Friday, June 19, 2009
Gossip's Demise
Spotted: yours truly leaving Italy. Excited for the Villa Reunion Party tomorrow night in DC...
Don't Want to Land in...
It’s funny, but even when I think I’m so acclimated to a culture – not part of it, mind you, just USED to it a little – I observe something that shocks me back into remembering that I am not home. Tonight MR and I were dragging ourselves and our belongings through the front door of the Marriott Courtyard at Fiumicino, the Rome airport, and I swear I could have been anywhere from mid-Florida to upstate New York to Salt Lake City – that’s how used to the Marriott I am – but suddenly I found a sign that I was not back in the Great United States yet*. Outside of the big front door sat two flight attendants having an in-depth discussion that almost certainly covered the philosophy of gossip; none of this is shocking, I know, but here comes my reminder: they were drinking beers.
I have never seen a flight attendant in the US sit outside of a Marriott by a main road and drink beer. I’ve actually never seen a flight attendant in the US drink beer, but I assume they at least have the capacity to do so, and the point here is not the beer so much as the alcoholic content of the beer – I think you begin to understand why I did a bit of a double-take.
Anyway, on to more solid and historic (if not more exciting) ramblings: today was the day of the long-awaited Pompeii/Herculaneum trip. MR and I started the day off right by sleeping in for half an hour, and then managed to take about four hours to drop our bags off at the train station in Naples and then get back to Pompeii. To be fair, the Circumvesuviana is really rather slow, and despite leaving the Hotel del Corso in Sorrento a little after 9am we did not even arrive at the train station in Napoli until 11:15. Then we went through finding the baggage check, checking the baggage, trying to check MR in for her flight tomorrow, giving up on that, getting back to the Circumvesuviana, having to wait for the 12:11 train, and then riding that train for about 40 minutes before arriving in Pompeii. Really, they should make the Circumvesuviana go just a teensy bit faster. In a direct contrast to MR and me, it’s rather slow.
Pompeii was dry, dusty, sunny, and hot. After having finished my novel and read about half of a historical treatise on the city in the space of about 30 hours, I found myself looking around a bit warily for signs (earth rumblings, steam coming up for the ground, gods or giants cursing us mortals for always having to take our birth control when we’re hanging out in their most celebrated places, etc) that Mount Vesuvius was about to throw up on us just like it did back in 79 A.D.** I kept chanting, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know where I’m a-gonna go when the volcano blow”.
Jimmy Buffett is probably some sort of prophet. He sings about being born 200 years too late to be a pirate, but his lyrics to “Volcano” really might have been useful to the people of Pompeii and Herculaneum about 1900 years before he wrote them. Elton John knows that “If someone else is suffering enough to write it down / And every single word makes sense / Then it’s easier to have those songs around”; I think the mummified ancient Italians MR and I saw today would have agreed with EJ and would have known, “when all hope [was] gone”, to “tune in and turn [Volcano] on”***.
Pompeii itself is actually rather confusing; there are few signs around to indicate what exactly one might be looking at, which I suppose encourages visitors to splurge on tour guides, but MR and I got an inexpensive guidebook and wandered around through the dust (I pretended it was ash, and that the granite was pumice, and that, when I tripped, it was because of small earthquakes and not because I was wearing flip-flops with no tread). We spent about two and a half hours around Pompeii and left exhausted and covered in dirt (volcanic ash), and greeted the Circumvesuviana with less than excitement. The ride to Herculaneum was not long, but the walk to the site – from the train station in Ercolano to the Scavia, or excavation – took us about 20 minutes****. We thought we were helplessly lost and found that the people of Ercolano are rather unfriendly, but eventually we stumbled upon the Scavia and were let in by a bored-looking guard who barely even glanced at our tickets. I found myself wishing we had not paid.
At first, Herculaneum seemed much less exciting than Pompeii, which surprised me since everyone had told me it was the better of the two sites. Herculaneum is significantly smaller to begin with, and only a small portion of the ancient ruins have actually been excavated, so in contrast to Pompeii’s sprawl we could see all of Herculaneum when we entered and looked down. The exciting thing about Herculaneum, though, is actually that rich people lived there. Whereas all the houses in Pompeii look like they’re built for people smaller than me, the ones in Herculaneum actually seem livable. As I said to MR, it was easier to relate to Herculaneum; though Pompeii was obviously fascinating, in Herculaneum I found myself considering the atrocities of Vesuvius’ eruption in 79 A.D. and picturing the citizens who lived inside the walls.
Eventually we trudged back to the Circumvesuviana station and headed to the Naples train station, where we got our bags and boarded a train to Roma Termini. We then successfully caught the next Leonardo da Vinci train to Fiumicino, the airport, from whence we snagged a taxi (though unfortunately we ended up paying more than we said we would because we were too exhausted to haggle properly) and ended up, as this post began, at the front doors of the Marriott Courtyard*****.
And so my Italian adventure during the summer of 2009 reaches to an end. Exciting travel – for my travel days are usually the most exciting – to come tomorrow; stay tuned for my final hours from the Italian (no longer Tuscan, as I am in Rome) broadband!
*This came as even more of a surprise since MR and I were actually somewhat forced into McDonald’s for supper. Honestly, the Naples train station has a McDonald’s and a little place that sells baked breakfast breads. I should note that the hamburger I consumed was not much like the ones that the McDonalds’ in the US serve; in place of ketchup and mustard (which were 20 Euro cents extra, and I was not about to shell out $4.00 for a pack of ketchup) was some very strange sauce with peppers in it. Still, it was a hamburger.
**As I am now sitting in a Marriott, you can be relatively well assured that this did not, in fact, happen. The mountain stayed quite quiet. I ended up a little disappointed in the end by its silence. I really thought there was going to be some sort of action – hailing pumice stones at the very least – but there was nothing.
***I’m currently preparing sacrifices in the form of Britney Spears and the entire band of Nine Inch Nails to the music gods just in case they exist, because I know I’m not cut out to be a DJ. I promise, I wasn’t trying to be a DJ. I just thought it was a nice lyrical connection.
****We later discovered that this was because we were given directions on how to drive there, rather than on how to walk there. Really, the walk was only about 8 minutes. It was nice, on the way back, to cut it short a little.
*****Quick shout-out here to MR’s dad, who made the Marriott possible. IT IS AWESOME. Thank you, Mr. R.
I have never seen a flight attendant in the US sit outside of a Marriott by a main road and drink beer. I’ve actually never seen a flight attendant in the US drink beer, but I assume they at least have the capacity to do so, and the point here is not the beer so much as the alcoholic content of the beer – I think you begin to understand why I did a bit of a double-take.
Anyway, on to more solid and historic (if not more exciting) ramblings: today was the day of the long-awaited Pompeii/Herculaneum trip. MR and I started the day off right by sleeping in for half an hour, and then managed to take about four hours to drop our bags off at the train station in Naples and then get back to Pompeii. To be fair, the Circumvesuviana is really rather slow, and despite leaving the Hotel del Corso in Sorrento a little after 9am we did not even arrive at the train station in Napoli until 11:15. Then we went through finding the baggage check, checking the baggage, trying to check MR in for her flight tomorrow, giving up on that, getting back to the Circumvesuviana, having to wait for the 12:11 train, and then riding that train for about 40 minutes before arriving in Pompeii. Really, they should make the Circumvesuviana go just a teensy bit faster. In a direct contrast to MR and me, it’s rather slow.
Pompeii was dry, dusty, sunny, and hot. After having finished my novel and read about half of a historical treatise on the city in the space of about 30 hours, I found myself looking around a bit warily for signs (earth rumblings, steam coming up for the ground, gods or giants cursing us mortals for always having to take our birth control when we’re hanging out in their most celebrated places, etc) that Mount Vesuvius was about to throw up on us just like it did back in 79 A.D.** I kept chanting, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know where I’m a-gonna go when the volcano blow”.
Jimmy Buffett is probably some sort of prophet. He sings about being born 200 years too late to be a pirate, but his lyrics to “Volcano” really might have been useful to the people of Pompeii and Herculaneum about 1900 years before he wrote them. Elton John knows that “If someone else is suffering enough to write it down / And every single word makes sense / Then it’s easier to have those songs around”; I think the mummified ancient Italians MR and I saw today would have agreed with EJ and would have known, “when all hope [was] gone”, to “tune in and turn [Volcano] on”***.
Pompeii itself is actually rather confusing; there are few signs around to indicate what exactly one might be looking at, which I suppose encourages visitors to splurge on tour guides, but MR and I got an inexpensive guidebook and wandered around through the dust (I pretended it was ash, and that the granite was pumice, and that, when I tripped, it was because of small earthquakes and not because I was wearing flip-flops with no tread). We spent about two and a half hours around Pompeii and left exhausted and covered in dirt (volcanic ash), and greeted the Circumvesuviana with less than excitement. The ride to Herculaneum was not long, but the walk to the site – from the train station in Ercolano to the Scavia, or excavation – took us about 20 minutes****. We thought we were helplessly lost and found that the people of Ercolano are rather unfriendly, but eventually we stumbled upon the Scavia and were let in by a bored-looking guard who barely even glanced at our tickets. I found myself wishing we had not paid.
At first, Herculaneum seemed much less exciting than Pompeii, which surprised me since everyone had told me it was the better of the two sites. Herculaneum is significantly smaller to begin with, and only a small portion of the ancient ruins have actually been excavated, so in contrast to Pompeii’s sprawl we could see all of Herculaneum when we entered and looked down. The exciting thing about Herculaneum, though, is actually that rich people lived there. Whereas all the houses in Pompeii look like they’re built for people smaller than me, the ones in Herculaneum actually seem livable. As I said to MR, it was easier to relate to Herculaneum; though Pompeii was obviously fascinating, in Herculaneum I found myself considering the atrocities of Vesuvius’ eruption in 79 A.D. and picturing the citizens who lived inside the walls.
Eventually we trudged back to the Circumvesuviana station and headed to the Naples train station, where we got our bags and boarded a train to Roma Termini. We then successfully caught the next Leonardo da Vinci train to Fiumicino, the airport, from whence we snagged a taxi (though unfortunately we ended up paying more than we said we would because we were too exhausted to haggle properly) and ended up, as this post began, at the front doors of the Marriott Courtyard*****.
And so my Italian adventure during the summer of 2009 reaches to an end. Exciting travel – for my travel days are usually the most exciting – to come tomorrow; stay tuned for my final hours from the Italian (no longer Tuscan, as I am in Rome) broadband!
*This came as even more of a surprise since MR and I were actually somewhat forced into McDonald’s for supper. Honestly, the Naples train station has a McDonald’s and a little place that sells baked breakfast breads. I should note that the hamburger I consumed was not much like the ones that the McDonalds’ in the US serve; in place of ketchup and mustard (which were 20 Euro cents extra, and I was not about to shell out $4.00 for a pack of ketchup) was some very strange sauce with peppers in it. Still, it was a hamburger.
**As I am now sitting in a Marriott, you can be relatively well assured that this did not, in fact, happen. The mountain stayed quite quiet. I ended up a little disappointed in the end by its silence. I really thought there was going to be some sort of action – hailing pumice stones at the very least – but there was nothing.
***I’m currently preparing sacrifices in the form of Britney Spears and the entire band of Nine Inch Nails to the music gods just in case they exist, because I know I’m not cut out to be a DJ. I promise, I wasn’t trying to be a DJ. I just thought it was a nice lyrical connection.
****We later discovered that this was because we were given directions on how to drive there, rather than on how to walk there. Really, the walk was only about 8 minutes. It was nice, on the way back, to cut it short a little.
*****Quick shout-out here to MR’s dad, who made the Marriott possible. IT IS AWESOME. Thank you, Mr. R.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
NHWAAAAAH NHWEEE NHWAAAAAH
Today MR and I headed to Capri (pronounced CAH-pri, which surprised me - I had been pronouncing it like the silly-looking pants), which we had expected to be somewhat like Positano but was in fact drastically different. We wore our swimsuits, which was wildly unneccessary for most of the day, as we did not even go to a beach and spent almost all our time on boats or climbing up what one guidebook listed as 900 stairs (we think it was probably fewer than that, because a lot of the trail was just uphill without any steps).
The swimsuits DID come in handy when we were rowed into the Blue Grotto*. The Blue Grotto was an experience for several reasons. Perhaps the most interesting part of the adventure was the very beginning, as we waited to climb down from the big boat that was traveling around the island into teensy little rowboats that were apparently** going to take us into the Blue Grotto. Many of the women in Italy are relatively slim; this stereotype apparently does not hold true for tourists, Italian or American or other-an, to Capri, and MR and I were surrounded by creatures that can only be aptly described as whales***. As I nervously surveyed these ocean-dwellers, trying to calculate which two would be in a boat with MR and me, two little New York girls asked if the four of us could ride together. We quickly agreed. I guess the New Yorkers had been eyeing our company, too.
The New Yorkers were quite a bit of fun. They had just finished college (I didn't ask which one) and their parents gave them a trip to Italy for graduation, which they seemed to be enjoying immensely. The four of us sat on the floor of our rowboat, which lamentably was not commanded by one of the cute younger rowers, and took pictures of each other while we waited in line to enter the Blue Grotto. The Grotto itself had still not appeared, but I took this in stride (silly attitude) and figured we would row around a corner and see the cave entrance.
We did not.
Our rower instead pulled us right up against the cliff, where there was a tiny little hole, and grabbed on to a line. When the wave finished a big swell, he pushed the boat down in the water enough for us to just squeak through the opening. I was extremely terrified that we were going to be crushed and then drown, but somehow (probably because our dude knew what he was doing) we survived and entered the Blue Grotto.
It was awesome. I can't really describe it, except to say that it felt like I was on top of a light blue mirror in the dark, which doesn't sound that cool, but if you're ever anywhere close to Capri you should do it. Also, if you're in a boat with a rower who will let you swim for less than 5 Euro each (we were not, which did not deter the New Yorkers), SWIM. Supercool.
Anyway, the rest of the day was spent, as I said, hiking and finishing the boat tour. MR and I spent a good portion of the afternoon reading on the terrace of a cafe at the waterfront, where we ordered cones of gelato and got gelato in a dish with cones beside it (very strange, since I know for a fact that a cone of gelato in Italy is a cone with gelato in it). At long last we took the ferry back to Sorrento and had a filling but unimpressive supper - nothing to write home (or to Justin) about. Now we are preparing for tomorrow - Pompeii and Herculaneum! - MR by reading guide books and myself, as usual, by reading a novel on the subject. She is probably getting more USEFUL information out of her books, but I am definitely more interested in Pompeii and the fictional characters who may or may not escape (I still have about 100 pages left).
One quick note about yesterday before I leave the internet cafe: on the SITA bus ride home - the one described, as I lounged on the beach, as terrifying - MR and I had to stand as there was no longer room to sit. Standing for an hour clutching your beach posessions on an Italian bus while it weaves precariously through the mountains = very, very, very scary. I built a lot of character.
