The end of November brought an extraordinarily lovely time. It was cold in Rome, the holiday season had just begun, and my big brother, Kevin, came to visit. Though I was busy with school and work, Kevin and I had a bit of time to walk around Rome, see the sites and take some pictures. Of course, Rome is extraordinary in itself, but the real fun was Thanksgiving weekend when Kevin and I got on the smallest commercial airplane I'd ever been on to fly to Vienna.
The plane had about ten rows, two seats on the right side and one seat on the left side. We weren't sitting on the plane five minutes before a flight attendant alerted us that Kev and I had to move to the back of the plane to balance out its weight, 'to keep the wings steady' as I understood in Italian. We moved to the back of the plane and two hours later we landed in Vienna. Since Austria was the second German-speaking country I had visited in three months, I had an idea of how helpless I was about to feel speaking no German. Fortunately, Kevin's few years of high school German, helped us survive. Vienna was cold and gray on our arrival and by the time we reached our hotel it was snowing.
We decided not to fall into the trap that most Californians usually do when the whether is not sunshine-y and warm: stay home. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and we set out for food and the Schonbrunn palace. We walked a distance and decided to stop in at an weinerschnitzel house, for our first schnitzel. Kevin's elementary German came in handy as he ordered schnitzel from an Egyptian guy who owned the place. We drank beer, ate schnitzel, and chatted up the proprietor who got a real kick out giving us German lessons. We left the place having learned how to properly ask for the check, in Austrian German.
With our tummies warm and long walk ahead of us, Kev and I went out into the cold in search of the palace. In the snow, this part of Vienna looked like New England, and we stopped to take pictures. Before long we saw the castle in the distance, a giant late Renaissance compound in the queen's favorite color 'springtime-yellow', as it was translated in English. We arrived at the palace to find a large Christmas tree surrounded by Christmas craft market in the courtyard. We trekked around the castle to its backside, where in the spring and summer we imagined great fields of rolling grass and manicured gardens, yet now everywhere we looked was white with snow. By four o'clock the sun had set and the cold night forced us back down the giant hill in the back of the palace and back to the Christmas market in front courtyard. There we drank hot wine and ate potatoes and vegetables, with other tourists and Austrians alike. It was the beginning of a Thanksgiving not to forget.
We spent the following day walking around downtown Vienna, visiting shops, gardens, national monuments, and taking time out for more Christmas Markets, that were set up in many parts of the city: we ate curry wurst! We froze while waiting for a tram; which was our opportunity for a warm dry spot to sit as watched the city go by: city hall, old roman ruins, and the Danube floated by as we took advantage of the heating system in the tram. When we finally returned to our hotel on the other side of the city, we discussed our options for the next day, Saturday. There was still much to see in Vienna, yet with our California attitudes about distance and time, Bratislava, although in another country, seemed the more exciting option.
Saturday. We arrived at the train station around nine am, well in advance of our train, even though I had messed up the directions for getting there. We picked up some 'wasser' for what we thought was going to be an hour long train ride and boarded the train. The train was divided into six person compartments. Our extreme earliness gave us the advantage of choosing where to sit, so we picked two window seats and settled in. By the time the train left the station there was a Spanish woman about my age, clearly back-packing through the area, a Slovakian man about 30, and an older Slovakian couple perhaps returning home after visiting relatives in Vienna. The train started through a woody snowy area as it left Vienna, and the view outside got only more desolate and foreboding the further we got outside of the city. There was no talking in our compartment. Kevin and I with our English paranoia (me, more so than him) kept our wide-eyed touristy comments to ourselves. The Spaniard didn't speak probably because of the question of which language to speak or not to speak. But the old couple, perhaps because they were going home had carte blanche to discuss (between long intervals of silence) the goings of the day, what would be cooked for dinner, and the foreigners with whom they were sharing the compartment.
An hour passed an we reached the last stop in Austria. At the next stop, about fifteen minutes on, Slovakian immigration officials boarded the train. I fear authority. I imagined, in the time it took for the officer to look at my passport and stamp it, a terrible scenario of mistaken identity or cultural offenses unknowingly made by Kevin and I. The officer of course gave us a strange look, but he soon passed to the next compartment and we were safe. I put my passport away immediately, Kevin could not avoid the temptation to look at the Slovakian stamp and brandished it as a trophy.
After forty-five more minutes, the train pulled into the Bratislava train station. It was bitterly cold, there was snow on the ground, and there were train-station types doing the day's business about the station. We first had to change Euro to Kroner. Of course not speaking any Slovenska or having a guidebook to guard us, we got jipped on the exchange rate, but hey we were in bloody Slovakia. Home of the Velvet Divorce and Alexander Dubcek. With Kroner in hand we stepped out of the station still giddy with disbelief and figured out that we had nowhere to go and if we did, we didn't know how to get there, nor could we ask someone for help. Then it happened. Kevin spotted a sign for a Chinese restaurant. Perfect. We giggled. We didn't speak Slovenska but there was always Chinese!
We entered the restaurant and sat down. Chinese pop music played in the background and paintings of the Yangzte River Valley abounded. There had to be a Chinese speaker here to give us a few tips on the city. We wondered where the hell we were. A Slovakian waitress approached us and spoke in broken German. We didn't have enough German for this. Kevin asked in German whether or not she spoke Chinese, or if there was anyone around who did. She appeared confused, gave us menus and walked away. We giggled and contemplated leaving. Between the Italian, Spanish, Chinese, English, and broken German we had between us- we couldn't talk to the waitress. Kevin's next idea was to write a question on a napkin in Chinese and get the waitress to give it to someone in the kitchen.
The waitress returned with tea and Kevin handed her the napkin. In her broken German, we understood, 'I am not Chinese.' We sheepishly grinned, she walked away, and there was yet more giggling. Finally we ordered a dish of kung pao chicken and white rice, although I don't know how we did it. Kevin and I shared the kung pao (one of the best I've ever had) and quickly ran out of rice. Kev went to ask for more rice, and asking for it in Chinese, we thought definitely someone would take notice of us. He came back to the table without having impressed anyone. The giant, red-headed white guy speaking Chinese in a Slovakian-Chinese restaurant didn't impress the proprietor, he had merely answered in the affirmative and our waitress returned with a new bowl of rice. We finished eating, feeling sort of dejected and triumphant at the same time and decided to set out into the cold, eastern european drabness...
