Monday, June 16, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
art for breakfast
We just finished our daily morning lecture and I have a couple of free hours to spare before we take our first public bus ride up into the hilltops to visit the church and graveyards of San Miniato. I am really excited- I have always had a penchant for graveyards, especially when related to photography. I feel as though photographs can almost pick up on the strange, otherworldly vibes emanating from graveyards, the aura of death and slumber (peaceful and restless alike) and the stillness, speaking to those that visit them.
I cant believe we only have a little over a week left in Firenze before we take off for a few days in Rome, then head for home. Time has flown by so quickly..I suppose that is opt to happen when each moment that passes is opulent and flavorful, to all parts of your being. Four weeks is nothing once this country takes a hold of you and clings tightly...I wish it were a whole summer, instead. But I did take Erics advice and rubbed the bronze hog near Piazza Della Signoira, so I have a feeling I will be back soon enough (and to Venice and Salzburg, they call to me even now as I type this.)
I promised a few more updates yesterday, recollections of things I missed when too overloaded to update. Sooo, here is a helping for brunch my time, late night snack for those of you back in the states (probably all sleeping at this moment).
Pisa and Lucca were the two cities we visited on our first weekend outing, the weekend before Venice. The best part of Pisa was not the typical tourist scene of climbing the famous leaning tower, it was lounging in the beautiful, bright green grasses near the bell tower(some of the most soft, lush, and prisitne grass I have seen in forever!)...soaking up the sun and the display of fantastic architecture before us (it was a small group of the students). This is not the first time I have laid in the grasses of foreign cities and their famous locations and felt so peaceful and close to the earth, satisfied and happy in a pure way I cannot truly describe. We did the same in Berlin, the city thats really just a large, hidden garden, creeping throughout the pretense label of "city" (where countless people relaxed on every corner in the greenery). It is so refreshing to fully enjoy what the earth has blessed us with- I have noticed this as well with all the walking I have been doing, EVERYWHERE, every day. It has really stimulated every inch of me, and I actually dont miss my car in the least! I think I will be doing a lot more walking and bike riding when I return.
Lucca was also invigorating, for many reasons: it was a quaint little medieval town with hardly any tourists, which is opposite of Florence. The air in both Pisa and Lucca was so fresh and roborant, making me feel alive and completely serene simultaneously. It was the perfect temperature in these cities, making me miss Texas (heeeaat, yall) a little less. The wind breathes along your skin, seeping into your pores and filling your lungs with L I F E. I love the scents the breeze carried in Lucca, fresh leather and warm sugar from the delicacy shops, timber smell of olive wood (the towns specialty.) I remember there was music floating in the air, a local version of what you imagine stereotypical Italian romance music to sound like...but somehow it made me feel at home. This town was something I recall from dreams, or perhaps something recognizable from the depths of my subconscious, as though I have visited this place in a past life. It was very vibrant, but in a subtle, easy going and won to earth sense, a cozy and welcoming city that makes you want to stay just a little bit longer.
While we were there, we went to a hidden treasure of a church, San Fernandino, to see the mummy of Saint Santa Zia, who lies in her glass box coffin surrounded by lace, cloth flowers, and embroidery, still surprisingly intact although she has been dead for centuries. (Since the 1200s.) She still remains there, arms crossed across her breasts tranquilly...her body, although her skin is leathered and has hardened into a dark skeleton with brown, wizened flesh stretched across it, is still preserved despite the hundreds of miles (years) she has on her. She has not rotted or bloated, or decayed like most corpses do, although her coffin is not airtight and is vulnerable to air and bacteria...evidence of her true saintliness and purity of spirit. Because Lucca is so small and humble/modest, you know that this is not a tourist trap...not many know of the church, although she is famous among the residents of Lucca and nearby towns. If the sight of her is not enough to instill some ray of reverence in someone- an awareness of a rare spirituality, very real...I dont know what possibly could. I felt faith in enlightenment flood me. The church itself where she lies was very fascinating with its collection of mysterious oddities...strange crucifixes that appeared out of nowhere, dungeons and crypts, unique painted wooden creations within the small chapels, that still lasted regardless of their materials (the wood had not eroded at all...similar to Santa Zia). It was not overbearing and luxurious like many of the churches we have visited...and for that reason, as well as for its obscure magnetism, I have to say it has still been one of my favorite churches we have seen thus far. You felt more at ease within its dimly lit aisles and dark wooden pews, watching the locals pray and worship in quiet devotion, or visit their passed relatives and loved ones. The gelato in Lucca was absolutely out of this world- the best so far. Many people had seconds (almost myself included, guilty conscience got the best of me).
Although it was very different adjusting to traveling in a group, after having liberty to go where ever we desired, it has been very fun, and I have made lots of new friends.