Ciao for now - US on Friday!
*Part of our boat tour around the island, which, if you ever go to Capri, you should definitely do.
**I should note that at this point neither MR nor myself had actually seen the entrance to the Blue Grotto, despite having searched for it among the cliffs leading down to the water. This was mildly disconcerting to me, but I decided to roll with it, having attempted to adopt the motto: "It's Italy."
***Some of them even made whale noises and looked like they yearned for the ocean and for krill. I'm not being cruel, just honest. MR heard the whale sounds, too. We even took pictures of the biggest whale, which looked particularly beached. Photos will be uploaded soon, don't worry. NHWAAAAAH NHWEEE NHWAAAAAH (that's what whales sound like).
The swimsuits DID come in handy when we were rowed into the Blue Grotto*. The Blue Grotto was an experience for several reasons. Perhaps the most interesting part of the adventure was the very beginning, as we waited to climb down from the big boat that was traveling around the island into teensy little rowboats that were apparently** going to take us into the Blue Grotto. Many of the women in Italy are relatively slim; this stereotype apparently does not hold true for tourists, Italian or American or other-an, to Capri, and MR and I were surrounded by creatures that can only be aptly described as whales***. As I nervously surveyed these ocean-dwellers, trying to calculate which two would be in a boat with MR and me, two little New York girls asked if the four of us could ride together. We quickly agreed. I guess the New Yorkers had been eyeing our company, too.
The New Yorkers were quite a bit of fun. They had just finished college (I didn't ask which one) and their parents gave them a trip to Italy for graduation, which they seemed to be enjoying immensely. The four of us sat on the floor of our rowboat, which lamentably was not commanded by one of the cute younger rowers, and took pictures of each other while we waited in line to enter the Blue Grotto. The Grotto itself had still not appeared, but I took this in stride (silly attitude) and figured we would row around a corner and see the cave entrance.
We did not.
Our rower instead pulled us right up against the cliff, where there was a tiny little hole, and grabbed on to a line. When the wave finished a big swell, he pushed the boat down in the water enough for us to just squeak through the opening. I was extremely terrified that we were going to be crushed and then drown, but somehow (probably because our dude knew what he was doing) we survived and entered the Blue Grotto.
It was awesome. I can't really describe it, except to say that it felt like I was on top of a light blue mirror in the dark, which doesn't sound that cool, but if you're ever anywhere close to Capri you should do it. Also, if you're in a boat with a rower who will let you swim for less than 5 Euro each (we were not, which did not deter the New Yorkers), SWIM. Supercool.
Anyway, the rest of the day was spent, as I said, hiking and finishing the boat tour. MR and I spent a good portion of the afternoon reading on the terrace of a cafe at the waterfront, where we ordered cones of gelato and got gelato in a dish with cones beside it (very strange, since I know for a fact that a cone of gelato in Italy is a cone with gelato in it). At long last we took the ferry back to Sorrento and had a filling but unimpressive supper - nothing to write home (or to Justin) about. Now we are preparing for tomorrow - Pompeii and Herculaneum! - MR by reading guide books and myself, as usual, by reading a novel on the subject. She is probably getting more USEFUL information out of her books, but I am definitely more interested in Pompeii and the fictional characters who may or may not escape (I still have about 100 pages left).
One quick note about yesterday before I leave the internet cafe: on the SITA bus ride home - the one described, as I lounged on the beach, as terrifying - MR and I had to stand as there was no longer room to sit. Standing for an hour clutching your beach posessions on an Italian bus while it weaves precariously through the mountains = very, very, very scary. I built a lot of character.
Ciao for now - US on Friday!
*Part of our boat tour around the island, which, if you ever go to Capri, you should definitely do.
**I should note that at this point neither MR nor myself had actually seen the entrance to the Blue Grotto, despite having searched for it among the cliffs leading down to the water. This was mildly disconcerting to me, but I decided to roll with it, having attempted to adopt the motto: "It's Italy."
***Some of them even made whale noises and looked like they yearned for the ocean and for krill. I'm not being cruel, just honest. MR heard the whale sounds, too. We even took pictures of the biggest whale, which looked particularly beached. Photos will be uploaded soon, don't worry. NHWAAAAAH NHWEEE NHWAAAAAH (that's what whales sound like).
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wish You Were Beautiful
Jimmy Buffett sings that "Salt air, it ain't thin / It can stick right to your skin / And make you feel fine". Right now I am lying "beside the sea there", and he's correct about the salt air. He should have maybe extended it to salt water, though - I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get it out of my hair. MR and I have spent quite a bit of time in the swimming area off of Positano today and could probably fill a salt shaker with the salt that's stuck to our hair and skin. I can feel my cuts healing already.
A la mode of the other beachgoers, MR and I hung our cover-ups from the tops of our beach chairs and can look up to watch them wave around in wind that seems never to reach us. It is at least several million degrees* down here on almost-ground level** and I am watching my dress in envy.
Meanwhile I'm trying to keep from watching the fat old men in Speedos. Why would they think that Speedos are the way to go? Seriously, did someone play a cruel joke on them or are they playing a cruel joke on us? And why are all the children at this beach naked? I feel like Coppertone and Richard Simmons decided to have photoshoots at the same location and forgot to coordinate (Simmons' would be the "before" shoot, obviously).
It is nice to have a relaxing day at the beach after yesterday's 10 hours of travel, during which MR and I hauled around all our clothes etc for the month in Italy as well as the souvenirs (okay, wine) we're taking home. Though we had a relatively uneventful trip, we were both exhausted by the time we reached the Hotel del Corso and barely managed to reach a nearby restaurant - the Don Vincenzo - for supper before falling asleep. When we return to Sorrento this evening we plan to explore a little more, and this evening we will sit out on the terrace of our hotel with a bottle of wine. I've been looking for a tin cup for a chalice and for honeysuckle, but neither seem to be native to Italy, so I will resort to living in the spirit of Jimmy Buffett if not in the actual style.
I feel I should reflect on our ride here - we took the SITA bus, which was more terrifying than the time I rode with my family and the Clarksons and George Washington*** through the mountains of Jamaica (probably because I am now old enough to understand the difference between fear and fun). However, though today is a restful day, it does not seem to be a very reflective one for me - concerning the ride or life or even food (sorry, Justin). Perhaps it is because I am tired from all the travel or finding it difficult to pontificate on my teensy BlackBerry keyboard or just in a vapid mood; whatever the reason, I cannot seem to muster up the will to do much more than make sure all of my vampire-white skin stays under the umbrella and lift my finger to switxh between country, oldies, and Jimmy Buffett on my IPod****. To be fair, I have done two productive things today: swimming and beating off the man selling miniature beach chairs. I mean, seriously, I know I'm short, but I really don't want to spend my gelato money on miniature beach chairs. Even if I were really really rich I wouldn't want to buy miniature beach chairs. It's like inviting mice to drink beer and build bonfires on your mantel.
In conclusion, I would like to note that "The skies are too clear / Life's too easy today". I haven't had any beer (surprise!) and haven't found any daquiries, but if I had I'd bet they'd respectively be too cold and too fruitiful. After all, no matter how bubbly the Bellinis or how cold the gelato, "There's no place like home when you're this far away".
*Farenheight, not Celsius
**Hence the amount of time spent on the salt water
***Our driver, who liked to say his name to Americans a lot
****The IPink has been appropriately left at the hotel.
A la mode of the other beachgoers, MR and I hung our cover-ups from the tops of our beach chairs and can look up to watch them wave around in wind that seems never to reach us. It is at least several million degrees* down here on almost-ground level** and I am watching my dress in envy.
Meanwhile I'm trying to keep from watching the fat old men in Speedos. Why would they think that Speedos are the way to go? Seriously, did someone play a cruel joke on them or are they playing a cruel joke on us? And why are all the children at this beach naked? I feel like Coppertone and Richard Simmons decided to have photoshoots at the same location and forgot to coordinate (Simmons' would be the "before" shoot, obviously).
It is nice to have a relaxing day at the beach after yesterday's 10 hours of travel, during which MR and I hauled around all our clothes etc for the month in Italy as well as the souvenirs (okay, wine) we're taking home. Though we had a relatively uneventful trip, we were both exhausted by the time we reached the Hotel del Corso and barely managed to reach a nearby restaurant - the Don Vincenzo - for supper before falling asleep. When we return to Sorrento this evening we plan to explore a little more, and this evening we will sit out on the terrace of our hotel with a bottle of wine. I've been looking for a tin cup for a chalice and for honeysuckle, but neither seem to be native to Italy, so I will resort to living in the spirit of Jimmy Buffett if not in the actual style.
I feel I should reflect on our ride here - we took the SITA bus, which was more terrifying than the time I rode with my family and the Clarksons and George Washington*** through the mountains of Jamaica (probably because I am now old enough to understand the difference between fear and fun). However, though today is a restful day, it does not seem to be a very reflective one for me - concerning the ride or life or even food (sorry, Justin). Perhaps it is because I am tired from all the travel or finding it difficult to pontificate on my teensy BlackBerry keyboard or just in a vapid mood; whatever the reason, I cannot seem to muster up the will to do much more than make sure all of my vampire-white skin stays under the umbrella and lift my finger to switxh between country, oldies, and Jimmy Buffett on my IPod****. To be fair, I have done two productive things today: swimming and beating off the man selling miniature beach chairs. I mean, seriously, I know I'm short, but I really don't want to spend my gelato money on miniature beach chairs. Even if I were really really rich I wouldn't want to buy miniature beach chairs. It's like inviting mice to drink beer and build bonfires on your mantel.
In conclusion, I would like to note that "The skies are too clear / Life's too easy today". I haven't had any beer (surprise!) and haven't found any daquiries, but if I had I'd bet they'd respectively be too cold and too fruitiful. After all, no matter how bubbly the Bellinis or how cold the gelato, "There's no place like home when you're this far away".
*Farenheight, not Celsius
**Hence the amount of time spent on the salt water
***Our driver, who liked to say his name to Americans a lot
****The IPink has been appropriately left at the hotel.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sorrento and Beyond
MR and I just arrived in Napoli after quite a long train ride. We had a six-person compartment with an Italian couple who spoke no English, but somehow we figured out how to actually carry on a conversation with them. Tres interesante. Also on the train I almost smacked a gypsy girl who got into an argument with me about giving her money. She kept pointing to my wallet and saying, "si!" while I growled, "NO."
We stopped in the McDonald's at Napoli Centrale to get our bearings and figure out whether we would be staying in a Marriott here in Naples or Capri or heading on to Sorrento as planed. Sorrento it is, and now we're checking the Circumvesuviana train schedule to make sure we can get to the Hotel del Corso. Wish us luck!!
Ciao for now.
We stopped in the McDonald's at Napoli Centrale to get our bearings and figure out whether we would be staying in a Marriott here in Naples or Capri or heading on to Sorrento as planed. Sorrento it is, and now we're checking the Circumvesuviana train schedule to make sure we can get to the Hotel del Corso. Wish us luck!!
Ciao for now.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
La Storia?
Spotted: yours truly trying to rewrite history a la DI. DI himself has not been heard from since he headed to a party at the Brit villa (for which he had to dress up as GI Joe). Taken? We hope not. LCLC
Food from Last Night
Dear Justin*,
Last night MR and I walked the streets of Venice for over an hour searching for a little restaurant on a canal. Apparently snack bars and pizza places have a monopoly on the canal spots, though, because we could not find a restaurant by the water. Eventually we just began looking for any old restaurant where we could just sit outside, but it turned out that without a reservation we weren't going to be able to get in. At long last we returned to San Marco (more than an hour later after we'd left that area) and inquired at the Ristorante do Leoni, which is set back a ways from the water but still technically on the Grand Canal. I have to say, if every time I wandered aimlessly for an hour I ended up at a place like the do Leoni, I would wander aimlessly a whole lot more.
The waiters found a table for us outside immediately and refused to allow us to sit on our own; instead, they insisted upon pulling out our chairs for us and making sure we were pushed in sufficiently. MR introduced me to Belinis, which are AWESOME, and then I ordered an insalata mista and the Taglioni alla Astice** and MR got her typical spaghetti bianca. We were pleasantly surprised to receive complimentary shrimp cocktails and wonderful bread before the meal, and our pastas were extremely good (though mine came with a lobster shell on top of it, which I did not particularly appreciate). We declined to order dessert since we had plans to spend the rest of the evening in front of a group of musicians in San Marco, but were brought tiny complimentary cookies anyway. The wine we ordered was also left off the bill.
As we walked away, we discussed the fact that we had ended up with more free food than ordered food. At first we named the restaurant ridiculous, after further reflection, though, we realized that the service and little free foods had hooked us and that we would not be able to resist returning to the Ristorante do Leoni during subsequent visits to Venice - and that we would recommend it to everyone we knew (by the way, if you're ever in Venice, go to the Ristorante do Leoni). Overall, we gave them four thumbs up.
Dessert was chocolate cake and Spritzes*** in San Marco while we listened to the same group of musicians we'd picked out as the best the night before. MR got some videos of them playing, so look for that when we finally load everything on our computers.
This morning we found the Jewish Ghetto (even with directions we had trouble - it's REALLY tucked away) and have been strolling through the streets just looking around at everything. There are tourists EVERYWHERE. I ran through San Marco and along the end of the Grand Canal some this morning and thought I was playing flag football or something I had to dodge so many people. I almost purposefully took out some of the ones holding sunbrellas**** just because they were so annoying, but tried to be all zen and yoga-esque and ran around them in the end.
Tonight we head back to the Villa to spend the night and pack up all our things before the Amalfi Coast. Hopefully the train will be more comfortable than it was on Friday. Cross your fingers for me :) -
*I was really only going to do one "Dear Justin", but after last night's supper experience some requests came in that I do another. I guess in making fun of DI I discovered that documenting food is actually a good idea...
**Pasta with lobster
***Apparently THE cocktail of Venice. We couldn't figure out what was in them, but they were slightly bitter and had slices of orange as well as huge green olives hanging out on a stick in the drink. Yummy.
****Umbrellas that certain ethnic groups of people use to shade themselves from the sun
Last night MR and I walked the streets of Venice for over an hour searching for a little restaurant on a canal. Apparently snack bars and pizza places have a monopoly on the canal spots, though, because we could not find a restaurant by the water. Eventually we just began looking for any old restaurant where we could just sit outside, but it turned out that without a reservation we weren't going to be able to get in. At long last we returned to San Marco (more than an hour later after we'd left that area) and inquired at the Ristorante do Leoni, which is set back a ways from the water but still technically on the Grand Canal. I have to say, if every time I wandered aimlessly for an hour I ended up at a place like the do Leoni, I would wander aimlessly a whole lot more.
