Last week in Italia

Comincia oggi.
It's almost unreal, how quickly time has streamed by.
We have a busy week ahead of us, as the norm has been; although today and yesterday have been "free" days, they have been and will be spent working on pulling together the final products of our work, aka final portfolios. I wish I could post some of the photography I have been working on here for everyone to see, but the web cafe I have been using has become my nemesis, being closed on days when I actually do have a smidgen of free time, and not letting me upload pictures when it finally does open. Tomorrow is our last day of lecture, Wednesday-weather permitting- we head out on a day trip to Cinque Terra, the Italian coast (which was rescheduled because of rain) and Thursday is our last day in beloved Florence, which will be final critique/packing/cleaning/ice cream party day. Friday we're off to Rome for the weekend (yessss!) and then I'll be flying back into the hellish heat of home sweet home, Texas.

The days have been flying, I miei amici. I left off on the 11th, when we went to San Miniato for a few hours. The public bus is something else here, I tell you what- all 30+ of us packed into one alongside some despairing locals, and rode it up the hills to the church and graveyard....we would have been better off walking (which we did on the way back home.) We were flying this way and that as the bus bucked us around, but the wild ride was worth it once we got to our destination, and took in the view of the city beneath us, suddenly realizing that- yes, we are really HERE, in Italy. After becoming so accustomed to the ways of life here, it was easy to get caught up in the new world and forget about the one I left behind, but when on top of the hills beyond the rise of the terracotta, the reality of the past month hit me like a uppercut to my jawbone.
San Miniato's facade looked like the face of an owl-they were really big on Celtic animal motifs and symbolism at the time it was built, in 1530, when Florence was under attack. Michaelangelo had this idea: hang mattresses off ropes, suspended from poles over the side of the walls surrounding the building to deter cannon balls being shot at them. Ok, Mikey, you win. We ventured into the dimly lit inside (you have to put some change into a little machine to even get the lights to illuminate the artwork decorating the walls- I'm telling you, everything costs here), and wandered around- my favorite section of the church was the underground, a crypt of sorts, with wooden pews, cold, fluted marble columns, and rough edged arches that still somehow appeared soft and mellifluous, flowing into one another in the cool depths. There was organ music resounding somewhere far above our heads, adding to the ambiance the flickering candles created...the cloister circle windows shed small amounts of light that penetrated the obscure depth of the shadows. We got a special treat while we were here, and were allowed to listen to the monks chant, all of us sitting amongst the stone steps leading down into this area. Here is a short entry from my journal about this experience:

...we are sitting on the cool marble steps, beneath the church's main level, listening to the monks chanting and singing. Their voices caress the air surrounding us, filling even the most imperceptible corners, vibrating harmonically, flooding my entire being, the most inner parts of my core (body, mind, soul alike.) The sounds that are reverberating through my bones consume the entirety of me, finding me, freezing my existence in time, taking me someplace beyond the tangible and explainable, relaxing every fiber of my body until I reach a meditative, perfectly calm and fully content state, more aware of myself than I imagined possible.
Their singing, those soulful, hypnotic, lyrical Gregorian chants, brought me to tears numerous times- at one point, I had closed my eyes, allowing myself to sink deep within the sounds, within myself (tranquility and newfound peace), and when I opened my eyes and came a little more back down to earth, I was surprised to feel the wetness on my cheeks.
I'm going to start meditating more when I return home.

I couldn't ever come remotely close to describing what I experienced in those 30 minutes or so, beneath San Miniato, but I can say with conviction that it made a lasting impact on my state of being, shifting my foundation and manifesting a calm unlike anything I have ever experienced. Since then, I have felt more comfortable in my own skin than I ever have been. In that moment, I connected to the divine. I know I wasn't the only one- I glanced around and saw others, eyes closed, basking in the beauty of it, lost deep in thought, reverence, and contemplation, or mere enjoyment.