I started this blog on Dec 29 2005 and have yet to finish it almost two months later...yes, I'm lazy, pigra, perezosa, whatever you want to call it. I think someday I'll finish it, just not today...You'll just have to imagine Kev and I tromping through the snow in Bratislava drinking hot wine and freezing to death...cheers.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Bikes and Walls
Berlin is not a city I ever thought I'd go but, I can't imagine not having seen what I saw. Yes yes it has been ages since my last blog, but this past quarter was an absolute nightmare...perhaps its a portent of things to come (i'm taking two course in the next quarter and working) but that's not what I'm writing about now.
Berlin. For the bike-lovers I am proud to know, Berlin is heaven. The majority of the city is flat, though there are some hills, and the Tiergarten provides for a fabulous pseudo-ride- in the wilderness in the middle of the city. Isabella and I stayed in an up-and-coming neighborhood, Freidrichshain, still evidently on the east side of the wall, but home to artists, students, and gentrifying yuppies. Everyone rode bikes in Freidrichshain. Some fancy expensive ones, some old rickety things that just got their riders from one place to another. Freidrichshain was quaint and sometimes oddly empty yet Isabella and I found ourselves at home in it, being surrounded by 'kids' our age, living completely different lives than we have ever known.
Beyond our beloved hostel furnished almost entirely by Ikea, there was much to do and see. The most impressionable part of the trip, for me, was the new Holocaust memorial just opposite the beautiful greenry of Tiergarten. The memorial consists of hundreds of columns of stone of differing heights, that create an effect much like waves in the ocean. It is a somber place, yet oddly comforting. We took pictures among the labyrinthe of columns, sometimes finding ourselves feeling a little too light about the memorial. If not for the terrible history attached to the memorial, it might be a place where children are aloud to play tag and hide-and-go-seek, among the waves of granite. Yet history and man have not gained enough distance to think about such things bittersweetly. The memorial in Berlin and many others in the world, will only remind us of the horrible things of which man is capable.
On a lighter note, we were able to see an entirely new section of the ciy, just down the street from the memorial, Potsdamer Platz. New sky-scraping office buildings and many new embassy buildings, each desinged in the style of its country. The scandinavian embassies were among the most beautiful and tasteful of them all. Interestingly enough, a new American embassy was being built while we visited Berlin. Located between the Holocaust memorial and the Brandenburg Gate(away from all ove the other embassies), it will be a testament to the ostentatious egoism so many Europeans are turned off to today.
A barely noticeable line, on the streets and sometimes on the sidewalks, trails from the Bundestag all the way through Potsdamer Platz. Just two cobble stones wide, this line is an ever-present reminder of what once was: a giant wall separating Germans and symbolically East from West for nearly forty years. The splendor of those early fall days in which Isabella and I visited Berlin, seems centuries away from the pain and suffering of World War II and the Cold War, yet the world will not forget.
Berlin. For the bike-lovers I am proud to know, Berlin is heaven. The majority of the city is flat, though there are some hills, and the Tiergarten provides for a fabulous pseudo-ride- in the wilderness in the middle of the city. Isabella and I stayed in an up-and-coming neighborhood, Freidrichshain, still evidently on the east side of the wall, but home to artists, students, and gentrifying yuppies. Everyone rode bikes in Freidrichshain. Some fancy expensive ones, some old rickety things that just got their riders from one place to another. Freidrichshain was quaint and sometimes oddly empty yet Isabella and I found ourselves at home in it, being surrounded by 'kids' our age, living completely different lives than we have ever known.
Beyond our beloved hostel furnished almost entirely by Ikea, there was much to do and see. The most impressionable part of the trip, for me, was the new Holocaust memorial just opposite the beautiful greenry of Tiergarten. The memorial consists of hundreds of columns of stone of differing heights, that create an effect much like waves in the ocean. It is a somber place, yet oddly comforting. We took pictures among the labyrinthe of columns, sometimes finding ourselves feeling a little too light about the memorial. If not for the terrible history attached to the memorial, it might be a place where children are aloud to play tag and hide-and-go-seek, among the waves of granite. Yet history and man have not gained enough distance to think about such things bittersweetly. The memorial in Berlin and many others in the world, will only remind us of the horrible things of which man is capable.
On a lighter note, we were able to see an entirely new section of the ciy, just down the street from the memorial, Potsdamer Platz. New sky-scraping office buildings and many new embassy buildings, each desinged in the style of its country. The scandinavian embassies were among the most beautiful and tasteful of them all. Interestingly enough, a new American embassy was being built while we visited Berlin. Located between the Holocaust memorial and the Brandenburg Gate(away from all ove the other embassies), it will be a testament to the ostentatious egoism so many Europeans are turned off to today.
A barely noticeable line, on the streets and sometimes on the sidewalks, trails from the Bundestag all the way through Potsdamer Platz. Just two cobble stones wide, this line is an ever-present reminder of what once was: a giant wall separating Germans and symbolically East from West for nearly forty years. The splendor of those early fall days in which Isabella and I visited Berlin, seems centuries away from the pain and suffering of World War II and the Cold War, yet the world will not forget.
Monday, August 29, 2005
My Second Italian Police Report
Maybe I like masochism a little more than I know, or I just have no shame anymore, but I promised that I'd write about the ultimate roman baptism, when enough time had passed for it to be funny. Funnt and not too embarassing to admit. I think it might be funny now, but the memory of it still stings a bit when I think about all that I lost and all the money I've pumped into the world economy since then (to recoup my losses of course) because somebody coveted my all-time favorite brown leather bag from TopShop.
Thursday August 11th...After dinner and drinks with a 'friend' we took a stroll in the waining light of the Roman summer evening to the steps of the Chiesa Santa Maria Maggiore, one of four churches in Rome which is actually Vatican property and thus part of Vatican City. Ah the holiest of lands. We sat ourselves down on the steps of the church, the piazza was salt and peppered with people, and clouds were moving in to give us a little sprinkle. Now imagine, if you will, the Napolitano and I doing what people do after dinner and drinks...discussing world politics, religion, and the state of the Italian economy, of course all in Italian. After a few minutes passed I noticed my trusty, carry-everything bag a few inches from my person and moved it closer to me. Our conversation contiued. Another ten or fifteen minutes went by and the rain, while in movies is romantic, was starting to get a little annoying. We decided it was time to go. I turned to my right, and it was gone. I stood up, not believing what I wasn't seeing and started to get visibly agitated. The Napolitano of course had no clue what was going on. He asked if I had left my bag at the restaurant...of course I hadn't. We both looked around the piazza in bewilderment. When he didn't immediately jump in and be the heroic man that I needed (yes we still need the white horse and the armor and all that), I started directing. I ordered him to go around the right side of the church, I would go on the left and we'd meet on the other side. I went to the left looking in corners of buildings, down alleys, in trash cans, in dumpsters, nothing. I gave some people some very nasty looks, as if the culprit had stayed around to watch my horror unfold. I reached the other side of the church where there were many more lovers discussing politics and religion on the steps. The Napolitano met me. By now, I was getting upset. Holding back tears like every woman should, the Napolitano tried to console me. At first I was glad for it, but then when trying not to cry and being inspected for tonsilitis simultaneously became a chore, I wanted to do anything to be alone.
