Monday, April 26, 2010

Catching Up

So I wrote this post over time, but I felt like the world deserved an update, so here it is. Ignore any spelling errors, because honestly, it was too long for even me to read over...

I am currently on the bus to Corigliano in Calabria, to visit my Italian family members who do not speak a word of English, watching out the window as the rolling countryside of southern Italy passes me by. Of course this won’t be posted for a few days, as I will not have, nor time probably, to post this during the weekend. But I have a seven-hour bus ride, two hours behind me and five hours to go, and a lot of time to write and update the world, so I wanted to properly set the scene.

I last left you before my spring break. I was so stressed before the vacation that I didn’t even have time to say see you later (ci vediamo) due to midterms and such. My midterms all ended up going well and I finished on the last Thursday in March and I packed nine days into one backpack and went to sleep at Ashton’s with Nicole. Spring Break began Friday, March 26th at 3:00 AM after going to sleep at 12:30. I jumped in the shower, the only possible way for me to start my day, my substitute for coffee, got the other two out bed, and we caught a cab and then our flight to Paris at 7 AM.

Paris

We arrived in Beauvais, France around 9:30 AM, an hour outside of Paris. We took a bus to the very end of Champs Elysees. We were very possibly overtired, and therefore overambitious, so we walked all the way down this famous avenue, not even our giant backpacks wearing us down (of course at one point, just after exclaiming “I look like such a tourist with this backpack!” Nicole’s bag exploded, sending her bra, my straightener, and the communal blow drier scattered on the sidewalk. In attempt to console Nicole’s embarrassment, Ashton yelled “It’s okay! No one knows us! I can walk around naked if I want,” of course assuming, oh yeah, foreign country, sure, no one will understand me. Nope. A Frenchman turned around, pointed his finger at her, smiled and said, in a classic French accent, “No. You can’t!” The laugher that followed actually probably never stopped.)

So we passed the Arc de Triomphe and then made our way down to the Louvre and spent a solid four hours there, viewing amazing artwork. Ashton and I were beside ourselves, more so Ashton as she is an art history major. After the Louvre, we decided to find our hotel, which became a two-hour adventure, as we had written down the wrong address. I went online and found directions on the hotel website, but Nicole just wrote down the address. The wrong address. So we get off the metro, very confused as we can’t find the street the hotel was “supposed to be on,” so we turn off the street and stop into another hotel to ask. The man at the desk was nice enough to print out directions to the address we gave him. So we go to this hotel, which has the same name as our hotel, but isn’t our hotel…apparently there are at least five hotels in all of Paris with the name “Hotel Des Arts.” Fail. The man at the desk was not so nice, but he still called the closest hotel with that name and we did have a reservation. So we walked another half hour to this place. It was the sketchiest hotel I have ever seen. We walked up five flights of spiral staircase. The toilet was outside of the room, down a hallway in which the floor was covered with plastic…probably so they could replace the plastic when the horror film murders occurred, leaving any stains. I’m telling you, this place is right out of the movie, “Taken.” But we made it out alive, despite the fact that Nicole’s bed actually folded in half when she sat on it, a flaw the hotel pretended to fix the first two days and we finally gave up the third day.

The Paris experience continued the next with a visit first to the Sacre Cour, a beautiful cathedral at the top of a hill that overlooks all of Paris. Amazing view. Then we walked down to see the Moulin Rouge. Then the Musee d’Orsay, a museum with famous impressionist artists: Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, etc. That was fun. Then we got coffee to get us to the Notre Dame. Then we walked all the way to the former location of the Bastille. Now, Ashton and I have both taken courses on French history. I knew that they actually dismantled this building after the French Revolution, but we were really expecting some sort of remains No. There’s just a monument. So we walked around this area in search of we don’t even know what. Finally I caved and broke out the blackberry to discover that we again failed. But there was a nice French protest around the monument, so that was cool. That night, we decided to go to the Eiffel Tower and have ourselves a picnic. We bought wine, French baguettes, pepperoni, and brie cheese, and awaited the light show. Basically the tower sparkles for five minutes every hour for three hours every night. It was cool to see. And we met two nice French men, who told us that the weirder brie tasted, the better…which would mean that our brie was the best, because it tasted really odd. That’s French cheese for you, I guess.

