Ellie that if she wanted, she could return the shoes within 21 days, then realized that I had understood this man. I did a mental-double take and realized that this man must have thought that I was either Italian or spoke Italian well enough to translate for me friend. What wonderful encouragement as I approach the halfway mark of my time here in Italy.

7. Ottobre 2011: Mechanical Breakdown

The rest of the week brought on a deluge of work for me. On top of schoolwork, I now needed to go about getting new identification cards for school and museums, a new bus pass and figure out a way to get my computer fixed in a relatively cheap and timely manner. There was one night that my host mother, Daniella, succeeded in completely taking my mind off of my problems. We were talking about various cultures in America, going from the Pennsylvania Dutch to the Amish and finally landing upon the Mennonites. I remembered some stories about how Mennonites sneakily go about tricking young people in to joining their cults. Daniella promptly coined the phrase, “scary like a Mennonite.” When she used it again at dinner the following night, I laughed out loud.

Finally, I found an English speaking company who would fix my computer and even pick it up at my convenience. So I arranged a meeting with the CEO, Brad, at the train station across the street (I know that sounds shady but just wait). The train station is huge, so I just picked a spot and waited for my phone to ring. When it did, the very obviously British Brad told me to come to the other side of the station and look for the black Mercedes. When I rounded the corner, I found a Mercedes sports car with the steering wheel on the British side. The man stepping out of the driver's door was a caricature. He wore a designer suit, a purple shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest so that his chest hair and gold chain were clearly visible, a huge golden class ring adorned his pinky finger and he was stroking his perfectly groomed goatee as he spoke in a perfect British accent into his bluetooth. Any thought that this man was going to steal my computer in some shady “student deal” had evaporated from my mind. And so off my computer went to be fixed in Rome! 

2. Ottobre 2011: Es Fliegt Gleich Alles In Die Luft

We woke up early so that we could get to Wiesn (the German word for Oktoberfest) before the crowds. Martha's older sister lent me her dirndl, a traditional German dress that looks a little bit like a jumper, worn over a white blouse with an apron. On the train in to the city I braided Martha's hair in two French braids, a traditional hairstyle to go with the dirndl (how's that for irony?). Then we joined the hoards of people in lederhosen, dirndls and trachten (a variation on a dirndl) heading towards Wiesn and entered the already packed grounds by 9 am. Martha hurried us towards her festzelt of choice. A Festzelt is a translated literally as a “party tent” and they are huge tents, each one sponsored by a different German brewery. Martha's favorite happens to be the most famous tent, Hacker-Pschorr, which boasts that it is the Himmel der Bayern (the heaven of Bavaria). One would have thought that at 9 am we would have still been able to squeeze our way in to a tent, but the tent was already full and therefore entry was closed until people inside left. Cursing our luck, we joined the line that had already formed in front of the entrance. We were close to the front, so I stayed optimistic while Martha grumbled that we would never get in. The security guard told us that the wait would be two or three hours. Despite the long wait, the line never stopped pushing, everyone continuously trying to shove their way towards the front of the line or flirting unabashedly with the guard who was quickly becoming less lenient or nice.

After about an hour of waiting, Martha spotted a tall man within the festzelt confines who was holding a limp bag with lots of paper in it. He looked annoyed to me, but to Martha it was our shot. She jumped out of line and ran to talk to him. When she found me in line again, she explained to me that this man was in charge of a group reservation. If you had a reservation (made a year in advance) you could get a wristband that allowed you to enter and exit the tent as you pleased for an entire day—in other words, they were solid gold. She told me that if the entirety of his group did not show up, we might be able to buy two of those wristbands off of him. I excitedly pulled ten euros out of my purse, my heart racing for the excitement of my first shady entrance to any event (ok, so that's not entirely true, but I'd never bought my way in like this!). But we waited and waited and the man, who was apparently Italian, did not return for an hour. Martha had lost hope once again but then I saw him and pushed her out of line. He scurried past and Martha returned to me, saying he would supposedly return in two minutes but she was not hopeful. I told her that he would come back. She rolled her eyes at me but fifteen minutes later, he meandered back towards us from the festzelt. He looked for Martha, made eye contact and held up two fingers. Martha nodded excitedly and he reached into his bag to tear off two wristbands. Martha ran forward and handed him my ten euros which he proceeded to throw on the ground, then tell her that his table was upstairs. She grabbed the money from the ground, grabbed my arm and we ran around the corner squealing.

