(there are many more posts I have to publish that will chronologically come before this one, but its a short one so I wanted to post it). Today is April 22. That means there are officially 7 days until the end of this program. I don't really want to talk about what that means or how that feels. Instead, I want to talk about Florence Appreciation Week. This is something Jilli and I came up with during a run along the Arno on Monday. Looking out at the skyline we had come to call our own, we made a pact to savor every second of our time in a city that had heaped nothing but generosity and beauty on us. And it was going to start that night. After dinner, Gabby and I made our familiar trek to the steps of the Duomo, where we collected Jilli and Danielle, and then from there, headed on to link up with Haley and Amanda at their Oltrarno apartment. Bottles of wine were bought along the way and we wound our way up the steep incline to Piazzale Michelangelo, the hundreds of lights of Florence twinkling behind us.
Reaching the top, we fawned over the view, as always, and found ourselves a bench to claim. The next two and some odd hours was endless conversation, probably to the great disturbance of the subdued Italians around us. Finally, at 1am, when most everyone had cleared out, we decided to wind back down the incline, took a quick pit stop at the apartment, and then parted ways to go back home.
Today dawned day 2, which unfortunately involved school, but as soon as we were free, Danielle, Jilli, and I walked to San Lorenzo to have lunch in heaven. Aka this largely open-air restaurant that offers "make your own salads" : choose your 8 ingredients and pay 5 euro. We were handed the happiest bowls of salad and we demolished them in a fitting manner. In case you were wondering (and I know you were) my 8 ingredients were: arugula, cucumber, onion, sundried tomatoes, pesto sauce, brie cheese, and walnuts. Bliss. After salad, Danielle went her separate way and Jilli and I commenced our mission to complete a recently determined goal. We found our location, marched in bravely, and after a series of half English/half Italian exchanges, skipped out with adrenaline highs and new ear piercings. Now how's that for a spontaneous afternoon. Still buzzing from our moment-seizing, we took a long walk to pick up Jilli's newly healed laptop, explored and exclaimed over a new part of the city, and then said our goodbyes and headed home for dinner.
Stay tuned for day 3....
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
On an evening in Roma...
I've been apologizing a lot lately for my sensibilities; mainly to myself, because they don't seem to fit into the paradigm of the social change agent / tireless activist that I've elevated to a position of having significant influence in my life. I want to "fit" this paradigm, but I also know I exist very much outside it. I crave beauty, softness. I need substantial time in which to be quiet, to be lost in thought. I maintain a possibly "childish" desire to believe the world is a beautiful place, leading me to often block out precisely the issues I claim to want to ameliorate. There is a place for my sensibilities in these struggles, I do believe that. I just haven't figured it out yet. I say all this because I am aware of the fact that a lot of my posts about my travels have been treatises on beauty; hyperbolic waterfalls of feeling, and symphonic swells of romanticism. And I feel a certain conflict in penning these words, because they're not "helping" anyone. They're not advancing any causes. But they are my truth and I can't apologize for that.
As luck would have it, I took a brief hiatus from writing this post to watch 3 episodes of New Girl, thereby making me extra sentimental (it's the Nick/Jess thing. It really gets to me).
So here goes Rome:
After the partial fiasco that was London, Jilli and I (we're now hard and fast travelling companions, for better or the eventual worse than comes from lack of planning) were completely and utterly relieved to have a trip that was planned for us. Rome was an all-school trip, meaning it was "free" (subsidized by the sizeable trip fee we had to pay) and was open to all students on the SUF program. We both have a strong aversion to moving in packs but agreed it was worth the sacrifice. Friday morning, the 21st, we met at the Florence train station, stood in a very large bunch for a while, blocking the entrance to the train station pharmacy to the great chagrin of, well, everyone, and finally boarded our train bound for Rome. It was a gloriously sunny morning and the country side hurrying past the train window showed off in the early glow. We arrived just after our slotted arrival time, and felt the change in the air as we stepped off: we were in Rome. I had every vision of the Lizzie McGuire movie shamelessly rolling through my head. This trip to Rome was, in a way, a symbol for all I had imagined Italy would be. I forgot to process how big the moment was and suddenly felt myself thrust into an experience I felt needed retroactive preparation for. But ready or not, I felt myself gaping at the bus window as the grandeur of the most formidable city in the world came into view. Rome's skyline is like none other: instead of skyscrapers, there are palaces and columned monuments, recessed on statuesque hills, giving you the sensation that the gods themselves are watching over the metropolis below. If my language seems a little overly hyperbolic, it's because I was unapologetically blown away on first sight.