The only night I have truly gone out to a bar was to the infamous bar, Angies, that students back home who visited Italy last summer recommended to us. Im really glad we took their advice, intrigued by the stories we heard of "Chicco", the bartender there, who was wildly entertaining and invited us into his territory almost right away, after hearing about our ties to those who had made friends with him the year back. Yes, that meant free shots- oh, how I had missed tequila! It was a fun night, and we didnt go overboard or get trashed, just had a blast and enjoyed the company and the little bar, tucked into the tightly interlocking streets of Firenze, with its overpriced drinks and all. I have not been picking up the language as much as I would like, but thats my own fault, as I have not been spending as much time as I would like studying phrasebooks and asking questions...I suppose I get a little intimidated, or busy trying to take everything is. However, I have been utterly inspired and touched by the gorgeous, sensual language and its accompanying ethnological cultivations, and I want to take some language classes when I get back home. It is such an enriching experience, to be able to communicate with others that hold connections to a culture very different (and similar in some ways, as well) to your own. There is so much to learn in every corner, if you truly open your mind and heart to the unfamiliar territories, willing to step beyond your comfort zones and explore life to the fullest, every facet of it, in its every varying shape and form.
The Arno river that weaves along the city is one of the best spots to divulge in. It is swimming with lights and waves of time, especially near sunset, and after dark, when the last dying rays of the day or the sparkling city lights reflect across the dark, glassy (yet cloudy, at once) surface, working their way deep down into your soul and memory. Our apartment has really grown on me, with its terracotta tiled balcony and floors, the bright blue blankets spread across the beds in the room Jenny and I share, the odd bathtubs (one of them nonexistent, just a shower head connected to the wall of the bathroom), and the broken kitchen table. The mosquitoes are a little aggravating, waking us in the middle of the night- I swear I have seen a couple the size of small butterflies. However, you get used to the delicious smell of Off after awhile.
We took some authentic Italian cooking classes with this spectacular woman named Jeannie last week. It was such an amazing experience (I have said that so often, must tell you something), and some of the best, most fresh food I have had in a long time. She showed us how to prepare each course in the five course meal, giving us tips along the way and allowing us hands on learning, all of us involved in the process. The menu was as following: handmade foccacia bread (rolling the dough and all), spicy chickpea soup called "pasta e ceci" (with tomato, rosemary, garlic, and red pepper), a peperonata (stewed sweet peppers), a zucchini and onion frittata e cippolle, and gelato di banane...fresh, homemade banana gelato. Is your mouth watering yet? She used all fresh ingredients, hardly anything canned or preserved. The food was not the only thing that was extraordinary...get this: Jeannie came to visit Italy when she was a little younger than I am now, (she was from Iowa) and never went back to America, she loved Italy so much. She married an Italian man, and his family took her in, her new mother in law teaching her all the cooking secrets of Italy...and then she had her own family here, raised them Italian (they barely speak English, and she also has trouble with it now too!) She followed her heart and chased down her dreams, seeking happiness no matter the cost or unknown territory, and she and her family are so cute and content, living in an adorable loft apartment with a raised kitchen (it looked like a little stage with a pulpit, a few feet above their dining room.) It was so wonderful to be able to experience Italian culture from behind the scenes, in a cozy home setting, where you are able to see how the families interact and live their lives, successfully and modestly even in the midst of the boutique jungle (the fancy, shopping based area of town they live in.) It was an eye opening and satisfying night, and when I got home later that evening, it was not only my tummy that was satiated.
Everywhere my eyes grace, there is something to derive inspiration from. I have been writing more than I have in years, and it feels absolutely incredible- like I have finally found one of my pieces of heaven in this world. My creative juices have been bloating my veins and sending little pulsing, electric waves of vitality through me each day. My direction has been shifting, and I am excited about that- change is something I thrive off of, although it is also one of the most difficult, domineering forces I face as well.
I need to run for now, but Ill try to be better about updating now that things are slowing down a bit (oh wait...was I not just up all night writing art history journals and editing photos?) Arrevederci for now, my loves!
I cant believe we only have a little over a week left in Firenze before we take off for a few days in Rome, then head for home. Time has flown by so quickly..I suppose that is opt to happen when each moment that passes is opulent and flavorful, to all parts of your being. Four weeks is nothing once this country takes a hold of you and clings tightly...I wish it were a whole summer, instead. But I did take Erics advice and rubbed the bronze hog near Piazza Della Signoira, so I have a feeling I will be back soon enough (and to Venice and Salzburg, they call to me even now as I type this.)
I promised a few more updates yesterday, recollections of things I missed when too overloaded to update. Sooo, here is a helping for brunch my time, late night snack for those of you back in the states (probably all sleeping at this moment).