 “We got them for free!” Martha kept saying as she tugged my hand through the crowds. The day had suddenly become twenty-times brighter as we put the maroon wristbands on and entered the tent (through another door) like VIPs, passing the hoards of people who had been waiting over two hours. Once inside, we pushed through the crowds of already drunk people to find a table. We made smalltalk with a tattooed tow-truck driver who had already drunken four liters of beer in the last three hours. We sat down next to him and his friend. I ordered a Radler, half lemonade and half beer, and Martha ordered a non-alcoholic beer because she had a cross-country race in the next few days. After much slurred German, the tow-truck driver finally got that look on his face that I probably would have gotten after the second liter of beer in the second hour...and he had to race to the bathroom. He did not come back. Over the course of the next four hours, I nursed my Radler and enjoyed the spirit of Oktoberfest. Eventually we were joined by another group of young people who were very nice and we were absorbed into their group. I got to practice my German (finally!) and some of them practiced their English (which got worse throughout the course of the day for obvious reasons).

 We stood up on the bench when appropriate for singing and dancing until I decided that I needed a break. Luckily with these wristbands, we were free to leave the tent and wander around in the open air (our new friends had to stay in the tent). So we enjoyed the fresh air and festive atmosphere for an hour or so before returning to the tent (again, cutting all of the lines by simply holding up our arms with the wristbands). We found our friends again and danced and sang. Martha and I each ordered a water after witnessing several fights and various other drunken interactions. I was surprised by the number of American songs that were sang by the band—Sweet Home Alabama, Sweet Caroline, Satisfaction and other classics. Of course, there were plenty of German classics as well, like Martha's favorites: “Cowboy & Indianer” and “Flieger.” After twelve hours of this festivity, we decided that we were tired and headed home.

 The next day we woke up for a traditional Bayerische (Bavarian) breakfast in the countryside town of Ayinger. We picked up several of Martha's friends and drove in the right direction...or so we thought. After an hour, we decided to stop following the GPS and Nikko called his mom to figure out where we were. Martha was very keen on getting to the Brauhaus in a timely manner so her driving was a little...umm....oy. Yeah. Anyways, we made it safely to Ayinger after two hours of driving, ran into the Brauhaus and joined a tour group, realized that we had joined a tour group and eventually escaped by running around the Brauhaus, entering again, then making the right turn into the restaurant. Here, we were served the traditional Weißwurst, Weißbier and Bretzeln.

Everything was delicious. Though I thought it was quite early for beer and I don't have a learned palate, the Ayinger Weißbier was by far the best beer I have ever tasted. I'm sure the atmosphere helped, of course. Having traditional Bavarian music played by a live band in the background makes every German food taste better.

We made it home in less than a quarter of the time it took us to get there. After some catching up with Martha, her mother taught me how to make Wienerschnitzel (it's quite easy!) and packed an incredibly gracious dinner for me to take on the train with me. Then, it was a sweet Auf Wiedersehen to Martha's family and München. I boarded the train and unknowingly bid a not-so-sweet farewell to my wallet somewhere along the way.

Here I will take the opportunity to stress the importance of a money belt when traveling! I thank Ms. Rivka Kelly for loaning me hers for my trip because in this case, it saved my passport and credit cards from that thief. I'm lucky that they only got my identification cards, bus pass and five euros. No worries, just a bit of a hassle to get everything back in order though the ACM program was extremely helpful in this case. After a bit of grumbling, I lifted my chin again and moved forward in Florence!