The next day we climbed the Eiffel Tower. It ended up raining, but it was still amazing to see all of Paris, including the Sacre Cour. Then we went to Versailles, my favorite place by far. I had just learned about Louis XIV, the French king who created this palace, in my European history class last semester, so I was really excited. And it was beautiful, especially the gardens.

Madrid

We flew into Madrid with very little idea of what we were going to do. The first day we got there, we just got into our hostel, which was actually very cool. It had an indoor courtyard in the middle of a big room, from which the hostel dorm rooms branched off. Basically in Madrid, we just wandered around, saw the plazas and shopped a bit, went into the Sofia Reina modern art museum and the Prado. We did a tapas tour, hosted by the hostel. Tapas are small portions of food that a restaurant gives you with the purchase of a very cheap drink. We just went to four different restaurants and tried four different tapas. It was good. We also did a pub crawl. That was pretty fun. Things were a lot more interesting in Barcelona though.

Barcelona

We checked into our hostel, a really interesting looking hostel, in which we also had really great roommates from England and even Oregon. We immediately set out in the city and walked all the way down La Rambla, a famous street with lots of food, stands, people dressed up in crazy costumes, and even a giant fruit and meat market, at which we stopped to get fresh fruit juice. We walked until we hit the sea. First we saw the marina, and then we walked further until we found a beach, which we decided to go to the next day. We walked back in search of food, unfortunately running into Pita Inn, and eating the most amazing falafel pitas ever. I say unfortunately because we returned 3 more times…we were only in Barcelona for 2 days.
That night we met up with some people from our program also vacationing in Barcelona. They took us to the trendiest club I have ever seen: Opium. There were completely unnecessary women provocatively dancing on a stage. That’s how fancy it was. A man even came out and played his violin along with some clubbin music. It was amazzzzing. I just stopped dancing and stared at him with wide eyes and wished I could be that amazing.

The next day we did the beach in the afternoon and got ourselves some color. This was after we saw Sangrada church. At night, we met up with more people who had flown in and went out to another club. Unfortunately, that night Ashton got her bag stolen on the beach. Fortunately, she realized it shortly after and she only lost about 25 euro, one credit card, and her Italian cell phone. Unfortunately, the next night, Nicole also got gypsied…but she lost her camera and her entire brand-new wallet that had bought in Madrid, handmade leather, with 75 euro. I was the only one who made it out of Barcelona with all my belongings.

That last morning was nice though, as Nicole and I climbed a very large hill and check out a castle, and then we all went together to Guell Park, where the artist Gaudi made his mark with beautiful constructions. Then we left, ending our spring break with only two hours of sleep the night before and two long faces at having lost valuable possessions. Despite the poor end, the break was overall a success and very enjoyable.


Milan


Last weekend, I went to Milano to visit my Italian cousin, Daniela (technically the granddaughter of my grandfather’s aunt, but we’ll stick with cousin for simplicity’s sake), and her husband, Ennio. I took the fast train from Roma and arrived around 9:00 PM. They greeted me with flowers and I gave them a bottle of wine and a baby outfit for Daniela’s baby, due in one month. We drove home to their small town of Vermezzo, just outside of Milano. Then we began to eat dinner at 10:00 PM: homemade pasta and potatoes with pesto, chicken with spinach and a special eggplant dish: melanzane “mensa mensa.” It was all delicious. Then an Italian dessert of course, a crispy tort of sorts with almonds.