Pisa and Lucca were the two cities we visited on our first weekend outing, the weekend before Venice. The best part of Pisa was not the typical tourist scene of climbing the famous leaning tower, it was lounging in the beautiful, bright green grasses near the bell tower(some of the most soft, lush, and prisitne grass I have seen in forever!)...soaking up the sun and the display of fantastic architecture before us (it was a small group of the students). This is not the first time I have laid in the grasses of foreign cities and their famous locations and felt so peaceful and close to the earth, satisfied and happy in a pure way I cannot truly describe. We did the same in Berlin, the city thats really just a large, hidden garden, creeping throughout the pretense label of "city" (where countless people relaxed on every corner in the greenery). It is so refreshing to fully enjoy what the earth has blessed us with- I have noticed this as well with all the walking I have been doing, EVERYWHERE, every day. It has really stimulated every inch of me, and I actually dont miss my car in the least! I think I will be doing a lot more walking and bike riding when I return.
Lucca was also invigorating, for many reasons: it was a quaint little medieval town with hardly any tourists, which is opposite of Florence. The air in both Pisa and Lucca was so fresh and roborant, making me feel alive and completely serene simultaneously. It was the perfect temperature in these cities, making me miss Texas (heeeaat, yall) a little less. The wind breathes along your skin, seeping into your pores and filling your lungs with L I F E. I love the scents the breeze carried in Lucca, fresh leather and warm sugar from the delicacy shops, timber smell of olive wood (the towns specialty.) I remember there was music floating in the air, a local version of what you imagine stereotypical Italian romance music to sound like...but somehow it made me feel at home. This town was something I recall from dreams, or perhaps something recognizable from the depths of my subconscious, as though I have visited this place in a past life. It was very vibrant, but in a subtle, easy going and won to earth sense, a cozy and welcoming city that makes you want to stay just a little bit longer.
While we were there, we went to a hidden treasure of a church, San Fernandino, to see the mummy of Saint Santa Zia, who lies in her glass box coffin surrounded by lace, cloth flowers, and embroidery, still surprisingly intact although she has been dead for centuries. (Since the 1200s.) She still remains there, arms crossed across her breasts tranquilly...her body, although her skin is leathered and has hardened into a dark skeleton with brown, wizened flesh stretched across it, is still preserved despite the hundreds of miles (years) she has on her. She has not rotted or bloated, or decayed like most corpses do, although her coffin is not airtight and is vulnerable to air and bacteria...evidence of her true saintliness and purity of spirit. Because Lucca is so small and humble/modest, you know that this is not a tourist trap...not many know of the church, although she is famous among the residents of Lucca and nearby towns. If the sight of her is not enough to instill some ray of reverence in someone- an awareness of a rare spirituality, very real...I dont know what possibly could. I felt faith in enlightenment flood me. The church itself where she lies was very fascinating with its collection of mysterious oddities...strange crucifixes that appeared out of nowhere, dungeons and crypts, unique painted wooden creations within the small chapels, that still lasted regardless of their materials (the wood had not eroded at all...similar to Santa Zia). It was not overbearing and luxurious like many of the churches we have visited...and for that reason, as well as for its obscure magnetism, I have to say it has still been one of my favorite churches we have seen thus far. You felt more at ease within its dimly lit aisles and dark wooden pews, watching the locals pray and worship in quiet devotion, or visit their passed relatives and loved ones. The gelato in Lucca was absolutely out of this world- the best so far. Many people had seconds (almost myself included, guilty conscience got the best of me).
Although it was very different adjusting to traveling in a group, after having liberty to go where ever we desired, it has been very fun, and I have made lots of new friends.
The only night I have truly gone out to a bar was to the infamous bar, Angies, that students back home who visited Italy last summer recommended to us. Im really glad we took their advice, intrigued by the stories we heard of "Chicco", the bartender there, who was wildly entertaining and invited us into his territory almost right away, after hearing about our ties to those who had made friends with him the year back. Yes, that meant free shots- oh, how I had missed tequila! It was a fun night, and we didnt go overboard or get trashed, just had a blast and enjoyed the company and the little bar, tucked into the tightly interlocking streets of Firenze, with its overpriced drinks and all. I have not been picking up the language as much as I would like, but thats my own fault, as I have not been spending as much time as I would like studying phrasebooks and asking questions...I suppose I get a little intimidated, or busy trying to take everything is. However, I have been utterly inspired and touched by the gorgeous, sensual language and its accompanying ethnological cultivations, and I want to take some language classes when I get back home. It is such an enriching experience, to be able to communicate with others that hold connections to a culture very different (and similar in some ways, as well) to your own. There is so much to learn in every corner, if you truly open your mind and heart to the unfamiliar territories, willing to step beyond your comfort zones and explore life to the fullest, every facet of it, in its every varying shape and form.