The waiters found a table for us outside immediately and refused to allow us to sit on our own; instead, they insisted upon pulling out our chairs for us and making sure we were pushed in sufficiently. MR introduced me to Belinis, which are AWESOME, and then I ordered an insalata mista and the Taglioni alla Astice** and MR got her typical spaghetti bianca. We were pleasantly surprised to receive complimentary shrimp cocktails and wonderful bread before the meal, and our pastas were extremely good (though mine came with a lobster shell on top of it, which I did not particularly appreciate). We declined to order dessert since we had plans to spend the rest of the evening in front of a group of musicians in San Marco, but were brought tiny complimentary cookies anyway. The wine we ordered was also left off the bill.
As we walked away, we discussed the fact that we had ended up with more free food than ordered food. At first we named the restaurant ridiculous, after further reflection, though, we realized that the service and little free foods had hooked us and that we would not be able to resist returning to the Ristorante do Leoni during subsequent visits to Venice - and that we would recommend it to everyone we knew (by the way, if you're ever in Venice, go to the Ristorante do Leoni). Overall, we gave them four thumbs up.
Dessert was chocolate cake and Spritzes*** in San Marco while we listened to the same group of musicians we'd picked out as the best the night before. MR got some videos of them playing, so look for that when we finally load everything on our computers.
This morning we found the Jewish Ghetto (even with directions we had trouble - it's REALLY tucked away) and have been strolling through the streets just looking around at everything. There are tourists EVERYWHERE. I ran through San Marco and along the end of the Grand Canal some this morning and thought I was playing flag football or something I had to dodge so many people. I almost purposefully took out some of the ones holding sunbrellas**** just because they were so annoying, but tried to be all zen and yoga-esque and ran around them in the end.
Tonight we head back to the Villa to spend the night and pack up all our things before the Amalfi Coast. Hopefully the train will be more comfortable than it was on Friday. Cross your fingers for me :) -
*I was really only going to do one "Dear Justin", but after last night's supper experience some requests came in that I do another. I guess in making fun of DI I discovered that documenting food is actually a good idea...
**Pasta with lobster
***Apparently THE cocktail of Venice. We couldn't figure out what was in them, but they were slightly bitter and had slices of orange as well as huge green olives hanging out on a stick in the drink. Yummy.
****Umbrellas that certain ethnic groups of people use to shade themselves from the sun
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Ahhhh, Venice!
MR and I arrived in Venice yesterday evening to find that the hotel we had booked was absolutely wonderful. The only downside is that the room we're sharing is only large enough for the two twin beds inside it. However, we aren't exactly spending our time in the room, so it has worked out well so far.
Last night we ate at the Taverno San Travaso, which must be the best and best-hidden restaurant in Venice. MR had been there on previous visits and miraculously led us straight to it - we didn't even get lost, though I admit to thinking MR had no clue what she was doing when she led me to the entrance. The restaurant is through a secret terrace-garden and the streets around it were deserted. It turned out I should have trusted her, though, because the food was amazing (Re: my Dear Justin* of last night).
After supper we wandered around the Piazza San Marco, where three groups of musicians were set up with grand pianos, violins, and various other instruments (one had an accordion!!). The piazza is huge, and in front of each of the stands with musicians playing (there were also lots of empty stands with no one set up) were tables and chairs where people sat having cappuccinos or wine (which we have resolved to do tonight after a lighter supper - last night we were too full to consider ANYTHING). We heard a fair amount of Mozart (some of which was played very well and some of which was butchered) as well as some Frank Sinatra. All in all, I decided that Venice was pretty awesome.
My opinion was fortified today. MR and I strolled through the city looking at lots of glass and mask shops; we ventured to the Rialto but decided it was too crazy to spend much time near (although right now we're back near the Rialto at an internet cafe called "Venetian N@vigator 2") and then took a semi-accidental tour of the city by boat. The plan was to take the boat up from one end of the canal to the other, but MR and I got on the wrong boat and ended up seeing the city from another angle entirely before deciding just to travel back down the canal to where we had started. Our idea was to head to the Jewish ghetto after our boat tour, but since it took so much longer we decided to go to the ghetto tomorrow - we figured things were probably more likely to be open on the non-Jewish Sabbath anyway. Thanks to SB and DI for their help with directions...I promise we'll actually use them tomorrow :/.
Ciao for now -
*By the way: Dear Justin, breakfast (free from the hotel) this morning was amazing! It was a huge buffet with eggs and sausage and all kinds of breads and fruit and cereal and juices. We got to sit outside on the hotel's terrace, which overlooks a canal. Food is awesome!
Last night we ate at the Taverno San Travaso, which must be the best and best-hidden restaurant in Venice. MR had been there on previous visits and miraculously led us straight to it - we didn't even get lost, though I admit to thinking MR had no clue what she was doing when she led me to the entrance. The restaurant is through a secret terrace-garden and the streets around it were deserted. It turned out I should have trusted her, though, because the food was amazing (Re: my Dear Justin* of last night).
After supper we wandered around the Piazza San Marco, where three groups of musicians were set up with grand pianos, violins, and various other instruments (one had an accordion!!). The piazza is huge, and in front of each of the stands with musicians playing (there were also lots of empty stands with no one set up) were tables and chairs where people sat having cappuccinos or wine (which we have resolved to do tonight after a lighter supper - last night we were too full to consider ANYTHING). We heard a fair amount of Mozart (some of which was played very well and some of which was butchered) as well as some Frank Sinatra. All in all, I decided that Venice was pretty awesome.
My opinion was fortified today. MR and I strolled through the city looking at lots of glass and mask shops; we ventured to the Rialto but decided it was too crazy to spend much time near (although right now we're back near the Rialto at an internet cafe called "Venetian N@vigator 2") and then took a semi-accidental tour of the city by boat. The plan was to take the boat up from one end of the canal to the other, but MR and I got on the wrong boat and ended up seeing the city from another angle entirely before deciding just to travel back down the canal to where we had started. Our idea was to head to the Jewish ghetto after our boat tour, but since it took so much longer we decided to go to the ghetto tomorrow - we figured things were probably more likely to be open on the non-Jewish Sabbath anyway. Thanks to SB and DI for their help with directions...I promise we'll actually use them tomorrow :/.
Ciao for now -
*By the way: Dear Justin, breakfast (free from the hotel) this morning was amazing! It was a huge buffet with eggs and sausage and all kinds of breads and fruit and cereal and juices. We got to sit outside on the hotel's terrace, which overlooks a canal. Food is awesome!
Boating
Spotted: Francesco* in Venice while MR and yours truly were riding the vaparetto. Stay tuned for pictures. LCLC
*Okay, it was a boat named Francesco.
*Okay, it was a boat named Francesco.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Covert chiacchiera
Spotted: OK doing recon while yours truly was in Venice. Updates include GF underwhelmed by food offerings of Fiesole (can't get pizza at 4.15?!) apart from excellent nutella gelato (as Justin knows). Also spotted: DI going out with brit drunkards (no update on the paper), CD & ABo out in Florence with TF and her sisters, KM playing on computer and OK herself wallowing in having her Own Room, wearing clay mask and playing music (clay mask is practice for Botox). Meanwhile, MR and yours truly have not been spotted - out of town, out of sight - enjoying the robes of the Hotel Bonvecchiati.
All parties are wondering: how well will the covert gossip continue?
You know you love reading it - LCLC
All parties are wondering: how well will the covert gossip continue?
You know you love reading it - LCLC
A Page from a Boy-Diary
Dear Justin,
Today I had a roll with honey for breakfast like usual, but I didn't have lunch until nearly 4pm because I was in San Lorenzo's Market in Florence. I had to make my train to Venice, so I didn't even have time to get a REAL lunch - just a sandwich from Chef Express!! ABe had the same kind but I don't know how he liked his because he had to go to Rome.
MR and I ate supper at a restaurant called Taverna San Trovaso in Venice. I had the insalata mista to start. Actually, I had a roll first, but I didn't order that, it just came with the table. Then I had Gnocchi 4 Fromaggi, which was really big and fluffy and the best gnocchi I've ever had, and MR had some spicy spaghetti that she liked quite a bit. THEN we split a filet, which was basically the first time we've had red meat in three weeks, and we both agreed that it was amazing even though we couldn't finish it. After supper we got gelato in the Piazza San Marco where musicians played some pretty awesome music - you would have loved it, Justin - but we decided that the gelato in Fiesole is still better.
Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds dietarily!
Today I had a roll with honey for breakfast like usual, but I didn't have lunch until nearly 4pm because I was in San Lorenzo's Market in Florence. I had to make my train to Venice, so I didn't even have time to get a REAL lunch - just a sandwich from Chef Express!! ABe had the same kind but I don't know how he liked his because he had to go to Rome.
MR and I ate supper at a restaurant called Taverna San Trovaso in Venice. I had the insalata mista to start. Actually, I had a roll first, but I didn't order that, it just came with the table. Then I had Gnocchi 4 Fromaggi, which was really big and fluffy and the best gnocchi I've ever had, and MR had some spicy spaghetti that she liked quite a bit. THEN we split a filet, which was basically the first time we've had red meat in three weeks, and we both agreed that it was amazing even though we couldn't finish it. After supper we got gelato in the Piazza San Marco where musicians played some pretty awesome music - you would have loved it, Justin - but we decided that the gelato in Fiesole is still better.
Can't wait to see what tomorrow holds dietarily!
Switch from Sails to Steam
Last night was the final night we all spent at the Villa. It may not be the end of an era, but it's certainly the end of a great three weeks, and while I didn't always get along with everyone, we had a good group and at least kept each other entertained (Chiacchiera, anyone?).
MR, ABo, ABe, PK, DI, CD, and I went up to J. J. Hill's late - after some of us had finished first drafts of our papers and others (DI) had not even started. We saw Francesco, who asked repeatedly after RK, and had a drink and fries while generally making fun of DI for whatever he did or said. Luckily he's a good sport and a sweetheart - otherwise I think we would have left him alone*.
This morning most of us slept in, then spent a few hours working on our papers. The printer broke, so we resorted to emailing our papers to CJ and CL, and I also managed to lose my key** and break my IPink***. Luckily, I found my key in the dryer - it was dirty and wanted to hang with my laundry - and ABo fixed my IPink. Meanwhile, BMo, KM, and RK took pictures and made video tours of the Villa, and DI watched basketball and pretended to begin his paper. The maids let us be lazy - they left breakfast out until 10:30, which is unprecedented. I was shocked and awed (in the best way possible) to return from my run**** to find I could still have a roll with honey. The maids also waited until late morning to make our beds and clean our rooms. Have I mentioned that daily maid service is really nice?
MR and I are currently on the train to Venice, where we'll spend the weekend before heading to the Amalfi Coast. We'll be back at the Villa to spend Sunday night and have a party with OK, ABo, and DI (if we can convince him to come back up to Fiesole). Monday we'll hop on a 5-hour train to Sorrento, where we'll stay for 3 nights while exploring the Amalfi Coast (MR has an awesome itinerary laid out for us, so I'm pretty excited).
Now that business is out of the way, I should mention that I've been thinking a lot about oceans recently. Maybe it's because CJ loves teaching about the ocean, or because I've been writing about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, or because Jimmy Buffett is currently playing on my IPod*****. Aren't oceans interesting, though? I can't imagine such huge expanses of seeing NOTHING but the same everywhere - waves, I mean, on the ocean; I hear (okay, read) that you can sail for days in the Pacific just seeing waves and nothing else. There's no sign that you're even moving absent the wind in your hair. Is that thrilling or terrifying or just boring? I can't decide. Thinking of it makes me want to go out and try it. I think it must be one of those things you either love or hate. I would miss land, I'm sure - but it seems that every time you do something new and exciting there's something to miss, and I don't agree with living by the Aerosmith philosophy ("I don't want to miss a thing", anyone? Sidenote: how creepy was it that in "Armaggedon" Steven Tyler's daughter had a sex scene to that song? The answer is, "very").
It's a Catch-22, kind of, because to miss things you have to create experiences with people and places to miss on the next experience.
I think I would like to see the Great Pacific Garbage Patch for myself. I want to go through the Horse Lattitudes. I learned the other day that they got their name because ships would hit a wall of no wind there and throw their horses off the side to conserve water. Freaky for sure. I wouldn't want to hit doldrums in the middle of a giant horse graveyard. Luckily, ships have switche from sail to steam (Jimmy Buffett says so), and if my adventure to and through the Great Pacific Garbage Patch ever actually happens I won't have to rely on the wind.
Anyway, I'm off now to try and focus back on canals and Venice so I don't concentrate on oceans all weekend. Ciao -
*Maybe. His boy-diary, Justin, is pretty easy to make fun of. None of us managed to read it, but he says it has complete descriptions of all his meals sÍnce January 2nd. He likes to remember what he eats, I guess.
**Really, on the last day.
***Ít's an IPod, but pink. It's also used exclusively for evercising, particularly running.
****Cue "Chariots of Fire", please
*****Markedly different from the IPink, especially since I am definitely not running right now.
MR, ABo, ABe, PK, DI, CD, and I went up to J. J. Hill's late - after some of us had finished first drafts of our papers and others (DI) had not even started. We saw Francesco, who asked repeatedly after RK, and had a drink and fries while generally making fun of DI for whatever he did or said. Luckily he's a good sport and a sweetheart - otherwise I think we would have left him alone*.
This morning most of us slept in, then spent a few hours working on our papers. The printer broke, so we resorted to emailing our papers to CJ and CL, and I also managed to lose my key** and break my IPink***. Luckily, I found my key in the dryer - it was dirty and wanted to hang with my laundry - and ABo fixed my IPink. Meanwhile, BMo, KM, and RK took pictures and made video tours of the Villa, and DI watched basketball and pretended to begin his paper. The maids let us be lazy - they left breakfast out until 10:30, which is unprecedented. I was shocked and awed (in the best way possible) to return from my run**** to find I could still have a roll with honey. The maids also waited until late morning to make our beds and clean our rooms. Have I mentioned that daily maid service is really nice?
MR and I are currently on the train to Venice, where we'll spend the weekend before heading to the Amalfi Coast. We'll be back at the Villa to spend Sunday night and have a party with OK, ABo, and DI (if we can convince him to come back up to Fiesole). Monday we'll hop on a 5-hour train to Sorrento, where we'll stay for 3 nights while exploring the Amalfi Coast (MR has an awesome itinerary laid out for us, so I'm pretty excited).
Now that business is out of the way, I should mention that I've been thinking a lot about oceans recently. Maybe it's because CJ loves teaching about the ocean, or because I've been writing about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, or because Jimmy Buffett is currently playing on my IPod*****. Aren't oceans interesting, though? I can't imagine such huge expanses of seeing NOTHING but the same everywhere - waves, I mean, on the ocean; I hear (okay, read) that you can sail for days in the Pacific just seeing waves and nothing else. There's no sign that you're even moving absent the wind in your hair. Is that thrilling or terrifying or just boring? I can't decide. Thinking of it makes me want to go out and try it. I think it must be one of those things you either love or hate. I would miss land, I'm sure - but it seems that every time you do something new and exciting there's something to miss, and I don't agree with living by the Aerosmith philosophy ("I don't want to miss a thing", anyone? Sidenote: how creepy was it that in "Armaggedon" Steven Tyler's daughter had a sex scene to that song? The answer is, "very").