The graveyard was also gorgeous- in that eerie, energy filled sense, filling your bones with an odd sensation, your body still in quiet respect. I took tons of pictures, and will post them when I can (if you ever visit Florence, take your internet business somewhere other than Webucinno). It was probably one of the most moving/intriguing graveyards I have visited, other than the Jewish cemetery in Prague, where the headstones are packed so closely together, you couldn't squeeze an arm in between them. Speaking of which, I never finished writing a blog I began about the day we visited that cemetery, here is the short excerpt I found that I wrote on that day:
*Today was a perfect, simple day. Kellen and I found a cute little underground market and bought some picnic food, then picnic-ed by the river. I haven't had pate in years, but it didn't disappoint....so much for my no meat rule, yet again. We saw the infamous Jewish cemetery, where hundreds of tombstones are crammed into a rally small expanse of land...literally almost on top of each other and overlapping. It was a little painful to see such a thing, and be reminded of how Jews were not only treated like sheisse while they were living,in the ghetto- but not even given the slightest respect, even in death. I cannot fathom how people can treat others like this, but I see evidence for it everywhere, and it makes my bones weak with sadness. I could just imagine the piles of dead bodies they buried together, nameless, throwing into graves just because they are known to be Jews, not giving a damn what happens to them while they are alive, or to their remains after they've passed away.

The aura wasn't as depressing as it could have been, because I knew that regardless of the horrible conditions, at least they were together, all banding as a team and staying strong together...there was the same element of courage that existed at Dachau. People can withstand under the most abhorrible of conditions, and find little pieces of hope to cling to in the broken shards of humanity. Kellen told me a story about her church back home, and how badly overflowing it would be during Christmas and Easter, since those are the times everyone and their mothers decide it is required of them (their presence in church). Well, apparently the synagogue right next to the church told the church they could use their building for worship services on those days, since the synagogue wasn't open on those days anyway...and at first the church accepted, to help drain some of its influx, but after some oh-so-faithful Catholic opened their mouth and made a comment about how it wasn't appropriate to worship in a building that was "non-holy", they took to worshiping back at the overpopulated church. I think this is ridiculous, and yet so eyes opening, to see how open and welcoming the Jews were of people with different religious beliefs than them, and yet how close minded and judgmental feverishly religious Catholics can be (sorry if this offends, it is not directed at everyone or anyone in particular.) I just think that religion is doing the exact opposite of what spirituality is supposed to do- instead of uniting people with a common interest in enlightenment and a connection to the divine beauty in this world, and in all of us, it tears people apart, and isolates them, causing instead destruction, conflict, and wars among people (as if we didn't have enough, thanks to power trips, greed, and selfishness.) Love, people, that's all I'm saying.

Anyway, I got waaaaay off topic. I haven't had my espresso yet today.

We went on a day tip to Siena on Saturday, which was absolutely lovely. My favorite part was the bell tower, the inside of which greets you with the musky scents of rainwater and damp earth, invading your senses as you climb the 400 something odd stairs to reach the top. We trudged up the dark, twisted tunnels of the narrow tower, and were met by wind driven rain, cooling our heated and exhausted bodies. I cannot begin to describe the view- it wasn't necessarily the heights, however- it was the oppressive, yet beautiful smoky canopy of rainclouds...the icing layer of mist glazing the miles of hills....the miles of sienna-red clay and bricks and their mossy growth....the massive, unfinished Duomo church, striped columns rising to meet the high elevation.
I stood beneath the cracked bell and took in the air- moist and liberating- and gave a piece of myself to Tuscany. My mind was far from the place I have always called home, that day.

There were these amazing deep canyons hidden in the foliage of the city, and I really loved how so many people will lie out on the bricks of the piazza, soaking up the sun's warmth and accompanying cool breeze, reading (Prince Caspian).

On the way back to Florence, we stopped in San Gimignano (the city of towers), this cozy little medieval town with a torture museum and is famous for having world's best gelato- which was really the only reason we went, anyway. No, really- it was mind blowing, the best ice cream I have yet to taste...most people went back for seconds, and I even savored the stomachache I go after savoring three creamy scoops of it: "nocciolo" (hazelnut), "frutti di bosco" (cream of the forest), and "amarena" (sour cherry). Be jealous.

I better get on with my day, I have a lot of work awaiting me...so ciao for now, much amore!