The Arno river that weaves along the city is one of the best spots to divulge in. It is swimming with lights and waves of time, especially near sunset, and after dark, when the last dying rays of the day or the sparkling city lights reflect across the dark, glassy (yet cloudy, at once) surface, working their way deep down into your soul and memory. Our apartment has really grown on me, with its terracotta tiled balcony and floors, the bright blue blankets spread across the beds in the room Jenny and I share, the odd bathtubs (one of them nonexistent, just a shower head connected to the wall of the bathroom), and the broken kitchen table. The mosquitoes are a little aggravating, waking us in the middle of the night- I swear I have seen a couple the size of small butterflies. However, you get used to the delicious smell of Off after awhile.
We took some authentic Italian cooking classes with this spectacular woman named Jeannie last week. It was such an amazing experience (I have said that so often, must tell you something), and some of the best, most fresh food I have had in a long time. She showed us how to prepare each course in the five course meal, giving us tips along the way and allowing us hands on learning, all of us involved in the process. The menu was as following: handmade foccacia bread (rolling the dough and all), spicy chickpea soup called "pasta e ceci" (with tomato, rosemary, garlic, and red pepper), a peperonata (stewed sweet peppers), a zucchini and onion frittata e cippolle, and gelato di banane...fresh, homemade banana gelato. Is your mouth watering yet? She used all fresh ingredients, hardly anything canned or preserved. The food was not the only thing that was extraordinary...get this: Jeannie came to visit Italy when she was a little younger than I am now, (she was from Iowa) and never went back to America, she loved Italy so much. She married an Italian man, and his family took her in, her new mother in law teaching her all the cooking secrets of Italy...and then she had her own family here, raised them Italian (they barely speak English, and she also has trouble with it now too!) She followed her heart and chased down her dreams, seeking happiness no matter the cost or unknown territory, and she and her family are so cute and content, living in an adorable loft apartment with a raised kitchen (it looked like a little stage with a pulpit, a few feet above their dining room.) It was so wonderful to be able to experience Italian culture from behind the scenes, in a cozy home setting, where you are able to see how the families interact and live their lives, successfully and modestly even in the midst of the boutique jungle (the fancy, shopping based area of town they live in.) It was an eye opening and satisfying night, and when I got home later that evening, it was not only my tummy that was satiated.
Everywhere my eyes grace, there is something to derive inspiration from. I have been writing more than I have in years, and it feels absolutely incredible- like I have finally found one of my pieces of heaven in this world. My creative juices have been bloating my veins and sending little pulsing, electric waves of vitality through me each day. My direction has been shifting, and I am excited about that- change is something I thrive off of, although it is also one of the most difficult, domineering forces I face as well.
I need to run for now, but Ill try to be better about updating now that things are slowing down a bit (oh wait...was I not just up all night writing art history journals and editing photos?) Arrevederci for now, my loves!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
upon returning from the canal strung streets of Venezia
So, I definitely have not been having the time I thought I would to keep this blog truly updated. I was not expecting to be kept so busy all of the time, and I have to admit, would much rather spend as much of the little free time we have to explore and discover Italia. However, I will do my best to write an entry soon enough that will rewind and describe some of the amazing times and memories I have skipped over the past couple of weeks throughout all the craziness and colorful chaos. Until then, my entires will be much shorter and not as descriptive as before...forgive me for that! You can always email me if need be, or call my international celly, the # is 011393481503945. It is free for me to receive calls and texts, but not to send/call out.
One thing I never mentioned was the events of my 21st birthday, and although I can't go into full details now, just know this: 5 story disco club, and streaking the Charles Bridge. No big deal or anything. I don't exactly like being the stereotypical drunk American girl, and I really don't like making scenes, but it was a once in a lifetime chance that I'll be able to tell my kids when they ask me "Mom, did YOU ever party when you were younger?" Well, let me tell you, Johnny...
(I would never name my child that, by the way.)
One thing I must take the time to say, especially because I'm having a hard time knowing exactly where to begin: Italy is something that no words or photos could ever, EVER do justice for. It steals your breath and hypnotizes you in a very distinct way that no other country will. I have been getting far too ahead of myself, trying to take it all in at once and write everything down, take photos of each and every sparkling detail and crevice, so that the imprint of these days will remain stamped into the deepest parts of my cells for all time. I believe that, at times, I almost just shut off, because it is such an overload of beauty and new sensations & experiences. The masterpieces of art, the trattorias/cafes, the cathedrals and churches and museums, the sensational language and words, the espresso, the people...it has all been more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I can't explain how blessed I feel to have been given this opportunity- such an impacting, infinitely beneficial and profound one, that I will remember always and take so much from.