It's a Catch-22, kind of, because to miss things you have to create experiences with people and places to miss on the next experience.
I think I would like to see the Great Pacific Garbage Patch for myself. I want to go through the Horse Lattitudes. I learned the other day that they got their name because ships would hit a wall of no wind there and throw their horses off the side to conserve water. Freaky for sure. I wouldn't want to hit doldrums in the middle of a giant horse graveyard. Luckily, ships have switche from sail to steam (Jimmy Buffett says so), and if my adventure to and through the Great Pacific Garbage Patch ever actually happens I won't have to rely on the wind.
Anyway, I'm off now to try and focus back on canals and Venice so I don't concentrate on oceans all weekend. Ciao -
*Maybe. His boy-diary, Justin, is pretty easy to make fun of. None of us managed to read it, but he says it has complete descriptions of all his meals sÍnce January 2nd. He likes to remember what he eats, I guess.
**Really, on the last day.
***Ít's an IPod, but pink. It's also used exclusively for evercising, particularly running.
****Cue "Chariots of Fire", please
*****Markedly different from the IPink, especially since I am definitely not running right now.
Getting Away?
Spotted: RK in the train station several hours after leaving the Villa. ABe spotted by RK at Chef Express. Meanwhile, DI finished a first draft of his paper and wrote a "Dear Justin".
MR and yours truly still on the train to Venice - sitting beside a dumb biddie and her boyfriend Bo.
Ah, (tren)Italia! LCLC
MR and yours truly still on the train to Venice - sitting beside a dumb biddie and her boyfriend Bo.
Ah, (tren)Italia! LCLC
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Back in the Saddle Again
It has been six months since I wrote my last academic paper for a class, and despite my initial excitement about the prospect of revisiting the most common (if not most loved) assignment from college, I have quickly tired it. Six months of informal writing (a.k.a. verbal convulsions on paper) confused all useful skills I once had, and I am now unsure of whether to cite quotations with the MLA or with asterisks and witty comments.
In other (and wildly more exciting) news, this morning, despite extreme dehydration and exhaustion (both the result of my evening at 21, for which I was technically overage), I made the decision to attempt a jaunt up the hill on the loop. Since today is my next-to-last day of actually living at the Villa (MR and I will be back Sunday night and Monday morning after Venice to pick up our bags before we head to the Amalfi Coast), I figured I needed to fulfill my goal of making it around the loop twice without stopping.
By my second arrival at the top of the big hill, I was ready to stop. I was only three hills (one not very difficult and two just blips) away from making it around twice without stopping, but I was at a state of imminent dry-heaving* and thought it might be time to throw in the towel. Suddenly, though, just as I was about to stop, I thought, "Which is worse? Almost throwing up, or almost finishing?"
Almost finishing was worse. I finished and did not end up dry-heaving, probably because I was having too much trouble breathing to take the time to dry-heave. Spending the rest of the afternoon exhausted, dehydrated, and sore has been so worth telling everyone I can find that I made it around two times.
Anyway, it's time to get back to gossiping on GChat** and finishing my paper so I can make it up to J.J. Hill's tonight. Ciao -
*Here is when you should begin playing inspirational music, like the Indiana Jones theme or maybe even Carmina Burana.
**During library parties, which happen at least once a day, we like to get on GChat and make fun of each other online. That way, we're still quiet and we can have several chats going on at once so that we can make fun of several different people. We have also learned how to group chat. Today we sat in the library and were completely silent while GChatting for no good reason. It was awesome.
In other (and wildly more exciting) news, this morning, despite extreme dehydration and exhaustion (both the result of my evening at 21, for which I was technically overage), I made the decision to attempt a jaunt up the hill on the loop. Since today is my next-to-last day of actually living at the Villa (MR and I will be back Sunday night and Monday morning after Venice to pick up our bags before we head to the Amalfi Coast), I figured I needed to fulfill my goal of making it around the loop twice without stopping.
By my second arrival at the top of the big hill, I was ready to stop. I was only three hills (one not very difficult and two just blips) away from making it around twice without stopping, but I was at a state of imminent dry-heaving* and thought it might be time to throw in the towel. Suddenly, though, just as I was about to stop, I thought, "Which is worse? Almost throwing up, or almost finishing?"
Almost finishing was worse. I finished and did not end up dry-heaving, probably because I was having too much trouble breathing to take the time to dry-heave. Spending the rest of the afternoon exhausted, dehydrated, and sore has been so worth telling everyone I can find that I made it around two times.
Anyway, it's time to get back to gossiping on GChat** and finishing my paper so I can make it up to J.J. Hill's tonight. Ciao -
*Here is when you should begin playing inspirational music, like the Indiana Jones theme or maybe even Carmina Burana.
**During library parties, which happen at least once a day, we like to get on GChat and make fun of each other online. That way, we're still quiet and we can have several chats going on at once so that we can make fun of several different people. We have also learned how to group chat. Today we sat in the library and were completely silent while GChatting for no good reason. It was awesome.
Status check
Spotted: CD refusing to speak anything but French while MR and yours truly sang "Michelle" by the Beatles. Later, spotted with ABe, ABo, and PK by BMc in the kitchen gossiping about DI and flow charts. ABe, PK, DI, OK, and yours truly have since moved in to the library, where some are writing papers and others are doing anything but. Signs of ABo in the beginning of the day, but that gave way to more mysterious disappearances. ABo, are you hiding more than just your Glee Club status?
We hope so. LCLC
We hope so. LCLC
Clubbing
Spotted: KM and RK leaving 21 and heading toward Central Park at around 2am. "Some extravagance young love had been to/ Or old love on an impulse not to care"*? LCLC
*Robert Frost, "The Investment" (and yes, I know - Chiacchiera is so much better read than Gossip Girl.)
*Robert Frost, "The Investment" (and yes, I know - Chiacchiera is so much better read than Gossip Girl.)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Shuttered
Spotted: OK and ABe chatting in the library with yours truly after illicitly opening the shutters (suspiciously closed during the day - mourning for the loss of CJ?). PK nowhere to be seen despite promises to attend a library party. LCLC
Song Without Words
Spotted: ABe leaving a Glee Club meeting from which ABo was conspicuously absent. No sign yet of ABo, but ABe has been heard singing in the shower (DI provides percussion in creative ways). Still unclear to some whether a song without words is a song. LCLC
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Chaicchiera
...the Italian Gossip Girl.
I do not watch Gossip Girl, but have seen it on occasion (SB is kind of obsessed) and know enough to BECOME Chiacchiera. So: ABe, ABo, OK, KM, BM, PK, MR, CD, RK, TH, and DI: look out. And DI, stop trying to alter history with my blog.
I do not watch Gossip Girl, but have seen it on occasion (SB is kind of obsessed) and know enough to BECOME Chiacchiera. So: ABe, ABo, OK, KM, BM, PK, MR, CD, RK, TH, and DI: look out. And DI, stop trying to alter history with my blog.
You can't handle the truth!
Tomorrow I play a JAG officer in our class simulation of a meeting to discuss suggestions to the president for actions on Guantanamo Bay, the International Criminal Court, North Korea, and Iran. I'm maintaining that we should treat all detainees at Guantanamo as POWs (as per Geneva III Article V), not re-sign the Rome Statute to make sure that Americans don't get tried by the ICC, and hold off on nuking North Korea and Iran (but keep an eye on them and nuke their deployment zones as soon as they make a move). I am unsure as to whether these positions are in holding with a JAG officer's, but I was thinking earlier this evening that if I tried to take on a Tom Cruise or Jack Nicholson persona (A Few Good Men, anyone?) that everyone would be at least amused. However, when I shared this idea with ABe he suggested that I might want to practice my impersonations. I fear they are worse than my JAG positions on the issues.
In other news, I made it up the hill twice (twee-chay?) this afternoon. I had to take a breather in between - I walked up the small hill with no shade that comes right before the big hill on my second go - but I considered myself revitalized at the beginning of the big hill and started up. I quickly realized that I did not, in fact, WANT to run up the big hill again; however, I had already committed to do it, and so I plodded very slowly for what seemed like a very long time in the very hot sun until I finally reached the top. The dichotomy* between my mental state (exuberance) and physical state (nausea, cramps, exhaustion, heat stroke, and probable imminent death) accompanied me until supper, where I ravenously consumed fried cheese sandwiches** and was revived by lively if forgettable conversation. All I really remember is that PK still refuses to adopt me as his younger sister and DI has decided to imitate me by answering "unclear" to questions whenever possible.
No new development on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch paper or on anything else really - tomorrow evening (after the last class!) we are all heading down to Florence for a wine tasting and a lesson on wine and cheese, and afterward we will probably go out to celebrate the end of the program. ABo, who has been gone since yesterday afternoon (taking the LSATs in Italy!), will be back to participate in the simulation and festivities.
A final note: I have decided to become rich writing self-help books, because people need a lot of help. Like, a LOT of help. No initials on this one. You know who you are.
*SB, this word is for you.
**They're like grilled cheese sandwiches, only after making the grilled cheese sandwich you then deep fry it. Seriously.
In other news, I made it up the hill twice (twee-chay?) this afternoon. I had to take a breather in between - I walked up the small hill with no shade that comes right before the big hill on my second go - but I considered myself revitalized at the beginning of the big hill and started up. I quickly realized that I did not, in fact, WANT to run up the big hill again; however, I had already committed to do it, and so I plodded very slowly for what seemed like a very long time in the very hot sun until I finally reached the top. The dichotomy* between my mental state (exuberance) and physical state (nausea, cramps, exhaustion, heat stroke, and probable imminent death) accompanied me until supper, where I ravenously consumed fried cheese sandwiches** and was revived by lively if forgettable conversation. All I really remember is that PK still refuses to adopt me as his younger sister and DI has decided to imitate me by answering "unclear" to questions whenever possible.
No new development on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch paper or on anything else really - tomorrow evening (after the last class!) we are all heading down to Florence for a wine tasting and a lesson on wine and cheese, and afterward we will probably go out to celebrate the end of the program. ABo, who has been gone since yesterday afternoon (taking the LSATs in Italy!), will be back to participate in the simulation and festivities.
A final note: I have decided to become rich writing self-help books, because people need a lot of help. Like, a LOT of help. No initials on this one. You know who you are.
*SB, this word is for you.
**They're like grilled cheese sandwiches, only after making the grilled cheese sandwich you then deep fry it. Seriously.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Stimulated by Simulations
It has been a long day of class and discussions pertaining to issues in class. We are all concerned by now with the Simulation on Wednesday (during which I will play a JAG lawyer representing military interests in policy decisions about Iran, North Korea, the International Criminal Court, and Guantanamo Bay) and with our final papers*. DI, OK, ABe, and I had a power session in the library after supper, to which I contributed very little but from which I learned quite a bit, especially about international events. Though I have never exactly lived under a rock, I feel that I have spent the past four years trying to play catch-up with international events - I barely know what happened historically, much less recently! This was only mildly irritating for most of my Georgetown career; since I have begun my foray into International Law, it has been somewhat debilitating. Luckily, MR briefs me on major news events every morning so I don't feel entirely like the villa's idiot.
After-class discussions grow significantly louder and more argumentative than those monitored by CL and CJ. DI, PK, and ABe have had several near-screaming matches this afternoon that were interspersed with breaks to check out funny websites and eat. Watching them made me think of "To Kill a Mockingbird", in which Scout marvels over Atticus' ability to joke and have lunch with the lawyer arguing against him. Unfortunately, I think I may not even be as well-informed as Scout on the issues they were arguing over.
We are starting class early tomorrow, so I am heading off to bed. Pictures for Cinque Terre and La Spezia have been posted, and new ones have been added to the albums for Pisa, Firenze, and Siena. Enjoy!
*I have decided to write mine on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, which is absolutely fascinating and disgusting. I strongly recommend learning about it as soon as possible.
After-class discussions grow significantly louder and more argumentative than those monitored by CL and CJ. DI, PK, and ABe have had several near-screaming matches this afternoon that were interspersed with breaks to check out funny websites and eat. Watching them made me think of "To Kill a Mockingbird", in which Scout marvels over Atticus' ability to joke and have lunch with the lawyer arguing against him. Unfortunately, I think I may not even be as well-informed as Scout on the issues they were arguing over.
We are starting class early tomorrow, so I am heading off to bed. Pictures for Cinque Terre and La Spezia have been posted, and new ones have been added to the albums for Pisa, Firenze, and Siena. Enjoy!
*I have decided to write mine on the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, which is absolutely fascinating and disgusting. I strongly recommend learning about it as soon as possible.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
D-Day and Brunch
As soon as PK, OK, ABe, ABo, MR, and I arrived in Monterosso al Mare, the first town in Cinque Terre, we knew we were in for a long day. While we walked around taking pictures of the beach the weather alternated between drizzling and gentle rain, but as we began the extremely long and difficult climb toward Vernazza it began to pour in earnest. We were quickly covered in mud and cold rain and sweat, and spent the following five hours trekking through the mountains (and I really mean mountains, not hills) between the five towns. Despite the immediate declaration that it was most certainly D-Day, we managed to have an amazing day and complimented MR several times on her suggestion that we spend the weekend in Cinque Terre (we weren't even sarcastic). This may have been partially due to our knowledge that we were acquiring buns of titanium* from the extraordinary amount of steps that we ended up climbing.
We stopped in Vernazza for thirty minutes to use the bathroom and revitalize ourselves with pizza, water, and cookies. The hike to Corniglia, the third city, was almost as tough as our first round, but the rain managed to peter out and we only had to deal with mud and our fear of falling off cliffs in addition to extreme exhaustion. Lunch in Corniglia turned out to be quite the ordeal, as we were served by a grumpy old man who actually refused to bring us the check until I had finished my pasta. When it became apparent that the pasta was not going to be finished, he finally brought it, but he directed a rather terrifying stink-eye at me during his walk to our table.
Our luck with the weather held for the rest of the day, and the climbs to Manarola and Riomaggiore were not nearly as difficult as the first two rounds of the trail. We arrived the train station soaked, exhausted, muddy, starving, and wishing we were spending the night in La Spezia so we could shower and change before taking the train back to Firenze. When we got back to our hotel we commandeered the public bathroom and wiped ourselves down with paper towels before changing into dry (but still dirty) clothes and trying to tamp down on our sweat smell with deodorant. We spent another hour and a half in La Spezia (the shopping mecca) while waiting for our train back, during which we should have eaten supper but did not, and then ended up on a EuroStar with our own compartment for the three hours it took to get to Florence. Because it was D-Day, we had to wait thirty minutes in Florence for our bus up to Fiesole and did not arrive back at the Villa until after midnight.
