It occurs to me that I have yet to write about my bus trips to and from Arezzo. These trips happen fairly often due to several reasons. The train station is in Arezzo as is the police station (which apparently you have to visit in order to get finger printed and you have to get finger printed in order to study in Italy…who knew?). Arezzo is just a central location essential to small towns such as Sansepolcro. I’m not an overly huge fan of Arezzo, but that’s just a personal feeling. I guess I should say that it has very little hold over me. However, the bus rides are a favorite of mine. Today (Sunday), I returned from Venice and Verona (which I will write about later) and we caught the 5:15 bus back to Sansepolcro. I have made the discovery that this is the absolute best time to take the bus because the sun is just beginning to set and the Tuscan colors are set off to an absolute tee. The small town of Anghiari is one we always pass when going back to Sansepolcro. Today, I have seen it in its glory. Anghiari is set on top of a hill and when the bus goes around said hill, the entire valley is laid out before the starving eyes of weary travelers such as myself. With the sun brushing the browns, golds, greens, and other autumnal colors it truly becomes the vision everyone says it is. The houses, quaint in their archaic ways, are clustered in groups scattered around the valley and their colors are man’s attempts at imitating nature. They have done a splendid job and unlike most manmade buildings, provide a pleasing scene for the onlooker that does not clash horridly with the surrounding countryside. It is this sight that finally produces a sigh of relief from me. I am almost home.
At the same time it is strange to think of Italy as home… mostly because so much of it is still foreign to me. I’m a just beginning to touch the tip of the iceberg that is Italy’s history and I won’t get far beyond that tip by the end of the semester. Yet I have friends here, and the girls are so close to me that they must be considered family. I have a comfortable bed, wonderful food, and people who love me both here and back in the States. Therefore, it must be a home.
lunedì 28 settembre 2009
martedì 22 settembre 2009
Florence
I find it hard to decide if I like Florence or not. I know I should feel overwhelmed by a city as huge as it is but I don’t. I think this is a good thing. I assume it is because I feel more comfortable in the role of traveler and my awful, terrible, and horrible sense of direction is slowly but surely becoming less of a burden. I think the key to traveling to such large places is having a plan: picking out specific places that must be seen (and accepting the fact that seeing every single museum and church and painting and sculpture is impossible) and leaving a little wiggle room for shopping and eating. Another key is being able to take that plan and abandon it completely. Sometimes when the mind has an order, the body demands another, such as plopping down outside the Duomo after an exhausting climb to the top of the world and not thinking about anything else at that moment except how much my feet want to kill me. I find that being able to balance both keys will ensure a satisfactory visit. No, I didn’t go jewelry shopping on the Ponte Vecchio. Instead I climbed 463 steps to the top of the Duomo. I doubt I will ever do it again but if I had to do it over, I totally would. The climb up wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be and the view was beyond imagining but there were so many people up there (many of them frustrated by the climb which I had no patience for because they were given fair warning) that I felt really dampened the experience. Then I was able to be less than an inch away from Michelangelo’s fresco that he painted on the ceiling of the dome and felt a thousand times better. It’s beautifully grotesque. It depicts both heaven and hell and Jesus is doing his holy duty by sitting on his throne and looking down onto his faithful believers and his angels are flying around being happy as pie while all kinds of cruel, torturous things are being done to the people in hell. Beautifully grotesque is really all I’ve got. I managed to see Michelangelo’s “David” too. David is quite large. That’s all I really have to say about him. Everyone knows that he is a magnificent sculpture and that one cannot possibly fathom an imagination like Michelangelo’s but no one ever tells you just how big he is. So now I’m telling you: David is very, very big. Telling you this will not change the reaction you will have which, I swear, will be “Wow, David is a gigantic statue”. David is from the Bible story “David and Goliath” by the way. Did I make that connection before this weekend? Of course not. It’s not Italy if some piece of art isn’t making you feel like a complete idiot.
Speaking of art, the Uffizi is the place to go if you want to experience art overdrive. It was originally built for the Medici’s as their office buildings and now houses so many “Annunciations”, Madonna with Child”, and other Bible story paintings you’d swear you’d taken a step back in time. The first floor consists of sketches and prints and the second floor houses paintings and sculptures. This massive collection took the entire morning to view and we didn’t even see the first floor. I did get to see Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” and “La Primavera” and neither was a disappointment. They are rather large paintings and I wish I could have taken a picture but alas, no cameras allowed. Par for the course I guess. I find I quite enjoy an artist by the name of Luca Signorelli. He was a student of Piero della Francesca and I just love his work. I can’t really explain why, but I just have a strong reaction whenever I see a painting of his.