We wake up each morning, and after stopping to get a cappuccino or espresso (the real stuff, not the overly sugary Starbucks lattes), and then go to lecture (over Renaissance and Gothic art) at our cute little Italian villa studio, and then we walk around Florence to see it in person. We have amazing professors who take the time to make sure we are truly growing as artists, and push us and our creative drives (if the country itself weren't already doing enough) in every way they can, and we get to sketch and photograph the genius all around us in real time.
In fact- did you know there is an actual medical condition where people are hospitalized because they are so overwhelmed by seeing too much art? Don't laugh- because what a coincidence: a little less than a week ago, we were inside an old monastery, seeing the little tiny rooms with one window and one painting where monks lived in solitude for many years...I was just thinking about how admirable it was, these men soaking in utter and complete solitude and piety, reflecting on themselves and the religious frescoes within their living quarters, how much I envied their ability to shut the rest of the world off and meditate and allow their souls to grow naturally. Out of nowhere, I started feeling like I couldn't breathe, and the air felt like it was choking me...I kept trying to take deep breaths, but they didn't feel like they were going in, and so I leaned against a wall for support, but I started getting dizzier and more lightheaded than I ever have been in my life. I began to shake and started feeling like I was about to black out, so I drank some water and pulled out a snack from me purse, thinking maybe it was dehydration or low blood pressure, even though I had a decent breakfast and downed plenty of water that day. It got better after a bit, once I sat down, but then kept coming in waves on and off for over an hour, with accompanying chills and all, until I finally gave in and asked David, one of our "caretakers" and guides (more on him later, he's a character) to take me to the pharmacy. He did, but the pharmacist said it wasn't anything to be worried about, that it was just the flu- but I know my body well and I've had the flu, I knew it was something else, so he suggested I go to the emergency room, and I did.
It was one of the scariest experiences I have ever had. They put me in a wheelchair and a hospital bed and the whole works, because my blood pressure was indeed very low...then took me to a room and hooked me up to an IV. Nadia, who is basically like everyone's Italian mom while we're here (she is totally amazing, a guardian angel) came with me to the hospital but couldn't go into the back with me to translate....so I was disoriented, with an IV stuck in my arm (first time ever) fading in and out of consciousness (I would half fall asleep but I felt like I was hallucinating, fading into myself, and I would get terrified and wake myself back up)....with the Italian nurses and doctors trying to speak to me on and off, but I couldn't understand a word. Everything sounded so strange and echoed off the white, sterile walls, and I longed for someone familiar to be at my side so badly- (I remember specifically thinking "I just want my mommy.) I felt like a little girl, so helpless and vulnerable, and I wanted with all of my being to be able to speak this language better, so I could communicate- it was frustrating and confusing, and at one point I broke down...which I think scared the nurses away, who let me be after that, and I finally fell asleep after awhile, exhausted and a little calmer, once I had given into my fear and had a few minutes of hysterics...I think I got it out of my system. It's not that they were unfriendly (well, there was one..), it was just totally and utterly overwhelming, and I had no idea what was wrong with me. Plus, it wasn't until this moment that I realized how much I fear vulnerability, and I think for the first time in a long time, I honestly embraced it, and let it take over...which is the moment my body finally sunk shallowly into sleep, and rested. The IV helped a lot, and when I woke up they let me go, giving me a sheet of paper with all the results from my blood tests on it (which I couldn't read, of course)...and surprisingly, nothing that had a charge or "price tag" on it. Nadia explained them to me, and said everything was normal, and that the diagnosis was just dehydration and lack of nutrients. However, after I talked to my mom that night, after a somewhat hellish day, I realized it was much more than that. I have been trying so hard to do so many things, and my mind and body have been running in overdrive, trying to accomplish, learn, grow, see, feel, evolve...she told me the symptoms were exactly similar to those of her panic attacks that she used to have. After a long vent session and many more tears, in which I stopped being in such denial, my eyes opened wide to see myself, far too anxiety ridden....and I saw clearly that I needed to slow down, and take my new life abroad one day at a time. I have been reminding myself of this constantly, remembering to breathe (from my tummy, not my lungs...thanks Mommy, for saving my life a little that night). I often times forget that progress is something one must have patient for, and instead of struggling to try and blossom, I am discovering how much better it is to let my soul, mind, and body take things at their own pace, and soak things up slowly, savoring them- not all at once, taken like a shot of powerful liquor, but instead, sipped, eyes closed in bliss, like a deep, rich dessert wine that is meant to linger on the palette, simmering pleasantly and long lasting.
Things have gotten much better since then, and yesterday a friend told me on the train from Venice back to Florence that I look much less stressed out. Indeed, my anxiety and intimidation has been pushed aside, dealt with gently but effectively, and I'm working through these explorations a little at a time, making the most of everything, enjoying my days here. I'm finally starting to learn to let go and relax, it has been so long since I could say that. My lungs are content and full, my heart is smiling, my spirit is singing.