It's funny, but when I began telling people that story, they uttered exclamations of horror and sympathy; in fact, the entire day, though mildly disastrous, was one of the most wonderful I've spent in Italy. I was with a great group of people, none of whom freaked out or acted poorly, and we kept our spirits up and had a great time together. It was an adventure rather than a misadventure; where we might have been grumbling about returning back home, we were joking about how much gelato we would eat when we reached the final city. Even on the train home we talked about what a great idea it had been to go and how much we had enjoyed it.
I thought about that on my run this morning. It seems like there are always more excuses not to do something than reasons to do it. I have been trying to DO things lately, no matter what excuses I or others come up with, and have found that it is even more rewarding than I expected. I also think my time in Italy has mellowed me out a little, though I am unsure as to whether this will follow me back to the United States. This morning several of us had decided we would all go in to Florence and have brunch before exploring the Academia (where David is) and San Lorenzo's market (where cheap shopping is). Though we had tentatively planned a meeting time of 11:15, only two of us were ready then; it took about an hour for everyone to assemble and finally make it up the hill to the bus. It then took a while for us to find the place we planned to go for brunch, and then several members of the party were disappointed to discover that it was an American brunch restaurant and not an Italian one**. All in all there was quite a bit of dissatisfaction with the waiting and then the unpleasant surprise for some - but besides being hungry (I had expected to eat a little sooner), I felt very pleasant. It was raining again, which made me glad that my bag arrived after its Bologna vacation with my raincoat and umbrella, and the restaurant - Ari's Diner - was crowded so that we had to wait to be seated. There was no end to the list of things to complain about, but I had nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do, and the rainstorm was in Florence, where I was actually standing around, shivering a little, loving the smells of the wet stones mixed with whiffs of hash browns and omelets.
Being dissatisfied only seems to breed dissatisfaction, and so I am trying to avoid it in my life from now on. For the rest of the day various members of the party sulked at various times - their moods were as unpredictable as the rainstorms that were ravaging Fiesole but leaving Florence with only a few scattered sprinkles (just to throw in a tried and true metaphor). I tried to stick with upbeat crowds (that would be the sun, in case you're still trying to follow the metaphor), and had a good long contemplative look at David in the Academia while tempers cooled all around. I haggled quite well at San Lorenzo's market - at least, I drove the initial prices quoted to me down significantly. I probably still overpaid by virtue of being American, but I'm pretty sure the stuff I procured was gotten at a good price. I felt proud of myself, anyway.
Jimmy Buffett sings, "it's still a mystery to me / Why some people live like they do / So many nice things happenin' out there / They never even seen the clues". I suppose the new attitude I've adopted is somewhat unrealistic in the grand scheme of things, but after applying it for only a few weeks I am stunned by how often people box themselves in to unhappiness rather than expending a small bit of effort to find satisfaction. I have also noticed that I am impressed by people who do expend the effort, and that those are generally the people I thought were the most interesting and enjoyable to be around even before I started trying to DO.
Tomorrow is another day of class - only three left - and I desperately need to get some sleep in so that I don't miss anything. Good night -
*stronger than steel
**I am unsure how they missed that, since it was part of the plan
We stopped in Vernazza for thirty minutes to use the bathroom and revitalize ourselves with pizza, water, and cookies. The hike to Corniglia, the third city, was almost as tough as our first round, but the rain managed to peter out and we only had to deal with mud and our fear of falling off cliffs in addition to extreme exhaustion. Lunch in Corniglia turned out to be quite the ordeal, as we were served by a grumpy old man who actually refused to bring us the check until I had finished my pasta. When it became apparent that the pasta was not going to be finished, he finally brought it, but he directed a rather terrifying stink-eye at me during his walk to our table.
Our luck with the weather held for the rest of the day, and the climbs to Manarola and Riomaggiore were not nearly as difficult as the first two rounds of the trail. We arrived the train station soaked, exhausted, muddy, starving, and wishing we were spending the night in La Spezia so we could shower and change before taking the train back to Firenze. When we got back to our hotel we commandeered the public bathroom and wiped ourselves down with paper towels before changing into dry (but still dirty) clothes and trying to tamp down on our sweat smell with deodorant. We spent another hour and a half in La Spezia (the shopping mecca) while waiting for our train back, during which we should have eaten supper but did not, and then ended up on a EuroStar with our own compartment for the three hours it took to get to Florence. Because it was D-Day, we had to wait thirty minutes in Florence for our bus up to Fiesole and did not arrive back at the Villa until after midnight.
It's funny, but when I began telling people that story, they uttered exclamations of horror and sympathy; in fact, the entire day, though mildly disastrous, was one of the most wonderful I've spent in Italy. I was with a great group of people, none of whom freaked out or acted poorly, and we kept our spirits up and had a great time together. It was an adventure rather than a misadventure; where we might have been grumbling about returning back home, we were joking about how much gelato we would eat when we reached the final city. Even on the train home we talked about what a great idea it had been to go and how much we had enjoyed it.
I thought about that on my run this morning. It seems like there are always more excuses not to do something than reasons to do it. I have been trying to DO things lately, no matter what excuses I or others come up with, and have found that it is even more rewarding than I expected. I also think my time in Italy has mellowed me out a little, though I am unsure as to whether this will follow me back to the United States. This morning several of us had decided we would all go in to Florence and have brunch before exploring the Academia (where David is) and San Lorenzo's market (where cheap shopping is). Though we had tentatively planned a meeting time of 11:15, only two of us were ready then; it took about an hour for everyone to assemble and finally make it up the hill to the bus. It then took a while for us to find the place we planned to go for brunch, and then several members of the party were disappointed to discover that it was an American brunch restaurant and not an Italian one**. All in all there was quite a bit of dissatisfaction with the waiting and then the unpleasant surprise for some - but besides being hungry (I had expected to eat a little sooner), I felt very pleasant. It was raining again, which made me glad that my bag arrived after its Bologna vacation with my raincoat and umbrella, and the restaurant - Ari's Diner - was crowded so that we had to wait to be seated. There was no end to the list of things to complain about, but I had nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do, and the rainstorm was in Florence, where I was actually standing around, shivering a little, loving the smells of the wet stones mixed with whiffs of hash browns and omelets.
Being dissatisfied only seems to breed dissatisfaction, and so I am trying to avoid it in my life from now on. For the rest of the day various members of the party sulked at various times - their moods were as unpredictable as the rainstorms that were ravaging Fiesole but leaving Florence with only a few scattered sprinkles (just to throw in a tried and true metaphor). I tried to stick with upbeat crowds (that would be the sun, in case you're still trying to follow the metaphor), and had a good long contemplative look at David in the Academia while tempers cooled all around. I haggled quite well at San Lorenzo's market - at least, I drove the initial prices quoted to me down significantly. I probably still overpaid by virtue of being American, but I'm pretty sure the stuff I procured was gotten at a good price. I felt proud of myself, anyway.
Jimmy Buffett sings, "it's still a mystery to me / Why some people live like they do / So many nice things happenin' out there / They never even seen the clues". I suppose the new attitude I've adopted is somewhat unrealistic in the grand scheme of things, but after applying it for only a few weeks I am stunned by how often people box themselves in to unhappiness rather than expending a small bit of effort to find satisfaction. I have also noticed that I am impressed by people who do expend the effort, and that those are generally the people I thought were the most interesting and enjoyable to be around even before I started trying to DO.
Tomorrow is another day of class - only three left - and I desperately need to get some sleep in so that I don't miss anything. Good night -
*stronger than steel
**I am unsure how they missed that, since it was part of the plan
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Meccas and Terres
OK, MR, ABo, ABe, PK, and I had an awesome time last night in La Spezia, which we jokingly dubbed as a shopping mecca when we arrived in the afternoon. It actually lived up to our nickname, though - OK and I each ended up with some inexpensive dresses that we are certainly planning to wear out to J.J. Hills for Francesco.
The city did shut down at about 10:30 while we were walking back to the Hotel Firenze & Continentale (a good choice, if I do say so myself - we got two triple rooms right in the center of La Spezia for a reasonable price). We became convinced that the nice, comfortable town was actually just a facade and the Italians were closing up in preperation for a gang fight (which would quite obviously consist of singing and finger-snapping). Unfortunately, none of us witnessed any fights or gangs (or even singing) from our windows.
Currently we are waiting on the platform for a train that will take us to Monterosso al Mare, the top city of Cinque Terre. It is overcast but not raining, so we hope they will let us hike the trail! If not we plan to take the train through the various cities and hike around them enough to make up for the 5-hour hike we should have had.
Wish us luck -
The city did shut down at about 10:30 while we were walking back to the Hotel Firenze & Continentale (a good choice, if I do say so myself - we got two triple rooms right in the center of La Spezia for a reasonable price). We became convinced that the nice, comfortable town was actually just a facade and the Italians were closing up in preperation for a gang fight (which would quite obviously consist of singing and finger-snapping). Unfortunately, none of us witnessed any fights or gangs (or even singing) from our windows.
Currently we are waiting on the platform for a train that will take us to Monterosso al Mare, the top city of Cinque Terre. It is overcast but not raining, so we hope they will let us hike the trail! If not we plan to take the train through the various cities and hike around them enough to make up for the 5-hour hike we should have had.
Wish us luck -
Friday, June 5, 2009
You Ain't Alive...
Montgomery Gentry reminds us that "you ain't alive if you ain't breakin' a sweat". This morning marked the second day in a row that I not only made it up the hill, but went the entire running loop without having to stop. I have found that the truth is "the highs are higher than the lows are low", although I feel pretty low when I reach the top of a steep hill and realize that the rest of run is still, in fact, uphill. However, "it ain't about easy", and knowing that I am just that tough makes me feel pretty darn good.
We're about to have a wonderful (free-ish) lunch here at the Villa before heading off on the train to La Spezia, where we have a hotel for the night. Tomorrow we'll hike through Cinque Terre and probably come back to the Villa in the evening, although depending on the weather and money we may change our minds and spend Sunday at the beach. We've all brought our readings for class with us and have no obligations to anyone but each other for the weekend, so we can do whatever we want. It's simultaneously one of the best and loneliest feelings I've ever known - it seems like a wonderful thing to experience for a short period of time, but not like the way I would want to live my entire life.
Anyway, it's lunchtime now, so I'm going to take my traveling backpack (which, if you recall, has already seen Bologna and is ready for another interesting trip) downstairs and eat another great meal. Ciao!
We're about to have a wonderful (free-ish) lunch here at the Villa before heading off on the train to La Spezia, where we have a hotel for the night. Tomorrow we'll hike through Cinque Terre and probably come back to the Villa in the evening, although depending on the weather and money we may change our minds and spend Sunday at the beach. We've all brought our readings for class with us and have no obligations to anyone but each other for the weekend, so we can do whatever we want. It's simultaneously one of the best and loneliest feelings I've ever known - it seems like a wonderful thing to experience for a short period of time, but not like the way I would want to live my entire life.
Anyway, it's lunchtime now, so I'm going to take my traveling backpack (which, if you recall, has already seen Bologna and is ready for another interesting trip) downstairs and eat another great meal. Ciao!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Non-answers from Edwin Starr
I’m sitting out on the patio looking over Florence and writing this* in Microsoft Word because the internet is not working out here. MR has decided that, despite her initial excitement to write in her own blog, the lack of internet was a sign that she should do her reading for class instead. I don’t usually get signs like that for some reason.
Now on to the real point. War! (Crimes): What are they good for? International lawyers.
For the last hour of class today we discussed war crimes, which is a topic that has always puzzled me. CJ gave a very good outline of the importance of the difference between just and unjust wars and also noted that one of the most difficult parts of training new soldiers is explaining to them that war is not simply a free-for-all, but I cannot help but still have trouble understanding how a group of people could engage in killing another group while adhering to rules. When I try to think about it logically, war in general seems so incredibly barbaric to me. How is it possible that in this advanced day, when we have wireless internet (which admittedly does not always work) and space stations (at least, so long as you aren’t a conspiracy theorist), that we still get out on a battlefield and try to KILL each other? It all seems very childish and medieval, which I suppose is probably because the entire idea was conceived and is still largely carried out by men.
Edwin Starr says that war is good for absolutely nothing, which honestly does not help me figure it all out very much at all. If I leave the question of the purpose of war, however, and move on to war crimes, I begin to understand things better. I am pretty sure that war crimes were invented by (and, I suspect, for) international lawyers, who seem to have written them into the law after struggling with the same questions I am. Really, though, jus en bello and war crime laws don’t appear to me to be solving that many problems worldwide. If I were empress of the world**, I would require that countries sit down and have talks (which I hear they sometimes try). I believe that the men who decided war was a good idea need an order to sit down and talk, because they’re probably the same type of men who refuse to ask for directions. Wouldn’t it be nice if war were just a big misunderstanding that could be corrected by asking for directions?
Tomorrow we’re heading up to hike through Cinque Terre, which should be a nice break, and Sunday we’re planning to hang out around Florence. Time to go now for another awesome supper at the Villa. Shout-out to ABe for joining me in plaid day! Plaid shorts and skirts should be worn as often as possible and in the largest groups that can be coordinated.
*This is the phrase MR had hoped to start her blog off with today. I know this because she discussed her disappointment at not being able to write it. I figured if I used it we could all win.
**A title I aspire to
Now on to the real point. War! (Crimes): What are they good for? International lawyers.
For the last hour of class today we discussed war crimes, which is a topic that has always puzzled me. CJ gave a very good outline of the importance of the difference between just and unjust wars and also noted that one of the most difficult parts of training new soldiers is explaining to them that war is not simply a free-for-all, but I cannot help but still have trouble understanding how a group of people could engage in killing another group while adhering to rules. When I try to think about it logically, war in general seems so incredibly barbaric to me. How is it possible that in this advanced day, when we have wireless internet (which admittedly does not always work) and space stations (at least, so long as you aren’t a conspiracy theorist), that we still get out on a battlefield and try to KILL each other? It all seems very childish and medieval, which I suppose is probably because the entire idea was conceived and is still largely carried out by men.
Edwin Starr says that war is good for absolutely nothing, which honestly does not help me figure it all out very much at all. If I leave the question of the purpose of war, however, and move on to war crimes, I begin to understand things better. I am pretty sure that war crimes were invented by (and, I suspect, for) international lawyers, who seem to have written them into the law after struggling with the same questions I am. Really, though, jus en bello and war crime laws don’t appear to me to be solving that many problems worldwide. If I were empress of the world**, I would require that countries sit down and have talks (which I hear they sometimes try). I believe that the men who decided war was a good idea need an order to sit down and talk, because they’re probably the same type of men who refuse to ask for directions. Wouldn’t it be nice if war were just a big misunderstanding that could be corrected by asking for directions?
Tomorrow we’re heading up to hike through Cinque Terre, which should be a nice break, and Sunday we’re planning to hang out around Florence. Time to go now for another awesome supper at the Villa. Shout-out to ABe for joining me in plaid day! Plaid shorts and skirts should be worn as often as possible and in the largest groups that can be coordinated.