With our own "Ms. Ungermyer-esque" tour guide, we did our preliminary sightseeing by bus, on the way to the Vatican. The Tiber did not impress me anymore than the Arno would anyone else, but I envied it for the fact that it got to meander through Rome, like a local with no place in particular to be. We drove along its shores until we passed over into the papal realm and came upon St. Peter's square, vibrating with light as the late-morning sun fixed itself overhead. The bus disgorged and we were on our way. We were equipped with our dinky little headsets, for the guided tour: a fact about which I decided to be fully nonjudgemental of, for once in my life. I couldn't very well give myself a tour of the Vatican Museums and I knew that. So I wore my ear piece and clip-on monitor with pride and as much dignity as I could muster, given their neon green hu, and what proceeded was, naturally, endlessly beautiful and fascinating. St. Peter's Basilica was, for me, the high point, though of course standing beneath the vaulted Sistine Chapel ceiling was nothing less than extraordinary. Having been successfully drenched in as much Renaissance art as possible, we were sent out onto the streets of the Vatican for a lunch break. Gabby, Jilli, and I crossed the Tiber and promptly found a nondescript corner restaurant, its biggest selling point being the sunshine dousing tables and chairs out on the sidewalk. Lunch was gnocchi for the two other ladies and a pizza for me (all pizzas are personal in this country...). Full stomachs and vitamin D turned us lethargic and it took all we had in us to wrench ourselves from the chairs and make our way back across the river. But the promise of gelato made us sprint the last half mile, hoping to snag a confection and still make our curfew. Unfortunately, gelato had to wait, as we were promptly herded back on the buses to head to the hotel.
Checking 50 some-odd college students into a hotel is no easy task and it was hard to be patient when there was still sun in the sky. But we made it through and to our room which, of course, we got way too excited about. We might have made a One Direction music video in our over-enthusiastic delirium....at which point we decided to re-group and re-pursue the gelato option before dinner. Returning to our room in Roman twilight, our next decision was that a nap was in order. We planned our dinner choice before bedding down, thanks to the eternal foresight of Gabby, and then proceeded to knock out for a solid hour. Waking up, we shook off sleep and popped open our bottle of wine (the only way to get ready). After a long conversational digression, we were tumbling out the front door of the hotel once again. We had a long walk ahead of us to Campo de'Fiori but there is absolutely nothing more enchanting than strolling through Rome at night, as we came to find out. The whole world seemed to be sparkling. It was almost disappointing to eventually reach our destination...or it would have been, had our destination not been so singularly entrancing in itself. Campo de'Fiori is known as the heart of nightlife in Rome and, true to form, the square was draped with groups of young people (including many, many men in kilts, but more about that later). We ran into two friends from our program, who clearly had gotten the memo that this was the place to be, and so we all decided to sit down together for dinner. Our outdoor table gave us the distinct pleasure of observing the crowds, the lights, the rose vendors sticking bouquets in every face...the wine continued to flow and here's where the kilts return. Two men sitting at the table next to ours were part of the kilt clan, so we called them over, demanding they tell us why the city of Rome was currently flooded with tartan. Turns out, there was a big rugby game concerning the Scots and the Romans, and so the Scots came out in full force. Also turns out, this tidbit was only the tip of the iceberg of conversation to come. The two pulled up chairs, made themselves comfortable, and proceeded to lace us with questions about why Americans have such good teeth and whether we agree with a bipartisan government, among other strange things. Aided by the raport of those two clowns, our dinner lasted a properly Italian amount of time, after which point the night beyond the table was tugging us too strongly to sit any longer.
If only we had known that the Scotsmen were only the beginning of the cast of characters we would meet that night....the cohort that followed included a slew of slightly predatory older men, a group of pre-teens/teens claiming to be the Italian One Direction (with Italian Justin Beiber as the ringleader, of course) who broke out into a rendition of What Makes You Beautiful in perfect 5-part harmony (with JB singing Boyfriend in the background, obviously), Italians who love to play beer pong, and finally, Italians who wanted to drive us all around the city to "go dance" with them. That night felt like 6 nights rolled into one. Come the morning, it was painfully difficult to fathom how we were going to make it through the most daunting itinerary of Roman sightseeing known to man...