I didn’t buy anything while I was in Florence. Don’t get me wrong, I love some good old Italian leather…I just don’t like good old Italian leather prices. I’m a frugal kind of person. That wasn’t going to change because I am in Italy. It’s hard to explain, but nothing struck me as something I desperately needed to buy. I realize that I might not ever go back to Florence but I spent my money on museums and churches and I’m ok with that. That’s something else I’ve had to come to terms with: just because I’m in Italy doesn’t mean I have to stretch my bank account to its farthest limits. I don’t have to buy everyone I know something from every city I go to and being frugal is an ok thing to be. Here is an interesting shopping observation about Florence. They have a Disney store which thrilled me to no end. What that store does not have is my favorite Disney princess of all time: Belle. My reasoning? It’s because she’s French.
People in Florence do not speak Italian to you. They speak in English and become extremely excited if you even attempt to speak Italian. They will ask “You understand Italian?” and you reply “Un piccolo” (“A little”) and then they proceed to blather in Italian regardless of whether you can understand them or not. They immediately become much more amiable and helpful when they discover that you are at least attempting to speak their language. It has brought to light a brand new set of opinions for me. In the future, when I plan on going to a country whose language I don’t know, I will strive to learn as much as I can before I leave and during my stay as well as carry around a phrase book. I am so grateful to be in a small town where I am forced to speak Italian. One of the more frustrating memories of Florence occurred during breakfast on our second day. During breakfast, there were attendants who refilled cutlery, plates, and food. An American woman got up to ask one of the attendants for another plate. When the attendant didn’t understand her, the American proceeded to raise her voice and just repeat “Plate! Plate!” which of course achieved nothing except to disturb fellow eaters. If the woman had simply looked up the Italian word for plate in a phrase book, annoyance and embarrassment could have been avoided.
If you go to Italy and feel the need to cry your eyes out, look no further than Florentine opera. My travel companion, Chelsea, and I managed to get very cheap tickets to see Verdi’s “La Traviata”. “La Traviata” is what movies such as “Pretty Woman” and “Moulin Rouge” are based on. The basis of the story line is that a prostitute, Violetta, falls head over heels in love with a young man, Alfredo, who loves her desperately back. Unfortunately, Violetta is deathly ill with tuberculosis and Alfredo’s father has interfered with his son’s love life and basically forced Violetta to give Alfredo up. In the end, all miscommunication is revealed and Violetta and Alfredo are able to be back in each others arms just as Violetta’s life leaves her. As a reminder, this is an Italian opera so nothing can be understood but the pure beauty of voice and piano are often universally comprehensible. During the last act I proceeded to cry profusely a.) because I am a hopeless romantic and it wasn’t fair that Violetta had to die and b.) because the feeling and power behind the voices was pure magic. So I made a fool of myself but I think it was well worth it.
Florence is a whirlwind kind of town. It is easy to like and easy to be disappointed in as well. I’m not sure I can explain this last comment. I think that Florence is just a place you have to experience and feel for yourself.
Speaking of art, the Uffizi is the place to go if you want to experience art overdrive. It was originally built for the Medici’s as their office buildings and now houses so many “Annunciations”, Madonna with Child”, and other Bible story paintings you’d swear you’d taken a step back in time. The first floor consists of sketches and prints and the second floor houses paintings and sculptures. This massive collection took the entire morning to view and we didn’t even see the first floor. I did get to see Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” and “La Primavera” and neither was a disappointment. They are rather large paintings and I wish I could have taken a picture but alas, no cameras allowed. Par for the course I guess. I find I quite enjoy an artist by the name of Luca Signorelli. He was a student of Piero della Francesca and I just love his work. I can’t really explain why, but I just have a strong reaction whenever I see a painting of his.
I didn’t buy anything while I was in Florence. Don’t get me wrong, I love some good old Italian leather…I just don’t like good old Italian leather prices. I’m a frugal kind of person. That wasn’t going to change because I am in Italy. It’s hard to explain, but nothing struck me as something I desperately needed to buy. I realize that I might not ever go back to Florence but I spent my money on museums and churches and I’m ok with that. That’s something else I’ve had to come to terms with: just because I’m in Italy doesn’t mean I have to stretch my bank account to its farthest limits. I don’t have to buy everyone I know something from every city I go to and being frugal is an ok thing to be. Here is an interesting shopping observation about Florence. They have a Disney store which thrilled me to no end. What that store does not have is my favorite Disney princess of all time: Belle. My reasoning? It’s because she’s French.