We had a long night’s sleep, followed by a busy day. But first the busy began with the biggest and most delicious breakfast of carbs ever (the pounds are packing on, I warn you). Cornetti (croissants) and biscuits with nutella, homemade jams and honey, and cakes. Then Daniela showed me her wedding pictures. Her and Ennio got married in a castle in Tuscany. Jaw-dropping, I know. The pictures were beautiful and they were so cute together. They still are. And they are so in love and so happy for this baby to come. It made my heart melt to watch them all weekend.

Then we went to the center of Milan, saw Castello Sforzesco, Parco Sempione, Arco della Pace, the Duomo, and walked around a bit. Then we headed to Como, a nearby town, and relaxed beside Lake Como, before going to dinner with a pair of their friends who live there. I sat through dinner listening to the beautiful language of Italian. I was exhausted so I didn’t speak much, but I loved listening. I also tried again some delicious food, recommended by Daniela and Ennio: risotto Milanese (where else to try it but in Milan), ossobucco (a meat with the bone still in, and you can actually eat what is in the bone…I tried it. Interesting. Very interesting), some Italian dessert which I forget the name of.

The next day Daniela and Ennio had to go to the hospital, so they sent me with a map and I wandered around the city, seeing the famous Italian stores that one only stands outside of creepily taking pictures because they’re just too fancy to go into. I also went into the Castello Sforzesco and checked out the art gallery they had going on in there. After they were done at the hospital, they took me to a Sicilian pasticceria and I tried granita, a dessert somewhere between gelato and ice. It was good stuff. Then Ennio, as he had been doing all weekend, politely forced me to try some other desserts: a fresh and homemade cannolo and a sfogliatella. I didn’t hate it.

After that, we went home and just relaxed. I think it was the most relaxed I have
been since I came to Europe. We ate a small dinner (my stomach was thanking me) and Daniela and I just talked for hours, about her life, her family, the people I will meet this weekend. It was so nice. And she even said, after knowing me for only those few days, I felt like family. I miss her already.

But now I must prepare myself for this weekend. I am very nervous about my Italian, but I think it will be a good learning experience. My roommate at our hotel in Firenze, Alli, told me one night when I was stressing about memorizing some verb tense or increasing my Italian vocabulary, first “You need to take what we like to call the chill pill,” but more importantly, “Right now, you are lusting for Italian. You need to fall in love with it.” After multiple anxiety attacks and actually breaking down and crying in front of my professor, twice even, once when I was the only one in class and I was overwhelmed by my lack of understanding and no one was there to share the feeling with, and once with the only other student in my class (Yes. There are only two of us.). Thank God she was there that time because she followed into the bathroom and told me I wasn’t alone. But some people deal with anxiety, pain, suffering differently. I’m not afraid to say that I break down and cry often, because that is how I deal. I am so passionate about everything that I do. I know that I perfection does not exist. Learning Italian has very slowly shown me that. I still struggle with failure, and I am still sensitive to others, but I am learning so much about myself. I know that I care too much about what other people are doing, what other people say, and I compare myself constantly to these people. But why do they matter so much? Just one of the many questions I know now that I must truly assess.

My semester is quickly coming to an end. Saturday, I will have exactly three weeks until I meet my parents in the same airport they left me three months ago. After this weekend, I will have exactly three weeks until I am driving onto Assumption College’s campus, completely at a loss of expectations. Earlier in the semester, I thought I knew. I kept telling people: this is how it’s going to be when I get back…But that’s because they tell you everything will be the same. No one is going to change. They tell you this so you’ll go. So you won’t be scared. Well, I saw threw their words and I was scared. But coming here, I pretended I didn’t know. But everyone changes. And everything. So when I get back, what will I recognize? Will my house be different? Will I be able to sleep in my own bed? Will the campus be different? Who cut their hair? Or died it? Who’s dating who now? Have people forgotten about me? These are questions I will not try to answer. I know now, for the first time all semester, that I will miss Rome. That when I get on the first of my two planes and begin the nearly 24-hour journey home, I will cry. I really won’t know what to do with myself.

