Ma no, Manon!

Look how luck you guys are - two posts in... a very short amount of time! I spoil you. But I figured I should probably share how extraordinarily cultured I have become in the last two days. For all you poor, poor plebes.

So. Friday I went to a concert. Not the hard rocking, dancing in the isles kind. The kind where you sit and watch 4 men in suits sway in time with their bows - also known as a string quartet! The theatre in Siena that we went to was completely adorable. It had little boxes that sat about 4 people, as well as the standard seats on the floor. It was small, but just for sound and intimacy and so forth.

The quartet played Schubert first and then a very strange modern piece by a Chinese composer - apparently it was the first time it had been played, ever. They sort of stroked their strings with the bows very lightly for a while, which, if you know anything about string instruments, is a sort of dangerous sound. If you stroke too lightly, it's a weird squeaky whisper. It made it sound like they kept mis-starting. The whole thing was very a-tonal, without tune or melody or anything, and involved a lot of string plucking. It reminded me a bit of a radio - where the weird plucking and string stroking was the static between stations, and every so often we'd hit a brief bit of something that sounded melodious. I'm sure it was all very sophisticated and cultural but I couldn't read the description in the program to explain why I was supposed to enjoy it (because it was in Italian), so mostly I was just really annoyed. I had this thought that maybe it was some weird performance piece, where the musicians just screwed around with weird stuff until someone finally got fed up and screamed at them to cut it out! And then they would...

Anyway, the last piece was a Mendelssohn, which I enjoyed greatly. So all in all, it was a good time. Afterwards, we met up with a couple of friends for a drink before the last bus home (the concert started at 9 and wasn't done until 10:30 and the busses slow down after 10:30), which was nice, but I was exhausted by the time I got home.

Saturday was nice and lazy, as well as lovely and sunny (although still cold). I borrowed A Brave New World from the library here (one of the only books they had in English), so I spent a lot of the day reading that. It's the first time I've read it, and I'm flipping out. I'm so glad I didn't read this when I was younger, it's so much more awesome. I just want to write one big long thing about how awesome it is and what it's been making me think about, but I fear that would bore you. So just know that I'm thinking awesome stuff. If you want to participate in the interactive part of this blog, you can read it (it's super short) but I don't demand your participation... this time!

But that evening we went to the opera! And I was all dressed up (and by 'all' I mean I wore a dress). It was a loud bus ride to Florence at 5:30, and the opera started at 8:30 - we had time for a quick snack before taking our seats. The theatre was not as lovely as the one in Siena, but it wasn't bad (it's more modern). The opera was Manon Lescaut by Puccini.

Brief synopsis: Manon is a beautiful woman, who this dude, Des Grieux, falls super in love with. They run away to Paris, and her brother and an old dude who wants to marry her follower them. That's the first act. Somehow between the end of act one and the beginning of act two, Manon's brother manages to convince her to leave her lover and to marry the old guy, but she's bored with him because he's old and stuffy. She loves that he's rich though. I was a little unclear at this point - she doesn't want to be with him, but she obviously adores her fancy jewels and dresses and so forth. Anyway, her brother sees she's unhappy, gets Des Grieux to come see her, and they're about to run away when Manon has to stop to take all her jewels and consequently get's them arrested because she dilly-dallied. End of act two. Act three, she's in prison and about to be shipped off to America, but Des Grieux manages to convince the captain to let him go too. Between then and act four, they go to New Orleans and wander off into the desert in Louisiana (is there a desert in Louisiana?) and act four begins with them lost and super dehydrated. They sing about how life sucks for a long time, and then Manon takes forever to die. The end.

So. Thoughts. First, the moral of the story seems to be that chicks are crazy. Second, Manon (the pun on her name is the typical Italian phrase 'ma, no!', used for everything) is annoying. Seriously - she clearly didn't need that much convincing to leave Des Grieux for ugly-old-rich-dude. And then it's her greedy butt that gets her arrested, by trying to take her jewels with her. I, hopeless romantic that I am, was totally in love with Des Grieux - dude loved her even when she abandoned him, got herself arrested, and dragged him off to the desert. He could have just been like, "You know what? You're crazy. Peace!" and found himself a nice, sane girl to live a happy life with. But he didn't. And there's something admirable to me about that kind of devotion, no matter how ridiculously silly and/or stupid. But come on Manon! If I were you... well, I wouldn't be, because I would be eternally grateful to have someone that loyal and loving in my life. Her crazy makes my crazy look like tulips and kittens in comparison. 

I mentioned that I found his devotion sweet to Carlo (the film teacher). He said those men exist - I said they're impossible to find, and he replied, "Difficult. There is a difference between these - 'impossible' and 'difficult'."

On operas in general, I have the following thoughts: they're kinda fun! Although you sort of have to know the story - which, luckily, were were told before going. There's crazy costumes, funky sets, and nice music. They have subtitles - but because we're in Italy, they were in Italian and old Italian at that. So that was... fairly incomprehensible. Although it was kinda fun to try and figure some of it out. I actually understood (reading, of course) the gist of more than I expected. So high-fives for me!

The opera didn't end until super late though - we were back on the bus by midnight, and it's about an hour from Florence to Siena. They had the bus lights on and the radio playing over the loud speakers for much more of the trip that I would have liked, so try as I might, I didn't actually sleep that much. I dozed off for a bit but,  it was just not really happening for me. But that's okay.

Today, I am in centro at my little internet restaurant writing this little update. And pretty darn tired. But also much much more cultured.

Love, kisses, and well-wishes (see what I did there?)!

<3 

Plaster, Plaster on The Wall (or rather, 'Roof')

Yesterday, I almost died! Crushed flat like a pancake, head popped! Or so you might think, to hear my host mom tell the story. 