We went to Venice this weekend, and the remnants of its indescribable essence still permeate on my soul, sparkling like the night lights on the canal waters. It exhausted me, all the miles and miles of walking the humid cobble streets, and looking at all the eye candy (it is called literally, "the city of eye candy")....but it is the kind of exhaustion you bear with pride, like the sweaty, out of breath weariness that washes over you after really incredible, mindblowing sex. Laughter echoed in the yellow padded attic room (although ours was coral colored, with bright pink chandeliers- someone please fire the interior decorator! but no really, it was a darling hotel)....cheap, but delicious chianti and touristy sailor caps- the lights of the shop vendors that flooded the hazy green waters with a distinct romance were my favorite part. I fell hard for this city (I have said that about many)- because deep down, my soul is satisfied by the sea, and water in general, like nothing else can do...and although I have always heard about how bad the city smells, it made no difference in its beauty. Stop being babies, everyone! This is a city that stamps itself into the hearts of those who catch on to the effervescent magic that is strung along the streets, dances along the beads, baubles, glitter, paper mache' venetian masks, translucent crystal and hand blown glass, feathers, scarves, jewels- it burns brightly in the waters (dirty or not) and is everywhere you glance, sparking the winds with a fantastical mystery. I think it will call me back to it sometime very soon. Although I thought Prague's vibrant colors were unbeatable and easy on the eyes, all of Venice is like a giant sweet shop- I felt the child in me emerge, rosy and aglow with excitement, I think I went a little crazy those couple of days and nights (toystore style.) The light in this city, and in all of Italy, is something I could never fully capture with my photography, and perhaps even with my actual pupils- it is something only something deep within my unconscious understands, and resonates with. It is nearly blinding in its intensity, whether it is soft and glowing, during a misty sunrise right before we rise and walk to class, or the deep blue penetration of night skies, when the alleys come alive and the merry go round spins musically, or any of the other many forms and attributes that I have no ability to accurately describe.
I never wrote about our visit to Pisa and Lucca, either, or many other of the experiences I have been so lucky as to have. I'll come back tomorrow to catch up a little more (as I will do a bit each day, when time permits.) I love you all so much and think of home each day. I am bursting at the seams, overflowing, and in two weeks, I will return and be able to share stories of my travels that I have skipped over, but that can't be truly conveyed through a simple keyboard or verbal description (no matter the power of the words.)
One thing I never mentioned was the events of my 21st birthday, and although I can't go into full details now, just know this: 5 story disco club, and streaking the Charles Bridge. No big deal or anything. I don't exactly like being the stereotypical drunk American girl, and I really don't like making scenes, but it was a once in a lifetime chance that I'll be able to tell my kids when they ask me "Mom, did YOU ever party when you were younger?" Well, let me tell you, Johnny...
(I would never name my child that, by the way.)
One thing I must take the time to say, especially because I'm having a hard time knowing exactly where to begin: Italy is something that no words or photos could ever, EVER do justice for. It steals your breath and hypnotizes you in a very distinct way that no other country will. I have been getting far too ahead of myself, trying to take it all in at once and write everything down, take photos of each and every sparkling detail and crevice, so that the imprint of these days will remain stamped into the deepest parts of my cells for all time. I believe that, at times, I almost just shut off, because it is such an overload of beauty and new sensations & experiences. The masterpieces of art, the trattorias/cafes, the cathedrals and churches and museums, the sensational language and words, the espresso, the people...it has all been more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. I can't explain how blessed I feel to have been given this opportunity- such an impacting, infinitely beneficial and profound one, that I will remember always and take so much from.
We wake up each morning, and after stopping to get a cappuccino or espresso (the real stuff, not the overly sugary Starbucks lattes), and then go to lecture (over Renaissance and Gothic art) at our cute little Italian villa studio, and then we walk around Florence to see it in person. We have amazing professors who take the time to make sure we are truly growing as artists, and push us and our creative drives (if the country itself weren't already doing enough) in every way they can, and we get to sketch and photograph the genius all around us in real time.
In fact- did you know there is an actual medical condition where people are hospitalized because they are so overwhelmed by seeing too much art? Don't laugh- because what a coincidence: a little less than a week ago, we were inside an old monastery, seeing the little tiny rooms with one window and one painting where monks lived in solitude for many years...I was just thinking about how admirable it was, these men soaking in utter and complete solitude and piety, reflecting on themselves and the religious frescoes within their living quarters, how much I envied their ability to shut the rest of the world off and meditate and allow their souls to grow naturally. Out of nowhere, I started feeling like I couldn't breathe, and the air felt like it was choking me...I kept trying to take deep breaths, but they didn't feel like they were going in, and so I leaned against a wall for support, but I started getting dizzier and more lightheaded than I ever have been in my life. I began to shake and started feeling like I was about to black out, so I drank some water and pulled out a snack from me purse, thinking maybe it was dehydration or low blood pressure, even though I had a decent breakfast and downed plenty of water that day. It got better after a bit, once I sat down, but then kept coming in waves on and off for over an hour, with accompanying chills and all, until I finally gave in and asked David, one of our "caretakers" and guides (more on him later, he's a character) to take me to the pharmacy. He did, but the pharmacist said it wasn't anything to be worried about, that it was just the flu- but I know my body well and I've had the flu, I knew it was something else, so he suggested I go to the emergency room, and I did.