....but we did. Because having friends suffering with you is the only way to make it through. So we forged ahead through the Colosseum, the Forum, Michelangelo's piazza, the Spanish steps, the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain and finally, the Borghese. And every single destination was formidable in one million ways. I really don't even have words for the splendor but Rome is magic. Every image is printed indelibly on my heart and, if the Trevi keeps its promise, I will be back
As luck would have it, I took a brief hiatus from writing this post to watch 3 episodes of New Girl, thereby making me extra sentimental (it's the Nick/Jess thing. It really gets to me).
So here goes Rome:
After the partial fiasco that was London, Jilli and I (we're now hard and fast travelling companions, for better or the eventual worse than comes from lack of planning) were completely and utterly relieved to have a trip that was planned for us. Rome was an all-school trip, meaning it was "free" (subsidized by the sizeable trip fee we had to pay) and was open to all students on the SUF program. We both have a strong aversion to moving in packs but agreed it was worth the sacrifice. Friday morning, the 21st, we met at the Florence train station, stood in a very large bunch for a while, blocking the entrance to the train station pharmacy to the great chagrin of, well, everyone, and finally boarded our train bound for Rome. It was a gloriously sunny morning and the country side hurrying past the train window showed off in the early glow. We arrived just after our slotted arrival time, and felt the change in the air as we stepped off: we were in Rome. I had every vision of the Lizzie McGuire movie shamelessly rolling through my head. This trip to Rome was, in a way, a symbol for all I had imagined Italy would be. I forgot to process how big the moment was and suddenly felt myself thrust into an experience I felt needed retroactive preparation for. But ready or not, I felt myself gaping at the bus window as the grandeur of the most formidable city in the world came into view. Rome's skyline is like none other: instead of skyscrapers, there are palaces and columned monuments, recessed on statuesque hills, giving you the sensation that the gods themselves are watching over the metropolis below. If my language seems a little overly hyperbolic, it's because I was unapologetically blown away on first sight.
With our own "Ms. Ungermyer-esque" tour guide, we did our preliminary sightseeing by bus, on the way to the Vatican. The Tiber did not impress me anymore than the Arno would anyone else, but I envied it for the fact that it got to meander through Rome, like a local with no place in particular to be. We drove along its shores until we passed over into the papal realm and came upon St. Peter's square, vibrating with light as the late-morning sun fixed itself overhead. The bus disgorged and we were on our way. We were equipped with our dinky little headsets, for the guided tour: a fact about which I decided to be fully nonjudgemental of, for once in my life. I couldn't very well give myself a tour of the Vatican Museums and I knew that. So I wore my ear piece and clip-on monitor with pride and as much dignity as I could muster, given their neon green hu, and what proceeded was, naturally, endlessly beautiful and fascinating. St. Peter's Basilica was, for me, the high point, though of course standing beneath the vaulted Sistine Chapel ceiling was nothing less than extraordinary. Having been successfully drenched in as much Renaissance art as possible, we were sent out onto the streets of the Vatican for a lunch break. Gabby, Jilli, and I crossed the Tiber and promptly found a nondescript corner restaurant, its biggest selling point being the sunshine dousing tables and chairs out on the sidewalk. Lunch was gnocchi for the two other ladies and a pizza for me (all pizzas are personal in this country...). Full stomachs and vitamin D turned us lethargic and it took all we had in us to wrench ourselves from the chairs and make our way back across the river. But the promise of gelato made us sprint the last half mile, hoping to snag a confection and still make our curfew. Unfortunately, gelato had to wait, as we were promptly herded back on the buses to head to the hotel.
Checking 50 some-odd college students into a hotel is no easy task and it was hard to be patient when there was still sun in the sky. But we made it through and to our room which, of course, we got way too excited about. We might have made a One Direction music video in our over-enthusiastic delirium....at which point we decided to re-group and re-pursue the gelato option before dinner. Returning to our room in Roman twilight, our next decision was that a nap was in order. We planned our dinner choice before bedding down, thanks to the eternal foresight of Gabby, and then proceeded to knock out for a solid hour. Waking up, we shook off sleep and popped open our bottle of wine (the only way to get ready). After a long conversational digression, we were tumbling out the front door of the hotel once again. We had a long walk ahead of us to Campo de'Fiori but there is absolutely nothing more enchanting than strolling through Rome at night, as we came to find out. The whole world seemed to be sparkling. It was almost disappointing to eventually reach our destination...or it would have been, had our destination not been so singularly entrancing in itself. Campo de'Fiori is known as the heart of nightlife in Rome and, true to form, the square was draped with groups of young people (including many, many men in kilts, but more about that later). We ran into two friends from our program, who clearly had gotten the memo that this was the place to be, and so we all decided to sit down together for dinner. Our outdoor table gave us the distinct pleasure of observing the crowds, the lights, the rose vendors sticking bouquets in every face...the wine continued to flow and here's where the kilts return. Two men sitting at the table next to ours were part of the kilt clan, so we called them over, demanding they tell us why the city of Rome was currently flooded with tartan. Turns out, there was a big rugby game concerning the Scots and the Romans, and so the Scots came out in full force. Also turns out, this tidbit was only the tip of the iceberg of conversation to come. The two pulled up chairs, made themselves comfortable, and proceeded to lace us with questions about why Americans have such good teeth and whether we agree with a bipartisan government, among other strange things. Aided by the raport of those two clowns, our dinner lasted a properly Italian amount of time, after which point the night beyond the table was tugging us too strongly to sit any longer.