What happened was this: I took a shower. And when I take showers, I must leave the window open, so as not to destroy the bathroom with steam. The window is right beside the shower, but it doesn't open very far because it hits the shower curtain rack thing. Yesterday was a particularly long shower to get extra clean for the opera on Saturday, and it was particularly warm and steamy. But I always leave the window open after I'm done to clear out the steam - my host mom shuts it before she goes to bed. So I got out, brushed my teeth, and puttered back to my room to finish listening to my podcast and prepare to do some work. 

I hadn't been out of the bathroom for 5 minutes when I heard this huge big crash. Oh shit, I thought, Something of mine has fallen over, the loose shower head has finally come out of the wall! Maybe I can just pretend I didn't hear it. Which, of course, I couldn't because it was flipping loud. I went to check out what the noise was, and a huge portion of plaster came off the roof just in front of the window, and there was plaster and dust all over the floor. My face... was a perfect caricature of shock. My nonna poped her head out of the kitchen and asked me what happened. I stammered that I don't know, I just finished showering, and I swear I had the window open just like always... She took one look, and told me it wasn't my fault, that I shouldn't have paura (fear), that it's the people upstairs' fault.

Two men come to look at the bathroom, and I eavesdropped trying to hear if it was in fact my fault. I think the first guy thought it was, but the second not. My nonna was very adamant that it wasn't my fault and that she just ho avuto paura per tua testa - had fear for my head. Because I had just left the bathroom! It could have been very serious! She wouldn't let me help her clean up, but I did anyway. I inhaled some plaster dust, which smelled like chalk but made me feel weird when I was trying to sleep. 

I don't really know what we're going to do - clearly I won't be having a shower tonight, and for who knows how long. And I now need to replace my toothbrush, because my toothbrush has plaster dust all over it. But, on the plus side: 1. I'm not dead and 2. she was so nice. I was terrified it'd be a repeat of the last host-mom, but it was not. 

So that was yesterday. Today is going awesome though! We went to Mike's house to do some planting in his garden - did I mention he has a garden? Libby and Maya tilled by hand with hoes, and I planted lemongrass, basil, and cilantro (coriander). Then we planted garlic, and I ate a part of a raw clove. It burns in a good way. It's gorgeous and sunny here, and I'm thinking of going back to work in the sun more before the opera tomorrow (Manon Lescaut). Tonight is a string quartet and then drinks with some friends. So life appears to be good!

Love and well wishes.

<3

In Which St. Francis Rolls in His Tomb

I have returned, holier and less worldly, from Assisi. Well, neither of those might be true. But we can pretend - these words now have the power to forgive sins, such as not sending me postcards! Actually, that's not true. There is no excuse for not sending me postcards. Especially since Diane not only managed to send me one, but made it herself. There are no excuses. 

Look, pictures are working again! 

But - back to Assisi and my new found holier-than-thou attitude. We (Megan, Libby, Fiona and I) went over on Friday with Karen, the program leader, who decided to rent a car. Karen was just going for the day, but we had rented a room at a little hotel. The drive was pleasant enough - apparently we were in the car for about two hours, but it definitely didn't feel like that. Italian time is screwing with my internal clock (see previous post for discussion on the Italian sense of time). But Assisi is beautiful - it's a lovely little town on a hill surrounded by olive groves, and so stereotypically Italian. The direction we came from made it look just so lovely in the sun and the clouds and the green. As is normal for most medieval towns, there's the old city and the new city, so I know Assisi is bigger than it seems, but the old centre was just so picturesque. 

I'm very very glad we were there during off-season though. People have said Assisi is a little like a Disneyland to St. Francis, but it wasn't too bad when we were there. There were hints at it - like the "Pace e Bene" or "Pax et Bonum" signs, hats, posters, etc. everywhere. It was the motto of St. Francis and consequently all of Assisi. And yes, there were a lot a lot of souvenir shops, but overall it was an adorable town. And our hotel was the best. The little old lady was completely endearing - "Signorine! Che bella! Una bella camera per voi!" She was the most excited that we were there to give her business and money and forced baked goods on us when we left. It was a little homey hotel type thing run by her and (I assume) her family in a little housey type thing with a lovely green courtyard and green shutters. The beds were soft and clean and she was thrilled about us, so we couldn't really ask for more. 

Upper Basilica - there's a whole other one bellow.

That first day, Karen took us to the Upper and Lower Basilica of St. Francis. It's a rather impressive church, but apparently St. Francis himself was not impressed. Quick history lesson: St. Francis was all in favour of going out into the world with pretty much nothing and loving it anyway. He did some slightly crazy stuff, like let himself be led around the town with a rope because he ate some chicken when he was sick or something. Anyway, that's the thing to remember - St. Francis was all for loving the messy, awkward world to get closer to God (also - being a pauper is better), and St. Dominic was the one who said you get closer to God by going out into a monastery and thinking by yourself and running away from the sinful world. But the Basilica was very impressive, so I'm sort of glad that they built it. The art is definitely impressive, and because the Basilicas were built sort of all in one go (that is, in less than two generations) the art sort of matches in a strange way. The painting is very intricate in  all the detailing along the beams and edges, and in lovely bright colours.