*This is the phrase MR had hoped to start her blog off with today. I know this because she discussed her disappointment at not being able to write it. I figured if I used it we could all win.
**A title I aspire to
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The World Ain't Slowin' Down
Lunch today was very interesting. I sat with CL, Bm, MR, and ABe, and we had some good discussions about Outliers* and fears of flying. Flying came up because of the AirFrance disaster that just occurred - we talked about the phenomenon of everyone becoming terrified of planes after one crashes and the statistical probabilities (all of which we almost certainly made up) of actually being on a plane that crashes, which we determined was probably low. Apparently AA is absolutely terrified of flying, and has only done it as of late because of his love for TA. As I sat at the table listening to the roots of and justifications for AA's refusal to fly (and the ramifications of that refusal on his career), I began to think about the lengths people go to in order to avoid that which they do not enjoy. Don't they realize, I wondered, that they are stunting their lives in order to skip out on a tiny bit of discomfort? How can you give up so much in exchange for so little? The world does not cave in to your fickle desires the way a harried mother does to a child who refuses to eat broccoli.
Like Ellis Paul says, "the world ain't slowin' down" - and it definitely is not going to stop to make sure it accommodates everyone, either. I became especially unimpressed when I learned that AA USED to fly, but ended the habit after one bad experience. Ellis Paul also asks, "weren't you the kid that just climbed on the merry-go-round"? What happened?
I could quote songs on the subject all afternoon - Patty Larkin suggests, "might as well dance"; Jimmy Buffett reminds us that "life is just a tire swing" and talks about "waiting for the next explosion"; and so on - but I think you've gotten my point by now. In case you have not, here it is: get over yourself and try to live your life just a bit. I'm not one to give advice on how to live it - some say working hard is a waste of your soul; others believe not working is a waste of your time. I don't know what is wasteful and what is not, but it seems to me that there is no point in going to Six Flags and refusing to ride on a roller coaster, or spending the day in a swimsuit at a lake but refusing to get in. The rides may seem terrifying at the time and the water may seem far too cold to consider, but when the day is over and you're driving home, you'll regret not trying it. I'm using these examples because I've made both of those mistakes - and I've also ridden the coaster and jumped in the lake when I really didn't want to. Thinking back on those times today, I remember that I was scared and a little sick after the coasters and cold and mildly miserable after the freezing water, but I don't remember those FEELINGS. I remember FEELING glad that I had done it, and feeling happy to be laughing with my friends about it, and feeling so content with walking on the ground and so comfortable and warm after a long shower. Thinking back on the times that I didn't take the plunge, I just remember knowing that it would have been worth the fleeting feeling of sickness or cold.
Six Flags and cold lakes were just examples of DAYS - metaphors (not very thinly veiled) for the difference between the satisfaction of action and the regret of inaction. How, I wonder, do people live their entire lives like timid days at Six Flags with "should haves" on the ride home? It is even more difficult to imagine that mentality when I just got back from a run (during which I ALMOST made it up the hill and resolved to go to the top tomorrow) and sat writing this in the sun overlooking Florence. The question that keeps running through my mind is, "Are people crazy"? The pervasive answer seems to be, "Yes".
*I was extraordinarily glad that my mother had required me to read the book over Christmas break, since it meant I could actually contribute to the conversation.
Like Ellis Paul says, "the world ain't slowin' down" - and it definitely is not going to stop to make sure it accommodates everyone, either. I became especially unimpressed when I learned that AA USED to fly, but ended the habit after one bad experience. Ellis Paul also asks, "weren't you the kid that just climbed on the merry-go-round"? What happened?
I could quote songs on the subject all afternoon - Patty Larkin suggests, "might as well dance"; Jimmy Buffett reminds us that "life is just a tire swing" and talks about "waiting for the next explosion"; and so on - but I think you've gotten my point by now. In case you have not, here it is: get over yourself and try to live your life just a bit. I'm not one to give advice on how to live it - some say working hard is a waste of your soul; others believe not working is a waste of your time. I don't know what is wasteful and what is not, but it seems to me that there is no point in going to Six Flags and refusing to ride on a roller coaster, or spending the day in a swimsuit at a lake but refusing to get in. The rides may seem terrifying at the time and the water may seem far too cold to consider, but when the day is over and you're driving home, you'll regret not trying it. I'm using these examples because I've made both of those mistakes - and I've also ridden the coaster and jumped in the lake when I really didn't want to. Thinking back on those times today, I remember that I was scared and a little sick after the coasters and cold and mildly miserable after the freezing water, but I don't remember those FEELINGS. I remember FEELING glad that I had done it, and feeling happy to be laughing with my friends about it, and feeling so content with walking on the ground and so comfortable and warm after a long shower. Thinking back on the times that I didn't take the plunge, I just remember knowing that it would have been worth the fleeting feeling of sickness or cold.
Six Flags and cold lakes were just examples of DAYS - metaphors (not very thinly veiled) for the difference between the satisfaction of action and the regret of inaction. How, I wonder, do people live their entire lives like timid days at Six Flags with "should haves" on the ride home? It is even more difficult to imagine that mentality when I just got back from a run (during which I ALMOST made it up the hill and resolved to go to the top tomorrow) and sat writing this in the sun overlooking Florence. The question that keeps running through my mind is, "Are people crazy"? The pervasive answer seems to be, "Yes".
*I was extraordinarily glad that my mother had required me to read the book over Christmas break, since it meant I could actually contribute to the conversation.
Monday, June 1, 2009
On "Running"
Well, since my bag with my exercise clothes finally arrived last night after a nice vacation in Bologna (which is where it was...I'm still not sure why), I decided today to take a run. Since we live on a "hill", there is not a whole ton of flat ground to run on, and I ended up on a loop with a gigantic and extremely difficult hill at the end. After a week of no running and lots of pasta, I was pretty positive the world was ending halfway up the thing and stopped to walk with my father's voice in my head reminding me that "the slowest way to get anywhere is to walk uphill"*.
I have decided never to go a week with no exercise and lots of pasta again. I think that running up that hill was the most painful thing that has happened to me in a very long time.
It has been rainy today, so I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the library and uploading my photographs for those with access to the world wide web to enjoy. We spent a long time at supper and I have now made my way back to the library, where I'm working and listening to Bach with OK, DI, and ABe. Overall, this is a pretty awesome place to live.
*When I tried to walk downhill, he would suggest that I should not because downhill is easy; it's just a controlled fall. I would then start walking on flat ground, but he would write that off as ridiculous because everyone can run on flat ground. When I finally asked when I could walk, he answered, "Never. You're going on a run."
I have decided never to go a week with no exercise and lots of pasta again. I think that running up that hill was the most painful thing that has happened to me in a very long time.
It has been rainy today, so I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the library and uploading my photographs for those with access to the world wide web to enjoy. We spent a long time at supper and I have now made my way back to the library, where I'm working and listening to Bach with OK, DI, and ABe. Overall, this is a pretty awesome place to live.
*When I tried to walk downhill, he would suggest that I should not because downhill is easy; it's just a controlled fall. I would then start walking on flat ground, but he would write that off as ridiculous because everyone can run on flat ground. When I finally asked when I could walk, he answered, "Never. You're going on a run."
Home is where...??
The experience at the VIlla reminds me a bit of St. Paul's - living with your classmates and teachers creates such a different learning environment. It isn't so much the talking about class out of class, but the knowing each other so much better that we understand each other better in class. At least, that's the way it seems to me. It's also more difficult to get away with BS, because in a group of 12 everyone can tell whether you did your reading or not.
After being at the Villa for less than a week, I find myself wishing that I could come up with a way to move to Italy for a year - specifically to the Villa. I have realized, though, that I would need to move my family here as well. I do not know whether it is because SB and I are so close in age or because Mommy and Daddy just raised us well, but though I of course enjoy my time away from home it seems that when everywhere I go I consider whether SB would like the beers and bars or Mommy would like the view or Daddy would like the museums that perhaps I should just bring them there and have it over with. In talks with others here I have garnished that I feel that way more than most, which I believe is because of going away to boarding school at 14. Since I left home at such a young age, we have hypothesized, it was natural for me to articulate my wishes that my family visit me or that I go visit them, and I did not break the habit upon entering or leaving college. I do not particularly want to break this habit, but I have noticed that most college students, being away from home for the first time right on the heels of the teenage years of fighting with their parents, do not have this habit at all. After the first year or two of college they will begin admitting that they like their parents and even tell their parents on the phone that they miss them, and some will even speak to their parents daily. I think, though, that leaving home right after years of fighting comes as more of a relief to most children and perhaps even to their parents, and this seems to create a different kind of independence. Personally, I am in no hurry to acquire it.
The moral of this is that I know no matter how much I love a place, I will always go home. I am not like Hemmingway or Fitzgerald; I may romanticize my time abroad, but I cannot picture myself as an ex-pat. Would I enjoy being abroad for six months, or a year? Probably I would if SB were here as well, and maybe I would if I were on my own. It is difficult to be sure of what I would enjoy and when I would begin to long for my place back in the US. The saying "home is where the heart is" trips me up. I know that by "heart" the phrase refers to the people you love, but my heart, right now, is right here between Fiesole and Florence; I am sure that I will always love this place and the calmness and happiness it seems to bring everyone who visits. I wish my family were here to see and experience it, but I do not wish I were home; my heart is not in the United States, though I know my home is.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Double Digits?
Today we woke up at 6am to make the bus down to Florence for a wine tasting around Tuscany. We were exhausted, but I have to admit that going was a great choice. We were on a bus with about 30 others, most of whom turned out to be annoyingly high-pitched high school girls, but luckily after the first vineyard, where we started drinking at approximately 10:30am, we weren't too concerned about them.
It was a little chilly and the first two vineyards we visited were nice but nothing to write online about. We stopped for lunch in Piensa, which I suppose is virtually the only town within reasonable driving distance from every vineyard in Tuscany, because the few tiny streets were absolutely packed with tourists trying to find restaurants with empty tables. There were seven of us from the Villa on the wine tour and we had hoped to eat together, but in the end we had to split up in order to eat. MR, PK and I snagged a small table outside under an umbrella, where we had a choice of bread with ham, bread with salami, bread with cheese, or bread with salami and cheese. PK asked, "Do the sandwiches have mayonaise?"
In a tense moment, the waitress looked at us and repeated, "Mayonaise?"
MR luckily thought to just ask if the sandwiches were served dry, which they were. Unfortunately, we quickly were not. It started raining rather hard and the umbrella was not affording much shelter, but we eventually sucked it up and walked around visiting the stores in Piensa (there are about four of them) until the bus came back to take us to our final vineyard.
The last vineyard was by far the best, and definitely worth the 40 Euros we each dropped for the entire trip. As soon as we entered we were handed glasses of Rosso and fresh bread already covered in the vineyard's own olive oil, which we consumed during a short tour of the building (due to the rain, we stayed inside!). This included not only the fermenting rooms but also a very interesting historical basement of sorts with all kinds of old tools that they used to use for the grapes. Our guide was one of the owners of the vineyard, which is run by him, his brothers, and his father, and he was dressed in all black with sparkles on his shirt! His attitude matched the outfit quite well, we thought. He and the other personalities we met at the vineyard were perhaps the best part of the tour - his father, an old man dressed in a full suit and hat, continually tried to take pictures with the girls, while his mother yelled out, "Mario! Mario!" whenever she caught him.
After the initial tour we were shown into a room where we were given a Brunello, which was quickly followed by small sandwiches not unlike the ones MR, PK and I paid for in Piensa. We were informed that it was tradition during wine tastings for everyone in the room to take a shot of Grappa in the style of a toast, which I can honestly say was the worst thing I drank all day. A plate of some of the best cheese I've ever tasted (which made up for the forced Grappa) came next, to clense our palates for the next Brunello, which was my favorite of all the day's wines. At last, as everyone was deciding which wines they wanted to purchase (after such a show, we couldn't resist!), we were given yet another wine - a small bit of dessert wine that tasted a bit like raisins.
Not surprisingly, we all slept on the bus ride home.
BAG UPDATE: IT'S HERE!!
It was a little chilly and the first two vineyards we visited were nice but nothing to write online about. We stopped for lunch in Piensa, which I suppose is virtually the only town within reasonable driving distance from every vineyard in Tuscany, because the few tiny streets were absolutely packed with tourists trying to find restaurants with empty tables. There were seven of us from the Villa on the wine tour and we had hoped to eat together, but in the end we had to split up in order to eat. MR, PK and I snagged a small table outside under an umbrella, where we had a choice of bread with ham, bread with salami, bread with cheese, or bread with salami and cheese. PK asked, "Do the sandwiches have mayonaise?"
In a tense moment, the waitress looked at us and repeated, "Mayonaise?"
MR luckily thought to just ask if the sandwiches were served dry, which they were. Unfortunately, we quickly were not. It started raining rather hard and the umbrella was not affording much shelter, but we eventually sucked it up and walked around visiting the stores in Piensa (there are about four of them) until the bus came back to take us to our final vineyard.
The last vineyard was by far the best, and definitely worth the 40 Euros we each dropped for the entire trip. As soon as we entered we were handed glasses of Rosso and fresh bread already covered in the vineyard's own olive oil, which we consumed during a short tour of the building (due to the rain, we stayed inside!). This included not only the fermenting rooms but also a very interesting historical basement of sorts with all kinds of old tools that they used to use for the grapes. Our guide was one of the owners of the vineyard, which is run by him, his brothers, and his father, and he was dressed in all black with sparkles on his shirt! His attitude matched the outfit quite well, we thought. He and the other personalities we met at the vineyard were perhaps the best part of the tour - his father, an old man dressed in a full suit and hat, continually tried to take pictures with the girls, while his mother yelled out, "Mario! Mario!" whenever she caught him.
After the initial tour we were shown into a room where we were given a Brunello, which was quickly followed by small sandwiches not unlike the ones MR, PK and I paid for in Piensa. We were informed that it was tradition during wine tastings for everyone in the room to take a shot of Grappa in the style of a toast, which I can honestly say was the worst thing I drank all day. A plate of some of the best cheese I've ever tasted (which made up for the forced Grappa) came next, to clense our palates for the next Brunello, which was my favorite of all the day's wines. At last, as everyone was deciding which wines they wanted to purchase (after such a show, we couldn't resist!), we were given yet another wine - a small bit of dessert wine that tasted a bit like raisins.
Not surprisingly, we all slept on the bus ride home.
BAG UPDATE: IT'S HERE!!
Pizza in Pisa
Pisa was quite the adventure. The group was hungry upon disembarking from our quick little train from Florence, and so we stopped in the first nice-looking cafe we could find (ABe actually made the decision to enter based on the attractiveness of the furniture, which admittedly may not have been the best criteria on which to judge a food institution). We ended up having quite a bit of trouble with the waitress behind the counter, who seemed to speak no languages that we did. Being adventurous, I had determined to eat a sandwich displayed in the window of the bar, and I pointed at it and asked, "Che es?"