People in Florence do not speak Italian to you. They speak in English and become extremely excited if you even attempt to speak Italian. They will ask “You understand Italian?” and you reply “Un piccolo” (“A little”) and then they proceed to blather in Italian regardless of whether you can understand them or not. They immediately become much more amiable and helpful when they discover that you are at least attempting to speak their language. It has brought to light a brand new set of opinions for me. In the future, when I plan on going to a country whose language I don’t know, I will strive to learn as much as I can before I leave and during my stay as well as carry around a phrase book. I am so grateful to be in a small town where I am forced to speak Italian. One of the more frustrating memories of Florence occurred during breakfast on our second day. During breakfast, there were attendants who refilled cutlery, plates, and food. An American woman got up to ask one of the attendants for another plate. When the attendant didn’t understand her, the American proceeded to raise her voice and just repeat “Plate! Plate!” which of course achieved nothing except to disturb fellow eaters. If the woman had simply looked up the Italian word for plate in a phrase book, annoyance and embarrassment could have been avoided.
If you go to Italy and feel the need to cry your eyes out, look no further than Florentine opera. My travel companion, Chelsea, and I managed to get very cheap tickets to see Verdi’s “La Traviata”. “La Traviata” is what movies such as “Pretty Woman” and “Moulin Rouge” are based on. The basis of the story line is that a prostitute, Violetta, falls head over heels in love with a young man, Alfredo, who loves her desperately back. Unfortunately, Violetta is deathly ill with tuberculosis and Alfredo’s father has interfered with his son’s love life and basically forced Violetta to give Alfredo up. In the end, all miscommunication is revealed and Violetta and Alfredo are able to be back in each others arms just as Violetta’s life leaves her. As a reminder, this is an Italian opera so nothing can be understood but the pure beauty of voice and piano are often universally comprehensible. During the last act I proceeded to cry profusely a.) because I am a hopeless romantic and it wasn’t fair that Violetta had to die and b.) because the feeling and power behind the voices was pure magic. So I made a fool of myself but I think it was well worth it.
Florence is a whirlwind kind of town. It is easy to like and easy to be disappointed in as well. I’m not sure I can explain this last comment. I think that Florence is just a place you have to experience and feel for yourself.
mercoledì 16 settembre 2009
Cathedrals
I do not consider myself to be a very religious person. I have my own faith. I do feel that the earth cannot be so beautiful for nothing and that a higher being is there to nurse it along. However, I constantly feel the weak points of my faith in the face of the driving force that is the Catholic Church within Italy. The monuments that are their cathedrals not only consistently take my breath away but are pillars of strength within the community. Although American churches have their own beauty, it is hard to compare because American churches do not have such rich history. Some of these cathedrals have been around longer than my country has been a nation and it is a simple fact that Catholics hold a lot of pride in the places that they worship. While in the presence of these often huge buildings, I imagine the hundreds of thousands of believers that have laid their mark in them. I imagine the hundreds of years worth of people whose hands have rubbed smooth the intricate designs in solid wrought iron railings. I look at the wood of the altars and see the places in the middle where so many knees have bent in prayer that the indentions of them are forever set. I look at the paintings and the frescoes that adorn the walls and humble myself to the beauty of the art. Then, I close my eyes and let the history and the art and the palpable faith that can be felt in every stone wash over my soul…and then I let myself be awed by the sheer force of it all.
This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to travel to Siena, which has become one of my favorite cities. Samantha, Hannah, and I stayed with a wonderful couple, Ben and Martha (who is a Meredith alum) in their guest house. In Siena, there is a massive church called the Duomo. I will try to describe it to the best of my ability but I’m afraid the description will fall hopelessly short. However, before I describe it, I must say the way we found it. When we first arrived in Siena, the girls and I decided we wanted to see what people who come to Siena always see: the Campo and the Duomo. The Campo the massive piazza located in the center of town. From the Campo, the tower of the Duomo can be seen. We headed in that direction but because so many of the buildings are so tall, the tower of the Duomo gets lost easily. So when we got there, I felt as if I had run right into the church itself. We had come upon it so suddenly that I had to take a large breath and I know that my eyes widened into large globes as I took it all in. The most striking thing about the Duomo is the fact that it is horizontally striped with black and white marble. As tacky as this sounds, it is by far one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Lions grace the stone arches in front of the doors and the faces of countless saints and apostles gazed down upon me as I stood in line to get my ticket.When we got inside, I was once again awed by the sheer size and glory of the dome, the marble pictures on the floor, the busts and statues all around, and the wooden seats and paneling. As I am gazing at all of this, I must constantly remind myself to breathe because I feel a little overwhelmed. Then I think that there are some people in this world who will never be able to experience this beauty and I really, really want them to because sometimes faith needs a little boost. What better way to boost faith than to view firsthand the beauty that faith can create?