We also saw St. Francis' tomb! Which is weird to me. I have this odd fascination with the dead - their bodies, their memorials, the veneration that surrounds them, and so forth. So I get strangely and morbidly excited when we're told we're going to go and see a tomb or a body or some relic. It's like the way the Catholics have decided to not let people be forgotten by preserving their actual bodies. Our anthropology teacher was talking about how tradition is a way that we connect ourselves to the past and to the future - our ancestors have done it for ages, and our descendants will do it for ages more. Anyway, the preservation of memory through actual bodies weirds me out, because death is one of the least elegant parts of being dead, but there's this weird veneration as well... anyway. Strange tangent. I put €0,50 in the little collection thing to have a candle lit for St. Francis from me. I had a seat, looked at his tomb, and asked him to do me a couple favours. You know, if he's up there.

But the weirdest thing about the whole Basilica experience was the gift shop. If St. Francis was displeased by the Cathedral itself, he must just be rolling in his tomb, rattling his old dry bones against the stone in absolute horror. The gift shop has normal things like postcards, but also rosaries of varying quality and price, over priced souvenir "art", books, and some random assortment of food. Like Franciscan honey and spices and tea. I dunno, maybe he really liked those things, but it was strange. Oh and then what appeared to be completely unrelated books - like one for parents trying to figure out how to talk to their kids about sex. So so strange. And so many greedy tourists buying up fancy rosaries and tacky souvenir art. Poor St. Francis.

But after the Basilica (and my battery finally gave up the ghost - I was hoping I wouldn't have to charge it until that night) and an exorbitantly overpriced cappuccini/americano (it was over €1 more for Megan's americano than it was for a local's espresso - bear in mind the only difference is that an americano has hot water in it), we "hiked" up to the Rocca Maggiore, which used to be a fortress and has the best view. I say "hiked" because by my standards, it was just a slightly uphill walk. But the sun was setting and it was simply amazing, even though the wind was doing it's best to blow us off the side of the hill.

After coming down from the Rocca, us students went to dinner at a little place called Pizzeria Otello (which I totally recommend!) - we each had a pizza (well, Libby had pasta, but it was the same price), split two bruschetta, three deserts, and two bottles of wine for €15 each. AND it was delicious. For those who care, desert was yoghurt with honey, lemon sorbetto in a hollowed out lemon rind, and a crepe with a lovely alcohol-based sauce.

Saturday we intended to go to Spoletto - a little town near Assisi with a modern art museum and some Roman ruins, but the train system (as is the norm in Italia) was unnavigable. Allora, we ended up going to Perugia (of Amanda Knox and also chocolate fame) instead. Which none of us really intended or had any particular desire to do, but that's part of the adventure, right? So a short train ride later, we arrive in this heinous back suburb of Perugia. We were a little disheartened but we rallied, hopped on a bus and found our way to older Perugia. Which was not particularly nice either - it's much dirtier than Siena, and was also completely deserted. Strange. But we had a lovely lunch that was fairly well priced. We then meandered the streets looking for the famous Perugina chocolate shop (the one that makes Baci, the hazelnut chocolates you can get in N. America). But it was a sad sad disappointment. It was unspeakably tacky. And there is a time and place for tacky, but this was not it. I... can't even articulate the horror of it. So many stuffed animals, so many strange little bags with chocolate, so many fake flowers, and all lit in this grotesque blue light. But Megan and Fiona bought chocolate, so that was definitely a plus, especially when they shared it with me!

Meanwhile because we could not take the tacky, Libby and I wandered down the street to check out some street vendors. Who actually happened to be real Italians, as far as we could tell (which is slightly unusual around here). And one lady was selling these lovely little headband things that she knitted herself. They're circular, half one colour, half the another, and you sort of twist them up so they go over your hair/ears to keep them war. We agreed to try them on, mostly for fun because the colours were fantastic, and they looked (if I do say so myself) adorable. So we all (except Fiona) bought one. I'm a big fan in particular, because as you know, I forgot my toque in America, where it is being grievously abused (if for no other reason than that it is not with me, on my head, keeping me warm) and the one I have here is slightly decrepit. So now I have something attractive and warm to wear on my noggin. Hooray!

"Mi piace... my headband"

Then, with our stylish new headgear, we wandered down the oldest street in Perugia which, Megan informed us, used to be an aqueduct. Following that street past some amazing views and the beginning of a gorgeous sunset, we arrived at a 5th century church called Tempio di San Michele Archangelo which was made using stone and wood from old pagan temples (as is hinted in the fact that the word temple is in the name). It was a ways out of the city centre, with a lovely little grass lawn around it, and birds singing and the sun just setting - so gorgeous. I could smell the grass and suddenly I had this ache in my chest because the scent was filling a hole I hadn't realized was there - I missed grass. And it was sort of warm, and just so perfectly lovely. There are moments when I stand in nature and think of Wordsworth's The World Is Too Much With Us. Interactive blog time:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
                                                              1806.

In particular, I was thinking of the third to last line: Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn. In those moments, the general stupor in which I generally pass through life lifts and I have a beautiful poignant moment of pure now. It's hard to hold on to those slippery moments of... something. Something big and wonderful and terrifying all in one go. And part of what makes those moments terrifying is that they're so extraordinarily fleeting. Whenever I'm in them, I'm hyper aware that they wont last and that soon I'll be trying to remember what it was like to be in that moment.

I feel the need for a silent and contemplative pause.

It took us quite a long time to return from Perugia - we didn't get back until about 8:45, and weren't at dinner until about 9:30. The place we went to was kind of strange. It looked really nice but the waiter and waitress were both dressed really casually - sweat pants, sneakers. And they were not offering particularly good service, which is sort of very typically Italian. I don't know If I've mentioned that Italians have this kind of idea that the customer is lucky to be served at all. So we did not get bread promptly. And then we asked for oil and vinegar. And then for a plate, so we didn't have to sop it off the tablecloth or something. At which point the waitress rolled her eyes.