We returned to our side of the church and stood around the piazza for a while longer, asking people if they had seen anything, of course they hadn't. I decided it was time to figure out what my next move should be. My roommate was out of town for two days, many of my friends were traveling around Europe or the States, and my one friend in town whom I had lunch with earlier that day had had plans to go to the ballet this evening. I had no where to go, no money to go anywhere. As the reality of the situation became clearer, I could feel hysteria growing inside me. The Napolitano and I headed toward the train station where he was to take a train back to his army base and I, well who knows what I was to do. I suppose I shouldn't criticize him for his efforts but the crowning glory of his chivalry turned me completely off, if one could be in the state of being turned on in a situation like that to begin with. I decided to return to Emily's house, my friend whom I'd been with earlier. I informed the Napolitano of my plan, to which he scrawled his phone number on a piece of paper (an act completely alien to those of us who only ever use cellphones for such transactions as giving phone numbers: i had to carefully make sure that the tiny piece of paper didn't get lost in my pockets or fall out somewhere on the bus), gave me six euros, and sent me on my way.
Now here's the only time in a woman's life when 'no means yes.' I didn't actually get the chance to say no however. Mr. Napolitano asked where I was going and what bus I would take to get there. I told him. There was no offer of, 'Can I walk you across the piazza to the bus?' or 'Can I accompany you to your friend's house?' As much as I thought I wanted to be alone, a walk to the proper bus-stop or a ride on the bus to Emily's with a man- security blanket would have been nice. I learned something about my own frailty that day. For however strong and independent I may be, nothing beats the embrace of another human being in bad times, or in good. But there was not to be a comforting bus ride, because the Napolitano turned around and walked away just as soon as I started toward the bus.
I reached the bus and since Piazza Cinquecento, at Termini, is the capolinea for about 50 buslines I had the pleasure of sitting on the bus for about 15 minutes before actually went anywhere. Those fifteen minutes and the entire bus ride to Emily's house consisted solely of me trying not to make a scene of myself on the bus. I arrived at Emily's hoping and praying that she and her boyfriend Simone would be at home. Since it had rained earlier I had an idea that their plan to go to the ballet hadn't panned out: it was an outdoor showing of swan lake and I'm sure the swans didn't really want to be dancing in a lake. I approached the citofono of Emily and Simone's building, saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers, pressed the button and waited. Silence. Shit. Visions of sleeping at the train station shot through my brain, stinging. Then a voice, loud, jovial, and possibly intoxicated: 'Valerio?' It was Simone. There is something unmistakenly comforting about him. Like a big brother almost.
Simone was suprised to hear my voice, maybe a little disappointed that I wasn't his buddy arriving to do guy things with him, but he buzzed me up. I got into the elevator and four floors alone in a tiny box was enough to start the tears flowing again. The elevator stopped and I opened the doors, Emily was already standing in the doorway of their apartment. Tears streaming down my face, I explained that I couldn't think of anywhere else to go.
Emily was great. She was like a Mommy that I had run home to after getting beat up on the playground. A Mommy that gave me a beer, internet access to cancel my bank and credit cards, and then watched a movie with me until it was time to go to bed.
After writing all of this, it occurs to me that this is the diary of a poor spoiled rich girl (by western standards of course) whose never known real hardship in her life. Although in any case its pretty damn scary to have everything that connects you to your own reality taken away without notice. I definitely have had to rethink my dependence on material things, not to mention electronics.
There is much more to the story: the heroics of Simone, the incredible hospitality of Emily, my parents' unwaivering support and love, and the epilogue to the story of the Napolitano (it's quite short actually), but I'll save that for conversation over a fat plate of spaghetti carbonara and a glass (or four) of red wine.
Thursday August 11th...After dinner and drinks with a 'friend' we took a stroll in the waining light of the Roman summer evening to the steps of the Chiesa Santa Maria Maggiore, one of four churches in Rome which is actually Vatican property and thus part of Vatican City. Ah the holiest of lands. We sat ourselves down on the steps of the church, the piazza was salt and peppered with people, and clouds were moving in to give us a little sprinkle. Now imagine, if you will, the Napolitano and I doing what people do after dinner and drinks...discussing world politics, religion, and the state of the Italian economy, of course all in Italian. After a few minutes passed I noticed my trusty, carry-everything bag a few inches from my person and moved it closer to me. Our conversation contiued. Another ten or fifteen minutes went by and the rain, while in movies is romantic, was starting to get a little annoying. We decided it was time to go. I turned to my right, and it was gone. I stood up, not believing what I wasn't seeing and started to get visibly agitated. The Napolitano of course had no clue what was going on. He asked if I had left my bag at the restaurant...of course I hadn't. We both looked around the piazza in bewilderment. When he didn't immediately jump in and be the heroic man that I needed (yes we still need the white horse and the armor and all that), I started directing. I ordered him to go around the right side of the church, I would go on the left and we'd meet on the other side. I went to the left looking in corners of buildings, down alleys, in trash cans, in dumpsters, nothing. I gave some people some very nasty looks, as if the culprit had stayed around to watch my horror unfold. I reached the other side of the church where there were many more lovers discussing politics and religion on the steps. The Napolitano met me. By now, I was getting upset. Holding back tears like every woman should, the Napolitano tried to console me. At first I was glad for it, but then when trying not to cry and being inspected for tonsilitis simultaneously became a chore, I wanted to do anything to be alone.
We returned to our side of the church and stood around the piazza for a while longer, asking people if they had seen anything, of course they hadn't. I decided it was time to figure out what my next move should be. My roommate was out of town for two days, many of my friends were traveling around Europe or the States, and my one friend in town whom I had lunch with earlier that day had had plans to go to the ballet this evening. I had no where to go, no money to go anywhere. As the reality of the situation became clearer, I could feel hysteria growing inside me. The Napolitano and I headed toward the train station where he was to take a train back to his army base and I, well who knows what I was to do. I suppose I shouldn't criticize him for his efforts but the crowning glory of his chivalry turned me completely off, if one could be in the state of being turned on in a situation like that to begin with. I decided to return to Emily's house, my friend whom I'd been with earlier. I informed the Napolitano of my plan, to which he scrawled his phone number on a piece of paper (an act completely alien to those of us who only ever use cellphones for such transactions as giving phone numbers: i had to carefully make sure that the tiny piece of paper didn't get lost in my pockets or fall out somewhere on the bus), gave me six euros, and sent me on my way.