This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to travel to Siena, which has become one of my favorite cities. Samantha, Hannah, and I stayed with a wonderful couple, Ben and Martha (who is a Meredith alum) in their guest house. In Siena, there is a massive church called the Duomo. I will try to describe it to the best of my ability but I’m afraid the description will fall hopelessly short. However, before I describe it, I must say the way we found it. When we first arrived in Siena, the girls and I decided we wanted to see what people who come to Siena always see: the Campo and the Duomo. The Campo the massive piazza located in the center of town. From the Campo, the tower of the Duomo can be seen. We headed in that direction but because so many of the buildings are so tall, the tower of the Duomo gets lost easily. So when we got there, I felt as if I had run right into the church itself. We had come upon it so suddenly that I had to take a large breath and I know that my eyes widened into large globes as I took it all in. The most striking thing about the Duomo is the fact that it is horizontally striped with black and white marble. As tacky as this sounds, it is by far one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Lions grace the stone arches in front of the doors and the faces of countless saints and apostles gazed down upon me as I stood in line to get my ticket.When we got inside, I was once again awed by the sheer size and glory of the dome, the marble pictures on the floor, the busts and statues all around, and the wooden seats and paneling. As I am gazing at all of this, I must constantly remind myself to breathe because I feel a little overwhelmed. Then I think that there are some people in this world who will never be able to experience this beauty and I really, really want them to because sometimes faith needs a little boost. What better way to boost faith than to view firsthand the beauty that faith can create?
It has been three days since my imprisonment...
What happens in Italy when there is a large rainstorm? The internet goes out. What happens to a palazzo full of American women when the internet goes out for three days? They go a little crazy. It's actually quite funny to see how all of us have reacted to this lack of internet access. We have devised quite ridiculous ways to try and gain it from a different source: from placing our laptops on windowsills to holing up in faculty apartments (which I am currently doing). Yes, it means that access to facebook is limited if not impossible which is hard enough ;) but I think the real frustration is the fact that we can't do research for classes or email assignments. We have a travel break to Florence coming up this weekend and many places need a reservation in order to get in. Heaven forbid we pick up a phone and call. As for me, I wanted to check the news and just keep in touch. For now, we will suffer through but I'm not sure how long some of us can hold out...
domenica 6 settembre 2009
Being immortal has its perks...
So last night was our big promenade. Turns out I wasn't a royal, I was a girl of spring. To be specific, google image Botticelli's Primavera. We had long flowing dresses that went every which way in the wind. My other friends were actually the royals and they looked beautiful! Another plus is that we all had great seats for the night's festivities. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were told that we needed to get dressed between 7:30 and 7:45. We got to where the costumes were and were told that we weren't needed for another hour. Ok, cool, there was a bunch of fun stuff to look at anyway. We walked around a bit and started to walk back to the palazzo when we heard someone call "Raggaze! Raggazze!" (Girls! Girls!) It was the man who told us we had an hour. Turns out he was wrong, we needed to get dressed now. (Mind you, this was all in Italian. We managed to figure out what he was saying. Finally a year of Italian is paying off.) So we did and the woman who was in charge of it all (wife to the man who told us the wrong time. Her name was Paola.) kept calling "Americane! Americane! Raggazze Americane!" Gotta love feeling a couple dozen pairs of eyes on you when she does that. We all gathered where the procession was going to start and then I was brought to a different location. Turns out all us Primavera girls were in the front, just behind the drummers and trumpeters. Woah. Once again, this is all in Italian and I haven't got a clue what is going to happen. All I knew was that I was a painting. Fair enough. So the trumpeters start their thing and then the drummers and then we start walking. We walk very slowly in these nice straight lines towards the piazza. When we finally get there, the royals sit in the chairs on the edge of the piazza and the Primavera girls are placed in this little white wrought iron gazebo on display for all to see and adore (by this point, my nerves are pretty much shot because not only were there several professional photographers but also a cameraman). All around the piazza, these bleachers have been set up so that people can see. So there is quite a bit of pomp and circumstance that happens. When these Italians take a step back into the Renaissance, they do NOT mess around. Drummers and trumpeters play their hearts out. Then there is a flag throwing demonstration (on of my personal favorites), a dance featuring any number of girls between the ages of 8 and 18 and one little boy, a tug of war, horse parade, a mini play in which there are flaming swords and the man kills either his beloved or his daughter (I'm not sure which), and a belly dancing show. Whew! So after all of this, I am told we can go. Little did I know that "go" meant "go walk around the city...twice...in heels...on cobblestones...for over an hour." Now, being an immortal was wonderful and beautiful and all...but I was ready to go home and get warm (did I mention it got very chilly?) So we finally got to stop, watch a few fireworks and go get our clothes back on. We told Paola that we had a wonderful time, which we definitely did, and went back to the palazzo for some nutella. Oh what a night...