Which I suppose highlights two other issues related to Italian service. First, you don't tip - there's a bit of money included in the bill for the servers (see? This reinforces the first point about the lucky customer), so you can't express your displeasure that way (I have served and I completely believe in the use of the tip to express approval or disapproval). And second, we're becoming used to not being understood when we speak in English. Which is a problem, because first, someone might very well speak English. And second, we might very well continue in this habit once we get back to the States. Which could lead to some very awkward encounters.

But despite all this the food was completely lovely. Although, my noodles claimed they had pesto on them, but really it was just oil and basil... still delish. We had torta della nonna, which is a sort of creamy-ish cake with a carameley sauce, and lemon sorbetto which came in a lemon rind with a sweet minty sauce on the plate (they were actually quite tasty together). After dinner, which ended in the vicinity of 11pm, we returned to the hotel and fell asleep fairly quickly. Sunday was just a long day of returning to Siena, staying up late to upload pictures, and doing my homework.

So there, now you know all about my adventures in Umbria (Assisi and Perugia are not in Tuscany)! I hope you enjoyed reading about them, but somehow I doubt my lyrical prose is good enough to really express the adventures. I know you're all rolling around in fits of ecstasy at my ingenius use of the word 'prose', but take a moment, relax, and remember - I'm holy now, so it's completely natural for my words to have this effect on you. Don't be embarrassed if you fall to pieces.

Remember! Two weeks until Rachel's birthday! She'd love a card! Tell her how much you miss her and how your life is an empty shell without her! I almost feel bad plugging my birthday, except that I haven't had a real party/special day in so long - last year I had a 7 page paper due, and this year I'll have a test. Plus, I'm so far away from all my loved ones... so I need extra affection!

I hope you're all happy, confident and well fed. Letters and emails are always welcome.

<3 

A Month-Aversary Hodgepodge

WARNING: the following will be a boring assessment of my first month here. If navel-gazing bores you, skip this post.

Allora. Sunday might have been 4 weeks, but the 16th was one month. Thus I suppose I'm supposed to do a summary or something? What? Well. I shall try. I can't promise I'll come to any fascinating conclusions, but we'll see.

Recently, I've been having very vivid dreams. Remember that one before I went to Florence? Yeah? Like that. Like, where I couldn't remember if Trevin had told me he'd cut his fingernails because he was tired of growing them out for guitar in real life or a dream. Trevin says it was a dream. I am not so sure. But that's all very weird for me - I pretty much never have those moments where I wake up and go, "whereamI!?" and it's happening very regularly lately. Which is to say, my brain is trying to bring me back home at sleepy times. Because we've now beat the record for amount of time I've been out of the continent on 'vacation' (let's face it, it pretty much is a vacation - my Art History class requires I write 900 words for the whole semester). So it sort of seems like my subconscious's way of trying to tell me it's a little weirded out and maybe how it deals with not being at home - I'm visiting home in my sleep. Hi guys!

--

Things about Italy I have noticed, slash we might have discussed in Reflective Writing ('Group Therapy' would be a more accurate name):

Time. The Italians have a weird sense of time. Lavinia (the boss-lady of the school) and Madisen (a girl from LC on our program) say you have to enjoy the wait, or something. Which sometimes works and sometimes doesn't. For example, when you're waiting for the bus, it's nice that you don't have to rush, because generally the bus comes late. That is something that can be depended upon, and it is generally the same amount of time late. Except for when it's early. It's sort of like, the :24 and :55 minute scheduled arrival is the midpoint in about a 10 or 15 minute period of potential arrival (speaking of busses, don't even get me started on the safety issues inherent in wearing headphones and/or texting while you operate a FREAKING HUGE TUNNEL OF METAL DEATH). Which is a little tricky. The same happens for teachers - they don't really have syllabi or schedules (apparently that isn't a word in Italian), so they know on some spiritual level what we're going to learn, but if they're late, or we're late, or we want to talk about idiomatic expressions or what we do with our host families after dinner, that's fine. If we ask really nicely, we can even get una pausa for 15 minutes in the middle of class. Actually, that's pretty much every professor. The time thing doesn't generally bother me, and actually relaxes me when I'm in a positive, balanced place. When I'm frustrated or annoyed or tired, it is the worst. But usually it's just, "Oh Italy! How quirky you are..."

Food. I might have mentioned this to a number of you individually, but food. Oh my god food. A huge number of conversations circle around food. I thought, originally, that my host mom just talked about what she was making me for lunch because she had nothing else to say. Apparently not. So many of our conversations amongst ourselves are, "What did you have for dinner? Guess what I got for lunch." And there is definitely this notion of preserving your hunger. In the N. America, we eat because we're hungry and we don't want to be hungry anymore. Here, eating is done because it's awesome, and food is to be enjoyed. So it's sort of okay to be hungry. Speaking of which, Operation Get Fat isn't really working. Which doesn't mean that I'm going to stop trying, because I am thoroughly enjoying my regular gelato fun. 

Interesting things we talked about in Art History and Anthropology: 

Anthro talks a lot about 'the other' and how social groups are defined, a lot of the time, by who is not a part of the group (E&D Fall '08 anyone?). We sort of branched out into what that meant/means for Siena past and present, as well as modern countries and where we as a species go from here, as multiculturalism begins to die (History of Islam in Europe Spring '10 anyone?). I mention these classes in parenthesis because they are places I've discussed this in the past. Weird weird circular learning going on here. Anyway, it's all very interesting and relevant in my own life as a Canadian (hush, Trevin, I can hear you itching to make a joke) going to school in the States. Silly Americans rarely understand the dynamic of being an outsider, especially because they all assume it's the same for me. Guys, you'll just have to trust me, it isn't. Plus there's Canada's whole mosaic vs. melting pot stuff they've been saying for years, which gets to be assessed a little. Pretend to be interested. (I try so hard to make this blog interactive, you guys are just going to have to hold up your end. I can only go so far...)