It was one of the scariest experiences I have ever had. They put me in a wheelchair and a hospital bed and the whole works, because my blood pressure was indeed very low...then took me to a room and hooked me up to an IV. Nadia, who is basically like everyone's Italian mom while we're here (she is totally amazing, a guardian angel) came with me to the hospital but couldn't go into the back with me to translate....so I was disoriented, with an IV stuck in my arm (first time ever) fading in and out of consciousness (I would half fall asleep but I felt like I was hallucinating, fading into myself, and I would get terrified and wake myself back up)....with the Italian nurses and doctors trying to speak to me on and off, but I couldn't understand a word. Everything sounded so strange and echoed off the white, sterile walls, and I longed for someone familiar to be at my side so badly- (I remember specifically thinking "I just want my mommy.) I felt like a little girl, so helpless and vulnerable, and I wanted with all of my being to be able to speak this language better, so I could communicate- it was frustrating and confusing, and at one point I broke down...which I think scared the nurses away, who let me be after that, and I finally fell asleep after awhile, exhausted and a little calmer, once I had given into my fear and had a few minutes of hysterics...I think I got it out of my system. It's not that they were unfriendly (well, there was one..), it was just totally and utterly overwhelming, and I had no idea what was wrong with me. Plus, it wasn't until this moment that I realized how much I fear vulnerability, and I think for the first time in a long time, I honestly embraced it, and let it take over...which is the moment my body finally sunk shallowly into sleep, and rested. The IV helped a lot, and when I woke up they let me go, giving me a sheet of paper with all the results from my blood tests on it (which I couldn't read, of course)...and surprisingly, nothing that had a charge or "price tag" on it. Nadia explained them to me, and said everything was normal, and that the diagnosis was just dehydration and lack of nutrients. However, after I talked to my mom that night, after a somewhat hellish day, I realized it was much more than that. I have been trying so hard to do so many things, and my mind and body have been running in overdrive, trying to accomplish, learn, grow, see, feel, evolve...she told me the symptoms were exactly similar to those of her panic attacks that she used to have. After a long vent session and many more tears, in which I stopped being in such denial, my eyes opened wide to see myself, far too anxiety ridden....and I saw clearly that I needed to slow down, and take my new life abroad one day at a time. I have been reminding myself of this constantly, remembering to breathe (from my tummy, not my lungs...thanks Mommy, for saving my life a little that night). I often times forget that progress is something one must have patient for, and instead of struggling to try and blossom, I am discovering how much better it is to let my soul, mind, and body take things at their own pace, and soak things up slowly, savoring them- not all at once, taken like a shot of powerful liquor, but instead, sipped, eyes closed in bliss, like a deep, rich dessert wine that is meant to linger on the palette, simmering pleasantly and long lasting.
Things have gotten much better since then, and yesterday a friend told me on the train from Venice back to Florence that I look much less stressed out. Indeed, my anxiety and intimidation has been pushed aside, dealt with gently but effectively, and I'm working through these explorations a little at a time, making the most of everything, enjoying my days here. I'm finally starting to learn to let go and relax, it has been so long since I could say that. My lungs are content and full, my heart is smiling, my spirit is singing.
We went to Venice this weekend, and the remnants of its indescribable essence still permeate on my soul, sparkling like the night lights on the canal waters. It exhausted me, all the miles and miles of walking the humid cobble streets, and looking at all the eye candy (it is called literally, "the city of eye candy")....but it is the kind of exhaustion you bear with pride, like the sweaty, out of breath weariness that washes over you after really incredible, mindblowing sex. Laughter echoed in the yellow padded attic room (although ours was coral colored, with bright pink chandeliers- someone please fire the interior decorator! but no really, it was a darling hotel)....cheap, but delicious chianti and touristy sailor caps- the lights of the shop vendors that flooded the hazy green waters with a distinct romance were my favorite part. I fell hard for this city (I have said that about many)- because deep down, my soul is satisfied by the sea, and water in general, like nothing else can do...and although I have always heard about how bad the city smells, it made no difference in its beauty. Stop being babies, everyone! This is a city that stamps itself into the hearts of those who catch on to the effervescent magic that is strung along the streets, dances along the beads, baubles, glitter, paper mache' venetian masks, translucent crystal and hand blown glass, feathers, scarves, jewels- it burns brightly in the waters (dirty or not) and is everywhere you glance, sparking the winds with a fantastical mystery. I think it will call me back to it sometime very soon. Although I thought Prague's vibrant colors were unbeatable and easy on the eyes, all of Venice is like a giant sweet shop- I felt the child in me emerge, rosy and aglow with excitement, I think I went a little crazy those couple of days and nights (toystore style.) The light in this city, and in all of Italy, is something I could never fully capture with my photography, and perhaps even with my actual pupils- it is something only something deep within my unconscious understands, and resonates with. It is nearly blinding in its intensity, whether it is soft and glowing, during a misty sunrise right before we rise and walk to class, or the deep blue penetration of night skies, when the alleys come alive and the merry go round spins musically, or any of the other many forms and attributes that I have no ability to accurately describe.