Now here's the only time in a woman's life when 'no means yes.' I didn't actually get the chance to say no however. Mr. Napolitano asked where I was going and what bus I would take to get there. I told him. There was no offer of, 'Can I walk you across the piazza to the bus?' or 'Can I accompany you to your friend's house?' As much as I thought I wanted to be alone, a walk to the proper bus-stop or a ride on the bus to Emily's with a man- security blanket would have been nice. I learned something about my own frailty that day. For however strong and independent I may be, nothing beats the embrace of another human being in bad times, or in good. But there was not to be a comforting bus ride, because the Napolitano turned around and walked away just as soon as I started toward the bus.
I reached the bus and since Piazza Cinquecento, at Termini, is the capolinea for about 50 buslines I had the pleasure of sitting on the bus for about 15 minutes before actually went anywhere. Those fifteen minutes and the entire bus ride to Emily's house consisted solely of me trying not to make a scene of myself on the bus. I arrived at Emily's hoping and praying that she and her boyfriend Simone would be at home. Since it had rained earlier I had an idea that their plan to go to the ballet hadn't panned out: it was an outdoor showing of swan lake and I'm sure the swans didn't really want to be dancing in a lake. I approached the citofono of Emily and Simone's building, saying Hail Marys and Our Fathers, pressed the button and waited. Silence. Shit. Visions of sleeping at the train station shot through my brain, stinging. Then a voice, loud, jovial, and possibly intoxicated: 'Valerio?' It was Simone. There is something unmistakenly comforting about him. Like a big brother almost.
Simone was suprised to hear my voice, maybe a little disappointed that I wasn't his buddy arriving to do guy things with him, but he buzzed me up. I got into the elevator and four floors alone in a tiny box was enough to start the tears flowing again. The elevator stopped and I opened the doors, Emily was already standing in the doorway of their apartment. Tears streaming down my face, I explained that I couldn't think of anywhere else to go.
Emily was great. She was like a Mommy that I had run home to after getting beat up on the playground. A Mommy that gave me a beer, internet access to cancel my bank and credit cards, and then watched a movie with me until it was time to go to bed.
After writing all of this, it occurs to me that this is the diary of a poor spoiled rich girl (by western standards of course) whose never known real hardship in her life. Although in any case its pretty damn scary to have everything that connects you to your own reality taken away without notice. I definitely have had to rethink my dependence on material things, not to mention electronics.
There is much more to the story: the heroics of Simone, the incredible hospitality of Emily, my parents' unwaivering support and love, and the epilogue to the story of the Napolitano (it's quite short actually), but I'll save that for conversation over a fat plate of spaghetti carbonara and a glass (or four) of red wine.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Italian Mamma
The myth is real. Dragons may not really exist but, if they did in human form, they might be in the form of American Presidents, Communist Party leaders, Nazis, drivers who don't believe in signals, British guys who are too important and wrapped up in themselves to ask for a girl's number, or Italian Mammas. I recently had the pleasure of partaking in a four hour lunch and subsequent two hour nagging session at the home of a friend of mine. He cooked a fantastic amatriciana for three friends and his mother. The first two hours of her visit were pleasant: she lauded is cooking, his girlfriend's pictures, and my italian. It was grand. Maybe it was too much Falanghina in the afternoon, the oppressive Roman heat, or her extensive amount of energy but the nagging began and it didn't stop until my poor friend was forced to kick his mother out of the house for embarassing him in front of guests.
She cleaned his room, went through his drawers, admonished him for the way he lived, cleaned the bathroom. Hinted to him (in Italian of course) that he needed to take more control of his girlfriend (girlfriend does not speak Italian), and told him that although he has been studying for a few years- he'd never know what it was like to be a real student, to receive a diploma, or to have a real job. OUCH.
The myth is real. I love my mother.
She cleaned his room, went through his drawers, admonished him for the way he lived, cleaned the bathroom. Hinted to him (in Italian of course) that he needed to take more control of his girlfriend (girlfriend does not speak Italian), and told him that although he has been studying for a few years- he'd never know what it was like to be a real student, to receive a diploma, or to have a real job. OUCH.
The myth is real. I love my mother.
People
Thinking that you 'know' someone is always a bad notion. To think you know someone limits them and limits your perception of them, thus leaving you confused and bewildered, making you look like an ass when something happens that doesn't fit into your perception. I like to constantly remind myself of the fact that, hey, there are many different iterations of me (one in rome, one in california, one with family, one with friends and so on) of course all based in what is inherently me (the specifics of which i couldn't possibly explain). And so this must be the same for all other individuals... one the most lame sayings in the english language is extremely useful here: Don't make an ASS out of U and ME.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
School's Out For Summer
For better or worse, my first academic year in Rome is over. So of course I must take a moment to analyze and self-assess (or obsess, depending on how well you know me). The first thing that comes to mind is, I must take a trip to Prague. After having spent the last five weeks studying the Czech Republic, the break-up of Czechoslovakia, and Eastern Europe in general. It's definitely one of those world affairs that gets glossed over in the US, unless you really try hard seek out news and information about it. Second, summer clubbing in Rome is absolutely fantastic if you have alot of money. Being able to listen to dope house music and dance until four in the morning, under the stars, on the beach of the mediterranean is bananas. But of course the reality is, if you do it more than twice in a month, you'll go broke. It's kind of like the fantasy island that Pinocchio gets swept away to, where all the boys turn into donkeys after having gorged themselves on the pleasures of life. Thirdly, my new favorite place in Italy is the island of Capri (yet another of the expensive tastes I was brought up to have yet can't afford, hehe). Capri is ridiculously beautiful, the boats that sail around capri are beautiful, the houses on capri are beautiful, and the people on capri are beautiful. As my boat pulled into the harbor at Capri, I seriously expected to hear Robin Leach's voice as if another episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous had begun. Sorrento and Capri are far and away my favorite places in Italy. Of course, I haven't been to that many places yet, but let's just say, so far they are the best. Lastly, I need to make a mention of the bombings in London...siamo tutti londinesi adesso.