Art has been talking about the origins of the Renaissance in painting, which is cool. I feel like a total knob that I never thought particularly deeply about art as being a historical document. Yeah, a lot of these people were paid and bossily told what to do and how to do it and in what colours and when to pick their noses, but they're artists, and 1. what they are told to paint reflects tastes of the time and 2. what they can get away with reflects changing attitudes. And a lot of that stuff manifests itself in ways that way different to see in paintings than in written documents, and in some ways more interesting. In Italian, Renaissance is Rinascimento and means the same thing ('rebirth') only more obviously. Gotta love this language! 

--

Oh, what? I'm supposed to look deep within my soul and tell you about some serious shift? Herm. Well. I dunno if that will happen, but I shall try. In some ways, I'm completely loving my alone time. I'm all grown up and tough and stuff. But I already knew that - it's just easy to forget. And I suppose one of the great things about being here for three months is that I get to reconnect with that, with my inner tough girl and my inner awesome. And by 'awesome', I mean that confidence that it's so easy for me to sort of drop by the side of the road, especially (and isn't this weird and paradoxical) with boys in the life, and in the last year or so. Huzzah! But that isn't really a soul shift thing. I'm becoming much more clear about what I want from life, and the future and whatever. And yus, I know I've been fluffing about this since day one, but it's sort of calmed down and become less convoluted. Which is also nice. But mostly, I'm enjoying the heck out of Italy. 

I shall sign off now because tomorrow morning I'm going to Assisi. As in, St. Francis of. He's one of the patron saints of Italy, along with St. Catherine of (you guessed it) Siena. They were both a little crazy in the saintly way, but St. F is known for some of his writing, like Canticle of the Creatures, which is worth a read. It's sort of unique in the way he talks about and personifies natural phenomenon - it's much more spiritual than one might expect. I'm pretty excited - there are some neat churches and awesome art, and near by is a small town called Spoleto with a modern art museum and some Roman ruins, so we're going to take a day trip there on Saturday. It's just four of us - me, Megan, Fiona, and Libby. Our program leader, Karen, is going to come down with us on Friday (she's only spending the day) which will be great because, as previously mentioned, she knows all kinds of awesome things about art. Thus, you can expect an update on Sunday, likely. Hopefully full of fun adventures.

I hope this post was as navel-gazy or non-navel-gazy you wanted. As usual, I miss you, blah blah. It's now less than 3 weeks until my birthday - for anyone wanting to send me things (coughMomcough), do it via FedEx of UPS or something, since it's faster and safer than public mail. Don't send anything they'll want to stop. Your comments, emails, and general affection are always always appreciated.

<3 

Italians: Making Things Less Efficient Since at Least 1945

Things I crossed off my bucket list this week: going to France. Skiing the Alps. 

They took everyone on the program (Lewis and Clarkies, Easterners, the straggler students from other random colleges) to Valle d'Aosta, and if you had been in our class last week, you would know all the things about Valle d'Aosta, because we gave presentations on them! The highlights are that it's up near France and Torino (which you might remember from some winter Olympics a while back), it's bilingual in French and Italian, and there are the Alps. 

Wednesday we drove up in a big bus, all one billion (by which I mean thirty something) of us, at the crack of dawn (by which I mean 7:45 - only we were late departing, of course). It took forever. Really. Aosta is five hours from Siena, but it took much much longer than that because we had bathroom breaks and we stopped in Torino to visit the Museo Nazionale del Cinema. Which we had a reservation for, but still had to wait 30 minutes to see. So Italian. But the museum was neat. It would have been a lot better if we weren't all dead from so many hours on the bus, and we'd been allowed to wander around and look ourselves. But hey, you know me, not gonna pass up a free trip to a museum! And we did see some neat things - like famous movie posters, but the Italian versions. And some scripts to famous movies, and some of Federico Felini's stuff. And some masks, of questionable value - pre-production stuff from various movies including Superman and Star Wars. 

We finally arrived at our hotel, Etoile du Nord (North Star, in French - remember, Aosta is bilingual) at some god-forsaken hour in the region of 7pm. Which is insane if you remember that I got on the bus at 7:54. It was a kinda strange spirally hotel, but otherwise very nice. They fed us dinner, and we all passed out. 

Thursday most people went up the mountain to ski/snowboard. Those of us uninterested in sliding down the mountain at breakneck speeds on little pieces of plastic promptly went up to look around at the view anyway. After which, we changed our minds and decided to spend Friday skiing. But we descended and puttered off to find a bus/train to take us to France for the day. Because we were so close. It was about an hour by bus to Cormayeur, a small town on the Italian side of Monte Bianco (tallest mountain in Europe - Mont Blanc in French) and then less than that through the tunnel to France and Chamonix on the other side. 

We met a British guy who was also going to Chamonix and had been before, so he knew the good places to eat. His name was Tim, and he was an ice climber. Robin pointed out that of all the foreigners to befriend, we had to pick the one with the ice pick on his pack, but he was very nice. He hung out with us, had lunch with us, talked in his cute little British accent, and then departed. It was lovely - there was no way we'd see each other again, since he was going back to England in fairly short order, so it was a perfect exercise in the serendipity of travel. We got a good lunch and he got to hang out with seven girls who spoke English. 

Chamonix is a beautiful little town nestled in the mountains. But truly - there is not a direction you can look that these fantastically imposing mountains don't tower over you. Snow-tipped, jagged, they're just... breathtaking. Pictures do not do it justice. I cannot even imagine living in such a place - waking up every day, with that view, with those awesome giants always there, always the same. That I were so lucky. 