She stared at me as if I had just spoken in Wingdings, and I repeated myself, pointing again at the sandwich. At long last she shook her head and said, "I don't speak Spanish. Italian or English."
I suppose I was incorrect in using "es" rather than "e", but to my credit "que" and "che" are pronounced the same way, so I was only one letter off from the Italian phrase. I really thought she might have figured it out, but to avoid being difficult I simply asked what the sandwich was in English.
"Ham, cheese, mayonaise," she answered promptly.
You may know that I avoid mayonaise. I asked, "Do you have any with no mayonaise?"
The Wingdings look returned, and she responded, "What is mayonaise?"
This took me by surprise, as I assumed she had an understanding of the word she had introduced into the conversation. However, giving her the benefit of the doubt, I pointed again to the first sandwich and requested she inform me of its contents.
"Ham, cheese, mayonaise," she repeated.
"And are there any with no mayonaise?" I even made the "no" motion with my hands.
"What is mayonaise?"
We were all stunned and confused. Trying once more, I pointed to a different sandwich and simply asked, "Mayonaise?"
"No meat," she said.
I got the sandwich with the mayonaise and scraped the mayonaise off in clumps that decorated the side of my plate. MR took a picture. She and PK had pizza, which was obviously the way I should have gone, though there were several problems with their orders as well, even though MR, who knows Italian rather well, tried to converse with our waitress in what we assumed to be her native language. At this point, we are all relatively sure that the waitress came from a foreign country unknown to us and speaks a language not readily obvious to us.
The food fiasco aside, our trip was quite a success. I learned today that the leaning tower of Pisa was actually built as the bell tower for Pisa's cattedrale - the chapel of Santa Maria. PK, ABe, MR and I got tickets to see the Cathedral, Baptistry, Crypt, and museums, and spent a few hours wandering around and poking inside them, taking pictures with the tower in the background. MR found the experience of the religious green over-religious, especially combined with our prolonged wanderings about the religious structures of Siena yesterday, but I actually thought it was much more touristy and less religious (how many times can I use "religious" in one sentence?). Fueled by my candle escapades of yesterday, I rooted out the candle stand in Santa Maria, hoping to light one and sit peacefully in front of it, reflecting about life. These "candles", though, were plastic stems with lightbulbs on top that lit up when you plugged them into a board. This ruined the experience for me, and on the whole I was entirely less impressed by the cathedral than by its leaning bell tower.
Upon returning to Florence in the early evening, we discovered several Saturday markets still in full swing and walked through them slowly. We made our way past the glittering jewelry stores on Ponte Vecchio as the sun began to set and MR ended up with a painting for 6 Euros (it was initially going for 15, so I am going to begin attempt to emulate her haggling prowress). Supper was almost four hours in a small restaurant where we were joined by several others, and we stopped for gelato on our way back to the bus. We are meeting at 6:30am tomorrow (today, actually!) for a full-day wine tasting around Tuscany. Monday, it seems, will be much more restful than the weekend!
Bag update: someone called the Villa today and reported a scheduled drop-off time of 12 noon today. It was a private number and we have not heard from them since. Needless to say, the bag is not yet here. I have thought "maybe tomorrow" so many times in the past week that "Monday, Monday" has become permanently stuck in my head. Luckily, tomorrow is a day of rest of Catholic countries, so I can think "maybe Monday". It is admittedly not much better and does very little to rid my mind of the Mamas and Papas tune.
She stared at me as if I had just spoken in Wingdings, and I repeated myself, pointing again at the sandwich. At long last she shook her head and said, "I don't speak Spanish. Italian or English."
I suppose I was incorrect in using "es" rather than "e", but to my credit "que" and "che" are pronounced the same way, so I was only one letter off from the Italian phrase. I really thought she might have figured it out, but to avoid being difficult I simply asked what the sandwich was in English.
"Ham, cheese, mayonaise," she answered promptly.
You may know that I avoid mayonaise. I asked, "Do you have any with no mayonaise?"
The Wingdings look returned, and she responded, "What is mayonaise?"
This took me by surprise, as I assumed she had an understanding of the word she had introduced into the conversation. However, giving her the benefit of the doubt, I pointed again to the first sandwich and requested she inform me of its contents.
"Ham, cheese, mayonaise," she repeated.
"And are there any with no mayonaise?" I even made the "no" motion with my hands.
"What is mayonaise?"
We were all stunned and confused. Trying once more, I pointed to a different sandwich and simply asked, "Mayonaise?"
"No meat," she said.
I got the sandwich with the mayonaise and scraped the mayonaise off in clumps that decorated the side of my plate. MR took a picture. She and PK had pizza, which was obviously the way I should have gone, though there were several problems with their orders as well, even though MR, who knows Italian rather well, tried to converse with our waitress in what we assumed to be her native language. At this point, we are all relatively sure that the waitress came from a foreign country unknown to us and speaks a language not readily obvious to us.
The food fiasco aside, our trip was quite a success. I learned today that the leaning tower of Pisa was actually built as the bell tower for Pisa's cattedrale - the chapel of Santa Maria. PK, ABe, MR and I got tickets to see the Cathedral, Baptistry, Crypt, and museums, and spent a few hours wandering around and poking inside them, taking pictures with the tower in the background. MR found the experience of the religious green over-religious, especially combined with our prolonged wanderings about the religious structures of Siena yesterday, but I actually thought it was much more touristy and less religious (how many times can I use "religious" in one sentence?). Fueled by my candle escapades of yesterday, I rooted out the candle stand in Santa Maria, hoping to light one and sit peacefully in front of it, reflecting about life. These "candles", though, were plastic stems with lightbulbs on top that lit up when you plugged them into a board. This ruined the experience for me, and on the whole I was entirely less impressed by the cathedral than by its leaning bell tower.
Upon returning to Florence in the early evening, we discovered several Saturday markets still in full swing and walked through them slowly. We made our way past the glittering jewelry stores on Ponte Vecchio as the sun began to set and MR ended up with a painting for 6 Euros (it was initially going for 15, so I am going to begin attempt to emulate her haggling prowress). Supper was almost four hours in a small restaurant where we were joined by several others, and we stopped for gelato on our way back to the bus. We are meeting at 6:30am tomorrow (today, actually!) for a full-day wine tasting around Tuscany. Monday, it seems, will be much more restful than the weekend!
Bag update: someone called the Villa today and reported a scheduled drop-off time of 12 noon today. It was a private number and we have not heard from them since. Needless to say, the bag is not yet here. I have thought "maybe tomorrow" so many times in the past week that "Monday, Monday" has become permanently stuck in my head. Luckily, tomorrow is a day of rest of Catholic countries, so I can think "maybe Monday". It is admittedly not much better and does very little to rid my mind of the Mamas and Papas tune.
A Climb with a View
So I did not make it to the computer this morning, which I suppose is not that surprising considering my sleep habits as of late. I almost stayed up even later last night to talk to KB on GChat :) but decided in the end to sleeo and make sure to take lots of pictures today and photoshop her in.
Yesterday in Siena we started off at the Piazza Gramschi, and then headed to the Piazza del Campo (think the horse race at the beginning of Quantum of Solace). We took a quick stop inside the Palazzo Publico before climbing all the way up the Torre del Mangio (basically a very tall bell tower with a whole lot of stairs). At the top of the bell tower we met some interesting Brits who are in art school in Florence and, like us, were visiting Siena for the day. They were part of that strange fashion that calls for purposely torn clothes and hair that has been washed but made to look dirty and mussed. They seemed like rich kids trying to be starving artists. I think they might do better to take an internship*.
After the tower, we decided to explore the Duomo. We entered the Cattedrale di Siena right before it was about to close to visitors. I seem to have developed, in spite of my skepticism concerning religion, quite a love for cathedrals and chapels and it kind of frustrates me to be inside one with tourists who walk around listening to audioguides.
Even when a cathedral is full of noise, the echoes off the grand ceilings and walls make it seem empty and quiet somehow. At the Papal Chapel of Madonna de Voto I contributed 48 Euro cents (which I figure is at least $7 USD) and lit a votive candle. (I am atoning for my Vatican sins of March 2009.) There is something very reflective and gentle about sitting in a cool chapel, surrounded by stones, hearing the muted voices of the tourists in the main cathedral drone on and drop their guides and try to remember not to cuss in God's House. It would be funny if the chapel weren't such a comforting, restful place. I wonder how a Catholic regime could create such a safe haven for a non-religious Presbeterian/Episcopalian?
The rest of the Siena experience was markedly different from the Cathedral and mostly included climbing hundreds more stairs to see the views. We made it to the top of the Facciatone (arches), which are particularly interesting because they mark where the end of the cathedral was acutally intended to be. Apparently, the Black Plague struck before they could finish building and, due to a loss of workers and money, construction was stopped.
Our last two stops, while DI hung out with the aforementioned Brits in the Piazza del Campo, were the Baptistry and the Crypt. Both were pretty impressive, but we were tired out by the stairs and starving. The bus ride home meant naps for everyone, and despite buying a bottle of wine for reflection at the Villa we all fell in to bed pretty quickly. Right now we're on the train to Pisa - hopefully another full day!
*Stuff white people like
Yesterday in Siena we started off at the Piazza Gramschi, and then headed to the Piazza del Campo (think the horse race at the beginning of Quantum of Solace). We took a quick stop inside the Palazzo Publico before climbing all the way up the Torre del Mangio (basically a very tall bell tower with a whole lot of stairs). At the top of the bell tower we met some interesting Brits who are in art school in Florence and, like us, were visiting Siena for the day. They were part of that strange fashion that calls for purposely torn clothes and hair that has been washed but made to look dirty and mussed. They seemed like rich kids trying to be starving artists. I think they might do better to take an internship*.
After the tower, we decided to explore the Duomo. We entered the Cattedrale di Siena right before it was about to close to visitors. I seem to have developed, in spite of my skepticism concerning religion, quite a love for cathedrals and chapels and it kind of frustrates me to be inside one with tourists who walk around listening to audioguides.
Even when a cathedral is full of noise, the echoes off the grand ceilings and walls make it seem empty and quiet somehow. At the Papal Chapel of Madonna de Voto I contributed 48 Euro cents (which I figure is at least $7 USD) and lit a votive candle. (I am atoning for my Vatican sins of March 2009.) There is something very reflective and gentle about sitting in a cool chapel, surrounded by stones, hearing the muted voices of the tourists in the main cathedral drone on and drop their guides and try to remember not to cuss in God's House. It would be funny if the chapel weren't such a comforting, restful place. I wonder how a Catholic regime could create such a safe haven for a non-religious Presbeterian/Episcopalian?
The rest of the Siena experience was markedly different from the Cathedral and mostly included climbing hundreds more stairs to see the views. We made it to the top of the Facciatone (arches), which are particularly interesting because they mark where the end of the cathedral was acutally intended to be. Apparently, the Black Plague struck before they could finish building and, due to a loss of workers and money, construction was stopped.
Our last two stops, while DI hung out with the aforementioned Brits in the Piazza del Campo, were the Baptistry and the Crypt. Both were pretty impressive, but we were tired out by the stairs and starving. The bus ride home meant naps for everyone, and despite buying a bottle of wine for reflection at the Villa we all fell in to bed pretty quickly. Right now we're on the train to Pisa - hopefully another full day!
*Stuff white people like
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Only the Good Die Young
Billy Joel, "you may be right", but with my current life itinerary I'm about to start feeling like I'm going to die. Despite a half-day-long bus strike, yesterday after class several of us struck out into Florence to check out the nightlife. We ended up at a bar named "Twice", which we were convinced was pronounced "twee-chay". In fact, it was pronounced "twice".* DI spent the night working the room but had to resort to a promise to friend prospective cuties on Facebook once returning to the Villa due to his continuing lack of a phone, and we girls relied on ABe* and PK to keep the Italian men at bay. Due to the rather unfortunate (and apparently uncoordinated - they only striked during non-rush hours for one day, which made us wonder if perhaps the workers just wanted to play hookey and inventively decided to abuse a political play) bus strike, we spent quite a bit of time trying to locate taxis and cajole them into taking us all the way back to the Villa. One of the cab drivers - mine, sadly - possessed a wildly incorrect mental map of Via Vecchia Fiesolana and repeatedly drove past the same address, insisting it was the Villa. It was not.
Nonetheless, we did eventually arrive back at home base and got to bed at about 4am. We slept for a painfully short time - it was more of a tease than anything - before stumbling back up the hill to Fiesole and heading to Siena for the day. I have lists of the sites and paragraphs upon paragraphs to write, but seeing as it's currently 2:30am and I have agreed to be downstairs ready to go at 9:30am tomorrow (Pisa and then more of Florence!), I believe I need to be a little more good than bad (Billy, I'm going to risk dying young) and get a good night of sleep. I'll make sure to write all about Siena before I leave in the morning.
P.S. - no bag yet, but after extensive calculations I have determined that the conversion to Italy time means it should be here by Tuesday. Updates abounding in the next few posts, I'm sure.
*Perhaps unsurprisingly, this has not deterred us from referring to it as "twee-chay".
*Due to some similar initials among some of the guys in the program, I've decided to be a bit more specific. I do wish I didn't feel a need to be so concerned about the dangers of identity theft and stalking being made easier by blogging. Did you get that, perverts? You're cramping my style.
Nonetheless, we did eventually arrive back at home base and got to bed at about 4am. We slept for a painfully short time - it was more of a tease than anything - before stumbling back up the hill to Fiesole and heading to Siena for the day. I have lists of the sites and paragraphs upon paragraphs to write, but seeing as it's currently 2:30am and I have agreed to be downstairs ready to go at 9:30am tomorrow (Pisa and then more of Florence!), I believe I need to be a little more good than bad (Billy, I'm going to risk dying young) and get a good night of sleep. I'll make sure to write all about Siena before I leave in the morning.
P.S. - no bag yet, but after extensive calculations I have determined that the conversion to Italy time means it should be here by Tuesday. Updates abounding in the next few posts, I'm sure.
*Perhaps unsurprisingly, this has not deterred us from referring to it as "twee-chay".
*Due to some similar initials among some of the guys in the program, I've decided to be a bit more specific. I do wish I didn't feel a need to be so concerned about the dangers of identity theft and stalking being made easier by blogging. Did you get that, perverts? You're cramping my style.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Fe, Fi, Fo, Fran
Yesterday afternoon we took a walking tour of Florence and I think we must have seen the entire city. I did not find it dark, but brilliant and flooded with activity from tourists and natives. We met up with a Georgetown professor - a Florentine the university decided to employ for his knowledge of history. He gave us a thorough tour that divided the city into three distinct squares: political (Piazza de la Signoria), economic (Piazza de la Republica), and religious (Piazza de Duomo). We also spent quite a bit of time learning about the Medici family and the debate over whether Florence was the Medicis' city or the city of the Medicis. I never figured out which our tour guide leaned toward.