How do you make a place your home and then have to say goodbye forever? My Italian professor yesterday said that life is full of “lasciare”…of leaving. I hope one day I will come back here. Last night, one of the administrators said, “You…you really have to come back.” And so one day, hopefully soon, I will come back. And maybe I’ll bring my family. And maybe we’ll go see Daniela’s baby, and maybe even come back down to Calabria (provided everything goes well this weekend ha). Or maybe I’ll just go get married in a castle. Make it a family tradition. Who knows…but I will come back. Because I love this country. And I will have seen if from toe (literally, as Calabria is the “toe” region), to top (Milano and Venezia). I love this language, and I will continue to learn it after I return to America. And the people here. I love Italians. I just had the best conversation with my cab driver last night, on the way back from our spring celebration dinner (granted, the champagne had given me a little liquid courage). He even reduced my fare by 40 cents! That never happens after 10:00 PM! And he said “buon piacere” as I departed…it was a pleasure meeting you.

And so in three weeks, I will have to say “Buon piacere, Italia. Mi mancerĂ  molto, ma tornerĂ². Ci vediamo...” It was pleasure, Italy. I will miss you, but I will return. See you later…”


Corigliano


Calabria was interesting. I spoke a lot of Italian. I heard a lot of Italian. My head was spinning by the end of day one. I saw the city my grandfather was born in, the building he was born in, I met his aunt, his aunt’s daughter, his aunt’s son, and his sons, and their children. It was a truly amazing experience. The city was absolutely beautiful. We even went down to the beach one day, but just to walk around because it was too cold to swim. And Ines, one of the children, and somewhat of a cousin to me, and my age, took me out one night to a club/bar and I got to meet some of the Italians her age. It was such a nice weekend. I learned so much. I talked about love, politics, culture, and so much more. All in Italian. I really hope to go back some day, and bring the rest of my family.

Amsterdam

Last weekend I went to Amsterdam. Another absolutely beautiful city. We took a bike tour one day and saw it all. Our tour guide even had some interesting facts about the other questionable happenings in the city. So again, I learned a lot. I ate a lot of really good food, nothing Italian of course (ps. Dad, I love your meatballs, but I’m going to need at least a month before I eat them again). And our last night, we didn’t book a hostel because our flight was at 6:50…turns out this was not such a good idea. To pass the time, we went to see a movie: “I love you, Phillip Morris,” a very inappropriate film starring Jim Carrey and Ewen McGreggor about how “being gay is expensive.” Really don’t think this one’s going to make it to the States, so if you’re interested, go check it out online.

After the movie, I slept on an airport bench for three hours, backpack under my knees and purse under my head. There were probably about 20 of us from my program waiting for the same flight, so I felt pretty safe. Then I got 2 more hours of sleep on the plane. When I got into Rome, the weather was too beautiful to sleep more, so Cat and I went to a park near us and I got nice and red. I mean, tan.

Now I’m just coming back from the nicest run I’ve had here. It still amazes me to run along the Tiber River, approaching Castel Sant’Angelo, and crossing over Ponte Sant’Angelo, on which are Bernini’s angels: sculptures of angels depicting the passion of Christ, one holding a cross, one holding a crown of thorns, etc. This Baroque theme of pain and suffering in art was popular during and after the Counter-Reformation, as an example made by the Catholic church that people’s lives were not that bad in comparison to the suffering experienced by Christ and other Christian martyrs. Fun fact for the day.

And speaking of such things, I have my first final tomorrow: art history. I’m very tired after Amsterdam and I’m struggling to find motivation to study as the weather here is increasingly beautiful.

But finals means I’ll be home soon. And at this point I’m more torn than ever. Every time I talk to my parents or Carleigh, I can’t wait to get home. But as the weather makes the city even more lovable and I think about how I may have taken my living here for granted the last three months, I want more time, and I don’t think I’m ready to leave.

So I have less than two weeks to soak up Rome. I’ll make a list of lasts and I’ll try to get them all…otherwise, I guess I’ll just have to come back. Who wants to come with me?

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