Other things about the town - we had macrons, which look a little like mini hamburgers, especially if you get the right flavour, but are actually delicious pastries. We also had French french fries, which were delicious, with French mayonaise which was also delicious. I saw a bag for "Harry Potter et les Reliques du Mort". Robin saw moonboots and wanted them, but they were extraordinarily expensive. I bought French brie - a sizable piece that would go for at least $5 back home for €2.50. It was so so good, I wanted to eat it forever. Apparently, in Europe, they don't have to pasteurize their milk, so the cheese is better. We were very sad to leave France. It definitely had a different feel than Italy did, and it was, in some ways, nice to get out of Italy for a bit. I mean, I love Italy, but the day trip was a nice change of pace from the Italian inefficiency. We were very sad to leave, but it was nice to get back to the hotel and relax after our international super-adventure (you will notice almost everything is a super-adventure for me). 

Onwards to Friday! Friday, again, I woke up super early, but this time because I was going skiing! The verb in italian is sciare pronounced shee-are-ay, and goes very well to the tune of that song "Nel blu dipinto di blu" which you might know by it's popular name "Volare", meaning to fly. Which is a long winded way of saying that all day I was humming "Sciare..." to that tune. Anyway. 

There were a number of us who decided to go skiing on Friday - Fiona and Libby, who had skied once and never respectively, Megan who used to ski regularly with her parents but had retired from the snow life, and Trevin, who both skis and snowboards and skied Thursday, so was switching it up. I have been skiing (or had been...) approximately 3 times in my life, and the last time was waaay back in high school with Isabelle and company. But apparently that made me good enough to keep up with the big kids, Trevin and Megan. Who deserve all of the thanks in the world for being so patient with me. Mad props to them. Especially Trevin who not only coached me ("It's all confidence. You know that little engine that could? Instead of saying 'I think I can...' he should have gone, 'Dang, I KNOW I can!'") and took it so slow for timid little me, but waited on his knees (you have to do this when snowboarding, you can't really just stand waiting) over every ridge for Megan and I to catch up. I wish wish wish I had a picture of Trevin's "waiting-on-the-other-side-of-the-hill-for-the-slow-pokes" face. It was a very encouraging face. 

I fell approximately ten times. Give or take a few. And I was not wearing snow pants, I decided to ski in jeans (with leggings underneath). My response, when I couldn't find anyone with pants to lend me, was "Well then, I just won't fall." Karma. But I didn't actually get that wet - it was so cold, I could just brush myself off and keep going. My mittens, which are not waterproof, got very very wet by the end of the day, but that was about it. I was, over all, perfectly fine. Besides one bruise on my knee from falling on hard snow, which is not even a particularly bad bruise. So there. 

But it was all worth it to go to the top. Did I mention we skied from the top of the mountain to the bottom? Because we did. And we didn't die, despite my protestations that we totally would (or I would, anyway). Everything that day was worth it for that view. Mountains all around, little valleys, huge jagged snow-dusted peaks. So amazing. And a couple snow-patrolers just having their lunch, hanging out, like it was no big deal they were on top of Europe, in the most amazing mountains. The view was so breathtaking, I could have died. Mountains mountains everywhere. I could go on and on trying to convey to you the sheer might that those mountains have, but you would get bored, and I'd get frustrated because little pixels on the screen are thoroughly insufficient. Just believe me. Close your eyes and imagine for me. This is an interactive blog. 

But despite a minor collapse of will on the last run (Trevin, Megan, you guys are SAINTS), it was a fantastic day. I am so glad I decided to go skiing, it was so much fun, and I know I would have regretted it if I hadn't, since I do actually kind of know how to ski. We had dinner that night in the hotel, drank some vino, and Megan fell asleep on my bed, because we were all so so tired. The next day my legs were aching but in a good way. 

Saturday, we got up at the crack of dawn again. Well, 8 but it felt like dawn after skiing all day the day before. Then it was back to the bus for an eternity. We stopped again in Torino for another museum - Museo Egizio, which is the largest Egyptian Museum outside of the one in Cairo. Which, I explained last night to an American friend, is not weird. Yes, lots of Egyptian reliques were "saved" (read: looted) by people, and yes one might expect all the artifacts to be in Britain, because Britain controlled Egypt for a long time. But, before that, Napoleon was in Egypt. Now, I'm not super on top of this particular history - most of what I know comes from looking at some Orientalist art from the time for a class about Muslim/European relations. But basically, as we were told, Napoleon took a bunch of stuff from Egypt and was bringing it back from France and got tired of lugging it around. So, naturally, he dropped it right before he had to drag it through the super huge mountains, which was Torino. Wikipedia does not corroborate this story, but it's a pretty good story. The point, however, is that there's been an Egyptian museum in Torino since the 1800s. So that's pretty cool. 

It was a lot better than the Cinema Museum trip because it was earlier in the day, so we were less exhausted, and the tour guide spoke very slow, clear Italian. My attention began to wane near the end, but the stuff he was telling us was super fascinating. They have Nefertiti's knees (all that's left after looting), the first mummy ever, and a bunch of really neat sculptures. Megan, who is also an art history major, told me that Egyptian art is particularly interesting, because except for 50 years under this one dude, the art style stayed mostly the same for some reason. After this dude's innovation, it went right back to being the way it was. Which is also pretty interesting. 