The visitors and guests and section:
My friend Helen, from the first semester here in Rome, came back to Italy to visit Isabella and I. Apparently, the streets of Queens just couldn't compare to Sorrento and the Amalfi coast- go figure. I had a lovely dinner with my father's cousin (my first cousin once removed?) last week at one of my favorite restaurants in Rome, La Fraschetta. And finally, I'm starting my countdown to July 21: the day my mother arrives! I think this will be an especially interesting week in my life, given that I haven't seen her since December, Italy is a ver y different world compared to Southern California, and she has never been to Europe. I'm sure we will have a lot of fun. After our week in Rome together, Mom and I are off to good old Tampa to meet up with my pops and brothers. That is something I really can't wait for: crabcakes and beer, pizza and cheap red wine looking over the canals of Newport Richie with my dad and brothers. Yee-ha!
The visitors and guests and section:
My friend Helen, from the first semester here in Rome, came back to Italy to visit Isabella and I. Apparently, the streets of Queens just couldn't compare to Sorrento and the Amalfi coast- go figure. I had a lovely dinner with my father's cousin (my first cousin once removed?) last week at one of my favorite restaurants in Rome, La Fraschetta. And finally, I'm starting my countdown to July 21: the day my mother arrives! I think this will be an especially interesting week in my life, given that I haven't seen her since December, Italy is a ver y different world compared to Southern California, and she has never been to Europe. I'm sure we will have a lot of fun. After our week in Rome together, Mom and I are off to good old Tampa to meet up with my pops and brothers. That is something I really can't wait for: crabcakes and beer, pizza and cheap red wine looking over the canals of Newport Richie with my dad and brothers. Yee-ha!
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
The best night in Rome
Who knew the best night in Rome had nothing to do with Romans or anything Italian? Last Friday was a fieldtrip to Lebanon that took 30 minutes by train. Me, and fourteen other St. John's students (not all American mind you) went to one of the best Middle Eastern restaurants in Rome. Of course 14 foreigners walking through the crappy, very un-touristy neighborhood of Tiburtina was a sight to see, but seeing my girlfriends bellydance to the stylings of Tunisian pop music was quite another. For one night, it felt like all the drama and stress that had built up around us in school was gone. I had never seen all of us so happy and I don't remember a time in the last six months where I smiled so much.
The restuarant was called the Prince of Egypt, although it was run by Lebanese and Syrians and owned by a Tunisian. It was complete with arab music from Tunis and Egypt, bellydancers, hookahs, infused tea, and kebab. The place was oppresively hot from the minute we walked in: an underground establishment with no windows,where people danced or smoked the night away made it feel like a sauna. It was great. Luckily, as most things go in Italy, we found ourselves at the restaurant through the connections of a friend from school from Maghreb. Of course he introduced us all to his friends at the resatuarant and I even translated an Italian conversation between the Tunisian owner and a friend from D.C. who is married to a Tunisian- it was fabulously mixed up with the three of us speaking English, Arabic, and Italian. Yay! After a few glasses of wine I was dragged out onto the dancefloor to join the other women in the restaurant to 'bellydance.' I didn't do half bad considering I had one belly-dancing lesson five years ago in Santa Barbara and I am of the most caucasian origins possible. The great thing about this restaurant and arab party culture in general is that the men and women don't dance together. The women get up and shake their hips while the men examine them from their seats and smoke shisha. Then, the men get up and jump around the entire restuarant holding hands and the women gossip and act disinterested. Fabulous! So unlike the culture I've come to know as a foreigner in this country.
As for other news, I started the second session of summer school and will finish in the middle of July. This session's course is Contemporary Eastern Europe and considering that the United States doesn't really care about Eastern Europe (because there are no tangible benefits like oil or major trade deals to be made) I haven't learned much about the region up to now. But that will all change with this class. Our professor is the new Department Chair of the Government and Politics department at St. John's and from the region, so finally some importance will be given where it is due.
During the first summer session I took a weekend trip to London with friends from school, over the Fourth of July weekend I'll go to Sorrento and Amalfi with friends (assuming I finish all my 'homework' in time : p ) and then I'll finally meet my first-cousin, once removed from Massachusetts when she visits Rome soon after I return from Sorrento. I'm trying to organize a trip to Prague in homage to my Eastern European class, once the session is over, but we'll see how that unfolds...
that's all for now, love to everyone
The restuarant was called the Prince of Egypt, although it was run by Lebanese and Syrians and owned by a Tunisian. It was complete with arab music from Tunis and Egypt, bellydancers, hookahs, infused tea, and kebab. The place was oppresively hot from the minute we walked in: an underground establishment with no windows,where people danced or smoked the night away made it feel like a sauna. It was great. Luckily, as most things go in Italy, we found ourselves at the restaurant through the connections of a friend from school from Maghreb. Of course he introduced us all to his friends at the resatuarant and I even translated an Italian conversation between the Tunisian owner and a friend from D.C. who is married to a Tunisian- it was fabulously mixed up with the three of us speaking English, Arabic, and Italian. Yay! After a few glasses of wine I was dragged out onto the dancefloor to join the other women in the restaurant to 'bellydance.' I didn't do half bad considering I had one belly-dancing lesson five years ago in Santa Barbara and I am of the most caucasian origins possible. The great thing about this restaurant and arab party culture in general is that the men and women don't dance together. The women get up and shake their hips while the men examine them from their seats and smoke shisha. Then, the men get up and jump around the entire restuarant holding hands and the women gossip and act disinterested. Fabulous! So unlike the culture I've come to know as a foreigner in this country.
As for other news, I started the second session of summer school and will finish in the middle of July. This session's course is Contemporary Eastern Europe and considering that the United States doesn't really care about Eastern Europe (because there are no tangible benefits like oil or major trade deals to be made) I haven't learned much about the region up to now. But that will all change with this class. Our professor is the new Department Chair of the Government and Politics department at St. John's and from the region, so finally some importance will be given where it is due.
During the first summer session I took a weekend trip to London with friends from school, over the Fourth of July weekend I'll go to Sorrento and Amalfi with friends (assuming I finish all my 'homework' in time : p ) and then I'll finally meet my first-cousin, once removed from Massachusetts when she visits Rome soon after I return from Sorrento. I'm trying to organize a trip to Prague in homage to my Eastern European class, once the session is over, but we'll see how that unfolds...
that's all for now, love to everyone
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Sono ancora viva...
A lot has happened since my last post, and frankly I would have given this up all together is a friend of mine hadn't expressed a little annoyance at the fact that my last post is over a month old, verging on two.