If only we had known that the Scotsmen were only the beginning of the cast of characters we would meet that night....the cohort that followed included a slew of slightly predatory older men, a group of pre-teens/teens claiming to be the Italian One Direction (with Italian Justin Beiber as the ringleader, of course) who broke out into a rendition of What Makes You Beautiful in perfect 5-part harmony (with JB singing Boyfriend in the background, obviously), Italians who love to play beer pong, and finally, Italians who wanted to drive us all around the city to "go dance" with them. That night felt like 6 nights rolled into one. Come the morning, it was painfully difficult to fathom how we were going to make it through the most daunting itinerary of Roman sightseeing known to man...
....but we did. Because having friends suffering with you is the only way to make it through. So we forged ahead through the Colosseum, the Forum, Michelangelo's piazza, the Spanish steps, the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain and finally, the Borghese. And every single destination was formidable in one million ways. I really don't even have words for the splendor but Rome is magic. Every image is printed indelibly on my heart and, if the Trevi keeps its promise, I will be back
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Feeling like a tree, with all this sap
One month. In one month's time, this program will officially come to an end. I will have "studied abroad" - the box will have a check. Luckily and necessarily, I will remain in Europe until May 19th, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my mom and Grandma on the 9th. But most of my journeys will be behind me, and I will be preparing to board a flight home. And until this very moment, I wasn't sentimental. Until this very moment, I was consumed: consumed with figuring out plans for dinner, plans for this summer, plans for next semester...plans, plans, plans. I was consumed with my own emotion: am I processing all of this? Why am I not in a state of complete happiness and fulfillment at all times? Am I benefiting from being abroad? Why do things feel so routine, if I'm in another country? And then I saw Italy, my experience, my processing, through the eyes of a beloved.
Having Jessica here for a week engaged my whole heart. I was joining my worlds, in the sweetest, most unobtrusive way possible. I got to wander the streets holding her hand, got to stand beside her as we gazed up at the Duomo, got to watch her eat her first gelato (and her second...and her third...), and most touching, I got to witness her fall irrevocably in love with the two people I have been calling "mamma" and "papa" for the past 3 months. Italy reintroduced itself to me when it imprinted itself on Jess's soul. And even now, with her back home safely in our hometown, I am looking over her stunning pictures and finding myself short of breath, my airways blocked by a swelling heart. While I was busy trying to find meaning in every stone building and cyprus tree, Italy was enchanting me. And not with the fanfare and uninterrupted bliss that I expected, but with quiet, humble patience. In this moment, I am feeling my Italy course through me and it is expansive, it is vibrant, it is loving. I don't have to worry anymore because I know what I am coming away with. And it is enough to fill every inch of me.
Having Jessica here for a week engaged my whole heart. I was joining my worlds, in the sweetest, most unobtrusive way possible. I got to wander the streets holding her hand, got to stand beside her as we gazed up at the Duomo, got to watch her eat her first gelato (and her second...and her third...), and most touching, I got to witness her fall irrevocably in love with the two people I have been calling "mamma" and "papa" for the past 3 months. Italy reintroduced itself to me when it imprinted itself on Jess's soul. And even now, with her back home safely in our hometown, I am looking over her stunning pictures and finding myself short of breath, my airways blocked by a swelling heart. While I was busy trying to find meaning in every stone building and cyprus tree, Italy was enchanting me. And not with the fanfare and uninterrupted bliss that I expected, but with quiet, humble patience. In this moment, I am feeling my Italy course through me and it is expansive, it is vibrant, it is loving. I don't have to worry anymore because I know what I am coming away with. And it is enough to fill every inch of me.
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