We had a chance to eat lunch in Torino, and take a few pictures. Torino, and northern Italy in general, is really cool. It's very different even from Tuscany - it's much more... European looking. The style is more what you might expect to find in parts of France or Switzerland or something. I liked what I saw of Torino. It's still dirtier than Siena, from what I saw, but it also fascinated me just because of the difference in style. I would have liked to have a little more time to putter around, but maybe it was best this way - then I wouldn't have to become disillusioned with it too.

A billion hours later, we finally arrived back in Siena. We got in around 8:30, so almost 12 hours after we left Aosta. OH. MY. GOD. So long. I'd scarfed a ton of cookies and chocolate on the bus, so I wasn't particularly hungry when I got home, but I still managed to eat two servings of pasta. My lady was really happy I got home - she said something to the effect of "I like that I'm not alone" which was adorable. Again, it feels so lovely to return home to Siena, even if it's just because we know what we're doing here.

Since I've been here for almost a month, I should probably do a 'month-iversary' sum up in the next couple days - Monday marks one month here, and Sunday one month since I left. So that'll probably happen, if you want to skip the weird navel-gazing update. Monday also marks the start of the semester! No more intensive Italian! Yay! Finally some exercise for my brain - I'll have something to talk about besides "and then I ate some pasta and then I drank a cappuccino and then I was really really cold". Anyway, just a heads up.

As per usual, I love and miss everyone back in North America. I hope you're all well, and having as much fun as I am. Emails and letters are always welcome - don't forget my birthday is coming up!

<3 

Firenze: The Lesser Tuscan City

Whelp, it's that time again. Update time! Woo! I know you're all dancing around your rooms in fits of joy and ecstasy, but calm'er down or you'll break something. I also know you all wait on tender-hooks for tales of my fascinating escapades. This story is... interesting... that's for sure.

So. Saturday we decided to go to Florence (Firenze, great rival of Siena! Home of Dante! And other exciting things). Which meant getting up early again. But more importantly, I did not sleep well Friday night - I had this ridiculously vivid dream in which I missed the bus, left my ticket, forgot my bag. Blaaah. It was so realistic, I even went, in the dream, "Damn, I wish this was just a dream!" Which started me off on a weird foot.

Once we got to Florence, we couldn't find the damn hostel. It was not labeled at all well, and Florence is weird - there are a billion numbers on the buildings, and in different colours, and people told us it was on the other side of the street, and just OH MAH GAWD. I might have gotten a little hypoglycemic searching for it - apologies guys! But for €12 a night it was nice - the foyer smelled like toilet, but the room was clean.

Next was the Uffizi, which, if you don't know, is a major gallery in Italy - it houses Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Primavera, as well as Artemisia Gentileschi's Judith Beheading Holofernes, and an Annunciation by my pal, Simone Martini! (I'll just say a little bit about each of these things, for those of you who are interested - if you're not [coughadlaicough] you can skip ahead to the next paragraph). Botticelli makes everyone so so lovely. His women are just yum, and there's this extraordinarily easy grace to their faces. Artemisia (if you don't know) was raped as a girl, but went on to become one of the first women admitted into this super special guild for painters, and was actually very talented. But, as Kate complains, her rape is super fixated on - instead of just going, "Man what a good artist!" people are always looking for her rape in her paintings. Which, to be honest, isn't hard to do in Judith - the lady is very straight-faced, no nonsense, sleeves rolled up, as blood spatters in a very violent way from his neck. But her rape aside, it is an extraordinarily impressive painting. Simone Martini's Annunciation is lovely because he puts so much detail into everything, like the fabric of the clothes, the feathers on the angel's wings, and the little patterns that are scratched into all the gold with a needle-fine point. Lovely lovely lovely. Plus, in this Annunciation, Mary looks appropriately weirded out - "I'm going to have what without having what!?" So that was really awesome. Plus, I am completely awed by the ability to paint like that - what. How. You put paint on this canvas and somehow you make the skin all rosy and have shape and shit. Literally makes no sense.

So anyway, that was cool. We also went to see the David, which was even MORE cool. The real statue is way more impressive than the plaster cast that stands outside in the Palazzo Vecchio. It's magnetic. It's in the Accademia gallery which was built specifically for it, and has a bunch of other things (sculptures and paintings) that no one really cares about because they are overshadowed by the David. Who is beautiful. Michelangelo managed to make it look like the marble is just David's skin, and there are muscles and sinews and bones and veins under that skin. And I stare at him expecting him to twitch or scratch his leg or shift his weight and he doesn't, but I can't stop waiting because I know he's going to do it. I thought, "psht, how different from all the other sculptures can he be?" but he is so different. Other sculptures are just in the shape of people, their shells, but David is wholly human all the way through. But enough about my new boyfriend.

We had a fantastic dinner (spaghetti alla carbonara - so good, I was pretty sure I would explode I ate so much), and then went in search of somewhere to have a nightcap. And I was all on board - at first. But after wandering the city in the cold for an hour, my enthusiasm was waning, because I was tired. And a little homesick. Which requires some clarifying - I'm so tired of freaking Intensive Italian. I've had a really weird schedule for the last 3 weeks, and I prefer the regularity of a schedule. And I think that's been a major factor in my mood being much less excited than it should be this last week. And I miss my super support system - everyone back home seems to be really busy, so I haven't heard anything from anyone really, which is hard for me. So I got separated from everyone else on the Ponte Vecchio, the old bridge in Florence, because I needed a minute (or 45) to regroup with a phone call from the States that saved me (you know who you are - I can't thank you enough). At which point, I rallied for a bit, but my exhaustion was just so intense, I returned to the hostel and went to sleep while everyone else went in search of a super adventure - which they found. It involved drunken French dudes, a lost purse, and a Black Velvet (Guinness and champagne, I'm told).