One other bit of news: my bag has been located! It was only a small bag, with nothing truly necessary in it, but thanks to Daddy, JM, and AB I am looking forward to getting it - hopefully it will be dropped off tomorrow while I am in Siena. Saturday is looking like Pisa and Sunday we're all going on a wine tour around Tuscany. Last night was spent at a pub in Fiesole, where most of us helped RK celebrate her birthday. Our bartenders, Francesco and Francesca (seriously), laughed at us when we tried to take pictures of the Georgetown flag that hangs at the top of the bar - I suppose all Georgetown studentsfind their way up there if they're living at the Villa. Between the piano, the gardens, class, trips around Italy, and nights in Fiesole and Florence, I'm not sure how I'm going to get any sleep in the next few weeks!
After class this afternoon I sat in the gardens and read. A breeze was blowing through the trees and when I looked up I could see all of Florence below me, so I took off my shoes and felt generally as if I could be in a Jane Austen novel. Of course, she wasn't much for Italy, so I suppose it would have to have been something more like a Forrester novel, but despite the Fiesole-Firenze-Forreste-Francesco/a alliteration, that scenario didn't seem nearly as romantic.
There is a little sausage dog here sometimes named Ernesto. He follows SM around and barks ferociously whenever anyone buzzes at the gate, even though his belly only clears the ground by about an inch. I hope he is not around when someone arrives to drop my bag off with AB. If you just hear Ernesto bark and don't actually see him, you can be pretty intimidated. Ernesto does not add to the romance of the Villa, but he is rather playful and a good watchdog. He's definitely more of a Forrester character than an Austen one.
Tonight we're heading into Florence to check out the bars around there. I have started a collection of cardboard coasters for SB that get a little squished because I carry them around in the back pocket of my jeans. I think she'll still appreciate them (hint, hint, SB). Right now I'm going to join the rest of the group in the gardens for an after-supper wine party. Life at the Villa is very difficult. I would recommend it only to those who enjoy literature, beauty, music, good conversation, great food, exceptional wine, sitting outdoors, rooms with a view (but not necessarily Forrester), and some fun. :)
One other bit of news: my bag has been located! It was only a small bag, with nothing truly necessary in it, but thanks to Daddy, JM, and AB I am looking forward to getting it - hopefully it will be dropped off tomorrow while I am in Siena. Saturday is looking like Pisa and Sunday we're all going on a wine tour around Tuscany. Last night was spent at a pub in Fiesole, where most of us helped RK celebrate her birthday. Our bartenders, Francesco and Francesca (seriously), laughed at us when we tried to take pictures of the Georgetown flag that hangs at the top of the bar - I suppose all Georgetown studentsfind their way up there if they're living at the Villa. Between the piano, the gardens, class, trips around Italy, and nights in Fiesole and Florence, I'm not sure how I'm going to get any sleep in the next few weeks!
After class this afternoon I sat in the gardens and read. A breeze was blowing through the trees and when I looked up I could see all of Florence below me, so I took off my shoes and felt generally as if I could be in a Jane Austen novel. Of course, she wasn't much for Italy, so I suppose it would have to have been something more like a Forrester novel, but despite the Fiesole-Firenze-Forreste-Francesco/a alliteration, that scenario didn't seem nearly as romantic.
There is a little sausage dog here sometimes named Ernesto. He follows SM around and barks ferociously whenever anyone buzzes at the gate, even though his belly only clears the ground by about an inch. I hope he is not around when someone arrives to drop my bag off with AB. If you just hear Ernesto bark and don't actually see him, you can be pretty intimidated. Ernesto does not add to the romance of the Villa, but he is rather playful and a good watchdog. He's definitely more of a Forrester character than an Austen one.
Tonight we're heading into Florence to check out the bars around there. I have started a collection of cardboard coasters for SB that get a little squished because I carry them around in the back pocket of my jeans. I think she'll still appreciate them (hint, hint, SB). Right now I'm going to join the rest of the group in the gardens for an after-supper wine party. Life at the Villa is very difficult. I would recommend it only to those who enjoy literature, beauty, music, good conversation, great food, exceptional wine, sitting outdoors, rooms with a view (but not necessarily Forrester), and some fun. :)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Hazy Shade of Late Spring/Early Summer
I arrived at Georgetown's Villa le Balze yesterday at about 12:30 while everyone was eating lunch. I was exhausted and desperately wanted to shower and unpack, but got a rousing greeting in the dining room that cheered me up considerably. Class was a little difficult, as I was close to asleep during most of it, but I rallied and not only took notes but also followed a group up to Fiesole afterward. The Villa is basically located on the side of a mountain and reminds me of the little blue house that is perched halfway between our farm in NC and the rockface above it, only here they call what we're on a "hill". Fiesole is up the hill, and Florence is down the hill.
At the Villa we sleep with all the windows open. I had forgotten how loud birds can be in the morning! It was wonderful to wake up to a chorus of birdsongs rather than car horns. CD, MR, and I think we have the best room - it is on a corner, so we have four huge windows in the bedroom, which gives us views out over Florence and the Villa's gardens. It also creates a nice breeze through the room so that we barely have to turn on our fan at all. Even our bathroom has a beautiful view. Actually, every room in the Villa is beautiful and has a beautiful view. Downstairs, between the library and dining room, is a music room/library continuation - a grand piano surrounded by old books that looks out over Florence. So far it is my favorite place inside here.
Today after our morning class session and lunch we are going on a walking tour of Florence, as we are scheduled to do every Wednesday. I have not really seen Florence yet, but have read several novels in preparation, and I am excited to see what it is like. Most things I have read tell me that, in comparison with Rome, Florence is dark and narrow and made up of all stones. That's what I thought Rome was like, though, and when I rode through part of Florence on my way "up the hill" I thought it was bright and open and made up of all stones. I guess we'll see -
At the Villa we sleep with all the windows open. I had forgotten how loud birds can be in the morning! It was wonderful to wake up to a chorus of birdsongs rather than car horns. CD, MR, and I think we have the best room - it is on a corner, so we have four huge windows in the bedroom, which gives us views out over Florence and the Villa's gardens. It also creates a nice breeze through the room so that we barely have to turn on our fan at all. Even our bathroom has a beautiful view. Actually, every room in the Villa is beautiful and has a beautiful view. Downstairs, between the library and dining room, is a music room/library continuation - a grand piano surrounded by old books that looks out over Florence. So far it is my favorite place inside here.
Today after our morning class session and lunch we are going on a walking tour of Florence, as we are scheduled to do every Wednesday. I have not really seen Florence yet, but have read several novels in preparation, and I am excited to see what it is like. Most things I have read tell me that, in comparison with Rome, Florence is dark and narrow and made up of all stones. That's what I thought Rome was like, though, and when I rode through part of Florence on my way "up the hill" I thought it was bright and open and made up of all stones. I guess we'll see -
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Don't Stand So...
I have arrived in Italy. The small bag of toiletries and exercise clothes I had to check has not, but I have been assured that I will receive it by tomorrow. Just in case, they took down my permanent address. Not a good sign.
The fact that I am barely upset at all (and certainly not surprised) about the absence of my bag perhaps shows that I am already in the Italy state of mind, as the employees at the airport were. I spent about an hour waiting at baggage claim before deciding that my good old Georgetown bookbag of not-completely-necessary-but-nice-to-have things were probably still in the US. I should note that bags were only actually being loaded for about 20 minutes of that hour. With ample time to imagine what was going on behind the scenes, I conjured up a picture of two or three Italian men with no conveyer belt between the airport and the airplane, leisurely carrying two or three bags each to the airport to place on the conveyer belt that we see at baggage claim, and then breaking for cappucino. Rest and repeat.
A man on a flight from Atlanta in a cowboy hat and business suit stood beside me and talked about the Cal women's soccer team, who apparently were on his flight and showed up to the baggage claim in a bright yellow pack. The wait would actually have been quite pleasant had it not been for the old Italian woman who insisted on standing so close to me that I could feel her breath on my shoulder*. I mean, there was an entire airport at her disposal and she would NOT move back. The song "Don't Stand So Close to Me" has been stuck in my head ever since.
I am almost at Termini now, from where I will catch a 2 hour train to Florence and then hop in a cab for a short ride to the Villa. The journey that began at 5pm on May 24th is nearing its end...
(Don't stand so, don't stand so, don't stand so close to me...)
*She was REALLY short.
The fact that I am barely upset at all (and certainly not surprised) about the absence of my bag perhaps shows that I am already in the Italy state of mind, as the employees at the airport were. I spent about an hour waiting at baggage claim before deciding that my good old Georgetown bookbag of not-completely-necessary-but-nice-to-have things were probably still in the US. I should note that bags were only actually being loaded for about 20 minutes of that hour. With ample time to imagine what was going on behind the scenes, I conjured up a picture of two or three Italian men with no conveyer belt between the airport and the airplane, leisurely carrying two or three bags each to the airport to place on the conveyer belt that we see at baggage claim, and then breaking for cappucino. Rest and repeat.
A man on a flight from Atlanta in a cowboy hat and business suit stood beside me and talked about the Cal women's soccer team, who apparently were on his flight and showed up to the baggage claim in a bright yellow pack. The wait would actually have been quite pleasant had it not been for the old Italian woman who insisted on standing so close to me that I could feel her breath on my shoulder*. I mean, there was an entire airport at her disposal and she would NOT move back. The song "Don't Stand So Close to Me" has been stuck in my head ever since.
I am almost at Termini now, from where I will catch a 2 hour train to Florence and then hop in a cab for a short ride to the Villa. The journey that began at 5pm on May 24th is nearing its end...
(Don't stand so, don't stand so, don't stand so close to me...)
*She was REALLY short.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Rome Tomorrow
Well, I'm off to an interesting start. I am not yet writing from the Tuscan Broadband, but rather from the Jamaica, NY Broadband. Since my flight from DCA to JFK was delayed three hours, I missed my flight to Rome, and am now in a Holiday Inn close to the airport. I did get quite a workout running from the terminal I arrived at all the way to the international terminal last night, which I accomplished in under ten minutes. Unfortunately, my plane to Rome was the only one that left JFK on time yesterday (and, in fact, it left four minutes early), and so the only real good that came out of my dash was some cardiovascular exercise.
I must have looked so distraught upon the discovery of my departed plane that a security guard came up to me and started trying to help me out. He actually tried to bully a Delta agent into stopping the plane, and she looked at him like he was crazy. When he finally left me to find the Holiday Inn, he very cheerfully told me to find him when I returned to the airport the next day. Even after sleeping on it, I am still not sure whether I would prefer to avoid him or have his help.
I very much hoped that someone would be rude enough to merit my yelling at him, but all the flight agents were very kind (if somewhat dense). Rather than finding someone to take my anger out on, I ended up playing with two little boys and their transformers while their mother cried to an agent. I quickly learned that transformer toys are very entertaining but not great for taking out aggression.
It took 40 minutes of waiting outside in the middle of the night for the Holiday Inn shuttle bus to arrive, during which time I chatted with an incoming Harvard freshman. He was awed at my college graduate status and we spent quite a bit of time contemplating the arrival, loading, and departure of a smartecart truck. At first, it seemed natural to load up all the smartecarts from the airport and drive them away for the night, but upon further discussion, we began to realize that such actions made very little sense. What could they possibly be doing with the smartecarts at night? Where were they going? Surely not to be powered off or charged or cleaned or refurbished. It seemed unlikely that they would need storing. I have thought about those smartecarts almost incessantly since I saw them loaded, and I have still not come up with a solution.
So today I am in Jamaica, NY, reading about international law and contemplating the destiny of smartecarts at night. Rome tomorrow.
I must have looked so distraught upon the discovery of my departed plane that a security guard came up to me and started trying to help me out. He actually tried to bully a Delta agent into stopping the plane, and she looked at him like he was crazy. When he finally left me to find the Holiday Inn, he very cheerfully told me to find him when I returned to the airport the next day. Even after sleeping on it, I am still not sure whether I would prefer to avoid him or have his help.
I very much hoped that someone would be rude enough to merit my yelling at him, but all the flight agents were very kind (if somewhat dense). Rather than finding someone to take my anger out on, I ended up playing with two little boys and their transformers while their mother cried to an agent. I quickly learned that transformer toys are very entertaining but not great for taking out aggression.
It took 40 minutes of waiting outside in the middle of the night for the Holiday Inn shuttle bus to arrive, during which time I chatted with an incoming Harvard freshman. He was awed at my college graduate status and we spent quite a bit of time contemplating the arrival, loading, and departure of a smartecart truck. At first, it seemed natural to load up all the smartecarts from the airport and drive them away for the night, but upon further discussion, we began to realize that such actions made very little sense. What could they possibly be doing with the smartecarts at night? Where were they going? Surely not to be powered off or charged or cleaned or refurbished. It seemed unlikely that they would need storing. I have thought about those smartecarts almost incessantly since I saw them loaded, and I have still not come up with a solution.
So today I am in Jamaica, NY, reading about international law and contemplating the destiny of smartecarts at night. Rome tomorrow.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Back to Italy
This evening I am heading back to Italy! After two months of reading novels on Florence instead of studying Italian, I believe I am thoroughly prepared.
So far, my first flight has been delayed twice, but I have been assured by a Delta agent that I will make my connection. MR* has already left DC and will be meeting me at Chef Express at FCO in Rome, and from there we will take the da Vinci train to Termini, a train to Florence, and a bus to Georgetown's Villa at Fiesole. It is strange to compare this trip with my last visit to Italy, which I spent completely as a tourist. I of course will still be a tourist for the next month, but to actually live in Tuscany - to spend more time just walking around, and not so much time worrying about seeing everything - will be such a different experience. I am very much looking forward to the gardens and company that the Villa will provide, and to having more time to reflect on the art and chapels I get to see.
Wish me luck on making my connection! More interesting posts will follow once I arrive tomorrow evening.
*I have determined that, since this is on the world wide web and all, I will be using initials for my friends while writing From the Tuscan Broadband.
So far, my first flight has been delayed twice, but I have been assured by a Delta agent that I will make my connection. MR* has already left DC and will be meeting me at Chef Express at FCO in Rome, and from there we will take the da Vinci train to Termini, a train to Florence, and a bus to Georgetown's Villa at Fiesole. It is strange to compare this trip with my last visit to Italy, which I spent completely as a tourist. I of course will still be a tourist for the next month, but to actually live in Tuscany - to spend more time just walking around, and not so much time worrying about seeing everything - will be such a different experience. I am very much looking forward to the gardens and company that the Villa will provide, and to having more time to reflect on the art and chapels I get to see.
Wish me luck on making my connection! More interesting posts will follow once I arrive tomorrow evening.
*I have determined that, since this is on the world wide web and all, I will be using initials for my friends while writing From the Tuscan Broadband.
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