My first semester of grad school ended in the middle of April, and I think I did ok. It's kind of surprising to go back to school, after working and have to reacclimate yourself to the lifestyle that school affords. It's all about self-discipline, and I think that is the hardest thing, above all the work, exams, and papers. Of course being in Rome doesn't actually contribute to the betterment of one's self-discipline, but I'm doing alright I suppose. So, the biggest news to share about the end of my first semester is that I applied for a graduate assistantship, on a whim, and what do you know, I got it. The catch to this great opportunity however, is that I'll stay in Rome until I finish my program, which as of now looks to be, next summer (If I'm not absolutely fluent by then, it'll be a big disappointment!). In any case, I'll officially start working at the end of August and am very greateful for the opportunity.
As for fun stuff, there is much of it. After school let out, my ex-roommate-still-friend Cameron came from Astoria to visit for 10 days. We bummed around Rome and saw a few sights, but we also got to go down to Sicily with a few of my friends from school. Of course, as is usual since January, I got sick. I spent two of the four days in Sicily in our B & B in bed, while everyone was out running around Catania. I missed a day trip to Taormina, a beautiful cliff town overlooking the Mediterranean. I did get to go to Siracusa however, perhaps less picturesque, but full of ancient Greek and Roman ruins. Once I started feeling better, it was a good time. We found Sicilians/Catanians to be generally pretty nice people. You never know, of course how far and wide anti-americanism can permeate these days. Then again, there weren't all that many other American tourists as far as we could tell, mostly German and French. The owners of our B & B were a young couple just starting out with the business, but they were able to give us a few tips on the hot spots in Catania (which by the way is a college town and host to the largest American military base on the island), my favorite was a Vegas inspired (alla Red Square if you've been to Vegas lately- very plush and trendy) martini bar. They did say that we had to do at least one thing while in Catania: eat horse. Yes very very scary. Who would ever do that or do it willingly? Let me just say that horseburgers are quite tasty, but I'll never do it again.
So our four day stay in Sicily ended and we returned to Rome. Suprinsingly, the more I leave it and return to it, the more familiar and comforting it feels. Elise came down again from Milano, for yet another pseudo-college reunion. The three of us, Cameron, Elise, and I (minus Francie of course) had a great time just being together and being around familiar faces. While all of this sickness and traveling and visiting was going on of course, there was the Conclave. The first night Cameron and I sat in the park surrounding Castel Sant' Angelo waiting for the smoke, but cold set in and the enormous amount of news trucks and satellite dishes suggested it was better we go home. And of course as with my time in Venezia, we left Rome for Catania the next day and the College of Cardinals chose a pope. However, when John Paul II passed away, I was relieved to not have had to deal the hundreds of thousands of people stampeding the city; and with Benedetto XVI I arrived in Rome to see the thousands start to recede a little. I love the fact that when John Paul II took ill, Rome filled up with Poles and of course many others from around the world, but now that our new pope is of German origin, there is no shortage of Germans in Rome. I live about a mile away from the Vatican, and I can say that since his coronation, a day has not gone by where I've not heard German on the bus, going down the street towards St. Peter's.
In the midst of all the papal goings-on the weather started to warm up, and my first trip to the beach, outside of Rome, was in order. Cameron, Elise, Isabella, Helen, and I spent two days in Ostia and it was perfect. Helen, was set to leave that next Friday for New York, having finished her semester abroad in Rome and we wanted to give her a proper goodbye. Cameron and Elise were also going home too, so our time at sea was a nice way to close out the vacation. After the girls all went their respective ways, Isabella and I were left to make trouble in Rome on our own... which of course we did.
Anyway, that's all for now...if you want to see pictures, send me an email. Love to everyone.
My first semester of grad school ended in the middle of April, and I think I did ok. It's kind of surprising to go back to school, after working and have to reacclimate yourself to the lifestyle that school affords. It's all about self-discipline, and I think that is the hardest thing, above all the work, exams, and papers. Of course being in Rome doesn't actually contribute to the betterment of one's self-discipline, but I'm doing alright I suppose. So, the biggest news to share about the end of my first semester is that I applied for a graduate assistantship, on a whim, and what do you know, I got it. The catch to this great opportunity however, is that I'll stay in Rome until I finish my program, which as of now looks to be, next summer (If I'm not absolutely fluent by then, it'll be a big disappointment!). In any case, I'll officially start working at the end of August and am very greateful for the opportunity.
As for fun stuff, there is much of it. After school let out, my ex-roommate-still-friend Cameron came from Astoria to visit for 10 days. We bummed around Rome and saw a few sights, but we also got to go down to Sicily with a few of my friends from school. Of course, as is usual since January, I got sick. I spent two of the four days in Sicily in our B & B in bed, while everyone was out running around Catania. I missed a day trip to Taormina, a beautiful cliff town overlooking the Mediterranean. I did get to go to Siracusa however, perhaps less picturesque, but full of ancient Greek and Roman ruins. Once I started feeling better, it was a good time. We found Sicilians/Catanians to be generally pretty nice people. You never know, of course how far and wide anti-americanism can permeate these days. Then again, there weren't all that many other American tourists as far as we could tell, mostly German and French. The owners of our B & B were a young couple just starting out with the business, but they were able to give us a few tips on the hot spots in Catania (which by the way is a college town and host to the largest American military base on the island), my favorite was a Vegas inspired (alla Red Square if you've been to Vegas lately- very plush and trendy) martini bar. They did say that we had to do at least one thing while in Catania: eat horse. Yes very very scary. Who would ever do that or do it willingly? Let me just say that horseburgers are quite tasty, but I'll never do it again.
So our four day stay in Sicily ended and we returned to Rome. Suprinsingly, the more I leave it and return to it, the more familiar and comforting it feels. Elise came down again from Milano, for yet another pseudo-college reunion. The three of us, Cameron, Elise, and I (minus Francie of course) had a great time just being together and being around familiar faces. While all of this sickness and traveling and visiting was going on of course, there was the Conclave. The first night Cameron and I sat in the park surrounding Castel Sant' Angelo waiting for the smoke, but cold set in and the enormous amount of news trucks and satellite dishes suggested it was better we go home. And of course as with my time in Venezia, we left Rome for Catania the next day and the College of Cardinals chose a pope. However, when John Paul II passed away, I was relieved to not have had to deal the hundreds of thousands of people stampeding the city; and with Benedetto XVI I arrived in Rome to see the thousands start to recede a little. I love the fact that when John Paul II took ill, Rome filled up with Poles and of course many others from around the world, but now that our new pope is of German origin, there is no shortage of Germans in Rome. I live about a mile away from the Vatican, and I can say that since his coronation, a day has not gone by where I've not heard German on the bus, going down the street towards St. Peter's.