venerdì 4 settembre 2009
An Italian Renaissance Royal
So the biggest week of the year in Sansepolcro is happening this coming week. Starting tomorrow, the entire town will take a step back in time to the Italian Renaissance. Everyone wears the garb and there is a market and a parade...and I'm going to be in it!!!! One of the girls in the parade dropped out at the last minute and through sheer luck, called our coordinator, Sara, and asked if she knew anyone who could replace her. Of course there is a palazzo full of girls who wouldn't mind so we went over to the shop and we all got a dress! I managed to fit the one that they really needed because of my height so I will be towards the front of the procession but it is so great that a bunch of us get to be in it! Very exciting.
martedì 1 settembre 2009
Observations on Americans in Italy
Being the long legged creature that I am, I have spent the majority of my life either walking ahead of people or slowing down enough for them to keep up with me. A leisurely stroll doesn't usually happen at school because I am often running to a meeting, class or rehearsal. Returning to the Meredith campus so often means no free time. I'm not complaining mind you, the things I choose to do with my time are what I want to be doing. Meredith in Italy? Not at all. You stick out like the tourist that you are if you ever walk at more than a brisk stroll. I was not the first to realize this. Samantha told me to slow down one day and when I asked why she told me to look around. In doing so, I found that I sped past a large amount of Italians, all of whom I can only imagine thought I was fast paced American...which I am. However, I'm not in America anymore and must therefore s...l...o...w... d...o...w...n. Otherwise I will miss the entire point of passegiatta. Italians do not walk at night to go anywhere, they walk in order to be seen and to see others. It is a social thing, something to be enjoyed, not endured.
I'm quieter now. And for those of you who don't know me well, this is a major change. I still have a rather large laugh (don't worry Mom) but it usually only comes out, at least to my knowledge, within the palazzo. We've been here a little over a week and already consider this our Sansepolcro. A small group of Americans from another university visited this week and our first reaction was to compare our behavior to theirs. They were loud. This was especially frustrating when they ate at the pizzeria just beneath our windows when we were trying to sleep. How very strange to judge my culture. At the same time, I must confess that Italians have their loud moments too. Weekend passegiattas are especially volume heightened. I guess my point is that Italians expect us to be loud...and we don't want them to.
Lastly, I must comment on an Italian observation I have made. Almost every Italian mother I have seen has short hair. Almost every girl around my age has long hair. Almost all of the little female children I have seen have short hair. Therefore my deduction is thus: Italian moms (and moms of all cultures) have enough to deal with, let alone bother with a bunch of useless hair on their own heads and their kids heads. The teenagers, on the other hand, have nothing to do and thus grow their hair out 1.) because they can 2.) because it's the style and 3.) because it gives them something to do. Whether or not this is correct makes very little difference to me. I'm just reporting what I see. And seeing is believing after all ;)
I'm quieter now. And for those of you who don't know me well, this is a major change. I still have a rather large laugh (don't worry Mom) but it usually only comes out, at least to my knowledge, within the palazzo. We've been here a little over a week and already consider this our Sansepolcro. A small group of Americans from another university visited this week and our first reaction was to compare our behavior to theirs. They were loud. This was especially frustrating when they ate at the pizzeria just beneath our windows when we were trying to sleep. How very strange to judge my culture. At the same time, I must confess that Italians have their loud moments too. Weekend passegiattas are especially volume heightened. I guess my point is that Italians expect us to be loud...and we don't want them to.
Lastly, I must comment on an Italian observation I have made. Almost every Italian mother I have seen has short hair. Almost every girl around my age has long hair. Almost all of the little female children I have seen have short hair. Therefore my deduction is thus: Italian moms (and moms of all cultures) have enough to deal with, let alone bother with a bunch of useless hair on their own heads and their kids heads. The teenagers, on the other hand, have nothing to do and thus grow their hair out 1.) because they can 2.) because it's the style and 3.) because it gives them something to do. Whether or not this is correct makes very little difference to me. I'm just reporting what I see. And seeing is believing after all ;)
Iscriviti a:
Post (Atom)