I never wrote about our visit to Pisa and Lucca, either, or many other of the experiences I have been so lucky as to have. I'll come back tomorrow to catch up a little more (as I will do a bit each day, when time permits.) I love you all so much and think of home each day. I am bursting at the seams, overflowing, and in two weeks, I will return and be able to share stories of my travels that I have skipped over, but that can't be truly conveyed through a simple keyboard or verbal description (no matter the power of the words.)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
finally: a brief update from Firenze
Sorry it has been so long since I've written- it's been quite a chore, finding internet access so I can get on and update, our apartment doesn't have any (boo)...but I finally paid for a months worth of access at an internet cafe, it's about a 10 minute walk from our lovely new temporary home at Via Palazzuolo, so hopefully I will have more time to stop by here and keep up with this, although our new schedule has been fairly busy and full.
Even now, I don't have time for a true update/catch up, because I have photos and art history journals due tomorrow that need to take priority, and I can't spend too much time here now...but I have been making notes over the past days to remember things that occur that I want to come back and record here, starting back where I left off, right before my birthday, and then continuing up until now, over a week into my new life in Florence. I'll be back here tomorrow to do that, so be watching for a novel that will appear very soon, with all the graphic details of my explorations.
Here is a current list of my favorite things I have discovered in Florence, so far:
*sundried tomatoes, soaked in oil with crushed red pepper
*green tea and pistachio gelato
*the pears and fresh strawberries (they are the brightest red, most luscious strawberries you will ever see- and they stain your mouth, they're so ripe)
*the central market (it's a two story market of the freshest food you will ever eat: top story is displays of fruit and veggies, a colorful ocean of produce; bottom story is what seems like miles of counters that sell amazing cheeses, meats and poultry, bread right out of the oven, wines, etc- kind of like a permanent farmers market heaven)
*the public sculpture- it's everywhere!
*the architecture, especially those with Byzantine and Islamic influences (more on this later, as well as accompanying pictures)
*the Tuscan countryside (the beautiful, endless rolling hills make you want to abandon yourself and forget about the home you left behind)
*lemoncello and duh! the vino (red, half watered down like the Italians drink it)
At the market, you can have the venders make you fresh sandwiches, kind of like an Italian Subway, except so much better and fresh: "I'd like a sandwich"= "Vorrei un panino." (per piacere= please)
It is hard to wrap my head around how absolutely gorgeous everything is here. The streets are alive every time of day, even late at night (when I'm trying to sleep, the discoteque across the street pumps it's drunken patrons out onto the cobblestones, yelling in who-knows-what language.) There are endless outdoor market vendors, white overhangs stirring in the breeze, selling anything you could desire- Italian leather purses, ornate "handmade" scarves, reflective sunglasses of every color and shape. The buildings stand tall and hover close together, as if they are a great big family, and their arms and legs carve out narrow alleyways that we walk often (everywhere, we walk to),and lose our way in often, as well. There are "gelataterias" on every corner, beckoning to your sweet tooth, and little cafes with out of this world cappuccinos...I had my first expresso shot (straight) the other day, and was still buzzing hours later, but it was well worth it: the coffee here is so much better (not to brag or anything.) In fact, the food in general here is so mouthwatering, you eat it all day and still dream of it at night.
On Saturday, we made a one day trip to visit Pisa and Lucca...I'll write details later, because both cities were captivating- I'll post more pictures later as well (later, later, always later- so much to catch up on!) We have just been trying to adjust to everything- in every area, our lives are changing. I promise there will be a lot more next time I update, bear with me while I try to learn to balance my time. I miss everyone so much, but... I'm not sure I'm coming back.
Kidding!
[My homesickness has mostly passed because of how busy we have been, and I am falling in love with this city....I'm trying to enjoy it to the fullest, because time is flying by, and my first week has already come and gone.]
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