But not enough hours of sleep later, we were waking up, checking out, and moving on. And it was cold and dreary, and I was still exhausted and had a headache. So that was fun - not. Although we did go to Dante's house - who, as you all know, I have a love-hate relationship with - which was pretty awesome for me, having read his stuff. And Florence just puts quotes from The Divine Comedy on little plaques on the walls of buildings all over the city. But we decided to return to Siena for some tea at our favourite restaurant, which is where I am writing from. Siena, as per usual, is lovely. It feels so good to be back here. Florence was okay, but Siena is cleaner, friendlier, and just all around better.

Anyway, the long and the short is that this has been a rough week, and probably will be a rough next week - but then maybe not, maybe all I need is a decent night's sleep. I love and miss you all - more than you can possibly know. I hope you're well, and I hope you're missing me too. Keep me in your thoughts.

<3

Less Fear in Their Hearts and Better Dressed

Oh my goodness, today was sunny! And even a little warm -  what is this insanity! Today we had specified time to go to il mercato but again - nothing but poofy jackets and fur. And flowers - there were lots of flowers. Megan's favourite kind are cabbage flowers (those of you hoping to hit on her take note - although you'll have to compete with her boyfriend), which they had. I might have decided tulips are my favourites. Not that there are flowers in my future (near or distant), but either way.

Because it was sunny, we sat at a restaurant in the Campo - Megan and I ate our lunch in the sun, Kate and Krissy sprung for cappuccini (it's super more expensive in the Campo) - and pondered what to do with all our free-time this semester. Looking at the calendar, it looks super short considering everything we're doing during the weekends: next weekend, we're going to the Alps, the weekend after is our first free-weekend, then cheese tastings and the opera, then carnivale, then our ten day break, then an art excursion to Florence, then a day trip to Rome, then another free weekend, then our farewell aperitivo and a hiking trip, and the next weekend we leave. Woah. But it also feels like forever, and it's super super intimidating. Especially talking to people back home - things are moving more slowly for them, but also more quickly. Me not being there means I have no control over my American life, and that's a little freaky. It's also annoying because I'm trying to find a way to stay in Portland, but job hunting via email is no good (surprise, Mom! I still love you though, even if I don't want to come home). People want to meet you, and are hesitant to hire people they can't meet face to face. And then there's the concern that my Portland life might be completely different if I do manage to get a job - there might be no one there, no where to live, and so forth. So we shall see, I suppose.

But the truly exciting news from today is that I went to my very first class - as a teacher! The school here really likes if you agree to volunteer somewhere - with an ambulance, at a retirement community, with people with disabilities, a soup kitchen, or a school! And the school is where I wanted to volunteer, so today was my first day trying to teach English to the kids. It was a bit of a disaster. See, I didn't really have anything planned, and they're all in grade 5, so from 10 to 11 prolly. I don't think they minded, but it was intense standing up there for an hour and a half and having to control 13 loud, rambunctious kids. Italian kids are essentially the same as American ones, but with less fear in their hearts and better dressed (see what I did thar? It's the title of this blog!).

They were supposed to ask me a bunch of questions, but that deteriorated very quickly because they couldn't really ask anything other than, "What is your favourite [insert thing here - number, animal, colour, etc.]?" So I drew animals for a while and had them call out the names in English. Then we played hangman, and pictionary and I asked them about their lives and the things they liked. They were super adorable though, and they seemed to like me okay. Oh, and for all of you who like Hawaiian pizza - I told the Italian kids (great great great etc grandkids of those who invented pizza) that in N. America, pizza with pineapple is very popular. They were all extraordinarily disgusted. One major point for me.

One thing I definitely have to learn, though, is how the heck to control them, because they do not stay sitting down, and they all talk over each other. I was extraordinarily overwhelmed. Mike, the guy who is in charge of volunteering and especially the schools (he organizes a huge number of students to go to a huge number of classes at a huge number of schools), warned me it would be intense but essentially said I can do whatever I want, as long as I don't (and I quote) "bring in any porn". He said it would, in theory, be awesome if I could do all of the classes/talking in english, because they'd learn more (or whatever) but that it would be impossible because their english isn't good enough and they would talk to me in Italian regardless. And he was right. I did a lot of talking in english, but I had to keep switching back to italian, because they just don't know enough english. And this is a great way to learn the third person plural verb form, since I almost never use that one.

Anyway, relax on the, "You've found a new calling, a career, hooray" because it was one day, and I am SO exhausted and it is definitely too early to be making that assessment yet. I almost fell asleep at our little restaurant, Zest, because it was just so intense. My heart was pounding with adrenaline and I was thoroughly worn out. I even ducked out of dinner early - I usually try to talk to Maura for at least half an hour, if not more, but I just couldn't do it today. And I have to go meet another class tomorrow - I only get to go every other week, so instead of having one hour long class a week, I have two every other week. I was covered in chalk dust today after all the drawing and writing. But I felt super impressive to write on a chalkboard and not just be drawing pictures of dudes picking their noses or funny shaped people for sillies.

But it was a very nice evening after that. We sat at Zest for almost 2 hours, worked our way through a bottle of wine and a plate of prosciutto and bread (we go their regularly enough that the dude knows us, and gives us the prosciutto complimentary - I pretend he only does it for us). So that helped with the relaxing and unwinding after the intensity of being in that classroom.

The contemplation of my navel continues. I've been here almost 3 weeks, which is almost 1/3 and makes just over 10 left. Things are being put in motion, in my life and myself - I hope to return more cultured and with a plan.

Changes keep falling, like the sunshine, like the rain... (Don't look that song up - I know it from a weird educational tape from grade 5 that you definitely don't want to see).

<3