In the midst of all the papal goings-on the weather started to warm up, and my first trip to the beach, outside of Rome, was in order. Cameron, Elise, Isabella, Helen, and I spent two days in Ostia and it was perfect. Helen, was set to leave that next Friday for New York, having finished her semester abroad in Rome and we wanted to give her a proper goodbye. Cameron and Elise were also going home too, so our time at sea was a nice way to close out the vacation. After the girls all went their respective ways, Isabella and I were left to make trouble in Rome on our own... which of course we did.
Anyway, that's all for now...if you want to see pictures, send me an email. Love to everyone.
Friday, April 01, 2005
My First Italian Police Report...
I have yet to experience firsthand the woes of the traveler, i.e. getting overcharged in a cab by a crafty driver or having something valuable lost or stolen while traveling, so let’s knock on wood. At the end of this past month I had the pleasure of playing tour guide to my friend Francie, her sister-in-law Taiyo, and fellow JET Program teacher Anja. The three arrived on Easter weekend from Japan after a week in Scotland visiting with another friend also studying abroad. Elise came down from Milano, which made for a fabulous mini-reunion. I tried my best to show the girls a good time, the best food, shopping and sites. The food aspect wasn’t hard, as Francie and Anja had been desperately missing cheese, pasta, and bread during their current stints in Japan. We went to all of my favorite restaurants, ate pizza, and most importantly lots of gelato. On one particular night, the girls took a bus back to their hotel and as Francie got off the bus and began her walk to the hotel she noticed that her camera was missing. We’ll never be sure whether it was lost or stolen, but with traveler’s insurance I suppose it doesn’t really matter. The biggest rub of losing a camera is of course the irreplaceable pictures. After we mourned the pictures, it was necessary to fill out a police report to send in a claim and take advantage of traveler’s insurance. Now, my Italian is still shaky enough that it gave me pause to think about going to the police and filing a report, but with Francie cheering me on, we did it. The poliziotto that we spoke with ended up being very patient with me and even tried out is own English and two words of Japanese to give Francie a laugh. At the end I had learned a few new Italian words and the emergency phone number for the police, if something like this was to ever happen again. Let’s hope not. My grandmother would have called my police station trip a ‘blessing of fire.’
After a brief look at the Vatican filled with people in the morning, we spent Easter afternoon in my apartment eating cheese, bread, and wine and in the evening went over to a friend’s house to make Easter dinner: baccala, salad, calamari, and roasted potatoes. We all agreed that the meal was a little wanting, but in the company of good friends we were all quite happy. The following day continued Francie, Anja, and Taiyo’s shopping giro of Roma, where Francie and Anja could buy clothes in western sizes and Taiyo enjoyed the exchange rate between yen and euro. Tuesday was Pompei! We got a train to Naples at about 10:30 Tuesday morning and after a smooth transition, we arrived in Pompei around 1 p.m. Modern Pompei is charming small town with a big central square and Disneyland-looking street lights. We ate lunch in surprisingly un-touristy neighborhood restaurant where we all agreed the food was good, as evidenced by a group of 6 italian women in their 70’s drinking beer and eating pizza at a table across from us. After lunch we headed to the ancient part of Pompei entombed in ash from the fateful eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 b.c. The place was amazing. I had visions of mummified bodies reaching out for help as ash suffocated them and lava invaded their city but it was much more. If you know what a hectare is, Pompei measures 66 of them. The place was huge and peaceful in some way, even though you get an eerie sense of the terror that must have enveloped the city, walking through the streets. My friend Isabella and I got lost and separated from Francie and her crew in the city, but after a few hours we ran into each other as the ancient residents might have done.
After Pompei, more days of shopping and sightseeing in Rome ensued. I actually had to go to school some of that time, so Francie and company had the pleasure of running around Rome without me playing follow-the-leader. Dinner at a tourist trap in Barberini was the last supper for the girls and I. The following day they started on a 36 hour journey back to Osaka.
After the whirlwind week with the girls from Osaka, I was exhausted. There was (and is) still much work to be done for school and we ended up having a Friday evening make-up class from the Easter holiday. The Pope’s worsening condition was on everyone’s minds on Friday and the fact that it was April 1st gave me an eerie feeling. After class on Friday evening some friends and I walked down to the Vatican. We spent about two hours there, I finally got a cab up the street to my house at 12:30 a.m. and St. Peter’s Square was still packed with people. It was only going to get worse. I live about a mile away from the Vatican and am constantly affected by swells in tourism and pilgrims who come to the Vatican
I had plans to go to Venezia early the next morning with my friend Helen. We read the news paper and watched the news every chance we got on Saturday and finally that evening we received news of his death and saw the thousands of people packed into St. Peter’s Square to pay their respects on television. What a powerful thing. Faith is still alive. I regret not being here in Rome only a little bit, it would have been easy for me to get to the square on Saturday night, but at the same time, I think everyone mourns, prays, and contemplates in their own way, on their on time.
Although our trip to Venezia was overshadowed by the news of the Pope’s passing, we had a good time. The city is as beautiful as it is in every movie you see it in, and everywhere you looked there was a picture to be taken. Because all of that, there were no real Venetians hanging around, save those who worked in the shops and restaurants. I found it hard to get a real sense of the place because of it. In any case, Helen and I took lots of pictures, went to the island of Murano, saw St. Mark’s cathedral and had pizza and wine on the Grand Canal while people-watching, all the while getting lost in the maze that are the streets of Venice. It really was a good time, and everyone should try the cuttlefish if ever the opportunity is presented.
So now I’ve returned to Rome to bunker down, as best I can amidst the crowds and sorrow, for finals and term papers…my best to everyone.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Spring is coming...
It is March 14 and you can feel Spring just itching to start. I have recently decided that Spring is in fact here, although it's still 50-60 degrees every day, and have put away my scarves and gloves and big jacket, willing the weather to get warm...let's hope it works. I suppose it's the California in me, still not believing that seasons actually exist.
I spent this past weekend in Milano with one of my very best friends, Elise. I took a leisurely five hour train ride from Rome, through central Italy and saw cities from the train like Arezzo, Prato, Firenze, Parma, Modena, and Bologna- to name a few. Now I have even more ideas for trips around Italy and the rest of Europe. The landscape and attitudes of Southern and Northern Italy are noticeably different. Romans are expressive: they tell you what you want to know and what you don't. The countryside, when you finally get outside of the sprawling city is bright with rolling hills and vineyards, and yellow and orange stucco-ed houses. Milano and its other northern neighbors are reminiscent of New Jersey, but with an Italian flare. Milano, most people describe as grey and unfriendly. Having been there twice now, I agree, but have a new respect for the city, it's large and unforgiving if you don't know how to tame it.
Elise is studying fashion design at the Domus Academy in Milano and I got a taste of the burgeoning talent that in a few years will grace us with new things to wear and new ways to think about fashion. It was nice to get away from political theory for a few days to think about how and why we wear what we wear. In addition to previews of couture, there were also the filthy rich citizens of Milano with their Ferrari, Audi TTs, and Porsches. It was all quite a show.
Back in Roma, time is flying as the third week of our second quarter begins...
I'll post a few pictures of my giro around Milano with Elise in a few days. Hope you are all well.
I spent this past weekend in Milano with one of my very best friends, Elise. I took a leisurely five hour train ride from Rome, through central Italy and saw cities from the train like Arezzo, Prato, Firenze, Parma, Modena, and Bologna- to name a few. Now I have even more ideas for trips around Italy and the rest of Europe. The landscape and attitudes of Southern and Northern Italy are noticeably different. Romans are expressive: they tell you what you want to know and what you don't. The countryside, when you finally get outside of the sprawling city is bright with rolling hills and vineyards, and yellow and orange stucco-ed houses. Milano and its other northern neighbors are reminiscent of New Jersey, but with an Italian flare. Milano, most people describe as grey and unfriendly. Having been there twice now, I agree, but have a new respect for the city, it's large and unforgiving if you don't know how to tame it.
Elise is studying fashion design at the Domus Academy in Milano and I got a taste of the burgeoning talent that in a few years will grace us with new things to wear and new ways to think about fashion. It was nice to get away from political theory for a few days to think about how and why we wear what we wear. In addition to previews of couture, there were also the filthy rich citizens of Milano with their Ferrari, Audi TTs, and Porsches. It was all quite a show.
Back in Roma, time is flying as the third week of our second quarter begins...
I'll post a few pictures of my giro around Milano with Elise in a few days. Hope you are all well.
Friday, March 04, 2005
First Blog
After many weeks of writing really good emails to some people and really short emails to others, I decided it was time to enter into a new generation of communication: the blog. This may already be boring to some of you and may be new age to others- overall it is a testament to my laziness, not that i don't enjoy writing emails or anything.
So January started off nicely with some haggling with university officials, lost baggage, and my arrival at St. John's in Rome. School began and I've been burning the candle at both ends, so to speak, since then. It has been a great experience thus far and I hope that it continues. I am learning so much so quickly, that I am constantly reminded that choosing International Relations and Rome was, to put it mildly, a good choice.
To start this blog thing off correctly, I want to talk about good fortune, or karma depending on where you are from. I got really sick this past week. The last time I felt this way, I was 9 and having an allergic reaction to sulfa. Anyway, the friends I have made thus far here in Rome have proved themselves to be great ones: Helen, Sid, Jami, Ben, Matt, and John. Each of them came to see me and take care of me in their own little ways, through out the week. They planned and plotted together about the eventuality of taking me to a new doctor for a second opinion, made me food, brought me ice cream, and just sat with me when I couldn't say a word at all because my throat, tongue, and lymph nodes were so swollen. I won't go into all the details...Anyway, I write all of this to reinforce the fact people are essentially good and do want to help each other- I'm no longer a closet liberal (oh yeah and I'm spoiled with good people around me). My friend Matt said, 'When you start cracking sarcastic jokes again, I'll know you're better.' The jokes are back.
So, my first quarter of grad school is over, and like any real grad student I have a paper to finish up before I can actually get a grade for the class I took- which should be soon. I haven't been to Italian class in three weeks because of all the work I've had to do for my other classes! But, my Italian is improving little by little, I've learned how to politely and rudely tell people off, and learned the words for such things as lightbulb, pillowcase, and peanut butter (which is despised here for it's fatty qualities).
The end of March will bring my friend Francie, all the way from Osaka to Rome. We'll celebrate Easter with the Pope and hopefully take a trip up north to Firenze or Siena, vediamo. The end of April will bring Cameron, from La Grande Mela, as we say here, to Roma. We'll take a trip to Sicilia and lounge around the beaches outside Roma in the Spring weather, that has to be better than what we're experiencing now: gray skies and almost constant rain.
till next time...
So January started off nicely with some haggling with university officials, lost baggage, and my arrival at St. John's in Rome. School began and I've been burning the candle at both ends, so to speak, since then. It has been a great experience thus far and I hope that it continues. I am learning so much so quickly, that I am constantly reminded that choosing International Relations and Rome was, to put it mildly, a good choice.
To start this blog thing off correctly, I want to talk about good fortune, or karma depending on where you are from. I got really sick this past week. The last time I felt this way, I was 9 and having an allergic reaction to sulfa. Anyway, the friends I have made thus far here in Rome have proved themselves to be great ones: Helen, Sid, Jami, Ben, Matt, and John. Each of them came to see me and take care of me in their own little ways, through out the week. They planned and plotted together about the eventuality of taking me to a new doctor for a second opinion, made me food, brought me ice cream, and just sat with me when I couldn't say a word at all because my throat, tongue, and lymph nodes were so swollen. I won't go into all the details...Anyway, I write all of this to reinforce the fact people are essentially good and do want to help each other- I'm no longer a closet liberal (oh yeah and I'm spoiled with good people around me). My friend Matt said, 'When you start cracking sarcastic jokes again, I'll know you're better.' The jokes are back.
So, my first quarter of grad school is over, and like any real grad student I have a paper to finish up before I can actually get a grade for the class I took- which should be soon. I haven't been to Italian class in three weeks because of all the work I've had to do for my other classes! But, my Italian is improving little by little, I've learned how to politely and rudely tell people off, and learned the words for such things as lightbulb, pillowcase, and peanut butter (which is despised here for it's fatty qualities).
The end of March will bring my friend Francie, all the way from Osaka to Rome. We'll celebrate Easter with the Pope and hopefully take a trip up north to Firenze or Siena, vediamo. The end of April will bring Cameron, from La Grande Mela, as we say here, to Roma. We'll take a trip to Sicilia and lounge around the beaches outside Roma in the Spring weather, that has to be better than what we're experiencing now: gray skies and almost constant rain.
till next time...
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